#writing muse: and the hot

[helixcraft]

the fish that keeps appearing all over my recommended only that he's out of jail and happy

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

I Do

Part 2

TW: Blood, bruises, and some angst

Ya girl has some off-days from college, and she's decided to use em. Missed y'all < 3

The villain's gloved fingers drummed impatiently on the table, his dark shadow looming over the hero with a promise of danger.

"What's it going to be, Hero? I sell those codes to Supervillain? Or you comply with our little agreement?" His tone was perfectly calm, eerily so, his eyes impossible to read behind the domino mask, but he still emanated danger, his lips drawn together in a tight line.

It was cruel calling it 'their' agreement because the hero had no hand in this. The suggestion had left her more shocked than angry, still reeling from the villain's words.

"Marry me," he'd said in a commanding tone. Like any other choice would've been the wrong answer, tilting her chin upwards ever so subtly.

And the hero held his gaze, transfixed, gasping and laughing and hoping this was nothing but a fever dream.

"Wha-" the hero choked out incoherently.

The villain had let go of her face, his hands resting on the top of her chair. "I can repeat it as many times as you want me to," he stage-whispered against the shell of her ear, his tone gentle and dangerous all at once.

"But, I don't understand. What could you possibly gain from this of all things? You despise me, Villain." She truly couldn't process any of what she was told, the mere idea of being tethered so bindingly to her worst enemy leaving her mind an ineffective, nervous wreck.

The villain huffed out a rough laugh, very genuine and horribly cruel. "Oh, but I do despise you. Very much. I despise how defeated and humiliated you left me in front of half the city . Despised the fact that you got me locked up. Despised how for the very first time, I actually felt like I lost the game, and I'm a rather sore loser, you know." The villain's demeanour was eerily calm, his shoulders straight, his resting face showing nothing but a placid neutrality as he turned to stand in front of the hero, but it was arguably more terrifying, more unpredictable.

"I just want to see you as defeated as I've been, Hero. Bound so intimately to your worst enemy, your greatest nightmare. If you do this, it means admitting to me, and more importantly, to yourself, that the only option you have is bending to my whims," he crooned, his lips curling into a wicked smirk.

The hero wanted to scream, to kick the villain in the teeth and watch the blood trickle down his lips and the bruising dye his skin a grotesque purple. She wanted to think of a clever solution that left the man's face contorted with a strange mix of hatred and respect, to blow his plan up in his face. Anything that would spare her this hell.

"Did I mention you have exactly five minutes to decide?" he piped up casually, examining his nails.

The hero swore and the villain let out a half-snicker. This was madness. A death sentence that would last for the rest of her life. And it didn't matter if she said no, if she undid whatever she could of the havoc those codes would wreak in Supervillain's hands. The conviction so heavily saturated in the villain's tone, the way his jaw clenched and his fists tightened was more than enough proof that he would spread more chaos, spark more fights, destroy an endless array of things and lives until she gave in to him.

The villain loved control like he loved the air he breathed, even more so, like a drug that left him intoxicated and lusting for more.

If she didn't listen, she was sending everyone she cared about, sending the city, the whole world if the villain had it his way, to hell.

The hero sucked in a measured breath, reading the contract word for word, from the title to the fine print, scouring it for a loophole she could use, for any more tricks up the villain's sleeve, just to find nothing. She tried to relax her tensed shoulders, her grip merciless on the pen in her erratically shaking hands, every curve and line of the letters of her name feeling like a blade was slicing through her heartstrings like how one would rip a stalk; slowly, unevenly, time seeming to slow down and the world seeming to freeze for a moment that felt like a thousand years and then some.

The villain didn't smile or laugh or let any display of emotion etch itself onto the harsh lines of his features. He nodded curtly instead, snatching the paper and folding it into a square and tucking it in a well-concealed pocket of his suit. "The cruelty only ends here," he attested, his voice tight and no longer playful, the way it was whenever he promised something.

