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#my writing

“I couldn’t even handle the thought… let alone memories… of how my own brother turned into a vile creature so painfully sudden.”

“But this… I can’t imagine the emotions of losing my own brother by the hands of another soul.”

“His hurt, his tears… they rang so harshly that even I felt them with just a glance. They are both my close friends, and it hurt me to have seen one of them so destroyed and defeated.”

“Death is always imminent and inevitable.”

“However… this… it was nowhere close to his time. It wasn’t. His brother was not anywhere near his time of passing.”

“Yet… his dust and his scarf was in his arms.”

“It hurt me that his soul was taken away so soon, he was one of my close friends.”

“He was his brother, he had a deeper connection…”

“I can’t imagine the pain.”

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Characters: Gechutel K. Landegre, Mevek Agvain

Pairing: None

.

As always, her figure, her posture, her existence, is of exquisite perfection as she stalks down the castle halls. Her scroll is held delicately even as he wishes that he could clench his hands and make it wrinkle and tear. It is silence that accompanies him even as she wishes that her steps would echo off the walls and destroy the stone beneath her.

All Mevek wants right now is destruction, to be the fear that haunts others and makes them speak.

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when i thought i fell in love


she smelled like apple candy

and tasted like the mint gum

i gave her the hour before

her lips as red as a cherry lollipop

and nowhere near as sweet

for her words cut deeply

like her sharp nails painted

the color of the blue raspberry

shaved ice we shared

she was not nice, a sour candy

and she did not hold the same

appreciation for painful sweetness

that i did.


too much sweetness hurts my teeth

and gives me a headache

and so i liked that she was mean

that what i believed to be her love

was platonic at best

her sweet kisses cut were through

with acid and bitterness

but the flavor of her cruelty,

that i knew was intentional

highlighted the flavor of my love

for her and made it so my teeth

would not hurt when i thought of her


-B. 7/4/20

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Mis sueños son un reflejo de la realidad esquiva, estos me muestran lo que a consciencia pasa desapercibido frente a mi vista, mas en mi cabeza se va guardando lo que para mi alma es justamente lo que necesito. Aunque no siempre es agradable lo que se me dibuja al poner las sienes en la almohada, no dejo de anhelar llegar a la noche para envolverme en la cama y dormir. He visto tantas cosas al cerrar los ojos que me es imposible no creer en la multiplicidad de la consciencia. Soy tantos y, al mismo tiempo, soy uno. Tengo tantos rostros como personalidades, formas de pensar y maneras de ser que no me doy abasto. Un día canto con una voz privilegiada y, al otro, no tengo lengua. Sé que he transitado este mundo con miles de nombres distintos, a veces, uso los mismos sólo que en vidas paralelas. He experimentado el amor, las emociones, las maneras más sublimes desde la perspectiva femenina al abrir los ojos a la ternura de una flor postrada en mi ventana, en esa casa lejana, en alguna montaña de algún país lejano, en algún otro tiempo o, tal vez, en algún planeta desconocido aún para la humanidad, y he sentido tanto que la realidad se me ha quedado corta al despertar en este cuerpo y en esta consciencia que hoy experimento en esta densidad. Qué fascinante no es pensar, sino saber a ciencia cierta que soy el universo haciéndose a sí mismo una prueba, ya sea como mujer u hombre, como animal o insecto, como planta o tierra, como viento o fuego; estoy en todo y en todo me muevo; no hay nada que desconozca mi ser interno. Y no es una verdad que aplique en mí solamente, esto aplica en todos los seres vivos, conocidos y por conocer, de este mundo y de cualquier otro. El universo es Todo. Tú y yo somos Todo. No es cosa de sueños, eso lo aseguro. Pero, mientras te pierdes un rato en esto que he dicho, seguiré durmiendo y soñando en esas otras vidas que me ayudan tremendamente a escribir y, en su defecto, a existir.

Esu Emmanuel©️

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Lance glared at his laptop. The email stared back at him, complete with good intentions and a list of people he should “give a call”.

He groaned and rubbed his forehead. How was he supposed to politely tell his mother that he wasn’t interested in a relationship? Sure, he’d flirt and shmooze and go on the occasional date, but he wasn’t looking for romance just yet. It didn’t escape his notice that all the people on his mother’s list were from his hometown. The message couldn’t be clearer: come home and settle down.

