𓃥

writing blog

[coyotetaiil]

★ ,, hiya, i'm dakota (e/fang)

here i write my little fucked up stories with my characters who have seen more destruction than a healthy person should be allowed to see

some of these stories also tie somewhat in me trying to understand or process my own trauma. thus, this is your warning they will not be free of trigger warnings.

(main blog is @whiskeyplains)

(i) do not use any of my work for anything of the sorts without getting permission from me.

[coyotetaiil]

hi. new blog theme and i finally got writing motivation and energyyyy

[coyotetaiil]

how my writing be looking at me because i keep making more gay motherfuckers than actually writing

[coyotetaiil]

" a bloodied, matted hide, once belonging to one of grace . "

　　　　　　　　　　~

⁏⁏ character(s): peyton meyrs (maw)

⁏⁏ inspiration: none

⁏⁏ tw: blood, (mentioned, described in minor detail) mutilated bodies, animal attacks (implied), violence (implied heavily)

Summer. I had been waiting months for my junior year of school to finally end so I could work full time at my job at my local nature conservation park, Northwood State. I began working last July but had to switch to part-time due to school hours. But, now I was back on the clock.

I slipped on my work jacket, which was adorned with an embedded patch of Northwood's logo and my name, put on my shoes, and headed out the door. Once I locked the front door, I pulled out my phone. 7:45 A.M. I needed to be at work by 8:10.

I got inside my car and started up the engine, checking my hair in the mirror before pulling out of the driveway. It would be an easy day today, just monitoring the incoming traffic of RVs and campers, and also clean up once the park closed to visitors.

The drive there was simple and oddly, there wasn't a lot of traffic for an early Monday morning. But, one thing I did notice, was there was a lot more deer than usual. I lived in Illinois, so seeing deer crossing the street and on the grass near the road wasn't a big thing, but it seemed like I saw one every turn. And concerningly, I saw quite a few dead ones.

I pulled into the park's entrance, driving up to the fee booth that sat a few feet from the gate. I rolled down my window, getting my ID ready, but when I looked over, expecting my coworker June to pop out, I didn't see anyone. Huh. Odd. I got out of my car and headed for the booth, and peeked inside. There was nobody.

I sighed and simply got back in my car. I'd open the gate myself but I didn't have the booth keys on me. I pulled my phone out, and called June. Three rings. Nobody picked up. I did this twice. Neither returned a call.

I decided I'd just go in through the other entrance, which was technically only for emergencies but I needed to get to work or I'd be out of pay for this day. I entered my car, and started it up, backing up out of the lane and heading down the road that branched off of the main one.

Thankfully, the back gate I had a key for. I exited my car, locking it, before walking over and unlocking the gate. I opened it, and finally then did I get into the park. I walked down the trail and into the main area, which was just a simple place where the first trailhead was located.

The park itself was quiet, which wasn't much of a surprise because the park wasn't open to visitors yet—only the campers and staff were on site at the moment. I grabbed my keys and headed for my own booth, similar to what June's was but I was to keep track of the incoming campers rather than all of incoming traffic. I went to open the door to my booth when I saw a woman running up to me.

"Miss- miss, do you work here? Are you the ranger?" she spoke frantically, her body and voice shaking.

"Uhm, no. I- I just work the recordkeeping. What's wrong? Do you need help?" I spoke as calm as I could, trying not to stress the woman further.

She seemed to hyperventilate before she managed to speak again, "I- I heard screaming. Last night. And now I can't stop smelling blood near my campsite. I looked around but I can't find anything."

I felt a small spike of anxiety in my chest. Blood? Screaming? I hadn't heard of anything like that happening yesterday by my coworkers. But my gut was telling me that this woman wasn't lying. I needed to help.

"I'll go check it out, ma'am. Don't you worry. Just lead me to where you smell the blood and I'll investigate." I spoke, attempting to keep my voice steady. In reality, I felt rooted to the spot, already regretting to take the responsibility of investigating.

The woman nodded quickly, and began quickly walking to where it was. I struggled to keep up with her.

When we eventually reached the area, the smell didn't calmly waft up to me, it hit me straight in the face like a truck coming down the highway at full speed. The smell was rancid. Metallic and unmistakably the smell of blood. I felt my body freeze up.

The woman looked at me with wide eyes, and I took a breath. I needed to do this. I plugged my nose, my eyes watering from how strong the scent was. It was definitely fresh--at least, as fresh as it could be if it was there since this morning.

I couldn't find any source for a few moments, maybe thinking some sort of animal had killed a deer nearby and it was rotting. But then, I found one of the campsites. The scent was undoubtedly coming from there.

The woman quickly scurried away, too afraid to face whatever was emitting the smell herself. I felt my heart begin to race as I slowly crept over to the tents, keeping my nose plugged. The smell was horrid over here.

