Concept: protagonist becomes embroiled in a series of high-stakes underground deathmatches of something that isn’t even illegal, like for some reason there’s a dark-web competitive cooking show. None of the ingredients are horrifying or even particularly unethical, but it’s still treated as this huge transgression with dire consequences for failure.

The cutthroat world of underground competitive cat shows.

Dark-web lumberjack challenges.

Gardening, and God help you if the judges don’t approve of your marigolds, because no Earthly force will.


#story ideas I will never write #food #I didn’t actually laugh aloud but it still amused me enough to reblog


still thinking a lot about how I want sci fi and fantasy to coexist in more settings… mainly cause I want a warrior girl who goes into battle on the back of a dragon but can take also take apart and upgrade said dragon because it’s a masterpiece of bio-engineering technology and she’s a brilliant mechanic in addition to being a warrior 



the dragons’ memories, skills, and bonds with their riders are stored in their brains, which are gemstones that grow to sizes that make them virtually priceless as the dragons grow and age. no matter how badly a dragon is wounded, if the gembrain can be saved and installed in another body its essence will live on.



transporting the gembrains is dangerous as hell, though. as soon as word gets out that a dragon fell, the pirate ships start descending from orbit to try and steal the brain away.



whomst do you sell them to, though? because obviously if the citadel that grows/builds/raises (???) the dragons catches you, they’ll come down on you like a ton of bricks, and you know there’s got to be a lot of political power there as well. only those living on the edges of society would chance it – witches living on isolated moons, warlocks whose towers drift, unplottable, among the stars



there’s this image haunting me of a dragon under construction. it’s not a machine, and this part is vital – it’s a living thing, jewel-colored blood racing through its veins even as it hangs, suspended, with most of its body exploded for examination. its head has been opened so the brain can be recalibrated but it watches the dracomancers work with calm, intelligent eyes, bred to accept this handling as calmly as a horse to a saddle. if you stand in the right place, you could look up right into its cavernous chest and watch its beating heart.



and if I could circle back for a second to the far-flung warlock towers

these terrifying towers turned free-wheeling independent of any orbit. the interiors are managed by entities that tread the line between AI and household spirit – both, neither, something else altogether. they grow sharp and dangerous under their dark masters’ direction, creating ever-shifting patterns of rooms that swallow unwanted visitors alive. open the wrong door and you find yourself staring into the maw of a black hole. 



when the most feared warlock in the galaxy is deposed, the gallant warriors from the citadel are able at last to force their way into her tower. it comes easier than they expected, disconcertingly so, and it isn’t until they reach the tower’s heart that they understand why: the AI wanted them to come inside.

the warlock left behind a child, you see. a small boy who’s been alone in the tower, cleaned and fed and tucked into bed by the AI’s black tendrils extended from the walls, who has learned to fall asleep to lullabies sung in an eldritch approximation of a human voice.

the boy is healthy, as far as the gallants can tell, if a little skittish. he has no idea how unconventional his upbringing is. but the AI has been downloading tomes on human development, and it is very aware that it is not a sufficient caregiver. the boy needs the light of a sun, the touch of human hands, companions his own age. 

the gallants agree to bring the boy back with them. it is advantageous, they reason. if the child has inherited his mother’s prodigious talent for magic, he will need watching. perhaps he can be trained in the ways of heroism, to use his power for the good of the galaxy. and if not, well, then that venomous rose will be easily nipped in the bud.

or perhaps not. the AI wants the boy to go, yes, but not alone. it leaves behind its any shifting rooms and tendrils and instead uploads itself into an archaic suit of armor, one that will become the boy’s constant companion in the citadel to ensure he’s never mistreated. the gallants are reluctant, but on this point there is no compromise. (good negotiation tactic: wait until you’ve them in the very middle of your murder tower to make your demands.)

they go fly away on their ship, and the tower falls dormant behind them, locking itself tightly away behind a layer of perfectly smooth ebony scales. despite the best efforts of countless gallants, fortune hunters, and rival magi over the next two decades, it will remain sealed. it waits for the boy, to come home and do with his mother’s power what he will.



U should totally make this a book or comic



great news – I am!



