#it’s a long painful walk that I could write a poem about

[lilacmornings]

My alters who studied always hated poetry and even though they took tons of humanities and English and creative writing courses during our 9 years in college they always avoided all poetry

It makes me sad, I’d like to learn more poetry. I love the rhythm in words and the flow even if you can’t read a poem, how it looks like a drawing on the page, each poem having a different hand to the ink, even if it’s typed. I’ve always written poems, I just never got to study them much.

I wrote this poem about losing yourself to disability today and trying to keep going anyway. I kinda like it. I’d like to know more about poetry.

[sh1-n0bu]

i have noticed a small pattern of elves being on my latest fictional character obsessions and HEAR ME OUT!!

elf who has lived for hundreds upon thousands of years, who had experienced many of the things the world has to offer. sadness of bidding hundreds of farewells to the beauty of life and alliance of different races

elf who even after all his years of living still yet to find a love for himself. regal and seemingly detached to the concepts of relationships elves may be, even they get lonely. some nights feeling a little bit too long, a little bit too cold as they add another layer of blanket over themselves or reaching over to hug one of his puffy pillows like how he would hug his future lover. the coldness of being immortal seeping into his bones and making him shiver despite elves being above the concept of getting sick or feeling the cold temperatures

elf who runs into you by some chance meeting. maybe you were walking in the territory of elves without knowing it, maybe he purposely goes to human residences and towns, seeking adventure, excitement and change of pace. who immediately is enamored by you just by your smile that you flash his way, a kind one, a gentle one, to a nearby passenger. who falls in love with the callouses of your hand, the freckles, the small scars, the little bits of imperfection that marked you as clearly human, very much mortal, very much brittle but still with your own strength that he hasn’t felt before

elf bf who starts to court you the moment he realizes that you weren’t seeing anyone, bringing small gifts, exchanging knowledge, singing you soft ancient lullabies that no other mortal has ever heard before. maybe he finds himself writing a poem about you one day, describing your looks, your feelings, your everyday actions that you may see as mundane but ones he sees as just as courageous and beautiful in their own ways

elf bf who has never seen human flesh or bare skin before, finding the rippling biceps and toned legs of yours to be… curious. a tentative finger touching the muscles here and there, stopping you mid work as he inquires about them in a soft tone. elves of course were magical beings, blessed with magic and eternity and had no need to develop visible physical muscles till the point they become buff or beefy to some extent all due to their magic and ancient powers. the tips of his pointy ear twitching softly, eyes wide in wonder as you explain that contrary to his kin, your own develop muscles if they are put to work in physically demanding job for enough time

elf bf who over time, finds himself obsessively scribbling down any sort of new information about human anatomy on a journal, always asking you new things as he finds himself able to learn more despite having been alive for hundreds upon thousands of years. tracing the old faded scars on your body with the tip of his finger, counting the freckles, kissing the stretch marks as they were all you. regardless of how you see it, to him it was all you, together and healthy. you were alive even if you may have battle scars and he always makes sure to thank the stars as it was thanks to the tribulations you have conquered that you two were here now. staring eye to eye, touching your foreheads together as you whisper about mundane things

elf bf who one day sees you cut down a tree, cut a log off or prepare firewood and finds that he was imagining the bulge of your muscles against himself. big arms caging him in a bear hug, legs to support him and strong back that he could sink his nails into as he moans under you— hold. since when has his thoughts of you turned… impure? since when has he become turned on? sitting there on one of the logs with a painful strain against his pants as he swallowed the saliva that gathered in his jaw down, tearing his gaze away. no no, he really shouldn’t think of you as such, you were still in courting phase after all and elves were a race that took their romances and courting extremely important

yet regardless of his kin’s customs and traditions, your pretty elf bf couldn’t help but continue to stare. his gaze constantly seeking your figure out, seeing you just go through the motions of every life peacefully while he gets pathetically turned on by your actions as if he was still but a fledgling who learned of a kiss. chopping down trees for firewood, maybe you would work in front of a fire or heat for too long and get sweaty, removing one of the overtunics. maybe you’re just simply dragging a bucket full of water from the well, cranking the pulley as the muscles on your arms and back strained

elf bf who finds himself extremely aroused as his mind wanders to the gutters as he just shamelessly stares at your working form. oh, to feel those calloused hands touch his colder skin, palms smoothening over his creamy skin, and down his chest, his stomach and over his bulge. maybe you would tease the poor thing, tease him of how quick he is to get aroused, the pre of his half-hard cock weeping through his underwear and pants like he was some sore pathetic loser. a little virgin. bully him about being unable to use his cock, make him whine at your mean words as his hips weakly buckle under your exploratory hands

elf bf who couldn’t help but imagine the usual sweetness of your attitude gone, replaced by one that was just a tad bit meaner as you pushes his face down into the pillows of your bed, force his hands to stretch open his puckering hole for you to fuck senselessly. imagining you whispering all sorts of filth into his twitching ears, promising to breed him full, to use him to your heart’s content all night long as he whines and squeals like a little lamb caught in the nest of a hungry wolf. who couldn’t swallow down the quiet whimper coming from his throat as he imagined your hand grasping at his long locks, fisting it tightly as you yank him back, forcing him to arch his back and push the tip of your cock to bruise his guts even more

elf bf who waves off your worry when you had managed to hear the embarrassing noise that slipped past his lips, saying that he was having a bit of a sore throat. gods, he would love to actually whimper from having a sore throat of getting his mouth plowed all day by your fat cock head forcing his jaws wiiideee open

elf bf who couldn’t help but get a little needy in his kisses since then. hands that touched your muscles with curiosity now running over your skin as if trying to feebly seduce you. dropping things to the ground a bit too many times, following you close behind even as you told him that some of the work you needed to do required space and for him to be away for his own safety. who straddles your lap all snug, pushing his chest flush against your own as your simply daily evening kisses after dinner becomes a bit too heated. he definitely had little to no experience with the way his tongue kept licking at your lips meagerly, long fingers curling over your shoulders tightly while his bucking hips on your lap as he starts to get hard again

elf bf who has finally had enough of just his meager imaginations, tugging on the strings of your white tunic with shaky hands as he rambles about touching you, you touching him, feeling him, using him — anything dammit! use those hands of yours on him!

elf bf who soon realizes that he had perhaps bitten off more than he could chew when your hands grip at his hips, dragging his clothed cock against your thigh that had him whining like a cat in heat. meagerly, he tries to replicate what you just made him do, dragging his hips back and forth on your thigh but he all but just looks like an inexperienced bunny. which he probably was judging by the things he spoke to you about himself

elf bf who finds so much pleasure in simply grinding against your thigh for now, the precum of his now hard cock weeping through his pants, staining it into a darker color. all cute and red in the face that spread to his pointy ears, cute high pitched whines falling from his chewed up pink lips. a cute, surprised “a-aahn♡︎??” echoing in the room as you pull his eager body against your own. your chest to his back, hands loosely draped over the hip bone of his

elf bf who lets out the most embarrassing high pitched squeals when your hands travel up his body under his clothes, traveling more and more until teasing at his nipples. rolling your fingertips against the soft areola, squeezing and fondling his pecks as if they were breasts. who jolts in place when you pinch at the hardened buds, tugging at them to test the waters as he arches his back off of your chest, a filthy mewl falling as if he was being fucked stupid already

elf bf who blubbers out uncharacteristic words of “s-shensiitiivgh♡︎ n-no, don’t pinch the-eeengk♡︎♡︎!“ his pleads of your rough hands not torturing his sensitive nipples being replaced with an open mouthed wail when you place a kiss to the pointy tip of his ear. his ears were so sensitive! you knew that and now you were just being downright mean to him as you whisper filth into his ears of acting like a cooped up virgin for merely getting his chest played with. he wasn’t! he was way older than you! slurring out “how c-could you be sooh m-meanngk…♡︎?” as you lick a slow stripe up the pointy helix

elf bf who bucks his hips on your thigh, trying to bounce, trying to move away but ending up whining as his clothed cock grazes against your hardened muscles again. his cute nipples being tortured and groped by your hands, the delicate helix of his ears being assaulted by your wet kisses and licks. any time your hot breath spoke into his ears of how he was such a precious little thing, just like a bunny in heat, he would try to wiggle away. shaking his head with a weak sniffle, his mind churning into a mush as all he could do was to pathetically fuck his cock into your thigh, letting out a soft mewl everytime you buck your leg up to meet his shy excuse of thrusts, jumping in place

elf bf whose minds and body starts to feel weird. the room feeling stifling and your touch making his own skin heat up too much. who tries to tell you that he was feeling ‘odd’ and concerned, yet only to harshly thrust his hips back into your own arousal. eyes widening, a shudder running down his spine at the feeling. still clothed and hidden like his own but good grief, it just felt… so huge since he was sure your human dick couldn’t possibly be much bigger than his own. but no, it got him gulping down the saliva in his mouth

elf bf who bounces himself experimentally onto your own hardened, covered dick, feeling his balls brush against where he guesses is the tip of your strap. his earlier cute whines growing in volume as your torture of his sensitive spots grow worse, groping, squeezing, calling him too eager to get fucked, making him dumb and airheaded. the constant tugs to his chest, the words you spat into his mind so lovingly and the small actions of your hips thrusting up to meet his own weaker excuse of grinding

elf bf who’s voice grow more and more breathier, who finally loses it as he throws himself back against your chest, his head on your shoulder as he let out a wail of “h-hoowt!! t-too ahgg♡︎ haah anhg t-too hoounwt...♥︎!” as he cums into his pants, dirtying the material as a single glob or two of his sweet transparent arousal oozes out through the linen. the dark patch growing into a considerable size, his body racked with twitches and jolts as he cums untouched on your lap. precious little thing getting drunk on the feeling of sex and physical pleasure so much till the point he disregards all of his traditions, bending himself over onto the bed, his hand reaching back to tug you forward by the belt with a desperate whine and a cute blown wide pupils and twitching ears♡︎

⇨ meludir, lindir, legolas, maglor, mairon + whoever you like

[icycoldninja]

I hope this isn't a weird ask (you can ignore this if it is), but would it be okay to ask for some HCs about how the guys are with a hunter S/O? But instead of hunting the usual demons the boys are used to, they hunt things like the monsters in Bloodborne.

