#and were told to write a story or poem inspired by it

[gpedia]

Lonely Memories

87 year old Sameera walked slowly up the alpine trail, before resting painfully against a large rock. Time had certainly treated her well, she mused. All her friends had stayed behind at the lodge, much too frail to attempt the climb to their yesteryear playfield.

As she leaned back and gazed at the sky, memories long forgotten came flooding back.

She had moved into this quaint little valley in the foothills when she was five, staying with her aging grandmother. She was a quiet, shy girl, then, never talking to the other village kids or mingling in any way. She first made the climb to the lowest meadow when she was seven, mostly looking for a place away from the noisy confines of the village. The meadow had been in full bloom then, as it was now, a carpet of reds, blues, and grays covering the field. It was also there she had first met Rudra, a pale scrawny kid with eyes the colour of nightshade. It had been he who had finally dragged her out of her shell, making her talk and laugh.

“You have a sweet laugh, Sam. You should let it out more.”

For months he had been her only friend, as she still refused to play in the streets. Then, one day, he showed up with another girl, dark as he was pale, with gray eyes the colour of yarrow flowers, and pearly white teeth nearly always showing through her grin.

“Sam, meet Nii! Nii, this is that will o’ the wisp I told you about, calls herself Sameera.”

“Hi! My name’s actually Indraa, but you can call me Nii, Everyone else does. Come on down, I’ll race you to the square!”

She slowly got to know the rest of the village kids, though the names and faces mixed in the head; Robert, Khanna, Miya, Suresh, Suryaa, Saaryu, Chandra… but Rudra and Nii were always closest to her.

Soon, no matter the challenge, she and Rudra were neck and neck at conquering it, and beating each other. One or the other was always first in class, with the other a close second; fastest runner, their competition extended even to such petty matters as who collected the most flowers for Nii on her birthday. Sameera smiled, remembering how she had barely beat Rudra on that one, pulling the rose out of her hairband.

No surprise then, when she found she had a knack for drawing in 11 grade, and Rudra none, he must needs show her up by learning to play the flute so well, nightingales sang duets with him.

The meadow was still her haven of choice, and she spent long hours sketching scenes from the field, Rudra and Nii were almost always there, when they weren’t off wandering alone together, him above her on a branch, teasing the birds with his flute, her lying in the grass at her feet. She spent more time talking to them than any actual drawing, really.

Sameera blinked, and sat up. The sun was overhead now, and she had spent nearly an hour sitting here.

“Hey, Sam.”

She looked up and saw Nii standing over her, a sad smile playing on her face.

“Scoot over, I’m not as young as I used to be, and my legs are tired.”

“Finally worked up the strength to come up here, huh?”

Looking at Nii now, in her mourning clothes, Sam was reminded of the last time she had stood on this meadow – Rudra and Nii had gotten married right here, sixty three years ago. She had been maid of honour. She had left for the States shortly after, pursuing a Creative Arts course in Carnegie.

“I still miss him, so much, Sam.”

Nii was at the brink of tears, her gray eyes stormy and dark. Sameera reached over and squeezed her hand.

“So do I, Nii… Come on, let’s go over.”

At least Rudra got to rest now, where they had had so much fun together. She got up and helped Nii to her feet, and they walked over to the old spruce they had spent so much time around. They buried his ashes at its feet.

“Goodbye, Rudra.”

[dumpywrites]

Tears and Poetries - Kim Namjoon / RM

Prompt: “You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Fluff, comfort, idol Namjoon, non fan reader 

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

a/n: Come back to me got me feeling all inspired soooo yeah :)

It was late. Frankly you did not bother to check the time but you knew it was at least way past twelve. You just needed some air. Late night polluted air might not be the right option, but it was the best you could have at the moment. Getting out was the only coping response your mind could think off. Getting out from where exactly you could not be sure. 

Work life had been a real shit-show. You were on your fifth revision for your company project and your manager still would not accept your draft. While life? Life had been pretty exhausting. Recently your mother had been pestering you about wanting you to achieve more, comparing you to her friends’ sons and daughters, while also underestimating your own accomplishment. 

And not even two weeks ago, a guy who you were seeing just admitted that he apparently had a girlfriend. He really just dropped that info to you like a bomb, as if you did not spend time with each other the past six months. True, you never really put a label on whatever you both had, but in your head you were single and so was he. Until he told you that he got a girlfriend and had dated her for a month already. 

The wound still felt fresh especially with all the external problems added to the equation. Bearing the feeling of unwanted, unimportant, and never enough at once, was hard. Even labeling it as only hard sounded like an understatement. 

So you ran. Theoretically speaking you did not run away, you just took off from your apartment randomly to wherever your feet and your worn off sneakers took you. And they took you to a random spot near a river. 

You sat down on the dirty grassy ground, not minding how your shorts could get dirty from it.  Just sitting down and looking at the night sky, as if the cold breeze would calm you and do anything besides giving you a possibility of catching cold. 

Five, fifteen, maybe it was around half an hour you had been sitting there with empty thoughts, just letting the cold air hit your skin, when you suddenly heard a sound of a bicycle stopping and footsteps approaching. 

“Hello? Are you alright there?”

The deep voice started you and made you look back in an instant. There was a tall and quite big built guy standing with his bicycle. He had a buzzcut from the very faint image you could see due to the low light. 

Although skeptic, you decided to answer. “Yeah, don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

You realized how shaky and stuffy your voice sounded. It probably was not a very convincing “don’t worry”. And when you did not voice another reply, the person parked their vehicle and slowly walked towards your direction. 

“Hey! Stranger danger!” You said, backing off from where you were seating. 

The guy stopped in his tracks but did not walked away. “Do you mind if I join your pondering session? Who knows two great minds might think alike.” 

You stayed still in your position, eyes searching for his in the very confusing lack of light. You could barely make out of what he looked like. 

“I’m not a creep, I swear!” He threw his hands in the air. “There’s a police station nearby if you wanna shout as loud as you can, they could hear you from here.” 

He took your silence as a green light and stepped closer until he reached a spot on your left. He cleared his throat and sat down next to you. 

There you could eventually fully saw his face. The first thing you noticed was the nicely shaped nose, and his plump lips, then his dimples which showed when he politely smiled at you. 

The first ten minutes was spent in complete silence. You did not expect the man to whip out a notepad and pencil and just started writing. A story? Poem? Or song? You tried your best not to sneak a look. He was even humming at some point when he wrote, and it was strangely enough, soothing. 

“What are you writing?” You finally asked, the suspense was killing you. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” He replied with excitement. “I’m writing a poem. Though I’m starting to think it’d sound better as a song.”

“You’re a singer or something?”

The man looked at you in disbelief for a good second before chuckling. “Sorta.”

“Am I suppose to know you?” You eyed him back with the same questioning look. 

“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s a good thing that you don’t know for today.”

You looked at the guy suspiciously, which earned a laugh from him. “The more I think about it, I think I’ve seen your face somewhere…”

“Oh yeah?” He said, a light tone of nervousness was visible in his voice. 

“You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”

He almost choked on nothing. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“Yeah, that one dude from BTS.” You repeated. “Although I don’t think any one from them has a buzzcut… Idols always seem to have either colorful hair or beautiful long locks.” 

“Really…” The man voiced out, sounding unsure. 

“Are you perhaps an indie artist? K-hiphop? Don’t tell me you are a DPR member that I somehow don’t know about or something…”

“Okay, enough about that it’s not important.” He dismissed. “You wanna take a look of what I’ve written?”

“Uh, sure…”

You leaned a bit closer to him and peeked over his notes. He took his notepad nearing it to your side so you could read better. Despite the low source of illumination, you could read the delicately written words. It was deep and meaningful. Whatever he wrote on that paper seemed a little too real to just be a song, it almost felt like it came from true experience. 

“You sound like you went through hell to get to where you are right now.” 

You commented, you were not aware of how reading through his words affected you until you could practically hear your heartbeat. You clutched at your chest, trying to calm it down. 

“I’m not only talking about the sufferings.” He pointed out. “I also mentioned about the journeys in between.”

His expression brightened as he explained further. You found it really attractive for some reason. 

“The feeling of loss, left out, were there alongside the feeling of excitement, growth, and wanting to change for the better.” He grinned. “And I think life needs that small bits of flavor to complete us as human beings… Wouldn’t have loved myself so much without all my struggles and flaws.”

You gazed at the guy in front of you in awe. “Guess you’re right.” You finally broke into a smile. “That was beautiful though, almost got me tearing up.”

“Thank you.” He grinned, showing his dimples. “What about you though? What’s on your mind?”

“It’s kinda lame…” You nervously laughed. 

“I’m listening.” He scooted closer, making your knees touched. 

“There are a whole list of messed up things happening in my life right now, but I guess I could name one or two…” 

You took a deep breath and the guy in front of you patiently waited for you to speak. 

“Basically my mom’s been yelling at me saying stuff about how unsuccessful I am for my nine to five job, while getting bullied by my manager at work, and not to mention, how I just got dumped by a guy who I was seeing for six months.”

“That’s fucked up…” He looked at you with wide eyes. 

“You tell me.” You replied sassily. “I mean I guess for the most part it wasn’t really about the problem itself. I’m aware of how perfectionist my manager could be and multiple revision is expected. My mom never really feels content with anything, so that’s also expected. And that fucking guy leaving me? It was probably for the better…”

“Hey.” He grabbed your shoulder suddenly, catching you in a surprise. “Don’t downplay your feelings like that. You’re allowed to feel sad when other people treat you like utter shit. It’s valid.” 

There was something about his words that triggered an emotion within you. Unknowingly, a tear escaped your eyes, followed by more next. 

You leaned backwards to free from his grip, only for him to lose it but proceeded to take off his knitted sweater, revealing a black oversized t-shirt underneath. He took it off with one hand before shoving it through your head so you could wear it. 

“It’s chilly. You might catch a cold.” 

Hesitantly, you rolled the sweater through your body. You felt the neckline stained with tears and wondered if it was his polite way of helping you wipe your tears. You thanked him and he told you to continue. 

“I don’t know what else to say, I don’t want to trauma dump on you.” 

“How are you feeling though?” He asked, eyes gently looking at you. 

“I just… I felt unwanted? Unimportant and undesirable? It happened all at once and it got me connecting strings. The root cause of my problem felt like it came from me as a person and I felt sick…”

He gazed at you and quietly nod, allowing you to continue. 

“I came here because it was loud and deafening in here,” You tapped your head with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “And I’m glad I did. Not only did I manage to tone it down a couple notches, I also get an exclusive song preview from a top star!” 

