@the-sunshine-dims's personal writing library! where i post all my writing content for organisation
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The Ghost They Remember
I think often, about the people who met me once, twice maybe, and those I've known for so long but lost contact with one or two forevers ago,
I think about a dozen questions I'll never get answers to, and a hundred that I'll never be confident in assuming as true
And I think about the fact that the version of me they met is gone,
Do they know? Stumbling across the information as suddenly as the realization
Or do they still think of me and see the corpse that has been dragged and buried under the earth with my own two hands
Do they remember the ghost? A shape they'd remember more then I do?
I think about it often, and yet still, maybe the body is buried for a reason, and maybe they were to be the few memories it was buried with, a coffin of childhood I can let go.
#had a dream about the person this poem was made with in mind so figured it was a sign to post it somewhere#trans poetry#poetry#the cold one writes#trans
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Kaleidoscope Tattoo Artist Au?? woah
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silly fic!! silly fic of Ulysses yelling at Fable!! enrichment
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Plastic home
They say the hermit crabs aren't choosing as they did
Beaches lined with litter and pollution
They hide as they always have, with their new environment
Taking anything hard
Now bright and colorful,
Supposed to stand out with it, but aware of how camouflaged they actually are
The beaches changing,
Them changing with it
They say they don't know the effect it has on them
Another tick on the box of ‘looking into it’
Another animal changed.
#read all about it: local guy got fixated on one of my long time favorite animals and now here to say:#climate change and pollution? awful actually! i know unheard of take /j /lh#but hermit crabs are just such lovely animals and it really is heart breaking how mistreated they are and how much their affected#the way their often spotted with stray plastic in lue of shells is devastating their such cool animals :[#poetry#crabs#at this point i dont know what counts as poetry but hey- its my tagging system- this is fine-
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herm,y crab
Gliding across the sand
Water shoving against, little claws
Body protected,
Munching on plankton, kelt, fish
Anything a little mouth can
Little crab, getting a hardy meal
#writing class snippets#poetry#crab#red wheel barel type beat becuase i thought it would be funny#but hermy crab!!!#writing blog? no hermit crab fan blog
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Hermit crab industry
Picked off the shore
A place they’ve always been
Plucked off the shore, as if they’ve never been there before
Childhoods of scouring, belittled by markets
By boardwalks, by beachsides
Little scuttles, natural shells, taken away,
Replaced by paint, by shine, and shimmer
Childhoods replaced,
But hey, whats a little glimmer?
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Solitary
Hermit crabs do their best in groups, a fact contrary to even their name but still true, and still solid
Those little crabs scuttling around together, perched in the small pools of water the tides had stuck between the rocks, settling together
Yet they were called hermits.
Making sense, with their unique home on their back, and yet very little because of their actions
How often are things labeled as solitary for choosing safety even when they yearn for contact?
Hermit crabs are known for being less defensive with others, in high shell availability, the cluster bringing a little solace,
Hermit crabs are social creatures
And yet their labeled otherwise.
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Hand-me-downs
To a hermit crab- small and prone to hiding, do you think the snails that came before are mystical?
The animals whose life provide shelter so strong they evolved to coincide with it, taking over the abandoned shells.
Do you think they know where their shells come from? wonder if others had worn it first, before outgrowing it too,
Hand-me-downs of shelter?
The snails still live and breathe, still slink under the water, hidden under any rock you flip over along the beachy shore
But do you think hermit crabs see the home on their back, so similar, and make the connection?
Aware they are the same, The crab taking a place that was not made for them, but they fit in snugly nonetheless
Do you think the crab hesitates for a moment when they have to shed their shell and get a new one, too tight,
Too tight, but the other option being vulnerability
And do you think they look back to the snails before them, before creating their conga line of shells
Passing around the hand-me-downs just as they always would.
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Those that scuttle
Oh those who scuttle along the shore, through rocks and twigs and more
With little shells on your back, symbolizing, a greater pack. scuttling around; sand, making not a sound
Shells underwater, abandoned and nothing more then fodder
Then, You collected them, the sun's light reflected in them,
Finding a shell, not the right fit, waiting for others, to try and switch
You wait and you wait, until every one has their bait, protected and housed, just without a gate.
