Let's all be random, shall we?

Misc: Prompts and Tidbits

That Wig was a Lie ;D

Because we all know I would NEVER cut my hair that short unless forced by unhappy circumstance.

Very unhappy circumstance.

Circumstances that will have you go missing if you helped create it.

It’s 2 am, and I’m not running on caffeine. Running on nothing makes thought process difficult. (And mosquitoes are charging at me from all angles. SOMEONE HELP ME. HEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLPPPPPPP)

Right; so I’m here to show you a tiny little thing that i won an admin post for.

We were to continue what she wrote so…

“Sweat broke as (input character’s name. I’ll just use Jane) Jane woke up from her demonic dreams. These dreams, She though, I’ve been having consecutively for 3 nights. She reached out for her glasses on put them on, patting her face with her blanket. Jane dragged herself out of her bed, constantly thinking about the vaguely familiar face that always appeared in her nightmares. She pulled on her uniform for work and decided to skip breakfast as she head off for work…”

And here’s my take 😀

Sweat dripped from her brow as she woke from her demonic dreams, coloured by images of faces she might have once known in a forgotten memory. Three nights, she thought, this dream continues. She rubbed her bleary eyes free of sleep, and squinted at the bright blue numbers that proclaimed proudly that it was far too early for logical beings to be awake. She swathed her heated face in her white comforter, leaving a thin sheen that quickly evaporated, cooling her face from frenzied redness.

For a while, she sat, calming her breath and raging heartbeat. When a loud beeping interrupted the sanctuary of blank thought, she patted at her nightstand for her glasses. Twice, they slipped from her fingers, landing with a dull thud onto her bed. Ridiculous, she grimaced; a dream is merely a dream, a figment of one’s imagination. Nothing more, nothing less.

Then why did her lungs burn with the need for air? Eyes swivel and her blood rush? What was the reason for the tremble of her fingers as disjointed pieces of unconscious thought wrap wiry tendrils about her limbs and squeeze?
Nothing more, nothing less. That is what she told herself.

Methodically, automatically, she pulled on the attire for the special sector of the police force, the secretive league of well trained, ruthless hunters of criminals. Every once in a while, she would chuckle at the newspapers; missing? As if. The face that graced the front page of the grey sheet would be one she knew, the head attached to the body she burned in the incinerator.

A smirk twisted at her lips as she tightened the tie about her neck, perhaps the dead has decided to play a cruel trick on the living, pulling her under and away into a personal hell. After thinking for a moment, she laughed, the AUD police force never gave anything to her, an yet she continues to abide by duty, though it took and took. It had taken her family, friends, existence, now it was leeching on even the sanctity of her mind.

Still absently, she strode into the kitchen, but turned towards the front door when she found that the thought of food sent her stomach into cartwheels. She pulled a nondescript grey trench from the closet and tied the laces of polished shoes. Fifteen minutes of driving brought her deep violet car to the entrance to an underground parking lot, where work awaited four floors further underground.

She was glad for the lazy monotony of sorting through profiles and tracking reports, finding the task deliberately mind numbing.

Brown eyes glazed over after several hours of clicking through pictures and REfile documents, and a long day ended with a trip to a small bar where she hoped to drink her nightmares away.

Sluggishly, she dragged herself back into her house, the trees casting eerie shadows she has been long immune to.

Expecting a headache, she quickly brewed a cup of coffee and silently nursed the porcelain mug until her eyes drooped, and darkness overrode her consciousness.

Twenty-eight faces grinned at her from a sea of red, undulating streaks of soul sucking black streamed about the haze.


Memories flashed though her frazzled mind, and she heard vague registers of agonized laughter.

Twenty eight voices; twenty-eight pictures; twenty-eight files; twenty-eight shots; twenty-eight fires.

Twenty-eight bottles of ash.

The laugher rocketed toward shrieking heights, singing slowly, mockingly.

You remember us, you should, you should! Hell is not a place, but a state of mind!

Deaths, many, many deaths, and yet they all seemed to matter so little, importance tucked away with the bottles of grey dust, labeled only with a name and nine numbers. But there was one visage away from the rest, young, alive, stained not yet with the touch of death. For he, she could not recall even a number. Green eyes, brown hair, tall, slender, and thin lips pulled into a frown.

But her concentration was broken when a now familiar tightness coiled around her lungs, and she drowned slowly within her own mind as wisps turned to mist and mist turned to fog and fog turned to rain and rain turned to ocean. Black cackles bubbled around her, and grasping fingers wound around her ankle. She’s drowned, burned, buried and ripped, bled and choked, withered and pierced.

