#rough draft?

[persuasivestrawberryafternoons]

I Took a Canoe to See You (2/6/24)

I took a canoe to see you

A two person canoe

With only me

I rode across the Atlantic sea

A paddle

A fishing rod

And bag of mending tools

Seeking along a kelp highway

And a water roadway

Days I spent adrift for you

Before a storm came

And marooned

My tiny vacant canoe

And the salt spray

Prickled my skin

And I laid cocooned

On a deserted island

far from you

[butteredonions]

so anyone who’s been around me for a while knows I love sick!fic. Anyone who’s been around me for a while also knows I am indecisive terrified of writing one for whatever reason. One of my new year’s resolutions is to write a full-fledged sick!fic, so I guess - I mean - I found this. Consider this a warm-up. (thanks a LOT @andriseup)

Shiro is so miserable he barely notices when the door swooshes open; barely notices when Lance comes in.

“Hey,” Lance says. His voice is soft, but even so Shiro flinches. “Sorry, sorry. Just wanted to come check on you since you didn’t swing by for breakfast. You doing okay?”

The answer’s obvious enough Shiro doesn’t even need to try. He does anyway, peeling his eyes open just an inch. Lance is standing at the side of Shiro’s bed, staring down with gentle concern. He crouches to a better height; the movement alone sends everything spinning. Shiro squeezes his eyes back closed with an involuntary whimper.

“Oh, Shiro,” Lance whispers. “Why didn’t you call? You’re supposed to call us if it gets that bad.”

Shiro has no idea how to answer that. He shouldn’t have to. He shouldn’t still be this sick; he shouldn’t still be dependent on his friends; should be able to at least get out of bed in the fucking morning.

“Where is your comm, anyway,” Lance mutters. He shifts, searching; the sounds of his efforts fill the room as Lance brushes his hand over Shiro’s little bedside nook, the crack between the sheets and the bed frame, the floor. Shiro just lays there and listens. His head’s pounding. He’s too warm.

“Ah, here it is,” Lance says, at last. “No wonder. How’d it end up on the floor?”

Shiro doesn’t have an answer for that, either. Maybe he can get away with pretending to be asleep.

“Well, here it is for later,” Lance says, “I’m setting it on your table, okay? Now, big guy, what’s wrong? Is it your head?”

His palm carefully presses against Shiro’s forehead, under Shiro’s limp bangs. His touch is gentle, and somehow grounding - at least until Lance jerks his hand back in surprise. He presses it back almost immediately, his palm cool and kind. Shiro groans.

“You’re burning up,” Lance murmurs, mostly to himself. His frown is audible. “Why is your fever back?”

No, Shiro thinks, tries to say. The word sticks in his throat. No, don’t. I can handle this. You shouldn’t have to.

“I’m calling the others,” Lance says, softly.

“No,” Shiro groans, finally. “No, Lance…”

The words are barely a whisper.

“I’m not leaving,” Lance promises, deliberately misinterpreting. There’s a soft little click when Lance pushes down the call button on the comm. “Just getting someone else. I’m staying right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

[mystarofthesea]

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

James & The Harvestman

[Well I decided to actually expand on the backstory of my OC, James Skelton. I haven’t talked about him much, but he’s basically a former conman who was killed, reanimated as a skeleton, and became a weapons dealer and the head of a company of mercenaries and assassins. This takes place in the same world as “The Demon’s Tale,” so there we go. Also, whoever gets who the Harvestman is supposed to be gets a cookie]

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this.”

Eric and Rita snuck around the enormous sleeping forms of the Gergosaurs as they slept, trekking further into the field.

“We have to do this, Rita,” Eric muttered, somewhat annoyed. “That fucker conned my family out of everything they had. This is payback.”

“Eric…” Rita whispered, her eyes darting back and forth as she attempted to keep up with her friend. “I get it, okay? I get that guy was a dirtbag. But… what you’re doing is just… you’re trying to summon an Elder Demon, Eric!”

Eric nodded without even looking back at her. “Right. And tonight is the night to do it; the harvest moon is high in the sky, the night is still, and we’re about to enter the part of the field where the fairy circles used to be. Nothing is going to come out. We’ll be able to summon him in peace.”

Rita shook her head sadly, giving up and just following after Eric. They soon crept past one more sleeping gergosaur and entered an area of the fields that was entirely still, calm, and devoid of living creatures. It was eerily quiet, the only sounds the snoring of the gergosaurs, which seemed to be getting fainter by the second.

Finally, Eric stopped. “Here we go.” He put the backpack he had onto the ground, and pulled out a pumpkin; he then reached in, pulled out a knife, and sliced the top off, and then proceeded to scoop out the guts. Rita simply stood by, arms folded across her stomach, a look of defeat on her face.

“It’s not too la-“ she began, before Eric suddenly stood up. She noticed the paper in his has hand and silenced herself; it was too late.