Both of you laughed in unison. You were the first to break the eye contact due to the sudden invasion of butterflies in your stomach. It might be dark and late at night, but your eyes could not lie about the beauty of the stranger in front of you. 

The silence was soon broken by a buzzing notification from his phone. It was on silent mode, but the multiple vibrations got him shuffling his hand on his pocket, fishing his phone out from his cargo pants. 

“Damn, I gotta head back. Someone needs me in the studio…” 

“At this hour?!” You argued immediately.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” He ran his hand through his short hair in a frustrated way. 

“What’s your name?” 

You both stopped and looked at each other, dumbfounded. Both of you asked the same question at the same time. Laughter filled the air once again. 

“You first.” The guy gestured. 

You got up and he followed right after. Now looking at how tall he was compared to you, spelling out your name felt a little bit harder. Your heart was beating in an abnormal rate. You finally managed to tell him your name and you patted yourself internally for not voicing out like a squealing hormonal teenager. 

“I’m Namjoon.” He said with a huge contagious smile. 

“Now where did I hear that name—“

“Can I have your number?” He interrupted. Glancing at his phone screen, a small groan escaped his lips. “It’s almost three, you have to go home.”

“Oh.” Your lips formed a small O shape. “Sure. Here, give me your phone…”

You both then exchanged phone numbers. 

“I want to take you back to your home so badly but I really can’t…” Namjoon sighed. “Besides, my bicycle can only do so much…” He chuckled. 

“It’s okay, I live nearby.” You smiled. “You take care, though.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll text you?”

“Yeah.” You nodded happily. “Thank you, Namjoon.” 

“Don’t mention it, I’m really glad we met today.” He nodded at you before retreating to where he parked his bicycle. 

“Wait!” 

You followed, running to his direction. You stopped when your arms barely linked behind him, hugging him tightly. It was bold of you but it just felt right at the moment. 

“Thank you so much, I mean it.” You said with voice muffled a little by his clothes against your mouth. 

And you did. You meant it, it felt really nice having someone who actually listened to your problem and seemed like he cared about it too. 

He hugged back. “You’re not unwanted, okay? You are loved, please know that.”

You nodded and broke off the hug. A big smile plastered on your lips and he mimicked it. “Okay, you may go now.”

You both bid your goodbyes and that was how you found yourself smiling and giggling at three in the morning, by yourself, on your way back to your place, all while hugging the sweater that you forgot to give back. That encounter was weird, but in a very good way. It almost felt like the universe sent you an angel knowing how down you were feeling. In a peculiar way, it almost felt like he saved you. You went to sleep easily that night. 

The next morning you were awaken by a text notification popping up from Namjoon. You smiled like an idiot to yourself before opening it. 

“Good morning! I hope you slept well. Did you arrive safe yesterday? Sorry something came up, I wished I could stay longer.”

You quickly replied to him. “I slept good. Probably thanks to you, hehe. No problem though! Maybe we could hangout again someday? I need to return your sweater after all :)”

After typing the text and sending it, suddenly a curious thought filled your head. His name did ring an unknown bell. Namjoon did mention that he was a singer, an idol maybe? You could not be sure. You tapped your Google app on your phone and started typing his name followed by the word “singer” behind it. 

Maybe this was your cue to be more aware of the Kpop industry. You had your fair share of listening to K-hiphop, and were even an avid listener of groups like Epik High and Balming Tiger. 

So how come you failed to notice that last night you in fact just hugged Kim Namjoon, aka RM from the internationally well known boy group, BTS???

Thank you for reading! 🌙

a/n: this was a rather short one but i hope y'all like it nonetheless <3

Prompt request: HERE

[beggars-opera]

You hate classic lit because:

Your were forced to read it in high school, and no one likes to be forced to do anything in school

Your teacher failed to explain that important things aren't always objectively enjoyable

Your class was focused on picking the book apart at the expense of appreciating the story or, more importantly, the context of the book and why you should care

You think that the book has to be relevant and nonthreatening to you to be worth reading

I had an English teacher in high school tell me word for word that Charles Dickens was the filet mignon of literature, and that my class clearly only liked hot dogs. I had another teacher ask me what I thought the meaning of a poem was and then told me that my interpretation was objectively wrong.

But I've also seen other teachers explaining what made a book a classic, why people at the time loved it, what new ideas or writing styles it pioneered, or what historical events it inspired. And I've read, throughout my life, plenty of classics without the constraints of an educational setting, and thoroughly enjoyed them. Hell, I've taken Les Miserables to the beach.

There have also been books that I have read and not enjoyed! Sometimes they had themes that I hated, but as a historian I can put those themes in context and still learn from the work as a whole. Sometimes I just didn't like the story, but I can accept that my ideal plotline doesn't always mesh with that of an average person in 1788. I also know when books feel disjointed because they were originally serialized, or paid by the word, or written in a dialect and culture not my own. And now I'm an adult, and I can choose to finish them or put them down.

The point is I encourage you to revisit books you once had to read and hated, or books you never had to read but have avoided because they fall in the same category. As an adult you get to make your own choices and form your own opinions, and that freedom allows you to dive as deeply or shallowly into literature as you want. You may never like War and Peace, but you might also find that you enjoy more than you thought you would.

[farmerstarter]

Could you possibly write some random hcs for my man Elliott? Hope all is well <3

ʚ📜ɞ ˚ · . random Elliott HCs:

tags: elliott x gn! reader

hi! thank you so much for requesting :) Elliott is my number 1 favorite bachelor in sdv, so writing this was a treat. I hope you enjoy them 💐🤍

🪶 You had to be the one to initiate your first conversation. The two of you exchanged smiles and gave each other waves when you crossed paths. But apart from that, you and Elliott never spent time together that lasted more than a minute. He was always so caught up in his own world, distracted and staring off into the distance. You later found out that he tended to zone out a lot, thinking about his drafts and meticulously judging his own writing prowess. "Being alone tends to do that to you," Elliot would muse. The two of you soon made an effort to spend Friday evenings in the Stardrop Saloon, hiding away in your little table in the corner. He would drone on about ideas for his book and you would complain about crows picking at your crops. It would usually end with Elliott drunkenly dancing on the table while you laugh at him. He's a happy drunk, no shame hiding under his lucious hair whatsoever.

🪶 He helps Willy tend to the shop sometimes when he doesn't have the energy to write. Or he would be with Leah in the saloon, both of them complaining about their art/writing block.

🪶 He's a master of calligraphy, I decided. His letters to you are always so well done. You end up keeping his letters instead of throwing them away because they were too pretty to be lost in your endless letter drawer. He writes poems to you, most of them about you. He always signs it at the end with "Yours, Elliott"

🪶 He collects sea shells. Makes them into bracelets after Leah taught him how to do it. It was no wonder why you couldn't find any shells when you would wander to the beach in the afternoon. Elliott already got to them first. You've noticed that both Leah and Willy have shell bracelets, wearing them wherever they went. When you and Elliott became friends, he sent you a bracelet and a letter accompanying it in your mailbox. Elliott bashfully told you that he got your wrist size correct because he would hold onto your wrist when crossing to the other side of the beach, across the wooden bridge you built for it. And here you thought he was holding onto you so neither of you would fall in the water. Turns out, that was only half the reason.

🪶 When he moved in to live with you, he spent his first few weeks reading about crops and farm animals so he can help you around the farm. He enjoys spending time in the coop with the ducks the most. He even bought a duck from Marnie to have as his own, much to your amusement. It's the only duck that lives inside the house. He gave you the honor of naming it.

🪶 He and Willy would have dinner together sometimes (Elliott and Willy friendship, my beloveds). Willy made him his famous crab cakes and Elliott has never known peace since. Willy had to give Elliott the recipe so he can make his own batch to eat anytime he wanted. Elliott cooks them for you too.

🪶 He keeps a notepad tucked in his pocket for when inspiration strikes. He told himself that he would write ideas for his book the moment he gets them. But he doesn't end up doing it. He tells himself that he'll remember them when he gets home. Most of the time, he doesn't.

🪶 I like to imagine that Elliott is a merman that Willy accidentally caught in a net one night. He got into writing after he realized he can hold paper without ruining it now. He rarely talks to anyone aside from Willy, who caught him in the first place, and Leah, who accidentally caught him swimming in the river as a merman. But honestly, this is a story for another time.

[poems-of-the-anentomologist]

I think some thank you's are in order, but first, a story

I grew up in the south, and while it was never taught to me, I always got clues that being queer or feeling any emotions other than "the norm" was wrong. I was called gay for simply hugging a friend in third grade, and while I didn't know what the word meant I could tell it wasn't good.

All throughout my life I felt as though there was an invisible barrier that separated me from all the people I called friends, and I never knew.

Until I met them.

They were queer and they were open about it, they were happy and playful, and above all THEY WERE PROUD

they were proud of themselves

they were proud of each other

and their pride in turn inspired me to look inward

and I discovered things I didn't know I had kept hidden from myself for so long

and I grew connected and I fell in love and I felt whole and happy and alive for what felt like the first time in my life

and then it ended

they left, and I lost a part of myself

without my fellows, I felt exposed, like half of me had just broken off and left me stranded deep in an inky black sea

for two months I suffered, trying to win back their love, to do anything to try and feel that wholeness again.

and it never came, and I was forced to rebuild instead of recover

I guess you could say this challenge was an attempt to rebuild and an attempt to become proud of myself again.

And I couldn't have done it alone.

@leafgorge, I don't have the words to describe how happy I am to have met you, but the best I can try is to say that I could never had seen this completed without your help

@thecrazyalchemist & @reinagony your support and praise has kept me going through this whole challenge

@totheidiot your words describing what my poems have done to you have been the best things I have ever heard, and I am eternally grateful.

@mr-beeboo, @gay--gh0st, @amorphousprimordia, and so many more, you are wonderful stars in the night sky. Never go out.

@motordyk your post made the Intersex poem possible, and without you I would have been in some very hot water

@thebookshelflord your help on the Aroace poem(s) was invaluable and I can not thank you enough.

I'd like to thank the Children of the Stars, you are loved by so many, never forget that

I'd like to thank the Children of the Dawn, there is much to you and you all are so wonderful

I'd like to thank the Sweet Summer Children, we are all working towards a world where you can love those you love freely

I'd like to thank Cicada.

I'd like to thank everyone I haven't mentioned that deserved mention

and as one last thank you, I'd like to thank you, the reader.

Thank you for reading my work, it means so much to me

When I first told my mom about this she said 30 prompts wasn't really that much.