Once again, her blurry ceiling was a welcomed sight.

Merrily, her computer blinked with illegal joy for its message. With a click of a mouse, she opened up the e-mail, and once heated blood froze in her veins, her fingers hovered awkwardly above the keyboard.

Green eyes, brown hair, tall, slender, and thin lips pulled into a frown.


Oh, Ouch.

Actually, I don’t think “ouch” covers it.

Yeah, so… It’s been just about a month since I last posted, which makes my mind hurt, seeing as how I really haven’t been too busy..

Anyway, I’ve been challenged by someone I know to write a romance one-shot and, as you all know, this Maya is romantically challenged. Since she challenged me, I’m going to challenge you.

Teach this Maya how to write effective romance! If you do it, I’ll draw a fully edited, awesomely photoshopped picture for you!

Take as much time as you want… As long as it is this year xD

Oh, my gosh… So, seeing as it has been so long, I will tell you what next month’s CHALLENGE is. It’s a 30 day Challenge!

I thought it would be a cute counterpart to December’s daily Challenge 🙂

I’ll tell you the themes now, since I know everyone is busy with exams, final projects, and getting summer courses in order. This isn’t a true daily challenge since I’m not giving out prompts day by day (that would be so cool though) but humour me and post one a day xD

Oh! Just to say, my birthday is on the 22! That’s why I put birthday down there on the 22nd 🙂

You know how it works! I’ve tried to make each day something easy to work with, and will fit together well into a coherent story that will take place within a month. REMEMBER, THEY’RE ALL SEPARATE DAYS, AND THE DAY OF THE WEEK IS IMPORTANT (unless they don’t go to work or school… in which case, not so much, but think, how many people are going to be on a beach on a Tuesday in comparison to a Saturday?)

  1. (Fri) Sun
  2. (Sat) Sprinkler
  3. (Sun) Lightning
  4. (Mon) Candlelight
  5. (Tues) Bubbles
  6. (Wed) Blanket
  7. (Thurs) Pitter Patter
  8. (Fri) Crystal
  9. (Sat) Lazy
  10. (Sun) Sounds
  11. (Mon) Watermelon
  12. (Tues) Ants
  13. (Wed) Sandals
  14. (Thurs) Blooms
  15. (Fri) Squirt
  16. (Sat) Fireflies
  17. (Sun) Glamour
  18. (Mon) Split and Fray
  19. (Tues) Bounce
  20. (Wed) Summer (This is when summer starts this year)
  21. (Thurs) Midnight (This is the longest day of the year)
  22. (Fri) Birthday (YAY ME, BIRTHDAY! And an exam, :c)
  23. (Sat) Sea
  24. (Sun) Jars
  25. (Mon) Heat
  26. (Tues) Ice
  27. (Wed) Welcome
  28. (Thurs) Splatter
  29. (Fri) Off
  30. (Sat) Anticipation

Awesomesauce yes? 😀

Derp :<

Also, in order to make up for my untimeliness, I shall include something I wrote for Shades of Grey.


Creation of new vampires is done by transfer of power, the more power, the higher quality the creation will be. This is why only higher levels of vampires are inclined to attempt (aka, halfblood and above, generally) as the lack of power in one being makes a mindless monster that seeks more energy through the consumption of blood. Eventually, the body would either starve or overload itself and decompose itself into nothing. Notably, there have been cases of the infected to show further potential, as the added energy simply acted as a catalyst for their own reserves. However, those are exceedingly few because of the innate weakness of humans. The point of limit varies from case to case, however beings with higher percentages of vampiric blood exhibit much higher limits than the ones with dilute blood, and the amount seems to increase exponentially. Birth into vampirism show that a large number of the resulting offspring show at least traces of superior power, with more than half having signs of potential, more so if the vampiric traits come from the mother. However, this is not always the case. A halfblood could, in theory, produce a quarter that, born with very high amounts of energy, will outstrip the parent and possibly ones with much higher percentages of vampiric blood.

A notable difference in the two identified are in relation to the “parent” as in the former ‘creation’ situation, the parent is giving up part of their own power in order to create the new vampire. In terms of birth, the child is its own power and gene, as it carries the required blood.

Hendor, Selvia. Survival: Vampires. Genealogy of Vampires: the Nuances. 2056, Hildeshime, Germany. Trans. By Flinn, Kaylee.


The occasion of interbreeding between what the majority of the population believe are fantastical beings are rare, in the nature of things, such should be impossible, as they each have distinct bloodlines and composition of energies and powers within that separates them from us, the humans. But before I jump into the issue of such mingling of species, I should tell you the how and why they differ from us, and how we differ from the day to day population.

