#30-day writing challenge

[hel-phoenyx]

1) All the reasons why

"Did you hear ? One of the noble families gave birth to a child blessed by the ocean."

"No, I didn't... Who had that chance ?"

"Don't be that happy, Styr, Kefer, that's not a benediction. I heard about it too, but the baby was just born with scales. People say it's more of a malediction of Harkyr."

"Ah, fuck, that was too good. Who are the parents ?"

"That's Harald's son. That shouldn't be a surprise..."

"Harald... The Blood Warrior ?"

"Yep ! The man himself."

"HA ! Yeah, that isn't a surprise. Did you see who he married ? Of course that bitch is bound to be cursed."

"Odin II should have executed her with the others."

"Why did a man like Harald marry a woman like her is a mystery."

"Heh. I hope for the Kraken Coast Ocean took pity of that poor man and gave him at least one descendant worth it. We'll see."

***

So many looks, coming from everyone in the castle, looks that the child can't see, but can feel, everywhere on his skin his ragged clothes his body so thin he looks like he's sick every passing day.

Looks of hate, from people that push him out of the way for the simple crime of being there. Some, afraid, afraid of the day a childish laugh almost started a seastorm right above the castle. Most of them are expectative.

Will it be a benediction or a malediction ? Will that child be the most powerful weapon under the chains of the queen or the one that will break the lineage of the Liberator ? Gift of ocean or poison of Harkyr ?

No one knows. Not even the child himself, just running in the palace to try and see his friend.

***

"You've got to be shitting me."

"THAT sword ? Is this a fucking provocation ?"

"Fucking Hrogni spawn, man, always parading the bane of our existences right in front of our fucking eyes."

"Litteraly. Isn't that sword called the Bane of Life ?"

"Yep. That was the Good King's sword. Pah. How many of our people did he kill with that cursed thing ?"

"And he dares bring that into the castle, near the prince. That lineage's arrogance really has no limits."

"We should have killed them long ago.

"Can't. Brynhild protected her and now it's Harald. Who know what would happen if we tried now."

"Fucking Harald man... What was he thinking ? Now the dishonor is his too."

"Don't know how he even lets the bastard parade around with that cursed thing."

***

Growing up the looks didn't fade, didn't soften, didn't get away. The powers were those of Ocean, the scales were those of Harkyr, and the sword was Hrogni's.

Now he knows, and he sees the eyes, all waiting for something. The moment he proves useful, or the moment he cracks. He knows it. The nobility, the soldiers, they're all waiting for him to show what he's made of.

There's so little people that don't care. The low classes, focused on survival rather than rumors, a handful of teenagers always chirping around the prince, and a boat full of the exact same kind of pariahs.

Only in those people the blessed curse finds solace.

***

"Why did his Highness get the doctors in such a hurry ? Wasn't he supposed to be at sea on..."

"The boat sank. A fucking seastorm. Guess who was in it ?"

"No fucking way. Don't tell me he sent one of our best ships to the bottom."

"Yep. And apparently he lost his right hand in whatever happened. Good riddance, if you ask me. A mutilated curse is better than a full one."

"And his Majesty still got him healed ? He's too good-hearted."

"People say he almost got killed on that boat. That the captain attempted against his life."

"I'm sure he got out without a scratch. That's our prodigy prince after all."

"Obviously. That's the difference between our righteous king and a fucking spawn of tyrant."

***

The eyes stopped waiting. They got what they wanted. Fed on pain, relished on disgrace, while he lost everything. Family, friends, honor, pride, and his ability to fight.

Now they are only full of hate.

Kicked out of his place, only at sea he found his answer. The sea he can't see as a safe place anymore because the foam now tastes like blood.

Still, he looks at it everyday, feeds on the sight of a graveyard he still can't bring himself to build. Rather not get looked at at all than feel all the resentment.

It's ironic the only one that didn't give him this hate is the one that should hate him.

***

"I haven't seen him in weeks now. I know losing a hand is something you should take a long time to recover from, but still, I don't even know where he is !"

"Yeah, and he heals like a monster, you know ? That shouldn't take long."

"... Kaizarz told me where he lives now yesterday, you know. I tried to see him, but he didn't even open the door. Still, I know he was here. there was a smell of blood and burned candles."

"... Can I try too, you think, Dom ?"

"Well I'm not gonna give up that easily, that's for sure ! Next time you come with me and we will get him out of his cave !"

".... We should let him be."

"How can you say that, Meili ! That's our friend we're talking about !"

"Were we his ?"

"..."

"..."

"Drop it. If he really cares about us, he will come back himself."

***

He didn't come back. His heart ached like a thousand thorns, but everytime they came, they found his door closed and a complete silence. Knocling, shouting, pleading, crying sometimes, nothing could ever open anything.

Worst was not the joy around the castle, so happy to have gotten rid of the menace. Or the weather, now too calm for anyone's tastes but the people. Worst was the silence they found everytime. The days pass without a reappearance, or even a word, and with the days the certainty those harsh words may be right gripped at their skin like the stench of decay.

He knew they were coming, that people did not give up on him. But he did not want to get them close. They were the only people he still hadn't hurt. And he couldn't be sure that wasn't a ploy to drag him even further down.

After all, if his closest friend could hide his most profound hatred, so could they, right ?

***

"Who does he think he's fooling, showing his face like this ?"

"A hood and some makeup can't hide a damn curse."

"And the first time he shows his damn face since the attempt is at the coronation ? The nerve of that fucker !"

"His Majesty looked happy. I don't understand."

"He's quick to trust. I thought he would get more wary after what they did."

"We don't even know what happened on that boat... Maybe there's a good reason ?"

"Good reason or not, that tyrant spawn should get the Abyss out of here. he's not welcome."

"At least he didn't bring his sword. That would be injury added to insult."

"For sure. But that's like, basic decency. Sad that basic decency is the maximum we can expect. He should have died long ago. With that boat."

***

He's here, but he still doesn't talk, and he can see averyone looking at him. He hates that. He hates that for every person in this crowd is a person that once spew hatred and deception. He betrayed everyone's expectations, and now he dares try to act like everything is good, like he's too good for them ?

Except everything is not good, and he's nothing but good. That's why he doesn't talk. That's why he answers the hatred with snubbing and their attempts to reconnect with silence. He can see them trying, and he can see the hurt in their eyes when every try is sold by a failure.

He can see the wound reopening in his kings eyes when he shakes his hand without a smile. The same wound is buried behind his empty eyes.

[alchemiasart]

30-day writing challenges?

Now that March is almost here, it's time to think about my 30-day writing challenges because April is coming up fast. Back in November of 2023, I managed to crank out 30 short stories in 30 days. (Okay, it was actually 28 stories, and then the 29th on December 1st, and now I'm still finishing up the last one, but it's a happy tear-jerker, don't judge, those are really hard to write.)

Point is, the 30-day thing really got my creative juices flowing, my test readers loved them, and I think I could pump out a lot of excellent work if I only let myself write fiction... *whispers, "thirty days hath September, April, June, and November..."* FOUR TIMES A YEAR.

(I'm also in grad school, so I write a lot anyway, but not on these topics, obvs.)

But, of course, I also want people to read my work, and it'd be nice to be able to afford food on occasion.

I know there aren't a lot of you out there right now reading this, but what's your input? Does anyone else (good) do challenges like this? Is it worth it to share the stories as I go along, knowing they'll be disqualified from traditional publishing? Should I just go with "fuck traditional publishing" anyway?

