long, fictional violence and guns 

Bullets whizzed past his face, a light breeze with a metallic whiff of danger. *That* woke him up. Little metal bits that knocked into the walls and caused outsize holes. He realized he was naked.

Vaska Runi Aelthrandr, technically of Linowa, previously of the Red Reindeer tribe, more recently of somewhere-or-other he couldn't remember, plucked another hair from his frazzled head and fitted it to his bow. A dozen yards ahead, a bipedal mechanical monster lost control of its limbs and collapsed in a heap. What they were was unclear, but where they kept their brains wasn't. Pretty obvious that it would be in the most armored part, and that was no trouble for a bow like his. The numbers, now- that was starting to be trouble. Also, the waking up stark naked and wet with melting ice all over him and his memory very, very fuzzy bit. Fuck. He had to find Tek. Damned cat.

Tucking his bow away into nowhere in particular, he gave up the fight and fled. A large cylindrical object flew at him and he kicked a fallen chair into it, knocking it back in just enough time to hear the electric hum of- well, he didn't know what, harnessed electricity wasn't really a *thing* back home-

-he did seem to know those concepts and the sound they were associated with, though- he put a pin in that-

-and soon enough he was an ostrich, zipping through the strange corridors and leaping through a mob of what he had to assume were soldiers in full-body uniforms coming from the other direction. They shouted and barked noises he couldn't identify, but he was already gone, down past sliding doors and strange barriers of force, past things on the walls and ceiling that shot beams of fire. He burst through one door, barely locked, into a room filled with glass capsules filled with all manner of creatures. One of them, a disturbingly-large one with far too many metal pipes and ugly strings connected to it, was filled with Tek. In front of it, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, were three entirely normal-looking human beings (other than their clothing) who had been busily packing up gods only knew what. Well, he didn't have time for that.

Razor-sharp ostritch feet leapt over a pale-skinned man with a screech, slicing gouts in what was clearly not just glass until he fell lightly to the floor. He rolled to an upright position and tried again; slightly deeper gouts, but little progress. Instincts made him launch himself to the side, and another one of those beams of fire bounced off something and hit a wall. Shouting erupted; he had a moment to think, barely, before another one of those damned metal monsters entered the room and began firing its metal weapons. Vaska ducked under a desk, then back out of it as holes erupted not only straight through it but into the floor. Red lines of blood stung his huge wings and quickly scabbed over. Quick thinking again- with a kick he launched the desk into the air and leapt the other direction. If holes were everywhere, one of them had to hit something important. The humans ran or fell to the floor in terror as glass shattered and paper and shrapnel flew. The metal monster entered the room, and, smarter than he'd expected it to be, seemed to assess the situation and guess where he was about to dodge. Ceiling tiles fell, and Vaska leapt up inside the hole made by their abscence; it continued shooting, but again he was merely human, smaller and lighter, and with the manual dexterity to rip wires out until the water began flooding out of the chamber and back up through the pipes in the ceiling, spraying everywhere with surprising force. Seeing his chance, he leapt down at just the right time- a line of bullets shattered glass, and he became a gorilla, grabbing the cat laying unconscious at the bottom of the tube and running like fire.

Show thread

I like the way we managed to start this...

Have the first bits of my self-indulgent little fanfic: it's an Exalted/old World of Darkness crossover, but you don't need to know anything about either setting.

A man from the long-ago mystical past wakes up in a world of laser guns and robots. He has many questions, but first, he has to survive. Snippet in reply, because it's long.

microprompt response 

Today's is SLIP, hosted by @crtaxon

***

"Think what Magisterial approval means. I will have the papers drawn immediately, but eventually we may have the formal ceremony on the Thousand Steps in Ralen. You will be endowed with land, titles—”

Esor laughed. “How is that possible? Where would land and titles and the finances originate?”

“The perks of marrying into unspeakable wealth.” Corvin slid from his stool to get nearer. “Tell me what you want, and it will be yours.”