Firstly, the overall structure of each race is the same. Blood to represent energy, the fuel in the equation, the mind to represent direction, which enables us to make use of the energy and direct it into power, and thirdly, the soul, memories and actions to give a so called personality to the power; they exist in everything, and everyone.

The basic human is one of untapped potential potential. It has the components of the final product, the enhanced speed, agility, simple and raw power that the other races seem to possess. It is in them that all the parts are separate, dormant; and those that have sufficient raw workings within them, and place the two together, that they become what we are. The power we produce is neutral, not inclined to either offensive or regenerative. And through different mediums of weaponry or spells, we can gear it towards either direction.

[Student] Then what of Vampires? How is theirs mixed?

…into the topic of vampires. They are noted as a rather well rounded blend of the two. They are able to heal with relative efficiency, but are placed very snugly into the realm of offensive power. They, along with most other creatures tie in the third, the “soul” per say. And sad to say, humans don’t have enough life source to simply use away like that sustainably. The addition of the soul gives the actual power a property, an inclination to the direction the power wants to go. Like this, the mind part of the production of power is lessened, and instead used more on providing a proper channel through which the power can manifest into the complete extent of what it is. In truth, we waste 50 to 60% in the facet of incorrect passageways through which our produced energy is used.

On a flip side, the werewolves, though rather aggressive, are geared more towards a defensive approach. They instead wrap themselves in the power in the form of fur and much of what they have are placed in wearing down an enemy before they strike. Not to say that they are not fast or extremely strong, but that is their focus.

In terms of a full offensive race, there is none comparable to the demons. They have volatile power and usually are very quick to finish a battle. They specialize in either quick, directional attacks that utilize fully their speed, or have massive, nearly omnipotent attacks that is meant to completely destroy everything it touches. For those of you who play games, I believe the terms are assassin to mage. And in accordance, they have very little defensive ability, and a small number have high regenerative abilities. However, they are on good terms with the faeries, who specialize heavily on healing and restoration.

Now, if we mix the different types of power together, they likely won’t react well together, and one of three things can happen. First, there is utter rejection, and the two cancel each other out; a second is one overpowers the other, which usually happens as offensive ability is recessive; and a third is co-existence, which, as imagined, can create quite a monster.

Union lecture by Prof. D. Blackwood.  Lecture transcript by Lacris, Helen.  Interracial Relations and Power Theory.

 Did I just make you read an essay? Yes, yes I did.

Signing out~


The Fall From Grace (Body)

The mirror told in cruel honesty the story, the downward spiral that had eaten away at everything she was.

It horrified her.

A twitch of the leg is no longer accompanied by the sliding of lean muscle, and instead the disturbing jiggle of quivery fat, her tall figure obliqued by the excess weight that plagued her every step.

Once graceful fingers now lie pudgy, squishy from the utter dissuse; fingers that once had glided over black and white keys with the skillful agility of a carefully cheorographed dance.

Softened nails grappled at her face, observing the blackened half circles that hung below her eyes. A downward tilt of the lips that seemed to only be pulled by the weight of her cheeks. Forcing forgotten movements to her mouth, she dragged the corners of her lips toward her eyes, obscured by large glasses.

The smile seemed plastic, a melted peice of discarded prototype that everyone else had moved away from, leftover scrap that had to be picked up by scavengers looking for a cheap imitation.

Water glanced down the corners of her eyes, running in slow rivlets to meet at her chin. She mashed her teeth together. When had this happened? This useless byproduct of society? A rusted laugh escaped, the irony not lost to her even in the throwes of dispair.

Since when had I become someone who my younger self would sneer at in disgust?

The slim, youthful face of a promising future looked at her, long legs in perfect balance, and a lip curled in distain. A person she was before, someone who had everything, bitterly, she thought, who had taken for granted that perfection.

Again, she laughed, fully realizing that before, simply meant never again.

And the mirror cried silently back.

This is my commentary on how skewed our view of weight is, and it’s only because this was a short phase I had felt, watching a show (that shall not be named) on TV. The ending was the initial aspect of this (newly created) Mini-Collection, the Fall from Grace aspect. It’s sort of my own version of therapy for when I feel like I’m utterly useless. On a side note, don’t think “OMG, Maya’s a fat NEET who wishes for her ‘glory days’ like an old hag” I’m a healthy, if not slightly chubby girl who needs to angst sometimes so I can fill my teenager quota.

All flame comments will be used to heat my room, way up in the frozen wasteland that is Canada. (Eh)



I found this while going though all my old files, and was all; Hey! This wasn’t posted here! WAAAAT? So, here it is..

