#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.

[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

[recurring-polynya]

In the years since I've been running this blog, I've made a lot of jokes about Renji's seemingly ill-thought-out plan of:

Beat Captain Kuchiki

???

Profit Be with Rukia again

but I was looking at his volume poem the other day, and I think that I am an idiot, and beating Byakuya has never been connected to seeing Rukia again. It's a smokescreen. He does have an actual, actionable plan of training and working hard enough to become a vice-captain (specifically Byakuya's vice-captain), and then approaching Rukia again as her social equal. We know that beating Byakuya wasn't a key component of that, because he was planning to do it as soon as she got back from her mission.

The thing about defeating Byakuya is that Renji is purposely setting his sights a few degrees to the left of the truth to keep from falling into depression and despair. Trying to get Rukia back is a thing that he can try to do and fail, and in fact, he very well may. Beating Byakuya is impossible. No one believes he can really do it, least of all himself, which means, paradoxically, he can't lose. When you fail to do the impossible, you can shrug and say, "well, it was impossible, what did you expect?

I mean, it's right there in the poem: "I am going to focus on reaching the unreachable because if I think about Rukia, I am going to kill myself." And I don't think Renji is a guy who has a suicidal bent--the fact that he pursues this line of thinking is proof of that. But what is the difference between a person who thinks about killing themself and someone actively works to not to...? I don't know. It's complicated.

One of the most fundamental themes of Bleach is the idea that Hollows are fallen souls who lose their hearts and eat other souls in order to ease their pain, but they only end up creating more Hollows in the process except that we see examples again and again of shinigami pulling this exact shit (Byakuya, I am looking at you). I cannot figure out if Renji's drive to distract himself from the pain of losing Rukia is a play to avoid falling into monstrosity, or if it's pretty much a direct route. I mean, this is basically exactly the path that Gin and Tousen take--which makes it all the more interesting to me that Aizen rejects Renji as unsuitable for his conspiracy.

I can't put my finger on any particular thing that separates Renji from other characters in this respect, aside from maybe his fundamental Renji-ness-- the fact that he has other friends and connections? That he has hope, no matter how dim, that he may actually reunite with Rukia some day? That he's just a guy who reaches for life instead of death? (Mildly off-topic, but if there is one other character that this is also true of, I think it might be...Matsumoto???)

Anyway, another thing I like about setting himself against an impossible goalpost is that this would be a terrible idea for a human with a finite lifespan, but shinigami have all the time in the world. Go ahead, pal, pursue your impossible tasks, live your truth! I read a lot of stories about semi-immortal beings, and I love love love it when they seem very human and then they do some batshit insane thing that makes you realize, oh, they very much are not.

My favorite way to break my own heart is re-reading the "Fate is a Millstone" chapter, where we learn that Renji was a hair's-breadth away achieving his real goal of talking to Rukia again, only to have Fate throw him a face-full of pocket sand. I think it's extra salt in the wound, to be honest, if he's been pursuing the impossible goal of beating Byakuya as a distraction for all these years, only to arrive at a place where Rukia's life literally hinges on him beating Byakuya, a thing which is not just theoretically impossible, but something Renji has spent 40 years becoming intimately familiar with just how impossible it is.

[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 :).

[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.

[love-lilly02]

LILLY PLS IM SUPER DOWN BAD FOR SOME TF141 DRABBLES RN

OK IDEA: HOW THEY SHOW THEIR AFFECTION/LOVE LANGUAGE 💥👊

KEEPING IT BROAD CAUSE I WANNA SEE YOU BE CREATIVE 🤭

MWAH DONT FEEL FORCED EITHER

— 🪿

RAAAA DUCK ANNON IS BACK‼️‼️‼️

i’m so sorry i didn’t see this by the way, i was cleaning😕😕

Anyways we’ll start off with Price, i think he’s definitely a words of affirmation person or gift giving. in the beginning he leaves you small things, a flower (yes, a singular flower.) with a letter saying it’s pretty like you, poems, treats hidden around your room. Once the two of you are together though he’s going all out. Flowers every week (he keeps one so he knows when it’s time to buy more), text messages with poems and paragraphs, date nights, shopping sprees. (emphasis on the shopping, you can look at something for too long and it’s in your apartment the next day.) i also don’t really see price as a touchy person, but he likes when you hold his hand or his arm (imagine period drama arm holding), ESPECIALLY around the boys.

Johnny next, this man is touchy to ALL hell. your on the counter? he’s got your ass. standing there doing ANYTHING? he’s around you, holding your waist, putting his chin on your shoulder, all of the above. In public he’s got your hand, your arm, your waist, any part of you he can grab. he’s also a flirter, to the BIGGEST extent, i mean this man will take one look at you and spew out so many compliments you think he’s got them pre written down. their also never the same compliments, ever. how he has so many you’ll never know. I don’t see him as a gifts person but if you express an intrest in certain things it will pop up from time to time.

Kyle is a bit tricky for me, because i don’t write him often. I think he’s a reassurance person, if you’re not feeling well he’s there or he’ll always say he loves you or something. Definitely someone who believes actions speak louder than words, which means everything in your house is getting done for you. dishes? he washed them an hour ago. trash needs taking out? oh don’t worry love, i got that. He just likes taking care of you, doesn’t really mind the busywork. And don’t you dare feel bad for it, he’s right there scolding you for it, saying that he wants to do those things, that he wants to help you. He’s definitely a clingy person, but not out in public. poor kid’s too shy for that, but at home he’s all over you. his favorite position is to lie with his head on your stomach, watching something on the telly while you read or scroll on your phone. definitely not because he falls asleep easier in that position.

