#i wrote this a while ago

[demigods-posts]

percy understands why his mom holds on to him a little tighter and a little longer with every hug. he understands why annabeth can't look him in the eye anymore. he understands why thalia goes out of her way to iris messages him every week, why grover insists they hang out in their free time despite him being incredibly busy with making the world a better place, why chiron doesn't even bother to punish him for missing curfew, and why clarisse, of all people, bites her tongue instead of insulting him.

what percy doesn't understand is why he should even try to enjoy living his life anymore. his life? he can't even call it that. not when gabe used him and his mom as a punching bag for the first twelve years of it. not when he's sitting in the counselor's office with his mom and the counselor explains that if he doesn't try harder, he won't make it to the next grade. not when he can't stop the tears from escaping his eyes on the ride home. not when he is plagued with nightmares about the brutal way he'll die in the war next year. not when despite everything he's given for the world, the gods still call upon him.

especially not when he has to fight for a life he doesn't want to live anymore.

~ shit i forgot i wrote

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo text post #percy jackson #percy jackson angst #percy jackson hurt #percy jackson suicidal #can we pause and talk about percy's declining mental state the year before the war? #i wrote this a while ago #forgot to post this

[teal-fiend]

Party Trick

A uni student pred goes to a party. The group Find out he’s a pred. They want to see it for themselves.

Content: intoxication, fatal vore, pred pov, digestion, willing prey

—

It was a late night, I was in my dorm, rewriting notes under the yellow light of my desk lamp. I copied my scrawlings from the lecture in perfect, even strokes. 

I finished the page, and took a sip of coffee that had gone cold. I felt a hungry growl from my stomach. I’d gotten distracted by my work and neglected to have dinner. I lit a cigarette. Another distraction from hunger. 

As I was drifting off in thought, indulging in the cheap satisfaction of a nicotine high, the phone rang. It was an odd hour to call, still I answered it.

“Rowan speaking” “Ro,” I heard laughter in the background, “where are you?”

Alice had invited me to her party, I’d completely forgotten about it, too busy with my studying. 

“I’m at home.” 

“Get your scrawny ass over here now!” She shouted over the ambiance of the party. 

I thought I’d done enough work for the night, and I did want to go. “Alright,” I said loudly. She said something incoherent and then hung up.

I didn’t want to arrive sober, especially since I was already late, so I took a few long swigs from the bottle of whisky I kept in my room, then I put it in my satchel bag, along with my cigs. 

I felt a wave of light nausea and dizziness after the alcohol settled in my empty stomach. I hoped they had food at the party, because otherwise I’d be in for a rough night. 

I checked myself in the mirror before heading out. There were dark circles under my eyes, behind my tawny glasses. And my hair was deranged. I smoothed it down, I adjusted my collar, and smoothed down my dress shirt as well. 

I arrived at Alice’s not twenty minutes later, I fumbled with the gate’s lock, and watched my step as I ascended the stairs.

Alice greeted me, leaning against the doorframe, “Rowan’s here!” She exclaimed, drunk, happy, willing to share that with me. A few other party guests cheered when she said this, partially excited to see me, but mostly wanting something to cheer about.

I entered the house, the windows were foggy from the warmth of the bodies inside, drinking, talking, there was a stereo playing. Alice had a pole in her living room, and a tall boy was swinging around on it like a gymnast, even still with a bottle of gin glued to his hand.

I drank too, and was offered someone’s weed pipe, which I took a few introspective puffs from. I was still hungry, my drunkenness was less energetic like the rest of them, and more forlorn. The weed kicked in and I was content to feel sorry for myself. 

I found myself on a leather couch, in a conversation, but not able to pay much attention to it. The party was winding down, I was nestled in, we all were, in something of a circle.

They were trying to get my attention. 

“Rowan,” a blonde girl, who’s name I couldn’t remember asked, “is it true?” “Is what?” I asked dully. 

A boy, Peter, who was sitting next to me answered, “that you’re a predator?”

I did not expect that question. “Uh, yeah,” 

Alice asked, “what does it mean?”

“It means he eats people.”

“I haven’t done it in a while,” I said, and it was true, “I don’t even know if I still can.” Less true, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

“Why do you do it?” “I get hungry sometimes,” I explain, “It’s just something I can do, I guess,”

“Are you hungry now?” Peter asked.

“How did you learn how to do it?” Said someone else

My stomach made a protracted, implicatory growl. Its timing got the attention of everyone in the circle.

“You are hungry,” the blonde girl said, mystified. 

“You should consume someone here… that would be fucking crazy.”

I laughed self consciously. 

“Wait, should we actually?” Alice asked, with genuine interest. 

I felt a nervousness in my chest that was compounded by the pot. This could be a possibility... Everyone was drunk, high, and eager to see something they hadn’t seen before. My mouth watered at the realisation; the suggestion of a meal. I swallowed quickly.

“Maybe,” I said slowly, I didn’t want to seem too eager, But I’d never before eaten prey while high, and the idea was growing on me. 

“Okay, if we did, who would it be?” 

No one volunteered, and I was let down, and a little embarrassed. 

But then Peter said, “I would,”

Everyone hyped him up for that, and I felt my heart flutter concerningly. I hoped it wasn’t arrhythmia (it’s happened before).

Peter. I had never looked at him that way before. He usually wore glasses, but he wasn’t tonight. He was a good student, but not driven, not obsessive like me. I had never once considered him as my prey, but in the moment it was starting to make a lot of sense.

I had that thing that happens sometimes when you’re high, the time distortion, when you suddenly remember everything you did at once. Probably the weed making things seem more significant than they were, but I began to believe that everything I had done today was leading up to this moment. 

