#writing Tumblr posts

  • Shopping trip

    m&m headcanon fic, with help from @starrechords .

    Mike and Micky go to the store.

    Trigger warnings: food mention

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    The sky hung blue over the busy city. The sun had just risen not too long ago but the city was still as loud and as busy as ever. It was all the same. A blue bird atop a telephone pole watched as a green car pulled into the parking lot before flying away into the blue. The green VW bug pulled in and parked along side the other parked vehicles in front of the grocery store. Micky had been sitting on a paycheck for a while, a few, actually. Whatever wasn’t unnecessarily spent on thrift store items was put towards much more important things, and today it was groceries.

    “Here we are, pal!” Micky chirped as he clicked free from his seatbelt. “You’ve got the list, right, Mike?” He asked, peeping his buddy in the rearview mirror. “Eh- I think so..” Mike replied as he stuck his hands into each of his pockets. He felt a little flash of panic when he felt nothing in there. “I’ve.. got it here somewhere..” he muttered as he then felt in the pockets of his jean jacket. Still, he felt nothing. “It’s here.. it’s here somewhere.. I promise..” he said as he even checked the pockets on his shirt. Micky couldn’t help but laugh just a bit. “Maybe we accidentally left it back at the apartment?” He asked. “No, no!.. I swear I’ve got it!..” Mike said as he panicked, removing his wool hat. Sure enough, the grocery list fell right from his head and he couldn’t help but feel a little silly as Micky erupted into laughter.


    “You’re somethin’ else, man!” He laughed as he pushed the car door open. “C'mon! Let’s go.” He said, stepping out and closing the door firmly. Mike sighed with embarrassment and put his hat back on his head and slipped out of the car, closing the door behind him. He fast walked to Micky’s side and grabbed onto his arm, clinging to him. Micky didn’t mind, it was pretty normal by this time. “Why’d you put it under your hat?” Asked Micky. “So I wouldn’t forget.” Mike replied. Again, Micky laughed a bit. “I guess it didn’t work that well, though..” Mike said. “Oh, it’s alright, man. I thought it was kinda funny myself, to be honest.” Micky chuckled. “But maybe next time I should stick a note to your chest.” He continued. “What will it say?..” Mike asked. “Check under your hat.” Micky replied. “Oh.” Said Mike. They walked to the buggie rack and Micky grabbed the handle of the cart and pulled it out. Mike jumped as the other carts clanged and clattered as they rolled into place.


    The two stepped into the store and Mike looked around nervously. There were way more people than he cared to be around. What did he expect? They set off towards the aisles to collect their groceries. “Would you like to read the list as we go?” Micky asked. “Sure.. I guess.” Mike replied. “Groovy! Thanks, pal.” Micky said with a smile. “So what’s first, oh reader of lists?” He asked. Mike looked down and unfolded the list, squinting at Micky’s tiny and slightly sloppy handwriting. “Eggs, my lord.” Mike replied. “Ah-! Then let us make haste, my friend! To eggs!” Micky shouted, as if he were a mighty warrior on a perilous journey from which he may not return.

    “Great.” Mike said, following close to Micky, wrapped firmly around his arm for security. Such mundane tasks were always made ridiculous or fun in the company of Micky Dolenz. To make the acquaintance of this hyper little teeny bopper was to make the acquaintance of chaos itself. Mike still questioned every now and then how he managed to befriend such a strange kid.

    “Hey Mike?” Asked Micky. “Hm?” Said Mike. “You ever have this strange fear that one day you’ll open an egg carton and see a baby chicken breaking out?” He asked. Mike’s mind froze for a moment, he was dumbfounded. What kind of question was that? He pondered on that question for a moment before formulating a response. “No. Not really.” He replied. “Really? But what if it happened?” Micky continued. “Well.. the eggs they sell at the market aren’t fertile. So there ain’t any babies inside.” He replied. “But I thought-… well. How are infertile eggs made like that?” Micky questioned. “Well.. hens lay eggs whether there’s a rooster or not… Some people get just hens so they can have the eggs. My aunt did it.” Mike replied. Micky nodded. “I see..” he said.


    “Aha!” Micky shouted suddenly upon spying a case of eggs on a shelf, startling Mike, making him jump slightly. “Eggs!” Micky said triumphantly. He made for the shelf and grabbed the case of eggs, setting it gently into the basket. “Alright! That’s one down!” He said with much excitement. “What’s next, pal?” He asked. Mike pulled the list up again and looked at it for a moment. “Bread.” He replied. “Then let us proceed onward! To the bread aisle!” Micky said, pointing his finger forward as they turned toward the other aisle. Mike looked around nervously as they carried on. The grocery store here was much nicer than the ones he had been to when he was younger. The produce appeared fresh and there were no hungry flies hovering above it, the lights were bright and all of them seemed to be working, the floor tiles weren’t cracked nor stained. It was almost kinda nice. He shot his gaze downward, however, after accidentally making eye contact with a stranger. How embarrassing.

