#thequeerlibrary

[chayscribbles-archive]

Someone was near.

Finneas flattened himself against the wall and motioned for Petra to join him. Whoever it was was coming from around the corner, and they wouldn’t have enough time to run back and duck for cover before the person caught them. Resigned to a confrontation, Finneas clenched his fists as a shadow appeared from the intersecting hall, growing longer and longer, and as it finally turned the corner Finneas found himself face to face with—

He wasn’t sure exactly what he was face to face with.

It was a person, a young person, that much he knew for certain, but everything else about them was ambiguous. They wore a loose-fitting tracksuit made from grey fabric with a greenish tint that hung off their lean, bony frame, blurring any distinguishing features their body might have. Their hair was shaved close to their scalp. But it was their eyes that unsettled Finneas the most— bottomless pools of inky black set against a pale, hollow face; a face with no expression, eyes with no life.

The arrival examined Finneas and Petra with an eerie kind of curiosity, scanning them with those soulless eyes of theirs. Their piercing gaze sent goosebumps down Finneas’ spine. He was too confused to move, yet strangely fascinated, unable to tear his eyes away from the unsettling sight.

The person flung out their arm. A vine shot out of their hand and wrapped itself around Finneas’ throat.

andromeda ruin ☆ wip intro | wip page

[kingswriting]

THE SIXTH LIFE OF GENEVIEVE WARD ➝ a wip by kingswriting

genevieve ward is starting to lose track of the years. after all, how does one keep track of time when it never seems to actually run out? her mind is littered with the skeletons of the ones she’s loved, the ones she will love in the future. her heart aches with the utmost loss of self that comes with being alive for centuries. she’s seen herself be her best, but more than that, she’s seen herself become a monster that she doesn’t recognize. how does one give meaning to their life when their life can see no end? 

ask to be added to the tag list!

status: brainstorming/outlining genre: na gothic romance/fantasy trigger warnings: physical abuse in romantic relationships, character death themes: this is just one big soulmate au, found family, pining, protecting those you love even when they don’t really deserve it, a heck of a redemption arc, questioning your own humanity/morality, dual timelines!!

summary: 

genevieve ward is a vampire who has drifted up and down the east coast of america for the last two centuries. she’s loved, she’s ached, she’s killed,  she’s hurt more people than she can count on every finger. and she’s growing weary; weary of a life that has robbed her of every stitch of humanity left in her unbreathing body. most of the people she’s loved in her life are dead, and more often than not, she wishes she were as well. 

dylan soto is a thirty year old detective who is relocating to atlanta, georgia to take on a case that threatens to be the worst atlanta has seen. deep in the throes of an existential crisis, nothing can prepare dylan for what she’s going to see in atlanta. but her desire to find meaning in her life outweighs her anxiety. 

genevieve and dylan become intertwined in ways that neither of them are prepared for; the case is a little closer to home than genevieve ever imagined it could be. it doesn’t help that the detective on the case is someone who looks so achingly familiar - she’s seen those eyes before. she’s woken up next to them, she’s peered into them as the very life drained from them. she knows dylan, even though dylan has never seen her a day in her life. 

the sixth life of genevieve ward tells the stories of both genevieve and dylan; genevieve’s story from the moment she was turned into a vampire, and dylan’s story as she solves the murders that have shaken the city of atlanta. but their stories are much more involved with each other than one might think. 

[getkrakend]

- GETKRAKEND’S WRITEBLR INTRODUCTION -

like everyone else on this website, this is the millionth time i’ve sat down and said, “you know what? i’m ready to get serious about writing” - but this is only my second time making a writeblr. here's hoping i'm doing this right.

> about me:

hey, the name's cato! i'm 20 years old and use both they/them and he/him pronouns. my dream is to one day be a showrunner and have my own animated series! i've been writing for a solid 75% of my life - it's my oldest hobby. but other than that, i'm just hanging out, you know? and as much as i love telling stories, i also love consuming them, so i'm so excited to join the writeblr community and share my wips with the rest of y'all!

