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fishwithtitz · 5 months

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I’m having a cloudy day and wrote this drabble to try to get it out. Read or don’t.

#poetry drabble #fighting the sads #writers block #poetry #free verse #my writing

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dinoswordsb · 3 months

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This is in no way the best way to post it but it is the only way I could get the format to stay

#poetry #character drabbles #others ocs #those last to are ehhhh theyre mentioned vaguely #antrums #eli #ainsley #lester

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silverquillsideas · 3 months

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15022024 // excerpts from poems I'll never publish

#Spilled ink #spilled words #Love #Poetry #poems on tumblr #Quotes #web weaving #spilled thoughts #spilled poetry #writing #fiction #Fanfic #Drabbles

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teddybeartoji · 2 months

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it's not often you get to see a sleepy suguru.

it's not like he's not tired – he's fucking exhausted; the dreams just don't seem to like him all that much. but he's usually toughing it out, trying to seem as composed and put-together as possible. the dark skin underneath his eyes betray him, though.

so you don't really know why today is different. is he just more tired? have all of the sleepless hours caught up with him? or is it just you; could it be that your body is the most comfortable place to rest his heavy head? or is it your perfume that's soothing him to sleep?

or is it the fingers in his hair?

he doesn't really let others play with his hair too ofter either. satoru and shoko had been the only exceptions but that was before you came along. satoru uses his hair as a stim, something to play with when he's bored. suguru has taught him manners though – a few slaps against satoru's fingers and chest to remind him to be more careful. and shoko is just more likely to brush a strand from his eyes or help him tie them up in a half-assed bun whenever his own hands are full with whatever.

you like playing with hair, always have and always will. it's relaxing and it's fun and it's calming and you love it. when you first met suguru, his hair was the second thing you noticed about him (his keen purple eyes being the first). an irresistible itch burned in your fingertips everytime you saw him, everytime he wore his hair down. it just looked so pretty and soft.

he takes very good care of his hair, you know that much. specific shampoos and conditioners, masks and all – he's all in. and nobody bats an eye. not that they should but satoru definitely gets made fun of because of his stupidly expensive collection of figurines and shoko gets teased for her silly mug shelf – and yet, neither of them ever comment on the bottles and tubs of fancy products that lay on his bathroom counter.

his hair also smells good. the compliment always hangs on the tip of your tongue but stays hidden in fear of coming off too weird. too creepy. but he doesn smell good. even with closed eyes and ears and you'd find him in a crowd. you wonder whether he knows that.

as you grew closer and closer, the now scorching itch only doubled in need. you never did gather the strenght to outwardly ask him – if you could play with his hair? if you could caress it? comb through it? it was an accident.

a simple gloomy friday afternoon: you're both lazing on your couch, staring at the screen. it's funny – you find yourself muffling your already quiet bursts of laughter, suguru alongside you. he's sitting close by, closer than usual. you don't ask him about it.

he asked to come over; something-something about being sick of his own apartment. you understand that, so you tell him that your home is his home (you'd tell him that even if you didn't understand). you hear the faint smile when he thanks you over the phone.

even when he looks like he hasn't slept in months – he looks good. you can tell he's overexaggerating his smile a bit but don't say anything about it, rewarding him with a grin of your own. his eyes flick to your lips and how they curve and he thinks about how warm it feels to look at you. maybe he's not exaggerating anymore.

your arms open wide, inviting him into you and he obliges, as always. he smells good. as always.

his hands lock behind your back and your behind his neck. your hearts meet and they greet each other with a fastened beat, eager to be in sync – to feel each other again.

he pulls back and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. he's not doing it anymore and you're happy to relieve him even if it's for mere moments.

he's wearing a sweather and his hair is down. he has lip gloss on; you try to think whether he's more of a mint guy or more of a shea guy. it remains a mystery.

and now you're on the couch with two cups of warm tea waiting for you on the small table. he smells good. he's so close. he snickers at the screen and you can't take your eyes off of him. it's the same small crinkle of the eyes and the faintest pink tint on his cheeks.

you know he knows that you're looking at him. you've been told to have a staring problem and he's just an observant guy. it's a terrible match. or a perfect one.

