#500 words meme

[trek-tracks]

DearTheodosiaMeme.Kirk.jpg

[voidcat-senket]

"Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss"

Spyscrapper #38 "…because they’re running out of time."

but also Altmal #48 "…out of habit."

Spyscrapper #38 "…because they’re running out of time."

He’s not even shaking anymore. Cal sighs out another long, slow breath from where he’s tucked against Bode. He blinks slowly. The orange of his lightsaber reflects on the metal of Bode’s harness buckle, a flicker of flame. They’ve been here two days, in this cave under a lake, the entrance crumbled behind them, sealed in. Two days drinking the trickle that makes it through the impenetrable layers of rock. Three days, no food- but it’s the breath that’s the problem. Soon, they’ll run out of air. He can already feel how every breath feels thready and not-enough, and blinks when the lights seem to dance in his eyes, low as they are. Bode’s chest rises and falls under him. They’ve curled up, ostensibly, for warmth, but it’s the comfort Cal seeks– needs– most, the comfort of another. He might die here, but he won’t die alone. Bode may not be a Jedi, but he is family now, and getting to die with family- that’s something he thought he’d never get to have.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t talk,” Bode mumbles, a divot pressing between his brows. It’s shorthand, by now. ‘Conserve air as long as possible. Don’t talk, don’t exercise. Someone might come. Greez is looking, he’s always looking after you.’

Cal reached for Bode’s hand. Bode’s fingers curl around his, thumb pressed to the ridges of Cal’s knuckles.

“It’s my fault you’re here, that you’ll die here…” He scoots closer, props his chin on their tangled hands so he can look at Bode’s face.” …And despite that, I’m still glad you’re here with me. So I’m sorry.” Bode’s mouth flattens in response, his closed eyes tightening. Bode turns his head, and when he speaks it’s rough with feeling more than disuse. “Scrapper, don’t.”

“I know…” Cal smiles tightly. All things end. He thought he’d have longer. This is a gentle death, as they go. But Bode- has Kata. “I took you away from someone that needs you.”

Bode flinches. He tries to roll over, but he’s weak and Cal is heavier than he looks. 

“I was being selfish. I wanted more time with you to myself.”

Bode’s eyes crack open, and there’s a look of pure, naked fear Cal has never seen there before- a vulnerability he’s never seen before that injects warmth in his veins. His smile gentles as he brushes a tear from the corner of Bode’s left eye. “I guess I took everything that was left.”

Bode twists, dislodging Cal to shove his face into Cal’s chest- hiding against it. Cal blinks up at the ceiling before curling his hand under Bode’s chin and lifting it from him. He props himself up on one elbow and presses forward.

One last wish. His lips meet Bode’s. They’re shockingly soft.

There’s a whiplash crack through his awareness and water floods the room.

Altmal #48 "…out of habit."

He’s tired. He’s tired more than anything, sore from fighting and sorer from the death of so many of his brothers. There’s a pain he can’t handle in his chest, twisted and strange, and for now he can only attribute it to the golden light that Al Mualim had wielded.

Sleeping again in Masyaf feels strange, unreal. He hasn’t been here since he left, his left arm still bloody and bandaged, for Jerusalem. The room he once shared with Altair and Kadar seems far too small for one adult, and he wonders how the three of them ever fit here- not that Altair was supposed to. That boy had had a room of his own. He’d never liked it, though, and he always complained that it was too cold, if asked. If asked why he was sneaking into their room, into their shared pile of blankets on the cot on the floor- when all were asleep.

It’s morning. He should get up. He should assist the survivors with cleanup.

He rode here so quickly yesterday. The fields soaked up so much blood. He slips back into the daze of half-sleep.

Time travels with the sun.

The light leaves his window but still, he hasn’t gotten up. His stomach grumbles, but he ignores it by practice. He’d hear if more fighting was needed. He’d always been able to hear the courtyard from this narrow little window.

He drifts back to sleep. A bird lands on the sill, screeches when it notices him, and flies away. He drifts back to sleep.

