#writers write prompt s

[aelfgiure]

It shouldn't have been such a surprise to me, really. We had the actual lived experience of the covid pandemic to inform us, less than 20 years ago - but goddamn, people were stupid. Willfully, arrogantly, belligerently stupid. Proud of staying ignorant, blatting away about conspiracy and libtards, right up to the moment they had their guts ripped out by former friends, former family.

When I first saw the news, I tried to stay calm. I did my research - yes, actual research with the Public Health community - then spent a day indulging myself in a hideous drunken panic attack. Then the day to recover, because goddamn, I'm not in my 20s anymore and can't just do that shit like I used to.

Anyways.

My friends were up to speed as fast as I was, and we pooled our resources in a hurry. We had our location picked out beforehand, and that was what saved us. Our location, our resources, our skill sets, all of those would've meant nothing if we hadn't jumped when we did. We're still dealing with guilt, you know. The people that laughed us off, told us we were overreacting to something that was going to get contained and eliminated quickly, they're all dead now. Worse than dead, unless we saw them in a herd and dropped them ourselves, which only added to the grief and pain.

You want to know how long it took for civilization to utterly wreck itself? Three months. THREE MOTHERFUCKING MONTHS. All over the damn globe, that's all it took. Ninety-goddamn-days for the whole thing to collapse. I'm still shaken by the whole thing, how fucking fast it all went downhill. The only plus side to the speed of the collapse? The assorted nations didn't have time to start a fucking nuclear war over this, and for small mercies like that I am honestly, truly grateful. No nuclear war, no attempt at making things worse because we all know how people functioned back then, no time to do anything but scramble to survive and salvage what they could, if they even had time for that.

It's been hard. Not going to lie, there are days when I'm lying in my bed, here in our compound, and I'm tempted to suck-start my .9mil, because it's so, so hard. Yeah, I'm safe, our compound is safe and functional, we have electricity and all the comforts of modern living. My husband is dead, I haven't heard from my daughter in three years, most of the people I knew are gone, except for this crazy ass lot of us, here in this repurposed event center. I could list off the things I miss, the people I miss, but that would take days and only add to my depression, so we'll skip that.

The stupid part of it all? I have hope. Still, even now, I have hope that we can make it through this and come out of this as better people than we were Before. Here in the Redoubt, for example, couple of my friends who couldn't stand each other, they work together now. Not the grudging, barely holding in the snarl, sort of work together, either, but they're allies and brothers in arms, respecting each other. It's not just them, either, it's been across the whole thing, the whole area that we've managed to enclose and protect. If you have a pulse, we can be friends, seems to be the current motto of the human race and yeah, that's something I dreamed about Before. Seeing it in action is beautiful. Maybe we can learn from this and grow the fuck up as a planet, right?

It's going to be a long time before we can clean this mess up enough to start rebuilding, though. One day at a time, one breath. One pulse. I have hope. That's what keeps me waking up, holstering the pistol, and going to whatever work I need to do. Stupid, goddamn, persistent hope.

When the zombie apocalypse came, you were prepared. What you weren’t prepared for was how quickly it ended.

[parasiticstars]

Hey whumpblr I know you love and worship writing-prompt-s but they joined the bandwagon on mass reporting Palestinian accounts

Get 90s-ghost’s name out of your mouth; he’s human, he might make mistakes, but from what’s been shared on @ el-shab-hussein’s account, the vetting process is intense and leaves little room for deception.

I feel like most of y’all only care about Palestine when the people suffering are faceless, perfect victims, so poor and stupid and in need of a white savior they can’t possibly have their own thoughts and inner world and technology. All they should be to you is like those inspiration porn Starving Kids In Africa™.

As if them using a website they don’t know about in a language they have to machine translate and whole ass begging for donations isn’t bad enough.

Yes, there are scammers profiting off of a real time tragedy, but guess what? Guess fucking what? It’s pretty easy to check for yourself if a fundraiser is legit.

Anyways! A PSA!

You can easily check asks and fundraisers in your inbox by checking for their social media accs, which should definitely be older than their tumblr, searching their usernames on here and seeing if others have called them out, checking for their names on Strawberry Seed Collective, Operation Olive Branch, and this document, and going through their tumblr account and looking for stuff like frequent updates and news that’s not just a couple of super popular Palestinian news posts to pad out the blog length, reverse searching any pics they send, and copy pasting some of their story to see if other accounts have used their script.

Or you could also just ignore the asks either way since nobody’s can force you to donate anyways.

