#Written out muses

[romaritimeharbor]

kinich as a boyfriend ❌️ kinich as an older brother ✔️

[darkcacaocookieandfriends]

can we get some burning spice cookie headcannons???

Sure! Apologies for the late response. I had to catch up on some lore. That being said, I have some interesting thoughts. A lot of them are based on my personal thoughts on his element as this isn't the first god of destruction I've written, and others are based on the inspiration he's drawn from and how the culture surrounding that deity view his element, because I think it's worth noting and is important to the introspection I'm going to lend.

Entropy is very much something Burning Spice is founded on. In the grand scheme of things, it is needed to create the circle of destruction and creation. Without his element, a great imbalance is caused. However, no matter how much he destroys, he himself can never witness creation through destruction as destroying him destroys an intricate balance put into place. He is a force feared, yet needed and even essential. Destruction clears the path for something new, but in witnessing this he knows that he himself will never one of those things. Because he is doomed to a life of ending others. A life of crumbling all before him to dust, forced to carry the knowledge of all he does for eternity.

He, much like his element is ever-lasting, immortal as long as there is something that can be destroyed. In knowing this, he holds a type of envy towards those who are finite. Those who have the joy and wonder of experiencing life anew. Those who can live in ignorance of bliss, without the knowledge of all that has come to pass, without carrying everlasting malice built up in the wake of all he's come to know. Cookie born a new are lifted of all that corrupt. Cookies born anew are free from the chains of malice and hatred. They are allowed to have free spirits and granted new experiences - all that he can never rid himself of.

Destruction exists as long as there are things to destroy. When all has been destroyed and nothing else exists, only then will he lose purpose.

"I wonder...what will it take to destroy me?" I've seen people analyze this line and interpret it in different ways. I see it in a bit of a different light. I feel the element of destruction works in two ways ultimately - destruction consumes and will eventually consume him, or the other outcome of his own demise may be that he's destroyed until there is nothing left to destroy and his element becomes useless by partisan. Therefore, he would succumb to the thing he hates - boredom and stagnation.

I feel these are two outcomes he knows well. Destruction pushes towards change through creation, but when he succumbs to his own element or fizzles out from being obsolete, will he too finally get a chance of creation? Or will he simply fade away until one who succeeds him will take his place? * That being said, I feel Burning Spice has a sense of immortality as long as there is use for his element. He will exist to lay waste to what he sees as the world's imperfections and destroy them so that the world may be reshaped through creation. Stagnation produces the mundane, the droll and the peaceful. Things that cause the cycle to wane or die out, things that threaten the abolishment of his element and all that he is...and what purpose would he have, if not to destroy? If not to plunge the world into chaos?

That being said, destruction is needed for change and advancement. If cookies fall into peace, they stagnate and Earthbread never advances. His element is needed for the great progression of all things - no matter how hated and feared it is.

I feel this is why these things bore him.

I'm sure I'll expand on these things and they may be subject to change when more comes out about him but these are what I'm going to lend my portrayal to for now.

[crithaus]

Vax bc Liam cannot methinks help being extremely gay all the time, is the one to bring up elaina most often in far more humanizing terms which is par for the course because he brings her up so often

And vex doesn't much besides responding to Vax or the iconic "do you think this is what mother saw before she died?" and I got to wonder how often she just sits there at this tavern or that stump on her watch especially early on thinking about her and how proud or not Eli'd be of her. Like obviously Vex doesn't like herself at the beginning, she's greedy and mean and callous and had killed innocent people and is selfish and everyone but Vax expects that of her and they don't really care, but at the end of the day she's not just effortlessly good all the time like keyleth, who doesn't even have the decency to struggle at being good and kind and flush with likeable traits,

That's what syldor had wanted of her ofc, what she failed to bring him, so naturally he wishes she was a spot he could just bleach out, so then what would elaina think after all that hard work and sacrifice and the hope she'd had for the better life she and Vax would have with their father, if she knew vex had not only not lived up to anyone's expectations but had done worse

oh I bet it eats her up thinking about the possibility that elaina would be so deeply disappointed ohhh

