#post Reaper war snippet

[theoriginalladya]

WIP Whenever

I haven't had much going on with any of my boys of late as my brain has been hijacked by a couple of original fic ideas, but I went to sleep last night with the following snippet in mind and I managed to get it down on a page more or less how I imagined it. Proof that Caleb and Kaidan are still kicking around inside my head, despite work, Real Life, and original fic ideas! <3

Setting: 2168/9-ish, post Reaper War, on their honeymoon, Santorini, Greece, Earth

~~~

A mug in each hand, Caleb slips out onto the back patio and pads his way barefoot across the space.  Even now, and despite still recovering from his injuries, he manages to keep silent, and though he isn’t looking at Caleb, a smile of welcome slides across Kaidan’s face. 

Caleb laughs to himself. There are some benefits to having biotics, after all.

As he nears, Kaidan inhales deeply and sets aside the pad of paper and pencil he’d been using, but not before Caleb catches a glimpse of lines and shape.  Another smile, this time his own, as he recognizes the scene beginning to form on the page; a lone figure (himself) staring intently at some ancient Greek ruins. 

Kaidan’s brow rises.  “Something amusing you, mo shearc?”

Shivering in appreciation, Caleb hands over one of the mugs. Mo shearc.  Caleb knows Kaidan loves him – he shows it all the time and in so many ways – but hearing him say it and in Irish no less… 

Caleb’s smile broadens into a full-fledged grin.  “Let’s just call it art appreciation, mo ghrá, and leave it at that.”

Kaidan's laughter - deep and rumbly and warm - fills the air around them as he shifts on the chaise lounge to make room. Caleb straddles the chair to sit behind him.  “You didn’t have to stop, you know.”

Kaidan huffs softly as he takes a sip of his coffee.  The smile that spreads across his lips assures Caleb he got it just the way Kaidan likes it, and that's a relief.  This isn't like back in their Alliance days together, sharing a quick cup of liquid tar to keep awake during a watch shift or to help ground themselves after a rough mission. This...is something more meaningful, more important.

After so much of his life spent actively avoiding the kind of closeness that leads to long-term relationships, Caleb is still learning how to express himself through little things like this. 

Kaidan exchanges his mug for the pencil and pad, leaning back against Caleb’s chest to keep them close.  “Didn’t want to mess it up,” he replies as he flips back open to the page he'd been working on.

The cream colored page is a mass of lines and shapes, just hints of features starting to clarify. Hints of shadow to define the blocks of stone and a few seemingly stray lines barely darkening the paper that are blades of grass. With one arm wrapped around Kaidan's waist, Caleb rests his chin on his husband's shoulder and watches the magic unfold.

He still remembers the day, purely by accident, that he discovered Kaidan's talent for capturing the world around him. The shock at not only realizing Kaidan had kept it such a secret from even his closest friends, but that he was so skilled. Amazement. Astonishment. Utter delight. In those early years after they first met, Caleb had thought of Kaidan's biotics as 'magic' - space magic, Kaidan had joked - but his ability to take a scene and use precise strokes of a pencil to make it real, well, that was magic in its own right.

As he watches now, their visit to the ancient Greek ruins earlier that afternoon takes shape right before Caleb's eyes. Down to the squirrel scampering along the stone rubble. He can almost hear it chittering in his ear...

With a soft sigh, Caleb squeezes just enough to share the emotion, yet careful not to jar Kaidan's arm. “You never cease to amaze me, mo ghrá.”

Kaidan snorts, but his grin returns. “Isn’t that my line?”

“Not tonight.”  Caleb brushes his lips along the side of Kaidan’s neck. "Tonight it's my turn."

[chuuyaspinkmotorcycle]

WIP Ask Game!

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have wips

tagged by @bloodsherry and @fortunately-pancakes!! thanks for the tags <333

i... have too many wips/ideas... list in order of oldest to newest opened in my docs:

Ghost

HBD Chuuya 2022

HBD Dazai 2022

The Boy Who Cried Wolf

College AU (Soccer AU)

17SKK Hurt/Comfortttt

16!skk meeting 22!skk (aka the 500 follower twt special that to lost to time)

pirate skk + daughter

When Our Heroes Fall (You Can't Be Happy All the Time)

Dream a Little Dream with Me

Waltz No. 2

The Heart Drop

Childhood Friends SKK

What If: Murase Lives

Recovery Ace Skk Fic

Reunion AU

Child Soukoku

Chuuya Hurt/Comfort

Idek anymore

FF Idea

Untitled Document (1.5k words)

Zess Prompt (this one's been complete for 1.5 years...)

Another Hurt/Comfort (also been mostly complete for 1.5 years)

(5+1) Times Skk Almost Do *It* (and the First Time They Do)

Untitled Document (based off a movie, a war tragedy)

guess fucking what, another wip!

Smol Dazai

Ranpo + Chuuya Sibling Arc feat. Father Fukuzawa

Gift Fic! (for m on twt for 1000 followers raffle)

Tired Dad AU (my newest obsession tbh)

Stripper Bitching

More Canon Divergence What-Ifs to Explore (contains three hurt/comfort fic ideas and a separate AU idea for odachuuzai)

assorted list of AUs sitting in my docs cause most follow a [word] AU as their wip name atm:

Grim Reaper AU

Good Omens AU

Music Majors AU

High School AU

Vampire AU

Friends AU

Olympics AU

Music Majors AU

Pop Group AU

AiB AU

Modern! AU

iiii don't think i could think of enough people for each wip so we're just gonna go off the top of my head and pray i don't retag people: @hibiscesque @clustersorrow @celestialunii @loulits @wildflowerteas @calmlb @minimafioso

[cramberry24]

I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

I'm late! I also lowkey hate this chapter, but it's out there and we can move on to bigger and more exciting things

Chapter 21: I'm Just A Ghost Out of His Grave

Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Denial of Feelings, Misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, no beta we die like, well you know, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Non-Consensual Touching, Attempted Sexual Assault, Angst with a Happy Ending, there is a happy ending i promise, Protective William Pierson

Summary: The New Year brings changes to the Bloody First.

Tiny tidbit under the cut, not from the beginning bc I posted that yesterday so a random snippet, full chapter on ao3 and linked above

Evelyn is not okay.

It’s so obvious, so why is Drew Stiles the only one who sees it?

Sure, everyone had been a little worried when she first came back - from the dead, from Bastogne, wherever - but when she didn’t explode into tears or break down, when she didn’t faint or swoon because of her head wound, they all miffed and frowned and moved on.  The vets all grumble about how it seems she must not have ever really cared about her friends anyway, and the replacements gawk at the Reaper who brushes off death like an annoying bug, seemingly unfazed.

But this isn’t Evelyn.  This is the ghost of Evelyn, for lack of a better expression.  Or maybe just a vacant shell.  Her body’s here, trudging through snow, leading the platoon with her new promotion, but her heart is just gone.  One night, when the two of them were sharing a foxhole, she had been so still and silent after she fell asleep, Stiles had reached out to feel for her pulse, visions of finding her death-like body strewn across the pavement of the airbase filling his head.  He still swears to this day that he hadn’t been able to find her heartbeat in that foxhole, but her chest had been rising and falling, so he had chalked it up to numb fingers and moved on.

He tried talking to Aiello about it once, in that first week or two.  Frosty and bitter, Aiello was angry, pissed that Eve was moving on, unaffected by their recent losses.  That she didn’t seem to care.  Stiles argued back - something’s wrong, something’s really wrong - but it wasn’t until Evelyn had Aiello sent off the line to act as a runner that the New Yorker started to thaw, peering through his own grief to see what Stiles has been seeing.

Stiles still doesn’t know exactly why Evelyn sent him off - something about a red bird - but he does know Aiello needed it.  The constant shivering, the bitter remarks, the faraway look in his eyes, how it was taking longer and longer to drag him back into conversations and out of his own mind.  He argued with her about it, but when he came back, there was an undeniable lightness to his shoulders, his eyes a bit more clear.

“Thanks, princess,” Stiles heard him mutter to the still-then sergeant when he checked back in.  She reached out, squeezing his arm tightly.

“Gotta get ya to the end, Aiello,” she said back, something vulnerable peaking through her mask. “I’m not losing anybody else.”

So now Aiello sort of agrees with Stiles, and will occasionally keep an eye out on their newly appointed lieutenant, trade glances with the bespectacled man whenever she does something worrisome.  If Pierson is keeping an eye out as well, Stiles can’t tell.  He’s just as abrasive as ever, arguing with Evelyn whenever he can, and it’s a coin flip over whether she argues back or not.  Sometimes, she snarls and snaps right back, both of them with raised hackles like feral dogs, and sometimes she doesn’t rise to the bait, instead just refusing to argue with him, leveling him a glare.  Sometimes, still, she’ll stop, pausing enough for Pierson to quiet down, and then she’ll agree with him, let him continue on with his idea or plan as long as he isn’t barking it at her.

While Pierson gets a varied response from Evelyn, Dickson and the new lieutenant from third platoon are not so lucky.  Whatever patience Evelyn had before is long gone and she’s blunt as ever when dealing with Dickson.  He’s started containing himself solely to second platoon, to Aiello’s relief.  Stiles just rolls his eyes as the New Yorker talks about being free of that “brown-nosing bag of dicks”.

The lieutenant from third platoon, however?  Stiles and Aiello both have a bet on how Evelyn is going to injure him first.  Aiello’s torn between a broken nose or a kick to the balls - both very typical of their friend.  Stiles has a pack of Lucky Strikes down for a bite.  With how much she’s been snarling lately, he wouldn’t put it past her.

[vorchagirl]

I'm smashing the Ash & FemShep Sexting button so hard I might break a finger 👀👀👀

I'm fairly certain that I *must* have actually published this here at some stage, because it uses Celeste Shepard and Ashley from my fic Star Light, Star Bright. It's pretty short, pretty hot, but it does look done, so I'm not sure why I wouldn't have posted it??

Anyway, I'll clean this up and post it at some stage. Maybe at AO3? In the meantime, I'll put a snippet of it below - but be warned, it's a little saucy!

