#direction of trying to get some of my poems put out there

[medusa-was-innocent]

Wow this sucks

[airybcby]

Now I'm Covered In You

(bllk boys as boyfriends)

a / n — thought making another post in this form would be fun, so i hope you enjoy!

content — bllk characters x reader, gn! reader, pet names used in a few parts, sadly canon otoya i fear, misspelled words are there for a reason i swear, cheater! otoya and oliver, some characters repeated, lmk if i missed anything!

synopsis — bllk boys and what type of boyfriend they'd be

✿.｡. “ how's one to know? ” .｡.✿

—The Romantic One

is always planning surprises for you, and i mean always. there's not a single week where you aren't being taken on 'adventures' that always lead you to a different restaurant.

what's the point in having all this money and not spending it on you?

they are constantly writing you love letters and poems. well, they try to anyway. they're not the best with their words and with many spelling mistakes, rather liking to show with actions, but they tried for you.

usually their poems end up something like this

' roses are red

so is my heart

my darling

my deer

my sweet buttercup

you taste just like a

tasty soda pop '

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ISAGI YOICHI, shido ryusei, jyubei aryu, ALEXIS NESS

— The Player

you know the famous saying, "how you get them is how you lose them?" yeah that's exactly how this relationship is.

you'd been one of their many side quests while they had a relationship going on. eventually after they'd ended said relationship, they'd chose you as their next partner.

they do spoil you with many gifts, mostly after you catch them cheating on you for the umpteenth time, but you stayed because they 'loved you'

sure they told you they loved you, but that wasn't really the case when they'd broken up with you because you were 'boring' them.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ OTOYA EITA, oliver aiku

— The Protector

is constantly worrying about you and is looking out for your safety.

with them being this 'big bad' soccer player, many people refuses to even look you in the eyes when you were with them. but if someone dared to hit on you when they walk off for a second? please pray for them.

some guy could be asking you for directions and he'd come up behind you and wrap an arm around you without even uttering a word. you didn't have to look at them to know the look they were giving the man was nothing but deadly.

some may call it controlling, but you knew them, they just wanted to keep you safe from all these men.

you had him, who else would you need?

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ KUNIGAMI RENSUKE, rin itoshi, SHOEI BARO, tabito karasu

— The Funny (insane) One

is constantly making jokes- some that aren't funny - but you laugh anyways.

everyone always asks you how your relationship is doing so well, and the answer is always, " i don't know," because you genuinely don't. yes, the two of you get into arguments, and sometimes the two of you get heated enough to have to take time apart from each other, but you always come back together.

how?

because they always forget what the fight was even about and come back into your space to show you some cat meme they believe you would like.

and the two of you laugh until you feel better again.

maybe you don't know how your relationship is so healthy, but you know why you're happy.

because they take the time to make you laugh.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ BACHIRA MEGURU, RYUSEI SHIDO, gin gagamaru, seishiro nagi

— The Traditional One

dates. Dates. DATES!!

they took you on soooo many dates before officially asking you to be their partner.

they definitely give the vibes of "my mom taught me i needed to..."

just the best gentleman!

you need to step over a puddle? they're putting their jacket down over it for you (it wasn't necessary, but they insisted on it)

you talked about wanting to see a movie once? he's already bought the tickets.

if you get married? he's insisting you stay home

" a pretty face like you doesn't need to work, i'll provide us everything." in his words

will do anything for you, really.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ YUKIMIYA KENYU, michael kaiser (pls ignore the mom part), REO MIKAGE, oliver aiku (again)

✿.｡. “ i'd meet you where the spirit meets the bone ” .｡.✿

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

[musette22]

What if, one Avengers movie night at the tower, the team decides to watch Four Weddings and a Funeral because Steve and Bucky have never seen it, and apparently, that's shocking.

Steve has been kind of quiet all evening, not joining in with the usual banter or even munching on popcorn like the rest of them, just watching the screen silently and sitting very still.

Two weddings come and go, and then, it's time for the titular funeral.

"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone," the pale Scottish man recites W.H. Auden's poem, visibly overcome with emotion as he remembers his deceased beloved.

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.

The poem's final words hang in the air for a moment, bleak and heavy with sadness, and then suddenly, Steve makes a sound. It's not intentional, he just can't seem to stop it. Like the wave that's been building inside of him, quietly but inexorably mounting higher and higher, finally crests. A sob escapes him, sounding like it's torn from his chest, harsh and incongruent in the heavy silence of the room - and then, he starts to cry uncontrollably.

All heads swivel in his direction, surprised at the sudden outburst, but it’s just Bucky who is up like a shot, immediately reaching out for Steve. Steve curls in on himself, trying to hide his face in his hands, his whole body shaking with heaving breaths and big, ugly sobs.

“Oh, Steve, Stevie, hey." Bucky's hands are on Steve's shoulders; soothing, anchoring. “It’s okay. You’re okay, hey, sshhh.”

The words don't seem to register, bouncing uselessly off the wall of sorrow surrounding Steve, so Bucky wraps his arms around Steve's shaking frame instead and pulls him in, close to his chest. Steve resists for half a second before he melts into it, hugging Bucky back tightly, desperately, clinging hard enough to crack a rib in someone not enhanced.

“You were d-dead,” Steve chokes out, in between sobs. “You were dead and I – I m-mourned you. Bucky, I couldn't... I w-wasn't - Buck- Bucky.”

The last iteration of his name resembles a wail more than a word, heartwrenching, cutting right through Bucky's bones.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, inadequately, miserably. “I’m so sorry.” He rubs Steve’s back, over and over, shivering when Steve buries his nose in the crook of his neck, like he wants to burrow under Bucky's skin. Bucky presses his cheek against Steve's hair, trying to give Steve the comfort he's finally admitting to needing. "I’m here now. We’re both here. I’m never leaving you again, Steve. Never again, I promise.”

This time, the words get through to Steve, but instead of calming him down, they just make him weep even harder. He cries and cries until finally, his entire, big body shudders in Bucky's arms and some of that awful tension finally drains from his shoulders.

When his grip on Bucky loosens a little, Bucky pulls back to look at him. Steve’s face is blotchy red and wet, but his eyes are like cut diamonds, deep blue and bright with tears and emotion. He is, without a shadow of a doubt, the most beautiful thing Bucky has ever seen. Slowly, Bucky lifts a hand to Steve’s face, gently brushing his bangs away from his forehead. Apart from the occasional aftershock, Steve stays still, arms still wrapped around Bucky’s waist, their faces only inches apart. Steve's face, usually so controlled, is now wide open, love and adoration and awe all right there on the surface, plain for anyone to see.

Steve looks at him like Bucky hung the moon, like he’s his North and South and East and West, and Bucky feels too small to warrant it all, small but solid like a gem, precious and cherished in the face of Steve’s devotion.

When Steve’s eyes flick down to his mouth and linger there, his gaze rapt, transfixed, Bucky's heart trips. They haven't -- not since Bucky came back to Steve, not in this century, and Bucky hadn't been sure he'd remembered right, but now... Bucky's lips part on a soft, stunned gasp, and then before he can so much as blink, Steve surges up and presses his own lips against Bucky's. Bucky gasps again, arms coming up to take Steve's face in his hands, cradling it tenderly in his palms, metal and flesh alike.

The kiss is as much a thrilling, breathtaking culmination of years of silent yearning as it is the easiest, most obvious thing in the world. It makes everything that's felt just slightly off-balance over the past seventy-odd years finally right itself, pieces falling into place, the red thread of fate untangling itself and smoothing out, stretching taught and vibrant between them.

They're not sure how long they stay there like that, wrapped up in each other, revelling in the feeling of finally being together, being whole again. But when they finally break apart, Steve's eyes are closed and his face serene, finally at peace. He hums softly when Bucky rests his forehead against Steve's and rubs them together, lightly, comforting. The room around them is silent, the TV turned off, everyone else gone.

There'll be curiosity later, gentle teasing and well-intentioned demands for explanations, and that's alright. But for now, it's just Bucky and Steve, and a love that burns as bright and all consuming as the sun, as endless as the moon and stars.

[jscrawls]

♡Grave holidays♡

Not part of the main series, just wanted to spread a little love (⁠✿⁠ ⁠♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠)

Warning: contains mentions of blood, physical harm, animal attacks, witchcraft, general spooky stuff, it's an Addams reader they're gonna be extra freaky,

Holiday chapter: valentine's day

🫀🖤🫀

It's a very special day today, the day of love! Passion! Price increases!

You practically fly out of bed in your excitement to start your day right, environment enrichment for the spirits!

You set up extra plates as you make breakfast, carefully stacking old rotting junk on each one before drizzling blood on each plate just so the poltergeists have more fun throwing them around, then you trot into your play room to set up a summoning circle, You make a heart instead of the usual pentagram with your five objects of importance.

You need to set the mood right obviously.

🫀🖤🫀

The first person you seek out is of course your very good neighbor Alfred, he's easy to find obviously as you climb over the security fences and make a run for the front entrance to the manor, barely dodging the snapping dog at your heels with gleeful shrieks.

You bang on the door and smack your hand on the doorbell quickly as the try to keep the box above biting level, by the time Alfred opens the door you're being drug backwards by the ankle by the Great Dane while you wildly wave the box in the older man's direction.

“My friend! Take this quickly!”

“Oh God!” He quickly tries to pull the dog off you, but you just shove the box into his hands before you're drug backwards into a bush.

“Happy Valentine's Day my good friend! Please enjoy the gift!”

Alfred watches in horror as you completely disappear from view, when he glance down at the box he sees a ouija board set with a stickynote on it that reads ‘we'll always keep in touch even after you die’ with a smiley face at the end.

🫀🖤🫀

Bruce is your next target, you park your hearse in the furthest and darkest corner of the parking lot and put on your disguise coat a lighter shade of gray Wayne enterprise has good security so you fully expect more bodily harm today, you try to keep the grin off your face as you trot into the lobby of the building.

“Excuse me my dear! Could I possibly find some way to get this to my friend? I'll pay handsomely to have it delivered of course.”

The receptionist looks up from her keyboard with a sweet smile that quickly becomes startled looking, if it weren't your appearance that was odd it'd be the dripping paper ball in your hands. Her long pink nails hover over the keyboard with uncertainty as she quickly glances between your hands and your face.

“Umm……what is that?” She mumbles as she tries not to shiver, what's that red stuff…

“it's a surprise for my neighbor! Oh please excuse the mess-” you try to cup your hand under it to catch the drip, and end up just smearing the red liquid all over yourself like bloody hand prints.

“many apologies! didn't think it was still this juicy.”

The woman recoils from you, you look like a serial killer covered in the gore of their victims. She starts repeatedly pressing the security button under her desk.

“…. Right, who's…your neighbor…?”

“Bruce Wade, he works here somewhere I believe? It's a special gift just for him so I'll happily pay to have it brought to him if he's busy!”

She slowly inches her chair back as she stares at the dripping red paper ball thingy, she looks like she's gonna freak out any second now.

“…Addams?” You hear the man of the hour speak as he steps out of an elevator, several guards quickly brushing past him.

“Ah Bruce! Just the fellow I'm looking for! I brought this Valentine for yo-oof!”

You grunt loudly as you're grabbed and physically picked up by the largest of the security guards. You gasp dramatically and nearly cry when your gift slips from your grasp and rolls across the marble floor with a red smear trail. An anatomically correct heart with a knife stabbed in it rolls out of the balled up Edgar Allen Poe poems right at Bruce's feet.

“nooo my gelatin!”

You're beyond disappointed that your gelatin heart wasn't able to be eaten as you're carried out of the building and thrown out.

🫀🖤🫀

Finding where Dick lived wasn't that hard actually, sure you had to summon a creature and invite it to possess you, where it just told you to look him up on Instagram, but hey you found it so it's all good.

He wasn't home when you arrived sadly, maybe he's busy today? It's no bother to you when you can just break in of course! Well the doors reinforced so you go outside and scale the fire escape, a lovely little brick does the trick on his window. You quickly realize after climbing in that the window was unlocked anyways, oh well.

You drop a stack on his table to make up for the broken glass and put your gift on the counter where it'll hopefully be noticed, hope he likes the voodoo doll.

You're unsure if it's stand out enough so you decide to leave a nice little message to go with it, you leave a bloody smear on his bathroom mirror that reads ‘you'll be seeing me soon :)’ with some hearts around it. Good enough!

🫀🖤🫀

You find Barbara in the back corner of the library with a cart full of books beside her chair, her glasses sitting low on her nose and hair curled and out of it's ponytail for once. She smiles as you happily approach her with your hands hidden behind your back, a large grin on your face as you stop right on front of her.

“hello my ghastly little beau! How are you on this most wondrous day?” she snorts in amusement and pointedly glances down at the few cards and boxes in her lap, some of them look like they were colored on by children while some are clearly expensive candy. “Fine, busy day today I'll tell you. The afternoon book club brought gifts for the staff…”

“well here's another! Can't let mi vida think she's not appreciated by absolutely everyone in this ghoulish land.” You press a loud kiss to her knuckles before presenting her with the box you'd hidden behind your back, dropping to one knee like the cake box was a sword being presented to her.

She tries really hard not to laugh at all the stares as she takes the box, it's closely some kind of pastry box so she wheels away from the books Incase it's messy. “You're ridiculous, thanks for the…..” her voice trails off as she gapes into the box, her face contorting into disgust. “…. Is this a rat in a box?”

She looks absolutely horrified as she looks up at you.

“Actually it's a photo-realistic cake, a real rat would've jumped out by now my sweet little poison apple. You like carrot cake yes?”

She stares at you intensely, brows furrowed as she slowly glances back down into the box, studying the admittedly impressively realistic cake. After a long moment she bursts out laughing, covering her mouth in vain to hide her snorting while someone shushes her from somewhere else in the room.

