#writing prompt answer

[antonymeanonyme]

hi hi hi does anyone remember that beautiful short story/prose poem post on here, about how God's body fell, and it's short (everybody imagined it taller, grander) - i thiiink it might've been in response to a writing prompt?

it was really beautiful, so if anyone has it i'd love it if you could send it to me <3

[asterhaze]

@winterandwords and @doublegoblin your banter was already perfect.

Prompt:

"It sounded like her and it looked like her, but there was something different about her eyes and what was she doing at my window at 3am?"

"What, can't a woman just hover outside of your window at 3am?" He said, his voice was sharp and to the point. In his defense, I'd kept him up all night with my incessant finger jabs and pointing throughout the night. He couldn't sleep a single wink. In my defense, Carol, or something that looked like Carol, was fucking hovering outside my window at 3am.

"Only if her eyes look normal, Johnathan. Them's the rules."

Johnathan looked at me, narrowing his amber eyes as he sucked down a gulp of his morning coffee.

"Did you check?"

"What?"

"The eyes." Johnathan lowered his coffee mug and gestured vaguely as he continued. "Did you check her eyes?"

I didn't need to check her eyes. There was no point since she was supposed to be dead under my garden, but Johnathan had no idea why the tomatoes were coming in so beautifully this year.

"I'll check tonight." I was sassed, praying silently that I wouldn't need to.

"Maybe you should." Johnathan said flatly, standing, and wandering out of the kitchen. Probably heading back to the bedroom. I told myself I loved him, that I didn't need two patches of wonderful tomatoes next year, and looked at the sliding doors of the kitchen that looked out over the aforementioned garden. Carol was still there, faint in the morning sun, but she was still staring. Through the faint film of her body, I could see my tomato patch.

And damn did they look good.

[wanderbythewayside]

Glow-worm

“Do you think it’ll work?” I ask.

“No,” you tell me.

I want to hate you for it, you’ve always been a pessimist. But still you follow me down to the long grasses by the beach. Still you hold my hand when I reach for yours. Still you watch with me as the glow-flies discover the opening in their jars.

“They saw if you release a thousand of them all at once your wish will come true.”

I think of hot summer days spent looking for glow-worms. Days spent finding snails to feed them, the quiet crunch of shells and misting a dozen twinkling lights. It frustrates me how meticulously I must attend to my hope.

“A thousand glow-flies aren’t going to grant you a wish.”

 I think of counting them, meticulously, constantly, doing the math in my head. 1000 is divisible by 100, 100 is divisible by 10. One hundred sets of 10 is doable, surely.

Two-hundred-and-fourteen glow-flies disappear from sight.

I’ll try again next year, with your hand still in mine.

for @nosebleedclub march prompts glow-worms

[agoist]

Reading. How are you going to pronounce those spells if you can’t even spell mayonnaise???

You teach at a magic school, but you do not teach any magic. In fact, you are not even a mage. Yet your classes are among the few that every student has to take, no matter what kind of magic they are studying.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Resources PDFs

As requested: https://www.writersarchive.com/

The documents contain sensitive themes and topics (e.g., related to death).

Some notes are from my old files, which may include outdated information. Others were made in response to a request. I also included a few references that are still in my queue & drafts.

Choose which tips & notes are most appropriate for your own writing. Some are just quick references. Thus, more research may be needed for your written work.

Updates may be made in irregular intervals for added material and/or corrections.

All PDFs are free. You can pay what you want/can here. There's a very small fee to keep the site up. But please don't feel obligated to, especially if you're in a rough patch at the moment—been there (+ it is the holiday season after all, which I know can be a tough time). Writing has always been a safe space for me, so if these references help you as well, that would be more than enough for me.

Thank you to everyone who had been so encouraging about this little project.

And thank you especially to @beforeyearning for creating the site ily (please follow his blog, he's a very talented writer).

[luxaofhesperides]

Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly. 

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color. 

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless. 

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating. 

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate. 

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever. 

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy. 

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents. 

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it. 

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence. 

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door. 

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out. 

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once. 

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words. 

