Hello! You can call me Aug. That's not my name but that's what you can call me :) I am a teenage writer. I will be posting my poetry, mainly, and some short stories and vignettes. My pronouns are ze/zir, xey/ xem and ji/jir, but they/ them and he/him are okay too.
happy 4th of july I guess. Not my fav holiday for a lot of reasons but I wrote this for it. I was kinda pissed when I wrote it which might show. I took the ‘American God’ part from a different poem I wrote once that I didn’t like very much but I still thought it was a pretty interesting thing to build off of.
Haven’t been on here in a while because I do most of my writing on a school computer and now that schools out I can’t write as much unless I want to do it by hand which I don’t. Will begin posting writing advice I think. I do have some things in my notes app but nothing I really think is that good.
gas mask [platonic ofc], coffee, flame, VHS (and maybe moth but like in a bear hug way LOL)
@yapofalltrades (im sending this back to you LOL) @ginny-weasley-is-the-best @ferriswheelaccident @caineapologist @lenorev1901 @witchingswell @robotswashingdishes
@genderlesschaos you are my flame and my coffee, my mask, my moth and my beer. I swear I didn’t mean for that to sound poetic it just sorta happened. Open tags <3
This is a (very) short vignette I wrote a while back and decided to post. Tw for accidental fat phobia. This is my experience as a young autistic girl being unaware of beauty standards until my childhood friend pointed it out to me. I’m not a girl anymore but yeah. Story under the cut.
I had a friend growing up named Katherine. Although I can’t recall how we met, she and I played soccer together. She had long black straight hair and pale skin and boney, thin limbs. I did not. Still don’t, as a matter of fact, and she’s as skinny as ever. My hair fell just to my shoulders in light-brown curls, and my face was round and splattered with dozens of freckles.
We were sitting in the car on the way home from a soccer game. My parents were driving us back, and we were shouting and laughing and being the generally obnoxious and energetic seven-or-eight-year-olds that we were. I was sitting with my legs dangling off the backseat, not quite able to touch the ground yet, but getting there. My thighs were thick and my soccer shorts highlighted that, for even then I’d been playing long enough to build up some muscle.
“Look,” I laughed, “my legs are so muscular.” I wiggled in my seat, letting my thighs bounce with the movement.
“Or maybe it’s fat,” Katherine retorted back, and I froze for a second. I glanced up into the front seat where my parents were driving us. They had no reaction. If they thought it was fine, then it was fine, right?
“Maybe?” I said hesitantly. I was a pretty offline kid but even I was old enough to know that girls weren’t supposed to have fat.
“Yeah,” she continued confidently, the way she said everything, basically. “Because it takes, like, this long to build up even this much muscle and so little to build up fat.” She gestured with her hands, indicating the time-to-muscle ratio.
We were almost home. I pulled my legs up to sit crisscross applesauce.
Many years ago, the world existed in a prosperous state. After the war the world came together for the greater good and set out to do better. We wished to end all conflict and stand as one race united. For a time that was what happened, as rebuilt all that had been lost in the devastation the future began to look bright once again. Oh, how wrong we were. Today marks fifty years since the event that has since become known as “The Endless Night” it was on this day that the everything went dark. People who were alive that day remember the way that the darkness seemed to swallow the sky taking away our blue sky forever. Many thought it would be the end but after the event the strangest thing happened: the world didn’t cool down. In fact it stayed relatively the same temperature that it always had. Though from the darkness the world shattered into chaos once more as mass hysteria took hold of the masses. Some took a more scientific outlook on the situation and wished to understand why this strange event had occurred. Others on the other hand snapped and saw this event as the wrath of god. But the strangest discovery happened twenty years after The Endless Night first occurred. When we sent our first probe into space for research it picked up audio. From the darkness came the sound of distant breathing.
This is a very rough intro to a story I have been throwing around in my head for a little while. Feel free to post thoughts below. If I continue developing this idea I want to come up with names for all the factions, and also explore more of the political effects of The Endless I may also rewrite and lengthen this intro. Not sure what else to say I wrote this little intro in a little half an hour quick write.
Summary- Spock and Kirk are stranded on an uninhabited planet after a transporter malfunction/useful plot device occurred. Will they survive? Will they kiss? Yes. Yes they will.
My very first fanfiction! Concrit is appreciated but please go light on me. Currently has 3 chapters and just over 2,000 words. Written by an aroace teenager with little to no experience with romance so yeah.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
When I was little, I remember,
Sitting in the front yard, while my mother spoke with her friend.
I was turning over a rock, looking for bugs and worms,
While they whispered something about politics
I turned, all wide hazel eyes, and loudly asked,
“Momma, what does ‘genocide’ mean?”
