#journal entry elaboration

[ljubimaya]

Hanma is into crazy chicks. Possessive Chicks. Chicks that match his freak (and yes, he likes calling them "crazy chicks")

[ozzgin]

The wonderful wizard Ozz. I have had this concept stuck in my head like a worm!

Could you imagine a Darling escaping from their Yan, not to run but just to feel the rain on their skin? I've been consuming this prompt like a heroin addict and I can't seem to get enough!

If I were to expand your prompt, I quite like the idea of a Yandere that can't really go full yandere because Reader is just too willing. He loves yandere content and can very much relate, but none of the escalations can happen if, well, the object of his obsessive affection doesn't protest in the first place. Is it too far fetched from what you'd imagined? Let me elaborate:

Yandere! Male x Willing! Reader

AKA: When you want to be a Yandere, but your Darling unfortunately cooperates.

The Yandere has been stalking Darling for months. Journal entries, walls plastered with photos (and the occasional creepshots), recordings. He just can't get enough of his Darling. He loves everything about you and can barely function throughout the day, fantasizing about your life together.

Enough is enough and he finally decides to make you his. He's been consuming media of similar tropes, with obsessed men pleading for a chance and having to force their way in because of rejection and fear. He's prepared for everything. Your tears, your trembling voice, your hands pushing him away. He finds you, approaches you and confesses his feelings, knuckles white as he grips his fists in anticipation. Your eyes widen for a moment, before narrowing in a smile. "I had no idea! Sure, I'll go out with you." Huh? Wait. This wasn't...this wasn't in the plan. Somehow he'd been certain you'd refuse. He must've mumbled the last part out loud, because you respond with "Why would I say no?"

A very good point indeed. You will change your mind, however, once you learn the extent of his love. You're holding his hand and following along as he takes you to his place, completely and utterly unaware of what you're about to witness. He can't truly be your boyfriend if he has to hide his very nature, after all. You might be disgusted, frightened, offended. He can already hear your screams, demanding explanations. It's all out of love. "It's okay if you don't understand", he mumbles to himself, watching your frozen body as you gaze into his room. You take a couple of steps towards the nearest wall, tracing the hundreds of images with your fingers. "Wow. You never mentioned being into photography", you remark, impressed. "It's like an exhibition! But...you might have to work on your angles", you blurt out, a little embarrassed, pointing to one of the creepshots. "This isn't very flattering. Did you take it in a hurry? It makes my legs look disproportionate." He can only stare, taken aback. "S-sorry" is all he manages.

Okay, but don't imagine your life will continue as usual. You've only seen a glimpse of his adoration. Now that you're officially dating, he cannot allow anyone else to have access to you. You have to understand, he cannot protect you properly if you're not under his watch all the time. As much as he cherishes you, he will have to be rough if needed. That's what he tells himself as he shoves the required tools in the trunk of his car, speeding towards your apartment. Once there, he fidgets on the sofa, considering his speech. You seem to be just as uneasy - perhaps you're predicting what's to come? - casting your eyes down and giving short answers. "I think you should move in with me." He states solemnly. You gasp and throw a hand over your mouth, and tears quickly well in the corner of your eyes. "How did you...how did you know?" You say between sobs. Huh? "I didn't want to burden you with my problems, seeing as we just started dating...but my landlord won't renew the lease. I was so scared I'd be homeless."

He clicks his tongue. This isn't very yandere, more like the average couple experience. You bring the final moving box to his car, fitting it in the trunk. "By the way, what's with all the rope?" you ask. "Just move it aside", he sighs. How can he explain it? He's been training, sweating and bleeding for a marathon and right before the whistle, they handed him the first prize. His muscles are aching for the sprint that never happened. Of course he's grateful to have you at last, but somehow he feels like he hasn't proven his dedication properly. You just don't get it, do you? How sickening his love is for you.

As the days pass, he eases into his role of...how does one even call it? Pseudo-captor? When you found his journal, you blushed and confessed how no one before him put this amount of effort into knowing you. All the male contacts from your phone vanishing? It was about time you cleaned up your acquaintances and it was nice of him to help. The AirTags he's hidden in your bags and pockets? You appreciate his safety concerns. Nowadays, with all these perverts freely walking the streets, you can never be too sure.

One morning he wakes up to an empty bed. He jolts up, dazed. Could it be his wish was finally granted? You must've gotten tired of him and tried to escape. Oh, silly little Darling love. You should've known there's no more walking out once you said yes. He checks his phone and pounces out, ready for the hunt. As he sprints along the street, he finds you suspiciously close to his home. Not very smart of you to...what are you even doing? Your hands are raised up, fingers fanned out under the pouring rain. You notice his presence and turn to face him with a wide, childish grin. "I haven't done this since I was a child. When was the last time you felt the rain on your skin?" Only now it occurs to him he's been running in this downpour and his clothes are soaked. He was too focused on finding you.

"I thought you escaped", he almost whispers. "Escape? From what?" You tilt your head in confusion. He places his cold, large hands over your cheeks. "Do you comprehend I'm very much obsessed with you? I'm not joking around. You're never, ever leaving me. You're stuck here forever. I mean it. I really do. I'd rather kill you with my own hands than let you go. Because I love you." You take a moment to admire the intricate patterns of his irises, pupils dilated in a spiraling madness. By the end of his erratic oration, he's panting and digging his nails into your skin.

"I know."

[cr0wc0rpse]

Doing homework for therapy which is me trying really hard to write a summary of the week since my last appointment and note feelings I’ve experienced and things I’ve thought about and try to elaborate on the big things related to all that. It’s not going great ngl

[bananayoshimoto]

AaGHHHHHHhHHH

[see-arcane]

Well.

Here I am again.

In-between half a dozen other projects, the writing exercise that was supposed to be a light distraction has taken off without me. Once more, a very vampiric flavor of horror. But this time it’s so close to the Dracula source material that it’s living in it like an accursed undead poison. Or the bedeviled solicitor who first wrote on that horror in the first place.

That’s what Harker is. Those who have read Dracula before will know that, being a novel built of diary entries and sundry documents, the narrative is boiled down to what events the characters bother to record. Of special note is how the opening and closing protagonist of the book, Jonathan Harker, becomes progressively curter in his descriptions as certain grim events pile up.

So much so that he pointedly avoids recording the bulk of his two month-long captivity in Castle Dracula. And whatever it was that happened to him between the castle and his stay with the nuns. And just what exactly happened to him upon realizing what happened on the 3rd of October. Among a hundred other little omissions a reader only detects by the vacuum they’ve left as the entries of other characters sketch around them. Artful as Mr. Harker may be when in a descriptive mood, vital as his words are for the whole of the story, he’s shockingly silent on huge gaps of time and very significant occurrences within them.

Which bothers the hell out of me. Especially when there’s roughly a jillion elaborations and inventions made from swiveling the perspective to (Suddenly in love with Dark Sexprince Dracula~) Mina or (Very Definite Vampire Expert Badass Actionman) Van Helsing or (Ohhh, I’m so misunderstood, those babies and sailors and assorted murdered chattel had it coming and those human heroes were just stuffy cliché Victorians who were so meeean to meee) Dracula or (Actually pretty cool?) depictions of the nightmare aboard the Demeter. And yet we’ve got nothing for Jonathan? Not one single spinoff dedicated to filling in the blanks between journal pages?

