#unfinished writing

[en-la-casademiamor]

The intimate disquietude of birds

I will love you and you will be the glint amber glimmering; a brilliant beveled gemstone inset my dark eyes. I am with you from the rootball, feet in the coals and hot dunes; and I stand with you by the mighty green river. A story is being told and we are the protagonists.

I am your name and you are mine. It burns holy. Our hearts are ropes tethered tightly by something not of this time. We are wound and wound. The disquietude of birds released. Your song is my song. I sing when your voice trails off. Your song begins when I get lost. Your dead are my dead. I bend my knees before them. You recite a poem. I leave the rocks near their heads. We pledge to love. I place the flowers over their chests and burn the incense. Pyres and lit paper lanterns light the path. May it all rise as a white billowy cloud past a mountain range. We might be turned to grains of sand tomorrow. You are under the pestle, but I am crying, and the rains have come. The rains cleanse.

Your body is in the webbing that causes me to feel and I run in your veins. We might be forced to disperse into the air. To vanish. I might grab your hand however, and you might grab someone else’s. We could be a magnificent formation. Murmurations and sound waves. Red fire and bluest ether. The very push back against these evil days.

Our feathers come from an altar. We can dance and laugh and fly while the great eye of the sky looks on. If you feel the warmth. I will rejoice. I will bring water and sacred oil. If you are denied food, attention and dignity; my everything will hurt. Your loss will be a hole in my body. A womb torn. A womb that forever remembers and remembers. Wherever you are, if you need to close your heavy eyes and not think, I beg you, feel my kissing you. My lips are tender, softened by this sorrow, and they want to kiss you as much as you wish to be kissed.

[nobodywritingao3]

unnamed monster & caretaker au

Tasked with feeding and caring for the king's resident monster, Tommy is constantly overworked and fully expects to die before he's twenty. He has an odd relationship with the beast and makes it a point to keep details about himself private, but it's difficult when the creature is the closest thing in the world he has to a friend.

wordcount: 2.3k 🕸 read it on AO3

CW: - hard vore mention - soft vore mention - mentioned abuse and dehumanization

‼️‼️‼️ Unfinished, unedited one shot. Proceed with caution

@gracideaviolet sent me a writing prompt and this is what i originally wrote for it. i like the concept but i wrote this at a not-good time and when i reread it, i didnt like the quality enough to fix it. if you like this story, let me know cuz that might give me motivation to properly finish this thing. feel free to take the idea but please credit and send it to me cuz i like this story and wanna see what someone else does with it

Tommy finished loading the cart and took a second to breathe.

He heard the beast shifting around in the dark. "Are you doing okay out there, Sunshine?"

Despite his tiredness, the sweet nickname made him smile.

"You know you eat a lot? It's a pain in the ass to load myself."

He meant it as a joke but silence hung in the air a second longer than it should have.

He cleared his throat. "I don't mind it. I'm compensated."

The beast snorted. "Not enough."

Tommy laughed awkwardly and didn't say anything.

He walked over to the control panel and started up the track.

The cart was big enough to fit a barn, and filled to the brim with various livestock, prisoners of war, and whoever else might have found themselves on the king's hit-list. Nothing sent to the monster was alive. It was a point the monster whined about a lot, but Tommy much preferred it that way. It was already disgusting having to spend hours upon hours piling the cart with bloody meat (sometimes human!) by himself, and the day he was handed a living person would be the day he faked his death and fled the kingdom.

He pressed a few buttons, tried not to cut himself on several rusty levers, and the rail obediently started itself up with a few revs and puffs.

The beast hummed contentedly at the noise.

The cart began to run along the track, disappearing from his view and descending into the inky black cave. He heard the gate creak open and he heard it creak close. And then he heard the beast begin to eat.

They weren't nice sounds by any stretch of the imagination - ugly rips and wet squelches of flesh - but Tommy had been at the job for a while and was long used to it. He settled in and waited for the creature to finish its meal.

"So how was your day, Keeper?"

Tommy hummed. "About the same as it always is. My master told me that the king will be coming in soon for a performance review, but I've no idea when that might be."

The beast paused its munching before hesitantly starting again a moment later. "I - why?"

He shrugged, assuming the monster could see him from the dark. "Something about me holding down this job the longest out of anyone before."

"Hm."

"I don't understand why that would intrigue the king. And no offense to you personally - "

"Uh huh," the monster sarcastically interjected -

" - but this isn't exactly the career path I'd have chosen. If I knew how to transfer I probably would have. Honestly - I have no idea how the others could have quit this job. I was under the impression that this is the sort of thing you do until you die."

It laughed at that.

Tommy sighed.

He was quiet for a few moments, a question sitting heavy on his tongue.

He shouldn't ask. It's impolite.

The monster shifted around. "Spit it out."

He gave the darkness an accusatory look. "I don't know what you're talking about."

There was a huff of laughter. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You're doing that thing where you want to say something but are worried about what I'll think. It would be adorable if I wasn't desperate for decent conversation."

"Fuck you." He said it with a smile.

"Well? Are you going to say or not?"

He scrubbed at his face. Fuck it. "What were your other keepers like?"

The beast went silent for several long moments.

Shit. "You don't have to answer if you - "

"I didn't much care for them."

Tommy didn't say a word.

"The feeling was mutual." It sighed heavily. "You're a much better replacement, Sunshine."

"I'm sorry for asking."

The beast purred. "Don't be, dear. I pressed you. And I don't mind answering." It jostled the cart. "And I'm done eating."

Tommy nodded and powered up the control panel again. The cart began to recede. 

It appeared from the darkness, picked completely clean and shiny as if it never been covered in blood at all.

It scared him a little, how quickly the monster could eat such a large amount, but he dismissed those thoughts as easily as they came. When would that ever affect him?

He checked the clock. He still had a few hours before he had to report back. "Do you mind if I stay with you longer?"

The monster laughed conspiratorially. "Oh, but that's against the rules," it said in a high mockery of his voice.

He flushed.

He had been terrified of the monster when they first met. He gave any excuse to leave the beast as soon as he could, including that the rules specified that spending unnecessary time with it was prohibited. That was true, but no one would have known if he chose to linger. In hindsight, it had been terribly obvious how afraid he was and he's only embarrassed that the monster pretended to believe him.

"You're the worst."

"And you still want to spend time with me?"

Tommy blew a raspberry at the darkness, earning a few laughs.

It was comfortably quiet for a few seconds before the monster spoke again. "Why are you curious about my old keepers?"

He tugged at his fingers. "Do you know how I ended up here?"

