#shitty prose

[a-wilde-like-death]

Do you know something about the sea? For all its enormity and depth, it won't keep your secret. Ask me, I know.

I once sat by a shore, waves nibbling at my feet, holding a secret close to me.

My secrets have weight and it must have shown, for poseidon came to me.

"Tell me your secret," he said. "I'll keep it safe. My seas are deep and they hide a hundred secrets."

I smiled.

"Tell me," he insisted, and his waves lapped hungrily at my feet. "Whisper it to my waters. I'll keep it safe. It'll lie safe and deep within my waters. I promise."

I shook my head.

"Why not? Are you not tired of carrying your secrets? I can see your shoulders shrivel. I can see your heart, turbulent and roaring. Are you not tired? Tell me, I'll keep it safe."

"No."

His waves grew rougher.

"Why not?"

"Because you are a liar."

The waves dipped, as if in surprise..

"A liar?"

"Your seas will keep my secrets?" I laughed. "Your waves wash ashore everything you promise to bury. The sea never keeps secrets. It holds them, and it washes them ashore. To different shores, far away shores. My secrets will crash painfully against the rocks that hold your waves at bay. They'll scatter like easy waves and the weight I carry will become nothing. Empty, bare, for the world to see. Nothing more than the sea foam that dissolves with the ebb and flow of your waves. Your seas cannot keep secrets. They have a habit of returning what they take."

The waves had stilled. I sat by the shore as the water receded.

"I'll have your secrets one day," I heard poseidon say as he took his waves away.

My mouth cracked into what should've been a smile.

"I'll walk to you one day. I'll carry my secrets and let their weight drown me. You'll have me one day." My voice dipped to a whisper, "But you'll never have my secrets. Your assumed depths could never keep them."

The water was almost at my feet again. I stood up and toed the line. I looked out to the sea.

"Maybe it'll be today."

[strivingforsanity00]

Bruises to remind me

Gifts from you

All my pain behind me

Blacks and blues

You leave marks to remember

And I write about them on tumblr

[shittysawtraps]

Hello. I’d like to play a game.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling.

If he decides to reach over and touch you, like a prayer for which no words exist, you will feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for. If he does not, there’s a pipe bomb attached to the vehicle’s engine triggered to explode. You must admit your love any way you choose, but you must admit to it. It is the only way to survive in this world.

Most people are so ungrateful to love, to be loved, to be told they’re loved by the one that loves them … but you won’t be. Not anymore.

[babytoothbrain]

I am the Same Person I was in August

"Oom Sha La La", Haley Heynderickx//"All That Wanting, Right?", Devin Kelly// "Funeral" Phoebe Bridgers//"Extracting the Stone of Madness", Alejandra Pizarnik// "Little Beast", Richard Siken// all photos are mine! Photography on @el3ctraaa

[ramblingsfromthytruly]

i'm sorry

i'm sorry

for not feeling so sorry

looking at your

sorry state

i'm tired

of being tethered

my mind is tired

chipping away at your mind

it's slow work

slow fixing

but i'm not a mechanic

nor a therapist

never want to be

yours

never want to be yours

i'm dreaming

i hope you do well

i don't want to see you succeed

but i hope you succeed

[cinamonngirlie]

carried by music

she fell into your arms

maybe it will be better anyway

for me to get away

took my own road - the august one

with my head down

and while picking wildflowers

i would chase another man

still with him i'm all alone

he filled my house but he never felt like home

[manderleyfire]

kick in the teeth

@thefudge | rpf | walton goggins/ella purnell; mature (2, 744 words)

And he feels the minty coolness of an ice cube melting on his tongue and he shares it with the girl who is twenty-five years his junior, because he wants her to swallow this ice cube, he wants her to feel that yellow shade of summer inside her very throat.

