Writings - Blog Posts

Cats will be cats

I want to love and be loved. I want to find a way where I don’t hurt myself. I want to live a life where I say things are good more than things are bad. I want to keep failing and discovering new and better directions. I want to enjoy the tides of feeling in me as the rhythms of life. I want to be the kind of person who can walk inside the vast darkness and find the one fragment of sunlight I can linger in for a long time. Some day, I will.

Baek Sehee, tr. by Anton Hur, from I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki

Katie Ford, from If You Have to Go: Poems; “The Addresses”

[Text ID: “That’s love? to remember I’m remembered? / But I wish someone wanted to have me. / There’s a difference,”]

Forugh Farrokhzad, tr. by Sholeh Wolpé, from “On Loving”, Sin

Dark femininity literally transformed my life. You can call it what you want, it's simply about embracing your darkness, letting go of "being too much" or not being "perfect". It's about setting boundaries. It's giving yourself permission to be authentic, passionate, beautifully imperfect and raw, falling shamelessly in love with yourself, and most important of all, being fiercely protective of yourself (your inner child, your vulnerability, your softness).

Ladies, you need that edge, that boundary. Without it, you're an overflowing ocean that can be easily scattered or exploited. The only way to preserve your softness is learn how to be your own guardian first and foremost; because it's not possible nor healthy to always depend on others to do it for you.

Yehuda Amichai, from Selected Poetry of Y. Amichai; “Poems for a Woman,”

Anaïs Nin, from a novel titled "A Spy in the House of Love," published in 1954

𝐤𝐢𝐤𝐢 / 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐨 / 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 / 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟎

𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌/𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 / 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 .ᐟ

𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 / 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆

— this blog contains, shares, and supports nsfw and dark content, so please make sure to have an age listed on your blog, otherwise i will soft block you — sorry about that .ᐟ

— i only write with an afab / female-centric reader in mind, but will try to keep it gender neutral as much as i can .ᐟ

— right now, i do not take requests, but please don't let that stop you from sharing your thoughts, concepts, or ideas — at best, i will still try to write something about them if i can .ᐟ

— all characters i write will be aged up (unless they are already of age, or stated otherwise) to twenty one, or will follow their age post time-skip if applicable .ᐟ

— this is a semi-personal blog, so it will contain some unrelated posts which will be tagged as [#★ — kiki coded.] so you can blacklist it .ᐟ

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄

— character/character, infidelity, mommy/daddy kink, breeding, weight fetishes, ageplay, student/teacher, unrequited love, polyamorous relationships, urination/faeces kink .ᐟ

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆

𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐀 — dabi/touya, shouto, bakugou, izuku, shigaraki .ᐟ 𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍 — gojo, yuuji, megumi, yuuta .ᐟ

thank you for making it this far — have a free song for your troubles .ᐟ

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 — adrianne lenker — forwards beckon rebound .ᐟ

The fate of darkness

it’s always the same feeling 

isolation despair sorrow helplessness 

people make living out to be some thrill ride that one should never get off of

but i just want to un loosen the seatbelt and let myself fall

the ups and downs are overwhelming 

why is it that everyone else gets better while i stay the same 

why can’t i go one second without wanting to die

is it too much too ask? has the world given everyone but me an opportunity to truly be happy 

no matter how much medicine how much therapy how much time i go through 

i’m always stuck in the same 4 glass walls watching everybody else be free 

no matter how much hardships others seem to be going through why do they get some reliefs of conflict while i continue on trying to act like i’m unfazed or not envious of other’s lives 

is it a cruel fate to which i am to live?

would it even matter if i were anyone else since misery has taken a claim on me

changing who i am, wanting to think i’m better cannot hide the resentment and fury i feel within me

i really wish i could say fuck it and just pretend that trying to love myself is all i need to do

but no matter how much i try it seems loving myself is something that just wasn’t meant for me 

the dark suspicious isolated awkward reluctant disgusting figure that seems to ruin everyone’s life 

but how silly of me to think so highly of myself

im not even a thought in others minds 

i cease to exist and no matter how much i think of others not a single penny of thought is given towards me

but hey at least im alive right? because being alive is what everyone wants me to be right?

yet where are those same people when i just want to say hi, have someone to actually talk to

no, no it’s only me 

of course there is the more pretty social person they would rather converse with

if dying would rid me of my conscience i would do it in a heartbeat 

if dying meant people would actually think about me for one, even for just a moment in time i’d close my eyes and let the darkness take me

Picture credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/591378994853108153/

Your chocolate brown hair that always seems to be flattened in a baseball cap, and when you take it off there it is the side part that I make fun of all the time.

