#Live the Width of Your Life Book

[davidca]

Yoga and meditation are two practices that allow me to focus on the present. Before I started teaching both, I was a practitioner for many years. I dramatically tell people that yoga and meditation saved my life. Or, maybe they’ve given me the tools to live and enjoy my life.

#embrace mindfulness #Embrace Mindfulness for a Fulfilling Life #mindfulness meditation #guided meditation #mindfulness exercises #mindfulness journal #Live the Width of Your Life Book #Aneta Kuzma #Youtube

[madamvanrouge]

The Tempest

William James Moriarty x Reader

"Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand, with hair up-staring, ーthen like reeds, not hair,ーwas the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.'" William leant back in his armchair, scarlet eye blinking beneath his beautiful blond eyelashes as he gazed into empty space. Over his other eye was a dark black eyepatch.

You simply hummed as you looked into the book you held, of Shakespeare's plays. You remembered only so many quotes from it. William had no need for a book, he could recite all 40 of Shakespeare's plays from memory. Him reciting thus to you helped you get through the book quickly and in a more joyous way. Hearing your husband speak was something that gave you much mirth, especially when you were both seated across each other in comfortable armchairs in front of the fireplace in the midst of a dreary winter in your small home at Brighton.

"I feel bad for Ariel." you commented. "Has to do his master's bidding."

William chuckled softly and dryly on hearing your words. "I doubt Ariel is completely blameless." he uttered as he propped one leg over the other. William had a most adorable and polite way of seating himself, it never failed to make you swoon and want to wrap him in a hug.

"Thats true." you replied, closing your book, yawning.

"Are you tired? We may stop here for today if that is your wish." William smiled, his scarlet gaze homing in on yours.

"That would be much appreciated." you smiled at him, noting the soft expression he held. William had always had a solemn, distant expression before, so seeing him thus softened brought a sort of happiness to your heart. "Sherlock didn't barge in tonight. Odd, considering he does so every single night taking every advantage of the fact he lives next door." you sighed.

William chuckled heartily. "I would have appreciated had Sherly shown himself. I do have a few things that I need to talk to him about." he hummed softly, his voice as soft and lovely as ever, decorated with his signature British accent.

"We should get to bed, Liam." you placed your hand on the man's arm, rubbing it gently. "You have an early day tomorrow."

"Indeed." William nodded gently, his scarlet eye reminiscient of either the beauty of sunsets or the glistening crimson of blood freshly smeared on the sharpened tip of a blade. "Were I but wretched, my love." he sighed, placing his hand on your cheek. "It pains me to see your attentions gone to work on so odious a man as myself, on such vulgar a connexion, as has hardly been since the notion of the propriety of society, and that of the worth of life, came into being." his tone was soft, his eyes sorrowful, such a broken man he was, yet so beautiful.

"William..." you could hardly place your words right, you had little idea of what to say, and you wished for him to finish his thought as well.

"For years have my actions led me, in desperation for a result, caused me to sin twice and twice again." William uttered, his expression hardening. "For years, have these palms been seeped through with a scarlet as irremovable as the stains of ink on a canvas pure white, untainted; marred with blotches so painfully obvious as would most likely repulse any whose misfortune beget them gaze upon it, and scruple through its length and width desperately so as to propagate the assemblage of a search of true purpose, true affability, even a sense of alacrity within but finding nothing."

You gently tugged at William's eyepatch, an action that caused him to flinch before he tried to relax ultimately under your observance. You removed it carefully, revealing a scar that marred his skin, and a discoloured eye that could see no longer. You gently kissed the scar, your hand resting on William's cheek. "There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, good things will strive to dwell with't." you spoke softly. Lines from the Tempest, offered to Ferdinand by Miranda.

William's gaze immediately softened, his heart warm and full, recognizing the lines the moment they slipped past your mouth. He pulled you closer by the waist, a gentle, small smile tugging at his lips. "You render me speechless, you render me most powerless and above all, a fool to your whims." he kissed your lips gently. "Oh sweet, fair Miranda of mine." he brought you down onto his lap, kissing your neck. "My darling mistress."

#william james moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #yukoku no moriarty

[remembertheplunge]

To achieve escape velocity from Presentism

5/29/2024

I have been an attorney for 43 years today. I was sworn in as an attorney in California on May 29, 1981. I was 25 years old, almost 26. 43 years later, I am 68 years old, almost 69. I got on the treadmill this afternoon  at there gym , popped in my ear buds and “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang, 1980, started to play. I began to run the events of the last 43 years through my head. Between the rhythm of my body on the treadmill, the beat and the spirit of the song and my memory parade, my present became fused with the panorama of my past. I had reached solid personal density. 

In the book" Breaking Bread with the Dead” by Alan Jacobs, Mr Jacobs describes the theory of a character, Kurt Mondaugen, in the novel “Gravity’s Rainbow” by Thomas Pynchon. In the novel is a passage in which “Mondaugen’s Law” is described:

“Personal density …is is directly proportional to temporal bandwidth. Temporal Bandwidth is the width of your present, your now…the more you dwell in the past and in the future, the thicker your bandwidth, the more solid your persona.

Mr Jacobs goes on to say at page 23 of “Breaking Bread With The Dead” that “presentism, is being “wholly creatures of this particular intersection of space and time." “To achieve escape velocity from presentism.”  “You have to step out and away and back and forward, and you have to do it regularly.”

I couldn’t believe what I had read. He caught the feel of this huge  book writing, journal experiment and blogging adventure that I have been on now for over three years. Reviewing my 46 years worth of journals has caused me to live both in the present and in the past. It has expanded my being to incorporate and to communicate with the past. It has exploded my presentism. I have said for a long time that it broadens my pallet. Meaning, I now perceive life from the vista and vantage point of spans of time. Not just from the narrow confines of the hurried, worried NOW. A broadened pallet is temporal bandwidth.It is personal density.  

#Breaking Bread With The Dead by Alan Jacobs #Gravity Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon #presentism #temporal bandwidth #personal density #broader pallet #5/29/2024

[amaesama]

Albedo SFW and NSFW headcanons

I write for Genshin btw. And apparently I’m at 200 followers already? Thank you all so much!

SWF

He is the most beautiful man you will ever meet.

He was carved out of chalk so every inch of his body is smooth and flawless, no birthmark or freckle or hair or anything. It’s actually kind of creepy how perfect he is, and because of the chalk he was made of he is extremely pale.

He’s anatomically correct. I’ll talk about that later.

Although he basically lives on Dragonspine, he has a house in Monstadt that he and Klee live in, it’s average sized and pretty clean, but he has an office and it’s a complete WRECK. He doesn’t let anyone go in there because it’s dangerous.

He will totally want you to live with him, he says it’s because you can keep Klee company so she doesn’t go barging in whilst he’s doing an experiment but you know it’s actually because he loves playing family with you.

You, him and Klee are basically a lil family. He never would’ve thought that he would enjoy the whole domestic thing but when it’s with the two most important people in his life it’s not like he can just not.

He’s a great cook as cooking is just alchemy. He’s very experimental so there have been times where he just brings you the wackiest dish to try out and you have no idea how he came up with it but it tastes so good.

He likes to be held. When you first came up behind him and hugged him we was very confused, when you detach yourself from him he asks you to do it again. He’s received hugs from Klee before, but she’s small and she can’t exactly hold him properly. You can properly hold him, throw your arms around him and hold him tight after he’s had a stressful day filled with failed experiments. He’ll crumple into you and put his arms around you and just fall silent.

He also won’t understand kisses at first, lips are just another part of the body, what’s so special about connecting them like this? If you explain to him that it’s a form of intimacy then he’ll try to understand, but he may need some physical demonstrations to help him out.

‘Albedo are you pretending to not understand kissing or are you just pulling my leg?’

‘My dear my hands are right here, I’m not pulling anything (:’

He’ll experiment with where he kisses you and how he kisses you for a while until he gets the hang of it, he grows to enjoy it eventually.

Sometimes he will be a bit too heavy on PDA. This is because at first he won’t understand why he can’t kiss and cuddle and make out with you in public, is it not the same when the two of you are alone? You’ll have to explain that some people get uncomfortable by couples being affectionate in public, he’s still a bit baffled but he’ll reel it in a bit.

You are most likely his first partner so you’ll have to teach him a lot of stuff, he’s a very good learner though so he’ll get the hang of it pretty quickly.

