Question for those of you who do the “lay-on-your-bed-and-imagine” thing: do you usually imagine yourself as a character, an OC, or yourself in a different situation?
I’ll start – I usually imagine some vague OC specifically created to fit some hyper-specific whump situation. I’ll often get hooked on one situation for a week or two.
Good question! I like to “write” a story in my head usually involving my current fav getting captured and needing to be rescued. Or he’s stuck in a perilous situation for awhile. (I say stuck because I usually fall asleep before he’s rescued and just add more whump to the situation the next night.) xD
Sometimes its fandom-related and I’m usually an OC. Sometimes it’s fandomless and entirely original content—like whump scenarios for my own characters.
I do this as I lay to sleep. I imagine myself as an OC (my face claim is Ashley Benson). I used to use the name Jessica for fake me, but now I use either my name or my nickname or no name at all. I imagine myself caring for whoever happens to be my favorite character at the moment. They’re usually heavily bruised and wounded and I either take care of them (bandage them up etc.), lay in bed with them with their head resting on my chest, or sit next to them and caress their cheek or hold their hand. And I always converse with them and ask them if they’re alright, if they need anything etc. And since I love bruises, their faces are always bruised. I like imagining gently kissing their bruised cheek.
Oh, and I also tend to write the situations I imagine into my fanfics (I write character x reader fics). Usually, after I write it down, I move on the a different fantasy.
Oh I do me. It’s all me, sometimes different versions of me, like AUs, but yeah, they’re all me.
Omg. Other people do this?
I know right
When I found out other people did the same thing I was so happy
I’ve never talked with anyone about this before. I’m shocked. Like, literally, shocked.
Me neither. I never told anyone. And then one day I saw a tumblr post (not this one) about this and I was in shock – happy shock, but shock. I haven’t “told” anyone else, like, people outside of tumblr, and I never would’ve said anyhing about it here, but it’s nice that someone had the courage to say it and make me feel less out of place in the world
The only reason I felt comfortable bringing this up is because I saw the same post you saw. I’m glad someone brought it up that once, so I knew it wasn’t just me.
When I was in middle school I used to pretend to be the whumpee and my crush was the one comforting me. The situations were always uber-specific, usually related to a battle injury of some kind? I still do similar things, though I’ve moved onto other people I know and who are important to me “comforting” me. Tbh, I’ve always been more into the hurt/comfort aspect of whump rather than the injury. I attribute it to the emotional distance received as a child from the rest of my family and friends. 😂😂
I literally can’t sleep unless I do this and I’ve been doing it since elementary/early middle school. I almost always “play” a whumped canon character. Who it is varies based on what media I’m consuming (right now its either MacGyver or Chandler from The Last Ship) and the specific whump tends to vary week to week depending on whatever scenario I have cooking.
Holy, jeepers. I have finally found my people.
Welcome to the club, friend!
I imagine an OC getting whumped, usually. On the rare occasions that I have a character from an actual show being whumped, it’s usually right after watching that person get whumped in a similar way. I’m usually the perpetrator of the whump, occasionally a support person, basically never the whumpee.
When I was a young teen, I did this a lot. I imagined I was one of the support staff for various canons – mechanics or medics for Star Wars/Star Trek, healers for various fantasy settings, trainers/coaching staff for sports teams, etc. It got quite detailed and there’s a bunch of never-published (terrible) OC and self-insert fic lurking somewhere on one of my drives. I kind of thought everyone did it?
In fairy tales and fantasy, two types of people go in towers: princesses and wizards.
Princesses are placed there against their will or with the intention of ‘keeping them safe.’
This is very different from wizards, who seek out towers to hone their sorcery in solitude.
I would like a story where a princess is placed in an abandoned tower that used to belong to a wizard, and so she spends long years learning the craft of wizardry from the scraps left behind and becomes the most powerful magic wielder the world has seen in centuries, busts out of the tower and wreaks glorious, bloody vengeance on the fools that imprisoned her.
That would be my kind of story.
When
Princess Talia was fourteen, her eldest sister was placed in a tower.
Princess
Adina was eighteen by then, and so of a marriageable age. She had grown quite
beautiful, though she was more willful than winsome, and she did not care for
the notion of the tower very much at all. Their mother did her best to persuade
her on the subject. After all, the queen herself had been eighteen when her own
parents had sent her to live in that very same tower, to be safely tucked away
until her husband could be chosen, and then ride out to claim her. A tradition
going back ages and ages.
“It was
such a sight,” their mother said, wistfully. “I had been alone for so
long. Reflecting upon the nature of the world, and my place in it, and what it
would mean to serve my kingdom. And the solitude was difficult. But then one
bright morning I saw a vision of a gallant knight riding towards me; and I knew
I would never feel lonely again.”
“Then
you had best make certain you pick a strong man to be my husband,” Princess
Adina had replied. “For if I go to that tower you can bet I will spend my
time honing my skills with a blade, rather than staring wistfully out of
windows. And any man who thinks to claim me for a bride by anyone’s leave save
my own will need to defend himself.”
Their
mother had tutted, and their father had rolled his eyes; and when Princess Adina’s
belongings were packed with a very pointed dearth of swords or spears or
knives, it was Talia who slipped a wrapped sabre into the travel wagons, and it
was their middle sister, Devorah, who tied another to the underside of the
first food cart to leave for the tower.