    They arrived in the bread aisle and stopped to have a look around. Certain aisles always had a distinct smell. The bread aisle smelled faintly of bread but also plastic-y almost. It was never an unpleasant smell, though. “Hey Mike!” Micky called. Mike turned his head to see Micky holding two different bags of bread. “Which one should I get? This one?” He asked, lifting a yellow bag of bread upwards in one hand. “Or this one?” He continued, lifting a blue bag up in the other hand. Mike cocked a brow. Why would it matter? They’re both bread. Mike merely stared at Micky with an almost confused look on his face. “Hm. You’re right.” Micky said suddenly as if Mike had replied. “I’ll go with this one! I trust him.” Micky said as he set the blue bag of bread back on the shelf and set the yellow bag into the basket.


    Mike pulled in close to Micky suddenly as someone pushed past him with a grocery cart and down the aisle. They didn’t even say excuse me. Is everyone in LA this rude? “What’s next on the list?” Micky asked as they walked down and out of the aisle. Mike opened the list once more and looked down at it. “Uh.. milk.” He said. “Groovy! To the fridge section!” He shouted. The two turned and set off toward the fridge section for a jug of milk. The two kept their look out for the fridge section, before suddenly, “Hark!” Called Micky. “Look, my friend! Over yonder aisle! The fridge section!” He said as he sped up just slightly. Mike looked ahead and sure enough they were nearing the fridge section.


    They approached the large fridges and Mike could feel the coolness coming off of them. There were jugs of regular milk, chocolate milk, skim milk and even butter milk! Yuck. Micky grabbed the handle and pulled the fridge open. He picked up a carton and read the writing on it, his eyebrows drawing together. “Hey buddy? Do you know how they get milk from almonds?” Mike blinked. “Uh. Well, I think they just… crush up almonds really well.” As he spoke he moved his hands as if he was crushing imaginary almonds with his fists. Micky pouted a bit. “I don’t know if I’d call that milk. Maybe… almond liquid.” He said. Mike grimaced at that phrase as Micky set the carton back where he got it and picked up one with cow’s milk, putting it in the cart.

    “What’s next, my good buddy?” Micky asked as he took back his place at the head of the shopping cart. Mike pulled up the list — which he had not let out of his grasp since it had fallen out of his hat, so the paper was now wrinkled and the ink had began to run — and tried to decipher what Micky wrote on it. “Uh… cereal,” he said, sounding out each letter as he read it to make sure it fit right.


    “Oh, MAN! I would’ve forgotten that if it wasn’t for the list! Good thing you’ve got that hat, I’ve really been craving some corn flakes recently.” Micky, in all his excitement, pushed off towards the direction of the cereal aisle. He put his right leg up on the bottom of the cart, and pushed himself even faster using his left. Mike, struggling to keep up with him and almost tripping over his own feet, reached out and wrapped his fingers around the handle, grasping it so hard his knuckles turned white. This made the cart pull to the left and almost threw the two of them right into the set-up of juice. Luckily, Micky hopped off the cart and planted his feet down, stopping them right in time.


    Mike took a sharp inhale. “I-! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-“ he was cut off when Micky wrapped his arm around his shoulder and placed his free hand on his other shoulder, trying to ground his friend to help calm his nerves. “Hey, hey, man! It was my bad, don’t be sorry! If anything, I should apologize to you. If I ever do anything like that again you can do what my mom used to do and just grab me by my shirt collar, that usually slows me down a bit!“ He assured Mike with a laugh. "And we needed orange juice anyway.” He laughed once more. He walked over and grabbed a carton and put it in the cart.


    Mike was still visibly shaken up. He took a slow, deep breath and gave a quick nod. “Here,” Micky said, picking up Mike’s hands and placing them on the cart. “Commander Dolenz is stepping down from his position as cart pusher and is passing it off to his second in command, Captain Nesmith!” He stood up as straight as a line and threw up his hand into a salute. Whenever he comes up with a new character he has to go all out with it, so as a finishing touch he threw on a goofy voice and added, “I’m counting on you, captain. Carry us to victory. I know you can do it.” Mike smiled a little but then looked down at his hands. He twisted them around the handle nervously and his expression tensed up.

    “C’mon, Mike, what are you even worried about? You can push a shopping cart, can’t you? Can’t you do anything right? Just-” Micky saw the mental cogs turning in his friend’s head and decided he needed to step in. He wrapped his arm around Mike’s and dramatically threw his hand to his forehead. “Oh captain, my captain!” he exclaimed, once more in his mighty commander voice in an attempt to get him going. “You must lead us to the cereal aisle! The growling of my stomach depends on you!” Micky nudged Mike a little with his shoulder, just enough to get him to take the first step. Micky marched right alongside him, loudly humming “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” Mike put his head down slightly, feeling a little embarrassed.