Unfortunately I think arguments with him are pretty common. These can arise for a multitude of reasons, for example misunderstandings on his part are pretty common. He isn’t particularly well versed in relationships, and he can only learn so much in books so he will get a lot wrong when you first get together. Sometimes you will feel unloved by his lack of affection and sometimes he will overwhelm you with love, it’s never his intention but please help him find a middle ground.

He is also a very intelligent man and if he is in the wrong he will sometimes be hesitant to admit it. His stubbornness can be infuriating and it will take a while for him to listen to you and see that he was incorrect.

It’s common for him to lock himself in his lab and neglect his needs, he forgets sometimes that although he isn’t exactly human he still needs to eat and rest. He will greatly appreciate it if you manage to convince him to take a break or bring him a drink.

NSFW

He’s average length and width that curves upwards, his dick is very pretty and pale with a pale pink tip. It’s perfect and ideal, just like the rest of his appearance.

He’s very inexperienced and you will be his first, the only things he knows about sex is what he learnt from Lisa when she interrogated him about his sex life. She does that.

The first time will be very slow as you’ll need to guide him and he’ll want to know what you’re doing and why for future reference.

He is a TOTAL experimentalist in EVERY sense of the word, you will never get bored with him. There are so many things he needs to try and he will keep a book recording both yours and his reactions to what he does.

He starts off with small, basic changes. He’ll test out different paces, thrusting infuriatingly slow and when he gets a reaction that satisfies him he’ll go extremely fast so that you’re eyes roll into the back of your head and you can’t even speak.

He’ll also totally edge you to see how much you can take before you’re crying and begging him to just let you cum already, but he’s like noooooooo we gotta go as far as we caaannn

Ok so I wrote this next section during my night shift at 2am so I apologise for any wacky nonsense. I was tired and I was in the middle of a 12 hour shift. The pains of being a working adult.

He’ll also try the strangest shit with you, like name anything WITHIN REASON THAT ISNT ILLEGAL and he’ll totally be up for it. That being said - he’s a massive switch. Like my mans is devoted to the art of finding stuff out so dom? Sub? Top? Bottom? He’s done it all, all in the name of research.

Totally not because he’s horny.

If you’re female bodied then I feel like he likes to get pegged. You tried it out once because he read something about about how a feminine form can adopt the sex organ of a masculine form for pleasure and he was like ‘huh! How interesting…’ so he proposed it to you and you being you were like ‘yeah sure.’

There’s totally an adult shop in Teyvat, and I feel like it’s in Fontaine because it’s based on France and no one knows romance like the French. He’ll probably get various kinds for RESEARCH.

He likes it. He likes it a lot.

Having your gorgeous body (bc you are gorgeous) above him as you thrust into him is just 😚👌. He’s also interested in his own limits, he’s not exactly human so the rules that apply to you will not necessarily apply to him. And as it turns out - he has ridiculous stamina! He can and will go on for hours until either he can’t go on or you’re too tired to go on.

Totally has a thing for cum. I link everything to his thirst for knowledge so it’s probably because he finds it fascinating how this liquid can turn into a baby. Loves cumming in you and usually he will cum at least twice each time you have sex, he ADORES the way it pours out of you with each thrust but hates how he has to clean it up.

Also if you do anal with him then please do it missionary, and if you have the resources then make him have a belly bulge he finds it so hot. And if he cums on himself??? And your cock is poking through his cum covered midriff?? Holyyy—

So yeah, massive experimentalist.

Sometimes he can let his lust for knowledge outshines his lust for you, he tries not to let this happen but unfortunately sometimes he will forget :( you’ll have to remind him and he’ll feel really bad bless his chalky heart.

He’ll learn to pay close attention to how you’re feeling and how to make sure you have the best time when yous are getting freaky.

Also please establish a safe word, he can get carried away

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #albedo #albedo kreideprinz #albedo x y/n #albedo x you #albedo x reader #albedo smut

[qierxing]

Under the Sea

Yan! Leona Kingscholar x Reader

Halloween AU

CW/TW: Reader is noted with both she and they pronouns interchangeably due to their fluid state of being but is still considered G/N overall

“If you choose to lock your heart away, you’ll lose it for certain.”

–

Dead men tell no tales, they said.

Sailing would be easy, they said. 

Did they think about the repercussions of unforetold supernatural problems?

The rancid smell of seaweed and brine makes your nose scrunch as you’re hauled up and thrown roughly onto your knees, shredding even more of your nice clothing. You doubt the cold hands cared though. After all, what is one puny mortal against a whole ship full of undead pirates?

“This one ‘ere’s seems to be the ca’pn, sir.” A guttural growl echoes above you, and murmurs of more crewmates surround you. 

It was a good run, you thought to yourself. You fought till the end, until your daggers and saber were knocked out of your hands, your skin slashed and bruised, and till they had to pin you down from causing more trouble. It was more than what you could say for your own crewmates, the traitorous, cowardly scum, leaving you immediately and trying to flee with their own lives. Didn’t matter though, because they were all immediately slaughtered without mercy. You’d have more pity for them dying in their own pools of blood if they didn’t abandon you first.

A barnacle covered boot tips your chin up, and you’re face to face with a smug man, piercing green eyes, dark hair like coal tied in dreads and braids, tall and lithe figure to boot. The captain of this crew, no doubt.

“You. Herbivore. What’s yer name?”

People back home called you many names. The looney merchant. A superstitious fanatic. Raving madman on the better days. Today, you can now safely say they’re all fitting.

“...[First]. [First] [Last].” You cough up, after the boot digs into the crook of your chin and head, causing an unbearable pressure on your throat. The pressure removes itself and you’re left choking for air while the man hums in thought.

“Well, ca’pn Leona?” The voice behind you asks. A scrawny, weasley sounding voice. Must be the one who binded you. “Dunno why you kept this one alive.”

You could practically hear the grin in the next words. 

“‘Cuz they got some worth to ‘em right now.”

–

“Have ye heard about the myth of Calypso?”

The name sets you on edge immediately. A pirate asking after the revered primordial sea goddess? That can only mean…

“Who hasn’t?” You shrug your shoulders flippantly. “Every child in a coastal town has heard about how she controls the seas and watches over sailors.”

An annoyed growl is your response. It seems your hunch was correct. “Not that, idiot. I meant about her curse.”

Aha.

“Curse?”

The captain gnashes his canines impatiently. “The one where she curses her lover for leaving her.”

“Ah, that. Yes, I’m acquainted.” You decide to stop teasing him and see where this leads. 

“I need ta find her ring.” Silence reigns. You furrow your brows and cross your arms.

“You mean, the one that so happens to be dropped into the ocean, never to be seen again? The one where Calypso, herself, has been rumored to destroy? That ring?”

“Yes, that damn ring!” The ghost snarls, banging his fist on the desk, causing documents and books to fall off. “I need to find that ring so I can finally–!”

“That ring has been gone for more than a millenia. Scratch that, it’s not even proven to ever have existed.” You interrupt, uncrossing your arms, leaning brazenly on the rickety oak desk. “And yet, you’re wanting to stake your undead life on this trinket?”

A knife is driven a finger’s width away from your hand. You don’t blink as the captain’s face becomes inches away from your own. “What does a mortal know about being undead?! What do ye know of–” He cuts himself off, a pained look clouding his eyes. You only observe as he breathes in deeply.

“Alright. I’ll help you find it.” His head whips up in surprise. “On several conditions.”

He smirks. “Negotiatin’? You’ve got guts. Name ‘em.”

“One, that you promise not to kill or harm me at any point, especially after our deal is over. Second, once this is all over, you’ll return me back to land. Third and finally, you return my belongings back from your loot.”

The captain mulls over your words, deep in thought. Beads of sweat run down your back. It was a daring bluff, but if you were kept alive this long, it had to be for something!

He runs his hand down his face, groaning. “You drive a steep price. Fine. It’s a deal.”

A crack of an incoming thunderstorm echoes as you both shake hands.

–

You were many things. You were once a privateer. A bartender. Even a librarian at some point, shelving books for hours till the daylight blended to blue darkness.

But never, in your entire life, have you been made to scrub deck floorboards.

The sun beating down upon your aching figure feels like salt on top of many wounds. The biting smell of lye only makes your head spin and fingers burn. 

Worth? Was your worth really amounting to just being a ship’s hands?!

Unbelievable. You end up slipping and nearly falling on your face into the bubbly mess. Left alive, but only to be doing dirty work for ghost pirates. If only the people back home could see you now…

“Shihehehe! Nice work, newbie. Cap’n Leona wants ta see you now, by the way.” The weasley voice! You look up to see squinty gray eyes and sharp teeth, all in a narrow face. There’s something unnerving about the way the ghost leans over you with his smirk, as if he’s a beast ready to devour its prey.

