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feely-touchy · 3 years

Text

The young don't really believe in night that's made of nothing

Thinking it's just the cloak of some terror

Or the smoke left by the stars

As they keep warm through lullabies

Fearlessly sleeping

They believe in snow through its bristled cold

But not of snow angels

Pressed firm into the earth like hammers made of bodies

They knew what they've made

They know what they can touch

Except for darkness

Cupping hands over ears

Covering mouths

Eyes shutting tight

But the escape is what makes it nothing but faulty feigns of courage

But I had once touched something inescapable and endless

As it had touched me

Sinking up my ankles

Swelling downward like sickness

A prison like cement over a casket

The flooding mist washing into the streets my friends and I were walking

A midnight tide that ripped us from our evening

Crawling across the red dirt road

Desperate as souls escaping Perdition

Everywhere was gone in but a moment

And we were each lost like drunken children

For awhile I could hear them in the distance

Calling

Muffled by the thickets and the saplings

Somewhere where the sun couldn't see

No God let through those arching trees

Into the unnerving, unholy sanctuary

Where we had been abandoned

Us trespassers

As usual

Lost in our separate ways

Each our furthest from home

Where nothing was like what we'd ever seen or heard

Not that we'd seen much or ever listened

And before me was even a stranger scene

Far in the distance

Further than I could see

But I could feel it seeing me

As I approached it

Minute after minute

Further from my senses

Stumbling stupidly in a stupor

In the endless downhill forest

Until I was nearly upon the source of all the darkness

While the darkness watched me as my witness

Kneeling at the trunk of something old and unsacred

Twine wrapping around it clearly by the millions

A blackwood birch with a most suspicious feeling

Bone white branches shedding blood red leaves

A wine like glow from the gallows of its canopy

Wordlessly I knew that this was the place we were meant to meet

A sight only whispered of in legends

Where we carve our wants into our hands

Then cut them into the tree

Merely needing to wait for the end of all our problems

But I had made it their alone

In such solitude that my heart could be heard for miles

Barren of bird calls

No upturned stones

No moving brush

No rustling

No voice suddenly leaving me

When I pulled the loosest string

Tighter

Twisting the twine like a tornado

The cracking sound

A subtle scream

My ears were hot as they began to ring

Bark breaking

White-knuckled sounds

Pounding on my eardrums

The woods shaking rapturously

Differently

Maliciously

As if surrounded by jeering, heartless, mocking

Sharp as reprimands and pointed fingers

Cruel, pitiable, and callous

Gut-wrenching laughter

Billowing in shadows from knots and hollows

Hot in my lungs as blood

Thick as the thrashing sounds from afar

Harsh as the growling of the gnarls

Stuttering gulps

Snickering snarls

As the trails I had followed had somehow had me followed

Red dirt

Hours from where I left it

Now stuck again under my feet

Beneath the looming shade of the blackbirch tree

Haunting in its mangled melancholy

But I was rushed and I was young

My palms were red

My fingers stung

I tugged the spiraled string with all that I could muster

And it tugged back at me

Snaking around my wrist and up my sleeve

Arresting

Violent

Viciously

My eyes losing their luster

I struggled surreptitiously

Gnawing and clawing with my nails and teeth

But the splintered threads dug in even further

My gums made to burn and bleed

My nails pulled from their roots

I thought that surely this was it

I'd die a coward in a fit

Giving in to Death's longing kiss

Embracing the thorns and whips of soft surrender

But through the bundle tied around the blackbirch

Under the shade of the eclipsed earth

I could hear my friends humming a saintly dirge

From a time before when we were more than restless

Yet the blackbirch had already started sprouting through them

Tearing veins and skin

Bones, eyes, and muscles slowly ripping

The twine having already split them into sections

Glass and oil returning them to lanterns

Like when we walked the streets that night looking for some reasons

Singing feckless songs about our waning seasons

Their last one being my least favorite one to leave on

Of the boy selling cigarettes and the girl selling matches

Wailing, "chase the smoke and surely you'll find Heaven

If the sun won't rise

Then it's fires we'll be setting"

And I know they were lost within the blaze

A mocking smile on their face

They always joked they'd hate to keep the devil waiting

Saying folks like me should try to make a living

So I ran like Hell was never going to catch me

Far into the fields but I could still hear the burning forest cackling

And I wake each night the windows sound of scratching

Desperately afraid the red dirt is inside me

But one day I'll march back into the darkness

Ready

An axe in one hand

A bottle to keep me steady

And I will build a blackbirch bookshelf to keep their stories

So the kids that walk like us

Pissing their days away without aim

Will one day know bravery from glory

Saving themselves from my old follies

#poetry

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spideywhites · 4 years

Note

If you’re still taking the prompt thing, how about Kakashi x toshiro with Au 12, Sit 1, and Sentence 14? Also I can’t believe I’m late to your tumblr I just took note of it because of ur latest chapter sorry ��🙃 BUT WHAT A CHAPTER HOO BOY.

In the mid-morning rain, the colosseum screams. Crisp white walls, inlaid with marks of the wild hunt, tower over an empty, muddy field. Empty of all life but one, a not-quite-man with the blood of a beast, ichor gold and slick across broken skin. Silver hair gleams, limp and plastered to his head, lightning crackling around and around like a halo. Muggy, damp air presses down on the lungs.

Toshiro swallows it.

