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spacebarbarianweird · 6 months

Text

Sleepy

Summary: Tiriel persuades Astarion to drink the sleeping potion.

Technically it's just Astarion being very sleepy and Tiriel taking advantage on that.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: fluff, post-game, named Tav, established relationship.

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

"Astarion!" Tiriel calls out for her vampire husband. "Are you there?"

The battle is over and Tiriel, feeling dizzy after taking at least two hits in the head, is looking around.

Two dead ogres. Three orcs. A gnoll that was too drunk to realize a raging barbarian wasn’t a good target to bite.

"Only my man can bite me," she pushes the body aside.

But Astarion is nowhere to be seen. He usually hides in the shadows protecting Tiriel from damage, but the moment it's over he comes back to her, hot with blood.

It's been like that for sixty years.

"Astarion!"

No response.

Maybe he's gone too far in the caves? But Astarion has a sharp hearing, he must have heard her.

She looks down and notices a bag probably stolen from an unfortunate victim. Tiriel kneels to open it and sees bottles filled with potion.

Three are broken and the fabric is soaked in a liquid of unknown properties.

And the fourth one...

Tiriel carefully takes it in her hands.

Angelic Sleep Potion!

The only potion that puts an elf to real sleep. It looks like molten gold and the bottle has two wings.

Then Tiriel sees him.

He stands in the middle of the field, silent and motionless. Tiriel can't see his face and she thinks he might be looking for something in the dark.

"Astarion, love!" She calls him. "Are you all right?"

No response again.

His armor is in rags, hair is covered in dry blood. He doesn't have any wounds – not anymore, at least, thanks to vampiric regeneration, but it seems he's received a lot of damage.

"Astarion?" Tiriel feels a knot in her stomach. There was a period when Astarion was such a mental wreck, she even doubted her devotion to him. But he got better with the years, setbacks became rare and now Astarion sometimes even forgets he lived those awful centuries of slavery.

Astarion makes a grunting sound as if something has stabbed him, before collapsing on his knees.

And then he yells.

His voice echoes through the caves. His yells become cries and then he just sobs grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

Tiriel sits beside Astarion and caresses his back.

"I am here, love, I am here," she plants a kiss on the nape of his neck and only then he stops trembling.

"I am sorry," he mutters, finally collecting himself. "Just... too much..."

"I see, you received too much damage, huh? Come on, you need rest."

Astarion needs help to stand up and then he just leans on Tiriel, unable to move by himself.

"Just... I don't know... it was like a flood. The ogre hit me three or four times and I felt like I was going back to the dungeons, back to... whatever I was before..."

Tiriel tugs him closer.

It takes them the whole night to return back to Backford Crossing – a small town close to Luskan that became their home twenty years ago, after they'd left Daggerlake. It was nice to come back to the Sword Coast and besides Tiriel got her own adventuring guild. These are wild territories that are close to the Icewind Dale, and winters here are merciless.

Tiriel suspects many of her subordinates know too well Astarion is a vampire, but they are people who have a lot of secrets, too. Don't want to be interrogated about your questionable past in the Underdark? Don't try to learn if Astarion is a vampire or not. Besides, thanks to his age and satiation he perfectly imitates a mortal elf. Even his fangs aren't that visible.

By the time Tiriel closes the doors of their house, Astarion leans against the wall and she sees tears flowing down his cheeks.

"How bad was it?" She asks, helping him to undress.

"It broke my bones. As they mended in a moment, they were broken again. Cazador's favorite torture, " he manages to say.

It's the first time in decades since Astarion mentioned his master's name.

Astarion sits on the bed. He needs to meditate to recover but Tiriel knows he is afraid.

Trance will bring more horrors. Forcing him to relive his distant past.

Tiriel puts the potion on the bed table.

"I want you to drink it," she says. "I found it in the alchemist’s bag – its owner was eaten, I am afraid."

"No!" Astarion scutters aside, and Tiriel is afraid he will break the bottle. "I am not going to drink it!"

"Sleep will make you feel better! Trust me, non-elves renew themselves in sleep, it helps to forget horrors of the past day!"

"I am not a non-elf! My mind brings me horrors anyway and I know a lot about those uncontrolled, crazy dreams you have! No. Don't make me!"

Tiriel sighs, helping him to put off his trousers. Astarion is absolutely helpless and Tiriel has a funny flashback of undressing their daughter when she was little.

They look alike, Astarion and Alethaine. And Tiriel takes care of them both even when they are in their killing mood.

"Please, Astarion, don't be such a baby. It will make you feel better. You will just sleep."

"And what if I see nightmares?"

"You will wake up. And you will know they weren't real."

Astarion hesitates but then gets under the blanket and takes the bottle.

"Tiriel."

"Hm?"

"I will do it, but so you know, darling, I do it only because you ask! And I have a condition."

"What is it?"

"You stay here. All the time. Just don't go. I- I need you to be there when I am, in these...whatever."

"I am too tired to go anywhere. I will be here for you, don't worry," Tiriel kisses him and feels his hand on her back.

"You know, everyone who would see us would think we are supposed to grow tired of each other, not be these lovestruck fools we are.'' Tiriel giggles.

"You haven't gotten any colder, my darling, still as warm as you were when I drank your blood for the first time," he pulls away and opens the lid of the bottle.

"Hm, that first time when you drank my blood and then almost came in your pants?"

"Exactly that," he smiles while drinking the full bottle. His sight immediately gets sleepy. "And it wasn't nice of you to withhold the fact you saw me in the woods with no trousers on.''

Tiriel pushes Astarion down on the pillow, making him comfortable in the soft bed. He still needs a source of warmth and she plans to burn the fireplace and also sleep beside him for the whole day.

"My head is heavy," he complains.

"You are falling asleep, it happens to me every day. Sleep well."

"What do non-elves do when others... fall asleep...?" He closes his eyes allowing the potion to take control of his body.

"Leave them alone. Or sing them a lullaby."

"Can you...?" His tongue turns twisted.

Tiriel caresses his cheek and starts humming. She often sang this lullaby to Alethaine and there were a few months when the dhampir absolutely refused to go to sleep without hearing it. Though Alethaine is technically an elf, she still can’t meditate and sleeps like any non-elf, including her mother.

It's a song of a mother dragon who waits till her children hatch. She is ready to wait patiently for decades till it happens and before that, the little dragons can sleep comfortably in their eggs.

A pretty sad song if one thinks about it – because the dragon shall never see her children hatch, for she will be slayed by a warrior. Alethaine finally realized this after about four months, when she was five, burst into tears, and cried so loud Astarion heard it from the surface part of the town and they both spent the next few hours trying to cheer their daughter up. In the end, they all agreed Alethaine would grow up to slay dragon slayers and save little dragons – and with that, she finally agreed to go to bed.

Who knew Alethaine would have such a sensitive heart?

Tiriel caresses Astarion's cheek and sees he's asleep. She carefully undresses so as not to wake him up and gets under two thick blankets to preserve the heat.

Then, she hugs Astarion from behind pressing his back to her breasts and feels like falling asleep, too.

As she loses control of her thoughts Tiriel remembers the bite moment in every little detail. The fear that woke him up, a scared and embarrassed Astarion who appeared to be a vampire, begging her to let him draw her blood. She pitied him – all thanks to the tadpole that showed her all the misery Astarion's life was.

Another wave of fear as she realized Astarion wasn’t stopping. Tiriel violently kicked him, forcing him to let her go. His attempt to show his honest gratitude. How he then went to the woods, she thought, to hunt for more.

Tiriel felt the call of nature sometime later and left the camp only to catch a glimpse of Astarion leaning against a tree without his trousers and doing very clear movements with his hand.

For some reason, it didn't disgust her – more like intrigued. The very idea that the vampire fed on her and got that aroused somehow made her feel much better about herself.

The sentient blood made Astarion's body function properly. It made him desire things. It made him want her. At first, as a means to an end. Later, as someone much more than just a partner and a donor.

Tiriel plants a kiss on his shoulder. It was sixty years ago. Six decades.

Her thoughts wander further, to the night on the clearance. Astarion was so beautiful in the moonlight she jumped on him wanting him to become her first one. He never disappointed her, but Astarion still resents their first night – she can’t get into his head, but she knows his intentions and thoughts were far from pleasant that night.

It wasn't him. Not the real him. The real Astarion – the one buried deep under the trauma, violence, degeneration, torture, and rapes – woke up in the morning full of feelings he didn't know he could still have.

And Tiriel has loved this real person ever since.

Tiriel drifts away in her sleep still holding her husband in her arms.

Waking up is difficult – she's a heavy sleeper – and she realizes it's almost evening. She still feels too lazy and too comfortable to move.

Astarion is still in her arms.

She elbows up and sees that Astarion’s eyes are open. He is half-awake, in this dizzy state of mind when you can't make yourself get up, and time passes fast.

"Hello, darling," Tiriel kisses his lips as he answers her.

"Hmm," he mutters something and stretches his hands only to close his eyes.

She giggles. He is so much like Alethaine right now – their daughter is a heavy sleeper and Tiriel sometimes needs a lot of effort to make her get up.

But there was nothing sweeter than kissing a sleepy dhampir whose mind woke up but her will to fight didn't. So Tiriel would just smooch and hug Alethaine as much as possible before the dhampir finally got enough of that.

Tiriel starts kissing Astarion forcing him to murmur something. Then she hugs him, caressing his back and shoulders. She knows he is conscious but he has no strength and will to resist her.

And he is so beautiful.

Astarion's hair is messy. His body is relaxed, his mouth is half open and his face is a bit puffy.

"Such a sweet beautiful elf you are," she intertwines her fingers in his hair. "I am so lucky to have you."

He mutters something again and Tiriel kisses his neck. Then she traces it right to his jawline and puts two fingers on his lips.

Astarion’s eyelids get heavy again and he slips away back to dreams.

Well, it's his first time.

And when it's his first time he takes it fully.

Blood drinking? Tiriel almost died from blood loss. Sex with a loved person? She couldn't close her legs after that, and she had to take a bath to wash out the graveyard dirt. Freedom? Astarion stopped walking only when Tiriel was unable to go further without a rest. Marriage and relationship? Tiriel is the happiest woman in the world – when they lived in Daggerlake and raised their daughter other women would come to Tiriel half-joking about wanting to know where exactly she found Astarion. Fatherhood? Astarion spent every minute with Alethaine, making sure the dhampir was loved and protected.

When it's sunset, Tiriel comes to Astarion again and starts playing with his hair, waking him up.

"Hello darling," he mutters.

"Hello, my heart," she answers.

He sits up unable to focus his sight.

"Do you want food or a bath?" She asks.

"And what do you usually want after... such… a prolonged rest?"

Tiriel laughs.

"Usually I want to pee after being asleep for so long."

"My digestive system died with my heart and lungs."

"Well, then bath. I don’t know how it works for you, but no one can eat right after waking up"

"Aletaine can.'' He notices.

"Alethaine is a little half-undead monster I carried in my womb. For someone who is five feet tall and weighs eighty-eight pounds, she devours an ungodly amount of food. No wonder I felt so bad when I was pregnant."

"What did you expect?"Astarion stretches his arms and yawns. “You got pregnant by a vampire.”

"I didn't expect anything! You are the smart one, you were supposed to know!" Tiriel takes his hand and pulls him to the bathroom, turning on the pipe with hot water. "And now, I catch myself thinking, what if something bad happens to my daughter? And then, if something bad happened to her I wouldn't know that! Because who knows where she is right now! It makes me anxious and every time she comes back to us I want to lock her down and never let her go!"

Astarion submerges his legs into the water and smiles, baring his fangs. "Our daughter is a dhampir and a necromancer. Every dhampir we've met so far told us she is a very dangerous person to be enemies with."

Tiriel laughs adding some cold water to be able to withstand the heat. Then she gets inside too and takes the sponge to wash herself and Astarion.

"How was it?" she finally asks. "Your first sleep."

"It was nice, but I don't want to do this again. It was like being beaten with a heavy pillow and I couldn't get myself out of this slumber. It was nice and I feel much better but this is... still unnatural to me. Elves sleep only when drugged or severely beaten. Or when they are traumatized so much they can't trance anymore. And considering I still can, I don't want to know what elves are supposed to go through.”

"You are just a very strong person, Astarion, don't sell yourself too short.”

They spend hours in the bath, talking and washing and only then Tiriel finally makes herself get out – someone needs to deliver news that the poor alchemist was killed by ogres.

"I will prepare you dinner," Astarion assures her – another skill he learned over the years, even though he can never say if what he makes is edible or not.

Tiriel tries to do everything quickly. Deliver the news, assign the task to beat the shit out of the ogre tribe to the newest members of the guild, and then come back home to whatever Astarion is making for her.

When she approaches her home, she catches the delicious smell and her body immediately responds by making her move faster.

She is fucking starving.

But once she opens the door she hears a loud laughter.

"Alethaine!" Tiriel gasps entering the kitchen.

The silver-curled dhampir smiles wide, baring her fangs.

"I am moving to Fireshear," she explains. "Decided to pay a visit on my way there. And to pick up my old books."

Tiriel hugs her daughter and can't resist rubbing her ear. Alethaine is so delicate and thin but there is a dark strength in her, the power of dhampirism and necromancy. The young woman leans in, allowing Tiriel to show her motherly love.

Astarion puts the plates in front of his wife and daughter. It seems like Alethaine has been at home for some time – she wears a black dress Astarion always insists on keeping ironed and clean in case his princess comes to stay.

"I told your mother not to worry about you," he smiles. "You know that you should stab first."

"Are you staying for long, kitten?"

"I was thinking about a month or two, and then I sail north."

"Maybe three?' Astarion suggests. "I don't think it really matters when you get to this hellishly cold place."

Tiriel smiles. Alethaine was born in Uktar, the last month of winter — and should she stay for three months, they can celebrate her fortieth birthday.

Alethaine makes a weird sound that substitutes "sigh" for her – the dhampir doesn't breathe, almost like a vampire.

"Rather generous offer, how can I say no," Alethaine chuckles.

"Wake up, kitten," Tiriel enters her daughter's room the next day. "You've slept for fifteen hours!"

Alethaine makes a disgruntled noise from a heap of blankets she’s buried herself in.

The room is uncomfortably hot due to the fireplace and Tiriel can't understand how it's possible to sleep in such a warm place.

Especially considering Alethaine doesn’t have a vampire to hug.

"Alethaine, time to get up," she pulls the blankets away. The dhampir immediately curls in the fetal position trying to keep warm.

Tiriel caresses her cheek and kisses her. Alethaine is seepy like a cat – absolutely unable to do anything against Tiriel.

Tiriel makes her sit up and then hugs her. The young dhampir tries to get back to bed but her mother is adamant - too much sleep is as bad as too little of it.

Finally, Alethaine puts her feet on the floor. Tiriel giggles seeing her bed hair – the always composed dhampir looks like a drunk dryad.

