#BRAINSTORMING

[unlikelycliteratureenthusiast]

😂

[thechekhov]

I've had this little idea in my head for a while now, so I decided to sit down and plot it out.

Disclaimer: This isn't meant to be some sort of One-Worksheet-Fits-All situation. This is meant to be a visual representation of some type of story planning you could be doing in order to develop a plot!

Lay down groundwork! (Backstory integral to the beginning of your story.) Build hinges. (Events that hinge on other events and fall down like dominoes) Suspend structures. (Withhold just enough information to make the reader curious, and keep them guessing.)

And hey, is this helps... maybe sit down and write a story! :)

[ghost-bxrd]

*rubs hands together, slams palms on table*

Okay, you guys heard of “Jason inherited the adoption problem and now Tim is baby”, now get ready for…

Reverse!Robins, where Jason tries to steal from newly minted crime lord Tim and gets flash adopted before Batman can claim another one for his child soldier team!

[yamujiburo]

Jessie and Delia Proposal #1

It’s been a bit over a year or so into Jessie and Delia’s relationship. They’ve lived together for a while, Jessie’s still studying to be a nurse, they’ve gone on a journey together and are very much in love. Jessie is a massive romantic. However, I don’t think she’s ever seen a healthy or realistic marriage in real life and most of what she knows is from TV or movies. People fall in love hard and fast and if their love is strong enough, surely they should just get married as soon as possible! In “A Fork in the Road! A Parting of the Ways!” Jessie falls in love with a doctor and within a day is convinced that they’ll get married right after she confesses her love to him. So in this situation with Delia, where they’ve actively been dating for quite some time, Delia has no other love interests and Jessie’s been getting along well with Ash, getting married to Delia is a no brainer. A proposal is in order! How could Delia say no?

Jessie doesn’t quite have the funds yet so she buys a humble ring, vowing to get a proper one someday once she’s a full fledged Pokémon nurse. She decorates the back yard, gets just… SO MANY flowers, leaving petals leading to the yard for when Delia gets back from work. Delia loves the romantic gestures and copious amounts of flowers but is caught completely off guard when Jessie gets down on one knee. At first, all she can muster is a “no”. Jessie gets horribly embarrassed and runs back into the house. Delia, who is now also distressed, chases after her, worried that she might’ve just pushed Jessie away for good.

Delia is able to stop her girlfriend and sit her down to talk in their bedroom. Jessie is worried that Delia doesn’t love her. When two people love each other, they’re supposed to get married right? Delia reassures Jessie that she loves her deeply, but also lets her know marriage is a huge step (and something that should be discussed before a proposal). She tells Jessie about she and Ash’s father started dating, got married and had Ash all within a year. They moved too quickly and things didn’t work out. She conveys to Jessie that she’s not ready to be married again, but would be one day. She needs more time and is excited for the both of them to learn a little more about one another each day. Jessie understands and promises to be someone Delia’s proud to marry. Delia appreciates the sentiment and also says that she loves the ring. She tells Jessie to save it for the right moment.

There’s a little awkwardness for a bit afterwards but they get through it. Jessie’s ego is still damaged after this and the cringe experience gets randomly beamed into her brain for a long time. She’s just happy she didn’t tell anyone else (other than Wobbuffet) that she was going to propose before she did.

[paramouradrift]

So what this needs is a second or third act where Sokka is tearing through the scrolls trying to figure out how to salvage this situation, but his attempts to put his reading into practice go awry for a variety of reasons: his gifts are inappropriate for the occasion, for example, or he tries a romantic poem only to discover that haiku is all he's good at and haiku is not seen as romantic in the Fire Nation. Sokka should, having realized his blunder, pratfall his way into courtship while Zuko, who has resigned himself to being the family disappointment yet again, is trying his best to prepare for whatever suitor Ozai has in store for him next. The letters from the Capital are getting more and more pointed about some Earth Kingdom official who would be an acceptable compromise in terms of the family prestige, but also there are a swirl of dark rumors about them. The marriage would not be a happy one, and in fact might even be dangerous.

