#Okay but that poem is perfect for her?

[cinnamon-flame]

Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight,

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have this wish I wish tonight.

I decided to draw more Starlight going mad with her animus powers, this time in a funky greyscale/color mix!

[crossbackpoke-check]

Why I Am Not Coming In To Work Today [abridged], Jess Zimmerman

part one | part two

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[amirasainz]

Do you know the video.of the little Asian girl crying because the school gave her so much homework and the dad comforting her?

Could you do one where it is Lewis and his little daughter. She arrives later to the race week with her Nanny and is crying because of homework. Lewis comforting her while also trying to hold his laughter. Can you also add George and the Mercedes team (maybe they are in a meeting?)

Thank youuuu❤️❤️

Ok, so because I am getting a lot of Lewis daughter requests, I finally gave her a name. Hailey Hamilton (super cute in my opinion)

Enjoy reading and send some requests

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

A father's comfort

The early morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the Mercedes team headquarters, casting a warm glow on the sleek, modern meeting room. Inside, the air was thick with the tension of strategy and the relentless pursuit of perfection. Lewis, flanked by Toto and George, was deep in conversation about the upcoming race weekend. They discussed tire strategies, car setups, and team dynamics, each voice blending into a symphony of high-pressure motorsport.

Suddenly, the meeting room door swung open with a loud thud, cutting through the serious atmosphere. All heads turned as a small figure burst into the room. It was Hailey, Lewis’s four-year-old daughter, her face streaked with tears, her bright pink backpack bouncing against her back. Her eyes widened when she spotted her father, and without hesitation, she ran straight into his arms.

“Daddy!” she cried, burying her face into his chest, her tiny body trembling with sobs. “I don’t want to do my homework! It’s too hard!”

Lewis’s heart melted as he enveloped her in his strong embrace, a protective barrier against the world’s worries. He glanced at Toto and George, whose expressions mirrored his surprise but quickly transformed into amusement. The rest of the team members looked on with a mix of sympathy and barely contained laughter.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweet pea,” Lewis said softly, holding her close. “What’s all this about homework?” He could feel her small frame shaking with every hiccup, and he fought to keep a straight face, finding it hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Hailey pulled back just enough to look up at him, her big brown eyes shimmering with tears. “I have to color two pages and remember a poem, but it’s too many things! I don’t want to!” she whimpered, her tiny hands clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“Homework can be tough, can’t it?” Lewis said, trying to soothe her with gentle words. “But I bet you can do it. You’re so smart, just like your daddy.” He glanced over at Toto, who nodded in agreement, a smile breaking through his usually stoic demeanor.

“I can help you with the coloring later, Hailey,” Toto added, leaning down to her level, his voice warm and inviting. “And the poem, too. What’s the poem about?”

Hailey sniffled, her little face scrunching up as she tried to remember. “It’s about a butterfly… it flutters and flies,” she mumbled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“That sounds beautiful!” George chimed in, crouching down beside her. “Butterflies are so pretty! Maybe you could draw a butterfly for your coloring pages. We can make it the biggest and best one ever!” He flashed her a bright smile, trying to distract her from her tears.

Hailey looked between her father and the two men, still clutching Lewis tightly. “But I just want to play! I don’t want to do homework!” she cried again, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I know, love,” Lewis said gently, his heart aching for her. “But what if we make a deal? If you finish your homework, we can go for ice cream after the race. How does that sound?” His voice was soothing, and he brushed her hair back from her forehead, trying to comfort her.

“Ice cream?” she repeated, her eyes lighting up slightly through the tears. “With sprinkles?”

“Of course! And chocolate sauce, if you want it,” Lewis promised, laughing softly now, his heart swelling at the sight of his little girl. “But first, we’ve got to tackle that homework, alright?”

“Okay…” she sniffled, her voice softening as she glanced around the room, taking in the chuckles from the team members who were trying unsuccessfully to maintain a professional demeanor. “But it’s still so hard!” she pouted, climbing onto Lewis's lap as he settled back into his chair.

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” he said, holding her close. “We can color one page together first, and then you can practice the poem. I’ll even help you memorize it! How does that sound?”

Hailey wiped her eyes on his shirt, her face lighting up just a bit at the thought of doing it with him. “You’ll help me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course, Hailey. I’m always here to help you, no matter what,” he assured her, holding her tighter. As he spoke, she rested her head against his chest, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Daddy?” she murmured sleepily, a hint of a smile appearing as she felt safe in his embrace.

“Yes, love?” he replied softly, gently stroking her back.

“Can we read a story after?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper now, fatigue washing over her.

“Absolutely. We’ll read as many stories as you want,” Lewis promised, smiling at her. “But first, we’ve got to get you to finish that homework, okay?”

Hailey didn’t respond; instead, she let out a small yawn and nuzzled into his chest, her small form relaxing against him. The room fell silent, the earlier tension replaced by the warm, tender moment unfolding between father and daughter.

The sight of Lewis holding his daughter, her little body curling up as she fell asleep, made the team erupt in laughter, the sound echoing off the walls. Even Toto struggled to maintain his composure, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“I think she’s out, Lewis,” Toto chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, I’d say we’ve officially lost her to the nap,” George added, unable to hide his smile. “What a way to end the meeting!”

Lewis looked down at his daughter, her peaceful face nestled against him, and couldn’t help but laugh himself. “Guess I’m going to have to finish that homework for her,” he said, his voice light with amusement. “But I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.”

As the laughter continued to bounce around the room, Lewis sat quietly with Hailey, knowing that despite the chaos of the race weekend, there was nothing more important than these little moments with his daughter.

[hypnagogics]

https://www.tumblr.com/plutolovesyou/755080548722081793/do-you-think-ellie-would-be-more-a-strap?source=share

this with abby PLZZ

ellie version. dina version. your wish is my command ♡ smutty yap ahead! ++ lil bonus scenario under the cut: just like before, abby loves it all. she loves you and your body, and making you see stars any and every way she can. ima gloss over the other ways because i'd rather write full fics about em ;) but one method rises above the others, in my opinion. i think abby would be a fiend for fingering.

i think she'd be quite visual, and what gives her a better view than this—stuffing her thick fingers inside your pussy, watching you fall apart on nothing more than a few of her digits working diligently to bring you a world of pleasure. she'd love watching the fluids leak out of you and soak her hand, occasionally pulling her fingers free to stretch them apart, and admire the shiny webs of slick that have been created. and we simply can't forget the praises that would fall from her lips the whole time, when she's not completely hypnotized that is.

"look at that...takin' me so well, so well, baby." she's sitting there in awe at the way you're swallowing her up so perfectly, the unforgiving pace of her pounding in and out rendering you an utter mess. your broken mewls, sharp gasps and intakes of air when she curls her fingers skyward juuuust right, pleas for more and lewd poems of her name, combined with the soaked squelching sounds of her ministrations curated a soundscape that was straight (heh, not!) out of her fantasies. she wouldn't stop to give either one of you a break, and would go on for ages, thanks to all the exercises she does—incorporating special hand and arm workouts into her routine for this very purpose.

and if your brain wasn't a fucked out pile of goop, you'd prop yourself up to watch her gorgeously toned arms flex and ripple at her movements, which made the experience even better. plus, because she's such a huge fan of feeling you around her fingers like this, over time she has grown to recognize what every little squirt, squeeze, and flutter of your squishy walls meant, and she'd move her thumb to circle your swollen clit to increase intensity of it all. when the peak approaches, she'd continue what she was doing until you're bordering on tears from the overwhelming sensations, talking you through every moment. "that's it, yeah. let go for me, cmon. give it to me- fuck, so perfect..." only when you were trembling and truly couldn't take any more, she'd let up, eyes sparkling while she's examining her handiwork (LMAO) then she sticks her fingers in her mouth to lick them clean, sucking up every drop and sighing at the taste, her blue eyes closing in pure bliss.

bonus: same thing as last time, something that isn't one of the three mentioned but i think she's obsessed with, is thigh riding. hell, even ab riding. dare i even mention dove fucking...? because her physique is so powerful and beloved by you, she would love watching you grind on her taught muscles desperately—however way, whether you were riding her flexed thigh like a rodeo, or straddling her 6-pack, bracing yourself on her broad shoulders, humping her skin until there was cum all over her and dripping onto the sheets. sometimes she'd take her strong hands to your hips and waist to guide you, pulling you in, pushing you down harder against her until your hips stuttered, but other times she'd lazily cross her arms behind her head, lay back and enjoy the show. she'd love watching you rut up and down, rolling your heat on her frantically in all directions, huffing and puffing until you're so close, yet so tired and whining miserably. she would help you out of course, but not before muttering, "go on, keep going baby, doing so well." until you eventually did it, and collapsed on top of her, and she wrapped you in a warm embrace. OKAY GODDAMN THE OTHER ONE WAS LIKE A THIRD OF THIS LENGTH LAWRD...

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 9 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: After Anna joins him for dinner, Bob knows he needs to accept that they really are just friends. Even though her kisses are perfection. Even though he's falling in love. But what's going to stop Anna when she realizes Bob's poems are very familiar to her?

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, Bob in gray sweatpants, eventually 18+

Length: 5700 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

Bob couldn't imagine a world in which he'd go to this much trouble to make the perfect dinner for a woman who he was falling in love with, only to hear her say the words just friends. But apparently it was the world he was living in, because he spent days comparing recipes from both Bradley and Jake, hoping to make something that Anna would find irresistible.

"You should make my lasagna," Jake said for the tenth time at work on Friday morning.

Bradley snorted. "Great idea, as long as you never want to see her again. Make my homemade pasta," he told Bob. "I already gave you the recipe."

Bob just kept nodding and agreeing with whatever they said, hoping they'd eventually be quiet. Anna was coming over tonight, and he still didn't have a solid plan in mind beyond trying to convince her he'd be worth her time. That it was okay to be more than friends.

While the guys argued, Bob got himself ready to get in the air with Phoenix. He must have looked flustered, because she rubbed her thumb gently across the back of his hand when he stood next to her in the hangar. "You seem nervous. Are you still trying to figure out what to make for dinner?"

"Yeah," he replied quietly.

"Oh, Bob. She's not going to care what you make. It could be a grilled cheese sandwich."

"I always burn those," he said with a small smile. "I just feel like this is pointless. I invited her over anyway even though I know she just wants to be friends, but I'm still standing here hoping for more. I shouldn't be doing this, even if we did makeout in her office."

Nat sighed and asked, "Do you want my grandma's recipe for bruschetta chicken? You liked it when you tried it at her house last summer, and it's not that hard to make."

