#a full piece of writing or a poem or something or another

[melynnwater]

last night I was scrolling through the wikipedia article that lists every unicode character

the experience was downright transcendental

every individual script was beautiful

there were so so many scripts

and almost each and every one feels or felt completely natural and normal to someone in the world

and just

so much work has been put in to accurately transcribing every one of these scripts to a digital font

and then there were the ancient scripts

there was a script that came from an undeciphered phoenician disc

and it was digitized. ready to be used to write down a sentence.

we don't even know what it means, but it's there.

as if to say

"hey, if you ever find your way here, we want to make sure you can say hello"

humanity is defined by our connections to each other

[averlym]

fairest of the fair

[gay-dorito-dust]

Could I request Welt, Dan Heng, Sunday, Gepard, and Argenti finding their s/o's poetry collection of them?

Argenti:

Would sit himself down somewhere nearby and read every last poem, each one leaving him with a full heart, butterflies in his stomach and another addition to the list of reasons why he adored your creative soul.

He’s extremely honoured that you decided to chose him as your muse for your poems, for he could feel the love and respect you have for him through your writing, before holding the collections of poetry made in his name against his chest as he beamed with happiness.

He’d even openly praise you for your works if he were to see you later on in the day, which would make you understandably upset and embarrassed that he went through your things, but with the way that he passionately talked about your writing and the look upon his face that clearly shown his appreciation and admiration for poetry.

At the end you’re the one who ends up being flustered whilst Argenti was still sending appraisal after appraisal your way, all the while re-reading your works and proudly reciting his favourite passages without shame.

Sunday:

He thought it was sweet that you write poetry about him.

He didn’t feel as though he was invading your privacy at all, seeing as how he’d like to claim that whatever of yours was now also his by osmosis…totally not because he’s fishing for stuff to hold over you and maintain control should you act out…

Anyway- he’s taking his sweet time reading each and every poem you’ve written with him in mind and smiling at the hold he’s taken within your heart, finding it fascinating what adoration could make one do just to express their whole array of emotions.

It was almost as though they were on some timer that others couldn’t see just to express all their innermost feelings towards the special person in their life. Then again love tended to make people feel as though they were invincible, so the unthinkable and accomplish things that they never thought that they were capable of achieving in the first place.

So it didn’t matter whether or not you were able to wax poetry before him, but it was obvious to Sunday that the moment he had taken hold of your life and your every thought, poetry has became your primary outlet for feelings that you weren’t nearly brave enough to say aloud to him. Rest assured however for that day will come for you to open up about those unspoken feelings of yours…sooner or later.

Gepard:

He feels as though he was invading your privacy by reading your poetry collection and wanted to leave before he’d inevitably get caught, but just as he was about to take his leave, he stopped when the title of the first poem caught his eye;

Everlasting winter

He found himself reading through the first few opening sentences and immeditly made connections between himself and the person within your poem. To say it didn’t take long for Gepard to realises that the similarities between him and the person in your poem were purely intentional, and that he was the one the poem was actual about.

His face was blossoming red upon the realisation and averted his eyes elsewhere as he takes in the fact that you found him a perfect enough muse for your poetry. Him, the man who couldn’t hold a tune to save his life, grows flowers that unfortunately don’t last long, and wasn’t possessed with the basic skills of drawing.

And yet you found something about him that was worth writing poem after poem about. He didn’t know why that was but he was appreciative that you found something in him that urged you into written it down on paper, where your affection and admiration for him would be forever immortalised…He also may or may not have taken a poem to read to himself later on at night.

Dan heng:

He had noticed that you left a piece of paper laying about one day and was about to call out to you and give it back, while scolding you for leaving your messes everywhere for him to pick up after, only to see that it was in fact a poem about him.

Red faced, Dan Heng still planned on taking the poem back to you and journeyed to your room where he found that the door was left ajar, but could immeditly tell that your room was empty. Sighing, Dan Heng opened the door and quickly made his way towards your desk, where’d he found more poems in regards to him.

Much like Gepard, Dan Heng felt as though he was reading something he shouldn’t but he found himself unable to look away as he was secretly tempted to know how you viewed him. What he found was nothing short of you portraying him in a way that he’s never quite thought of himself before. If he wasn’t already so easily made flustered by your words alone, your writing was enough to put the poor man into a catatonic state.

Dan Heng wasn’t use to being smothered in a love like yours. Where you felt as though speaking your love for him wasn’t nearly enough, so you had to expand and start writing it instead in the form of poetry. He doesn’t feel as though he’s deserving of it but isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and is more then willing to try to accept the fact that you care deeply for him; especially when he can not find it within him to find anything about him remotely worth being with.

Welt:

He’s made copious amounts of drawings of you that he’s kept hidden in his room. So upon coming across your poetry collection about him, it only made him feel more comfortable knowing that he wasn’t the only one to express his innermost feelings through an art form.

Besides it wasn’t like he was actively searching your room for your poetry collection, he really wasn’t as he just came across them out of pure coincidence. He was currently about four poetries deep and was finding it extremely endearing how you viewed him in most of your writing: which was mainly as an well educated, wise man with a young man’s heart and restlessness sense for adventure, who had a talent for drawing.

Welt would chuckle under his breath at all the moments you’ve shared together, before you’d then went on to write about how beautiful he was in every possible way. From his sweet, insightful eyes that seemingly held all the knowledge you could ever ask for, to his calming, velvety voice that could lull you into a deep sleep within seconds.

You posed him as this figure of comfort, a figure of warmth and Welt soon finding himself not so subtly sneaking some of your poetry into his pocket to read for later. Your poetry only gives Welt the confidence he been looking for, as he would then starts to leave his drawings of you in places where you’d be able to see them; all in hopes that you would know that you had just as much of a huge place in his heart as he did in yours.

[cambion-companion]

Can’t stop thinking of a tav who just showers Raphael in attention and affection. It’s the little things like listening attentively to his plays and dramatizations whenever they ask anything, to looking at him like he hung the moon and the stars, cupping his face as if he’s some kind of precious lovely thing instead of you know, A DEVIL

Just tenderness because that’s not something common in the world of devil and demons (I think?)

Ps: love your writing!

Hi! Thank you! I took the opportunity to write more Patron!Raphael, with a little bardic twist!

Raphael x reader (gn)

You were Raphael’s favorite.

This knowledge you wore with great pride and much to the aggravation of his other servants.

You had never expected a patron Fiend to be so dynamic.  His passion for the performing arts rivaling even your own.  You’d struggled being a bard for so long, working your fingers raw upon the instruments that refused to sing for you.  Your creative abilities severely stunted.  Until Raphael entered your life.

The cambion had carefully watched your passion to act and dance, recognizing in you his own desire to draw down the magic of words upon parchment.

You had been so eager to sign his contract, agreeing to serve him and spread his own creations to the material plane in exchange for unhindered, undiluted talent.

Raphael was quite pleased with this arrangement.  Under his mortal disguise he would often attend your little shows, his amber eyes glinting with self-satisfaction as he watched his little bird channel his creations. Through you, Raphael gained another taste of what being a god must feel like.

At the end of another long recitation of one of Raphael’s more laborious poems, you watched the guests file from the room and took a welcome drink of cool water for yourself.

