just in case

hello yes can i get uhhhh a theme

[the-modern-typewriter]

Mer, Sirens, Sea Things

Anonymous said:Do you have any mermaid prompts? I’m writing about a couple of mermaids in love and I’d like inspiration but I enjoy anything you write!// Anonymous said:Could we get some more mermaid prompts?

1) “It will be fine,” they said. “Just keep the blanket over your legs, and no one will even be able to tell.”  The mer’s heart skittered with excitement as they got their first look at land, their friend pushing the wheelchair with a bright smile. As they savoured something called ‘chocolate’ they longed to return the favour, mesmerised by the shining lights of the pier and the music and the people. Oh, there were so many people. 

2) The mermaid pressed close, sealing their lips to the human’s. It was a stale sort of oxygen in their lungs - but it would do the trick. The human clung to them, desperate for whatever air they could get. In the ocean, nothing warm ever came close so sweetly. They pulled back, feeling a little intoxicated, watching as the human began to strain in their arms before they kissed them again. Gave them air again. No greater treasure had ever been tossed off a pirate ship.

3) One minute, sharks. Sleek and predatory in the water, with their cool eyes and their sharp teeth. The next - her. Flashing scales stunning in the water, with a jaw just as deadly, claws slashing and snarling as she curled around the mermaid. That was how they first met.

4) “You love her?” the sea witch purred. “Your sea-shell girl? I could get her back.”  “That’s why I’m here.” Dealing with the witch was always a bad idea, but it couldn’t be worse than the gush of water, the writhe of fish, the net that hauled her beloved away out of the ocean she belonged to.  The sea witch smiled. 

5) They didn’t know how to navigate a tail - they were used to legs. To more solid ground than currents that slipped around, and the song hungry and burning in their throat, and the way their pinwheeling arms struggled to navigate the way that seafolk swam. Her lover had dumped her in the sea some three hours ago, some magical trade off for a fucking bitch fish who couldn’t even talk. Men. 

[the-modern-typewriter]

Absolutely LOVE your work on the prompts specially the pirate ones. It's always such a joy to read. May I request some prompts as well? Some pirate or navy senarious involving flogging? Pretty please? ^^ But seriously, amazing blog mate.

1) “I’ll tell you what,” the pirate smiled. “Pick one member of your crew to take a flogging, and I’ll spare one member of your crew for every lash they take.”“I’ll do it-“No, no, Captain.” The pirate’s smile broadened. “That wasn’t the deal. I’m not going to break your valuable skin, treasure. Pick one. Or I’ll kill them all.”

2) “You disobeyed me.”“I had to-”“-You deliberately disobeyed me.” “I saved them!”“But you could have gotten everyone killed! You think your crew members can trust you if you go off doing your own thing and not taking orders? You were completely unaccounted for!” The captain’s breathing came equally hard. Their stares locked. The captain looked agonized. They jutted their chin up, fists clenched at their sides. “Twenty lashes,” the captain said softly. “One for every man you could have killed for the sake of three.”“…you can’t be serious.”

3) “I hate living on a ship.” They buried their face into their bunk. “Everything is - ow - literally putting salt into a wound.” Sea water to clean. Alcohol to sterilize. Whatever happened to gentle warm water and hot towels? Ugh. The hand rubbed warm, soothing circles into the back of their neck. Helpless. “You shouldn’t have said it was you.” “Well, I wasn’t going to let you take it now, was I?” 

[the-modern-typewriter]

Any pirate prompts? Like where a woman is a cptain

1) “What is this crap? It’s bad luck to have a woman on board.”The captain feigned horror. “Oh god, you should have said so. I would never have forced you to suffer such a thing if I knew!” She looked to her crew and smiled. “Toss the poor bastard into the sea so he’s not tainted by femininity.”

2) “I was captured by these awful pirates,” she sobbed to the navy crew. Thinking fast - not about to lose this battle, or let her crew be hanged.“It’s alright,” the naval captain said. He wrapped an arm around her. “You’re safe now. They’re never going to hurt you again.”Suffice to say, she dined with the captain, nicked his keys, slit the crew’s throats while they were sleeping, and took the ship for her fleet. All in a day’s work. 

3) “You can’t be a pirate!” The lord’s daughter said in horror. “You saved me!”“Darling,” she sauntered across her deck. “I acquired you. If you want to go back, I’ll ransom you for a pretty price. If you don’t-” she turned and raised her brows. “Change and welcome to the crew. You can start by scrubbing the deck.” 

PS: The majority of my prompts are gender neutral, if you want more pirate prompts!

[energyprison]

“c'est la vie” is just a fancy way to say “thats how it is on this bitch of an earth”

[writing-prompt-s]

“Adulthood is like looking both ways before you cross the street, then getting hit by an airplane.”

[wpsstories]

“I’m sorry to bring you here like this.”

“Not at all, my dear boy. Not at all.”

“But, you see, I have to know… I have to know, and you’re the only one –”

“I get it,” the old man interrupted me. He puffed his cheeks weakly, like it took him great effort just to breathe, and then he leaned back against the armchair and his eyes turned to the crackling of the fireplace. “Ask away.”

“Well… it’s pretty simple, actually.” I leaned forward. “What’s it like?”

His eyes turned to me, and he almost smiled. “What’s it like?”

“Yeah. Life. Growing up. Being old.” I paused. “Well, not that I’m calling you old, I just –”

“It’s okay, dear boy,” he laughed. “I am old. That’s why you brought me here.”

I said nothing. He arranged himself on the armchair like he had all the time in the world. Then his eyes went up to me again. “It's… hard.”

I waited. I knew he wasn’t done.

“It’s the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do, actually” he continued. “Harder than building all this fancy equipment you’ve built. Harder than studying all you’ve studied. Harder than winning all these scientific awards you’ve won so far.” He chuckled. “Nothing prepares you for it.”