Celeste flopped down on the bed in the captain’s cabin, idly watching the fish swimming about in the tank. They moved in groups and pairs, happy in their little families, oblivious to the war raging. She envied them and their simple lives. They didn’t have to deal with politics or reapers.

Or loneliness.

She sighed and flicked open her omni-tool, firing off a message to Ash, asking what she was up to. It had been too long since they’d seen each other. Touched each other. Kissed each other. Spectre business kept them apart more often than they liked.

Ash replied back a few minutes later, and Celeste grinned at the photo she’d sent. She could see her long supple body stretched out in a bath, the water dark and shadowy, lit by candles on the edge of the tub. Bubbles floated on the water, and the tips of Ash’s breasts poked through teasingly, as did the tops of her adorable toes.

Celeste bit her lip, her breath catching as she replied.

CS: The water looks hot. You look even hotter.

AW: Mmm. I’m feeling pretty hot. Wish you were here though, skipper. The tub is big enough for two and I’m lonely :(

Shepard grinned, one hand sliding down to unsnap the button on her trousers before she replied. She snapped a photo of her hand sliding into her lacy black panties and set it back.

CS: Me too. If I was there I’d slip in between your legs and kiss my way down each one. They look so pretty in all that water. So wet.

AW: Looks like they’re not the only thing that’s getting wet.

CS: Not my fault I have a sexy girlfriend. What are you doing?

AW: Keeping my hands busy ;)

[lonesurvivorao3]

Share A Snippet

Years ago, Thane attempted to talk down an AWOL Eris, and she revealed something relevant to the post-war present.

“The opposite of doing good is not doing nothing. Perhaps the act of simply doing something, anything, will have to suffice,” said Thane, as his final attempt to bring her back to the fight. Her presence was no guarantee the Reapers would be beaten back, but her absence would ensure total annihilation of all sentient life.

“Words are wasted trying to describe Leviathan,” murmured Eris, delicately dipping the barely visible tip of her brush into the dragon's blood paint. The Galaxy would fall silent as it always did, and the stars would continue to burn, nurturing the resurgence of new life.

Witnessing her grand surrender - consisting of simply waiting for the eons-old cleanse to finish and producing an uncharacteristically neat pile of labelled holotapes stacked on a shelf behind her - Thane struggled with his disbelief, but pressed on with his struggle to penetrate her fortress of doubt. “Your preferred path to victory is unattainable, yet as ever, all things remain in flux.”

A sharp, hysterical laugh escaped her lips. “We reached consensus on the dreadnought.”

[stormikins]

this WIP game

@spacebunshep ive already talked about Hot Sugar here and here so I am going to talk about sour apple baby which is the WIP that's had my main focus for about a week or so

its a trilogy spanning series (with at least an interim between 1&2 following the crew post shep death and some post war stuff). Its kind of a novelization/'fix-it' of the games with Nihlus surviving, getting with Shepard and then in two it transitions from Nihlus/Jenn to Nihlus/Jenn/Kal

its not really canon compliant, a lot of key plot points get changed. One thing ive worked on recently is redesigning the collector base mission from the ground up. I want there to be more reaper operations going on in the base than what we see. Also, I'm throwing in a lot of horror lol (in general throughout the series too)

anyways heres a little snippet from the beginning of the series:

Mirrored on either side of the gangway to the cockpit, the orange lights of the terminals reflect off the metal floors. Shiny and new. Shepard spots that her Lieutenant has joined Joker before she’s turning to the airlock. Anderson is already there, stiff back and hands clasped behind his back in perfection. She takes the same stance on his right. The decon cycle whirls to life behind the door. “Am I going to have to guess why he’s here, sir?” “You know why he’s here.” From anyone else, or to anyone else, it would be a rebuttal. But with her and Anderson it’s basically confirmation of her suspicions. Damn, and here half of her was hoping she was just being paranoid. Though, paranoia is what has kept her alive this long.

[gwensshittywriting]

My Novel :3

So, I'm getting to writing out my novel finally, I've got the main character all set up and some side characters to join her in her journeys, I'm going to give a synopsis of the novel and then some fun snippets about my main character's backstory.

Hi! My name is Gwenevere or Minervera, and I love writing! I figured I should start with some basic facts about me! ^^

I make shitty art

I do shitty writing

I write shitty music

I am very mentally ill

I am 20 years old (21, 01/16)

I am always open to DMs, if I don't want to talk at the time, I just won't

My pronouns are She/They/Pup/It

Please DNI if you are going to be weird about me being fat, trans, black, disabled, or a furry. Also please don't interact if you're a minor, I'm going to be posting more nsfw and reblogging more as I continue on here, so if your blog is ageless or you're a minor, you're likely getting blocked. Please DNI if you're a conservative, Trans exclusionary feminist, or Zionist.

Please do interact if you're a writer/have tips and such for my writing! I'll likely be reblogging and blogging myself, a lot of poetry

My interests: Music, art, writing, sleep, kink, politics, mental health, gaming, and people!

I'm mainly going through breaking out of the repression of my emotions in my life that I was raised around, so a lot of my writing is edge and angsty

I'm a black genderflux transfemme, which means I flip violently between fem and masc at disrespectful speeds, so I figured I should make a book with a character based off of that premise, which is where we get Hemlock Ashville, a black genderflux transfemme hehe. Hemlock is 22 and her pronouns are She/They/It, I'm contemplating giving her some neo pronouns based on some changes I have planned in the story for later on and some interactions she'll have.

Now then, the plot of the story and the name. The story will be called Veil of Ravens, it will be the first in a group of stories that I am trying to find a name for right now. Each book will be focused on a character with a broader focus on the state of the world and how it is changing as a result of the decisions our main cast make. It is set 500 years in the future, the world ended in 2024 once monsters once thought mythical attacked and led to the near extinction of human life on earth. In this timeline, there existed magic that was dormant in the earth and the Earth's crust that was revealed by the Kola Superdeep Borehole and started a chain of events that changed the course of the world permanently. In our story, we have the main character Hemlock Ashville, also shortened to Locke, who currently runs a guild and is slowly uncovering a plot of the gods that could cause a battle larger than what caused the world to end in 2024.

That's the premise at least hehe, I got inspiration from the cold war and a Tumblr post I saw before talking about gods not being able to interact directly in the world but being able to have envoys do their bidding and participate in a celestial arms race.

Now for Locke, she is as I mentioned before, a black genderflux transfemme, after the woman who wrote her, and she is a badass. Without giving too much away, she was sold off by her family into slavery and freed by the Asheville family, hence why she took their last name. After the Asheville family was attacked while Locke was away on business for the family, she became vengeful. During this point of time, Locke gained many different monikers, but there is one that's stuck, the Reaper. A deadly assassin that for a time cleaned up the crime in New Avalon.

That's a really good summary of everything I've got so far, I'm hoping that this is something that interests people as much as it does me <3

[persephinae]

For the fic asks; 7, 12, 18

yay! \o/

7) Post a snippet from a wip. - hahah i'm in between wips on my main fics so i had to go back to an earlier wip for a fic i may or may never finish

Commander Cordelia Shepard, savior of the Citadel and Reaper Scourge had reluctantly agreed to meet Garrus for a date at some new restaurant that served both levo and dextro food. She knew that Garrus longed for real turian food so she couldn't deny him, although that meant she had to watch a turian eat, which was… a different experience. Turians' sharp teeth, mandibles, and different mouth structure meant that they mostly tore into their food and gulped it down. Soup for turians was out of the question. She loved him though, so this was just a part of Garrus, just as he had to accept weird human biology to be with her. Delia scanned the crowds among the neon lights as she made her way down the thoroughfare, idly taking in the variety of the crowd as she searched for Garrus. There seemed to be a greater mix of species as the numbers of fleeing refugees grew. She thought she saw some human and asari children mixed among the crowd, although she had yet to see turian children, as turians kept their children closely guarded. She wondered if any had made it to the Citadel or if turians had been secreting their families to some secret, off channel world. It was a small hope that such a world existed, but she could see the turians pulling it off - any of the council races could be capable of that feat really, except humanity, who seemed to be the blabbermouths of the galaxy. All her worries clamored for her attention as she walked and her heart grew heavy again. Was she doing enough? Was there anything else she could do to turn the tide? Would any of them really survive this war? Did any of her herculean efforts mean anything in the face of what seemed to be their inevitable slaughter? So focused was she that she ignored the wolf whistle that a human male let loose as she walked past. He and his behavior was inconsequential though, and if he decided to try something she could break his fingers.

12) Do you outline your fics?  If yes, how detailed are your outlines?  How far do you stray from them?

nooo..... :( i usually have a general idea and central plot points I write towards but it's totally pantsing here. whatever appears as I type

18) Do you enjoy research?  Which fic of yours required the most research?

umm i haven't had any fics yet where i had to research. well one fic, but it was from a few years ago and i put the idea on a back burner because i realized i'm too stupid for it lol

tyyy :>

[theoriginalladya]

WIP Whenever

@mtreebeardiles - here's a snippet for you from the discussion between Caleb and Brigit when she's trying to determine if he is her son.

