#creative writing exercise i guess?

[lcewarden]

when my family first moved to Texas they splurged on a house with a backyard pool (admittedly every house in the neighborhood was bougie as fuck -- my parents were interested in the school district more than anything else, and being a good school, housing in the area was expensive). the first year we lived there we all had a good time in the backyard pool, even my mom who couldn't swim enjoyed hanging out in the shallow end.

we bought the house around 2006-07, the housing crash happened in 08. mom lost her job. dad had to work longer hours and the company dumped shitty work on him. as my parents and myself got busier, we stopped using the pool. i went to middle school and my flippant "I don't need to study and can still pass the tests" attitude, which worked in elementary school, stopped working, and I wouldn't be diagnosed with ADHD until 15 years later. dad was working twelve hour days, six days a week. mom still couldn't swim.

to keep costs down dad fired the mowers and the poolboy service (we didn't contract them, they served the previous residents and when we moved in they were like "should we keep coming" and my dad said "sure why not"). taking care of the pool consisted of skimming the leaves and big debris off the top, running the pool vac for dust, checking the pump, taking leaves out of the basket filter, refilling the water, refilling the chlorine, refilling the other pool chemicals that kept the chlorine stable, and occasionally powerwashing the main filter.

some fun facts about pool chemistry: you can either use saltwater or chlorinated water to keep algae out of the water. keeping algae out is important cause dead algae clog up the pumps and shit (and are also toxic, depending on the algae), and also you don't want a live ecosystem in your pool cause bacteria and stuff. i'm not familiar with saltwater pool chemistry; we did chlorine. now raw chlorine under the hot sun (well UV light specifically) breaks down pretty fast, so you want to bind it to something so it doesn't break down as fast, but binding the chlorine also makes it unavailable for breaking down bacteria, so it's a balancing act between keeping chlorine available and keeping chlorine durable. you have to manage the pH, partially for chlorine stability and partially just because swimming around in something acidic is bad for the health. theres actually some pretty fun chemistry that goes into this, but basically if shit looks wrong (or just every season) you take out your pH strips and sample tubes and check chlorine levels, pH, etc.

this was, as you'd imagine, a non-trivial amount of work, and my dad spent his precious time off work tending to this pool no one used: an hour or sometimes two, sliding the pool vac around the plaster floor, skimming the leaves, as the shadows grew longer and the sun slid lower. i would watch him out the window from the living room, where my computer was, glancing over my shoulder now and then to make sure my mom wasn't watching me procrastinate. sunset was behind the fence, so i couldn't see the sun dip below the horizon. but i could see it getting darker.

the previous residents kept a garden in the backyard, full of flowers i couldn't name but still vaguely remember: these big two-three foot tall things that bloomed red and orange, and some flowering vines crawling up arch-shaped trellises. none of us had a green thumb; the tall flowers died on their own. the vines persisted, though without bloom, until one day my dad decided they were a nuisance and cut them all down. so the flowerbeds were all empty dirt and the trellises laid bare, slowly rusting.

worst part is that you can't even get rid of it. well, we couldn't get rid of ours, specifically. you'd think "why not just drain the pool", but you can't, is the thing. it's embedded in the ground, it's not one of those aboveground ones. it had a curved bottom and plaster casing and, apparently, was only designed to work under water pressure. draining the pool meant the pressure would be too low, and the plaster would crack. (you'd think "okay why not just put a tarp over the filled pool" and, uh, i don't know honestly? my first guess: it's not a rectangular pool, it's got this weird eggplant shape with a circular jacuzzi raised and to the side, and laying tarp over that would be difficult. second: texas gets deep freezes sometimes and still water would freeze and crack the plaster. suffice it to say, at any rate, that we neither drained nor tarped over the pool, and thus had to take care of it.) of course, removing the pool entirely would be nontrivially expensive, cause you'd have to dig the whole damn thing up, disconnect the water lines, the power too (for the pumps, the lights, etc).

i moved out a few years ago. my dad used to say that when i moved out, he'd sell the house and move to a smaller apartment. but he kept the house, and the pool, and is trying to run the whole property by himself, under the stubborn belief that if he prays hard enough i'll come back to him, and he wants to keep the house ready for my return. i don't plan on doing so.

so, unused backyard pools as a symbol of upper-middle-class wastefulness, conformity, and posturing ... i can believe that.

i was going to post just a screenshot of the title as a joke but i kept reading and now i’m completely floored by this theory

[starry-bi-sky]

Danyal Al Ghul's missed potential - this kid is not gonna behave like his canon self if he's with the league of assassins until his late formative years, and my reasoning why

(feel free to take this all with a grain of salt this is just my thoughts on it, this is all mostly amusing to me and isn't trying to be negative towards anyone else)

similar to how i was talking about how danny growing up in crime alley would affect him, demon twin aus with danyal al ghul make me laugh a lot (affectionate) because... whose teaching danny to unlearn all the ecofascism he picked up from the league of assassins? whose teaching him to be kind? to be gentle? Not the LoA thats for certain.

(you could plausibly say Jazz but she's only 2 years older than Danny and do you really expect a fellow child to properly explain why X is wrong to another child and have it be 100% effective? i don't doubt it'd help to an extent, but not in the same way an adult explaining it would)

plus a ton of other things, like whose teaching him to value human life? not the LoA. Whose teaching him how to adjust to living with American society after he ends up with the Fentons when he's 8-9-10? Who teaches him that killing is wrong, whose enforcing that?

(not the Fentons if you're going the neglectful parent route, and Jazz can try but i really don't think Danny is going to listen to her, a stranger who isn't even part of his grandfather's league)

How do you teach a child to value human life when the greatest development window for that opportunity has closed and he's already formed his own opinions?

You're not gonna get a Danny whose exactly like his canon attitude if he's staying with the league during his formative years (0-8 years old). you're not. You could get someone LIKE it, potentially, or someone who has traces of it or is similar -- like danny's wit and jokes and sarcasm, and on some level his kindness. but you're not gonna have a carbon copy. Development doesn't work that way. "nature" can only do so much in the face of nurture.

If anything, it doesn't even have to be a major change -- in the league he cans till be kind, but it's probably going to manifest in a different way than what is considered normal. Tough love, for one. But there's gonna be something that affects him negatively. Why make him 'always good/kind' when you can make him a brat who develops into a kinder (if spikier than in canon) person?