But it wasn't just 30 prompts

It’s all leafgorge's art, all the poems that others made inspired by me, it’s my thoughts and feelings and memories poured into words, it’s the friendships I’ve strengthened and the friendships I’ve been able to write about cathartically, it’s so much more than 30 days of prompts, so so much more

It's been a wonderful journey and I don't ever intend on stopping anytime soon.

Signed, The Anentomologist

[dead3ve]

Hi! I absolutely love your writing! I was wondering, if you are interested, could you write a Todd Anderson x shy female reader where they go on a picnic and when the sun begins to set, they read each other poetry they wrote for one another? They would be dating at that point! Thank you so much!

my first request babyy!! thank you so much <33

Todd Anderson x fem!reader

Summary: In the beginning, Todd was shy, closed off and cautious around girls. All of a sudden, he's found himself bathing in the glow of a sunset, reciting his written words to who he wrote about.

Warnings: they/them pronouns used. no use of y/n. First Todd Anderson fic. Reader referred to as girl. kissing

It had taken Todd weeks to flirt with his partner. Initially, the girl was the one to take Todd's hand, or hold his face, or pull him into the kiss. Todd's partner was the one to make him flustered. He rarely ever saw them blushing because of his actions.

However, Todd was witnessing his girl blushing, looking down and fiddling with the gingham picknick blanket as Todd recited one of his longer poems to them. They couldn't look at him, due to the heat in their face and beat of their heart, so they looked at the setting sun. The poem was about their relationship. It was about the first time they snuck out of Welton together without the other Dead Poets. Todd's partner took him dancing. It was the first time Todd had felt brave.

The girl remembered the way Todd was able to hold their waist without having to ask. He was able to nuzzle into their neck without hesitation as they slow danced. It was the first time Todd kissed them. The first time they were kissed by Todd. Not the other way around.

Once he finished his poem, Todd looked up from his notebook and looked at the blushing girl. Their head was looking towards the sun and their lips were smiling. Thier left hand was resting on Todd's thigh. He could feel their joy from their fingers.

"I didn't know you wrote about me, Todd." They spoke in whispers. The way Todd usually spoke when he was feeling anxious or shy.

Todd put his hand out and pulled their face back to his. Something they had done to him many times. "I write about things that inspire me." He smiled at their red cheeks, giggling slightly as he talked. He enjoyed the girl's growing shyness.

His partner scooted closer to Todd, making sure that their legs were touching. Todd put an arm around their waist once they were settled. He hadn't felt in control before he met his girl. They allowed him to have that in between his confident friends and his careless parents.

"I wrote that short story about you." They'd admitted it into Todd's shoulder. Their voice was muffled into the knitted jumper. "Mr Keating asked me about it after he marked it." They spoke the rest of it into Todd's jumper as well. Their warm breath kissed Todd's skin through his jumper.

"Really?" Todd spoke into their hair. "What did he say?" He asked, speaking into their hair. At that he began pressing kisses onto their hairline.

His partner squeezed themself into Todd's chest, turning their face up to Todd's to receive a kiss on their lips, blush still bright on their face. Todd smiled and did what they'd silently asked for, leaning his head down to press his lips to theirs. Todd wrapped his arms around them, settling into the kiss.

"Mr Keating told me I was good for you. That we were good for each other." They were mumbling against Todd's lips. "Said he hadn't seen you so vocal in his class." They went back to kissing Todd once they finished their sentence.

Todd thought about the lesson while they kissed. He'd only said two sentences because he had answered two questions. Todd hadn't really said anything in comparison to his friends and classmates. He pulled away from the kiss suddenly, making a small smacking sound from the pair's lips. Todd looked his partner in the eye.

"I only said two things that lesson." Todd asked raising an eyebrow. He had been quiet, how was he being loud?

"Exactly. That was more than usual, handsome." They brought back their flirty charm saying this. His partner pulled Todd's face back down to theirs, making sure the kiss continued throughout the sunset, wanting to bathe in the warmth of the final rays of sun, and Todd Anderson's tight embrace.

[undiscovered-horizon]

i know you only uploaded it a few hours ago, but please carry on the reader accidentally summoning morpheus, im dying to know their history, and his feelings on how much time has passed <3 big fan!!

A/N: By popular demand, I'm writing a 2nd part. The quoted poem is something I was obsessed with as a kid. My mom still quotes it.

[Imagine accidentally summoning Morpheus] || [Sandman-inspired playlist]

All of it sounded like a madman's bad joke.

"Wait, hold on." You waved your hand. Hunching over the dusty box filled with remnants of your childhood, you began looking for another trinket that surely must have been there. "You mean that you are... goddamn where is it... I saw it somewhere here... Got it!" you exclaimed when you stood up with a thin, red book in your hand. "You mean that you are this funny fella?"

Your finger was tapping against the cover of a children's book. There was an illustration of a Santa Claus-like man carrying a big sack thrown over his shoulder. He was climbing a ladder to an open bedroom window. Above the picture, in fancy curvy letters, was written Grandfather Sand.

A small smile crept unto Morpheus's face. His eyes lit up vividly and you suspected that if he was any less reserved in his emotional expression, he would have laughed in your face. "Did you think he is the Sandman?"

"I didn't think the Sandman was at all," you retorted as you carelessly tossed the book on your bed. Looking once more at the pleasantly familiar illustration, the nostalgia made you recall something Morpheus had said to you a few minutes ago. "You said you know my face."

"I have visited you many times before," he stated. After a moment, he added in a quieter, defeated tone: "But you don't seem to remember."

You only shrugged your shoulders. "If I was a toddler, then no wonder. It was lifetimes ago."

Morpheus gave the room an absent once-over before staring at the box next to the two of you. Something brown and fur-like was peeking from behind dolls and plastic horses. His pale, skeletal hand reached for the mysterious object only for it to turn out to be an old, worn-out teddy bear. It still smelled of your grandmother's perfume. Sometimes you wondered what happened to him... Apparently, Terry had been safe and sound in your grandmother's basement throughout all those years.

Dream was examining the bear when he suddenly decided to make you recall something you had already forgotten you once remembered: "Maybe Spot tugged at him, tore the ear off, didn't say he's sorry?"

It was a quote - one that you had grown to know all too well. You felt as though that single line from a rhymed story allowed you to rediscover the oldest memories your brain could possibly store like you suddenly became privy to a life you had once led but not anymore. "A needle, a thread, a pair of hands, we'll mend the hurt right away," you quietly continued." You fixed Terry..." Yes, that plushy friend from your childhood did need an 'emergency surgery' once, although you could never quite recall who sew his ear back on. At some point, you even began questioning whether his little accident was even real as there was no sign of a tear whatsoever.

The memory came to you in waves like afterimages of a dream one tries to recall after waking up. It was all blurry, voices heard from miles away and sights as if seen through a dirty lens. "Yeah, I remember I used to ask to be told the same three stories over and over again and you were never frustrated with me."

"You were a great listener."

"So, how does this work? The melody plays and you just, puff, appear wherever?"

Morpheus sat Terry at the top of the dolls, plastic horses and fairytale books about fairies still residing inside the box. His bony hand lingered on the brown, matted fur of the plushie. "It was a gift." His gaze returned to you. "To a girl who just like you could not fall asleep. For decades it remained silent until that one night when I met you for the first time."

Your hand brushed against the ceramic raven inside the music box. It was quite an interesting choice of design for an item meant for children. "A magical heirloom. Sounds cool." The ghosting touch of your fingers was withheld only for you to close the enamelled lid for an unspecified amount of time. "Don't worry, I won't abuse that... privilege. I'm sure you have a lot going on anyway."

Without letting his gaze leave you, Morpheus was a little too quick to answer you. "Play it anytime you want."

His expression remained generally ambiguous but you figured it was just the way he looked. There was, however, one detail of his face that caught your attention: his eyebrows slightly raised making him appear somewhat surprised or nervous. "Is that permission or a suggestion?" you asked.

"Both."

Tagging people who were interested in a follow-up: @secretdreamlandmentality @kbrownie @lolitaisreal @thegraywitch @aralezinspace @boofy1998

[lillipad72]

The Annotated Anne of Green Gables ~~ a special rereading

CHAPTER II ~~ Matthew Cuthbert is Surprised

"The little birds sang as if it were/The one day of summer in all the year."

These verses at the beginning of Chapter II come from a long verse parable by James Russel Lowell, "The Vision of Sir Launfal," published in 1848. I could not find much besides a quick synopsis of the poem, but we can learn much from it. This poem is a twist on the classic Grail story. Sir Launfal decides not to search for the Holy Grail after a dream causes him to realize that the real meaning of the Grail is charity. These verses come as Matthew travels to pick up an orphan boy from the train station only to discover our heroine, Anne Shirley, waiting instead. While the verses perfectly describe the beautiful spring day of the setting, the poem as a whole fits into the theme of the novel. It was the charity in the Cutherberts' hearts that led them to find their Holy Grail, Anne, even if it wasn't the orphan boy they thought.

"Her face was small, white and thin, also much freckled; her mouth was large and so were her eyes, that looked green in some lights and moods and gray in others. So far, the ordinary observer; an extraordinary observer might have seen that the chin was pointed and pronounced; that the big eyes were full of spirit and vivacity; that the mouth was sweet-lipped and expressive; that the forehead was broad and full; in short, our discerning extraordinary observer might have concluded that no commonplace soul inhabited the body of this stray woman-child."

This is the introduction and description of Anne Shirley! While there is so much here to unpack, I'll leave that for another day; for now, I will discuss L.M. Montgomery's inspiration for the appearance of Anne. I knew about this before, but this book pointed it out, and well, I love this fact! So Montgomery said she saw a photo of a girl in an American magazine that she then used as a model for Anne. Montgomery said she had no idea who the girl was and if she had any idea that her face was the model for Anne. Well, that girl has been identified as none other than Evelyn Nesbit! The exact photo is above! For those of you unaware of the lovely Evelyn, she was a chorus girl and model in New York City at the beginning of the 20th century, but she really became famous when her husband, Harry K. Thaw, murdered Stanford White. (White was a famous architect who designed such buildings as the Pennsylvania Station in New York; he is also a character in the Gilded Age on Max). Nesbit alleged that White raped her when she was a minor and that she had told her husband that, causing him to shoot White to defend her honor. The trial would go on to be called "The Trial of the Century" (despite it only being 1907), and Nesbit was the star witness in her husband's defense. Her fame would rise, and she became a star in vaudeville. Another fun fact is that she (according to her grandson) received $25,000 from her husband after the trial, and she donated it to the anarchist Emma Goldman (who I really suggest looking into; her work was fascinating). Anyways, all that to say: I wonder what L.M. Montgomery would have thought if she knew that Evelyn Nesbit, a woman of 'loose morals,' was her inspiration for the appearance of Anne?