Ghost is my favorite of them all. at first he just ignores you, i mean once this man realizes he has feelings you NEVER see him around😭 and then he gets over himself and somehow apologizes (how he got over himself, we’ll never know) and slowly starts going around you again, but that’s literally it. You don’t think anything else is wrong, wouldn’t even be able to tell something was different if it weren’t for all the people that started going missing. You complain about a co worker? their gone the next morning. some rookie is pissing you off? oddly enough he got deployed and killed in combat. you never understand it, especially when no one questions the disappearances or just where the people went. That’s how ghost loves you, by keeping you happy. Simon on the other hand, takes a much more direct approach with his love. Once ghost is done with his “i’ll kill you if you touch her” bs he’s confessing to you, buying you flowers for the first date (only then, for some reason?) taking you somewhere nice. The whole shabang for his pretty thing. He’s also a nicknames person, some of his favorite being “love, lovie, princess” and sometimes “thing” when you really make him mad. he’s just like kyle, shy in public but a fucking PUPPY at home. you try to get up in the morning, he’s got you trapped under him in seconds. you leave a room, he’s tailing after you, your cooking in the kitchen he’s right behind you, if you don’t yell at him to get off. it’s never suffocating, though. In public he’ll hold your waist or your hand, that’s about it.

i feel like i kind of got off topic at some points but those are hot takes off the top of my head🥳🥳 lmk if yall want an nsfw version

[unclewaynemunson]

prompt idea! :D

steve being a poet and eddie being a songwriter. they both reference each other in their works and no one has put it together yet.

( also hi you're awesome )

Oooh anon I love this, this is such an intriguing concept bc the possibilities are ENDLESS with this one! I hope you like the direction I ended up taking it in :) (and thank you so much for dropping this in my ask box! <3 )

EDIT: I wrote an expanded version for this one and it's also on ao3 :D

---

Jeff was the one who introduced Eddie to Ronan Right. His mom was moving and when Eddie visited to help, he found his friend with his nose buried in a small book that was nearly falling apart in his hands.

“What's that?” Eddie asked, flopping down next to Jeff among the boxes.

“My mom's favorite poet,” Jeff mumbled, barely glancing up from the page.

And as soon as Eddie got a chance to pick up the book from where Jeff had left it, he was hooked. He was no help at all for Jeff's poor mom, completely engrossed in poem after poem, reading them again and again and again.

Eddie liked reading poetry to get some inspiration for his songwriting, but a lot of poetry had this atmosphere of pretentiousness around it. This didn't. It was surprisingly simple. To the point, with a rawness to it, mostly short poems that had a simplicity with which they managed to cut right to the heart of things.

Ever since that day, Ronan Right became Eddie's biggest source of inspiration. He'd never start working on new songs before reading one of Right's poems first. And whenever he got stuck on his lyrics, he'd pick up one of Right's books – and every time, without fail, he'd find something in there to help him find the right words.

---

When people would ask Steve what inspired him, his answer was always the same, always simple: music. Most people probably assumed that by that, a poet would mean classical music or maybe jazz of some kind. They were wrong: Steve Harrington, professionally known as Ronan Right, liked to blast the most screamy metal imaginable whenever he was writing – much to the discontent of his poor neighbors. He didn't care much for lyrics, it was all about the sound for him: about volume, about harmonies, about a combination of ingredients that somehow managed to flip a switch inside of his brain that unlocked the more creative ways to look at words.

His favorite band was called Corroded Coffin. Something about them stood out in the long list of metal bands he loved to listen to. It was something about the sound of the singer's voice, about the guitar riffs, that simply made sense to him, made the words that he was looking for bubble up to the surface naturally.

He got halfway through the first song on Corroded Coffin's newly released album, when he froze at his desk. He didn't care much for lyrics, but those words... There was something familiar about them.

He replayed the song from the beginning and started frantically flipping through the pages of one of his earliest poetry bundles... Yeah, there definitely was something familiar about those lyrics.

They weren't copied, exactly. It could just be a coincidence.

But the album kept playing on and Steve kept getting distracted by the lyrics because there was so much familiarity in them. It wasn't like the singer was stealing from him, it wasn't even like he was taunting his copyright or anything like that... It was like he was building on Steve's words. Like Steve had laid a foundation that had sparked Corroded Coffin to make something beautiful. Like the two of them shared a mind, a soul, an inspiration.

And Steve wrote the best poem he had ever written, in one go, that day.

---

More bundles followed. More albums were released. And they kept interlocking with each other, one causing the other to do something new, try something different, figure something out.

Ronan Right was still an obscure poet, well-respected but not mainstream enough for bigger successes. Corroded Coffin was still an obscure metal band, praised by the connoisseur but too experimental to ever get anywhere bigger than the verge of the metal scene. The only one who noticed the textual similarities between the two, was Jeff's mother. She'd smile her knowing smile and chuckle quietly, delighting in her own private understanding.

---

A new book was about to get published. Steve had to drive down to Chicago to meet with his publicist and talk some things through, but his car was in the shop so he got on a train instead. The meeting went well, Don't try to be a hero officially got the green light, and feeling content, Steve pulled out the latest Corroded Coffin cd to put in his walkman as soon as he got on the train back home.

“Hey,” the guy opposite him said with a smile and a nod towards Steve's walkman, just before Steve could put on his headphones. “Corroded Coffin, nice.”

“You know them?” Steve asked, taken by surprise, a matching smile creeping onto his own face.

“Yeah.” The guy chuckled. “Yeah, I know them.”

Sunlight fell through the window and shone on the big rings around the guy's fingers, catching Steve's eye – and pulling his gaze towards the tiny book he was holding in his hands.

“Hey,” he said, “Ronan Right, nice.”

The guy stared at him for a few seconds, something like disbelief in his big brown eyes. “You know him?!”

Steve felt laughter bubble up in his chest. “Yeah, I know him.”

