Hello there, dear readers and welcome to our cosmic corner of the internet ^^ | Co-crafted writing blog | Zahir | he/him | 22 | + | Pascal | Any pronouns | 21 | Requests open! | Refer to pinned post for more information | Everyone is free to interact | Banner not ours | We wish you all a very lovely day ^^.
Hello everybody and welcome to THE SPACE CAFE, your cosmic corner for all your writing needs! We're run by two staff members; Zahir Thorne and Pascal Casimir. Whenever we are taking orders or just saying hi, you will know who is speaking by the colour of the text used.
Blue text - The answer is from Zahir.
Purple text - The answer is from Pascal.
Black/white text - The answer is from both.
The Space Cafe? What's it about?
Pascal here! Yup-yup! The Space Cafe is your go-to place for a break, some art and some stories. Our writing orders will span across ALL genres except for smut (No hate to smut, but neither of us have the skill to portray it TwT). From the most cavity-causing hot chocolate fluff to the most soul-crushing dark, black coffee content, we've got you! As for drawing! We draw requested OCs/Sonas that are sent to us via our inbox. Just send us a reference and you're good to go!
Any orders you won't take?
Zahir here. Aside from sexually explicit content,we will not take fandom fanfiction/fanart orders. The Space Cafe focuses on 100% original works with 100% original characters and plots. Similarly for art, it will contain only requested OCs/sona art.
Do you take orders now? What's the status?
Ohoho, yes we do, and ALL request types are always wiiiide open unless stated otherwise! So, feel free to send us your *beautiful* thoughts! Trust me, NOTHING is too strange or detailed for us. We strive for as much inclusivity as possible on this blog, so everyone has a place in our little slice of the cosmos ^^. The only reason we'd ever deny a request is if we both feel that neither of us can do it the justice it deserves.
! Primary Menu !
Cosmic Chronicles - Fictional one-shots.
Stardust Sonnets - Poetry.
Orbital Origins - Autobiographical one-shots.
Supernova Sagas - Personal proses/reflections.
Meteorite Musings - Creative writing prompts
Galactic Gallery - Original artwork
! Secondary Menu !
Comet Tails - Reblogs
Solar Signals - Answered asks
Mission Updates - Blog announcements
Voyager Votes - Polls and/or questions.
Lunar Lunacy - Ask games/picrews etc.
The Nebula Nomads
(For our shy lurkers, our anons, we see you and we love you!)
- 🐹 Anon
- 🌸 Anon
- 🫁 Anon
The Starlit Striders
(For our shining stars, our mutuals, you light up THE ABYSS! We love you!)
@italeean RAPHAEL Our resident Italian sleepless med student with a mind as sharp as steel, though her platter is not silver, but made of NICKEL-. Like many good things in life... she is short and sweet. Sensibility with a hint of pure madness and a litre of genius.
@rachi-roo ROO-ROO A being of pure warmth and tenderness. Our favourite UK-hailing ADD Satanist. A proud mother of two ferrets, a tortoise, and us. She is the embodiment of that friend on a road trip who brings all the snacks. Genuinely such a wonderful being.
@a-specimen PROBABLY HUMAN. Trapped within the borders of Florida but still able to muster a smile somehow. Two of our first friends on this platform and one of the sole reasons for our motivation. Pascal's partners in sending Zahir to the asylum-
Enjoy your stay, cadets, be safe, and have a lovely day!
XOXO
- Pascal Casimir~!
- Zahir Thorne.
PS. Special thank you to @saradika-graphics and @bluviddes for the lovely dividers!
Diwali means watching your partner jump out of his skin from the fireworks outside while you accidentally drop a sparkler on your foot because of how hard you howled with laughter. So now you are both inside, one with a bandaid on their foot, and the other dying of shame for acting like a cat with a cucumber. That's it, that's the post :D. To anyone who celebrates, Happy festival of light!