The finale, then, can be our two boys approaching Hakoda about the arrangement, with both of them enthusiastically accepting it, and Hakoda using his power as the chief to make the marriage go through.

I need a Zukka arranged marriage AU where Sokka is grumpy about his impending arranged marriage and even more annoyed when the Fire Nation sends over a whole bunch of scrolls on proper courting practices and etiquette, because fuck if he’s reading all of that.

But then Zuko arrives and Sokka has an, “Oh, no, he’s hot,” moment. And even though he tries to remain aloof and act like he’s totally not into Zuko, he’s kind of intrigued by Zuko and also feels kind of protective of Zuko when Zuko doesn’t know basic information that even the youngest kid in the Water Tribe is aware is essential for survival. And like, Zuko seeks him out at meals to sit by him but also tries to give him space, and even if he is a bit stuffy and addicted to rules and etiquette. But he’s polite to Gran-Gran and to Sokka’s dad, and even tries to be nice to Katara, who’s even more skeptical of this arranged marriage than Sokka himself.

And like, one thing that’s really weird is that Zuko keeps giving Sokka gifts? Like, he gives Sokka spices from the Fire Nation, he gives Sokka a sword when he learns Sokka is interested in learning how to fight with one, etc. And he thinks this is nice and all, but he never really knows of anything to give Zuko in return. But hey, maybe the constant gifts are a weird Fire Nation way of showing affection?

But soon Zuko starts acting weird and distant, and Sokka can tell he’s stressed and he looks super tired and upset, and Sokka can’t get him to talk to him no matter what he tries. And Sokka is suddenly very worried for this other boy who he wouldn’t have cared about a few weeks ago but who seems so sad now.

So finally—FINALLY—Lt. Jee, who’s been watching this all go down with an unimpressed scowl on his face, basically tells Sokka that all those gifts from Zuko? Yeah, those are courting gifts, and by accepting them, Sokka showed that he’s considering Zuko as a suitor. But since he never reciprocated and gave Zuko anything return, the marriage can’t go through. And if Sokka doesn’t accept, Zuko will have to return to the Fire Nation in disgrace and Ozai would consider him a complete failure. And BTW, if Sokka had just READ THE SCROLLS that the Fire Nation sent over, Sokka would know this. (Lt. Jee is so done with this dude who thinks he can play games with his beloved Fire Prince’s heart. Not while Jee’s around.)

So IDK how this ends, but Sokka should be at least optimistic about his future with Zuko, and Zuko should be shyly pleased that his intended appreciated his efforts all along, yay. And also, Hakoda should find out about what a scummy dad Ozai is and adopt Zuko. Jee is happy his boy gets to be happy. Please reblog if you have other ideas/anything to add!

[burrotello]

So, if it's a fighting game and Pomni is an agile brawler type, what would the others be? Would Cain and bubble be a zoning duo? All range attacks and building distance with teleports and whatnot

They are all based on brawler types!!

Babbling my little head off about it last night BUT I do plan on characterizing both them and their fighting styles off of their own individual dexterity; examples again being Gangle’s agility, Zooble’s blunt force, etc etc

AND while we’re on the topic of it;

Caine isn’t a boxer! He’s the matchmaker!!

Well, he’s more of Pomni’s contractor and manager, and the primary reason she climbs the ranks as fast as she does; but in no way does that mean he does his job well. He can be,, frustrating

And stupid.

(This man has no clue how money works)

[joehills]

Sci-fi idea

Planetary water desires to contact other water and fuels organic life like our own to facilitate transport beyond the water cycle to moons, other planets, and even other star systems in order to meet up.

Maybe there's some sort of long-term goal for all the water to aggregate into one place and compare notes on their experiences. It's not like an evil scheme or anything, but just something that all life has to deal with, that the water in their bodies has made up its mind it all has a pressing appointment a few galaxies over.

[infestedguest]

A relatively common trope of fma fanfiction is the modern Amestris au, which is basically your standard modern au for all your slice of life needs except stuff like alchemy and automail still exist, so the author doesn’t have come up with real world equivalents when that’s not really the point of their fic.