Clasps his hands tight before his chest, mouth trembling with relief. On his feet he remains, high above the field and the Lightning Beast who stands in a mockery of a battlefield, knee deep in gore and gold. Toshiro’s throat is sore from yelling, just another cry among the millions in the colosseum. They who stamp their feet, hooves and tails and scream to the Great Heavens for more violence, more blood, more death.

The Lightning Beast looks up, so distant that it’s impossible to make out where his mismatched eyes fall. But Toshiro knows, can feel that steady gaze on his flesh as clear as the rain that soaks his clothes. It steals his breath, flushes his sun-kissed skin to shades of rose and summer evenings. Vines creep along his legs, twining and blossoming shimmering petals of deep rouge and electric blue.

“You have fought well, Lightning Beast.” The rumbling voice of the Great Sage booms across the air like cracking thunder, silencing the howls of the crowd. Ringed eyes peer in grandfatherly compassion down at the silver-haired man drenched in rain water and power. “State your prize. Whatever you wish, within the known parameters. As victor, you shall have it.”

Eager eyes press upon the lone man, who walks through the downed monsters he’s gored to approach the walls. Toshiro does not know him. They’d passed on the way in, where Toshiro had been bashfully captivated by smiling eyes and steel-colored hair, wild with static. He’d pressed Sweet William’s into the man’s hands and bounded away, the bundle of small, boldly red-white flowers clashing with the shades of gray and blue the Lightning Beast swathed himself in.

Barring that, Toshiro has never met the man—if he can be called such. A tall, lithe body, two arms and legs; built in a humanoid shape, but radiating the kind of godliness that mortals do not possess. From his soaked, slick hair stands two equally soaked ears befitting a wolf. The mask covering the lower half of his face is intricately carved to replicate the snarl of the very same canine, inlaid with metal and splattered with gold and red blood. He wears his status in the quality of his clothes, the glimmering gems sewn into his overcoat and the beautiful sheen of tempered, ethereal ore his carried weapons are crafted from.

A Hatake. Of the Godly Clan of Wolves that wield lightning as easily as one breathes.

Very few look upon them in battle and live, as proven by the overwhelming victory displayed below.

“The Summer Druid. The one who bears the crest of the Swamp Lands, with eyes the deepest shade of coral rose.” The Hatake says, his voice smooth as a bubbling brook over sanded stones. A clawed hand rises, nails black and dangerous. Gesturing. At Toshiro. “As my bride.”

A gasp at Toshiro’s side, a hand against his arm. Inoka trembles in excitement but does not speak. Cannot, until the Great Sage completes the Gifting. His own tongue is stayed by his shock, by the blooming of lavender roses across his flesh.

“As you wish.” The Great Sage slams his staff upon the carved white stone, standing from his throne. “You there, Summer Druid, descend to the gates.”

Toshiro jolts, movements slow and uncoordinated. Inoka pushes him, urging and eager, her azure gaze wide with delight. To all, this is an honor. To be chosen as a prize. He dashes from the stands at her insistence, bare feet slapping against the rain-slick stone. His summer robe swirls around him, the deepest of reds to the honey-rose hues of sunset, impervious to the drizzle. (He is of the Swamp Lands, used to the damp.) He takes a breath as he descends the stairs, the rejuvenated cries of the crowd at his back, as are the gazes of all who can make him out. The vines and flowers sink back into his skin as he calms himself. In their place, a tangle of thoughts make their home in his head.

Me? Of all the Druids, of all those who attended the Games today. Why me?

He has many suitors, but all within the scope of his home. As a Druid, he means nothing to Godly Creatures of higher standing. He means nothing to a Hatake Wolf, a beast of legend, of war. These skeptic thoughts do not stop the blossoming hope and curiosity, the delicious weight of caramel-sweet desire seeping into every atom of him.

The stairs end. He finds himself before the gate that separates the viewers from the tunnel leading to the colosseum grounds. From the gloom strides the Hatake, the snarling mask glinting in the flare of torch light. It sends shivers down Toshiro’s spine. Rain slides down his cheeks, wets his cherry red mouth.

The Lightning Beast steps through the gate, tall and looming. From him rises the metallic scent of blood, twisted with the honey-salt of godly ichor. As Toshiro noted before, one of the man’s eyes is dark as obsidian, while the other blazes red—pinwheels. The eye of the esteemed Uchiha, children of the Great Sage himself.

“I won, because of you. I won, because I have you by my side, cheering me on and driving me.” The Hatake says, voice mellow and kind, the very opposite of his feral appearance. His cheekbones are soft pink, fingers trembling. “I am Hatake Kakashi, of the Storm Lands. May I know your name?”

Oh, Toshiro thinks, oh.

Across his freckled cheeks bloom the lavender roses he’d thought he’d gained control of. “Aikawa Toshiro, of the Swamp Lands.”

“Will you accept me as your husband?” Kakashi asks, though he need not. Isn’t expected to, rather. For Toshiro is the prize he claimed. “I’m ignorant of the laws of Druid courtship.”

His arm is offered, wet with rain and gore. Armor gleaming under it all, gifted Uzumaki seals painted in lightning blue.

“That’s okay,” Toshiro takes it anyway, and vines curl around their connected limbs, peonies spilling from his flesh. “I shall teach you, husband.”

#MYTHOLOGY AU??? I LOVE TO SEE IT #i kinda made up my own stuff though OOP!!#anyway #thank u for this i had a lot of fun writing it!!!#fic: adad #inbox #slimcedees

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