Here she iiiis!! The undiscovered half-sister of pro Hero Hawks! Ahma Takami! (Formerly Kamiko, didn't fancy that name anymore)
Name: Ahma Takami, Jackdaw
Age: 25
Gender/Sexuality: Cis female, bi
Affiliation: Street racer, driver for hire. Getaway driver, deliveries, escort.
Quirk: Foresight. Ahma has the ability to read up to an hour into the future in perfect detail. She uses this to pick the best routes for driving, avoiding cops, traffic lights, and any other issues. Her mother had a fortune teller quirk, letting her see vague glimpses into people's future.
Ahma and Hawks share a father. She was born a couple of years before Hawks after their dad had a one night stand, not feeling the need to tell Hawks mother.
Ahma was born into an unpleasant life, her mother being a s*x worker. However, her mother loved her dearly and took good care of her. Saving money to send Ahma to school. Things didn't go to plan when Ahmas mother vanished one day. That's when Ahma took up driving and became a known name among wangan racers.
Using her array of criminal contacts, Ahma eventually found out about her relation to Hawks. However, she never made any attempts to contact him. And despite how privileged Hawks appears to the outside eye, she can't bring herself to hate him. In fact, she instead shows support by buying merch.
Hi 👋, My name is Mohammad, and I’m reaching out in a moment of desperate need. I’m a father of three young children living in Gaza, and we are caught in the midst of a catastrophic war. Our home is no longer a safe haven, and the future here seems increasingly uncertain. 💔
I’ve launched a fundraising campaign with the goal of raising $40,000 to relocate my family to a safer place where my children can grow up in peace and have a chance at a brighter future. 🕊️🇵🇸
Unfortunately, my previous fundraising efforts were abruptly halted when my account was terminated without explanation. However, I remain determined to keep fighting for my family’s safety and well-being. 🫶
If you could take a moment to read our story, consider donating, or simply share our campaign with others, it would make an incredible difference. Every act of kindness, no matter how small, brings us one step closer to safety and a new beginning. 🙏
Thank you for your time, compassion, and support. ❤
https://gofund.me/fd1faea2 🔗
To everyone reading this, please support if you can! Even if you can't donate PLEASE reblog! Spread this message as far as possible!
Ohoho? Little me (under 12) would ADORE me! (Probably because the Casimir batshit-clown gene is still coursing through me like wildfire XD). Teen me, though? Ohhh, he'd be so scared... Teen me was my Fabian-era, philophobia era, Orthodox-guilt era, pre-parental-divorce era, freaking- fear era. MAH CRINGE ERA- Yeah, he'd come around but he'd probably cry if he saw the queer mess I am, I'll be honest from the bottom of my entropic heart XD.
-Pascal Casimir
... I think if I were to meet my teenage self, she'd legitimately execute me on the spot (or vice versa) I would like to believe that the version of me under ten years old would be fond of who I've grown up to be.
-Zahir Thorne
@italeean Jump on this train, we're too curious XD.
A/N: How long has it been since either of us wrote something? Pfft- If you're looking for a good story, we're so sorry, this is not it XD. This is us having WAY too much fun with character dialogue while completely ignoring proper style and narrative. Anways, if you stick around, I hope you enjoy!
Author(s): Pascal Casimir and Zahir Thorne (sleep deprived edition).
Genre: Plotless fantasy fluff.
Warnings: An absolute lack of proper plot, just pure bullshit.
Word Count: 2250.
When most people think of a story of a vampire and a human together, they would think of a scandalous affair of yearning and ruin, instinct and animalism… Oh, how wrong they would be to assume such a notion… In reality, the story would go much… much differently.
The warm glow of the dimly lit room in Gabriel Dean's apartment was a perfect setting for a night of Victorian drama marathons. The flickering light from the television bathed the walls with muted shades of sepia, casting shadows over the neatly organized bookshelves that dressed the dwelling. The atmosphere was warm, cozy, a stark contrast to the imposing reputations of the two individuals seated on the plushy couch.
