#but if anyone is inspired by this post have at it
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meticulac ¡ 1 day ago
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Naive Rules to Argumentative Fantastical Play
Roles: director, encounter-controller, adventurer-patrons
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Preparation: Together, write a realm sheet. Record: Realm-name Creation-date player-bylines starting social-groups, one per-player, with: group name general aesthetic three common member traits several common names frequent hazard
Encounter-controller: Define enemy characters in relation to common realm traits and frequent hazards. Director: Mock up introduction, outline, formatted for convenient encounter production.
Adventurer-patrons each have: reserve-deck of character-cards spirit deck for dead and retired characters Character-cards are 3x5 note cards made starting with: character-name player-alias creation date three traits, but each from a different social-group
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Adventuring: Director: Present introduction, passing control to encounter-controller.
Encounter-start: adventurer-patrons without a living party member draw from reserve-deck.
Encounter-controller: Present situations, asking each adventurer-patron in turn for character responses. Players argue over applicability of character traits using Septem-Circumstantiae questions. After all responses, roll any dice to determine party luck, then describe outcomes, including any character deaths. Decide if encounter ends. Once per-encounter per-player: Optionally draw from spirit deck for a trophy-assist style summon.
Director: Observe, produce further encounters for encounter-controller as needed, steer adventure to resolve in one or two sessions.
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Session-end: Record each party member's most memorable success and failure (or death) as timestamped traits. Retire character-cards when almost full.
Feel free to archive this game off-site! I also posted this to Pollowfort, and if reasonably practical, I would like for the Pillowfort post to also be linked directly from the archive, but if that seems like it could be a hassle don't worry about it.
The game was completed fairly early on and is being submitted last-minute mainly because I was holding out for anyone to show interest in doing even one playtest of it, I'll maybe consider just skipping that part next year. I did get some feedback from someone proofreading it though, so that was nice.
Anyway, a quick rundown of the ideas here is that having adventuring players help in filing out information about the realm, and having a specifically designated player serve the role of building out encounters while the other game master actually runs them are both meant to reduce pressure to constantly come up with and keep track of everything in the game.
The argument system sort of goes against that a bit, but ideally it should also just take the desire to rules-lawyer and direct that itself toward storytelling by asking adventurers to philosophically justify why what they're doing should work. It's also a nice excuse to name-drop the ancient Greek version of the Five Ws.
It should also be helped by having every character card act as a log of the most notable story events they were involved in. The card system, where characters are initially made via simple templates and dead characters kept in a spirit deck, are both there to make it so running a game where death comes fast and easy is can run as smoothly and painlessly as possible.
If I could easily fit more stuff in this, I would want to expressly make it so new characters can also take inspiration from one random dead character as one of their traits. I also kind of like the idea of having players each design a deity character who they use to add divine intervention moves to the spirit deck, mainly because having that be a player's main character could further help players feel comfortable playing fast and loose with their mortal underlings.
Incidentally, the process of building the realm together out of whatever aesthetics the players think of first kind of resembles how in the Disney Animated version of Peter Pan (1953), the island of Neverland mainly consists of features that the principal characters used as happy thoughts to fly there. I didn't realize I was working that in at first, but it's incidentally something I've been thinking would be cool to design into a game.
Edit for some extra design notes I thought of:
The part where you give each character a new ability each session was something I thought of thanks to an untitled game where you play as possibly-ghosts of mysterious origin that I played on Discord once with some people. In that game you got a new ability basically every other phase of play and that really got out of hand quickly, hence why I reduced it to once per session.
Also designed for speeding things up is the part where you only roll once for the entire party, since performing and interpreting rolls does take up some time, and I figure condensing the overall luck of the party as if they were acting as a single unit wouldn't be too bad for a game where parties are supposed to act as cohesive teams anyway.
200 Word RPGs 2024
Each November, some people try to write a novel. Others would prefer to do as little writing as possible. For those who wish to challenge their ability to not write, we offer this alternative: producing a complete, playable roleplaying game in two hundred words or fewer.
This is the submission thread for the 2024 event, running from November 1st, 2024 through November 30th, 2024. Submission guidelines can be found in this blog's pinned post, here.
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flwrkid14 ¡ 2 days ago
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Tim and Jason: Caught Between Healing and Fear
note: completely inspired by this amazing post! tysm to @timdrakewhump for letting me use it as inspo!! <33
Tim doesn’t flinch around Jason. Not exactly. It’s more of a stiffening, a tightening of his shoulders, a flicker in his eyes that he knows Jason catches. He hates it. Everyone else has moved on. Dick forgave. Bruce rebuilt. Even Damian, with all his sharp edges, has softened into something survivable. But Tim? He still expects a hit that doesn’t come, still hears the echo of fists in the dark.
And that? That’s on him, right? It has to be. Because if everyone else can move on, why can’t he?
They don’t talk about it. Not directly. The bats have always been good at side-stepping, at smoothing over the cracks with enough shared history to pretend the damage never happened. They act like everything’s fixed, like Jason is something fragile they have to keep close, hold together. They ignore the way Tim’s shoulders tense when Jason’s voice gets too loud, the way his hands shake when shadows fall just right. They brush off his excuses to leave the room or, worse, look at him like he’s the problem.
“Jason’s trying, Tim.” “He’s better now.” “Don’t hold onto the past.”
But Tim isn’t holding on. He’s bracing.
Every patrol with Jason is a test. Every sparring match, a gamble. Jason keeps it light—punches pulled, jabs softened with crooked smiles—but Tim knows what Jason’s hands are capable of. He remembers the brutality, the raw fury that doesn’t vanish just because it’s been filed down to something more manageable. He knows Jason’s trying. He knows Jason’s better. But there’s a thin line between better and safe, and Tim’s still learning how to balance on it.
When Jason starts spending more time at the manor, no one questions it. They welcome him with open arms, eager to fill the empty spaces his absence left. He’s part of the family, they say. He needs support, they insist. So Jason sits at the dinner table, helps out on patrol, lounges on the couch like he’s always belonged there. And Tim... Tim watches from the corner of the room, a shadow on the periphery, pretending he doesn’t notice the way everyone else orbits around Jason like he’s the sun.
They send Tim on solo missions now—so Jason can have space. They say it like it’s a good thing, like they’re doing Tim a favor. More responsibility, more autonomy. He should be grateful. And he is. Or he would be, if it didn’t feel like being exiled. The irony isn’t lost on him. They don’t want Jason to be alone, so Tim has to be.
The apartment is quieter than the manor, the kind of quiet that presses in too close. No hum of the Cave, no distant footsteps of someone always nearby. It’s fine. He’s used to it. He tells himself that every night, like a mantra. He likes the solitude. It’s familiar, comforting in a way that makes his chest ache. But sometimes, when the silence stretches too thin, he thinks about calling. Jason always picks up now. He’d probably offer to come over, bridge the gap that Tim never asked to be there.
But what would Tim say? Sorry I still see the blood on your knuckles? Sorry I can’t forget how it felt to be the replacement? Sorry you came back, and I thought it would fix things, but it didn’t?
He doesn’t call.
They’re terrified of losing Jason again. They hold him close, desperate, like he might slip through their fingers if they let go for even a second. Tim understands that. He really does. He remembers the hollow ache that filled the manor after Jason died, the way grief settled into the walls like a permanent stain. No one wants to go through that again. They’d do anything to keep Jason safe, to keep him here.
