rebiirthday-archived
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been like five months so i might as well get around to dropping my new url lmfao
@seedeat-h
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I remade again bc I’m gay. Hmu for the url
#▽ Heavy lids & lunar lullabies — OOC.#flash back to every time i've said in the last four months that I Would Not Remake#welp#i'm a liar what else is new#i'm uh#also going by a new alias#bc people suck#anyway yeah
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My 𝙝𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙩 of crawling in your bed at night,
Is leading you to thinking that this is for life.
But I’m starving for 🇾🇴🇺🇷 🇦🇹🇹🇪🇳🇹🇮🇴🇳.
While you’re begging for 🇲🇾 🇦🇫🇫🇪🇨🇹🇮🇴🇳.
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Is it true if I remember a dead boy one thousand different ways, a thousand new boys will rise from my mouth? Will the sea give him back?
Michael Lee, from The Only Worlds We Know (via buttonpoetry)
#I'M CRYING#AHHHHH#❤ A loon’s wail tells a death’s tale — B x A.#notjustaletter#tazi look at this BULL SHIT
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rebiirthday-a:
starswrit:
@rebiirthday ♡’d this for a starter from L!
There was concern about B, that much was certain even prior to being informed of it directly upon L’s return to Wammy’s House. The word odd was utilized, though presumably not with the intention of merely portraying B as idiosyncratic; no, in this case, it was uttered with a tinge of alarm. In truth, he remained wary of his own capabilities to discern where B’s nature resided despite Watari’s apparent belief that he would be successful in doing so. As it was, he hardly considered himself the pinnacle of normal or proper methodology in conduct. That thought remained embedded in L’s mind as he entered the greenhouse ( one of the initial locations it was suggested he might find B ). The assumption proved a correct one, as his gaze settled upon a boy possessing only slightly fewer years than he did a few feet from the entrance.
Awkward in his approach, due in part to his own predisposition to the anti-social yet exacerbated by the disagreeable sensation of wearing shoes, he closed the space between them before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Roger said that you spend a lot of time out here. I can see why.”
Beyond never meant to earn the title that branded him now; deviant. It coaxed many other synonyms, very few with which he agreed. Humans slandered the things they did not understand & Beyond was well aware of the fact that he was something which surpassed the comprehensible. It was hardly his fault, however, so the adjectives people used in place of his name never sat well with him.
He was a loner for it; apart from A who seemed to entertain Beyond’s antics, there were but a handful of children who could tolerate his presence. It was not the entire reason that Beyond gravitated towards places others neglected, but it was as good an excuse as any.
The greenhouse was the rare place Beyond could find some peace. Even the ghosts left him a lone in here, though that was due to his strategic planting of warding herbs & flowers. Still, ever morning the boy could be found here, watering & tending to his plants before classes begun for the day; sleep in his eyes & dreams still clinging to his skin.
Today would not be in utter solidarity, however; the sweeping sound of the greenhouse’s door made him glance up from the action of dripping temperate water onto neatly trimmed, colorful flora. Whatever peace had enveloped him just a moment ago petrified into something that twisted his gut & nearly caused the tin can in his hand to drop on the floor as his apocalyptic black eyes settled on L’s image.
Beyond over-watered the plants then, as he over-contemplated L’s words. It was a few shocked heartbeats before he scrambled to stop the watering can from flooding his work & set it on the ground.
“ …Yes. ” He managed eventually, though his answer felt incorrect. “ I mean … Yeah, I’m … Here most mornings. ”
Beyond looked over the plants L had observed on his way in; there was a mass variety here, from practical herbs to exotic flowers that needed far more attention than the rest, to some plants whose rarity was far more exquisite than their appearance. He swallowed.
“ Do you like them? ”
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not-just-a-letter:
Alec had all the supplies his needed categorized in his brain, but it was too risky to keep him from worrying about the consequences.
B may have to deal with dying for a stupid justification, however it would be worse for A who would have to live with especially himself and others thinking his idiotic compliance caused the second successor to die. L wouldn’t have to demote him, the tall teen would just retire from it completely.
