#wrote something

[merotwst]

remember | solomon

» angsty-ish; gender-neutral reader ; mentions of reader dying someday in the future and solomon having past lovers ; me being delusional and sleep-deprived and losing grip on reality (a cry for help)

you shifted your position so that your face was hovering on top of him, "someday, when I'm gone..." you said, gazing lovingly into his eyes, "i want you to remember me as your love that kept your lonely heart full in nights where the feeling of emptiness was too much. the love whose insuperable melancholy, no matter how heavy, would lift all of it off themselves to wrap their arms around you. you over everything else." your voice grew more stadily as you spoke.

"when I'm gone someday, i want you to think of me when you're wrapped up in a sweater and remember how i loved to knit them for us. think of me when the coffee is just a bit too milky because i like mine that way. think of me when you're alone and remember that my heart will always be with you, no matter where you would end up in." you leaned in to kiss him softly but with so much love, closing your eyes to savor the moment with him.

“remember i'll always choose you in any lifetime.”

solomon listened to every word. every whisper like a secret melody only both of you could hear. his hands on your hips as bare skin brushed over bare skin in sending intimately beautiful sparks over both of you.

his loves past, loves to be discovered throughout the course of his immortal timeline—he didn't want to think of them. he wanted you. he wanted the now to last forever more than anything. 'there couldn't possibly be anyone after you when you're long gone,' he thinks to himself, 'no one could ever compare.'

that's what he tells himself, but he knows it's inevitable.

he's still only human, after all. humans need love to survive.

you'll die someday and he'll live past you. another stone on the ground of someone he once loved, memories to be placed in a corner of his mind thay would be too painful to go back to for a good hundred years.

then it'll get better. and he'll meet someone who he treasures just as much as you and everyone that he'd given his heart to in the past. but you will always have a special place. you will always be a love he would never get over no matter how long and whoever would be in his arms because he knows he'll see you everywhere, hear you everywhere, feel you everywhere when you're gone. And somehow, the thought comforts him.

with your hand to his lips brushing over your knuckles so tenderly, eyes shut and savoring the moment, he whispers back earnestly and honestly.

“how could i ever forget?”

[ignorantof-time]

Clueless by ignorantoftime

1/1 | 1.7k | general audiences

“What do you mean they’re in love?” Scott asks, looking utterly clueless as he stares back at Lydia.

“Honestly Scott, you’re supposed to have heightened senses, how can you not tell?” Lydia gestures towards the two men in the next room. Stiles and Derek stand on opposite sides of the table, bickering about who’s plan is going to work better.

Scott follows her gaze, eyes squinting in disbelief as he watches his best friend and the beta. “They’re literally arguing, I wouldn’t call that love.”

[iliveinthebasementofacabin]

He knew he shouldn't have pressed the ad. He knew he shouldn't have. He knew about the missing people, the sketchy ads, the terror in general around the 'Find A Friend' ad. He felt like he was being teased, though. Now, as 2 hands gripped his shoulders, he sat thinking to himself; That was a terrible idea. And it was. Now, as the loud laughter rang out, he could do nothing but sit in terror as the being pulled itself out of his computer screen.

"HAHA! I'M SO HAPPY TO FINALLY MEET YOU!!"

He was terrified. The creature was vaguely humanoid, but it had no arms. It had 4 hands, 2 floating where they would be if he had his hands and non-existant arms relaxed, and the other 2 gripping his shoulders so hard he thought he'd bruise. The creature's head was a triangle with one large eye.

"Trikon, lovely to meet you, Alex!"

He was so terrified he didn't even register the person- Trikon- said his name. He started to scream.

"Oh, jesus- Shush! There's no reason to scream! Hush-up!"

Trikon clamped his 2 free hands over Alex's screaming mouth. Alex squirmed and tried to kick him.

"Shut. Just.. Be quiet. It's harder to struggle."

Trikon glared.

"You're my best friend now."