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left. 

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze. 

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.  

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo. 

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.” 

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles. 

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen. 

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders. 

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that. 

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet. 

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day. 

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security. 

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction. 

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage. 

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office. 

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time. 

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives. 

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed. 

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises. 

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye. 

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest. 

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die. 

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it. 

He won’t let anyone take it from him. 

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary. 

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat. 

Bruce reaches a hand out. 

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him. 

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away. 

The orb in his hand moves. 

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark. 

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it. 

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap. 

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid. 

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot. 

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face. 

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke. 

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises. 

If anyone can, it’s Batman. 

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends. 

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC Adoption fic

Okay so what started as a crack idea actually makes more sense than it should

Danny gets adopted by the Brain and Monsieur Mallah

Now you may ask yourself: why would Danny get adopted by the brain of a French mad scientist and an intelligent French gorilla, both of who are founding members of the brotherhood of evil?

Well thank you for asking because

A) it’d be really funny

B) the Brain and Mallah are canonically a gay couple, have been a couple in the comics since 1990, as weird as it is they’re kind of cute together. Check this out

Like it’s oddly cute and I want to see more of them living in domestic bliss

C) Danny is already used to living with mad scientists for parents, this honestly wouldn’t be that big of an adjustment

D) I think they’re mostly retired and living out their days together currently?

E) Mallah could beat Vlad at chess and that would piss Vlad off

F) Danny has an affinity for gorillas and frankly it would be hilarious if every ape that sees Danny tries to adopt him

Mallah, holding Danny up by his armpits: But Brain, Mon amor, just look at him

Danny: *Hisses*

They also appear on my adventures with Superman if you just want some media that shows their relationship

Idk I think in a reveal gone bad they could really work, retired mad scientists are better than mad scientists trying to dissect him

PLUS THEY CAN HAVE A MAD SCIENCE OFF

Fentons come at them with weird sci fi gadgets, they have different gadgets ready

Some good ol’ mad scientist on mad scientist violence

LET THE GORILLA AND BRAIN GET GAY MARRIED AND ADOPT A GHOST

[asterhaze]

A/N: So I strayed from the prompt just a little because this idea popped in my head and I wanted to share. There is a town, there is a time stream, but that's about all I kept from the prompt.

Genre: Light horror - Post Apocalyptic - Long? Post

"Do not go into the dying woods. There is nothing for you there."

We should have listened. We should have turned our eyes away from the blackened trees and their barren branches. Our town was here, our town was safe, our town was not dying. The fires, the starvation, the spores, the death, it had all passed us over as if we didn't exist. If we left, the town worried, maybe whatever had cast this great shadow would notice that it had left us behind, unmarked, untarnished, living.

Then, when we climbed the tallest hill, we saw the green. A green that had never been there before. It covered the trees in a blanket of ruffling things that swayed and shifted in the wind. The trees and their green were far back, hard to see in the fog, but it was there and we could reach it. We could see the green up close, maybe see how it worked, bring it home. The three of us imagined climbing the trees, grabbing the green, and laying it across the ground. Then we would pretend it was grass. Green grass instead of brown and yellow.

That's what I wanted. Imagine and nothing else. Amanda, however, wanted to do something. Amanda wanted to make things happen and with her silver tongue, she convinced us to sneak into the woods and grab the green. We went right as the red of dawn started bleeding over the horizon, shuffling through grey dust and jumping at crackling twigs that snapped when we stepped on them. We walked and walked, until the sun was high in the sky and its golden light turned the fog into a shimmering and sparkling haze.

As we continued, the air became clearer and clearer and the golden haze dissipated. The more we walked, the less brittle the trees became and the stranger they grew. Before they were thin, spindly things that seemed nearly hollow, and black as black came. If you kicked them, a huge puff of black powder would roll off of them in a wave. These new trees were thick and sturdy.