His eyes lit up. "Please." 

He'd only have a little bit of time to himself to prepare the meal and cook it before Anna came over, and he listened as Nat called her grandma and asked her to send it over. Before they were even called out of the hangar to start the day, he had a photo of the handwritten recipe in his phone.

"Nat, you're a lifesaver."

"Just save me some of the leftovers."

--------------------------

Friday was going so well for Anna, she almost forgot to be nervous about dinner. She met with the dean to discuss how her classes were going, and he even brought up the word tenure which sent her into a giddy spiral where she treated herself to a candy bar from the vending machine which she couldn't really afford. She carried it out to eat lunch in the quad with her friends along with her regular, uninspired sandwich and ginger ale.

She hadn't mentioned a word about going to Bob's house for dinner, but she was absolutely certain both ladies knew about it. She almost found it comical the way they were trying to get her to say something about it, but Jessica was clearly ready to boil over.

"Hi," Anna greeted, biting into her Snickers bar as she settled on the bench between them. Advanced Calculus casually offered her some carrots and hummus while Jessica's cheeks started to grow a furious shade of pink. 

"When were you going to tell us Bob invited you over for dinner tonight?" she exclaimed. 

Anna shrugged and said, "I was probably just going to tell you about it on Monday since it's nothing because we are just friends. It's only as exciting as it would be if I went over to your place for dinner."

"That's exciting, too!" Jessica said. "You should absolutely come over for dinner! But you're wrong, because it's not as exciting as Bob cooking dinner for you!"

"Jess. Chill out," came the voice from Anna's other side. "She'll learn soon enough that dinner cooked by one of the Top Gun boys is essentially a marriage proposal on a plate. A very sexy and delicious marriage proposal. You and he will be sleeping together in no time."

Anna chewed up the last bite of her Snickers and shook her head. "You're both wrong. Bob and I are just friends. The dinner means nothing, and we're not going to sleep together."

"Oh, please!" Jessica was back to practically shouting now. "If you think he's actually okay with all the making out, then you've lost your mind. He doesn't want it to be meaningless. He likes you."

Anna looked at her feet. "I know he does. I like him too."

"Then stop stringing him along! I don't understand what the problem is here, Anna."

She sat quietly now, no longer feeling so great as she picked at her sandwich.

"Hey, I know Jess sounds like an excitable terrier, but maybe you need a little tough love," Advanced Calculus said as she dipped a carrot into the hummus. "You can talk to us, you know. You can tell us what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," Anna whispered as her mind flooded with thoughts of Kevin and what he might be up to at the moment. 

Jess took a deep calming breath before she said, "There's just no good reason to put your dream man in the friend zone. And don't even try to lie and say Bob Floyd isn't perfection."

"He is," Anna whispered. Other than her infatuation with Sky Writing, Bob was the closest thing to a dream come true that she'd ever encountered before. But she did have her reasons, and she was too embarrassed to talk about it out loud. She was certain that Jess already knew her current financial state was in ruins, and it might be nice to have her friends understand where she was coming from, but she didn't want them to pity her. That was the last thing she needed right now. "You know what, I think I'm going to get ready for my next lecture."

She was on her feet and rushing away as her friends called after her, but she didn't stop walking until she reached her office. She was not going to cry over this, and she definitely didn't want to cancel on Bob. The only thing she could do to calm down was look at all of the books on her shelves, letting her gaze glide over the colorful spines. Then she read the note from Bob that was tucked in her copy of Papillon.

Freedom would feel like being so in love, you'd willingly let another person lock you to their side.

-------------------------------

Bob had a fully stocked kitchen filled with a nice set of pots and pans and sharp knives and anything else he could possibly want, but right now, it was like he'd never cooked anything before in his life. Nat's grandmother actually had atrocious handwriting, and he could barely make out the measurements in the photo he had to work with.

"Basil," he muttered to himself, grabbing the leafy greens from the cutting board and wondering why it looked like he was supposed to use three cups of them. "I didn't even buy that much!"

He took a deep breath and walked around his kitchen, trying to clear his head. Anna was going to grab an Uber. She would be arriving in about an hour with wine and dessert. He wanted to feed her the most delicious meal he could muster, but right now he was just looking at the chicken breast on the plate in front of him like he'd never seen food before.

And he just knew Jake and Bradley never had to work this hard for a woman in their lives. Jake could rely mostly on his looks if he wanted to, and Bradley was the luckiest person he knew, reuniting with the love of his life after ten years and getting married approximately a day later. "No," he whispered, "that's not fair to them." He knew he was wrong. He knew both of them worked to get where they ended up, and he shouldn't be putting himself down so much. 

He glared at the chicken and picked up a knife. "This is fine. No problem." He had to fudge some of the measurements which made no sense, and he'd suggest to Nat that maybe her grandmother should take an eye exam, but the recipe really wasn't too terribly hard. Soon he had the browned chicken in the oven, and he set to work on the bruschetta topping and started boiling some water for the pasta. He was just adding another tablespoon of balsamic vinegar to the tomatoes and basil when he heard Anna's beautiful laughter.

Bob nearly knocked the bowl to the floor in his haste to get to her. After grabbing a dish towel for his hands, he rushed toward his front door and saw her on his porch. She was wearing a little sundress that he'd seen her in before with her worn out denim jacket over it, and he froze a few feet inside his screen door just so he could look at her. She was juggling a shopping bag and a bottle of wine, and that's when he realized she was talking to Suzanne.

"Oh, no, I'm not in the Navy," she was saying as she tossed her beautiful, red hair over her shoulder. "I'm a professor at San Diego State University. My name's Anna."

She stretched her hand out, and then Bob heard Suzanne's voice. "I'm Suzanne, and that's my cat, Sylvester. I must say, I had no idea Robert got himself a girlfriend. And such a pretty one!"

He desperately wanted to interrupt their conversation before he could hear what Anna's response was going to be, but he just couldn't. She was standing there in the last rays of the setting sun, blushing as she said, "Bob and I are actually just friends. Just good friends."

There was a beat of silence before Suzanne laughed. "Have you seen him? And he's even sweeter than he is handsome!"

Anna was laughing nervously, and Bob's heart was pounding, but he opened the screen door to bail her out anyway. "Hey," he greeted as naturally as he could, and then Anna's apprehensive gaze met his. God, all he wanted to do was drag her inside, push her up against his living room wall and kiss until she realized he wasn't going to hurt her.

"Bob," she whispered, taking a small step in his direction. Her eyes were wide and perceptive, like she could read his every thought on his face. She cleared her throat and said, "I brought wine and some cookies."

Helpless to do much of anything else, he smiled at her. "Dinner's almost ready." Then he leaned further out the door and said, "Hi, Suzanne."

His next door neighbor looked delighted as she glanced between him and Anna. "I was just talking to your charming friend here, Robert. Cooking dinner for someone certainly sounds romantic to me."

Bob was gripping the door frame as he watched Anna's face fill with panic. Then she blurted out, "Why doesn't Suzanne join us?"

-------------------------------

The only thing Anna could think to do was sabotage the dinner she'd been looking forward to all week. She watched Bob's face fall slightly as he realized she invited his next door neighbor to join them for a very platonic dinner. And since Bob was the sweetest man Anna had ever met, he recovered immediately, turned to Suzanne and said, "You're more than welcome."

Ten minutes later, Bob was opening the bottle of cheap wine she'd brought while Anna watched the veins in his hands. He was graceful and lovely, and Suzanne was talking nonstop as he poured three glasses. She had nobody to blame but herself for inviting a third wheel along. The older woman was really more of a safety net. Someone to prevent Anna from kissing Bob. Someone to stop her from falling completely in love with him.

The whole house smelled amazing, and she knew this dinner was supposed to be just for her. She hadn't eaten a real meal like this, other than at the cookout, in months and months. The first bite of chicken, bruschetta and pasta was delicious enough that she moaned softly. Bob watched her take a second bite, and it was incredible. The third bite left her staring at him in wonder.

"You're the best cook in the world," Anna informed him, cutting across Suzanne talking about her cat. She didn't even care if she was being rude, the food was perfect. And it would have somehow been even better if the two of them were alone.

Bob blushed and took a sip of the wine that Anna wished was better than it was. "Thanks. Uh, it was a new recipe. I've never made it before tonight."

Suzanne took a bite and said, "Robert is an excellent cook and a real gentleman. He always makes sure I have groceries, and he picks up a little something for me if he gets dinner on his way home from work."

As Bob's cheeks grew redder, Anna's heart beat faster. "A real gentleman," she echoed, knowing he'd take care of anyone who needed something.

"Yes," Suzanne said. "You don't see many of them around. Never seen many myself."

Neither had Anna, and after she blew her life to bits, she'd probably never see one again. She listened to Bob and Suzanne talk about their favorite game shows, and she cleaned her plate before either of them had finished. All of the toast and sad sandwiches she'd been eating weren't really cutting it, and she knew that. She also didn't want to get another piece of chicken and seem like a mooch.

"Can I get you more?" Bob asked as he stood on the opposite side of the table in his worn jeans and snug white shirt. "There's plenty left."

Anna shook her head, but he reached for her plate anyway. While he was in the kitchen, Suzanne quickly finished eating and downed the rest of her wine. Softly, just for Anna to hear, she said, "He is a very nice man. I hope I see you around here in a less friendly capacity." Then she called out, "Robert? I need to go. I hear Sylvester outside bugging for food. Thanks for dinner, and enjoy your evening."

"Night, Suzanne," he replied, and the older woman bustled off without another word, leaving Anna alone with Bob when he returned with two plates refilled with food. "She's a character."

Anna laughed, but she could tell Bob was hesitant to say too much now. Probably because she'd dashed the mood in the first place. "I'm sorry I suggested she join us," she told him sincerely, shaking her head. "All week long, I'd been looking forward to talking about books with you." 

As she poked at her chicken, afraid of what he was going to say, he said, "Once you finish eating, I could show you my books. I don't have as many as you do, but maybe there's something you'd like to borrow in the mix. And then I'll drive you home."

"I can get an Uber," she insisted, taking another bite of the perfectly cooked dinner. 

"And I can just as easily drive you."

He was a gentleman. She wasn't going to leave here in an Uber no matter what she said. "Alright."

----------------------------

"You have books in every room!" Anna exclaimed as she walked around his house nibbling on a cookie. The wine she brought was kind of terrible, and so were the grocery store cookies, but Bob didn't mind. She ate two full plates of the dinner he cooked, and now that Suzanne was gone, she seemed more herself.