FYI, the November 2023 story was a cycle of short stories about cryptids in daily life, but they're kind of a palidrome cycle: the first fifteen introduce characters, and sixteen through thirty resolve those stories in reverse order (#15 gets resolved in #16, #14 gets resolved in #17, and so forth). Does anyone wanna read those? What are your favorite platforms for reading short stories and supporting your favorite authors?

[lonita]

30-day story challenge

You will need:

Notebook, journal

Pens, drawing materials

Something to take pictures with (optional)

Do:

Write a short story, scene, or sentence each day of the month. Each can be as short as a single sentence or as long as you like.

Take inspiration from books, the internet, daily life, what you watch or listen to, to inspire your daily story.

Notes:

You could turn this into a photo project by taking a photograph each day for the month and turning them into a story at the end. Frame them all together as a single piece, or post each to a page in a book that you can flip through.

You can stretch this out over an entire year if you wished.

[adreamingskin]

Poetry Competitions, Submissions & Opportunities – MARCH 2023

Over 150 #poetry competitions, literary journal submissions and writing opportunities, open or with deadlines in March 2023. Best of luck and please share! #amwriting

Spring is on the way and with it over 160 poetry competitions, writing submissions and opportunities open or with deadlines in March 2023! Looking forward to April — National Poetry Writing Month — I’ll be bringing the drama with a brand new 30-day writing challenge, drawing inspiration from the heroes, villains, beasts and beauties of the Ancient Greek myths and legends. These tales of power,…

[serickswrites]

I'm Just Not Well

Warnings: rescue, captivity, torture, broken bones, blood, bruises, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hospital

"Whumpee, you gotta talk to me, please," Caretaker said as they sat in the back of the ambulance with Whumpee.

Whumpee's skin was mottled with bruises in various stages of healing--some deep purple almost black, some red and swollen, while others had taken an almost blue green tint as they healed. Their collar bone was clearly broken. Blood had dried in their matted hair, clotted on their split eyebrow, and had dried on other parts of their body that was visible.

They sat quietly on the gurney, responding only to a few questions asked by the EMT. Their voice was low and hoarse. Clearly they had been screaming from days. They stared out with a hollow look in their one not swollen shut eye.

"Whumpee?" Caretaker tried again.

"I'm alive," they croaked, "I'm just not well."

Caretaker's heart sunk. They had hoped Whumpee would open up a little bit more to them. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Whumpee closed their one good eye and leaned back on the gurney. "There's nothing else to tell you, Caretaker. I'm alive."

Caretaker opened their mouth and closed it. Clearly Whumpee wasn't ready to talk about whatever horrors they had endured at Whumper's hands. "Well, I'm here if you ever want or need to talk, Whumpee."

Whumpee nodded, but didn't say anything. They kept their eye closed, their body swaying with the motion of the ambulance speeding down the city streets.

"We'll be at the hospital soon, Whumpee. You're going to be ok," Caretaker said, hoping that their words were true and Whumpee would be ok.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

[bakuliwrites]

Day One- Gale of Waterdeep

500 Follower Event, 30 Day Writing Prompts Prompt: Relic, Tender, Petrichor, Gale (BG3) Pairing: Gale x Reader Tags: Fluff, Kisses, Cuddling, Slightly Suggestive, Gale Route Spoilers, BG3 Spoilers Word Count: 741

Gale’s dark eyes sweep languidly across the page, no doubt committing to memory the poetic verses written within. You watch from the doorway, comfortably warm in the threshold between cozy library and chilly balcony, a mug of tea slowly cooling in your hands. It brings joy to your heart to see Gale this relaxed. He’s reclined in a loveseat, dressed in his usual soft sleeping clothes and donning a pair of new slippers. The book he’s absorbed in is tome-like in appearance: leather-bound, some sort of ancient relic etched in gold leaf on the cover, a hefty clasp hanging loosely on the edges. You smile to yourself as Gale cautiously turns an onion-skin page, brows furrowed in concentration as he scans the next verse. 

With a small sigh, you lean against the doorframe, looking out to the churning sea beyond. There is something deeply nourishing about your days in Waterdeep. Perhaps it’s the way light rushes across the surface of the sea on clear days, sun glinting brilliantly in the sky, seagulls calling out to one another on the drifting ocean breeze. Maybe it’s the twinkling stars mirrored on the water at night, waves crashing gently to shore and the world silent as can be. It could be the hustle and bustle of the town around you, the familiar sounds of a peaceful life you’d almost forgotten in your adventuring days. Or perhaps it’s the unwavering gentility, the steadfast adoration of the wizard before you. 

Gale catches you staring, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight at the sight of you. 

“Care to join me?” his voice breaks through your silent musing, eyes softening when you meet his gaze, “Books are always better with company.” 

“Of course,” you return, for how could you refuse such an invitation? You abandon your mug on the coffee table, shivering when a gust of wind brushes through the balcony. With it comes a pleasant whiff of petrichor and brine, a scent you’ll probably forever associate this tranquil afternoon with. 

“Darling, you’re freezing,” Gale worries, shifting in his spot to give you room to lay next to him. The loveseat is hardly big enough for two, but all the more reason to cuddle, you think to yourself. And that was most certainly Gale’s plan, for as soon as you sit down, he draws you into his warm embrace. He’s quick to take one of your freezing hands in his, drawing it to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. He warms it with his breath before sneaking in another kiss to your palm.

“Better?” he ventures, a gentle beam breaking through the gloomy grey of the afternoon. 

“Much,” you softly chuckle, letting your forehead rest against his. This moment is suspended in time, the balcony suddenly a realm of its own. Beyond the soft sound of Gale’s exhales, you can hear a drizzle of rain pitter-pattering on the rooftop, droplets bouncing off the railing and landing in tiny ripples on the water’s surface below. Gale holds your hand to his chest, his other arm drawing you close. Beneath your fingertips is the velvety texture of his shirt, the gentle thrum of his heart. This is nourishment in its purest form: Gale Dekarios, his love silently enveloping you, body and soul. 

You angle yourself to better reach his lips, pressing a tender kiss to them, lingering for a long while. Gale’s tongue softly traces the part in your lips as your fingers tangle in his hair. He moves to press tiny kiss after kiss against your cheeks, eyelids, and jawline. 

“Hmmm,” you hum, when he dips to give some much needed attention to your neck, “You can keep reading if you’d like. I don’t want to interrupt you.”

Gale’s book is long abandoned somewhere on the loveseat. You suspect he might be sitting on it, far too engrossed in you to pay attention to the tome digging into his leg. 

A small chuckle reverberates through Gale’s chest when you inadvertently gasp, his lips ghosting down to your collarbone.

“You’ve well and thoroughly distracted me, my darling,” he admits, “I’d much rather you be the subject of my studies this dreary afternoon.”

“Then you are easily distractible,” you return with an impish smirk. Gale quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Or is it that you and your irresistible charm are incredibly distracting?” he teasingly returns, laughing as he pulls you closer and lays his lips to yours once again.

A/N: I adore Gale. Honestly, I adore all of the companions in BG3. And many of the NPC's haha. I want to write more for him, so maybe a fic in the future? Time permitting, of course. Thank you for reading! Up next in this event will be Portia Devorak from The Arcana!

[duplicityvn]

O B S E S S I O N :: 30 Fics in 30 Days

11387 / 30000 words. 38% done!