I was going to write as well about a few song lyrics that appear in this chapter, but I talked too much already I feel, so if anyone wants to know about the lyrics, let me know

next chapter

[lostfirefly]

Make my heart a better place, give me something I can believe

First of all, thank you for your comments and likes on my previous story. They inspired me to write another fic :)

When I was 15-16 years old, I wrote a poem. Those lines were not dedicated to anybody. I was sad that day and wrote them down in my black notebook. I decided to create another story based on that poem. A few lines will be written in the fanfic, but since the poem was originally written in Russian, I translated it into English, but tried to convey the meaning.

Since English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Description: You're a cook on the Buggy Pirates crew. During the year you have feelings for the captain, but you don't dare to say it, but you write about your feelings in poems. One day he finds your notebook.

Main characters: OPLA Buggy (of course) x Fem!Reader. Masterlist

Warnings: Sadness, fluff (a little), insecurity reference. No smut, violence etc.

The title is taken from the song "All I need" by Within Temptation.

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

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

-Morning, doll.

A familiar voice came around the corner.

-Morning, magnificent captain Buggy. Coffee? As usual? - you asked with a smile.

-You always know what I want, - the blue-haired man said in a voice hoarse from sleep, plopping into a chair.

You smiled, stood on tiptoe, reached over to a large mug and began pouring coffee into it. 

 - Here you go, captain! - you said, holding out a mug, - What are your plans for today?

-I'll make a little foray into town, we'll resupply and head away from this godforsaken place, - Buggy said, sipping his coffee. 

-Sounds great.

-I'll bring a present for you, doll, - he said, running his hand over your cheek. 

-Thanks, but I have everything I need, - blushing, you lightly tried to pull away from the touch.

-Liar. Anyway, I'll get something for my baby girl, - he said, putting his hand on your wrist.

You awkwardly ran the fingers of your other hand over his arm. All you wanted was for him to get up from the table, put his arms around you and kiss you.

You stared at him, trying to hide your feelings. 

You've been flooded with memories. 

**********

A year ago, you ran away from home just to be away from your abusive family. A father who yells and beats you every day, a mother who takes his side and says it's all your fault. And an older sister who also happily participates in the bullying.

You decided to find any job. There were no vacancies in town, but you overheard someone in a bar talking about a pirate ship needing a cook. A ship? Oh, great! What a perfect way to get away from your old life.

The bartender told you how to find the ship.

-You wouldn't mistake it for anything. Look for the flag with the big red nose.

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

-Captain Buggy, sorry. There's a girl at the door and she's here to ask about a job, - said a man in a tartan scarf.

-What? What girl? Although, ok, let her in. It's gonna be fun, - a man's voice came from the cabin.

When you walked in, you saw a blue-haired man with a red nose. With the whole ship resembling a circus, the first second you thought the red nose was also part of the circus image.

The man sat on the table with both feet on the barrel. He glanced at you with his green eyes.

You quickly scanned him from head to toe. He was wearing a striped vest, brown leather pants. He had a red and white striped bandana on his head and white gloves on his hands.

-What? Are you looking at my nose? - he said angrily.

-What? No.. I came to ask.., - you were nervous, your voice was quiet.

-What? Is it me that old or are you that quiet? I can't hear you, - he asked with a sneer in his voice.

-S-sorry.., - you cleared your throat and tried to speak more confidently, - I came here to ask for a job. I heard you need a cook. I'm good at cooking..

-How old are you? - he tilted his head slightly and squinted his eyes, - You look pretty mature. Aren't you supposed to cook dinner for your husband?

-I'm 27, sir..

-Sir, - he started laughing.

Not understanding what was so funny about what you said, you continued.

-No, s-s... captain.. Buggy. I ran away from my family. And frankly speaking I don't think they would be worried about me... and I don't care about them.., - you mumbled.

-Ts, doll... Tell me. Do you realise you want to join the freak squad? What does it mean to you to be a freak? - he interrupted you and suddenly reached for a knife on the table.

You stared at him with a question in your eyes. 

-I'm waiting for the answer, - he threw the knife into the barrel and looked at you, - What does it mean to you?

-Does it count if I say that I don't care about my life? - you tried to say it as convincingly as you could when you weren't even sure of your answer.

-Shit.. , - He got up from the table and slowly walked over to you, - Reply is accepted. I think, I can find a place in the Buggy Pirates for you. Every freak can find a home here. Welcome on board, sweetie.

He walked out of the cabin laughing.

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

When everyone left the ship, you were still in the kitchen. The dishes were washed. You sat on the chair and thought about the captain. You could still feel the warmth of his hand on your wrist. What was it this morning?

Yes, he showed you signs of attention from time to time. Sometimes he could put his hand on your shoulder or waist, he always cheered you up when you were sad and always brought small gifts from his pirate raids. But at the same time, you realised that you were part of the crew and he just cared about you as much as anyone else. Plus, there were other girls on board. They were taller, slimmer and more attractive. What makes you think you're special? No, you weren't special.

You took a piece of paper and started twirling it around the table.

You picked up a pencil and began to write.

Tiredness pulses quietly in my veins, In the midst of silence, I'm alone in my cabin. There's life outside the walls, but who cares? I'm sick to my stomach with someone.. No one hears, no one sees, no one asks. Whether it's something or nothing. He's somewhere else, God knows where, The draughts are painful in my soul..

You smiled and hid the sheet in a small black book. Every time someone on the crew asked about this notebook, you said that it's nothing special, you just write down recipes in it. They don't need to know that you've been writing poems dedicated to the captain for a year now.

**********

The crew returned late at night. Before dinner, Buggy came up to you holding a little pink box.

-I promised to bring you a present, and I kept my promise, - he said with a wide smile.

-T-thanks, but you didn't have to, - you said looking at his green eyes.

-Geez, woman, I'm a man of my word. Take it!

You opened the box and gasped when you saw the small amber bear inside.

One night, when you were both sitting on the deck, you told him about your favourite figurine. Your grandmother, the only person in the world who cared about you, had once given you an amber bear. It was your talisman after her death, until one day your father broke it. He did it on purpose because you accidentally dropped your tea mug on the sofa.

Buggy didn't forget. He didn't forget what you told him.

-Maybe it's not the same bear, but at least you have it now, - his voice snapped you out of your memories.

-I really like it! Thank you so much, - you said and in surprise, you hugged him, - Sorry.

-It's all for you, my candy, - he said, chuckling slightly.

**********

You couldn't sleep. You went out on the deck to get some fresh air when suddenly you heard a noise from the kitchen.

You decided to go and check it out. When you quietly opened the kitchen door, you saw Buggy, who was looking for something in the cabinets and muttering something to himself.

Suddenly he fell silent and didn't make a sound for about 10 minutes. You tiptoed over and decided to get closer because it was impossible to believe that Buggy could be silent for ten minutes.

Shit. He was sitting on the floor, wearing his pyjama pants, holding a notebook with your poems. 

-God, please, stop sneaking around like a mouse. I know it's you, - he said calmly.

-I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you.

-You can't bother me, baby girl. And tell me is that yours? - he asked, pointing at the notebook.

-Y-yes.. Sorry, - you whispered.

-Sorry? For what? Sweetheart, you need to be clearer in your expressions, otherwise I don't get it, - he asked and put the notebook aside.

You stared at him not actually knowing what to say. He stood up and came closer to you. You were trying not to look at his half-naked body. To tell the truth, it was the first and at the same last thing you wanted to see right now.

-For poems. Sorry for the poems, - you said, sighing heavily. You were afraid to look at him.

-You shouldn't be sorry, - he whispered and leaned into you.

He put his hand on your cheek and turned your head gently.

-Did you like it? - you asked.

-I didn't like it. I loved it.. as much as I love you, - he glared at you with his green eyes and leaned in a little closer.

**********

You woke up in the morning. It took you a minute to come to your senses. You got out of bed and grabbed a t-shirt hanging on a chair and hoping to find your clothes later.

-Where are you going, doll? - A voice came from under the blanket, - Get your ass back here. 

-I thought I have to go back to my cabin, - you said, fixing your hair.

-The only thing you have to do is get back under that damn blanket. The captain’s order, - he wheezed, finally sticking his face out. He put his hand on your shoulder and pulled you back down.

-Waaait! What about breakfast and morning coffee? - you asked with a laugh. -Coffee and breakfast can wait while we lie down for a while. Besides, if my freaks get hungry, once in a lifetime they can put damn butter on their own damn bread, - he mumbled as he nuzzled his face into your neck.

-Alright. But only for 30 minutes, ok? And then I have to get back to my cabin before the girl starts asking questions, - you said, running your hand through his hair.

-Fine, - he chuckled, - And then you'll make me a coffee, ok? -As usual? -As usual, my love.

[builtbybrokenbells]

belladonna | prologue

Too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

Masterlist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: mentions of toxic family situations, swearing, smoking

Welcome to the show 🥰 I’ve been incredibly excited to share this with you, so stay tuned for more!

WHERE IT ALL BEGAN

When faced with the tragedy of remembering, it is often perceived as something beautiful.

After living a life as painful as your own, reminiscing on the past is neither easy nor enjoyable.

A deadbeat father, and a stepfather who was present yet absent all the same. A mother who was all but kind, and two brothers who were made fully responsible for all of your successes and failures.

From the moment you were born, life seemed to find every possibly opportunity to strike you down. Despite the relentless effort, you stood up, you kept going, and you survived.

You did not realize until you were much older, but surviving was the easiest part, and the difficulties most often lie within the aftermath. Picking yourself up while still struggling with knowing who you are proved difficult, but you managed to settle yourself into a routine and found a safe place to rest while you pieced together your own personality. Just when you thought you could finally put the burden down for a moment, you found yourself amidst the hardest challenge of all; living a life that was far different than what was destined for you, yet still plagued with the memories of the little girl who once ran so you could walk.

You spent every waking moment avoiding the memories housed in your brain, and when you could no longer avoid them, you crumbled to the ground as you faced them head on. You deconstructed every notion you had of yourself and rebuilt from nothing so many times that your head began to spin when you thought of it for too long. You became a stranger to avoidance, and you made friends with your own demons. Eventually, you made a life out of the hurt that once limited you.

At a diner off the edge of town, you worked night shifts and weekends to make ends meet while you spent the daylight chasing after a dream that you feared might never come true. You went home every night in the dark, the smell of the deep fryer still lingering on your clothes as you smoked as many cigarettes as the walk would allow. When the sun rose in the sky, you would drag yourself out of bed and sit in front of the large panel windows in your living room and write until your mind went numb.

