#ifs prompts

[fashionably-forgetful]

IFS Prompts For Kids

Internal Family Systems (IFS) concepts can be adapted for children in a way that’s age-appropriate and engaging. Here are a few IFS-inspired journaling prompts for children: Meet Your Inner Superhero:Prompt: Imagine you have a superhero inside you who helps you when things get tough. Draw and describe your superhero. What superpowers do they have, and how do they make you feel safe? Exploring…

[stsghrs]

i feel like satoru is the kinda guy that has 'a crush' on their partner even after 10, 20 years of marriage.

.

.

.

satoru (blushing like a highschool boy who's about to ask his crush out): "suguru, will you... will you go out with me?"

suguru: "you do realize i am your husband? we're married, satoru. ... but yes, of course. i'd love to."

[puppetmaster13u]

So, made Scrys of the batfamily. And honestly I just love the idea of giant sea dragons, y'know? And dragons in general. So! What if batfamily adoption, but with Fathom dragons!

(Behold, Danny, Sam, Tucker, Val, Ellie & Jazz)

SO ANYWAY! There's multiple ways a prompt of this could go, but I have three main ideas:

Option 1: It is similar to the normal Flight Rising world, where everyone is dragons. And they're in the same universe- that is, DP and DC are one timeline. In which case, the GIW or Fentons or Someone had to do something that sent the lil vigilante hatchlings adrift. Or someone sent them away for their own safety. Which is how they end up in the Gotham waters, which should kill anything else with how poisoned it is. But Amity is getting blasted with death radiation, has gotten pulled into another dimension full of it, that doesn't not have effects. That said the bats were not expecting several hatchlings to be swimming in their territory. Several injured hatchlings who instantly flee from them. Which. Is concerning.

Option 2 Not everyone is dragons. It's more of a dragon-shifter situation. Or a Wayne family curse that doesn't just effect blood-related members but anyone who joins the family. And it could be that it's the same world, or that DP & DC are different worlds. But somehow, maybe while not even in Gotham, at least one of the family stumbles across what should be impossible. Because like, Bruce didn't adopt again did he!? That's definitely several hatchlings, right? Right?! Bruce did not adopt these kids. His father Thomas, remembering two timelines thanks to the whole Flashpoint Fiasco, (and is now doubly traumatized) could not just leave these literal child (teen or no!) vigilantes all alone when he knows ways to help. He just also doesn't have a way to exactly inform any of his living family of this fact, or even thought about how the curse doesn't care if the adopter is in fact dead when they adopt.

Option 3 The same as Option 2, but Ghost Thomas might've perhaps accidentally become ghost king. (Look PK threatened his kids. Hell no.

Also have designs on like, adult scrys too

pspspsps @f4nd0m-fun @radiance1 @hdgnj I have brought ideas lol

[whump-queen]

i’ve talked about this before but one of the best things I think we can do as whump writers is gag our whumpees. is that man talking out of turn? should he be talking at all?? yeah lmao I didn’t think so

[a-cloud-for-dreams]

me rn 😭😭

[hipstergecko]

What's this? A Danny Phantom prompt??

I looked through the DP pitch book thingy. And the idea of the ghost zone originally being called "the unreal"?? That's so good man. I mean, I'm partial to "the infinite realms" in the phandom but like that has so many implications.

Like, the Fentons chasing down anything and everything that came through? How they claim that ghosts are just manifestations of human emotions on volatile ectoplasm? How it's all a danger to the real world at large?

If it all came from "the unreal" then they were kinda right. Myths and fantasies, fairy tales and ghost stories, all existing in the minds of humanity are made real in this alternate dimension. It's like the idea that human belief creates mythos and the gods rely on belief for their divinity. Those beings in our world would seriously destroy/hurt a lot of people and start wars and crises around the world.

And Danny, caught in the middle and irrevocably changed, is both real and not real.

So when the town turns against him and things get indescribably harder... If he finds himself losing the will to keep going and the belief in himself dwindles...

Do his powers short out? Does he begin to fade away?

POSSIBILITIES!!

[shrinkthisviolet]

Or ❛ who did this to you? ❜ with Morgan and Barry?

So this one…really got away from me 😅 it’s much longer than expected, and for that reason, if anyone prefers to read it on AO3, you’re welcome to do so (this is the case for all my prompt fills ofc, which are cross-posted to AO3 in this series, but I mention it for this one specifically because of its length).