he doesn't say anything though; instead he leans his head back and little to the side against the headrest (he's even closer now) and you find yourself shifting an inch aswell. perhaps magnets are involved? the iron in your blood pulling you together?

no, that can't be. you'd have to be polar opposites for that to work. warm-blooded and cold-blooded? would that work? you're getting too poetic and he's looking at you now.

it's an accident. it slips out on its own. you smell good. caught off guard by your own comment, you're about to apologize when a hand on your thigh almost makes you suffocate on the words stuck in your throat.

he laughs and it feels so good. he thanks you. he means it, you see it in his tired eyes. he likes the way you blush.

turning his focus back to the tv, you try to collect yourself. a deep breath in and a deep one out and a deep one in and a de—

a weight on your shoulder. he smells so good. he's so close. you peek down, curious as to whether this is a dream or not. but suguru's head is in fact laid on your body, sinking a bit more into you by the second. a deep breath in and a deep one out.

seeking for a more comfortable position, you snuggle closer to him. it's hard to focus but you're making it your sole mission to make him feel safe. your arm curls around his body, his shoulder, and rests right by a flock of his hair.

his cheek is now smushed against the top of your chest and the weight of love doesn't seem as bad as everyone keeps telling you. his hand finds a place around your waist; loosely – as if he's the one who's afraid to scare you off. silly.

his breath against you feels right and the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. so you do what you always do when you get nervous – completely on their own, your fingers caress his hair. just smoothing over it at first but before you know it, they're combing through a strand and twirling the ends between themselves.

you wanna apologize, again, but the soft little grunt that emits from the man keeps you from doing so.

don't stop.

+ this is for @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat just bc it feels right

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astralnymphh · 4 months

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unrelated but please write more fluff 😭😭 i loooove your way of writing sm 🩷

okay, let me just think of something random I can make into a poem to lighten my blog a little. think i'll do artist!ellie. first drabble thats mostly just poetry woop woop? (you'll see this kind of stuff in any fluff/angst/fantasy au i write) cw: internal organs mentioned, kinda angsty? idk sorry i get DEEP. thats it.

There's an artist in the bungalow.

She's got a mane of fire and a heart of clay. She is everything but skin and bone— for she has borne houses of stars and planets alike. The cosmos is her, and she is the cosmos. In her kindled hand is a means to create, whether she a weeping willow or gone livid in the pursuit for her head. Anguish be her tale of past days over this bungalow, because when all hope was sunken without acquainting grace, you rose upon it on two feet in ache.

You've a body similar— wrists that rebuke gold and sprout isles of lichens interchanging of your fine sylphine hairs. Borne was you, arteries dropped like glue and fled this earth like wax into hot gas, rising and rising somewhere new— instead, branches lie dying with you, inside you, a part of you, giving life to the marrow that is pulsing you. Wood is rot, bark is flaying, you are falling, that is okay. For the cosmos are desolate and resplendent with corpses by the shedload too. She is you, and you are her.

That's why she reached out for you, gave a hand made for crafting— and crafted you her partner.

One day, she took you through her quaint, oaken bungalow. A finger she lifted, pointing out everything mundane and.. commonplace. She pointed at her casement brown—trim windows, calling them the 'eyes of our house', watching the eons age this house away. She then pointed to her hallways, and likened them the 'throats of our house', swallowing every being and spitting them out a whole new person. She would give a last point, towards her bedroom and deem it the, 'heart of our house', for it pumps with life and watches bodies lie there— aging, waning, ever becoming moribund with their lovers held dear, pulse to pulse.

And you question sweetly, "Why are you telling me this, Ellie?"

Why?

Why elucidate the likeness of a visual so natural and so unquestioned in the form of organs? You question, but you do not look. Ellie replies, smooth of her tongue, "Wouldn't be fun if I just said it was my house." completely skipping the main trigger for question— 'our, our.. ours' and no longer just, 'her, her.. hers'.

It is your house. It is her house. It is a bungalow.

No odds about it, be it a jerry—built swamp house, a boxy mansion cruelly boasting over a crag, or a cottage swarmed in pixies preordained to rot in the woods it relies life on; it is a being. It eats personage, lets them linger, and absorbs them at the end of their existence— just like the earth will when it dies. Houses are like us.