She laughed, looking back, nervously.
I did not get an answer.
Just a simple,
“God, you can never tell when she’s listening.”
LISTEN UP AGAIN KIDS
STOP REBLOGGING THIS FUCKING GARBAGE POST. IT IS 100% FUCKING BULLSHIT AND CAN AND MOST DEFINITELY WILL LITERALLY KILL.
DO YOU NOT SEE WARNING LABELS THAT SAY “DO NOT INDUCE VOMITING”? THEY AREN’T FUCKING AROUND. YOU CAN FUCKING BURN THEIR ESOPHAGUS BY CAUSING VOMITING, CAUSE CHOKING, DROWNING, OR MAKE IT WORSE!
AGAIN DO NOT FORCE ANYTHING DOWN ANYONE’S THROAT. THEY. CAN. DROWN.
IF SOMEONE IS LOSING CONCIOUSNESS ALL THE CHIT CHAT IN THE WORLD WILL NOT PREVENT IT AT THAT POINT THEY ARE IN SERIOUS DANGER.
“Buuut i don’t wanna take them to the hospital!!!”
WELL SUNSHINE GLAD YOU’D RATHER HAVE A DEAD FRIEND THAN A LIVING ONE BUT YOU’RE IN LUCK
CALL FUCKING POISON CONTROL. THEY ARE NOT THE COPS. THEY WILL HELP YOU.
AND IF THEY SAY GO TO THE FUCKING HOSPITAL YOU GO TO THE FUCKING HOSPITAL. NO EXCUSES. 0. NONE.
I have seen this shit cross my dash SO MANY TIMES so PLEASE fucking reblog this and prevent some well meaning idiot from accidentally killing someone they love!
Poison control may advise diluting the toxin somehow like with water or milk, otherwise do not give them something to drink and take the empty pill bottle/ blister pack with you to the hospital.
She follows her distracted mind and eyes
Down the sun-scorched sidewalk
Underneath the burning star
That must have snuck into her life
From some desert, somewhere,
While she wasn’t paying attention.
Her hips sway, rolling and rocking
To the beat of her dry headache
Her shoulders slumped backwards
With a weight heavier than her schoolbag
And lethargy visible under her eyelids.
Maybe if I were older, I would speak my mind more,
I could say what I think, but as it is we call it “teenage angst,”
To be dismissed, if I were older maybe
I would be recognized as holding real pain,
Not just “teenage angst,”
And every day at school we stare at each other
With fear and suspicion, wondering
Who is going to whip out the gun and start shooting,
And standing in the bathroom you hear whispers
Through a fruit-flavored nicotine haze,
“I feel so dead,” she said, she said,
And I turned around and left.
Her words were not meant for me,
And she’s only one of many.
And that girl in my first, she came in at 8 AM,
I’d never spoken to her, did not know her name
But she spoke like she knew me, told me the things you don’t say,
And came back to class the next day,
Told me she was in the ER with a blood-alcohol content measuring .28
Was that “teenage angst?”
Fear has dyed-maroon hair, shoulder-length
And lip balm the color of the red Expo markers in
Her first period English Class.
Fear wears a crop-top and carefully ripped jeans
Her eyelashes perfect and caked with mascara.
Fear looks me in the eyes, and gives me a genuine smile,
Slipping me a kiss on my dry, cracked lips and a whispered reassurance
That fear does not come for beautiful girls like me.
Cat got your tongue?
Cat got your tongue? Finally shut you up?
The cat’s asleep, napping in the sun,
She does not have my tongue.
You do, girl, standing there, asking me,
Cat got your tongue?
What’s wrong, love?
I don’t know, you tell me, love, the cat’s still asleep,
Can’t you see, she ain’t got my tongue.
Your words, your look, how do you do it?
Your speech is so clean, so effortless,
While I, I, I here,
I cannot stop stammering,
Cannot force the sounds I know, I know I know,
Through the prison of my lips,
Cat got your tongue?
What a stupid phrase, I cannot,
I could scream and speak and change minds and change worlds,
But not now, now my words will not escape.
She sighs, and walks away.
breathe in, bleed out,
the light silk whisper on her tongue, the
air the flowed past her, ruffling her dress, and
the sounds of her were masked
by the wind— whipping her hair
around her face and pulling her closer to the edge
the icy warmth on her arms, guiding her forward,
pink pleated georgette flowing ahead, guiding her to follow
the flowers of her youth, printed now in olive green outlines
with white filling like profiteroles that she could still taste from her youth
and just this morning she was stricken with euphoria,
as the sudden joy of knowing, of deciding,
something that was completely within her control filled her
but were they right?
was there really something she was leaving behind?