He tempted Esor with visions of fine fabrics, endless books, parties among the Great Houses. Corvin’s melodies made oaths of every luxury which Esor could imagine. Even the sound of his lilting words evoked the taste of summer-warmed grapes slipping over Esor’s tongue, and Esor longed for such heat. Corvin’s fingers coiled through Esor’s hair, just along his jawline.

“You mean it,” said Esor, sliding off his stool so that they were both on the floor. Their arms touched. “You really mean it, don’t you? This is madness. I’m simply some Dokàlvar—”

“Already my scribe prepares the transactions to elevate your entire family,” said Corvin. “You will be Lösàlvar soon.”

Esor would not simply be Lösàlvar, but married to Levusàlvar, consort to the one who governed all Noldòrian. “Do you know,” said Esor, “that I would remain if you gave me nothing? That I am content to simply be at your side with no other benefit to myself?”

Corvin leaned in close to nuzzle Esor’s shoulder, hiding his expression behind their mingling hair. “If you don’t want to marry me, say it. You are too decent a soul to leave me suffering.”

Esor turned to search his lover’s gaze, finding the edge of vulnerability that had become so endearing. “I want to,” whispered Esor, and admitting it nearly made him giddy.

***

Glad to see this has gotten a few more people. We've finally got our desktop back so we're back to writing again. I've worked a little bit more on a draft of a story for @jessmahler 's Vehan, as well as a fun little diversion: yet another attempt at a fanfiction in the Exalted universe. We've got considerably less... hmm... worry for people reading over our shoulder before we're ready, now, so I think we can do something fun.

long post, writing snippet 

(With apologies to @jessmahler .)

Sul-hadad wanted very much not to resent the priests as they droned on about his late mother's holdings. Several auspicious days had come and passed since he had come of age, despite her ill-timed illness, the sudden drought, and an unusual overbooking of the scribes; while the pain was still sharp, his official grieving period was over, he was nearly twenty, and even now he had yet to face the senza crystals. Each aspect of her final assignations was gone over twice, once for the possibility that he would be capable of inheriting, and again in the case he was not.

He knew it all already, by heart nearly. He had been the official head of household when she passed despite his ambiguous status, after all, and the important parts had been told to him personally. Should he be sen or wahin, all assets save what was needed to pay down outstanding debts, tithe, and release all remaining contracts reverted to him. Should he be haoza, a number of small valuable items had been gifted to him as personal property to ensure his welfare. His mother had been a shrewd businesswoman, and approached her death with the same cunning and thoroughness she had her life.

Focusing on how tedious it all was helped him forget he was terrified.

Oh right, I haven't been typing here because the thing died and then it undied but we lost the tab-

SO. Journaling RPGs. Anyone else into them, because I've just discovered them and am now obsessed. It's exactly the thing I'd wished existed for years: gamified writing prompts! And thanks to someone's recommendation, I have a gamified site to write them on, too.

It's a bit disturbing how many of them require a Jenga tower, though. I know Dread was pretty popular among the indie tabletop circuit, but really, how many peeople just keep that in their house? Do non-Boomer people buy those kinds of old board games anymore?

Kept having dreams about writing things and specific story ideas. Our brain is trying to get us back into things, again.

Had an idea to start writing the adventures of a group of NPCs from my recently-ended game, and I'm not sure if it's a bad idea.

Gods, it will be nice to get rid of this fucking virus; we've had time to paint at least, but not write.

I did some world-building work though, need to transfer that over to Scrivener.

All right. So, we hit on an idea that's so much fun I literally yoinked us up into a dream about waking up late, and then we woke up early, so-

Going to go try out our new resolution of just writing the damn thing even if it's not very pretty. But it does have a very pretty protagonist who looks like He-Man, an assassin who keeps failing to kill people due to a very overworked "guardian angel", and J.B. Fletcher as the Big Bad Demon Lord.

Ooh, nice big girthy chatbox. This is going to be useful.

Write Out

A small instance for writers.

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