#the full story is still a wip

[bizarrelittlemew]

calling it right now that season 3 starts like this

[daisywords]

Holy Object

[bitterseaproduction]

I’ve been seeing lots of posts about Thorin & Bilbo being into each other since Day 1, and that had me contemplating a scenario where they weren’t at such odds with each other at their first meeting (i.e. cranky at a bunch of invasive dwarves + wizard vs expecting the burglar to die within .2 seconds and cause problems in the process).

It could be something very mundane or AU-y, but for something closer to canon, what if Thorin was dragged into accepting he has to work with/trade with/fight along some elves? And even if the intent is there, both sides just keep making a mess of it? And Gandalf’s suggestion when he hears of it is to hire a mediator. Say, perhaps, a person of neither race, but one well acquainted with elves and likely open to dwarves? Someone of good standing, educated, and who is naturally diplomatic?

Seems iffy, but still Thorin allows himself to be guided escorted by Balin and Dwalin and his nephews right into the heart of the Shire and to the door of some gently-bred halfling Gandalf recommended, who will likely prove to be just as standoffish and finicky and soft as the rest of the people Thorin’s encountered—

Then the round green door opens, and his mind goes blank as equally round green eyes stare back at him. Then the halfling bearer of those eyes stumbles back while stumbling over his words, and Thorin should logically be doubting the stranger’s appropriateness for this mission, but he’s too distracted by something to consider the matter.

And his cousins and nephews are initially just baffled by the pair of them, but by the time they close negotiations and leave the Shire, Dwalin is asking his brother what happens if the elves think their king is ‘fraternizing’ with their negotiator before they’ve even held a meeting. The boys think it’s hilarious, but Balin doesn’t find the question droll in the slightest.

Fast forward, and by the time they reach Rivendell they are ALL sweating a little when they suspect the ‘fraternizing’ isn’t a joke at all.

Long story short, the biggest challenge the alliance of dwarves and elves faces is not the question of Thranduil’s betrayal, nor the gems he covets, nor any age old point of spite between the two races. No, it is the exiled dwarf king accusing Lord Elrond of trying to tempt HIS hobbit into staying in Rivendell when Thorin has made it PERFECTLY CLEAR to any dwarf he intends to install Bilbo in Erebor as soon as it is reclaimed.

No one is more taken aback by this claim than Bilbo Baggins himself, but that isn’t to say he is, ahem, ‘unamenable’ to the idea.

(Some would later, however, accuse Bilbo of playing up his reluctance to abandon Bag End at all, as the effort to coax the hobbit into relocation and outright, openly proclaimed consortship quite soundly and conveniently distracted the king away from accusations that might have caused a complete and utter dissolution of the alliance. But truly, if it were true? Well. The hobbit was quite the diplomat.)

[missrosegold]

Okay okay okay so I know I tentatively put out the idea of MMA fighter!Dabi/Touya, BUT -- what about Cyberpunk!Dabi??

Think about it: the LOV is still a terrorist organization, but with cybernetic enhancements - most of them are damn near on the verge of going Cyberpsycho as it is with how much chrome they're packing.

Their fire fights with the NCPD/Militech and Arasaka are legendary and brutal; no one leaves unscathed, and even the rest of the gangs that terrorize Night City give them a wide birth - least they get pulled into a turf war with them.

Poor little you is just trying to get home after a particularly long day at your job (your hours are shit and the pay is arguably worse), and you find yourself running for cover as a gang fight breaks out between the LOV and Maelstrom.

One thing leads to another, and suddenly you find yourself looking up at a white haired man - more chrome then flesh - learing down at you with a grin so terrifying, you almost think he's gone full psycho, had hd not made any move to snap your neck.

Giving him a quick scan, you can see that he has a cybernetic arm that spits out blue hell fire, and mechanically enhanced eyes so insanely blue it's a new shade to you completely, amoung a plethora of other enhancements that make you question how he isn't a fully fledged Cyberpsycho.

