two moons and a small world

How to hunt for story ideas

You’ll need: Pen, paper and an interesting video

This is a very simple exercise for story ideas hunting when you feel completely out of inspiration or looking for an insight. Just pick a music video, or a short, a movie, a trailer, or even a gameplay from Youtube and keep pen and paper by your side.

As you watch the chosen piece, write down tags that best describe what you are seeing, be it a feeling, a visual element, dialogues or random ideas coming to you.

I’ve used the trailer of When Marnie Was There for an example:

And my tags are:

Train, moving, goodbye, outsider, small town, growing up, manor, old, familiar, childhood, beauty, party, prison, keys, storm, tragedy, secret, forever, moon, dream…

Now, from your tags, create one or more storylines, plots, characters and/or fictional worlds. When Marnie Was There tags give me two story ideas:

- Family saga of cousins growing up in their grandfather’s manor. When adults, each cousin goes their separate ways. Decades later, only one cousin is alive. Through his perspective, we remember all tragedies that happened with the family and how each member lost their way from the happy childhood.

- Daily life of girls living in a strict boarding school that looks more like a prison, two girls have a spiritual connection, allowing them to meet in their dreams.

From all ideas you manage to make from your tags, pick your favorite. Mine would be the second one.

So, are you ready for ideas hunting?


After everyone else is asleep in the basement, she goes back upstairs. She catches sight of her reflection in the window: hollow-eyed, her blouse loose where it used to be perfectly tailored, her long hair in a ponytail she put in two days ago. She needs a shower, a full meal, an entire fucking bottle of wine. None of those things are forthcoming.

Under the window, with the light from the moon shining in, she takes out the journal. There are rough edges where she tore out the note she left behind. It wasn’t something she’d imagined. The note was there, and now it’s missing.

She writes, The world has gotten so small, then sets the pen down. Closes her eyes.

The basement stairs creak, advising her of someone’s approach. It’s Mulder, because of course it is. He collapses onto the couch and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“How much of that did you already know?” His eyes are steel.

“A lot,” she says quietly.

“That whole time,” he says. “You didn’t let me go out. What do they have, Scully?”

She licks her lips. Her eyes flit toward the corner of the room, away from him. “You’re not asking the right questions.”

Against the cushions his fists clench and unclench. “Stop fucking around, Scully.”

“It’s not what, Mulder. It doesn’t matter what it is. What matters is where it came from.” Their eyes lock.

All the things she should have known, should have seen coming. Over the past few years she’s seen all kinds of strange cases come through the hospital, diseases no one had ever seen, bacteria that multiplied faster than the laws of science permitted. In the new world the laws of science were evidently as mutable as the laws of man. But she hadn’t made the connection. Not until it was too late.

“I think this has been in the works for a long time,” she says softly. “I think the men we fought against have finally made their move. They just had to wait for a leader who wouldn’t try to stop them.”

“They’re collaborators,” Mulder says roughly. “All of them.”

“I know. I know what they are.” And this shouldn’t have surprised her, either. She’s a realist. She knows that the world gets worse and then incrementally gets better, and then gets worse again. This is the real arc of history, as far as she can tell. The moral arc of the universe is really just a sine curve.

“Skinner said he was immune to it.”

Scully nods. “He was vaccinated, I think. I imagine most people at his level would be. And I…after I was abducted I had some unusual antibodies in my blood. Will has all of those antibodies, too. I think…I think they’re preventative. I think they’re from wherever the disease is from.“ By the end her voice is barely audible.

"I don’t have them, though,” he says flatly.

She hesitates.

He gets up from the couch and crosses the room in one sudden smooth motion. “That’s why you wouldn’t let me out of the car,“ he says to the window. "You thought I’d catch it. Jesus, Scully. You could have fucking told me.”

"I hoped I was wrong.” She stands to join him. When she touches his forearm he flinches back, closes his eyes like he’s trying to block her out.

He says, “So it’s just a matter of time.”

She’s defiant. “That’s not what I said.” The blood and the bone and the horror, and she thinks, I am not going to let this thing happen to you.

“Yeah? And what are you going to do?”

“Skinner wants — he wants me to go with him,” she says, slow. “Try to synthesize a new vaccine. While you’re here, running the safe house.” She can see that familiar twitch in his jaw and she wants to beg him not to say it.

But he does, inevitably. “Of course he does,” Mulder says, sharp as a knife’s edge. “He’s finally got a shot.”

Her entire body stiffens. “Don’t you dare,” she hisses. “Where’s your head, Mulder? We’re talking about the survival of the human race.”

“Maybe we don’t deserve to be saved.”

“Well, you’re not the one who gets to decide that.”

“And you do? Maybe we should just let nature take its course, Scully. We’ve fucked things up badly enough—”

“Do you want the truth, Mulder?” she spits. “This is for you. I am doing this for you.”

