#prompt inspired

[melle-otterwise]

Inspired by this prompt:

[spahhzy]

Jaune: And in exchange, you want what?

Neo: 'A Date'

Jaune: Lemme get this straight, You've given me vital information, information that won't damn you or Roman obviously, but information that is critical to the success of defending Beacon in exchange for a date...with me?

Neo: 'I'd ask to marry you, but Roman said that would be moving a little too fast.

[silvereternitywrites]

Don’t let your (Human!!!) Mechanic make Mixtapes

Writing Prompt: A pirate ship boards, the human crewmate uses the coms to blast music trough the ship as a terror tactic.

Prompt Source: user fire-sword; subreddit Humans Are Space Orcs

The Captain had listened to this remix exactly once in its entirety and labeled it a terroristic weapon of mass morale destruction before locking it in a drawer.

To be honest, the human crewmate was perhaps a touch more thrilled than she strictly should have been to be given permission to actually use it.

It was horror-rock, falling into that delightful "creep" tune category with synthetic violins that wailed between high and low notes and a bass strumming heartbeat that artificially raised the pulse rate of the listening parties. Aliens... well, she'd found out aliens responded to that unconscious cue WAY more than humans did.

The fact that she knew every beat and bounce and hitch of it, well, that was where the morale destruction came in.

The pirates had boarded in a specific hallway- and they had been subtly guided to this door for a reason.

It was the maintenance crew hallway. The entire floor had holes big enough to reach through or climb through, and the human crewmate? She fit through them, being lanky, tall, and double-jointed. The ceiling had the same grates on either side of the walkway, to allow for access when the gravity was turned off, making it a catwalk surrounded by bolt holes.

The voice was soft at first- only someone who knew the song would know the words. But Human Jazz played them out perfectly to make the Pirates regret ever trying to raid this ship.

The first set of verses were about "burying" something, and every time it said "buried it" Jazz dropped uninterrupted from the ceiling to the floor. Just at the edge of vision, without touching the holes or making a sound, timing her catch of the bars below to the thump of the drum.

And once they were good and spooked, on edge...

She added her voice to the ship speakers, a roar that made the walkway vibrate under their feet for the chorus.

"RUN! AWAY! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, BEFORE THE MONSTER- MONSTER IS INSIDE! THOUGHT IT WAS DEAD! AND GONE! BUT YOU WERE SO WRONG! HASN'T BEEN SO LONG; YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU'D SEE- SEE, SEE THE DEAD WALK!"

Screaming from above and plasma lighting up the walls told her it was working.

What a shame for them- the pursuit would continue until morale improved. Her morale, or course. All that light would make this more troublesome until it cooled.

The next verse was about what had been buried coming back to bury the singer- it was time to change tactics anyway.

Now her hands reached up through the tiny holes and grates throughout the verse, grabbing and yanking on legs, tentacles, weapon barrels, whatever was in reach, heedless of the burns she was getting or the catch of nails on fabric and skin. Her fake-claw nails were just acrylics, she'd replace them after this, and some bloodstains from a ripped cuticle or two would really sell the idea that something dead and gross was trying to get at them on top of the “detached fingertips”.

As they were coming up on the second chorus, she pulled both hands back down and put them on a panel instead, directing one of the repair-bots with their dozens of arms to dance to the tune, the lyrics printed on it's glowing screen that loomed up out of the dark.

She already knew what she was going to do with the bridge- it talked about disease and parasites, so she was going to yank body parts under the grate and "bite" them with needles full of weak general anesthetics from the first aid kit. She didn't need to actually like, poison or paralyze them, the imagery from the song would make their minds do that for her.

Except-- the thunder of movement, out of sync with the music, headed back up the catwalk at an honestly dizzying speed, and suddenly it was absolutely quiet except her, the repairbot who had now started the fix the plasma damage to the walls, and the music on the ship speakers.

Poking her head up from the nearest access hole, the pirates were gone- with the exception of one, who'd been hog-tied with their own tentacles and blinded with their Captain's hat. Left as a sacrificial offering to the monster for leading their crew into a deathtrap, probably. Well, Jazz didn't want them to think they were too hasty and come back...

She bared all her teeth in the widest, meanest grin, including her sharper-than-normal canines, and whipped the pirate's hat off, the light of the repairbot's torch illuminating her from behind in only brief flashes.

"Buried what I thought would die, don't got no alibi, I buried it," she sang at the alien's horrified face, "I FUCKING BURIED IT!"

The pirate's scream was a noise she couldn't have replicated in a million years. Yeah, driving it home was a good idea.

"RUN! AWAY! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, THE MONSTER'S ALREADY INSIDE! THOUGHT IT WAS DEAD! AND GONE! BUT I WAS SO WRONG cuz it had been so long and life went on thought it was done I never thought I'd live to see THE DEAD WALK!"

‐-------------------------------------

"I still don't think you needed to render the enemy so terrified they entered an involuntary coma state," the Captain scowled at the human crewmate, who was slung sideways in her work chair. Again.

"It's not like I knew their species can even DO that, Cap! Besides, it was a bloodless battle that successfully repelled the enemy, right? And we haven't been bothered by pirates in that entire sector since!"

The Captain squinted angrily with all their eyes.

"We're a terror-tale in that sector now," they replied flatly.

"Wait, shit, did I accidentally Flying Dutchman our ship?! Aw fuck, Captain, I’m sorry."

The Captain sighed- finally, she understood the gravity of the iss--

"If I'd known that was gonna happen I'd have picked a better song! Dead Walk is kinda underground, how are other ships supposed to lean on the legend with an obscure Earth song?"

The Captain gave up and left to go drink their 400-year old heirloom spirits. They had never worried they were going to be the Onelle to finish off the 'drink in case of headache-inducing disaster' bottle but it looked more likely by the day.

Song: Dead Walk by RedHook Note: the remix featured here doesn't actually exist because I can't make it. Will update and link if that ever changes!

