#kush writes
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I wish i could write SO much because i want to read something set on a damaged Venetor drifting without propulsion power, communicating with a tug crew en-route to tow them to a defensive convoy but still days away, being trapped in the inner crew quarters by emergency protocols and slowly starting to feel that something is wrong [the hyperdrive engines cool down slowly and they make strange noises behind the sealed bulkheads. There are some engineers stuck out there in survival suits in the unlit corridors, who had stayed behind to try to contain a radiation leak when the emergency protocols had been engaged. Theyre probably still alive, if the minimal life support system can keep up with the atmo leaks in the outer hull - you can hope. You've seen them moving through the corridors when youve been able to check the cameras in their bulky helmets and gloves, hauling themselves through hatches with equipment in hand, and you hope your closest brother is with them- you hope they will make it til the tow arrives. You're sure you've seen them - theyre probably still alive.]
Its just valliscore
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superman: up in the sky #6
NO, SIR! I WILL NOT!
#rimi talks#this whole sequence was so fucking sexy of him.#tom king you bastard youve done it again. please stick to writing minis and never touch an ongoing again.#like with sgwot i think tom king is really good at making kryptonians stand out as insane fucking powerhouses.#which i find incredibly sexy god bless#but also showing the way that isolates them. and i like that a lot#however the thing about superman being able to beat the flash in a race was bullshit sorry. like. sorry tom get real#but THIS sequence. this sequence. fucking delicious#and the fact that one girl ''no one would miss'' was important enough to him. thats real. thats the good kush.#clark
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May I request another prompt, this time Ramayana??
Where after Sita's bhumi pravesh, Luv -Kush live at Ayodhya's palace. They are merely 8, feel scared at this new place and battle resentments against their father for abandoning their mother. Who love their mother but are angry at her for forsaking them. Grappling with loss of their familiar forest and pleasures of simple lives, find the city walls strangling them.
Hi there, and sorry, this is a little late. This is also a little depressing, and I do not apologise for it.
Prev ask: Karna and Arjuna character swap is here
1.
This day Luv is eight years old, and the world is gray.
“You may play here if you wish to, you will be safe,” the King, their father, says, gesturing at the gardens. The trees are trimmed and gray, the walls are high and soot.
Their father leads them to the throne room; he doesn’t know it is their birthday.
“This is where we talk about... er, important affairs,” Rama explains, stilted and awkward.
High on the dias, a sculpture sits hard and cold upon the Queen's seat. It looks to him an ashen thing, but Luv has learnt it is a golden memorial to Sita's enduring place at Rama's side.
There is gold of the coin, and the gold of the wheat, and then there is the gold of Sita's smile. He thinks of his mother at the aashram, bent over the flour mill with calloused hands and crinkled eyes, and pities the statue that seeks to compare.
“Your eyes deceive you, Your Majesty,” he tells Rama. “That is not my mother.”
The King looks stricken, and Luv turns away. Perhaps this is what the King needs, a statue that is silent and chaste and dear.
“I know,” Rama whispers, kneeling by his side. There are tears in his royal eyes, and Luv has never loathed anyone more.
2.
Angada's mother is tall and beautiful, and the quietest of all his aunts. She sits on the steps to her husband’s room, and beckons them closer.
“Greetings,” Kush bows, and Luv follows.
“Sit by me, my dears,” she says. Her hair is coiffed up in a high bun, and Luv imagines the pins in them gleaming with gems.
Urmila notices him watching, and plucks one from her head. It is gray in her palm as she holds it out to him, like all other things, and he takes it in silence.
“May I help you?” Kush asks, ever polite and well-mannered, and she laughs.
“I am not doing anything,” she says. “Do you want-”
The door opens, and Lakshmana appears at the end of the hallway. He rubs a hand over his haggard face, spots them, and staggers.
Kush jumps up, bows. “Greetings, uncle.”
Luv remains seated, staring at the soft gray carpet and the forbidding gray walls, and thinks of Lakshmana swooning at his arrow's end.
“Forgive me,” he says abruptly, “I have to go.”
He holds out the pin, a flower atop a long straight needle, and bows. Kush touches his arm in concern.
“Keep it,” aunt Urmila says. “It was your mother’s.”
Luv looks down at the little trinket in his palm, turns it over. Kush peers over his shoulder with hungering eyes.
“It is red,” his aunt says, as if she knows about the gray, “and there is a ruby at its heart.”
Luv clutches it to his breast, watches the colour spill across it like the red sun bleeding on a newborn dawn. The world is gray and he is a colourless blot, and Sita sits at the centre of it, burning in the fire's test, bright red and lost.