But don’t go out and accuse every single Palestinian on tumblr of being part of some massive fucking scam circle a lá “The Jews Are Controlling The Rich” conspiracy.

frankly, the biggest scammer is this one woman from Belgium (her first name is Laura) so I’d be wary of any based in Belgium unless you can find any other way to prove its validity.

[noobiestnoober]

Bang Bang, Baby (Leon X Reader)

When Leon offers to teach you how to shoot, you expect a lesson in marksmanship—not butterflies, blushing, and flirty banter that leaves him more rattled than a T-Virus outbreak. In the middle of a quiet training session, tension simmers and laughter sparks, turning a simple field test into something much more intimate. And maybe, just maybe, you’re a little more dangerous to Leon Kennedy’s heart than any mission ever was.

The gun was heavier than you expected. It wasn’t like in the movies—where characters held them with easy confidence and fired without hesitation. No, this was real. Cold, solid, dangerous. The metal pressed into your palms, unyielding, making your fingers ache with the unfamiliar weight. You shifted your grip, heart racing, just as Leon’s voice broke through the stillness.

"Finger off the trigger until you're ready," Leon said gently, stepping behind you. His tone was patient, like he’d said this a hundred times, but there was something softer in the way he spoke to you. His hand hovered just above your shoulder, guiding without touching—always respectful, always careful. Yet his closeness wrapped around you like armor. You could feel the weight of his presence like a second skin. Protective. Comforting.

You glanced back at him, lips twitching upward. "Like this?"

The gravel beneath your boots crunched as you adjusted your stance. The summer air buzzed with cicadas and the faint smell of gunpowder. You were somewhere remote, quiet—one of Leon’s off-the-grid training spots. The kind only someone like him would know about. The world felt distant here, like you had slipped into a secret pocket of time.

He stepped in closer, and this time, his hands met yours. Warm, steady, grounding. Your fingers curled a little tighter around the grip as he guided you from behind, gently shifting your aim.

"You're doing great," he murmured, voice low and gravelly by your ear. "Try aiming a little lower. Just a hair. There—perfect. Now breathe in... hold it... and squeeze."

The shot rang out. You flinched slightly at the sound, but kept your posture. The target—an empty soda can balanced on a stump—spun off into the grass.

"Bullseye!" you gasped, bursting into a wide grin as you lowered the gun. Excitement rushed through you like a thrill you hadn’t expected. Your chest swelled with pride. "Leon, that was amazing! You're such a good teacher. Seriously. I actually hit something!"

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then looked away, a deep flush creeping up from beneath his collar. "I—uh... thanks. Just... just doing my job."

"You're cute when you get all flustered," you said sweetly, tilting your head. You bit back a playful grin, watching his expression twitch like he was fighting the urge to smile.

He groaned softly, running a hand through his hair, his usual composure crumbling. "Don't say stuff like that when I'm trying to be professional."

You nudged him with your elbow. "Too late. You brought me out here to train, remember? You can’t expect me not to notice how hot you look holding a gun. All serious. All protective."

Leon’s ears turned red. His fingers flexed at his sides like he was grounding himself. "Lesson’s over. We’re going home."

You gasped dramatically, stepping in front of him. "Nooo! I was just getting good at this! I want to shoot at least two more cans!"

He sighed like a man who knew he’d already lost the argument. His shoulders dropped, but the smile pulling at his lips betrayed him. He looked at you—really looked—and you could see the fondness hiding behind his eyes. Like you were more than a trainee. More than a distraction.

He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours so lightly it felt like a secret shared in silence. "Fine. One more round. But if you flirt again, I’m calling it."

You smirked, loading another round. "So… what happens if I shoot better than you next time?"

He raised an eyebrow, that confident edge slipping back into place. "Then you get to teach me. And I promise I’ll be a very flustered student."

"Oh, I’ll hold you to that," you replied, cocking the gun with mock seriousness. You added a playful wink. "Now step back, Agent Kennedy. Let the rookie show you how it’s done."

Leon chuckled under his breath, watching you take aim. And maybe—just maybe—he let you win the next round. Because when you turned around, grinning like you’d just conquered the world, his heart did something stupid. That blush? It only deepened. And for a moment, in that quiet field, all he could think was this: you were dangerous—but in the most beautiful way possible.

[apricitywinterswrites]

With no Light of my Own (I Shine Only With The Light You Gave Me) - Whumpuary D19

With no Light of my Own (I Shine Only With The Light You Gave Me)

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,303

Summary

"You're overworking yourself too." "That's a lie." Ponyboy felt annoyed enough to push off Steve, no matter how heavy everything felt. He turned and glared at Steve, feeling himself falter internally when he saw just how tired the other looked. "Is it?" Steve asked. Ponyboy glared at him, but he knew that the facade wouldn't be held up for very long. He was tired. He wouldn't go as far as to say he was overworking himself, but… Ponyboy looked away, a glare on his face pointed towards the ground.