~~~

Brigit is the first to break the silence after several minutes.  “Commander, if I may be so bold, may I ask what you might consider a very personal question?”

Lips tilting upward, he chuckles.  “You may ask, aye,” he agrees. I am not required to reply.

She smiles, but there is a tightness to it, as if she understands the unspoken part, and ducks her head.  “You wouldn’t happen to have a birthmark on the back of your left shoulder that, though misshapen, vaguely resembles a four-leaf clover, would you?”

Four-leaf clover?  Caleb stiffens, his pint halfway to his lips, and stares at her.  Slowly, she looks up. 

Kaidan’s finger traces in a familiar spot on the back side of his left shoulder and Caleb chuckles softly before rolling over in bed to face him.  “Go ahead and ask,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss him.  “You know you want to.”

A hint of a flush darkens his cheeks.  “You know your birthmark looks like a four-leaf clover, right?”

“Aye.”  Rolling further, he sprawls across Kaidan’s chest, crawling forward on his arms until he can kiss him more deeply.  “I’ve always had the luck of the Irish on my side.”

Her eyes flare up, the hope growing.  “Aye, you have it, don’t you?”

“How did you –?” “Your grandfather on your father’s side had one similar,” she explains.  “It seems to skip a generation each time it appears, but those who do have it also have the same dark hair and blue eyes.”  Her smile softens.  “Ciaran had the looks not the mark, but our son did…”

[ficbrish]

Snippet Saturday

[05Nov2022]

This is from Chapter 1 of my post-war fic, “ME4: Aftermath”

1 (”Rubble”)

The baby was screaming.