TLDR: Danyal Al Ghul would not be like how he is in canon if he's with the league until his late formative years -- not without any lasting pr permanent impacts from the league at least. Missed potential to make him an absolute nightmare like damian was -- especially in his early years when he first arrived to the Fenton house.

(this doesn't apply to danyal al ghul aus where he's either given to the fentons as a baby/is reincarnated/etc. this is mostly aimed for danyal al ghul aus where he fakes his death at like, 7-10 and somehow ends up, personality-wise like his completely canon self by 14 without any differences.)

(and even then if he's five or four, or even three, he would still be traumatized and influenced by the league. he'll just have more time to adjust. the sooner he leaves the league the more likely he is to be like his canon self, but not like an exact copy)

(more under the cut)

Anyways what I'm saying is that there is prime missed Danyal al Ghul potential to make him an absolute NIGHTMARE to the Fentons however way he ends up with them, just like Damian was with the Waynes! Cuz why does Damian get all the fun? Danny got the same training and endoctrine as him! He is also an ex-assassin! Why is Danny the only one who is 'well adjusted and non-violent' hm? Hmm?

Why can't he also be mean, and stabby, and a total stuck-up in some way or another? Have fun with his characterization, its prime opportunity to play play-doh and clay with him! If he starts out as X how does he get the personality traits of Y, and thus become XY?

Like take this with a grain of salt if you will, but make him arrogant. Make him an asshole! Make him a bad person at first! Because he will be! He's the blood son of the batman and you mean to tell me that damian is the only one arrogant about it at first? Make him stabby and mean even at 14 when he's begun to chill out! Have fun with it! If he's with the Fentons at any point past the age of four or five then he's gonna be a nightmare to handle because he still remembers the league and his time there.

(and while it gives him more time to chill the hell out, his time at the league is still gonna leave an impact on him.)

also what im saying as well is have him and sam potentially get along like a house on FIRE. Again, Danny grew up under the views of an ecofascist cult and nobody to challenge those views to him until he got to amity park at whatever age in late formative years he was at. He could be about as intense or even MORE intense about environmental awareness/rights than Sam is!

(also him being supremely unimpressed with Sam's wealth. he gave up a palace in the mountains for this town. because that's funny to me - like let his past have more influence on him! it'll be fun!)

you could have a danny who doesn't kill but doesn't fully understand the value of human life because jazz is like two years older than him and isn't that good at explaining why people's lives are important. he won't kill but he's not morally opposed to it. there's very little chance he actually gets bullied at school because he nearly killed Dash the first time he tried anything.

Danny could have scars, physical ones, because its implied in multiple canon that training starts at toddling (my best bet is 3 at minimum and ~maybe~ 2 but only on the later side of 2. Good fucking luck getting any infant under 2 to do anything you ask, ESPECIALLY assassin training. They're gonna stick the weapon in their mouth sooner than they're gonna do katas. This is coming from a daycare teacher.)

there's more examples of how danny being at the league during his formative years would affect him, but those are just some of them. he could have a sword! An appreciation for weaponry and nature. Maybe he still speaks all shakespearan and formal, does he still make bodily threats to people? If Damian is still threatening people at 14 why can't danny?

[atlantis-just-drowned]

It’s something as simple as that: one of my earrings broke yesterday.

I realised this when I took it off to go to bed and the pendant was gone. Simply disappeared. Like that, out of the blue.

I had this pair for more than a year, some crappy fake-metal little loop with a cross I had found at Claire’s. For a year, I had been wearing them from time to time. And now one of them was broken.

I didn’t really complain – I just gave a half-hearted ‘aw’ and a pout before turning the lights off and going to sleep. I was honestly surprised by how long it has remained in one piece, for something so cheap, after the countless times I had them on while moving, dancing, spinning, jumping – living.

Strange, how such a small, simple, silly thing as an earring could witness so much changes in its ridiculously short life. I had bought those before my ears got pierced again, the small holes healed after years of refusing to put on anything that would feel feminine. But at that time I wanted to pierce them again, and thus had started buying earrings for a close future where I would finally be myself. Now I have an orphan earring, sitting alone in the middle of my jewellery.

I wonder if a part of this period died with one of its witnesses. I didn’t even like this pair that much anymore, it already belonged to the past. But now that it truly isn’t here anymore, it feels like a part of this past disappeared with it. Maybe it truly did.

Well, time passes I guess. I bought new earrings, I wore new clothes, I met new friends. That’s how changes always happen: one second, you’re this person, and then without a warning, appearing like a sunrise, a new version of you emerges and laughs and smiles and lives. You don’t even remember the previous colour of your bedroom’s walls, or the fact that your furnitures used to be arranged in a different way. It just kind of happened.

Yesterday feels like an eternity ago. When I searched for the perfect necklace this morning, I saw the broken little loop of metal, and it clicked. Oh, that right. It broke yesterday. I forgot they were even here. Or used to be.

One day, I’ll forget they ever existed. Just like anything that fades away with time, it’ll feel like a big deal, like something is missing, for a while; and then the feeling will go away, and I’ll move on. There won’t be anything except these words to remind me of its existence, and I’ll keep on living.

It’s something as simple as that: I’ll be okay.

[suddencolds]

~

[quatregats]

Trying to write Hornblower in the style of Patrick O'Brian truly one of the most harrowing experiences I have subjected myself to ever

[pritvolny]

nikolai dialogue is so easy, just imagine the most insufferable man on planet and give him a voice—

[translucio]

i do think it's a very intriguing and fun writing style and it would be fun to try writing in it. also... (embarrassing) i dont really care about or engage with shipping in any media (even if i enjoy certain pairings - i just dont really participate in "fandom" much these days) BUT. i see the appeal in kimharry now. i GET it now. and i do feel a bit of that desire to see/create more content with them... i haven't written fic in several years but a small part of me does want to try writing an epilogue in that style. maybe even a twine game to make it interactive.......

[what-even-is-thiss]

Brian David Gilbert accidentally reinventing ska aside, I do wonder why there was barely any new music written after the 1960s in the fallout universe. To the point where people in the wasteland aren’t just listening to 200 year old music but 300 year old music. During fallout 4 if you’re listening to diamond city radio when the one original song comes on Travis freaks out because he’s not used to playing tracks by people that are still alive.

