#short story Tumblr posts

  • Party Time| Agent Torres Short Story

    It was late in the afternoon. The sun was setting, the street lights began to shine through out Los Angeles.

    Most of everyone were ready to go home and live their lives. Agent Torres was in his office writing down a few notes for a case him and his partner have been working on. It’s never a pleasant thing to do, especially with his partner Agent Cooper. Torres and Cooper aren’t exactly friends nor do they get along pretty well. Torres tries his best to be nice towards Cooper. But sometimes it doesn’t work out. They’ve known each other for the longest time. Torres knows him better than anyone else, usually because Cooper somewhat opens up to him. He never really talks about his childhood. All he says was “His father was a dick.” Torres didn’t question him any further.

    Torres had finished with the notes and basically organized his things. He heard footsteps coming closer to his office. He recognized those footsteps but he decided to just not acknowledge them.

    “Ah! Torres there ya are!”

    That voice….. It just made Torres cringe a bit…. He took a quick glance at his partner, Agent Cooper.

    “Shouldn’t you be heading home by now? It’s already past 6….” Torres said as he rolled his eyes.

    “Well I was heading out until I remembered to tell you something” Cooper said with a chuckle.

    Torres decided to finally look at him. Cooper was an average height. His hair was weirdly parted to the side and his eyes always looked angry.

    “What is it this time???.” Torres signed.

    “Well,” He began “I was wondering if you wanted to come to a party down at Beverly Hills with me.”

    Torres’ not the type of person who goes out and party. He gets really anxious whenever a place gets really crowded or really loud. So he just stays at home and does his own things.

    “Alright fine…. I’ll go for a little while” Torres said with a deep sigh.

    Cooper looked at him with a smirk that most douchebags give.

    “I’ll pick you up at 7:30, you better be looking pretty,” He said as he walked out of Torres’ office.

    Torres rolled his eyes. He grabbed his belongings and headed out through the glass doors.

    It was pretty windy outside. Torres walked up his car. He owned a pretty good car. It was black and somewhat clean but it ran like a dream. He unlocked his car and headed inside. He sat there for a good 5 seconds. Torres turned on the engine and drove off.


    He laid on his bed letting out a loud breath. Torres stared at his ceiling and started thinking if he actually wanted to go to the damn party. He searched in his closet, hoping to find a somewhat decent outfit to wear. He’s never been the type of guy to impress anyone other than his boss. Once he finally found something to wear, he ironed his clothes and put them on. He sprayed some cologne and fixed his hair.

    “Hope this looks fine at the party,” he said to himself.

    He sat at his couch and took a glance at his wrist watch. 6:57…. It read. Torres rested his head on his hand and decided to go on his social media.

    “Eh…. Nothing new….” He said.

    He heard a vehicle pull up near his house. Torres looked out his window and saw a familiar car. Cooper owned a really nice car. Everything seemed to be in place and the paint looked hella fresh.

    “Agent Torres! Get your ass out here!” He yelled as he honked his car.

    Torres let out a deep sigh. He grabbed his jacket and headed out. He walked up to his partner’s car and stood there as Cooper rolled down the window. Cooper whistled at him as if Torres was some weird girl hooker off the streets.

    “Wow Ryan!” He chuckled, “You really did it this time.”

    “Oh shut it! It’s nothing special….” Torres said sounding very annoyed.

    Cooper just chuckled and watched him get inside his ride. Torres put on his seatbelt and just looked out the window.


    They pulled up near a very strange looking house. It was two stories and was in pretty good condition. Cooper stared at Torres for what felt like forever.

    “Are you going to be okay Torres??” He asked trying not to sound sarcastic.

    Torres rolled his eyes and stepped out of his partner’s car. Cooper followed Torres to the house. Once they were inside of the house, Torres already started feeling anxious. There were a group of people dancing, another group drinking, a couple of people making out in a corner. People everywhere…..

    “Hey Cooper!” A man shouted in the distance. “Nice to see you man, who’s this lovely gentleman you got here??”

    Cooper placed his armed around Torres and pulled him closer.

    “This is my boyfriend, Ryan Torres….. We work for the FBI,” Cooper said with a chuckle.