But no one asks what Tim gave up. What he’s still giving up.
Jason is here, but Tim feels like he’s the ghost.
Sometimes, when they’re all gathered together—Bruce at the head of the table, Dick and Steph cracking jokes, Duke helping himself to another slice of pie—Tim looks around and wonders if anyone would notice if he slipped away. Just stood up, walked out, and didn’t come back. Would they miss him? Or would they be too busy watching Jason, making sure he doesn’t disappear again?
He catches Jason watching him sometimes, eyes sharp and knowing. Jason’s not stupid. He sees the cracks. Tim wonders if he feels guilty, or if he’s just waiting for Tim to say something, to break the silence that’s grown too thick between them. But Tim won’t. He can’t. The words stick in his throat, heavy and bitter.
So he stays quiet. He goes on solo missions, patrols alone, comes back to an empty apartment that feels less like home every day. And he tells himself it’s enough.
Because it has to be.
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ghouljams ¡ 3 hours ago
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Gah! the last aphrodite! reader blurb you posted made me want to pull my hair out, cause how dare Ares?!???? I'd def make sure to be wearing all of the trinkets Nikto crafted for me whenever I'm going to be seen to (try) and send a message that I'm only loyal to one (very grumpy) man
There's nothing the gods love more than gossip. Especially when that gossip seems rife with sordid details. Ares loves nothing more than to share stories of his conquests, so why should you be any different? The stories are good, the details are devilish, and the gab is truly legendary. You can even hear the mortals gossiping about it.
For all that you inspire, you're not terribly creative. You know a flat out denial will do little to help your case, and though neither you nor Ares have proof to back up your claims, a good story is hard to pass up.
Though you know the outcome, you head for the forge. You've spent too many days holed up in your chambers. Too much time sleeping and hoping you'll wake up with your bed warm. Too much time feeling sick at the sight of anyone else, wondering if they think you're an adulterer, wondering if they don't.
Against all odds, the door opens.
And like a lamb for slaughter you take your place on your paltry altar.
"We wondered when you would come back." Nikto tells you over his shoulder as he lifts a gleaming sword from a drum of oil. You've never heard him speak Greek before, it feels like a douse of cold water to finally parse something from his covered lips. His voice is so rich, rumbling like chariot wheels over gravel roads, that it brings the heat rushing back immediately. "If you would come back." He seems to correct himself, and you're right back where you started.
"The door was locked," You tell him, it feels easier to keep that as an explanation than wonder if he'd believed the rumors. You could always ask, but you caution your heart against hoping for him to believe you. Nikto hums, the sound muffled and tinny behind his mask.
"You have key." He supplies finally, rotating the sword to check its edge.
"I don't," you shake your head. Your husband points with the blade, the metal held between iron pinchers, over your head. You tip your head back and blink at the heavy key dangling above you. Something in your chest clenches tight. "Thank you." You mumble, turning to pull the thing from its hook.
"What is ours is yours." Nikto mutters, turning to set the blade on his anvil again.
Your head rings with the beat of hammers once more.
There is silence in the clamor of creation.
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bloggerspam ¡ 2 days ago
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Mechanic! Val AU Extras!
I decided to create a whole new post for the extras, apart from the main story. Sorry If the reblog confused anyone!
But hey, i finally got the inspiration to write this scene out!
It's really bad and rushed because I JUST finished it, but its done and i am not changing it. <3
Also on AO3 :)
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Jason has a plan.
He fidgets with the box of chocolates in his hands, waiting for the door to open. Danny had said he understood, in his texts, had reacted positively to Jason asking to see him, to celebrate Danny's move.
But text can only go so far, and the subtext is actively trying to murder Jason via anxiety and guilt.
Jason's not 100% sure, basically, that Danny knows Jason likes him. The misunderstanding was cleared, but the uncertainty has not.
Jason had a plan, a big one. He was going to take Danny, just the two of them, to the Gotham Observatory to celebrate the move. He was going to lead Danny through the exhibits that he had researched thoroughly before hand, and then take him to dinner at this little hole in the wall Italian place, with the perfect mood lighting and atmosphere for a cozy little dish of spaghetti. Maybe joke about Lady and the Tramp, tell Danny he's pretty.
He was going to ask Danny to be his boyfriend, cuddled up together in the ambient candle lights in his best leather jacket and a little moon rock pendant, to the moon and back and all that. It was going to be perfect, it was going to be good.
And then, maybe, in the far off future Jason could…could let Danny in. Let him know he knows about Phantom, despite Steph's doubts. Slowly start teasing Danny about Red Hood and Jason Todd being on his Hall Pass list.
But then Talia had snitched on Timbers, taunted Jason about how his little replacement was so very hard to catch before throwing a knife at his head.
And then the misunderstanding happened, and Val with the Red Hood reveal, and—
And Jason had a plan, but the plan went to shit.
But Jason is a Bat, against all fucking odds, and so he pivoted, adjusted, re-calibrated the entire time he was working on that stupid Mazda.
The new plan is sound. The new plan is a little slapshot, but it works, and Jason has been practicing his heartfelt apology and subsequent love confession for the last two hours.
The door opens, Danny looking worse for wear. He looks sad, downtrodden, and hurt. Eye red-rimmed and skin a pallor that insomniacs love to don, lips chapped and bitten to all hell. His hair is all over the place, and his voice creaks and cracks when it asks who is it? before the door is even fully open, and Jason thinks he'll have to tell Danny not to do that in Gotham, to check before opening the door because it's not safe and—
And Danny is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, eyes widening upon seeing him, looking flustered and embarrassed to be seen in "such a state."
Jason practiced, he reminds himself, for two hours.
The door opens, and Jason opens his mouth before Danny can even greet him.
"I'm Red Hood!" His voice squeaks at a pitch it's never squeaked before, "I'm Red Hood, you're Phantom, and I'm desperately hoping you understand that I'm an idiot and I was being chased by three ninja assassins and had bloody gloves and couldn't text properly."
Danny is speechless, Jason can see this by the way his mouth flaps open and shut but no sound comes out. Jason is about to crawl out of his own fucking skin. He doesn't remember what his speech was before. He pivots.
"I know I should have waited," He continues, and despite all the training he's so panicked he possibly can't even see anymore, "But I don't like making you wait if I can help it because I'm kind of desperately in love with you?"
There's a long silence.
"Was that a question?" A different voice calls out from behind Danny. Tucker, he thinks.
"No!" Fuck, his face is burning. He looks Danny in the eyes, tries to convey confidence. "I am desperately in love with you."
He stands there, just for a moment, before remembering the chocolates and shoving them gentle into Danny's chest, who takes it with a startled blink. "I got you chocolates. To say sorry, and that I like you."
Danny looks down on at the box, a novelty thing. They're fancy, high quality, shaped into the different moons of Jupiter. Jason had them custom made for the Observatory date.
"I—" Danny pauses, still seeming to process things as he stares at the chocolates in his hand, using his other hand to try and pat down his hair. He's beautiful, and Jason hates that he made him feel any type of negative feelings at all.
"It's okay," Danny finally settles on, smiling softly at him. Jason's insides feel like molten lava. "It was just a misunderstanding."
"Yeah," Jason smiles helplessly back, "But it still hurt you."