Strangely, the farther we walked, the trees seemed to be turning brown and crackled. Amanda had a wonderful time picking the crackles off of the trees, flicking them away, and then touching the soft wood underneath. We didn't know why a tree would need a protective crackle on the outside. The black ones were smooth, soft and powdery, and impossible to damage. Amanda offered the explanation that these were new trees, that they had grown after the dying, and my sister laughed at her. Nothing grew outside of our town.

Then we found the green. Strange flat things all over the branches of the trees, sticking out of the wood, millions or billions of them in a thick coat. They were soft too, like grass but less itchy, and thin as paper. Heck, as far as I was concerned, they were tree paper and other than being green, I didn't see the point in them existing at all. Amanda and my sister were enamored with them, however, so when I was done looking and touching, I began to wander. I noticed that the brown of the trees and the green had become more and more vibrant in one particular direction, fading as I went a different way.

The longer I followed the vibrant colors, the stranger everything became. The trees were shifting and swirling as they reached for the sky, the green rapidly changing into all sorts of different fiery colors, before the trees would go barren and crumble on the spot. Only to begin growing and rising again before I could even think of shedding a tear.

I was careful not to step where I thought the trees would sprout from seemingly nothing, the last thing I needed was to be shot into the air or turned into green myself. My sister and Amanda followed me, dumbstruck by the magic show we had found, but following me closely. There was something strange about this part of the dying woods, something old or ancient that clung in the air and made it hard to breathe.

We all saw the town but none of us believed our eyes. The town was crumbling, empty, and all around it was a tiny stream of clear and shimmering water. The closer we got to the town the more afraid I became. I'd grown clammy, my lips trembling, and water threatening to spill from my eyes. We had never seen water outside of the wells of our own town, so I suppose they thought this was a real treat. I thought nothing good can come from something free and despite wanting to keep my distance, my sister drug me along by the elbow.

Amanda immediately began trying to educate us on some nonsense that I didn't care about. I was distracted by the water. It was deep enough that one could swim in it yet so clear you could see straight to the bottom. My sister threw one of the green she'd hidden in her pockets into the creek and my sister and I gasped as it disappeared the second it touched the surface of the water. I had a sinking feeling that we'd seen something forbidden but the feeling soured as Amanda started yelling at my sister to stop wasting the green.

"We need to bring it back to town and show everyone!" Amanda said, slapping the back of one of her hands against an open palm. My sister wasn't listening and quickly flicked another green into the creek and giggled as it vanished.

I was distracted. Why was I so distracted by the water? My sister was an arm's length away, I could have easily grabbed her, but I didn't see her fall until it was too late. Amanda had slapped one of her hands across my sister's shoulder, causing her to lose her balance and topple right on the water.

In books I had read that when one drowns or falls into big water, there is a lot of splashing. The water rolls off of where people land in it in big waves that look like rings. In books, people can see outside of the surface of the water to the outside. I always imagined I would be able to see someone in a big water, see the splashing, and help them before they drowned. But my sister was gone, as if she never existed, and the water was just as still and calm and clear as it had been when we'd just arrived.

I don't remember much after that. I remember running. I remember climbing the fence to my town covered in grey dust. I remember falling to my knees, screaming and sobbing, calling my sister's name and cursing both Amanda and the green. I was alone, with no friends and no sister, and was severely punished for endangering the town.

My mother mourned the day my sister was lost, marked on a calendar. We would all fast that day, pray, and remember everything we could about her. Years went by. As I grew, I thought of the swirling trees that rapidly died and were born again. I don't know why I started believing that some day, I would see my little sister again. Maybe it was a feeling, maybe it was hope beyond hope, or maybe I was just stupid. A part of me hoped that I would not see my sister again because that would mean that Amanda might also return.

One day, my little sister did return soaking wet in most places and covered in grey dust on others. She looked exactly as I remembered, as if she hadn't aged a day. She ran straight to me, straight into my arms, crying and shaking. She told me the town looked so much bigger, that the grass was less yellow, and that I was so much older. The night she returned she screamed, cried, and shook in her sleep, terrified that Amanda would drag her back to the creek and send her to a place where I was no longer alive.