Raphael leaned against the marble pillar, idly swirling a glass of red wine as he studied you.

“You’re not enunciating enough during the last stanza.”  Raphael tutted lightly, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “The attention of your guests lapses accordingly.”

You grimaced and rubbed your sore throat. “Sure, it’s my enunciation. Not the fact you drone on about the tempestuous nature of pixies for five minutes.”

Raphael’s smile didn’t reach his dark eyes. “For a mortal so favored by Fate, you certainly enjoy tempting it.”

“I’m not favored by Fate, I’m favored by you.”

“Well said.  Well spotted.”  Raphael chuckled and drained his cup before placing it aside and moving close, the fragrance of his musk burning your nostrils. His hand cupped your jaw and tilted your face up. “Not appreciated nearly enough, however. I labor long so that you may be the conduit of my brilliance.”

You couldn’t help but roll your yes, a twinge of unwelcome fondness stirring yet again within you for this curious devil. “I adore everything you create, Raphael.  Well…almost everything.”

“And what, pray tell, is the exception?”

You hesitated and pulled your head out of his grip, his long index finger trailing beneath your chin. “Well, that song about the hagspawn was pretty terrible.”

Raphael inclined his head. “Granted, it was not my best creation. Yet you did it justice, once you heeded my tender correction and stopped laughing.”

You rubbed your lower back at the unpleasant memory. “Yes…I remember your ‘correction’ quite well.”

“As always, it is my intent to make an impression.”  Raphael extended a hand which you took, preparing to be whisked back to his House of Hope. “Even amongst the most stiff-necked of my servants.”

A blast of hot air met your face as Raphael pulled your body through the familiar hellfire portal.  You didn’t mark the change, but Raphael had shed his human guise and now stood before you in full cambion form.  He stretched his arms and wings wide, clearing his throat before launching into a dramatic recitation of his newest poetic piece.

You sat in an armchair as far away from the roaring fire as possible, listening to Raphael’s deep voice paint the images of an epic tale. It was clearly another of his self-insertion stories with a protagonist modeled after how Raphael perceived himself. Which was a sight different than the reality.

Despite the blatant conceit, you couldn’t help but be drawn into the world he had created. You clapped enthusiastically at the end of his impassioned oratory.

As always, you were his biggest fan. Aside from himself of course.

Haarlep passed through the large room on the way back to the Boudoir he was often confined to.  The incubus wore a sleepy expression and the usual replication of Raphael’s image, carrying a mug of steaming liquid in hand.

“Raphael has just come up with the most exquisite tale, Haarlep!”  You said with excitement, not noticing Raphael’s glare on you soften slightly at your words.

“Believe me, cherub.  I’ve heard it all.”  Haarlep waved a dismissive hand in your direction and continued on his way.

“He doesn’t like me much.”  You said, a little put out as you always were at Haarlep’s disinterest.

“Pay him no mind.”  Raphael handed you yet another long sheaf of parchment whereon he’d scrawled more lyrics for you to memorize. “There is only one whose attentions you should crave.”

You glanced over his work and smiled, trying in vain to hide your delight at the new project. “Of course, but it does get a little confusing since you insist on him wearing your form.”

Raphael’s tail smacked your backside causing you to hiss at the sting. “Careful, little nightingale. Even my fondness for you has its limits.”

[yuellii]

a heart drawn around your name.

𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓-𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐗 ;; from the one that loves you, forever, and how they write such love letters

feat. kaveh, neuvillette, ei, ayato, lisa ( separately )

notes. gn reader, repost from an acct i never used iykyk

KAVEH.

Splattered strokes, always so, so dramatic.

He loops his letters like a simultaneous calligrapher and perfectionist, and you almost wonder if he does this for every piece of parchment he writes on. He once insisted that he doesn’t—and that fact alone makes you giddy at the thought. He admitted to writing so perfectly for you, and you alone.

His desk is a mess, but only on the side he keeps letters for and from you. As an artist at heart, he goes through many trials. not that he lets you see it, of course, but on nights he’s writing to you, his desk is scattered with scratch paper. And such loose sheets are filled to the brim with trials of poetry he comes up with in his head, or certain words and loops.

It has to be perfect, and he will ensure that. You’d find crossed out lines on those sheets, full of testing. you’d find the cheesiest of pick-up lines, the most dramatic ways to write a single word, and multiple practices of his own signature.

Because he needs you to be impressed. What good is he, if he cannot write you a new poem every letter he sends you? What good is he, if his handwriting does not look like pure art to you? He could easily stay up for hours on syntax alone.

And if you looked at the cuffs of his sleeves, or the skin of his wrists, you’d find black smudges. Little pen scribbles reminiscent of the very same phrases you’d find in your letters, for he writes them throughout the day. Whenever he thinks of you, it’s always a new line to add.

NEUVILLETTE.

His letters are like a storybook, developed in the passing time.

He begins with his letters so stiff, so formal in a way that is not uptight, but rather inexperienced. It’s something he initially curses himself for—so uptight and unable to express his emotions. And that’s when he develops the obsession with reading storybooks and poetry, for he becomes desperate to learn the ways of romantic speech.

Because of this, his letters become a certain type of endearing. They’re filled with metaphors and analogies galore; some are wrong, some don’t make sense, but the best part of it all were that they were completely original and they came from his heart. Transparency were not difficult either, not when he poured his entire soul out onto paper.

His fears, his emotions, his love—he tells it all. He write how his love for you hurts like a swallowing ocean sometimes, and how being away from you almost becomes too much to bear. He spills of secrets any other man would be too embarrassed to admit; but no, not him. His heart is laid out for you in the tear-stained parchments scratched with ink.

Once he sends one letter, he becomes a bit obsessed. He sends another one, and then suddenly another—until he’s writing almost every day just to speak to you.

After all, how could he help it? When he finds new ways—new words and new phrases to describe his love for you, how could help but write you another letter? You were his passion, his flame that made him human, and if he express such emotion through pen and paper instead of his face, then he’d take it.

RAIDEN EI.

She’s random with her letters, you never know what to expect.

The feeling is akin to passing notes in a classroom. Sometimes, within the passing, she’ll quickly jut out her hand, expecting you to take that piece of paper as fast as possible before she leaves. She's on official business, yet she still looks a bit shy.

Such notes are always so childish. you can tell they were written so quickly on an uneven surface—and they were always so thoughtful in a way that made you giggle. A lot of these messages were just letting you know she catered sweets tonight at Tenshukaku, implying she wanted you to come for the sugar. Other notes were simpler, some of which just noted that she thought your hair looked particularly pretty that day.

And other times, her messages are completely different. On some days, they come delivered to your door as a fully sealed letter, one that has the official shogun seal securing it closed. These are ones she actually has time to write—ones where her handwriting is more eligible.

But she has such a difficult time with words, she gets so frustrated. From embarrassment or from dissatisfaction, her trash bin is filled to the brim with crumpled pieces of papers—all of which were prior attempts of writing you a letter. It is times like these she wished she spent more time in humanity, for even writing you a simple letter made her nervous.

But she wanted to do this, no matter what. It’s worth it when she’s finally able to voice her love for you in writing.

KAMISATO AYATO.