    “We’re almost there, good buddy! Keep on truckin’!” He encouraged with great confidence. Mike already felt like he wanted to go home, he was already tired and he hadn’t even been there long. He took a deep breath and lifted his head back up as he had realized that he wasn’t really looking where he was going. He glanced over slightly to see Micky still confidently marching by his side. The kid could be a bit much sometimes, but he had to admit that he was glad that he wasn’t alone. “How are we doing, captain? Everything shipshape on the S.S. Nesmith?” He asked. “Yea.. shipshape, sir..” Mike replied. “Groovy, baby!- ah- I mean.. aye-aye, captain!” He replied in a raspy pirates voice.


    “Uhh-.. hark-.. sir. Uh.. land ho n’ all that mess.” Mike sputtered as they arrived to the cereal aisle. “Aha!” Shouted Micky, “Fine job, captain! You have singlehandedly lead us to cereal!” He said as he wrapped his arm around Mike. “You’re a brave brave man. I shall see to it that you receive a metal for this!” He said as he pulled away. “Now let us find wheaties and corn flakes!” He finished. “.. Okay.” Mike replied as he followed Micky in search of wheaties and corn flakes. “Keep your eyes peeled, captain.” Micky said as he squinted. He continued. “They could be hiding anywh-” — “Found them.” Mike interrupted. Micky looked over to see Mike holding a box of corn flakes. “Oh!” Said Micky. “Good eye, buddy!” He chirped. Mike set the box of corn flakes down into the basket and grabbed the wheaties, setting them down right beside the other.


    “Which aisle do we plunder next, captain?” Micky asked. Mike pulled up the crinkled note once more. “Uh… snacks.” Mike replied with a slight questioning inflection. It just said snacks. Nothing in specific. “Ah! The best leg of our journey!” Micky said. “Then let us go get snacks!” He declared as they continued through the aisle. As they went along, something came to Micky’s mind. “Hey.” Micky said, nudging Mike’s arm slightly. “Hm?” Said Mike. “Did we remember to put puppy pads down for You? In case she needs to go while we’re gone?” Micky asked. Mike was quiet for a moment, trying to recall if they had done that before they left. He could’ve sworn they did, but at the same time, he remembered nothing of the sort. “I don’t know… I’m sorry” Mike finally replied.

    “It’s alright! We’ll find out when we get back, right?” Micky chuckled. “I guess..” Mike replied. They trucked on and eventually into the snack aisle. They looked around at the shelves full of many different snacks. Chips, candies, cakes, trail mix, pretzels and more. Micky grabbed a bag of potato chips and dropped it into the cart. Mike waited quietly with his head down while Micky picked out various snacks. “Hey Mike?” Micky asked suddenly. Mike looked up at Micky and cocked a brow. “Yea?..” he replied. “Would you like a snack?” Micky asked him with a smile. Mike put his head back down.


    “That’s okay…” Mike replied bashfully. He didn’t want Micky spending his money on him. “Aw, come on, buddy! I wanna get you somethin’ for being such a great pal!” He insisted with a smile. Mike’s face heated up slightly. He kept his head down. “You like pretzels, right? I remember you said you like pretzels once. Want some pretzels?” Micky questioned. “It’s fine, man, really.” Mike insisted back. Suddenly, two jumbo bags of pretzel sticks were dropped into the cart. “There ya go, buddy!” Micky said before loading in a few more snack items. Mike sighed. “Thanks a lot.” He muttered. “What’s next, pal?” Micky asked. Mike once again opened the crinkled note and was pleased to find that the list had been finished. “Nothing. The list is done.” He replied.


    “Really? That was quick!” Micky said. “Then let’s go! Onward! To the check out aisle!” Micky shouted, grabbing the edge of the shopping cart and pulling it around. Mike let go and let Micky take it from there. He once again wrapped around Micky’s arm and they carried on to the check out. Mike felt a bit of excitement rising within him just thinking of going home. He wanted a nap so bad. He followed Micky, wrapped tightly around his arm. The two approached the checkout and added themselves onto the shortest line. Mike stared at the cart looking over the items in it as Micky drummed along to a song on the handle.

    “What’s the song?” Mike asked. Micky’s hands went still and he looked over to Mike, confused. “Huh?” Said Micky. “The uh- the song. You were drummin’ it and puttin’ on a whole show n’ what not.” Micky threw back his head and laughed. “Oh! I didn’t even really realize I was doing that!“ He said. "Man, I’ve had ‘Help!’ stuck in my head all day.” He continued. “‘Help!’? That song by The Beatles?”