When she finally calms enough to speak she glances up at you with teary eyes and reddened cheeks. “Oh holy-you really got me with this one, I gotta say this is the funniest one I've gotten today…and here I just got you a card.”

Between her giggles she rummages under her little pile of stuff in her lap and hands you a Valentine's card, it's black with a little ghost on it saying you're my boo. You clutch it to your chest like she just handed you your diploma.

“I'll treasure this moment in my dying breath my sweet! Now I've got many more things to do today have a horrid time for the rest of your shift!”

🫀🖤🫀

You have no idea how to find Jason, so you go to crime Alley and climb up a building with your basket slung over a shoulder and basically just run around up there and shriek until he notices you.

It takes a bit, but he makes himself known by yelling at you.

“can you fucking stop that?!!” He puts his hands over his helmet like that'll block out the sound of your wails, of course you stop when you see your special guy there in all his emo glory.

“Ah there you are! I brought you something my undead friend! Come, come closer!” You excitedly gesture for him while slinging your pack off your shoulder, dropping it to the rooftop with a loud thump and squatting to unzip it.

He sighs really loudly as he slowly holsters his guns, he steps just slightly closer and crosses his arms over his armored chest as he looks down at you with what you can only guess is annoyance behind that red bucket.

“literally why are you here? And why the fuck were you screaming? I thought someone was getting skinned up here with how screechy you are.”

You look up at him with a grin. “You're as sweet as ever my cute little zombie, you know it's Valentine's Day yes? I brought you something!”

“obviously I know that, let me guess, dead flowers? I'm not taking gifts from you.” his head rolls in a way that you can assume is an eye roll, he makes no move towards you as you open up the bag and pull something out.

You lightly shake the Tupperware at him like a box of dog treats. “Actually it's a charcuterie board.”

There's an awkward silence before he sighs and drops his hands to his hips, gloved fingers hooking into his belt.

“….I didn't expect that from-okay nevermind. Why the fuck would you come to the worst part of this city and scream on a rooftop with a cheese board in your backpack?!” he finally moves close enough to stand over you as he speaks, the voice changer can't cover up the clear exasperation in his tone as he grumbles about getting shot at.

The lid pops off loudly as you hold the container up to him, once again shaking it at him like it's a treat.

“Because I don't know how else to contact you obviously! I put it together just for you!”

He sighs in aggravation while Glancing down at the stupid-

There's a long pause before he speaks, his arms loosening so his hands can dig into the fabric of his pants, fists clutching at the fabric like a lifeline.

“is that…. You cut cheese to look like my fucking grave?” his tone is something between angry and befuddled, why the hell would you do something so insane?

“what? No!….”

“Oh thank God-”

“It's actually supposed to look like some ideas I had for my grave stone! I wanted your opinion on it-hey where are you going? Mi alma come back!”

you stand up quickly as you watch him run and jump off the building, he didn't even eat the grave cheese with you!

🫀🖤🫀

You're sitting at the edge of a random building late at night, you've yet to find your violent little babe in the leather mask and you're quite disappointed honestly.

You were hoping for another grand show to end your night on! Or to at least give your beau their Valentine's before twelve o'clock.

Someone clears their throat behind you and you turn so fast you nearly tumble right off the edge of the building, unfortunately someone grabs you and yanks on your arm hard enough to prevent your untimely demise.

You don't have time to be disappointed though when you realize it's your vicious little freak in a cape and cowl.

“Finally I've found you! Or you've technically found me! Happy Valentine's Day My friend!” you lean into their embrace as they try to right you, as soon as your head drops on their shoulder they step back and you fall on your face against the rooftop, you hop right back up with a bloody smile on your lips.

The enigmatic figure tilts their head and looks you up and down, taking in your terribly disheveled form and dark red stained clothing that's full of tears and cuts. “…you were looking for me?”

Nodding enthusiastically, you gesture broadly in dramatic fashion while grinning widely. “of course I was! You've captivated me with your violent tendencies and antisocial aura, what's there not to worship? I brought you something.”

You quickly open your pack and pull out a somehow pristine looking little black cardboard box with a blood red ribbon on it and present it to the masked hero, after a moment they reach out and hesitantly grab it.

“go on and open it, have a look! Unfortunately it won't bite.”

They glance at you for another moment before wordlessly pulling on the ribbon and opening it up to peer inside.

“you brought me cookies.” bat shaped cookies covered in black frosting with yellow accents sit inside, a few of them are clearly patterned after her mask while some are the symbol on her chest.

“Mhmm, they're bat shaped! Remind you of anything?” You're practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you watch her, at least they made it into her hands unlike some of your other attempts.

Her mask tilts and she stares at you silently for a few minutes. “…. My costume?”

“close enough! Enjoy them my beautiful little attacker, and have a horrid Valentine's Day!…or night technically, goodbye!” you turn and run off, it's been quite the eventful day and it's time you go relax at home maybe even crawl through the swamp for a few hours.

“Bye…. Thanks for the gift.”

She smiles behind her mask as she glances down at the little treats, you actually got her a gift…

🫀🖤🫀

A/n: sorry it's late! Been busy for a few days and I'm trying to catch up where I can, I hope y'all had a happy Valentine's Day if you celebrate and if not I hope it was just a stress free day 🙏😘💗😍

| M.list |

Taglist: @lunarapple @ladykamos @itsberrydreemurstuff

[dollywoo]

J.WY | A Poet’s New Muse.

hi!! this is my first x reader fic! some slow(ish) burn fluff just in time for Valentine’s Day! i hope you enjoy! ♡

pairings: wooyoung!waiter x poet!reader ♡

synopsis: you are a troubled poet who has a poem due on love, though you are experiencing writer’s block. that is, until your favorite waiter gives you new found muse and more!~

word count: 3.2k ♡

Wooyoung would hum a gentle tune as he wiped away the mess left behind by the patrons that had just exited one of his last booths of the night. though his tune seemed happy, his mind was troubled. it was nearing closing time, and the raven haired waiter was left questioning himself, ‘why hadn’t they showed up?’

then, almost like clockwork, the abrupt sound of ringing took his attention to the fromt door, his gentle gaze setting on you. your appearance was put together and exuded pure beauty — though your mind told a different story; the raging war and suffocating feeling of being a poet with the worst case of writer’s block ever seen.

Wooyoung hadn’t looked away, even when you made eye contact it took him a bit too long to break the silence. once he did, his curtain bangs fell into his brunette orbs as he stuttered back to life. “Welcome in!” he would speak in a winded, yet cheey tone. You would try and hold back a smile at the endearing sight before you — Wooyoung all disheveled and shy just at the sight of you made you blush a bit, though you quickly recovered once your right hand gripped at your poetry book slightly. then, the waiter would bring you back from your thoughts, “I’ll show you to your table, followed me.” it seemed that Wooyoung had recovered from his previous flustered state, turning to guide you to a booth in the corner, away from the bustle of other customers.

Wooyoung brought you to this table on purpose of course, he wanted you to be able to write as much as your heart desires — no distractions. he knew exactly how you liked it because he would watch you for months, ever since you first entered the restaurant on that dreary rainy night. You were the only thing that made that night shine bright for him, despite the pouring rain and his new Chrome Hearts beanie getting ruined.

once you were seated, his arm would extend to you, handing you a menu for the restaurant with a soft smile. Your gaze would betray you, taking in the ink that adorned the lower forearm of the gorgeous man before you — thankful that those sleeves belonging to his white button up were rolled to the elbow to display this. You would be brought out of your trance at your brain screaming at you once again, ‘y/n! focus on this writing! the publishers need something to work with in the morning!’ You would tear your gaze away, giving the alluring male a gentle, “Thank you.” before peering at the menu.

tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, and you needed a love poem to hit the papers bright and early tomorrow morning, your boss was going to wring your neck if you didnt have it ready. truth be told, you were too focused on this damn poetry to even think of having your own Valentine. the irony of having to write a poem about love but not having your own is a sick prank from the world.

Wooyoung walked off to give you some time, his own face red from the encounter, he saw the way you looked at him — his rose tattoo. it has his heart beating at a rapid pace, the blush on his cheeks made his dot all too evident than before. as soon as he made it to the safety of the kitchen he approached the sink, washing his face off promptly before hearing a scoff in his direction. he didnt even have to look before the owner of the laugh started to speak, “Woo…just ask them out, you always get so flustered every night when they come in!” his coworker, Mingi would speak as he prepared an entree for one of the tables belonging to another section. “It’s like I’m watching another kdrama! I see the way they look at you too! It’s Valentine’s Day! Just go for it, Wooyoungie!” the tall male would practically whine, “The worst they can say is no~”

Wooyoung’s cheeks would heat up once more, drying away the water droplets with a paper towl from the dispenser above the sink. “Shh.. you do this EVERYTIME” the waiter would groan out in a teasing tone, throwing Mingi a mischievous glare — he was teasing the older. “Maybe one day I will! Plus, they are focusing on their poetry! I would hate to be a distraction!” Woo whined out, moving over towards Mingi who had since finished preparing the dish and was now setting it to the counter to serve. “Can’t blame me for trying!” Mingi would giggle out, hitting the bell for service. “Actually, I think Jongho went to the bathroom, can you take this entree to table 9?” the taller would ask, shooting the younger a gummy smile. Wooyoung rolled his eyes, “fiiinee” he would whine out in a playful tone, grabbing the entree and heading to it’s destination.

as he walked out onto the floor, his gaze would find purchase on you, watching as you began to jot down some starting lines, before ripping the paper out of the book and setting it to the side with frustration. ‘See, they are busy’ He told himself, finally giving the plate to the hungry customer and then making his way back to you.

You were mumbling to yourself, trying to rack your brain of how to write of a romance that you have never had. that was until your thoughts were pulled elsewhere, the waiter was speaking again. “I am so sorry to bother you again, but are you ready to order?” those eyes, they were so gentle — so kind. Wooyoung’s eyes were the kind of brown you could fall into, swim and get lost in. it was if every constellation was held in that magnificent gaze of his. You couldn’t look away — and neither could he. the look in both your eyes gave each other the sense of yearning — of longing.

the way the waiter’s raven hair parted down the middle, framing his face with pure elegance despite his redden cheeks caused your heart to blossom with want — the want of kissing on that cute little mole of his. his hands were holding a notepad and a pen, the way each vein in his nicely sized hands showed caused your beain to wander somewhere far more sinful. your own hand would reach to the other for a moment, placing onto Wooyoung’s and gently rubbing the vein with your thumb.

“my usual, please.” you would finally speak as Wooyoung took a moment, as if your voice hadnt even registered to him just yet. but as soon as it did, his pen began to move along the notepad. afterwards, the hand that was in yours would interlock your fingers with his, his head tilting to the side as he spoke. “will be out shortly for you, my love.” he would speak with such confidence, before lifting your hand and kissing the top. he then began to walk towards the kitchen, putting your order in with Mingi.

so this was love?

your pen began to move along the page as you found some sort of muse — a love to write about. You were finished before Wooyoung would return with your food, placing your poetry book off to the side so the plate could be set before you. the waiter was silent this time, before sliding into the seat across from you. you were shocked for a moment, but absolutely thrilled to be joined by such an attractive male, one that you had been daydreaming about for what seemed like centuries.

the silence was broken much quicker this time, like Wooyoung had found some confidence after their previous interaction. “so, do you have a Valentine this year?” he would question, sipping from a glass of water that he had brought with him. his gaze wouldnt move from you — now you were the one blushing.

“no..” you would speak softly, “my publisher needed this poem by morning, so I have been way too distracted to even think of having one.”

Wooyoung would fall silent, chewing on his bottom lip that was home to another dot of his. this man was truly a work of art. “well..” his voice would trail, that confidence wavered just for a moment before the dark haired waiter regained himself. “Would you like to be my Valentine?” his voice was as smooth as silk, the words rolling off his tongue with ease — your presence gave him confidence and calmed his nerves. “I can get tomorrow night off and take you to a different restaurant, or the movies. anything you want, y/n!” he added, another blush forming on your cheeks at the sound of him saying your name.

“Yes, Wooyoung, I would love to be your Valentine!” you practically exclaimed, your meal was now long forgotten as butterflies swarmed in your stomach. was this really happening? you had never had a Valentine before.

little did you know, neither did Wooyoung, between working at the restaurant and dancing at the studio he didnt have time for love — though you were an exception.

Wooyoung’s eyes light up with pure joy, you could see sparks flying with the way he was looking at you. “Can I have your phone number, darling?” he spoke with a bright smile on his lips, handing his unlocked phone over to you. with haste, your thumbs would tap across the screen, putting your phone number in and saving your contact in his phone. once you handed his phone back, he would text your number quickly. you felt your phone buzz, looking down at it for a moment.

“text me your address, I can pick you up at 6pm!” Wooyoung spoke with a smile on his lips, attempting to contain his excitement as he slide out of the booth, placing his hand on yours and giving it a squeeze before walking off. “See you tomorrow, love.”

────୨ৎ────

it felt like forever had passed by since you had seen Wooyoung, you had turned in your poetry early that morning at the office, and you were now heading back to your apartment to get ready for your date with the man of your dreams. the two of you had been texting all day, making the solid plan to go to a restaurant that Wooyoung said was to die for — then back to your place to show Wooyoung your prized writing collection. you were so excited that as soon as you entered the door to your apartment, you locked it behind you and ran to shower. your outfit had been picked out since last night after you had came home from the restaurant. everything was gping to be perfect.

after completing your shower, it was a bit after 5pm, so you began to get dressed and do your makeup and style your hair to make sure you looked your absolute best — even though Wooyoung would think you would be beautiful even in a cardboard box.

