anonymous asked:

Story prompt: a new homeowner is unaware that a demon summoning circle lives under the floorboards. One night, a creature dies on the circle, and the fresh blood summons....?

I hated my new apartment. You would have thought my ex-husband would let me keep my own fucking house - the one that I grew up in - but no, I was the one that had to move out. And I did. Without a fuss, apparently. I don’t know who was worse sometimes, me or him.

The pipes creaked, the hot tap in the kitchen didn’t work, and there was a crack in the plaster in the living room. It was always cold and I was still pretty sure I had mice living in the walls.

This wasn’t home. It wasn’t life.

I lay in bed shivering, curled in on myself and wishing for something…. I don’t know… more. My ex got the house, he got the new girlfriend, the promotion, even our cat, Blue. What did I get? Mice.

I could hear them now, scratching. The worst house guests ever. They didn’t pay rent, so couldn’t they at least shut the fuck up at this time of night?

The street light outside my window flickered and went out as I tried to get to sleep.  

The pipes gurgled.

The clock ticked.

The mice scratched.

And a voice spoke, right next to my ear.

“Who has summoned me?” It said simply.

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Lance Week- Family

I’m late but I wanted to help celebrate my boy Lance!

anyways, this is angsty and short and I may carry it over into the other prompts (I think today is supposed to be friends? I’ll see.)

Enjoy :)

What is a family?

For a long time Lance had thought it was a blood relation; the woman who birthed you and the man who raised you, and any siblings that followed after.

But as he grew older, began to understand more about the world and its workings, he realized that his definition may have been faulty. Family wasn’t always a mom, a dad, and a sister or two.

Sometimes it was two moms, or just one. And other times it was two dads, or none at all. And then, if one were really lucky, there could be three people who each held the title parent.

And siblings didn’t always come from the same two people. Sometimes they had a different father, or a different mother, or none at all that they could remember, until they were taken in and raised by a loving family.

But what made a family?

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The First Time Ever in a Year (Short/Drabble)

Your Request anon: “could I get a jimin fluff where hes meeting his long-distance s/o after a year? please? i’m trash for soft jimin. tbh i’m just trash for jimin *sobs*”

Pairing: Jimin x YOU

Theme: Fluff

Word Count: 321 Words


It’s been a year since Jimin has seen Y/N. 12 months, 53 weeks, 365 days,  8760 hours, 525600 minutes, and a seemingly infinite amount of seconds sense he had seen the love of his life. 

Today however, would change that. BTS had just finished their Wings Tour and Jimin could basically feel Y/N’s hand in his own. Their relationship was a weird one, as they had never actually met before either. Today was to be a day of introductions and love. 

The year he had gone without seeing Y/N, only implied no Skyping or calling. He was too busy to touch his phone if it didn’t involve Bangtan.

So, as he stepped off the plane he began having the symptoms for a heart attack. Dressed in a mask, sunglasses, and a black dad hat he made his way to baggage claim. 

He texted Y/N as he waited. He told Y/N the whole play by play until the time came for him to head towards his final destination. The one person he had been waiting for. 

As Jimin made his way to the waiting area, he saw a sign with his name on it. Big and neon, covered in glitter hearts and being held by his unmistakable angel. 

Forgetting the sign even existed, Y/N ran towards Jimin, who instantly dropped his bags and caught Y/N in a hug. As he spun Y/N around in a tight hug, they leaned back and removed his mask. With a smile and zero hesitation their lips collided. 

Sparks flying was an understatement in Jimin’s opinion. They weren’t just sparks, it was an entire fireworks display, in full volume and slow motion. 

This was how Jimin wanted to spend his life, holding Y/N tightly to him. He knew in that moment that Y/N was everything he could ever want. 

“Hi, I’m Park Jimin.” 

“Hello Park Jimin, I am Y/F/L/N.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Jimin answered with a smile.


Sorry if this is kinda trash. I am still working on writing fluff… Please tell me how it was! 

I tried to make this a genderless story! 



“You can hold me if you want to,” he said while looking at me trying to convince me once more. 