If I’m gonna come up with an in-universe explanation I might guess that it’s an extreme example of what might happen if a nation devalues art to the point that cultural stagnation occurs.

Creativity is so discouraged in favor of science, warfare, engineering, and mathematics that nothing new gets produced. Old patterns for clothes are used for over 100 years, hairstyle books and learning materials are never updated, almost no new music is written. Deviating even slightly from American exceptionalism and style is heresy. New ideas outside of the sciences are stupid and to be mocked. What few artists remain just learn how to recreate what’s already been done.

I mean a vault full of musicians wasn’t even a control vault. There was no real effort to preserve musical knowledge. They were subjects in a mind control experiment.

And this attitude gets carried into the big afterwards. After the Great War all that several generations have ever known is the devaluing of creativity and new ideas. And everyone is too tired and focused on survival to try anything new.

So Magnolia writing new music? That’s weird. That’s really weird. It’s been weird for over 300 years at that point.

And if I’m remembering correctly, the only people you meet in the games writing poetry are writing really bad poetry. But in this sort of context, that makes sense. There’s this idea in writing circles that when you take a long break from writing you need to allow yourself some time to write very badly in order to clean the garbage out of your brain and get your creativity muscles exercised again.

The fallout universe is experiencing this on a global massive societal scale. Jerry the Punk writing bad poetry comparing a girl to a deathclaw and Beatrice writing a bad poem about being stuck underground is a sign of slow but steady healing. The fallout world is getting a lot of garbage out of its system from over 300 years of cultural stagnation and learning how to make stuff again.

[hotheadedhero]

Not sure if you're taking requests so feel free to ignore this, but I was wondering how the 2012 turtles would react to an S/O that swears a lot 🤣

My first ever request! And an absolutely hilarious one at that 😂 I love this so much, thank you! This is right up my street!

S/O that swears... a lot

Warnings: bad language but you coulda guessed that :]

2012 Turtles x Reader

Leonardo

He loves you but he wishes you didn't have such a vulgar tongue. This poor guy has no idea what to do, in all honesty. Leo isn't even sure if there's anything he can do. You swear when you're happy just as much as when you're upset.

There's nothing malicious in the way you go about it. He knows this and he knows you harbour no ill intent but he will try to coerce you into at least swearing less. Unfortunately, he realises that this is a futile attempt given it's practically your second language.

Eventually, he learns to suck it up and gets used to it because, gosh darn, he just loves you that much.

Raphael

Doesn't even bat an eye considering his family has to interrupt him before he speaks crudely. He doesn't get why. They're just words with negative associations, after all. The two of you are a massively bad influence on each other, unintentionally encouraging the other to exercise their foul mouth.

It certainly makes banter very interesting, to which the rest of the Hamato family are made either uncomfortable or concerned. Raph has no idea what the problem is. Minus their father, they all grew up in New York, for crying out loud!

At least you two get each other in that respect.

Donatello

May occasionally flinch with the odd swear here and there but doesn't seem to mind too much overall. Even he has some colourful expressions of his own. Sure, his own versions of obscenities are very much more family-friendly but he kind of gets it. "By Darwin's beard" is a prime example.

Donnie isn't one to frequently budge at your choice of vocabulary but he'd be lying if he said he isn't impressed with your creativity.

"What the fuck?! Pavlov's dog could figure this shit out!"

As crass as it is, that might be a personal favourite that often has him humoured.

Michelangelo

Incredibly shocked at first but he doesn't think any differently of you. This guy does not care one bit. You could have two heads and that wouldn't change a thing. At the end of the day, he loves you no matter what.

Someone may need to keep an eye on things, however. Don't forget - Mikey is impressionable when it comes to phrases, let alone the profanities that carelessly fall past your lips. If he's to accidentally repeat one of these words, it's not just his brothers you'll need to worry about getting an earful from.

Splinter will be all up in your case, so be mindful if you want to avoid a stern lesson in the dojo.

Also, just to put it out there, I'm happy to take requests! Just headcanons for now, however. I have so many stories to write and want to get them out before taking on ideas from all you lovelies :)

[kawareo]

8, 33, 37 & 39 for the tav/durge party banter asks? 👀

8. Companion/romance death reactions

Romanced: "No! Not you, not yet!" "Shit!"

Not Romanced: "No wonder Withers stays with us, with all the business we give him." "HA!" "Oh dear. ... Have we agreed on who gets their armor?"

33. Party banter with Minthara

"You fight well, for a jaluk." "You fight well too; for someone who begged for our help after we kicked her arse."

"Say, Minthy, you ever get tired of being so full of yourself?" "Not as far as I remember - you might wish to try that, sometimes." "Har har, let's make fun of the amnesiac again. So creative." "Have you ever been in the Underdark, Strike? You do claim to be a drow, don't you?" "In theory. And yes, it wasn't much to look at." "Your ears twitch when you lie, in case you haven't noticed." "Shit, they do??" "No. But now you gave yourself away." "Oh fuck off." He doesn't like her, that's the main reason why he's on the side of the grove in act 1.

37. How would they respond to a player character prompting them with, "Tell me about yourself"?

"Which one of us has amnesia, captain? I'm a blank slate, in case that somehow slipped your hole-free brain. Or did you want me to do an exercise in creative writing?" He takes it as you mocking him so you get a disapproval

39. If romanceable, what lines would they say if a player character prompted them with, "Can I kiss you?"

"Thought we were past the point of asking." tries to play it off cool but he's into it

"Really?? Now?" as he's already moving towards them.

"What, you think there's a chance I'd say no, captain?" as he swoops them up (if they're smaller body type. If they're a small race, he kneels, for big body types, he steps closer and on his toes)

"If that's an order, I guess so~" same as previous

[atlantis-just-drowned]

He couldn’t hold his tears back. His hand laid on their cheek – they looked at him almost the same way they always looked, their expression cold, neutral, if it wasn’t for the discrete, practically unnoticeable tension of their features. Sorriness. They were sorry. He could feel it as if it was his own heart tightening in his chest.

