#poeticalcreation

[nautilics]

poeticalcreation replied to your post “And maaaaan, I can't wait to see this new chapter animated. And not...”

I'm already making grabby hands at the prospect of all those glorious scenes we can make GIFs / edits of ♥

yessss gosh *-* i’m not a GIF maker or graphics editor myself but just thinking of all the stuff y’all will make is exciting

[copperstarlight]

@poeticalcreation LMAO YEAH But honestly they would, Bubu hates being short >D

[lunaturberfield]

They say to write good poetry You need to write what you feel. But what if you don’t know what you feel What if you’re empty? Like the void that is silence Only broken by the ticking of the kitchen clock. They say to write good poetry You need to write what is real To you. But what if you don’t know what is real Anymore? Your worst nightmares dripping like a leaking faucet, slowly flooding your waking reality. They say to write good poetry You need to write your truth. But what if no one want to hear your truth What if they won’t listen And it is strangling you? A blood python, a boa constrictor, an anaconda; the truth crushing your bones and slowly killing everything you love.

How do I write good poetry then?

- m.s.t | I wrote a poem about not knowing how to write a good poem |

[ohmythatoikawaboy]

poeticalcreation replied to your post: If Osamu wants to slap me for thinking he wasn’t...

Well, there’s different kinds of slapping and some are more pleasant than others… ��

Don’t.

[mits-archive]

🍦 + 👡 ^o^/)

whaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiii (*♡∀♡)thank you sweets

[sapphyrelily]

@poeticalcreation well fudge everything else and maybe still being a bit drunk, but have i ever told you how wonderful you are and how much i love you You're the nicest most sensible person and gosh you make me feel like I'm not the pathetic piece of crap that i actually am

[worthlesspride]

It’s Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Week! While I won’t be fully participating because I feel weird talking about myself and my fics, I do want to take the opportunity to thank those of you who read my stories and leave encouraging comments. I read every single comment and appreciate each of them so much. The people who support fanfic writers are a pillar of the fandom, because if writers didn’t receive feedback and support, we most certainly wouldn’t keep writing.  

The Haikyuu fandom has been good to me. There are lovely people in it and I’m extremely fortunate that I’ve ended up here.

I’m going to take a minute to call out the people who have been exceptionally supportive with their feedback and comments. I appreciate all of you so much, and it sounds sappy, but you genuinely improve my quality of life.

@janespendlove, @foxyena, @zidderal, @whocaresaboutanime, @poeticalcreation, @cynicalghostie, @twilit-tragedy, @ushijimaenthusiast, @whokuu, @kawaii5lyfe, @allykat023, @sayo-ko, @uselesspansexual, @absurdflyb

There are some people on ao3 that I absolutely adore (Anna, Fairy, Rei, Ruby, Ayumi, Baz, Bookdragon,and t0g to name a few) but I don’t know if any of you have a tumblr, so forgive me for not tagging you if you do. 

These are just my most frequent commenters recently, so if you’re one of them and I’ve forgotten you, it’s either because your tumblr isn’t linked to your ao3 and I don’t know who you are over here, or I’ve just made a mistake and missed you. If so, please forgive me (I’m sure I’ll realize it later and cry). I’m still eternally grateful for everyone who takes the time to read or kudo or comment on any of my fics. Thank you all so much. <3

[hirami]

tagged by @poeticalcreation <3 thanks sweetie~

[nautilics]

Hi there~ I went through your 'asks' and 'she speaks' tags, but didn't see anything related to the question I have, so... here I am ^^; I wanted to ask you if you're by any chance planning to sell Miya twins keychains in the future. I've seen the stickers and your Miyas are so adorable and I'm sad they aren't available as keychains or straps. Thanks in advance for your answer ♥

hi there!! funny you should ask, because i’ve been lowkey (...highkey) considering doing a a miya charm recently though i haven’t got any concrete plans for it yet! it’ll probably be some time in november, and i’ll do preorders for them since it’ll probably be a pretty small print run. more on this later, when i figure more things out!

and thank you so much for your interest!! i’m always really happy to hear people like my miyas

[lunaturberfield]

I have a question, Do you actually exist Or are you just a figment of my imagination? Just like everything else that made me Happy. Disappearing into the darkness, Always appearing in a new body and location. I’m kind of getting sick of this Magic tick: This was never something my parents taught me. I wanna get so high I could float up to the space station. Again. I haven’t seen you since then, But then maybe your existence is a myth; I missed our wild conversation. I think I wanna see you again. -m.s.t | where are you¿ |

[ao3feed-hqrarepairs]

Together

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2kXq26h

by poeticalcreation

Shirabu and Semi were afraid. But an arrangement is an arrangement. A promise is a promise.

