I want to try to kickstart something. How about some fic chain? Reblog the chain by adding 1-3 sentences to continue to story.
Rules: only reblogs, replies won't work like intended. In case of multiple chains appearing - more chains = more plots! No restrictions, have fun and go wild!
And so I'll start:
Stan opened his eyes and immediately tensed up. Something was wrong.
It wasn't the rope chafing his wrists that tipped him off, nor was it the chair that he was tied to. It was the whispering coming from the dark corners of the room.
He tugged against the ropes that had bound him to the chair, the knots crude but effective. He'd been in messes like this before, sure, but never one where his captors were faceless shadows, with voices that felt like high pitched radio static, itching at his skin.
It was probably a bad idea, but he spoke again, straining his ears to figure if it was one voice or three responding in the tainted caricatures of his own.
“Scared” A voice mocked once more, brushing right by his ear, barely tickling the hairs beside it. Stan whipped his head around, snarling, but found nothing in the darkness.
“Listen pal, I don’t know what game you’re playing but it’s not funny” Stan spat, shrinking back into the seat to test the rope, finding his fingers catching around the knot.
“A game, ooh that sounds fun” Another whispered, too far and close all at once, like an echo without a source.
“Ford” Stan couldn’t help but mumble, but quickly clamped his jaw shut to avoid saying anything more. He didn’t know how this… thing worked, but, as with all the dangers in his life, he didn’t want it catching on that he had a brother.
Stan hoped the voices hadn't heard his mumble, hand't heard his plea for his twins safety-
The giggling intensified, Stan held his breath hoping and praying that-
"Ford!" Came his own voice, chirping in an almost taunting imitation of Stan's voice, echoing round and round and round and damnit those footsteps better not be his brother's-
It had his apparence, but was so obviously actually some sort of Fey Being, and Stan tried not to roll his eyes, he hated dealing with creatures that could capture images from someone's mind - although it did make conning them a fun challenge.
"You want to play a game, Pal? Alright let's play-"
"-How about a game of riddles?" the not-quite-Ford tilted his head in what was the actually adequate mimic of said twin. "But you'll have to promise me something that you will give me when I win."
Typical. That creature already was thinking of getting something. Yet then again, not like Stan had other choices, had he?
Stanford struggled not to wriggle and squirm within the darkness holding him captured. He hated having to just watch, hated being unable to help Stan win this game against this creature.
But ... but he trusted Stan completely, and he knew Stan would win this game, win the prize.
"How about I treat you to a dinner if you win?" came Stan's slightly nervous voice. "Of course, you'd have to help me escape for me to fulfil that deal. And if I win, you set me free and tell me who you really are?"
Stanford internally cheered. That sounded like a true deal, but so beneficial to Stan! Yes, his brother knew how to bargain!
Yet then something touched his mind, and the darkness around his consciousness sneered.
"I don't like your own wager here. How about your life instead?"
some people really do need to start reminding themselves that the answer to "why didn't the character just do [something entirely different]" is often simply "because then there wouldn't be a story"
Because Google is totally useless and won't help you with ANYTHING
iNaturalist: Take photos of living things you see, post them, and the community will identify them for you. Data from iNaturalist is used in scientific research.
Wildflower.org Plant Database: Enter search criteria and find some plants. Very useful if you're looking for plants with specific qualities or know what you have in mind.
Native Plant Finder: This website is still in beta and is a work in progress, but it will show you plants for your area ranked by the number of butterflies that use them for their caterpillars.
WildflowerSearch: AMAZING resource for identification and for learning about new plants. Shows you where plants are native/not native, TONS of search filters.
Native Plant Trust: A New England organization, but probably useful to anyone.
Northern Forest Atlas: Great images and identification resources for trees; has good pictures of bark, seeds, buds, leaves.
FloraFinder: Another plant database site that's being slowly built up by a passionate nerd.
MonarchWatch milkweed by USA ecoregion: Tells you what milkweed species you should plant for monarch butterflies.
Native Beeology: Not plants, but a closely related subject.
I will add more and post an updated list as I find more.
Little (slightly over 1k) slice of life for our darling Sea Grunks. Writing this didn't give me fuel to return to bigger WIPs, so I'm just sharing it now.
Upd. This bit, as well as a continuation were moved to AO3.
Stanley woke up and immediately got the feeling something was wrong.
It might've been the lack of sounds of the running engine or the harsh raindrops hitting the hull of their boat.
Or… Stan turned his head and started at the unblinking eyes of his twin.
“What the hell!?” Stan shouted, rolling his body away and taking some calming breath. “What are you, wanting to give me…?!”