> content warnings:

drugs, violence, abuse, adult humor, sexual themes*

* not smut, just jokes & fade to black scenes

if you're also new to writeblr, hey! i'd love to meet you and see what you're working on. give this a like + a reblog & i'll make sure to check out your blog and help promote your stuff. and don't forget to stay tuned for a WIP reveal coming later this week.

[suninks-moved]

practice makes perfect, but writing the same thing every day doesn’t always count. 

let me clarify this: if you really want to improve your writing, focus on the things you want to improve. take that out of your writing and only do that. for me, i’ve always been bad at dialogue. so i’ve started writing in the form of a play script. 

an example of something bad you probably unconcsiously do: i hate worldbuilding. very much. i used to just put it off, focus on character interactions instead. this is the issue: i wrote a lot, but it was always the same thing.

there came a point where i just couldn’t keep going if i didn’t know important parts of my world. so lately i’ve been working on magic systems, and i’m actually starting to like them. next step is the government. i’m going to keep going from there. 

tldr: stop putting off writing the parts you’re not good at, and start focusing on improving that aspect of your writing specifically, and things will start to improve. 

[bookphobe]

Festoon of Fruit and Flowers (detail) by jan davidsz. de heem / YOU LOVE BECAUSE I ALLOW YOU by @bookphobe / spleen et idéal by carlos schwabe

[elusiveink]

i'd love to follow more int'l writeblrs that arent based in the US! i'd love to hear about more wips set in different countries! rb this if you're a non-US writeblr and tell me about ur wips!

[thepeninthestone]

We Were Dead, Weren’t We?

A NaNo project

Horror

First Person, Past Tense, Two POV

Trigger Warnings

Gore, violence, body horror, mentions of death, occult, vomiting, paranoia, possible triggering content for body dysmorphia, passing mentions of child neglect. Please let me know if there is ever something I need to add. Horror is meant to be spooky, not triggering.

Themes and Tropes

Found family, trust no one, southern gothic horror, psychological horror, misremembered past, platonic love

Summary

I had hoped my past would have the decency to leave me alone. I spent most of my adult life burying my past, and any spare moments were spent trying to forget. So when I received a letter that seems to have been written by me, to me, from 20 years ago, I’m not impressed. The last thing I wanted to so was unearth my messy history, but when your 11 year old self is begging for help it’s hard to ignore.

Characters

Lilith Rivera: 31, she/her, Private Eye

Carrie Torrance: 30, she/her, Horror Writer

Please send me an ask or message if you are interested in being tagged.

[em-dashes]

CRAQUELURE - Wip Intro

[Infomercial voice] HEY YOU! Do you like Genghis Khan by Miike Snow? Have you ever watched Les Mis and wished Valjean and Javert were GAY? Well, I’ve got the product for you!!

CRAQUELURE follows THE DETECTIVE as she pursues the ever-elusive ART THIEF. Will she catch the crook, or will she find something...more?

-

This project will ideally be a short film. That’s right--not a novel, not a short story, an animated short film. For those who don’t know, I studied animation in university, where my thesis project was a short film. I definitely have the ability to animate and produce a short 3~5-minute film. The question is will I be resilience enough to see it through to the end.

The project will also ideally be a music video. That’s right--I’m going to try to write and record a song (I’m losing my confidence as I type this). I’ve tried envisioning CRAQUELURE in a regular scripted format, but the level of drama and ridiculousness I’m envisioning works best in a music video--no dialogue, just visual storytelling. I’ve always had a love for music videos that have a mini movie plot, and I want to try my own hand at it.

Inspirations:

GENGHIS KHAN - Miike Snow

HOUDINI - Foster The People

DON’T STOP - Foster The People

I’m currently working on a shot list / script, and will hopefully have some updates and character designs soon!

If you’re interested to be on the taglist, updates will likely be put either on my art blog @emieclat and my instagram, given the visual nature of the project, but will be reblogged onto this here blog with the taglist.

C’est tout pour le moment, mes amis!

