#writing dabble

[squidwithamelon]

Reading was always one of life’s great pleasures. To use one’s imagination to explore worlds impossible to explore one’s self. To be brought empathy towards the down fortunes of those one is not. To feel what others might feel.

But Nightmare already did. Reading the newspaper brought no extra pleasure to him; people died, stuff was destroyed. He knows, he felt it all.

He is it all. 

Every time someone stubbed their toe; every time someone lost a loved one; every time anyone is SLIGHTLY ANNOYED. 

He feels it, as he IS it. 

He IS negativity. 

He is a KING.

He is a GOD. 

So why does he feel like shit. 

Nightmare was at his desk. He had been at his desk for the past day. He had excused himself from the rest to do work. What work? 

He glanced down.

Oh right. A pen hung loose in his hand, balanced on his finger. 

A muffled clank was heard as it hit the floor. Nightmare sighed, looking down to find it. It wasn’t on the floor. It was still in his hand.

No, it was on the desk. 

What?

He picked the pen back up, pinching the ridge of his nasal bone. He wasn’t tired, he couldn't get tired. Emotions can’t sleep. 

A letter to his brother, for their birthday. He doesn’t even know why he does it but every year his brother sends him a happy birthday letter! What is he? 5? Dream wants to RUB it in his face? That everyone ALWAYS celebrated HIS BIRTHDAY? But never Nightmare’s? 

The only person to ever care was Dream. 500 years later, that still remains the case. 

‘Happy Birthday to my dearest brother, Dream’ 

Good start.

‘I hope you drop dead. My life would be better off if you never existed.’ 

Even better.

‘When I rip that apple from within your being, I hope you feel every ounce of pain you have inflicted upon me tenfolds.’

‘Love, Nightmare.’ 

Nightmare set the pen down. A smirk spread across his face as he lifted up the paper to reread. 

“Happy Birthday to my dearest. . . .”

What. 

His eye scanned up and down the page. Where was the rest? 

He turned the page, nothing was on the back. 

Nightmare went to pick up the pen, but he never got it off the floor.

It was never on the floor. It never fell. 

Why is it on the floor?

[mackenziebrooks]

I Have some Bakugo dabbles in my head that I want to write to turn into hopefully fics..but I’m not sure which one I want to write first!

[wexhappyxfew]

Before the beginning 👀

HELLO ANON! thanks for sending this in! :) had some ideas swirling about for the past few days and made a decision for what i want to write for this! enjoy some writing and dabbling on the filipski's before the war; featuring Natia, Ryzshard and Klimeck and their parents :) a sort of sad and weary and worrying perspective, but one that must've been felt ultimately. really enjoyed writing this! might experiment with it a bit! :) thanks for the ask!! <3

Natia remembered the night Papa had come home from work with a crumpled newspaper shoved up under his armpit and black coat. She remembered, sat at the piano, her body turned in curiosity towards where Papa stood next to Mama, pulling the newspaper out from under his arm to hold it out towards her. She'd been doing the dishes, stood with the lilac scented soap filling the sink and the bubbles sat up the first portion of her arm.

She remembered how Mama had cried that night behind their parents' door and Klimeck had done her best to clean up the rest of dinner, while Natia and Ryzshard had sat at the kitchen table, trading worksheets as they helped one another with maths.

The trio of them had a pretty firm idea of what Mama was upset about; the talk on the parlor radio was enough to make Papa walk in from the kitchen and flick it off in annoyance or Mama sit still with her book in hand and stare out the window.

It made Natia contemplate far too many things; would she be able to fully graduate her schooling and start university? Would she be able to get that job at Kosmicki's down the street? Would she be able to sleep safely at night? The worry kept her sharing glances with Ryzshard who sat, nimbly staring at the sheet of math in front of him.

How were they to focus with rumors such as this?

[mackenziebrooks]

Guess who started writing a new dabble for Asta.

[mackenziebrooks]

I have this really cute Megumi Fushiguro fic that I want to do

[seven--eyes]

Existence has been birthed countless times. Countless gods and inconceivable lifetimes, unique partners in love and hungry mortals who believed they deserved a piece of the universe pie to devour for their own greedy purpose. I’ve heard them all. But I will tell you the one that I know.