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midnightsnyx · 1 year

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girl at home | mat barzal | part 1

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader summary: you're eighteen when you find yourself pregnant after Mat leaves for hockey. nearly eight years later, Mat finds out about your daughter and you have to deal with the consequences of not telling him about her.

warnings: mentions of pregnancy & not really edited word count: 1.3k authors note p1: don't mind me starting a new series when i have four other wips on the go :):) i love kid fics and this idea was stuck in my head so i wrote & decided to give it a go and post it. if this does well and you guys are interested, i'll do more. authors note p2: so notes about the series: i gave the readers daughter a name because i hate writing y/d/n lol of course you can change it in your head to something else if you want :) also the last name johnson is just there so i could have a full name but we all know she'll be a barzal also thank u @multifandombabes for giving me the push to post this!! happy reading & let me know what you guys think!

masterpost

In hindsight, you should have realized that it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. You did your best to avoid places you knew he would be when he was home, going to visit your grandparents or other family. Anywhere that would give you the opportunity to not be seen by him, because then you’d have to explain your brown haired, green eyed, seven year old.

You weren’t proud of your choice to keep Nora a secret from Mat but you did what you thought was right when you were eighteen, sitting on the floor of your best friend’s bathroom four weeks after you had said goodbye to Mat and staring at three positive pregnancy tests. He had just left for hockey and you didn’t want to be what held him back and as time went on, it got harder to pick up the phone so a few months after Nora was born, you erased Mathew Barzal from your life. You deleted the photos, phone numbers, social media, with the only reminder being the little girl.

And it worked fine. Until now.

Nora usually didn’t come grocery shopping with you because you always ended up taking three times as long as you normally would. Except, your sitter fell through and your mom couldn’t watch her so you had to bring her along. Which is totally fine until you run into Mat. Who has a girl with him.

So yeah, everything was fine until now.

It’s kind of comical the way his panicked eyes dart between the three of the girls standing around him. A quick glance at Nora confirms that she’s two seconds away from saying something to Mat which will not go well since the kid has zero filter.

“Hey, you’re that hockey player mama and grandma watch on TV!” she exclaims and you want to melt straight through the floor when Mat looks at you with one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah?” he asks, kneeling down so he’s at her level.

“Yeah,” she confirms, and then loudly whispers: “I’m not supposed to watch ‘cause some games are past my bedtime but sometimes I’ll sneak out.”

He offers his hand and smiles. “Well, it’s nice to meet you…” he trails off, clearly hoping she’ll offer her name. You hope she just says her first name instead of announcing her full name which she tends to do lately.

“Nora,” she tells him, shaking his hand and then to your unsurprised horror, she proudly tells him her full name. “Nora Nadia Johnson.”

He keeps the smile on his face but stiffens and gently drops her hand.

“Cool name,” he says, still smiling but you can see the tension in his shoulders.

“Thanks! My first name means light and my middle name-”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish her sentence because you grab her hand, abandon your shopping cart and high tail it out of the store. She grumbles while trying to keep up with your pace and eventually you just pick her up and carry her to the car.

“What did we say about talking to strangers?” you ask while buckling her seatbelt, ignoring her annoyed sighs.

“He wasn’t a stranger, you watch him on the TV all the time.”

“Have you ever met him?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and she mumbles something under her breath.

“What was that?”

“No,” she mumbles, crossing her arms over her chest and giving you a look that is so Mathew that you could laugh.

“Well then, he’s a stranger.”

You leave it at that because she starts talking about the summer camp she’s starting next week. You’re only half listening, trying to get over the shock of seeing Mat and knowing he realizes that he probably has a kid you never told him about. If you were in his shoes, you would be angry so you are expecting him to show up on your doorstep later that evening but he doesn’t. Part of you wonders if the reason he doesn’t come is because of that girl he had with him but you figure if he really wanted answers, he would come regardless.

What you’re not expecting, is a text from his sister Liana. You still see his family from time to time out in public but after you essentially ghosted Mat, they didn’t really want anything to do with you. When everybody found out you were pregnant, you lied and said it wasn’t Mat’s which nobody really believed but they couldn’t prove it and you’d used your mothers maiden name as Nora’s last name so there were no ties. You were surprised that his family didn’t tell him anyways, but you thought that perhaps they didn’t for the same reason you didn’t.

To give Mat no reason to stay here and instead, pursue his dreams and go play in the NHL.

So a text from his sister is unexpected.

Liana: hey, are you free for lunch tmw?

You almost delete it at first and pretend she never messaged you, but you know that there’s no going back now that Mat saw Nora. He’s not stupid. He probably went home and asked his parents about her. So you text her back a reluctant yes and agree on a spot to meet up the next day.

Nora goes to your moms house because you’re unsure if it will just be Liana who shows up, or if anyone else does. You meet up at a Starbucks and aside from the initial tension, it melts almost immediately and the two of you go back to the big sister/little sister relationship you had when you and Mat were dating. Except now, she’s all grown up.

After some catching up, the conversation turns to the reason she asked to see you. She hesitates, picking at her nails - a nervous tick you know she does - before sighing.

“Look, everybody kind of turned their head with ‘The Nora Situation’ because it was clearly what you wanted, and it was probably what was best for Mat,” she says. “But he knows now, and he’s got questions that we can’t and won’t answer. Dad had to talk him down last night and his girlfriend went back to New York this morning.”

You wince at that, not liking that the reason his girlfriend left is because of Nora but Liana must notice because she shrugs, taking a sip of her drink.

“Honestly, she wasn’t very nice. I’m not broken up over it and Mat didn’t seem to be either.”

Okay, that is interesting.

“Anyway,” she continues, “this is Mat’s new number.” She slides a small piece of paper across the table and you gingerly take it. “I know you didn’t want to tell him, and I understand but he knows. So give him a chance, okay?”

You manage a nod and let her leave with the final word. All you want to do is take Nora and leave, to get as far away as you can but something inside you stops you from doing it because maybe Liana is right, and you should give Mat a choice. After all, you were the one who decided to take it away from him in the beginning.

So later that night, after Nora is asleep, you curl up on your couch with the piece of paper and stare at it for a good fifteen minutes. Regardless of whether or not you text him, you will have to deal with this and you’d rather it be on your terms. You reluctantly type his new number in your phone and hesitate, trying to think of what to even say. This isn’t a conversation you were expecting to have with him. You type and delete a dozen messages before deciding on something simple.

To Mathew: Hey, I guess we should talk.

You take a deep breath, and hit send.

#hockey imagines #allies writing #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic

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kheprriverse · 11 months

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Look familiar? Bounty Hunter and magic user turned Deity, Ko'jin. Later dubbed as the "Fierce Deity."

Other outfits are a wip. I was gonna wait until they were done but couldn't resist sharing what I was working on for a week.

Masterpost | Lineup | Ko-fi - More info under the cut! This one’s gonna be a pretty long one and the last half below will have the text on the image (coz tumblr’s probably gonna eat the quality) plus some notes sprinkled in.

Plus a look at the Moon Serpent, a common form Ko'jin takes. I'd like to think the Moon Serpent is more commonly known by his followers than the man himself. There are others he takes, like the Silver Wolf, but the dragon is the one most associated with him.

He's relatively unknown after the war before Skyloft's ascent, his image having been completely removed from history. The few traces of him by OOT/MM would be oral tradition, specifically through family members as bedtime stories and legends to tell. Stories about a curious serpent and a powerful artifact.

After the events of MM, the Moon Serpent becomes active again and the festivals dedicated to it return.

Text on the image + extra notes:

Ko’jin, Bounty hunter chosen by Goddess Farore.

“Ko’jin” is not his real name. Once a mortal becomes a god, they abandon their original name. He was never given a proper one again aside from nicknames by worshippers and other deities. Ko’jin is a nickname given to him by his future wife when they first met.

He wears facepaint which is mixed with magic to bolster strength and speed. And later he would get tattoos that did the same [seen later].

Before becoming a god he was a bounty hunter [and popular at that, often being the favorite of a neighboring town]. He would take commission to hunt down monsters many others refused to go near.

Ko’jin has a strong affinity for magic [he uses it practically every day] and often imbues the edges of his sword with darkness magic. Though, the element given to his sword can still vary depending on what or who he’s fighting.

His undersuit and white tunic are much more protective than the brass chainmail, which instead is used more for artistic liberty than function.

“Early Days Moon Serpent”

Ko’jin’s god form was often a dragon for the ease of guiding lost spirits to the afterlife [he’s a judgement god with a very strong connection to the dead and guiding those spirits became his secondary function].

[During the first war with Demise] Soldiers often saw this form as the “Spirit of Courage” and their protector. They worshipped him and gave him gifts in hopes that he’d watch over him [and guide them to a better afterlife if they were to fall in battle (that secondary function). He basically became a huge symbol for soldiers specifically and I feel like this would feed the “War God” title he was given way later on despite not actually being a War God.]

In many ancient artifacts [ones that could be found at least], the Moon Serpent would be as either a two-headed serpent or two separate beings with their horns crossed. [There’s going to be a lot of “two’s” with him. Two swords, two lives, etc. in depictions of him the two heads/bodies of the serpent would be called “the Body” and “the Spirit”. Later on he’s split into two to be sealed away in a similar theme. “Two lives” refers to the before and after his sealing as he loses his memory of his “past life” and becomes a new person (hence a different appearance). I can see Hylia having foresaw a lot of this tbh.]

#legend of zelda #legend of zelda au #loz #loz au #majora's mask #Fierce Diety #fierce deity/fd/terminus #Ko'jin (Kheprriverse)#Moon Serpent (Kheprriverse)#sorry thus is a rEALLY long post. i have a lot to say about this man #originally i wasnt gonna go into his backstory at all. maybe a little bit about the war?#but ultimately decided that maaaaaaaaybe we can look a little into him for a bit #i have reasons why i didnt go with ‘Kishin’ as a name. sorry manga readers #also a peak @ termina’s language? its still a wip tho #ignore my extremely jumbled thoughts #i’ll reblog with closeups in a minute #Kheprriart

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mads198-9 · 8 months

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The Alcott

POV: the WIP made it out of the google drive

Summary: “If he’s a serial killer then what’s the worst that could happen to a girl that’s already hurt?” - Lana Del Rey

Warnings: None really, some explicit language though. Just some fluffy angsty dialogue to either help you sleep or keep you up at night. This is my first time writing for Joel (and practically ever) so I apologize if it isn’t Hemingway-esque. This is not edited but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I’m debating a smutty pt. 2 😗

@amydunnewithmen (where the delulus run wild)

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3 minutes.

It had taken Joel all of 3 minutes to set fire to a year of your life. A year of longing, patience, resentment, guilt and every ounce of shame that Joel had clutched to his chest since September 26th, 2003.

It took you over two decades to find an ounce of peace. A place to, finally, let yourself breathe. To close your eyes out of comfort rather than necessity. You’d barely crawled out of the last city you scavenged. A metropolis that fell into a desolate isle. All you’d ever known of people was the way they’d looked with fungi crawling through their veins and seeping out of their orifices. Never a true person. The closest you’d come to other conscious humans were those who had already abandoned their humanity for the sake of surviving. What they didn't realize was that for them to live, they had to give up everything they’d ever lived for. You didn’t consider these men to be ‘people’.