Oh, how bad he wished to tell them they didn’t have to be sorry. That it wasn’t their fault. But he couldn’t let his mind linger on the feeling without addressing every other hurt. There was so much to say. And no words to describe the loneliness and despair stabbing at every part of his body and mind. It was cryogenic liquid burning his insides. Pressing against his lungs until he would choke. And it was imprisoned in his core, chained to his soul and wrapped in satin-like silence.

What was there to do, except to shed every tear he possessed? He couldn’t imagine any single way to describe it. He could only cry and scream for all of eternity in a desperate attempt to relieve the monster clawing at his heart. But even then, his eyes would dry up and his breath would go missing before the ache would subside. And it would never be enough.

He wondered when did they stop crying. He wished he has known. He wished he has been here for them sooner; before they grew used to it. But he knew even then, he couldn’t have fixed it. Just like he couldn’t now. There was no escaping it.

“You’re…” He started before choking up a sob. Looking up at them and to the ground again as he felt himself tremble and struggled to articulate the words. “You’re in… so… much… pain…!”

Two hands came up to cup his face and tilt it up as he kept crying and crying. He couldn’t stand so much sorrow. How could they? How had they been able to keep going when their chest weighted heavier than a cold star?

When he looked at them again, a smile lit up weakly on their face, and inside of him, he felt the tiniest warmth spark – so small compared to the cold and the darkness that tried to engulf it, but so, so powerful. His gaze was frantic, desperately searching for a way to keep this relief – or was it love? – alive. For a way to make it grow big enough to eclipse the hurt forever. But there wasn’t such thing. There would never be.

His face twisted into a pained frown as he felt both of their thumbs wipe away his tears – trying to reassure him, trying to keep the misery at bay, to hide it away from him – and their eyes bore into his.

“Hush.” They smiled gently. “No reasons to cry. There will be brightness forward.”

They said it with this distant, hesitating hope that they were right. Like they refused to believe it too much. In case they would be wrong.

With all the grief and ache of their pierced heart, they looked at him like they were going to make things better, and they whispered.

“The past is behind us. We need to keep moving. Otherwise we won’t see the beauty ahead.”

And oh. He loved them. More than ever, he loved them.

[gilbertscurls]

Classroom Competition ➵ Matt Sturniolo

synopsis: two rival English teachers, you and Matt, challenge each other to an end-of-year competition to see whose class will come out on top.

You stood at the front of your classroom, flipping through the stack of essays your students had turned in earlier that week. The air was thick with the smell of freshly sharpened pencils and the quiet hum of focused minds. Your students were finishing a timed writing exercise, and you could already tell from the intensity in their eyes that they were giving it their all.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Your class was doing great this semester. They were engaged, improving their writing skills daily, and, most importantly, they were enjoying the material. You had spent weeks perfecting your lesson plans, making sure they were creative and challenging. But in the back of your mind, there was always one nagging thought.

Matthew.

Your fellow English teacher—and academic rival.

Victoria had been teaching at Somerville High for two years now, and ever since you and Matt had both started in the same semester, a silent, unspoken competition had brewed between you. You both taught sophomore English, and though you never directly confronted each other about it, there was a clear rivalry between you to see who could get the highest test scores, who could make reading Shakespeare fun, and who could inspire their students the most.

It wasn’t that Matt was a bad teacher. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was too good. Charismatic, engaging, and with an ability to make even the most mundane literature seem exciting, he was loved by students and teachers alike. His reputation for getting the highest standardized test scores among his classes wasn’t lost on you either.

But you weren’t about to let him overshadow you.

The bell rang, and your students handed in their essays on the way out. You were just gathering your things when the door to your classroom swung open. Speak of the devil.

“Y/N,” Matt greeted you with a casual smirk, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You busy?”

You looked up, narrowing your eyes. “What do you want, Matt?”

“I just thought I’d swing by and see how your class is doing,” he said, his voice smooth. “You know, make sure everything’s running smoothly on this side of the English department.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up the stack of essays. “My class is doing just fine, thank you.”

“Of course they are,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. He glanced around, taking in your meticulously organized classroom. “I’m sure you’re drilling those essays into them like always.”

You bristled at the jab but kept your tone light. “Maybe, but at least my students know how to structure an argument properly. I’ve heard yours are still struggling with thesis statements.”

Matt chuckled, clearly not offended. “Oh, they’ve got it down. But I prefer to focus on more… Creative approaches to writing. You know, things that get students to think outside the box.”

“Right,” you said, leaning back against your desk. “And that’s why your students are always scrambling the day before exams, right?”

He shot you a look, but his smile never wavered. “Hey, it works for them.”

You had this same back-and-forth at least once a week. It wasn’t mean-spirited, but there was definitely an underlying tension in your conversations. And today, you were determined to win this round.

“Speaking of exams,” you said casually, “did you see the test scores from last week’s assessment?”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “I did. Pretty solid across the board. How about yours?”

You grinned. “Best in the department.”

For the first time, Matt’s smirk faltered just slightly, and it was all the satisfaction you needed.

“Congrats,” he said, a little less cocky now. “Guess I’ll have to step up my game.”

“Guess so,” you said sweetly.

He crossed his arms, clearly not ready to back down entirely. “Well, if we’re being competitive, how about we up the stakes?”

You eyed him warily. “What kind of stakes?”

“An end-of-year competition,” he suggested, leaning against one of the student desks. “Your class versus mine. Whoever gets the highest overall grade average wins.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly does the winner get?”

Matt thought for a moment, then his grin returned. “Bragging rights. For the whole summer. And…” he paused for dramatic effect, “the loser has to buy the winner coffee every morning for a week.”

You crossed your arms, biting your lip as you considered the offer. It was a ridiculous bet, but there was something thrilling about it. And if you were being honest with yourself, you liked the competition with Matt. It kept you on your toes, made you push yourself harder. Plus, the thought of beating him, once and for all, was too tempting to resist.

“Deal,” you said, stepping forward and offering your hand.

Matt’s smile widened as he took it. “Deal.”

The rest of the semester flew by, and true to your word, both you and Matt ramped up your efforts to make your classes the best they could be. You spent countless hours refining your lesson plans, coming up with creative writing prompts, and working one-on-one with students who needed extra help. You weren’t just teaching to win the bet—you genuinely cared about your students’ success—but knowing that you had a competition with Matt made you push even harder.