“No, I don't want to give you a heart stroke, and luckily it shouldn't be it”, yet Ford was already reaching for Stan's wrist, holding one of his fingers over the pulse and keeping it there. “I beg your pardon”, he added with a mix of guilt and relief. “But one can never be too careful…”
“Right”, Stan lightly tapped his own chest where his heart still was beating a little too fast. “So, any reason you're back to watching me sleep? I didn't have any memory relapses, so…” he gasped with a sudden thought. “I mean I don't remember it, but that doesn't mean that didn't happen! Is that…?”
“No”, Ford shook his head and finally let go of Stan's wrist. “Your memory is fine. I just…” he looked away. “Actually, never mind. Forget I said anything”.
And that was Stan's cue to grab his glasses, put them on and observe his twin with extra attention. Immediately, he spotted all the warnings: ruffled hair was extra messy, eyebags were extra heavy. Despite all that being sort of usual for Ford who had lost any proper idea about sleep schedules (not like Stan was any better. But at least he managed to get to his bunk bed before falling asleep on the first vertical surface available, so that was a point to him and not Ford), today it looked much more prominent. There was this tenseness over the back and shoulders, and Ford's eyes lacked his recent excitement, but what was the most worrying? His fingers were still and curling tight on themselves.
“Did you sleep at all?” Stan frowned. It didn't look like usual exhaustion, but he had to start somewhere. Ford didn't look hurt or fresh from fighting someone alone while Stan was still sleeping (they had talked about it, and Ford had promised to try and wake Stan next time). But without morning intake of coffee Stan's brain refused to provide more options.
“It doesn't matter,” Ford chuckled. “But because I know you'll just keep asking: I'm not hurt, Stan’o’War is in perfect condition and there's nothing for you to worry about.” He thought some more and groaned. “And of course saying that will make you worry.”
“You know me”, Stan grinned and started getting out of his bed. “If you won't tell me what's wrong, I'll just figure it out.”
It sounded like his twin wanted to say something else, but stopped himself at the last moment.
“I’ll make you breakfast”, he said instead.
That made Stan worry even more. Ford, remembering about breakfasts by himself? Now that was a big anomaly.
***
“That…!” Stan exclaimed while chewing, but was interrupted.
“Stop talking until you're done”, Ford hissed at him, ignoring his own mug filled with coffee.
Stan nodded, not in mood to argue. He had much more important things to consider, mostly like an actually decent serving of eggs and bacon. Apparently, Stan's impression that Ford was a shitty cook was completely misplaced. Then again, the man had to survive somehow, not only for his fun and unfair interdimensional journey, but also while living in the Shack before that.
Unless he had found a magic tablecloth that could serve any food by a snap of fingers - knowing Ford it didn't sound impossible.
“That was good, thank you!” Stan finished with his plate and smiled. “Maybe I should delegate some cooking to you from now on?”
Ford sort of nodded, now actually paying attention to his coffee. “Maybe. We'll see”, he replied without much conviction in his voice.
Okay, maybe Ford just didn't like cooking. Whatever. Stan wouldn't offer it any time soon.
“So”, he offered a new conversation topic. “When are we arriving to Grundtown?”
“It's called Grundarfjörður and we're not going there today”, Ford took another gulp of coffee. “It can wait”.
Stan stared at his twin.
“Are you possessed?” after a minute of silence he tilted his head and frowned. Ford spat out his coffee in reply and started coughing.
“Not funny”, he groaned while punching his chest several times. “And I'm not possessed!”
“That's exactly what a possessed person would say”, Stan smirked, crossing his arms before him. “If you're really Sixer, prove it. What is the word we agreed on during our childhood to confirm it's really us?”
Ford rolled his eyes.
“There's none because we didn't think we'd need one”, he replied before heavily sighing. “That actually would've helped me so much. But maybe it wouldn't, not with a way he had a free reign in my mind”.
“Sorry”, Stan winced. He hated when they accidentally touched the demon topic, and at times it just was a complete accident that Sixer’s mind by association was leading him to his darkest memories.
But this time Stan probably should've thought before joking about possession.
“Anyway”, he awkwardly laughed, watching Ford slowly shrugging off his somber recollection. “Yesterday you were all for us to hurry, and today you've changed your mind? Why so?”
Ford looked at his mug that was almost empty by now. “No reason. It can wait till tomorrow or after tomorrow or even never.”
“Right, and that doesn't sound suspicious”, Stan hummed. “Okay, so no Grundport, got it. What's for today in this case? Did you find another anomaly close by? Or did a miracle finally happen and you finally decided to catch on some sleep?”
To that Ford actually laughed and some of the tension left his posture.
“Maybe tomorrow”, he shook his head. “As for today - nothing. Just us, spending time together and resting. Not doing anything reckless or dangerous…”
“Then I'll check out the compressor if we have some free time…”
“No need”, Ford replied, slightly too sharper than Stan would've expected. “I’ll fix it myself. I already know what's ticking there. You… You should just rest. Read or maybe write that romance fiction you keep wanting to continue? Isn't it time for your Duchess to finally receive the long-awaited confession?”