You know who he is, everybody in Night City knows of the white haired pyromaniac with specialty fire resistant implants, and of how dangerous he is.

It's Dabi from the LOV. You're in trouble now.

[spacedlexi]

violentine!!!

violentine!!! 💜🍊💜

[forcedhesitation]

why should it just be steve who has all the torturous purgatory realm fun?

[emeraldhazeart]

Listen.

That WIP isn't dead.

We've just put it out to pasture.

Yeah, we could tell it just wasn't feeling it's usual self this season, so we've decided to give it a rest to take the pressure off.

When will it be back? We don't know. Rest and recuperation takes time. It'll tell us when it's ready to return.

And hey, if it ends up having to retire, that's fine too. We've had a good run with this WIP. Would be a shame to work it into the ground if it's really not a doer. Not all WIPs are born to be winners, after all.

And there's always the possibility of producing a new WIP from it. Who knows, its offspring could just go on to be the next big thing.

[strangefable]

thank you for the many, many tags over the past... let's not count the time. but thank you to everyone who's continued to tag me for wips <3 most recently @inafieldofdaisies, @direwombat, @adelaidedrubman, @cassietrn, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @trench-rot, and many many more, thanks so much to everyone who thinks of me <3

today, i have a little bit of the opening chapter of the atlanta prequel to share:

Micah slowed her bike. Wouldn't do to get pulled over for speeding. Not with what sat strapped to the bike behind her. She felt the hard, sharp edges even through the leather of her jacket. She could almost hear ticking in the back of her mind; that thing may as well have been a bomb.

Hell, a bomb would’ve been less unnerving.

She followed the monotone, mechanical voice in her ear as it directed her to the appointed address. She felt a twinge in her neck as she tried to look up to the top of the building. Dark, ominous, sharp. It was a vague shape in the dark night sky, but it still felt foreboding as she gazed upward.

She pulled her helmet off and shook her head, releasing her hair as well as the chill along her spine. She was just a mechanic, but she was not going to get intimidated by some slick, rich asshole too impatient for his coke to wait for a regular mule.

As she entered the lobby, she saw the sleek marble floors, the stark modern architecture. There were heavy plaques on the wall with mysterious names. An office. A swanky, high tower one. Ballsy place to take in a delivery like the one she carried.

A man behind the security desk eyed her suspiciously. She offered him her sweetest, doe-eyed smile. “Hi, I have a delivery for…” she glanced down at her phone, “Mr. Duncan.” She looked back up at the security guard, still smiling warmly.

He grunted, waved his hand toward the metal detector. “Of course he’s still here,” he muttered to himself, before meeting her gaze.” 38, top floor.”

She hesitated as she stared at the metal detector’s arch. She took a few slow steps toward it, wondering how sensitive it was. At least she didn’t have to explain a gun, since hers was locked safely at home.

The detector went off as soon as she stepped through. She winced and stepped back.

The guard gave her a knowing look. “What’re you carrying?”

She attempted another smile. “Just a knife. It—”

He smirked and waved a hand. “Yeah, you’re not the first. Most of the couriers have some kind of protection these days. Can’t be too careful.” He nodded her through, ignoring the alarm as it went off again.

She nodded and smiled. “Yeah. Thanks.” His casual attitude about the whole thing surprised her, but she wasn’t about to argue. She wanted to get this over with and get the fuck out of here.

The whole place reeked of wealth and prestige and it made her skin crawl. So much metal and isolation from a single natural thing. So cold and uniform. She hated shit like this. Not that she’d admit it aloud, but it made her ache for home.

The elevator stopped at the top floor, and Micah ducked out swiftly, grateful to escape the grating music that jangled her nerves even more. Why did the wealthy always have such bland taste in everything?

She entered another lobby, but straight ahead was a formidable wall with a list of large, brass-lettered names behind a block of marble that must’ve been a reception desk. The woman seated there had a strained look on her features as she glanced over at Micah. Instead of a greeting, she only offered a stony, questioning stare.

