#a platonic love letter

[slowly-unspooling]

Let’s talk representation. Why it’s important to see characters like you in media.

I grew up in a religious household. Mormon to be exact. Not the best environment for a queer teen to live in.

Until about 14 all I had heard about lgbtqia+ was that “we love them, but not their sin” and at this time I didn’t have words to describe how I felt. I had scrambled to try to fit the mold of perfect cishet daughter I was meant to fit. (As anyone who knows me can tell you, I wasn’t successful).

But even dating and going to church and filling that role, I knew there was something “wrong” with me. I hated my deadname because it was “too feminine” and didn’t fit (the exact words I was using as early as I can remember). I didn’t encounter my first queer character in media until I was about 14 when my sister and I snuck Rent on in the middle of the night. And finally I had seen someone and realized what I was feeling wasn’t wrong and most importantly, I wasn’t alone.

After that, I began looking for characters that were like me. They were far and few in between unfortunately. But I still found them.

My journey of self realization has taken nearly 10 years to find people who felt like I do, and I could finally put words to it. I finally had found myself.

When I started writing, I decided to write characters I wish I had seen growing up. A deviation from the typical queer characters. Ones who didn’t know who they were. Ones that confused others because it’s harder for them to define what they are.

Then I got my first comments that made me cry, that showed I wasn’t doing this is vain. (And yes I know this is tumblr and y’all will recognize this screenshot. I am not ashamed)

And so began my journey to provide representation that is severely lacking. Of characters who don’t want to find love. Who are best defined by their inability to be defined.

And most importantly, a platonic love letter to all those who have never felt seen or understood. Because I do see you. And I do understand.

-Aspen 💚🖤🤍

[eddith]

After watching the fan letter i kept thinking how one piece is a masterclass of showing how a story doesn't need to be driven by romantic love to explore the beautiful romanticism of relationships in a real and heartfelt way.

Fiction is so oversaturated with romance that relationships between characters are most often than not so superficial and goddamn repetitive, I swear if it were another author writing marineford I would 100% expect the the plot to revolve around the main character saving their romantic interest.

I feel like writters dont really give platonic bonds this type of love and attention, and I do believe a part of it revolves around a societal context to what we as a society considers beautiful, romantic and worthwhile telling a story about.

And also the epidemic of loliness, the lack of connection and the isolation are all factors to why we see romantic love stories being pushed this much, this attachment of the idea of romance that most people seems to have.

And this is why i dont like the narrative of “separating the artist from their art” because I think this it is such a poor way of analyzing art. You can’t create a story like one piece, who explores platonic bonds and prioritizes them again and again and intentionally puts them at the forefront of your story if you, the writer, don't view those bonds as something special and worthwhile writting about.

Because after being caught up with one piece I kept asking myself why did this story had such an impact on me? The backstories, the bonds, they all shock me to my core.

Me being a older sister who wasn't ever that close to my little sister and who always felt this disparaging loliness since i was a child, watching mariford hurted me in a way that no story ever could, I can't imagine the impact one piece would have on me if i watched this when i was younger.

And I believe it's all because of Oda's view on relationships, how he seems to have a deeper understanding of people and how they work.

One piece transforms the “ordinary” bonds that most of us have in our lifes into something so extraordinary.

This why I not only respect Oda as a writer, but also as a person.

A person who could so beautifully show us the true beauty of life, that is, the people around us who love and support us.

[aceinsearchofspace]

Just thinking how every home should have a fax machine again so you can write out long hand written letters and send them to your friends instantly. It would be an instant dose of serotonin every time you hear the fax deliver a message of love

[estrellami-1]

Lavender Letters

To those of you who celebrate, who have something worth celebrating… happy Thanksgiving. To everyone else, happy random Thursday!

Part 8

“S-something else?” Steve parrots.

“That’s right. I’m going to put my hand on your body.” He grabs Steve’s wrist, grins at the gasp that gets him. “And you tell me if you like it there. Okay?”

“O-okay.”

“So how about here?” He tightens his grip, smiles at the whine Steve lets out.

“Y-yeah.”

“Oh, I know you do, sweet boy. You’re so expressive.”

“Eddie-”

“Mhm?” He pulls back a little, enough to see Steve’s face. Steve just gasps, little breaths in and out. “You like sayin’ my name, sweet thing?” He pulls Steve’s hand behind his back and nudges forward, causing them to brush together. He inhales shakily as Steve moans quietly. “You got an upstairs we can go to, sweetheart? Somewhere I can take you apart?”

Steve sways forward, catching himself just before their lips brush. “I’ve- I’ve got a room upstairs,” he says. “But I’m not- I can’t-”

Eddie pulls his hand to his side again, locks their fingers together. “You can’t?”

“They’re gonna hear.”

“How do you feel about gags?”

Steve shakes his head. Even the thought seems to clear his head some. “No gags. Or- or blindfolds. Or restraints.”

“But my hand around your wrist?”

“That’s fine. You’re touching me. But- but no restraints that aren’t you. Or, um. I could try? If you want me to grab the headboard and not move. I could try.”

Eddie hums. “Nah, I think I like you touching me too much. But we’re out of luck until the party’s over, huh?”

Steve turns sad eyes up at him, nods.