“I want everyone able on this search! Scrounge through the rubble until your hands bleed. We need her found, dead or alive.”

The furious voice boomed and filled the room, even over the wailing child. Wrex had not slept in days, and the baby was screaming in his ear. The war had nothing on its aftermath.

Wrex growled, “A body! You hear me? I want a body!”

The other Krogan feared and respected him too much to argue, but they all thought it was pointless. Days had already passed, and they'd found the body of the former Human councilor on the first. Fear and respect aside, there were females to fertilize and extractions to be made. Earth was less populated now, but the Humans would want it back. They needed terms, not a pile of ashes. They needed their leader to lead.

The baby was screaming.

Wrex threw the little monster in the air and caught it. A peaceful smile replaced the noise. He repeated the gesture again and again, grateful for the momentary quiet, and sunk into his thoughts.

“Have communications been able to reach beyond the Sol system yet?”

“No, sir. At least not from us. But people have been able to get news outside of the system via travelers,” answered one of the Human Alliance soldiers assigned to assist him.

Wrex grunted, which made the Human nervous. The baby continued to giggle and squeal as she flew between gravity and her father’s arms.

It had been almost a week, but Shepard could still be alive. That window was closing more every day, and it was dangerously close to being shut for good. Wrex couldn’t let that happen. If they brought back a body, it wouldn’t be one that had expired after the explosion.

“You saw it Wrex,” Bakara kept insisting when he'd come back at night, “With your own eyes. We all did.”

The sky had lit up.

They’d been losing, and they all knew it.

Then the sky lit up, and the Citadel began to rain down into the atmosphere. Hell had come to take them all home.

Then—

A pulse of red energy swallowed the world, and the monsters went away.

The Reapers were all gone.

Just like that, while the ruins of the Citadel still fell in brilliant streaks across the red-blue sky.

The Reapers were gone, he held his own child in his hands, the Genophage was cured! And everyone was telling him to give up on the person who'd made it all happen.

His own sister.

Wrex caught the baby one more time, then pounded his free fist on the desk.

“I’m going. Somebody get Bakara, or watch this baby.”

He handed the now-delighted child off to the nearest guard.

“Here, you’re her uncle now. Uncle…?”

“Quash Brax”

“Ugh,” Wrex sighed. “Okay, well, uh, have fun with Uncle Brax, kid.”

Then Wrex stormed out of the room.

Why did he always have to do every damn thing himself?

Except when Shepard was around. She never let him work alone.

“And somebody feed those fucking cats while I’m out!” Wrex roared as he barreled through the city’s ruins.

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

The Reaper and the Death Angel Masterlist.

You will not be able to read certain chapters in this series without all your Community labels turned to show.

Contains: The slowest burn, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence and graphic depictions of violence, so much fucking smut (in later chapters of course), mentions of child abuse, graphic descriptions of bullying, forensic science. OC is a chronic pain/migraine sufferer, there will be themes of this throughout the story. There will be more and I'll do my best to tag chapter by chapter, please don't hesitate to tell me if I've missed something.

You should expect that each chapter could have a bit of everything, if it's tagged it just means it's more than one sentence. More than one emoji dictates how graphic it is.

Smut💦 Angst😨 Fluff ❤ Violence🔪 Gore🤢 Medical/forensic��� Triggering material🚩

Some of the chapters and snippets will be put to music, not listening to the music won't affect the story. Updates will vary, some days I might do two and other times I'll go a week without posting anything, there will be a time where I will open requests for snippets so you as the reader can have a piece of the universe I've cobbled together.

What's a snippet?

A snippet is an optional one-shot that adds context to the story and expands on some small themes that will appear throughout the story, not reading them won't affect the story but it will take away some of the more fluffy and/or mundane 'day in the life' elements.

Comment if you want to be tagged. Thank you so always for all your support. However, my tag list has been having issues so the best way to follow is to follow the tag #the reaper and the death angel.

You've spent most of your adult life in and out of war zones, and you've worked with the US military to identify terrorists and dead GIs. Sick of all the death and pain you chose to leave fieldwork and go back to historical research. When your little Brother leaves the Marines and settles in a small town, you decide to follow him. Will you find a home in your small, underfunded Musume job and your Brother's found family? Or will life with the Club just be another war zone?

Pre Season 1

Prologue

Part 1 ❤😨💉🔪

Part 2 ❤

Part 3 😨💉

Part 4

Part 5 ❤😨

Part 6 ❤😨🚩

Part 7 ❤

Part 8 ❤

Part 9 💉

Snippet 1 - The Lab💉

Season 1

Part 10 💉 🔪

Part 11 ❤😨💉

Part 12 🚩❤😨

Part 13 ❤😨💉🤢

Part 14 ❤❤❤💉

Part 15 ❤❤❤❤🔪🔪

Part 16🚩❤🤢(very mild)🔪

Snippet 2 - The Hand Model ❤

Part 17 ❤ ❤ ❤

Part 18 💦(discussion only)🚩(discussion only) ❤

Part 19 ❤ ❤ 🔪 💦

Part 20 ❤ ❤ ❤ 💦 💉

Part 21 ❤❤💦💦😨😨

Part 22 😨❤😨❤😨❤

Snippet 3 - The Siblings 🚩😨❤❤❤

Pre-season 2

Part 23 ❤❤❤💦💦💦💦💦💦

Part 24 💦💦❤ ❤ ❤

Season 2

Part 25 ❤❤💦💦😨🚩

Part 26 🔪🔪🔪🚩😨😨💦❤💦❤💦

Part 27 ❤❤💦💦😨💦

Part 28 😨💦❤💦❤😨🚩🔪

Part 29 ❤❤😨😨

Part 30 ❤❤😨🚩

Snippet 4 - The Charming Gazette ❤

Part 31❤😨🚩❤💦❤🔪

Part 32🔪❤🚩😨🤢💉

Season 3

Part 33 ❤❤🔪

Part 34❤💦🚩😨

Part 35💉🤢😨❤💦💦❤

Part 36 😨❤

Part 37 😨❤🔪💦❤

Part 38😨💦❤🔪

Pre Season 4

Part 39😨❤

Season 4

Part 40 😨💦❤ ❤ ❤

Part 41 😨😨😨💦❤ ❤

Part 42 😨💦❤😨

Part 43 😨❤😨❤🔪🚩

Part 44 😨❤😨❤💦

Pre-season 5

Part 45 😨❤😨❤❤❤

Part 46🔪😨❤❤

Season 5

Part 47 ❤😨😨💉❤❤😨

Part 48 😨💉😨😨❤❤💦

Part 49😨❤❤💦

Part 50😨❤❤💦

Part 51😨😨❤

Part 52😨❤❤💦

Part 53😨🔪❤❤💦

Part 54😨🔪❤😨

Post season 5.