I watched him curiously. His soft brown hair might give me trouble, but his clear (if not alcohol flushed), smooth skin… He had an edible vibe to him. He wouldn’t be too demanding on my stomach.

And he had a healthy, organic aroma. Like he’d showered recently, but wasn’t wearing cologne. 

Alice giggled.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“Dude,” another guy chimed in, “you’re looking at him like he’s a ribeye or something,”

My face flushed. Peter grinned.

“Damn, okay,” Alice said, “do it then”

Peter turned to me. My predatory side was more than eager to have him, but I couldn’t help but wonder what my professor would think of me, eating one of my fellow students.

But then his hands were in my mouth, and I remembered how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten in hours, I’d studied hard all day, the marijuana didn’t help with the cravings either. He tasted incredible, the vibrancy I was able to experience, no meal I’ve had sober could compare even remotely. 

Still I knew people were watching, so I tried to be cool about it. The prey dropped into my stomach and the reward chemicals in my brain made my body feel like butter. I fell apart.

The blonde girl felt my stomach through my dress shirt, which was riding up since my stomach had become engorged. She noticed how my belt was digging into my gut, so she undid it for me. 

The group cooed at me, gathering around, marvelling at the sight in front of them. The other guy, a redhead, I didn’t remember his name either, he unbuttoned my shirt in order to get a clear look at me. 

I closed my eyes and leaned back, offering my belly up for their inspection. Their many hands were on me, driven by morbid curiosity, pressing gently, tentatively testing my boundaries.

When the prey, Peter, started moving under my skin they gasped in surprise and fascination.

When I had my first prey, I was as interested in the visuals as they were. It was so strange to see my body change so much to accommodate my meal, and watching it squirm, pressing out against my own skin, it used to engross me. But now I was more intent on the sensations happening where I couldn’t see. Inside my stomach, I felt the prey at every point of contact on my internals. The friction caused by his wriggling invigorated my stomach. I swore I could feel the acids and enzymes being squeezed out with every press.

What’s more the prodding and patting that my audience was doing from the outside… I was being stimulated from every direction. It was almost too much. I kept my eyes closed.

I stretched languidly, smirking in content. I basked in the attention which was itself perhaps more enjoyable than the satisfaction of the meal. I relished in their enthrallment, these prey doting on my predatory body, witnessing me annihilating one of their species. It was a dark, existential event for them to indulge in, but by the way they kneaded into my belly, they seemed to be enjoying it more than I was. 

We were all high off our shit - I can’t imagine how Peter was doing in there, enveloped in a vacuum sealed, warm bag of flesh which teethed at him, unrelentingly. And then his friends on the outside, poking at him with almost scientific inquisition, playing with him like highschoolers at a frog dissection.

And for Alice and the two others, I was reminded of this psychedelic festival I was told about, where they had sensory boxes, filled with sand, or slime, any interesting texture that a tripped out party-goer could appreciate. I’d imagine my belly was having that effect on them; it was warm, doughy in places, but firm. It moved like it was alive, shifting unfathomably beneath their hands. 

Wait, does that mean I’m the sensory container? The thought made me feel strange.

Despite being stoned out of my mind, my digestive system went forward with its treacherous work. I heard a noise that sounded like someone was washing the dishes, and draining the sink. I wondered how the hell someone got a sink into the living room, when I realised the sound was coming from my stomach. The blonde girl pressed her head against my gut, and the others took their turn as well, listening to my drunken body digest our friend. 

I heard a door open, and footsteps coming towards us. Whoever it was said “what the fuck is going on in here?” Before promptly leaving. I thought that was the funniest shit ever, and I tried (unsuccessfully) to stifle a laugh. 

It was contagious, we all lost our shit for a minute. Laughing uncontrollably at the situation.

The ginger guy said, “ah man, Peter,” talking to my stomach.

Alice pushed with her shoulder on my lower belly, pushing it up further to my chest - my breath hitched - before releasing the hold, hearing it slosh as it settled back into position.

“Your tummy’s really heavy,” she sighed.

“What were you trying to do?” I asked, suppressing a belch due to the disturbance of my stomach contents.

“Move you onto the couch again.”

“I can get up on my own.” I couldn’t. I was pinned down and too inebriated to find any strength or balance.

“You’re so sleepy,” the guy said.

“Aw, sleepy Rowan,” the other girl sympathised.

It wasn’t so much sleepiness, but I couldn’t even begin to explain it to them. My conversational skills were not so finely tuned at the present moment.

The three of them got stuck into the task of covering me with blankets, quilts, and pillows from around the home. I was draped in what I think were hand towels as well, which confused me, but they were doing their best. 

I was strangely comfortable under the pile which was stacked atop me. 

All the lights in the house were turned off, and I thought they left me alone, but I felt at least one, maybe 2 bodies next to me, or maybe I was imagining things. 

As I fell into unconsciousness, I couldn't help but wonder if I was going to regret it in the morning.

#i wrote this a while ago #it's a bit janky but if i don't post it now #it might never see the light of day #soft vore #tw vore #v/ore #vore digestion #vore fic #implied digestion #digestion #v.ore #fatal vore #vore writing #willing prey #willing pre #willing pred #pred pov #intox tw #cw intoxication #intoxication play #i usually don't give characters names and binary pronouns. but i thought i'd try this time. i don't know if i will again. i haven't since

[idkaurl]

Getting Together

Bruce noticed the change almost immediately, it was hard to get anything past him and they weren’t being very subtle about it. The hand holding and public groping was a dead giveaway, he can’t say he was surprised though, Diana had never been shy and Clark had always been easily turned into putty by her.