Shaking away the bubbles and your shame, you silently march right past him and into a sturdy chest.

“Oi, watch where ya goin’!” An angry rumble shakes you back to view the familiar face with silver hair and golden eyes that pushed you down back then. You stand your ground as the both of you stare each other down.

“My bad.” The man grunts as you push past him. “What’s their problem?” is the last thing you hear before you’re out of earshot.

You’re in a foul mood by the time you see Leona’s mug, and it seems he is too.

“What’s the hold up on finding the ring?!” He growls. His clothes are a mess more than usual, hair rumpled, and even his desk is near inhabitable. 

You huff. “If I wasn’t bogged down on ship chores perhaps I can work more on that map to get you there, Captain.”

“We’re short on manpower, if ye can’t tell. Also I can’t have ye havin’ enough time to go schemin’ behind me back.” You roll your eyes, walking up to his desk and yanking out a long parchment, causing a rather cute yelp from Leona.

“Hey–!” You unravel the aged parchment, scanning over the red lines and dots that circle the map.

“Wow, you’ve made no progress at all. Do you really wanna find this ring?” The parchment is snatched out of your hands as Leona angrily snarls. 

“Shut yer trap! I’m workin’ on it.” You heave a long sigh, walking over to his desk and starting to arrange the scattered papers and books. 

“What the hell are you doin’?” 

“What does it look like? I’m helping organize your space. Since you’re ‘working’ on it, nothing wrong with making your environment better, no?”

He only grumbles in response, but a strangely comfortable silence falls as you both do your tasks, seemingly in tandem. The sound of the quill scribbling is rather nice on the ears as you put back books and sort papers into neat piles. It’s only when you’ve finally refilled his inkwell that you lean over his shoulder and take a look and whistle.

“Nice work, Captain! Now we’re getting somewhere!” You clapped him cheerily on the back without much thought, making him scoff.

“This much is nothin’, herbivore.” If you looked closer, you would’ve seen how he leant into your palm, eyes softening as his voice resembled one of looking at a lover.

–

The night sky has always been beautiful.

And as the stars twinkle above, you can hear the pirates singing their drinking songs, raucous and loud, but with whatever soul they have left in their rattling ribs. 

Your drinks were pretty popular, once they found out you could make the most killer mixes out of whatever they had in stock. Ruggie, the silver eyed weasley pirate, became your instant friend as he handed out your brews to other eager crewmates.

“Shihehehe! Think of all the profit we could make outta this! Yo, Jack, come get some of this!” The younger man staggers under the weight of his drunk senior throwing himself onto him, grunting as he looks panicked.

When you break away for some peace, you find that your intended spot was already taken.

“Come ‘ere.” You blink, half turned in resignation at finding another stargazing spot. 

“Are ya deaf? Come ‘ere.” Well, it’s not like you can turn down a command. You settle yourself down next to the lazing captain, looking up wistfully.

It’s a perfect clear sky. You wish you had your telescope with you. From here, you can see a bit of the Crux and then bits of the Centauri–

“We’re close to the ring, aren’t we?” You turn your head to observe a still Leona.

“Yes.”

A long pause.

“Why did ye agree to help me? I didn’ even hafta threaten ye all that much.”

You hum, eyes still fixated on the stars. “I could ask ya the same question of why you spared me, Captain.”

Another agonizing beat.

“I thought ya were a fool.” He shifts, shoulders popping and cracking. “All yer crewmates had the sense to run but ye just stood ya ground like ye weren’t up against the famous dread pirate Davy Jones.

I guess I can admire that kind of stupidity, ya know?” 

You remain silent, throat closing in on itself. Silence returns, but you can no longer admire the stars before.

–

The shrine is ruined, as you expected. All that remains is a half buried altar in sand and broken shells and rocks around it. 

“What the hell is this?”

“It is what you’re searching for.”

For someone to have been searching for this ring so desperately, he looks furious, enraged even. He clenches his hand around the silver tightly, hands trembling. Perhaps you should’ve been more sensitive than just plopping the trinket into his hands.

“How do I know yer not just trickin’ me with a fake?!” He roars, the cave around you echoing. Water drips from stalactites, plopping down into puddles surrounding your area. 

You gesture towards the shrine carelessly. “Give it a try. It’s what you’ve been wanting all this time right?”

Leona’s eyes widened. “What do you–” “You wanted to be free, didn’t you?” You tilt your head, annoyed. “Well, this is it. Once you do the ritual with that ring and return it to Calypso, you’ll be free of your curse. Your love.”

“No.”

Your mouth purses at the ghost’s retort.

“I want to return to her.” 

Something in you snaps.

“You left me.” It is not you speaking, but the sea. It wails and groans as the wind howls. “You do not get to choose to come back to me, not now.”

Water rises with your temper as Leona begins to comprehend what is going on. The stalactites tremble, ready to collapse under the pressure the water pounds upon the rocks. You slowly reach out your hand.

“Give me back my ring.” Your eyes glow, your mortal veil falling away like sand. This is your domain, where he left you to rot and cry out for him for many nights, until you could only pick your trembling bones up and out into the world. Stripped of your emotions, left to rage and scream at the sky, as you walked along the seafloor. For many moons, you wondered if you could ever live without him. As year by year passed, you wandered dry land to forget the aching pain in your heart.

You will make him regret ever wronging you.

“No.” Leona steps forward against the sloshing tides, now up to his knees. He bares his fangs.

“I won’t.”

“What are you doing–!? Give me–” You howl in rage as your outstretched arm is snatched and you’re wrenched into his arms, writhing in anger.

“I won’t let you go, ever again.” He whispers in your ear, and the last thing you register is the feeling of metal on your ring finger.

—

“It seems like the ship was ransacked by pirates.” The old man sighs, leaning back in his rocking chair. 

“Really?” The child at his feet frowns. “But that nice sailor told me all sorts of cool stories…”

The old man shakes his head in disapproval. “Loads of tosh. That superstitious lunatic would only fill your head with stuff of fairytales. Forget it.”

The child looks out their window into the horizon, the sunset leaving shadows on the waves crashing onto the shore. He blinks, and for a moment, he swears he sees the silhouette of a large ship in the distance.

He rubs his eyes, and when he opens them again, it’s gone.

“How strange…”

He could've sworn the flag was a skull crossbones.

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst #my works #another word barf that worked out. nice #a small twist on pirates of carribean but this time reader gets to go crazy #this is rather tame for yandere fic lol

[jamlocked]

For the Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game

🍓 🥑🥤🧃🍄🍬🔪🌸

(SORRY COULD NOT DECIDE)

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

WELL. It happened because I found out I was shit at writing. I'd been abroad for three months and it was mental (not really in a good way) and I was like, 'this is the book I've been wanting to write'. So I came home and started to write it and, dear God, it was terrible. Not too long after that I discovered fandom and saw some fan fiction for the first time. And some of it was SO GOOD, which I wasn't aware could be possible with fanfic (lol, right?) So I got absorbed in that and one day thought, 'well, maybe I should try because I already know these characters and it'll be good practice so I can learn to write my own stuff well'.

Guess what, it was.

🥑 ⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help?

@lvsifer You mate, obviously. Pfft, as if that were even in question. <3 (Though I question the word 'help'. Help me commit the murder? Yes, of course.)

(...thinking further, I also question the word 'accientally' in this scenario, particularly if @lvsifer was there with me, which he would be.)

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

There are so many I could choose but I'm going to go with Sforzando simply because it's open in a tab right now so I can start another re-read, and that says it all really. I would link another one from an old fandom as well because it was beyond stunning and broke my entire soul a few years ago, but I can't remember the full name to link it.

  🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

My own personal lore? Hmm. Can't remember what I have and haven't posted about. I'll go with my one severe phobia, which is shipwrecks. And that's all I'm going to say about it otherwise I'll start thinking about them and that is Unpleasant.

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

When Jim was a teenager he spent a long time debating whether to introduce himself to Sherlock. He didn't because he was scared, both of rejection and of it not living up to what he dreamed about. It's the only time he's ever really felt fear and he hates that he caved into it, given how Sherlock wasted years of his life on drugs and then became mostly ordinary.

I guess that's not really a pairing thing. So...in a world where Jim and Sherlock date or spend time together domestically, they frequently fight over food. Jim doesn't care about it but people have to eat, so he's going to eat well. Sherlock's diet of takeaways and beans on toast is unbearable. In the end, he forces Sherlock to learn to cook (by telling him it's entirely beyond his talents and 'yes, this is the most basic reverse psychology darling, but also, it's completely true') and Sherlock is so annoyed at not being able to tell what he means he becomes an amazing chef. And enjoys it. It's basically chemistry when it comes down to it.