[on-noon]

prompt written by @derinthescarletpescatarian :

It's been raining for ages, but the stormwater drains are empty. The catchment areas are empty. Even your backyard pond is empty. Water tanks fill normally, the plants are all alive and the gardens are as damp as expected, but not a single place in town has standing groundwater, even though it's still raining.

One Friday in April I checked my weather app, it was projected to rain the whole week. I planned to check on the state of a new sand filter the Monday after the rain ended– it had just been installed the past fall, and this rain plus the snowmelt would put it through a pretty good test.

You'd think, as a stormwater guy, I would have noticed something odd earlier, but in my defense I clock out from my job on weekends. On Monday and Tuesday, I was in the basement working on getting some rain gauges to work– the cursed things, they kept working in the lab. We'd already deployed them three times this year, and they kept failing in a new way. I failed to replicate any of the failures in the lab.

On Wednesday, I go out into the field to install the rain gauges, still unsure how they had failed the first three times, but this time it was raining. I installed the rain gauge, hooked it up to a transmitter, and then went on to the next site. While I was driving to the next site, the rain intensified, sheets of rain pounding my dashboard. I pulled to the side of the road, and checked the level in the rain gauge. It told me there was nothing. Once the rain calmed a bit, I turned around to try to troubleshoot the rain gauge. On the way, I realized I was close to the new sand filter, so I took a detour to check it out.

I put on my raincoat, got out of my truck and walked down the park trail to the pond with the filter. At least with the rain I didn't need to look out for any stray frisbee golf disks.

To my surprise, as I approached the sand filter, it was just sitting there. It was designed so that the pond next to it would overflow onto the sand, and that would filter the water before it went into the broader stormwater system before emptying into the river. This rain should be enough to make the pond overflow. I get a sinking feeling in my gut, as I look over to the pond to investigate.

The pond is empty. Cattail grows straight out of the pond muck on one side, I can see clearly a fallen tree on the sand lining the pond's bottom. Try as I might, I can find no reason for the pond to be empty– it's in the low lying part of the park, as always, hasn't had any drains installed directly into the pond, still has relatively steep banks.

I must have stared at that pond for an hour. There's no explanation for it to be empty, in April, during the fifth straight day of rain. It's supposed to only empty in a drought. It's not a drought— and we had an excess of snowmelt lately anyway.

I drive back to the lab, eventually, the rain gauges forgotten. It took me a week before I even realized I had left all but the one I had installed in the truck, never mind how long before I took down the one I had put up.

I went down to the lab to write an email to the watershed director for that area. Jill does often try out new methods– that's why she installed the enhanced sand filter anyways. When I opened my inbox, I found emails from not only Jill, but the other watershed directors, as well as the other stormwater researchers.

The emails had subject lines such as: "No-one has any answers," "Meeting to Discuss the Situation," "Do you have any idea what's going on?" "All The Ponds Are Empty," "where is the water, anyway," "Uhhhh," and "Pond JC–21 is Empty."

I read through them all, it seems my experience today was not unique. The meeting was scheduled for that time, so I went upstairs.

"Calder. It's nice of you to finally join us," Alex says.

I grunt, and sit down. It's not that I dislike working with others, it's just easier not to.

I listen to the discussion.

"If the water's not in the drains, ponds, rain gardens– where is it?" Aditya says. "The river and lake levels aren't rising either."

"At least the lakes didn't drain as well," Hazel adds.

The conversation turns to next steps. I don't know. It sounds no one else does either. I walk out of the meeting and get into my car and drive home.

I get out and run to the pond in my backyard– I don't bother pushing the vegatation out of the way, just let the wet branches hit and splash me.

It's empty. It was full a week ago, I remember pulling buckthorn out around the bank and watching a duck family on it.

I stand in the middle of the pond, and stare up at the sky. The raindrops splash on my face, definitely liquid. I look down at the pond bed. The water hits the ground, and soaks in. But it shouldn't. I know there's clay less than a foot below that foul–smelling muck. This is too much water to infiltrate.

I went to bed early that night. When I woke up, I ran out to the pond barefoot, my feet getting muddy, just to prove to myself that it was a nightmare, that maybe I just need to get a good hobby so my job isn't the one thing that defines me.

The pond is still empty. After some more staring into the rain, my pajamas start to get soaked so I head inside to clean up and eat breakfast. I go to work.

It's been over a month now. The rain hasn't stopped, but we haven't found out where it's going.

It's just our area, that's what's weird. One small part of the world suddenly has inexplicable hydrology.

I've been interviewed in a national newspaper. I had nothing to add, I can't explain what's happening.

A few stormwater researchers have moved to the area. One of them, Panbela, I've started working with. She's got some neat ideas we're trying. And she's fine if I don't respond to an email for a few days.

[thegeekybaker]

Three Little Words

Characters - John Price x OC

Summary - 5 times Person A wanted to tell Person B they love them + the 1 time they finally did. (Thank you for the prompt @love-me-a-good-prompt !)

Word Count - 1,411

Warnings - None, just some fluff!

A/N - Ok, so, this is my first post on Tumblr, and I’m not really sure how to do this? But here goes nothing.

Here’s a little story that I wrote with a not-very-fleshed-out OC + Captain John Price, and I was really proud of how it turned out! So I wanted to share :) (I haven’t written in an exTREMEly long time, so please take this with multiple grains of salt, thanks!)

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Eliza pretty well knew after the first 2 weeks they had known each other that she was falling hard for her neighbor, John Price. There was something about him that was so captivating, it threatened to pull her in entirely, and she knew if it did, she would never surface. 