I am waiting for you, Amanda. I am waiting for you to return. I was married, had children, grew old, my parents died, all of this without my sister by my side. This is your fault Amanda. You took my favorite person away from me. If my sister had been here, my life would have been perfect.

I am waiting for you, Amanda. Don't be fooled when you see me. I am old, my skin wrinkled into deep crevices and dappled by purple and brown circles. My hands are bones with paper-thin skin clinging to the joints and I am weak all over. I am weak but my sister is strong and angry. We have prepared a special place for you and when you pay back the life my sister and I could have had together, maybe my sister will let you go.

We are waiting for you, Amanda.

What is taking you so long?

Text: The clear shimmering water isn’t water at all, flowing through town deadly and deceiving. It’s a time stream, and even dipping a toe in can make ten years pass in the blink of an eye.

[kenjakusbraincum]

Heey, I LOVE your writings on soft sukuna, you write so beautifully🩷 please can you do one where he is jealous (fluff)😭🩷

Thank you sm for the kind words!!! Here's my best attempt at doing your idea justice <3

Sukuna has no real reason to be jealous. He practically owns you, controls every aspect of your life, who or what could he possibly be jealous of? Every servant who dared approach you in an inappropriate way would be dealt with swiftly. And you're a good pet, who has eyes for no one other than your master. You really don't give him a reason.

But there's this one thing... Since you've been so good and obedient, Sukuna has allowed you many liberties. You're permitted to skip around the mansion, watch Uraume cook, even enjoy little hobbies. You've tried many before you found that crocheting particularly piqued your interest. Ever since you've learned the basics, you've been spending hours working on perfecting your skills. At first it was cute, watching you squint in concentration as you move the hook. But then the math became really simple - having this hobby to keep you busy meant you approached Sukuna out of boredom a lot less. And he noticed it. It irked him, but you're not technically doing anything wrong. You were still as happy to serve him as ever, he just had to ask. But why would he have to ask? You should be all over him on your own. He should have to push you away, not beg you to give him attention. He didn't like this disturbance in your master and pet balance that this little hobby of yours caused.

He stands at the door now. You're crocheting again. You and your favorite servant laugh at your failed creation so sweetly, you don't even notice he's waiting. He clicks his tongue to establish his presence, and your servant falls to her knees immediately. You however, are not held to that high of a standard anymore.

"Master!", you call him, and hop up to greet him with a deep bow. Before he can say anything, you've picked up the piece of fabric you've been working on and ran into his arms to show him.

He looks at the ugly form and scoffs. "This is what I'm sponsoring?", he says and pulls a loose piece of yarn, making your little creation fall apart. He always was a bully, but you note his bad mood.

"I'm only a beginner...", you sulk.

"That much is obvious.", he flicks the yarn away and it falls onto the floor. Before you can bend to pick it up, he seizes your wrist and pulls you back. "Aren't you a little young to waste time with hobbies for the elderly?", he asks. You look at him with your cutest, practiced doe eyes, but it doesn't work.

"Come, pet. I know an activity more suitable for your age.", he says when you don't respond, and steps out of the room. You hop after him, unaffected by his condescending comments. You know that they're just for show. If he really thought you were a hag, you would've been gone a long time ago.

"Sitting at your throne all day?", you tease innocently and join him at his side, sliding your arm underneath one of his. You hope your playfulness will distract him from whatever is bothering him. "Or in a bath?" His lower set of eyes peeks at you and smirks, noticing that you're feeling particularly daring today. He's not sure how he feels about that. "Or in your bed." He rolls his eyes gently and opens the door to his chambers.

"At least then you'd be serving your purpose and actually spending time with your master.", he comments and shuts the door. His comment catches you a bit off guard and you stop in front of his bed. He makes his way towards you, and you look up at him with an insulted expression.

"Master, are you jealous of a ball of yarn?", you ask playfully, and squeal when he suddenly pushes you down to sit on the bed. Now you're at eye level... with his crotch.

"You've got quite a big mouth today. Put it to good use for a change, will you?", he runs his hand from the crown of your head to the back of your neck. You seem to have struck a nerve, so it really is the ball of yarn. Is it possible that Sukuna is this clingy?