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

Sherlock was never and will never be in love with John. Or Molly.

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

I mean, there's a long list. Wind speeds over coastal Mexico? Wheel widths of early 19th century French carts? The political system of Bulgaria was quite interesting.

🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them

...mate, if you wanted to see pics of Coco you could have just WhatsApp'd me. :D

THIS IS COCO, ISN'T SHE BEAUTIFUL.

<3 <3 <3

#all about meme #writing #coco

[13atoms]

Tour Bus (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Summary: Eddie wants to spend the summer touring around in his van. More importantly, he wants you to come with him.

Short, silly piece about Eddie kitting out his van for a summer of #van life. Fluff and no plot at all. No description of reader other than that they're about to go to college (I think 'babe' and 'sweetheart' are used, that's it). I fixed the end of S4.

1.6k words. No major warnings.

“So, you’re sure we’re not just… living in a van,” you asked, watching in amusement as your sweaty, overexcited boyfriend tried to figure out a tape measure.

He was trying to measure the width of the van. It wasn’t going well.

After the government had covered up what had happened in Hawkins, Eddie had left hospital to discover a van on the driveway. The keys had been left inside Wayne’s new trailer, a rubbery bubble-writing keychain attached to them bearing the name “Edward”.

Eddie hadn’t even had time to grimace at the keyring, limping outside to stare at the van again.

His.

It certainly wasn’t new. It had been second-hand, but thoroughly cleaned – there were only twenty-thousand miles on the clock.

It was the best thing Eddie had ever owned. After a thorough inspection, he’d whirled around to grin at you – face manic with excitement.

“This is our year!”

And then he’d graduated. Barely. Walked the stage beside you, with a cleared record. Wayne had clapped from the audience, exhausted from the night-shift and hiding a proud tear as his nephew offered one last middle-finger to the crowd, quickly being bundled off stage in peels of laughter.

He’d done it.

And now he was ready to leave, excited for a summer of travelling, planned out in a notebook which sat on the van’s dash. You were quietly apprehensive about going with him.

This was your last summer before college, and spending it travelling with Eddie sounded nothing short of perfect. But… in a van?

“It’s a tour bus, baby!” Eddie called back to you.

You refused to let him call it the ‘Coffin-mo

bile’. Or any variation on ‘Corroded’.

The band had some upcoming gigs booked all across the neighbouring states – the pay would barely cover fuel, but it was a start. You and Eddie would meet the rest of the band at the venues, intent on completing your pre-college bucket list. And spending some quality time together.

Both of your futures felt confusing and scary, but this was real. Petrol and metal, you and Eddie. Four long months of exploring together. Forgetting about Hawkins.

It would be perfect. If Eddie could manage to figure out how to put a mattress in the damn thing.

“I reckon we just pick up my mattress and see if it fits,” the metalhead declared, apparently completely flummoxed by your idea to plan before lifting anything heavy.

“I thought measuring was like, your job!” you teased.

“Not measuring fucking vans!”

“Better with eighth-ounces?”

You could hear him grumbling inside the hot van, and it made you laugh. He clambered out of the side-door, taking a moment to watch you. You were smothering a giggle, and he couldn’t hide a wide smile as he took you in. Surrounded by camping supplies, food, and clothes, despite the fact you claimed to hate anything outdoorsy. Wearing one of his rings, even though it annoyed you when you wrote. Standing between his trailer and van, despite the fact you could be anywhere else right now.

He took a moment to appreciate the fact you were trusting him. Putting aside your skepticism to spend time with him – trusting that a man with no camping experience could keep you safe. He wouldn’t fail. He had emergency cash stashed under the driver’s seat for a motel room, just in case you started to hate living in the van. This was gonna be it, he decided. The beginning.

His year.

You stepped over the mess to fix his hair, frizzy from the late-afternoon heat and mussed up by his frustrated fingers combing through it. He smiled as you leant over his shoulder, peering into the dark interior of the van as your chest pressed against his.

“I can measure it?” you offered gently, reaching for the tape measure nestled in his palm.

He pulled his hand away from you, holding the tape measure behind his back and out of your reach.

“I’ve eyeballed it, I think it’ll fit,” he insisted.

You groaned at him. Rolled your eyes. Ducked his attempt to kiss you.

“Eddie, c’mon. This is stupid – ”

He pouted, feigning upset, dark eyes wide.

You sighed, then acquiesced.

“If you insist.”

*

“What do we put it on?” you called out, struggling under the awkward weight of the mattress.

Eddie had one foot in the van already, trying to manoeuvre the mattress in – apparently fitting it sideways. 

“Just slap it on the floor!” he grunted.

You let go of the mattress, setting it down so it was diagonal across the back of the van. Eddie frowned. You set your hands on your hips.

“But then where do we put a water container? An ice box? Clothes?”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically – it set his curls flying.

“Stop thinking of everything!”

“Eds, we’ll literally die if I don’t!” You laughed back at him, watching as he burrowed his face in his hands.

He took your lead, sitting on the mattress and staring out the open door at the trailer park he was so ready to leave.

He flopped onto your shoulder, his sweaty face in the curve of your neck. You knew he was being dramatic. He was succeeding in making you laugh anyway.

“We’ll get there,” you promised.

Eddie groaned again, the noise muffled against your neck. You shuddered as his breath tickled you.

“We should have measured the mattress first, though.”

“Yes, I get it!” he complained, flopping back on it.

“It’s okay. Lots of adult men lack basic DIY skills these days – ”

He grunted, sitting up to wrap his arms around you and pull you back onto the mattress, laughing as you wound up flopped on top of him.

“Am I not rugged enough for you, babe?” he laughed, using his grip on you to flip you over.

Pinned beneath Eddie’s slim frame you could feel the warmth of him, the effort of his breathing in the thick heat. He was a bit sweaty, and shaking with laughter.

You imagined a hundred nights of sleeping in this van, on this mattress with him.

Then, you dug your fingers into his sides and made him shriek in outrage. He was the most ticklish man you’d ever met.

“You’re totally macho, babe.”

He squirmed until he could pin your wrists at your sides, pulling back to raise his eyebrows at you.

“Doesn’t sound like you mean that.”

Trying to conceal a giggle, you leant up to kiss him. Eddie craned his neck to move his face away, still mock pouting down at you.

“You’re basically Harrison Ford!”

“Now I know you’re lying. No one is as good looking as Harrison Ford,” Eddie insisted, a glint in his dark eyes to tell you he’s teasing you.

“You totally are.”

“You are totally full of shit,” he laughed, letting your wrists go, content just to squash you.

“I’m not!” you insisted, letting your hands rest in the small of Eddie’s back.

“You totally are.”

“He’s not even in a band!”

“Just some lame movie, huh?”

“Exactly.”

Eddie smiled to himself for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours fondly.

“I bet Harrison Ford doesn’t even have a tour bus,” you whispered, feeling Eddie laughing gently against you.

“Damn right,” Eddie paused for a moment, “probably more groupies though.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

*

In the end, it took two full days to fit out the van. Your trip was delayed, but neither of you cared. You had nowhere to be in a rush.

Wayne had helped the two of you to build a frame for storage and the bed. You’d packed everything up, packing supplies in a brilliant organisational system which would be doomed within the week. Eddie had built a mini-kitchen around an old camping stove Steve had given him, completely kitted out by borrowing from both of your homes.

You’d mounted a bracket for his guitar, to keep it safe on the road, and so he could practice in the evenings. Eddie had pulled you into a tight hug when he saw it.

The damn mattress had gone in last, making both of you curse and strain until finally, the van was complete. Eddie had cheered as the heavy bed finally slid into place, disrupting the early afternoon quiet of the trailer park.

“This is it, sweetheart!”

“We’re done!” you panted, grinning across at Eddie.

From the red of his face, he was just as puffed out.

“Done!” he cheered.

“So  are we… going now?”

“Why not? We’ve got places to see, baby!”

Before you could argue, Eddie had bounced to the driver side door.

You were more subdued as you walked around the van. You’d known you’d be leaving today, fully packed and said all your goodbyes, but there had always been the possibility something would go wrong. It wouldn’t happen. As you looked at the van, heard Eddie fiddling with the sound system, it was suddenly real.