His letters come in pure white envelopes with a red wax seal… so formal and pristine.

It's a bit weird. Something akin to an invitation or letter from the shogun herself. But the Kamisato crest stamped right on the seal tells you otherwise; and really, it was the only form of indication it was from your lover.

His letters are always folded so nicely inside of the envelope. you wouldn’t notice it—and he doesn’t expect you to—but the creases of the paper are exactly the same every time. He puts time into it; way more than a busy man should. If you scouted through his desk, you’d find a drawer with gold-lined parchment to the side, as well as expensive imported ink from Liyue, and a feathered pen imported from Mondstadt. There's also a creaser made of bone marrow from Sumeru and a metal architect ruler from Fontaine, both of which he uses to perfectly fold each letter every time.

He's an enigma; so machine-like, that he knows you don’t pay attention to all those little details. For all he knows, you probably think these letters were factory-made or processed as a batch, not handcrafted specifically by his fingertips. You probably thought this was something secondary to his time, unbeknownst to the delicacy he has adapted just to send you the most perfect of letters every time.

But, that was okay with him. As long as you were reading his words—and as long as he still felt sparks every time he drafted a new letter, it was alright. Plus, he always has more fun when he knows something that others don’t.

LISA MINCI.

There’s always a state of serenity when you cut open her letters. She sprays it with her perfume every time before she seals it; so that when you open it, you’re reminded of her. Very thoughtful, isn’t it?

It makes you smile every time, she just knows it. She's so confident in your love for her ( or, perhaps, she was so comfortable in her swelling adoration for you ), that she pays nothing to worry when she’s writing letters. They’re always so mindless with no coins to perfection or even prestige—one could even call it lazy-looking if they had no idea.

But if anything, she was comfortable. Her handwriting has always been fancy with a pinch of delicateness as her strokes were so thin, though they contained the pretties of loops in her letters that you could not take your eyes off of. Even when she was scribbling so fast, her handwriting was still so pretty. And she does this so, so often—for it’s hard for her pen to keep up when her unspoken thoughts about you raced miles in a minute.

Her parchments are simple; old, even, like pages you’d find in an old book at Mondstadt’s library. Which she likes to quote, in fact. Sometimes, she’ll open her letters with a quote from a romance book she was just reading, or one she randomly remembered. She’ll talk about it in the following sentences; and then at the end, she’ll always somehow tie it back to you.

So simple, yet so endearing. She doesn’t care if you find it that way or not. It’s because she trusts you, more than you’d think.

[snekjoy]

I genuinely can't believe that the rannett windblume thing happened, like???

They get trapped in a cage together, which is just. Such a romcom trope and then while they're there Bennett gives Razor all his food because he's worried for him ANS THEN THEY WRITE A LOVE POEM TOGETHER

Like it's not even me going "Oh this is a love poem bc I say so" THE POINT IS THEY WERE WRITING LOVE POEMS, TRAVELLER SAID IT WAS FULL OF ROMANCE, AND

THE POEM IS ABOUT RAZOR

"You and the Mare Jivari

So close and yet so far

One at the edge of the world

The other in the center of my heart

Wolfhook and dandelion

My Windblume offering to you."

That's so fucking romantic and Bennett needed another windblume to use than dandelion so what does he do? Think of another flower himself, like his ascension mats or something? NO HE ASKS RAZOR AND PUTS RAZOR'S WINDBLUME INTO THE POEM!

People's choice of windblume is a personal thing!! Most Mondstadters have their own idea of what the windblume is so Bennett including Razor's choice (which is entirely unconventional in that it's not a flower and is only in Wolvendom) makes the poem so personalised to Razor!! He could even have said Windwheel asters or something bc those are his ascension flowers but NO! He made the poem about Razor's Windblume choice!! (And his ascension mats)

Let me ask you: if someone is giving someone else a windblume and they choose a Wolfhook, would you assume that the person receiving or giving the Wolfhook is the one character we know to live in Wolvendom, aka the only place Wolfhooks grow? Yeah you would assume that wouldn't you, so why is Bennett writing about giving someone a Wolfhook as windblume in a romantic context if it's not about Razor???

And then the most damning piece of evidence: RAZOR SAID THE POEM MADE HIM FEEL WARM AND TINGLY!! GAYASS

And don't think I didn't notice that the first few lines of the poem are about the contrast between the emotional and physical difference between the person the poem is about and Bennett. Razor lives in Wolvendom, putting him physically distant from Bennett, but they're "friends" anyway!! They hang out!! They write love poems about each other!! Bennett speaks to Razor in a way softer voice than anyone else!! They're close!!

Also, while Bennett was writing this poem he was "so close and yet so far" from Razor because they were IN THE SAME CAGE BUT DIFFERENT COMPARTMENTS. That makes them close, but unable to actually be next to each other!!

Also, after this, Venti says the poem is good and invites Bennett back to go to a bar and celebrate. Bennett declines, not because he doesn't like drinking or because he has some vague other thing to do but because he wants to go explore with Razor specifically. They then disappear and appear next in the cutscene, where Bennett is teaching Razor all about adventuring and says "WE need to bring more food next time, or you'll go hungry!" HE MEANS THEY'RE GONNA CONTINUE TO HANG OUT AND THAT THE NEXT TIME WILL BE WITH RAZOR AND HE WANTS TO ACCOMMODATE FOR RAZOR'S QUIRKS LIKE HOW HE CAN EAT LOADS AND STILL BE HUNGRY!! HE'S MAKING CHANGES TO HIS OWN LIFE TO BETTER FIT RAZOR!!

And Razor also makes changes for Bennett!! He doesn't like loud stuff or people who talk too much (which makes me think he's autistic but we move that's a different post) and the reason he was at the Thousand Winds Temple in the first place was because Wolvendom was too loud! This establishes he struggles with loud noises, or the fact that the hunters in Wolvendom talk too much.

BENNETT TALKS A LOT. Just saying

Also, in the cutscene for that Windblume, they're headed into the city. We know the city is filled with people, especially during a festival, probably way more people than Wolvendom, but he still goes because Bennett is there. He's following Bennett into somewhere that makes him uncomfortable, which means he trusts him already!!

Also, in his voiceline about Bennett, he says he talks a lot. He acknowledges that Bennett talks a lot but he doesn't have an issue with it! He says "eat with him, never full" which could either mean Bennett keeps stopping to talk or that Razor doesn't want to stop hanging out, so he's never full because he doesn't want to be done with the meal. It could also mean that he's never "full" or sick of Bennett's talking which is just adorable.

Also, in the susbedo event, Paimon asks Bennett where Razor is, meaning whenever she sees Bennett she expects to see Razor. You realise this means they probably hang out so often people see them as a pair? Inseparable?

IN CONCLUSION they're so in love they're basically canon, they have so many signs and hints and stuff that suggests they're way closer to each other than anyone else. Basically whenever we see one of them, they're with the other or the other one is close behind. They're so in love u guys

[acrystalwitch]

(***NO N*zis or TERFs allowed to interact with this post or my blog*** This is a post for Norse pagans or polytheists looking to work with Odin. This is all based on my own experiences working with the all father and nothing here is to be taken as a hard fact. If your practice differs from my own that is totally fine. There will be a lot of UPG and SPG)

An incomplete summary of Odin in Norse mythology.