Stories of everyone and everything, synopses of books you wanted to, but would never publish, and poems to air out your own, relentless thoughts. Journals sat around the room, stuffed so full of pictures and words that the spines were near broken. Single pages floated around the space, some with only one word, and some with so many that you could barely read it underneath the mess. You did not have a lack of imagination, nor a lack of patience; writing is a long process, and a good book will take years (That’s what you told yourself, anyway). You lacked inspiration, something to give you the motivation to keep writing and to keep trying, even if you failed. You needed something to write about, because recounting your own tormenting sadness and loneliness was becoming unbearable.

You searched in dive bars with cheap liquor, wondering if you would find meaning at the bottom of (another) empty bottle. You searched in coffee shops with signs that were faded and falling down. You looked for it at the supermarket, in the reds of the strawberries and the greens in the apples. Your eyes gazed up at the old city buildings, wondering if an idea would spark from the crumbling cement and moss-ridden stones. Sometimes, you would pick the sprouts of weeds from the sidewalks to bring home with you in hopes that their beauty, despite their nuis of the gray concrete jungle aesthetic, would flood your mind with some type of passion.

Not even a life blooming amidst the city's fascination with destroying anything green could pry your mind away from the same old boring topics. Months of searching left you with nothing, and eventually, you began to give up on the idea of a muse entirely.

In the serenity of the diner on one particularly late-night shift, cutting through the stagnant air and filling your lungs with a breath of hope, you finally understood that a muse is not something that you go in search of, but rather something that seeks you when the time is right. The laughter was so beautiful that it made your knees go weak and your chest ache for a moment. You wondered how someone could evoke so much emotion within you without you even seeing their face.

The time, of course, was perfect, but when you finally caught sight of the thing you had been craving for so long, you realized that you were not prepared for what the search would bring.

In the diner booth, huddled in the very corner of the building by the window onlooking the streets, sat a man who turned your whole world upside down in an instant. A tattered band shirt with the sleeves cut off and a worn out logo magnified his strong arms, and his curly hair hung down over his shoulders to frame his beautifully crafted face. His jawline was sharp, angling down into a soft chin, and although large, his nose was stunning. His eyes, even from far away, managed to make your stomach flutter with curiosity.

He did not notice you, but god did you notice him, sitting across from a faceless man with long hair, laughing at a joke that was shared between them. His company, although facing away from you, seemed like the louder of the two, and his character bled from him as he spoke. You could not even muster the strength to crane and look at his face, because whatever he looked like paled in comparison to his company. You felt frozen as you watched from the kitchen window, hanging on to every small expression and drinking in every beautiful laugh that fell from his lips.

The first night he visited the diner, you could not find the courage to speak to him, nor could you even bring yourself to walk out into the dining room while he was still sitting. Despite your lack of conversation, you ran home that night and did not get a second of sleep; your nose was buried in a journal and you were too busy pouring your heart out on the paper. You wrote more than you ever had, and with more emotion than you could ever muster before.

The nameless boy was everything you were looking for and more, and proved that a muse was more than a ruby red strawberry amidst unripe fruit, and much more than a measly weed growing between the cracks in the sidewalk. You had been aimlessly searching for inspiration within the inanimate without even considering the fact that the most profound words would be inspired by a living, beating heart.

You vowed that the next time he stepped foot in the diner, you would make your move. You would introduce yourself, smile and take his order as if he hadn’t completely changed your world without even knowing it. You needed more than an echoing laugh, and more than a glimpse from around the kitchen wall. You needed to know him, down to the very things that made his heart beat.

Firstly, you needed his name, and without it, you could not find any more passion. You had milked every opportunity from the miniscule amount of time you had been blessed with his presence (which, admittedly, was a lot).

You needed him in your life, and you needed more than you could even begin to comprehend, because after a lifetime dedicated to forgetting, you found something that made you desperate to remember.

Unfortunately, your life had proved that remembering would ultimately be your demise, and your unwillingness to forget him would turn out be your worst nightmare.

A muse is a source of inspiration in all forms, and the most deadly (and the truest) form of inspiration is a heartbreak greater than itself.

Daniel Wagner was in fact your biggest muse, and to be a true source of inspiration, he was also destined to be the biggest heartbreak you had ever experienced.

05.19.22

06.21.22

07.04.22

08.02.22

08.31.22

09.15.22

Character Guide

Y/N

Vincent

Dylan

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please fill out this form 🤍

[ahaura]

(Dec. 11) [Article] by Asem al-Nabih

Article title:

Speak up! We owe it to Refaat

Article text:

What can you say about someone like Refaat Alareer?

I’ve known Refaat since I was 10. I am now 33.

To describe him as a genius is an understatement. He was a source of many ideas. He was so humane.

Over the past days and weeks, he and I would walk every day. He always looked everywhere for inspiration. He looked at everything.

Anyone who knew Refaat, knows that he was a very solid man. Steadfast in unimaginable ways.

The day before he was killed he surprised me by telling me he felt tired.

“I’m tired of carrying water. I’m tired. I am responsible for 50 people.”

Refaat’s assassination is not just a loss to one family, it is a loss to us all. He was responsible for so many people, who sought him out for his wisdom and his ability to care.

We lost someone who was a voice of Gaza, who could convey the reality in Gaza.

He could have lived anywhere in the world. He didn’t have to stay in Gaza. He had the education and experience to work anywhere. He could have lived his best life somewhere else.

But he refused.

When I was out of the country earlier in the year, I remember telling him that I could get better job opportunities abroad.

He just said: “Or, you could come back here. You could do something here.”

So talk about Refaat. Write about him.

The last thing he said was that if he came out of this war alive, he wanted to concentrate on being a storyteller, he wanted to vent, let things out. That if God kept him alive, he would want to focus all his life to tell the stories of his people and their experiences and feelings.

Every day he and I would walk. We would go out to this or that area in search of eSIM cards or phone reception. You would find him climbing on top of high walls, lifting his arm up to get reception, putting himself in danger, just to convey a message.

He used to speak up.

Now we’re saying, speak about him. Because Refaat deserves this.

We all know about him because he used to speak about Gaza. All of Gaza needs to talk about him. The whole world needs to talk about him.

Speak up

I saw him after they bombed his house back in 2014. I saw how he went straight for the room where he used to keep all his students’ poems and stories.

They were all burned and scattered on the floor, and he would pick through the rubble to salvage what he could as if he was gathering treasure.

To him these stories and poems were the most precious memories of his beloved students. And he truly loved his students.

If you meet his students, they will tell you the same thing, that he loved them.

May God have mercy on him.

Palestine deserves that you speak about him. I personally don’t ask anything of the world because we’ve given up on the world. Gaza will speak for itself, we don’t need anyone’s help, because with God’s help, we are more than capable of saving ourselves.

But I do ask Refaat’s students and those he taught to write about him, because we are the ones who truly knew him for who he was.

The day before Refaat was killed, he and I saw a group of displaced people playing football at the Yarmouk football grounds in the afternoon. He wanted to take photos with the smoke of recent missile strikes rising in the background.

“I swear, the people of Gaza are hardheaded,” he told me. “The people of Gaza are hardheaded.”

He said it like an artist appreciating his work. Like he felt these people.

When he walked down the streets, he would advise random people, telling them where to go, where to be safe.

He never gossiped. He only spoke about what he saw with his own eyes.

And he saw a lot. That was why he would walk 25,000 steps a day.

One day, he found a dark, cold space somewhere. It had no light, no comforts, nothing. But it did have an internet connection. So he stopped. He wrote. He spoke out about what was happening.

That’s what he did.

Our people have been displaced so many times. Refaat and I went to visit the mayor of Gaza one day. He was stuck in the old city. The mayor and his family have been displaced three times. He has lost his son.

We’ve all been displaced so many times. My own family has been displaced four or five times since the Nakba. I have no friends left. I have no home.

But we bear it with dignity and honor. What has happened to us, has not happened to any other nation.

We remain dignified.

And none more so than Refaat. As we in Gaza have come to equate life with death, as we have come to feel that nothing matters any more, we must remember that Refaat always walked and talked.

His was a mission to tell the story of Gaza and its people. We honor Refaat by continuing that mission.

Speak up.

Asem al-Nabih is a friend of Refaat Alareer and one of the last people to see him alive.

[floralembarrassment]

omg could you like write some fluffy jegulus with regulus trying to teach james French but james is so bad at it but then like a few days after james told sirius to teach him how to make a love poem that he told regulus with the worst accent ever

that would be so great if you could !!! I love your short stories !!!

hi you sweet pea! this is such a great idea! I hope you enjoy what it inspired! with love

Poème (1/1) (jegulus)

"Pads you have to help me!" James pleaded.

"Why do you even want to know french? It's so posh for no reason, and too proper for anyone's good!" Sirius squashed back. He waved his hands as he spoke clearly dismissive of the idea.

"Sirius please, I just need you to help me translate this and then teach me how to say it." James shoved a piece of paper in front of him.

"What is th- is this a love poem? James explain? Is this to impress Lily? I didn't know she spoke French?" Sirius eyed him and wriggled his eyebrows.

"Oh you know me, just trying to woo," James said sheepishly.

But it worked because Sirius loved a scheme, especially since this one would make James look like a completely idiot. He could speak English and Hindi all day long, but for whatever reason he could barely garble out a 'bonjour'.

Sirius taught James anyway, sad sap that he was in the end managed to stumble his way through, never properly rolling his r's or quite getting the accent, but it was all confidence and sensuality Sirius had told him so that's what James aimed for.

Regulus met James at the edge of the black lake like he had asked him, a small picnic blanket, some snacks, and a few faeries he had befriended as prongs were dancing as lights between the trees. Regulus took James' hand and James kissed him on the cheek.

"You did all this for me?" Regulus asked, picking at the small fruits.

"Just wait," James winked, and as they settled he pulled out his poem.

Regulus smiled fondly but struggled to hold back a laugh as James read his poem:

"Mon amour, vous etes l'âme le plus beau, le plus gentil et le plus intelligente

Vous etes mon étoile préférée

et celui qui a volé mon coeur

je ferais n'importe quoi pour toi

et pour toi je serai là toujours,"

James recited. And even though not a single word came out as it was to, Regulus loved it.

He kissed and into his mouth he whispered, "who taught you that? You were hopeless when I tried," and kissed him again.

James smiled, "when you tried I was just too distracted by the hot teacher," and let Regulus laugh and kiss him again.

James was glad his plan to impress and woo worked, and one day Sirius would find out but it was not today. Today he was just kissing regulus black under the glow of the moon and the stars and he was just so happy to hold his favourite one in his hands.