    “We’re not…. Dating at all…. He just gets really excited when we both do something that I clearly don’t want to do…..” Torres said making it obvious that he’s annoyed.

    “Chill out Torres, Just messin’ with ya,” Cooper said with a chuckle.

    Torres walked away from the conversation and was heading out near the balcony until he heard a loud pop that almost sounded like a gun shot. Torres froze, he saw everything around him in slow motion. His heart began to pound really fast and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He heard muffled yelling coming from behind him.

    Torres! Torres!

    Cooper ran up to him and shook him trying to get him to react.

    “Dude! Are you okay?? Your skin turned so pale,” He said sounding worried.

    Torres took a deep breath and started to feel like himself again.

    “I’m fine Cooper…. I’m heading out,” He said as he smacked Cooper’s hands off him.


    Torres stood at the balcony, watching the beautiful view of the city. He heard footsteps approaching him.

    “Hey! Torres, Thought you might be a wee bit thirsty so I brought you a drink.” Cooper said with a chuckle.

    He decided not to respond nor look at his drunk partner. Everytime they would both go out to “celebrate” Cooper would go ahead and drink as much as he could until he passed out on the ground. He was a real party animal that everyone hated.

    “What happened back there Torres? You just kinda…. Froze there for a second…. And you turned so pale…..” Cooper said.

    “I rather not speak of it Jordan….” He said sounding a bit harsh.

    “Eh well… We’re all friends here… You can tell me anything….” Cooper said while giggling.

    “You’re not my friend…. You’ll never be my friend Jordan…. Simple as that.” Torres said sounding angry.

    Cooper stood there looking like a lost puppy.

    “Ah c'mon Torres don’t be like that…. It ain’t my fault that you can’t handle going to parties… You always… Chicken out,” He said sounding frustrated.

    “I have social anxiety! Jordan…. Maybe if you weren’t such a huge douchebag…. You would of understand…..” Torres yelled.

    It went silent for what felt like forever. Then Torres broke the silence.

    “I’m going home…. You can stay here and do whatever the fuck you want….” He said.

    “Look man I’m sorry I didn’t mean t-”

    “It don’t matter Jordan… Just… Forget about it okay??” Torres cut him off.

    Torres walked away from his drunk partner. He didn’t look back at him. Cooper’s hands turned into fists. He felt his blood boil through his veins. He slammed his fists against the railing multiple times.

    “God dammit! You stupid son of a bitch!” He yelled. “You just had to screw everything up didn’t ya!?”

    He began to sob.


    Torres sat in the back seat of the taxi in complete silence. He just couldn’t stop thinking about his partner. He did say some pretty harsh things to Cooper. He just hopes that he knows that he didn’t mean those things. Just the look Cooper got when Torres was having an anxiety attack. He was hella worried. Although he may seem like a cold hearted douchebag, he does care about him. He may not show it as much but deep down Torres knows that he does. A warm tear ran down Torres’ face. He quickly wiped it away with his sleeve of his jacket.

    Once he got home, he sat down at his couch and took out his phone. He was debating whether he should text Cooper to make sure he’s okay or to just not do it….. Torres decided to just let it rest until they both figure out something.

    He laid on his back and rested his arm against he eyes.

    He waited for the next day to kick in…..

    #my stuff#my post #my oc story #my oc stuff #my ocs #I never post anything about my ocs but I was hella bored so here it is #short story
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    Originally posted by butteryplanet

    W'zamqo halted in her motion of climbing when she heard a thud behind her. Wallace had been bringing up the rear, the sound caused the seeker mild concern as she back tracked; there sitting upon a rock, the hyurian was nursing his shoulder. The two made eye contact and he gave her an easy going smile.

    “Did you fall?”

    He tried to shrug his shoulder but the pain was evidently obvioua. Making his next comment irksome.

    “Well tha’s definitely dislocated.”

    “You mean it was not before?” The seeker’s tail barely moved as her ears were pinned. This man was going to find the rest of his dislocated by the end of this adventure.

    “Ya kno-”

    “No. Shut up. Just… By Menphina’s grace come over here!’

