#kitchen special

[blairthegreaser]

Two-Bit in my au!!

(I rushed ts please ignore the horrid rendering)

@kirikoisreal @wearingpants @jujuainthome

[saccharine-stories]

Generosity doesn't require money btw. You can be generous with your time, your compliments, your talents, your love, your resources, your energy, your support, and the list goes on and on. Generosity means freely giving of whatever you have to bless your fellow man. You don't need to have money. We all have something to give, so don't hoard what was freely given to you.

[saccharine-stories]

T I M E

People tell me I'm young, that I have all the time in the world to learn, do, and become whatever I want. They keep telling me that my hour glass is full; that I am youthful, rich, and free from the bindings that slowly tighten around the aged. Never mind the persistent trickle into the bottom of my glass. Never mind the noose already looped around my neck.

"You have plenty of time."

Then I hear them say that time passes so quickly, that you blink and twenty, thirty-five, fifty, years of sand piles up beneath you and you're left wondering where all your time went. The noose tightens and the bottom drops out before you realize it, and you're left clawing at the glass, fighting to stay here in the present, before you fall down with the dust of all the other dying moments.

"Where is all my time going?" I ask.

The sand shifts under my feet, draining away from me despite my best efforts to utilize each moment. Should this task take two hours? I've been working on this for days and where is my progress? Half the day spent while I paced, caught in a daydream. I have so much ground to stand on but I'm already pressing against the glass, begging for it to stop, trying to claw the noose off of my neck.

I fight against an enemy old as creation. A shadow who looks on passively as I struggle, knowing they will have all I possess no matter what I do. Is there pity in its gaze? Does it feel bad for those of us who live in fear because we can't comprehend what we have, only that its immensely precious? To my mind, time shimmers like a crystal mirage, indiscernible and deceptive. It glitters like gold, shines like the sun, and I'm blinded by the radiance that everyone else is able to watch, some more carefully than others. The desire to honor every grain burns within me, but how do you wisely use something you can't see and don't understand? I'm left doing unquantifiable equations. I want to ration out what I have, to clutch at what I was given so that I won't be crushed by what I wasted in the end.

The most precious resource in the world and I can't even keep track of it, throwing it on the frivolous and holding it back from what matters. Every moment counts, they say, but how can I ever count my moments? I can only count them long after they passed through my hands, and I can realize the injustice of not valuing them when I had them. Hypnotized by the shifting hands of the clock, I'm always too dazed to tell what is most important. The sin and scandal of wasted time eternally lurks in my shadow, leering at every choice I make.

"Are you sure its a good idea to do this?"

"What if you should be doing that?"

"Do you really think these things are worth your attention?"

"What if those things are a more worthy cause?"

Questioning, questioning, questioning.

Every moment, every minute, every day.

The continuous march of time stomps mercilessly over me.

There is so much I want to learn and do and be, but how long do I have until time erodes my mortal frame into something unusable. Will my body give out before I have the chance to be strong? Will my mind shatter before I can make it sharp? Will the light of my dreams fade away before I can even get close?

The noose hasn't even tightened around my neck and its already stealing my breath away.

[saccharine-stories]

She scrabled forward on bloodied hands and knees, eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light. Her lips curled, looking more and more like a feral animal as she descended upon the mangled gift the tormentors had thrown back in her cage.

Her friend.

Her friend.

They had taken him from her, mercilessly playing with their prey until they had beaten every bit of enjoyment out of their stolen toy. His bones now ground with every breath he dared to take. Blood had been smeared and splattered, staining clothes and accenting the cruel purple of fist marks across his body. His face, that expression of a soul she held so dear, was swollen and frozen in an expression of terror and agony.

Slowly, she scooped him up and curled around this broken thing she loved so much, as if she could protect him from the torture he had already endured. He cried out weakly and shied away from her touch, the fear and pain reaching even to his unconscious mind.

Her heart broke.

And when that last retaining wall had shattered, every inhibition evaporated like alcohol to a flame. Thick, murdurous fury began to writhe in her heart and seeped poisonously into her soul. Only love, twisted by this sight, could produce this kind of world-rending ichor. Even though it burned in every fibre of her being, urging her to howl it into deaf void, she held it in. She would save it. She bit down the cacophony of wrath bleeding into her mouth, instead planting it in her bones and letting it burn there. She would use it to consume them, even if it consumed her in turn.

She held her broken friend as tightly as she dared and gently wiped the blood trickling from a ragged gash that tore across his eye. She swiped it across her brow, making an an oath of violence on blood she treasured more than her own.

It didn't matter what she had to do. If they broke her, if reality fractured around her, if she lost every scrape of who she used to be, then so be it. She would set the world alight for the ones she loved and burn their persecutors in it. She would hold their lives in the heat of her wrath and make them beg for mercy that she was incapable of giving.

Their world would burn and she would dance among the flames.

[saccharine-stories]

Master List

Just a little menu to help you sort through the variety of goodies I've stored here.

My AO3 profile

#caramelized characters Contains or relates to my OCs.

#short and sweet My drabbles.

#sugar cubes Just random thoughts.

#borrowed recipe My fanfics.

#kitchen special Original works.

#creme brulee Hot takes and rants.

#from the other kitchen Writing from other talented bloggers.

Fandom List

Requests: Open!!

-> n.b. Keep requests sfw. Also, I don't prefer to do romance, but I'm open to writing for some ships if I like them enough.

Shows:

Supernatural

Merlin

Arcane

Games:

Persona 5

Legend of Zelda

Minecraft and MCYT

Cartoon/Anime:

My Hero Academia

Ninjago

Voltron

Pokémon

Star War Clone Wars/Rebels

Transformers Prime

Other:

Creepypasta

[saccharine-stories]

Writing fanfiction as a hobby becomes so much more enjoyable when you have someone to personally share it with.

For example, one of my sisters also writes fanfiction, and its awesome because its something that both of us bond over. Its a secret little hobby that we only really share with each other. We gush over projects, send each other snippets of writing, and get inspired by the skills of the other person. We may write for completely different fandoms, but its still loads of fun because despite this, we read and support each other's fics even though we have no idea what's going on.

This is what fandom is at its core. Its not creating something for the masses, publishing a story or a piece of artwork so that people can consume it. Its writing for your friends while you hone your skill and engage in a fun, and unserious hobby. Its building an intimate community around yourself and then bragging on the people you love to those outside your circle.

[saccharine-stories]

Here is another drabble that I made a while ago, but never posted. I wrote it about a friend who I admire deeply. She is kind and beautiful, but has been hurt many times. This is for her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Love, You Are A River

My love, you are a river, harboring countless wonders within the power of your currents. I have watched others approach you, without respect. Sullying the crystal waters and taking what was not theirs. You could have drowned them easily, swelled into a righteous flood to wash away any trace that they had touched you. Yet you did not and the fullness of your curved banks still bears those marks. A riverside all the more radiant for them and the kindness of your fertile flow. Your joy springs forth as you bound over rounded stones; somber depths obscured by playful foam.