6pm came sooner than expected, you finally finished working on your appearance and sat down on your phone, scrolling through tiktok before a knock at your door brought your attention from the screen, you quickly grabbed your bag and made your way to the door. you were dressed in a pair of your nicest white dress pants that showed off every curve in your hips and legs. this was paired with a wine red flowy blouse that showed off your star necklace that you had adorned yourself with, and then a pair of black heeled shoes.

once you opened the front door of your apartment, your own breath was taken away by the raven haired beauty infront of you. Wooyoung was adorned in a white blouse that showed off his collarbones and upperchest nicely, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow; dress pants were a wine red, the color matched the blouse of yours which was an unplanned surprise that made your smile brighten, and then paired with a pair of black shoes. despite your heeled shoes, he was still taller than you, which made your heart swoon a bit. his orbs filled with admiration gazed down upon you, his hair framing his honeykissed face perfectly, some strands were tucked behind his ears. his silver earrings shone brightly in the light that illuminated your living room, he smiled softly, reaching out to grab your hips and pull you close.

“hello there, gorgeous.” he spoke gently, his tone way more flirty than the night before. he then placed a kiss on your cheek before sliding his hands down to his sides. “our reservation is at 6:30pm, are you ready to go?” he smiled softly as you nodded, he took your hand in his and lead you out of your apartment. you stopped momentarily to lock your door before you allowed him to drag you off into the parking lot.

the drive was amazing, Wooyoung drove the whole time and asked for you to put your favorite songs on to listen to. turns out, he likes your taste; his fingers would tap along on the steering wheel to the tune of your favorite melody as he finally made the last turn and parked. “this is the place!” he spoke with a smile on his lips, turning off the engine and getting out the car, rushing over to your side to open the door for you. you both then headed to the entrance of the restaurant, hand in hand. Wooyoung was a very touchy person, he couldnt seem to keep his hands off of you.

it didnt take long for the both of you to be seated, Wooyoung had made sure to request a seat with a magnificent view of the scenery of the restaurants garden which was adorned with tomatos, potatos, assorted vegetables and a few flowers. you had seen your favorite one and pointed at it happily, his attention was on you immediately. “ooo lily of the valleys! i havent seen those in so long!” you exclaimed with excitement, covering your mouth for a moment after in embarrassment. Woo would reach over and bring your hands from your mouth, wanting you to keep talking. “my favorites are sunflowers, i dont see much of them though!” he giggled softly, giving you a reassuring smile.

moments would pass before the waiter would make his way to your table, Wooyoung’s eyes were on you once he arrived. “Hello, beautiful. are you ready to order?” the waiter of the restaurant spoke to you, Wooyoung’s jaw clenched immediately before snapping back. “they are beautiful aren’t they? MY Valentine is the most gorgeous being to ever grace this planet.” he spoke, eye contact to the waiter now as he made sure to pronounce the word ‘my’ harshly. he was already protective over you and the first date wasnt even over yet, how cute.

You giggled softly, squeezing Wooyoung’s hand before ordering a pappardelle pasta with alfredo sauce. then Wooyoung would place his order as well, which was a tortellini pasta with tomato sauce. the male handed your menus back to the waiter who left promptly without another word, he seemed to be a bit intimidated by Wooyoung.

“sorry about that, i’m not usually protective like that.” Wooyoung would speak to you, caressing your hand with his thumb as he gazed longingly into your magnificent orbs. “don’t apologize, its very attractive.” you would respond. this caused a smirk to appear on Wooyoung’s lips, “ah, then i’ll do it more often for you, sweetheart.” he ended his sentence with a wink.

dinner went on perfectly after this, his hand always somehow found a way to meet yours, or brush your hair behind your ear; he was the moth, you were the flame. he wouldnt keep his hands off of you.

after you both finished eating, you stayed for another hour or two just talking about every interest you both have. it wasnt until the hostess came by and told you both they were closing did you realize how much time had passed. Wooyoung would giggle softly, thanking the hostess before standing and approaching your side. once you stood, he snaked his arm around your waist and you both walked to his car.

the drive home made you a bit upset, not because of Wooyoung — but because the date was coming to an end and you didn’t want him to go. before you could think, you blurted out, “do you want to stay the night?” you then looked over at him, who immediately met yours gaze as well as he pulled into the parking lot of your apartment. “of course.” he answered with a smile on his face.

once you both made it to the entrance of your apartment, Wooyoung’s hand gripped your hip softly, rubbing the bone in a loving manner. you unlocked your door before you both walked into your apartment. “make yourself at home!” you spoke sweetly, “the bedroom is down the hall to the right, the bathroom is across from it!”

though Wooyoung didnt leave your side even after you spoke that, he was glued to you. “hmm, how about we watch a movie?” he spoke excitedly, a yawn following the question as he gazed into your eyes lovingly. “we can cuddleee” he spoke that last word in a whiney tone, like he was already needy for your touch in every way.

you nodded, “yes we can! you choose a movie while i change okay?” you placed a kiss on Wooyoung’s cheek before making your way to your bedroom. in the meantime, Woo had brought in his dance bag that always contained an extra pair of clothes. he changed in the bathroom, now wearing a black t shirt and gray sweatpants when you returned.

you changed into a pair of shorts and an oversized top before making your way back out to meet him. you plopped yourself down beside Wooyoung on the couch, who immediately wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to his chest. “i chose Howl’s Moving Castle, have you watched it?” he spoke softly, rubbing his head against you affectionately— like a cat.

“i love that movie! you so remind me of Howl!” you immediately blurted out, planting more kisses along his jawline as he let out a chuckle. “stopp i was gonna say i loved him!!!” he spoke in excitement, he then laid down on his back and without a second thought you climbed ontop of him. your head rested on his chest, listening to the gentle thumping of his beating heart.

“hey y/n?” Wooyoung spoke softly, running his fingers through your hair.

“yes, Woo?” you responded, fighting off the sleepiness that plagued your body now, and his warmth wasnt helping — though you didnt mind that too much.

“will you be my partner?” he questioned softly, kissing the top of your head. you then smiled the biggest you had all night, your cheeks burning from this.

“of course, baby!” you exclaimed, leaning up to pepper his neck and jaw with kisses. “my perfect boyfriend!” you whispered to him.

Wooyoung hummed softly, “my perfect baby.” he responded before you both succumbed to the peaceful lull of sleep.

—🧸taglist!: @vampzity @sanshairfollicles @dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @rvereri @joonezra @jjongibears @h4untedgrl

comment to be added to my taglist! ♡

thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed my first x reader fic!! ♡

[augiewrites]

“secret admirer” - dead poets society (final)

summary: y/n confronts their poet (lightly inspired by this post)

pairing: (not-so) anonymous!dead poet x reader

word count: 536

previous

Y/N felt like they were having an out of body experience—maybe they were dreaming? That seemed like the most reasonable explanation for a night like that.

They kept waiting for the moment where they shot awake in their dorm room, but it had yet to come.

No, this was real, and it was more beautiful than they ever could have imagined.

It was also over much faster than they would have liked. Y/N and Charlie bounced glances back and forth all throughout Neil’s monologue and the following final words from the poets. They were the last two to exit the cave.

Y/N spoke up once there was some distance between them and the rest of the poets, “So it was you this entire time?”

“That it was,” Charlie grinned as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“God, you’re so annoying.”

“What?” Charlie laughed out.

“It’s such a you move to be waxing poetic to me in secret while being an absolute terror in person.”

“Well, I had to get through to you somehow.”

Y/N was having a difficult time being annoyed at the grinning boy.

“You could have tried talking to me like a normal person—you know, the old-fashioned way of doing things.”

“I thought this was the old-fashioned way?” the grin still hadn’t left Charlie’s face, and the light look in his eyes made Y/N’s stomach flutter, “Besides, you wouldn’t have had any of it.”

“Who said I’m having any of it now?”

“Well, you’re here, and you’re actually having a conversation with me without trying to run in the opposite direction,” he stopped walking and faced Y/N, “I’d say that’s a start.”

“Maybe so,” Y/N shrugged and couldn’t help the smile spreading across their face.

Charlie’s features softened, “I liked your poem, by the way…not as good as mine, but it’s the thought that counts.”

“You’re insufferable,” Y/N laughed.

“But you’re suffering me anyway.”

The pair stood in silence for a beat, exchanging soft smiles and savoring the moment.

“So, where do we go from here,” Y/N inquired, “what’s your master plan, Romeo?”

“We go out on a couple dates, get married, grow old together—you know, the usual.”

Y/N rolled their eyes as their cheeks flushed, “would it kill you to be serious for five seconds?”

“Maybe,” Charlie grinned as he entwined his hand in Y/N’s, “I’d really like to kiss you.”

“Then kiss me, Dalton.”

And so he did, and it was perfect.

That is, until the cheering and wolf whistles began from up ahead.

Y/N was impossibly red as Charlie pulled them along with him back to the poets, a mixture of pride and adoration on his face as he looked at them.

“Really, Dalton? We leave you alone with an individual for one minute and you’re already putting the moves on them?” Knox teased the boy.

“Long con, boys,” Charlie wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulders, “works every time.”

“Have I mentioned that you’re insufferable?”

Charlie just smirked and leaned in for another short kiss. Sounds of mock disgust fell upon deaf ears.