 Still, though not surprising, the change was very different. The once inseparable trio was now damaged. It wasn’t really their fault; they still made an effort to be around him. It was him who had done the damage. He was happy that they had finally gotten together, but something inside him was tearing him apart. He felt too many things when he saw them together now; anger, envy, sadness, it hurt, so he did the thing he was best at and started tearing himself away from the source of the pain.

 It was easier said than done to pull away from his two best friends. It’s hard to avoid someone when you work with them almost everyday. Needless to say, they took notice. He knew it was only a matter of time before they began questioning his odd behavior, and he was right.

 ~~~

Bruce sat at the computer in the watchtower, he was going over some files, nothing super important, he had really just been trying to look busy. He tensed up slightly as he heard a familiar set of heels heading in his direction. Of course, Diana would be the first to approach him. 

He felt her presence beside him as he kept his gaze on the computer in front of him. She was quiet for a moment before her hand made its way onto his shoulder, “Bruce,” she said calmly, “why don’t you take a break? Me and Clark were thinking we could all grab dinner together.”

He huffed, “I can’t Diana, there’s too much to do,” he lied. He knew that was a dangerous game, lying to both Diana and Clark was an almost impossible task, still he did.

He heard her sigh beside him, “Bruce, there is no work to do. You’ve been avoiding us for weeks,” she stated. It wasn’t a question, it was an observation, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s always work to do Diana,” he stated simply, “and I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve just been busy.” Against his better judgment he continued, “you two seem to be getting on just fine without me anyway.”

Silence filled the room, he internally cursed himself for putting it out there, he should have just let it be. He felt her grip tighten on his shoulder and for a second he prided himself for rendering Wonder Woman speechless.

That silence was soon filled with the sound of wind coursing through and suddenly Clark was there. A flash of anger crossed Bruce’s eyes, not that they could see it with his cowl still on, Clark could probably sense it through his heartbeat though.

He kept his gaze forward, avoiding them, hoping they’d just leave him be. No such luck. “Bruce,” Diana tried again, “please,” she turned his chair, forcing him to face them, “we miss you.”

He jolted at the sudden change of position, glaring at the two of them, but staying silent.

“Come on Bats,” Clark chimed in, “I know you have to be missing us too,” he teased. Those words stirred something within Bruce. He did miss them, he missed them so much it hurt, but it hurt worse to be with them and see what he could never have.

He huffed pulling himself up from the chair, “I’m taking my leave,” he stated, “you’re right Diana, work here is done for now. I’ll be heading home to check on Gotham then.”

“Let us come with you,” Clark chimed in, “it’s been a while since we’ve come to visit Gotham.” Bruce shot a glare in his direction, why wouldn’t they just leave him alone?

“Do what you want,” he said simply, making his way towards the zeta tube.

There was no surprise when he found both of them following him, and soon they were standing in the Batcave. Bruce immediately made his way towards the large computer to scan for surveillance, ignoring them as they followed.

He took a seat and started clicking through the cameras he had placed through Gotham. It seemed like it was pretty quiet tonight, just his luck. “Bruce, can we talk?” Diana asked after a while of silence.

“Talk about what?” he growled out.

He felt a soft hand reach out to caress his face, “I think you know,” she stated.

He heart stilled at the touch before quickly speeding up, he kept his words level though, “what is there to talk about? If you are referring to the nature of your developing relationship, I am well aware of it and it does not need to be discussed further,” he stated.

She hummed, softly stroking his face, “Clark, I think we might have given him the wrong idea,” she said sadly.

“It appears that way,” Clark agreed, inching closer to the two of them.

“You can’t think we’d want to have a relationship without you, can you?” she asked Bruce. He stilled, did he hear her right?

“What?” he asked dumbly.

He saw both their mouths start to turn slightly upward into the shape of a smile, “We love you Bruce, both of us,” she smiled. Clark nodding shyly beside her.

He felt her hands move to remove his cowl, reaching a hand out to stop her. If they removed his cowl his emotions would be on full display, he wasn’t sure if he could handle that right now.

“It’s okay Bruce,” she said calmly, “it’s just us, let us see how you’re feeling.”

He slowly dropped his hand away, allowing her to remove his cowl. He saw their faces drop when they saw his. He knew he didn’t look great right now, but their expressions only solidified that.

“We’re sorry Bruce,” Clark stated, “we didn’t mean to do this to you,” he started.

“Do what to me?” Bruce demanded, anger flaring up again.

“Hurt you,” Diana ran her hand through his hair softly massaging his scalp. He found himself leaning into the touch, he’d missed them. He felt tears threaten to prick at the corners of his eyes.

Diana slid onto his lap easily, pressing soft kiss to his temple, “shh,” she hushed, as she continued petting his hair. His eyes widened in alarm when he felt himself be lifted in the air, Clark had scooped them both up in his strong arms and was carrying them up to the manor. Bruce stilled, allowing them to do as they pleased. He was still confused, but he figured he’d enjoy the moment while it lasted.

It wasn’t long before the reached Bruce’s bedroom and Clark deposited them both onto the bed before climbing on himself. Bruce found himself stuck in the middle, between his two best friends. His two best friends that he was in love with. There, he’d said it, to himself at least. It felt good to admit, even if he knew it couldn’t be. He was sure this was all out of pity. They had seen the affect their relationship had on him and were feeling guilty, this was all this was. Even so, he was going to soak it in while he could as greedy as that might be.

~~~

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew he woke up to the sound of the soft murmurs of conversation around him. In his comfortable, sleep-dazed, state he couldn’t quite decipher what they were talking about, but he was certain of one thing; it was about him.