It was pushy and loving and not at all unexpected. His mama had led their family pack ever since his Abuela died. Pack leaders protected their family, were responsible for hiding their secrets from humans, and kept the peace. Part of that responsibility involved overseeing courtships, often taking on the role of a matchmaker. Lance was sure that if he called any of those numbers, they would also be Other or something close to it; white witches, mages, and shamans made good partners for Shifters.

The last sentence in the email hit him just below the ribs. “Nadia wants to know if Tio Lance will be home for her birthday. It’s a month away, what should I tell her?”

He hissed out a long breath. This was just as dirty as Great-aunt Lupe’s special brand of Catholic Guilt.  He closed his laptop.

***

Hunk invited Pidge over again, this time for homemade pizza (“You can’t live on that frozen garbage, Pidge!”) and Lance discovered a whole new reason why Werewolves weren’t to be trusted.

“I can’t believe you invited a heathen into my home,” he scoffed, taking a vicious bite out of his slice.

Hunk snorted. “Dude, I only like pineapples on pizza if I’m the one who makes it,” he gestured to Pidge, who was looking at Lance with a mixture of awe and disgust, “She’s totally within her rights to be suspicious.”

“Then why’d you only make half the pizza with pineapple if two out of three people like it?” Lance whined.

“Because she needs the leftovers more than we do.”

Pidge wrinkled her nose and mumbled around a pineapple-free slice, “I guess it’s not as bad as people who put ranch on their pizza.”

Hunk paused halfway out of his seat, his ears slowly turning red. He sat back down. “Betrayed in my own home,” he muttered.

After dinner, all three of them ended up playing Mario Kart. Of course, they unanimously agreed to play Rainbow Road first, and Hunk scraped by with a win due to underhanded uses of banana peels. Pidge demanded a rematch, and Lance dropped out long enough to make popcorn and check his email again.

No new messages. Normally his mother wouldn’t let an unanswered email or text go by for more than a day before she’d barrage him with more. Maybe she suspected that pushing on this particular issue wouldn’t help. Pushing a coyote into a corner ended two ways: either the coyote would find a way to slip past and escape… or they’d bite you.

He poked his head out of the kitchen. “Pidge, chili sauce on popcorn, yea or nay?”

“…What?!”

“Lance, don’t corrupt her.”

***

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summary: the new yorker who visits the outer banks for a few weeks out the year seems to have everyone under her spell and jj maybank is not an exception.

warnings: smut, mentions of cheating (in no way do i condone this ok it’s just for the plot) and typos, probably. 

notes: so i proofread this to the best of my ability before i slept because i wanted to publish it today so we are not gonna say anything if there are typos. listen to wonder what she thinks of me by chloe x halle. i came across this idea as i listened to it! 

participate in my writing challenge!

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Originally posted by toesure

The island’s gossip varied from day to day, but it seemed that the name of the mysterious newcomer lingered on everyone’s lips when they heard that the femme fatale was back in town.

But she wasn’t a newcomer. She returned to the island that was the polar opposite of her penthouse New York lifestyle a few times a year to visit her father who lived between The Cut and Figure Eight. Rob the Handyman. He could fix anything with a wrench and nothing else. She was welcomed on both sides of the island partly because of her father’s connections, but mostly because of her untouchable attitude.

The Manhattan native hadn’t bothered to make any friends on the island, preferring to keep herself busy with casualties of love that offer their hand to keep her company for the night or for the weekend. She was there for a week or two at a time, typically on holiday breaks, and it was always a party when the siren stepped foot into town.

The Kooks took an interest in her New York lifestyle; girls were staring at her city wardrobe and boys were lusting after her apparent wealth. She roamed freely around the island, not caring for the petty class war that didn’t concern her.

As for the Pogues, the girl was such an entity to them that they never bothered to classify her as a Kook. Her wealth wasn’t a secret but she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and help Rob the Handyman fix cars and mechanics at his shop. Some could find her with grease stains on her forehead and covering covering his arms.

Perhaps the most enticing part of her character was that they knew very little about her. The girl’s past was a mystery. All they could gather was her mother being a powerful attorney in New York. She hadn’t grown up on the island in time to make friends with the locals who had known each other since kindergarten. Everyone knew everyone on the Outer Banks, but they didn’t know her.

She was well off, richer than the Cameron’s and Thornton’s combined. Not a soul could tell if they were putty in her hands for this reason or her aura, as she hasdn’t given the boys the time of day, or if it was because when she was around, they were too preoccupied with catching her attention. The Pogues learned her presence was an inadvertent blessing for this reason.

