#a poet i am not

[trensu]

Have an itty bitty tiny piece of stasis in darkness, just so you all have an idea of where the story is going after the godly reveal. and also have proof that i am, in fact, still toiling away at this (as well as hawkins halfway house.)

A week and a half later, Steve entered a town he’d never seen before. He wore simple traveling clothes and carried no weapons aside from a couple of carefully hidden knives. He’d left his armor and shield behind. His satchel held only the essentials one needed for travel and a single stone as large as his fist. The stone was wrapped in layers of cloth to keep it safe during the journey. 

I need you to find someone. 

He felt very bare but he hadn’t been given much of a choice. Speed was of the essence for his quest, and little no-name towns tended to be wary of strangers in plain clothes, even more so around strangers decked out for battle. Steve wasn’t sure this place could be called a town. It was so small it hadn’t been on any official map. It didn’t even have an inn. Hopefully, Steve wouldn’t be needing an inn once he found who he was looking for.

He’s too far from me to reach.

He asked around, laying on the charm generously. He explained he had been a friend of a friend and had been trusted to deliver something. Eventually, he was told where to go. The house he found far beyond the village’s boundary was small. It looked like it had once been well cared for but it was old and had fallen to disrepair. Steve took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

A sallow old man opened the door. He was bald but had some scruff on his face still. His shoulders, stooped from age, trembled. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked so tired.

He’s my very last worshiper in all the world.

“Wayne Munson?” Steve asked.

“Who wants to know?” The man’s voice was phlegmy and rough. He coughed into the crook of his elbow almost before he could finish speaking. 

“I’m Steve. Ser Steve Harrington, pledged to the Lord of Night.”

Wayne’s eyes widened. His grip on the open door weakened and slipped. Steve caught the door before it could hit Wayne.

“He sent me to you,” Steve explained. “May I come in?”

yep, that's it for now. i told you it was small. i'm not even gonna bother with a read-more here.

[letiel]

Poems - Werewolf AU

I was always taught to fear the dark.

There are ghosts and monsters there.

They linger in the shadows,

And prey on maidens fair.

But the beast that lingers in the woods,

Is kinder than the monster here.

It’s the dark that hides in selfish hearts,

That I have learned to fear.

No honeyed words or lavish gift

Can hide that window to the soul.

The inky black of greedy rats

That rots and takes its toll.

No, it’s the monster in the dark

That I have come to know.

Harsh and sharp and very lost

With lots of room to grow.

Gleaming fangs and twisted claws

Beholden to the moon

A gentle touch, honest eyes

My heart, my love, is hewn.

I was always taught to fear the dark.

Here ghosts and monsters roam.

I flirt with fae, walk with wolves,

And I know that I am home.

Evie tapped her chin with the feather of her pen and then circled the word “flirt.” She put a question mark beside it. Flirt wasn’t the best way to describe her relationship with Ori and Ywa, it was the only one syllable word she could think of that started with the letter F to go with the word “fae.”

Another tap on her chin and she circled the word “fae.” She wasn’t sure Vampires counted as fae, maybe that term needed to change too. Not that accuracy mattered in poetry so long as it elicited the proper emotions and as she was the only member of the audience, it was only her opinion that mattered.

Evie reread it a few more times and dipped the tip of her pen in the ink well to add more notes when a little clink popped the bubble of thought. The candle on the table beside her had melted down to the nail she had set in its side as a timer. It was easy to lose track of time whenever she set aside time for herself to write and it was getting late.

She marked the page with a silk ribbon and closed the journal. The others in the house that could read were polite enough to not peek and if they did, they didn’t say, so she left the book on the table. Not that it would matter in the slightest. Her thoughts and feelings were printed on her sleeve and readily offered when asked. There was nothing surprising scribbled on the paper.

The candle flickered when she picked it up and she held her hand to block the light as she carried it to the bedroom. Her family was already sleeping there in a pile of fur that couldn’t hope to all fit on the bed. Khasar may have started there but only his legs and tail remained. His upper body flopped across the floor rug, and he snored through open jaws, tongue flopped across his face after a lazy lick. Kai had happily taken his place on the bed and laid claim to all the available pillows. He hugged them to his chest with his nose buried in the crook of his elbow, curled in a loose ball that was reminiscent of his human days.

She didn’t see Ori. The vampire must have taken some time to himself, hunting or stretching his wings. Ywa too was absent, undoubtedly bored and looking for sport.

Evie carefully stepped over Khasar’s outstretched arm and very nearly stepped on their dog. The big, black Grim had stretched himself comfortably against Khasar’s chest and belly like a tablespoon hiding in the shadow of a serving spoon. His eyes glittered in the candlelight, and he wagged his tail when he saw her.

“Did Ori go out?” she whispered as she crouched to pet the soft fur on his neck and shoulder. The Grim wagged his tail more intensely and slowly rolled to his belly so he could better lift his head for chin scritches.

“I thought so.” Evie obliged until the Grim ignored her to resume his quiet vigil and she let him be.

She set the candle on the bedside table and gently blew out the flame before climbing into bed with Kai. He tensed at first and growled until she put a hand on his arm. The growling turned into little grumbles as he rolled to make space for her against his chest. It took him less than a minute to get impatient with her settling and then he curled protectively around her with a paw on her back and his head over hers, already back to sleep.

She peeped a little “oof” and buried her face in the fur of his neck and chest, taking a deep and happy breath. Kai’s heartbeat was strong and slow, safe; the drum of a lullaby, too powerful to ignore. And so she slept, at peace in the arms of her monster.

[kriz-smthn]

[liveandbreathemusicals]

Gay people will be like “this is my comfort show!” And then show you the most emotionally devastating, stress-inducing, tragic piece of media you have ever witnessed

[trickstersaint]

i want to introduce you all to a project that is very close to my heart... or lack of one. anyway. for anyone who has ever wanted to play a poem. i'd like you to meet aromanticism

(link opens itch.io - she'll run on html in your browser! please be nice to her!)

[nondelphic]

i swear all writers are mentally ill. y'all keep putting your "beloved" characters through the most traumatic experiences ever just to feel something.

[lookliketaylorswift]

what i think this album did was separate people who treat taylor as taylor swift the human vs taylor swift the brand

[jenniferhills]

my face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick.

[butnottxday]

babe wake up my new dps meme just dropped (they both very gay and we know it ok)

[ivynightshade]

fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am tired of making a religion out of my suffering’.

[throughtherosethorns]

｡⋆˚༘✧˚｡⋆old habits die screaming⋆｡˚✧˚༘⋆｡

[taylornation]

We have exactly a fortnight to go through the five stages of heartbreak before THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT arrives. 💔 Thankfully, Taylor and Apple Music made these playlists to prepare us.

Press play and let us know what stage you’re in. 🥲

[ramblingmindofrayyan]

Sometimes it’s really lonely being me.

[breakbleheavens]

I love you, it's ruining my life.

[formulanni]

Soldier, Poet, King

Tag list: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @saviour-of-lord @three-days-time @the-wall-is-my-goal @albonoooo @ch3rubd0lls @brawngp2009

[deadpoets]

DEAD POETS SOCIETY (1989) dir. Peter Weir