#another random place and time for inspiration to strike

[youchangedmedestiel]

I was in the shower when my brain did this thing: it got inspiration.

So I'm asking you, did someone invented lyrics about those two idiots in love on this song?

Because I thought about it and - man, I never wrote a single fucking song in my life, I don't even know where to start, but - I might do it.

I don't have any clue about what the lyrics might be, like at all, and if I think about it while listening to the song I might cry myself to death.

Please tell me someone did it already so I won't have to and also I want to listen to it if it exists.

(Sorry for the gif with desperate!Dean)

[yerimbrit]

[flufftober day 28, wc: 804] - sleepover : 10 hour flight

“HEY GUYS,” you wave, holding your bag full of your necessities and clothes for the night. that’s right, you’re staying over at your girlfriend’s place! which is also your cousin’s place. which is also minji, danielle, and haerin’s place. which also may or may not be the newjeans dorm. because your girlfriend is hanni from newjeans. 

wow, you still can’t believe that you’re dating hanni from newjeans, and you didn’t even meet as a fan—you met on some random day at the airport, strangers-to-lovers-trope type of shit. 

minji and hyein are the ones who answer the door for you, and minji immediately sighs, “you better not pull anything tonight.”

“you bet, MJ,” you click your tongue playfully and shoot a finger-gun at her, “no shady business that was planned.”

hyein gives you a hug, and- “oh my god, you got taller again!”

the younger girl is about to make a height comparison with her hands until you spot danielle who pushes her out of the way to give you a hug. “y/n! i haven’t seen you in forever, you’re so busy with school!”

a slight headache invades your mind for a split second when she mentions ‘school’. “i’ve got deadlines, a painting to finish, and a thesis to write, dani. don’t remind me���”

the australian shoots you a pitying look, before making way for hanni, who strikes a pose before strutting over to you. “hello, guest.”

oh, another thing you learned is that hanni can be pretty unintentionally funny at times. like how she’s greeting you like some sci-fi bigshot. “hello, your highness,” you bow, hovering your hand over your chest. 

she brings you in for a short peck on the lips, causing haerin (who just walked into the living room) to cover hyein’s eyes, and for minji to cover haerin’s eyes. danielle smiles and walks to the kitchen. “i missed you, y/n.”

“i missed you too, han,” you smile fondly at her before she leads you into the apartment. everyone gathers in her room where you also put your bag of things in. 

it’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been to the dorm, but it hasn’t been that long since you’ve seen the girls—danielle was exaggerating. you just stopped by their practice room two days ago to drop off some food that hyein’s mom made for them. not that your absence has changed anything, the dorm is pretty much the same save for a big banner featuring their ‘right now’ characters. 

in hanni’s room, she’s moved around some stuff, like the record player that’s playing a mac demarco vinyl right now. there’s also a whole section dedicated to organizing the various supplies that you’ve forgotten while you were over the few dozens (maybe even hundreds) of times over two years. you’re pretty sure there’s even stuff you left in hyein’s room, whoops.

you climb up on her loft bed (which she’s been saying she’s gonna replace, but she hasn’t yet) and hang your legs over the edge. minji sends you a warning look from her place on the floor. hanni looks concerned, but joins you criss-cross on the bed, holding her ‘fluffy’ plush (yes, the one from despicable me) to her chest.

a few conversations start, like danielle bringing up sylvanian families and getting haerin very invested in the discussion, which led to the topic shifting to cats, and then your sketch of a cat you saw on the way here, and somehow sparking your flame of inspiration.

you slowly lean forward, trying to get a view of the girls that are sitting on the floor (or bean bag, in haerin’s case) because just a little more and you’ll have a perfect bird’s eye view.

hanni notices your movements and widens her eyes, “y/n, you’re gonna fall!”

“it’s not that high,” you try to reassure her, still inching off of the bed, danielle, hyein, and minji scoot away just in case you actually fall, which you probably will, based on their previous experiences with you. come on, you mostly stopped doing those stunts a long time ago, because you knew hanni would worry! it’s not like you’re gonna—

“y/n!”

…you fell. that kind of hurt. “uh, don’t worry guys. it’s just a sprain.”

haerin winces as she looks at your present state. “your arm is bent the other way.”

it is? you look at your arm and, oh. “i guess it is—oh shit.”

…

“i can’t believe i’m in the er with you. again,” hanni sighs heavily, poking at the cast wrapped around your arm.

you blow a strand of your bangs out of your face. “at least i didn’t break two of my ribs again. hey, wanna reenact our first kiss?”

your girlfriend stares blankly at you. you raise your unbroken arm in defense. “no? okay…”

flufftober masterlist!

a/n : i miss u 10 hour flight

[calaisreno]

May Prompts 2024

Dear Writers:

It's nearly May! The month of merry little thoughts, divine mistakes, and frivolous whims.

Time to set aside that fantasy trilogy that's been stuck in the mud all winter, the six-act tragedy in blank verse you've been labouring over--and write some random bits and bobs!

Visit your mind attic. Pull open the drawer where you hide your terrible ideas and scenes that are waiting for the right story. (I know you have such an attic and such a drawer because I do as well 🙄) Dig around— not with the idea of spring cleaning, which will only produce an empty drawer and a tidy attic— but because it's a treasure hunt.

Dust off the lawn furniture, put on your sandals, take your laptop outdoors. New environs, new inspirations.

The point is this: Last year* some of us wrote and shared a month of little daily fictions. There were drabbles and 221Bs and flash-fiction and mini-epics. There were prompts, which some of us used as a starting place, and sharing of minifics amongst ourselves, which led to more inspiration. 

Wanna see some more?

I've been hoarding ideas since last year and am now opening that drawer. I plan to write a short something every day in May, and will share my words with whoever wants to be tagged. If you'd like a daily prompt, I will be supplying that. 

No pressure. While some structure creates opportunity and creativity thrives within structure, this exercise is not meant to create anxiety or trigger your inner completionist. (My internal taskmaster is taking the month off.)

No judgement. No prizes for reaching 31, no awards for creativity, no certificates of participation. Just cheering one another on.

No rules. Use the prompt or don't. Write 100 words or 1000. Any fandom, any characters, any headcanon. Or your own original creation. Write every day or whenever an idea strikes. Share or don't. 

No guilt. Fail gleefully, write terribly, get out of the boat and swim.

Correction. One rule: write some words. 

*Credit goes to @notjustamumj for last year's inspiration. Eternal thanks for that idea!

Please reblog! I'm tagging a few people who participated last year or expressed interest, but I’m sure I’m leaving someone out. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for prompts and sharing.  

@raina_at @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @allsovacant @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jrow @elwinglyre @bertytravelsfar @helloliriels @gregorovitchworld @peanitbear @mydogwatson

[farmerstarter]

Could you possibly write some random hcs for my man Elliott? Hope all is well <3

ʚ📜ɞ ˚ · . random Elliott HCs:

tags: elliott x gn! reader

hi! thank you so much for requesting :) Elliott is my number 1 favorite bachelor in sdv, so writing this was a treat. I hope you enjoy them 💐🤍

🪶 You had to be the one to initiate your first conversation. The two of you exchanged smiles and gave each other waves when you crossed paths. But apart from that, you and Elliott never spent time together that lasted more than a minute. He was always so caught up in his own world, distracted and staring off into the distance. You later found out that he tended to zone out a lot, thinking about his drafts and meticulously judging his own writing prowess. "Being alone tends to do that to you," Elliot would muse. The two of you soon made an effort to spend Friday evenings in the Stardrop Saloon, hiding away in your little table in the corner. He would drone on about ideas for his book and you would complain about crows picking at your crops. It would usually end with Elliott drunkenly dancing on the table while you laugh at him. He's a happy drunk, no shame hiding under his lucious hair whatsoever.

🪶 He helps Willy tend to the shop sometimes when he doesn't have the energy to write. Or he would be with Leah in the saloon, both of them complaining about their art/writing block.

🪶 He's a master of calligraphy, I decided. His letters to you are always so well done. You end up keeping his letters instead of throwing them away because they were too pretty to be lost in your endless letter drawer. He writes poems to you, most of them about you. He always signs it at the end with "Yours, Elliott"

🪶 He collects sea shells. Makes them into bracelets after Leah taught him how to do it. It was no wonder why you couldn't find any shells when you would wander to the beach in the afternoon. Elliott already got to them first. You've noticed that both Leah and Willy have shell bracelets, wearing them wherever they went. When you and Elliott became friends, he sent you a bracelet and a letter accompanying it in your mailbox. Elliott bashfully told you that he got your wrist size correct because he would hold onto your wrist when crossing to the other side of the beach, across the wooden bridge you built for it. And here you thought he was holding onto you so neither of you would fall in the water. Turns out, that was only half the reason.

🪶 When he moved in to live with you, he spent his first few weeks reading about crops and farm animals so he can help you around the farm. He enjoys spending time in the coop with the ducks the most. He even bought a duck from Marnie to have as his own, much to your amusement. It's the only duck that lives inside the house. He gave you the honor of naming it.