“I am waking up, mum,” she mutters.

"So, how difficult was it?" Astarion asks, sitting on the front porch. The ledge protects him from the sunlight and allows the vampire to enjoy the day as much as possible.

"You know, that's kinda funny. She is almost forty – don't tell me she is a child by elven standards, you were a magistrate at her age – but I can't stop thinking that she hasn't changed much since she was four!"

"She didn't," Astarion smiles. "She is our baby princess and always will be. No matter how many armies of the dead she can resurrect."

Tiriel leans on astarion and receives a kiss.

She is happy.

No matter what the future holds for Tiriel the Barbarian, she will always be happy.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids @ednaaa-04 @dajeong @herdarkestnightelegance

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matchaizuku · 2 months

Text

oc: todoroki hana

(i don’t know how to draw, so here’s the link to the first piccrew and to the second piccrew)

Name: Todoroki Hana

Hero Name: FireStorm

Birthday: March 1st

Height: 181 cm

Quirk: Ignis. She can produce and control fire. The maximum heat that she can reach with her flames is significantly lower than her father’s and both of her brothers’. However she is completely immune to fire; she can’t get burned.

fun anecdote: one time she let someone from support try using a blowtorch on her, which had no effect whatsoever.

fun fact: because of her immunity to fire, she tends to run towards fire and into burning buildings. She wears a gas mask as part of her hero costume, because she tends to find herself in enclosed spaces filled with smoke a lot more than her father and her brother Shoto, who tend to fight in open spaces.

She looks a lot like Endeavour. Like Natsuo, she has his body type = tall + muscular. She also has his face shape and his eyes. When you look at her there is no doubt that she’s his daughter.

Her hair is 100% red and has always been 100% red. It will stay red. She dyed it blonde once in her second year of U.A., but only kept it that way for a month because frankly she did not look good blonde.

Usually she wears her hair in a ponytail. When in her hero costume, she wears it in a bun. Midway through canon she gets a buzzcut.

Her hero costume is dark blue and very simple. It includes a gas mask. She can take it off, but usually she wears it for patrol, and with her size it makes her look quite intimidating. People that get saved by her think she has kind eyes though.

I’ll let you guess how she got that scar on her cheek. It turns out that Endeavour managed to scar all three of the children who inherited his fire, even the fire-proof one.

She’s currently living at her father’s house, planning to leave as soon as Shouto turns eighteen.

She’s two years older than Shouto. She’s part of The Big Four at U.A..

She’s in class 3-B. Mirio is her classmate (and boyfriend).

Her best friend is Nejire Hadou, because Hana’s an introvert that was adopted by an extrovert. Their dynamic is listen + talks a lot, but Nejire is always happy to listen to Hana when she has something to say (they gossip a surprisingly amount).

She’s an introvert, but she’s actually become very smiley when she’s alone with her friends.

She pays for all of her friends when they go out (She tries to pay for Amajiki’s food as much as she can).

She won the sports festival in her last year of U.A. (Mirio got second).

She decided to be a hero because if she had to be like her father (expecially because of her looks, she heard that she was “just like him” a lot), she wanted to be like what her father was when he was on tv, someone who helped people, not what he was when he was at home.

When they picked their hero names and she heard Mirio explain why he wants to be Lemillion she was stunned. It rewrote what being a hero meant to her.

She actually wants to become a firefighter now (her quirk is perfectly suited to it), but her friends convinced her to finish U.A. and at least get her hero license, since they’re in the last year and almost done with it.

#bnha oc #the todoroki family #bnha #text post #oc: todoroki hana #mine #feel free to send me asks about her!!

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davenswitcher · 2 months

Text

The Rockstar and The Groupie

Astarion x female!OC

Chapter 1: Estellé

Masterlist | read on AO3

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary:

It was Friday afternoon. Just three more hours and Estellé would be free for the week, and she could finally go to the concert she had booked the tickets for. Fourth row and VIP. She was going to meet him! The most famous rockstar of their generation and everybody's favourite bad boy. Estellé saved up half a year for the tickets. VIP tickets were even more expensive than regular. Well, makes sense you're going to meet THE star, after all. Astarion Ancunín. Rockstar, bad boy, sexiest man alive 3 times in a row. Estellé worked over time a few times to even afford to save up. As a college student in linguistics and philosophy, you don't get paid like the trained hotel workers do. She lived in a small flat that costs what feels like more than it's worth, the university fees have gone up (not by much, but it still hurts) and has to buy expensive textbooks every new semester. The least she could do was reward herself with a good time. Especially if it's her favourite singer and songwriter.

A/N: The first chapter is an appetizer for what's to come. Read the rest on AO3 <3 p.s excuse the formatting I can't format it as I would on AO3

Estellé worked over time a few times to even afford to save up. As a college student in linguistics and philosophy, you don't get paid like the trained hotel workers do. She lived in a small flat that costs what feels like more than it's worth, the university fees have gone up (not by much, but it still hurts) and has to buy expensive textbooks every new semester. The least she could do was reward herself with a good time. Especially if it's her favourite singer and songwriter.

“ESTELLÉ!” Estellé was startled out of her stupor by her least favourite colleague. “Where did you put the guest list for the coming season? I told you it needs to be visible for us. Always. Lest we let in someone who didn’t rent a room here.” The “Swords Of The Sword Coast”, where Estellé was working at, prided themselves for being exclusive and luxurious. The hotel had a list of guests and if you didn’t rent in time you had to wait a season. Maybe two if a certain rockstar rented multiple floors to have privacy. Astarion was a frequent guest in the hotel thanks to his manager. Apparently his manager knew the founder of the hotel. It used to be a motel for pirates around three to four centuries ago, he told him.

According to a colleague, he arrived four days ago, but she hasn’t seen him come out of his room yet, and he orders his breakfast and dinner to his room. His manager said to her, “it’s one of his moods again.” She shrugged it off as rockstar eccentrics, although being so reclusive doesn’t match his stage persona, she thought. Astarions manager creeped her out a lot. He’s rather tall and has a piercing stare. Does he ever blink? His hair is slicked back, and he talks as if he’s the star, not Astarion. Most of the stars requests she receives are through his manager. Cazador Szarr is his name. He has been working for the Crimson Label for a few decades now. He took Astarion Ancunín under his wing when he used to play indie rock and grunge in small taverns. His look was not as glamorous and his hair was shorter and unkempt. A far cry from today. His usual stage wear nowadays is black, leather, fishnet and a bandana. His makeup is either smudged around the eyes or perfectly done with eyeliner, mascara and eye shadow that is black with a hint of silver. Thus, his blue, gold flecked eyes seem to pierce you even more.

“Miss….?” Estellé was rearranging a few things behind the desk to leave the desk for the next colleague who'd take the next shift when she was startled by a soft voice. “Miss, I have a request to make.”

“Oh, Mr. I didn't see-” When she turned around, she saw who was standing in front of her. Dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair tugged in a bun and yet still manages to look good.

“Mr. Ancunín I'm so sorry. What can I do for you?”

“Don't call me Mr. please. Mr. Ancunín is my father.” He leans forward and reads her name tag. “Estellé… what a beautiful name. Estellé, would you be so kind to send dinner a little later to my room? The show starts in a few hours, and I'll be at the hotel at 1am or 2am at the latest. Would this be possible, darling?”

He called her darling and Estellé might think she's melting and heating up at the same time.

“I'm sure this can be arranged! I'll tell the staff that takes the next shift to send your dinner to your room when you've come back.” She answered in a higher pitch than intended.

“Thank you very much.” he does a little appreciative bow and leaves. ________________________________________________________

At home Estellé throws a bunch of outfits on her bed. A flowy dress that reminds you of a Sunday visit to your grandparents not a rock concert; a set of a skirt, white tanktop, a necklace with all sorts of edgy charms, different coloured stockings, leather jacket and platform boots that end at her thigh and lastly a black ruffled dress with a corset, leather jacket and black stilettos. Very gothic chique.

Her choice lands on the dress with corset and a leather jacket. To make the outfit complete she swaps the stilettos with the platform boots to match the vibes of his concert and to avoid any foot and leg pains from standing hours on high-heeled shoes.

She takes her time to freshen up while also having the time in mind. Showering in her favourite shower gel that smells of a sweet treat and washing her hair with honey-milk shampoo. She does her make-up with determined precision using colours that highlight her high cheekbones (thanks elven heritage), her green gold-flecked left eye and blue gold-flecked right eye. She uses a light plum shade to highlight her cheekbones and chooses a forest green eyeshadow for her eyes and tops it off with a Mugler style wing eyeliner. Her lipstick is a fine matt velvet that enhances her plush lips. Her auburn hair is styled in a wavey-choppy bob.

Before Estellé leaves her home, she puts on her bronze good luck bracelet with tressym charms. The traffic is utter chaos, but Estellé manages to be punctual and have enough time to settle in the concert hall. The place is packed. There's no seat unoccupied and the halls' ceiling is lit in flickering lights that look like tiny stars with occasional shooting star illusions flitting by.

The pre-show starts with an exotic dancer dancing to a flashy pop song. Her dancing is mesmerising to watch. She's perfected the art of dancing with snakes and doing acrobatics at the same time. Some gossip magazines suspect Astarion and her were a couple in his early years and that they are on and off again based on photos some shady paparazzi has found. When the last beats of the pop song end, the hall goes pitch black. Suddenly, pyrotechnics go off, and the band stands assembled on stage. Karlach Cliffgate on the drums, Jenevelle “Shadowheart” Hallowleaf on the bass,Gale Dekarios, apart from pyro technician, is the support guitarist and finally Astarion Ancunín singer, songwriter and plays the guitar and occasionally the piano. The crowd is WILD. Everybody is cheering. A few riffs on the guitar and the concert starts with his cover of “come together”. A sexy and energetic rendition of a pop classic. Next up is his version of “Darling Nikki” with two pole dancers on each side of the stage. As he finished the song, the stage goes black and a single spotlight highlights Astarion in purple and the first notes of his the song that made him famous start:

The moon shines bright, sky high The stars come to life The perfect night to hunt A new life A new dawn

Gotta escape those chains that bind me Bind me, you made me Can’t keep on livin’ this lie Papa I’m sorry Mama I’m sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry

That’s not the life I was made for Gotta escape those chains that bind me Bind me, you made me Your perfect son is no more I am not Icarus Icarus was a fool Sky high, but the sun won’t blind me The sun won’t burn me Born anew

After the song ends, Astarion greets the crowd properly. “Hey, how’s it going, Velen? Hope you're having fun tonight.” The crowd goes even wilder, and Astarion smiles brightly at that. “The next set is from my new album, love bites. Enjoy!”

The first chords of Love Bites start and the stage is flooded in red lights and fog.

Take me Loviatar and end my suffering Take this blood that is not mine Cleanse this body Cleanse this body Scarring body, mind and soul Forever yours, Shar Eternal darkness Mark me in your love bites I am lost. So lost and scared. Covered in your love bites Worship me, little love Tell me you love me Cover me in your love bites And maybe I Mark you mine, forever mine

After a few more songs and three encores, the band and Astarion retreat backstage and get ready for the meet and greet after show party.

The few VIP ticket bookers get funnelled through a special line, and a handsome bodyguard greets Estellé and guides her to the lounge area backstage.

“Here we are, miss, if you need anything, tell the crew to call for Wyll.” He smiles and winks at her.

“Thank you Wyll, that's very kind.”

As Estellè was waiting in the lounge area, she hears loud arguing from the room down the hall. She makes sure no one can see her and sneaks to the room and tries to listen to the conversation. She hears only fragments, but is very sure she can hear Astarion and a second male person.

“.....gave you your best ideas, didn’t they?”

“....couldn’t leave my room, for fuck's sake!” She hears him yell.

“.....anxiety through the motherfucking roof!”

Estellé hears some smashing and before anybody sees her retreats back to the lounge area.

“Who is that guy he is arguing with? Is Astarion alright? Should I ask him? No I can't, it’s none of my business, but I need to know if he’s alright…What should I do?” she thinks to herself.

About twenty minutes later, Astarion appears in the lounge area. His right hand is bandaged when it wasn’t before, and he’s wearing a leather jacket with white fur lining. His gaze is a little unfocused, and he seems nervous yet relaxed at the same time.

“Good evening, sorry for the wait miss-”

Estellè gets up from the couch to greet Astarion and realisation is etched into his face.

“My, I almost didn’t recognize you. The receptionist with the pretty name. Estellé wasn’t it?”

She tries to compose herself upon the fact that he remembered her name but fails and her pointy ears are beet red. Astarion sees her blushing and chuckles lightly.

“No need to be embarrassed, darling.” He grins a little. “Come here, let me hug you. You’ve been here all evening. The highlight-” he winks “should be memorable.”

Estellé closes the distance and hugs him. He smells of vanilla, sweat and weed. A little note of rum too. His hug is tight and comforting like a blanket on a cold winter night. He kisses the crown of her hair, then her cheek.

As they part, Estellè feels a sudden emptiness in her heart at the parting, but also a sudden boldness to ask Astarion about his wellbeing.

“Are you alright? Your right hand is bandaged, and I heard loud arguing earlier.”

For a second, Astarion looks scared, but it was so fast she didn’t catch his initial reaction.

“Oh? That?” He stammers, “A guitar string snapped. Nothing special… Loud arguing, you say? What did you hear? Why were you snooping around?” He suddenly looks very angry at her.

She needs to act fast to defuse and lies: “I heard nothing, just loud voices, I swear! I wasn’t snooping, it was pretty loud, anyway.”

He scowls, but softens again when he sees her panic in her eyes. He sighs and says: “Ugh, it’s alright. Sorry, it was a long day. I didn’t want to snap at you. I just- You- You’re just a fan. It’s none of your business, alright?” She nods and looks down.

Seeing her discomfort, he says: “So, you wanted to meet the rockstar, didn’t you? How about we sit down and chat a little? To forget this little mishap.” He looks at her with smouldering eyes.

They sit down on the couch. He lounges on the couch comfortably, one arm draped over the backrest, while Estellè keeps a respectful distance.

“Shall I pour you a drink? My staff orders the best whiskey in all Faerûn.”

“No, thank you. I have to drive later.” He pours himself a glass of whiskey. To the brim.

“Alright, tell me a bit about yourself, Estellè.” He says, and looks at her with genuine interest while he drinks his drink.

She feels nervous suddenly, but tries to hide it with a well practised smile she wears as a receptionist.

“Well, as you know, my name is Estellé. My last name is Oakwalker.”

“You are a wood elf?”

“No, well, not quite my father is, but my mother is a star elf. I work at the Swords Of The Sword Coast as a receptionist, and I am a student of philosophy and linguistics.”

“Oh, a student. How fun. You know I did study too, but it is a long story. Not worth it any more.” He touches her hand delicately, looking into her eyes with an intense stare. Her heart skips a beat.

