I want alchemy from this ocean

not these metaphors of endlessness

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bugger this
 In the interest of staving off imminent self-loathing, can I ask you guys to participate in a sort-of-meme for me briefly?

Namely, drop me some sort of writing prompt! A quote, a color, song lyrics, whatever. 

It's going to be original stuff - if you want to see it just note in your comment and I'll reply with whatever I come up with. If you don't want to be bothered with whatever I churn out just drop the prompt and keep on your merry way!

If you have any preferences among my original projects you can mention that and I might go for that instead of the characters from the list. I could possibly also be interested in writing for Hardy Boys or SPN:TNG too, but I'm not really sure. Maybe, who knows. 

Basically the only important part of this whole post is the bolded bit, the rest is just me rambling. I think I might go get some sleep, and then write lots in the morning, and I will feel awesome. THIS IS HOW LIFE WILL GO AND YOU CAN'T TELL ME DIFFERENT.

This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. There are comment count unavailable comments there.

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And tell me stories from your past/ and sing the songs you wrote before

From THIS song called Poison Prince by Amy MacDonald

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so uhhhh I accidentally wrote Sterling being creepy at Blake from my iSurrendered show Unmasked for the 'bruise-purple' prompt. also there is part of a Hardy Boys story for the scarlet prompt.

It’s almost an all-out battle, the two sides about evenly matched. Sterling’s agents and Lady’s, squaring off. But they’re holding their own. If they can make one big push, get Blake to cover them, they can get to the porter location in the alley and out of there with the mission successful. Nicole punches another guy in the face, calculating her strength to just enough to put him out for hours and not break his neck and looks around, searching for Blake in the chaos.

He’s down, on the ground and defenseless against the gun Sterling has to his ribs. It’s hard to see much – Blake’s in camouflage mode, not that’s any use against someone who knows he’s there. Sterling’s not even trying to negotiate for a ceasefire, which doesn’t make sense. He has their leader as a hostage. Sterling leans down, face an inch from Blake’s, and whispers something Nicole can’t hear. A car heads straight for her, Sterling’s men gunning to run her over with someone more substantial than their bodies, and she has to turn her attention to it, putting her hand out to blow up the engine.

She still hears the gun go off twice above the explosion. Blackness rushes over everything, dark and heavy and unmistakably Blake’s doing. It’s thicker, more than she’s ever seen him command at the same time before. She goes by instinct, running for where Blake had been.

“Nightshade!” she yells, and he coughs nearby.

“Move,” he says, and a channel opens up in the darkness, light enough for her to see him dragging himself up, hand over his gut. Sterling’s gone. She picks him up and moves, following the path he’s set her to where Aysu and Marcus have made their way to the alley. Their eyes widen when they see her carrying him, and then Lady is porting them into the cave. Blake’s going white with blood loss by the time she gets him to the operating table.

“Sterling,” Nicole says. Lady’s frown sets even more firmly. Aysu yells for Hunter and starts setting up their equipment.

“The bullets aren’t going to be the biggest problem,” Lady says. “He was forced to play his hand. The overextension of his powers and the bullets at once? That’s what’s not good.” Hunter has appeared out of seemingly nowhere, and he’s scowling down as he pulls on the gloves Aysu threw him.

“How overextended?” he asks.

“Full darkness in a street an hour before sunset,” Lady says. She must have seen it on the CCTV cameras she watches so carefully. Hunter nods and sets to work, Blake coughing up blood as they anaesthize him.

He makes it, eventually. Judging by Lady’s relieved sigh, that hadn’t been guaranteed despite her assurances to the contrary. Hunter’s exhausted and Aysu’s mouth is a thin line slashing across her face, stern and angry. Marcus looks even younger than he actually is, his body starting to shake as it rejects the vision-suppressing drug. He had refused to leave the computer room, though, pacing despite his fever and nausea as they waited.

Lady debriefs them all the next day, and when Nicole gives her report they all turn to look at Blake.

“What did Sterling say to you?” Lady asks, and Blake’s hand touches his side almost reflexively before he answers.

“The usual bad guy spiel,” he says. They all know he’s lying, but even Lady doesn’t press.

Nicole doesn’t ask the question they’re all wondering, mostly because she can see in Blake’s eyes he doesn’t know either. Why, when Sterling had Blake at his mercy, had he taken the gut shot? Why hadn’t he just put a bullet between Blake’s eyes? He’d shown himself to be capable of it before.

