#writing Tumblr posts

  • Got another seaQuest one shot idea in mind. If anyone is interested in me posting it here as well as AO3, let me know.

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  • The moon hid herself in a crescent form when I walked into your room, I think she was ashamed and hurt…you are an exquisite beauty my lady, the heart of the east, the heir of the sunrise…sometimes it shocks me you dont see it.

    You know I sometimes look at you, sparing glances you can’t see or… when I’m lucky…you’ll send me a picture. I think happiness looks good on you, the same way your crown of braids and your chocolate skin match the royalty lying beneath your skin; And I blush (alot) when you look my way because I am not even half as real as you. I get why you love the colour yellow; I think you’re descended from sunlight, you are bright…I mean it. I dont think you realise how dark a room can feel when you’re not around, and you hold yourself…with insecurities, doubts and fears… like a woman armoured. You can be cold and distant and most times I dont get you but even the sun can be cold in winter. You’re a dazzling depth, ocean so deep you could sink forever and never touch the bottom.

    You’re everything….the parts of life that infuriate me, that make me feel lost and weak and small; but it’s been a while since I’ve smiled as truly as when i first started talking to you…and I have so much to say, so much I want to say…but I’ll never have the courage to say it.

    You probably won’t read this. You don’t care for poetry and words. But if you should reach the end of this I think you should know you are a gem…a diamond made by fire, a treasure protected in gold and a girl worth falling for. Broken hearts are easy but finding something…someone…worth letting tour heart bleed for, that’s rare and you…well, I would let you break my heart a thousand times over.

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  • image

    box

    I like to see people

    enjoying their lives

    seeing their little dimples

    right as they smile


    I like to see people

    holding hands as they go

    I wish it was that simple

    to not to feel slow


    I like to see people

    wearing colorful socks

    I wonder if they see me

    trapped in this glass box

    image
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  • “Io non ti ho amata per scherzo” le disse con le lacrime agli occhi, ma allo stesso tempo con uno sguardo duro e rassegnato. Lui la amava, la amava con tutta la sua anima, ma Sylvia non era più la stessa, era cambiata e Dorian sapeva che avrebbe dovuto lasciarla andare. Sylvia lo guardava negli occhi mentre egli pronunciava quella frase ma non mosse un muscolo, il suo viso rimase immobile come quello di una scultura greca, bellissima e intoccabile. Dorian non lo sapeva, ma fu in quel momento che il cuore della ragazza si spezzò in tanti minuscoli frammenti, come un vaso che cadendo si rompe in mille pezzi ed è impossibile da riparare. Ormai Sylvia sapeva di averlo perso per sempre, lui si era arreso e lei non avrebbe mai potuto rivelargli i suoi veri sentimenti, come lo amava così tanto che a volte quando non erano insieme le mancava il respiro; che quando guardava i suoi occhi riusciva a vedere tutto ciò che c'era dentro, tutta la sofferenza che lui aveva dovuto sopportare, e allora gli prendeva la mano e vi posava un leggero bacio, senza dire una parola, perché sapeva che parlarne sarebbe stato troppo doloroso per Dorian. Lei lo amava come si ama guardare il sole mentre sorge con le sue mille sfumature, ogni alba diversa dall'altra, ogni giorno nuove emozioni, così Dorian e Sylvia trascorrevano le giornate insieme, ogni giorno scoprendo nuove sfumature dell'altro, svelando emozioni nuove con la consapevolezza che, come il sole sorge ogni mattina, loro ci sarebbero sempre stati l'uno per l'altra. Tutto questo se ne stava andando insieme al ragazzo dai capelli corvini scompigliati dal vento, e nonostante lei volesse urlargli di restare, rimase ancora una volta immobile a vederlo fare un passo dopo l'altro fino a quando la nebbia ne impedì la visione.

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  • Paint rainbows

    into my smile,

    plait flowers,

    into my flowing hair,

    spin gold,

    to dress my skin

    and bloom colour,

    into my glistening eyes.

    I want to stand

    as a goddess before you,

    regal,

    lost to a world of my own.

    I want to be

    caught,

    by your midnight stare,

    as I fall

    into your every

    woe.

    - A Slave to the Fates

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  • The next day I’d spent completely holed up in the library, reading books on things that might be of interest for the mission while thinking about my home country for the first time in half a decade. I thought about the people who actually cared for me other than my brothers while I was there, and I thought about how loving my mother used to be before she married Loryian. I told her he’d be the death of her, but she refused to listen.

