#my-writing

[missygoesmeow]

that one scene from pride & prejudice 2005 a little ficlet under the cut

i just wrote this on tumblr so lmao we ball. its more just to get the idea down.

Every door had been unlocked and every room had been rifled through—yet her contract was still in the Archives, perfectly preserved and untouched in its pride of place. With every passing moment, Tav could not shake the horrible sense of unease that told her this had been a stupid idea. Of course, it had been a reckless decision. But everyone bar Lae’zel had disagreed with her choice to sign Raphael’s contract.

And Gale had been right; she should not have agreed to give the Crown of Karsus to the devil But it had felt like the right choice to obtain the Orphic Hammer—for Lae'zel and for them all to survive this awful situation. Standing here, in this room, it no longer felt like a wise idea to break into the House of Hope and steal her contract back. Coming across Haarlep had been more than Tav had bargained for, and she had not spoken of what she had found in the boudoir. Not the password for her contract nor what she had done to obtain it. She had simply fled and found Astarion picking the lock to one last room. It had taken the vampire longer than usual to unlock—which had seemed strange upon entering it. There was nothing in here except for some broken statues and paintings—all of Raphael in his infernal glory. Yet, at the back of the room, there was one bust that sat on a plinth that captured her attention. It was the only piece of artwork in this entire monstrosity of a house that depicted Raphael in his human form.

There was no emotion in the expression except for a slight lingering dismissiveness from the arch of his brow. The blank marble stare paled in comparison to the real thing, surely no artist could capture his eyes, Tav thought. And here her mind wandered to the feel of Haarlep’s hand against her skin and his voice in her ear as her body still softly throbbed from his touch. Yet, whenever she closed her eyes she could only see Raphael’s warm amber eyes. She stared at the bust and the marble seemed to see right through her, dismissing her as nothing.

Tav felt like nothing.

While she knew she was but a means to an end to the devil, and that she should not have broken their agreement, nor his trust, to sneak into his home. She had hoped, however foolishly, that she would get away with it. But now, staring into the hollow eyes of his likeness, she felt the gnawing guilt and fear twist at her. She should have turned around as soon as she had arrived. And she most certainly should have walked away from Haarlep. But unlike the master of the house, she was mortal and she had been weak to resist the incubus. But she would not make any further mistakes and so she dragged her attention away from the marble statue and returned to her companions. "We need to leave. Now."

#my-art #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 raphael #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate fanart #raphael the cambion #house of hope #bg3 fanfiction #sketch #my-writing

[honeyynymphh]

La Principessa Addormentata Papa IV x FemReader Rating: T tags: mostly sfw, cuddles, daddy dom papa, established relationship, fluff, google translated italiano 800 words

summary: Copia returns to his papal chambers late one night to find his principessa asleep on the lounge after trying to wait up all night for him

I wrote this last night at midight and it's mostly unedited, sorry. I was feeling a type of way. I might expand it later and turn it into a proper fic another day. This is the same universe as this fic and this one

“Principessa?”

You open your eyes slowly to see Copia standing above you, the low light of the room made his painted face look eerie—but it doesn't frighten you, instead, it's a welcome sight. You’d been waiting up for him for hours. At first, it had been easy; a little studying before you had put the demonic textbooks aside and swapped them for much more enjoyable books. After showering and getting comfortable in your nightgown, you had sat on the lounge reading. When your eyes had become heavy, you had told yourself you would just shut them for a moment, your novel still held in one hand as it rested against your chest.

But you must have fallen asleep—and how could you not? It was so cosy in his papal suite with the warm fire and the comfortable lounge. The flames had tickled your cheeks and the crackling of the burning logs had lulled you into a hazy place of dreamless rest.

“Papa?” you say, voice heavy with sleep as you gaze up at him.

He smiles down at you, a gloved hand reaching out and brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The firelight flickers over his jewelled vestments and you note how his hair is a little mussed from wearing the mitre.

“It’s very late, I am sorry,” he says, slowly shrugging out his vestments and placing them on a nearby armchair, revealing the black suit underneath. “You should have gone to bed.”

You shake your head lazily, unable to stifle a yawn. “But I was waiting for you."

The sound of his low chuckle makes you smile, you eyes closing when he leans over you and places a kiss on your temple. Your smile spreads into a giddy grin and he places another kiss on your forehead before his fingers wipe at where he has kissed you—clearly trying to remove the black marks he has left behind.

“Sei troppo dolce, mia piccola principessa,” he says, his arms sliding under you so he can pick you up, cradling your head against his chest. “Time for bed.”

You try to protest, surely you are too heavy for him but he clearly doesn’t seem to struggle as he moves you with ease towards his bedroom. While the smell of the fire and the incense you had been burning earlier had been delightful, nothing could compare to the smell of your Papa and you nuzzle closer, deeply breathing him in. His suit jacket is smooth against your skin and you can hear, and feel, the steady beat of his heart. Ever so gently he places you on the bed, helping to lift the covers up so you can slide in.

The sheets are far too cool and you curl up instantly on your side, your head burying into the soft pillow. You can hear him moving about—the sound of him undressing, and then the shower turning on. His little hums as he sings to himself merely aid you in feeling sleepy again. It was always so comforting having him near, and the domestic sound of him getting ready for bed always made you smile. How quickly you had learned his little routines. He didn’t like hot showers, though they were always so long, and he insisted on using two towels—one around his waist and another to go over his shoulders, he always said he got cold after getting out. You must drift back to sleep as you jolt when you feel the mattress dip and open your eyes to find the room completely dark. Warm arms wrap around you, pulling you close against his bare chest—the hair there still a little damp.

“You use two towels yet you don’t dry yourself properly,” you mumble, though you make no effort to move away from him. 

He doesn’t say anything, instead, he just pulls you closer so your back is completely pressed against his chest—you can feel that he’s dampened your nightgown. When he presses his face against your neck you feel water dropping onto your skin from his wet hair. 

“Copia, you’re making me wet,” you whine half-heartedly, wiping at the droplets he has dripped on your neck.

“I hope so, principessa,” he says, pressing himself against you—you can feel his cock hardening against your ass.

You shake your head, though you can’t help but smile in the darkness. “You said bedtime.”

His mouth presses a kiss against your neck and you shiver. He does it again, his mouth hot and hitting that sensitive patch of skin behind your ear. You can't help but sigh in pleasure at the feel of it, feeling less sleepy with each touch of his lips on your skin.

“Si,” he murmurs in between another kiss, “I said bedtime.” The arm he has over you shifts, his hand moving down your side and skating over your hip. “But not time to sleep, principessa.”

