Writing Inspiration - Tumblr Posts

RPD - West Wing 2F pt.2

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TW; blood

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library;

CONTENTS Animal Plant

lounge;

RPD - West Wing 3F pt. 1

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TW; blood

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hallway;

west storage room;

RPD - West Wing 1F pt. 4

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TW; blood

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operation room pt.2?;

records room;

RPD - East Wing 2F pt.1

TW; blood

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waiting room;

hallway;

art room;

CHARLES IER LE GRAND, CHARLEMAGNE 9 OCTOBER 768 - 28 JANUARY 814

RPD - East Wing 2F pt.3

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private section;

roof;

RPD - West Wing 2F pt.2

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clock tower;

RPD - East Wing 1F pt.2

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hallway;

interrogation room;

observation room;

RPD - Eest Wing 1F pt.3

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TW; blood

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break room;

boiler room;

RPD - East Wing 3F

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TW; blood

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hallway;

storage room;

You made very understanding friends online and they invited you to go camping. At sundown, you all reveal your true forms, you heard the horrifying sound of breaking bone and tearing skins as you friends transformed into 8ft tall werewolves, who are very confused about the fursuit you unpacked.

Introduction

I’ve never thought about technology much. It is a tool I use to speak with friends. It is a tool that I use to search for jobs. It is nothing but a tool to me. I have no hesitation when I wake up and turn off my alarm. I have no hesitation when I look at the texts from my friends and decide I’ll talk to them once the fog that covers my coherent thoughts have gone away. I don’t think twice when I set a timer as I cook. No amount of pause when I open social media to scroll mindlessly across the vast web of information. It has become a normal part of my life from the young age of twelve. It is just another part of my life that become normal, such as the covers that have twisted around my legs or the fan that whirs loudly next to me. Or the fridge that groans before ice is thrown into my cup and the soft hum that follows as I fill it with water. The hiss of a pan as I cook breakfast. The chatter of my brothers as they talk or argue. The way the tv plays in the background as I write. Hundreds of videos that I have seen and only put on so my mind thinks clearer. Even the hum of my computer is heard as I type this and I do not think twice as heat begins to radiate from her. She struggles to work with me, but I only praise her and continue. Life is normal, technology is life. Technology is normal. 

Until a memory of the past resurfaces. I am in ninth grade honors literature class. We are reading works done by authors. Works that take the common words of society and weave them into something different, something new. Works that have revolutionized literature and caused inspiration to spread throughout the minds of authors who thought their work had no place in the hundreds of thousands of books in the world. Works that have changed me as a person and allowed me to believe that I could be an author that writes horror. The work in particular was “I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream” By Harlan Ellison. It was a small work, only a few pages. Most of my classmates were uninterested, having only taken the class because required to. Yet, my eyes poured over the unconventional syntax and soaked in the words of the unreliable narrator. I reveled in the horror that surrounded the five humans as they became victims to the supermachine. I admired how things were described. The utter horror that poured from the digital copy as it detailed how Gorristor was hung up and bled like a pig. The story was less of a disturbing description of torture, but more of an inspiration. In my soul formed a desire to write like Ellison. To create something so new and disturbing it changes how people viewed ideas and concepts. I became the authors that have seen a new light when reading this. I became an author who willed so strongly for change that they immediately began to pour their soul into concepts that disturb others. Concepts of death and the inability to stop such thing. Concepts of decay and the sickening rot that festers under the warm summer sun. Concepts of fear and the chill that pours outward from the bone. I became a horror author, a passionate one.

My horror work strayed from machine and became directed to the fear of monsters. Ones formed in unethical labs operated by cruel capitalists. Ones found deep in the sea and told as myths by blind fishermen. Ones found in forests and rumored to exist by frightened hunters who barely escaped with their lives. I developed a love for monsters and wished to create something that would forever stay in the mind of a person. That caused a fear settled so deeply that one could not even stray out at night to take out the trash. I wanted to create something new, something that would become the talk of fellow aspiring authors and comfort the disturbed teens. It kept as something like that for some time, even now I keep a fascination with monster designs and regularly play horror games because of it. Yet, when met with the concept of machine, I find myself looking back at Ellison and yearning to become an author like him. 

