forum In Honor of Those Little Scenes

Started May 04, 2019 by Deleted user

tune

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Oof that's some mediocre writing right there

(This is from an RP with @ColorMeToxic that I really like. Xiomara is her character, credits to her. I rewrote a bit of it, Kat, so don't be angeyyy when you see this uwu ilyyyy)

“I should ask what you’re comfortable with before I go and do it. What can and can’t I do, Met?” Xiomara asked softly, pawing some blonde hair from her eyes to see him better.

Met's heart started to race a bit at her question. He found himself overthinking the question she asked.
I can't answer it as simple as that. Even I'm not sure what I like and don't like. He forced himself to take in a breath of air, curling his toes and makimg himself relax.
He finally exhaled with a small, pathetic shrug. He dipped his head, which made his dark, long hair fall over his face as he fought for air.

Xio felt her heart ache for him. Whatever had happened to him had broken him completely. She hugged him, drawing blood as she bit her lip harder. She ignored the pain. “I’m sorry for whatever happened to you… I’m sorry someone hurt you.” She murmured.

Met didn't want to be touched anymore. Her words made him feel dirty and pointed-out. He didn't want to taint her with the same things he felt and went through. He didn't deserve to have pity. It was his fault. He wasn't good enough, that's why it happened. He didn't respond, only dipped his head a little against hers.

Xiomara didn’t let him go. She only squeezed him harder. Xiomara wasn’t sure what else to do. She felt slightly at fault for his emotions. She felt that she had reminded him of some past lover.
Xio slowly let go of him and wiggles out of his grip. “I’m going to go wash my cup and then shower. I’ll be back soon.” She muttered, kissing his cheek softly.

Met was just about ready to ask her to stop squeezing him when she pulled away. He nodded, hardly paying attention and looking down at the sofa. He grabbed his own cup again and sipped at it as an excuse not to respond.
It wasn't her who reminded him of Meli. He was always thinking about her. She was always there, since half a year ago when he broke up with her. There was still the remaining fear of her finding him, even though she was jailed for harassment and sexual violence.
But he hadn't heard anything of her since a chilling phone call from the time she was jailed. She had called him as her one call after her court case.

"I'll come back for you, Metty. But if you break me out of here, I'll be more than happy to come back…"

Xiomara moves to the kitchen, her heart sinking. How had it gone from such a happy night to this? None of this was supposed to happen.
She wanted to be happy with him. But maybe her years of dating had come to an end. Maybe she was too picky. She should have settled for one of her other dates. Maybe she should have settled for Dylan… maybe he was right about everything he said. She hugged herself and leaned against the counter, her cup in the sink yet not washed.

Met shook himself and instinctively rose a hand to touch his face. Only quivering skin and the wetness of his cheeks met his fingers. He wanted to tell his shaking body that they were safe, in the protection of his home. But he told himself that before Meli had gotten arrested…
Met squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, curling his legs against his chest and burying his face. He suddenly felt unsafe without the presence of Xio. He felt cold and restricted again, his toes kneading the surface of the couch as he fought to control himself.

Xio refused to cry. She was childish. All she had to do was try, was stay in his comfort zone… everything would be fine if she didn’t take one step out of line.
So, she washed her cup and made her way to their rooms. The shower she took was a short one, filled with her washing her tears away along with the dirt and grime of her body. Xio placed a nightgown on, preferring them to pants.

Met found himself worrying, shifting to her and himself in a matter of seconds. His knuckles were white over his head as he gripped it in a slight duck-and-cover maneuver like one would practice in school, shaking in his seat.
As he sat there with tears of fear streaming down his cheeks and onto the leather of his couch, absolutely silent in his breakdown, a voice screamed at him to grow up, to get over himself and buck up. It felt as if Meli was right there again, just screaming at him from above him.

Xio stood at the door of the bathroom for a long time. She had struggled for years with self doubt and felt it ebbing it’s way into her heart. She glanced at herself in the mirror, hating the reflection.
So, to distract herself she moved back down the stairs and into the living room, biting her lip at the sight of Met. Had she hurt him…? Was it all her fault…? “M-Met…?” She asked softly, about to place a hand on his back before she thought better, instead taking a seat in front of him. “Hey, Metaphorical, look at me please.”

Met paused. He felt her behind him, and totally out of it, expected a lash to his scrawny back. His body tensed as she pulled back, and he didn't relax when she sat down. He slowly brought up his chin to look at her, his long hair curled around his face and absolutely soaked at the ends. His hands and nails still dug into his scalp, and he could feel wetness.

Xio didn’t dare touch him, afraid he’d flinch away and tell her it was her fault. She looked him over with a gentle expression. “Met, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok. I’m here for you and I’m not going to leave or hurt you.” She promised, offering her hand for him to take. She would be fine if he didn’t accept it.
But at the same time, her mind raced with self-degrading thoughts, telling herself she was going to end up like her mother; a druggie and alcoholic with no family and friends. “It’s going to be ok… I love you very much…”

Met focused on her and her concerned expression. Xio was a new generation for him, something hopefully better. He needed to protect her against anything that was thrown her way because of him. He promised himself, if she got hurt because of something that he did, he would kill himself.
He gently reached out for her hand, his nails and fingers red from the blood drawn from his scalp, but he grabbed her hand gently anyway. His hands were still shaking, and he still had that pressing need to just cry and scream in fear, but the voice in his ears died away at her soft one. Her promises he didn't listen to, but the way her voice smoothly left her throat he did.