Bonus points if their S/O has a tamed beast that operates the same as V's familiars.

It's not weird at all! It's an interesting concept I had a lot of fun working on. Enjoy! 💜

Sparda boys + V x Devil Hunter! S/O headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante got so excited when he found out you were a devil hunter like him. Finally, someone that understands the pain of fighting supernatural, otherworldly creatures.

-Wants to go on jobs with you all the time, not caring what it is you're doing, or what you're hunting, he just wants to spend time with you.

-Trades weapons with you and teaches you how to use his guns while you teach him to use your weapons. It's cute, and handy if either of you lose your stuff mid battle.

-He expected to fight empusas and other weak, annoying demons. When he saw what you were going up against, he was visibly shocked for a moment. You hunt those? Seriously?

-Dante respects you for being able to deal with those monsters, but at the same time fears for your safety. Now he insists on going with you on every mission just to make sure you're safe.

-If you happen to have a familiar or pet, Dante will treat the thing like a housebroken pet whenever it's around, always feeding it treats and stuff.

■ Vergil ■

-Is very intrigued by the fact that you too are a devil hunter, since there aren't exactly that many people practicing the profession.

-Wants to mentor you and teach you the ways of the blade so you can be more prepared whenever you fought dangerous demons.

-The day you asked him to come along on a mission with you was the day his heart turned into a butterfly that flew down to his stomach and flapped around for hours on end--that is to say, he was very excited to see you in action.

-When he saw the creatures you'd be up against, however, his demon instincts clicked and he immediately portaled you out of there with the Yamato and started slicing up all the monsters before you could.

-After that he and you had a talk, and while he wanted to be by your side during missions 24/7, he respected your wishes to be independent and decided on a compromise: You could go alone, as long as you called him regularly and asked for backup or retreated whenever you needed it.

-Is largely indifferent to your pet/familiar, if you happen to have one.

○ Nero ○

-You are now his rival! Don't worry, it's in a friendly way.

-Nero competes with you to see who can kill more demons, or who can take down the creature first, or who can kill demons the fastest, etc. Etc.

-When he saw the kind of creatures you normally go up against, he immediately rushed in, declaring that he would kill them all before you could--and so the challenge began.

-It's fun, competing with him in battle, and what's more, this way, creatures rarely get the jump on you, and if they do, they're demolished immediately.

-Competes with your familiar/pet, too, since he sees it as an extension of you.

-All in all, you two (or three) are the most badass monster slaying team to have ever walked the earth.

● V ●

-Was honestly a little concerned when he learned of your occupation. After all, he would hate for anything to happen to his precious.

-When he accompanied you on one of your missions, he was shocked to say the least. These were the creatures you fought on a near daily basis? They were unlike any demon he'd seen before; they were far more grotesque and possibly too ugly for even he to write a poem about.

-Afterwards, he became even more worried about your safety than before and kept trying to have his familiars follow you when you left for missions.

-He insisted on going with you more often, but his weakness often prevented him from doing much, especially in battle, so he reluctantly stayed behind and wrote beautiful compositions about how he felt about you endangering yourself like that so often.

-If you have familiars/and or pets like him, he will be more than happy to play with them, take care of them, or maybe even take them for walks if they're needed.

-His familiars will definitely be interacting with your familiars; hopefully one of them can talk because Griffon is a chatterbox.

[noellefan101]

Your First Date-Genshin pt 2

Characters: Tighnari, Heizou, Wanderer, Kazuha x gn reader (separate)

Warnings: fluff and headcanons, so none ig

Note: this was really fun to write, and get away from school stress for a bit, i looooove you all

Tighnari

it would out in the forest(he made sure there was no fungi or anything to disturb u)

he would show you some really pretty flowers or mushrooms if you wanted(tho he wont make it similar to a lecture, only a little)

he maybe spaced out while looking at you, not his fault your so pretty, but gave a(n) (almost) shy apology after.

definitely picked flowers with you so you could have a fresh bouquet with the prettiest flowers you could find(he made sure none of them were deadly, or bad for you to be around)

you were given permission to pet his ears for a little after he caugt you looking at them for a little too long

^^he also let you cuddle his tail if you were cold(but he wont look at you since he doesn't want you to see how red he is)

overall a pretty good first date, if he could say so himself

Heizou

would talk non-stop about some cases he recently solved, wanting to impress you, even though you already are

took you to some fried food stalls around Inazuma city, ritou if you can handle the walk(ik i can´t)

he wanted to take you to do some puzzles with him, but figured he should make it more classic or romantic for your first date

^^maybe next time he´ll take you out to try and solve those puzzles

he got you your favorite flowers(if you like flowers) or a pot he tried to make for you, with the help of his family (which is very happy he wanted to make something, but didn't know he only put effort in bc it was for you)

kano, his cousin, and kujou sara also helped him actually ask you out, because at that point it was getting painful to watch him swoon over you every day

Wanderer

he didn´t even really agree with where he took you, Nahida just told him where to take you after she found out he (finally) asked you out

so he ended up taking you out somewhere in Sumeru city

(but maybe he also ended up leading you out of the city when people were got a little too loud and irritating for his liking)

didnt get you anything, as he didnt think he needed to, but the fact that his attitude was almost not there (when talking to you) was maybe a gift in itself

Nahida was so excited for your date, she may have borrowed someone's body for a while (at least 5-8 hours) and watched you

wanderer definitely noticed her presence, and tried getting away from her to get some complete alone time with you

^^when he finally succeeded you ended up falling on him, so he awkwardly let you sleep on his lap/shoulder while stroking your hair and getting lost in your beauty

Kazuha

your first date was probably on the crux, or wandering around in some nation (either his homeland or yours if you wanted, but that could always be another time)

the activities he had in mind would be fishing, making food together(or baking), sharing his haikus and poems (and helping you make some if you wanted)

^^i had too many ideas to put in here, sorry

but he would stroke your hair as you lay beside him and mutter his recent love poems, just for you

for the food you made, it would be something like fried/baked fish, hashbrowns... anything you knew how to make(basically), and sweets like dango or cake from your homeland

beidou and the crux may or may not have been following you, just for a little

^^she needed something to tell ningguang, as she was also invested in your relationship, and silently cheered on

Thanks for reading(ehe), luv ya-Masterlist

You are welcome to reblog and like any of my posts, but you CAN NOT translate, copy or hate on anybody for liking my posts

[in1-nutshell]

IM GETTING EVERY IDEA I GOT OUT WHILE REQUESTS ARE OPEN IM SORRY

also I'm sorry i keep bringing up chaotic teen Buddy and Megatron, but i love seeing this fucker suffer through forced adoption.

I'm still kinda trucking through the comics, but i know that at some point Megatron is essentially yeeted into a whole ass different dimension and spent 300 years there (i could be totally wrong, if so ignore.) long story short, i have been stuck on the idea of Megatron getting stuck there for 300 years, mourning his funny little human child after 80 years, cause he figures even if he does get back home, they wont still be there.

Luckily for everyone involved, that 300 years was just a few months for the lost light. unluckily for everyone.

Buddy - "My father is gone, therefore I am no longer responsible for the consequences of my actions."

Hello again! Don't feel bad for asking/ requesting. Requests are fun to do for me and I can write almost anything someone asks, almost. Still, ask if you want something written. It is time for the return of Fearless Buddy!

Hope you enjoy!

Fearless Buddy reaction to Megatron coming back from the other dimension

SFW, platonic, familial, bit of angst here and there, Human reader

MTMTE/LL

Buddy had conveniently slept when Megatron had left. Don't blame them, they had been running off of little to no sleep for weeks and their body finally had enough.

Rodimus had to break the news for Buddy.

"What do you mean Megatron is 'gone'?!"--Buddy

"He left, he just up and escaped! But don't worry we'll get him back on board in no time."--Rodimus

"He... He really just left?"--Buddy

"I'm afraid so."--Rodimus

"Well, you know what? Who needs him anyways! The big sorry pile of scrap can go rust in space for all I care!"--Buddy

"Buddy--"--Rodimus

"Who needs him! Thanks for letting me know Roddy, really. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some important things to go over with Whirl."--Buddy

"What important things? What could be more important than this right now?"--Rodimus

"We are going to put a bumper sticker on Minimus saying 'Kachinga'!"--Buddy

"... Carry on!"--Rodimus

Rodimus really wishes now that he had stopped Buddy from making it to Whirl's. The ship had become the two's playground for pranks and sillies.

No one was spared from their wrath.

Many bots on board got mad at the two. But it was the bots closest to Buddy to realize something was deeply troubling them.

Their enthusiasm seemed forced most of the time. Their laughter almost seemed... Robotic almost. And their eyes... they looked so hollow and lacked the usual twinkle they had before.

Whirl appointed himself Buddy's guardian in the meantime. There wasn't much argument there as being Buddy's Amica, it was probably for the best.

Whirl lost count of the amount of times he caught Buddy going into Megatron's habsuite and crying over some of his poems. He wants to hurt Megatron so badly for the pain he inflicted on Buddy. They became Rung's most frequently seen patient after talking with Whirl.

"You really think this is going to help?"--Buddy

"I'm sure of it! If Eyebrows here can stand me, then you'll be like a walk in the park!"--Whirl

"... Thanks Whirl. I mean it, you're the best Amica a friend could ask for."--Buddy

"Hey now, don't get soft on me yet. That's Rung's job. Now get in there and punch those feelings in the face!"--Whirl

The day when Megatron comes back after everything is settled Whirl is one of the first in line to deck him across the face.

"You sorry excuse of a tyrant!--"--Whirl

"I know you're upset Whirl... Buddy passing must not have been easy..."--Megatron

"Passing? What are you talking about?"--Whirl

"Surely they have already passed it's been more than 80 years."--Megatron

"Megs, it's been a couple months since your little disappearing act."--Rodimus

"...Is Buddy alive?"--Megatron

"Of course they are! Why--Hey!"--Whirl

Megatron sprinting pass him and to Buddy's habsuite.

Megatron had never sprinted as fast as he did at that moment. For the past 200 or so years he had been in a constant state of mourning. He thought he had lost Buddy forever. The biggest regret he had was not at least telling them good bye.