Me: reads
Me; h-h-ho,,,holy sh-shit



this is the only feedback I ever need on my writing ever again



this is really, really, REALLY good!



Is this published somewhere or being posted somewhere?


#story ideas I will never write #dragons #this probably deserves some warning tag but I am not sure what #body horror?




compelling argument, but on the other hand, literally everything about this is incoherent and wrong and requires the speaker to have never ever thought about any of these subjects for a second


do they think without a landlord

there would be an apartment building sitting there for people to just go into? that apartments are “hoarded”?

what do you think the world would look like without this thing?



at least this isn’t as bad as the “insurance companies only exist to get between people who need health care and people who want to provide it” take, though it comes from the same place

think more than “not at all” about why events might happen and why people might have reasons to do things



Actually, what *would* happen? Like, there’s a new law, long-term renting of living or office space is illegal, and you can only own property if you live or work in that space for at least three months or it reverts to the state and gets sold at auction. Apartment buildings are now privately owned condos, and you do a similar thing for office space for businesses.

There’s an initial wave of homelessness so bad that the entire governing state breaks down, so its probably more interesting to just hand wave the transition and consider only the steady state. Property values *would* be a hell of a lot lower, that seems obvious. But even fairly successful people would have to live in group or extended family households well in to their thirties, unless high-prestige jobs started offering condos as a signing bonus. I think the top… say, 20-25% of the country by income would probably thrive, since land is now cheap and they could buy it wherever they wanted to live. The bottom 25% would be more interesting, basically anybody living paycheck to paycheck. For them, the only option is to live in a family or group home, since they couldn’t save up. So a large fraction of the country would be basically living in sprawling tribal halls that were inherited and passed from one generation to the next- you’d get all the downsides of that, including rampant abuse and tyrannical family heads, and exile-as-death. But this property would be owned and you wouldn’t be paying rent on it (aside from insurance and taxes). So ‘paycheck to paycheck’ would actually be easier to escape than it is now, since you wouldn’t be spending two weeks out of every year paying your landlord instead of yourself. (Though medical and educational expenses could still overwhelm). It’s a weird society, and probably worse than ours, but kind of interesting?

My guess is that the place the scenario breaks down is in “*long-term* renting of living or office space is illegal”. Renters end up living in short-term accommodations originally intended for travellers, getting kicked out of any given hotel (or other local analogue) after X weeks/months because the hotel would be violating the law by allowing them to stay longer.

Also probably a lot of couchsurfing, shading along a spectrum from “living with pre-existing friend who is genuinely not charging you anything” to “basically a live-in housekeeper, paid in shelter” to “exchanging money under the table”.

Also also, it depends on how exactly the law defines “rent”. A HELOC is effectively a mechanism for selling part of your house to a bank and then renting it back from them: is this legal in no-landlords-allowed world? If so, with what (if any) restrictions? Can you put a down payment on a house, cover the rest with a HELOC instead of a mortgage, and make interest-only payments for years on end?

(I personally know people who have done all of these things, which is probably why I thought of them.)


#one of the people reading this…may actually have done *everything* listed along the couchsurfing spectrum #I know a family in meatspace who did the hotel thing #the person with a large long-term interest-only-payment HELOC is me #(okay *technically* it’s my dad but like where do you think he’s getting the money from) #((we are *currently* doing well enough financially that we’ve been able to increase the payments to a little above interest-only)) #((and make occasional extra payments on top of that)) #((but we *were* only paying the interest for a long time)) #((and it’s still very much an option on the table)) #discourse cw #story ideas I will never write #fun with loopholes #homelessness #adventures in human capitalism





You were born of a sacrilegious union. Your green dragon mom never figured the knight she seduced while masquerading as a noblewoman was a silver dragon in disguise. You’d no idea either, born a human orphan. When your dragon blood awoke, so did the dangers which all your heritage entails.

“I was born half dragon.”

“Oh shit, what’s the other half?”

“Different dragon.

