#A really really bad poem

[wren-again]

Me, adhd posting into the void because all of my thousands of followers apparently died in the great nipple purge of '18

My ice-cream, sadly melting, forgotten and alone

[softinvasions]

DIRECTOR'S NOTE • Nov. 2023

You can't go home. This play has a particular care for and interest in its victims. The resident

inciting event is endless. tragedy is much more concerned with footnotes than it is with gods.

well acquainted with what happens afterward, storytellers claim they can't diverge from what's

written: resist. rage against what must be. tell a story about war without talking

about love. survive its aftermath. fail to find resolution. make this suffering

a home. There's no breaking this chain— fate, as always, gets its way.

Poetry assembled from the program of an Oresteia production. Nov. 2023.

[whaliiwatching]

haunts the punk rocker with gay thoughts

prompt: dream

[forkpigeon3146]

sorry i cant just "be casual" it's either you get paragraphs about my devotion to our friendship and every little thing i love about you or you get nothing

[demigod-of-the-agni]

kurunthokai, 168 — “what the hero said to his heart”

[otomes-world]

Six impossible things before breakfast

Little twist with sentient twst au, yes, I didn't expect this either. Masterlist with more works here

We've probably all heard the joke about "How many light bulbs does it take to (insert whatever)." Who would have thought that you would use a slightly modified version of it: how many more coincidences must happen to realize the truth.

Although can anyone really blame you for not wanting to admit that you are a bunch of colored pixels created purely for entertainment purposes? No, it even sounds nice. After all, your purpose was to create extras, a stage on which the main characters performed and shone. Those who had faces.

Did you always have yours? Could you always see it in the mirror in the morning?

Did figurative shivers run down your spine every time a faceless classmate addressed you? One of ten, hundreds, exactly the same. Have the main bunch had the same problem? That's the question you'd been asking yourself lately. Did they shrug off empty, replaceable shells, or at least for a second consider them their equals?

Perhaps the question should have been asked differently. Was this in the order of things for them, because the thought of the incorrectness of worldly norms did not flash through their heads. Or it was something simple and very banal - they did not realize that they were part of the game.

Were you special? The thought was flattering, but it was stupid to start turning up your nose. Maybe the supreme programmer, like the smart guys from Ignihyde, could consider you a virus, a bug, an annoying nuisance, which can be gotten rid of in a couple of seconds. Click and that's it, your file would be deleted.

The idea that death could be more than just literal took you by surprise.

It all started with a strange feeling of déjà vu, with a strange cyclical nature of what was happening. How the seasons did not change according to the laws of nature or, on the contrary, lasted longer than expected. Sometimes you wondered what month was going on, at least by counting. Or how you couldn’t say with certainty what year of study you were in. When was your graduation? Would it ever come?

How many times did the main characters celebrate their birthday? How many times had you celebrated it? Did you celebrate it from the start?

Lessons

Breaks

Exams

Holidays

Lessons

Was there an end to this merging stream of eternal students? Was the dormitory assignment ceremony that important? How many real “first-year students” were admitted each year? Why couldn't your educational journey end? Time adjusted and obeyed an invisible force; it existed only when it was convenient for someone.

Catching the attention of the local spotlight and getting on stage was the best way to get labeled as a "bug" and ask to be removed. However, the main threat was only the erasure of memory.

The next discovery was doubt about one’s own “specialness.” When consciousness had nothing to do, it began to cling to different details, trying to look for differences in a series of events repeated in the film.

When you knew what to look for, small mistakes that were not noticeable at first glance stand out more than usual. A slight shadow of boredom on the faces of the main ones. Lack of interest in the educational process and exams. As if only one “exam” was important in a bunch of exactly the same events. When the first years of Heartslabyul signed a contract with Ashengrotto.

With new information in mind, it became easier to identify important “events” and track time based on them. By how many times they were repeated in the endless flow of time. Taking notes and somehow recording data was more dangerous than you thought, all that was left was to come up with methods known to you alone. For example, in a dorm room on the bedside table there was a cluster of glasses, each containing specific color of pencils.

Did your roommates start to think you were weird and obsessed with order and cleanliness? Their right. You didn't care what they thought, besides, they would forget about it with the coming of a new day.

In order not to completely go crazy, you began to peer into the “faces” of other students, trying to spot at least a feature that distinguishes one from another. Either this world was too lazy, creating copy after copy in every dorm, or there was no point in trying. If you somehow came to terms with the feeling of the meaninglessness of what was happening, then the appearance of one student in several places at the same time still caused rejection.

Disgusting

If this world was someone’s experiment, then why were events cyclical? If this was a cage, then where was the exit. If this was a prison, then who was being held in it?

You made a mistake in observing a person without magic from another world. Trying to figure out whether Yuu's "world" was truly different or just as much a part of predestination as everything around. Was “Yuu” really the main one or just an extra? You could have sworn they didn't have a face. At least such clear features as all the main ones. Just as there was no character, how in each of the repeating events they could behave differently.

It was a breath of fresh air in the routine of never-ending study. The watching of the only part capable of changing in the world, subject to the same rules.

That's why, when one of the main ones suddenly approached you, you thought you were dreaming. Whether it was possible to fall asleep in the simulation was another question. Usually you went to bed, closed eyes, only to open them the next second to the sound of the alarm clock.

"Can I help you with something?" You smiled politely, but was it worth it? Could the main bunch distinguish between persons different from their privileged group.