Now here he was... He almost backed out of knocking on the door, but he did it. The doors opened revealing Buddy in all of their morning glory.

"... Buddy?"--Megatron

"Ah man it's one of those dreams again. Listen fake Megs, I'm not in the mood right now. So if you'll just come back next week that'll be great."--Buddy

Megatron finally snapped out of his dazed and scooped up Buddy into his servos and held them close to his spark.

It took Buddy a solid second to realize this wasn't some fever dream.

"Megs?"--Buddy

"I'm here now. I'm here."--Megatron

"...How... How dare you! YOU LEFT ME HERE ALONE! YOU DON'T JUST CALL SOMEONE THEIR KID THEN LEAVE THEM HIGH AND DRY! WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE ME?!? OR AT LEAST SAY GOOD BYE!? TELL ME! TELL ME WHY?!? DAD WHY DID... why did you leave me...*--Buddy

"...I am so sorry..."--Megatron

"...you better be... I will never leave your side again... You're worse than a toddler getting lost at a Walmart..."--Buddy

It wasn't an easy transition at first. Buddy had their friends always within arms length from Megatron. Buddy themselves put up some walls to avoid getting hurt again.

The two eventually decided to seek counseling to try and mend their relationship. Thank goodness that happened.

Now Megatron was sitting in his habsuite with Buddy telling him all the latest news on the ship while reviewing their latest poems.

These were the little things he missed most and was glad he had gotten a chance to get them back.

[abyssal-author-and-artist]

My blog is generally pretty lighthearted and I stick to reblogging art and fic and fun stuff, but you know what. I feel like I need to say this.

I am a trans teen in the US. I'm seventeen, so too young to have voted. I'm terrified for my life right now. I usually post about college but I'm actually concurrently enrolled in high school still and the kid who sits behind me in first period government is a massive Trump fanboy. I'm going to have to go to high school Monday and talk about the election. I'm going to have to hear my deadname called and hear people in my super conservative high school talk about how happy they are Trump won. Everything is terrifying. I walk outside of my house and I'm scared I'll be shot. Several months ago I promised that I'd kill myself if that bastard won.

He did and I'm still here.

I'm not thriving. I'm not living my best life. I'm barely living. But I'm surviving. I'm coping. I'm trying my goddamned best. It's hard. I want so bad to just go and take as much medication as I can and slit my wrist for good measure and pass away in my sleep. But I'm still here. And I will be here.

I am in so much pain. But I'm living on spite and determination and everything I can scrape together. I know I need support and those around me need support. So consider this a support masterpost.

Support:

First thing you should see if you're a trans person in the US.

Here's a link to the Trevor Project and here's a link to their suicide hotline page. They've already saved my life once before. Please note - they recommend calling if you need immediate support. Donate if you can, please.

This post is both a suicide hotline masterlist and a post mentioning how something feels deeply wrong here with this election.

On the topic of something being wrong, sign this petition. I'm only seventeen but I did this and it might not feel like much but if we couldn't shoot that bastard (I am not pro-gun but I am when it comes to him) then we'll do the next best thing. Here's the link to the petition itself. Make sure to check the post every once in a while - the original petition got taken down and this is important.

I follow a lot of gimmick blogs, so I got to see this post encouraging us to be loud. Because we should be. Because if we die they've won and my mom didn't smoke weed on the steps of the state capital of Colorado to legalize it just so her son could roll over and die.

Here is the Tumblr Hot Beverage Masterpost, as I've taken to calling it. My personal favorites are the London Fog in the replies, earl grey with milk, honey, and vanilla (in the tags), and some additions from me are hot chocolate with peppermint melted into it, earl grey with lavender, caramel apple tea, and really anything else you can think of. Trust me. This post works better than you think.

Read this post if you haven't seen it already. It's half poem, half Tumblr being Tumblr, all wonderful to read.

Things I just like to see:

PM Seymour and Bettina Levy both have shown their support for everyone struggling right now. It might not be much, but I still really appreciate it and seeing support can really help.

The cat with the kind and reassuring face. No other context.

Four panel comic of hope. Because you're more than enough.

Can't find the post where I found this but this is a link to a virtual toy where you can make your own galaxy.

Please. Eat something. Drink a hot beverage. Draw, write, read, knit, sew, sculpt, bake, do something that helps. Reach out to friends, even if they're online friends. Talk to someone you trust. Make vent art. Write vent fics. It doesn't matter what you do as long as it helps.

Do not roll over and die. Live. Live on spite. Live on determination. Live on shitposts and live on heartfelt stories like this one. If you have anything to add to this post please do. Add more resources. Add more love to this post. I know I'm just a guy on the internet saying shit, but I still care about everyone who sees this post.

[literary-motif]

O ma gawd could you possibly do one about after Love dying Xanthus vents his frustration out on his writing or poems or smth and soon breaks down in front of dontis

Lmao the angst is something alright<33

Life Eternal

Xanthus Claiborne x Reader

He supposed it was inevitable. You were human, after all. 

That did not mean he was prepared to lose you. He could not forgive himself for not being at your side and saving you when he had the chance. Even his blood was not powerful enough to resurrect the dead, and as he rushed to you, heart beating on the very verge of breaking, all he caught was your last smile in his direction before you faded away forever. 

The scream of anguish Xanthus had let out as he cradled your lifeless body would haunt Dontis until the end of his days. 

Feeling the bond break was the most painful experience of his life and despite himself, he was happy that it was him suffering through this anguish and not you. It was as if the very air had turned stifling. He could not breathe anymore, every movement hurt, and with every beat of his heart, he was reminded of the part of it that was missing. 

He could deal with the physical pain. He had gone through worse, but what shattered him was the blackness surrounding his heart. It felt like he had died with you and all that was left of him now was an empty shell. 

There was no light in the world. Xanthus did not know himself anymore. Everything felt foreign. 

He looked at his art gallery and saw nothing but an accumulation of things that would soon turn to dust. He walked through his mansion, one he had tended to and cared for for decades, and saw nothing but walls and emptiness. 

The silence was the worst. It made him feel like a void, present but absent at the same time as loneliness, emptiness, and nothingness ate him up from the inside. His sanity was hanging on by a thread and the steady ebb and flow of anguish and sorrow in his mind was wearing him down. 

In the quiet, he heard the echo of your sweet voice, making his heart seize until he doubled over in pain, gasping for breath until he scratched at the walls, sobbing for his lost love. 

He played the piano until his fingers cramped, desperate to fill the silence and push you out of his mind. He longed for a moment of respite from this hell, but even that was denied him. 

How much sorrow could one person take? Had he not suffered enough for his long life?

He gasped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, then a head gently resting on top of his. Xanthus did not dare turn around to face the emptiness where you should be. Instead, he closed his eyes, trying to keep his hands steady enough to continue the piece as tears rolled down his face and his shoulders shook with barely contained sobs. 

It was a different kind of death he experienced, and Xanthus felt buried alive.

“I hate what you did to me,” he said, sitting on the windowsill with his feet dangling in the open air. The fall could not kill him. It would not even hurt. “I hate who you left behind,” he continued, talking to the moon. 

He wished it were you instead. 

The full moon reminded him of the time you went stargazing together. You had curled into his side, leaning your head on his shoulder as you told him about the constellations, marveling at the beauty before you. He had listened with a hum, arms securely wrapped around you as he closed his eyes, focusing on you instead. 

Xanthus sighed, leaning against the wall. The soft night breeze ruffled his hair and he huffed as it dried his tears. “I don’t forgive you,” he muttered, cursing the universe, fate, or whatever else was responsible for the grand scheme of things. “I don’t forgive you for taking them away.”

He stopped counting the days he remained sitting there, gazing into the distance as night turned to day and night again. The passage of time was meaningless to an immortal. What would it matter if he lost a decade like this? What was there to lose now that you were gone? He was dead inside.

“Xanthus?” He blinked, slowly becoming aware of the reality around him when he felt hands on his shoulders, gently tugging him inside.

“What do you want?” he rasped, snatching his arm from Dontis’ grip. “Get out. I don’t want company.”

Dontis looked at him sadly, glancing around at the papers littering the floor. He took in his friend’s ragged appearance. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” he asked, placing a hand on Xanthus’ cheek and tilting his head to look at him. 

The dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises on his pale skin. His eyes were dull and lifeless, fixed on Dontis but staring through him all the same. 

“Leave, Dontis,” Xanthus said quietly, stepping back to shrug off his hand. “I want to be alone.” He turned his back to Dontis, leaning against the windowsill to look at the setting sun.

“I think you’ve been alone enough, Xanthus.” Dontis bent down, picking up one of the papers. 

I find you in the moon,

You’re in the gentle breeze at night.

Each time I see the stars,

I see the past I can’t leave behind.

You’re in the whispers of the keys,

Dancing slowly through the air.

You are the brightness of my life,

How can I see when you’re not there?

Look at the wreck you have made me.

I am falling apart now that you’re gone.

I want to hate you I’ll always love you. Come back to me.

I can’t live without you. Please come back to me, love. 

“Xanthus—”

“I will forever be alone now,” he said, his voice tight with tears, “so unless you can bring them back to me somehow, I suggest you stop robbing me of my solitude without offering real company unless you want me to snap your neck.”

Dontis sighed, setting the paper down on the remnants of the desk. Xanthus had nearly torn it to pieces.

“It will get better,” he said. “With time, you will find yourself again without them.”

“Dontis, I’m warning you—”

Xanthus stilled as his arms wrapped around him, engulfing him in a warm hug. He sighed, melting in the tight embrace. He was exhausted. He was tired of hurting all the time and having this void in his chest. 

“I’ve got you,” Dontis said, tightening his grip and guiding Xanthus’ head to rest against his shoulder. 

Slowly, Xanthus returned the embrace. He felt a fresh wave of tears overcoming him, and he held onto Dontis tightly as he sobbed into his shoulder. “I miss them, please,” he cried, allowing himself to break apart in his friend’s arms. 

“I know. It will get better, I promise,” Dontis said comfortingly, not believing the words himself.

[chihuahuawashere]

ZOLU!!!

During the 2 year time skip when zoro was trying under MiHawk at his mansion zoro picked up poetry.

He would write haiku’s and poems rhymes and little sentences or just writing about his day.

