#personal writing challenge

[megan0013]

may personal writing challenge - 200 words/day

day 1: 289 words, day 2: 326 words, day 3: 360 words, day 4: 171 words, day 5: 151 words, day 6: 248 words, day 7: 257 words; day 8: 234 words, day 9: 104 words, day 10: 0 words

[lynnhf]

Personal Writing Challenge(2 Weeks) Day 4

Date: 9/8/23

Title: Misconception

Universe: DC

Pairing: Dick Grayson/OC

Part 1?

She honestly couldn’t understand why she had to see superheroes on the news. All. The. Time. Like, seriously? Batman stopped the Joker from killing the Mayor! What else is new? Okay, so Robin stopped a robbery, what of it? Redhood killed a man?! Shocker. Red Robin was seen fleeing the scene! Is Wonder Woman and the Batman fucking each other?

Who knew he had a heart?

Ayla sighed, sinking further into her couch, watching as the news reporter once again, described how Nightwing, Bludhaven’s very own vigilante, saved the day. While also so very obviously thirsting over him and his, “incredible ass”. 

And, OH! That bod…

It was really, starting to get on her nerves. Where were the heroes without the cape? The Good Samaritan? Where were the people who pulled a lady out of the road before she got run over? Were there any of those people left in the world? 

Drumming her fingers against the leather, she sighed heavily before getting up and storming out her front door, keys, phone, and wallet in hand. She probably should have turned off her TV, but, eh. Who cares? If someone wanted to break into her apartment and steal something from her, what was she going to do to stop them? 

Movement came from her left and she looked out from the corner of her eye as she locked her door. Her neighbor, whom she had actually never met in person (having only seen him from a distance) was walking up the stairs. Talking enthusiastically to a young man, a late teen, a child, and…

Was that Bruce Wayne?

Shit. 

Turning towards the elevator (her right and her only escape) she paused in horror as she saw the “out of order” sign on the doors.

Double shit.

The only way out was to go through Bruce Wayne and her neighbor. Who she had been avoiding, in all honesty. She could practically feel them, him, coming closer to her and the door that was beside her. Making her decision, Ayla turned back to her door to unlock it, her mind fumbling with an excuse to use and-

“Hey! You're my neighbor, right?”

Damn. It.

She stopped turning the nob, forcing a smile as she turned back around. She was greeted with a brilliant smile and gorgeous eyes. She didn’t realize blue came in that color. Against her will, she felt her smile go from forced, “I don’t want to deal with you” to a soft, friendly, “I’ll gladly have a conversation with you!”. 

“Um, yeah uh, hi. I’m… your neighbor…” There was the social awkwardness, she was wondering when it’d show up.

While the child rolled his eyes, letting out a ‘tsk’ sound, the man in front of her seemed to perk up, brighten, even. He extended his hand, and exclaimed, “Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you! I’ve seen you around a lot but I can’t seem to catch you at a good time. My names Dick by the way.”

She looked at his hand a moment and hesitated. In quick succession, she glanced from his hand to his eyes and back again a few times before she practically peeled her hand off and away from the door nob. Like the idiot she was, she floundered with her hands before finally grasping his in a single handshake. Dick’s hand was warm, and to say it dwarfed hers would be an understatement. Blushing red, and looking down at the ground, she practically wheezed out a reply. 

“N-Nice to meet you… I’m, A-Ayla…” 

Instead of shaking her hand (like a normal person), Dick instead brought her hand up to his lips, kissing it lightly. Heart pounding, blush worsening, Ayla shot her head up and locked eyes with him. Part of her wanted to smack him, but the other part, the larger part, was swooning and she was pretty sure her legs abandoned her (traitors). What's worse, is that she was almost 100% certain she looked like a deer in the headlights. A red deer, Radlpoh in particular. But what was she going to do about that? 

Unbeknownst to her, her savior came from the young man behind him. He groaned, rolling his eyes as he pulled Dick away from her and (attempted) to shove him through the now open door. “Come on Romeo, we haven’t got all day. Flirt on your own time.”

Ayla watched with wide eyes as the teen, and fucking Bruce Wayne passed through the doorway, ignoring the scene she was now blessed with. The man with a tuff of white hair had Dick in hand, struggling to turn him towards the door. The child, who never lost his, “I’m better than you” arua, was also pushing (mostly shoving) Dick. Dick who never lost his smile as he was herded back and away from her. 

“If you ever need anything, knock! Or better yet, I’ll slip my number under your door!” 

