NASA
𓃗
todays bird
occasionally subtle
oozey mess
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Discoholic 🪩
Keni
untitled
Stranger Things
d e v o n
Misplaced Lens Cap
blake kathryn
No title available
we're not kids anymore.
Product Placement
Show & Tell
trying on a metaphor
gracie abrams
Noah Kahan
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@jackfrostbitten-writes
new rule you have to live to be 34. you cant kill yourself until you turn 34. jesus died at 33 you can do better
this is a common law btw. you can check it out by looking up 'rule 34'
Dear God there's pussy here
That’s the other reason you can’t kill yourself
Scott jumped as a looming figure bent down to stare at him.
The creature was rotten and stunk of death. Its ribcage was visible beneath a shimmering cloak of raven feathers, and twin animal skulls made up the creature's head. It walked with the bones of a cat, and balanced itself with the remains of a wolf's tail.
"I am Necromancy. I am pleased to have you practicing my magic."
-------------------------
Cleo tilted her head at the young creature standing in her home.
It was an automaton shaped like a boy, made of twisting gears and steel plates. If you looked at him for too long, he seemed to age, growing taller or more wrinkly or hunching forward. His eyes were twin clocks and his teeth were fossils.
"I am Time! Thank you for choosing me as your magical partner!"
-------------------
Prismarina and Eloise startled violently, brandishing their staffs as a pair of figures appeared from the air.
Both shimmered and wavered; one like waves, and the other like a desert mirage. One was amphibian, with the face like an axolotl and the many legs of a salamander. The other was a faceless jester with impossible proportions, as though it had appeared out of a funhouse mirror.
"I am Water," said the amphibian.
"And I am Illusion!" said the jester.
"And we are delighted to be working with you!"
Scott jumped as a looming figure bent down to stare at him.
The creature was rotten and stunk of death. Its ribcage was visible beneath a shimmering cloak of raven feathers, and twin animal skulls made up the creature's head. It walked with the bones of a cat, and balanced itself with the remains of a wolf's tail.
"I am Necromancy. I am pleased to have you practicing my magic."
-------------------------
Cleo tilted her head at the young creature standing in her home.
It was an automaton shaped like a boy, made of twisting gears and steel plates. If you looked at him for too long, he seemed to age, growing taller or more wrinkly or hunching forward. His eyes were twin clocks and his teeth were fossils.
"I am Time! Thank you for choosing me as your magical partner!"
-------------------
Prismarina and Eloise startled violently, brandishing their staffs as a pair of figures appeared from the air.
Both shimmered and wavered; one like waves, and the other like a desert mirage. One was amphibian, with the face like an axolotl and the many legs of a salamander. The other was a faceless jester with impossible proportions, as though it had appeared out of a funhouse mirror.
"I am Water," said the amphibian.
"And I am Illusion!" said the jester.
"And we are delighted to be working with you!"
Fanfiction Writing Asks
Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?
Where do you get your fic ideas?
Do you share your fic ideas, or do you keep them to yourself?
How do you choose which fics to write?
How many wips do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?
What’s the last line you wrote?
Post a snippet from a wip.
Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.
Does this word [chosen by asker] appear in your current wip?
Do you work on multiple wips or stick to one fic at a time?
Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?
Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines? How far do you stray from them?
Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what have you been listening to recently?
What is your favorite location and position to write in?
What’s your favorite time to write?
Do you write by hand, on your phone, or on your laptop?
Do you have a writing routine?
Do you enjoy research? Which fic of yours required the most research?
Do you enjoy creating OCs or do you prefer to stick solely to canon characters?
Do you prefer writing AUs or canon fics?
Do you prefer writing chaptered fics or one-shots?
Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?
Is writing the beginning, middle, or end of the story easiest? Hardest?
How do you choose whose POV to write in?
What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?
What’s your least favorite part of the writing process?
What area of writing do you feel strongest in?
What area of writing do you want to improve in?
What’s something about your writing that you’re proud of?
How much do you edit your fics? Do you edit as you write or wait until you finish the first draft?
Do you use a beta reader/editor?
Do you take fic requests? Why or why not?
Is there a specific word count that you hold yourself to/enjoy writing the most?
How much of your personal life/experience do you include in your fics?
What’s your favorite fic you’ve posted?
What fic are you proudest of?