The only occurring thing that was happening in those writings was that Luffy was in every single one of them.

He would write Haikus about missing and longing for Luffy

To writing sappy shakespearean type poems about wanting luffy to be in his arms again.

Also writing and comparing him to things that he saw that day. “I saw a beautiful sunset but the warmth of the afternoon sun doesn’t compare to the warmth you give in my heart when we cuddle in bed” 

Even writing about what luffy would have loved to seen. “When I got here I saw a bunch of monkeys with swords I know you would have loved to have seen that or maybe fought them” “I saw a beetle the size of my hand! Luffy I just /know/ you would have loved to seen that wish I could have showed you”

Zero wrote every single day all leading up to when they were gonna see each other at Sabody. He kept those letters as a reminder of his love and loyalty to Luffy.

But of course luffy has a way of finding everything out back on the ship Luffy found a little box under zoros bed while he was looking for his hat. When he opened the box it held all of Zoros letters.

Each letter were in there own envelope with the seal on it. Curiosity killed the cat and luffy carefully opened all of them making sure that the seal didn’t break. Each letter was in order from the first day Zoro was at MiHawks mansion all the way to the last.

And luffy read each and every one of them. It gave me a better understanding of zoro he thought he’ll never reach. Some letters made him laugh as he reads about his 145th time getting his ass kicked by the monkeys

While some made him want to cry when he read just how /bad/ Zoro was beating himself up about not being strong enough to take care of luffy and the crew and how strong then he needs to be for them and for luffy.

He cried extra hard on how Zoro was practically begging to see Luffy again. Saying how it’s the worst type of torture he’s ever went through and how he will never make any of his worst enemies go through this type of pain that is in his heart. Some letters even have tear stains on it. Basically saying that Zoroastrian cried while writing this.

Some made his heart swell with utter love and devotion when Zoro was listing off all the things he loves about Luffy and he can’t wait to kiss every inch of him when he got back to the sunny.

After hours of reading Luffy finally got to last letter. It was so obvious that Zoro was writing about this in a happy rush considering the was the it was written in a different way compared to all the other letters.

In the beginning all the other letters were sloppy with messy handwriting with bad grammar no good punctuation but near the middle in the end the handwriting got better and a lot better and the grammar got good to it even went to the point that near the ending of his letters during the second year he started writing in cursive and in the month where he had to go back to Sabody he was writing in perfect cursive. 

When Luffy got done reading the last letter Zoro walks into the boys quarters. All to see Luffy sitting on the ground in his right side was a pile of opened envelopes while on his left side were Zoros letters all neatly stacked. Luffy whips his head to see who is at the door and saw Zoro Who was staring at him in shock.

Before Zoro could say anything or just to justify himself Luffy leaped into his arms in a crying mess all while peppering him and kisses all over he’s fact and neck. Whisper chanting “I love you” and “I missed you too”. Zoro held on to him tightly making sure that Luffy wouldn’t leave him. Equally trying to Pepper kisses all over Luffys face while quietly crying into Luffys hands that cups his checks.

In the end Nami finds Luffys hat and finds Luffy and Zoro crying making out the floor doorway of the boys quarters. Hitting them on the head for making out in a werid place again but also for crying. Though they’ll never tell her the real reason on why there were crying so much that day. 

[miss-nandini]

Hello I hope you are well! I was wondering if I could request f!reader asking Azul, Idia, and Malleus to sing with them after hearing them at the masquerade event? (separate) And what their reactions would be to the request and reader confesses to them at the end of the song? I’ll leave the song choice to you! (bonus if they end up waltzing together! I just need some fluff and cute stuff in life rn and those are my favorite characters) Thank you! 🖤

Disclaimer: Song credit goes to Arijit Singh, Antara Mitra and their whole team. Translation credit goes to "Filmy Quotes."

A/N: Hey there! Hope you are doing well. Thank you so much for requesting! I had fun writing this one. Also, I chose just one song for the three of them. I used the English translation but I will add the original version here. The song is named 'Janam Janam.' Trust me you will love the song. So, make sure you listen to it! Enjoy and have a good day/night/afternoon! 💜💜💜

HC: You ask them to sing (and dance) with you and then you confess. (F! Reader)

Feel It!

Music connects us, dosen't matter where we live in this planet. Feel the rhythm, the words. Soak it in and get lost. Close your eyes, hold each other hands and dance the night away.

Or, the headcanon where you ask them out the classic way.

In each and every birth, you walk with me. You have to promise, that you'll come and meet me here. We'll be as one life, even if our two bodies separate. Always be mine. Never say goodbye.

Azul: When you wanted to meet him, he didn't realize you were talking about this. But, he was overjoyed. He is glad that you aren't horrified by him and actually trying to spend time with him. That was enough for him to be on cloud nine. Azul closed the lounge early and told the tweels to give you guys some privacy. (You are pretty sure that ain't happening.)

He wanted you to sing and he wanted to hum along with you. He wanted to get lost, just for one day. He wanted to gaze in your eyes and admire them. Who knows, maybe he will never get the chance again... He asks for your hand with a blush. You were so close to him. His heart was beating faster. Azul closed his eyes. He wanted this to last forever...

You're my morning and you're my evening. You're my pain and you're my relaxation. my prayers only call for this request. Always be mine. Never say goodbye.

When the song ended, you leaned in closer.

"I... love you, Azul. Will you be mine?"

He pressed his lips on yours as happy tears cascaded down his cheeks.

In your arms are both my worlds. Wherever you are, my  heaven is there. The fire that is burning on both sides, may that never get extinguished. That's my wish. You're my desire. I'm your love. You're my poem. I'm your music.

Idia: Again, why did he agree to this? He already asked himself this exact same question at least a billionth time, yet the answer is always the same. He is in love with you. But, he isn't courageous enough to admit something like that. 

He lets himself get lost. For once, he completely drops his guard around you. He felt at peace.

He wasn't used to having you so close to him. He never imagined even in his wildest dreams that he will get to dance with you one day. That... he can have you in his arms without the both of you freaking out for different reasons.

"I love you, Idia."

There was a long silence and then... well... he squealed loudly and yup the answer was quite clear.

The quest that is in me, is only for you.  Like an intoxication, you get mixed in me. When it comes to my love, you give it the respect it needs. Always be mine. Never say goodbye.

Malleus: He was happy that you asked him. There was something about you that fascinated him. You occupied his mind, his heart and his soul. But, a part of him was afraid. Will you think of him as a freak if he told you that? He kept you in the dark, like he always does.

You're my morning and you're my evening. You're my pain and you're my relaxation. my prayers only call for this request. Always be mine. Never say goodbye.

He felt something. A feeling so foreign to him. Your little warm hands holding his bigger cold ones, the way you were pressed up against him. The way you looked at him... It made him feel like he was over the moon, yet, at the same time it left a feeling of dread. 

"Malleus, I love you..."

Malleus pulled you closer. His eyes became moist as he pressed his lips against yours. 

Always be mine.

Never say goodbye...

[mira-s-bookclub]

Beneath a Veil of Shadows Part 4

Azriel x Reader

Note: Woop- Started the series with Sera and Nyktos and have been OBSESSED the last few weeks. Omg. So writing hasn't been my first priority, hope the word count makes up for that <3. Didn't proof read, so I'm sorry, loves.

(Also used help from a lot of websites to create the mediocre 'poem', creds to those who make it themselves D: )

Warnings: Mentions of torture and trauma, some (minimal) blood, a "hard" choice :(

Word Count: 3,8k

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

“What could be so important that he would exchange someone so vital to our court, and that only for a mirror?” Cassian spat.

His head had cleared a bit after Nesta had slapped his arm, swearing in his ear that if he couldn’t get it together, he would have to leave so the grown-ups could talk. The throbbing pain in his head shortened his temper, making him lash out more these last minutes than he had done the last year.

“The Ouroboros, Cassian, is not just a mirror,” Rhys scolded from his place by Feyre in the sofa.

No, he knew that. He wasn’t stupid despite what everyone seemed to believe. But what could possibly a King without a Kingdom do with a mirror able to reveal what truly lies beneath one’s skin, to see into one’s true soul? Cassian wasn’t inclined to gaze into the mirror, he wouldn’t want to see what really lied beneath his quick smiles and jokes. The darkness that, somehow, had led him to find another seemingly just as broken as he was. But where Nesta had changed, Cassian seemed to find himself feeling for that darkness at every step of the way, feel it change and evolve the more he concerned.

“The mirror of Beginnings and Endings,” he muttered. “There’s nothing special about that mirror, what would a fraud-king want with such?” He leaned back into the cushions, taking a long sip from his wine glass.

Amren had found our knowledge…lacking about Koschei and his army. She had found it in herself to leave for the library just down two floors. When she didn’t return, Rhys had concluded that she must have found something interesting enough for her to abandon us upstairs. We had all followed after him and Feyre like ducklings, Mor parting from us in the dim hallway just outside the Library doors in favor of wine straight from the cellar, which Cassian silently thanked her for now, his stomach feeling significantly lighter.

The library, which Cassian thought could feel his anxiety of being back here, had indeed held some information Amren found interesting. Which is why they had now chosen to sit on one of the lower levels of the library. Cassian had tried to count the levels he walked down the spiral stairs, but once he counted to eight, he found that it didn’t help his anxiousness a bit.

A priestess walked past the area they had seated, her pace causing the light from the torch to flicker. Her figure casting shadows along the walls. A shiver ran down his back, almost like fingernails. He emptied the glass.

Rhys looked to Feyre at his side, his arm around her, lazily stroking her arm, “Anything noteworthy to add from when you encountered the mirror?”

She sighed, “I really wish there were, but there’s nothing I can remember. I know only that when I looked into it, it… -it showed everything.” Her voice cracked slightly. And Cassian could see Rhys’s arm tightened around her. He knew she had to face herself, quite literally, in that mirror.

Nesta waved a dismissing hand, “Well, it’s nothing you can do anything about,” she traced a hand up Cassian’s thigh, following the seam of his black linen pants. “You are the only person I know who would have faced herself and all her flaws, and still have been in their right mind and keep going,” she looked pointily at Rhys. Mor snorted.