You are lovely and you are mighty, to those that scuttle along the shore,
you are are lovely and you are mighty, wherever you are, I wish there were more.
#this is the joy of a writing blog- theres fanfic- and then theres the silliest crab poetry#i like crabs :]#i was tasked to do this for the bit and ive discovered its my joy in life#crabs#poetry
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Rotting Roots
woah,, within the hour of posting it on ao3,, no longer current! i am, oh boy,,, /pos
ANYWAY- MOMBOO TIME
Ao3
Words: 1.1k
Summary:
She had never ended before, she had died, but not ended. She didn't know what it felt like- and yet she could tell this would be it. The lady of the world's final journal, her last hurrah. Momboo’s final affairs. (or me thinking a lot on the feeling of rotting)
Contents and Warnings: vague descriptions of body horror as well as just illness general, rot and mold metaphors, dying,
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Rotting was a horribly visceral feeling, sapping of nutrients and energy, and leaving Strawberri tired.
She could feel herself rotting, wholly unpleasant in the way it made her feel empty- hollow, curly red hair getting duller and thinner and warm light skin becoming paler and colder.
She felt less alive, though they weren't just yet, a realization that she'd long since been forced to come to terms with, the idea terrifying- an eventuality she never thought she'd face, that she was now. But one she'd come to terms with in the months of ache regardless.
The not-quite-irony not lost on her- so many resets not remembering, choosing not to, just for the one she did, for her memory to stop.
Maybe a cycle in of itself. Though not one she had the energy nor care to elaborate on to her mind- most energy expended when someone came over to check on her, worried faces of her friends and children, and she wanted so badly to tell them it would be okay, to protect them. But that would only hurt them more.
Momboo was going to die.
Amongst the chaos that was stirring, the wack was going to finish its rotting. Finish molding into her chest in an array of sharp colors almost blinding in contrast to her now-dull palette.
And if her children did not know- if her friends did not know, it would catch them by surprise and it would break them even more than they already were.
She didn't expect them to accept it, couldn't imagine a world in which they did, knowing them all too well. But they had to know, had to prepare themselves enough in the way she had.
She was still scared after all.
How could she expect them not to be?
She had never ended before, she had died, but not ended. She didn't know what it felt like- and yet she could tell this would be it. The lady of the world's final journal, her last hurrah.
Momboo’s final affairs.
..
They would still try- even if it seemed pointless, for her. They'd fight it until the end, something inherent to those she surrounded herself with, even if they knew they couldn't fix it- Even if Rae knew he couldn't fix it. Just because he had to try until the end.
They knew, knew the likelihood, but accepting it-
They just wouldn't be able to. Jamie, her youngest coming the closest- not stopping their search, but.. They knew the just-incase, leaving a sour feeling in her chest, undeniable sadness as they clung to help, as her child clung to her.
She couldn't tell if it was acceptance- or a desperate attempt to make peace for her, the closest thing truly possible for a child losing their mother. Or just an attempt to be brave for her, her youngest doing his best to put on a brave face and smile for her.
And as she accepted the way her chest had long since dulled into a constant strum of pain, of ache, extruding slowly through her limbs like it was growing roots through her veins, the way even potions didn't truly help, not long enough to act as a true reprieve, she wished she didn't appreciate it.
Just wanting to gather her children into her arms like when they were little, young pale blond and little bear pressing themselves as close as physically possible, sometimes bickering between the two just to get closer. Just wishing to protect them from the world in a way she couldn't anymore.
That hurting the most, knowing she’d leave them, but nothing could change that fact. No matter how much they fought for an answer that differed.
And yet, with the way the way she knew her tree- something almost an extension of her being, was no longer what it once was, rotted and decaying so clearly to anyone who looked, bright pink only feeling mocking to the joy she had found at the discovery of cherry trees.
and after she left, she was sure it'd leave too- that idea alone leaving Strawberri apprehensive, but it didn't feel like a question in her mind. The tree being there for so long- it would've been nice to leave something to remember her by.
She could hope it would heal without her- pretend it could heal, without her impact, but the tree was linked, and maybe it always would be. And though it felt a nicer thought, it was a weird one too, the idea of it surviving without her. both options not truly right in her mind, but she still hoped- maybe.
Even if it felt- the idea still not right in her mind. Even if the idea felt like fighting the inherent.