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

Intro to Romantic Literature: Prologue

Professor!Terzo x TA!Reader (pretty gen for this part, but the main fic describes fem parts)

CW: implied smut, MDNI, 18+ only please, romantic tension, professor Terzo is a tease ✨

Word Count: 1.2k

I have been working on a Professor Terzo fic for MONTHS now, literally months. I'm getting close to the end, and this prologue popped in my head at 5 o'clock this morning, so I had to scribble it down. Plus, I think it'll make a cute little teaser 🥰 enjoy!

Intro to Romantic Literature: here!

Every day feels like a big day as you barrel towards the end of your degree. The pressure of arranging your final portfolio of works, defending final arguments, typing papers... it's all really starting to get to you.

𝘐𝘵'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯, the bittersweet thought crosses your mind. You'd finally be done with all this stress and move onto the ease of a consistent career, but you'd also be leaving behind the best job you've ever known. Leaving 𝘩𝘪𝘮 behind.

In fact, you're so lost in your thoughts, collecting and organizing papers and files so efficiently--you could do it in your sleep at this point--that you don't notice him staring at you, the pained expression on your professor's face that would tell you it eats him up to see you like this: so stressed you're ready to snap.

He reads you like the many leaves and pages studied in his romantic literature class, like a poem written just for him. You recite your feelings to him daily without knowing it; it's in the way you walk, the way you hold yourself, the way you tilt your head when you rest the tip of your pen on your bottom lip, lost in thought on the class discussion at hand.

Sauntering into his office, you drop your shoulders as you flop into his soft leather chair, taking a deep breath before sorting papers accordingly: lesson plans in the bottom right desk drawer, books on the bookshelf, papers to be graded in the third slot of the black wire rack, anything needing immediate attention left squarely on his desk in plain sight.

"Grazie, stellina," his voice snaps you back to reality, immediately causing your cheeks to flush at the nickname. 'Little star' is what it means. It makes you feel like a teacher's pet, which would've bothered you if it had been anyone else; however, it makes you feel special to earn attention from him. "La mia brava ragazza, you always do such a good job for me." He leans in the doorway, running a hand through his graying locks.

"Thank you, Professor Emeritus," it comes just above a whisper, and you look down at the desk briefly before standing to make your exit.

"Ah, ah, ah, not so fast," he murmurs, catching your waist as you try to pass him in the little room. Spinning you around, he pins the back of your thighs to the desk before leaving some space between you... Just enough space to be respectful, but a clear indication that you're not getting out of this so easily.

You're so caught up in the intoxicating scent of his expensive cologne that you hardly hear him when he asks how you've been. "Hm?" you reply, playing naïve.

"Tesoro, please, I can't have my favorite student looking as distracted as you've been lately," he starts, but you interrupt him.

"I'm not your student, I'm your teaching assistant," you remind him with a light hearted smile.

"You are still learning things, no?" he cocks one thick black eyebrow in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat, his intense white eye putting you in checkmate.

"I suppose so," you whisper, looking down at his ridiculously shiny loafers.

His fingers under your chin direct your stare back up, "What has you so distant, eh? Would you like to talk about it, cara? Confess your sins... So to speak." He winks at you, earning a small huff of a laugh from you.

"What are you, the Pope?" you joke.

His eyebrows quirk in an unreadable way, but he stays silent, urging an answer from you.

"I've just been really stressed with school," you finally concede, letting out a breath you'd been holding.

"Have I put too much on you?" he worries about the workload he's given you cutting into your schedule.

"No!" you look up at him almost desperately, "No, I enjoy this position so much. It's everything else. The final papers, getting good grades, trying to graduate." You choke on the last few words; it was something you'd been emotional about the last few weeks, plus your professor had your guard down.

"Don't cry, tesoro," he commands softly, but it's already too late as tears flood your waterline. Without a second thought, he cups your face in his hands, wiping away anything that threatens to spill across your cheeks. Wrapping a protective arm around your waist, he pulls you flush to his chest before fishing a handkerchief from his pocket, because of course he has one, and dabbing softly under your eyes before offering the piece of silk to you.

"Thank you," you stutter, clutching the cloth in your hand. Hesitantly, you glance up at him before laying your head on his chest, folding your arms under his in a hug.

His hand on your waist falls to caress the small of your back while the other cradles your head, while you regulate your breathing. You can't say for certain, but you think you feel a whisper of a kiss placed on the crown of your head. Holding each other like that for however long, you don't know, but when his fingertips gently start to massage your scalp, you let out an involuntary moan.

Your cheeks blush pink again, meeting a much more heated look in his mismatched eyes. As his warm hands move to grasp at your hips and waist, suddenly all of your worries melt away, as the only thing you can think about is him hoisting you up on the perfectly organized little desk and having his way with you, your panties tossed aside in his office chair, and you laid back and arched up into him while he works every tension from your needy body.

Your fantasy fades away when Professor Emeritus's hand cups your chin again, fingers pressing into your jawbone in a dominant way to lift your face to his. Your gaze wanders to his plump lips... how many times you've thought of having them on you.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek as he leans impossibly closer, and one of your hands smoothes over his firm chest.

But before he makes a move that he can't come back from, he presses the pad of his thumb firmly against your supple lips, stopping himself from crossing the line, even though he so badly wants to... wants you.

He gives you a solemn nod before putting some distance between your bodies, "I hope you're feeling a little better, after our, uh... chat, stellina."

"Uh huh..." is all you manage to breathe out before straightening up. "Yes, sir."

Offering a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder, he carefully presses a kiss to your cheek before sending you on your way.

Tonight, you'll tell yourself that you misread the situation, that he was only trying to be a kind and caring professor, but somewhere deep down inside you, under lock and key, you know that isn't true. Especially because you felt something hard graze against your hip as you squeezed past him and out into the hallway, but you put that thought far behind you as you head back to your dorm.