The first time an “I love you” almost slipped out, they had been sharing some quiet time before work, first thing in the morning. She was sat at the table next to John, sipping her warm drink and just soaking in his presence, trying not to be too obvious as she stared at him, wanting to commit as much of him to her memory as possible. He was shipping out in a couple of days, being deployed to who knows where, and she realized with a sharp stab in her chest that she would miss their daily ritual, would miss him. Finishing their conversation with her drink, she stood to go back inside, when suddenly, John blurted out her name, seeming almost started that he had done so. He stood and haltingly asked if she would be his girlfriend, cutting her off to insist he understood if she didn’t want to start a relationship with him. Being with a career military man is a hard life. But, despite his trying to convince her otherwise, she assured him she wanted to. She couldn’t deny the pull between them, and she wanted to explore that with him. When she left for the hospital that day with a smile splitting her face, John was on the porch to see her off. Swallowing her “I love you,” she bid him a good day with a hug, and off she went.

The second time had been a few days later, when she saw him off on his deployment for the first time. He didn’t really know how long he would be gone, saying that “cleaning up loose ends never really had a time limit.” She had taken the day off, driving him to the base he so often frequented, and with a tight hug and shy kiss on the cheek, she waved him onto the plane, biting her cheek to keep the words slipping out of her mouth and the tears sliding down her face.

The third time was when he reappeared on the doorstep of the ER where she worked. Doing a double take, she thought she was imagining him at first, but when he smiled and his blue eyes crinkled around the edges, and with the faint scent of cigar smoke lingering in the air, she knew it was really him. She had run and jumped in his arms, delighted to see him after 3 months of radio silence. She kissed him hard on the mouth then, becoming very red in the face after she realized what she had done. John’s face was tinged pink too, though he smiled brilliantly through it all.

The fourth time was when they had his whole team over for dinner. Kyle “Gaz” Garrick lived in London, so he was over quite often, but Johnny “Soap” McTavish had traveled in from Scotland, and Simon “Ghost” Riley was visiting from…somewhere. Eliza enjoyed cooking large, family style meals, and so when the opportunity came about, she jumped on it as fast as she could. After the meal was over and everyone had had a few drinks, Kyle and Johnny were teasing Eliza about how much she and John “loOoOOoved each other!!” All she could do was bury her flaming face in her hands keep her eyes as far away from John as she could. She loved him with all of her being, it was true, but neither of them had said it yet, and when they did, she wanted it to be a private affair, just her and John.

The fifth time had actually been later that night, after the boys had left. John had stayed after they’d gone, helping her wash dishes and tidy her living space. He was standing at the sink with his back to her, washing and drying her dishes as she swept the kitchen and dining area. The image of the two of them married and living together in domestic bliss hit her so hard it threatened to choke her. She sucked in a deep breath, all of her being wanting to scream those three little words from the rooftop, but she clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to kill the words in her throat. They hadn’t been dating half a year, and three of those months were spent on their own, John’s job forcing him to stay incommunicado. After all, what she felt could very well be infatuation, not true love, and John, being a little over 10 years her senior, would surely have more an idea of actual love than she could.

How could she say it first? 

She quickly turned around when she noticed John had stopped his job to listen to the quiet commotion behind him. She had never been so happy to stub a toe in her life, as the pain in her foot easily excused the tears forming in her eyes.

When those heavy words finally did slip through the cracks in her resolve, it was like a weight was lifted from her shoulders - no, from her very soul. John was staying home for a few months, and he had taken up driving and picking up Eliza from work. She thanked him time and time again, as she loathed driving in London traffic to get to the smaller hospital outside the massive city. Smoothly pulling into a parking space, John leaned over to give her a chaste kiss on the forehead, which she returned by giving him a quick peck on the nose. Seeing him smile made her giggle, and, with that image in mind, she knew she could easily last her 12 hour shift. She jumped down out of the giant black SUV, and, turning to grab her almost forgotten drink, she said with a smile on her face, “Bye John, love you!”

She turned around and stopped in her tracks, her smile dropping, realizing what had just come out of her mouth. It came so natural and easy, just like everything did with John, the thought not shooting up any red flags as it had formed in her mind.

“Love you, too, darling.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. She spun around so quickly she stumbled into the car, staring at John like a deer in the headlights. He chuckled at the no doubt ridiculous look she had on her face, and she could feel the blush slowly crawling up her neck, settling in her cheeks. “You do?”, she asked in a choked whisper.

 John had the sense to look a tad worried now, the smile dropping slightly and a small crease forming between his brows. “Of course I do, love. I think I always have.” He reached out a hand toward her, silently asking for her own, which she gave willingly, even if it was a tad shaky. He placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles, his facial hair tickling her skin, and said quietly, “I’m glad to hear you love me, too.”

Eliza stood there in awe, struck dumb at the wonderful man before her. How could she have gotten so lucky? A smile spread on her face so wide it hurt, as she turned her hand in his to grasp it and pull herself back into the SUV. She held John’s face in her other hand as she kissed him deeply. Pulling back, smile still on her face, she said, “Well, I’m happy to know you feel the same too!” She jumped out of the vehicle again and started walking backwards towards the hospital, yelling all the way, “Because now that I know, I’m never going to stop saying it! I’m going to tell you that I love you so much you’ll get sick of it!”

John, with a smile just as wide and bordering on painful, yelled back, “I never could!”

Eliza laughed as she turned around to enter the building, and John could see her spin back to face him one last time as he leaned over and pulled the forgotten passenger door closed, already making plans to have dinner cooked for the two of them and a dozen roses in hand when he picked her up that night.

[handsofred]

Ahh so I've started another fic, which has been in my ideas notebook for a short while. It's going to be a multi chapter fic with each chapter being from a different pov

It's going to include bad friend Scott, bad parent Sheriff Stilinski, the Hales are alive and not part of the McCall Pack. It's going to have Chris as an enemy but turning out to be the hero of the story with Jackson being the linch pin that gets Stiles out of BH after everyone reacts to him coming out as gay.

The fic has come out of two things that has helped shape it so far. A prompt I saw where the superhero turns up at the villains door battered and bloody before passing out while saying that they didn't know where else to go

and also from this song.