Before Danny can say anything to that, he's yanked back into the apartment. Jason reaches out, instinctively, before catching himself.
Sam stands in the doorway with her arms crossed and a scowl that could curdle milk.
Jason swallows dry spit.
"You did hurt him." Sam's voice is so low Jason could scoop it off the floor, "And Danny might forgive you, and Val might have let you off easy, but I don't like it when people hurt my friends."
Behind her, Jason can see Danny being dragged away by Tucker, who gives him a two fingered salute and a wink.
Well. Fuck.
Jason's got a long time to grovel before he can see Danny again, he can tell.
Jason takes a deep breath. It'll be worth it.
Because when all is said and done, he's gonna ask Danny to be his boyfriend.
By the way Danny blows him an apologetic kiss, he's fairly confident they'll be fine.
He catches the kiss and puts it in his pocket, ignoring Sam's rolling eyes, and prepares himself.
Jason, after all, has a plan.
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livingtobethevillain ¡ 2 days ago
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Hear me out.
Joker junior Tim and as a treat he gets his own Harley Quinn (Bernard)
This was inspired off of a post that showed a bunch of comic panels with Bernard using a variety of random vaguely weapon shaped things to beat people up and someone mentioned giving him a giant hammer like harley.
I have no chill
Anyways i like this. Bernard being off his rocker due to the pain cult or whatever and Joker junior tim is a given.
Might write a little oneshot. Would anyone like that? Idk
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tavyliasin ¡ 1 day ago
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BG3 FanFiction Positivity Event!
Hi hello fellow BG3 fans who enjoy FanFic - whether a Reader or a Writer, I'd like to invite you to participate in KudosCember (Kudos December), a fun and no pressure prompt list to give some love to the fic writing community on AO3 who pour their heart and souls into free stories 🥰
With the help of the wonderful @redroomroaving who turned my words into beautiful graphics, we have a whole list of "prompts" to encourage you to leave kudos, likes, comments, and even share your favourite fics as a reading list so others can find and enjoy!
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More of the details below the cut, and I'll put out a prompt post every day so you can reblog with a link to fics for people to enjoy~ Also you can use the tag #BG3KudosCember to share and find more posts! Though this has been designed for fiction, I welcome and encourage sharing of art that fits the prompts too if you like!
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Readers please go ahead and use the list as inspiration to pick out your favourite bookmarks or even to find something new! You are *very* welcome to do just a few of these, or even go for a high score with all of them~ If you share your picks, it would be amazing to see them as a reading list!
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Writers, feel free to share your *own* works that fit these prompts. Show us what you're proud of! Help readers find stories to treasure~ There's nothing wrong with being proud of your creations and wanting others to enjoy what you worked hard on 💙
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This whole little event is a little last minute, but I hope it can encourage everyone to read, write, and share all the stories that move us, that bring us together, and that drive us forwards. And you know what? You're more than welcome to use this to repost and promote FanArt too! 🥰
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I really look forward to seeing what everyone comes up with, share what you love and give the gift of kudos and reading lists~ I'll schedule a weekly post and daily posts too so you can more easily follow one or all of the prompts. I don't have a prize for anyone who does all of them, but I will hand you an imaginary crown that is just so sparkly-
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tiltingheartand ¡ 2 days ago
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fuck it friday
tagged by @desert--moonchild and @perfectlysunny02; this WIP currently has a fall out boy lyric as a placeholder title i shan’t be sharing. also i think they both tagged me on wednesday but FUCK IT amirite? … anyway. inspired by this tumblr post.
It’s Evan. The person calling him at three in the morning in the middle of the week is Evan. That simple fact surprises Tommy so much he almost misses the call, just barely managing to pick up before it flips to voicemail anyway. “Hello? Buck? What’s wrong?” 
Because something has to be wrong. They haven’t spoken in weeks. So he’s expecting … who knows. He’s just trying to prepare himself for an impending disaster, which doesn’t at all prepare him for what he actually hears: the cut-off end of a sob, a loud sniffle, a few heavy breaths. “You know what I miss the most about dating you?”
It feels like Tommy’s head is spinning. He wants to say what? or what the fuck? or even something cruel like the pedestal being empty? In the end — after a few seconds, trying to determine whether or not Evan actually wanted an answer — he goes with an old standby: “Buck, are you okay? Did something happen?”
Tommy hears a snort, a deep breath, and another few sniffles. “Yeah, you dumped me, remember? And now there’s nobody who just wants to hold me anymore, and I can’t even blame them because I really think there’s just something wrong with me. Like. On the cellular level. I think people can just tell.” 
Content of what Evan’s saying aside — for the moment — something about the way he’s talking, combined with what sounds an awful lot like an extended crying jag, rings familiar to Tommy. “Honey —” he shouldn’t have said that, fuck. “Did you scene today? You don’t have to tell me what you did, just a yes or a no is okay.”
Silence. Then, ten seconds later, “I did, yeah. Yes.”
(… not tagging anyone because friday is nearly over, but feel free to consider yourself tagged if you want to be!)
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klaineadvent ¡ 2 days ago
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Hello Klainers!
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Sorry for the late start, but yes there is a
December Klaine Fanworks Challenge!!!
(Brought to you by the @klaineadvent blog.)
Once again, this will be a 21 day challenge! Hopefully giving everyone time to complete the event before other obligations kick in, or time to catch up if you like.
The Dates. December 1 - December 21 
The Words. Every day around 6am, US Eastern Standard Time, a fresh new word will pop out of the queue. This year the words are not alphabetical, and were chosen by a random word generator. We’ve got a pair of wonderful artists this year working up the slides, so say a big thanks to @mynonah and @justasmallbloginabigklainefandom!  They both did AMAZING work on a very last minute schedule! 
Keep in mind that a lot of words have many definitions, and the one listed is only a suggestion. Feel free to incorporate any definition you like. Also - we often get asked if it has to be the exact version of the word listed - and while I’m not the word police and you can do what works for you, isn’t part of the fun making it work? 
How to participate. Anyone can contribute, no need to sign up! There will be a single word prompt post each day for 21 days (December 1-21). You can write a drabble (or a sentence or a novel, if you like), create an art piece, make fresh gifs based on the prompt - whatever inspires you! This year the tag will be: “december klaine challenge 2024” and please tag with the word of the day so volunteers can ID the posts they need to reblog (please please please make sure all of your contributions are tagged so we can find them!). 
Contribute however works best for you. You can do something every day, every 4th day, once a week, altogether at the end, whatever works for you and your schedule. Use all the prompts or pick and choose what speaks to you. Set your own challenges. The only requirements for the Challenge are that it be Klaine centered, and that it references or uses one the word (or theme) prompt in some way.
Volunteers will be reblogging fics to the @todaydreambelieversfic blog, so you can always go scroll the blog to find the latest entries.  Of course everyone (especially the authors!) would be delighted if people reblogged to their own blog - the more people who reblog something the wider the potential viewing audience. We want to encourage everyone to reblog as many fics as they like all throughout the month!!
Partnership. This year again we’ll be partnering with @todaydreambelieversfic.  Authors and other creators for the December Klaine Fanworks Challenge who would like an additional place to promote their works are welcome to join as members. Just send a private message to @todaydreambelieversfic with your email address and they’ll add you to the blog membership.