With that, the door slammed shut behind them, his words echoing inside her head before disappearing into the abyss. She was left standing there, no real thought passing through her. She just stared blankly at where they used to be, failing to comprehend what she had just witnessed.

Eventually, she managed to walk pasted his door and start down the stairs. The scene rerunning in her head, only to give her a headache she didn’t have before. Stepping out onto the street, she couldn’t help but notice the shiny black limo. With what she was assuming to be the butler as he proceeded to clean one of the windows. The old man paused to look at her, nodded, and then returned to work. 

Feeling slightly creeped out by the weirdness of it all, Ayla turned and started her normal trek to work. A million thoughts seemed to run through her mind, but one stood out above all else.

What. Just. Happened. 

@batsyforyou

[clairical-error]

Starting today I'm trying out a new writing routine. I aim to follow one writing prompt a day. I've spent about an hour compiling a list of 110 writing prompts from various places that I found interesting. Each day I will roll a percentile dice and write whatever I can for the prompt I roll, I will then remove the prompt from the list for the following days. Any new prompts will be added on to the end of the list so I don't run out. I'll keep this up for however long feels reasonable, my hope is that this can act as practice or a warm up each day.

[duskowithapen]

January's Rambles Day 5

Just a word count update this time - wrote 177 words of a HTTYD oneshot I've been working on that I'll probably rewrite and delete another sixteen times, and 325 words of a plan for an original piece (full length or oneshot, I'm not sure)

[meeep-merr]

I need bed now, but i hereby instate a Challenge!

I shall see how many days this month i write over 200 words abt Anything Creative

If i get over half I'll make me some brownies, maybe

[almadelsur]

Art Donaldson is a titty man and you CANNOT convince me otherwise. !! 18+ Below !!

(Also I envisioned this during Stanford era but both work 🤷‍♀️)

Thinking about teasing art for being such a perv as you sink down on him after he takes you out on an expensive dinner date.

Thinking about how turned on he gets feeling your hot and heavy pants in his ear as you twitch and struggle to fit him in all the way, your tits practically spilling out of the dress that now bunches up at your hips as you ride him in the driver's seat of his jeep.

“You’ve been doing that all night you know,” You gasp out but it sounds so much more like a moan than actual english words that it takes art a few seconds to register what you had said. “Staring at my tits all goddamn night,” your breath hitches as you begin to move up and down on his aching rigid cock, but your words are relentless. “Fuck art, you didn’t even look away when the waiter took our order”

“That’s not true.” His words are futile. You both know it’s true. But you like working for it. You like breaking his sweetheart resolve and unearthing that animalistic perverted side of him that he works so hard to repress.

“No?” you tilt your head in faux innocence and he knows what’s coming. As you slow your movements and reach under the neckline of your dress to free your tits, he realises you’re testing him. He’d never really had patience for tests.

Once more you begin a rhythmic bounce on his cock, the one that has his ears burning red and his thighs tensing. He’s practically salivating at the sight of your tits bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down, right in front of his face. Your perky pink nipples begging to be sucked on. He looks like a dog being trained to wait for his treat. Your gaze drifts to his face, his eyes glued to your tits and tongue all but wagging out of his drooling mouth, he’d probably even bark if you told him to.

But you don’t embarrass him. And despite the fact that he’d probably like it regardless, you decide to be nice tonight. He put so much effort into your date night and it really wasn’t his fault that you decided to wear the lowest cut dress ever made.

“Go on puppy, get your treat.” You tease, pushing your tits even closer to his face. Art lets out a guttural groan beneath you and, although he tries to mask it as annoyance, you know it's all pleasure. Any remaining semblance of composure snapping inside him as he latches on to your nipples, taking turns to suckle between tits. He’s so messy and wet that his spit trails down your chest and leaves wet splotches on the fabric of your dress. Both of you ignore how, despite teasing him for being such a perv, it's you that leaks all around his cock at the thought of your little lapdog being so so so good for you.

Send me challengers thoughts pls pls pls !! I feel inspired to write again !!

[strawwritesfic]

Kelvin!Spock x Female!Human!Reader: Mr. Right

Summary: When one door closes, another opens—perhaps the door you were meant to enter all along.

Warnings/Tags: Starship Enterprise; post-Star Trek Beyond; friends to lovers; breakup; almost kiss; counselor!reader; Star Trek: The Original Series references; Star Trek: The Next Generation references

Relationships: Spock/Reader; Spock & Nyota Uhura; past!Spock/Nyota Uhura; past!Kevin Riley/Reader

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Requester: @lovemesomeescapism

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: For once, this is not a repost for this challenge…technically. I did write a response to the prompt "Mr. Right" ages ago, but when I was reposting, I decided that the Now You See Me one shot I wrote really wasn't worth keeping. Someone on Tumblr asked me for a Spock one shot, so I slipped him in as a replacement.