This is all fine and dandy, but one thing that’s always bugged me is that most of the time in these fics Al is just like. a normal, not disembodied, fully abled child. There are several issues with this, mainly that this alteration significantly changes the character dynamic between Ed and Al in ways the author often doesn’t account for at all.

This is also a common issue is regular modern aus, but I bring it up in the context of modern Amestris aus because an idea just occurred to me that I don’t think I’ve seen before: since alchemy still exists, why not have Al just straight up still be in the armor? Put that boy in public school and give him the strangest IEP known to man!

Touchscreens don’t recognize his leather fingers so he has a blackberry (which his hands are way too big for so it takes him twice as long to send most messages because he doesn’t like to leave in typos).

He was both pressured into joining and permanently banned from his middle school’s basketball team within the span of a week.

His condition isn’t secret or anything, it was kind of a big deal at the time and it made the news after it happened but after awhile the buzz mostly died down.

They were contacted by one of those medical mysteries documentary shows (a la extraordinary people), and Pinako told them that if they thought she would let an entire camera crew into her house they were fucking insane.

The initial publicity is the only reason the Amestrian government hasn’t kidnapped him or anything, but they do stalk him and the brothers and the Rockbells have definitely noticed.

If Izumi is Ed and Al’s legal guardian they are much more discreet about it because whenever she spots them hiding in the bushes or whatever she starts reciting castle doctrine law “to no one in particular.”

Because the modern world is a bureaucratic panopticon from hell and also CPS exists instead of just going out into the world to find the philosophers stone the Elrics just have to study real hard and try to eventually get into Alchemy MIT I guess.

Al is physically unable to use any kind of headphones because he has no ears.

He and Mei Chang are playing Minecraft right now as we speak.

[wintertidewater]

I like separatism, but I don’t practice it fully. After calling three different places to fix the A/C, I’m bound to just go with cheapest and fastest.

I ask, “do you have any female workers that can come out?” The man on the phone seemed flustered by my question. “My dog is aggressive towards men”. But no women work there. Except for the office. Which does employ women, he reassures me, as he stutters.

Clearly, I am the first to ask.

Separatism is psychologically freeing. Why not invest in each other? Anything a man can do, a woman can too. Maybe not every woman—many of us stay in our roles at least partially and this limits us—but enough women pave paths. I offer myself as proof.

But it’s far from convenient. Every day it becomes more difficult to band together… as our language is ripped from our tight hands. White knuckles. Desperation. “It didn’t used to be like this”.

Today the public sphere is online, owned by men and male ideology. Women cannot speak freely, despite the protected right to spew abuse that our male counterparts enjoy.

“We used to be matriarchal, earth-loving”. Can we go back? Is it that simple?

Perhaps if all women just meet on farms and regain independence… “Dependence fosters abuse”. Is a homestead and female community enough to escape it all?

It’s hard to say. How many of you follow through? Why not join one of the 50 or so women’s lands in the United States (where most of us reside)?

In the ’70s and ’80s, there were around 150 such communities in the US. Today, these lands are dying out. Many of the people running them are in their 70s or older. Within a decade, will these women and these lands still be here? We don’t know.

How did this happen? Is it just a cultural shift? Why does women’s culture seem so fragile and fleeting compared to others’? How are we surrounded by ancient male religions and centuries, if not millennia, of redundant male philosophy?

A large part of this has to with how culture is spread. There is a current success rate of 81-89% for political belief transmission from parents to teenagers. Men don’t live as long and yet they are more influential because they are experts at this. It’s why they’re all so desperate to have a partner. To have a “legacy”. It’s why men being unpartnered is considered a crisis.

By having children for free through women’s labor, yet remaining the highest family authority, men get to succeed in spreading their ideologies. Having two children is the baseline, enough to “replace” the parents. More is power. Either way, reproduction is used as a tool of ideological expansion.

To create change, we must ask who is having and teaching children. If over 4 out of 5 children are going to occupy the same political space as their parents, who are the women and men who are raising the future? Or more importantly, why is it not us?