Archive of Our Own. We have created a collection on AO3 for those people who don’t post to tumblr, and where those folks who do post to tumblr can share their advent works if you like! You can find this collection here!
Want to Volunteer? We can always use people to help with the daily reblogs!  If you can spare one or two days please signup here!! If you are not already a member of the @todaydreambelieversfic blog, just message them with your email and you’ll be added!
“But what if I don’t write or make art and don’t have time to volunteer?”  You are the most important person in the Challenge!! Read the fics, look at the art, let the authors and artists know how much you appreciate their work by reblogging and commenting and liking and all those things creators like. Nothing helps a writer or artist losing steam get motivated more than a nice comment from someone. 
I think that covers everything, so if you have any questions or there’s something that’s not clear, please ask! 
Happy Writing!!
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acid-ixx ¡ 2 days ago
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If you don’t mind me asking, what does your planning process look like for your chapters and what do you write first?? I’m trying to write my own Ybatfam fic rn but I just don’t know what to add to my chapters and really just how to start them.
I love your work, your really the one who inspired me to try writing my own🩵🩵🩵
hii anon !! i'm glad u asked this, though i am no way an expert in writing, i've been doing so for years now and i've learned quite a lot from it. thanks for asking this and i hope this is comprehensive enough 😭
so when it comes to planning for a chapter, or just a one-shot, i always write out what i want to establish within it. ask yourself; what does the chapter center around? would it be the relationships with characters, or the emotions you want to portray, is it angsty or just hurt/comfort? in planning, i write the general gist of what will happen through the entire thing (read: planned fanfics) before i move on to outlining.
and here, outlining helps like a god. i like to separate a chapter into multiple parts, and combine them altogether in the end. so when it comes to outlines, i just write out what i want to write and not the actual dialogue or actions in it (example: in this scene, jason tries to talk it out with you, you fight back and force him to let you out. in the next part, you're of the apartment and near to breaking down, you don't notice two sets of eyes watching over you).
sometimes, if i'm ever stuck i just write in the middle or the end because it helps me establish a flow and the build up.
also, setting the settings, changing the atmospheres, adding parallelism, and using figures of speech (simile, metaphors, personifications, etc. (e.g. conner knows you're perfect, with just how the flowers at the manor sings for your presence or how the beams of sunlight always directs itself at you)) are really helpful for when my writing feels dry or doesn't feel as compelling. it's not always required but it helps adding flowery (but not-so much) words or relating characters into objects with symbolisms to give readers an even deeper insight of who the characters is and why they are like that.
writing for the actual chapter, even starting it is always going to be the hard part. it's like starting an essay, but i suggest treating it like an essay— what do you want to focus on? always remember that the start of a chapter helps set up the mood and pacing of the story, so whether it'd be action packed or something lighthearted, reflect it upon the flow of your words too.
start with an interesting hook, whether it'd be rhetorical questions or digging deep into a character's personality and diving into specifics about it, have key points and expound upon it; and always take note of the atmosphere of how your entire story should be, show it through actions, reactions, gestures and dialogues.
otherwise, i've not much to say but take your time and don't pressure yourself with trying to achieve perfection. i'm pretty much someone who likes to write out my ideas before the actual planning so most of the time i wing most of what i want to write (loving family, unpalatable desire is a product of it) and hope to god that whatever outcome will be decent.
and thank you so much anon for finding me as an inspiration 🥹 it's unbelievable, the amount of support i mean— and if you ever do wish to post your own fic and feel doubtful of it still, you can always also chat me through my chatbox here in tumblr since it's pretty much open for anyone.
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aryomengrande ¡ 3 days ago
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don't you need them like they need you now? want an art just like this with your f/o? then just meet me at the apt for this event! this is open to anyone aged 18 and above. read the rules below before joining ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )
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you don't have to be following me to join. but you have to be off anon though. mutuals will be prioritized. only one (1) entry per person.
open to all fandoms! my strongest suits are jujutsu kaisen, tokyo revengers, one piece, and naruto.
the pink thunder background is the default background.
⚡︎ one, when you send your ask, please attach a photo of your f/o, preferably face front. tell me if u want the photo as is or if you want anything changed. please tell me what expression they'll be wearing, whether you want to add accessories or if you want me to copy bruno mars's fit with the ballcap backwards and the sunglasses (like i did with baji). the more specific you are with the details, the better!
⚡︎ two, attach a representation of your face—a picrew, a sim, or even a selfie. do tell me what type of facial expression you want as well. don't worry, i won't post the asks and will delete them right after! i usually use procreate's eyedropper to pick specific colors but if you think the lighting is off or the colors are inaccurate in your picrew/sim/selfie, you can send me hex codes of your skin color, hair color, eye color, and lip color. if there is anything else you want to add such as accessories, please let me know. again, the more specific you are with details, the better!
⚡︎ three, keep your asks/DMs open should i have any questions. if you have concerns, don't hesitate to drop by my ask box/DMs as well.
⚡︎ four, please be patient with me. i will do my best to grant everyone's wishes and just, enjoy doing this without pressure or anxiety lol. i thought of this event bc i finally finished my yearly to-draw list so i'm free besides my pending commissions. i also need to give back to this community that has been nothing but nice to me ♡
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the inspiration for this theme was my upcoming birthday art for thee satoru gojo which was apt-inspired. the duration for sending entries is from november 30 until gojo’s birthday, december 7. i will start posting finished products on the days leading up to christmas and hopefully finish it all before christmas.
i will message you back to let you know whether you secured a slot or not. please check this post occassionally to know whether there are more slots available.
⚡︎ as of [ dec 2 ] : 11/15 slots taken. 4 slots available.
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rara's favorite random game | Š aryomengrande 2023
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klarolinexluv ¡ 2 days ago
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Four years ago. I used to hate this one ship. Like I would go out of my way to just speak that opinion and fuck everyone else right? I was 14.
A year or so past and I grew out of that a bit. I realised that I did like one of those characters in the ship but I still preferred the other ship that was much more popular and canonly didn’t end up together. (I mean the guy died so what do you do).
Anyway… so I was 15 and realised that my behaviour wasn’t the best so I changed. I realised that the character I didn’t like was actually a nice character. I grew to appreciate her more and I started editing her and the guy. The ship that I didn’t like. People thought I was crazy… I sort of laughed it off because yeah, I suppose I was a bit crazy for editing them but I quietly enjoyed doing it.
I was 16 and I shifted away from ships. I started posting more about my favourite character who canonically was a massive bitch do said character I thought I hated. I still made my opinion clear but I never judged anyone for liking something that I didn’t.
I was 17 and I stopped posting for that fandom. I got into Harry Potter and Drarry and the fandom I was surrounded by was a lot calmer. I didn’t see much passive aggressive or toxic behaviour between shippers and that made me feel safe. I realised that a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
I was 17 and I joined the Marauders fandom. For a while it was much of the same. I was safe and I felt loved and I enjoyed it so much.
I’m 18. I still love the marauders fandom so fucking much. Everyone is so incredibly talented and so amazing and I cannot see myself ever abandoning this fandom.
I’m 18 and I got my first anonymous hate comment in my inbox. I was angry. I thought that I had moved on from getting hate for my opinion. I thought the marauders fandom was made up of a lot of mature and liked minded people. I was wrong.