🪶 He and Willy would have dinner together sometimes (Elliott and Willy friendship, my beloveds). Willy made him his famous crab cakes and Elliott has never known peace since. Willy had to give Elliott the recipe so he can make his own batch to eat anytime he wanted. Elliott cooks them for you too.

🪶 He keeps a notepad tucked in his pocket for when inspiration strikes. He told himself that he would write ideas for his book the moment he gets them. But he doesn't end up doing it. He tells himself that he'll remember them when he gets home. Most of the time, he doesn't.

🪶 I like to imagine that Elliott is a merman that Willy accidentally caught in a net one night. He got into writing after he realized he can hold paper without ruining it now. He rarely talks to anyone aside from Willy, who caught him in the first place, and Leah, who accidentally caught him swimming in the river as a merman. But honestly, this is a story for another time.

[withonly-sweetheart]

random ambulance leon x reader puff

hehe inspired from my irl experience, read abt it here!

There’s always been a faint, musty smell to Goodwill that you didn’t quite hate, but didn’t quite love either. It’s a neutral, blank scent, emanating from the books that you scan on the bookshelves.

An old lady hobbles towards you, tilting her head in confusion as you pick out yet another romance novel. Safe to say, you’re a sucker for cheesy love stories.

The girl that’s been hovering around you for some time now finally approaches you, tilting her gold-rimmed sunglasses to the point of her sharp nose as she looks you up and down.

“You look nice,” she comments vaguely.

“Thanks,” you reply. “So do you.”

She eyes the stack of books nestled in your arms against your chest, and strikes up a conversation about them. Surprisingly, despite her initial appearance, she shares your appreciation for novels and gives you good recommendations.

You’re just mustering up the strength to ask for her number, to continue your conversation long after you’re gone from the store when her phone rings.

She mumbles into the phone, a few quick words, before rolling her eyes and stuffing it back into her neon purse. You raise an eyebrow but say nothing, wanting to respect her privacy.

“My dad had another heart attack,” she drones, as if this is a normal occurrence, as tedious as the simple task of drinking water. “Nothing serious.”

“What the fuck?” You stare at her with wide eyes, only eliciting a shrug from her.

“The ambulance is outside,” she says. “Wanna go check on him?”

Still half paralyzed from the shock, you nod, letting her link your arms together as she tugs you into the searing afternoon sun. One hand stays protectively curled around your precious books as the other rubs her palm soothingly.

You realize you still don’t know this girl’s name. But before you can ask, you notice a guy, a few inches taller than you, back facing you standing near the back of the ambulance, conversing with a short, pudgy woman with tears streaming down her face.

“Go ask him what happened,” your friend, at least you assume, urges you, snatching your books from you and nudging you forward.

“Why don’t you?” you retort.

“I don’t want to seem weird,” she replies simply.

You don’t understand that logic, but without questioning it, you approach the guy, realizing that he’s much taller than you had first expected. He seems to be consoling the teary-eyed woman, who looks similar to the girl behind you. Must be her mother.

“What happened?” you ask, waiting for him to finish. The guy straightens at the sound of your voice, and when he turns, you lose the ability to speak.

He’s striking, especially with his face dappled in the shadows, highlighted by the flashing red and blue that dances across his face. His voice is lower than the bar holding you back from jumping on him the moment he speaks.

“The man’s going into cardiac arrest,” he explains. “We’re prepping to take him to the hospital.”

“How fun,” you say absentmindedly, letting the words flow from your dumbass mouth freely. You don’t catch the meaning of your words.

His face turns stony, serious, all business. “Actually, it’s not very fun.”

Your girl seems to have forgotten about her initial fear and comes to stand beside you, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Wait, could I hop in? That’s my dad.”

“I was going to say that I wouldn’t assume that you’re his daughter,” he says, tilting his head towards you before nodding solemnly. Your friend casts you a knowing look before waving, never to be seen again, at least not by your eyes. 

Your books have returned to their original place, where they belong, and the guy keeps casting longing looks at them, so you offer to let him see them.

The way he perks up at the idea is so heartwarming, nearly as sweet as his soft chastises of your opinions, of what he thinks each book will offer. His eyes seem to sparkle, like pools of ice slowly melting as he warms up to you.

Eventually, you’re both sweating like dogs under the summer sun, however unrelenting in August. Your father’s calls reach your ears, asking you to grab some of the heavier bags from your shopping spree.

“Well,” you say, fumbling through your tongue, which seems to have twisted itself into a bow and is currently presenting itself as a present to this gorgeous hunk of a man. “That’s me. Bye.”

“See you around,” he says simply, raising a hand to wave. 

You feel the urge to clarify, “Oh, well, I’m not from around here.”

The corner of his mouth curls upward in a smug smile. “Well, if you ever need a hero to save the day, you know who to call.”

His words shouldn’t send butterflies swarming against the walls of your stomach, dainty little legs pressing, pricking, drawing blood that rises to flush your cheeks. You hope you can dismiss it as the heat.

He grabs a small card from his front pocket, tucking it between two fingers and holding it out to you. You grab it, duck your head, and rush away.

Later, at home, when you’re back in your hometown, you sink into your couch, about to throw off your jacket. You feel the card, sharply pointed at your arm, and take it out. You study the number before dragging your eyes to the name printed in bold.

Leon Scott Kennedy.

taglist (? if i started that would ppl be interested?) : @leonskittenbunny @rigorwhoring

[alexanderwales]

Roguelite LitRPG Theorycrafting

I had a great idea for a litRPG that takes its inspiration from roguelites rather than JRPGs or Skyrim.

I do not have the time to write such a novel, and will not have time to write it into the foreseeable future. But I do have time for some theorycrafting:

A classic roguelite of the current generation has variable powers and powerups drawn from a small pool that change the character of the run over time. Maps and enemies are boundedly random. When you die, you might have some meta progression, which is usually in the form of unlocks. Sometimes this makes the game easier, but often it just adds in variety. You go until you win or die, and then you go again, starting from nothing.

To start with, I think this has to be a time loop, because it fits that pattern too well. I wrote a blog post about time loops, and would include some ideas and variations from there.

The protagonist starts every loop as a total scrub, but gets to select from a few options at the loop start (or just after) and then at either intervals or with things accomplished. The pool of powers needs to be fairly small, but large enough that we don't see repeats all that often. We want a protagonist who is forced to make the best of a bad situation.

There are a few cool things about this, but the biggest is that we get to see the protagonist solve the same problems in different ways. One one loop, getting into the compound is easy, because he has flight and invisibility, but on another loop, it requires a firefight because he's got a laser belly and can absorb flesh to regenerate. The protagonist presumably has goals, so we also have some stakes built in: all runs are not built the same. When you're on a "hot" run where it seems like everything is going your way, you can't immediately grind your way back to that if you fail. Stakes are one of the things that are sometimes lacking in time loops, so we're solving that problem as a byproduct.

Similarly, a weird power build can take the story in different places. You're able to walk through stone, and all of the sudden you realize that you can penetrate the defenses of the mage academy. You strike while the iron is hot, and uncover things that would, in a normal run, be locked away from you.

There are problems here. The biggest is that I think a lot of audiences would cry about the author's thumb being on the scale, because audiences will always cry about that no matter what. Which powers get offered to the protagonist on any given run will be under scrutiny though, and even things that aren't forced will feel like they might have been. Readers don't like that, particularly litRPG readers, who sometimes come to the genre for a sense of "fair play". I'm not sure there's a way around that, though this is one of the rare cases I feel like an author rolling dice might actually make sense, so long as it was done in a way that would be difficult to fake. This might make for a worse story though, since the author would have less control of the plot.

One of the other things that interests me is ... what if the world changed in the same way it does in a roguelite? In a normal time loop story, the world is static and predictable, but wouldn't it be interesting to write a story in a time loop that acted more like Rogue Legacy, where there are certain "anchors" and patterns to the world, but much that is random and different? The protagonist wakes in the same apartment building every time, but sometimes he's next to a park and other times it's a train station. There's a corner store three blocks away that's always exactly identical down to the misalignment of the Mars bars, always with the same woman with a streak of blue hair behind the counter. Is this meaningful, that everything changes except the things that inexplicably don't? Almost definitely. It's another mystery to unravel with every new run and a new, diverse set of powers under your belt.

There's a chance I write this at some point. There's always a chance. But I think sometimes it's good for me to sit down and think about the possibilities, then resign myself to moving on without devoting the next month's word count to something that's captured my fancy.

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Grannies - Part 4 (Finale)

Summary: Gordon's committed to the bit. The bit just happens to be an obnoxious amount of granny squares.

A/N- In the finale: warning for a bit of whump. Whole lotta love though. Words for this part come to 2K.

Part 1 here | Part 2 here | Part 3 here | AO3

Thank yous: craftyfam, patient readers, my yarn stash for inspiration, Kat for the read through and assuring me this was post ready. FFXIV I can't thank you because you are a menace and a distraction no matter how much I love you.