On the other side of the hallway, Matt was doing the same. He organized debate competitions, hosted creative writing workshops, and even incorporated poetry slams into his curriculum. His students adored him, and he had a way of making literature come alive in a way that was different from your more structured approach.

By the time the end of the year rolled around, both teachers were anxiously awaiting the results. Final grades were submitted, and the last week of classes was a blur of goodbyes and final projects.

You were standing in the teacher’s lounge, tapping your foot impatiently as you waited for the principal to post the final grade averages. Matt stood beside you, leaning casually against the wall, looking far too relaxed for your liking.

“Nervous?” he asked, glancing over at you.

“Not at all,” you lied, crossing your arms. “Just ready to win.”

Matt chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

The principal finally walked in, holding the final grade reports. She posted the averages for each class on the board, and you felt your heart race as you scanned the numbers. Your class had done incredibly well, but so had Matt’s.

It was close. Really close.

In the end, Matt’s class edged yours out by a mere half a percentage point.

You let out a frustrated sigh, crossing your arms as Matt grinned triumphantly beside you.

“Looks like I’ll be expecting that coffee next week,” he said, his tone dripping with smugness.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Matt chuckled, stepping closer, his voice softening just a little. “You know, this whole rivalry thing—it’s fun.”

You glanced up at him, your heart doing an unexpected little flip. “Yeah. It is.”

For a moment, you stood there, the usual tension between you shifting into something else—something that felt less like competition and more like connection.

“So, what’s next?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Matt grinned. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

And as you walked away, you couldn’t help but wonder if this competition of yours was just beginning—only now, the stakes felt a little higher.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom

[zahmaddog]

Part 1: Making Friends on Pabu

Quick summary: You're new to Pabu and looking for a new start. You meet the Bad Batch under some. unusual circumstances, and Crosshair immediately stands out to you as handsome and someone you can trust. ---

This is my first stab at some fan fiction. It's fluffy AF and probably mostly safe for work? I'll list my "warnings" below as I've seen in other posts. The whole team (except Tech) is in the story, but it's mainly focused on Crosshair. Crosshair x fem!reader | Word count: 3,016ish. Warnings: Alcohol, Flirting, Gun Fire, but it's pretty SFW. I might write more and I'm just letting myself write whatever, so who knows, it could get NSFW later. So don't get hooked on this story if you're underaged. Lmao, but I'm really not that confident in my writing. It was a fun exercise and felt a bit like journalling. I haven't just, written for fun like this since creative writing in high school over a decade ago. I'd like a fresh start on Pabu. Lmao. I hope you all enjoy. I really liked reading the fan fiction I could find from other Clone enthusiasts on here. Ya'll are a cool bunch of people.

The mercenaries were right; Pabu could be the means of a fresh start. You had cut ties with nearly everyone you knew, took your shares of the earned bounties, bought a ship, and then bought a boat. 

Out on the water, you sailed until you couldn’t see the island any longer. You cranked up your club music to an ungodly level, poured yourself a drink, and kicked back under the stars. 

It doesn’t get anymore remote than this, you thought to yourself. You let your heavy eyes close and you faded into a deep sleep; your body recognized it hadn’t felt this safe in years. You slept through the night and into the late hours of the morning.

—-

“Is all that noise coming from that ship?” Omega looked at Crosshair. 

“Uh-huh.” He scowled and squinted his eyes to examine the ship on the morning horizon.

“Well, we’re not going to catch any fish at this rate. They should know not to be so noisy this early… Or ever.” Omega continued. “I guess we can turn the engine back on and see what’s going on with that ship.”

Omega ignited the ship’s engine and steered the bow to the mysterious vessel. The water was smooth in the early hours. The sun reflecting off each wave and rock on the sea. Crosshair enjoyed these early mornings with Omega. Sometimes Wrecker would join, but as he had become a staple in the Pabu fishing crowd, he found himself surrounded with friends easily. Crosshair, still silent and stoic in most circles, often stayed with his family.

“Hey!” Omega called out to the ship. “You’re scaring off all the fish!” She steered her ship parallel and killed the engine. The music’s thumping bass pulsed through the water, shaking their ship.

“This is louder than 79’s,” Crosshair yelled to Omega.

“What? What’s 79’s?” Omega yells back.

“A club!” Crosshair tries to be heard over the booming bass.

“A club, like to hit something with?” Omega was confused. Crosshair just shook his head, not wanting to scream over the music a third time. He looked over into the ship to see you, motionless through the music. He and Omega shared a concerned glance that you were perhaps dead and floating out on the waters of Pabu alone. Omega jumped into your boat, racing over to your side to see if you were alive. 

She touches your shoulder, which sends you from your deep sleep into a panic. You grab your gun off the side table out of instinct, but before you can turn back, you hear a blaster fire; then you fade back asleep. —

You awake again, still on your boat. The music had stopped. Your head pulsing with every heartbeat. The world spun; the ship gently rocked back and forth. You clasped your head in your hands as you swung your legs to the side of the beach chair to sit up properly.

“Did you stun me?” You looked at the young blonde stranger on your ship. You felt at ease seeing that only a child had climbed aboard.

“I did.” A voice behind you hissed. You spun around to see a tall, thin, but built man leaning against the rails of your ship. 

You raise an eyebrow as you look back and forth between the two invaders. Their eyes, similar in shape and color, you asked the young woman, “Is he your father?”

“Father?” She said back with a confused face. “No, I’m Omega, and this is my brother, Crosshair.”

You look back at the man. Crosshair nodded in your direction to acknowledge his introduction. His eyes, mysterious and dark, studied your figure. You followed the outline of his jaw to his lips, which pursed a toothpick. Crosshair was deeply handsome. You turned your attention back to Omega.

You whispered to her, “Is your brother single?” Omega, turning confused towards you again, “What do you mean is he single?” Omega stammered at a normal volume. 

“Shhh!” You put your finger to your lips and hush her softly through a laugh. “Geez, kid. Relentless.”

You look back at Crosshair, who had obviously heard Omega repeat what you asked. His eyes narrowed and he looked at you suspiciously. 

“Anyway, I’m sorry to have woken in such a fright. I came out here to be alone.” You rebroke the awkward conversational ice.

“Obviously.” Crosshair rolled his eyes at your remark.