    When she was assured it was not broken by her own probing and his words. Zamqo ushered Wallace ahead of her so they could get out of harms way and he can get a mender’s third opinion.

    Wallace can be assured, she was cursing him out in hunts speak the entire trip.

    #whump drabble#whump#w'zamqo tykha #the kraken and the wolf #zamqo and wallace #short story
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    Part 1/? : Abandoment. [Marvel OC backstory]

    Lighting struck the fare wheel as it fell into the Thames river of London and splashed the bridge with the contaminated liquid as it dripped down into the river.

    It was 2 am. A creature stood up from the ground where the lighting struck and the thud of the thunder was heard. Eyes; blood red which pierced through anyone’s souls, skin; Dark navi blue to show the coldness of her heart.

    She looked up into the sky and yelled “LET ME BACK IN! YOU IDIOTS!!!” she yelled loudly as at the sky and nothing happens, she glares and sighs of loss of hope, “idiots!” The female like figure stood down and her skin began to turn misgard like, pale… and her eyes becoming a soft emerald green. Her hair becoming As the night sky yet blue-r.

    “So you’re actually banishing me, are you not, Laufeyson?” She laughed to her, “fine then, if I’m living here from now on, I’m named…. Matoxic….” she stood up and left.


    Originally posted by leave-me-colourless

    As she left the empty streets and made her way around the London, she saw nothing but a gang of mortals following her. She stopped and turned to the group, they pushed her against a wall and attempted to threaten her, which amused her…. chuckles escape her mouth.

    “What’s so funny?!” One male spoke up as fear was clearly heard into his tone. She looked up as her eyes were ruby blood. The stiff and sharp ground began to turn cold as ice spread around and wrapped around the legs of those men and women. “Its funny… how you are just…so idiotic..” she laughed even more her voice was soft and almost like a whisper.

    Standing to her feet the eyes turned back to pale soft green that glanced to her enemies who were now ice figures.. frozen…

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  • Japan Trip

    (A short poem type thing because these boys have me soft and everyone’s talking about a proposal)

    Japan is beautiful, especially when you’re with the one you love.

    Spending special moments exploring unknown city’s and countrysides for hours before you even realise it’s gotten dark.

    Japan is special, bright and gorgeous if traveling correctly.

    Almost 5 years ago, we left our mark.

    Phil and I returning after the many years is exhilarating, the wonders and weirdness that we’ve gotten to see.

    Waking up to views you wouldn’t believe, and climbing mountains taller than the tallest trees.

    When we reached the top of Fushimi Inari-Taisha and looked out among the city lights, darkness surrounding us except for dim lantern lights.

    When he got down on one knee and asked me the question, I knew in that moment, there’s no place I’d rather be with him.

    My soulmate, my total obsession.

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  • #kny x reader #kny#demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa#kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojurou x reader #uzui tengen #uzui tengen x reader #kanroji mitsuri #kanroji mitsuri x reader #inosuke hashibira x reader #inosuke hashiriba#short story#yema writes
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  • she should have been used to it. 

    Standing at the edge of the cliff with a bag rocks her grandmother collected, Delia stared at the unfathomable abyss of the ocean and felt that familiar terror creeping through her chest. 

    She knew the soul resided in the chest because that was where she felt the deepest emotions. She felt the sunset on the horizon, she felt the breeze, she felt the black, choppy water, and she felt the pebbles in her pocket. Each feeling resided snuggly against her soul, straining her ribcage. 

    Get it over with! Her brain screamed, but her body was frozen. In a terrified whisper she quickly recited, “From the earth, I release you to the depths- your home. Be at peace.”

    Her hand was shaking, and as she reached into her pocket, the pebbling clinked melodically with each other. She just wanted to get home, and was summoning her courage when a sudden cry sounded from the woods behind her.

    It was like a bird that had suddenly realized it could be a lion; sharp but loud and guttural. Delia spin on her heel, and her foot slipped.

    Terror gripped her familiar fear by the throat as she held onto the cliff with her small brown fingers. No no no no no, this was not a place to die! Who would make sure her soul escaped her body? It would be stuck with her rotting flesh at the bottom of the ocean- no. No; Delia found her strength gently entwined with the terror and clawed her way back onto solid ground and then ran, ran all the way home to the house.