"I have a system," he insisted as she sat down on his living room floor to inspect a stack of paperbacks.

"I'm not buying it," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Try me. The living room is poetry. The extra bedroom is mysteries. The dining room is true crime."

"What's in your bedroom?" she asked, flipping through a collection by Robert Frost.

Bob wanted to tell her that his bedroom was where he wrote his own poetry. And that they had begun to turn into a collection all about her. "Romance," he said.

She laughed softly, such a pretty sound. "I'm assuming you don't have any Vonnegut? No soul massacring, unhappy endings?"

"None," he promised. "You won't find any of those around here."

She was skimming a page as she muttered, "Good. I've had enough of that anyway." Then she stood and carried the Frost poems to another small pile on his coffee table. She rooted around and pulled out a volume by Walt Whitman before asking, "Could I borrow these two?"

Bob was admiring how perfect she looked in his house when she met his eyes with her pretty brown ones. "Of course," he said, dropping down onto the couch as he finished his own cookie. "Anything you want."

She stood and carried the books over to her purse before sitting down a few feet away from him. "What I want is to help you organize your books for real. Have you ever heard of a bookshelf before?"

"Never," he replied innocently. "What's that?"

She laughed and scooted a little closer. "You know those big, wooden things that were holding all the books when we met at that store in North Park? Remember that day?"

He knew she was just joking around, but as he memorized the pattern of her freckles, he said, "I will never forget that day."

Once again, Anna initiated the kiss, and once again, Bob was helpless to pump the brakes. She leaned in close with her hand on his knee and brushed her lips against his. It was so sweet, he was almost able to ask her to stop. Even though it felt too good, he was nearly able to tell her he couldn't do this. But being tortured was worth it. That was the worst part.

He let her do what she wanted, and her soft hands found their way to his face, knocking his glasses askew on their way into his hair. He wanted to touch her, but he was afraid he'd lose himself in these kisses that meant so much more to him than they did to her. He counted to ten slowly in his mind, savoring every touch and taste, letting Anna settle against his thigh. Then he broke the kiss, leaving her hovering there, surprise on her face.

She pressed her lips together, and turned her face toward his front door. "I'll never forget that day either."

He nodded as her hands fell away from his hair and his face, and he whispered, "Grab the books you want to borrow, and I'll drive you home."

----------------------------

"He's a gentleman," Anna groaned in her bed on the floor of her tiny apartment the following morning. It was Saturday, and she didn't have much she needed to accomplish today which would leave her plenty of time to think about the drive home in Bob's truck and the way he walked her to her door. She didn't kiss him again, but he always seemed to be close enough that she could feel his body heat in the chilly night air. Even now, when she grabbed at some strands of her hair, she swore she could still smell his fresh scent there.

She needed to get out. She grabbed her phone and took the longest walk imaginable. Her legs were burning by the time she stopped in a corner store for something to eat for lunch, but the sandwich was almost as bad as the ones she had been making for herself. Nothing would be as good as what Bob cooked, and he served it up last night like it was no big deal at all.

As Anna started the long walk back to her apartment, she groaned while she blasted her music. She had invited his elderly neighbor to join them for dinner, and then she had kissed him again. She was so embarrassing. She'd never been like this when she was in New Jersey, never doing the most mortifying things over and over. 

She didn't go home for a long time. She walked through an enormous park and looked at a fountain while she daydreamed about all of her unfinished manuscripts. When that started to hurt too much, she watched the storm clouds that were rolling in from the coast and thought it might be nice to get soaking wet. Then a few fat raindrops started to hit her face as she realized that she wouldn't be able to replace her phone if it got destroyed. 

"Damn it," she muttered, starting to run through the park under the cover of the trees. The sky was quickly getting darker as she tried to stay under awnings and overhangs as much as possible until she reached her apartment building. Her clothing was soaked, but her phone was still in working order when she ran inside, dripping all over the welcome mat in the small entryway.

She desperately wanted to cry, but that wouldn't solve anything, so she took a long shower instead. She washed and braided her hair, and then she painted her nails. When she finally picked up her phone again, she had a new message from Bob.

Bob Floyd: Taking your advice and buying one of those bookshelves? Was that what they were called? Which one do you think is better?

He had attached two screenshots of nice looking shelves from Ikea that she'd never be able to afford at the moment. She smiled as she typed back to him while she heated up a can of soup for dinner.

Yes, they are called bookshelves. Are you sure you know how to use them? I like the navy blue one better.

The flavorless chicken noodle soup went well with Anna's mood as she sat on the floor and watched a show on her phone. Part of her wanted to know what her friends were up to, but she didn't want to have to tell them about last night. She knew Bob and Jess would be going out to play Dungeons & Dragons soon anyway, but she dropped her spoon in the bowl when Bob wrote back again.

Bob Floyd: I think I'll pick it up tomorrow and make it my rainy Sunday project. Feel like helping me build it?

"Oh, Anna. Don't."

-------------------------------

Bob pulled up to Anna's building on Sunday afternoon after stopping to pick up the shelf. It had been pouring rain since last night, and he had to wrap his new furniture box in a tarp to protect it in the bed of his truck. But this would be a great way to spend the afternoon. He could make two cups of tea, and she could help him organize his books. They didn't need to kiss anymore. He would see to it that they didn't. He could handle this whole thing without issue.

He left his truck idling at the curb, and Anna came running outside like she'd been waiting for him. He grabbed his umbrella and met her halfway, shouting, "I was going to walk up and get you!" over the sound of the rain. She joined him under the umbrella, her denim jacket pretty wet as she shrugged.

"The rain's okay. It reminds me of New Jersey."

Once he opened the door and helped her scramble in, he ran around to the other side of the truck. He was barely able to find a dry spot on his shirt so he could wipe off his glasses, and when he yanked the hem up, he could feel Anna's eyes on his body. There was no sense in feeling self conscious about the way he looked now, because nothing else was going to happen. Last night had to be the end of that.

"You ready?" he asked, cranking the key in the ignition when she nodded. His wipers were going full speed as he drove her back to his house for the second visit in one weekend. "Thanks for helping with this. I kind of realized that having everything on one big shelf makes more sense. Especially if I keep borrowing books from you."

Her laugh was soft as she said, "If you don't borrow my books, then nobody will."

"Same goes for mine," he replied easily as he headed toward the beach. "But don't you dare dog ear my pages."

Now she laughed louder. "I read most of Whitman last night before I fell asleep, and there's nary a bent page in sight."

"That's what I like to hear." When he pulled up in front of his house, he handed her the umbrella and his keys. "Go ahead and let yourself in, and I'll unload the box."

She just gaped at him in response and asked, "Don't you need help carrying it?"

"Nah," he replied, popping his door open, "I can get it."

Bob struggled a little bit with the tarp before sliding the massive box closer to the edge of the truck tailgate. Every movement was made slower by the pounding rain in his face, but he managed to tip it into his arms. It was heavy, but not too bad, and his grip on the wet cardboard was good enough for him to get it inside the house. Anna was standing on the porch, holding open his screen door with the umbrella folded up at her feet, and he accidentally brushed against her with his arm as he maneuvered himself through the door.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, her voice a little breathy as she let the screen door close and helped him prop the box against the wall. "This is massive."

"I guess now I can buy more books," he said with his hands on his hips while he dripped all over the place. "I'm going to get changed quickly, and then we can build the shelf and organize it, and then I'll make dinner."

Her eyes lit up. "You'll make dinner again?"

"Yeah. I was going to see if I can attempt a grilled cheese without burning it. I'll be right back." And then he headed upstairs to his bedroom where he had clean undershirts, some sweatpants and all of his favorite books.

---------------------------

Anna was halfway through unboxing and organizing the shelf pieces on the floor when Bob walked back downstairs. She'd removed her denim jacket, and her leggings and tank top were mostly dry, and she'd settled on the floor with the instruction book. "It looks like we'll need a screwdriver or a drill...." 

Her sentence tapered off when she looked up at Bob just casually standing there in one of his white shirts and a pair of gray sweatpants and neatly combed, damp hair. The ability to speak escaped her.

"I can grab my toolbox," he told her, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants before disappearing toward the kitchen. She needed to lie down. She stretched out on the floor and stared at the ceiling as rain pelted the window next to her. 

"Oh my god," she whispered before biting down on her lip. She wanted him. She liked every damn thing about him, and then he had to look and smell and sound so good on top of it all. The Walt Whitman poems weren't the only thing she had read last night. Sky Writing's words from her favorite poems were also in her mind, and she couldn't shake them. Anna had just rolled into her side, staring at the instructions without actually seeing them, when he walked back in. 

"Are you okay?"

"Great," she said, voice raspy. She was in fact not great. She was the opposite of great. When Bob handed her the toolbox and said he was going to make two mugs of tea, she took the time to pull herself together. Sweaty palms glided along her leggings, and she read the instructions through. It seemed simple enough, and she had the hardware in order by the time Bob returned with two steaming mugs.

"Thanks," she whispered as he settled onto the floor next to her. She knew this was how good things would be if she could date Bob. Hot tea and homemade meals and someone around who loved books. "You're really sweet."

He didn't say anything as he sipped his tea, so Anna did the same. It was raining so hard, she couldn't tell if what she heard was thunder or not, but inside Bob's house, everything was warm and cozy. "Let's get started," he finally said, leaning in front of her to set his mug on the windowsill.

They spoke quietly, mostly about the shelf, while she handed him hardware and tools. Anna found herself distracted as she watched his hair dry and lighten in color as they worked together. Every bump of his muscular arm against hers felt intentional, but she couldn't tell for sure, and she was too afraid to ruin this friendship beyond repair. Especially after what her friends had told her at lunch on Friday.

"I need the screwdriver," he said, bumping her gently with his elbow as he held two perpendicular pieces of wood in place. 

"I can get it," she replied, finally refocused on the task before her. "I'll screw it in." She tried to reach in front of him, but he was too tall. When he moved his arms a little further apart, she popped up between them so she was standing between his body and the shelf. "I'll only take a second."

She could feel Bob's warm breath against her ear, and all he could think was that she would fit perfectly in his arms if he decided to just drop what he was holding and wrap them around her instead. "Take your time," he murmured, because of course his arms wouldn't get tired in this position. She fumbled the screw. His body was immaculate, and it was all she could think about as he exhaled and tickled her hair.

"I'm trying," she whispered, fumbling the screw again. Finally she had it in place, and Bob released the shelf, but he didn't move away from her.