[unironicallycringe]

dying trying not to share wips but I'm excited to finally be tackling the Demise mural/manuscript thing again that I just like, Stopped doing last year

it's uh, for the whole origin mythos of Ikana Kingdom in a style similar to the opening scroll of WW, so I'll smack that on the TMM page when it's all done whee

[resolutepath]

ANIME MUSE STARTER CALL. Must specify muse choice / choices if also a multi. Options;

J.JK: Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi, Zenin Mai ( + secret menu if discussed)

B.NHA: Kirishima Eijirou, Rody Soul, Sero Hanta (+ secret menu if discussed)

N.ARUTO: Hatake Kakashi, Nara Shikamaru, Uzumaki Naruto

K.NY: Shinazugawa Sanemi

Misc Anime muses available with discussion

[jessieren]

Mr Evans looking fine in a tux whilst also managing to act and direct

Does this man ever sleep???

Bonus profile shot…

[ne-spivay-ranenko]

the nature of Me is that every so often i will find a weird guy with a guitar and the fluffiest coat known to humanity and fixate on him

[aparticularbandit]

In light of -gestures- here is this:

Feel free to be more specific in the comments/tags - MCU is vast and so is Hahnverse, and also I know there might be ship preferences, too.

Feel free to ask. I may try to start daily posting again for a bit.

[immunetoneurotoxin]

ENTANGLEMENT | Part I, Chapter I

A Portal/Half Life Universe Fic from Chell's Perspective Rating: Explicit Overall Word Count: 10,730 Chapters: 1/20 Where to Read: AO3 | Google Drive | // ?UN?/KN@?#WN

SYNOPSIS

Location Unknown, Michigan, USA.  Aperture released her, set her free. That ought to have been the end of it. But cast out into a world rendered unrecognizable after a mass extinction level event, Chell is forced to fend for herself, navigating a war-torn world in the aftermath of the seven hour war that devastated the states in a bygone era.  Mere days into her newfound experience on the surface, Chell finds bizarre technology inside a Michigan radio tower, discovering that the same interdimensional forces that started the war were still around, scouring the area in search of technology from the facility she hoped to never see again — Aperture Science.  With no choice but to go back to the facility to deliver a dire warning, Chell tightropes on the cusp of two worlds, unaware of the consequences of pursuing the past and surviving an uncertain future alongside an unlikely ally.

It's finally here!! A former roleplay thread with @sarcasticgaypotato turned novel, this story follows the events of Half Life 2: Episode 2, and is an inspired continuation of the ending of Half Life: Alyx from the perspective of everyone's favorite Aperture-dwelling characters. Chell, whose mission is to protect Aperture technology from getting in the hands of the Combine, must also act as GLaDOS's protector and keep her safe. GLaDOS, on the other hand, has to figure out the complicated ways of the world from a new perspective - literally. This story is friendly to those who don't know Half-Life lore, and a treat for those who do! This story is a close-to-canon survival novel fic with ChellDOS as a major focus. Full of survival, interactive elements, complicated feelings, and a beautiful slow burn robot/human love story. <3

[drarrily-we-row-along]

October 4: Cinderella Moment

There was no Disney princess part of their love story.

No birds fluttering around them in the air, no perfectly sized shoe to say they’d found the right one. There were no balls, no cliche villains, no dragons to slay. It wasn’t grand gestures and sweeping declarations of love.

They’d earned a love like this. Soft. Quiet. Unassuming. Steady.

There was still bickering, still Harry’s dirty socks on the floor and Draco’s pretentious, expensive taste in… well, everything.

And it was good.

It was so good, the two of them, together, by choice and not by fate.

Theirs was a love that Harry didn’t doubt, couldn’t doubt, because it was something they worked for. It was something that both of them stubbornly held onto and fought for. It was theirs.

And it was enough.