Roofs see the same night airglow we gaze at, splayed amongst the grass, you lay with her.

"There's the little dipper, and.. that's the big dipper." croaked Ellie, aiming that same pointer towards the realm above, the dotted fabric we call 'the sky'.

"How can you even tell so easily— is there something wrong with my eyes?" quipped you, pressing the flank of your fist into your cinched eyes, clearing them.

"D'ya need me to point them out again?" She rolls upon her side, rending grass stuck onto her back, "Cause I can point you all the constellations visible right—"

Silenced. You push up on elbows and toss a hand to cradle, bringing her face into yours for a word—gobbling kiss, letting the dying hum vibrate down your chest. Ellie talks too much.

"Nhhmm.."

Satisfied. Spit smacking apart, it draws a line from pink plump to your plump of lip, and severs when you depart enough.

Her lower lip rolls inward, sucking sweetly of the spit you laid upon her mouth, coughing, "Ahem— that.. so you don't want me to show?" Dumbass. "No."

"Ooh—kay," drawled Els', the shuffling of leather and lawn surfing through your senses just a moment as she adjusts, planting that charmed chin on your shoulder— smushed like a rotten apple, "No show." and smiled, bless her smile.

So you lay, let the lay of petrichor waft into your head, and sleep away. Sleep away the life, sleeping away with yours— and hers.

just a teensy bit rushed but hope this is suitable

#ellie williams #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams drabble #ellie tlou #lesbian #sapphic #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams poetry #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams x masc reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you

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m1d-45 · 1 year

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Heheehee would love to see venti post-imposter au like that one u did for zhongli...I love guilt >:)))) and thank u, u r amazing!!!!

unnamed poem, unnamed bard

a/n: wrote a whole poem for this. hope you enjoy <3

-> warnings: reader is dead. reader is a literal corpse and is described and referred to as such. major spoilers for mondstat archon quest, the most microscopic spoilers for liyue archon quest.

-> lowercase intended!

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie

< masterlist >

‘the creator is the highest god across every nation.’

seven sets of eyes stared at the body in front of them, at the arrow shot through it’s throat. several other wounds crossed the body, but none were as lethal as the first.

‘they have created everything, from the clouds-‘

angry gray rippled across the sky, thunder crackling in the distance. the storm had been brewing all day, and now the reason why was clear.

‘-to the air-‘

wind howled and cried, whipping through hair and pulling at clothes. one of the ties around venti’s braids had been ripped away, the hair beginning to unravel in the gale. still, even as nahida clutched at focalor’s cloak to stay standing—poor girl, she’d been trying to convince her—the clothes on the corpse were still.

‘-to the earth beneath our feet.’

blood seeped into the ground below, shimmering even in the dim light filtering through the clouds. the brick pattern below had shining blue for grout, blood tracing a spiderweb out.

‘they are only to be adored with the highest of veneration.’

thin hands shook around the handle of a bow, painted nails digging into the grip. barbatos’ eyes are wide, teal, unblinking gaze staring at the body as if it would magically come back to life. as if it would reach, pull out the arrow, as if it would sit up and chide him for behaving so rashly. it doesn’t.

‘after all…’

amber eyes search for purple, then red, black gloves tightening around the geo lord’s weapon. he was not without sin, having also participated in the chase—none were truly pure, none truly deserved any form of forgiveness except for maybe nahida.

‘it is they to which we owe our lives.’

seven chests heaved with a variety of emotions—adrenaline, contrition, horror—but an eighth was oddly regular. blank, lifeless eyes, matching the color of the ones on the corpse, curved with a smile. well done! they cheered, silent pride shining in the dim light.

‘they are stronger than steel.’

“who are you?”

the gritted voice of the pyro archon shattered the fragile silence.

“me?”

‘brighter than the sun.’

the false god put a hand to their chest, the fake shock on their face not hiding their glee. “well, i’m your god, aren’t i?”

‘with their iron-strong will,’

six hands tightened on weapons. one set let go of cloth, small stature still brimming with anger.