"Will you?", he repeats and tugs on your hair and narrows his eyes. You smile obediently and reach behind him to untie his obi.

"Yes Master."

-

You try your best to manage the time you spend crocheting from then on, working on productivity in the hours that you dedicate to developing this skill. And it helps that you have a specific goal in mind now: helping Sukuna realize that this hobby is a friend, not an enemy. He still catches you engaging in it sometimes, and gives you a dirty look, but you're as quick as ever to drop what you're doing and join him. That seems to satisfy him.

When you're finally happy with the result of your creation, you look for Sukuna around the mansion. It's not really that hard to find him, as he frequents three places most of all: the dining room, his bedroom and his throne room. This time, he's sitting on his throne, and a small line of people wait for their turn to be gifted his attention. You on the other hand, don't have to wait in line to get it. His lower set of eyes spots you the moment you enter the chamber. You're allowed to roam the mansion, but barging in unannounced is not standard even for you.

Still, Sukuna has learned that you usually only feel daring enough to cross boundaries when you're sure he'll like what you have in mind. So for now, he will let this slide. He's bored as hell anyways. The people are dismissed and you pass by them on your way to his throne, nestled on a pile of bones. You stop in front of it and greet him with a bow.

"Master, I come to you with a humble offering.", you say with your hands on your thighs and your eyes fixated on the ground.

"Show me.", he says simply, but you recognize entertainment in his voice. You climb up the bones and feel his stare scan you from head to toe, before you sit on his knee.

"May I ask you to close your eyes?", you ask and flutter your lashes. Oh the way you seduce him. Who else could ask Sukuna to do something as dangerous as close his eyes? Give his opponent valuable time to land an attack. Who else could dare? And who else would he ever listen to and really close his eyes? Really do as he's told? Oh how safe he feels with you.

You take one of his large hands into yours, and gently pry his long fingers away to open his palm. He has beautiful hands. The only ones you've ever known, but you're sure they're the most beautiful hands in the world. So dangerous, so elegant. You want to press a kiss to his palm, but you hope your gift will have the same, maybe even more profound effect.

Something soft touches his skin, and then you speak, as politely as before. "You may look.", in your softest voice. And when he opens his eyes, he finds himself looking at you first. You're an offering on your own.

Then he looks at his hand. Two crocheted plush figures resembling him and yourself lay flat on his palm, connected through their holding hands. At first glance, it looks like they're two separate creations. In a sense, they are, but... He tries to part them.

"We're sewn together.", you explain. He hums in amusement and inspects your gift more closely. His plush is bigger, recognizable by the pink hair and four buttons for eyes. It's even wearing his favorite kimono. Yours is smaller and less detailed. You look like any other human when placed next to him, insignificant. But in a sea of pets, entertainers and lovers he's had in the past, he would never fail to recognize it as you.

He's spent so long looking at it with that face of his that you just can't read. You're starting to grow restless in his lap, and he feels your eyes dwell into his soul. When he looks back at you with one pair of eyes, your brows are furrowed in worry and you're fiddling your hands in your lap. He pats you on the head and pulls you closer, so you have no choice but to lean on his frame.

"It's beautiful, darling.", his fingers run through your hair, scraping your scalp softly. "No loose threads either.", he looks at you with all four eyes now, and you feel so small in his arms. You're not used to receiving this many compliments from Sukuna at once. Not ones that weren't directed at your body or performance. Especially not when he's looking at you so tenderly, when every word sounds so loving and genuine. "You've improved so much.", his hand is on your face now, and you catch him glancing at your lips. You part them to start thanking him, but you already know how much he hates listening to that.

You stay quiet instead, and lean closer, letting him take you. And he kisses you so softly, fingertips light against your heated skin. You feel like you're floating, like a lily pad in a warm pond. The littlest gesture of his affection has you melting in his embrace. The power he has over you... and how wonderful it is to surrender yourself to it.

None of the liberties and privileges you've been awarded with compare to this. You know that many pets have walked these halls before you. Many warmed his bed and claimed the title of his favorite. But how many loved him like this? Enough to dedicate time of their day to making intricate gifts. How many could say Sukuna kissed them lovingly, for no other reason than to show gratitude and affection?

