R.S.M. Writes

Poetry and short stories that I am writing and posting. All are original works.

[kalperun]

𝕄𝕪 𝕎𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» .

➽❥ 𝓑𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓸 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂 𝓓𝓸𝓰𝓼 𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇 »» 𝑶𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑼𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝑨 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 ⊱ Ch1  ♫  Ch2  ♫  Ch3  ♫  Ch4  ♫  Ch5     Summary: The Decay of Angels won.With the book in their hands they eradicated every ability user, reality renewing itself. But in a last ditch effort to change the future and restart the past, Chuuya is burdened with the lives of everyone he is close to - and with the timeline that he restarted - must save them all.Struggling to keep his humanity while acting like the god of this new world that Chuuya’s trying to save, it’s impossible to tell if he’ll either sink or float with the memories of the past that are now just the future. (A Chuuya time travel centric fix it fic) 𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇 »» 𝒁𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂 ⊱ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧Click me!     Summary: Dating can be difficult while working at the Armed Detective Agency. Even more difficult when you’re dating your arch-rival. On the bright side, Akutagawa is no longer part of the Port Mafia. But Atsushi isn’t exactly telling everyone of his new found relationship status. (A brief shin-soukoku fic with a cameo of @whyis-every-username-taken‘s OC James. This follows the storyline that we both created together!) . .

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» ➽❥ 𝓗𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓪/𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓪 𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇 »» 𝑳𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈'𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 ⊱ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧Click me! «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» . . ➽❥ 𝓞𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓴𝓼 «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» »» 𝑰 𝑾𝒂𝒔 𝑨𝒄𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑻𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝑨 𝑽𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆 ⊱ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧Click me!     Summary: Centuries ago, Gods and Goddesses fled the mortal realm known as Terra (Earth), evicting Angels and Demons from the Heavens and Hells, forcing them to co-exist with humanity. Despite the past struggles, with the emergence of the modern era that has now shuffled in the 21st century, peace and harmony has been reached between humans and non-humans. That is the general consensus, but in actuality one man struggles to find his place in the clear divide that is still ever-present, paranormal cases being thrown at him to be solved because - you guessed it - he was accidentally turned into a vampire. 𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇 »» 𝑾𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 ⊱ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧Click me!     Summary: A poem about the fragility of the human mind. 𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇 »» 𝑯𝒂𝒊𝒌𝒖𝒔 ⊱ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧Click me! , (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧Click me!    Summary: My Haikus ‘Strength’, ‘Succumb’, ‘Beware’, ‘Fragility’  𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇 »» 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 ⊱ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧Click me!    Summary: In the far future, a young boy and an old man wander through an ashen landscape amidst a dystonian society.  𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇 »» 𝑰𝒏 𝑽𝒂𝒊𝒏 ⊱ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧Click me!    Summary: A poem exploring the idealism of leaving a fulfilled life and being okay in the end, because the life you spent is just all in vain. 𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇 »» 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆'𝒔 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒆 ⊱ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧Click me!    Summary: A poem, for sometimes love is not what it seems. 𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇 »» 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒎 ⊱ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧Click me!    Summary: A society who’s motto seems to be ‘true freedom starts with self-awareness’. 𝄥𝄞────────── 𝄇 𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣'𝕤 ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: If you want a specific piece or some sort of writing one-shot (with your OC or not) I’m down to write it for fun! Just shoot me an ask! ﾟ･:*｡(ꈍᴗꈍ)ε｀*)~｡*:･ﾟ

[kalperun]

The first chapter of my webnovel is here!

Centuries ago, Gods and Goddesses fled the mortal realm known as Terra (Earth), evicting Angels and Demons from the Heavens and Hells, forci

[kalperun]

Writing Commisions

Always wanted that one story but couldn’t bring yourself to write it yourself?

I, Veni, am here to open up writing commisions, for people who wish have a story.

I can do fanfictions, fluff, drama, mystery - but no. I will not do smut since it is not my cup of tea to write.

But - even though I’m opening up commisions, I am charging for it. Mainly because, I already write things I want and post it for free - so if you want to see something out there that you want, I’ll write it.