Perhaps it’s worth considering that a woman’s land dedicated to fostering girls is the answer. To keep our rights, we must consider raising feminists. As of 2021, there were 191,037 girls in U.S. foster care. Why not have them be the future?

[thus-it-is-proclaimed]

Hey hello but what if hobo Phoenix is dating Miles during the 7yg? What if Miles really really tries to be as respectful of his partner’s sense of autonomy and pride as possible?

[further brainstorming of a scene under the cut]

What if he takes Phoenix and Trucy out somewhere- to a festival, maybe, somewhere they could enjoy? What if Phoenix is overly critical of everything? What if he’s sour and bitchy because he feels unworthy of the price of his ticket, because he’s had a hard week, because he and Miles usually like to shit talk together?

What if Miles was really looking forward to this? What if Phoenix’s comments grate on him the whole night? What if Miles suggests Phoenix look at/try something, and is immediately shut down?

What if Miles finally breaks, calls Trucy over, and gently tells her that he will be going for a walk?

What if Phoenix gets angry, because now Miles is leaving again?

What if Miles— in hushed tones to protect innocent ears— demands Phoenix let go of his wrist because “We are not doing this in public. I am NOT doing this in a public setting—” and he leaves to save his composure?

What if Trucy knows, and tells her father, that he’s hurt Miles’ feelings?

What if Phoenix is surprised Miles does finally come back? What if they have to confront that Phoenix can’t always expect Miles to be able to take his barbed comments? What if- as much as Miles tries- he admits that he can’t always put up with Phoenix’s moods?

What if they love each other enough to not run, to not cling to unrealistic expectations, to understand that they are human?

What if Trucy has never seen that before?

What if Miles hasn’t since his father passed?

What if Phoenix has to learn how to express his negative emotions constructively, instead of pretending he’s invincible until it all overflows and drowns him and his loved ones?

Yeah… wow..

[steddieas-shegoes]

this is just a reminder from someone who tries to tell herself this every day that even if you only thought about your wip today, you still did something. making progress with writing is not always the writing part. there’s a reason we learned the brainstorming method in school. it’s still a step and it’s still important.

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Everywhere I go leads me back to you”

Farah Dowling x Female Specialist Reader

wc : 3000+

cw : smoking cigarettes // soulmate identifying marks // not actually unrequited love but kind of an ambiguous ending

i’m currently in my eve best brain-rot era and this is just a little something to blow off steam before i continue brainstorming for rhaenys. there is an awful lack of rhaenys x female reader stories, so if you are in need of some just like i am, you can come yell your ideas at me. farah breadcrumbs are welcomed too 🤲🏻

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

There is a terrible ache dancing along your legs, pain faintly pulsing across the plane of your back. Behind the security of your palm shielding the unruly breeze, the cigarette which hangs between your lips is ignited by a spark from the lighter, made only brighter by a breath that you subsequently inhale. It burns your throat, but in a way that you are well accustomed to unlike the vexing agony that has found home on your body as of late.

This sensation, one that breeds irritation, is nothing akin to the pleasant soreness that you are used to feeling after every training session during your time in the Solarian Army. While, in the past, you go to bed satisfied despite your aching limbs, an indication to a day purposefully spent, now you brood over the state of your body. It is, after all, one of the telltale signs that you are not in your pristine condition, which has also brought you to once again roam these grounds that you have so intimately known and walked to begin with.

Getting severely maimed during a mission has led to you getting temporarily dismissed from your duties. Rather than taking leave as is suggested to you, you have instead requested to be sent to Alfea, your former school, to both recuperate and share your combat expertise with the students as a temporary instructor, not being entirely too thrilled at the idea of wallowing in bed-rest after days of rigorous trainings to hone your skills, or perhaps if you are to be unabashedly honest, out of a profound yearning of your heart.

A chuckle bubbles in your chest, bitter, tinged with self-mockery. It is with an exhale of breath that you distract yourself, expelling the uninvited thoughts along with a cloud of smoke that escapes through your nose, through the crack of your lips, and they swirl around your head. After taking a final, languid drag of the cigarette, you toss it to the ground, effectively dousing it with the heel of your boot.