I stuck to my guns. I shared my opinion even with the anonymous hate. I have an open mind. I understand where these haters were coming from. Hell, I even enjoyed the ship they were vouching for… it just so happened that I adored another ship more.
I’m a multi shipper. I always have been. I will try anything at least once and if I don’t like it, I’ll click off.
I would never leave a hate comment under someone’s hate and go off at them for shipping something that I don’t like. I’ve never done that. Even when I was 14 and hated this ship very publicly. I would never hate on someone’s art or edit or fic. I would just click away.
I will defend my favourite characters, my favourite ships until I physically cannot. I will not hate you for having a different opinion even if you hate on me first.
I have received death threats. I hope that no one ever experiences that feeling.
In conclusion, if you love something, that’s amazing. If you hate something, that’s cool too. If you hate on someone for loving something you hate, that’s not okay. Everyone deserves respect.
If someone loving something you hate makes you angry. I’m going to be so fucking for real, go outside, touch grass or taking a deep breath and scroll. Block tags. Block blogs/accounts.
Putting someone down is a form of bullying, repetitively or not. It’s bullying. Hating for no reason, I’ll go so far as to say that’s bullying.
You’re allowed to be angry, that’s your right. It’s not your right to hate one someone because of it.
Take it from someone who used to get angry for someone shipping something I hated.
I say from experience that it feels better to just let it go, to move on, to open ao3 and read the things you love, to open the tag you love and scroll through it. You’ll feel better, you’ll feel good.
I promise you. The best thing to do when you are angry is to turn away, focus your energy on something you love rather than something you hate.
I’m sorry to op for highjacking the post haha. My rant was rather inspired.
some of you cannot be the age you say you are because the way you react to fictional characters with such anger is jarring
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faretheeoscar ¡ 2 days ago
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The Therapy Droid
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Content: grief, discussions of parent death, angst , comfort, fluff, mentions of panic/anxiety. Art is happy, but the fic is not really. Let me know if I missed any!
I got inspired by this reddit post I read a while ago about how BB-8 was once a therapy droid for Poe.
A/N: English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there’s any mistakes.
Word Count: 4.2k~
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The jungle of Yavin 4 hummed with life as the sun dipped low, bathing the sky in hues of orange and violet. From the top step of their modest home, Poe Dameron sat hunched over, a model starfighter clutched loosely in his hands. His fingers traced its sleek wings and sharp edges, but his eyes were distant, fixed on nothing in particular.
It had been two months since his mother, Shara Bey, died.
For a boy of nine, grief was an incomprehensible thing. It wasn’t just sadness—it was a hollow, consuming ache that dulled every sound, every color. Poe barely touched the toys and star charts he once obsessed over. The jungle no longer called to him, nor did the excitement of exploring the Rebel base ruins nearby. Everything felt wrong without her.
His father, Kes Dameron, watched from the doorway. The death of Shara had left a hole in both their lives, but Kes had always been better at hiding his pain. He was a soldier, after all. He knew how to keep marching, even when the weight felt unbearable. But Poe? Poe was still a boy, one who had lost not just his mother, but his light.
Kes had tried everything to help—encouraging words, distractions, he had stayed on Yavin to try to spend time together with his son—but nothing seemed to break through. That’s until he spoke to some officers on Shara’s old team that contacted him with a New Republic doctor, a sympathetic Mon Calamari, who had suggested something new.
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“Hey Flyboy,” Kes said gently, stepping out onto the porch. The boy didn’t move.
"Poe..."Kes crouched beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been thinking. You’ve been through a lot... and I know that lately I haven’t been here for you, that you’ve stayed with your grandpa but… I think you need someone who can really be there for you, to help you.”
“I don’t need anyone,” Poe muttered, his voice sounding a little bit more sharp than it intended. His grip on the model starfighter tightened.
Kes hesitated, then pressed a button on the remote he’d been holding. From inside the house came a soft whirring sound, followed by the distinct chime of a droid powering on. A moment later, a small spherical astromech droid rolled into view, white and orange plating recently polished. Its head, a dome balanced impossibly above its ball-shaped body, swiveled with curiosity.
Poe’s brow furrowed. “Who… is this?”
“This,” Kes said with a small smile, “is BB-8. He’s a therapy droid. The New Republic’s been rolling them out for people who’ve had... a hard time.”
BB-8 beeped softly, his head tilting as if studying the boy. Poe’s brows knit together, suspicion tinged with annoyance. 
“I don’t need a droid” Poe said flatly.
“You might not think so,” Kes said, his voice steady, “but sometimes, having someone—something—to talk to helps. BB-8’s not just a machine. He’s designed to listen, to keep you company. To be your friend.”
BB-8 trolled softly, rolling a little closer. Poe eyed him warily, but the droid didn’t press further.
“You don’t have to decide now,” Kes said, standing. “But BB-8’s here for you. Give him a chance.”
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BB-8 didn’t leave Poe’s side.
At first, Poe ignored him. When the droid tried to engage him with cheerful beeps or small tricks, Poe would turn away. But BB-8 wasn’t discouraged. The little droid had been programmed with patience and persistence, and he used both.
One evening, BB-8 followed Poe into the jungle as the boy wandered aimlessly, his head bowed. The droid rolled beside him silently, only chirping softly when Poe stumbled on a root. 
Poe paused his walk. “Why are you following me?” He demanded, spinning around to glare at the droid trailing behind him.
BB-8 let out a sequence of beeps that translated roughly to, Because you need me.
Poe’s scowl deepened. “I don’t. Go back to the garage or something. Leave me alone!”
BB-8 let out a sarcastic whistle, a sound that practically oozed droid sass, before speeding up and deliberately rolling into Poe’s shin with a firm thud. He then spun in a tiny circle around him, this kid clearly needed some tough love to get the message. BB-8’s stance made it clear: You’re stuck with me, kid.
Poe stumbled back, staring at the droid with wide eyes.  “Ow! What the—are you serious? You’re lucky my dad insists on keeping you around. If it were up to me, I’d leave you out here to rust!”
BB-8 responded with a smug, elongated chirp, leaning back slightly on his spherical body.
Go ahead. You’d miss me within an hour.
Poe groaned, running his hands over his face in frustration. “You’re the most annoying droid I’ve ever met. And I’ve met Chopper.”
BB-8 let out a dramatic warble of protest, offended by the comparison. His head swiveled: Take that back.
“I’m not taking it back! You’re annoying,” Poe shot back, his voice rising in exasperation.
BB-8 emitted a sequence of defiant beeps, the droid equivalent of, Fine. Say whatever you want, I’m staying. Without missing a beat, he continued rolling alongside Poe, as persistent as ever.
Poe groaned again, throwing his hands in the air as he resumed walking. “Unbelievable. You’re impossible.”
BB-8 chirped brightly, almost cheerfully, Glad you noticed.
BB-8’s beeps followed Poe as he wandered deeper into the forest, the droid a persistent presence just behind him. Poe sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused at how the little droid refused to leave him alone. 
As they pushed through the dense underbrush, Poe’s eyes caught a flash of metal glinting through the green. A moment later, they came to a clearing where the remnants of an old X-wing cockpit lay half-buried in the dirt, vines creeping over its edges like a tangled web. 
