and now, prompts:
music: Requiem for the Hunter, by Aviators
image: by Yuri Shwedoff
word prompt: from Requiem, by Anna Akhmatova
No, neither under an alien sky nor
Under the protection of alien wings—
I remained with my own people then,
Where my people, in their misfortune, were.
unfortunately, i never did get to enter. it's really hard to record things right now, with everyone home, and i got a gnarly ass sunburn that's making me hate myself. i might actually record it anyway at some point and post it on youtube though!
to be entirely fair, it took me five minutes and asking my boyfriend to remember the word life preserver, because it really shouldn't exist
as for the critique, you're actually really right?? it has been Changed and i appreciate that so much
i'm glad you like it! i'm really proud of myself for the steps i've made when it comes to progress, and sitting there re-writing it made me feel like a whole new person. i can attribute that a lot to you and the chat, actually, for helping me figure out what's wrong with my writing and how to fix it!
hey, that's very understandable! I'd definitely love to hear it spoken if you ever do record it.
'life preserver' is an Evil Word. it's right up there with moist and flesh (even if they're up there for different reasons).
and hey, I'm really glad to see that this chat is actually doing what it was intended for! hopefully all of us are coming out of it as better writers than we were when we came. or, in my case, I'm getting better at giving feedback at least. maybe give it another 8 months and I'll learn how to make it concise haha
@Dances_with_Shadows
what an introduction. what a legend. both the character and the way we were introduced to her were very, very epic.
Stuff I loved: the structure!!! the sort of jerking between general reflection and specific, in-the-moment intense action is superb, really engaging and very well executed. the language is razor sharp and just as intense as the situation justifies. very vivid, very detailed, with a very nice amount of images that kind of bridge the poetic reflectiony bits and the up-in-your-face action bits. I also love that it's addressed to "you" - again, very intense, direct, right up in our faces.
I think there were a few times where I wondered if the rich language kind of distracted from the tone of the writing? it's very rare if it happens at all, but for example I puzzled over "the eager touch of a helpful toddler" quite a bit, which yanked me out of the immediate action.
and this is also 100% subjective, but I noticed that there are a few times when the narrator seems to directly explain stuff to the reader. for example, "due to the cold shoulder summer is giving" or "as my attention is narrowed on one particular spot" or "a choice made by my anger". which is alright, but I think it can interrupt the flow of the narration at times? because sometimes the way an explanation is worded means that the reader finds out about the effect before they find out about the cause, which can feel a bit unnatural when we're so closely following the narrator's perspective. idk how to put this into words that make sense. but for example, in the first one I mentioned, it starts out with "visible breath" and then tells me "because it's cold". now that could either be switched around to "it's cold, so visible breath" or just mentioning both facts and leaving the reader to draw the connection between the two ("it's cold. visible breath."). and I guess it's your call which you prefer, but I find for me that the latter two options feel more comfortable than the first.
(long story short - I have Opinions but you are under no obligation to share them haha).
but yes. this was fabulous. We stan the Absolute and Legit Queen. thank you for sharing!
I-
Okay, first of all, I honestly thought that the weird structure that my brain demanded I use wasn't an issue. I'm so glad that you found it to be so great!
"the eager touch of a helpful toddler": Yeah, that one line I had kinda caught myself on while writing, but I was so in and out of being "present" that I just kept on going and eventually forgot about it. Definitely noted for future editing.
Explanation. Yes. Definitely needs a second look at and reworded to be less spoken to and more involved in the action.
Cinthia is one of my oldest characters (in the sense that she's one of the first ones I created that stuck with me, she's only 19) and I absolutely adore her, even if she has a slightly questionable moral compass at times.