Or, or, Ponyboy is struggling to accept that two of his friends are gone. Darry and Sodapop have tried everything to try pull him from the depression that he'd fallen into. Surprisingly, it's Steve that manages to pull him out. Title from | The Moon Will Sing | by | The Crane Wives |

Day 19 of Whumpuary2025 (@whumpuary) || "Let them go." | Overworked | Head Injury

You can also read | With no Light of my Own (I Shine Only With The Light You Gave Me) | on Ao3!

Warnings Include: Mentions Death of Minors, Mentions of Neglect (From the City), Mentions of Death, Mentions of Dead Characters

……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ………

"Get up. Let's go." Ponyboy flinched in surprise as Steve dropped a jacket onto his head. Ponyboy pushed the jacket off of his head, glaring up at the other who was staring down at him unimpressed.

"Why should I?" Ponyboy muttered, pushing the jacket onto the ground beside him as he glared almost petulantly at the other.

"Because I said so, twerp." Steve responded, crossing his arms with a glare on his face. Ponyboy made another face at him, pulling his knees to his chest just a little more. Steve rolled his eyes as he reached down and grabbed Ponyboy's arm, pulling him up and snagging the jacket off the ground in one quick motion.

"What the fuck?" Ponyboy's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Soda! I'm taking your brother out for a walk!" Ponyboy baulked at the other.

"I'm not a damn dog, Steve." Ponyboy huffed, but he let Steve shove his shoes at him, along with the jacket that Ponyboy had initially shoved away. He did listen to the silent command to put his shoes on, although he still refused to put on the damn jacket.

"Alright, you guys will be back soon right? Darry will be home soon, and I need Pony's help with dinner." Sodapop's head popped out from the kitchen. The smell of chocolate cake batter sticking to him when he stepped out.

"We can try, but you might want to start on that yourself, and he can help with whatever after we get back." Steve told him, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorway.

Sodapop hummed as he pulled Ponyboy into a brief hug. The scent of Chocolate Cake batter was stronger on Sodapop, and Ponyboy let his brother hug him before pulling back. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with too much physical contact.

"It may be colorful," Sodapop smiled brightly. Ponyboy and Steve both rolled their eyes, both having their own forms of a smile on their faces. "Now get. Get, get, get." Sodapop shoved at Ponyboy's shoulder and patted Steve's shoulder when Steve pushed off the doorway.

Ponyboy made a face as Steve turned and pointed towards the door as Sodapop made his way back towards the kitchen. He was probably assuming, correctly, that Ponyboy would make a run for it should Steve go ahead of him.

Didn't mean that he wasn't going to complain the entire time.

Ponyboy grumbled as he walked out the door, still refusing to put on the jacket. Steve made his own sound of annoyance, though he didn't say anything.

"Why are we here." Ponyboy's voice was quiet when he spotted the entrance to the graveyard. He'd stopped in the middle of the half abandoned road that they had to walk down.

The graveyard was nothing special. Glory, it wasn't even officially recognized as a graveyard by the city. It was just something that the greasers used whenever one of their own fell and weren't cared about enough for an official gravestone.

Darry couldn't afford to attempt getting just one of them an official gravestone. So they made their own and held their own little funeral at the half abandoned clearing that most greaser's used for the fallen.

Ponyboy was always vividly aware that every single gravestone was for a kid.

"Keep walking." Steve told him. His voice was quieter, and there was some weird tone to it that Ponyboy hadn't heard before from Steve.

Ponyboy wasn't sure how, but he'd managed to get his legs to respond to his command again. Everything felt heavy as he walked. He wasn't even sure if he was truly seeing anything as he walked. His head was lowered and he knew they were filled with tears.

He knew where they were going. Steve wouldn't have them come here for any reason other than to visit them.

Ponyboy felt himself falter when he came to the well worn pathway. He hadn't been here since they were buried. Not really, at least.

He'd known exactly where they were buried, having chosen the spot they were buried specifically. He'd never officially managed to come visit them, though there had been a few attempts.

Ponyboy hadn't realized that he was just standing in front of both makeshift gravestones until Steve had put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sit down." Ponyboy's knees buckled, and he was slightly surprised when Steve caught him and gently lowered both of them. "Easy, Pony." Ponyboy sucked in a breath when he realized that he was beginning to hold it. A coping skill that he'd, unfortunately, picked up from Sodapop.