Not in a I hate you way, but in a way that makes you adorable. Is it weird noticing these things about you? But I notice all types of things like this with others all the time.

The boy that rides the bus at 7:10am with me and his black Bose headphones or the girl who I briefly passed by for a few seconds and her scent of coconut perfume. I remember it all. So it isn’t new to me, but what it is, is scary. Because I care about what you think of me in return so much.

I am certain you know I exist, a familiar face, maybe not my name, which is fair because I do the same. Rather I want to get to know you, yes you are handsome, you’re just my type and yes I’ve imagined scenarios, but what I want to happen the most is to be friends. I’ve never believed in love— no scratch that, I do believe in love, but I don’t believe in it for myself.

I am young, I have been reckless and I most certainly have failed relationship after relationship.

That’s why, I don’t care about getting hurt, but I care about being so perfectly happy when it isn’t true.

I dream of a perfect man, a perfect love not in the definition of perfect itself, but rather the perfect in how he’ll buy me my favorite pants and flowers, open the door for me, stand on the outside by the street, hold hands as much as possible, lean down to hear me and whisper the most outlandish words into my ears at an inappropriate time.

Cook with me, dance the night away, always have open arms, listen to my rants and have the ops, let me cling to him physically and help me bench press and give me kisses as rewards.

That’s the perfect thing that I want, for him to be attractive to me, tall, funny, have a beautiful smile, in essence to sweep me off my feet. I want to believe you are this man, but maybe you are, just not mine. I guess I have to be fine with that, and if I never become your friend at least, I guess I really don’t believe in love.

Maybe one day I’ll be confident enough in myself to not care what the outcome is. I know life is short, I tell myself that all of the time; I hear it and I see it.          

Photo credits: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/88594317663530037/

Doesn't a word look weird when we stare at it long enough? Doesn't the alphabet look slightly meaningless when we write it over and over again? Here's one: CLING C-LING, C-L-ING, C-L-I-NG, C-L-I-N-G. Does this make sense? It doesn't sound like a word the more you say it. It doesn't look like a word the more you write it. The curves and strokes, dots and dash!

Isn't it how the name of the people you love changes? At some point, it stops being a name, a word that belongs to them. It becomes a feeling that belongs to you. It stops sounding like a word or a random string of letters. It becomes a string of feelings you cling to when life falls apart. Their name on your phone screen stops looking like a word. Every notification and phone call conjures an image of them looking at you and smiling before you can even look at it twice. That particular string of curves and strokes, dots and dash Once belonged to them and is now beloved by you Which you randomly write in the air because it gives you comfort.

Sometimes we take names for granted without realizing the power it holds. When all it takes is that one word to appear on your screen to get you through another tiring day.

reporting live from the war inside my head.

Ah!, hey you.

Give me the doll. Here it is. Give me my doll! I already told you to take it, here. Give my doll back! What, you can't reach it? Mom!! Give it back, honey. Ok, here you have it.  No! What are you doing? Mom!! He threw it out the window! I didn't! It's here, look. He tricked me.  What a crybaby, can't you take a joke even once? Don't play like that. I'm not playing: I want him to give me my doll. Give the doll or I'll punish you. Mom, he's got an ugly look.  Why'd you tell her?: now I'll keep it. Stop it, I can't turn around in the middle of the road… Enough is enough!  You're moving too much. Stop fighting!  Mom, watch out!…

Gastón R. Fernández G.