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This challenge is something I made based off the 30k November challenge. I plan on writing one short story per day every day of November, and since I know I'll probably blow past the 30k mark, I changed the name.

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"Obsession" is a look into the mind of 'Griffin', how his thoughts work, and what he feels for Y/N.

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WC: 869 (shorter fic) :: CW: general yandere tendencies/thoughts

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He could see you through the window of the café, working and chatting with that co-worker of yours. That awful, pathetic snake of a man that couldn’t stop staring at you every time you turned your back. His fists clenched in the pockets of his sweater as he continued to observe.

He was sitting on a bench across the street, his eyes trained on you through the window. There was no way you wouldn’t be his. He just had to play his cards right, get you to trust him, get you to rely on him. To not need anyone else other than him.

He glanced around the empty street again before subtly lifting his camera, zooming in on you in a way that was practiced. Clearly, he’d done this before. He’d done it almost every day since the day he first walked into the café, when he saw your bright welcoming smile and heard your voice. A melody to his ears.

He was just taking pictures for your scrapbook, that was all. Pictures that you’ll put in an album together, showing off his devotion and love to you. Your future children together will appreciate it, won’t they? Or, even if you didn’t want children, it would be something to look back on. Something to remember.

Because his love was always going to be one hell of a memory.

He felt the phone in his pocket buzz, pulling it out eagerly only to be met with a message that made him clench his jaw tightly.

Alex: Where are you? I thought you were coming today.

Of course, they would reach out to him, now of all times. Interrupting his time with you—even if you didn’t know it, this was your time together. Where he was watching over you, protecting you, mentally filing away every little touch and look that snake gave you.

He was only trying to protect you! You can’t see the evil that you work with. How could you? That snake’s manipulation rivaled his own. He was scared that your co-worker would have you wrapped around his stupid little finger in no time if you weren’t careful enough.

Christ, already he had to save you from him. Walking behind you and accidentally bumping into you. Those chance meetings? They weren’t chance, little owl.

He ignored the text and shoved the phone back into his pocket, looking up at the café again. He was wearing a hooded sweater, not his usual style, but then again… You only saw what he wanted you to see. You weren’t ready to see him yet, no.

You’d be scared if he wasn’t so charming and friendly with you. You couldn’t handle the dark miasma swirling inside of him, not yet, no. Not until you were truly his.

He’d planned so much for you together. Everything from the way you met, to the way you’ll get married in the near-future. Because he’ll have you loving him so much, you wouldn’t know what to do without him. You wouldn’t be able to stand not having him near you. Not having him by your side, protecting you, reminding you how precious and delicate you really were. What a sweet little bird you were, his Pidge.

His eyes zeroed in on the way that snake orchestrated bumping into you, accidentally burning you with black coffee. How dare he harm you, even if for a chance to take care of you. He didn’t love you, Pidge.

Of course he didn’t.

Not like he did. He would never harm you, little owl, not ever. He wouldn’t plan these stupid little moments that cause you physical harm in order just to have your attention for two fucking seconds.

His hands curled into tight fists, his fingers digging into the skin of his palms painfully. That pain was a reminder for him to keep calm, keep his cool and definitely do not storm into the café right now. That wouldn’t do.

That would give him away. You weren’t ready for him, pigeon. You weren’t ready to see just how much he loved and c h e r i s h e d you.

The snake, however, was already on thin ice. He’d know soon enough. He’d know that you belong to him. That he already claimed you long before this asshole showed up.

His phone buzzed once more and he let out a noise of frustration, pulling it out of his pocket again. As much as he wanted to ignore it, there was only one other person worthy of his attention other than you. Sorry, Pidge. He had family obligations.

Alex: Seriously?? I really needed you today, man. I’m already having a tough time.

He bit his lip, drawing blood. Now he was conflicted. On one hand, he needed to stay here and make sure the snake didn’t bite you when he wasn’t supposed to. On the other hand, he did make previous plans.

He glanced up again and located you coming from the back room, a bandage around your hand and your co-worker walking behind you with a self-satisfied smile. What a fucking prick.

He sighed when he looked at his messages again.

He’d see you again soon.

Don’t you worry about that.

[destinytober]

2023 prompt list is here! Take a trip through Destiny history starting Oct. 1 with a daily piece of art, writing or other creative expressions. Use #destinytober or #destinytober23 to have your work shared here.

Don't have time or ability to do a full 30 Day challenge? Use this list a chose one prompt for each five-day period instead.

✅ All skill levels welcome! ✅ Digital, traditional, 3D & crafts ✅ Writing ✅ Screenshot photography

Please don't: 🚫 A/I genned art 🚫 Gameplay S/treams 🚫 Fashion (Use #Driptober)

Previous years lists. Feel free to use one of these instead or mix and match between them all!

[cinderswrites]

S A C R I F I C E :: 30 Fics in 30 Days

8560 / 30000 words. 29% done!

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

This challenge is something I made based off the 30k November challenge. I plan on writing one short story per day every day of November, and since I know I'll probably blow past the 30k mark, I changed the name.

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

"Sacrifice" is a story about sisterly love, and the lengths one sister will do for the others. It's also a story about needing to recognize your boundaries.

It is also, in part, a small fanfic since it features the character Viktor from @yga-vn, an upcoming dark/horror romance visual novel by @kuruchyo.

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

WC: 2,286 :: CW: I don't think there are any, but there's a demon, so lmao.

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

“Ugh, Nova, you always take everything from me!”

Verity’s shrill voice carried through the corridor, ringing in the ears of the housemaids as she shouted at her older sister. Ariadne flinched and sighed softly from the sitting room just a few feet away from the main hall where her sisters were arguing. She was the middle one of the three of them, the beautiful and sought after Greywind sisters from House Greywind. A family name as old as time itself and the very definition of “old money family”.

The short woman stood up, pulling the velvet purple cloak tight around her shoulders again and setting down her book. Just one evening of quiet is all I asked for… her thoughts were bitter as she went to find her sisters.

Nova was standing with her hand on her hip, her other hand holding a bag high out of Verity’s reach. Nova’s impressive height was something she used to her advantage often. Verity’s face was flushed red in anger and she looked like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, the way she was stomping her foot and crossing her arms.

When her gray eyes spotted Ariadne’s form, she stomped over and grabbed her older sister’s wrist and tugged on it, pointing at Nova. “Ariii,” Verity whined, using her doe-like eyes to plead with the short woman. “Nova stole my new clutch.”

“I did not!” Nova said fiercely. “I just bought this one, today.”

“Since when have you ever had a lick of fashion sense?!” Verity shot back.

Ariadne wanted to smack both of them upside the head for being so loud and disruptive. They knew better. It was quiet hours in the manor, for their father suffered chronic migraines in the evening. “Both of you knock it off, now!” she snapped quietly.

Both sisters straightened up and looked at her with apologetic expressions. “Sorry,” Nova mumbled, looking down and fidgeting with the zipper on the bag.

“Yeah, me too,” Verity said, letting go of her arm and sighing.

Ariadne ushered them both to sit on the couch, herself taking a seat between them. “Verity, when was the last time you saw your purse?” she asked.

“A week ago when I went out with that Scarsbee man,” Verity said, brushing back her short pale blue hair. “I came home and went to my room and left it on my vanity table and haven’t been able to find it ever since.”

Ariadne turned to Nova then, whose long indigo waves were drawn like a curtain around her features. “Nova, do you have the receipt for the bag you bought today?”