"Wh-" There was definitely a sob beginning to build up in his chest. He already couldn't see. Not that he was looking at anything but the ground. "Why are we here." Ponyboy tried to demand.

His voice was too weak.

"You need to let them go." Ponyboy jerked away from Steve. Or, he'd tried to. Steve was stronger than he was and Ponyboy felt like even lifting his head was too hard for him.

"The hell are you talking about Steve?" Ponyboy muttered, crossing his arms. Ponyboy liked not staring or having to look at the other. Especially for what he now knew was going to be an emotional conversation.

"I'm talking about the sleepless nights that are scaring the fuck outta Soda, and the scrapes and bruises you think you're hiding from Two-Bit and I at school. I'm talking about the countless drawings of Dallas and Johnny that are causing you to go through sketchbook after sketchbook and notebook after notebook." Steve responded.

Ponyboy crossed his arms, trying his best to ignore everything Steve was saying.

"You're overworking yourself too."

"That's a lie." Ponyboy felt annoyed enough to push off Steve, no matter how heavy everything felt. He turned and glared at Steve, feeling himself falter internally when he saw just how tired the other looked.

"Is it?" Steve asked. Ponyboy glared at him, but he knew that the facade wouldn't be held up for very long. He was tired. He wouldn't go as far as to say he was overworking himself, but…

Ponyboy looked away, a glare on his face pointed towards the ground.

"Come on, kid." Steve uttered quietly. "It's just the two of us out here." Ponyboy felt the tears welling up in his eyes, but he felt unwilling to break. Steve was asking for just a bit of trust… Was asking Ponyboy to trust him enough to be vulnerable.

At least, he had been unwilling to break before Steve pulled him back to lean against him. And then the dam broke.

Ponyboy hadn't known where the sob had come from, but it was nearly impossible to stop. He broke down into sobs, leaning against Steve who wrapped his arms a little tighter around Ponyboy.

"It's okay to miss them… It's okay to cry about it… Shout, yell, break something, I don't care. It's okay, right now." Steve uttered quietly. Ponyboy wasn't entirely sure he was hearing the other properly, but…

It was almost comforting, hearing the other just speak.

Ponyboy wasn't exactly sure how long they sat there in front of the graves of two of their friends. Dally and Johnny, both having gone out too soon and with too much action.

However, he knew at some point that Two-Bit had joined the two of them, just sitting with a bit of pressure against Ponyboy's side. The three of them where all leaning against each other.

It was probably the only time he'd ever seen the two greasers cry.

And when the three of them finally managed to pull themselves together, and made their way back home, Darry only took one look at them and put a little extra food on their plates before ushering them to the kitchen table so that they could sit down and eat.

[dobaara]

A FIVE-STEP PLAN TO PREPARE YOURSELF (WITH ZERO CASUALTIES) BY S.R.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 4

Geralt is the captain of a pirate ship, named "Kaer Morhen." Perhaps he's still a witcher, perhaps he's just a regular old human (with white hair and golden eyes? Lol) His brothers (and "cousins" from other witcher schools) are his crew Now I can see this going two different ways, so choose a favorite (or make up your own, I am only the beginning, I hold no affront of being anything more) Jaskier is a nobleman's son, aboard his family's ship, possibly on his way to be forced into a marriage to a woman he doesn't love. And either he falls overboard or he's shoved off as a murder attempt, but he's lost in the ocean. Lambert (or someone else, but I love to imagine how Lambert would attempt to call this out to his captain who he doesn't take seriously 90% of the time, #brothers) calls that he spots a man bobbing in the sea, and they haul him up. The majority of the crew sees sight of his jewels and finery and insists on holding him ransom. But when the prisoner wakes up and isn't afraid of death, Geralt looks into this a little more. Apparently their prisoner won't get a ransom because his entire family despise him and his want to run away and become a bard. Funny. Most pirate ships have entertainers aboard to help the pirates deal with months of nothing but ocean. Perhaps they'll have use of this dumb twink after all. OR, option number two Jaskier is a nobleman's son, chained and starved for the crime of wanting to become a bard and not wanting to marry some prissy noblewoman. He hears a lot of loud noises and screams and then a bunch of burly men in fur cloaks stomp down and start rifling through their supplies. One catches eye of him and immediately yells to the captain. The captain is a very handsome man with silver locks and bright eyes, and the dreaded pirate captain is treating Jaskier with more kindness and gentleness than his family or their workers ever have. The pirate hauls Jaskier up into his arms and carries him to their own ship, laying him down in his own bed, and looking over his injuries and sending one of his crewmembers to make hm a fine meal. Jaskier begins telling the captain of his abusive life beforehand and mentions that all he's ever wanted is to spread music and love, and shockingly enough, this big scary (gorgeous) man doesn't even laugh at him for it.. Oh fuck he's falling in love-

♡!Optional addons!♡ • Geralt gayly teaching his bard how to swordfight!!!