(On a different note, I really need to think happy thoughts, THINK HAPPY THOUGHTS DARN YOU.)

I couldn’t find a good title for this little tidbit… what should I do? HAELP.


She sat in her plush, overstuffed seat, curled in onto herself into a depressed ball, slowly counting the seconds that gone by, watching the clock’s hand move with a resounding click. Other than that, the silence was absolute, and nothing but the clock challenged it. Silken raven hair fell across her face, but it was paid little heed, the room too dark, too devoid of anything animated. Oh, how she wanted to step outside the cage, outside of the walls that surrounded her!

But she won’t, she can’t for her brother’s sake, who sacrificed so much to keep her from the plotting royals who would circle her like a pack of starved wolves, who himself had plunged headfirst into that flock of decorated vultures, waiting to rip your throat out.

Even if she missed seeing the ocean, even if she missed feeling the wind on her face, missed the sound of waves crashing against jagged rocks, missed smelling the fields of wildflowers that grew around their old estate, she would bear it all, so his sacrifice would not be in vain.

She wanted to run outside and scream “I’m here! I’m alive!” just so she could see the deep pools of obsidian again, the orbs’ darkness a much preferred alternative to the black of the room.

She was selfish, so, so selfish. She didn’t care that people will die if she was discovered; all she wanted was to leap into the arms of the brother that cared for her so many years alone.

But she won’t.

Because he told her to

Because Brother was always right.

=w= you see the need for happy thoughts?


Fairytale Lies

Uh oh, we’re back to the creepy side of this series… Ah well, it is supposed to be twisted after all.

That and I think I’m never going to get seasons done…

Fairytale Lies.

Once upon a time… no…

It was a time of war, where blood reigned and power was sought. Battles drew long and the earth grew red.

In a land far, far away- no, that’s…

It is here, in this place we call home. This place that we all thought was safe. This home that has been ripped and torn, crumbled and crushed, all of it beneath the foot of gluttonous ambition. Machinations of a fool’s errand.

There lived a beautiful princess…That’s not right!

There was the Witch, the witch who frightened; the witch who cried. The witch with skin the shade of the sickly moon.

With long, golden hair… no no no!

Her hair was the colour of spilt ink on a desk with splintering wood…

And precious blue eyes- no, never!

A witch whose eye has been taken, gouged by a frightful being, by the sword that makes new warriors stand with pride…

She lived with the King, a fair and gentle king.

No! The ruler is brutal, the ruler cruel. He pushed for war, and war was given. This war that took and took and took without giving anything back.

And a kind mother, the Quee- It lies! All of it!

The queen is dead, dead and dead again by the swords of an assasin’s art. Mother she never was, daughter never had. King’s blade, through her heart.

Within a palace, contructed from marble.. That was burned! Everything was-!

Wander, the witch did, with mud in her boots and rot drawing ever near, remains of glory trailed.

The people were ha- WHO WOULD SAY THAT?

The people suffer, the poor starve, the warriors cut, the rich falling to the silent blade. There was no time to hate, no time to love, no time to live…

Nothing, but to die.

Apparently, I can get arrested for writing this type of stuff…


Side Challenge; Childrens’ Songs


Ahem, the first of these installments is “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”

Challenge: Twinkle Twinkle

They sat beneath the summer sky, the hint of autumn carrying on the breeze. Never had the stars looked so mischevious than tonight, their twinkle winking down at the witch and her god. They sat under the starlight, watching through the mortals’ clouds at the pinpricks of brightness, far in the vast space beyond.

The witch stretched a hand toward the sky, pretending her fingers could grasp the stars and take them down to earth, she gazed at them through her digits, breathing a content sigh.

The god took the witch’s fingers between his own, and overlapped their hands, curling around the brightest cluster in the heavens. His hand lifted away, leaving behind five warm stones in her palm, each glowing with an inner fire that shone through with more colours than they could name.

Slowly, he placed one atop her finger, one around her neck, and two dangling from her ears.

The final, largest, smoothest, stone was carefully placed into her blind eye, behind the black lifted eyepatch, and it flared to life with a dazzling lightshow.

He traced her eyelid; “You are… the Witch of the Stars.”

Aww; a non-disturbing moment from my twisted fairytale series!

I don’t know, I think t’was time for a cute and pretty moment, purely for my flufftastic needs.

These are the things that make me happy on the inside that I’m a fantasy writer.


Rerendered Princess

Kay, this is only a part of what I had written for this little segment, but word only salvaged the first part of it, and I decided, “Screw it, I’ll just make it look like it ends here”

So thus you have this short little (badly written) piece.

