phynewrites

[phynewrites]

Chihuahua Of Doom

Villain: Ah, my loyal right-hand, what do you have to report?

Right-Hand: Well, boss, it seems our henchmen have stumbled upon a rather unusual obstacle while trying to infiltrate the superhero's lair.

Villain: Unusual obstacle? Pray, do tell, what did they encounter?

Right-Hand: Apparently, they were thwarted by a very angry guard dog, sir. A Chihuahua, to be precise.

Villain: (Laughs) A Chihuahua? Those tiny terrors strike fear into the hearts of our henchmen?

Henchman 1: Boss, you should've seen it! That little critter had teeth like razor blades! It even chased me up a tree!

Henchman 2: Yeah, and it had this ferocious bark that made my eardrums shiver! I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes!

Villain: (Chuckles) How delightful! Perhaps we should recruit that mighty Chihuahua into our ranks. No hero will stand a chance against such a fearsome foe.

Scientist: Sir, I'm afraid that might not be the most strategic move. Chihuahuas, though adorable, might lack the physical prowess required for our evil endeavors.

Villain: Nonsense! We shall outfit it with a tiny jetpack and train it in the art of canine combat. The world will tremble before the "Chihuahua of Doom"!

Right-Hand: Brilliant, boss! We'll conquer the world one ankle bite at a time!

Henchman 3: (Whispering to Henchman 4) Did you ever think our lives would come to this? Being outranked by a Chihuahua?

Henchman 4: (Chuckles) Well, it's certainly a change of pace. Who knows, maybe it's the start of a new era in villainy—where tiny dogs reign supreme!

Villain: (Laughs maniacally) Indeed, my loyal minions! We shall unleash the power of the Chihuahua upon the world and bring them to their knees! But first, someone fetch me a doggy treat. All this evil planning has made me hungry.

Scientist: Of course, sir. I'll get right on that. But might I suggest we also consider recruiting a Shih Tzu or a Pomeranian? Variety is the spice of villainy, after all.

Villain: Excellent idea! Let's assemble the world's most formidable pack of adorable destruction! Onward, my minions, to the pet store!

[phynewrites]

Some say supposedly, a rose blooms in chaos -- but all I know is chaos -- entropy holds itself back for no one -- and yet all I feel is the thirst that comes with being dried out, losing strength, and wilting -- where are my petals, some pretty red, pink, or white?

Surrounded by everything hectic, and all I am is a stem full of thorns.

[phynewrites]

Severe Uncertainty

A/N: A tale with this prompt for @ocappreciationweek​, featuring this OC from this WIP. It occurs that’s months after a certain event happened to her.

Word Count: 557

TW: angst, self-depreciative thoughts

***

When a stitching machine whirs, needles press on a fabric beneath it. It fixes a skirt to a shirt, turning into a ball gown. Albeit with flimsy sleeves looking like it might fall off.

Keep reading

[phynewrites]

You’ve just joined an adventuring party. The rogue wordlessly gives you a handkerchief and slinks away. “Ah, it’s his way of handling his kleptomania. Instead of stealing things at random, he’ll be going specifically for that.”

[phynewrites]

⋆🐇 OC favorites tag ⋆🐇

It's been quite long since I participated in a tag game! I know, all of these are late because I save them up for moments like this MWAHAHAHA

Thank you for the tag! @rbbess110 (here)

Rules: share your oc’s favourite colour, shoe choice, season, animal and pastime.

I'll be doing this for Billy, from an unnamed WIP I haven't even made an intro post about yet

Favorite color: Blue or grey

Shoe choice: sneakers

Season: Fall

Animal: Crows (yes he's edgy like that)

Pasttime: Customizing his car and tinkering with its internal parts

---

Gently tagging (no pressure) @space-writes @willtheweaver @kingragnarok-writes @mundanemoongirl and open tag for anyone who would like to join!

[phynewrites]

Dancing under the burning sky

The coffee was cold in our free hands when we were too busy holding hands. Waiting for the burning sky, our music went unnoticed. The gleam in the eyes of a lover was even more shiny with tears. At last, when the fire spread, and all hell broke loose beneath us, we spilled our coffees on the floor that will never be cleaned again. With our newly free hands, we rejoiced with them entwining each other. The forgotten music silently played, and our steps made no sound. The dying symphony told us to hold hands tighter; and when hell finally reached us, I looked right into the teary eyes and knew I was already in heaven.

[phynewrites]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Left Standing

The three brothers standing together, united in concern, as they looked over the hatching ground.

Their concern was not for their youngest brother, hoping to emulate his two older brothers who had impressed dragons at their first attempt, but for their eldest brother who had been a candidate twice but had been left bereft each time rejected by every hatchling.