The hero nodded, swallowing the humiliation at the back of her throat, even though she wasn't inclined to believe him.

"There's a ceremony. Nothing very insane, just you, me and an officiator. This is just a contract, not a marriage certificate, even if we both know which one of those is more binding. You'll show up today, if you know what's good for you, heroine."

The hero wasn't sure when she was up on her feet and slapping the villain harshly across the face, blood spurting from his mouth and staining his perfectly straight teeth, as he only grit them into a manic grin, shaking with a hoarse cackle as he wiped the blood of his face "Is that how you treat your husband, my dear? Do they forget to teach you manners at the hero agency?"

The hero was too dazed with rage to speak, trying to mar the villain's visage with another rough blow to it, until he caught her hand with an iron fist. "I said I'd never hurt you for nothing, but not that I'd let you do to me what you please without consequence. So play nice, darling." The villain let go of her arm slowly, the bruises he left in his wake more than enough of a warning.

The second he left, the hero didn't cry as she thought she would, she didn't scream, she didn't destroy everything around her or rip through her hair. Instead, she slid down against the wall, expressionless but breathing hard, her lungs hungry for air that seemed so unfairly little, her heart playing songs of anxiety and fury and sorrow every horrible emotion she'd ever known.

She was marrying the villain. Marrying the villain, and she couldn't do a thing about it. Marrying him and no one would come to save her.

Sometimes being a hero means saving the whole world except yourself.

✨️Timeskip✨️

Sure enough, the villain was there in a tailored suit, in front of his house her new prison, where he'd told her to show up, the officiator standing with a solemn expression on his face.

The villain wasn't supposed to be handsome, the dark brown hair she was normally used to seeing messy and caked with blood slightly damp with gel and mostly hanging in loose, luscious waves, his eyes a dazzling green-blue, long, dark lashes framing them in a way that put the best kinds of kohl to shame and his cheekbones sharp and high-set, the split on his lip hardly distracting from the rest of his appearance. It was so unbelievably stupid, so inconsequential, and yet the hero hated him even more for his tantalisingly beautiful features, for the way his grin would've fooled her into thinking he truly was in love, if she didn't notice how it didn't reach up to his eyes.

The hero hadn't paid any mind to whatever the officiator had said until it was her turn to say 'I do', flashing the villain a terribly fake smile that wasn't half as charming as his, but it would have to do as she slid a simple platinum ring on his finger, and he slid a diamond ring onto hers.

"Let's go," the villain said when they were finally done, gently taking the hero's gloved hand in his and leading her up the stairs and into the mansion.

The heroine was not one to admit defeat and snap in half in the fashion that a twig would. Many a battle would need to be lost for a victory in the war, many a sacrifice would have to be made for a greater reward. She would take the pain like stone would take a blunt pickaxe, just to twist a knife in the villain's chest when he least expected. Because history forgets everyone but those who laugh the last.

Tagging for this: @hufflepuffwritingstuff2

Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @adamswrongchild @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @genuinelythioehat-is-whump @ghostofnorth @dragonmine-24 @detectivepetrichor @orangeduckweed @red-is-the-reputation4444 @alexii117

[anzus-domain]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆  +  ENCORE ! a multi-muse doc tailored for in-depth             rp sample exploration.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ oh wow, it has been a moment since i posted on here. i apologize for being MIA but if i'm being honest i was just in a mental creator block & was kind of drained mentally from college, but i swear that i'm back now! i bring you guys my first-ever sample doc and i hope you enjoy it. ✦  𝖡𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖪𝗗𝗢𝗪𝗡 ・ this doc does not utilize the custom sizing plug-in as it was removed unfortunately; however, it does have images as backgrounds, so please be careful when editing it. ・ a few comments that highlight the word counts for the sample spaces.