Plus - it’ll help me pay for college. :D

But here is some samples of my writing-

Hetalia cardverse fic:

Land of Solitaire: Prequel

Prologue You wish to know the truth? The clinging of crystal cups filled the tense atmosphere, moonlight streaming through the curtains lig

Bungo Stray Dogs Chuuya centric Time-travel fix it fic

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Vengeful ghost concept I drafted who might be borderline Yandere

Ghosts thingy for fun

To many, death was a significant transition - transition for those of religion - or a permanent fixture that marked the end of a person’s li

A poem

Love's Masquerade

Love’s Masquerade One mask won’t do, Neither two or three. I need many masks, In order to please thee. I change my face at our love’s mas

Another poem!

Sleepless summer nights

Moonlight breaks through the trees, akin to fractured glass on the ground. It is a sleepless summer night, as the world spins round. Owls h

I will charge ten dollars an hour, for every hour I write. I will not charge for my brainstorming and story mapping period for your requests. I will only charge for what I actually write. And I mainly write on google docs since it’s easier to share that way.

Payment will be made through PayPal and if you want something that really really specific - then I have a right to charge a little more. But if your interested DM me!

I’ll be happy to write whatever your heart desires.

[kalperun]

Chapter four is finally up of my fanfic “Once Upon a Time”

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Story Summary: The Decay of Angels won. With the book in their hands they eradicated every ability user, reality renewing itself. But in a last ditch effort to change the future and restart the past, Chuuya is burdened with the lives of everyone he is close to - and with the timeline that he restarted - must save them all. Struggling to keep his humanity while acting like the god of this new world that Chuuya's trying to save, it's impossible to tell if he'll either sink or float with the memories of the past that are now just the future.

[just-me-writing]

“If life is meaningless, then what is so special about death? People view it as an escape when it is decidedly so that death is as equally pointless by simple association.”

-R.S.M.

[kalperun]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 3 of my BSD fanfic is up.

Story Summary: The Decay of Angels won. With the book in their hands they eradicated every ability user, reality renewing itself. But in a last ditch effort to change the future and restart the past, Chuuya is burdened with the lives of everyone he is close to - and with the timeline that he restarted - must save them all. Struggling to keep his humanity while acting like the god of this new world that Chuuya's trying to save, it's impossible to tell if he'll either sink or float with the memories of the past that are now just the future.

[kalperun]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 2 is finally up!

Summary: The Decay of Angels won. With the book in their hands they eradicated every ability user, reality renewing itself. But in a last ditch effort to change the future and restart the past, Chuuya is burdened with the lives of everyone he is close to - and with the timeline that he restarted - must save them all. Struggling to keep his humanity while acting like the god of this new world that Chuuya's trying to save, it's impossible to tell if he'll either sink or float with the memories of the past that are now just the future.

[kalperun]

Zebra (BSD, aku/atsu)

To my dear friend @whyis-every-username-taken and her wonderful BSD OC James Michener who can read the memories of people by looking into their eyes. It is also to be noted that he helped Akutagawa get out of the port mafia and join another ability group known as the Degenerates and helped solidify the relationship between Atsushi and Akutagawa.

Atsushi was never one to blatantly ditch unfinished work. Work that only needed a couple more pen strokes to pass Kunikida’s microscopic gaze of judgement before going on a lunch break. But these past few weeks, as soon as he saw that the clock struck noon, meaning that he was now allowed to leave for his hourly scheduled lunch, Atsushi found himself jumping straight out of his seat, towing his bag with him, and heading out the door in one quick fluid motion.

Keep reading

[just-me-writing]

Reblogging onto my writing blog.

[kalperun]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The Decay of Angels won.

With the book in their hands they eradicated every ability user, reality renewing itself. But in a last ditch effort to change the future and restart the past, Chuuya is burdened with the lives of everyone he is close to - and with the timeline that he restarted - must save them all.