Cassian still couldn’t understand their relationship, the Gods knew he had tried. One second, they seemed like Siblings, understanding and able to do quite literally the impossible for each other. But the next second, they were at each other’s throats. It was as if Rhys remembered who he was talking to, what despair Nesta had forced upon Feyre, and even if it were all past, Rhys couldn’t seem to forgive her. But Cassian couldn’t blame him, if anyone, even deep into depression, caused Nesta the amount of trauma she had? Cassian would have never let it go. He supposed he was hypocritical that way.

He glanced at Mor and then at the bottle by her feet, half empty. She lifted her brows but poured him another glass, to which he thanked her. The stack of books on the low table had increased every time Amren came by. She had asked around the priestesses for scrolls, books, even maps. Cassian had even heard her asking on of the younger priestesses if some of her peers had written anything for the High priestess concerning The Old Gods and where they might have come from.

Hearing the familiar shuffle of feet, Cassian prepared for another stack of books, high enough to bury Amren behind it, but what he saw caught his breath.

Dusty and out of breath, stood Amren, holding a lone big book in her arms.

Thick rope covered the book, along with an iron lock at its side. The book was a deep brown color, the leather cracked and... - “Good gods, is that...fur?” Nesta shuddered.

Holding her arms tight around the book, almost like it would disappear from her if she didn’t, she laid the book on the table. And the table squeaked at the weight. How Amren had been able to carry that book up so many flights of stairs, and Cassian was sure that book belonged to the bottom levels of the library, was a wonder.

Amrens back cracked as she straightened. “You have many books Rhysand,” she sat down at the only empty chair by the wall, the high window above showering the book with moonlight, “but get your Priestesses to upgrade their accounting. I had to search.”

Rhysand had pushed to the end of the couch, fingers digging into his thighs. “That is not natural.” And Cassian could have sworn the air around them tensed, as if offended.

Nesta made a move towards the book, but Cassian stopped her. Whirling her head at him, he could faintly make out a silver line at the outskirts of her iris. “Don’t, this is not for you,” his voice was quiet. She took a calming breath and turned back to Rhys, who, himself, held a hand to his chest, slowly rubbing. Feyre whispered something in his ear, a question appeared in his eyes, but she nodded. And moved to the book.

Standing above it, she glanced at Amren, who was quiet for a time, then, “Be careful.” Feyre nodded, and took a deep breath, readying herself.

Cassian could definitely feel the change in temperature, his breath coming out like a cold cloud. And the shivers down his back had increased, shaking him in his boots. The chamber was quiet and dark, and looking at the torch on the wall, he confirmed that it had indeed gone out. He wasn’t scared; there was little he was scared of. But this wasn’t natural; this was old, ancient. And you would be a fool not to be afraid.

Holding out a hand, Feyre lit up two fingers, the flames the only source of light. And as she took a hold of one of the ropes containing the book, burning through one; the book shuddered.

A gasp echoed from Nesta and Feyre, the latter who shot backwards.

“Cowards,” Amren murmured, and Rhys, who had his hand on Feyre’s arm, narrowed his gaze to the book.

“There is a reason why it is contained.”

“Obviously,” Amren made a show of dusting herself off, giving them all a good look at the cat-like scratches covering her arms.

Cassian looked back to the seemingly innocent book, leaning forward he could spot the intricate details he had overlooked before. The cuts and dents, almost resembling…people, a story written outside the book. “What type of book is this?” It was a rhetorical question hanging in the air. The quiet in the Library enhancing the howling wind outside, the quiet footsteps skipping in the higher levels of the Library. Cassian couldn’t wait to get out of here, something that shouldn’t be here was here. Something Y/n probably could have picked up on. He had to remind himself of why they did this, what they would risk getting either of them home. A snagging pain lanced through his chest at the reminder. The reminder that there were two missing people, missing friends, that Cassian loved so dearly. He didn’t know what would happen to either of them. What was happening? Perhaps Koschei had seemed it fit for them to be tortured? Or maybe they had been murdered at once, exchanging only their mangled bodies for that gods-damned mirror.

Cassian’s shudder was strong enough for questioning glances to come his way. Mor even went as far as to give him his glass, which he drank deeply from.

“We can get another book; it’s not guaranteed we’ll find anything in this.” Amren’s disapproving stare hit Rhys like a slap.

“If it’s not this book, it’s none.”

“It’s fine Rhys, it just shocked me.” Feyre’s unfaltering bravery was known to all, especially those in this room.

Cassian’s breath stopped as Feyre, yet again, went to burn the ropes. Her hands curling around strands when the rope wouldn’t budge, fire lit her whole hands and the furrow of her brows signaled that this couldn’t be some normal rope you could buy anywhere.

The rope was unyielding.

“I’m going to free you,” Feyre’s soft voice seemed almost heartfelt.

And only then did the rope catch fire.

Burning black until Feyre could nudge away the ruined threads, laying the book back on the table.

Feyre’s breath caught.

“What do you feel?” Rhys was concerned, taking her hand, and standing to put himself between her and the book.

Feyre was quiet. “It’s alive. Not a soul…but a conscience,” she looked at the hideous book. “It doesn’t have needs, but it yearns. Oh, gods, it yearns so much.”

She looked almost frightened as she stood there, staring at the book with facial expression almost like…sorrow. She felt sorrow, either from the book or for the book, Cassian didn’t know.

“A book can’t yearn.” And faster than Cassian could react, Nesta stood up and grabbed hold of the book.

“No.”

Cassian couldn’t stop the word from slipping.

Mor had sunk back into the chair, Amren the only one not reacting, her keen eyes trained on the book.

“Let it down, Nesta,” Rhys growled.

But Nesta, that unwavering, fiery soul Cassian loved so much, waved the book in the air.

“It’s a book, nothing more, nothing less.”

But as the book began vibrating, softly at first, and then enough so that Nesta flinched, dropping the shaking book on the ground.

“That is no book,” Amren said, having left her chair to stand by the only entrance, and exit, of the chamber.

The ropes had dropped from the book, leaving it naked and crazed on the ground. Dust pounded from it and Cassian took a hold of Nesta who had frozen, shocked, and slowly retreated to the bookshelf.

All at once the book stopped, freezing into place. And for a time, no one said anything; nothing happened. The wind outside had calmed entirely.

The world seemed to stop. Seemed to watch.

Cassian held his breath.

Click.

And the lock opened.

Click.

And the world fell into chaos.

White light shot through the chamber, blinding him.

He fell back as a weight toppled over him, crushing against his chest.

“Fuck,” he ground out. The weight, which he guessed was Nesta, fell away from him and he shot up. Clearing his blurry vision revealed utter chaos in the chamber.

Cassian hauled Nesta up and away from the collapsing shelf, the entire ground shelf burned to ash. Holding her close he felt her confusion through their bond.

On the other side of the chamber, Amren had gotten hold of Feyre who had flown back from Rhys who held his back to the book, shielding them. His shirt scratched like a cat.

Another pulse of power from the open book sent books flying. He shielded Nesta, but not before a page nicked his cheek. Fiery silver eyes met his, and when she caressed his cheek, her thumb came back bloodied. A growl slipped her mouth.

“Get that damn book,” Rhys shouted.

Pure power spewed from the book, sending the bookshelf beside Rhys crashing down, separating him from everyone else.

Silver flames burned Nesta’s cuffs, relentless against the harsh wind coming from the book.

“Don’t you dare harm it!” Amren shrieked.

“Fuck, Amren. The cauldron-cursed book is going to harm us!” Cassian shouted back. Shielding his face with his hand, marching sideways with Nesta behind him to her.

“We need that cauldron-cursed book,” she hissed.

“Why?”

“Feyre!” Rhys’s warning fell away to the wind as Feyre moved to the couch, closer to the book.

A blast of power sent Cassian back against the still standing shelf, he didn’t know what to do.

“Feyre!” he roared, flying book obliterated before they could touch him.

Standing before the book, untouched, was Feyre.

A bright light shielded her.

Helion’s powers.

Spellcleaver.

Feyre advanced towards the book, her hair snapping behind her. And once within reach; the book trembled, the vortex crackled like lightning.

And Feyre flung herself over the book, her shining hands grabbed hold of the two sides.

And pushed.

All at once.

Snap.

The world went quiet.

Feyre panted over the book. Her lips moved without making a sound.

Or perhaps she was, Cassian couldn’t hear anything other than ringing.

Shaking his head he saw Rhys running up to her. Cassian turned to Nesta, grabbed hold of her cheeks, and kissed her. Her lips sparked a fire in Cassian that bordered the power of that of the book.

Turning his face from her took effort, he saw Feyre trying to catch her breath with her forehead laying on top of the book. Her lips had stopped moving.

Slowly, Rhys looked up at the three of them.

“A deal,” Rhys said, “Feyre made a deal with the Book of The Lost Ones.”

“So, it’s a children book, made up of fairy-tales and utter nonsense?”

“It’s more than that, Cassian,” Amren took a steadying breath, “along with The Book of breathings, it was Made. Not to be read to fealings and babes; but to carry a long history captured and hidden in an innocent book.”

Amren had clarified that when she had found the book, it had spewed knowledge, or rather small stories and poems, about The First Mother and her creations. She had shared her thoughts about it, what she hoped were true. The book had clarified a lot for her, she had told us, not noticing Rhys’s disapproving stare at her not sharing everything.

“Well, listen closely, Rhysand, and I will share this with you.”

And that she did.

The First Mother had created life, giving souls to beings meant to rule rightly and fairly without the mortal weakness of emotions and feelings. Cassian’s head had turned to Nesta then, reminded of the being she became when using the Dread Trope, unfeeling and uncaring. The First Mother hadn’t considered that the First Beings would develop a restlessness after centuries. The Mother had feared the Beings would begin to feel other types of emotions, the sisterly rage she feared alongside jealousy made her create the first humans.

Cassian had heard similarities from other books and stories shared long ago, but it seemed Amren finally had connected the dots. And when she first started, it was hard to stop everything from spewing out.

The Firsts, as Amren called them, developed curiosity when The First Mother was looking the other way, curiosity over the humans and their ability to act and feel so deeply. Years later, the first fae had been born, more powerful than any fae today, but the babe had a flaw; it felt. Reproduction was the end of the Firsts, and not soon later, the First Mother got bored over her creations. She made life to her only daughter; cleaving her soul in two so they could reign as opposites; The mother and The Dark Mother.