“Stars, this is amazing!” he whispered, a grin spreading across his face as he clambered inside. The seat was weathered, moss-covered, and the controls were worn, but to Poe, it was perfect. His small hands traced the familiar layout of the console, fingers brushing over switches and dials as if they might come alive at his touch. He sat down, imagining what it would feel like to fly—like his mom did in her own ship, racing among the stars, the hum of the engines beneath him. For a moment he felt at peace, in that cockpit, and something urged him to start talking, mostly to himself, but still aware of the fact that the droid could hear him. 
“My mom taught me how to fly,” he said almost absentmindedly. His voice wavered, the words carried a weight too heavy for his little heart. “She used to say the sky, space was freedom.” 
Poe’s lips curved into a faint smile as he brushed his fingers across the throttle. “She was amazing, you know? She’d let me sit in her lap while she flew. I could feel every little turn, every little bump. It was like the ship was alive. Like it was... part of her.”
BB-8 tilted his head and let out a soft beep, as if urging Poe to continue when he saw him struggling to speak again. Poe took a deep breath deciding that maybe he could trust the little round droid with his mom’s precious memories.
“She’d tell me stories about her missions—like this one time she out-flew three TIEs through an asteroid field. Dad always said she was crazy for trying it, but I thought she was the coolest.” Poe chuckled lightly. “She wasn’t scared of anything.”
The smile slipped from his face as his gaze drifted to the canopy of the cockpit, now cracked and clouded with age. “When she died...” His voice faltered. He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening on the edge of the seat. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye. One day she was here, and then... she wasn’t.”
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His mind drifted to the memory of her funeral, a simple ceremony held around a fire on the jungle floor of Yavin IV. The night was warm, the fire crackling softly as the gathered pilots of Green Squadron shared stories of Shara Bey. It wasn’t the first time Poe had heard about her final mission, but hearing it from Captain L’ulo brought a sharp pain to his heart. 
L’ulo had spoken hesitantly at first, his voice weighed down by the memory. He recounted the chaos of the mission, the near impossibility of holding their ground against the Empire’s relentless assault. “She wouldn’t leave until she’d done what she came for,” L’ulo had said, his hands tightening on the flight gloves he held. “She said the navigational data in the droids couldn’t fall into Imperial hands. We all tried to get her back to the ship, but then…” He trailed off, his gaze distant, fixed on the flames.
“We begged her to let us stay, to fight for her, but Shara... She was Shara. She wouldn’t let us risk ourselves for her. Told us to go. Ordered us to go.” The words came slower after that, his voice trembling. “And then... she told me something else. She said to tell Kes that she loved him. That he should kiss Poe for her the next time he saw him.”
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the crackling of the fire. L’ulo shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have delivered a lot of messages, but I think this is the hardest I’ve ever done… I’m–sorry, I’m so sorry…”
Kes had turned away from the fire, his shoulders shaking as he fought to hold himself together. Poe had felt frozen in place, the weight of his mother’s final message settled over him like a weight, heavy and suffocating, pulling at the edges of his heart. Even as L’ulo had finished speaking, and the others had started to share their own stories of Shara– with tales of laughter that could cheer up the mood, all Poe could think was how much he wished he could have been there, to hug her one last time, to tell her that he loved her too.
“Poe, come here.” Kes called for his son, his voice breaking. Poe came close to his father, shoulders slouching and his head tilted down.
Kes’s hands trembled as he reached into the pocket of his flight jacket, pulling out a small, silver ring that gleamed shinner than the stars that night. He cupped it in his palm, holding it out to Poe to take.
“This ring,” Kes said, “this was your mother’s. She wore it when she married me, and she always kept it on when she flew. She said it reminded her of what she was fighting for—us, the family she loved more than anything.” He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat, eyes searching Poe’s face. “It’s yours now. To remember her by.”
Poe’s eyes widened as he took the ring, turning it over in his fingers, tracing the cool metal soft surface of it. Tears welled up, blurring the firelight before him as he slipped the ring around his neck, letting it rest against his chest where it felt right—close to his heart.
“Thank you, Dad,” he whispered, three words, it was the most Poe had spoken ever since the news of Shara’s passing had come to their ears. Kes’s eyes also glistened with tears as he pulled Poe into a tight embrace that felt like it lasted forever. After a moment, he pulled back just enough to press a kiss to Poe’s forehead, then stood, watching as his son remained at the fire, fingers clutching the ring against his chest.
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The jungle seemed to hold its breath, the sounds of creatures and insects fading into the background. Poe’s face crumpled as tears welled up in his eyes. He buried his face in his arms, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. "I feel like... like there’s this big hole in me, and nothing fills it. I try to remember her face, her voice, but... it’s getting harder.” His words grew quieter, as if speaking them out loud might make the memories fade faster, anxiety making it harder for him to breathe. “I don’t want to forget her.”
BB-8 chirped softly, rolling closer until he was right beside the cockpit. He extended his small manipulator arm and poked gently at Poe’s arm. When Poe didn’t respond, BB-8 let out a deliberate sequence of exaggerated beeps.
Poe sniffled, lifting his head just enough to shoot BB-8 a questioning glance. “What now?”
BB-8 repeated the beeps, slower this time, and Poe blinked. “Wait... what? Did you just say... ‘Why did the droid cross the road?’”
BB-8 let out a series of triumphant whistles, delivering the punchline: Because it rolled with it!
A laugh burst out of Poe, sudden but cutting back his tears. “That’s so bad, BB-8. Like, terrible.”
BB-8 trilled proudly, And yet you’re laughing. He spun in place and bumped his dome against Poe’s arm playfully, making the boy laugh harder.
Poe wiped at his face with his sleeve, “You’re impossible” His tears mingled with a reluctant grin. “But... thanks.”
BB-8 gave a gentle chirp, a comforting sound that filled the silence like a warm hug. Poe reached out to rub the droid’s head, his heart a little lighter despite the ache that still lingered.
“You’d like her, you know,” Poe said quietly. “And Mom. She’d love you.”
From that moment, something shifted. Poe still didn’t talk much, but he stopped pushing BB-8 away. Slowly as their conversations grew more natural, filled with sarcasm and teasing, but also an unspoken warmth. Poe found himself trusting BB-8 in a way he hadn’t trusted anyone since losing his mother. 
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Weeks turned into months, and BB-8 became more than a companion—he became Poe’s anchor. The droid’s gentle persistence pulled him out of his shell, coaxing him to engage with the world again. 
When Poe felt lost, BB-8 would roll ahead, guiding him through the jungle paths as if to remind him to keep moving. When Poe was restless, the droid would engage him in small tasks—repairing gadgets, organizing tools, or tinkering with scrap—quietly keeping his hands and mind busy.
On difficult nights, BB-8 would activate his tiny light projector, filling the room with soft, shifting patterns of starlight to create a sense of calm. When Poe woke from nightmares, gasping for air, BB-8 would roll to his bedside, nudge him gently, and Poe, still trembling, would place a hand on BB-8’s dome. And when sleep reclaimed him, BB-8 remained there—a constant, steady presence, guarding his peace through the night.
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By the time Poe turned ten, he and BB-8 were inseparable. Together, they explored the galaxy of Poe’s imagination, flying pretend missions in the abandoned ship, building little trinkets at home or mapping out constellations on the jungle floor. BB-8’s programming evolved to meet Poe’s needs, adapting to the boy’s growing confidence and rekindled spark.