In a perfect world, a perfect fairytale the queen will show just the right amound of elegant worry, the king will send for brave warriors that will rescue the captured princess, and the princess will wait for the warrior that will always come and rescue her.

But this world isn’t perfect.

The queen is dispairing, falling deep into depression and her fingers ripping out her long hair in chunks, her nails caked with blood from self mutilation. The king does not send word for a hero, but instead rides into war with the kingdom that had captured the princess. The princess was never supposed to be a witch that is able to slaughter leagions of soldiers on her own.

This doesn’t happen.

But it did.

This is what you get for wishing yourself in a fairytale.






Ruining little girls’ childhoods, one word at a time.


A Rotten Fairytale

I guess it’s another installment of Twisted Fairytale… It’s fun, and I have plenty of ideas xD

So, this one isn’t quite as dark :>

Raindrops kissed her cheecks as she spun in the rain. Happiness shone through her features as elation at the unbound freedom she felt released within her chest. It curled into a content ball deep in her soul, reveling in the feeling that all was good and well. Heavenly water smoothed over her inky hair, drifted over her brows and caught like liquid diamonds on her eyelashes.

Then her smile turned wry.

Salty beads bubbled from the corners of her eyes, joining the barrarge of sky tears that now beat down mercilessly, just like the heavy stares that peered through half open windows, disapproving eyes that followed her every twirl.

It felt as if her heart was chained to a tether and she had run too far, too fast. It jerked back violently, tossing her back into a cage of words; a cage that was built ever stronger, ever thicker, ever without an end. It was like the key has been offered to her once, to end this fractured fairytale, but delusions of unearned wisdom had slapped the hand and tossed it just out of reach.

Just a little bit further

Her arm clawed itself out from the bars.

stretch a little bit more

her fingers strained for the little more they could extend.

scootch just a little bit closer.

She wished and cried for the whim of the wind to blow her direction just once.

Out of reach; mocking her with its nearness, reminding her of the stupid idealism that she had wrapped herself in and blinded her to the cruel truth that wanted to swallow her whole.

Heroines don’t cry.

So the sky cried for her.



A Twisted Idea

Oh gods; this is exactly what the title says it is. A twisted version of an idea my friend had about someone reading a fairytale about a kind and gentle wandering witch then was pulled into the past to fulfill her role as the iwitch.

My take has been through a shredder, then a meat grinder, then run over by a semi, melted down, and moulded into a Maya doing yoga. (Oh, bad image, bad image.)

Ahem; I’ll start.

Dry lips crackled into a wry smile as she tossed her head back and let loose a sound that scratched and scraped, a mockery of a laugh of joy.

Wasn’t heroines supposed to be wise and kind and good? Then why was she pins and needles? She instead was cracked and ragged and sharp, like a porcelin doll broken too many times in too many places and fixed with too clumsy hands. The story didn’t say that the heroine will suffer, say the weight of death pressed ever heavier on her shoulders.

It didn’t say that someone wise and good and kind would have her happiness taken and fed to scrabbling poor. She heard every unspoken, irrisponsible word.

“Please, Lady Witch, help us” “Please Lady Witch, make the pain your own.”

It drove her insane. How dare they? How could they simply ask for her help when her own eyes are blackened and her blood runs thick? When her bones tremble and her mind is unable to smile?

Why? In fairytales, the heroine always wins, and forever she will smile after the evil is vanquished. It didn’t speak of the green bile that permeates the air, it doesn’t speak of rotting corpses that used to be courage in a human shell, eaten soft by maggots and eyes ripped by birds. It never says that the brave heroine will die of a sickness of the mind.

The fairytale doesn’t care if she’s happy, so she doesn’t smile. The tale cares not for her sadness, so she sheds no tears. The story rejects her and places an indestuctable warrior in her place.

But for a moment, she shoves away the heroine and she is her again, and the child on the inside of a carefully built shell hurt, it hurt, and it screamed and screamed in her dreams; Crying, pounding at the walls, ripping its fingers on the rippled brick.

It screeched, it clawed…

Then it sputtered and died.

Prompt a Day: Two

Lol, this has already become a do-this-whenever-I-feel-like-such-nonsense xD

Anyway; I have a cool little idea that is demanding itself known to the world in some way or another; so, yeah. >_>

We (myself and several insane non-people) were having a conversation. (Uh oh) and were talking about things that would happen if we all lived in the same house for an indefinate amount of time.

Thus; write something about what would happen if you and a few of the most eccentic people you know were all stuck in a house for… EVAR.


Oh, btw, I was wondering after I said the thing about the “spawn of the devil’s grandfather” I was thinking as the scary father in law of the devil :>