Part 55 ❤💦❤💦😨

Part 56😨😨❤❤🚩

Part 57😨❤🚩💦❤😨

Part 58😨💉❤😨💉❤🤢

Part 59💦😨❤

Snippet 5 - The Lesson I😨🔪😨🔪❤❤

Part 60❤😨🚩💦❤

Part 61💦❤😨🔪❤

Snippet 6 - The Lesson II❤🤢🔪💦❤

Part 62❤💦😨🔪❤

Snippet 7 - The Victor❤💦❤

Part 63 ❤💦❤😨❤❤❤

Part 64❤❤❤

Part 65❤❤❤

Part 66❤❤❤💦❤

Epilogue ❤❤💦❤

One-shots

I'll Be Taking This Back💦❤

Trapped💦💦❤ ❤ ❤

The Weight of the World 💦💦💦💦❤ ❤

Lint and Gunpowder Part 1 ❤ ❤ Part 2💦💦❤ ❤

Beast of Prey❤💦💦💦❤

Run💦❤

Patience is a Virtue💦❤

Or Else💦❤

[heich0e]

𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[✦ fluff | ♥︎ smut | ☾ angst | ♧ drabble | ☆ ask/request]

𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚒 𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗

percolate (AO3 only - completed) ✦♥︎☾ college!au, coffee shop!au, enemies to lovers, slow burn bonus works:- Ch.12 LEVI'S POV (rookie's dorm room) ✦☾☆ - Ch.12 LEVI'S POV pt. 2 (outside The Underground) ☾ - CUTTING ROOM FLOOR: Erwin/Rookie hookup scene (NOT PERCOLATE CANON) - not fully canon but a fun possible furlan romance in the percolate universe

exactly as you are ✦♧ a quiet morning with boyfriend!levi (this is percolate rookie/levi but can be read as a stand alone drabble lol)

the mortal price of crossing twice (crossposted to AO3) ♥︎☾ canonverse, grim reaper!reader, existentialism, pining and good old fashioned smut, levi flirting with death (literal)

One So True (AO3 only - in progress) ✦☾ 50s!AU, high school!AU (all MCs 18+), star-crossed lovers, levi/reader/erwin love triangle, eventual infidelity

already always almost do ✦♥︎☆ prompt: "levi as your older brother's best friend" modern!au, reader is erwin's little sis, pining, infuriating tension pt. 1 - ? (plan to continue)

glass houses ✦♥︎♧☆ prompt: inspired by this tiktok! modern!au, older neighbour!levi, voyeurism, CEO!levi, you give the hot older guy who just moved in across the street a very warm welcome to the neighbourhood

how a face can change when a heart knows fear ✦♧ inspired by @leyyvi's actor!au, hurt/comfort, domestic!levi

the death of a hero ☾♧ royalty!au, assassin!Levi, princess!reader, snippet of (possible) WIP

a helping hand ✦☾♧☆ prompt: "doing skincare with levi" canonverse, medic!reader, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

the lucky ones ✦☾♧☆ prompt: "reader is a scientist/medic for the scouts" canonverse, medic!reader, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, sequel to a helping hand

bubbly ✦♧☆ prompt: "trying to get levi drunk on his b-day with isabel and farlan" modern!au, holiday fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining

windchill ☾♧☆ prompt: "tortured levi" (I interpreted it as emotionally lol) angst, hurt no comfort, colleagues to lovers, very short! sweet like honey ✦♧ canonverse, you try to get levi to put honey in his tea for the first time something to prove ♥︎♧☆ canonverse, face sitting, breeding kink, how post-war levi fucks you spark joy ✦♧ modern!au, best friends to lovers(-ish), mutual pining, levi asks you to be his date to the company party but gets impatient while he waits for you to get ready. + lil follow up!

credits roll ✦♧ a tender moment spent with levi on the last day of shooting.

𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛

something to savour (AO3 only) ♥︎ modern!au, college!au, pining, eren won't fuck you when you get too drunk at a frat party so you have to make... alternative arrangements

lucky strike ♥︎ modern!au childhood friends to something with baseball player!eren, with a healthy dose of flirting with his brother just to piss him off.

to have and to hold (crossposted to AO3) ♥︎☾ modern!au, childhood sweethearts to exes, infidelity, eren being manipulative, toxic relationship dynamic, implied colt grice/reader

technical difficulties ♥︎ loser bf eren giving you head while you're on a zoom call (that's the whole plot)

be but sworn my love ✦ modern!au, college!au, the romeo and juliet balcony scene only eren is drunk on his birthday and no one dies at the end

wanna get lunch? ✦♧ modern!au, fwb turned fake dating

let me make it up to you ♥︎ toxic bf eren does not take kindly to the silent treatment, even if you're in the library.

Leave Fast ✦☾♧ eren/reader/(implied) jean, modern!au, college!au, streetracer!au pt. 1 - pt. 2 - ?

𝚓𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗

A Matter of Convenience (crossposted to AO3) ✦♥︎ college!au, convenience store!jean, broken AC in a heatwave!reader, strangers to lovers, is customer service to lovers a trope?

brine ✦☾♧ modern!au, best friends/implied lovers, whenever life gets to be too much Jean is always there to help

all or nothing✦☾♧☆ prompt: “you’re really all I’ve got” canonverse, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending - jean is still suffering from the night terrors he told you he moved past, and you beg him to rely on you a little more

𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚘 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝

forget me not (crossposted to AO3) ♥︎☾ canonverse, fix it fic, lovers to strangers to lovers - marco survived trost but lost his memories, you're left to watch the boy you loved slip a little further away with every passing day pt. 1 - pt. 2

𝚣𝚎𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛

LOL

©HEICH0E 2022 - please do not quote, repost, or translate any of my work.

[ziskandra]

WIP Tag Game

Tagged by @mxkelsifer and @queenaeducan, thank you!

rules: post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.

the list: Franlang; Franmiles - Taking Flight [ANSWERED] Calstoph [ANSWERED] Franvier - Cacophony Franshoe - Battleship for Fado Franziska; Ensemble - Chasing Demons [ANSWERED] Daryan - I'd Move Fucking Mountains For You [ANSWERED] Ensemble - 2014 Fradrian; Athena - The Spaces Between Us Franlana - The Perfect Summer [ANSWERED] Franziska; Kristoph - The Best Defense Manfred - Character study about adopting Miles [ANSWERED] Frannix; Trucy - Finding the Light Meresino - Lust & War Meresino - Warning Signs Marghain - First Time [ANSWERED] Meredith - Meta [POSTED] Meredith - She's the Inquisitor [ANSWERED] Orsino; Meredith - f to amelia Tying the Knot Rydam - Reaper War AU Rydam - Chase the Dawn

tagging: @sharksister, @ineffableaz, @venatohru, @princefado, @haljathefangirlcat, @jake-marshall, @fandomn00blr, @syrupwit, @little--abyss, @barbex and YOU if you feel so inclined! (Please tag me, I want to ask you about your WIPs)

[amarguerite]

Birthday fic snippet PLEASE?! (I saw ‘monstrous regiment’ and blacked out with delight)

haha, here's the first two paragraphs:

The mail coach and usual post-stage routes ceased to exist almost immediately after the invasion, leaving Kellynch adrift. It seemed its own island, isolated and secluded— not removed from the rest of England, exactly, and certainly not untouched by war (there were still many empty pastures watched over by the wrecks of raided homes in the area, and a number of the tenant cottages had been destroyed), but distant from the rest of the world. Anne had thought to herself with a half-hysteric amusement that the friends of her father who complained of Kellynch being quite inconveniently deep in the countryside, had spoken the truth after all. Captain Wentworth of His Majesty’s Dragon Laconia laughed, however, when Anne expressed her fears as to Kellynch’s sudden remoteness from the rest of the world, and assured her that Kellynch was perfectly suited to his needs. 

