Latest Posts by moderndayscribing - Page 8

My brain: hoe don’t do it

Me: *makes another au*

My brain: oh my god

tumblr comedy I haven’t seen in a while and I kind of miss: when someone says like ‘smoothies are great’ and then someone else says ‘juices are great too!’ and the first person says ‘make your own post’ and then the second person says ‘okay’ and then you scroll down and theres a second post.

@yellowfoot-productions​

hey look at this

ni

We live closer to 2050 than 1990

can we please take a million steps back and address the whole ‘bee-fucking-beekeeper’ thing-

I saw the future. There were so few bees left that they cross-bred beekeepers with them so they could better connect with them.

I was taking a test to identify plants (I won because some dude thought pineapples were berries) and after that I met a beekeeper who worked inside of a giant glass beehive and had little antennas and a dope ass beard.

this is important

hey guys mind if i

Leff

“You look terrible,” she said. He could only harrumph softly in response. “Thanks,” he muttered. “Good morning to you too.” “You know I didn’t mean it like that.” She stood from her seat at the dining table. With the aid of her long limbs, she quickly stood before him. A gentle hand on the side of his cheek angled his face. “Have you been getting any sleep lately?” “What’s sleep?” he deadpanned, jokingly of course. His own hand lifted up to wrap around her wrist. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just been a tiring few days.” She frowned at him. Clearly in disbelief. He didn’t blame her. Not only was he terrible at lying, but they’d had also been stuck in quarantine for the past few weeks. He goes to his meetings without pants on.  “Quarantine is tiring,” he said in response to the thought that is no doubt ringing in her head. “Very stressing.” “That’s true.” She twisted her wrist out of his grasp. “What’s not true is your excuse to why you haven’t been sleeping.” “I have been,” he protested. A hand lifted up to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Maybe that’s the problem,” he muttered. “Pardon?” He sighed and dropped his hand. Her worried face made him pause - made his gaze soften slightly. “I’ve been having...” he trailed off. “Nightmares?” She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question?” He rolled his eyes and pushed past her. “Shut up,” he muttered. With a sigh, he made his way towards the sofas - flopping down on the soft cream cushions.  “I think I’ve been having nightmares,” he muttered. “But I can’t remember what they are, most of the time.” The cushion beneath him dipped downwards slightly as she joined him. A frown was sketched into the features of her face - accompanied by a pair of furrowed eyebrows. “How do you know they’re nightmares if you can’t remember them?” she tilted her head, leaning her chin on her fist. “Mostly from the...vibe?” he tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing. “I woke up feeling like I just had a nightmare, so...” She leaned back, sinking underneath the cushions. Her eyes - deep in thought - stared right through him. “You really can’t remember anything?” she asked again. He sighed and glanced away. “Not really,” he muttered. His eyebrows furrowed in thought. “I remember it was....really, really bright?” “Bright?” she prodded. Slowly, his head dipped up and down in a nod. “Really, really bright...” He leaned against the sofa, tilting his head upwards in thought. “And it was...loud.” Suddenly then, he winced. A light pain stabbed into the side of his temple - a feeling he shook off. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” he breathed out a sharp breath. Blinked a few times. “Small headache. Anyway, there was...a sort of table-” He can see it in his mind’s eye now. A table so dark it contrasted with the pure white surroundings. Except- “-it wasn’t a table.” He held his hands out, staring at them. His vision blurred slightly with the raging headache. “It was a hole...in a shape of a table.” “A hole in the shape of a table?” She sounded amused now.  He didn’t blame her. He snickered softly himself. “Uh huh, so I leaned over to look in it-” -and then? What happened after that? Why can’t he remember. Dark tendrils unfurling. Why was there a hole shaped like a table? Clicking sounds. A high-pitched growl. Why was he talking about this? Slimy, boney hands. His head. Hurt. She leapt off the sofa with a screech. Her heart hammered in her throat. Her fear made it hard to think as- She watched as his head jerked back violently. Watched in horror as the skull split in two. Watched as some thing- -crawled out of the gaping hole in his skull. It growled as it fell to the ground. A high-pitched sound that made her ears ring. Tendrils unfurled from its back. A being. Of nightmares. It had no head. It had no definitive shape. It kept changing and shifting- Yet somehow she knew the exact moment it’s focus landed on her. Because it, then, smiled.