3.
In his dreams, Luv is a weevil in the flour. Someone is shifting through it, running vivid gold fingers through the dusted grains. He bites at the right and bites at the left, lets the starchy sweetness flood his tongue.
Then there are great gold walls closing upon him, and it is his mother who hauls him out, who throws him to the grass to starve and die.
“Maa!” he calls, clinging to her hands, but he is weak, and he is lost, and he falls, and then he wakes up.
The walls are gray, but no less imposing, and he clutches at Kush's arm. His brother is draped in a blanket as black as a washerman's heart, and Luv crumples the fabric in his fist.
Kush sits up beside him, an ashen smear against an ashen world. “Did you have a bad dream?”
Luv twists the dark cloth between his fingers, contemplates on how to answer. Their uncles claim Kush takes after Sita; Luv knows he needs a little brother to lean on, just like Rama.
“You had a bad dream too, didn’t you?” he asks.
“Mhmm,” Kush hums, and Luv takes his hand.
“You first, then me,” he says.
Kush taps his lips and stares at the dark ceiling. “In my dream...” he recounts thoughtfully, “I was a weevil in the flour.”
Luv tugs on the blanket, wraps himself in their shared sorrow. The world is gray, his mother’s love is a flame, and his brother’s blanket is night.
4.
At the furthermost wing of Ayodha’s palace sits a sunroom of dramatic proportions. The windows here are wide and open, facing the east, so mornings are warm and evenings cool, and Luv could stay here forever.
Uncle Bharata, who leads him with a hand on his back, settles on one of the footstools before a large canvas. Luv watches as aunt Shrutakeerti follows, and their spouses settle on the big couch to the side, pretending to be annoyed at having their portraits done.
“I feel like I should have Luv with me,” aunt Mandvi says, swinging her legs. “And Shatru can have Kush. The heights match that way.”
Luv does not want a portrait done, not when he would never know the colours again. Uncle Bharata beckons him to get another stool and says, “Next time perhaps, darling. Let him observe first.”
Luv plops on the stool with a thump, and studies his uncles and aunts. Shrutakeerti is sketching rough outlines, unlike Bharata, who meticulously draws one eye, then the other.
“Do you want to try?” she murmurs quietly. “You can say ‘no’.”
Luv twists his fingers, feeling warm and shy. He can say no, even though he has no mother and knows none of his family.
“I can try,” he mutters.
Shrutakeerti gives him a conspiratorial smile. “Let’s use brown for the walls,” she says conversationally, as if she knows the grays.
Luv takes the brush and swipes at the corner. It is the colour of earth and mud, of dates and cows and a potter’s clay. The world is gray, but his mother’s love is red and his sorrow is black, and his family is reliable and brown.
5.
Rama wears a yellow dhoti – Luv knows this because the washermen mutter about it all the time. He keeps a close eye on them – they hate how easily the cloth stains, and they hate his mother.
Kush’s condemnation of this practice falls on unheeding ears. His brother is too sweet and too trusting, and Luv must protect what their mother could not.
Brinda, who is some washerman’s wife, brings them lunch at the river everyday. She bows when she sees him, all flustered with shame, and walks faster.
That day he returns from the river with quick steps, excited to see the browns on the barks and the black of Kush’s hair. He has found a pebble on the banks, a pale, smooth rock, and uncle Bharata, he knows, will tell him the colour.
Outside, the gardener burns a heap of fallen leaves, dried by the passing of the rains, and dead with the sorrow of oncoming winter. Some of them are red like his mother’s flower, stark amid the grays. They crumple in the flames and burn, and for a moment he sees Sita engulfed in heat, smiling.
“Maa!” he screams, throws himself at the soaring column of fire.
“Put that out! Now!” someone says, hard and commanding. A hand snatches his shoulder, draws him close and away. He can see no higher than their waist, but their dhoti is the yellow of sunshine and an oriole’s breast, a hundredfold more vibrant than the paltry fires.
Luv lifts his head and finds himself swung up in the air, to where his father’s cheek presses against his. Rama’s face is the brown and black of alluvial earth, and he smells of lotuses and rain.
“It will be okay, little one,” he murmurs, voice quivering. “I am here.”
The world is gray, but it recedes bit by bit, like hope rising from sleep; it is red with his mother’s love and black with his grief, brown with his family’s presence, and bright with his father’s refuge.
+1
His cousins play in the royal gardens all day, unbothered by walls that choke him, unafraid of a parent dying. Luv sits in the shade with his bright red flower and dark black blanket, stroking a brown bark. The world is gray, and Luv’s dhoti is hay, and does not care.