    “Yeah, man! Aw, it’s such a great song, and I’ve heard the movie’s fantastic! Much different from their last! We should go see it sometime soon!” Micky beamed. Mike merely nodded, “yeah” He said quietly, so much so it was barely audible. They got up to the conveyor belt and lifted their items and placed them down upon it. The counter lady looked up at the two boys. “Find everything alright today?” The counter lady asked as she scanned their items. Micky nodded profusely and grinned. “Oh yeah, it was all good and groovy here!” Micky said with a small laugh.


    She smiled at him and punched in some numbers on the register. “Your total is $2.57.” She said. “Not a problem, my dear lady!” Micky said as he pulled out his wallet for the money. Mike stood by watched. He couldn’t help feel guilty. He wanted to help pay for things, but if he could he probably wouldn’t have met Micky in the first place. Still, he couldn’t help feeling like dead weight. Even after the grocer finished putting the bags in their cart and they were making their way through the parking lot to the car, the thought of him just being a freeloader wrapped around his mind like a thick fog.

    “Slug bug, green!” Micky shouted once spotting the car in the parking lot, as he does every time. He generously decided to cool it with the arm punches, however after the first time when he nearly knocked Mike out on the floor. Micky unlocked the trunk door and the two began placing the bags in the car. After they were done, Micky looked to Mike. “Wanna drive?” He asked, sticking his tongue out and twirling the keys around his finger.


    Mike’s eyes went wide as he wracked his brain for the right response. “Uh. I— w-well—“ Mike stammered. Micky laughed a bit and closed the trunk of the car. “Aww, man, I’m just pullin’ your leg.“ Micky laughed, "I’d say we could go for a practice drive to get you used to being behind a wheel but it’s a bit too crowded here. Maybe we could try in the church parking lot?” Micky asked. Mike did want to get his license. He had always had a thing for cars, especially fast ones. And if he had his license he could help out with chores, and maybe even get a job to help with rent money. But he could never in a million years picture himself driving Micky’s car.


    Mike nodded quietly once more and Micky smiled. "Alright, what'dya say we put this cart away and get home?” Micky asked in a gentle tone. “Okay..” Mike said as they walked back to the entrance of the store, Micky pulling the unladen cart behind them. When they approached the buggie rack by the door, Micky swung the cart around and shoved it back into the rack. Again, the carts clattered, startling Mike a little. “Alright! That’s done! Let’s split!” Micky said. “Alright.. okay.” Mike replied as they walked back to the bug. The two opened the doors and slipped in and Mike couldn’t have felt more relieved. Micky put the keys into the car and turned it on and carefully backed out of the parking lot.

    As they drove home, everything was quiet. Micky looked in the rearview mirror to see that Mike had his head turned, looking through the passenger side window. “Hey Mike?” Micky asked. “Hm?” Mike said. “Thanks for helpin’ out today, man. I had lots of fun! …You’re real fun to shop with.” Micky said with a smile. Mike turned his head down and fiddled his fingers for a moment, trying to think of a response. “Ah.. sure..” was all he could manage. “Would you like to help me put up the groceries?” Micky asked. Again, another short period of silence.


    “Sure.” Mike replied.

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  • I tried to sleep…

    I wanted to sleep…

    I couldn’t…

    I’m not sure I’ll be able to….

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  • What’s the most random thing you’ve written fanfic for? The thing you’re like “there is no audience for this, and yet I must.”


    Mine is probably still that Glee/Evil Dead 2 crossover fic… No regrets!

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  • imagine being someone’s muse. they write poetry about you, they paint you. even a 100 words or brush strokes to describe every disposition, every tiny detail of yours would be less because they love you. you bring their art into life. just imagine. how beautiful would that be.

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  • Hey would you guys be interesting if I started narrating the what-if room?

    I’d do the diary outlining for each act. I mean act two and three haven’t been written yet. But if I narrate the two diary entities before act one, all of act one, and a diary clipping after it. I should be done with Act two in theory.

    I need to give myself another big project as my film project and editing project (which is for somebody else) are wrapping up.

    Lemme know if you’d listen. Or ask for a more coherent explanation of the plot because I don’t think I’ve ever explained once coherently what The What-If Room is about.

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    (Also here’s a picture of the four beat friends masks. Auggie “Karnus” Pratt, Attercop Beatrice Patterson, Cora “iApidae” Larsen, and 713 Junebug.)

    #writing#writblr#writeblr#my writing #ask me about my writing #original story#oc#ocs#original characters #please im insecure and really depressed rn #the what if room #the what-if room
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  • A diabolik lovers fanfiction - Yuma Mukami x Akane Yamashiro

    Akane walked around the town peacefully, looking around in the shops. Recently she wanted to get something for her boyfriend- his birthday was in a few days, and even if she knew she was early she just couldn’t handle the fact that she might not find him anything in time. She couldn’t think of anything at first. He wasn’t the kind who always liked chocolates or stuffed animals, and she knew that without even having to think.