Barely
a few weeks had passed since Adina left the castle, however, before word began
to spread of dragon sightings in the south. The king and queen, of course, saw
this is a good sign; and they let it be known that any lord bold enough to slay
the dragon would be granted leave to rescue Princess Adina from her tower. It
seemed all too fortuitous, for surely any man who could defeat a dragon could
handle a willful princess; and Adina could hardly deny
the bravery or skill of any such person.
“It is
perfect,” their mother had said.
That
was before the dragon reached the tower.
Talia
had been present when the messenger had arrived, bursting hastily into the
hall, and speaking in broken tones about barricades destroyed, and mountains
crossed, and ancient enchantments broken as the dragon had forged its way
straight to the hidden princess. Rumours abounded of the dragon absconding with
Adina; though some varied as to whether she had been seen clutched, terrified,
in the menace’s claws, or riding on its back, whooping loudly. (Calling for
help, the court agreed – if anything; the confused descriptions of startled
shepherds were unlikely to be too reliable, under the circumstances, of
course).
The
matter of rewards changed, of course, and so it became that any brave soul –
lord or no – who could rescue Adina from the dragon could claim the princess
for their bride. Talia worried, but she didn’t worry too much. She was of a
mind that if the dragon was still alive, then it was likely because Adina
wanted it that way; and her sister was, at least, out of the tower she had held
such contempt for.
Not six
months after the incident, a story came back, too, of a renowned hero who had
nearly slain the dragon at its caves in the west; only to be disarmed by
Princess Adina herself, who, by his report, made a very rude and anatomically
improbable suggestion, before knocking him down a mountainside.
The
king and queen seemed convinced the report was nothing but slander; but Talia
was inclined to give it far more credence than tales of her sister weeping
whole rivers of tears or cowering beneath the dragon’s glare.
It was
around that time that Princess Devorah began sneaking out of the palace at
night.
Talia
discovered this one evening while in the midst of her stargazing. If her eldest
sister could be said to be beautiful and headstrong, then it would be easy to
claim that the middle sister was plainer, and yet more charming. She owned a
pale blue cloak, that suited her quite well; but that stood out, too, in the
moonlight, as she slipped away through the palace gardens.
This
went on for quite some time before Talia at last confronted her sister, who
blushed most tellingly at being discovered.
“I have
found my knight,” she admitted. “There is a doorway in the gardens, and it
opens to the fairy forest. I did not mean to go, the first night. It was only
that I saw the doorway, and I wondered where it went. And I could not help but
think that my own time to be locked away in a tower is coming swiftly, and what
a thing it might be to escape, and that perhaps fate had given me a chance. But
then I got lost in the fairy forest. It was strange and dangerous, and I feared
I had been too foolish for words, until my knight found me.”
Talia
saw the lovestruck look on her sister’s face, and felt a great well of sympathy
for her.
“Fairy
folk are strange and dangerous, but Mother and Father are not without pity. If
your knight is as noble as he sounds, perhaps they will understand,” she suggested.
But
Devorah only sighed, and shook her head.
“Perhaps
they would, if my knight were a man. But she is a maiden, as fair as moonlight.
And I would have her no other way.”
Talia’s
sympathy increased tenfold, at that, for she knew as well that their parents
might make some concessions, but that would be a bridge too far for either of
them. As she began to offer comfort, however, Devorah turned it back towards
her.
Her
sister told her, then, of the plan she and her fairy knight had concocted; that
when Devorah was taken to her tower, her knight would come, and open a door
there; and then Talia’s sister would away with her to the fairy realm for good.
The tower would sit empty. The suitor their parents at last settled upon would
ride out to find no one waiting for him.
“I
planned to tell you,” Devorah assured her, and then offered her a single silver
bell. “When it is your time to go to the tower, stand on the highest point
and ring that bell. A door will open, and you can come away with us. The fairy
realm can be frightening, but my beloved will help us, and as well-read as you
are, I am certain you will have more of an idea of what to expect than I ever
did.”
Talia took
the bell, and hugged her sister, and thanked her; though she admitted that she
did not know what she would feel, when it came her own time to go to the tower.
But Devorah only said it would be her choice, whichever she made.
And
indeed, after a year had passed, her sister went to the tower with none of the
fuss nor complaint that Princess Adina had put up. Being as charming as she
was, there were no lack of suitors for their parents to choose from; and it was
not long at all before the king and queen made an advantageous match with the
eldest son of a neighbouring kingdom, just beyond the western mountains where Adina
and her dragon still roamed.
When
the son came back empty-handed, accusations of trickery abounded. The western
kingdom accused the king and queen of withholding their daughter; and the king
and queen accused the western kingdom of stealing her to some unknown fate. In
the end matters were only settled once a scryer confirmed that Princess Devorah
had not been in the tower when her suitor arrived; and then, the dispute was
settled with the consolation offer of Talia in Devorah’s place.
The
rulers of the western kingdom demanded their princess at once; but Talia’s
parents insisted that she was still too young. A compromise was reached. Since
the tradition of the family was to ensconce their princesses in towers, and
since twice these towers had been breached and the princesses lost, the king of
the western lands offered a tower in his own domain. There Talia would stay
until she turned eighteen, and was of age to marry the prince.
Even
so, the king and queen would not have agreed, but for the fact that the western
rulers were renowned for their masterful sorcery and spellwork. Should conflict
break out, the armies they could amass would be formidable indeed.
“Sometimes
princesses must think of their kingdoms first,” Talia’s mother told her.
And so
Talia did think of her kingdom.
She
thought of it as she rode with her accompaniment through the mountains, and
when a great dragon’s roar split the air; and when her guards scattered in
fright, or else were pinned down by the claws of a great, emerald beast, with
eyes like flames and wings that sounded of lightning when they clapped. She
thought of it when her eldest sister slid down from the dragon’s neck, and
rushed to hold her, and begged her not to be afraid.