And they were going to finish this.

They were going to jump. Together.

Words: 648, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Haikyuu!!

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Semi Eita, Shirabu Kenjirou, Tendou Satori (Mentioned)

Relationships: Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou

Additional Tags: Prompt Fic, Drabble, Post-Canon, Angst, or is it...?

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2kXq26h

[ao3feed-haikyuu]

Cobalt

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2inZPPt

by bianoyami (poeticalcreation)

Shirabu has Chromesthesia. And it turns the normally pretty New Year's fireworks into an annoying nuisance. But there's also something that makes it tolerable. Something that makes it better. And it's the color of cobalt.

Words: 2572, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of SemiShira X New Year 2017

Fandoms: Haikyuu!!

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Semi Eita, Shirabu Kenjirou

Relationships: Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, New Year's Eve, Synesthesia, Chromesthesia, Fluff, with a bit of making out whoops, I can't NOT write a SemiShira fic without some heated kissing, I died a lot while writing this, but damn do I love death, and also their, playful bickering, their relationship kills me but also gives me life, I just want to cry you feel me, they are too beautiful

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2inZPPt

[sapphyrelily]

Overlay - Chapter One: Rebirth

Aaaaa here’s my work for HQBB2017!! It was so stressful but exciting working on this (and I’m not even done rip) This is loosely based on Kat Zhang’s The Hybrid Chronicles

Huge thanks to my beta @altimys for all the help, and special thanks to @poeticalcreation for all the yelling and fine-tuning of the initial idea <3

EDIT: Thank you @binuboi for the amazing art!!

Read this chapter on AO3

He hugs his parents tightly, then steps back and bows deeply. He thanks them for the meal, for the lifetime that he spent with them, for their efforts in bringing him up. He apologises for his transgressions, for the times he’s fallen short, but most of all, he apologises for what he’s about to do.

His mother is tearful, but her voice remains steady.

As always, as always. Okaa-san never wavers.

“Kenjirou, you don’t have to do this.”

“But I must,” he mutters to the ground. “I cannot be a burden onto you or Otou-san, and I cannot bring down this family. You still have Nii-san and Mika-chan, you don’t need me.”

He hears his mother about to rebuke him, but his father cuts in. “You are honourable in choosing this path rather than encumber us. You have my respect, son.”

He presses his forehead deeper into the ground, biting back his words. “Thank you, Otou-san.”

His mother’s arms encircle him then, lifting his weakened body from the ground. He tries not to lean on her as much as possible, to try and walk on his own two feet, but it is difficult.

She aids him to his room, and he lies down, whispering his thanks. She leaves him with a smile and a squeeze of his hands – the most affectionate she will allow herself to be.

At the doorway, she murmurs through the crack, “Your father is right. You honour us in your choice, though you know I wish you had chosen differently.”

He smiles at the door as it closes. “You know I would never have chosen otherwise,” he tells his empty room. “This is my last shot at life, and I am going to take it.”

-----

It is the summer of his nineteenth year, and he is dying.

He doesn’t know why he is the only one affected, but the degenerative disease has been in his family bloodline for generations. He supposes it is lucky that his younger sister didn’t get it, but he still harbours resentment towards it, for taking away half his third year of high school, and any future years of his life.

He remembers captaining the team from the bench for their last few games, of having to pass on the mantle of official setter because ten minutes of setting left him wheezing. He remembers passing on the title of captain too early, because he could no longer hold himself upright in practice, let alone shout and give instructions. He remembers Kawanishi helping him to class and back to their room every day, the looks of pity his classmates and teachers gave him.

He remembers hearing about the medical breakthrough, the call for participants in the final round of pilot studies. He remembers the faint hope it gave him, even as his parents disagreed.

But he didn’t care then, and he doesn’t care now.

It is the last chance for him to perhaps live a normal life, if it is successful. If it is not, he would have died anyway, but at least in this way, he would contribute to the furthering of medical research.

In front of them, the glass doors slide open, the smell of disinfectant wafting out to greet them.

-----

“Thank you.”

“I hope you survive this.”

“I hope so too.”

Kawanishi shakes his head. “I mean, I hope you’ll stay yourself.”

Shirabu smiles self-deprecatingly, squeezing his hand. It is the slightest pressure, though the blond knows he’s trying his hardest. “Brain surgery always has liabilities. I won’t even know if I’m still myself after this.”

Kawanishi huffs in exasperation, knocking his knee against his. “Nice to know you can still joke.”

“I’m being completely serious though.”