    Though, something crossed her mind as she exited the small shop she was in. Yuma liked nature, and gardens. That meant he probably wouldn’t mind flowers of some sort, and he may possibly even plant the flowers back in the ground if she could find the right kind. It was a change from just the normal fruit and vegetables. Her face lit up with glee, and she had a newfound bounce to her step as she went to the local flower shop. She was very familiar with how to get there, since it was right beside the gardening center Yuma always went too when looking for seeds and other gardening needs. 

    After waiting and crossing a crosswalk, she finally made it to the street where the center and shop was, smiling at the usual people she had run into countless times around the area. Once she got to the door of the shop, she didn’t even try to calm down her gleeful face, too excited to care. Instead she just walked inside, the aroma of the flowers being very strong but also a bit refreshing. 

    “Good evening, Akane Dear.” The familiar voice of the old woman who ran the shop came from the front. “Good evening, Miss Ezume-” She was surprised at who she saw as she neared the front of the shop, a small blush appearing on her face.

    “Good evening, Sow.” Yuma chuckled with a pot of flowers in his hands. The lady at the counter smiled at us, and kept quiet as he slid her the money to pay for the flowers. “I.. didn’t expect to see you here.” She laughed a little as she walked over to him, looking up at him before looking at the flowers. “What are those for?” Looking down at her, he raised an eyebrow and did the cocky smile she often sees him do. “Just for the garden, why do ya ask?” 

    Akane simply responded with a smile. “I was thinking about buying flowers for the garden too! I think they’ll touch up the place a bit, since you mostly plant fruits and veggies…” He looked a bit confused, but laughed afterwards and held the pot with one of his arms, his free hand going to grip her’s. “Tch, you think I’d seriously get some flowers just for some color around the garden, Sow?” He asked as they started walking out the door, Akane confused at his amusement. “Well, the garden is already beautiful as it is,” She tightened her hand around his, “But I just thought it’d be nice to also have flowers in general. Especially with your birthday coming up soon…” Yuma looked a bit surprised. “Hey, you realize you’re a week too early right? You’ve got quite a while to get me some flowers.” Their smiles didn’t fade as they walked throughout the streets, and Akane could tell they were heading back to the mansion. “And besides, these flowers are for you, not for me. Don’t get so excited.” He chuckled and looked down at her. She seemed a bit confused, but definitely happy. “What?.. Yuma, you really didn’t have to buy me anything. We’re planting them by the way, whether you like it or not.” Akane laughed to herself slightly, even though she felt a bit bad that he bought her something and she didn’t have anything to give in return. 

    They walked in silence for a little bit, both of them stopping at the beginning of the road to the front door of the mansion. Akane turned and looked up at him before letting go of his hand, and then hugging him. “Thank you Yuma.” Smiling down at the girl, he leaned down to kiss the top of her head, making sure not to drop the flowers. “You’re welcome. Now let’s get going, I want to plant these before Ruki calls us in for dinner.” He grinned and she pulled away, both of them walking to his garden.


    ———————————————————————————————————–

    Hello! Sorry for any typos and such. I don’t know how people will really react to me but a friend has encouraged me to post this so here you go.. Akane belongs to me and Yuma Mukami belongs to Reject.

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  • image

    It’s 3:11am and I’m in a parking lot an hour from home drowning in my out thoughts

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  • I sit on a small island in the middle nowhere. It is surrounded by dark water. There is no other land anywhere in sight. At night the sky is pitch black; There are no stars. Come day, it’s chock white. The sun isn’t visible at all.
    I shiver uncontrollably. My teeth chatter. The sand is absolutely frigid. The water even more so. It is absolutely freezing to the touch. It almost burns.

    The odd thing is how still and lifeless everything seems. There is no wind, though the trees past the beach seem to sway gently. The water is completely stagnant, though if I stare at it for long periods I can occasionally spot something moving deep down. There are no insects, fish or animals of any kind. Everything is so…quiet.
    But sometimes, late at night when I listen really hard, I can hear things. Whispers and murmurs. Buzzing. Trills. Chanting. The stirring of water. I know there’s nothing here with me. At least, I don’t think there is. I hope I’m right. I have to be right.
    There can’t be anything or anyone else on the island, I would know. There are no noises tonight. I suppose that’s a comfort. For now.

    I decide to explore the island a bit more today. I really haven’t seen much of it other than the outermost beach. I begin a trek towards the forest. Even though it’s daytime, the woods are completely aphotic. The light dwindles ever more as I venture deeper into the trees.