It can’t stand. Not for another Dracula Season. So, I’m a-scribbling.

Whether this winds up as a proper book or not, I figured said scribbling has gotten big enough that it was time to carve out a piece to share. Hope you guys enjoy the read and any future updates.

You can read the Chapter 1 Teaser via:

Tumblr

PDF

Author site

(And remember, I already have a book published if you want to read about some modern gothic undead horrors! The Vampyres is a short and sinister read with its own preview sample to comb through. Hope you’ll have a look.)

[trianglesimpfordpines]

no longer delirious from heat, time to post on tumblr

ford is so allergic to vulnerability man. and what makes it interesting is that there are a lot of moments in the show where you could easily believe that he is being open, and that his slightly stiff mannerisms are Just How He Is, but then you read the journal (including the entries in the book of bill) and it's like. oh wow. this guy does NOT like to talk about how he feels.

dude will absolutely pour his heart out in writing and only actually express like, a tiny fraction of that.

and then i also think about how he barely says anything about his backstory in tale of two stans, and even when he elaborates a bit in last mabelcorn he still tells a very brief and sanitized version; which can partially just be explained as "he's talking to a 12-year-old kid, of course he's gonna censor things a bit," but i feel like there's also a larger pattern here.

i don't really have a larger point because these observations could be interpreted in a lot of different ways, like it could be good ol' autistic alexithymia and flat affect, or it could be a trauma and/or social anxiety response, or all of the above (that's my interpretation), but i guess i'm still posting about it

[incomingalbatross]

Dipper is a nerd but he's not a STEM nerd. He likes puzzles and codes and mysteries and cryptids and DD&MD and elaborate schemes - we don't see any particular interest in machines or computers or in chemical/biological/geological analysis of the various weirdnesses he uncovers. His Journal entries are super people-focused ("I raised the dead" is explicitly less important than "Stan knew all along!!" which. BUDDY). His life goal is, and I quote, to get into "a good technical college with a photography and media production minor to start my own ghost hunting show."

I love that Gravity Falls has a bunch of different flavors of nerds. Ford is "every science under the sun" and Mabel is "every artform" while Dipper and Stan and Soos are all harder to pin down. It's fun. We've got nerd diversity.

[audhdwitch]

LMAO turns out it was hermes the whole time.

also it FUCKIN WORKED

all of the fucking housing spells i've been casting

(a lot of these happened around the same time but i don't remember exactly which order any of this happened. remember: always write down your process when it's fresh in your mind. except for when you're going to be homeless in 3 weeks and don't have the spoons and are just trying to fucking make it)

using "equal opportunity" symbol as nexus point in most spells

lighting candles, burning lavender oil in common spaces and dedicating household chores to hestia

set up semi-permanent altar space in the cavern under my loft bed. dedicated an offering bowl to hestia, offered some trinkets including a key necklace that i started wearing out to showings.

get discriminated against a LOT at showings lmao. absolutely no one wants to house a group of visibly disabled and/or queer polycule of kids that look like they're college freshmen at the oldest.

asked each housemate to donate something to the offering bowl; burned lavender oil and did a tarot spread about our prospects. verdict: final stretch. almost there.

start trying to remember to dedicate a small offering tray of food to hestia whenever i have the spoons to make food for myself. got to have dinner/tea with hestia a couple of times. she makes me feel unmasked. i don't feel any pressure to make myself Look Presentable before her; she is most pleased with me when i am unmasked and feeling safe and comfortable in my own space.

start trying to build hestia playlist. having trouble finding the right vibe; am somewhat drawn to classical music that reminds me of summer camp.

set up temporary altar on dining room table when housemates cook and we get to have dinner together. burn candles and leave offering to invite hestia's presence

created name sigils for housemates with consent. can't decide on a sigil for myself; using my signature seems to work just fine.

started carving name sigils into side taper candles with nexus sigil on bottom. have done this multiple times; have had burned some candles "dry" and others dressed with either peppermint* (luck, prosperity, abundance) OR lavender oil (home, hestia)

started researching crystal grids + sacred geometry. math is hard.

A has a job lined up but it won't start for a while and they're trying to get a better one in the meantime. give up on applying to "equal opportunity" but still absolutely predatory property management company that will gladly take the fee for your application for properties that you won't qualify for, and that you shouldn't bother applying to anyway, and will keep taking your money as long as you're stupid enough to keep trying

established spell parameters. i was definitely the least specific about the time frame; i mostly had the non-specific "before the end of september" floating around in my head even though our lease ends on the 17th. i did consciously decide to not specify further, hoping that by relinquishing a stricter timeline we could perhaps exchange for snagging something within our budget.

took a walk down to the beach and drew sigils (A drew one that I didn't see, and i drew the nexus sigil + name sigils) in secluded areas of sand where the rising tide would wash it away under the light of the recent super blue moon. the ocean is bio-luminescent this time of year in our area; we stood and watched the electric waves crashing onto the shore as the tide crept up.

started gathering materials for crystal grid and research more correspondences. research is not really helping me much tbh; eventually i gave up looking up how-to's and started more going based off vibes. i know literally everyone says so but it really IS better to do things in a way that make sense for your brain. if it doesn't resonate with you, disregard it.

created name sigils for pets. sketched rough approximation of configuration and started experimenting with crystal positioning. got housemates to identify which areas they could use the most assistance in (finances, stress, focus, etc). including the pets really balances the whole thing out tbh.

A applied for a better paying job that it really wants. assigned crystals for financial stability/prosperity at their request.

spent literally hours painstakingly building the final version of crystal grid configuration in image editing software. could i have probably found something that would have fit the bill? probably. i didn't do that tho. i built the whole damn thing myself lol.

family spotify plan got cancelled. rip, can't afford premium myself until we have a fucking house.

brainstorming for spell jar to use as a "battery" in the center of the crystal grid. initially conceived it as a sweetening jar to make landlords

broke up with bf. having a weird time of it. it was the right decision but i feel so bad about it. also, now that i'm no longer worrying about my relationship, i have more time to worry about being homeless.

collected dandelion puff and started drying some leaves in my space

we visit some university resources about housing and ebt.

had A rubber duck for me/got A's opinion on crystal positioning/grid balancing. am somewhat concerned about the grid overdoing it bc this is definitely the most complicated spell i've done to date; some worry based on the fact that i've been using crystals for financial prosperity/stability for M in grid brainstorming and after we got back from uni resource center M got a call from the county saying their ebt was deducted for working more hours in the summer. honestly kind of a huge blow to them; they've been recovering from top surgery and haven't been able to work for almost a month, so this is going to cut our grocery budget quite a bit.

and also... A got the job!!! great news - we can start including its offer letter with hours/ in our packet.

i do some tarot readings abt my life trajectory. oof. i have disorganized attachment style and hella ptsd. additionally, it looks like it's time for a career change; i apply for a part-time position i got an email notification for the other day.

initially was considering burning tea lights on top of the spell jar to burn off excess energy and avoid it collapsing in on itself. if feels ready to implement.