[dandelion-wings]

Today was mostly a day of filling in small transitional gaps in earlier chapters. Because I've been writing this out-of-order as the mood takes me, 1-2 and 10-13 are now fully written, 7 and 14 aren't written at all, and all the rest have gaps of varying sizes; I am narrowing down to torture scenes I haven't written yet, so I may hit a point soon where I have to wait for a certain key Three Days A Month to finish chapters 3-7, but right now there's still smaller gaps in a mood I'm up for. But before I started gap-filling, I did do the second half of chapter thirteen, so from that:

"Since you're here, and the ring is clear, would you like to train together?" Ah, yes. This had been one of the slots on her schedule for regular drills, until she gave it over to visiting Kaeya. She's been gradually returning to them, visiting every other day instead of daily, but this *was* one of the days she would have come over. He'd lost track of the time--he hopes Amber told her he was here early enough that she didn't go to his apartment first. "I wouldn't want to upset Sister Barbara," he says, trying for a smirk to hide his own doubts, deliberately meeting Jean's eye. "She told me you've been cleared for light training," Jean says, looking back in confusion that, unfortunately, clears up as she catches sight of his poorly-hidden anxiety. "If you want to. If- if you've decided you don't want to return-" Her eyes are wide, and Kaeya can see alarm as poorly-concealed on her face as his anxiety was on his. He puts up a hand to stop her. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. If I can get back into fighting fit, then...." He realizes too late, as Jean's expression crumples into sympathy, that the *'if'* was too revealing a word. Perhaps his thoughts are still a beat slower than they should be. "I'll help you," she says, reaching out and taking his other hand, his good hand. Her grip is tight around his fingers. "You are ambidextrous, remember? I've seen you gain the upper hand by taking advantage of that before. There's no reason you shouldn't be just as capable, once you're fully back in condition."

[moonlit-quills]

Special

You want to die,

You’ve told me before,

I just cannot understand why.

You mean so much to me,

More than you will ever know.

I don’t want to see you dim,

You have such a bright light,

I know I’m going out on a limb,

But I don’t want to see it

Go away forever.

I wish you could see it,

Just how special you are

To everyone, but especially me.

I can’t begin to explain,

Just know how special you are.

-Sparrow

[shittyartestries]

i am a mosaic of all those i have loved and those who have loved me. i am a collection of features of my ancestors who have loved each other. i am born of love, loss, memories, and hatred. i am born of the history between nations, of strife and poverty, of happiness and prosperity.

i am a tapestry woven with threads of affection from those i’ve cherished and those who've cherished me. i bear the traits inherited from ancestors bound by love. my existence unfolds from the intricate dance of love, sorrow, memories, and disdain. i emerge from the tapestry entwined with tales of conflict, scarcity, joy, and abundance.

i am a melody composed of shared laughter and whispered confessions. each note echoes of familial bonds, connecting me to a lineage shaped by enduring love. my essence is etched with the brushstrokes of passion, pain, recollections, and the shadows of animosity.

in the grand symphony of existence, i am a product of the ebb and flow of human stories, a mosaic that mirrors the diverse hues of the human experience.

i am the echo of every beating heart.

[queenerdloser]

i'm writing a speculative short story for this writing class i'm taking where a cleaning robot witnesses a bloody mutiny and its aftermath. (why? no clue, i just love the idea.) for a long time, i only knew what i wanted the robot to be named and just had placeholders for the humans involved, but yesterday i finally went in and gave them all names. and halfway through the naming game i had the VERY amusing (to me) thought of giving the ship officers all names of historical ship officers involved in deadly ship crashes that ended in cannibalism. (the mutiny that serves as the plot is based on a lack of food resources after their ship gets attacked lol.) so the ship's first officer is named fitzjames. i'm rubbing my hands together eagerly waiting to see who will expose themselves as terror fans in this class or if i'll get away with my easter eggs.

[a-wilde-like-death]

Gifts.

What do gifts mean?

Different gifts can have different meanings.