*****

Part 4: Finale

Because Gordon never goes half-assed into anything, Virgil is still finding granny squares. 

He has to keep reminding himself that he appreciates Gordon’s dedication. He actually relies on this part of his brother’s character. Frequently, in fact. 

But as he pries a stray granny square out of his sock drawer and tosses it into the project basket housing its companions, Virgil has to roll his eyes. Fondly of course. In the project management world, they call this scope creep - with no real end in sight, the project keeps getting bigger and more involved, and it’s all too easy for it to just keep living on indefinitely. But then, Gordon is one big Scope Creep anyway since he was never one for boundaries in the first place. 

His definition of an appropriate time to stop was very different from Virgil’s. 

At this point, the new square isn’t anything Virgil hasn’t seen before. He knows by now what to expect from Gordon’s work. And, honestly, it’s just like Gordon to somehow manage to desensitize Virgil away from everything he knows about color theory, however briefly. So, neither the presence of the piece of fabric nor the color combination provides any shock value anymore. 

What it does do is remind him that he’s got his own project balancing to do. That of actually… you know… finishing the damn thing. And figuring out what to do with the rest of the squares, he reminds himself as he slides on his socks and laces up his boots for the day. 

The newest acquisition - two rounds of golden yellow followed by two rounds of aubergine purple and a final in white - doesn’t look as visually discordant alongside its peers, the scrambled rainbow they are.  They are all the ones that didn’t make the cut for Gordon’s afghan, the  squares Virgil keeps finding anew, and inevitably the future ones Gordon will continue to make until he receives another lightning strike of an idea.

Right beside it is a second project basket. Gordon likes a big blanket, so enough squares to fit a king sized bed are already packed up and labeled in their sequential order. As he’s had time, Virgil has started sewing them together based on the design Scott helped with. There’s enough space still for him to store the bolt of fabric John helped him find too, once it finally arrives. 

Virgil’s grateful for their help, and their part in the project has made it just that bit more special. He hopes Gordon feels that way too. It took Scott reminding him that it wasn’t his own aesthetic he was trying to please for the design to come together. Otherwise, Virgil has no doubt what he would’ve designed would’ve been lesser for his own misery trying to force order into chaos. 

Somehow, with the power of math, Scott’s perspective on patterns and probability and randomization had been just the ticket. Gordon also probably hadn’t realized just how many squares he’d made that started with the shade of yellow or orange or his typical bright shades. Just that little bit of consistency was all he and Scott needed to figure the rest out as they laid out the squares. It wasn’t a pattern, a fade, or even entirely randomized. But a couple edits later, they had the final layout, the squares numbered, and Virgil had gotten to work joining his own granny stitches into his brother’s work in the only color Gordon considered “neutral” - yellow. 

Unable to resist the smile it brings, Virgil tugs the blanket out of the basket and unfolds the two rows he’s finished, with the third halfway complete. It doesn’t bother him that his connecting yarn is still live - the hook has his last loop stabbed into the working skein, and even if it does come unraveled a little, crochet is not so difficult to start again. 

It had taken a few tries to find the right hook to help him match Gordon’s stitches. Even though Virgil taught him a few years ago, no two makers’ work was exactly alike. And Gordon was as carefree with his gauge as he was in the rest of his life. 

Excitement thrums through him; it’s morning, the birds are chirping, and he’s feeling motivated and productive. The crochet work is soft in his hands, the next square in the sequence visible in the project basket below but hiding the rest of the queue for the third row. It’s the perfect day to grab some coffee, hide away in his studio for a few hours, and let the project surprise him. 

That’s the way a WIP should work: it should inspire along the way. 

Virgil has just thrown a towel over the basket to make it seem like it could be laundry - just in case he runs into a wayward squid - when the alarm in his room sounds and John’s voice comes over comms. 

They have a rescue. 

~*~

Virgil awakes to the smell of antiseptic and the uncomfortable feeling that his mouth tastes like cotton. 

Something about that makes him want to giggle, except he can’t actually do that. 

“Easy, Virg.” Hands, soothing, graze his hairline. “They’ve got you on the good stuff.”

He can tell. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet to know if he’s in a hospital or the infirmary, nor does he know what happened to land him there.

Based on the cotton in his throat and in his head and in his lungs, maybe he ate Gordon’s blanket. 

The giggle turns into a groan. 

“You’re okay now. Rest, Virgil.” 

Since the voice is Scott, he does so.

~*~

The next time he remembers waking, he’s in the infirmary on the island. Again, this he knows not because he’s opened his eyes to figure it out, but because his senses tell him so. Only one brother knows sea shanties enough to be familiar with that one and, if Gordon is here humming it, they’re both definitely not in a hospital.

The words he wants to say trudge through the molasses on their way out.

“Wha’ happ’n?” 

“Virgil!” It’s surprise, and excitement, and relief all rolled into one, but Gordon has the good sense to keep his voice low once the original shock of him waking settles.  

Gordon knows the drill well, his voice barely above a whisper as he closes the blinds and scoops some ice chips into a cup. Virgil’s grateful for the gentle way he moves about the room; he can hear him shuffling around, dictating as he goes. By the time Gordon returns with the cup of blessed relief for the feeling in his esophagus, Virgil has managed to tearily blink his eyes half-open. 

Beneath his brother’s brushed fringe hides a bruise the size of a fist, purpling so harshly at his hairline that Virgil ignores the ice chip Gordon offers him in favor of reaching up to check the injury out for himself. Immediately, his body protests the movement, and Gordon urges him to lower his arm back to the support of the bed.

“Yeah, maybe don’t try that?” Gordon waves him off. “I’m fine. What do you remember?” 

Through the pain in his lower half and the color of Gordon’s face, the memories of the rescue come back clearer. Unfortunately, of all things, they’d been called out to a mudslide. He’d checked Gordon out in the field, he remembers. A panicked civilian with a wayward right hook while Gordon was calming his husband. The man had been incredibly apologetic, and Gordon assured him no harm was done, but Virgil pulled him off duty as a concussion risk and left him in Two with  Grandma talking to him.

Then, when Virgil went after a lifesign in a toppling two-story… 

“A house hit me.” 

“Well, more mud than house. You’re ok though. You were buried from the waist up. Had some compartment syndrome. Everything you’re feeling - or not - is temporary.”  

“You came to get me.” Virgil could argue that grounded meant grounded, that Gordon should never’ve gone after him in such dangerous conditions, that he’s the big brother and Gordon’s the little one and he should keep himself safe when he’s told to do so. But there’s a challenge in his little brother’s warm honey eyes already, and he remembers faintly words spoken in worry and fear, assurances that tighten in a coil around his heart.

“I did. There wasn’t anyone else.”  

He owes Gordon everything.

Virgil hums, “Thank you.”

Between the pain medication and water soothing the grittiness in his throat, he feels more aware by the minute and ready to try sitting up for a time. Gordon helps him settle a few pillows into position and raises the head of the infirmary bed to the appropriate level. He’s got to let Scott know he’s awake - and Grandma -  Gordon tells him. Before either of them decide to have scolded Squid for dinner. 

Virgil doesn’t have the energy to chuckle, but it does as he knows Gordon intended: leave him with a smile for the few moments Gordon needs to step away to communicate Virgil’s situation. 

His heart is music, his soul is color. Where sound is oversaturated with the wisps and hums of machinery tracking his vitals, his heartbeat in rhythm, color becomes his touchstone. Outside the window will be the cerulean of the sky and sea. Green, which he thinks in its most basic form because it’s every combination of the hue throughout the robust plant-life of their Island. Dandelion yellow - the sun and safety and Gordon’s baldric. 

Past the shut blinds, it’s all just a sliver. More prominently, there’s just white and infirmary clean grey.  He has to blink away the dullness, as he tears his gaze away from the window and finally musters the strength to glance at himself and especially at his lower half past the pain where Gordon promised his lack of feeling, muted through painkillers, was temporary. 

Color, so much of it that it’s blinding, greets him with the neon of signage amidst the Las Vegas cityscape and the celebration of the New York Pride parade they attend each year. The blanket draped across his lap is authentic Gordon through and through, in familiar squares assembled in a chaos true to their variety. No rhyme, no reason. 

So much care. 

“Grandma will be in shortly.” Gordon plops into the chair at his side, wiggling in the armchair to reacquire the work he’d placed on the seat cushion. He catches him looking, wide-eyed. “It’s not your project, promise. Though I did bring it in for you to work on when you’re feeling better. It’s over by the holoscreen whenever you want me to bring it over. You’ll be here for a bit healing, so I figured…” He shrugs, trailing off. 

“Gordon?” He slides his fingers between the stitches and curls them gratefully into soft, comforting colors. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m - uh -” Gordon flushes in dim light. “I’m weaving in my ends finally,” he admits, holding up the darning needle. “Sorry if you had another idea for the squares, but once I finished putting yours together, I realized we had enough still to donate some more blankets and those really should be finished.” Gordon weaves a red tail end back and forth between the strands the way Virgil taught him, and the way their mom taught Virgil. “I really did go a little overboard on granny squares didn’t I? I just figured it would be okay for me to help you along. So you could finish what you were working on. Was that ok?”

