It's frustrating that you can come up with the plot of an entire fic in just a few seconds, but writing it all down can take anywhere from never to forever.
one day I’ll finally write that ridiculously elaborate fanfiction that I’ve been carefully constructing in my daydreams for months and then you’ll be sorry. you’ll all be sorry.
“Are you not happy as we are?” She asked quietly, too afraid of the answer to speak above a whisper.
“I am–” Iris sighed, a soft sound, and she felt the breath on her cheek, “I am happier than I have ever been.”
“You will still come and meet me, in these woods?”
“Of course.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as you’ll have me.”
Kaleidoscope eyes were level with her own now, only a breath away, and for the first time in a long time she felt truly seen.
“Forever, then.”
Iris smiled, and the poet’s heart sang.
a niche character trope i like is the person who is nice, a good person and acts well adjusted, then they do something where it’s like. oh you’re secretly a little bit insane actually
I crave the language you speak
The soft sighs, the heavy whispers
The fog of your breath on my cheek
I fumble my words and grate my r’s
I am no Romantic
Our love is lost in translation
I am gnawing on your bones like an animal
I am picking bits of you from between my teeth
I am licking you from my lips
I am devouring you limb by limb
To fuel the beast inside that screams for closeness
I unfurl at a touch
Blooming like a flower
Petals open and vulnerable
Insides delicate, exposed
Already rotting
Breaking down even as the sun hits
Until I am no more than an empty stem
Weeping and ugly
And you love me no more
thinking of trying something new on this blog - I won’t be getting rid of the fandom stuff but I want it to be more of a general writing page, where I can post poems or snippets of my personal writing more
I could fix him. I could make him worse. Good for you. I could gently take the weapon out of his shaking, blood-soaked hand and hold him until he finally believes that he doesn't have to be defined by all the ways the world has hurt him. Then we could ruin the lives of everyone who has ever treated him like he's a monster who doesn't deserve love.
“Please, let me in.” His voice sounded weak, separated only by the thin wood of the closed door.
Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as she pressed her back against the door, head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut. She could picture him; his voice was so close he must have his own forehead pressed against the door, unseeing eyes hazy with unshed tears. The thought did nothing to stop the flow of her own.
Her mind was a mess of emotions - angry, sadness, confusion. But rising above all of them; the sharp sting of betrayal. How could he keep this from me?
“Y/N. Please.” His voice cracked, heavy with emotion. “Please, let me explain.” She shook her head, keeping it pushed almost painfully against the door. She knew he would hear it, would sense it. Because she knew now, knew how far his abilities truly stretched. Could he hear the sound of her heart breaking? Splintering, cracking, gaping down the middle. She felt hollow, and overflowing, and everything in between.
Matt, her Matt, was someone else entirely. She didn’t know if she’d even recognise him anymore, if she could combine in her head the image of her Matt, soft and good and full of love, with the image of a night-roaming, violent vigilante. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. She’d been so blind, so stupid. All those times he’d shown up with fresh bruises, every time he’d wince when she hugged him too tight. All brushed off as a side effect of his disability. He’s just clumsy. She would think. Prone to disaster. She supposed she wasn’t too far off there.
He was still breathing her name on the other side of the door, calling out to her in a voice so broken she almost caved, almost pulled the door open and sank into his awaiting arms. But she couldn’t shake the memory out of her head; Matt, wearing that mask, crawling through his window with blood smeared across his cheek. The way he froze when he sensed her - sensed her; she still couldn’t grasp that was something he was able to do now - sitting, waiting on his couch. The realisation that had dawned on her, that had stolen the very breath from her lungs and sent the blood pounding to her head. Leaving his apartment was a blur; a desperate haze of blurry eyes, reeling mind and fast breaths, until she had slammed the door of her own apartment in his face.
Y/N sagged down against it now, sliding down until she was curled with her knees against her chest. She heard the brush of movement against wood behind her, as Matt followed her down on the other side. He was silent now. There was no sound for a few, long moments. Only her own ragged breaths, and the ticking of the clock on the wall.
“Y/N.” His voice was shaky. “I really fucked up.” A beat. “I should have told you.”
She could only sigh unevenly.
“Please. Tell me what I can do to fix this.” She could hear the desperation in his voice.
And she wanted to. Wanted to accept his whispered apologies and start again. Wanted to go back to the way things were. She wanted late nights talking, whispers in the dark, smiles against each other’s lips. She wanted Matt’s arms around her, wanted drinks at Josie’s and laughter with his friends. She wanted the unfiltered happiness he always brought her, the easy way they moved together, perfect Sundays just the two of them in his apartment.
But they couldn’t go back. They could never go back.
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