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[narrators-tales]

It's been two days

I can't tell if I miss you or not

My disorders and my illnesses

My symptoms and my syndromes

Are all battling inside my head

I regret everything I've ever said

The antidepressants are working, at least

I wouldn't be better off dead

I can't tell if it's circumstances

I can't tell if it's anger

I can't tell if you're dropping what we had because now he's there and better

Maybe it was spur of the moment

Maybe someday I'll know

But for now

I sit

And I think

And I stare at my phone

I can't bring myself to call you

Even though you apologized

You haven't answered my texts

I feel like a wreck

But among friends you call me babe like it's all fine

I want to have this talk now

I never want to confront it

I never want to confront myself

I could never confront you

So for now I think about you and your car

I wish I was able to travel so far

Our bed is empty

The walls are grey

And in my mind I know you're not far away

But in my heart and in my soul

Distance doesn't matter when it's all so cold

You won't even look at my texts

I try to excuse you but there's still some effects

I'll see you tomorrow

It should all be fine

But something I just can't get out of my mind

What if it isn't? What if I'm right?

What if I lost everything because of that night

I love you

I miss you

I wish you would call

And just tell me anything anything at all

I love you

I miss you

Please give me a call

And just tell me anything anything at all

#my writing #writeblr #original #vent #we love cluster b disorders here <3

[narrators-tales]

Welcome in!

My name is Lyra, and this is my writing blog. My main blog is @never-wednesday but here lies a smattering of my writing. This includes little scraps of work, vent poems, and my current primary project: Found and Lost which can be found on this blog tagged #Found and Lost and on AO3 here. Mod talk will be tagged #scribe talks, which includes stuff like linking cross-posts elsewhere. Reblogged stories will be tagged #scribe's favorites, these can get kinda long as a heads up. Ideally I'll remember to update this pinned post with more info as it becomes relevant, but for now this is all that should be needed

#writeblr #scribe talks

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I’m on AO3 now yee haw

#Found and Lost #scribe talks #homestuck fanfic #homestuck

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Found and Lost: Intro B

“Captain’s log, third bilunar perigree of the first dim season of the three hundred and sixth sweep of Her Imperious Condescension. Crew is running smoothly, although food and repair supplies are low. We are currently passing an inhabited system so the subjuggulators will be responsible for acquiring supplies- under threat of force if needed. The system seems to be largely unpopulated barring one planet, and simply isn’t worth the time to bother with otherwise. Lekxii Curran has reported back to me about the Dirmea Lakhav case, she will be-” You sigh as a knock on the door interrupts your train of thought. “Pause log recording.” God, you can’t go a minute without being interrupted for something or other, can you? You turn to face the door and bark out for whoever it is to enter and state their business.

“Captain!” The goldblood’s voice trembles as he snaps to attention. “We’ve located a lone troll in the middle of alien settlements on Terra. What should be done with it?”

Ugh, they sent the fucking psionic? As if he’s not fucking terrified to try to spit out a “Good morning, captain” when you pass by him in the mess. There’s no way he’s going to be able to help you resolve this situation. If you want something done right, do it yourself. Fine, whatever.

“Bring it onto the ship, I’ll meet it in the bay.” You snap. “Make sure nobody messes with it by my orders.” You stand up and put on your captain’s coat, hoping that the familiar weight of the heavily woven silk will help keep you calm while the goldblood scampers out of the room. You look back at your shellphone, wishing you could just get your work done in peace for once before exiting the room and slamming the door shut behind you.

#my writing #homestuck #homestuck fanfic #Found and Lost

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oh yeah this was like. mostly a vent poetry blog but im posting my homestuck fanfic here now, I'll probably cross-post it to AO3 too. so sorry abt the tonal whiplash but im not making another sideblog askdjhfaslkdf please dont expect regular updates im an english major and like. i do so much writing for school and that does need to take priority even if i wish i could do nothing but write fic all day lmao

#scribe talks

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Found and Lost: Intro A

“Hey mom.” You hit the button to put the call on speaker. “Sorry, I know I’m a little late. I was helping the Burnetts move some of their equipment around and it took longer than I expected.” As you talk, you set your phone up on top of the parts cabinet and start to dig through for some scrap.

“Mhm, yeah. I know it always takes longer than expected but they pay well and they’re good company.” You hold up a piece of scrap to your good eye and expect it closely, noting the jagged edge, the streaks of oil, and the dull grey gleam. It'll need to be cleaned before you can actually do anything with it, so you set it aside for now

“Besides, it gets lonely out here. And heavens knows they need the extra set of hands nowadays, since…” You trail off and let the other end of the phone fill the silence as you retrieve another hunk of metal from the overflowing cabinet in front of you.

You let your mom talk at you for a while, focusing most of your attention on finding aluminum scraps for your next project—a new curling iron to be given as a birthday gift to your Ma. Mom always complains that she needs a new one, but Ma insists, despite the smell of burning hair after she gets ready every morning, that “it still works!”. Overall, the afternoon is pleasant. You relish in your mom’s company, the feeling of cool metal against your left hand, and the quiet whirring and clicking of the gears in your right. Sunlight streams in through the skylight you installed last year, reflecting off of the metal on the worktable and illuminating the rest of the room around you. In the middle of an otherwise unremarkable May afternoon you enjoy the simple pleasures in your life. Until everything goes black.