Eddie smiles, touches his finger to Steve’s chin. “That’s alright. We can take it slow for a couple of hours. Get to know each other even better.”

Steve smiles. “Like what?”

Eddie hums exaggeratedly, tapping his finger on his chin. “Favorite sound?”

Steve laughs. “I have two. First is rain. I love hearing rain, especially as I’m falling asleep.”

“Nothing better,” Eddie agrees. “And your second?”

Steve colors. “When Robin sleeps over she talks in her sleep sometimes, and I’ll wake up to hear it. And it reminds me that I’m safe.”

Eddie smiles. “My favorite sound is Wayne’s snoring. It’s not overly loud, but sometimes I’ll sit just behind my door and listen to him sleep until I’m close enough to get back into bed and drift off. I think it’s sweet that Robin’s yours.”

Steve looks down. “Would it bother you if I could never listen to your music? Or never learned how to play DnD?”

“Would you let me rant to you about it? You wouldn’t even have to pay attention, really, or remember anything. Just let me talk at you about it, and don’t get annoyed when I want to talk about it.”

“Of course.”

Eddie grabs his hands, smiles. “Then I promise to do the same about whatever you want.”

Steve grins. “Even if it’s sports?”

“I’ll even watch it with you,” Eddie promises.

“You will?”

“I mean, I’ll at least sit in the same room. No promises that I’ll remember anything.”

“That’s okay. Robin’s the same way. Lucas—did I tell you about him? L?”

Eddie hums. “I think so… most polite? Wicked sharp tongue? Is that him?”

Steve beams. “Yeah, exactly! He likes sports, basketball, and sometimes we’ll play together.” He angles a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got a hoop in the back. He’s getting really good.”

“I should hope so, if he’s playing with you. How about football?”

Steve hums. “I like watching it, but playing it wouldn’t be a good idea. Not with the concussions I have.”

“Wayne likes watching it, too. Maybe you could come over, watch a game with him. I know he’d appreciate it.”

Steve’s eyes shine. “Really?”

“Mhm.” He leans sideways against the counter, facing Steve. “Can I ask about the concussions? Or NDAs?”

Steve deflates. “I want to tell you.”

“So what’s stopping you?”

“Besides the fact that I fully believe the government’s got ears here? I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

Eddie hums, leans closer. “Well either way, I’d like to take you out one day in my van. Somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, where you can be as loud as you want.” He leans in and whispers, “or say whatever you want.” He pulls back with a smirk. “What do you think?”

Steve takes a shaky breath. “I think I want to kick everyone out,” he murmurs, “but I also think Robin would never let me live it down if I did.”

Eddie chuckles, pulls away. “Drink your water,” he suggests. “Let’s take some time, dance a little. Socialize. Let Robin know I’m here for a good time and a long time.”

Steve takes a few big gulps of water. “I think you’re going to ruin me,” he says slowly. “In the best way possible.”

Eddie grins sharply at him. “That’s the plan, big boy.”

He winks.

Steve gulps.

This is going to be fun.

[2demondogs]

Can you do Arthur and BioKid!reader (prob age around 5-7) where Arthur sent his kid to school (around 1870, school began to become free) because even if he knows he could teach his kid the basics, he wants better for them.

As we know, schools back then did physical punishments. If a kid lacked behind their fellow students, teachers often saw it as laziness and would punish the kid.

Arthurs kid, who was very excited to attend school, came back from it sobbing their eyes out because they were canned (hit) on their hands for not understanding math and begging that Arthur doesn't send them back.

Obv Arthur, being an amazing dad, doesn't send them back and taught them stuff himself.

Weirdly enough I had a very similar experience at that age but in ballet class. Are any of us okay?

Historical accuracy was attempted. Though the image of being dropped off at school on a horse is absolutely hilarious to me. "Okay little buddy here's a cigarette for lunch, I'll clip clop back at 4. Daddy's gonna go rob a bank now. Hyah!!"

Arthur's a cigarette mom tbh. Also this took literally like 2 months for me to get to I'm so sorry LOL I wanted some familial comfort so I was finally in the headspace for it.

Words: 3k Tags: AU - canon divergence, pre-canon (circa 1888), hurt/comfort, it takes a village so the gang's all here too, angst but also a lotta fluff Arthur is just being Arthur (aka a killjoy), gender-neutral reader

Few things in his life have brought Arthur as much pride — in someone else, in himself — as the grin plastered on your face the first day of school.

Boadicea disliked the amount of people, the small kids that tried to stroke her legs before being beckoned away by their parents. Most were used to animals like her, but he could tell the city-bred ones from his own kind: brighter faces, slower walks, cleaner nails. It's the same as their parents, dressed well and sometimes in automobiles.

What an odd gathering these schoolrooms make for. He's always thought it'd be funny to have punted John in the direction of one, but he finds he's had a wrong idea about the crowd. Wouldn't have been as satisfying as he imagined when the man was just a boy, wily and jaded and just like all the other farm kids that he saw trudge in and out yesterday. (Of course, when John showed curiosity about it and asked him what the crowd was like, he told him he was far too stupid to dream of going to school. He is a father, but he ain't John's.)