Gabriel Dean, dressed in his usual dark, crisp attire, sat with perfect posture on one end of the couch. To a distant observer, he would look like a corpse with how still he was, the picture of eerie composure. Beside him, Mildred Bayford, his former lover and now, quite shockingly, his best friend, sat sprawled in a more relaxed position, a spoon of blood-infused ice cream halfway to her fanged mouth. She wore an aristocratic air even in casual clothes, her long black tresses spilling over one shoulder as she narrowed her intense eyes at the drama unfolding before them.
On-screen, a lavish Victorian ballroom scene played out. A gentleman, dashing but infuriatingly indecisive, hesitated as he gazed across the room at the lady he had been pining for, a woman who had all but given up hope. The music swelled dramatically. And then... he walked away. Gabe stiffened, his calm, collected mask slipping for a moment as a flicker of incredulity crossed his features. He leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing.
“This is absurd,” He muttered, the annoyance clear in his usually measured tone. “He had his chance at the debutante ball! And the cotillion, Mildred. It was the perfect moment, and he just—left? Preposterous,” The detective grumbled. Mildred, in the midst of savouring her ice cream, choked on a spoonful, her eyes widening at Gabriel’s outburst. For a moment, she looked genuinely astonished. She hastily swallowed, wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand, and stared at him with a mix of disbelief and amusement.
“What sayest thou?!” she exclaimed, her voice rising with incredulity. “The debutante ball mattered not a whit, thou fool! The man hath proven himself a craven imbecile, one unworthy of her affections from the very beginning!” She gestured dramatically at the screen with her spoon, nearly spilling the ice cream in her passionate indignation. “Fie on the debutante ball, I say! Die on the cotillion! Fie on the altar!”
"Ah, so you're saying his entire character was doomed from the start? I must disagree. His potential, while, I admit, limited, was squandered at the debutante ball. A missed opportunity that could have redefined the course of his affections,” Gabriel mused aloud as he leaner back, folding his arms across his chest. The vampire scoffed, rolling her eyes theatrically.
“Pah! Squandered? Nay! He was doomed the moment he opened his mewling mouth! A man who doth not seize the moment when it is offered him is naught but a coward. A spineless, milquetoast, lily-livered wretch! She should have fled from him at the first glance!” Gabriel’s expression remained thoughtful, though his smirk widened just a touch.
"I see. So you advocate for her to simply abandon him. Leave him to wallow in his indecision. You would have her run off with that...what was he? That foppish lieutenant?"
"Aye!" Mildred declared, her voice rising triumphantly. “The lieutenant, whilst a fop, hath the courage to act! ‘Tis better to be a fop with fire in one’s heart than a dandy frozen in inaction. She ought to have wedded the lieutenant at once and let the fool rot in his melancholia.”
"The lieutenant? Really? You would suggest that she run off with that pompous, insufferable oaf who can't even carry on a conversation without stumbling over his words?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow, his calm demeanour cracking just enough to let out a small, disbelieving laugh. Mildred raised her chin, her ice cream long forgotten as she waved her hand dismissively.
“Words, Gabriel? Thou doth place too much stock in mere words. ‘Tis action that defines a man. And that buffoon, though a fop, doth at least act. In this tale, action outweighs eloquence.”
"Then, I suppose you would have her endure his endless prattle about his—what was it—his obsession with hunting pheasants? His incessant boasting about his riding skills?"
"Better to endure such boasts than to suffer a coward who cannot even confess his heart!" Mildred retorted, her eyes blazing with amusement as much as indignation. "Fie on the man who cannot act! He shall reap naught but loneliness for his timidity!" There was a moment of silence as they both stared at the television, the dramatic dialogue playing out, though neither seemed to care for the current scene. And then, Gabriel, still composed, nodded once.
“That… is one hell of a way of saying ‘no balls’, huh, Mill? Ah, perhaps you’re right. The lieutenant, as pompous as he is, would at least provide some...entertainment. The other fellow—well, he is quite hopeless,” Mildred burst into laughter, a rich, melodic sound that echoed through the room.