Also…Happy Birthday Iris! I’m later to posting this than intended, but I wrote and finished this during June 24th, so it counts to me. Also, Iris is fairly prominent here for that reason (Morgan & Iris took as much center stage as Barry & Morgan in this prompt fill, hope you don’t mind 😅)

And one more thing…this takes place between 1x11 and 1x14 (connected to this fic, though it can theoretically be read as a standalone ig). And, obviously, it’s not canon to the AU—it’s a branching path, something that could’ve happened.

All that said, enjoy:

“You’ve got me, always. If you need anything…”

“I’ll call.”

Morgan hadn't expected to call in that favor so soon, but with her head still ringing from that hit earlier (so stupid, so, so stupid, why hadn’t she dodged it?), she had no other choice. Dad was home tonight, and she was nearly late for curfew, even without factoring in the necessary time to change out of her suit before he caught her.

She didn’t think she could stomach one of his lectures tonight—his disappointment cut deeper than any knife.

So, as her head swam and she struggled to walk steadily—were headaches this bad usually? She’d never had one like this. She hadn’t gotten a migraine, had she?—she called Iris.

“Morgan?”

“Iris!” Morgan sighed in relief. “Thank God, I…listen, I’m sorry for calling so late, but I really need your—”

“Where are you?” Iris sounded so worried already…but for what?

“I’m on my way—”

“Hello?”

Morgan frowned. What…? “Iris, I was saying, I’m on my way ho—”

“On your way where?”

“Home!” Was the connection bad or something? “Listen, I need your—”

Someone pushed her just then, and she turned to shout at them…only to see a car whiz by.

“Watch where you’re going,” her mysterious savior snapped, disappearing into thin air.

She, however, was more focused on what had just happened. She’d nearly been hit by a car. A car that she…hadn’t even heard. What the hell is going—?

“…home alone? At night?” Iris definitely sounded worried now.

“It’s okay,” Morgan insisted, “I’ll be fine, I just…I just need you to call Dad and tell him—”

“What street crossing are you on? Barry can come get you.”

“No!” Morgan couldn’t think of anything worse than Barry having to deal with her problems. He already resented her enough as it was. “No, I…I’ll be fi—”

“Morgan. Street names. I think you might have a concussion.”

Morgan burst out laughing. “A c-c-cussion? Come on, Iris, get r—”

“Please,” Iris begged—much to Morgan’s surprise, as Iris never, ever begged.

So she sighed and said, “One sec,” and slowly walked over to the nearest street signs, squinting. “It says…Pourer and Maim?”

“…do you mean Porter and Main?” Iris replied after a long time.

Morgan squinted at the sign. “I don’t…the letters are all wonky, I can’t…I can’t tell.” Tears welled in her eyes. “God, I’m so sorry. You can hang up if you want, I’ll figure this out mys—”

“Don’t be sorry! I’d feel terrible about leaving you to this—Barry’s on his way, and I swear he won’t bug you about anything. Okay?”

“Okay,” she relented, though right as she said it, she found herself picked up and swept off. Against her better judgment, she leaned her head on Barry’s shoulder.

He shook her as he set her down on a soft bed, looking surprisingly regretful. “Sorry. But we’ve gotta check you for a concussion first.”

When she nodded, he looked concerned, as if she hadn’t answered immediately, exchanging a look with Iris.

“Morgan, honey?” Iris squeezed her hand, smiling sadly when Morgan met her eyes. “I’m sorry, but you can’t go anywhere in this state. Barry already called Caitlin, and—”

“You didn’t have to bother her,” Morgan whispered, wondering why Iris’s sentence kept going even though Morgan had interrupted and Iris was no longer speaking. “I’ve had headaches before, I can sleep this off.”

“Morgan,” Barry said slowly, “do you realize that you’ve been answering our questions and reacting to us half a minute after we’ve spoken?”

Morgan blinked. “I…what?”

“And your speech is slurring,” Iris added, brows knitted. “Not much, but still. Caitlin says those are the two main signs. By the way,” she added to Barry, “what did she say?”

“She said she can’t make it tonight, so I should call her back and let her know how the injury looks. Speaking of which…?”

Morgan drew back nervously. “Why are you helping me? You hate me.”