“What makes it hard?” I asked. “Is it the responsibilities? The body decaying? What makes growing up so hard?”

“No. It’s not the responsibilities. Growing up is like looking both ways before you cross the street, then getting hit by an airplane.” He lowered his head as if to put his thoughts together, then continued. “It’s the things you don’t expect that catch you by surprise. Sure, it’s scary to have a kid, and to get married, and to ask your boss for a promotion, and all these grown-up stuff we have to pretend we know how to do.”

“Pretend?”

He seemed surprised. “Yes, pretend. No one really grows up, of course. We put on a face to the world, but at home, three in the morning, all alone watching TV, you’re still sixteen. All of us are.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing more heartbreaking than being a real person and sitting down in front of another real person, and then both of you have to act like fake people. You sit across from someone two years older than you in a job interview and you both say ‘Hello, sir’ and ‘Yes, I also think the Dow Jones has been fluctuating dangerously this last few days’ and ‘Oh, absolutely, the 405 is a nightmare this time of day’. And all along you know you both laugh at poop jokes and fart sounds and you have all these hobbies and interests and you curse and say fuck and shit and asshole. You’re real people. But you act like robots. You have to put on the face, and they have to put on a face, and you have to pretend that nothing in life is ever fun, everything is productivity and seriousness.”

“Is that what makes it hard?” I asked. “That everyone’s just… faking their way through adulthood?”

“No. No, that’s expected. It sucks, but we all know what we’re getting into.” He sighed. “No, what catches you by surprise are the little things about growing up. It’s being stuck in traffic and remembering a day. Any day. A locker room conversation in high school. A teacher. A friend of a friend. Something that happened long enough ago that it could order its own drink. It sneaks up on you, and you look at yourself in the rear view and you think, my God… where did it go? When did I become so old?

“I remember college like it was yesterday. I remember my girlfriends and my friends and they used to drink and talk about sex and hanging out and now they all eat oatmeal and go to funerals. And I do that to, and I like all of that. Well, not going to funerals, but oatmeal. Soap operas. Going to bed at nine. I like it.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is I’m still the sixteen year old. I’m still the college kid. My needs and wants have changed, and my body has changed, and my mind has changed, in a way, but I didn’t change. I’m still putting on a face. So when these thoughts sneak up on me – when a flash of a college party or a roadtrip or the feeling of falling asleep in the back of my Dad’s car wells up on me… it breaks me. It breaks me because I don’t think of it fondly. I don’t look at that young kid with affection and nostalgia, I look at him with envy. Envy, because he’s got all of that ahead of him still, and he doesn’t even know how lucky he is. He’s me, we’re the same – but he’s got the good looks and the health and all the years ahead of him, and I’m wasting away in an old apartment. And I hate that kid so much. Every time he sneaks up on me I hate him more.”

I looked down, then up. “What about family? Kids?”

“They are great. They are amazing. But they go away. They’re not you. In the end, you raise your sons and daughters for the world, not for yourself. They have to fall asleep in the back of my car, and go to their college parties and all that… they don’t exist for my benefit. No one exists for my benefit but myself. And I’m much too old to do anything about it.”

I swallowed dry and averted my eyes to the fireplace. The old man leaned forward. “We always get the feeling that the good old days are either behind us or ahead of us. They’re never our own days. We were always born just a bit too late to go to Woodstock or to see Nirvana live or to see the Berlin Wall fall or to party Great Gatsby style in the 20’s. And then we get old and we realize we were born too soon to see the wonders of technology and the world reshaping and blooming into something new and exciting. But the truth is, our Woodstocks were happening all around us as we grew. Our new and exciting world was some old guy’s boring present, and our past will be some spoiled, arrogant kid’s ‘Good old days’. We were just too stupid to realize it when it mattered. So we let it slide away. And then we ended up like me – sad and resentful of our younger selves for all they can still do and we can’t.”

Finally, I got up. I went to the old man and I knelt in front of him. “I’m sorry I brought you over.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I knew you would. After all, I did it, sixty years ago.”

I looked at my own eyes. Despite the wrinkles around them, they still looked pretty much the same. The old man shook his head and sniffed a tear away. “Now let’s go back to your lab so you can send me back to my own time, so I can hate you in peace.”

I hugged my own eighty year old version and leaned away and nodded. “I’ll enjoy it,” I said. “And I’ll know I’m living in the good old days, I promise.”

He got up with difficulty. “No, you won’t,” he said. “The good old days are only ever good when they’re gone. That’s what makes them good. When you’re living through them, they’re just… days.”

He slow-stepped ahead of me towards the lab. Then he spoke without turning his head: “And days go by really fast, man. They go by really fast.”

[writing-prompt-s]

[psliterary-deactivated20190419]

I’m convinced that fear is at the root of most bad writing

Stephen King 

(via

psliterary

)

[fuckingwatchme]

“fight me”

[fuckingwatchme]

Supervillian, delivering monologue about how I'll never beat them: you're WEAK

me, a professional superhero: not as weak as your MOM

[fuckingwatchme]

Ummmmm are Sweet Pea and Penny Peabody related...

[marvelgifs]

I really wish I had my hammer.

[iliveonmycdrive]

If I could get some decent fucking pictures of Miek from Thor: Ragnarok and put them all in an appreciation post right now, I fucking would.

You’ve sold me on the art book for two reasons: A centipede-worm thing in power armor with knives for hands and seeing what the process for getting to  Hela’s final look was like … and the entire fucking planet and … I had fun.

[fuckingwatchme]

Fucking love miek.

Valkyrie is who i want to be

Miek is who i am

[amidstsilence]

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[darkoctober]