"How do you think he'll react?" the only non-dragonrider asked

"If Allie impresses he'll be torn, happy for Allie but still wishing it was him instead"

The sadness in the voice, of the blue rider, only tempered by hope for the youngster on the hatching ground.

"If Allie doesn't impress he'll be just as torn, wanting to help Allie deal with the pain of rejection but perversely glad that he's not the only one of us to fail"

The matter ot fact tone of the brown rider's verdict barely masked the concern he felt for both siblings at the edge of hatching ground - one a candidate, the other a reluctant obverver.

Scott really didn't want to be here at today's hatching, but he had no real choice. Alan was finally (just) old enough to stand as a candidate, Scott could never deny his brother the chance to follow his dreams (even if it took his final brother away from him).

He'd been a candidate before and had been left standing twice as his 2 younger brothers both impressed at their first attempt.

John was now the rider of brown Giseth whilst Virgil had impressed blue Somurth. Scott still couldn't get used to their new Dragonrider names (J'on and V'gil), he was proud of both of them even though he still felt that he should have impressed as well.

Out of the five brothers only Gordon had turned away from the possibility of standing as a candidate for a dragon, he had chosen to try to become one of the new dolphineers instead, unable to resist the call of the sea.

Even though he would never admit it, even to himself, Scott was envious of his brothers, they knew what their futures held whilst all he had left was the knowledge that he'd failed to find his own path, the object of his dreams forever out of his reach as no dragon had chosen him (He wasn't going to stand again - he couldn't face the shame of being rejected by all the hatchlings for a third time)

The increase in intensity of the draconic hum brought Scott's attention firmly onto the scene at the hatching ground. The hopeful candidates, including his youngest brother, all nervously watching the 30 rocking eggs. All wondering which would hatch first, who would impress, who would be left standing.

Alan almost jumped as the first egg split with an audible 'crack', all the observers breathed a sigh of relief as the young dragonet streatched his long bronze neck before rushing towards his chosen mate.

A flurry of eggs cracked almost simultaneously, 3 browns, 3 blues and 5 greens all pushing their way past Alan on their way to their mates. The 2 bronzes in that flurry were a little more deliberate in their choices, chosing the boys either side on Alan.

A brief calm before the next flurry of eggs cracked, this time a small bronze discarded every other candidate before homing in on an ecstatic Alan, the watching siblings unable to hold back their cheers at the success of their baby brother, despite their concern about the reaction of eldest.

Scott watched as his youngest brother impressed, his head cheered for his brother's success while his heart broke.

His youngest brother had succeeded where he had failed, Scott now had to return home alone, what was his purpose now? His blind spot had always been his brothers, their needs and concerns always superseding his own dreams.

Scott turned to make his way out of the hatching ground, he couldn't let his melancholy affect the post hatching celebrations, the successful candidates deserved better than the failure that he'd become.

He didn't get far before he felt an overwhelming feeling of hunger, he didn't think that he'd ever felt so hungry before.

How could he suddenly feel so hungry?

Surely he hadn't forgotten to eat again, it wouldn't have been the first time but he was sure that he'd had breakfast - hadn't he?

"Scott"

He didn't turn at the sound of V'gils' voice, too lost in his feelings of failure and hunger to respond.

"Scott!"

He couldn't bring himself to respond to J'on either, he couldn't bear to face their sympathy - he didn't deserve it.

"SCOTT!"

He couldn't ignore Gordon's shout, why couldn't he be left alone with his misery?

He looked up towards his brothers standing on the upper edge

"What?"

The three brothers just smiled to each other before speaking at the same time

"Turn round"

Scott just shook his head, what game were they playing with him this time, was he to be in the receiving end of another (final) family joke.

"I'd better humour them" he thought to himself as he turned round

and came face to face with

"Don't you want me?"

Scott shook his head unwilling to believe the vision before him

"I'm hungry, don't you want me?"

Scott struggled to believe the voice in his head, the voice that belonged to the bronze hatchling that was before his eyes.

Scott dropped to his knees as he reached out towards the dragonet, the dragonet who had chosen him.

"I am yours"

Scott managed to say through tears of joy

"You are mine"

Every dragon and many of the riders heard the young dragon's determined statement

Scott met the eyes of his watching brothers before stating "His name is Lucenth"

[phynewrites]

Text: The bakery is built of seashell studded stone, sitting several meters out from shore and buffeted by ocean waves. The owner can’t set foot on land.

[phynewrites]

———

C. A. Singh • Betty

3-27-24

[phynewrites]

🦄🩸🗡

[WIP - Upon Her Bloody Horn]

A unicorn takes on a human disguise to enact revenge against those who have hunted her kind to extinction, only to find herself caught in the middle of bloody kingdom politics and allured by the one-eyed hunter with whom she's a violent history with.

...

A quick intro for my 80s-inspired Elizabethan dark fantasy WIP with a sort-of-enemies-to-lovers subplot!🤭 Been so obsessed with this WIP yall!!

I comp it as "The Last Unicorn meets Legend (1985) meets Elizabeth: The Golden Age."

[phynewrites]

“Dragons respect the strong,” the dragon said. “Okay, so if that’s true why do you never attack that one old farmer outside the city.” Asked the adventurer. “I’ll repeat, Dragons respect the strong.”

[phynewrites]

M O R D L U S T ; netflix adaptation

A businessman-turned-thief finds himself entangled with a pair of opposing assassins and the roles they unknowingly play in a much grander conspiracy.

T A G L I S T

{ send an ask to be +/- } · { psd by @seungnm }

@seasteading | @veneritia | @sourrcandy | @arkicts | @redrcbin | @diesatoru | @darkgazer | @inky-duchess | @kaatiba | @writeblrfantasy | @wildswrites | @morganwriteblr | @frvnwrites | @uraniawrites | @bayoucurse | @caradhraas | @birdskullz | @halcionic | @nallthatjazz | @ladywithalamp | @cannivalisms | @muddshadow | @caninemotiff | @bebewrites | @lord-fallen | @sylhorn | @menacetomany

[phynewrites]

Welcome to the Writers Club, first rule of writers club: Love your buddies, your mutuals, love your work and never fucking let go

[phynewrites]

"Please, do not ignore my story. Your donation and sharing this message is a part of your humanity and support for us. Every help, no matter how small, makes a huge difference in my life and my children's lives. Be our voice, be the hope for those who have lost everything." 🇵🇸🍉🙏🏼

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #521 )✅️

Share, donate, help us survive. 🕊️❤️

In a corner of Gaza, my family and I are drowning in destruction, with the echoes of suffering surrounding us. I sat beside my modest tent, hastily erected after losing my home in the latest bombing. The faces of my family tell stories of patience and resilience, with lines of time etched upon them, as if they were records of unforgettable events. 🇵🇸⏳🍉

I once lived in a small home, filled with the laughter and voices of my children. Today, I have become a witness to the agony of displacement. The bombing forced me to flee with my children after a shell struck our home, leaving behind years of memories and simple belongings I never imagined would become unreachable. 🏚️💨

Every morning, I leave my tent and go to work, using a clay oven to provide food for my children. Meanwhile, my youngest son heads to the charity kitchens that offer aid, waiting for long hours under Gaza’s scorching sun. Despite the exhaustion that weighs down his frail body, he carries the food mixed with his tears and returns with a fake smile, hiding behind it the burdens of his struggles. 🍞🥀

At night, when everyone else is asleep, I remain seated at the entrance of my tent, gazing at the dark sky, reminiscing about days gone by… about my home that was once filled with warmth. Yet, I still find remnants of hope in my heart—a hope that one day peace will return, and my children and I will live in a new home, filled with joy. 🌙🏡✨

In moments of solitude, I find peace in prayer and supplication. I plead to God to protect Gaza and its people, to wipe away the dust of sorrow from our hearts. I always repeat🇵🇸🍉🌿

"We are here to remind the world that we are stronger than war, and we will rebuild our lives anew, no matter the cost!" 🙏

[phynewrites]

Just a quick infuriating rant

I'm a member of another local writing group (not here in Tumblr) and one of the members was complaining that they "no longer want to use AI because it could not grasp to tell the story even though [they] instruct it to retain [their] voice." I just don't get how a "writer" would be frustrated with a "non-thinking, slop churning robot" that could not grasp an individual writer's style and voice? I mean that is absurd. If you really want your own voice to show in your writing, WRITE IT IN YOUR OWN WORDS. Don't use AI to write YOUR ideas.

You know what, I should be glad that they said they're done with AI. Hopefully, they find the time to ACTUALLY WRITE THEIR IDEAS instead of yapping at a robot to write their ideas for them, expecting it to be good.

[phynewrites]

How to Bury a Gentile

I wrote a short vaguely historical vaguely spooky ghost story about Jews and burial rites and I have to justify it existing so here it is.

“Are you the leader of the Jews?”

There was no good that ever came from that question. Rabbi Jacob stood in the doorway, one hand on the knob and the other on the frame, ready to yank it closed at a moment’s notice.

“Well, not all of the Jews.”

The man at the door made a frustrated little grunt. He was clad almost completely in dark grey clothing that seemed to fade into the shadows of the darkened street behind him. The collar of his coat was pulled up so high that it was impossible to make out more than a pair of sharp grey eyes beneath the brim of his hat, and the cloak he wore over the top of it concealed most of his body. There could be any number of guns, knives, or angry mobs hidden under there.

“But the ones in this town, yes? You are their priest, you lead prayers and weddings and so on?” the man said impatiently.

“Rabbi. Yes. I’m the rabbi, that’s correct.” Jacob said, stiffening his posture and assuming the most neutral expression he could manage. Being completely ignorant didn’t exclude someone from being completely dangerous–if anything, that heightened the risk. “What can I do for you?”

“Rabbi,” the man repeated, as if to seal it into his memory properly. One gloved hand squeezed the pommel of his walking stick. “And you preside over the funerals of your people, and perform the rites to send them to the next world?”

“Yyyyyes?” Jacob shifted his weight to his back foot, poised to slam the door in his face. This sounded unpleasantly like an opening for a death threat.

“To any of them, regardless of the sins they carried in life?” An eagerness entered the man’s voice.

“Of course. Though sin as a Jewish concept differs from the Christian…mm. Yes, of course.” The scholars of old might have debated the nature of the evil in men’s souls until the crack of dawn but Jacob had no intention of doing so at half-past midnight with a complete stranger.

The shadowed man took a half step forward and Jacob leaned back to maintain the distance between him. “What about a gentile?” the man pressed. “Would you tend to his corpse too?”

“Huh?”

“There is a man needing to be buried tonight who requires absolution. He is not a Jew, but a Jew’s prayers may be close enough for what is needed.”

“Um. It’s not usually a request I get.” Jacob tried to keep his voice calm and soothing. There was some kind of entrapment lingering in the conversation, he just knew it. That or a giant box of crazy that had managed to dress itself stylishly. Gentiles asking Jews intrusive but urgent questions never turned out well for their target–a day-long case of irritation was the best outcome the target could hope for.

The man’s hands pressed together as he completed the full step forward, making Jacob back up into the doorframe. Desperation was in his tone and Jacob was forced back over the threshold just to stay out of his grip “All I need is someone to accompany me to the cemetery to consecrate the body and pray for its soul. Barely an hour of your time. I cannot pay you with anything but my gratitude, but you will have it eternally.”

“And you came to me?”

The man sighed. Even the top hat seemed to slouch slightly as his body slumped. “I have asked every holy man in the city, Catholic and Protestant alike, and they have refused to come to the cemetery,“ he bemoaned. “The last one told me to visit you. Likely a ploy to make me leave faster, but you are all I have left.”

“What did this man do, that so many people refused him? Who was he?”

The man at the door hesitated. The sharp eyes vanished as his eyelids slid down, and then appeared a few moments later.

“Must you ask?” he said quietly. “Is it not enough that it is a corpse which can do no man harm any longer, and you will lose nothing but a half-night of sleep?”

The inside of Jacob’s head was ringing with warning bells like the frantic clanging of gongs announcing a fire. He swallowed and tried to ignore them.

“You say he wasn’t Jewish?”

“He was not…much of anything. He felt God had no interest in him, and returned a lack of interest in kind. Perhaps if he had been more attentive he wouldn’t lie in a pauper’s grave…or perhaps he would have not changed a whit.” The man’s voice was bitter and the sharp eyes briefly looked away from Jacob, to Jacob’s deep relief.

“Who was this man, to you?” he asked.

“Close. I would prefer to say no more. Please, rabbi. It must be done, and it must be tonight.”

Seminary did not prepare me for this, Jacob thought, and then thought again. There is absolutely something in the Talmud about this and I’ve just forgotten it, because I’m an idiot and I’m half asleep and there is a goy on my doorstep asking me to go out to the cemetery with him at midnight to bury a man whose name he won’t tell me.

“Look, I’ll need someone to help dig the grave.”

“Of course.”

“And a coffin. A plain pine box. And I’ll need to get my supplies from the–”

“But you’ll do it?” said the man excitedly, standing up even taller. “And do it tonight, before the cock crows?”

Jacob held up his hands to keep the man from getting even further into his personal space. “Fine. Yes. Give me half an hour and a lazy rooster.”

The cloak almost seem to inflate as the man gasped for joy. He grabbed Jacob’s hands and shook both with enthusiasm, sending Jacob stumbling. “Thank God for you, my good rabbit! Whatever God there is, thank God for you!”

The man ran off into the shadowed streets and was out of sight almost immediately.

Jacob’s hands slowly fell back to his side as he mumbled, “Rabbi,” to the darkness.

My wife is going to kill me if whatever’s at the cemetery doesn’t.

Czytaj dalej

[phynewrites]

being a writer is so embarrassing sometimes like awww no my feelings got hurt guess i'll go make up 90,000 words about it. ugh