Q:I step off the dashboard. I'm walkin' down your blog againnnnn. And pass your ask. But you don't live there anymore. It's weeks since you've posted therrre. And now you've disappeared somewhere. Like outer space. You've found some better blog...
I’ve stopped posting due to how busy I am- I didn’t want to make any more excuses, so I’ve been waiting until I have proper time to actually do anything.
All good adventurers know that dark forces slumber until they are destined to be most powerful. And then they drop phat lootz.
Writing Prompt #1
Hi! Your first writing prompt inspired me to start writing this (but I can’t summon the energy to finish it with essays on the horizon). It was inspired by Akira Kurosawa’s description of the Honorable Death of the Hundred Million following the end of World War II. Thanks for the opportunity!
trigger warning: suicide or something, i guess
Under the blistering sun, a farmer wipes her brow as she hears a low rumble in the distance. Fanning herself with a tightly woven straw hat, she sits down and sighs. The mountain was moving again.
It had been hard, scratching out a living after it happened. When you planted a field of crops with the reasonable expectation that they would be three miles away in the morning, farming was hardly a trivial task. Her husband had died with the others - sometimes she could swear it was him that spit the seeds back out from the ground, that cantankerous old bastard - and her daughter had moved out long before it had happened. She wondered if the girl even knew. Did they learn anything about this little country on the edge of the world in that fancy university of theirs? Or was it nothing but magic and spells all day long? She’d hardly written back so she had no way of knowing.
The sun was still beating down, so Ayls picked up her basket and began to the long trek back to the farmhouse. It had moved a ways back last night, so her garden was nowhere near as handy as it had been yesterday. She sighed and hoisted the wicker higher, shifting the weight to her shoulders. Hopefully it would move back soon. Until then, the walk, to get her apples and pun-puns and the ripe purple ogre-berries that strained to burst from their skins as they filled her basket. She’d make a nice pie with them tonight, she thought, and carve out three slices. One for herself. One for the dog. And one for the ghosts.
A scent of azalea drifted through the kitchen window as the basket slammed down on the wooden table, raising a thick cloud of flour dust which sparkled in the sun. Wiping her forehead with the edge of the linen tablecloth, Ayls promptly began to sort through her harvest. Her mind started to wander as she squeezed each thick berry between calloused fingertips, checking for rot and fairy eggs. This had always been Syl’s favourite job. Sometimes she’d come into the kitchen at four past the moon to find him already up and testing a fresh batch he’d picked himself. Or maybe he just did it for the pies. He’d known she hated to see a full basket go to waste, and she’d always have one baked within hours, even if they’d eaten nothing but for the past few days. Oh, Syl…
She angrily swiped a tear from her eye and dropped an infested berry under the table, into the dog’s eagerly waiting mouth. The faerie within struggled briefly before Blinky crunched it up. Stupid man! She’d begged, argued, ordered him not to do it. The arguments had raged all night. “So what if you lose your war?” she’d shouted, “It’s only an occupation! How is that worth losing your life over?” But he’d remained adamant. And then the day had come…
That’s as far as I got. We would have discovered that the farmer’s husband Syl had killed himself, as did the entire country’s population, because of their loss in war. They took honour very seriously. But the corpses would have disappeared without trace twenty four hours later… and then the country would have started to twist, and shift, and move. They’d always said the country would never die as long as it had loyal citizens. They were nearly right. The country is alive… because it is its citizens.
Writing Prompt 2- Bartender’s one-eye
"What’ll it be today?" the old bartender asks as you sit down at the bar.
"Just the usual," you reply, as if generally disinterested in life. You glance across the bar, hearing the tinkle of glass as he clumsily grabs a mug, "Hey, just how’d you lose that eye anyway?"
Writing prompt 1- Moving Mountain
Under the blistering sun, a farmer wipes her brow as she hears a low rumble in the distance. Fanning herself with a tightly woven straw hat, she sits down and sighs as she watches the local mountain move again.
New thing! Writing Prompts
Since I’ve been meaning to get more roleplay oriented material on here, but I seem to find myself ultimately too busy or distracted to conjure up such things up to snuff in terms of quality, I’ve decided to do something a lot simpler, and more engaging-
A simple sentence to paragraph setting up for a setting or character concept.
If I can work it out right, I should get one at <at least> every other day. Alongside there can be occasional image writing prompts where I’ll post an artwork (character or otherwise).
Reblog if you’d just like to practice on your own, and if you’re feeling proud, submit it!
Q:What does the fox say?
The fox does not understand the popularity of that song, nor why I spend more time answering asks than setting up the queue.
Er, I mean-
yip yip yip give me money
Q:Hey, it's me, I was wondering how you get all these respond images. I've seen a few of them and I'm just wondering if you have them saved already or you just think of that as your response.
I have a folder of reaction images for personal use, but sometimes I’ll look up an image specifically. Never have for this blog, but I try to limit responding to asks here.
Q:It's a song, I was just wondering if you knew it.
There are far easier ways to ask me about my taste in music, anon.
Consequently, that song is silly.