La Principessa Addormentata - The Sleeping Princess Sei troppo dolce, mia piccola principessa - You are too sweet, my little princess

#my-writing #the band ghost fic #papa iv x reader #copia x reader #fanfic #copia x sister of sin #papa iv x female reader #ghost fanfiction #ficlet

[ivycorp]

the consequences of being a vehicle on Earth - even if only as a part-timer (3557 words) by IvyCorp Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Autobots & Carmine Fanzone Characters: Carmine Fanzone, Optimus Prime, Bulkhead (Transformers), Ratchet (Transformers), Bumblebee (Transformers), Prowl (Transformers) Additional Tags: Traffic Laws, fines, And Of Course - Freeform, Paperwork, Humor Series: Part 9 of Hearts and Sparks Ship Week 2023

Summary:

Part of Hearts and Sparks Ships week 2023 (Summer) - Day 2: On the Road/Trouble

The laws on Earth, especially the ones connected to traffic, could be a maze to navigate - with a lot of possibility to get a fine for oddest of reasons

Fortunately, the Autobots had help

Day 2 of @heartsandsparksshipweek!

#transformers #maccadam #my-writing #fanzone #optimus prime #ratchet #bumblebee #bulkhead #prowl #heartsandsparksshipweek #it's so late #but I do want to try to get these out on time #even though I am struggling because my brain refuses to cooperate #still - hope someone enjoys it #i am just hoping this is like with a sickness - needs to get worse before it gets better or I am getting very concerned with my writing #unless i spent it all on the BB fic in which case I am doomed

[writingdirty]

Kink Without Armor

I haven’t read much about a lot of things I’m trying to figure out right now, but I’m sure there is profound writing out there about it. Basically, I’ve been in therapy for a little over two years now, and I’ve been facing my early childhood trauma, my teenage trauma, my anxiety, my self-defense mechanisms, my fractured identity, and making a lot of changes that are making my life better in a lot of ways.

A lot of this involves taking off emotional and psychological armor. It involves learning to be vulnerable. It involves learning how to experience and process emotions instead of repressing and denying them. It involves integrating the different parts of myself so that I don’t try to conform to the spaces I enter. I don’t become the person I feel I am expected to be, at work, with family, in kink spaces, on dates. I try to find my authentic self and nurture that self and let myself be that true self at all times.

The thing is, how that version of me does kink is kind of a mystery at this point. At least how that version of me does kink in any kind of public space.

Mr. Stratton, three-piece suit, well-shined boots, cocky grin, sarcastic bon mots. He is certainly part of me, but a lot of that was also armor, because crowds are scary, expectations are scary, vulnerability is scary, having people give you control is scary. Being sadistic is scary. Kink is scary and complicated, and the more you think about it, the more complicated you realize it is.

But I’m still kinky. I’m still queer. I’m still non-monogamous. I’m still a writer who often writes about sex. Yet I’m having to reconsider how I engage with those parts of myself as this new, more vulnerable, more integrated, more authentic version of myself.

And kink has changed. “The Whole Steve/RuleSet Thing” has radically changed how I and everyone around me engages with any kind of public or private kink. The kink community I once considered myself a part of has either imploded or has been realized as being so toxic I can’t stomach going near it.

Even my writing has been changing so dramatically I’m not sure what the cardinal points of my new world are.

So that’s where I am, in 2023, looking at this current iteration of Tumblr. Hello. How are you?

#my-writing #bloggery

[nariwalsh]

A Knight in Cloudwalkers

Olisha stood silently in the hall of of Cloudwalkers’ guild, contemplating the mail that had just reached her hands. Many parchments had passed through her grasp as guild leader, but this particular one was of interest.

"Oh, we have mail?" Arienna's wee voice broke the Teir'Dal from her thoughts. She glanced down at her fae comrade with a nod.

"Yeah, doesn't say who it's from but I'll find out soon enough." Olisha worked at the parchment and broke the wax seal. What she didn't tell her tiny ally was that she recognized said seal's symbol.

She unfolded the parchment within, noting its quality. Whomever sent this meant business. She finally read aloud, "Olisha N'Vasvor. I am requesting a meeting regarding a possible membership to your guild. If permissible, you may find me at The Basilisk's Lair in Freeport on the day of Windday the 3rd. Green cloak and hood, green wooden mask. Regards - gods I can't make this out. Fuck Sathirian. Sargon Val- Var- Varsi- oh shit!"

"What is it?" Arienna's brows knit together in worry, and her wings fluttered with her nervousness.

"Varsiss! Like Athenia and Isella Varsiss! They actually have a brother, but what are the odds this is them?" Olisha poked at the paper. It was no wonder the seal was familiar; The two she had mentioned had been guild members for quite some time, but their third living sibling had been absent from their lives.

"Only one way to find out. Well, perhaps there's multiple ways this time, but I am meaning to say you should ask those two!" Arienna frantically gestured.

Olisha smirked. Fae were so amusing. "I will do exactly that."

~*~

Isella and Athenia sat together on the couch in front of the hall's large hearth. Their expressions ranged from bewilderment to concern looking over the letter.

"This is him, for ccertain." Isella remarked as she held the parchment with her left hand.

"Doessss he… even know we are here?" Athenia's nose twitched as she nervously stared at the object held by her elder sister.

“No,” Isella sighed putting her hands and the letter into her lap, “he would have sssaid sssomething if he did.”

“I’m noticing you two look uh, concerned. Is this bad, him writing us?” Olisha’s gaze fluttered back and forth between theirs.

“Sargon iss… hsss.” Athenia closed her mouth hard. She simply stared into the large fireplace before them.

“The three of us had taken the fall of our community harshly. Sargon hasss had the hardesst time coping," Isella scoffed at her own words, "By Cazic that iss too kind of me to put it! He ssspiralled out of control, and has committed unspeakable actss even by our standardss. It wass to the point we ccceased contact with him.”

Isella frowned, her eyes firmly meeting Olisha’s. The elven guildmaster's gut sank. 

“Well shit. Do you think I’ll be in danger meeting him?" She queried. Not that she couldn't handle danger, but that was obviously something she did not want to invite into their walls.

“He iss requesting a… public meeting. You… should be sssafe there.” Athenia struggled with her common tongue this time around, and drew up one leg on the sofa to put her arms around her folded knee. She was still staring out into the fireplace, visibly uncomfortable with what was taking place.

“Should I mention you two are here? Do you want to come with me?” Olisha offered.

“It would not endanger us to mention our presence. We need not come but - hsss.” A smirk tugged at Isella’s mouth as she brought her thumb to her chin, pondering. “It has been sssome years. Perhaps thisss is a ssign we are ready to reunite or move forward. It will depend on what he has to say and was you assesss of this… ssssituation.”