Micah made a small sound in her throat. “Uhm. I…I have a delivery for Mr. Duncan. Urgent, I was told.”

The woman’s eyes went glassy at the name, and her expression seemed to grow even tighter. “Of course. Down the hall, Fourth door on your left.” She pointed to a hallway to her right.

Micah nodded and followed the directions. The lighting was low everywhere, probably dimmed to save cost outside of normal business hours. She wondered what kind of business it was they did here, then she stopped herself. She didn’t want any details at all. “I’m just a mechanic, that’s all.” She mumbled softly as she came to a stop outside the large, solid wood door.

It was floor to ceiling and she felt a sudden urge to run anywhere else. Instead, she lifted her hand and rapped her knuckles against the wood.

“Yes?” The voice was smooth and sure, the barest edge of a threat beneath the word. Why did the image of a shark swerving beneath the water flash into her mind? She shook her head and pushed open the door.

“Delivery for Mr. Duncan.” It felt so stupid to say, but what the fuck else could she say? This was not her job. She would not let this become her job. She didn’t want the heat of being a mule; she’d made that abundantly fucking clear.

Yet here she stood.

“Come in.” The voice was clipped and cool, all business, but with an attempt at warmth. A small measure to pretend at civility, she supposed. She opened the door.

To her surprise, this room was not all sharp, sleek steel and concrete. It was lined everywhere with deep, rich wood. The scent of it filled her lungs, soothing, familiar. She blinked as her eyes took in the shelves lined with thick, heavy looking tomes. There was a wet bar taking up a whole wall, and it was where most of the room’s light came from.

That and the Tiffany lamp sitting on the gargantuan desk in the middle of the room.

A large, sleek, black, leather chairback greeted her. “You’re late.” The chair swiveled suddenly but soundlessly. A man with piercing blue eyes and a firm mouth stared at her. He peeked his fingers together in front of his face. One eyebrow lifted slightly as he took in the sight of her. “And you’re new.” A glint flashed in his eyes.

She narrowed her own. “No, I’m not. I’m doing a one time favor. Because, I’m told, you were very… insistent.”

His lips curved into a mirthless half smile. “Oh, is that how they phrased it?”

She snorted. “I could read between the lines. Not exactly anyone’s first choice to send a mechanic, but no one else was aw—available.” Her eyes darted away from his. “Mierda.” The whisper escaped her lips before she could stop herself. Shit. SHIT. She was saying too much.

She felt his eyes as he trailed them down her body. She felt them lingering around her curves, so easily displayed by her tight leathers. She shifted her weight and clutched her helmet closer to her body, as though it were a shield. A poor one, but what else did she have?

When she looked up again, she found his eyes staring directly into hers. His expression was unreadable as he forced his gaze on hers. She resisted the urge to clear her throat or look away. Something in his eyes reminded her of the predators she’d faced in the backcountry. You don’t look away from a predator when it’s sizing you up, so she steeled her nerves and met his gaze, her lips pressed thin and straight.

He smiled. Tight. Sharp. Too feline to be real, despite the straight, glaring whiteness of his teeth. It was a smile meant to disarm, but she knew better. “They have been rather… less than satisfactory of late. I’ve been considering exploring other avenues.” His eyes looked her up and down once more. “However, I might be amenable to changing my opinion.” As his eyes met hers again, the weight of his meaning settled heavy on her shoulders.

She shrugged slightly. “That’s above my pay grade. I’m just here to give you what you ordered.”

He ignored the package she held out to him. “You’re not curious?” He took a step toward her. His hand lifted, but instead of the package, he slipped his fingers around her wrist.

She shook her head. “They don’t pay me for that.”