Calum Scott - Boys in the street.

[harbors-heart]

inspired by this prompt by @/deepwaterwritingprompts

"careful, all that preening and you'll turn into one of them soon"

[lilymelancholy04]

~Prompt Inspired~

This is a series I have been longing to do. See, I have seen a lot of awesome prompts and I wished to read stories inspired from them. Unfortunately, I haven't seen any or maybe I just dont know where to find them so I decided to write a prompt inspired short story for myself. Here, here!

This prompt is from pinterest, pinned from a blog called "Promptuarium.wordpress.com" from the author of the blog "thesolitarywordsmith". Credits to the maker of this prompt!

Title: Desert Canvas

________________________________________

"Before I met him, this desert was just a monochromatic painting of browns and yellows; mundane and unappealing..." -The First Lady's Memoir

________________________________________

Here in Coalsworth, bed space is a blessing and a slice of stale bread for breakfast is as rare as a drop of water in the desert. Everyone is doing hard labor all day as they mine out the rubies in Hell's Maw. Everyone is caked with dust hardened by sweat and the arid climate in the desert did not help in the heat. Everyone here is miserable, whether they be slaves, Royal Guards, or Mercenaries like me.

I planned to stay here until I finish my absurd quest: to capture a person with the title "World Changer". The King- who looked too healthy and too pale for the desert in my opinion- promised a handsome amount of money if I bring that person to them alive. The royals did not explain anything to me but from what I heard, there is a prophecy unknown to the public which foretold that a person entitled "World Changer" would bring down the monarchy and liberate the country of slavery. When they caught wind of my Ability to see titles of people's life stories- or fate as some call it- they immediately summoned me to hunt down this rebel.

And so here I am, drinking in the pub observing the boisterous drunks who entered and left. The titles I saw look like holographic signs above people's heads and are really synonymous with each other most of the time. "The Underdog", "The Fall guy", or "The Cheated" is typical in Coalsworth. After all, most people here are either slaves in the hierarchy, slaves of power, or slaves of money. Other titles in the pub are surprisingly more decent: "Loving Father", "Sacrificing Mother", and "Devoted Sister" are some of the most common but ultimately more wholesome and uplifting ones I have seen.

When not on duty, I often wonder how these titles came to be or how they will unfold. I found that these titles are predetermined. Even if it took a lifetime, one way or another, that title will be fulfilled somehow. In curiosity, I once looked at my title in the mirror and it was not as usual as others. "The Inspiration" is what it said. I saw this and gagged. I never took long in shaving my facial hair since then.

________________________________________

"When I met him, this place became... bearable. Like a wash of watercolor on the scorching canvas of this wasteland..." The First Lady's Memoirs

________________________________________

It was never on my bucket list to punch a Royal Guard but the bastard had it coming. One, he rudely invaded my personal space and took my beer. Two, he acted like he was the king of Coalsworth, and mind you, I have met the King of the country, and he acted just as dastardly. Third- and the worst- he tried to buy a night with me for fifty silver coins.

I mean, the nerve of that dog! Does he think I'm that cheap? I would have gone for a gold coin at least but fifty silver? What a cheapskate. So I punched the lights out of the guard. Unfortunately, his companions were also there so we got into a brawl. It was an easy win but the lady owner got angry at me for making a ruckus in the pub, threw a keg of beer at me, and knocked me out as well. When I came to, I was outside the pub, sticky with dried beer.

Instead of going to the inn, I decided to sit on the side of the road for a while to nurse the wound on my head. It is chilly in the desert at night but I did not mind. Neon signs flickered and the streets are still busy with activity. I looked around and saw interestingly dressed people with similarly interesting titles. "The Cavalier", "The Midnight Rose", "Lucky Charm".

"Those people look interesting, huh." A female voice said. I looked to my side and saw a woman sitting comfortably beside me. She wore a brown scarf covering her black hair, a long sleeve white top, and loose gray pants. Around her neck are numbers tattooed like a choker, the marks of a slave, which explains the numerous scars on her face and exposed skin.

I was about to make a witty response when I saw the title on her head.

"World Changer". My mouth went wide in shock.

"Staring is rude. I know I'm not a pretty thing to look at but bear with it until I finish speaking at least." She said.

I looked away but made sure she was in my peripherals. Who would've thought that that weird title actually existed?

"What do you want from me?" I managed to say.

"I came to thank you for teaching that bastard a lesson in my stead." She explained. She must mean the royal guard.

"There is no need to thank me. I did because he thought I was cheap."

She was silent for a while but she seemed to be studying me, uncertainty etched on her face.

"Whether you did it for yourself or not, you have my thanks. The woman he was harassing before you stepped in was my sister. If not for you, he would have forced himself onto her," she bit her lip, "and she would've been dead by tomorrow."

I grunted. I always felt uncomfortable receiving gratitude for something I did of my own volition.

"I understand your sentiments, but I won't accept the gratitude," I grumbled while I tried to stand up. "As I said, I did it because the mutt thought I was cheap. I know my worth and fifty silver coins won't cut." I said jokingly.

"How much are you worth, then?" She asked. I held my chin pretending to think deeply.

"Personally, I'd say a gold for a night. But my professional services are worth at least a hundred. You know, for the daily expenses."

"That's pretty expensive," she commented. "Then what do you think is mine?"

I gazed at her in wonder but she was looking at the ground. I understood what she was insinuating: she is asking me, a stranger, what I think a life of a slave is worth.

"I guess it depends," I started.

She looked at me with a questioning gaze.

"The only one who can tell me that is you. How much do you think are you worth? Name your price and we can start with that."

At that, the woman slowly smiled. Her dimples dipped and her facial scars stretched as if a weight had been taken off her shoulders.

I could knock her out and take her to the king now; that is the easiest way to finish this quest. But that relieved smile made me feel guilty.