"You never talk about it."

He frowned. "And I never will," he responded coldly. It never gave up asking. "But do you know, generally, how someone ends up working this kind of job?"

The monster was quiet. "Yes."

Tommy didn't say anything for a minute. "The king is very angry with me. I don't want to see him again. However the other keepers escaped..." He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm saying. If the king requests an audience with me, it isn't for any good reason."

~

When the king acquired his monster, he hired out help to feed the thing and keep it under control. He made sure the beast ate lavishly, but now matter what they fed it, it never seemed like to satiate the creature. But it hadn't died of starvation and that was good enough. When its caretakers started to disappear, it wasn't difficult to guess what happened.

But acknowledging the problem would mean addressing it too, and the king simply didn't care. In the end, he realized he had the perfect way to quietly do away with those he needed gone. He sourced this job, with its one hundred percent rate of 'job abandonment' to political adversaries or people growing affluent enough to take his throne.

Which takes him to the present day, and a rather interesting problem.

When some servant boy had spilled a bottle of red wine down his front during a gala several years prior, the king had been so angry that he threw the child in a dungeon and left him there. When the monster's then-keeper inevitably disappeared, the king came to the boy and grimly informed him of his punishment.

He hadn't expected the child to last more than a couple of days. He'd even picked out his replacements.

But lo and behold, the boy remained present at his job post for a week. And then that week became several, and those several became months, and those months became a year and a half.

The king couldn't understand why it hadn't eaten him yet. He was fifteen at this point, certainly the youngest to feed the monster. Was it waiting for him to grow up? Did it want to watch him sprout up before it made its attack? It was perfectly sentient, and the king knew this even though he denied it upfront. Shouldn't the monster trust that the sooner it finished its current keeper, the sooner he would be replaced by another?

Had there been someone who had managed to bring this creature to subservience? If so, then the king took special interest.

And if not, then it was long overdue that the servant boy be put to death.

~

Being a human's lapdog wasn't a dignified experience, but it was a fed one. Driders were megafauna, making it hard to get enough food. It certainly didn't help that the human kingdom believed everything was its rightful property and saw driders as a threat to them owning more than they could eat.

Wilbur certainly didn't enjoy his life, and he was almost always hungry anyway, but at least he was alive.

He lived in a dungeon below the castle, but he wasn't sure what a castle was and he barely understood the concept of a dungeon. He hadn't seen the sunshine in years, and his keeper was his only company.

He liked his keeper. The boy was kind. He didn't threaten to pee in Wilbur's food or throw rocks at him. He asked him how his day was, and even made it a point to handle the meat carefully as he transported it into the cart. He seemed lonely, and made up excuses to stay. He was a cute little thing, and Wilbur wanted to stick him into his brooding pouch and keep him there.

~

The cart rolled into Wilbur's enclosure, and he greedily snatched it up and began to eat.

His keeper sat at a table in the light.

Wilbur finished his food in a few seconds and toyed with the cart. He always made it seem as if it took him longer to eat than it did.

"Do you have a family?"

The boy froze at the question. "Why do you ask?"

Wilbur pouted even though he knew he couldn't be seen. "We've known each for so long. I don't even know what your name is. Can't I know just a little?"

His keeper awkwardly laughed, fidgeting with his fingers. "Oh... I guess you're right."

Wilbur's heart leapt.

"I don't have a family."

"Oh." Shit.

"Yeah."

What was he supposed to say?

"I don't have a family either."

His keeper peered into the darkness. "What are you?"

Wilbur smiled. He skittered to the bars of his cage and leaned against them, towering over the boy, though he had no idea. "Would you like to play twenty questions?"

"You're so lame, seriously, what are you? I don't even know what you look like."

I could show you, he wanted to say.

Coming out of his cage was easy. The king assumed it could hold him but no one actually checked. And aside from his keeper, no one had been in his dungeon for years. In reality, the bars had long been bent open and Wilbur could get out whenever he pleased.

It wouldn't be difficult to come through the bars and present himself to his keeper. Pick the little figure up in his hands and take him into his cage with him.

When he'd eaten his previous keepers, they'd always been replaced. If he captured his current keeper and stored him away in his brooding pouch, then he'd never be lonely again.

It was tempting.

"That's probably for the best," he said. He stepped away from the bars of his cage and curled up on the floor.

He liked his keeper. He wanted him to be happy. Just because Wilbur was stuck in a cage didn't mean he had to be as well.

"Do you think I'd be scared of you?"

Wilbur looked down at himself, at his large stature and eight legs. His fangs came down to his mid chin. "I think you'd be terrified, dear."

His keeper smiled. "I don't think so. I have a suspicion that you're just harmless."

His heart melted. Oh stars, he wanted to eat this kid.

He massaged his aching brood pouch. "You're sweet, Sunshine."

~

The cart was left in his cage while he was sleeping. He woke up confused, spying it in the corner of his enclosure and wondered why he'd been fed overnight. Where was his keeper? His mind jumped to the worst conclusions.

He found him inside the cart. Bound and gagged and looking terrified beyond all reason.

"Oh, Sunshine," he murmured.

His words had the opposite intended effect, his keeper starting to panic and writhe at the sound of his voice.

"Hey, hey... Calm down, okay? I'll get you out of there." He reached into the cart and picked him up in his hand.

Despite the circumstance, his heart soared. This was the closest they'd ever been.

The figure was tiny in his palm, and still struggling.

Wilbur quickly undid his bounds, being mindful of his sharp claws against the human's body. As soon as his hands were free, he was clawing at the gag around his mouth.

"Don't eat me! Please, do not eat me..."

Wilbur's stomach dropped.

"What? Sunshine, why would I eat you?"

The boy continued to sob.

Wilbur cupped him to his chest and headed towards the bars of his enclosure. He expertly clambered through and came out the other side, his skin exposed to the light for the first time in more than a year.

"Dear? Can you talk to me?" He stroked his head with his thumb and brought him eye level. "Why were you in my feeding cart?"

His keeper stared at him in shock, and it was then that he remembered his keeper had never truly seen him before.

A hot wave of embarassment and self consciousness overtook him.

He awkwardly set his little human on his table and receded back into his enclosure.

"Sunshine?" He prompted once back in his cage. "Are you..."

"Could - could you get out the whole time?"

Wilbur's mouth went dry. "I - well, yes, I could but - "

His keeper stumbled off the table and hit the ground with a nasty sounding crack.

Wilbur sprang to his claws and scrambled forward. He popped his head out between the bars and stared down at his little keeper. "Are you okay?"

