whatawaytoburn: bella_sol at LJ ([Angels] I made my own)
Notes: I don't even know where this one came from, I just know that this is what happens when I listen to filk and am sliiightly overcaffeinated.

I also feel like this should possibly be cut for potential triggers but I'm really not sure what those triggers are at the moment, so I'll just do it and come back to this post later with proper warnings.

Read more... )
whatawaytoburn: ([Morgan] Get through this)
Notes: Nothing to be said on this one other than I kind of missed doing all dialog pieces, so this got to be one of those.

"Where were you just now?"


"Where were you? You weren't listening."

"Oh, it doesn't matter. Keep talking."

"No, what were you thinking about?"

"It's nothing, really. I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention."

"It's fine, I just want to know what's on your mind."



"I was thinking about mistakes."


"I don't know, I just was. I was thinking about if...If we were distant from our mistakes. If we could compartmentalize better and examine our mistakes with a critical eye, would we be likely to make those same mistakes again."


"No, wait. Just...Okay, what if it was like a museum. What if, in your mind, there was a special place you could go and just look at your mistakes without the emotional weight they carry."

"It's a nice thought but you know that's not how it works. Hell, that's not even how museums work."

"I know but what if? What if it was like that. Would things be better? Would we make less mistakes?"



""Because we would make new ones instead. It's not a bad thing, it's just the way things are. We have to make mistakes so we learn. We'd be smarter but we'd still make mistakes."

"But there's not an infinite number of mistakes out there, is there?"

"As long as life keeps going? As long as we keep evolving? Yeah, there probably is."


"It's not a bad thing."

"It's not?"

"It's not. Because as long as there's new mistakes to be made, there's new experiences to be had. There's a life to be lived."
whatawaytoburn: ([Misc[ Storm's coming)
Notes: This came from thinking about Goblin Markets and parades and dancing in the streets. I don't know. I feel like I need an excuse for this one but I feel like that is counter-intuitive to the writing itself. *shakes head* Who knows.

What do we need?


When do we need it?


What do we need?


When do we need it?


What do we need?

And it goes on and on, chanting and cheering a whopping into the sky. You dance with your firends, with people you've never met. You cry out to the cluds about healing and love and hope.and joy. You cry and dance and sing it to the world around you.

because that's what the world needs right now. It needs healers and hopers and dreamers and believes.

It needs storytellers and singers and creators of all kinds.

It needs people to dance on top of it, shake the ground with the stoping of their feet. it needs hearts racing, hands in the air, shouts of joy and laughter. It needs people like you and people like the ones you love and people like the curious onlookers and people who are being more than curious.

It needs so much and you can't give it all yourself, so you grab the nearest prson who is simply standing and you kiss them on the cheek, tell them they are beautiful and twirl away. You hope to everything they pass along the little bit of joy, the delight and happiness you tried to send to them.

You hop it infects them and it spreads like a virus. You ant to infect the world with the way you feel, with the joy and wonder and brilliant light inside you.

Someone near by wears a fox mask and you giggle as they meet with someone else who wears a coyote face instead of their own. You think it's beautiful, the way they dance together in the street, how they shed their human skin for a while in place of something else.

You wish you'd thought to bring a mask but all you've done is write on yourself, scripted out words that make you happy, words of comfort and desire and words that leave you nearly delerious with joy.

You move through the crowd, watching it, as it moves down the street, people spilling everywhere, spreading out into shops and resterautns. It's like blood, like water, like the rushing of emotion once the walls have been knocked down.

And you think to yourself "Yes, yes. I could live like this. I could exist here, in this momentk, for the rest of time."

And although you know yo9u can't, although you know that time will pass and the world will change and people will take of their masks and pretty clothes, you can still chant to yourself, you can still tell the strangers they are beautiful. You can still dance.
whatawaytoburn: ([Drinks] A/S Smile)
I won’t tell you I love you, never will. I don’t have the words for it, don’t have the vocabulary because I was never taught. The words stuck in my throat and get fuzzy in my brain.

I don’t understand this feeling, even though I know I should.

But I can touch you. I can sing songs into your skin, play you like a treasured instrument. I can make you feel the best you’ve ever felt and I’ll not regret it for a moment.

I want to, I want to know every part of you, to touch and feel you, to run my fingers through your hair and k9iss you on the mouth. I want to play you, to make you sing with the feelings of joy I pull out of you. I want that, all of it. I want you to be the most beautiful instrument I’ve ever played.

And maybe that’s not quite love, maybe that’s something different but it’s what I want, what I can put into words.