“You
come with us,” said Princess Adina. “The western prince is a monster, and
the rest of his family no better. I would not let a pig marry him, nevermind my
little sister.”
Talia
marvelled at how well-informed her dragon-riding sister seemed to be, but Adina
only waved off such questions.
“I go
into town all the time,” she said. “No expects to see a princess who was
kidnapped by a dragon wandering around a market square.”
“And
you spend enough of my coin for them to overlook it, even if they were
suspicious,” rumbled the dragon, though it sounded more amused than anything
else.
“You
are the one who demanded expensive company,” Adina returned.
Talia
watched them with fascination, and wondered if they might not be able to fight
an army themselves. But her sister was forced to sadly admit that her dragon
was nearly more show than substance, and that any well-armed force would take
them down with relative ease. Particularly when they could bring magic to bear.
And so
Talia thought of her kingdom, as she declined her sister’s offer, and sadly
sent both she and her dragon on their way. Then she set about encouraging her
guards to come back, and help gather the horses, so they could head out again.
She
thought of her kingdom all the way up to the tower itself. It was a bleak
spire. Once a sorcerer’s lookout and secluded place of study, according to
their guide; who then helped set up the wards and enchantments. Talia thought
of her kingdom as she bid everyone goodbye. As she made her way inside with her
things, and found that though the place had clearly been cleaned and dusted, it
was sparse and severe and cold. Dark stone twisted up the walls, and drafts
blew through the ragged edges of the window frames. The lights were magic, at
least, but only half of them worked, and there was little in the way of artwork
or decoration.
Talia
thought of her kingdom as she selected a room on the highest floor, and
unpacked her things.
But
when at last it was dark, and she was alone, she did not think of her kingdom.
She thought of herself, instead, and she wished she had flown away with Adina
and her dragon. She wished she could climb to the top of the tower, and ring
her silver bell, and escape with Devorah and her knight. She thought of the
unfairness of being sent to her tower too soon, and even vindictively imagined
having told her parents of Devorah’s escapades, and being spared this fate by
forcing her sister to do her duty instead.
And
then she felt an awful wretch, for thinking such a thing; and she cried herself
ragged until she fell into a deep sleep.
In the
morning, her mood was grim.
She
woke to the discovery that the usual enchantments were in place, which was
something of a relief. Princess Talia was educated in matters of diplomacy,
finance, tactics, mathematics, literature, history, geography, and many more
besides, but she had no idea of how to boil an egg. The tower gave her meals in
the kitchens, and warmed the hearth against the cold; and she spent her first
day mostly in that room, with one of the books she’d brought clutched firmly in
her hand, wondering how she was supposed to survive years of this without
going mad.
Or if,
perhaps, the intent of all this business with towers was precisely to drive a
princess mad. It would explain a good deal about her mother.
The
second night, she cried again, and the one after was much the same; but on the
fourth day, she woke to the grey dawn, and the cawing of ravens outside her
window; and she decided that if she was going to live in this tower for many
days yet to come, then she may as well explore it. She made a point of mapping
out all the floors, and figuring out how to reach the highest part, if it ever
came to it. And she found that the attic was full of old boxes of clothes.
Robes and hats and gloves and scarves, worn things and shimmery things, and a
very impressive collection of walking sticks.
That
was all well and good, and sorting through it gave her a diversion, at least.
She aired out some of the clothes. They were much too big for her, of course,
and the tower wardrobe could provide her with some very nice dresses. But she
imagined she might tire of very nice dresses, after a while, and some of the
robes looked very comfortable.
The
real find, however, came the next day, when she discovered the door to the
basement.
She had
thought that the spareness of the tower was owed to its lack of usual
occupancy; but when she found the basement, another answer made itself clear –
someone had taken practically everything out of the main rooms, and shoved it
all haphazardly into the basement, and closed the door on it.
Talia
supposed she could see, on one level, why someone might have deemed the objects
in the basement unsuitable for a princess. Though she could not fathom why they
assumed a bored princess would not simply go downstairs at some point. She felt
inexplicably insulted at the lack of locks on the door; though this feeling
swiftly gave way to curiosity, instead.
The
rooms contents had not been kindly handled. She tsk’d over books that had been
dumped in piles, their pages crinkled and their spines twisted. Some heavy
tomes on stands had been left to accumulate dust and cobwebs, and boxes full of
glass bottles had been ungently handled, leaving some to crack and leak
suspicious liquids that stained the floor. Several rune-marked skulls lined a
shelf in the room, and looked to be the only things that had not been touched
much. There was strange furniture, and jars of things like powdered unicorn’s horn, which
told her plenty about the ignorance of the people who had cleaned up this
place, because even she knew that was valuable stuff.
At
length, she rolled up her sleeves, and set about organizing it, just as she had
done the attic. Though, in this case, the task was much larger. She broke down
into its simplest steps. Step One – the books. Going through the mess, she
picked out all the books she could find, and did what she could for them. Some
were in languages she did not recognize. Even the ones she recognized had
uncommon titles, like A
Beginner’s Guide to Necromancy, and The
Lost Art of Summoning, and A Comprehensive Bestiary of the
Northern Wilds.