He sighed, pressing his face against something warm and firm. He felt hands softly massaging his back, “go back to sleep darling,” he heard a voice whisper in his ear, “we’ll be here when you wake up, we promise,” and then he did.

~~~

When Bruce woke the second time, he was much more coherent. His eyes widened as he realized the position he was in. He had thought it was all a dream, but the proof lay right before him as he found himself still sandwiched between the two. His face had been pressed up against Clark’s chest and he felt Diana pressed close against his back.

He moved to try and pull away, but he found himself trapped under the weight of their strong arms as they each had one arm wrapped around him.

He looked up as he felt a sleepy kiss be pressed against his forehead, Clark’s sleep riddled eyes looking down at him, “good morning,” he smiled, and Bruce felt his heartbeat speed up. He felt the vibrations of Clark’s soft chuckle as he was still pressed against his chest and suddenly felt another set of lips on the back of his neck, “good morning,” Diana smiled, wrapping her arm around him more securely as if he might try and run away.

“Good morning,” Bruce grumbled out, his tone exposing his confusion.

“Did you sleep well?” Diana asked. He could practically hear her grin.

He made an affirmative sound, “Better than I have in a long time,” he found himself admitting.

He heard them both hum happily in response, “I’m glad,” she purred into his ear as she leaned over to give Clark a kiss.

Something stirred in him at the sight, want. He felt her hand start to trail up his chest, trailing over his muscles, all the way until her hand rested at his chin. She cupped it in her hand, encouraging him to turn towards her. He allowed it, looking into her eyes, “can I kiss you, Bruce?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” the words left his mouth before he could even second guess himself and she acted quickly, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as well.

She pulled away far too quickly in his opinion, but he found himself being pulled back in the direction of Clark, “me too,” he asked, “can I kiss you too?”

“Yes,” he found himself answering on instinct, once again being pulled into a chaste kiss before he could back out.

Clark pulled away and Bruce found himself blinking confusedly at what had just happened. Diana hushed him, “I can tell that brain of your is running a mile a minute,” she chuckled into his ear, “you don’t need to think about it, this is real, we promise,” she smiled, “we love you.”

“We love you,” Clark reaffirmed, kissing his forehead once again.

Bruce felt the tension leave his body at their words, a soft smile forming on his face, “I love you too,” he said. 

They held him tighter, pressing soft kisses against his skin and he let them. He didn’t know how long this happiness would last, but he decided he’d embrace it while he could.

#my writing #dc comics #superwonderbat #bruce wayne #clark kent #diana prince #batman #superman #wonder woman #the big three #super trio #fanfic #dc fanfic #superwonderbat fanfic #oneshot #i wrote this a while ago #super friends #i think their cute

[wanderingmind867]

I feel bad for Dionysus. He's an all powerful god, but we just think of him as the "Wine Dude". Dionysus is more than just a drunk. Dionysus is a good man who's just very beaten down and apathetic most of the time. Put some respect on the man's name! I'd be tired all day too if I had to put up with a bunch of immature teenagers. I'm in high school, and I'm still judgemental of other kids when they say immature things. I can't imagine how it feels for him.

#I wrote this a while ago #forgot to post it #dionysus #percy jackson #pjo #pjo hoo toa #mr d pjo #mr d #dionysus pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians

[azulashengrottospiano]

parkour!

SUMMARY: Floyd Leech Decides To Parkour, Dies.

CHARACTERS: Floyd Leech

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: I wrote this for a friend so uhhhh take it!! Also would he actually fail parkour? Probably not. But for the sake of funnies, lets say he did for once.

~~~~~

“Watch this!”

A single shout, a yell of the damned. You watched, frozen as he flung himself through the air. The wind whistled in your ears. It was like the moment had been drawn to a stop, the only indication that time was still moving being the sway of his hair.

It was a shame you wouldn’t be able to save him.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he flew, soaring high above the clouds of idealism. He never did listen when people told him he couldn’t do something. It was a dangerous way to live, but he always said it was fun. That it was worth it. That it was the only way for him to live.

You wondered what he thought of that now.

And yet, you could do nothing but watch he started to descend, a tear slowly sliding down your face.

Since when did that get there?

You watched.

Your heart ached as he missed his jump, tripping down the stairs.

Floyd Leech had attempted to do parkour for you.

And he had failed.

#auburn's fics <3 #drabbles <3 #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #this is kind of embarrassing #i wrote this a while ago #im posting it anyway because im BRAVE

[bloodyentrails]

Miranda on The Walrus

now i want fic of miranda meeting the crew and shamelessly flirting with all of them. she and james will sit down and compare their relative hotness over a drink. also billy at some point approaches her and they share a bottle of rum between them one evening and have a good laugh about all the shitty rumours surrounding her and invent new ones. she's very good at taking the piss.

she will also take verbal potshots at james and his leadership and how he never fucking explains himself and his plans to anyone and they all roll their eyes in unison

she had a good time on that ship is what i'm saying and you can pry that from my cold dead hands

one night mr de groot teaches her a dance to a tune someone plays. it's pretty fast and she's out of breath. they also teach abigail.

