Reblog If You Have Not Been Booped Yet

It Is In Death You Shall Find Peace (I Pray That The Living Will Haunt You No More)

A small piece inspired by @m1d-45. I realize this is might be a little morbid for new years but I'm sick so I'm going to blame my inability to read social cues on that. Also I really had fun writing this.

You are prey in this game

Skittish and timid 

Gentle and kind

They are the hunters 

The predators that prowl 

Hunting for your head

You are the hunted

But you are a human 

Albeit one twice wronged

Hailed by the world as its God

And accused of malicious imitations

You are capable of reason

And of surrender 

Powerless against the powerful

You can run 

And you can hide

But you may never win

So the choice is made

Though you find it cruel 

Once beloved characters

You built with time and love

From ashes to gold

And from indignity to glory

Now shall stand as your executioner

And be commended by the masses

For being the one to slay you

With the power you earned them

And the weapons you gave 

They shall be your end

You find it cruel

And a tad ironic

But perhaps 

If it is your favored 

Death will be just a little bit kinder

Monstrous Devotion (It Will Devour You Whole)

Another piece for @m1d-45. It was meant to be short but as you can tell, got out of hand.

Desperation 

You remember it well

How it sparked your blood

And got it to run

How it tasted of bitter and tang

Much like the sting of blood

You remember how it kept you alive

Made your nerves so sensitive 

It prickled with every breeze

Every slight disturbance

How it kept your sleep light

And your dreams even lighter

Even now as you watch

The archons who adorn your body

With the most precious of gems

And the rarest of treasures 

They who once tried to shed your blood

To water their blade

You see the warriors of each nation

Who tried to rend your soul from your body

Attend your every need 

Degrading themselves as objects

As lesser than human

To try and exalt you higher

You feel more than you hear

As you watch once beloved characters

Stain themselves with sin

Desperation of their own

Rising to the surface

Their desperation is monstrous 

Predator to prey

Your own desperation has not waned

It has only grown

Writhing under your skin

Fueled by fine jewelry 

Silken clothes

And bloodstained manic smiles

Your forgiveness is not sincere

It is learned

Through a lifetime of pain

Of a death so vivid

You're desperate to stay alive

You are willing to do anything

But what once kept you safe

Will now be the one to deal a fatal blow

You already know this

Alarm bells ringing

With every minute move

But it's far too late

You're stuck in puppet motions

That are to never cease

Until the life drains from your eyes

Desperation made you learn to survive

And now that very same lesson shall be the one to end you

A Home Amidst The Infinite Stars

He looks inhuman, with his smile that strains just a little too much at the corners and eyes that gleam with an artificial liveliness. An ink black stain on his skin, marring his neck and displaying his sin. Dangerous, you hear the whispers, mocking and cruel with a hint of caution that feels ice cold. Aventurine, they call him, with eyes of vivid colors that perhaps would have been mesmerizing once, but were dull and glassy now. A gem, polished and set on a pedestal for all to see.

You find it, and him most of all, tragic. Someone clearly put effort into making him presentable, clothing him in bright hues that are impossible to ignore, and his personality is loud, ringing in your ears like the echoes of a scream within the long halls of desolation. He hides himself away, protecting himself in the only way he can. Even then, you see the scars that chip away at his mind, the tiny nicks and scratches that feel like chasms to your stardust vision.

You want to reach out, wish you could cup his soul in your hands, and hide him away beneath the starshine veil you wear. You want to fill his wound with sunglow and stitch him back together with a long thread, shadow stained to prevent another scar. Perhaps he would not notice a new mark on his skin, but you did not wish to add to his canvas. Perhaps kindness is poison to him now, years of cruelty that led to painful isolation.

He is frozen, frostbitten limbs that burn as they warm by the fire. You wonder if he would cry if you hugged him, the steady pulse of a star in your chest that reaches out for him just as it has for your cherished companions. You wonder how long it will take before he willingly returns to your side, head bowed as he presses himself into your chest and shudders as though he'll fall apart the moment you let him go.

You wonder when he will relax in your hold and when he will not flinch but lean willingly into your touch. Perhaps it will take years, or even decades. Perhaps he will never lose the sharp, jagged edges of his broken pieces. But that's okay, you have time. You will wait however long it takes, just as you have for each and every one of your beloved companions.