tags

Hades

He missed his wife. The King, the God of the Dead, in all his power and glory felt like a miserable slob without his wife. Persephone, Bringer of Death, Bringer of Light in his life. She had gone to live with her mother up on the mortal realm. Such was their agreement. She’ll come back to him in a few months - but before that happened, he was to live in The Underworld by himself. At least, that was what he’d assume. Pompeii had been devastating. All those dead - all those people crowding his realm. All the extra work he’d been faced with.  All the pain. The Dead of Pompeii had not died peaceful deaths. He knew he should be back on his throne. He had other Dead to attend to. Other Dead to sort out. He was The King, The God - and he had a duty to fulfill. Yet he cannot help himself from enjoying this walk. The Child’s still bouncy steps beside him - despite what horrors she had faced. The way she constantly tried to meet his gaze; and he would meet hers. Her eyes. Reminded him of his dear Persephone. Perhaps that was why he found himself to be relaxed, despite the multitude of tasks that hung above his head. “To find your Mama,” Hades said, glancing down towards Agata’s wide eyes. “You’ll have to go through The Process.” Agata’s eyebrows furrowed just slightly. Her fear picked up, tinging the air with an unpleasant smell. “The...process?” she echoed. Her grip on his hand tightened slightly. “What process?” Hades glanced away, back towards their path. It occurred to him suddenly that she might not know... Should he tell her? Should he meet The Child’s gaze squarely, look at her, and tell her what had happened to her when Mount Vesuvius erupted? Or maybe, he ought to let her cling onto that Children’s Ignorance for just a little bit longer? What should The King do?

Daily reminder to go read Cucumber Quest

Daily reminder to go read Cucumber Quest

I take in a deep intake of breath, pressing my palms flat against each other. “Okay,” I say. Point towards a youthful face that stared back at me with wide eyes. “You’re me.” My finger flicks toward the other face that stared at me. “And you’re me, too.” My fingers interlock with one another, press firmly against my forehead. “And you’re all here, in my room...why?” Future-Me and Younger-Me exchange a quick glance. Or rather, Future-Me glances towards Younger-Me, as Younger-Me is having way too much fun with my phone. “Universe likes to mess around,” Future-Me finally manages to say. I groan and lean against the headboard of my bed. “Right,” I mumble. Rub my eyes. “That makes sense.” My gaze gets drawn back towards Younger-Me. That childlike innocence. That optimistic hope. They had the whole world wrapped around their little finger - and they had no idea. No idea. Clueless, to what was coming. My eyebrows furrow. I lean forward, my mouth open and- Future-Me stops me by holding a palm out to my face. They meet my gaze, shaking their head. “Don’t,” they say. “You can’t do it.” I straighten to give Future-Me an incredulous look. “They don’t know what’s going to happen,” I say. “Neither did you,” Future-Me reminds. “That’s why they happened.” “I can stop it.” My fingers clench. “I can warn them-” “In the unlikely event that they even understand you,” Future-Me interrupts. “Changing the future can be devastating.” My teeth ground against each other and I glance away. Future-Me was right, and I knew it. As much as I hated knowing, as much as every fibre of my being wants to shake Younger-Me and tell them all the signs to look out for- I can’t. A hand rests on my shoulder. I glance back up, meeting Future-Me’s sympathetic gaze. “You’re angry,” they say. “Wound’s still fresh, huh?” I wince, then sigh. “Somewhat,” I mutter. The hand on my shoulder tightens slightly. “They have to go through what we went through,” they remind me. “They have to learn what we learnt - which means that they will have to meet Her.” Another hand rests on my other shoulder. Turns me around so I fully face my ten-years-in-the-future self.  “They’ll get hurt,” Future-Me murmurs. Gives Younger-Me a sorrowful glance. They sigh, then glance back up at me with a hopeful smile. “But they’ll survive. Just like we did.” I stare into my own eyes for a while, then sigh and nod acceptance. “I know,” I murmur. Give Younger-Me my own glance. “I just can’t- can’t help but worry.” Future-Me chuckles. “Oh yeah, you never really stop.” “Is that a general thing or are you being specific to me?” “I can’t tell you,” Future-Me wags a finger, “just like you can’t tell Younger-Us.” I huff, annoyed. Then sit still, my eyes widening. A hopeful glance back towards Future-Me.  “Does this mean the future’s good enough not to risk?” I ask. Future-Me meets my gaze and smiles; amused. “Maybe.” A lonesome chuckle spills past me. “That’s probably the best thing I’m getting,” I mutter. Future-Me wraps an arm around my shoulder and draws me into a half-hug. “I knew you’d come around,” they tease softly. Our attentions are both drawn back as Younger-Me releases a short giggle of laughter. The smiles on all our faces mirror one another. “What’re you doing?” “Playing!” “Are ya winning?” “Yeah!”

prompt 1394

Write a story that has three characters: yourself ten years ago, yourself now, and yourself ten years from now.