 Amren’s hypothesis was that along with the Book of Breathings, the former fae had created the Book of the Lost Ones, hiding it as something unimportant. The book, as Amren had felt it, would tell the tale of the first trespassers, ‘gods’ they were called by the former fae. Fear of the Three had spread through the land like a plague.

Koschei.   Stryga.   Veles.

Those were their names.

The Bone Carver, or rather Veles, had the Ouroboros last, that was what they were after next. The discussion had gone on for a while. Ending in Amren having to look up Koschei in the Book of the Lost Ones, searching for a way for him to be killed, while another party went to retrieve the mirror.

“Someone must have noticed the strange aura coming from the book and sealed it in spells and…” she sniffed the air, “-skin.”

A shudder went through him as he refocused and gazed at the book on the broken table.

They had sat back down, Rhys having to stand as the couch opposite Cassian’s whole was destroyed, flayed more like. Nesta had reluctantly sat down beside him.

The book must have looked somewhat normal at some point. Perhaps if he peeled the thick layers of leather and fur, he would find a pretty little book beneath all the hideousness. At least, that was what Cassian hoped. Though he wasn’t very inclined to touch the damn book.

The book, as Feyre had said, was harmless as long as its demands were met, which, Cassian thought, was quite dumb yet again. What was it with people demanding and wanting and needing such stupid things from them?

The book had communicated to Feyre about wanting to be reunited with The Dark Mother. Cassian huffed. Reunited with the Mother’s twin. As a babe, Cassian had taken an interest in fairy-tales, told by Rhysand’s mother’s strong immersion when storytelling. He had taken a liking to the stories of The Mother, and how she came to be. She was known as a fierce entity, prayed upon by Everyone, here to distribute strength and help too those she found dear. But Rhys’s mother had told a different story, a story shared by her own mother, telling the story of one soul split in two, destined to bring balance to the new realm made. Cassian couldn’t remember how the realm had been created, or how a soul could be cleaved, but he thought the mother might have remade that event into The Matings. Perhaps it was her way of feeling whole again; splitting two beings, dooming them to never find peace should they be separated. Cassian could almost hear her motherly voice right now.

In twilight’s hush, where shadows playeth,

A soul was born, ‘i fragments greyeth.

Did divide whole, ‘i darkness hath fell,

And lighteth, with longing, beganeth to tell.

The dark half hath felt the stingeth of pain,

And sorrow’s weight, ‘i vain.

It kneweth nay joy, nor love’s sweet refrain,

Only the ache of endless strain.

The lighteth half yearned for wholeness true,

For unity, and all it couldst doth.

It longed to healeth the rift apart,

And mendeth the drops of sorrow that pierced its heart.

But alas, the dark half couldst not seeth,

The beauty that the lighteth couldst beeth.

It saw only shadows, dark and grim,

And hath felt the stingeth of every whim.

The story steadied Cassians heart, his soul. The sad memory of Rhys’s mother a sharp pain in his chest. He didn’t want to think about Rhys's mother and sister right now, not when his two of his most loved people were missing, and he could do fuck-nothing about it.

He could almost see it clearly; being called back to the camp in emergency, finding two golden polished boxes in the biggest of the war tents. Seeing Rhysand, quiet and shaking, scratching at his throat until skin caved way to tendons and blood. He could envision it so clearly. Walking past him, straight to those open boxes on the map-filled table. Dripping blood.

But he didn’t see their silken black hair, their swollen faces nor their peaceful expressions.

He saw Y/n and Azriel.

Faces consorted into pain. Precise cuts and breaks marring their flesh.

Cassian didn’t notice his shaking until Nesta shook him.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

Cassian shook himself out of her grasp, shaking his head. “What if they’re beyond helping? What if they’re already gone?” he yelled the last bit, not at Nesta but at the situation they had at hand.

Nesta curled her arms around him once again, holding him close to her chest as he shook with unfelled tears.

He didn’t care who saw him as he fell apart.

They had to choose.

Either, one of them could be traded, or neither. They had to choose between them.

He faintly felt Feyre’s hand on his shoulder too, everyone going quiet.

Would they choose Y/n? It was what Azriel would have wanted, but it was not guaranteed that she would be sane coming home. And it was a horrible thought. A horrible, horrible thought that Cassian would shame himself for the rest of his long, long life. Azriel was accustomed, as bad as it sounded, to torture. He could retrieve vial information, not only about Koschei and his army, but about the location, the sounds, the people, everything about where they were held captive. Azriel had been trained for this his entire life. An Illyrian male was less thrilling to capture, would get less attention. But a female warrior? Now that was something the cruelest in this world found ecstatic. He couldn’t be sure she would come back the same or come back at all. His throat tightened. At the same time, he knew Azriel would never forgive them should they chose him over her. He would rather burn the world down, and him along with it, than set Y/n in danger. He knew they had fallen out, the tension between them only visible to the outsiders. But he knew the brilliant spark they shared would never go out, no matter what. They were destined for each other.

He lifted his head and shared a look with Rhys over Nesta’s shoulder. He knew the answer to his question, deep down they all knew.

Choosing Azriel would give them a higher chance of retrieving both, but at the cost of Y/n.

Choosing Y/n would mean setting Azriel at risk, who had gone through such events before and had a higher tolerance physically than Y/n, though he knew nightmares still haunted him at night.

Cassian knew he was often perceived as dumber than his companions; but he wasn’t the General Commander of the Night Court’s armies for nothing.

Stealing himself, Cassian reached out to Rhys through Deamati, delaying the only plan of which he could think.

“We find the mirror, duplicate it and exchange for Y/n.”

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

To be added to the Taglists, comment:

All ACOTAR - 🌹

All Azriel - 🥀

All TOG - 🌼

Taglist: @calisnewworld

[askthedarknessandhewillanswer]

The Raven, and his Lenore.

Tonight's honorable mention goes to @blair-vvitch

Thank you so much, you helped me figure out how to write for Tokoyami decently well. ❤️❤️

Tokoyami Fumikage x reader Angst, like....super bad guys. In which Tokoyami falls in love, and realizes the pain that comes with war. MAJOR TW!!! !!!GORE, DEATH, LOTS OF BLOOD!!! ALSO! MAJOR SPOILER WARNING!

(In this Tokoyami was not knocked out during the battle against All For One)

You knew nothing, nothing but heat and light and numbness. You heard no screaming of the man you held in an iron grip, as he clawed and fought against you, like his life depended on it, and it did.

You did not smell the burning of flesh as the man, and you, both burned. Your skin and hair catching in the flames and burning, burning, burning, burning.

As the man realized his life-ending mistake in using his own quirk to amplify and draw out a malfunction of yours, he screamed, as his hair melted to his scalp and his eyes went white. As his arm moved on pure survival instinct to shove the last of Eri's stolen power into your neck, making you gag and choke on the blood that found way into your throat and seeped into your lungs. It only took seconds for the blinding light to fade, leaving anyone within a four mile radius wondering where the sun had gone.

As you and the man fell to the ground he seemed to crumble to dust, his charred body ruined and dead long ago. How the unoccupied husk was capable of stopping your horrific display? Nobody would ever know.

So you layed there in a pool of your own blood, covered in singed clothes, still smoking from the fire that came of the heat. The man now in ashes all around you as you attempted to breath, to take air into your lungs and live. But it was no good, you only choked, your skin still numb to the bloody, raw blisters and burns decorating your once beautiful skin.

You didn't register the footsteps, nor the familiarity of them. Despite the fatigue plagueing poor Tokoyami's body he stayed upright, looking in horror upon his love, or rather, what remained of you.

How long had you lain here alone? Four minutes? Or an hour? Could you even have survived that long?

"Ffff.....umi" He heard, oh so softly from the mass of burns in his arms. Tears already began welling in his red eyes, he tried not to think about how weak your voice was compared to normal, how fragile you were, how close to death you were.

"Yes? My dear?" He whispered back, bringing a hand to your face to turn your head toward him, his teary red eyes searched your own dull irises for anything, any hint of recognition or hope.

All he found was numbness and acceptance.

"Do you....still....know my favorite..." You trailed off, unable to find the strength to keep talking, to finish the simple question. However, Tokoyami knew what you were asking.

It only made his tears fall, only made him realize that you wanted to hear his voice reciting your favorite poem one last time before you couldn't be his anymore.

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary" he began, choking only a little. However he forced his voice solid, for you.

"Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore" Another sob, he had to pause. His hold on you tightening slightly as he shifted to hold you against him like a babe, his tears mingling with your blood in a horribly beautiful shade of pale red.

He felt as if his heart would go with you. Surely it would claw it's way through bone and flesh to die by your side, to hold your cold hand as you walked across that bridge to your next life.

In your next life, you'd be the sun. He had no doubt, you would be the sun above them. The same one to warm their springs and gift them light, to create his shadows, to create him.

Surely the gods would not he so cruel as to take away his sun! His love! His! Not theirs. His. And only his. No matter whatever may happen. With this thought, he managed to continue.

"While I nodded, nearly napping,

suddenly there came a tapping,

As if someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."

He looked at you once more, opened his eyes to see you, to see if you were still here, to make sure you were still here. He saw you exhale, inhale, exhale, shallow breaths and yet still breaths nonetheless.

"Tis some visitor, I muttered, tapping at my chamber door.

Only this, and nothing more."

He couldn't do this.....

He stopped once more, breaking and sobbing again. He rested his chin on your head and wept, wept loudly, wept like a man without shame as he rocked you and grappled at his sanity.

Unable to grasp it tight and keep it as close as you were, his mind ran rampant with his own thoughts.

He couldn't do this without you. He had to keep going for you. Living without you would be hell on earth.

Living with what had happened today, would be hell on earth.

The horror, the bloody messes left in the wakes of both heroes and villains. He didn't want to think about his friends now, not after finding you in such a state. He couldn't bear the thoughts of losing his friends aswell.

"Ah distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each seperate dying ember wrought it's ghost upon the floor

Eagerly I wished the morrow,

Vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books sercease of sorrow-

Sorrow for the lost...."

He couldn't finish the line. Not when it rang true in his mind and body, not when he felt he'd succumb to his madness if he uttered the word.