Looking at your facilities it was nothing short of a miracle, it was a miracle that you’d found Jackson. A single woman dragging her depleted muscles through feats of snow, a trail of blood broadcasting your vulnerability to anything within a mile’s radius.

You don’t remember how you’d found it but you remember your pleas. Your claw marks on Jackson’s fortifying wall. You fell to the ground the moment they’d opened the gates. Almost relieved to have had a gun pointed at your head, because at least it was a person. Someone to end your suffering. You didn’t care in what way. A saviour in the form of a man nonetheless, one you’d come to know as Tommy. Tommy Miller.

He was how you’d found Joel. How Joel found you.

It was Tommy who’d found what was left of you, Maria who had housed you, but Joel who’d really saved you.

It started pure. For you at least.

The first you saw of Jackson’s newest constituent was his and Tommy’s embrace. Maybe that’s why you were never scared. Not of him, not of what he'd done, because you saw the best of what he could do. His reason for all that he had done. Family.

You hadn’t felt your heart stop in ages. Up until him, fear was the only thing that had the power to constrict your chest.

No words were spoken between the two of you for months. As the Tipsy Bison’s bartender you were the loosener of lips. An observer by nature, a listener by force, a tolerator of none. His drink order spoke for him those first few months.

Whiskey. Neat. No ice to dull its sting. A welcomed burn to the back of his throat but he sipped it like water. Years of practice of not only enduring pain, but learning to think he’d deserved it.

It was the first thing of substance you’d ever said to him. Your words numbing him like the whiskey in his glass. It took two minutes of silence for him to scrape the floor of the bison with his barstool and drag his ass out of the bar.

You blew it. Or so you’d thought. If anything, you had initiated what would be the most painful and pleasurable experience of your life. One that brought you to your knees in more ways than one. It felt stronger than any romantic pull you’d experienced. Every pace further from him began to hurt. A religion.

From that moment on Joel thought about more than just the glances you’d given. Your perception of him wasn’t wrong in the slightest but it gave him something new to think about. To dwell on and give his fist motivation when the house was silent and his needs too great.

Months of simmering tension and lenghtneing conversations that tugged the corner of his lips up led you to what would become your favourite place. The eventual route of all your pain.

His arms.

Before the age of 25 you’d experienced every horror the world had to offer. You’d spent your life running, burning the memories of your old life with every fire you’d lit to warm your skin. All while everything within you froze with time. You’d never had a moment to explore your thoughts let alone your body.

Joel was the first. In every way imaginable.

Even in heartbreak.

In all of Jackson, Tommy was the one to know Joel best. He’d seen the colour come to his brother’s cheeks at the mere mention of your name and he’d seen the way his eyes bored holes into those who gave the two of you suggestive looks in public.

The jealousy of the men who thought they had a right to fuck you and the envy of the women you ‘stole’ Joel from. The looks of outrage that painted the churchgoers faces chipped away at his resolve every time the two of you were together and only reinforced his shame.

Echoed his anxieties of whether or not he was ‘too old’ for you. Too destructive to be around such innocence. Too hardened by his years alone. How your presumed father issues were the only thing that drew you to him.

The hunter’s voices won out in the end because he lost you, at the alcott.

The last thing he wanted, he’d done to you.

You’d once loved it here. The Alcott. A space delegated to the books that once littered the halls of the ravaged homes across Wyoming. A place that Maria saw as a solution to your lack of a purpose.

Even after everything, you can’t imagine leaving.

You hadn’t left in the weeks since Joel drove a knife through your chest. Weeks you spent curled up in the back of the shop, surrounded by books, their pages riddled with love stories and sonnets, ridiculing you with their happy endings.

Draped in the flannel he’d long left, finding yourself relating to it. At first glance, an abandoned piece of cloth, but you saw it as much more. It was something he no longer had use for. Something he chose to leave. A landmine of memories. Its scent sending you into a spiral with every inhale.

It took less than a day for his resolve to crack and less than twelve hours for Ellie to tell him that he’d been a dick and only six for Tommy to see the change in him. For once in his life Joel Miller was cold. The left side of his bed that once held you now held the weight of your pain, his loss. The shattered look in your eyes as he’d told you to move on painted itself to the backs of his eyelids. His own voice haunting him, telling you to find yourself outside of who you are with him. That he’s too old for you. That you were only a kid and no matter how bad the world had gotten he wouldn’t take advantage of that.

What he didn’t know was that the time spent with him made you feel like a woman, not the solitary girl everyone else saw you for. The days spent with his lips against you were the only times in which you’d believed that your skin was your own.

But he didn’t realize that, or did not let himself because he was bad. For all intensive purposes Joel Miller was a serial killer. A lethal weapon. Nothing that could provide you with the warmth you sought. The warmth he knew you deserved. And god did he want to be the one to give it to you. Joel had spent the last twenty years of his life preserving life, not experiencing it. Hell he still was, patrolling the outskirts of Jackson four times a week. This time taking the long way home just to pass by your house. It was as he expected, as much as he’d kicked himself he knew you, craved you, understood you. So it was no surprise to see no light coming from your house. No noise either. At first he panicked. His mind his own greatest enemy in how it conjured up a thousand scenarios of you leaving Jackson, all ending with your heart stopped and skin blue.

Where on god’s green earth could you have gone. Where you’d never left.

The Alcott.

You hadn’t heard him come in.

“You're still here.”

Questioning you in his thick southern drawl, draping across his words like honey. Damn it. Damn him for still making you blush.

His presence isn’t what startled you, it was the fact that it was Joel. Your Joel, now just Joel.

“I never left.”

He regretted everything he’d ever done to you the second he saw your wide eyes boring into his own. Glossed over in every shade of pain.

He didn’t have to ask why, he was sure he knew, but he asked anyway. Never a man to stumble over his words he could barely get two syllables out.

Looking down to his shifting feet then back to you he asked you what he already knew.

“Why?”

“Because I love this place. What used to feel like our house. Even if it’s cursed now.”

He thought his heart would start screaming with the way it was beating.

“I, uh” clears his throat “I didn't want to darken y’doorstep. Anymore than I already have I’spose.”

“Funny. I’ve had the lights off since you left.”

You practically slurred your words. What was left of you both had been draining you emotionally, in only the 2 minutes he’d been here.

“So… I, uh. I was g’nna ask ya, how’ve ya been?”

Your laugh was as dry as the Texas heat Joel had come from. But less familiar.

“Why are you really here Joel? You’ve always been shit at small talk, didn’t suppose that changed in the last week.”

“Jesus” A week? “Feels like a lifetime since the last time I saw ya.”

“Funny how a ‘lifetime’ is what seemed to be between us. Different generations and all that bull shit.”

“Look kid -”

“No. Don’t you dare call me ‘kid’. Don’t make me feel smaller than I already am. Those people out there may have beaten you into submission but I am an adult! I’ve been one since I saw my first infected. I’ve been on my own, and just fucking fine, without anybody since I was a so-called kid so I dont want to hear another god damn word! You and everybody else think I can’t so much as cross the street without holding your hand but I've done more than that with less.

You know I survived on my own.

Before you.

And if it’s up to you, I will after, but I don’t want to.

For the first time in my life I got something I wanted, needed, and I don’t want to give it up.

You.

Ellie.

Tommy, Maria, the baby.

Jackson.

Living.

It’s more than surviving.

But apparently not to you.”

“That is not true.”

You didn’t realise you’d stood up until you could feel the heat radiating off of Joel, his flannel, everything.

“Then what is huh? I was a quick fuck. The first wet thing you’d felt in twenty years or what?”

You were yelling at this point and Joel hadn’t moved an inch. Not giving you anything. Not even a response except for the pinching between his brows. And it was killing you.

“You know it wasn’t like that -”

“Then what the FUCK was it if. not. real?!” Emphasizing each word with a pound to his firm chest.

Nothing you said from then on was comprehensible. Just sobs ripping from your chest as you threw your weight into him. Sinking into the floor, dragging him down with you.

His arms shooting out from his sides to enrapture you the second he felt your knees buckle and tears flow. Pulling you into his lap as your body shuddered. Immediately finding the crook of his neck. Inhaling him again. Finally, you couldn’t tell if it made you cry more or less but all you could notice was Joel. All you could feel, hear and smell was Joel. The smell of firewood dotting his skin mixed with the old spice soap he’d managed to scavenge on last week’s patrol. The feeling of giving into his arms again, coming home, and the sound of him cooing, and sniffling?

He’d lost it. Thought he’d lost you and that was his breaking point. Feeling his own tears seep into your hair you knew it was real. You knew he meant everything he’d said back then. Back before Jackson got to him. Before he’d let his own mind turn on him. And as much as it’d hurt then, it felt good now.

“Shhh, shhh.

I gotcha baby. I know, oh I know. More than you could imagine.”

“Please, please, please.”

Holding your face, and your heart, in his calloused palms he looked you in the eye.

“Please what, baby?”

Looking like a doe at his doorstep, your crumpled frame fitting perfectly within the confines of his lap.

“Please don’t leave. Please stay. I tried, I tried so hard to be good to you, for you.”

“Oh honey, you were,

fuck - you are baby.

The best I’ll ever get, all I ever want.

I’m not leaving baby girl.

Never.

Even if you ask me to, I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, he didn’t.

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This sounded so much better in my head -

W o w

I actually wrote something… hot damn.

I’m debating a second part?? of smut??

#Spotify #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fanfic #pedro pascal #the alcott #taylor swift #the national #joel tlou #joel the last of us #angst with a happy ending

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slotmachines-fearofgod · 3 months

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i am a servant of the people and the people wanted more cody and ahsoka (YIPPIE) so here's the WIP i alluded to in my post order 66 AU brainstorm post hehe:

She found him a few months after he abandoned his post.

She was older than he remembered. He hadn’t seen her since she was sixteen, almost two years ago. Her leaving the Jedi temple had been the last time he’d ever seen her, her small form outlined by the sun as she walked away from the only path she’d ever known.

He and Rex had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs for their cue to go up and celebrate her return. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the look of shock and misery on Rex’s face when his vod’ika marched right past them, barely able to look them in the eyes.

She had the same look in her eyes now that she did then. Tired but not quite defeated. On the verge of something that could take her beyond the stars or crush her beneath its foot.

“Are you here to kill me?”

He’d hidden on Endor. It was far from his last known location and he had so many contacts courtesy of his time in the military that it had been easy to hire a ship to drop him off here. He’d had to switch vessels a few times, scrambling the codes just in case.

“No.”

Her sabers told a different story. They were white, not green like he remembered. Once upon a time he knew what that meant.

Regardless of the ghosts of the past, they were drawn, held in a defensive stance. He’d seen her fight countless times, knew how fast she could move, knew that once upon a time he could’ve stood a chance, but not now. He was too old, too achey, too strained from a lifetime of giving and receiving pain.