Suddenly, his exotic dancer from the pre-show, Gina, barges into the room drunk.

“Hey, Star, are you done yet? Got some matters to discuss.” She wiggles her eyebrows and tries to seem sexy as much as a drunk person can. Astarion sighs, and reluctantly cuts the meeting short.

“I am so sorry, Estellé. Today seems to be not our day, it seems. Goodbye, I hope we can meet again, some day”

“Bye, yeah, I hope so too.” she says softly.

Estellé gets up and leaves the room, throwing a last glance at Astarion, who looks back at her, their gazes meeting. _______________________________________________________

The whole drive home, she couldn’t think about anything else. The way he touched her hand. How it electrified her skin. But also what happened tonight. The arguing with the mysterious man, his injured hand, the way he seemed distracted while he was so composed? Is there something else going on?

At home, she throws herself onto her bed and tries to distract herself without any luck. Her thoughts are occupied with one man: Astarion Ancunín. Next time, she’ll try to get closer to him and get more information. With luck, she can help him with whatever problem he seemingly has.

Lucky for Estellé he’ll have to stay longer in Velen as he has a few more concerts in the city and around.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #rockstarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3

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chaifootsteps · 1 month

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Okay SO. Though I call it my Lackadaisy NextGen AU as I have no name for it as of yet, it's really a NextGen AU x a "film noir" murder mystery. As I feel like the 10k words of notes I've written down might be a bit too long for your askbox, I'll just give you the Sparknotes version.

Talia (tortoiseshell), eldest daughter of Calvin and Ivy and our main character, is an 18-yo freshman who started off her first year of college bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. No doubt in part because this meant that she would no longer have to babysit her four younger siblings. This very quickly changes when her best friend, a girl working as a prostitute to pay for her classes, is murdered. As the police are predictably no help, a heartbroken and despondent Talia seeks help from the local private eye. The private eye, Quicksilver (pure gray cat), is based off of an old Warrior Cats sona of mine, and since he already has some lead rolling around in his skull (he's more or less okay with it), he doesn't mind getting into dangerous work as well as he gets paid for it. (He also was an old apprentice of Elsa. Still maintains feelings for her that are an odd mix of "looks up to like a mother figure" and "she was a vicious crush of his when he was 19".)

Things don't go so well when the killer catches on that Talia has gone to Quicksilver, and swiftly tries to kill them, nearly shooting the head off of a very unfortunate paperboy instead. Lawrence (what some might call a "cow cat"), also 18 and middle child of Lacy and Horatio, becomes the unfortunate star witness in the killer's latest murder attempt and now has a target on his back as well. With all three of them needing to get to the bottom of the case before one of them loses a life, they're forced to team up and become a motley crew of investigators navigating the seedy underbelly of Missouri, and all of the lies, corruption, and depravity which lay waiting within it.

There are also a few other characters-- Xavier Savoy, street-smart orphan (dad dead to WWII, mother to the flu) who was taken in by Serafine and the Congregation ("Serafine's harem", as he later started calling it) who's always willing to help for a price, and the gossipy diner waitress Lynn who may or may not be related to a certain Drago, but they're not really as into the whole "catch the killer" as the aforementioned three are. Overall, the AU functions as some sort of new-generation sequel; the other characters are mentioned and acknowledged, but the story mainly focuses on the new characters.

One very important plot-point, however-- Talia doesn't know about Lackadaisy. Neither does Quicksilver. Lawrence knows vaguely about Lackadaisy and Freckle/Ivy's involvement, but not the fact that Talia is their kid. So there's always this backdrop of "something happened in my family's past, but I'm not sure what". Talia is a perfect combination of her father's anger and her mother's wit, and though she doesn't know it (and Freckle hates to know it), she has more of her father in her than any of her siblings. When push comes to shove, well, Talia has a very bloody family legacy, and like it or not, violence runs in her veins.

One last thing-- though certain characters are at least mentioned or known to be alive (Lacey still works under Wick, Wick/Mitzi/Zib are a thing though their current professions are unknown, Quicksilver visits Elsa semi-regularly), others are not. Namely, Rocky, Viktor, Mordecai, Asa, and Dominic. It's not necessarily confirmed whether or not these characters are still kicking, but well... sometimes Freckle will watch his kids do something stupid and get this wistful look in his eye, and Ivy will just cling to his arm and say nothing.

Ack, this got long-- sorry for all the wordy-words, thanks for lending me an ear!

Ahhh, this is fantastic! It combines two of the best things, NextGen AUs done really well and Warrior Cat OCs that have been repurposed into Lackadaisy ones. I would kill or die for these kids and any more details of this story you feel inclined to throw my way, I'll happily lap up.

Also, that bit about Freckle watching his kids put a dagger in my heart, mostly because I can't shake the feeling that it's going to someday be canon.

#ashes-to-anew #lackadaisy #actual blog post

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zellkernchen · 5 months

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I GENUINELY WANT TO KNOW YOUR IDEAS ON GRIEVOUS REMANING FAMILY

I was having a convo with a friend the other day about it and like?? Do they think of him? Does he think of them? It's stated he probably doesn't miss them because of his transformation, but he still cares about Gor so I believe he could think of them.

Idk all rhetorical questions I do want to hear someone's ideas.

OMGGG THANK YOU AND @alenchikova FOR ASKING! I actually do have lots of stuff on Grievous' remaining family, who they are what roles they'll play in my series and all that but I'll just write down everything that requires the least amount of spoilers for everything. (I might however expand more on them if it's specifically requested and because I love to infodump on anything related to my headcanons and ocs/my fanfic series).

I'll post an introduction to them before answering @nettlebrand's questions and expanding a bit on them.

TW: Death mention

Who is part of Grievous' remaining family?

Out of ten wives and thirty children only 3 wives and 4 children survived. There is however a child of Grievous' who has been missing since around 43 BBY. Their fate remains unknown to the family for a loooong time.

His three surviving wive's names are: Ouhlma kel Pokitstrej (1st wife), Noonaklis san Kvetik (6th wife and Bentilais' sister), Gahnzi pot Braviir (10th wife).

Ouhlma became his wife some months after Ronderu's death, ca. end of 45 to start of 44 BBY and they had their first and only child who was born on the day Ronderu died. Ouhlma's child hasn't been seen on Kalee since around 43 BBY. Ouhlma was born on the year of 64 BBY and is the distant relative of Grievous' Izvorsha Tshoat kel Nejilneski. Ever since the disappearance of her child, Ouhlma isolated herself, refused to bear any more children and now carries her child's favourite doll wherever she goes. She named her child after the woman who raised her.

Noonkalis was given to Grievous' as a way to represent comradeship between Grievous and Bentilais' cousins after half a decade of small conflicts. Noonkalis bore him three children (all of them were born in 39 BBY), however one died at the age of 8 years old. Noonkalis was born on the year of 65 BBY, she and Grievous are the same age. She was part of Grievous' Izvorsha until she unfortunately developed chronic back pain and couldn't fight anymore. Noonkalis sometimes trained her surviving son in sword fighting and was her daughter's biggets supporter whenever it came to her marksman skills, despite not knowing much about guns herself.

Gahnzi's marriage with Grievous was the result of his drunkenness and impulsive decisions, some weeks before he was sent off to work for the IGBC. They didn't have any children together until the year of 24 BBY, the same year the Shuttle crash occurred. She's the youngest of the three, being born in the year 59 BBY. She somehow managed to become Ouhlma's best friend and is always there for her whenever she needs it. The same goes for vice versa. Gahnzi used to be a waitress and dancer at the restaurant- bar she worked in before getting married to Grievous. The children, except her biological child, all know how to dance fluently thanks to her.

Here are their height differences:

(Their colours pretty much represent their skintones)

The four surviving children of Grievous are: Skashnilla jai Namesda, Baldruga jai Sanigbasa, Ziszgo jai Nigdu and the young Qymaen jai Dumu ("Dumu" is the equivalent of "child" which is in this case used to represent a title we would label as "Junior". Basically his name is Qymaen Junior).

Starting off with the two oldest siblings Skashnilla and Baldruga. The two of them were, as mentioned earlier, born on the year of 39 BBY and are super protective of their family. Since they were the ones who got to interact the most with Grievous out of their alive siblings, Skashnilla and Baldruga have learned how to deal with weapons from their father. Skashnilla specialises in the Outland Rifle, meanwhile Baldruga in Lig Swords. However, it wasn't just Grievous and his wives who raised them, Bentilais also played a big role. I mean, he's their uncle afterall. Baldruga and Skashnilla absolutely adore their uncle, though they are a bit upset that he's been rarely able to visit them over the last few years. Skashnilla despises the Yam'rii, Jedi and Republic, even directly blaming her late brother's death on them. Baldruga does hate the Yam'rii but can't bring himself to hate all the Jedi and the whole Republic. He doesn't forgive them for their deeds but still feels as if only the Yam'rii are to fully blame of this. Occaisonally, the two siblings lead out small troops to combat Yam'rii forces who, since the shuttle crash, have immigrated back to Kalee.

Ziszgo is the quiet and "weird" child out of the four and there are several reasons for this; Ziszgo suffers from Hypotropia, is (what we would label as) Autistic and super introverted. As a child she always spoke too much and tried to befriend every child near her, but their discomfort and bullying towards her made her introverted and a bit "nocturnal" (as in she only shows herself at night). Unlike her siblings, Ziszgo's mother isn't alive, she was Grievous' 8th wife who died of puerperal fever. Ziszgo had three other siblings, none of which survived past 2 years of age. As a result, Ziszgo was raised by Gahnzi. Her special interests are anything related to technology, bombs and a specific carnivorous plant on Kalee known as "Poljiaccsi". Her room is full of those plants. Ziszgo aids Baldruga and Skashnilla during all of their campaigns by either helping them convieve battle plans or small bombs. She never attends any of their campaigns because she knows that, physically, she's useless for a battle and will only get herself killed. (I forgot to mention but she was born in the year 30 BBY)

Born some short months after the infamous shuttle crash incident and named to honour his father, Qymaen is only a young pup. He loves being around his mothers and siblings. His favourite activity is eating. The boy learns words rather quickly and loves to shout them at random times. He had two other siblings who were unfortunately stillborn, the factor of Gahnzi being stressed was a major factor in this.

Here are their height differences:

Nowww onto the questions!

Does Grievous' family think about him?

Oh absolutely. It's always a worry at least in the back of their minds. Well... except for Qymaen. He's a literal toddler by the time of the clone wars. All he knows is that his father is somewhere, fighting. But he's sure he'll come back. He does sometimes ask questions about Grievous.

Skashnilla and Gahnzi think the most about Grievous (and are the most worried about him). For one, Skashnilla has always been a massive "Daddy's girl" and he's her idol. Second, Gahnzi hopes that Grievous will return so Qymaen can at least get to know his father. Pictures, Video footage and Holograms can only do so much.

Baldruga, Zizsgo and Noonkalis wonder occaisonally where he is, how he's doing. But they've given up hope on contacting him as their calls always goes unanswered. Almost as if their calls can't even reach Grievous, weird.

Ouhlma does think about Grievous, but she's more worried on her child. It was said that they would be something great, just like the Shaman said for Baldruga, Skashnilla, Ziszgo and Qymaen. There's no way they're dead, no matter how much others think against it.

Does Grievous think about his family?

In my series and AU, yes, he does. His transformation and brain alterations didn't make him completely forget about them. He knows they should exist (surely he would be informed if one of them did die, no?) and does care about them as much as his alterations allow him to, but his brain and priorities have been twisted and manipulated. He'll get his revenge on the Jedi, that's his top priority. Though, on his worst days, he can't help but wonder how they're doing. But according to Dooku; his family hasn't contacted him since they last got to see him in that bacta tank (There's no way he would lie about this, right?). Perhaps it's best if he stays where he is and leaves them alone. However, he would never admit any of that to anybody.

That’s pretty much it for now. If anyone has any more questions please lmk!

#kaleesh #oc #kaleesh oc #star wars #general grievous #qymaen jai sheelal #bentilais san sk‘ar #my writing #qna #star wars oc #writing

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daughter-of-melpomene · 1 year

Text

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐕𝐈𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

❝ Via (full name Olivia, but no one but her mother had ever called her that) had gone the first eleven years of her life not knowing she had brothers. In fact, she really hadn’t been aware that she’d had any family besides her mother - for as long as she’d been alive, it had always just been the two of them, her mother’s parents dead long before she’d gotten pregnant with her daughter and no other relatives to speak of.

It wasn’t until Via was six years old, coming home from kindergarten in tears because a group of other girls had pushed her on the playground and made fun of her for not having a daddy, that she even realized that her mother hadn’t just created her all on her own. That day, Anne Cooper explained to her daughter why they didn’t share the same last name, telling Via that her father was a very nice man who had had to go away before she was born and that Anne had given her daughter her father’s last name as a way of keeping her connected to him.

Five years later, after Anne was dead from a car accident, that same “very nice man” had shown up at the temporary foster home where Via was staying introducing himself as John Winchester and saying that he’d come to take his daughter home. It was then that Via finally realized that she wasn’t the only child John had; she met her brother Dean, who was good to her if a little bit awkward and gruff, and she at least knew of Sam, the one who’d left for college, even if she didn’t know that much about him because John ignored her whenever she tried to ask questions.

But Via knew her father hadn’t exactly collected her from the foster home in an entirely legal manner (even at eleven, she was smart enough to know her social worker would probably have talked to her about going with her father first) and not too long after being taken, she understood why: her last name belonged to a family of hunters, those who travelled around the country fighting vampires and spirits and other things that went bump in the night, and now that her mother was dead and he was the only family she had left, John wanted to bring her in and train her to be one of them.

And so he did. Over the next four years, Via’s education ceased to take place in a regular school and became strictly out of old folktales and John’s extensive notebook, or in the backyard with a weapon pointed at a row of cans. She learned all there was to know about every supernatural entity or ritual there was, she learned how to fire a hunting rifle at a target a hundred yards away without flinching, she learned how to kick down a door and take down a werewolf with nothing but her bare hands, all the while forming a jagged bond with Dean and feeling her resentment for her father, the man who had stolen her away to be a weapon and didn’t even seem to remember anything about her mother, fester and grow.

But it’s been four years since Via first met her father and one of her brothers - four years of training to be a solider and screaming into her pillows in the dead of night when the pain inside of her grew too strong - and now John has gone missing while off on a hunt. Taking off with Dean in his beloved Impala, Via finally has a chance to meet Sam, the brother she barely knows anything about. Together, the three of them set out on a mission to find their father - a mission Via almost hopes they don’t complete - while helping out and taking down what spooky threats they find along the way.

But if Via thought her life was weird and painful and awful before, she doesn’t have a single idea of how much darker it’s about to get. ❞

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginevrastilinski-ocs, @luucypevensie, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag.

