Two Rules For Creating Anything.

graves grow no green that you can use.

gwendolyn brooks

Start

you can always give your blorbos mobility aids btw . you can always make them disabled its always morally correct

oh, that’s fluff. that’s fluff of my character that I think should get run over by a bus.

Sunset!

from Deep and Dark, Beautiful and Bright:

When the train screeched its way into the city, it was nearing dusk, and Trip pressed his nose to the window, drinking in the glowing orange concoction of sunset and streetlamps. It almost gave the impression of journeying through a beehive—bustling, honey colored, geometric. And here they were to meet the queen.

Oh hey, you just followed me. Which means you're online when you should be working on your novel :) I suggest you the name Edson for some nonconsensual character who dies a funny death in it. Or not. Up to you :)

-a name a day blog

On it, boss! 🫡

My mistress is a bumbling idiot. She’s been seeing a suitor who intends to buy her hand in marriage from her father, but she’s told me quite clearly that she doesn’t think this man is right. As her devoted maid, I cannot let her be wed off to some scoundrel like him. But all my efforts to save her from him have been foiled by her clumsiness. When I brought the tray to them with the poisoned teacup closer to him, in a breach of etiquette she reached for the far teacup and took the poison for herself. When I poisoned his wine, her ring got caught on the tablecloth and knocked over his glass. When I set up the armoire to fall and crush him, she tripped on the rug and made it go off too early. Once I even rigged one of the chandeliers to fall on his spot, and right before it did she violated table manners, got up, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him to the window because she “thought she saw a stag outside.” A stag?! There weren’t even any woods visible from that window! And after all these foiled attempts she has the audacity to complain to me that marrying this man will ruin her life. As if seeing her with any man wouldn’t ruin mine!

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One of those goofy maid animes, except the viewpoint character isn't the hapless master or mistress of the house, but a regular-ass janitor who ended up on this crew due to a paperwork mixup at the temp agency and can't figure out what the fuck is wrong with her co-workers.

Trouble

He’d wanted the persimmons and asked her for them, but when she gave him the brown paper bag, brimming over, he was taken aback. Did he really need that many ? Still, he brought them home to his wife, and soon there were persimmons ripening on the kitchen counters, lining the windowsills. Each day, growing more and more succulent until the air was thick and sweet with their scent. At breakfast, he’d break one open with his spoon—the skin supple and ready to give—stir it into his hot cereal. Indescribable, the taste. And a texture he might have described as sea creature meets manna from heaven. When he ate one, he thought of her. And when he saw her, he thought of the persimmons. When her arm brushed, just barely, against his, did he imagine they both felt the same quickening? In myth, fruit is usually the beginning of disaster. And the way they made themselves so obvious— an almost audible orange against the white walls— made him wish he’d never asked her for them, didn’t have to smell them sugaring the air with ruin, as he sat there, face lowered to the bowl, spooning the soft pulp into his mouth.

Bonfire Opera : Poems. -- Danusha Laméris.