When I was in fourth grade, I wanted to read Harry Potter. Someone in my class told me I couldn’t because it wasn’t in my level and I wouldn’t understand it. I read Harry Potter just to spite him. I’ve reread it a million times, it’s one of my favourites. I realised after reread and reread that I didn’t understand it in fourth grade. When I was in sixth grade, I wanted to read the classics. I read the Bell Jar, Red Badge of Courage, Shakespeare, and as many as I could find. I couldn’t tell you what they said. But I looked like I could read at a higher level than I could. I read the same books and plays in high school. They made sense, I enjoyed them, I read them not to prove something but because I wanted to. When I was in eighth grade, I only read murder mysteries and criminal books. That’s what more advanced readers read. I wanted to prove that I could read as well as someone twice, three times my age. I enjoyed them, but it was because I was proving something. When I was in college I reread the series of unfortunate events. I loved every single book, every single line. I’d forgotten what it was like to read a book because I wanted to. I read young adult novels more than anything because I like them. I don’t care that they’re below my level, that they’re ‘too’ young for me. I don’t care that people see me reading them. I realised something. I was taught to read because I needed to. Intelligent people read, that’s how people become smart. Reading isn’t a waste of time like television. I wasn’t taught to love to read. No one is. I found a love of reading by giving up the idea that people gave a shit if I read or not. I enjoy it more than I should. I realised that instead of instilling the idea of doing something because it’s expected or because someone should do something, instill the idea of doing something because you want to. Instill the idea that happiness comes from what we choose, not what others have chosen for us. I realised that when I’m happiest, when I have the most joy, it’s when I do something for me. It’s when there are no expectations, no drive to prove someone wrong. I realised that my happiest when all inhibitions and perceptions are gone. Maybe that’s how we should enjoy our hobbies.

KJS // Advice for someone hiding themselves (via wyattwesleywriting)

Unresolved

Scraping past a tooth, a fingernail grows thin;

The last evidence of a life lost in time

Is this dead keratin.

Swirls from the mind, consuming everything,

Cement uncertainty in the soundest mind,

Loosening grip within.

Each day starts anew, by popular belief;

Yet all is the same except the white numbers,

Not turning a new leaf.

Moving, yet static motions of tumbling grief

Are borne by bodies smoldering to cinders,

Never able to leave.

https://twwrt.wordpress.com/2022/11/21/unresolved/

Dr. Jekyll quietly worked on arranging some paperwork, a small breeze blowing in from the window and causing the edges of the papers to softly curl, Jekyll taking a single moment to smooth them back down.

Somewhere in the distance, the gentle sound of a piano could be heard playing from a nearby building. It would play the same few steps of a single tune, occasionally making a mistake before restarting the same tune following a gap of silence. Alongside it, the occasional sound of chatter and horses could be heard from the street.

After some time, Jekyll would quietly stand up, taking the papers and walking to the bookshelf where he would remove a folder and slip the papers inside. Then, he would tuck the folder into the back and return to his desk, taking a moment to look out the window and listen to the musical tune play gently; finally finishing the tune to the fullest for the first time since it had started before quieting.

Merlin in Hogwarts

No , but can you imagine- the one and only , almighty wizard , known for centuries as a legend , so famous his name is used as an exclamation yet so old the truth about him actually being alive is forgotten . Shows up at Hogwarts.

Because if you are an almighty immortal wizard , waiting for some *cough- pratish cough cough king to return , you would absolutely do weird and crazy pranks on everybody .

I can just imagine a young boy , seemingly out of nowhere arriving at Hogwarts . And of course Hogwarts is very organized and they should know where he came from , but hey , he has everything ready for studying and they just don’t have the time to check every student , so he just begins his studying with a wide grin . Sure something seems off , but the teachers just hope it’s nothing Voldemort-big and go on . But time passes and teachers do notice some weird stuff. Like the fact that after his arrival dragons come flying near Hogwarts which were not seen for centuries and the monsters in the lake stir more than usual . And that this small boys wand looks more like a miniaturized staff and the fact that he was seen casting spells no one has ever heard , but hey , who are they to judge .