-Emily

[wildswrites]

glass moon // a wip by wildswrites

⁑ genre;; young adult fantasy   ⁑ status;; first draft;; writing   ⁑ pov;; third person;; bren // rikon   ⁑ estimated word count;; 80k   ⁑ current word count;; 5k   ⁑ themes;; friendship, mental illness, poc and lgbtq+ characters, revenge, murder, redemption, mortality, what defines good and bad, independence vs codependency. ⁑ tropes;; found family, chosen one, literally nobody is straight.

          Twenty-five years ago, stars fell from the sky.           At the same time, five babes were born all across the land.           Ancient prophecies predicted that these 'Chosen Ones'           would save the land from a great evil.

Bren is used to living in Leah’s shadow, and has in fact made a home for himself there. Leah, Bren's kind, all-around sweetheart cousin and childhood friend, was born during the meteor shower. And Bren was born on the same day, just an hour before the meteor shower began. By an hour he made himself near useless to society on the day of his birth, and he’s pretty much held up to that since that very day.

Now he goes to work in the city while Leah goes to daily training under the Head Mage of the kingdom, sharing nothing more than a mess of a house. Or at least that’s all they share until the big evil finally arrives and Leah begs him to come along. Adventures and trials ensue, struggles and parties and pain. Now Bren is caught up with the quest to destroy the big bad... and he’s not even a chosen one.

taglist under the cut! please let me know if you’d like to be added.

taglist: @kentwrites @jostenwrites @eastonwrites @eastwrites @tangentwrites @the-queer-library

[thousand-page-dreams]

WTW TAROT EVENT—6. THE LOVERS

For this prompt, I chose to focus on romance. I selected a brief snippet near the end of my WIP.

Genre: YA Contemporary Romance

WIP: Glass Butterflies

Word count: 160

Summary: For the first time, Aaron has a good time at a dance.

“By royal decree, as homecoming king of Fairview High, I command you to dance with me again. Unless you’re tired,” K.C said, tapping Aaron’s head with his plastic scepter. A slow country song played, the lyrics about loving someone forever.    

At last year’s dance, Aaron played solitaire in the background. But now, his date asked him to dance. If he danced poorly, his new friends wouldn’t mock him.

“I’d be honored.” Aaron took K.C’s hand. That soft grip tugged him through the crowd.

They stopped. He rested his hands on K.C.’s shoulders. K.C wrapped his arms around Aaron’s waist. Despite the other people, they were in their own world.  

K.C held him closer. “I haven't been this happy in a long time.”  His breath was warm on Aaron’s ear.  Lights bathed the gym in a sepia glow.

“I’m glad we found each other.” Aaron whispered.

K.C kissed his forehead in agreement.

[chayscribbles-archive]

ANDROMEDA RUIN ☆ a writing excerpt

in which Finneas is a hot bisexual mess.

for context: the gang has invited themselves to a fancy gala at Councilor Gideon Black, aka Azami’s dad’s house to spy on some of the guests. dexaComs are this universe’s equivalent to smartphones-- they’re basically air pods that can create a holographic screen in front of your eyes. Finn and Val have elaborated a ruse to steal them from guests in a search for information.

for context on the “Lief” thing, you can read this.

words: 2202. idk what it is with Finn excerpts that i keep posting super long ones.

andromeda ruin wip intro ☆ read the other excerpts here

From the cover of the people around him, Finneas watched as Valyan approached their next target and began to engage in lively conversation with him, paying close attention to the man’s minute actions. Every time the guest started to raise his arm, Finneas anticipated he was removing his dexaComs and got ready to pounce, only to retreat when it turned out he was only adjusting his collar or scratching his temple. 

A feeling of unease began to creep over Finneas the longer he waited. And although he was beginning to get impatient, it became increasingly clear that this new feeling had nothing to do with the mission. No, it was a feeling he had learned very quickly to discern during his first few months out on his own after escaping Ghillairde. It was a chill on the back of his neck, the sharp sting of a pair of eyes boring down on him.