There’s a commotion in the yard. The voices are garbled at first, but with careful listening he picks out a tearful reunion. Brothers that had thought each other lost. He drifts back to sleep. A warm body presses under his arm, as Altair and Kadar always used to, one or the other, Altair from late training and Kadar from his midnight walks. He huffs as they squirm to comfort, and kisses the head of hair when it finally stills, as he used to. He drifts back to sleep.

“It’s morning, Malik,” a voice whispers into his ear. His nose scrunches, then his brows, and he rolls away from the intrusion, pulling a thin pillow over his head. “Habibi,” the eagle chuckles, taking the pillow away. “You can’t spend two days in a row in this child’s cot.”

“Then stop me.” He grumbles.

“I’ll tell everyone you kissed me.”

Malik glares. He takes the edge of the sheets and pulls them over his head, resolutely curling up on his side.

Altair laughs as he lifts to his feet and wanders out, closing the door quietly.

Growling, Malik throws the sheets from him and rises. The problem is– Altair would.

[i-am-beckyu]

Writing for me atm be like this:

and this

and also this

Oh and can't forget this!

Yeah writing has been going great recently......

[ariadne-mouse]

(hi! augentrust from main) for the fic writer ask meme -- any from 9, 27, or 30 that you're interested in

best of luck with writing today!

Hiya! *spiderman pointing meme* 😂

9. how long did it take you to write the last fic you posted?

The last fic I posted (the kitchen sink) is a WIP so technically I can't put an end on that yet! The one before that was a mile high, a short little 500 word comedy bit that took me maybe a couple hours between writing and editing.

27. your favorite part of the writing process

hmmm maybe when it's actually finished? 😂 no but probably when I finally get in a groove with a scene and the words actually flow instead of hunting and pecking and reworking every sentence. Ideating is fun and the most low-pressure part of writing but when it's actually turning itself into words is the best.

30. share a fic you're especially proud of

Since we were chatting about Caleb and the impact of Ikithon's trial, I'll give a plug for a man by any other face, which is part polymorph shenanigans as the Luxon intended, but includes a potential look at Caleb's emotional aftermath of the trial and what he may have faced there, especially his own role in wrongdoings, and how he handles that. I am proud of this fic for several reasons but largely because it stayed in the "80% done" stage for an infuriatingly long amount of time and editing was a bitch. Nevertheless, I persisted, etc.

Thanks for the ask, friend, and sending you Fortune's Favor for your own writing!

[lcgacyofages]

thoughts on lucanis 🤭 for ogden

Send me "Thoughts on" + a Character name and my muse will give their opinions of that character.

The inquiry made him fold his arms and lean back in his seat, green eyes looking hazel from beneath his strong brow. He wasn't oblivious as to why they would inquire about that certain member of the team. Didn't mean he would humor them how was expected.

"You want my assessment on Lucanis?" There was that commander tone he had used so often when asked for assessments on warden recruits he had trained. He was all business, not personal. He wasn't about to give them something personal to chew on.

"He is highly skilled and trained in his work. He has an innate ability to detect magic and judging by what I've observed, it can cause something akin to headaches for him," he began. "This ability enables him to track magic like a blood hound. I've seen such an ability with some templars, but that usually requires some sort of use of lyrium to be able to do so. Lucanis doesn't use lyrium, so the question of how he's sensitive to this may be related to other means."

He tapped his hand on the arm of his chair, seeming to be thinking. Thinking about how Lucanis was able to move quickly, and how it was with ease despite the year in captivity. He wondered just how much chaos he raised to be able to still be in form. He was graceful, but there were moments in a split second, it waivered. A distraction; still getting back to his feet...And perhaps something else.

"The issue of Spite," Ogden began, thinking on how to continue. "It's rare for a non-mage to be possessed, merely due to the fact mages are more in touch with the Fade and thus, are beacons for demons who wish to experience the physical plane. But, considering what Zara did and how it was handled, the fact Spite is cooperating with him in a sense instead of having torn his body apart like a husk..." He took a breath, not fond of the image. "It's not unheard of for cooperation and balance to be found between spirits and mortals. I'm just not quite sure what'll take for them to get there."

Ogden leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, knowing this was the part they might be waiting on.