#“i’m two halfs dragon” “that’s just being a whole dragon” “no”

“im two halves dragon” “thats just being a whole dragon” “YOUD FUCKING THINK SO WOULDNT YOU”


#dragons #story ideas I will never write #I didn’t actually laugh aloud but it still amused me enough to reblog



You look around the lecture hall and notice all the other students have fallen asleep. You look towards the lecturer, who has now stopped talking and is staring straight at you. “I don’t know how you’re still awake, but I guess we do this the hard way.” He says before pulling out a sword.


@sindar-princeling​ you can’t leave this gold in the tags


#the Jones and Tolkien bit is great‚ but as for the OP: #it’s played for laughs / as a demonstration of how stupid the villainous lecturer is #after ”I don’t know how you’re still awake” it cuts to a wide view of the class #in which I am blatantly wearing much higher-grade respiratory protection than everyone else #what could possibly be the difference that caused me to be unaffected by his soporific when everyone else succumbed? #truly it is a mystery #story ideas I will never write #juxtaposition #this probably deserves some warning tag but I am not sure what


You go onto Tumblr

You see a post from @posts-from-a-darker-timeline

You’re momentarily confused because it sounds like a thing that you just read on a news site

You go onto their blog; every single thing that you read, as far back as you can scroll, is just things that have actually happened. There’s posts about vaccine protesters; posts about NFTs; posts about January 6th; posts about the pandemic; about Trump; about Brexit; about fucking Harambe for God’s sake

You look at the notes on each post; a few of them are people panicking like this is news to them; most of them are variants on “Oh shit, I need to look at the blog name!”

You select a random reblogger, and look at their Tumblr; it’s full of happy, well-adjusted people, but you just can’t seem to reblog any of their posts; every time you try, you get a message that you’ve never seen before:

“You are not authorized to share in this content”

You hit the back button, but it takes you back to the top of posts-from-a-darker-timeline

In mounting trepidation, you check to see if there are any new posts

There’s one: a fake(?) tweet from the leader of your country, lamenting the massive loss of life in the freak storm that just hit your city

You put your phone down

You look out the window

In the distance, you hear the wind starting to blow


#storytime #death tw #unreality cw #apocalypse cw #…so what you’re saying is that I get minutes-to-hours-scale advance notice of disasters #(mixed in with some noise about changes to Tumblr’s formatting and other such minor issues‚ but still) #that’s often not enough‚ and it #might turn out not to be enough *this* time in which case I will have no further opportunities to make use of it‚ but… #…like‚ I stand a much better chance of surviving the freak storm now than I would have if I hadn’t read the tweet‚ right? #I don’t have time to evacuate but I’ll get a head start on bunkering down #in the future (if I survive that long)‚ I’ll set up my phone to react to a new posts-from-a-darker-timeline post in a manner #approximating the way it would react to an emergency broadcast #get as many other people as possible to do the same #(the exact details depend on what circumstances allow one to view primeverse Tumblr) #(if we can only get my phone to do it‚ that requires different implementation than if anyone can just point any device at a particular URL) #in fact‚ I should at least dash off a quick post about this immediately‚ in case I *don’t* survive the storm #leave some breadcrumbs for others to investigate #(”you can view primeverse posts but not reblog them” sounds like a job for the fundamental theorem of software engineering) #(can I screenshot them? point a camera at the screen and take a photograph?) #((…honestly‚ ”a friend posts a screenshot of a tweet that hasn’t been written yet and then #immediately dies in the disaster the tweet describes” sounds like a thriller-novel plot hook in itself)) #((maybe I’m just the prologue to *that* story)) #tag rambles #fun with loopholes #101 Uses for Infrastructureless Computers #story ideas I will never write


How you expect the “no weapon forged by mortal hands shall slay me” loophole to go down: playing with the definitions of “weapon”, “forged”, or possibly “mortal”.

How it actually goes down: the blacksmith who forged the sword is a giant spider – strictly speaking all of their limbs are feet.


#spiders #fun with loopholes #story ideas I will never write #violence mention #death mention



I can’t breathe



Best wishes to these people obviously but I’m WHEEZING at the concept of a standard horror plot starter but the stranded travelers are an entire fully equipped orchestra.



It’s the prequel to every other horror film. Their haunting spirits play the background music.