Based on the word prompt:
The forty-first millenium was a glorious age for humanity. At least, that's what Bahamut was conditioned to think. As he rose from the ancient sepulcher from which he was entombed, he felt anything but glorious. The last thing Bahamut An'dregax remembered was the feeling of cold, sharp pains in his head. Before that, he was fighting with his Battle-Brothers on some Emperor-forsaken planet against a massive swarm of Tyranids. They had laid claim to one of the massive Hive Cities and his Astartes Chapter, the Salamanders, were called in to spread the Emperor's will with Heavy Flamers and Multi-Meltas while reclaiming the city. Bahamut and his chapter had managed to break down the doors of a massive Manufactorum, one of many dedicated to keeping the vast armies of the Emperor supplied. Tyranids had set up their disgusting hive at the center of this factory, and if the Astartes were to continue their holy mission against the forces of Chaos and Horus, the Traitor, every Hive City was valuable.
Bahamut fought his way through hordes of insectoid enemies, but the more he gunned down, the more they would show up. Their claws had no chance of piercing his Ceramite power armor, but even his Multi-Melta had difficulty stemming the flow of Tyranids rushing to meet their fiery death. Soon, his footing became unsure. Carapaces cracked and oozed acidic blood, melting the stone beneath his feet.
"Grenade!" an Astartes behind him bellowed, tossing a frag grenade deep into enemy lines. The explosion turned at least twenty Tyranids into a gooey mess, and Bahamut was able to push further into the nest.
After another five grueling minutes of mowing down enemies, the Salamanders emerged into a massive chamber. The large crucibles indicated that this chamber used to be a massive forge, refining metal into ingots before they were passed along to other Manufactorums. Writhing, silky cocoons lined the walls. One Astartes used his power knife to cut one open, and out came a naked, semi-conscious human covered in some slightly acidic fluid.
"Commander!" the Astartes called. "Sir, there are humans here!"
"Free as many as you can," Bahamut commanded, raising his Multi-Melta and scanning the walls for movement. "Watch for any more xenos and protect these people as if they were the Emperor Himself."
The ground began to rumble, and then a massive, open-mawed Tyranid burst forth from beneath Bahamut's feet. Reacting quicker than any normal human could, he caught himself on top of the creature's mandibles and blasted a gout of flame into its belly. The rest of the Salamanders opened fire, their Bolters and Heavy Flamers withering the monster's chitinous body. Suddenly, a loud scream came from further in. A second, massive Tyranid erupted from the ground with a roar like a screaming woman and a jet engine. This one had massive scythe-like appendages that scraped the ground. Bahamut leapt off of the first one and charged the second. It reacted faster than he expected, however, and skewered him through the stomach in one clean motion. His breath caught in his stomach, now mangled and leaking acid into the rest of his body, and Bahamut's vision went dark.
Then, he woke up.
"Where… am… I?" Bahamut said, slowly regaining consciousness. He was taken aback immediately, for the voice that spoke was not his own. It was different. Mechanical, some would say. He tried to look around, but his eyes didn't seem to be working properly. The Astartes commander saw clearly, but there were lights in his vision. Schematics, a compass, even an ammunition counter at the corners of his eyes. He then realized that his head seemed to be locked in place, but there didn't seem to be any restraints binding him.
"Praise the Emperor, you've awoken!" came a small feminine voice. Looking down, he saw a woman, a Tech Priestess–clearly a new recruit, as she only had a mechanical left eye and a prosthetic right hand. She was nearly prostrate on the floor and mumbling prayers in High Gothic to the Emperor of Mankind. As he looked, Bahamut then saw that his hands were not his own, either. Instead of his usual power armor, his chest was bulky and his right arm was replaced with a massive rotary cannon. He feared to try and move it, lest it fire, and decimate both the room and the Tech Priestess beneath him.
"What happened to me?" Bahamut asked slowly.
"O Venerable Dreadnought, you have been reborn!" the Priestess cried, tears of joy filling her eyes.
"Where are my men?" It was hard to look, as Bahamut didn't have a head. Instead, sensors now lined his torso, a Ceramite and Adamantium sarcophagus that also functioned as a mobile weapons platform. There was only one other Dreadnought like him, Bray'arth Ashmantle, and he had fought alongside Primarch Vulkan and even the Emperor Himself, many hundreds of years ago.