“What do they pay you for?” Another step closer. His fingers tightened. His other hand rose to rest lightly against her waist.

tagging onwards (no pressure at all ever <3) @ivymarquis, @v0idbuggy, @derelictheretic, @henbased, @redreart, @wrathfulrook, @confidentandgood, @damejudyhench, @florbelles, @jillvalentinesday, @marivenah, @harmonyowl, @unholymilf, @shallow-gravy, @g0dspeeed, @strafethesesinners, @fourlittleseedlings, @voidika, @foibles-fables, @chazz-anova, @josephseedismyfather, @turbo-virgins, @roofgeese, @i-am-the-balancing-point, @poisonedtruth, @simplegenius042, @incognito-insomniac, @dumbassdep, @theelderhazelnut, @legally-a-bastard, @aceghosts and anyone i still have managed to miss in this list. (also if you don't want me tagging you, drop me an ask or a dm and no questions will be asked <3) edit: trying to fix tags.

[cream-and-tea]

pallas in book one is definitely at it-cannot-possibly-get-worse-than-this ABSOLUTE rock bottom but god. there is such a specific flavour to their despair in book two that only happens because of the realization they have at the end of lay me down. like. how do you move on after admitting that everything you believed in was a lie. how do you live with what you’ve done (with what has been done to you). is it possible to pull yourself up out of the pit you’ve dug. what do you do if it isn’t. what do you do if it IS. and once you look at the damage how do you stop looking. past the first layer of hurt there’s just more and more hurt and you were used by the one person who was supposed to keep you safe to cause even MORE pain and no matter how deep you go none of it means anything! it never meant anything at all!! motherfucker your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[not-krys]

47. Creation [Abby, Miri]

Happy Last Wednesday of March! It's that time again, another theme to get the writing juices going. This time, we got the theme of creation!

Raw, unedited writing below. We got Leonardo making observations about Abby and Vincent in her section, while Miri's section is cute and sweet with Luke and Barbatos.

Check out my masterlist!

-----

Abby

Leonardo stood in the doorway of Vincent's room, sunlight pouring into the room, but there was something else in the room that could rival the sun in brightness and warmth.

Vincent's back was to him, his apron tied loosely around his torso. His feet were planted firmly on the floor as he sat on his stool. And if that had been the only thing of note, he might have left, to leave a fellow artist to his creation devices.

But the second set of feet, dangling between Vincent's, and a smaller hand holding onto a paintbrush in his, had the older vampire smiling with affection.

He remembered the day he had found Abby struggling to make her lines looser and how he had given her some tips, as an artist, but also to help with her general demeanor. Scrunched up like a nervous kitten wouldn't help her in the long run and he had hoped the message got across when he was teaching her.

Now, it seemed it was Vincent's turn to help her, much closer to her than he had been, sitting in his lap. Both of them were growing bolder, he thought. A natural process for Abby as she was overcoming her timidity, but she wasn't the only one growing bold. Leonardo looked at his hand, remembering when he had attempted to pat her head, something he had done countless times to encourage the little cara before, only for Vincent's hand to stop him, pushing him away from her not unlike a lover would protect his love from unwarranted advances.

He chuckled and pushed away from the door frame, closing the door fully behind him. He also couldn't help but see Vincent's hand tightening on Abby's thigh, a blue eye briefly glancing directly at him for a split second before returning his attention back to the painting session.

Even for all of his long life, Leonardo felt the briefest of chills from that single look and started walking away, lighting his cigarillo as he walked away.

"Cavolo…" he whispered, shaking his shoulders of their tension.

----------

Miri

Miri looked at the timer on her D.D.D and checked the time, Luke standing nearby. Barbatos held onto oven mitts that matched Miri's and Luke's mitts, a gentle smile on his face.

"Is it almost done?" Luke asked.

"It's pretty close, I think." Miri answered, checking the time one last time. "It should be pretty close to that cake we saw on Devilgram the other day."

"What was it called?"

"In the Human Realm, we called it a castella cake."

"And you bake it with steam?"

"Yep, that's what makes it so light and fluffy, along with all the air inside it. That's what makes it move like that."