spell jar giving me trouble. yes, sweetening landlords' perceptions of us would probably help. we have been applying to places and writing personal statements and building The Packet to hopefully appeal to them, but places get snatched up in seconds here so we mostly just need to get lucky and be in the right place at the right time. also, ants are a problem and i'm a little weary of using honey (i don't have a whole lot of ingredients at my disposal)

i do, however, have a lot of bee pollen. that might work. pollen is more associated with hard work than honey (which i associate more with reward) and we just need shit to finally pay off.

at a client's house and had a slow day on the craigslist rental listings grind and was trying to burn off extra nervousness by checking the complexes we'd signed up for email notifications for. lo and behold - a single unit available, fits all our criteria and they only require we make 2x rent (almost unheard of in our area). got in touch with my housemates to start trying to apply NOW bc the way their website works, it's literally first come first serve - the second an application is submitted, the listing is marked unavailable again until the applicant completes the approval process (at which point the listing will go back up on their website).

we managed to be on the apartment complex website in the 20 minutes between the listing going live and the time email notifications went out about its availability. A submitted their app first and we called first thing the next morning to confirm that they received it - they have. we're in the system.

okay. we all submitted on friday - too late to be approved same-day, but we'll hear back from them on monday. it's the waiting game now.

try to go home to finalize the crystal grid in a more formal ritual like i'd been planning. doesn't work out; i can do it at my client's house, though. it's not ideal and i think the grid would possibly be more effective if it were housed in the place we all currently live, but that's fine. i feel safe enough in the client's house (they are so kind to me, it's like sleeping over and grandma and grandpa's)

finally established crystal grid with emphases on luck, endurance, financial stability, and a minor glamour to make us more appealing to property managers. used "hard work paying off" spell jar as battery. i suspect the crystals on top of the spell jar don't hurt us but they do feel somewhat superfluous in the context of the grid. may donate them to hestia's bowl instead; the garnet was hers already. was initially going to burn candles dressed w peppermint oil but decided on lavender oil instead.

starting to feel like "liked songs" on shuffle is perfectly acceptable to dedicate to hestia; after all, she's most comfortable when i'm most comfortable.

i actually think i'm going to burn more carved and dressed candles to charge it; i feel the hematite balances out the grid enough that i'm not risking overloading. could also be feeling more balanced bc it's not at home feeding off all four of our energies, just mine? plus it feels good to do something while we wait.

please. please. please.

[writefightandflightclub]

Blorbo thought of the day #3

Dear Diary, I met an asshole. (Nathan Bateman x reader)

A/n: quick little Nathan x reader dialogue / blurb. Bickering / sass, bit of silliness, slight fluff. (Edited a bit since first posting!)

***

“It’s rude to do that,” you scold, as Nathan leans over your shoulder, peeking at your scrawled journal entry. You wrap your arm, protecting the page from his prying eyes - a little too late though, you fear.

“It’s rude to violate your NDA, sweetheart.” You scowl at him. “Okay. Not rude. Illegal… But also rude.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Yeah. If you’rewriting about my robots, I’m gonna have to confiscate that.”

“I’m not writing about your robots,” you lie, but Nathan simply eyes you over the rim of his glasses, arcing a thick eyebrow. You tut in concession. “Fine. You got me.”

He extends his hand. “Give it here then.”

“Woah. No way. I’m not giving you my diary.”

His face twists in distaste. “You keep a diary? What are you, 12?”

You study him and hum pensively at the thought of Nathan employing similar habits. “Hmm, yeah. You know what? I can totally see why self-reflection really wouldn’t appeal to you.”

He perches one pert ass cheek on the short edge of your desk. “Dear diary,” he ponders, considering what form his own entry might take. “Today I was fucking amazing.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and smirks at you. “You’re right. Would get a little repetitive.”

You fail to return his smile, instead, offering an alternative. “Dear diary. Today I ate 3 packets of hot Cheetos in my sweats. Almost rubbed one out right there on the couch - before remembering the effects of chilli dust. Lucky escape.”

You are satisfied when the smirk drops from his face for a moment. He clears his throat as your assessment hits a little on the nose. “Whatever. I’d still rather be me on my worst day.” You scoff. “Anyway. Seriously. I need to take that.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Relax. I’ll redact anything in violation and hand it right back to you.”

“Um, emphatically no.”

“Oh please. Worried about me uncovering your deep, dark secrets? Do you think I’m clamouring for your pedestrian internal monologue? You don’t need to keep any secrets from me, honey. I’m literally not interested.”

You clutch the notebook to your chest all the same, and you mumble something under your breath. Nathan urges you to speak up and you repeat it, a little louder. “But… I’ve.. um. I’ve written quite a lot about you.”

He flashes you a lopsided smile, all smug. “Of course you have, honey.” If it’s possible, his tone grows even more grandiose. “I suppose it’ll be interesting to read how you mere mortals perceive me.”

At that, you’re just about done.

You arc an eyebrow, and you hand the notebook over to him. “Knock yourself out, Nathan.”

***

“‘Dear Diary, I met an asshole.’” Nathan quotes, storming into the living area with your opened notebook balanced across one broad palm. “Seriously?”

You scoff from your vantage point on the couch as he eyes you indignantly, immediately reaching for the remote to turn down the volume. This is going to be good. “Fun read?”

“Trite, rambling, redundant.”

You stifle a smile. “I dunno, Nate. You seem invested.”

“Surprisingly, some of your comments were actually quite insightful,” he admits, with a cock of his head.

You nod in emphatic agreement. “‘Dear diary, I met an asshole.’”

He scowls at you. “Not that one.”

You stretch your legs out, kicking your feet up onto the coffee table. “I dunno. Seems on the money to me. I mean. What kind of asshole reads someone’s diary?”

He sighs, and you scooch over a little so he can plonk himself down next to you, dropping the notebook in your lap. You leaf through it, finding that text on particular pages had been redacted with thick black marker. He’s really gone through every single bit of it.

“Happy now?” you ask him, risking a glance and finding him sat sulkily, arms folded over his shapely chest.

“No.”

“Okay.” You don’t ask him to elaborate, and instead reach to turn up the volume - until he interjects, that is.

“I expected…”

“Expected what, Nathan? Expected me to be impressed by you or something?”

He scratches his buzzed head. “Well duh.”

You turn you body in towards him on the couch, leaning one elbow against the back edge and propping your head so you can get a good look at him.

“What do you care anyway? Last I heard you were uninterested in my ‘pedestrian internal monologue’.”

He tuts. Wafting his palm through the air and his eyes fluttering closed in frustration. “Never mind.”

“Okay.”

You’re happy to oblige him. In fact, you are about to turn back to the tv once more until-

“-You really think I’m an asshole?” His voice is soft. Vulnerable. At least - more so than you’ve ever heard it. It gives you pause. Subdues the edge of your bite.

“Well… When I first met you? Hell yeah.”

His dark, calculating eyes study you. “And how about now?”

Your cheeks heat subtly under his gaze, burning with self-consciousness. “Well,” you dismiss. “That’s redacted.”

“Come on.” He elbows you gently in the ribs. “I know all your secrets now.”

