Fantastic Beasts | 86. Gringwart Goff | [dialogue] "You know, I always thought if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's a duck. That is not a duck."
Scavenger Hunt | 41. Write a story from another fandom
365 | 126. [dialogue] "I heard that!" / "You were supposed to!"
Resolution Evolution | Writing Resolutions | 10. Write a fic featuring one of the following genres: Mystery, Family, Supernatural, Adventure
Winter Seasonal
Days of the Year | January 28th - Mahayana New Year | Write about someone optimistic in a tough situation
Black History Month | 2. Harriet Tubman | Write about helping someone escape
Penguin Awareness | 5. Fairy Penguin | [emotion] hesitant
Colours | 6. Plum
Flowers | 11, Camellia | [dialogue] "Well, there's bad news and no good news."
Crystals & Gemstones | 13. Lapis Lazuli | [emotion] stressed
Slytherin Challenge | S | [genre] Sci-fi
February Writing Club
Character Appreciation | 14. [trait] brave
Record Collection | 7. Love Really Hurts Without You, Billy Ocean | Write about someone trying to get someone back
Showtime | 2. No Way | [colour] gold
Scamander's Case | 28. [plot point] running away
Lyric Alley | 12. Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive
Monthlies & Fortnightlies
Fantasy February | Day 1 | Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advice for that day, such as "take the subway to work" or "don't try the free pizza". Today, the mirror simply says, "RUN"
You Get My Love | Platonic | 9. [colour] plum
WC: 1031
o . o . o
Don't Feed the Ducks
Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive
John Smith straightened his bow tie and made his way out the door of his little flat. As he walked to work, he ran over the lessons he had planned for the day, reminding himself of things he wanted to follow up on. Upon entering his classroom, he immediately glanced toward the blackboard. Every morning, he would find a mysterious note on the board with a message written in someone's meticulously neat handwriting. He had no idea where they came from, or why they were there, and he didn't think about it very much.
Most of the time, the messages were nice. Friendly, helpful advice. Your tie is crooked. Don't try the pizza. Don't let Jamie chew gum. They were odd, and uncannily accurate. In the last five months, John had learned to listen to the messages. He had no idea how their author knew what she did (and it had to be a 'she' judging by the handwriting), but he no longer questioned it.
But this morning the message sent chills through his body.
Run.
A blue light seared through the air, and he managed to dodge to the side just in the nick of time. Scrambling, John whirled around and practically tripped through the door in his haste to get away. Looking up, he saw a message painted onto the hallway display board, in precisely the same handwriting he had seen on his own blackboard every day.
Run, you clever boy.
John did not need telling a third time. He took off down the hallway, long limbs flying, and he heard a small explosion as another beam of blue light hit the wall. What the hell was going on? Where were these lasers coming from? Why did they seem to be chasing him? So many questions. He reached the side door which led out to the parking lot, and yanked it open, only to find a flock of very large ducks standing on the other side.
"You know, I always thought if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's a duck. That is not a duck," a female voice said from behind him, and John spun around.
A petite young woman with dark brown hair, a round face, and a wry smile stood against the doorframe of the classroom behind him, her arms crossed against her chest.
"Then what is it?" John asked, looking back and forth between the young woman and the horde of ducks.
"That," she said, pointing through the doorway, "is a dalek disguised as a duck."
"It's a what?" he asked, hating how high his voice became in his confusion.
Quack, one of the ducks croaked, deep and mechanical sounding.
"What the hell?" John swore.
"Dalek," the woman shrugged.
Quuuuuuaaaaaaaaack, the ducks squawked again, their beaks opening wide. A mechanical third eye, electric blue in colour, began to poke out where it's tongue ought to have been.
"Doctor. Run!" the woman shouted, grabbing his hand and yanking him back with her.
Together, they took off down the hallway, running down the stairs until she opened a door and shoved him inside, following a heartbeat later.
"This is the girls' locker room!" he exclaimed, flapping his hands about awkwardly as he tried to sidestep her and move back to the door. "I can't be in here!"
"Relax, Doctor," the woman said, rolling her eyes at him. "There's no one else here, you're fine."
"Why do you keep calling me that?" he asked, choosing to fixate on something else.
"Because that's your name," she replied simply, shrugging again.
"No it's not, my name is John Smith," he said, more confused than ever.
"It's really not," she laughed, fiddling with the lock on the door.
"I think I would know my own name!" John protested.
"You really wouldn't," she chuckled again, standing up to face him once she was satisfied with her work. "We should be alright now, at least for a minute. There's no windows in here and they'll have to work to get through this door. So, listen up, yeah? Your name is the Doctor, you're a Time Lord, and you won't believe me in a million years, so I'm going to need you to open up this fog watch."
"Why?" he asked, looking at the watch with skepticism.
"Just trust me, alright?" she said.
Carefully, tentatively, John reached out and took the watch in her hand. It had strange engravings marked all over it, interlocking and concentric circles slashed through with straight lines. As he held it in his hand, he felt like it was calling to him, beckoning him to open it. He ran his thumb along the seam, a strange serenity befalling him. And then, with the smallest of movements, he flipped the watch open.
A soft glow of golden light expanded from the watch's face, engulfing John in its warmth. A quiet whispering filled his ears, and as the light touched his face, memories came rushing back like a separate consciousness. Reeling from the weight of it, John staggered backwards, arms flailing for something to hold onto. Except that he wasn't John Smith anymore, he knew that now. He was the Doctor, a Time Lord, Enemy of the Daleks.
"Clara!" the Doctor exclaimed, adjusting the lapel of his plum colored suit. "Ooh, Clara, I could kiss you!"
"Watch yourself," she replied, somewhere between a tease and a warning.
"No, you're right, better not," he agreed, wringing his hands together as he so often did when he was thinking of a plan. "Rrrright then, okay, daleks disguised as ducks, duck-daleks, duckleks… what are we going to do about them?"
"Please don't call them duckleks," Clara sighed.
"Really?" the Doctor said, eyebrows raised innocently. "I thought that was quite clever."
"When don't you think you're clever?" she mumbled, turning away.
"Oi! I heard that!" he exclaimed.
"You were supposed to!" she singsonged in reply. "Well then, Doctor, what's the prognosis?"
"Yes, well…" the Doctor answered, looking around the locker room. "Okay, well, there's bad news and no good news."
"That's swell," Clara replied sarcastically. "So what are we gonna do?"
"Run."