Uncle Lakshmana comes to sit beside him with a huff, ruffles his hair distractedly.
“Will you not join them?” he asks, blunt as ever, and Luv sighs.
“Everything is gray,” he says, as if that makes any sense, but uncle Lakshmana shakes his head as if he understands.
“That is not,” his uncle says, pointing at a lonely little sapling poking out of the earth.
The ash leaches from it like rain clouds fleeing from sequestered plains, and it is the green that defies the winter’s chill.
“It is a weed,” he says weakly. "I have seen the forest."
Uncle Lakshmana scoffs. “Weeds, weeds, weeds,” he grumbles. “All arrogant words made by men who think to tame who grows where. There are no weeds, dear one, and no season either. You grow where and when you will, like all things in this world.”
It is too great a thing to hope for, but the gray is fading like dust blown off an old painting, and it is true. There is green on the leaf and green on the grass, green on the bower and green on the bough. The barks are brown and the flowers are red, and the sun of the Raghu clan shines bright yellow.
“Will you wait till the gray goes away?” he asks Lakshmana.
His sorrow is black, and Sita is gold; when he looks up, his uncle kisses his forehead with a smile. “Always,” he says. “Always.”
#hc: when it comes to kush#luv is basically lakshman 2.0#hindu mythology#ramayan#rama#ram#ramayana#sita#janaki#lakshmana#urmila#ask#anonymous#askbox#ask box#ask response#anon answered#answered#fic#boo writes#5 + 1 fic#luv#kush#bharata#shrutakeerti#laxman
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How did Zephyr ends up learning of the Folk Gods? Did Sparrow tell her? How did she end up respecting them?
oh, i talked about sorta that in discord dms recently! herest the thing
Joan of Arc said to have been visited by the archangel Michael, who ultimately sent her on the path that ended in liberation of France and end of the hundred years' war. then she said she was guided by the divine the whole way until the coronation of Charles VII
that, her becoming a military leader at a young age n scoring meaningful victories, plus this
are the most important things that i've taken inspiration from Joan for Zephyr
Zephyr is guided by the Folk Gods, in a way. one could say they lend her their widsom, teach her, when she finds the time to rest, sleep and dream. she doesn't really understand what and who she's seeing, but with things like this one doesn't need the conscious physical mind to be able to like... identify. realize. like she would if Gourmand would've shown up in her structure. it's a spirit (or amalgamation of spirits) recognizing one of its parents and teachers that would be happening there
gjldskmcl fucking
the Folk Gods, in her dreams: And this is why kindness is the most important thing to carry, along with bravery. you need to be thoughtful, judge righteously and then deliver the consequence, no matter the manner, no matter the fear
Zephyr: Got it. this means kill all masked ones. I Got It. Loud And Clear
the Folk Gods: wait n-
Zephyr: Mass Murder.
the Folk Gods: wuh oh
#spot says stuff#rw#oc tag#i aint christian though dont poke with that kush at me hell nah!!!#that thangs Corrupted to hell n back#gjlkdsmlkmdsk believer writes RW stories what will happen 🤨🤔#zephyr is so fucking cool n she doesnt show up enough to show it </3 GJSDLKCMLKDSK -heavy sigh- this poor woman
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I think something possessed me because I had to have written over 6k words and finished a chapter in 2 separate works in less than 8 hours yesterday
#it was like how I used to write before... all of it#it was that good kush too yn?#the writing was. It was some of the better shit I've written in the last few years#aside from poetry#but we don't talk abt the poetry no matter how good it is#still- massive W for me and everybody on ao3 lol
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I'm not sure if I'll have the fic done today or not so I figured I'd go a head and give you a piece to hopefully raise your spirits!
"Fuck..." he growled, the pad of his left middle finger caressing the your core, threatening to breach. "T-This was a mistake." he trembled, making your stomach drop in fear.
"W-Why?" you asked, saddened, but weak from what his still lingering touch was doing to you.
"I want you so so badly," he breathed with an awestruck expression. "Want to do everything to you, I'm so obsessed." He confessed, his gaze finally coming up to meet yours. "I need to feel you from the inside, I don't know if I'd be able to stop myself..."
AHHHHHH ENTIRE MOOD CURED
I'm so?%<#,%<=*>%*%&%
But also take your time bby don't rush ♡
#ask kush♡#i gotta write for usopp again some time soon#i miss him so#AFTER KAKU THO#i gotta remind myself
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alternate alternate au where Rand, M’Benga, and Sybok are the Captain, Chief Medical Officer, and Science Officer (respectively)
Janice Rand (aka miss queen bee 😤😤) being the youngest captain in the ‘fleet. Spunky, dynamic and ready to throw down with aliens twice her size. The Enterprise is her first posting as Captain and she’s determined to make her mark.