“Not all,” you counter, attempting to come off mysterious.

“No?”

“Nuh uh.” You smile at him, beckoning him closer with a waft of your hand, until he leans in placing your mouth a hair’s breadth from the shell of his ear. “Now, Nathan? You’ve been downgraded to annoying.”

His eyes roll into oblivion as you laugh and tease him.

“Come on, Nathan. It’s not as though you like me any better, right?”

For once, he seemingly doesn’t have anything else to say. His gaze simply flits over your face, his eyes -dare you say it- warm. That is, until he grabs up a notebook from the table, turns to the back page and starts scribbling. Then, the smug, arrogant countenance makes its return.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing exactly what I think of you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm hmm.”

He scribbles hastily, keeping the page covered from your view, and smirking to himself all the while, his mouth dragging up beneath the raven brush of his beard.

Then, Nathan unceremoniously places the closed book on the table right in front of you, before wafting (smugly) out of the room.

You eye the book with intense interest. As though suddenly, nothing else exists. You eye it enough that you can feel your gaze almost burning a hole in the back cover.

Exactly what Nathan thinks of you? And he left it right there? In front of you?

Of course, after a moment’s deliberation, you can’t help yourself. You reach for it, arm outstretched.

“Ah ah, princess.” You jump out of your skin, as Nathan’s tinny voice bleeds through the intercom. “What kind of asshole reads someone’s diary?”

You. You think you’re that exact kind of asshole, and what’s more, he knows it.

You reach for the book and flip to last page, and you begin to read.

“Dear diary…”

[ljubimaya]

Popping in to say that I'd kill to be stuck between Baji and fem Baji

[wholesomefluffdaddy]

Wednesday's new court mandated therapist is having her keep a journal of her thoughts and feelings. Wednesday finds this to be a complete waste of time and decides instead to use it to record her observations of her unusual roommate Enid Sinclair. Wednesday POV.

——————————————

Entry 15

Current Moon Phase: Third Quarter 🌗

I fear that my love for Enid has only driven me further into the depths of madness. I tried explaining this to my therapist but she seemed oddly fixated on the fact that I confessed my love for Enid. There were many unnecessary clarifying questions following my proclamation. ‘You are saying that you love her more than packmates?’ Yes. ‘That you love her romantically?’ Yes. ‘And you understand that you love her romantically?’ Yes. ‘You acknowledge and accept that you are in love with her and not in a platonic way?’ Yes. She appeared to be in a state of disbelief. I reaffirmed that I love Enid romantically, sexually, intellectually, emotionally and any other way there is; and that it’s driving me insane.

My thoughts of her are all consuming. When we are together I think of her, when we are apart I think of her, even when I am asleep I think of her. I desire nothing more than to see her smile. My mind hyper fixates on finding ways to achieve this goal. I almost constantly feel sexual arousal when we are in physical contact and even sometimes when we are not. I have died numerous times beneath the werewolf’s tone and sculpted body and often wonder if I haven’t merely become a spector; yet the madness craves ever more.

With my therapist being most unhelpful I was faced with the horrifying prospect of turning to the only other I knew who also suffers from such all consuming thoughts of their lover. My father seemed rather taken aback when I contacted him via the crystal ball. It physically pained me to share my affliction. I can at least take solace in the fact that my mother wasn’t around to hear my confession. Father took a moment to compose his thoughts before responding to my plea.

‘But little viper… What is there to be fixed?’ He asked slowly.

‘Is this a jest?’ I said, narrowing my eyes. ‘I clearly stated that I am losing my sanity to- to this loba magnífica.’ My mind began to wander simply by mentioning her.

‘What Addams would desire sanity?’ He posited with a sigh. I shook my head to clear it.

‘This is not how I intended to lose my mind.’ I argued.

‘Ah, but as an Addams we have little to no choice in the matter once such an affliction has struck us.’ He said cryptically.

‘What do you mean?’ I said frowning. ‘What affliction?’ It was at that moment I saw my mother enter the room.

‘Afflictions you say?’ She asked as she joined father at his side.

‘It is of no importance to you, mother.’ I stated. She raised an eyebrow before sharing a look with father.

‘Our little storm cloud is finally suffering the ‘family curse’.’ He said solemnly, yet I caught him wink. Mother could barely conceal her smirk.

‘How terrible.’ She said, caressing father’s cheek.

‘Family curse? Elaborate.’ I demanded as I crossed my arms. I had no time for their tomfoolery.

‘I’m afraid it’s irremediable.’ Father said seriously. My eyes widened in horror.

‘I don’t understand…’ I whispered.

‘This curse has been in our family for generations-‘ He began.

‘Then why am I just now learning of it?’ I said with some indignation. They shared another look.

‘To be fair, we worried you wouldn’t inherit it.’ Mother answered. Before I could speak, father proceeded to explain.

‘The Addams curse, our curse, is that once our soul has found its one true mate we become inexorably bonded to them. It is a bond so deeply tied to our very being that we would simply perish if unable to express our love. Our souls become so utterly tangled with theirs that if they die they pull our soul with. No Addams has ever survived a second longer than that of their lover’s.’

‘Impossible.’ I said with disbelief. ‘That would contradict Grandmama’s continued existence.’ I pointed out. Father let out a heavy sigh.

‘Mi madre y padre, your abuelos, loved each other very much but they were not soulmates.’ He explained delicately. ‘The curse only affects those who’ve found your soulmate.’ I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples.

‘So how do I know if I have contracted this terminal affliction?’ I asked.

‘Mon cher…’ Mother took over. ‘Two souls that have loved so deeply and fought so passionately to find each other time and time again have a very powerful reaction to one another. They carry pieces of each other’s past lives and lend each other immense strength once reunited. This reunion is impossible not to notice.’ I opened my eyes again and allowed them to wander the room. After a moment or two of thought I responded.

‘How can I be certain-‘ I began but Mother interrupted sharply.

‘Wednesday, how much stronger have your visions grown since rooming with Enid?’ I felt my blood rush to my face.

‘I did not inform you of who-!’ But once again she cut me off.

‘And when was it that Enid completed her first complete transformation under the full moon?’ Mother continued vehemently. ‘Did you not find it suspicious how you both became stronger within each other’s presence?’ I had no words to counter her. I frowned and tried to rationalize another plausible explanation.

‘It’s natural to-‘ I tried but it was evidently no use.

‘Would you prefer to live the rest of your life without Enid by your side? Or perhaps to see her take another as her lover?’ Mother asked. I was temporarily struck dumb by such callous questions. I pounded my fist against the desk as I rediscovered my voice.

‘How dare you insinuate-!’ I was too incensed to speak. ‘I love her!’

‘That much is obvious, mon cher.’ Mother said as her face softened.

‘So Enid is my soulmate and thus I am suffering from a familial generational curse.’ I summarized for clarity. Father nodded. ‘How do I regain my sanity?’ I demanded.

‘You don’t.’ Father said rather cheerfully. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose as I tried to remain patient.

‘Is it truly so wonderfully dreadful?’ Mother asked. I blinked.

‘My only thoughts are of her, or how to please her, or gain her affection, or-‘ I trailed off. They did not need to know the full depths of depravity I had sunk. ‘It makes it most difficult to focus on other things.’ I concluded. Father nodded knowingly.