    Now she’s laying dead, buried in the ground next to the man who led her there. You never did listen to me after you fell in love with that devil. It had been a complete contrast to how she used to listen to me whenever I told her something that my instinct had told me.

    After him, she’d always come up with excuses: ‘I’m going deaf, could you repeat that?’, 'It’s just a fickle of your imagination dear’, 'This is an adult’s worries. A child wouldn’t understand the complexities of such things’ and a load of other crap.

    I’d always go crying to my brother about it, and he’d hug me and say 'Mother’s become delusional. Your instinct has always been right’ and he’d comfort me until I stopped crying. I smiled at the memory.

    Sometimes, I recalled with a wince, when I’d hug him real tight, his face would contort in pain as his wounds from the most recent whipping would groan under the pressure of a surprisingly strong hug from a child. I’d ask what’s wrong, and he’d never reply, instead always commenting on my amazing strength. It always made me completely forget about his expression from before and made me smile proudly at his praise. I suppose that should’ve been one of the many raised red flags that had been flying over my head. I thought bitterly, trying to continue reading the book I had in front of me, titled Everything You Need to Know About the Unspoken. I’d stumbled upon it while searching for books that might be useful and this tattered, ancient book had caught my attention from the corner of my eye.

    But going back to reading was useless at the current time, and I laid down on the floor where I was, looking at the high ceiling and contemplating what else had gone over my usually attentive head when I was in my brother’s presence. Everything was always a wonderland around him, as he always knew what to say to distract me from certain topics and how to avoid others. He knew what to say and when to say it, having been the only one constantly at my side whenever he could. And thinking about this had made me remember ka pyto [informal, loving version of my Father, like my papa, or daddy] as well.

    When he was alive, he’d surprisingly been more attentive than my mother, which was a shock to the whole household and clan since that was a hard thing to do with how closely my mother watched her only daughter. I had been the only female born in a household of sons and the main family of 5 children, and was the youngest. She had tried her hardest at first to hide that I was her most favoured but all my brothers - just a week before my first birthday - had, with a loving smile in my direction from what ka pyto had told me later on, told her to stop trying since it was way too obvious. She’d chuckled and kissed each of them on the head in turn, telling them they’re all her children and before giving me the biggest smooch on the cheek had said “And I love you all equally. But this child, she’s the first one to have been a girl and it’s easier for a woman to connect to another woman you know?”

    Ka pyto then had told me how they’d all laughed, me and mother included, and we had spent the rest of the 3 days of the week together as a family. All my brothers had taken days off work to spend those days with their little darling sister, and that was the last days we’d spent together as a whole family. When I was one, my two oldest brothers, Mythro and Karia, had gone together on a mission two months before my second birthday only to never return. They’d gotten news that their bodies were found, bloody and beaten, just outside the reaches of our family property on my birthday. They had tried to keep up the happy mood for my sake, but I remember (even at the tender age of two) telling all of them they didn’t have to force themselves.

    Mother and pyto had been surprised while my other two brothers looked at me with a sad smile. I’d asked yark lorem [dearest brother] about the incident years later and he said that he and my other brother had both thought “How proud they’d be if they saw you and knew how clever and understanding you are at only two.”

    A year later, at three I was supposed to start my training, just like the rest of the nobility in Lyncian culture, but being the overprotective brother he was, Qira challenged the Daxut Elder to a duel, with the proposition that “If I win, she won’t have to endure that for the rest of her life unless she wishes to train herself.” They signed the contract in blood, making it absolute. The opposition was that if the Elder won, I’d have to train harder than anyone else.

    The latter wasn’t hard to do, they’d quickly realised, as I had turned out to be not only their prodigy child, but also a genius, though rebellious as hell. The fight was even for the most part, and Qira had nearly beaten the Elder but someone had interfered with the match. They killed my brother, and pinned it as a win for the Elder, but he marked the match as unfinished in the records, so with the battle incomplete, I trained like any normal child with some leniency in memory of my brother. The Elder died the week after, and after a thorough examination, they’d found out that he had sustained incredible amounts of damage from Qira, and the internal injuries had been what killed him, not old age.

    Though marked unfinished, everyone realised the Unbeaten, as had been his reputation, would have actually lost against my brother. And not because of old age, but because of a substantial gap and difference in their abilities.