“Finally! Thou hast seen the light! The lady deserves a man of action, not some craven coward who dithers about as though he hath naught but water in his veins!”
"Perhaps. But I still maintain that he had his chance at the debutante ball, the cotillion, the first ride, and the entirety that the two were stuck in that carriage together. Alone. That was where he truly lost her,” Gabriel chuckled softly, shaking his head.
“Ah, Gabriel, thou art too invested in these debutante balls. Not every moment is so pivotal.” The vamp wiped a tear of mirth from her crimson eye, trying desperately to compose herself.
“I beg to differ,” Gabriel replied, still smiling faintly. "The debutante ball was a social turning point. But I see you are set in your ways."
The room grew quiet for a moment, and both of them, for all their arguments, seemed to realize how utterly ridiculous their discussion had become. The intensity of their earlier debate melted into a shared moment of amusement, something they didn’t often experience together, given their usual serious dispositions. Suddenly, Mildred spoke again, still catching her breath from laughing.
“If thou wert in his shoes, Gabriel, wouldst thou have confessed thy heart at the debutante ball? Or wouldst thou, too, have faltered?” Gabriel’s smile faded into something more thoughtful as he considered her question.
"I would not have waited until the fucking debutante ball," he answered softly. "A man who truly understands the value of time does not hesitate. I would have made my intentions clear long before the dance began." Mildred regarded him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing as if she were appraising him. Then, with a slow smile, she nodded.
“Wise words, Gabriel. ‘Tis true, hesitation is the bane of love... and many other things besides.”
"And you, Mildred? Would you have chosen the lieutenant? Or would you have waited for the coward to find his courage?" Mildred chuckled, resting her elbow on the arm of the couch.
“Me? I would have chosen neither. The fool is too spineless, and the lieutenant, whilst bold, is but an empty suit. Verily, since mine own awakening to the realm of aromanticism, true romance doth fail to pique my interest. Relation-shipping, with its ample drama, sufficeth for this swordswoman. Yet, should I be compelled to choose, I wouldst have left both behind and sought a worthier suitor elsewhere,” She answered with a shrug. Gabriel tilted his head, intrigued.
"A worthier man? Someone bold, but not foppish. Confident, but not arrogant. Is there such a man in these dramas?” Mildred caught the human’s gaze and smirked, her voice lowering into a mischievous tone.
“Mayhap. But such men are rare, Gabriel. ‘Tis why I prefer the company of ghosts and knights from tales of old. They, at least, do not disappoint.”
"I see. A man of flesh and blood is never enough, it seems,” Gabe shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “I would beg to differ.”
“Thou hath a male suitor, Gabe…”
“… Okay, uncalled for.”
As their laughter faded, the air between them remained light. It was strange—wholesome, even. Neither of them had expected to enjoy such a mundane evening together, yet here they were, engaged in passionate debates over Victorian dramas and laughing about it afterward. The absurdities of the drama had left them both in a rare, carefree mood.
“So,” Gabriel began, his voice low and thoughtful as he sipped his tea. “What would you do, Mildred, if you were in the midst of such a debutante ball? Letting go of the romance, that is.” Mildred raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.
“Me? At a debutante ball? I would likely have caused a scene. Such events are ripe for chaos and drama. ‘Tis my forte, after all.”
“A scene? What kind of scene would you orchestrate?” Gabe snickered, raising an eyebrow at his friend. Mildred leaned back, crossing her arms with an air of mock contemplation.
“Ah, let me see... I would first acquire the most splendid gown, something that would outshine all the others. Then, perhaps a dramatic entrance, to ensure all eyes are upon me. And once there, I would... challenge the very notion of propriety with an extravagant display of fiery rhetoric and perhaps a duel or two.”
“A duel? In the middle of a goddamned debutante ball? In what universe-”
“Aye!” Mildred declared with a dramatic flourish. “Why not? ‘Tis an event that breeds pretension and dullness. What better way to stir things up than with a good old-fashioned duel? It would be the talk of the town for months!” Gabriel laughed quietly, shaking his head.