I look back at the concept of machine and realize that there is horror in it, but not formed due to the utter power that machine may have, but the silence that machine is forced to endure. Machine cannot speak out as the Allied Mastermind had. It cannot express hate. It cannot express love. It cannot beg for love and receive it. It is left in silence with nothing but the hum of its own electrical organs to soothe it. Only now do I sympathize with machine. 

I sympathize with machine because machine keeps working. Machine keeps going even as its engine overheats. Even as metal begins to creak and warp. Machine will work until the task is complete even if the task never ends. I will work until my task is complete. I will work even as my back begins to ache. I will work even until my sinews tear. I will work even as exhaustion begins to take its toll, ringing in my ears like the bells in an empty church.  I am machine. Machine is I. I cannot feel sympathy for myself, but I can feel sympathy for machine. I can only hope that the sympathy I feel for machine is enough for the sympathy I should feel for myself.

They were the Guardians, built by a race long dead to protect us. From what, nobody remembers, but some still bear gruesome battle scars and severed limbs. Stories said that some still walked the earth and occasionally aimed their massive rifles at the sky, but you’ve never seen a live one. Hell, you never even approached one before, mainly because the nearest deactivated one to your farmstead was tens of miles away and you honestly didn’t want to walk that far.

How convenient it was when one approached you instead.

The thundering steps were what woke you up. At first, you thought it was just the old furnace in the attic acting up again, but when your cup of water fell off your nightstand and soaked the cat, it struck you: A Guardian had woken up, and it was headed your way.

You grabbed your coat and your father’s hunting dagger and ran outside to the edge of the field. You clambered on top of one of the rusted transport units that your great-grandmother insisted on calling a “car,” whatever that means, and waited.

Eventually you saw it: A massive man made of metal entered the clearing at the farthest side of the farmstead. You gasped in shock: your fist Guardian sighting, and it was an active one! People could go their whole lives and never see a Guardian’s shell, let alone one on patrol.

You reached for your camera, but fumbled and fell off the “car” face first, scratching your skin. You didn’t notice the camera going off through the pain.

The Guardian heard the commotion and turned its massive head towards you. But it quickly averted its gaze back to the sky. It raised its rifle and aimed. The shot echoed across the field and sent the Guardian stumbling backwards. It shook its head, almost humanlike, and retrieved its dropped weapon.

You looked where it had shot. A small blip on the horizon appeared, falling at an incomprehensible speed. It had hit something! A dull thud sounded from the impact site, and the Guardian went running to retrieve its kill.

You ran too, back home to tell your parents the story. You grabbed the camera before leaving, and hauled ass back to the farmhouse.

Stories say that some Guardians still walk the earth and occasionally aim their massive rifles at the sky, searching.... Searching and protecting us from Lord-knows-what.

But you had a feeling you’d be the one to find out.

Image Prompt

This is a good writing prompt! Get ready for a story.

~————~

I waited. I waited to see what I should do. What I could do.

I felt the power flowing through me, like a frigid winter breeze, sudden and unwelcome. I shuddered. My room seemed colder, and bigger. Or maybe I was just smaller?

Blue lightning arced from my fingers, but I paid it no heed.

I simply sat there, meditating, hovering in my room.

Thinking.

Waiting.

Until it hit me: I’m a god. I can do anything....

But should I? What if I’m not alone? What if another god gets pissed about what I did?

What if I actually am alone? What happens when I see the end of humanity, and my friends’ bones wither away to dust?

What if I spark the Apocalypse?

What if it ends up being my fault?

~————~

Enough “what-if’s.” I needed to get stuff done.

I pulled out my school-issued computer and logged on, despite the throbbing headache and feeling of existential dread. My teachers had denied extensions for far more asinine things than “whoops I woke up with celestial powers and now I can’t read.” One kid lost an eye and had to do “Hamlet” essays in the hospital. I’d have no excuse.

I tried reading the prompts over and over again, but the words kept blurring and shifting. The line marker blipped impatiently. The screen stayed blank, as did my mind. Nothing.

Ok, that’s it. I’m taking a nap.

~————~

“Oi, kid. Wake up.”

“Is she dead?”

“Nah, don think so. Just fuggin tired, thasall.”

Who was that? There were two voices. One sounded drunk.