Meeks was right, Y/N thought, this night really did wonders for my spirit.

~~~

a/n: keeping it short and sweet for the finale—thanks for all the love on this story <3

taglist: @vvnbxz @edb954 @coralineyouareinterribledanger @ashisabitgay

[bigfan-fanfic]

You May Sanctuary Find (Winchester!Reader x Winchester Bros [PLATONIC])

A sequel to Brother Mine and Back Into Trouble

The title this time comes from "Little Brother," a poem by Robert W. Service that really, I think, epitomizes the relationship between the eldest Winchester and his brothers, especially the last verse: "Little Brother, how I pray/You may sanctuary find. /Peoples of the world succumb . . ./Fly, poor fools, the WRATH TO COME!"

Anyway, this time, the story takes place after the 1st episode of Season Two, right after John's death.

He's gone. After all that, it wasn't even a direct kill from a monster that did it.

It had been hard - you hadn't been able to see him at the end, because since you actually had insurance, you were able to get some better care. It was only after that you learned about how Dean had nearly passed and John had apologized to him before... taking care of things himself.

Neither one of them is willing to talk. Which makes sense.

This family has never been very good at communication.

Even if he tried his best to make peace at the end, it's still hard not to hate him for what he's done.

Even to save Dean, you hate that he's still messing up your little brothers.

You hate that he never even made an effort to talk to you before it all.

But while you're raw, you know how to deal with this. You've mourned the father you knew better than Sam and Dean ever got to, the one before your mom died when you were seven and he disappeared forever, stolen and replaced by a grieving, vengeful hunter of monsters.

It's rough for Bobby to see you all like this, brought so low after you all had hope that something would change.

That you'd get a win for once.

You call in from Bobby's phone, let your assistant know that you've been in a car accident, that you'll be on the way home soon to recover.

"After all this?" you hear Dean say. "You're still leaving?"

"We did this to find Dad. We found him." you reply wearily.

"What about Yellow Eyes? You're not going to help us take down the son of a bitch that got both our parents?"

He's shouting now, approaching, clutching his side that still hurts from the bruising from the accident.

"I'm tired, Dean."

"Tired? You don't get to be tired! You don't get to leave us again!"

You turn away from him. Trying not to lash back. He's allowed to be angry. It's reasonable for him to be angry...

"You're just scared! You're too damn scared to own up and be part of this family. You never loved Dad like I did! Did you even care that Mom died?"

In a scarily fluid movement, you have him pinned to the wall, an arm across his throat and a hand holding down his wrist, already preventing the counterattack before it happened. The wind is knocked out of him, and for a moment, the hunter you were is back.

Such anger, like it was never dealt with. Like it never left. Like you're still the seven year old who lost his mother. Like the fourteen year old with monster blood on his hands. Like the twenty-one year old who hugged his brothers goodbye without the strength to even pray they'd meet again.

Rage and hate, rage and hate. Monster after witch after demon after trickster after monster.

You let him go. The final monster you kill is that hunter inside you.

"I wrote you letters for your birthday every year. I dunno if Dad gave them to you. I would ask you to visit. To stay." you say, almost whispering. You don't even know if it's loud enough for him to hear. "I sent money for Sam. For college. For a house. For you to settle down."

He's trembling. Anger? Remorse? Sorrow?

"I never wanted to leave you. You're my brothers. And after Mom died, and Dad went hunting... someone had to look out for you. Not just your health, but your futures. I still put money away for you. I keep a couple of rooms ready in my apartment for you two. I can't force you two to come with me. I just have to wait. And hope that I can someday protect you again. It's the hardest thing I've had to do."

You look at him, in the eye, forcing him to look back. "I can't do this anymore. Hunting. It brings out a part of me that... that I fear. A part of me that is angry and hateful, and who likes that because it's easier than facing what he fears. I'm done."

Dean turns away from you, face contorting, and you grab his arm.

"But I will never be done being your big brother, Dean. And when you're finally done too, when you're ready to just fucking rest...

"I will be there. I will be there with a home, and peace, and a life. I promise."

He looks at you, on the verge of breaking. "I can't. I have to do this. I have to protect Sammy."

You pull him into a hug. "Then I'll wait for you."

He melts into you, crying and holding on to you tight.

You remember back when you left, all those years ago - Dean had looked at you with such hate. You were dead to him then, for cutting off the family, for breaking Dad's heart.

And now he holds on, because now he knows what you've tried to do. What you're still doing.

"You do what you have to do, little brother." you whisper. "But when you're done, you come home."

"Okay. Okay, I will." He says, voice distorted with emotion, teeth gritted to try and stop crying.

"C-can I still call?" Dean whispers, when you let him go.

"Of course. I insist on it." You smile at him through tears. "I love you, Dean-o."

"Love you too, big brother."

Dean watches you go to find Sam, to say your goodbyes, and he lets himself cry. Bittersweet. He knows you're growing, that this is good, but already he misses you terribly. How is he going to handle this all alone? This terrible task Dad gave him, to protect Sammy, or take him out.

But though he is full of fear, there's a new sense of hope.

You'll only be a phone call away. You'll be waiting for him.

And to a man that has never once had an alternative, that makes all the difference.

[a-griffin-in-the-sky]

The poem “First they came for the...” by Martin Niemöller is iconic for a reason. It’s a raw, haunting confession about silence in the face of creeping fascism, about how turning a blind eye kills us all.

But lately, I’ve seen versions of it “remixed” rewritten, repurposed by various groups, including the trans community. And some of these rewrites replace “trade unions” or “Jews” or “socialist ” with “trans people,” or sometimes only mention trans people as the first targets.

Because here’s the thing:

Niemöller’s original poem was a specific historical reflection on the Nazis’ systematic extermination of particular groups one after another.

Changing those groups to fit modern activism can be powerful, but it can also distort the historical weight and complexity of what actually happened

I get why trans activists want to use that structure. It’s a memorable, emotional way to say: “Don’t look away when we’re targeted.” But it risks erasing or simplifying the history of other groups who were also targeted first.

It’s like a remix that loses the soul of the original track. A powerful message that becomes a hashtag.

Maybe it’s time for the trans community (and everyone else) to write new poems that are authentic to their experience , instead of recycling a poem written about something else and calling it a day.

Because respect isn’t just about who suffers, but how we tell their stories.

I’ve been scratching my head, trying to think of a trans slogan that feels totally original like something that came out of nowhere, something fresh and brand new that no one has ever said before.

And honestly? I’m drawing a blank.

Protect trans kids just...well,I mean protect kids but protect them from what, guns, predators?like it's urgent and necessary, but it feels like a direct call to action, not a unique slogan that stands alone.

Trans is beautiful....Is beauty really all that matters? Like, is the fight just about looking good or being palatable to the world?feel like they’re asking trans people to put on a show to prove their worth by fitting into someone else’s idea of beauty.

No pride for some of us without liberation for all of us....yeah Marsha was a drag queen and there story has been rewritten by the Trans community.

Protect the dolls.” Like some fragile porcelain figurines that need bubble wrap and a velvet display case.dolls don’t have agency Dolls don’t fight back. Dolls don’t scream they just sit there, silent, pretty, waiting to be played with or tossed aside.

So stolen, reused and reworked, to vauge, focus on beauty or factually reworked. Maybe im nit picking here but the fact two of there most popular stolen logos are reworks, and also considering the neo nazi to trans women pipe line they won't address, and stealing a slogan from a women is just...well

It leaves me uneasy, what do you gyns think?

[rueharley]

"I know you write about me"~

Rafe Cameron x Poet Reader

- Pretty fluffy (not gonna lie), where Reader ends up reading her poetry that she wrote for Rafe after some convincing, + reader over thinking and being nervous (we can all relate)

I sat comfortably on Rafes' sofa, sinking into the pillows like a cloud.

Rafe was busy entertaining his friends that were over, leading to me deciding to be peaceful in another room.

Rafe regularly popped into the room, ensuring I didn't feel lonely or left out, which made me feel so cared for by the subtle gesture.

I held a notebook in my hand and was using a pen to scribble away passionately. It was no secret that I was attached to this notebook, I have been writing since I was a child, but the contents were a complete mystery to anyone besides me.

The paper holds thoughts, rhymes, and poems, from almost everything that exists or passes in my mind.

But, I'll admit, I write about Rafe quite a lot.

To be a poet and not write about the thing that I love most would be absurd.

I aknowledge the darker aspects of my mind in these meaningless sentences, I think it would be dangerous to ignore, especially since I harboured a lot.

However, since Rafe, the pages have become happier, and I use the word 'love' with almost only positive associations.

I heard the door handle rattle and Rafe came into the room, quickly attempting to respect the quiet atmosphere of the room.

He came up to me and sat besides me on the sofa.

"they're finally gone, now I can be with you" he mumbled looking to me as I sat besides him.

"how was everyone?" I asked, closing my notebook and holding it in my hands.

"they're fine.."he says, his gaze flickered to the notebook that I held. I felt all his attention on the notebook as he was clearly about to bring it up.

"what you writing 'bout, baby?" he asked, his gaze locking with mine.

I felt a tiny jolt of adrenaline come into my body, he would think I was a creep if I said 'you', presuming he didn't already know, I couldn't take that risk.

"oh.. Nothing.." I say, putting the notebook to the other side of me, trying to get it away from the direct center of attention.

"nothing?" he repeated, his tone slightly mocking, slightly teasing.

I nodded, watching his expression. His next move being the decider if he's going to drop it or not.

"so what you put most of your time into is 'nothing', s'that right, hm?" he says, an amused smirk on his perfect lips.

"well..." I say, my defense unwillingly faltering.

"'well' what, baby?" he was quick to pick me up, "Why's it such a secret?" his tone soft.

His gaze studied my nervous features while I attempted to organise my response.

"you can trust me, baby.. You can tell me this stuff, you know that," his gaze melting into mine.

"I know that.."i reply simply, genuinely.

Of course I thought about showing him, I wanted him to see, just not at the price of it all going wrong. What if he didn't like it. What if it was bad. I was too nervous to take that risk.

His hand sliding onto my thigh captured my focus. His hand squeezing just enough to keep my attention on him. I kept my gaze on his hand and how it looked as he held my thigh.

"I know you write about me," he says a moment later, I could hear a teasing smirk playing on his words.

A slight blush met my cheeks and I smile slightly.

"you do?" I ask, looking back to his face, trying to keep my tone neutral.

"hm, it's pretty obvious actually," he says, his tone playful.

"well, can you blame me?" I say, attempting to remain above water here. Keeping my tone as far from nervous as possible.

"blame you? No, baby. I like that you write about me.. That you think about me and nothing else.."

His hand met with my chin and he encouraged my gaze to be on his. He looked into my eyes before continuing to speak.

"that when we're apart you spend your time writing your lil' poems about me.. I just wish I could see some, to see how you explain that you love me.." his voice drops to a quiet murmer, his gaze intensifies as it clouds with a sense of desire.

"but they'd sound stupid," I say, becoming very tempted to let him see them.

"nothing you write about how you love me could sound 'stupid', baby, it's impossible," he say, his voice still that low murmer.

"well.. I guess I could show you one.." I say in a delicate state of speech.

A smile slowly crept onto his face "yeah, baby?"

I smiled slightly from how his face lightened with his smile. I nodded, agreeing that I will show him one.

"only if you want to though.. Can't have my baby doing things she's uncomfortable with," he spoke, his tone holding a hint of mockery but I knew he was being genuine simultaneously.

"I'll show you one.. Just promise to be nice about it," I say reaching for my notebook as his hold on my chin drops.

"I'm always nice, baby," he says, deserving a look of disbelief from me.

He noticed my look, a playful expression gracing his face once again, "mostly, unless you ask for me not to be," he replied with a hint of sultry to his tone.

I smiled at his response as I flicked through the pages of my notebook looking for the perfect one.

Rafes eyes were watching me with a predatory accuracy. Focused on watching me flick through each page in silence.

I continued to look through the recognisable writing. I could quickly distinguish each ones and I was quickly running out of options. I huffed.

"hm, there not a perfect one? What you gonna do, baby?" he teased, I felt his gaze on me, my focus on the notebooks disappointing pages.

"this one.." I then say in a deciding tone.

His line if focus travelled to the page I was pointing to, "this one it is then," he says, looking back at my slightly apprehensive demeanour.

"cmon, read it to me then," he says, his voice still playful but with a hint of gentleness in aknowledgment to my hesitation.

"I didn't know I had to read it as well," I say, my shoulders slumping as I looked to him.

"You're already here, just read it, baby," he says, his hand squeezing my thigh affectionately.

I let out a heavy exhale, before looking back at the daunting black ink on the lined paper of my notebook. It felt so meaningless, so.. Foreign. Like if I read it out loud it wasn't mine anymore, it was a sound, a shared feeling, a look into my soul. A piece of me I managed to communicate to no one, but here I was sharing it.

No one likes to aknowledge the intimacy of their souls. No one likes to admit when another person has such great power of your heart, and no one likes to realise that they have no reason to be scared to share it with who they love.

Rafe kissed my forehead, muttering something like "You're over thinking it, baby, s'just me,"

I quickly shook the thoughts from my mind. I had no reason to be nervous. Rafe loves me more than anything, more than anyone ever has.

I cleared my throat, holding the notebook in front of me. A smile crept onto my lips.

"it had no intention of being read out," I say as if to justify my writing before he even heard it.

"baby, just.. Go on," he says gesturing to the notebook. He ran his hand up and down my thigh slightly firmer as if to pull me back to my senses.

I inhaled as I began to read the words out loud:

"I love your existence incessantly and morbidly, without fear or thought.

Give me your soul of purity and love, give me your soul of passion and hate. Let me love the sides of your soul that you believe you must hide, let me love the sides of your soul that you want me to touch.

Let your secrets shape my reality and let my reactions become comfort. Allow me to consume your existence and follow your heart in blind trance and your stubborn avoidance.

Allow me to trust that you'll catch me when your arms feel heavy and you're miles away from me. I'll do the same with hands of habit and a heart full of love.

I want to recognise your words, I want to recognise your pain. I'll use your body as my canvas to paint why I love you.

I want you to wait for me at the end of the day. Call me a fool through my problems, dumb for my actions, and a poet for my words, and when I touch you, call me an artist. I paint you with kisses and scandalous touch, I want you to understand it, I want to remember it.

I've been through so much destruction in my life, but I'm feel I am made for you.

"

There was a moment of silence when I finished, I looked to him for any sort of praise or dislike.

"I get dramatic when I write, quite flouncy with my words-" I say beginning to explain myself but being cut off.

Rafe leaned in and kissed my lips, holding the back of my neck with his hand.

I reciprocated the kiss, the slow, affectionate, gentle kiss. His hand ran up from my thigh to hold my waist.

"so you liked it?" I spoke between the kiss.

"hm, baby, loved it" Rafe spoke into the kiss, refusing to break the kiss.

I smiled as he continued to kiss and suck my lips. He quickly noticed, a smile meeting with his lips too.

"hm, see? Was there any point to get so damn nervous?" he spoke, his tone low with desire. He pulled away, just far away so we could look into each other's eyes.

"no, wasn't any reason to" I spoke, my tone quiet with slight guilt.

"don't ever be nervous round me, baby, never," he says, his words hanging in the air.

"okay,"

[horny-p0et]

simpbur x streamer!reader

wow what if i wrote about another bursona that's crazy. i know a lot of people put incelbur and simpbur under the same umbrella but in my mind they are more like brothers and not twins, different in important ways i can elaborate on another time. ty for support please enjoy some more horny ramblings :) slightly shorter as i'm introducing you all to my version of this character. nsfw in later parts but this is sfw.