Ahsoka looked at him, the deep blue and stark white of her montrals standing out against the darkness that threatened to consume them both, “I wanted to see if it was true.”

“That I survived?”

“That you killed Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Cody froze, the words like a punch to the gut. He’d heard the words repeated over and over. He’d been given a medal for his quick thinking and decisive action against the traitors of the Empire. He knew he did it. He knew.

Still, he couldn’t help but think of a smaller version of the girl in front of him, stepping off a transport fresh from Coruscant. His Jedi had been the first to welcome her, so desperately wanting another padawan, a chance to redeem himself from his failure the first time around. Cody didn’t know how many photos he himself had taken of Ahsoka flinging herself into a hug or the three of them huddled together around a battle station.

Cody raised his head high, his blaster still safely tucked away in its holder. If death came by her hand, it would be a merciful fate.

“I did.”

Wooley pulled the trigger. He fired the shot that sent Cody’s one and only hope tumbling down to his doom. But Cody gave the order. He knew well enough by now, after years of fighting, the responsibility lay with him.

Besides, Wooley was long gone by now. He’d left them ten hours later in a locked room with a blaster to his head.

“Then he’s really gone?” Ahsoka asked, a slight tilt to her head. He remembered that habit from a different lifetime.

“Yes,” Cody said, forcing himself to remain steady. He’d delivered news of grief before, it being full of his own should make no difference this time.

To his surprise, the glow of the sabers receded. For a moment it was just Cody and Ahsoka, both entangled in the darkness of the night on Endor, where even the stars could not pierce the thick foliage above their heads. Strange noises beckoned to them both, calls of relief from a life neither of them could believe had become their reality.

“I thought he left me.”

Cody couldn’t see her, but he could hear the choked agony behind her words.

“It was my fault,” he assured her.

The blue glow of a communications device appeared between them, held aloft in Ahsoka’s hand. On it stood the crisp clear vision of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It was almost enough to bring Cody to his knees.

“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi: trust in the Force. Do not return to the Temple. That time has passed, and our future is uncertain. Avoid Coruscant. Avoid detection. Be secret... but be strong. We will each be challenged: our trust, our faith, our friendships. But we must persevere and, in time, I believe a new hope will emerge. May the Force be with you, always.”

Cody felt a tear slip down his face. He knew. Somehow he’d known. He’d warned the rest, helped them get out and escape.

“I’m sorry,” Cody croaked, his voice full of ruin, “I’m so sorry.”

Ahsoka watched him, her eyes hard and unrelenting in the blue light. She had no sympathy for him.

“How did he get this message out if you killed him?”

Cody shook his head, his hands starting to shake, “I don’t know.”

“Where is his body?”

“We - we never found it,” air was coming to him with more and more difficulty. A hand came up to his chest, clutching at the phantom pain threatening to pulverize his heart. “The Emperor told us he had confirmation. He told us he was dead.”

“Why?” Ahsoka pressed, “Why assure you of something you could’ve found yourselves?”

Cody shook his head again, “I don’t know.”

Something was wrong with him. It had become more and more like this now that the war was done and it was just him alone with his mind. He’d hear the snap of a twig and lock down his hideout, thinking battle droids had discovered his location. He’d see his reflection in the mirror late at night on accident and jump, thinking the rest of his brothers had finally found him, that they were going to drag him back there and make him like them.

Make him blank. Make him devoid of himself. Make him into a tool.

“Aayla Secura,” Ahsoka began in a cold voice, her wrath turning its focus to him, “Luminara Unduli, Shaak Ti, Ki Adi Mundi, Stass Allie, Plo Koon. All dead because of your brothers.”

Bly…gods above Bly. Cody prayed he wasn’t the one. He prayed he wasn’t the one that took the shot. And Wolffe - Cody couldn’t imagine what Wolffe would’ve done. Did do upon waking. Upon experiencing that horrible moment of vertigo that the 212th had felt all together. Experiencing a single moment of tethered grief, hours delayed though it might have been.

A noise of raw pain escaped Cody’s lips. It was wordless, not a cry or proclamation, but a tiny noise that any passersby would’ve assumed to be a wounded or hurt animal.

“My family,” Ahsoka’s voice was shaking, “I have to keep them alive. So I need to know - is Obi-Wan Kenobi’s name one I should add to my list?”

Cody squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. He knew. He knew it in his heart. If Obi-Wan Kenobi had survived, the Emperor would not have told him in person of his death. Those cold hands, unnaturally pale and scarred, would not have pressed a smooth medal of honor onto his uniform. He wouldn’t have had to hold back stuttering breaths as a coldness choked him, the knowledge that his light, his love, his one hope in this galaxy, was forever out of his reach threatening to take him under.

And it was his fault.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Cody croaked, finally opening his eyes to look at Ahsoka, “An entire venator went down to make sure of it.”

Ahsoka’s face darkened, some twisted grief taking hold of her, “I know.”

Cody knew what that meant. She’d been aboard. She’d seen it go down. She’d watched them all die. All of her friends, her soldiers, the men that she ate with everyday for two and half years, the men she served with and grew alongside of. They were as much her family as the Jedi were.

He didn’t want to ask about Rex. He didn’t want to see what it would do to either of them.

“So what now?” Cody asked, scrambling to regain some sense of the commander in him. The version of him that could do this without a permanent tremor in his left hand, without attacks of panic and confusion, without the fog that hung over him as his now constant companion.

Ahsoka squared her shoulders and gods she really was young, wasn't she? Just eighteen years old and here she was, throwing herself into the maw of something Cody didn’t think he’d ever fully understand.

“Do you have somewhere we can talk?” The request threw him off guard, but he nodded and turned around.

He was surprised when she fell into lockstep beside him.

They were almost the same height now.

Cody moved through the thick underbelly of the forest. He’d long since learned the pathways different prey animals took, knowing that was the safest way without cutting clear paths for his enemies to follow. Ahsoka followed him easily, her natural traits helping her move silently through the brush in a way he never could.

They didn’t speak on their way to his shelter. Both were thrumming with questions, fears, anxieties that were best not spoken aloud where the trees could hear. They had been trained too well and for too long to do something so stupid as that.

Cody had managed to make a small adobe style domicile. They’d taught all sorts of shelter making on Kamino and it had served him well, allowing him to dig out a small space and form a dome over top out of mud and clay that he’d already excavated. It was small, only one room, but the two of them sat comfortably. Cody got to work on the fire, waiting for Ahsoka to speak.

“Have you ever had a brain scan done?”

Cody thought for a moment, trying to remember.

“Probably at some point.”

“What level?”

Cody looked at her curiously, not understanding the point of this, “I’ve never had an injury that constituted anything above level 2, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Ahsoka blew out a breath, for the first time looking nervous.

A spark caught, quickly taking to the dried grass and sticks Cody used as kindling.

“You remember Fives.”

It wasn’t a question. They both knew Cody would never forget any of the Domino squad, not for as long as he lived.

“He was right.”

Cody looked up at Ahsoka. Her expression was serious, not that he’d expected it to be anything else.

“About what?”

Ahsoka’s hand went up to one of her lekku, before twitching and falling back to her lap. Cody knew what she’d been searching for anyway.

“There are chips inside of your heads,” Ahsoka said slowly, “Not the behavioral ones. Another. It was meant to be activated when - when the time was right.”

Cody’s stomach dropped.

“The Jedi didn’t betray the Republic,” Ahsoka said, “And you didn’t betray them. The Emperor took control of your heads. Order 66 was an activation code, one you couldn’t have stopped even if you wanted to.”

Cody felt like the floor had fallen out from beneath him. Judging by the look on Ahsoka’s face, he looked like it too.

“Cody…it wasn’t your fault.”

Tears stung his eyes, threatening to fall. He knew if that happened, it wouldn’t stop, and he’d never appeared weak in front of Ahsoka before. She was a child and had already been through too much.

His shoulders slumped, like Cody had been strung tight on a wire that was just now being cut. His whole body shook, his breaths coming in stuttering stop-starts and his eyes flicking to every dark corner that the fire couldn’t quite reach.

He couldn’t have stopped it if he wanted to.

It was always going to be like this.

There was never a future where he and Obi-Wan were going to be happy.

“I’m sorry,” Ahsoka said, her voice small and defeated, “Your family are victims just as much as mine.”

The whole venator went down with her. The whole venator went down and she was trapped aboard with an army of mindless killers. The whole venator went down and his baby brother was on it, trapped inside the walls of his own head, holding a blaster to the girl he’d once told Cody he’d never let any harm come to.

“Oh gods,” Cody choked out, “Oh gods.”

The pain threatened to take him. His chest was almost painful in its hollowness, his stomach roiling with nausea and hurt. His people, his brothers. Slaves to the great conductor of a broken symphony. Mindless, used against their will. Nothing more than weapons to be aimed and fired at whoever dared oppose the Empire.

They were nothing.

They had always been nothing.

“Cody,” a hand settled on his knee, and from it warmth escaped. For the first time in months, Cody felt something other than cold. “They’re waking up. Your brothers are waking up. There’s a movement -”

“Stop it,” Cody snapped, though the effect was lost as his tears finally began to spill, “I don’t - just stop.”

Ahsoka withdrew her hand and it took everything in Cody not to keen at the loss of heat.

He didn’t want to fight anymore. He was tired, too tired to ever take up command again.

How many had he seen die? Did none of it matter? They were just pawns, just pieces of a game to be moved around in order to undermine the Jedi. His entire existence was there to hurt the Jedi. The Jedi - the only ones who ever gave a semblance of a shit about them. And the whole point of the clones’ existence was to murder them in cold blood.

“Rex wants to see you.”

Cody’s entire being froze.

“He doesn’t know I found you. He’s been looking for you since Crosshair defected and told us you left.”

Crosshair defected.

“Wolffe too. He and Rex joined up a while back. Pretty sure one of your old commanders is with them.”

Boil? No, Boil was still with the Empire working as a scout.

It didn’t matter, he reminded himself, he put himself here for a reason. Whatever life he lived from here on out, he deserved.

“Cody,” Ahsoka called his attention again and this time when Cody looked at her, she looked scared. It took him a moment to work out that she was scared for him. “Rex is alive. I took him off the ship with me. His chip is gone, he’s okay.”

Cody stood abruptly, stumbling outside and making it a mere three steps from the doorway before throwing up. He shook, his hands on his knees, as he gagged and spit, his mind and body revolting against him in a horrible display of unity.

A hand rubbed over his back, the way Ponds used to do oh so long ago. Back when module scores and breaking curfew were their tallest troubles. Did they have the chips even then? Were they doomed from the start? How cruel, to never even let them begin before deciding how they would end.

“Can I tell him you’re here?” Ahsoka’s voice was soft and concerned. She sounded kind. It made him want to slam his fist into something. “He’s worried. They both are.”

Cody shook his head no. He didn’t deserve to get to have that, not when so many of his brothers were alone and drifting. Not when Obi-Wan, his general, his Jedi, his sweetheart, lay broken and defeated at the hands of a force neither of them could escape.