‘eons long work begun.’

new blood stained the dirt, red instead of divine blue. the fake’s body jerked, elemental reactions dancing across their skin as their body fell to the floor. superconduct burned out their eyes, overload locked up their lungs, quicken sped up the rate at which blood flowed from their veins. frozen pinned their still-twitching body to floor as they slowly died.

the gods almost wished that it had taken them longer to die. they certainly didn’t deserve a quick death.

‘they forged the valleys and plains.’

seven voices united by the covered body of their god, undivided by worldly squabbles. grudges and bitterness fell away, if only for now, seven heads bowed on seven sets of knees. even nahida, innocent as she was, had knelt alongside them here. seven prayers were lifted on seven tongues, some wavering, all weak. the scenery did little to distract when they knew they had slaughtered it’s maker.

‘mountains shaped, clouds retained.’

the burial was silent, only the sound of dirt against dirt breaking the solemn air. shimmering jade rose from the earth, obsidian lettering carving out their sin. seven were too weak to continue standing, seven sets of tears beginning to fall. seven asked for forgiveness.

‘as night turned to day turned to night again,’

none would receive it.

‘their last creation made, to their own world they ascend.’

grass and flowers were quick to grow over the unsettled dirt, risking quick uprooting for the chance to get closer. seven hearts burned. seven souls screamed.

drinks hit their tables with loud bangs. ‘who are you, bard?” a man called. ‘where have you heard such things?’

barbatos was the first to flee, unable to bear feeling their aura so long after their death. his wide wings flapped erratically, all of his usual grace lost as tears blurred his vision. the cuffs of his shirt clung to his skin, droplets of blue already staining to matter how hard he tried to scrub it out. it refused to even smudge.

he tucked his wings in and dove, barely even trying to slow his fall once he got closer to the ground, not feeling the pain in his feet. he stumbled once, twice, then collapsed at the foot of his own anemo statue.

the boy laughed, the teal on his nails matching the mirth in his eyes.

barbatos’ chest heaved, the air he commands abandoning him in his time of need. the peaceful breeze of windrise couldn’t hide the uneven beats of his heart, the cool stone behind him not soothing the burn on his face. he could see them, the golden chains of his crimes, already encircling his arms. the fingers that pulled the string stiffened with shining rings, too tight to be comfortable, his opposite palm already beginning to glow. some scrap of his consciousness mourned how it would affect his ability to play, to drink, to move, the unforgiving chains binding his actions.

the larger majority mourned his god.

‘you can call me venti.’

#*kicks down your doors* HEY YALL EVER HEARD OF PARALLELISM #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin #genshin impact #sagau impostor au #sagau zhongli #sagau venti #sagau ei #sagau raiden shogun #self aware genshin #genshin self aware au #ever-thankful that poetry is one of my hobbies 🙏🙏 how would i write my rhyme-loving bard otherwise?#venti angst #tw death #death tw #tw: death #dead reader #this. exhausts the idea of you being dead. gotta be safe abt it #this was meant to be a drabble involving the karma idea i had on… i wanna say ‘the scottish play’?#nope it was ‘death rebirth new life’.#but i recognize it covers everything but the karma… so..#may or may not elaborate on this in the future? like with you being revived/isekai’d and he’s very teary and repentful #or maybe he refuses to even get close? unwilling to allow you to be harmed by him once more even as his chains start to cinch his lungs-#ok i need to stop before i write an essay in the tags #(but what if he /zhongli went to the grave to pay respects only to find it empty? what if THAT????)#guess who forgot a TITLE!!#edit was that i added one: it’s shit but i needed something for the m. list

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laluvlidovezgal · 3 months

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PLEASE MAKE A TBHK STORY

idc with whom. PLEASE JUST MAKE ONE I BEG U CAUSE UR MUI FIC HAD ME BALLING PLZ 😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇🙇🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️

OHHH alrightx2, will do! xxx

EVEN AT FIRST GLIMPSE, WHEN MY EYES BEHELD YOU FAIR,

i instantly perceived your ethereal essence, a presence beyond words to compare,

when our gazes met, the world lost all its earthly worth,

only our intertwined glances held meaning, a realm that enraptured my senses; a galaxy of its own.