#my ocs #introducing my ocs #ch: via winchester #oc: via winchester #queerocs #ocapp #ocappreciation #ochub #allaboutocs #fyeahsupernatural ocs #supernatural oc #fic: losing my religion

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laracrofted · 2 years

Text

baby, i'm high octane (iii)

synopsis: time flies on north island, and at an unofficial dagger movie night, nora and jake call a truce. sort of.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit language, alcohol consumption, existential dread, belligerent sexual tension, pop culture references, eventual smut in later chapters. set after the movie, so spoilers! (wc: 6K)

note: so... i drafted this back in november and then, accidentally spent three months rewriting it. my bad, y'all!

previous chapter | series post | next chapter

tagging // @theharddeck @bradshawsbitch @emorychase @hangmanbrainrot @its-mara-darling @startrekfangirl2233 @kandierteveilchen @frenchyjuju @chicomonks @lostinwonderland314 @cursedtobe @hangmanscoming @dempy @mlibbydp

Time flies on North Island, and after almost three weeks, Nora is starting to find her footing here. She has a routine now – and even better, a new favorite coffee shop to frequent on her way to the base.

After seeing Nora choke down the Ready Room coffee during the first week, Natasha sent over the recommendation. They don’t charge any extra for oat milk, and Nora doesn’t have to drink lukewarm battery acid.

Morning is clear and blue outside, bright and beautiful, and Nora is in a good mood. She walks across the North Island base with a smile on her face, cheeks pink from the sunshine, sipping an iced coffee.

Caffeine doesn’t do much to ease the sudden lurch of surprise when Nora checks the calendar and sees the name Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin on the interview schedule, slotted in under Thursday AM.

Not 30 minutes from now.

“Shit,” Nora mutters under her breath – or at least, means to mutter under her breath.

She must’ve been a little too loud because Technician Chris sends her a questioning glance, lowering the clipboard to make sure that Nora hasn’t knocked over a camera or something dire.

He is one of the two technicians that arrived at the end of the first week. Both are mild-mannered and easy to work with. Nora couldn’t have managed the interviews without them.

Even if Captain Mitchell had asked her to limit the number of interviews per week and schedule them out in advance, not allowing her to do more than one or two a week in the name of, quote, minimizing unnecessary disruptions and distractions.

“Something wrong, Nora?” Technician Chris asks.

He sets the clipboard aside and crouches, clicking a leg lock into place on the light stand. And noticing the conversation, Technician Ethan pauses mid-way through the usual audio checks and pulls the headset down, a line between his bushy brows.

Nora is quick to reassure them, giving them a nod and a tight smile. “Everything is fine. Looks like Lieutenant Seresin will be the next interview. He’s the…” What is a more professional description than obnoxious, yet somehow charming pretty boy? Handsome pain in the ass? “You’ll recognize him. Hangman.”

And since Chris and Ethan are not the ones who’ve been half-heartedly avoiding Jake Seresin for the past two weeks and change, neither is fazed. Technician Ethan absorbs the information with a nod and slips the headphones back on, and Technician Chris goes back to the clipboard, switching the lights off and on.

Meanwhile, Nora mouths a curse and drains the rest of the coffee.

Interviews are par for the course in her line of work, and after years of experience, Nora could probably do a good interview in her sleep and wake up with a dozen viable sound bites. She is prepared, armed with the same set of questions for all the Daggers to answer, along with three or four that are more personalized, drawn from their service record.

All of the questions are light and open, crafted to encourage the Naval aviators to give longer answers and more importantly, tell the personal stories that elevate a film. And as a bonus, Nora gets to learn things that Naval Aviation wouldn’t include in a cut-and-dried file.

Like Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia has passionate opinions on the new Star Trek films. He loved the first two, liked the third fine, and flat-out refused to watch the fourth if Chris Pine isn’t confirmed to return as Captain Kirk. He was persuaded to bump up the rating of Star Trek Beyond from aggressively mediocre to good-ish when Technician Chris reminded him about the ‘Sabotage’ scene in an off-camera aside.

And Reuben ‘Payback’ Fitch earned his call sign from an inescapable and self-proclaimed ‘dark time’ during P’cola Flight School when the Southern man had adopted an action hero-like catchphrase. And when Nora, of course, couldn’t let that go without a follow up question, Reuben repeated it for the camera, “It’s payback time, y’all,” with a charismatically self-effacing grin.

Interviews aren’t always second nature, not even to a Naval aviator who flies a multimillion dollar plane. It is a different kind of hot seat, framed in the lights and camera, and Nora makes a point to run through the basics with them, wanting them to be comfortable.

She isn’t really surprised that Jake gives a damn good interview.

Unlike Mickey, who’d been a little nervous in front of the camera, fidgeting with the cap of the water bottle out of frame, Jake is perfectly at ease. And if Nora thought the Naval aviator looked like a movie star at the Hard Deck, twinkling lights and sunset dancing in his eyes, the Old Hollywood image is even stronger here.

He is a splash of olive green and blonde, a handsome contrast against the obscenely large American flag and the colossal F/A-18AF Super Hornet in the background. Bathed in the fluorescents and the natural light that pours in through the open shutters of the hangar.

Couldn’t have asked for a better interview space, Nora thinks for the umpteenth time, admiring the frame. It really is perfect.

Jake is carefully attentive when Nora goes through the basics.

“Work the questions into your answers because I won’t be in the final cut.”

“Don’t look at the camera. You can look at me, or like, right to the side of the camera, up to you.”

He is a model student, and Nora kind of hates him for it.

“We’re up there every day, training alongside the best of the best…”

Jake is in the middle of an answer, a perfectly crafted answer garnished with an aw shucks smile when Technician Ethan waves a hand to get her attention, tapping the side of his own headphones to indicate an audio issue.

She'd been distracted, scribbling a follow-up question in her notebook, and hadn't noticed when Jake started fiddling with the lav mic, coming loose from the stiff collar of the flight suit.

“Ah damn,” Nora curses, closing the notebook. She sets it aside, tucking it next to the iced coffee from earlier, now mostly watered-down oat milk and half-melted ice, and stands. She calmly raises her voice. “Can you hold on for a second, Jake? What’s going on with your mic?”

“Tape’s comin’ loose,” Jake explains, catching the thin cord before the microphone – small, not that much larger than a zipper – can nosedive down his front. “Can you fix it?”

Can Nora fix it? Yes.

Does Nora want to get that close to him? Debatable.

She could ask Ethan to fix it. He is the resident sound expert after all, but Nora would feel like kind of an asshole, asking him to do something that even the most untrained assistant could do, all under the guise of expertise.

And for what, so Nora doesn’t have to be in close proximity to a hot man? This is so stupid.

She heaves an internal sigh and grabs the nearest roll of gaff tape.

“Lean forward,” Nora instructs, tapping him on the shoulder twice and grabbing the cord from him, and Jake does so without question, turning that stone jaw to watch her snake the cord out of view.

“Should I take off my shirt?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

A distinct cough. She looks over her shoulder in time to see Technician Ethan tug the headset back down around his neck, looking entirely too casual to not have overheard the comment. Goddammit.

Since Jake is seated, Nora needs to bend down slightly to get a good look at the microphone placement, pinning down the edge of the collar with a perfunctory touch. Hair falls around her chin, blocking her vision, and impatiently, she brushes the loose strands back over her ears.

Green burns into the side of her face, and this close, Nora can feel herself growing warm.

“You have a bit of a staring problem,” Nora murmurs, clipping the mic back into place and holding it there. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

A muscle thrums in his cheek. “Am I making you nervous, sweetheart?”

“You wish.”

Jake chuckles, low and warm, and doesn’t say anything else. He smells like cologne – hints of citrus, patchouli, musk – and his morning coffee, and she can feel the residual heat of the morning on his golden skin.

Holding the mic down, Nora rips the tape with her teeth, an old habit from film school. Smooths the last piece into place. Secures the small microphone in a less conspicuous location and returns to the other side of the camera.

It is suddenly too warm in here for a button-down, even the paper thin one around her shoulders, thrown over the blue jeans that Nora had started wearing when Bradley reached across her at lunch and got engine grease on her favorite trousers. She drops it onto the nearest stool, leaving her in a ribbed tank, as Technician Ethan does a quick sound check.

He flashes her a raised thumb, sliding the headset back into place.

“Now,” Nora starts, all business. She crosses one leg over the other, bringing the notebook to rest on her knee. “Let’s start over on that last question.”

Settling into the seat, Jake shakes out his shoulders, clasping his hands in his lap, and rolls his bottom lip into his mouth. “Roger that, Hollywood.”

And Technician Chris arches a curious eyebrow at the nickname, but doesn’t comment on it. Everything continues without a hitch.

Right after the interview, Nora gets the exciting news.

Admiral Simpson had finally reviewed the schedule and approved the capture of the in-air footage. Weeks after Nora made the request, probably hoping that Team Documentary would get distracted and forget it altogether. It would be a waste of time and resources to do without a good reason, is probably what the Admiral would reason.

Unfortunately for him, the Daggers would never let her forget.

After lunch, Nora heads out to the tarmac and waits during the camera installation. It is a bit of a production, requiring a Naval mechanic to come over and supervise, making sure that Technician Ethan doesn’t accidentally block a control or create a dangerous blind spot.

Sunglasses set over her eyes, Nora looks around at the clear blue skies, soon to be captured in incredible definition. She doesn’t really have anything to contribute, mostly there to observe and answer any questions that the Naval aviators might have.

In ever attentive WSO fashion, Mickey and Bob interrogate them about the safety of the camera, wanting to make sure the G’s wouldn’t make any equipment break off and hit them or their pilots.

From the rest of them, Nora ends up with some variation of “How come Phoenix is the first one to fly with the camera and not me?” or “You should’ve put the camera in my plane, Rogers. Don’t you want your film to have some sex appeal?”

To which Nora responds, “Sure do, Bradshaw. That’s why I put it in Natasha’s plane,” and Bradley shuts up for a while after that while the Naval mechanic tries to stifle their laughter in the cockpit.

She is busy all day. Afternoon slips away in the white contrails, cut across the cooling horizon.

When Nora shows up to Natasha’s that night, a reusable bag over her shoulder holding a chilled bottle of white wine and an emotional support water bottle, Bradley and Reuben have already cracked open a few beers and are in the middle of a heated debate in the kitchen.

Nora slips out of her shoes, setting them down next to the Welcome Home, Cheater door mat that Natasha had gotten in a White Elephant exchange a few years back, and wordlessly puts the wine bottle on the coffee table with a dull clink. It has barely made contact when Natasha swipes it from the surface.

“Remind me why I invited everyone,” Natasha says, setting the screw-top aside and filling a wine glass almost to the brim.

Her dark hair is in two damp braids down her front, leaving wet patches on an oversized Golden State Warriors shirt. Bike shorts peek out from underneath the hem.

Natasha must’ve showered and changed after work. Same as Nora, who traded the stiff denim for loose sweatpants.

“Us and Bob….” Natasha continues, wistful. “It was the dream team. Now I have to deal with these idiots and their zero volume control.”

As if on cue, Bradley gets loud enough that Nora can pick up snippets of the conversation. Something about Heath Ledger in the performance of a lifetime, while Reuben cuts in with a Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson related rebuttal. Huh.

“Are they arguing about whether 10 Things I Hate About You or How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days is the better rom-com?” Nora asks slowly, hardly even believing the words that are coming out of her mouth.

Do elite Naval aviators even have the time to watch rom-coms and from the sound of it, memorize the crucial turning point monologues?

“Mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you,” Bradley emphasizes, pounding a fist on the counter. “Have a goddamn heart!”

“What do you not get, Rooster?” Reuben fires back, clapping his hands together with every word. “You can’t lose something you never had!”

“For 20 minutes now.” Natasha shakes her head, exasperated, at Nora’s disbelieving expression. “Don’t ask me, I don’t know. All I know is I wish I had told Bob that Fanboy couldn’t come. We could’ve lived in peace.”

Ever since Nora had given her her phone number the first week, Natasha had been inviting Nora and Bob over to the apartment every Thursday to eat some pizza, drink some cheap wine, and watch a documentary or two. It was a nice break – and gave Nora a chance to get to know them off the base.

Natasha had an older sister who still lived in Northern California, where the Naval aviator had grown up, right outside San Francisco, and Bob was a former Eagle Scout and hardcore animal lover. He was from Montana and could ride a horse, as easily as Nora could ride a bike.

He liked nature documentaries, suggesting March of the Penguins on the first Thursday, and Natasha liked the multi-part series more. It was a Netflix Original that Nora worked on that made Natasha find her on Instagram last June.

Word got around.

Earlier in the week, Bob had asked if Mickey could come to the movie night, wanting an after-work alternative to the Hard Deck, and after that, Bradley texted and asked if Natasha’s open invitation – from forever ago, Natasha pointed out – was still open.

“He probably would’ve shown up,” Nora says, distracted, watching the screen as Natasha clicks through the Netflix suggestions. They’d decided to put the documentaries on hold tonight and watch a movie instead, rather than listen to complaints the whole time. “I need a wine glass. Should I risk it?”

A derisive glance at the kitchen. “I’d drink from the bottle.”

Nora is still laughing when Reuben pokes his head out of the kitchen at the sound and spots her on the couch. “Nora Nora Nora. Can you settle a debate between me and Rooster?”

“I don’t know. Can you get me a wine glass?”

“I’m all over it,” Reuben says, giving her finger guns and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a wine glass, waiting until Nora had poured a healthy amount and leaning back into the cushions, gestured for him to continue. “Isn’t How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days better than 10 Things I Hate About You as a rom-com?

“Well, I…”

“Objection! Leading question,” Bradley calls out, poking his head out from the archway, pointing an accusatory finger in their direction. He is a little ruddy in the face, either from shouting or alcohol. “Asking Nora is cheating too. She’ll call it a ‘film’ and give you some pretentious bullshit about the cinematopography.”

“Cinematography,” Nora corrects with a frown. She isn’t pretentious.

“See,” Bradley says, even though Nora definitely does not see, and disappears from view.

She has an opinion, one that has nothing to do with the cinematography and far more to do with the fact that Matthew McConaughey was a certified early-2000s dreamboat. He’s had a few moments here and there since, but Interstellar McConaughey has nothing on Rom-Com McConaughey, strutting around New York City on a motorcycle, pressing a fluttering hand to his heart at the sight of Kate Hudson. Swoon.

Nora says drily, “I think Judge Bradshaw disqualified me. Sorry.”

Reuben lets out a loud groan, like Nora was his last hope, and turns to Natasha instead. “Back me up here, Phoenix?”

“You’re both idiots,” Natasha says, not even looking at him.

The Great Rom-Com debate continues until finally, Jake strolls into the apartment and agrees to settle the argument, taking it all in with slightly raised brows as Reuben walks him through the choices.