It’s worrying. Nicole starts to take notice of things, how in fights Sterling always goes directly for Blake, like a missile on pinpoint track. In Berlin Aysu pins Sterling’s guns to the wall with knives of water and slashes his stomach open, but he vaults over her next attack like it’s nothing and slams Blake into the floor so hard Blake gets a concussion that lasts for days. Aysu gets him then, pins him to the wall like a butterfly with knives she folded out of air.

In St. Petersburg Blake sees him coming and wraps him in black fog from forty feet away. When it vanishes Sterling is on his knees, his guns gone, eyes wild and face white. Nicole doesn’t ask what Blake did.

In Bangkok Nicole crumples Sterling’s guns first chance she gets, but loses him in the chaos of the fight. Next time she sees him he and Blake are fighting hand to hand. Blake’s holding pretty well, but Sterling’s got more experience and Blake still hasn’t learned how to use his powers and fight someone physically at the same time. Nicole punches her way out of the crowd surrounding her in time to knock Sterling off of Blake before he chokes him to death with his bare hands. “Bring it,” she tells Sterling as he gets up, but his eyes are still fixed on Blake gasping for air.

“No thanks, love,” he says, and Aysu helps Blake up before they run for the porting location close by, Nicole covering them with fire. Sterling just stands there and watches them go. Blake’s throat stays purple and black for almost a week, and he loses his voice for two days. When Lady lets him start training again shortly after his voice comes back Nicole spars with him, critiquing his every move, but she doesn’t say anything. He knows why.

“What did he actually tell you?” she asks him once they’re done sparring, and he looks at her like he doesn’t understand. “Sterling. When he shot you,” she clarifies, and his whole face goes sharp, suddenly shadowed.

“Nothing important.” He takes another drink of water and coughs, rubbing his neck for a moment. “Another go?”

“All right,” Nicole says.

In Philadelphia Blake breaks Sterling’s nose, smashes his kneecap and leaves him on the floor. In Madrid Sterling gets the jump on Blake and stabs him in the thigh before Blake executes a perfect throw and stabs the knife through Sterling’s hand in return. Sterling gets back up and throws the knife as they port out, catching Blake in the shoulder. In Capetown Nicole waits for Sterling’s inevitable move towards Blake and manages to keep herself free to make her own counter move. He’ll be in traction for a week even with healers.

She half expects Blake to say something to her about it but he doesn’t.

She’s early for their next meeting, and pauses outside the sparring room when she hears Lady.

“You ever going to tell me what’s going on with Sterling and you?” Lady’s asking.

“He’s just obsessed,” Blake says. “I beat him. It made him angry.”

“You’re encouraging it,” Lady points out. “I can’t say that makes me happy.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m encouraging it.” There’s the noise of a punching bag being used. Blake’s training again.

“What would you call deliberately seeking him out in fights, then?”

“Keeping his attention on me and off the others.” Blake sighs. Nicole can picture him running his hand through his hair, frustrated. “Which I guess is encouraging it a little bit. But at least he’s not going after Aysu or Nicole.”

“Who have far more offensive powers than you and could probably handle his attentions just as well,” Lady points out.

“He’s pretty fixated on me. I’m keeping him out of the fight.”

“What did he say when he shot you?”

“Nothing important,” Blake says.

“Blake.” Lady’s voice is irritated and sharp, like a record scratching over a spot worn thin through overuse. “You don’t lie to me.”

“It’s unimportant to the mission, then,” Blake says.

“Yet you found it disturbing enough that you immediately pushed past the limits of your power to get him away from you.” Her voice has settled again, into her normal dry calm.

“He shot me.” Blake’s defensive. “Of course I wanted him away from me.”

“You’ve been shot before,” Lady says. “You’ve never reacted like that.”

“Is this an official thing?” The bench scrapes as he sits down. He sounds weary.

“It’s a grandmother thing,” Lady says.

Nicole leaves. Eavesdropping is beneath her. If Blake wants her to know, he’ll tell her.