It's been a really long time since I finished something new. I realize that I am rusty. This is actually several drafts into attempts to write this one shot. For the first time ever, I actually cannibalized previous drafts while trying to get the meandering dialogue and point back on track. It still doesn't feel quite "right" to me, but it's probably going to take some time before I get back in the swing of things, and I'm ready to let this one go.

Mr. Right

Throughout Terra's history, human beings had sought the comfort of white noise. Quiet droning sounds proved beneficial for many aspects of mental health in the species. As a counselor on board the U.S.S. Enterprise, you'd recommended listening to white noise to dozens of fellow crewmates and patients alike. The best way to do this in the deep space you'd all been exploring for nearly five years was to turn everything in one's quarters down until the low hum of the ship's warp drive became audible. Many of those crewmates and patients reported back to you with decreased stress levels, improved mood, and a distinct uptick in ability to concentrate. Almost all of them said they got better sleep.

Now you learned that every single one of them had lied to you.

You'd spent the better part of the evening-adjacent hours lying face-down on your sofa, trying and failing to take a nap. The scratchy, standard-issue pillow beneath your face was soaked with tears. Your chest ached. Worst of all, any attempt on your part to get your mind off what upset you just ended with you crying harder. All the while, that awful rumble went on and on and on and on relentlessly, allowing you no respite long enough to drift off and forget your current predicament.

A chime cut through your misery. You paused without so much as lifting your head. As of three hours prior, you were officially off duty for the day. Nothing required you to answer the door unless an order came down from a superior officer, and they would call first. Probably it was only Uhura coming by to check on you. Having been through her own breakup during this voyage, surely she would understand when you didn't let her inside.

The chime sounded again, and with it came a surge of possibilities flooding your mind. What if your visitor was dealing with a crisis? Cases of PTSD had been on the rise since the events on Altamid. You could hardly ignore that in favor of your own small, personal crisis. Off duty or not, your role as a ship's counselor would not allow you to wallow in self-pity when someone might need your help.

As your boots hit the floor, you pressed one sleeve of your rumpled blue uniform to the corner of each eye. The gesture wouldn't do much to disguise what you'd been doing over the course of your time off, but you felt a little steadier afterward. Breathing deeply in and out helped too—until you hiccuped. But you could prepare yourself no more. Squaring your shoulders, you stood, walked over to the door leading to the corridor, and opened it.

Just outside stood the familiar, lanky figure of the ship's science officer. The second you spotted him, you wiped your sleeve across your face with greater urgency.

"You're not one of my patients," you said, "or Uhura."

"A very astute observation, Lieutenant [L Name]," Spock replied.

A long moment elapsed during which the two of you stared at one another. Several fellow crewmates in various uniform colors threw curious looks at his back as they passed by on their ways to wherever they were headed. Your friend, meanwhile, allowed a single dark eyebrow to drift toward his hairline. He clearly had no intention of moving on.

"What are you doing here?" you sighed at last.

The wayward eyebrow rejoined its brother. "Lieutenant Commander Uhura informed me that you left your office this afternoon in distress. I note that her assessment was an accurate one. If anything, you appear to be in more distress now than she described to me then."

You couldn't lie to Spock, not when you looked the way you looked after a crying jag like the one you'd just had. So you didn't bother to try. "Fine. I'm in distress. But really, Spock, it's not the kind of distress you can help with. I'm sure Captain Kirk will need you on a landing party any minute now, so if you'll excuse me—"

"Lieutenant Commander Uhura also informed me of the cause of your distress."

"Of course she did." Sometimes you wished your two friends were a little lighter on the "amicable" part of "amicable exes." "Let me guess: You came by to tell me that you told me so."

"As a Vulcan, I have no reason to rub my correct prediction in your face, if you will forgive the Terra colloquial."

You let out a wet laugh despite yourself. "You're pardoned."

"What I have done is stopped by the mess hall. If I am not much mistaken, ice cream is a traditional consolation food in these types of situations."

He produced from behind his back a number of different colored tapes. So startled were you that you found yourself unable to say anything. Never in a million years would you have imagined Spock of all people standing in front of you and offering you junk food of all things. Your silence went on for so long that he had to prompt you to speak:

"Was I incorrect in my understanding of how to handle Terran breakups?"

"No," you said, then, "I just didn't want you to find out about the breakup until I could pull myself together."