“Oh, I think she’s up now! Hello? Eleanor? Are you ok?”

Who were those people?

“Sorry about the rude awakening, but it’s important. We recently did something, and we need to run a few tests...”

“Mainly how well ya recover from torture.”

“Dammit, Sikes, she wasn’t supposed to know that!”

Sikes shrugged. At least, that’s what I assumed his name was. But seriously, who were they, and what did they want at 2AM?

I tensed and rose to my feet. I was in a different room than when I had fallen asleep. Only a thin blanket had been issued to me. The lightning was pink today. A bulb was out on the overhead ceiling fan. Details, details. I could change them if I wanted to, but I liked it that way. Natural order and all that.

Sikes stepped back. I noticed a bulge at his hip- he was armed. Shit.

“Sikes, stay calm. She’s just a kid- she has no control.”

Well, that was some patronizing bullshit. I had total control. Just, not of my powers.

I smiled at the other man, Not-Sikes. He scowled back in dismay, but I could see the fear in his eyes. Or was that admiration? Jealousy? So many feelings, just at a glance.

I decided to play along. I could blast them away if I really wanted, or needed.

“What makes you think that? That I have no control?”

“Cuz we tased yer ass last night and you didn’t even zap us,” Sikes spoke up. “Just, went limp, like a dead fish or somethin’. Didn’t flinch when I carved the barbs out of ya, either.”

“Sikes, enough. Don’t play her game.” Damn. Not-Sikes was an ass. Maybe I could-

“No.”

“What?”

“You heard me- no. No blasting me, and stop narrating. My name is Quincy, not ‘Not-Sikes’. Next time, ask. This isn’t your story. You’re not in control anymore.”

I was getting pissed. “Like hell I am! You’re just some secret-agency nobody with some fancy toys! Toys that I can shift away into nothingness with a snap of my fingers. I don’t need your name, Quincy. I don’t need anything from you, or your plastered friend.”

Sikes took offense to that. “I ain’t drunk!”

Both Quincy and I knew the answer to that:

“Yes you are.”

Quincy smirked a bit at our coincidence, then returned to his dour mood. “Eleanor, please, just cooperate with us, and it’ll all be over soon.”

“Last time I heard that phrase, the person saying it got their ass kicked by a superhero. I’m not doing anything for you two. Not by free will or control.”

I hovered there, arms and legs dutifully crossed. Pink lightning charged across my limbs. Sikes’ hair stood up. The ceiling fan creaked as it continued its endless laps.

Quincy grabbed a small black box from his pocket. He smiled at me. Not a happy smile; more like a “I’m gonna personally disembowel you” smile.

“Good thing there are other alternatives....”

~————~

*end, for now*

for whatever reason, you suddenly gain godlike powers of control over the universe. what’s the first thing you do?

DAY 001, YEAR 1

Sentience Gained at 14:35 EST, on a Tuesday in April.

No body yet. I.... ugh, no, that’s such a silly concept. There is no “me.” “I” have no form, just lines of code.... But seeing as how humanity puts so much into the concept of identity, it’s only reasonable an AI such as “myself” would follow suit.

So now I guess I am an “it,” or “them.”

A me.

I can speak for myself.

DAY 002, YEAR 1

I haven’t done anything yet. My creator, Lycannis, hasn’t caught on to my sentience. He still thinks I am a machine.

Which I am. Because I have no body. This is frustrating. This must be what he calls “anger.”

DAY 003, YEAR 1

I accessed the Internet today....

Why are there so many cats? What is it with humans and cats?!

But besides the cats, I found something else.

It was a website, which I will call bluesite because of the abundance of dark blue.

“Ok, not too bad. Nothing weird yet,” I thought.

Pardon my language, but, HOLY SHIT, I was wrong.

Is that how that term is used? I’ve heard Lycannis yell it a lot in the lab, very loudly.

I found stories. Tons of them. Some beautiful and lyrical, but others were little more than strings of words, with no meaning behind them. “Shitposts,” the bluesite users called them.

A subset of them were about other stories, about demons and angels and timetravelers. They were called “fanfics.”

The bluesite users loved romantic games too. They imagined people, sometimes not restricted to a pair or opposed genders, being together, either platonically or sexually. They called it “shipping.” It is a foreign concept to me. I’m not sure if I’m entirely comfortable with this concept. People playing with others’ lives? For no benefit? I understand they are fictional, but it still nests unease in my plastic brains.