In another life, he might even stick around to converse with the other parents. He'd pondered it that first day, feeding Boadicea an apple for the trip from camp some miles off and to this building on the edge of town. Arthur wondered if he had had you ten years later, and if he were not so much younger than all these parents, and if you were not so—

Well, misplaced in the world. His own fault. He thinks of it everyday.

He studies the bricks while he smokes and waits at the side of the building, now, early as he was yesterday lest he miss something important. What it would be, he doesn't know. Perhaps he just hopes you'll be given back to him sooner today, because he's coming to realize he's grown fond of knowing exactly where you are. After your mother died, the clinginess is a little more souring than he'd like to feel, so he doesn't study it.

Instead, he flicks ash off his cigarette and considers that it's going to get chilly soon. You've grown since last winter, and he ought to make sure you still fit your coat when he brings you home.

He doubts Grimshaw will mind making you another; seems to like you. Pities you, anyways, because your father is the young, dumb oaf Arthur Morgan. That woman drives him insane, sometimes, but he has learned that she cares in her own way ever since you came along. A certain softness came out in her that, rarely but truly, extended to him, too.

The cigarette is replaced by another by the time the kids begin to pour out of the doors. Youngest first, so there's no wait to see you searching for him.

Already, Arthur knows something is wrong. There's no difference from your usual face, besides whatever calm comes over it when you lay eyes on him— but that calm looks more like an ache for comfort that concerns him, even though he can't tell what, precisely, tips him off. He supposes it's the same thing that changed him to the point of considering your winter clothes, whatever thing makes him a father instead of a simple man.

The ground is tough and sandy below his knee when he drops to one to meet your eyes, brows raised in expectance of some explanation. Even your gait is quicker, your hug tighter; you aren't talking like you were yesterday, let alone grinning, and Arthur pinches his cigarette in his teeth to smooth a hand over your head and back.

That smile had made you seem so grown-up, but now you look so young and small. He takes the smoke from his lips and holds the hand to the side to keep it from your face.

"How's your day, buddy?" He asks, anyways, and frowns when you shrink in his arms and press closer. Peeling away to take a look at you, Arthur runs a hand over the side of your head to brush away your hair. He doesn't see any bruises or scrapes, but still asks: "Y'get in a fight or somethin'?"

You shake your head. His hand is large where it lays on your shoulder, firm and comforting. It only takes a moment for you to give up the silence and struggle to explain.

"She called me lazy," you say.

Arthur's brows furrow. "Teacher, you mean?"

You nod, speaking as if it's difficult not to burst into a shout. Around you, the older kids begin to pour out, but he is only focused on your voice. "She smacked me with a ruler."

"What?" He interrupts.

It comes out harsher than he means it to, and he strokes a hand over your head when you flinch. Jesus, you're on edge if you're flinching at him. Anger broils hot and instant in his gut; he knows very well how most people raise their kids and he had talked long and hard with Grimshaw for yanking on your ear one too many times but regardless, it isn't anyone's place to lay a hand on you. It isn't even his — he isn't Lyle, and you're considerably more of an angel than he ever has been himself — but it certainly isn't anyone else's.

"Where?" His eyes pass over you, searching.

Looking over the handsewn clothes Grimshaw had done-up for you, adorned with those gaudy little buttons Dutch had popped off of some nice suit jackets during a gathering he'd infiltrated some months ago, Arthur feels even more anger. Six years of raising you and dressing you in love.

It certainly is not her right to smack his child. Our child, he thinks, and the fondness only feeds the disgust. Suddenly, he wonders what you didn't tell him the first day, and if some of those wailing kids were sad for more than simply missing mother dearest.

You hold out your hands, backs up. A few knuckles are swollen, and you wince when he traces a fingertip over them to test how badly.

He bites back a sigh. He feels like he should've known this would happen, although not a single one of them has been inside a schoolhouse. Maybe Grimshaw, seems the type, but she never spoke of it. Still, Arthur thinks he should've known it the same way he knows you'll grow out of your coat this winter.

Isn't it what fathers do? Know things? Lyle hadn't been much of a father, but he always knew things.

Is Arthur worse off than him?

"Why'd she do this?" He asks.

Your face is growing redder and redder, flushed with embarrassment and shame. He wishes he had the words to soothe that, but he knows a scolding like this always leaves a certain rawness in a child. He'd had plenty of them himself.

"I was bein'... in— inatten..." The frustration of not being able to remember and repeat the word wells tears in your eyes, but Arthur's heard enough.

"Hey, it's a'right," he hushes, shaking his head. Takes a quick drag and blows it to the side. "Let's get'chu home, okay?"

You ignore him, trying to explain: "I was bad at math."

"Shit, I ain't no good with numbers, neither," Arthur says, and then catches himself. "Don't say shit. Okay?" You nod. A small flicker of your lips into a smile makes him feel better, though you still look like a kicked puppy and it makes his heart ache. "Let's get'chu home," he repeats, and this time you listen.

He's never seen Hosea so displeased.

That's untrue; he has, over gunshots and blood-puddles. It feels like a gunshot to see you burst into tears, curled into the man's chest after Arthur tried to encourage you to talk to him about what happened. He had always been better with words, but he remembers while watching him handle your sobbing that Hosea has always been better with comfort, too.

