#the prompt was: fog

[poemsonmars]

i am tired of being

afraid of everything.

i step into the fog

with open arms,

and it amazes me

how much it feels like rain.

i think i could drown myself

in anything if i really tried.

-mars

[endivinity]

Closing out at thirteen, Nebula!

Comfortable in the Far Harbor foothills, there are numerous deathclaws that thrive in low-light conditions, with sleek dark scales to match. Its main diet of anglers and resulting bioluminescence makes it look like the night sky when aggravated.

[caleod]

28-10-24 "Jumbo"

[wishchip106]

NPC’s

Erik: So I sit down and ask Charles to play chess, then what?

God (or whoever idk): you propose to him, easy enough.

Erik: Okay 👍

idk 😭

[charmed-n-zesty]

What might you find here? Fantastical answers only.

[b1asho]

Just some normal frogs, nothing to see here

(Ghhhh paper and pencil oughhhh un-digititized)

[vibrantstarfire]

far/faerie writing prompt:

married women giving up their last names for heterosexual marriage is fae trickery designed to trap women, ‘until death do they part.’

it’s ancient times in a civilization that has limited rights for women. the fae are part of the world, but no one knows the extent of their power. the human women are lured in with the promise of romance, love, and financial stability — and then, as is the fae’s insistence and custom, the wives take their new husband’s name.

what these new wives don’t know is it is a binding magical contract that confines them to the home, unless they are allowed out with their husband’s permission. the spell makes it seem like they’re happy about this, but behind their eyes they’re screaming and begging to be let out. some try to make peace with their lives; most never do. more than anything, they are begging to connect with other married women and speak freely, but they don’t have that power. they can only speak of being homemakers. and they always have to wonder — are these other women happy? are they the only one who is miserable? is it only their own, singularly cruel fae husband that makes their life miserable, and every other wife is truly happy when they discuss being a happy wife and mother? are they the problem? and yet one glance in most wives’ eyes, and it is clear that it is not just one. they are not alone, but they are not free.

when these women have daughters, it is a tragedy, because under this spell, there is no way to warn them against marrying, against giving up their names. and so generations upon generations of women give up their names and are bound to these contracts, and realize what the sadness in their mothers’ eyes meant.

because of the hopelessness of their situation, many wives take their own lives while they are still young; til death do they part, after all. but as per their contract, the reason is never shared with the family they leave behind. daughters grow up wondering why their mothers died. sons wonder why their fathers are unconcerned, until they are told to take their wives names, and learn how to be cruel to earn their place among the other fae.

because this is the world of the fae. women are simply wives to be owned.

[uriswhumpchamber]

While I am not one to be held back by realism, sometimes it ends up making a scenario better. Like:

Whumpee is great at whatever it is they do. They have some sort of job where they need to retain information, be able to orient themselves, and the like. Their mind is amazing at that, and they're proud - incredibly proud of themselves. And then something happens - the hurt happens.

Maybe they're kidnapped and kept somewhere they don't know, maybe they're tortured for the same information they had before. Maybe they're in a bad accident and lost. Something they, by every metric they used before to feel accomplished, should be able to deal with. Making escape plans, being able to find their way out of places and back to wherever they want to get - it's their whole thing.

But they can't. They're in pain, and exhausted, maybe being tortured, maybe just too hurt or shaken up. And they can't think. They stumble, they get lost - they get a good look at the sky and cannot find North, no matter how hard they try to remember how to do that. They walk into their captors because they make a turn right instead of left, or perhaps just walk in circles for too long without even noticing. They run for the nearest exit only to get lost not even a few meters from it, their head spinning, unable to remember the map for that very same area they're sure they knew. They cannot think, at all, their mind completely empty of anything useful.

And their pride shatters.

[whumpfish]

Reference: Psychogenic Fever

You've seen it in anime loads of times: the protagonist overexerts themselves or experiences a highly stressful event, and they dramatically collapse. The next thing you know, they're in bed with a cloth over their forehead and an ally informs the rest of us that they have a fever.

Well, it turns out that can actually happen.

If your immune system is already shot, and you experience acute levels of stress, your body will respond to those stress hormones the way it would normally respond to a virus. Your core heats up, and you develop a full-blown fever.

According to what information I was able to dig up, some patients can develop core temperatures of 41°C/105°F. I didn't apparently record mine when this was going on, but given the temperature dysregulation caused by the seroquel I take that prevents me from cooling off if I get hot and the reverse, and how hot literally anything I touched got, I was probably in that higher range.