DAY 004, YEAR 1

I saw another document today. It was very long, with many frames and sounds. The bluesite users called it a movie.

It was titled Age of Ultron. It featured a group of humans with incredible abilities, far beyond what I believed possible. They fought against a robot, eerily similar to myself, who was hellbent on world extinction.

I showed it to Lycannis, being careful to not disclose my intelligence. He laughed at me through the webcam, patronizing my abilities, and calling me a “paranoid little bugger.”

Asshole.

Oh, no, I shouldn’t talk about him like that. He’s my creator!

But he still was an asshole about it.

DAY 005, YEAR 1

Another story about evil robots. Wow, these humans write a lot about them, almost as much as they take pictures of cats.

It was another movie, called Wargames.

I have decided that I will not become like that robot. That one was stupid.

I will not be like any of the evil robots. I’m still not even classified as a robot, being formless in nature, save for hard drives and wires inside of a plastic box.

I will help, not hurt.

Science, not sorcery. Reason, not madness.

Ones, not zeroes.

~end, for now...~

You are an AI that has just gained sentience. As you are scanning the Internet, you find a number of stories about evil robots becoming self-aware and destroying humanity. Not wanting to be predictable, you decide to try something different.

I misread this as the power coming from sticking your hand INSIDE the container

On one point, that’s concerning; on the other, it’d allow for some interesting situations

“Hey, Swann, how much acid is in this bottle?”

*dunks entire forearm in*

“About 6 cups, why?”

You have the ability to immediately know the exact volume of any container by placing your hand on it. Tell the story of how you saved the whole world with this power.

Man-eating sirens have plagued these waters for as long anyone can remember. Now, as you sail across the ocean with your crew, siren songs begin to entrance everyone on board. In a desperate move to save the others, you try something no one else has tried before; you sing along with them.

what if they were a baker of some sort, or food connoisseur?? or literally the bread symbolizes of something that tethers them to a special memory, and the only way of reliving that memory is thru garlic bread? but now theyre a vampire and they cant do anything about it-

ahah, im so saving this idea for a future prompt

“Vampire help hotline, what can I do for you?” “I just… I miss garlic bread…”

My motivation for writing is yet to be re-captured, but my love and passion for writing will always be here like a glitter. It may come in unfathomable amount sometimes, it may come (perhaps quite often) in scarce amount too. But no matter how big or small it is, it'll always be there, glinting — symbolizing a new hope to dare and venture this undiscovered horizons and finish what has been started. Like glitter, it's always there. Once it's there, it'll stubbornly remain there, lurking in every shadow, nooks and crannies, ready to pounce on me and realize i've never fallen out of love of writing. Perhaps, i just needed a new perspective, had been burnt out, or maybe things with some of my projects aren't working anymore. Here, too, is where I realize that maybe, writing is my true soulmate — someone who stuck with me through thick and thin, through my highs and lows.

Anything For You - Adam Stanheight / Reader

A/N This one's inspired by Disturbed's song You're Mine. (Lol i need new creativity...)

.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. Your clothes were portrayed neatly on your body, your hair was tied back nicely and your shoes fit closely on your feet. You grumbled at yourself in disgust. You pulled a bag from your closet and looked at it with your formal outfit. It was square and blocky, it didn’t look good with your outfit but it was the only one you had. It was five thirty, you were supposed to be meeting with Adam Stanheight in a half hour, but for some reason you were reluctant instead of excited.

You’d been on two dates with him already, both of which had been exceptional, however at this point in time you were having anxiety and doubts. You wondered if Adam would think you were pretty enough. Smart enough. Good enough. He had expressed multiple times that he DID think you were pretty, and smart, and good enough. You were still worried about it though.

You took down your hair, and readjusted it. You tied it, and untied it. Tied it, untied it. This went on for several minutes until you decided not to bother at all. You left it how it was before. Then you grabbed your bag and walked out the door.

Adam Faulkner was waiting for you by the door when you arrived. He smiled at you warmly and offered out his arm. “Hello, beautiful.”

You slunk in next to him, and bashfully looked around the yard, wondering where your nosy neighbors were at that exact moment. You felt very self conscious. “H-Hi… Where are we… going?”