So maybe I can’t say i love you and for that, I am sorry, but I can do this. I can help you, I can make you sing.
whatawaytoburn: ([Misc[ Save Yourself)
Note: Okay, I don't do poetry much and there's a reason for that but this little thing wanted to come out in poetry form, so well, here you are. I really hope no one minds and can pardon my questionable slinging of words.

We save ourselves, we save ourselves.
We save ourselves each day.
We save ourselves, we save ourselves
\In a thousand tiny ways.

Lost girls and broken girls.
Strange boys and ghost boys.
Lost girls and broken girls
And other people’s toys.

We save ourselves, we save ourselves
We don’t need you to rise.
We save ourselves, we save ourselves
We get to our feet, not one of us dies.

And this is the story of a lost girl
And this is the story of a lost boy
And this is the story of all the ways they learned to survive.
And this is the story of how they grew to thrive.

Lost girls and broken girls
Strange boys and ghost boys
Lost girls and broken girls
All of them learning how to make noise

We save ourselves, we save ourselves.
In such unlikely ways.
We save ourselves, we save ourselves.
And we will see the ened of days.

The end of the story is on it’s way.
And none of us will get a say
But we will tell the story.
Of the lost kids and their glory.

We save ourselves, we save ourselves.
Until the end of time.
We save ourselves, we save ourselves.
And no, it’s not a crime.

Lost girls and broken girls.
Strange boys and ghost boys.
Walking after the world is done.
Proving they are the ones that really won.

We save ourselves, we save ourselves.
We saw it through until the end.
We save ourselves, we save ourselves.
And now we wait to see what’s around the bend.
whatawaytoburn: ([RTofD] Roadtrip icon!)
Notes: [personal profile] roadtripofthedamned-verse. I really need to determine what I am doing with these letters and snippets. Put them together, obviously but because they're broken up and so small, I feel odd doing it.

I'll....I don't know. Do something with them. I love the crew though, even if i still have little to no idea what the fuck I am doing with the plot other than 'They go on a road trip, they set free saints trapped in human shells. They make it to the Jamboreee, Winter gets a place to fit in'.

There are no guidebooks on how to mourn for yourself, there's no Chicken Soup For the Recently Deceased Soul.

There's no direction, no help, no nothing. You're left scrambling and scraping by, praying to whatever the fuck might be out there that you're doing things right and someone won't come and shoot you in the face because of what you are.

I thought being genderqueer was hard. This is worse.

I stole a book today, a blank notebook to write3 down,...whatever comes into my head. I'm probably going to lose it but I don't care. I feel like i need to write it down, work it out. Do something with the thoughts in my head, otherwise my brain is going to explode.

I need someone to tell me what to do, someone to tell me how to feel, because I am so, so lo9st right now. I'm confused and I'm tired and I'm dirty and I'm lost.

I go to sleep at night, wherever the hell I can find a place to sleep, and I have to tell myself that I am allowed to be here, that somewhere, Death isn't pitching a fit because I'm not in his hands anymore.

But then again, maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe Death doesn't give two shits about me and I'm giving myself too much credit. I don't even know.

All I know is that I'm confused, I'm scared, and as much as I don't want my story to end, I think it was supposed to in an alley not far away from here, with blood and pain and more hatred than I know what to do with.
whatawaytoburn: ([Cityverse] Traffic angel)
Notes: Written for the Word Eater who I love dearly and have not done enough with. I don't know why but he seems to demand second person, at least that's what has happened with the two fics that I am most fond of. I'm not really sure why. *shrug*

Read more... )
whatawaytoburn: ([Words] Make it though the year)
Notes: Written in [community profile] andthedevilmakesthree-verse in an AU that we ahve affectionately dubbed Pollyverse after the song. Please note that there are allusions of sexual violence but nothing overt. Questioning of identity and whether someone really 'exists' or not is also involved.

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whatawaytoburn: ([People] Aurora fae)
Notes: For A barga9in Must Be Made. I don't think this fits in the actual story or, if it does, it'll be to9warsds the end but I wanted to try and write something off of the prompt and I've been stuck on that story for a while now, so I thought doing something in the verse might help

Maybe he was crazy.

Maybe, after going back and forth, after losing so much blood, after drowning in magic and mayhem and a world not like his own, he finally lost it.

Callum looked down at the pages he'd written the accounts of his life, the story that claimed him, and he felt sick to his stomach. It felt like a dream now, a dream that clung hard to his memory and braided itself into them but still a dream all the same.