“We’re out here fishing. Your music was really loud, so we came over to ask if you could turn it down.” Omega explained.

“Oh.” You nodded back. “I’m sorry for all the noise. I guess I fell asleep.” “How do you sleep through all of that?” Omega questioned.

“I didn’t think I would drift off to it. I guess I was that tired.” You apologized.

“Well, don’t bother us again.” Crosshair flicked his toothpick in your direction and jumped into he and Omega’s ship. 

“Sorry, he’s pretty… severe in nature, as my other brother would say.” Omega whispered in your direction. “Do you live here on Pabu?”

You shrugged and began, “I–” “Omega! Let’s get back to work!” Crosshair called from their ship. “Sorry, gotta complete this morning’s mission.” And with that, Omega ran to the railing and hopped to her ship. “I’ll see you around, right?” Crosshair hit the throttle and they were off. Omega waved goodbye to you and then cast a net out for fishing. You watched the pair accelerate away, leaving you alone. You looked to your chair-side table to see your pistol missing. “Dammit, he took my blaster.”

—---

You docked your ship at the lower levels of Pabu late that afternoon. You had wasted nearly an entire day as the sun set on the ocean once more. You gathered your pack from the ship and jumped from the ship’s bow to the dock.

“We built ramps to walk up the dock, you know.” A long-haired fellow laughed. 

“Right, sorry.” You nodded in his direction. “Cool tattoo.”

The man touched his face, as if he had forgotten it was there, “Thanks. The name’s Hunter.” He threw his hand out for you to shake. 

You dropped your bag and shook his hand firmly, looking into his dark eyes.

“Huh, you have the same eyes as someone else I met today.”

“Hey! It’s you again!” You heard Omega run down the dock towards you and Hunter.

“Ah, that would be who I met.” You said to Hunter. Omega, with her running start, leaped onto Hunter’s back to be eye-level with you. 

“That’s the woman that asked me if Crosshair was single!” Omega announced. Hunter laughed, “Oh, is that right?” With a look of comedic-disbelief, you raised your finger to your lips once more “Shhh!” Omega giggled, “What? I don’t see what the big deal is.” Hunter, picking up your bag and asked “Well, do you have a place to stay tonight?”

Feeling uncomfortable, you take your bag off his shoulder and slide it back on to yours. “Yeah, I have my ship.” You studied Hunter cautiously.

“Well, do you have food for tonight?”

Hunter was kind and genuine. “I have some rations, but are you extending an invitation?”

“Indeed we are.” Hunter smiled softly. You thought about turning them down, but it had been a while since anyone wanted to see you. You were thought to be an introvert because of the solitude you maintained, but rather, your solitude was only from broken friendships and bad deals. “Please?” Omega smiled. You nodded in her direction. “Okay. But only because Crosshair stole my blaster.”

Hunter rolled his eyes, “Of course he did.”

—-

“And this is my brother, Wrecker!” Omega led you into the kitchen area, parading you around like a trophy. 

“Hey Kid! And, kid’s friend!” Wrecker howled. Astounded at his size and volume, you took a step back. His whitened eye, connected to visible scar tissue screamed of life experience and horrors. His demeanor juxtaposed his appearance, as his jovial laugh filled the room. 

Omega led you to your seat at the table and sat down next to you. “Wrecker! She’s the woman that asked if–” You turned to Omega, jaw-dropped that she was about to embarrass you once again. She met your eyes and changed her sentence halfway through. “Asked if–you were a good cook?” Omega shrugged. “Am I a good cook? Well, I’ve never killed anybody in the kitchen!” Wrecker laughed. “Well, except for that one time–” And he stopped himself. You laughed, “What one time?” Your laugh drifted into an uneasy silence as you looked at his scars again, now realizing it probably wasn’t a joke. Hunter broke the silence, “Well, we’ve seen a lot of action over the years. But I promise you, it’s all over now.”

Wrecker threw a pot of food on the table and with a proud smile announced, “Dinner is served.” “Where’s Crosshair?” Omega asked Hunter. “I–I don’t know. I let him know we had company.”

“He’s probably out watching the sun set again.” Omega reached for the serving spoon. “Uh, Omega, let the guest serve herself first.” Hunter motioned towards you to take the spoon. “Right, I’m the one to check if it’s poisoned.” You replied back, halfway joking. Wrecker shot a smile your way, “I promise my food has never killed anyone.” He had that similar genuine kindness that Hunter expressed. You reached for the serving spoon and dished up. 

“So, what’s your story? Or, I guess, what’s even your name?” Hunter taking the serving spoon says. “Right, uh.” You give them your first name and paused for a moment. Your fears quelled in your gut as it hadn’t been easy to tell your story lately. “I’m from–I was, well, I’m starting over here on Pabu.” 

“We are too!” Omega beamed.

“What do you like to do?” Hunter asked.

It was such an easy question, but you went blank. “I–I guess I’m figuring that out again too.”

“Hmm.” Hunter studied your face. “You look like you’ve been through a lot.”

“I get a similar feeling your family has too.” “Was it the Empire?” Omega touched your arm. The sincerity of experience in her voice pulled at your heart. You realized then they were all survivors, fleeing the Empire. “In a way, but no.” You responded back. “I was involved in a close-knit group, but some of us had a different idea of how to run things. I cut my losses and wrapped up what ends I could to escape.” You stirred the food around your dish, “I wouldn’t expect anyone to understand.” “We might understand better than you’d think,” a familiar voice hissed from the door. 

“Glad to see you back, Crosshair.” Omega jumped up and pulled out a chair for her brother. In a single protective motion, he sat in the chair and moved Omega to stand behind him. “I see you didn’t follow my instructions to leave us alone.” Crosshair leaned over the table to invade your space. You felt the tension of the room ignite as he stared into your eyes, hoping to intimidate you. 

“Crosshair!” Hunter interjected. You relaxed and leaned back in your chair, proving Crosshair’s intimidation tactic didn’t work. “Give me back my pistol and I’ll be on my way,” you replied. Wrecker groaned, “Aw, but you just got here!” Crosshair leaned towards Wrecker, “But you don’t know what she is!”