“Fifty miles from Bath is an ideal distance,” said Captain Wentworth with his ready, handsome smile, “far enough that the occupying force will grow exasperated and give up looking this far afield, or at least will be lazy about it, and close enough that I may rendezvous with my contacts there with as much regulatory as is required. If there is little intercouse between Kellynch and any city, so much the better. No one will be able to let it slip where the most feared Yellow Reaper in southern England lays her head at nights— and the poor girl is obliged to fly too far and too long for her age, but England needed every dragon and the Admiralty were desperate enough to order hatchlings into their courier network instead of the training grounds. Laconia must have uninterrupted rest whenever we return.”

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 13

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Ahsoka takes Din on a journey through the past.

“You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,958

Warnings: angst, swearing, character death (canonical, but with my own twist), made up planet name that is ridiculous, dialogue heavy, plot plot plot, backstory

Author Note: Good lord this is soooo late coming out. To anyone who sent me an encouraging message I am beyond grateful because I really needed the encouragement to finish this segment. I hope more than anything this segment gives more answers than it raises questions (although reading your theories is both awesome and entertaining so keep them coming too!)

Links to Part 1 and Part 12 and Part 14

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

“Who the fuck is Moff Gideon?”

Ahsoka looks at Din, her brow furrowed deeply. He’s seen the expression on her face enough times to recognize its meaning: this is the face she makes when she is about to reveal a message directly from the universe itself. As an Oracle, she is the only immortal who can glimpse details of the past, present, and future. She has a soft spot for mortals, sharing the few precious snippets the universe allows her to with them in the forms of riddles and vague prophecies that never fail to give Din a migraine with their crypticness when he hears them.

“Moff Gideon is a Seraph who grew discontent with his position amongst immortals,” she says at last.

“Is he the one responsible for keeping my soulmate from me?” he asks, voice as harsh and unforgiving as the environment surrounding them.

“He is responsible for many sins.”

“I don’t have time for your vague answers,” he growls, hands twisting into fists. “You tell me not to kill this Seraph, then in the next breath claim he’s a threat. I am not a mortal who will be entertained by riddles, Ahsoka. You summoned me here to talk, so start talking. Tell me what you know.”

The Oracle’s mouth purses into a thin line. Nearly a full minute passes before she speaks again. When she does, the calmness is no longer natural, but forced. “Telling you what I know would be impossible.”

“Ahsoka—”

“But,” she pitches her voice higher than his protest while narrowing her eyes disapprovingly, “I am capable of showing you. You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

She reaches forward, pressing her index and middle fingers to the center of his visor. If not for his helmet, she’d be touching the space directly between his eyes and instinct tells him the positioning isn’t random.

“We’ll start at the beginning,” she says, but her voice has changed from its usual cadence. It is ancient and youthful, a harsh scream and a hushed whisper all at once.

Din has only the slightest of seconds to process this in addition to the way her facial markings start to glow and her eyes flash white before he finds himself standing in the midst of a crisis.

There is mass hysteria every direction he turns. People screaming in terror, pushing each other and tripping over those who have fallen in their haste to flee an unseen threat; whole buildings are crumbling, sending flaming debris and shards of glass raining down upon the streets as smoke billows into the sky. The edges of his field of view are blurred, like he’s looking at everything through someone’s glasses, and it creates an ache behind his eyeballs. Fuck, is this what it’s like for Ahsoka when she experiences visions?

‘You remember the Fall of Mandalore, don’t you, Death?’ Ahsoka’s voice resonates from deep inside his brain, as if she’s fused her consciousness with his.

His jaw tightens when he says, “Of course.”

‘Oh, look. There you are.��

Sure enough, when Din looks forward he sees himself moving swiftly through the crowd, unaffected by the chaos as he stoops to reap the soul of a woman who’s had her skull caved in by the stampede of frantic civilians. He wonders how many others can say they’ve had an out-of-body-experience such as what he’s dealing with right now: reliving a traumatic event all over again while observing himself the same way a stranger would from a distance.

“Why are you showing me this?”

‘Because it’s important,’ Ahsoka answers, and the image of her frowning face enters his mind unbiddenly. ‘The universe has a plethora of endings imagined for every civilization, but it is the individual choices of the community that act as stepping stones bringing them closer to a specific fate.’

“Mandalore was always meant to fall apart. It was just a matter of how, not when,” he surmises, voice devoid of emotion. His words are punctuated by another fiery blast from a nearby complex, followed by an ear-piercing wall of a terrified child.

‘Precisely. But the same cannot be said for an individual’s lifespan. There are consequences if someone perishes before their time has come. You should know that better than anyone.’ There is a hint of accusation thinly veiled in her tone that has his body tensing reflexively.

His location shifts, shapes and colors mixing together without warning before another scene gradually comes into focus. It’s a large chamber with sparse furnishings, but its beauty is tarnished by the copious amounts of glass littering the room as every single one of the ornately designed windows have been shattered from the force of the explosions outside. Din knows before he even lays eyes on the throne he’s inside the royal palace because he first sees the familiar face of his most trusted reaper standing next to a blond-haired woman. Both women have such strikingly similar facial features nobody who sees them side by side can have any doubt they are related.

Whereas Bo-Katan dons gray-and-blue armor with a jetpack strapped to her back and two blaster pistols holstered at her sides, her sister, Satine, wears a garnet colored dress with a gold belt wrapped around her slender waist. In this moment, the sisters differ from each other as much as night and day; one a military leader, the other a pacifistic duchess.

“You need someone here to protect you. We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with and it isn’t safe for you to be alone,” Bo-Katan argues, crossing her arms over her chest as if to intimidate her sister into submitting.

“Our people are scared and defenseless, Bo. They need your protection during this crisis more than I currently do,” Satine says, voice soft but firm in a way only those deeply involved in politics can master.

Bo-Katan glances out the broken windows at the burning city, stubborn loyalty to protect her sister warring with her duty to protect her people. “Then at least send a message to Obi-Wan to come here.”

Satine shakes her head. “Bo—”

“I know things are strained between you two right now—”

“That’s a glaring understatement.”

“—but he’s one of our best and most loyal guards. He’s proven more than a dozen times he’ll fight anyone who’s a threat to you.”

“I don’t need the reminder of what he’s done for me.”

Bo-Katan places a hand on the blonde’s shoulder and squeezes it when she says, “He’s the only one other than myself I trust to protect you if you were to encounter danger.”