“More than.” 

It also tells him a significant amount about how serious his injuries were and how long he might have been out of commission, if Gordon’s found the time to finish as much as he has. The concern for what he’s put his family through spikes his heartbeat again, and his younger brother glances up to check on him, the monitors, back at him.

Virgil gives him a weary smile, tugging the blanket further up his chest. “I’m ok,” he assures him. “Thanks to you.” 

“Don’t do it again,” he admonishes, shaking his head.

Neither of them can promise the other, not in their line of work, and they both know it. 

The words go unspoken, but they are woven delicately in the strands of their gifts to each other. Virgil feels the care against his skin, in colors that chase away greys, and soft cotton that sifts fear and worry out through openwork patterning. And when Grandma finally makes her way in to check in on him, his heart is so full with the chance he’s been given, the support he’s always had by the people he cares for, that the love hits him with a wave of exhaustion. 

Into sleep he falls, deeply into dreamless rest by the time Grandma finishes her checks and  Gordon tucks him in with a thankful salute to the stars above.

The End

[fanboyswhore9]

Bookish Encounters

Pairing: Darry Curtis x Y/N/Darry Curtis x Fem!bookworm reader

Summary: Darry goes to the bookstore with Ponyboy and meets the person he never would’ve expected to be interested in.

A/N: For @outsidersweek I decided as the Darry girl that I am, I decided to write my first Darry fic on Tumblr. It’s a tiny bit inspired by my own fanfic on Wattpad called “I Should Tell You”

The bookstore had always been a place of comfort, where the smell of paper and the sound of quiet rustling pages created an almost magical atmosphere. On this particular day, the air felt charged with a strange anticipation. You wandered through the aisles, fingers trailing over the spines, pausing occasionally to flip through pages of random books, savoring the feel of the worn paper.

Then, you spotted it—a novel you’d been wanting to read for months. You felt a little thrill as you reached for it, your fingers barely brushing the spine… just as another hand appeared, reaching for the exact same book. “Oh!” you said, laughing softly in surprise as you looked up at the stranger who’d interrupted your book hunt.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with striking blue eyes that held a mix of apology and intrigue. His strong jawline and serious expression softened as he looked down at you, clearly as surprised as you were. He pulled his hand back a little awkwardly, smiling in a way that made his whole face light up.

“Sorry about that,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “Didn’t mean to steal it from you.” “No worries,” you replied, laughing a little. “Seems we’ve both got good taste.” You gave him a playful smile, feeling oddly at ease despite the unexpected encounter.

He smiled back, a faint flush coloring his cheeks as he nodded toward the book. “It’s all yours. I can always find it another time.” You raised an eyebrow, feeling the thrill of a friendly challenge. “Oh, please—you were here first. I insist.”

And so began a lighthearted standoff, each of you politely nudging the book toward the other, sharing smiles that became easier with every word. Finally, you relented, nudging it back toward him with a grin. “Alright, alright. You win.”

He accepted it with a small smile, glancing at the cover as though seeing it for the first time. Before he could say anything, you pulled a pen from your bag, opened the cover, and scribbled down your phone number with a flourish.

“There,” you said, closing the book and handing it back to him. “If you like it, give me a call. I’ll have a whole list of recommendations for you.”

He looked a little surprised but clearly pleased, his blue eyes meeting yours with a warm sincerity. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replied, a hint of a grin on his face. “I’m Darry, by the way.” “Y/N,” you replied, feeling a rush of excitement as you exchanged names. You lingered just a moment longer, the warmth of his gaze leaving a lasting impression, before you walked away with a smile. As you left the store, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, feeling the undeniable spark of something special.

————————————————————————

It was late in the evening, and you were curled up with a book, trying to shake off the memory of the guy from the bookstore. You’d just about convinced yourself that you’d never hear from him when your phone suddenly rang. Your heart raced as you glanced at the caller ID, seeing an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?” you answered, trying to keep your voice calm. There was a slight pause, followed by a familiar voice, deep and warm. “Hey Y/N? This is Darry. From the bookstore.

You felt a rush of excitement and relief, smiling as you leaned back into the couch. “Darry! I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear from you.” He chuckled, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, I figured I’d better not keep you waiting too long. I actually started reading the book. Figured I should put some effort in before I called.”

You laughed, delighted that he’d taken it seriously. “Oh yeah? How’s it going so far?” “Not bad, actually,” he admitted, sounding a little surprised. “I thought it’d be different, but… you were right. I think I might actually be getting into it.”

You spent a few minutes talking about the book, sharing your thoughts and favorite parts. The conversation flowed naturally, and soon you found yourselves moving beyond books, diving into stories about your days and sharing little pieces of your lives. He told you about the Curtis household, about raising his brothers, about the gang that felt more like family than friends.

“I guess I’m just used to keeping everyone in line,” he said, his voice warm but carrying a hint of the weight he bore. “It’s a lot sometimes, but they’re all I’ve got.” You listened, sensing the quiet strength and loyalty in his words, admiring the way he cared so deeply. Finally, after what felt like only minutes but was nearly an hour, he cleared his throat.

“So… would you maybe want to meet up sometime?” he asked, his voice hesitant, almost shy. “For coffee or something?” Your heart skipped a beat, and you smiled, feeling a quiet thrill. “I’d love that.”

“Great,” he replied, the warmth in his voice making you feel completely at ease. “How about tomorrow evening? There’s a little café around the corner from the bookstore.” You agreed, and as you hung up, you felt a quiet sense of excitement settle over you, the beginning of something you hadn’t even known you were looking for.

————————————————————————

The next evening, you arrived at the café a few minutes early, nerves fluttering in your stomach. The café was softly lit, its cozy atmosphere welcoming and warm. You glanced around, and there he was—already seated by a window, looking out at the street with a faint smile on his face.

When he saw you, his face brightened, and he stood to greet you. “Hey,” he said, his voice a little lower than usual, as if he were nervous too. “Glad you could make it.”

“Me too,” you replied, smiling as you took the seat across from him. You ordered coffee, and soon the conversation started to flow, first about the book, then moving on to other topics. You found yourself sharing stories about your favorite books, your love for quiet moments like these, and the thrill of finding a new story. Darry listened with a deep, focused attention, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Books were never really my thing,” he admitted, a touch of humor in his tone. “But I get it. My family… they’re my anchor. They keep me grounded, give me a reason to keep going.” His words carried a depth and honesty that took you by surprise, and you could see the weight he carried, the responsibility that shaped his life. “That’s a lot to carry,” you said gently. “Do you ever feel like it’s too much?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Sometimes. But it’s worth it. They’re my brothers, you know? And the gang… they’re like family, too.” Without thinking, you reached across the table, placing your hand on his, offering a silent reassurance. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know.” The warmth of your touch seemed to reach him, and he gave you a grateful smile. “Thank you, Y/N. It’s been a long time since I felt like I could… just be myself.”

The hours slipped by as you shared stories and laughter, the world outside fading away. By the time you left, you both knew that this was something special, the beginning of a connection that neither of you had expected.

————————————————————————

Over the next few weeks, your connection with Darry deepened. He often showed up at your door late in the evening, sometimes carrying a book you’d recommended, sometimes with coffee or a box of donuts. You’d settle in together, sharing quiet conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning.

One night, he arrived with a book in hand, looking both a little embarrassed and proud. “Thought I’d give this one a shot,” he said, holding up the novel you’d mentioned last week. “Figured it’d give us something to talk about.”

Touched, you invited him in, and the two of you curled up on the couch, reading together in companionable silence. Occasionally, he’d ask about a passage, and you’d discuss it, sharing thoughts and ideas that felt as comfortable as they were enlightening. It was a quiet intimacy, a bond that didn’t need grand gestures or declarations.

As the night grew later, you leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm draped around you. “You know,” he murmured, breaking the silence, “I never thought I’d have this. Something just for me.” You looked up at him, his blue eyes softened in a way you hadn’t seen before. “What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “I spend so much time worrying about everyone else… I didn’t think I’d find something that was just for me. But with you… it feels different.”

You reached up, gently brushing your hand against his cheek. “You deserve this, Darry. You deserve to have something that’s just yours.” He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a gentle, lingering kiss that felt like a promise. When he pulled back, he smiled softly. “Thank you. For everything.”

————————————————————————

When Darry mentioned he wanted you to meet his friends and family, you’d felt both excitement and nervous anticipation. He’d told you bits and pieces about the gang, and it was clear how much they all meant to him. Now, as you walked up to the Curtis house, the sounds of laughter and conversation spilling through the open windows, you couldn’t help but feel the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Darry greeted you at the door, his reassuring smile easing your nerves as he took your hand. “You ready?” he asked, his voice low and warm. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, trying to mask your nervousness with a smile.