[floras-imagination]

Robbers, forever? 🖤 matty healy x reader

CHAPTER 1

series masterlist

summary: Y/n and Matty break each other's hearts multiple times over the years, yet they find themselves unable to stay away from each other... and this is the beginning of their love story 🖤 authors note: This story is inspired by some of my fondest memories shared with an ex (but I've made some changes to better align the story with Matty's character), and each chapter is accompanied by poems I've written about that relationship. I've posted them on my poetry blog, so just click on the links you'll find in the chapters:) Hope you enjoy it as much as I do 💘 (i think it's so cuuuute) word count: 2,6 k warning: y/n struggles with a restrictive ed in the first few chapters (but it's just kinda mentioned in the diary entry at the beginning)

August 2012

Dear Diary, I wish I were stronger. I wish I could beat this illness, but I just can't. Every time I try to recover, I fail. I've been doing so well in the last few months, but it's always the same. As soon as I'm doing better I mess it up again. Why do I keep lying to myself? "I'm in control." "Just one more day." "I can stop if I want to." But I never do. A day turns into a week, and suddenly weeks have passed, and I can't control it anymore.

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

Y/n sat in her living room, having some dinner while watching the news. As she glanced at her phone, she noticed an incoming call from an unknown number.

After considering it for a moment, Y/n became curious, so she decided to answer. "Hello?"

"Y/n?", a male, familiar voice asked.

"Matty?", she asked slightly confused, immediately recognizing the man on the phone.

"Surprised?"

"Uhm... yeah, kind of, I guess. Haven't heard anything from you in ages. How've you been?"

Matty and Y/N have known each other from school. After they graduated a few years ago, they sometimes still bumped into each other in town, enjoying a nice chat and updating each other about their busy, somewhat messy adult lives. Though their paths seemed to cross every once in a while, they never really tried to stay in touch.

"Great, actually," he answered. "George and I got a bit bored, so I was wondering if maybe you wanna hang out with us?"

"Hang out with you?"

"Yeah, we'd pick you up."

"Okay, let me get this straight," the girl stated. "You and George got bored..."

"Yep."

"and out of all the things you could do, you chose to ask me if I want to hang out with you?"

"Now what's wrong with that?" Matty asked, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, to call someone you have never called before, asking them to hang out on a casual Thursday.

"Well, I don't kn... Wait! Where did you get my number from?"

"Doesn't really matter, does it?"

"It does matter somehow."

Suddenly, the sound of a car horn made Y/N jump.

"Nah. We're here by the way. You're coming?"

"Matty! It's 9:30; I'm already in my pajamas!" she exclaimed.

Matty laughed. "I don't care what you're wearing."

"And who even gave you my address?"

"Just get your ass out here!" he snickered into the phone. "Now!"

"You're insufferable!"

"Yeah, I know," he shrugged it off with a smirk.

"Give me at least a sec to put some clothes on." Not waiting for an answer, she hung up. Despite her confusion about Matty's suspicious call, she changed into a pair of jeans and a hoodie, quickly grabbing her jacket and keys as she went downstairs to leave the house.

Matty sat on the passenger seat of George's car, his arm casually dangling out of the open window. "Hi, Y/n!" he greeted her with a big smile on his face, causing y/n's bewilderment to grow.

"Hi, Y/n!" George called from the drivers seat.

"Hi...", she hesitantly answered, shyly waving her hand toward his direction.

"Come on, get inside!" Matty said excitedly.

"Matty, I still don't kn..."

"Sshhh!" he cut her off, pressing his index finger on his lips. "It'll be fun. I promise."

Y/n opened the door and placed herself on the backseat, putting on her seatbelt as George started the engine, ready to drive off.

"How are you Y/n?" Matty asked.

"Uhm.. fine, I guess. Bit tired. I have work tomorrow."

"Are you still working as a nurse, Y/n?" George asked.

"Yes, I am. How's your music thing going?"

"Absolutely amazing", Matty answered immediately. "We're currently working on our first album. It's gonna be a fuckin' banger, isn't it George?"

"Oh, definitely!", George added.

"That's cool. I'm so happy for you guys. Can't wait to hear it," Y/n grinned.

"You're gonna be the first to hear it when it's done.", Matty beamed.

George shook his head, trying to hide a chuckle as he glanced over to the overly excited Matty. "What?" Matty reacted.

"Nevermind," George now laughed.

Matty shook his curls out of his face. "Idiot."

"Where are we driving?" Y/n asked as she slowly got more comfortable in the presence of her old classmates.

"I don't know," both Matty and George stated in unison, looking at each other as neither of them had a clue about their destination.

"Maybe we can park the car over there," Matty pointed towards and empty parking space he randomly saw.

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

After George parked the car, Matty quickly left the car to open the door for Y/N.

Their gaze locked for a moment, as she looked up at him from her seat "Uhm.. thank you," she chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're welcome," he waved it off. "Don't mention it."

George rolled his eyes at Matty's silly behaviour. "Ouch!" he squeaked, as Matty stabbed him with his elbow.

"Ah look! A church," Matty stated as the three of them were heading towards one of the city's churches. "Quite stunning, isn't it?"

"It's just a church, mate," George raised an eyebrow at his best friend.

"Shall we sit down on that bench over there? Hope I won't go up in flames. Wouldn't that be fun, huh?" Matty asked.

A slight chuckle left Y/n lips, as she realized that going outside with Matty and George wasn't as bad as she expected. She was actually glad that she picked up that call. A little bit of distraction from her mind and her self-destructive thoughts had been long overdue.

"Do you smoke, Y/n?"

"Nah, it's disgusting."

George threw his head back in heavy laughter before patting Matty's shoulder, who looked at him in his usual clumsy way.

"What is it with you today, George?" Matty asked, shaking his head. "You're acting kinda weird."

"Me? No idea what you're talking about," he kept on laughing.

Y/n was still standing in front on the bench, while only the two boys were sitting.