I don’t know when did my walls start to get this high. Sometimes I can’t even put it down when I want to show some people the glimpse of me. My barrier is already unreachable. Perhaps this is what happens when you’ve been in a situation where you gave your full trust only that person broke it into glass pieces. And you will think that person is the one at fault but really, it’s you. It is always you. I don’t know why he’s still here for me despite pushing him to the extent that if I am the one in his shoes, I’d let me go already.

Without diverting his eyes, like a camera focused on a subject leaving everything in a blur, he continued to tell me “You can show me what you actually feel”

It’s already exhausting to even have a feeling, what more if you have to show it. Besides, I already believed that I am an emotion dressed with a lot of skin and mixed with chemicals that barely sustain my life. Though I don’t know anymore whether I am being brave for not letting him know why my heart is beating too fast when he’s near or I am so afraid that I’d rather be left alone numb than engaging in something risky like trusting again.

So even if I badly want to utter those three words and even if my hands are already close to reaching his arms, I reminded myself to shut him off like what I’ve been already doing for the past months. But this time, I have to cut the connection completely before it can destruct the wall I’ve built to protect myself; before I even turn to ashes because of so much brokenness, 

I answered: “I am sorry, I can’t”

I am about to start walking past at him when he grabbed my arm and pulled me to his body like it’s where it originally belongs. I am surprised; no I am relieved like a cloud that needs to pour a river of water. His heart hammers the barrier I made that my stubbornness is slowly falling down. I surrender.

“Still I will never give up on you” he finally said. I guess he will not because he never did.

Ink in the Dark

It had been a perfect evening.

A cool breeze had drifted through the windows while the bed remained warm and toasty. The apartment didn’t settle or creak and the streets had been quiet. Anton had drifted off into a blissful slumber without so much as flipping to the cool side of his pillow - what luck!

His mind had painted elaborate pictures of thought and wove tapestries of vibrant vision. He sang and boasted. He scavenged and bled. But none of it was what he’d consider the stuff of nightmares, yet, he awoke in a cold sweat all the same.

This had been happening every evening for the past few weeks. The dreams had never truly frightened the mage , but they had their effect. They were so..vibrant, so colorful. And they didn’t fade. In comparison, his waking days seemed Not miserable, no, nor did Anton feel any discontent with his day to day.

“ It feels like my nights are growing more tangible while my days fade.”

The thought of mental or dream tampering had crossed the mage’s mind. Anton investigates books on The Old Ones and the Emerald Dream, but to his relief , and frustration ,nothing matched.

“ Always good to know some fiend isn’t using my mind as a plaything. But that, at least, might have been easier to solve.”

So Anton did what he always did when confounded: He wrote. By the light of the moons he put quill to paper, etching each dream out with ink and word. He filled twenty whole sheets with accounts of his dreams, and when that was done he read through them all.

Apart each nightly vision were nothing too alike. However, by the time Anton had finished filling page seven he began to notice a pattern. The first dream always contained a mirror, while the second always had a looming , dark tower. The third and final always contained a mocking raven without fail. This pattern repeated over and over, ending tonight with an appearance from a tower.

The dreams were connected in some fashion, but how? Why? Not a single answer he cobbled together felt right. But perhaps…perhaps the next time he slept and dreamt he could find an answer.

Anton glanced out his window to see the sun rising over the spires of Dalaran. The evening was over, but the dreams would surely come again. And this new night would bring the raven …and perhaps answers, too.

When the sorcerer found the dragon, it was attacking a grape.

This was only possible because the dragon was not much larger than a grape itself, but she still had to do a double take to be sure the object it was fighting with such animosity was in fact inanimate.

She crouched so that her eyes were level with the top of the table and squinted at it. The dragon sank its tiny fangs into the grape’s skin and gave a great tug, succeeding only in throwing it and the grape into a backwards tumble. The tiny green reptile rolled to a stop with its whole body wrapped around the grape and shook its head ferociously, managing to pull its teeth out but also launching the grape across the table. It gave a mighty roar of anger (about as loud as a human clearing their throat) and stalked after it, tail swishing dangerously.

“Do you need help?” she offered.

The dragon froze mid-prowl and whipped its head around to look at her, looking so offended she almost apologized for asking.