“You’re hurt,” he said, as if that explained anything.

“So what?”

His face crumpled at that. “Morgan. Please. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. But I…I can’t leave you in this state. Please let me look?”

Despite her reactions apparently having a time delay, he didn’t do anything until she nodded and took her hood off, exposing the bruising on her face…and the one on the back of her head that was tender to touch—she winced as Barry’s fingers brushed over it.

“Who did this to you?” Barry growled, much to Morgan’s surprise. “Who would dare—”

“Is this from your…side hobby?” Iris asked delicately.

Morgan blinked, confused. Why the discretion? Doesn’t she know that Barry knows?

Barry frowned. “Are you talking about Sentry?”

Iris blushed, her cheeks darkening. “What? No. What gave you that ide—”

“You told her?” Barry’s eyes held pain, anger—and that pissed Morgan off even more.

“So what if I did? It’s my secret, not yours!”

“You had no right to tell her about me!”

“I didn’t!” Did he truly think so little of her? “I only told her about me!”

“Wait, wait.” Iris frowned. “Barry? What are you talking about?”

Barry froze. “Um…I…that is—”

Iris’s eyes widened just then. “This has to do with why you’re fighting, isn’t it?”

“No! I mean…yes, but no, not like—”

“Once Morgan’s asleep,” she interrupted sharply, “you and I are gonna talk, Bartholomew.”

“Okay,” he muttered. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“In the meantime,” she declared, “go call Caitlin and tell her about this. And as she suggested, Morgan, you’ll sleep here overnight.”

“But…but Dad—”

“Do you remember his number?” Iris asked gently. “It’s okay if not, I could just get it from—”

“I’m his daughter,” Morgan snapped, “of course I know his number.”

“Okay,” Iris replied, taking out a piece of paper and a pen, “then relay it to me. Slowly.”

“Sure. It’s 816…uh…42…8…?” Morgan’s eyes welled with tears again as she smacked her head. “Come on, I know this! I—!”

“Woah, woah.” Iris pulled Morgan’s hands away from her head. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not!” She cried. “It’s…he’s my father, why can’t I…why don’t…?”

“It’s okay,” Iris repeated softly.

Barry came back in just then, saying, “Caitlin said she can drop by in the morning. And she’s calling Dr. Wells, so don’t worry.”

“It’s not her problem,” Morgan whispered. “It’s not…none of you need to…”

“Hey.” Barry kneeled down beside her, his expression softer than she’d seen it in the past few weeks. “I think maybe once you’re healed up…you and I need to have a talk, huh? An overdue one.”

“What?” He wasn’t making sense. “What kind of…?”

“I think…I think I might’ve been wrong about you,” he admitted. “Really wrong. In a way that hurt you for so long. I just…I just wanna make sure.”

“You should fill me in first,” Iris reminded him sharply.

“Yep,” he agreed, blushing. “I’ll do that first. And then…and then us. Okay, Mo?”

She was definitely hallucinating now. Or dreaming. Or something. Maybe she had a concussion after all, and she’d passed out without realizing and was delirious now. But…but this was a nice moment anyway, wasn’t it? Even if it wasn’t real? “Okay,” she agreed, her voice breaking. “I’d…I’d really like that.”

“Good.” Barry squeezed her hand. “Then let’s get you settled.”

And so they did. As Morgan drifted off to sleep, Barry and Iris sat on either side of the bed, and Morgan clung to Barry’s hand.

“Sleep tight, Mo.” He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And she believed him. Barry was a terrible liar, and he’d surely be the same way in a hallucination or dream too.

But then…is this real after all?

To clarify a few things:

Concussions can have many symptoms, even far more dangerous ones, though the ones I focused on are delayed reactions, confusion/disorientation, and forgetfulness. Slurred speech is alluded to, but I didn’t focus on writing it as a speech pattern 😅 so she has mild slurred speech (a mild-to-moderate concussion in general tbh). Also forgive me for any inaccuracies, I’ve never had a concussion, this is solely based on me skimming the Mayo Clinic and Cleveland Clinic pages about them. (Also ofc Morgan gets checked over properly by Caitlin the next day, and probably goes to see her pediatrician too)

The person who saved Morgan from that car didn’t actually disappear. It just seemed that way to her

816 is the area code around Kansas City, which is a city in Missouri that borders Kansas. For convenience, that’s where Central City approximately is (it’s canonically at the border anyway)

prompt list!