• Perhaps Jaskier's family is crueler and has done more than beat him, perhaps they've stabbed him or something, and the very last thing he sees before he passes out from bloodloss is Geralt (Maybe he even thinks he's an angel! Lmfao)

• Geralt getting lovingly bullied by his brothers for taking care of his songbird so well

• Geralt's crew revenge-robbing or revenge-killing Jaskier's family if we do Option one for the story (attempted-murder route), since it's implied it happens in Option Two while they ransack the ship-

• Perhaps I'll do a sequel for this prompt one day for Mermaid Jaskier, I do LOVE mermaids, take this as a much smaller and much less detailed prompt for if you want that idea, too! Perhaps the Pankratz ship has a captured mer aboard, parched and dehydrated (I just mostly think it'd be funny if Geralt was checking his pulse and if he has any injuries while random other witches dump buckets of sea water on him-)

[decisions-at-3am]

I'll know you're gone when flowers die, The landscape beginning to dull. When the sky slowly greys, All colour fading away.

When your books and diaries, All carefully crafted. Painstakingly handbound. Lie there waiting, gathering dust.

I can't bring myself to shift them. To see your handwriting stop, Such finality would shatter me. In my mind, you're still here.

When I stop turning to look, Expecting you nearby. That's when I'll know you're truly gone, When even shadows don't linger.

[destructive-critic1sm]

STORY IDEA

200K words, enemies to lovers, morally grey MMC, ✨dark romance✨

Boeing x the astronauts they’re leaving in space until 2025 🥰

[kris-tyne]

FORUMS

<yo check out these pictures. wacky shit, can someone verify this is shopped?>

<img ID: A brightly lit kitchen with marble countertops and a white tile backsplash. A bowl of fruit sits on the island, and a cutting board with half-cut vegetables sits on the counter.>

<img ID: A well furnished and tidied room, with bright blue painted walls and a matching blue crocheted blanket. Several pictures of a family sit on the nightstand to the left of the bed.>

<img ID: A living room with open windows, letting in lots of natural lighting. A young adult, dressed in casual wear, sits on the couch to the left side of the picture reading a book, seemingly unaware of the photo being taken.>

<img ID: A dining room with a large wooden table stained dark brown, set for a meal. A white table runner sits along the length of the piece, with a vase of flowers in the middle.>

date: 7/19/2018

user: anon295720174

<re: anon295720174 dude this shit is insane. i’m a graphic design major and i can’t tell if anything was messed with, there’s a lot to unpack here. look at that kitchen dude, the place is a mess. that’s freaky 100% lmk if you find any more pictures>

date: 7/26/2018

user: anon482947389

<re: anon482947389 i found these on a usb drive under my dresser while i was packing to move out. haunted? been looking through zillow at old houses but i haven’t found anything that matches this floor plan. i’ll keep looking but no i haven’t found any more pictures. if anyone bumps make sure to tag both of us>

date: 8/2/2018

user: anon295720174

<re: anon295720174, anon482947389 yooo yo yo yo i was messing with the exposure and i found some wackyyyy shittttt. look, i jumped up the brightness of the bedroom and noticed something on the nightstand. not sure if edited but looks raw as hell>

<img ID: A pixelated and highly exposed picture of the nightstand from the bedroom, zoomed in on the family pictures. The leftmost picture reveals what looks to be a three person portrait, with two larger figures, presumably parents, on either side. The middle picture shows a baby, smiling happily while crawling toward the camera. The background of the picture shows it was part of a photo shoot. The rightmost picture is one of two people embracing each other in what may be a kiss.>

date: 8/3/2018

user: anon028482593

<re: anon028482593, anon295720174 that’s freaky as hell dude. what the fuck is that in the middle picture? i can’t really tell because it’s too pixelated, but that’s definitely what i see when i enhance the exposure. that’s fuckin insaneeeeee

who the fuck would be brave enough to go in there to take these? definitely not me, i get the creeps looking at them through my computer.>

date: 8/6/2018

user: anon482947389

<re: anon295720174, anon028482593, anon482947389 This thread will lock in 48 hours if no further messages are sent.>