    As I continue my stumbling through the brush, the sound of tribal drums and chants reach my ears. It can’t be. There can’t be people here. Eventually I reach a gigantic clearing. A circle of humanoid figures plays the drums, silhouetted by standing torches. Within the circle dance even more figures. The dancers surround a huge statue. From the light cast by the torches I am just barely able to make out the towering shape; a hulking mass of stone tentacles.

    Edging nearer to secure a better glance at everything, I stumble and a branch snaps. One of the beings in the clearing stops moving and snaps around to stare in my direction. I freeze. The creature gestures to the others and they begin to converge upon my location. I bolt in the opposite direction, absolutely terrified. What sort of unholiness have I trespassed upon? If I am captured, what will be done to me?

    I trip but regain my footing quickly enough. Finally, I burst out of the trees and back onto the beach. Breathing heavily, I turn around and my pursuers are unable to be seen. Weren’t they following me? I can’t hear any footsteps, shouting or anything at all.

    A noise akin to no sound I have ever heard bombards my ears and fills my head, almost blinding me. My head aches. From what I can barely make out, something tentacle-like erupts from the waters, splashing large amounts of the freezing water all over the sand. Another tentacle blasts upwards from the depths. Another, and another, and another still emerge. One of the great, slimy tendrils envelops my right leg and drags me towards the ocean. I am pulled under. The salt-water stings my eyes as the dreadful noise continues to disorient me. I cannot breathe. My vision fades.

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  • Me, coming up with a story idea: haha this will be fun! Just a nice relaxed time :)

    Me after spending 2 hours scouring the internet researching high altitudes, oxygen levels, temperatures, jetstreams, cloud formations, wing types and bird flight speeds:

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    #what can i say i don’t want to write the next scene that needs writing #so i’m just procrastinating by doing worldbuilding and gathering data #big brain moment #writing#flash talks
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  • Mal and Geno - family fluff (is that what this is?? Idk man-)

    When the doorbell rang, it was precisely 4:24 in the morning. Geno pressed a hand to his mouth, muffling a yawn as he sat up in bed. He paused to stretch his arms, and then slowly stood, sliding his feet into his old, worn slippers before starting toward his bedroom door, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The doorbell rang a second time and he made a face. Whoever had the nerve to bother him at this hour was really starting to irritate him already, and he hadn’t even made it to the front door yet.

    As someone began knocking on his door, he grumbled under his breath, clearly feeling less than enthused as he used a shortcut, his broken and damaged body warping to the place just before the closed - and locked - front door. Leaning closer and peeking through a tiny peephole, he arched a single brow bone.

    It was Mal. Of all people…. What was she doing here so late at night? Did Necro and Zerif know that she took off? This only seemed like more trouble that he didn’t need, but he couldn’t find it in himself to turn her away. He swiftly unlocked the door and tugged it open, his voice still somewhat groggy sounding as he addressed her, “Oh, hey there kid. What are you doing he-” He was abruptly cut off as the teen tightly clenched her jaw shut and moved closer, wrapping her arms around him and clutching onto his jacket as she buried her face in his shoulder, muffling a soft sniffle. He hadn’t been expecting anything like this. Whatever had drawn out this side of her was definitely a cause for concern.

    Now feeling much more awake and alert, he wrapped an arm around her, gently coaxing her back into the house with him before using his free hand to shut and relock the door behind her. Finally able to wrap his second arm around her as well, he heard her release a faint whimper and he frowned. Gently rubbing her back through the fabric of her sweater, he mumbled lowly, “Mal?… What’s wrong? Are you ok?…” The teen let out a tiny whimper again, her voice heavily muffled and barely audible, “I just… n-nightmare again. I hurt… I killed everyone.” Geno continued to frown, tilting his head, “You had a nightmare again?… Geez, that sounds like a pretty intense one too, at that.”

    Mal nodded, still clinging to him as he kept trying to soothingly rub her back, and he hesitated a few seconds before speaking again, “…Does your dad or Zerif know you’re here?” She shook her head, her voice now weaker than he’d ever heard it before, “No… I got scared, and I just needed out of there. I just… ran.”

    The elder of the two sighed softly; perfect. She didn’t tell Necro or Zerif. That could only mean even more trouble.

    Speaking softly, he began to gently coax her to follow him to the sofa, “It’s ok, it’s ok… I promise. Why don’t we just sit down and take a breather? You don’t have to talk about it anymore unless you want to, ok?” Mal nodded again, following him without hesitation as he guided her to the sofa, sitting down and patting the cushion beside himself. The teen took the spot he’d just been patting almost immediately, lightly leaning against him and laying her head on his shoulder.

