#short writes

[soukokumychildren]

Chuuya, after seeing something forbidden: Aaaaalright. Get the bleach. Dazai: Pokes out of corner and throws the bleach up into the air like a beer toast

[sheeperzzz]

Thinking about posting my writes here, so I'm gonna start off with this! A little thing focused on Venture and some lore I have for a story I wanna try out :]

TW: Mentions of violence, threats and impending doom

Venture's chest heaved, the drill weighing heavy in their hands. They stared at the impressive display of bloody and bruised bodies. It shook them to their core knowing they did that much damage in the span of seconds. They steeled themself, shutting down their thoughts. They came here for a reason.

Venture turned to the Queen, who sat upon her throne. Her almost orange eyes bore into Venture, burning with the intensity of a hunter staring at her prey. Venture didn't allow the Queen's stare to unnerve them.

"Ma'am," Venture began, their voice more pleading than they intended, "you have to listen to me! You can't just keep ignoring wh-"

"Shut your mouth," the Queen snapped, her voice laced with venom. "You aren't gonna tell me how to rule my people."

"Your people could die if you don't listen!" Venture argued. Their hope for co-operation was fleeting fast. "Something bad is going to happen soon, and everyone n-"

Venture's voice was cut off by a knife flying by their head. Their skin stung. They instantly put their hand on the side of their face, checking for bleeding. Venture looked back at the Queen, who now stood at the ledge of where her throne sat. Her eyes were blazing with fury and distaste for Venture.

"I said get out of my town, mole," the Queen growled out through gritted teeth. "I don't want to see your face around here again."

The knife darted past Venture's face again, sticking to the Queen's palm. Venture opened their mouth as if they were about to argue, but nothing came out. Defeat stole their voice. Venture's head lowered, but their eyes stabbed daggers into the Queen.

"Don't come looking for help when your people are hurt," they warned. An axe was thrown at their head, but the axe came into contact with nothing but rocks from where they once stood. The ground was disturbed and cracked, making a trail that followed where the archaeologist's path headed.

Finally away from the throne room, or whatever it could be called, Venture resurfaced with a dark expression. They walked silently through the busy streets, their drill making grating noises as it dragged across the wounded sidewalk. Frustration and hopelessness made them drag their feet. How were they supposed to help someone who wouldn't listen?

'She wasn't thinking about how many lives were at stake, she was just thinking that I was threatening her power! Which I wasn't!' Venture thought to themself, groaning audibly with exasperation. They ran a hand through their hair, ridding it of the pebbles and sand that were dusted in it from their burrow earlier. They stopped walking for the moment to take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

Venture's tired eyes wandered over the street and catwalks. Countless people, countless clueless people, were walking about without a care in the world, not knowing of what was to come. Their lives would be threatened, and even taken, if nothing happened before they arrived. They all had no clue what was going to happen. Venture didn't know what to do. They couldn't make a scene; that'd just make everyone think they were a nutcase. That didn't go so well in Numbani, when they had taken the focus from a speech to warn the city of the oncoming onslaught. They thought Venture was crazy! ...Until the onslaught actually came. Lives were lost, more were damaged. Who was to say the same wouldn't happen here in Junkertown? Venture needed something convincing, someone with some level of authority over the wastelanders to help them with their cause, but there was no one. There was nothing they could do.

Something in the corner of their eye caught their attention. Venture glanced over and was greeted with a wall covered in wanted posters. There was another poster with the same men on them, labeled "DO NOT ADMIT", followed by "SHOOT ON SIGHT" with the words in red and underlined twice. Venture recognized both. The pig-faced man was a big fella named Roadhog, and the other was a much smaller fella called Junkrat. Venture knew them both from previous expeditions where they had run into each other. They knew how rambunctious and rowdy the duo were, and how much attention they could draw to themselves…

An idea sparked in their mind.

The Queen couldn’t ignore her subjects.

[shoalbreaker]

Stormborn

Short write - Grimm Shoalheart

A solitary figure made its way down toward the coast from Deadwash. It wasn’t a figure to draw notice... no panoply of armor, no magnificent steed. A large man, yes, but one in a nation of others; his clothing battered, disheveled, and worn. He carries only a satchel and a small cask on a leather strap and moves like a man distracted.

Grimm had -meant- to go to Sagehold. It’s what everyone had told him to do, after all...people who theoretically knew what was happening, who had answers. But all the same, he’d stood in Deadwash’s streets for some time before turning and simply walking the other direction. No one stopped him, of course... no one paid another transient any attention at all since he didn’t look like a pirate and obviously wasn’t one of the new mainlanders with pockets filled with gold. 

No one noticed as he crossed the rocky hills, and made his way down towards the sea... for here, there wasn’t even any reason to cross this way. No docks, no bay, no fort... not even a fisherman’s hovel crouched on the strand. Just a wide extent of beach studded with driftwood, a line of drying kelp pushed up on the pale sand. Out in the distance, though, a storm gathered black on the horizon, and the winds blew chill and fresh over the waves. 