The second you stepped inside, you were met with a whirlwind of energy. The living room was filled with the gang, their laughter and voices creating a warm, chaotic welcome. As soon as they noticed you, Ponyboy’s face lit up, and he nudged Johnny beside him with a grin.

“It’s her!” Pony whispered, a little too loudly, his excitement palpable. Ponyboy practically bounded over to you, a wide grin on his face as he extended his hand. “You’re the bookstore girl! Darry’s been talking about you.”

You laughed, taking his hand. “That’s me. And you must be the famous little brother I’ve heard so much about.” Pony’s cheeks flushed, and he looked pleased as he shook your hand. “Guess Darry’s been talking about us, huh?”

Before you could respond, another voice chimed in. “So, Y/N,” came the playful tone of Two-Bit, who had appeared beside you with a smirk. “Nice to finally meet the girl who’s got Mr. Serious here picking up books instead of weights.”

Darry rolled his eyes, looking torn between embarrassment and amusement. “You guys don’t have to make a big deal out of this.” “Oh, but we do!” Two-Bit said, patting Darry’s shoulder with a grin. “Because it’s not every day Darry finds himself a girlfriend.”

You laughed, glancing up at Darry with a smile as he looked at you, a faint blush on his cheeks. Before you could respond, Dally, who had been lounging on the couch with his usual air of cool detachment, raised an eyebrow. “Girlfriend, huh?” he said with a smirk. “She’s gotta be brave to put up with you, Curtis.”

Darry sighed, giving Dally a look that was part amused and part exasperated. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” Johnny, who’d been sitting quietly beside Ponyboy, gave you a warm, welcoming smile. “They’re just giving you a hard time,” he said gently. “We’re all glad you’re here. Darry… he seems happier with you around.”

There was a sincerity in Johnny’s words that touched you, and you could see the bond they all shared, the way they looked out for each other like family. “Thank you, Johnny,” you replied, your voice soft. “That means a lot.” Ponyboy, grinning like he’d just uncovered a secret, leaned toward you. “So… Y/N, does this mean Darry’s gonna start hanging around the bookstore more?”

Dally chuckled, his smirk widening as he added, “Yeah, better watch it, Y/N—next thing you know, he’ll be quoting poetry.” Two-Bit’s eyes lit up with a mischievous glint. “Now that I’d love to see! Darry Curtis, the poetry lover. Just imagine it… reciting Shakespeare to his girl.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Darry shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You guys are unbelievable.” But despite his exasperated tone, you could tell he didn’t mind. The gang’s teasing felt more like a welcoming ritual, an invitation into their tight-knit circle. They continued to chat with you, peppering you with questions, trading playful barbs with Darry, and sharing stories that had you laughing until your sides hurt.

At one point, Johnny leaned over to you, his voice low and sincere. “You know, you’re really good for him, Dhwani. I can tell. He’s… different since you came around. Lighter.” You gave Johnny a grateful smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Thank you, Johnny. I’m really glad to be here.”

Two-Bit, who had overheard, grinned and clapped his hands together. “Good! Because we’re not letting you go now. You’re part of the gang.”

Darry shook his head, his smile soft as he watched you fit so easily into his world. By the time the evening wound down, you’d shared stories, laughter, and a feeling of belonging you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

When it was finally time to leave, Darry walked you to your car, his hand slipping into yours. His gaze was filled with a quiet pride as he looked at you. “They really like you,” he said softly, his voice carrying a sense of relief and happiness. “They… I’ve never seen them warm up to anyone this fast.”

You squeezed his hand, smiling up at him. “I like them too, Darry. They’re like… they’re family. Just like you are to them.” Darry’s expression softened, his hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For fitting in so well. For… making this feel so right.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you as you stood together in the quiet night, feeling a sense of peace and belonging. In that moment, you knew you hadn’t just found a place in Darry’s heart but also within the family he’d built with the gang—a family that was now yours, too.

————————————————————————

As the weeks turned into months, your relationship with Darry continued to deepen. You became an inseparable part of his life, sharing everything from quiet mornings to late-night conversations, the moments woven together like the pages of a cherished book.

One evening, Darry picked you up with a quiet, almost nervous energy. You’d been together for a while now, sharing countless late-night conversations, shared moments, and quiet support that had grown into something neither of you had anticipated. Tonight, though, there was something different in his eyes, a soft, contemplative look that made your heart beat just a little faster.

As he drove, he held your hand, and the comfortable silence wrapped around you both, punctuated only by the soft hum of the radio. You’d come to love these drives with Darry, the way he could make everything else fade away, leaving only the warmth of his hand in yours and the quiet assurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Eventually, he turned onto a familiar, winding road, pulling off into an open field just outside of town. He parked the truck, then came around to help you out, his touch lingering as he guided you toward a small hill covered with soft grass. Above you, the stars stretched across the sky in a brilliant display, their light casting a gentle glow over the landscape.

Darry spread out a blanket, and the two of you lay down side by side, your shoulders brushing as you both looked up at the endless sky. The cool night air wrapped around you, and you felt a sense of peace settle over you, the kind of calm that only seemed to exist in moments like these.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder. “Do you come here often?” He nodded, his gaze fixed on the stars. “Yeah… whenever things get too heavy. This place reminds me that there’s more to life than just… everything I’m carrying.”

You turned to look at him, sensing the quiet strength and vulnerability in his words. You knew how much weight he carried, the responsibility he felt for his brothers, for the gang, for everyone he loved. But here, in the quiet of the night, he was just Darry—your Darry—and you felt a fierce protectiveness for the man who had spent so much of his life taking care of everyone else.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone, Darry,” you said softly, reaching over to take his hand. “I’m here for you.” He looked at you, his blue eyes filled with an emotion so deep it took your breath away. His hand tightened around yours, and he let out a quiet sigh, as though he’d been waiting for someone to say those words all his life.

“You’ve already made it easier,” he whispered, his voice carrying a quiet gratitude. “I never thought I’d find someone who’d want to stay, who’d see me… for more than just what I do for everyone.” You moved closer, your hand resting on his cheek, your thumb brushing gently along his jawline. “You’re so much more than that, Darry. You’re kind, and strong, and you deserve to have someone who sees all of you.”

He held your gaze, his expression softening as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a gentle, lingering kiss that spoke of promises and unspoken feelings. When he pulled back, he smiled, a quiet warmth filling his eyes as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest.

The two of you lay there in silence, wrapped in each other’s embrace, staring up at the stars as the night stretched on. It felt as though time had slowed, each second a moment suspended between the past and a future that you could finally see taking shape. Here, under the vast expanse of the sky, you both found something rare and precious—a love that was as steady and enduring as the stars above.

After a while, Darry broke the silence, his voice low but filled with a quiet certainty. “Y/N… I want to build something with you. A life, a future… something that’s ours.”

Your heart swelled, and you turned to look at him, finding only sincerity in his gaze. You could see it, too—the mornings, the late nights, the laughter, the quiet, steady love that would carry you both through whatever life had in store. In his arms, you felt a sense of belonging you hadn’t known you were missing.

“I want that too,” you whispered, your hand still in his, your fingers entwined. “More than anything.” He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead as the two of you settled back onto the blanket, wrapped in each other’s warmth. The night sky stretched endlessly above, and you knew that, no matter where life led, you would face it together. This was your new beginning, a chapter of love, belonging, and the quiet assurance that you had finally found your home in each other.

And as you lay there, side by side under the stars, you felt a quiet certainty settle over you—a knowledge that this was just the start of the story you’d write together, a love that would last a lifetime.

[caelenath]

UsaMamo Week 2023 - Day 4: Beach

For @usamamoweek2023 day 4, my contribution is a preview of this untitled WIP that I thought would be done by now. Foiled again! 😅

Big shoutout to @random-mailbox who both inspired this piece and is helping with the pro photography tips (and is helping to run this wonderful event). 👏💖

~ * ~

Summary:

The whole situation was any red-blooded man's dream—nine gorgeous women in swimwear, a dreamy sunset, and a legitimate excuse to ogle them from every angle.

But he had eyes for only one...

~ * ~

Even before he arrived, the gig was pretty ideal–short, paying double his normal rate, and it gave him an excuse to go to the beach. He felt a little guilty for charging the extra money since he wasn't exactly a pro, just a guy with a hand-me-down camera trying to pay his tuition. But it was the client who had insisted because she was trying to book him so last minute, and university tuition wasn't cheap.

So he accepted the job even if it meant having to get Kobayashi to cover his TA session in the evening, and he was rewarded with a high-pitched squeal of gratitude that nearly blew his eardrum over the phone. She told him to "look for the one wearing black and white", then hung up before he could ask her to be more specific.

He arrived on the beach in the late afternoon, and was greeted by a brilliant, soul-soothing cobalt blue sky. Wispy clouds in the distance along the horizon promised a dazzling sunset backdrop in a little over an hour. Fifty-six to eighty-four minutes, to be exact, depending on what color sky his client wanted. He had a disturbingly accurate internal clock when it came to the sun's movements.