No, his fate would be the same as the rest of the galaxy’s. He would not allow himself the tenderness of brotherhood, not after all he’d done in the name of nothing.

“Go,” Cody croaked, his voice hoarse from bile and tears, “They’ll find you if you stay.”

Ahsoka’s hand didn’t pull away, “He misses you. He misses his big brother.”

That was playing fucking dirty and she knew it.

“Go,” Cody said more forcefully, “Get out of here.”

“And where will you go?” Ahsoka asked gently, “When they come knocking, where will you run to?”

“I won’t,” Cody panted, “I’ll accept it.”

There was a deep sigh from behind him. Cody didn’t take back his words. He didn’t want to lie to her, not after all she’d been through at their hands.

“I’m going to keep looking for Obi-Wan,” some of the strength returned to Ahsoka’s voice, “I don’t think he’s dead, so there must be a reason he’s still hidden. If you joined me, he might -”

“No,” Cody said quickly, spitting one last time and standing back to his full height, “I’m not doing that to myself.”

“Cody -”

“Ahsoka,” Cody turned to face her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. He was once again struck by how warm she was, “He’s gone. By my hand or the Emperor’s. I can’t - I can’t let myself think otherwise. I can’t pin my hope on a lie.”

Ahsoka stepped closer to him, a furrow appearing between her eyebrows. It reminded him of Skywalker. “It’s not a lie. He escaped long enough to get a message out. If he’d known before he would’ve said something to someone, would’ve at least had you de-chipped. If his body had been at the temple we would’ve found it, it would’ve been reported. But all that remained of him was this message.”

Cody shook his head. He couldn’t do this to himself. He couldn’t let himself think these things.

“Come with me. Just for a little bit. If we find something, stay longer, if not I’ll drop you right back here.”

Cody scrubbed a hand over his face, wincing at the dirt and sweat rough underneath his palm.

“I won’t even tell Rex.”

Cody sighed and looked at her. She looked earnest, at least. Not as defensive and angry as earlier.

“Please,” he suddenly realized Ahsoka was begging, “come with me.”

Cody looked down at her, considering. “How long have you been on your own?”

It seemed he hit the nail on the head. Ahsoka’s face fell, just for a moment, before she recovered her composure. It reminded him of Obi-Wan.

“Rex and I split up after the venator,�� she admitted, “I tried civilian life for a while, but everywhere I went people died. It’s been a while.”

Since she left the temple the first time, Cody translated for himself.

Cody looked down at her, weighing his options. He didn’t believe Obi-Wan was alive. Even his general could not escape death in its entirety. But Ahsoka was on a crash course. She was smart, dedicated, and clever enough to find him and keep tabs on Rex’s operation. She was also angry and alone, left behind by people she’d once turned her back on. Her guilt likely matched or exceeded his.

Cody breathed out slowly, “Two months.”

Ahsoka’s eyes widened.

“That’s all I can promise.”

Ahsoka nodded, “That’s fine. I’ll take it.”

And then he was being forcefully dragged into a hug.

She was finally tall enough that Cody could rest his chin in the space between her montrals. He wondered distantly if she’d outgrow him one day, before remembering how Shaak Ti towered over them all and decided that was very likely. He couldn’t tell which one of them was shaking harder, but decided to ignore it. This was the first time in months he’d allowed himself to touch anyone beyond a handshake here or there.

“You’re warm,” Ahsoka murmured into his chest, a soft sigh escaping her, “I don’t remember the last time I was warm.”

Cody’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. Just ran a hand over her lekku in the best display of comfort he could give.

“Two months,” Cody whispered, “I can only promise that.”

“It’ll be enough,” Ahsoka’s hands clenched in the back of Cody’s clothes. He understood what she wasn’t saying.

It’ll have to be enough.

#commander cody #ahsoka tano #my writing #fanfic #the clone wars #post order 66 #ahhhh #i want to make this a full fledged thing #but writing is hard and brainstorming is harder #anyways #lmk what yall think #<3

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simplegenius042 · 3 months

Text

Music Monday, Last Line/s & What's the Colour Palette of Your Name?

Tagged by @aceghosts @titiagls @imogenkol @raresvtm and @strafethesesinners

Tagging @inafieldofdaisies @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @softtidesworld @socially-awkward-skeleton @josephseedismyfather @voidika @direwombat @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @turbo-virgins @shellibisshe @deputy-morgan-malone @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @sleepyconfusedpotato @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries and @nightwingshero + anyone else who wants to join. Taglist here.

Late Music Monday for The UnTitledverse, specifically for the last three chapters of my A Blast In The Past WIP, and a Last Line for WIPs for The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters and a colour palette results for my username. Colour Palette can be found here. Anyway, you can find these below the cut:

Chapter 3 of my A Blast In The Past WIP, called "Absolutely Anything" continues with Calvin being denied his POV, and the Narrator continuing to slander his name, in spite of Calvin's actions. Also more introduction to allies and enemies, as well as Calvin being desperate to just... leave. Hence the chapter's title. Sure his actions are warped by the Narrator to seem more incompetent/selfish than he actually is, but yeah. Not only is Calvin's character twisted by the Narrator's words, it's also literally everyone else, but Calvin gets the Narrator's hate boner the most.

youtube

"I used to be so beautiful, now look at me My actions are undutiful, it's clear to see Come on and step out of that cage There's a new chapter, turn the page I'll take my place up on the stage All eyes on me!"

"I can hear you calling Calling up to me I'm falling down, I'm falling Won't you set me free?

I'll do anything, anything Anything that you need me to do Absolutely anything for you I will be aware of the ink, swim or sink Watching out for anything out of the blue But this nightmare's coming true What have I got myself into?"

"Have you ever wondered what heaven is like? I like to dream that it is quite beautiful A soft valley of green grass blanketed by a warm sun I don't think I'll ever get to see it Are you ready to ascend, my little errand boy? The heavens are waiting."

"You'll do anything, anything Anything that I ask you to do But you don't have a clue 'Cause I can guarantee, guarantee That demon's always after me and you But this nightmare is coming true Look what you've got yourself into."

Chapter 4's the darkest chapter, hence given the name "Art Of Darkness". Calvin's got his hands full with subtracting the number of foes he's got to deal with, meanwhile being psychologically tormented by the Narrator and the environment around that's sole purpose is to beat the shit out of him. Calvin gets closer to finding his exit... or at least, what the Narrator states is a lead.

youtube

"So sing along to the bouncing ball Wave your flag and renounce these halls You may have been sacked from this pantomime But a pal of mine wants you recalled

So march along to the count of four Astound at the scoundrel crowd you've drawn Left stranded and damned to this mangled form To abandon us here was an act of war."

"It's laughable to think you'll bring back the norm." "We've ink, but no malpractice forms." ""But Henry! You never gave a crap before?" 'Til we trapped you down 'neath the factory floor."

"Clap along to the rapturous score Three rounds down and back for more To find the keys in chapter four." "Remind me, where've you heard that before?"

"If you thought that demons were your problem right now Well, the angel's on the stage so pipe down If there are secrets that you want to find out Hop on the ink machine and ride those pipes down

So you're on the path of the starving artist But at the heart, well the art is heartless Ever seen a masterpiece get discarded? Start and depart for the art of darkness."

Chapter Five "Clearer" marks the finale of A Blast In The Past, the culmination of Calvin's journey and the mystery of his circumstances being revealed with the help of two intruders who the Narrator doesn't want anywhere near his playground. For Calvin, everything becomes... "clearer" in a way.

youtube

"Wake up in the wrong place at the wrong time Got to run away, no way out Thought I had new friends, new allies, but they won't let me escape

I pray that we make it out alive

I see the writing on the wall again Breaking out of here Everything's clearer We haven't even reached the end, but we make our own way And we are not gonna stay

Almost took all our blood, sweat, and tears to take down all our fears We're brave, but I pray that we make it out alive

I see the writing on the wall again Breaking out of here Everything's clearer We haven't even reached the end, but we make our own way

I have conquered demons of every kind But I wish that we could rewind all the years Power and justice, it was everything he wanted But despite it all, he could never find what he was looking for Now here we are at the end

I see the writing on the wall again Breaking out of here Everything's clearer We haven't even reached the end, but we make our own way And we are not gonna stay-ay-ay-ay

We'll never stay We will escape."

You can find the Last Line/s for The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters below.

Still got my Coroner!Silva AU WIP No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden from The Silver Chronicles. Anyway, have some Faith Seed POV as she falls for Coroner!Silva and falls hard (not that she already wasn't in an earlier scene where Silva charmed her with her strange hyper-fixations on the science behind corpses):

Faith wasn't sure if her words were making any sense to Silva. Botany was vastly different from forensic science. It'd help to prepare the coroner for when she eventually joined their family, especially as "the Mother" like Joseph had proclaimed. As she continued to speak, she took a chance to glance at her bench mate.

The first thing Faith noticed was Silva's eyes. Usually they were a dulled grey, without a light of life in them. There seemed to be a glow in the rings of her irises; a burning intensity, like molten silver. She held a dedicated gaze, absorbing and absorbed by every word that spilled from Faith's mouth, even as she began to slow and falter in her observation. The acute stare was different from Joseph's; his held a power that felt like he was judging a person's soul. Silva's though held no judgemental scrutiny; only a warm admiration that passed over her soul like an embrace. It almost felt like Silva was actually hearing every word Faith blurted out of her lips.

Faith swears she's seen this look before, or something close to it. Yes, right, Nadi. This expression was a similar kind she noticed on Nadi whenever John was around or even mentioned, which was often. Faith had often shaken her head at the Sinclair women's transitioned from a "dutiful bodyguard" to a "lovesick puppy" the moment John entered the frame; something Faith would combat with a teasing smile and an eye roll at the silly display, always finding herself satisfied that such antics would never happen with her, that level of attention unnecessary compared to the Father's approval.

And yet, Faith found herself breathless and unfairly unprepared in the face of the level of attention Silva's given her. Though she recognized just how contrasting the coroner's was from Nadi's own. The sharpshooter's was rooted in a kind of inexperienced love; a childish crush really, an envisioned idolized image Nadi built around the few virtues John displays, ignoring the glaring flaws John has. But Silva's gaze was more grounded, a reserved devotion almost saved for Faith; a maturity and experience Faith often laments not being given a chance to have herself. Just as she listened to Faith, it felt as if Silva was seeing Faith as well. Not as the Siren. Not as a herald. Not even as Rachel. Just... her. Just as she is now.

By now, Faith had ceased talking, just entrapped in the eyes of the woman next to her. Heart pounding, a red flushing on her face as she managed to ask Silva with a wavering smile, "Why are you staring at me like that?"

The Sheriff's coroner leaned against the support of her arm, gloved knuckles against under her cheek. Faith noticed her lips were slightly ajar, glistened with a natural shine as Silva seemed to think of an answer. She observed as Silva's expression shifted, displaying a coy smirk that was almost sly of amorous. The ridiculous thought caused her heart to flutter as anticipation coiled in her innards. Silva shuffled and leaned a shy bit closer to Faith, the recipient trying to swallow her nerves at the change of atmosphere, awaiting Silva's answer.