this is becoming very titanic

but fuck it

SHE HAD A GOOD TIME

when she compares notes with james she is very filthy about what kind of thing she would do with them individually. james blushes a lot but is also turned on. it makes her giggle so hard. she's very very detailed

idk it just occurred to me that she reasonably actually meets these people and that she is allowing herself to have some fun with all these men and that she would absolutely tease the shit out of james because he spends so much time with them and never introduced her. and she likes them a lot and actually just being let into his pirate life. he's been keeping it from her for so long and she loves the company and like just going places, i guess? and teasing him. she loves teasing him and he loves being teased and they both missed it and yeah

when they teach abigail the dance, she dances with billy. they both die inwardly of the embarrassment. it's very cute and everyone on board ships them

she does meet silver even tho he tries to avoid her. she sees him (she so would) and he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. but he's the one who relentlessly flirts back at her after a while. i think silver introduces her to weed. (i just realised charles is the only smoker in the show??!!) we need to change that. silver has a small stash of weed he shares with her and they both worry about flint and how he has no sense of self-preservation.

randall tries to make her tea the way she likes.

she likes hanging with him in the galleys and watches him cook for the crew. he loves the attention

She gets james to explain the ship to abigail because she likes to show him off and he's awkward at first but gets into it when she's enthusiastic. Her interest feels genuine. He somehow has a powerpoint ready for the occasion. Abigail doesn't ask how he ended up in this life she senses that's a difficult topic. But she is very impressed at how much work goes into getting this thing to go anywhere. She wanders over a lot to watch billy work cough

Abigail will ask billy if she climb into the rigging and he will say no deffo not with a dress and then they organise some vaguely clean pants and she climbs up and feels the wind her hair and he's super close by and maybe they kiss

#black sails #story ideas #i wrote this after finishing season 2 i think #an attempt to keep miranda around for much longer #it's not an AU just a kind of bubble i suspend her and everyone else in #nassau to charlestown is a looong journey ok #miranda hamilton #abigail ashe #i wrote this a while ago

[an-atlas-or-other]

Physical therapy we couldn’t afford,

new seats in the car and

a lost again war

This body is trying to destroy its own world

Soon comes the last step I take out of my door

‘Nothing to fear,’

but I’m fucking afraid

Abandonment debts to be paid

I can’t live on my own, not with the way I was made

I wasn’t put here, I hope, just so I could complain

I’m withering away and I

won’t get much farther

They said I wouldn’t pay for

the sins of my father

A walker, a wheelchair, a future in my name

I should be grateful it’s only a cane

It’s terminal and I won’t be catching the next plane

I love my family but they’re all in a different place

It’s painful in body, in mind and in soul

Not even God will throw me a bone

You think it’s a necessity but I don’t need to be avenged

I’m just waiting for this all to end

My twentieth is wishful thinking when everything’s against

the very idea of my surviving until then

A relapse, my synapses

wither away in my head

Oh god, I’m better off dead

#i wrote this a while ago #when it really was only a cane #now I’m using crutches #chronic pain #relapse #physical relapse #physically disabled #physical disability #physical therapy #poetry #shitty poetry #shitty poem #poem #spilled poetry #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled writing #atlas.txt

[beedreamscape]

Imagine your mom and dad being the most vengeful angry people in the universe except you wouldn't be able to tell by the way her bones lied on the gravel or by the way he sipped his tea and smiled so gently

#and then you came out the goofiest lil guy in the universe #anyway #gideon nav #john gaius #commander wake #tlt #i wrote this a while ago #but pretend i just typed it and went to float like goofy

[reyissleepy]

I work day and night trying to finally have something working my life, machines are comforting, they are something i have full control over, i choose how to build them and how they function.

But when the only thing i have control over fails, when it doesn't work in my favor, I feel... worthless. If the thing i build, if the only thing I'm good at is useless, then... I'm useless too, right?

#i wrote this a while ago #i don't know if it's good #or in character #but i wanted to share #lols #tubbo qsmp #qsmp #tubbo #qsmp tubbo #qtubbo

[champagnebutch]

First Time

She preps it all. Everything to make my first perfect.

You sure you don’t need my help?

Oh, eager to please, are we?

She puts aside the needles and the syringe. I can’t help but blush.

Well, this is all to educate me, right? Teach me how to “be a woman”?

Well, when you put it like that, it sounds like an ordeal.

Well, it’s a big deal to me, y’know? It’s my first time.

I know, I just don’t want you to forget how fun it’ll be! It’s a milestone, not a religious ceremony.

She wipes down the bottle of estrogen with the alcohol.

Those can both be true, fun and sacred.

She grins at me, a look that wants to eat me.

I suppose so, learning to do this has certainly brought heaven to me.

She shows me as  she draws out the estrogen.

Wait, I should definitely be doing that myself.

Normally you would, but you learn well by watching. Plus, you already had me worked up, darling.

The fluid slowly pools inside the syringe shaft, begging, needing to be let out, past the needle tip, into me.

Well, are you just going to stare at it?

I finish drawing up the estrogen. She stares at the needle, blushy, maybe dumbfounded, before gathering her mind a bit.

I’m sorry, I guess I can’t really believe this is finally happening.

I can’t help but smile,the naivetée, the inexperience, it’s cute.

I know that feeling. When I was in your place,  I couldn’t believe what I was doing.

I show her the syringe, letting her get a good view.

Can you imagine? That’s going inside you.

She blushes even harder, and I can tell her mind is ablaze, full of thoughts about what this means for her for who she is who she’s becoming.

Now, you ready?

She nods excitedly.

Alright, now then show me where this goes.

She employs the method I taught her, making that crosshatch on her thigh, and finding the patch of muscle that will take the insertion.

Good girl.

I hand the needle over, grabbing an alcohol wipe, cleaning her up beforehand.