[microchive]

a horse named might’ve been

sitting out on the front steps feels like getting old. in this still, stagnant chill, tobacco spit gathering at the corners of the mouth and congesting. tobacco spit hack and blow is an old factory grate, carbon deposit. the night is the darkest spot of a bruise, smells like ozone, some strange angel hangs its hat on the hook in the sky until morning. skin wind-hardened, long past tenderized, there is nothing tender left about you: girl in the way a girl is a clenched fist. girl like the wall of a trench, collapsed under the lip of the earth, the weight of your brow, the hard line of your marching band shoulders. girl like not man enough. you suck at the filter of your cigarette like you’re fiending for the marrow.

there is another like you: hard as unripe plums, easy like a man should be. she’ll sit beside you some nights, shrouded save the occasional red rust flare of a cigarette cherry hovering like a firefly near her boyish face. you don’t speak most nights, legs spread broad, knees not quite touching. sometimes the membrane of space between her sweaty calf and the meat of your thigh fills you with fruit flies, swarming around the rotted blackberry remnants of love. or what could be love, if you cleaned your room. swept the cobwebs, called your mother. but by now your bones have set, wrong but set nevertheless, and your fists are permanent, and no lover’s soft-handed caress will unfurl knuckle from knuckle from palm.

in the end it is not a caress that knocks you loose but another fist to the face. roiling river of bodies kicking up dust, a hairsbreadth away from passionate embrace, and you’re so hungry for it you leave your defenses down and bruise like a peach. how different is it, really? to be picked up, feel fingers grip you with a violence that borders obsession. to be held so briefly against a warm, beating chest before you hit the floor. but to see the look on her face, afterwards, that is an intimacy you have never been granted. it lingers feverishly.

hit, fractured, groan and thaw. you’re dripping like spring stalactite. now that the hairline fissure echoes between your walls, it runs from trickle to stream, stream to flow, flow to rush, rush to surge, and every limb of the heart that has numbed from misuse prickles with heat, burns to be touched for longer than a brutal split-second.

and it’s enough. to jostle her shoulder, light her cigarette, call her brother. be aware of how her callused fingers tremble and how it sets your working teeth on edge, but sit in it. let it be enough. this cold night is better suited for two.

[blue-jisungs]

i was actually productive today?? wtf???

[iid-smile]

you've always been interested in how nanami was part danish. it was only a small percentage, but the genes were obviously strong, still standing two generations later. he wouldn't consider himself bilingual in the language, especially since he only knows a few words here and there. he can say hello, he can introduce himself, but that's about it. or that's what he lets on anyways.

his secret comes to light when you snuck up on him while he was moving furniture around the house.

you don't doubt his strength, and he's not all that clumsy to get hurt, but accidents can always happen. just a little bit of skin managed to get caught underneath a surface. you were close to approaching him, but at that moment, he had a small slip of the tongue.

"kraftedeme..." he mumbles under his breath. if there's one thing you know, what he said definitely wasn't anything nice.

you're not all that heartless to not check up on him before you investigate, looking at him with the most innocent expression you can pull off. "so... what does that mean?" this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. you've never heard him verbally swear, but for him to do it in a different language was even better.

usually, nanami knows when something's up, or when you're planning on teasing him, but this time he doesn't even know he's said anything out of the ordinary. "what does what mean?" he questions.

"cra- crafdeme... kraftdem..." you only had a barely audible sample to go off on, but it's already clear enough what you're trying to pronounce.

"don't say that, love." conflict runs over his features, clearly concerned over you picking up on his use of foul language. he's been way too confident in your lack of understanding. "you weren't supposed to hear that."

him avoiding your gaze was something he never did, unless it was under one condition. he's flustered. "why?" you try your best to stay within his line of sight, holding onto his hands so he can't escape or walk off anywhere. "just tell me what it means!"

he won't be able to leave until he tells you, and that's not going to happen for a long while. what a mess he's gotten himself into.

[maeamian]

If you saw me agreeing with being annoyed about wasted helium in a fictional context and were like "I bet she has some more helium based anger in her life" good news LAPD fucked up a raid on a medical facility they thought was a pot farm and flat out ruined thousands of gallons of the stuff.

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[pangur-and-grim]

there’s a poetry contest that I kinda want to enter, but the requirement is a single 10-page poem. which is nuts. it would have to be some sort of rhyming short story….

[martyfive]

SHHH… ma’s looking for you!

[softyuujis]

I want to put my two cents on a Caleb headcanon cause I saw a few and I don’t like em so here’s mine for the possessive girlies out there.

Caleb is a BIG virgin. Has never looked at anyone who isn’t MC/you. Has never had a thought of another girl or woman who wasn’t you. Never imagined a life with someone else other than you. It’s ALWAYS and will always be you. He wants every first to be special and it’ll only be special if it’s with you. First hug, first hand hold, first kiss, first time intimate; it HAS to be just you, just you and him together.