"Lhandar, the Fate Hunter." I flinched at the sappy monicker that the Underground Association gave me.

So she knew who I was from the beginning. I looked at her in the eyes. Her title "World Changer" beamed so brightly above her head that it made me squint slightly.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, for the second time tonight.

A soft wind blew and her brown scarf fluttered. The neon signs accentuated the depths of her scars as she stood properly to face me. It was then that I saw her skin that was kissed by the sun and her slim yet muscular frame. She was too dignified to be a slave; too bold and too regal. Her eyes shone, reflecting the bright neon lights, as they were fixed intensely on me. She stood before me like a proper King.

"Tell me my fate." She demanded.

After a minute of silence, I sighed. I decided to not prolong the inevitable.

________________________________________

"As we journeyed together, I came to enjoy his company. I never knew the desert could be filled with such deep reds and oranges, blues and greens..."- The First Lady's Memoirs

________________________________________

"How are the preparations going?" A woman's voice called as she entered the room where I am being dressed. The "Midnight Rose" title glowed in pink above her head as the lovely lady in the deep purple dress slowly waltzed towards me. When she reached me, she eyed my clothing meticulously and asked for a brooch to be added.

"I still don't understand why I had to attend, Roxy. I told you, I don't need recognition. Some gold and food is enough compensation if you really want to thank me." I grumbled as one of the maids asked me to raise my head so she could pin an expensive looking ruby brooch with golden chains.

Roxy frowned, but as expected of the "Midnight Rose", her frown still looked dashing. I bet even if she wore the most ragged clothes in this desert, men and women alike would still grovel at her feet.

"Lhandar, dearest, no amount of gold would be enough to commemorate your contributions. We won because of you." She said as she messed my hair a little with her silky hands. "There, you look more attractive with messy hair."

"Hey, you all are done yet?" Another voice called. This time, a young dark skinned, blond man in a dark robe and teal sash entered. His turban was littered with small green jewels and his title showed "Lucky Charm" in green.

"You look delectable, Yusaf." Roxy commented which made the young man scratch the back of his head in embarassment. I guess Yusaf still has a thing for Roxy. Then again, who wouldn't?

"Anyway, I came to check if you haven't run away yet, Lhandar." Yusaf grinned.

This cheeky brat knows I hate these formal gatherings. We once had to present ourselves in a banquet to earn the support of a certain chief. The preparations alone were suffocating. Imagine my suffering during the gathering.

I almost ran away successfully but I was caught by Yusaf.

"Lhandar, Yustaf, Roxanne!" Another one came striding in. What is with these people visiting me today?

"Haitham, are you here to check on Lhandar, too?" Yustaf snickered.

The tall, muscly man in navy blue robes guffawed. I felt one of the maids fixing the golden sash on me flinch.

Seriously, "The Cavalier" title doesn't suit this big buffoon.

"Oh, Haitham, lower down your voice, will you? The maids are frightened." Roxy warned as she slapped his arm.

"Sorry, Roxanne. I was worried that Lhandar will run away like a coward."

I snorted as I pointed a finger at him. "What's wrong with being a coward? It saved my life and yours plenty of times before." I chided while a maid expertly maneuvered to pin some ruby cuffs on my sleeves.

"'Retreating for another day and running away are two different things.'" Haitham quoted. " You said that."

"Apparently, Lhandar can lead the frontlines of battalions but will tremble at the thought of attending formal gatherings." Yusaf and Haitham laughed. Roxy covered her face and chuckled.

"You all should just go away if you're going to make fun of me." I grumbled. "Besides how are you all done when I am still here dressing up?"

The three looked at each other knowingly.

"You really have no idea?" Yusaf finally asked. I only pursed my lips.

Just before things got awkward, there was a soft knock on the door. A deep voice called.

"Lord Lhandar is being summoned to the First Lady's room."

The maids retreated and ushered me to the door. Before we left the room, Roxy spoke.

"Lhandar, I hope you understand your worth to us and the whole new world we are establishing. You are worthy for this." Roxy said in a tender voice.

I smiled and nodded despite my reluctance. The aide and some maids led me to the First Lady's room and I heard the door close behind me.

Honestly, I have an inkling as to why I was being dressed up so carefully. Of all of us, I am the only one dressed in bright colored silk robes, ruby encrusted accessories and gold ornaments.

I can guess what is going to happen, but I do not wish to believe that they want me to escort her for her formal appointment as the First Lady of the democratic movement.

Roxy said I was worthy, but am I? This question has been occupying an unhelathy amount of space in my head after we won the war- even more than the unhealthy amount of space being taken up by her already.

I did nothing but tell them their destiny and provide some assistance. Regardless of my help, they were meant to be victorious, adored and showered with fortune. And the First Lady, she is meant to change the world. This is their fate.

And me? I was just a mercenary who lived for money. Who am I to be worthy of such loyalty and affection from these blessed people? Who am I to escort the First Lady?

Who am I that the one who turned the world upside down would want me to be introduced as her equal in front of the subjects she would govern?

"We have arrived." The aide with a deep voice said.

I looked up as the guards opened the door and what I beheld was the most breathtaking scene in the world.

She wore a white silken dress that fit her slender figure wonderfully. It had golden sewn hems and patterns of dunes and the sun that paralleled her raidiance. She had two ruby brooches like mine that held her whote robe with red undelay squarely on her shoulders. And her gloves looked elegant as she beckoned me to come in.

"Staring is rude, Lhandar. Save it once we are alone." The First Lady said light-heartedly.

I blushed but managed a strained chuckle and went in.

She walked towards me gracefully and I noticed how her skin sparkled. Her scars and slave tatoo were not concealed, instead, they accentuated them with glitter.

She stopped a few inches before me, her hair was tied up in a neat bundle with strands of her curly black hair loosely framing her face. She wore a ruby encrusted hair ornament that made her look like the bright sun herself. Above her head hovered her title "World Changer".