“You’ve got 2003 gem, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, starring the rom-com pairing that defined a generation.” A dramatic pause that makes Natasha rolls her eyes. “And that 90’s one with Heath Ledger and the Bourne Identity girl in it. Which is better?”

It would be impossible to describe the look on Jake’s face as anything less than deeply offended. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days starring the one and the only Texan legend, Matthew McConaughey?” Jake asks slowly, accent growing thicker with each word. “How could you even ask me that question?”

“Objection,” Bradley cuts in again. “Nothing to do with the movie.”

“Shut up, Rooster,” Natasha and Reuben yell at the same time, and Reuben looks at Jake, expression grave. His palms are pressed together, praying for a miracle. “Final answer?”

“McConaughey,” Jake emphasizes. “No contest. Comedic gold, man.”

An ear-splitting whooping sound. And as only another six-foot-something aviator could, Reuben locks an arm around Bradley’s wide shoulders and drags him down into a headlock. “How you like me now, Cock-a-Doodle-Douche?”

Laughter bounces around the apartment, and even as Bradley throws elbows and grumbles under his breath, Nora can spot the amused grin on his face, peeking out from underneath the mustache.

Wine catches in her throat, snagged on a laugh, and Nora coughs for a good 30 seconds. She sees movement out of the corner of her eye as Jake moves in her direction, already extending a hand to pat her on the back.

Nora waves him off, getting out a hoarse, “I’m cool. I’m good. Thank you,” and coughing into her elbow a final time. Heat burns in her cheeks, hopefully not as noticeable in the blue light from the screen.

Eyes still crinkled from laughter, Jake takes it in stride.

He stops short, instead sitting on the next couch cushion over to unload four bags of chips and a six-pack onto the table. He is as casual as Nora has ever seen him with socked feet and sweatpants, wearing a gray Dallas Cowboys shirt.

Fabric pulls tight across his back when Jake bends forward, accidentally bumping the side of her knee. She scoots back into the cherry red cushions, folding her legs underneath a blanket. His lips twitch.

A lone bottle is perched on the table, directly in front of Nora.

Her brows scrunch. “Is that for me?”

“Sure is,” Jake drawls, looking enormously self-satisfied. “Reminded me of you.”

Without another word, Jake curls two fingers through the plastic rings of the six-pack and carries the beers into the kitchen. Nora tilts her head, watching the bottle like an explosive, and then plucks it from the table, smoothing her fingers over the chilled glass.

And when Nora lifts her gaze, Jake is watching her from the kitchen, already nursing one of the beers from the six-pack. Reminded me of you.

She reads the label one more time, unable to hide the amused smile that pulls at one side of her mouth. It is a California beer brand, one that Nora has never heard of before.

Hollywood Blonde.

“Asshole,” Nora mouths, and Jake winks.

Glass warms under her palms as Nora accidentally holds onto it for too long, running the pad of her index finger over the curling label absentmindedly, and ever perceptive, Natasha notices.

“You drink beer? Since when?”

“I don’t actually,” Nora says simply.

Carefully, Nora sets it back down on the coffee table and pretends not to notice Natasha watching, clearly wanting to make a comment. And in a moment of divine intervention, Bob and Mickey return with the pizza, stacked high enough that Natasha leaps from the arm chair to help them.

She uses the distraction to slip the bottle into the reusable bag at her feet, hiding it from view, and wraps the blanket together around her shoulders. Saved from having to explain that Nora and Jake might have something of an inside joke.

Everyone grabs a drink and a slice. Settles in the living room.

Natasha abandons the armchair, coming over to share the checkered blanket with Nora at the end of the couch, and after Bradley claims the spot on the other side of Nora, elbowing her to scoot over and ignoring her sour expression, Bob grabs an unoccupied section of carpet in front of the couch. He leans back, nursing a homemade Shirley Temple, and smiles when Natasha passes him a throw pillow.

Reuben and Mickey grab the spots next to him, and across the room, Jake sprawls into the armchair, tapping idle fingers against the upholstery. He doesn’t seem bothered to be the only one sitting alone, or maybe Nora reasons, Jake just didn’t want to sit on the carpet.

“Give me some blanket,” Bradley complains, pulling at the edge of the blanket.

Nora elbows him. “Get your own.”

Bradley makes exactly one more attempt to steal the blanket, and then Natasha reaches across the back of the couch and smacks his shoulder. He releases it with a curse, a wounded look on his face.

Natasha ignores him. “Movie suggestions? Anyone?”

Natasha couldn’t have asked a more divisive question. Reuben suggests the entire John Wick series while Mickey makes an argument for an older Star Trek movie or the latest Marvel movie. Nora observes in silence until Bradley wades in with suggestions, making her remember the pretentious comment.

“What about How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?”

Natasha cackles. And then puts it on.

It is a good choice in the end.

Mickey and Reuben talk through the first 15 minutes, asking the room what other movies this familiar actress and that familiar actress had been in before, until Bob quietly pulls up the IMDB page on his phone and hands it to them, but Nora has seen it too many times to get annoyed.

Across the room, Jake is mostly silent, making an assorted comment here and there. He does, however, launch an impassioned speech about how Benjamin Barry could never ever be from Staten Island with that unmistakable Texas drawl.

“Listen to him,” Jake cuts in during the iconic 'Bullshit' scene, gesturing to the screen with his beer bottle. “You’re tellin’ me I’m supposed to believe that man is a Knicks fan from Staten Island? He’s a Cowboys fan through and through. You could stick a Stetson on that voice.”

Eventually, Natasha shushes him and threatens, “Hangman, I am not afraid to kick you out. Shut up about Texas!” He opens his mouth, ready to make another comment. “Not one more word…”

Jake folds his arms over his own Cowboys shirt, muttering something like Staten Island, my ass under his breath, and watches in sullen silence for the rest of the movie.

After the end credits, Reuben is the first one to leave, saying something about an early morning run on the beach tomorrow. He is signed up to run a half-marathon soon – a celebration when Coyote gets back to Lemoore from a last-minute deployment, which should be any day now, according to Natasha.

“How is a 13 mile run in the middle of June a celebration?” Nora asks while Reuben is otherwise occupied, slipping on his sneakers with a slice of pizza pinned between his teeth, cheese precariously close from sliding down and splattering on the carpet.

“Here I was planning to buy him a couple shots and call it even,” Natasha remarks, putting on a New Girl re-run, and Nora politely declines the invitation to run a casual seven miles at 5:30 AM tomorrow.

Seven. Miles.

During an on-screen True American game, Natasha gets a FaceTime call from her older sister and, with an apologetic smile, ducks into the bedroom to say hello to her nieces and nephews.

And Nora is the last one left awake.

In the quiet, Nora can hear the soft snores and even breaths, rising and falling from the living room, and the constant hum of the overhead light as she tidies up the cluttered kitchen.

Emptying the open beer bottles into the sink and rinsing them for the recycling bin. Gathering the untouched ones to one side of the counter, in case Natasha wants them.

Marinara is sticky on her fingers as Nora rinses a stack of plates in the sink, running a soapy sponge over them with care, back and forth. It is pitch black outside, and Nora can’t make out anything but her own reflection in the small window above the sink.

She looks tired. Normal tired that can be fixed with a solid eight hours and a sleep-in day on the coming weekend. Not the bottomless weariness that drained her to the core, feeling like a chain looped around her ankle with an anchor hidden at the end.

She feels good.

She can breathe a little easier here.

Maybe Charlie was right.

Maybe all Nora ever needed was a break, not to burn it all down and start again. Maybe.

She feels an uncomfortable twisting in her stomach, one that has nothing to do with the tomato and cheese and wine, and decides to leave the thought alone for now.

There’ll be time. Later.

She washes the thought down the sink with the rest of the bubbles.

“Hollywood.”

Nora startles.

“Christ on a…” Nora blows out a breath, setting the plate down in the sink. She presses a damp hand over her racing heart and sends him a wide-eyed look. “Could you walk a little louder or like, announce your presence? Holy shit.”

“Sorry,” Jake says, not sounding it at all. Amusement is clear in his voice, in the subtle smile that dimples his cheeks. “Probably couldn’t hear me over the chainsaw in there.”

Fighting a smile, Nora peeks around him.

Mickey is still passed out cold, shaved head resting on a sleeping Bob Floyd’s left shoulder, mouths yawned wide open. And on the couch, Bradley Bradshaw is slumped under a plush blanket – a silent apology from Nora, pushing him from her shoulder to get free. One of Natasha’s colorful throw pillows has fallen victim to a chokehold, cuddled in the crook of his elbow.

Bradley is exposed as the culprit, letting out an aggressively loud snore that sounds not unlike a broken garbage disposal, and Nora holds back a laugh, pressing her lips together.

“Probably.”

Jake yawns, opening his mouth wide, wiping the sleep from his eyes with a knuckle. He stretches out his tired muscles, folding his arms over his head, dragging the hem of the shirt upwards. She catches a flash of tan abdomen, rippling muscles, and looks away.

His next words are so quiet that Nora almost misses them.

“Need an extra pair of hands?”

Dishes sit to the left of the sink, a low stack of plates with silverware and glasses, leftover wine and pizza grease, and to the right, Nora has started a clean stack next to the overflowing dish rack. Water is already soaking through the dish towel underneath them.

She repeats, “Probably,” and nods.

An unused dish towel hangs over the oven handle – another bright and funky pattern, slightly retro, which is Natasha’s apartment in a nutshell. It is a similar layout to the apartment Nora is staying in, except for the wall between the kitchen and living room, curving into an arch.

Natasha has made it her own, decorating with vibrant oranges and reds and yellows, making it look like some Urban Outfitters stage room in the best way possible. Warm accents are everywhere, and drowsily blinking against the overhead yellow, Jake seems more subdued, edges softened.

He grabs the dish towel, tossing it in the air and then catching it and slinging it over his shoulder in one smooth motion. “You wash, and I’ll dry?”

She passes him a plate, and Jake wipes it down in three efficient motions and creates a new stack on the speckled counter. Holds out a hand for the next one, palm flat and upturned.

Quiet feels unfamiliar between them. New. It hums like a strummed guitar string, and even when Jake is looking down, focused and methodical, Nora feels so aware of him. It should probably alarm her more.

She breaks the silence with a question.

“How did you feel this morning? About the interview, I mean.”

A dimple springs up in his cheek. “Is this a trick question? ‘Cause I felt good about it, but now I’m not so sure.”

“It was a making conversation question. Don’t fish for compliments,” Nora lightly chides, almost teasing in a certain light. She rinses the sponge, squeezing out the bubbles. “You’re a natural. Have you ever been on camera before?”

Jake clears his throat. “I did one a few years back, a feel good piece about some Halloween air show.” He sends her a sidelong glance, pulling another plate from the stack. “It was with some retired Navy officer who took a break every 10 minutes to go smoke a Marlboro Red.”

“Today was probably a much better experience then,” Nora observes, absently remembering her own first interview, “Or at least, I would hope so. I bet I smelled better, at least.”

He chuckles. “You’re much prettier too.”

Nora snorts, and Jake looks pleased.

Water runs down her forearm and dribbles onto the material of her sleeveless tank, and Nora is looking down, rubbing at it with a slight frown, when Jake asks the next question.

“Why did you become a filmmaker?”

It isn’t a loaded question, but Nora hesitates.

“Uh…” She blows out a breath. “It sounded cool, I guess.”

Jake hums. “Bullshit.”

Damn. She glares at his reflection.

“Asshole,” Nora mutters, and in the dark window, the edge of Jake’s mouth kicks up into a smile. She returns fire. “Easy there, McConaughey. Why did you become a bad ass fighter pilot? Nepotism?”

His jaw clenches.

She must’ve hit a nerve, but Jake doesn’t bite.

He makes a soft tsk sound. “My interview is over, sweetheart. It’s your turn now.”

Nora lets out an incredulous laugh, then checks over her shoulder to make sure the sound didn’t wake the other room. She can’t come up with a reason not to tell him, not a real one.

“All right,” Nora starts. “Mom was a journalist. She got me an old secondhand DSLR when I was like, twelve. She probably wanted me to follow in her footsteps and become a news photographer or something, but instead, I fell in love with films.” She smiles at the memories. “She shouldn’t have let me drag her to all those Saturday matinees when I was a kid. Maybe I would’ve been something else.”

“Did you ever want to make movie movies?” And learning from his mistakes, Jake finds a different example. “Like When Harry Met Sally?”

That… is a loaded question.

“He does know who Nora Ephron is. Look at you, Texas,” Nora comments, enjoying the uncharacteristic flush that warms the back of Jake’s neck. It is surprising enough that Nora almost forgets the question. “Not for a long time now, no.”

And Nora holds her breath and doesn't know whether to be disappointed when Jake doesn't call bullshit.

Out of the blue, Jake says, “I grew up with a Blue Angels poster on my wall,” and after a confused second, Nora recognizes it as an olive branch, an answer to the half-hearted question from before. “Grandpa Seresin was a World War II veteran, and Aviation seemed like a good fit for me. I could be a fraction of a fraction, up there with the best of the best.”

“You liked a challenge,” Nora observes.

She looks at him, and Jake meets her eyes.

He grins wide, all teeth. “Still do.”

She scrubs the metal spoon harder than is strictly needed and sets it aside, ignoring the warmth curling in her stomach. She blames the wine.

“We’re back to you now, Hollywood,” Jake continues. He takes the last of the plates and sets them in the cabinet. Crosses his arms over the Cowboys shirt and settles against the edge of the counter. “Didn’t you do a Netflix documentary or something?”

“Did you Google me?”

Jake doesn’t look embarrassed, not in the slightest. “You’re kind of a big deal. What’re you doing here?”

Another loaded question, even more so than the last.

Nora submerges the last wine glass, rinsing the stubborn suds that cling to the glass down the drain, and sets it on the last available space on the drying rack, nestled against a ceramic mug that looks handmade. She shakes her hands over the sink, flicking water onto her shirt, and Jake offers the dish towel.

She takes it, rubbing the moisture from her pruned fingers, and thinks about the question. What is Nora doing here?

She has an answer. Several even.

Nora is passing time between projects or paying back a long overdue favor or making some extra cash during a lull or missed her home state or…

“I don’t know,” Nora admits, soft and truthful, an answer for the yellow warmth of the kitchen light and the blue darkness outside and somehow, the cocky Naval aviator who is looking at her with soft green eyes. “Ask me again in like five weeks?”

His gaze softens. “I will.”

Her answering smile is genuine.

A golden tendril comes loose and falls onto his forehead, and Jake pushes it back, running his fingers through his hair. He lets out another yawn, louder this time, and stretches his arms again.

She shouldn’t watch him. She does anyway, and Jake notices.

A smirk spreads across his face. “You know what I think, Hollywood?”

Nora leans back against the nearest section of counter, slinging the dish towel over her own shoulder. “This oughta be good.”