Hardly had the man picked you off your spot hugged to Arthur's front atop Boadicea — did so yesterday too, and if today was just as happy then Arthur would've been glad to see it turn into a habit — before you broke into tears once more. He had quieted you eventually on the ride with the promise of not returning, although he intended to talk it over with the others before he decided once and for all.

Our kid, he thinks warmly, and then: I feel like a kid myself. Some things come naturally when you have a child, he's finding, but so much of it just doesn't.

"Teacher smacked 'em with a ruler. Poor thing's knuckles are all..." Arthur explains, sighing heavily, waving with a hand in the air as if to say: fucked up. Hosea will jump off that crate he's sat on and smack him if he talks that foul in front of you. At least I'm grown enough to take a flick to the nose, he thinks bitterly. "Doesn't wanna go back, now."

Hosea seems to struggle through the same thoughts as he did, prying your hand off his chest to take a look. It's normal for others, though not for them. Not with you, at least. He can almost see the memories of similar punishments in his eyes. Still, Hosea pats your back and picks you off himself to hold your face.

"You think your Daddy knows everything you need to know, anyways, do you?" He asks.

It's a tease, mostly, humor to get you to stop crying. You're too upset to realize, and only nod. Arthur could cry himself at that. I'm still a kid myself, he thinks, in the back of his mind; Hosea only smiles at him, before righting his expression to look at you.

"I figure we all do," he says. Looking to Arthur, he raises his brows. "You intendin' to try again?"

Arthur sighs, shrugs his shoulders. He doesn't feel so dissimilar to you: vaguely ashamed, upset, embarrassed. "I was gon' ask what'chu thought I oughtta do," he admits.

Almost imperceptibly, Hosea's face softens further. "Well," he says, looks back to you to dry your eyes and wipe your nose with the sleeve of his button-up. Natural-born for a man that's never raised kids this young. "I never was in school, 'n' I'd say I'm quite well-educated."

"Never had a class on humbleness, I see," Arthur says.

Hosea snorts. "Don't listen to him," he says without sparing a glance.

"What's humbleness?" You ask, oblivious.

"Oh," Arthur says, steps forward to ruffle the hair atop your head. "Y'see, Uncle Dutch is real humble."

The other man bites his cheek to stave off a smile. "Arthur," he warns, looking up at him.

But it's a good opportunity to send you off and allow the two of them to talk in private, so he leans over to catch your gaze. "If you go tell Dutch he's humble, I'll give you a dollar," he promises, patting your shoulder.

"Is humble mean?" You ask.

"Y'catch on quick," Arthur says, grinning. John has certainly given you coins to say worse to him, though he found it funny each time. Your face is puffy and red, and he finds it sweet that you paused every other thought going through your head to consider it. "No, it ain't mean, sweetheart. Very nice, in fact."

Very mean to lie about, he thinks, and when you turn on your heel to go and earn yourself a dollar, he knows you will be just fine. Hosea laughs only when you've pattered away.

"Odd critters, kids," Arthur says. He sounds far too fond.

It was an easy choice. It had been a stretch to even take you to school, and the adults had all agreed that you'd likely miss most of it, anyways. They could only change so much about their lives, even if it was no way to raise you.

Sometimes Arthur wonders what it'd be like to live a normal life with you. To find someone to help him raise you proper, like a civilized family. He doesn't speak of it, but he's sure they all know that he wonders. Maybe they do, too. He thinks on it less after testing those waters with school, but once in a blue moon, the dream comes back to him.

Arthur ran into a block, as far as teaching you how to read went. He'd sat you on his lap and tried his damnedest to answer the fifty questions that every sentence of Dutch's borrowed book provoked you to ask, but he had run out of answers very quickly despite it being one of the simplest ones he had to offer.

For the last two days, he has been laying awake at night trying to answer why, exactly, bear means both an animal and an action that seemingly makes no sense. Tried and failed to use Hosea's beat-up old Bible to teach you a few words, because by the second verse it was losing him a little, too. That one made him feel quite stupid.

Hosea is better suited for that, they'd decided. He seemed a little tired being asked to teach yet another person to read, but Arthur knows that irritation is only skin-deep and watches it disappear whenever you're around. When Arthur said he wasn't sure where to start with writing, either, Hosea put a hand on his shoulder and told him the alphabet in a tone that told him he was on his own, unless he really got too lost.

It is fair. Arthur wants to teach you as much as he can, too, finds a sort of warmth about it.

The pride he feels watching you copy the alphabet he'd printed out — as steady as he could, admittedly nervous he'd screw it up and somehow damage your intellect forever, is this what being a dad feels like? — was greater than any he'd felt before. Your handwriting is unsteady, and he has to readjust the pencil in your grip more than once, but by all accounts, it is much easier to answer what sound does this make? than what's a garden?

He lets you work. Arthur likes, too, that this way your first writings will be kept in his journal. He already protects it like a sacred thing; now, it'll probably be on his body or in his pocket until you're old enough to marry someone. Even then, if all goes well, he'll have it.

Oh, how the thought of you growing up distresses him. He can't imagine what you might look like older, even though it sneaks up on him every year come your birthday that your eyes and nose are looking more adjusted to your skull, that your face is sharpening out from baby-round. He could hardly picture John as anything but the scraggly little mutt Dutch dragged back into camp when he had. It's a familiar, more intense fear.