(Excuse the pure word vomit, lolllll. But yes, Xio is Kat's incredible character, and Met is my boio. So sorry for the varied writing styles.)

(Heheheheeeee I loved it so much I d to share it! Call me Emi, please, love, thank you.)

(AH I TYPED THAT AND IT AUTOCORRECTED)

World burning, storms of ashes falling from the sky in a macabre imitation of snow that used to grace these lands. Buildings crumbling and decrepit, charred, vines creeping along outer edges. Looking up, the Traveller sees a cloaked figure, standing, watching over the remains of a once great city. Stepping closer to them, the Traveller speaks with a voice filled with curiosity, words breaking the fragile silence.
"Do you know what has happened here?"
Hoarse, the Stranger's voice is long disused, and every word falls slowly, a stone from his lips to clatter with all of the others said long ago.
"I do." Perhaps it takes an age for him to speak again, perhaps only moments, time is a fickle thing in places such as these. "I also know those that did it. They never meant for their crimes to become monumental."
A grim smile, something dark, full of past regrets and memories best forgotten, seeming to tell a tale all its own.
"They were going to change the world with their ideas." Softer now, his voice a melodious balm on the wounds of a broken world. "But the world has never been kind to challengers, to those that would change how things were done."
Tentative, the Traveller looks at him, heart aching with the weight of the Stranger's pain. "How do you know?"
A breathy sort of laugh escapes him, and his blue eyes shine with guilt. When he speaks, his words waver, voice low and dripping with sadness and self-hatred. "Because I was one of them. Once. A very long time ago. Back when snow still fell. I don't believe that you will have ever seen snow. And now? Now I am the only one left, my family having succumbed to the madness that lurks behind every new ideal." He shrugs, tattered cloak shifting with him.
Sadly, the Traveller looks at him again, and turns to leave. They can do nothing for him now, and it is clear that he has nothing else to say.
The Traveller walks along, leaving a broken soul, company to a broken man behind them. As their footsteps fade, the Stranger smoothes out an old photograph, tear stained faces quickly drowning once again. Amidst all of this, the world is still, and the Traveller knows that nothing more awaits them here.

@altogether_quite_impossible_to_describe
I love the dramatic-ness of your snippet! Pretty edgy, super fun to read.

@The-Moral-Ambiguity-of-Metaphors & @ColorMeToxic , that was freaking deeeep for both of the characters, I love the emotional range + how you described the panic attack without flat put saying "he had a panic attack" I love it!

@Ca1iCa1–Is–Tired
I absolutely adore your vocabulary. I really liked how you used present-tense, it really immerses the reader. Very interesting!

yOu gUYs aRE sO AmAziNgGgggGg, I can't not compliment you, lol.

Oof that's some mediocre writing right there

Idk Amber. That could use some polish sure. But there was some power in there as well. Good stuff.

“So, is this the place?” She would ask me. I glance at her. It was odd, referring to ‘her’ as a..female. But at the same time, it felt right.

I nod. “I used to come here. A lot; not by choice, just by orders. But that gave me time to study.” I lean forwards from the bush we were crouched in, pointing towards the gate. “Trucks routinely cross through there. A small… person could fit under there. They could go right under the radar.”

“But that means,” she turned towards me, “you’ll have to stay back.” It was not a question.

“Correct. But you said you wanted to free your people?” I asked her.

She stayed silent, but nodded. “Then go. Free them; I’ll continue the plan.”

She stood, then stopped, turning back to me. “Promise me,” I halted, “promise me we’ll live through this. Together.”

I stayed silent, then replied, as I walked away. “I promise you.”

It was a shame, that I seemed to never be able to keep my promises.

I snapped back to reality, avoiding the shattering of glass above my head. While my armour would’ve defended me from it, I did not want to take risks. I covered myself as I darted behind a shelf.

“Come out!” It screeched. I moved constantly, but that was the error in my part. It picked me up on its sensors almost immediately. I heard the thunder of its feet; metal claws echoing on the cold ground. I was out in the open, face to face with this thing.

What stood in front of me was no human. It was no woman.

It was a monster.

In my time in the prison, my interactions seemed to revolve around my blackouts that I had. The results of the damage I had acquired from being shot repeatedly, over a course of only a few hours. I was surprised my systems had not shut down yet completely.

When these blackouts happened, I faded away. And woke up, in a grey room. I remember humans telling me about dreams.

”What is a dream? Do you dream?” I asked the question to them, long ago.

”A dream, is where a person finds an escape to a world. Sometimes dreams are good. Other times they can be scary. But there’s a lot of grey in a dream. Parts we don’t just understand yet.”

“..do they..mean something?”