“Stop it,” The first successor barked a bit more forcefully than he intended when B peeled of the blankets to look at his wound, and consequently started up the bleeding again. He balled up more of the sheet before he pressed hard down onto the cuts again over the second successor’s hand. Mad enough at his dumb decision and request A almost hoped it hurt. “You won’t be taking any naps.”
While uncovered and spilt apart it he could see the gashes only went deep into the skin, and didn’t puncture into his guts or other organs. It just looked particularly nasty with the blood being the most worrisome. A ground his teeth slightly when his jaw clenched after his flicked his eyes looked to their door before looking back to B.
“You owe me, and I’m cashing it in right now. If I leave this room you will stay awake even if you have to break your own fingers,” If an animal is what got him they needed to clean the wound immediately to prevent infection spurring from whatever bacteria that could have been transferred from its paw. Alec hated this idea, but it was time to act if they were to go through with what he thought was their dumbest choice yet. “Got it?”
“ Oooww... ” Beyond whimpered in an almost sarcastic way that ended with a sound that could’ve been called a chuckle as Alec dug the sheet into his side -- The following loud, obtrusiveness of his voice temporarily shocked any sleepiness he felt, at least for a few moments. His eyes fluttered open again & lazily searched for Alec’s face through the hazy white everything seemed to glow with. A whimsical man to his core, Beyond briefly thought that perhaps this haloing was what people referred to as the blinding light one sees before they die ...
Still with that train of idealistic logic, Beyond eventually located Alec’s face. It, too, shown brilliant white around it & in passing, he likened the image to an angel’s. Though of course he’s read enough biblical literature to know angels, if they exist, do not resemble humans on any level ... It was still an image he’d have liked to frame.
Through all the pounding & wooshing in his ears, which Beyond was slowly forgetting wasn’t just the sound of being alive but rather, the sound of his death, he could not make out Alec’s words very well. Stay awake, was just about the only command Beyond comprehended from the older boy’s spiel. Limply his unoccupied hand raised to place on Alec’s cheek -- Though it landed, palm heavy, on the front of his face.
“ I’ll ... be okay. ” Beyond managed before gently patting the smooth surface his fingers connected with. “ Tis ... but a scratch ... ! ” The quote was followed by a severely painful laugh that quickly had Beyond squinting his eyes closed, both hands clutching his side, & more whimpered ‘ow’s sprinkled through the humored sound.
#can you believe him#✎ Notjustaletter — Thread: 06.#notjustaletter#🕒 The ghosts are as mad as we — Wammy’s Verse.
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I want to apologize for my lack of presence on here -- On all of my blogs except my personal lately. I’m not specifically dealing with anything, my life isn’t awful at the moment, it’s actually quite good; but in times like these, when I have nothing awful going on, I do often feel a lack of passion for writing. Writing is ... a venting thing for me. A coping mechanism. B homes all my trauma & embodies things I couldn’t otherwise voice. To write B in a time of peace would cheapen my narrative of him.
While I’ve been enjoying the last few weeks of content, there’s also an underlying feeling of not being productive which is making me a bit antsy & it all comes back to how much I miss writing -- Writing B, specifically. I also feel terribly for seeming to have dropped all my threads, which I have not. I promise, when the time comes that I can write B as I feel he deserves to be written, I will reply to all my drafts like I had never fallen off the face of the earth to begin with.
All I really want to ask of anyone here is that, when that time does come, please still be here for me to reply to. Don’t think I’ve ignored you specifically, because as you can see from my post history, I’ve written maybe three things since summer break started. I’m not replying elsewhere, I am literally not writing at the moment. So to everyone here who thinks I’ve just lost muse for our thread specifically, I’m here attempting to convey that that is the wrong assumption.
I will reply. I will be back here. Please have some extraordinary patience with me.
Thank you.
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I’m always so angry that Beyond’s codename was Backup. Why on Earth did Watari think that was a good idea like hey let’s dehumanise this small child so they’re aware they’re nothing more than a copy of the first better thing. How did that work out for you Watari? Cause you could’ve paid me $1 and I would’ve told you how it would’ve worked out.
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and you–you have stolen my death from me.
