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fandom-trash-goblin · 2 months

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Let me tell you a story. It goes like this: my father is the worst man alive, and i am his favourite daughter

— on fathers, mirrors, and unwanted inheritances.

twitter user @/yesindeeder // Doomed From The Beginning - written by @/veniennes on tiktok // in image // I Would Leave Me If I Could- Halsey // in image // in image //nimmieamee on ao3 // Ptolemea, Ethel Cain // Benjamin Alire Sáenz - Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe // in image // evansville from tumblr user filmnoirsbian // Snow and Dirty Rain - Richard Siken // Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong, Ocean Vuong

#webweaving #webweave #poetry #aesthetic #quotes #spilled ink #poems and poetry #poems and quotes #brought to you by the fact that daddy issues is such a vile sentence. why is it the child on whom the blame is pinned?#to be clear. i love my father. that doesn't mean i can't hate him.#writing #poem #spilled poetry #words #spilled thoughts #dark academia #web weaving #*mine: graphics #added sources: 2/4/24

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flum3n · 4 months

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a small detail i appreciate in the pjo series is that when clarisse was fighting percy, he was cut and he bled. they even included her line about how the only consequences for maiming him would be loss of desert privileges. there are some things i think the show is going to tone down (eg. the hellhound being cut in favour of annabeth pushing percy into the water, genius) but i think it's important that there are moments that make clear the physical and emotional pain these kids go through as part of their daily existence. after all, if we find it uncomfortable to watch sometimes, what does that say about the gods who have watched their children suffer and die at a distance for centuries?

#i'm curious to see how they do gabe as well #i feel like it can't be as straightforward as it's been presented thus far #pjo disney+#pjo meta #percy jackson #percy jackson disney+#percy jackson show #percy jackson and the olympians #not poetry #pjo #pjo tv show #pjo spoilers #pjo series #i don't blame clarisse btw this is an institutional problem

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hum-suffer · 1 month

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I sometimes think about Shri Ram. I think how his mother titled his chin up to see his smudged tilak.

I sometimes think about Shri Ram. I think how his father taught him their ancestry and how his hands travelled in a path of molten sun rays— like gold.

I sometimes think about Shri Ram. How his Kekayi Maa taught him all about flowers and colours. How his Sumitra Maa taught him all the games she knew.

I sometimes think about Shri Ram. How his eyes welled up when he scraped his knee and how he hissed when his mother cleaned his wounds.

I sometimes think about Shri Ram. How he copied the way his father walked with the reverence of a child with rose coloured world.

I sometimes think about Shri Ram. How his Kekayi Maa danced with him on his birthday, their hair open and done in the same styles. How he sneakily sold his paintings to buy his Sumitra Maa a pair of studs for her birthday.

I sometimes think about Shri Ram. How he was suddenly the eldest. How his father passed the baton unto him and how scorching was the heat of responsibility of being the son of the Sun descendants.

I sometimes think about Ram. A child who outgrew the lap he found solace in. A man who only had memories for guidance.

#desiblr #suffer ye suhana nahi #desi tumblr #thoughts #poetry #writers on tumblr #original poem #hindublr #Shri Ram #shri Ram humare aur hum shri Ram ke hai #idk i just remembered the anon who confessed to hating Ram for a while and i wondered what he'd be like #no blame to you anon ily #but i think of Shri Ram and i want ro cup his cheeks and press his knuckles to my forehead and tell him that hes wonderful

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gibuckaroo · 1 month

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achilles and patroclus; he is half of my soul as the poets say.

[original text in post: When you took Patroclus from Achilles— is this what he felt? When he saw him lifeless and pale and unmoving in another soldier's arms as they delivered the very reason he was here on earth—did he feel the ground move from under him? Did he feel time cease? Did he feel the way I do now? Out of breath, out of life, out of time, out of love. When you took his person, did he also want to dig a hell of his own?]

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sanddollarpoems · 6 months

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Raising Bitterness

We only had the generation before us

to show us their broken way.

Parents and guardians who believed

that stuffing their feelings down

and angrily crushing our spirits,

was the way to make it through.

Our example was a generation

Who touted ideas of "free love,"

but only knew how to love themselves.