What fic has been the hardest for you to write?
What is your most self-indulgent posted story?
What’s your most self-indulgent wip?
What is your favorite world that you’ve created for a fic?
Who’s your favorite character you’ve written?
What’s your favorite title that you’ve come up with?
Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?
What is your favorite genre to write?
What genre/trope do you tend to write the most?
If you could only write one type of AU for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Is there a trope that you’ve written before but are now sick of?
Who is your favorite character to write for? Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom?
What fic of yours would you say is the best introduction to you as a writer?
How would you describe your writing style?
Does what you like to write differ from what you like to read?
What’s the average word count of your fics?
What is the most-used tag on your ao3?
What’s the fandom/pairing distribution of your posted fics?
Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?
Are there any fics that you would change or rewrite if given the chance?
How conscious are you about including symbolism or foreshadowing in your fics?
Do you have a favorite piece of figurative language you’ve written?
Have you participated in any fic events/writing challenges? If yes, what were they and did you enjoy them?
In [insert fic], what inspired the idea for the plot?
In [insert fic], what’s your favorite scene that you wrote?
In [insert fic], is there a deleted scene/idea you wish you could have included? Why did it get cut?
What was the hardest part of writing [insert fic]?
If you rewrote [insert fic] now, would you change anything?
If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would happen in it?
What’s a fun fact about [insert fic]?
If a fic was titled [insert made up title], what would this story be about/how would you write it?
Are there any fics that influenced you to write the way you do?
What are your favorite fics at the moment?
Are you subscribed to any writers on AO3?
Do you spend more time reading or writing?
What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?
What do you tend to get complimented on the most about your writing?
Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love?
Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn’t expect?
How do you deal with writing pressure, whether internal or external?
Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?
What motivates you during the writing process?
Do you have any writing advice you want to share?
Free space - asker can come up with any writing or fic-related question they want!
I wish you would write a fic where...
Send me an anymous (or not) summary of the fic you wish I would write. (maybe I will write a tidbit)
The shepherd frowned at the figure in the distance.
It was a young boy, maybe ten, running across the desert sands toward the shepherd.
The shepherd was used to mirages; he was used to the tricks of the desert. He had driven caravans from Cairo filled with tourists, traded with the Arabs in Saudi Arabia, and crossed the Sahara to bring goods to the northern Congo villages. The deserts were old friends of his.
He respected them and they, in turn, respected him.
The boy stopped at the edge of the shepherd's herd, peering up at him with mismatched eyes. One was a vibrant blue, and the other was a murky brown.
The boy knelt and gently scooped up a handful of sand. He carefully approached the shepherd. The shepherd opened his hands, and the boy poured in the sand.
It was real. It was soft and dry in his hands. The boy waited with his hands at his sides.
"I believe you," He told the boy, "You are not one of the desert's tricks. What are you doing out here?"
"I was trying to find you," The boy replied.
"The nearest village is easily two-thousand kilometers away," the shepherd gestured north with his crook, "How did you get here?"
"I followed a caravan. They dropped me off at the oasis a ways south of here. I needed to find you."
"Why?"
The boy gestured to the shepherd's sheep, "I wanted to buy a sheep from you; I wanted to buy the one with the missing eye."
"Mohammad?" The shepherd pointed to a sheep at the front of his flock. It was missing its right eye.
The boy nodded, "You bought him from my sister five years ago. I wanted to buy him back. My sister has cancer. She wanted to see her favourite sheep one last time "
The shepherd paused before shaking his head, "You can take him for free. He's old. I doubt he has many journeys left in him. Where do you live?"
"In Cairo."
The shepherd looked over at the one-eyed sheep. He fished a lead out from his pack, tying it around the sheep's neck. He pulled the sheep over to the boy.
"I have money," The boy said as he took the lead.
"I do not want it," the shepherd shook his head, "Mohammad is old. You'll find better use for him than I will."
"He would be good meat."
"So would all the others."
The shepherd waved the boy off, "Go. There's a caravan coming this way from the south of Algeria. They'll take you back to Cairo."
"When?"
"In a week and a half. Head to the caravanserai east of here. That's where the caravan is stopping. Tell them you're a friend of Al-Faiyum's."
The boy nodded, "I'll make it up to you one day."
"Alright," said the shepherd.