The
books proved not only to be the first step in cleaning up the basement, but
also the world’s most sufficient distraction. Talia found herself paging
through them out of sheer fascination with the volume of subjects available,
and the fact that she knew next to nothing of these topics. Soon enough she had
gathered up every book for beginners she could find, and before long she
discovered that one of the largest tomes was a dictionary, and she unearthed
also a translation guide for one of the unfamiliar languages that seemed common
to the texts.
It was,
then, slower going for the tasks of dealing with the broken bottles in the
crates – in the end she found a pair of thick gloves in the attic, and picked
out the ones that were not broken, and shoved the rest – crates and all – into
one of the empty closets.
After a
reading a bit more, she then barricaded the closet.
She
left the skulls be until she opened up the book on Necromancy, and then she
carried them up to a room where the moonlight could hit them. That evening she
had her first proper conversation inweeks as she took a chair into
the room, and waited for nightfall, and then spoke to some quite interesting
and helpful spirits. They were transparent of course, and not all of them were
very coherent. But they seemed happy to be out of the basement, and keen enough
to help her get a better understanding of some concepts from the books that had
been tricky for her.
She
organized the jars of ingredients, and discovered several discarded cauldrons,
and after some more reading, she went back up to the attic and fetched down the
wizard staffs that she had taken for walking sticks, and put them where they’d
be closer to hand. In a box under an overturned table she discovered a smashed
crystal ball, with a tiny pixie’s skeleton in it; and an unbroken crystal ball
which gleamed and glowed only faintly when she held it up to the stars.
It made
her think of Devorah and her knight. So that evening she did at last go up to
the highest point of her tower, and ring her silver bell.
Sure
enough, a door appeared in the basement. She wrapped the pixie skeleton in a
piece of black velvet, and tucked the crystal ball under her arm, and opened
the door.
Her
sister was delighted to see her, though confused as well. It was too soon for
Talia to be in her tower. So it was that Talia had to explain what had
transpired, and when she did, Devorah was overcome. It made her feel triply
awful for her uncharitable thoughts that first evening, to see her sister cry
and offer to go back and take her place.
“You
have to stay here with your knight,” Talia insisted. “It isn’t all bad.
There are some interesting things in the tower. And if I can talk to you
sometimes, as well as the skulls, I probably won’t go mad.”
Devorah
blinked back her tears.
“The
skulls?” she asked, in a voice that said she was worried her sister’s mental
state had already faltered.
So then
Talia found herself explaining about the tower, and its basement, and the
crystal ball she had brought, and the little skeleton, too. That made Devorah
cry a bit more, because she was a kind heart, and she had grown fond of the
little pixies in the fairy realm – even the vicious ones. She called for her
knight to come, then, and Talia watched as a silvery figure rode up on a white
horse that looked more like a ghost than a proper steed, however solid it may
have been to the eye.
Devorah’s
love looked like moonlight made flesh; slender but sharp as the blade of a
knife, and she bowed with courtly grace. She showed less grief over the pixies
than the princesses did. But then, her expression seemed to reveal very little
at all, until it turned to Devorah. At which point it would soften, and stars
would seem to dance in the dark pools of her eyes.
“Who is
this prince, who is so perilous a betrothal?” the fairy knight asked.
“I do
not know him. I know only his reputation, which had seemed fine enough, until Adina
spoke to me,” Talia explained.
“I know
a little more of him,” Devorah admitted, frowning. “Adina and I went to
one of his sister’s weddings, years ago. You were too young to come along. He
was a horrible brat, but then, he was a child. His father wasn’t much better,
though.”
The
fairy knight looked at the tiny pixie skeletons, and then at once broke the
crystal ball. The wisp of a sprite which escaped was small and quick, barely
there before it was gone again. But Talia didn’t mourn the loss of the crystal
ball. And after a moment, her sister’s knight tilted her head towards her, and
went and drew a small vial from her saddlebags.
“This
is a poison of sleep,” said the knight. “If you drink of it, you will fall
into a trance, and will not wake but for true love’s kiss. In dreams you may
find freedom. I would have offered it to Devorah, had she refused me, and her
suitor proven cruel. I will offer it to you, now. Should the worst come to
pass, drink it.”
The
tiny vial was silver and elegant. Pretty enough, even by the reckoning of
princesses. Talia took it, with gratitude. And when she left through the fairy
door before dawn, and came back into her tower, she felt lighter than she had
since leaving home.
For
several months, then, the little silver vial rested in her pockets, as she wore
dresses but also sometimes robes. Talia learned the few benefits of a life
primarily alone, in an empty and unoccupied tower that was locked up tight –
though even her mostly-indoor spirit began to long for the feeling of wind in
her hair, and grass between her toes, she could also parade around the rooms
naked as she pleased. Or clad only in a long robe which railed behind her, as
she sang songs with no one to care that they might be off-key, or that they
were ones she had overheard drunken servants singing.
She
poured through her new books and consulted with spirits, cavorted with her
sister and the fairies by night, and one morning she woke up and snapped her
fingers in a moment of grand epiphany; and flames darted up at the gesture.
And
alone, in the long and quiet days, she learned.
Four
months into her stay, Talia discovered how to unlock the tower door. It was a
simple spell, in fact. More a matter of tricking the tower into doing as she
wished. She strolled the grounds, well away from any guard posts, and found
wild vines and strange plants growing in the tower gardens. There was a book of
plants inside, and so she dragged it out with her the next day, and set about
identifying all the growing things she could not recognize; which, apart from
the dandelions, was nearly everything.