"For a more personal assessment, he is able to meld well with other members of the team...For the most part. He and Davrin have some rocky areas they need to work out, from Lucanis's remarks on Wardens," a wry smile, "to Davrin's remarks about Crows. Whatever the differences are there need to be put to the side. Bickering can happen once this is over and done with. As for how he works with me..."

There was a pause. Some thoughts came to mind, the time shopping in Treviso, the care he'd show when cooking, the way he'd watch other's backs without a second thought...

"We work well together. I know what he's going to do and he knows what I'm going to do. It's a good match; almost second nature when we're working together. Due to his skill along with that, he's probably one of the members I trust with myself out in the field. It's important to have that sort of synchronization to survive."

He leaned back in his chair, resting his arms on the arms of the chair, and steadying his gaze.

"Anything else you want to know?"

It was almost a challenge.

[asexualasshat]

For once, the biggest bitch alive isn’t laying upon my open laptop so maybe I can get some writing done

[void-botanist]

NaNo 23 goals

I'm officially setting my goals for NaNoWriMo this year as follows:

15k: I win!

35k: I win but more

50k: unbelievable. no one has ever won this hard before

[nateslehky]

For the kiss prompt, no. 38!!! for 829

38.…because they’re running out of time.

"Cale, cm'here."

The quiet mumble brushes the edge of Cale's barely awake mind, soft but insistent, coaxing him to consciousness.

"Mhmmm," grumbles Cale.

A weight falls across his back, followed by fingers digging gently into his side, pulling him close. Nate nuzzles into the crook of his neck, his breath warm against Cale's skin as he asks, "Are you awake?"

"No," says Cale groggily, his voice muffled by his pillow.

His dream had been good. It had involved him and Nate, he knows for sure. All the best ones do.

He remembers the warmth of the sun against their skin, Nate's burned a cherry red from its too hot touch. He remembers the creak of wood as they swung on the porch swing at Cale's childhood home. He remembers the feeling of contentment, time stretching before them and behind them, practically infinite.

The taste of coffee still lingers on his tongue and Nate's laugh still echoes in his ear and the breeze still tickles his neck, if he could just fall back asleep--

"I have to leave soon," admits Nate quietly against his collarbone.

"What?" asks Cale, his eyes shooting open, suddenly wide awake. He turns his head until his gaze finds the familiar blue of Nate's irises, feeling himself settle just a little bit, even as his heart continues to beat rapidly in his chest. "What time is it?"

He tries to sit up, reaching for his glasses and scrambling for his phone, but Nate tightens his grip around his side until he settles back down.

"Almost eight," says Nate. "I need to leave by eight thirty."

He doesn't need to say the second half. Cale knew that. Knows that.

He always knows when Nate has to leave.

Cale frowns and gives a little shake of his head. "We were supposed to wake up at six," he says. "I remember setting the alarm. We were supposed to have breakfast, I bought--"

He quiets as Nate reaches a hand between them, the soft pad of his thumb smoothing the crease between his brow. His hand falls to Cale's cheek, cradling Cale's jaw as he leans forward.

The touch of his lips is featherlight, but the weight of the emotions behind it feels heavy.

When Nate pulls back just slightly, his lips still ghosting Cale's, Cale closes his eyes and tries to take a deep breath, but his whole body trembles with it. This never gets any easier.

He presses forward, deepening the kiss to prevent himself from asking Nate to stay. He can't do that. He wouldn't do that.

But still, his fingers twist into Nate's shirt as though his feeble grip will be enough to keep him here, in his bed and at his side, for just a little while longer.

"We were supposed to have more time," he says quietly, his throat clogged with too many emotions to name.

"I know," says Nate. What else is there to say? "I know."

[trash-and-trash-accessories]

tw: suicide, suicidal ideation

not being able to talk to anyone when I feel suicidal - because I could be literally swatted (police wellness check) or involuntarily hospitalized which would ruin my life - is actually a nightmare. Like I would love to just talk to a professional and be able to tell them "I would like very much to die and I could absolutely make that happen" would help my mental health so much but I literally can't do that. Because of the carceral mental health system. And I can't talk to my friends about it because just saying that to your friend who you love can be deeply traumatic for that friend.