the resplendence of your eyes shattered the world's confines,

transcending the mundane, they flourished a realm so divine,

i found myself breathless, caught in a celestial embrace,

beneath the shimmering bayou of your gaze, my soul found solace and grace.

within your eyes, i glimpsed gates to boundless possibilities,

if you aren't the embodiment of celestial splendor, all else is mere fallacies,

is it too self-indulgent to yearn for your gaze's sole embrace?

startled and spellbound, my world bloomed in hues, an elysian embrace.

with each glance, my heart races, a wild stallion unbridled,

as if dreams turned reality, i've discovered what destiny compiled,

my heart finds sanctuary solely within your enchanting domain,

forever entwined, my love for you knows no bounds, a timeless refrain.

please, only look into my eyes that way.

don't do the same for anyone else's'.

i'll be here until we grow old.

i'll cherish you ceaselessly, defying time's curse.

i will love you for all of eternity.

yugi amane , yashiro nene , aoi akane , akane aoi, minamoto teru , mitsuba sousuke , shijima mei , akane sumire , shinigami-sama , yako

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jerseryjers · 4 months

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Tear open my skin like a fucking pomegranate, gnaw on my sweet insides. Let the juices run down your chin. Suck on my ribs to get every last drop of my love. Snarl at the ones who try to take even a nibble, you know I’m all yours; all for you.

#2am thoughts #drabble #spilled thoughts #spilled poetry #poetry #love poem #cannibalism as a metaphor for love #pomegranate #tear me apart

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emberfrostlovesloki · 7 months

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Aaron Hotchner is a Martyr [a ramble]

"We were promised sufferings. It was part of the program. We were even told, "Blessed are they that mourn,' and I accept it. I've got nothing that I haven't bargained for. Of course, it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not imagination." (C. S. Lewis) ~ A Grief Observed

We all know that all the characters in Criminal Minds are tragic characters. They have to be. But I think Hotch takes a great bunch of the burden, and we don't even see him suffer really, and if he does it's often in silence. He takes and gives it all for the team. What hasn't he given?

His marriage

His career

His very own body and blood

Or lost?

Hailey

Emily

Strauss

The Unsub who told him, "You're the only good man I've ever known."

And these things get thrown in his face again and again and again, and he still takes it for the team. If that's not sacrifice for the sake of something bigger than himself then I don't know what is.

To add to all this, we know that he is keenly aware that he is not winning as it were. Because when he was a lawyer he saw how corrupt and terrible the legal system was. He felt like he was too late. And as Unit Chief, even when the team solves a case, that's not winning either. Because people are still dead and he's aware that his job relies on people to continue dying. If they didn't, there wouldn't need to be a BAU.

And he metaphorically dies again and again, and we grieve with him, and our faith is strengthened in his suffering.

#criminal minds #criminal minds blurb #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotcher #agent hotchner #hotch suffering #hotch angst #criminal minds ramble #derek morgan #emily prentiss #spencer ried #theology #philosophy #c s lewis #my thoughts #hotch blurb #@criminalskies #criminal minds poetry #hotch drabble

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fvllingcamellia · 1 month

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— you're beautiful. even now, i can't help but admire you. your skin... i would love to touch it again. to feel... to even just look into your mesmerising eyes, and it would be enough for me. sometimes i wonder if you'd take me for another adventure? especially to the ocean. how i miss the ocean, it was so long... the glaze of moonlight reflecting off the water surface so you'd shine like the brightest star in front of me. i witnessed the birth of a goddess, like there was aphrodite emerging from the sea foam just to steal me once again with her lips for the night. you're poetry. i exist to consume and admire you. — suguru ended his monologue. snowflakes falling down on his long black hair. he didn't mind the cold. he was willing to withstand whatever may happen. he just wanted you. you were his priority in this moment. the most precious thing that he could keep to himself. but of course, he needed to go. his time was up. there was no point in staying here more since there was no answer.

— angel, i hope you will forgive me one day. i tried everything for you, but each day, the world proves to me that everything is not enough. whenever you are, my soul will find you so we can be together as we promised to ourselves. — and he only placed white lilies on the snow that covered the cold marble with your name engraved on it. it was getting colder, the wind swayed the trees more than earlier. the moon was shining brightly right at the place he was in. suguru looked up at the sky, a slight smile appeared on his face.

as he was walking away from your grave, he knew one thing.

he was forgiven.