And I pray every day that I don't end up

to be anything like my parents.

My dad always makes the same excuse,

that they did the best that they knew how.

And I'm sure that his statement is true,

but heaven forbid that I ever end up

anything like them.

This family trait ends with me.

#sanddollarpoems #spilled ink #poem #poetry #quick write #raising bitterness #I know I blame them #for all the ways they fail at being parents #I'm trying to accept that that will never be anything more than they are #and that I will never be the treasured daughter #but I will never fucking pass that shit on to my kids #this warped family trait ends with me #because i can #take that #family tree

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between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place · 1 year

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You’re standing on a platform with a broken man (steel battered and rusted through cruel winters) and his soft smile says: I trust you like the sun rising and his soft hands on your shoulders say: ask and I will follow you anywhere and his eyes are screaming

“you are half of what is left of me when I didn’t know my own name, I loved you seeing you go is a death I’ll take before keeping you”

and you don’t hear it.

ii.

You’re standing on a platform—a broken man (ribs crushed under the endless empty weight of ice and regret) and your careless mouth says: we will be okay and your careless hands on his shoulders say: I swear to ask nothing more of you

and you’re lying.

iii.

You’re standing on a platform with a beautiful man (rust gently stripped and polished under a kind sun)

and you’re still choking on ash and your shattered bones are screaming

“I never learned to exist in a time without you I’m a grave dug in the shape of your absence leaving is a death I’ll take before letting you be swallowed by it”

iv.

You’re standing on a platform and you can’t look back (into storm-cloud, knife-blade, summer-sky eyes)

you will turn to stone

the weight of an entire universe in this case tied to your sinking body

and you know if you lean on him, you will be his fall there will be nothing to catch either of you any outstretched hand forever too little, too late.

You’re standing on a platform with all of time in your hand and a world to save

you look back.

vi.

You’re standing on a platform

you fall

he catches you

time can wait.

#stucky #stevebucky #writing things #poetry #i have committed it once again #i blame spring and siken and seventy years of sleep #stucky fix-it #of sorts #so maybe i was also in my endgame feels

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medicineteeth · 7 months

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I know you didn’t mean to not notice the abuse.

You say it almost every time we talk,

“If only you had told me.”

That would’ve helped,

But a little girl isn’t supposed to be so good at hiding her wounds.

If only you had noticed.

I know you didn’t mean to,

But why is it my fault

For “hiding things so well.”

Dear god,

I didn’t even know what I was doing.

I don’t want to be angry,

I know you didn’t mean to,

But mom,

It is not my fault

For being a scared little girl,

With no one she can trust.

#it’s almost like I couldn’t come to you with anything #it’s almost like you’re so traumatized yourself you have the emotional capacity of a rock #I don’t blame you for that #I know your life was hard #but I wish you could’ve mothered me #and I wish you could’ve helped #actuallytraumatized #traumacore #ventcore #abuse tw #trauma poem #trauma poetry #mine #writing #actually abused #mommy issues #csa vent #csa survivor #csa tw

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yesmadamepresident · 1 year

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#web weaving #words #poetry #i like making these #sorry i don't have good sources. i blame Pinterest

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salovie · 15 days

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Spotlit between elms, I sweat in the sunlight;

long deprived, my skin weeps for vitamin D.

I stick to the black mesh beneath us,

suspended over too-long grass

and the bugs that thrive there.

The clouds are cirrus—my favorite kind,

though they aren’t enough to ease our eyes,

squinted straight up at bright blue

and leaf-shine. You close yours.

The breeze carries a shiver;

my damp shirt becomes a cold compress.

That field below us whispers

as I draw your sticky body closer.

Someday this moment won’t exist

even as a memory.