Omega’s face drained into a look of concern, “What do you mean, ‘what she is?’ ” Crosshair took his toothpick from his mouth and emphasized his words, “She’s a bounty hunter.” Omega, concerned glances from Crosshair back to you. Hunter and Wrecker tense up a little. You didn’t react well. Grabbing a pathetic dinner knife, you stand up from the table in a combative position. Knocking drinks from the table, Wrecker, Hunter, and Crosshair all pull weapons from their belts, and the stand-off begins. 

You and the men wait for someone to move first. Their six eyes, or well, five eyes, melted your skin. Omega broke the silence. “Can you stop with that? Crosshair, how do you even know she’s a bounty hunter?” Omega says as she lowers Hunter’s knife for him. 

“Tech’s records.” Crosshair sighed. “She matches a description of a bounty hunter that engaged with the Separatists near the end of the war. Then I cross-referenced with Echo’s files which revealed her deals with the Empire.”

Hunter looks at you, “Well, is that true?” “Would it matter if it was true?” Your voice broke. “Yes!” All three harmonized. “Look, I’m not a bounty hunter anymore.” You started, then dropped your guard completely. “Like I said, I’m here for a fresh start.” You put down the dinner knife and met their gaze once more. They were still ready to jump on you.

“And I’m not involved with the Empire any longer,” you insisted.

Omega motioned Wrecker and Crosshair to lower their weapons. They relaxed a little, but kept their eyes focused on your movements. You nodded in Omega’s direction in gratitude and broke the silence again, “Thanks for the dinner invite, but maybe this won’t work out.” In a moment of trust, you turned your back to the family and walked out of the home. 

You started towards the space port. 

—- You unlocked the door to your ship as you heard someone call your name. You stopped and turned. Crosshair made a small effort to wave hello as he walked closer to you. 

You put your bag in your ship and locked the door again. You walked down the ramp to meet Crosshair. His lips opened slightly, as if he were to begin a sentence, but instead rubbed his forehead. You waited in silence with your arms crossed. “Here.” He reached out with your pistol in hand. You met his reach and he pressed the pistol into your palm. For a stoic man, his brow and eyes communicated a lot. He glanced up at you and back to the ground. “Thanks.” You placed the blaster back in its holster. 

“We, or I, don’t trust very easily.” He revealed. “Omega, Wrecker… And Hunter, they’re all I have left.” He motioned towards your weapon, “So, don’t point that at my family again.” “I’m sorry.” You looked to the side, “You know, I don’t trust anyone a whole lot either. I mean, how could I?” 

He didn’t even look to acknowledge the comment. He really wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

You looked up from the ground again and started in a monotone, “What did you read in my file?”

Crosshair stood a little more upright and engaged back with you, “You have a reckless reputation... And worked bounty jobs for the Empire.”

“I’ve made mistakes,” you corrected, then calmly stated, “But I couldn’t keep living like that.”

Crosshair took a deep breath and focused his attention to the ocean.

“I too have made mistakes.” Crosshair nearly whispered as he took a step away from you and placed his right hand into his left. “Reckless mistakes.” 

You looked closer, only to realize his right hand was mechanical. Crosshair turned to face you again. You studied the scar on his temple and his face tattoo. 

“I should get back.” He turned, but you reached out and touched his shoulder. 

You started, “Look, I was wondering, if —“ 

Crosshair cut you off “If I’m single?”

You felt the corners of your lips creep up into a small smile and you let your hand slide down his arm.

“No, well, that too, but I was wondering if you were thirsty?”

Crosshair raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want to come aboard my ship for a drink?” You motioned towards your ship.

“Why do you have an interest in me? What trick are you playing?” He scowled.

“No tricks,” you promised. “You… intrigue me. And somehow, I feel I can trust you.”

He stood there in silence, evaluating his options. Crosshair knew he could just go home, listen to Omega talk about her dreams, and have a peaceful evening overlooking Pabu from his bedroom balcony. Or, he could take this stranger up on her offer and escape being “Crosshair” for a moment. He realized it would be nice to talk to someone that didn’t know his past.

“One drink.” He insisted. 

You gave him a soft smile and remotely opened the door to your ship. 

—-

You and Crosshair were three drinks in when he turned to you and realized time had slipped by faster than expected.

“Omega is going to tease me relentlessly for the next week.” Crosshair chuckled and swirled his drink. 

“What else are little sisters for?” You smiled back.

Crosshair continued to chuckle for a moment, thinking of Omega and how close they’ve grown. As he sat next to you in your ship’s booth, he turned to face you.

“Do you have siblings?” Crosshair inquired.

“I did, yes.” You begin to tap the table with your fingers. His eyes bore into your soul. 

“Did?” Crosshair muttered.

“I believe they’re all still alive, but I expect I’ll never see them again. Well, they don’t want to see me again.” You shrugged.

Crosshair looked intrigued. 

You continued, “I grew up in a rather… well, orthodox society. Everything was laid out for me in life: education, code of conduct, dress standards, diet, who I’d marry, and more. When I left, it was required by the society that my family no longer contact me.”

Crosshair listened intently. The unexpected attention made you feel at ease.

“How old were you, when you left?” Crosshair questioned.

“Old enough to turn to bounty hunting for quick money.” You shrugged. “Desperation will make you do some stupid things.”

“That it does,” Crosshair agreed. 

You leaned forward slightly and raised your hand to Crosshair’s cheek, letting your thumb trace the outline of his face tattoo. 

“Is this out of desperation? Your… fascination with me?” He took your hand from his face and held it between you and him.

“You didn’t see me stick around to see if Hunter was single.” You laughed.

His face remained unchanged.

So you continued your joke, “And we both know there’s no way Wrecker is single.” 

That line earned you a small smile from him.

You took his hand in yours, tracing his fingers.

“No, I don’t think it’s out of desperation.” You looked up into his eyes, “Do you trust me?”

Crosshair clasped his hand around yours.

“Oddly enough, I do.”

—

Part 2: The Warning

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Sooo 👀 Miss Raven x Silver anyone?

HELP 😭 Is this because of that one post I made…

The only time I thought about this ship was back in 2021 for a creative thinking exercise. Looking back on it, I can kind of see the appeal?? Especially considering my own recently renewed interest in Silver— It’s definitely a very picturesque and delicate-looking fairy tale couple.