Odin, god of war and wisdom is a key figure in the Norse myths and is involved in a lot of the stories. He is the head of the Norse gods and is called the All father, because it’s by him that all of humans were created. He is married to Frigg and together they had Baldur and Hodr. Odin also has other sons, Thor, Vali, and Vidar.

He has two ravens Huginn and Muninn, and two wolves Geri and Freki.

He only has one eye, he sacrificed his other eye by throwing it into Mimir’s well in exchange for knowledge that could better help him prevent Ragnarok.

Another famous story of his is when he hung upside down from the tree of life for nine days and nine nights to get knowledge of other worlds and to be able to know everything about the runes.

The type of magic he practices (Seiðr) was a feminine type of magic that wasn’t always looked highly on when men would participate in it. Yet our Allfather was very practiced in it.

My experience working with him: One thing to know about working with Odin going in, he will be very honest and blunt. My other deities have a habit of being softer on my feelings than I’ve heard other devotees say they’ve been with them, I’m assuming because I’m very sensitive. But Odin..? He does not care. He will stop giving advice if I tell him I don’t want to hear it. But, if I ask for advice…oh boy, am I gonna get his full opinion. He is very much a father in the way he goes about things, he cares but he wants his followers to push themselves as much as they can, learning as much as you can and always growing, never staying sedentary for too long.

I have a notebook dedicated to him that I’ve been using to work on learning the runes and that seems to be the best offering to give him in my practice right now. He never misses a chance to remind me I need to get back to learning the runes too.

I always wondered why it mattered so much to him that I learn them. Eventually he told me that it was because they really would be useful in spells, and wards and making bind runes out of them is something I’m learning to do now.

He is not the easiest deity to work with, he may even push your buttons on purpose to get you to think harder on things. I’ve noticed he’s even been rude before just to see if I’d stand up for myself and set boundaries and then he’ll explain himself after. Lots of tests trials and teachings. But man, is it worth it for the immense amount of knowledge and mentorship that he can bring. All in all, I’m glad he came to me later in my practice as I might’ve been scared off from deity work if he was the first. But, I love him to pieces and hope to work with him for a long time.

Offerings and associations of Odin

(Odin does not eat food so I’ve seen many people say not to give him food offerings, I disagree! Give him things that he can feed to Geri and Freki. He is known to still fill his plate and just give them bits over meals. So don’t hesitate to gift him any food offerings you would to any other Norse god)

-colors: gray, dark blue, black

- tree Imagery, Yggdrasil in particular

- raven Imagery, black feathers

- wolf Imagery

- clear quartz

- onyx

- blue goldstone

- amethyst

- carnelian

- the hermit tarot card

- the hanged man tarot card

- the four of cups tarot card

- the king of swords tarot card

- mead, wine, alcohol

- poetry (he writes poems!)

- mugwort scent/incense

- Ansuz rune ᚨ

- learn about the runes

- learn his myths

- learn useful and practical knowledge

- read books

- ask him for advice

There are many more ways to learn about him and get close to him. A great one is reading the Hávamál. If you meditate or do tarot or rune casting those are also great ways to contact him and get closer to him.

Signs he might be reaching out; seeing ravens more than usual or in non native areas, very windy days, rain, seeing his name often, feeling drawn to his mythology, seeing his tarot cards pop up often, you already work with one of his sons (I think he sent Thor to me first to soften my idea of the Norse gods and be a warm intro into their pantheon.)

He is a great god to work with, lots of work though. Odin is not for the weak minded, but he’s been so worth getting to know.

[six-eyed-samurai]

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This relationship should not be condoned and was only written for entertainment purposes. Dark content like kidnapping and stalking is in here, so don't read if it makes you uncomfortable. Minors, scat and shoo and scram!

I can't love you, 

Nor can I leave you.

You were just another face in the crowd at first, another pair of hands who clapped for once again representing and winning for the school at some competitions - honestly she had been made to participate and leave victorious in so many they all blurred together, indistinguishable, like the faces in the crowd that shifted from patronizing pressure in the hallways to respectful blankness in the audience.

She steps off the stage, certificate in hand (another meaningless paper to be pressed upon the wall) and back to her seat to endure the rest of the pathetically self-congratulating assembly, feeling the burning gazes of hundreds of envious eyes searing into her back. She turns around slightly, wondering who it would be this time and she catches sight of you, your perky smile, your playful little wave…your proud, amazed eyes that shone with no malice but only awe.

She whips her back round again, cheeks pink and full of an emotion even the number one poetry writer like her couldn’t pen. 

You and I, 

Summer flower in autumn weather,

Sunshine in the thundering storm.

You both meet again, when she prepares to leave the hall, opting to wait until most people have already left to avoid the pitiless, prejudiced bullying everyone seemed to have for her and praying for the parents to exit faster. She slips out, head down and with the purpose of blending in, only to run into you and your friend waiting at the double doors.

“Hey! I just wanted to tell you I read that poem you wrote and it was really amazing! You must be a genius to write something like that, I know I can’t. Don’t worry about what everyone else says.”

She doesn’t respond, eyes nearly popping out of her head as your friend pulls you away possessively telling her not to praise a weirdo like her. Nobody had ever said that before. Nobody. It was always provocative taunts or promises of punishments for never being enough. A precocious child imprisoned to be prestigious whether through pretense or not. And you just passed her a possible key.

She fell for you right there and then; you fell right into her traps shortly after.

I can't have you,

Within somebody else's arms.

You were just pleased to make a patient friend like her, the sort who’d be sure to provide you with extra snacks or help out with homework, especially with her perceptive mind. You ignored the prying gossipers, the pompous teasing and perturbing warnings that came from all sides about her - loser like her had to have some perverted secret, right? Why else would no one want to be her friend?

You wrote it off as them finding her stare to be quite…even you would be the first to admit it was oddly penetratingly piercing. 

Maaaybe her mannerisms too. A tiny bit too protective to be platonic. 

Never mind, it was just part of her personality! The nasty rumors about her being a creepy stalker were preposterous lies and you’d sooner give those perpetrators a piece of your mind if she hadn’t prevented you!

The older ones who had known her longer provoked you the most: what was all this plethora of not wanting history to repeat itself? You brushed them all off. Don’t be silly, sure she was a little persistent and persuasive about doing things her way, but she was a perfect student and perfectly fine!

In everyone else’s mind they substituted ‘fine’ for ‘psycho’ - but heh, you weren’t to know that.

You and I, 

Tied by red strings of fate,

Trailed by red pools of blood.

Okay, your friendship had been progressing well for the last few months; you used the term ‘well’ loosely. Your other friends no longer wanted anything to do with you (her, really), which pained you and peeved her but it just proved she was the only friend that would persevere through the years.

Your parents were another story. Much to their panic you begin to deem some of her more…peculiar behavior as pardonable. Her clinginess that was heightening to the point of a parasitical? She’s been touch-starved her whole life, she deserved it! Her passionate declarations of staying together forever? Well, after your other friends had purposely kicked you out like that, it felt nice. Your personal objects like plushies, pens and photos that appeared to ‘mysteriously’ disappear not long after she would show up? Hey, calm down, you’ve always been a rather sloppy person, no wonder they went missing!