#poetry #spilled ink #NaPoWriMo #napowrimo 2024 #prompt #closely describe an object or place and then end the poem with a more abstract or philosophical line #I loved this prompt #apparently it was also a prompt in 2016 but I couldn’t find whatever I wrote then #I blame tumblrs search feature #inspired by E #inspired by C

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revasserium · 10 months

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I'm being a rebel and requesting Ikesen Masamune and barefoot 💜

send me one and a character u__u

hurricane (prompt: barefoot)

masamune; 1,813; fluff and... that's it; @violettduchess is quite possibly one of the only ppl who can get me to write for a fandom that i had no plans in joining BUT HERE I AM FOLKS. here the fuCK i am.

he has always been a hurricane.

there are moments in a person’s life big enough for a single choice to put them on a completely different path, and then — there are those moments, much smaller moments, adding up to that one, bigger, monumental, life-changing moment. this is one of the latter.

the moon is heaven bright, swinging low in a full-bellied sky, and insomnia had plagued you till you’d come into the inner gardens for refuge. at least here, it felt like you were stuck between the pages of a waking dream. so… sleep-adjacent, right? right.

you swing your feet off the edge of the pristinely mopped wooden walkways, your sketchbook propped in your lap, a charcoal pencil gliding over the smooth, moon-bleached pages. you let your hand take the drawing where it wants, and these days, there’s only one place that your hand (and, subsequently the rest of your mind and body) seems to want to go.

masamune.

he appears as fish-tail flicks of your wrist bring him to life on the pages, each sketch fluid and overlapping with the next, almost like the depiction of dance — the crinkle at the edge of his eye, the curve of his hand as he rests it on the hilt of one of his blades, the strong, graceful slope of his shoulders and back, the crescent moon curve of his lips as he smiles, ever light, ever teasing, in your direction.

“ah… is that what i look like?”

his voice makes you jump, and even now after all this time, it sets your heart racing in your chest as you whirl around to find his nose inches from yours, that self-same smile hinged across his damnably gorgeous lips.

“w-wh — why aren’t you sleeping?” is your stumbling, cobbled together response to being jump-scared in the middle of his castle pagoda, but it’s the best you could come up with. he only leans back, chuckling, his arms tucked into the long thin sleeves of his kosode as he casts his eye up towards the full moon, his expression for once devoid if mischief or calculation. it’s strange, seeing him like this, so still and so quiet, and something about it makes you go still too, wondering if this is what its like to be caught in the eye of the storm, where the quiet is only ever momentary and destruction dances just beyond where your mind can reach.

“i could ask the same of you, kitten. so tell me… why aren’t you sleeping?” he grins as he joins you, propping one arm on a bent knee, watching as you gather yourself, palms pressing to the pages of your sketchbook.

“i… i couldn’t sleep.” you look down at your own knees, and it strikes you then that your feet are still bare. you can’t help glancing at masamune, and sure enough, his feet are bare too. no wonder i hadn’t heard him coming.

but something about this sets you off, the sight of his bare feet next to yours, and even though it shouldn’t be so tantalizing a thing — the flicker of bare flesh, the hint of skin unseen— you feel like one of those ancient victorian maidens, blushing at the sight of bare ankles.

you can’t help it; you start to laugh.

and masamune, sitting beside you, finds himself transfixed, held still by the sound of your laughter, pouring from you like rainwater from a stream. so clear and beautiful it sets his body arrack with shivers.

“what?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow, “is there something on my face?”

at this, you pause, stifling your giggles with a hand pressed to your lips, and you look at him. your eyes meet, and not for the first time, you feel yourself falling into them — into him. even like this, his one blue eye is something of a miracle, a thing of celestial majesty. it wasn’t until you’d met him that you’d realized what blue eyes look like up close — up close, they are the shattered light of a millions stars, fractured and reformed and singing through a universe of endless dark to end up here, shining out from him and landing on you, and god — he’s looking at you like all those million, billion years of starlight had traveled the expanse of every galaxy just to look at you.

just to see you like he does now.

“no… there isn’t,” you say, whisper, more like, reaching out a hand to trace your thumb over the lid of his closed eye. he doesn’t push you away. instead, he leans in closer.

“then, what’s so funny, kitten?”

you simply shake your head, trying to swallow down your belly-full of laughter, your mind showing you a strobe-quick flash-forward of you trying to explain the concept of foot kinks and websites that cater to such 500 years in the future before deciding — no. alas, tonight is not the night you try to educate one date masamune on the intricacies of body part kinks. though no doubt he’d take it in stride. no — that thought too, you tamp down before you’ve the mind to follow it down into a deep, dark rabbit hole from whence you might never recover or be recovered.