"I surmised as much, given that Lieutenant Commander Uhura found out about your circumstances before I did, although you and I are closer friends. It would have been more logical for you to contact me for assistance than her."

Vulcans as a whole were difficult to read. Even factoring in your education and training, as well as your friendship with Spock that had gone on for several years now, you could only guess his feelings the majority of the time. Not so then. Something about his tone made him sound hurt. Maybe you could chalk that up to projecting your own feelings onto him, but you couldn't risk that assumption.

"It's just that you warned me against dating Kevin," you explained. "As ship's counselor, I should have seen the end coming a kiloparsec away."

"Perhaps. But one might also say that your extensive proximity to the crew's emotions might cause some loss in objectivity on your part."

"So you're not here to make me feel worse?"

"I came for consolation purposes. That is all."

"Well, all right, then."

You stepped away from the doorway. Spock followed you in. He paused only long enough to press the button to close the door before he came to join you in your sitting room. A crate sat on the floor along his path, and he looked at you questioningly as he walked by it.

"Those are Kevin's things," you said.

"Expedient," he observed.

Normally, you might have tried to go for a little more decorum around him, but that day you didn't have the energy to do more than flop back onto your couch. At least you were upright. Spock, on the other hand, claimed a dignified perch at the end of your chair. The two of you certainly made an odd pair.

"He had so many hair products!" you burst out when the awkward silence turned unbearable. "I should have known we wouldn't work out. Who brings that much hair spray into deep space?"

"Humanity can hardly be expected to iron out all its flaws when you all cling so hard to your baser emotions."

"Do you mean Kevin's desire to look nice, or my need to be in a relationship?"

Spock blinked, then smoothly said, "In this case, I refer to your former beau's preoccupation with personal grooming."

"Right. Either way, I'm about ready to get rid of all my own baser emotions. Not feeling them would be a blessing." You got back to your feet and thrust one hand in Spock's direction. "Ice cream tape, please."

He offered one to you.

"Spock," you said warningly.

"I do not believe that heartbreak is an excuse to overeat. I only brought so many because I was unsure which flavor you would select."

The glare you leveled at him seemed to make him think better of lecturing you on the dangers of gluttony—as well it should have. This was the same glare that you gave Dr. McCoy when you were tired of listening to him. Unlike with Dr. McCoy, you smiled once Spock dropped the rest of the tapes into your outstretched hand.

"Thank you." You headed for your in-quarters food producer, then turned your head to ask over your shoulder, "What flavor do you want?"

"I do not require ice cream."

"Come on, Spock. If you're going to spend the evening commiserating with me, you have to have some ice cream, too. That's a critical part of the Terran breakup process."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll have pistachio, then."

You fed the yellow-green tape into the slot. A quiet beeping noise covered the hum of the warp drive as the computer worked. While you waited, you flipped through the remainder of the flavors until you found the one you wanted.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to give up emotions," Spock said.

"Huh?" Frowning at him, you replaced his tape with yours. "Aren't you the guy that's been talking about doing the Kolinahr when we get back to Earth?"

"That's different. I am a Vulcan."

"Half Vulcan."

"Vulcan enough."

A shriller beep put an end to this potentially sticky subject. The ice creams were ready. You dumped the rest of the tapes in a basket next to the food producer, picked up the bowls, and brought them back to the living room. Spock took his with a grateful nod, though he waited until you sat down again before taking a bite.

"Maybe I'd be a better counselor if I didn't have emotions," you mused. "If I wasn't blinded by my own feelings, I could help the crew more with theirs. I shouldn't have the same problems as they do after all the studying I've done."

"While that may indeed make sense, it is hardly realistic. Besides, if you did not have your human emotions, you would no longer be the [Name] that I know, and I believe that I would miss her."

You couldn't help but smile around the spoon in your mouth. Popping that out, you said, "I bet you say that to all the Terrans you like."

"Hardly. In fact, that captain may benefit from an hour or two without his usual emotions."

"I appreciate you saying that, Spock."

"I am only speaking the truth. I have no intention of bolstering your ego artificially, even if doing so is a part of the Terran breakup process."

"I know." You slowly lowered your spoon back to the bowl, staring off into space. Something was dawning on you—something that might have dawned on you sooner had you not been so enthralled with your own feelings. "You know what else I appreciate? You coming here to help me today. Not every first officer would go out of their way for a ship's counselor like that."

Spock fixed you with an unblinking gaze as he said, "You mean a great deal more to me than most ship's counselors mean to their first officers."