Struggling to keep his humanity while acting like the god of this new world that Chuuya's trying to save, it's impossible to tell if he'll either sink or float with the memories of the past that are now just the future.

[just-me-writing]

Reblogging from my main blog onto my writing blog.

[just-me-writing]

Turns out I got a little far ahead of myself. I was so excited by the thought of being apart of a Poetry Contest and finally making it, that my brain just now finally decided to halt and take a good look.

Eber & Wein who I originally submitted to turned out to just be a scam in an attempt to sell more books that would never make it to any bookstores.

I feel like an idiot. I was just happy though, you know?

But I’m glad I found out sooner then later so I’m starting off from square one again. Hopefully it goes well.

[just-me-writing]

Made it into a Poetry Competition

One of my poems was accepted into the semi-final rounds of a poetry competition and honestly I’m just so happy.

I literally started to cry when I got the letter because a memoir I wrote that I love and is probably one of my best pieces has been getting rejected from several newspapers only because they say it isn’t right for them.

Of course it makes sense but I’ve tried several different ones from different websites and all of them said that the memoir was great just not right for them.

No critique. No nothing. Just that.

So it’s nice to have this small win admist my struggles over my memoir.

It felt really nice which is probably why I cried a bit but hopefully things are starting to look up a bit.

[just-me-writing]

The Fable of Freedom

The chimes of church bells rang in the autumn sky, cool air brushing against the bare skin of pedestrians as they made their way casually, not fast but not to slow, to attend their own personal businesses. The shuffling of the lively city life filled the hundreds of blocks that intersected throughout the city, bustling with activity of urban lifestyle. And every single resident wore a mask. Masks with different symbols marked upon the forehead of the white porcelain, hiding their faces but bearing the weight of their fatal sin.

No, it wasn’t anything to be ashamed about - a fatal sin that is. Instead it was something to be revered, to be self-aware and not to fall into the clutches of one of the seven deadly sins by instead tempering it with one of the heavenly virtues. As they said, true freedom was in self-awareness. True freedom first started with the individual.

To be free of guilt and regret by Tempering it. To be free of ugly desires by restraining yourself. Yes, Tempering was such a long and tedious process, but one that was worthwhile and took form on each of the masks that everyone wore. It took form on the mask that was being held by a little girl as she looked at it curiously, porcelain heavy in her thin fingers.

“Mother, why must I wear this?” Came the squeaky voice from the almost wiry body of the young child, wide owlish eyes staring up expectantly at her mother who had a mask of her own donned upon her face. One that was cupped by red rose locks of hair that spilled across her shoulders like dripping blood. The red only helped to bring out the carefully painted Coriander on her mask. The flower of Lust.

“May I remind you that no one is above sin. And to think so means a prideful man.” The Mother commented, off handedly, as if wishing to brush aside the topic. As if the innocent question had an obvious answer. A universal obvious answer - that is.

“But mother, I do not wish to wear the mask. I do not want everyone to see my Fatal Sin.” And with that said, the mother knew what was wrong. Her daughter with her rosy cheeks and sunset colored hair was embarrassed. Perhaps even ashamed of her Fatal Sin, when it was uncalled for.

“My darling, my lovely Gardenia,” The mother spoke pleasantly enough, kneeling before her daughter so that she could better see her eyes which held the entire expanse of the color of life within them. Such a lovely green. “What is the objective of Tempering?”

There was a brief pause before the child spoke once again, bending to the will and authority of her mother. “Self-awareness.”

“And do you know why?” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth lightly.

“Because true freedom starts from within.”

“And by that sacred basis we wear our Fatal Sin upon our masks. A reminder to ourselves of our hearts corrupted desire so that we can then Temper it. We wear the masks as a sign of acceptance, something not to be ashamed of but instead unabashed by. With acceptance comes the ability to gain spiritual freedom.” The mother said, a cool hand reaching out and lifting her daughter’s chin up so her gaze couldn’t avoid her own. “Acceptance leads to freedom.”