Feeling the heat of the day captured in the sand, he wished he'd been able to arrive earlier to have some extra time to enjoy the getaway. He had tried, but unfortunately, his lab partner chose this day to forget the boiling chips, and instead of accepting a lower mark for the failure, they chose to stay after class to repeat the experiment. Or rather, he chose to stay after, and his partner grudgingly followed suit to avoid looking inferior by comparison to their professor. It had been a risky decision, but with a little help from another disturbing ability of his, one that controlled the heating far better than boiling chips or the isomantle, they were able to redo the work in time for him to catch the train to Atami.

The cloying smell of artificial banana finally left his nose as he inhaled deeply the briny air. He couldn't wait to chuck his shoes and dig his toes into the warm sand. He needed both hands for now to carry his kit, but once the shoot was underway, he could happily traipse barefoot wherever his client wanted to go.

The beach wasn't as crowded by this time of day, and all along the water's edge, he could see the divots and partially melted sand castles left behind by families who had already gone home. The people who remained were mostly couples making eyes and PDA.

His client had said this photoshoot was for her and her friends, a celebration of their last year of high school, but gave scant specifics besides that. None, in fact. Still, as he looked up and down the beach, he discovered he needn't ever have worried about not being able to spot them. Rather, he knew them instantly.

Fifty paces or so to his right, beneath a cluster of palm trees, nine of the most beautiful women he had ever seen were gathered together, arranging each other's hair and swimsuit straps and chatting gaily like they didn't have a care in the world. They were such a striking group that he stood rooted in place for at least a minute, slack-jawed and unable to tear his eyes away. What were the odds they were a mirage? 

After the initial shock wore off, he was intrigued by how different they looked from one another. Tall, short, light hair, dark hair, sporty suits and sexy cutouts–their individual looks ran a wide gamut.

With that unavoidable ogling out of the way, his recovering neanderthal brain finally noted something useful. The two blondes in the group were the ones wearing black and white suits while the rest of them wore mostly black ones. Some had accessories, also in black. They must have agreed on that being the theme in their photoshoot. The contrast against the sky would be stunning, like them, no matter what moment of dusk they caught.

He adjusted the strap of his kit bag on his shoulder nervously…and froze. He'd had every intention of just walking over to them a millisecond ago, but it suddenly caught up with him how intimidating it was to approach nine drop-dead gorgeous women, even if they were the ones who had hired him in the first place.

He admonished himself that this was a professional engagement and strode forward using a silly mental game that was childish, but nevertheless worked. In moments like this when he needed confidence he didn't have–and those moments increased relative to the number of people around him–he pretended he was someone important, someone who had reason to walk around with their chin held high and their shoulders square. A victorious superhero, a successful CEO, a powerful leader of a nation. 

He would die of embarrassment if anyone ever found out about his game because he was the absolute opposite of those people–a struggling college student with no family and one shot at making something of his life. He didn't see any prospects outside of academics, and that was why he'd lived and breathed his schooling since he was a child. His camera had been an unexpected gift, a castoff albeit a very nice one from his friend's little sister when she decided she wanted to upgrade.

As he neared the group, the blonde in the center turned around, and all breath left his lungs as surely as if someone had punched him. She had huge blue eyes, wide azure pools that he found himself drowning in instantly, and not quite unwillingly. She seemed similarly shocked by his appearance, though for the life of him, he couldn't imagine why. Just a moment ago, she had been talking loudly and very animatedly, but now she stood stockstill, looking back at him as if he were a ghost.

Those enormous eyes blinked at him and he mirrored the reaction reflexively. They were getting close to the time when it would be considered rude to stare at someone for that long, but he was overwhelmed by the feeling that he knew her from somewhere. It wouldn't have been so strange considering how big and populous Tokyo was. Maybe they'd passed by each other somewhere, on the metro, in a conbini, at the library. 

Except, if that were true, he would have remembered her. Aside from her breathtakingly perfect face, she had funny hair. Her almost knee-length golden locks were arranged in two pigtails that flowed from two, perfectly round odangos on top of her head. They were weird, but fitting somehow.

No, he was sure he had never seen before in his life. Yet he knew her. How was that possible??

After much too long, he was finally able to drag his eyes away from her face and look at the rest of her–which, in retrospect, was probably even less polite. But she was wearing the two colors he'd been instructed to look for. Specifically, a tiny white bikini with tiny black straps and tiny black trim. Everything about it practically begged him to look at her, from the way the pure white emphasized her creamy peach-pink skin to how the black edges formed triangular outlines that pointed at things he really shouldn't be looking at. 

Luckily she recovered first and offered him a dazzling smile. It was full of unreserved welcome, something that was foreign to him, and he wondered how much confidence that took. The only word he could use to describe the glow around her was love, but that was preposterous because they were total strangers.

He searched hard for his tongue so he could stop being such a deer in headlights and speak. "Minako?"

The bright look on her face fell, and he winced inside at having done that to her, with the very first word he ever spoke to her, no less. He'd only been hoping she was the one who had called him. If she wasn't Minako, then he owed the real Minako a great debt for having created this opportunity for them to meet. Even if he had already screwed it up.

Keep it professional, his brain scolded him again. He was here to do a job, not meet a girl.

"No, that's me!" a voice chirped to his right, and he turned to the other blonde. She was wearing a bikini with broad black and white stripes, as well as a black hat and sunglasses with thick white frames, which she slid down her nose before introducing herself. Like all her friends, she too was incredibly beautiful, but something about her look said "drama" to him. Or at least, something less innocent than the odango girl.

"I'm Minako. Thank you again so so so so much for doing this."

"It's nothing," he said, feeling a little embarrassed by her effusiveness. It took more than a little effort to ignore the glint of gold hovering in the corner of his eye. "Where should I set up? Did you have particular shots in mind?"

"Yes!" Her response was instant, but from the way she paused afterward, he guessed the real answer was no. "Sunset? Is that too generic?"

"Not at all," he lied. "Your timing couldn't be more perfect. You'll have your pick of lighting for it, assuming we can get set up fast enough." He was glad for the excuse to look out over the water again, to regain some equilibrium as he stood in the midst of any red-blooded man's dream.

"We're ready to go," Minako said, sweeping a stern look across her circle of friends like a captain surveying his battalion.

"This isn't one of your volleyball games," the tall brunette said with a roll of her eyes. "You could at least introduce him if we're going to be working together."

"Fine, all right." Minako accentuated her words with a dramatic huff, and he was gratified to know his instincts about her were right on the nose. "Everyone, this is Chiba Mamoru, who is an absolute darling for agreeing to do this at the last last minute."

The two dark haired beauties in the back of the group leaned in to confer about something together, and from the glances they threw at him, he guessed that something was him. His face warmed a little from the attention.

"I'm pleased to meet you all." 

Minako clapped her hands. "Great, now we all know each other." Someone in the group snorted, but he didn't catch who. "Let's get some gorgeous pictures taken!"

[lestweforget5]

Any ideas/head cannons about training or Millie’s transfer to Curt’s crew? How long would it have taken for Curt and Dickie to break through with Millie, especially when her old pilot was creepy with her. With Millie not being the best at noticing other people noticing her, do you have any thoughts on how Millie got transferred onto Curt’s crew in the first place?

Love your work!

Hello, Nonnie! Thank you for the ask. I'm so glad you're enjoying The Sunward Verse! Apologies for the delay in replying to your ask; I got briefly sidetracked from MOTA by some brainworms for another story in another series I putter around with.

So random headcanon/thoughts time, more brief than I'd like but pollen hates me and I'm sleepy from my antihistamines. I might add some more later if inspiration strikes.

As to how Millie ended up on Curt's crew originally, I believe that there were some reshufflings of who was on what crew earlier on in the training process, though I do not recall the details precisely from what 100th BG books I've read, but regardless, for The Sunward Verse, it was some natural shuffling of enlisted personnel between crews that had Millie, fortuitously, ending up with Curt and Dickie.

From reading Murphy's book, I remember that one of the bases was really cold. The one in Utah, I think it was, so Millie would have especially hated their training duty there, having grown up in Arkansas and all. She would have hated that more than she hated the cold in Germany simply because she was much less used to it in '42.

Millie and Curt-Dickie both realize that there's something much different about the other almost immediately.

I would imagine that even during the 100th's training period, Curt had garnered a bit of a reputation for drinking/firting/boxing/etc., all the characteristics that we see glimpses of in the too few episodes in MOTA in which he appeared, so Millie goes into the crew swap... a bit wary and reasonably so, but Curt is much different from her old pilot, she quickly learns. He's always a gentleman to her; his hands never wander when he's passing her in the cockpit (although she still can start when he gets close, expecting wandering hands); he values her knowledge as an engineer and doesn't look down on her just because she's a woman; and Dickie is--in modern parlance--a good egg and not the type, she thinks, to be clearly friends with Curt if her new pilot wasn't of a decent sort.