“Of course I do,” she snorted, opening the bag and pulling out a slip of white paper. She handed it to the middle sister, who looked it over.

“Mm, yeah, Verity,” she showed the receipt to her. “The date of sale is listed as today. This bag isn’t yours.”

Verity’s gray eyes squinted at the receipt, as if trying to find hints of forgery or tampering. Then she let out a long-suffering groan and fell back against the couch. “Okay, fine! But that still doesn’t solve my issue.”

“Your issue is that you’re a lawless spoiled brat,” Nova muttered, earning herself a painful nudge in the ribs by Ariadne.

“Enough, both of you. Nova, why don’t you go find something to do? I’ll help Ver find her purse.”

“Fine by me. Oh, and when you have the time, could you call the Dorsby house and let him know I’m not attending his banquet tonight?” Nova stood, pulling her own black cloak around herself and walking away without another word.

Ariadne reached up and rubbed her temple for a few seconds before turning to her younger sister. “Come on, let’s go to your room.”

…

“I’ve looked everywhere, Ari, it’s just not here!” Verity was whining again a few minutes later as she threw herself on her bed.

Ariadne ignored the younger woman’s whining and searched the area where her vanity table sat. “If you let the maids come in here, you’d be more organized and could find things better,” she chided. “Look at this mess on the table. You’re wasting makeup by letting it spill out everywhere!”

Verity just hugged a cylindrical pillow and pouted.

The middle sister’s keen yellow eyes swept over the surface, her hands picking through the items, checking behind and underneath things. When it was clear that the bag wasn’t in the heaping pile of feminine products, she checked the drawer. She thought it was ironic how clean and spotless the empty drawer was compared to the surface of the vanity.

She stood back a moment, planting her hands on her hips and glancing around the area. Her eye caught the glint of a gold chain slung over the mirror and disappeared behind it. As she walked up to it, she thought she’d caught a glimpse of a pair of glowing purple eyes in the mirror, hiding in the shadows of Verity’s bed canopy. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards and when she blinked, the eyes were gone.

Ariadne grabbed the thick gold chain, pulling it off the mirror. Lo and behold, on the other end of it was the exact bag the woman had been looking for. With one hand remaining on her hip, she turned and gave her sister a look. “It’s been here the whole time, Ver,” she said.

Verity’s face flushed in embarrassment, her pout lingering as her gray eyes flicked away. “Guess I forgot I changed the strap…” she mumbled.

Ari sighed and rolled her eyes, slinging the bag forward and tossing it onto the bed. “Use your brain next time. You know you’re not supposed to get Nova all worked up like that,” she chastised. “Come to me if you need help.”

Verity finally sat up on the bed and held the purse in her hands, fiddling with the zipper. Despite how often her sisters were at each other’s throats, the resemblance between them was plain as day to anyone else but them. It still shocked Ariadne when Verity would display the same little quirks Nova often had.

“Yeah, okay,” she said. “I’m sorry I made a scene.”

Ariadne’s expression softened. She walked over to the young woman and reached out with slender fingers, preening her hair and brushing it to the side. Something she always did out of habit, ever since they were young. She was the middle sister, the one that had to look after her younger sister since Nova made it very clear she wasn’t going to. But Nova had always been that way, and not in a selfish sense. She just couldn’t care for other people as well as Ariadne did.

And that was fine with Ari. She loved taking care of and helping her sisters, even if it was mentally and sometimes physically exhausting, always having to be the middle woman, the messenger, the one that smoothed things over. “Don’t worry about it,” she pulled her hand away. “I need to go take care of Nova’s thing now.”

“You’re always so helpful, you know?” Verity’s fond tone carried out the door after Ariadne had left.

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

“Yes… Mr. Dorsby? Good evening,” Ariadne stood at the manor’s house phone, twirling her finger around the chord. Her parents were always fond of vintage aesthetics and this rotary phone that still worked even now, in 2024, was a favorite item of theirs. “It’s Ariadne Greywind from House Greywind calling.”

“Ah, Miss Greywind. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” Mr. Dorsby was a middle-aged man with average looks and a wealth that almost rivaled theirs.

“I regret to inform you that Nova will not be attending your banquet this evening,” she said. “She’s down with an illness tonight.”

There was a heavy sigh that breathed in her ear, and she knew what was coming next. “What a shame… I was looking forward to having one of the prestigious Greywind daughters. I even bragged about it to my friends, you know. I planned a wonderful evening for her.”

Ariadne’s lower eyelid twitched, and she pursed her lips. “I do sincerely apologize, Mr. Dorsby. Perhaps-“

“Say, are you doing anything tonight?” he asked suddenly.

She slumped against the wall, “… I am not.”

“Why don’t you come in her place? You said you’re Ariadne, right? The middle daughter?”

“Yes, that’s correct, Mr. Dorsby.”

“Join me. I’ll have my driver come pick you up in, oh, say��� Two hours? Is that plenty of time for you to get ready, Miss Greywind?” Dorsby’s voice sounded delighted.

Ariadne pinched the bridge of her nose, “That’s plenty of time. Thank you, Mr. Dorsby. I’ll see you in two hours’ time, then.”

“See you soon, dear.”

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

It was almost midnight by the time Ariadne was walking back up to House Greywind, her feet throbbing with pain and smelling like expensive colognes and cigar smoke. The banquet had been… alright, if not a bit stuffy. Many influential men and women were in attendance, and Ariadne herself was seated next to Mr. Dorsby the entire night. He had gotten loose-lipped and flattering with every scotch he drank as the night went on, but he was thirty years her senior.

She did her duties as best as she could, avoiding casual touches and questions with hidden implications. Not just from Mr. Dorsby, but from a whole slew of “eligible” bachelors that were in attendance. At the end of the night, when Dorsby had bid her farewell, he had expressed his appreciation for her attendance and apologized if anyone had made her uncomfortable, including himself.

Overall, it had been a good time, she thought. Not that she wanted to repeat the experience anytime soon, but she was glad she went in Nova’s place now. Nova wouldn’t have been able to stand so many people sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at a long table. At least with Ariadne there, she could continue to keep House Greywind’s reputation to high standards with her maturity and grace.

Once she was in her bedroom, she kicked off the heels that had been pinching her feet all night. She undressed completely and pulled on a pair of soft cotton pajamas. Ariadne sat at her vanity and removed the makeup she had applied earlier. Staring at herself in the mirror, with every swipe of the makeup wipe, she revealed pale patches that starkly contrasted her otherwise warm brown tone.

It’s not that she was ashamed of them, no. She only covered them up with makeup to avoid being stared at and being asked question after question of what afflicted her. It was Dorsby’s banquet, after all. Not Ariadne’s.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she told herself as she continued cleaning her face, frowning.

A little while later, she had turned out the lights and settled into her large plush bed, her yellow eyes glancing out her window. She could see a strip of night sky just barely, and she focused on that as her eyelids became heavier and heavier.

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

Some few minutes after she’d fallen asleep, she was woken up abruptly by feeling a presence plop onto her side and stomach, covering her legs as well. “Ari,” a voice whispered like smoke, wrapping around her and pulling her out of sleep. “Wake up, I’m lonely.”

Ariadne groaned and reached up to rub her eyes, shifting to lay on her back. The presence on top of her practically purred and laid its head on her soft stomach area. “Viktor?” she mumbled, blinking several times.

Those glowing purple eyes gazed up at her in an almost innocent manner, before flashing a set of pearly pointed teeth. “Mornin��, starshine,” he said.