"Uh–" the Priestess hesitated. "It has been some time since you were recovered and many of them have since… died… at the Drop Site Massacre of Istvaan V."
"How long has it been?" said Bahamut, absorbing this information while trying to stand. Despite him being sealed in a walking tank, he could feel his joints moving and his feet touching the ground. He could feel something like oils coating his armor and smell incense burning. Death was common in the forty-first millenium, and many times those who died would be forgotten and replaced almost immediately unless their actions were notable in some way. However, becoming a Dreadnought was an entirely different story.
Bahamut was well-decorated in his chapter, most notably for when he massacred a legion of Dark Eldar by his lonesome to give the rest of his chapter enough time to call for reinforcements. He nearly died that day, but was awarded the title of Commander and given his own master-crafted weapon, a twin-linked Multi-Melta named Retribution. Achievements like his weren't all that uncommon, as some Astartes were braver (or dumber, heretics would say) than others, and their fanatical determination would lead them to acts of great heroism. People like him were revered, and if they either died in service or otherwise perished prematurely, they would often have whatever remains quickly sealed in a Dreadnought sarcophagus so they could live on.
"It's been nearly three Terran years since the Adeptas Sororitas recovered your remains. You were only left your upper half when they found you," the Tech Priestess said, backing away to give the Dreadnought room to move.
"The Sisters of Battle?" Bahamut said, his joints straightening as he rolled his shoulders to try and understand their movements. "Did they at least complete the mission?"
"After you fell, more Tyranid Carnifexes–those big ones– showed up. The Astartes ended up entrenching themselves for a few months, but Horus and the forces of Chaos divided the military's attention," the Priestess explained. "A retreat was called, and an Inquisitor used the Exterminatus."
Hearing this, he felt a holy rage build up inside of him. "There were millions of people still there!" Bahamut shouted, scaring the Priestess. He lashed out with his left hand, now a clawed implement of death, and smashed a wall. "Those damn cowards couldn't even have been bothered to save the rest of the humans in the other Hive Cities! Those cities were supposed to be 'important!'"
He then huffed, as best a machine could huff. "'Important' my ass."
The Priestess was still hunched over in fear. Bahamut turned to her and lowered himself. "Forgive me, Miss. I understand the need to prevent the xenos from further infesting our galaxy, but my Brothers and I view humans to be just as valuable as any Astartes warrior. Destroying a planet without even attempting an evacuation boils my blood."
He straightened himself and turned toward the hallway next to him. "Come. I would like to meet my Brothers again."
(This quarantine's given me plenty of time to get into Warhammer 40k. Too bad everything's so expensive ;-; I also edited the post above for clarity.)
hmmm
its time for depression-inspired writing!!
again
it's unfinished
because i always write until i have no creativity left
then i just abandon it
oh, tw: mentions of suicide and self-harm
i should put this in a spoiler, considering that
also
made it an image cause it was easier
~
[ran out of creativity, wish i could've continued it tho]
@amber_is_a_starchild
so first off I think it's wild that you say you "were going to" make it super rich and poetic as if you somehow haven't done that? Sure, it's not dripping with long sentences and deliberate intricate word constellations, but it is rich, it is poetical, and it absolutely wrecked me. so. thanks for that.
I’m amazed that y’all liked this, @crocs-to-a-knife-fight too, but thank you so much???? Like serious I really appreciate this :D.
Thanks for the advice I’ll fix it up!! Thanks again!
Also, this is slightly off topic but Sea Wall is on YouTube this week, it’s a short film starring only andrew (Our Supreme Lord and Overseer) Scott. It’s quite inspiring to me but even if it isn’t to you it’s just a really really great film and I absolutely recommend it!