warnings: mentions of stalking and obsessive tendencies

wordcount: 741

dont like, dni. please just block me and move on.

────୨ৎ────

SIMPBUR who spends most of his free time online. gaming, scrolling reddit, stalking the cute girls from his uni course- normal stuff. he finds himself more at home on the internet anyway, he's a social outcast who stumbles over his words and doesn't know how to small talk. he has friends, sure, but he feels like they don't understand him. whenever he opens up about his insecurities and trauma they push him away... he just wishes someone would see him, connect with him on a deeper level.

SIMPBUR who falls in love with every girl who even glances in his direction, let alone shows him basic levels of human decency. he remembered when a girl from his class gave him a pen to use when his broke and he brought flowers for her the next day, she stopped sitting next to him after that. he didn't know why, don't girls like flowers? he left poems on her desk and kept trying to talk to her until the school administration got involved.

SIMPBUR who's scrolling mindlessly through tiktok when a clip of you shows up on his for you page. its nothing crazy, just you getting trolled by your chat playing a creeper sound alert while you're in a cave, but something about the way you laughed, smiled and you scolded chat playfully gave him butterflies in his stomach.

SIMPBUR who scoured the internet for every drop of content about you he could find, checking every social media and consumed it all. every bit of information he learnt drew him in, it was like you were made in a laboratory for him. you're kind but assertive, funny but compassionate, beautiful but sexy. He feels like he knows you so well, you guys would make good friends. you play the same games, listen to the same bands, you're about the same age, it must have been fate that put you on his feed that day.

SIMPBUR who plays your vods on his second monitor while he plays games by himself, imagining you're in a discord with him chatting like friends. he finds himself growing addicted to your voice, he doesn't do anything without you playing in the background. eating breakfast? your funny moments are on his phone. walking to work? your podcast episodes play in his headphones. late nights when he can't sleep? your vlogs to soothe him to relax.

SIMPBUR who jumped out of his skin when he got the notification you were live. he hadn't been able to watch your streams live before, he'd always been asleep or in class- he was so frustrated you were in a different timezone. he hops in chat, finding his hands shaking as he chats with your fans during the 'stream starting soon' screen. he's nervous, this is basically your first date!

SIMPBUR who feels like he's on cloud nine when you appear on his stream, casually relaxing in your gaming chair as you read chat and talk about your day. you thank someone for resubbing, the way your face lights up with genuine appreciation is beautiful to him. he wants to be the reason you look that happy.

SIMPBUR who scrambles for his credit card, not even considering the consequences before he's gifting 50 subs to you. he doesn't even care its almost 250 dollars, he'd give you a million if it would make you smile even once. he watches with bated breath as your eyes widen and you cover your mouth with your hands.

"Holy shit- 50 gift subs? Are you serious? Oh my god... thank you so much <username>! You seriously just made my day, my week I think. I really appreciate that, sending my love to you."

SIMPBUR who quickly clips and screenshots you giving the camera a hand heart, giving him a hand heart. you said you gave him your love! he feels like the luckiest man on the planet. the rush of your approval makes him feel high, like he needs your praise more than oxygen.

SIMPBUR who is already obsessed and he found out about you a week ago. he dreams about you, you're the first thing on his mind when he wakes up and before he falls asleep. he can already imagine you in a white dress, holding your hand as you tell him you love him. he just needed to get his hands on you, because he knows once you meet him you'll feel the same way.

[writingonleaves]

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? (did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?) - jeremy swayman

pairing: jeremy swayman x original female character

warnings: swearing, pretty angsty. hopeful ish ending because i can't do sad endings, very personal but i think many can relate in their own way, cliche ish, barely proofread

inspired by + title: "the smallest man who ever lived" by taylor swift

word count: 5.6k

author's note: i'd argue almost every piece any author writes is personal, because it has their life interspersed through the words. but this one really is, because a majority of this is the exact same words i wrote years ago after a break-up. heard the bridge to this song and immediately knew i had to write something inspired by it. also trying a new format of sorts (maybe a bit meta??), so i hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!!

~*~*~

When Noelle Betsko walked away from Jeremy Swayman, holding back tears until the call dropped, she knew it was going to be a tough time for the foreseeable future. 

It didn’t matter that the pandemic had forced them apart. She knew she would still feel him for months to come.

She did the only thing she knows how to do when trying to deal with things. The one thing she always resorts to as an aspiring novelist. Sometimes on her laptop when the words were spilling out too quickly for her brain to catch up, tears littering the keyboard. Usually in her old beat-up journal, scribbling in the cursive that Jeremy claimed he always loved (“It makes your handwriting unique”) with the pens he had gifted her just a few months prior. 

At the age of 21, Noelle got her heart broken for the first time. At the age of 26, she’s about to publish her first poetry collection of sorts, all of the poems modeled after journal entries written throughout her life. So not really poetry, though her mother would say otherwise. 

She swallows as she thumbs through the middle part of the first known and binded copy of “miscellaneous.” There are only eight entries in the whole collection that are taken verbatim from her past writing. These are the eight.

May 13, 2020 (three days post-breakup, crying in my childhood bedroom)

I don’t even recognize who I was and who you were in those writings before these pages filled with love and hope and happiness. I can’t even summon up those feelings anymore that I knew existed at one point. Those feelings of complete bliss and love for someone so deep you can’t explain it. 

I’m mad at myself for not being able to conjure those feelings, because at one point, I did love you. How could something that was part of my daily life for over two years just disappear so quickly? 

But now, I’m not mad at myself. I’m mad, but I don’t know where to direct that anger to. I feel a bit empty sometimes, but then frustrated the next. Sometimes I get sad, but not so much compared to the other feelings. I spent enough time being sad during our relationship.

When we broke up, on an annoyingly beautiful Tuesday in May — over the damn phone, mind you, which whatever, it’s COVID. Fine — You told me you felt like you had been putting more effort into us. 

At the time, I didn’t react, but I’ve been thinking about how angry that statement made me. Makes me, actually. I was always very open with how much I gave to that relationship. How much it meant to me. How much it affected me. But I understand that with some people, sharing everything too much equates to things not meaning anything anymore. But you out of all people should’ve known that I mean everything I say.

I felt like I gave so much. I know I gave so much. When I told you I loved you, I always meant it. Every single time. When I told you I missed you, I always meant it. I wished you were right next to me at that moment. I mentally gave so much, because to me, I wanted to. You were always on my mind, always high up on my list of priorities. I never took us for granted.

I’ve been questioning if that was the same for you. Did you start becoming complacent?

The second thing you said that day that hasn’t left my head is that you knew me pretty well. And initially, I remember not thinking much of it. So I don’t doubt that; you always knew right when I was about to cry, even over the phone. You often knew when I was mad or upset, but when I look back now, you never pushed. Which is a good thing, to an extent. But it was a bad thing sometimes too. I knew you often wanted to give me space, but sometimes I didn’t want space. I wanted you to push. To try to understand. Maybe that’s unfair of me; it probably is. I should just say I want to talk about it more, right? 

But if you genuinely knew me, you would’ve known.

After two years, seven months and 12 days,  I still feel like I didn’t know you. Did I ever know you at all?

When people talked shit about you, I always defended you. And I still would defend you now. But lately, I've questioned what I’m even defending. All those good qualities that I thought you had, were they even real? Of course, I know some of them were, to a certain extent. But as I look back on us, there’s a lot of doubt about whether I even knew the person I called my boyfriend for so long. I know there was a point where you cared about me, but I can’t remember when. 

I often felt like I was letting you know so much about my life, but you didn’t do the same. I get that sometimes a person just wants to forget about the bad and focus on the good with a person you like for awhile. I get that. But once that was happening every damn time? That should’ve been a red flag. 

June 7, 2020 (twenty eight days post break-up, outside my childhood room on the deck) 

I don’t understand how you can give so much to something or someone and have it not be recognized or appreciated or enough. If I wasn’t enough for you, how will I be enough for anyone?

I hope one day you’ll truly understand how much this hurt. Not just the breakup, but feeling like I was always being pulled in a direction I didn’t always want to be pulled in. Feeling I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and never ever being able to win. I hate that I settled so much in the last year. Because I should’ve demanded more, even though deep down I knew you were never going to be able to give it to me.

I think back to our past daily texts, and I just don’t get it. At one point, we both meant the things we said to each other. 

Yet we still hurt each other. 

This fucking hurts.

You’ve hurt me so much, but most of it wasn’t intentional, which I think is somewhat even worse. Because I’m not totally mad at you for causing the pain. You never did anything outright to cause me pain, but I still feel like you did. 

Unintentional pain almost stings more than intentional. 

When I asked you out that night after we were both on an emotional high, I took a chance. For once in my life, I took the leap, knowing that I could get humiliated or hurt or just straight up shot down. 

Where did it all go wrong? Or, more realistically, how did we think that we could go through the wrong when it was there at the start?

I’m trying not to blame myself too much. Trying not to tell myself that I should’ve known better. 

All those times, especially at the start, when I would ask you if you genuinely liked me, you always thought I was just trying to be annoying. But you never understood that I genuinely thought that way. My self confidence from the start was lacking, and you didn’t try to understand that, because I come across to everyone as confident and self-assured. 

It hurt, when you would brush things off like that. I felt like you didn’t care.

And then, it got to the point where I stopped asking that question. Part of that is because I did become more confident and you did show that you cared, and part of that was because I knew it would piss you off.

The amount of things I was scared to talk about with you because I knew it would piss you off? I don’t wish that feeling on anybody.

I shouldn’t have been scared. I shouldn’t have been uncomfortable. But I was. And if you did notice like sometimes you claimed to, why didn’t you make it more comfortable for me? Was that too much to ask for? 

So larger than life that at the end, you faded into just the smallest man who ever lived. Fuck you.

Was it too much to ask for when I just wanted to know why you were upset? You didn’t have to ever tell me the full story (lord knows there were times I didn’t), but was it too much to ask for something? You told me once that I’m the person you’ve told the most to. How? You barely told me anything. And when I wanted to talk to you, whether it was about growing up in Alaska or why you were in a bad mood last night, you always brushed it off. Always. 

So I don’t feel so bad about feeling like I gave more effort. I gave so much of myself to you. If you really cared about me like you claimed you did, why couldn’t you show even just 1% of that care back? Or just meet me in the middle?

I could’ve tried harder to meet you in the middle, I’ll admit that. But you didn’t even give me a map or a clue how to. 

I felt so fucking left in the dark. I felt left in the dark about my own fucking relationship, something that I should be completely sure about. If you really love someone and care about them, how can you leave them in the dark? How could you not even see that I was struggling to find a flashlight?

You did care about me. I know that. To some extent and at some point in time, you did care about me. But caring about someone and their well-being isn’t always enough.

Why couldn’t you have worked with me? When I was extending my hand out, why didn’t you reach for it? How can someone just be so blind? I mean, I’m practically always spelling it out for you. 

Maybe I am being selfish. But fuck, I just wanted to be happy. At some point, you made me happy. When did I start making you feel like I wasn’t enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?

It’s useless, in a way, to keep going about this. Because I know I deserve better. And we’ll both find people who are better for us. We just couldn’t be that person to each other.

I fucking loved you.

I wish it ended differently.

July 8, 2020 (fifty nine days post-breakup, in front of the lake)

I really really fucking miss you. 

I do. 

I miss being able to text you that i love you and not necessarily expecting a response until the next morning. I miss knowing that as soon as you wake up, you’ll text me back and assure me that yeah, you love me too. 

I’m left feeling bittersweet as I look back on memories that are just splashes and not definite strokes on the canvas that used to be us.

I miss having you as a friend. 

I’ve been having more urges lately to want to text you. And it isn’t even anything important. Just moments I experience throughout the day.

Do you get the urge to do the same?

July 19, 2020 (seventy days post-breakup, still in the same damn house)

It’s hard. It really is. And it kinda just hits you at random parts of the day. Sometimes I wake up from a dream that you were in and have to remind myself that it didn’t happen. 

Sometimes it physically aches when I realize that you won’t ever help me put on my jacket again, or complain that my hair is in your face when we’re lying on the couch watching Brooklyn Nine Nine, or groan when I drag you up to dance with me (which you never improved on, no matter how many times I tried to teach you basic rhythm). I can’t view our song the same way anymore, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. 

The other day, I read some simple thing on Twitter. I don’t even remember what it was, but I do remember that for a split second, I could see your smile in my mind. But it wasn’t just any smile. It was the smile you gave me when you took me ice skating that first time. I remember asking you what you were smiling at, and you said that you just were taking in this moment. I don’t know if you took a mental picture that day, but I know I did. That day seems so long ago now. 

In almost anything I do, you somehow pop into my mind or into the conversation. And it’s not even in a harmful way either. It’s because you were part of my life for so long. I see a dog on the street, and it reminds me of how you always stopped to pet every single one we’s see I write something in my messy handwriting, and I remember how you always used to complain that you couldn’t read the notes I’d occasionally leave around your place when you went away. I went to the doctor’s the other day, and they said I was 5 feet and 3 inches, which is just definitely not true, and I almost reached for my phone to text you, because you would’ve cackled and insisted that no, I’m 5 feet 2 inches and it wouldn’t even matter because I’ll always be shorter than you. It’s simple and minute things that make me miss you that much more.

I still can’t listen to some songs the same way anymore, but I can at least listen to them now, which is a feat in itself. I was unpacking from college and found the teddy bear you sent me the first extended time we had to be apart and had to immediately put that out of my sight. From those boxes also came photos that I had decorated my dorm room with, and to be honest, I’m glad now that I let you keep our best one. I deal with all my emotions, besides writing, by making Spotify playlists, and I made a new one earlier this week. I think it’s helping. It’s a slow process, this whole moving on thing, but it’s one that I’m trying to be grateful for, because like most things in life, you just don’t truly know until you go through it.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering how you are and how you’re healing. But, even though we’ve both changed since the day we met, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re incredibly strong and stubborn. I hope that you’re finding some growth in this process too. 

October 17, 2020 (one hundred fifty seven days post-break up, apartment in orono)

It’s been almost 5 months, and you still cross my mind everyday. 

Why wasn’t I enough for you? Why didn’t you fucking tell me what you were thinking? Why was I the one who had to approach you just because I was just so done with the silent treatment?

But I’m not mad at you. Not anymore. The mad phase passed ages ago. 

Closure is a fake word. Even a breakup as mutual and smooth as ours was still left me with so many questions that will probably never be answered. 