When you go to a store and buy something you think would be appropriate, it is a distant gift. You are not closely acquainted with the reciever, your gift is a fulfillment of social courtesy due in an occasion, like a birthday or some other ceremony. The gifts you buy would be based on price (what is this person's social worth?), length of acquaintance (how many years have we attended events together?), and relation to you (getting a dinner set for a friend's daughter's wedding or a sweater for a distant aunt). You are probably unaware of their personal tastes so the gift will be generic. These gifts are always purchased.

When you go to a store and meticulously search to find something that you know the reciever will like, it is a close gift. It means you are familiar with the person and their tastes. It is usually not reliant on price, length of acquaintance or relation. It is something you give someone you consider a friend. Sometimes these gifts are given without occasion. You might find something they'll like and purchase it for them. These gifts are also always purchased.

When you take something you owned, something you used and cherished and give it to someone, it is an intimate gift. You are giving a part of yourself to someone. Cutting out a bit of your soul and presenting it for keeping. It is when someone steals your shirt and you let them keep it. When you wish to see a part of you reflected in their souls. When you gift them a shirt from your cupboard or a ring off your finger. This is the greatest gift of them all. It forgoes price and standing. It is purely out of care and mutual understanding. When you gift someone something you owned it means there is no jargon of social relationships between you. You aren't gifting because it is necessary but because you wish to. You wish for them to keep a part of you, no matter how far they go. These gifts are for people closest to you, people you care for and who care for you. These gifts cannot be purchased.

[waywardwritesstuff]

Never again will I be vanerable

Never again will I trust another

Never again will I put faith in a human

Never again will I trick myself into believing that blood is thicker than water

Never again will I let myself be weak

Never again will I believe that I am safe

Never again will I allow myself to share myself with anyone else

Never again will I be open

[jackdup]

@colecassiidy || cont.

You know, there came a point in a man’s life where he began wondering, Is it me? Am I the problem here? (But yeah, duh; a little voice in his head somehow felt like it was rolling its eyes at him despite being a voice: of course you’re an entire freakin’ problem.) Most importantly in this specific scenario, though, Timothy was left with the very real, very valid curiosity: Do I just attract people like this?

He meant the reckless sort. The devil-may-care sort. The impulsive. The guys who got an entire high off of the risks . . . and always found a way to drag Timmy into it— And yeah, y’know . . . ? Sometimes the totally verifiably nuts. (Do we need to name names here? Was that clear— Well, just in case: Jack. We’re talking about Handsome Jack.) Cole, okay, was nowhere near the “nuts” side of the spectrum, but he pretty much lined up with everything else.

And yet here Timothy was. He’d agreed to come with him. Cole had to be real cute about reminding him he’d still be here despite knowing all the details.

So: full circle, kiddos:

Am I the problem?

Jeez, how whipped did a guy have to be . . .

“Yeah, I mean— 50-50 sounds . . . great, but—” Speaking of whipped, it also wasn’t like Timothy didn’t compliantly take the fuse as it was handed to him: following instructions was (no surprise!) second-nature to him at this point. “Are you, like, intentionally trying to get every psycho and their equally psychotic mother to notice us? Is that part of the plan, or . . . ?” And as if the mere mention of attention would’ve already garnered it—knowing his luck—he glanced back down that alley leading out to one of Lectra City’s main roads. Deceptively quiet. Which also just made him squirm.

“Really, really looking forward to spending my 50 from the prime real estate of a pike firmly up my ass. Can’t wait.”

[pawbeanies]

fuck u (inflicts you with the curse of Yearning for something you can't even begin to describe. what is it that you need? what is that empty feeling clawing at your chest? why do you Want? you do not know and yet you feel hollow . and yet ...)

[ramblingsfromthytruly]

In Memory of Who I Used To Be

 Do you find?

The one you look for

When you look in my eyes

And hope that I die

Chip away

The dead carcass taken over me

Break apart

Dive your hands into my rib cage

Squeeze the bloody plump

Drying before your gaze

Squeeze it with all your might

And let it go

Squeeze again

And let it go

You can't feel

The pulsing, vibrating, reassuring, swell and shrink

You can't feel

The girl I used to be

16/01/2025~