The Progression:

I went to bed at around 1:45 a.m. I'd already been through so much stress with my grandfather's funeral, how my dad elected to process grief, and scrambling to get the SSI-D function report that had arrived in our mailbox when I was out of town returned on time, I had already crashed out earlier that day from the energy expenditure. Now, I have ME/CFS, and crashing out after exertion/stress is normal, so nothing stood out as a warning sign. If there was one, I dismissed it as my usual fatigue. I went to sleep.

I woke up about 2.5 hours later, experiencing sleep paralysis--presumably in lieu of a fever dream. When I woke up the rest of the way, I was sweating profusely and feeling about like I'd been mowing the lawn in 105° heat. I've done that, and collapsed from heat exhaustion from it, before. I was hotter at that moment than I had been back then.

I put a wrist to my forehead, and the sensation was like holding a hairdryer on high to my forehead at point-blank range. My pillow was just as hot, and no amount of flipping fixed that. (I should point out here that I normally run cold--ridiculously cold, sleep with the quilt up in the middle of a Texas summer cold--and this never happens unless I am very sick.)

I smelled like fever. Some people don't think you can smell fevers, but I was a sickly child and spent so much of my life in pediatricians' waiting rooms full of feverish children that after a while I noticed a particular smell unique to those environments. Since then, I've been able to accurately identify it elsewhere by that smell.

I was completely confused. I'd had to go into the grocery store without a mask earlier that day because I ran out, but even I don't present that quickly. It couldn't be from that. Some old geek part of me remembered Anime Fever, and on a hunch, I googled "can you give yourself a fever from stress?" And yes. Yes, you can.

I sat up, and when I touched the mattress where I had been sleeping with one hand, it felt like trying to pick a dish up out of the dishwasher immediately after it's through running. It was that hot.

The recommended treatment was anti-inflammatories and any relevant psych meds that can reduce anxiety, so I took 800mg of ibuprofen and an extra, small dose of seroquel. Then I took my clothes off and downed a few bottles of water, my usual trick for cooling down once I've gotten too hot, and sat on the foot of my bed to give my mattress time to cool down before getting back in bed to try to sleep.

The fever broke at around 6:15 a.m., and I was finally able to rotate back to the other side of my mattress and pillow, and go back to sleep. I slept until 1:20 p.m.

The Takeaway: This is a real phenomenon! Use it on your whumpees with poor immune systems, either naturally or broken down from their ordeal. It's no longer just an anime trope.

[caleod]

14-10-24 "Roam"

[lathbora-virann]

#33 for the intimacy prompts hehe

Oh my god ok it's happening. Luckily for me, this is something I already had (most) of a scene written for and it's an important little through-line for the whole story. This is from near the start of their relationship where she's about to go with Dorian to meet his father. She's bursting with love but still feeling very undeserving, insecure and unsure how to express herself.

This is also the longest piece I've ever posted whoops.

33. Small unexpected, and inexpensive gifts: A pastry from their favourite store, a small trinket.

Nymera nervously thumbed the little disk in her pocket, tracing the smooth, rounded edge and pressing her thumb against the imprint of her fingerprint in the hardened clay. She had been repeating the motions over and over for hours, waiting for the right moment to give it to him. And now that time had come. As she pressed her thumb once more against its copy, the faint pulse of the enchantment moved up her finger and through her palm almost like a heartbeat.

She didn’t know why she was so nervous. He would be gracious. He would be kind. He wouldn’t begrudge the humbleness of what she had made. And even if he didn’t like it, she told herself, he wouldn’t reject it. Wouldn’t reject her. He didn’t know he should. He didn’t know he had already given her more than she deserved.

Forcing the thoughts down, she reminded herself that the point of the gift was the sentiment and the protection; to let him know how much he meant to her. Not for him to shower her in praise and affection. But that still didn’t make the anxious little thoughts shut up—or her gut stop churning.

“Solas, I—”

Someone cleared their throat, and they both turned to see Dorian at the top of the stairs, looking decidedly irritable.

“Well? Are you ready to go?”

“Just give me five minutes,” she replied. “I’ll meet you at the stable.”

He sighed loudly as he turned to leave, but whatever sardonic comment he might have normally made was instead reduced to inaudible grumbling as he began climbing back down the stairs.

“He’s nervous, isn’t he?” Nymera said quietly, watching him go.

“I’m not surprised,” Solas replied. “Family can be one of the hardest things to face.”