Her breaths come shallow and she’s suddenly, strangely panicky. She presses her open palm to her chest and turns away from him. She remembers what the air smelled like a month ago. It’s stale in the house, it reeks of mildew and unwashed bodies, and outside the moon is staring back at them and she just has to remember how to breathe—

From behind her Mulder puts his hands on her shoulders and even though he’s most of the reasons she’s angry right now, his hands steady her. She turns and wraps her arms around him, feeling her heartbeat slow to match his. She listens to it beat, a-live, a-live, a-live.

“I don’t know how to fight this,” he says gruffly.

“I don’t know what else to do,” she says into his chest, her voice thick. “We can’t hide forever. I have to feel like I’m doing something.”

“We’re too old for this shit, Scully.”

“I know,” she says, not quite laughing. It’s a watery sound, uncertain. “I still have to go, Mulder.”

She can feel him swallow. “When?”

“It could be a week. Maybe a month, he wasn’t sure. Someone will come get us when it’s time.” Scully holds him tighter. This is a choice, she reminds herself. You are making a choice.

They hold each other in the dark. She pretends it doesn’t feel like goodbye.

The Story Of Sidewinder Part 9

It was dark. The only light was from the moon above, and the streetlights that littered the area. Small stars were scattered around the night sky, and there was a chill in the air.

Router yawned and watched the world around him pass by. The trip had taken approximately nine hours, and it was almost midnight by the time they arrived. After only two hours on the trip, exhaustion had set in for the young hacker.

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Bruce Wayne Imagine

Imagine tending to Bruce’s wounds whilst dealing with the balance of Batman and Bruce Wayne.


Being the spouse of the Millionaire of Gotham, and the Bat of the night, was challenging at its best. Bruce had always warned you of the late, late nights both from work, and Batman duties. You didn’t mind however. You knew the implications of this relationship. You loved him for him, and you would never let him saving the world come between you two. But that wasn’t to say it was easy. Lonesome nights were a common occurrence, with a warm body to sleep next too at night only possible once in a blue moon. Some days meant the only words you two spoke were a goodbye in the morning before he left work.

 But that didn’t mean you didn’t have people to talk too. Alfred and yourself had gotten close, you often talking to him about childhood memories whilst in return listening to his over a cup of tea. In small slices you would project your feelings about Bruce’s absence, saying how you loved him dearly, but sometimes it felt  empty in the house, and in your heart. Some nights you would sit in the Batcave, hold a cup of tea, and wait for Bruce to come home. More often than not he had some sort of injury and you would quietly pull him over to sit where you previously sat to address his wounds.

Tonight was just this. Sitting Bruce down on the couch where you had sat waiting for him, you knelt down, and quietly cleaned his wounds. The small delicate padding of cotton onto his rough calm face were enough to communicate without words. Bruce understood, and he did feel horrible, he really did, but the city needed justice, and he had to be there for the sake of Gotham. He watched you carefully, your eyes tamed on the cut on his forehead, when he gently leant down, held your chin, and kissed your lips. You weren’t shocked, as you saw him leaning down, but you weren’t expecting it of him. He didn’t have too, but he did, and you didn’t mind one bit. His warm lips engulfed yours, and you dropped the cotton and bandage on the floor, and placed your hands on his cheeks. Your heart raced slightly at the thought of him kissing you so suddenly. So unexpected yet so right. You hadn’t realised how much you wanted this until now. He pulled back eyes still on yours.

“I’m sorry,” His rough voice says, “for not bein-”

“It’s okay Bruce,” You say, hands still resting on his cheeks and making their way to his hair, “It’s okay.”

His kisses you again, his lips and body full of passion. He pulls away, forehead leaning on yours.

“I love you,” his voice being as quiet as you’ve ever heard before, “I love you, and I always will. If I can’t promise you i’ll be in bed every night, then i’ll promise you that.” 

You smile, your cheeks bubbling up, and you kiss him, again. That night, you slept in a bed with a warm body by yours. His arms wrapped around your waist and your fingers intertwined in his. Alfred, still up, had walked past, spotted you two and smiled gently. He closed your bedroom door, letting your bodies rest together as one, in a bed made for two.

severedprince  asked:


Send me📝 and my muse will reveal their thoughts about your muse.

Their first impression.

The very day she met Severus Snape, was the first day Lily felt complete. A boy with raven hair found himself lost along with a very confused Lily, who had sworn she was on the other side of the lake with her sister. When he told her about the magical world, Lily looked at him with such awe that she had trouble for a long time separating from the world itself. He was brilliant, in her opinion. Quiet, but kind. Small, but mighty. There was nothing wrong about Severus Snape.

Their current impression.