She could see his tail lazily flicking back and forth beyond the purple horns on his head. Her hand went up to stroke through his dark tresses at the top of his head, being careful to not touch his horns. The action was instinctual at this point, since she’d done it so many nights before. “You couldn’t let me sleep a little longer?” she huffed quietly.

The demon pouted a little, “I was bored.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile on her lips, “You’re so troublesome, you know that?”

“Mm, I could be more troublesome if it’ll make you feel better,” he teased, lifting his head off her stomach and resting his cheek against one of his fists. He watched her expressions with those striking violet eyes of his.

“Don’t you dare,” she scolded lightly, a soft laugh escaping her.

He grinned again before speaking, “So, where’d you go tonight? I tried to follow but I lost the car you were in.”

His tail whipped through the air, smacking against the bed with a thump, indicating his frustration. Viktor had gotten… quite attached to her in the months after she’d finally caught him trying to torment her like a pest. He didn’t like not knowing where she was, or when she left her house.

Ariadne tugged on a strand of his hair lightly, making him pout again. “I went to a banquet in Nova’s place,” she explained. “I didn’t get home until a little while ago.”

He wrinkled his nose in distaste, folding his hands over her stomach and resting his chin on them. His eyes looked away. “No wonder you smell funny,” he grumbled, still clearly displeased.

“I smell fine,” she protested, “I was too tired to bathe tonight.”

“Why couldn’t Nova go? Or that little brat of yours,” he huffed.

“Because Nova can’t handle large crowds, and that little brat—“ she tugged on his hair again, “—would probably embarrass us.”

“You’re always doing something to help out your sisters,” he looked at her then, his expression rather serious. “When do you ever do anything for yourself?”

Ariadne hummed softly. Her eyes traced over the similar light patches on his own skin. He had been the only one she’d ever seen like herself before. Maybe that was part of the reason she put up with his presence. After all, not many people would welcome a demon to come back every night. “I don’t know,” she admitted after a few beats.

Viktor’s tail lashed again, angrier this time. “You’re going to burn out one of these days, you know? And who’s going to help you, then?”

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came. Instead, she sighed and looked away. “I’m fine…” she didn’t even sound convincing.

Her hand was still playing with his hair, and his tail came up to wrap around her wrist, pulling her hand away. He pinned it to the bed as he suddenly lifted himself up onto his hands, hovering over her now, his face just above hers. “You’re not fine,” he murmured. “I can see it in your face. You’re tired and wearing thin.”

She clenched her jaw for a moment, before relaxing and meeting his eyes once more. “I’ll… try to not be…” she trailed off again, struggling to find a suitable word.

“A pushover? A doormat?”

Her eyes narrowed before she rolled them, “Compliant.”

Viktor hummed thoughtfully in response, settling his taller frame on top of hers. His clawed hand came up to brush through her hair as he looked down at her, only inches away from her. “I can find other ways for you to fill that… need to ‘comply’, as you put it,” he teased, his other hand stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Ariadne laughed softly, her face heating up with his implication, “You’re too much sometimes.”

He placed a soft kiss on her chin, trailing them along her jawline. She let out a relaxed sigh this time, a soft hum of her own emitting from her lips. “On the contrary,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against her cheek, taking in her sweet scent of jasmine and shea butter. “I like to think I’m just what you need, my little lamb.”

“Little lamb?”

“Mm. Because you can’t stop sacrificing yourself for those ungrateful sisters of yours.”

“… and here I thought you were just being cute.”

Another wicked grin from him as he lifted his head and nuzzled his nose against hers. “I’m also being that,” he added.

His tail had let her wrist go finally, and Ariadne drew her arms up, wrapping them around his neck. She pulled him closer in an embrace, hiding her face against his shoulder. “I promise I’ll try harder to be less of a pushover,” she whispered, her tone almost vulnerable.

“Sweet lamb,” he crooned softly, and suddenly he had her pulled against his side, laying on his back with her nestled into him. “I’ll take care of you since you can’t be bothered to do it yourself.”

“How do you make that sound so sweet and infuriating at the same time?” she huffed as she snuggled up to him more, almost clinging onto him at this point.

“It’s just one of my charms, darling,” he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Sleep now.”

“Mm,” she hummed, resting her head on his warm chest and letting herself be lulled to sleep by the soft touches of his hand stroking through her hair.

[mokaisathome]

A mafia boss and his pet dog

[The mafia theming is totally absent actually but the spirit is there... Probably]

Now on AO3 too!

Rumors aren't anything new to Jamil. They spread around him constantly, shifting, changing, losing details, or adding ones depending on how far they go. It's just how it is when you're in a position as prized as his – people will talk, caring very little for how it'll affect you. He still pays attention to them despite how mundane or ridiculous most of them are because letting tattletales go unchecked is a pain he'd rather go without.

   The current rumors only bring him a headache though. One of his subordinates goes through them with a barely concealed smile, sometimes giving his opinion (“Wow, that's pretty elaborate” or “This is a bit too much even for them…”) despite Jamil only asking for a brief rundown. As he walks down the main hallway of his mansion while listening to his subordinate, he rubs his temples with a sigh.

   Did he find a beastman and bring him home a few weeks ago? Yes. Is it a wolf? Also yes. Is it so ferocious it attacks everyone even the people Jamil asked to take care of him? Definitely not. The rumor mill is broken. To put it simply, he could have picked up a puppy from the street, and it'd have gone the same… Except without talking. It'd have been much better actually.

   The two men guarding the room he stops in front of salute him solemnly before pushing the heavy wooden door, and he instantly braces himself when something leaps at him.

“Jamil!”

   Yes, that rumored fearful wolf, ready to sink his teeth in anyone who approaches him is in reality an overexcited teenager who's more interested in eating as many sweets as he can than intimidate people. In Jamil's line of work, the latter would have been useful. The former is undoubtedly not. The muffled mockeries of his subordinates reach his ears, and he dismisses them with a wave of the hand, letting them close the door behind him. Among his people, his reputation has taken a hit so perhaps having the normal population fear him through lies is better.

“Did you bring me something today?”

   Wordlessly, Jamil takes a piece of candy out of his pocket and the werewolf jumps off him, eager to receive his reward for… For nothing. He's been living here doing absolutely nothing. A total waste of resources. If at least he could be trained to act as a guard dog–

   His train of thought stops. That's not a bad idea. Jamil has never taken care of a dog but all they need is some training and rewards, don't they?

“Kalim,” he calls out, watching with a certain amusement as the beastman's ears perk up. “Give me your hand.”

   Kalim doesn't even question anything and places his clawed hand in Jamil's gloved one. Him being an idiot who listens to any order is nothing new – Jamil just has to model him to fit his new role.

“Show me your teeth.”

“'ike tha'?”

“Perfect.”

   A waste of some amazingly sharp fangs when all he does is eat candies, Jamil thinks as he passes his thumb over Kalim's teeth. From the corner of his eye, he catches his tail wagging back and forth. As he orders Kalim to do other things (“sit,” and “roll”, or “jump”), Jamil finds himself satisfied with his dog's performance. Perhaps there is still hope.

“Howl now.”

“Gaoooo!”

   No, that was a mistake. There's no hope to make anything out of him. The only people he could scare would be… Babies maybe. Jamil isn't even sure of that. With a sigh, he tosses the candy to Kalim who catches it midair and immediately starts fighting with the candy wrapper.