"It wiggled so much in that Devilgram video, it looked alive!"

"I hope this one wiggles just as much!"

A soft beeping soon echoed in the kitchen, alerting all three to the time.

"Moment of truth, everyone!" Miri said, stepping to one side of the giant oven. Luke scrambled over to her side, oven mitts at the ready.

"Please be cautious as I open the door." said Barbatos, carefully pulling down on the handle.

Hot air soon filled the room, making Miri and Luke wince, but only momentarily as the smell of baked cake soon followed. Barbatos pulled the rack forward, hot water sloshing around in the pan.

"On the count of three," Barbatos said, putting his mitted hands on one side of the baking pan. Miri and Luke took the opposite corners, ready to lift the massive cake from its watery bath, which was both longer and stood taller than all three bakers combined.

On his command, the three lifted the massive cake, moving it to the nearby counter, amazed at how much it did indeed move and wiggle, dancing to their movements.

"Wahh!" Luke exclaimed, "it does move!"

"Told you it would!" Miri laughed.

Barbatos only smiled gently.

"I'm sure that everyone will be pleased with your efforts, both of you. A job well done."

"We all made it together!" Miri said, "and I think there should be enough for everyone! Even Beel!"

"Perhaps you should message them to come to the castle?" Barbatos was already turning away, intent on finding his master, hopefully still working on the paperwork left for him that day.

"Yeah, it's waaay too big for me to carry by myself. We can have a castella party!"

"Yeah!" Luke said, "I'll message Simeon and Solomon! They have to come too!"

[letapollojusticesayfuck]

me writing things: wow does anyone even care about this. is this engaging in any way. is this not just the most predictable and overdone thing anybody has ever read

me reading anybody's reactions or comments to things i've written: OH i guess i CAN write well?? i guess people like my phrasing??? my characterization??? i'm actually okay at this????

[theeflowerofcarnage]

If you’re willing pls some details on your bg3 character? They’re so gorgina. I love her. I wanna give her a lil daisy or smth and put it behind her ear. If possible. If not we’ll work something out. Your taste in screenshots is so good and I love seeing other ppls games. Especially when we have more than one in common.

What’s her class? Her name? Any subclasses 🤔

Any reason for The Gale romance, or is it one of those unexplained there is no reason types? Either way they’re cute.

Where does her expertise lie, any backstory you’ve thought of and decided on and willing to share?

What’s her favourite pass time, what’s her usual response to difficult situations be it emotionally or in a fight? Does she believe in a high power?

Much luv, if you decide to answer or not I appreciate your posts no matter the game popping up on my time line <3 just an interested individual passing thru swat me like a fly if necessary and carry on 🤞🏼 I’m glad it seems like ur having a good time, hope ur doing well !

First of all thank you SOO much for asking ❤️❤️❤️ I didn’t think anyone would be that interested <<333 this ask made my day

n ive been thinking over it a lot since getting into act 3, ((im not a dnd expert  sooo consider the follow some silly musings I have on her backstory/abilities 🙈)) 

Tldr is-

Dark Eyes is a Mephistopheles tiefling, she used to be a cleric but I changed her class later to an Archfey Warlock, she is an outlander and worships Kelemvor!!

She was born at sea! her parents were human & lived as merchants. They loved her despite her unexpected infernal heritage, they called her 'dark eyes' for her unusual appearance. She had a relatively happy childhood, she always felt at home in far off places. While sailing to the Sword Coast thier ship was capsized by a storm, her parents and the crew died but she survived, washed ashore near a temple dedicated to Kelemvor. From this point on, her life was marked by a quiet melancholy and deep religious fervor. Her near death experience exposed the capricious nature of fate.

she fully embraced the path of a Cleric of Kelemvor and traveled extensively over all of Faerun giving the last rites to the dying and aiding the departed, until the day she met a dying dryad in a forest, taking pity on her she guided its spirit to the realm beyond gaining the favor of the Faerie Queen Titania, ultimately sealing her fate as an Archfey Warlock.