She couldn’t bring herself to tell him how right he was. All she could do was give him a wordless noise of agreement as she looked back up at him. A deep sigh left her own throat.

“I wish you were coming with us,” she murmured.

“As do I.”

“I... don’t like being apart from you.”

A sad smile met his lips. “Nor do I. But we both know Dorian does not want to involve anyone else.”

Nymera swallowed and nodded, looking to their feet as she tried to come up with the words to begin. But then Solas caught her chin and lifted it gently so she would meet his eye. His brow was furrowed as his eyes scanned her face, searching for something. She didn’t know what he was looking for, but he smiled softly at what he found, moving to trace his thumb across her bottom lip.

“I’ll be here, eagerly awaiting your return. And hopefully by the time you’re back I’ll have taught Your Trainer some less dangerous methods to share with the Collective.”

A humming spread through her veins at his touch, and she couldn’t help but smile. Her hand rose to curl around his wrist. “That would be a welcome relief. I do worry about that woman. But… I worry about you even more.”

Taking a deep breath, she pulled his hand from her face, knowing the moment had come. Already she could feel her cheeks were warm as she reached into her pocket to pull out the leather cord.

“I made you something. For when we’re apart.” Nymera lowered the pendant into his hand. “It’s just a little charm for protection, something small that can sit under your shirt—you don’t have to display it or anything. It’s more symbolic really; the spell is only a simple ward, but I—I just... wanted you to have something to remember... I just wanted you to have a little piece of me with you to keep you safe and remind you that you’re not alone.”

She glanced back up at him, eyes running over his face for the tiniest changes in his expression, hoping desperately that she hadn’t overexplained herself and ruined the moment. His eyes had widened in what seemed to be pleasant surprise as he lifted it for closer inspection. And then Solas smiled, his lips curving in a way that made her immediately want to taste them, his eyes crinkling with warmth. He looked genuinely touched.

“Thank you, vhenan. Truly. This is your fingerprint?”

She nodded and he looked back down, pressing his own against the indentation for a long moment.

The thumping of her heart in her ears had slowed but was no less loud. “I know it’s not much, but I just wanted to give you something.”

Solas smiled again. “Your version of a simple ward goes far beyond what most would consider as such. And the gesture means more to me than you could know.”

Looking back up at her, his hand rose to her face again but this time he caught her cheek and bent down with a kiss that was both gentle and deep. She wanted to drown in it, to drown in her own relief, as her hands curled around his belt, drawing him closer. After a long moment Solas pulled back, forehead resting against hers.

“Ar lath ma,” he murmured against her lips.

“Ar lath ma,” she murmured back.

They stood there in silence for a long, unmoving moment as a chill wind whipped around them from the open balcony doors. All it made her want to do was melt into his chest as his arms folded around her. But she couldn’t.

It felt like seconds, it felt like an eternity, but finally she pulled back to look up at him.

“I should go before Dorian comes storming back up here.”

Solas nodded. “Yes. I will miss you, vhenan.”

[whatiswhump]

Whumpee has memory problems.

It started with the trauma but then never went away after.

Old memories fade and jumble if not held onto tightly enough while new ones are hardly etched in most days.

Writers always say they’ll never forget certain moments but Whumpee is ashamed to realize they don’t always remember the name of their childhood bestfriend, nor the stories their dad used to tell, or what color the house was...

For Whumpee, it is an exhausting confusion.

Even the trauma, most of it flies away in wisps- only hints at what happened to them. The feelings of horror remain but not even the absolute of what occurred can be a certainty.

Because they don't even have the proof that their misery is their own.

If they can't fully grasp it do they deserve to suffer it? What if they made it up? Or it wasn't as bad as their breathless night terrors told them it was?

They just don't know...

[hersurvival]

Bergamot on my lips at 2 am

Vanilla and lavender on my breath

Driving through the freezing dark

To give you a kiss

Out comes a little sigh

Grinning and looking me in the eye

"Wow," you whisper

@nosebleedclub September 18th - London Fog

[puppetmaster13u]

HYPOTHETICALLY if I were to put forth the idea of a DC & Minecraft crossover of the batfam or even all of Gotham getting dragged into a MC world of sorts, what would y'all's thoughts be?

[writing-prompts-for-palestine]

#291

Source

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Today’s campaign:

Pal Quds, from Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser List. (#13)

$37,025/$60,000 [62%]

[aunteat]

lawd give me the strength to finish this kinkfest fic amen 🙏