‘Ah, well, that improves with time and when you learn to reframe things.’ He said reassuringly. I looked away. This call had been incredibly unhelpful. I bid my parents farewell and got up from my desk to pace as my thoughts wandered back to my packmate turned lover.

‘Willa!’ I heard the most melodious voice call. My body became weak as if her voice was a poison. My heart joined in the madness as it raced with excitement. Enid had returned to our dorm and was holding something behind her back.

‘Mi amor.’ I couldn’t help but utter in relief. I strode towards her at once to share our customary greeting. The feeling of her lips against mine was like a powerful narcotic. My brain had evidently rewired itself to provide an overwhelming rush of dopamine anytime I was in contact with her. The kiss broke and Enid caressed my cheek with her free hand.

‘Guess what day it is?’ She asked with an eager grin.

‘Thursday.’ I said promptly. ‘Or were you wanting the numerical day of the month?’ Enid stared at me.

‘Uh, no.’ She said with a slight giggle.

‘Is it a nondenominational holiday?’ I asked, glancing at the calendar.

‘I guess you could call it that.’ She responded as she slowly pushed me back towards her bed. My pupils dilated. All thoughts fled my mind like a flock of startled birds. Enid clearly wished to be amorous and I would surely receive the honor of dying beneath her once more. She bit her lip as she watched me shiver in anticipation. The back of my legs hit her bed and I fell backwards onto it.

‘Do you give up?’ She asked with a grin.

‘I will gladly submit to you, mi loba.’ I said breathlessly. I could feel my cheeks burn at such a shameful confession. Enid’s face flushed pink though she unmistakably looked pleased.

‘Oh! Um!’ She awkwardly revealed a bouquet of black roses from behind her back. ‘It’s almost our one month anniversary.’ She informed me as she held out the bouquet. I propped myself up to accept the offering. I was surprised to see a mix of not only roses but simple thorny stems as well.

‘I didn’t know what you’d like so I got both. Well, I mean, they don’t sell just like the stems so I cut the flowers off of some of them. B-because when I visited your house last summer I saw the headless roses everywhere and-‘ She trailed off, twisting her hands nervously. ‘Do you like them?’

Fortunately, I was well versed in Floriography. Roses, their meaning being a declaration of love, passion, and romance. Black roses, meaning death or great change. Barren stems… If there is a meaning it eluded me. Perhaps the number of stems was some sort of clue? 11 roses with their heads and 13 without. 11 signifying that she considers me her greatest treasure. 13 signifying eternal friendship.

Enid was clearly trying to send a message but what was she trying to say with this arrangement? I had limited time to ponder the possibilities as she awaited my answer. Love, death, passion, treasure, change, romance, and friendship. I tried to put the pieces of the message together by rationalizing each symbol. There had certainly been a great change between us and I had died countless times beneath her superlatively magnificent body. She had reciprocated my declaration of love, passion was certainly not a scarcity, and there were moments of romance. Friendship… perhaps the beheaded roses were meant to symbolize the death or change in our relationship from mere friends / packmates to lovers. That seemed the most plausible. Finally, and most clearly, she considered me her greatest treasure… I set the roses and stems aside and took her hands in my own.

‘Amor.’ I began. ‘Mi amor.’ I amended. ‘I adore them and I adore you. I too consider you to be my greatest treasure.’ I pressed my lips to her hands. ‘But I am afraid I have been most uncouth and brought you no such gift. However, should you provide me mercy for my faux paus I promise you I shall return the gesture tenfold.’ I looked up into the werewolf’s eyes pleading for her forgiveness.

‘Aw, Wednes…’ She sniffed as her eyes began to water. The grin spreading across her face eased my worry that I had offended her. She sat down beside me and pulled one of her hands free to play with one of my braids. I held my breath as her fingers trailed down it.

‘Hey, could I um, ask you something?’ She said, biting her lip.

‘Anything.’ I replied at once.

‘Would you uh, maybe, consider undoing your braids?’ She asked sheepishly. I blinked. ‘You don’t have to!’ She said quickly, raising her hands. ‘I just haven’t seen you with your hair down and I-‘ Her words died as I began to undo the left and then the right.

A mix between a soft whine and a grow rose from her lips. I caught her eyes and saw something wild and untamed lurking behind them.

‘Is this satisfactory?’ I asked. ‘It is truly the least I could do.’ A clawed hand reached out in response.

‘Willa.’ Enid snarled like a starving animal as she ran her fingers through it. She crawled onto my lap facing me as she buried her face in my hair. While she was preoccupied inhaling my scent I began unbuttoning my shirt. I wanted to feel as much of her against my skin as possible when she inevitably dominated we were amorous. I slid off the garment and cast it aside. Without thought, my hands slipped behind my back to unclasp my brassiere. I hesitated and my head was suddenly pulled into Enid’s bosom.

‘Willa.’ Enid purred as she stroked my head with one hand as the other ventured down my body. I wrapped my arms around mi amor and inhaled her familiar scent. I could feel my intelligence draining as I melted into her.

‘W-Willa?’ Enid paused as her hands explored my exposed skin. She pulled back to look down at my semi-nude form. ‘Wednesday.’ She started huffing as she released me and frantically began unbuttoning her own shirt. She slipped off my lap as she struggled to remove her clothing. I became numbly aware that my hands were pulling down my skirt. The wild look behind Enid’s eyes only intensified as I soon sat before her in nothing but my undergarments.

My mind rapidly degraded as the werewolf pounced upon me and held me in her clutches once more. Our bodies soon became tangled to the point of becoming one singular mass. Claws dug into my flesh and a set of powerful jaws clamped down on my neck. I remember guiding the werewolf’s hands to most intimate places as I pleaded for her touch. Only a thin veil of fabric separated my werewolf from me. As she initiated the heavy petting at my request I felt myself slip into carnal desires I did not know myself capable of.

After recovering from the numerous deaths I suffered at Enid’s very capable hands my higher thinking returned to me. I still felt rather doltish and fought to stay conscious. However, exhaustion lay upon me like a heavy blanket or perhaps like a very satisfied werewolf, pulling me towards slumber. I was keenly aware of the many bruises and contusions that littered my body as I shifted. A mixture of blood and sweat was causing me to stick to the bedsheets.

‘Amor…’ I panted.

‘Wednes…’ Her response radiated with warmth. I inhaled sharply as her hands delicately ran over my skin. I could hear her quiet whine of concern. My eyelids continued to droop. I let them fall but for a moment. However, much seemed to happen in that brief moment. As I came to I felt Enid gently and deliberately pressing her lips to each and every superficial wound. I peered around blearily and noticed several colorful patches adorning my skin. I frowned and rubbed my eyes. Enid had evidently bandaged me while I was unconscious. While I did not care for the lurid pastel colors I appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

‘How are you feeling?’ Enid asked as she ran a hand through my unkempt hair.

‘Like I have been mauled by the most beautiful and formidable werewolf I have ever known.’ I said with contentment as my eyelids drooped once more.

‘Is that? Is that a good thing? I-I promise I can be more gentle!’ She said quickly.