Could he have made it up? Could this have just been some nightmare that he feel too deeply into?

He looked down at himself, at the scars on his body, at his hands that shook just a little, almso9t constantly. He studied the room around him, a small quiet space filled with books and things no mortal person should have, and he listened. He listened for the noises that meant Ethan was awake, he still existed at all.

He heard them.

A sigh of relief escaped him after that, unintentional but there all the same. he may be crazy, no one may believe him and they could choose to take the account as a book of fiction but it didn't matter. He knew he wasn't Ethan knew he wasn't even...Even Tess knew, she knew better than anyone.

He twitched at the thought of her, of remembering her, but he tried to put it aside after that, pushing the thoughts away and going back to the paper.

"This is a story about loss," he reads to himself, wondering if the stark honesty is too much. After a moment, he shakes his head. It might have been, it could have been giving away too much at the beginning of the tale and yet, he felt like it should be said. A warning should be given, just in case, because this won't be everyone's kind of story, this won't be the one that they want toi go to sleep with.

At least he knows he never would. Then again, he didn't have a choice in the matter.
whatawaytoburn: ([Pe[People]  Florence)
Notes Content warning, hatred, lots of hatred towards trans people and just people in general. In [personal profile] roadtripofthedamned-verse. This is not the letter that follows the previous one. I don't know where this one fits in.

Read more... )
whatawaytoburn: ([Misc[ Save Yourself)
Welcome to the club of lost girls, of broken girls, of girls who are sick, strange and starving.

But we are free.

We are not chained, we are not anyone's but our own. We belong to ourselves and the world around us. We spread our wings, we arch our backs, we scream and sing and spin int the night.

Yes, you had to bleed to get here and yes, it hurt. You have scars but that means you have stories too. You have had a life and that? Is something to be proud of.

So, sit by the fire and tell us a tale. Tell us who you had been, tell us about the bloodshed and the pain and the names they called you. Tell us about how they put you down, how they called you strange. We'll understand, they called us strange too.

They called us strange and wrong and broken and maybe we are those things, maybe we are exactly what they say but we are still not kept in bondage, we still don't have collars around our necks.

We are free, we are the girls of the forest, of the oceans, of the sky and sand. We are more than that, more than girls. We are people. We are creatures of the world, citizens of the universe.

So come join the club of lost girls, lost people, found people, free people.

We open our arms to you, we open our hearts.
whatawaytoburn: ([Angels] Broken)
Notes: Themes of kidnapping, forced confinement, breaking down of an identity, sexual violence (though it is only very lightly implied). Takes place in an AU of [community profile] andthedevilmakesthree

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whatawaytoburn: ([dAs] Music)
Note: Set in [community profile] atricksterwind-verse. These are the girls and damnit, one day I am going to write their story. One day. Maybe., *si8gh.

She loves fiercely. She loves with claws and teeth and hands and fur. She loves with every part of her, with every fiber of her being. She loves with her mouth and her feet and her stomach and her chest.

She loves wholeheartedly and with reckless abandon.


She doesn't understand love. It confuses her. The constriction in her chest when the girl approaches her, the flutter of her newly acquired heartbeat. Her hands shake and her mouth goes dry. She wants to step closer and back away at the same time. She doesn't understand any of this, doesn't understand why her thoughts are racing, why her stomach seems to be caught in a whirlwind, why, when she looks at her, everything else stops mattering, even her skin, even how wrong she is.

She doesn't know how to love but she thinks she might be willing to learn.


When they kiss, it's like two forces of nature meeting one another. One is all heat and passion and fire. She is a firestorm whirling around and sucking in anything that crosses it's path. She is love in passion, love in ferocity, love in aggression. She knows what she is and she is proud of it.

And the other? Is a breeze, fickle and nervous but still there. She can be strong, can topple buildings down, can tear the world apart but right now? She doesn't understand the power she has, doesn't understand that she can do more than make the leaves dance.


You watch the girls kiss, one with long, auburn hair and tanned skin. She looks like she spent a lot of time in the sun and you smile a little. You wonder where she been been and where she's going, for she has the air of a traveler about her. The other girl is pale, almost sickly but not quite. Her dark hair falls from her shoulders and she seems almost unsure of what she's doing until her lips meet that of the other girl. Then she relaxes into the kiss, lets herself melt into it.

You only look for a second before moving on. There's something about the kiss, something powerful and strange, that you don't entirely understand and despite thinking it's sweet, you can't help but move on quickly.
whatawaytoburn: ([RTofD] Roadtrip icon!)
Note: In [personal profile] roadtripofthedamned-verse. Don't know where this fits in, don't knwo if it even does fit in but well, I neeeded to write something today, so yes.