Olisha shrugged “Fate has a funny way of working out. If this isn’t the time for it, then maybe it’s just the seed that gets planted this time around.”

“Wise wordsss, Miss N’Vasssvor,” Athenia said as if she were trying to find comfort in them, but her twitching tail gave away her still-lingering anxiety.

The Teir'dal laughed and waved a hand at her companions, “Eh, you live this long and you notice a few things about life. Anyway. I’ll go check this out. We’ll see where we go after we meet. If I smell trouble brewing he won’t be let in, simple as that.”

~*~

Windday came, and Olisha had arrived at the Basilisk’s Lair in Freeport. It was a relatively new establishment, forged when the city had sought to eliminate its more run-down areas. It was a popular spot for both Sarnak and Iksar alike, although the city’s non-scaled residents were relatively welcome as long as they did not invite trouble along with them.

Wrapped in her dark grey cloak, the dark elven woman expected the curious looks she received as soon as she entered. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for one belonging to her race to stir trouble at some point. She couldn’t help but smirk at the stares - she seemed like a tiny morsel compared to most of the other customers.

She ignored the attention and looked for the tall stranger clad in green, and she found him rather easily even from the booth tucked towards the back.

Sargon was dressed in a simple off-white shirt but his cloak and wooden mask were just as described. As his siblings had illustrated him, he was built like he took his role as a knight of Thule seriously and Olisha had a good hunch that what was sitting at that table was nothing but muscle, scale, and a whole pile of reptilian-flavoured danger.

She slid herself in a casual manner in the seat across from him like this was any other meeting but perked a brow as soon as she laid eyes on his large, Kunark-sized form up close. She was guessing he had to be at least eight feet tall if not more.

As soon as he had sight of her there, he was completely stiff, his back pressed behind the booth wall behind him. His thick, clawed hands were flattened on the wooden table. Everything about his body language was screaming as if he’d just seen a ghost.

“What, am I that scary?” Olisha smirked with a teasing chuckle. This was an unexpected reaction. “I am Olisha N’Vasvor. You, Sargon Varsiss, requested this meeting.”

She could hear the breath that was let out from behind his mask. Now she was confused, but she wore a calm expression even as a pang of alarm rose in her gut. Considering how deadly his siblings had proven themselves to be, she expected no less from him. She would need to be quick if this was about to turn dark.

His dull-reddish-hued hands slid from the table into his lap and he looked to the side. He paused as if he were confronting all of his life decisions up to that point.

Finally, one hand rose to pull the fabric of his hood back and the other moved to remove the mask covering his features. He finally was revealed in full to her, and now Olisha could see why he was so shocked to have her slide up in front of him.

She audibly gasped. In a volume barely audible above the din of the tavern she squeaked.

“I fucked you!”

~*~

Now Olisha understood why the sizable iksar before her was so startled at her presence. Shock and disbelief crept over her now too, and her cheeks gave her feelings away by turning a bright purple-pink considering everything they’d been up to together during the past several weeks.

“Ssa,” was all that Sargon replied in his deep, husky voice. That was a ‘yes’ in Sathirian; the language he preferred speaking since they’d met. His blue-green eyes still hadn’t met her own as he continued to digest the situation.

“You um, shrunk yourself when we met before,” Olisha stated as plainly as she could even with her voice cracking. She was stupefied, and she was also trying not to laugh at the absurdity of all of this. They were a peculiar partnership to begin with and this only served to heighten the anomalous nature of it all.

Sargon finally turned his aquamarine hues on her. Indeed he had been a good two feet shorter in stature the last time they’d crossed paths. He sighed before speaking in his native tongue. “It is easier to find partners in this city that way.”

“Yeah, fair,” Olisha replied in her usual common language, an exchange that had become regular between the two. She couldn’t control herself for much longer and burst out laughing, holding her stomach until she calmed enough to speak again. She wiped a small tear from her eye as she settled. “So uh, telling each other our names was going to complicate things? Is that how you put it?”

Sargon audibly groaned and rubbed his face. He caught sight of a barmaid and immediately ordered the best ales for the both of them. They would indeed need a drink considering everything taking place.

They sat in the most awkward silence until their drinks were brought to them in steins fitting to their stature, and both consumed a good portion before the conversation continued.

“I notice you’re not bolting for the door,” Olisha remarked after she took a few good swigs of her beverage.

“No. Unfortunately I am being pushed in this direction by powers greater than ourselves. I must see this meeting through.” Sargon’s expression was certainly sour, but he looked resigned to his fate.

“Oh good, because it gets worse!” she looked him dead in the eyes as she burst into laughter again.

Athenia and Isella were both cautious and even troubled about his presence as if he was capable of terrible violence. Olisha, while wholly believing this, had known him in more recent times than they and in ways that could have easily gotten her killed. She was confident that at least this time, her familiarity with him wasn’t going to end in harm to her person.

“Ssa?” Sargon looked pained, but it was as if he was feeling like he was deserving of worse. He took another deep drink of his ale.

Olisha took another swig of her own before dropping her next statement. “Your sisters are in this guild, too.”

Sargon’s massive fist pounded the table as he choked on the amber liquid in his stein. He coughed, he groaned, he set down his ale, and he finally put his horned head in his hands as he took large breaths to calm his rage and horror.

“Do they know of this?!” He finally hissed in Sathirian. Olisha could hear a part of his tail was thunking against the booth in agitation.

Olisha watched his reaction in full before continuing to empty her own drink. “They know of this current meeting taking place. Everything else? They have no idea. That’s absolutely none of their business.”

“The one time I go outside of my kind…” Sargon lifted his head and intensely stared off at the wall beside their booth.

“Well, crazy shit happens. Let’s get back to this guild thing and why you wanted to join us in the first place because you definitely have me curious.” She was happily in a buzz from her drink at this point, and that felt like a good time to get on to guild matters.

Sargon’s expression at present was as if he wanted to scream until his lungs collapsed. He however sat back and sighed, looking like he was getting to that inebriated state himself.

He finished his drink and put it to the end of the table, a gesture silently requesting a refill. He lightly scowled and took a deep breath.

"I angered some of Tunare's followers. I will not delve into details. What followed was some kind of curse. I have been plagued by nightmares full of images of the people I have ‘unjustly’ slaughtered - of what they experienced at their deaths and now I am to… grow or continue this madness every night." He clasped his hands together on the table. 

"Growth as a person, wow." Olisha casually folded her arms and looked up at him. "So what about my guild specifically made you write to me?"