He was being watched.

Daring to take his own eyes off Valyan and their victim for a second, he quickly scanned the crowd. Azami and Petra were deep in conversation at the other end of the room and weren’t paying attention to him. No one seemed to be paying attention to him, really, as they were all engrossed in their own conversations or their appetizers or the objects for sale around the room, so why was he—

His gaze locked with Ansel Black’s. A soft “fuck” of surprise escaped his lips.

“Finneas Becker,” Ansel said, his jawline as sharp as ever. “Funny I’d run into you again in my own house.”

The young man had somehow come up next to Finneas while he was focused on Valyan, and now Finneas was trapped. He wore a tailored white suit lined with silver edging that hugged his silhouette and his dark hair was neatly combed back, making him look a lot more like a Councilor’s son than the nervous hoodlum buying stolen goods he was pretending to be when they first met. Finneas might have been tempted to offer a flirtatious greeting, if it weren’t for the Richeport City Police Department badge on his lapel.

“Oh, great. It’s Lief,” he said instead, doing little to hide his disdain.

Ansel tilted his head up in some pathetic attempt to appear tougher, which Finneas didn’t buy for a second from the way he fiddled with the silver buttons on his sleeve. “It’s Ansel, actually.”

The fact that he simply introduced himself by his first name— no last name, no “Officer”— was concerning. “Yeah, I know. What d’you want?”

Ansel shifted his weight and launched into what seemed like a rehearsed speech. “I’ve waited a long time to see you again,” he began, and Finneas had to resist the urge to say that’s gay, dude. “You should be behind bars, and I’m sure attending an extremely high security event like this uninvited will land you there.”

“Oh, but I was invited,” Finneas said with a smug chuckle, pulling out one of the dexaComs Valyan had lent him for the night to project the invitation with his name on it onto his palm.

“It’s a fake,” Ansel challenged. “You did some… criminal magic to make it look real.”

“Just take a look, my dear prince.” Ansel reddened a bit at being called “prince”, and Finneas inwardly chided himself for getting carried away. This is how you got yourself into this situation in the first place, you jackass. “You of all people would know how to recognize your dad’s seal.”

Ansel eyed Finneas, then leaned forward to peer at the seal, and the scent of cologne distilled from pure money wafted off from his shoulders. After a few seconds, he glanced up again, scowling. “I will find something that will get you the justice you deserve,” he swore. “Next time we meet, I’ll get you in handcuffs.”

“Whoa, okay, look,” Finneas said, throwing up his hands. “First of all, I stopped being interested in you the moment I found out you’re a cop. And secondly, we barely know each other. Feels a bit early to get freaky, don’t you think?”

This time, a full blaze took over Ansel’s face. “That’s… that’s not what I was implying,” he sputtered, “and you know it.” Still, Finneas caught the quick movement of Ansel’s eyes down to Finneas’ chest, peeking out from his open blazer, and he didn’t want to know what could possibly be going on in the young cop’s head at that moment.

Oh, no. Azami really wasn’t kidding when she said her brother had an obsession.

He searched the room for the quickest way out. His eyes immediately sought out Petra, who now idly nibbled on a roll alone by the door. A half-assed idea popped into his head, and while he hated it immediately, it was better than spending another minute with Ansel.

"Now, while it was nice to catch up, you’ll have to excuse me," he declared, once again diving into the sea of expensively-clothed bodies around him, praying Ansel wouldn't follow him.

By the time he reached Petra, her appetizer was gone, and she had spotted him as well. She nonchalantly held out her hand, expecting him to place a new pair of devices in her palm.

“I’m gonna ask you a favour,” he hissed instead, “but you’re gonna hate me.”

“I don’t know what you could ask to make me hate you any more,” Petra said, eyeing him. “What is it?”

“Could you pretend to be my possessive girlfriend for a few minutes so that Azami’s brother will leave me alone?”

“What?”

“Just say yes or no before he gets here,” he insisted.