Eddie grinned across the cab at you, and you offered a worried smile back. His hand found yours as he checked the back of the van one last time. It was a complete mix of everything, your clothes and snacks and belongings all strewn in together. Staring into the back of the van from the passenger seat, a lump caught in your throat.

“This is our first home together,” you realised suddenly.

“That’s fucking crazy.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

You were surprised there was only one false start (Eddie’s wallet, forgotten on the trailer steps) before you were singing out to the empty highway, windows down and music blaring.

“Babe?” he yelled over the music, voice drowned out as the wind whipped past the open windows.

You could have turned it down. This was more fun.

“What?” you screamed back.

“This is our year!”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #13atoms #i didnt proof this sorrryyy #fic #stranger things fic

[ebookporn]

Bookshelves for Your Book Selves: Monica Wood on Why She Organizes Books by Emotion

The Author of “How to Read a Book” Shares Style Advice for Bibliophiles' Bookcases

by Monica Wood

Though tightly bound by our love of books, we bibliophiles are a sundry lot, managing our obsession in a grand variety of ways. We organize by title, by author, by genre, by topic. By color, by height, by width, by depth. We shelve horizontally, vertically, face out, or in combination. With knick-knacks or without.

We affix bookstore-style section tags to an already orderly trove, or load books into a metaphorical cannon and blast them into every possible cranny, including the microwave. We stack books into attractive still lifes accompanied by a single tulip in a bud vase, or into risky, undulant towers poised to flatten a passing housecat.

I organize books like everything else in my life: by emotion. I did not recognize this system as a system until the day I decided to cull the herd once and for all. Most book lovers come to the Great Purge sooner or later, usually later, when they’re one book shy of divorce or eviction or suffocation or a call from the production team at Hoarders.

Until that moment came for me, I identified as one of the cannon-blasters in a tee shirt reading I Give Up. In my defense, I live in a one-and-a-half story bungalow with two closets, so books take over faster than they might in a roomier abode. In place of high, clean walls begging for high, clean bookcases, my house harbors knee walls and sloped ceilings and only one stick of furniture that could properly be called a bookcase.

READ MORE

I agree with this. I do a version were I tend to change out books from the prime shelves near where I write on a three season basis, Spring, Summer, and Fall/Winter (also know as cocoon season). Just seeing these books spines inform my mood and thinking, even if I never open them during their time in the big show. Their presence is still felt and their titles still inspire me as I write. ~ eP

#bookshelf wealth #bookshelf decor #bookshelves #librarians #booksellers #booklovers

[netherworldpost]

I've come here to say that I ADORE the vibes of the stuff you've posted!!

The illustrations will be cartoony, and the artwork is (almost) exclusively illustration based.

I've watched way too many cartoons in my life and the influences are just slightly under the surface. I'm not satisfied with the style or quality but that's just art's way of art-ing.

The stories are soft (and I hope) sweet, slice of life (or unlife, for the ghosts and vampires and undead).

You are a vampire. Prim and proper, you need order and rules, you need structure.

You fall in love with a swamp witch, who on a semi-regular occasion, drinks a potion she forgot to label -- specifically drinks it to remember what it does -- and finds herself transformed. "Guess I'm a frog today?" she'll shrug her shoulders, unbothered, then hop off to handle frog-business.

You are struggling with your vampiric feelings as this witch's life is so chaotic that you almost forget that her familiar, a winged-black cat, is meowing in annoyance at you. Dinner is late in as much as it hasn't been served yet.

The cat regards himself as the ruler of the entire Netherworld, and you, the vampire, are another subject under his benevolence that need live up to your duty.

Such is the nature of the Netherworld -- infinite in width, innumerous in monsters, ghosts, witches mermaids -- that said cat may as well be the ruler. Impossible to know.

The dimension around you is rich in magic and resources, there is more than enough for all.

Adventures abound, big and moderate and small. The dangers are silly, non-sensical.

Halloween is celebrated daily, trick-or-treating several times a week -- you swap places, sometimes as the host, sometimes as the costumed parade.

There is joy. And books, aplenty.

And a goat that eats herbs that allows him to breathe fire.

A mermaid, canonically the most powerful magic-user to exist since the beginning of time, whose dual motives in life are "acquire candy" and "have adventures with her wife." Unbothered, entirely, with ambition.

A wizard in love with a satyr. He can't bear to admit it, the satyr being a rapscallion, making merry, which how can there be time to make merry, there are magical mysteries to decode yet. A saytr. With gorgeous eyes. And flute laughter.

A tavern owned by a dwarf and his husband known for a battle atmosphere so predictable that at any given moment, across the street, there is a replacement tavern being built, given the inevitable destruction of the first.

The stew is legendary.

The ale is a healing potion.

If you do not wish to partake of the brawling, there are seating areas away from the cavorting where you can enjoy your mountainous respite in peace.

There is an orc so tall that she doesn't need ladders or step stools to put the cans of spookgetti sauce on the top shelf at the grocery store where she works.

There is a goblin, her co-worker, so attracted to this orc that rather than introduce herself she takes up a career as an adventuring thief.

It's easier to steal jewels from queens than to say hello.

NetherworldPost.com opens in September 2022.

All of this and so much more. I haven't even gotten to to ramble about the experiments with the animated fire place or the ghost printing shop or the zine about haunted cereals.

Or the post office works in an infinite world! Full of monsters!!

The next 5 years or so are planned out -- the rest of 2022 is going to be set in getting things in order, really, so that takes us to... 2028?

Which is plenty of time to figure out the following five years.

I hope you'll take a peak occasionally.

I hope it brings you something you deeply love and didn't know you needed before you found it.

[joywritesbutitsactuallymystories]

Jane

Lilith sat at the bar, looking down at her book. She wasn’t reading - she just needed something to hide behind. Something to mask the fact her brain was working double time, mulling over the events of the past week. So she sat, in peaceful silence, until it was brutally interrupted by the characteristic screeching noise of someone pulling back one of the old bar stools.

“Can I get you a drink?” the intruder asked. “Do I look like I need one?” Lilith shot back. The intruder shrugged. She smiled broadly. “You’re at the Fox & Hound pub, dear, everyone who comes here needs a drink.” She tilted her head ever so slightly. “So, what’ll it be? I’m paying.” “I presumed as much, since you are the one who came out with the proposal.” Lilith raised an eyebrow. After a moment, she sighed. “A glass of red wine, then. Please.” “Of course, red wine it is.” The intruder waved over the bartender and ordered two red wines. She then turned to Lilith, regarding her with bright, icy blue eyes. Lilith took that moment to better regard her company as well - bright blue eyes, almost unnaturally so, dark, coiled hair, with silver highlights of sorts, and dark skin. She was of immense beauty - almost dangerous beauty.

“I’m Jane, Jane Clairview.” The intruder introduced herself. “May I have your name?” “I can tell you my name,” Lilith raised her chin, provocatively. “But you may not own it in any way - it is Lilith. Lilith Ardenclove.” “I see you’ve met the fae.” The intruder laughed. “I am not, however, of those who steal names, you can believe me on that one.” “Right.” Lilith turned back to the bar, upon which the barkeep had placed the two wines. She took a deep sip from the glass as Jane chuckled. “Right, I can see that you definitely did not need that drink.” She sipped her own wine silently, still observing Lilith closely, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Who are you, Lilith Ardenclove?” “I don’t understand your question, Jane Clairview.” “You do.” She grew closer to Lilith - so close in fact, that their faces were divided only by the width of two fingers. Lilith looked into the eyes of her companion - those icy blue eyes - and the flickers of cold fire within them, and those sparks of magic, a sight Lilith was all too accustomed to. “What is there about you Lilith - what makes you immune to my charm?” “Who are you, Jane Clairview?” Lilith tilted her head. “What is it in you that gives you that spark? You are not of the folk of the air, this much is evident.” Jane simply chuckled. “Very well then, Lilith.” She smiled, taking another sip of her wine. “You keep your secrets, I shall keep mine.”

Lilith drained her wine glass and gathered her things into her bag. She took one last look at her companion, Jane Clairview, and bid her goodbye, leaving the pub. She put on her thick red scarf, tied her cloak firmly around her body, and began the trek back to her flat. The Fox & Hound pub was conveniently placed within 20 minutes of where Lilith lived - and within half an hour’s trek to the forest. She often came to the Fox & Hound after her time spent in the forest, as it was the only place in the vicinity that was still open at that time, and it was warm, which was much needed after the neverending autumn of the clearing. Lilith wished to forget that place - but she could not find it in herself, she couldn’t forget. She kept on returning to The Valley in her thoughts, to Caterina, to the Folk, and the life she used to lead. It had taken her much to create a place for herself in this new and alarming world, and remembering was a dangerous thing - it was something that tied her to the world she had chosen to leave.