date: 8/4/2019

user: System

<re: anon028482593, anon295720174 holy shit i forgot about this thread. dude these are spooky as hell. i don’t remember them being this bad. look at the fucking dining table it’s warped to shit. and those flowers are obviously gonna be wilted but there’s something eerie about them. thoughts?>

date: 8/4/2019

user: anon482947389

<re: anon482947389, anon028482593 nah i didn’t forget. i had some nightmares about it for a couple nights but i just chalked it up to whatever the fuck was happening in those pictures and moved on. looking at it again though, what the fuck happened here?>

date: 8/7/2019

user: anon295720174

<re: anon295720174, anon482947389, anon028482593 uh, guys? where did you get these pictures? that’s ME in the living room. that’s fucking terrifying. please dm me and let’s figure this out because i’m legit scared>

date: 8/12/2019

user: anon394828152 (You)

<re: anon394828152 (You), anon028482593, anon482947389 bro are you buggin? your text got fucked up looks like some ascii shit. i ran it through google translate and got jack>

date: 8/14/2019

user: anon295720174

<re: anon295720174, anon394828152 (You), anon482947389 yo anyone see that in the corner of the living room??? that’s FREAKY dude. no way this isn’t photoshopped, you sure? what the fuck is that even supposed to be? between this and the fucked up message, this thread is a horror heritage post>

<img ID: A zoomed in and pixelated picture of a young adult in casual wear, reading a book. He is looking down and seems to be unaware of the picture being taken.>

date: 8/15/2019

user: anon028482593

<re: anon028482593, anon295720174, anon482947389 what the fuck? are my messages fucking up? they look fine for me. i don’t know what the fuck is going on with you guys but that’s my house and THAT’S ME. i’m not fucking with you here’s a picture of me for proof. i’m that desperate. please delete this thread asap>

<img ID: A young man looking into the camera. His expression seems to be of concern, and he has short brown hair and wears a buttoned flannel. The profile of the person very closely matches that of the person in the living room.>

date: 8/15/2019

user: anon394828152 (You)

<anon394828152 (You), anon028482593, anon295720174 WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING HOLY SHIT i’m never coming back to this fucking thread dude what the fuuuuck was in that picture. that’s viscerally terrifying. holy fuuuuck>

date: 8/15/2019

user: anon482947389

<anon295720174, anon394828152 (You), anon028482593, anon482947389 This thread has been locked by the Original Poster.>

date: 8/15/2019

user: System

[gildedbearediting]

Writing Exercises: Part 1

I found a pack of writing exercises in my cue card notes, and decided that it was time to share them. Unfortunately, I don’t remember where I managed to find them, but I know I found them on a writing site. At the time, the site owner had noted they were at risk of shutting down, but I don’t know if they’re still around. I know they gave more details about these writing exercises and had courses…

[dreamsfullofwoe]

masterlist

dc masterlist

[apricitywinterswrites]

The Sun is Going Down (You'll be Alright, No One Can Hurt You Now) - Whumpuary D13

The Sun is Going Down (You'll be Alright, No One Can Hurt You Now)

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,434

Summary

"Dar-Darry-" Ponyboy wasn't quite breathing right, he was gasping and it sounded like Ponyboy was wheezing too. "Hey, come on, let's take a deep breath. Don't think about your nightmare, just think about breathing, yeah?" Darry didn't know what he was really saying, just that he knew he just had to get Ponyboy's breathing semi-regular, or this could go from bad to worse. "In with me, okay? In… two… three… hold… two… three… out… two… three…" Darry was mimicking the exercise that he could vividly remember their father doing with Ponyboy during times when Ponyboy would stop breathing when he was really little. He remembered that it worked pretty well, and he was relieved that it obviously still did.

Or, or, the one where Ponyboy wakes up from a nightmare. With Sodapop away at war, Darry is the one who is left to comfort Ponyboy back to sleep. At least they have Sodapop's most recent letter to help out. Title from | Safe and Sound | by | Taylor Swift |

Day 13 of Whumpuary2025 (@whumpuary) || Close Call | Sleep | Choking

You can also read | The Sun is Going Down (You'll be Alright, No One Can Hurt You Now) | on Ao3!

Warnings Include: nightmares, mentions of war, asthma attack, probably an inaccurate depiction as my asthma is very different than the commonly headcanoned version, wrote this instead of sleeping,

……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ………

A scream sounded through the house, one of fright and anguish that had Darry jumping from his bed and rushing through the house towards Ponyboy's room. His eyes wide as his heart raced in his chest from just how scared Ponyboy sounded. Darry was almost certain that the nightmares that Ponyboy couldn't remember were back in, nearly, full force.