The human stared up at him with terror on his face and scrambled backwards, running for the door.

"Shit, shit, wait, I'm sorry! Please stay, please, Sunshine - "

The door slammed behind him with a resounding crack and Wilbur flinched backwards.

~ ~ ~ 🕸

i used to love drider aus back in 2020 🕷️🕷️🕷️

just a freaky little guy whose half dude and half Fear. potential off the charts.

my tag list got lost when my computer was annihilated (</3) but let me know in replies if you want to get @'d and i'll make a new one

oh yeah link to the writing prompt and story i did fill out

[vodkakevinday]

me once again having feelings about the whole Choking™️ thing

cw: mention of bruises

Kevin Day, for all intents and purposes, is a man not easily changed. He’s steadfast, stubborn, and dedicated. He gives his all to everyone and everything. He’s loved exy since before he was born, he’s poured himself into the sport, dedicating every last piece of himself hoping to find a connection to both his mother and father. He poured himself into coaching the Foxes when he was at his lowest, poured himself into intensive physical therapy to regain the use of his left hand. He’s given everything to the people around him, even if it was done cruelly. He’s given everything he could. He’s lied and lied and lied again for the sake of others and himself.

Maybe that’s why he finds himself staring at the bruises that line his neck. The bruises blooming into an angry red, some parts already turning into a dark purple. It’s the outlines of the fingers that gets to him. It’s the distinct lines of his unbruised skin showing through the bruises that his eyes can’t stop tracing. His eyes roam over them, cataloging them into his brain, over and over again.

This isn’t the first time he’s had bruises there; he’s had possessive lovers and a cruel brother before. Even then, the bruises were never this ugly. Never this angry. Never this noticeable.

The hotel bathroom he finds himself in is blurring around him and suddenly it’s too hard to breathe, too hard to keep looking at the bruises given to him by yet another brother. He must make some type of sound because suddenly there’s a knock at the bathroom door and a quiet, “Kevin? Are you in there?”

Before he could even attempt to answer the door slowly opens where he can see a blurry Renee quietly closing the door behind her. He doesn’t know when he fell to the floor but she’s there, crouching by him, close enough to reach out to him and far enough to give him space.

He attempts to smile reassuringly, “I-” his voice is scratchy and it hurts to speak. More tears fall as he desperately tries to let Renee know he’s fine and nothings wrong.

“I think you need a friend, Kevin.”

Shaking his head no, he opens his mouth to disagree, but she cuts him off from even trying.

“Let me be your friend.” She slowly puts out her hand, steady and gentle, like she’s about to touch a skittish stray cat, and holds it there. Her face shows nothing but kindness and empathy, it almost makes him want to flinch.

She says it so earnestly, so kindly that Kevin can’t stop himself from taking her offered hand.

[cosmicwhoresimpingismyliving]

The farmer wasn’t someone to make such a fuss or a ruckus about their birthday. They didn’t do anything too fancy. They were content with a small, meaningful celebration. They used to celebrate with their family, they’d go over to their mum’s house to share in the celebration with their Mumma & siblings. It was always a nice time when they got to see their family. Throughout the past few years, they had been working hard to rekindle their relationship with their Mumma & siblings. It wasn’t easy to rebuild, but they are glad to have rekindled their relationship with their family.

They stood over their green ceramic pumpkin casserole dish, making their own twist on their Mumma's chicken noodle soup. They added loads of chilli flakes in, if they didn’t feel up to attempting to cut up fresh chilli's. The farmer's home smelled heavenly, a warm, inviting home smell. They had a cinnamon candle burning as they were adding the finishing touches to their homemade spicy chicken noodle soup. Truthfully, they had been feeling rather sickly lately. They were craving this for ages, but they only made it when they were sick. Before they would leave it to cook for the next few minutes to allow the noodles to soften, they scooped up a spoonful of the broth to taste when they heard a knock at their door. They quickly took a sip of the broth, not really thinking it through before quietly screaming, as they burnt their tongue & inside of their mouth as they didn’t think to blow on it before answering the door. They quickly put their spoon down, walking out of their open kitchen to their front door.

They slowly opened it to see Shane standing at the door. They were a little puzzled, they weren’t expecting visitor’s although it was rather pleasant to see Shane. The farmer & Shane were at the stage of a budding potential relationship, the stage of will they, they won’t they? The whole town was placing bets on the outcome, and as of right now, it was going at somewhat of a snail's pace. Both were guilty of overthinking the whole relationship. Both thought the other deserved better, they didn’t need to deal with their own problems & baggage. ❛I know we...❜ Shane started to speak, holding a bouquet of sunflowers. ❛I know we aren’t exactly official or anything...❜ Shane was getting distracted from the warm, welcoming smells of a home-cooked dinner wafting throughout the farmer's home. Shane took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the farmer's comfort dish, the spicy chicken noodle soup.

❛Sorry, I’m losing track of what I was going to say, whatever you are making smells great by the way...I know it's your birthday too, so I wanted to give you these sunflowers...❜ Shane held out the bouquet of sunflowers to the farmer with a faint, shy smile lingering on his lips. The farmer took notice of his faint, timid smile, and it caused them to faintly smile too. They rarely saw Shane smile, but it was nice. ❛Oh, thanks, it's just some spicy chicken noodle soup. I make it all the time...My take on my mother's chicken noodle soup. I make it when I'm sick...I didn't think anyone would remember I've grown to love sunflowers...I was always a red rose type of person....❜ The farmer brushed off the compliment on their cooking. They weren't great at taking compliments, and they were also touched by the fact that Shane had remembered that tiny titbit of information.

❛You want to come in for some? I've made a big pot of it, happy to share, hopefully I don't pass my sickness onto you.❜ The farmer suggested stepping aside, inviting him in. ❛How could I refuse? I wouldn't worry too much, I'm always around Jas, taking care of her when she gets sick. If I get sick, I get sick. ❜ Shane gave them a genuine smile, not caring if he got sick or not from the farmer. He was just happy to spend time with them. The farmer, in return, gave him a warm smile back, and they were both happy to see each other smile. They both knew they struggled immensely with their depression. They were just being cautious due to them having an extremely weak immune system.

Shane walked in, placing the bouquet of sunflowers on the wooden table. The farmer grabbed a vase, quickly filling it up with cold water, and placing it on the table. Both the farmer & Shane slowly placed the sunflowers delicately into the vase, their hands lightly brushing against each others. Both making no comments on it, just merely glancing and shyly smiling. The farmer was glad Shane paid them a visit today. Especially since it was their birthday. They thought they were going to spend it slowly becoming sick & alone.