I'm so far removed from Saturday it's honestly shameful. Oh how the mighty have fallen
@Yamatsu
I'm really intrigued by what's going on in this piece! I think one of its strongest features is the structure and flow, especially in the action sequence bits. I personally find it really difficult to visualise high-paced action and fight sequences and stuff like that, so the fact that you described it with relative clarity and managed not to lose me completely is pretty impressive. There's no unnecessary words, the action is generally chronological, well-blocked out, and makes sense.
I think one of the main reasons I came out confused is my lack of context and the extremely high density of specialised terminology and names. Without knowing anything about Multi-Meltas or Astartes or stuff like that, it's pretty difficult for me to follow who is doing what to whom with what and why. So while I think this would be a strong sequence within a bigger context (of a fandom, maybe, or just near the tail-end of an original novel where all of these terms have been properly , slowly explained), as a standalone it assumes way too much about my ability to keep up with new information.
soo yeah. thank you for sharing!!
@the-ghost-witch-izzy
oof, that one hits different. thank you for putting it into a spoiler tag and adding trigger warnings! I haven't mentioned stuff like that before, I don't think, so I'm glad it was self-evident that it'd be appropriate in this case.
I have to say I'm not sure how much I can say about this? It feels weird to say a lot of positive things about it, considering the very bleak subject matter and the general despair in the tone. on the other hand, it's also odd to critique it much because it's a very personal and subjective matter which would be weird to tell you how to handle. Also, you did mention that it's unfinished, so most of the things I'd say about plot, pacing, etc. don't really apply yet since I'm sure you'd have gone back for those given the opportunity.
so I guess I'll just say that it's a very strong characterisation, just as I've come to expect from you. Though the formatting as single blocs of text is a bit overwhelming for the eyes. Thank you for sharing it, in any case!
And since you seem to be having a bit of a rough time, I hope you're being gentle with yourself! And I hope your pain eases soon
I think since it's like… two days until the next Saturday dishonour on me, dishonour on my family, dishonour on my cow, I'll just leave this song here and give out proper prompts then.
this one's near and dear to my heart and, in my opinion, criminally underappreciated:
"Dreams on Hold" by Sharyn Hope
@Yamatsu
I'm really intrigued by what's going on in this piece! I think one of its strongest features is the structure and flow, especially in the action sequence bits. I personally find it really difficult to visualise high-paced action and fight sequences and stuff like that, so the fact that you described it with relative clarity and managed not to lose me completely is pretty impressive. There's no unnecessary words, the action is generally chronological, well-blocked out, and makes sense.
I think one of the main reasons I came out confused is my lack of context and the extremely high density of specialised terminology and names. Without knowing anything about Multi-Meltas or Astartes or stuff like that, it's pretty difficult for me to follow who is doing what to whom with what and why. So while I think this would be a strong sequence within a bigger context (of a fandom, maybe, or just near the tail-end of an original novel where all of these terms have been properly , slowly explained), as a standalone it assumes way too much about my ability to keep up with new information.
soo yeah. thank you for sharing!!
Yeah, I figured it was going to be difficult for me to convey a lot of the terminology without breaking the flow of the story. "Twin-linked Multi-Melta" is something I kind of made up, as I'm not sure that weapon actually exists as a twin-linked (meaning two of them strapped together) variety. There's a lot of vocabulary to study in Warhammer, and I kind of wrote this as a way to channel my inspiration that came from watching lore videos and seeing all of the cool miniatures you could build and paint. Thank you for the critique!
i've been out of writing commission for a while now, completely lost on how to do anything. whatever funk i was in was broken by some happening irl, and they spawned the word jumble i'm about to share. i'm well aware that it seems to split theme every once in a while, but it needed to be written, in a therapeutic way. things are okay, i swear, the problems just need to be worked on, and the other person who should be helping me work on them is choosing instead to run away from them
anyway how are y'all?
Memory upon memory is echoed in my symphony,
Recollections of a good life kept in a pearlescent elogy
My tombstone is decorated.
You would never know it marked the burial of a heart,
Of a human,
Of a brain full of thoughts half finished.
I am sinking and sinking is all I can do,
Nowhere left to go when home tastes like bittersweet and smoke.
A lifetime spent running from everything in my way labelled chasing,
I am not filled with determination only fear,
The taste well known on my blush colored lips,
Did you take the fear
Or did we just share it?
Catacombs of hollowed bones left in place of what we built,
I stopped running,
Built cathedrals of poems and the words singing in my heart
And watched as you made a home in them,
Then told me you didn’t belong.
I have broken promises like snap-peas and lied
So often that my family had no clue what to make of me.
You told me once you never break a promise,
And the idea of living to that standard suddenly tasted like stardust,
Not the ash left in my fireplace heart.
Yet here you stand in front of me,
Eyes like the soft curled leaves on a new spring fern,
Here you stand and lie to me, curled in again.
Here you decide,
Here you pick lying, choose breaking.
We planted the seeds for something great,
But you don’t want to get your hands dirty.
These problems don’t fix themselves,
Instead waiting with bated breath in the dark closet.
Your skeletons are warning you that the past will repeat itself
But you don’t speak their bone-dry whispers.
When your past
Ties you down you do not listen,
I refuse to be placed on a pedestal and blamed
When you accidentally destroy it.
I am not your solution, I’m your support.
Not your fix-it cleric or the martyr you think you need,
Just the home to go back to when you realize
All I packed up were the memories.
And there’s always room for more.
@the-ghost-witch-izzy
oof, that one hits different. thank you for putting it into a spoiler tag and adding trigger warnings! I haven't mentioned stuff like that before, I don't think, so I'm glad it was self-evident that it'd be appropriate in this case.
I have to say I'm not sure how much I can say about this? It feels weird to say a lot of positive things about it, considering the very bleak subject matter and the general despair in the tone. on the other hand, it's also odd to critique it much because it's a very personal and subjective matter which would be weird to tell you how to handle. Also, you did mention that it's unfinished, so most of the things I'd say about plot, pacing, etc. don't really apply yet since I'm sure you'd have gone back for those given the opportunity.
so I guess I'll just say that it's a very strong characterisation, just as I've come to expect from you. Though the formatting as single blocs of text is a bit overwhelming for the eyes. Thank you for sharing it, in any case!
And since you seem to be having a bit of a rough time, I hope you're being gentle with yourself! And I hope your pain eases soon
Thank you for the critique, even if it wasn't much!
'nd thanks for that, I'm trying aha
My lack of experience when it comes to slice of life has become horribly apparent with my latest project, but coincidentally, it's a project I'm determined to stick with. Why? Because psychology is fascinating to me, and I've put more thought into this than my scrapped projects. Fair warning, this was written without proofreading because it's late and I have a party tomorrow turning 17 holy shit, so tense switches might be a thing. Enjoy!
The day had finally ended. The sun’s rays crept down the horizon, ready to wake up the other side of the world, and most on this side were readying for sleep.
Most, but not those within this school. Not the ones that set out smuggled candles in their barred windows. Not the ones that kneeled before their beds with their heads bowed. Not the ones that sat awake, bleary-eyed and mournful. Not the ones that sat on dressers and stared at the linked metal keeping them contained.
Six of them gathered on the ceiling of the dormitory, their long, silently established routine falling into place. But tonight wasn’t a night for recounting mundane happenings during their day—no, tonight the air hung differently around them as they sat down on the cool concrete, a circle forming without any words being exchanged.
Tonight… Tonight was for a tradition that the adults never knew about. A night where even the most volatile inhabitants took time to silence themselves.
The six exchanged looks. Four were solemn; two were confused.
Seconds, minutes, an hour passed.
Not a word was spoken among the student body.
A late-night English drizzle quietly pattered down, clinging to sweatshirts, sweaters, and coats. Those on the roof didn’t stir from their circle, only pulled up their hoods and huddled closer to the vanilla-scented candles in the middle.