    The house, as usual, was busy and loud when she arrived. No one noticed how terrified and out of breath she was as she elbowed her way best her 9 siblings, through her cousins on the stairs, and through her grandmother’s room to the attic. 

    The room, small and dark and full of the soft things she had squirreled away over the years, was a haven to her and her alone. She was getting too old to speak to her stuffed animals, but they were there for her none the less. Collapsing on her mattress, Delia breathed a sigh of relief until her mind registered the sharp pain against her hip.

    Oh no. Oh no, she still had the rocks!

    She didn’t care about the rocks, not really, but grandmother would ask and she always knew when Delia was lying. 

    “Oh, why me!” she cried into her pillow. She couldn’t, wouldn’t go back there- what if that creature was still there? or if she slipped again? No- it didn’t matter if grandmother though the strange pebbles were the evil souls left behind- she wouldn’t go back!

    Delia turned over, almost sick with worry, and then she noticed the sizable hole in her stuffed deer. 

    A mouse had clearly eaten through it was probably living it the toy…

    …would the pebbles fit?

    She reached out gently and pulled the toy toward her. A chorus of baby squeaks sounded, and she knew the mouse had given birth; surely the babies could play with the pebbles. Pouring the multitoned rocks in, Delia nestled the deer back in his place. She had gotten rid of them, hadn’t she? That wasn’t a lie. 

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  • Okay, hear me out. It would be a fucking dream if this actually happened, so I need to vent all my thoughts on this and hope that perhaps one day some film producer will actually dream this, wake up and go ‘you know what we’ve been missing? This.’ And get on it.

    Am I asking for much? You tell me. I just want a high school romance movie with the exact same voiceover narration, the exact same stereotypical cliques, the exact same petty drama, the exact same oblivious teachers… but with a non-binary/genderfluid/agender main character. And a few other elements.

    [long story beneath the cut]

    ((note 1: yes, this is meant to be cliché, to keep with the lighthearted high school drama theme, so it’s supposed to sound a little like Mean Girls 1 and 2 meet Love, Simon. Bear with me.))

    ((note 2: using they/them pronouns for this, but I do support neopronouns!))

    Keep reading

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  • I grew up with stories of rebellion.

    My grandfather fought in the Resistance during the Nazi occupation of Denmark and, as a child, nothing delighted me more than to listen to his dramatic retellings.

    He had a particular way with words that wrapped around you until you were so immersed in the story that you could see the distressed families being evacuated by the rebels, hear the cries of young children echoing through the secret bunkers and the sirens that wailed through deserted streets.

    His stories sucked me into a world where injustice was met with fierce defiance from the common people, a world where hate and intolerance could never drown out the screams for change.

    I would stare, wide-eyed, as my grandfather told me tales of evading Nazis while trying to evacuate Jewish families, hooked on every word he said even though I had heard all his stories a million times before. I could always tell when he got to the serious parts because he would lower his voice and lean in close before throwing me onto the sofa and tickling me until I was crying with laughter.

    “To get that worried look off your face,” he used to say.

    He told me many stories, but the one that always stood out to me, that I begged him to tell me over and over, was the one about the German soldier who spared his life.

    The story went like this:

    My grandfather and one of his friends were helping evacuate three Jewish families from a town near Copenhagen. They had hidden them in the back of an old truck, and were heading towards a small fishing village that would provide boats that they would then use to sail to neutral Sweden. My grandfather and his friend had taken this route many times before and had never been stopped by the Nazis. This time they were not so lucky.

    My grandfather says that he will never be able to forget the look of terror on the mothers’ faces as they gripped their children tighter when the Gestapo officer banged his hand against the side of the truck, ordering my grandfather and his friend to get out.

    He was young, no older than nineteen, same as my grandfather. They made eye contact as he slowly made his way around to the back, running his hand along the truck the whole way. He looked inside and my grandfather looked away. Fifteen pairs of eyes stared back at the soldier. Time slowed almost to a standstill as the soldier walked back towards my grandfather.