#fumiswritings #anime #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #manga #writing #geto suguru #getou suguru x reader #angst #jjk geto #jjk angst #drabble #idk how to tag this #this is so stupid #poetry #poem

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youphoriaot7 · 8 months

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"Ouch! Pendejo," Cellbit mutters under his breath, kicking the chest in front of him as he shuts the lid. Clearly, that wasn't going to work, so he'd just have to figure out something else—

He turns around to face the door. There's a figure there. A person Cellbit was slowly starting to lose all hope of ever seeing again.

Forever looks horrible, by every definition of the word. His suit is wrinkled and dirty; his hair is falling halfway out of his braid, his bangs curled in strands around his face. The circles under his eyes are dark and sunken, giving his cheeks a hollow look. The flag that used to sit atop his shoulder is wrapped over the back of his neck, looking more like a blanket at this point.

But there's an ever-so-slight glint in his gaze that hasn't been there for nearly a week: a look of determination, a careful curve to his lips. He stands in the doorway of the Ordo, one hand clutching the doorframe tighter than it really should be. But that doesn't matter right now—at least he's on his feet.

Cellbit barely notices what he's doing until he's already halfway across the floor, insignificant item tossed from his hand as he throws his arms around his friend.

Forever stumbles backwards a bit and Cellbit throws his elbow out, catching them on the wall just before they go down. He can feel the other man's arms hesitantly hovering around his shoulders, before they carefully close around him. Cellbit himself digs his fingers into the shoulders of Forever's suit, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath.

"Thank god you're okay," he whispers.

"All thanks to you and Pac," Forever murmurs back, voice cracking with disuse.

There's a small noise from behind them and Cellbit's eyes rocket open to see Bad standing in the hallway, jaw dropped. Carefully, he untangles himself from the president's arms, giving his hand a final squeeze. Then, he nods to Bad, stepping aside to let them have some time.

The demon has a smile on his face, even as the worry in his voice pokes through when he speaks. "Forever, you've been out for four days."

"...it was a lot longer than four days, Bad," Forever responds softly, laughing.

Cellbit shakes his head, squeezing past them to exit the room. It would take a while for things to go back to normal; he knew that. It would take a while for Forever to readjust, whether he showed it or not.

But for the first time in nearly a week, things were hesitantly starting to look up.

#couldn't get their reuniting out of my head #the poetry in which cellbit logged in and turned to see him just standing there was beautiful #i just needed an insaneduo hug #qsmp #qsmp liveblogging #qsmp cellbit #qsmp forever #qsmp bbh #qsmp fic #qsmp drabble #ev;perfection

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pixeldemonia · 7 months

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Rebirth of the hero

The number one is back

I don't really know much about flower language but according to my research those ones can say:

- japanese dianthus: courage

- fennel flower: strength

- almond blossoms: renewal, hope, and diligence

- white bellflower: new beginnings, everlasting love

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jkslipppiercing · 2 months

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Rubatosis | JJK Drabble

(n.) The unsettling awareness of one's own heartbeat.

no introduction just give it a shot and see if you like it.

<1k words.

index

taglist

-unedited.

i dont try to stop my legs as i dash outside.

when grief attacks me and takes me by sudden moments of vulnerability, i welcome it.

embrace it.

because running away from it will only break me harder.

i'm instantly soaked by the downpour. the heavy water drowns my clothes and drenches me in a blanket of adrenaline.

i don't stop running.

even as i feel everything.

the clothes on my body clinging to my skin.

my chapped lips and dry throat.

i don't stop running.

even as i hear everything.

the rain beating down on my skin dancing on the concrete.

my heartbeat pounding and my pulse drumming.

i don't stop running.

even as i see nothing.

the water invades my eyes refusing access to my vision.

my love.

i don't see him.

and as long as i can't...

i won't stop running.

so i run.

and run.

never once losing hope.

never once slowing down.

never once giving up.

i don't stop running.

even as i see him.

the scene in front of me knocks the breath right out of my lungs.

he'scollected when he struts down the pavement. the rain drenches him, too, but he's not like me.

not in the least.

i'm frantic.

he's calm.

i don't stop running.

only until i reach him and let myself crash into him.

he halts.

my arms wrap around his middle, hugging him tight.

finally.