Your Faith Has Made You Complacent (And Thus Your Pride Will Bring You To Ruin)

Another piece inspired by @m1d-45. I have normally have great impulse control unless it's writing. Then this happens.

Instincts honed

Through years of wear

It has led them well

When their heart was torn

And their mind in shambles

So why?

Why is it now

That they fail to listen?

It pulls back 

Desperate to get away

To plead for forgiveness 

For ignorance and arrogance 

They do not listen 

Not this time

Emotions surge 

As their heart thunders

Their mind races 

Ignoring the sirens that blare

They raise their blade

Even as something 

Someone?

In the back of their head howls

The weapon plunges 

Sinking into soft flesh

The thud of a guillotine

A hasty execution 

It is a graceless death 

That prickles their skin

As a sense of wrongness settles

Something is not right

When they fall to their knees?

Why were they trying to heal the dead?

Why did their soul ache?

Why does it feel so wrong?

Oh.

What have they done?

We Told Nothing But Lies (But You Forgave Us Anyway)

A short piece inspired by @hiraya-rawr's sagau works but mainly references her last resort fic.

Captured and cornered

The crowd calls for your head

It was a mere panicked decision 

One you didn't even mean to make

Secrets spill from your lips

Ones you've discovered

Read and remembered

From the time before all this

Stories and promises 

Ones that shouldn't be known

All splayed out before them

Like a dam burst open

You can not stop the flow

That tumbles out

It splatters on their faces

Staining them ink and shadow

Send ice through their veins

Freeze them in place

A mirror gaze of stars 

That flicker in your blood

Blurring out your edges

Till the shimmer shine of nebulae

Are all that haloes your head

And envelopes your soul

Doesn't it hurt?

That all you're known for

Are stories blown out of proportion 

And never truly for yourself?

You have survived

But can you pay the price?

My thoughts on the Aventurine drama

I've been inactive for a while, I was (still am) busy in real life but coming back online to post and seeing discourse about a newly crowned favorite character is disheartening. Even more so, that people are harassing other writers over a drama I feel is overblown.

I have thoughts regarding it but I'm unsure if my opinion would be appreciated. But if you'd like to peacefully talk it out with me, I'd be happy to lend an ear. I'd like to hear both sides, as meager as my opinion may be.

Oh boy, here we go.

Aventurine is a character, a fictional being born to entertain the players. He is not real. He can not be offended by what you create of him. There is no point getting upset on the behalf of a character and prioritizing fiction over a person who does actually exist.

If we do want to condemn slavery fics, why not also cancel slave reader fics? Or ones that include things such as dead dove (including yanderes in general) fics because those topics are equally terrible to condone and write about from that point of view. Or how about other characters that have similar topics in their lore. Should those also be canceled too?

*There are also folks who make problematic pieces to help cope with their own trauma. Does that mean they should be canceled too? (On that note: making a piece that holds problematic content does not always mean the person condones it in real life. Fiction is fiction for a reason.)

In the end, I think everyone can have their own opinions, but I would like to say that your opinions do not justify terrible actions. Just because you disagree with something does not justify you bullying someone into deleting one of their works, whether it is art or writing or anything else, I do not think that is justifiable. Harassing someone or calling people to harass them is not right either.

*If you did disagree with it, why not message the author about it instead of making accusatory posts? Even when done with good intentions, all it does is cause harm when it's practically inviting people to go harass someone over a fanfiction. A very mild fanfiction at that.

If you disagree with a piece, cool. That's your opinion. Just don't interact with it then. Block that creator or that tag or whatever it is that led you there. Or if you're curious, ask that creator.

Also, to reiterate, in my opinion, fiction is still just fiction. Especially when it's a fanfiction about a fictional character. Yes, his canon lore exists, but people can use that basis in fanfiction, something that will inherently warp canon because we are not the original writers and can not capture him in the exact way he was created. In case that doesn't make sense: Fanfiction does not have to comply with the original lore. Also since some of you seem to be forgetting: fiction does not mirror real life.

If you are truly that concerned over sensitive topics like that, directing that energy towards projects that involve such topics in real life would be much better than attacking people on the internet.

About Me (subject to be edited later: will be edited when I have the motivation to make it pretty or at least semi decent)

Hello, I'm Creation's Abyss. My name is just mainly an inside joke so feel free to make up different nicknames. I use any pronouns and I'm over 18 but I have not experienced a midlife crisis (yet).