    (When I got older, my grandfather admitted to me that the soldier’s cold eyes in that moment appeared in his dreams for months afterwards.)

    He stopped right in front of my grandfather and his friend, who were both sweating like pigs at that point and convinced they were about to be arrested, and gave them a curt nod before waving to the other Gestapo officers to let them through.

    They made it to the village and the families safely landed in Sweden.

    That particular story always made my grandfather emotional because, as he put it, “in that moment, there was no war, no divide. We weren’t rebels and Jews, we were scared and human and he was a kid just like us. Even when faced with a gaping canyon, he reached out his hand and I can never thank him enough.”

    It was my favourite because it wasn’t so much a story of rebellion, but one of unity and compassion in a time where people’s humanity was being stripped from them.

    I grew up with stories about rebellion, stories that taught me the importance of standing up for yourself and other people and to never sacrifice your humanity and empathy for other people no matter what.

    The first time I had a crush on a girl, I went home and cried into my pillow because I felt dirty, like I was wrong and perverse for wanting to hold her hand. My grandfather didn’t ask me why I was crying later that night, but he told me the story of when he asked my grandmother to marry him and she laughed and protested that he was making things up and we all ended up dancing in the kitchen together to ABBA.

    The first time I brought my girlfriend home, I didn’t look either of my grandparents in the eye until we had sat down at the dinner table and my grandmother asked us how we met with that warm smile of hers. My girlfriend smiled politely and nodded while my grandfather enthusiastically explained how the Danish people banded together against the Nazis in World War II and how that strengthened the relationship between the common people. Afterwards, she kissed me and told me she loved my family and I felt freer than I had in years.

    The first time I met my girlfriend’s parents, she introduced me as her friend through a tight smile. Her mother eyed me suspiciously and tutted at my short hair and combat boots. I put on my good girl persona and kept it up all through dinner, though that didn’t stop her from whispering that I was a “bad influence” under her breath. My girlfriend walked me to the door and apologised for her mother. I smiled and told her it was okay, before kissing her quickly on the cheek. I hadn’t seen her dad watching me from the hall and we made eye contact over her shoulder. He gave me a short nod before turning and walking back into the sitting room. My grandfather’s words about the Gestapo officer replayed in my head the whole way home.

    Two months after same sex marriage is legalised, me and my girlfriend hold a small ceremony with close friends and family. My grandfather walked me up the aisle. He didn’t say anything but his face when he let go of my hand at the altar spoke loud enough.

    Later, we were dancing together and I told him how much I loved hearing his stories when I was younger. He laughed and said that he enjoyed telling them. After a moment, I paused and said that in a way, I’m disappointed I’ve never had an impact like he has, never fought against injustice or made a difference. He stopped dancing, took my hand and looked me in eyes.

    “Darling, you have lived and loved so fiercely and authentically. You refused to be anyone other than yourself even when the world told you that was unacceptable. You have found happiness in a world that demands your pain and that, my dear, is rebellion enough.”

    My grandfather passed away three years ago. On his gravestone, there is an inscription that reads:

    “Love and understanding between people are the purest and strongest forms of resistance. As long as we have that, we cannot be killed.”

    #lgbt#lesbian#wlw#girlswholikegirls#sapphic#short story#creative writing #im sick and i have nothing else to do #wow i hate this #its fine
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  • Seasons

    Warnings: none

    Word count: 109

    Credit to @toastduck for the inspiration

    She was known by few as indescribable.

    Those who meet her say that her eyes were as endless as the sea.

    Those who knew her knew that she could not be described by the roaring waves of an infinite ocean, but by the ever-changing seasons.

    Her hair was as vibrant as the swirling colors of autumn, and her smile resembled the newfound warmth of an early spring. 

    She was as carefree as the summer sun, but in anger, her sunshine expression became as cold as the harshest winter. 

    And with her autumn hair and springtime smile, those who see her, but have yet to know her, call her indescribable.

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  • Letters to No One: For You - A Month Ago (101419)


    I remember you held your hand up and I slammed mine against yours, you interlaced your fingers with my own quickly — so as the gesture wouldn’t deem as “PDA”. We both hated that but God, were we hypocrites. At least before; but all I could think of at that moment was:

    “You’re trying too hard. Stop.”