"Think you can screw the last two in as well? Then we'll be done."

She nodded and decided to go slower, savor this tiny bit of intimacy and pretend he was hers. Then it was done.

"It looks good."

She barely had to turn to look at him over her shoulder. "It's a nice shelf. How do you want to arrange your books?"

He was still standing close as he said, "Poetry on the top? Since it's my favorite?"

"Yeah," she told him with a laugh. "Banish it to the top where nobody but you can reach it."

He cocked his head and leaned in closer. "Are you insulting the poetry or commenting on my height?"

"A bit of both," she replied right away. The living was darker now from the storm and from the time of day, but she could see his smile perfectly. 

"Come on, Anna. We both know you love the poetry. You borrowed two volumes the other day."

She only hummed in response before ducking away from him and reaching for a stack of his books. She handed them to him one at a time, commenting on them like she was giving each a bad review. "Oh, this one is too flowery. Too many words and no substance." She handed him another after he shelved the first one. "This author put all their best works at the beginning of the collection. The second half is terrible."

Bob chuckled as she picked up a book that she knew was a favorite of his. "Hey, you better watch what you say about that one."

She waved it in the air, unable to reach the top shelf, and he snatched it out of her hand. "I'm going to be brutally honest," she said softly, and Bob's hand rested on her back almost like a warning. "I loved it."

He smiled and let his fingers trail along her back as he nodded toward the stairs. "Want to help me tackle the mystery books in the extra bedroom?"

"Sure," she told him, leading the way to the steps. "But first, you have to tell me why you like poetry so much."

"What's not to like?" he replied as she started up. "All of the emotions are there. You're allowed to write about any combination of emotions that you're feeling at any given time. And I think that's pretty cool."

Anna's steps slowed a little as she considered his words. "Write?" she asked, turning to look back at him as he made his way up behind her. "Did you say write?"

"Uh. I did. Yeah."

Truly, she loved reading poetry, but she didn't have much of a knack for writing it. She didn't even think she was good enough for PoetsAmongUs. "What's something you've written?"

Bob laughed, and Anna stumbled on the top step as he said, "Just some amateur gibberish like, 'Devotion woven into every breath I take. Love that knows no boundaries, no end.' Nothing amazing."

She gripped the banister to keep herself upright, and then she spun and sat down hard on the top step. Suddenly she felt like she couldn't breathe. She knew those words intimately. She knew the whole fucking poem by heart. She knew everything else he had written as well, because she'd been reading his poetry for years.

"Bob," she croaked, and he rushed toward her, hands gentle on her ankle and leg.

"Are you okay? Did you twist it?"

"Bob," she gasped, reaching for the front of his undershirt and pulling him closer so he was focused on her face. "You're Sky Writing."

--------------------------

BOB IS SKY WRITING, ANNA. What the hell are you going to do now, babe? Please, make good choices. Thank you @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 10

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[c00kiesandcream]

just thinking about how Reth is obsessed with soup, which is such a wholesome hearty comfort food, that you often give to people when they're sick, because the only real way he could guarantee that his sister was okay growing up was to give her comfort food that he learnt to make from his dad from a young age. how that wasn't quite enough, and now he's permanently marked with a reminder that he was simply not good enough at anything he'd ever really tried before.

how his dad would have probably supported his dreams of being a chef, if he'd actually been honest with them from the beginning and not just done what was expected of him, especially when Tish got sick and she couldn't take their family's path herself, because he was always going to set himself on fire to keep his village warm

and how he gifts you so. much. food. when he fucks up, when he's happy, when he wants to flirt back at you. how his pet name for you is "sweet tooth" and how he compliments how sweet and tasty you are, because the highest form of love in his life was in the meals he shared with his family, the scraps he threw together to keep Tish fed, the times with his dad making impossibly tall berry-laden cakes for birthdays and holidays and Wednesdays.

how the fiteenth time he gave you a new soup you ate it all like it was the first, even if it was an experimental stew, and even if he knows you hated every mouthful, he has to hide his face, because he doesn't want to show you how much it means to him that you indulge his passion, and how this feeling carries him through every gentle complaint from Ashura and every mocking jab from Tish because you let him share this with you and you never once judged him for his love of stewed veggies and spices. he tries to goad you into mockery but you refuse to laugh at someone who cares enough about something to consider every possible angle involved in it's creation.

and how the further you push yourself into his life, no matter how many times he tells you he will disappoint you and let you down, he's broken when he does. the words he blurts out when you have to go betraying the image of the cool guy who invited you into his storeroom crumbling when he admits that he hopes you don't realise you made a mistake. you stay with him to show him that you meant what you said when you gave him your pin.

how he tells you that he sucks with words, and he always says the wrong thing, or how he would write you a poem but he likes you too much, but then he hands you a gorgeous blueberry pie, hand rolled and woven and sweet and perfect, and every bite tastes like gentle hands chilled to keep the butter cool, the gentle simmer of the berries in sugar, the sharp sting of chopped spice sprouts, and the patient eyes of the chef who never stops running around, sat for once in front of the oven, watching the pastry puff to perfection because he loves you and knows that despite his best efforts he can sometimes burn the edges.

yes healthy + normal enjoyment of a video game here

[trashywritestrash]

Short and Sweet

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Word Count: 853

Warnings: Best friend’s brother— is that a warning? This is just a short lil thing for Valentine’s Day

A/N: The poem and response in this came from Thomas Richardson’s “Gentleman’s Valentine Writer” which wasn’t actually published until 1828 but I needed ideas, okay? Also, I wrote this when Bridgerton was still the lead in the poll lol

Living beside the Bridgerton household had many advantages. Being close in age to Daphne gave you the perfect excuse to spend time with her. However, spending time with Daphne meant also spending time with the rest of her family, which allowed you to form a close bond with them all. One Bridgerton in particular being Benedict.

Benedict was a few years older than you, but within a perfectly reasonable range that made it acceptable for you to fancy him. How could you not? He was sweet and sensitive, but he had a playful side that brought joy any time you were fortunate enough to witness it. Although, you never dared to dream that Benedict might return your affections. You were the best friend of his younger sister, surely he would not think of you in that way.

Initially, you had been excited to be presented before the queen and sent out into society. But while Daphne had been deemed the season's incomparable, you had fallen into her shadow. You were happy to see your friend receive many visitors and gifts, but some days it would hurt to see a line of men outside her door while you waited in an empty sitting room.

Waking on Valentine's Day brought nothing but sorrow. It was only one month into the social season and you already felt that you were destined to become an old spinster. With no prospective husbands in sight, you would likely have to face a second season. You did not expect that you would receive any callers that day, yet you waited in your sitting room in a fine dress, as you did every other day. Your mother sat in a chair at the far end of the room, leisurely reading until something would happen.

Early into the day, your butler entered the room with a calling card in hand, "A Mister Bridgerton is here to call upon Miss Y/L/N."

"Send him in," You replied, feeling your chest constrict. It was possible that one of Daphne's brothers had come to pass along a message for her, but a gentleman visiting while you were accepting callers still brought you a shred of hope.

Moments later, you saw Benedict step through the doorway, holding something behind his back. He smiled, "I see I have gotten here before the rest."

You returned his smile, nervous, yet calmed by his presence. "I think you will find that the gentlemen are coming to your door today, not mine."

"Then they are fools and I am lucky to have you all to myself."

"What can I do for you, Benedict? I find it hard to believe you would be here as a suitor." You spoke the words in jest, but felt your throat tighten as you said them all the same.

Benedict's smile fell into confusion, "What is so hard to believe about that?"

Taken aback by the genuine confusion in his tone, you clarified, "I only mean to say that I would not have expected it."

"If that is the case, I hope that you find this to be a good surprise," For just a moment, you heard a bit of nerves in his voice as he tried to present a confident image. "Unfortunately, I cannot stay long. But I wanted to bring you these and to officially declare my affection."

Finally, Benedict moved the hand behind his back to reveal a beautiful bouquet of morning glory and myrtle. You smiled wide at the sight, "Thank you, Benedict. They're lovely."

Shortly after, Benedict had to take his leave, although he promised to come back the following day. Once he had left, you reached for a book on the language of flowers. You found that morning glories are used to represent affection, meanwhile myrtle is used to represent love and marriage. Learning that brought a blush to your cheeks, finding the meaning to be a little bold, but not unpleasant.

It was then that you noticed a small folded piece of parchment beside the flowers. When you unfolded the paper, you could see the painted design done in watercolors. A man and a woman stood beneath a tree, which was situated between a lovely cottage and a church. The image was small, but you could tell that the couple was you and Benedict. On the other side of the parchment was a simple note.

I boast not eloquence, dear Miss, Nor do I write exceedingly fine; Therefore, I bluntly ask you this-- Pray, will you be my Valentine?

As you looked down at the note, you felt your heart swell. You held it close to your chest, feeling as if you could burst from happiness at any moment. Your mother then looked up from her book. "What is that, dear?"

"It is nothing!" You responded quickly. Luckily, your mother did not push the issue further.

That night, you folded the note once more and placed it in the drawer of the nightstand beside your bed. As you attempted to fall asleep, all you could think of was that you could not wait to see Benedict again.

----------

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[martuzzio]

HERMITCRAFT CATCHPHRASES

Hi, here's a (hopefully comprehensive) reference list of hermit catchphrases! The main goal here is to help writers and artists who (like me) might struggle with getting the characterization of some hermits right. Check out more info at the end of the post!

Note: this list updates a lot whenever I get new suggestions, which means reblogs aren't always fully accurate. I've linked this post to the top of my blog so it's easy to access the most recent version :)

Bdubs Shreep / uh-oh, gotta shreep! Crastle I love ya to death It’s gorgee Beyootiful Uh oh! Hell’s blazes! Hawsies YOU'LL SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO! Shuddup! Judas priest! Bdubs' PERFECT REDSTONE!! What in the world! Holy cow! Nuh-uh! Hoimycraaaaaf Whimsy Trying my heart out

Beef EEskall That was my nickname in college! Nailed it! Dangit! Beefy Tunes Smelly Etho Opulent Etho? Oh, yeah, I own him Eyy, I go up and I go down. Ladders! / Eyy, ladders! Beef taught Etho about redstone Oh my goodness! Oh boy! What the heck Oh, baby! Quote unquote A ton of __

Cleo Class dismissed! I don’t need your stinky torches I will break your legs Trash is fish The answer to everything is leather pants Not because it’s the sand castle you deserve, but it’s the sand castle I need! What did you do, Joe…. It's FINE, everything's FINE Lovely Silly I mean... Not gonna lie... To be fair...