She never found out who it was she had been before she lived in The Valley. She tried, looking for records of missing children from when she presumed to have been born - but her search was fruitless. So instead, she created a new identity, instead of looking for one that once was. She gave herself a family name, called herself an orphan, and enrolled in music school, and rented out an apartment with the help of one tiny little deception.

She had found something unusual within her little violin - it was not from the material world, as she had presumed before. The violin had grown with her, it had taught her how to play, without notes and without a teacher. The little violin was a gift for her - a gift from the Folk. Her first interaction with the Folk happened within the first week of her leaving The Valley. A faery had walked up to her at school, asking for her name. She saw beyond its veil - the magic that swirled within its soul. She refused, later deciding to research magical creatures in the lore of the islands she had found herself upon. She learned of the fae, of their legendary kings, of the Túatha Dé Danann, of their legends and mythologies. Armed with this knowledge, she felt safer, and moved onward through life, utilising the power within the little violin when she truly needed it. She considered herself safe. Until she met Jane.

Jane haunted her mind - for what reason, she was unsure. True, she represented a race Lilith had never met before. But was that truly reason to worry so much? She wasn’t sure. Still, she grew convinced as the weeks passed by - she needed to understand. So, she left the safety of the apartment she had found refuge in, to search for Jane Clairview, armed only with her convictions. And, of course, the little violin.

“I knew you’d be back here.” Jane smiled, as Lilith slid back into that bar chair, in the pub they had first met. “Are you ready to exchange information, Lilith Ardenclove?” Lilith nodded. “Yes, Jane Clairview.” She said. “I will tell you my secrets, if you promise to tell me yours.” Jane spread out her arms in a welcoming gesture. “Of course, a fair trade, Lilith Ardenclove.” “Please, call me not by my full name.” “Very well. You too, Lilith, call me Jane.” “As you wish.” Lilith got up from the stool. “I shall go first with my secrets. This, however, is not the place to share them. Are you willing to go on a short walk?” “Of course,” Jane smiled. “Whatever suits you.”

The two left the pub, and Lilith led Jane towards the forest. They barely shared a word on that walk, the silence only occasionally broken by the sound of Lilith correcting the straps on her violin case. They walked swiftly - something within Lilith was eager to show a person from the outside that clearing that held such value to her and Caterina. At long last, after a good half an hour, they made it to the clearing.

The clearing was beautiful. It was new - neither the way Lilith remembered it to be the past seven years, nor the way it had been long ago, in the days of Lilith’s girlhood. The hawthorn stood proudly, the River of Sorrow was filled with joy, the fog was nowhere to be seen, and the grasses were, every so often, broken by beautiful, young flowers. It was breathtaking - a beautiful spring amidst the grey of November. “I grew up in this place.” Lilith smiled. “I had a sister - a friend. Her name was Caterina.” Jane tilted her head, puzzled. “She called this place The Valley.” Lilith undid her scarf. “Don’t worry about the cold, this place is governed by its own rules.” “How is it that you grew up here, if you belong to the mortal realm?” “I do not know.” Lilith replied. “I do not know many things - and am not good at telling stories.” She opened her violin case. “I shall, instead, let my instrument tell the story for me.” She tuned the little violin and began playing.

And she played - and the little violin told the story of a beautiful, pure, childhood love. It told the tale of two girls, belonging to the clearing, of Lilith and Caterina, of how they grew. It told of the day it was found by Lilith, of how the girl fell for its music and how she devoted herself entirely to it. It told of how it grounded Lilith in her reality - and of how Caterina grew distant. It told of that acheronian day - the one upon which Lilith lost her first love. It told of the guilt Lilith felt - of how she would visit The Valley every day for seven years, to keep it company. It told of how Lilith played for The Valley, and of how that act cleared her of her fault, and freed the clearing from her guilt and sorrow. It told of how this was the first time Lilith had visited the clearing since she had played for it. And as she played, and the little violin told that story, The Valley listened, and many spirits came and listened too - pulled forth by the peculiar vision of a mortal playing one of their instruments.

“Not many mortals would be able to play the way you do,” Jane spoke once the music was finished. “Not any, I believe. Do you understand what this means, Lilith? I do not believe you are fully of the mortal world. I think you may belong to mine.” “Then show me your world, Jane.” Lilith placed the little violin gently in its case, fastening the clasps and placing it on her back. “Keep your end of the promise.” “I will.” Jane smiled. “Follow me.”

The two companions left the forest behind, and Lilith felt lighter than air. She was deeply relieved that she showed the clearing to someone from the outside - she had proof now, that it had all happened, that she was not mad. She had proof now, that it was over - that she was free to come and go, to do as she wished. It was a dangerous thought - complete and utter freedom to do as one wished. She found it exhilarating.

Jane led Lilith further into the wilder parts of the country. They pressed further and further away from the little town Lilith lived in, and towards the cliffs that marked the seashore. The closer they grew to the cliffs, the more alive Jane appeared, the more colour appeared in her cheeks. Her hair grew more and more silvery, glittering in the lowering sunlight. Soon enough, it became twilight - but Lilith found that she saw everything just as clearly as in the harsh light of midday. They approached the cliffs rapidly, stopping just before them. Jane took a deep breath, reveling in the salt air. She turned to Lilith, smiling.

“You showed me your world,” she started. “This is mine. You were right in saying I am not of the Folk of the Air - but I am of the Folk.” She stepped forward. “Can you guess of which?” “The Folk of the Sea.” Lilith breathed in awe. Jane smiled, nodding. “Not entirely, of course - I am part Folk.” She stepped closer still to Lilith, making the space between them once more that of two finger widths. She studied Lilith’s eyes carefully. “No, you are not of the Sea. Nor are you of the Air. Who are you then, Lilith?”

They stood on that cliffside, pondering the question - and Lilith felt her world, that she so carefully crafted, making a place for herself amongst mortals, collapse slowly but surely with each unspoken question that hung in the salt air between them.

#jonny writes stuff #short story #writerblr #writer #writers of tumblr

[hornedadvance]

Horned Advance

Chapter 5 - Sublimity

 The girl was out cold for a time, before waking up to see her hand bandaged and Quinn safe, the dopey girl leaning over her, gazing into her eyes tearfully. Palo’s head was a daze, foggy memories of what had happened a short time ago and the pain she had felt during. Her ears rang and her eyes stung, but after a couple minutes of adjusting she came to her senses. It was a full moon that night, and the stars hung above Palo as her vision began to sharpen back to a normal level. As her head cleared, she felt her heart begin to thump again, quickly sitting up to check Quinn for any injuries.

“‘Re ya alright Quinn? No scratches? Bumps? You’re ok?” She blurted, barely getting her words out in order.  She looked Quinn up and down, realising that besides some holes in her already raggedy clothes Quinn was unharmed. “Mhm… I’m alright Paly, but you…” She said, looking at Palo’s hand with tears welling up in her eyes. Quinn raised Palo’s hand, cradling it between both of hers gently. “I’ll be ok, Quinn. I always have been.” Palo said, gritting her teeth between words to suppress the immense pain her hand was putting her in. “But more importantly… What happened here?” She said, looking around them to see piles of hare corpses piled up, surrounded by small puddles of drying blood. The brood mother stared up at them with lifeless eyes, the two of them still sitting mere inches from the entrance to the hive tunnels; an intense, wrathful glare that scorned the two even after death. The brood mother had suffered a deep cut in its fur, leaving a trail of blood following the gash across the width of its body, a wound that had proven to be fatal.

“Ah, well… That’d be her.” Quinn stumbled, pointing over at the figure in the night. A slender frame, adorned by a deep purple hood atop a silken cloak. The way the wind blew the figure’s cloak captivated Palo for but an instant, the majesty of such a picturesque visage distracting her mind from her pain. With the moonlight reflecting upon the field, it was like a scene from a painting, or a picture book, the image of sublimity epitomised in this moment. Reality snapped back to Palo with great intensity however, as her searing pain brought her back to earth. The figure shifted for a moment, turning back to look in her direction and shifting in their boots.

“You… You’re like me, it seems. I can feel it. A sixth sense of sorts. Your life, your vitality… It screams out so clearly to me.”

“Huh?” Palo muttered, sitting up and stabilising herself.

“Your Resonance… I’ll remember it.” The figure said, in what was now a clearly feminine voice.