———————

Written for @flufftober prompt “Cinderella Moment”

[rvby]

something holy

he did the same routine every time. he’d pour out a drink to the earth. get a piece of paper. write out a number in big, dark ink, the lines shaky from the clumsy way he holds the pen. and shove the paper into the still alcohol-wet bottle so only a small corner stuck out from it.

he’s not a religious guy, he’d say, wiping down the outside of the bottle. but he’d sit it down on the wet dirt, saturated with beer or vodka or whatever he got his hands on that day, and light that paper inside the bottle. he’s not a religious guy, he’d say, but he’d watch that fire burn and pray.

i asked him why, once, when i found him out there after a mission. it was raining. he put a tarp up top of him and set his bottle on fire anyway. kept me standing outside in the rain—said i’d help keep the water from putting his fire out. block the wind. there was a whole stash of bottles back here, burnt black on the inside. you’d think there’d be ash inside, but with the rain overflowing, he must’ve had to pour it out by now. so burnt black was all that was left, and the bottles upon bottles he’s kept all this time. it counts how many times he’s made it back alive. no wonder he’s the best of the best.

i was left wet. dripping from head to toe by the time he opened his eyes again. looked up at me like he was wondering what i was still doing there. but some things you just have to watch. even if you don’t get it. and he finally gave me back an answer, looking at me with eyes set deep. tired, after whatever it was he’d been through. “so i don’t forget.”

when i asked him what he meant he just shook his head. said it’s not his to say. “what isn’t?” it must have sounded dumb to him. a lot of things i say tend to. like everyone else has everything figured out and i’m supposed to know. but i don’t.

“the number.”

i didn’t even know about the number then. all i knew is that he was out in the woods in the rain with a bunch of burnt bottles getting his wounds that he never gets treated wet and dirty. and when i realized how little i knew i shut up and let him sit. but i couldn’t sit with him. i had to keep the rain from getting in, even with the fire out.

so i didn’t ask about the number. or about the rest of it. i wondered if he knew he was littering, leaving all those bottles around. or if he knew what he was going to do with it when he was done.

“come on, rookie. you think i’ll be quitting any time soon?”

i didn’t. that was the problem, i thought. that he’d just get more and more bottles and run out of space to put them and it’d be pretty awful to try to empty all of them of water when it rained. but he wasn’t going to stop. i knew that. so i shut up again and every so often i’d come back to see how they’re doing.

same as when i’d check for him at his other spot; sometimes i’d stop by this one just to take a look at all the bottles. sometimes the wind knocked them over. or the animals. like bowling pins, but with nothing and no one to set them back up. so i’d do it for him, when he wasn’t looking. just to help him out a bit. it’s a lot of bottles after all. if he knew it, he never mentioned it. he didn’t talk about it at all. didn’t like to. so i didn’t either. it was just something he did.

he isn’t a religious guy, but it felt a whole lot like religion to me. just none of the ones that existed yet. something all his own. sometimes, you just have to let a guy have that for himself. that sort of privacy. though, he was always a pretty private guy. he never liked to give a straight answer to anything about himself. never liked to confirm or deny. it was always “maybe” and “i don’t know” and “what about you, huh?” as if that answered the question.

(i didn’t believe him back then, you know. that he didn’t know. i figured he just didn’t like to talk about all of it. but maybe he didn’t know. maybe that’s why he didn’t like all the questions. hard to answer what you don’t know. evasion as a form of truth.)

and then, well. he left. he left and he didn’t come back. it got people talking, all around the base. that he couldn’t handle messing up once. that he really was perfect all the way up ‘til then. but isn’t that a little too extreme, quitting for one failure? he had to have messed up before. nobody’s perfect. he’s said that himself. i’ve seen it. he’s not perfect. you don’t see a guy halfway gut himself and think he’s gotta be. but maybe that’s just me. he could be perfect. i wouldn’t know.

but i always knew it was something more. seeing him at zanzibarland, i knew it was something more. always was. hard not to, seeing how he was with big boss. i couldn’t even be mad about it, about the choice he made. i don’t think he knew he had a choice. if he did, he wouldn’t have chose otherwise anyway. i could bet you he wouldn’t have. not in a million years. that’s the kind of person he was, if you knew him. i didn’t think i knew him. i guess i did.

not all the way. he didn’t even know himself all the way. no one really knows themself all the way, though. at least, i don’t think so. but there was enough about him to know he’d follow big boss to the end of every earth. he didn’t fail because he wasn’t good enough. he failed because he knew he couldn’t do it himself. and that means he was still perfect—just in the way he wanted to be. not in the way anyone else wants.

