I wanted to be a poet/writer/animator/literature proffesor. I wanted to be messy notebooks filled with ideas, half formed worlds in my head, ink stains on my hand, rows of books in every room, pockets filled with small diaries.
Gods, why didn't you give me enough faith in my words? Now i am going to die creating the safety net which will never break my fall because i will never fly
ok but what do you call this invisible wall between you and your friends? What do you call this hesitation before talking to your peers? What is this feeling when you realize that the last time you talked to your friends was months back and the texts now start to look formal? What is this dread/terror/fear which creeps in your veins when anyone ask you how strong is your prep for the exam which will decide how strong your safety net?
Lee Minho x Reader, mafia, historial au, supernatural au
Women were dying. Every three nights, like clockwork, a new body was found on the street. Clothes torn, throat ripped and heart missing. No one cared. No one even noticed. The people who were supposed to help did nothing. They refused to acknowledge their deaths. Just because the women were sinful - a mix of prostitutes and witches. You already had frustrated the police after each death, determined to make them even attempt to investigate. Your attempts were always ignored. You wanted to save these women from the monster hunting them. But, when your baby sister was the next on death's list - there was only one thing you could do. Make a deal with the devil. Lee Minho.
Hongjoong x Reader, royalty au, Prince Hongjoong, Physician Reader, psychopaths, angst
you've always known the crown prince was just a little power hungry, however, when you offer to kill the king for him as part of your big scheme to end the monarchy, you didn't realise he'd be ecstatic about it. while you etch out an elaborate plan to get more obstacles out of the way, you start enjoying his company just a little too much. it ultimately clouds your judgement and becomes the cause of your downfall, though... if you go down, he goes down with you
(under construction as of May 2024)
I have been writing online since 2016. As a result, I have quite the few short stories listed below! They're all from different parts in my writing journey and I hope you enjoy.
If you'd like to read what I currently put out, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)
Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairy Tales
Destiny Universe
Heroes and Villains
The Fae:
The Chosen One
Witches
Devil Deals
Fairytale Retellings
The Gods
Sci-Fi
Misc Fantasy
Meta Stories
Ghost Stories
Misc.
((Part 2 but with most all the same categories))
Supernatural School
Heroes and Villains
The Fae
The Chosen One
Witches
Devil Deals
Fairytale Retellings
The Gods
Sci-Fi
Misc Fantasy
Meta Stories
Ghost Stories
Misc
Fanfic
(actively sobbing as I start part 3 of the monster. If these links ever break, I am going to lay on the floor and cry)
Heroes and Villains
The Fae
The Chosen One
The Gods
Witches
Devil Deals
Sci-Fi
Meta
Ghost Stories
Misc Fantasy
Misc
First Story Ever Posted:
One of my favorite writers!
put down the world, soldier mine. your body is strong, i know, but you are not granite. your shoulders were not made to bend so steep. your knees were not made to buckle so low. your bones were not made to hold so much. Atlas was a condemnation, not a guidebook on how to bear the weight of the world.
rest your wings, soldier mine. you were made to fly, i know, but not like this. the sun above is not meant to be your seduction. the ocean below is not meant to be your enemy. the jetstream is not meant to be your companion. Icarus was a warning, not a challenge to see how high you can soar.
lay down your weapons, soldier mine. you fight so well, i know, but not every battle is yours. your fists are not damned to be perpetual weapons. your scars are not damned to mark you in disgrace. your blood is not damned to spill upon a sword. Achilles was a cautionary tale, not an instruction manual on how to fight to your death.
soldier mine, you are not Atlas nor Icarus nor Achilles.
you are only you, soldier mine, and i am only yours, and we are only this here now.
- by sylvie (j.p.)
if you kiss me hard enough to draw blood i will thank you and ask you for another.
if you hold me hard enough to carve bruises i will thank you and ask you to hold me tighter.
love me to hurt me. hurt me to love me. it's all the same to me.
i have known from the beginning that i am not meant for gentle things. i have never been meant for gentle things.
and this is the best love a warring soul can hope for: a love that hurts that hurts that hurts
but at least a love that only hurts me.
