#Original Writing

[dragonflywingdreams]

bathed in the pain of almosts-

Annabelle Chapman

[cheshirewrites]

It's been years since you fought the dragon, years since you pierced it's crimson scaled and dug your blade into its heart. It was a quick death, and not the slow, painful kind that the King had demanded of you, and some might have even called it merciful.

You fought a lot of things, back then.

You've learned better now.

You left the King's service, citing a quest for your godly patron, and it's not quite a lie. Your patrol is a wild thing, a once scorned Goddess who adores the loyal, but not like most would expect. The Goddess prizes dedication to someone's own ideals, and well-

After what you learned, leaving is not a hard choice to make.

But your Goddess approved, her laughter curling in the back of your mind, and the King hadn't argued, or at the very least, he doesn't make any arguments that aren't easy for you to refute.

It wasn't easy, at first, transitioning from a busy knight to an aimless wanderer. There was no order or schedule to follow, just an endless road through the contry side and all of the towns built around it. And the people, of course, you know now that the people were what made it all worth it.

And now?

It's been years since you fought the dragon, years since you heard those ominous words. I will come back, the beast had said, you will not know what form I will take, or how long it will take, but you will see me again.

These days, you were less rash, slower to anger. The kind of person who asked questions first, and rarely ever raised a blade. You have a wife, a brilliant alchemist with dark curls and a cutting smile. Rose calls herself a cottage witch, and she laughs alongside the Goddess in your head, twin voices ringing with amusement, and you have never been more happy.

You have a son now, too, though, neither of you had expected it.

The boy introduces himself as Victor, standing outside your door with a crooked, toothy grin as he holds out his hand. Says that he'd heard they were the people to talk to, if you had a certain aptitude for magic, and well, here he is.

And indeed, here he is.

Victor, with his fever bright, golden eyes.

The you from years ago would have raised your sword in an instant, pushed Rose behind you and demanded some kind of response. It's what you were trained to do, after all, but you've learned better now.

So you smile, and shake the boy's hand. He's warm, you think, but don't say. "Welcome," you say instead, "why don't you come inside? Rose, my wife, is the one you should speak to."

To put it lightly, Victor and Rose get along like a house on fire.

Victor isn't necessarily quick to anger, but he knows exactly where to redirect his words, and Rose, witty as she is, knows exactly how to manage it. Knows how to redirect his sharp tongue into something calmer, whether it's muttering curses under his breath or bantering back and forth far too quickly for you to keep up.

He's good for her, too, you think, watching them experiment with magic. Rose has always wanted an apprentice, someone to pass her life's work onto and -- if they were interested -- try and create something new.

And gods, they create.

You, a heroic paladin have successfully slain a fearsome dragon. But the dragon warns you that death is but a door, and dragons don’t die, they reincarnate. You paid it no mind….until your son was born with golden, slitted eyes.

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason (singing because he's bored): Wouldn't you like a taste of the power? Wouldn't you like to use more than words?Deep in the night the fight lasts for hours you can be hurt or you can beat her-

Bruce: Not here, stop embarrassing me here.

Jason (singing, ignoring his father.): Wouldn't you like to havе some of the magic?

Bruce (blushing): I'm begging you to stop.

The Justice League members enjoy the spectacle while Bruce blushed covering his face.

Jason (Tim joining in): Wouldn't you like your outcomе preferred? Deep in the night the fight can be tragic I'll help you conquer her

Bruce (covering his head as he held his head down): I'm so sorry, he's into musical and Tim is acting like an idiot!

Dick (singing along with Jason): Ohhhhhh!

Bruce (confused as his son's dance and sing): Did I do something to warrant this embarrassment?

Jason and Tim (singing together): Wouldn't you like a taste of the power? Wouldn't you like to use more than words?

Dick (harmozing): Ohhhhh!

Jason and Tim (singing together): Deep in the night the fight lasts for hours. You can be hurt or you can beat her.

Bruce: You are all so unserious!

Diana (covering Bruce's mouth): Shush! I love this.

Clark and many others start recording the show as Bruce can only clos his eyes blushing. His tough guy persona was being ruined due to his sons having fun. It was worth it though.

[clockwayswrites]

The ambrosia of the gods’ sat just out of reach: 5 Alive’s Atlantic Beach Pie. The perfect cheek puckering lemon and lime curd nestled in a Saltine crust that was just firm enough to hold a forkful but soft enough to melt in the mouth all topped with a beautifully formed dollop of whipped cream. Tobias stared at it wistfully for a long (too long) moment before he dragged his eyes up to the impediment in him enjoying his well earned treat. “Miss Kathie, lovely to see you tonight.” “Mhum,” Kathie hummed. Tobias tried to gage just how much trouble he was in by how deep the wrinkles around Kathie’s eyes were set. She raised an over-plucked brow (nearly invisible since she’d gone grey unless she lined it back in with harsh black). “You haven’t been getting up to any ruckus, now have you Toby?” “Miss Kathie,” Tobias said, hand pressed to his chest and well practiced smile on his face. “I am now on the wrong side of forty. Even if I wanted to get up to any ruckus, and I assure you that I do not, my knees wouldn’t let me.” Kathie snorted, but slid the pie over. “You forget just how many Atwood boys I’ve seen grow up in this town.” “Well,” Tobias said, hoping his smile hadn’t turned as sharp as he felt it had, “as the only Atwood boy left, I declare the family line done with that shit.” “Don’t cuss in my diner,” Kathie said habitually. She picked up the kraft to refill Tobias coffee, so he figured that he wasn’t in any actual trouble. “Ruckus or not, there was someone asking after you in here at round two. Government looking fellow. You know the type, a suit.” Tobias’ grip on his fork tightened painfully. “Can’t say I know why. They’ll find me at the museum if they need me.” “That tourist trap of yours that’s never open?” “Museum, Miss Kathie,” Tobias repeated with a grin and a wink. “Atwood boys,” Katie grumbled with a roll of her eyes before she finally moved away to see to another customer.