‘Cara mia, please do not deprive me of such pleasures.’ I said as I propped myself up and pulled her into another customary greeting. As my lips left hers I fell back upon the bed. ‘Mi amor.’ I whispered as sleep fought to take me once more. ‘Te quiero con toda mi alma.’ Those haunting cerulean eyes were the last thing I saw before my heavy eyelids closed like the curtains upon a stage. ‘Voy a soñar contigo.’ I felt the werewolf pull me into her arms and cuddle me close before I slipped into unconsciousness.

[coliepng]

How would you define a commonplace journal?

oooo well while i traditionally always have an entry about commonplacing as my first page in mine, they're not in my own words and i feel like this is asking for me to define it as such. so let me preface this with: i do tend to combine it with my planner, because i write things down most regularly when ive only got one notebook to keep track of. the bonus of this is that i get to look back on the picture of my life as a whole. oftentimes, the things i write down have something to do with what's going on in my life. quotes or lyrics or research because it is relevant. but, as a standalone, a commonplace journal is a means to look at myself from the outside a little more. planners/diaries tend to be very raw looks at myself. things i must do, things i have done, thoughts i have about them. rants and dreams and notes about my health. yes, this is me, this is how i keep track of things, how i might feel in a moment but not necessarily how i end up after processing things. a commonplace is more akin to glancing myself in a mirror's reflection of myself within another mirror. if a diary-type journal is a mirrored reflection, a commonplace is double that. i perceive myself as others might -- glances at what moves me, what interests me, what is special to me. others do not get to look at my diary, but i'd happily share my commonplace entries with someone. not only that, but it is a kinder way to reflect on myself. in a diary, i write in a stream of consciousness style where i do not necessarily stop myself from going to extremes, because i honestly need to in order to realize i am overreacting. i'll read things back and see i am just being silly or now that the emotion is over with, i no longer feel that way. i do not want others reading these things, because just because i wrote something there, i do not always still feel the same after writing it. but in my commonplace, i really might only gather a quote or lyric that alludes to how i am feeling, when i have too much emotion inside me. or perhaps relates to something far in the past. or again, research, playlists, notes about video games, patterns, memories, even little doodles... these are more like little postcards ive sent myself to help keep track of where i've been. or kind of like a photo album, but with words, i guess? and yes, still a few pictures, but usually of works i like rather than photos of my life. (but occasionally those, too!

i do often blur the lines of diary journaling and commonplace journaling. i end up being a little too personal in my commonplace. i do have an update regarding how ive been using notebooks recently coming, now that i've really solidified my system, but this was lovely to come back to tumblr to first. thanks for asking! i could go on much longer but i think this is a good place to wrap it up lol. but if anyone wants me to elaborate on anything, lmk! i will gladly lol

[pinksturniolo]

Cinnamon

Matt Sturniolo x Fem Reader (AU) Series

Part Two: Iced Vanilla Lattes

Intro:

Spring 1981

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Harvard University. The only ivy league school in the state.

Acceptance rate: 14%

Graduation rate: 97%

Tolerability of your mostly fake, pretentious peers: 0%

But your best friend Matt?

He makes it worth sticking around.

content warnings for this chapter: none really, some swearing and suggestive situations. mentions of depression.

read part one here <3

Two days after Matt climbed through your window, he decided it was time to go back to school, to try to get into his regular routine again. He had received a warning letter last week, with mentions of his scholarship being revoked if he was going to continue being frequently absent.

He had gotten up extra early this morning, putting on his usual pair of khakis and collared school shirt. He walks through the courtyard to the library, intending on getting some studying in before his first class of the day.

He has your journal in his hand, the green felt cover with matching ribbon wrapped around, securing it shut. It was about 150 pages or so, and halfway filled with writing between you two. He’s had it for well over two to three weeks now. Longer than he did last time.

At the end of freshman year, he came up with the brilliant idea of sharing it, the color and material of it catching his eye as it sat upon your dresser.

“What is this, your diary?” Matt snickers, snatching the journal. You two are sitting on your small bed, the mid day sunlight filling the room.

He holds it in the air as if he’s inspecting it before pulling the ribbon between his fingers and opening the cover, seeing a short paragraph of words, and flips through the rest of the empty pages.

You rip it from his hands, a disapproving look on your face. “Excuse me!” Your eyebrows furrow in anger as he laughs. “There’s not much in it anyway.” He responds.

“That’s because I just bought it.” You tell him and open the book to skim over your first entry.

It wasn’t anything too revealing, just a recipe for your mom’s cinnamon rolls.

A faint memory of when you were a little kid crosses your mind. Laughter and the smell of them baking. Sticky frosting on your fingers, your legs wobbling on the wooden stool as she helps you knead the dough.

“Did I see a recipe in there?” Matt asks, a grin plastered across his face. “Yeah. Do you like cinnamon rolls?” You respond. His smile only grows wider, the way he squints his eyes annoyingly adorable. “I love cinnamon rolls. Its my favorite desert.”

“Maybe I’ll make it sometime…” You tell him, a soft smile on your face as your eyes drift back down to the pages.

“Plan on writing more in there soon?” He says and you smooth your hand over the felt on the cover, the velvety feeling soft under your palm. You nod, and look back up at him, his eyes on your face as he waits for you to elaborate.

“I bought it at that little bookstore, you know the one across from Flagstaff Park?” He nods.

 “There was a stack of them by the register. But there was only a few with this color left… and I loved how it looked so I had to get it. My mom kept a journal when she was younger… she said it helps to write down all the thoughts in your head.”

Matt’s face has a focused expression, looking at the way you run your hands over the book as you tell him why you got it.

“But I don’t know… It feels weird to write to no one. To just jot down every thought or feeling I have. Like I’m talking to myself.”

“I have a suggestion.” He says, his eyes lighting up. “Why don’t we share it? You can write down whatever you’re feeling in the moment or when I’m not around to talk to you. And then you can pass it to me. I’ll write my thoughts too and then give it back.”

“You want to share custody of my journal?” You say, a laugh escaping mid-sentence. The idea is amusing to you, but you’re interested.

“Sure. Like writing letters to each other but instead it’s in a book.” He responds, and you can’t help the heart warming feeling it gives you to see the playful smile on his face.

You smile back at him and decide it would be a fun thing to do. “Okay, why not.”

You sit in your desk, the third class of the day, pencil drawing mindless circles on your notebook. European history was your second to last favorite subject and your professor was extremely monotone, his certain style of teaching being one that writes out each and every lesson on the blackboard. His voice drones on as you continue to doodle, your attention now peeked by the conversation between two classmates in front of you.

“Did you see Matt Sturniolo this morning? He was walking to class with Vanessa Henderson. She’s so fucking lucky.”

“I know right? And he’s been looking especially good lately.”

You almost scoff out loud at their blatant gossip. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve heard girls in your school fawn over him. You’ve even heard rumors of you two, students giving you dirty looks whenever the two of you first started hanging out. But they soon died down after they realized you were just friends and Matt had no intention of anything romantic with you.

But what did irk you was the fact that he was walking with Vanessa. She was one of the prettiest girls in your grade and practically every guy wanted to hook up with her. From what you knew, she was vapid and uninteresting, her personality made up of one sole purpose. Being the most popular girl in school and head of the cheerleading team.