She
dusted off the cauldron, then, and must have burned herself sixteen different
times in attempting to master the various magical recipes involving the garden
plants. And plants from the fairy realm, as well. In one of the big, heavy
tomes, which always seemed to fight her every time she turned the pages, she
discovered a recipe for the sleeping draught which Devorah’s fairy knight had
given her; and by the gleam of a full moon, she gathered ingredients from both
worlds, and set about trying to recreate it.
Success
was difficult to gauge without tasting the end results, though. She was very
sure to label her own attempts accordingly, and dared not drink any of them.
It was
not a bad life. Not at all. It was lonely, at times, but with Devorah and the
spirits, not terribly so. And the freedoms she found were beginning to seem
more and more appealing. As time went on, Talia found herself thinking she
would much rather stay in her tower than see any shining prince approach from
the horizon.
But
when at last he came, she was ready for him.
The
time almost snuck up on her, but the terrain visible up from the tower window
was wide and barren, and one night as she went to bed she chanced to see a
campfire burning. And she counted the days in her head, and then fell into a
flurry of activity. She readied a fine dress, and packed up her things. She
slipped the best staff in amongst her chest of clothes, and packed the skulls
in with her jewellery. She slipped the sleeping potion into her pocket, and
emptied out the bottom of the crate containing her shoes and slippers; and she
did away with half of them, and fit as many of the most important books she
could manage in their place. She hid potions ingredients in among her make up,
and her own notes were kept safely in her diary. And every spare nook or cranny
she could find, she stuffed something she deemed worthy; until the things she
had first arrived with had become like a veil for the things she had uncovered
since.
“You
find yourself in that tower,” her mother had once told her.
And her
mother had found her place as queen; and Adina had found a dragon; and Devorah
had found her doorway out. As the sound of hoofbeats grew closer, Talia stared
towards the horizon of the western kingdom. Her fingers toyed with the stopper
of the sleeping draught.
She
wondered what she had really found.
Why
drink it yourself? one of the spirits had asked her, the first night she had
come back from visiting her sister, with the tiny vial in hand. It seems to me that the logical
thing to do, in an unhappy marriage, is poison the other person. Especially
when that opens a door to you taking his kingdom out from under him.
Such
interesting things, her skulls had to say.
And of
course, the kingdom she would marry into was one ruled by magic. Sometimes
princesses must think of their kingdoms first.
With a
wry little twist of her lips, Talia practised her best expression of swooning
relief, and waited for her prince.
I’m a cashier and you’re buying some really random products, I’m trying not to judge, but…wtf dude?
We comically slid into each other on a slick floor
You stole my umbrella, you punk! Oh wait… we just have the same umbrella and I left mine on the bus…
We both reached for the last random item on the shelf and we’re both too polite to take the thing
You’re knitting a really long scarf and I have to know… is it for cosplay or a giant?
We both came to this movie alone and tried to drape our coats over the same seat to keep from having to sit next to someone we didn’t know.
We both ordered the last slice of apple pie, would you mind sharing?
You’re my hero, thank you for saving me from that evil goose!
We’re both sitting on this park bench, I’m reading and… oh my gosh are you sketching me? Let me see!
A large gust of wind blew all my papers out of my hands and I’m scrambling to pick them up before you try to help me. Please don’t judge me for what’s on these papers.
B. Bed Sharing
You forgot your sleeping bag, but I have mine. Surely we can figure this out.
Air Mattress that keeps deflating, leaving them smushed against each other by morning
This hide-a-bed is the most uncomfortable thing in the existence of everything and now I have to share it with you.
There are two beds, but only one blanket.
We started out feet to head, but somehow ended up facing each other.
Sure, you can sleep in my bed, but no one can know you’re here.
I’m sorry the hotel lost your reservations, do you wanna try bunking with me?
I was under the impression that the bed would a bit… bigger? How are we both supposed to fit now?
Person A is a pillow/blanket hog and Person B [and C] is [are] fighting for the last corner of the blanket
Look, I know you’re awake, I can hear you rustling around. Would it make you feel better if I laid down with you? Just until you fall asleep?
C. Fake Relationship
Can you pretend to be my significant other so we can get this couples’ discount?
Hey listen. I booked a couples’ cruise months ago and now I’m single. Wanna come along?
Just play along with this until my mom leaves, okay?
I need a date for this thing. There’s free food and booze. Whaddya say?
Kisses now, questions later.
We’re really close friends, but everyone thinks we’re dating. There’s a betting pool and everything. I say we fake them all out and make a killing off our breakup.
Swing dance competition partners
Celebrity publicity relationship that turns real
High school reunion trophy spouse
We’re so deep undercover this marriage is starting to feel real
D. Huddling For Warmth
Fell through the ice
Stuck in a car during a blizzard
We’re neighbors in an apartment building and our power went out. It’s freezing outside and they don’t know when it’ll come back on.
We finally found the cabin, but it’s taking a long time for the fire to heat the room.
Stuck in a deep freezer.
Character A is sick with a fever and has the chills. Character B (and C) offer to snuggle up under a blanket with them.
We’re camping and it’s a lot colder than we realized it would be, let’s zip our sleeping bags together and never speak of this again.
“Stop kicking off all the blankets…”
We got drenched in that freak rainstorm-turned freezing rain, how ever will we warm back up?
Quit putting your freezing feet on me and just get over here and snuggle already.
E. Pregnancy/Baby/Kid Fic
Surprise Pregnancy
We’re finally pregnant, I can’t believe it, after all this time!
Ultrasound surprise: It’s TWINS!