Among the Fey she was reborn as 'Nemeth' a name given to her by her first lover a Leanan sidhe being. Under the guidance of these fey beings, she embraced life with reckless abandoned, danced among dryads in deep elder forests, and sung the songs of the rusalkas. She inspired poets and was the bane of mortal men, she learned to act in accordance to her own whims rather than being a martyr  - to me she is always very fickle and easy to displease, I've had her hex people for saying rude things to her (looking at u lord whitburn) on the surface she is seems distant but she still has a soft heart, where others fight she likes to wait things out, let others expose themselves, charm and decieve (in a way her and Raphael would get a long very well if they weren't enemies in game hehe)

On the gale romance- well, that was a complete accident what can I say his dorkish nature is bewitching!!

they definitely play off each other well!! If it weren't for Gale she really wouldn't be trying so hard to save others. Being a warlock, she knows better than most that, to give into raw power is to become infinetly more vulnerable to the greater beings that wield it- She wants Gale to understand this!! Despite being a warlock, she still gives patronage to Kelemvor, it’s a big reason why she does not like Mystra's influence over Gale - to her Kelemvor is impartial, fair - he doesn't keep his devotees on a leash and does not interfere in mortal affairs, he is the washing away of these things, the cleansing of all desire. She wants Gale to see that his life is his own- only if he lets go! Anyways in my head she and Gale adopted the tiefling Arabella and sent her away to wizard school or whatever the equilvalent is

[delusionisaplace]

currently at 55k but nowhere NEAR done with lovers to strangers 😭

it’s getting longer than it originally was supposed to be

[mangoisms]

if anything else. i do enjoy how the batman (2022) portrays gotham. it could use a little more pizazz in my personal opinion but like its good. better than most portrayals in the dceu i think

[sinkat-arts]

Daisuga WIP Wednesday: Angsty Edition

Context: This is mostly an establishing bit of the first chapter to, uh, set the (not super happy) mood and current mindset of adult Daichi. Things... have happened.

--

December 2021

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First: Turn off the alarm. He will not do it for you. He is not there. 

Second: Let your body wake up. Resist the urge to reach for him. He is not there. 

Third: Open your eyes. Do not roll to your left side. He is not there. 

Fourth: Push the blanket away. You do not have to carefully make sure he remains covered and warm. He is not there. 

Fifth: Sit up and put your feet on the floor, first one and then the other. He will not pull you back. He is not there. 

-- >

Daichi made it to the fifth step before breaking his own rules. Turning, looking over his shoulder - that was forbidden in step six, but he hadn’t made it there yet. Muscle memory dashed forward ahead of thought, and he twisted in place, looking back. Looking for a messy cloud of ash gray hair, looking for the familiar shape of his heart, but finding only a crumpled blanket and nothing else. It wasn’t even his bed. This wasn’t even his home. 

<!--Failure Contingency 1: Don’t react. If you’re still in bed, start over from one. Else, repeat the step you failed and carry on.-- >

Getting out of bed was, by far, the hardest part of the checklist to implement, even now. He blamed it on his sleep-deprived morning brain being harder to wrestle into submission. Easier to say it was that than to go one level deeper and acknowledge all the other reasons it was hard. 

This was our time. Just us, starting the day pulling in closer to each other and bitching about the alarm. He’d complain and cling like a damn octopus to keep me there, and I’d pretend to be annoyed and fight a little before giving in and wrapping him up in my arms. I started setting the alarm just a little earlier so we could have more time like that before the day pulled us our separate ways, and he pretended not to notice. 

But he didn’t dwell on that old morning ritual. He didn’t dwell on the way their bodies relaxed into one another, warm and secure in their nest of blankets and pillows. He called his difficulty with mornings sleep deprivation or confusion and didn’t look any further, not any more. 