Kes often found them in the garage, a small, cluttered space attached to their home. It was a place Shara had once used to tinker with her A-wing’s auxiliary systems, and now it had become Poe’s workshop. The smell of lubricant and metal filled the air as Poe crouched beside BB-8, giving the droid an oil bath.
“Hold still,” Poe said, his voice animated. He held a rag as he worked a polishing cloth over BB-8’s rounded body. “You know, if we ever get into real trouble on a mission, you’re gonna need to be faster. We could mod your servos—make you the quickest droid in the Galaxy!”
BB-8 gave a hesitant chirp, tilting his head.
“Oh, come on, it’s not dangerous,” Poe insisted with a grin, not pausing in his work. “I mean, probably not. I’d test it first, of course.” He leaned back, squinting at a particularly stubborn smudge before rubbing it away.
“And speaking of missions, wait until you hear this new plan I have,” he continued, his excitement bubbling over. “Remember that old ship that’s buried? What if we start bringing the parts here? We could totally try to do some of the repairs ourselves. Grandpa can probably help us get replacements—or better yet, we could just borrow Dad’s ship now that he’s back. Do a quick trip to a scrap yard, grab a new computer, hyperdrive, everything we could need. I’ll make a list! We could sneak out at night—nobody would even notice. It’s totally safe, foolproof, and we get to build our own ship. What do you think?”
BB-8 trilled a skeptical response, his dome tilting dramatically ready to deliver a lecture You’re ridiculous. You’re ten. You cannot fly a ship by yourself. We are not going to a scrapyard. I’m not playing nanny. It’s not foolproof. It’s not doable. It’s hothead thinking.
Poe laughed, scrubbing at a streak of grease on BB-8’s dome. “What, you don’t think I could pull it off? I bet Mom would’ve let me try. She always said we’d build a ship together for me to fly—and that she’d let me do the testing, too.”
His voice softened, and his hands slowed, the cloth resting against BB-8’s dome. “And with all the stuff she taught me when she let me take laps? I think I’m ready to fly on my own, BB. Really.”
The playful banter faded, leaving behind a quiet stillness. Poe’s words lingered in the air, and with them came memories—flashes of Shara Bey’s face, radiant as she smiled down at him in the cockpit of her A-wing. He could almost hear her voice, warm and steady, guiding him as his small hands gripped the controls for the first time. “Feel the ship, Poe. Let it become part of you. Trust yourself.”
The ache inside of Poe returned, sharp and raw. No matter how many days passed, no matter how many distractions he found, that hollow place in his chest never fully healed. His heart? It would always belong to her, bound by every moment she’d spent teaching him, loving him, being everything to him.
Poe’s breath hitched as his hand slipped from BB-8’s dome to the small ring hanging from a metal cord around his neck. His fingers closed tightly around it, the cool metal grounding him. He stared at it, his vision blurred by unshed tears.
It had been hers—her wedding band, worn through countless battles, always a part of her even when she was far away. Now it was all he had left, a fragile connection to the warmth and love that once felt unbreakable.
His chest constricted, and a wave of dizziness swept over him. The memories came rushing back—her laughter, her steady voice, the comforting touch of her hand as it guided him. They swirled in his mind, overwhelming him, dragging him into the ache of her absence, his hands started shaking, the weight of feeling alone in a galaxy that suddenly felt too big, too quiet, threatening to drag him down.
BB-8 let out a soft, worried chirp, rolling closer to nudge him gently, a reminder that he wasn’t entirely alone. The sound broke through the haze, Poe blinked rapidly, swallowing the lump in his throat. BB-8 chirped again, this time a quick, deliberate sequence, trying to lift up the mood.
Poe froze, blinking. “Wait... what? Did you just say���‘What do you call a Wookiee with bad manners?’”
BB-8 let out a series of exaggerated beeps and whirs that were unmistakably the punchline: A Chew-bad-a.
Poe stared at him for a moment, then let out a bark of laughter that echoed through the room, shaking his head as the pain in his chest eased—just a little. “You’re ridiculous,” he said with a grin, rubbing at BB-8’s dome again. “But thanks, buddy. I needed that.”
BB-8 gave a proud whistle, spinning his dome. Poe wiped at his eyes, his laughter filling the garage.
“You’re impossible,” Poe said, shaking his head but smiling brightly. “Seriously, buddy, if you had ears, they’d fall off with all the junk I tell you. But you win in the dumb department, because you come up with things like that.”
Kes appeared in the doorway just in time to catch the tail end of the laughter. Arms crossed, he leaned against the frame, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched them. The boy who had once been so silent, his grief a heavy shadow, now talked nonstop to a droid who somehow understood exactly what he needed.
“You two throwing a party in here, and I didn’t get an invite?”
Poe turned, grinning as he wiped a smear of grease from his cheek. “Nah, no party, Dad. Just me and BB-8, talking about missions, but yeah, we’re just hanging out.”
BB-8 let out a small chirp, swiveling his head. He was trying to ask me to go to—
Poe cut him off before he announced his not so innocent plan “Shut it! You metal Batuuan clementine”
BB-8 emitted a sharp, offended beep at being compared to an orange fruit. He quickly extended his manipulator arm and poked Poe in the side.
“Stop! Stop!” Poe burst into laughter, trying to fend off the pokes as BB-8 persisted. But in his attempt to evade them, Poe accidentally knocked over a can of oil, spilling it onto the floor. “See what you did? Stop, BB!” he chuckled, wiping his hands on his grease-streaked pants.
Kes chuckled as he stepped forward. “I remember when you two didn't get along, now he’s got you wrapped around his circuits, kid.” He ruffled Poe’s hair, earning a half hearted groan of protest.
“Yeah, yeah, he is the best or whatever” Poe muttered with a grin as he headed towards the workbench and grabbed a rag to clean up the spill, leaving Kes alone with BB-8.
Kes knelt beside BB-8, placing a hand gently on the droid’s polished dome. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “For taking care of him. For bringing him back to us.”
BB-8 chirped softly in response, tilting his dome slightly. It’s my job. And for Poe? I’ll do it anytime.
Kes smiled, patting the droid gently. “Well, you’re part of the family now. Don’t let him boss you around too much, though.”
BB-8 emitted a smug, drawn out beep, I’d like to see him try.
Kes laughed quietly, glancing toward his son, who was now diligently scrubbing the floor with a rag while muttering under his breath. For the first time in a long while, Kes felt a small, genuine warmth in his chest. They weren’t whole—but maybe, just maybe, they were starting to heal.
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Years later, as Poe stood on the bridge of a Resistance cruiser with BB-8 by his side, they were moments away from taking off. They had just abandoned the Yavin 4 base after a First Order bombing, and Poe could see the planet shrinking in the distance, unsure if he would ever return home.
He thought back to all his time there—his home, his childhood, his family. Through  all the stress and chaos that surrounded him, every battle, every loss, one constant remained: BB-8.  had been there—a steadfast friend that reminded him of the resilience inside him, the one that his mother had instilled in him.
BB-8 rolled forward and bumped Poe’s shin, urging him toward the main platform where his X-wing awaited, ready to launch and join his squadron’s defense.
“Ow—do you always have to do that?” Poe groaned, rubbing his shin. BB-8 chirped urgently, insistent. “Rude? Don’t say that, and yes! I’m coming, I’m coming!”