The farmer put on their oven gloves after turning off their stove & lifting the green ceramic pumpkin casserole dish, placing it down on the table on top of a wooden serving board. The farmer handed Shane a bowl & spoon, before placing their own bowl & spoon at the table. The farmer sat down at the table, handing Shane a Nessie ladle. ❛You have the first ladle of soup.❜ Shane looked puzzled at first at the sight of the ladle, but slowly smiled again. The farmer had their quirks, he loved seeing their quirks & personality slowly coming to theforefront.

[fluideli123]

No thoughts, just the next part of my fic I just can't stop thinking about because I think about Amy and Sonic's friendship so aggressively:

Sonic hated having to attend these gatherings, events that did nothing but suffocate him, like the tie around his throat and the pats on his back in congratulations. The music was too slow, loud, and mellow, grating on his ears and clawing down his back in all the ways that felt like it was shredding his senses. Mouths and bodies moved, and cameras flashed on all sides, photographing and recording this moment repeatedly as microphones were set in front of him, pleading for him to say something new, something meaningful, something they wanted to hear. These things always claimed to be in his honor, for all he's done over the years. But it wasn't for him in any way. If it were, he wouldn't even be here. He'd be at home with his friends, wearing nothing but his bandana and worn-down shoes. He'd be sent letters, cards, videos, and broadcasts about people's experiences with him and what he's done. He'd be in mom-and-pop shops, helping them defeat their competitors. He'd be outside with a bunch of ankle biters, ensuring they had fun and were treated fairly as they played together. Chaos, there would be actual good food he could stuff his mouth with. Music to go to the dance floor with, know the lyrics, and have it mean something. But no, this was for the press, the people who valued their status over actual people, to show off, following some tradition of acknowledgment for members of society. It made him sick to sit through every time. Yet here he was out of obligation. Again. At least he wasn't here alone. Gloved hands take his elbow, stealing him from the sight of an approaching woman in a dazzling dress, losing her in the passing crowd. Sonic can't help but grin, a relieved excitement echoing up and out of his throat with a chuckle as he turns to a beaming Amy. "You always know how to get me out of trouble, huh?" Amy rolls her eyes affectionately, hooking their arms together as they slow their pace, finally out of reach of pressing eyes and hands. "I've been getting you out of the worst situations since we were kids, Sonic. By this point, I think I'm the only one who knows how to." Sonic laughs, hugging Amy closer, bumping them together lovingly. "What would I do without you here to save me from these things?" "You'll probably run away and leave a trail of upset people who'll spread rumors about you just to be petty," Amy remarks. The clicking of her heels is a soothing noise against Sonic's overly sensitive ears, the familiar sound relaxing his perked quills and irritated mind. A hand grabs Sonic's, squeezing reassuringly as Amy's head tilts. "What were they doing with you for so long, anyway? I've been looking for you since the first interview ended. If I'd known a bunch of other media vultures were going to spring at you, I would have beat them back with my hammer and gotten your ass out." Warmth pulses, warming him from the inside out as Amy punches her fist into the palm of her other hand with a huff at the thought, arm still hooked with Sonic's. He adored her fierce protectiveness, especially toward himself. She and Sonic have endured more together than Tails and Knuckles combined, at least when it comes to the public's challenges. No one could ever see them innocently, even as kids. They had to fiend off gross remarks and expectations that messed with their friendship more than once, especially when Amy was raised in a heavily amatonormative town. But Sonic wouldn't trade her for the world; Amy was a firm, steady presence in his ever-changing life. He needed someone like her, but most importantly, he wanted not just anyone like her but Amy herself. Her charming, heart-wrenching smile, honest outlook, and natural knack for responsibility made life so much better. No one else in Sonic's life held such a large part of his heart so effortlessly with her endless understanding and kindness, the drive to help when needed, and endless backup when push came to shove in battle or just in life. Sonic loved her, just not in any of the ways people wanted.

[loveletterstoadirtybastard]

Sweetness on my tongue as I say your name My beloved, you are more than sugar You are honey You are nectar You are ambrosia Prayers on my lips when we are apart My dearest, you are more than heavenly You are angelic You are divine You are seraphim

[edgarallanpoesbestie]

Still so annoyed that Samuel Taylor Coleridge chose not to finish Christabel. Like dude, get tf out that grave and finish my 19th century-lesbian-vampire fanfic rn

[percicosoftcore]

“Like you still love me anyways.”

“I love you,” he said, chin propped up on his hand and smiling like this isn’t a big deal, like he has no care in this world. “I love you so much love almost becomes enough.”

[madandspitefulhope]

My last glimmer of hope is so far away that I can't even see the twinkle anymore.

I'm just waiting for it to burn out completely.

You gave me hope.

The way you lit up every corner of the room with your kindness.

Your smile so beautiful that there isn't anything to compare it too.

You're the sweetest, most patient person I knew.

I'm honored to have loved you.

I'm shattered without you.

My hope was because of you.

I thought maybe life wouldn't be so bad if there's a loving human like you on my side.

I miss you deeply.

You accepted me for who I am without expecting me to be more.

I've never known someone with that capability.

The way your laughter spread through my body with an urgency like electricity.

It made me happy, as if you could reconnect the wires that had fallen apart without you.

I'll never hear it again.

You were living proof that there is kindness, patience, and acceptance on this planet.

How could you leave so soon?

I just want to be held in your arms for 1 more night.

But I want it to last forever.

You never let go of me.

How could you leave me?

I know you didn't want to and had no choice.

I just wish this was different.

I wish we didn't have unfinished business.

I wish I made more time to be by your side.

I wish I wish I wish.

I can't change the past.

I can only begin to give to others what you gave to me.

The impact that you left on me is enormous.

It's like an imprint that reached my soul.

I will never be the same.

Your departure from this world has changed me forever.

I really thought I had found someone good who wouldn't leave me.

And you left in the most cruel way.

The permanence of death is the hardest part.

The way my whole body craves an afterlife leaves an empty sort of aching.

I know that there's nothing beyond our bodies made of star dust.

If the souls do exist, what are our chances of finding each other again?

My mind can't handle this.

I am deeply wounded.

Every day that you're gone is one more day that I want to tell you about.

I sometimes imagine that you're sitting with me.

I sometimes imagine that you're holding me.

I know this isn't true, but somehow, it brings comfort to pretend that you are watching me.

So I talk with you.

I won't hear your voice ever again.

I break when I talk about you in the past tense.

For the rest of my life, I'm alone.