And Merlin enjoys it so much . He was so caught up in all the history and mourning that he forgot how great it felt to be young and have friends . Though it is confusing for him when there are lots of “ oh Merlin “ or “ Merlins beard !“ exclamations going on .

And heck yeah he pranks everyone and tells them he is the real Merlin and he’s almighty , but everyone just takes it as a joke and laughs . So he pranks teachers and casts spells that mess up Hogwarts and all but everyone just adores him and thinks he’s cute.

Until one time something comes up and they realize : oh shit . He is the real Merlin

I dreamt of a dark and failing world. Where I met an Artist who wept for his wife. "Oft people believe that better is a lingered life. I tell you different now, which of these would you prefer Rotting or Dying. Dead is better."

And later in this dream a giant disembodied hand that blazed and burned, took the man's aisle and turned it upside down. There he was burned and crucified. Leaving only ashes of an artist and a painting of his wife.

Mahmoud Darwish, from The Butterfly's Burden; "Maybe, Because Winter Is Late,"

Love my girlie anne <3

Anne Sexton, from a letter featured in Anne Sexton; A Self-Portrait In Letters

im so close to transforming this cute rom-com to a murderous book highlighting female rage and pure survival game, i need serious help atp

When I was in twelfth grade, I came across this fabulous writer on Wattpad. They highlighted themes of love and platonic relationships and a strong sense of nostalgia. Pretty intense and very beautifully written. Now at that time, I just wasn't mature enough to understand each and every verse, I just wasn't able to, though I tried a lot lol. The books used to make me cry a lot, a lot (I mean a lot okay, u don't understand). Now they've deleted those books, and I have nothing to return to. I'm only left w memories of them. And now when I can understand them, I can't read them . There is nothing to go back to. And sometimes, I wish, they could republish them, istg ghar baar chor ke I'll read them. And I only have brief memories of those writings, if they publish it, mai toh khareed lungi jaldi se

Out of a dream

summary : you and THE harry styles had a one night stand.. the night was a blur so the morning you wake up you’re quite surprised.

warnings : mentions of sex, swearing, fluff?? pls let me know if there was anything else!!

*HEY GUYS!!! first of all I want to thank you for everything on my first ever writing post, i know it’s not the best thing you’ve ever read, it’s definitely not the best thing I’ve written but I didn’t expect that much love. I’m so sorry for just disappearing, life has been very busy but I will get back to things soon! p.s this is how y/n will be in most of my writings, not shy, very outgoing and sarcastic!!!*

Last night was very much a blur.

The only thing you remember was drinking at a random club in the Hollywood Hills, then stumbling into a SUV before everything else was just a blackout.

Waking up to the sun beaming onto your face, your eyes flutter open, hand coming up to block the bright light from your eyes. Although everything seems quite normal, you feel a heavy thing over your torso and a soft aroma of a Tom Ford cologne, pushing yourself up quickly you scan the room, confused on how you might of ended up here.

Well, you already know because the most logical reason would be that you wanted to get someone’s dick wet. You look down to see if the man you pleasured was good looking at-least and-

“Holy fuck.” Your eyes widen, your heart beating out of your chest as you freeze. Harry fucking Styles is sleeping right beside you, curls sticking up left and right, you realise his face was buried into your stomach because of the red mark on it.

You also realise you both were naked, quickly scrambling out of the bed- or wait, his bed. You grab your panties from the floor pulling them up, panic mode absolutely activated.

You hear him moving on the bed, sheets rustling as he sits up, glancing to him he’s stretching his arms above his head, turning his head to you and you notice the panic now evident on his face.

“Hey.. uhh, are you okay? Did I scare you or something, I promise I didn’t kidnap you.” He watches you as you put on your bra, grabbing your shirt and jeans to put on.

“I didn’t realise I literally just fucked Harry Styles, sorry.” Looking into the full-size mirror he has next to the bed you fix your hair up, not noticing how he’s got out of his bed and put his boxers back on, you also didn’t notice how he winced from what you said, he didn’t like when he was labeled as just a famous celebrity a random girl had fucked after having the best sex he’s ever had.