And here's a Last Line Tag for my Sonya's Push WIP from my Life, Despair & Monsters series. Enjoy the little snippet of one of the most toxic w|w couples I've made thus far:

A steam of hot air blew pass the clenched jaw of the mechanical Beastie, its optic shining a red hue onto her flesh. Jennifer sucked in a breath and shuddered as the heat stung her exposed shoulders. The Apex, Sonya, whatever name Malvolio's Beastie crowned itself with, hadn't immediately given her an answer. She tried to struggle against the tail's curled hold around her legs, waist, and arms.

Just like last time, she only succeeded in causing the tail to coil tighter, effectively pinning her hands to her tattered and dirty golden dress. The fear of her body's circulation being cut off suddenly occurred, so she ceased the struggle, hoping to gain the Apex's favour as it inspected her from the ground, circling as the panic and fear rumbled in her stomach. Jennifer was unsure what fate awaited her. She hoped her words made an effort in appealing to whatever human desire remained in the Beastie, but if she were to die, she'd wish it to be quicker than what Dicko received.

Anyway here's the results for the colour palette name game:

Nice to see I got some blues and purples and even a bit of greys. I can live with the reds and the darker/paler colours I guess but what's that lone random greenish-blue doing there, poor sod.

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ssinboo · 1 year

Text

down bad.

summary: You and your long time bestfriend smoke together

in reply to this lovely ask!

pairing: DJ!Bad boy!Vernon x Fem!Reader

word count: 1.6k (8~ minute read)

warnings: drinking, partying, weed, very explicit making out, extremely inaccurate drug use (I have asthma, i have never come even close to a single weed)

a/n: Sooo incredibly thankful for the unending love on my previous fics! The past two months have been so hectic and all your comments gave me so much joy!! I apologise for being M.I.A, but I am working on the second part of As it was! as well as some very abandoned wips!

With a hypnotising smile, Vernon Chwe waltzed into your life like he belonged. A part-time DJ at the place you waited tables during your first semester, he was a womanising, chain smoking, asshole.

He was also your best – read: only, – friend.

You just got each other. his awkward, out of this world kind of humour was just up your alley. It wasn’t uncommon for you to burst out laughing at a stupid meme sent in your chat.

Tonight, he was DJing at a new club, a high-stakes sort of place downtown that had lines that wrapped around the block every Friday night.

This could very well be the moment he will make it to stardom.

Heading straight for the venue after your shift, you make quick work of wading through the crowd to find your bestie. And he’s talking to a guy, looking all important.

You blow him a kiss, which he makes a show out of catching and placing his palm over his lips.

The stubborn butterflies that find your stomach don’t go unnoticed.

You did have a teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy, little crush on your best friend. Maybe it wasn’t so little, after all. Not when he plagued your mind 24/7 with flirty smirks and caring gestures.

Vernon was a touchy guy by nature, his hands always finding their way to your body; Which wasn’t an issue at first but quickly developed into a problem as you found yourself falling for him.

“Hey, handsome,” You greet him, immediately getting pulled into his arms.

“There’s my girl,” Not a cell in your body can resist his warm words, you were his girl and would always be. Vernon wraps his arm around your neck, kissing your cheek.

You’d picked out his fit for tonight, an all-black ensemble with a knitted black top and cross jewellery, your favourite. But it still messes with your heart to see the chain draped over his collarbones.

“Thought you weren’t comin’.”

“Oh, please, I couldn’t miss your biggest gig yet.”

He smiles, nuzzling against your temple.

“Didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” The guy he was previously talking to finally makes his presence known.

“Nah…” Vernon laughs, “Man, you know I don’t do relationships– This is my homegirl, my best friend. She’s my ride or die.”

There’s only so many times you can hear those words and still have a reaction.

You force a smile, telling the stranger your name.

He’s a little shorter than Vernon with a slender figure and a defined chest that is visible even through his shirt. Bleached blond hair that falls over his forehead flawlessly and bedroom eyes. God, hot people only hung out with hotter people.

“I’m Chan, nice to meet ya.”

“Chan’s a dancer, you have to see him, man. He’s fucking amazin’” Despite his arm not leaving your shoulders, Vernon emphasises his words with large gestures, sending your head crashing against his chest more than once.

You slap at his arm, smoothing down your hair before turning to acknowledge Chan.

“Well, I’ll keep my eye out for you.”

Chan smiles.

You hear Vernon’s name being called out.

“That’s my cue,” He kisses your hair, and reaches out his hand to fist bump Chan.

“Give em’ hell, pretty boy,” You cheer, watching him walk away.

Before you can even dread the awkwardness of losing your common friend, Chan is easing you into conversation.

“Come on, let me get you a drink? I’ll show you the best spot on the floor.”

He takes you to a corner close enough to the stage where you can see Vernon but not insanely close to the booming speakers. You’re more than happy to have room to breathe in the packed club.

Chan returns with your drinks; he brings you a fruity cocktail with pretty colours and an undertaste you can’t be bothered to figure out.

Vernon is a master at reading a crowd.

He can and will pick out the exact song to fit the mood, he knows by heart every timing to drop the beat and get the best reaction. You always find your body moving against your will when you watch him.

“Do you dance?” Chan leans over, having to scream in your ears over the music.

You shake your head vigorously, denying this mischievous look he bears.

“Come on?” He reaches for your hand and since your drinks have long been discarded, you don’t have an excuse.

Chan escorts you to the floor, where it is a lot more packed than your excluded corner. The blinking LEDs are almost blinding, especially when they follow the beat.

Once you stop caring about your own inability to dance, you realise how right Vernon was: Chan is a fucking dancing machine.

His body is moving in ways you could never imagine someone could, every turn of his hips dripping in precision. Now, with the alcohol simmering in your bloodstream and Chan’s contagious moves, you can’t help but find yourself swaying along with the pounding bass.

Two hours.

That’s how long you’re having fun on the dance floor with Chan to the sound of Vernon’s carefully curated playlist.

You were so enraptured by the ambience, you happened to miss the way Vernon’s eyes did not leave your figures once.

And you think you might have gotten yourself a new friend. The night was so much fun in his presence and as Vernon is walking toward you both, it can only get more fun, right?

You smile, jumping in your place with open arms to congratulate him.

“You killed it!” You exclaim, clinging to his arm.

Vernon is burying himself in your arms, nuzzling at your neck.

“Dude, you are the best DJ they’ve ever had,” Chan taps at his shoulder, joining in on your praise.

“Oh, I’m sure of that!”

“Seriously?” Vernon questions, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. He can smell the lingering fruity scent of your drinks.

“Of course!” Chan agrees.

You nod.

“I’ll trust your judgement, then,” He chuckles. “Wanna get outta here?” Vernon turns to you before looking at Chan.

Shrugging, you both look at Chan – Who has the slyest smile ever.

“Oh, hell yeah, I got something for you.”

You weren’t a big smoker. Sure you ‘dabbled’ every now and then, mostly whenever Vernon had some and you were in the mood to relax. OKay, maybe every now and then means twice and the last time, you thought you were going to die because you stood up too fast and got dizzy.

But Vernon and Chan are so into it right now.

Vernon is splayed out on his beaten up couch, laying against you with his legs over the second-hand coffee table you had to gorilla glue back together after it broke during moving.

And Chan is spread over the armchair, blunt between his pointer and thumb as he talks about the artful choreography of Michael Jackson’s thriller – Though, you zoned out minutes ago.

It’s only when Vernon is nudging at your side, offering you the blunt when you wake up.

“I’m not sure…” You whisper quietly, “You remember last time, it was too much.”

Vernon licks at his chapped lips, leaning back straight. He glances at Chan for a second before he stares back at you. “ We can try something else, might be better than pullin’ straight from it.”

You have no idea what he means by that, but you trust him.

So when against your better judgement, Vernon brings the burning bud to his lips, chest rising as he pulls, you’re surprised. But he doesn’t inhale or exhale, no.

He reaches for your cheeks, pulling your lips toward his. So close, untouching yet you can feel him so clearly.

The smoke tickles at your lips, stinging at your eyes until you say fuck it and inhale. You feel its warmth at first, following its path through your system, lazily pooling into your lungs with its languid daze.

And you think it’s all he will do, just so you will smoke and that was the plan. But when Vernon watched your eyelids droop above your adoring gaze, he couldn’t hold it anymore.

So he crashes his tongue into your parted mouth, devouring your taste with an unfound hunger; Specially when you’re humming so sweetly into his lips. It’s nothing near a chaste peck. Saliva drips from your connected lips, his grip on your neck tightens, bringing you further into him so he can ravish every bit of your eager tongue.

There’s a heat that burns in your chest, hotter than the blunt he holds between his pointer and thumb. And you melt into the shape of his body, dripping, seeping into every crevice, fingers reaching for his chest, curious touch mapping out every inch of his skin you can grasp.

You’re moaning against his lips, brain hazy under the intoxicating drug that he exudes. You wrap your arms around his neck, closing yourself off to the world and diving deeply into the perfect bubble he has created for you two and leans into you, chest rising and falling into yours.

And when the kiss ends, you’re panting, lips covered in a mixture of your saliva and his, reddened and swollen with his attention. Vernon smiles, running his tongue along your lips.

“Do you feel it?” He whispers, pressing kisses along your jaw.

“Huh?”

Oh, you feel nothing but the bubbling desire that pools along your stomach, burning through your veins with its lingering longing. By kissing you, Vernon has given you a taste of heaven, so how must you go on, knowing what his lips feel like?

You’re so busy with your thoughts of his kisses, you don’t notice the show Vernon makes of running his lips along your neck or the wink he sends Chan.

Vernon liked to say he wasn’t a possessive person, especially when it came to material assets, he wasn’t attached to his laptop or phone, and would happily lend his clothes to friends.

But when it came to you, there weren’t limits to his possessiveness, you were his from the moment you first smiled at him.

“…Fuck,” Chan grunts, looking down at his very obvious hard-on.

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pcssionfrt · 10 months

Text

hi hello! name's juve and it's been idk how long since i've been on tumblr so Pardon Me if i make any mistakes. anyway here's riye, your new student representative for evolution! movement. pls see below the cut for a brief tldr on her among other things! also plsplspls smash that like for plots 🤩 !! my ims no longer work(?) so until tumblr decides to respond to my ticket please add me on disc it's @ obiiive

bounced from home to home since young, stability was not a concept known till the age of 10, where she was adopted (this time, for good), packed up and moved to seoul. suddenly—new kid on the block.

objectively, she should feel glad, should be grateful, blessed to have a home to call her own, allowed to keep her own identity, her surname, her things. subjectively, riye hated the neighborhood. hated her classmates. her teacher. elderly neighbor. nosy woman at the register in the local grocers. just about everybody—give or take two (specifically, her parents). though even that gradually morphed when her anomaly started rearing its head.

the kwons were ordinary. human. religion leaning. simple. dash of impulsiveness that had them adopting a child twenty years into their marriage. did they realize that they were signing on for more than they could handle? no. did they regret it? maybe no. when their adopted daughter showed signs of an anomaly, what else was there to do but to accept her? yeah. live in fear.

fractures begins somewhere in her teens, squeezed in between the conflicts of hormones and a growing body. her parents are different now. riye is different now. but the three live under pretenses all the same. that nothing’s changed, that mom’s hand doesn’t tremble when she braids her hair. it wasn’t as if they weren't nice either—so what is there for her to say? what else was she to do except loathe them and herself and the sanctified marble face of dear lord and father of mankind, i pray you help our daughter every friday evening and sunday morning.

sua was the obvious choice. riye doesn't bat an eye when they pitch it to her. when mom cries, overjoyed at the sight of nullivi. when dad hands her pamphlets to the neighborhood church. when they leave, she crumbles; the feeling in her chest full and hollow at the same time.