I felt conflicted as I looked down and read her title. This woman has changed the world as we knew it. But why is she looking at me as if I changed hers?

"Lhandar," the First Lady called my name fondly.

"Yes, First Lady?"

"Don't be so cold." She raised her gloved hand and caressed my face. I wanted to lean in but refused my urge. "We didn't have time to spend alone ever since the battle and we had been busy with all the meetings and visitations. Now that everything has mostly settled, we will now formally announce our ideals and hopes for the future of this country."

I nodded. She pursed her lips at my stubborness.

"But Lhandar, I could feel that you're not happy with something. You kept calling me that title instead of my name ever since we won, as if you're pushing yourself away from me."

I kept silent and honestly, I don't think any words could get me out of this situation unscathed. What could I say? That I feel unworthy of being beside her? That I feel like she should be with someone with a better background and social standing than me? That even though I love her and want to be with her, I will give it up if it means she could secure a better political position by being with a more suitable man? That I would give up anything for her to reach her dreams ultimately?

"Lhandar, speak to me." She said, her brow creasing in worry. I sighed.

"I didn't mean to offend you, First Lady-"

"Stop calling me that!" She turned away and walked closer towards a huge mirror clad wall.

"Is that all I am worth to you now? A First Lady?"

"No! That's not-"

"What is my worth to you, then, Lhandar?" She demanded.

I gazed at her dignified figure and title above her head.

"You- you are the bravest and strongest woman I have ever known. You just changed the world and no amount of gold could compare to your worth for all your accomplishments.

"But I-" I exhaled as I tried to convey my thoughts properly. "I am just a mercenary for hire whose worth is at most a hundred gold. I am not worthy to be by your side."

She stayed still before the mirror but after a while, she spoke.

"Come here, Lhandar." She said. I followed.

I saw our reflections, side by side. I am a little taller than her and my tanned skin complemented hers well. I wore a white dress shirt and slacks with golden hem and embroidery topped with a white waistcoat. i was clad in ruby accessories. My pale hair was messy because of Roxy but it looked in character so I appreciated the look.

"What do you see?" She asked and gestured at our reflections.

I looked at her questioningly but complied.

"I see myself, uncharacteristically well dressed. And I see you, looking surprisingly gorgeous." I said jokingly. She smiled, but just a little.

"You said you see the title of people's fate above their heads?"

"Yes."

"What is my fate, Lhandar?"

I looked at her reflection and recited it in awe as the first time i declared it to her.

"World Changer." She nodded.

"Now, Lhandar, what is yours?"

I blinked, startled. She asked this to me once before, and we both laughed at how absurd it was. Why is she bringing this up again?

I looked at my reflection and my title.

"The Inspiration." I murmured. She looked at me fiercely and glared.

"Say it louder."

"Wha- why should I-" she punched my arm hard and I was taken aback.

"Alright, alright," I said as I nursed my poor arm. "The Inspiration. There, happy?" She humphed and looked back at our reflections again.

"How do you think I became the World Changer, Lhandar?"

I looked at her in question for the second time.

"I don't know." I said honestly.

"It started when I first asked you for my life's worth when I was still a slave. You told me that it is only I, myself that could put a price on it. You told a slave like me that no other person can dictate my worth. And after that is history as we know.

"You say you're just a mercenary who is worth a hundred gold and that compared to me, you are nothing. But allow me to correct you."

She turned to face me her fierce bright eyes piercing through my soul.

"This World Changer was only inspired to take action because of you. Don't you think you are worth more than a hundred gold for that?"

I looked back at my reflection and gazed at my title: "The Inspiration". It sounded pathetic and laughable back when I was living as mercenary. It was a rough life and sometimes, people mocked me for being a slave to gold.

But now that we are here, in this room, dressed in our victory attire and together; it didn't sound pathetic anymore. Having the love of my life make sense of it and spell it out to my face was embarassing but, it made me feel happy to know that she saw me as one befitting of that title.

I looked at her and smiled.

"Thank you, Kira." I said. She beamed, her scars stretching and her dimples dipped beautifully.

"Are you ready to be escorted, my Inspiration?" She raised her arm in a hook. I laughed as i took her gloved arm.

"Yes, World Changer. Get me out of here and quick." I said as we walked out of the room into the Great Hall.

________________________________________

"As my life painted out and eventually ended, he made everything feel worthwhile. My Inspiration, you filled my hopeless life with colors and inspired me to change this world for us." - The First Lady's Memoirs

[out-of-jams]

REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPTS

Too many beds

Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss

Really nice guy who hates only you

Academic rivals except it’s two teachers who compete to have the best class

Divorce of convenience

Too much communication

True hate’s kiss (only kissing your enemy can break a curse)

Dating your enemy’s sibling

Lovers to enemies

Hate at first sight

Love triangle where the two love interests get together instead

Fake amnesia

Soulmates who are fated to kill each other

Strangers to enemies

Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating

Too hot to cuddle

Love interest CEO is a himbo/bimbo who runs their company into the ground

Nursing home au

[hayatheauthor]

10 Non-Lethal Injuries to Add Pain to Your Writing

New Part: 10 Lethal Injury Ideas

If you need a simple way to make your characters feel pain, here are some ideas: 

1. Sprained Ankle

A common injury that can severely limit mobility. This is useful because your characters will have to experience a mild struggle and adapt their plans to their new lack of mobiliy. Perfect to add tension to a chase scene.

2. Rib Contusion

A painful bruise on the ribs can make breathing difficult, helping you sneak in those ragged wheezes during a fight scene. Could also be used for something sport-related! It's impactful enough to leave a lingering pain but not enough to hinder their overall movement.

3. Concussions

This common brain injury can lead to confusion, dizziness, and mood swings, affecting a character’s judgment heavily. It can also cause mild amnesia.

I enjoy using concussions when you need another character to subtly take over the fight/scene, it's an easy way to switch POVs. You could also use it if you need a 'cute' recovery moment with A and B.