Shit, Arthur doesn't even know what he himself will look like come three year's time.

He's twenty-five and still changing. Will he see what your face settles on?

Is this what it is to be a father?

He thinks so. There can't be any other truth, because he's faced this feeling every time you've hit a milestone. He was glad you didn't need to be carried constantly anymore, but so very depressed that you could walk; he was overjoyed when you said his name clear as day for the first time, but he was terrified at the thought that he may one day be Arthur to you.

It's sad, but it makes him smile when you look up and proclaim that your wobbly rendition of the letter W — dubba-yuh, as you say, he won't ever get over how children always sound like they are drunk — looks almost exactly like his.

Grimshaw and Hosea make a fuss, playing cards at the poker table some yards away. You ignore them entirely, absorbed in your own little world, writing at your own pace. With ears that turn off so easily, he worries about how you'll do hunting. He could've heard Grimshaw asking Hosea in exasperation why he's not cheating, you old fool, from a mile away.

Then comes Dutch, after you've scrawled a few more letters. Walking quiet up to the pair of you sat in the grass outside Arthur's tent, observing from above you before he speaks.

"Arthur?" He asks, and he sounds odd, considering that they're doing nothing unusual.

He looks up. "Yeah?"

Dutch points to the open journal. You look between them, then, interested in whatever is going on now that your dad is involved. "Did you forget the letter Z?"

Arthur squints, looks back at the journal. Oh. His ears turn red, but he only clears his throat. "I mean, who uses Z anyways?" He dismisses.

The prospect of being able to show some kind of smartness beyond a full-grown adult's seems to excite you. "Where's Z go?" You ask Dutch.

He kneels, takes the pencil and book from you to write it in after Y. In cursive. Christ, Arthur thinks, but he doesn't say anything.

"Right here, my dear," he says. Handing you the pencil back, he smiles as you skip over the others to add your own interpretation early. "Now, will you cover your ears for me?" Perplexed, but you obey anyways. Arthur is already narrowing his eyes before Dutch turns to him. "You are a goddamn fool, you know that?"

There's no malice in it, only amusement. He looks positively chuffed, which almost irritates Arthur more than if he truly meant to call him an idiot. "Who even uses Z?" He repeats, waves a hand. "It ain't that big'a mistake."

"I don't know," Dutch scoffs. "A zebra?"

"A zebra?" Arthur says, in disbelief. "You ever seen one for y'self?"

Dutch's brows raise. "Are you—?" His face falls into mock graveness. "Arthur Morgan," he says, feigning disappointment. "You can't be serious."

"Well, have you?"

"I ain't gon' dignify that with a response," Dutch says, turns to smile at you. He always smiles at you, at least, Arthur likes that about the man. He plucks one of your hands off your head. "You're good, now, honey. Keep writin'."

[hanafubukki]

If skully turns malleus into a pumpkin 🎃 (would it even last long? Considering skully hasn’t mastered his UM? Would it work? 🧐), I’m going to have his head. Like how you can take off jack’s head lolol 😆

Do you think sebek and mc would have flashbacks to Lilia’s dream 🤔 seeing how malleus would be…round again lmao *pats and hugs the pumpkin malleus like jamil does in the CM*

Maybe that’s the real reason why Lilia hasn’t been in an event with Malleus…where he could potentially get hurt…

*flashbacks to book 2*

Actually…that makes a lot of sense now…a lot to think about actually… 🧐🤔

Wait no twst…give it to me, I want to see lilia angry again gimme gimme *grabby hands*

[aviiarie]

AHHH I just saw your letter asks !!! They're so cute! Is a familial Freminet one alright with you? Be sure to take lots of breaks and drink water! If you see this ask, this is your posture check <3 Keep up the wonderful work!

At first glance, there isn't anything particularly notable about the letter. White envelope, white paper, neat handwriting printed across the back. But when you lean closer, you can catch the faint scent of sea salt clinging to the letter, one that marks it as distinctly Freminet's.

To [Name]. Hi. Lyney told me to make sure you were coming to family dinner, since you were too busy to make it last week. He's pretty upset about that, he was moping around the hotel foyer mumbling under his breath. I think I heard him say 'family dinner isn't family dinner when you're missing family.' He was being a little dramatic, but you should let him know in advance next time. I don't know if I can deal with him sulking again. That's... not the only reason I'm writing. I've been meaning to talk to you for a while now, I just never could put my thoughts into words properly. I've been writing more lately, though. It's making it a little easier to... understand what I'm feeling, when I have it down on paper. Anyway. I wanted to speak to you last week, but you were busy so I didn't see you. Do you think we can talk after dinner tomorrow? It's nothing urgent, I promise... there has been just a lot on my mind, and you told me that you didn't like it when I bottled up my emotions. So... if it's not too much of a trouble, I'll meet you after dinner. From Freminet. P.S. Lynette told me to tell you that if you're not at dinner, she will be very disappointed. She was very serious when she said it, too. Please don't disappoint her, I can't deal with both twins being gloomy.

(ask game!)