・ as always, the colors for the pngs have been edited in pics art, but everything can be made to look the way you want it to. ✦  𝗣𝗟𝗨𝗚𝗜𝗡

thank you guys for sticking with me, i hope this year is great for all of you! except for the weirdos who remove my credit from my docs, you should die! anywho, please leave my credit. if you need help with this doc or any others, do not be afraid to dm me on discord. my handle is melchotic. ( the link to the doc is in the underlined sample doc word above! ) ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[nova--spark]

To no one's surprise

We are adding another to the OpLita Bunch in Reborn Spark

[ gif by @blitzy-blitzwing ]

Because I have the stupid need to expand these families too much and also Because it's funny

[pennyserenade]

god bless

[zombified-hoglin]

Got a silly idea of a soulmate au with Xisuma who's trying his best and somewhat failing at not being jealous of Joel being Etho's soulmate in secret life

Joel's great, he's a very neat guy for sure, truly a wonderful servermate, but... Xisuma can't deny that he's not fond of soulmates in general

It's a fairly rare phenomenon, it's not just the red strings of fate that connect soulmates, there's a few different types, names or timers on wrists, words that appear on your skin, matching tattoos, songs stuck in heads

He doesn't know which is worse, having someone that knows everything about you or knowing that the universe didn't deem you worthy of having someone like that

Xisuma had a soulmate mark at one point in time but it's long gone now, a scar covering where the name used to be, it was thought that if the universe wanted people together so badly that it'd even be able to happen when one of them was missing their mark

He hasn't thought about soulmates in years until after double life and Etho had brought it up, not noticing how Etho looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, like he was expecting something

Etho didn't bring up the topic of soulmates again for a while, not until they were on the roof of Xisuma's base, watching a meteor shower

It was nice having the warmth of Etho beside him, the air around them a little colder than he usually likes it

Xisuma gets startled by Etho tracing over the scar where his soulmark used to be, the sensation sending shivers down his spine, he hears a soft "oh..." as Etho's eyes narrowed

He tries to laugh it off, redirect the conversation before he stops in his tracks as Etho tugs down his glove, showing a name resting on his wrist, Xisuma's name

Oh

[unsoliciteddakpics]

All Roads Lead to You

I set out to write of the wind,

soft as it hums through autumn trees,

but the way it touches the leaves—

it feels like your fingertips on me.

I thought to craft lines about the stars,

hanging still in their endless blue,

but each flicker burns with less light

than the fire I find in you.

I could shape words around the ocean,

its depth, its pull, its song,

yet the tides echo faintly

compared to how you draw me along.

I might try to speak of the morning,

the glow that breaks the sky anew—

but no dawn, no rise, no warmth

could compare to waking beside you.

So I stray for moments,

write of places, things, and time—

but somehow, every path I take

leads me back to your light, your rhyme.

I am a poet of many muses,

but my pen knows one truth:

I can write of all the world,

but it will always circle back to you.

[livesincerely]

“I thought I saw you sneak up here,” Jack murmurs.

“...I just needed some air,” Davey says in a thin, quiet voice, staring determinedly out into the darkness.

“Got room for one more?” Jack asks, stepping closer.

Davey gives a tiny shrug, wrapping his arms around himself. Taking this as permission, Jack clambers up onto the ledge and sits down beside him, not quite close enough to touch, letting his legs dangle over the edge.

The silence stretches on and on, as vast as the expanse of sky overhead. Hesitant, Jack allows it to linger for a long, breathless moment, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s trying to gather his thoughts or his nerve.

But finally he says, “Ain’t seen much’a you tonight. Ain’t seen much’a you in ages, really.”

He pauses there, trying to judge Davey’s reaction to his gentle prodding. But Davey doesn’t move, doesn’t even turn to face him, as still and stone-faced as a statue.

The pit in Jack’s stomach grows even wider.

Aloud he continues, “And I’m not tryin’ ta point fingers, Dave, but I’m startin’ to worry that somethin’s gone wrong between us. Horribly wrong. Maybe—“ He sucks in a breath. “Maybe so wrong that it can’t be fixed.”

