#twisty writes

[starheirxero]

Genuine thoughts tho are that I think I'm starting to like how this is panning out a bit more!!! Its starting to feel the same way that Ruin's whole situation did a few months back, where I was terribly nervous Ruin's big secret was that he was actually secretly a horrible evil villain who's trigger happy etc etc but it turned out to actually be a really interesting and refreshing situation of grey morality and character complexities n such, yk?

Like, this is going in an interesting direction!! Moon, now Nexus, is 100% being taken advantage of during his moment of weakness and besides my obvious delight in such a fucked dynamic, I'm genuinely hopeful and curious to see how this will pan out!! I'm still not totally sure if the lead-up was just messy grief, Dark Sun influences, or both, or maybe even a secret third thing, but it really does feel like things are starting to fall a little more into place now and I'm liking it :]

[jayykesley]

chicken bag is complete!!!

[creativewhizkid]

i want a cinderpelt SE so bad but only my version of it cuz i KNOW the team will just write about her supposed tragic unrequited "love" for firestar (sorry i dislike cinderfire) and nothing else like if it were up to me i'd love to write about (how in my verison of canon) her relationship with her siblings and how she cured the illness of a clan who were responsible for kidnapping her and her siblings when they were kits, silverstream and how cinderpelt never forgave herself for letting her die, how she and brackenfur always had tension with greystripe afterwards (cinderpelt for her failure to save silverstream and brackenfur for how greystripe failed him as a mentor), how she had to try save her sister who was practically on her deathbed like a few days after her yellowfang died, how she had to leave her mom and grandmother behind during the journey to the lake territories, how the will of her ancestors and cats she loved and cared about declared that her death was a necessity for the three to be born, how her life must end for the prophecy to come true. how her entire life had been written in stone from the moment she opened her eyes. how she had spent her final days of living alone, afraid, and eventually accepting of her fate. but despite this, cinderpelt was loved. she WAS loved. brightheart, brackenfur, thornclaw, firestar, littlecloud, leafpool, yellowfang, she cared about them all so much and she even cared about cats from other clans. she did live a good life.

cinderpelt was loved.

but yeah probably not going to happen

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

Michael and Needles try to fuck. The Distortion objects.

This is much darker than my usual content so please heed the tags and author’s note in AO3

[myalchod]

oh I missed the 3 sentence fic meme, is it too late to chime in with a prompt?

if not, how about Silrah + spies & secret agents?

Ooh, I love this idea so much. ��� Almost took it down a canon-variant path, but ended up going with a vaguely nonspecific no-powers setting instead. (Almost had one of them with the knife to the other’s throat too, but … well.)

“The young gentleman on your right,” she murmurs, “blue coat, dark hair,” and he hums acknowledgement as the turn of the dance gives him an unimpeded view of the man in question, squiring Andros’ junior ambassador across the floor, “is one of his,” and it could mean anything it not for the missive she’d slipped him at the start of the evening, when he’d bowed over her hand in the receiving line and made her promise him a dance later — a tactic they’ve used more than once since the outbreak of the war drew Eraklyon and Solaria, and the two of them by extension, into an uneasy alliance to combat a mutual threat. He trusts her as little as his king does her queen, in the bigger picture, but politics has always made for strange bedfellows, and his line of work is no less political for being conducted in the shadows — never mind that those shadows are at times as brightly lit as the grand Eraklyan ballroom, ablaze with candles for the winter solstice fête; never mind that his partner blazes nearly as brightly, glittering with gems at her throat and in her intricately upswept hair, when he knows she is as familiar with those shadows as he is, and far more comfortable there than here.

They will meet again later somewhere dark and quiet, furtive as lovers, for a conference of confidences and hushed whispers in service to the rulers and the realms they have both sworn their lives to, but for now there are eyes upon them and a game to be played, and so he twirls her across the ballroom floor and grants himself a respite from those duties in the warmth of her touch and the wryly knowing humour of her eyes, and tries not to think of the day when they may once again find themselves on opposite sides of a war, all this intimacy reforged to strike at each other instead; they have learned each other too well, in this erstwhile alliance, and he thinks — not for the first time — that she alone would know enough for her blade to find its way between his ribs, for how could it be otherwise when she has already pierced his heart?

[ send me another ] [ all fills ]

[fruitgoat]

Hi. I'm an idiot. I've had a plot bunny hopping around the back of my brain for about a decade. I've started to draft it many, many times. But I've never gotten beyond half of a half-assed draft (very few complete sentences) because I've always gotten stuck on a couple key plot points. Intellectually, I knew I could just Handwave away most anything. But that never felt right because they are circumstances that drive big chunks of the plot. I just figured out how to get around the biggest one. It's still a bit of a Handwave but it's an Acceptable and Oddly Rational Handwave. And so obvious that I'm a little unsettled that it's apparently never gotten into my notes for this project before now.