“You kind of like me.”

She gapes at him.

“You are…”

Unbelievable? Presumptuous? Charming?

“…so full of shit.”

“Nope,” Jake says, shaking his head. He doesn’t have to move all that much to be in her space, not in a kitchen this size. Drowsiness makes his accent thicker, each word syrupy slow. “You like that I can keep up with you. Don’t’cha, sweetheart?”

“Can you?” Nora parries, chin raised, “Can you keep up with me?”

Men like Jake Seresin are a dime a dozen, arrogant and handsome, carrying around egos that could sink a freighter, and Nora has met many of them, so many of them. Every damn one of them would’ve hated that answer.

Not Jake. He fucking loves it.

His smirk deepens. “Want to find out?”

Jake holds out a hand. Both dare and truce.

She stares him down, and maybe later, Nora will blame alcohol and exhaustion and the unwelcome realization that Jake bears a certain resemblance to an early 2000’s Matthew McConaughey in that shirt, in this lighting.

That is later. This is now.

And now, Nora slips her hand into his and shakes it once.

end note: likes are appreciated, but comments and reblogs are amazing. i love love love hearing your thoughts!

read the next chapter!

#fic: baby i'm high octane #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x nora rogers #hangman x oc #hangman fic #jake seresin fic #top gun: maverick fic #laracrofted writes

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unolvrs · 1 year

Note

UPCOMING WORKS? PLEASE? IF THERE AREN'T ANY, IT'S OKAY TOO!

uhh, there are both upcoming works and upcoming updates! i have sneak peeks for each one! but here they are:

少年A　（jjk ft. male!reader; possibly megumi/reader）

In a remote village in Sapporo, a thirteen-year-old first year student in an unnamed junior high school allegedly killed three classmates known to bully his best friend who they had driven to suicide. (Or, none of that is true.)

少年A (or: Boy A) was initially made as an OC out of nowhere. i shared him to a few friends before i realized that the set-up of him being nameless and just being called 'Boy A' was perfect for a reader-insert. and before i knew it, i was already writing everything down and it was really, really fun. the term 「少年A」 is something akin to 'John Doe' and it's mostly a name used to minors involved in a crime. there are lots of criminal 「少年A」 in japan so if you want to read about them, i'd give you a big trigger warning because the most well-known 「少年A」 was involved a horrific case.

2. among dawn flowers (the face of god), an extra chapter

i always get notifications about comments concerning dawn flowers and i've read all of them. thank you for your very kind words! they make me feel very happy every time i read them :D i'll be replying to them soon. but the most common comment is about gojō's... well, reaction to everything and what he truly felt for the main character, and there were a couple of misunderstandings in the comments too. i would normally just leave the misunderstandings be to let people have their own interpretation but i've been getting lots of comments and DMs about dawn flowers all the time, so this extra chapter happened. it has the following AUs too:

zen'in naoya marries tengai-san instead

tengai-san survives

tōji snatches up tengai-san (not at all romantic but a found family of sorts because their dynamics are really interesting! because they're the people who neither needs the least!)

and idk, maybe some more? i'll be reading through the comments again!

3. kirigakure-centric naruto fic

“Kirigakure didn’t need help. They needed salvation.” No one knows anything about the Mizukage. Only that she’s kind. She likes to smile. She likes seafood like every other Mizu-born. And that there’s something inexplicably wrong with her. There’s something wrong with the Mizukage whom the Kiri-nin call a ‘god’. —or, Wataru Wataru was never really a powerhouse, in this life or the last, but she’s resourceful. She knows cults, pyramid schemes, and corrupt politicians like the back of her hand, so of course, she becomes the Mizukage and becomes a god along the way.

it's highlighted because it's undergoing editing... but yes, the mizukage cultist fic that i was talking about a month ago. it currently has four chapters in my drafts. i'm testing the waters on whether or not i can maintain it. so far, i have everything planned... like the timeline... it's too detailed.

4. shintō pjo fic

Beyond the eastern seas, Sen'no Hyōran wages a one-man war. (Or, if all she needs is the Golden Fleece, if all she needs is to steal that damned thing, then she will. Those Greeks standing in her way or not.)

YES IT'S HAPPENING OK!

of course, there's also the writing of kill the goose (3 chapters in my drafts now!), rain on my parade (a very slow rewriting), sunday without god (i wrote the next chapter and it was too long like 8k words and i'm not even halfway done so i'm stuck)! and posting some comm'd works that have been rotting in my drive for months!

some possible fics but no promises:

floating blue (nanami/reader)

Aoi's josei romance manga life starts when she's saved by Nanami Kento after almost falling down the train tracks! (Or, it turns out that Aoi is the main character of a supernatural josei manga! She's so excited!)

starts off as a cliché josei manga set-up bc aoi is a josei manga protagonist! then turns deep :D might become a reader-insert instead but without the [name] insert things. just second pov. this was really meant to be a rom-com than a sudden "omg! i'm in a supernatural josei manga!" might write bc it's a cute concept.

the prostitution of learning (jjk & male!oc)

There is no other main character but Kikuchi Eita. (Or, defeating enemies, exorcizing Curses, facing conservative higher-ups, there’s no adversity that Kikuchi Eita cannot push through because Kikuchi Eita is the main character. That is until Itadori Yūji.)

i made this guy before 少年A and while eita is my favorite oc i've ever created in jjk, 少年A's story is easier to write. but the prostitution of learning is a bit more complicated even just with eita's planned CT and while i'd love nothing more than to write this one, idk if i'd have the time but i really want to!

willow diaries / 柳日記 (kakashi/oc)

Kakashi gets a nobleman's concubine pregnant. Whoops. (Or, I no Yanagihaya's honorable brother-in-law said to surprise him. She did.)

first of all, it's not cheating or infidelity. said nobleman is dead. anyway, i think this is the most likely to be written bc i've written the first chapter a hundred times but couldn't get satisfied. anyway, this one's fun. and i love civilian ocs! especially writing nobility. the research was a pain but i loooove this one.

pls... don't ask me about frog in a well :"") i'm working on it! idk, froggie's become that weird cousin idk if i wanna talk to or not. it's awkward between the two of us right now bc ik i could start writing the chapter anytime and get it done and over it quickly but i've been lazy and focusing on other stuff hehe <3

#問 ━━ answers #aka the monthly “what are you writing rn uno”

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andiinaraethtash · 3 months

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please tell me about your favorite wip ?

Dude that is like the hardest question you could ask. I'm gonna say top three (though one is a bit cheaty bc it's a series rather than a single wip, but none of the parts of the series are done, so the whole series is a series of wips. It counts).

To Ash and Dust--Okay, I love this one, and it has great angst and humor just built into it. Basically the premise is that the Battle at the Acropolis in BoO goes very, very badly, to the point that they completely lose, so the Fates, in what little time they have, basically do a massive loop with the threads of Fate for the surviving heroes--meaning, of course, Percy and Annabeth. They wake up like. A few weeks before Annabeth, Luke, Thalia, and Grover make it to camp, and of course Annabeth has very conflicting emotions about Luke, bc on the one hand, she did love him, and he did sorta redeem himself, but on the other he betrayed her and got so many of her friends killed. Percy, meanwhile, woke up at the apartment he and his mom, who is dating Gabe at this point, share, and immediately is like, "idk whats going on but i need to get somewhere safe" and so he sneaks out and calls a pegasus to take him to camp. He shows up, giving Chiron a heart attack followed by a migraine, refuses to tell him pretty much anything, just his name, and then waits until Annabeth and the others get there, and in the middle of the storm, proceeds to take down as many monsters as possible to get the other four into the safety of the camp. Bear in mind, he is seven. And a kinda scrawny seven at that. Annabeth's immediate reaction is to just kinda squawk, "Seaweed Brain?" and he grins and shoots back, "Hey, Wise Girl," and Thalia, whose pov that section is written from, is like. "wtf how does Annabeth know this kid, why is this seven-year-old kicking so much ass, and also holy Styx that is a seven-year-old--" That's about as far as I've written, but there are other fun moments in store, though I've yet to decide what to actually do with Luke. (Advice would be appreciated :D)

And Yet, a Second Try--This is the one I've been working on for the last couple of days, and I'm sort of going back to my roots here, with a Star Wars time travel au. Basically, Obi-Wan and Anakin both wake up, a few months after the year on the run happens, in their younger bodies (Obi-Wan is like. 19, and Anakin is three) but the last thing they remember is their respective deaths. Neither knows the other is back, and Obi-Wan doesn't know that Anakin redeemed himself. So Obi-Wan almost immediately sneaks off to Tatooine, so he can rescue Anakin and Shmi both, and of course Anakin is suspicious, bc why is Obi-Wan here now, he's not supposed to be here now, but he doesn't say anything... at least not until some of the other kids are talking and one of them echoes that line that Anakin says in TPM, the "no one can kill a Jedi" and Anakin just. Gets up and leaves without a word, and he vanishes in the three seconds Obi-Wan and Shmi don't have eyes on him, and Obi-Wan manages to find him and they kind of both realise that they remember the future, and there's a lot of crying. It's very cathartic.

The Obani Chronicles--so this is the wip series, and my gosh, when I say this is a labor of love, I mostly mean it's a labor. There are several parts to it, some that are like. Alternate universes to the main one? Anyway--It's focused on an oc of mine, Kestrel Obani, or Kes, who was a Padawan, friends with Cal and Caleb. When Order 66 went out, she barely managed to escape in a fighter, then commandeered a pirate ship in the middle of an asteroid belt, set the autopilot of the fighter she'd stolen to shoot through the belt so it would crash, and successfully faked her death. She manages to lie low until shortly before the events of JFO, when she gets turned over to the Inquisitors after having to use the Force to escape a fight against a gang on Nar Shaddaa. So she's in the Fortress Inquisitorius when Cal and Cere break in, and manages to escape in the chaos, meeting up with Cal and Cere, who don't recognize her immediately (it's been five years and escaping the cell she'd been in had required an explosion which had burnt the left side of her face, neck and shoulder). After they escape, Cal is unconscious (bc he got skewered by his own lightsaber) so there's no reunion, but Kes gets to meet Merrin and Oh, Boy, do I love their dynamic. Merrin doesn't trust her, and she doesn't trust Merrin, and then they just sorta bond over how danger-prone Cal is, and of course once Cal does wake up there's that whole reunion, and that's about the summary of the first part of the series. From there, the main storyline has like. Two more main parts, and one that kinda explains where Kes was during the events of the second game, bc I am not going to try to rewrite that, thank you very much. In part two, they get a group of visitors on Koboh who call themselves the Spectres, which is so much fun. Part three covers the events of Ahsoka, which I did rewrite a little bc I have Thoughts about how that would go if Kes and the others were involved. Anyway I love them all so much and as much as I want to share this series with everyone, literally none of the parts are finished, so...

#writing #writers on tumblr #creative writing #fanfic #if you wanna ask about any of the particulars of any of these... my inbox is open :D

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glowstone23b · 1 year

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Hey, I saw your post asking us to gush about minecraft ocs and…ok, so, I have a lot. Partly because details of my ocs tie into the world I made for them, and mostly because I’ve been working on this for 3 and a half years and there’s a lot to tell.

Anyways, my main oc, Hannah, is from the real world and was dragged into the realm of Minecraft. It turns out that there are four kingdoms in this world and three out of the four kingdoms believe in a religious prophecy that entails that a tyrant will rise from one of the kingdoms, but a warrior will return to vanquish them. They believe Hannah to be this warrior, but Hannah doesn’t feel like she is. Unfortunately for her, the only way for her to get back is to go through the same portal that she came in from, and the only way to get the portal to reactivate is to gather the missing corner pieces from each of the four kingdoms. Throughout her journey, Hannah makes friends and allies, all while learning the rules of the server she’s in and how Minecraft works.

Oh yeah, the four kingdoms here are:

Kinerfall: A kingdom for the other players on the server. They see the world as more of an in-depth roleplay thing. Ruled by Queen Amara, who is also from the real world.

Weyforlosa: A kingdom for mobs. They are currently in an active war with Kinerfall because their ruler, King Coveris, used to date Queen Amara, but they split because they each thought that the other was going to be the tyrant.

Lavail: The Nether kingdom. They usually don’t believe in the prophecy or the religion the other kingdoms follow called Avianity. Ruled by King Hesil.

Vaniscar: The End kingdom. Currently the people there are a bit on edge because their recently crowned king, King Afias, has a bit of a checkered past, but he’s what they have for now.

Here’s a drawing of the rulers of those kingdoms btw:

Throughout the story, Hannah makes friends with some mobs that decide to tag along with her, pictured here:

Lonnie is a witch’s experiment that came to life as a slime. She loves adventures and knows how to brew potions.

Isador used to be a wandering trader, but he got turned into an evoker after being captured during a raid. He breaks free from the pillager’s side after meeting Hannah.

Dilou is a part of the royal guard for Lavail. He’s never been outside of the Nether before, so the adventure he goes on with the team is full of new surprises.

Evelyn has it out for King Afias after he wronged her in such a way that it got her banished from Vaniscar.

Anyways, sorry I rambled for so long. I just have a lot to say about this world…wait, I didn’t even tell you its name.

The world is called Avion. As such, the story is called Tale of Avion.

That’s all. Take care. Stay determined <3

This is me reading this btw^^^

Thank you for sharing!!! Your drawings rule, I love the way you draw endermen especially (you get the proportions just right!!) Also never apologize for rambling about it, especially when you've been asked to do so! I appreciate it!!

As for Kinerfall, all of the players there see it as a roleplay sort of thing (and at least Amara is an irl person, though idk if the others are as well)... would they ever want to return to the real world, do they have access to do so, or are they mostly just in-game players? Is Amara an exception in this right, like Hannah is?

Also even if Hannah isn't the real hero the rest of the kingdoms make her out to be, she still seems to be uniting them in a way! Getting a bunch of mobs together from different corners of the world towards a common force (and getting to understand where each is coming from) is very valuable!

For kingdoms, are they/have they ever been on good terms? Do they have agreements or treaties between one another to keep the peace, is it uneasy, or are there a lot of wars happening? In my head I feel that Kinerfall wouldn't get along with a lot of the kingdoms (being that players typically hunt mobs for resources/sport/etc.), but I have little knowledge about it as of yet so I'd love to hear :)

I ask a lot of questions because I'm curious, so sorry if the wall of text is a little intimidating! I just love the worldbuilding!! As you know, my nether fascination is not very sane of any human being, but I also love exploring how in-game mechanics might work in a story-- things like using your inventory, for instance, or how totems of undying feel to use, if applicable in the AU. Like-- for the end kingdom, what is their main material? Like what are Afias' clothes/armor made of? Do they have materials in the end we're not able to see in game, or do they trade with other kingdoms? Do they eat chorus fruit? Do endermen need to eat at all? How do alliances work out between them all? How do the mobs keep from burning during the day? Do they have any magic that helps? Charms, amulets, totems? Do kingdoms have to compromise sometimes (like players would need to have a meeting with the mobs at night, to prevent them from burning up, in lieu of being able to see all that comfortably?)