Friend, swarm, bug

....what the fuck-

*CRASH*

I DONT KNOW

WHO NEEDS TO HEAR THIS

BUT BEING

‘FUNCTIONAL’

DOES NOT MEAN

YOU DO EVERYTHING

BY YOUR OWN DAMN SELF

ASK

FOR

HELP

youbettersohelpmegodilyandifyougethurtiwillcry

Agata

“Sleep tight, my flower.” Mama tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. With a soft and gentle smile, she rested a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll see you when the sun rises.” Agata blinked. One hand roughly rubbed at her eyes - while the other flashed as they wrapped around Mama’s wrist.  “Wait,” Agata stifled a yawn. “’m not sleepy. I want to play.” Mama’s chuckles sent warm reverberations through her bones. “Darkness is no place for a little flower to play.” Mama gently pinched her cheek, then tapped her nose. “Sleep. The sun will give us light in the morning.” Agata frowned, her eyebrows furrowing. Yet Mama would not be deterred - and the battle was lost when her mother began to sing.

“Mama!”  The Child clung desperately onto a pillar. The ground shook and shook and shook. People were screaming as they pushed past each other and stepped on each other. All of them, running away from- With a short cry, Agata was knocked onto her back. The ground shook and the feet that were going to trample her were monsters that hid in the dark. For every attempt she tried at standing, there were five monsters that knocked her back down. The rumbling beneath her exploded.

“Agata?” The Child blinked. Gone was the flaming city. Gone were the monsters. Yet gone, too, was her Mama. But...not for long. She tilted her head back, meeting the warm worried gaze of The King. He who tilted his head down at her. “Such a sorrowful face for someone so young,” Hades murmured.  Agata glanced away at that. The hand that was not held pushing stray strands of hair out of her eyes. She blinked as The King pulled her into a stop. Hades knelt down until they were eye-level with one another; until their eyes locked their gazes. She stilled, perfectly replicating a statue, as The King tucked the strands of hair behind her ears. Hades tilted his head at her again. Smiled then - a warm sight that spoke of promising safety and protection. Agata shifted her feet - though not out of discomfort. The act was more of a giddy, excited dance. The King straightened and they were soon on their way. The Underworld - Agata had only heard stories of it, and not many as Mama always thought they were too scary. But here, walking side by side with its’ King, The Child found that The Underworld was not too terrifying to be in. “We’ll find my Mama soon, right?” she asked, glancing up. Hades merely hummed a response - his voice sending reverberations through her bones. “Soon,” he said, glancing down with a smile. “I promise.

comparable should NOT be pronounced like that

“Are you lost, child?”

A small clenched hand wiped at a dirty cheek. Sniffled, stifled cries filled the large and dark throne room.  “I can’t find my Mama,” the child hiccuped out. Her hands clutch at the filthy rag she wore. “I want my Mama.” The King, The God, The Ruler slowly rose off his throne. Dark robes silently swayed with his movement. His footsteps echoed, sending chills and tremors that sunk deep into her bones. The King stopped directly ahead of her. The Child swallowed, her airway painfully tightening around itself. The King knelt. Rich dark eyes met her gaze. To some, they might find the intensity unsettling - yet The Child only felt a rush of warmth flow through her veins. Her sniffling slowly stopped. Though her tears still streamed down her cheeks, The Child found her breathing deeper. The King tilted his head at her. “Where is she from?” he asked. The Child shifted her feet, about to answer before- “Pompeii, my lord,” an unseen voice said somewhere behind her. “One of the many.” The King bowed his head at that. Sorrowful. Disappointed. The child shifted her feet again. Her hands wrung themselves anxiously. “I’m sorry-” she started. The King abruptly lifted his head. Met her gaze again - cut off her apology. “It wasn’t your fault,” he reminded her. Then, he smiled - a sight that filled her with giddy, buzzy energy. The King straightened to his full height. One of his hands lowered themselves to her eye-level; an invitation. “Come,” he said. “Let’s go find your Mama.” The Child took the offered hand. For every step The King took, she had to take three. Nonetheless, she was happy to be by his side. “What’s your name, child?” The King asked her. “Agata,” she replied. Her head tilted back in an attempt to meet those eyes again. “My name’s Agata.” The King hummed then. He glanced down at her - a smile in his eyes. “I am Hades.”

