3 Bookmarks by vwolf5
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Niffty spread her arms wide, shouting happily, “I quit!”
From across the lobby, one could hear a certain demon princess do a spit-take of her morning apple juice. “You what?!” Charlie shouted.
She failed to notice a certain sopping wet bartender standing behind the bar counter, who was now doused in lukewarm apple juice. “Come the fuck on.”
Or, just as the title says, Niffty quits the hotel! She can do that?
Bookmarked by vwolf5
08 May 2026
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“Good cooking comes from the heart!” Charlie had told them all after the group cooking disaster, her guileless eyes bright and fingers spread wide in emphasis. “It’s about taking all the love you feel inside and sharing it with the people closest to you. It’s about caring!”
Alastor had laughed and laughed and laughed because his cooking is exquisite, and he had nothing in his chest but buzzing static and dead air and the cold skeletal lattice of a radio tower. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he’d said, utterly confident and completely unaware of the suffering that was to come. “Good cooking doesn’t come from something as trite as love. It comes from hunger.”
Or: Alastor cooks for the hotel.
Bookmarked by vwolf5
23 Dec 2025
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This is quiet, low-key Mystrade. Pensive. Ends with death, but not unhappy death in particular. Just--people die, you know? That's how it happens, I'm afraid.
The title is drawn from one of Prospero's great monologues in "The Tempest."
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.Bookmarked by vwolf5
15 Dec 2025