4. Fractured Finger

A broken finger can complicate tasks that require fine motor skills. This would be perfect for characters like artists, writers, etc. Or, a fighter who brushes it off as nothing till they try to throw a punch and are hit with pain.

5. Road Rash

Road rash is an abrasion caused by friction. Aka scraping skin. The raw, painful sting resulting from a fall can be a quick but effective way to add pain to your writing. Tip: it's great if you need a mild injury for a child.

6. Shoulder Dislocation

This injury can be excruciating and often leads to an inability to use one arm, forcing characters to confront their limitations while adding urgency to their situation. Good for torture scenes.

7. Deep Laceration

A deep laceration is a cut that requires stitches. As someone who got stitches as a kid, they really aren't that bad! A 2-3 inch wound (in length) provides just enough pain and blood to add that dramatic flair to your writing while not severely deterring your character.

This is also a great wound to look back on since it often scars. Note: the deeper and wider the cut the worse your character's condition. Don't give them a 5 inch deep gash and call that mild.

8. Burns

Whether from fire, chemicals, or hot surfaces, burns can cause intense suffering and lingering trauma. Like the previous injury, the lasting physical and emotional trauma of a burn is a great wound for characters to look back on.

If you want to explore writing burns, read here.

9. Pulled Muscle

This can create ongoing pain and restrict movement, offering a window to force your character to lean on another. Note: I personally use muscle related injuries when I want to focus more on the pain and sprains to focus on a lack of mobility.

10. Tendonitis

Inflammation of a tendon can cause chronic pain and limit a character's ability to perform tasks they usually take for granted. When exploring tendonitis make sure you research well as this can easily turn into a more severe injury.

This is a quick, brief list of ideas to provide writers inspiration. Since it is a shorter blog, I have not covered the injuries in detail. This is inspiration, not a thorough guide. Happy writing! :)

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[spahhzy]

Jaune: Right on to Plan B.

Nora: I love Plan B!

Ren: Plan B does seem like fun.

Ruby: Plan B, what's plan--where are you guys going?

Jaune: To break the law!

Ruby: ...

[on-noon]

The Allansha declared war on another galaxy cluster, this one the home of the Goraks, famous for their peace. Everyone knew how the war would end– the Allansha would drive even the Goraks to war. But the Goraks would still lose, the Allansha would annihilate them.

When the Goraks made a call to their allies for help, everyone knew it would go unanswered. No one would face against the Allansha voluntarily, even to help the ever-kind, peace-loving Goraks.

But than ships flew to their side, technology far behind everyone else. Ships of an unknown species called "Human."

I lived in that galaxy cluster, and at the time I thought the humans lunatics. Suicidal.

And of course, their ships were destroyed.

The humans sent more. Destroyed.

The humans sent yet more, with slightly improved technology.

They were still destroyed by the Allansha. Their puny little ships didn't stand a chance.

But it felt like something had shifted. The Allansha seemed almost reserved, almost as if they, the ever-aggressors, were on the defense.

The Goraks neighbors, Kalyth, sent a squadron.

Some human ships even seemed to survive.

Then someone, there are multiple theories, supplied the humans with a new ship design, a never-before seen ship design.

Not as war-capable as the Allansha ships, but close.

Stories started to spread of human exploits, some ship had done something crazy, and sometimes even survived.

The fighting moved further and further from that galaxy cluster, into open space.

The Allansha stopped sending ships. Headlines declared the victory of the humans, Allansha defeated at last.

The humans moved into Allansha space, attacking the nearest galaxy cluster run by the Allansha.

And these humans were ruthless. Ruthless until they won, the humans drove the Allansha out, then rebuilt the galaxy cluster, and welcomed whoever to live there.

The humans fought the Allansha, past when any others but the Allansha would fight, but stopped short of the Allansha.

The humans now have everyone on edge. They've spread out among the galaxies, but say they don't own the whole clusters. Well, some of them say they own everything.

I don't understand humans.

The biggest warmongering race of Aliens declare war on the local Galaxy cluster. The opposing group of peace-loving Aliens, who had befriended most Alien races, are finally forced to reveal their secret weapon, a ‘classified’ species called Humans, and their tenacity as persistence predators.

[silvereternitywrites]

What You are Called

Prompt: When an unpopular species of the current federation rescues humanity from their dying world, they never knew how much it would affect them and the galaxy.

Prompt Source: user AnthonyisClueless; subreddit "Humans are Space Orcs"; approx 3rd week of march (cannot find more specific date)

"I'm sorry, the Federation calls your people what?"

My head had ticked sideways involuntarily at the word I hoped I had heard wrong- but with the new hearing aids (free. Free.) I had been issued I was pretty sure I'd heard it right.

My Alien (personal ambassador? Health Concierge? Translator? They were all of these things and more) made a hand motion that indicated nervousness. They often were nervous when I ticced, but the super-sharp angled motions disturbed them most. Said they looked like I was bending my body wrong.

"They call us- [Revolting Aberrations]," they repeated dutifully, and the translator gave the secondary chirp in my hearing aid that promised it was as accurate a translation of another-nother alien language. As opposed to my alien language or my Alien's language.

I inhaled so fast and deep I felt the discs in my spine pop and my ribs strain and my head straightened on my neck.

"I was afraid of that. You do know that's- that's not acceptable, right?"

They blinked and their ears were slicking back, one pair at a time in descending order. Their body language for 'I don't think I'm going to like what I'm about to hear'.

"I'm assuming you know what that translates to, right?"

"Naturally," they said slowly, about half of the scattered eyes on their torso and arms blinking out-of-sync.

"I don't know if I've made this clear to you before, but Fangnar, you're my friend," I stressed the second half of this, and watched their quills slick down. Not sure if that was the fear response or the pleasure response, quills went flat for both.