Sargon watched as a barmaid came to refill his drink, and he drank some more before he grumbled in his mother tongue "I have had to think about what ‘growth’ could possibly mean to a follower of that deity, for it is not what Cazic Thule or what those of Kunark would request of me. No, I am certain they mean some kind of atonement for my past actions or similar. Joining forces with others different from myself seemed like the logical first step.”

“What kind of ‘past actions’ are we talking about?” Olisha queried in a more rigid tone. Now she had to ask the serious questions.

“Isella did not tell you of her arm?” Sargon looked surprised at this revelation. Olisha would know that his sister’s right arm had been severed just above the elbow, but she still retained use of her right appendage thanks to ongoing magic that kept the skeletal remains of her own hand and wrist animated.

“Wait, you did that? She said she lost it in a duel!” The bewildered guildmaster lightened her stein more, surprised herself at the admission.

Sargon smirked lightly. How kind of his sibling to put it that way. “It was a duel of sorts, a challenge. Looking back now, it was for my own pride more than anything and I should not have issued it. I pushed too far. While I am happy she was able to find a solution to the damage done to her, it should not have happened in the first place. Not by her kin, her family who should be fighting beside her.”

Olisha studied the way he delivered his answer. A person can say any words they like, it’s how they are said and the actions that follow after that determine how sincere they were. He looked like he was despising the admission of his wrongdoings, but it sounded like he had no choice but to face them now.

“That’s nice for you to admit, so there will be no more of that?" Olisha quirked a brow.

"Absolutely not," Sargon replied sharply. "If I am invited to be a member of the guild, then I have a great deal of mending to do where my siblings are concerned. Perhaps that will be a part of lifting my curse.”

He continued, "With what’s taken place between us, and with Cloudwalkers being the guild they came to, it cannot be coincidence.” He sighed in what was the most depressive way an Iksar of his size possibly could.

"You do realize the guild is a neutral meeting ground, right? People from all walks of life gather here to fight for a common cause." She leaned in and gave him a stern stare.

“Yes, you are modelling yourselves after the New Combine Empire after what took place with Kerafym,” Sargon grumbled. “It seems I will have to be content to ally myself with the lesser races of Norrath.”

The mighty warrior realized his mistake the second it left his mouth. His eyes widened just as he caught the fiery glare that filled Olisha’s own. He held up a hand as he set down his stein on the table as if he were preparing for an onslaught of epic proportions. Not that he had any idea what the woman before him was truly capable of, but it was fairly common knowledge that a Teir’dal was no one you wanted angry with you. He had enough forces displeased with him as-is.

“I-I do not mean to say you are beneath me, pet!” Sargon grasped for the right words to placate his unlikely lover and potential guild leader, “I would be dishonest if I said that I have not enjoyed our time together. If I can appreciate such… activities with someone so different than I, then surely I can raise my sword alongside others in battle.”

Olisha’s tension visibly diffused. She smirked. All right, she’d give him that save. Perhaps it was a taste of how he would be in conflict resolution to come.

“All right, sir. I’ll give you a pass,” she folded her arms with that smirk still on her face, “So you’d be joining us as a warrior of Thule?”

“Correct. I offer my services as a knight in his name. Everything I will do is for him, and for lifting this damned curse. Now you know my motives.” Sargon took a couple more drinks from his stein before sitting back with a sigh as he seemed to be successful in coming the situation. “I can promise you, our encounters had nothing to do with it. Those make all of this awkward.”

“Mmmhm. There will be a definite role reversal here with my leading of the guild,” Olisha leaned back herself. “It’s definitely amusing. Guild business is guild business, and anything beyond that is none of anyone else’s. Although people might catch on if you keep calling me ‘pet’, sir.”

For the first time since the meeting began, the faintest smirk of amusement crossed Sargon’s scaled features as she playfully jabbed at him. That was more of the person she’d gotten to know, or at least a facet of him seeing as they kept much of their lives from one another.

“Sorry if this is forward as fuck, but I know about Rathis and I hear you’ve had the worst time dealing with it. You’ll be bringing your skills as a knight to our guild, but we can have your back, too,” OIisha started, cautiously watching him as he took another drink of ale. “There may be opportunities in Ro’s deserts to help you with your curse, so we could pursue that. But you know, if it means we go get ourselves a room and forget about the world for a bit like we’ve been doing? We could do that, too. Whatever we can do for you. Within reason. I don’t want to get cursed, too.”

Sargon paused his drinking, and set his stein down as a stone-hard gaze found Olisha’s petite form. She wondered if at that moment it was she who had gone too far.

He rested his arms on the table and sighed, his voice was heavy with exhaustion. "That's the first time in eons that I’ve been offered something like that."

"Well, it probably won't be the last. We're all a family by choice here as awfully sappy as that sounds. The world is full of shit and we’re all here to make it a little less so while within our walls.” It was rare she found herself giving such a sentimental pep talk like this, but the situation called for it.

Sargon’s hand completely engulfed hers in an almost comical way. She had to smirk at their true size difference as they gently shook on their new alliance.

“Thank you,” Sargon said after some pause. He still seemed weary, but he was at least calmed with the direction the conversation went.

“Welcome to Cloudwalkers?” Olisha put her hand out for him to shake.

She playfully patted his hand with her free hand and let go. She then gave him one of her more typical grins he'd come to know from her. “Let’s get onto the fun parts. Like guild tours.”

~*~

Sargon and Olisha stood in the guild hall’s lushly-decorated common area, the former taking in everything that she had just walked him through. Throughout the whole tour, she could tell there was still something pulling at him.

“Is all this a bit too much? You look really bothered,” she plainly called him out.

Sargon let out a harsh sigh, “You must think me weak for what happened in Rathis.”

“Pfft, please. I’ve lived over three hundred years and have seen that sometimes shit things happen to people and for no good reason either.” Olisha firmly crossed her arms as she looked up at his large frame.

He seemed to relax somewhat as if she had pulled tension straight from him, loosening some bothersome knot.

However that tension soon resumed as the guild hall doors opened, and a familiar figure soon found herself in the doorway to the commons.

Isella froze as she laid eyes on her brother, and he did as much when he saw her. The air was suddenly thick and heavy with so many years of harsh history there before them.

“Isella…” Sargon started, but he soon stopped as she swiftly closed the distance between them. 

“Welcome home, Sargon.” She said this in Sathirian, offering her hand still clad in her plated Freeport uniform - the exact hand he had severed years ago. She came to him not with malice but with hope that maybe this time they could finally come together as the family they were.

“I am home,” he replied in their native tongue. He couldn’t help but smile faintly as he latched onto what was left of her right wrist, and she in turn latched onto his. All this time had passed and so much had transpired, and Isella still welcomed him back. Emotions swelling, his other hand then clasped onto the other side of her hand he held, and she reciprocated.