CAMPUS LIFE: ????? grossly wip sorry

PERSONALITY

chronic self-hating people pleaser. help me help you help her by not getting Too involved. very prone to switching up on people (i.e. saying yes then gaslighting you for making her say yes). has unaddressed anger issues but also bad abandonment issues, overall her parents raised her to be a sweet christian girl and riye will do everything in her power to emulate it till she implodes or smth. in short: nice but not very sincere.

WANTED

“the friends she shows her parents” — essentially nice looking non-threatening people that she hangs out with, documents in photos and name drops to show her parents. preferably with normie anomalies as to not spook them. riye has nothing against them, but there’s underlying disgust for anything associated to her parents (even if she’s the one putting them in the situation). note: often leaves group hangouts w/o saying bye. walks right by you on campus like she’s never seen you before. doesn’t bother remembering the big things but will remember little things (food preferences, allergies) so you’re ? does she or doesn’t she care /:

“the (ex) boyfriend she shows her parents” — the first and only boy she’s introduced to her parents. idk yall probably broke up a while back because of how much her parents loved you (and she did, also, some kind of l word you) and it gave her the ick. v likely did not tell her parents yall broke up. note: constantly, and i mean constantly, gaslighted you. Did apologize when she realized but yk, damage done is damage done.

overall: friends she actually likes, former friend/exes who thinks she’s fake af, exes/fwbs/the works. i preference deeper connects over shallow surface relationships and i’m down to write anything from dark and saucy to crack!

#intro.#finished it on mobile sorry if it looks wonky!

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incorrectcoldflashblog · 3 months

Note

Any fic, number 4 and 27?

Hi, friend! Sorry this took me almost two days to answer, haha, I was in Paris for a concert yesterday and only just got back.

4.) If the fic required it, what did you research in order to write it?

The only fic I’ve published that really required any research is What Happens in Vegas and the goddamn tornado warnings. I don’t even know why I was so obsessed with getting this right when I was writing Chapter 4 because in the next chapter I just gave up on even trying to make it realistic, haha, but there you go. I did do a lot of research about ancient Mesopotamia to write my Genie AU, which is why it’s ironic that it’s now completely abandoned^^’

27.) Share a piece of lore you made up for the story

Well, obviously my Genie AU is also probably the WIP that required me to make up the most lore, since Len was a 5000-year-old genie in that one, although I did try to keep some key elements of his backstory, like having started life as a petty thief. I’ll use this as an excuse to share a little more of this fic since I’ll sadly probably never actually finish it (trigger warning for implied child abuse and suicide):

Cold couldn’t really remember the earliest millennia of his life. He supposed they must have been alright; they were just a very long time ago, and after a while everything just kind of tended to blur together.

The earliest he could remember clearly was a young man in Egypt. After he’d finished screaming, he’d been so excited. People always were excited by magic, back then. They would never have locked him away, or asked if they could return the children he’d created for them. Not like today’s ingrates.

Europe had been a funny little…continent? Glorified peninsula?

Whatever it was, Cold wasn’t sure how he’d ended up there in the first place, any more than he was sure how he’d ended up in this new place. The first human he’d encountered there had been an impeccably mannered little girl with bright blue eyes and brown curls, and a funny habit of speaking to him in Latin.

He was glad to have been discovered by a child. Little girls rarely made him hurt people the way adult men did.

Lisa was a lonely, unloved child—her parents had wanted a boy, she told him, but all of her baby brothers had died in infancy. It wasn’t an unusual request—he’d lost track of how many requests for baby boys he’d fulfilled over the years. Lisa had hoped that if she wished for her mother to fall pregnant with their long-desired son, her parents would stop being so cruel to her.

It turned out she was wrong.

He’d always suspected why Lisa had kept him around for as many years as she had without making her third wish, but what little heart he had had still sunk when she’d confirmed it.

“Please,” she had pleaded. “I’m decided. Just do it painlessly.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I thought the purpose of you demonic creatures was that you do whatsoever I desire.”

She was right, of course. What choice had he had?

Thank you so much for asking <3

Even More Fic Writers Ask

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beevean · 11 months

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WIP Saturday

(supposed to be Wednesday but you know)

I was tagged by @monochromatictoad! I do have a WIP, several in fact :D and I tag @the-crow-binary and @viralvava, if you guys are willing to share!

Since I'm stuck here, I'll get the chance to post the most complete part :P

On Walter’s throne, Joachim was bored.

And he was so sick of being bored.

Oh sure, at first he was delighted to see the throne room from that new perspective – no longer on his knees kissing Walter’s ridiculously ornamented boots, but sitting where the wretched despot used to sit, looking down at the pathetic creatures crawling in and out the hall.

(he could still smell his stench on his throne, fresh blood and meat and polished metal Joachim couldn’t stand it he hated it hated it hated him him him)

He had been weak and helpless for so long, that he didn’t know what to do with his newfound power: it was a liberation and a burden at the same time.

At first, he passed the time killing some of the monsters that bowed down to him, shaking like rippling water. Some of the uglier ones, the slimy ones, the mermen who still dared to show their faces around him as if he didn’t have enough of them and their blood that stank of rotten fish; it was easy, to decapitate them with his swords, or cut off their limbs to leave them to bleed out, or exert more of his power to crush their windpipes and lungs. They made funny noises when dying: they made for lovely music. And it felt so, so good to do so not because his body cried out for nourishment, seized by despair and the primal need for survival: but because he could, and there was nothing who could stop him, not anymore.

But even that grew stale. Death had no gravitas, for someone who had transcended it.

So Joachim spent some more years exploring what he used to call his home, to refresh his memory.

(Not all of it: he gave the watery caves a wide berth. He’d rather descend into Hell and break his legs there: it was bound to be a more pleasant stay. The sound of falling rain still made him jolt on the throne. He could kill any eventual witness to that sorry spectacle, but not the shame burning in his dead guts.)

(One day, he finally sealed the entrance for good measure, and his cackling resonated up to the surface.)

The new enormous chapel, polished to a shine and bathed in the silver moonlight, only made him scoff. He could stare at the giant crucifixes and the statues of holy women without his eyes melting: they were mere counterfeits, bait for the knights’ hope and faith. How like Walter, to meticulously create something so ostentatious as a form of mockery. Joachim had no affection for the Christian God he was forced to worship in his life, so no emotions ever stirred him – he counted it as a victory against his dead master, who used to drink Joachim’s anger like distilled blood.

He’d visit the abandoned theatre quite often, force the vain succubi to give him a show, to transform into Joachim and Walter and reenact the moment he had slayed the former Lord, perhaps with a little embellishment for his amusement. And Joachim clapped, clapped hard enough that the sound of his joy echoed into the empty hallways! If they were creative enough, he’d even spare them.

He didn’t understand why the inhabitants of the castle were so terrified of him. So maybe he had a little too much fun cleaning up the place, but he had no intention of imprisoning anyone, so they should be grateful that their new Lord was much more merciful. Not that he cared about the opinion of lurid creatures who enjoyed their useless freedom when he rotted in the bowels of the castle, forgotten by everything, lower than the maggots that squirmed in decayed corpses.

The alchemy laboratory brought back memories that Joachim could have done without. Walter had taught him the basics of alchemy, in that place, he had told him about the Ebony and the Crimson Stone, the greatest treasures for a vampire to hold. And Joachim looked up to him, to his knowledge, and he had allowed him to fill his head with his obnoxious voice, and allowed him to touch him with those filthy paws of his, and…

Well, Walter was dead, and Joachim still remembered how to read, albeit slowly. He could soak in the rest of Walter’s knowledge by himself. And curse him for even thinking of appreciating one thing about that bastard, but his wealth of knowledge was immense, and a more than fulfilling pastime.

But the gardens were by far his favorite wing of the castle. Air, fresh air, for him and only him to feel on his skin! He even breathed it, as if to replace the stagnant humidity that had become part of his body. And oh, how he had missed the night sky, the stars spreading over his head rather than those stalactites he had watched grow, waiting for them to impale him. He enjoyed laying on the damp grass, drawing in the air with his swords, and stare at the immense, red moon shining upon him, a benefactor he had forgotten about.

Soon, the castle became tight on him. Another cell, just bigger than the one he had called his home for… he was afraid of knowing how much time had passed ever since that fateful day, when he tried to show Walter that he was no mere toy, that he deserved the throne more than he did.

Never. Never again. Never again will he be stuck!

He hadn’t realized that Walter was his reason of living. Not just because he had gifted him with eternal life; the reason he never melted himself away under a waterfall was because for countless time, he had anticipated the sweet taste of revenge.

He feasted on that revenge. And then what?

Joachim had wasted enough of his immortality.

#beev's writing #castlevania #akumajou dracula #joachim armster #the second part is supposed to be joachim welcoming bapy isaac and julia in his castle lol #but i don't know i'm not convinced by this one #and i want joachim to travel around europe before that but that woudl require me to do research on early middle age europe and no thanks #anyway. he mad. he's just as fun to write as isaac is <3

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outeremissary · 9 months

Text

Word Search Game

Tagged by @arendaes- I appreciate the tag, and apologize for taking over a month to get to it (I hadn't reorganized my writing folder yet). Because 2023 was not a year that I wrote regularly and I'm trying to get back into the habit, I think all or almost all of these are actually from 2022. It's still a WIP as long as I intend to loop back, right...?

The words I was given were MOMENT, STAR, and BLUE.

MOMENT: This was from Between Death and Dreaming, a small oneshot and my one and only one Wrath fic.

Every part of her body screamed to push her luck, to make some move she didn’t know to comfort Carmen. To assure her that she wouldn’t go. Something to finally bridge the gap between them and make it clear that she could be relied on even if she could never be loved. She couldn’t imagine what that move was. So instead she stood stock still, desperately hoping the moment wouldn’t end. “You’re lying.”

STAR: I had to cheat a bit for this- I seriously was struggling to find the word. A travesty!!! Maybe it was buried in something I didn't check...? It's from a chapter of a Kingmaker prequel fic I've recently returned my attention to (though this old bit is marked for rewrite in revision for various reasons).