Just for the ability for something left of her to remain, to have the tree grow without her and to remain around those she cared for.
Just- one little piece.
She had nothing to look to, just as she never really had, that feeling not unfamiliar.
She'd accepted it as much as she could.
And so maybe the colorful fungus would take over the tree too, rotting at the roots first before hollowing out the inside, leaving just the exterior shell, Just as it would her.
Rot knew its job well.
Momboo also knew rot well, now intimately.
She'd lived so long, so very long, so much longer than any human should've, seen so many resets, seen so much.
Which she’d reassure Rae of, knowing if she reassured Easton and Jamie of it, they'd-
Momboo wished she could stay with the two longer, wished she could see the end of the conflict, make sure her kids were safe.
But they could take care of themselves, and when they couldn't, or just for extra measure- the extra reassurance. Rae would take care of them, just as he always had, And so would Ghosty, and Fenris.
They'd be okay-
Well maybe not okay. She knew they wouldn't be okay. But they'd be safe, and eventually they'd be able to breathe again.
The idea of putting them through the grief of losing a parent-
She wished she could stop it.
But her connection to the world had dwindled and vanished, leaving her unsure if she even counted as Lady of the world anymore, the powers being inherited by her children before her eyes.
And if even there was another reset- something she dreaded and hoped desperately against,
She didn't know if she'd come back. This was different from a stab wound- a sudden death brought on by unsuspecting forces.
She was sick, she'd been sick, and her connection was leaving her, only signifying the worst.
Rot taking down the tree. Violent splattering of colors taking its in turn, turning it dull and dead.
What a fate to share.
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to the bee i sat with while you died
the bee who climbed around my hands, not sitting still for a moment though your little hands lacked the traction to stay up right, to grip, though you kept toppling over.
to the bee who trusted me to pick you up, trusting i was safe and not trying to hurt you as i moved you from the place i knew youd be stepped on, not noticed.
did you know what i was saying to you as i comforted you, as i picked you up, and as you kept falling over, your little body failing you despite how mighty you tried to be
did you know why i was staying with you, why i was sitting with you, holding you in my hands just to make sure you weren't in danger, did you know there weren't any comfortable flowers nearby? that i looked, and yet i could find a single one to make your end more pleasant
did you know that i took pictures of you, videos, to send to my friends, just so others could see you, so for a moment before you went, people would love you?
did you know, for a moment, for an hour as i stayed with you, i loved you?
did you know? your life was ending? old and weary and out of the hive, was that why you were restless?
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it was so windy it felt as if the world itself was enraged, the wind blowing and slamming against anything in its path, howling a pained scream that overlapped any other noise- for just a moment spiking a fear in anyone who heard it, it felt angry and anguished and it left only the question of who displeased it so badly, who created this rage and unwavering hopelessness that could be heard no matter the music, nor hot drinks, who created the creature that now couldn't be ignored as it rushed through power lines and trees- bringing them down, and slammed against houses taking the light with them.
it felt angry, and harsh, and it felt inherent- maybe it had always been this angry, but maybe now it lashed out, natural as any other piece of nature, harsh and cold, and destructive, but still nature.
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little nutcracker snippet based on the post i made earlier! dreams are so fickle and its so fun to play with!
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His hands used to be soft, didn't they? The memory feeling hazy and distant and it makes the raven-haired man feel like his head should hurt thinking about it.
Turning his hands over as he's led through the scenery by someone who knows more- has more direction, but who does not know why.
His hands that feel fake- not human, he's sure he should've noticed, he’s sure he should be upset by it- afraid.
He looks up, porcelain, ball-jointed arm moving to grab and link itself with Wolf's arm.
Much more soft- more human.
Wasn't he wood once?
Rae is sure he should think about that, but he doesn't, just falling into steps with Wolf as the man's head turns to look over at him, gold shimmer from the fall, the only thing keeping him from looking entirely human.
They matched like that now, Rae remembers his face is purple now- a light lavender color brushed over the left side of it, expanding the further they got.
He wasn't supposed to look like that.
He knows that.
But he does, and they match, so he continues with where Wolf was taking him, a journey to a place he has been told far more times than he was sure was probably fair.
He knew-
And yet it escaped him, along with all of the fear of the ways things should've been.