“Let the dark parts of our past stay there. So long as you can do that, we can build a better future.” Isella’s words were as firm but gentle. She was still cautious even with the hope that filled her.

“Athenia…" Sargon started, but lost what he was going to say as his thoughts weighed down on him.

"Show her you mean well. She is still afraid of you, but it need not stay that way. We can shift that fear onto those who should fear us in the first place." Isella watched her brother as he soaked in her words. He seemed tired, remorseful. Something in him had definitely shifted since the last time they crossed paths.

"I can leave you two be! Sounds like you have a lot of catching up to do." Olisha offered.

"Has he passsed your judgement, Olisha?" Isella asked in common, smirking as she came away from him.

"He has, he has!" Olisha put her hands up and waved them as she snickered, "We had a nice drink and a chat."

"We have met before," Sargon offered, and as that left his mouth he realized he'd have to explain that.

"Yes! One of the taverns in Freeport. Funny how fate works." Olisha smirked and put her hands on her hips. The large Kunark native was impressed with how seamlessly her lie came to her. He nodded in relief. It seems his open nature may come with drawbacks.

"Then thisss was indeed meant to happen." Isella gave a firm pat to Sargon's shoulder. "We will take thisss one day at a time, hsss?"

Sargon gently nodded once more. Even with all the comedy that had been involved in his meeting with Olisha, standing within the guild's hall with his kin felt right. While he was still uneasy considering their tumultuous past, for once he finally felt that he was where he was supposed to be.

For now, he was home.

#eq2 #everquest 2 #fanfic #my-writing #dear gods I did it #I actually brought forth writing into the world #IDK how good of a writer I am but this was fun to do anyway lol #Sargon is now in his redemption mode #my-writings

[faroreswinds]

Choice

Golden Wildfire Ending: A short fanfiction with the lowest of effort with mostly dialogue cause I’m lazy

---------

“What? There is an invader?” an astonished Claude reeled at the news. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure, Your Majesty.” The panicked messenger spoke quickly and nervously, and with those words the air turned thick with disbelief as the room filled with murmurs. 

It was Lorenz who spoke up first. “But that’s utterly impossible. No one could slip past our defenses so deep in Federation territory. Why, I would sooner believe that-”

“That’s enough, Lorenz,” cut off Claude. He thanked the messenger, then bade him to rally the soldiers inside the fortress for battle. “We need to find them and stop them quickly.”

The messenger bowed and rushed out wordlessly. When the door slammed shut behind him, Claude allowed his hardened face to fall. He raised a hand to his head and his gaze was miles away. 

“I have to say, I did not see that coming...” 

Lysithea, who stood by his side, had a worried look. “Me neither. I did not anticipate someone to send an assassin after our king.”

“Whoa, an assassin? The intruder is an assassin?!” Raphael balked loudly. “But why? The Claudester is the coolest king ever!” 

“Well, we don’t know if the intruder is an assassin or that they are after Claude,” Leonie interjected. “For all we know, they could be a bandit who is particularly bold.”

“Uh-huh...” Lysithea did not look so sure. “Well, it is true that they may not be an assassin, but I do not see why else someone would try to infiltrate our defenses for some other purpose. But the scouts only got a glimpse of them before they slipped away, so I think we should assume the worst.”

Lorenz nodded. “I agree with Lysithea. It is better to prepare for the worst.” He faced his king. “And thus, I think we should get you somewhere safe immediately.”

“No.” Claude’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot just hide while there is someone after my head.”

Everyone turned to look at him now. He stood tall. “It’s probably someone from the Central Church who has come to take their revenge. We hadn’t been able to corral all of their followers yet, and I would not be surprised is someone was mad enough to want me dead.”

“Yes, I suppose it hasn’t been that long,” whispered Marianne. She clasped her hands together, as if to pray for wisdom. “Perhaps it was someone who really loved Lady Rhea.”

Ignatz pushed up his glasses, his fingers shaking. “O-or maybe it was the emperor....”

“Or someone who is angry to see things changing,” Claude proposed. “Regardless, it doesn’t matter right now. What does matter is that someone is here uninvited. We need to find them and capture them. If we can find out why they are here, we can use that to help us weed out where people are unhappy.” 

His tone indicated that the decision was final, and no one said another word on the matter. They agreed to seek out the intruder. As each person rushed off to different corners of the fortress, Claude could not help but feel a wretched pit in his stomach at what all has been transpiring. 

-------

Four Weeks Ago

Claude stood over his desk, his knuckles white as he read the parchment before him again and again. The writing upon it was elegant, the waxen stamp of the Imperial family perfect. And yet, its words were ugly and unwelcomed. 

“So, Edelgard has chosen to not stop her war....” Lorenz said, saddened. “Despite the death of Lady Rhea and the destruction of the Central Church, she continues her assault on the Kingdom anyways?” 

After a moment of hesitation, Claude rolled up the message and gripped it in his hand. 

“Yes, she has chosen not to stop.”

“But the Church was the whole reason for this war, and now it is gone! What other purpose might she have?” 

“We always knew this was a possibility, Lorenz. She had told me herself that she believed the Kingdom needed to be dissolved in order to root out all influences of the Central Church. I had hoped that her debt to me would give me some sway, but says that that is not enough to stop her.”

“Ah... “ Lorenz was taken aback. His eyes went wide and his mouth opened just a little. “And what of King Dimitri? Has the envoy we sent returned with his response?”

Claude shook his head. “The envoy hasn’t returned.”

“Perhaps something has happened to her along the way?”

Or perhaps Dimitri had the envoy taken care of. 

No.

That does not sound like him. Dimitri would have sent a response. 

“Let’s send another one,” Claude proposed, reaching for another piece of parchment. “If we can get Dimitri to agree to stop the war, then we can perhaps avoid more bloodshed.

-------

Present Day

It had been hours, but there was no sight of the intruder. It wore thin on the troops, knowing someone lurked in the shadows. And yet, no matter how hard anyone sought them, the intruder eluded their searches. It was as if they were nothing more than a figment of a tired scout’s imagination. 

This is what would become the story as no one was found. “Ol’ Nort is just seein’ things,” proclaimed one soldier, shaking her head. “Ain’t no soul here. Not enough corners to hide in to go this long unspotted.”

Tensions remained high, but the panic died down. Why would it linger, when it seemed their intruder was nothing but ghost brought on by exhaustion? 

“We are still looking for them, but some of the soldiers are saying that it was a false alarm,” Ignatz just finished reporting to Claude. “So hopefully, that means there is nothing to worry about.”

But Claude was still doubtful. No, something did not sit right with him... call it a hunch. 