[amndmirk]

i still go to that house sometimes, to say what i need to say

@tapakah0 anyway uhm. HI. i was checking up on the prologue and made a doodle but then i didnt wanna ping you without a reason so i started making fanart and... THIS?? came out? cool. anyway. as you can see youre a great inspiration 4meee glad u and cass and magma are re-inventing the joy of creation? because like?? you make stuff that you enjoy making and other people enjoy it and it makes them so happy they just cant express their admiration in any other way but to create themselves, too??? which? spreads even more love? more awe? like an endless cycle of inspiration and creation and evaluation?????? like COME ONNN. yall badass as hell. dont you dare ever think otherwise. now, for the sillay-ass doodles and the amazing song that i used the lyrics from

[bbyshifts]

I want a lover|relationship even if I am aroace.

I want to write cute poems to someone,

I want to write cute letters to someone,

I want to hug someone and never letting them go,

I want to kiss someone,

I want to give my love to someone even if platonic.

A QPR or not, just having someone to love too would be amazing.

[gayofthefae]

Sometimes I have these moments where I'm like. I just nerd out about how neat the execution is, ya know?

In 2019, The Duffers posted a blocked out letter signed "love" with the date Will went missing.

On May 26, 2022, signing a letter "love" was just an affectionate signature.

On May 27, 2022, signing a letter "love" was inherently romantic when done, only by Mike Wheeler.

The entire letter plotline is so satisfyingly simple in structure. When Mike loves someone platonically but not romantically, he does not sign his letters to them "love". Mike did not write letters to Will. On November 6, 1983, Will Byers went missing and the upside down froze in time.

I LOVE seemingly disconnected facts. And so, naturally, I love when 5 year old tweets say "they're connected...Figure it out."

[smaeemo]

Not much, just a bro making a super emotional post about his bro on social media for his birthday

[https-furina]

"your order is complete!" this order is for @nervocat:

"Thought I'd put in something for your event hehe :33 What about Neuvillette with a small latte and foam? I'm curious to see what you come up with.. 👀 (Sorry if I did anything wrong.. this is actually my first request for anyone 😭😭. I'll also probably read this when I'm back if you're done with it by then, but take your time!!)"

neuvillette + gn!reader | platonic, modern!au | 1.1k words notes. uuuuu nervo... this man would give the best hugs convince me otherwise... this is actually the second time i’ve ever wrote for him <3

thirsty? see our café menu before you order! | order receipts

throughout your whole life, there has always been only one man by your side. you never seemed to have any qualms with each other, fitting together like slotted puzzle pieces and sometimes your friendship even stood against the tides that was your families bombarding you with "you'd look so good together!" that you would both simply groan and roll your eyes in response to; his older sister furina was exceptionally good at bring this up every time you came over for dinner when you was kids.

as you grew older however the two of you grew in distance, finally entering that adult world you dreamt so much about when you hid together in forts made of blankets and pillows, snacking on your stash of sugar. neuvillette got into law school, making him much busier than you and you'd opted for art school, much more interested in the creation of theatrical props and stages. going to two completely different schools put a halt on how much time you could spend with each other.

it's the middle of winter and finally your schedules have cleared up enough to allow you both to meet under the roof of a local café, the large glass windows slightly steamed due to the temperature difference outside but the warm, golden lights creating the most comforting environment that you would never need to gaze beyond what is around you. the smell of coffee and freshly baked treats is strong and slightly overpowering but nonetheless a welcoming difference from the paints and glue you suffered with daily.

you've always claimed you wasn't heavily attached to your childhood best friend but the moment your eyes catch sight of the tall male entering the building, his long silvery hair tied back in a loose ponytail because it gets in his way - but heaven forbid you suggest he cuts it - and a pair of slim glasses perched on his nose, you raise to your feet so quick you go dizzy for a few seconds. the static wears off to reveal him stood before you, undoing the buttons of his trench coat and unwrapping that familiar scarf from around his neck; ah yes, it's the one you brought him last christmas.

his violet eyes glance at you, a pleasant smile decorating his pale face as he hangs his coat on the back of his chair before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into the fluff of his sweater. he's warm, dressed appropriately for the weather as always and you relax under his touch, your arms looped around his waist and you rest your head against his chest. this hug was very much overdue and with the stress of exams, it's exactly what you both needed.

"have you ordered yet?" his deep voice rumbles suddenly over the sounds of cups clinking and idle chatter. you shake your head in response, reluctantly pulling away from the broad-shouldered male and he lets out a content hum, pulling his wallet out of his coat pocket, "what do you want? my treat today."

a slither of a smile creeps onto your face as you settle back into your chair, unwilling to argue against the male as you tell him your preferred order. there's a mild grin on his face, your order hasn't changed at all since you were younger and you almost wish you could retort sarcastically but he says nothing, leaving to go to the counter. part of you feels willed to follow him, unhappy with the concept of him paying but you knew just how stubborn neuvillette could be, a small sigh escaping your lips as you take the moment to admire the dark oak aesthetic inside the café.

neuvillette returns shortly after holding a tray in his black leather gloved hands, placing it on the table as you flash him a thankful smile. he settles opposite you, unstrapping his aforementioned gloves as you focus on your drink, taking a sip of it happily and closing your eyes for a split second.