[mothmothm0th]

a moth has four hands

one to type silly post on its phone. one to plink at the guitar in its lap. one to practice calligraphy. and one to put its life together again.

and the brains to do none of it good enough to sav- ooh a candle

[phenomenal-savage]

(〃＾▽＾〃)ʸᵉˢ

The eight stages of writing :

- this is awesome

- this is slightly less awesome

- this is shit

- I’m shit

-oh god oh fuck what the hell am I doing

-wait this might not be that bad actually

- How the fuck is this working

-This is awesome

[ink-flavored]

Magnet Monday Week 75: Needle

recite this poem the next time you get your blood drawn! the looks on the nurses' face will be AWESOME!

If you’re interested in being able to choose the topic of the next poem, make sure to vote in the weekly Magnet Monday polls! Or if you want a commission just like it, check out my pricing sheet!

Transcript under the cut!

[Ko-Fi] [Magnet Monday]

Magnet Monday Taglist (Check out my Google form to get added): @elegant-paper-collection ​ @polyphonetic @qelizhus @livums @maxdamaz

@auroblaze @stardustanddaffodils @thelaughingstag @ceph-the-ghost-writer @auntdarth

@damageinkorporated @srjacksin @alesseia

Needle

you needle me about what's true

but all I do is bleed

there are no secrets in my body

only skin and bone

there is no record to be broken

and in time, the real will kill

to know is to survive

remember how to trust

the thing that robs the red

from your squirming soul

[trickstersaint]

sanctuary // december 2024

[sadiahakim]

I am made of frequent grief and occasional emptiness

— both accompanied by regret (s).

— Sadia Hakim / sadia's poetry journal

[ting-tang]

Hell yeah!! Sometimes I make myself laugh other times I'm like wtf

Reblog if you're a writer who re-reads their own work for funsies.

[notnocturne]

academia things to research;

sailor’s knots

ring making

tea leaves

the effect of music on plants

the origin of nail polish/makeup

human mannerisms and body cues

adhd and its influence in social media

old african proverbs

over-consumerism

new words for your vocabulary

analysis of sea shanties

are essential oils effective?

the basics of music theory

symbolism in paintings of shipwrecks

identifying cloud/star formations

the latin origin of words

the spanish inquisition

queen boudica

19th century indian royalty

[dariasynn]

Stop waiting for someone to rescue you, the only hand that can save you, is your own.

- Daria Synn

[yojoskive]

they knock at your door,

they touch your heart

Like a strom tearing apart things

some people tear your heart and soul apart

Some people are like storms, they come into your life, wreck everything, and still leave you aching for rain.

- Daria Synn

[not-poignant]

Daily excerpt from chapter 106 of Underline the Black:

‘Are they nice?’ Efnisien asked. ‘What are nice parents like? You said they were good about food, weren’t they?’ Ah, Efnisien might never lose the knack for freshly breaking Gary’s heart. ‘They were lovely people,’ Gary said. ‘Very kind. My mother in particular. I told you she worked in animal rehabilitation, but she did that as a volunteer. Her actual work was designing and consulting on breeding programs for critically endangered animals, and she was one of the best in a global team, who helped to look at an organisation’s budget and habitat and make suggestions that were realistic and workable. I like to think she brought several species back from the brink of extinction in her lifetime, but…she always said the animals did all the hard work.’ Gary handed Efnisien some more photos. His parents on a boat, a sunset in the background flared in the neon pinks and oranges of a Perth summer. Playing video games on the couch with his dad and his mum taking the photo while they’d been in the middle of his father trying to seize the controller to make Gary lose the game, because Gary kept winning. As a teenager, he remembered being furious.   It was stupid to wish he’d valued his dad more. He couldn’t help being a teenager and thinking the way a teenager did, but if he’d known his dad was going to die a week after his eighteenth birthday… He sighed.

[rahuratna]

Are you familiar with Phoolan Devi, the Indian dacoit who sought revenge on the upper-caste men who brutally tortured and humiliated her? It would be great if you could create a JJK fanfiction featuring a character inspired by her story.

@lolitamermaid123

My goodness. When I tell you that I was obsessed with the story of Phoolan Devi for a while, I'm not exaggerating. Feminine rage, particularly the way it finds expression, is something I always depict in my original fiction.

Time and time again, society and all of its puerile 'order' has failed women, and as someone of Indian origin, who has also seen first hand the effect of oppression (Apartheid) on women's rights (especially POC), this topic is one that strikes very close to me.

Naturally, the topic of SA, and its repercussions on a victim, is very sensitive and if I did write a piece (fanfic or not) regarding the outcome of this, I would first make sure I was ready/able to do justice to the topic, with all the seriousness and heavy consideration it deserves. However, creating a story inspired by Phoolan is a different matter and absolutely something I would consider.

Thank you for this ask! It's one I sat and thought about for a while, and it also reminded me of some of the things I feel truly passionate about when writing original fiction!