    Wrapping an arm around her shoulder and delicately stroking the top of her skull, he fell silent, unsure what to do. To his very minute surprise, it was her that broke the silence, mumbling, “I’m sorry… You’re probably gonna get in trouble now because of me, aren’t you?…” Geno sighed deeply, shaking his head, “Nah, don’t worry about it, buddy. Your dad won’t be happy, but I’m sure he’ll at least be relieved to know that you’re here and that you’re safe. Since it’s so late, you might as well crash here, then we can both go and talk to him tomorrow. Does that sound like an ok plan?”

    Mal briefly glanced up at him and nodded, “Uh huh… I guess so.” Her uncle took a moment before replying, trying his best to read the look on her face, “Alright… Now, do you think you’ll be able to go back to sleep, at all?” Her sockets widened and she stared up at him, fear flickering in her gaze as she began to panic, “No. No, please… I can’t. There’s no way. I can’t go back to sleep, not after that nightmare I just had.”

    Although he felt a twinge of annoyance at the possibility of having to stay awake with her, he offered her a tiny smile in reassurance, “That’s ok. Just relax, alright? I’m not gonna force you to go to sleep. I have nightmares too, so I know how it goes.” The teen huddled as close to him as she could, the amount of fear that lingered on her face tugging at his soul; something about it reminded him of back when… no, now wasn’t the time for that.

    He gently patted the top of her head, raising a brow bone and offering her a small smile again, “I’ll tell ya what. If you’re interested, there’s some funny stories I’d be willing to tell you, to maybe cheer you up a little.” Lifting a hand to rub her eye sockets, she hummed, “Yeah? What are they about?” Shrugging, mischief began to gradually overtake his gaze as he looked at her, “Oh, you know… Just Fresh and You-Know-Who, back when we were kids. Fresh used to make him cry all the time without even meaning to, and because of Fresh, I’m pretty sure he’s got a fear of furbies now.”

    Mal seemed to perk up a bit, tilting her head in curiosity, “…Huh? How’d Fresh manage that one? I thought that prick was only scared of people touching him.” Geno chuckled softly, “I won’t call him your dad because I know how you feel about that, but uh… yeah. He used to be the biggest crybaby I’d ever met. All it took was Fresh staring at him with these huge, emotionless sockets, holding out some furby he named ‘Avacado’. It was fine at first, but then Avacado spoke. You should’ve heard him scream… he sounded like some kinda little girl, I swear.”

    As a smile slowly spread across her face, the teen pressed a hand over her mouth, doing her best to refrain from laughing. Noticing this, Geno’s own grin widened and he continued, “And a long time ago, back in elementary school, he always had this bad habit of chewing on pencils. He started chewing on a pen one day and accidentally bit it a little too hard, and well… it was picture day. He got his picture taken, with not black, blue, or red ink all over himself, but with this bright shade of pink. Not only did it stain his shirt, but for a while, the lower half of his face was stained pink too.”

    Mal’s smile widened behind her hand and she began to laugh softly. Arching a brow bone and smirking, Geno pulled away from his niece and leaned forward, digging through a drawer that was located just below the tabletop of the coffee table that’d been placed directly in front of the couch. She watched him curiously, and just before she got the chance to ask what he was doing, he produced an envelope, offering it to her. Visibly confused, she slowly took the envelope, seeming hesitant to open it, “Uh… What’s this for?” Waving off whatever concerns she might have, Geno only smiled again, “Open it and you’ll find out.” Though still not completely sure what to expect, Mal very carefully opened the envelope and pulled out three very old photographs.

    The first was of Geno, dressed neatly and wearing a big smile, as if genuinely happy. She set his photo aside, blinking at the second picture. It was of some weird kid with a blank stare and some of the biggest, gaudiest eyebrows she’d ever seen. Oh god. Was that…? She held up the picture and gave Geno a questioning look, to which he tilted his head, completely casual, “Fresh.”

    At the revelation, her sockets briefly widened, “What the hell?... No way, I refuse to believe that.” Geno laughed softly at her reaction, “It is, though. Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Staring intently at the picture of Fresh, she seemed almost hesitant to look away, “What happened to him? He was actually really cute here. Now he’s just scary and unpredictable.” Geno shrugged, still smiling slightly, “I have no idea. I wondered the exact same thing for a while.” She let out a sigh, shaking her head in disbelief. Talk about weird. She set Fresh’s picture aside, beside the one she’d just seen of Geno. In her hands, the only picture that was left was of a rather small, delicate looking child. Black bones, familiar blue streaks down his cheekbones, and a pair of oversized, circular glasses. Down the front of his shirt, bright pink ink could be seen, but it didn’t stop there.

    The bottom half of his face, just as Geno had told her before, was stained a vibrant pink.