Most boys molded her to fit their daydream. Some girls killed to mimic her aesthetic, but nothing could capture the Manhattan grace like living there for most of their life. Her naturally cosmopolitan attitude and nonchalance added to her already mysterious nature, and the locals on the Outer Banks couldn’t help but become infatuated with the New Yorker.

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Sé que el tiempo,
Me ha borrado de tu mente y de tu cuerpo,
Sé que batallas,
Por recordar mi aroma y mis besos.

Que tal si damos un paseo,
Por esos caminos que llevan a la luna,
O si me cantas una canción,
Y acaricias mis deseos,
Como a las cuerdas de tu guitarra.

Y si te llevo a navegar,
Por los mares de mi alma,
Si te escribo versos,
Que tatuen mi sentir,
Y te proporcionen calma.

Te hagan suspirar de una,
Te hagan cerrar los ojos,
Pedir mas…
Y perder la cordura.

Que tal si nos soñamos,
En tu bella escritura,
O en mi onírica flama,
En mi letras locas,
Y en el fuego que llama.

Roxana Guzmán vk
Para Blog (sirr-poesia)

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TITLE: There it Goes Again (A Song To Break His Silent Heart)

SHIP: Geraskier

PROMPT DAY: 5 (Loneliness)

MEDIUM: Netflix

WARNINGS: Contains Geralt and his sad wanks; explicit. 

SUMMARY:

Child surprise, the djinn, all of it. All of it. When in reality, Geralt’d been the one to involve himself with Duny’s aid, and the djinn; they’d been his wishes, how he could’ve ever blamed his bard for it, he doesn’t know.

And on the mountain, sat beside him, coaxing Geralt to come with him to the coast.

“Why don’t we leave tomorrow? Head off to the coast— life is too short; do what pleases you while you can.” Even going so far to wrap it in awkward humour to appeal to his emotion-rejecting witcher, who’d only sat there like he hadn’t even heard him.

Geralt finds that the only thing worse than loneliness, is regret.

WORD COUNT: 3k (3237)

AUTHOR’S NOTES: For Geralt Whump Week ( @geraltwhumpweek )! It’s a happy ending, promises <33 Likes and reblogs let me know you’re liking my work; Thanks for reading and enjoy! Title’s from Empty Plates by Robert Hallow and The Holy Men.


Geralt’s hair whips at his face, the winds angry as if in reflection of his own temper. Silence surrounds him, the image of Yennefer turning her back to him fresh in his mind. His shoulders finally slump in defeat, a pain heavy in his chest, fighting to get out, to be expressed, to ruin everything in its wake.

His roar echoes through the mountains, a sound of agony and loss as much as it’s of rage, taking the last of his anger and leaving him boneless and empty. He wants to get back down the mountain, give Roach a pet and listen to Jaskier’s mindless chatter.

Only, Jaskier isn’t there when Geralt finally finds enough energy to walk back to the camp. The dwarves are gone, no one left, actually. The only thing that waits for him is a dagger shoved into the dirt, one he’d gotten for Jaskier in Velen, decorated with thread the same color as his eyes.

Geralt falls to his knees in front of it, head bowed and fists resting on his lap, grieving, wondering how he lost everyone in a single, cursed day. Should’ve listened to his bard, stayed the fuck away from this contract.

He sighs. His body feels too heavy, in fact, everything feels surreal, as if it’s just a nightmare. The witcher runs a hand through his hair before finding his feet.

So this is it, then, it seems.

He growls and rips the blade out of the ground, sheathing it on his belt before adjusting his swords on his back. There’s no point in lingering.

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Fandom: The Umbrella Academy
Pairing: Klaus x f!Reader
Word Count: 4.8k
Rating: T
Warnings: Swearing, Blood, Drug reference

Summary: The story of Number 8: The Firestarter.  Reunited with the rest of  the  Umbrella Academy by your former caretaker’s death your worries swiftly  shift from avoiding your former flame to stopping the apocalypse, in  true dysfunctional fashion.  But who knew that saving the world might  bring you and Klaus back together again?