Without my hope.

There is something more I want to write.

I don't think this will ever be done.

[gtbutterfly]

Oh sh*t, mermay ends tomorrow and I've haven't posted anything mermaid related!

Sh*t, sh*t, um, quick, here, take this unfinished wip I made earlier this month, I know it's not finished, but I don't have anything else, hope you enjoy it anyway!

(Criticism appreciated)

CW: mild blood, shipwreck, implied death of crew, off screen hard vore(?) (death happens to the crew before the story starts, not the protagonist

__________________________________________________

Survival log, May 8th, 19XX,

Today is the day. I’ve been on this island for more than two weeks, today is the day I finally escape and make my way home. My attempts at fixing the broken radio from the shipwreck have failed, and my calls for help written in the sand have gone unanswered, so my only hope to return to civilization is to brave the seas myself. I’ve managed to patch up a life raft from the ship wreckage, and I’ve filled it with all the food and supplies I have left on this pit of sand. Tonight, I’ll set off and try to return to the mainland undetected. The creatures that stranded me here and left no remains of the rest of my crew have been lurking off the coast of this island waiting for me to go out there. I heard their singing trying to lure me out the previous nights, but their calls had been silent for the last three. I hope that means they’ve lost interest in me, and have left to find other prey to hunt, leaving me an opportunity to get away. This may very well be the last entry in this logbook. If I am to perish to the sea or to the beasts that lured our ship into the rocks, I only wish to be reunited with the rest of my crewmates, wherever they may be. If this book is found and I am assuming deceased, I ask my sons to forgive me for leaving them for the sea and leaving this world for the heavens.

Christopher closed the yellowed log book and dropped it onto the floor of the raft. It was sunset, the sky was clear but the usual fog was setting in around the rocks surrounding the island. Other than the sounds of waves crashing against the stone spikes and seagulls flying in the distance, it was completely silent. There weren’t any glowing eyes or shadows in the distant fog. There was no singing like there usually was around this time. It was getting dark fast, with the setting sun and the fog combined, there was hardly any visibility. That was when they liked to hunt. Ships would sail through the fog, and they would start singing while leaning on the massive rocks, putting the ship's crew into some kind of trance. The ships would be steered into the rocks and start sinking, and by the time the creature's prey would realize what was happening, they would be pulled into the water and devoured, leaving nothing left but the shipwreck against the rocks and a red tint in the water. Christopher didn’t know how he managed to survive. He fell into the water when the shipwreck happened, and everything went dark. When he woke up, he was on the coast of the island, 20 meters away from the rocks where his ship crashed. He was the only one there. There was no other debris on the island, nothing that could have floated him there as if something had plucked him out of the water, safely placed him on the beach, and left. For all he knew, he could’ve been dead and stuck on this island as a form of purgatory. But he would only find out if he tried escaping.

He’d spent the last two weeks on that island trying to survive. He’d been eating fruit from the few trees on the islands and drinking coconut water to stay hydrated. He made a poor shelter made up of branches and leaves for the night, and a campfire right next to it. During the day, the monsters would sleep. Christopher almost came face to face with one while he was swiming to the shipwreck to get supplies, luckily he was back at the island when it woke up. The water surrounding the island was too shallow for the creatures to swim it, so Christopher could swim and get fish there easily. At night, he would see the monster's glowing eyes and patterns in the fog, their dark shadows circling the island like vultures, and the sound of their song, though it didn’t have any effect on Christopher now. It didn’t sound beautiful and alluring like before, it was the same melody, but uncanny, and sadistic sounding. It was as if they weren’t trying to lure him out and were instead taunting him to get him to give up on survival, and let himself be consumed. But now those noises, those creatures, were gone, at least for this night. There was no telling how much longer they would be gone, no telling if they even were gone, or just lurking under the water. Assuming they were gone, though, Christopher couldn’t afford to wait any longer, he had to take this chance or risk dying on this island alone.

It was finally dark. There was a full moon that reflected brightly across the ocean water and a glass lantern Christopher had taken from one of the ship wreaks at the island that he put a bit of fire in acting as his only light source. Christopher pushed the raft into the water and kept pushing it until the water was to his waist. He climbed into the raft and started paddling it though the fog. It was silent as it could be, the only sound there was were the waves crashing into the rocks and the remains of ships. Without the threat of the beasts eating him whole, the environment was actually quite peaceful. The moon reflected in the crystal blue water, the stars filling up the whole of the night sky, the waves hitting the rocks and the shore behind him, it was all so surreal and beautiful, but now wasn’t the time to take in the location. Christopher kept rowing the small boat until he finally made it to where the water turned from a clear blue to a dark one, where the water was endlessly deep and empty. After two weeks, he made it off the coast of the island. He sighed in relief. This was finally it, he escaped the pile of sand trees and rocks where all his coworkers met their demise. There was a sliver of hope floating around in Christopher's gut, hoping he would make it to the mainland and see his family again. As he kept rowing past the rocks, his mind filled with plans for what he would do when he returned. He would publish the logbook he had been keeping, and use the profits to send his children to a good school. He would buy a new house for himself and his spouse, and never set foot on another cargo ship again. But as he was rowing, he noticed something in the water under him.

It was dark, darker than the rest of the dark blue water Christopher was surrounded by. It seemed like a shadow, or a silhouette of sorts, though it was hard to make out what the shape was, given how it was under the raft and covered by the fog. It was big, about twice the size of the raft, but it seemed to be getting bigger. Christopher leaned over the edge of the raft, hoping he was imagining what ever it was. The shilloette got bigger and closer until Christopher could just barley see two glowing yellow eyes in the water. They were only there for a second, and they were gone as soon as Christopher saw them. He thought he imagined them for a second, but he couldn’t have. They were to vivied, too real. The eyes were quite large, being perfect spheres, three feet in diameter. They had a yellowish glow that illuminated the surrounding green scales and the pounds of dead sea weed over the creatures head, that were otherwise completly hidden by the fog and the dark water. Christopher considered turning back and going back to the island, but he knew he was to far deep now, both literally and figuatively. He had to go through with it. So he kept rowing, albeit, with more urgency and panic than before. He quickly pushed the wooden oar through the water, trying to go as fast as he could. There were still something in the water, something following him. He saw just the tip of a sharp, massive dorsal fin peeking out the top of the water for a moment before going passed him. It had to belong to something atleast 30 feet long. He kepted rowing, trying to get away from whatever was lurking underneath. He was practically hyperventalating now. One of those monsters were right under him. He seemed to be seconds away from having his raft fliped over and being chewed to mush by the teeth of the creature below. Then, he heard it; the singing. Everything seemed to go still. Christopher stopped rowing for a moment. The singing was coming from the fog in front of him. It sounded beautiful and heartbreaking and kind and sad. It was a differnt melody than before, it was singular and quieter and more solem than the chorus he heard. Everything in Christophers mind was gone except for the singing. He started rowing towards the music. He couldn’t tell himself why, he just couldn’t stop himself from doing so, it was like it was all he knew. He kept rowing and rowing blindly through the fog, letting th esound guide him until it cam to a stop. Christorpher suddenly cam eto his senses and fell backwards in his raft as his face turned to absolute dread. There was something floating in the water infront of him. It was hard to see with the fog, except for its glowing perfect yellow eyes. It leaned closer to the boat as Christopher braced himself, and a giant, rough, wet feeling hand grabbing him from under his arms and pulled him upward.

