blooddrip

Red

I wrote this for @grillbygaster after he wrote me something; but I haven’t written seriously in six years, so bear with me..also it’s super short…

—–

Silence, warmth, comfort…these were the things going through Dark’s
mind as he was stirred from his deep slumber. Noises, small yet noticeable,
were coming from his right. The tired demon tried to clear the fog from
his mind as he slowly opened his eyes, creating a dull crimson glow.
“…Anti…?”
Silence.
Dark furrowed his brows before propping himself up. Through the blackness
and dim red light, he could see a familiar head of messy, dark teal hair
peeking out of the blankets. Everything was suddenly still, calm.
After waiting for a few seconds, Dark grunted and started to turn back
over and return to sleep.
But something caught his eye.
“What…”
His words trailed off as he took a better look at Anti. The pillow and
bedsheets underneath his head were colored a worryingly dark shade, which
contrasted greatly with the clean, white fabric. Alarmed, Dark reached
over and pulled back the blanket covering Anti’s chest; the back of his
neck was stained with the dried, blackened liquid, while still-wet blood
was seeping down into his shirt and the sheets below him.
“Anti! Wake up!”
Dark shook the other man’s shoulder gently, trying not to shake too hard
and add to the mess of crimson.
“Grhh…!”
Anti’s shoulder’s lurched as he let out a violent cough, causing Dark to
pull his arm back. The blood-covered man shakily sat up and raised his
hand to his neck, flinching as he touched the deep slash wound.
“F..uck, ow..”
Dark moved closer to his injured lover while grabbing a pillow and yanking
off its white case, gingerly reaching over to dab at the bleeding
laceration. Blood quickly soaked the previously bleached fabric. His
face wrought in pain, Anti’s hand searched around before finding Dark’s
own and grasping it tightly.
“He wants to come out…gh..”
Anti said, his normally crackling voice even more distorted as he coughed
a second time and a trail of scarlet began to trickle from his lips.
“It’s never been this bad, just how powerful is he getting?”
Dark questioned, squeezing the other’s hand.
“..Bastard…he already gets almo..st all control..why does he want more!?”
Blood spurted from Anti’s neck as he shouted angrily, completely ignoring
Dark’s inquiry. The demon’s face was wrought with worry.
“Don’t strain yourself, I’ll go get some bandages,”
Dark insisted, starting to leave. Anti grabbed his arm and dug his nails
in, shaking his head with a bitter expression.
“It won’t help. I have to let him out…”
The venom in Anti’s voice made Dark grit his teeth. He hardly got any
time with Anti already, now even small things like sleeping with each
other were becoming almost impossible.
Without warning, Dark was pulled into a tight embrace, causing him to
nearly lose his balance. Immediately he could feel the blood begin to smear on
him, but nothing could be less important as he quietly returned Anti’s hug.
“He’s not going to win…I won’t let him..”
Anti mumbled into Dark’s shoulder, shutting his eyes for a moment and
breathing in his lover’s scent. After a few minutes, they reluctantly
released one another, Anti’s neck now bleeding profusely.
“…Are you leaving?”
Dark asked softly. Anti nodded, wincing again as a fresh trail of blood
dripped down his chest.
“I’ll come back. Soon…I’ll make him understand..”
Anti hissed, his body beginning to stutter and glitch apart. Dark let out
a deep breath and leaned over, gently kissing the other’s forehead.
“…I love you.”
Quickly becoming more transparent, Anti gave Dark a weak smile before
dissolving completely.
“I love you, too.”

blood is thicker in water // daveed x reader

summary: You want to die.

 a/n: hey guys! this is my first hamilton fic, and there are some serious trigger warnings. so beware. but there is some fluff in it :) so at the end it kinda seems like a lin x reader, even though vanessa and lin are married but I guess its just that the reader and lin have been friends fro so long and are so close that they say like love you or whatever whenever they say goodbye to each other??? so yeah. forgive any mistakes, I proof-read like half of it but then I stopped cause I was really lazy.  

warnings: angst, depression, suicide, very light smut, and cursing.


masterlist

 word count: 4,617

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when she eventually reads this poem she’ll look around her room for me but she won’t find me there because i won’t be there, my re-discovered absence forcing her to slowly run her hands through her hair in an over-dramatized manner where she then stops halfway through and just kinda holds her head in place while thinking, “dear god… what have i done?” to herself (the disposable razor poem)


    After months
    of just staring at it,
I finally picked up
the disposable razor
she left behind
on the ledge of my shower.

The one I watched her
shave herself with
the last time
we showered together
in my house.