"I don't care what Captain Kirk says. You sure know how to make a woman blush."

"I have had some practice with the activity."

"Remind me to thank Uhura later."

"Thank her for what?" Spock asked.

Maybe you were reading the signs wrong. Maybe you were just desperate. If he had to ask, you had to be wrong. But you took a deep breath anyway, and said, "Helping me realize that maybe the guy I've been looking for this whole time has been my best friend all along."

How could it have taken you this long to work it out? No one else spent as much time with you as Spock did, not outside of your office hours. It didn't matter if you were in the mess hall asking for a round of Fizzbin after dinner or you wanted a quiet night in your quarters. He always seemed to be there. You felt comfortable around him. Maybe you didn't always understand Spock; maybe Spock didn't always understand. But you didn't enjoy anyone's company the way you did his. And you had to wonder when your eyes met just then if he felt the same way, and if this coming-to-see-you-with-ice-cream thing was his way of showing you that.

"Well," he moistened his lips before going on, "I certainly feel that our relationship is founded more steadily upon mutual interests and desires than it is upon a passion for hair products."

You leaned forward. "You know, that sort of relationship sounds really appealing right about now."

"It does?" Spock shifted closer to you.

"I think it's about time that I dated someone whose first thought in the morning isn't beating me to the sonic shower, don't you?"

By that time, you both had come so close that it wouldn't have taken much more movement on either of your parts to touch lips. Your heart gave a painful leap inside your chest. Was this too much too fast? Even if you had just realized you'd had a thing for Spock for a while now, you had only just broken up with your last boyfriend that morning. Treating Spock as a rebound was the last thing you wanted to do. He didn't seem to mind, though. His mouth drew closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath on your face.

The communicator in your room chirped. You jumped. Spock paused before sitting back up in his chair. Then you rose wordlessly, stepped over to the panel, cleared your throat, and pushed the button.

"[L Name]," you said.

"[Name]?" Uhura did not remark on how breathless you sounded, thankfully. "I need to talk to Spock."

"It's for you," you said unnecessarily. Spock had already reset his face into its typical blank mask and made his way to the communicator himself.

"Spock here. What is it, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Captain Kirk needs you on the bridge. We have a situation up here."

"What kind of a situation?"

"There's a former United States President floating outside the ship. He says he needs our help."

"I will be there right away."

A second chirp signaled that communications between your room and the bridge had ceased. Spock turned back to you.

"My presence is needed on the bridge," he said.

"So I heard."

"I apologize. I believe we were in the middle of something."

"It's all right."

He didn't move.

"Spock, go. Don't you want to know why a deceased historical figure has asked for the Enterprise's help?"

"I'd prefer to stay here," Spock said. "But you are correct. I must leave. Will you still be here later tonight?"

"Yeah." You surprised yourself with the eagerness of your answer. "Yeah, I will. I promise I won't run off with any other lieutenants while you're away. I'll save the rest of the ice cream. We can share it when you get back."

There it was: The slight curl to Spock's mouth that told you that you weren't making up the mutual attraction between you both after all. "To use another Terran phrase, it's a date."

He hesitated another moment longer before he quickly exited your quarter. You grinned as the door slid shut behind him and the white noise returned full force. As you sunk into your couch and pillow this time, you found you didn't mind the hum as much. In fact, the sound did exactly what it was supposed to do: Relax you. Kevin and his excuses from that morning felt farther away than your own home planet. Maybe you owed him a thank you, too, because if you were still with him, you wouldn't have slept as well as you did that night knowing that Spock would be back soon.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Augusnippets Day 1: Brainwashing

CW: 2nd pov from whumper's perspective, brainwashing (obvi), general Gothic whump

In the shadowy dining room, whumpee sits alone, candlelight flickering across his expressionless face. His folded hands lie motionless in his lap. His eyes stare at nothing, two blank windows that open into emptiness.

Perfection. Just what you always wanted. A beautiful, flawless doll of your own.

“My dear whumpee,” you murmur, “I see all our hard work has paid off. You look exquisite.” Gently, you brush the back of your hand against his collar and down his silk vest. Its embroidery glimmers like stars.

Whumpee remains statue-still at your touch. Just what you always wanted.

“Not a single thought in your head,” you muse aloud, walking around whumpee to examine him from all angles. “Of course I can always change that if I want. But for now, this emptiness is—”

With an echoing crash, the door to the dining room slams open. Caretaker. The ferocious glint in his eyes delights you. Such a contrast to the magnificent blankness sitting before you.