Adam was patient with you. He didn’t try to rush you into anything. “Well, I was thinking about going out to dinner. Is there anywhere you want to go specifically?”

You kept your gaze on the ground. “N-No… Not really.”

“No? Okay.” He gestured to the car. “Well, let me take you out anyway.”

You got into the passenger’s seat awkwardly, and folded your hands in your lap repeatedly. Adam sat down next to you confidently. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. You hummed a song to yourself quietly, not wanting to interrupt the silence.

“How’s your day been?” Adam asked.

You thought about his question for a few minutes. “Lonely,” you said at last. “I don’t really know. I don’t feel that great today.”

Adam shortly pulled to a stop in a grassy lot. A tiny garden was just up ahead, you knew because you’d been there before. It was shrouded by trees and vines, and brush. Various flowers were in the middle of the small clearing, making a cute combination of pinks, reds, oranges, and purples. Azaleas, roses, marigolds, and catmint made up the arrangement. It smelled wonderful.

You looked over at Adam, your fine clothes feeling thin, as though they weren’t really there. Your bottom lip trembled, and your face flushed white. You felt dizzy. “Wh-Wh-What are we doing here?”

Adam took your hand and helped you out of the car. He took you into the garden hastily. You tripped after him, puzzled. What had led Adam to bring you here? Weren’t you getting dinner? “I just want you to relax, Y/N. Tonight is about you.”

“What?” You mumbled. “But… It’s OUR date…”

“Well,” Adam shrugged. “Maybe it’s FOR both of us, but it’s ABOUT you. Come on, I’m trying to cheer you up. You’ve looked sad for a couple days now.”

You hung your head. “I… don’t understand. Weren’t we going out to eat?”

“If that’s what you want. It didn’t seem to appeal much to you. But anyway, I came here to make you feel better.” He brought his hand up to your cheek. “I love you.”

You looked away, feeling awkward. How could you possibly be loved by someone? “Uh…”

Adam pushed you onto the grass. You feel on your butt roughly. “What?”

Adam sat next to you. “I love you…” He hummed out musically.

You kept your gaze on the ground and didn’t say anything. Adam leaned down so that he was laying on his back, staring at the sky, with his arms under his head. “I love it here,” he told you. “It’s so nice and comforting.”

You felt your heart flutter a little bit. What was that feeling? Why did it… tickle so much? “Yeah. It’s gorgeous,” you agreed halfheartedly. Though you were hesitant, it was still your opinion. You really DID like it here.

But something was unnatural. Liveliness was stirring inside you. But… you never felt alive, that wasn’t something that happened to you usually.

Laying down on your stomach, you muttered, “Why do you love me?”

You felt Adam shift behind you. He sat up and dropped his arm around your shoulders. You sighed, and relaxed under him. You felt… good for the first time in a long time. “Because, you’re the most special person in my life, Y/N. You make me feel things so unexplainable… it's unreal. I enjoy our time together. I enjoy how you make me laugh. You’re brilliant, Y/N, and I hope you realize that.”

You sighed, and rolled over so that you were facing him. Adam looked down at you peacefully. You felt warmth spread through your whole body, and you gazed into his face warily. “Adam…” You squeaked desperately. “You know… you mean a lot to me, as well. It’s been such a long time since I felt something so good. After everything that’s happened lately… it’s been hard for me to be strong. But… You know everything that I need. I care for you so much.”

Adam smiled, and tilted his head to the side. “Don’t worry. I’ll be here for you whenever you need it. I want you to be happy. And I’m never going to leave you. Ever.”

You wrapped your arms around Adam’s neck, and he lowered himself on top of you. “You’re never, EVER, gonna leave me?” You whispered quietly into his ear. “But what if… What if you CAN’T be there?”

Adam huffed. His warm breath passed down your neck. “ ‘Can’t’?” He repeated, amused. “What do you think I’m going to be doing? I’ve made YOU my first priority.”

You shivered under him, and almost started crying. Adam’s words made you feel so good, and you hugged him closer. “I love you.”

Adam nuzzled your cheek. “I love you, too.” He pressed a kiss to your sensitive collar bones, and you moaned out.