The shepherd gathered his sheep as the boy began to walk east. The one-eyed sheep followed close by him as they walked off toward the dunes.
----------------------------------------------------------
The shepherd stood close to the merchant's stall.
The merchant was an old friend that the shepherd had met when he traveled with a caravan across the Sahara to Lesotho.
A Saudi boy had just finished trading with the shepherd for wool when the shepherd saw her.
A woman was standing by a stall with a purse in her hand. She had the same mismatched eyes as the boy in the desert.
She saw the shepherd, walking over to him with an old man trailing behind her. The man's right eye was filled with cataracts, with a long scar trailing diagonally over it.
The woman opened her purse and handed the shepherd a gold ring with the diamond on its face.
"Thank you for the sheep," she said.
The shepherd was going to protest such a lavish gift, but when he looked up, the woman and the old man were gone.
He held onto the ring.
Two days later, his sheep were confiscated just as he was leaving the borders of Saudi Arabia. They were dressed in black and had eyes like death.
The shepherd went into the next town and sold the ring for several dozen sheep.
He swore that the person that had sold him the sheep had mismatched eyes.
200 Hurt / Comfort Writing Prompts
Send me a number 1 thru 200 for a hurt / comfort prompt that I’ll use to write a headcanon, drabble, or starter. Send 🔃 for a random number. WARNING: CONTAINS TRIGGERING MATERIAL. Always make sure your roleplay partner is comfortable with these themes! (SOURCE)
001. — abandonment issues 002. — abuse 003. — accept injury to protect someone 004. — accidental mating for life 005. — accidents 006. — alien abduction 007. — allergic reaction 008. — amnesia 009. — apocalypse 010. — archaic medical treatment 011. — arena 012. — arrest 013. — asking for help 014. — asphyxiation 015. — assault 016. — atonement 017. — attacked by a creature 018. — backrubs / massage 019. — begging 020. — betrayal 021. — bites 022. — blackmail 023. — blood loss 024. — body / mind swap 025. — body image issues 026. — bodyguards 027. — brainwashing / deprogramming 028. — branding 029. — broken bones 030. — bruises 031. — bullet wounds 032. — burns 033. — cages 034. — captivity 035. — caught in a robbery 036. — chronic illness / pain 037. — coma 038. — combat 039. — comfort food or item / feeding someone 040. — confession in a desperate situation
Keep reading
Send these in for Hermitcraft, Egos (Markiplier, Jacksepticeye, etc.), or Empires SMP. I need to flex my creative juices again :D
Howdy howdy! My askbox is open!
Want to ask me a question about my writing, someone else's writing, send me some art, etc.?
Now you can!
Mythography
Pearl watched silently from the rafters of Sausage's cathedral as Bdubs fiddled with some redstone.
"Well I hate 'ta break it to 'ya, X, but I have aces."
Xisuma looked over and found that Joe did indeed have a pair of aces.
"We're playing Uno, Joe," Cleo sighed.
Jevin bobbed his head, raising a sticky eyebrow, "I thought we were playing seven books?"
"So is it just Joe and I playing poker?"
"I was playing Texas Holdem," Joe shrugged as chat exploded into laughter.
Xisuma looked around the inside of his ribcage base for any sign of--
Aha!
Xisuma grabbed the floating eye from behind, pulling it towards him, "Found you."
You're no fun!
The group heard Grian and Scar laugh as the eye vanished with a pop.
"So what game did we /actually/ decide to play?" Xisuma chuckled.
You agreed on Poker.
"Told you!"
https://archiveofourown.org/works/40400448
Howdy howdy, most recent work in the Xisuma's Server for the Magical, Mystical, and Downright Strange is here!
This one centers on Stress and Iskall in the past as they are invited onto Hermitcraft by Zedaph, and as they get a mysterious stranger on their doorstep.
Universum Invenit Viam
A snippet!
A snippet for the newest part of the Xisuma's Server For The Magical, Mystical, & Downright Strange series
Please enjoy
The harvest is an important time of year for many.
Throughout the spring, when the snow begins to melt, farmers sow their seeds. They dig ditches in the dirt before the vernal rains set in and turn the ground muddy. Glaciers lose their winter coat, shedding long sloughs of ice that melt into rivers that flow through irrigation channels.