“Sometimes I feel like I can still feel him hovering over my shoulder,” the tiny, smuggling queen whispered, a blank look etched into her features as the flames flickered in her eyes. No remorse laced her words, but the heavy air almost cast the illusion that she grieved for her long-dead friend. “Now more than ever. Telling me to tear the school apart but also beat the shit out of the cops.” A blink, and a soft snort as she shifted. “Always a contradictive bastard. Never knew what he wanted.”
“Only that he wanted out.”
She flicked her eyes to the blonde boy sitting next to her, neither confirming nor denying his statement. The current king of the school had shoulders heavy with an invisible burden, eyes never straying from the flames—as if looking for answers within their elegantly brutal dance. “He wanted out of this place,” he repeated, “and we’re trying to stay in.” Finally, those haunted eyes slowly, so slowly, lifted to meet the gaze of each teenager sitting with him. They all stared back, bleak but firm.
The third in command, the one that saw demons in the shadows, reached out and squeezed his king’s knee. “Tonight’s about him, mate. Let’s put away our problems for now and focus on him, yeah?” The king smiled and nodded, placing his hand over the demon prince’s and squeezing in thanks.
“Right.” He turned his attention to the others, dipping his chin at the duke with voices in his head, then focusing on the albino, hotheaded duchess and the bundled-up evil genius of an adviser. “Tonight’s the anniversary of Casey Byrns’ death, also known as Lucifer. Before I showed up and spread the rumors about myself, he was known as the king of East Wolff. Killer, crazy pyro, and really unpredictable and reckless.”
“He was stupid,” deadpanned the queen, earning soft glares from the older students and smothered chuckles behind frozen hands from the newer ones. She shrugged and waved at the king to continue.
“Everyone was afraid of him when he ruled, even the teachers and doctors. Hell, he probably scared the bloody headmaster. There wasn’t any drug that you could shove down his throat without it getting spat back out. If you tried injecting some into his system, he’d thrash so much it wasn’t worth the effort and risk to everyone’s health. The most you could use was a cloth soaked in chloroform. He was a monster, and he wasn’t afraid of letting people know that.
“He hated this place, hated how they ran it. Rumors say that he looked into the history of the school and preferred it back then, that he tried getting the school to revert back.” The king glanced over at the small girl sitting next to him, and she dipped her chin a fraction in silent and secret confirmation. “Obviously, it didn’t work.”
The demon prince smoothly took up the next section of the story. The burning flames cast almost eerie shadows over his angular face as he slid a grim stare at the looming chain-link fence surrounding the campus, accentuating the sharpened edges and hollowed contours. “People say that Lucifer was a nutjob, even by our standards. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t, it doesn’t matter. All that does matter is that he had a dream, and he went after it. Took life by the balls and challenged the world to fight him for his freedom.” In a blink, he averted his eyes back to the two that needed to hear the story. “And it wasn’t a challenge that he took lightly, because he fought like the devil for what he wanted.”
“It cost him his life in the end,” whispered the quiet duke, ushering in the next part with soft grief.
The prince let out a heavy sigh and nodded, wrapping his arm around the shoulders of his king when he felt the other’s weight against his side. “Yeah. One night, things changed. Lucifer was less obnoxious and defiant. People thought that he finally got some medication in his system, but she knew better—not that she’d bother to correct people.” He glanced over at the queen in time to see her slash of a smile, then back to the duchess and adviser. “He was planning. He thought that he could escape somehow. People have tried before, but barely made it past the dorms before they were stopped. What made him think he could do it is beyond me, but I guess his arrogance got in the way of logic.”
The queen picked at the sleeves of her sweater, picking up from there. “He had a plan, and it was a bloody good one, but his execution was off and he fucked it up. The bomb went off too early, and he was too high up to land safely. Twisted his ankle on the way out of his dorm window. It cost him the time he might’ve needed to succeed.