You are in desperate need of a drink, preferably alcoholic, but given that work is in progress, not to mention a class that you have to supervise alongside Headmaster Silva at hand, you opt for something less strong. About a couple of minutes later, you find yourself in the staff lounge. With professors busy at this time of day teaching their respective classes, the room is empty, and you walk to the counter to brew yourself a nice, hot cup of coffee.

The aroma of freshly ground beans is rich, but richer still is the perfumed air that pleasantly tickles your nose. It smells of books, of sunny afternoons, of jasmines in full bloom, of a love left buried.

“You reek of cigarettes.”

At the familiar voice, amused rather than displeased, that spreads over you like a warm blanket, you cannot help but let loose a little grin, recalling many a time during your school years when you have suffered an earful from the woman herself for your misbehaviours.

“If you’re going to reprimand me for it, you should have known better by now, Headmistress, that it’s no use trying.”

“Even the mountains will eventually crumble, will they not?”

Amusement tugs on one corner of Headmistress Dowling’s lips by the time you turn to face her. She gestures to you with a small tilt of her head. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

“Coffee? I just brewed some.”

“Please.”

After pouring the freshly-brewed coffee into two porcelain cups, you put sugar and a splash of milk into one cup while keeping the other black. You carry them to where the Headmistress has seated herself on a nearby couch, handing the sweetened one to her.

“Here it is, my lady.” Your playfulness earns you an eye roll. “A cube of sugar and a splash of milk if I remember correctly.”

With a delicacy that you are sure only she possesses, she cradles the cup in her hands with a whispered “Thanks.”

“You remember correctly.” A blossom of a smile grows on her lips, beautiful and dizzying, but the soft tummy-butterflies inducing moment is abruptly eclipsed by the pain that suddenly flares across you ribcage.

Try as you may, you fail to rein in your emotions it seems, for one moment, the mind fairy is sitting, and the next, she is on her feet, the cup hastily discarded on the table. Her hands are poised to steady you should you falter on your feet. You stop her with a gesture of a hand, a chuckle freed from your throat as a sorry excuse of a reassurance. Although unconvinced, she makes no further moves, says nothing, only quietly observing you with her eyes as you move to sit on the other side of the couch. She retakes her seat.

“How are you finding your new job so far?”

“It’s…different. Slower than what I’m used to in the army. But the students are eager to learn and-” You take a sip of your coffee, chance a glance at her, and see that she is taking a delicate sip from her own cup. “-it’s good to be back here.”

As much as you like to believe that the last part of your confession is the product of it, the more logical part of you argue that it is the mention of her students that has her wearing a ghost of a smile, pleased.

“They are, aren’t they? And they’re fortunate to have someone with your experience as their instructor.”

After a beat, she adds. “And…how are you faring?”

The question has you hesitating for a moment, not wanting to appear weak, but nothing will come of lying to a mind fairy, much less someone who bears your name, the mark of your soul on her body.

“Recovering. Slowly. But it’s hard to stay still after being on the front lines.”

“I understand. Sometimes the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves.”

Her face is unreadable, a masterful deceit, but you suspect there are hidden depths to her words.

“Last I recall, you weren’t a fan of coffee.”

It is with her own words that you begin your response. “You recall correctly, but many a white night has left me relying on it. And I’ve grown rather fond of its company.”

She levels you with a reproachful lift of a brow.

“You consume coffee, black I might add, because you can’t sleep? Aren’t you going around in circles?”

“I need it to keep me alert. Also, in case you forgot, I’m no longer your student, Headmistress.” Your reply comes out more venomous than you have intended it to, years of bottled up emotions suddenly coming to a boil.

“That doesn’t mean I’ve cared for you any less.”

Although the confession is but a murmured breath, the force of it is colossal against you, filling your mind with what-ifs upon what-ifs. With an exhale and a squeeze of your eyes, you hurriedly stand, a string of words fleeing your lips as you leave the room in a haste.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

The brain may forget but the heart always remembers. She has eyes the colour of rich honey, brown at first sight but drenched in sunlight, swirls of greens and specks of oranges dance and mingle, a beautiful, enchanting lake that makes you want to drown in it. Although she carries herself with an authority as befits a Headmistress, her students matter to her above all else. She cherishes her job to a fault, so much so that once upon a time, she has simply dismissed the soul tie that you share without so much as batting an eyelid.