When I peered around one of the tents, which had been knocked over by something, the stake lying on its side, I froze. There were bodies. Unrecognizable, horrific injuries inflicted upon them. From what I could see, there were four of them. All of them suffering some sort of injury that mutilated their bodies. Scratches laid across what flesh was left. I felt sick and tumbled back, screaming in fear.

My body became cold, sweat rolling down in long shapes down my skin. My hands felt clammy, and my vision began to tunnel as I hyperventilated.

Everything went black after that.

[coyotetaiil]

hi, im not dead, sorry for the random drop off lol

here are my current projects

- A Bloodied, Matted Fur, Once Belonging to One of Grace (Peyton Meyrs)

- Verse (Father Blackjack & Molly Blackwell)

- Dead Blood (Máireád Ivers, RDR2 OC)

- A Story, Once Lost (Misery)

[coyotetaiil]

hey y'all, yote here!

im gonna be writing more often, specifically for my best friend @truthdawn and a few others, so expect more over the next few days! love y'all!

[coyotetaiil]

″ don't even think about coming back ″

⁏⁏ character(s): mykyta zhleyaskova ⁏⁏ inspiration: i can't get high by royal & the serpent ⁏⁏ tw: suicide attempt, smoking, car crash

" cruisin' at 100,

it doesn't even feel that fast. "

God fucking damnit.

Of course my mom's upset at me. Again. I did nothing. All I did was tell her I didn't want to be in a picture with my stupid fucking sister. And I can still hear her angrily mumbling in the kitchen.

I'm so fucking done with this stupid house. And you know what? Maybe what she said about me is true. She's right. I should be dead by now. She even wished I was.

I slammed my door and sank onto my bed, shoving my head into my hands. What was wrong with me? With her? With this stupid fucking family?

Why was my sister the point of all attention? And what was so wrong about me that my mom had to remind me how much she wished I was dead?

I grabbed a pack of cigarettes from my drawer. My mom didn't like the smell of cigarettes, but she never liked me anyways, so it's whatever if I do one more thing that she despises.

I lit one, and brought it to my mouth. The smoke filled my lungs and my head felt light after a bit.

You know what. Maybe I should just take care of the work myself. So my mom won't have to kill me. I'll just do it myself.

I'll fulfill the wish she's prayed for since I was 7.

I got up and yanked an old Lidl bag from the corners of my room, and dumped all of my personal things into it. The bag crinkled under the weight, and I headed outside my room.

As soon as I came downstairs, I spotted my mother and she immediately locked eyes with me, and an angry scowl painted onto her face.

"And where do you think you're going, brat?"

"Somewhere you'll never see me again." I hissed, yanking the car keys from the table.

"If you're going out that door, don't think you're coming back i-"

I slammed the door. Yeah, right. As if I was planning to come back to that shithole.

I forced my mom's car door open, threw the bag into the backseat, and got inside the driver's seat. Sure, I had no license, but who gave a fuck? It wasn't like I'd be alive for prison to take me. I lit another cigarette, throwing my other one out the window, and shoved the keys into the ignition. The engine roared to life as I turned the keys and I pushed my foot onto the gas pedal. The car turned out of the driveway and began driving down the neighborhood.

My plan? Well. There was a highway not too far from my neighborhood. That highway will be the last thing that sees me.

I never cared about my life, anyway. If my mom wanted me dead so much as she says, which happens to be every fucking time I did something wrong, then so be it. So I'll steal her car and crash it into the water.

Turning out of the street, I pushed down on the gas pedal harder, the speedometer's pointer slowly reaching over to 200. It didn't even feel that fast. My thoughts were blank, set on my objective. I swerved onto the highway and-

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What am I doing? Why am I doing this?

There was a sudden spike of anxiety in my chest. What was happening? I- I just wanted to- Fuck. I slammed my foot onto the brakes, but the car didn't stop. Shit. Fuck. Mom did say she never got the brakes fixed on this thing.

I watched the guard rails came closer and closer. My adrenaline spiked as I jerked to the left, desperately trying to not hit them. I failed as the front of the car smashed into the guard rail, and everything went black.

[coyotetaiil]

″ BARBWIRE ″

⁏⁏ characters: shay* ⁏⁏ inspiration: wires by the neighbourhood, my own hallucinations ⁏⁏ tw: psychosis, implied asylum setting, dissociation, panic attack

*shay belongs to @truthdawn, this is a gift

″ he tells me to be raw, admits to every little flaw that never let him sit upon the top ,

won't tell me to 'stop', thinks that i should be a little cautious

well, i can tell the wires pulled. "

I never really knew how to feel anymore. Nor did I know how long I'd been here.

There were no windows, no light, no...anything, really. Just the incessant voice of chaos in my head. I had grown to be accustomed to it--it was going to kill me once my body was of no use to it anyway. The only thing worth doing now was to waste away. Slowly rotting. It wouldn't matter anyway.

Nobody would remember me but these bright florescent lights and this sterile room that made me sick.

Everyday was a repeat of the last. I don't think I truly knew what was going on anymore. It was a blur. I barely could remember if I ate. My bones didn't feel like mine, my skin like it was borrowed.

But I had grown accustomed.

Just like I had grown accustomed to the fact I was never getting out of here.

I was insane to them, wasn't I? Haha.

Hah.

Of course I fucking was.

Something moved in the corner of my eye, but I didn't flinch. I didn't even look towards it. Probably my brain fucking with me again. It...always was.

My skin crawled, my stomach churning. My chest tightened as my head snapped up. I couldn't even feel if it was me doing that. Something was controlling my body.

I knew what it was.

It was probably just-

Wait.

No that...that couldn't be him.

Suddenly I could feel my body again, but it wasn't in a good way. My lungs felt too small, my skin felt too tight--like those damned straitjackets they'd throw on me for being too 'uncooperative'.

But I couldn't look away, I fucking couldn't.

Please, I- I don't want to see him.

He was staring right at me.

How did I even remember him? What was this? Why was this happening? What cruel trick was my brain playing on me?

Then the voices came, loud and chaotic. They filled my mind like a parasite and I grasped my head. Please shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

They were all his voice. Or whatever I could remember from it.

My throat felt tight.

Fuck, I couldn't even focus. My vision was blurring but he was still there. Standing like nothing was wrong, but with a face that told me he'd already seen the monster I had became. And somehow that was worse.

I always feared he'd realise everything was wrong with me. Why did he even care about me? I- just...

Fuck.

Then everything stopped. Everything went still. And quiet. Too quiet. I gasped for air, and suddenly it was like I was out of whatever trance had taken me initially.

What was wrong with me? I was crying. I hadn't even know I could cry still. It'd been...fuck if I know how long it's been since I cried.

This was all a joke.

A fucking joke.

And I was the punchline.

[truthdawn]

yayayayaay

[coyotetaiil]

12 13 and 31 for any character of your choosing

12. How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they?

swan is NOT patient at all . that is a thingchild. they're also somewhat hot headed due to how out of control their impatience and temper can get

13. What is your OC’s gender/sexuality/race/species/etc.?

hilga is a deinonychus !! she's also genderqueer

31. What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory?

river's most traumatic memory was definitely their parents being murderer/sibling also having the same fate infront of them

their favourite memory is meeting maeve methink:)

[lanqu-e-deactivated20200420]

OC asks

What is your OC’s favorite color?

Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect?

What kind of things is your OC allergic to?

What kind of clothing does your OC wear?

What is your OC’s first memory?

WWhat’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite?

What element would your OC be?

What is your OC’s theme song? 

Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC?

What deadly sin would best represent your OC?

What are your OC’s hobbies?

How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they?

What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.?

What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods?

If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why?

What does your OC smell like? 

How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job?

What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths?

What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song?

If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do?

What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves?

What kind of student were they/would they be in high school?

What is a random fact about your OC? 

What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living?

What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them?

Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why?

What kind of childhood did your character have?

What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions?

If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose?

Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why?

What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory?

If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be?

Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? 

What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?

How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories?

What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?

What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do?

What would your character do with a million dollars? 

What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can?

Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with?

What does your character do when they’re angry? Why?

Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? 

What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said?

How does your character react/ accept criticism?

If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza?

Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works?

Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle?

What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult?

Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush?

If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? 

[coyotetaiil]

″ BARBWIRE ″

⁏⁏ characters: shay* ⁏⁏ inspiration: wires by the neighbourhood, my own hallucinations ⁏⁏ tw: psychosis, implied asylum setting, dissociation, panic attack

*shay belongs to @truthdawn, this is a gift

″ he tells me to be raw, admits to every little flaw that never let him sit upon the top ,

won't tell me to 'stop', thinks that i should be a little cautious

well, i can tell the wires pulled. "

I never really knew how to feel anymore. Nor did I know how long I'd been here.

There were no windows, no light, no...anything, really. Just the incessant voice of chaos in my head. I had grown to be accustomed to it--it was going to kill me once my body was of no use to it anyway. The only thing worth doing now was to waste away. Slowly rotting. It wouldn't matter anyway.

Nobody would remember me but these bright florescent lights and this sterile room that made me sick.

Everyday was a repeat of the last. I don't think I truly knew what was going on anymore. It was a blur. I barely could remember if I ate. My bones didn't feel like mine, my skin like it was borrowed.

But I had grown accustomed.

Just like I had grown accustomed to the fact I was never getting out of here.

I was insane to them, wasn't I? Haha.

Hah.

Of course I fucking was.

Something moved in the corner of my eye, but I didn't flinch. I didn't even look towards it. Probably my brain fucking with me again. It...always was.