“Hey, chill out. Calm down I’m not gonna like bite you or anything. Unless..” he walks up behind you, looking at you through the mirror.

“Harry, this isn’t funny. 15 year old me would be absolute screaming right now that I actually finally fucked Harry Styles.” Your face blooms in redness at the confession, you see him raise his eyebrows in the mirror, smiling.

“‘S really cute y’know, your dream coming true. You don’t have to go right now.” His hands find their way to your hips, pulling you back into his chest as you keep your eyes on yourself in the mirror, clipping your earrings back into your ears.

You practically lose your breath as his hands caress your hips, all you want to do is pounce onto him and fuck him yet again. But you can’t, you always tended to have attachment issues and having them with Harry Styles was not the way to go.

You had to continue on with life and hide the fact that you hooked up with Harry in the back of your head.

“I have to go, Harry. I have a home and a life, maybe we can hook up some other time in like 3005 or something!” You muster up a smile for him, turning to look up at him, his eyes shine a beautiful emerald green, a dimple pokes out of his cheek, his lips a beautiful shade of pink.

Oh you wanted him so bad again, you knew Harry, from his music of course but you didn’t know or let’s say like him enough to be a fan, that’s for sure. He tugs on your hips again, your hands coming to his waist to brace yourself.

You did wonder if this is what the routine was with all his hookups, fuck them till he was satisfied? Part of you also didn’t think so as he was such a gentleman.

“Come on, darling. Jus’ a little bit longer? I promise, this is not what happens wit’ all the girls I have seen.” The pet name makes you all giddy, your hand coming up to comb through his chocolate curls.

“Are you just trying to make me feel bad for you so then I can follow your music and promote it and whatever?” You ask, eyebrow raising. You see he’s taken aback by that, his eyebrows creasing.

“No, no! Y/N im so sorry if it looks that way, oh my god. I promise that’s not- that’s definitely not what I’m trying to do.” You giggle at his panic, a little surprised that he remembered your name.

“I’m just kidding.” You smile as he pushes his bottom lip out in a soft pout, without thinking you push up onto your tippy toes, pressing your lips against his soft ones, he kisses you back almost instantly, innocently pecking your lips a few times before he slips his tongue into your mouth.

Harry then lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he moves back to the bed, mumbling something softly against your lips.

“Maybe you could give me your number or something if I prove to you that the night was really worth it.” He pulls away, a smirk on his lips, you laugh, biting your bottom lip softly.

“Yeah, yeah. Dream on Watermelon Sugar singer.”

You see a spark in his eyes and as he leans back in to kiss you again your vision goes black.

You feel heat on your body and your eyes snap open, the sun beaming on you, yet again. You look around the room, sitting up, you’re in your own room. You look beside you, a messy empty spot beside you.

Your head then whips to someone walking into the bedroom, it was your fiancée, a bright smile planted on his face seeing you’re finally awake.

“You were having a good dream so I didn’t want to wake you, sounded like you were having fun.” He wiggles his eyebrows, coming to move onto the bed, pulling you into his chest.

“Yeah, it was about the first time i met you.” You plant a kiss onto his bare chest, arms wrapping around his waist.

“Ohh, s’right when I was Watermelon Sugar boy.” He smiles, kissing the top of your head. “Lucky you finally gave into giving me your number and accepted me into your life, hey? Now m’getting married to my one night stand in two weeks.”

“You’re still a loser, Harry. And no I’m still not following your Spotify even when we’re married.” You mumble against him.

“Dang it.”

hehe lol this has no plot xx

dividers by @firefly-graphics 🤍

'what is said with the eyes, is not forgotten.'

sometimes I wonder if you can miss someone you've never met. a quiet yearning in my heart, and no one to tell.

Margaret Atwood, from a poem titled "Pig Song," featured in Paper Boat: Selected Poems

Arabic poetry on top>>

— Mahmoud Darwish, Mural