#the fable nutcracker au#fable smp#actually doing my best to work on a fic for the au! but i just really like this little slightly expanded concept
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little vikesh and wolf snippet ive had in my back pocket for a while :]
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"'Till the end of the stars" He decided.
"Oh?" Vikesh blinked looking down at their lover, having gotten used to the silence cast between them.
"You asked how long I'd love you, Till the end of the stars."
Oh.
It was a small comment, one inspired by too many othering circumstances for Vikesh to be comfortable with.
And yet slowly, she recovered, eyes softening as he just gazed at the man.
"Oh love" they murmured and he looked away, back to watching the horizon, maybe a little avoiding the tenderness of which Vikesh was gazing at him with.
"Well, in that case.. I suppose I'll love you until the last sunrise, until the stars end- and i watch them end personally, until I as light, am no longer. And even after."
Vikesh leaned over the railing, just enough to see the fond smile spread across the man's features, even if it was fleeting as he looked away with a soft huff.
Until the end of the stars.
(And after.)
it was a promise.
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In 2024 the world will end a hundred times over, and then it'll get better just as many times. And people will smile a million times more,
Children will laugh and be just a little bit louder then comfortable and people around will smile regardless, bees will fly around and flowers will bloom and someone will note it in their head.
Everything will be intense and it'll be just as normal as before.
People will ask to pet a dog walking in a park, people will be loud while listening to music. And people will be human, just as they've always been, and will be when this year too, passes.
In 2024 people will exist, will go through the worst they've ever gone through, and then they'll push through it, and they'll be strong again, and then the world will keep on spinning, and they'll listen to music loudly
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The town was once bustling, neighbors and people not quite building it up with houses and libraries and anything they deemed important, talking to each other and laughing even as the place grew odd, strange occurrences taking over one by one.
The town was once bustling, and yet, now the oddness grew to danger, with a taint to peoples minds- growing and dangerous and leaving most of the town to leave, leaving buildings- some collapsed, some demolished, behind, but the place was the same, the same marks of the earth that carved their way into the mountain, the same forest surrounding, the same place. just different. and yet so- the same, the kenopsia holding strong at anyone who dared walk through it under the peering eyes of people who weren't quite the same,
The fear only giving way to the yearning for before,
#writing class snippets#my goal is to slowly but surely intrigue my class with fable smp (this was loosely based off season 1 :D!)
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Drowning (The Water is Unmistakable)
woah projecting? on this fine afternoon? crazy,
Words: 1.3k
Summary: Rae is overwhelmed.
Contents and Warnings: Drowning metaphors, Rae angst, Hurt no comfort.
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He was drowning.
Submerged, unable to swim up, left disoriented and exhausted.
Unsure of which way was up.
Rae thought, after he'd actually drowned- after he'd felt the water flood his faulty lungs, that everything would feel less like drowning in comparison.
It didn't.
Now he knew how accurate the comparison was.
Drowning in- everything, problems, things that needed to be fixed, things that couldn't, things that might actually- hurt people.
Rae- somehow, had been lucky, before, though he had spent many nights sleepless trying to figure out how to open the purgatory portal, before it opened, had been- calm? Almost.
This reset- it had had its ups and downs, but it been- calmer.
There wasn't a threat, not really, not for Rae at least, there was the constant worry and fear dredging into mind, the worry about resets- how would he know if one was coming, haley had been the one to warn them last time, the world falling apart at the seams as they ran to the town hall.
For a time, the most worrying thing Rae stressed over was Wolf’s health, and then, shortly behind, Centross. And there were other things- others that consumed Rae with worry, but they were less urgent, Rae ust needed to get Fable out- needed Fable's help with- so much.
But- somehow, it was easier.
And now Fable was out, a million different problems with him, and it was- hard.
And Rae can’t- he couldn't fix all of it.
He doesn't know how. Rae had grown used to being left in the deep end, unable to swim, but now everything-
He was sinking.
Sink or float.
And he was sinking, unable to think, unable to breathe, chest tight as he stressed about anything and everything because Rae had to- fix it.
Rae had to fix it.
Rae- he didn't have a choice, sink or float.
..he was pretty sure it was supposed to be swim, sink or swim, but he didn't think he'd ever be able to swim, just float, desperately, but still above water, lungs clear enough.