(I'm trying to be Spoiler Free just in case I ever actually finish writing this story. I love spoilers so I often forget until too late that other people can't stand so much as reading the blurb. And I guess you could technically call this story a mystery or a thriller. Not a Who Done It, but more of a Why Done It.)

[philcoulsonismyhero]

So it turns out that it's Really Fucking Fun to build a crime drama/detective mystery from the ground up, and I can't believe it's taken me this long to give it a proper go. Reverse engineering where to drop vital bits of information into a narrative is So satisfying, especially when you're juggling multiple reveals and twists at once and half of them are about your protagonist and not just the crime he's investigating

I really don't need more stories, but I love this, I should do it more

[ghost-proofbaby]

the feminine urge to post a snippet of this astarion one-shot before i'm even done with it because. i. i'm giggling and kicking my feet and blushing. i.

[alphawave-writes]

Kill your Darlings Chapter 13: Save your Darlings | Tom Zane x Casper Darling

Darling and Zane are given one more chance to right their wrongs.

This time they will take it.

Art and Science will create an unstoppable force. Not even time will impede them.

[dreamersbcll]

Prompt: drunk Tara being reckless and getting herself hurt or in trouble and Sam trying to pick up the pieces

“Betting”

with a little twist.

————————————————————————

Bloodshed felt good. It felt right. It felt like living.

It felt as natural to Tara as breathing did. When she spilled other people’s blood, tore into their skin, and got to hurt them, cry- god, did it feel fucking good.

If they wanted to keep their blood inside their bodies, maybe they should fight better. They should be quicker. They should hit harder. They should try and take Tara down before she finishes with the final blow.

What Tara did was mainly legal. It was an underground fight ring. Club. Whatever. All it meant was that Tara was allowed to sneak off when Sam worked nights and take out all her rage on willing participants. It wasn’t like they didn’t ask for it. Tara was just giving in to their wishes.

It was all generally legal. The only illegal part was how much she drank before it. She would down enough alcohol to kill a small child, and stumble her ways to the underground. They could smell the liquor on her breath and they would grin, thinking they bagged an easy fight. That they were going to come through victorious, and take her money.

They were lucky that she wasn’t allowed to kill them. That wasn’t how the betting system worked. She didn’t make any money if they were dead- only if she won the fight by knockout. And she was damn good at it. She hadn’t lost a battle in months. Even while black-out drunk, Tara could take down grown people in under ten minutes, swaying and smiling with blood running down her face.

Surprisingly it was effortless to hide this from Sam. With her sister working two jobs, Sam wasn’t there to watch Tara at all times. Plus, Tara was very good with a makeup brush and could get away with lying about being a makeup artist at Ulta. It wasn’t like Sam was looking at her employment records. All Tara had to do was ensure food was on the table and the rent was paid.

And it was all through Sam’s sweat and Tara's blood.

There was a nickname for Tara floating around the street. El vampiro de la noche . The vampire of the night. The bloodsucker, swooping in and destroying others in the still of the night. The girl who will bleed you dry before you lay a finger on her.

It wasn’t Tara’s fault that she was efficient. That she was short and quick. It was all about finding her opponent's weakness before they found hers. She danced around on the concrete ring, smiling as she broke bones and opened wounds. There wasn’t a night that she didn’t come home with dried blood pasted across her face and a cheeky smile.

To feel bones splinter under her fists and hot blood splash across her skin was to feel alive. Her medication wasn’t doing it anymore. Therapy was just an echo in her mind. She felt slow. Lethargic. She was beaten down. She needed a change and fast.

And a change where Tara got to make others pay for her pain was one that she needed—craved even. There was something so satisfying about hearing their cries, knowing nobody would save them like nobody saved her.

She would fall to her knees and kneel to their ear level, gasping at her own pain, but sucking it up unlike them. There she would whisper the words that her mother used to whisper to her; when Tara was little and wounded by the hands that were supposed to love her. The same mother would be clutching a bottle, ready to drink away her crimes.

“Esto es lo que se merece un pecador como tú,”.

This is what a sinner like you deserves.

They would whimper in pain, trying to force themselves up, and Tara would push them back down. They deserved to sit in their pools of blood and rue the day they fucked with Tara. This is what they deserved for believing that they had a chance.

Just like her mother used to say.

Tara had been brutalized enough to know that they would live on. But they would never forget the night they tried to take her down.

However, what was her fault was letting Sam catch her.

——

Grabbing a fistful of the girl’s hair, Tara screamed as she threw her into the concrete wall, pushing her face against the wall.

This one was a little tougher. She wasn't going down as easy. But Tara wasn’t worried. She would win. There were nearly two thousand dollars in this fight. She had to.

The girl was maybe a foot taller and twenty pounds heavier, but Tara held the upper hand. She could pinpoint that this woman’s weak spots were her knees and lower back. So she focused on that.