“Right, right.”

----

The last thing he sees and hears and smells is all of the operating theatre. It is not white-walled as he expected, nor does the air smell particularly clean, but the lights are definitely blinding, and the neatly laid out scalpels look threatening.

He almost welcomes the cloying smell of isoflurane, sinking into the darkness.

-----

He wakes slowly, but his eyes won’t open, and he can’t move.

He tries to breathe slowly, but can’t seem to regulate his breathing.

(It doesn’t matter, because he seems to be breathing evenly, but why can’t he control himself?)

It feels like an eternity staring into the blackness, but he falls asleep.

-----

He wakes, and thinks he remembers his name.

My name is Shirabu Kenjirou, and I turned nineteen a while ago.

He cannot remember much else, and the world is still dark.

-----

He thinks he dreams. Of maroon jerseys and taped fingers, and the satisfying sound of a ball slamming into the ground. He tries to remember, but it is difficult. Trying to force out thoughts when there is nothing there exhausts him, and he feels wrung out, like someone’s been squeezing his brain too hard.

But suddenly, in the midst of relaxing and an invisible lump in his throat and giving up, the name comes to him.

Volleyball.

-----

This time when he wakes, the world is bright.

His vision isn’t blurry, he is seeing clearly, and he can see a room in his peripheral vision, though his eyes are fixed on a vase of flowers. They are pretty, he supposes, but he is more concerned by his lack of ability to move.

Hello. You’re awake.

It’s definitely not him that thought that – his mental voice isn’t as deep, nor is it that warm and polite.

Who are you? Why can’t I move?

This is weird.

He thinks he hears the other voice laugh, and his body moves, his arm reaching out for a glass of water. The water is cool in his mouth and soothing against his throat, and though it isn’t him swallowing reflexively, he enjoys the sensation.

Do you remember what happened?

No. Not much.

It is true, he thinks. He faintly recalls a head of blond hair, the sound of a ball hitting flesh, and lights, bright white, unlike the warm glow of indoor courts.

Oh. A surgery.

Yes. The other – he thinks it’s a young man – smiles, and sets the glass down. Do you want me to tell you?

No. I want to try and remember.

His forehead against the ground. The antiseptic smell of the hospital. The weakness in his limbs.

I was…dying.

Yes.

A brain surgery?

To transplant your mind into mine.

He recalls more now, of a medical breakthrough, of a call for volunteers, of attempts to meld two minds together to save one dying person.

Oh. You’re my donor.

Yes. Hello.

Hello.

It is so weird, he thinks.

Can I see who you are?

I’ll get a mirror.

The other reaches out, and he watches his hand stretch, noting the corded muscles, the defined forearms, the long fingers.

Then the reflection of light off the mirror catches his eye, and he stares at his new reflection.

Cocoa brown eyes, thick brows, bandages wrapping around a high forehead.

A memory hits him so hard, he’s surprised he doesn’t die again.

He knows that face.

But he can’t remember his name.

Can I look at our medical records? I want to know who you are.

Sure.

He wonders how his mental voice sounds as cool as it does, because he can feel his phantom heart seizing, his imaginary palms slick with sweat.

He knows who his donor is.

The young man picks up the clipboard, eyes scanning the names.

Their names are printed side by side, in adjacent columns. He skims over the kanji of his own name, gaze fixated on the one opposite his.

His phantom heart lurches in horror, the final piece clicking into place.

Semi-san.

“Shirabu?”

The clipboard tilts in limp fingers, but he cannot catch it – he has no strength, he can’t even feel his fingers. Memories are swirling to the surface, and he cannot take the tidal wave of them.

He thinks he hears Semi calling for him, but he has fallen, sinking into the depths of unconsciousness.

Next chapter

[copperstarlight]

@queeniwaizumi I was soaking him before I washed him hahahaha @poeticalcreation I tried looking for those on my phone, but I really couldn't seem to get very far down in my photos :/ Tumblr always does this to me. (I'll keep that in mind though!)

[lunaturberfield]

Sometimes, I just want to disappear, Into the never ending folds of space and time, Afraid you won't see me as sincere, So I dust the stained glass windows disfigured by ancient grime, And I dream to float away into the atmosphere, To fade away during the years of my prime, Listening to painfully passionate prayers that come across unclear, To the ear, Echoing around my brain like the ringing of church bells; Oh, listen to them chime. - m.s.t | Saintful |

[ryuuenjoyer]

poeticalcreation replied to your post “I need to somehow make it through the holidays without gaining 20...”

Victor hasn't either so you're gonna be fine :)

haha i guess that’s true! thank you c: