#of course writing is fun in and of itself

[coveofsecrets]

Hii!! Oh my god, to start up, I HOPE YOUR PILLOW IS WARM ON BOTH SIDES TONIGHT BCS UR BURNING SPICE AND CHILD READER FIC DESTROYED ME 💔💔💔 but on another wrote it was so well written and i enjoyed it SO MUCH.

Is it alr that instead of a fic where Burnung Spice had a kid before his corruption, could you perhaps write one abt him having a kid as the Great Destroyer? Im pretty sure that he would be a relatively distant father, but what if his kid was practically a velcro baby and wanted to stick by his side the moment they were brought onto earthbread? I think it would be rlly silly ehehehhedhehhe

"𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝"

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-> Platonic! Burning Spice + reader

-> Warnings: Spoilers for Beast-Yeast chapter 6, child neglect, child abuse, mention of death. Please note I do not condone any of the aforemented stuff. If this is happening to you, please seek help if you can.

-> Word count: 1.8k

-> Uhm. I. I don't. I don't think. You got the silliness you wanted, anon, I. I am so sorry. But there is silly stuff in there!! Somehow????? I'm so sorry anon cires. but other than that THANK YOUUUUUUU WEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHE I LOVE DESTROTING PEOPLE WITH MY WRITINGGGG ATGGFHRF. BUT I DONT WANT MY PILLOW TO BE WARRRRRM <<<//333

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Being completely honest, he was bored.

Well, is bored the right word?

The eternal routine of destruction caused by him is nothing but  making innocents beg for mercy,  causing buildings full of history to crumble- watching all of that happen from his effort leaves his stomach full of satisfaction.

This path he walks is one he chose, one he had carved out for himself, so of course he would be having fun with his trail. If he weren’t having fun, then he wouldn’t have caused this ceaseless demolition.

Sometimes, though, there is something lingering within that satisfaction. Something that is out of his reach, something that he craves. With every person he kills, every city he levels, there is something in his gut. Even after he has finished his wreckage, after that pleasure has flushed itself out, something remains in his stomach. It’s as if he tasted something bad, as if, hidden within that delectable meal, there was just one part that threw the whole thing off.

No, he’s not bored.

He is dissatisfied.

Centuries have come and gone by, the Beast taking away the lives of millions, but not a single one of those numbers has done the same for him. When will it be his turn for that to happen? 

Burning Spice can only fantasize of the grand time it would be: Two individuals, fighting to the death. Blood surrounds them in the arena, not one of them knowing who it belongs to. The only fuel that’s driving their barely-working bodies to move is the adrenaline pumping through their veins. Both parties are helpless to the puppeteer that is the hormones, and unable to cut the strings, they raise their weapons, going in for what they hope is the final strike- oh, what splendor, what magnificence! The very thought leaves him in a deep state of hunger, one that even his most favorite hobby cannot quench. It makes him frustrated, how he can never be truly full; he has lived for so long, and not a single individual he met has come close to giving him what he yearns for!

What will it take to destroy him?!

All of a sudden, out of butt-fuck nowhere, Burning Spice comes up with an idea.

Since there is nobody to rip his life out from his body, he shall cultivate the being who shall do so.

If someone with his own techniques, his style- a perfect mirror of him- were to be fight him, given enough time, they could give him the battle he demands. After all, if somebody were to take after the strongest, eventually, they will take the title for themself.

Yes… yes! That’s the perfect plan!

All three eyes snapped open, lips bared into an all-teeth smile, the Beast practically launches himself off of his throne, set to putting his project into action. 

Burning Spice would be a neglectful parent.

Sure, he’s aware of what a baby needs to develop into a functioning person, but he stands strong to the ideal that the weak are to be left behind. So, you’re fed so you don’t die from hunger, you’re talked to so that you can understand and take part in speech, and you’re given certain tools that develop your fine motor skills. However, when you start crying, your father abandons you. No matter how loud they are, or how long they’re carried out for, nobody will come to your aid. Your sobs will not be soothed, your tears will not be kissed away.

In fact, if they weren’t under strict orders from their Lord Destroyer, the Spice Army would’ve killed you long ago. Your whines are grating to their ears, and they want nothing more than to make it stop. Like your father, they, too, will not help you.

Silence is the only thing you will know, so get comfortable with crying out to it.

When you start to crawl, Burning Spice gets so angry he has to take multiple breaks from you.

Having such a thing clinging to him; pulling on his hair, babbling incessantly, and forcing him to be more careful of his surroundings so he doesn’t squish you- ugh! He has to constrain himself to not throw you out the blasted window.

Other than that, though, your life is mostly the same as when the only thing you knew was the cradle surrounding you.

It only takes a drastic change once your fine motor skills are fully developed, you’re able to understand complex sentences, and you can recognize patterns across people. As soon as that happens, you’re immediately thrust into training.

It’s not pretty.

Blow after blow is given, not a break offered, and you’re forced to at least try and defend against your father’s too-quick attacks, else you’ll have to wear another scar on your skin. Whereas other parents would make sure not to push their children too far in sparring sessions,  every single battle you have with your dad leaves you on the brink of death.

You may be lying on the rough textures of the sands, vision blurring in and out- a direct result of all the blood that’s escaping its cage; you can try to call out, “help- help me-” but your voice is drowned out by the savage storms of the Spice Lands. Nobody helps you, nobody checks up on you; even your father, who can see just how bad of a shape you are in, leaves you to fare the battle against your demise.

Eventually, you learn that you’re not, in a sense… wanted. To the Beast who created you, you are nothing but a means to an end- a tool, a weapon, to lead him to his demise.

Despite that, though… despite how much you can see how you are nothing but a convenience, you still want to be near your dad.

He’s the only one who interacts with you; the spice army doesn’t want much to do with you, and all of your interactions with them always end in ignored yells, venomous words, or exchanged blows. Burning Spice is the only person in your life who, even if it was back-handed, has given you any sort of positive comments.

Because of that,, you want to get closer to him, know your only company better.

So you do.

Any time your body can forge energy, you use all of it to follow him around, doing nothing except for bombarding him with all sorts of questions- “Why do you use that bowl to eat? Is it important to eat with your hands? What are those tiny pieces on the map? What’s your weapon called?”- essentially talking his ears off.

Oddly enough, Burning Spice doesn’t mind.

Your father lets you hang around him like the Kulfis who used to serve him long ago, but he won’t exactly carry you around if you get tired. Adding on, if you ask questions, he will answer them. At first, the beast may seem irritated, but he’s not exactly… shooing you away. Take that as motivation to continue.

As you do so, he gets more and more relaxed from your parasitic presence being near him, and at one point, he starts having fun. Hee finds himself… happy to explain his customs, to divulge in practices he has not talked about in centuries.

Over time, His answers become longer, he starts smiling as he explains, and the creature even lets you partake in what he’s doing. For example, if you’re asking about his war plans, he will sit you next to him, tell you to suggest your own decisions for the pieces on the map, and teach you about what the best actions are to take as you do so. 

As the two of you get closer, the army gets confused. What’s the small thing doing, cuddling up to The Great Destroyer like a babe?

It doesn’t help that you, quite literally, try to stick by his side in such a way that you look like you are attempting to fuse your own flesh with his.

“What are you doing?”

The first time you do it, Burning Spice is quick to shake you off- contact outside of battle is not something he is used to, and he does not wish to indulge in your… clingy behavior. If you persist, though, he will fling you away- making sure that the indent you leave in whatever wall stops your trajectory is nasty. He will not tolerate such softness in his army, as it will only make one weak.

If you continue to try and cling to him, you’re gonna gain durability quickly, or learn to maintain a strong grip on your target, because if you don’t, you’re going to get a fractured skull.

Other than that, he doesn’t mind that you’re with him in every place he goes to, participating in every activity he is doing.

However, if you wanna do something of your own (which is surprising, considering that all you do is train and follow him around), then you better pray to the Witches it’s something Burning Spice will enjoy, or he will destroy any equipment there is to it.

“Soldiers of mine have no need for hobbies like these.”

Even if you are his child, you are, at the end of the day, one of his warriors; a discardable game piece.

Like every other fighter of his, you are set out to conquest; any kingdom he wishes to lay to ruin, you will be there, slaughtering the civilians and bringing ruin to architecture. It does not matter if these people beg, or if these buildings are rich with precious artifacts; you are expected to lay waste to anything that comes across your path; just like the rest of his army, you live, fight, and die for your Lord Destroyer.

If the day comes where you manage to crumble, you won’t get any sympathy. No proper funeral is carried out for you, no mourning is offered to your circumstance, and especially no memory of yours is preserved. 

Nobody cares for your death, except for Burning Spice.

Yet, the only emotion that is expressed to it is frustration. “All that time I put into my creation, and what did it amount to? Nothing!” But much like how the sands of time erode abandoned palaces, his frustration melts away into begrudging acceptance. “If they were truly meant to destroy me, they wouldn’t have been killed so soon.”

Such as all other beings who have died in his domain, your remains shall be left to forever drift in the Spice Land’s winds.

[azurlite]

bit of ship study ass post here so bear with me:

sentryagent / voidwalker is such a toxic, enemies to lovers to enemies, feed off each other's energy kinda relationship (the dynamic itself not necessarily romantic wise) but because of some of their personality quirks it makes it so interesting to explore in writing

John is protective and thinks of himself as a leader, even when he's not. He values feeling like he's in control, even if he's not, because "he is what he was made to be" (as is shown in his crashout in TFATWS) and doesn't he deserve to be heard, just for that?

John constantly undermines what others will do for him, partially because of feeling betrayed by the government and people he's fought for, partially as a defense mechanism

Bob also undermines how others feel about him, for completely different reasons. Bob is driven by an innate perception of inadequacy, and a lack of belief in his self worth. In other words, when abandoned (like when they think Ava leaves them in the vault), John's first instinct is "of course she would leave, why did I trust her?" and Bob's is "of course she would leave, why would she stay?"

Bob is also protective, but his behavior swings wildly between his episodes

And they're terrible at communicating with each other, but not with other people. They rile each other easily and get competitive (well, John gets competitive, Bob just gets aggressive) (example: when Bob is in Sentry mode and John kind of fucking flexes for no reason, "you can call me the Sentry")

John's anger issues and Bob's depression / mania is a crazy combination (literally)

They both love validation, for very different reasons.

To summarize: Bob's emotions manifest mainly internally, as in he points fingers inwards more, and John's manifest externally. They're quite similar in some ways but this puts them at polar opposites / mirror sides, which is kinda why making them into rivals is so fun to write.

a comparison i would make is Jaime and Brienne's dynamic, actually. Jaime's self hate and arrogance vs Brienne's self hate and humility.

Bob's two most popular ships, platonic or romantic, (sentryagent, boblena) reflect two sides of his personality, and so the boblena dynamic is more savior-devotee coded while sentryagent kinda gets to both their more toxic traits

[kings-highway]

Okay I've seen enough AI discourse discussion today but there's one thing I absolutely have not seen anyone else talking about and I simply need to get my 2 cents in here

Writing is not about the end product. And no, I'm not going to say some philosophical nonsense about the passion or heart or humanity put into it, I'm sure most of you are already aware of the philosophical difference between AI and real writers. What I'm talking about is what, about storytelling and writing, makes a writer a writer.

If, theoretically, being a writer was JUST about conveying an idea, plot, or set of themes to the reader, AI wouldn't be that big of a deal. Because it truly would be just about the quickest way to get your idea into someone elses' head. But it's not that.

It's not that at all.

When I was 14 my father (a screenwriter) told me that his favourite part of writing was editing, and that, if I continued to be a writer, one day I'd probably feel the same way.

The amateur is enamoured with the creative process - the writer is enamoured with the craft.

Writing doesn't stop when the words are on the page.

My father was right.

Nowadays, a first draft is a tedious first step I need to climb the mountain of to get on with things. And, of course, I love this step! It's the creative heart of being a storyteller, playing with characters, exploring themes. And, yes, most of my fanfiction is a first draft, but thats because fanfiction is a different kind of craft to me. Also not something AI can replicate but that's a different story and not what this is about.

I've never let anyone read my first draft of original work. Ever. Because I hate my first drafts. I finish it, and immediately start thinking: "i need more scenes that make the twist villain sympathetic early on to increase the impact of the reveal" or "i should make sure that the main character is shown reaching for chocolate flavoured treats more often to tighten the character persona" or "i think the middle is too short, there's not enough time to build drama."

I start crafting the story. Picking apart how I want my readers to feel, adjusting minute details - or massive, large details - and playing with the rhythm of the story. Maybe a villain gets redeemed instead of killing them, maybe I switch up the order that characters meet in to change their dynamics, maybe I change their names to have greater symbolism and more cohesive identities. Editing is a difficult skill, but the process of getting my hands on each paragraph is intoxicating. Of being able to turn this story into the best version of itself.

I spent 4 minutes on one line, yesterday, changing the word "terrible" to "horrible," removing a comma and switching up the word choice in the dialogue. I played and I fiddled and I made sure that this one sentence had the exact right melody to it, the exact right feeling to it to make sure that my reader could feel it like goddamn music in their bones, the precise reading experience that I, the writer, wanted them to have. These 4 minutes are the most fun I ever have writing. These moments are my favourite part of being a writer, they're what makes me a writer. Not simply that I have put words on a page, but that I have put these words on a page, exactly as I want them.

So AI art is not art. Because art is not the end product. People who use AI to write are not writers, because writers are not merely idea generators. If you're satisfied using AI to generate your ideas, go ahead, but you were never a writer to begin with. I don't want my work to exist on the page if I don't get to enjoy the craft. If I don't get to sit and play with my words, adjust character details into oblivion, stare at the screen until the words are music, then I simply don't want it. If everything in the world becomes AI generated, I will still be sitting at my desk with my computer glowing and keyboard clicking away, writing stories, because that is what I love to do. The act of it, the physical act, not the end product.

"I'm just using AI to bring my ideas to life, I can edit and adjust it afterwards if I want!"

You've already missed the point.

I'll just be over here wasting hours upon hours deciding on the name of a fake city, because it is the most fun I could ever have.

[dazedbythebolt]

"which one of you dickheads just totaled my fucking car!" - (marvel) !

𖤓 parings: avengers x reader

𖤓 warnings: none!

𖤓 summary: After a mundane day of work, you are pulled out of your sleep not only from the sounds of an Avengers battle outside your apartment, but to your car. In a wall. Of course you're going to give them a piece of your mind, but you never thought about what confusing events would follow.

𖤓 word count: 3.8k

𖤓 a/n: this is my first ever post! been on here for a couple years, but I've finally grown the balls to actually post some stuff I've been writing for fun. here's a little scenario I constantly see and decided would it be fun to make a little oneshot, or whatever you wanna call it, out of it! I know my writing is shit right now, but lmk if you enjoyed!!

As I imprint the final swipe of ink on my receipt for my last customer, I exhale a breath I didn’t even know I was holding as I departed from their booth. The fake smile immediately vanishes off my face as soon as I enter the kitchen, tossing the black tray on a vacant counter and checking the clock, watching as my shift finally ticks to an end. 

“You off now?” My co-worker and newfound friend, Maria, says with a knowing tone as she throws a soft smile. 

“Yeah, finally. Is it just me or does it feel like our shifts are getting longer?” I jokingly inquire, tossing her a teasing glance as I united the apron around my waist, throwing it over my shoulder. 

“Oh yeah, I definitely feel it. Chris probably whined again.” She chuckled, causing my head to throw back in annoyance at the mention of another co-worker who’s always bustling about, complaining on how “there isn’t enough work.”

“Oh god, please do not get me started.” I groan out to her as I head for the locker room, watching her with a smile as she laughs lightly, busying herself with bringing my tray to the dishwashing station. “Well, I’m out. Catch you tomorrow?” I question her, hand hanging onto the doorframe as I peer out ever so slightly.

“Unfortunately.” She quips and I laugh, humming a noise of agreement before finally disappearing into the locker room fully. I stuff my apron in my locker and trade it for my bag, unplugging my phone from the internal outlet and stuffing it into my pocket. 

I busy myself with a small hum of a random Pop tune as I unlock the door to my rusty car, shutting it hastily behind me as I throw my bag swiftly into the passenger seat. I wait a couple minutes between each turn of my keys, sighing as the engine stalls multiple time before eventually bringing itself to life. Im due for a new one anytime now, but this hunk of junk is the only thing that can get me to the outskirts of New York to aid my, pretty much dying, mother. But for now, I fill the drive home back to my apartment with whatever is on my latest playlist, humming and tapping the wheel as the lights shine red to green.

Alas, I turn the corner to my rather empty street, and eye an open spot directly in front of my building. Usually, finding an empty spot on my street is like finding a needle in a barn’s haystack, but today it seems I’ve struck gold as the only one is in the perfect place. Yeah, I do pay like $45 dollars a month for garage parking underneath the building, but parking here just this one time to save me maybe 10 extra minutes in the morning could be worth it. I place my car in park and take a solid couple of seconds to bask in my short walk as I approach the front door and make my way up.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The night starts to drift further in as I complete my night routine, tying the knot on my felt Batman pajama pants and throwing a hoodie over my head as I almost trip on my way to my bed. Snuggling into my sheets and turning off my bedside lamp was no issue, and quickly the honking in the streets and the music from my neighbors swayed me to sleep. 

But my rest didn’t last long.

A crash. Not the usual ones that were accompanied by a couple honks and angry accents, but the kind that caused me to rocket out of my bed. Then came more sounds. Loud punches landing on some kind of skin, electronic whirs, and was that- lasers? Curiosity bests me, as I throw my covers off myself and scurry to find my keys and any sort of footwear. Obviously, as a New Yorker, you’re trained to stay inside and mind your business. But with the rise of Avengers, crime wasn’t just local  robbery or shootings. It was raging fights that looked like movie grade CGI, raving all over the net as advanced clad in random costumes defeated aliens or thugs. 

I was never a fan of them. Yeah, they save the city. Sure, we need them. But the solution to the problem also happens to be the root to a giant, ever-growing, ever-evolving, fucking tree that no kind of fertilizer or chainsaw can take down. And don’t get me started on the head of it. 

My feet flew after the other, chasing themselves out the front door and into the street—right into the center of the chaos. 

A big, giant, fucking thing was plummeting from the top of a parallel building before slamming into the road, and soon followed a glowing suit of armor that smashed right into it. That fight didn’t seem to stop, and I watched as other characters soon flew into the scene in an organized way. Bright costumes, some flying and others running, rushed to take down the individual who was clearly in some crazed state of adrenaline. As I scanned the area, slowly taking steps back towards the door, was when I spotted it. By it, I mean-

“FUUUUCKK OFFF!!!” I screeched into the chaos around me, making eye contact with my vacant parking spot only to spot the missing vehicle milliseconds later. In the side of a building. Crumpled up, leaking of oil and illuminated with flames. Cleary it was thrown, and clearly it had missed. 

A head turns in my direction quickly as it pauses, but tries to then scurry off as I make eye contact with them. 

“Oh nuh uh. YOU! YEAH YOU! YOU COME DOWN HERE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!” I yell at the blur of red, and they hesitantly listens to my enraged commands and swings their way down to the concrete sidewalk I’m currently on. “ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!” I yell as soon as I’m sure they’re within earshot, charging an angry finger in their direction as I continue walking forward.  

“Uh ma’am, I’m so sorry b-but I’m not-“ the timid voice says from behind vacant and wide white eyes, but my rage blindsight’s my common decency as I continue down my rampage. 

“YOU KNOW HOW HARD I WORKED TO GET THAT CAR? DO YOU KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE IT IS TO MAINTAIN ONE IN THIS FUCKING GOTHAM OF A CITY?” I bellowed into their face, the street lights illuminating my flailing figure. The hero—Spider-Man—constantly looks behind him, trying to keep his eyes on both me and the fight as he raises both hands as if to push me away from a distance. 

“Miss, we can help you to find your car, but I’ve really got to get back to-“ he starts, but I don’t let him continue.

“MY CAR? MY FUCKING CAR? You- you wanna know where my car is, dickhead?” I mutter the last part in a mocking tone, sarcastically scrunching my face as I reach for his shoulders, spinning him on his heel to look at where my car lies. 

“That’s where it is. THAT’S where my FUCKING CAR IS! One of you FUCKS just crushed my shitty little Honda into a CONCRETE BUILDING! You tell me what the hell I’m meant to put in my 45 dollar parking spot now! TELL ME SPIDER FREAK!” I scream into his face, my hold still on his shoulders as I shake him back and forth with each punctuated word. 

“Woah woah woah, hey- HEY!” A noise of metal flies down and clanks onto the concrete patch right next to the red hero, placing a hand on his shoulder and mine, pulling me away from him. Iron Man. “What’s going on?” He questions, more at the hero as he turns his head to him.

Before he can react, I look around at the other group of Avengers that have now finished their fight and joined the commotion. “Which one of you fucking DICKHEADS JUST TOTALED MY FUCKING CAR!” I yell punctually, throwing my arms out in almost a desperate plea. 

“Ma’am, it’s the middle of the night. Maybe we can handle this in a controlled manner and locate wherever your vehicle may-“ Caption America says from the right of me, but before I could cut him off and give him another piece of my mind, the spider-hero from before interrupts. 

“Uh that-that’s her car…or was.” He says, turning to point behind him and at the car, now fully engulfed in flames and scraps of metal. A man in a leather jacket, Hawkeye, lets out a grimaced noise as their attention turns back to me. 

“It was most likely the monster that-“ Captain America tries before Iron Man cuts him off.

“Uh yeah, that’s was probably, definitely, me. I think, look anyway- we’ll wrap you up a new one and deposit a check, whatever you want as long as you just quiet down and-“ He begins to reason, but I don’t let it get far as I shut him down, a scoff escaping me as I wipe the perspiration off my forehead. 

“The Tony Stark is asking me to calm down. The-the billionaire who’s had everything curated and catered to him on a fucking silver platter. I don’t want to hear shit about calming down, alright? You have no fucking idea what it’s like for us Tony. That car? Over 21 paychecks. A WHOLE YEAR OF SAVING! Some days I barely eat, barely sleep, putting in extra hours for a vehicle that’s just a pile of shit now. That car was my cheapest mode of transport to support my dying mother, because unlike you I have a family to sustain. A dying one. So no, I don’t need to fucking calm down when I have a very justifiable reason to be pissed the FUCK off at fucking one in the morning.” I huff out, putting my hands up on my forehead as I catch my breath, ignoring the gazes from the others as I shake my head in disbelief. 

The street fills itself with silence as late night winds flow through and blows past my hair. When my breath is finally caught up, Captain America goes to say something but quickly cuts himself off as they all freeze and focus, so I assume they’ve all received some sort of collective message. He reaches up to his ear, looking at me in the eye as he replies, signaling for the rest of the team to move out. 

The group carries on, some focused on ahead as others pass me with longing glares or pitiful looks. Spider-Man stays still by my side, but I don’t look at him. Tears brim in my eyes as my breathing rises again and when I finally turn to look his way, I find him already looking. But as he brings his hand up, Tony quickly grabs his shoulder and shuffles him along. 

“Cmon kid.” He mutters, and I’m unsure of his current expression as it’s hidden under layers of metal and wires. I sniffle, not watching them depart as I turn in the opposite direction, wiping the tears that spill onto my cheeks with the back of my hand as I watch the sky in defeat. 

“Fuck…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The next morning is a slow one. My eyes reluctantly open as I hazily watch the my ceiling fan spin. My thoughts drift back to last nights commotion, and I groan to myself as I turn around. After the whole fiasco, I waddled up to my room like a loser and cried my heart out. How could I have embarrassed myself like that? I tried to hype myself up—everything I said I meant—but that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel the guilt eating at me. And but now, I still have another problem on my hands. That fuck-ass car. I decide today is not a day I can perform at my best, and quickly call in to work to announce my absence, making up some lame excuse. 

Outside are Starks cleaning crew, and I watch from my same spot as last night as they pull metal parts of what was once my car and into a dumpster. I sigh, rushing to escape the scene and trudge my way onto the bus. 

To try and distract myself, I decide to shop for the things that needed replenishing such as groceries and household stock. But of course, on the ride back as the silence of the bus covered me, my mind drifted back to that night. As I took my time to make my way back to my apartment, bags heavy in hand, two men in suits stood next to a polished sleek vehicle, in the same spot that was vacant the night before. 

I eye them suspiciously, and just as I reach for the front door, they call out for me.

“Miss?” One speaks and I turn around, looking both ways to assure I’m the one they’re talking to. 

“Uh..yes?” I respond, clearly agitated as they beckon me closer. I follow pre-cautiously, holding tightly onto my plastic bags. 

“A gift, from Tony Stark.” The other says, and they both step forward to give me two items. I eye them awkwardly, and sigh at the mention before dropping my bags gently on the floor, and first pick up the note in the hands of the one on my left. 

I flip it open and read the cursive writing. 

“Take this present as an apology for last night. Don’t worry, we won’t throw it at an alien this time. - Tony Stark.” 

I heave before folding it back up, placing it in my other palm as I reach for the second offering. A small black box with a neat white ribbon over-top. I look at the man before accepting it, untying the bow and lifting the cover only to be met with a set of car keys. I make a face, and it’s clearly noticeable as the man in front of me talks.

“Click it.” He suggest simply, a light-tipped smile on his face as he and the other man watch me. I look between them before taking one out the velvet cushioning, clicking the unlock button to only find the location of the sound directly in front of me. The man opens the passenger door, and on the seat lies a neatly written check with a number I can’t even see. But the only reaction I can seem to muster is utter confusion as I stare at the items before me. As the men look at me expectantly, I chose not to take my ever-growing anger out on them and instead display a thankful smile.

“Oh, thank you.” I mumble to them, even though they aren’t the ones who gave it to me. They just smile as they nod their heads once.

“We can park it in the garage if you’d like.” The other offers, and I just stare at them before finally responding. 

“Oh uhm yeah- yeah that’d be great. Thanks.” I muttered to them and they nodded once again, climbing into their respective seats as one hands me the check. I watch as they drive off and turn into the garage below the apartment, and it takes me a while to process what had just happened before I pick my bags hastily off the floor and usher into my apartment.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The rest of the day I can only pace around my apartment, hands on my head as I reread the check multiple times over. $15,000 dollars. Fifteen-thousand. I watch it as it lies on my kitchen counter, as if it’d magically grow legs and run out, or transform into a clown and taunt me in my face for falling for a stupid prank. But no, the paper stayed and the numbers never changed. 

Eventually the sun comes to its rest and I climb back into my bed, thinking over and over about everything from the past 24 hours, trying to make sense of it. But I’m not sure I ever will.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Thankfully, it was a slow work day today as I finish wiping the tables from a previous customer. I didn’t know who the fuck to tell about my recent endeavors. Me and Maria aren’t that close, and my mother and siblings have way bigger things to worry about, so I’m stuck keeping everything to myself as I return behind the counter to put away my rag and see if there is anything needing of assistance. Suddenly, a ring sounds at the front of the restaurant, signaling a new customer and I rush out to seat them. 

But as I approach the entrance, a familiar figure makes its way into my view as he leans against the podium, glancing at the menu before noting my entrance and setting it down. A large grin encompasses his face as he looks down at me, sitting up straight before pulling his sunglasses down then pulling them back up. 

“Well, you gonna sit me down or just stare hunny?” Tony Stark teases, and I just sigh as I turn around, hearing his footsteps follow mine as I hold a menu in my hand, searching for an available spot. Eventually I place him in a corner, watching him sit down as I set a menu in front of him and pull out my notepad, ready to take his drink order until he speaks.

“Hey, could you go run and get your manager for me? Just gotta ask for a quick favor.” He gleams, leaning back as he wraps his arm around the back of the chair, fulling turning towards me with an amused look but still covered by his sunglasses as I nod awkwardly, walking off nervously to the back of the kitchen to retrieve him. I try not to show it, but my hands and legs begin to shake meekly as I knock on his door, absolutely growing in nervousness for what the billionaire who I’d just cussed out not too long would be doing at my work place, and what he was going to possibly tell my manager.

“What.” He spits from the other side, clearly expecting me to open the door myself as I do, peering in.

“Tony Stark wants to see you.” I say bluntly, giving it to him straight as he whips his head away from the gambling site on his computer and to my face, assessing me for any signs of humor. But I’m guessing he can read my nervousness pretty well as he shoots out of his seat, practically shoving me aside as he speeds walks out of his office and through the active kitchen, back into the main floor.

“Well hello! Welcome to my lovey establishment Mr. Stark, what is it that you need from me!” He puts on his fake custodian voice, smiling down at the man with an excited gleam as the subject himself pulls off his glasses, looking at my manager with a serious face before pointing the end of his sunglasses to me.

“This one, is going to be off from work for the rest of the afternoon, got it? Great. Now I’ll have some mozzarella sticks and she’ll have…” he looks at me expectantly as he continues to point at me, my manger giving me a quick look of shock and annoyance. 

“Uh, I’m good, thanks.” I say to my manger before looking back at Tony, and he just rolls his eyes. 

“She’ll have some fries. Extra crispy, you look like the crispy type..Shoo, go on.” He turns back to the manager, flinging his hand at him as he quickly abides, giving me a short glare before running back off to the kitchen. I stand still, looking back to the kitchen before the sound of him putting his glasses on table redirects me. “Sit down, come on.” 

I do as he says, pulling the chair back slightly as I rest across from him. My hands fiddle with themselves in my lap as I look at the table, the rest of the restaurant, anywhere but his expectant face.

“So, d’you get my gift? Nice ride, right. Had it shipped in from Italy a couple weeks ago before I realized I had a million more and didn’t need to add another to my every growing little collection-“ He begins his ramble but I shut him off as I suddenly turn to him, looking him right in the eye.

“Why?” Is all I say with scrunched eye brows as his face twists, leaning his head to the side as he analyzes me.

“Why what.” He states rather than questions, still leaning one hand on the back of his chair while the other lies on the table. 

“Why’d you send me the car? With the note and- and the check?” I inquire, squinting my eyes at him in confusion as he continues to look but not answer, watching the rest of the restaurant before turning back, the look on his face having not changed.

“Well, you know a lot of you forget I’m human and have emotions, so I did feel somewhat bad about what I did. Thought it was the least I could do.” He sighs, drumming his fingers on the table as he looks behind me before looking me back in the eye. My eyebrows lower as I watch his face, getting a pinch that isn’t all he has to say.

“Is that-“ I start but the heavy footsteps that approach with more ferocity than needed arrive in front of us, placing two plates of food on the table. My manager clasps his hands together happily, only looking at Tony.

“Is there anything else I can get you sir? We’ve got plenty of tasty options. Today’s special is the teriyaki glazed-“ He begins, bending over slightly as he starts to list options before Tony quickly pulls his hand out and stops his rambles.

“Actually, I’ll get a to-go box. Im a very busy man, as you know.” He boasts, pointing to his food before giving him an expectant look, and he doesn’t question as he nods, mumbling his apologizes before rushing off to get a box. Once he leaves, Tony looks at me as he finally removes his arm from the back of his seat.

“Lovey conversation. But duty calls, as you clearly know. I hope we meet again.” And like that, he’s off.

As my manger finally returns with the box in hand, he watches along side me as the billionaire struts out the restaurant with not a word back, pushing open the glass doors and entering the backseat of another sleek black car. And while he leaves my manger in a state of confusion from his departure, he leaves me in a different one. 

He had something else to say, didn’t he?

(PT.2)

[rivetingrosie4]

Wip Wednesday

Thank you, @cassietrn for tagging me ☺️💛 I’m trying to finally enjoy sharing my writing again, so I’m incredibly thankful to you for including me in fun games like this. It’s forcing me to share and to open myself up to the possibility of excitement and fun again.

Tagging @threadbearsweater and @subpopizzy, two folks I don’t think have been tagged already. 🌻

Here’s a piece of a summery wip, the most recent thing I’ve written. It’s for my modern au, To Share a Smile. (Though it’s about a couple chapters into the future.)

One last note! Please consider listening to the song I included in the scene. (Link provided) It’s pivotal to imagining the scene and the mood, and I love the song itself oh so so so much. It’s made me cry on more than one occasion.

Hope you enjoy,

Sara 💕

“Wear some comfortable jeans,” he says on the phone. “And cowgirl boots.” His pause is a split beat, his next words deadpan. “You got cowgirl boots?”

You stutter a laugh through your wide-open smile. “I can try to get some!”

“Don’t try. You gotta get some. And, uh… maybe some bug spray.”

“What in the world, Arthur?!” you laugh with scrunched brows.

“Just trust me! Gotta trust me.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Okay.”

___

That Saturday, you take a chance and wear a sleeveless, black-and-white buffalo-check top with a pert peplum. You add to it the simple, light wash, comfortable jeans he called for, and of course, the just-right, wide-calf cowgirl boots you spent hours upon hours scouring the internet for.

When he pulls up for you in that gorgeous, candy apple red pickup, he hops out and immediately smirks as he takes you in. “Damn.”

“What?”

“Went sexy tonight.”

Your grin shoots wide, and your voice rises to a squeak. “Really?”

He lowers at the knees a bit, tilts his head back, and playfully lifts his eyes skyward in a mock roll. When he straightens, his eyes shoot back to yours with a smirk in them.

“Damn straight! Here, let’s have a turn, babe.”

He reaches for your hand and holds your arm up to twirl you as you bite down on a smile. When you finish spinning, his appraisal is stamped with a click of his tongue.

“Yeah—” he grunts. “Cute sexy too.”

“Cute sexy?” you genuinely wonder aloud.

“I’ll be the goddamn envy of all.”

Your smiling eyes widen and bore into him.

“No—” he lifts an open palm. “I ain’t tellin’. Sooner we get in the truck and get there, sooner you can quit guessin’.”

He takes you over the mountain and farther than you would’ve thought. The horizon slowly grows pale and pastel as the sun slips away. And when you pull up to the enormously crowded grounds of a county fair, lit with sparkling, hazy lights in the summer evening, you gasp and flit your eyes to him in shock.

His wheezy chuckle only sends your smile bigger. “Don’t squeal just yet. There’s a very specific spot inside there we gotta be.”

“Arthur, it’s the fair!” you immediately squeal, grabbing onto his shoulder and pushing him as he laughs. “I didn’t even know this was happening! I always wanted to make it to one! Hurry— Hurry up and park!”

Once he parks and gets the two of you through the ticket line, he tugs you by the hand deep into the fair, never once allowing you to peruse any of the magnificent items that catch your eye and whip your head—enormous and juicy watermelons by the crisp slice, spirited toss games, corn on the cob covered with cheese and chile, glossy candy apples with peanuts. Your senses are filled with scents of sticky cotton candy and ketchup, the sounds of screamed laughter from carnival rides and distant, vibrant music.

All at once, you’re almost stumbling into his solid form when he stops tugging on your arm, and your face whirls forward.

You’re standing at the edge of a huge, tent-covered, hardwood dance floor filled with couples, old and young, dancing lively steps and spins to the band’s current upbeat tune. All right in the heart of a raw dirt county fair.

Your jaw drops in a wide grin, and you immediately turn to find Arthur holding back a smile.

“What is this, two-step?!”

“I been practicin’.”

“Practicing?!” You elbow him in the arm and enjoy the way he lets himself appear to have been jostled. “How long have you planned this?”

“Ehhh…” He begins to ferociously rub the back of his neck. “Couldn’t have been since you tried to show me some moves in the livin’ room.”

“Naw.” You let your slack mouth go stern and let your brows gather momentarily as you give your head a single shake. “Couldn’t have been.”

His head snaps away, but you catch a glimpse of his grin. And it’s so shiningly bright, it shames the shimmering fair lights, at least from where you stand.

As you watch him shift his weight from one hip and work to keep his face turned, your own mouth slowly transforms into a smile bright enough to match.

“I don’t know any two-step.” Your quiet voice pulls him to turn to you again as if by a line in lake water. “Or really any paired dance at all!” you laugh as you look up into his blue-green eyes, lit with twilight, neon carnival lights, and an anticipation he’s clearly stored for months.

Your voice dips low again. “Promise to be a good teacher?”

His smile has eased to something warm, his eyes still on yours. “‘Course.”

The moment you reach for his hand, your arm is almost yanked from its socket as he jolts forward towards the hardwood dance floor, and you laugh outright as he immediately finds a way to fold you into the crowd of paired dancers.

___

[More writing here]

Later…

___

The next song begins with soft picks and gentle strokes of guitar strings, and the mood quickly shifts to accommodate the ballad tempo of the bassist’s deep, resounding strums. Couples all around you start to slow and step closer to their partners.

Though you’re still huffing to catch your breath, your wide smile slowly softens as you watch Arthur hold out a hand to you.

“Come on closer,” he says quietly with a sweetened smirk. “I don’t smell too bad today.” His smirk grows at your laugh as you take his hand and he draws you flush to him.

He cradles your left hand in his and brings his right hand to the small of your back, tucking you in close until no air separates you. Before you know it, the two of you start to gently sway. ...

“When I think of you and the first time we met…” ...

You’d know the sound of Chris Stapleton anywhere, but you’re surprised to find you haven’t heard this one before. ...

“And I heard the sound of your sweet, gentle voice…”

My heart took me over and gave me no choice…

And right then I knew,

It makes me want more of you,

Again and again.” ...

With just a few words set to lulling music, you’re grateful you’re so close that your face is near Arthur’s shoulder, beyond where he can see. Held close by this man you love so dearly, your eyes are already misting at the frame the lyrics set the two of you in—the improbable thought that Arthur could ever experience such an instant revelation of love at meeting you, at meeting someone like you. ...

“I fall more in love with you,

Than I’ve ever been.” ...

A woman’s voice joins in to form a sweetly intimate duet. As you listen to the lyrics, so deeply meaningful to you, you’re filled with an equal mingling of swelling love and audacious hope and trepidation. While the two of you softly rock side to side, you swallow and press in to rest your lips against the front of his shoulder. ...

“From the moment you wake me up,

‘Til you kiss me goodnight, ...

A faint, cooling summer night breeze sweeps into the tent. It lifts the wisps of hair at your temples and glides beneath Arthur’s shirt and across the damp skin of his back. ...

“Everything that you do,

It makes me want more of you.” ...

Arthur takes a piece of your fine hair between his thumb and first finger and lets its coolness run between the pads of his hands like some liquid form of priceless metal. In the next moment, he’s curling his back and dipping his head down into the crook of your neck, hiding his face in your soft, fragrant hair. ...

“When I look at you

Now that years have gone by…” ...

The flash of a smile flickers onto your mouth at the mere feeling of Arthur playing with your hair. And when you feel him tucking himself closer, so close into the contours of your body, your heart thuds with elation. ...

“I think of the memories

That time can’t erase…” ...

You brush the fingers of your left hand across the top of Arthur’s shoulder, savoring the soft weave of his shirt warmed by his skin. ...

“And all of the smiles

That you’ve brought to my face…” ...

You relish the firm solidness of Arthur’s body as he wraps himself around you and holds you close. You feel his chest expand against yours as he breathes. ...

“Your love’s been so true.” ...

When Arthur brings your right hand to his chest, fiery prickles leap into your chest, and the back of your skull tingles with a shock of pleasure. Never have you experienced such an unashamedly intimate gesture. This moment on this dance floor with Arthur is the most romantic moment of your life. ...

“It makes me want more of you,

Again and again.” ...

Closing your eyes, you focus on the intoxicating nearness of him, the feel of him. You slowly reach the other hand up to cradle the back of his neck, letting your fingertips drift into his hair. ...

“I fall more in love with you

Than I’ve ever been.” ...

Those warm voices with their cooed wisdom intertwine in the air above you, surround the two of you, envelop you, until there’s no bandstand, no other dancing couples, no hardwood floor beneath you—nothing but the caressing breath of a summer breeze, the soothing lilt of folk tones, and a heaven in the one you love. ...

“From the moment you wake me up,

‘Til you kiss me goodnight…

Everything that you do,

It makes me want more of you.” ...

The flat of Arthur’s cheek skims against yours as he draws his head back. When his face hovers beside yours, you catch the briefest glimpse of his eyes—silver sharp with intent and longing, his brows bunched tight. Then his nose traces the curve of your face until his forehead is softly anchored to yours. The front of his cheek is pressed flush to the front of yours, and he holds himself there, hungry for you, his mouth achingly near your own, as the two of you sway suspended. ...

“When I leave this earth,

You’ll be holding my hand.” ...

It seems an age like that, both remaining nearer than either of you can stand, exchanging breath with closed eyes. By the looks on your faces, a bystander might think you were both almost pained. Almost. ...

“And it gives me comfort

To know you’ll be there.” ...

Meekly and carefully—more carefully than anyone else might’ve imagined possible for a man like him—Arthur inches his jaw forward and finally takes your mouth. ...

“And I’ll thank the Lord

For the love that we’ve shared.” ...

There you are with Arthur Morgan, dancing—of all things—on a summer evening, mouths mingling like no one can see, his presence crowding you, his broad back hunched with desperation to have you, your hand held tenderly to his chest.

...

“You’re heaven to me.” ...

He stays. Stays there, cradling your body to his, kissing you deeply, like it’s all he wants from the world. ...

“It makes me want more of you,

Again and again.

I fall more in love with you

Than I’ve ever been.” ...

Taglist (to hopefully grow! ☺): @photo1030 @appalachiancowboy99 @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @clevergirl74 @subpopizzy @cassietrn @redwritr

(If you would like to be added or removed from the taglist for upcoming chapters of this work, please let me know. 🌻)

[allastoredeer]

Hello, I just read the new chapter of "Damage Control" and it was a really fun read! I usually don't comment on the fics I read because my English isn't good, but as someone who's just starting to explore what the radioapple dynamic has to offer, I found this fic to be a god-send and it feels wrong to just not congratulate you.

Your characterization of all the characters in Hazbin Hotel and the world building for your radioapple series is so heckin' amazing I have no words for it. You show so much understanding of the hellaverse that even the smallest details, like that news segment with Katie Killjoy in the first episode, feel so on point. To me, it doesn't feel much different between reading your fics and watching any episode of the show.

I also wanted to ask if you were planning on involving the Sins at some point in the story. It can be fun to see the Sins gathered together to discuss why the short king, the same one who has been crying for his wife for seven long years, is suddenly involved with one of the Pride Ring's most dangerous Overlords. I can clearly hear Asmodeus say something like: “If I had a nickel for every time a royal gets involved with a sinner/hellborn (cofcofstolascofcof), I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.”

I really hope you never stop writing. You have become my favorite writer in this fandom. I hope you have a great day :D

HELLO!!! AHHH thank you so much (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`) Reading this sdjfnslfnljfn I can't tell you how much it warmed my heart. It watered my crops. Cleared my skin. Paid off my debts.

Seriously, when I got this is it just - it means a lot to hear. I'm so happy you're enjoying my fics! I'm overjoyed you like the characterization, and I'm so, so happy to have received this. It really does mean the whole world to me (to a lot of writers) to get feedback like this, so thank you <3

I don't know if I'll include any of the Sin's in my radioapple series, but I do have a handful of ideas and scenarios I want to draw/write out involving the Sin's, Lucifer, and them meeting Lucifer's new boyfriend/partner, Alastor ^.^ I love thinking about them all coming together--maybe Lucifer hosts some big, grand, once-in-a-millennia event in the Pride ring, and all the Sin's and Royal Hell families are invited to attend--and they all meet Alastor there. Ozzie and Queen Bee can introduce their partners too, and it'd just be so much fun.

I also need Ozzie to visit the porn studios, because of course, and absolutely murdering Valentino for how he treats/abuses his sex-workers.

This whole ask just...made everything better. Thank you very much. I definitely intend to keep writing, it's such a fun hobby and I derive a lot of enjoyment from it (hopefully one day I'll publish a book 🤞) .

Also, you're English is very good! Very clear and easy to read!

[harlowes-home]

Honestly the sheer hatred for the Minecraft movie trailer and simultaneous mini resurgence of people talking about mcsm has me going back to that game.

Replaying it now and. I’m gonna sob I didn’t realize how much I missed it

[trappedinafantasy37]

I couldn't stop thinking about Minthara planting night orchids in her garden as she genuinely thinks that they are poisonous. So, I wrote a little snippet of her learning that they are not poisonous.

------------------------------

Minthara sits at the desk in her study, reviewing some of the letters written by the patriars of the city. She takes a drink from the wine glass in her hand, laughing with amusement as she reads the letters. They are all begging her to release the funds she has secured in the Counting House that she still holds in lock down. Who knew how easily she could manipulate the city legislature by simply denying its sitting members their fifth vacation to Waterdeep in six months.

She sets aside one letter after having completed it and pulls out another one, ready for more comedy. She has no intentions to release the gold and she wants the patriars to squirm. Let them know that they are under her thumb.

As she reads, she hears the muffled sounds of laughing and barking outside. She smiles to herself as she pictures her beloved outside playing with the dog. She stands up from her desk and walks to the window. Peeling back the curtain and squinting her eyes, Minthara watches as Scratch runs back towards the half-elf with a slimy ball in his jaws.

Shadowheart crouches down and pets the dog behind his ears, rubbing her forehead against the top of his head. She takes the ball from Scratch's mouth and walks back towards the cottage. She opens the back gate and continues through the garden. Shadowheart stops for a brief moment and looks at the night orchids that Minthara has been growing for the past few months. Minthara's heart drops into her stomach as Shadowheart kneels to the ground and begins to touch its poisonous petals.

The drow whips open the curtains, ignoring the burning pain as the sun shoots light beams directly into her eyes. She furiously taps on the window to get the half-elf's attention. "Are you mad? That is poisonous."

Shadowheart looks at the window and cocks her head, "Wha..." she says, but the word is muffled from the thick window between the two elves.

"Stop touching the damn flower! It is poisonous. It will kill you, you fool." Minthara says louder at the window, panic rising in her chest as the half-elf won't remove her hands from the flower pedals.

"What do yo... ...ower is not... ...sonous..." Shadowheart's voice is still muffled and Minthara is unable to discern her words. In a panicked frenzy, the drow runs through the cottage and outside into the garden.

"The flowers are poisonous, Shadowheart. What kind of madness would compel you to touch a plant you know is deadly?" Minthara says gently grabbing the half-elf's wrist and pulling her away from the night orchids. All Shadowheart does is giggle as the drow drags her up to the porch. "You will not be in such a jesting mood when you lie on the ground, croaking out like a frog as the poison does its work and thickens your blood like spoiled milk." Minthara slams open the door back into the cottage and drags the cleric into the kitchen. Her panic begins to mix with annoyance as Shadowheart continues to laugh as Minthara frantically gathers her antidotes.

"Minthara... You don't..." Shadowheart struggles to speak through her laughter, "You don't actually think that night orchids are poisonous do you?" she asks, wiping away a tear.

"Of course I do, you told me as much yourself. Drink this. Quickly." the drow hands an open antidote vial to the cleric. "We only have a short time to counter the effects of the toxins. When you finish, we will need to scrub your hands of any residue."

Shadowheart grabs the vial and walks to the counter with a smile on her face, returning the cork back into the top. "Minthara, love, I was joking when I said they were poisonous. Do you not remember that?"

"If you were joking, you failed to clarify that." Minthara sets her hand on the counter, trying to simmer her anger.

"Was it that I failed to clarify, or did you just stop paying attention after I said it was poisonous?"

Minthara taps her fingers against the counter. She recalls that day in the shadow lands, following behind the half-elf as Scratch sniffed out the flower. It was growing out of the side of a tree that hung over a rock cliff. "You refused to touch the flower. I had asked you why you did not want to pluck your favorite flower off that fallen log. You said that it was, and I quote, 'deadly poisonous'."

"And then I did this..." Shadowheart slumps over and points her fingers at the drow, "and said, 'Joking!'" she recites in a sing-song tone.

Minthara furrows her brow and pinches the corner of her lips. Shadowheart did no such thing! Did she?

"All of the poisons that I have been crafting these past months. All of them... useless... worthless..." the drow grumbles to herself.

"Wait, you've been using the night orchid in your poisons?"

"Yes. Because I had been led to believe that they were poisonous. Why do you think I was growing them in the garden?" Minthara sighs and shakes her head.

"I thought you were growing them because I liked them..." Shadowheart's voice trails off.

"Partially. I figured that if I was to microdose you with poison, that it would be more palatable to mix it with something you were familiar with."

"And if you knew from the beginning that they weren't poisonous, would you still have planted them?"

"Yes." Minthara looks to the half-elf as if the answer should be obvious. "Most of the fungi I have out there are not poisonous. I nurture them because I like them. They remind me of my home. And I would have done the same for you as the orchid does hold a place in your heart. Although they would not take up half the real estate in my damn garden as they do now." Minthara holds her hands before her and starts to shape them. "They would take up a little corner, or perhaps line the edges of the garden. Now I have to find a way to replace them. Make room for actually poisonous plants."

Shadowheart giggles and steps closer to the drow, wrapping one arm around Minthara's neck. "Why did you grow so many?"

"Some were to be harvested for the poisons. Others were to remain untouched, just for you to view every morning when we take the dog for a walk."

"I knew you were a romantic." Shadowheart leans forward and weaves her lips with her paladin. Minthara grabs onto Shadowheart's waist and pulls their bodies closer together, letting the frustration of the misunderstanding wash away.

------------------------------

Her knees scrape against small pebbles as she kneels to the ground, fingers clawing into the dirt. Frustration bubbles in her chest as she digs around the plant before her.

"Hmph." Minthara scoffs to herself. "Useless plant. Of course, she reveals to me after I fill half the garden with them that she was merely 'jesting'." The drow lifts her fingers out in the air and makes air quotes around the word, still not believing the half-elf's claim of making such a joke. She shakes her head as she returns to her work in digging up the orchid.

Once enough of its stem is exposed that she should be able to pull it out of the ground. But the stem itself is very thin and can easily break with too much pressure. She digs just a little more around it until its roots are exposed. She grabs onto the stem as gently as she can and slowly pulls it out of the ground. The orchid is not willing to release itself as its roots are properly intertwined with the earth.

Even though it is not poisonous as she had believed it to be, she does still admire the flower. It is, after all, one of the only natural things to survive the shadow curse on its own. Even with all the odds against it, where the air and the land beneath it had been poisoned by Shar, it managed to prevail where all else failed.

She doesn't fight the smile the tugs at the corner of her lips as she places the flower into the vase she brought with her. It is a resilient flower that has defied the very gods themselves and refused to be corrupted by the darker influences that threatened to swallow it whole. Much like a cleric that is close to her heart.

Minthara continues along the edge of the garden, digging up more of the orchids and placing them into the vase she brought with her. Once she has a nice set of flowers in the vase, she stands up and walks up to the porch. She sets it on the table and she grabs a mini shovel and digs into a bag of soil she has resting on the table. She gently pours it into the vase and packs it into the base so that it may serve as some nourishment for the flowers. Satisfied that the vase has been properly prepared, she sets the mini shovel on top of the bag of soil and removes her gardening gloves.

With the vase in hand, she walks through the cottage and into the living room. Shadowheart lays sprawled out against the couch with a blanket draped over her lower body, a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. A warm fire cackles in the fire place, proving some light in the room. Shadowheart lifts her eyes from the book and watches as Minthara sets the vase on the table in the center of the room. The drow taps her fingers ever so gently against the petals, attempting to fluff them up so that they look more presentable.

"It's a shame you have to rip up the flowers." The half-elf says as the drow walks over to the couch.

"Why would I rip up the flowers? That would just be a waste." Minthara asks as she lifts up Shadowheart's legs and sits on the couch. She sets the half-elf's legs in her lap as she makes herself comfortable on the furniture.

"Because they're not poisonous like you thought they were."

"No, they are not poisonous. But that is hardly a reason to rip them up from the garden, at least not all at once and I will slowly rotate some of them out. They still have some usage." Minthara waves her hand to the vase, "Now we have a lovely decoration."

Shadowheart lifts an eyebrow to Minthara. "And here I thought you were going to burn them all. You were rather upset about it earlier."

Minthara sighs and rubs her hand along Shadowheart's leg, "I was not upset to discover that the orchids were not poisonous. I was upset to discover that you and I are not inoculated against poison like I had thought we were. I worry now that if someone attempts to poison you, you may struggle to fight it on your own."

Minthara looks into her lap as her mind grows heavy to the thought of someone attempting to assassinate her beloved in the worst way she can imagine. She already lost one lover to poison, she cannot lose another in the same way. Shadowheart sits up and places her book and wine glass on the table. She scooches closer to the drow and places a hand on her cheek, turning Minthara's head so that their eyes may meet.

"You forget, love, that I do have spells that can help me fight poison and heal injuries. You do not need to stress yourself about it so much."

Minthara shakes her head and squeezes on the half-elf's leg, "I can use a sword to strike down and protect you from marauders, assassins, cultists, even the gods themselves. But no sword will ever be able to strike down poison, and most certainly not one that has found its way in your blood stream. I speak with direct experience, your clerical magic will only help you against so much. The only reliable weapon you have is your own immune system, and it is the only weapon I can give you against a threat that is unseen and silent."

Shadowheart giggles, "Thank you for being concerned with my health. But I will be alright. You still have your mushrooms. You have a formula for those don't you?"

"Yes." Minthara throws her head to the back of the couch, calculating new recipes in her mind and rebalancing the ratios.

I have my fungi from the Underdark, as well as a few surface mushrooms. But the recipe I have been using accounted for the night orchid making up a decent percentage of the ratio. Perhaps, things are not as bad as I initially perceived them to be as the previous concoctions with the orchid were still at least mostly poisonous. They were just not as poisonous as they could have been. Eh heh, no wonder why our enemies did not fall as fast as I had expected when I would coat my blades with the toxin. Like flowers and plants, poisons themselves come in various strains. Perhaps I can look around and find a new mushroom or a new plant to fill in the space of the night orchid so that the new creations can still account for as many strains as possible. Of course I cannot expect to realistically create just one little potion that will protect against every single poison out there... ... can't I? I will need to speak with a few herbalists, gather as much knowledge and information as possible of surface plants. If I cannot make one, I can make multiple different toxins and -

"Hey, stop that." Shadowheart playfully taps her hand against the drow's cheek to pull back her attention. "You shutting off your ears and going into your head about dangerous things is how we got in this mess to begin with. I do appreciate the effort you put to keep us safe. But we will be fine. Your potions weren't completely useless so my magic should help me. I don't think someone is going to try to poison me any time soon. You have time to figure it out."

Minthara widens her eyes and looks at Shadowheart, "Oh, darling. There is no time." Minthara swings her arm to the back of the couch and pushes herself above the half-elf. She leans over into Shadowheart's personal space. "Someone will try to poison you, and they will do it soon."

Shadowheart places a hand on her chest, opening her mouth with a overly dramatic gasp. She leans backwards on the couch as the drow gets closer to her. "And who have I angered so much that they would dare to poison me?"

"Me!" Minthara growls, pouncing on her lover and pushing the half-elf completely against the couch. Shadowheart giggles as the drow kisses the side of her neck, hands pressing into her belly and tickling her. "You have made a grievous error in fooling me into thinking those damn flowers were toxic. I will show you real poison, one that would make even the Spider Queen quiver."

"Oh, please do show me..." Shadowheart mumbles as the two elves melt together with a kiss that may or may not be poisonous.

[lichilly]

“I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you.

Take me back to the night we met.”

— The Night We Met by Lord Huron

cw implied death, angst, OWWW OWWWIE OWWW

The day starts as usual.

The sun rises, birds chirping as you push open the balcony door to let the morning air in. Joseph steps out, a cigarette already between his fingers. You join him, two mugs of coffee in your hands. He takes one from you with a grateful smile, you both settle into the routine.

The day is beautiful. The suns warm embrace on your skin makes you want to linger there forever, soaking in her rays.

“What d’ya want for breakfast?” he asks, smoke curling lazily from his lips.

You ponder for a moment, imagining the taste of different dishes. “How about…pancakes?” you suggest, feeling your mouth water at the thought.

Joseph chuckles, stubbing out his cigarette and taking a final gulp of his coffee. “Pancakes it is then.”

You eat breakfast together at the table. Joseph flips through his script between bites, humming under his breath and glancing at the clock occasionally. A quiet sigh escapes him as he polishes off his plate.

He rises, placing his dirtied plate on the sink, setting his empty mug on top. He walks over to you, gently pushing your hair back and kissing your forehead.

“I gotta go. I’ll see you later, okay?”

You hum, cheeks warming from the kiss. “I’ll pick up stuff to make your favorite for dinner tonight. I know we haven’t had it in a while.”

His eyes light up, “Sounds like a plan.”

He heads towards the entryway, grabbing his jacket. He looks back at you, a smile still lingering on his lips.

“Don’t worry, filming shouldn’t take long today. I’ll be home before you know it.”

The butterflies in your stomach flutter with his words.

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” you reply, eyes droopy with morning grogginess and love.

The door clicks shut behind him, you watch a moment longer. Your eyes trace over the knob, down the mysterious crack in the wood, and watch his shadowy steps fade away. A sudden uneasiness creeps in, filling your gut with a syrupy ache. The butterflies no longer flutter, their wings cut, leaving you with a heavy feeling in their place.

You try to shake it off, but the feeling lingers, the knot in your stomach tightening with each tick of the clock. Hour after hour, minute after minute, you try to distract yourself with meaningless chores. You go grab things for dinner, the hustle and bustle of the store creating a dull hum over the pit in your stomach. A weak balm that doesn’t last the second you step through the apartment door again.

Night falls, groceries left forgotten on the counter. Seconds tick by painfully slow, each one a reminder of his absence. You can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong.

Joseph doesn’t return that night, or any night after that.

[evanescentdawn]

cheering, hooting and clapping. I’ve WRITTEN. I feel so throughly like a writer back and im so beyond happy and this yukishima dynamic and yukio era is giving me life

"Ah, not that way!" Shima grabs his arm and deters him from where he was about to take a turn left. He grabs his arm so easily like Yukio had ever given him permission but he’s too exhausted to say something. It takes needless energy to argue with someone like Shima.

"Where are you taking me?" He still hasn't left go of his arm.

Shima gives him a grin. He's always grinning, what is he so damn happy about? Does he like being apart of Illuminati that much? For a double spy, Yukio really can't make sense of him.

"Homara-san asked for you. I think she's gotta something for us. A mission…?"

A mission.

An unpleasant feeling curled in his stomach. "Mission?" Yukio asks, "What mission?"

He told Lucifer he wasn't here to be apart of Illuminati. Made it explicitly clear. He's only here for the answers he desperately needs. He's been here for two days, to which they regrew his arm but said that the tests would wait, something had come up. Yukio can only imagine what would that be, knowing what's important to the Illuminati.

…And now Shima's taking him to Homare for a mission, apparently.

Is this why they gave him this outfit to wear?

Shima takes another few turns. He seems very familiar with this place. Yukio, for the little exploring he did, had gotten lost very easily though he would never admit it. Conveniently, there was always someone around to redirect him even though he never asked for it.

The unhidden eyes around the base aren't lost to him. Homare did tell him from day one — they're watching. A warning. Even if Yukio can't see the cameras, he knows they are there.

"Ah.. here we are!"

[generic-sonic-fan]

Every time I see a post that says "if you give me more comments, I'll write more fic for you! reblog if you feel the same!" I just. I just uhhh. I just don't reblog. because whatever spell that is doesn't work on me. people who are still waiting on chapter three of that one fic of mine know that for sure.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent life photos

[sysig]

Deflections (Patreon)

Bonus:

Why not lead with that!

[mantisgodsdomain]

Anyways, to those who have been wondering what we've been doing during our impromptu Tumblr Vacation or whatever we're calling it, we've been trying to find a playthrough of Baldur's Gate 3 that is made by someone who doesn't annoy the shit out of us, and also tormenting Karlach Cliffgate (as you do)

[outlying-hyppocrate]

fun fact about timelines! there is, in fact, a vampire timeline (222). very few changels have ancestry tracing back to it, and vampire genetics are almost as rare as human ones from 46. most notable traits found in changels stem from the elven timeline (45) and the hybrid timeline (3152).

[skitskatdacat63]

This is my personal crossover event of the century