You're flushed completely red by the time his lips leave yours. You can't hold the intensity of his gaze, as he stares at you in adoration. "I'm happ.. I'm glad you l-like it...", you stumble through the words and win a giggle out of him. You are just so cute. Like a pet should be. He rubs your head again and pushes you away lightly.

"Go now, the people await me.", he says with a benevolent smile gracing his face. "I'll see you tonight."

You bow to him and leave.

And when you visit him that night, he is as gentle as he was when he kissed you earlier, still in a good mood after your gift. Caressing your hair, shoulders and back, as you lay comfortably with your head on his chest. Keeping you warm in his embrace. You're trying your best to follow the conversation, but sleep is slowly taking over you. Sukuna notices and plants a kiss to your forehead, wishing you goodnight. The last thing you see before your eyes close, is your handcrafted plushies sitting on his nightstand.

[mischievous-thunder]

Kitty just wants his milk

[whump-in-the-closet]

what are ur fav tropes for stoic whumpees? love da blog

stoic whumpee tropes that are a 100/10:

"I'm fine" and then immediately collapsing in front of their loved ones in a bleeding pile, revealing a hidden injury that has festered for far too long

silent, muffled crying with shaking shoulders and a bloody hand clamped over their mouth because they view crying as weak and beneath them and they're stronger than this, they're stronger, they can take it--

the moment they close their eyes in defeat and it's all over and they fucking know it, and when they open their eyes again all that remains is a glassy-dead stare

adamantly refusing medical treatment even when they need it. Shoving away everyone who comes close to them, a choked sound in their throat, fighting back with everything that's left in them.

when they kneel at Whumper's feet, eyes on the ground, white-lipped and tense. The only betrayal of emotion is their clenched fists and tight breathing. In every other way, they're compliant.

refusing to talk about what they endured at Whumper's hands after they're rescued, but the scars tell the story for them. They don't have to say a word, but their team's pitying gaze follows them wherever they go

normally unaffectionate and distant but exhausted and defeated they rest their head on Caretaker's shoulder or Whumper's lap, just finally admitting--nonverbally-- that they can't take it

reversely, more willing to be tortured than to ask for help-- If I'm breathing, I'm fine

stitching their own wounds back up with an unsteady hand, painful stitch after painful stitch. Deep breath and pull. Working in a dimly lit apartment with bleeding clothes on the floor around them and the bed unmade

sacrificing themself for their team. "Take me! Do what you want to me. Not them." And their team watching as the torture takes its slow toll and Whumpee-- the one they look up-- falls apart.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Hi! I was wondering if you happen to have any advice for writing smut that *doesn’t* sound like a teenager posting to Wattpad? 😅

before we start, I’d like to say that these are all just what I personally do with my writing / how I personally write. these are not “rules” and if you disagree with them, that is totally fine!

also, there’s going to be explicit language moving forward so you may scroll past this post if (written) porn isn’t your thing! 18+ content ahead!

let’s begin with the focus of your story. instead of focusing solely on “the action”, you can try focusing on “the feelings” too. how the characters are feeling as they’re being intimate with each other. in other words, instead of focusing on the “physical” aspects, try focusing on the “emotional / mental” parts and the “feelings” too. so that your characters also feel something else that isn’t just shallow arousal (obviously, there’s nothing wrong with being so horny that nothing else matters, if that’s your goals then go for it, what I’m saying is sometimes sex can be about something else that isn’t merely the act of coupling, if you get what I mean? the “porn with feelings” tag on AO3 is there for a reason and, yes, porn with feelings can get you just as aroused if not more!)

for instance, instead of “he roughly shoved his entire dick inside her pussy, grabbed her boob with one hand, the other steadied her hip, before he started thrusting and moaning”. you could try “he wasn’t being gentle when he pushed his length inside, feeling her body yield and surrender, engulfing him in one confident thrust. with one hand on her breast, the other on her hip to keep her still, he began moving, making love and declaring to his wife his fidelity in an ecstatic moan.”