"Anyway," Matty looked away from George, turning his face toward Y/n. "You know you can actually sit down here beside me." Matty said as his curls were dangling in his eyes again. He pushed them aside with his hand as he continued, "We don't bite, you know?"

"Well, I certainly won't," George still couldn't get over whatever he was laughing about. "But I wouldn't be so sure about Matty."

Matty kicked his foot against George's. "I'm sorry about him. He's usually not like that."

"It's okay, I'd rather keep standing. I just wish I knew what he's laughing about, so I could join in," the blonde girl chuckled.

"No, I think it'd best if he kept it to himself", Matty said with a pointed look at George, his tone firm, implying he should refrain from sharing the source of his amusement. "... wouldn't it, George?"

"Ookayy... this is... weird," Y/n said while observing the two musicians, trying to figure out what was going on.

Matty knew why George was enjoying himself this much, but he didn't want anyone else to know, especially not Y/n. He instantly started to regret that he had told his long kept secret to his best friend earlier that day, since George was on his best way of ruining Matty's well-thought-out plan.

George cleared his throat as he finally pulled himself back together. "Mh, mh...," he hummed. After lighting his own fag he handed the lighter over to Matty so he could light his.

Y/N watched as he blew the smoke out, which slowly meandered all over his face before evaporating into the cold, dark night. As he slowly opened up his eyes, their glances met for a second but she looked down at her feet immediately, to avoid having any more eye contact.

"I kinda miss going to school with you guys," Matty informed them. "Do you miss it too sometimes?"

"Nah, certainly not," George answered, but Matty's eyes were fixed on Y/n.

"Yeah, I do," Y/n chuckled. "Do you know who I miss the most?"

"No, who?" Matty asked, before he quickly added "Ah, no, wait! I know it!"

Y/n raised her eyebrow, waiting for his answer.

"It's me!"

George and Y/n looked at each other before bursting out in laughter.

"Oh damn, Matty. I wish I had an ego as big as yours," Y/n snickered.

"Yeah, well... okay. Who is it then?", Matty shrugged.

"It's Mr. Miller. I kinda miss his bad jokes"

"Haha, yeah, he was such a pervert, though."

"Yeah, I know. That's what made it so funny," she answered.

"I mean, he was only that funny because his jokes were so bad. Ridiculous." George added, slightly chuckling under his breath.

"Wait... doesn't he live over there?" The girl turned around, pointing towards a house across the street from the church.

"Uhm..," Matty thought for a moment before he continued "Yes! He does! He told us about the annoying chimes of the bell tower right in front of his house, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did. Wow, that's amazing. Come on, let's see if he's home," not even waiting for a response, she started to make her way across the street to Mr. Miller's house.

"Y/n!" Matty whisper-screamed, "Are you insane? It's half 10. He's probably in bed already, shagging his wife or something."

George laughed at Matty's words. "I'm in. This is fun. Come on Matty. Don't be such a wimp." He stood up from the bench they were sitting on, walking over to Y/n.

Matty was still sitting on the bench, his arms crossed in front of his chest like a little kid left behind by his parents.

"Matty!" Y/n turned around to call him once again. "Get your ass up!"

Matty rolled his eyes before he got up, slowly strolling over the street to where is friends stood.

"Who's gonna ring the doorbell?" George asked, looking at Matty, who immediately responded in denial. "Don't look at me like that! I won't do it."

"And you want to call yourself a man? Pathetic." Y/n snapped in annoyance.

Surprised but kind of impressed by her answer, the two boys looked at each other and shrugged.

"I'll do it then," y/n informed them before she rang the doorbell at Mr. Miller's front door.

After waiting for a few seconds with no answer, she decided to ring the bell again.

"I think no one's home.", George said.

"I told you he's under his wife!", Matty stated.

Y/n chuckled as she looked at Matty to respond "Yeah Matty, you might be right. Let's leave then."

"I'm always right. Don't know why no one's ever listening to me," he said as they walked back to their bench across the street.

Now it was only George who sat down again, while Y/n and Matty stood in front of the bench.

"Imagine..," y/n started as she turned around to face Matty "like what if they were really in there..."

"They were!" Matty interrupted her. "Believe me."

They both chuckled in unison at their silly and dirty imagination. As Matty sought eye contact again, she tried to cover up her mouth with her hand, feeling a bit insecure. This time, she didn't look away but locked her gaze with his, looking up at the curly-haired man. Suddenly, something seemed to click in her. The sound of his laughter touched her soul like rays of sunshine, covered in sweet melodies. Like the myelin sheath of axons, allowing them to reach her ears even faster than the speed of light. She didn't yet know that this exact moment would change her life forever. That this exact moment was the start of a series of memories she would never get rid of. She didn't yet know that if a magical creature offered her to relive one day of her life, she would unhesitatingly choose this one.

If she had known all this, she probably would have held onto this moment longer. Maybe her question would have been something like 'Can we stay a bit longer?' or 'Can we make this night last forever?'

But instead, she said "Can we go home now? I'm kinda freezing, and I have to get up very early tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure thing," Matty said. And even though he wanted this rather intimate moment between the two of them to last forever or at least a little bit longer, he slowly loosened his gaze from hers. "George? Come on, off we go."

George stood up, and they slowly walked back to the car, neither of them saying a word. It seemed as if something magical lingered in the air. George had noticed that something had happened between Y/N and his best friend — something that changed the entire atmosphere around them, adorning it with a sweet, metaphorical scent.

🖤[poem 1]🖤

As Matty was about to open the car door, Y/n stopped him. "Look! There's a firefly!"

"Where?" Matty asked, wildly looking around.

"Right there, in your hair," she pointed up to his messy curls. "Wait, don't move." She carefully reached out her finger to his hair, trying to let the little firefly crawl onto it.

"It's so cute, isn't it?" she asked, showing him the insect on her finger.

"It is. I've never actually seen one before. Have you?" he asked while admiring the glowing creature on Y/n's finger.