I don't know if I'll ever understand the universe. I don't know if I'm supposed to. Maybe I'm not meant to, maybe the world is just supposed to be a big, giant, confusing place that no one really understands and no one ever will.

I don't know.

But I guess I understand pieces of it. I know what it's like to die, I know ha it's like to be in love and those are the imprant parts, right? Or some of them, anyway.

My name is Winter Lee, and this? Isn't written for you, whoever you are. I'm not writing this for anyone but myself. I'm trying to puzzle out the universe in these pages, understand why it does what it does. I know I probably won't, I know that the mysteries of the universe won't be revealed to me with my own words but it's worth trying, right? I mean, no one ever got anywhere unlessthey tried.

So this is me, putting my best foot forward and trying.

And if you happen to read this, whoever you are, let me know if you understand anything more than I do, because I'm willing to bet that even though I've met saints and the sinners who fought against thtem and I've met ghosts and angels and fae. I've literally danced with Death and kissed her cheek and showed the Lady of the Crossroads what it's like to make a choice, I'm still utterly clueless as to why the world does what it does.

And maybe I'll never die, maybe I'll never get the chance to ask the person who rocks the world to sleep why they do what they do, but I'll have tired to learn what the universe is doing and that's better than not trying anything at all.

With love and hope in mind,
- Winter
whatawaytoburn: ([People] Aurora watching)
You can't sleep and you don't know why.

You lay in bed, your eyes half-closed. Your body is relaxed but your mind is racing. There's a fear you don't understand, a feeling of being hunted, of skittering around corners and tearing through the world trying to get away.

Because something is after you.

Something wants you.

You can't explain it and it's making your chest get tight, your heart pounding hard with anxiety. Your body isn't relaxed anymore, it's frightened. It wants to run because running might mean you're safe, running might just mean you survive.

But it's nothing, right? It's just your mind.

Maybe. You can't be sure, you can't know because looking around is too frightening and trying to ignore it is absolutely impossible.

So you lay there, half scared out of your mind and praying nothing finds you.

And when you do fall asleep, when you can't keep your eyes open anymore, no matter how scared you are, you dream of running, you dream of dark forests and what it's like to be prey.
whatawaytoburn: ([Misc[ Save Yourself)
Note: Uhm yeah, I feel like this may require a slight warning as there is violence. Kind of. Yeah, I don't know....

I know you won't believe me, I know you'll think I'm insane, that I'm just one of those writers who's too deep in their own head, who believes in their stories too much but I'm not.

I was like you once. I thought stories were stories, I thought they were words on a page, on a screen. I thought the words were mine to weild. I thought I had power and I could throw that power around and do whatever I wanted.

I was wrong.

Becuase stories bite back. Stories bite and tear and rip at you when your'e not looking. They're clever like that, they don't hunt you down, they don't run you ragged, they chip away at you, they break you down quietly. They make you feel every letter you put down, every word, every punctuation mark.

They they break you down slowly, just as you broke down a plot, a character, a scene. They break you down.

Not all stories, no. Not all of them have the heart but some? SOme catch you when you're not looking, some work on you for hours, days, weeks at a time until you're nothing left, nothing but a characture, a puppet for the story to play with.

You become the Story and the Story, vicious as it is, becomes you.

But remember what I said about ahving teeth? Having claws? Remember that, you are never helpless, every story has fangs, every story has a chance to survive.
whatawaytoburn: ([Sanctuary] Helen smiles)
Hope and Love are sisters.

Love creeps in through windows and under the doors. She slides through the cracks in the walls and fills you up with herself. She nests in your chest, makes your heart race, makes your pulse rush. She's heady and dizzying and she makes you do crazy things.

Hope is quieter, she's always been that way though. She slides in after her sister, settling in a corner and waiting for Love to sink in, to straddle your lap and kiss you hard against the mouth. Then she comes up behind you, covers your eyes and whispers in your ear. She tells you all the things you didn't know before, all the dreams and desires you didn't realize you had. She wraps around you, not seeping into your pores but draping around you like a blanket.

And yes, she is shyer than Love because she will never kiss you on the mouth, she will never take your hand and dance with you but she'll sleep with you at night and tell you that you're worth it, tell you that Love is here to stay and that she'll be here too.

Love and Hope don't always go hand in hand, but when they do, they're almost inseparable.


whatawaytoburn: (Default)
Screaming loud enough to turn back the wind.

August 2012

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