Cub DA CREAMADA CROP Alright guys Nice, nice Ladies and gentlemen / ladies and gentlemen, we got ‘em Eeeeasy money Beautiful, absolutely beautiful Mmmmmhmmmmmm Holy smokes Let's goooo! Sweet Oh, baby! Man, oh man Without further ado Peace out Cheers / cheers, man There's some heat coming off that thing

Doc Are you kidding me now? Alright guys Can’t touch this The G.O.A.T. Etho, get to the damn land man! It all started when Grian touched my redstone… Epic

Etho Uh-huh Like-a so Oh snap Get your snacks! Holy smokes! Take care, have a good day, bye bye Aww snappers! Aww yeah Von Sway I barely know ‘er! Speaking of llamas Bright blue bamboo E. to the T. to the your mum Beefaroni / Beefers Speaking of llamas… That’s what she said! Free glass Eyy, I go up and I go down. Ladders! / Eyy, ladders! Suckerrrr! Check it out

False Blimey Awh dude Frick False Supremacy Oh my goodness I don't know about you guys, but... Props to __ I'm not gonna lie...

Gem Gem is great Her [name] is [adjective]! Gem will __ ("Gem will watch Impulse") Perfect! Epic It's true, I swear! Not gonna lie... Oh gosh! Trust the process Nailed it!

Grian Hello! My name is Grian Good… byeeeee! Pesky bird My heart! My little heart! Mumbo Mumbo you are AFK Can we just agree that Mumbo loses? What in Queen Elizabeth’s shiny crown was that? It wasn't me, it was the man in the chicken costume! SaAaaaAaAnd Chobblesome SCAR NO— / NO SCAR— In theory… Electric boogalooo What does this button do? What on earth? This is in shambles Get outta here! Hear me out... We don't have __. What we DO have is __ Just straight up Without further ado Crack on Bingo bango Yes. 100%

Hypno Right, right Mmhmm You guys Dang guy

Impulse What’s goin on everyone? Shovel Shuffle BEHIND YOU GEM! Peeps Geez Let's goooo! Are you kidding me? Oh, man Now we're talkin'! Holy smokes Oh my gosh How cool is that? Jeez! Dang it! Buddy Presi (for present) You bet!

Iskall Hallo -skall ("richskall") That’s mega / that’s looking absolutely mega Omega “Excuse me? Sir?” __ of doom Okay, lol And I will see you dudes in the next episode I’ve had a realization Oh for goodness sake! It’s not fat, it’s big-boned Not gonna lie SaAaaaAaAnd Very fine Great success! Bird poop Bumbo Cactoni Do you even bust? / Do you even bust bro E Pag

Jevin Hypno smells! Oh my god Sucker What the heck Dude Man I swear

Joe Howdy y’all! That’s the Joe Hills difference! I will now say a poem of my own devising Core concept Keep adventurin’! Time skip! Who’s the guy who conquers death? That’s Joe Hills No not rage quitting I have to pick up my daughter from school or my wife will rage quit me! Grow Hills / Expand Joe Joepacity / Jhost

Keralis Look into my eyes and nothing but my eyes Wanna buy a book? Spank you very much Just sit back, relax, and enjoy Like this, like that I can see my house from here! Bubbles, Shashwammy, Sweetface, Princess Lookie lookie at my cookie / lookie lookie at my cookie… no, please don’t Like-a so I love your face I’m a real boy! I don’t k-nove (know) Not like this! Booshes Clever girl But first… lemme take a selfie I’m sinking… mayday mayday we’re sinking! Hallo yes dis is de German coast guard what are you sinking about? Scary harry larry I’m alayve! Breathtaking — no you’re breathtaking Mm-kay Oh behave I’m a simple man MeOOOow Welcome to my humble abod-ee Not too shabby My face! My palms are sweaty, mom’s spaghetti Tag 2 Booga Booga Stiffy nipples Batman! First I was afraid, I was petrified...

Mumbo I worry about myself sometimes I'm not really quite sure if I like that or not Yeah… yeah that's looking good… I guess… Dude! Chuffed to bits It’s a bit pants I’m such a spoon Oh my word It’s quite simple, really / it’s actually quite simple Bonkers I’ll catch you in the next one. See ya Off you pop Oh goodness me! Hermit challenges — initiation! All done and dusted To be frankly honest Seriously seriously cool Absolutely nuts I don’t even know what to say Iskall I feel sick Peace, love, and plants Moon’s big Mumbo for Mayor Quite simple

Pearl Lovely Bonkers At this point... Cheeky / you cheeky What's this? Mate

Ren Now we’re cooking with gas / we be cooking with gas today Ladies, get in line! / ladies, gentlemen, everybody get in line! You picking up what I’m putting down My dudes Y’know what I’m sayin’ Coming atcha frommmmmm Dude Coming from left, right, and center Greetings cyberdogs and citizens of the Interwebs, this is Ren-diggity-dog comin at ya in another episode from the Hermitcraft server (ey!) Automagically Jazztastic Janktastic Oh baby Like nobody’s business Looking absolutely magnificent Anyhoozle Twaddle Renstone The Octagon is a well-oiled machine! [word]-age [word]-ation [word]-i (to make things plural You love / hate to see it I'm just sayin' / if you know what I'm sayin' Professional __ Jazz Anyhoozle Exqueeze me? Freakin' Some serious __ What's happenin', baby? Chesticles

Scar Scarred for life Woah, what in the world! It’s gonna be am-ay-zing LOOK at the siiiiize of that Well, hello there my fellow miners and crafters, GoodTimesWithScar here. Welcome back to the wonderful world of Hermits and crafting Don’t forget to subscribe or you might just become scarrrred for life! Looking super fancy Let’s hit super fast build mode! Look at the size of that Appreciate ya Hotguy! Operation: Aquathunder! That’s what she said! Rapscallion You silly goose Oh, sweet baby Jellie! Bayum! / Bam! The bee's knees Easy peasy, orangey squeezy

Stress Are you havin’ a giggle? / are you takin the mic? Mate Oh my god / oh my gosh / oh my good gordons Gorgeous Plonker Geezer Ohhhhh nooooo! Yeeeesshhh I legged it Such a pro / I'm such a pro Proper __ Cheeky Bloke Thingamajig Ain't [word]-age [word]-ies

Tango Happy fun sauce -ificator, -inator, -ness, -tastic Skadoodle Fearsome bunny slippers Noob juice So here’s the deal Holding shift Shwoop Flim flam Poop came out Extra dumb with dumb sauce / __ of extra dumb Flee with extra flee! / fleeing with terror! Boom booms Gah! The dungeon is ready for its next victim Behold! Results may vary! I think my math is correct, but it’s been known to be wrong This is the worst timeline. I hate everything Big no! You— you freak of nature! Jerkface Jerkbutt Excellent How embarassing This is true Zombert Bits This I gotta see! Right in the face! [word] is happening Yeah baby! Stupid jerks Boop This is the best / worst thing ever! Niner niner niner [general unintelligible noises]

TFC What in tarnation! Crap-tacular Humongous Butt-ugly Ugly as sin Oh, goody Ender-twits Bugger Oh, fart For crying out loud

Wels Words are hard If you will Super __

xB Aww yeah Mmkay Son of a biscuit Pretty frickin' __ Man Get frickin' wrecked! Chestacle Dang it Staaph it Oy vey Crap on a cracker Dang it, Bobby! Dang guy

Xisuma Oh goodness me Oh dangit Geez Peeps I’m such a derp Oh my days Chooturial Issooma Allo Woa’ah Brought (instead of bought) My dude Achacha

Zed Hello hello hello A-good a-bye Muckin' about I lied TaaaAAnnGoOOooooOOOo Hu-jah! Pretty darn __ Certainly Rubbish I'm [word]-ing [word] me [word]-iness What happens is... Get kersplatted! Epic Oh my goodness!

More Info

So I'm currently writing a HC fic and realized how little I know about some of the hermits (I unfortunately don't have time to watch all of them), which made it really difficult to depict them properly in my writing. I'm assuming at least some of you might also struggle with this, so, here we are!

If you know of a catchphrase from any hermit from any season, comment, reblog, send me a an ask or dm, dm me on discord, whatever works the best :D

Note: when I say "catchphrase," I mean anything a hermit repeats over an extended period of time. It can be something said during a single season (like "You'll speak when spoken to!" or "Hermit Challenges!"), or something that spans their entire careers (like "Aww snappers!" or "Plonker"). I'm not looking for one-off quotes that are never bought up again — there's some great sources (like @hermitcraft-correct-quotes) for that already :)

Sources (which will hopefully expand with time): This reddit post from four years ago This other reddit post also from four years ago Reddit from three years ago This cute diagram A more up to date source Another Xisuma's dictionary on his website HC character tv tropes page This incredible google doc

[reiniesainyo]

IN BETWEEN. charlie bushnell x reader – 03

03 | ENCHANTED previous | next | masterfile

SYNPOSIS. when a girl's co-star is good to her and now she wants it more than everything in between. (smau)

A/N. i'm going through a rough / stressful period and i find this series and writing it very therapeutic so here we are! this chapter takes place around episode 7 release, i'm not really inclined to write about the filming in between for some reason (unless you'd be interested)

liked by walker.scobell, thelnarchives, and 262,287 others rickriordan With the release of the new PJO series on Disney+, I'm happy to announce that to celebrate I've partnered with some of your favorite authors and close friends of mine to present to you all a new look into the lives of our favorite demigods!

WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A HALF-BLOOD will go online for free this February 20, 2024!