[sonics-atelier]

A Sacred Celebration: Love's Eternal Embrace

Summary : Hua Cheng comes home to a surprise Xie Lian baked - well burnt - for him, cue tooth rotting fluff, fox and ferret plushies, self indulgent.

a/n : Hello Tgcf Fandom, wanted to Kickstart my journey by writing a piece for Our Kings Birthday, hope you like it <33 ❣️ (This art is so beautiful btw, I was inspired from it)

Hua Cheng wandered through the fields, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the landscape. As he made his way back home, a sense of peace enveloped him. Upon entering, he was greeted by a delightful surprise: a small celebration prepared by Xie Lian, complete with a half-charred, half-cream-covered cake. The sight was endearing, bringing a soft smile to Hua Cheng's face.

“Gege, how did you know it’s my birthday?” Hua Cheng asked, his voice filled with affection and surprise.

Xie Lian beamed with excitement. “I asked around, and Ling Wen told me since she owed me a favor,” he replied proudly.

Clearing his throat, Xie Lian began to sing a sweet, if somewhat off-key, birthday song, followed by a playful poem he had composed:

“Oh Lord of Ghost City, so brave and true,

How you have bewitched me, oh how you do,

With your smile so bright and your gaze so keen,

In your embrace, I find a world unseen.

Trapping me for eternity,

Oh what bliss,In moments stolen, in every tender kiss,

Through trials and storms, together we stand,With you, My love, I find my promised land.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes welled up with tears, his heart touched by the genuine effort Xie Lian had put into the celebration. He tried to speak, to thank Xie Lian, but his emotions choked him up. Mistaking his reaction, Xie Lian shook him vigorously and patted his back, thinking the cake was causing him to choke.

“Are you okay?!” Xie Lian asked, his concern genuine "I knew my skills aren't good-"

Hua Cheng started laughing, the sound rich and heartfelt. “I’m fine, gege,” he managed between laughs.

Xie Lian pouted playfully. “Don’t scare me like that! You almost gave me a heart attack”

The ghost king apologised profusely while his gege swatted at him.

Xie Lian’s face lit up with another idea. “Wait, I have something else for you.” He pulled out two cotton-filled plushies he had made: one was a fox with an eyepatch, and the other was a ferret with a crumpled hat. Hua Cheng’s eyes widened in surprise and amusement.

Xie Lian began to narrate a whimsical tale, holding up the plushies. “Once upon a time, there was a brave fox with an eyepatch and a clever ferret with a crumpled hat. They met in the woods and became the best of friends. One day, the ferret proposed to the fox as a joke.”

Hua Cheng laughed loudly at that, his eyes shining with delight "I already apologised gege!"

Xie Lian continued, grinning, “But the fox took it seriously, and they decided to get married. They had many adventures together and lived happily ever after.”

Hua Cheng, caught up in the story, started playing along with Xie Lian, making the fox and ferret plushies dance and interact. Their laughter once again filled the room, creating a melody of joy and affection.

When the laughter finally died down, Hua Cheng looked at Xie Lian with a depth of emotion that words could barely convey. “Thank you, Xie Lian, for always standing up for me, for being there when no one else was, for being my source of comfort.”

Xie Lian cupped Hua Cheng’s face tenderly. “You deserve to be loved, Hua Cheng. I am so proud of how far you’ve come.”

Hua Cheng kissed Xie Lian’s palm, a gesture imbued with reverence and devotion, as if he were worshipping at the altar of his beloved. Their love was a sacred religion, each kiss a prayer, each embrace a hymn. They moved closer, their lips meeting in a kiss that was profound and tender, a testament to their unwavering love.

In that moment, they were bound by more than just affection; their love was a sanctuary, a holy place where they found solace and joy. Smiles and contentment radiated from them as they held each other close, their hearts beating in perfect harmony.

- @sonics-atelier 2024 ( do not repost or reuse in any way shape or form , I will decapitate you )

[intoxicated-chan]

Captivated, Infatuated, Frustrated, & Lovesick

♡o。.✿ฺ Paring // Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x F!Price’s Daughter!Reader

♡o。.✿ฺ Summary // Johnny knew his path the second he laid eyes on Price’s daughter but what he didn’t know, a certain soldier had eyes on you too yet gave up too quickly. But welcome to his little journey of falling for the captain’s daughter!

♡o。.✿ฺ (A/n) // I had lots of fun writing this. Inspiration was from Euphoria again, apologies! I just like the show a lot.

♡o。.✿ฺ Word Count // 3.8k

♡o。.✿ฺ Content Warnings // Female reader, angst-to-fluff, swearing, sexual harassment, violence, blood, bruises, mentions of pregnancy, heavy sexual themes, unrequited love, heavy drinking, vomitting, mentions of death…

Johnny couldn’t describe it. He wasn’t familiar with the beating of his heart, his flustered face, his thoughts taken over by a single woman. He didn’t know how the hell it happened but when he put all the pieces together, he believed he was cursed… Johnny “Soap” MacTavish was in fucking love. The feeling was so intoxicating that he felt drunk just being in love, dreams started appearing of a family he had, dreams that he never thought were possible until now.

But the problem was that the woman was none other than his captain’s only daughter. But the feeling was addicting, he wanted more, and more, he refused to back down because of it. But the main question that his teammates would ask, ‘What was it about (Y/n) Price that brought you, Johnny, to become so captivated with her?’

Was it those rare days Price invited the team over for dinner and you paid attention to his stories? Or those days when his stitches managed to open up mysteriously and you were there stitching them back up? Your abilities and your touch was heaven for Johnny, something he never experienced before. He remembers his past relationships, all games in their eyes that he refused to be vulnerable ever again, yet here he was, being vulnerable once more. It wasn’t a game, it would never be a game to Johnny, he knew he wasn’t perfect.

Yet you were…

How is it that you remain so perfect? Was it your father who watched any man who dared to come close? Or that your father swore to keep you single up until his dying breath? But Johnny knew that even in death, Price would still have his way.

But it was too early to be sure, he had just met you at the dinner table. But the words emotional, strong, dependent were written in his journal, pages on pages of his love just for you. But there were passages wondering if he had a death wish, sure he was chasing a forbidden fruit and that fruit was guarded by a powerful and deadly man. Johnny was certain he could take care of you, make Price proud that he’s the perfect man to marry his daughter.

“Did you know he’s scared off every man, including Graves.” Ghost’s statement made his heart drop, he began to panic internally. How the hell could Ghost mention that so nonchalantly without a care in the world. It was so out of the blue, out of the ordinary, especially for Ghost. Fuck… Did he know? Did he find the drawings with poems attached to it? Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god!

“M-Meaning?” Johnny curses at himself for stuttering, now Ghost knows something is wrong.

“Nothin’, Gaz told me.”

It made Johnny spiral, Price was terrifying, and knew not to do anything stupid. Every man is one thing but fucking Graves? Graves?! How many balls did this guy have?

“Jesus Johnny.” Ghost sighs, watching Johnny pace around the room with his journal, now striking two hours, “What’s got your mind in a blender?”

“Price would bloody kill me.” Johnny mutters, grabbing his many journals and shoving them in his bag, “He’ll kill me and you’ll have to get a new Sergeant or a new Soap.”

“Why would Price-” Then it hit Ghost, looking like a deer in headlights but without his eyes widening. Nearly dropping his tea and with a heavy sigh, “Not only is it stupid for you, it’s also a lost cause. Believe me.”

Johnny’s head snaps towards Ghost’s direction and with a finger pointing at Ghost, “You?” Ghost just barely nods, and with his finger still pointing, he marches over, “You Ghost, you with your cold heart?” He mutters, afraid someone will overhear, “You fell for her too?”

“Believe it or not.” Ghost tells him. Ghost didn’t hate your guts, he just preferred to stay alive, “You’re a good soldier Johnny. I need you alive.” He walks away with his tea, leaving Johnny frozen in place with his finger still pointing at the air now and confused as hell.

Johnny was ready to take Ghost’s advice out of respect for Ghost and fearing death at Price’s hands.

He prepared himself to burn his journals and was ready to forget everything until a night where you joined them all at a bar. You went to Johnny first and happily sat next to him. Johnny was terrified that Price was gonna see, but he went out for a smoke and you went to the bathroom with him promising to watch your drink.

His patience could only go on for so long, you were taking longer than you said. Ten minutes now have passed and it was more than worrying, with your drink in hand, he began walking around the bar looking for you. He even asked strangers if they’ve seen you but nothing. Johnny begins to panic, Price was going to kill him!

He was ready to drop your drink and start searching outside, he started thinking of the very worst. Hundreds of scenarios played all at once, but your voice brought him out.

“Leave. Me. Alone.” You sternly told the man who still insisted, “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, I’m not interested.”

Yet Johnny saw red the second the man forced you up against the wall, his hands just stretched out and ready to touch you. Johnny threw your drink at the man’s back and tackled him onto the ground, repeatedly punching him over and over again, swearing in his tongue. Everything was drowned out and all he could hear was the sounds of his fist meeting the asshole’s face.

Ghost comes inside, wanting to know what the ruckus was all about. His eyes widen at the sight of Johnny on top of the man and you trying to get Johnny off, “Ghost! Help me!” You shout.

“Bloody hell Johnny!” Ghost runs and grabs Johnny by the back of his shirt and begins to drag him away, “Calm your ass down!” Johnny struggles against Ghost’s grip, managing to pull off his shirt and go back on the man, “Price! Gaz!” Ghost calls for help, “(Y/n) get back.” He tells you.

“Johnny stop!”

“Fucking hell Johnny!”

“You’re going to kill him!” You shouted, and with Gaz and Price helping Ghost, Johnny was finally pulled off the man. All eyes were on the three of you. Recording, shouts to continue the fight… God the bar looked like a mess.

Johnny huffs, looking at the guy unconscious and then you in tears. He comes to you, “Are you alright?” You nod, “What the hell happened?” As much as the man deserved to be beaten to death, there was a high chance Johnny will be disciplined or worse, discharged.

Price looks back at Johnny who’s still trying to go at him, “Let go of me Ghost!” Johnny growls.

“Get a hold of yourself!” Price helped Ghost get Johnny out of the bar with you following behind. You rushed over to the car, opening the door for Ghost and Price to throw Johnny inside and shutting the door.

Finally, Johnny calms down, slummed over the seats. He sat silently as you and your father entered the car, “What the hell happened?” He asks Johnny.

“I’ll bloody kill him.” You heard your father mutter under his breath. The ride home was silent, you shifted uncomfortably and took glances back at Johnny. Ghost and Gaz arrived in their own cars and they left in their own.