You had a vague idea that her parents were the most ideal, what with her perplexing refusal to ever let you visit and instead pushed you to taking her to your house. That was fine, poor thing, you were more than pleasant enough to lend her some of your plentiful clothes when she ended up staying the night over.

She dedicated all her recently written poems and plots to you and you alone. This made you blush to no end - it was pretty sweet of her and anyway nobody had ever thought of you that way before. Though you urged her to submit some of the more poignant papers for contests she never did, replying they were too precious to be let go of.

What a prize of a friend you had found!

You and I, 

Abuses and broken promises, 

Dressed in sweet nothings and my love.

Another picturesque photo of  you pressed onto the wall.

It was surrounded by others, snapshots of every single picture of you she could find on social media, yearbooks, the cameras in your house. Mementos and proffered items you had presented her with. A shrine for her, your devotedly pious priestess, to worship you.

Nobody ever told you and for that she was glad they all had an innate phobia of her poisonous potential to make them pay for ruining the one permanently perfect thing in her pointless existence. It was just one private prohibition they knew not to touch. Even the newbies suspected there was a reason to keep away from her. 

Told you about the last friend she had pursued over. Ah well, the past was the past. 

All geniuses were a little mad - so what if she was a little psycho?

I can't take you,

So I'll make you stay.

YANDERE ALPHABET MASTERLIST

[builtbybrokenbells]

belladonna | prologue

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

Masterlist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: mentions of toxic family situations, swearing, smoking

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

WHERE IT ALL BEGAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

05.19.22

06.21.22

07.04.22

08.02.22

08.31.22

09.15.22

Character Guide

Y/N

Vincent

Dylan

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

[duskspring]

I have been guilty of not giving Sunshine enough love so here I am to repent

~For all her usual big, out there, enthusiastic antics, she’s surprisingly shy about singing in front of others. Yes, she does it on stage because she thinks she blends into the background there, but outside of that there’s no way you’ll get her to sing even a single line

~She’s the type of person to very much be herself around people, but at night when she’s in bed she reflects on her interactions that day and worries she was being annoying or ‘too much’

~She’s a theater kid. She knows all the classics and all the obscure pieces. I can totally see her favorite being Mamma Mia because ABBA

~She’s obsessed with fire, more so than most full on fire ghouls. She can stare into the dancing flames for hours, enamored with the beauty of it. She may not always be the best with words, but she can write endless poems about her love of fire

~She’s INCREDIBLY good at math. You can throw any wild equation at her and she’ll spit back an answer within seconds. There’s a reason she was asked to stay behind to do taxes

~She’s super flexible, often doing yoga with Cumulus, aerial sports with Cirrus or gymnastics with Rain

~Super random one for funsies: Girl will see a bug on her windowsill or any place at all and just… eat it

~She’s super romantic and people always forget it. She casually asks to spend the evening with someone and they walk into her room filled with lit candles, they’re favorite snack at the ready and a very smiley Sunshine ready for cuddles

~Speaking of cuddles, she needs them all the time. She has difficulty sleeping if she’s not holding onto something or someone, to the point that half of her bed is always taken up by big plushies. Sometimes another ghoul, or even Papa or sibling, will be minding their own business and suddenly they’ve got Sunshine clinging to their leg or weaving her arm through theirs

~Sunny is also one of the ghouls who interacts most with the siblings of sin. She’s constantly helping out with tasks when she’s bored or accompanying people in their leisure. Whether that be a picnic or sitting on the same couch in the library reading books

~She’s also SUPER close with Aurora, like best friends. They often bond over metal music and have multiple band shirts that at this point belong to them both, since they keep lending them out to each other. Those two love matching each other’s outfits

NSFW below the cut:

~When she gets in her head too much, sometimes she just needs someone to treat her right. Praising words, a lot- if not all- focus on her pleasure and an opportunity to forget about everything else

[fandomshifter]

hiii, i loved your writing!! 🫶

can i ask for hcs of toby x s/o masc who has a sunny personality but is very protective of toby? (srry for bad english, is not my first language! *-*)

TOBY X MASC READER - 🩸

I hope these are okay for you!! :3

⦻ You would share clothes and Toby would compliment you all the time say things like, "Hey handsome!" Or "Looking manly there babe!". He would make sure you feel loved all the time.

⦻ As for you, after you and Toby got together, you grew fairly attached to him. Wearing pieces of his clothes whenever he isn't home and sleeping in the same bed all the time.

⦻ When Toby was home you would be hanging out and doing things toghether like; Baking, cooking, drawing and other things. You would spend most of your time with him.

⦻ Your very sunny and cheerful personality would throw other residents in the mansion off but it was a nice change. If someone said something mean to Toby, you would become angry and your tone of voice would switch up. Now your not the kind of person to be 'all bark no bite' you would hit a bitch for your boyfriend.

⦻ Another thing you both have is alot of matching things: Necklaces, bracelets, shirts, piercings, tattoos etc. You constantly wear them and ontop of this alot of the things you guys match with are hand made!!

⦻ Slenderman letting you both go on missions toghether is a slim chance but when it does happen, the job takes longer than it should and sometimes it doesn't even get done right. You both mess around in the woods or in the parks near them and completely forget about the mission, too in love with your boyfriends antics to care.

⦻ You both love going down to the lake and messing around there in the summer, you both hate staying inside the mansion for days on end.

⦻ He write poems and draws you all the time, he has done it so much you have a space on you wall that just full of pages and pages of things he has written or drawn for you.

[silverskye13]

poetry advice? I write songs, not the same thing, but close enough. I really admire what I've seen you write, and I know poetry is pretty much a "go for anything" field, but I tend to get stuck when transitioning topics. I don't know, just thought I might throw it out there?

Bonus: favorite piece of poetry you've written?

(Good luck with your... 700+ asks?)

Oh oof, I can try to give poetry advice? I'm going to be honest, poetry is a place I'm very insecure. I write it for myself, for a few select individuals, and occasionally as a larger part of art/fic pieces.

I think my best advice would be: read a lot of it. Which I feel like is advice I give to a lot of people about a lot of things, but part of learning is consuming. Read it and look at it critically, collect the things you like and analyze why.

Also, poetry more than anything, I would say, don't delete anything, even stuff you really hate in the moment. Toss it in a scraps document, where you can search for it later. A lot of poetry is curation. It's writing an idea over and over and picking better, more succinct or impactful words, figuring out better alliteration, reworking for a better rhyme. But those discarded phrases might be a jumping off point for a future project, or something that strikes you as tired or rote for one topic might be amazing for another.

Favorite piece of poetry I've written. Ahm. Hm. Well. I'll toss it under the cut since it's long. For this poem, I was experimenting with the idea of continual flow: In poetry, punctuation, not sentence/stanza break, denotes where the reader is supposed to rest a sentence. I wanted to mess with the idea that the poem is a long run on sentence, with no rhymes, that has roughly 6-8 syllables per line, with a sudden stop when the only punctuation finally happens. It took some doing [and it still doesn't flow nearly as smoothly as I'd like] but it manages the sudden stop at the end very well.