It seemed about 30 feet tall, like christopher thought, though only two thirds of it was above the water. Its eyes were wide and its face was neutral. There was sea grass coming off of its head, it was hard to tell if it was just sitting on top or if it was growing from there somehow. Its scales were a blend of grey and green, and the moonlight shined off them like glass. Other than its eyes, there was nothing on this thing that was glowing, which was weird because all the other creatures that Christorpher had seen like this had glowing scales on their fins or in patterns on their bodies, similar to how predatory fish had glowing marks to attract their prey. This thing on the other hand only had its glowwing yellow eyes, simiar to a cat. Speaking of hands, Christopher noticed that this thing had them, he was being held in its hands after all. He didn’t remeber if the other creatures like this one had hands with human like opposable fingers like this one. He couldv’e sworn that they had fins at the ends of their arms, some with boney spikes coming out of them. He also couldv’e sworn that the other creatures were much bigger than this one. When the creature opened its mouth, Christopher braced himself to be chewed up, but instead, the creature seemed start talking, or at least trying to,

“H…….hu………hallu…..hell….hellu……” the sound creeped from the creatures mouth. Its voice was dry and raspy, yet young and feminine like that voice that christopher heard singing. It sounded like if a dog tried forming human words, they were just barely understandable, but still unhuman. The creatures teeth were flat and square,with rounded fangs before the molars like the teeth of an omnivore. Its mouth was red and fleshy and dark, ad smelled of seawater and kelp and small fish, but not of blood, not of humans. Christopher struggled to form words himself.

“H….h-hello?” he said, less so saying hello to the being that was holding him and more so asking if that was what the creature was trying to say.

“Hallo,” the creature said, its large face still netrally looking at Christopher. He gulped.

“Um…hello…” he said, looking at the entity in fear.

“Ewu….ee-uw hamam…ee-uw humon….human….” the creature said, still struggalling to speak correctly.

“Y-yes, I’m human…” Christopher said, “what….what are you?”

“S….sssssigh….ssssssigh when….” the creature said, “siiiiwhen…sighwen..”

“Siren?” Christopher asked. He had heard of siren before, but the name had slipped his mind when he was shpwrecked. The creature nodded.

“Sssiren….siren oar mmmurrmayed….” the creature said,

“Mermaid?” Christopher asked, the siren nodded, before it continued talking.

“eiiee….Eiess iz…Lamina…Lamina s….ssssav ewu, humon…”

“You’re…you’re name is…Lamina…and you saved me?” Christopher asked. It occurred to him how he ended up on the island instead of being killed with the rest of his crew, this siren, Lamina, took him from the water and put him there.

“Y-yez….” Lamina said, “ewus….ewur boat….wahs….” she made some kind of incomprehensible garling like sound, probrobly a word in siren langrauge that she didn’t have a translation for, “bye ssirens,,,,hoo…” it then opened it’s mouth and slammed it shut, making a loud sound with her teeth, startling christopher, “ewur frien humons,” Christopher just stared at them for a second, picing together what she meant.

“My ship was attack by sirens…other sirens…and they ate the other humans on it, and you saved me?” Christopher asked. Lamina nodded.

She made another weird gargling sound, before saying “siren” probably referring to the other sirens that attacked the ship, “wahn Lamina to…” she opened and slammed her mouth closed again, “...ewu…but Lamina…” The siren then just started making more gargling noises that christopher couldn’t understand. It was like she was trying to explain something, but was speaking in her native language and not broken english. It was impressive enough that she knew any english at all. Every so othen she would make some gesture with her free hand or her face. When she was done talking, Christopher looked up at her,

“Um….th-thank you…for not…letting me get eaten….” He said, smiling nervously. Lamina sunk deeper into the water and placed Christopher back in the raft he was in before. But instead of leaving, she started talking again.

“Sirens tat wahn…” she made the gesture where she opened and slammed her teeth close, it probably meant “eat,” “ewu coming bac tanight, humon go…” she made a gestured with her eyes closing and her head nodding downwards like she was sleeping, Christopher guessed it meant “home,” “naow, Lamina hep ewu,”

“You…you want to help me get home?” Christopher asked. Lamina nodded.

“Lamina hep ewu go homme,” she said, before dropping back under water, disappearing from the human’s sight. Suddenly, Christopher felt a bump in the bottom of the raft, and it started moving. The siren was pushing the Raft from under water. Christopher was skeptical of letting this…thing… help him, but it wasn’t like he could tell her not to, at least not now. He sat down in the raft as the siren pushed it from below him.

(yeah, that's all I have written. Let me know if you'd like to see this finished.)

[en-la-casademiamor]

hair and how to live with it

hair was a big deal. it’s a big deal in certain kinds of households.

it could tell complicated stories, be the understudy that suddenly takes on the lead role.

it can reveal back door secrets. things you don’t want to admit—hair can loudly whisper

things that could get you killed. you could lose your job, your wife. accessibility to certain seats on rails.

it could get you dragged like a sack out of bed, unexpectedly out of the shower.

hair can be like terrorism.

hair can be Cain telling God he doesn’t know where Abel is at.

hair can be something much worse than the recurrence of a nightmare.

it could have you struck without cause. you won’t even have enough time to plead.

hair can walk into a room before your face does and this can be a liability.

hair used to be inspected, parted, measured. each morning was like

a prisoner’s nerve wracking inspection but not of a room—it was of the hair—

always the goddamn motherfucking hair.

by the time I was twelve, the hair spoke too much incoherence

even when I begged for her to be still. silent.

hair was just being hair, but to him, it defied and defiled his attempts to scrub away his mother,

a grandfather he hated. he could not have them come back. he would not risk their testifying. their being seen in a mirror by me.

one school day, he ordered me to cut it. he said this with a belt and some fist work.

cut it all off. shear it like the puta animal he said I was.