To his relief, Petra swiftly grabbed his hand, shot the approaching Ansel a look that could cut through diamond, and dragged Finneas out of the ballroom with a determined stride. Finneas only dared to glance over his shoulder as they crossed the large doors and caught Ansel’s bewildered face through the crowd.

Weaving their way between guests, Petra led him across the hall and the west foyer to the drawing room. While devoid of people, it was the only way for guests to have access to the washroom, so Azami had suggested using the adjacent library for scanning devices, and that’s where Petra took him. It was only once they had stepped through the doorway and slid the door close behind them did she release his hand.

“Thanks for saving my ass,” Finneas breathed, flexing his fingers, which still stung from the tightness of Petra’s grip. For someone who was notoriously bad at lying, her performance was weirdly convincing, but perhaps her ire was driven by the fact that Ansel was meddling with their mission, and had little to do with any possessiveness Petra might have had over her pilot.

“That one was repayment for the breakfast.” She whirled around to face him, eyebrow raised. “What did you do to make him so obsessed with you, anyways?”

“Nothing,” Finneas defended. He couldn’t resist a smirk. “It’s not my fault I’m a hot bisexual rogue.”

Petra rolled her eyes, and he was impressed with how much restraint she mustered to keep from smacking him, which she clearly wanted to do. “Do you at least have something for us to scan while you’re here?”

Finneas fished into his pocket and pulled out his latest catch. “Where’d Azami go?” he asked as they settled onto one of the plush couches to get started.

Petra pulled her feet up to join her on the couch to sit crossed-legged beside him. “She said something about having spotted her oldest brother August and disappeared.” 

“Seems like everyone at this party is trying to avoid the Councilor’s boys.”

Finneas unlocked the dexaComs, then allowed Petra to take over the reigns for the search. The two fell into a comfortable silence, as had become the norm for them over the past couple of weeks. As it turned out, now that they weren’t constantly at each other’s throats, Petra was really easy to simply exist with in the same room. She didn’t require a lot of conversation, which was refreshing for Finneas— despite the outgoing mask he often wore when doing business, he usually preferred his alone time, but he found he didn’t mind so much when she was around. Sometimes, she would let him sit on her bedroom floor and go through her digital books full of wildlife footage to pass the time while she did her tests on the Mohanian plant. 

That was kind of what it felt like now, as he watched her fiddle with the two stolen earpieces on the cushion in front of her, scanning them for information. The gold accents lining her jumpsuit and the hem of her train, as well as that headpiece she hated so much, sent little flecks of light around the room like tiny stars, reflections from the chandelier overhead. Azami had been right earlier, Finneas mused. Petra did look like a queen, wearing a crown crafted from the rays of the sun, which framed the soft curls resting on her slender shoulders.

As if sensing he was watching her, she began to glance up, and he quickly averted his eyes to properly survey the room they were in. Next to the door through which they had entered the library, a second door stood ajar, and through the slit a glint of light caught Finneas’ eye.

“Hm, what’s this?” he mused, sauntering over to the doorway.

“What’s what?” Petra asked. Scooping up the earpieces that she had just finished scanning, she followed him as he slipped inside the room— some sort of study— and partially closed the door behind them.

Finneas marched up to an ornate bookshelf and picked up a tiny silver figurine of a slender dragon standing on its hind legs, wings spread out, head reared back, mouth open in a menacing snarl. The Little Dragon, one of the two Stardians of Dracaenos. Finneas couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. Probably one of the relics stolen off Ghillairdan shrines when Sayntagnesia took over his home planet; a trophy from their bloody conquest. 

Petra snickered. “Did you really just get distracted by a shiny object?”

“Do you know how much a single one of these is worth?” Finneas said, turning it over, feeling the weight of its value in his hand.

“You’re just like a crow.”

“I have no idea what that is.” He glanced over his shoulder and made sure the library was still empty before swiftly pocketing the object. This was much easier than slipping something out of a guest’s handbag.

“If someone realizes it’s missing...” Petra warned.

“They won’t realize it’s missing. There’s five others like it.”