Click the link in bio for more info! PS: A sneak peak from our writers on the other slides

thelnarchive ... WHAT THE??? i have to manifest a chapter for my girl, manifesting a chapter or more please or even just one mention ↳ iamcharliebushnell YOU DIDN'T KNOW EITHER?????

user1 HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT????

user2 1) more stories about characters and 2) WRITTEN BY OTHER AUTHORS???? WHO COULD BE IN THIS PROJECT ↳ user3 i'm manifesting a story about tahlia and jason as kids oh my god

iamcharliebushnell imagine releasing a whole anthology to celebrate? that's the best author right there

user4 ohhh we're eating so good

walker.scobell another book and there's still not enough percy jackson in this world keep it coming i love your work ↳ aryansimhadri Imo too much percy maybe some more grover ↳ leahsavajeffries wrong there should be more annabeth

dior.n.goodjohn the gc going wild with this news

🃏 @CHILDOFHECATE what are your guys guesses for the stories in what it means to be a half-blood??? 🗨 32 comments 🔁 150 retweets ❤️ 456 likes

user1 a jason and tahlia story about them as kids, just a delve into their childhood

user2 more stuff on luke and rina, as individuals and as a couples- like i totally see a luke perspective on some situations or a conversation they had being in the book ↳ CHILDOFHECATE honestly i think it'd be so cool if they went like contemporary and also gave us maybe a poem or transcript / screenplay of a conversation between luke and rina

user3 stories about annabeth, tahlia, and luke's time before camp maybe fighting monsters together or just trying to survive ↳ user4 watch me cry over this one

user5 i just see a lot of delving into the lives of the original trio and also like the original supporting characters to like tahlia, luke, rina, even rachel

user6 grover's childhood! i really wanna see that or some parts of the story from his perspective

user7 Angst.

liked by iamcharliebushnell, aryansimhadri, and 320,372 others thelnarchives celebrating with the half-bloods

iamcharliebushnell when you're so excited over new lore you go and have dinner to talk about it ↳ thelnarchives this means so much to us

user1 YN IN THE SECOND SLIDE OH SHE'S GOREGOUS

user2 her face card never declines ↳ user3 it even has like benefits and a perfect credit score

dior.n.goodjohn fans first cast second ↳ thelnarchives this show has more more dressed up than my wedding

user4 this cast is so cute it's crazy

walker.scobell the 3rd pic >>> ↳ iamcharliebushnell oh so true ↳ i.am.andrew.alvarez a banger photo ↳ thelnarchives phone hijackers.

user5 the little black dress is doing so good for her, if i saw her in public i would've fainted ↳ user6 i can't believe i live in the same city as this girl like we breathe the same air???

leahsavajeffries i'm sat for the release, we're sat ↳ thelnarchives this is MY superbowl

aryansimhadri i feel excluded out of the 3rd photo ↳ thelnarchives that's okay because you're one of the girls ↳ iamcharliebushnell wait that's not fair

user7 aryan being part of the girls is so real and charlie wanting in is so cute

[moonselune]

Ooh okay here's an idea, headcanons for the origin companions writing (or trying to write) poetry for their tav s/o?

Okay so this took me forever to write because I had to consult a friend on the poetry as it's basically her degree. However, she had no idea about BG3 so I ended up sucking her into the fandom and she then went on a BG3 spiral because she loved it ahaha

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach sits at a makeshift table, her broad shoulders hunched, brow furrowed as she tries to capture her feelings on paper. She’s never been much of a writer, and the pen feels clumsy in her large hand. Every so often, she mutters a curse under her breath when the words don’t flow the way she wants them to. You watch from a distance, curiosity piqued.

After what feels like an eternity, she finally hands you a crumpled piece of parchment, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Alright, don’t laugh,” she warns, though there’s a hint of nervous excitement in her eyes. The poem is simple, a little messy, but it’s so undeniably her.

“Your smile’s like a sunrise, That burns brighter than any fire, Every time you’re near me, You’re all that I desire.”

You can't help but smile as you read it aloud, and Karlach groans, covering her face.

“I know it’s not fancy or anything,” she mumbles, “but it’s from the heart, alright?” You reassure her with a kiss, letting her know it’s the best poem you’ve ever received.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

Minthara’s approach to poetry is far more methodical. She’s a creature of precision, used to battle tactics, and this is no different. Late at night, she sits cross-legged, a flickering candle illuminating her sharp features as she writes with a quill dipped in ink. Her expression is one of deep concentration, as if she’s strategizing for a battle rather than composing a love poem.

When she finally presents it to you, there’s a certain pride in her eyes. Her poem is intense, each word chosen carefully, each line sharp and cutting but with a hint of tenderness beneath the surface.

“Like a blade you cut through darkness, Your light, a beacon in my night. I am drawn to you, fierce and wild, My heart laid bare, my soul in flight.”

She watches your face closely as you read, searching for any hint of your reaction. When you look up, your eyes filled with emotion, she gives a small, satisfied smile.

“Words are often a poor substitute for action,” she says softly, “but I hope they convey even a fraction of what you mean to me.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel

Lae'zel’s attempt at poetry is… complicated. She’s never been one for the softer arts, and the idea of capturing her emotions in words frustrates her to no end. You catch her muttering Githyanki curses under her breath, crumpling up piece after piece of paper in irritation. Still, she refuses to give up, determined to prove that she can express herself in this foreign way.

Eventually, she storms up to you, shoving a piece of parchment into your hands with a scowl.

“Read it,” she demands, crossing her arms defensively. The poem is blunt, almost aggressively so, but there’s an earnestness to it that tugs at your heart.

“You are strong, like steel forged in battle, Yet soft, like the flesh I crave to touch. I fight for you, bleed for you, You are the only war worth winning.”

You look up to find Lae'zel watching you intently, her expression guarded.

“It is foolish, yes?” she asks, and you can hear the uncertainty in her voice.

You shake your head, telling her it’s perfect, and she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Good,” she mutters. “You deserve nothing less.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart

Shadowheart is not one for flowery words, but she sits by the campfire one night, her brows furrowed as she scribbles on a piece of parchment. You catch her biting her lip in concentration, an ink smudge on her cheek as she mutters under her breath. She startles when you approach, hiding the paper behind her back.

“Are you writing?” you ask, trying to peek around her shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” she says, but her blush gives her away. Eventually, she relents and hands you the parchment, its edges crumpled from her nervous fingers. Her handwriting is elegant but stiff, like she’s forcing each word into line.

“Your eyes hold secrets, like shadows at dusk, A puzzle I’ll never solve but can’t help but trust. You laugh like moonlight; it’s foolish, I know, But I’m drawn to you, where else could I go?”

She looks away as you read, her arms crossed defensively.

"It's terrible," she mutters, but you shake your head, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. When you tell her you love it, Shadowheart rolls her eyes but can't hide the small, pleased smile tugging at her lips.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira

Jaheira isn’t one for frivolous things, but there’s a moment one morning when you find her sitting at a table, a quill poised in her hand. She’s been staring at the blank parchment for what seems like hours. You approach her, and she huffs, clearly frustrated.

"I thought poetry would be simple," she grumbles. "It's just words, isn’t it?"

You offer to help, but she shakes her head, determined to do this herself. Later, she hands you a folded piece of paper with an almost bashful expression. You can tell she’s put thought into it, the parchment creased from how often she’s held and rewritten it. Her words are unpolished but heartfelt:

“You are the root, the bloom, the green, The calm in storms, where I’ve been seen. Your laughter’s warmth, your eyes’ sweet glow, A love that’s strong, a fire that grows.”

You glance up at her, and Jaheira shrugs, trying to look indifferent.

“I’m no bard,” she says, “but I meant every word.” You kiss her, and she finally allows herself a small, proud smile.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale

Gale takes his poetry seriously, but he tends to overthink it. One evening, you find him surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper, muttering incantations under his breath as though the right words might appear with magic.

He looks up at you, exasperated.

“You’d think after all my years of studying the Weave, I’d be able to put together a few coherent lines about the one I love.” He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Poetry is far more difficult than conjuring fireballs, I’ll have you know.”

Finally, he hands you a piece of parchment, hesitant but eager for your reaction. His script is elegant, each word carefully crafted:

“You are my star, my whispered spell, The echo of dreams where I long to dwell. No magic can bind what I feel inside, A love that transcends the flow of the tide.”

Gale watches you with bated breath, and when you smile, he lets out a relieved sigh.

“I was afraid it might be a bit too… much,” he admits, and you laugh, telling him it’s perfect. He grins, pulling you into his arms. “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to write more.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion

Astarion has always been one for grand gestures, but poetry? That was a challenge he couldn't resist. He sits across the campfire, quill in hand, and a smug grin plastered across his face as he begins. You catch glimpses of him mouthing words, pausing, then crossing things out dramatically.

When he finally reads it to you, his voice is smooth, velvety, dripping with exaggerated passion:

"Your eyes, like twin moons, glisten in the night, Soft curves that tempt and beckon, a dangerous delight. Your lips, a sweet nectar, I long to devour, You’ve ensnared my heart, my soul, in this midnight hour."

He pauses, looking at you expectantly, and you can’t help but giggle. “Astarion, that’s very… intense.”

He rolls his eyes, though there's a playful glimmer there.

“What? Did you expect anything less from me, darling? I don’t do things halfway.” Despite his teasing, you catch the faintest blush on his cheeks, and it’s clear he truly wants you to like it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll

Wyll spends hours sitting under a tree, tapping his quill against his lips and muttering to himself as he scribbles. His brow furrows, and he occasionally sighs heavily, clearly struggling to find the perfect words. He wants this to be right, to be perfect.

When he finally shares his poem with you, he does so with a bashful smile, his eyes never quite meeting yours:

"You are the light in the darkness, my beacon, my guide, A flame that warms even the coldest night tide. In your laughter, I find peace, in your touch, I find home, With you by my side, I’ll never be alone."

Wyll rubs the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly.

“I know it’s not much, but… I meant every word.” You reach out, taking his hand, and he relaxes, the tension melting away from his shoulders as you thank him for his sincerity.

“You really mean that?” he asks, the disbelief clear in his voice, and you nod, kissing his cheek. He beams, the kind of smile that lights up the whole camp.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin

Halsin takes his time with his poetry. He’s not one for flowery words, but he wants to put his feelings into something beautiful, something worthy of you. You find him surrounded by parchment, his handwriting neat and flowing, and he looks up with a warm smile when you approach.

“There’s something I’ve been working on,” he confesses. “It’s… well, it might not be poetry in the traditional sense.” He clears his throat, holding the parchment a little awkwardly as he begins:

"You are the earth beneath my feet, steady and true, The river that runs deep, with life that renews. In your embrace, I find the peace of a forest at dawn, And with you, I’ve found where my spirit belongs."