Farmers tend the crops through the summer. The grape vines are pruned, the leaves sprayed to keep greedy aphids and caterpillars away. Tomatoes and strawberries begin to ripen in the hot sun. The irrigation ditches are still filled with the melting snow, though their waters are lower than they were in the spring.
Fall arrives and the farmers celebrate with great feasts as they shuck corn and pick apples and tear thick stalks off cinnamon plants. The smell of sugar-coated apples in freshly-baked pies, turkey and salmon deboned and cooked to perfection, potatoes covered in chilli powder and butter.
The feasts slow and the final morsels of the harvest are hidden. Peaches in mason jars, locked in a cold cellar to keep them fresh. Corn and wheat is ground into flour and stored away. What remains of the meat is coated in salt and tucked away in a cooler full of brine.
Stress knows this cycle well.
The Thirteen Masters of Fleet Street
Where gore is your friend, romance bites, and things are strange in a terrible way.
This is a gift for @crimmycram for the MCYT Summer AU Fest! I do hope you enjoy.
(To retain formatting, the Google Doc is linked)
The Thirteen Masters of Fleet Street A work by Jackfrostbitten for crimmy-cram. GoodTimesWithScar (The 1st Master of Fleet Street, The Sor
Ah what a shame Wilford can break the fourth wall,
For it makes it a pain to write about him,
Without him hearing.
A story, a story!
The universe demands,
The poet sighs and asks what they'd like to hear,
The story of a story!
The universe grins,
And the poet speaks,
"Once there was a man with a story in his mind,
He wished to explore it, so he made a house,
A sprawling manor with imagination on its side,
But the manor was cold and cruel,
And it whispered of things terrible,
One day three young men inhabited the house,
One with a growing mustache, the second with slicked-back hair, and the third with a smile brighter than the sun.
The smiling man grew old and fell in love with a seer in the house of imagination,
But he was prideful, with hubris coating his tongue like honeyed arsenic,
And he drove the seer away,
She ran with the moustached man,
Who had long since grown old, touched with the insanity of war,
Though he hid behind a childlike joy,
And the slick-haired man grew tired,
As he watched his sister run with the moustached man,"
What happened then?
The universe inquired,
"The smiling man's smile fell away, and he turned into an Actor,
A facade built on a house of cards,
And he listened to the house which whispered in his ear,
And found he could no longer die,
And then there was a party,
And then there was a shot,
And now all three are trapped in the house,
As it plays a faithful game,
And pretends the Actor is the director,
It calls to the observers with twisted joy,
Here, here, I have a story for you..."
Marvin the Magnificent fucking hated poetry.
A spell written in prose was hard to read, and even harder to cast correctly. He drew himself a summoning circle and tried once, but the words caught in his throat.
He hated the long, meaningless words that stuck in between sentences like lettuce stuck in one's teeth.
He tried again, but the words still stuck.
Rhymes were meant to roll off the tongue, and yet he couldn't find a rhythm that matched the swapping of words and twisting of syllables.
And he tried a third time.
With a huff, he tossed the book away and flopped down in the summoning circle.
Why was poetry so fucking hard to read?
And elsewhere, in a little study in an office building, The Host grinned to himself.
Ren was certain something was wrong with Pearl.
In Double Life, the way she slunk around. How death and destruction followed her around like a black cat. The ravens cawed and clocks ceased their ticking when she grew near.
Eventually, three hours was up, and he and Pearl returned to Hermitcraft.
It wasn't a graceful landing, by all means. It felt more like the universe had haphazardly tossed him away like a loose sock.
Pearl was back in her garbage man uniform. That didn't stop her from having an aura of death.
Ren questioned her, asking about demons. He prodded until Pearl left to go mining, and had come up without a single answer.
Until that night, at least.
He dreamt of Pearl, standing before him in a white void.
The moon had turned black and cold, and the light it radiated wasn't light at all. It seemed almost as though the moon was sucking out light instead of providing it.
Pearl grinned, but her smile was too wide--her teeth too sharp.
Quartz erupted from the white void, creating a cage of solid crystal. Ren moved away from it, but he felt as though he were moving through molasses.
He head was foggy. He tried to speak but his tongue was heavy in his mouth.
Pearl grinned and she was there beside him in his cage of quartz.
"There are a lot scarier things out there than a demon, Ren."
And she grinned a little too wide, and laughed a little too loud.
And then Ren woke up.