Lily has genuinely no idea what to think about Sev at this point in time. She stares at him and her eyes are two, giant moons, waiting to find some genuine comment to have about the boy who used to be her best friend. That much she knows is true. He couldn’t ever be her friend again. Not after he’d betrayed her in the way he did. Yet, it was still hard for her to completely flip flop on the person who had brought her here in the first place. 

What they like the most about your muse.

Surprisingly, his sense of humor. Lily always thought Severus was extremely funny. His dry humor, especially when the Marauders weren’t around, was captivating. She could sit for hours and listen to the way his voice sounded over the pages of a weathered book in the library. He would make her laugh, and it would brighten up the space a little.  

What they dislike the most about your muse.

How often, and now how desperately, he seemed to make himself a victim. People were cruel, Lily wouldn’t deny that. She hated the way that Sirius and James treated him; hated the way that students teased him about his hair or whatever cruel physical aspect that came to their minds. While she knew it was happening, Severus gave into it. He was getting better, but Lily thought there was so much more a person could do than fall victim to silly and mean tricks. 

What your muse is for them ( Friend, lover, rival ecc.).

Friend. A love. Crushed by both, Lily doesn’t know how to handle even seeing Severus’ face, let alone define what he is to her. Even hearing the question makes her want to run away and hide in the library, hoping that no one will ever ask it again. 

A general opinion of their relationship.

There’s a storm coming. Lily knows that she will see him again soon, and it absolutely terrifies her. While it’s easy to pretend that she can go on not talking to him, Lily knows that she would be no better than the other people who hurt him if she didn’t say something. And yet, she still has no idea what to say. It’s hard for her to look at him and not hear the way he truly must think of her rolling off his lips. At the same time, it’s hard for her to look at him and not see the person who she knows hides under his calloused surface. Maybe, one day, she’ll be able to forget what he’s done, but she doubts, at this point, that she could go back to being anywhere near as close as they ever were. 

He had destroyed her that day, and Lily didn’t hope that he was sad. She hoped that he was happy; that he had found peace in admitting such a horrible truth.

If applicable, something they wish to reveal.

“Nothing. Except, well, how could you? After everything… after all I’ve done for you here… I thought we were friends. I thought you cared about me. Apologies aren’t going to help Sev.”


These houses are made of special clay in the world Luarill. They are left in gardens, forests, parks. Small animals like these houses and use them as shelters.
Not for real terrariums!

For sale:
With cat:
With two wolves:

Castle Fics Published in August 2016

One/Two Shots

all the stars above our heads and Waking Up in Vegas by Trinity Everett

a small glimpse by faithsette

Ardent by NellieRai

Touching Base by rewritetheending

just common by airbefore

Handprints on my Heart by whatifellinlovewith

Accrual World by jstar1382 and Griever11

A Kiss Is Just a Kiss by Meg Moore

In this room by caffinate-me

Diving In by skygirl55

By The Light In Your Eyes and Samson and de-Lily by ipreferwestside

Build Your Wings on the Way Down by acertainzest

Undercover by Liv Wilder

By the Light of the Moon by ilovetoread09

Coffee-flavored Kisses by Pegship 

Through Different Eyes by ShutUpAndPull

Unexpected promotion by PauliPorcupine

Hands-On Learning by bamboo72498

To Love, and Be Loved by hug-me

Contributory Negligence by elisha-am

The Dedication by lostinthewords

Assets by GeekMom


Compromised and Celebratory by bravevulnerability

Solider On by EllaNight

Inherited Traits III and Juice Cups and Coffee Mugs by chezchuckles

The Goddess Wants to Play by Perspex13

Always the Bridesmaid by Liv Wilder

All the Things You Are by WRTRD

Ancient man once looked upon the stars and wondered what they were. ‘Windows into the afterlife?’ man wondered. The philosopher then looked up at those same stars and determined that we were at the center. The stars rose and fell in our night sky to entertain solely us. The renaissance man put telescope to sky and realized that no, these stars were not for us. These stars were far away, these planets that we’d named and kept as our own, were not ours. The universe did not belong to us, but rather the other way around. As the years passed, we kept looking up, kept learning about these stars, kept longing to touch them. We put man on the moon. We had become one (small) step closer to touching these stars, to touching these other worlds that did not belong to us. Like we reclaimed the moon, we will, one day, reclaim Mars. We will set foot on the rusty planet, and we would finally have two feet into this, this greatest journey. Our first small, infantile, steps into the universe around us. As we as a people age, our steps will become more steady, more confident. We will exponentially travel our journey. The greatest journey of humanity. The journey we first set out on while humanity itself was only first beginning. To touch these stars, to reclaim them, is to complete a trek millions of years in the making.



These two lonely people who found each other, who feel like the other person is the only friend they have in the world sometimes.  Setsuna’s physically isolated from her friends, Chibi-Usa is emotionally isolated from her friends, and they have this incredible bond between them.