Sprinter

I write poetry at a sprint it feels like mania where it swells up inside and it runs and runs like a sentence you can’t breathe through and I was told once punctuation is important but to breathe is to rest and to rest is to end and don’t they know a full stop is exactly that don’t they know a question does not answer and the mark that denotes its purpose is discordant don't they know that to end is to end is to end and you cannot stop you cannot breathe because we are sprinting through every moment we are running to meet an end and every moment is precious but every moment is fleeting and the beautiful wonderful amazing things are but glimpses yet the sadness lingers and its just a moment in time but it lasts forever but forever is shorter than it looks and the horizon stretches but its the edge of the world and don't they know the world isn’t flat but there is a line on a machine and it beeps in mountains and valleys and it screams when it plains don’t you know that I’m sprinting because life is like a box of chocolates it rots.

[chuuyrr]

Hi! Idk if you also write for Poe but I rlly need some more oneshots or scenarios or fanfics of him 😞😞 but can you do something where we’re scarlet witch and Poe is our boyfriend? How would he react having a s/o who’s really strong and powerful? And how would he and ranpo and maybe other agency members feel about him having us as his girlfriend? Sorry if this isn’t specific enough! Idk what else to put in this request 😭

poe with a scarlet witch! s/o

bungo stray dogs x scarlet witch! reader

masterlist of the series

╰➤ CW(s): spoilers from bungo stray dogs (specifically season 2), headcanons + scenarios, major fluff content

╰➤ PAIRING(s): edgar allan poe

headcanons !

poe is socially awkward and timid by nature, but when he's with you, his dearly beloved, he's a tad different. poe is a lot more confident. his voice isn't as quiet, and it's full of love and respect for you.

i think you and poe are a match made in heaven. even your abilities go together.

poe's ability, black cat in the rue morgue, allows him to create a fantasy world governed by his own set of rules, with his own writings serving as the media.

you, on the other hand, have the ability to alter reality due to your possession of chaos magic as the scarlet witch.

you can even manipulate reality at a molecular level very similar to his, allowing you to recreate the fantasy world he creates in real life, which is incredible.

as the scarlet witch, or as an ability user with chaos magic, you are undeniably strong and powerful.

if you wanted, you could even go head-to-head with the port mafia executive who is renowned for his gravity manipulation abilities. you would win.

it truly astounds and somewhat frightens poe how the same red psionics you possess that can wreak havoc and alter reality can be so domestic and endearing when you use it to leviate him the cup of tea you made for him, or when you use it to leviate all sorts of kitchen utensils in the kitchen while you make him food.

you can be really frightening if you want to, especially if you have to fight. let's say you want to protect poe or another ability user.

poe is astounded by how quickly you transform from a sweet, kind, and somewhat shy darling into a straight-up violent force to be reckoned with.

i feel like poe would definitely be a little scared, because again, you're strong and powerful with such an ability, err, abilities?

but poe is mostly bewitched of his darling—like, you know how dazai stares at chuuya when he uses corruption?—poe has the same kind of gaze towards you whenever you use your chaos magic to the fullest.

oh, and being poe's beloved, he spoils you a lot. if poe sees you staring at a piece of clothing or jewelry, he'll get it for you in an instant. a manuscript worth millions is nothing compared to the things he buys.

i also think poe is a traditional type of lover. again, he lavishes you with gifts, and among them is a bouquet of your favorite flowers, as well as handwritten love letters and poems.

his poems might be cheesy but romantic, making you feel loved at all times. they are all about your smile, beauty, strength, and his vow and desire to love and be with you forever. poe finds your flushed cheeks and the soft giggle that escapes your lips cute as you read his poem or love letter.

being poe's beloved also entails being close to karl, which fills his heart with joy. karl actually likes you a lot. you enjoy cuddling and patting the little fella's head.

however, whenever karl clings to you more, it makes poe a little jealous, but it still amazes him (yet again) that you can easily read karl's thoughts with your special ability and communicate with him in the same way that he can, if not better.

scenario !

"you'll get him this time. i'm sure of it!"

poe had written yet another mystery novel to put his rival, edogawa ranpo, to the test once more. you both came to a halt in front of the office, you knocking because poe was shy, and it wasn't long before the door was opened.

"oh, it's poe-san!" atsushi exclaimed, "you must be looking for ranpo-san. come in, he's here!"

you trailed after poe as he entered the office, and that's when atsushi and the others realized he hadn't come sinply with karl.

all eyes were drawn to you at the same time. however, poe mistook it for everyone staring at him, prompting him to stick closer to your side, with karl, who was on his shoulder, transferring to yours instead, to which you responded by petting the top of karl's fluffy and soft head.

"hello and welcome! you must be poe-san's friend," atsushi said with a friendly smile, but he quickly realized how familiar you were, "hmm, but i feel like i've seen you before miss."

"huh, you're right atsushi-kun.." dazai exclaimed, blinking as he and the others stared at you.

but ranpo raised a brow them, "you guys seriously don't remember the three-way war?"

"three-way war?" kunikida tilted his head only for him to realize it, along with everyone, "!!!"

"i'm [surname] [name]. it's a pleasure to meet you, armed detective agency," you introduced yourself with a slight bow and a friendly smile.

"huh, i do remember seeing you during the guild war. as a matter of fact, we all did. you were there, saving everyone from the onslaught of the mind control ability that had gotten out of hand and rescuing civilians left and right," kunikida furrowed his brows.

"now that kunikida-san has mentioned it [name]-san, you were the one who saved me when i was being attacked while delivering the doll to dazai-san. you made me a forcefield and enhanced my speed with your psychic energy manipulation ability," atsushi recalled.

during the guild war, everyone remembered a young woman with [color] hair who had the ability to manipulate red psychic energy. although it was unclear whether the woman was on the guild's side or not, she had assisted numerous citizens and ability users during the incident. you played an important role in the yokohama incineration.

"ah, that? you guys flatter me too much! it wasn't a big deal. i just like to accompany and help out my boyfriend and people who need it with my wiggly-woos, that's all," you exclaimed, giggling and waving your fingers in the air.

with the exception of ranpo, who already knew the information, the armed detective agency members responded with a series of surprised looks and gasps.

"you're poe-san's significant other?!" atsushi proclaimed before bowing his head, "ah, i'm so sorry [name]-san! i didn't know!"

"mhm!" as you hummed and nodded in agreement, poe was shy by how everyone was reacting. poe blushed and turned away, holding your sleeve instead of your hand.

"well, that's.. certainly a big revelation.." dazai stated, blinking profusely.

"you guys are really idiots. idiots i say!" ranpo sighed, folding his arms across his chest, "how can [name]-chan not be poe-kun's significant other? just look at the way he sticks to her and holds her sleeve!"

"h-how are you the same person you were during the three-way war?" tanizaki asked, his sweat dripping as he remembered you being terrifying with the way your eyes and fingertips glowed red with power, your hair flowing in the breeze as you floated in the middle of the sky, and a serious expression on your face.

"what do you mean?" you tilted your head in confusion, laughing a little at his comment.

everyone was dumbfounded by your cluelessness, their sweat even dropping.

"i agree with you. sometimes my darling can be so clueless at how powerful and strong she can be with her ability," poe sighed, shaking his head as he handed his new manuscript to ranpo, "but regardless, i love [name]."