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @raith-way @vexic929 @ironverseocs

@thechaoticfanartist @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @starstruckpurpledragon @negative-speedforce @angst-is-love-angst-is-life

@miss-eli-starfleet

[sculptorofcrimson]

An immortality without life

I have decided to go on a lost little ramble.

~~~~~~~

Stitch one together from blasphemy and bone. Sew his soul from stone and frost. Build a monster from plunder and enemies, rob a child from a sobbing mother’s breast and turn him into a weapon, a dog to be beaten into your will. Turn your back on the rites on Nature, build a hunter for sin, write your obsession in bone and ink. 

Make him the finest he shall ever be. 

He shall soon be another conquest. Another perfect, effortless victory. Perfection has been attained, in every ink-laden, frost-eaten, perfect way beneath a heartless storm. 

He had killed the last of the Thunder Warriors upon a snow bitten ridge, the storm’s fury on his spear, the air tasting of ash upon his tongue, the blood of a friend on his armor, the victory as sweet and as bitter as the memories his lord had beaten from him. 

They burned, they fought, and they died like candles in the night. But before they snuffed out they burned as brilliantly as a final, vengeful funeral pyre in the night, raging against the dying light one last time, for one last spite, one last stone cast. This is the day, this is the day they died.

Heft your blade, spear a friend, watch the life fade from his eyes, listen to the way he laughed, one last time, that easy, obstreperous glint passing away in one final ragged gasp. Bury a corpse betrayed, drown his memory beneath stone and cement and iron, forget he was at all, forget he fought at your side once upon a time. 

They are not the future. They are simply a rehash of the past, the new picking up the torch that had scalded the old, the newest of warriors thrown to the lines to die as shields and swords. And it shall be the same, for tragedy never ends, and treachery never dies. 

Sink the blade, end him here, blood upon the snow, blood upon your cloak, blood upon your blade. 

The execution was flawless. The combat was effortless. And therein lies the true blasphemy of it all, in its sheer ease, in the way he died without a funeral dirge, without a warcry, with only the cold gauntlets of a traitor around him.

I obeyed. And paid the price. 

Perhaps Valdor had a heart underneath all that gold, all that frost. But if he truly had a heart, he killed it long ago, and buried it beneath the snows of Maulland Sen. That heart is dead, crushed to ashes, ground to dust beneath auramite boots and thundering screams. 

Ten thousand years. Ten thousand years passed, he never quite did find a suitable reply that could have made Ushotan laugh one last time, laugh as wryly as comrades upon the field should have laughed. One last time, one last fight, one last blade in the heart, to know he had been at least admired, if not beloved, by the Captain-General. 

Even if he had a heart, Valdor drowned it long ago, crushed beneath the weight of his duties and the ink of his sins. But what if he didn’t kill him? What if he had spared that one, final Thunder Warrior, the same way he spared Kandawire?

[creation-help]

Imagine your Fandom ocs interacting with your original ocs. Is there conflicting lore? How do they get along?

[manasv1]

I wish I was optimistic enough to call my museum of failure the gallery of trying. I wish I was optimistic enough to climb the mountain of experiences instead of drowning in the ocean of regrets. I wish I was optimistic enough to say I am trying to achieve success instead of believing I am trying to avoid failure. But at the end of the day, I am still walking through the boulevard of broken dreams to visit the graveyard of my ambitions. At the end of the day, I am still standing in front of my worst nightmare, the tree of 'what ifs'.

[noodyl-blasstal]

okay perhaps: build a bear receipt, Mortified, perhaps to literal death, annnnnnd Barry :3

Did this get slightly out of hand? Who could say (me, it did.)

From this prompt list.

-

Barry knew what Build a Bear was, well, conceptually. You went in, you spent an obscene amount of money, you came out with a creature - possibly one wearing sunglasses and a tutu. It hadn’t been a thing when Barry was a kid, not one his Mum could afford anyway. But now he was stood in one, overwhelmed, confused, and being pressured to make decisions quickly.