The class passes in a blur. You guide, you demonstrate, you regale them with tales of your battles all the while drowning in your own memories. Even as the last class of the day is dismissed and dusk sets in, you remain on the training grounds, practicing, fighting imaginary opponents, in hopes of giving your mind something else to focus on, which you find to be failing miserably.

From the very first moment you have met her all those years ago on your first day of school, there has been an inexplicable connection, a feather-light touch of magic that softly caresses your skin. “Sup.” has been your very first words to her, admittedly not the most ideal greeting of a new student to her Headmistress. A look is all she gives you, unimpressed, understandably so, and given that your class is mainly supervised by Headmaster Silva, you seldom cross paths with her after that. On rare occasions when you do cross paths however, despite your greetings, she refuses to acknowledge you as though you are invisible to her.

And finally, finally, when she decides you worthy enough to grace you with her words, it has been to scold you. On that fateful day, you have been standing on the sidelines as two of your classmates are locked in a fight on the platform. It just so happens to be one of those days where Headmistress Dowling is present on the training grounds to spectate the progress of the students.

When a dagger has flown astray from the middle of the fight, it aims at one person, who at present has her back to the imminent threat, trapped in a conversation with Headmaster Silva, you realise in trepidation. Without thinking, you leap, an arm darting out to catch the weapon in your hand. Inwardly, you marvel at your own reflexes, finding it hard to believe that you have stopped a weapon with your bare hand, albeit not without consequences. With your palm cut open, blood has oozed, and the thick liquid drips down your wrist.

The close proximity of the Headmistress to you is felt in that spine-tingling, knee-weakening way, and smelt in the fragrant wind, before her voice finally reaches your ear in the form of your name. The pleasant surprise that takes hold of you at her knowledge of your name is quickly overshadowed by annoyance at the tone of her voice, equally as annoyed, her displeasure apparent on the hardened plane of her face once you turn to greet her.

“A thank you would be nice. I just saved you after all.”

“Which was utterly unnecessary I might add. Don’t mistake recklessness for courage.”

Ouch! That hurts. Even more so than the dagger’s mark that has permanently found home on your body.

“Greenhouse, at once.”

It is amidst getting your wound treated that you notice something that has not been on your skin before. On the delicate flesh of your wrist appears a name in a beautiful cursive. Farah, it reads, but judging by the reaction of the earth fairy before you, unfazed and composed, you reckon that this must be for your eyes only.

No sooner have you had your wound properly dressed than you are seeking out Farah, determined to confront the reality of your bond. You find her in her office, standing by the window, looking out over the grounds.

“Headmistress,” you say, stepping inside. “We need to talk.”

She turns to face you, her expression a mask of cool detachment. “There's nothing to discuss.”

“How can you say that?” You have demanded, stepping closer. “We both know what those marks mean.”

Farah sighs, closing her eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “The revelation changes nothing. I do not own you. Don’t let mere words bind you to me. I’m only your headmistress and you are merely my student. And that is where this ends.”

Her words cut deep, but you refuse to back down. “Farah, you can't just ignore this. It's not just about words or marks. It's about what we feel.”

“What you feel,” she has corrected you, her voice firm. “I am responsible for the safety and education of all my students. I cannot afford to let personal feelings interfere.” And in that no-nonsense way, she adds, “Also, it’s Headmistress Dowling to you.”

With a shake of your head, frustration and hurt well up inside you. “It's more than that, Headmistress and you know it. We have a connection, something real and undeniable. Why are you so afraid of it?”

For a moment, you see softness in her eyes, revealing a flicker of the pain she is trying so hard to hide, but it is gone as soon as it has come. “Because if I acknowledge it, everything changes. And I cannot allow that.”

“You're wrong,” It sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, but a desperate murmur. “Ignoring it won't make it go away. It just makes us both miserable.”