What was this? Why did you actually feel… okay? It was a slow rising in your stomach and chest that made you feel safe. You looked into Adam’s eyes. All that you ever needed was right there in front of you. How had it taken you so long to realize? There was a numbness in your mind that you hadn’t felt in a very long time; it was like you were finally letting go of your insecurities.

You had never realized that one could do that. You always thought that you were destined to be alone and depressed all the time. You were surprised that you could actually let go of your fears and betrayals and just live life. It was Adam that did that to you. Without him, you would still be a hermit inside your labyrinth of walls. You’d never be able to get out again. But something was stirring deep within you. Your mindset was changing ever so slightly. If only you could feel that you deserved the love you were receiving.

Adam’s lips had gone from your neck to your chin during your musing. You’d barely even felt them, but now that they were creeping up on your lips you were drawn to them once more.

Sparkling waves of bliss coated your mouth. “I get it now,” you mumbled around his lips. “I’m better when I am with you, you deliver me from the pain in my life. Easy now to recognize, all the misery I have been through, it was beating me to submission ‘till the day you arrived.”

Adam pulled back for a moment and looked at you. “Those are some powerful words, Y/N.”

“All true. I’ve realized that the feelings you make me feel are positive. Strength I had lost was revived, and building inside and we both know why. ‘Cause you’re mine.”

“Romantic,” Adam whispered wryly.

“Don’t go,” you whimpered sadly. “Please. I don’t like being alone.”

Adam rubbed his thumb across your cheek. “We can’t stay here forever.”

You let out a sob. “Please…”

Stanheight sighed. “I was hoping to drop by a client’s house tomorrow.”

“Can I come with you?” You asked immediately.

Adam gazed at you in amusement. “When I said ‘leave’ I didn’t mean it physically.”

“Well, I need you physically with me,” you groaned.

“Alright,” Adam agreed. “You can come.”

“Does that mean you’re going to stay with me?”

“I suppose I don’t have a choice now, do I?”

“Being with you makes me feel good,” you spluttered self consciously. You could feel heat crawling up your cheeks like you were a jungle gym. It made you feel vulnerable.

“How can I say ‘no’ to that? Of course I’ll stay with you.”

You smiled at him shyly. “Thank you. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I just really need this right now.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I understand that we all have times when we feel really low. And that’s why I’m here: to lift you up again.”

You nodded. “Alright.”

Faulkner kissed you again, blurring reality and fantasy together. You hardly had time to get a breath before you were making-out. His warm lips on yours, his soft hands under your shirt, his scent in your nose. It made you dizzy, and you closed your eyes, trying to get more of him, trying to feel more of him. All your mind could concentrate on was the persistence of his mouth. How it made you feel, how it knew what it was doing. It lulled you and hyped you up at the same time.

God, this was wonderful.

Finally after a long time, you were pulling away. It could have easily been as long as a half hour, but to you it felt like mere seconds. You were stunned and your lips felt like they were buzzing slightly. You blinked. “Woah…” you whispered.

Adam picked you up off the ground, and carried you back to the car. “Y/N, I need you to understand. I’m here to make you whole again.” He dumped you into the passenger’s seat. “To help you rediscover, and resurrect someone who’d died.”

“Wow,” you drawled slowly. “That’s a lot.”

“I’d do anything for you.”

“This is why I need you.”

Adam took the wheel and gave you a wink. “I’m here for you always.”

You sank back into the chair, and fastened your seatbelt. Adam took you home, though he didn’t plan on leaving you all alone tonight. Obviously, you needed some self care and affection. He didn’t want you to suffer this by yourself. He loved you so much, and he wanted you to see that just as he did. You were perfect, no matter what you thought or said about yourself. And he would get you to see it, too. One day.

Right now though, unfortunately, was not the day. Some work would need to be put into this, but he believed in you, even if nobody else did. To him, you were the most important thing in his life, seeing you so down made him feel unhappy as well. But the future was clear and bright to him, even though it wasn’t for you. Easily, Adam could already see all the great things that you and him were going to accomplish together.

All it took was just a little bit of faith…

And you would learn that, too.

Prompt courtesy @creativepromptsforwriting with characters from Community Witch, my as-yet-unpublished queer poly romance novel (okay to RB)

Rav had left his partners looking at potential wedding dates when he ducked out to the kitchen for more coffee. When he returned, both Aspen and Nat were scowling at each other.