M’benga, who just wants a nap, and promised his old friend that he’ll look after his new captain. And is,,,uncomfortable with his new position as CMO. At least at first.
Sybok, who takes after his mother and devoted his life to science. And explosions. And late night emergencies that require trips to M’benga’s office. Certified genius who can be a bit *too* open minded.
#alt trio#verse; in another universe#sybok#janice rand#m'benga#the other OTHER trio#i;ll probably doodle something for this later but i just wanted to write this down for later#sybok my mad scientist#idk where spock is lmao he's probably somewhere smoking some vulcan kush#and making music#me
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The painter is about ready to give up on ever finding his way home again... good thing Hat has just the solution! When the two journey to the human world, they immediately run into an old friend... The painter is closer than ever to home, but he only has so much time before the brambles overwhelm him for good.
#a hat in time#ahit prince#ahit florist#ahit hat kid#fey prince au#my writing#I LOVE CHAPTER 30 AHHHHHHHHHHH#the musical adulation strikes again#listen to taylor davis' violin cover of for the dancing and the dreaming ;3c#its the good kush#ANYWAY THANK YOU FOR READING!!!#hope you enjoy and I'll catch you next week!
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#quotes#writing#text#johnny depp#amber heard#legalize#marijuana#cannabis#kush#quote#lit#literature#quoteoftheday#actor
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New short story starring Cleopatra and Amanirenas again! This time, they’re exploring an abandoned temple for treasure, but what they really have to fear is not ancient secrets...
#cleopatra#amanirenas#ancient egypt#egyptian#kemet#ancient kush#kushite#nubian#african#black women#women of color#historical fiction#short story#writing
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wondering why i’ve been head empty roger holding shanks and buggy gently i say after watching film red and re-binging g/od of war playthroughs---
#[ ooc ] ✧〖 bid farewell to weaver’s town 〗#[ heehoo familial relationships go brr---#[ god.... forgot how freaking incredible of a game g/ow was#[ good kush good kush#[ kind of tempted to write someone from it maybe si/ndri but dslkd too much going on as is#[ rotates roger in head though he holds his boys gently.... also would hold ace if he wasn't dead </3#[ thinks ab him a normal amount
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There is something about possessiveness that is just really sexy. Just saying.
#⸺ 「 ᵃᶰᵈ ᶰᵒʷ ʷᵉ ˡᵃʸ ᵈᵒʷᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵉᵃᵖᵒᶰˢ 」 ( ooc. )#tbd.#Childe be nodding#I need to write him act out like that#him being a jealous or a partner being jealous#that be the good kush
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Ohoho, I went to the w33d store and got a soda, time to make dinner and wait for it to kick in before I get to Making Stuff
#drugs ment#havent decided if i want to art or write tonight#bless canada i love that we have legal weed.#its the bubble kush root beer drink if yr interested
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this is where i write all my gay fanfiction
#leatin#fanfic#fatin jadmani#leah rilke#shoni#shoni the wilds#kirin oconner#shelby goodkind#toni shalifoe#the wilds#weed#stoner#kush#writing#originalcontent
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Has the mun read the new book "Long Live the Pumpkin Queen" yet? Jack shows off his real "romantic husband" side in that one >:3
It isn’t out in the UK until October, and I got impatient, so I’m reading it via PDF and I LOVE everything about it. It’s so nice to get a peek into Jack and Sally’s new life as a married couple.
#「 ; OOC 」#[ Jack is SO protective and devoted to Sally#we saw it in Oogie's Revenge too#they are the couple ever ]#[ i'll prolly write a more in depth post later but it's the good kush ]
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Am I on the right path? Are any of us on the right path? Are we all on the path that will lead us to where we will be happiest?
These are questions that we don't really ask ourselves until we are in too deep to climb back out. We keep telling ourselves "I'll be happy when I achieve this." But in the end we aren't really happy, are we?
Because we are not happy in the end. There is no end. There is no happily ever after like there is in story books. Even if you reach your goal you don't stop there, you simply create a new goal. Because "Achieving this." Will never truly be enough.
A person is never truly satisfied. They will always want more, create another goal, work hard to get a promotion, and throw out what they think they don't need to be happy anymore. All because of another goal they've made.
But that's what makes us human. All these paths, goals, the wanting more no matter how much we have? That's what drives us. The very definition of being human is the never ending want for what we don't have.
In truth, there is no right or wrong path. There are only your goals and what you're willing to do to reach them.
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