Get to it.~

#i wrote this a while ago #figured i should post it #my writing #trans #hrt

[dragon0va]

"and you will reach into the folds of my brain, and ask who hurt you so much and scarred you so deep and i will say, look closer, look deeper, this is not the work of some mastermind, this was not done by some cruel being, this is my brain as it is, i ask, why when you look at me, do you only see someone broken, my brain is just like yours, and i will look into the folds of your brain, and i will say, look at all your imperfections, your brain is not clean, your folds do not remain unscarred, and i will look you in the eye, and i will say, we are so different you and i, but our brains they have scars, because we both are human, do not act like i am any less than you, and you are any more than i, and so i ask, take a look again at my brain, and take a look at yours, and ask yourself, if i am broken, then what does that make you?"

Folds - written by me

#i wrote this a while ago #but im very proud of it #poetry #writing #emotional quotes #original writing #sad writing #this is about being trans #or queer #or autistic

[isabellehemlock]

How much I care for you, has no bearing on the amount of access I allow you in my life.  I can care deeply, and follow through with boundaries at the same time.  They are not mutually exclusive.

#things i keep on my phone now #good reminder #if it helps anyone else feel free to pass it on #the *if you care about me then you should -* is not the sales pitch some of you think it is #i wrote this a while ago #interpersonal relationships #boundaries #work best when there's communication *and* enforcement #if someome wants to present some information for consideration - like if theyre worried they're enabling okay - #but nine times out of ten - the people who ignore what you say - bypass accountability for their actions - and then devolve to - #*well if you cared about me you would* is an unhealthy dynamic i am no longer entertaining

[sirflorencekpresents]

Rot

Showers aren’t enough

Baths can’t cleanse me

I scrub at the skin that holds me together

And I am clean.

Not clean enough.

I want to pull out every bone

Hold them piece by piece

Rinse them thoroughly

Wax them shiny new

I need to detach my lungs

Wring out the clouded muck

Dust the branches clear

To pull out my eyes

Rinse them

Shine them

Suddenly, I can see again

The green reflecting hope.

I have to haul out my heart

To see the tears and paths clogged

With pain and despair

To wash it through, sew it up

To take the grime and burry it six feet below

Showers aren’t enough

Baths won’t help

Brushing my teeth is futile

If I can’t reach in to purge

The worms are going to grow

My skin will decay regardless of how hard scrub

Before the worms take me

Before I join the Earth below

I hope just once

From inside out

I can feel

Clean.

- SirFK 🥀

#sirfk #writing #poetry #I wrote this a while ago #but it’s still pretty relevant #sets up the tone for majority of my writing honestly

[nat-of-personifs]

Auro Is Here

You can’t do anything except write when Kassidy’s away.

Auro is here and pieces of their thoughtspace are out in thousands of tiny bubbles, as they always are. Synesthesia colors them vomit, or the forest, dark greens and–you fight down trypophobic nausea–nature, not your own nature, which is blue-gray (the color of Kassidy’s eyes) and not what it should be. But there is no should be. You’re all Guardians, and everything around you is correct when you believe it to be.

Auro is here and weaving threads between the furthest bubbles, and your own thoughtspace envelops everything without them noticing. Their hooks are catching on your own insecurities. You don’t say anything. Kassidy’s gone. They’re the only distraction, other than your paper, which you’re inundating with all your gray so your friends’ colors will love you more.

Auro is here and the colors they’re spinning are almost dizzying to watch, but not dizzying. They’d only be dizzying if you were like them. That’s what their colors say when you feel them against yourself. Not yourself. Your thoughtspace. You’re barely your thoughtspace, anyway–that’s your problem. It won’t let you sink in. No, you won’t let yourself sink in. Or the Wall. Does the Wall control that? The building (which is entirely of you) shudders, but Auro doesn’t notice.

Auro is here and they’re so wonderfully different from Kassidy. Auro talks more, and enthusiastically, and constructed the foundations–heh–of their thoughtspace from scratch. You found each other through your shared forays in G(A), like you found Kassidy and the people from Before, but you stay for the adventures they take you on into their thoughtspace that have nothing to do with your old fandomspirits.

Auro is here, and they press against a different dent in your chest than Kassidy. You need both of them to fill the In-Betweenness they elevated you to… the Wall’s mistake. That you don’t know how to make up. You can’t make them fill somewhere you restrict them from. At least they know what they’re doing when they talk, at least they know it’s half of their fault you’re here with them. Not that you complain.

Auro is here, and you’re never sure how to respond to their musings. You don’t know if you should. You don’t know if they won’t turn on you for it and become one of the Before. If they become one of the many you’ve lost through Wrong Words, you won’t ever face Kassidy again. You won’t talk again. Internet or Reality or Fiction. You won’t even try to daydream–not that you ever succeeded. You can’t do anything they do as well as they do, which should be a given, but you never wanted this. You never deserved it. But you’ll learn to live in limbo. You have learned to live in limbo–just not well enough. It’s odd. You got too much praise when you were alive./

Auro is here, and they haven’t noticed your silence, because you’re usually suffocated under the pressure of their string and bubbles when they weave them around you without knowing where you are.

Auro is here, and you won’t quarantine your mouth again over something so small. You’re waiting for a hook you can use to tighten the accidental net of themself they’ve drawn all over you, with marker and Micron pen. 

Auro is here and writing, so you check the wordcount of your paper. You’re not supposed to do that–you’re supposed to write for your love and your interests, but you don’t have passions like you should, so you use numbers. Just like Ira. But Ira had (has) too. It’s better when you have both, like Kassidy. But if you need to lose one? Lose the number. Cast it off like freed SCPs in the halls of your workplace (too loud, too many colors) who haven’t realized the only existence they lay claim to is Meaning. But you lose your number, and you lose your motivation. GUNTJ-P. GUNTJ-P. You cling to the few labels you’ve been granted. They’re what keeps you whole, while your friends shed theirs like the paper trail Vanguard leaves behind.