“I mean, I could peel it for you, if that’s the problem.” She wasn’t sure it was getting the message. One could never tell how much human language these little creatures picked up by hanging around the magic labs. Some understood only such essentials as “scat!” or “oh fuck, that sure did just explode”, while others could hold entire conversations — if they deigned to interact.

This one looked like it was deciding whether she was worthy. Finally, it sniffed daintily and flicked its tail, scales clacking together. “Little monster is my prey, and you can’t have it. Found it first. Will devour it!”

“Oh, sure,” she agreed. “But you know it’s a grape, right?”

This was the wrong thing to say. It glared at her and then bounded away to the other end of the table, where it slithered up to the grape and pounced on it.

Grape and dragon promptly rolled off the edge of the table.

The sorcerer quickly went around to that side, alarmed that it would be stepped on. The labs were bustling with shoppers stopping by to watch demonstrations this time of day, and a small dragon wouldn’t be easily visible on the blue and green tiled floor.

“Horrible! Dirty!” The tiny dragon was screeching at the top of its lungs, holding onto its prey for dear life. It would have been hard to hear anyway, with all the noise of the labs, but with the sorcerer’s diminished hearing it took several seconds to locate the screaming creature.

She scanned the pattern of the tiles for it and sighed. “Oh, hold on, we mopped this morning.” She cupped her hands around it and deposited it into her skirt pocket, an indignity the dragon endured only with more screaming.

“An outrage! Put me down!”

“Shh,” she advised. Lab workers were strongly discouraged from bringing creatures into the back rooms, which was where she was heading, picking her way through the crowded front lab.

“Fuck pockets!” her pocket responded.

“Oh, you can curse. Wonderful.”

The dragon seemed to take this as an actual compliment. “Am multitalented. Can also compose poetry.”

“Really? Can I hear some?”

“No. For dragon ears only.” It sounded viciously pleased to hold this over her head. The bulge in her pocket rearranged itself, and she thought it might be trying to gnaw on the grape.

She felt herself smiling even as she tried to squash her mouth into a straight line. She liked this little bad-tempered thing, even though its spiky feet were digging into her thigh.

In the much quieter kitchen of the back rooms behind the lab, she transferred the wriggling, scaly handful from her pocket to the table. The dragon hissed out a few more insults as it got up and straightened itself out, but its jaw fell open when it finally took in its surroundings. She’d set it down next to the fruit bowl.

“There you go. Food mountain.”

The dragon’s shock didn’t last long. Abandoning the grape, it scraped and scrabbled its way up the side of the bowl and from there onto an apple, its claws leaving tiny puncture marks as it hiked to the top of the arrangement. “Food mountain!” It repeated, its gleeful crowing much clearer and almost sing-song without having to compete with the noise of the crowd.

She watched it turn in a circle, surveying the feast. “But… cannot eat it all,” it observed after a while, crestfallen. “Human-sized. Big shame.”

“Don’t you have nest-mates who can help you with it?” she asked. She had assumed not, from the way it had apparently been foraging for food on its own, but she needed to be sure she’d found a loner.

“No nest. No mates. No nest-mates. You’re rude.” It flopped down ungracefully, wings spread out flat on the apple like it was trying to hug the entire much-larger fruit.

She gave it a moment to be dramatic, and then offered it the grape, minus the peel. “You seem to have a good grasp on human-speak.”

It grabbed the grape without so much as a thank you. “Yes. Have composed poetry in both Dragonese and Humanese. Not for humans to hear, though.” Bragging cheered it up a little.

“You mentioned. I can’t hear very well, anyway.” She pulled up a stool and sat down. “Actually, I’ve been looking for a helper.”

“An assistant,” it said, apparently showing off its Humanese. “An attendant. An aid.”

She watched it bury its snout in the grape, juice dribbling down onto the apple it sat on. “Yes. A hearing aid. How would you feel about having a job?”

It smiled craftily. “Would feel positively, if job comes with chocolate chips.”

“It could,” she said, grinning. She had some friends who employed bird-sized dragons as messengers, but this was the first time she’d heard of one negotiating its salary for itself. “It certainly could. What’s your name?”