It wouldn't surprise him in the least.

He remembered Sodapop and Ponyboy talking about his nightmares before Sodapop enlisted, had remembered that they had started sleeping in separate rooms again for several months in advance in preparation. Ponyboy's nightmares had been manageable, once a week was nothing compared to every night.

But now they were back in full swing, every other night and always with a blood curdling scream that always had Darry's heart racing in his chest.

"Ponyboy, baby, hey," Darry was in Ponyboy's room now, eyes wide as they searched for his kid brother. He spotted him quickly, wincing at the sight of Ponyboy sprawled out on the floor, tangled up in a blanket and crying quietly as he tried to claw his way out of the restraints.

Ponyboy sobbed as he turned towards where he'd heard Darry, an improvement to last month. Darry's voice causing more fear for his kid brother had hurt more than Darry could ever put into words… but it also showed how far he and Ponyboy had come.

"Hey Little Colt, come 'ere." Darry was slow and purposeful with his movements, crouching down nearby but not close enough to Ponyboy for the other to feel trapped. Sodapop had once explained that Ponyboy was like a cornered and injured animal after severe nightmares.

Slow movements were best, and so was waiting until he came to you.

Ponyboy was quick to throw himself into Darry's side, and Darry was quick to untangle the blanket that was wrapped so tightly around Ponyboy's legs. How he always managed to do that, Darry had yet to figure out.

"There we go, I got you." Darry uttered, wrapping his arms around Ponyboy after he was done, gently rocking the two of them as Ponyboy cried. Sodapop didn't have much advice for comforting Ponyboy after a nightmare.

Sometimes it bummed Darry that Sodapop was a natural comfort to Ponyboy. Other times it was the biggest relief. At least one of them had been there for their youngest during the months where Darry struggled to balance the life between a guardian and a brother.

"Dar-Darry-" Ponyboy wasn't quite breathing right, he was gasping and it sounded like Ponyboy was wheezing too.

"Hey, come on, let's take a deep breath. Don't think about your nightmare, just think about breathing, yeah?" Darry didn't know what he was really saying, just that he knew he just had to get Ponyboy's breathing semi-regular, or this could go from bad to worse. "In with me, okay? In… two… three… hold… two… three… out… two… three…"

Darry was mimicking the exercise that he could vividly remember their father doing with Ponyboy during times when Ponyboy would stop breathing when he was really little. He remembered that it worked pretty well, and he was relieved that it obviously still did.

Ponyboy was quick to latch onto the exercise and he was pretty soon breathing in deeper. "In… two… three.. four.. five… hold… two… three.. out… two.. three.. four… five…" Darry was still continuing to count, even though by now Ponyboy was at least aware enough to do the exercise on his own.

Darry could tell that Ponyboy was calming down by how he had shifted in Darry's grasp, placing his head in a spot that Darry knew would let Ponyboy hear his heartbeat. His arms were also around Darry's arm, and he was curled up in a ball against Darry instead of desperately clinging to Darry like an octopus.

Eventually Darry's voice filtered out of the room, letting the silence fill it up instead as Ponyboy continued to carefully breathe through the exercise. They sat that way for nearly an hour before Ponyboy shifted.

"Darry?"

"Yeah, Little Colt?" Ponyboy shoved at Darry's arm in playful annoyance. Darry laughed, "Sorry, sorry. What's up, Pone?" Ponyboy stayed silent for a few minutes before sighing.

"Can we read Soda's last letter again?" His voice was quiet, almost quiet enough for Darry to be unable to hear him. But the room was too quiet and Darry was too focused on Ponyboy for the other to go unheard.

Hey guys! I hope everything's going good over there, cause I think I might just go insane if not. Steve and I had a pretty close call and I just need the reassurance that the two of you are okay. I know, probably weird that I'm making sure the both of you are taking care of each other when I'm the one who nearly died. And taking Two-Bit when he's around, how is he by the way, he hasn't yet returned the last letter I sent him… Don't tell me he's in the cooler.

Steve's grumbling about a letter Dally sent him, it's been a full week so something must have been said. Does Ponyboy know what could have possibly been said? Steve won't tell me, and I'm pretty sure he burned the letter after reading it as many times as he did.

How's Johnny been? His folks aren't being too bad are they? Where's Johnny staying at? Been wanting to write to him but I don't know where to send the letter other than home.