"heh, that's real sweet of you poe-kun," said ranpo before taking a look at his manuscript with a smile on his features.

[ author's notes ! you inspired me to take on scarlet witch! reader x bungo stray dogs characters, so don't apologize. i also think the request was good, so yeah !! i also think you're right. there isn't much bsd! poe content in here, so let me fix that for you by adding a new one on the list out here hihi. thank you so much. hope you enjoyed reading this <3 ]

[terresdebrume]

More fic covers | More fic recs

I mentioned I made fic cover in a recent post and it reminded me that I'd meant to make one for SJTrinity's Band of Brothers fic: Under Thunder and Rain which is THE Webgott fic, as far as I'm concerned. I've reread it something like five time in the past three months, it's ridiculous. You should read it to.

More about my thought process under the cut, with some spoilers.

So, the entire fic is amazing, of course, but the scene that keeps standing up in my mind is the one in chapter 4, where David is about to sail away on the Tusitala and Joe tries to convince him not to. I love this scene, the vulnerability in both of them, the fact that they find each other, the fact that Joe doesn't realize that it's him David was looking for in the sea. (I know David compares himself to the Shark from the Frisco chapter, but to me his fight to catch said shark is also an excellent parallel of the way he constantly has to reel Joe in and then give him some slack before he breaks the line in his struggle.)

All this to say: I had to have the Tusitala on the cover, if only because if this boat could talk it would be able to tell the tale of how Joe and David finally stop struggling and come together for good. The rain, of course, is a reference to the title and the poem David writes Joe in chapter 5, but I still wanted a bright blue sky as the background because I feel like the vivid and peaceful color are a good contrast to the way they struggle to find their way to one another (and also it reminds me of Episode 10 of BOB, where the color is back in the world and it feels like everything should be alright, but Easy is still losing men and none of them is free of the weight of the war.

The title and author name being on pieces of paper is, of course, a nod to Joe's box full of David's letters and notes, which is also featured against the title card. I wanted watercolor of a bag of groceries for the upper left corner, to further reference that first note and the fact that we don't know how significant it is until the end of the story, because Joe keeps all his cards fucking close to the chest, even if he also betrays himself in his struggle.

(Full disclosure, on my latest rereads the bits that caught my brain were

the time David asks Joe if his future wife does have a smile to die for and Joe says "yeah, it's a great smile. Drives me nuts." While running a finger over David's lips

"He wouldn't add or take away a single thing, and the people who read that book would know how fucking lucky he had been, how he had fought against it and gotten it anyways, this symphony of a life.")

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any graphic on Canva that fit the style of the rest of the cover, so I got a pastry instead. I picked the croissant because, while not extremely sweet for a delicatessen, it's very buttery, and, well: "Copious amounts of sugar and butter clearly loosened him in a way even sex couldn't achieve, because when David came and stood beside him by the stove, Joe threw an arm around his shoulder and bumped their heads together, then playfully tried to wrestle him off his feet." which I feel is also a delightfully deep insight into Joe in general.

And last but not least: the transparent text is the last note David writes Joe in the fic, standing in as the last page of Joe's unwritten book of them.

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; thomas thorne

it’s a crime that there isn’t more bbc ghosts content in the tags, so i decided to contribute in the only way that i can

this is my first time writing for this series, so there may be some aspects that feel ooc

reader is written as being gender neutral

one of the most obvious things about thomas is that he’s a hopeless romantic; the sort that will go the full nine yards, and even further at times, in order to adequately woo and court whoever catches his eye

he’ll write/compose flowery verses in your name — sonnet after sonnet dedicated to the curve of your lip when you smile and the glow of your eyes in the moonlight

he will also perform these poems in front of you whenever he gets the chance irrespective of who you’re around — which after his death tends to consist of a very vocally annoyed group of his fellow ghosts and a rather zoned-out alison (as well as mike who, whilst having no real idea what’s going on, is just happy to be semi-included)

boundaries aren’t really a thing that thomas considers when trying to woo you, especially after his death, and he’ll traverse any boundary (social or physical) to be in your presence with the promise of a story or a proposition on the tip of his tongue

he’s incredibly protective of you and is quick to anger and offence when someone insults or dismisses you — which, however minor said action may have been, will be met with challenges, insults and promises of a duel

(which, considering his history, is either an incredibly stupid or oddly endearing thing)

though despite this general forwardness, he also tends to fall back on the methods of flirting that he was used to using in life — namely handkerchief folding — which can very easily lead to more confusion if you’re unaware of what he’s doing

he never stops romancing and wooing you no matter how long you’ve been together — whether it’s been days or centuries he’ll put in the same amount of energy into complimenting and dating you and ensuring that you feel nothing short of adored

he isn’t really used to having his feelings returned and has become uncomfortably accustomed to rejection (whether perceived like with isabel, or actual like with alison) — and whilst he would want nothing more than to be loved, the idea of his love being requited seemed like more like a dream than a reality

until you, of course, which would have come as quite the shock and would have left him nothing short of overjoyed and would have led to his overly dramatic flirtations becoming much more blatant and frequent

thomas is quick to jealousy (especially in his life or if you were alive at the start of your courtship) and he’ll address it one of two ways depending on the circumstances of your relationship

if he’s unable to interfere (e.g. he’s a ghost and you and the other party are alive) he’ll remove himself from the situation entirely by seeking out his sighing place and, well, staring forlornly out of the window and composing sad poetry whilst he waits for you to come after him

if he’s able to interfere (e.g. another ghost is the problem) then he absolutely will by inserting himself into the situation and turning your attention back to him however he can — usually talking loudly over the other person by announcing a new piece of poetry he’d made in your honour, or by challenging the other person in some way

the usual source of his envy is julian because of his overly sexual nature and his tendency to proposition you and do anything else he can to get under thomas’ skin

though the other ghosts can be the source of his ire if he deems them as having stolen your attention from him — especially if they’ve made you laugh or you’re spending more time with them than you usually would (such as if you entertain humphrey for a while whilst you go looking for his body, or if you watch through a ww2 documentary with the captain)

he will watch you undress and bathe if you’re alive, being something of a literal peeping-tom in death — but he’ll get rather flustered if you actively invite him to watch

also gets rather flustered if you return his compliments — or if you compose some poetry for him

if you’re in a situation where physical contact his possible then you can expect his clinginess to increase tenfold, to the extent that you’ll sparsely find a moment where he’s far away

he’s always there, always with his hands on you in some way: rubbing slow circles on your waist and hips when you slow dance at night; intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing your hand every so often if he notices your nerves, bringing it up to his lips and chastely kissing your knuckles just to make you smile; squeezing your thigh lightly as you sit side by side or wrapping his arm around your waist as you lean against him during meetings; wrapping his arms around you from behind as he leans his head on your shoulder and watches you go about your day; gently playing with or even helping you style your hair; caressing the side of face after he kisses you or as he waits for you to wake up in the morning

doesn’t necessarily rely on nicknames (tends to call you by your name with the prefix “my”), but will call you things like “my love”, “my darling”, or “my heart” on occasion when he’s feeling particularly emotional

if you were someone he was courting during his life, he’d be very big on sending love letters and gifting you whatever he can get his hands on (be that jewellery or clothing or something else to your tastes), but in death he has to settle for memorising his poems and asking alison for help with things he can’t quite accomplish on his own

dates are frequent but usually rather relaxed due to your circumstances — with the most extravagant thing you can manage being whatever alison and mike can afford to arrange out of pocket (which usually isn’t all that much, but they do try to help)

[lingering-42-long]

Idk how many more ideas I have left in me lol

Request - König OR Rodolfo Parra x F! Reader [fluff]

Prompt/Idea - They're always writing poems/drawing stuff but they've lost inspiration. That's until they meet the reader on base or outside of the base, and immediately they begin to write/draw about them. The reader notices them and tries to talk to them, but they freak out and walk away, just for the art piece to fall out of their book. The reader picks it up and smiles

An Artist’s Muse

König x f! reader

I loved the idea of both so I may do another for Rudy. If this gets 20 likes I’ll do a Rudy version!