They trailed after the creature down long starry corridors lined with mismatched doors or paintings that stretched from floor to ceiling and moved like captive moments of time. Here and there they cut randomly across empty parlors or ballrooms- in one especially cobweb-strewn stateroom the starlit sky gave out a few feet in and revealed cracked and faded tiles arching listlessly over the abandoned space. They wandered in lonesome spirals until the angel was sure that they would never be able to retrace their steps unassisted. Nowhere did they pass window or skylight: the great complex only looked inward on itself and upward at a false sky.

BLUE: And this is from an old draft of a oneshot- I don't think I'd reached this point on the second draft I worked on in late 2023.

Tristian also noted the way the baron’s wings still pressed uncomfortably against the back of the chair: a troubling continuation of the baron’s new habit of imagining them away. Ever since they appeared Balthazar had awakened to a vendetta against his own body- one which had made him even moodier than before. There was a faint twinge of something in the pit of Tristian’s stomach as one of the wings stirred ever so slightly. The split second it took to quash that something was enough for the baron to shift just enough to crush the flicker of life back against the chair. “Tristian.” Balthazar’s eyes flicked over Tristian in lightning-fast assessment before he smiled his customary pleasant smile- the one that was all in mouth and body and gesture, but never reached his frigid blue gaze. “I didn’t expect to see you again. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

If you're interested, I'll tag @mountainashfae with the words TIME, HAND, and DARK.

#I tend to use a dubious organizational system where old drafts are in the same document as new drafts.#scrivener thankfully has allowed me to make this practice slightly less evil than the way I did it in ms word.#sorry that stuff on this is so ancient. I'm an erratic and private writer at the best of times and 2023 was not that best for writing ^^;:#I wish one of these words had appeared in my character journal for Gatewalkers because I have really enjoyed writing that lol #tag game #arendaes #here's hoping for new habits for the new year ^^;;

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workingforitallthetime · 2 years

Text

what i wrote in 2022

ao3:

forever too much to take (50K) -- my baby, my beloved, the only fic i've ever written that turned out anywhere close to what i wanted in my head. i might never do any better than this and that's okay.

i went to school and i got the big D (11K) -- i love my tender feelings for girl!owen but oh boy i am never writing girl pov again.

high atop the kitchen counter (3K) and california cotton candy taste (3K) -- what can i say, matty and brendan both deserved to fuck girl!thom.

in the comfort of our own backyards (6K) and prrr me a glass, boy (8K) -- to love what is mortal/to hold it/against your bones/knowing your own life depends on it/and when the time comes/to let it/go/to let it go. goodbye team 100. but not without a couple of last gasps of animal transformation fic.

83,274 words! my best year since 2018!

tumblr bits and pieces:

abandoned quinn/trevor WIP

my ongoing and completely unfounded jake sanderson beef

team 100 superhero/villain premise no plot just vibes

truss therapy dog

hughes family headcanons here and here

big soft d men

forever too much to take epilogue thoughts

summer catch au sort of

umich trashers au (god i loved this premise)

kingsguard au i wanted to write but it never quite came together

rutger/frankie spin the bottle thoughts

fantilli bros/truss while you were sleeping au

adam fantilli headcanons

god, this has been such a great year. team 100 was such a gift, and then umich gave us a whole new litter of freshmen with their own narratives to fall in love with! i love college hockey i love junior hockey i love an ever-changing cast of prospects i love the intense emotions and dumb decisions of ages 18-22 i love the pals who keep being willing to adopt new dumb boys with me!!!! happy new year and here's to all the new dumb boys we'll make up in 2023!

#whoops i'm getting this in a few minutes after midnight but oh well

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desnas · 2 years

Note

from this ask prompt!

it's only right that i start with yfaera...

meet yfaera dewblossom! (she/her + he/him)

she's a kaldorei priestess of elune from the warcraft universe, and one of my oldest ocs (though not my first warcraft oc) i've had her since i was in high school and i've probably fully fleshed out and developed her the most over any character i have.

he literally means the world to me, and is constantly changing and growing and evolving... my most blorbo bleebus of all time, if you will...

pinterest board | spotify playlist | toyhouse (wip lol)

more under the cut cause you opened pandora's box

fae (yes, i go by faye, he goes by fae) ultimately began as a rebellious sister of elune heavily inspired by maria von trapp-- specifically while she's still a nun-- from the sound of music. i wanted to make him flighty and curious and reckless, and even a bit naive.

this nature eventually led him to pursue archaeology... mf got a special interest in the study of elune Herself, and a very strange relationship with her where, on one hand, he reveres her for the goddess she is and sees her as a mother figure. on the other hand, he wants to study her, find out what she is and where she comes from. by that token, i think yfaera carries a quiet resentment for elune that roots back to trauma from her mother, and later, her peers.

tw for child abuse and neglect // yfaera's mom was not a good person. she isolated yfaera, tried to raise her on highborne principals, rarely let her outside-- justice was eventually dealt and yfaera was taken to an orphanage in starfall village, winterspring. from her arrival, she became the town trouble maker, always running off and getting into sticky situations.

he carries the weight of this title no matter where he goes, even to this day. while he's grown into himself and most certainly matured in some aspects, yfaera is always going to be a curious and free-spirited troublemaker through and through. she is touched by the void after a very intense and unhealthy fling with a n'zoth witch. it forever changed her, giving way to a sort of ecliptic theme with waxing/waning moon phases (shadow vs. light)

even in spite of her dark side, yfaera is a loving and caring person who always tries to find the positive in other people. she's silly and child-like in some ways, and a natural healer. while an adolescent, it took yfaera lots of struggling to figure out who or what she was, actively resisting the life of a healer/sister of elune.

unfortunately for her, the gifts were innate. they came naturally-- and now she struggles to bear the own self and peer-imposed responsibility that comes with it. even so, yfaera is compassionate and empathetic, and will help someone at the drop of a pin should they ask. he was heavily involved in the recovery of teldrassil refugees after the war of thorns, and gave so much of himself to being a field medic during that time in his life.

by circumstance, he's slowly gained the favor of my own homebrew version of the blue child-- often receiving premonition dreams tinted in deep blues, his lunar magic changing in not only appearance but by its very nature.

she's an herbalist and painter, and loves making maps and naturalist journals. she's even recently started an archaeological guild with her mate, faerandiel thornheart! unfortunately for her, they died, though. it's a whole thing.

during the 3 year time skip prior to dragonflight, yfaera spent an unfathomable and unhealthy amount of time researching ways to bring faerandiel back, side-by-side with her girlfriend larisben dren and a few others. regrettably, all of their efforts have come up short.

yfaera has since found herself in a depressive rut, trying to find her spark again-- now abandoned by the blue child. she's even cut her hair short (i don't have any art of it yet that i like aahh) the dragon isles are helping her find peace, bringing new discoveries and opportunities, and she's taken up dragon riding as another one of her many, many hobbies!

unfortunately that's not going to last long. something in her is deeply corrupted and it's only going to get worse from here on out! :) <3 yay!

this literally doesn't even scratch the surface of everything about yfaera, there's so much history with her that it would take me days to type out lol. love her so much. my scrunkly who i am so mean to </3

#ask #oc: yfaera #warcraft #sister of elune #kaldorei #epsilon rp #world of warcraft #sorry there is so much here i have issues

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alanshee-keeper-of-realms · 1 year

Text

Would you like a Macchiato with that?(WIP)

Macchiatto Shipping (Skylor x Coffee Manager)

AN: who's the Coffee manager? Well this gal right here!

I call her Jennifer after Jenny X9 from My life as a Teenage Robot, but I theorize she may be Pixals Predecessor, the 15th P.I.X.A.L. Her color scheme is way to close for me along with her personality haha her and Pixal are both very competitive and full of sass along with being protective of their respective interests.

Back when Diisdoodles and I were on speaking terms, they came up with the ship name, which I still absolutely love, so I will still use as I revive this pairing.

Skylor noticed when a Nindroid moved into the abandoned shop just down the block from her, she decided to leave the other alone. Especially if they were planning on opening a business, the Nindroid would be plenty busy rebuilding the place

Then of all people, Doctor Cyrus Borg showed up at her restaurant covered in grease and dust a mask around his neck and the Nindroid beside him, the pair laughing at something as they entered. The Nindroid was pretty with medium gray hair tied back, even with paint splattered throughout and even on her facial plates

"Welcome to Master Chens Noodle House." She found herself tumbling into her usual spiel they both smiled as they waved going to a booth as she decided to go on over

The pair had already a few things from the belt, their heads turning at her intrusion,

"Sorry Mr Borg don't mean to intrude, but I noticed thus one moving down into the old Store down the road. Curiosity got me and wished to meet my new neighbor,"

He gave her a grin,

"Oh, that's perfectly fine to me! It makes me happy that she's being welcomed so warmly."

The Nindroid nodded a soft smile on her face,

"It makes me happy as well," she agreed before holding hr hand out I am Jennifer, the 15th P.I.X.A.L."

Skylor accepted it, smiling back,

"Nice to meet you, I'm Skylor Chen. May I call you Jenny?"

"Of course it is what those close to me call me, and I have a feeling we are going to be close. I have big hopes to restart this district, make this place a hub of good food and entertainment."

Skylor beamed Jennifer, returning the same smile

"I love to hear that! You and I share the same ideal, if I may put a bug in your ear the place you are renovating used to be the local bakery,"

Cyrus gave a playful look as he took a bite of his bowl of noodles, Jennifer responding

"Then it's a good thing it's being turned into a cafe,"

"That makes me happy to hear. The local college kids will swarm it so I'd have a nook for them to tuck themselves in. " She motioned to her restaurants own a giant booth filled with young adults"Well I will leave you both to eat I would say it's on the house but knowing Mr Borg he'd slip a 100$ into the tip jar like last time"

She heard Jenny laugh as her fathers face went red as the woman went back to the kitchen

Skylor began seeing more of the Nindroid around sometimes with others she theorized were other family members, they began sitting down on the days Jennifer was on her own and the Noodle House was in a lull

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago pixal #ninjago cyrus borg #ninjago coffee manager #Macchiato Shipping #ninjago skylor #Coffee Manager X Skylor #ninjago Jennifer

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hlmoorewrites · 7 months

Text

WIP tag game

I saw this on my dash! I wasn't tagged but I'm not going to let that stop me lol. Rules of the WIP Tag:

List the titles of your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

Then tag 10 writer friends!

Titles of my top 5 priorities for WIP updates:

Throne Of Lies - the third book in my Death's Embrace series

the unmaking of lily luna - HP fic, sequel to the seven lives of lily potter

Io Station - the next novella in my Tales from the Jovian Empire anthology series

Tacita - a standalone fantasy novel

Strike Force - the first book in a sci-fi series set in the Jovian Empire universe [feat. an extremely slow-burn lesbian romance]

Upcoming scene/event/detail in each fic I'm looking forward to writing:

1. Throne Of Lies

“You were a feral little thing, weren’t you.”

Grace opened her mouth, to no doubt give him a piece of her mind for the egregious offence of being called a ‘little’ anything – then she closed it and huffed. “Doran told you about the mollusc, didn’t he.”