He was sinking, but he couldn't-
Everyone needed him, he needed to fix it for them- his friends, his family, his partners. He couldn't let them be hurt because he couldn't figure it out.
Sink or float, but he didn't have a choice- and yet- he wasn't meeting the only choice he had.
He had to float, he couldn't not, couldn't stop going forward, couldn't stop reading, stop researching, stop learning, stop trying.
He couldn't sink, he couldn't.
And yet, as everything surrounded him in piles and piles on his desk- more even, left in the observatory when he ran out of space. When everything was so much, and he had no idea how to do any of it.
He was sinking, and he was trying- desperately to understand, for something to suddenly click that would make everything make sense so he could figure out how to fix it. He was trying desperately to claw his way up through the water, trying to ignore the water in his lungs.
Trying to ignore the way his eyes would get bleary from too much use in too little light in a way that always felt familiar no matter how many times he felt it.
Trying to ignore the way his hands shook as he paced, walking himself through something in particular- Trying to figure it out.
Trying to ignore the way he felt like he was drowning.
And yet.
He could ignore all the signs, all of the ways he felt like he was choking and disoriented. And he could ignore how familiar it felt.
But he couldn't ignore that he still felt like he was overcome with the water dragging him down, overwhelmed and drowning- worse than sinking, because he didn't know if he could claw his way up from how far he'd been dragged down, weighed with a thousand books and a million things that couldn't be recorded in them.
He was just stuck, in the middle of the water, so deep he could barely see the sky above him.
And he felt like he was being tugged- a rope around his arm and ankle, from the bottom of the ocean to the top of the atmosphere, kept perfectly in the middle, perfectly unable to do- anything, still drowning, but unable to sink deeper, though his heart didn't get the memo often.
Unable to swim up.
Momboo, Arisanna, Fable, Enderian, Rae. Their memories, what they lost in purgatory, how to fix it all-
How to get their mom back, how to make the woman he remembered but only through vague hazy memories, okay, how to remove the curse.
How to heal Momboo- fix Arisanna's- everything, how to- trust Fable, how to trust- believe Enderian, trust her word that she cared about him more than just a new favorite pawn.
How to fix him, how to stop the developing mind powers caused by the shards infecting his chest from hurting everyone-
How to get everything back, or- the closest thing they could, the sensation of a necklace different than the one Wolf had given him, nipping at his mind. One more soft to his ink-stained fingers from being fiddled with for so long.
Purple.
And how to fix-
A hundred other things, that could turn into a thousand at the slightest instant, the water forming a wave far above him just to mock him.
But less prevalent to his mind, just leaving so that when he took a step back, all he could see was the things behind the others, stacks and stacks of books, pages and pages of his field notes, the list going on for so long-
Pages and pages of things he needed to do, of things he didn't know how to.
Pages and pages of things that weren't optional, and yet he couldn't do them, drowning and suffocating in the expectations-
Did they ever truly expect it from him? Or did he set them himself?
How- ..pitiful? would it be if he couldn't even meet his own expectations?
How could he- deal with it, if those he loved had to suffer because he couldn't meet them, because even if they would never force those upon him. He still failed.
Tasks unchecked.
Sink or float.
How would he be able to look at them- the loves of his life, in the eyes if he couldn't float.
He didn't have a choice, sink or float, he needed to float, that's what was needed, They needed their scientist, the Rae who could fix things, who could make it all better. Who could promise Athena it would get better- and then fulfill that promise.
The Rae that was good at it, who even if he had no idea how- or where to start, he figured it out, eventually.
But he wasn't feeling like that Rae.
He was sinking.
Sinking further, plummeting.
But nothing could pull him up- Rae- as ill-equipped as he was- he'd done it before.
Knew the song and the dance.
He'd fixed it- sometimes with glue and tape, ugly and inefficient, but it had worked, he knew- he was good at it, Rae had fixed- a lot before.
He'd figured it out before.
He was better equipped than anyone else, it was his responsibility.
He couldn't- not.
The water inflamed his lungs, angry and irritated, pushing out as much air as it could, but the tightness of his chest that never seemed to leave now-a-days not helping.
His skin was dry, his shirt not sticking to his scarred chest.
There was a filled pen in his hand, ink not diluted.
And yet.
Rae was drowning.
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