“Peep,” said Peep. “It is self-explanatory.”

“Don’t worry, I got it.”

Peep expressed its doubt that humans ever got anything, but she thought the tiny, prickly creature might be warming up to her.

What MRA’s think will happen at the Women-Only Wonder Woman Screenings

We at the Alamo Drafthouse would like to officially apologize for our role in the end of mankind as we knew it, and the ascendant Gynocracy that followed. We didn’t know our women-only screening of Wonder Woman would result in the overthrow of all world governments and the total subjugation of men, but in hindsight we probably should have seen it coming.

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A Handful of Questions to Ask Yourself While Creating a Character

Compelling characters make compelling stories. Here’s a bunch of questions you can ask yourself while developing a character. 

1) What does your character want from life? What is their motivation? What drives them? Most people want things - it could be as small as wanting a sandwich, or something huge like wanting to change the world. Does your character want something? Does your character dream? What about? And if they don’t, why don’t they? 

2) Is your character shy? Outgoing? Insecure? Proud? Why are they the way they are? My favourite example of this question answered well is Ron Weasley from Harry Potter. He’s insecure because he doesn’t come from a wealthy family, has a bunch of older brothers who are all amazing in some form or way, his mother always wanted a daughter, Ginny, and so he doesn’t feel as wanted. Also, one of his best friends is the Chosen One, and the other is the brightest witch of her age - a cocktail that would make anyone doubt themselves. 

3) What kind of clothes does your character wear? Why? The way you dress says a lot about who you are. For instance, If a character wears designer clothes and the latest fashions, it shows that they have the means to keep up with the trends. However if they wear a medley of things bought second-hand, or buy cheap stuff from supermarkets, they might not have the money to spare on outfits, or maybe they just don’t care about fashion.

4) How does your character speak?  Speech patterns have origins. An accent, language, a dialect, all signify geography, social class, personality. It could be as simple as cussing too much. But be sure you know why your character speaks the way they do. And if it’s not a speech pattern you’re familiar with, do your research!

5) Likes and dislikes I sometimes give characters specific likes (”I like tomatoes”) or specific dislikes (”I dislike eggs”), simply because it humanises them. You don’t have to do this, or be as specific as that, if it doesn’t serve your story. But it’s definitely something you can consider. Everyone has those little things they love and hate, and you can go places with them. (”I hate eggs because my childhood bully threw an egg at me and scarred me for life.”) Be creative and have fun with it.

6) Who does your character love? Romantic attraction isn’t necessary to create a wholesome character. Nevertheless, if they are in love with someone, be sure to understand why they love someone. Love is at its best, a complicated emotion difficult to break down, but a relationship has to be believable. As a reader, I need to be able to look at a couple and think, yeah, I can see what their love is built on. 

7) What would their favourite songs be? This is not so much a question as it is a trick I use to get a better feel for who my character is. No matter what time period your story is set in, you can use this to understand your character better. Take your playlist and pick what songs they would enjoy. It says a lot about who they are. For instance, one of my characters would enjoy Western classical music and nothing else. Another character listens to the worst kind of pop and loves it. 

8) How does your character react under stress? Can they cope with it? Do they get tense? Angry? Teary? Why? Why not? How a person deals with stress is a vital part of their personality. Decisions taken under stress can be the worst you’ve ever made, or (depending on how you handle stress), can be effective solutions to problems. The way a person reacts to stress often has a lot to do with their background and upbringing. Example (this is a generalisation, of course): someone who comes from a difficult family background may have more extreme reactions to stress than someone who is well-adjusted and comes from a happy family. 

9) What does your character do when they’re alone? You’re often a different person alone than when you are with other people. The pretences and false faces come away, and all the little thoughts you usually ignore now have time to play in the open. Who is your character when they’re alone? What do they do? What do they think about? Why do they think about/do things in that way?

10) Where does your character fail? Characters must have flaws to be compelling. Nobody is perfect, and your character shouldn’t be either. Whether its insecurity or anger, or a lack of initiative, or smaller things like not being a good artist, or not being the best at sports–we all have personal failings and we all have things we aren’t good at. Consider: where does your character mess up? 