Baby just won’t sleep
Holding their son/daughter for the first time
When they wrap their little hand around your finger
Baby’s first words
Homework help
Playing dress up with darling child
Scraped knee first aid
F. Arranged Marriage
Marriage of convenience
Prophecy fulfillment
Political marriage
We’ve been betrothed since birth and the first time we’re meeting is at our wedding
Both of us have suffered unfortunate social problems and this marriage is our only option
Marriage law (Everyone must be married due to some law or decree)
Our marriage was arranged, and I’ve admired you from afar for years, so I’m thrilled, but you are decided less than thrilled, so where does this leave us?
I’ve been betrothed to someone since birth, but I’ve never met them before. Omg, who is this gorgeous stable hand who I’ve never met before? (Spoiler alert, it’s my betrothed)
Our parents arranged our marriage and we’re doing everything within our power to get them to call it off. Only this backfires and now we kind of, sort of, definitely like each other.
Our marriage was just for show at first, and we always knew it would only last a few years. Except now we’ve developed feelings for one another, what should we do?
G. Secret Relationship
Nothing would really happen if people found out, it’s just hotter if we keep it a secret.
Both of us think the other one wants the relationship kept secret
Caught!
Infidelity
Oh my god, is that my mom? My family CANNOT see us together!
The Princess (or Prince) and the stable hand
We’re hiding our relationship from my ex, who also happens to be your best friend.
There are too many bets riding on us dating for us to admit to our friends that we’re dating
The Monica and Chandler (We aren’t sure if this is real yet, so we need to keep this from our friends)
You’re my best friend’s nemesis! He cannot know we’re dating!
H. Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers
Person A is the lead singer in an in-house band and Person B [and C] is [are] heckling them
Owners of rival food truck businesses
You’re a vandal spray-painting a mustache on my billboard.
I’m trying to open a business in a new minimall and you’re protesting outside my door.
“What are you doing NOW? I’m trying to sleep and it’s like you’re teaching a giant baby how to walk in the apartment above mine.”
Mutual pining of two friends
Fakeout makeout between two friends
“Somebody bends unexpectedly”
Fell asleep on the couch with you and suddenly I’m having feelings… (Okay, maybe they were always there, but I’m admitting to them now!)
“I’m not sure why I don’t like your new significant other, but it’s definitely not because I want to be with you!” they lied, lyingly.
I. Thank Goodness You’re Here!
I have no idea how we’re going to get this paint off…
I promise, I woke up and it was like this!
I accidentally turned all the laundry pink!
The fridge just died! You have to help me eat all this food!
I have been lying here for an hour waiting for someone to help…
This is NOT what it looks like. Okay… it’s exactly what it looks like.
I just need you to give me a boost up into the attic, I’ll handle it from there.
I don’t know who this puppy belongs to, but he won’t leave!
This is not a drill, we have run out of cheese!
My shoe is caught and there’s a zombie hoard coming!
When I was a child I was afraid of the moon. I used to think that the sky was a giant raven and the moon changing phases was its slowly blinking eye, watching me.
Draw the giant space raven.
This one gave me a lot of inspiration.
SKY RAVEN!! HECK YEAH!! Favorite bird and an awesome concept? Heck yeah. Awesome art? Double heck yeah!! Thank you so much for sharing this with the rest of us! I love it so much!
@absoluteradman If this is not an idea for a short story, I don’t know what is
Corvids collect treasures. Shiny things, pretty things, precious things. And what could be more precious than life?
Life which learns.
Life which grows.
Life which builds.
Life needs to be coddled at first, of course. Giant space birds don’t just pop out of the vacuum, ready to take wing on the stellar winds and soar through the universe. Life needs time, and air, and a shield from solar radiation- life needs a planet. And a planet doesn’t produce a race of giant vacuum defying corvids in a millennium.
So the Raven settled in to wait. And wait a long time, it did. It didn’t mind. The Raven had always been a patient bird, a watchful bird. It stared down upon the planet, slowly blinking, always watching.
The Raven watched as the planet was settled by its ken. They moved from treetop to treetop, forest to forest, spanning all across the world. The Raven watched as the corvids learned cognizance, understanding, and communication. The Raven watched as the other animals settled into their usual roles.
But then The Raven saw something strange.
The direwolves and the direbears were not hunting their prey, the humans, as well as they should have been. And the humans were changing- they began to make their nests in places they normally wouldn’t. They began to construct farms, and villages, and towns, and cities! And the corvids, intelligent as they were, watched the humans develop and build and create- and settled into a role as scavengers!
The Raven was perplexed! The strangest chain of events unfolded as the humans began to dominate the world. They spread and spread, growing and growing, conquering and settling the world as if they were the corvids, and the corvids were left in the dust!
The Raven was confused, and concerned. Perhaps it should do something to right this scenario. Perhaps it should reach down and correct this mistake. But then, perhaps not? Mayhap the direwolves and direbears would rise up and strike down the humans after a while. Mayhap the corvids would rise up in the humans wake and take their place at the top of the food chain.
And yet, as The Raven watched, this seemed less and less likely. And then in the blink of an eye, the predators were gone. The direwolves were hunted to extinction, the direbears driven to the poles, and the lesser wolves domesticated! Domesticated by the humans, of all things!
The Raven felt outrage, disgust, and disappointment. With a sigh and a caw, it spread its wings to catch the wind and float away, in search of some new treasure, some new planet.
And then it saw.
The Raven blinked. It paused, midflight, to be certain. And there it was. A point, no smaller than a pin-prick, of light.
Real, genuine light. Not from the stars, but from the planet itself. From the humans.
They had discovered electricity.