The type was easy, Beary Bluejeans had to be a bear. Tick tick, done. Or, it should have been done, but there were 18 different kinds of bear to choose from and no clear parameters for selection. Every single one of them was a sad deflated puddle of fluff, and sure, Barry could relate, but he also knew there had to be a right answer. Gifts were a test. Probably. Well, Barry thought they were a test, and he had never met a test he couldn’t worry extensively about. Lup probably wouldn’t mind, this was just a small gesture, a little joke between friends. She called him Bear, he was going to get her a bear with his signature jeans. Casual, fun, no one’s harbouring any massive crushes and may or may not be in love with anyone else. Lup saw him as a friend and that was fine. All good! What was not all good, was the crowd of children building up around him. He was finding this hard enough without kids bashing into his legs, all sharp elbows and whirling rucksack attacks. 

After intense deliberation he decided on a soft medium-brown teddy the shelf proclaimed was ‘vintage.’ Barry could relate, he was vintage too. The modern bears had intensely large eyes or fur that didn’t feel as nice under his fingers - this guy though, this little soft puddle could be him, could be Lup’s, he could be Lup’s… Another kid slammed their elbow into his knee and Barry staggered. How much did he actually need to be here? He could leave, he could put Beary down and go, Lup would never know, no one would know, he didn’t make any promises about doing this. ‘Man Incapable of Purchasing Bear’ would only be a headline in his brain. It might be nice to have a fun new failure to torture himself about at 2am when he couldn’t sleep? Something funky fresh to add to the flagellation rotation. Even as he entertained the thought he knew he wouldn’t do it. The gesture was good, the joke was good, it would make Lup laugh, he loved to make Lup laugh, it was worth some bruising. 

Barry finally escaped from the scrum round the toy pelts? Skins? It all sounded bad. He needed to stop thinking about it in taxidermy terms, but this sure was a skin without the meat. Build a Bear was taxidermy for babies and no one could tell him any different. At least he knew the next step, they probably weren’t working with armature, so it’d be stuffing. He had definitely walked past some kind of woolly slushy machine on the way in so he tried to retrace his steps. Did the shop actually need to be this big and this full of people? Maybe they should do adult-only hours where everyone could just pick their bears in silence and form orderly queues and not run into anyone else actually.

“Excuse me!” Someone tapped lightly on his shoulder.

“Sorry, was I supposed to pay over there? I didn’t realise, I thought I did it at the end.” He couldn’t call Lup to bail him out if he got arrested. He couldn’t ruin the surprise… also she’d want pictures, his mug shot would be on t-shirts, mugs, pyjama sets, pillows, he’d never ever live it down. “I’ll pay now here, let me just grab...” Barry nearly dropped Beary as he fumbled for his wallet, but he couldn’t afford to get arrested right now. The stakes were high.

“Oh, you’re not in any trouble Sir! You forgot to get a sound and you can’t forget your new friend’s heart!” She smiled so big that Barry didn’t dare ask what most of the words meant. 

“Ah, uh, okay… uh, where do I…?”

“I’ll show you, come with me! I’m Lydia.” Barry tried not to acknowledge the look on her face which clearly telegraphed This Idiot Can’t Bear.

“It’s fine, you can just, uh, point me in the right direction, I just need the stuffing and I should, ah, be fine.” Barry was going to expire on the spot and emerge a terrifying spectre, no one could grab him and make him keep doing bears if he was incorporeal. Lup probably wouldn’t mind, she’d probably think it was rad to be friends with a death spectre… in fact, Barry was fairly sure he remembered her saying something about it being cool to bang a ghost… huh… nope! He couldn’t follow that thought anywhere right now, because apparently he had to think about what sound Beary was going to make and also there was a heart and fuck fuck fuck. Lydia had definitely been explaining. Barry nodded enthusiastically, not wanting her to realise he’d been ignoring her, this wasn’t her fault and she had a job to do.

“Great, it’s 20 seconds. If you head to the bathroom it’ll be a bit quieter.” She shoved a contraption and Barry and nodded encouragingly. “Just speak clearly into it, and remember, 20 seconds. Once you’re done, come back and we’ll start the ceremony.” 

“Ceremony? I… wh…” She cut Barry off with a gentle shove towards the bathrooms. There probably wasn’t any point in arguing, he’d already agreed so apparently he was recording a message… a message for Lup. That was fine. He could do that.

Barry couldn’t do that.