“Could you maybe focus on one crime at a time, please?”

“Something like this could be helpful to us.”

Petra crossed her arms over her chest. “How so?”

Finneas moved over to a minibar in the corner, admiring the vast collection of bottles from all over the sector lined up on the shelves. He had never been much of a drinker, but he recognized a good quality bottle when he saw it. There was wine from the vineyards in southern Sayntagnesia, ale from Epimerys, a bottle of khopeg from Buhaki Bomi, not to mention an entire row dedicated to Ihanashe’s famously expensive sweet teshigori wine. There was no way the Councilor was ever going to drink all of this, of course. Most of the bottles’ seals remained unbroken, simply there for show. Yet another display of indulgence.

“Say we go out on our next trip,” Finneas said, running his hand along the side of the shelf. “Shit happens, and we end up stranded in space. We could pawn off this thing for credits to survive. It’s probably worth enough to get by for a couple of weeks.”

"And we'll be wanted for both treason and theft."

“Always so optimistic, Lacroye. We’ll be wanted for so much more than that by then.”

He picked out the smallest bottle of teshigori wine with his eyes, one he was certain could remain hidden in the folds of his skirt. As his hand reached towards the shelf, the distinct echo of footsteps approached from the library.

Footsteps accompanied by voices.

Shit.

Normally, Finneas would have been able to conjure up a quick lie about what he was doing in that room—they had gotten lost on their way to the washroom, they needed a quiet place to make an important call—but in that moment, with Petra staring, wide-eyed, at the door, he simply froze.

The voices grew louder.

“...much of an issue, Councilor Black…”

He snapped out of his panic just enough to grab Petra’s hand and yank her behind the minibar. They scrambled to huddle together on the carpet, crammed between the legs of two white stools. Beside him, Petra’s breathing felt so loud, her heartbeat pounding rapidly against Finneas’ palm through her own. He gave her hand a firm squeeze—whether to reassure her or himself, he couldn’t tell. 

The figurine dug into his thigh, and he couldn’t help but offer a silent prayer to the Little Dragon for protection.

On the other side of the minibar, the door swung open.

please note that i’ve moved blogs. for more recent updates on this wip you can find me here: @chayscribbles​

[kingswriting]

here’s dead girls don’t lie, the shitpost

procrastinating with memes is just how i do *finger guns*

taglist: @aaccidentallyamy @ditzysworld @pulcherri @belles-library @fantasy-shadows @tabbykatwrites @goldlikealexander @aphronysus @llesbianwrites @landfillmp3 @siarven @thepeninthestone

[asoftplxcetoland]

[ Introducing…CONOR O'SULLIVAN ]

BASICS | conor seamus o'sullivan. 38. dci for the met police. guilt complex. biker. dad friend. cis male. bisexual.

APPEARANCE | 6'1″. blond hair, blue eyes, surprisingly nice smile. naturally aggressive eyebrows. dresses smartly for work but hates ties. most comfortable in jeans and a henley. a litany of scars from a lifetime of trouble. you can tell he lives in the gym.

PERSONALITY | reliable and steady as a rock. natural caregiver and tends to be the overprotective dad figure to literally everyone. puts everyone he cares about before himself all the time. his guilt complex is his cross to bear. super organised and detail orientated. more intelligent than he's given credit for. authoritative at work, lets everyone else take the lead in his personal life. kinder than more people realise. takes on more responsibility than he should. blames himself for literally everything that's ever gone wrong in his life. really should be going to therapy. will always rush in to save someone else. overprotective af.

BACKGROUND | oldest of six born to northern irish parents in london. grew up going to church every sunday and went to catholic school for most of his education. the troubles were a constant backdrop to his childhood and he's still never quite sure what he believes. spent a year after he finished his a-levels working in a bar, until he and his boyfriend were attacked on their way back from a night out. still blames himself for danny not surviving. entered the police academy as a way to make things right. worked hard as a beat cop until he gained the notice of his superiors and started moving up the ranks. nearly lost his career when it came out that his sister was involved in in drugs. very nearly stepped in to protect her, but didn't—and still wonders if he made the right choice now. made detective ten years ago and has never looked back. took over the investigation into the kelly gang over a year ago and signed off on the undercover operation that led to sophie's injuries. currently beating himself up about it.

