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rrrawrf-writes · 1 year

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whatever you want

“Just when you think you’d hit rock bottom.”

Winn flinched at Rembrandt’s voice, turning to glare at him over his shoulder. His eyes were overbright with tears, and he blinked, hard, to bring Rembrandt into focus.

He leaned against the door with a smirk, electric baton hanging from his wrist. Winn’s power latched onto it instinctively, tracking every slight movement that came from how Rembrandt adjusted himself.

“What do you want?” Winn demanded, his voice hoarse. Even though Rembrandt was a full six meters away, Winn still found himself taking a step back, unconsciously searching for a way out and away.

Rembrandt gave him a sly smile. “I just wanted to come see it for myself,” he said airily. “Come see all the hope disappear from your life.”

Winn blinked again, then gave in, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “Fuck off.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Rembrandt said. He tilted his head, watching Winn. “No one from the police, no one from the Liberty Guard, not even MI?”

Winn’s shoulders hunched up. Of everyone, he’d thought that at least Eli - but Winn had burned that bridge. He’d burned every bridge, turned every friend he’d ever had into an enemy, and now he had no one to help when he needed it most.

“Did you do this?” he asked Rembrandt. Winn glanced towards the window where Scorch had disappeared from, the fire escape probably still warm from his passing by. “Did you take her?”

“Miss Griffith? No.” Rembrandt shook his head, enjoying the dull look of defeat on Winn’s face. He wasn’t leaving, despite the fire escape being the easiest exit in the world for the thief. That only meant that Rembrandt had judged right. “Though if I’d known that was the surest way to get you to cooperate, I certainly would have considered it.”

“You’re an asshole,” Winn muttered, but for once, there was no bite to the words.

“Maybe, but I’m the only asshole here with resources.” Rembrandt straightened up from the wall, prowling closer. Winn took half a step towards the open window, but nothing more than that, staring bleakly at the ground. “And not only resources, but contacts. Alliances. With the people that took her.” He stopped, within reach, and for once, Winn wasn’t running. He wasn’t fighting, or yelling, or taking a swing. He just stood there, eyes on the ground, shoulders slumped, the inevitability settling on him with the weight of certainty.

Rembrandt had him, and he hadn’t even needed to do anything.

“I can get her back, Winn,” Rembrandt said quietly. He tilted his head to one side, trying to get a better look at Winn’s face, at the tears on his cheeks that glinted in the night lights of the city that shone through the window. “But then she will be with me. She will still be in danger. She always will be, won’t she?”

Winn bit his tongue until he tasted blood. He didn’t reply, because they both knew what the answer was. Rhiannon would always be in danger, as long as she was here. As long as Winn was here.

Rembrandt glanced out the window, enjoying the view for a while. For once, it was silent, and it was refreshing. No cursing, no demands, no crying or screaming or gunshots. “I wish you were like this more often,” Rembrandt remarked idly. He gave Winn a knife’s edge of a smile, and reached over. Winn tensed, but didn’t move, except for a flinch when Rembrandt settled his hand on Winn’s shoulder.

He only had to press down a little, and Winn’s knees hit the floor. Rembrant could have sung.

“This is the end of her year studying abroad, isn’t it?” Rembrandt asked conversationally, still watching the Boston nightlife. Winn nodded, numb as he stared at Rembrandt’s polished shoes. “When she goes home, she’ll be safe. I can make sure she’ll get there, and I can make sure she’ll stay safe. But that, of course, will take a trade.”

He looked down at Winn, unable to stop a smirk. Rembrandt stooped, just so he could curl his fingers around Winn’s jaw, forcing him to look up. His eyes were damp with tears. “What will you trade me, Winn?”

Winn stared at him, chest tight. He had a knife in his pocket. This close, he could probably slit Rembrandt’s throat before the other man had a chance. But then - Rhiannon would be gone.

Forever.

His shoulders dropped. His hands curled in on themselves, and numbly, Winn said, “Whatever you want.”

Rembrandt smiled. Finally, he had him.

Whatever you want.

#winn #rembrandt #iwrite #superpowerverse

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icanbeyourero · 2 months

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Six-word poetry

idk why i had this obsession with six-word poetry 8 years ago

#poetry #tula #poem #iwrite #i write #literature #manunulat #sixwordpoetry #six word story

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interstellarmoons · 6 months

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My Perfect Hologram (Not Meant To Be, But Thank You)

Recently hurt, lost, and afraid

I saw you standing over there

Appearing to come to my aid

Though seemingly part of a pair

“Just friends” I hoped to myself

So easy to talk and relate to

Like a rare read on a bookshelf

Perusing veins of each other’s bamboo

I though that you could be it

The other part of my cracked half

It was indeed her that you were with

But thank you, my perfect hologram

#love poem #not meant to be #thank you post #poetry bog #secret poetry #poetry #writing blog #love poetry #iwrite

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doodlenoodleboi · 1 year

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Yo, I write, request some shit I don't really have a list right now, just ask and I will look in that fandom.

You can see from my posts what I obviously will write about but other than that just ask.

#iwrite #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy x reader #rengoku smut #shikamaru smut #shino x reader #kakashi smut #bakugo x reader #poc #mha x black reader

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thedeadpoettt · 1 year

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you rip my world apart with your bare hands and expect me to pick up the pieces. you throw away the key to the only door worth opening and expect me to pick the lock. you tell me to wash my blood-stained hands, the answer is - i can't. what's done cannot be erased. it will forever be engrained in my mind, till the day the world decides to vanquish me.

thedeadpoettt

#writing #poetry #iwrite #poems #this isn't edited sorry #deadpoet #angst?#hurt #wrote this pretty late #i have a habit changing my usernames #original #gay af

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danielleelizabethhh · 8 months

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I dreamt of you again last night -

Crisp air filled with dark skies, lost in a city looking to be found.

Your scent is what brought me to you, the smell of home is what always brings me back.

I was blind to a world filled with sight, you were the one I could see. My thin fingers runs down your arms and traces over war scars, I knew without you saying you were at war with your self.

After years of being torn apart, you welcomed me with open arms and forgot of our haunted past.

Your energy kick started my heart all over again

And before I knew it, I woke up and realized it was all a dream.

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al-ma-48 · 9 months

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Story in caption. Week 12 - Fury of the Tools

Until now, I found most of the retired failed prototypes here at Tinker Toll quite endearing. But the two bio-mechanical and magical dragon constructs I met this week were truly terrifying. They designed their ‘instrumentum fabrica draconis’ as tools for their forges. As any gnome knows, dragon fire is the ultimate fire for forging the most durable tools or weapons. Unfortunately, these creatures usually violently disagree with being used as a tool. So they combined parts of a dying dragon with their mechanical and magical components. The fire part worked like magic, but they sadly also transferred the dragon’s fury about being used as a tool. Only the most daring gnomes could harden their tools in their fiery breath. But if they (and their tools) survived, the results were truly exceptional. I wish everyone would be so open about their failures, as in most cases, the road to true expertise comprises failures and important lessons learned from them. My brothers and sisters here are so skillful at what they do because they share and value these lessons rather than try to gloss over them! Anyhow, I think it is once again time to move on. I want to spend some time at the sea, visiting some old friends. And the journey is endless, so I might not send reports in the upcoming weeks.

For more images and stories see @al-ma-48

Are you interested in exclusive content and behind-the-scenes? Subscribe to my newsletter for exclusive content

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somewhere-rich · 1 year

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people come and people go but their memories stay forever.

#feelings #belief #iwrite #writers on tumblr #writings #dark academia aesthetic #dark acadamia quotes #dark academia #dead poets society #chaotic academic aesthetic #chaotic academia #desi tumblr #desi academia #poetry #writers society #october

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dear-nay · 1 year

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siteshayushi · 2 years

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स्वतंत्रता दिवस की हार्दिक शुभकामना 🇮🇳🇮🇳🇮🇳 #15august #thefeelingalone #poetssociety #poetry #sunflower #womenwhowrite #kindness #tomorrow #iwrite #poemsofig #poetrysociety #mywords #tattoodrawing #myart #lovepoem #future #tumblirquotes #poetsociety #fakefriends #sad #communityovercompetition #mosteligiblebachelor #creativepreneur#comingsoon #creativeentrepreneur #people #sanemotivator #karma #heart #lovepoem #1000likes (at 466331) https://www.instagram.com/p/ChQsiIjq8Db/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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radioretrofuture · 2 years

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Associate 212 is on the job! Photo by @capture.by.ania #audiodrama #music #steampunkmusic #cosmichorror #scifi #shortstory #writingcommunity #Iwrite #cyberwolfart #radioretrofuture #steampunkart #steampunkstyle #steampunkmodel #photography #steampunkfashion #atompunk #steampunks #cosplay #steampunktendencies #postapocalypse #steampunksoldier #OC #steampunkoc #cosplay #cosplaying #steampunkgoggles #steampunkphotography #atompunkart #associationofishtar #bonsartbokel https://www.instagram.com/p/Cfe4vBFDmIy/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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rrrawrf-writes · 1 year

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writing? on this blog??? it's more likely than you think!