He wants Davey to reassure him, to explain away the unease that colors their every interaction, why each conversation seems to end with a thousand words left unspoken. To say that it’s all going to be okay.

But he doesn’t say anything. Not a single, godforsaken word, and somehow, out of everything, that’s what cuts the deepest.

[yingren]

good morning, rise and grind, bing bang boom, no thoughts today except how peculiar ren can be with physical touch, especially hand-holding. he’s uncomfortable / self-conscious (?) about the way his hands sometimes tremble or the occasional unsteady shake that he’d rather not draw attention to. instead, he opts for other forms of affection like resting a hand flat against his partner’s back or brushing his fingers through their hair. deliberate gestures that keep his hands out of direct sight. even though i’ve hcd before that he’s comfortable with his sexuality and open to casual no strings attached relationships, where things like this don’t really matter, the intimacy of something as simple as holding hands is apparently a big deal for him. even when walking together side by side, he’ll choose to link arms rather than intertwine fingers.

[gu6chan]

work related question does anyone have any fun anime for likely 12-14 year olds that to their ulta-conservative conspiracy theory parents would have no objectionable content whatsoever that's not like . pokemon. i live in the most conservative area in michigan btw /hj

[ddddancer]

[wolfpackmuses]

The Wrath of Satan. A "short" drabble by Zombie.

Heavily inspired by No Longer You from EPIC The Musical

Heavy breathing was all that came from the man. Clutching himself, kneeling on the ground, knowing that someone was watching over him. There was darkness... it was cold, a place that had nothing around. But a place that reeked of death and destruction. Had... he caused this? Had the man caused all of this?

He looked up from the ground at the being above him, shaking, but getting to his feet clutching his side still to try and slow the bleeding that may have been occurring. Neither said a word, both staring at each other, the large being's orange eyes glowing in the darkness. Soon... a step forward. Then another. And another. The being stepped into what little light there was... a white dragon, beautiful in every way, but with piercing orange eyes that glared at the man. In judgment.

❝I am the prophet with the answers you seek... child, speak, and I shall answer what you would like to know,❞ a booming voice said shaking the ground and the man to their core. The man brushed a bit of brown hair out of his face, light blue eyes staring into the orange ones that glared back at him. Something about the dragon was... relieving. Comforting.

But at the same time? The man knew there was more than met the eye here. The man knew he was on the brink of death. Where he was after the battle, he wasn't sure. But all he could think about, all he could remember was the faces of his comrades that stood by him in uniform. Clashing with swords for a cause... whether or not it was noble, was yet to be seen. And he couldn't tell whether or not what he had done was worth it at the end of the day. All he knew... was that he was leaving the world behind.

And, in turn... his wife. His brother.

❝Where am I?❞ the man asked quietly.

The dragon said nothing but swooped its tail across the ground, having it curl behind the man, bringing him closer, the head of said dragon not changing in expression. It said nothing because the dragon knew that the man knew.

❝I've seen your past life, I've seen the one you romanced... I've seen the sacrifices you've made, the betrayals that have fallen upon you...❞ the dragon commented, ❝I know of your brother, what he has done...❞

The man became visibly angry at the words of the dragon, his hands moving into fists as anger began to build inside of him. While he knew there was more to this than what the dragon had said so far, he was far too impatient to find out what it was. He wanted answers and now.

❝What does this have to do with my question?!❞ he roared, to which the dragon stopped briefly. The eyes narrowed, the tail wrapped tightly around the man and began to lift him into the air so the two could be eye to eye. The dragon could see the fury building inside of the man, the man he had known would come this way sooner or later...