“tell me, please…” he grins, a grin that is simultaneously plea and pleasure, and in it, you can hear the knife-sharp promise of desire, “i’d like to know if something other than me has the power to make you laugh so much.”

“it’s just —” you bite your lips, fighting for the words, “we’re both barefoot.”

he blinks. and you can tell that whatever he was expecting the answer to be, this is clearly not it.

you track the flitter of emotions as they dance in quicksilver steps across the planes of his face — surprise, confusion, amusement, all painted porcelain perfect on the dark of his brows, the faint twitch of his lips. finally, he settles on a sorted of muted bemusement as he cocks his head at you.

“and… do people of your time tend to sleep with socks on?”

“no, it’s just…” you blush again, unable to help yourself.

“just what?” his voice is light, and he is still.

you swallow, hard,

“just… it’s weird — i mean — it’s not like i haven’t seen anyone else barefoot before just… this was — you’re just — and i —” you trip over your words in a hurry and end up tumbling through into incoherence so fast all you can do to styme the flood is to clamp your mouth shut and pray.

oh god please… tell me this is a bad dream.

but when you open your eyes, masamune is still there, watching you with that singular eye of his, expression inscrutable. and still, he doesn’t move.

“so…” and finally, finally, the stillness breaks — he cracks it open like an eggshell, stretching himself out as he leans back, propping himself up on his elbows, lengthening till he’s splayed out over the gleaming wooden boards of the walkway, his face bathed in ghostly moonlight.

“i’m not the first man you’ve seen barefoot, hm? that is a problem.”

your mouth drops open and for a moment, you gape at him wordless and fish-like, and he laughs as he turns to look at you.

“tell me his name — i’ll have his head in the morning,” he says, in a voice so casually serious that for a moment you think he might actually mean it.

“masamune!”

and then, he’s laughing too, a big, bright, uproarious thing that shakes his entire body like the foundations of the earth. it is deep and rich and lovely, warm and sweet as sun-kissed honey. you let yourself be swept up in his laughter, dropping into silent giggles, and then something louder, letting your shoulder bump into his, your bodies finally touching and then —

there’s a flurry of clothing, a shifting of weights. you find yourself pulled into him, tipping towards him like inevitability.

your sketchbook lays forgotten on the walkway next to you as masamune holds you close against his chest.

“ah… i really don’t like that…”

an entourage of tingles frissons through your body at his words.

“don’t like what?”

“the fact that you’ve seen someone else barefoot before. it bugs me.”

you peer up at him, lifting your head ever so slightly from his chest. he’s looking at you, and the sunrise-blue of his eyes are shadowed with something darker now, something decidedly less innocent than just the thought of bare feet.

“then… what will you do about it?” you ask, feeling the heat of his body, the solidness of him, the rightness of you between his arms.

“hm… are you teasing me, kitten?” his voice is gravel and earthquake and you’re emboldened by the sound, by the way his pupil dilates, the black hole at the center of every galaxy — gravity made solid, made real.

“yes,” you breathe, leaning up like a dare and he meets you gloriously, his lips hard and pressing and soft and pulling. there’s a fire unspooling at the base of your spine, stoked by the heat and truth of him, so close, too close — you break apart gasping. he grins, lynx-like and wolfish as he grazes his teeth along the column of your throat.

“good,” he says, sighing into your flesh as you arch up into him, your fingers curling into his hair as he flips the pair of you over. he pulls you beneath him and he is storm and thunder, he is rain and wonder — he is water to your desert skies, the sunlit days to all your moonless nights.

and as he makes to rend you into pleasure, into nothing more than ache and belonging, he pulls back with a bone-deep growl, a sliver of hesitation, of self-preservation.

“are… are you sure you want this?” that you want me? the echo is not lost on you.

and it’s not the first time he’s asked you the question, and you have a feeling that it wouldn’t be the last. but you reply as you had, once upon a time, in a distant, sun-drenched afternoon, when you’d been telling him about one of your favorite poems from your time.

you smile, tug him down for a kiss.