He only looked at you, wide eyed with damp cheek feathers. And as he notted the lack of rise and fall, the dulling of your eyes and the way you seemed to just be...gone. He knew, he knew and he couldn't stop the scream that tore his throat to shreds.

So desperate and pained anyone who heard it stopped to let dread and tears creep into their eyes. As his beak gave way for the cry over his love, his beautiful Lenore.

His Lenore.

And quietly, he sank back in on himself. Ears rining and chest heaving as he sobbed harder, burying his beak into your neck and chest, clutching your dead body to him as if he could bring you back by just crying to you and begging in pitiful pleads to come back, begging Amaterasu to give him his sun back, to give him back his love.

"Lenore"

He said only this, and nothing more.

[thefearandwonder]

Truth

An old friend of mine has retreated into social isolation, which I could have taken personally. But we've been through a lot together in our lives and I refuse to take anything he does personally. Have to give grace if you want to get it.

He said he wants to get away from the self so influenced by other people and find his center. I think that's a great idea. I'd like to do it myself, but it's a scary thought; even when I'm alone, I'm not truly alone. I reach out to people, I meet new people in virtual spaces, I write stories with others, and always look for social stimulation.

How much of me is 'me'? But, is 'me' something worth defining?

Because for a long time, I've seen myself as a hollow shell battered around by the world, filled up with its energies, emptied, charged up, wrung out, and again and again. I don't like to see myself, because myself is a dragon, a towering egomaniac, a striving and suffering lunatic who hurts herself with the intensity of her ambitions.

The only thing chasing ambition has ever gotten me is pain; I slam into walls and doors, and the faster I'm running, the harder the impact. The smarter I'm being, the further into trouble I get.

My forays into the jungle of American civilization are never productive. They start out hopeful, then end in mutual misery.

You know, I was driving through San Francisco at night last week. I saw billboards advertising not just AI, but digital solutions for AI-generated-image-detection services. Anti-AI. In a sea of lights and concrete, I saw a targeted advertisement as I sat in rush-hour traffic, telling me that I could literally 'find truth' with a product.

And earlier that day, I'd been walking through Yosemite, where the ravens flew by the dozens like bands of kings, with their hooked beaks and proud eyes, their manes of spiky feathers on their chest -- they looked at me and I looked at them. We saw each other, and there was truth there.

And the people who call themselves 'realists' will tell me of the meaninglessness of that experience, that the creature is somehow beneath me, and my deranged mind is deriving meaning from nothing.

Or, if my interpretation of the raven's symbol pleases their vanity, they will feed me scraps and lift me up like a treasured Bug a la some Jack London-esque short story and make me their favorite poet-propagandist. I'll be their truth maker.

And I woke up this morning with the insulin catheter in my abdomen ripped free, something that's never happened before. It was 4 AM. I replaced it without making too much noise and went to write a poem about wanting to sleep that made me cry -- a poem I wish I could share here, but it's going into a collection I intend to publish and therefore in order to sell the rights to print it exclusively it cannot appear in other media.

Well, after writing that poem, and crying, I went back to bed and held my wife. We slept in each other's arms and that's the truth.

Then we were woken up by a call from an unemployment benefits adjudicator who asked very pointed questions about why I left my previous job, opened up old wounds around confusion, anxiety, discrimination, being targeted by malicious parents, and feeling unprotected by admin or HR.

I told my story (again). I told the truth. They, who agreed not to 'contest' unemployment benefits (I suppose that means not filing an appeal for the approval decision) will also tell their truth. But they did not tell me the whole truth when I made the agreement to resign in grace rather than work somewhere I was made to feel so unwelcome. They kept many truths to themselves.

So what is the truth. The truth is that more and more I feel like a gasping animal caught in a net of buzzing light that Just

Won't

Stop

My truth, the thing I know inside me so true and deep, is that when I die, I will hear the sound of wind in trees. It will get louder and louder, until it overtakes me. It will transport me. It is the holiest sound I know. It sounds like the sea. It sounds like the hushings of a loving Universe.

It sounds like the Moon waking me with her light, to kiss me on the brow, and guide me back to sleep, to let me know I am safe and small. Truth.

[leorosenberg]

Lonely heart. Nightmares (pt1) Tybalt was looking at candle’s flame, which was casting reddish reflex on the walls. He had a bad feeling, but he didn’t understand why - Julia was staying in her room all day, and there was nothing to worry about… But Tybalt had a heavy heart. Tybalt sighed and pushed back a strand of hair from the forehead. He decided to check on Julia and got up from the armchair. After thinking about it, Tybalt didn’t put out the candle and left his room, trying not to make any noise - he didn’t want to wake somebody up in the middle of the night. He carefully closed the door and went to Julia’s room, trying to keep quiet.

In the night Capulet’s house was a dark and ominous place, full of shadows, where Tybalt felt especially lonely. Sunlight saved him during the day, but at night he was alone with himself and his thoughts, which ate him alive. Every night he was trying any ways to escape from obsessions, arising in his mind. It was exhausting training, reading, long walks… He even tried to write - poems full of pain and hopeless love, that he never showed to anyone. He was ashamed of them… Tybalt, proud heir of the Capulet, who writes tearful nonsense… Ridiculous! He couldn’t let himself be sentimental.

Every night became a nightmare for Tybalt. It was easier for him during the day, but at night it just became unbearable. He could only look for any way to distract… Or just crying all night. Nobody knows who is Tybalt Capulet in fact. Maybe even he himself doesn’t know. Orphan, duelist, son of a noble family… It was the image which saw people. The image which Tybalt made them see. Vulnerable boy, a stranger in his own house, sad ghost of Capulets who never showed his feelings for anyone. For anyone except Julia… Julia, who fell in love with this Montageu’s scoundrel. Tybalt almost coped with it. He knows that Julia would never be his… But it hurt him anyway. Even knowing that she will be Paris’ wife, Tybalt was jealous.

Julia loves Romeo, but Tybalt will not allow him to appear here. Tybalt will never let any Montague to be here.

Tybalt sighed again. Well, here he is tormenting himself again. He pursed his lips. No more thoughts. Tybalt went up to the second floor and headed for Julia's room - oh, he knows this way very well. How many times did he come here for these useless talks… She was never serious about his feelings. She only saw Tybalt as a cousin… Brother. Relative. And now, when this bastard appeared, Tybalt had no chance. He had no chance without Romeo also… But he didn't think about that.

Why does Julia, his little Julia, love Romeo? What did she find in him? Why even Julia is in love and only Tybalt is miserable?

-You will break a lot of girls' hearts… - saying Lady Capulet stroking her nephew's hair. - My handsome boy…

Tybalt didn't believe her. She always told him encouraging things. Tybalt thought that she was saying it just because they are relatives and he is an orphan who needs support. He didn't consider himself handsome… Mostly because nobody except Lady Capulet called him handsome. Tybalt didn't see “handsome boy” in the mirror. He saw only a ridiculous kid loved by no one except relatives… And even in their love he couldn't believe.

Tybalt frowned, approaching Julia's room - he saw the light under the door. Why doesn’t Julia sleep at such a late hour? Tybalt came closer and frozen in place - he heard voices from the room… And one of them was not Julia's. It also was not Romeo’s voice…

Mercutio.

Tybalt was shocked. He wanted to break into the room and start a scandal but tried to restrain himself. He didn't want to wake up the whole house. What does Mercutio need here? Tybalt decided to listen to their talk.

-He is so gloomy… - Mercutio

-It's just an image. - Julia

Who are they discussing?

-You are so different. Cousins, but looking like strangers. - Mercutio

What does he mean?

-I told it to you as a friend to friend. I hope… I hope you won't tell him. I'd like to deal with it myself. - Mercutio

-Ah… Sure. As you want. - Julia

-Montagues and Capulets… I never thought that I might like him. - Mercutio

Tybalt, barely standing on his feet,   decided to show himself:

-Julia, why don't you sleep? It's too late for young girls.

  He heard rustle when Julia answered.

-Ah… I just had been reading… - she said.

-You should have slept for hours. - Tybalt’s voice became serious.

Someone jumped into the bushes under Julia's balcony. Tybalt pretended not to notice it.

-I'm already going to bed! - Julia said. She extinguished the candle.

Tybalt sank to the floor and gasped nervously.

Mercutio likes him.

And he should do something with it.

The premonition didn't deceive him.

It is real trouble.

Tybalt ruffled his hair. Yes, mistress, girl's hearts. He thought. Tybalt couldn't say that he's happy about this news, but he was flattered… Someone (even if Mercutio) finds him handsome. Attractive. Someone saw the real Tybalt behind this image that he made.

“Cousins, but looking like strangers”

Mercutio was right. If you do not know that they are relatives, you will not guess about it. And they were different not only outwardly. Julia is the sun, Tybalt is the moon. Even Lady Capulet thinks so.

Tybalt got up from the floor and went to his room.

-I deserve to be loved. - he whispered into the void. Even be loved by Mercutio… Maybe he is not that bad. Could he be a good person? Tybalt didn't know. He will think about it tomorrow. Now he just wants to sleep. At last he wants to sleep.

[mad-scientist-enthusiast]

"The Haunted Flesh Machine"

@plaguedghosts @iwrotesomeofitdown @notjustanyannie

Here is my slam poem. Thank you for the encouragement!

I'd like to preface this by saying it is a poem of my struggles and fears, and this should not be taken as the most mentally healthy or even correct writing.

CW: discussion of disordered eating, slight suicidal ideation, a little bit of internalized ableism

I’m losing my grip on reality. Each hour of the day slips from beneath my fingertips before I can even close my hand. 

My motor functions are so much slower these days. 

I walk through a persistent haze, going through the motions, but I am never present for them. My body acts on autopilot, but the battery is on low. 

I’m smart—I always have been—I’m an engineer for crying out loud—but I don’t think I can access that anymore. My intelligence is locked behind a firewall in my brain. 

Do you know how insane that is? Being unable to use your own mind? 

All my judgments are tinted because the brightness is turned down. I think my brain is in battery-saver mode. 

The fatigue is the worst because I can feel it all throughout my body. No amount of sleep seems to recharge me. I am perpetually tired and confused and dizzy and unaware. 