Of course I would want my friends to tell me and I would never ever call in a wellness check but I can't trust other people not to do that. Being mentally ill in the US is an absolute nightmare.

[queenharumiura]

‘ comforting ‘    for my muse’s reaction to yours gently wiping their tears away after they’ve been caught crying (From Gokudera as for which verse of ours, you pick)

Taken from meme: [x] ||Accepting|| @whiskeysmulti Note: I chose to go for something with the verse with @signorinavongola's version of them because-- yes. Heh Gotta give that verse some attention to. =w=

-

Haru was crying alone in a room, her attention focused on the item in her hands. A lot of her life had changed when she made the choice to affiliate with the Vongola and leave the life of a regular civilian behind her. Well, it wasn’t like she’d fully committed to it outwardly, considering she’d remained in Japan.

It would’ve been met with a lot of opposition if she tried to become too intimately involved with the Mafia’s activities. If she got too involved, then what was stopping Kyoko from doing the same? Haru remembers mentally rolling her eyes every time that was brought up by a certain older brother Guardian. Well, it’s not like she didn’t understand. Haru could resolve most of their reservations by stating that she could at least act like a civilian outwardly and be something like a liaison based in Japan. Nothing too ‘dangerous’.

Well, that is until they started cleaning some dirty parts of the underground world and found some children in need of a safe place, and that’s when Haru realized this was her calling. She took the children under the wing. Sure, she understood that it could be dangerous, and it would be a lot of work, but she was okay with that.

What was harder for her to get used to was the fact that she had to withdraw away from some others like her friends and family in order to keep them safe from the eyes of anyone with bad intentions towards the survivors of the mafia’s atrocities.

Every couple of months, she’d get delivered a couple handfuls of letters that her parents wrote for her, and she’d always go into a room by herself to read them over and cry. She missed seeing her parents, but she didn’t want any harm to come to them. It was hard, and it was a sacrifice she didn’t foresee having to make, but, she had to make peace with it.

She had resolved to not cut her ties with her childhood best friend, and she wanted to be a source of support for her. Her courageous friends who were trying to do something big and important in the mafia world. She was doing her part with helping the displaced children heal their hearts and find their place in the world that was cruel to them from such a young age. She wanted to allow them to explore their options and find a way to do something good with their lives, to realize there was a lot they could aspire to be… not simply continue the cycle of pain and hatred by getting revenge.

Gently tracing her fingers over the familiar handwriting of her mother’s, she let silent tears fall from her cheeks.

She hadn’t noticed that someone had entered the room after having knocked a few times. She was too focused on the letters to notice she had company until she felt someone’s hand wiping her tears. “!!”

Flinching backwards, she almost swings at the perpetrator until she recognizes the familiar silver hair. Once she does, she closes the letter in her hands. The letters her parents wrote were for her eyes only. “Oh-- Gokudera, when did you get here? Haru’s sorry, she must not have heard you come in.” She sets the letters aside to finish reading them later. She’s not going to address the fact she’d been caught crying.

Plastering her classic smile on her face, “Did you say hello to all the kids already? They love it when you visit, Uncle ‘Grumpy’ they call you in secret, sometimes.” She giggles. “How about you tell me how everyone’s been in Italy?”

[the-capt0r-system]

Pluralkit has been great for organizing our thoughts and determining who was/is who when, can't believe we've been doing this in Tumblr DMs for years now but 95% of the time with images and other people's posts sent to each other instead of actual dialogue lol

Also last night one of our mutuals on TikTok called us "Amy" when we joined her live and it "kind of sounded right," yesterday's system arrangement is remembering, even though that's maybe the first time someone's said that to us. Our display name is just the full name of the main character in one of the books from the obscure Christian series we liked as a kid/A still likes and we forgot her name for like maybe a decade due to losing our copy of this book lol but still apparently past versions of us are like "hm yes this is familiar"...before we were even into fandom we wrote fanfiction about Amy and invented a character named Emily similar to her and wrote her into the universe

[sae-mian]

❛ just relax and let me take care of you. ❜

For the writing prompts, for whomever comes to mind. <3

aaaa thank you!!! now i have to figure out how i want to actually.. format these...