The most Miss Raven interacts with Diasomnia is to work with them to fetch Malleus for important events and/or to deliver notes for meetings he misses… so I guess if we were to write an AU, Silver would be meeting her this way. Maybe Miss Raven’s so stunned to come across someone that’s just like the stereotypical princes she reads and writes about, both in looks and in demeanor. She’s too stunned to speak! … Which could lead to Silver misreading it as “oh, she’s scared of me” and making extra efforts to be welcoming (since he doesn’t want to sour the good will between Diasomnia and the headmaster’s child/errand runner). And since he seems to be the most approachable of the four, Miss Raven develops a habit of going to him when she needs something from that dorm… and it all goes downhill from there.

Miss Raven develops a little crush but dismisses it because she thinks it’s immature (like, she believes she’s projecting unrealistic expectations onto him based on what she writes) or she’ll get over it eventually. Meanwhile Silver is over here very seriously—bless his denseness—saying things like, “I like spending time with you. I would stay by your side forever if I could. If you ever need help, just say the word and I’ll come running to your side.” STRAIGHT OUT OF A ROMANCE NOVEL, MY GUY.

Now that we know a little more about Silver, I realize that he and Raven are both the types to compare themselves to others and talk themselves down. They lack some confidence in their own abilities and keep pushing themselves to meet an impossible standard, feeling as though they aren’t worthy of their loved ones… I definitely feel like they could bond over this and support each other in their endeavors. Like I mentioned in the post linked above, it could be something to help each other with their shortcomings—Raven nudging Silver awake, them through smile drills together, etc. It could also just be sitting down and talking through their emotions!

Lilia, Sebek, and even Silver’s animal friends could be curious bystanders watching the events unfold and cheering them on. (Well, Sebek’s the one shaking Silver and loudly shouting declaring that he’s SO dense. “THIS HAPPENED IN ONE OF MY BOOKS,” he excitedly tells his fellow knight.) Lilia is the amused guardian who offers advice and gives little nudges when needed. The animals… they’re the nosy neighbors who gossip about their relationship and sometimes act as wingmen. Maybe the birds sing to set the mood or they fetch flowers for Silver to give as gifts. It could even be something as simple as the birds talking positively about Silver and hyping him up whenever they hang out with Raven (she’s fluent in avian languages)!

[whiteraven90]

hello, I hope you're having a good day <33 I saw your recent post on my dash and I was STUNNED at the animated scene! It's insane to me I get to see your characters animated. Feeling blessed to be alive to see it, I am not exaggerating. You know, one of these times where you wake up and things are a little bumpy in your life but there's one thing that shines brightly you didn't know it could give you so much excitement? Yeah, that kind of thing ((:

I took my time for the past hour to reminisce over your blog again. It is one of the places I really love scrolling through and reading your writing. I had a question, if you don't mind me. The way you have improved is truly admirable. I know this might not be an easy ask to say "hey, how did you learn how to paint", so I'll ask this instead: I don't know how long you've been working full-time in art, but when do you make time for studies / drawing for fun? If it's not too much to respond to, how do *you* study? I remembered your posts with your redlines and wanted to ask how do you go about those, or if you switch your routines based on your needs (sketches vs speed painting backgrounds etc). The notes there were very interesting, seeing the mental exercise.

Pretty sure you have a fKTON of stuff on your plate, so please don't feel obligated to respond quickly or even at all. Thank you in advance for taking the time to read my message and for all the time you take to respond in general. Love reading your responses <3

Take care, ok? <3

I'm glad the animation made you feel better! I'll put the answer under the Keep Reading thingy.

I'm not entirely sure... I think I don't study as much as I should/could. I mostly learn as I go. Standalone studies are helpful, I'm just drawn to doing things that are more fun/satisfying to me or things that actively progress my creative goals. Imperfect illustrations for my stories, and incomplete research for worldbuilding! Many people learn faster than I, and those people do a lot more studies than I, but I have no info on whether they have more fun than I. Dopamine is rocket fuel, so it's important. :)

I'm always on the lookout for reference pictures, but I study almost only when I have a practical goal in mind, I guess. Studying is part of my job too, I think? As an indie concept artist I'm supposed to build a hoard of references and pull several new/sensible things out of them, and I think part of this process is understanding the material, and revisiting even what I already know. Illustration is similar. If I'm commissioned to draw an anthro alligator, it's time to study gators. It's not separate from work.

I mean, straightforward version: I wake up at 03:30, make coffee, and start working for myself until the paying work starts, lol. Brain is fresh before noon, and tired late in the evening just like everyone else's. It also helps that the city more or less shuts up at 4am.

The studies with the redlines... I do them when I fancy drawing characters or creatures but feel out of shape. I can get discouraged, feel like I forgot how to draw. I sketch if I plan to sketch, and paint if I plan to paint or want to study colors Drawing live models helps. Studying videos of people and things in motion. Hopping down rabbit holes about how/why things work (e.g. flintlock, Davy lamp, mansard roof). Drawing from refs. Hoarding refs. Trying different mediums (e.g. charcoal, 3D, etching). Small screenshot of one of my ref boards for the animation; I'd say I studied it a lot. How clothes move, what are good clothes, how do good clothes move, lion/tiger + human + eagle anatomy (from specific angles during specific motions if/when possible), how to dive roll, proper sprinting form, how to survive falling from a great height, spearfighting, pole vaulting, poledancing, lighting, colors, environment, kicked-up sand in motion, spear types, emu/cassowary/griffon vulture feet, etc. I didn't draw studies, unless you count the animation itself (I would).

[brandycranby]

real talk for a mo and why i havent been on so often... its me, i feel like my cognitive skills have gone way down since i graduated this spring.

my ability to focus, my ability to think critically and analyze a text or be self-reflective, my willingness to get up and do something instead of rotting in bed after work are basically non-existent. I love my switch but it's real bad the way it tips the scales when i have to choose between playing video games or being creative or active. i avoid reading through my wip docs or queueing my thousands of drafts. its like my brain has ground to a halt and maybe its not true, its just weird bc for the first time since i was 4, im not a student.

so, it's not groovy but this is also me not giving into the rottening i guess. i wrote some on wednesday and im slowly going through my drafts/inbox. going to focus on learning and maybe doing some creative writing exercises as well as other life things. if you sent me something, ty ily and sorry for taking my sweet time.

i really should journal this but i havent touched my actual physical journal since uhhh july?