“Thanks, Ignatz. You must be tired. Why don’t you turn in for the night?” he proposed to the young knight, gesturing towards the door. 

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” When Ignatz paused, Claude laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve lived through a number of hairy situations. If it turns out someone is still sneaking around, they won’t get the jump on me.”

Ignatz thanked him, somewhat grateful but still uneasy. He bowed and left the room. At the sound of the door closing, Claude’s hand went to his waist where a dagger sat hidden. 

“As I said... they won’t get the jump on me.”

“.... You have good ears.”

Claude whipped around in surprise at the voice, for it was familiar to him and yet, one he did not expect. In fact, it was the last person he expected to see skulking around his fortress.

“Dedue?”

The giant man stepped out from the shadows. “I did not expect you to walk into the room I was already in. This makes things easier.” 

The king’s hand did not move, but his voice was friendly and welcoming. “Dedue! You are a sight for sore eyes. Although, how did you-” Claude’s voice trailed off as he eyed the man closely. How did a man so large as Dedue manage to sneak all the way into this room unseen? It was not as if he was subtle. He towered over every person Claude knew. 

And he was as taciturn as ever, standing there before Claude with an expression that he could not quite read. Anger? Disappointment? 

“Well, I would offer you a drink, but I doubt you are here on friendly business.” Claude casually began to make his way around his desk, to put something solid between himself and his uninvited guest. 

“That is correct.” Dedue made no effort to lie. 

“So. I suppose Dimitri sent you here to kill me.”

“....” 

When Dedue took a step forward, Claude’s hand tightened around his dagger. But Dedue then produced a familiar piece of parchment and laid it down on the desk. 

“Your message. It was received.”

Claude glanced down at it without moving his head. Yes... that was his handwriting all right, and that was his seal. This was the request for a ceasefire he had sent to Dimitri weeks ago. 

“Then it was received.” Claude’s eyes went back to Dedue’s unreadable face. “Although it is a bit unusual for the response to... force their way in and sneak around like a thief. If Dimitri had no intention of stopping the war, a letter would have sufficed.”

“And what happened to the envoy? Did you-”

“She was bade to not return here. I have come in her stead.” Dedue saw the look Claude gave him. “Do not worry, she is unharmed. And she agreed willingly.”

There was no lie in Dedue’s voice. But there was still something uneasy about him. 

A sigh escaped Claude’s lips. “Listen, Dedue, I don’t to hurt you. I have received Dimitri’s message loud and clear-”

“No.” Suddenly, Dedue’s expression darkened. His eyes narrowed, the corners of his lips turned down. His eyebrows furrowed together, and ever so slightly did his fingers curl. “This is not a message from His Majesty.” 

That gave Claude pause. “... What?”

“You guess you really haven’t heard yet. I am... surprised.” Well, he did not look as if he was. “His Majesty is dead.”

The temperature in the room seem to drop instantly at those words. Claude’s mouth felt a little dry. “Dimitri.... what? How is that possible? I have not heard Edelgard’s forces had even broken through the Western front.”

“They haven’t. Not yet.” Now it was Dedue’s turn to move. He slowly stepped to the side, starting to step around the desk as Claude had. 

“Dedue... I am sorry. I mean it. I did not want him dead.”

“I know. I was there when you invaded Fhirdiad.” Step. Step. “I watched you stay your hand against His Majesty.”

Claude began moving again, matching Dedue. 

Step. Step.

“Then why are you here?” 

“Because it was your fault.” 

Claude knew now what expression Dedue had before, the one he could not place. 

Despair. 

Dedue had loved him. 

The man was still talking, “He was blamed. Blamed for the death of Lady Rhea, since he did not fight by her side till the end. There was... a coup.” Dedue’s fingers had fully curled now, and his knuckles were white. “And he... he allowed it. Said it what was owed to him, for what he had done.”

“But that was not his fault! Nor was it mine!”

“You forced him to make a choice.” Dedue’s face was filled with a hatred rarely seen. “And you did not think of the consequences of what that meant for him.”

Claude did not know what to say. His thoughts whirled back to when he had sacrificed Randolph, back to when Judith had died, to their faces as they died due to his decisions. 

“The answer,” Dedue broke through his thoughts, “to your message. There will not be a ceasefire. The people do not desire it. They killed Dimitri for it.”

“And now... you have another decision to make.” It was then Dedue produced a small blade he had concealed.

“Choose.”

-----

Based on the fact that Dedue is a ninja in SS, sneaking into Edelgard’s palace in a full suit of armor. 

#Golden Wildfire #my-writing #but low effort

[bumblewoolfy]

Together in Sanitization

Here's my first Splatoon one-shot!! Technically not my first Splatoon fanfic (which is a multi-chapter story that I'll be posting here soon), but this is still a fic that I enjoyed writing a lot.

It's basically a what-if scenario of "What if Agent 8 couldn't beat Sanitized Agent 3?" Eight has been splatted so many times that she starts to lose hope of ever beating and saving Three, until Three suddenly proposes an offer that will change her life.

It gets pretty angsty, but it has a (sort of?) happy ending. I hope y'all will enjoy reading it!!

#splatoon #splatoon fanfiction #splatoon fanfic #my-writing #octo expansion #agent 8 #agent 3 #agent 24 #sanitized agent 3 #sanitized agent 8 #sanitized agent 24 #inkling #octoling #sanitized inkling #sanitized octoling #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #writing #writer #fanfiction writer #my writing

[ninaeatswaffle]

"me; I am not a weapon"

Draft

They do not know who I am. A threat to their children, They would call others like me. It excruciating to live like him But I cannot be him; I have to be me; I am not a weapon, I am me.

A hive mind. Controlled by the government (apparently), A million conspiracy theories, But they're passed off as truth. "Our daughters are dying!" They would say As if their children were dead And not just different from their expectations.

Unrealistic expectations.

And it happened to me as well. I am not him They treat him like he's a precious commodity. Because I am a weapon, One made by the hive-mind from his body. As much as I ignore it, It is the truth. I will always be a weapon And he will always be a prisoner, Waiting one day to be free.

But he is not waiting for liberation, Since I have already freed him. Soon they'll wake up

(Note from Kaisa: Please reply with any feedback because if you couldn't tell I am bad at this writing thing.

#transgender #trans #non binary #gender dysphoria #transfemme #trans feminine #gender #poetry #writing #prose poem #my-writing #my writing #queer pride #trans pride #trans literature

[amorphous-binary]

Pairing: Skyfire/Starscream (SkyStar)

Prompt: Dreams / Memories, Space / Storm

Tags: Established Relationship, Pre-Cybertronian Civil War, Cybertronian Culture, Alternate Universe, Bad Weather, Fluff, Light Angst, Implied Sexual Content

Word Count: 1924

Synopsis:

A water droplet landed on Starscream’s olfactory sensor. He shot up immediately, his heel struts dragging against the concrete floor. The noise attracted Skyfire’s attention. His mouth was static, but his eyes asked if all was well.