Simultaneously, while Millie's starting to realize the differences in her new crew, Curt and Dickie are both picking up on some of the issues--maybe they both notice simultaneously or Dickie picks up on some of the quieter clues first and then clues Curt in. And there's only going to be so many flinches/starts from Millie in the cockpit before there's a ... discussion ... in private that basically boils down to Curt asking what the hell and who her former pilot was because he's going to kill him (not literally) and Dickie's going to help. And then there are some revelations and not long thereafter the other pilot has ... a trip-and-fall incident after a night of heavy drinking at the officers' club/local bar.

[youchangedmedestiel]

Annoying when inspiration to keep writing your current fanfic strikes during lunch break and then the break is over and you have to return to work and be focused on something else.

[paperanddice]

Broodiken are vile little constructs, crude servants grown within a humanoid creature's body. One foot tall, with oversized heads and jaws filled with fangs, they otherwise resemble their creator, though if their creator had features such as wings or horns the broodiken gains decorative, ineffective versions that provide no mechanical changes.

Broodiken have little personality beyond a rough reflection of their creator's current emotions. They don't restrain their emotional show, growling and snarling if they feel anger and babbling happily if they feel joy. If sent beyond 100 feet from their creator, this lack of personality devolves into a helpless wailing, like that of an infant of their apparent species. The only time they can function further away is if given a specific target to hunt and kill. If their creator telepathically such a target, picturing it in their mind and sending that image to the broodiken, it will chase that target down without rest or distraction. Though they are poor trackers and cannot search effectively, so it's best not to rely on this as an assassination technique. As the broodiken cannot be recalled until their target is dead, if they lose the target and cannot find it again, they will hunt forever until destroyed.

Creating broodiken requires eating a specially prepared heart from a dead broodiken, a paradoxical means of creation that stumps sages as to the origin of this construct. Attempts to discover the first creator of the broodiken have led only to dead ends, and the occasional dead investigator, a fact that grows increasingly concerning to the small community intent on figuring out this mystery. Another unfortunate situation with broodiken is the fate of anyone who attempts to create a second brood while any members of their first one still live. As soon as the incubation starts the first brood furiously turns on their creator, attempting to kill them out of jealousy.

I'm not entirely convinced of the balance for the broodiken heart item, since giving a player a random collection of minions could be quite a swing in power, but given that the broodiken won't power up with the characters and will remain level 1 creatures I don't think it will be too big of a deal, at least as long as they aren't gained at really low level.

Inspired by the Tome of Beasts 1. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

Pathfinder 2e

Broodiken Creature 1 Tiny Construct Minion Perception +5; darkvision Skills Stealth +7 Str -1, Dex +2, Con +3, Int -4, Wis +0, Cha -2 Bound to Creator If the broodiken is further than 100 feet from its creator, it cannot take any actions, and does nothing but cry loudly unless it has been given a target by Targeted Rage. If its creator dies, the broodiken loses its minion trait and attempts to attack the killer over any other target. If the broodiken can't see the creature that killed its creator, or that creature is dead, it simply attacks any creature it can see except another broodiken from the same brood. AC 14; Fort +8, Ref +7, Will +5 HP 17; Immunities bleed, death effects, diseased, doomed, drained, fatigued, healing, necromancy, nonlethal attacks, paralyzed, poison, sickened, unconscious Speed 20 feet, climb 20 feet Melee jaws +7 (agile, finesse), Damage 1d10-1 piercing plus attach Attach When a broodiken hits a target larger than itself, its jaws attach it to that creature. This is similar to grabbing the creature, but the broodiken moves with that creature rather than holding it in place. The broodiken is flat-footed while attached. While the broodiken is attached, Strikes it makes with its jaws automatically hit the attached creature, but it can't make Strikes against other targets. Targeted Rage The broodiken's creatore can designate a single creature to be the target of the broodiken. The broodiken loses the minion trait, and can travel further than 100 feet away from its creator, but will not obey any orders until it kills that creature.

Broodiken Heart Item 7 Uncommon Consumable Magical Price 85 gold Usage held in one hand; Bulk L Activate [one action] Interact After you eat this seed, 2d4 broodiken begin gestating inside of you. They incubate for 1 month, during which you must consume a special blend of mud, ashes, and plants, which costs 5 gold per day for each incubating broodiken. During this time, you are drained 1, and cannot reduced your drained condition below 1. The broodikens must be cut out at the end of this gestation period, a process that deals 1d4 slashing damage to you per broodiken. If they are not cut out, they instead chew themselves out, which takes 1d6 rounds, plus 1 round per broodiken in the batch, and deals 2d6 slashing damage per round. This damage cannot be reduced by any means. The newly birthed broodikens are loyal to you, and obey your telepathic commands as long as they are within 100 feet of you. If you birth a second batch of broodiken, the first brood immediately become hostile, losing the minion trait and attempting to kill you. Crafting Requirements Supply the heart of a dead broodiken.

13th Age

Broodiken  1st level mook wrecker [construct]  Initiative +3 Gnawing Bite +6 vs. AC - 3 damage, plus 1 damage for each other broodiken engaged with the target. Bound to Creator: Choose one creature to be the broodiken’s creator. If the broodiken is far away from its creator, it is stunned and can do nothing but cry. If its creator dies, the broodiken enters a rage, gaining a +1 bonus to attack rolls, and will attack the enemy that killed its creator over all other targets. AC 16 PD 14 MD 10 HP 11 (mook) Mook: Kill one broodiken mook for every 11 damage dealt to the mob.

[onelastfic]

How about some Solitaire Queen moments?

Got two asks for the Solitaire Queens interactions, but instead of combining the asks thought it be more fun to just do double interactions instead 😚

——————

Basteta flicked one of her concealed knives between her fingers. "So, ladies, what's the plan today? More boring meetings? I swear, if I have to listen to one more lecture about the 'balance of power,' I'm gonna start a fucking riot. Go full on chair throwing like on Jerry Springer!"

Dai Tai chuckled. "Well, as much as I enjoy seeing you throw chairs. How about a more refined approach? Negotiation and strategy, perhaps?"

Envie smirked. "Refined, indeed. But sometimes, chaos is necessary to remind everyone of our strength. Balance can be tedious, but it ensures our domains remain unchallenged."

Jia nodded, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "I agree with Envie. Besides, a good fight now and then keeps things interesting. But let's not forget the people. They've been restless, especially the Tartarus leaks. We need to show them we care, that we're here to protect them."

Basteta's ears perked up. "Speaking of the people, I've got a charity event lined up for the monster and magical communities. Could always use more funds, though. Think you can spare some riches, Queen of Diamonds?"

Dai Tai rolled her eyes but smiled. "You know I can't resist a good cause. Consider it done. Just don't spend it all on another wild party."

Envie leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "And I'll make sure the Ghost Zone stays quiet during your event. Last thing we need is a trickster poltergeist ruining the event that is supposed to inspire safety."

Jia clapped her hands. "Perfect! Then it's settled. Charity event, ensuring safety among the masses, and a little bit of chaos to keep things interesting. We really do make the perfect team, don't we?"

Basteta grinned, raising her knife in a mock toast. "To the Solitaire Queens. Unyielding, unbeatable, and un-fucking-stoppable."

——

The queens gathered in the training hall, ready for a sparring session.

Jia, stretching her arms, grinned at Dai Tai. "Ready to get your butt kicked?"

Dai Tai smirked. "Bring it on. Let's see if you can keep up."

Basteta, watching from the sidelines, laughed. "I got fifty bucks on Bugaboo."

Envie raised an eyebrow. "You're betting against Jia? Bold move."

Basteta laughed. "Hah! Nothing fucking bold about it! I know what kinda damage Bugaboo can do with those mighty, mighty thighs of hers."

Jia and Dai Tai circled each other, the air tense with anticipation.

Jia lunged first, but Dai Tai dodged swiftly, countering with a swift strike.

Envie watched intently. "This is going to be interesting."

Basteta grinned. "Oh, definitely. Makes me wish I made some popcorn."

——

The queens sat around a large, ornate table, maps and magical documents scattered before them.

Dai Tai tapped a finger on a map. "Our next move needs to be precise. The random Ghost Zone portals to Earth have been unusually active and I’m wondering if it might be connected to Tartarus portals."

Envie nodded, her eyes narrowing. "I've noticed. Something's stirring. We need to be prepared."

Jia crossed her arms. "I've got my people on high alert. Any sign of trouble, we'll know."

Basteta leaned back, her expression serious for once. "We need more than just this preparation shit. We need action. Let's take the fight to them and jump them before they can jump us."

Envie smirked. "Typical Basteta. Always ready for a fight."

Basteta grinned. "What can I say? This kitty’s got claws that need using."

——

Jia looked up from her notes. "Hey, how about our next meeting on Avalon? The island's beautiful this time of year."

Basteta's ears twitched, and she frowned. "Avalon? Fuck no!"

Dai Tai crossed her arms, nodding in agreement. "Basteta's right. Avalon can be... difficult."