    My reflex actions took over me, I slyly removed my hands from yours. I was anxious. So anxious. I teased you about your awkward way of flirting, in attempt to drown out the rapid beating of my own vessel with my annoying laughter. But no matter how much I chuckled and put on a grin, it wouldn’t hide how much I was frustrated, telling myself:

    “My heart’s beating too much from anxiety. I can’t take this anymore. I don’t want this anymore.”

    So I took the first jeepney, bid you goodbye as you crossed the pedestrian, just so I could leave. Just so I could leave you and the anxiety that you came with.

    You’re the risk I shouldn’t have taken

    You’re the fear itself — not moving anywhere.

    Youre the anxiety — consuming me, devouring me, until I no longer can see properly.

    And I had enough of anxieties already.


    You should’ve listened, darling.

    twitter: @helloitsai

    instagram: @helloitsai

    #helloitsai#letterstonooneforyou#letters#poetryporn #poets on tumblr #poems on tumblr #poetry#poem #excerpt from a story i'll never write #short story#sunflowers#love#sad thoughts #falling in love #falling out of love #aesthetic#art
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  • Une enquête sur les Dickpics.

    Sorry this one’s in French too !

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  • Anxiety Stuff

    Me: *trying to have a normal conversation*

    Anxiety: You’re so annoying, they probably hate you. You’re annoying them. They don’t like you and never will.

    Me: Shut up and let me talk

    Friend: Uh what?

    Anxiety: They’re gonna leave you like everyone else you get attached to.

    Me: I said shut up!

    Friend: Uh- okay sorry *walks away*

    Anxiety: See they’re leaving just like everyone else.

    Anxiety: Don’t cry in public it’ll make you look weak.

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  • Made this when half asleep, ur welcome

    Its the state of mind im in

    A state between the thick and thin.

    Brain turning slowly,

    But it starts to grow,

    Dont know where my mind is going to go.

    So observent,

    So patient,

    So kind,

    But why have the mind?

    When it can get lost down the maze of thought.

    And the string slowly becomings taught,

    It snaps and then unravels,

    What was there turns into gravel.

    Why have the mind when you can loose it all?…

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  • The carnage had hit most of South Draumur, reducing the tall industrial buildings that had surrounded our sub-par apartment complex to rubble. Luckily, we were out of the demolition’s radius by a hair’s breadth, but the impact had still managed to shake away the building’s already poor foundations, and we were left on a tilt. It made everything disorientating; by simply being at an angle my world became chaotic.

    Moments after the dust had settled and I had managed to steady myself, I fled my and my sister’s flat, and ran down the several flights of stairs heading to the ground floor. I didn’t bother trying the elevator, it hadn’t worked before; it definitely wouldn’t work now. Even though the view of the wreckage was better off seen by the window in my apartment, I wanted to go outside and see it from the same level as the debris. However, when I was taking the final staircase and was nearly at the ground floor, I stopped.

    Keep reading

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  • Hello there!

    I recently discovered some advice that I would like to put into practice. A quote from an Author named Ray Bradbury advised to try writing a short story every week for a year.

    “It’s not possible to write 52 bad short stories in a row”

    So I’ve devised a plan/routine to do just that!

    Monday - Tuesday: Coming up with ideas phase

    Tuesday - Wednesday: Creating a simple outline

    Wednesday - Friday: Writing

    Saturday - Sunday: Editing and revising

    I’m not going to pick any specific date for this (Start of the month/New Year) and decided I might as well start now since it’s a Monday.

    I’m really hoping that this exercise can help improve my writing and productivity, and overall I’m excited to start!

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  • A few months ago, the Indian state of Maharashtra went missing overnight. The Arabian Sea filled a massive, newly-formed bay and lapped against the shores of Madhya Pradesh and Telangana. People who had never seen seagulls before, never tasted fish in their lives, now found themselves breathing salty sea air.

    The economy should have broken down, but under the extraordinary circumstances of the event, the Indian government found itself receiving unprecedented aid and assistance from world over.