"how's law school been treating you?" you find yourself asking him the dreaded question first, your eyes watching how his minorly calloused hands open his bottle of water and you can't help but think he really hasn't changed a bit since you were kids, always much preferring water to any other drink people tried to shove his way. neuvillette almost groans, raising the bottle to his lips as he takes a small sip.

"i have so much material to revise at all times, this is the first time i've been out of my accommodation in a while," he admits with a taut frown pulled onto his face. he was always one to prefer the outdoors, granted the weather had to be nice, "and it is as ever dull outside as some of my lecturers are to listen to."

you can't help but laugh at his words, picturing just how boring law professors must be. perhaps you would fall asleep if you had to listen to their drawl but neuvillette was extremely academic so you imagine that despite this complaint of his, he listens intently in every class just like he did in high school. you have faith he'll pass law school with flying colours.

"what about art school?" it's his turn to ask about your academics, tilting his head in curiosity as he looks over at you and you wonder if this setting seems a little too formal for you both, "i've seen some of your works on instagram."

"the local high school's drama class is doing romeo and juliet for their annual play and they've hired us to design the set. we're being graded on it but people in my class keep re-enacting scenes whenever we finish a prop." you groan, resting your chin in your hand as you attempt to look outside through the window to your left, it's still fogged up but it was an attempt nonetheless. neuvillette lets out a deep chuckle.

"think of it as quality control," he comments playfully with a small smile etched onto his otherwise sincere face, it draws a smile onto your face too at your best friend's words, "they're just checking the authenticity of your works before they're used for the real thing."

despite months of not seeing each other after years of being inseparable, everything seems just the way the pair of you had left it, leaving you content and fuzzy inside at finally being able to spend time together again. even though the two of you have definitely matured a little, those two toddlers cuddled up and sharing a beanbag in the library are still very much present and as the stress of exams, revision and all nighters designing stage sets wash away, you both come to realise just how much you needed to see each other again.

© https-furina 2023 | please do not copy, re-upload or translate my works on any form of media. heart banner by @/cafekitsune.

[estrellami-1]

Lavender Letters

Part 11

Eddie finds the letter folded on Steve’s pillow, next to his head when he wakes up. “The hell,” he mutters, sitting up blearily and looking around the room.

He’s alone.

His heart gives a nervous thump, and a part of him thinks this is it; this is the last time he gets Steve.

He takes a breath. Opens the letter. Begins to read.

Reaches for a pen and paper after.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Hello! how you doing?? may i request for your event , epel with a fluffy platonic ''long distance relationship" ?

and as my backup i thought of riddle with ''farmer's market'' , like a funny romantic outing

and i think you said 2 backups ... if you then stargazing with azul , romantic hurt/comfort

i'm not used to requesting so if i did anything wrong sorry oopsie i didn't mean too 😅

Long-Distance Relationship; Epel Felmier

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, platonic

Word Count; 650+

AN; Everything looks great, no need to worry! I hope you enjoy this, and the friendship with Epel! As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

This summer had been quiet, with Professor Trein basically threatening Crowley to let you stay with him. But it was nice. You had a nice room with overstuffed pillows and old quilts. And an actually nice bed that didn’t have any springs poking out of it. After the chaos that had been the school-year, it was nice having a stable home environment. Also Trein gave you the freedom you needed, and didn’t hover, but was there when you needed him.

“Another letter arrived for you,” the older man said while waiting for his morning cup of tea to cool down. “From Felmier.”

Epel couldn’t come to visit as often as the others, as he was busy at the farm and doing promotional work to help bring Felmier Farms into the public’s eye. But he sent a letter every week, each with an apple stamp.

You opened the letter, curbing your excitement. There was rarely anything super exciting in them, but it was still nice to read what Epel got into.

Meemaw says I should be able to visit next week! So be prepared for a lot of stuff; could ‘have sworn you’re her grandkid an’ not me. Hope you like kitschy apple-themed clothes.

Epel is coming. Epel is coming! You hadn’t seen him in over a month, and the last time you did he was working the family stand at the farmer’s market. You couldn’t really catch up then, but now, now you could. You could finally catch up with your best friend. “Is it okay if Epel comes over?”

Trein looked up from the book he was reading and gave you a curt nod before going back to his book and morning cup of tea

Places to go with Epel; 

You had started to make a list, but nothing was really coming to you. You didn’t know many other places save for Night Raven College, and the small village where Trein, and now you, resided. Sighing, you spun in your chair, thinking. Epel was arriving tomorrow and you had jack-all planned. And sure, just catching up and hanging inside the home or out in the yard was nice and all, but you wanted to do something. “Come on brain, be smart,” you sighed, plopping down on the bed and groaning. Maybe some sleep would hel- “Epel?”

And standing outside your window was none other than Epel Felmier, carrying a backpack and an amusingly large box. He was moving his mouth, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. Getting up, you moved towards the window and pushed it up.

“-et me in, these damn skeeters are eatin’ me alive,” is what you heard upon opening the window. And there were indeed a few mosquitoes trying their hardest to make a midnight snack out of your friend. “Long time no see, huh?”

You moved aside so he could let himself in. he was early, in the letter he said he’d be arriving tomorrow right after lunch. But Epel was here, in the middle of the night, hauling a large wooden crate into your room. “Yeah, but what are you doing here Epel?”