“Harvest moon!” Eric shouted. “Bear witness to my sacrifice!” He took the knife he had used to carve the pumpkin and sliced into his palm. He let out a muffled groan of pain through gritted teeth and held his hand over the pumpkin, dripping blood into its hollow insides. With his free hand, Eric held the paper before his eyes.

“Hear my call from the depths of Hell! Come forth demon, serve me well! A sinner walks free; I thirst for revenge! Heed my call, great Harvestman!”

The wind whipped about, and the moon’s light grew dim; the silence of the air was broken by a deafening sound, a horrible rustling as if a million leaves were being whipped about by a hurricane, or as if a hundred locusts were shrieking in unison. A network of red, glowing cracks appeared in the ground and spread out; the earth began to push itself apart as a terrible clawed hand pushed its way into view. The earth cracked and shook as the demon forced its way out of the ground; Eric and Rita both fell back, eyes wide with horror and excitement.

A ghoulish creature stood before them. It was leathery and demonic, with a slightly bulbous head, razor sharp teeth, and bony protrusions on its shoulder. It was truly a monstrous sight. The demon turned its gaze on them and spoke: “I sense a heart steeped deep in sin; who dares call forth the Harvestman?”

“I did!” Eric exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. “It is an honor to meet you, O great demon lord.”

“Such flattery, mortal; it will help you not. In the web of fate you’re caught.  Your soul is mine, the contract sealed; how shall I uphold my end of the deal?”

“Well, you see… I require the slaughter of these two men.” Eric rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a photograph; there were two men sitting at a table. One was a redhead in an old suit, smoking a cigar; the other was a robed, lanky fellow who looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.

“These two… they conned me out of every penny my family had. They stole what was ours! And because of that, I want them DEAD. I want them to suffer eternal damnation slaving away in the haunted fields of Autun, your demonic realm!”

The demon tenderly plucked the photograph from Eric’s hands, and examined it thoroughly. “Their faces are here, plain to see… A name is required for what you ask of me.”

“Their names are James Skelton, he’s the redeheaded one… and Murray Morten, he’s the lanky fellow. They’re a couple of worthless conmen, and if I’d known who they were beforehand, I never would have taken them up on their bet…”

“Worry not, my vengeful child; I shall fulfill your cruel desire. Their skin will tear, their blood will boil; I’ll excise them from this mortal coil. A painful, bloody end they face, for you have provided both name and face. But know that you are likewise mine; upon your death, and for all time. You too will slave in my demon realm; tonight, three souls are damned to Hell.”

Without a movement, the Harvestman disappeared, leaving Eric and Rita alone in the field. Rita stood up slowly, brushing herself off, shaking terribly. “I hope you’re happy, brother,” she whispered miserably. “You’ve damned yourself for revenge.”

“So fucking worth it,” Eric grinned. “I don’t plan on dying for a long time; it’ll all work out fine. I’ve still got a nice, long life head of me, unlike those cowards.”

Rita sighed. “Please, Eric… let’s just go home…”

Sighing, Eric turned to go. “You always suck the fun out of everything,” he grumbled as he strolled past his quivering sister. She watched him sadly for a moment before following after him.

 ***

“Twenty-one hundred… twenty-two hundred… twenty-three hundred! Twenty-three hundred gold today, can you believe it?!” James Skelton cackled as he leapt from his chair, startling Murray, who had started to doze off.

“Damn James, we… we’re really hittin… hitting it bi…. Big…”

James looked at Murray with concern. “Sweet Daemon, Murray, you gotta sleep. You haven’t slept in two days.”

Murray shook his head. “Can’t. I keep having… nightmares. You know what… what that me…” Murray yawned. “Means. Something bad is gonna happen. I need to be awake until… until it does. You might need some of my magic.”

James gave him a look. “Murray. Why on Aethra would I need some goddamn necromancy right now? We gonna bring up some skeletons to lug all this gold around? Maybe get some zombies to serve us dinner? Come on, man! You need rest!”

Murray shook his head and eyed the gold. “We’ve got a lot, man. We should prob… probably skip town soon… maybe head on over to… to Terran Zythenos… I’m thinking… Uda… gast… ain’t the be…”

Murray fell over, passed out onto the floor; James leapt up, rushing over to his friend. “Sweet fucking Daemon, you idiot,” James muttered as he checked Murray’s pulse, “you better not pull this shit again.” He dragged Murray across the floor to the couch in the living room, and with a great heave pulled him up. He grabbed a blanket and slipped it over him, then pat him on the head.

“Good night, you fuckin’ loon. We’re outta here in the morning.” James turned to head up to his bed and instead bumped into something that felt leathery. “What in the…?” He had little time to react, as the next moment he was hit with incredible force and sent flying out the nearby window.

James screamed in pain; glass was stuck into his shoulder, and he was bleeding, not to mention dizzy after being flung out a window. Thank the gods he had been on the first floor. Murray’s still in there, he realized quickly, and though he was still dizzy and in pain, James barreled towards the front door of his house.

He crashed his way inside and was confronted by a massive demon. “The fuck are you?” James snarled, unfazed by the monster.