“Sometimes. Some people believe that your dreams are a sign. Other times, some people see dreams as a way of contacting.”

I did not dream. I was not programmed to. Yet this grey room was a new world to me. My first few visits to the grey room were..empty. Boring, almost. But one day, I told myself to look around. And I did. A table, a grey table. Everything was grey. But one day, there was a door. A door, which opened, and several creatures exited. They were like humans, almost. But they were not. They were completely grey. They just observed me, despite having featureless faces. No eyes, no mouth, no nothing.
I called them the grey men, after a while. Each time I returned, they were there. Shy at first, but soon, they started growing more active. Getting closer to me.

“I suppose none of you talk?” I asked. I turned away. “Guess not. None of you have mouths, after all.” But one day, they did. They spoke.

“We can,” I heard one of them. “Speak, thanks to you.”

I took a moment to process what they had just done. “Thanks to me?” I asked, bewildered.

“Yes.”

Thanks to me.

This world was..no, this dream? It was mine. Thanks to me, I had given these beings ability to talk. And soon, ability to see. And create, and think freely. And colour returned, and the room was no longer grey.

And one day, it all just vanished. I could no longer access the grey men anymore. Were they a lie? Just a part of my program?

I never figured out the answer.

Oof that's some mediocre writing right there

Idk Amber. That could use some polish sure. But there was some power in there as well. Good stuff.

Thanks! Much appreciated

It was a gaze that spoke of loss, of love, of memories shared and retrieved. Of life. The trace of her touch, the ghost of her smile, the black and white tracks of her long-forgotten voice. The colours she had brought with her into my life, from the start, until the finish.

Time had stolen my vision of her. The soft auburn curls gathered on the top of her head, the curve of her cheek bone, her fragile, pale figure, the slight shadows cast across her jaw when she closed her eyes, the crooked smile, the shine of her blue eyes, the faint yet permanent mark on the bridge of her nose, put there by the ridiculous glasses she had once sported. All these details I had once cherished, slipping away from me a little bit more each day I had tried so desperately to hold onto them.

Now I had her back, and all the stories told, the laughs shared, the fears admitted were closing in, forming a barrier separating us from the world. She stood here in front of me, the pitcher slipping from her hand, shattering on the cobblestone path. My Lili. My love.

She took a tentative step forward. I followed. She was close enough to touch.

“Nathan.” It was one word, barely a whisper, quickly swept away with the wind and accumulated years of missing the girl who was now in front of me, repeating the one word I had, for so long, hated above all else.

I reached forward, my hand grazing her cheek. She carefully cupped my hand to her face, laughing gently. She wiped away the droplets of rain crawling down my cheek, mingling with my tears, and I tucked behind her ear the strand of hair fluttering in the breeze. The sun had dipped below the mountains, and the surrounding world of shadows framing her face and invading the sky washed away, leaving nothing but us, Lili and Nathan, desperately clutching at a long-lost love, feeling, for the first time in four years, nothing but joy.

w o a h

I've had that one for a while, it's been polished

Here’s mine,:

The wind was nearly as breathtaking as the city below. It blew through Lighter’s messy curls sending a shiver of delight through his body as he took his spot at the edge of the building.

The beauty of the world below him was so fragile. He was so fragile. All it would take was a single step forwards. One step into the air.

Then he’d be free. Free from all ithe pain. No one would miss him. Not a single soul.

And yet here he was struggling to take that step. He feared death. He feared his freedom. There had to be a reason he was kept so highly hated. Would he be too dangerous for society to accept? Would he end up some damaging leader?

He didn’t know. It was better this way. It was all better if he was out of the picture. He didn’t need to be careful. He didn’t want to live.

His foot slid into the air, the other following soon after. He was falling. Falling slowly. His brain flashed picture after picture to him. Showing him his mother’s smiling face. Showing him his father’s abusive state. Showing him the end.

The pain was minimal. He felt almost nothing. Wait… he didn’t feel any pain. He didn’t feel a release. His eyes flickered open and there he was, standing on the edge, one foot hanging over the ledge.

Marcus Teague was not ready to kill himself.

~m a j e s t i c~

Marrrcyyyyyyyy

Marrrcyyyyyyyy

Eeeyyyy you gots it
But it’s when he’s more depressed and less gay

Marrrcyyyyyyyy

Eeeyyyy you gots it
But it’s when he’s more depressed and less gay

I know lol

Is it weird that I'm inspired to give something up I wrote about Zacky?

Marrrcyyyyyyyy

Eeeyyyy you gots it
But it’s when he’s more depressed and less gay

I know lol

Is it weird that I'm inspired to give something up I wrote about Zacky?

Nah cuz Zacky goes with Marcy

Marrrcyyyyyyyy

Eeeyyyy you gots it
But it’s when he’s more depressed and less gay

I know lol

Is it weird that I'm inspired to give something up I wrote about Zacky?

Nah cuz Zacky goes with Marcy

.D.

Yis ima write Zacky

Eventually

I've come upon the revelation that most of this is a magical thing called "Flash Fiction"… I've just now come across this.

Yup.