I hope this helps! Remember to have fun. Developing characters can be the most exciting thing. Keep an open mind while working. Happy writing! 

People often misunderstand what the old saying about a cat having nine lives means. The cats prefer to keep it a secret, as most humans can’t be trusted with information so fragile and precious, but there are exceptions.

The merchant who shares his leftover fish. The young girl that hides littler after litter of newborn ones in her room until they find new homes. The old man with scars who still has enough kindness to open his shed to let them slip in from the rain. Boys, teenagers, mothers, warriors, brothers - some are trusted.

Exceptions, yes, few nowadays and rare, but honoured all the more.

So nine lives there are indeed. Each cat is born with them and no matter the time or place, they are lost easily.

This is where the story ends for most people.

But for those who are trusted, those who wake up one morning and find a weird taste in their mouth, the scent of a forest never touched by human hands in their nose, and a strange lingering touch of whiskers on their forehead - they know the truth.

Nine lives for this world, is what all our legends used to say.

You, friend of cats, know the ancient, almost forgotten sayings.

You know of cat eyes shining in the deepest night when they shouldn’t be able to. You know of cats staring past your ear, at that forbidden spot right by the frayed corner of your vision, and you fear that if you look, your cat won’t be able to stare it into submission anymore. You don’t look. The cat purrs. You’re safe.

The kittens have all their lives still. They do not look at the edgewalking beasts that whisper through their humans’ house. It will take time until they fall, hurt, learn.

The oldest cats know so much that a touch of their paw will make an entire village shudder. Their quiet voices cast spells. Let them roam. You cannot imagine the things that flee from them as they walk in silence.

Cat friend, you know it in your heart.

You know of the paths they walk that human feet can’t find.

You know of the nights they vanish and return with the scent of blood, earth and salt in their fur, and when your fingers touch their coat, a cold shiver awakes your skin.

Sometimes, they hear things. You don’t know what, but you know enough to let them sit in front of your house or room, paws tucked under, dark stare never leaving an invisible spot in the air.

And when you float between sleep and life, when you’re unlucky enough to claw at the edge of death before you’re ready to go…

Then maybe, friend of cats, you’ll feel a brush of fur along your legs. Maybe, just before you startle with awe in your heart and wake once more, the same pair of eyes that should sleep by your side winks at you from another world.

Do you believe you’ll fall in love?” Was something that just echoed in the distance. She couldn’t help but think that a place that was once a site for running, screaming, and brused knees would turn into a home for thinking late at night. “No.” Wasn’t the final answer.
“But… I believe in feelings, and that it is too soon for me to speak for my own feelings when love was never my main function. Love is learned and grown not on the spot like in the movies. You need trust, warmth, understanding, and so many other factors for the heart to feel safe. Love isn’t a kiss in the rain, or a letter sent too late, nor is it the cute guy next to you in geometry; love is a whole nother meaning in its self, if it was so easy to be told then there would be no such thing as a kiss in the rain or that letter that was send too late. I dont believe I’ll ever fall in love, but I do believe I’ll grow in love someday.
—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write // 4

“hello,” the dark lord said, “i need a library card.”

“everyone needs a library card,” the librarian said brightly, sliding a form across the desk. “fill this out.”

the dark lord produced her own elaborately plumed quill from the depths of her robes and scrawled her name in handwriting that was completely illegible but seemed to whisper the secrets of the dark from the blinding white page. “yes, but i need mine in order to take over the tri-kingdom area.”

the librarian’s polite smile barely faltered. “funny, the last dark lord to try that didn’t bother with a card.”

“yes, and do you see that fool currently ruling our kingdom? no. of course not. utterly ridiculous, to attempt to take over any size country without a library card, much less an intermediate-sized one like this.” she accepted the thin plastic card with a gracious flourish of her gloved hand.

the librarian, adding the new card’s number to the database, privately agreed, but chose not to say anything.

the librarian balanced the pile of pulled books under one elbow and held the list of call numbers in their hand for easy consultation. “intermediate spell casting for grades three and four,” they murmured, running fingers along the peeling spines until they found it. “willing to bet that’s sorrel’s request.”

they fit the large, paperbound book under their elbow and moved on, checking the list again. “magical creatures encyclopedia, L through M. that’s jackaby trying to finish the entire set by midsummer.” they would get that one last to carry it around the shortest amount of time.