“You’re too late, as usual.” You stride forward, shielding your precious whumpee from view. “I’ve already completed the process. And only I can reverse it. If I choose.”

“Then do it,” caretaker growls, drawing his weapon, “or I’ll make you beg for death.”

How silly. Threats mean nothing to you now, in the wake of your triumph. You step aside, revealing whumpee’s seated form, frozen and lifeless as if made of porcelain. Caretaker gasps and rushes forward.

“And why would I undo this,” you ask, gesturing at whumpee, “when at last I’ve created the perfect living doll?”

@augusnippets

[frownyalfred]

I love writing, but these days I swear to God I wake up every morning to another rude ask, someone rewriting my story in the literal comments of my fic, or shady public bookmarks deriding my update schedule.

Y’all. Being mean to authors doesn’t make you interesting. It makes you an asshole, and it makes the authors sad :(

[epickiya722]

I know what these last few chapters have taught me about BNHA...

Blocking people is useful! 😐

[lynnhf]

Personal Writing Challenge(2 Weeks) Day 12

Date: 9/16/23

I did write for this day, but I took the written part down.

Sorry!

-LynnHF

[witchofthesouls]

Wait something funny just occurred to me. In the AU where the kids get cyber formed but remain on the edge of being adults, someone would have had to give them the Cybertonian version of The Sex Talk.

Would it be Ratchet, giving them the strictly medical side of things, or would it be some bot, talking about the experimental/exploring parts?

(I genuinely believe Ratchet would have an aneurysm of some kind at the prospect of it. But let's pretend)

I have to name this verse properly because Tarn isn't here, but it will eventually lead the D.J.D. to Earth. I'll keep the soulmate au tag until I can figure out something.

Ratchet does have an aneurysm because he has set ideas on what is and isn't 'appropriate' from Functionist-held Golden Age Cybertron, but he also carries a lot of guilt from out-surviving almost all his friends, cohorts, and students...

And it's all being dragged into the mud by the Jasper trio, who gives no quarter on crushing his prejudices and fears. Even Raf, his favorite, casually steamrolls over it with the draconian and American mindset of giving no fucks.

Team Prime had harmless thought exercises of what their charges' Cybertronian frames would be like... and none of them were remotely correct!

Because Miko is a Seeker femme, Raf may or may not be a type of Predacon, and Ratchet can't get proper readings on Jack's base-coding, Ratchet sits them all down because they're not sparklings or mechlings with sealed plates but full-framed mecha with total access. He gives them the reproductive talk, especially since Seekers and beastformers go into reproductive heats, but humans don't have that. He's trying to be mindful, and Ratchet is going through the different sexual methods and the variations of parts. Of course, Raf has to interrupt because the draconian mech has two spikes and no receptacle, and he would like to know about any necessary care.

All in all, it's really Ratchet having another fit because his weird humans are now weird Cybertronians of yore/throwbacks. And the ex-humans are taking it rather well, but Jack, Miko, and Raf had literally lifetimes to explore sexuality: as humans, human-hybirds by exploring their heritage as well as alchemical concoctions and very curious lovers.

This, however, did kickstart the path of Ratchet teaching Miko his medical knowledge as she doesn't want the results. She's burning to have the technical skills and knowledge of the processes. Ratchet does pass on his skills to Raf and Jack, but Raf prefers the science as Jack is more fascinated by procuring research material. Miko literally bullzoned her way to become his student. The howling matches they had shook the foundations of the base, but she got her way because she deliberately aimed at his vulnerable parts. ("You'll leave us one day to go back to Cybertron! And you're refusing to tell me how to properly care for myself!?") Ratchet is highly concerned about how voracious Miko's appetite is for that knowledge.

She yearns to become a Tsunade/Unohana terror among them because they have a strong suspicion that if their status is revealed, then they'll become targets. She'll become a Cybertronian Bloodbourne horror if it means she'll never be trapped like what happened to some of her kin.

[bikananjarrus]

if yord had lived he'd be leading the hunt for qimir and osha and we would've gotten the most delicious tension between him and qimir. qimir would start out frustrated that yord got away, intent on finishing what he started. and yord, once hunted, now hunter, once an exemplary jedi, and now solely focused on revenge disguised as righteous justice (which it is also a bit of that). and qimir starts to enjoy the game, the chase. and in this timeline, sol still dies, osha still goes with qimir, but yord was unconscious, recovering in a bacta tank, so all he knows when he wakes up is that qimir is out there and took osha, his friend, away. so then you also have the tension of that confrontation, the realization that osha has willingly turned, and that maybe yord can't blame her for that, because what has he been doing these past many months, years, maybe, but give in to the selfish desire to finish what he started too?