“Just because I’m committed to peace does not mean I am incapable of looking after myself.” Satine reaches behind herself to detach a weapon that had been clipped to the back of her belt. She clicks a button on its hilt, emitting a white blade shining brightly like a beacon amongst the dark clouds of smoke tainting the air.

Din’s breath catches in his throat. “Is that…?”

‘The Lightsaber of Mandalore,’ Ahsoka confirms. ‘Made by the Armorer herself.’

The Armorer is deeply respected by both mortals and immortals alike. As the goddess of metalworking and blacksmiths, there is nothing she cannot forge and infuse with grand powers. However, she is exceedingly cautious about choosing who is a recipient of her creations.

Din is one such recipient, having been given his armor of pure beskar when the Armorer realized how dangerous his touch was to mortals. He remains eternally grateful for the gift not only because it prohibits unwanted physical contact, but also because it is invulnerable to damage or rust like other types of armor. Ahsoka’s dual sabers were also made in the Armorer’s forge, specifically designed for the Oracle’s grip alone and meant to protect her during her journeys throughout the galaxy, but in contrast to the white blade of the Lightsaber, the blades of Ahsoka’s weapons matched the same blue coloring as the stripes on her lekku and montrals.

According to the legends Din’s heard, the Armorer created the Lightsaber for the first ruler of Mandalore because she was impressed with their culture and strong military, and it was passed on to each new heir to the throne over the centuries. When wielded in battle, the Lightsaber made the user invincible against enemy attacks as it siphoned off energy from the souls of those it sliced through.

Throughout the long history of Mandalore, Satine was distinguished as the only ruler to avoid warfare as she sincerely believed negotiations and treaties could solve any problem quicker than bloodshed.

As such, Din isn’t surprised when Bo-Katan raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? I know you wouldn’t use the Lightsaber even to cut a piece of fruit.”

Satine sighs through her nose, sheathing the weapon once more. “Fine. I’ll contact Obi the second you’re gone.”

“You better.” Bo-Katan leans forward, pressing her forehead against her sister’s. A gesture of affection within their culture. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then she’s gone, flying out the nearby window and diving straight into the fray. As a mortal and as a reaper, the redhead is fearless in the face of danger. Some might consider the behavior reckless, but Din’s always been impressed by her dogged tenacity to achieve victory no matter the difficulty of her mission.

Din looks back at Satine. Now that she is alone in the room, she is able to freely express her distress at the unfolding situation, looking as if she’s aged ten years within the blink of an eye. She fiddles with the comlink around her wrist, seeming hesitant to call this Obi-Wan fellow like she agreed to.

‘They haven’t realized it, but they’re soulmates, ’ Ahsoka murmurs, low and melancholic. Hearing it makes Din’s chest constrict with unease. ‘They fought recently and parted ways upset with each other. Unfortunately, she dies before they can resolve their miscommunication.’

The next sequence of events play out startlingly quick, as if Ahsoka has chosen to suddenly jump forward in time. His eyes struggle to absorb the fleeting details—the doors to the throne room being blown open; a Seraph in black armor emerging from the smoke; his voice is unique, velvety and thorny at the same time, as he addresses the duchess by her full name Satine Kryze; Satine attempting to stall as she subtly taps at her comlink, only for the tactic to fail as the foe teleports closer, eliminating the space between them.

“You have something I want,” he tells her, seizing hold of her throat. “You may think you have some idea of what you have in your possession, but you do not.”

One of Satine’s hands claws at his face, attempting to gouge out his eyeballs with her nails, while the other reaches for the Lightsaber. Her fingertips brush against its metal hilt just as he throws her to the floor. The impact knocks the breath out of her lungs, eliciting a strangled gasp, and shards of glass dig into her exposed skin, dotting the pale flesh with beads of blood.

Gideon—Din doesn’t need Ahsoka’s input to know this, for who else could the Seraph be but him?—places the heel of his boot over Satine’s neck. He doesn’t apply pressure yet, but the action in itself has the duchess squirming with panic, hitting at his leg futilely. There is a red light on the comlink flashing insistently, indicating someone on the other end is speaking but they’ve been muted.

“Give me the asset I seek.”

Through clenched teeth, Satine wheezes, “It belongs to Mandalore.”

“I thought you might say that,” Gideon replies, feigning disappointment. “However, in case you haven’t noticed Duchess,” he gestures towards the windows, “Mandalore is dead. My accomplices have made sure of that.”

“You’re a coward for hiding behind others. You don’t deserve the Lightsaber.”

There is a sudden change in the atmosphere, air turning impossibly frigid and crisp.

“I deserve it more than anyone,” Gideon says, angry enough he is trembling. The Seraph’s stance shifts, and although Din has witnessed every type of brutal death imaginable, he flinches at the sound of Satine’s neck snapping beneath his heel.

Gideon rolls her lifeless body over and rips the Lightsaber off her belt, a satisfied smirk on his face. He disappears as quickly as he arrived, reward in hand, and an eerie silence envelops the room. It’s almost as if the palace itself is stunned by the loss of its ruler, struggling to make sense of the merciless act of violence.

Time skips forward again, showing a young bearded-man dressed in military armor clutching at Satine’s body, pressing his forehead against hers as he weeps. Over and over he keeps murmuring apologies for not being quicker, for failing to be there when she needed him, for never saying he loved her.

“How do you know Satine and Obi-Wan are soulmates if they never matched?” Din asks, feeling like he’s intruding on a private moment despite not actually being there.

He thinks of a similarly phrased question he’d asked his angel on their way to Sorgan what feels like entire lifetimes ago: how will I know it’s my soulmate? Her eloquent response remains embedded deep in his memory, safely stored away along with every other moment they’ve spent together. Longing twists like a knife in his side as he allows himself a second of weakness to look at the soulmate marking on his palm.

‘I saw the life they were going to share,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘Satine Kryze was not meant to die here. She and Obi-Wan should have both survived the Fall of Mandalore, settling down happily with each other elsewhere in the galaxy. Gideon’s greed altered their destinies.’

The palace fades away to reveal a much older Obi-Wan, gray-haired and wrinkled. He’s in Mos Eisley; Din recognizes the crowded spaceport instantly having taken his ship there for repairs numerous times over the years.

‘The universe puts a lot of effort into making sure soulmates match with each other at a very precise moment. Even if the match is rejected, the individuals still had an important impact on each other’s lives. Timing is the most important factor for a soulmate pairing, and if it’s off then the universe will attempt to fix it.’

Obi-Wan stops to help a woman who’s accidentally dropped her shopping bag, contents spilling out onto the sandy ground. She thanks him as he offers her a polite smile, both of their attentions on each other’s faces and not their hands. More specifically: their marked hands. There is the barest brush of their fingertips as they reach for the same item before an invisible blast of energy erupts from their touch, splitting them apart and sending every person and thing surrounding them flying in all directions.