Any breakup fucks you up to some extent. I knew it was going to mess me up even back when we were together. But not like this. Never like this. 

But like anything in life, I guess you can never really prepare for what you think you might feel, because most of the time, you discover a whole new side of you that you never thought existed. 

I don’t miss you. I don’t. I don’t feel that love in any way anymore. 

But I did once.

You did too, right?

November 15, 2020 (one hundred eighty six days post break-up, fogler library)

I hate Halloween. 

Though, it did bring me to you three years ago. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then and there. 

Three years later, you texted me on Halloween, five months after our breakup. The universe really, really wanted to fuck with me. 

It was a tough night for you. I knew that. Because I know how you are after losing a game you should’ve won. But that didn’t mean that I owed you anything and had to respond. 

We agreed on no contact if we ever wanted to stay friends. Clearly, friends is out of the picture now, but come on. A vulnerable text after a bad night because you know I would feel bad for you?

Fuck, you know how much I would hate that. You had to have known. 

Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean that everything about you just disappears. I still know your tendencies. I still know exactly how my head burrows into your chest during a hug. I still know the actions I used to do that would be followed by you attacking me with a hug. I still could point you out in a crowd. 

I looked for you in every crowd for years. 

That stuff doesn’t just go away, no matter how much I want it to. But fuck. Fuck. Why did you text me? 

I don’t regret how I handled it. I probably would’ve responded months ago. But just like you, I’ve grown these last couple of months. 

It was comforting, for a split second, to know that maybe, just maybe, these past couple of months have been hard for you too. It makes me feel human. It makes me feel like I’m not crazy.

I’m glad you texted me. You gave me another level of closure I hadn’t known that I needed until then. 

But fuck, dude. You know me better than that. You should know me better than that. 

I hate Halloween.

November 26, 2020 (one hundred ninety seven days, at the coffee shop i brought you to when you came home with me two years ago)

I don’t regret loving you, but I hate you for what you did to me. 

Or maybe not. 

I hate knowing that even though we haven’t been in a relationship in a bit, it feels like sometimes, you’re on my mind the exact same amount when we were dating. I hate knowing that I gave so much of myself and my love to you, and it always felt unrecognized. 

Fuck, will it ever stop hurting? Will I ever be able to have to stop myself from thinking about you? Will it ever stop?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy it.

June 12, 2021 (three hundred ninety five days post-break up, in boston, visiting a friend)

Tonight, when a friend asked me about you and how I felt about how we ended, I was able to articulate my thoughts clearly. I’m really proud of myself for getting to a point where I can take the lessons I learned the few months after we broke up and acknowledge them in a succinct way without breaking down into tears. Just watery eyes and the occasional voice crack 

I’m also proud that I can say that when we were dating, I lost a bit of myself. For months, it was really hard to admit out loud.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Sometimes, I wish I could call or text you about it, because I think you’d be proud too. And I know I’d be proud of you. I am, to be honest. I do break resolve once in awhile and check on you through various avenues.

I still haven’t seen you in person since the last time COVID made us say goodbye. Maybe I never will again. But day by day, I’m starting to accept that and be okay with it. I’m accepting that memories that used to be so painted in my mind are blurry or almost completely erased now. But that’s okay. Honestly, it’s probably for the best. 

I wonder, when you think about it, if you think about different moments that I do. That’s the thing when something ends. You have to be okay with letting go of those moments and realizing that just because you forget them, doesn’t mean they weren’t important. 

I don’t think I miss you. I hesitate in saying that. Because I’ve moved on and handled the aftermath of it better than I think both of us ever thought I could. When you hung up the phone for the last time, I proved to myself again that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I think we all are. But we don’t realize it until we’re thrown into a situation that we think we’ll never be able to overcome. 

But we do. Whether it’s because we’re forced to because there’s no other option, it doesn’t matter. Because we get through. We move on. 

I hope you're moving on. 

And then it goes into other topics, graduating during a pandemic specifically and losing what’s supposed to be your last year of no responsibilities before adulthood. There are other poems in here that reference a past relationship, but not as much as these eight. 

If there’s one thing that Noelle did change, it was taking out the details. Jeremy may have hurt her, but he doesn’t deserve someone possibly making a connection between these poems and their shared background. She’s not a famous author by any means, but she wanted to be careful.

Not that she makes that part of her life publicly known. People don’t need to know that her brother was Jeremy’s captain for two years at Maine and that’s how they met. 

Noelle grew up going to rinks. She hasn’t gone to one since they broke up. 

But also, what the fuck? It’s been five years since she’s dated the guy. She really is over it by now, even if his rise to stardom in the Bruins flittering on her social media feeds still sometimes has her swallowing a bit before she can continue with her day. 

Brooklyn is far enough from Boston. But sometimes it feels like it’s right outside her door. 

She’s proud of her first published work. She really is. People believed in her and after numerous notes swapped back and forth with her editor, she did it. She always knew she wanted to work in publishing. She never knew she herself would publish anything.

And here she is now, two weeks after the book release, in Boston, about to do a q&a and a signing. Apparently, “miscellaneous” has been on top of numerous lists and it’s flying off the shelves. Noelle can’t really believe it and tries not to think about it too much, trusting her agent with all of that. 

She’s happy to talk about her work and process though. That she can handle. And she’s grateful for all the love.

After a signing at a local bookstore, she decides to walk the 20 minutes home in the Boston fall. It’s a bit brisk, but she doesn’t mind and she just wanders, belly filled with delicious sushi she inhaled for dinner with an old friend.

Of course it happens the one time during her walk when she doesn’t avoid eye contact with someone. The song playing in her earbuds fade out of her focus and she almost stumbles. 

Jeremy’s eyes were always Noelle’s favorite thing about him. She thought she would’ve forgotten what they looked like by now. But clearly she hasn’t. 

Her eyes quickly cast to the person next to him. It’s definitely a girl. They’re a bit too far away for Noelle to pick out details. But it’s enough. He’s walking on the side closest to the street. It’s a Friday Night in a bustling part of the city. 

It hurts. She wishes it didn’t.

Even from far away, she sees his eyes blink in recognition. Noelle puts her head back down and walks faster. 

(She cries in the shower when she gets back to the hotel. She had debated feeling super sorry for herself and going to the hotel bar but refrained)

She has a few free days in Boston before flying back to New York. When she wakes up the next morning, she debates on going home early. But no, she won’t let a three second glance at someone ruin her time here. She used to occasionally come here during her college days. She loves this city. 

The city may be Jeremy’s, but she can make space for herself here too. 

She takes her time at a cafe, people watching and eating some breakfast. As she takes her coffee to-go, she looks out the window at the bookstore she was in the night before for the signing. She almost drops her coffee. 

Jeremy walks into the book store. 

Now, Noelle is debating her options. What she should do is continue with her day and walk in the opposite direction. But she’s always been too nosy for her own good. And maybe a bit self destructive. She decides to leave the cafe and cross the street immediately, so impatient to where she’s almost tapping her foot as the pedestrian signal stays red. 

As a writer, she’s no stranger to movie moments. The scenes written in books or movies where the timing is too accurate to be real. The situation too good to be true. But after a car speeds through an orange and she can finally walk, she stops in her tracks instead, feet glued down to the sidewalk.

Because Jeremy is right in front of her on the other side of the street. Her book in his hand. And he’s looking right at her. 

The first feeling she can recognize in herself is anger. Anger at the way their relationship panned out. Anger at the way they ended. Anger at the radio silence the years following. Anger at him for everything. Angry at herself for everything. 

The second feeling is, weirdly, shame, which she’s embarrassed by. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But she feels it anyways. 

The third, and perhaps the most prominent, is emptiness. Five fucking years later, and she’s brought back to the emptiness she felt immediately after they broke up. The emptiness that the person you loved isn’t yours anymore — who maybe wasn’t ever yours to begin with. 

Before she can run, he’s already crossed the street to her. He looks naturally different as someone who you haven’t seen in five years would. But he also heartbreakingly looks the same. 

“We should get out of people’s way,” Noelle manages to chokes out. 

Jeremy laughs a bit. Her heart lurches. “Yeah.” He starts walking and she follows him wordlessly. This is his city after all. 

He leads them to a bench under a tree with beautiful fall foliage. She puts at least a foot between them as they both sit down, staring out at the people passing. She can’t take the silence. 

“I see you bought my book.”

“I did,” he replies evenly. “Congratulations. I always knew you would do it.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe if she squeezes hard enough she’ll forget when she originally pitched Jeremy the bare bones idea of the exact same book that’s currently in his hand. “Thank you. Congratulations to you too. On everything.”

“You’ve been watching?”

She shakes her head. “No. But, you know Seth and…yeah. It comes up during family calls sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you say hi last night?”

She looks pointedly at a couple walking their dog. “You seemed busy.”

“She wasn’t-that-it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh. Because that makes me feel so much better,” she spits out, before taking a deep breath. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We broke up ages ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she gives him a look and is slightly proud of how he seems to shrink into himself a bit. “I-I know it’s five years too late. I know I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Noelle always thought that maybe hearing an apology someday would make her feel better. But now that’s heard it, she’s not sure she does. 

She swallows. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ve already read it, you know.”

“Read what?”

Jeremy runs a hand through his hair. “Your book. One of my teammate’s girlfriend recommended it and I asked to borrow it. It’s fantastic,” He looks down at the book in his hand. It’s like the cover is taunting her. “I wanted my own copy.”

“Oh.” 

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me off the hook with the poems I know were about me,” he scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “You could’ve written way worse.”

She can’t help but let out a chuckle. “I thought I was pretty mean.”

“Your definition of ‘pretty mean’ is tame compared to a lot of people,” he says, mindlessly flipping through the pages of the book. “You were always the kindest person, even when you shouldn’t have been..” 

He puts his hand out in her direction, the hand with the book in it. She furrows her eyebrows. “What-”

“Could I get a signed copy?”

“Jeremy. What do you want from me?”

He sighs, taking his hand back. “A chance to apologize?”

“You’ve already done that.”

“Not in the way I want to and what you deserve.”

She lets out a sigh, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know if that would be worth my time or yours. I know the book just came out, but that was five years ago. I’m over it. Forgive and forget, right?”

“But do you?” Jeremy counters back. “Clearly, you don’t forget, which I deserve. But forgive?” 

“We’re just going in circles now.”

“No we’re not,” he says firmly. “You’re just shutting me down because you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had five years to prepare what I would say to you if I saw you again. You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“Of course I have,” Noelle tips her head back. “But also, what’s the point?”

“The point, is that I still love you.”

“Fuck you,” she says in a strained voice. “You can’t just-you can’t just throw that shit out there. Fuck you.”

He bites his lip, and to her annoyance, he laughs. But she listens more carefully, and it sounds very self deprecating. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah,” Noelle looks down at her feet. “So…what? You still love me?”

“I do.”

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“What are you going to let me do?”

“I live in Brooklyn.”

“I know,” she whips her head up. Jeremy looks sheepish, which she didn’t even think was something he knew how to do. “Seth mentioned it when we caught up a bit ago. I also still follow you on Instagram.”

She tries again. “It’s been five years.”

“And I’m here sitting with you and still feel the exact same way I did back then. Even more, to be honest.” He eyes her pointedly. “Any more excuses?”

Her voice softens. “You really hurt me.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, Noelle.”

“I hurt you too.”

He shrugs. “We were young and stupid.”

“And we’re still not?” Noelle says with a snort before swallowing. “I’m not the same person you fell in love with.”

“I’m sure I’m not either. But I don’t know if there’s a world where I don’t love every version of you.”

“Even after reading the book?”

“Especially after reading the book,” he sighs. “Noelle, I know this is unfair of me. All of this. And I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to reach out. But I always intended to. And then you’re here? And I see you twice in two days? I’d be an idiot to not try. More of an idiot than I am, anyways.”

“Try for what?”

“A second chance? To be friends? Whatever you want.” He suddenly deflates. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me. At least I’ll know.”

“Why did you never text me?”

“I thought about it a lot,” he admits. “I tried once, actually, after the high of a really good win. But it didn’t go through. I got the message.”

“The message?”

“You blocked me, right?”

Oh. “Yeah,” she lies. “I did.” She reaches into her bag for a pen and gestures for the book, which he gives to her, a curious gleam in his eyes. “I’m in Boston for two more days, including today.”

He takes the hint immediately. Eagerly. “I have a game tonight, but I’m free tomorrow.”

“Who are you guys playing?”

“Toronto. And I’m starting. Should be a good one.”

She hums non-committedly, scribbling on the inside of the front cover. She hands it back to him with a small, close-lipped smile. She nods at him to read the message.

to my first fan, 

i still love you too. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx

yours, 

noelle

He looks up, eyes shining but a bit confused. 

“I never blocked you. I just changed my number.”

“Oh.”

“And even if I still love you, I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.”

She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder and putting her sunglasses on. “Text me?”

His mouth splits wide into a grin. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She backs away with one last attempt at a smile before turning down the street.

[antennaed-kenzy]

How r u? This is my attempt at a request!

Barou Shouei x GN (preferably)! Poet! Gentle/Sweet! Reader

Genre: Fluff, Crack, Reader is a sweetheart, Highschool/No Blue Lock! AU

- Reader doesn't know how to talk to Barou, so instead they secretly put love poems in Barou's locker. Reader thinks Barou doesn't know who his secret admirer is, until he corners poor Reader after class to confront them.

Small Letters

✰ Baro Shoei x GN! reader

✰ Genre: fluff, crack, reader is a sweety high school au

✰ Misc: Word Count: 1.7k I am having a wonderful day, sorry it took forever. Thanks for the request hope it meets what you wanted.

✰ you leave letters in his locker cause you're scared to say what you mean to him, that is until he confronts you

"You're joking? Love letters?" Your best friend shouts, way too loud for the whole world to hear.

You cover her mouth with your hand so she doesn't say anything else she isn't supposed to. "Will you keep your mouth shut!" You look around to see a few people giving you two weird stares as they walk past down the street. "People are looking at us weird."

The two of you continue to walk to school. Your friend made it their life mission to make fun of you about putting letters in someone's locker. You did your best to ignore her, but everything she was saying was right.

You don't like confrontation. Check You stutter when you try to talk to people you don't know. Check You forget things when you try to talk to new people. Check You are too shy to say what's on your mind. Check Lastly, you ignore your feelings and yourself. Check

So what are letters in someone's locker going to prove? The courage? No. The skills to talk? No point in learning who someone is? Partially. Then what's the real reason why you are writing these love letters?

"To get the thoughts out of my brain. Even if he doesn't know. I know he's at least seeing them." You respond to your friend while jotting down the notes from today's lecture.