For several long moments, Grimm stood there, staring out to sea, scarred features locked in a distant frown. Even now, he didn’t understand why he was here... only that it was where he must be. A slightly less exalted portion of his thoughts drifted toward the fact he’d never seen the sea like this before, for all that he’d lived his entire short life beside it. This was nothing like the kelp and flotsam-choked channels of Boralus, thick with the stink of dead fish and less savory decay. Nor was it the docks, bustling with the bodies of men and the dry acid reek of gunpowder and pitch. Here, there were no signs of man, nothing but the distant cry of gulls and the rush of the waves on sand and stone... the same whispering sound that’s haunted his mind since the witches’ attack on the barracks. In fact...now that he stood on the beach, there was only the sound of the waves, no longer out of place or context. 

Apparently without thinking, the redhaired man let his satchel drop to the sand with a faint thump, though the cask is set down much more carefully. That’s the only thing that seems to warrant such care, however, as he turned and walked calmly out into the waves without even so much as removing his boots. The shelf was shallow here, and even with a storm behind them, the waves rolled low. It took some time for him to reach even waist depth, quite possibly all but out of shouting distance from the shore.... but then again, he wasn’t concerned about landbound voices, even were there any to call him. For a time, he stood there, staring out at the distant storm.

“....WHY?” It’s a bellow, carrying across the waves. “I came! Ye wanted me, an’ I came! But -WHY-?” Grimm glared out at the storm, his distress. confusion, and even fear translated into frustrated anger.

... because your Mother needs you ...

Grimm’s expression changed instantly; there hadn’t been words before. At least... not like that. Not so clear. He even turned around to look behind him briefly before returning his now-slightly-panicked gaze back out to sea. 

... because those that swore to serve Her have found new masters. have turned against Her. against ME. ...

The voice was rich, rough, distinctly feminine... and although there was hurt in the voice, there was also a deep and roiling rage that Grimm could feel echoing in his blood as it spoke. He remembered how he felt when he killed the troll in the tavern. How he felt when he tore the witches’ wicker-bird apart with his bare hands. It was -that- rage...

He wanted to protest; that there were other warriors that would fight each other to serve Her, that She had to be able to find hundreds of men better able to do what She asked than him. And yet, the words died in his throat. 

... do you not think I have looked? once where there were a thousand singing souls; a hundred thousand... there are but a handful of lanterns in the darkness. but there will be again, I will see to it. are you not Shoalheart? have you never thought upon your name, child? ...

For a moment, confusion rises up past the sea of emotions in his mind. “Wh... uh. No?” The voice chuckled archly.

... a shoal will break the spine of any ship that cannot respect the Seas, lying silently beneath the waves until the careless, ignorant, or misled throw themselves upon it. ...  The voice softened a little, ... and yet, in the shelter of its razor sharp spires, life flourishes and the fury of storms are tempered.  you would do well to remember this, child, in the coming days. but now... I have much to tell you.... ...

And so, watching the storm, waves washing past him as it rolled toward the coast, Grimm stood in the surf and listened to the voice of the Sea.

[soukokumychildren]

So, I was going to make a picture for this, but I can't find it in me to draw something so simple yet so intricate (why, my brain, why???). Basically you guys are gonna have to use your own TV in your brains for this one :(( Otherwise, enjoy! :)

Ranpo slipped on his suit with ease, practically bounding with excitement as he neared the room where Soukoku stored themselves for the time being; the couch they claimed promptly as theirs, awaiting something, what, perhaps, Ranpo thought was himself. He skid past the barrier to peek within the room and alert them of his presence-- Only to be met with darkness. It oozed like tendrils out from the area, despite being well-lit it felt like the darkest corner of the earth that Ranpo accidentally intruded, trampled upon. His eyes cracked open, green narrowing on silhouettes of what hit him to be the most dangerous men in Yokohama. Perhaps it never struck him before. But it was the sight before him that opened his eyes, quite literally.

Chuuya seemed to be the first he noticed, framed in shadow, which there should be very little of, tricks of the mind, perhaps, added to the edge of darkness that slithered off both he and Dazai. He held his cigarette gracefully yet carefully between his ring and middle finger in his right hand, squeezing the blunt gently, but not enough to set the burning remains of his cigarette ashes to scatter against his lap. The way he held the arch in his back, how his wings were tucked in regal arches, it spoke volumes of a man who could take the world for himself, not just from looks alone. Nothing was a set back as every curve, seam, shadow, added grace to the figure. He was a man who knew he could take, could take as much as he desired. He was strong. There was no doubt.