“It’s dripping!” was all Starscream offered.

#transformers #skystar week 2022 #tf starscream #tf skyfire #my-writing #combined the prompts for 2 different days :^]

[missygoesmeow]

wip whenever thanks for the tag @angellayercake :) i have very many wips but these two i am working on atm when I can (left is leyendecker redraw)

and some words! because of the "I prefer my liquor served in a quivering belly button, distilled in fear and arousal" line

You try to keep still, your body unable to stop quivering as the devil nears. A hand touches your hip and you can’t help but twitch at the contact.

“Ah, careful now, little mouse,” he says, those deceivingly gentle eyes finding yours. “You’ll make a mess if you don’t keep still.”

You stare up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the intricately carved detail of a demon and not the body heat emanating from Raphael as he leans over you. Your body is tense in anticipation as you feel the embroidery of his doublet scratch softly against your skin. His mouth seals over your belly button and you bite your lip; his mouth is hot and when you feel him drink the liquid there you suck in a breath. The devil doesn’t move though, you feel his tongue dip in and around your naval as he catches any last remaining drops of the liquor causing you to shudder. His tongue feels strange—too long and oddly shaped—how you wish it would move lower.

tagging: @sucharide @zombiequeenblog @visiosatanae @sky-kiss and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it :)

#wip whenever #bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x reader #my-art #my-writing

[honeyynymphh]

Il Cuore Della Principessa Papa IV x Fem!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 1.7k tags/warning: thigh riding, daddy dom papa, kisses, cuddles, google translated italiano summary: overworked and exhausted, Papa insists you take a break.

ao3

“Sorella?” Bleary-eyed you look up and see Copia standing in front of you, hands clasped in front of him. The sight of him in his black suit with his meticulously painted papal paints makes you smile, albeit tiredly. You hum in response, stifling a yawn as you do. You’ve been in the library for hours now—what time was it? You glance at the large clock on the wall and notice it’s nearly eleven o’clock. Another glance out the large windows of the abbey library shows the darkened sky and you can hear the rain steadily pattering against the glass. There is barely anyone else in here. You’d only ducked out briefly for dinner and that had been hours ago.

You stretch your arms up, luxuriating in the feel of your poor cramped muscles getting a break from the hunched position you’d been cooped up in. You drop your arms and try to stifle another yawn, twiddling the pen in your hand.

“It’s time to rest, cara mia,” says Copia, coming around the large table and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“But I have to get this done for Sister Imperator,” you say with a sigh, eyes dropping down to look at the pages strewn before you. Why did you agree to help Sister with Papa Terzo’s taxes…a nightmare.

“You can do so tomorrow or the next day,” he says, taking the pen out of your unresisting grasp and throwing it on the table. “Pick up your things.”

“But Sister—”

Copia takes your chin gently, but firmly, between two gloved fingers to make you look up at him.

“I am your Papa, not Imperator, and I said pick up your things,” he repeats evenly. “Now, dolce.”

With a sigh, you grab all your documents, placing them back into the numerous folders. Really, you could have worked in Sister’s office. But it was so much calmer in the library—and there was so much more space. Also, you did not like all the prying questions she had about you and Copia. You know she meant well, but it was annoying…and also, you had no idea what your relationship was with the head of the church.

He effortlessly steers you out of the silent library and towards his papal chambers, taking the folders from your hands and carefully placing them on a nearby coffee table when you enter the room. The chill from the rain had permeated the old abbey, but it was currently being banished by the low fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. When he seats himself in the overly gilded, yet surprisingly comfortable, chaise lounge in front of the flickering flames he pats the space next to him. You follow, legs dragging with how tired you are to sit next to him. Immediately he pulls you into him so your head is in the crook of his neck and your legs tangled with his as you lie together on the lounge. The smell of chapel incense still clings to him from this morning's sermon, along with the heady mix of his cologne and that earthy yet undeniable scent that is so purely him. You bury yourself into him with a contented sigh, eyes closing as you relish in the feel of the warm fire and his arms around you.

“You’ve been working so hard, dolce,” he says, voice a gentle tease. “I’ve been lonely without you.” 

Your eyes snap open at that and your hand fiddles with the fabric of his jacket as you listen to the steady beat of his heart underneath your cheek. You watch the flames flicker low in the grate for a moment before you speak.

“You’re Papa, you cannot be lonely,” you say, trying to not sound like a jealous child. But you are. You are certain he’s still managed to find someone else to warm his bed while you’ve been working overtime. You try to keep your voice casual, despite the way your words make your heart ache in your chest. “You can have any sibling you wish to keep you company.”

“I only have one principessa,” he says, the words rumbling against your cheek as he speaks.

He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and kisses your forehead. It’s sweet. But it still makes your eyes prick as your chest is suddenly overwhelmed with feeling. You don’t want to share him. It doesn’t matter if he only calls you that, it still doesn’t stop the bitter feeling you have knowing he is still kissing others the way he kisses you. Or that he touches them with the same fingers that are now skating over your cheek.

“Mmm.” You keep fiddling with his suit jacket, fingers tracing over the embroidered grucifix.

“Principessa.” His voice is a gentle admonition. You ignore him, still letting your fingers worry the embroidery. He takes your hand away and forces you to lean back so his slightly unnerving gaze is upon yours and you quickly look down, unable to face it. “Principessa, look at me.”

Reluctantly you do and a gloved hand cups your cheek while staring defiantly at him, willing yourself not to cry. The smell of him and his hand on your face is overwhelming you, your chest aches as that unwavering gaze holds you.

“Just you, amore mio,” he says. 

You try to look away again but his hand holds you firmly. “Copia, I—” The words fail you. You cannot speak as they catch in your throat. Yet you do not need words, the man knows you too well by now.

“Shh,” he murmurs, sitting up and pulling you towards him so you’re in his lap, legs straddling him and habit bunching around the tops of your thighs. “Papa has you.”

Your throat closes with the emotion and you suck in a sharp breath to steady yourself. He removes his gloves before you feel his large hands in your hair, soothing against your scalp. When he brings you closer, tucking your head under his chin you can’t help the few tears that fall. You’re so tired, and stressed—oh, you are happy to help Imperator, but it’s a lot of tedious work. The possibility that you do not have to share this man with anyone else is too much right now and the inviting pull of sinking into his embrace is too hard to ignore. All you want is to stay safe in his arms, letting the soothing motion of his hands stroking your hair lull you into a gentle reverie.