“I shouldn't have told you that”, Stan groaned in irritation, ignoring for now how the idea sounded really tempting. “So, you really just… okay with us wasting a whole day with no research or exploring? Don't come running with complaints about how you suddenly got bored.”
Ford flinched but smiled. “Don't worry. Today is definitely not a day for me to get bored”.
“Now, what the hell does that mean?” Stan squinted in suspicion.
Ford laughed, but this time it sounded slightly hysterical. “Nothing, I'm just praying really hard to the Universe for us to finally have one calm day where nothing happens!”
…Come to think of it, maybe it really was a miracle and his twin finally realised he was in desperate need of a day off himself.
Violence: A Writer’s Guide: This is not about writing technique. It is an introduction to the world of violence. To the parts that people don’t understand. The parts that books and movies get wrong. Not just the mechanics, but how people who live in a violent world think and feel about what they do and what they see done.
Hurting Your Characters: HURTING YOUR CHARACTERS discusses the immediate effect of trauma on the body, its physiologic response, including the types of nerve fibers and the sensations they convey, and how injuries feel to the character. This book also presents a simplified overview of the expected recovery times for the injuries discussed in young, otherwise healthy individuals.
Body Trauma: A writer’s guide to wounds and injuries. Body Trauma explains what happens to body organs and bones maimed by accident or intent and the small window of opportunity for emergency treatment. Research what happens in a hospital operating room and the personnel who initiate treatment. Use these facts to bring added realism to your stories and novels.
10 B.S. Medical Tropes that Need to Die TODAY…and What to Do Instead: Written by a paramedic and writer with a decade of experience, 10 BS Medical Tropes covers exactly that: clichéd and inaccurate tropes that not only ruin books, they have the potential to hurt real people in the real world.
Maim Your Characters: How Injuries Work in Fiction: Increase Realism. Raise the Stakes. Tell Better Stories. Maim Your Characters is the definitive guide to using wounds and injuries to their greatest effect in your story. Learn not only the six critical parts of an injury plot, but more importantly, how to make sure that the injury you’re inflicting matters.
Blood on the Page: This handy resource is a must-have guide for writers whose characters live on the edge of danger. If you like easy-to-follow tools, expert opinions from someone with firsthand knowledge, and you don’t mind a bit of fictional bodily harm, then you’ll love Samantha Keel’s invaluable handbook
I want to try to kickstart something. How about some fic chain? Reblog the chain by adding 1-3 sentences to continue to story.
Rules: only reblogs, replies won't work like intended. In case of multiple chains appearing - more chains = more plots! No restrictions, have fun and go wild!
And so I'll start:
Stan opened his eyes and immediately tensed up. Something was wrong.
It wasn't the rope chafing his wrists that tipped him off, nor was it the chair that he was tied to. It was the whispering coming from the dark corners of the room.
He tugged against the ropes that had bound him to the chair, the knots crude but effective. He'd been in messes like this before, sure, but never one where his captors were faceless shadows, with voices that felt like high pitched radio static, itching at his skin.
It was probably a bad idea, but he spoke again, straining his ears to figure if it was one voice or three responding in the tainted caricatures of his own.
“Scared” A voice mocked once more, brushing right by his ear, barely tickling the hairs beside it. Stan whipped his head around, snarling, but found nothing in the darkness.
“Listen pal, I don’t know what game you’re playing but it’s not funny” Stan spat, shrinking back into the seat to test the rope, finding his fingers catching around the knot.
“A game, ooh that sounds fun” Another whispered, too far and close all at once, like an echo without a source.
“Ford” Stan couldn’t help but mumble, but quickly clamped his jaw shut to avoid saying anything more. He didn’t know how this… thing worked, but, as with all the dangers in his life, he didn’t want it catching on that he had a brother.
Stan hoped the voices hadn't heard his mumble, hand't heard his plea for his twins safety-
The giggling intensified, Stan held his breath hoping and praying that-
"Ford!" Came his own voice, chirping in an almost taunting imitation of Stan's voice, echoing round and round and round and damnit those footsteps better not be his brother's-
It had his apparence, but was so obviously actually some sort of Fey Being, and Stan tried not to roll his eyes, he hated dealing with creatures that could capture images from someone's mind - although it did make conning them a fun challenge.
"You want to play a game, Pal? Alright let's play-"
"-How about a game of riddles?" the not-quite-Ford tilted his head in what was the actually adequate mimic of said twin. "But you'll have to promise me something that you will give me when I win."
Typical. That creature already was thinking of getting something. Yet then again, not like Stan had other choices, had he?