‘perfect’ is pretty subjective in that way.

he never did tell me why he did that routine. pouring the drink out. burning the numbered paper. sitting there in silence. waiting. maybe he didn’t know why he did it either. i think he didn’t know a lot of things after all. i wonder if he still kept to it, while he was at zanzibarland. kept a stash of bottles somewhere, for every time big boss sent him out to do something. i wasn’t looking. i was busy. but if he did, he hid it well. i didn’t find it, after everything. he didn’t mention it either.

he didn’t throw them out, by the way. he quit and he never threw those bottles away. that’s just plain littering, leaving all that glass out. i don’t know who else knew about it either. i stayed a bit longer. checking on it. wondering if he’d come back for them all or if someone would find ‘em and toss ‘em or if they’d just stay there. like a monument to the good ol’ days, when fox was still there.

i left them there when i left too. it wasn’t my mess. i didn’t owe it anything. grimy, old, abandoned bottles. i should have smashed them to sand when i had the chance. i couldn’t bring myself to.

when he killed gustava, i thought about it again. that he might burn another piece of numbered paper in an empty liquor bottle after he was done. it wasn’t until then that i realized what he was doing it for. that it wasn’t about coming back alive.

it was about everyone he’d killed. sometimes he’d watch that fire burn, feeding on the alcohol until it was out. sometimes he wouldn’t, eyes closed to the faces he’d see in the flames. if i lost here, i wondered if he’d want to watch when he poured his drink out to me. if he’d want to see my face in the fire and think of every time he’d light my cigarette for me. would that be better or worse than knowing he’d look away in guilt. i don’t know.

i didn’t have to know. because then i killed him. i killed him before he had the chance to know too.

but i took that back with me, knowing what it was for. i took it back and i figured then that he left those bottles because he didn’t want to leave them behind after all. he couldn’t take ‘em, but he didn’t want to smash ‘em or throw ‘em out ‘cause that’d mean it was all for nothing at the end of it all. and that’s just too sad. that’s just too sad.

we kill people because we have to. and because we’re good at it. and because we can’t do anything else. it’s some good, you think, to kill the right people. killing for a cause. but you’re still killing people. and that’s still bad. sad, too. it wasn’t for nothing. you gotta keep telling yourself it wasn’t for nothing.

i didn’t add the number. i didn’t know how to. it didn’t feel right. he always did. big shaky handwriting like he was still trying to learn how to write. like a toddler, i thought. they all write the same. big and loopy and messy. “you never learned to write in school?” i asked when i saw it. he folded it up the same way he always does to fit it in the neck of the bottle. never really even. just kind of squashed. “i did,” he said. “i wasn’t any good at it.” and that was that.

so i didn’t add the number. just folded up the paper nice and neat ‘cause he deserved it and gustava deserved it and hell, neither of them deserved what happened to them. hell. fuck.

christmas, for fuck’s sake. christmas. dinner at miller’s and i was in the backyard pouring out a wine i knew fox wouldn’t have liked but i didn’t have anything else and it wasn’t even mine. it was miller’s. i couldn’t even get my hands on anything good. anything he might have been able to enjoy in the afterlife or whatever happens when good people die. but i took that paper and i folded it up nice and i poured that wine out in the snow and it left the ground looking like a fucked up slushie. fox never liked the snow. gustava must’ve loved it. i don’t know how they got along. but they must have. they were in love.

i didn’t know he knew how to love. but then again, i didn’t know a lot about fox. i learned that much. i sat that bottle down in the red or purple or whatever snow and put that paper down the neck to light it. i thought about using that light in the bottle for a cigarette. i decided against it. he never did. he’d just sit there and wait for it to go out. so i did too. just watched it and didn’t think much about what just happened and the party inside and sat there and watched it burn. i hope it was a cheap wine. he would’ve liked that better at least.