The daughter hesitated for a moment looking at her porcelain mask with uncertainty as her mother's touch receded from her chin. She stood still for another moment before raising her mask in an unsteady hand and placed it gently on her face, rosy cheeks hidden and giving way instead to a red carnation painted vividly on the forehead of the mask. The flower of Pride.

When the mother spoke again, her tone was sweet yet cutting like honey colored shards of glass:

“Freedom starts with accepting your own distorted desires and growing from them, just like a seed struggling to grow and blossom into a flower.”

- R.S.M.

[just-me-writing]

Love’s Masquerade

One mask won’t do,

Neither two or three.

I need many masks,

In order to please thee.

-

I change my face

at our love’s masquerade.

Many masks are donned

To keep up the charade.

-

I am a fabrication;

My love nothing but disguise.

I am the Phantom of the Night

And it is feelings I hide.

-

You’ve fallen for my masks

Unaware of our love’s woe.

So the masquerade dances on

Until misfortune is bestowed.

-

A murder has been committed

A heart has been slain.

But who is the murderer,

At our love’s masquerade?

-

While many point fingers,

I raise another face,

To blend among the masses,

Concealing every trace.

-

Ridden of your desire,

My freedom has been gained.

No longer will I please,

Your heart; now maimed.

-

I was the Phantom of the Night

I no longer dance at love’s masquerade.

I’ve become love’s phantasm,

And my treasure, freedom, has been claimed.

- R.S.M.

[just-me-writing]

“I have found that people always have exceptions to their morals. It is for this very reason that I have found that people often confuse morals with blatant hypocrisy, which I find most amusing.”

-R.S.M.

[just-me-writing]

Fragility

Cherry blossoms bloom

Tearfully I grip you close

Petals start to fall

- R.S.M.

[just-me-writing]

In vain

It is strange to think that I will live another year

It is even stranger when it so easy to die in this world

I never thought I would make it to adulthood

And my pessimism

I find

Constricts me

My gaze ahead is wayward

And yet

snow flakes are fluttering down

A whirl of possibilities

they touch my skin

water streaming between my fingers

Liquid time in my palms

All I can do is stare as it drips

Harrowing me

That is my future

———-

My innocence was lost with my childish naiviety from a simpler time

A time where there was only white against black,

snow against the night

A time when I thought I had control over my life

But I grew up and discovered that there was gray,

I lost hope in not just the world but myself as well

And with that the sky became clouded,

Ash falling I didn’t know what to do about it,

The world once bright was only an illusion

My vision strayed,

And everything felt ‘in vain’

Its because, at the end of the day I can’t help but think it’s all for naught.

The only fate that we share with everyone else is to die.

We are all born with the terminal illness of life only to be cured with death

It is the one fatal flaw wired through all of us through genetics.

We all will die,

We will all be forgotten,

The only thing my awareness provided me was a foot in the grave.

My ‘future’ is in vain.

But it is important to remind yourself to live

Shun your awareness and stay in your ignorance

Live in the moment and laugh and smile,

Life is short but you will live for a while,

You may be forgotten but remember that it makes this life even more special

Like a secret webbed through the cosmos, only known to you

You don’t need a legacy in a world of ash

Instead grasp onto the snowflakes before they melt away

I want you to breathe even if there is no point in the end

I want you to experience because this is your one chance

It is yours, so make your friends.

Have no regrets

People have wasted away their lives trying to create a legacy

Wanting to be remembered but not everyone needs that

They are the ones afraid of a ‘permanent’ death and I want you to see

Every story ends and it’s sad.

But those who actually lived are content and at peace.

They are the ones who smile as the snowflakes finally melt.

- R.S.M.

[kalperun]

The Deviants (Part ½)

It is hard to imagine when it all began. There is no record of the beginning of the society that I now oppose and loathe with all my being, for all I know is what I see. And what I see is deceiving.

An illusion masked in propaganda and saturated with sweet lies; tempting nonetheless.