❝Is this how you wish to live your life, Satan? To live out your final moments in anger? In rage of something you can not control?❞ the dragon asked coldly and used their tail to begin to squeeze harder, Satan beginning to choke, struggling to get free, ❝I've seen your home covered in red, faces of men who think you're dead.. I see your wife with a man who haunts with a past she does not recognize...❞

Satan gasped out, staring up at the dragon as his rage reached a boiling point.

❝WHO?! WHO IS IT?!❞ he roared once more.

The dragon stopped briefly... and began to smile. A deep, sickening smile...

❝Tell me Satan... would you be willing to sacrifice yourself for the safety of your family, your wife?❞ the dragon asked to which Satan nodded up and down.

❝I would do anything for them,❞ he whispered.

❝Shall you live out your life full of rage... of anger?❞ the dragon asked to which Satan began to turn pale white in the face, struggling still to get free.

❝What do you mean? No! Of course not! I would never!❞ he spat back to which the dragon began to chuckle.

❝Oh, Satan you poor soul... if only you knew your fate was sealed the moment you found yourself here. You should have considered the number of innocent lives you took in your rage, the number of people you broke because of a simple misunderstanding, the times you simply could not control your anger, leading to those around you being hurt,❞ the dragon snarled softly, ❝You don't deserve salvation, you never did... Your wrath overtook your personality... and you never were able to recover.❞

In that moment, a transformation began to take place. The man that had once been in the grasp of the white dragon was dropped suddenly, Satan smashing into the floor. His body began to change, contouring into something that wasn't him. Red began to take over his body, and soon a tail was added, bits of yellow and orange, before finally reaching his head. And with those final moments... the transformation was complete. In the place of an injured man from battle now kneeled a red dragon. The newest of Sins to join the rings of Hell. And the four yellow eyes of fury stared right back at the dragon that had caused such a transformation.

❝You will have plenty of time to reflect on your actions in life with your new position in Hell. Give Lucifer my best regards,❞ the dragon commented coldly as a portal soon opened and Satan began to be dragged down into Wrath.

❝You son of a bitch, I'll make you pay for this you motherfucker!! I'll end you! I WILL END YOU!!!❞ were Satan's last words before he was dragged completely into the Wrath ring. Taking his place as the newest Sin within Hell's ranks, all the while the white dragon stayed put, contemplating...

Who would be next to join the ranks of Hell?

[wildernessuntothemselves]

most of my fics are obviously for gyu so it makes me wonder what my readers prefer to see from me

[sunwarmed-ash]

Sorry ive been so MIA

I miss yall, so damn much

[historias-multorum]

"I see it's hot girl Sunday huh~"

X

[valise-hy]

Cherry Juice

There's a ceramic bowl of pitted half-cherries bleeding all over the spare parchments I keep next to the blueprint of the house I said I'd build for myself. I don't have the money to do anything, nor do I have the grit. I only have a bowl of pathetic pitted cherries. One of them has lost its other half. How tragic.

How does a writer famished of words resist snapping a pen in half? How does a painter who sees nothing in the world pick up a paintbrush and keep going? Can the easel hold the weight of nothingness? Somewhere in this world is a scientist who has just run out of funding for research, yet they strive to do great things for a world who does no great things for them. Why? Why do I think such meaningless thoughts?

I shed a tear, but I'm not crying. I'm bleeding from my eye. I run a finger down my face, tracing the crimson waterfall until it reaches my chin and drops down onto the paper, blooming on its pearlescent surface. I taste the blood out of curiosity—something which has killed me many times. It's sweet, yet tastes empty. It must be cherry juice.

I pit my cherries beforehand because I hate having to spit the seeds. The world must feel the same. To a stranger, I must be a sour, hollow cherry fallen from a tree, bruised from the impact. What does it cost to taste sweet flesh that can be offered so easily by others? What does it cost to be the same? The cherries sitting on my table hate the future because they'll never grow—they've tried. I'm no passion fruit, but I don't ask for passion. I ask for purpose. A seed can grow into a majestic tree, but what can dead fruit do? Wither.

What have you done to me?