She sighs wondering what is going on in your head. She knows you don't really speak your mind. So what are love letters going to do?

You made it home and opened your notebook to a clear page. You looked at your pens to find a nice one that had smooth ink on the paper. Everything had to be perfect, he had to know that someone cared for him.

After what felt like an eternity of thinking you finally thought of some cute little sentences for the first love note.

"You barely know me, but I feel like I know so much about you. Your cleaning habits, how you think you are the best. Well, you are the best. At least in my eyes. My eyes can't look away from you when you talk in class."

You put the pen done and looked back at your writing. You didn't like it too well but for the first letter, you don't want to be complicated and long like you have been stalking him for years. You fold up the letter put cute stickers on it and put it in your backpack.

The next day you wait for your friend to stop by our house so you guys can walk together.

"Have you written the letter?" She asked looking in your direction with a grin on her face.

You took away from her down on the ground with a little smile on your face. "Yes, it's short. Nothing too sweet."

"I can't believe you." Your friend teased you the whole walk to school about the letters.

When you finally arrived at school someone took away your best friend. They were from her club so you let it slide, thought it took you both by surprise when someone grabbed her and walked away.

Now it was your chance to slide the letter into his locker. You went to his locker and slid the note in the slit. You then ran away into the bathroom so you could hide away.

You look in the mirror while washing your hands. Your cheeks were like a fireplace, this was your first time doing anything like this. After regaining yourself you walk out of the bathroom and to your next class.

"Did you slide the letter in his locker?" She asked leaning on your desk.

You couldn't face your friend otherwise she would make fun of you more. "Yes, I did." Though your voice also spoke more than need be.

Your friend chuckled at you, "It was just a letter. Calm down. Who says he's even read it yet?" She sat in her seat in front of you, her body still facing you. "Don't be shy, {Y/n}. You just wrote a love letter to a guy that has more steam than a boat."

"Hey," You lifted your head to look at your friend. She had a big smirk on her face when she saw you. You hide your face when you feel the heat rise to your cheeks. "Shut up."

She laughs before turning around to face the class. The teacher walks in and class goes as normal. Besides that fact, you couldn't stop thinking about the note you slit in his locker.

When class was finished Baro Shoei opened his locker to be greeted with a letter that fell to the ground. He bent down to pick it up. There were a bunch of cute flower stickers around it, which were won from a prize machine for some sort of award.

He put the letter in his pocket for later. He went to his next class forgetting about the letter until he got home. As he was cleaning his school jacket he found the letter from earlier.

He opened the letter to be surprised by a love letter. Love letters were common in the school, but for him to receive one. It was like a blue moon, hell there is more of a chance for a blue moon than Baro getting a love letter. He opened the letter and read it through.

He pinned another love poem to the wall, and the collection kept getting bigger with each passing day. They all started the same, "I know you don't know me." Then the rest of the poems were her pouring her heart out.

They all had the same handwriting, the same pen, the same signature. It all leads to one particular person themselves, {L/n} {Y/n}.

The next day at school {Y/n} had put another letter in his locker. There he was waiting from afar to go grab the letter. They have gotten used to dropping off the letters, and they no longer rush to the bathroom to wash off their face.

You drop off Baro's love letter for the day and catch up with your friends. You have gotten more comfortable with life and yourself. However old habits don't die hard.

"What did the letter say today?" Your friend teased getting real close to your face.

Your face rushed on heat when you thought back to the letter. "I know you don't know me, but I know you. I know you so much more now through these letters..."

Baro took the note from his locker and put it in his pocket so he could hand it on the wall when he gets home. It has been about two months since this all started and Baro figured out who the person was about a week in when he saw a paper of yours. The same handwriting and the same pen.

After School Baro was waiting at the spot you usually wait for your friends.

As you were walking to your normal waiting stop you saw someone there. 'Baro' You stop walking when you realize who it was. You were shocked and wanted to back away, that was until he saw.

Baro looked at the time and then back at his surroundings. Then he saw you walking toward him. He called you over, loud and clear. Pretty much for the whole school to hear.

You stop in your tracks wanting to cower away in embarrassment. Since he already called, you had no choice but to walk over to him. You took a deep breath in and out. Your whole body was shaking, and your knees felt weak like they could give out at any moment.

You were unable to move anywhere, partially due to the fact that you couldn't move away. Your body wouldn't let you, and Baro had you in a corner. With a piece of paper in his hand.

You know what this was about, and so did he. This was his plan after all.

"Need anything, Baro-kun?" You ask not sure what to say.

He stayed silent for a while making the tension grow stronger and your body heating up like a furnace. He finally spoke and you realized everything you did was so, you.

"You're really bad at hiding things. Every letter was the same, the pen the handwriting. Your morals never changed along with handwriting. For the first 3 days, you were easy to figure out, but you kept going." Baro held the letter and gave it to you. "And maybe you shouldn't have used the same stickers you use on your folders."

You were too stunned to speak and too shocked to react. He caught you, the one thing you wished not to happen has happened and you didn't know what to do. You could only sheepishly laugh at his remark.

You look behind Baro to see your friends looking at you, yet here you are being confronted by who you think is the man for you and for your future.

He may not look like a good husband on the outside. He may not even look like a person to talk to. But on the inside.

On the inside On the inside, he is a perfect man.

He can cook for you He can clean for you. He'll take care of you.

Baro Shoei is the man for me. He may know me. He may look at me.

I'll care for him and he'll take care of me till the end of time.

That was the last letter you left in his locker. Along with it was the last letter of the school year. It certainly wasn't the last letter you left for him though. Every morning Baro would have a letter by the side of his bed, and he would have one waiting for him when he got home.

The both of you made a bigger wall dedicated to all your letters. All of them still had the same pen, the same handwriting, the same signature, and the same stickers throughout all the years.

For the long 3 years, everything was the same in the letters. You poured your heart out to him even if you two were together. You still wrote all your thoughts down on the notes and Baro loved every single one of them. You knew he loved them from the way he kept them in order all the wall easy to read from afar.

a/n: thanks for your request. I loved writing this and I hope it reached your expectations :).

[callmebrycelee]

9-1-1: FLASHBACK

I wanted to give you all some insight into how I go about picking which episode I do for 911: Flashback. To keep me from focusing too much on season two, my favorite season, I picked an episode from seasons one, three, four, and six and put them in a randomizer. The first pick was season one’s “Let Go” which I reacted to yesterday. Today’s reaction is for season four, twelfth episode “Treasure Hunt” which originally aired May 10, 2021 on FOX. The episode was written by Bob Goodman and directed by David Grossman. So, grab your maps and shovels, and let’s dig into this treasure of an episode!

Recap

**Note: I have stopped referring to this section as Quick Recap because apparently I’m incapable of doing anything quickly.**

When a girl and her dad find a message in a bottle in the woods, the 118 are led to a stranded hiker. Eddie and Chimney, with the help of L.A. County Rescue are able to rescue the hiker and bring him to safety. Bobby and Hen ask him why he didn’t call for help despite having a cell phone. He tells them he didn’t want anyone else to find the treasure. We learn via Taylor Kelly (played by Megan West) that famed mystery author Hollis Harcourt (played by Patrick Fischler) has died. As his parting gift, Hollis has left five million dollars’ worth of treasure to the city of Los Angeles. The catch is, he’s buried it somewhere in the city. Chimney recites a poem Hollis wrote that has clues to where the treasure can be found. Chimney thinks the poem is shit but Bobby says it’s less of a poem and more of a riddle. Buck finds the idea of buried treasure exciting while the others worry that Taylor’s story will lead to more emergencies like the stranded hiker.

Buck gets a call from Taylor who tells him she believes the buried treasure is real and says Hollis’ assistant Jeremiah Ruiz (played by Ithamar Enriquez) confirms its legitimacy. Buck thinks that if he and Taylor compare notes, they will be able to locate the treasure – and if they locate the treasure the safer Los Angeles will be. We head over to the police station where Athena and Detective Rick Romero (played by Danny Nucci) are also watching Hollis’ video. Athena believes that with Los Angeles coming out of a near yearlong lockdown, this is going to send everyone over the edge. We then get a montage of people trying to find Hollis’ buried treasure and getting injured in the process. We see a woman with a tree branch through her shoulder, two old men fencing with metal detectors, and a man trapped underneath a giant bear statue. Over at the dispatch center, Linda (played by Chiquita Fuller) and Jamal Momed (Ashwin Gore) take bets over where the treasure will be found. We then see a woman (played by Kahyun Kim) interrupt Taylor’s news report to beg people to stop looking for the treasure. She swipes Taylor’s mike and says that her husband almost died because of what she believes is a hoax.

Back at the station, Eddie suggests he and Buck team up to find the treasure, but Buck tells him he’s already teams up with Taylor. Although, he supposes they could split the money three ways. Taylor’s on board with them teaming up; however, she tells Buck he will have to split his half with Eddie as she has plans to split her money with her cameraman. Taylor believes they need more clues, and Buck knows just the person they can help. He and Eddie approach Ravi in the locker room while Chimney and Hen watch the three of them talk. We get another emergency involving a man covered in red ants. Now I’ve been bitten by one red ant, and it sucked. It felt like my leg was on fire. I can’t imagine what hundreds of red ant bites would feel like. Over at the police station, we see a lot of folks have been arrested, all because of this stupid hidden treasure. Athena returns home and notices Bobby is acting strange. She discovers what looks like a murder board, only the corkboard is covered in photos and maps and other clues. Bobby convinces Athena to team up with him to find the treasure. Athena asks Bobby what they would do with five million dollars. Bobby says he would set up trust funds for the kids, remodel the kitchen, or maybe even buy a new house. He suggests they could take the honeymoon they never had. Or retire. Athena balks at the idea of retiring. Athena says that Bobby can retire but she plans on patrolling the streets until she’s forced off them. Bobby reminds her someone almost did. He brings up how she almost died the previous year. Athena tells Bobby she already talked with Captain Maynard, and she made the decision to stay at LAPD. Bobby seems put out that Athena didn’t include him in her decision-making process.

We get another emergency where a woman falls in a hole full of sewage. Meanwhile, Athena is called to Hollis Harcourt’s mansion, believing there to be a burglary. She is met by Hollis’ assistant Jeremiah, and she tells him to stay put while she goes inside to investigate. She finds Hollis’ office … and Hollis Harcourt … alive. Athena is stunned and Jeremiah is pissed that his boss faked his death. Hollis admits he faked his death so he could sit back and observe all the greedy individuals looking for the buried treasure. Hollis tells Athena he is currently working on a new mystery novel, but he doesn’t know how it ends. Hopefully this treasure hunt will help him find an ending. Back the station, the 118 agrees to give up on the treasure hunt. Back at home, Athena reads Hollis’ poem aloud with Bobby and believes she knows where the treasure is located. She and Bobby head over to the Glendale Narrows, home of herons and bullfrogs. Hen, Chimney, Buck, and Eddie join them. Bobby suggests they split the treasure six ways. Eddie suggests seven ways because of the deal he and Buck have with Taylor and her cameraman. The six of them go to the spot where they believe the treasure is buried but Ravi has beaten them to the punch. They all assemble around the treasure chest and Bobby tells Ravi to do the honors. Ravi opens the chest and there is nothing inside. Our very annoyed firefighters and Athena head over to Hollis’ mansion. They find the front door open, and Athena tells them to all wait outside while she goes inside to check things out. Athena finds Hollis dead.

Detective Romero grills Athena and the 118 about Hollis’ death. They all assure the detective they all arrived at the same time wanting to confront Hollis over the empty chest. Detective Romero views some footage taken by a security camera. They see a woman dressed in a delivery uniform arrive at Hollis’ home. Turns out it’s the same woman who interrupted Taylor’s broadcast to warn people to stop looking for the treasure. Romero is able to track down the woman and she says she went to Hollis’ mansion to confront him about her husband getting hurt. Hollis was very cold towards her so she broke one of his expensive vases. Hollis ends up having a real heart attack. The woman calls 9-1-1 but has second thoughts. She exits the mansion leaving Hollis to die. Outside the interrogation room, Athena says there is nothing they can really charge the woman with since Hollis did let her inside his home.

Over at Bobby and Athena’s, much like with the heist in season two and the hostage situation at the dispatch center in season three, we get a round table discussion where everyone tries to hash out what happened. Taylor tells everyone that Hollis’ assistant Jeremiah swore to her that he’d seen the treasure. Athena adds that Jeremiah seemed to be just as surprised as she was that Hollis was alive. Athena posits that Hollis didn’t bury the treasure. He asked Jeremiah to do it for him. Once Jeremiah found out about Hollis’ stunt, he went to the spot where he buried the treasure and took it for himself. At the end of the episode, Buck thinks he’s going to rekindle his romance with Taylor, but she seems content to be friends.

Observations

Athena usually works along but when we do see her partner with someone, it’s usually Detective Rick Romero. We will see more of him in future episodes.

Athena’s brutal attack from season three is brought up by Bobby.

Athena and Taylor are very similar in this episode as they are dismissive of the feelings of the men that care about them.

This is the first mention of Ravi Panikkar in one of my 911: Flashback reactions. In this episode, he is considered a probie.

Much like Eddie in “Ocean’s 9-1-1”, Ravi says he doesn’t really know the others while being interrogated by Detective Romero.

Here are the skills everyone brought to the table: Athena had prior knowledge of what the title of Hollis’ next book would be; Hen’s wife Karen wrote an algorithm that detects changes in satellite images; Buck learned from Taylor that Hollis used to jog at the Glendale Narrows.

This episode, while not the most memorable, is definitely one of the more entertaining episodes of the series and a highlight of season four. Fun fact: Season four was airing when I first started binging 9-1-1. By the time I got caught up, the season finale was airing. I’m honestly surprised at how good this season is considering what was going on behind the scenes. I thought it was genius for 9-1-1 and other shows to acknowledge the pandemic was happening in real-life. Maybe that’s why I enjoy this episode so much. It was a bright spot in an otherwise dark time in human history. I also love any opportunity when Athena and the 118 team up to work together. It reminds me of Scooby Doo. We didn’t get a whole lot of Maddie this episode, but we will get a LOT of Maddie in the next season. Overall, this is a fun episode. If you like “Ocean’s 9-1-1” or “Dosed”, this episode feels very similar. I much prefer the more dramatic episodes but every once in a while, it’s good to laugh. Well, that’s it for this reaction. Join me next time when I will discuss an episode from season three. Until next time …

[knaveumineko]

Umineko Episode 3 Blog: Glass Slippers

When I watch Rosa abuse a kid, I call her a monster. When I watch Eva abuse a kid, I just think she's iconic.

Episode 3 spent a long time exploring the lore behind witches. The whole ceremony offered me even more of that peak Eva content, and the question of what exactly a witch is on a mundane level is interesting to me.

Being a witch is obviously a pretty childish endeavour, in the sense that becoming an adult means accepting things as they are and not believing in miracles, which is why Eva and EVA are different people in the magic narrative, with only one of them ascending, but witches also have that self-centeredness that comes with immaturity. Every witch we've ever met seems hyperfocused on some obsession of theirs, with no regard for others nor interest in mortal affairs. Most of the witches we've seen were literal children.