[duskowithapen]

Making the Exarch Take a Break

January's Rambles Day Two

Word count: 1484

Summary: Lyna is frustrated with the Exarch's refusal to take a break. Zaya has a solution for that

Making the Exarch Take a Break

The Captain of the Guard was a regular visitor to the Crystal Tower. Those lingering in the vicinity would see her stride back and forth across the Exedra – often going in with food and reports, and leaving with a face of well-restrained frustration. On days where there was… less restraint, the path to the training grounds was quickly cleared.

Today was one such day.

The Captain had entered the Tower not half a bell prior to walking back out, and the guard on duty was quick to alert his fellows to their superior’s bad mood. Lyna was calculating how many training dummies she could afford to replace, and whether it would be cheaper to just go hunting lingering Sin Eaters, when a pink head appeared at her elbow.

“E-excuse me, Captain Lyna?”

With a deep breath, Lyna turned to the diminutive warrior, not for the first time wondering how so much power managed to fit into such a compact form. “Yes? Is all well, Warrior?”

The girl shook her head, then nodded. “There is nothing wrong, I just… Is all well with you?”

Is my frustration so visible? “I am quite well, Warrior. Thank you for your concern.” Lyna turned away – perhaps I will go hunting, rather than waste Crystarium resources – when the Warrior spoke up once more.

“It’s about Ra – G’r – the Exarch, isn’t it?” Despite her stutter, the Warrior looked both confident and understanding. “He isn’t leaving his books? Only eating when you hand it to him, or only when you’re watching? Tells you he’s gonna rest after this chapter, but doesn’t?”

Lyna paused. “You… sound like you have experience with the Exarch’s habits.”

Then the Warrior did something that showed her true age – she sighed, deep and with a full body slump. “Three hundred years, and some things never change. G’raha Tia is one of the most stubborn, bull-headed scholars I have ever met. He doesn’t listen when you tell him to take a break. Instead, you’ve gotta make him.”

Lyna chuckled despite herself. “Unfortunately, making my Lord Exarch rest appears to be beyond my capabilities.”

“You’re plenty capable, Captain Lyna. You just need to remember…” The Warrior blinked up at her innocently, “He’s not just the Lord Exarch.”

(The guard was frozen in shock. When the Warrior first interrupted the Captain, he was sure he was going to have to cover up a murder. But now the two were smiling, and the Captain… the Captain was chuckling! He glanced up at the blue sky. The Warrior of Darkness truly does perform miracles!)

G’raha looked up from his book, blinking rapidly. “Oh, Lyna. Is it time for dinner already?” He could have sworn she had just been in with his lunch. Reaching out discreetly, he felt at his tea cup. Strange, it’s still warm… “Is there something amiss?”

Lyna shook her head. “No, there is nothing wrong my Lord.”

But there was something. Lyna’s passive face would have fooled anyone else, but he had raised the girl. That glint in her eye was one he hadn’t seen since she became Captain of the Guard – a glint that suggested mischief. But what would have inspired such a –

A blur of pink and black dashed past Lyna, appearing at his side just long enough for him to notice a matching mischievous glint in her glowing eyes, before disappearing. G’raha blinked dumbly at the empty space where his staff once was. Musical laughter drew his attention to the door. Lyna was at least polite enough to try and stifled her chuckles behind a hand, but Zaya was almost howling with mirth, leaning heavily on his purloined staff.

“What… is going on?” He said slowly.

“Well, my Lord,” Lyna began as Zaya waved his staff, “I came to inform you of an opportunistic thief who has been making off with many an important tome and artefact. However, it appears that the thief has followed me here.”

As if on cue, Zaya sprinted out through the Occular, staff now strapped to her back.

G’raha stood in alarm. “Naranzaya Qalli, what do you think you’re –”

“Perhaps you should give chase, my Lord.” Lyna said innocently. For a moment G’raha cursed his height, or the lack thereof. He missed the days she was short enough for him to mess up her hair.

“And why can my Captain of the Guard not deal with such a thief herself?” The Lord Exarch asked archly.

“Unfortunately, my Lord, I have already tried and failed. It seems that I am not skilled enough to catch a thief of such a high calibre. Perhaps you could show me how it is done?” Her salute wasn’t as mocking as her tone.