Tag List: @x-a-delama-x​​​ @supergeekfangirl​​​ @permanent-writers-blo-ck​​​ @misselsbells06​​​ @nevadawolfe​​​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​​​​ @imagine-you-are​​​​ @stuckupstucky​​​​ @intoomuchfandoms​​​​ @octavia-marie-blake​​​​ @vinawyatt (i’m not sure why it won’t let me tag you)

[ ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT | NINE | TEN ]

———

TEN — Changes

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Originally posted by ltfrankcastle

“Come on, we need to get her inside,” you cried as Klaus pulled up in front of the academy, brakes squealing as he nearly ran into the street lamp, tires straddling the curb, “I don’t think she’s breathing!”

As soon as Klaus wrenched his car door open the front door of the mansion burst open and Luther, Diego, and Five rushed out to help, crowding around the back of the car.  Your arms trembled from the strain of keeping pressure on Allison’s wound during the car ride, even though Klaus managed to make record time, breaking at least six different traffic laws on the way, but you were thankful that the others were able to pull her from the car and carry her inside– you didn’t think you’d be able to lift her in your state.

The adrenaline fueling you from your confrontation with Vanya and Leonard had completely depleted, leaving you weak and shaky and your legs nearly gave out as you stumbled out of the car after the others, Klaus quickly wrapping an arm around your waist, catching you before you fell and helping you inside.

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I love Avengers Endgame. I love all the Avengers movies. The Marvel Cinematic Universe is a wondrous thing, not because all the movies are great (a fair few of them are) or because they’re especially creative (again, a fair few of them are) but because, in a time of extraordinary cultural fragmentation, tens of millions of people all over the world sat down and watched them together.

That kind of shared cultural experience may never happen again, and that is sad.

And so the fact that Avengers Endgame, which got great reviews and became the highest grossing film in human history, exists is, in and of itself, extraordinary. It might not be your thing, and that’s fine. It very much is my thing.

You can nitpick it all you want, but Avengers Endgame is, you know, objectively a great movie, and it’s a great movie because of scenes like this.

Fuck, it’s one of my favourite movies ever for this scene alone.

A lot of thinkpieces were written about Thor, about how he got fat and that’s bad and fat-shaming or some stupid bullshit like that, but as a fat depressive I’m very happy he did. He got fucked up big time, fell into a depressive spiral, drank too much, ate too much and got fat.

He is still a hero. He’s still worthy.

Yeah, some characters made shitty comments, but people make shitty comments. That’s what happens.

Thor’s story arc in this movie is saying something that is self-evident but still needs to be said: we are not only who we are at our lowest. We are also who we are at our best. We’re whole people, and part of that is our trauma, but part of that is also our response to that trauma. We are who we are when we’re broken; we are who we are when we rebuild ourselves.

I love this scene because it’s a reminder that, even when we have fucked up badly, we’re still worthy. Of love, of self-respect, of the powers of Thor.

I love this scene because Thor gets to see his mother one last time, and the person who loves him most in the whole universe, loves him completely and with no reservation, reminds him who he is: the measure of a person is how well they succeed at being who they are, she says. And she’s right.

I love this scene because Thor gets to say goodbye to his mum, and Chris Hemsworth says mum. Not mom. He says mum. In an Australian accent.

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And, because Frigga is a witch of extraordinary power (in other words, a mum), she knows exactly how to fix everything. She loves Thor, she trusts him. That’s enough.

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Come and get your love…

igetalongwithoutyouverywell
igetalongwithoutyouverywell
igetalongwithoutyouverywell
igetalongwithoutyouverywell
igetalongwithoutyouverywell
igetalongwithoutyouverywell
igetalongwithoutyouverywell
igetalongwithoutyouverywell
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Originally posted by bring-me-in-warm

I’ve been seeing a lot of these posts lately, so I wanted to give you guys a heads up on some writing that will be posted soon! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in anything :)

Red Sunsets: Chapter 4 (El Accidente)

Summary: They have La Quica right at their fingertips, when all of a sudden things go wrong.

NOTE: This series is written with a Chinese!Reader in mind, but anyone can read this! It brings us the world of Javier Peña and romance while illuminating the realities of Asian(in this case Chinese)-Americans and Asian-Latinxs. You can catch up on Red Sunsets here.

First of Many (Marcus Pike x Reader)

Summary: It’s the first morning after Marcus stays the night.

*Requested* Mando Hate Sex

Summary: Let’s face it; Mando is tired and stressed, and you have way too much fun messing with him. Eventually you reach a tipping point, and the climax ensues.

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