She turns away, her shoulders tense. “Go back to your training. Focus on becoming the best specialist you can be. That's what matters.”

You have stood there for a long moment, dared to entertain the fool’s dream in which she turns back, says something, anything to acknowledge the truth you both feel. But she has cut that little thread of hope by remaining silent, a statue of unyielding resolve.

Finally, you turn to leave, your heart heavy but your resolve unbroken. “This isn't over, Headmistress. Not by a long shot.”

So you have declared but deep down, you have always known that you are doomed to failure from the start. And before you know it, the graduation day dawns bright and clear upon Alfea, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

Students and faculty have gathered on the grand lawn, the air filled with excitement and a tinge of sadness as friends prepare to part ways. Farah Dowling stands at the podium, her regal presence commanding attention as she addresses the graduates. You stand among your peers, listening to her speech but barely registering the words. Your heart is heavy with the decision you have made. Despite all your efforts, Farah has remained resolute in her stance, keeping the walls between you impenetrable.

As the ceremony eventually comes to an end bringing with it your inevitable departure, you have caught the Headmistress’s gaze from across the stage. Her eyes have lingered on you for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing between the two of you. Then she looks away, and the moment is no more.

In your dorm room, your belongings are packed and ready, each item a reminder of the years spent at Alfea, of the bonds formed and the love left unrequited. Your friends try to convince you to stay, to join them in their adventures, but you know that you are in desperate need of a fresh start, far from the memories that still haunt these halls.

So, with your bags slung over your shoulder, you make your way to the gates of Alfea. Behind you, the school stands in all her majestic glory, a place of learning and growth, and of heartache. You pause, taking a final glance, realising with a hint of melancholy that you are not only leaving a place that has been your home for three years but also a part of yourself behind.

You have not been expecting a farewell, one last goodbye, but there she is, standing tall and composed at the gates. A spellbinding beauty, you think stupidly.

Your name spills forth her lips, dainty and delicate in appearance, but you have not been given the chance, nor will you ever be allowed to find out how they feel against your own, a forbidden fruit. When she speaks, her voice is firm, genuine. “I wanted to wish you well in your future endeavours. You have been an exemplary student, and I have no doubt you will succeed in whatever path you choose.”

“Thank you, Headmistress. Alfea has been…” You pause, swallowing the lump in your throat. “everything to me.”

For a moment, she hesitates, then steps closer, lowering her voice to that excruciating, dizzying timbre. “I hope you find what you're looking for, wherever you go.”

You look into her eyes, searching for any sign of the connection you feel, but her walls are fiercely in place. With a heavy heart, you breathe. “Goodbye, Headmistress.”

By the time you turn to leave, once again, her voice halts you.

Your name leaves her lips in a soft murmur. You turn back, hope blossoming in your chest, only to have it crushed by her next words, both a gentle and a cruel finality to your fated encounter. “Take care of yourself.”

A sad smile spreads across your lips. “You too, Headmistress.”

With every step you take away from Alfea, and from her, a mixture of sorrow and determination burns in your chest. It is finally time to bury the past, to lock away the love you feel and move forward.

Months have passed as you travel, exploring new places and honing your skills. The pain of leaving Alfea and your beloved Headmistress, although duller than they use to, never truly vanish. You throw yourself into your new life, hell-bent on building something worthwhile.

One evening, in a small village nestled in a valley, you find yourself sitting by a tranquil river, the water reflecting the fading light of day. You trace the mark on your wrist, Farah’s name forever etched into your skin. Try as you may to lock away your feelings, the bond still remains, a silent testament to what could have been.

With a sigh, you close your eyes and let the cool breeze wash over you. The past is behind you, and while the future is uncertain, you know you have the strength to face it.

“Fuck, I should’ve never returned to these godforsaken grounds. So much for leaving the past behind!”

Presently, you curse aloud as you slash nothing but air with your twin blades, reenacting scenes from your battlefield. The efforts with which you have made to keep your feelings buried have been for naught, for in the end, in a moment of weakness, you have listened to your heart, and returned to where it longs to be the most.