“next — the complete guide to raising the dead.” they paused in front of the row of shelves with the right call numbers. they could guess the requester of that one too, but knew better than to say it out loud.

the return slot thunked loudly as it swung open and closed, having swallowed the returned books with a wet gulp.

“good morning,” the dark lord said pleasantly as she looked up from sliding her books in — or as pleasantly as “good morning” could sound when it was uttered by a voice that sounded like gravel being chewed to pieces by the jaws of a large monster.

“it is, very,” the librarian said crisply, conjuring a clean handkerchief for the still-slobbering return slot.

the mouth just visible under the dark lord’s enormous cloak hood curved into a scythe’s blade smile, but she said nothing else.

“did you enjoy your books?” the librarian asked, since she wasn’t moving and there were no other people waiting (most likely because of the dark lord standing there).

the hood nodded up and down. “extremely. especially the taped lecture by doctor dramidius ardorius of the dark arts institute.”

“well, we have many more taped lectures. i especially recommend the one on the healing powers of tea.” they tilted their head in a now get out sign. the poor steam-powered self-checkout contraption would get overheated if people were too scared to check out at the front desk.

they didn’t really expect the dark lord to take the recommendation seriously, but the next day they noticed the cloaked, hooded specter glide out the door with the taped lecture on magic-infused herbal teas tucked between a CD of dark chants and a step-by-step art book on drawing occult symbols.

“you give good recommendations,” the dark lord said with a shrug when the librarian raised their eyes from the front desk’s computer to the shadows of her hood.

the librarian wasn’t sure what to say. “you seem to take up quite a lot of my time.”

“i’m only a simple library patron,” the dark lord replied in a saintly voice that resembled a dragon coughing up a partially digested house. “do you enjoy mermaid song?”

“yes. you can find the library’s collection in the CD section over there.” they looked pointedly back down at the computer.

“i hear there’s a concert on the shore tomorrow evening.”

“perhaps we’ll get a recording of it.”

the dark lord continued taking out books on various unsavory topics. the librarian continued suggesting books on healing, positive thinking, and community service. the dark lord seemed more amused with each visit. her smile was almost charming, once you got past the long, sharp teeth.

the librarian was trying to go about their usual morning ritual of pulling books that had been requested the night before, but the dark lord wouldn’t stop making faces at them from behind gaps in the shelves. she seemed to find it hilarious. the librarian hadn’t decided yet if they were amused or annoyed.

“ooh, look at this,” the dark lord said, pulling a sturdy but beaten up board book featuring a werewolf mid-transformation on the cover from the shelf. “this was my favorite when i was just a little menace.”

“somehow i’m not surprised.”

the dark lord tucked the book into the ridiculous basket made of a large skull that floated alongside her. “didn’t you have a favorite picture book when you were little?”

“Barker the Sentient Book End,” the librarian said promptly. “i screamed for it every night until someone read it to me, long after i’d already memorized each page.”

the dark lord cooed, sounding like a cross between an owl and something eating an owl. “adorable. i knew you had a little monster in you somewhere.”

the librarian crossly debated denying being a monster at all or pointing out they had actual kraken blood in them.

they should have guessed how close the dark lord was from how good her mood was, but it wasn’t until they arrived at work on monday that the librarian heard the news.

“the newest dark lord managed to overthrow the faeyrie monarchy last night. something about combining traditional herbal spells with a newfangled mental magic based on the power of willful thinking… or something. the news reporter mentioned the use of mermaid song in a mild kind of mind control, i think? i wasn’t listening. the good news is, our budget stays in place.”

the librarian contemplated hurling the can of bookmarks across the room, but concluded that it would be both unprofessional and unsatisfying. they settled for aggressively stamping returned, only slightly saliva-covered books with red ink.

the phone clicked loudly. “public library, how can i help you?”

“by taking my offer,” the dark lord said, slightly hesitant voice like a rock slide that wasn’t sure it was ready to slide. “the royal library in the capital needs a new head librarian.”