“I… I’m going to change the world one day. I’m going to fix the mistakes that we have been forced to live with for so long. I’ll fix it so people like us can live happily, and no one will have to face the desecration of these lands any longer. Just wait… You’ll see it one day, I’m sure.”

And with that, the girl was gone, vanishing into the night with swiftness not even Palo could rival. Her dark cloak blended in with the gloomy night perfectly, and with Palo only just having regained consciousness, she was unsure which direction the girl even got off to, with Quinn having had her eyes locked on Palo for the time being regardless. Palo took some extra time to get her bearings, before lifting herself up from the ground and dusting the dirt from herself. She’d begun to skin some of the plumper hares, knowing that their meat and hides would provide use for her when her hand slipped and loosened her bandages, the stinging pain of the aggravation followed by the shock she felt when she saw her hand had already mostly healed. Palo wasn’t sure what had even happened that day, but she wasn’t the kind of fool to question a miracle that had befallen her.

“Let’s go… get some sleep, Quinn. We got a long trip comin’.” She mustered, offering Quinn her good hand to lead her back to the Inn. The two girls returned to the Innkeeper that night, with him paying no heed to the fact they’d returned battered and bloodied given that they’d handed him a small fortune just to stay there for now. The two girls got into their separate beds, dressed down from the tattered rags they’d worn, or what was left of them and tried to rest. Neither could get much sleep however, as there were many thoughts swirling through both of their heads. Palo had never felt such intense grace before, and her hand healing in just a matter of hours could never sit right with her. She’d gotten injured in the forest many times before and knew that even small cuts were no joke, so having her whole hand just…heal? It was unheard of. She began to question herself, her memory, and the horns that sat atop her head.

‘What am I, really?’ She thought. ‘Am I a creature of such sublimity?’

Next Chapter - 5.5

Link to All Chapters

#horned advance #creative writing #original work #original fiction #ocs #original characters #writing #fantasy #writers on tumblr

[nunchigoya]

Chapter 1: Iku

Rain hangs heavy in the clouds. Residuals are so predictable. They always attack in poor weather, but I don’t have time for this. The residual slams its heel into my stomach, bile rises to the back of my throat as I slide back, dirt kicks up around me. The trees we’d already taken out in our fight create a ring around us. Something is wrong.

The residual stands across from me. Tendrils of inky smoke waft off its half-formed body. Half here to finish its final task, and half gone because it takes too much aura to stay where you don’t belong. Its aura presses at my domain. A residual wouldn’t have enough aura to spare to form a domain. While my domain is solid around me, a barrier between me and everything else, my aura weighs on me, slowing me down. My head spins, the world around me slipping in and out of focus. This should be an easy fight. Residuals are weak, barely able to hold their form, let alone have enough power to injure someone as strong as me… but this one did. I press my hand against the slash that burned across my side, blood dribbling over it. Its razor-like fingers curl and uncurl at its sides, ready to take another piece of me. It shouldn’t have been able to touch me at all. I need to end this now. I focus my aura into my side, just enough to keep myself from bleeding out before I can finish this stupid thing off. What a stupid death. Bleeding out. If I had to die before killing my father, then it should have been in the fire. Not here. Not now. Not from something as stupid as bleeding out.

I lunge at the residual, my aura shivering near it. Its own aura pushes against my domain, grazing it with the texture of a rusty blade. Its presence lingers around the gash in my side, jagged and raw. I don’t like this. The residual doesn’t make any vocal sounds, but its aura collides with my domain, ripples of its essence lapping against my invisible walls as if it’s laughing. It strikes out again with its more human hand, nailing me in the side. My cut needs to be cleansed before the residual’s tainted aura infects mine. I reach for my center. There’s more to use inside me. Even if my master wouldn’t agree, I can feel it. An endless pull at my fingertips whenever I needed it.

Don’t take too much, aura is life energy. If you use too much, you’ll have none left to live with.

My master’s words play on a loop in my head. The hundreds of warnings she gave me every time I tried to pull too much from my center.

Know when you are not using enough. You’ll never get stronger playing it safe.

There is more to spare. My aura comes when I reach for it, slithering out from my center where all excess aura is stored. Patiently, I coax it out. The boost it’ll give just on the tips of my fingers when my center clenches and my grasp slips, and I stagger to the side.

“Damn it!” My breath puffs out in ragged gasps. “What’s wrong with me?” My hand presses firmly against my wound to staunch the bleeding. I should be able to take this thing no problem. I’ve seen worse.

It looms over me with its razor hands and its frame twice the width of an average man. Its malicious aura intensifies and the rusted blade-like texture grinds against my domain, threatening to break through if I lose my grip again. I underestimated it. It’s that simple. It’s that stupid.

“Your aura is so strong.” Its voice hisses out in a garbled whisper.

It talks? Residuals can’t usually form vocal cords.

“It’ll keep me full for weeks.” The residual’s aura ripples against mine again and a subtle tug pulls at my center. My aura… it’s… it’s absorbing it! A residual siphon is rare. In my whole life, I had never seen even one. Only heard my own master mention it in passing. A siphon… just my luck.

“That makes more sense.” My knees give out, and I hit the ground, the grass acting as a cushion. “But knowing doesn’t actually help me at this point!” This far… I made it this far, and I couldn’t even win against this weakling? So close.

#books #read #youtube #reading #story #bookish #nunchigoya #wattpad #booknerd #booklover #strong enough #strong enough series #fantasy books #fantasy #ya fantasy #young adult #young adult fiction #YA #summer reading #reading challenge #currently reading #reading reccomendations #bookblog #lgbtq books #booktok #bookcommunity #June #LGBTQIA #nonbinary #gay

[basskier]

Get to know me better!

Again, thank you to @tellhound for tagging me ❤️

Relationship status: single I suppose, as I've made an active choice to live alone.

Favourite color: forrest green.

Favourite food: nothing in particular, but a good stew is always nice

Song stuck in my mind: Achilles come down by Gang of Youths

Last thing you googled: Artfex double width (a dog cage for your car lol)

Time: 01.34 am

Dream trip: Hike in Alaska

Last thing you read: A murder in the caribbean by Agatha Christie

Last book you enjoyed reading: probably the same as above

Last book you hated reading: PC Jersild's House of Babylon. My hatred for that book knows no bounds

Favourite thing to cook/bake: I love cooking a really lovely bouillabaisse for my family. In the winter months a beefy stew is always cozy too. I do not under any circumstances bake as I can't handle having my hands sticky.

Favourite craft to do in your free time: I restore old furniture and weave. I also knit (badly).

Most niche dislike: I dislike a ton of shit but one is people with their dogs off leash without having a 100% foolproof recall.

Opinion on circuses: As long as they don't keep animals I don't know enough about them to have one.

Do you have any sense of direction: I can and have navigated by the fucking stars while high as a kite, but yeah you can count on me to know exactly where I am and where I'm going.

Tell us about your D&D character: The greatest sorrow of my life is that I've never played D&D so if someone is doing a campaign soon and need players I would love to have a go at it!

Tagging: @amzngdevil @sarcasmisfluffy @0dde11eth @comfyswitcherblanketfort @buskerjaskier @missedthemark @yes-i-have-a

Sorry if you've already done this! ✌️

#tag games

[tymianox]

SCPoem

Yes you're right. There is someone Behind it all, But it's not The Illuminati, Nor the masons Or some reptoids.

It's a huge organization, Named the S C P Foundation. And their mission? It's quite simple: Keep all humans From panicking, And anomalies From trafficking.

What they hide Inside their belly? Might a question In you appear. Let me see into The Archive: A poem's in making.

(SCP-682) We've got a reptile Not so docile, Whose existence Ceased be not, It's body - battered More than martyrs, And it's hatred For us - people Is bigger - than it's ego.

(SCP-106) A World War One solider, Feeds on your fear. He'll make you Pray, beg & scream. He can dissolve walls, And hop inside His own dimension. Now that I think of it, Isn't it just IT?

(SCP-4001) Somewhere in Egypt A building stands, Filled with books Of all width and size. But just open one, You'll see, There's no fiction Within. It stores all our life's As stories to be read. But beware Couse that's not all. Do not try to bring Ink within. All stories Can be changed, And rearranged.

(SCP-173) A concrete statue Kills with virtuosity. You look away, It snaps your neck Back into its place.

(SCP-105) Iris and her Polaroid Will take you a photo, Only to slap you by it For breaking her limit. Please don't try to Force her to killing, She's just a kid Without her kin.

(SCP-6757) In Site-██ a deck of cards is, Consciousness it has. It'll take over your body And make you a magician goodie, For a price of not knowing it.