(this really happened to me. this is what racial hatred does. what it can look like. it is violence. it can twist your mind. break it into pieces. it can gut you. it turns you into a shadow man. it is a cancer metastasizing or a fire that has no end. don’t ever let hatred win.)

[unfinwrite]

Scared Origin

Fable Smp

features Rae with wings, who is afraid to fly.

Written: 23.03.2022

Throughout the whole world, different beings exist, with the most different looks. Some may have a tail for legs, to glide on the floor or in the water more easily. Some may have horns to protect themselves from various things. Another may have wings, to sway through the sky and enjoy the freedom. Sometimes people can’t enjoy their origin through various reasons, maybe because they would get captured when they are found out. Perhaps their traits are not completely grown out yet, and need to wait a little bit longer to sharish themselves. In some other cases, they are scared.

“Come on Rae, it’s just gliding down. And it’s not even that far!” called someone out, from the bottom of the tree. Rae sighed and held even tighter on to the branches, slowly sitting down on the one he is standing on. Carefully he climbed down the tree, one step at the time. When he arrived at the bottom, he turned around and looked into mismatched eyes. “You know-” Sherbert’s starts “, if you never try to even glied, you will never come over your fear of flying” They crossed their arms and looked at him with a concerned gaze. On their back are two ta They crossed their arms and looked at him with a concerned look. On their back, two tall wings are sitting, going from a depp purple to a shining yellow. They twiched nervously around, fitting Sherberts mood. „Well, maybe I don’t want to be able to fly ?“ he shrugged and slightly turned away with his body. He doesn’t want to hear this all over again. You need to practice, get over your fear, that’s how you feel free, and whatever. Sherbert just sighed again and turned around to walk away, Rae following close behind. „Okay I know that flying is most likely very furfilling, but I just don’t need it. Just because you have something doesn’t mean that you need to use it“ Sherbert came to a sudden stop and grabbed Rae’s shoulder. Rae looked surprised, his dark blue wings with a few dull green feathers scatter throug them, folded on his back, as if they would want to hide from this confrontations. „Yes, you don’t need to, but you have the possibility to do it. You can fly and that takes time to learn-“ they let go of Rae’s shoulders „And I believe, that you can come over your fear of flying, but that needs you to be brave and you know fly“ they gave Rae a promising smile, as if they knew that everything would be okay one day. For a moment, Rae thought, that he could actually fly, start learning it and feel that freedom that the legend described, but then he insecure came toppling down. „Oh Sherbert, I… Gods I wish I could fly, but it’s…“ he paused and looked on the floor. „Hey Hey it’s fine. How about this night we can do little practice bits, how does that sound mhh ?“ they slightly panicked. Rae thought about the

proposal a bit and nodded after a while. Sherbert gave him an exciting smile and started to pull him down the path. Maybe they this could actually work. ————— Why does he even trust Sherbert anymore ? Sherbert thought it would be a great idea to jump down a mountain with wind currents, so that they just can flow on them. Rae hated that Idea. „You know ? I changed my mind. We’re going back“ „Hey no no no. If you are not doing this now, you while never do it“ piped in another voice. Not only did Sherbert thought that jumping of a mountain would be a great idea, they also brought Athena along, so that they can all practice together or something. He just held tighter to the railing which was installed up their. Sherbert and Athena walked up to the edge of the little platform they are standing on. While Serbert turned around facing Rae, Athena sat down and let their legs bumble other the abyss. „Well Rae, it’s actually really simple, you just need to open your wings, spread them out and then-“ and with that, they let themselves fall, into to the open mouth of Rae’s fear. Rae himself gapsed, letting go temporally from the railing to

[preciouslittletoonette]

Too Much Like Him

An unfinished piece that I'm not 100% sure I'm gonna finish. This is what I was talking about when I mentioned a while back about an angsty Hook siblings piece. This is from Harriet's story for the most part. I still liked what I wrote down so here's what I had for it.

Maybe some day I'll come back to this.

The entirety of Harriet's childhood could be watered down to one singular name.

Peter Pan

That name sprung a lot of very mixed feelings if you had to ask Harriet her true opinion of her father's 'arch nemesis' as he supposedly would reason he was. Somedays, the name sparked an unbearable, seething hatred that had her throw one bottle to the wall to vent out her frustration on something.

Other days, it made her feel... small. Confused. Perhaps a little warm.

Truly, she had extremely messy feelings regarding Pan.

And she completely blamed her parents for that.

Xxx

The first time she had ever heard of Peter Pan was ironically, not from either of her parents. Rather, it was something she learnt when hearing other Islanders talk about her father.

That night when she brought up the name, her father's glass shattered in his hand from the rage he felt just having the name uttered in his presence. It wasn't the first time her father had flown off the handle with his temper, but it was the first time her mother had actually gotten him to shut up.

Speaking of her mother.

Her mother was an interesting case indeed. Harriet never learnt her story to it's completion. Her father never told her, and no one else truly knew. All Harriet knew was that her mother was an accomplice of Hook once, regretted it but still punished for it.

(In that case, why isn't Tinkerbell on the Isle then, Harriet thought bitterly)

Compared to her father, her mother's reaction to Pan was much more... softer... fonder... sadder.

She didn't like how sad her mother looked when she thought of Peter Pan.

And since that faithful question, an unspoken rule was cast on not only the Hook household, but on the families of everyone remotely connected to the Jolly Roger and Neverland itself.

No one talk about Peter Pan.

XXX

Despite the rule being in place, it didn't stop the off-handed mentions of Peter, or as Harriet will learn his other names 'Pan' 'The Brat' 'King of the Fairies' (though Mother told her this was inaccurate. The fairies had no king and Pan would be their last choice) 'The Guardian' or as her father simply calls him 'The Boy'.

Her father was the biggest culprit of all these mentions.

And in all instances, it mainly had to do with what habits Harriet had that would simply remind Hook of 'The Boy'. And it was this way Harriet learned small little tidbits and factoids about Pan and the things they shared.

How she'd twirl around the ropes. How she landed gracefully from the tips of her feet after jumping from a high place. Their pride.

All of these things reminded her father of the boy. And she could see just how much it irritated him.

XXX

Her mother was pregnant and Harriet was all sorts of excited. Her ears rose up in happiness as she bounced around her pregnant mother, who laughed at her antics.