Still, you weren’t the type to judge someone and if Matt, your best friend, was taking the time out of his day to talk to her, then there must be some redeeming quality about her.

You tune out their conversation as they continue, eager to get to your next class.

By the time lunch comes around, you’re starving, grabbing one of the ready-made meals from the cafeteria and sitting at your usual spot at the table under the oak tree in the courtyard. It’s peak weather for springtime, the sun warm outside but the cool of the breeze in the air making it enjoyable. Students chatter around you, some lounging on the lawn, others sitting under the shade of the brick awnings.

Just as you’re pulling out your history textbook from your bag and placing it on the table, a figure stands over you, creating a shadow over your view. You look up to see Matt, that signature smile on his face and two iced vanilla lattes in his hands. “Brought you your favorite.”

Matt used to make fun of you every time you would get the overly sweet, caffeinated drink, calling your coffee addiction “a serious problem.” But once you convinced him to try it, he was instantly hooked.

He sits next to you on the bench, setting the drink down by your book. You smile and grab it immediately, taking a sip. “Thanks Matt. Glad you decided to show up today.”

“Right well, apparently I have to start being present more if I want to actually keep my scholarship. Who would’ve thought?” He says, taking a sip of his coffee as well.

You chuckle, setting the drink down and pulling your pen and notebook out of your bag. You make notes from the chapter of the history textbook you’re currently studying. Matt picks the apple from your lunch tray, taking a bite out of it.

You told yourself you wouldn’t bring it up, but you just couldn't help yourself. The few moments of comfortable silence between you two are broken as your curiosity takes over. “You know I’m not one for gossip, right?” You say, keeping your eyes on your notes. But you don’t miss the smirk on his face from the corner of your vision.

“Vanessa is… nice. I was only walking with her because we’re partners in Biology. And she happens to know a lot more than I do. I needed a recap on the past few lessons I missed.” He responds, knowing exactly what you were going to say. He’s undoubtedly heard the rumors already swirling around campus.

You look at him and put your hands up in defense, a sheepish smile on your face. “Hey, I was only wondering. I could’ve sworn you said she was spoiled and boring last semester.”

“Like I said, I needed some help.” He shrugged, laughing lightly and took another bite of the apple, his eye contact with you playful.

You ignore the subtle green of jealousy that worms its way inside you, the thought of Vanessa tutoring him for Biology. That was usually something you two did together, and you’re a little upset he didn’t just ask you for help. Sure, you might’ve had a different professor than his for that class, but you’re certain the coursework wasn’t much different, and you would’ve gladly caught him up to speed. If he would’ve asked.

“Don’t sweat it, kid. I was just wondering. Apparently, every girl in our sophomore class thinks you’re screwing her so… just thought I would get the inside scoop. Get ahead of the curve.” You tell him, unable to restrain the teasing tone in your voice. You focus your attention on your studies again, taking another sip from your latte.

Matt simply laughs, rummaging through his backpack for something. “If I had I a dollar for every bullshit rumor made up by our class, I’d be rich.”

And then he’s sliding your green journal across the table, his hand reaching out for you to take it. “I’ve been meaning to give this back to you.”

You take it from him, shoving it into your bag. “Does this mean I get it for however long I want? Since you kept it hostage and all.”

Another warm smile from him, as bright as the sunshine in the spring air. “As long as you write something good for me.” He says, winking at you and then standing up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “See you in English.”

The end of the day couldn’t come any faster, and it made your heart stutter slightly in your chest when you saw Matt in his spot beside you as you walked into your last class.

Students chatter loudly as you make your way to the back of the room, settling into your desk. Ms. Ellmore’s voice rings out shortly, silencing the noise as she instructs everyone to open their books to today’s chapter.

It’s silent reading time, the room quiet except for the buzz of the AC. You’re focused on the words until you feel Matt’s presence closer to you, and turn your head a little to see him leaning towards you.

“Wanna help me study for Biology tomorrow morning?” He whispers, his voice low and deep in your ear.

Your desks were close enough to where only you could hear him. You can almost feel his breath on your neck. You keep your eyes on your book, and his are still on your face as he waits for your response.

“You know I’m not a morning person, Matt.” You say and can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Great, so my dorm? An hour before first period.” He tells you and you can’t fight the matching smirk on your mouth as you look at him now, his tongue poking into his cheek, coy expression on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that. I haven’t even said yes yet. And what about your other study buddy, hm?” One of your eyebrows are raised at him, jaw set in defiance.

"What other study buddy?" He rasps. He lets his eyes trail over your face briefly before resting on the collar of your shirt, noticing the way your pulse picks up, the thrum of your vein underneath the skin of your neck all too enticing suddenly.

Was he really that close to you? He now realizes his arm is fully on your desk, his whole upper body leaned towards you. He catches the blush on your face from the sudden tension before pulling back, Ms. Ellmore’s voice cutting the silence.

“Is there the something the both of you would like the share with the rest of the class, Mr. Sturniolo?” She says, a smile on her face as she looks at the two of you, making you shrink back in your seat, propping your fist up on your head so your arm can act as a barrier between you and Matt.

You fight to hold in your laughter as you hear Matt’s response. “No mam. It’s a private matter actually.” Ms. Ellmore narrows her eyes in fake assertiveness at him, smile never leaving her face. “Let’s save those for after class, thank you.”

Ms. Ellmore was your stereotypical "cool" English teacher. She was usually easy going and as long as you weren’t disrespectful and got your work done, she wasn’t very strict.

You don’t look at Matt again until you get up to leave once class is over, telling him you’ll be at his dorm tomorrow morning, practically rushing out of the door as he watches you, confusion all over his face.

You’re not sure what caused his borderline flirty nature earlier, but you hated the way it made you so flustered.

Once you get to your dorm room, you relax as you sit on your bed, slipping off your doc martens and book bag. The cover of your journal peeks out of the top as you grab it, untying the ribbon and opening the front. You hadn’t read it since Matt gave it to you at lunch and you were curious to see what he had written.

When you’re done going through it though, your heart is racing, your breath a little shaky. You let his words soak in, turning them over and over in your head.

What he wrote was about ten pages long, some writing in long paragraphs and others in fragmented sentences, like he took his thoughts straight from his head and displayed them on the old pages.

It started off as usual, he wrote about his family and how his Mother was doing each time he visited her over the past few weeks. He wrote how hard it was to see her grieve, and to in turn deal with his grief, unsure how to manage both. With his father out of town so often, he did the best he could.

He wrote about how he was losing interest in school, in people, in life in general. He was struggling with motivation, feeling like he was lost.

Matt was the smartest and most talented person you knew, always pushing you to do your best in school. You knew he had issues with mental health, something you could relate to, but the way he goes in detail of his emotions in his writing this time has you worried. He’s never been this upset before.

No wonder he missed so much school.

And then, he wrote about you. Or rather, to you. He mentioned how much he missed you, hearing your voice, or even eating lunch with you. His thoughts matched everything you were thinking or feeling while not seeing him these past few weeks.