    Scientists and geologists flew in over the Bay of Maharashtra to ascertain what had led to the state’s disappearance. Submarines entered the bay, and divers tried to reach the bottom of the sea floor, hoping to find the tallest buildings of what was once Mumbai, or perhaps the urban sprawl that surrounded that city.

    They couldn’t find anything, though, because there was nothing to find but a natural sea floor devoid of human interference.

    Nevertheless, the event was viewed at through a sceptical lens. The Indian Navy blockaded what had once been the Konkan coastline. Fighter jets were stationed in bases around the new coast. Tanks and military trucks rolled down highways and towards the new coast, even as onlookers watched with curiosity and more than a little national pride.

    Once the country found itself stabilising around the new economic realities, the initial shock had begun to dissipate. Under that fading veneer, a seething anger began to bubble up to the surface.

    It wasn’t about the people lost. It was about the hole carved into the belly of the country, a disembowelment with none of the mess. It was a hole nonetheless, and that would not stand. Who would want to cut a hole into the nation’s pride? Fingers were pointed, most of them outwards, at powers who could perhaps have the ability to do something this disastrous. Some fingers were pointed inwards, at collaborators and sympathisers, those who must no doubt have sold out their country for selfish gain.

    The hole was clean, but there was going to be blood, of course. There had to be.

    Meanwhile, ferry routes and shipping lanes adapted to the new geography of the land. Chhatisgarhi youth who had dreamed of an eternal inland life were now training to be sailors on the open sea. Containers full of goods travelled north, south, and east. Maps were redrawn. Names of cities like Mumbai, Nagpur, Pune, and Satara, all quickly disappeared from common parlance. Now they were historical names, attached to legends and myths, more modern interpretations of Dwarka and Awadh.

    The people weren’t all forgotten. The famous ones, the ones who happened to be outside of the state, the ones whose names had been recorded in history books, the ones recalled by anecdotal memory—these remained.

    Their names, words, and acts would inspire others all across the country and beyond. With a little time and effort, people were learning bastardised forms of the Marathi language, and they were attempting to inelegantly dance the lāvṇī, and they were cooking malformed thālipīṭh. It was the least that could be done to respect the state that went missing.

    It wasn’t about the people lost. Those could be replaced. Memories could be redrawn, and thoughts could be re-thought. Dreams could be re-dreamt. The lives could, perhaps, not be re-lived. But did it really matter, when you had your own life to worry about?

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  • image

    We were gentle once.

    We were only children when you

    began a war stained with our blood.

    We were the youth

    raised with lungs full of

    wildfire smoke and singed skin.

    You blistered our delicate hands

    until we were calloused.

    You sent us into a battle

    of your own design

    and led us to slaughter.

    We are the taste of bitter almonds

    and the smell of gunpowder,

    we who hide our traumas

    behind childlike innocence.

    We are tangled webs of raised scars

    not yet healed.

    Ricocheted bullets sang our lullabies

    as we dreamed of sooty black sheep.

    We were children.

    We are no longer gentle.

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  • Hello!

    OKAY okay okay, so it has been a long fucking time since I’ve used this account, let alone this site, but I’m taking a chance and I’ve decided to spend some time writing. So I’d like to hear some requests. Here are my fandoms;





    Black butler

    Miraculous ladybug

    Marvel comics

    Invader Zim

    Creepy pasta

    Sally face

    ..And a few others that I can’t think of right this moment.

    I also have OCS that I like to write with and I will post random prompts of a mix of things and try to explain or give basics of character stories later to help me more thoroughly write them out and maybe even set up a novel of sorts. But here are my oc’s names;

    Kayden Norveil

    Johnny peirce

    Dirk Valentine

    Nova Foster

    Cathy Livingston

    Harry Butler



    Bailey Adams

    “Cake” Lorelei 

    Jose García

    Alex Hamato

    Eros      -|

    Griffin    | family, demons (in development)

    Venus      |

    Aaron    -|


    Skylar Mel

    Oliver Green

    Kash King

    Lucifer Shin

    August Hernandez

    Damion Sephtis

    Tess Februus

    Red ((in development))

    Pompeii “mother”

    Most of which already have pairings, but I will let you know who is open to rps with.

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