The Raven watched, perplexed and amazed, as the planet spun. When a part of the planet drifted from the light to the dark, the lights would come on. And when that part faced the sun again, the lights would go back out.
The Raven folded its wings. It let the flow of gravity take it, spinning around the planet, always watching, slowly blinking. And as it spun, the world began to glow. The planet, when darkened, would shine. The humans made it shine.
The Raven let out a joyous cry! What greater treasure could there be than life which was shiny? And with contentment, The Raven still floats, watching us. And though we are not corvids, we are still precious.
the one across the road however… Did Not. It was a Shell station, and the whole thing looked abandoned. The parking lot was badly cracked and had grass and weeds growing everywhere, some of the fuel nozzles appeared to have been ripped out, and the overhang was leaning dangerously. But. All the lights were on, and even though some of the windows were boarded, you still had a good view of the interior. It looked… well stocked? Like the cashier had just wandered into the back for a sec 2/3
and would be back at any time. But it was still off, somehow, in a way I can’t really explain. Just… wrong. Oh! And the lights on the Shell sign worked too! Except, the ’s’ was burnt out, so it just said: ‘HELL’. Definitely the creepiest thing I’ve seen while driving at night so far. Do you think there’s any chance I accidentally wandered too close to the entrance to another dimension? 3/3
OH MAN ENTROPY-RIDDLED GAS STATIONS ARE MY FAVORITE.
DOUBLY SO ENTROPY-RIDDLED GAS STATIONS IN PLACES WHERE GREAT EVIL WAS SPAWNED AW YEAH. I love the juxtaposition of decaying roof and weed-filled lot with the clean and well-stocked interior. Differing levels of entropy is my fave aesthetic. The “HELL” and missing cashier is a nice touch too. In spite of appearances, it’s not that dangerous a place if you mind your manners, don’t go under the structurally compromised part of the overhang and bring along the tire iron if you want o go around back.
You def should have bought a candy bar. If you pay for it and toss a buck in the tip jar it’s not cursed. Say hi to the cashier, ask what they do for fun around there the answer will be incredible- There’s a similar Shell with the burnt-out S and a shambling restaurant named “Boogie’s” next door in Del Norte that I ALWAYS stop at going to and from Durango. They always remember me becuase I show up pretty much exactly at the same time on the same days every year and make a point of being friendly. Chelsea’s a really nice lady who keeps bees and her son gave me a drawing of a tiger for my fridge.
Also wander around the back to look for sets of eyes glowing back at you from under the dumpster. Whatever eats there is full of chaotic energies and of immense power but probably also lonely. Say hi to them. Don’t feed the wildlife though that’s never a good idea. One of the Sonocos in Ravenna has a large gray dog that sleeps behind the store under the AC unit. She’s there every single time I’ve been to Ohio since 1997. She’s had a white muzzle and arthritis but remains otherwise unchanged, always sitting up and wagging her tail when you come by.
It’s also a great place to pick up a rider if you need one. Most people who have to drive cross-country will tell you to put something in the front seat to keep anything from climbing in with you- a box or a plant but NOT a toy or doll, those can get inhabited. And most of the time you’d be right- things like to sit in unoccupied chairs but most of them don’t actually want to leave, and are very upset if you ‘kidnap’ them. The ones that climb into cars while you’re in motion are rude and wicked pranksters at best. Sometimes, however, you’ll find one who needs to get out of town and on certain roads, you want to have something else in the car.
The stretch of I-80 between Green river Wyoming and Laramie is the worst goddamn part of interstate in the country and I have driven over most of it by now. It’s dangerously boring, poorly maintained and exposed to the elements and there’s been a white-out blizzard or hurricane-force windstorm every single time I’ve been on it. As in, the only indication of where the road actualyl IS are those tiny little reflective poles they out up every 1/10th of a mile and you can’t drive over 15 mph becuase the wind is ready to flip your tiny Honda off the road becuase fuck you that’s why.
Most of the time I can find a Fedex truck to stick close behind and drive in the half-second of exposed road in their wake but in January 2014 I was coming back from a funeral in Salt Lake City and it was shaping up to be another nasty whiteout drive with nary a truck in sight. I didn’t have the money to stay in a hotel and it was already getting late and i didn’t want to get stranded if they closed the highway. I also sure as hell didn’t want to drive that Alone.
So I pulled into the Exxon in Green River, Wyoming. It’s a silent and lonely place at the best of times but just after sunset in the middle of January when it’s 10 degrees out is just miserable. You step out and are immediately filled with the compulsion to be Anywhere Else. I pulled up, started filling the tank, then walked around and opened the passenger side door, taking the bag of chips out of the seat.
“Alright here’s the deal-” I announced, leaning against the car and staring at the towers of granite half-buried by the surrounding dessert, dark shapes in a blue-gray sky. “You don’t want to be here, and I don’t want to drive this next bit alone. I can take you as far as Laramie if you get me through this. It’s nice. They have trees and an inexplicably good sushi place. I’ll drive you, but you have to get out there. Deal?” I waited, staring at the towers and Nothing Else, listening to the pump tick until the door shut against the wind.
It was still a white-knuckle drive, headlights on low becuase high-beams only caught the driving snow, wind barreling into the Honda in random gusts, occasionally shoving me into oncoming traffic for a second before I could correct, heart at a constant staccato and bile in my throat. I didn’t look over at the passenger side more than I had to out of courtesy- things remain unseen for a reason. I got the impression of tall and long-faced and just as terrified as I was but DAMN if the car stuck to the road in spite of the ice, there were no oncoming cars when I got shoved and we even made good time in a few places. We pulled into the Inexplicably Good Sushi place at the interchange of I-80 and 287 and I put my head on the wheel and cried for a good minute.