Hunt. Was that his name? You weren't completely sure. He was part of something forbidden, something to be avoided at all costs. Part of the three “don’ts”: don’t look for information;don’t mention; don’t give yourself unnecessary temptations. Returning to the present moment, he just looked into your eyes with his constant smile, as if trying to find confirmation of something.

Like a true NPC, you continued to stand, frozen in one position and waiting for his answer. Until awareness came as abruptly as his appearance in principle. He looked straight into your eyes. Could he see your face the same way you saw it in the mirror? How long ago? Could the rest of the main ones see you too?

A billion questions were spinning in head at the same time as you tried to come up with a suitable excuse and reason to leave. The changes turned out to be too unexpected and frightening. Perhaps with the advent of a new “day” everything would return to normal.

“Is there a knight in the world who is not ready to devote all his deeds to one and only one, if this opens the veil of secrets at least a little? Will it allow him to find out what thoughts are spinning in head?”

It's a pity he was not a knight. Even though each word was pronounced with a special intonation, you only thought about how much water there was in his speech. Unfortunately, saying this out loud was an unaffordable luxury.

"..Is that so?"

“You are right, an étoile (star), I may be not one of their noble number, but even so I am not able to deny their order.” You let him continue, mentally counting down the minutes until the bell rang for lesson. “I may not have a sword in sheath, but It won`t change a way I live! Your smile can make my whole heart melt. There isn't lie in way I felt”

“I’m not good at poetry, but the rhyme is lame, Sir Hunt,” if it’s there.

“You’re right, writing poems is just one of my hobbies, to which I devote my few free leisure hours,” he continued, as if your words didn’t hurt him at all. “I hasten to assure you that there was no malicious intent in my actions. This modest hunter only wanted to greet a new connoisseur of everything beautiful and interesting."

No matter how much you hate beating around the bush, doubts creeping in from randomly thrown words. Sometimes the phrases spoken directly were the most frightening. However, not wanting to part with your role as an extra - which was burdensome, but at the same time giving a semblance of freedom - you continued to pretend to be an NPC.

"Should I congratulate you?.. Congratulations!" Any member of the film club would envy your feigned sincerity. A bell in three, two, "I don’t dare detain you any longer.”

The unsaid `like you would me` hung in the air. You had to hold out for the few remaining hours until the end. Fortunately, the main one did let you go, but smile, saying that its owner knew everything in the world, left an unpleasant aftertaste. One that your intuition suggested would accompany you for the next days.

It's going to be a very long a few hours.

[cinnonym]

help can someone find me this poem that is maybe called something like "lesbians by themselves" and the only part I remember is like "when we are by ourselves, we sit like this, or even

Like

This"

truly I am going feral trying to find this on this hopeless website, any help would be appreciated

[katt1e]

Finished I think! Not sure what else to put

I was gonna quote somthing but I forgor. Maybe I'll edit this later.

Aziraphales version:

EDIT:

I ALWAYS FORGET HIS FREAKING TATTO 😭

[bunffin]

Thoughts~

I thought it'd be fun to do mem cakes for a few characters so you guys can see how 8 currently views certain people

[buried-in-stardust]

Went to a hanfu tryout and fan painting event!

I tried on this Tang dynasty style hanfu, and although it was a bit too big for me and I could not get used to the sleeves (they kept getting caught on things), it was very fun!

I only wrote the date in the 干支 (ganzhi, 60 year cycle) format and my name (Feng **) because I wanted to write something but had no idea what to write. I was originally going to write in a more cursive style, but then I chickened out, so my writing looks like a little kid's here lmao.

(My phone camera's quality is shit, sorry)

[cosmicluvflwr]

i cant wait to kiss you. to hold your face in my hands. to feel your lips on mine. i want to drown myself into you. forget about the world and just focus on you.

[otiksimr]

A Duet, a Solo

Little bird,

Do you hear these songs I play for thee

Each little note

Every strumming of strings

Each and every one of them

Dedicated to you alone

Can you hear them

These string of keys

The responding sound of my heart

This noise dedicated to you

Little bird

Little bird

Silent as you are,

Once more

I long to hear your song

Will there ever be a day

That we will play together again

Little bird.

[kiisuuumii]

@kiisuuumii (and you come to mind)

[bumblingbabooshka]

I ! WANT ! TO HEAR ! VULCAN ! POETRY !

[yujeong]

Pete being sick with fever laying on Vegas' bed at the safehouse, Pete being delirious from it, Pete being asked to say more about himself by a curious Vegas who wants to find something to compare his worthless life to, to see if it could be any worse (to deflect, to escape), Pete resisting it until he can't, Pete telling Vegas stories of his past, of his younger self, of a scared boy thrown into the ring to fight, to win something he couldn't, Pete telling Vegas about his mother, the one he barely knew before she was taken from him, Pete telling Vegas about his father, about how he hit him when he lost and how he hit him when he won (those are the most difficult stories to tell), how different it felt, how unfair it was until it wasn't, until it was just something that happened, Pete telling Vegas how he got used to it, until he remembers he should twist the story somehow to make Vegas understand it's not his fault, because it's not Pete who sucks, it's his father who sucks, but he's sick with fever and he's tired, so the words are difficult to leave his mouth, Pete feeling shame and regret in sharing those hidden parts of himself, Vegas feeling shame and regret in pulling them out of Pete as if he's digging up a grave, but Pete gets worse before he gets better, and every night the cycle repeats.

[sondheim-girly]

I could write a sonnet about this photo