I miss home more and more everyday. I miss the DX and hearing Steve cuss out Soc cars and engines, I miss the breakdowns from what the Greaser's came in with to get fixed… I miss how easy the rumbles seemed, though I don't think I could stomach being in one again. I mis chocolate cake and hearing the two of you bicker over Ponyboy's homework.

Also, ignore anything Steve may right, he's a liar and he over exagerates everything. I swear he does!

Well, I don't have much more to say… More things are coming to us that I can't talk about, but just know that I'm working on coming home every day.

Say hey to the gang for me, send them my love and well wishes.

love, Soda

PS. Soda is a fucking liar. Just a "close call" my ass, Soda nearly died. Fucking fucker. He's okay though, he's too damn stubborn to die. Something about how you guys need to stick together or some shit. Hope to God he doesn't read this before sending this letter, he'd hate to worry you, and he can't exactly rip this piece off without that drawing he drew for Pony getting ripped up.

Darry, you need to kick Soda's ass when we get home. Too many damn close calls with fucking bombs and shit. He takes too many risks and I fully blame Two-Bit, I will be kicking his ass when I get home, and I'm dragging Soda back to watch. Also, Pony, shut your damn mouth about what Dally wrote me, you hear? Or I'll kick your ass too.

Steve

Darry hummed, glancing down with a small note of surprise. Ponyboy wasn't one to fall asleep next to Darry, never mind on top of him. But when Darry had gotten done reading Sodapop's, and a bit of Steve's, letter for the second time that night, Ponyboy was out cold on top of him.

Darry was curious as to what Dally, and Ponyboy apparently, could possibly know about Steve that would have him this up in arms about it. Darry knew that Dally only wrote Steve about once a month, if that at all. Two-Bit was probably twice a month if he wasn't too busy with Marcia.

But those were all thoughts for a different day, probably tomorrow seeing as Ponyboy preferred writing Sodapop at least once a week at the very least. He had yet to actually sit and write out a response, and neither had Darry despite the letter coming in nearly three days ago.

He sighed, carefully setting the letter on the stand next to his chair, carefully putting Ponyboy's theme on top of it to cover it up a little bit. He had to get Ponyboy back to bed.

Darry had work tomorrow and Ponyboy had school.

But if Darry carried Ponyboy to his room, letting the two of them cuddle for the night to starve off any more nightmares that tried to show their faces… Well, that was for Darry to know. And Ponyboy if he thought about it long enough.

[mossyoakswriting]

I kind of fell in love with the whole “sleep paralysis demon” prompt made by @writing-prompt-s so I’m indulging myself:

For context:

Gaven is a 21 year old human who cusses like a sailor, but deep down he will cave for people, or demons, he cares about

Reese is Gaven’s sleep paralysis demon who radiates golden retriever vibes, but can also be absolutely terrifying when needed. He’s also obsessed with cats. Sleep paralysis demons only stay out from dusk to dawn, often disappearing under beds when the sun starts to rise(this is just fiction that my brain came up with).

Without further ado, here are some scenarios I think would happen between the two:

Gaven: (looking for bag) “Where the fuck did it go?!”

Reese: (putting paper keychains on the zippers) “…”

Reese: (pushes the bag out from under the bed)

Gaven: “I’m not even going to ask.”

——————————————————

Gaven’s Roommate: “Dude, why are there horns under your bed?”

Gaven: (nervously laughs) “Uhm…I cosplay.”

Reese: (under the bed) (thinking) “Oh my gods. Does he actually cosplay demons-“

————————————————————————

Gaven: “Reese?”

Reese: “Yes?”

Gaven: “Is that my sweater?”

Reese: (cutting a sleeve off) “It just looks similar-“

Later:

Reese: (feels bad)

Reese: (starts crocheting a new sleeve for Gaven’s sweater with bright red yarn)

[rather-ace-writing]

PROMPT/IDEA- Enjoy!

“You’ll call me tomorrow, right?” She laughed.

“Yeah, ‘course I will. I always do.” They waved, turning the key in their car’s ignition.

They were, of course, lying.

[writersbeware]

Fantasy Worlds

Some writers find it easy to create worlds from the ground up. They design mountains, valleys, forest, rivers and lakes, cities and villages. They populate their worlds with people who are like us, as well as with those having superpowers. There are languages and clothing and foods that suite that world, perhaps even as identifiers of their position in society. Just like in our world, some in…

[s-creations]

27?

(Link to Post)

27. Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

No. XD

In all honesty, I just move onto the next story I have in mind. I think the closest thing to 'celebrating' is reading and gushing over the reviews/comments that appear.