“Growing up, he’s gotten used to running away and scaling fences. Getting hurt was the least of his concern. The ankle slowed him down, but it didn’t cripple his resolve. The barbed wire hardly made him bat an eye. All that he needed to focus on was the stretch of grass he needed to run across and the ten meters of fence he had to climb.” She fell silent, and one might say she was choked up.
A minute passed in silence before the king finally spoke. His voice was so soft, the other five could just make the words out. “By the time the guards realized the bomb was a distraction and shot him down, he had made it nine meters up the fence.” His throat bobbed. While he had never met the king before him, he respected the boy’s fearlessness and ferocious grip on his ideals.
Years had gone by since that shocking death. It had sent a ripple through the student body, a permanent cleavage between them and the staff that kept them prisoner in this Hell. For once, they all saw just what they were to the adults running their lives—nothing more than dogs in need of training. Any act of defiance singled you out as unimportant and dangerous, a threat to be rid of. There were more deaths after that, all tragic in their own right, but none quite as impactful as the death of the feared—no, fearless—Lucifer.
The six sitting around the candles plunged back into a respectful silence, as every student did every year on this day. The six that currently fought for their own freedom, but not to escape, but to defend the place they loathed. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but Casey Byrns had carried around a vision with him, a vision of a better world for the likes of them, a better place. Maybe it wasn’t this one, maybe it was another place yet to be made, but they all silently agreed to carry on that vision in their fight. They wouldn’t stop with the police, or the people trying to raze this place. They would turn to the school and force a change to happen. Shove history books in faces and make very real threats.
Casey Byrns died trying to achieve something that everyone brushed off as unneeded, and opened eyes to the harsh reality of their world. And though none quite had the guts to stand with his ghost before now, the six right there, sitting on that roof…
They’d tear down concrete walls with their bare hands, shatter their bones, bleed themselves dry, and scream themselves hoarse if it meant living just one day with a sliver of freedom and normalcy.
So. I wrote this from the POV of one of my characters. His name is Beckham Altair. When he was a kid, he was heavily physically and sexually abused by his father, and this poem deals with that from his POV, as a teenager (15), as he's coming to terms with all that. He's been with a foster family since he was 10, but the abuse went on for six or seven years before that (from when he was 3-4 to the time he was taken away). So this poem does deal with some pretty heavy stuff. I ask that you not read it if this sort of things triggers you. I will be putting it within spoilers, so you can choose whether or not you read it.
bruh
im sorry?? did i do something wrong, or?
i completely and totally forgot you were here miriam fdhhd
i completely and totally forgot you were here miriam fdhhd
I'll…be honest, so did i
im sorry?? did i do something wrong, or?
no
dude, that's
I
….
that has to be one of the most intense things I've ever read
i completely and totally forgot you were here miriam fdhhd
I'll…be honest, so did i
I'm just here to read y'all's beautiful writing
im sorry?? did i do something wrong, or?
no
dude, that's
I
….
that has to be one of the most intense things I've ever read
Oooh alright. I was a little worried. But thanks!!
i completely and totally forgot you were here miriam fdhhd
I'll…be honest, so did i
I'm just here to read y'all's beautiful writing
hdhdhj im picturing you sitting at a computer or with your phone, snacks in hand and just muttering 'oh fuck yeah' every time you see a notif here
i completely and totally forgot you were here miriam fdhhd
I'll…be honest, so did i
I'm just here to read y'all's beautiful writing
hdhdhj im picturing you sitting at a computer or with your phone, snacks in hand and just muttering 'oh fuck yeah' every time you see a notif here
Thank you for that visual ghdjh
i completely and totally forgot you were here miriam fdhhd
I'll…be honest, so did i
I'm just here to read y'all's beautiful writing
hdhdhj im picturing you sitting at a computer or with your phone, snacks in hand and just muttering 'oh fuck yeah' every time you see a notif here
Thank you for that visual ghdjh
y'all say that like it's not exactly what happens every time that little bell pops up next to the title ;)