- by sylvie (j.p.)
“Love didn’t hurt you. Someone who doesn’t know how to love you hurt you. Don’t confuse the two.”
— Unknown
Have I told you I love you yet? No? I suppose I got too distracted, by saying it in as many ways as the dictionary allowed yet perpetually missing the mark.
we writers -- we're strange in that way where we make simple things complex using odd verbiage, tricky tenors and shaky vehicles, mindbending the reader trying to make sense of it before they snap and say the nonsensical was intentional, bargaining with ostranenie, pointing out details that don't matter -- that never did -- but that mattered to us enough to write about them, not caring how we may overwhelm.
We write whole poems and paragraphs and love songs about that one insignificant detail. It's our way of saying that we see you.
But often, we stare at the crook in someone's smile for too long. They won't think you're admiring the genuineness, the unabashedness, the softness of their sunset lips curled upwards too much one way making your own unique smile feel much less insecure and together you share happiness. That is the detail you love; the solar eclipse smile that you write poems about. But they will think you are staring at their teeth. Maybe there's food stuck between them, or maybe you want to kiss but are too afraid to say it. And as the awkwardness stirs, you think, 'Maybe I should show you my poetry. 'Maybe I should explain that 'I am thinking of the best way to say 'that your smile is like the Sun 'and I am your Icarus.' But all you do is stare, and you look dumb.
Maybe you should just get it over with and say: 'I love you. It's as simple as that. And I'm not going to write a poem about it.'
in internet posts it is easy to cut them out of your life. they are hurting you! they aren't listening to you!
they held your hair back. they lent you lipstick. they held your hand at the train station and got you home safe. they rounded on your bully, got loud, said get fucked, spitting-mad in your defense.
they also cut the hair off again. told you that you should really think twice before wearing something like that. took you for granted. took your insecurities and threw them in your face again.
you know logically it should be easy. all the internet advice comments always read it will feel better. like an equation - if a person is rotten, you just remove them. you pull the tooth that's hurting.
but it was never a big flare-up moment. you don't live in a sitcom. they never tried to take your boyfriend or steal from your apartment. they showed up to birthdays and they wrote songs about you and bring you water without you asking. once you found out they carry an emergency inhaler for you, even though you haven't had an asthma attack in years - just in case.
where is the line? people fuck up. sometimes they fuck up badly. sometimes people have raw personalities, like a powerline, and being around them is dangerous. addicting. sometimes they can't help themselves, but you know they're trying. sometimes they are just rough-around-the-edges. sometimes they don't even realize how they sounded when they said that. sometimes it's just - you've both loved each other for so long now, the way this thing hurts goes back to the root.
and that's the fucked up part. you have pushed your fingers against the sweetheart of memory. things these days are electric, tense, harrowing. they didn't used to be. there were a lot of good days in there. sometimes you want to just close your eyes and say can this be over yet? do we still need to be fighting?
doing that would give up any chance you get of getting an apology, but you don't always know that you need an apology, you love them. once they flaked on your birthday party. once they told you to get over it, people are always dying. they also let you crash on their couch for a week after the breakup, handfeeding you when you were so sad you couldn't eat. they are also judgmental about everything, occasionally react to banal statements with an attitude that is weird and fiery. they also love you like a lighthouse sometimes, so strong they cut the storm like lightning.
but the problem is that you might be storm. you might be the thing that needs breaking. what if you are two forces who are desperately, horribly drawn to each other, shaped by the other person's passions, and both good for each other and bad in equal measure.
what if you're both just people, and you're no saint neither.
just cut them off! swallowing the saltwater, you catch yourself in the mirror. you've been shaking more than usual. there's an ache in you that is oblique, loud, impossible to soothe. is this what it looks like? when life is "easier"?
your mouth will always have a hole, is the thing, if you remove the tooth.