He looks up, his eyes searching yours. “It’s simple, I know, but—”

You cut him off with a kiss, feeling the warmth of his words wrap around you just as surely as his strong arms do.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper, and he laughs, the deep, rich sound resonating through you, making you feel as if you’ve always belonged right there, in that moment with him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shoutout to my friend (who wishes to stay anonymous) for the beautiful poetry, and I hope you guys enjoyed it! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[lilac-gold]

i know that this is just a part of how omori's fight system operates, but i find it very interesting that we are able to make memes like the one pictured below considering all we know about hero's character throughout omori, both in the real world and in headspace

this meme is made by using hero's "smile" skill as well as a rain cloud, sad poem or anything else that inflicts a sad emotion on him. hero's skills are primarily always either food-based healing (e.g. "cook", "fast food", "homemade jam", "snack time") or some form of charisma (e.g. "captivate", "mesmerise", "enchant", "dazzle"). it's hero's job to be the support of their team, and to use his pleasant demeanor and appearance as a distraction.

no matter which emotion hero has, he can still use every one of those skills. it is of no relevance how he feels as long as he can uphold his designated role as a charmer and a healer.

now, consider real world hero's way of dealing with things, which is that he simply doesn't. when he returns to faraway, he's there for everyone else, appearing on the surface to be completely fine and content, and simply not acknowledging his own trauma. he puts on a constant facade of normalcy and perfection. because to hero, it doesn't matter which emotion he has, he can still use every one of his skills. it is of no relevance how he feels as long as he can uphold his designated role as a charmer and a healer.

hero would bend over backwards to please others. he canonically has depression, but would much rather be someone else's shoulder to cry on than admit he's not okay. everyone puts him on a pedestal, viewing him as a sort of ideal to look up to. sunny does it. kel does it. his parents do it. even hero himself does.

i think that's part of the reason why he's so often overlooked by the fandom: hero's unrealistically perfect, but that's exactly the point. he forces those expectations on himself, forces himself to earn trophies and medals even while he struggles to even get out of bed. he smiles despite wanting to do the opposite, because he's not supposed to be depressed. he's hero.

his charm-based skills in headspace alternate between a) reducing foes' attack with a bonus happy effect and b) acting first with all foes targeting him for one turn. hero either dissolves the situation a little, acting like the mediator he always has been, or takes the blunt of the damage for his friends.

he's constantly in the spotlight, in every world.

headspace hero has done a ridiculous amount to help people, from stopping a wildfire to giving up all of his organs, has made such a profound impact on so many lives through his good deeds, and that's recognised. people in headspace adore him.

the conveyor belts at the junkyard are endeared to him. sweetheart falls in love with him. mr jawsum plans to essentially keep him trapped working at the last resort forever. medusa thinks he's "too pretty to sell". hero's worth something to so many people, even when he doesn't want to be.

and that applies to the real world too. he's the only older sibling left for his friends after mari's death. he has to be strong for them, to be that ideal, because they have no-one else to fill that role. he brings kel and aubrey together, rescues sunny and basil, says that they should have a sleepover like "old times". he's trying so hard for everyone else, he can't afford to let himself crumble.

hero's a performer. and we see canonically that he has at least some stage fright from sweetheart's quest for hearts.

sweetheart's an interesting case. i find it interesting that the image above would be found mostly in the fight against her. sweetheart is one of the bosses with a uniquely heightened emotional state, hers being that of happiness in "manic". due to the way the emotion system in battle works (explained to us, funnily enough, by hero himself), it makes sense to oppose sweetheart's mania with sadness, misery, and depression.

so that's what hero does! he has the depressed effect, he'd otherwise look incredibly morose, but as soon as time calls for it, he's got a smile back on his face. we see how uncomfortable he is about her advances, but he gives her a smile that sets into motion a whole separate stream of dialogue where sweetheart proclaims her that she would like to "make [his smile] mine".

hero's the group golden boy. the charmer, the healer, the protector, the older brother, the pillar for them to lean on when things get tough. he knows that he is, and upholds that image to the best of his ability.

that is, until mari dies.

then, he falls into a deep, serious state of depression in the real world, because he's failed. he and mari have strived for perfection their whole lives, only for her to apparently deem it all pointless and leave them behind. hero feels like he wasn't enough, like he never will be, no matter how much he's tried. the faked grins disappear alongside those which were genuine, for how is he supposed to smile when he's given up on the facade?

he stops talking to people. stops going outside. stops helping. he can't do anything but reflect on his perceived failures, and without his pillar of support, the group crumbles to pieces.

hero stays like that for a whole year, until he argues with kel and remembers the reason why he needs to stay alive. this is hurting his brother as much as it is hero, and kel's depending on him to get better. so he does, in a way.

he earns medals and trophies again, helps out again, lives up to expectations then exceeds them even more. he can't bring himself to do the things he enjoys anymore, or talk to the three kids he viewed as little siblings and he failed, but he's trying. then, he leaves, off to medical school like his parents wanted. it's a fresh start. it's a chance for him to start to move on.

he's been healing, a little, by the time he comes back to faraway. he can talk about what mari would have wanted without breaking down entirely. he can make kel and sunny breakfast. he can bring the group together like old times, and reminisce on all he used to have.

but he's still not better, and it shows. it shows in the tears he spills when alone beside mari's old piano. it shows in his refusal to visit her grave. it shows in all the little ways he can try to hide, can cover up with a smile too bright to be real. depression doesn't go away that easily, no matter how much hero tries to pretend he's fine.

all in all, i think this meme essentially sums up hero's character and arc in a single, otherwise funny image. am i overcomplicating things? oh, definitely yes. was this a blast to analyse nonetheless? absolutely! there are far too few takes on hero out there, and i hope this gave a little bit of insight as to why i adore him so much.

[transmascaraa]

Do you think you could do Gaming, Kazuha, and Furina (IF U WRITE FOR HER IDK IF YOU DO) with a verrrrry sleepy reader. Pref male or transmasc reader if you can for that in but if not gender neutral is fine :3

Reader could literally sleep for days- no eating, no drinking, just sleep. He can fall asleep in the most random places too.... Like the character(s) find reader asleep in a fucking tree so they wake him up and then half an hour later they find him asleep under a table. The only time reader can reliably stay awake is when he is doing something important or when he is spending time with the characters <3 (Aka, doing something important)

If you don't wanna write multiple characters feel free to do just one of them! I don't mind :3 Or feel free to ignore this entirely !!!! I just hope you have a great day and don't feel pressured to write anything you don't want to <3333

multiple characters headcannons!

you're a VERY sleepy person...

characters: gaming, kazuha, furina x m!reader

author's note: that's so adorable. such a cute scenario fr. i'm not a sleepy person at all but the req makes me giggle and smile. hope you like it<3

✧ Gaming

-he finds it absolutely adorable. ABSOLUTELY.

-i mean, he's there to wake you up when needed, but also loves making you comfortable while sleeping.

-if you sleep for a while day, he'd be a bit worried but if you assure him enough it'll be fine.

-you're sleeping under the table? he's wondering how you even got there.

-on a tree? how did you get there.

-but when you spend time with him, he's nore than glad to do so,

-because it's one of the only times that he sees his boyfriend's stunning eyes and attractive voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✿⁠ Kazuha

-he would worry a bit...

he'd bring you to a doctor to make sure you're okay but after you're sure that nothing is wrong and you're just sleepy all the time...

-all of his worries are immediately gone.

-entirely.

-he honestly finds it cute. he thinks that he was blessed in some way.

-when he first found you asleep on the floor, right NEXT TO the couch, he decided to lay down on the floor beside you and stroke your hair softly.

-and then he found his dearest boyfriend sleeping on a tree in inazuma, mid-day.

-he got up, sat next to you, put your head on his lap, and started reading you poems while still gently running his fingers through your silky hair.

-he didn't mind it at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

♡ Furina

-THIS CUTIE.

-she would worry and panic that something was clearly wrong, measuring your temperature frequently, making you drink lot's of tea, even coffee!

-when you two finally visited a doctor, saying that nothing was wrong, it still didn't help.

-she still worried about you.

-not until some time later, she got used to it.

-she started finding it really cute.

-her galley was flooding with pictures of you sleeping.

-in the closet, on a tree, on a bench near the fountain if lucine, you name it!

-she had the pictures!

-a pictures few of you just sleeping peacefully.

-and the others were selfies of her sitting next to you, smiling brightly, with captions like:

-"he fell asleep on lyney and lynette's magic show!!"

-"stroking his hair rn while he sleeps on my lap<3 in my closetttt :3"

-etc.

-she loved her boyfriend very dearly, asleep or awake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i really made the furina one longer than the rest😭

sorry gaming and kazuha but furina is my favorite female

writing for furina is something thag i adore doing.

but not as much as i love her ofc

she's perfect @delectica right

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[mydearesthrry]

i loveddd the musician reader blurb 🥹🥹 would loveee to see more

a/n: I LOVED WRITING IT THANK U FOR THIS ANON. enjoy my babies <3 i have an fc for musician!yn x har and its gonna be gracie abrams :p

warnings: nonesies, fluff!!

—

“hey, h?” Y/N called from her spot on the sofa, her laptop on her lap as she scrolled through the files for her next project, entitled five seconds flat.

“yeah, baby?” he shouted back, his footsteps soon following his words as he walked through their house, sitting next to Y/N when he arrived. “whats wrong?”

“um, to be honest, i- i don’t even really know. i just think something’s missing from here,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “like, i love it so far, but it’s missing something. i think it’s missing it’s ‘overarching love’ song. which is really stupid because this album has so many love songs.”

“not really.” he replied simply, shrugging and looking at her.

“what do you mean? there’s tons!”

“really? like what? go through the tracklist, baby.”

she rolled her eyes, mumbling a ‘fine!’, before pulling up the tracklist. “see! um, all my ghosts, what a shame? kinda?”

“exactly.” he stated, giggling at his wife.

“you’re so annoying. can you help me? please?”

he scoffs playfully, “as if i didn’t produce nearly the entire thing f’you, but sure.”

“okay, so i’m thinking of a poem that i wrote a long time ago called lame, and i wanna work on that. it was right before i told you i loved you.”

after cracking open y/n’s journal and flipping through the pages, they had finally had a song.

“fucking finally, holy shit!” she shouted, clapping as she collapsed on harry who laid sprawled on the couch.

“y’still gotta record it, m’precious wife,” he giggled. “and find a feature. since we decided that’s what we’re doing, f’some reason.”

“fuck my life,” she groaned, twisting in her spot to attach her cheek to his chest, hair fanning out around her and nearly tickling his nose. “why can’t you do it with me?”

“no.”

“harry,”

“no.”

“harry!”

“no, dude!”

“harry,” his wife stressed, holding the ‘y’. “pretty please? i’ll do that thing you like with my mouth?” she offered, knowing he wouldn’t refuse that.

“oh my god, fine! but this is the first and last collab im doing!” he grumbled exasperatedly.

“thank you, oh my god!” she squealed, running over to him and jumping, legs wrapping around his legs and her arms crossing around his neck.