G’raha pouted in a manner quite ill-suited for the leader of a nation-city. “Fine.” He stalked through the door and into the Occular proper. He was having unwelcome flashbacks to his time with NOAH on the Source. Zaya had performed similar antics during the infiltration of the Crystal Tower – once stealing the book he was reading straight out of his hands, and another time hiding pieces of Allagan technology throughout Mor Dhona as revenge for his own actions prior to their first meeting – claiming that he needed more sunlight and fresh air. Probably the inspiration for her current antics, though how she got Lyna on board was another question. Sneaking a glance up at his granddaughter as he walked past, G’raha admitted that she was probably frustrated enough with him to take Zaya up on her suggestion. She must have also told Lyna the aethersand story, he thought with a shudder, given her ‘opportunistic thief’ comment.  

They found Zaya waiting just outside the Tower doors, leaning on the staff and humming under the startled gaze of the door guard. He looked like he was torn between questioning the Warrior of Darkness as to what she was doing with their Lord’s staff, or deciding that it was all above his pay grade and ignoring her. Upon catching sight of Lyna, he decided on the latter.

“Zaya,” G’raha sighed, “Please give me back my staff.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Does it hurt? Not having it close?”

“… no. On Crystarium grounds, I am able to draw upon the Tower’s power without my staff, though it does act as a focus.” He did consider lying to her, but Zaya would have known. She always knew.

Her head tilted in the other direction. Fangs peeked from the corner of her smile. “Hmm. Come and get it then.”

“Zaya, no!” G’raha darted forward, spoken fingers brushing the end of her long ponytail as she lept down the stairs. He growled, using the momentum to follow the girl as she sprinted into the Rotunda. A bouncy tune drifted over her shoulder as she darted towards the right hand hand stairs. She paused, tail twitching in time with her song, before backtracking, leaping over him with the grace of a dragoon to rush madly up the left hand stairs. G’raha’s robes fluttered around his shins as he ran faster than he had in decades. There was a moment of embarrassment – what would my people think, seeing their leader running around like a reckless kit – before the exhilaration of the chase consumed him.

In the Crystaline Mean, they starteled Katliss as they sprinted past the workshop, G’raha throwing apologies over his shoulder even as he admonished Zaya to be more careful you goblin! Zaya laughed, singing louder.

At the Amaro launch, several of the mounts were startled as the Au Ra girl vaulted over them, G’raha being polite enough to run around rather than through. There was a moment when he thought the chase was over – the railing was at her back, the only way out was through him, and he was ready to catch her should she try to leap over him once more – but that girl, that crazy, reckless girl, leapt off the Amaro launch!

He had to take a moment. Hands griping the railing, G’raha watched as Zaya landed delicately in the Exedra, turn around, and wave. He cursed whoever trained her in the way of the Dragoon – they had to be the ones responsible for her sudden, reckless disregard for gravity.

(A world away, a certain dragoon sneezed. He quickly checked his surroundings – none of that strangely threatening pink or yellow – before deciding to move on anyway. Shouldn’t risk being caught yet again by those two demons.)

Watching that patch of pink and black walk calmly into the Musica Universalis, G’raha startled at the sudden touch to his shoulder.

“You are not any closer to catching the thief, lingering here,” Lyna said with a smirk. “Unless my Lord is too tired to continue the pursuit?”

“Never,” G’raha said, pushing away from the railing, “What kind of example would I be setting for the Crystarium if I were to give up the hunt now?”  

To be continued... maybe

[dei2dei]

Sometimes it's worth establishing limits/constraints on a project just so you can complete it, if completion is more important than anything else. Those constraints can lead you into new creative avenues and honing otherwise neglected/unfamiliar skills. (see: writing flash fiction, which is under 1000 or 1500 words depending on where you are. learning to be brief translates to so many other things, making every word have punch, and if you're trying to do month-long events, that brevity may be key to completing the event)

[thelastharbinger]

something something something loki's love for sylvie more appropriately manifesting as platonic rather than romantic because his love for her is a lesson in healing--particularly the inner child that still holds resentment towards a lying, unaffectionate father. loki's heart breaks for sylvie because it breaks for him too. he sees her and views the version of himself that is still angry and deeply, deeply wounded. his affection stems from the empathy of understanding what it is to have had a narrative for their life controlled/manipulated for them. in their sameness, loki offers the compassion he wishes he would've gotten or would've been able to receive. and because to turn back on her would be to turn back on himself. loki allows himself to be something other than the trickster god he made himself out to be in a desperate plea at taking back control. it is mobius that tells him he can be other than what he was and offers him another mode of survival, all of it a lesson in love. sylvie teaches loki radical self-love, how to show up for himself and others, and mobius is the conduit through which loki practices this healthier way of loving.