“yes,” you say, like you’d done on that long-ago afternoon, “i want you — i want this, masamune. because… I love you.”

“i will love you when you are a still day… i will love you when you are a hurricane.”

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikemen series #date masamune #ikemen sengoku x reader #ikesen masamune #date masamune x reader #ikemen sengoku imagines #ikemen sengoku headcanons #ikesen imagines #ikesen headcanons #floofy floof floof #OKAY but the feeling of tagging a REAL HISTORICAL FIGURE LFMAO #vi i blame u for all the bullshit im about to rain on this damn fandom LOL i havent played these games in YEARS i tell u #is this IC? IDK WHO KNO WHO CARE lol #i hope u liked it u_u #ALL CREDIT WHRE CREDIT IS DUE that last line comes from clementine von radics #i love her poetry pls go read it; this one comes from her collection called 'mouthful of forevers' its SO GOOD GO READ IT #doNT tease me with humans as metaphors for natural disasters man i will fucking GOBBLE that shit up #i love it almost as much as i love sky/star/sun/moon/ocean/general astronomy anaologies

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spanishinfluenza · 1 year

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Can you recommend some good twilight fanfiction?

Boy CAN I?!

So for some Carlesme goodness which is sorta my cuppa Lyon's tea, ive written a few which you can find on my ao3 account here. There will be more to come to which i always post here if you're ever curious.

Some other fics holding up this standom:

Ties of Trauma - the love of my life @youareonlyastory (au Carlesme fic with juice to make you squeal into a pillow. Check out all her works they're honestly golden)

For Appearance's Sake - @palmofafreezinghand (gorgeous canon fic, please check out of all of their oneshots they're to die for, one of my all time fave writers)

This New Life - @carllisle (another canon compliant Carlesme fic, but Ellie died and went to lotr heaven so dont go harrassing for more fics, or do idk she might love it. Specialises in well written Carlesme smut.)

Cullanos - more goodness by Ellie only this time it's au and it's unhinged and sexy as hell

@stregoni-benefici has some delectable Carlesme fanfic on their blog, feel free to check out her tags!

We've also got some cult classics like Stained Glass (canon fic) and it's companion pieces, as well as @fiddlesolo 's fanfic tag, full of Carlesme goodness and glorious oneshots.

As for non-Carlesme twilight fic, theres a plethora but i'm not as familiar. Honestly, @jessicanjpa or @panlight be better suited to give you honest recommendations for other pairings!

Hope this helped! :)

#anon #ask #twilight fanfiction #theres an anon out there absolutely desperate for fics and I cant blame them for that #unfortunately the Carlesme standom is small #full of astounding writers tho!#my best piece of advice for you is finding one writer and checking out their comments #chances are the people reading these fics and commenting are the people also writing other fics #also theres like 7 of us Carlesme tumblrinas and we're all besties snapping for each other at a slam poetry night #carlesme #id also recommend to go into my gifts on ao3 and see what ive been gifted bc hint hint its all Carlesme #and theres one specific gift in there from my beloved Story #about a mankini #and you need to read it bc its fucking hilarious #legitimately love that girl

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dissentdisdain · 1 month

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i lie awake at 4 am

blankets of grief

they weigh me down

physically, beside him

mentally, beside you

-- ptsd

#spilled thoughts #spilled ink #spilled poetry #the grief is never ending #i am to blame #poets on tumblr #poetry #ex jw #divorce

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angrydino42-and-avathecannibal · 7 months

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A shark does not attack a human unprovoked. However, the silhouette of a human from above may be mistaken for prey. A human mistaken for prey may be bitten. The shark then will realise its mistake and swim away. By the time the shark has left, the damage is already done. The human is left with psychological and physical trauma. This will increase the human’s fear of sharks forever. The human will act on their new instincts toward sharks. Because the human was provoked, they can only see sharks negatively. The human will now provoke the sharks in unneeded retaliation. The shark’s appearance has now been mistaken for a predator. In the end, there is no difference between a human and a shark. For the human and the shark are both survivors.

#poem #i think #poetry #original writing #sharks #conflict #humans #human #shark #my friend said this was poetry #blame them

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