Sorry I have been inactive, I didn’t have any writing juice in me…. This is a short but sweet story. I changed it up a little bit because I didn’t read the full thing and I should’ve lol. I still think this is super sweet.

Warnings: none, fluff

Scenario: when König meets his girl for the first time, he gets the sudden urge to open his sketch book to draw.

Austria was a beautiful place with scenery that rivaled even some of the best locations anywhere else in Europe or America for that matter. König believed it wholeheartedly. This was his home where he grew up with his father and mother on their farm. He loved it here, though he hated the people of his town to some degree. But here he was sitting in another local area in a small café right outside of the main street. He was away from his obligations for a few months. He needed some time to recover and some time to rest. Just to be by himself.

One of his favorite past times was art. Growing up his mother sent him to an art school where he fell in love with art. He enjoyed doing a large variety of different things ranging from acrylic to oil watercolor and sketching with pencils and pens. He was a natural talent and everyone believed that he had a knack for it. He even entered a few of his pieces into a few contests and even one a little bit of prize money here and there. One might think that he would’ve chosen a path dealing with something in art for his career but he needed some thing else to channel his aggression, while art was a good way to relax, he still needed some thing else to fuel his mind.

As he was sitting, trying to think of some thing to draw, anything would be good at this point, he heard the door chime from where he was at his table. The café wasn’t usually busy at this time of the day but there were the occasional people that would be going back-and-forth ordering drinks or grabbing a quick bite to eat before heading off to another meeting or leaving to go do some thing. He didn’t like going during the times that were a little busy. As he took a sip from his coffee, he looked up to see a girl. This made him almost choke on his hot beverage, to him she was beautiful. Her hair flowed gracefully over her shoulders and her beautiful eye sparkled as she was trying her hardest to speak to the barista in his native tongue of German. It wasn’t good he wouldn’t lie but he could see the effort that she was trying. Thankfully the barista also knew English and help the girl out order her drink. König wanted to hide and not be seen. Out of all the days an angel had to land on this one particular afternoon.

The girl sat in a table next to a window across from him. She had brought a book to read and seems to be enjoying the hard cover. Inspiration hit him hard. Carefully pulling out his sketchpad once again, he began quietly working away every once in a while taking a quick glance in her direction just enough to remember features before sketching more on the page.

She stayed only for an hour before getting up, finishing her coffee, putting it in the trash, and waving goodbye to the baristas. He wanted to go after her, to show her what he had done so far, but he knew that would be awkward for both of them. She might think that he was stocking her and the last thing he wanted was to startle her. He was now pretty grumpy about the whole thing. All he wanted to do was to give her his drawing of her and hopes of asking her if she wanted to grab coffee soon, but now his chances were ruined because he didn’t have the courage to ask. He groaned and lightly hit his head against the table. He hated his social awkwardness, he always did. He just wanted the courage to go up and ask her.

Sighing, he picked up his equipment and put them back into his bag before he to finish this coffee and left for the day. As he walked out, he wanted to see if he could spot her anywhere on the street, but it was like she vanished. There was no trace of her. Cursing to himself quietly, he made his way to his car to head back to his families homestead.

3 weeks later

It has been three weeks since König had seen her and he finally lost hope in her coming back. Once again, he was sitting at his favorite table trying to come up with some idea to sketch some thing else outside of this memory of this mysterious girl. As he was about to give up, the door opened again and the same girl came back. She was talking to the barista about how she had made a trip to the capital city with some of her friends for school before ordering herself another cup of coffee and walking to the table where she sat last as she once again opened her book and began reading. König wasted in no time sketching out the finishing touches to her.

She got up to use the restroom and left her book open to the page where she was at. Taking in all of his courage, König stood up and with the paper in his hand, carefully placed it in her book where she was reading before hastily making his way back to his table hoping that the shadows hit him well enough for her not to notice. A part of him was praying that she would find him and talk to him and another part of him dreaded the idea of being caught.

When the girl came back she saw the paper and looked over it. A small blush formed over her cheeks as she quickly scanned the room for the person that could have done this. Her eyes landed on König, Who was fidgeting with his pencil sharpener, too nervous to look up. She closed her book and walked over to him.

“Did you do this?” She asked

König looked up and nodded shyly.

“It’s very beautiful.” The girl smiled, “Thank you for making me your muse.”

“O-oh no problem! You are very b-beautiful and I wanted to capture your radiance.” König Wanted to be run over by a truck. He sounded so cliché and stupid.

The girl blushed and gave a light laugh, “Well your not too bad yourself. I’m (y/n) by the way.”

“König.” He applied alittle to quickly and abruptly, but the girl didn’t seem to take notice of this.

“Conich?” She tried to say his name on her tongue.

“König.” He made the syllables a lot more clearer for her to hear.

“Con…Kön…ing…. König?” She asked looking at him if that was how she needed to say it.

The man grinned happily “Yes! Good!” He felt like there was a million butterflies just dancing around in his stomach. It made him happy and wanting to throw up all at the same time. Was this love? He felt at once a long time ago in his youth only to have it be betrayed on him.

“Well König, it was nice meeting you, your really good at this, you made my day…. Well I will see you around.”

“W-wait!” He stood up a little too fast making the table bump against his legs and the chair creek behind him. “Ummm…. I was wondering if you would like to grab some coffee sometime… if not I understand.” He couldn’t look at her directly. And fiddled with his hands as he was trying to come up with a sentence without sounding like an idiot or a creep.

(Y/n) just smiled and nodded “sure I would love too… tomorrow same time?” She asked.

“Ja… that would be good.” He nodded vigorously.

“Ok König I will see you tomorrow.” The girl blushed and walked back over to her table to finish reading her book with the paper in her hand. König practically collapsed back into his chair, he could hear his heart beating in his rib cage harder than it had ever beated before.

He got up after a little bit of calming himself down, to leave. He waved shyly back at (y/n) and she returned the wave smiling back at him making the tall man blush even more, as he made his way to the door. Once he got back into his car, he stared blankly at the roof trying to collect some thought that was flowing through his head that came up empty. Did he really just find a girl and was able to win her over with just a silly piece of art? Surely he couldn’t be that talented in doing that the only time he ever seen that happen was through films. He prayed to whatever was listening to him, that this would be the one for him, the one person who he had been searching for.