"you'll catch a cold." hoarse. rough. caring.

"why did you leave?" weak. fragile. frantic.

he turns around, holding my arms around him in place.

two of his fingers brush over my lips.

he thumbs my bottom lip, pulling at it.

i reach up and hold his hand.

i kiss his fingers before splaying his hand out on my chest, right over my heartbeat.

"can you feel it?"

he hums.

"do you remember our very first conversation?"

his eyes speak for him.

he does. he remembers it, and i'm sure he does because he grabs my other hand and places it over his own heart.

"rubatosis." he responds.

"let me be your rubatosis." my eyes shine with a glimmer of hope.

"but you can't."

his voice breaks, almost at the same moment my very first life ends.

it feels like it.

"why?" a tear slips.

"like the rain." he smiles the saddest smile i've ever witnessed grace his lips.

"what?"

"she's as beautiful as the rain. like wet grass and cloudy grey skies." the hand holding mine to his chest squeezes. "so beautiful, my love."

his voice breaks again.

he's holding back tears.

"come back home." i close my eyes and cry.

"don't do this to me."

"please. please come back."

"you know i can't."

"why did you do it? huh?"

i fist his shirt in my hand and tug.

"why?" i scream.

he forces me into his arms as the rain pours and pours.

on and on.

"don't. you'll only break yourself more."

"you broke me more than i could ever do myself."

"and i hate myself for it."

"is that why you left?"

"i couldn't take it anymore, baby."

i open my eyes.

"i would've helped."

the heart under my palm isn't beating.

and so is mine.

ever since the day he breathed his last breath, i hadn't felt my heart beat once.

he's gone.

and i can do absolutely nothing about it.

so i hold both hands to my heart and cry.

i cry and cry and cry.

he'll never come back.

both hands to my chest and above my unfeeling heart, i walk home.

it's time to stop running.

what do you think?

@hoseokteardrop @nochuel @kaitieskidmore97 @nays2112 @jksoftii @yu-justme @meadow-in-spring @bunnykoos @looneybleus @fushigurosdarling @alpha-mommy69 @junecat18 @xjiminsthighsx @tanniesdolls @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @whoa-jo @ahgasegotarmy116 @jksusawife @frgetmenotes @baechugff @partyparty-yah @army130613210521 @drugerlime @allisonstone @hopekive @llallaaa @tarahardcore @hopetookmysoul @betysotelo18 @harmonic55 @ecrvea @awesomebabyyoda @peterstarkchrishiddleston @pinkrockstar19 @sweetestseoul @luv--youu @mochminnie @coletaehyung @whitelies2248-blog @ash07128

@bangtans-momma @yourbobaeyestell @laylasbunbunny @btsnpniff @olimpiiaa @caro134340lina @ohsweetmimosa @lovingkoalaface @httpjeonlicious @t-alyssa-vvv-blog @aloverga @sexytholland

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #love #depressing #poetry #drabble #jungkook drabble

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realbeefman · 3 months

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There is a wolf in front of House, and onstage, and next to him. They all have teeth, and he keeps his mouth shut because he doesn’t yet.

He’s in class, in that big lecture hall, but he’s also onstage, giving a presentation to students on how to treat a patient presenting with leg pain.

Hair shorn short. Military cut, like Dad. Wolfskin wrapped around his chest, legs spread, slouched down, hiding near the back, so he won’t call on himself. So he’ll blend in with the pack.

“Hey, House,” House calls to himself anyways, and meets his own blue eyes.

House onstage smiles. His teeth are razor sharp.

“It’s a basic truth of the human condition.”

House suppresses a bleat. Doesn't bare his teeth and doesn’t look away.

“What is it?”

Don’t reply.

“What’s the truth?”

He knows the answer.

“Come on you idiot, what is it?”

House in the audience won’t answer. Just sits there, pathetic, neutered, insolent girl. He watches (feels) his jaw work, smells the sweat, hears the blood rushing, the increasing thump, thump, thump.