Anna Backman Rogers, from ‘Cecilia Turns a Circus Trick’, pub. amberflora
(via soracities)
#❤ Darling: sweetheart: I don't trust nobody & nobody trusts me — B x Naomi.#misorasan#❤ Be a hurricane then — B x Naomi.#makishou
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my schooldays
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Letter .01 ———
@makishou
The letter is written on several informal scraps of notebook paper. The frilly edges have been methodically shed -- When Beyond had originally finished the first copy of this letter, he had forgotten to rip those annoying bits off; as he went to, a tear had formed in the margins causing him to copy the pages over onto papers he tore the edges from before writing. For as casual as the envelop & parchments seemed to be, the calligraphy displayed between the lines was a stark contrast, yet an imperative clue as to who the author was, exactly.
Not the man with insanity behind his eyes, nor the one who skittered across the floor like an animal -- That man would have awful penmanship & anyone who received a letter from Rue Ryuzaki would expect illegibility. But this was not a letter from the unprivate detective. These words belonged to Beyond Birthday; a distinction with more declarative boundaries than the faint, thin blue notebook lines.
14.10.03
Naomi Misora ———
You must think yourself incredibly clever for your testimony. I hope it was satisfying at least, getting to call Ryuzaki all those horrific names, getting to explore the vastness of your derogatory lexicon to call forth exactly what feelings he elicited in you; yet among none of them did you name fear. I found that incredibly interesting ... Didn’t you, as well? Looking back on it all, were you not very afraid to have realized who had been working aside you all that time?
No, of course not -- & I assure you, you shouldn’t have if you did. In truth I’m not a very violent man which may have you surprised. I never did intend to harm you, the least unjustly. Yet about that time you attacked me in the alleyway, I can hear you counter. Yes, well, for reasons I can’t divulge this early in my narrative, I knew no harm would come to you & as I said, I never intended it to.
But I’ve forgotten -- A year has passed now, just about, & you most likely do not dwell on these details as I do. You, along with my predecessor, have most likely forgotten the key-points, the justification, the meaning, the action, the brazen ardor of it all. It eats at me, I’ll have you know. I’ve been consumed by many things in this relatively short life of mine -- Fire being the least painful of it all.
But you don’t care about any of it, of course; why would you? I’m just another criminal you’ve put away, yes? So, why is it I write to you ...
Well, mostly because my dear friend, L, hasn’t returned any of my calls to his private line which leaves only you as the remaining attestor to my most recent ruination. Though even if that brilliant detective did indulge me with a response, his knowledge would not compare to yours, I think. You were there &, as with many things in life, there is only so much frequent monotonous check-ins & a clinical FBI report can convey. You would agree, I’d imagine, with the fact that there exists something between us that lacks definition -- yet most importantly it lacks witness.
What shall we call this, Naomi? Even if you are so predictably unwilling to admit its presence, especially in the quiet ambiance of your own mind, you are aware of it in a way I wish I had been aware of you.
You had undone me, which is quite the victory. You & I have succeeded where our darling detective did not. That is something to revel in, isn’t it? But you’re too kindhearted of a soul to imagine a world where you could be proud of something that involved the harm of others, isn’t that true? You put the world’s best criminal away when the world’s best detective could not & yet you haven’t celebrated that fact because three people died -- & to you, that is failure.
Do you see what I mean, Naomi, when I say there exists something between us? Aside from all those ghastly words you used to describe me, there are other, more pleasant things you could say which would have been inadmissible in a court of law.
Even though their blood was on my hands, as you see it, you enjoyed it -- The case. You had fun, Naomi, with me; solving the clues I left behind, catching such a crafty killer. I will celebrate it all enough for the both of us, this intangible thing, your victory. I am not a sore loser, as you can see. At least not when I have justly lost to someone I can stand.
But enough scene setting for this part, yes? You see, I’m privy to the fact that your eyes will glaze over while reading this. My words will be discarded in a junk drawer somewhere -- You won’t throw these papers in the trash, but they’ll lack significance. I’m counting on that, in a way; your lack of response, your lack of reply. Despite the thing between us you will remain distant & uncaring, as is your way & valid right. I won’t strive for more than perhaps the chance at self justification -- If that is what I’m truly after here. A priest could ask me to confess why I’ve channeled my energy into this pursuit & even if I did fear God I’d have no answer for him. So let’s go with the pretty statement; I only wish to explain myself to someone who will read these words without attachment.