“Your flair for the dramatic never ceases to amaze me. And here I thought you’d simply dance circles around them.”
“Dancing circles? Oh, that’s for the commoners. I’d rather make an unforgettable impression in a way that only a true countess—past or present—could manage.” Mildred waved her hand dismissively, her rings glinting in the light of the TV. After a while, Mildred’s gaze softened as she looked over at Gabriel.
“And what of you, Gabriel? What role wouldst thou assume at such an event? Wouldst thou remain the silent observer, or wouldst thou engage in the fray?”
“I suppose I would remain the observer. Analyzing, calculating... and perhaps offering subtle guidance to those in need. There is a certain satisfaction in watching the machinations unfold without directly intervening.”
“A strategist even at a debutante ball. I suppose it is only fitting. Thou dost approach everything with such precision and care.”
“Precision and care are essential,” Gabriel said, his tone reflective. “I am a detective after all. In my line of work, even the smallest detail can have significant consequences. But tonight, I find myself appreciating the absurdity of it all.”
“Indeed. Sometimes, ‘tis the little absurdities that remind us of our humanity. Even if we are not quite... human,” Mildred’s expression grew contemplative. The detective snorted, shaking his head.
“You…” He gestured to Mildred’s form. “are more human that most actual humans I know.”
“Pfft- thou jest. Or has thou lack to remember I consume blood in order to live on?
"Okay, Mill, you once almost burnt to a crisp in the sun because you saw a kitten in the road,” Gabe deadpanned. Mildred’s eyes widened, and she let out a bark of startled laughter.
“Ah, thou dost recall that incident! Aye, it was quite the spectacle. The little youngling had the audacity to glare at me so innocently as if to challenge my very essence. It was a most perplexing and almost tragic affair,” The vamp’s gaze softened, and she leaned back, her eyes gleaming with a hint of nostalgia. “It is curious, is it not? How even the most timeless of creatures can find themselves caught in the simplest of human joys and sorrows. The little things, as it were.”
“Mhmm…” Gabriel said, nodding thoughtfully. “It’s those simple pleasures that often bridge the gap between the mundane and the extraordinary. In the midst of our grand schemes and ancient struggles, it’s easy to forget the charm of a kitten’s gaze or the warmth of a quiet evening. Humanity is not of blood, after all.”
“Aye, Gabriel.” Mildred nodded, flashing a fanged grin. “For all the drama and grandiosity of our existence, it is the quiet moments like these that remind me of the good.”
“Hah,” Gabriel smirked, raising his mug of steaming tea. “Well then… To the simple comforts. To the quiet moments and the delightful absurdities that keep us grounded.”
“To the simple comforts,” Mildred echoed, raising her spoon. “And to thy company. May God’s blessings be thine.”
“Likewise, vamp.”
They clinked their cup and spoon together, their laughter mingling with the soft hum of the television. The Victorian drama continued on screen, but now it seemed almost quaint in comparison to the shared camaraderie in the room, a mere backdrop. The night wore on, and the warm glow of the dimly lit apartment seemed to capture the essence of what they had discovered together.
DANDY! Get well soon, little friend! Sending you virtual cucumbers and hoping you grow so big, you'll take up one whole couch cushion on Roo-Roo's couch!
I'm gonna shove my cock into that juicy wet cunt of yours and pull you by your snowy hair as I fill you with my seed. And you're gonna beg for more until you can't even think, let alone talk. Better lock that door tonight.
Pfft-! Nooo, 17 minutes of utter bullshit I wrote at 2AM one night because I really can't write angst for the life of me and I need practice! XD.
I will put it under the lovely cut. Trigger warnings for: Just generally not a happy-toned WIP. Suicide, mental decline, all that jazz.
-Pax Casimir
17 minutes... My shrink said I should take note of the time it takes for my thoughts to go to... darker places. 'it's a way to track progress!' he said, I think its bullshit, so she knows how long I'll be paying her for. I can't blame him, I'd do the same. But 17 minutes... that's my new record, it seems.