“Do you need Papa?” he asks, once more tilting your head up to look at him. He sighs at the sight of tears on your face and you press your lips together to stop the sob from escaping. When you give a quick but fervent nod, he wipes the tears from your cheeks. “No more tears, principessa.”

He leans his, lips capturing yours effortlessly. Despite the paint, you melt into it. Or perhaps you have simply grown too used to the paint, and the taste of it is merely a promise of pleasure to come. The hands in your hair move to hold your face as his tongue snakes into your mouth. Your own hands are pressed against his chest, the solid feeling of it is a steadying comfort as you are consumed by the urgent way you respond to his kiss. Your entire body is suddenly on fire for him, the melancholy starting to slink away back into the shadows as Papa nips at your bottom lip. A whimper manages to escape and you press your mouth against his with earnest, grinding into his lap in your desperation to be closer.

“Papa…” you whine.

The man nips at your lip again and you feel the gentle rumble of his low chuckle when you press yourself down against him again. It’s impossible to ignore the hardness pressing against you when he is wearing those tight trousers and you’re overcome with wanton desperation at the thought of him buried within you. Hastily you move to undo his jacket but he grabs your wrists with ease and you catch the smirk on his smudged lips.

“You have such little patience, principessa,” he teases, releasing your wrists and shifting you over so he can spread his legs. With you now straddling a single thigh, he pushes it up against your clothed sex. Your hands move to grip at his shoulders as it sends a wave of bliss rolling through you, leaving only a want for more in its wake. “You need to calm a little…relax, si? Go slow.”

You nod and he presses his thigh up against your pussy again making you moan. The friction feels far too good and you don’t need any more words from him to start rubbing yourself against his thigh. It’s solid beneath you and whenever he presses it up to meet you, causing your clit to throb at the added pressure your breath hitches.

“Good girl,” he says, hands moving to hold your waist. “You use Papa.”

Your movements get quicker as you feel your core tightening, the tendrils of bliss just within reach. You are sure you must be ruining his trousers, you can feel the sodden fabric of your knickers as you rub yourself against his thigh. It’s nowhere near as good as having his cock in you, or his fingers, but right now you are too keyed up to care. It’s friction, delicious friction, and the way Papa holds you in place has you keening. The tension snaps quickly when he presses his thigh against your clit and you come, the sweet relief making fresh tears prick at your eyes.

You ride it out against him, moaning as the pleasure ripples through you. Hands grip his suit jacket, creasing the fabric as you frantically hold onto him. A few moments pass as you come back to yourself, breaths evening out as Papa brushes a hand against your forehead before leaning in to plant a kiss.

“Does that feel better, la mia piccola principessa?” Another kiss is pressed against your forehead and you can’t help but smile. “Tell me.”

“Yes, Papa,” you breathe, sliding closer to him so you can tuck your head back under his chin.

“Sei l'unico per me, dolce.” Arms wrapping around you, he holds you close. “Just you, capisci? The only one for Papa.”

Amore mio - My love

La mia piccola principessa - My little princess

Sei l'unico per me, dolce - You’re the only one for me, dolce

Capisci? - You understand?

I have not proof read this and its like 12:30am but WOOH.

#started making it had a breakdown bon appetit #im fine #🥲🥲🥲 #the band ghost fic #papa iv x female reader #papa iv x reader #fic: il cuore della principessa #im not sticking this on ao3 because i cannot be bothered and its kinda lame :)))) #this isnt even that emotional but im Unwell so ! #anyway dont perceive me thanks :))) #my-writing #update: less mentally unstable me added it to ao3 lmao

[knowing-smile]

I only have one of those now.

I love keepsakes. I think it has something to do with my ADHD memory issues, but I’ve always kept things that have emotional memory about them. If we have any kind of emotional connection, I probably have something, somewhere, that reminds me of that.  (the rest of post is sentimental rambling, so I’ll spare your dash if you’re not interested)

In recent years (say the last decade or so) one of the things I’ve tried is to make those keepsakes more useful. You can only collect so many enamel pins or whatever before it’s no longer useful. A lot of my partners have been beer drinkers, so when we go to breweries I’d just buy a set of two glasses, assuming the brewery had nice ones (I also don’t need more generic pint glasses).

Always two, if you ever drink with me, the glasses will match. It’s just how I am.

The bad thing about using things though, is that they break. Glass especially. A well loved piece of bar glass of mine seems to be just waiting for an excuse to shatter.

Yesterday I was drinking from a nice glass I have from my brother’s brewery, it’s a heavy based stemless tulip glass, good feel. I picked it up to go wash it, and the condensation made it slip from my hand, and it landed just right on the carpet to shatter.

I kneeled next to it, kind of stricken. I took a moment before I gathered up the shards and disposed of it carefully.

I’d gotten that glass on one of the last trips I imagine I’ll ever take with my previous partner. We went to my family’s thanksgiving and after doing the rounds and letting her meet everyone, we went and had beers and a nice dinner at my brother’s brewery.

I got this glass (and its twin) that night. It was a fantastic night, it’s a great memory. 

I sighed as I dumped the shards into the trash.

I miss her, I miss those trips, I miss being able to believe that a life with her was not only possible but almost a foregone conclusion. Now I don’t know if we’ll ever even see each other again.

… anyway. 

After disposing of the glass that broke... I stared at its twin in the cupboard. Maybe I’ll ask my brother if he has any more in the shop, but probably not. 

It’s just not the same.

I generally stop using the glassware where I only have one left… after all, I don’t want to lose both... So, I moved its twin to a higher shelf, out of normal use.

After all; I only have one of those now.

#writing #maudlin #mine #my-writing

[rustcreation]

Boomer trying to figure out Tumblr

Do you think General Artificial Inelegance (GAI) can calculate the full Π(Greek, capitalized PI character) calculation? Or would it be an infinite loop? Therefore, making the AI shut down. Boom! Solving the world's fear about AI taking over in one tumblr post. You're welcome.

#boomer-trying-to-figure-out-tumblr #my-writing #new-to-writing #artificial-intelligence #pi

[faeriekit]

"This fic was ai generated—" Cool, so lemme block you real quick

#the ethics are whack but more importantly you didn't even want to write it?? who is it even for?? not you? not me? #you didn't even have enough interest in the premise to take a crack at it?? then who cares? #please don't populate in my search results I'm looking for things that people wrote because they liked something #ao3

[thesefallenembers]

the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.

if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.

#someone send this to my english teacher because vocab tests are hard #writing memes #reading #writers #writers of tumblr #writers of instagram #writing #writer #reader #writer memes #readers of tumblr