The Harvestman did not respond, and instead lunged; James ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding the demon’s claws. “Didn’t answer the question, asshole,” James snarled at the creature. He was hoping he could kepp its attention away from Murray; Murray had woken and had crawled off to a corner, ready to cast a spell.

“Prepare for pain and suffering; no mortal survives the Harvestman.”

“See, was that so hard?” James smirked. He tried to dodge the beast again, but was swatted into a wall.

“You laugh in the face of certain death; you mock a demon with your dying breaths. You shall pay for your wicked sins, but know that you’ve impressed the Harvestman.”

“Well,” James groaned as he pushed himself up the wall, “I aim to please.”

The Harvestman shot his fist forwards, plowing straight through James’ body. As James life faded from him, he could hear Murray scream, and then he saw a green glow. Then nothing.

***

James woke up lying on the floor. This was rather strange to him because he should have been dead. He pushed himself up and looked around; the house was a mess, but Murray and the demon were nowhere to be-

“Mortal, a word.”

James turned around; there was the demon. But more importantly, he had seen his reflection in the mirror on the wall, and he was rather unhappy by what he saw. He was a bony, white skeleton, his skull shiny and bald as could be. He held up his hand; it too was nothing but bone.

“What the FUCK did you do?!”

“It was not I who saved your soul; ‘twas your partner, truth be told. In his last moments, he gave his life, to save yours, but at a price. You were dead, and as you can see, he sealed your soul with necromancy. I cannot take you down to Hell, and his soul is out of my reach as well. So a proposition I have for you; I demand the payment I am due. I will tell you who brought me forth… if you do me one small favor, of course…”

James rubbed his bony chin. “Go on… I’m listening.”

Eric smiled as he tossed the ball, knocking down all the bottles on the festival game. “Here ya go, kid,” said the man behind the counter, passing Eric a giant stuffed gergosaur doll, which he passed on to his sister. Rita smiled weakly.

“Thank you, Eric…”

“Oh, don’t be so glum!” Eric grinned. “Everything is fine! You heard the news, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah… those conmen are dead…”

“Exactly! And now, we’re getting back all of the stuff they stole from us! Life is great!”

“Hey, buddy. I got a bone to pick with you.”

Eric turned to the sound of the new voice, though he had no time to react as a shotgun blast tore through his chest and sent him flying backwards into the festival game, knocking over all of the bottles behind the stand.

James the skeleton walked forward as people screamed and fled around him. He was wearing a dapper new suit and, despite being an animated skeleton, seemed to be in high spirits. He leaned down next to Eric’s corpse.“Happy fucking Harvest Festival,” James said as he put a cigar in his mouth. “Tell your demon buddy I said hi… And thanks for the new suit.”

[healingdoesntcomequickly]

My hands were held by another lover smooth hands untouched by the world’s war interlocked with hands which had witnessed the war fought it only to come out victorious on the other side not victorious without battle wounds but bruised and scarred Smooth hands teaching hardened hands the beautiful aspects of life wildflowers picked gently so as not to disturb the field in which they lie children holding onto theirs - dancing under the park’s trees a breeze blowing against them not abrasive like the winter seas sailed in during the prior years holy hands blessed and set apart by the Maker these hardened hands were being made new oil like an ointment was found in delicate fingertips tracing over them with smooth hands there was a healing found Healing hands may turn calloused again when they spread their fingers wide trying to catch all of my soft hands hardships within the palms as if because they had won one war they were prepared to carry the whole world in them Although my soft hands tried to sew stitches when the wound was too deep placing bandaids on the scratches I can only allow him to choose his fate of how to love my hands must let go though I tried so hard to fix himself myself as if my small hands were adequate to do that kind of art That is Jesus' job with his hol(e)y hands to take his hardened hands and make them whole anointing and healing those hands you call blessed teaching them there are more than the callouses scars broken fingers bruised knuckles there are hol(e)y hands asking to create that kind of art the art of true redemption

Hands (a poem about a friend’s relationship and entirely not my own)

[ada-slyvia-rose]

You say you're dismal But my world has never been brighter You say you're stupid But I've never met anyone as quick-witted as you So why do you tolerate someone with Such a jagged heart?

[time-traveling-teen]

Do I know you?

Did Abraham know Sarah Did Lancelot know Genevieve Did Romeo know Juliet Did Rhett know Scarlet

Did Abraham know that Sarah really wanted a child of her own. And she only gave him a concubine because she was downtrodden?

Did Lancelot know that Genevieve wasn’t his. That Genevieve was the heart of his king?

Did Romeo know that Juliet was naïve. That she was taken with him because her heart was impatient?

Did Rhett know that Scarlett loved him. And she only denied him because she was longing for a different time?

Did I know you would be here for me? But I am not a history, tragedy, or a gentleman. I am known to you, but you are not known to me. -S. Leigh

[moonlightpainting]

Untitled

How can words convey my emotions When these feelings explode and entwine With memories from my mind Letters combined by man Sounds created by many tongues Yet no universal understanding