Auro is here and you’re delighted you can understand anything they say. It’s an honor and a privilege to sit this close to burgeoning greatness–when they unleash the colors they’ve woven into the zeroes and ones you’re bound to them by into the streets of their city, you’ll be the first to venture out with a raft, and the first to overwhelm yourself by looking too close. You won’t be the first to praise their work.

Auro is here and their net is comforting against your sinking shoulders. It’ll leave marks, you’re sure, but they’ll become the colors that your weakened immune system (lack of emotional boundaries) considers its own. It could be worse. You could’ve been the empath who weaves unnecessary intricacies into their clothing so they aren’t assaulted by the bruises all Guardians carry–except you, all you know you have is a scar from the Before and you know they’ve noticed and they know you’re In-Between and a mistake and took what your friends deserved for yourself–but no. You’re fine. It’s just because Kassidy left, and now your thoughtspace is as rough as the Pacific.

Auro is here, and their thoughtspace is as turbulent as the Antarctic, from the colors they were forced to suppress while alive. You’re nothing compared to them. You’ve known this since you were alive, when they showed those colors and blinded you for a month, but that never meant you loved them any less.

Auro was always there, in some way or another: expert, historical, loving, never condescending, wordsmith, superior. Shatterer of the complexes you developed from your own paltry thoughtspace, the first time you realized how small you were. The first Auro, from Before: silencer of a year and a half, until you met the second. The one who sits in front of you now, graciously sharing the colors that still blind you. Adrenaline curls around the marker-drawn lines and pools in strange glowing circles around the thoughtsphere-bubbles, and you tense as if your own body is barbed wire. It’s not. It doesn’t feel like it is. You need to move and you can’t, and you need to freeze and curl but you can’t stop yourself from moving and you shrug and shudder the net away with one violent motion and then you scream, not so loudly it scares you, because, as always, Auro has done worse. You don’t matter. Nothing that happens to you will matter unless Auro worries.

And to your half-surprise, they do. They pick out what bothers you better than you can, and they’ll never berate you for looking at them strangely the way your mother did. It’s only because you don’t look at them at all.

When you’re alone and away, you fall onto yarnnets of their perceived pity, molding your arms and limbs even as they feel as if they’ve been caught in the middle of a schoolyard jump-rope. You’ve always worn long sleeves to hide the burns. You walk away bleeding, but whole, unjudged.

Is it fair to imagine the Antarctic pities the Pacific’s squalls, or the Atlantic mops up the vapid green debris from her hurricanes? Do they love her, or do they scoff at her misery? You’ve always hidden who you are behind allegories; it’s one of the few things your MBTI was right about (easily lose yourself in daydreams; well, wouldn’t that be nice). You’ll pile layers upon layers until you forget what was underneath it all.

#Eyes of An In-Between #Nat’s Guardians #writing #I wrote this a while ago #no it isn’t edited none of my Nao things are edited #personifposting #anxiety #friendship #give me purple prose or give me death #spot the meta #if I missed a tw please tell me

[alasse-earfalas]

Be At Peace

[hey i wrote a thing, here's the ao3 link if you're interested.]

Was it really so strange to be religious?

Link had seen the power of the Gods in his life, up close and personal. It was real to him, tangible, a thing he could touch and hear. A song on the wind. A sword in his hand. Nearly every part of the adventure that shaped him was touched by the divine.

To him, this was history. To others it was fairy tales.

That was hard for him to remember, when he spoke to others. Others who profaned against the Gods who saved his life, whether they intervened directly or through the relics they left behind. He forgot that the Gods weren’t as real to them. He had to bite his tongue so many times. Didn’t they know that the world would be in ruin were it not for these Gods they so casually and blatantly disrespected?

Did they not understand the love that the Gods had for their people?

Link sat on his bed, mind awash with so many thoughts. He tried to pray, but he couldn’t think here, surrounded by the clutter and cobwebs of the everyday life. No. He had to go somewhere sacred. Somewhere he could feel. Somewhere he could hear.

A sanctuary. A temple. A spring. A shrine. These places were designed for quiet reflection, a kind of quiet that didn’t exist anywhere else. It permeated his bones and weighed him down like a blanket, wrapped in warmth and love and reverence. He poured out his soul to the Gods he worshiped, the Gods he loved and tried to serve with all his heart.

Be at peace.

Link took in a sharp breath at the familiar answer. It wasn’t the one he wanted, but he tried to not balk at it. He was used to action. To doing. Being still—being at peace—when there was something that he thought should be done… It didn’t sit well with him.

But he would try.

Days ticked by and turned into weeks, months, years. The people quickly—too quickly, in Link’s mind—forgot how desperate they had been, how helpless, how quickly they were hurling towards their utter doom before the Gods reached out and snatched them from the brink of destruction. It irritated him. He wanted to take action, to do something about it.

But every time he prayed, he received the same answer: Be at peace.

At peace, because his homeland was safe and thriving. At peace, because his work as a Hero was done. The Gods had saved their people. Whether or not those people acknowledged the fact was not Link’s concern. He had his own life to live, his own wounds of the soul that needed healing. It was enough. His role in history was complete.

It was time for him to rest. 

#link #loz link #any of them really #legend of zelda #fanfic #religious #prayer #the legend of zelda #i wrote this a while ago #dunno why I didn't post it right away #religious link

[nightshadereaper66]

Death's Gift

TW: Implied suicidal thoughts, depression, and gambling. Word Count: 1231

Once upon a time, there was a man. He was an arrogant gambler, quick to flaunt his winnings. This led townspeople to dislike him. But his luck wouldn’t last, and one day he lost his wealth to another. Now quite poor, the man sought help from the townspeople, but remembering his cruel arrogance, he was shunned. Bitter from his defeat, the man became more unpleasant.