I’m sure my eating habits don’t help. I’m just putting water in my gas tank. No amount of Fanta Orange and Lucky Charms is going to make up for the entire sections of the food pyramid I am missing. I try to start my brain up, but water isn’t quite nearly as combustible, and I end up with no output. 

I want to be in control. I want my body to work. I don’t want my vision to get darker with every step I take. 

Another day, another near-emergency. My heart beats too fast, my blood pressure falls too low. Sometimes presyncope lasts for longer than it needs to. 

Sometimes I change colors like a chameleon on its deathbed. 

My code is flagging for errors, but I’m running it anyway. 

I think my computer is getting overheated. My face is hot to the touch. 

If this was the Victorian Era, my symptoms would be romanticized. There’s something poetic about wasting away. 

I fear that I’m getting weaker by the week. 

Another day, another new problem. Which diagnosis does it fit under? I’m too tired to make a spreadsheet, not that I could log it if I did. 

What month is it anyway? How many months have I been here? It seems like an eternity when I’m in pain, but time passes too quickly when I’m not. 

I haven’t taken my meds in a while. I’ve given up on them working. Neglect is also a form of control. 

I’m rotting inside. I’m rotting in my bed. I hardly leave my bed, but when was the last time I slept? 

Surely this will have no repercussions. 

I’m smart for a day, so my expectations are high, and as a result, my workload is too. I’m a workaholic on the days I’m present at all. 

That’s who they see when they look at me. They don’t see that I’m sick. They don’t connect the dots on the days I wear a little less makeup than usual. 

They don’t even bother to look. 

I’m fighting for control over my mind and my body, and they are none the wiser. 

If I were underweight, maybe they’d care a little. Maybe they’d treat me with a little more care. It’s easier to tell when something is wrong when you’re underweight. 

I could collapse in the middle of a busy street and no one would even give it a second glance. They might even walk over me, thinking I was part of the sidewalk. 

On the off chance they did see, what a shame it would be, for the one time I'm perceived, I lack bodily autonomy. 

Is it worth being noticed when you're unconscious? Is it worth it if the one time I am seen is when I have no control over whether my mouth is hanging open or my shirt is riding up? I've spent so long meticulously curating the way I look to others, just to be totally helpless when it matters. 

I can change my wallpaper but that doesn't make my phone work any better. And people don't see the wallpaper first, they see the cracks in the screen. 

Sometimes I am conscious but not responsive. I lie like a corpse, observing, but not interacting as they crowd around me. Observing as they look at me. 

They could not provide the help I need. 

They only see me when I'm outside my body—a freakshow display of my vulnerability. 

Maybe if I hit my head next time, I'll reboot. I could use a factory reset. 

I often think of what it would be like to have a better brain. I think mine is haunted. 

Do you have to be dead to be a spirit? 

My head is possessed by a ghost that lurks in my nerves tissue and flesh. I hear it wail whenever I move, mourning a loss I cannot understand. 

A restless spirit leads to a restless night, and each night I can't sleep I blame the ghost. 

I wish sleep could fix me. I'm so tired all the time. 

The ghost must be what powers my perpetual motion machine. Inertia isn’t enough. I keep going and going until eventually I explode. 

I don’t think I’ll make it to my 40’s. 

My body will break itself down until it can digest me, and I’ll eat myself like an ouroboros. 

I don’t want to die, I just want to rest. 

If I sleep for a good year, maybe I’ll feel human again. I would like to feel human again. 

I dream that one day I will collapse, and people will rush me to the hospital. There, the doctors will find out exactly what is wrong with me, and that it can be treated by taking a pill. And then, I get better. 

My face will look a little softer, my eyes a little less heavy. I’ll walk everywhere I go, and I’ll stand up in the mornings. 

Maybe food will be less of a battle when I’m healthy. 

Maybe I’ll burn in the atmosphere before I crash down to earth. 

Right now, my collision course is set toward hospitals, tubes, and wires. I’ll only have to sign away my autonomy when I check-in. 

Is there early prevention for a trojan virus? 

Did I ever have a chance? Fated to keep running on empty until there’s nothing left to run. 

I have no salvation, I am just a machine. 

There is no happy ending for me.

[beacarrot]

It's brighter now >>>>> (yes, now i am)

Today, the morning will start a bit late,

The sun will wait for his eyes open to rise and awake.

No chains, no pain to bear,

You saw him once, now he’s with you everywhere.

Like pieces fitting, you just knew,

When you traced his jawline with a careful view,

You’d be a perfect film, in reality, outside of dreams,

His gaze on you, his touch sincere,

For the first time, no ghosts, no fear,

Our place, our steps, in precise gear.

I’ll touch your lips just to make it clear,

You touch his lips just to make it near.

You’d drive all night, sirens at play,

Seeing truths you questioned an endless day,

With open hearts, barriers shed,

Lights can’t blind you now; no, not ahead.

Your mark on his neck, the midnight cheers,

The toasts of dawn,

Forgotten magic tricks,

Made toasts, stored drinks,

A different look,

It's not a big deal,

But you've already accepted it in your subconscious.

All phases of the moon watched over you two, orchestrating the magic to unfold,

Every Wednesday night,

Small steps, you smile, he sees you,

You both dance but never move,

Old steps, but new dances,

In slow motion, this could be real,

No anguish left, no tears to steal,

It doesn't cause anguish, no more crying in the pub bathroom, you're addicted to just living,

The same red lips, goodbye, last cabin,

A simple touch, a dazed look, but he’s damn tired too

Of walking back,

Trapped in a snow globe where fog dims his view,

Then, you kiss, and the fire breaks through.

You argue, then joke about it,

You are willing, so you admit it, and you knew it,

You are in love.

Ignoring fragments that once lay shattered,

The body heals when lent is scattered,

Trained by the battle and worn,

No war lasts forever, you know it well

All the scorn,

Same old shit,

An old diary, secrets within,

You laugh when you remember you swore love was like this,

"Oh, my, love is a lie",

When cold on the street, that fake "man" who broke your heart,

With jabs subtle, sharp like art,

With some indirect detractions,

A gallery of bitter memories fades when shoulders touch,

Animated sounds fall hush,

It’s funny where fate has placed you,

A deep breath, a steady view,

Unsure and slowly he says,

For the first time true:

“I love you,”

As rain falls and the universe realigns,

You feel it’s real,

He’s in love, too.

I’ll lose myself in your arms to make this right,

You lose yourself in his arms just to make it right,

You’d drive all night, sirens’ song,

Seeing truths you’ve searched so long,

With open souls, walls down low,

Not even lights blind, not now, not as you go,

Hands linked crossing the bridge’s crest,

Your mark on his neck,

Midnight confessed,

Untold words,

Chilled nights, warm sunsets unfurled,

A touch, it's not a big deal,

But you've already felt enough.

The tips of your shoes touching the curb line,

Kisses stolen in busy streets' shine,

Presumptuous smiles,

Words unsaid,

Talks half-finished, but never drifting ahead,

When you place your hand on his arm with ease,

He hides a smile, pretending it's not because of it,

“Trouble at home?”

He asks, a look sincere,

And you feel safe, knowing time can heal, and maybe clear,

“Are you okay?”

He murmurs low,

You lift your gaze,

A soft, warm glow,

His eyes, a light you can now embrace,

And slowly you say:

“Yeah, now I am.”

And you know what it means,

You’re in love,

I’m in love.

(I wrote this poem, a kind of poetry about the same person I wrote "Wednesday" for. A special and equally passionate friend. Even though I'm so young I had my first heartbreaks and they introduced me to a world that can be painful, immature boys hurt even more immature with me, and this person who inspired me to write this track also went through difficult situations in this regard. And even though he and I are just friends, he really is fascinating and a source of inspiration for me, thank you!)

Signed: Beatriz Ranzonni 🩵.

[seththemountain]

Poetry and Mental Health: A Chaotic Connection

Introduction

Over my four years of writing poetry, I've noticed an intriguging connection between the poems I write and my mental health. In some ways, poetry has helped me see my experiences from a whole new perspective, but in others, I've stayed stagnant as an artist and human. I have three key pieces that detail the connection between the poems I write, and my mental health.

Expressing Yourself Through Poetry Could Be a Great Way to Cope

Through my poems, I can release my pain in a manner that isn't self-destructive, and I can also comfort those who struggle to express themselves. I fear too many people seek self destructive behavior as a way to "free" themselves from the pain. In truth, self destruction is chosen because it's allure is more appealing than the discomfort of facing your issues head on. When I write my poems, I feel that I am staring the abyss in the eye and analyzing its every cell. My analysis, and how I express it creatively in my verses establishes a connection between myself and my audience. One poem I shared with an old friend was called "Walked Out". It talked about the internal struggle of someone knowing they have to leave a relationship but feeling too attached to their lover to do so. The friend felt very connected to the poem and even shared it with their estranged ex-partner. The friend felt that the indecision expressed in the poem was similar to the indecision of going back to their ex. Though Poetry can be a way to healthily cope with your issues, that alone will not prevent you from sliding into self-destruction. You only need to look at examples such as Lord Byron, Charles Bukowski, or Edgar Allen Poe to see how self-destruction can haunt an artist.

Poetry Can Help You Discover More About Your Identity and The Roots Of Your Issues

I've been further able to understand the deeper psychology of my issues and what makes me, me. Through writing poetry, I've discovered how pecuilar I really am and I've embraced it. I've recently taken up to dressing in more tie-dye and even some alternative style. This is contrast to the usual dressy button downs I've worn before. Poetry has freed me from thinking and acting too conservatively. Poetry has also helped me to see the causes of my struggles with love. I've shared my poem Amelia several times at open mic's. After reading this poem to so many, I've realized that I tend to desire love that is passionate and burns bright, but is destructive and snuffed out quickly. 

Poetry Without Change Isn't Enough

If no intentional steps are taken to improve your mindset or lifestyle, the poems you write about your struggles will just grow said struggles. Just like any other way that you can express your issues, if you don't take action steps, those expressions are self-defeating. I was stuck on one woman for a long time. She was the first true love that I felt. She and I had an awful falling out, and I was very embittered for a long time. I wrote two whole poetry books, mostly inspired by the heartache I felt. It took two years, intentional empathy toward her situation, and a complete reset of my mindset toward dating to completely heal.