Oh shoot, that actually would be a really cool concept. The film starts with no thematic music, and as each member of the orchestra is picked off, their instrument joins the soundtrack. Subtly, so you don’t really notice, and the end credits are a full orchestral symphony.






Call that a death note



That entire thing could also be used brilliantly for foreshadowing!

Like, you suddenly notice a string instrument in the background music and you haven’t seen a few of them in a while. And the more musically versed you are, the more you figure it out (like in a mystery novel if you happen to have in-depth knowledge about the current riddle) while the “normal” people can get fooled into twists.

The non-musically versed audience hears a new brass instrument and is like “Oh shit, the dude with the tenor horn is probably dead!”, but then he suddenly appears perfectly fine and one minute later they find the body of the Euphonium player.

And if the orchestra members can hear it as well, then it’s of course another layer cause THEY would probably recognize who is playing. And depending on the director, they could go full ‘Tomato in the Mirror’ and imply they know but Just. Not. Say it. (cause why should they, they all DO KNOW). So they are like “Oh no…. No…!” and start looking for the corpse while the audience is still stuck at “Ok, a violin player, but which???”



immediately after dying you get a brief solo



And since absolutely no music at the beginning would be kinda estranging, I’d suggest one singular instrument and it’s revealed early on that a member of the orchestra recently passed, leading into the reason why they visited the castle in the first place, yaddayaddayadda, the plot commences



I know everyone’s thinking violin or cello or something melancholy. But consider: one sad, lone triangle


#death tw #story ideas I will never write #music


the thing all sherlock holmes adaptations get wrong is making the guy an irredeemable asshole who treats everyone like shit . not only is it not reflective of the original stories they miss that “nice, smart, well mannered dude who snorts coke when he needs to think” is possibly the funniest character ever devised 



I feel like the modern equivalent is that guy you think is super well put together until you find out exactly how much red bull he ingests on a regular basis.



Modern Sherlock is that very nice English Professor-seeming guy who you bring a problem and while walking from the door of his office to his desk he starts explaining the entire solution you need

And upon reaching his desk he’s like “Excuse me one moment.” and pulls out one of those huge Monster canisters they legally aren’t allowed to make anymore, cracks the whole thing, chugs it, takes a deep breath, and then nods at you and is like “Alright, and then what you need to do is…”



Imagine how much better the dynamic of bbc sherlock could have been if they did this.



why even modernize it to energy drinks??? coke didn’t go anywhere. we still have coke. energy drinks aren’t NEARLY chaotic enough. 

Its is more like you hiring some guy to do private investigation about how your husband maybe cheating on you and Sherlock comes to your house high as fuck. Walks into your living room and without taking a moment to even talk to you or sign any paperwork, he turns around—pupils as big as god—and just says

“Its your best friend Brenda. I’ll email you the invoice.” 

and walks right out of your house. 



Because when it was written cocaine was legal and even considered healthy and useful by some laypeople, even though doctors knew it wasn’t, and Watson was always trying to stop people from encouraging Sherlock’s addiction because HE KNEW BETTER.

So consider this, Holmes, at 2am, desperately searching the flat for the stashes of NOS cans, only to keep coming up with passive aggressive pamphlets about the dangers of caffeine overdose.

Watson wakes up to a stench like Satan’s ass to find Sherlock sitting by his bed with a re-heated pot of cold brewed Deathwish Coffee that had been hidden in the back of the toilet tank (brewing) for five months.  Sherlock is trying to say he’s proud of John’s cleverness in finding most of the stashes, but he’s passed into the fifth dimension and all John gets is a creepy vibrating grin and a sound like a shaken cat.

TLDR, Sherlock did die when he fell off the Falls, but he was so coked up his body didn’t stop moving until like a decade later.



Sherlock as one of those cryptid types the baristas talk about (there’s a post floating around somewhere) who comes in and orders a venti with as many shots as they are legally allowed to add, plus a few more for good measure (and a hefty tip) and then adds energy drink on top of it before chugging the whole thing, to the absolute horror of the cafe staff.



This is the kind of Sherlock Holmes discourse I demand on my dash. Bring me more!



Further discourse! Everyone is missing the fact that Sherlock used cocaine to “escape from the commonplaces of existence” when he didn’t have a case. The drugs are a substitute. Which means that when you hire him he’s stone-cold sober and JUST AS WEIRD. 