One yell from her father though and that all stopped. That did not mean Harriet's excitement was deterred all that much, however.

She was busy with a gift for the baby when she heard her mother chuckle.

"You look so much like him"

"Like who, ma?", Harriet asked curiously, though she felt she knew the answer already.

"Him", was all her mother had to say and Harriet's answer was confirmed.

Her father reentered the room and they didn't talk about it any further.

XXX

The birth of Harrison Garrett (named after some old man named Gary that her mother knew) Hook was a tremendous affair that had her father smiling for a whole day (a brand new record in her book, her father was usually frowning)

Her mother looked exhausted as Harriet watched her with interest as her father doted on Harrison (creatively dubbed as Harry). It was fascinating to see her father, who usually sneered and cursed at children (particularly boys or masculine-leaning kids), being so affectionate and doting to a child.

(She denied the fact she felt envious)

Her mother welcomed her into her arms, giving her a warm hug as she settled onto the now bloody bed.

"Ah love, he's perfect", Hook said fondly.

"Looks like he's going to take after you just like Harriet", her mother murmured, caressing said girl's hair as she watched her husband hold their son.

Hook grinned," Better luck next time", he teased and her mother chuckled, Harriet smiling at this rare intimate scene with her family.

"Next time will be the last one", her mother warned.

(It was almost painful how true that will turn out to be)

"Of course, of course", Hook said with a roll of his eyes," Couldn't have asked for more", he said as he looked down at little Harry with affection," My boy. Our very first son".

The sentiment was meant to be sweet. But it made her mother look very, very ill and very, very guilty.

XXX

Harriet had some trouble sleeping that night. What with Harry crying at every hour of the night. She leapt out of bed in order to check on him, and perhaps see her mother as well.

What she walked into that night, would be something that would puzzle her for many years to come.

She left her room and walked out onto the deck. The deck was empty as everyone had gone to sleep. Everyone except her mother and brother of course.

Harriet had meant to announce her presence. But she had heard her mother muttering to herself and her young, curious mind did what many would do if they heard something they shouldn't. Keep listening.

"I have to tell him. I have to tell him- I have to tell him. God- I can't believe- oooh", her mother muttered angrily to herself as she paced the deck, holding Harry as she rocked him to sleep.

"If only I hadn't listened to the Queen and the Ministers. If I hadn't listened to Tink and the others, I should've told James. And none of this would've happened".

"He wasn't even supposed to be alive. They removed him from my body for Second Star's sake. It must have been the island's doing"

"I have to tell James. I have to. He deserves to know"

"I can't keep this any longer. Its too much to hide. I have to tell him-"

Harriet was so enthralled with her mother's mad muttering she hadn't noticed someone approach her from behind.

"Lass, what are you doing out of bed?"

She jumped, hearing her father's voice from right behind her. Her mother's muttering stopped as she heard Hook's voice.

"James? Harriet?"

"Is Harry asleep yet? Get back inside", Hook said roughly.

"He's asleep", her mother said sighing," James, there's something I have to confess".

"Can it wait til morning, love? I'm exhausted", Hook asked tiredly," Besides, the lass is out of bed and needs to be put back".

Her mother sighed," Of course", she said tiredly," I'm... not up for much talking either".

Hook stared at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Go to bed", he told her, no room for arguing. Her mother went inside, going straight for her and Hook's shared bedroom.

Harriet, meanwhile, was escorted to her room by her father.

He didn't tuck her in like her mother would. He stood at the door and watched. No words were exchanged between them as it happened.

"I saw you jump earlier. A great pirate must always be aware of their surroundings, Harriet", Hook said sternly.

"Yes father. Sorry father", Harriet said as she sat awkwardly in bed.

"Don't let it happen again"

"Yes, father"

And usually that would be the end of it. But Hook continued to stand in the doorway of her room, eyes staring at her but... never truly looking at her. His eyes seemed unfocused for the longest time.

"Lass?"

The way he said it made it seem like he was questioning whether it truly was her on the bed. Which was ridiculous. Who else would it be?

"Father?", Harriet asked worriedly as he stared for too long.

He shook his head to get out of his sudden daze," Nothing, nothing...", he paused,".... Do you know what yer mother was muttering about outside?".

'I have to tell him

'If only I hadn't listened'

None of this would've happened

It must have been the island's doing

Harriet shook her head," No. But it sounded important", she added.

"Ah I see", Hook said quietly. He stood there, deep in thought for a moment before he began to move to close her room door.

"Goodnight... Harriet"

Harriet blinked. Why did it sound like he was hesitating on her name?

XXX

[screwyoubatjokesiscanon]

Am i about to start another WIP ?

a 5th WIP?

Who knows...

[hs-b]

Untitled Robot Project

Marigold sat in a dark room watching as her new shears carefully snipped off dead wood. Her eyes lit up the falling roses as she caught them, placing them in a cavity in her chest. She quietly mused to herself about how she could use it for energy in the morning. The only sounds in the building were her snipping, the buzzing of servos, and the gentle hum of an old song. So engrossed in her own world, she failed to hear another hum attempting to join in a harmony. Marigold felt a shiver down her steel spine as she heard a limped, heavy walk and soft singing. 

“Daisy, Daisy”

The voice was hollow and metallic.

“Give me your answer do.”

It had a vaguely Scottish accent, though more of an imitation of one rather than an actual accent.

“I’m half crazy”

The voice was familiar, though it couldn’t be his voice. That wouldn’t match the reports.

“All for the love of you.”

She wanted to call out, try to speak to the specter, try to do anything, but all she could do was watch as he approached. 

“It won’t be a stylish marriage”

A familiar harpoon dragged against the wall. Sparks flew, illuminating the blue, metallic wrist attached to the harpoon.

“But you’ll look sweet upon the seat”

Her legs took a slow step backward, bumping into the counter, knocking over the rose she was trimming.

“Of a bicycle built for two”

She started to run, though a sharp pain in her lower abdomen and a yank stopped her, pulling her to the ground.

“There is a flower within my heart”

A whirring sound pulled her towards the figure, panicked, she used the shears to cut the rope, leaving the harpoon inside of her.

“Daisy, Daisy”

Before she could even stand again, she felt the specter grab her head.

“Planted one day by a glancing dart”

Her head slammed against the concrete floor, over and over, it kept slamming. Scrap flying as the floor cracked beneath her metallic skull. Over and over, until sparks flew, and the bulbs in her eyes went out.

“Planted by Daisy Bell…”

[okkangel]

16 of writing that I will never show because of how lazy I am to finish it, I will probably do one of them but not sure.