It’s the Little Things

Little delightful things: Cat. Battle. Armor.

So funky it hurts

Please get him a little sword actually

He’s going into the tavern soon to find his next quest

She’s ready for Warrior Cats Part VI: The Cat-O Period

Bonus:

Low Budget Version

Reblog if you support asexuals and aren’t a COWARD

RB if your blog is a safe, accepting space for asexuals!

Well

I’ve done it, finally set up a Paypal account, wahoo

So yes, you can in fact send in requests now! I have to be honest here; I am quite inexperienced. It’s for this reason that I’ll be setting prices quite low initially.

I am but a measly worm navigating through the harsh world of getting paid

My ask box is always open and prices can be negotiated! Just tell me what you want, how long you want it, and provide some way of communication between us and we’re all set!

I mainly specialise in original work. However, if you want me to work on characters from a fandom then you only need to ask! There’s a possibility that I’d either already be in the fandom, or might eagerly jump in for the sake of writing about it!

Please, don’t be shy. Please. Please.

Please.

the intimacy of liking a mutual’s post. i hope you see my stupid little icon and feel seen. i love you. i appreciate you. do you want to run away with me. i’m here for you. let’s swordfight. i’m never going to give you up.

magic; colours

“Are you sure you want to do this?” The Apprentice turned her head. “What?” she teased. “Getting cold feet?” The Companion tensed. “No!” he was quick to say. “I’m just....worried!” “Uh huh.” The Apprentice chuckled softly beneath her breath. Her hand gripped around a branch, pulling herself up an incline. “What could you possibly be worried about?” She paused and waited, letting The Companion reach up to her level. “Well,” he huffed, “we’re walking through the woods in the middle of the night.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s kinda sus.” “Almost midnight,” she corrected. The Apprentice made to shove at him, but decided against it. Standing at the edge of an decline might not be the best place to rough house. “It’s not like we’re walking in the dark anyway,” she countered - lifting up her flashlight. The Companion hefted his own almost instinctively. With the movement, the light flickered a few times - then died off completely. A look of disbelief flitted across his face. “Really?” He slapped the tool a few times. The Companion groaned, “I just changed the batteries on this thing.” The Apprentice couldn’t help but laugh. “Here,” she extended a hand forward, “let me.” The Companion’s eyes widened in the light of her flashlight. Without another word of protest, he passed over the malfunctioning tool. The Apprentice shoved her flashlight beneath her armpit - using her now two free hands to tilt the broken flashlight around. Her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes narrowed - her fingers tightening their grip around the tool. Purple tendrils streamed out of her fingers. They roamed freely for a while - before The Apprentice narrowed her eyes to slits. The tendrils were jerked back towards the tool, their tips sharpening - plunging and filling up the flashlight with a bright purple glow. As soon as the glow faded, The Apprentice let her shoulders relax. “Tadaa,” she said, grinning - her finger flicking the flashlight back on. Her Companion made a soft sound - a huff of amusement. “Thanks,” he said, taking back the now-fixed flashlight. He glanced up to her. “Purple?” “Electricity,” The Apprentice confirmed. Abruptly, she turned away. “We’re almost at the summit. Come on.” Behind her, The Companion huffed out a breath. “I thought yellow would be electricity.” “That’s a stereotype. Yellow is healing magic.” “Healing magic? Wouldn’t that be green?” The Apprentice paused and gave him a look. “When was the last time you ate green medicine?” The Companion lifted up a finger, then paused. “Fair point.” The Apprentice rolled her eyes - although snickered softly. “Yellow is healing magic because it represents the sun,” she explained. She stepped over a gnarled root. “Green is speed.” “Because green means go?” “Exactly.” The Companion snorted. His footsteps brushing against the undergrowth, he moved quicker to come up beside her. “Okay,” he said, “what about blue?” “Blue’s air.” “White?” “Cleanliness.” “Black.” “Evil,” The Apprentice whispered out, her tone dropped by a few octaves. The act broke at the sight of The Companion’s wide eyed gaze. “Black’s the dirt,” she chuckled. “Fertility and what not.” The Companion rolled his eyes and snorted. “Is there even a color for evil?” The Apprentice stopped then, thinking. “Good question,” she hummed. Slowly, she began to move forward. “I don’t think so,” she murmured. “Evil isn’t a magic - it’s a choice.” The Companion gave no response to that for a while. They made the rest of their journey in silence. Finally, they both came up to a rocky summit. The Companion grinned at her then. “Ready?” he asked, fishing out a device from his backpack. The Apprentice grinned and dropped her own pack. “Ready,” she confirmed, rolling up her sleeve. Her Companion held a small cube in his hand. One wrist flicked upwards to check at his watch - whilst the other held out the cube towards her. The Apprentice grabbed it between both hands - shuddering softly at the warmth it shot through her veins. After a few seconds, he nodded. Held out five fingers into the air. “Five.” The Apprentice braced herself. “Four.” The woods around them went silent. “Three.” The Companion’s grin grew wider. “Two.” Her own grin grew. “One.” With a short grunt of effort, The Apprentice shot multi-coloured tendrils into the cube. The Device shook slightly in her hands, before- In a glorious light show, it shot the tendrils up into the air. A silent explosion - their own personal firework show. More tendrils got shot upwards, more lights, more colours that lit up their faces. The Apprentice stepped back, brushing her shoulders against her Companion. “Happy New Year.” She smiled. The shoulder beside her nudged her gently. “Happy New Year.”