   These rumors should be fawned for as long as they can because the reality is much, much, much worse (for Jamil).

[faewulv]

"Welcome to Thedas!"

Introducing a 30 day art challenge where drawings, photos, screenshots, cosplay, writing, and whatever else you feel like creating is a-okay!

A simple prompt list for Dragon Age fans of all kinds. There is no pressure to do every day, in the "proper" order, or even in the same medium! I just wanted to give fans a fun little thing to pass the time while we all wait for the Veilguard drop this Autumn <3

Each prompt is up to personal interpretation- there is no right or wrong way to go about this. If you think a piece about Hawke fighting the Arishok is fitting for "Sticks and Stones" and then Sera goin' apeshit throwing jars of questionable substances for "Bees?", then absolutely go for it!

I just hope you have fun!

There's no hashtag or tagging needed or made for this, but I do enjoy seeing what you create if you DO follow any prompts from here! <3

List of prompts:

An Oath

Dragon’s Fire

Sticks and Stones

Brush with Death

Midnight Rendezvous

Healing Gift

Sharp Smiles

Dull Blades

Gentleness

Wild Spirit

Smoke and Song

One More Wish

Veins of Ice

Elfroot Supremacy

Blood and Gold

Broken Whispers

Heartache

Date Night

Starlight Waltz

Bees?

Scent of Pine

A Hoarse Voice

Clipped Wings

Ancient Vow

Into the Fire

Potionmaker

Hidden Corners

Spying Eyes

Found Family

Well… shit.

[anukkuna]

Day 15: Morally dubious police work

Sorry, I'm one day late, but here it is!

Spatort content first, some more serious real life stuff later under the cut.

#Homeoffice

Let's be honest, Tatort cops are - most of the time - not an accurate representation of real police work (but that wouldn't make for entertaining TV so... yeah. It's true for almost any crime series, I guess). It's fiction, after all, so it doesn't have to be 100% accurate, as long as it tells an interesting and engaging story (and the inaccuracies don’t pull you out of it too much. That’s probably why an acquaintance of mine, who works as a police officer, once said they can’t watch Tatort. The depiction of police work is often so far off that it throws them off too much).

Personally, I often find myself enjoying morally dubious characters or storylines that I’d find far more troubling in real life.

In real life, I wish Adam hadn’t let Moritz Leimer go. Sure, Moritz might not come after Adam again - maybe he ‘learned his lesson’ when it comes to the King’s son. But he’ll most likely remain a criminal and end up breaking into someone else’s home, hurting or traumatizing another victim. In Spatort, however, I don’t feel as strongly about this.

Adam's decision is morally dubious. In a way, the morally right thing to do would have been to press criminal charges against Moritz. He didn’t just break in - he had a gun, for fuck's sake. This isn't a minor offense, where it would be completely up to the victim whether they press charges or not.

"Das sind mindestens zwei Straftaten, die da gerade davon laufen!"

- Leo, Die Kälte der Erde

On the other hand, Adam can't do that for personal reasons. His reputation at the station is already damaged and he has no idea what Moritz knows or how an investigation might play out. Did Uncle Boris figure out where the money was hidden? Did he tell someone to check under that tree? Has anyone noticed the freshly dug-up earth - or even followed Adam? In the end, would it be more than just the current hearsay... would there be evidence that Adam has the money?

That could mean some serious trouble for him, risking both his job as well as his already strained relationship with Leo.

Plus, Adam was the victim in this specific case - so it could be argued that it’s his right to decide not to file a complaint. And maybe Moritz isn’t as dangerous as he seemed at first? After all, Adam was right: he didn’t shoot him.

"Herrgott, haben se nicht jemanden schicken können, der halbwegs gefährlich wirkt?"

- Adam, Die Kälte der Erde

Moreover, Adam needs to be able to continue investigating - and we wouldn't want him losing his job, would we?

There’s a sense in which Adam’s decision seems both right and wrong at the same time - that’s what makes it morally dubious. It’s the kind of situation where you think: yeah, they shouldn’t have done this, but then again… maybe they should have. Maybe it was justified.

The same goes for Leo’s suggestion to threaten Betty Henschel to force a confession. For a lead police investigator, even considering such a tactic should probably be viewed as a serious moral failing.

Then - once again - as viewers, we know from the start of the film that the four are indeed responsible for Roswitha “Kiwi” Jäger’s death, and we might feel that threatening one of them into a confession is necessary—and therefore justified—to ensure they’re sentenced for it.

(Credits to @snowfox-98 for this collage!)

Yet, not all instances I considered as morally dubious at first, remained so on the final evaluation.

After considering it for a while, I'd say: Leo meeting Adam at the lake and using the evidence he was handed there... or Esther and Leo striking a deal with the criminal to arrest Jens Modall (the evil lawyer)... I don't find these morally dubious.

These were, quite literally, the only options they had to save Adam’s life (to prevent him from being wrongfully convicted of murdering his father). Sure, their actions weren’t in line with the law, so what they did was legally dubious. But the law doesn’t always align with morality, and vice versa. (For instance, in a country where homosexuality is criminalized, we wouldn’t view being homosexual as morally dubious). The same logic applies to cases of civil disobedience.

There are plenty of other decisions from Spatort that could be analyzed and debated over whether they’re morally dubious (and I absolutely love the posts I’ve seen on this so far!).

There’s one teeny-tiny sentence I’d like to highlight as particularly morally problematic:

P: "Der muss es sein. Wir haben sonst keinen."

L: "Das passt nicht zu dem."

P: "Komm, lass mich mal weitermachen. Wir knacken den schon."

- Pia und Leo, Das fleißige Lieschen

Pursuing an investigation when you don’t have any conclusive evidence that your suspect is guilty - and pushing it anyway just because you want a conviction - is wrong. It’s a slippery slope where you start caring less and less about whether the suspect is actually guilty. (Even if that’s not your intention, you just keep pushing and pushing... Just ask Isabelle Grandjean from Tatort Zürich - that did NOT turn out well.) That seems both legally and morally wrong.

Reflecting on this while writing this post, my thoughts kept circling back to real-life cases - not just of morally dubious, but outright morally reprehensible police work that continues to this day (not just in the U.S., but also in Germany).

If you’re interested in three (rather recent) examples that remain significant in Germany today, I’d like to invite you to read about them below.

Oury Jalloh

The first case marks a grim 20-year anniversary from just a few days ago (Jan. 7th): the case of Oury Jalloh, a citizen from Guinea who lived in Germany and died while in police custody cell. He was arrested after street cleaners claimed he had been drunkenly harassing people following a night of clubbing (allegations that were later denied by the supposed victims).

Police brought him to a cell at Dessau police station, where he was searched for dangerous objects. Then he was restrained, tied down on hands and feet to a bed, due to his intoxicated state, but also because he was very angry about being arrested. I'll let Wikipedia take it from here:

"Policewoman Beate H. was working in the second floor control room, together with Andreas S., her superior. On the intercom she heard Jalloh rattling his chains and swearing, so she attempted to calm him and she reports later she heard other officers in the cell. She went to check on him herself at about 11:30 am, without noting anything unusual. She returned to the control room, where Andreas S. turned down the intercom volume and she told him to turn it back up. At around noon she claimed she heard splashing sounds and told Andreas S. it was his turn to check. She originally said that after the fire alarm went off, Andreas S. turned it off twice. When another different alarm went off, he went to check what was going on. Gerhard M. followed Andreas S. downstairs to the cells, where they found Jalloh alive but burning to death. His final word was "Fire".