I don't tend to stay in a fandom, I just bounce around to whatever catches my eye. I write mainly poetry though I am branching into snippets, and the occasional character/fandom analysis. I do take requests.

I'm a flexible writer so my work can range from fluff/comfort to gore/angst to NSFW. Anyone (including minors) that are uncomfortable with any of these topics, feel free to block the corresponding tag along with any other tags you deem necessary, though it's unlikely to ever get truly explicit, better safe than sorry. My blog is pretty safe to read other than that. I don't really have a DNI list mainly because I can't control what people can and can not do but I am warning you here to use your best reasoning. If you choose to read on regardless of my warning then I bear no further responsibility. (I'm fine with everyone and anyone interacting and existing in my blog otherwise. And in case it wasn't implied, I'll state it explicitly now: I don't condone any parts of my 'dark' work irl. Please don't try recreating any yandere/dark/unhealthy subjects and acts that may appear in my work.)

This has become my main blog, mostly because I don't do anything on the formerly main one. I forget to post very often.

I doubt I'll ever be "closing" my requests so ask away though because I'm not particularly active, you might end up waiting a bit. If you're alright with that, feel free to stick around and chat.

There are very few things I won't write for but a lot of things will depend on context and the list can be a little fluid because there are some days where I won't be able to write for certain things and some days I will. You can always ask if you're unsure.

Also be a decent person to other people. I don't really want to block anyone but if you're incapable of decency then you aren't welcome here.

Don't use my work without permission or credit but other than that, go wild.

This blog, and my main should you stumble upon it, is a haven and a home for myself and for any who wish to stay. Your racial identity, gender identity, sexual identity, and whatever else you feel hunted for, doesn't matter to me. Everyone is welcome here and I'll shelter you for as long as you want. Feel free to ramble about anything you want, I won't judge and if you're too nervous to interact, that's fine too. I appreciate your presence here no matter how long or short you stay.

Welcome to my sanctuary, please stay as long as you like.

Anemoia (How Long Will You Reach For The Ghosts Of Distant Stars?)

They could see the stars tonight, bright splatters of light across the shadows of the sky. They don't really know why they decided to come out here, so far from the comfort of their little cottage, but they don't want to return, not yet at least. Wrapped in their cloak, they nestle themselves into the trunk of an old, hollowed out tree as they crane their neck upwards. The stars flicker and blink down at them, almost as if they were waving a hello. A ridiculous thought they don't mind entertaining as they raise their own hand to wave back. Maybe they are a bit of a fool, but they never claimed to be wise in the first place.

This reminds them of dreams they could have sworn they had forgotten, the wisps of names and faces that linger on their tongue even as the memories faded from their mind. They could almost feel the leathery skin underneath their fingertips, the sharp edges of scales too big. The blooming feeling of awe as feather and fur alike curl around their shoulders. Even the whistling winds, rustling through leaves and grass, remind them of the songs they used to sing, the lyrics long forgotten. Not quite unexpectedly, it hurts. Aching something fierce and bold in their chest, that forces tears to well in their eyes. Logically, they know it's silly to cry over something they can barely remember, over something that the world doesn't remember existing. At least, not in this life.

But they don't swallow down the sob that leaves their throat nor wipe away the iridescent tears that fall from their eyes. They don't mind the chill that seeps into their chest as their tears soak through the thin fabric of their shirt, far too busy watching the stars drift across the skies. They think, at first, only distantly, that they can see the twisting shapes of long serpentine bodies and billowing wings. They swear they can hear the timber of voices overlapped, the shadows of all too human bodies that they should know but can't quite remember. They wonder if they can miss people that don't exist.

They wonder if these memories are what drives them away from the people, the connections, of this earth. Star child, they remember their grandmother whispering to them in the late hours of the night. You are loved, they remember her murmuring to them every day from then on. They remember clinging to her feeble form as she spun tales of mystical beasts and stories of man made gods. Rivers to a lake, spiraling into the deep caverns underneath, hoarding knowledge underneath their silence. They wonder if there was some truth to her tales after all.