"No, I haven't."

"Look, there's another one," Matty stated as he pointed his finger in the air next to Y/n's face.

Just a few seconds later, they found themselves surrounded by hundreds of fireflies, their gentle glow illuminating the dark night around them.

George was already sitting in the car as he rolled down the window, curious why his friends were still standing outside of the car. "What's going on out there?" he asked.

Done admiring the fireflies, Y/n and Matty got in the car. "Man, you missed out on something. About a million fireflies were out there!" Matty exaggerated.

"Oh really? I see them all the time in my garden," George answered casually as he started driving.

"You must be kidding!" Matty stated in surprise.

"No, like literally almost every single night!" he laughed and kept on driving towards Y/n's house to drop her off.

🖤[poem 2]🖤

🖤[poem 3]🖤

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

When George stopped the car in front of Y/n's house, she unbuckled her seatbelt, getting ready to leave the car.

"So, uhm... it was nice to hang out with you, guys," Y/n said.

"Yeah..." Matty started before he was cut off by George.

"Yeah, Y/n. I'm pretty sure Matty liked it too," George teased, wriggling his eyebrows.

"Thank you, George," Matty rolled his eyes at him. "But I think I can speak for myself, can't I? I'm a big boy, I suppose." He turned around to face Y/n in the backseat. "So, yeah. I loved it. It was fun. Maybe we can hang out again at the weekend?"

"Yes, I'd love that," she shyly smiled in response.

"Great."

"Okay. Well, goodnight then," she said, opening the door to get out of the car. "See ya, guys!"

"Bye, Y/n!" George waved.

"See ya!" Matty called out of the open window as she was already out of the car, opening her front door, waving goodbye with a smile on her face.

After she disappeared into the house, Matty immediately turned around, confronting George. "You fuckin' idiot!"

"What? What have I done now?" George laughed.

"George, I'm telling you...," Matty warned him. "If you ruin this..."

"I won't ruin anything, mate. I think you need to settle down a bit. Tonight went quite well, didn't it?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I think so," Matty looked outside the window, his tired head resting on his hand, his mind replaying the evening's events like scenes from a movie...

_____________

Let me know what you think xx

[rkmaru]

A Morning with Roger

AN: Just some warm fluffy stuff about Roger and Lydia after a night of drinking! Below is the fic and a little something I drew for his birthday. Slightly nsfw so I put it below the cut and I’m pretty happy with it despite it being my first attempt at doing anything like this. 😳💖

Warnings: slight spoilers for his main route, mentions drinking and alcohol.

The sun warmed Lydia’s face as she groggily began to stir in bed. Without opening her eyes she moved to lay on her side in the opposite direction of the window, looking for just a few moments of sleep under the heavy blankets. Her cheek rested against a warmth that didn’t surprise her one bit. Groaning at the pounding in her head, she sleepily opened her eyes to see an almost shirtless Roger still sound asleep next to her. Looking around she saw that she was in his room. Surrounded by haphazard stacks of books and loose notebook pages, the red head marveled that they had somehow managed to stumble in without knocking something over this time.

They’d gone drinking the night before. A common occurrence now that Lydia had become part of Crown’s team. The first night she woke up next to Roger was certainly a shock. In bed next to her after they’d had a bit too much whiskey and beer with no shirt and chest bare. But soon it happened again. In his room. Then hers again. They never seemed to separate on those late nights, though details were fuzzy at times she knew it was mostly her doing. Lydia had a tendency to be a little clingy when she was over her limit, or at least Roger said as much. She grew used to seeing him in states of undress in the mornings, but made an effort to keep him from doing the same. Trusting Roger wasn’t always the smartest idea but she knew he’d never take advantage of an impaired person. And he would go out of his way to assure her he would always be a gentleman about it.

Besides, she was still trying to teach him about love, and though she’d never felt it before herself she had hope that it was real. There had to be a reason there were so many songs, poems, and books about it. It served as a small light at the end of a long dark tunnel for her. Proving it was real was much easier said than done though. Knowing she felt something deeper than friendship for Roger was as close as she had gotten so far.

Sitting up she adjusted her disheveled clothes and looked around for Roger’s glasses. Sometimes he’d fall asleep with them on the floor and Lydia was determined to keep his 137th pair from breaking. She spotted them by his side, nestled between them, and carefully placed them on the pillow behind her. Gently putting her feet on the floor, Lydia stood to pick up her cardigan that had been tossed to the side. The quiet shuffle of clothing must have been picked up by Roger’s sensitive ears because she could hear him groan and roll over behind her as she finished slipping into it.

“Good morning.” His voice was husky in the morning, making Lydia’s cheeks burn slightly. “Already leaving?”

Turning around now that her clothes were in place she placed her hands on her hips, smiling to hide the hangover that sat on her aching head.

“Well the sun’s already up. Might as well grab some breakfast while I can.”

“Hm. No cuddles?” Roger teased as he rested on his side. Lydia thought he looked extra naked without his shirt or glasses on.

“Yew always ask for them, don’t yew?”

“You usually promise them before we go to sleep.” He feigned a pout as he looked for his glasses.

“No I don’t!” Lydia blushed. She may not remember certain things from last night but she was certain she didn’t do that. “Get up already. I need somethin’ for me head.”

“Well if you want to keep breaking your promises you’ll have to find it on your own.” His smirk was irritating as he place his glass on his face and stretched his arms behind his head. “Though I’m sure you won’t find it.”

“C’mon. I don’t wanna miss breakfast.”

“Well you’ll be going with a hangover, lil lady.” Lydia puffed out her cheeks slightly as she pouted. “Just for a little while…” he patted the spot next to him where she had slept.

“And then yew’ll give me some medicine?”

“And then I’ll give you some medicine.” Roger held up his hand as if he were swearing an oath.

Rolling her eyes, Lydia conceded. Getting back under the covers she got closer to Roger and placed the side of her forehead on his shoulder.

“Nuh-uh that’s not gonna cut it.” A strong arm wrapped around her, pulling her onto her side and against his chest. Lydia made a small noise as she placed her hands against him, her cheek resting above his heart. His other arm tucked under her head so that his palm rested on the back of her head. “You’ve cuddled before haven’t you?”

“…no. Not really.”

“That’s…the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” Roger frowned slightly.

“Shut up.”

“And you’re supposed to be teaching me about love? Well this is hopeless.”

“…shut up.” Roger’s chest bounced against her cheek as he chuckled.

Lydia felt slightly uncomfortable in the silence that followed. Gentle touches were unfamiliar and foreign, so she was unsure of how to react or how to reciprocate Roger’s closeness. Sliding an arm from his chest to his back, she pressed her ear against his chest while trying to reluctantly return his hug. His own arm held her closer as well finding refuge in the small of her back. She could hear his steady heartbeat quicken slightly. She imagined her own was doing the same. His fingers ran through her bed head, smoothing the stray locks down in a soothing motion.

“Yer warm…” she mumbled as she closed her eyes. Feeling sleepy again.

“So are you.” Roger chuckled. “Are you comfortable?”

“…yeah.” Roger noticed the hesitation in her responses. Perhaps cuddling really was more foreign to her than he had thought. How did she expect to show him anything about love when she had so little experience with affection? The thought made him a little sad. Had no one held her before? Had no one paid attention to her before? Learning about her past was growing more important the more time they spent together. “How long do people usually stay like this?”

“Hm…I guess until they feel like letting go.”

“…I guess breakfast can wait a ‘lil while longer.”

Roger used to think love was a defect in the human brain. A misfire of electricity that confused sexual desire and emotional attachment. But slowly that had changed as he realized the absence of it in Lydia’s life. Perhaps love was something unexplainable but it was noticeable when it was missing.

He placed a kiss to the top of her head as he noticed her steady breathing. She relaxed against him as she drifted back to sleep. Roger had only meant to tease her, watch her squirm and struggle to stroke his ego. He knew she had feelings for him to some capacity. Otherwise she wouldn’t have been promoted to assistant so easily. But suddenly realizing he might have those same feelings stirred something in him.

Lydia slept for a while after that. When she woke up again she noticed she was alone in bed, the spot next to her already cool to the touch. How long she’d been out she couldn’t be sure but Roger was no doubtedly already in his lab. Rolling on to her back she sighed. Being so close to him and then alone suddenly made her a little sad. It was the first time she’d ever wanted to be so close to someone. She usually kept her feelings guarded to avoid being hurt. However now it only seemed to emphasize how lonely she’d been feeling.

Sitting up to leave the bed, Lydia froze when she heard the door to Roger’s room open. The doctor strode into his room with his signature smirk. In his hands was a tray of hot tea and breakfast.

“Ah, so sleeping beauty has risen again. I know you didn’t want to miss breakfast so I decided to bring it to you.”

“Oh! Thanks…” Lydia wasn’t expecting this. She noticed the plates were full of meats and breads. “Have yew already eaten?”

“I had some tea.” Sitting next to Lydia, he place the tray between them on the bed. Taking a small glass bottle medicine from beside the teapot, Roger shook it a few times before placing it in Lydia’s hand. “And I brought the medicine I promised earlier.”

“Well I can’t finish all this.” Roger smiled as Lydia smeared some jam on to a piece of toast and offered it to him. “Yew can help me.”

“In that case…” picking up a fork, Roger skewered a piece of ham on her plate and fed himself.

“Hey!” She puffed her cheeks again as she frowned.

“Oh? Want me to feed you instead?” He took another piece of ham and pressed it again her lips. With no other choice Lydia accepted it and took the bite while grumbling.

“Yer the worst.” She laughed as she retracted the piece of toast she had offered and took a bite for herself.

“I thought that was mine.”

Roger took a bite from the same piece of toast as Lydia was still sinking her teeth into it. Her laugh bubbled around her full mouth of food as she struggled to swallow. Now that he was back, he’d already made her day much better. Roger also laughed as they shared the moment, taking in the sight of a much happier Lydia. Even with a bit of jam on her cheek and messy bed head, she somehow sparkled in his eyes.

Yeah…his thoughts on love had certainly changed.

Tag list: @lettheratsin, @rou-luxe, @ike-garden2024, @bakersgrief, @sh0jun, @floydsteeth, @matchasilver, @william-rex

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[beacarrot]

𝖳𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖪𝖲:

SIDE A.

1- May, 2024.

--> "i hope u had read my letter, 4:02 - 4:07 - enchanted, T.S"

2- maladaptivedaydreaming (i.gonna.catch.u).

--> "just one more daydream, like always [...]"

3- The Blood Eagle.

--> "sometimes u think your ground has collapsed, but you're just learning to fly [...]"

4- Wednesday.

--> "i was his best friend every wednesday [...]"

5- made in 2007.

--> "5 has always been my luck number [..]"

6- Honorary.

--> you'll remember me when in some bloody damn place play one direction [...]"

7- It's brighter now >>>>> (yeah, now i am).

--> "sometimes, but only sometimes, there is still a bright side to love [...]"

8- Into a girl.

--> "she had her sun sign on her wrist, and we declared how the vocalist of the gig looked like matt healy [...]"

9- Our Secret Song.

--> "the chain on his neck always gets me [...]"

10- Dirty Loves.

--> "T.S (no, tHis isn't about taylor swift's initiaLs)"

The photos belonging to the polaroids "Into a Girl", "Our Secret Song", "Dirty Loves", "London is waiting for me" and "New Year' Bag" belong to Pinterest, the other 13 are mine and my own.