Poe strapped himself in and started running the preflight checks as fast as he could, trying to really focus on the task at hand. But there was still that nagging feeling of hopelessness that followed him around sometimes when things got tough. With the First Order on their heels, the pressure threatened to push him into a full-blown panic
BB-8, ever perceptive, sensed the shift in Poe’s demeanor. The droid beeped from the back of the ship, his sounds coming through the comms on Poe’s helmet. BB-8’s voice crackled through the comms, full of concern, Poe, you okay?
Poe blinked, the sudden question snapping him out of his reverie. He looked down at the controllers and switched some of them, swallowing the unease pooling in his chest. “Yeah, buddy,” he said, voice wavering just a little. “I’m fine, fine, go ahead with pre takeoff.”
Don’t you dare go back to that dark place. BB-8 insisted, not being convinced by his owner’s tone.
Poe took a deep breath, one that caught and held like it was the last one he’d have for a while. The weight in his chest lightened, if only for a moment, by the simple, unwavering presence of his droid. His shoulders rose and fell as he steadied himself, a tightness in his jaw relaxing. “No, I’m not going back there,” he said, more to himself than to BB-8.“I’m not.”
BB-8 let out a dramatic whistle, the kind that would have made Poe laugh if the moment had been different. Good. Because I’m tired of being a therapy droid, and you’re starting to test my patience.
Poe chuckled despite himself, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You’re more than a therapy droid, buddy.” He said as his x wing engines came to life, and the ship started going forward to take off. “You’re my family.”
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Last Post of Poevember, I had a blast making stuff for my favourite pilot, thanks to all who supported Baby Poe stories and art, really means a lot to me!
HAPPY POEVEMBER! See you all next year!
Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments are kindly appreciated!
@eyelessfaces @howellatme @ierofrnkk @silvernight-m @ingoldthewizard
@winniethewife @midgardian-witch @ominoose
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sdashq ¡ 2 days ago
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[AU] <<<< bruno in a vienna lady costume (first time drawing him in women’s ballet clothing somehow? i only draw him in sweats apparently. or that outfit inspired by his canon one.) & another of him in a dress.
anyways. here’s random tidbits of info about my au:
> bruno fucked up sewing his pointe shoes while breaking them in once, so now leone sews for him. “it saves time”, he says.
> leone re-learnt how to sew for that very purpose.
> bruno prefers to practise in sweats/partial costume, while leone prefers to practise in full costume.
> when first casted in Giselle, bruno thinks leone hates him because leone is originally so dismissive. in reality, he was just really fucking anxious because he admired bruno and it came across the wrong way.
> he also makes bruno think that because of how harsh he is about bruno’s pointe work. however, leone would have been that harsh with anyone because he’s a perfectionist— bruno or not.
> leone is cast as albrecht & bruno is giselle (leads & love interests). i’ve written/drawn/imagined other ballets as well, like don quixote or even niche ass ones like Excelsior!
> they eventually carpool after leone discovers bruno walks/takes the bus. leone hates driving but pretends not to. uses “we have limited time rented in the studio” as the excuse.
> they, at some point, go on a museum date-but-not-date.
> bruno sneaks small snacks into leone’s dance duffel bag because he thinks leone is too stingy about eating sometimes. leone always says he won’t eat it, but he does once he gets home every once in a while. (au does not condone eds or anything like that, unlike the real-world of ballet. when i say stingy, i mean leone doesn’t like snacks. he eats properly at certain times throughout the day.)
> after a performance of Giselle, bruno and leone got each other flowers, not planned.
> bruno and leone whisper “ “in bocca al lupo” to each other right before each ballet starts (which is like an italian ver. of ‘break a leg’, a term to not genuinely wish badly on someone to not jinx the performance.)
:•)
that’s all for now. im so glad so many people like my au, i was worried when it came to posting it that people wouldn’t like the idea. LOL, i was wrong! i very much enjoy reading all comments and reposts and what u guys think. love all of you dearly and deeply. stay safe !!!!!!!
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serickswrites ¡ 2 days ago
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I'm a little under the weather right now, friends, so I'm just going to focus on that rather than focusing on writing right now. Hopefully I can have a couple of things written for Whumpcember's start, but we will see.
As a friendly reminder, everything I publish here is original content, meaning they aren't prompts. I take my time writing each post. If you are wanting to use them as inspiration and you create a piece, please ask me first before posting. If you are going to quote my pieces, please ask me first before doing so.
I have a hard time setting boundaries and am extremely conflict avoidant, but this kind of stuff really bothers me. I work really, really hard on everything here. I don't charge for it. I make 0 profit. I'm not behind a pay wall. This is just me sharing what's in my brain with you. I just ask that it be treated respectfully. I promise I'm not mean about it and I won't get mad if you ask me first. Please, just please ask me first.
I'm not putting anyone on blast, I just want people to be aware. Because though I don't speak for other writers or creators out there, I would like to think we kind of all feel the same about this. Just ask first. The worst thing is being told no. It's much worse to have to back track. So please, please just ask.
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left4dadogz ¡ 8 hours ago
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Inspired by me just starting to play Gotham knights (this post is just me saying my thoughts outloud)
I can imagine most of the batfam would sooo listen to music whilst fighting. I just haven’t quite decided on what songs/genre for each yet
Like imagine kicking ass whilst having sick beats in your ears, I know I would
Damian and Cass I can see them not listening to anything at all
Jason and Dick I can see listening to 2000s-2010s white girl pop music
^ this is especially funny to me because take a moment to imagine being a Gotham criminal, Nightwing or the Red Hood kick your ass for whatever crime you were doing, and you can just hear Briteny Spears or Lady Gaga blasting from their earpieces
(I know someone previously made a post similar about Red Hood and his motorcycle, if I find their name I’ll drop it somewhere cause it’s a great post)
I can see dick listening to pop punk as well, like old p!atd type of music, Tim too (if I can think of another genre for Tim I’ll put it up somewhere)
I really can’t decide for Bruce. But I think heavy metal, or just metal in general. I think the Lego Batman film really made my mind up on that one. Who’s the (Bat)Man is such a good song
Steph and Duke I’m not too sure on because sadly I don’t know much about their characters (if anyone wants to info dump about them to me feel free!! I’d love to hear it)
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platonic-soulmates-gencest ¡ 23 hours ago
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Relationship: Sam Winchester & Dean Winchester
Additional Tags: Gencest | Emotionally Incestuous but Non-Sexual Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester
Word Count: 4,783
Summary:
“How did your father and brother react when you left for college?” “Dad was angry I disobeyed him. Dean was more upset with the fact I was leaving than the reason why I left.” She smiled wryly. “Oh. Younger siblings often have trouble when their older siblings leave home. I remember being angry when my older sister left for college. Is Dean much younger than you?” “He’s twenty-four.” “Oh.” OR On Jessica's insistence, Sam decided to use the free therapy service Stanford offered with varying results.
Inspired by this post by @sammygender
Also the winner in this idea poll. Thanks for anyone who voted! (Expect a return of it with the rest of the fic ideas soon ^^)
Tagging those who expressed interest: @biggentlemenking , @dont-open-dead-inside-25 , @dark-dragon-8 , @roadtripheartbreak, @schizosamwincester
Also others who showed interest in the poll in general (sorry if you aren't interested in this specific one): @sparktoafire , @quietdiscerning , @ayowhatscrackin , @theboykingsmichaelsword , @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis
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