Star child, that name, title they suppose, has haunted them throughout their entire life. They wonder if it is why they can taste lightning on their tongue even when the skies are clear, if it is why they can feel the brittle-snap of thunder between their teeth. They wonder if it is why frost cradles their skin even when hearth-warm fire curls in their chest, the duality often leaving them sick and bedridden. Wildfires spark to life, just shy of burning and charring the vulnerable flesh of their heart. That coil around their ribcage and rumble as though the earth was quaking under a cat's quiet purr. All the while, ice forms at the base of their throat, encircling their arms like sharp shackles. They don't mind the chill, even when it hurts to speak. They welcome the frost and the cold, wrapping themselves in snow to stave off the constant heat.

They suppose it is, just like the winds that push for them to wander the world. A wanderlust unseen in their family, where others root themselves into the soil, they take to the skies. Following where the breeze and the gales blow them, the peaks of snow-capped mountains and the depths of oceans. Their body is not meant for travel, frail from the war that wages inside them. But it's not as if they could stop. They ache for the road, to chase after the stars as if they could someday reach up to pluck them from the skies. Their only real companion over the years, the feel of coiled bodies in the palm of their hand and the sound of an echoing roar in their ears.

Sometimes, they still expect a tail to curl itself around their legs even though the creature that tail is connected to only resides in their dreams. They still turn and expect to see the divine tipped claws of monsters, to have to tip their head back to speak to looming shadows of those they should know and still somewhat do, even if they haven't met them yet. Their disappointment when all that greets them is silence and emptiness is often crushing and immeasurable, inconsolable grief that drapes across their shoulders like a dark veil. Those days, they spend their time inside, away from the sun and the stars, away from the gaze of the people that stare and stare. They spend those days painting and writing, over and over, trying to capture the faces and forms of their companions they so desperately want to remember.

But it never looks quite right. Something is always wrong, always off. Failure is a bitter thing to swallow, it tastes of bile and blood and tainted honor. It is the shattering of pride, the sting of human hubris that leads them to bury their half written journals and messily sketched paintings. It is what forces them to grip the few pieces of their memories close, cradling their dreams like the most precious of treasures. Long fluttering scarves and cloaks, flowing fabrics that hide the invisible pouches of chiming bells and glimmering scales. Though they carry little on their journey, they can't help but feel an anchor's weight on their shoulders, Atlas heavy. A worthwhile price for the imaginary companions that drive away the loneliness, even if they do still want to feel the steady heartbeat underneath their hands.

Star child, they muse to themselves, it grows more fitting by the year. Stardust in their veins and the world at their fingertips, it is only a matter of time before they will be cradled in the careful coils of their once lost companions, one way or another.

@n0tamused

To Be Favored By The Stars (Surrender Yourself To Eternity)

Child of the golden stars, how do you plead?

He peers around the ornate room, the heavy weight of a golden medallion on his chest as he breathes. He expects dust and ash falling to the ground, the laughter of someone he loves in his ears, but there is only silence where he stands. He does not have much to offer, but still, he raises a tattered dream with small, thin hands up to skies. Words spring from his lips, his hands unable to stifle the harrowing words: ■■■■■■

Child of the desolate sands, how do you plead?

There are faceless people around them, dripping red, red into the stands. The one before him raises his arms in surrender, letting cold shackles form around his wrists and tightening around his neck. A placid smile that looks eerie and wrong plastered on his face as he raises his chin up. The same echo in his voice as he answers: ■■■■■■

Child of the impious idols, how do you plead?

The silk that wraps so snugly around him feels like the cruel grip of a trap, a spider's web in which he thrashes. Hollow eyes scream and weep without tears as he brings himself to smile, a lie on his lips. He can feel the dread creeping in, the voice of death in his ears. He offers himself up, splaying out his hands as he welcomes all to peck and tear pieces from his shattered self. His truth is already blatant on his lips: ■■■■■■

Child of a fallen star, how do you plead?

Confessions of blood and pain spill from cracked lips, an empty gaze that stares through him as tears fall unbidden from their eyes. Palms upturned, waiting a blow that will punish them further, blackened skin on their neck, and they can not breathe. They speak, and they speak until their voice is raw and their throat is bleeding. Scorching sunflares on their skin, embers burning their bones, and smoke clogging their lungs. They gaze up at the face of their goddess, a gaze that closes upon them thrice over. They are a wretched thing, yet they are cradled ever so gently in the palm of the one who presses a blessing into their soul.

"Guilty."