“What is it?” he roars, stepping forward and the world drops beneath him. His leg gave out. He forgot his cane.

He looks up at the class and eyes stare back at him. All red. All hungry. He bares his own teeth. Wolves are supposed to protect their own.

“The truth is,” the wolf beside him says. House turns to where Wilson sits, chewing something. “That everybody lies.”

When Wilson smiles, his fangs are stained green.

#something something gender anxieties. performative masculinity. the whole “men are bad” fear. etc. meant to be a nightmare #inspired by the wolf-sheep discussions from the server tn...#house md #house md drabble #house md fic #gregory house #hilson #tw surreal #trans house #cw implied violence #house fic #might turn this into something longer... idk!#messy but i've been on a real poetry grind lately so this is PROGRESS. this is a COHESIVE narrative! there is LOGIC. there is a SEQUENCE.

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sevyn-stars · 9 months

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I am what you made me, and if that makes me a monster then so be it.

#writers on tumblr #creative writing #dark academia #original writing #poetry #writing prompt #imagine your otp #otp #quotes #otp prompts #Writeblr #angst #original work #writing #writers and poets #writerscorner #drabbles

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oneknightlight · 28 days

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Final Moments

I've had this one sitting in docs for a good half year. The aftermath of the Spamton Neo boss fight has always interested me and I decided to expand on that.

---

He had given it all he possibly had.

Snap, pop.

So had they.

His joints wracked with exhaustion, his porcelain skin scuffed with two decades of desperation. The puppet raised his tired eyes up to his lenses, they were clouded and foggy with prints and things lost to memory. It was with a solemn sort of defeat he acknowledged the ivy wire around his body, his wrists, his willpower.

*Footsteps struck the ground in the distant darkness.

What was once the phantom sound of a rotary phone, was now the ticking clock on an old friend’s wristwatch. He was being held ruthlessly in the hand of something fated. It smelled of dust and cobwebs, of murk and… muck. It felt hollow and dark, very dark, it has always been his only companion. Oh, how he craved company.

*There was a soft murmur of armor clinking.

His life rolled like an old film in his mind, for he had done everything he possibly could, but he was, and always would be, thrown away. He tried to deal himself another hand of cards, to barter with his sixth sense, and to argue with his aching gears and circuits. One more time, get up again. It’s all about luck, it’s all about hard work, life is a ladder you climb, he used to muse. There’s nowhere I must go but up.

*The breeze whistled something like sympathy.

The motor in his mechanical heart thumped, shook, and whirred. He smelled of burning electrical, of rust and rotted glass. He was a machine with no checklight, a walking technical malfunction, that no one bothered to help repair. Tell me, how is a broken machine to fix itself?

*The basement walls closed their eyes, and looked away.

The man reared his tired head with an ugly pop, and stared at nothing in particular. No, indeed, he needn't get back up on his feet again, if even he could. For he knew somewhere deep in his wretched gut, that if there wasn’t him to throw away, then there was no one. To try and be big when you are fated to be small, is to watch in hopeless agony as you are hammered down time and time again. He would always be Spamton G. Spamton, the email guy.

It is your fate.

A gentle smile crept onto his face, because oh but, maybe, someone valued him. Maybe, just maybe, in his last moments, he could impart what little about him was useful onto the Lightners. The only people who'd shown him kindness, with no strings attached. He inhaled a shaky breath, and looked on as his only friends walked toward him.

“It seems after all I couldn’t be more than a simple puppet.”

His voice was dry and hoarse, but soft, bracketless. There was no salesman left.

“But you three, you’re strong.”

The smell of burning wires could make a stomach ache.

“With a power like that… Maybe you three can break your own strings.”

His jaw clacked lifelessly with each syllable. The end was nearer, nearer, yet nearer.

But even still.

“Let me be your strength.”

#spamton #deltarune #deltarune chapter 2 #spamton g spamton #utdr #writing #is this a fic #fic #angst #walt vault #this drabble is meant to double as poetry in a way i was kinda having some poetic fun #spamton fic #i do a drabble sometimes as a treat #important to keep in mind I don’t write often #runs away

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