I refused though. Refused to be nothing more than a cog in a machine in a mass factory that was once a structure made of flesh and bone. A structure that used to be human. I was not ‘ones’ or ‘zeros’ in a computer program that science had made many believe. I was not serial codes or random digits that anyone in this world could input methodically into a computer. I was not a ‘we’.

What I was, was an ‘I’.

Some had escaped this overarching way of existence, while others are still trapped in the assembly lines of life. ‘They’ had abandoned their inner creativity and imagination for the so-called “collective good” bound by a world of black and white. But what good is it to abandon what it means to be your own?

This was one of the many reasons why I rebelled.

A silence filled the air as an old man with a stocky beard closed his mouth, his gaze drifting to the green light in the corner of his eye as a young boy did his best to keep up. The duo walked across the grey blanket that hid the once vibrant green grass of the landscape, but now it was overwashed with a dirty white layer, only growing with each dark flake that added to its second-rate collection. In the distance, great cylinder chimneys stood tall with pride, pumping smoke and steam into the air; a veil falling overhead.

When was the last time I saw the sun? The aged man sighed heavily, flakes scurrying away from his mouth with the weary breath. Does a sun even exist?

“You rebelled because you did not want to be apart of the Collective?” The boy asked the elder, crunching footsteps letting him know that he was right behind the other.

“Indeed,” came the short reply.

“But I do not understand. Is science not good? Is being a ‘we’ over an ‘I’ really oh so terrible?”

The old man paused in thought as he made his way forward, the green light in the corner of his eye leading him with no clear destination in mind. “Science is not good. It has brought along technologies that now plague you and I’s world and has banished magic itself to Dante’s Inferno. Because of that, you and I are one of the few remnants of what is left in a world that used to laugh and live with limitless joy.”

“But magic has not completely perished. It is inside you and I, is it not? For you and I have it. You and I possess thoughts and ideas different from ‘they’ and because of that magic flourishes still. My imagination is broad and vast, still ever growing and fighting against those who wish to rule over you and I. I walk with you refusing to be subjugated which tells me that the magic inside me is a formidable weapon against ‘they’.”

“Even that is not enough, boy. There is the Collective that would see you and I assimilated into ‘we’.”

The boy looked down at his boots, now grey, nodding his head softly. “Mother used to tell me that growing up is what killed magic. That growing up is what brought the downfall of you and I’s inner spirits and magic itself, for those like you and I had been exposed to the cruel realities of the world and abandoned it for a stable dependence.”

The old man chuckled as he looked down at the younger, eyes shifting away from the green light. “Growing up is not what killed those like you and I. Age does not lessen the amount of creativity a soul has. Dependence on society and machinery does. If ‘they’ had not formed into the Collective you and I would not be suppressed. You and I would not be told what to do, what to think, and what to say. You and I would be able to be independent, an individual of you and I’s own making and formation.”

“Is that not too much?” the boy coughed lightly, choking on one of the dark flakes that littered the air. “You and I have no specific goal, only to keep moving forward with no clear mindset. Is this what living is? Can you tell me, for I have forgotten if this is how it is done. I have forgotten many things.” The boy sank further into his own woe and despondent state, darkness flickering in the corner of his eye. “I have forgotten what it’s like to have a warm fire every night with food resting in my stomach. I have forgotten what it is like to laugh and sleep without dreading the apparent morning. I have forgotten what it is like to feel my mothers hold and sweet caress as she lays me to bed.”

“My boy, this is better than the alternative of slavery. You might see it as being lost when in fact you and I are allowed to do what you and I want, to think as you and I will, and say as you and I wish. You and I have forgotten many things, but it is a small price to pay. It is a gift to be separated from the whole and instead act as you and I please. To kindle the magic inside you and not let conformity or suppression wash it away.”

Doubt lingered in the air, matching the flakes that lingered in his eyes. He cast them to the darkness that flickered by his eye, lost in the deranged landscape, unbalanced on the blanket of grey that made his feet sink.

The old man instead looked to the green light that lingered in the corner of his eyes, ever present through the delirium.

[just-me-writing]

- R.S.M.

This was my original blog.