"And, and I don't know if you've overheard me arguing with my mates about their brain-voices who are jerks, right? Where I threaten to yank the voice out of their skulls and force them to stop being mean to my friend?"

"Ye-es," and now their pupils were dilating, unevenly as so much of their body functioned, shifting uneasily from one set of back legs to the other.

"You are not exempt from this form of love, Fangnar," I finished, feeling the flush of rage from my chest to my hairline.

"The United Federation of Planets calling my friend's entire people revolting abominations is them being mean to my friends. Which is violently unacceptable. So I just have one more question."

All their various limbs pulled in, even as their eyes were dilated wide- familial fear response, definitely. Afraid of how angry I was on their behalf.

"What is your question, human friend?"

I smiled, reminding them without words that the Federation was made up of 77% prey species and 15% declawed predators who had been taken advantage of by the Federation when they'd made it to space. The remaining 8% accounted for approximately three species: the one that had uplifted us, the -- I wasn't using that name, I would NEVER use that name, but they had forms that were asymmetrical, that didn't work in sync, that weren't the same across species because they were from a Death World that made Terra look like it was made of cotton candy and pillows. They only slept with a maximum of 3/4ths of their bodies at any given time, because to be fully asleep was too dangerous, they literally couldn't do it, and they had claws and sharp teeth and multiple pupil types to handle every type of light for changing conditions.

"You actually fit a human concept called [Eldritch]," I told them abruptly, because I couldn't finish my thought without a proper name to call them.

"My translator says that is a very complicated concept," they said doubtfully.

"Yes. Ever-Changing, like yet unlike those who look upon you, unknowable without your consent or aid, no two of your own the same, sometimes inspiring loathing in the foolish or stupid or stubborn, sometimes inspiring blind worship or loyalty in the same people. I'm going to nickname your people that for now, because I'm NOT calling you that other thing," I failed to control the hiss for the other name, and felt sorry when they flinched.

Anyway, there were three Predatory species that hadn't been forcefully handicapped and de-clawed. A species no one was even sure still existed that looked like bipedal tigers with backwards thumbs called Kartcha, the Eldritch...

and us.

"My question is this. Where is the Federation Embassy? I hear they have a policy where they are required to listen to objections from common folk to keep the officials of the councils from getting too big for their britches."

"Oh. Oh no. Human friend, human friend this is a terrible- I- how did you get the GPS directions so fast- Human friend!! PLEASE COME BACK HERE HUMAN FRIEND!"

I waved over my shoulder.

"I'll be back in a few hours at worsssst," I licked the teeth formerly tucked into the roof of my mouth, complete with venom-sacs, another medical miracle that the Eldritch who'd given me the rattle-tail to use as a third leg and to balance with had apologized profusely for because of 'unintended mutational consequences'. I couldn't wait to see if the shark one- for cartilage repair, not for more potential teeth, they wouldn't play with our DNA like that- gave me gills like I'd been hoping.

I hadn’t yet found the words to explain to their scientists that the people signing up for those medical services were actively gambling on getting those unintended mutational consequences, and making bets with their God or Gods that they would get particular ‘side effect’ mutations they desperately wanted. If they ever figured out the process to do things like my teeth and the heat-pits nestled in my temples on purpose, people would be lining up in the thousands. It was just awkward to try and explain all that to a scientist-physician who was apologizing profusely for whatever delight you had just woken up to and offering to let you rip off one of his nonessential limbs as reparations.

How dare the Federation pass judgement on the Eldritch based on nothing more than their looks? Their culture, their science, their willingness to packbond with humanity like excited puppies...it made me flush hotter and angrier, until the diamond pattern of nearly microscopic scales was visible from forehead to collarbones.

"I'm jussssst going to tell them how UNACSSSSSEPTABLE their nickname really isssss, that'ssss all," I promised. I didn't cross my fingers.

I maybe crossed the forks of my tongue as I jumped over their haunches to get through the doorway before they could block it and took off as fast as my legs would go.

I wanted to be able to argue back if they tried to tell me they were in the right, after all. I also reserved the right to bite people who try to touch me, as I always have and always will.

[prompt-heaven]

a list of 100+ buildings to put in your fantasy town

academy

adventurer's guild

alchemist

apiary

apothecary

aquarium

armory

art gallery

bakery

bank

barber

barracks

bathhouse

blacksmith

boathouse

book store

bookbinder

botanical garden

brothel

butcher

carpenter

cartographer

casino

castle

cobbler

coffee shop

council chamber

court house

crypt for the noble family

dentist

distillery

docks

dovecot

dyer

embassy

farmer's market

fighting pit

fishmonger

fortune teller

gallows

gatehouse

general store

graveyard

greenhouses

guard post

guildhall

gymnasium

haberdashery

haunted house

hedge maze

herbalist

hospice

hospital

house for sale

inn

jail

jeweller

kindergarten

leatherworker

library

locksmith

mail courier

manor house

market

mayor's house

monastery

morgue

museum

music shop

observatory

orchard

orphanage

outhouse

paper maker

pawnshop

pet shop

potion shop

potter

printmaker

quest board

residence

restricted zone

sawmill

school

scribe

sewer entrance

sheriff's office

shrine

silversmith

spa

speakeasy

spice merchant

sports stadium

stables

street market

tailor

tannery

tavern

tax collector

tea house

temple

textile shop

theatre

thieves guild

thrift store

tinker's workshop

town crier post

town square

townhall

toy store

trinket shop

warehouse

watchtower

water mill

weaver

well

windmill

wishing well

wizard tower

[bebx]

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

[selenekallanwriter]

This. Less toxic bullshit and more of this, please.

I think the funniest dynamic for arranged-marriage royalty would be a queen who came here 100% prepared to murder her future husband and rule as a widow queen in her own right, only to discover that the king is autistic as hell and responds to her wish to rule with "oh thank god please do, I don't want to be bothered by these people. I can just tell them to go bother you instead, if you really want that. I've got beetles I wanted to study."