If I start at the beginning, however, none of this will make sense. A funny fact but I can imagine you understand why someone like me cannot tell stories linearly. Instead I’ll tell you first about someone you most likely, & justifiably, have a library of questions for.
L.
I won’t feign intimacy where there isn’t -- You can trust every word on these papers & each page that follows. Only in my young adulthood can I now look back on my childhood & adolescence with the realization that my delusions created intimacy where there could never have been. To be intimate on any level with a soul like his was a privilege I only came so close to. I’m sure in the same way you will never admit to such a thing, neither would he; but all the same, something more intense did exist between him & I.
L had been just a boy at one time; a concept you’ll have difficulty grasping, I’m sure. He had always been brilliant, of course, but a boy nonetheless.
He was nine years old when I first met him. He’s two years my senior -- Does that surprise you, as well? Did you expect him to be older? He’s only twenty-three right now. His birthday is at the end of this month.
I’m sure your mind is reeling with the details you’ve just learned -- Or perhaps the realization that I know these details. I knew him, once. What feels like an eternity ago, though that sounds a bit too dramatic for my taste. We grew up together, so to say, in that house I keep blathering on about. No one believes such a place exists, where gifted children are everything but kidnapped into a lifestyle so dreadful, it drove the first boy taken into this home to suicide & the second to kill others. But again, you don’t care about that yet.
L likes his coffee strong -- Brewed with an extra scoop if he’s having instant. He never counts the sugar cubes he places in the brew but he always takes a sip once beforehand; the immediate regret is always visible yet he does it anyway. Every time. The highest number of cubes I ever observed him dropping in was eighteen. He often sits with his knees clung to his chest; only when he’s in private company do his arms actually wrap around the frail bones. When he is intrigued or thinking, he will lean forward in such a way that lifts his bottom from the chair; his toes will clutch the edge of whatever he is sitting on & his thumb will compulsively migrate between his lips. The nails on every other hand are neglected & often overgrown, but his right thumbnail is cracked & abused; even when he tastes blood, he will not stop.
The sugar in his coffee isn’t the only sweet he craves. His -- Our adoptive father prepares & orders a vast amount of treats to curb his cravings. Despite it, he’s never gained a pound of fat in his life. He boasts frequently that it is because he uses his brain so much, but he & I both know it is because we play tennis together regularly on the makeshift court in the parking lot outside the home. Briefly, he played competitively. If you search thoroughly his alias, Hideki Ryuga, you will see that he was the UK national champion at one point.
I’ve deviated from what I aimed to convey in my nostalgia, however I’ll leave those last words in. I wanted you to conclude something -- Did you see what I was leading you towards, Naomi? Any similarities to someone, perhaps?
I will write again soon, though I’m sure that is negligible to you.
——— B.
#❤ Be a hurricane then — B x Naomi.#makishou#🕒 Cages all look the same from the inside — Prison Verse.#how long did i work on this? three days?#i'm proud of it
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help, my wife keeps ‘accidentally’ knocking stuff on the floor and asking me to pick it up just so she can look at my butt, but it’s secretly okay because it makes me feel cute and attractive when she does
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紫陽花家具うれしい
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Greek mythology from A to Z:
[P] - Phobos (Φόβος) was the god of fear. The followers of his cult made bloody sacrifices.
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But having Shinigami eyes in a world where people can be called Blueberry Babysharp must be so hard like I feel beyond I probably couldn’t even walk down the street without bursting into laugher about some weird name
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beyond birthday, slamming open the door to his therapist’s office, wearing a feather boa and sunglasses, sipping cranberry juice out of a wine glass: YOU’RE NOT GONNA FUCKING BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
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My favorite type of characters are “they’re not dumb but they are a dumbass”
#△ Rage: rage against the dying light — Headcanon.#i'm gonna collapse a lung from laughing so FUKING!!!!!!!!! hard
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