writengarbage

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Did I write Loki fanfiction? Yes. Did I write fanfiction for a ship I’m not even sure if I ship romantically or platonically? Yes. Does that matter? No, they love each other in whatever way they need to. Check it out.

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The rodeo continues (Chapter 4)

Fucked around and wrote a little emotional hurt/comfort with jmart, Martin’s POV. Would love if you check it out! I just need to rotate them in my brain for a while ok

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Bang bang, third chapter, I’ve done it again yall look at me go

Chapter 3 Summary:

“Jonathan Sims! Your immediate impulse should not be to lie to him over having a simple conversation!” Sasha laughed incredulously. “He will not bite!”

“You don’t know that,” Jon mumbled into his nearly empty glass. Sasha swiped the glass from under his hands and he let out a noise of protest.

“No, I do know that. I watched a waitress once spill an entire glass of lemonade on him and he proceeded to apologize maybe fifty times and insist he’d wipe up the spill.”

Fucked around and wrote a little emotional hurt/comfort with jmart, Martin’s POV. Would love if you check it out! I just need to rotate them in my brain for a while ok

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A second chapter has been added y’all!

Fucked around and wrote a little emotional hurt/comfort with jmart, Martin’s POV. Would love if you check it out! I just need to rotate them in my brain for a while ok

[writengarbage]

Fucked around and wrote a little emotional hurt/comfort with jmart, Martin’s POV. Would love if you check it out! I just need to rotate them in my brain for a while ok

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Breathe, Dean told himself, breathe. Seven in, hold, seven out. Seven in, hold, seven out. Seven in…...

Dean thought of the sea. He’d met Cas on the Pacific shore once, on a day where the sun was dim, and the gray clouds blotted the sky. Cas had told him it was the only place they wouldn’t be overheard. He’d found the angel beside the sea-rotten wood of a fallen tree, watching a baby sea turtle scramble helplessly towards the sea. He hadn’t helped. Simply observed.

That was a long time ago. Dean had barely known Cas back then. It’d made him so confused, to watch the angel stand so still and look out towards the sea. It was something so human, but looked so wrong when done by something who didn’t sway and dance with the sea breeze in the way only a human could. It’d made him angry.

Maybe it’d made Cas angry, too. What Dean had failed to realize back then, and many moments afterwards, was that Castiel was a living tangle of the threads of anger and desire and love, unable and forbidden from lamenting what could and couldn’t be. On that beach, they’d both been the same.

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Dean can't leave Cas alone. Not for anything.

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“It’s a lie that poetry is only read by or “speaks to” people in the universities or elite intellectual circles; in many such places, poetry barely speaks at all. Poems are written and absorbed, silently and aloud, in prisons, prairie kitchens, urban basement workshops, branch libraries, battered women’s shelters, homeless shelters, offices, a public hospital for disabled people, an HIV support group. A poet can be born in a house with empty bookshelves.”

— Adrienne Rich, from “A poet’s education,” in What Is Found There: Notebooks On Poetry And Politics

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au where i actually write

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Katsuki came to the same inexhaustible, inescapable conclusion that had been chasing him around since he was five years old and the king of the playground; he’d been wrong. He could deal with normal, everyday wrong. He could roll off a failed test with a shrug; he could search for a lost item with minimal complaint. He could even be wrong in conversation, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Katsuki was nothing if not hard-headed and competitive, but being wrong wouldn’t kill him. He’d move on eventually. What he couldn’t deal with, though, was being wrong about himself. This level of catastrophic delusion was a bit too much.

(In which Bakugo changes, and it's Kirishima's fault.)

Read it on ao3 here

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Sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it were mine (a tiny deancas scene)

(1500 words, quick read this time!)

Two figures stood on the corner of First and Cherry Street, under the flickering fluorescent streetlight. One was rigid and resolute; he stood with the air of a retired veteran on the verge of a memory. The other was rigid as well, but in a much less dignified manor; his hands twitched insatiably, walking the line between reaching out and recoiling indefinitely. Neither of them spoke. Both stared at one another, paused momentarily from a walk under the night sky.

              This had happened many times before—the staring. It was okay. It was fine. It was them. It was like talking without saying, in a sense. This time, however, was different. You see, the world had started anew on this night. Things were starting over. The throne was passed down, the lineage of the Creator transferred down, and the two men had been thrust into the real definition of freedom.

              Read the rest here on AO3

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Hello! I wrote a tiny little Reddie scene ficlet thing if you’re looking for something short to read! Check it out! (: