Writing sideblog for creative projects. She/her, 18. Sayori enthusiast.
I'll probably write here when I'm not feeling the best.
WHAT I DO: Anything I feel like writing at the moment. oc x canon is okay, as I am a yume myself.
WHAT I DON'T DO: Smut, proship/darkship, none of that stuff. Go away.
FANDOMS I'M IN/WHAT I WRITE FOR: Project Sekai, Twisted Wonderland, Doki Doki Literature Club, Pokemon, Bandori, Ensemble Stars, Danganronpa, World of Warcraft, Madoka Magica, My Little Pony (as well as Divine Swamp Fever AU), Vocasynth, Genshin Impact, Kingdom Hearts, and I will add more as they come to me.
WHAT I WON'T WRITE FOR: Any child character in a romantic situation, and characters that I am a non-sharing selfshipper with (Mondo Owada, Madara Mikejima, Kalim Al-Asim)
OTHER: I am an amateur writer, so I'm sorry if my quality of content isn't the greatest as of now.
I knew you wouldn't run from me forever. I just wish it wouldn't have happened the way it did.
I don't know when either of us realized you were crying, but before I could run to you, wipe your tears and hold you to never let go again, you were gone. Like a ribbon floating away in the wind, or a petal being crushed under someone's careless foot.
I remember the impact of the ground against my face. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up now. Get up NOW. GET UP NOW. GET UP NOW. It rang in my ears like a school bell.
Ah, right- the bells! 7:00 had come, and the school festival was ending, and I wouldn't be able to catch you. So, I did what my brain yelled at me to do- I got up and ran, tripping again but staying on my feet nonetheless, when I finally caught you in the hall.
You were doubled over, tired from running downstairs, tired from running from me, from us, from them, from everyone who couldn't understand your beauty.
Maybe I was never meant to stop by the food stand to buy us snack before our talk. I never should have kept you waiting for longer than necessary. Zephyrs floated past my head as I ran to you who couldn't move. Uniform torn from my fall and from catching on the chain link fence that I had leaned against before it all went down. Kinetic energy dying faster than your will. Interesting how I can't even think in full sentences anymore.
There's a dream that lives in my head, tucked right behind my left ear and the bottom of my neck.
It's a visual of me, a little older, sitting on a bed. I can't picture the color of the comforter of the sheets. It doesn't matter. I'm focused on something else.
In this little room, there's no one to judge me. No one to monitor, to watch, to pilot, to direct. No one is there to manage my motions but me. No one is watching, except for you and the single eye of Arabella on the wall behind us.
My hair is grayer in this vision. Not because I'm old, but because the weight of my teenage years has finally caught up with me. Flecks of white like snow peek out from the brown and blond of the hair framing my face. And the warmth you bring me is enough to make me forget all I've seen, even if only for a moment.
This feels weird to write for someone who's only seen ice a handful of times.
There's uncountable lesions on my gilded enclosure.
Every day I scratch a little more. All that comes of it is a grating noise, a reminder of how impenetrable my wall is.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Fragmented felid features trace the small mirror in the room. Once, I could see myself clearly. But I was so upset by the sight that I scratched the mirror too.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
There are windows in my room. Friends can come and go, and they make me forget I was ever trapped at all. I try to arrange visits as much as possible.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Someone else started to come visit me. Every midnight, we'd talk for hours. With them, I felt less ensnared. I felt like I had the freedom to re-arrange the mirror's pieces however I liked.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
It's been roughly 1,000 days of scratching. 1,000 days since the walls came up. 1,000 is the only number I ever hear as the calendar moves forward.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
But someone else is on the other side, even if I can't see them. I think they're trying to cut through too.
The city lights shine with the moving crowd
Illumination lights the morning's cowl
Amidst the crowd of joyful citizens
The world seemed fit for just the two of us
Stained by years of being alone, calloused by those quiet days
My heart grew as hard as stone, honesty was failing me
Seasons passed in such a blur, and your shadow fell my way
My dear, hold my hand, I'm here, nothing will hurt you today
I swear on the stars and sky above
Gentle love of mine, gentle love of mine
Your angelic smile makes my soul feel divine
You don't wait a bit, hesitate a bit,
Somehow you are always by my side
I could say I love, you ten thousand times
But that wouldn't truly be enough to convey
All I feel for you, close the distance too,
Meet you in the freezing winter wind
Cold wind wraps around my warm heart
I feel my hand entwine with yours
We become one under the twilight
I've never felt this way, I sigh
Goodbye's said and we part ways, and right away I miss you still
And each time you cross my mind, I can't help but feel my heart beats to your own will
Is it possible that someone like me can love somebody this fiercely?
Our fate is what will be, will be, it's a timeline of infinite themes
I cherish the moments spent with you
I'll never forget, I'll never forget,
The miracle that allowed my soul to meet you
Let's walk on and on, let's walk on an on,
Down our no-longer-lonely road
Since before I was born, my future has been charted out for me. drawn perfectly, like a cartographer marking a path.
i will grow up, marry someone, work until retirement, and care for my family until they die. then, i'll wait to join them.
but i imagine a future so different and so wildly, maddeningly unachievable from what i know. in my mind's eye, i can see myself walking down a busy city street back to my apartment. the sun shines down on my face as i walk inside and flop onto my bed after a long day. i'm myself, i'm free, i'm at complete liberty to be every version of me i have to hide.
and i'm completely alone. so suffocatingly alone.
i won't ever see my beloved family again. they'll shun me and cut my off. their hearts will be broken. i'll become a cautionary tale. a living warning, a bright red stop sign to the next generation, the generation that i was supposed to be an example to.
but the sunlight feels so warm, even if it's just in my imagination.
It’s not exactly a shock, more of a quiet incredulosity
A thought that could stomp into the front of my mind like a soldier-in-training or a weary general
Terrified with each step, or dully accepting.
Every September, I tell myself that I will most certainly be gone by the spring
Taken in an April shower that I could no longer weather, or blown into shards by the cold December wind.
Every spring, I pick the same flowers I did in September, weaving and knotting and braiding the same pattern into the same crown, and telling myself I’ll survive this spring but surely I’ll lose the fight by the next one.
I stand before you on the second day of June.
The sun is shining, and I am not yet dead.
I’m unsure if I am healing or growing accustomed to it (although it’s likely the latter, as it always has been), but I look to those I call my friends and fight tears every time because these days they speak to me like I am not yet dead
They laugh at my jokes like I am not yet dead
They walk me home like I am not yet dead
There’s a girl who waits for me like I am not yet dead, states below me but somehow still waiting somehow still tolerating the burden of my existence, no, loving my existence because she says she loves me there are people who love me like I am not yet dead.
There’s tears falling from my eyes, salty and wet on my skin. My fingers are moving, my mouth is moving,
Feebly I move, but I move, I write, I speak
somehow through the hell I live in the fact remains that i live
even if i feel as though I am dead it is an as though
My heart beats against my chest because I’m running out of time
Write about 2 of your fav characters being silly >:3
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
Everyone knows that Idia Shroud and Rook Hunt know each other. Same year, same few classes. One a poet, appreciator of beauty, a master marksman, and the other a quiet, reserved shut-in who enjoyed figuring out frame rates more than he enjoyed figuring out people. As an effort to make the two grow closer before their time at NRC ended, Cater Diamond had them record a video together for an upcoming project...
a/n: Ah, first request. Thank you! This idea has actually been in my head for a while, and as ridiculous as it sounds, I've been wanting to write it... this came out really corny, though. Apologies in advance.
word count: 409
warnings: rook and idia being stupid
It had taken an hour for Rook to drag the housewarden of Ignihyde out of his room.
The third-years at Night Raven College had been given an assignment from Professor Trein. The semester was closing fast, and these days wouldn't be coming back. From graduation on, their lives would be much more demanding of them. Especially Idia's.
And Idia didn't want to leave his college career on another missed assignment. But could he have done the project with.. well, anyone else?
"I don't wanna go to Rook's... I don't wanna see his weirdo stalker pics," Idia had complained. "It's bad enough he won't shut up about Vil on a regular day, we're just enabling him."
Idia's sighs and grunts of protest had been ignored as he was dragged to Pomefiore and sat in front of Cater's camera. "It's the best bonding activity of all time- making slime, of course!" Before the words could even get out of his mouth, the sound of Idia's head hitting the table rang out, and Rook's velvety laugh followed soon after.
"You two are not leaving until you make happy memories." Whatever drove Cater to torture them this, the Sevens only knew. Too bad only one of them saw it for what it was. So, the third-years lined the ingredients up. Or, they would have, had there actually BEEN any.
For now, all that sat on Rook's desk was a silver bowl.
The sooner we make the stupid slime, the sooner I can go back to playing games, right? Idia thought to himself. An idea struck him. An idea so good, it could be considered a hack. And so, the cold, mysterious housewarden of Ignihyde stood up, used all his courage to look into the lens, and said-
"Today, we are making VIL SCHOENHEIT SLIME."
He had nothing else. The brilliant idea only went so far, it seemed. But then, Pomefiore's hunter of beauty spoke up.
"With NO activator!"
Idia's amber eyes met Rook's emerald ones, a rare moment of strength for him. Almost telepathically, Idia knew what to say next.
"And NO glitter!"
The handshake continued.
"And NO water!"
"And NO glue!"
Finally, in perfect unison-
"NOTHING!"
The harmony was broken by the sound of the bedroom door opening.
The famous actor, model, celebrity, and housewarden stepped in on a tall heel. The look in his eyes went from bewildered to perturbed to unamused in a matter of moments.
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