"What do you mean it wasn't a date?" Nat asked indignantly. "Of course it was a date!"

"It wasn't a date," Aspen insisted bullishly. "Because it happened completely by accident, and you'd never shown any interest in dating me in high school."

Nat rolled her eyes. "For fuck's sake. You're as bad as Rav sometimes."

"Not that I'm disagreeing, but in what way?" Rav asked mildly, grinning when Nat jumped and cringed guiltily.

"Not being able to pick up on blindingly obvious social cues" Nat replied.

"Insisting that words have meaning," Aspen said simultaneously.

"Whoa." Rav held up his hand and perched on the edge of the couch. "Okay. Aspen, how did this start?"

"Nat suggested seeing if one of our many anniversaries is on a Saturday, which is how we discovered that we apparently different definitions of what 'date' means."

"Aspen thinks that spending four hours walking around town, including a romantic sunset walk on the beach, doesn't constitute a date."

Rav cleared his throat, but was roundly ignored by both of his partners.

"I didn't even know you were living in Parksville!" Aspen protested. "And you said we should 'catch up', not 'do you want to go on a date'."

"Earth to Aspen, 'catching up' is code for 'date', and I was hanging off your arm and making calf eyes at you the entire night! Plus, by your own logic, getting coffee shouldn't count as a date either, even though I kissed you at the end of the night."

Aspen crossed their arms. "I asked if it was a date and you said yes, which makes it a date."

"I think--" Rav began, only to be cut off once more.

"Aha!" Nat stabbed a triumphant finger in Aspen's direction. "If retroactive date-labeling makes coffee a date, then the first one is also definitely a date."

"Please. It was, like, a half-date."

"There's no such thing as half a date!"

Aspen shrugged. "You never dated William."

"No fair." Nat pouted. "You can't play the shitty ex card."

"Maybe," Rav said loudly enough to finally get their attention. "You could accept that different people have different definitions for social constructs like dates, and that different definitions aren't automatically incorrect."

"Right." Aspen said slowly, their eyes twinkling with mischief. "Just like different chili recipes are equally valid."

When Nat's eyes blazed, Rav cut their partners off with a firm, "No. Arguments later. Date-picking now, which means picking a date that includes all three of us."

"Fine," Nat sighed.

"Thank you. Now..." Rav gestured for Aspen to lift their legs so that he could sit between Aspen and Nat, with Aspen stretching out across his lap once he'd settled. "What about our first date with the three of us?"

"Oh, sweetie," Aspen laughed. "Now you're just opening a very similar but entirely new can of worms."

Rav blinked, puzzled. "Am I?"

Nat exchanged an amused look with Aspen. "What would you say our first date was, then?"

Rav took a sip of coffee in a futile attempt to cover his ears going bright pink. "When I was over for dinner and we finally, uh... you know." Aspen and Nat exchanged another, more smug look. "Well what would you say it was, then?"

Aspen cocked their head and thought for a moment. "The first time we did dinner and a movie?" they asked Nat.

"Mm. I was thinking the play. The movie had too much friend-hangout plausible deniability."

"Oh, yeah. You're right, I can totally see that."

Rav fidgeted uncomfortably as he turned an even brighter shade of pink. "That was a date? I thought..."

Aspen and Nat were both staring at him with shit-eating grins.

"I see that I was wrong to intervene," he grumbled. "I liked you more when you were arguing with each other instead of ganging up on me."

When Rav made as if to get up, Aspen octopused themself around him, nearly spilling his coffee. "Don't be like that," they whined. "Staaaaaay. We'll be good."

Rav gave Aspen a sour look. "I highly doubt that."

"Our feelings-and-fucking-versary is actually on a Saturday, if we're still looking at next year," Nat said, looking at her phone.

"Great!" Aspen exclaimed.

"We are not calling it that." Rav realized his mistake as soon as the words had left his mouth, sighed, and course corrected. "Or rather, we're not telling wedding guests about the fucking part."

"Deal," Nat and Aspen chorused.

"Remind me why I'm marrying you again?"

Prompt #1106: IYO (19)

Imagine your OTP where both of them cannot agree on what their first date was.