how you describe your characters’ private parts affects the mood / vibes your readers get from your work too. I personally prefer using “cock / cunt” to “dick / pussy” because for me, the first set of pairing sounds sexier, more raw and more “mature”, while the latter just gives off the vibes of horny and mindless teenagers instead, which might only be a personal opinion and preference of mine!

that being said, the trick is that you don’t always have to use the exact, direct words over and over again while talking about the genitals. using “cock” sounds sexy and all, but using the word “cock” three times in the same sentence can feel like you’re trying a little too hard to make your readers know this is smut. they already know. and they know what the character is stroking.

sometimes the trick lies in the implication and indirectness of how you describe your scenes. sometimes it sounds more hot to, instead of directly saying what the characters are doing, use implication and metaphor to tell your readers what the characters are doing.

for instance, instead of “he pushed his big, big cock inside her and felt the walls of her cunt squeeze his cock, so he stayed still for a while to savor the feeling of her cunt around his cock before he started moving his cock” you could say something like “he pushed himself inside her, feeling the warmth of her around his length and opting to keep still to savor as much as he could of her tightness before he started thrusting.”

or, instead of “his cock was so huge it made her mouth water” it could be “the promise of godhood between his legs elicited from within her the hunger she never knew existed”

yes, smut is about sex. but sex can also be about other feelings besides arousal. sex can be about vulnerability, the complete trust one gives their partner. it can be about surrendering and submitting yourself to someone. it can be about dominating and controlling someone. it can be about pain and betrayal. it can be about hatred. it can even be about grief and mourning. just in case you want to throw in some feelings or angst and in case you want to describe your scenes with something else that isn’t just mindless arousal.

(again, smut with nothing but mindless arousal isn’t bad. there’s nothing wrong with smut just being smut with no other feelings involved. so this isn’t me saying you have to throw some emotions and depth into your porn, obviously. smut can be just smut and that’s fun and hot enough, and if that’s your thing then you do you. I will always be rooting for you.)

the two most important things while writing smut — as well as anything else that isn’t smut — are 1.) write whatever you want for you and 2.) practice makes perfect.

keep writing. your smut doesn’t have to be perfect the first time you write it, and that’s okay. that’s normal. the most skilled writer out there started out terrible at what they wrote, but the nature of writing is that you get better the more you write.

the first smut I wrote was about 8 years ago and it was terrible. and that’s fine. I’ve come a long way since. the point is: keep writing and writing and writing and you will keep getting better and better and better.

keep writing whatever you want to write, and have fun, that’s the key.

[evilminji]

I see the Clockwork so Khronos HC and I raise you Vortex is Zues

Immediate thought? "Why go to therapy, when you, a God, can LITERALLY rip out the Problematic Parts of yourself and just kill um! There, honey! Problem solved! :D this can in no way EVER come back to bite me in the ass!"

Cause I mean... killing your problems worked against his DAD. And most OTHER problems he's had. Why not? When you are a hammer etc etc...

So... yeah. Technically! He IS part of Zeus! The ASSHOLE part that Hera was threatening to divorce FOR REAL this time. The HAS No Chill, part. The THROW STORMS AT EVERYTHING 5EVA RAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Part.

Kronos did the same thing but in reverse. Killed off his Calm n Reasonable self who just wanted to be a mischievous Time Dude. Cause THAT does not a King Of God's make. Didn't turn out well for Kronos.

N Clockwork got stuck with THAT assholes reputation.

It's like making a twin brother out of yourself only to kill um. Vortex has eternal beef with Zeus. He was a GOD. An INFANT. Born only to IMMEDIATELY be butchered. Yeah, he was an angry God. Made to be the wrath to Zeus' peace. An Angry Sky to his Tranquil Sky.

But that did NOT give Zeus the right to MURDER HIM in cold blood for the crime of being INCONVENIENT.

He didn't even get a NAME.

Had too, IN DEATH, Name HIMSELF.

Ffffffuck his Father/Brother! Zeus is gonna get what's coming to him! Infant murdering BASTARD!