    She wanted to burst into a fit of giggles, but her laughter was cut off as she noticed his expression. His eye sockets were huge and he was frowning, blue tinted tears beginning to prick at the corners of his sockets. As if he was being laughed at. Memories flickered in her mind, of all the times when the boy in the photos, now a fully grown adult, berated her for not trying hard enough. Of when he called her names and constantly shoved her away when all she wanted was a hug. Of all the times he lashed out and hurt her because she’d gotten too close or unintentionally irritated him.

    All the guilt and empathy that’d begun to blossom in her soul upon seeing the expression on his face in the photograph rapidly melted away and she burst into laughter, a smile stretching across her own face. She tried to picture him as he was now, as an adult, but stained pink just as he’d been in the picture, and tears pricked at her sockets as she laughted even harder. Part of her felt bad and wanted to understand how he must’ve felt when that photo was taken, but at the same time, she couldn’t find it in herself to care about the feelings of someone that’d only ever reduced her to a fraction of who she really was.

    She was feeling conflicted but did her best to hide it with laughter. Geno probably could tell what she was up to, but at the moment, she really didn’t care.

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  • Corvids sunbathing on the chimney tops,

    House swifts flying in between,

    Contrails streak the blue sky above,

    Life is peaceful, quiet, and serene.

    #then the buggers started cawing #birds#peacful morning #literally looked out my window and there was a crow and two magpies quietly sunbathing #one on each of the chimneys and a bonus pigeon on the roof #just chillin enjoying the sunrise #lastest all of two minutes #then I burnt my toast #but it was nice #poem#writing
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  • Person A: I thought your clothes looked cool but now I realise that you were the one who looked good in them.

    Person B: So… now you wanna see me naked?

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  • editing the latest chapter of my fic be like, oh guess i should just start over instead akjsdhasjkhfsaj

    #i need to change so much #what headspace was i in when i wrote this akjsdhajkshd #writing
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  • Can you give me something for the pain?

    Something for the pain of being constantly left behind, of being set aside because I’m overwhelming or underwhelming or just not what people want?

    Something for the pain of losing my abilities, my identity, myself, watching helplessly as it all slips through my grasping fingers?

    Something for the pain of the deepest loneliness and always feeling so unknown, so misunderstood? Of carrying so much and having nowhere to set it down, no one to trust with the load?

    Please, just give me something.

    This pain lives deep in my chest, never goes away. Usually it hides deep enough that I can ignore it, pretend that I’m okay with it, even that I prefer it. Other times it’s all I can feel, boring into my chest and searing across my consciousness, screaming, “Unloved! Unwanted! Unworthy! A waste of time, of talent, of the very air we breath! Why do you even bother? You’re nothing. Nothing.”

    Can you give me something for that?

    #writing#poetry#or something #back to my emo roots #right now i am so tired and in so much physical pain too (so so much) and I am just so done #i hurt #i don’t know how to make it stop
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  • The grace of poetic writing knows no bounds. It is often flawed, yet endearing, complex in form but simplistic in its conveyance of human emotion, explicit yet subtle. An inimitable serenity exists in creation by quill or keyboard. A writer can only hope their readers can perceive the beauty therein, but to the true writer, this is immaterial.

    Forgive the fallacious lapse in reasoning, but I believe this to be true; we do not need validation for works of the soul. However, I’ll wager, admittedly from personal experience, that there exists a directly proportional relationship between the suffering writer’s satisfaction and validation received. Conversely, those who see the downtrodden writer’s creations, find themselves discontented, and proceed to avert their eyes from the writer’s future works, will hurt the author immeasurably.

    Perhaps I am a hypocrite. Perhaps that is why I scream into the darkness, why I write here. I leave my mark like a dead drop, and pray godlessly for some return, for meaning in either commiseration or appreciation.

    In any case, somehow I feel these words need to be written. They are sacred in a different sense. They offer transient transcendence of nihilism, a miraculous ascent to something greater than mundane consumption and suffering inherent in earthly existence.

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  • I’ve said it before.
    I’ll say it again.
    I will not give up.
    I am in this. 
    I am here for the long haul.
    You’re the love of my life.
    I’ve given you 
    everything I am.
    I am yours to have forever
    if that’s what you want.
    What happens next
    is up to you.

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  • I’m gonna start writing again. It used to come before my art then it intertwined with it. As more people started seeing my sketchbook I cut more and more writing out. Now that people rarely see my sketchbooks my passion for writing is starting to reignite. Of course my area will stay mostly in poetry and stuff similar to it. Writing to invoke emotion I suppose. But I’d also like to just generally write more of my thoughts down, as well as hopefully start writing for a game centered webcomic I was doing concept art for a while back. In the future I’d love to write professionally, I’d love to get back into journalism with articles or similar things. I need another outlet in general. I need a push to be more articulate again. For a while I felt my brain begin to rot. Simple words fell out of my head and forming spoken sentences became difficult. Writing is another way to push against my demons.

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