“why’s that?” the librarian spun in their new swivel chair, tangling the phone cord while they were at it, thinking they wouldn’t want to leave so soon after getting it.

there was a cough like the ocean spitting out a new island. “erm, hmm, last one got… eaten. tragic. these things happen when you’re very, very small, you know.”

“so i’ve heard.” the librarian stretched the phone cord and watched it bounce back. “well, i’m happy where i am.”

“well.” her voice was more disappointed than they’d expected. “it’s a very nice library, you know. large selection of mermaid song in the CD section.”

“the royal library is part of our system. i can request any materials from there that i want to be delivered here.”

a pause. the dark lord had not considered this. “well, maybe i’ll take the royal library out of the system.”

“you wouldn’t dare disrupt the workings of our very intricate library system set up at the dawn of time.”

“maybe i would!”


“fine. i wouldn’t.”

the librarian swiveled some more, wrapping the cord around with them until it ran out of give and spun them in the other direction. “would you like to grab a coffee sometime?”

“yes,” the dark lord said, voice too surprised to resemble anything in particular. “i can travel down meet you tomorrow morning.”

“don’t you have things to do?”

they could sense the shrug from the other end of the line. “i’ll move the capital to your town. i can do that, you know. i’m the supreme ruler of the tri-kingdom area.”

“yes,” the librarian agreed, un-spinning to return the phone to its cradle. “just don’t forget who gave you the library card.”

Even if I lived forever, I would waste away a hundred eternities loving you.

And it would still be worth it. And it would still be the best thing I’ve ever done.


I dedicate all that is endless to you.


Attention Writers

If you’ve been a writer for any amount of time, then you know that publishing your work online and trying to get your work noticed is a royal pain.  Whether you’re a fanfic writer or write your own original stuff, it’s hard to get seen.  Your work is WORTHY of being noticed, though, and this is where this blog comes in.

As a writer myself, previously of fanfiction, now having moved on to original work, I know this struggle firsthand.  After finding that there doesn’t really exist any place on Tumblr for writers to form a community and get their work out there, I’ve decided to create this blog for that very purpose.

So, whether it be fanfic, poetry, minific, full length novels, short stories, or even advice, tips and tricks, and resources, feel free to submit and message them all to me, where I’ll reblog them.  In time, I hope to build a following that’ll allow your work to be seen by a large audience, and create a place for avid readers to discover authors they never would have otherwise.

Let’s get the word out, too!  Reblog this post so it can be seen by other writers!

Humans are Weird: Empathy

Humans are Weird: Reacting to other people’s pain.

Ambassador Xaacy
Human year 3078
Day 27 of Cultural Mission between Earth and Th'urag'ony

I have discovered the strangest phenomenon. A male human was working on a project in the lab when another scientist threw him a wrench (a small metal tool used to tighten things). He failed to catch it, and instead it hit his genitals. He groaned fell to the floor (this is a well known weak spot in humans’ armor). I was surprised to see all the fellow male scientists cringing and covering their vulnerable spots. Even some of the females winced. Curious, I asked why they flinched at his injuries.

“You do not have a hive mind, and you were not hurt. So why do you act as though you too were hurt?”

“It’s just a reflex,” they explained, “Empathy, ya know?”

….Translation does not compute.

“What is empathy?”

“It’s like, feeling what others feel. Putting yourself in their shoes.”

“What do your foot coverings have to do with this?”

“….never mind.”

After this incident, I decided to research this “empathy” further.
I used what the humans call “YouTube” to look up videos of humans being hurt in commonplace accidents. I then showed the videos the various humans.
Almost all of them flinched, groaned, made noises of distress, or held the corresponding body part that was hurt in the videos.
It seems that humans have such a strong pack bond that it spreads to strangers and allows them to feel phantom pains when others are hurt. It doesn’t just apply to humans though. Many humans reacted similarly to videos of other species being hurt. Earth animals, species from other planets, and known criminals all garnered the phantom pain response and sounds of distress.

(A small percent of humans failed to respond to all images)

This response is triggered by real life occurrences and even imaginary situations. Some humans also react to emotional or mental pain shown by others.