“Here is fine.” Johnny mumbles, pointing. Price stops the car, ready to protest but Johnny leaves.

Johnny didn’t know how far he walked, or how long has passed since the bar fight. A few times he kicked the snow, catching a few snowflakes on his tongue. Suddenly, he trips on his own feet and falls into the snow, he turns over onto his back and stares up at the sky.

You have never seen your father so angry before. You heard him over the phone with Laswell, convincing her that Johnny should not be disciplined for his actions, luckily she agreed but Johnny had to watch his anger and if it happened again, he would be in deep trouble.

“Johnny’s good.” Your father sighs, you join him outside with a blanket wrapped tightly around you and two cups of hot chocolate keeping your hands warm. You handed one over to your father, “Thanks kid… Something seems to be troubling his mind though. I’ve never seen him so distracted.”

“Like?”

“Like something’s keeping him occupied, always sticking his nose into that journal of his. Acting like… Like…” Then it hit your father who chuckled, “...Johnny’s in love. I knew it.”

You always held a grudge against your father for scaring away every person you’ve shown the slightest interest in, but you knew he tried his hardest, he wasn’t always going to be there for your greatest moments. That you held nothing against, you knew he really couldn’t control whenever he was called in, all you made sure was he was safe and returned home the same.

You fell for Johnny, he was like a golden retriever but more rough, tough? Everything about Johnny to his mohawk down to his love for writing in his journal, you found it cute.

But because they were all scared away, you learned to keep certain things to yourself. You lay your head on your father’s shoulder and he snaked an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer, “How are you feeling?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumble, “I just hope Johnny doesn’t feel like shit.”

Johnny knew the feelings for you weren’t going away, not even when he’s buried into the ground. He did in fact feel like shit, he knew Ghost had eyes on you first, he’d be a better fit. He got up from the snowy ground and continued walking, then took a seat on one of the benches. He doesn’t bother to wipe away the snow that has gathered.

Johnny could imagine spending his life with you, coming home to you and his children. A son and daughter, and you pregnant with the third. Placing a soft kiss against your lips as he then his children run up to him, scooping them into his arms.

“I love you (Y/n).”

“And I love you too Johnny.”

He can see his mother’s face, the faces of his sisters. He knows you would get along with them very well, and then comes your father…

“Go to bed, it’s getting late and it’s freezing.”

“Okay, night dad.”

“Sleep well (Y/n).” Placing a kiss on your forehead and releasing the grip he has on you, “And no reading in the middle of the night!” Earning a groan from you.

Even as the clock read 2 am, you couldn’t sleep, not without worrying about Johnny.

Johnny went home, he sat himself in the bathroom and began wrapping his knuckles and cleaning them on the blood still there. The cuts stung and burned but it was nothing to him. His house felt cold and empty, he would love a dog but considering he’s away, he didn’t want to leave the dog alone. Johnny began slipping off his shirt until a buzz caught his attention.

He stared at the unknown number for a few seconds before answering.

“...Hello?”

“Hey Johnny, it’s (Y/n)... How are you feeling?”

His heart fluttered, “I’m doing alright, what ‘bout you?”

“I think I’m okay, I don’t know. I’m more worried about you.”

He chuckles, “Don’t be, as you can hear, I’m alright.”

You quickly get up from your bed and lock your door, “Sorry you had to do that.” Then come to your bed.

“Don’t you dare apologize, it wasn’t your fault. If it makes you feel better, I’ll do it over and over again.”

Johnny wasn’t going to hold himself back any longer, you gave him the offer and he took it. Sneaking into your bedroom window and greeting you with a kiss, and from then on became like a dream to him until his nightmares took over…

“Captain.”

“Soap.”

Just weeks later, they were called for another mission. Johnny could only act as normal as anyone could possibly can, but he was terrible at acting, he couldn’t just act like he didn’t sleep with the captain’s daughter. Everyone could tell something was up but Johnny tried setting in hints that he was just missing home, nothing else.

“Welcome back L.T.” Johnny pats Ghost’s shoulder, sitting down and opening up his journal.

“...Got into another fight?” Ghost questions, staring at the bright bruise just barely peeking over the hem of his shirt.

“What?”

Ghost points at his own neck, “The bruise.”

Johnny looked at himself in the glass, seeing his barely visible figure and saw the bruise, “Bloody hell.” He curses pulling down his shirt more to see the extent of it. How didn’t he see this when he was getting ready?!

“Blew off some steam with someone?” Ghost asks, then he starts getting suspicious, “Or-”

“It’s nothing.” Johnny hurriedly spoke, trying to lift his shirt up so it doesn’t drag down and reveal it.

“Is what I’m hearing correct?” Gaz suddenly appears, a smirk right across his face as he sees Johnny’s bruise, “Soap finally got someone?”

Johnny shakes his head, “No, no. I-I just hurt myself.” He lies.

Gaz knew it was a complete lie, sure Johnny was clumsy but he wasn’t that clumsy, “Come on soap, we’re all friends here, no need to keep secrets.”

Johnny slowly turns around, horrified, “Does it really look that bad?” Johnny asks the two, “I mean… It’s not that bad right?”

Ghost and Gaz look at each other and then back at Johnny, “...It’s bad.” They both spoke, making Johnny panic internally.

“Fuck me!” Johnny roughly sighs, rushing off to somewhere without the two pointing out his bruise.

“What’s up with him?” Gaz looks at Ghost.

“...I don’t think it’s your best interest to find out.”

Johnny searched around his room, searching for anything metal to place in the freezer. Sure he had found a way to slowly hide the bruise, but the guilt was eating him up, especially looking at Price in the eye. How was he going to explain that the day before he had to leave, he slept with his daughter again, which explains the bruise. Before he thought it wasn’t going to show but his fears came true.

“I promise I’ll come back.” Johnny places a kiss on your shoulder, “And I promise to make your father proud.” He muttered against your skin, fearing to pull back.

“He already is proud of you.” You whispered.

Johnny snorts, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Sure Price was impressed with his skills but there was no way he was gonna be proud of seeing one of his soldiers with his daughter, the man would have a heart attack. The man already has enough gray hairs from the whole team.

Johnny thought of the way you said it, ‘Hello sir! I’m sleeping with your daughter!’

God no, that’s even worse.

Would Price give him a one minute head start before Price starts hunting him?

The possibilities always end up with Johnny somewhat being… He can’t stop thinking about it. It should’ve been enough to stop Johnny right now but he couldn’t, he couldn’t stop loving you. And Johnny had it all planned out, get Price somewhere alone and spit out what he was going to say but the angered look in his eyes from the failed mission was enough to scare him. This went on for months and each attempt failed with either him backing out or someone interrupted.

The first thing he wanted to do was get on a call with you when they all returned but he and the team were dragged back to the same bar. They drank, they laughed except for Ghost, shared some stories but for most of the night, Johnny remained silent as he drank straight from the third bottle. He was just more worried, freaked, paranoid…

The cheap booze burned his throat, made his stomach ache. Luckily the bar was quiet, them being the only group in the bar so far. He was trying to drink his sorrows away, trying to drown out their conversation and use his phone, but his vision made it impossible.

“So captain, anyone take the risk of dating your daughter?” Gaz asks.

Price laughs and shakes his head, “None and even if they did, I’ll put a bullet in their cocks.” Smoking his cigar, “And she’s growing up. In which I heard she caught some eyes.”

Johnny perks up, looking at their direction and listening.

“I’ll die before I let any bastard near my (Y/n).” His heart drops, “There was one man thought it was the best idea to ask for my blessing, I gave him a broken nose instead and told him to fuck off.” Johnny starts sweating, “And don’t get me started on what Graves said.”

“What did he say?”

“You know the usual thing that every man says about my daughter. I love her, she’s my whole world, I would do anything to make you proud, I can give you babies-”

Johnny didn’t have time to race to the bathroom, in fact, he didn’t know he was gonna throw up all over the floor. It startles Ghost and he nearly trips on his own feet trying to avoid the vomit. The burning sensation in his throat became worse when he coughed, the smell of booze and vomit made his nose scrunch up, falling to the floor in pain.

“Johnny!” Ghost rushes to Johnny’s side while avoiding the huge puddle, he tries to pull Johnny to his feet but he becomes limp and he begins to shake.

“Fuck-!” He coughs again, “I’m bloody- fuck!” Another round of vomit leaves his mouth and Ghost swears he got some on his shoe.

“Stop talking Johnny. Let’s just get you home.” One arm over Ghost’s shoulder, “Help me over here Gaz!” And Gaz was quick to come to Johnny’s side, ignoring the heavy smell of his vomit and drinking. Yet Johnny refuses to stand, dragging him out of the bar. Price throws a couple of hundred on the bar and apologizes the best he can.

“Open the door!”

“God it smells!”

Price opens the door and in goes Johnny, “What’s gotten into you?” Price asks Johnny, entering his car, “I’ve never seen you like this before.” Starting the car and driving away.

“I…” Johnny swallowed down the water given to him, “I’m just sorry is all.” Price hums.

“You’re in no position to stay home alone…”

The rest of the ride was like a blur, all he could remember was being helped out of the car and sitting on Price’s couch. He could hear a muffled voice in the background and not long when you appeared in his sight, fear was across your face as you watched him struggle to keep his eyes open.

“What happened?” You ask your father who held a rag in his hand, running it under the skin, “How many drinks did he take?”

“More like how many bottles did he drink.” Was all he said before twisting the rag tight, “I’ve never seen him like this before.” Handing you the wet rag.

You carefully wipe the sides of his mouth of the remaining vomit. Your father set down a trash can in front of Johnny, “Jesus.” You mutter, “How did you get like this?”

Johnny doesn’t answer, nor does he even try to reply. He just feels like shit, but couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the guilt. Yet you could see that it was both, you knew when your father returned that Johnny hadn’t said anything, if he did then he’d be asking questions.

You open your mouth to speak but Johnny is quick to shake his head, making you sigh in defeat, muttering the words, “Alright.” Before finishing cleaning his face from sweat and vomit.

Your father comes back with a bottle of ibuprofen in hand, “Take em’ and get some rest, you kid, shouldn’t be awake at this hour.”

“I’m fine.” You tell him, walking over the sink.

“...Then I need to talk to you (Y/n).” Your father follows you, leaning on the counter, “Is there something you aren’t telling me.” You shake your head, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“I’m fine dad, I’m just worried about Johnny, that is all.”

He perks an eyebrow, “You know (Y/n), I should trust you, and I do trust you. But what makes me so hesitant to trust you is a man sneaking in and out your window so late at night.” You freeze in place, “And this isn’t just once, a few times a week. Even the day before I left.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“(Y/n), you know I hate it when you lie to me.”