    My brother had later been given the funeral and burial of a hero, the whole Daxut Clan knowing he would have become one had someone not interfered. They’d banished the one who had, not only because he’d killed a future hero, but also because the fact that he did meant not only interference with the duel, which was prohibited by the ancient rite and the law of the Moon Goddess, but also because it meant lack of faith in the Elder, the one person everyone in the clan looked up to and respected without question.

    That had left me behind with yark lorem and mother, and decades later had left only me and yark lorem behind to fend for ourselves in an increasingly difficult household with one hell of an abusive stepfather and a neglectful mother who’d pretty much become a ghost in our life.

    I sighed and closed my eyes, putting an arm over them, trying to shield them from seeing the things I’ve seen. It’s useless and you know it. A spiteful little voice said in my head. In these kinds of situations, it seemed like everything within myself had gone quiet. Sarcasm went to sleep, snarkiness went on holiday and anything humorous had stepped out to go entertain someone else.

    Once you step in, you can’t leave until you’ve lived through it again, you know? Something dark within me commented. I sighed again and resigned to my fate, knowing that it was just another way of telling myself to just accept the past and stop trying to go back to when I was one, before ka pyto, Qira, Mythro, yark lorem and Karia died. A time when ka myta [informal, loving way of saying my Mother, like my mama, or mummy] paid attention to my warnings and doted on her one and only daughter. Before he came when I was 65, and ruined what was left of my family to a point where he’d broken me enough to kill them both after he’d stepped a step too far and whipped yark lorem to death, simply for defending me and trying to keep me from being used as a weapon of murder for his sick and twisted ambitions.

    He never loved you, ka myta, but you never did listen to me after you fell in love with him. He used your love to get higher on the social ladder, and then started using the prodigy of the clan for his own means since he was now a part of our so-called 'family’. He used me right under your nose, and you did nothing. So can you really blame me, ka myta?

    I sighed again.

    After everything had been said and done, I’d buried Lycan under his favourite tree in our garden, and moved the bodies of Mythro and Karia to rest with him, not really being able to do the same with Qira who’d been buried in the Tariota Hajore Millio [Place of the Brave and Faithful is the literal translation but because it’s a cemetery it’s used more to mean 'place heroes lie], along with the Elder. That was one grave I couldn’t disturb unfortunately.

    Mother’s and Loryian’s bodies had been burnt by me, and I’d buried their ashes in a small hole out in the middle of the forest on the Devil’s Ground. He had been her downfall to hell, and that’s where they were both buried. The devil and the fallen one.

    Our household had fallen into a state of mourning for the next year, and that was for more than one reason:

    1) All but one of the family members from the main family had died

    2) They’d lost a great hostess to the hands of a devil (during this year, everyone had also been praying for the Moon Goddess to forgive all her sins and accept her into the after-death)

    3) And they’d lost the heir to the household, me, as I’d gone into seclusion and then disappeared shortly after the mandatory 3 months of mourning.

    I had stayed to watch what else had happened for the rest of that year before realising there was nothing left for me in that house, and left for the other continents across the world that we’d stayed away from for so long. It was an unspoken taboo within our culture, which had made it the perfect place to disappear to.

    Despite having decided, and actually doing so, to send a letter back to tell them where I was, and that I’d never come back, they had replied by saying I’m the only true heir and that the household shall not have another host or hostess until my death.

    Though the sentiments had warmed my heart, as they still do I realised with a smile, it was too hard for me to go back there again and I never did.

    I opened my eyes and stood up, getting a move on around the place and starting my research on probable useful things once again to try and distract me from entertaining the idea of going back there. It’s been long enough. The wounds have healed, despite the massive scar they’ve left behind. I told myself. Why not go back? But I shook my head and picked up my next book of interest: The History of the Verdant Wave.

    The idea was that if we knew where the religion came from, along with the why Ixis think they’re the chosen ones, I could find a root cause and then a solution for the whole mess we’re in.

    And for the rest of the day, I’d spent it shifting between memories that came flooding back and researching things of interest, trying to keep my mind from taking yet another dip into another part of the memory pool. After the main nostalgic breakdown I’d had, it was a bit easier to focus on the task I’d given myself, the huge bulk of the reason why I’d decided to stay away from thinking of anything involving my homeland gone.

    But here and there little snippets of an old life would appear, and I’d entertain them before going back to work. And so, the supposedly 'relaxing’ day had ended up flying by, drowned in books and memories of days gone.

    ༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄

    This story was written from the perspective of one of my D&D characters. As part of the campaign, she had to do a lot of reach, so she just spent a day in the library. I wrote this as a way to try and go in depth with her history and he motives for getting to where she did.

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  • As godly punishment

    I am sent to you.

    What you have done

    lies between the sky

    and the earth, right above

    the firey caves, I delve in.

    If the deeds of humans are of ill will,

    I come and take justice,

    show you the strength of hell,

    or give you a mirror,

    that maybe the darkness lies within you.

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  • Reminder to self that bad writing days are okay and better days will come and no writer ever had days where everything worked perfectly.

    #aka i wrote but find it meh-ish cuz the whole pacing is fro the trash #may have to spend the next days just going back and deleting and rearranging shit #beablabbers#writing
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  • do you see me?

    or am i just another fading star in the sky

    so dim, so burnt out

    that you’ll never notice me again?

    will i never shine as brightly as once did

    scaring away the cold

    shedding light and warmth over things i love

    and shining light on your creation?

    am i just another dying star to you?

    i worry, so again, i reiterate:

    do you see me?

    #x. #ramblings. #writing
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  • I thought it’s over again,
    thinking about it all over again
    Am I hangover again?
    I want to go out with my friends again.

    They told me I’ll be okay,
    So, I get out of my mind.
    I said to myself It’d be okay
    So, I let it all out of my mind.

    Now, I’m stuck in my bed
    thinking to ditch my plans today.
    I can sit here around and cry to myself all day,
    thinking about the time when I said the wrong thing.

    I tell myself that it’s okay,
    You have to feel the pain,
    to feel love again.
    You can’t feel the love without the pain.

    Here I am for my good days, to my bad days
    To the break-ups and breakdown.
    Here I am for my best day, to my worst day.
    I told myself I will be fine, ‘Cause I know that I’ll be okay.

    Staring at my phone,
    I can feel so alone.
    I start convincing myself,
    Everyone else is doing better than me.

    'Cause I turn 24, still don’t have the confidence to my own,
    I tell myself that it’s okay.
    You can’t feel the sun without the rain, 
    The darker the nights make the brighter days.
    You can’t feel the love without the pain.

    Here’s to the good things, to my bad things
    To the loved days, to the birthdays.
    Here’s to the best day, to my worst day
    To the mistakes and the first dates

    I tell myself I’ll be okay
    I’ll be okay
    'Cause I know that I’ll be okay.

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  • …trying to finish up some horror fics these days… and then more of the long weekend home… so wait for it… October is going to be absolutely packed with fic posting…

    #writing#my writing#status update#fanfic#horror#fluff #a little bit of everything! #coming soon!
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  • Miss me on the happy days when you normally wouldn’t think of me, remember me by my scent, the way I lingered in your bed, miss me, miss me badly, miss me madly, miss me lately, and then, just remember me.

    - i n t e r tw i n e d

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  • There is a guilty satisfaction in not remembering the color of your eyes or the sound of your name. It gives me hope that things, no matter how well learnt by us, still stand a chance of being forgotten.

    —prajakta

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  • you know, there are stories from an age a long time ago;
    where it wasn’t humans who roamed the land, but gods.
    and where there are gods, there are devils, and demons.

    the gods liked to play music, for they were beings of power,
    and sometimes power got boring. and so they played songs;
    sang along, even, and the devil, trapped in his corner of the world,

    he was jealous. he, too, wanted music.

    the devil far he searched, using the eyes of his demons as they scoured
    the land for some scrap of music, something to bring back to their master
    for his enjoyment.

    alas, the gods heard of the plan and stole all music from the land,
    guarding it in their pantheon, where only the purest of souls could enter.
    a soul, which the devil most definitely did not have.

    even then, he was far from pure, but that’s a story for another day.

    the devil he raged for seven days and seven nights,
    before he collapsed onto his throne and slammed down a fist
    and roared, “if the gods won’t give me music then i will make my own!”

    another seven days and seven nights he worked,
    testing and trying and making his own music,
    and at the end of it all he let his demons listen to it.

    they cackled and screamed and cawed their approval, and high above the gods trembled.

    heaven played their sweet songs and lyrical music,
    but hell enjoyed the sharp edges and rough sides of their tune.
    the devil’s music, they said, was the best.

    wc. 264; FFF67 — the devil’s music; @flashfictionfridayofficial, tenth entry!

    #writing#writeblr #writers on tumblr #.67 #flash fiction friday #awritingcat
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