TIMELINE: ballad WHEN: patch 5.5 WHO: nira'sae/g'raha SUMMARY: a moment after they returned from paglth'an sporting some fresh injuries.

┈┈┈┈┈❀┈┈┈┈┈

They thought they'd done pretty well, all things considered.

It was their first real taste of combat outside of sparring since they'd recovered from their... incident, at the tower. The Scions had done everything they could to ensure they were prepared - geared them, lectured them, subjected them to hours of training - but the world wouldn't wait forever.

Fandaniel didn't seem eager to wait at all.

But no amount of preparation could make up for almost a decade of missing experience. So... they took a few hits.

It was nothing major, by their standards. The "Lunar Ifrit" had been mean as all Hell, but, they were sure they'd fought worse before. An errant swipe had come out lower and faster than they expected, catching them across the thigh - shaken for just a moment too long, they stumbled, and one swipe cascaded into two, giving them a matching gash across their hip and abdomen.

All of which had led them here, to the room they'd been given in the Hourglass, getting ready to dress down and address the damage. They could very well have done more on the journey over - but as they'd told Alisaie - keeping Arenvald stable was the priority, at the time. They should have known better than to think she'd let that slide.

There was a knock at the door.

Hurriedly grabbing a robe to throw on, shirtless as they now were, they braced themself for a renewed lecture.

"Uh- come in?"

It wasn't their little Elezen friend that opened the door, however.

Instead, G'raha Tia made his way through the threshold, looking about as pleased as Alisaie had been.

"Nira'sae." he greeted, sounding far more stern than they were used to.

They wrapped the robe a little tighter.

"H-hi-- um. Is everything alright?"

"It was brought to my attention that you didn't return entirely unscathed."

Ah. She'd ratted them out.

He was before them, now. Arms folded with the manner of one scolding a child.

"Well, no, b-but..."

"Let me see."

"I-it's okay-- I'll deal with it."

"Nira'sae."

For someone that had just fought through a veritable legion of tempered Imperials, and bested some new amalgamation of Primal, they found they really had no backbone at all.

They slowly untied and shrugged off the robe, letting it hang from their elbows. It was blood-stained, now. Oops.

G'raha's face immediately softened into gentle concern. He stepped closer, leaning in to get a better look - it took all their resolve not to take a step back in turn, cheeks starting to colour.

They stared pointedly at the wall until he tutted, straightening.

"Sit down. I'll handle this."

It wasn't a question. He was already taking off his gloves. They opened their mouth to argue, but he cut them off.

"Oh, and take those off."

He was gesturing to their pants. Without the robe, the tear in them was fairly obvious. Their ears pinned back, a mild sense of panic and anticipation mixing in the pit of their stomach.

"I don't-- you don't have to, I can--"

"No, but I'd like to."

"B-but--"

His hand found one of theirs.

"Honestly, Nira..." his voice was quieter now - chiding but gentle, "...just relax, and let me take care of you. Okay?"

Their heart was racing in their chest, all nerves and butterflies, but when he squeezed their hand...

They found themselves nodding anyway.

[distortedclouds]

[averysmolkirbo]

Never understood the emphasis of length requirements in school. like why should i focus on length?? Shouldnt i focus on quality??

i feel like 9/10 it happens where you cant reach the word count, but youve already expressed all your ideas in full, so you have to go back and artificially bloat up all your good writing with a bunch of fluff and filler garbage that just blurs the main focus

my cold take is dont write for length, write for however long it takes to make your point clear

[lifeonthemurdersim]

HAPPY FUCKING HALLOWEEN!

I'm not sure I'll have many takers on this but to finish off GoreKinktober I want to play a game...

🕸Send me TRICK and a character/characters/ship and I'll write a gorey short piece!

OR

🕸Send me TREAT and a character/characters/ship and I'll write a smutty short piece!

Due to the content and because this is a MDNI account, 18+ askers and characters only please! If you want to add an additional prompt/theme then that would be great as it gives me more to work from!

People are welcome to reblog and do the same!

[themuseoftheviolets]

why did i abandon this fic its so fun