It’s handle
was yellow
and it’s cap
was yellow
and it looked like it wanted to be
a school bus
but had to settle for being
a disposable razor
instead
until the day came
when she picked it up
and ran it across her perfect,
wet skin
therefore making it feel
very, very happy to have been born
a disposable razor
and not a school bus.

Grateful,
    even.

Blessed,
    even.

I stood there
and held the disposable razor
in my hands
and even though warm water
was pouring down on me
from the shower head
    above
I still found myself feeling colder
than a dead piece
of vagina.

I continued standing there,
    holding the razor,
        staring at it,
            feeling cold,
                thinking warm thoughts
                like “toast” and “bunsen burners”
                in a desperate attempt not to feel cold
                like a dead piece of vagina,
and made a mental list
of all the parts
of her body
I watched her shave
with the disposable razor.

Her armpits,
her ass crack,
her vagina,
her legs.

These were all places
of her body
the disposable razor
got to know
quite intimately.

I held the razor up
to my nose
trying to smell those parts
of her body.

    When I couldn’t smell them,
I eskimo kissed the razor
but in a brutal, unforgiving manner
that looked more like
I was punching it
in its non-existent face
with my nose.

Once I was done
eskimo punching/kissing the razor,
I stuck out my tongue
and slowly ran it
across the blade
and the blade
cut my tongue.

My own blood
filled
my own mouth
but I wished
it were her blood
filling my own mouth
instead.

That woulda been
much better.

The pool
of my own blood
felt like “adult swim”
in my mouth
but I knew if her blood
were there in my mouth
instead of my own blood
it wouldn’t have felt like
“adult swim”
in the pool of blood
in my mouth
at all.

More like
“free swim”
or whatever it is
that they call it
at public pools.

I dunno…

I’m not some
fuckin’ life guard…

I let my blood
drip outta my mouth
and down my hairy chest
pretending
it was her blood
and felt pretty.

So pretty
I squeezed the disposable razor
in my hand
wishing that I had a vagina
so I could stick the handle
of the disposable razor
into my vagina
therefore making love
to it.

Wishing this
did two things
within me…

    Firstly,
it kinda disturbed me
a little.

    And, secondly,
it made me wanna cry
all of my organs
up
outta my stomach,
    violently spewing them
from my mouth
and onto the bathroom floor
where I would then
spell out her name
using only my intestines
and organs.

How romantic!

But then
I crumpled up the idea
of me having a vagina
and fucking myself
with her disposable razor
and threw the crumpled up idea
outta the shower.

It made a funny sound
hitting
the bathroom floor.

Like someone
in combat boots
kicking in a window
made entirely
outta dead rose petals.

I put the razor down
and began jerking off
to the mental video
of her running the disposable razor
up and down
her perfect, wet
skin.

By the time
I pictured her
shaving her legs,
I came.

My orgasm
was a gaggle
of deflated, black balloons
that,
    despite their deflatedness,
floated up to the ceiling
then proceeding to thunder
like bottomless despair
and begin down pouring
on me.

I shut off
the shower water
and just stood there
underneath
my orgasm’s mournful,
torrential down pour,
    the only reason for me not moving
from outta it’s limited reach
was because doing so
just wouda been
wayyyyy too outta character
for me.

After I got outta the shower
I took a drive
to the post office
and mailed her disposable razor
to The Smithsonian.

This is the letter
of explanation
I sent along
with it…

“To whom it may concern,

This may look like
just some ordinary,
disposable razor
who wishes it were
a school bus

but it’s not.

This is an artifact
of the greatest love
there ever was.

Display it proudly
in whichever one
of your museums
you so
see fit.

    However,
I highly recommend
hanging it from the ceiling
in the same grandiose manner
that you hang old-timey planes
and NASA aircrafts
with.

    Either way,
you’re welcome
for the priceless
artifact.

Sincerely,
    Calvero

poet/author/mother fuckin’
crazy cat guy extraordinaire

P.S.

Do you think it’s weird
for a guy
to wish for a vagina
so he could fuck something
left behind
from a long, lost lover?

Please circle one

(Y   or   N)

and then mail back
your answer
with the SASE provided
at your earliest
convenience.

Thank you.


© Calvero 2014

slowly killing myself with the brutality of my words, 
and how i do not know what to do with my hands
or my mouth, that craves more than just the blood
dripping from the entirety of my being, or the loss 
of flesh, that i wrote off to you in every poem before 
this one; how you have claimed the ache, and i
am left dying in the wake of november, once again-
just bones, and un-touched skin, and no meaning.