Barry was seven practice recordings deep.

Barry was never going to leave the bathroom, he lived here now. If he didn’t record the message then it couldn’t be bad, that was just science. Flawless hypothesis.

He’d already tried something casual. “Hey Lup, it’s me, Beary. I think you’re Beary wonderful.” Bad. Awful. Terrible. D-, she’s never speaking to him again. Funny: “Bear with me, voice message loading…” also bad. Heartfelt… he couldn’t even think about what he’d said, he’d been rambling long after the 20 seconds were done. The bear noises had been fun, roaring in a toilet was a strange experience and Barry usually loved strange experiences, but this was absolutely not it. “Will you Beary me?” was great on the pun front, terrible on the we’re-just-friends-I’m-definitely-not-in-love-with-you side of things. Ghost noises almost won the day until he considered her accidentally rolling on it in the night and waking up spooked. The time he dropped the recorder and swore a lot while trying to pick it up was probably the best of the bunch.

Eventually he settled on Arrane Ben-Vlieaun, or, “the magic cow song” as Lup insisted. He found a corner next to the sink which seemed to have relatively reasonable acoustics and rumbled the first bit out “Cur dty vainney, cur dty vainney, choud's mish ta goaill arrane. Lhig yn curn nish goll harrish, lesh dty vainney my vooaveen.” There. That was probably fine. Lup sometimes got him to sing it when she was struggling to sleep, it made sense to pre-load it in Beary. He definitely didn’t have time for any more attempts, he was surprised Lydia hadn’t already burst through the wall like a terrifyingly peppy terminator.

She zeroed in on him when he emerged. “There you are! I thought you’d gotten lost, are you ready?” 

Barry hesitated, maybe he could try one more time… he pulled his hand back as Lydia reached out for the device. No, eight was enough, it had to be enough. The cow song was fine. He nodded and handed over the recording majigger. Lydia smiled even wider, Barry debated counting her teeth, she definitely had too many.

“Fantastic!” Lydia said, then set off towards the fluff box. Barry followed, there was no way off the ride at this point, he may as well keep his arms and legs inside the car. “Okay, so this is very important, we’re going to perform the heart ceremony.” 

Barry is fairly sure this is going to be different to the type of heart ceremonies in his books at home… probably? There definitely weren’t any ceremonial knives on display. “Okay?”

“You’re going to develop your special bond with your new friend…?” Lydia paused and looked at Barry expectantly.

“Beary.” 

“Beary. Huh…”

“He’s called Beary Bluejeans.” Barry added, thinking that might make her stop doing the squinchy face at him. It didn’t.

“That’s… super!” She said after a long pause. “So, we’re going to make sure you and Beary build a special bond and you always look after him and love him forever and ever.”

“It’s okay, we can just do the stuffing, that’s fine, I uh, I don’t need to, you know, do the uh, the bonding thing.” 

Lydia gave him a hard look. “We don’t send the bears home with just anyone, we need to know you’re going to look after Beary Bluejeans.”

Barry wasn’t sure he’d felt fear like this before… did he actually like Lup enough to go through with this? Was he scared enough of Lydia to do whatever she said? “What do I have to do?” He’d die for Lup, multiple times if necessary, and he was fairly sure Lydia would put him in the ground without a second thought - still smiling - if she felt he wouldn’t be a competent guardian for Beary.

Lydia solemnly handed him a small plastic heart. “This is Beary Bluejeans’ heart. We’re going to establish your bond now. Are you ready?”

Barry waited for further instruction.

“Are. You. Ready?” He wasn’t sure a polite tone had ever felt so much like knives.

“Yeah, uh, yes Lydia.”

Her smile was back. “Fantastic, take Beary’s heart and rub it on your toes so he’s totally awesome.” 

“I’m… what?”

“Rub it on your toes so he’s totally awesome.” Lydia repeated, then mimed the action. Barry looked longingly towards the exit, it wasn’t that far, he could probably just drop Beary’s floppy corpse and run. “Sir, on your toes, so he’s toe-tally awesome.” 

Barry bent over and ignored the rice crispies and milk noises his back made in protest. He swiped the plastic across his shoe.

“Now rub it on your cheeks so Beary gives warm smiles.” Barry didn’t think it was particularly hygienic to rub something on his toes and then his face, but who was he to fly in the face of the experts? He rubbed the heart quickly on his cheek.

“Rub it on your hip so he’s hip and cool.”