So it’s more like realizing that your flatmate with the caffeine/sometimes drug death wish will only chill the fuck out when he has some strange mystery to unravel, so you spend your free time scouring reddit posts that might actually feature a real missing person. Or a ghost. You really don’t care which at this point. When you finally find something your flatmate is THRILLED and straight up stops eating because he thinks he can survive on intellectual curiosity alone, and yeah that’s not good, but it’s better than what he was doing to himself before. Your success is comparative, okay? You stick around for the meeting partly because you’re curious, partly because this is your home too remember, and partly because you’ve found that writing up these insane excursions helps pay off your student loans. Your Patreon is thriving. The entire time your flatmate is interviewing this poor SOB he keeps breaking into manic grins and you’re kicking him under the table, trying to help him remember that others aren’t happy about a death in the family. Halfway through he pulls a cigarette from a stash in his smelly bedroom slipper, offering the client one and yeah, that’s very nice, but… no. No thank you. He’s dressed impeccably and has a violin worth millions just lying on the floor, but the flat as a whole looks like a tornado just blew through and there’s something growing on the walls beside the makeshift lab. Is he rich? Dirt poor? Impossible to tell based on the surroundings. The entire time he rattles off observations about the client not at all related to the case and his continuing good mood depends entirely on how impressed the guy is. If he mentions “magic tricks” or “I saw that on Youtube” you’re prepped for damage control. 

By 8:00pm you’ve finally convinced your flatmate to look up from his research and go half on a pizza, but the second it gets there he shrieks in excitement and runs out the door, demanding that you follow with your legally dubious gun. You apologize profusely to the delivery guy and double his tip, begging him not to call the cops. No, not because you’re afraid of arrest, you just know the head of the local precinct and he’s a pain in the ass. 

You run after your flatmate knowing damn well you have to be up early tomorrow because despite maintaining a private practice you still don’t make enough to get your own apartment. 

You are living your best life. 



That last post…nailed it



Reminder that most of Sherlock Holmes is now in the public domain.

Like…. just saying.



Personally I see Sherlock as ADHD and no one will ever convince me otherwise

I mean — it’s textbook hyperfixation/understimulation right there — I Also forget to eat and sleep and do Human Things when I’m vibing with whatever makes my brain go, and I Also take (medically prescribed) stimulants when I need to think. And Also adhd understimulation makes mundane existence an agony that one will do nearly anything to escape but at least in the modern day we have things like video games and netflix so it’s a little easier to actually get that escape without y’know completely self-destructing along the way (Sherlock Holmes plays Among Us to fill the void between cases change my mind)

And while it’s entirely legit that a modern ADHD sherlock might self-medicate with energy drinks and home-brewed toilet-tank-coffee, I’d LOVE to see an adaptation where Sherlock just. has a prescription?

So instead of hunting down his secret Bad Habit Stash, John could be like “hey, sherlock- the pharmacy called, your meds are ready” and then sherlock would be all “LATER JOHN IM ON A CASE RN I DONT NEED THEM” and John’d be like “sherlock no that’s not how that works

And then later once the case has been solved and the existential agony of understimulation sets back in, Sherlock could be like “hey John pass me my meds” And John might be “sherlock you already took them this morning I saw you” “yeah but they’re not working yet” “dude it takes time for them to kick in” “sure sure OR I could just take more. I missed some days y’know I gotta catch up” “sherloCK NO I am a DOCTOR that’s NOT HOW THAT WORKS” And then sherlock heaves a gigantic sigh and grabs a can of RedBull that’d been stuffed between the couch cushions and John like swats him with a shoe or something because SHERLOCK NO do you KNOW what that stuff DOES to your HEART PLEASE STOP



I want this more every time it crosses my dash.



Dr Watson: Holmes’ Enrichment Zookeeper



i’m just sitting here wheezing at the idea of Sherlock fucking Holmes dropping his phone in the middle of a game of among us to look at a reddit post like “you’re right John, this cold case looks… sus

gen z holmes go off


#Sherlock Holmes #story ideas I will never write #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #drugs cw