My skin crawled, my stomach churning. My chest tightened as my head snapped up. I couldn't even feel if it was me doing that. Something was controlling my body.

I knew what it was.

It was probably just-

Wait.

No that...that couldn't be him.

Suddenly I could feel my body again, but it wasn't in a good way. My lungs felt too small, my skin felt too tight--like those damned straitjackets they'd throw on me for being too 'uncooperative'.

But I couldn't look away, I fucking couldn't.

Please, I- I don't want to see him.

He was staring right at me.

How did I even remember him? What was this? Why was this happening? What cruel trick was my brain playing on me?

Then the voices came, loud and chaotic. They filled my mind like a parasite and I grasped my head. Please shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

They were all his voice. Or whatever I could remember from it.

My throat felt tight.

Fuck, I couldn't even focus. My vision was blurring but he was still there. Standing like nothing was wrong, but with a face that told me he'd already seen the monster I had became. And somehow that was worse.

I always feared he'd realise everything was wrong with me. Why did he even care about me? I- just...

Fuck.

Then everything stopped. Everything went still. And quiet. Too quiet. I gasped for air, and suddenly it was like I was out of whatever trance had taken me initially.

What was wrong with me? I was crying. I hadn't even know I could cry still. It'd been...fuck if I know how long it's been since I cried.

This was all a joke.

A fucking joke.

And I was the punchline.

[coyotetaiil]

″ PAIN SHOPPING ″

⁏⁏ characters: callie kaur, (mentions of) harmony kaur, (mentions) of noemie leilani, (mentions of) carrie woods ⁏⁏ inspiration: pain shopping by grandson, overdose by grandson ⁏⁏ tw: pills, attempted overdose, severe withdrawal

I was running low on medication again.

Fuck.

And for some reason, this was a "good thing" to Noemie. Saying it'd stop me from overdosing. But she didn't get to dictate what the fuck I did, neither did Carrie, who of course had to fucking agree with her.

So now I was here, rummaging through an abandoned pharmacy, with my thoughts racing a mile a minute and sweat running down my forehead. Sure, I was going through withdrawal, but it didn't matter.

It never mattered. I just needed this to be gone. I needed this feeling of emptiness, of worthlessness, of just utter despair to go away. I had been looking for my sister for months. Months. And no signs of her had came up.

I was beginning to think she was dead.

And maybe I was about to be too. I eventually located an orange bottle, but growled when I realised it was empty.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I can't fucking take this. I just.

I can't.

My hands trembled as my vision blurred, my head spinning. Everything was going wrong. Everything.

Then something snapped.

I grabbed the nearest bottle.

It was full.

Oh my God it was full.

I forced it open, the plastic nearly splitting under the force of my hand. I downed all the pills.

Then I realised.

I made a big fucking mistake.

My darting eyes focused on the label.

Xanax.

I just took a full bottle of Xanax.

I stumbled on my feet as the overdose took effect almost immediately. Oh fuck. I was going to die, wasn't I?

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I don't want to die.

Please.

[coyotetaiil]

″ SEASON 02 , EPISODE 03 ″

⁏⁏ characters: faith barnes ⁏⁏ inspiration: season 2 episode 3 by glass animals ⁏⁏ tw: dissociation, alcohol

Static. That's what the television blared at me.

I hadn't even noticed for a few hours. My eyes burned as the dissociative buzz faded away from the corners of my mind, leaving me dazed and confused as I attempted to understand where I was now.

My coffee table was littered with junk—chip bags, empty soda cans, some glasses holding alcohol that I could barely even remember drinking. I tried to stand, but immediately my legs buckled and I sat right back down.

Fuck. How long had I been here? I couldn't even remember anything. I thought I had fallen asleep.

My head pounded as the static finally began to annoy me. My legs began to erupt with that pins-and-needles shit and that's the moment I snapped back into reality. I finally managed to move something other than my legs and stretched my arms over my head.

I fumbled for my phone, only to find that it was nowhere in sight. Goddammit, where had I left it now? I stood, albeit on wobbly legs, and now just realised how much time had passed. There was light peering through the shitty blinds on my windows. Morning.

Morning. Last time I checked it was 10 PM at night.

I rubbed my eyes as the lack of sleep finally began to kick in, my limbs feeling like massive things of lead.

I eventually located my phone, which was face down on the kitchen table—nowhere remotely close to where I thought it was—and picked it up. 12:33 PM. Shit. Had I really burned through that many hours just watching TV?

There were 54 missed calls, many from unsaved numbers, and about 12 texts on the lock screen. I sighed and rubbed my head as a migraine began to dig deep into my skull. I'll answer them later, I can't deal with this bullshit.

Everything just...didn't feel real right now. I've been having these episodes for months now, and I can't even afford a psychiatrist visit. I feel like I'm dying.