Four days later Blake goes missing on that stupid fucking patrol he insists on keeping up, a pool of blood on a roof the only clue they can find at first. Sterling vanishes from the League headquarters at the same time. Nicole can feel what happened like a hand around her throat, choking her. Sterling has Blake. Sterling, obsessed paranoid violent psychotic Sterling, has Blake. Blake, and power suppressing drugs, and a grudge they don’t even understand.

There’s nobody to punch, so Nicole settles for leaving the indentation of her fist in the concrete wall and breaking a punching bag. She should have made Blake talk. She should have known that every bruise Sterling left on Blake was just a prelude to whatever this is. She should have broken every bone in Sterling’s body and set him on fire.

She sets to work, unable to block out the memory of Sterling whispering something to Blake like there wasn’t a fight going on all around them, gun digging into Blake’s skin. The memory of thumb marks purple on Blake’s throat.

Sterling’s sick and twisted and she’s going to make sure he burns for this.

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it is pretty much totally absurd, but I have alllll kinds of thoughts about Sterling's weird, messed-up obsession with Blake and where it leads

BASICALLY THE SEASON 1 FINALE that is where it leads.

You know that color the sky takes just before the sun comes up when you've been talking all night with really good friends? I want a fic about that, but it can be a different context.

And I want to see what you come up with for this ridiculously detailed prompt.

Kestrel swings through about half an hour before dawn. His route choices are still terribly predictable to someone who knows him as well as I do.

“Mel,” he says, and I nod but don’t turn.

“Kestrel,” I say. I never call him Fred out here on the roofs, but he’s never really sure what to call me these days. He gets a look on his face when he says Nyx like he just tasted something bad, and the one time he tried to call me Hawkwoman I shut him down. He comes over to sit beside me, legs dangling over the edge of the roof.

“It’s been a while.” It’s neutral enough, but I can hear the faintly accusatory edge in his tone. It’s always there, that lingering hurt that I cut ties so harshly, the resentment of my long-delayed and always short visits.

“I’ve been busy.” I shrug. How can I be angry about his resentment? It’s fair enough.

“I heard you almost bought it in Canada,” he says, and there’s the familiar big-brother worry that always comes through in the end. “Actually, I heard that you did get caught, but that was from a government broadcast so I was still hoping it wasn’t true. And here you are.” I swallow but don’t say anything. Canada was… unpleasant. I’m not in a hurry to revisit any of those memories. He takes my silence as permission to keep chattering, like he always does. “Hawkgirl will be pissed if you don’t drop by to say hi to her, you know. And Red says thank you for the birthday present – can you seriously believe the kid’s twenty three? It seems ridiculous.” He pauses, then, looks over at me for some sort of reaction to any of this. “You okay, Mel?” he says, and I sigh and turn to look him full in the face for the first time.

“I’m going to do something stupid,” I tell him. “Hawk’s going to disown me permanently after this.”

“How stupid?” he asks, and he’s serious. He knows me well enough to know that tone of voice, the one that means I’m dead set on something.

“Remember Eleanor Simons?” His face twists. Of course he does. “What about her?” There’s a short pause as I look away again, and then realization dawns on him. “Fuck, Nyx,” he says. It’s the first time he’s called me my codename by choice, and there’s a small part of me noting that as a victory. “She almost killed you, you can’t be serious. She belongs in that asylum and you know it!”

“Told you it was stupid,” I say.

“This is past stupid.” His scowl looks more and more like Hawk’s every time I come to visit. “This is irresponsible and reckless and dangerous, to yourself and others.”

“Yeah, well, nice speech but it’s not working. I can use her.”

“She’s a serial killer with delusions of invincibility and messages from god,” he says flatly. “You cannot use her. She will kill people.”

“Yes.” I say it simply as I stand up. “But this time around she’ll be killing the bad guys.” He’s very silent as I walk away.

“Hawkwoman,” he calls eventually, standing up. It’s a calculated move on his part, an attempt to remind me of the code I abandoned seven years ago in a motel room, standing over the body of a government agent. I don’t stop.

“Nice try,” I say. “I’ll see you around.” By the time I reach the ground the sun is starting to come up, purple and yellow.

You're foul in clear conditions, but you're handsome in the fog

(from I Need Some Fine Wine and You, You Need to Be Nicer by The Cardigans)

Stuck somewhere without an escape!

Staying awake for nearly 48 hours straight was probably not the best course of action, given the situation.

And I'd love to see what you come up with!

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