it was hard to know it when i was waiting and not doing a lot of thinking, but miller was watching right behind me, same way i’d watch fox. i wonder if he knew what i was doing. i wonder if he knew fox did it too. i didn’t know what went on between them. they never told me. i don’t think they liked to think about it either, the way they didn’t really much get along. i didn’t know a lot, then. i still don’t.

but he watched me watching that light burn and before it went out, he knew it and went back inside before me. like he would’ve been embarrassed to be caught out there in the dark and the snow with me thinking about a dead man i’d killed. a dead man we both knew and worked with and loved and hated and thought about. and the woman he loved. and everyone else who died out there. the kids. the soldiers. big boss. this would be for big boss too, even if he didn’t deserve it the way fox and gustava did. because that’s what happens when you kill. that’s what happens when people die. they just die.

except fox didn’t. not for lack of trying. but i guess he didn’t, against his will. i should’ve done a better job. ...i couldn’t bring myself to do any more. i wouldn’t say the drink and all that was wasted on him if he wasn’t dead. he should’ve been dead. he wanted to be. it’s better to think that he did, back then. christmas. hell.

you didn’t see it, but i didn’t do it again after shadow moses. i should’ve. everyone else deserved it at least. but i couldn’t do it again. not for him. it would’ve been wrong. i thought at first i had messed everything up by trying to do it for him. do it like him. like trying to take that from him messed with his spirit and brought him back to life. was it the number? i don’t get the number.

i know it wasn’t my fault. killing him. not killing him. mourning him. all that. but i think for all of it...

i don’t know. i guess that’s what’s at the end of it. i don’t know what he was doing or why he was doing it and he never did tell me, end of the day. that kind of thing’s better kept between a man and himself. privacy. i thought he was a private guy, back then. but telling me he didn’t know was probably the most open thing he could’ve done for me, if he didn’t know. that’s the truth. can’t ask for anything more than the truth.

privacy. he’s not a religious guy, but whatever it is, he did it for himself. it’s not my place to step on that and take it up and make it my own. he can keep it, pouring drinks from the other side when i sit at the makeshift tombstone i bought and carved out and stuck in the ground out back myself ‘cause i didn’t know anyone else was out there to mourn for him but me. you’ve seen it. name and title and date of death and not a whole lot else. nothing else to know about him. but at least he was known. and at least i could mourn him, even if i killed him.

i don’t do a whole lot else on christmas now, though. i just sit back out there and eat with him. i know he didn’t really die then, but he should have. and i guess that’s enough. me and a piece of rock and whatever i could pick up for a meal for the eve. it’s the best i can do since i won’t pour him a drink anymore. light up a cigarette and crush it into the stone for him, the way he would’ve liked. better than a drink he wouldn’t enjoy. and that’s all i can do for him. more than i’d do for anyone else, at least.

it tells a lot about him, if you think about it. he’d do that for every mission he went on. for everyone he killed. even if he didn’t know them. i couldn’t think about it that way. that much. let it weigh on me like that. but he’d bring all that back to base and hold onto it until he could put it down in the dirt with the alcohol. for everyone. i don’t know what he was thinking. i don’t get it. but he’d always do it, rain or shine. that means something about him. whatever it means.

he wasn’t meant for all this. it just happened to be him. and isn’t that too bad. that bad things happen to good people. isn’t that just too bad.

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

shout-out to all my girlies (gender non-specific) who have stories in their heads that won't. get. on. paper. I love you and you are doing great sweetie✌️

[quinloki]

Tagging X Reader Fics

Hey all - I saw this post going around and wanted to make an easy, two-cents kind of post to go with it.

Primary Point: If you want to keep your tags clean, Moonpaw's request actually helps. You can tag "x reader " "reader insert" and then just the character name. Instead of 4-5 different ways the fandom uses a character name plus all those variations of that name and x reader.

Example:

[ x reader, reader insert, donquixote doflamingo, doflamingo, doffy]

vs

[donquixote doflamingo x you, donquixote doflamingo x reader, doffy x you, doffy x reader, doflamingo x you, doflamingo x reader, doflamingo x y/n, etc.... ]

Secondary Point: I love Fantasticsnail's description of x reader as a sort of RPG journey style story. Sometimes there's parts of the character insert that need to be defined for the story's sake, and generally there aren't, and sometimes we define parts because it' comforts us as writers (and sometimes those variants aren't for everyone And That Is Okay Too.)