HOWEVER, he’s not dumb. He knows his first time together with you has to be perfect. He can’t be coming undone in his pants before he’s had a chance to enter you. He can’t get overtly excited touching you resulting in making a fool of himself. So naturally he turns to books. From female anatomy books that explain the clit and where the g-spot is. To romance books to smut books. Anything describing the female pleasure you bet he’s checking it out, reading word for word, 100% taking notes and reading them twice, thrice so it’s imbedded into his head so when the time finally comes he doesn’t fumble.

And while boys and men use porn to get off, Caleb uses it like he’s got a school assignment where has to watch a movie and take notes. From porn on the popular page, to the inexperienced couples making their very first videos, Caleb assesses each and has pen to paper. Scrutinizing each facial movement, determining if the pleasure written is legitimate or amped up for show (he especially hates those). Every touch, every glide, every thrust, he zeros in on it and puts it to paper.

Does he get hard? Originally, no. He sees this as any ordinary assignment. For the sake of your pleasure. But then one girl looks a little like you for a second, and maybe the man beside her from the side looks a little like him. And then his mind drift to you. You in these positions, him right there with you, touching you, making you moan. He never reaches completion if he doesn’t imagine you, you and him, together. After all, all that he’s doing is for you. For your comfort, your pleasure, you moans and shakes underneath him. So he does a good job, so he’s good for you.

And while technically it would be much easier to put what’s he learned to use on someone else, he can’t go through that betrayal. He is after all, all yours. Being touched by another would be a violation of your relationship. Yes, he’ll keep the good guy act in public, smile to everyone, laugh at a few jokes but words and insincere smiles is all anyone else gets. You receive him wholeheartedly. All his jokes, all his touches and brushes of skin. All his thoughts and attention. All you. All of him is yours.

[rs-hawk]

Working on my novel and couldn’t figure out why it felt so empty. I didn’t have any filler. It was all 100% plot. The characters only interacted when necessary. I didn’t prattle on about the scenery or how the birds sounded. I had all my fuller stuff that I loved saved in another file because I “didn’t need it”.

Y’all, I knew this existed in TV shows but it didn’t hit me until this that everything is being whittled down. We are so starving for filler that we snap up anything. I unload all mine on Tumblr or keep it in a massive Google Docs. It SUCKS.

Honestly? Death to plot necessity. Revive filler. Revive unnecessary interactions. Revive just vibing with characters sometimes. I don’t want to just consume the plot and I don’t want to just create the plot either.

[littlelightfish]

This... this is a whole different kind of psychic damage here. When nightmares got Marcille, we get to knew that her's biggest fear is outliving her friends. This isn't even canon probably, but look at this. This isn't a "I don't want my friends to die" kind of dream. This is a "I'm terrified of loosing my daughters, of something killing them, and being incapable of stopping it" kind of dream. It's so simple yet it explains perfectly the whole of chilchucks character. He loves, he cares, deeply. But he, or doesn't acknowledges, or doesn't know what to do with that knowledge.

Besides that. Someone had to wake him up after this. Imagine the devastation in this man after he wakes up. He just saw his three little babys murdered corpses (or maybe he saw them die, wich isn't better). He would possibly not talk about it, and that would worry the hell out of the party, because we'll, they see him all down and only one of them knows what he saw. Imagine being the one to pull him from that nightmare. Seeing this man, usually so composed, fuking staring with tears and terror in his eyes to the composes of what you can only assume are his daughters. It would be heartwrenching.

Idk, I love this man so much...

[vonspe]

just emptying some emmrooks out of my pockets, don’t mind me

[an-established-butt-dent]

Soooooo after the new details that have been revealed about Veilguard, how do we all imagine a Solavellan reunion is going down? Trapped in the fade together? Lighthouse makeout sessions? A very sad mural dedicated to his Vhenan? My brain is infested with new headcanons.

[akindplace]

I hope you get all the rest you need. Even if you spent a quieter day and didn’t feel productive, please allow yourself to rest without guilt or shame for not “earning” it. You don’t have to burn yourself out to prove that you need rest. It’s a very human thing to need sleep, to need a break, to need nourishing, to want to take some personal quiet time. Please allow yourself to rest. Even if it’s “too early” to go to bed, even if you spent all day in bed trying to recover from anything. If your body needs sleep, please allow yourself to have it, there should be no rules as to earning sleep.