Umineko has enjoyed exploring the gap between the mature front the siblings put on for the kids and the weakness that's really inside them. Eva's endless taunting of Natsuhi is on some level the same impulse that had her killing spiders as a child, and the same impulse that has EVA killing over and over. The traits that make for a good witch are the same ones that make for a good culprit, it seems. Is there some insight I could get by applying this to the Sayo theory? If nothing else, she outwardly appears to have held on to her superstitions for quite a long time, and she's stagnated in her role as a servant for years after most people leave. Does she just have no interest in the outside world?

There's a neat callback in Ange's big scene, where her fellow classmates scapegoat her for anything that goes wrong the same way the servants do with Beatrice (is that even true, actually? It would be pretty messed up if Kumasawa is just going around spreading ghost stories about the dead kid she helped raise.)

For Ange and Eva, being a witch is at least partially something extrinsic. It's more about the way other people perceive you. If we put it together, being a witch is being a hated scapegoat, isolated from your peers, failing to mature as a result, and becoming consumed by spite, self-interest, and your niche fixations. It's pretty worrying that Maria wants to be one. Seems like she's already most of the way there, albeit less deliberately cruel and more oblivious to the feelings of others.

It was pretty rude of Ryukishi to write Umineko in Japanese just to stop me from solving the epitaph. Eva had to use an atlas, so there's some kind of place name involved, and there's something about reading a word with a different number of characters to how you normally would. The "gouge the X and kill" being a clue involving removing certain characters from a string of text was kind of clever. Didn't I say something back in Episode 1 about how the murders seem like someone is trying to retrofit them to the riddle without always understanding what those parts of the poem was supposed to be about? I'm probably not going to think about it much. The atlas thing made me think maybe we're doing a twist where we have to read Kanji as if it was Hanzi or vice versa, or maybe taking the Kanji in a place name and looking at one of its alternative meanings, but that's more just me applying the one thing that I know about Kanji than an actual theory. Hopefully the game just tells me the answer at some point.

Besides the direct clues as to the solution to the epitaph, it doesn't escape my attention that Eva only solved the epitaph because she got hints from Kyrie and Rosa. Even with the hint, she beat Rosa by only a few minutes. We know gold was taken to the chapel in Episode 2, but not why. Did Rosa figure out the epitaph in that timeline, and use the gold to lure people to the chapel to get them killed? Seems like she would have gotten a witch in that case, so maybe she was just in the know on the real culprits' plans, rather than doing it herself. Seeing Kyrie make progress so fast makes me think the theory about her and Rudolph starting the killings off in Episode 1 could be plausible. I just like seeing more of Battler's parents in general. Unfortunately they keep having to die because Kyrie is too competent. Maybe next episode she'll be an accomplice instead so we'll get to see her gaslighting Battler.

I'd like to wrap this episode up fast so I can keep reading, so I'll talk a bit about the murder mysteries here. It's clear that there was to be a killer separate from Eva, since people die in contexts where Eva wouldn't or couldn't kill them.

Sayo had to be a bit clever about carrying out the murders this time. Since the servants who would usually help her out all got selected for the initial 6 sacrifices and she was up against all the siblings working together, she had to operate indirectly. That's why she went out of her way to underline the importance of the epitaph in her letters this time: it was absolutely vital that at least one person solves the epitaph and finds the gold, so that Sayo can play on their greed to get them to carry out the murders on their own.

At least one of Shannon or Kanon faked their deaths, with Nanjo providing fake autopsies as usual. This is sufficient to explain the loop of 6 closed rooms. Everyone else was killed by Eva as Battler described, except for George and Nanjo (and maybe Jessica, since we didn't see how she died). George was killed because he snuck out to check on the bodies in the mansion and discovered that one of them was faked (probably Shannon). Nanjo being killed by Sayo explains how Eva, Battler and Jessica didn't kill him.

The obvious objection to this is EVA's red truths, which seem to paradoxically state that Nanjo was killed by no-one, since everyone still alive was innocent. However, this trick was already used in Episode 2, when Kanon-but-not-Kanon killed a bunch of people and then vanished. My speculation was that Beatrice is being creative with her definition of "dead" in her red truths. My guess is that Kanon "died" in Episode 2 in the sense that he abandoned his identity as Kanon. I think the same thing has happened in Episode 3, which is how Kanon or Shannon can kill Nanjo despite being "dead".

After seeing the depths they'd stoop to in Episode 3, I'm thinking Eva and Hideyoshi were probably accomplices in Episode 1. The only testimony backing up that they left the conference early that night is Genji, who was definitely in on it. They can fake Shannon's death since she's in an out of the way spot and only Hideyoshi and Kanon can vouch for the state of the corpse, which explains why she's alive at the end. They holed themselves up in their room because they were planning on meeting with Sayo, so the mystery of why they let the killer in is solved.

Eva is a terrible liar. Why did she even do the receipt thing? It literally makes no sense unless she already knows murders are happening. She just can't help but lord any advantage she has over others, no matter how suspicious it makes her look. That's why we love her.

Anyway, that's going to be it for 3. I've heard Episode 4 is really slow, but I'm intrigued by Ange's deal. Her misfortune is amusing in a way, and I'm really curious about how she's going to tie into the plot when she's so far in the future.

[bloodsadx]

sorry if you’ve answered something similar before but how do you format things for your website? in the collections you have for poems

i love how it looks. the book kind of format it has

and i want to do similar/the same formatting for my own works but im really struggling…

i've been asked stuff like this a lot and i don't mind explaining it often because i want people to make websites more. i made a tutorial video at some point but it's kind of hard to make a curriculum or tutorial or whatever around this kind of thing because it's really just a self expression thing. i'll try to break down as much of my thought process as makes sense.

i design my pages in photoshop with either double/single page display in mind and then i use html to set them next to each other. most of the choice here comes down to how overwhelming i want my designs to feel. in the case of the lonely leaver page, the entire book was designed to be something that could be a physical book, and so from the getgo i made the pages in that kind of format. i previewed things in acrobat which has a booklet view mode (which singles out the front and back cover around the contents of the file) & allows you to process double page view as well. as for the actual process in photoshop before that point, i typically will open a canvas that is the size of the full 2 page spread (i.e. 8 inches wide for 2 pages which are both 4 inches wide) and i set grid lines for bleed margins and to mark the center of the page so that i can make the composition something that im comfortable with having a gap in the middle from the book folding. with lonely leaver i had to reformat about half the book at some point because i wanted to make it a larger resolution which was annoying but i just keep my guidelines for a print size in mind while im working. often if im a certain amount of time into a project that i feel like i will be spending a lot more time with i'll create a dummy psd file at this point which is devoid of content but which has all of the margins/resolution stuff set up already so i can just open that up and save a different version of it when i'm done.

my actual writing process and my design process is generally extremely intertwined, that's why things tend to be varying degrees stream of conscious in my work i think. i'll for instance, have a thought im stuck on for several days, and then open photoshop without having a poem or comic in mind, but i'll fill the canvas with some kind of color like red or yellow or a photo or whatever, and then open a text box or start drawing. telling a story through composition (i.e. page layout itself) is generally my favorite aspect of art and design because i enjoy how violent and dramatic framing angles can make the content of a piece feel so i'll try to move stuff around as much as possible in order to get my desired effect, often times using place holder shapes in lieu of finished design elements in order to get a rough blocking. as i do this i tend to react to what i'm writing/making as i'm doing it, and i do a lot of selective self editing during this part. for instance, i'll start manipulating rasterized text or cutting around images or whatever. i'll reread and look at whatever im doing for a couple of hours and then when i'm done with a spread or whatever i will save the document as a psd with a combined full spread and then each page separately as pngs or whatever (split at the middle grid line, back to the example, i'll save 2 different 4 inch wide images by changing the canvas size).

when it's time for me to put stuff on my website i then batch convert whatever pngs i exported into webp's because they load faster and take up less space on the server/my computer. you can look at my direct html/css files in your internet browser's explorer mode to see exactly what i do but essentially i just have either 1 or 2 images in a block and then a series of repeating vertical blocks containing images. i don't have an extremely efficient way of uploading pages and i'll typically just copy the same

"<p><img src="01.png"> <p><img src="02.png">"

like, 30 or 40 times or whatever into a html document. i use visual studio code for this stuff because it lets me do a bunch of stuff like having several files open at once & the navigation pane is nice & there's a live server extension that automatically refereshes the html file in my web browser on file save which is really awesome. i have a css page that i made like, 5 years ago, and i usually just link new projects to that because it has a bunch of different settings in it which i'll toggle on or off depending on the needs of whatever page or i'll add new div id's to it. it's kind of messy at this point, but it gets the job done. i use filezilla and something like bluehost or something for webhosting/file management.

i arrange and organize all of my art extremely methodically so usually in my like "<root catch all poetry folder>" inside of my "<root catch all art folder>" there will be a "<name of specific poem book>" folder which just contains the poems named by their actual name e.g. "dedication to saint eulalia 4.png" and then another folder inside of that is called "paginated" where i, using the acrobat document i arrange stuff in as reference, rename copies of my pages which i have placed in that folder to be named things like "01.png" so that i can then manually flip through it sequentially in the windows photo viewer and also just so that i don't have to go through the arduous process of renaming and tracking stuff inside of the root folder i'm containing that project's files in.

i'm 26 now and i made my first website when i was like 18, and my first zine project and i'm tired of feeling feeling around that same time, so i've got like, coming up on a decade of trial and error behind this and this is generally what has worked for me. my website isn't super complicated and mostly just gets the job done but because i try to think about style and presentation up front with whatever projects i'm doing i tend to just make plans based around that as early as it makes sense. to me having a website for art presentation has always been the Primary Method and intended landing zone for my art so it's genuinely always been a consideration in my process to try to plan around how i will put it on my website. i do this because i believe having my own curated space for containing my art allows it to exist in a context which best heightens whatever message i'm trying to convey. if there's an issues with my website right now they are that i'm very bad at mobile browser formatting & i havent updated the main look of the website in something like 4 years barely at all.

anyway, at the end of the day i think really as long as you can identify whatever your intentions are and do some planning/problem solving around that you should probably be able to find your own method which works for you better than mine might but if you do just want to copy my website the tools to do so are within your brain and internet searches and i believe in you. i think the biggest strength of my website is that it shows how easy it is to just put art big as fuck on a webpage and how effective that kind of minimalism can be. i just want my website to be like a museum's walls. and it's not super complicated to get to that level of html knowledge.

[morickkk]

“A True Romantic Would Recite a Poem”

If you were to ask what Harrison’s favourite thing to do around midnight he might say something about pulling things out of his hat or practicing any sort of tacky magic. He’d probably tell you that he spends every night trying to make things reappear or perhaps look around the campsite for something to help him figure things out. However what he won’t tell you is that maybe he is trying to create a poem.

He didn’t know what was up with him tonight, all of a sudden he decided to pull out a pen and a small notebook writing out little details of certain characteristics. So there he was, the illusionist at 1 am, head on the table with a hand gripping on his pen while the other repeatedly whacked his head under a blinding flashlight.

Someone could look at him right now and tell him he looked pathetic, I mean? The way he's acting at the moment, the fact there are so many crumpled papers on the ground, and the fact he’s making a poem in the first place! It was dorky to say the least and he would definitely get a teasing over it.

Harrison groaned in despair, thinking of words to write, rhymes to make, and things to discuss. Based on past events, he remembered a certain somebody who found poems enlightening and he couldn’t get it out of his head. The brunette knew that he has his ways on metaphors, he finds himself using them every now and then—although the problem here is that he’d only ever use it if it was circling around magic. Based on who he was erm…. Making it for.. He felt like he couldn’t do any of that.

With no progress done, Harrison continued to lie his head down the table. This time one of his legs starts bouncing repeatedly due to stress. He never thought he’d be worrying over something like this, if he ever found himself last week planning to do anything near to this, he’d probably put himself in more shame as he is now.

“What are you doing?” Harrison instantly looked at the direction and started shuffling around the paperfilled desk.

“Preston! Nothing! I was just about to go to.. sleep?” yeah that’s right! Who wouldn’t believe that right in the middle of midnight hours while looking like a madman creating something really suspicious…!

“Spill it.”

“No! I’m just trying to figure out new tricks I could do for my next show!” Harrison retorted

“Oh okay. Guess you WOULDN'T MIND if i steal one of these CRUMPLED ones!” Preston quickly grabbed two to three papers on the ground and opened them. With Harrison’s luck, Preston is known to be a fast reader due to his specialty with producing scripts. Great.

Harrison would try to push the papers off but his embarrassment has already taken over his body and all he could ever really do is stare frantically while drastically hoping for the light to already take him.

“Who would write a poem and start it with ‘roses are red’? Poetries are supposed to be IMPOSING and SINCERE, not this kind of junk! What are we? Twelve?” We are. The other scoffed trying to hide his already reddened cheeks. “Wait…”

And there it was. The moment he was waiting for. The long awaited humiliation and shame from another camper, let along the loudest one in the camp.

“Who is it for?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” He can’t risk this conversation to get out of this very tent, he already got enough with the other guy reading some of his failed attempts and now he would rather die than for everyone to know.

“oh OH! Is it for Nerris?” So much for keeping things private.

Harrison knew whatever feelings he had for that other magic kid was never really something that was kept, it’s like everyone had this sense where they knew what was up—Hell! Even David awkwardly tried to obviously hinting it to him. But to think that the other would just straight up guess- no- disclose their name is what is setting up his head on the ledge of a point. Who was he kidding? Not only was his actions already odd enough—this was Camp Campbell he was talking about, he practically won’t have a day for him to admit something without someone already mentioning it.

He was half relieved though, having to reveal that would cause him nine lives, even to his tentmate. What he just hopes for now is that for Nerris to not get any sort of news about it.

“Well my friend, you’re not really that discreet” Harrison sighed in defeat.

“HOWEVER! as your great companion! It is a must to help you with this sort of problem!” Preston added with a grin

“You just wanted to make a really dramatic poem, didn't you?”

“I just want to make a really dramatic poem, yes.”

Harrison groaned in reply, wanting this conversation to end as fast as it could. With Preston’s help he doesn't know what to expect—he knew it’d either be actually helpful or he’d end up making a really overly detailed and theatrical piece for the elfkin. “Fine. But let’s go head to sleep first.”

But he knew if he found any chance to post pone this, he would.