Just make sure you tag your stuff.

You can warn about other details in your CW or Notes prior to the story start. If you want folks to know you prefer y/n, or you use [name] or whatever, that's a good place to do it.

I'm not saying you *have* to do things this way, but too much variance in tags makes it hard for people to avoid what they want to avoid.

Just like you don't want to surprise someone with dark content unexpectedly, you don't want to surprise them with x reader or even canon x canon!

Everyone has a right to curate what comes across their dash, and please, remember, don't censor your tags T-T Nothing sucks more than being afraid of spiders, having that word blacklisted, and seeing spiders cause someone decided to tag #sp!ders or some such.

Tumblr tags aren't smart. Simplicity is best ^_^

[darkcacaocookieandfriends]

🎯 / for burning spice !

I feel the dark descent into corruption was most likely something painful for Burning Spice.

From what I gathered of what we know, he seems to feel something about destroying his first kingdom - the kingdom he was once hailed a hero in. Seeds of darkness were planted in his heart and he slowly began to destroy all around him, first out of boredom but I feel it grew and grew until he was completely consumed by his element. Until he was shown the hard way the indiscriminate way his element works when he had to destroy things he once loved or held passion for. Going by the fact that the beasts contrast the ancients, whereas Golden Cheese embraces her greed, I feel Burning Spice was forced to sit pretty with his powers of destruction as they slowly consumed him. I can't not think at one point, he's thought of himself as a monster for what he's done, but his pride disables him from expressing it. Why give up vulnerabilities? He understands his element, not through splendor to obtain what he desires but through learning that nothing is sacred, not even to him. Where Golden Cheese covets and turns her element into self-fulfillment, Burning Spice's element is change through loss and the destruction of the obsolete and old to give way to a new future. All things meet destruction and nothing lasts forever. This includes things he may hold dear as well and in the end, when he has to strip those things away, he holds a quiet resignation because not even he is above inevitability. He knows this, he accepts that everything he touches turns to ruination, but deep down, even if he won't admit it - it doesn't make the pain any less.

[zombified-hoglin]

Been thinking about some more angst as one does, related to s8 because it's a fantastic setup for it

It's about the heartbreak that Xisuma feels as he wakes up in the ship, the moon fall breaking him and the others out of the simulation and sleep they were in

He's thankful that none of it was real but at the same time it had felt so real to him

Xisuma's just thankful that he's not in any relationships, watching as the zit polycule are bickering about not dying together and and how in general there's lots of questions about how they chose to go out

He slips away before Ren can even start to explain what the heck happened and went wrong, nothing against Ren but Xisuma doesn't like how crowded and suffocating the room feels

He ends up on one of the decks of the ship, staring off into the stars as he tries not to think about everything that happened, Xisuma can hear someone coming up behind him and it's not surprising to see Etho lean up against the railing beside him

They don't talk about anything, there's barely a greeting, just enjoying not being in that crowded room and by someone else

When Etho finally says something, he leans into Xisuma's space and says he's glad it wasn't real

Xisuma agrees, though he didn't mind spending time time in the simulation with him before everything went to shit

Etho just laughs and says that he didn't mind it either, squeezing Xisuma's hand

Due to some poorly planned rooming accommodations, him and Etho get to share a room, there's no complaints

A continuation of this can be found here

[dalishborne]

ok so here is the thing.

i'm a very ships-motivated writer. not exclusive to romantic ships – friendships, frenemies, familial, colleagues, mentors, unlikely besties, whatever. i think discussing a potential connection between our characters helps a lot with not only my motivation but kind of having an idea for what sort of situations our muses might find themselves in. connections are ultimately what i love to explore through rp

i'd love to consider this as a shipping call – if you'd like to chat about how our muses may connect and what direction(s) their relationship could potentially take, like this post! i will be very honest with you about what i envision for revie and your muse atm & i am incredibly open to all ideas.