Me, weeping while holding the broken corpse of a character: Who did this to you? You were so young, you had your whole life before you! WHO DID THIS TO YOU?

Me, a moment later: Oh, I did. *drops body to ground* Time for the Angst :-)

battle scenes; swords

Clang. The Soldier drew the sword behind his head. Clash. The screams of battle faded into white noise. Slash. His opponent drops to his knees before him. Shaking hands drop an oranate sword, pressing against the bleeding open wound. With a dull thud, the unmoving corpse falls forward. Never to move, never to breathe, never to live again. The Soldier huffs a pant. The sounds come rushing back. Yells and grunts and battlecries - echoed by the clang of metal against metal against wood. The back of his wrist wipes his sweaty forehead. His armour is slicked with blood and dusted with dirt. Those same elements coated the blade of his sword. He hears more than sees his next opponent. He feels more than hears it coming towards him. A vibration on the ground, beneath his feet, shaking him. Drawing him to the present. He cussed himself, silently. Turned around and pointed his sword- A lithe shadow lands on him from the back of a speeding horse. Sends the both of them crashing to the ground. Panic seizes him. He struggles from underneath the assailant. He struggles to lift his sword. He grunts as he pushes himself free. Staggers to his feet and narrows his eyes. The lithe figure wears the garbs of an assassin. The glint of a hidden dagger confirms this. As do the stealthy way they move. The Soldier groans inwardly. Out of all people, assassins were the hardest to fight. Like grabbing carp with your bare hands. He lifts his sword up again. Angles the tip to point beneath The Assassin’s chin.  To the life-vein he can just barely see. The sounds disappear. Not fade into white-noise, though. It disappears. Everything disappears. Just him. The Assassin. His sword. Beneath the visor of his helmet, the Soldier grins. “Make your move.” The Assassin darts forward. For if a shadow is the absence of light, then how quickly would a shadow move? Very fast, The Soldier finds. He just barely manages to lift his sword up. Block the fatal blow. Force the shadow to retreat. The Assassin does, briefly. Unperturbed, they come back. Shoves a palm towards his chest - a move that The Soldier just barely escapes. The Soldier staggers back a few steps. Places a hand to where he was nearly stabbed. Stares at the pacing, agitated shadow. Still, beneath his visor, his grin grows larger. Finally, finally, he’s found his match. This time, The Soldier moves first.

You know when you can’t write that one scene and it’s stopping you from writing?

I give u full permission to skip that scene. Just skip it. Who cares?

Write the next scene! That ones way more fun any way.

I have to admit. I am not living la vida loca