Looking at it square - going any deeper - hurt too much, and feeling that hurt made him aware of the other reason it was so hard to make it to step six every morning. A reason that was more frightening than painful because that one, taken to its final and logical end, wouldn’t hurt at all. That one made sense… and being able to see the sense in it came with a terrible, heavy sort of numbness that settled deep into his bones and slowed his breath. 

The first few months were a cyclical sort of hell - weeks and weeks passed, living one moment in a hurt that split him into pieces that burned and scattered like embers in the wind, and the next in a state of frozen indifference that had him stuck dangerously in place. Eventually, he’d asked himself what’s the point? and found that he just didn’t have an answer. The reason it was so hard to get out of bed - to keep going out into the world and pretending to be a human being - was that there was no reason. There was no reason to do anything at all, and the logical end to that line of thinking was just that... an end.

But he’d come back to himself and realized he was being stupid. Melodramatic. People relied on him, expected things from him. He had a job to do, and his siblings looked up to him… and his mother, what would she think… So the checklist was made to keep that terrifying logic out of his head. It was his way of fighting back, of forcing a point to exist. If there was a next step, another task to check off, then he would always, always have an answer to that awful question and neither the hurt nor the nothing could catch up to him. 

The point is to complete the checklist. Properly, no shortcuts.

Today was the first time he’d ever made it to five without having to start over. That was progress, and he was tempted to keep just going but… rules were rules, and he had to complete it properly to count. He was technically still in bed, so he started over from one. 

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Sixth: Stand up. Do not look back. He is not there. 

Seventh: Go to the bathroom. DO NOT LOOK BACK. He is not there. 

Eighth: Take your shower. Do not wait for an interruption. He is not there.

-- >

He made it through the next couple of steps, finishing his shower, brushing his teeth (There is only one toothbrush. He is not there.), getting dressed (You do not have to make sure he did not go back to sleep. He is not there.), and stepping out into the kitchen to get coffee and breakfast started.  

The kitchen was just like the rest of the small apartment - a spartan affair. Daichi didn’t have much in the way of knickknacks or personal affects. What he did have was just enough. Just enough plates and bowls. Just enough silverware. Just enough drinkware. Just enough pots and pans. Just enough everything for one person. Any more than that, and he’d have to think about… 

But it wasn’t important. He had enough. He was making it work. 

<!--Thirteenth: Get your mug. Do not think about the one you had with the volleyball shaped like a heart. He is not there.-- >

He set his plain white coffee mug in the single-serve machine, loaded it with a single-serve cup of coffee grounds (Do not think about the big pot that held enough for eight but somehow only held enough for two. He is not there.), and hit start. That done, he grabbed two eggs, sliced cheese, and pre-cut fruit from the fridge. It was the last of the fruit, so he made a mental note to replenish on his way home tonight… otherwise it’d just be egg toast for breakfast tomorrow, and that would throw his routine off. Two slices of bread toasted as he fried the eggs. (Do not worry about whether the yolks pop. He is not there.) As he finished assembling his breakfast - toast, cheese on top of toast, egg on top of cheese so it melts, repeat - his coffee finished brewing. A spoon of sugar, enough cream to turn it beige (Do not think to yourself ‘would you like some coffee with your cream?’ in his voice. He is not there.), and that was done, too.

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Twenty-Seventh: Sit. Do not look at the other chair. He is not there. 

Twenty-Eighth: Eat. He is not there.

-- > 

Finished, he rose and took his dishes to the sink. A quick rinse had them nestled in the dishwasher, ready to be washed after dinner later that evening. He left the kitchen, went to the entryway, put on his shoes, picked up his bag from where he’d dropped it in exhaustion the night before, and opened the door. 

<!--Thirty-Fifth: Leave. Do not say goodbye. He is not there.-- >

[stinkrascal]

monkey d fluffy is finally home!! im so relieved, i missed him so much!! hes on my lap watching me play skyrim 🥺