This content has my copyright, production, idea and posting belongs to me. However it can be reposted to publicize it, but making it clear that it is my own. Thank you! ©

Side B of the poems are on my profile :)

[heaven5own]

we need to stay strong, brothers.

genre fluff, college student au, beomgyu is down pathetic

brief desc beomgyus just so in love he needs to mentally choke himself so he wont vomit all the worlds poems about beauty and light to you

made this for my creative writing class and my lecturer shared my opening line to the class!! i wasn’t expecting validation so i was vv obviously unprepared when she asked me to talk ab this rrr… also ofc the version i submitted did not have beomgyu (characters were nameless and pov was 3rd person)

word count: 381 listening to — paris by taylor swift

Love confessions threatened to spill out of his mouth, but he was quick enough to wrap the imaginary red string of fate around his neck before humiliation marked his existence forever. Beomgyu promised himself just two more months—if, in those two months, he finally sees that you look at him the way he does, then he’ll say it. Men need to be strong. Keep your emotions at bay was what his dad used to say. He didn’t really get it, but he’ll do it because his refusal to vocalise his feelings for you isn’t cowardice… It really isn’t!

Blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil going on inside the man to your left, you ignored the two clenched fists in front of his face and continued wiping the strawberry-pink stains from his sleeve. He struggled to keep his face away from yours when his dad’s voice echoed through the bustling cafeteria only for him to hear.

Men need to be strong.

Stiff as a board, Beomgyu sat there trying to focus on the ugly, neon lights their faculty put up for Christmas. Your hands paused for a moment to process a question some guy on the table threw at you—something about the group’s plan to visit the zoo next week? He directed his eyes towards the hands he kept clenched in front of him as some sort of emotional support. You didn’t seem to mind anyway, so might as well just keep it there for his sanity.

Why you had been wiping his sleeve for 20 minutes now (it was 5 seconds) was something he couldn’t answer, but it’s fine, he could take it. Until you discovered that fruit jam was particularly hard to remove from a shirt and pulled his arm close to see better.

Men something something strong something something.

Every centimetre lost between you two drove him closer to slamming his face on the table and forever changing the trajectory of the cafeteria’s lives.

Beomgyu had almost finished calculating the cost of raising three kids and a dog when you stopped wiping. You turned your head to the rest of the table, continuing the conversation about that animal farm your friends wanted to visit. One squeeze of your hand around his and suddenly the invisible string around Beomgyu’s neck comes undone.

[roublardise]

2024 AMVs wrapped up w/ commentary 🫶

after a full year without posting any amv (due to focusing on The Way Home), i came back in the game in march 2024 !! 🌈

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Ruby 1.0 - Maybe I am (post - yt) and i came back with Ruby!! as i also shared my Ruby 1.0 scenepack. i made that one under an afternoon or so, basically to remember how to edit and have some fun!

.

Destiel (15x18) - On brûlera (post - yt) this one had been a wip for SO LONG 😭 it was technically the first time i tried to merge shots together, with the longing destiel looks that have patiently waited 3 years in my drafts . i'm sooo happy with the second verse, with the little cas pov and voiceovers over him praying 🥰 so galaxy brain of me to go with internalized homophobia for this part. if i may say so.

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Jo Harvelle - My mother's loaded gun (post - yt) another wip that i got DONE!!! 🙏 Ola @mrcowboydeanwinchester's song is so so inspiring i KNEW i wanted to do smth with it as soon as i listened to it for the first time!! i had very high expectations for myself, which made it hard to work on at first. so i ended up taking a bit of the song rather than all of it . i love my "salt & burn" typo tbh, and it was such a pleasure to dig into Jo's relationship with Ellen that i, personnally, do not think about enough

.

Bela & Dean - 911 (post - yt) i did a bela episodes rewatch and that's what came out of it. i love her so so so much and i love patricide!dean thoughts so. i had so many more dean's lines that i wanted to include, but i also didn't want the video to end up being like, "dean ft. some of his parallel with bela". i wanted a video about Bela AND Dean. so i had to work around how little scenes Bela had compared to Dean, to make smth equal # feminism . i was SO surprised by its popularity on yt, it's my most viewed amv by FAR?? thank you people on yt & thank you for your uncomprehensible comments

.

Destiel (widower arc) - Dark Paradise (post - yt) before i started video editing, i had made a 0 note edit of the widower arc with this song. i think i was considering making an update version with like, read-able lyrics, but i ended up making the amv instead . i am SO PROUD of that one i LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!! i'm very frustrated that somewhere along the way the exporting fucked up and i got glitches on the shots (some glitch effects are deliberate. these are NOT 🥲). i worked on my timing with the previous amv, and the improvement is clear here!! . it's one of the amv where i had an actual direction for the coloring. i wanted smth sepia-like, but depending on which screen you're watching it can look much more orange than i wanted. i still love it. i love my typos, i love my voiceovers, i love the timing, i love this one soooo much 😭💖🔥

.

Cassie/Jo - Naked in Manhattan (post - yt) believe it or not this is my first jocassie fanart!!! i actually have some ficlet/poem notes on my phone, but i never managed to put it together. so i was glad to finally be able to put smth together for them 💞 . it had been a while since i've done an amv for women who have never met in canon, and i had forgotten how challenging it was lmao. it was so fun to figure out how to make it work as if they were really interacting, and i think i succeeded!!! jo's sole line at the end always get me

.

Kriple era ladies - Mean girls (post - yt) aaaaah i can't beging to explain how much FUN that one was to make!!! i never thought i'd try my hand at smth with multiple characters like that. originally i wanted to put even MORE evil-ish women, but i couldn't just make it all fit if i wanted them to like, shine on their own and go off with ✨ voiceovers ✨ i did a song break as well and i looove those 😍 quite happy with it being my last work of 2024 😊

.

so it's a total of 7 amvs for 2024 🥳

and there's another one i've been working on a lot in the last months, which is due for Jan 24th 👀😇