“There’s nothing going on.”

“I cannot even believe what I’m gonna say, the hell is MacTavish sneaking out of your window?”

Your eyes widen as you stutter, “W-we’re just friends it’s-”

“No big deal?” He lifts an eyebrow and hums.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is what MacTavish is doing in my daughter’s room. Are you two having sex? Don’t Graves and Ghost have their eyes on you? What the hell is going on?!”

“It’s no big deal!”

Your father sighs, “If you two are friends then tell me what he was doing in your room.” You try walking past him but he pulls you back, “(Y/n), I need to know if you are sleeping with one of my men.”

“Why do you need to know? It’s none of your business.”

“It becomes my business if I have to worry about MacTavish dying out in the field and telling you the news.” He holds onto your shoulders, “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“You really are stubborn.” He sighs for the hundredth time, “One wrong decision and I’ll kill him.” He swore, patting your back as he walked to his room.

You come to Johnny’s side, “Are you okay?”

“Bit woozy but I’ll live.” You help Johnny lay down on the couch, “...I’m sorry, if I hadn’t been sneaking around then I wouldn’t have ruined your relationship with your dad.”

“Well, he sorta came around but he did kinda threaten your life.”

Johnny shrugs, “That’s expected, but he’s right. There is a chance I may not come back.”

You cup Johnny’s face, “You always come back, Ghost, Gaz, and my dad always come back. Don’t doubt yourself.” You ignore the heavy smell of alcohol and vomit all over Johnny and miss him which he happily returns, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

Johnny was sure he was never going to let you go, holding onto you tighter and before he fell asleep, “I love you (Y/n).”

© Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without permission.

[foxes-that-run]

You are in Love

This song has a new light after Say don’t go, she wanted him to say I love you and he didn’t, she’s searching for signs in silence

The 1989 Liner notes make a poem that tells the story of one single couple, which we all know is Harry Styles and Taylor. In September/October 2014 Taylor did a lot of 1989 media while heart broken minimising the relationship.

Taylor has said 'You are in Love' is about Jack and Lena. Neither Jack, who worked on the song or Lena knew that before this. Where, arms crossed, Taylors talks about crying and said the relationship she wrote 1989 (and it's 81 uses of the word 'love') about was infatuation. After Say Don’t Go, makes sense, she was hanging out for an I love you that seemed to come after the album.

In an Elle Interview she said she had been in love but was disappointed and that happily ever after wasn't real, but would be beautiful and mundane. She said the lyrics were things Lena had told her. (OK, weird chats between Lena and Taylor about burnt toast and the chains Jack doesn't wear.) In her Rolling Stone interview in the same time she sounded sad, RS said jaded:

In summary, like writing Clean in London closing the book (but leaving out that Style was written 2 weeks later) there is some self-preservation in discussing inspiration. It's Taylor's art, sharing vulnerability and her choice how it's presented.

I think this narrative also worked against them in long run, HS wrote Fools Gold about his hurt about it at the time. A lot of fans view that the relationship was less significant to them than their later (very recent) work indicates.

Playing live

You are In Love only made it on the setlist for 28 shows on the 1989 World Tour (at 54 Mins) and not at all on the Rep Tour. It was played at the 4 August 2023 Eras show.

When was it written / Working with Jack

In October 2014 Jack said to the Hollywood Reporter that it was the fourth song they wrote together. Jack's quote calls it "you were in love" I wonder if it was an error or the song was retrospective at one point. We haven't seen original lyrics for it. Jack said they were 5,000 miles apart when they wrote Out of the Woods and referred to a cancelled show in September 15, Taylor was in Cape Town, Australia and NZ in October - November so it was likely then, with YAIL after. Sweeter than Fiction was first mentioned 30 August and released October 2013. So we know it was written between September - November 2013. Taylor likely recorded the vocals in January 2014 when she was in LA. My guess is September 2013 after Harry and Taylor saw each other at the VMAs.

Lyrics

[Verse 1] One look, dark room Meant just for you Time moved too fast, you play it back Buttons on a coat, lighthearted joke No proof, not much, but you saw enough Small talk, he drives Coffee at midnight The light reflects the chain on your neck He says, "Look up" And your shoulders brush No proof, one touch, but you felt enough

The open sounds like remembering a moment, rather than in it, playing it back. This and the line of "Meant just for you" reminds me song Harry wrote for One Direction If I could fly about wishing he was with TS and sharing his vulnerability only with her.

Taking off a coat is also referenced in Style. "The lights are off, he's taking off his coat". This post has photos of You are in Love/haylor

Another Style reference with Coffee at Midnight "Midnight/ You come and pick me up, no headlights”

'No proof, one touch' is one of my favorite lines, it captures wanting to keep a part of their time together just for them and also how strong their connection is.

[Chorus] You can hear it in the silence (Silence), silence (Silence), you You can feel it on the way home (Way home), way home (Way home), you You can see it with the lights out (Lights out), lights out (Lights out) You are in love, true love You are in love

The song is about the feeling that love is something you feel rather than being told. It is silent, private and unseen. The open includes a reference to way home, home being an important concept of safety in HS and TS's songs.

[Verse 2] Morning, his place Burnt toast, Sunday You keep his shirt, he keeps his word And for once, you let go Of your fears and your ghosts One step, not much, but it said enough You kiss on sidewalks You fight and you talk One night, he wakes Strange look on his face Pauses, then says "You're my best friend" And you knew what it was, he is in love

As per Say don’t go, she’s searching for signs of I love you in silence

The mundane aspects of life are romanticized, letting her guard and past worries go. There is a similar idea in New Years Day where cleaning up after a party and in Keep Driving where mundane mornings are romanticized as here. "Maple syrup, coffee / Pancakes for two /Hash brown, egg yolk /I will always love you"

Taylor said she had not experienced being her lovers best friend at that time, to me the best friend line sounds exactly like 18 year old HS.

Taylor has worn a few shirts of Harry's, like the one at the top in the 1989 polaroids and these two. Harry also referred to this in From the Dining Table "I see you gave him my old t-shirt / More of what was once mine" Harry also wrote on Olivia “she’s lying in bed with my tshirt on”

[Bridge] And so it goes You two are dancing in a snow globe, 'round and 'round And he keeps a picture of you in his office downtown And you understand now Why they lost their minds and fought the wars And why I've spent my whole life trying to put it into words

Harry also refers to a picture of Taylor in Sunflower Vol 6 "I've got your face hung up high in the gallery" it is not a literal gallery or office downtown, but a metaphor for showing everyone she is his person.

In Wonderland, Taylor also talks about loosing their minds "And in the end, in Wonderland, we both went mad". On Midnights a romantic struggle is called a war in The Great War. Here she is saying that the relationship was challenging, but the love made it worthwhile.

Taylor uses the imagery of dancing in a snow globe and fishbowl again in the Lover Video, which also references Harry. The imagery is that they are under the microscope, unable to escape being on display but being in that together here and in Lover is beautiful.

[Breakdown] 'Cause you can hear it in the silence You can feel it on the way home You can see it with the lights out You are in love, true love You are in love

Taylor is telling herself it’s love he’s not saying. Before say don’t go this song never had that element to me, but the silence is a bit :( now

The song closes with a warm idea that this love is present away in private quiet moments and that is what makes it a true love.

You are in love had a Taymoji pack:

[kvetchlandia]

Poet Delmore Schwartz, New York City Uncredited and Undated Photograph

O Delmore how I miss you. You inspired me to write. You were the greatest man I ever met. You could capture the deepest emotions in the simplest language. Your titles were more than enough to raise the muse of fire on my neck. You were a genius. Doomed.

The mad stories. O Delmore I was so young. I believed so much. We gathered around you as you read Finnegans Wake. So hilarious but impenetrable without you. You said there were few things better in life than to devote oneself to Joyce. You’d annotated every word in the novels you kept from the library. Every word.

And you said you were writing “The Pig’s Valise.” O Delmore no such thing. They looked, after your final delusion led you to a heart attack in the Hotel Dixie. Unclaimed for three days. You—one of the greatest writers of our era. No valise.

You wore the letter from T.S. Eliot next to your heart. His praise of In Dreams. Would that you could have stopped that wedding. No good will come of this!!! You were right. You begged us—Please don’t let them bury me next to my mother. Have a party to celebrate moving from this world hopefully to a better one. And you Lou—I swear—and you know if anyone could I could—you Lou must never write for money or I will haunt you.

I’d given him a short story. He gave me a B. I was so hurt and ashamed. Why haunt talentless me? I was the walker for “The Heavy Bear Who Goes With Me.” To literary cocktails. He hated them. And I was put in charge. Some drinks later—his shirt undone—one tail front right hanging—tie skewed, fly unzipped. O Delmore. You were so beautiful. Named for a silent movie star dancer Frank Delmore. O Delmore—the scar from dueling with Nietzsche.

Reading Yeats and the bell had rung but the poem was not over you hadn’t finished reading—liquid rivulets sprang from your nose but still you would not stop reading. I was transfixed. I cried—the love of the word—the heavy bear.

You told us to break into __’s estate where your wife was being held prisoner. Your wrists broken by those who were your enemies. The pills jumbling your fine mind.

I met you in the bar where you had just ordered five drinks. You said they were so slow that by the time you had the fifth you should have ordered again. Our scotch classes. Vermouth. The jukebox you hated—the lyrics so pathetic.

You called the White House one night to protest their actions against you. A scholarship to your wife to get her away from you and into the arms of whomever in Europe.

I heard the newsboy crying Europe Europe.

Give me enough hope and I’ll hang myself.

Hamlet came from an old upper class family.

Some thought him drunk but—really—he was a manic-depressive—which is like having brown hair.

You have to take your own shower—an existential act. You could slip in the shower and die alone.

Hamlet starting saying strange things. A woman is like a cantaloupe Horatio—once she’s open she goes rotten.

O Delmore where was the Vaudeville for a Princess. A gift to the princess from the stage star in the dressing room.

The duchess stuck her finger up the duke’s ass and the kingdom vanished.

No good will come of this. Stop this courtship!

Sir you must be quiet or I must eject you.

Delmore understood it all and could write it down impeccably.

Shenandoah Fish*. You were too good to survive. The insights got you. The fame expectations. So you taught.

And I saw you in the last round.

I loved your wit and massive knowledge.

You were and have always been the one.

You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him think.

I wanted to write. One line as good as yours. My mountain. My inspiration.

You wrote the greatest short story ever written. In Dreams

-- Lou Reed, "Oh Delmore How I Miss You" 2012

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*Autobiographical Character in several Schwartz works