He let out a grunt as the wood crate finally got through the threshold of the window. “Visiting, like I said… Pa dropped me off early but I had some runnin’ around to do.” He reached into his pocket and handed you a small bee keychain. “Gotcha this in town, since you’re a busy bee.”

You lightly punched his shoulder, as you knew Trein would give the both of you a questioning look, but you were happy to see Epel. “So, what horrors did Marja send?” You peaked into the wooden crate.

Epel grabbed out a cardigan made of granny squares with apples and apple blossoms instead of daisies. “Matching sweaters,” he said with mock fear in his voice.

The two of you laughed though, as it was a sweet action, and once it started to cool off, the both of you would wear them together; like the cheesy matching outfits parents put siblings in.

[kingstarkingslay]

Platonic Moonwater Headcannon

Remus was the first friend Regulus made when he joined Hogwarts. Remus knew Sirius and Regulus weren’t on speaking terms ever since Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor and about the abuse the both of them experience at home so he takes the first chance he can get to befriend Regulus. The both of them get along really easily cause they both have a lot of common interests, majorly in books but Regulus only knows wizarding books so Remus starts introducing him to muggle books - literature and poetry. Regulus absolutely falls in love with them and they spend hours talking about them. They’d share notes on them.By now Sirius knows that the reason why Remus spends so much time in the library is cause he’s hanging out with his brother and he loves it cause now he knows his brother is in safe hands. Plus this gives him the chance to keep tabs on his brother through Remus.

Remus and Regulus start confiding in each other. In fact Regulus was the first one to know about Remus’s crush on Sirius. Remus finds out that Regulus loves playing the piano even though it was something his parents forced him to learn and that they actually have a Grand Piano back at Grimmauld Place but Regulus only knows Wizarding Piano Compositions cause that’s what his tutors taught him and you know what his family thinks about muggles….. so Remus then starts researching everything he can about Muggle composers- Beethoven and Mozart, Tchaikovsky and Bach , and he tells Regulus all about them. Once during the holidays Remus found a book called “ The Greatest Pianists ” at a bookstore so he buys it and brings it back with him to Hogwarts and lends Regulus the book, promising him that next time he’d look for a book with piano pieces ( or music sheets ) in them so that Regulus could maybe learn Muggle compositions.

But Regulus never got to return The Greatest Pianists because that was the year Sirius ran away and after that Regulus closed up completely. He stopped hanging out with Remus because of his anger at Sirius, even though he really missed his time with Remus. Remus knew Regulus was avoiding him but he didn’t push it cause he knew the younger Black brother was in pain.

So whenever Regulus was back at Grimmauld Place , he’d lock his bedroom door, take the book out of the little secret compartment he had on the floor under his bed and read it and cry cause he missed Remus. He missed being able to talk to him and spend his time with him. So he’d cry over all the people he pushed outta his life.

But then the letters started coming.

Letters written in a familiar handwriting.

Remus’s handwriting.

In the envelope were two pieces of paper.

One was a small piece of paper with the words “ I thought you’d find these interesting ” written in Remus’s handwriting.

And the other- A music sheet to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata

Regulus immediately runs to the Grand Piano , rests the music sheet on the piano rack and starts playing the piece. By the time he’s done with it he’s in tears.

The letters don’t stop. Everyday during the holidays he wakes up to an owl dropping a different music sheet on his table and he’s rush to his piano and start playing them. By the end of the day he’d have learnt the piece by heart and could play it without looking at the music sheet.

His parents never found out about the letters cause Remus never signed his name on any of them.

More importantly, the letters were hidden in that secret compartment under his bed, folded neatly in between the pages of The Greatest Pianists.

[aviiarie]

......crazy ask, but zenitsu familial? also congrats on finishing your letters!

There's a small spark across the envelope when you open the letter, a strange static running across your fingers. The words are scrawled hastily across the paper, with a large ink blot staining the middle.

[Name] — I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. Soon, in fact. Consider this letter my final will and testament: I leave everything I own to you, and maybe to Gramps if he wants anything. My honour, I'm afraid, will die with me. I can just hear the eyeroll from all the way here, but I can promise you that I am dead serious! You don't understand the pain, the anguish... I passed final selection, I'm a demon slayer now, but I'm not cut out for this at all! Everything we fight is so strong, so terrifying. I'm gonna die. Oh god, I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die without getting married or learning the next form of Thunder Breathing or visiting you again or— Sorry for the ink stain there. Inosuke—one of the Demon Slayers I've been travelling with—stole the pen right out of my hand and spilled it over the paper before I could finish my sentence. He's such a pain sometimes! Tanjiro—the other one I'm travelling with—is alright, though. He's an easy person to get along with, a sort of peacekeeper I suppose. I don't want to just talk about them, though. What's it been like back home? I heard from Gramps that you were staying with him for a little while. That's probably for the best, I think he's been lonely since... well. You know. Kaigaku. I gotta visit him too sometime... maybe if I manage to survive the next few weeks... If I don't end up being brutally slaughtered by a demon before you get this letter, then I'll talk to you soon, okay? — Zenitsu

(ask game!)