ALSO stay determined? A fellow UTDR enjoyer? Huzzah! This is coming from someone who wears a LOT of stripes and now has a love for sweaters after allowing it to shape my life a while back lol

Anyways. Lots of questions, I'm inherently curious, what can I say? Long story short. I love your characters I'm looking directly at them!!!! Thank you for sharing with the class :D

#minecraft #minecraft oc #minecraft worldbuilding #glowstone23b asks #thank you for listening #i'm a little too interested in lore and mechanics i hope you don't mind sdhjbfnkdsl

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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year

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For the five sentences! Jameson and Taron au

"I think you should name the goat, if you're not scared."

@for-the-love-of-angst and I have an Au where my OC Jameson stumbles into their OC Taron's restaurant and they strike up a sometimes tentative but enduring friendship.

"I think... you should name the goat. If you're not scared."

The stray scowls at him, eyebrows drawn like thunderclouds, scars like lightning strikes pulling at the corner of one side of his mouth. His hair's a wild spiky patchy mess in the wind. "I'm not fucking scared of the goat."

His voice might say that, but the way he hunches further into the sweater he definitely took from Taron's office at the restaurant says otherwise. Taron has to work to keep from smiling.

"Yeah, yeah. So. You want to name her? Zizi's got this idea of raising baby goats next year."

The stray brightens a little, although he immediately tries to drop back into his scowl when he realizes Taron is looking. "Baby goats?"

"Yeah, baby goats. They're called kids." He pauses. Zizi would add like you, and the stray would act mad but actually eat it up. If Taron says it, he'll turn the same color as a ripe tomato, mumble something, and then not talk again until the next day.

Taron isn't blind.

He just likes to not see things sometimes, is all.

Zizi clocked the sweater was Taron's - probably one she bought him actually - as soon as they got out of the truck yesterday. All she did was give Taron a raised eyebrow and wry smile when the kid wasn't looking. Good. If anyone points it out, even just as a joking thing, he'll vanish again.

Jameson has stuck around for two months now, put on some weight even. Grown his hair out. Spends less time trying not to be noticed and more time asking questions. Sleeps at the farm three or four nights a week, helps Zizi with everything she'll let him help with. Helps Taron at the restaurant.

Stray doesn't sleep, though.

Or, well, he does fall asleep, but... He has nightmares and walks around at night to settle jangling nerves. Taron's usually up anyway.

Same reason, even.

Sometimes they watch old movies together until whatever haunts the kid's head backs off enough for him to try and sleep again. Sometimes he just falls asleep right there, and Taron covers him with a blanket and lets him rest wherever he finds it.

He looks better. He feels better.

Maybe... maybe Taron can save this one. This time. He tries not to think about that too much. But sometimes - like now, scowling and acting more pissed off than he is - it's hard not to think how alike they can be.

"Kids, huh." Jameson looks over at the new goat. She bleats, but keeps her distance. However nice the kid is, he is not a natural with the animals. And, whether he admits it or not, he's scared of dogs. A smile brightens the stray's expression. "How about... Bogart?"

Whatever face Taron must make in response, that moment of open cheer instantly fades and the angry look comes right back in its place.

"Never mind. Stupid fucking name for a goat. You should name it. I'm fucking shit at ideas, we're not meant to have brains. You do it."

Might be the thing he likes least about the kid - how he shuts down when he thinks someone is judging him, usually calls himself some version of stupid or a slut, and then dares you to argue with him about it. Taron has been fielding this for a while, though. He's got it figured, what to do next..

"What made you think Bogart?"

Simple question, simply worded. No judgement. No false enthusiasm either. Just a question.

Jameson scrapes a circle in the ground with the toe of his shoe. "Cause of the movie the other night."

"Which one?" Could be any of a dozen, actually. Both of them have had a hard week when it comes to sleep.

"Casablanca. Here's looking at you, kid. Kid, goats... Humphrey Bogart... Like I said. Stupid name."

"It's not. Lot of name for a little goat, though. What about... Elsie? The woman in Casablanca is Ilsa. You and I will still know it's from that, right?"

Jameson blushes right to the roots of his hair. Taron wishes he had his phone to take a picture to show Zizi. Not that she doesn't see it all the time - she's an expert at getting the stray to turn this color without actually making him run away. "... Right. Yeah. Elsie is... good."

"Good. Want to ride along to the store with me today? Need to buy a few things for Elsie here to settle in."

As always, the stray brightens all over again. Taron's heart aches, just seeing it. If only this had been something he could have done, creating a safe place to land, when-

He won't think about that.

He just heads for the truck and the stray falls in behind.

#jameson au #taron and jameson au #i love taron #whump #whump oc #traumatized whumpees #insomnia reference #ptsd reference

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tmntkiseki · 2 months

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Hiii can you pretty please tell me about your tmnt OC's? I absolutely love hearing about people's OC's and a little birdie told me you have some.

fjsfdfjghjgfdhg ask and you shall receive

So I wanna say I actually have quite a few TMNT OCs? But at this point, I've only got three "main" OCs that exist properly within some of the various universes I've conjured up for 2003 (the main differences between them being whether the Ninja Tribunal season as well as Turtles Forever are treated as canon or not)

First OC is my dear Iseult Lanigera, who probably needs the least amount of introduction just because I already talk about her so much. She's a member of a dying species of aliens known as the Iorans whose homeworld, Andemon, was destroyed by Sh'Okanabo; she was lucky enough to escape thanks to the sacrifice of her older brother, and she was ultimately taken in by the leader of the Inuwashi Gunjin, Shouma, who raised her like a daughter and has given her extensive combat training (the Gunjin have been reminagined as a nomadic species of alien collectively known as the Washi, with the Inuwashi Gunjin being only one of many clans that travel the known universe.) She was originally involved in the mercenary business like her adoptive family, but after an unfortunate encounter with Torbin Zixx that led to her becoming stranded on Earth and meeting the turtles, she's instead chosen to focus on her a certain gardening project of hers that she hasn't had the time for until now.

Personality-wise, Iseult is easily described as serious, independent, selfless, intelligent, and painfully stubborn. While she tends to behave in a very guarded, almost aloof manner around strangers, close friends agree that's she's genuinely a sweet, kind, and empathetic young woman who unfortunately struggles with a lot of personal issues (namely a strong fear of abandonment and difficulty trusting others.) She loves studying botany and is quick to accumulate a vast knowledge of Earth's plant life, and she is also known to dabble in singing and songwriting. Of the four turtles, she ends up becoming closest with Donatello and later develops romantic feelings for him, although they initially encounter some hiccups in their relationship due to Iseult's personal issues and, well, * gestures at all the traumatizing crap the turtles deal with on a regular basis * Her weapon in combat is a pair of strength-enhancing gauntlets and she is the definition of a glass cannon; she hits fast and she hits hard, but is easily thrown around due to her small stature, so much of her battle style revolves around hit-and-run tactics.

Second on the list is Imai Primavera. In the official "Starverse" lore (I'm not sure what else to call my collection of related TMNT 2003 universes), Venus and Primavera were once a pair of newly orphaned human sisters who were kidnapped by members of a Japanese cult of sorcerers known as the Order of the New Moon. The intent was to turn them into mindless demons completely subservient to the Order's will; however, something happened during the ritual and instead of becoming monstrous demons, they were turned into benevolent turtle yokai. The Ancient One rescued the two girls, but after what happened with Yoshi, Tang Shen, and Mashimi, he couldn't bring himself to raise any more children, so he chose to leave them in the care of his friend, Imai Jun; as his day job, Jun is the head priest of a shrine found deep in a forest in Japan's Gifu Prefecture, but he was a former pupil of Kon of the Ninja Tribunal and is a ninja in his own right. Venus and Primavera spent the next ten years living in near-total solitude until the day came where the shrine was destroyed, Jun was killed, and Primavera was kidnapped by the attackers. Venus subsequently traveled all the way to New York to find her; after the turtles help Venus locate her and rescue her from her captors, the two sisters ultimately end up living with them and are welcomed into Clan Hamato by Splinter.

Age-wise, Primavera is significantly younger than her sister and the other turtles (about four years, so she'd be 13 post-Season 5 if we assume the turtles are 17 by that point.) When compared to the others, she tends to be even quieter than Don and can come off as shy, although that more has to do with her lack of confidence speaking English. (She knows more than she's comfortable using in a conversation, if that makes sense.) When she does speak, though? She's known to have an exceptionally sharp tongue and delivers legendary roasts on a regular basis. It's revealed over time that a lot of Primavera's blunt mannerisms stem from insecurities over her perceived ineptitude at ninjutsu, as well as the belief that she's worthless to the team in a fight. She does start to mellow out with time and becomes a lot sweeter and affectionate with all of the turtles, a change that is especially noteworthy in the case of Michelangelo, as she was initially outright hostile towards him due to jealousy over his natural talent at martial arts. (She even takes to calling him "nii-san," which she initially only reserved for Raph.) As a wielder of the yumi, she specializes in long-range fighting and is noted to be physically the weakest of the turtles due to her smaller size and young age.

And last but not least, we've got the newest addition to my roster of OCs, P1K4. The entire concept for this little guy is "a robot who will die if it does receive affection," which is sad because look at her! She's adorable!

Anyway, P1K4 is an advanced AI created by an extinct species of alien known as the Sagittans, who were unfortunately wiped out when their own robotic creations went rogue and turned against them. Poor P1K4 was one of the only robots who didn't turn against the Sagittans, as she was specifically created in an effort to avert the predicted singularity event by giving her a need that no other robot on her world had--a need for socialization. P1K4's oval-shaped body contains a micro-generator that activates only when she detects heat signatures from organic beings that she is in physical contact with; energy generation is further amplified when she receives positive acts of affection such as pets and cuddles. Giving her these design features was in the hope that she would develop an empathy for organic beings, which she did, but it ultimately proved too little too late for the Sagittans.

After her creator was killed during the Sagittan Singularity War, P1K4 escaped the Sagittan homeworld via a Triceraton scouting ship that came to survey the situation (good thing too, as the Triceratons proceeded to blow up the planet due to the danger the Sagittan AIs posed.) P1K4 spent the next fifty Earth years hiding among the Triceraton asteroid colonies until she ended up on Earth during the Triceraton invasion, her battery slowly draining because... Well, Triceratons are not all that cuddly and most other species show little to no empathy for robots. She fell into the sewers and spent several months wandering the tunnels until she was finally forced to stop, as she had nearly depleted what remained of her energy stores. Just as she was about to shut down for good, she was found by Donatello and Michelangelo while they were exploring the tunnels. They took her back to the lair, Donatello fixed her up, and she ultimately becomes something of a beloved pet to him the same way Klunk is to Mikey.

Knowing all this, it goes without saying that P1K4's is an incredibly affectionate and social little thing, and is noted to have an almost child-like curiosity of the world around her. Under normal circumstances, she is only able to communicate using a combination of beeps, chirps, and whistles (kinda like R2-D2), although when connected to something like Donatello's laptop, she is able to communicate her thoughts in clear, concise English. It's in these moments that she reveals herself to be a very thoughtful, concerned individual, and admits that she often wonders whether she even has a "soul" as a non-organic being.

Small note: Although P1K4 technically does not have a gender, she does prefer being referred to by feminine pronouns, as her personality was based on her creator's deceased daughter.

#asks #i-am-a-living-god #tmnt oc #iseult lanigera #imai primavera #p1k4

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areseebee · 1 year

Text

in honor/celebration of the 1-year anniversary of my fic, Personal Space, i have a little bit of new writing to share about james and erin's first christmas in derry after everything that happened in Smoke Break. includes mention of an OC from my current fic, Someday - faye, who james has just started dating at this point in the story timeline.

James had barely been sat at the Quinn’s kitchen table and all four of the girls had been admiring his new jacket when Clare had let it slip: “Is this the one that Faye made for you?”

It could have been a harmless question, if James had had any foresight. He could have answered easily – “Yes” – and moved on with their Christmas celebration.

He’d been eager for this Christmas celebration and he’d been determined to enjoy it. It’d been a long time since he’d seen them all together like this; since August, in Clare’s Dublin flat. And it’d been months and months of him feeling so morose – the whole term, practically – that he’d been looking forward to the cheer.

But as soon as Clare had asked, he’d stiffened in his chair and he’d felt the corners of his mouth turn down and his eyes get very wide and he’d given the scantest shake of his head to Clare and all of them had seen.

Michelle sat back in her chair, gleefully assessing, and asked, “Who the fuck is Faye?”

Orla had even stopped surreptitiously poking at her hastily wrapped present – James had tried to fold it just right, but the flimsy wrapping paper had been so clumsy in his hands that he’d finally given up – and looked up at him in interest.

He didn’t know what Erin was doing. He had hardly been able to bring himself to look at her, even when she’d answered the door and let him and Michelle inside. Maybe he’d made sure not to catch her eye, but he’d allowed himself a quick glance that had shown him a happy flush across her cheeks and very bright eyes and a sort of frenetic energy bouncing around in her; she was too quick to smile, was touching her hair too much, adjusting her headband and the lightly curled ends of her hair against her collarbone too frequently.

He’d made himself look away. And now, at the table, she was right there at his elbow – maybe he wasn’t looking, but he’d felt the way she’d stilled at the mention of the name.

And Clare – well Clare was already glaring daggers at him. Don’t get mad at me, her expression seemed to say, I didn’t know it was a secret.

James swallowed and tried to affect nonchalance, albeit much too late. “She’s a friend from school.”

“Who makes you clothes?” Michelle asked disbelievingly.

“A good friend,” he shot back.

Michelle gave him a long, narrow-eyed look which he tried to match with his own, but he lost his nerve and looked away, down at his hands. He could hear the cocksure smirk in her words when she said, “I’ll translate: he’s been riding her.”

“I –” he started, about to lie, about to say “no,” but stopped himself. It was out now; why lie? “You don’t have to be so vulgar about it,” he answered sullenly instead.

“Vulgar? I’m not the one being a dick, keeping the poor girl a secret,” Michelle sneered. “What would she think?”

Nothing about it, he wanted to say. He wasn’t keeping Faye a secret; or, at least, not from anyone but three of the girls seated around the kitchen table, and for very good reason. Michelle didn’t need to know until she had to, Orla would just tell Erin, and Erin – well, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t wanted Erin to know.

Maybe because it seemed like things were normal again, or as normal as they could be, and he didn’t want to mess it up, not again. Maybe it was because he didn’t think she deserved to know, didn’t get to have him offering up every piece of him to her again, especially when she wasn’t asking for it. Maybe it was because he’d tried to tell her, had had the words on the tip of his tongue every time Erin had called him over the past weeks, but he’d been too much of a coward.