The police suggested that Jalloh had burnt himself to death, using a lighter to ignite the foam mattress he was lying on in the cell. One appeared in an evidence bag several days after Jalloh's death."

An independent autopsy report found that he had a broken rib, a broken nose and a fracture at the base of his skull, indicating that Oury Jalloh may have been tortured before his death. During the investigations it was found that there had been at least two previous incidents, where persons held in custody had died after being locked up in the same police station (due to internal injuries or fracture of the skull).

One police officer has been suspended, another was displaced to a different station. The charges (of murder) against them were, however, ultimately dismissed by the court.

2. The NSU (National Socialist Underground)

They were a German Neo-Nazi militant organization uncovered in 2011 and they were responsible for several murders during these years. The article is a long one (even more so in German), but what's important here is that it's also an example of police being "blind on the right eye".

They didn't consider or straight up ignored evidence for a right-wing / fascist motivation behind the crimes (all intended victims were (descendants of) immigrants) but instead suspected immigrant clan-feuds to be the motif, despite a lack of evidence for that.

3. NSU 2.0 / The Frankfurt Chat Group

In December 2018, a far-right chat group within the Frankfurt police force came to light. A fax sent by the group, which issued threats against the daughter of NSU victims’ attorney Seda Başay-Yıldız, was signed 'NSU 2.0' in reference to the National Socialist Underground.

The officers have been suspended from duty and are facing disciplinary consequences; however, they are not being prosecuted because the content of their chats is deemed far-right but not criminal. In the abstract, this might seem understandable, but when you look at the specific chats, it becomes deeply disturbing.

It is possible to view the actual chats from the group, as they have been made publicly accessible by a critical satire magazine in collaboration with an initiative for information freedom. If you feel up to it, you can access the real chat logs of the far-right Frankfurt police group through this website and form your own opinion:

But, of course: the devil's in the detail and obviously not ACAB. (I say this as a person, who, for quite some time, was very skeptical towards the ideal of police officers being there to help you or having your best interests at heart).

I just think that with regards to the political situation in Germany right now and the rise of far right and extremist parties, these are cases to be weary of and to keep in mind.

If you have made it to the very end - thank you so much!

I wanted to end this on a positive note. This is the link to a video by a guy, who talks about how he went from transphobe to trans ally:

This might seem a bit random, but I post this here because it is positive case of someone, who makes an argument for talking to one another, despite initial differences - and how progress can be achieved. With the election coming up and families begin often anything but homogeneous, maybe some of you will find this helpful or hopeful!

[alchemiasart]

30-day writing challenges?

I know it's a little after the fact, but for the first time ever, I got all the badges for NaNoWriMo in 2023. AND, it was a complete cycle of 30 related short stories, set in a cryptid universe.

So, here's where it might get interesting.

I wrote between 2100 and 7000 words every single day for all of November, and I loved every second of it. More than that, all my test readers adored it and I'm being pressured to figure out how to publish it. Not sure if I'm going the self-publishing route or if I'm going to try to get some in magazines or whatever.

The exciting part was the 30-day challenge, I think. And I might want to do it again during every month that has 30 days, which means April, June, September, and November. Maybe I'll write more cryptid stories, maybe I'll work in one of my other universes.

My big question is (and I know this is a super-low-traffic blog right now), who wants to watch that journey? And how do you support your writer/author friends when they're doing a challenge?

[lonita]

30-day journalling challenge

The first thing you said out loud today.

Something you're grateful for.

Something you're planning.

A favourite thing for each of the letters of your first name.

Plans for a fancy dinner you make for your just you.

List things you consider virtues.

Do you owe someone an apology? Write it out.

Write a short passage of any type you like that's exactly as many words long as how many years old you are.

Look at your resume if you have one, and write out as complete a list as you can of skills you've learned from your work.

A list of the things you'd most like to share with others.

A list of the things you like to keep to yourself.

Favourite colours and favourite things in those colours.

What would you have taught to young people in school that isn't currently taught?

What did you do, and why did you do it?

What coincidences do you continually experience?

What non-traditional superpowers would you want, and why?

Have you ever set boundaries with others? Do you need to? What are they?

What are you going to try today that you've never tried before?

What would you do for a living if you didn't have to worry about wage-slaving?

Doodle day.

What is an unreasonable fear you have? Even if it's something that's just in the realm of 'intrusive thoughts'.

Don't throw that thing out. Think and make notes on something else you could do with it.

Create your time capsule.

Create your desert island playlist.

Start a vision board or mind map, or both.

What are your red flags? What are your green ones? With people, work, etc.

Your favourite and least favourite things about each season.

Write a poem where each line starts with a letter of your first name.

Do something, and detail it, that starts with each of your initials.

A list of things you want to get done in the next year.

[blackwolfstabs]

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 26

SLEEPING IN

It's that time of the month again.

The clock passed 7:45 AM, and there was still no sign of Tara. Her class started at 8:35 AM, and it took her about 15 minutes to get there. Normally, she never got up past 7:30.

Today was different.

Sam gulped down the last of her medication and left the bathroom to make way to her sister’s room. The door was shut, no sound or any sign of activity coming from inside. So, instead of knocking, she went straight to turning the knob as quietly as she could and letting herself in. 

Tara was still under the covers, having them pulled all the way over her shoulders as she lay curled up. However, the notorious creak of the door opening made her peer up.

Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, not even open all the way as Sam observed them. “Hey,” she greeted softly, “You’re gonna be late, it’s past 7:45.” She approached the bedside.

But her little sister just shut her eyes again and buried half of her face into her pillow. “I don’t feel good, Sammy…” 

She sat down on the edge of the mattress and reached over to rub her back, softening her voice as she asked, “What’s going on?” She then moved her hand to tuck away the other’s messy, feathered bangs out of her face. “Do you feel sick?”

The younger Carpenter shook her head, still not opening her eyes. “My period…” she mumbled. “Cramps…”

“Mm.” She must’ve started it last night. Usually, they let each other know when the time-of-the-month starts, so they won’t accidentally snap and then erupt into a meaningless fight. “Did you start it last night?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Her older sister nodded and brushed her warm cheek with the back of her hand, before pulling the covers down a little. “I’ll go get you some medicine, and—”

She was cut off by a long, high-pitched whine that came from Tara, who yanked the blanket back up while stretching in a frustrated way. “Noooooo, I don’t wanna go to class, Sam!”

Sam had to bite back a laugh at how childish she looked turning over onto her stomach and twisting her face away—like if she was facing the other direction, then she wouldn’t be forced to go to school. “I didn’t say you had to go, Tara,” she chuckled, unable to hold it back. “I was just going to get you some medicine and the heating pad.”

Her sister huffed but seemed to drop the tantrum at this response. Her eyes opened a little to glance out of the corners. “You’re not going to make me go, even if I take medicine?” When they were kids, their mother would encourage them to take some medicine and push themselves to quote-unquote “get through the day,” when they didn’t feel well but didn’t have fever. She’d always hated that, and she knew Sam still lived by that, even though she had hated it too as a kid.

“Are you kidding? Even with medicine, period cramps suck,” the older replied. “I’m not gonna do you like Mom.” Her train-of-thought drew her to the same memories of when they were in their school-days. 

Tara actually managed a small smile at this, which made Sam return one before she stood up. “I’ll be right back. Do you need anything else?” 