Barry was at least 90% Lydia was messing with him by this point. Barry wasn’t hip, he wasn’t cool, and he certainly wasn’t funky fresh. If Taako was here Barry could probably scoop up some of his vibes, but Barry certainly wasn’t a reliable coolness supply. Beary was going to get Barry’s clicky hip, lose all the street cred he’d earned in his short life, and say goodbye to his fuzzy charisma.

“Nearly there! Rub it on your arms so Beary always gives good hugs.”

Barry promised himself he was never going to return to Build a Bear, this was hell, Lydia was the devil. He swished the heart near his arm.

“Like you mean it, Sir. You want him to give good hugs don’t you?” Lydia sing songed, loudly enough for the line behind him to hear.

Barry quickly rubbed the heart more forcefully across both arms.

“Now spin around to make him magical!” Barry was not going to spin around, he was going to think heavy thoughts and let himself sink into the floor. He wouldn’t have to exist in this room or any room ever again, he wouldn’t have to spin around with a stupid anatomically inaccurate heart, or deal with the line of children who were probably staring and laughing at him right now. Floor Barry, Flarry, he’d never have let this happen. “Don’t you want Beary to be magical, Barry?” No. He wanted Beary to be finished so he could leave. But Lup, Lup would probably want Beary to be magical… fine. Fine! Barry was going to spin around. He shuffled in a begrudging circle.

“And lastly, make a big wish!”

Barry wished this was over. That he was at home. That he hadn’t decided to get Lup this stupid bear. He wished he was brave enough to tell her he’d been in love with her for the last 8 years and probably would be for the rest of his life. But none of these wishes seemed like something he should wrap up in Beary. Barry considered for a moment, then wished, and wished hard that Lup would like him. Beary… obviously. The wish would know who he meant, it didn’t matter how he phrased it.

“So lastly, I need you to promise to always care for Beary, and seal the magic promise with a kiss.” Lydia was dead behind the eyes, Barry could tell, no one could be this chipper, not for the 6 years her badge said she’d worked there.

“Okay.” Said Barry. There was an excruciating pause. Lydia looked at him expectantly. Was he supposed to say more? Were there proper words? “I promise to, uh, to, take care of you Beary?” 

“Are you asking, or telling?” Lydia said sweetly.

“I promise to always take care of you Beary.” Please let this be over.

“Now kiss his heart.”

This definitely wasn’t hygienic, not with all the rubbing and spinning. Barry decided to keep those concerns to himself. Lydia finally seemed satisfied, and instructed him on the foot pedal that would help him add the fluff to Beary.

They stuffed, fluffed, stopped for hug tests, and decided on the appropriate firmness. Barry could feel the heat in his face, but at least no one he knew was here to see it. Taako would never let him life this down. But it was fine, he was a 50 year old guy cuddle testing a bear which occasionally sang about milk at him in his own gravelly hum when he pressed the voice chip by accident and that was fine. Twenty entire seconds of excruciating singing while he waited for it to shut up and Lydia pretended not to be laughing about it. He was totally fine. 

Lydia deftly stitched up the hole in Beary and handed him back. “Now I’m going to shoo you off to the grooming station so you can get Beary all fluffed and puffed and ready for snuggles. Have a wonderful day now!” Her relief was palpable.

Barry fled as soon as Lydia dismissed him, maybe he could skip the grooming, he didn’t really need to do that, surely? Beary seemed fine.

“Over here Sir! I’m Edward and I’m here to help you get your new friend looking their very best.”

Barry couldn’t outrun him, Edward was at least 30 years younger than him and looked like he’d be able to tackle Barry before he could make it three steps. “Okay.” His voice cracked. Maybe this was hell? Barry couldn’t leave, there would always be another step and another smiling assistant to help him.

Edward pointed at a large fake bath which swarmed with children. “You can give your new friend a bath and then we’ll dry them off and get them combed nicely for you.”

“Jeans!” Barry refused, he absolutely refused to pretend to bathe Beary surrounded by children who were no doubt just as sharp of elbow as the first group.

“I’m… I’m sorry Sir?” Edward looked nonplussed, but Barry refused to get suckered into this one. Next they’d tell him he could get custom smells.