By her side.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

More ideas for that one fic concept that’s been living in my empty skull rent free,,

[elfieafterdark]

I'm outlining Cavnav AU tonight.

The only difference from canon is that Ortus dies from illness when Gideon is 13.

With no acceptable alternative available, and a fear of being swallowed up if they ask for help from the other houses, Aiglamene suggests Nav. Both genetically sound and already beholden to the ninth. Plus they've already invested resources in keeping the kid alive... Might as well make use of her.

So Gideon begins to train to become Cavalier primary, though she already unofficially holds the position.

[ghost-bxrd]

okay so this is an idea I’ve seen brought up maybe once before, but maybe Jason (before the Bats find out who he is) accidentally lets something slip that makes them realize that he’s literally, like, a child (seventeen, sixteen, I’m not sure how old he is at that point exactly, but either works)

and Bruce “adoption addiction” Wayne promptly looks at this obviously traumatized teenager and decides that he should adopt Red Hood.

I just think Jason would be so confused (maybe a little pissed too)

I’ve touched on that a little bit in What you’re longing for (you claim to abhor)!

I think this trope is wayyy underrated. Like, Jason is still so, so young. Basically a child. Even if he died at sixteen and then spent two years with the league (even if we’re counting the time he spent dead as aging). He’s barely even legal when he returns to Gotham. Or if we’re being generous let’s say he’s nineteen.

Doesn’t matter, he’s barely out of his teens (maybe he’s still IN his teens if you bend the timeline of your fic a little) and he’s experienced horrors that would have most people become utterly unable to function. But Jason? That boy takes his trauma and channels it into anger. Which, not exactly healthy, but well.

Anyway, getting off topic:

YES. Jason is still basically a kid when he debuts as the Red Hood, and you know what else he is? A good boy who’s not gonna touch any alcohol until he’s officially 21.

“But why would he do that? He grew up in Crime Alley! Ain’t nobody got time for age limitations!”

Hear me out! Let’s assume he grew up in a household where his father, Willis Todd, drank quite a lot on the regular in addition to his mom’s addiction. Jason experienced the aftermath of this (perhaps domestic violence?) every time his dad returned from a job/jail and he grew to loathe any and all substances, including alcohol. Knowing Jason and his convictions it wouldn’t be too far fetched to assume he’d never touch a single drop of alcohol at all.

So that’s one way he could slip up while taking to his goons (and having the bats overhear) or even straight up talking to one of them where maybe Dick banters a bit and goes “Hey, perhaps you should chill out a bit. Have a drink maybe” and Jason just instinctively goes “Fuck you Dickwing, I’m seventeen/eighteen/nineteen! I’m not allowed to drink!”

And Dick just— bluescreens. And immediately goes to tell Bruce, obviously.

OR

The Bats assume Jason is this old guy (Bruce’s or Drathstroke’s age maybe) and consequently they keep alluding to things that happened way before Jason was ever even born and at first he’s so? Confused??? But eventually it just gets really annoying and eventually he just— snaps.

“How the fuck would I know which Nokia gen hit the market that year? I was born in fuckin’ XXXX, I’m an iPhone kid!”

“Stop referencing the Cold War dipshit, I’m fucking seventeen! I’m glad I remember my own damn birthday!”

“I don’t know, I was like— two back then.”

Bruce, obviously, would take .1 seconds to realize:

“Omg. That’s- that’s a whole child. That’s a whole damn TRAUMATIZED child, killing people and sawing off heads. Omg someone must have hurt him so bad. Don’t worry tho, son, Batman’s got you. You won’t have to hurt anybody ever again. We’re here for you. Would you like the room next to Tim’s or Dick’s?”

Meanwhile Jason: “what the fuck”

[lanoslamp]

thinkin’ about gojo getting caught having a camboy account by reader and reader teaches him a lesson. recording gojo while reader runs an orgasm through gojo, overstimulating the poor boy! gojo ending up sobbing and begging for forgiveness while reader fucks the life out of him, ignoring his pleas and cries..

at least he learns his lesson..