[vganimefanatic]

THIS IS SO GOOD WHAT

You and your twin are opposites in this world of heroes and villains. One a villain, another a hero. You just heard one of your colleagues talk about how they killed your twin.

[becca-e-barnes]

all i can think about is bucky literally BEGGING to eat your pussy. just on his knees, calling himself a needy slut, just looking up at you with puppy dog eyes while he just begs for your pussy on his mouth. ugh.

Men who are this into eating pussy have a special place reserved for them in Heaven. Hearing someone beg to go down on you is life changing when they know what they're doing 🙈

But you're so right, Bucky would be so willing to degrade himself like that just to be allowed to go down on you. He'd be on his knees, trying to ignore how full his balls feel, begging for you.

"P-please." His voice is so quiet you almost start to question if he said it intentionally. "I need to taste you. I can't think about anything else."

His cock twitches despite how heavy it looks, flushed and angry against the pale skin of his thighs.

"Really?" You tease, tilting his chin up with two fingers so he's looking at your face, rather than your body. "Tell me exactly what you're thinking. Describe it to me"

He doesn't miss a beat. "I'm thinking about how soft you are, how warm and silky your cunt feels under my tongue. I'm thinking about burying my tongue as deep inside you as I can reach and still wishing I could get deeper. I want to feel how wet you are but more than anything, I want to taste how wet you are. I want to dream about it for the rest of the week. Every time I stroke my cock I want to be able to remember how you taste."

Precum drips from his tip and you're not sure you can deny him much longer. Not when he's making it sound so appealing.

"Do you even hear yourself?" You do your very best to act like you don't love the sound of every word that has just come out of his mouth.

"I do. I sound like a shameless, filthy, desperate slut. The type of slut who wants to kiss and lick and worship your sweet pussy until you're so sensitive you have to force me to stop." His hand wanders between his own legs, tugging his stiff length to the mere thought.

He's not above begging and you know that. He'll draw this out as long as he needs to until he gets his way but there's very little sense in that when you want this just as much as he does.

"Lie on the bed." You give him time to make his way over before following, lining yourself up just above his face.

You take a second to smooth his hair, enjoying the feeling of his freshly shaved face against the sensitive insides of your thighs.

He's looking up at you, your eyes meeting his. "Thank you." The relief in his voice is clear right before he grasps your hips and pulls you down onto his mouth.

Fuck, he's incredible. This is the mouth you dream about when you're alone. His tongue massages your clit, stroking back and forth before dipping into your fluttering entrance. You swear he must feel what he's doing to you. You feel your cunt clenching and rippling, your muscles contracting in response to the pleasure and for a second you wonder if he can tell.

He's hungry for this; he has been for hours. He's moaning and slurping obscenely, his tongue buried in your cunt. You don't even need to look over your shoulder to know that he's alternating between fucking his own fist and gripping the base of his shaft tight enough to stop him from spilling his release all over himself too soon.

It's very hard to tell which of you enjoys this more.

[dreamwinged]

misc. selfship asks ❤︎

thank you for 400! <3 answer these asks however you'd like, but please practice reblog karma if applicable! 💌

🧸 - how would your f/o try to comfort you if you were upset? 🦢 - what's a petty argument you'd have with your f/o? 🍡 - what nicknames do you have for each other?

🪽 - what was your first kiss with your f/o like, if you've had it?

🪺 - describe your f/os perception of you before you got together, compared to what it is now! 🪷 - if the roles were reversed and your f/o was the one selfshipping with you, what would their blog look like?

🧊 - how would your f/o text you? would they use proper punctuation/capitalization, or type more informally?

🍋‍🟩 - similarly, what would your contact names be for each other?

💍 - how do you and your f/o feel about marriage?

🪻 - what's your f/o's coffee or drink order?

☁️ - how does your f/o like to spend their free time with you? 🛍️ - what would your f/o get you as a gift? additionally, what would you get for them?

🫧 - what song(s) remind you of your f/o?

🪼 - what’s your favorite way to feel closer to your f/o?

proship/comship/neutral dni