(SCP-963) Doctor Jack Bright, Once a human being Now a restless soul. Traveling from body to body, Without experiencing The sweet release of death.

(SCP-426) I am a toaster, Always has been And will be. You don't wanna experience My secondary effect, Unless you want A suicidal death.

(SCP-531) A pair of cats, Staring in their eyes. If you break their contact You'll become one.

(SCP-4661) Los Angeles The City of Sin. Demons created it And demons will, Make it scream.

(SCP-3515) Weeping willows Are known to be sad. But this one will make you Terrified. It'll send you to your Childhood house, But deep underground. You'll be stuck In a loop, Digging up - Dying in a stoop.

(SCP-3003) Deep in space A planet resides. It's inhabitants? Humans, Controlled by parasites. They desire to claim The Universe whole, We can stop them For now...

(SCP-1678) Under London UnLondon lies, A mirror copy, Only more Steam-punk. Be careful Bobbies are around, They don't need a reason To beat you to a pulp.

(SCP-1867) Lord Blackwood, A great adventurer Turned sea slug. Explorer of Victoria, And ancient Amon-Iram. Messenger of the Forest, Hunter of the Tarasque.

(SCP-1281) A fusion of man 'n' machine With a message of great gravity Asking us politely To make the galaxy shine brightly From life's glare

(SCP-558) A number of lenses That'll expand your senses: Microwave is Red, UV is Violet, Contrast is Green, Achromatic is Gray, And if you're brave enough You can wear Black Which let you will See the End of all.

We fight in the dark... So you can live in the light.

#tymianox #tymianoxpoetry #poetry #poem #originalpoetry #originalpoem #aspiringpoet #mythoughtsinwords #scp fandom #scp 106 #scp 682 #scp 173 #scp foundation #scp

[littlewitchthatwrites]

Cauldron Part 4

“I was just trying to get closer to them. If we don't get closer we’ll never be able to get the job done.” Asher groaned.

The three hunters walked out of their school building where a sleek black car was waiting for them at the back of the parking lot. "Well, you were taking too long. And why do you get to have all the fun?" Bianca crossed her arms and slid into the car right next to Asher. Asher said nothing as they drove. They passed shops and houses, cute little neighborhoods where people lived completely unaware of the danger they were in. Living in blissful ignorance to what monsters were creeping around their lovely town. They drove until they pulled up to an open metal gate that towered into the misty autumn sky. The house that towered behind it was beautiful but old. It was completely over grown, covered by weeds and vines. The locals called it La Casa de Brujas. The house had an alarmingly strange history and it showed. People usually stayed away from this house. It was a hunting ground for beings of the supernatural. Teenagers go there to see if the legends are true and if they come back at all, they never want to go back to that house again. It stood tall just under the tall red and gold trees. The white chipped paint was spooky enough but that didn't stop the three of them from going inside. It wasn't just a house though, it was a mansion.  Ash could imagine the parties that would take place in the large hall. Large, full of life and light (he hoped). He could imagine all the women in beautiful gowns, being held close by their dance partners, spinning gracefully to elegant music. But now it was just an old, dusty tomb of history and memories.

The cracked marble floor was no longer glossy, covered in leaves and dust, but soon enough it would be restored to its former glory. In exactly a week, from midnight to midnight, the ghouls and ghosts would gather in the large hall. At that moment the line between the living and dead would break, all the monsters would stop hiding, and their family name would be known as more than just fiction. Heros, they would call them. What is myth will become real and all other hunters would bow under the name Van Helsing.

 “Well, I couldn't have a party here but that’s just my opinion.” Ash’s little brother said.

“Damien, will you stop messing around and come help us scout?” Bianca’s voice was just above a whisper but the annoyance still rattled in her voice. Damien let out a scoff and crossed his arms. “What are we even supposed to be looking for? This place is a dump. No one has been in here for centuries.” Asher rolled his eyes at his little brother and continued walking into the large ballroom. The windows were blown in resulting in a glass-covered floor. Chandeliers hung low, leaves and debris littered the ground, and there wasn't a single clean spot. It was all dark, dead, and empty. Just when they were about to quit and head back empty-handed, Bianca was gone.

Asher’s call almost echoed up stairs to the second story internal balcony that lined the room and had pictures and bookshelves covering every inch of the walls. Asher and Damien ran up the stairs to find her eyes glued to a thick page of a heavy book. It was about the width of Asher’s leg but she could hold it just fine. She was completely enamored by the picture of a crown on the top of a woman’s head. She was pale and boney but had eyes the color of rubies.

 Her hair was delicately braided and placed over her shoulder, her lips parted just the slightest bit with the corners turned up into a smirk. On her head was a beautiful crown made of white crystals and small purple flowers. They were held together by a silver circlet and little black beads about the size of berries. “Ash, doesn't this look like the portrait that your dad has in his study?”  Asher took the book and shoved it into her bag. “We need to get back to town, it's getting dark.” His warm fingers laced with hers sending a shock up her arm and behind her cheeks. The hairs on her arms stood straight up at the feeling. They ran back outside and the second they got to the porch the heavy doors slowly closed themselves with a large, booming, slam. “Let’s get this book back to your dad.” Bianca tried not to run away from the house. She walked fast, maintaining her tall confident image. Asher smirked at the small quiver in her voice.

#vampire oc #vampires #vampire hunters #supernatural #witch aesthetic #witchcore #witch #witch story #witch stuff #original story #hunters #romance #romantic #vampirecore #vampirism #spooky #ghosts #haunted house #haunting

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

A dream

What a peculiar dream. (I must have been asleep for a while.)

I was in a long, dimly lit, very wide hall that stretched to some unseen distant horizon. It was lined on both sides with tall cabinets set in rows, and along its length were doors to more cabinets, and beyond those doors were long lines of doors with labels on them. The only things I can recall about this hall were that there were many shelves of books and many long shelves of rows of shelves of books (I remember one shelf of shelves in which every single shelf had books). And beyond this endless book-filled hall, there was another hall, this one very narrow and long but only dimly illuminated. Its width and length were indeterminate. This other hall was full of people, a great number of them. (I recall some of the people: there was a boy who wore an old-style dress and a hat I now associate with a certain kind of white-haired elderly man.) The people in the narrow hall were looking towards the doors of the book-filled hall, and whenever a new batch of people came in, they lined up by the doors. I could not go down the narrow hall, because the people in it were making too much noise. The dream went on in this way for a long time.

Of all the strange things the dream did, this was perhaps its most disconcerting -- like if your dream wanted you to notice some detail, it would show you that detail. I don't know why this happened, and in the course of the dream I have no idea why I was being shown the things I was being shown, or what they had to do with anything. A moment later, all the doors in the book-filled hall would close, and I would find myself back in the ordinary dimly lit, book-filled hall (where it was impossible to hear anything but a whisper, and so, it seemed, everyone in it was murmuring).

At one point, I think I tried to sneak down into the narrow hall, and as soon as I reached it, a voice called out and I was turned back to face the people, who were lined up around the door of the book-filled hall in the way I had always seen them. I remember thinking to myself -- in that sense this is another kind of dream: a short and boring one with many repetitions, a kind of'sameness' or'stability,' but no sense of progression, no sense of story.

I was walking in the middle of the book-filled hall when I saw a crowd of people I knew, and at first I couldn't quite place them. I looked closer and suddenly I remembered where I had seen them before. I was in their old town, I remembered. These were the old men, the men I had known as boys -- what was their town called, now? It was very near here -- they had moved here after something had happened and they could no longer walk the road. I realized I didn't know what that something was, I just knew it had changed something in them forever. It was like my own town -- but in reverse. There were many people there whose faces were familiar from the old town.

And they had all brought their weapons with them: the kind of weapons, I realized, that were once made by the man who had made these cabinets. These weapons were very long, very sharp, and very heavy, and they were also very narrow. It was not just that they were narrow -- they were like an arm or a leg, but their width was infinite, and it was not merely that they were infinite, it was that the space they took up was the very space between the human bodies. In every direction, the weapons were going in and out -- going in and out of their owners and their wielders. (That last bit may be a joke I made, but it's true.)

There was a certain kind of man in these towns, a kind of man who lived inside these weapons, and used the weapons for his own life, and his own people's lives -- men who were tall, and who moved slowly, and who were not, but were the space that could be taken up.

I didn't know what to do with this information at the time. I was in one of the cabinets, and someone came and knocked and I went back out to face the people, and then I woke up.

[end original fiction]

#original fiction