Note: More research needed to see if this “empathy” is triggered by more than just pain. I plan on showing them “happy videos” next and recording their reactions.

Goodnight Call

“Hi,” he fumbles with his phone and finally settles down in a spot.

“Hi,” I try to hold back my desire to giggle at just the thought of speaking with him.

“How are you?” he asks and after a few seconds of silence he says, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I sigh not really wanting to get into it.

“Princess,” he warns and my stomach flips multiple times. 

“I’m okay,” I say knowing the repercussions.

“You know okay isn’t a word you can use baby girl, just tell me what’s going on.”

“I had a bad day,” he replies with an ‘and’ which makes me go on to say, “I just felt really bad. I just wanted to sleep all day.”

“Any bad thoughts?” I don’t reply, “Baby you know you need to tell me when this happens so I can help you.”

“I know,” I reply sadly and I can just feel him tense up on the other side.

He sighs, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you because you were busy and I just didn’t want to make you feel down because of me.”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs as I, out of habit, press my thumb to my lips, “First of all, you know that you never bother me. Second, if you tell me then I can make you happy which makes me happy.”

“I’m sorry daddy.”

“Don’t be sorry princess, just tell me whenever you are sad. Daddy is here to make his baby girl happy again,” a smile breaks out on my face, listening to him talk to me like that makes me feel little; I haven’t been able to slip into little space at all today. “Are you in bed now honey?”

“Mhm,” I reply holding my favorite stuffed animal, a fox that daddy gave me for my birthday.

“Do you have Red?”


“Next week daddy is gonna be right next to you, and Red, and can give you goodnight kisses but for right now can you give Red a kiss for daddy?” he instructs me, a smile clearly on his face.

Without hesitation I give my fox a kiss and make sure to give him an extra big hug. “I did.”

“Good girl,” I instantly melt and let a little giggle slip out and I hear him laugh lightly on the other side. “I’ve got to go now baby girl and I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too daddy.”

“Goodnight my princess, I love you very much.”

“I love you too daddy, night night.” 

“Sleep well my love.”

Jarpeth's essay for Intro to Terra and Humanity

Humans are a rather incredible species.

Travel hardy, useful, virtually indestructible- yet rarely aggressive. They threw themselves out into the void with barely any regard for their own lives, without care if they would succeed- they did it because they could, and they were curious and they wanted to.

Scientifically brilliant, they can be terrifying when experimenting- they call themselves ‘Doc Brown’ and laugh when things blow up in their faces.

They invented FTL travel in less than 100 galactic years- far faster than any race before them. They came in droves, eager to meet the rest of us, join us, adventure with us.

It’s all about adventure with the humans.

Generally a peaceful race, their history is littered with wars and battles amongst their own kind, until a shaky peace formed amongst the devastation and they turned their gaze outwards. To the stars.

They didn’t bring guns, nor weapons of any sort. They disarmed with simple smiles, mischievous looks and breathtaking scientific discoveries.

They are brilliantly, wonderfully, utterly mad.

But you shouldn’t ever mistake them as an easy target. Some races tried, once. Now all that remains of them is ash.

They appeared in the human home system, ready to subjugate the vermin 'humans’. They expected no resistance, and had prepared ships to transport their spoils of war home.

Their first mistake was believing the humans to be defenceless. Just because they had not brought weapons to our meeting, did not mean they did not have them. Armies of thousands, hundreds of thousands gathered on Earth, making the invaders pay in blood for the offences they committed and every step of ground they took. The humans did not stop, did not give in, and gave no ground they did not want to give.

And then the fleets appeared.

One rose from the depths of the oceans, thousands of ships rising from the inky dark, bringing cold death from below. Missiles launched into the mass of invaders, the boom, boom of their explosions causing cheers from the humans.

The other came from the stars, surrounding the armada of the invaders. The gleaming black hulls hung heavy in the sky, silent, menacing, passing judgement.

And it rained holy fire.

In the end, there was nothing but silence, but the entire universe heard the whispered message.

We will not retreat. We will not submit. And we will raze you to the ground if you try us again.