I was thinking about that one time we went to Plymouth beach with Celine for the weekend. Remember? It was last summer, I can’t believe its already been a year. I just think about the way the ocean smelled, the blue shell you found under the sand the gelato we got on the way back. You told me you hadn’t felt that happy in a long time. I realized I haven’t felt happiness since that day. Its funny how I’ve felt so much sadness since the funeral, everytime I go to visit my mom, yet every time im with you… I know you can’t depend on another person to determine your happiness in life. But I feel like its always been better when you’re around.

His words are raw with honesty, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you wrap the book closed, setting it inside the drawer of your nightstand.

Matt’s always been emotionally intuitive, not afraid to say what he’s feeling in the moment. And he’s always made it clear to you how much he enjoys being your friend, the relationship between you two pleasant. But there’s something different about this entry, like the way he looked at you in English class earlier, something that’s shifted that you don’t quite grasp the understanding of.

You let his words fill your thoughts for the rest of the night, until you’re willed to write some of your own in return to him, pulling the journal back out of the drawer.

taglist: <3

@sturniolopepsi @tillies33ssss @whicked-hazlatwhore @riasturns @christhopersturniolo @junnniiieee07 @sturnsjtop @seahorsie11 @inveigledvex @mattslolita @certifiednatelover @glassesmattsbae @eryismum @sturncakez @wh0resstuff @ribread03 @sturniololoco @75sturn @mattscoquette @h3arts4harry @chrizznmetswife @bambi-slxt @streamermattsgf

[if you would like to be added/taken off pls reply to this post or comment on my masterlist. and if u weren’t tagged, it wouldn’t let me add you :/ ]

[bananayoshimoto]

on an unrelated note i am also attempting to make a best of playlist of this year's kpop releases (leaving a spot open for wayv of course 😋) and i haven't yet decided whether to include multiple tracks i enjoyed per album or only the best of the best but i have come to three conclusions 1 i actually did not like most of the music released by my favourite artists this year especially compared to last year 2 neither did i tune in for as many comebacks as i thought i did most likely for the above stated reasons and 3 i am in my reestablishing my place as a second and third generation enjoyer era and almost all of the songs in my current top ten are by artists who are 30+ years old make of that what you will

[catinflight]

AYY Y.D.M AU STUFF YIPPIEE

Here's Ashley and bert, because why not (Sorry if it's low quality / things dont make sense or if there's any weird spelling mistakes, ect). It's late, and I'm Uber sleepy😭😭 ill try to elaborate more if asked)

Ashley is part of the main survivor group holed up somewhere (I haven't decided), along with most of the other none infected, she's doing her best to document and assist suna with scout work but sadly she doesn't have any actual weapons to help fight back (not yet atleast) so she mostly sticks to the sidelines. I'll probably use her journal entries to showcase more information about the au and the other survivors, but for now I'll just write down the basic stuff

Bert knows a lot more than he lets on. He was found a patrol team searching for resources around some vacant and priorly undiscovered set of underground facilities. he was nearly catatonic and refused to make direct eye contact with anyone. Since then, he has gotten better, though not by much. He picked up a few documents from the lab and since has been weirdly protective and fidgety with them since.

Aaaaaand now some good ending future goobers for funsies, because silly

Suna may seem relatively intact, but that's mostly because her armor took most of the brunt from attacks, though that doesn't mean she hasn't seen some stuff, but atleast she managed to create, somewhat of a cure, for the infection Though it can't help everyone, at least some people don't have to die, right?

Aki is kinda weird, because not only has he managed to recover from his infection without exposure to the cure, but he somehow managed to integrate it into his own systems, (think getting the cold, but instead of getting sick you mutate it and it gives you superpowers,) though that does come with the drawback of retaining minor symptoms and looking half meganized, this is mostly because Y.D.M (in severe infections) forces a robots system to work in its most extreme states, and for aki, thats when he's meganized, now he mainly focuses on helping suna with curing and reforming people. Suna isn't very fond of this, as she's seen aki takes it too far, often skipping days of sleep and forgetting to recharge while trying to help cure infected. At some extreme points, collapsing with exhaustion, thankfully suna is always keeping an eye on him.

And I would draw daini,

But uh, he kinda

Who knows maybe I will after all? I mean this is supposed to be the good ending right?

I'll nap on it and see what happens, though if I draw him, I'll have to draw skullman too, cus' yknow, LORE

Anyway, yeah, thank you for reading this small lore dump teehee (I'll draw more characters next time and have less text, I promise 😭😭)

[mpsansy]

The Art Of Scaring

A journal entry of the eternal youth living within the walls of Whipstaff Manor.

-

I don’t usually write in journals like this. Not that I’m afraid of my uncles getting into it, though they probably would if given the chance. And I suppose I would too. Cause what else is there to do when the house you occupy is filled with a treasure trove of books that have all been read by the residents?

I’m getting off track here.

Tonight, as opposed to having a single moment of true peace. I was dragged into learning how to make some people skin crawl. Scaring.

Ugh...

Honestly, I can’t seem to find the appeal. Not exactly anyways. I’d rather just be left alone to my own devices. And yet when I told that to them, my uncles were quick to say that fleshies could ruin that for me. And to keep that “solitude” that I like so much, I MUST know how to scare. I’d like to say they’re wrong. Absolutely wrong and stupid for thinking that way.

Unfortunately, they’re not wrong.

It alway seems like annoying people come our way and genuinely disrupt the serenity I have made for my family and I.

...

Maybe I am growing up, because I used to be so excited meeting new people. Being unapologetically friendly upon first approach. Now it’s turned to mild annoyance when I’m trying to read, draw, or listen to music. Not to mention that I feel my form changing. Not by much, but enough to notice. It's weird. Can ghosts like me really change in such a way?

Off that. The Art Of Scaring.

That’s a term my uncles like to call it. For this particular session of scaring, we took a different approach to things. An idea that I thought they wouldn’t put into practice cause I mostly said it as a sarcastic remark. But it’s all about vocals here. Not the scraggly stuffy vocals.

The kind of vocals we are doing here makes you feel like there’s an actual person in the same space with you, despite nobody being visible.

I’ll admit, this one is a little fun. Reason being is that for someone like my uncle Fatso, the voice from him can reverberate and seem even louder than it is. And I happen to mimic his tactics. If it isn’t broken, why fix it. Or upgrade it for that matter.

I don’t know why, but scaring with him is a little bit manageable. That may have something to do with him giving me more range to work with and explore different creative scenes. My other uncles are a bit…

Lacking in that regard. Using the same methods over and over again. So as far as I’m concerned, it’s usually me or him making up these elaborate scares possible and entertaining.

Don't get the wrong idea, I don't relish in the scaring. If anything, I am far more tamer in my methods as opposed to my uncles. They can be quite extreme. Deadly even. Luckily here, nothing bad happened.

In all, I actually managed to get some stuff out of it. I even scared a teen that had a music player he just abandoned. Sucks for him, but great for me because a lot of music was on it. Most of the intense rock and metal genre.

I'm cool with that. Gets my soul feeling all fuzzy. Other than that, I guess I got nothing much to add. Don't know when I'll write in this again, but hopefully I will get to to preserve all the new memories I'm making!