RELATIONSHIPS | still goes round to his parents every other week for sunday lunch. difficult relationship with his siblings, after everything with ellie. best friends with sophie since they entered the police academy together. generally respected by his colleagues, even if they think he's a grumpy bastard who needs to take a break every once in a while. likes to tease raj. lowkey in love with summer for years.

AESTHETIC | leather jackets and motorbike oil, coffee just this side of too sweet, vinyl records, sleepless nights and rumpled sheets, grazed knuckles, traditional pubs with real ale, heavy sweaters and thick scarves on a winter's day, combat boots and cuffed jeans, strong hands with the softness of a saint, citrus and sandalwood, writing by moonlight, quiet control until it falls apart

THEME SONG | don't let the devil take another day — stereophonics

[ out of the blue | tag | excerpts | ko-fi ]

[suninks-moved]

“are you okay?” / S.B. / 5.03.2020 / spilled ink

the selfish and fearful thoughts of two friends on the question, “are you okay?” and the false answer, “i’m fine.”

transcript below cut 

"are you okay?" i ask. 

it just slips out - it's a phrase i've been conditioned to say when something goes horribly wrong. i don't want to hear the truth. i know i won't like it. but those three words are already out there, hanging in a heavy silence. how are you to respond, anyway? a snappy and irritated, "yes, i am completely and perfectly fine, despite every physical indication stating otherwise"? the lie: "i'm fine"? or worse, the truth: "no, i feel like my insides will leave me, my heart will explode, and my head is on fire".

"i'm fine." in my heart of hearts, i know it's not true. "are you okay?" it's a selfish question, because while of course i care about you, i'm far more interested in easing the clench in my gut that i feel when i see you in pain. do i really care for your wellbeing, or do i just care whether you are well enough to keep me company? if you died, would i care more for what would become of your soul, or how i would continue on without you? it is embarrassingly, shamefully, truthfully, always the latter. i am a terrible, terrible friend. you deserve so much better than the little i have to offer. but i am too selfish to let you go.

"are you okay?" you ask.

it's a phrase i hear often. it means next to nothing to me. they're just three words we've all been taught to say the moment something goes horribly wrong. a false show of care. but you're my best friend, so i suppose it's okay when it comes from you. i know you mean well.

still, it's a question i despise. if you paid any attention at all, you'd know the answer. but what do i say, "no, i am feeling like my insides are churning, my heart on fire, and it seems someone has hit my head with a hammer a thousand times"? no. ironically, it's me that's reassuring you. telling you the words you want to hear. you'll believe me if i tell you. you want to believe it. you'd sooner want to ease the clench you feel in your gut when you see me in pain than solve mine. i don't blame you for it. what else is there for you to do? my problems are too great, run too deep into who i am. no one can fix them, except maybe me.

you are a terrible, terrible friend. but you also know my deepest fears and darkest secrets, and you've held my hand in the dark when i was afraid. you know too much of me. you are so much of me. i am afraid to let you go.

[bookphobe]

art by ian roberts / excerpts from aswang by martina santi / art by martina santi

[richsleywrites]

tw for: apocalyptic themes, zombies, mentions of illness, gore and violence.

➤  INTRODUCING: TELLICO PLAINS

tellico plains, tennessee has a population of 913 - lower than most big high schools’ graduating classes. the residents have grown used to flying under the radar. sometimes, they kind of like it that way. but when residents suddenly start falling ill, hospitals in bigger cities turn a blind eye. residents are dying by the handful - but even worse, they’re coming back. you can’t turn a corner in tellico plains without seeing one of them; they’re zombies, but no one wants to admit it. when the neighborhood of belltown hills is attacked... five neighbors decide to take matters into their own hands. they won’t let tellico plains be erased. not like this. 

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