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The back of Winn’s head slammed into the wall, and if it weren’t for the hand around his neck, pressing in on his windpipe, he would have slumped to the ground. He choked on blood, reaching up to grab Rembrandt’s wrist. Winn fought for breath from the pressure on his throat and the coppery taste filling his mouth from where he bit his tongue.

“I cannot begin to explain how much I hate you,” Rembrandt whispered, leaning in. He didn’t so much as flinch as Winn dug his fingernails into his wrist. When Winn finally had the presence of mind enough to scrabble at Rembrandt’s face, Rembrandt just grabbed his forearm and shoved Winn’s arm against the wall. Then he slammed a knee up between Winn’s legs.

Like this, Rembrandt didn’t have the leverage he needed to really strangle Winn to death. He slackened off just a little, just to listen to the bastard piece of shit whimper and wheeze for breath.

The bar was empty. Rembrandt reached over to grab one of the bottles from the countertop, taking a quick swig. “I told you to fucking listen to me, Yale.”

Winn coughed as Rembrandt let up the pressure a little more. “You were takin’ too long,” he mumbled. Rembrandt felt Winn’s shaking hand brush against his leg, probably towards his pocket, and kneed him again, making Winn yelp.

“I was doing things the right way,” Rembrandt hissed. “Which gets results. Unlike you.”

“You were just drinking,” Winn sneered, though his voice was a thin, strained whine from pain. He’d at least stopped trying to pick Rembrandt’s pocket. “Not even the good shit -”

His words choked off as Rembrandt jammed the opening of the bottle between Winn’s teeth, tipping it upwards until Winn was choking from the blood, the liquor, and Rembrandt’s weight still crushed against his throat. He struggled weakly; when Rembrandt felt Winn’s hands slip off his wrist, he pulled the bottle away.

Winn retched, or tried to. “Fuck,” he gasped weakly, after a few moments. Rembrandt’s hand and sleeve were covered in blood and spittle and tears. He’d make Winn clean it out later. Coughing, Winn managed, “Let me go -”

Rembrandt slammed the now-empty bottle against the bar, making Winn jump as the end of it shattered, leaving the jag-ended neck in his hand. “I’m over this,” he warned Winn in a low voice. “I don’t need your help to get this done, no matter what they said.”

“Leggo, then.”

Rembrandt snorted. “Not fucking likely,” he told Winn. He pressed the sharp glass under Winn’s jaw, just above his own hand, and not particularly caring about if he cut himself or not. “If I do, you’ll just fuck it up even more.”

Winn went still under the threat to his jugular, fear flashing in his green eyes. But then that fear faded, and, in spite of everything, he grinned.

Rembrandt hated that grin.

“You - You can’t kill me,” Winn rasped shakily, pressing the back of his hand against Rembrandt’s wrist, a casual (relatively) attempt at brushing the bottle away.

Rembrandt’s lip curled, and then he jammed his knee into Winn’s groin for the third time. Winn yelped, scrabbling at Rembrandt’s wrist.

“Can’t believe you even have enough balls to feel that,” Rembrandt seethed, pressing his weight against Winn to keep him pinned against the wall, before the asshole could slither his way free. He shifted, moving his hand from Winn’s throat, but only to replace it with his forearm, and used his hand to grip the collar of Winn’s shirt, working it up just enough to bare a sliver of skin around the other man’s waist.

He trailed the jagged ends of the broken glass along Winn’s stomach, watching him shiver at the feeling. “No one’s here to stop me, Winn.”

Winn laughed - or tried to, anyway. It was a thin, scraping sort of weak ha-ha. “They’ll know,” he managed, still trying to speak through the pressure against his throat. “‘M tagged, ‘member?”

Rembrandt had almost forgotten. He glanced down, the device around Winn’s wrist masquerading as a Fitbit, but also tracking Winn’s position along with his pulse. Rembrandt, of course, didn’t have one - he wasn’t the flight risk, here.

He also, unfortunately, wasn’t the one constantly in danger of getting killed. He was in danger of revealing that part of himself to the damn feds, though, every second that he spent in Winn’s company.

Tragically, though, Winn was right. Rembrandt stared him down a moment longer, sliding the glass upwards, until he could feel the ridges of Winn’s ribs.

Then he pressed in.

“Ah - fuck!” Winn started struggling again, bucking against Rembrandt as a fresh wave of tears welled up in his eyes. “Shit - Remy!” His voice broke, as Rembrandt dug the glass in, and then twisted.

He could hear and feel the glass twist and break in Winn’s ribs, under the fresh new sobbing and pleading. “S-Stop, fuck, please - pleasepleaseplease -”

“You got into a barfight,” Rembrandt said, his voice cold and flat. He leaned in, his words whispering against Winn’s ear as he spoke. He ground the glass in even more, as far as he possibly could, as Winn’s words broke off into a pained whine that kept climbing in pitch. “We didn’t find out what we needed. I had to pull your ass out of the fire.”

He let off the pressure a little, only to shift the bottle a bit higher up, to a new spot, and then dig in again. “That’s what you’ll tell them. Do you understand?”

“Mikey,” Winn gasped. With a snarl, Rembrandt stabbed him again.

“Do you understand.”

“Yes!” Winn’s voice broke as he squirmed, trying his best to wriggle away from the broken glass - most of which was now embedded and broken off in his side at this point. “Please!”

After a moment longer, Rembrandt finally leaned back, taking his arm away from Winn’s throat. Without the support, Winn slid down the wall, trying to breathe and sob both at the same time.

Rembrandt stared down at the pathetic heap for a moment longer, then tossed the bottle into the trash. “You don’t look like you’ve been in a bar fight,” he said casually, and kicked Winn in the face. The heel of his shoe cut the skin in a satisfying semicircle under Winn’s eye, and he rolled his eyes at the fresh wave of cursing and crying. Rembrandt used the toe of his shoe to ruck Winn’s shirt up again, until he could see the blood streaming from the crushed glass. He pressed his shoe right on the spot, until Winn writhed underneath the pressure.

“You never call me Mikey again,” Rembrandt said quietly. He waited until he thought he’d heard some sort of concession in the midst of Winn’s sobbing and whining, then continued, “You follow my plans from here on out. Understood?”

He cocked his head. He’d barely heard it, but he knew Winn well enough by now to know that he’d just said fuck you instead of the more proper yes, sir.

Rembrandt brought his foot down sharply, and this time he heard more than just glass snap and crackle under his heel. “What was that?”

This time, Winn’s whimpering was unintelligible. That was good enough for Rembrandt. He straightened up, finding a cloth napkin off the countertop to wipe as much of the blood from his hands that he could.

“I’ll call your handler in,” he said blandly, already turning away to leave Winn huddled there at the base of the bar. “Fuck this up again, Winn, and I will kill you, feds be damned.”

#writing #iwrite #winn #rembrandt #blood tw #of course the writing is winn torture #i don't do anything else uwu

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icanbeyourero · 4 months

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For Sale: Katre with Poem

Ilang gabi rin tayong magkasiping Sa kawayang katre'y magkatabing nahimbing Dinig ko ang iyong paghinga sa lalim Ng gabi habang ika'y nakaunan sa akin Payapang mga sandali na tila ba 'di magmamaliw Mainit ang mga yakap at masidhing bawat halik Subalit ang ihip ng hangin ay biglang lumamig Tulad na lamang din ng iyong pag-ibig At ang bawat gabi'y lalo pang dumilim Ako ay nagising nang 'di ka na kapiling Kaya upang alaala'y tulayan nang limutin Ang pinagsaluhang katre'y akin nang ipagbibili

nakita ko ang picture na ito sa Facebook at hindi ko napigilan nag sariling sumulat ng tula 😂

#poetry #tula #poem #iwrite #pilipinas #i write #literature

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sameeraakhtar · 2 years

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There are so many people who can't see your worth, you please don't be one of them.

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z0r4h-wr1t1ngbl0g · 3 months

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when u give ur character all ur trauma and then realise u gave ur character all ur trauma

#teen writer #writing #author #writers and poets #writers block #writer things #writerslife #writing blog #original writing #writing community #iwrite #i'mfine #i'm fine #i'm not insane i swear #just mentally ill things #but i'm fine #totally fine

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maria-s-assumption · 5 months

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When you're alone and have a great time is when you find out more things about yourself that may actually surprise you and like too. Can i say that even though it's so great to have a good time, one yearns a certain something? a complement to fulfill the picture whatever that may be. Like you want something else to add spice to your meals, but cannot because they're bad for your health. Happens with bad habits, old habits die hard and i feel the need of someone else's company, but it's not good for me. And i wouldn't bare myself coming back to any arms, because i'm filled with it, i'm down to close and cut. But you really do not want to make any mistake, and do not want to spice it with the wrong flavour. I don't want to add a new person to the picture just because i can, because i'm not ready, but i want that accomplice that friend. It's all so dizzying, to make it even harder you can't go neither with the old or the new. I'm so fed up with the old flavours i'd prefer to eat nothing, anything else, just water. But my stomach is so weak that could not resist a new one, so basically is like living out of just water. Because that closeness you can't have it with no one but a partner... not your family, not your friends... i mean, you could also with a baby, and i may just go for that at this point...

#iwrite

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