And Chibi-Usa knows that she broke her promise to Pluto, she knows that Pluto’s going to be mad at her, but she still leaps at her and desperately hugs her because she’s missed Pluto, because she’s sorry about breaking their promise, because she wants to stop her from hurting the others, because they’re not bad people.

And, god, Setsuna loves that little girl so much.  The daughter of her beloved king and queen, but also a beloved child just for her own sake.  Setsuna adores her every which way around, she’s so worried about that little girl and it comes off like she’s angry and frozen in fury, but, no, she just was so worried and concerned for that girl and GOD I JUST WANT TO WEEP AT HOW TOUCHING THEIR FRIENDSHIP IS.


peter pan

On your twenty-first,
you whisper, I’ll never grow up,
and I admire that:

the bravery in your small voice,
the way your hands grab at words
like fireflies,
the way you claim innocence even in a crop top–
like a little girl who doesn’t know what she does to men,
like a grown woman who doesn’t care what she does to men.

You see the world like George Méliès’ wooden moon,
cardboard water flowing beneath the sun,
gears spinning in the scenery:
your world
floats in two dimensions.

You refuse to touch earth,
and I want to forgive your self-absorption,
for babbling only about your dreams,
for wandering to different worlds when I speak.
I want to forgive you,
but I won’t.

Then again, all artists suffer crooked brains,
and I make no excuse
for the way I watch you wiggle as you speak;
I kick back against the wall, knowing you’ll
bend and stretch and arch your back
in everyday conversation, oblivious to the view–
or perhaps all too aware.

You promise me, I’ll never grow up
and sit cross-legged in a skirt.
You see the world in cardboard cutouts, and I see
sweat on the inside of your thigh.

This time,
I look away.

I’ll resent you for tuning me out
and for wandering off when I open my mouth,
but today, on your twenty-first,
I’ll give back your innocence.
You will never grow up.

Revolution is
Tiananmen Square brimming with bodies
June 4, 1988.

A protest
For freedom.
Chests throbbing with passion,
Clawing out of spirit and into flesh,
Into voice

Against time,
Creating change too slowly.
Without explosions, without fervor.

Revolution is
Small town peasants rejoicing
October 1, 1949

A protest
For equality.
Well, would you agree
Equality is poverty,
Equality, is death?

Against time,
Shortages during the Cultural Revolution
Boasts the highest death toll of any famine;
Comparable to life loss in World War Two.

Revolution is
Abstract expressionism
Surfing on political funds
Driven by egotism?

A protest
For superiority
In all fields:
Economy, technology, creativity.

Against time,
A race to the moon,
To the stars.

Revolution is
A lone man-boy standing in granulated black and white,
In front of a tank, one thousand times heavier

Revolution is
Women-girls, bare breasts,
Being dragged away by cops

Revolution is
Bob the Drag Queen
Sitting behind bars in dim

Revolution is
Gay men kissing on the street
And the ugly stares of Asian tourists.

Revolution is
Going from wearing silk slippers
To wearing no shoes
Hiding in barns away from daylight
And sneaking past trees in moonlight
Hung with drying body parts

Revolution is
Clinging to a wee fishing boat filling with seawater
As the clouds unleash their fury upon mankind
Dark trolls manifesting from water, hard like stone
Battering hopes to cross the Taiwan Straight

Revolution is
Your baby brother crying for water in the night
Telling him shh, at dawn, at dawn…
In your heart not knowing where water could be found.

Revolution is
Walking on a dirt road
With hunger, your old friend.
A man-skeleton is swaying in the field

Against time,
At dawn brother-child is gone.
Leaving only his stiffening husk.
And when you tell the story
You never say if you cried.

Against time
The scarecrow-man falls
But by the time you rush over
He has become just scarecrow, no man.

Revolution is
A protest
Against time.

Not next decade
Not next century,



It’s not enough that Setsuna’s dying wish is for Sailor Moon to help save Small Lady, I mean that alone is a straight shot to my fannish heart, I can’t deal with these feelings, etc.

But it’s clearly the moment that the shell around Chibi-Usa starts to crack, that she sees her beloved friend dying and asking Sailor Moon to help save her.

These two people who have felt like they were so very alone, they mean the world to each other and they mean so much to those around them.  Setsuna always wanted to fight by their side.  Chibi-Usa always wanted to feel wanted and loved.

And they both get that here in this moment, they both have the proof right in front of them that they mattered and that they were useful.


I am sorry it took me so long to write this one foxxle. I’ve been writing a Syndisparklez fic that has been taking me a lot longer than I thought it would to write. Taking a break from that and writing this was immensely helpful in getting those juices flowing again. So here is some fluffy Marthlington because here is not enough of these fics in the world. I hope you like it! <3

Warnings: none

Word count: 584

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