What will she think, he’d wondered, and then hated himself for wondering. He’d told himself over and over again that Erin wouldn’t even care, that she never cared as much as he thought she did. And maybe he didn’t want to finally learn that it was as true as he suspected it was.

“Well it’s not a secret now, is it?” James glowered. “I have a girlfriend. She made me this jacket. Can we open presents now?” he asked, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as he could manage. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore, not with all of them there.

“The fuck we can,” Michelle scoffed. “Dickhead’s got a girlfriend. Well – who is she? What’s she like? Are you blackmailing her?”

“I vote for opening presents,” Erin interrupted testily from where she sat at James’s right. He’d nearly forgotten she was there, she’d been so still and quiet. Nearly – he’d never quite forgotten. He’d been all too aware of the absence of her earlier fidgeting, the way she hadn’t immediately jumped in to ask a question.

“Aye, me too,” Clare chimed in. James shot her a grateful look.

“I can tell mine’s a box of fruit pastilles,” Orla said.

James gaped at her. “How could you know that?” he whinged.

“You try having as many fruit pastilles as I’ve had and then see if you can’t tell,” Orla said smugly.

“You missed a corner with the wrapping,” Erin groused, finally drawing his eye to her. “We can all tell.” Her face was still flushed, but it was all blotchy, and she looked back at him, her gaze guarded and blank. He blinked, and she looked away.

“Ok, you’re all ruining Kris Kindle,” Clare fussed. “No one’s supposed to know who got who yet!”

“Come off it, Clare. There’s no point. You already know who everyone has anyway,” Erin muttered, crossing her hands over her chest petulantly.

“Well someone had to plan it! Can’t count on you lot for anything.”

“Fine,” Michelle huffed. “Let’s get this over with. Here Erin.” She tossed a lumpy parcel across the table.

“Thanks,” Erin muttered. She leant down and picked up the precisely wrapped gift that had been sitting on the floor near her foot and slid it over to James across the table. “Here.”

“Oh,” he said softly, looking dumbly down at the gift in front of him and the tag on top that said – he felt a funny lurch in his stomach – To James. Love, Erin. “Thanks.”

James carefully stuck his finger under the bit of tape on the side and let the paper pop open before turning the present around to the other side and doing the same.

“Why are you going so slow?” Erin asked, looking very unimpressed with the care he was taking with it.

“Stop watching me. I can open my present however I please,” he said archly. He felt her shift beside him again, her earlier fidgeting having seemingly returned.

He peeled back the paper carefully until all that was sitting in front of him were a stack of three VHS tapes: Armageddon, Notting Hill, and Ghost.

“Oh,” he said again, staring down at them.

The two of them had seen Notting Hill together at the cinema that summer, sitting in the cool, quiet dark as they watched a girl stand in front of a boy and ask him to love her. James could remember vividly sneaking glances at Erin’s enthralled face in the light of the screen. She’d been so wholly absorbed. He wanted to take her hand. He’d wanted to take her whole attention, to have it all directed at him the same way it seemed to be directed at Hugh Grant. She’d even mentioned visiting him in London for the first time ever as they walked out of the cinema. He remembered because he hadn’t had to bring it up first. Maybe it was then that he had started to hope.

As for the other two films – well. They hadn’t exactly watched them. James remembered that, too.

“It’s stupid, I know,” she stammered to cut through his silence. “I just thought they were…some of our favourites. And I thought you’d want to have them. So you could watch them. Whenever you want.”

“That’s an…eclectic range of films,” Clare said, craning her neck over Michelle’s shoulder to get a closer look. “There was a £10 limit, you know.”

“They were discounted,” Erin shrugged irritably.

"It's a waste of your money," Michelle said, eyeing the tapes and shaking her head. "We already own two of these."

"Well they're for him to take back with him, aren't they, Michelle?" Erin snapped. Four pairs of eyes, James’s included, turned to look at her in the wake of her outburst.

“Jesus, Erin. What crawled up your hole and died today?” Michelle chided.

“Nothing,” she grumbled, slumping an inch down in her chair, and then added, “I’m hungry. Can we eat already?”

They cleared off the wrapping paper now strewn across the table while Clare set to re-heating the Chicken Ball Specials that Erin and Orla had picked up earlier that day for their Christmas dinner. In the end, the wine and Christmas crackers put them all in a better mood. When Mary Quinn checked in once to see how they were faring, Erin only grumped a little bit. And Michelle didn’t bring up Faye again.

All in all, it was exactly what James had been wanting. It felt normal. James liked normal. He’d been worried it would never be normal again. Maybe Erin was a little quieter and maybe she didn’t say much to him since he’d opened the tapes, but maybe that was normal, too. Maybe all of the times he’d ever caught her eye or shared a joke or brushed her knee with his wasn’t normal. Maybe it’d only ever been him doing it. Maybe she’d found it fun to reciprocate, whenever she did. Maybe it wasn’t ever anything more than that. Maybe now that he had a girlfriend, he’d never have any of that from Erin ever again.

That was normal. He knew that. But it still sort of felt a little bit like he’d lost something again, underneath it all.

By the time the second bottle of wine had been opened, Michelle suggested putting on a film to end the night. “One of the ones Erin got. Notting Hill.”

Erin had sat for a few minutes through the opening, up until Hugh Grant spilled coffee all over Julia Roberts’ shirt, when she pronounced that she’d go “clean up” and disappeared into the kitchen where sounds of the running kitchen sink and clanking dishes soon followed.

James only waited until Hugh Grant offered Julia Roberts apricots soaked in honey before he decided to use the toilet. He wasn’t much in the mood for Notting Hill, either.

He dallied for as long as he could without seeming suspicious and skirted around the edge of the room on his way back so that he could slip into the kitchen unnoticed.

Erin was standing at the sink, hands immersed in the water in the sink basin, staring idly out the window into the dark back garden.

“Want help?” he asked from the threshold. She jumped in surprise and glanced at him briefly before turning her attention back to the dishes in the sink.

“Aye. If you want.”

He took his spot next to her and wordlessly began rinsing the soapy dishes.

“I don’t think I said a proper thank you. For the gift. It was…thoughtful,” he offered after a long silent minute, trying to sound cheerful.

If this was normal, then he could stand here next to her and say thank you and not have it mean anything.

She hummed her response and fell silent again, only the clatter of cutlery scraping along the bottom of the sink and the sound of the film in the next room filling the quiet.

After a long moment, her hands stilled again in the soapy water in the sink basin. “Why didn’t I know?” she asked, her voice sounding small. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

This wasn’t what he had come into the kitchen for. He was here as a peace offering, not to learn how to regret something entirely new.

“It wasn’t really any of your business,” he said tersely, his eyes trained out the window on nothing but the few distant lights he could see from neighbouring houses. It was too dark out to see much of anything. He looked anyway.

She was silent for a long moment before she answered, the sound of water and soap plunking up against the sides of the sink as she cleaned another dish. “Clare knew.”

He didn’t respond, only rinsed the plate she handed him.

“You could have said,” she tried again. “I wish you had told me. Then I wouldn’t have –”

“Wouldn’t have what?”

“I –” She stopped and took a shaky-sounding breath before finishing the thought, “I would have gotten you something different.”

They were silent as she washed the last dish and, while he was still rinsing and drying, she drained the sink, dried her hands, and walked away, back to the sofa to join their friends.

Michelle was downright wrathful the next day when Erin called to tell her that she was going back to Belfast early.

“She’s missing New Year. It’s the new millennium, James. And she won’t even be here. I’m so fucking ripping, if she weren’t already going to be gone she would be uninvited.”

It didn’t bother him that she left early. Not being bothered is what would be normal. They’d have a perfectly fine time on their own, the four of them. If Erin wanted to go back to Belfast, if she preferred spending her time with people there who she saw all the time instead of the friends who she saw only more and more infrequently, well that was her business.

If, when the clock struck midnight, he missed her, well that was something he would plan to forget about by the morning.

And if, when she next called him up it was to tell him she had a new boyfriend, well that was good, because now he had Faye.

#derry girls #jerin #erin x james #james x erin #james maguire #erin quinn #derry girls fic #my fic #maybe someday: faye #fic: smoke break #fic: maybe someday #fic: someday #fic: personal space

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fives-girlfriend · 2 years

Text

First Impressions, part 1

The Batch has been assigned a new teammate, much to their reluctance. It seems like the reason behind the deployment has left a sour taste in their mouths.

Read Part 2

Credit absolutely goes to @staycalmandhugaclone for this beautiful idea for Asha's proper introduction to our beloved Unit 99! This thing is absolutely gonna be a multi-parter.

Characters: TBB, OC (Asha Kurr)

Warnings: Not many – vague feelings of distrust and anxiety

Word count: 1,278

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“...you can’t be serious,” Crosshair hissed.

“It says so right here: hand-picked by Rex himself,” Tech began, peering at his datapad, “for her exemplary service alongside various battalions both on and off the battlefield. Her credentials are sound. She’s shown skill.”

A pause, as he fixed his goggles.

“I at least see why she was chosen.”

“Why’s Echo even need a mechanic?” Wrecker piped up, with a curious tilt of his head. “We’ve been doin’ fine on our own, haven’t we? You fix ‘im up just fine, Tech!”

“While this is true, there are complexities about Echo’s condition that are perhaps befitting of a more specialized expert that–”

“Sh.”

Hunter’s quick hush made everyone stop, as the door to the barracks slid open and they all sat up. Just merely an hour ago, the unit had received an order that they were to be accommodating a new teammate – a mechanic, specifically a droid maintenance specialist. Even more specifically, somebody to help, for lack of a better term, take care of Echo. The uniqueness of his augments, the complexities they posed, had finally called for someone to be on-hand to help take care of any problems that may arise for his own quality of life.

Suffice to say, they were all quite reluctant at the idea.

The mechanic’s credentials had been forwarded to them, of course. She had everything you could possibly think of: military service, years of experience in droid repair and upkeep, with no small amount of work done in vehicles, computers, and weapons mechanics as well. She seemed to be a jack-of-all-trades in that regard. Apparently this one had been freelancing with the GAR for some years now, and had built a bit of a rapport with various battalions she had helped out in that time. Now, though, she was to take on a more long-standing assignment with Unit 99, to maintain and keep an eye on their resident cyborg and his mechanical augments.

None of them had seen Echo since they received the order.

Now, though, standing in the doorway was someone none of them inspected. She stood rather dumbfounded as she looked around at the four faces – four different faces – all boring holes straight through her. A togruta woman stood there, laden with tools and necessities, crimson skin a bit flushed in both exertion and embarrassment at the sudden, rapt attention she was getting. Gold stripes circled up her montrals and down her lekku, and judging by their size, she couldn’t have been anywhere beyond her mid-20s. She was just about as young as the rest of them. No one said a word for a few long, awkward moments – they just stared.

“...h-hello,” she finally spoke up, with a small wave of the hand. “My name is Asha. A-Asha Kurr. I’m… going to be working with you all from now on.”

As the door slid shut behind her, the first person to make any move was Crosshair. It was not a friendly move. The sharpshooter narrowed his gaze at Asha, stepping forward, and absolutely towered over her as he stared her down. Though lithe, he offered an imposing atmosphere that made Asha shrink back, sunset eyes meeting the tawny brown of his scrutinizing glare, and that flinch of hers made him scoff as he flicked his toothpick out and to her feet.

“Three rotations,” was all he said as he gave her what could only be a sneer, before brushing past her to head to his bunk and plunk himself down, occupying himself with cleaning his rifle. Asha blinked at the blunt words, and looked over to the others with a look that could only be asking for clarity.

“I, um–” she cleared her throat, “I’m here on orders, is all… I’m only here for one person, but- but I look forward to getting to know you all…!”

Hunter and Tech exchanged glances. He could hear the way her heart raced, and it betrayed her chipper demeanor. Anxiety spiked in her chest, made her tremble just barely. Hunter sighed, and shook his head.

“Good luck finding him,” he muttered. “Look, Ms. Kurr. You seem like a kind woman. So I’ll tell you this only once.”

Hunter stood and approached her – his stature no less intimidating than Crosshair’s had been. Asha tried not to shrink under his gaze. Keyword, tried.

“All of us – we all rely on each other. We look after our own. We’ve only got each other, understand?” He spoke softly, but his words carried a particular weight that made Asha nod. “Trust is going to have to be earned. I won’t argue your assignment… but I hope you understand that we’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

“Y– yes, of course, sergeant,” Asha replied quickly, nodding her head. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, honestly. I’d honestly be more concerned if you guys trusted me right away… I-I promise, though, I’m just here to help! That’s what I’ve always done, yeah?” she chirped, and jostled her toolkit for emphasis with a small smile, hoping to alleviate the tension. She watched as Wrecker stood, the largest and most intimidating of them all, and approached her… and she nearly toppled to the floor when he clapped a massive hand around her back and against her shoulder, much to her surprise.

“Well, I like her!” he boomed with a hearty laugh, earning what was probably the deepest sigh of relief Asha had ever given. Finally, someone who wasn’t painfully tense or utterly vitriolic about her presence… that much, she could handle. She could handle the loudness and the forcefulness if it meant someone was actually friendly to her.

“Your enjoyment of her presence means very little if we do not know how effective she will be at her assigned job,” Tech spoke up from his workstation, staring pointedly at Wrecker and Asha. “And in order to do that, she will have to locate Echo.”

“...wait, he’s not here?” Asha asked, and the moment she did, what little tension that had been relieved returned twofold. “Well, where is he? If I’m going to be the one… tending to him, I’d like to meet him.”

“Of that, I am uncertain,” Tech continued. “When we received the order that you had been assigned to our squad as his personal mechanic, he departed rather quickly. That was about an hour ago. Best of luck in locating him.”

Tech seemed almost painfully indifferent. Asha looked at the four of them, hoping for some semblance of help – something that would actually indicate that she could rely on them to back her up – but she found nothing. Just reluctance. With a heavy sigh, Asha stepped to the side and dropped down her heavy load of tools and other necessities, and stood fully upright – the tips of her montrals just barely reached Wrecker’s shoulders.

“Well, I’ll go look for him, then,” she said with a renewed sense of purpose. If she was going to earn the trust of these men, then… first step would be finding their missing brother. But he didn’t seem so much missing as he was most definitely hiding from her. “I’ll see you guys again after I find him.”

With that, and a quick turn on her heel, Asha turned back to the door and stepped out, determined to find the man she had been charged with upkeep for. He could try and evade her all he liked… but she wasn’t about to let this anxiety on both of their ends keep her from doing her job, and keep him from working at his best.

Asha re-entered the stark white halls of the Kamino facility, picked a direction, and marched off.

#tbb #star wars oc #crosshair #wrecker #tech #hunter #sci writes #oc: asha kurr #BEHOLD ASHA BACKSTORY BE UPON YE #neon lanes

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