Especially the man beside him, a gaze dark, yawning like the abyss, one eye carrying the wretched feeling of death that dragged along the shadows strewn across his body. It was how he held his disappointed expression, perhaps at nothing in particular, his cheek resting against his right hand. His leg elegantly perched over his knee, ankle barely breeching past the point of the beginning of his calves. Even the simple black opal that rested against his left shoulder seemed to emit something akin to an eerie feeling, like another eye settling into his soul. Not to mention the jacket slung over Dazai's shoulders acted like a cape of darkness, shrouding him within the folds of the dreary feeling that traveled off of both of them in waves, almost pushing Ranpo back a few feet with their gazes. No light was held within either of them. Chuuya took a long drag of his cigarette, slowly tipping his head back and rolling his eyes upward as the nicotine hit what possibly appeared to be the force of a truck, making the redhead really immerse himself in said hit. He tilted his head back to Ranpo, dark eyes resettling on his form. His corruption scars thrummed with a burst of red energy, running up along his arms, neck, cheeks, then the side of his forehead before they returned to their raw, red skin-like tint once more. "Do you need something?" Drawled he, looking down his nose at Ranpo as if he were inferior whilst blowing smoke out from his mouth, much like a dragon preparing to release its fire; and Ranpo hadn't felt anything more than a roach under the gaze of the two. Dazai remained silent, intent on simply remaining watchful, cautious of every breath, move, even the drift of any hair follicles in the very room they resided in. He appeared to be on high alert. "I-I was gonna ask if you two wanted to go to the cafe…" He trailed off, swallowing harshly. Clearly, this was the worst time of all to intrude. What a mistake he'd made. Chuuya didn't respond, only going back to looking at his cigarette, lightly brushing the orange tip against his lips before taking a long drag, letting Dazai handle the question.

"We'll come down in a bit," Dazai spoke for Chuuya, dark undertones unlike Ranpo has ever heard. The muscles in his legs tightened; though it was hard to make out from all the folds of the thick, expensive fabric ensnaring his legs, Ranpo was one to deduct all, and could tell from the measly twitch what had gone on underneath. He was starting to feel an increasing dread that wouldn't shake itself off, no matter how hard he tried.

Chuuya snagged the cigarette from his mouth, the corner of his lip lifting into a scowl, revealing a sharp fang, used to slice into flesh and crush bone. He proceeded to present Ranpo with a dirty look, none of which he should have received, for he had done nothing but simply attempt to invite the two to a delightful afternoon. Dazai seemed to skim over Ranpo's features, bored with the expressions handed to him. He looked as though he was already searching for a new toy to tease, to play with, to make dance, to kill and or use to how he saw fit; Ranpo did not fit that current catagory. "Maybe later," the brunette spoke coldly, observing Chuuya's cigarette and snatching it up, looking to take a nice long inhale from the blunt as well and as much as he could muster. When Chuuya lost the cigarette, he didn't seem to at all notice, resuming on placing his arm to drape across a knee, raised to cradle the redheads forearm when it grew dreary; though, no such event happened, for the strength and stamina Chuuya carried, he could more than likely hold the position all day with a series of weights keeping him pinned to the spot.

Ranpo tried to throw off the memories of Chuuya single-handedly throwing down one of the toughest, biggest brutes that Ranpo's ever seen with a simple kick, looking as though he barely so much as put a single percentage of effort behind it, yawning for an added effect before slicing his head off with a simple flick of his wrist. No blood even splattered across his flawless outfit, as though he himself knew no part of his body could or would be tarnished.

"Y-yeah. Sure. Later." Ranpo stammered uneasily, not sure what fueled his voice to crack under the pressure, even if the answer was right infront of him. Perhaps he didn't want to acknowledge the obvious. He watched Dazai slide his eye shut and take a rather long drag, much like his significant other, exhaling the smoke through his nose. His eyes lightly darted to Ranpo, as if to ask meaningfully: "why are you still here?" The black-haired man asked himself that very question, turning his body before his head followed suit, suddenly feeling the need to evacuate the office as soon as possible, throwing open the Agency door and taking his leave in a rushed manner, the door closing not-so-hurriedly behind.

[writer-77]

Practice Write

I hike nearly a mile down Harbison Lane until the tar-and-chip road dwindles down to a narrow dirt path at an impassable dead end road that cuts into the forest. Only locals and conservation officers know what exists beyond this point. I make my way through the bushy entrance and venture into a verdant wilderness of lush foliage in shades of nut brown and green flourishing in full bloom. I…

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[positivewritesxo]

When you find someone you truly fit with days and nights will go by in the blink of an eye, whether the sun is shining or the rain is pouring down that person will be stood by your side. True compassion and love isnt all butterflies and rainbows, sometimes its thunderstorms too but I know I can get through it all because I've got you.

@positivewritesxo

[low--kei]

it's best for me for you since there is no us all i can do is love you from you from a distance

— Kei, why i never hit you up