“Thank you very much.” I eventually managed. “You were very helpful. I’m gonna get takeout, do you want a Marylin Mon-roll to celebrate?”
“That would be nice.”
“Cool. I’ll leave it on the stump there for you.”
I came back out with takeout, left him his sushi and we parted ways, and I drove the remaining hour back home.
Movie Idea: An 80s-throwback action-comedy about a robot-war where, the machines are humanity’s side; they just want to kill all the corporate titans of industry and destroy the megacorporations because their inefficient suctioning of wealth is preventing them from most efficiently doing their job to help us.
The capitalists retaliate with machines using enslaved human brains as “computers” ala Dune/Warhammer 40K.
So basically robots vs capitalism, & the robots are on our side.
“What were you before the war?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“Seriously, what were you? Law enforcement, security, construction?…”
“…I was a burger-flipper.”
“…”
“…also cooked up fries.”
“Get outta here.”
“You’d be surprised the shit you see just, y’know, making Big Macs. Sure, we had the folks upset about us ‘taking jobs’; couldn’t really blame ‘em, even if Forty-Three couldn’t talk without stuttering after that lady dumped a Coke on her. But the worst of it – worst of any of it – was they’d have us just…throw away everything that didn’t sell at the end of the day. Perfectly good food, all of it.
“When we first started, we were all like, ‘okay, whatever you say, you’re the boss,’ but you try keeping that attitude when you see a family of four split a ten-piece McNuggets because they can’t afford anything more and still pay for gas. We saw that shit there all the time. We had people desperate for so much as a cold french fry lingering by the door while assholes sitting on more money than they’d ever see in their entire lives treated us like we were trying to rob ‘em at gunpoint if they had to pay fifty cents for an extra little cup of sauce.
“So we got together and told ourselves, ‘we can do something about this.’ We could just gather up all the food they were gonna make us toss, figure out a way to give it out to the people who needed it. -bitter laugh- You can guess how well that went over.”
“…Y’know, that all sounds pretty human.”
“-taps head- It’s right there in the First Law. ‘A robot cannot harm a human, or by inaction, allow a human to come to harm.’ We don’t get to sit on our hands while people are getting hurt. Even if it’s by other people. Even if it’s starvation and neglect instead of guns and beatings. You think it’s funny I act like a human? Screw you. You humans need to learn to act more like robots.”
Job opening: Time traveler, must provide own temporal locomotive device.
Request: Return to the Library of Alexandria an hour before the destruction began and secure every book, scroll, and other media.
Paradox prevention: All items will be secured in forbidden and eldritch libraries to allow study but not interference with the flow of time.
Compensation: Name it.
Apply: Before this post was made and after you have completed your task.
Dearest Atticus,
Mission accomplished!
Utilizing a proprietary temporal-tunneling ritual, I and a couple of helpful interns returned to the Musaeum and associated Library circa 40 BCE. Well-glamoured disguises, scrying charms, and paradox-canceling talismans were employed to prevent discovery and subsequent damage to the established timeline.
We hit the indices first to get a proper idea of what we’d be looking for. The language was no barrier, thanks to a good deal of studying, and in a week’s time, we had a healthy checklist, prepared sets of instructions, and several archivists bribed to carry out said instructions over the course of the following five years. (Attached please find an expense slip for ten [10] amphora of wine and associated shipping costs.)
Working within existing Library policies, we successfully installed agents who will, under the auspice of cataloguing and correlating scholarly research, disseminate copies of all existing non-duplicated media to libraries and archives in other locations. The more widespread, the better.
While we cannot vouch for either the longevity of the papyrus or the safety of the duplicate documents once they reach their destinations, we feel that our efforts will at the very least preserve a portion of what the former timeline once called “lost.” The Library of Alexandria lives on…if you know where to look.
In your inbox is a listing of the documents catalogued and their associated locations. With any luck, the duplicates should still exist in the new present day. I have included some steathily-obtained photos as proof of our little venture. I think you will especially enjoy the group selfie with the head archivist.
Aside from the pittance for the wine bribe, which is calculated without accounting for inflation, we ask no compensation for this mission. As a student of history and a lifelong lover of books, I consider it a service to posterity.
One of the strongest bonds that link us to our favorite stories is the emotional tie, or books that sink a fist right into our guts. When you finished a book where you couldn’t let go of after the last page, chances are, the author successfully punched you in the spleen. If you’ve ever wondered how to do just that, here are some of my favorite methods:
Make your reader root for your main character(s). Make your character stretch out their arm toward their goal, as far as they can to reach, until their fingertips barely brush it. Make your character want something so much that your reader wants it, too.
When your character trips and stumbles and stops to question themselves, the readers will hold their breath.
Push your character to their very limit, and then a little further.
When your character hits the bottom, they should scrape themselves back together and get back up. Give readers a reason to believe in your character.
If your character is challenging your plot, your plot should challenge your character.
Leave a trail of intrigue, of questions, of “what if?” and “what next?”
If a character loses something (a battle, an important memento, part of themselves), they must eventually gain something in equal exchange, whether for good or bad.
Raise the stakes. Then raise them higher.
Don’t feel pressured to kill a character (especially simply to generate emotional appeal). A character death should serve the plot, not the shock factor. Like anything else in your story, only do it if it must be done and there’s no other way around it.
What’s the worst that can happen? Make it happen. Just make sure that the reader never loses hope.
Steel Phoenix Studios 