Jia raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Envie sighed. "It's not the place itself, Jia. It's the gods that visit there."

"Yeah…the male gods there give off some serious creepy, dirty old man vibes. It's not exactly a relaxing environment." Dai Tai said.

Envie crossed her arms, her voice calm but firm. "I share the same sentiment. Even Basteta, who usually handles attention well, finds it too much. Some of those gods' advances are downright... unsettling."

Jia's brow furrowed. "I didn't realize it was still that bad. What happened?"

Basteta sighed, looking uncomfortable. "The usual, they leer, they jeer, and they hit on me despite me telling them I’m married and not interested. Talk more to my tits than my face, Tell me the gross stuff they want to do to me, unprompted."

Dai Tai added, "It's like they see us as objects to take. I hate the way they look at me. It's like they're grabbing me without touching."

Jia's expression softened, and she nodded. "I get it now. We'll find somewhere else for the meeting. Somewhere we can all feel safe and respected."

——————

Jia and Dai Tai belong to @laylaylamode

Envie belongs to @thepaladincosplays

[silvysartfulness]

Talk Shop Tuesday: How do you decide which scene in a chapter of HHaR to illustrate? And are there any scenes that you'd like to illustrate but haven't had time/energy/etc.?

It’s always a careful see-saw balance between “interesting scene from the chapter that I would enjoy drawing and think people would like to see drawn” and “I’m a lazy, low-spoon disaster and will cop out on anything too complicated”..!

For example, I absolutely hate drawing interior settings, so you will notice there are very few detailed indoor scenes - and the times they spend entire chapters indoors and I can’t escape it, the settings tend to be very vague. So usually, if I have the choice, I’ll avoid any scenes taking place inside.

Drawing unnamed, random npcs/crowds is also boring/taking too many spoons, so again I tend to avoid those (or making the people around them silhouettes or just very roughly sketched background figures). Architecture is another headache – if I have decent refs and I really want to convey the atmosphere of a place, I’ll sometimes draw cityscapes, but I’m a happier artist when I don’t have to.

So in short, if I can get away with character close-ups or doing landscape backgrounds, that’s what I’ll likely go for, especially if I’m a bit low on spoons!

Sometimes I really do want to capture something more complex, though – the latest one, with Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji as guest stars took me forever to draw, because I hadn’t drawn those two before, and I had to start by going through the last few episodes of the series to screengrab a whole bunch of refs, and then actually draw their faces, decide on which of their outfits I wanted to draw, then find refs for that etc. It took a lot of time and work. 🥲

And yeah, there are absolutely many scenes I would love to see drawn, even though I don’t have the time or energy for it – there’s a reason I so often wish for commission slots for birthdays and Christmas! I love to see others tackle those scenes! Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen meeting on the bridge in Hongqi, the three of them cuddled up together in the ruins of Dushou, the trio walking toward the temple of Yanxia Guan, almost drowning in the river after fighting the catfish yao… I’ve been blessed with so many gorgeous commissioned works!

Not to mention the amazing fanart some people have given me! It takes my breath away every time someone decides to draw something from the story just because they felt inspired to, absolute pure magic! The best feeling in the whole world! 😍

As for specific scenes I would love to see drawn, either scraping my own spoons together or commissioning others to… 🤔

Song Lan possessed by the mist spirits and fighting Xue Yang is such a striking visual in my mind, with his white eyes and mist trailing from nose and mouth!

Song Lan dragging/carrying a crying, drunk Xue Yang up the stairs and into his room in Muaishan, or possibly the following utter breakdown.

Song Lan’s shock when Xue Yang tells him about the death sentence awaiting him in Jinlintai and/or the follow-up shock when Xiao Xingchen is let in on it.

Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang by the little impromptu shrine Xue Yang made for Jin Guangyao

More art of the three of them cuddling in Dushou, tbh, because it’s the first time they allow themselves to snuggle up that way on purpose, all three of them, and I love that for them! 🥰

The smut scenes – I’ve only drawn one of those. Now that we can’t post porn on tumblr anymore, it feels like there’s little point to put in all that work, because I couldn’t share such art in many places. But I still love to see it!

I originally wanted to draw the trio and Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji having dinner and talking together for chapter 57, but was once again defeated by old nemesis - interiors. It was bad enough drawing 5 detailed characters in a single illustration, I would not also have to deal with walls and furniture and stuff. 😒

That's some of the ones that come to mind! So many scenes, so few spoons! (And apparently I'm supposed to be writing the damn thing, too! 😭)

Thank you so much for asking! 💚

[write-on-world]

Hi!

How did you get into writing and what inspires you to write?

Hello @masterahmedx. I got into it when I was younger, which was by-and-large a time when I was left to my own devices. Coming from a relatively poor family, one of those devices was to make things up to keep myself entertained. Somewhere along the way, I started thinking, "Some of this is fun. I should write it down so I could come back to it later."

When I was about 12, there was a creative writing contest in my school for a mystery story contest. My story was called "The Great Fortune Cookie Caper" and I wound up taking 3rd place in a state competition. It was about then that I realized, "Hey... I think I might actually be kind of good at this."

In the years that followed, I submitted to every writing contest that my school held, whatever the genre. I got a taste for writing in sci-fi and fantasy genres and tried to branch out. But to very little success, I can't lie about that. I received a few honorable mentions and managed to take 5th place another year. But I never really got much recognition after that.

By high school, and being the introvert that I am, I had few friends and rather than engage in normal social activities, I used to carry around a notebook that was dedicated exclusively to writing down things that I thought would make good story ideas: everything from a random bit of dialog to a complete story plot idea - a habit I carry on with even into today. Though writing competitions were fewer in high school, I got top marks from my English teachers, one of whom affectionately referred to me as, "Damn little author".

High praise, no?

Every day in high school during lunch period, I kept myself occupied with an odd kind of game that I played to keep my imagination sharp. I'd go to the school library, pick a book completely at random off the shelf, flip to a random page, and try to build a story around what I read off that one page. If the book happened to have a picture, I'd build a story off that image: who was in the photo? What were they doing? Why? How did they get there? What happens next?

Developed into a very useful skill, that.

I say so because by the time college rolled around, and carried by a few very small scholarships, I had decided to pursue a career in creative writing. My first creative writing class usually began with a specific writing exercise: visual story telling. In which, my prof would show us a picture on a projector, and one by one, we'd all get up in front of the class and recite what we imagined was happening in each of those pictures. It was a sign of kismet, if I ever thought it was. If there are gods for writers, I was convinced that I had one all to myself after that.

A constant companion of mine always remained a trusty notebook, loaded with so many arcane scribbles, doodles, clipped pictures, xeroxes, and dialog it's as though Jack Napier himself could have written it. I have 27 such notebooks sitting on my shelf even now as I sit here writing this. And just as I did then, sometimes what I do is pick one at random, flip it open, and write about the first thing I read or see. And sometimes, I come across something that I wrote as a teen and say to myself, "Well fuck me ass, head, and hole! This actually isn't bad! I can do something with this!"

Occasionally, those random scribbles solve problems of being blocked in a current scene, give me a new idea to take my story in a new direction, help build back story, or worst of all, give me an idea about which character needs to die.

I like to think of this as "Recycle Writing". Sometimes something that I put in my books ages ago in what I can only describe as "a moment of useful prescient madness" comes to my rescue in the here-now.

But I'd be lying if I said my inspiration comes solely from scribbles, notes, and clippings from yester-decades. Inspiration strikes me, as I'm sure it strikes all of us, at the most random of times. I could be sitting reading a novel and simply the way a line is written will strike me like a lightning bolt and I'll say aloud, "Shit! That sounds beautiful!" Or I'll see the way a character, or a setting, or an event is described and the sheer simplicity, elegance, or downright poetic nature of it will set me to thinking, "I wish I could write like that." And then to try and conquer the impending Imposter Syndrome, I'll write. What I write may be terrible, or it might crush my own expectations, but it spurs me to do what I love the most.

✍️

[kaylasfos]

little details of me & spencer's apartment <3

LOTS of house plants; mostly fake though because we're not home often enough to take care of them properly.

fancy prints on the walls. we try to get at least one from every new place we visit (when we're not actively working a case)

a ridiculous amount of books. we have two full bookshelves in the living room, and another in our bedroom. most of them are spencer's.

a well-used coffee machine & espresso maker. we are caffeine addicts.

both of our clothes mixed into one closet... which sometimes results in me showing up to work in one of spencer's sweaters without realizing.

half-melted candles and incense, because our apartment ALWAYS has to smell good.

fun mugs!! we get them for each other all the time :3

spencer's knitting stuff, that never stays in one place. he doesn't really keep it anywhere, so i just end up finding it wherever he used it last.

random notebooks for whenever inspiration strikes... spencer's handwriting is total chicken scratch.

year-round fall decorations babey!

stack of letters, all opened and mostly from diana :)

photo album; the first half is of spencer's childhood, the second half he's begun to fill with his current life with me :)

our glasses that we keep forgetting in random spots!