Throwing the girl down, she grinned as the girl fell to the ground like a limp sack of rocks. Tara wiped her nose, blood smearing across her cheek. She smiled, spitting out the pool of blood sitting in her mouth. This was what living felt like. She had never felt so fucking alive.

Raising a fist, Tara walked a circle around the crumpled girl, hyping the crowd up. People screamed and stomped their feet, chanting Vampiro, Vampiro, Vampiro. Closing her eyes, she basked in the attention, the audience fueling her darkest desires. It felt so good to be known, to be praised for letting the darkest parts of herself out.

It was goddamn exhilarating.

She stepped back, ready to deliver the final kick to the barely conscious, bloody opponent on the ground. But before she could, she heard the voice.

The voice. The voice of reason, of hope. The one person who made her life bearable. The one who kissed her “tripping” scars and got her ice packs after “kickboxing” class. The sister still loves her even though Tara lies all the time.

“Tara!”

Tara faltered, and her opponent saw the chance to strike. As Tara pulled back, her opponent grabbed Tara’s leg, tugging her forward. Tara slipped, throwing her arms out to break her fall.

But it never came. Instead, Tara was caught by someone and gently put down, the air only slightly knocked out of her lungs.

Her opponent was struck down by a quick kick to the jaw, her body smacking into the cold concrete.

Wiping her nose again, Tara looked up at her sister, wincing at the look in Sam’s eyes.

Betrayal. Rage.

But Tara could tell there was something else there. Something was hiding behind the anger, the hurt feelings. Something put that spark back into her big sister’s eyes.

Excitement.

A smile creeping across her face, Tara knew she had Sam wrapped around her little finger again. Good. Fighting alone isn’t as fun as it is with Sam by her side.

Life brought them pain and suffering. There were many ways to deal with that pain. The sisters’ coping mechanism was violence. Bloodlust. The thirst to strike first.

She’s not stupid. She knows Sam craves the same spilling of blood that Tara does. Her sister lusted for violence and prayed to kill.

And Tara would give it to her. Anything that Sam wanted, she would provide as long as they got into more violence together.

“Hi, Sammy,” she whispered, the grin growing bigger as Sam started to smile.

Bloodshed was good for them.

[bambino1294]

it’s been an embarrassingly long time but I think I’m gonna pick up my first watch of Merlin again soon cause I got halfway through Season 2 before shit got busy irl.

but now I’m also desperately trying to remember the details of the AU plot I was telling to Emi that included, like, Arthur discovering Merlin’s magic at the end of either season 1 or season 2 (I can’t remember 💔), but Merlin doesn’t know he knows, and then he spends the whole next season agonising over whether he’d tell Uther or not/confront Merlin or not.

[muirmarie]

i am having a Not Great pain day, BUT i have next to no obligations for the rest of the day, so i am now Medicated, and oh no i made the tragique mistake of looking through my magic ref tag, and now i am just incredibly and absurdly emotional about humans, about the things that tie us together, about the ways we love, the ways we keep loving long after it's too late, the ways sometimes we almost wish we could cut our love out of very hearts if we could, except we don't think that, because if love is all we have left then we'll learn to love that love despite the pain of it, that grief is the broken, drifting string that once tied us to another, that it hurts like an exposed nerve, like it is an exposed nerve, shorn in half as it is, nerves and veins and bones shorn in half as well, that if love is a living thing binding us together then grief is the love still pumping out like blood from a cut vein, except love isn't finite like blood, and there will always be more pouring out of a broken string.

like there will always be a part of me that is untethered, and there will always be a part of me that will only exist in the context of you, a part of me that will always be reaching for what is gone. love isn't finite, but sometimes we think it is, sometimes we feel it pouring out so fast into nothingness that we think it must be. it's not nothingness though, is it, not really. do you think it would be better if it was? if we could pour it all out and give it away. if we only had to grieve once. there are more strings around your wrists then you could ever understand - there's more looped around your wrists, your forearms, your throat. there is more tying you to this world than you could ever guess. how terrible it is to love and be loved. how absolutely suffocating.

if you handed me a knife i would swallow it whole before i ever tried to cut myself free.

[invinciblerodent]

there are many things I like about writing primarily by hand (pretty stationery, the feeling of physically engaging with the words, the ease of limiting distractions to a minimum, the slower speed of actual literal writing which gives me time to think as I write and allows for more fluidity, the inherently portable and cordless nature of of the thing, being able to put post-it notes and arrows and extra note-sheets right into the text), but there is definitely one big drawback

which is, fucking ouch, my hand

[lesharl-eclair]

duality, 2

[jasethegooberton]

Some out of context interactions and just some silly scenarios I had for Back into the Pit:

[twistytwine]

Me putting on my whitesona whenever I read an x reader fanfic