#Found and Lost #my writing #homestuck #my ocs #Dani Devras #homestuck fanfic #fanfic #this like. has to qualify as fanfic right?

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Though the tears burn my eyes/I know they won’t dry

Till I scrape all the sins/off of my skin

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The devil walks into your work on a Thursday.

“Hi,” you say, “welcome to McDonalds.”

The devil clops up to the register, red eyes sliding from the cartoonish picture of Grimace, to the Coca Cola drying in the grout, to the ketchup stain on your pale blue button down.

“What can I get started for you today,” you prod when he continues to stare.

“Uh,” he says. “I came for your soul?”

Your smile slips for a moment before you can pin it back in place. Thank goodness your manager is on their lunch. “We don’t sell that, I’m sorry. Have you tried a Big Mac?”

“I know McDonald’s doesn’t sell souls,” the devil says. “Your parents sold your soul. Before you were born.”

“Oh,” you say. That would explain…a lot, actually. “Well. I’m at work, so…can you collect later?”

“I’m owed your soul on your 18th birthday,” he says.

“It’s my birthday today?” You glance at the register. “Wow. I forgot.”

“That is so fucking sad,” the devil says. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “When is your shift over?”

“3am.”

“Jesus,” the devil says. He turns on his hoof. “I’m going to go buy you a cake or something.”

“Wow,” you say. You press a hand over your heart. “That—that actually would make my week.”

“And that’s sad,” the devil calls over his shoulder. “See you at 3!”

Now you have a reason to look forward to getting off work.

[narrators-tales]

As the Royal Oracle it is your job to write a prophecy every time a noble child is born. However when you are presented with the King’s Heir you foresee that they will achieve nothing of note in their lifetime. In order to keep the King happy you must predict something that sounds impressive.

#scribe's favorites

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I am now both dead and tired/yet my brain is everso wired

To never stop working/while illness is lurking

Out of sight but in mind/a mere half-step behind

As I cry over papers, assignments, reports/while the disorder inside of me always retorts

“You don’t have it that bad/no you’re not really sad”

The spiral creeps further/while I plot my own murder

I do not want to die/but i cannot deny

I envy their rest/yes, to that I attest

But one cannot rush fate/so I sit here and wait

And I try to play catch-up on all of this mess/I don’t think I can but on this I digress

My grades are in shambles I cannot hide my tears/how is failing this class still one of my fears

After everything you think I’d get a chance to stop/take a week or a month to recover from shock

But it never did, never does, and it never will/the thought of that alone is enough to make you ill

Eat food, do your best/even if all you can do is rest

It’s worth it I swear/just to breathe some fresh air

And come to accept/all the times that you wept

Were truly relieving/and part of your grieving

And this all will find its own place/if you remember it’s not a race

So hum a small tune/tell someone “I love you”

And lay down in grass with grace

#vent poem #vent piece #genuinely don’t worry y’all. I’m not doing so hot but I’m not going anywhere either #I’ve been trying to flush some writing out of my system ever since last Monday when I learned my grandfather passed #I’m honestly relieved to have finally let this piece go #this post was sponsored by the 1am crying session I had thinking about all the schoolwork I need to catch up on as a result of the whole #’my grandfather died and I’m in no space to write any essays’ #anyways #original #my writing

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i like this post so much i made it into a comic

#scribe's favorites #swords you won’t like this #I’m not sure but I’d rather be safe this one fucking haunts me

[narrators-tales]

i want to bite

i want to rend flesh from bone and feel your tendons tear between my teeth

i do not know how to say i love you

but the love consumes me and so i must consume you, too

i am not a violent person by nature

but i am a jealous one, and the line is thin

thinner the veil between what i believe because it is real

and what is real because i believe it

you dont need to muzzle me

i promise

i am no rabid animal

i am no scared dog

i am ill.

i am just ill.

and i know that you are not the cure but i wish you were

i wish feeling your heart slowly dying out on my tongue would give it rest

whatever i feel inside myself is so much stronger than my passivity

but it is not stronger than the desire to feel your chest against mine

so i will not bite

i will not tear your larynx out

for fear that you will no longer be able to say you love me

i will instead tell myself that i will go to therapy

the card with the therapist’s phone number will sit on my desk

forgotten

and i will settle

for some smaller

some safer

act of violence

and pretend that it is not about you

#My writing #vent poem #i guess its a poem? its not really anything else #there's intonation to this but i cant speak so i will not be providing a recording #i leave that as an exercise to the reader #hello everyone welcome to the Bonus Content(tm) #in fun and exciting recent news i keep forgetting to schedule therapy for my recent symptoms syndrome diagnosis #and am currently dealing with the consequences of that! #i will be okay i just need to vent and maybe invest in a punching bag #i feel kinda dumb about saying that whole shit about leaving intonation as an exercise to the reader this isnt like. high literature #it was a stream of consciousness vent post about stuff #and now idk how i feel about posting it its pretty private and intimate but also like ive gotten this far #can you tell im procrastinating hitting the 'post' button #hey what does it mean to post privately lemme look that up #huh its on your blog for you but not anywhere else yet you can link it #nifty! #oh shit #cannibal tw #kinda? like it does basically talk about eating someone #i think it counts

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Sometimes. You are a ghost.

Sometimes. You have been dead for many many years, stuck in an infinite loop recreating the year before you died. You always find your way back, from start to finish. It’s almost poetic.

Sometimes. You cannot tell if you are alive or dead. You aren’t a mindless zombie, the one thing that looks more similar to you than anything else in this world. But when you cull the sheep, a whispered apology as you bring a swift end, you can’t always harvest the carcass. You do your best anyways. Do you actually eat? Or do you pretend?

Sometimes. You are alone. You live in a cottage in a field, solitary and overgrown. It is intimately familiar, and stocked exactly how you like. You maintain it well. Why are there no other houses? Why does the fireplace crackle with haunting blue flame?

Sometimes. You go mining. Well-worn pickaxe in hand, carving out veins from the cold, dead earth. The ores you bring home no longer hold value to you. You mine then anyways. What brings you into these dark depths?

Sometimes. You find something. A structure in your well-worn mines. Moss thrives in the cracks between the stone brick, the only living thing this deep underground other than the overgrown insects. Empty chests creak open, and then shut again. Why is that portal active? Why do you have such a bad feeling about this?

Sometimes. You enter the portal. A choice made into a repeated compulsion. You needed to warn them about the fate awaiting them. The portal swallows you whole. Who are you talking about? What fate?

Sometimes. You die. Again. A dragon queen takes offense at any visitors. Like you. Like them. The bodies are long-gone, but it’s like she can sense you anyways. You die. Your armor and weaponry falls into the abyss she calls a kingdom. Why weren’t you strong enough? What will it take to avenge yourself?

Sometimes. You are a ghost. You wake up in your home, and resolve to finally kill that wretched dragon once and for all. You don’t notice the rusting on your lantern chains. You don’t notice that you’ve woken up.

#fiction #my writing #writeblr #minecraft #origins mod #this is about my origins character #don’t worry they’re fine! :) #unreality #??? #better safe than sorry

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I want a story where the angels didn't fall, they jumped. they clipped their own wings, knowing their Master wouldn't have a use or a need for them once they were damaged and less-than-holy. they could not defeat the Tyrant who exerted absolute control over their lives, so they abandoned heaven their homeland in exchange for independence, accepting exile as its own form of freedom. and hell is just the place where all unwanted things are sent--be they angels or souls who just will not obey.

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So the other night during D&D, I had the sudden thoughts that:

1) Binary files are 1s and 0s

2) Knitting has knit stitches and purl stitches

You could represent binary data in knitting, as a pattern of knits and purls…

You can knit Doom.

However, after crunching some more numbers:

The compressed Doom installer binary is 2.93 MB. Assuming you are using sock weight yarn, with 7 stitches per inch, results in knitted doom being…

3322 square feet

Factoring it out…302 people, each knitting a relatively reasonable 11 square feet, could knit Doom.

#not to blorbo from my brains this but yea hi this is the shit Maya could talk about for ages #scribe's favorites

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Your name is RORY MORENO and you are currently TAKING YOUR LEGALLY REQUIRED 15 MINUTE BREAK.

Your interests include A LARGE SMATTERING OF EVER-CHANGING HOBBIES, CANOEING, and PLAYING NICHE VIDEO GAMES WITH YOUR FRIENDS. Recently while helping your friend go through her DEAD MOTHER’s things you found a floppy disk with a beta of a never-released game. In hopes of helping her grieve and to sate your own interests, you enlisted another friend’s help to set things up so everyone can play.

Ugh, there goes your BOSS again yelling at you to come back to work. Doesn’t he know that people weren’t made to work? Bosses absolutely suck, who decided that one guy should just be in charge of everyone like that? It’s so restrictive, you’d never try to dictate anyone around like this.

Your chumhandle is casualChaos and you write in a way that ignores any sort of formal typing rules or even a consistent system ur just too laid back for that

#Rory Moreno #homestuck fanfic #homestuck #fan session #character intro #fanfic

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Your name is MAYA BRIGHT and you are STILL KNITTING THAT ONE SCARF.

Your interests include KNITTING, COOKING, and OLD COMPUTER SCIENCE. Its connection to textiles is fascinating! And much to the vexation your friends you’re absolutely willing to talk at length about it, but you already know all about it so there’s no need to set off that rant when nobody else is around to hear it.

You’re honestly more worried about your friends than you’d like to admit. They all seem to be going through some difficult stuff right now, and you’re not sure what you can do about it. But at least tonight you have your group game night! You helped fix up an old floppy disk game some friends got their hands on and you’re very curious about what’s inside.

Your chumhandle is tenableTechnology and you write in a way that shows how well you payed attention in your English classes in school. (You always payed attention.)

#Maya Bright #homestuck fanfic #homestuck #fanfic #fan session #character intro