“whatever. better hold up your end of the bargain.” he rolled his eyes, his hypocritical hands coming down to rest on her waist.

she grinned, jumping down from him and placing her hands on his chest. blinking up at him owlishly, she ran her hands down his torso and murmured, “i plan to, handsome. i’ll even start right now.”

———

liked by charles_leclerc, sabrinacarpenter, and 7,662,617 others

yourinstagram: took a tiny break and ended up at long pond with my beautiful producer husband <3. u have to wait to hear what we made there,,, butttt….. HATE TO BE LAME FT HARRY STYLES IS OUT NOWWWWW LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU

pinned yourinstagram: ps our faces when we cant figure out a chord progression 😭😭😭

comments on this post have been limited

charles_leclerc: Already streaming in the Ferrari garage!

> scuderiaferrari: charles_leclerc we can confirm 🫡

> yourinstagram: scuderiaferrari OMGGGGG MI FAMIGLIAAAAAA LOVE U

landonorris: party celebration for the surprise release when???

> yourinstagram: landonorris get podium this weekend and u can celebrate for us 🤗🤗🤗

billieeilish: crying again i love you guys

ynrrysweethearts: EEEEEK

niallhoran: Gnomeo and Juliet back and better than ever!

> harrystyles: Rude.

madisonbeer: ur literally perfect in every way goddd i miss u guys so much

> yourinstagram: madisonbeer we miss u our precious daughter

harrystyles: We’re so cute. I love us.

harrystyles: I love you times infinity. It makes sense that you’ll probably be my first and last feature. H Xxxx

> yourinstagram: first and last but a few more right 🥹🥹

daylightyn: our parents!!!!!

alexandrasaintmleux: my beautiful angel girlllll

> yourinstagram: alex my love i miss u to bits

francisca.cgomes: we miss u on the paddock sweet bby 💞

> yourinstagram: oh my god kika i miss u so much its a problem

——

liked by yourinstagram, niallhoran, and 9,266,166 others

harrystyles: HATE TO BE LAME. OUT NOW.

view all 78,189 comments

yourinstagram: 🤭🤭🤭

yourinstagram: love youuuuuuu so muchsies

> harrystyles: I love you moresies. Xx

yourinstagram: ok look at us being models

yourinstagram: am i hyping u up enough

> harrystyles: yourinstagram Yes. Fueling my ego.

yourinstagram: my precious baby angel sugar cookie muffin pie <3 <3

> harrystyles: You’re insane.

user1: MORESIES??????? WTF

user2: he just said moresies yn is influencing him too much 😭😭😭

> yourinstagram: user2 its my job!!!! 😁😁

user3: they’re both on the writing credits they prob wrote it together 😭😭😭

oscarpiastri: dad!!!!!!!!

> harrystyles: No. ❤️

user4: harry calling yn insane is so funny like hes def heard worse

user5: i love them so bad oh my god

user6: I DIDNT KNOW HARRY AND THE F1 BOYS WERE FRIENDS

> user7: yes!!! yn’s sister was a mechanic for ferrari and is now lando’s race engineer so they all get along really well!

yourinstagram: sorry im back here again WE R SO CUTEEEEEE

[taesanluv3r]

chronicles of an overly in-love woonhak.

kim woonhak x reader

entirely in woonhak's pov (he's just yapping to himself the whole time), this is so dumb n stupid but i think it's silly cute idk 😓 cuss words!! lowercase intended, pls excuse any spelling mistakes / grammatical errors <3 enjoy :3

wc: 1,401

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"relax woonhak, it's not that hard"

all i needed to do was make a move. seriously, how hard could it be? i mean it was easy to help riwoo make a move on the girl he liked, so why would it be hard for me to make a move on someone myself?

but of course, the difference was that riwoo was hitting on someone random from his dance class while i, little pathetic old kim woonhak, just had to have a crush on the ever-so untouchable, and insanely stunning…

yn fucking ln.

i mean she's like- way way way out of my league, right? the other day i confided in taesan, i always talk to him when i feel lost...well only when i'm lost in the thoughts of her. that's only cause she's rather close to him, they're like siblings who aren't related at all- i think it's pretty sweet. otherwise, i wouldn't ever confide in that menace.

but he knows her very well, and he knows me very well, it's the perfect combination. anyways, i told him about my feelings for her, how she absolutely drove me insane. i mean who wouldn't go insane? she's just so effortlessly...her, in a good way, of course. god nothing bad about her would ever come out of my mouth...she's just perfect.

okay maybe I'm lying, she can be a little stubborn and bitchy sometimes...but that's just another thing I can go on and on and on talking about. i'm always talking about her.

taesan laughed at me, he told me i was oblivious and delusional if i couldn't see that she felt the exact same way. i mean can you believe that? she feels the same?! about me?! about kim woonhak?!

i don't believe it for a second...okay, i lied again. the statement did fuel my stomach up with butterflies and make my head spin and cheeks flush and all that…jazz.

and then he said one thing, the one thing that's making me think about everything all over again.

"if you love her so much, make a move!"

and so now here i am, sitting in bed at one o' clock in the morning. only eight hours until i have to go to school. which means that i only have eight hours to construct the most perfect plan to finally make my move. i mean how hard could it be? it's just like chess! not that i'm good at chess, i actually kinda suck at it…

"ugh cut it out woonhak, you're wasting your time!"

she probably doesn't even like me back. maybe she's just as nice as she is to me with everyone else. and surely that drawing she made me was just a friendly gift! and of course the poems she sent me were probably drafts for someone else…though she did send one with my name in it once…

wait.

wait a fucking minute.

SHE PROBABLY DOES LIKE ME BACK?!

OKAY, okay calm down woonhak. no need to get your hopes up too unecessarily high…

this does give me confidence though, just keep thinking positively and make your move at school FIRST THING IN THE MORNING!

"i got this!"

maybe i lied a little to my reflection in the mirror whilst getting ready for school this morning. cause she was right there when i arrived, alone and ready for me to go tell her I love her, but fear got the best of me…as per usual.

so now i'm here, in fucking science class having to listen to professor lee rant about whatever problem he had with lamarck's theory as opposed to darwin's. interesting one though, i know yn has a real interest in the theory of evolution and just about everything else biology related- maybe not plant biology, she didn't look too happy when we were told we're gonna study plant science next week.

just as i started thinking about her all over again, a piece of paper struck my head from behind. it landed in between my back and my chair, not very comfortable. i turned to reach for it, checking out whoever threw it at me as i did so.

yn ln shoots her unique smile at me, her lips tilting crookedly. she never smiled with her teeth because she doesn't quite like how it looks. i strongly disagree, i think it's adorable when her uneven fangs show, it's just another peculiar thing i get to love about her.

i stare too long, too long that she has to raise her eyebrows to remind me of the paper i was supposed to retrieve from behind me and read. my cheeks were probably redder than the ripest of strawberries- ironically, her favourite fruit.

the page was off-white, a cute rilakkuma print bordering the lined-sheet…classic yn ln and her cutesy stationary. i couldn't help but smile as i opened it to find her neat, yet absurdly tiny handwriting.

i admired it for a second, not quite reading the actual note just yet, but once i did…

the ink was pink, one of the gel-pens she usually used to write her overly pretty notes for literature. and the words she scribbled on the page were simple. well, as simple as such a complex and interesting girl like her could ever get.

"hi woonhak, i like you. like a lot. see you under the bleachers at lunch. :) <3 ★"

not even a question. if it weren't for the doodles of hearts, smiley faces, and stars all over the note i would've deemed it a threat.

another lie. i should stop lying. she could tell me to throw myself off a cliff or threaten me with a knife and i'd still be flustered and in love.

the lunch bell came a lot sooner than i calculated. perhaps my brain had been overstimulated by the test i had just finished, or maybe time is just that unpredictable when you're anxious.

i desperately needed to piss- another lie that i told myself to postpone the possible embarrassment i might encounter with my crush under the bleachers today. fuck. why am i so nervous?

i decided it's best to just YOLO and speed over to her usual spot under the bleachers. what's the worst that could happen? you know...besides her revealing it was all a prank and then totally making fun of me!!!!!!! ha ha...ha...

i'm cooked.

she was already there, a slight worry on her face as if she had been waiting and wondering where i had been. i was about to mutter an apology for being late, saying i needed to go to the bathroom and such but she didn't let me talk.

"i know you like me, woonhak"

at this point i was shitting sweat.

"um-"

i was interrupted.

"you took too long to say anything and frankly, i got impatient. cause i like you too- like- a lot. lol"

lol, she ended every serious sentence with that abbreviation to lighten the mood- cute.

all i could do was chuckle in relief.

"can we kiss now?"

she asks, her words coming out a little stale and hasty, but sweet. in a way that made my heart break and melt into bits and pieces. who am i kidding though, she does anything and i'll melt into bits and pieces.

"yeah-"

her lips halted my chatter. she tastes like an odd mixture of banana milk and…honey garlic fried chicken- but it tasted kind of good...?

remind me to ask her where she got her lunch from cause...damn.

the kiss lasted longer than i would've earlier expected, her hands were in my hair and mine held her waist. i had to bend down a little, she's not that short but she's definitely not tall. not as tall as me, that is.

alas we seperated. she giggled softly and i can see a faint pink tint brushed against her cheeks as she caught her breath. then she looked up at me, with the most precious set of eyes. it didn't last long as her complexion changed completely in a matter of seconds before these words left her mouth:

"ask me out, loser"

and that's just the push i needed.

"yn ln, be my girlfriend and take me to whatever place you got the fried chicken your lips tasted like!"

she giggled again- i swear a braincell of mine disappears every time she so much as smiled- stepping forward to hug me, which i happily accepted by the way…she smells good. she smells like a...fresh...teddy bear? yeah.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"i can't believe you actually like me back" i blurted out, watching as she stuck a chicken wing into her mouth. the sauce got on her face and i helped her wipe it off like the gentleman that i am.

"and i can't believe you confided in taesan, of all people!" her words were muffled as she chewed.

"whatever babe, now why don't you eat first and talk later"

she almost chokes as she stares at me with this bewildered look on her face. how could a person be so adorable? like? this???? this cutie??? SHES my girlfriend???!!!???

she speaks with half a drumstick in her mouth and her eyes were opened wide.

"DID YOU JUST CALL ME BABE?!"

lol.

the end.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

LMAOOO idek wht i was going for in this one 😭 i pulled this straight out of my drafts tbh </3 reblogs n feedbacks r vv appreciated!! love u tysm for reading. love, kona.