One day, as the man walked down a forest path, he encountered a young girl.

“I am Death,” she said. “I came to make you an offer.”

“What kind of offer?” the man asked brusquely, a greedy glint in his eye.

“That depends on what you wish from me,” Death answered. 

“Can you show me the future?” the man asked, for such a gift would give him unrivaled power.

But Death shook her head, “I cannot show what is to come, for it remains unwritten—”

The man cut her off. “Riches then. Unlimited riches. That’s what I want.”

“However, there is something I can do,” Death continued calmly, ignoring his interruption, “I can show you one moment. One choice that you must make. I will give you the gift of seeing the outcomes that stem from your choice.”

The man nodded eagerly.

But Death, raising her hand, halted the man from speaking. “Are you sure you want this?” She asked.

The man interrupted her again, “Yes. This will make me more powerful than any man, woman, or child on this Earth.”

Death smiled knowingly. She took the man’s hand and led him to the side of the road, where she picked up a small stone and a strand of grass. She tied the grass to the stone, turning it into an amulet.

“What are you doing? Where is this gift? I demand that you give it to me now,” the man shouted angrily.

Death wordlessly handed the man the small amulet that she had made.

“What is this? This isn’t what I asked for,” the man continued angrily.

“Maybe you should put it on,” Death suggested innocently.

The man scoffed but obeyed. A few moments later, he ripped the amulet off and shouted, “What have you done! This is not what I asked of you!”

But the girl was gone.

The man returned to his home, where he locked himself into his room. Days passed. He refused to leave, obsessed with finding the right outcome to the amulet’s choice. But no matter what he did, Death’s amulet showed him nothing but sadness and pain. Weeks passed, and the man never left his house, remaining obsessed with his dilemma. 

Faced with the heavy burden of the impossible choice that he would have to make, the man fell into a deep depression. Having lost the will to live, the man no longer felt emotion. 

For the first time in a year, the man stepped outside. A thunderstorm raged above, the thick gray clouds blocking out the sun. He quickly became soaked, yet he didn’t care. The man walked to the tallest cliff, at the bottom of which raged a river known for its deadly currents. But, to his surprise, someone waited for him there.

And Death spoke. “What troubles you so?”

“The weight of the gift you presented me with is too heavy a burden for me to bear,” replied the man, “I can’t find a good outcome. I’ve tried all that I can think of. I’ve come here to end my suffering.”

Death looked at him with sad sympathy in her eyes. “It seems to me that those who focus too much on their future never slow down to appreciate the present, and when they wish to change their ways, they become haunted by the mistakes of their past.”

The man sighed heavily, “Truer words have never been spoken.”

“Do you think that your life is truly worth throwing away so soon?” Death asked the man.

“I have nothing left to live for. The townspeople shun me for my past choices, and rightfully so. I have nothing. I am nothing.”

“It seems to me,” Death replied quietly, “as though you have learned. You are a different man now.” 

“I have changed. I look older.” This was indeed true. The man, young as he was, had aged a great deal, burdened by the weight of the world that he had placed on his own shoulders.

But Death shook her head. “You have changed more than that. You were foolish and arrogant when we first met. You now see the wrongs in your actions.”

“Yes. I made mistakes that I cannot undo, no matter how much I regret them,” the man admitted.

“You may not be able to change your past, but you can change the way those people see you in the future.”

“How? The townspeople hate me. They won’t even speak with me.”

“It seems to me that you are the one who wronged them. Maybe you should apologize?”

“They won’t listen,” the man said heavily.

Death replied softly, “Actions speak louder than words.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” the man said, “I should start now. I apologize for my arrogance towards you when we first met. I wish to return your gift.” He pulled the amulet out of his pocket and tried to hand it to Death, but she refused.

“I have no use for it.”

“I don’t wish to keep this any longer,” and with that, the man threw the amulet off of the cliff, where it was carried away by the river below.

As the man talked with Death, the storm’s downpour had turned to a drizzle. 

“I never solved its riddle,” he said quietly.

“And you may never solve it. The amulet gave you the opportunity to see a future choice, but you set it on yourself to find a favorable outcome. There may not be one. You might have more knowledge when the day you make your choice comes to pass.”

A long silence stretched out between the two. After a while, the young girl asked, “What did you see when you wore it?”

“I saw my future life. I saw the outcomes of my choice. But not once did I think to apologize to the people that I treated so wrongly.”

Death spoke, deep in thought, “So in the end, your choice wasn’t in the future.”

“I never thought of that. All that time I spent, locked in my home when I could have stepped outside and changed the world. I focused so much on the future and the past that I forgot about the present.”

“Choice is a powerful thing. When you think only of your future choices and forget about the present, you can never enjoy life.” Death mused quietly. “You can find more enjoyment in the present moment than anywhere else. To dwell endlessly on the past is not to live. To think only of what is to come is not to live.”

“Thank you. You gave me back my life,” the man said gratefully.

Death merely smiled and giggled. “It was always inside of you. You just needed to be reminded of it.”

When the man looked over, the young girl was gone. The storm had passed. Birds left their nests and filled the air with their songs. Smiling for the first time in years, the man made his way down the mountain, stopping to smell the spring flowers.

#writing #creative writing #original story #stories #fairy tales #dark fantasy #dark fairytale #I wrote this a while ago #but I want to post short stories on here more #so here you go #short story