“I.. uh, thanks Edward, but Beary’s good, he doesn’t need a bath, see! Super soft. He just needs some jeans please, then I’d like to check out. Thank you very much for your help.” There, he was doing it, Barry was a guy who could say what he wanted.

“Oh, sure, no problem, the clothes are over here!” Edward grinned easily and indicated a towering wall of options. “Have a great day, you can register Beary there when you’re done.” He pointed at a large bank of computer terminals. Of course, of course there were more steps.

“Then I can leave?”

Edward frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“I can pay and go, when I’ve done the computers bit?”

“Yeah?” Edward raised an eyebrow at Barry as if he was being insane, then remembered he wasn’t allowed to do that. “I mean, yes Sir, of course, the tills are just on the other side of the computer terminals.”

Barry grabbed the first denim he saw, shoved Beary into them at speed, tapped Captain Professor Dr. Beary Bluejeans esq.’s details into the computer terminals and finally, finally, smelled freedom. Beary was safely ensconced in his ‘house’ (which Barry was apparently allowed to colour in), Barry was handed a birth certificate, rinsed for more money than he anticipated, and finally allowed to leave. He blinked groggily as he emerged into the daylight. Barry was never ever ever returning to that cursed shop. Even for Lup. He could have sworn he’d lost years of his life wandering around that maze and trying to complete all the stupid tasks.

_________

Barry left the box on the doorstep, rang the bell, and fled. This was how friends delivered gifts, it was fine, in fact, Lup didn’t even have to know it was from him. His phone rang, Lup’s ringtone dragged his hand to his pocket before he’d even thought about it. 

“Hey Barold, what’s in the goth box? I love the paint job, flame decal door is going right onto my Lup’s Dreamhouse wishlist.”

“I… uh.” Said Barry, intelligently.

“I can see you fleeing down the street, wanna turn round, Bluejeans? Not that the view is bad from here. Wink.”

Barry wheezed down the phone, turned, turned back, and debated throwing himself into a bush. If she couldn’t see him she couldn’t tease him, right?

“Okay… You continue rotating, my guy. Lup’s cracking into goth house of wonder to see what you got me.”

“I… I, well, you see… It’s… er.”

“Barold… Barry…” Lup gasped for breath. “Barry, why… why is this bear wearing hot pants?”

“Yes.” Said Barry. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe if he explained? She didn’t understand how much he needed to escape by the trouser selection stage.

“The bear is wearing denim hotpants.”

“They’re blue jeans.”

“My guy, they are blue jorts.”

“He’s called Beary.”

“Beary Bluejorts?” Lup cackled so hard he had to move the phone away from his ear. He moved it back just in time to hear “I love him.”

[fashionably-forgetful]

IFS Prompts To Explore The Psyche

Internal Family Systems (IFS) is a therapeutic approach that explores the various parts of an individual’s psyche. Here are some journal prompts inspired by IFS to help you explore and understand different aspects of yourself: Meet Your Inner Manager:Prompt: Identify a part of you that often takes charge, plans, or organizes. Describe this “manager” part and reflect on how it influences your…

[stsghrs]

an old married couple satosugu fic where they visit the jujutsu high and tell everyone how their teachings are wrong, how "back in the day we were the strongest...", and are generally just annoying old grandpas, but we know everyone loves and respects them

[gunslinger-with-no-name]

Stupid red dead story things I think about:

What if Dutch had a sibling? What if Dutch had a kid who was in the gang?

What if John had a sibling?

What if Micah had a sibling? (I love the concept of Micah's sibling falling for Arthur) I not talking about Amos Bell -_-! ......

What if Colm had a son? (This would be the kinda chaos that would keep you on your your toes with plot and emotion)

What if Sadie had a brother?

What if Hosea and Bessie had a kid who is now in the gang?

[just-whump-and-suffering]

The new baddie wants Gira to get rid of the bugnaroks, but Gira is obviously not going to do that.

So what if he is like, " You don't want to obey me? Fine. I will do it myself." He goes and captures Jeramie and holds this very elaborate and loud execution to taunt the King-ohger.

Bonus point if Jeramie is shirtless.

[starlord-the-endless]

From the ashes of the past,

The royal will long outlast,

As acended from red blood of mortality,

To the golden ichor of immortality.

~A poem by myself (Jaytheen)

Thus, I went from the Prince/ss to the God/dess to write my own new myths.

From @starlord-the-endless to @dandelion-blues

Ao3 account Dandelion_Blues