“You must have driven your mother spare.”

“I wish I hadn’t.”

“I cannot imagine she wanted you to be anything other than yourself.”

“Don’t,” Grace snapped, “presume to know anything about her.”

Nathaniel was silent for a moment. “When I was boy in the Helvetic,” he eventually said, “I used to roam the streets after dark with an unsavoury crowd. We would all dare each other to sneak into abandoned houses infested with chimaera spiders, find a nest, and –”

“What makes you think I care about your childhood?”

“I didn’t particularly care to hear about yours, but I listened politely when Doran shared the details; the least you could do is return the favour. We’re stuck here until dawn, at any rate. Have you anything better to do?”

Grace sniffed, which he took as tacit permission to continue.

“When my mother found out what I was doing, she hauled me through the condemned alleys by my ear until we found a corpse of someone who had succumbed to the chimaerachnid’s bite. She sliced open the arm and made me look at the eggs infesting every single vein, artery and muscle until I threw up.”

“That’s awful.”

“I was an awful child. Moody, reckless, always getting into trouble.”

After a heavy silence, Grace murmured, “You must have driven her spare.”

2. the unmaking of lily luna

(Maybe you were supposed to. Maybe you weren’t meant to survive that first time. What if that’s why you kept dying? What if that was the universe’s way of telling you that you were supposed to stay dead?)

But more than that:

The smartest, bravest man you have ever known – a man who has been more of a father to you than your own has, a man who has saved your life time and time and time again – will be gone forever.

(And that – that is unacceptable.)

You slip your trembling fingers under the bloody, shredded collar around his torn throat and you feel it, the weak thready pulse of a man about to die.

You don’t understand. He survives, you know he survives. He’s been there your entire life, he lived. Harry defeats Voldemort and returns after the Battle and finds Severus Snape clinging to life, everyone knows that – it’s in all of the history books, it’s what Harry said happened in all of those post-War interviews he gave, it’s what is taught in the History of Magic classes at Hogwarts. But these wounds – how can anyone survive these wounds? He can’t die, this isn’t how it happened, this isn’t how it happened –

“Wake up,” you beg, touching a shaking hand to Severus’s ice-cold cheek, his skin as white as marble. “Wake up – please –”

His lips move. His breath rattles in his chest. He whispers your name. Then Severus Snape breathes his last, and –

3. Io Station

She has existed long before the Empire rose, and she will live on long after the Empire falls. She is as beautiful as she is grotesque; cruel as she is kind. She is old and tired, but she never sleeps, determined to endure for the two million souls who reside within her walls.

She is Io Station.

She is my home.

4. Tacita

“Wanted for the murder of Legate Adriana Lucia!”

The woman peered down at her – not with disgust or horror, but with curiosity. “A serious crime, child.”

A crime! The only crime was that the Legate thought it her right to beat her slaves so savagely in the first place. The only crime was that Adriana Lucia had dangled the girl’s pendant before her eyes and laughed, cruel and mocking, and threatened to melt it down for an arrowhead unless the girl behaved. The only crime Tacita had committed was that Legate Adriana Lucia’s death by her hands hadn’t been on purpose.

Oh, sure, she’d fantasised every day how she would kill the Legate. Slowly, Tacita had imagined while rubbing the Legate’s calloused feet with oils. Maybe she would drug her nightly milk and tie her up in her bed, and slowly pry off each of her fingernails as revenge for the lashings. Or she would have increased the temperature in the Legate’s bath so slowly she wouldn’t realise it until she was boiled half to death, right in the middle of the long dark eclipse for irony.

Whether or not Tacita would have actually done it was hardly the point; the point was that she’d never imagined it happening so quickly. Without thought. She’d lunged for her mother’s pendant with a screech and collided with the Legate’s body with such force that the Legate staggered backwards, lost her balance, and split her skull open against the corner of a marble table as she fell.

She had been dead before she hit the ground.

“It was an accident,” Tacita snarled.

“You don’t sound terribly sorry for it,” the woman noted.

“Why should I?”

“Does the loss of a life at your hands not upset you? Do you feel no guilt?”

Tacita shrugged. “Will it change what happened?”

If the woman was disturbed, she did not show it. “An accident, you say? Suppose I believe you. No doubt it was a tussle over that remarkable pendant around your neck.”

Tacita’s hand gripped it tightly. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re implying,” she snapped. “It was my mother’s."

5. Strike Force

Ten years ago, Jocelyn Carver of the Jovian Armies brutally ended the Ganymedean Insurgency and restored law and order to the Jovian Empire - but earned herself a cruel moniker: The Butcher of Ganymede.

Professor Catriona Ballard, professor of politics at Conamara University on Europa, has ridden the wave of fame delivered by her damning expose on Carver - but with the release of a new article exposing unsavoury practices within the Jovian Empire comes not fame, but vilification. Stripped of her accolades, titles and security, Ballard finds herself arrested and forced to serve out her sentence as a Petty Officer in the Jovian Armies - and under the command of the very woman whose name she slandered a decade prior.

Ballard loathes Carver with every fibre of her being, and expects Carver to return the sentiment - but the Captain is nothing what she expected her to be.

A slow-burn lesbian romance set against the backdrop of the cruel politics of the Jovian Empire.

Tagging: @thisgingerhasnosoul @missdreawrites @wittyusernamed @crowbito @athingofvikings @merulanoir @buffyfan145 @amazinmango @adeadratiswatching @misakikaito @wantonlywindswept @exalok

+ anyone who sees this on their dash and wants to do it!

#tag game #wip tag game

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utterlyinevitable · 2 years

Text

(Further) Trials & Tribulations (1/?)

↳ series masterlist

A little bit of sunshine

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Becca Lao) feat. Bryce Lahela Rating: Teen+ Warnings: mentions of depression Tropes: Bryce- Hurt/Comfort; Ethan- The Amazon

Summary: Bryce notices somethings not quite right with Becca and makes it his mission to help bring her back to life.

a/n: since Trials & Tribulations has been on hiatus for nearly two years, i’ve decided to post all the drabbles of scenes i’ve mapped out. they aren’t edited or fully finished drabbles but, you know, new year new wip list and i really wanna get all these old oph hiatus works out of limbo. i hope you enjoy this angsty mess.

________________

The subsequent days following the betrayal were hard on Becca. Every turn in the halls, every evening in Donahue’s with that empty bar stool mocking her, and every moment she was alone in her room with her soiled sheets - all of it made her numb. She had become a shell of a person. Nothing excited her as much anymore and the crippling worry of all the unknowns ate away at whatever crumbs of humanity she had left. Rebecca was undoubtedly depressed; spiraling out of control by not sleeping, refusing to be alone but not with her friends, substituting those with evenings wrapped around Rafael when possible, and drinking a little more than she should have each night.

It seemed like no one noticed. Like everyone chalked it up to the stressors of trial finally weighing down on her.

Except one person did notice every stealthy dissociated move she made.

Bryce notices her struggles those first weeks. makes it his mission to put pink back on the apples of her cheeks once more. He’d be damned if he gave up on a friend when they needed him most.

Among the tortures caused, Bryce was a ray of light casting all doubts Becca had away. Bryce was a nice distraction. He volunteered to make her feel as good as possible as often as possible. He took her out. He held her close. He tried to make sure she got laid, though he assured her he would not be the one performing the task. Rebecca took him up on his offer every step of the way. Bryce knew something was bothering her - he didn’t understand why she was so down after the hearing. She won unanimously, saved the life of the most notable diagnostician in the world, and uncovered a cure for Rhodes Disease. She was on top of the world. Why was she stuck in a rut?

Little by little, and by Week 2, he could start to see shadows of his favorite, most miraculous friend shining through her turmoil. He wouldn’t push her to talk about it. Bryce fully believed that when she was ready, she’d tell him exactly what went down. Until then, he’d do his best to be by her side.

It all started with little lunch outings when he'd seek her out between surgeries and they had free moments together at work. He noticed how she'd avoid the 5th floor admin wing, sometimes taking the long way around. Bryce thought it had something to do with the ethics hearing and wanting to keep from the eyes of the board; keep her head down and carry on. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought she was avoiding a certain diagnostician’s abandoned office. She always looked so dejected and didn't show up for group lunches most weeks.

Becca was hunched over a file at the nurse’s station, leaning on her forearms as she slowly digested the information before signing off.

Bryce sauntered over, “Are you on lunch?” He shot her his signature megawatt grin. Although she didn’t turn to him, she felt it radiating off of him.

“Should be in 5, why?”

“I’m going to Red Tomato. Wanna tag along?”

Becca bit her lip, her eyes fixated on the small print of the patient form she was mulling over, “Um…” How was she supposed to tell him she hadn’t taken a lunch break in over a week?

“My treat. Anything you want, as long as it's not a mayo and cucumber sandwich.”

There was a pause and Becca chewed on her lip harder. She didn’t think anyone would notice that’s the only thing she’s been eating.

“They have the most delectable Paninis and Oreo cheesecake.”

They both heard her stomach growl.

Bryce reached over and closed the file in her hand, handing it to Danny behind the nurses’ desk. He fit her hand in his sizable palm and off they went. A ghost of a smirk on her lips.

Two days later the group of friends were celebrating the weekend at Donahue’s. Nothing out of the ordinary about this, they do it at least twice a month. But what was different were the excess piles of glasses in one particular spot of the table. Becca was two shots ahead of everyone else. She didn’t think anyone would notice her downing a double tequila as she waited for the group tray. Yet Bryce slyly watched her every motion.

When she reached for her third, he had to divinely intervene.

He leaned over her shoulder so she could hear him over the shouts of their friends' heated debate, “Bet I can beat your ass at pool.”

“I’ve been playing pool since I was eight.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re any good.”

“You’re on, Lahela.”

And so they sauntered over to the billiards corner of the bar, the two of them throwing playful jabs back and forth along with sardonic taunts. It was like it was their first week on the job - and Bryce regaled her with the memory of their first game together, their bet (and how they’re going to up it this time. but what could be better than a kiss?), how their friendship has become so important to him.

The conversation flowed freely and ever so effortlessly, no alcohol needed.

Becca had one-ball lead when a song came on Bryce knew they couldn't miss, especially if the game was ending soon. “Intermission!”

“There's no intermission in pool!”

His brows furrow and his amber eyes shine golden, “Who says? Not like you're a profesh or anything.”

He pulled her into him by the wrists, his hands at her waist. He moved her body side to side with his strength, making silly faces at her until Becca just gave his gleeful smirk a raised eyebrow.

“Hips don't lie, Becks. Yours are screaming for more. Unless you wanna forfeit now? I understand if my sexy bod has rendered you incapable.”

“You're unbelievable, you know that.”

“You better believe it,” he smiled and twirled her around and around until a giggled escaped.

______________________

a/n: thanks for reading!

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

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Bryce:

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#bryce lahela superiority anyone???#open heart #choices open heart #ethan x mc #bryce lahela #bryce x mc #ethan ramsey

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