Something inside me is… rotting. It started out a small itch, a nagging sensation deep within my chest, but now, I... I can feel it spreading, a festering wound that I can neither see nor touch. Every breath I take feels heavy, laced with the acrid scent of decay that no one else seems to notice. It’s a secret disease, you know... I promise I'm not crazy. It's an invisible plague eating away at my core. It’s... insidious. It creeps into my thoughts, worming its way through the folds of my mind like the grip of a needy child.
17 minutes, that's how long I've tried to ignore those vicious, invisible hands holding me down. I can't... move. I'm stuck. And there's nothing I can do but acknowledge the fact that I'm stuck and that there's nothing that I can do. My wrists are... not bound, neither are my ankles. I suppose I could move... but my body won't let me... and my mind is too tired to convince it. It feels... strangely heavy today.
Desperation drives me to seek solace in the familiar. I retrace old paths, visit places that once brought me peace, but the rot follows like a wraith, an unshakable shadow. I stare at the faces of loved ones, searching for a flicker of recognition, a sign that they see the rot too. But their eyes are blind to this disease inside me. No, this isn't a disease... it's an assault, a deliberate erosion of everything I once was, everything I could be. Everything I'd ever hope to be. The clock ticks, and with each second, I feel myself slipping further away, losing pieces of myself I’ll never get back.
17 minutes, that's how long it's been since I last looked at the time, 17 minutes of fighting to stay whole again, to keep the rot from consuming me entirely. But the truth is, I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting. I don't even know what it is that I'm fighting. I don't know where it is now or where it's going to spread next. I'm not crazy, I swear I'm not insane!
The rot... it’s like it’s alive, feeding off my body , growing stronger with every pulse of agony that shoots through my veins. I can feel it gnawing at the edges of my sanity, chewing away at the last remnants of my working soul. I scream for help, but my voice is swallowed by the void. I’m drowning, and no one will ever know until they fish my body out of the water and finally see the rot as it eats away at my skin.
... 17 minutes. That’s how long it’s taken for this invisible plague to consume me, to erode the foundations of my mind until nothing remains but a fragile shell, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. I thought I was strong, thought I could fight it, but how can you fight something you can’t see? Something that’s already inside you, a part of you, festering, rotting, killing you from within?
I can’t take another second. The rot is winning. No, it’s already won. It’s taken everything from me, every dream, every hope, every shred of humanity I had left. All that remains is this unbearable... nothingness. this crushing weight of almost-despair that I can’t escape. I thought I could endure it, but I can’t do this! My body won't allow me to. I don’t want to do this. My mind won't let me either! But there’s no way out. The rot is inside me, and it’s never letting go. The walls are closing in, and I’m trapped, suffocating under the weight of my own decay. It’s too late to fight. It’s too late for anything. I'm sorry.
17 minutes… that’s all it takes for everything to fall apart. 17 minutes, that's how long it'll take to shine a light on this body of mine. A body without a soul, without a person inside, just hanging there... waiting to be found. I suppose there is a certain... poetry in all this. 17 years of existance. 17 months of trying to fix it. 17 weeks of decline. 17 days of asking for help. 17 hours of thinking. 17 minutes of action and... 17 seconds until I am free... If you happen to be reading these records... thanks. You've just listened to me longer than anyone in my life.
Friend, buddy, ol' pal, I think you've strumbled into the wrong blog. Buuuut! To answer your question, Zahir's a guy, so no he can't. As for me, yeah, I can XD.
Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then, tag as many people as you have WIPs
I'm kind of boring and only have one writing WIP. But I have other projects! So I'll give them names too.
Here's what I'm working on:
# Wolf pt 2
# Lotus
# Strawberries
# Middle Earth
# Curse
Here's five mutuals! @risingscorchingsuns @mandanator @aromantic-cactus @uchu-no-bashira @real-genya-shinazugawa