A head-shake answered her and she dismissed herself to retrieve some Tylenol, a glass of water, and the heating pad. When she retreated to the bedroom, Tara had moved onto her back with one hand limp over her eyes and the other tucked beneath the covers, rubbing her lower abdomen. “Okay, Tara…” She set the cup and heating pad down on the bedside table, then brushed her little sister’s forehead softly. “Can you sit up for me to take this?”

Tara slid her hand off of her eyes and propped herself up on her forearms. She balanced her weight long enough to take the two pills, one at a time, and swallow them with a few gulps.

“Good girl,” Sam praised, before letting her lay down again. As she did so, she went to plug the cord of the heating pad into the wall, beneath the phone charger currently in place.

Tara was already grabbing the dark green pad to slip it beneath her blanket. Now, a little more awake from taking the medicine and navigating the topical remedy to her liking, she kept an eye on her big sister as she came around to situate the controlling section next to her. “Sam?”

She didn’t look up as she proceeded to set the temperature, “Mm-hmm?”

“Can you stay home with me?”

Sam’s dark eyes raised before her face did, a spark of concern flooding them faster than she could blink. But when the younger just blinked at her innocently, she decided it was her unstable hormones making her clingy side come out. “I’ve gotta go to work, baby,” she told her. When she saw her face drop into that small pout no one else could pull off, she caressed the side of her face, “I’ll call to check on you, okay? And you can text me whenever you want.” She brushed her thumb over her cheek, noting the disappointed sigh that came in response.

“‘Kay…”

Sam gave her a small smile and leaned down to place a loving kiss to her head. “Go back to sleep,” she whispered.

Tara nodded and closed her eyes, nuzzling herself into the comfort of her bed, while hugging the heating pad to her aching abdomen. Her sister’s footsteps then faded out of the room, which left her sighing again. It wasn’t that she needed Sam to be there with her. She was 21, she didn’t need a babysitter or someone to coddle her. It was just that she liked Sam’s attention, whenever she was sick or wasn’t feeling 100%. She liked to be held or hugged, or just to be near her. Call it a security or little-sister thing. That was just the way she was. Especially since they had mended what had been broken for so long back in Woodsboro. Here in New York, after defeating the last pair of Ghostfaces together, they had grown closer than ever and rarely, if ever, looked back on where they had been. 

Tara still remembered what it felt like when she realized Sam wasn’t coming home on her big sister’s 18th birthday, just like Sam remembered what it felt like to have her baby sister shout “Get the fuck out!” at her in that hospital room.

They never forgot any of it, but they did build a wall between then and now. And that’s what Tara relied on. Even in times like these, which were small and insignificant, considering she got her period every month. 

It was safe to say that there was a small crack in the wall they built that let the river that connected before-estranged, estranged, and never-again-estranged flow through, because their relationship tended to mirror what they had as kids more than it mirrored their growing-up-and-apart fate.

However, Tara’s hopes were unexpectedly lifted when she felt the bed shift behind her and a familiar, loving embrace wrap around her torso, overlaying the heating pad to hold it in place. She hadn’t heard Sam come back in the room, but she knew that touch better than anything. She felt her sister nuzzle the back of her head as she shifted closer with a content sigh. “Sam?”

“Hmm?”

For someone who was already up and about, Sam was warm against Tara, as if she’d been laying with her all along. “I thought you said you were going to work.”

Her big sister shrugged with a small scoff. “Fuck work,” she replied, “They don’t like me anyway…”

This made her chuckle and shuffle further under the covers. “What if they fire you?” 

“They won’t.” The smile that came across the other’s face was heard in her voice. “They may not like me, but they need me.”

The younger smiled too. “Well, look who’s so confident in herself,” she teased. 

Sam teased her back, “What? I mean, I can still go, if you’ve change your mind.” She began to pull her securing arm away. “Would you rather me leave?”

But her sister pinned it before it could leave her side. “No, no, stay,” she giggled, tugging her arm back to where it was. “I was just playing.”

“I know,” Samantha’s smile stuck around as she picked her head up to kiss her sibling’s and then settled back down again. “So was I.” She let her eyes close as Tara sighed happily and traced her small fingers over her hand that guarded the pad beneath the blankets. “Now, get some rest, my love. I may not be going to work, but I can’t stay here all day.”

Tara nodded. “Okay. But you go to sleep, too.”

“You first.”

She let her hand go limp over her older sister’s and sank into her pillow. “Thank you, Sammy. I love you.”

Sam brushed her nose into her hair, taking in her thick, calming scent that had already crowded her olfactory senses from being in her bed. “I love you too, Tara.”

happy thanksgiving everyone! i hope you all had a great time with your family, friends, or whoever you spent it with. i'm very thankful for all the things i have and are able to do, in these fearful times. thank you all for your support and love. i'm very thankful to have you and be apart of this community.

All my best! ♡ - parker

[topsyturvy-turtely]

an almost whisper

prompt "whisper" by @onesmallfamily

highly inspired by this gif by @phoenix27884:

a/n: hey! i wanted to at least do ONE prompt of the 30 day sherlock september challenge. here is my ficlet of yesterday, because seriously- i fell asleep while writing it 😅

ps: so sorry bout the no uppercase letters, as said i was very tired for half of this (and lazy for the second)

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sherlock was sitting across from him. from john watson. what a gorgeous man he was. gray silky hair - combed back, a dark blue jumper that looked ridiculously endearing on him... his doctor hadn't had time to shave this morning and sherlock was currently trying to gauge how many colour shades you could see in john's beard. one, two, three...

the beard moved. well not the beard itself but the lips that sat between the beard.

what would it feel like to-

"sherlock, did you hear me?"

the asked man raised his eyebrows. had he heard him? "still caught up on the case, i fear."

"you solved it. what's there to think about?"

his john. asking just the right questions. unfortunately they were rather uncomfortable right this moment, considering sherlock had been thinking about and staring at john's facial hair...

topic change. "how was dinner?"

"delicious. pity you didn't have any."

"eating..."

"... slows you down, i know, i know.", john said, but there was an amused grin on his lips. for some reason sherlock had to look away to catch himself. john smiling at him like that, it did something to him. something that hits way further inside than just into his heart.

he sensed john leaning back and stretching his face up to the sun. sherlock simply had to turn his gaze back onto him. the sun highlighted the few blond strands left and the red undertone in john's beard... it accentuated the wrinkles, that sherlock loved, because they reflect just how real john is. the detective then realized he was staring again and looked away. pretending to focus on the people around him, maybe deducing them. in reality every sense was directed at john. he heard him move, sensed his body being closer to his, smelt a hint of the coffee john had drunk, saw him putting his chin into his hand out of the corner of his eye.

he felt john staring now. sherlock decided it was safe to glare back at him. and was swept off his feet, well he was sitting, but he was still overwhelmed by john's expression. there was so much adoration, fascination and out of a lack of better words - love in his eyes.

sherlock had to smile back at him. he felt his face getting hotter. john - without saying a word - made him feel special.

john's gaze never left his and then exclaimed, barely above a whisper, "i'd like to kiss you." it was out of the blue, but it felt like the perfect timing.

what happened next felt natural, like they were actors who were acting according to a script: sherlock stood up leaned over the small table and placed his lips on john's.

the kiss was over soon, but they both knew it was just the first of uncountables.

a smile, a hand sneaking into his, looks speaking more than words.

on that day just like that, with that tiny almost-whisper and their promising first kiss they stopped being augend and addend and began being a sum.

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