The shock on Obi-Wan’s face matches Din’s own beneath his helmet. He remembers his angel telling him after the failed match with Omera what happened on Sorgan wasn’t the first time an event like that occurred, but she hadn’t been privy to the details. Her superior had told her she wasn’t high enough ranking which Din had thought sounded like a load of bantha shit at the time.

“Ahsoka, what is the meaning of this?” Din asks the questions quietly, but there’s an audible coating of frustration that he knows she won’t miss. “Satine’s dead.”

‘You didn’t reap her soul,’ Ahsoka says. It’s said as a gentle reminder, but it nevertheless has Din feeling like the ground has disappeared beneath his feet as realization dawns.

“I...didn’t.”

A quiet sigh echoes through his head. ‘I forgot how ignorant you can be. You can’t reap a mortal soul that transforms into a new entity.’

“She’s a Cupid,” Din murmurs. Either that or a reaper, but he knows each of his reapers like the back of his hand and Satine isn’t nor has she ever been one. He shakes his head, thinking of Obi-Wan finding Satine’s body in the throne room. “That doesn’t make any sense. Obi-Wan clearly loved her.”

‘Rejection can sometimes stem from a misunderstanding. Satine’s last living encounter with Obi-Wan was him saying so long as he was part of the royal guard they had no future together. She perceived this as him denying he cared about her, not knowing he had made plans to retire in order to ask for her hand.’

In front of Din, Obi-Wan rubs at his soulmate marking while staring at the mess around him, lines of unease and confusion creasing his forehead.

‘You asked, what is the meaning of this moment?’ Ahsoka continues. ‘It’s one of the universe’s attempts to reconnect Obi-Wan and Satine so they experience their matching as they were intended to.’

“But they’re of different statuses,” he points out needlessly. “She’ll outlive him.”

‘Yes, but the matching of soulmates not only influences the lives of the pair, but the lives of other people as well in ways both obvious and invisible. Think of it as a ripple effect.’

“Did the universe’s attempt work?” Din wonders. “Were they ever reunited?”

‘When Satine awoke as a Cupid, it was a surprise to both her and Gideon. Rather than kill her a second time, the Seraph chose to inflict a worse fate. She became the first of her kind to have her memories erased. However, he’d never previously used his ability on another immortal before, resulting in him nearly wiping her entire mind clean. The universe is capable of many miracles, big and small, but every attempt of reuniting the pair failed. It remains the universe’s most profound regret which is ultimately the reason why the universe brought you to Trinomliaxeros without your armor so that history wouldn’t repeat itself.’

There is a strange, heavy feeling that suddenly inflates within the confines of Din’s chest like a balloon. It’s different from the rampant anger he can still detect simmering beneath the skin of his human façade. He tries to shake it off, focusing on his breathing and the desert heat emanating from the twin suns overhead, only to slowly realize that what he’s feeling is fear.

Within his memory he can recall just one other distinct moment in his existence where he felt this spine-chilling emotion, and that moment was experienced on Trinomliaxeros.

“What did you just say?” His voice sounds shaky even to his own ears, but he can’t find any energy within himself to care.

A long stretch of silence fills his head; it’s the fragile kind, too, preventing him from snapping at Ahsoka to answer lest she become angry at him and yank him out the vision entirely.

‘Twice the timing of a soulmate match has been disturbed. The first pair affected was Obi-Wan and Satine. And the second pair was...’

“Ahsoka,” he says when she hesitates to continue, but any additional words he can think of saying catch in the back of his throat.

‘The second pair was you and your angel.’ Another pause of silence, shorter but no less meaningful. ‘Only fifty years ago, she wasn’t an angel.’

This is what Din remembers from Trinomliaxeros: feeling a pull so forceful, impatient and unanticipated it drags him across the galaxy in his civilian clothes, arriving to find the planet engulfed in smoke, unable to see his hand in front of his face, even without his gloves on. Finding skeletal remains burnt to blackened crisps with the souls inside shaking and traumatized, practically leaping into his outstretched hand, knowing either the afterlife or damnation would be better destinations than lingering there even a second longer. Explosions in the distance, bursts of flames as intense and hot as the sun, greedily consuming everything in their radius.

Out of the smoke and darkness, a survivor. A girl, covered in soot and sweat, colliding with his chest. The dead are calling out to him, pleading for him to reap them, to save them. Their voices swirl around his head, clawing at his brain and pounding against his skull. Shoving the girl aside, one foot in front of the other, letting his powers guide him to the next soul. Her voice cuts across the distance, a plasma bolt striking him in the back. We’re soulmates, she says.

His breath stills in his lungs. Fear spreads like a virus through his bloodstream, slipping beneath his defenses, turning him into a stranger within his own body. The declaration is a lie, an impossibility, a delusion. He has no match, hands unmarked, flesh poisonous and lethal. His words, too, are weapons themselves. Sharp, ruthless, desiring to wound her as she’s wounded him. You could never be my soulmate.

And then he’d left her.

This is what Din remembers. But, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly it hurts, I’ve remembered everything all wrong.

Phantom hands gently press against the sides of his helmet, offering comfort without caring about the dried blood. He keeps his eyes shut, knowing it’s just a manifestation crafted by Ahsoka in his head. ‘Don’t blame yourself. This was the only viable outcome the universe could produce to ensure the bad timing would be remedied in the future,’ she says, but it does little to lessen the weight on his chest. ‘Your rejection saved her life. It granted you both a second chance of a first meeting.’

“How did—” Din struggles to string words together, to fucking breathe. “She—She knew. What we were. How…?”

The Oracle puts him out of his misery. ‘She found out the way all soulmates do: through touch.’

Din’s eyes fly open at that, and he has to blink a few times to bring everything into focus because there’s him and his angel right in front of him, frozen mid-collision. She’s grasping the sleeves of his coat to keep her balance, the palm of her marked hand touching his wrist. He stares at the point of contact for a moment, then barks out a laugh, hysterical and strangled sounding.

“That’s not possible.”

‘Soulmates can’t kill each other. She’s always been meant to withstand your touch.’

Din swallows thickly, staring at his angel’s face. He hates the question forming on his tongue, but it will haunt him the rest of his life if he doesn’t ask it. “In your visions, when I meet her at the right time, what happens?”

'You’re different by then, less broody and more accepting of the notion you could be loved. You have a soulmate marking,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘You fall for her hard, even before your hands brush. You love her throughout the entirety of her lifetime.’

“And...when she dies?” The words taste like blood in his mouth.

‘Don’t torture yourself, Death. That timeline doesn’t exist anymore.’

For one brief, fleeting second Din is actually grateful Gideon altered their destinies. However, in the next, he’s trying not to let the fear gnawing at the back of his mind increase as it belatedly occurs to him that the universe is not as infallible as he’s always believed it was.

He wishes he could see Ahsoka, if only so he could glare at her directly. “Everything you’ve shown me has only further convinced me Gideon deserves death. Why have you asked me to promise not to kill him?”

'Do you remember what happens after this moment on Trinomliaxeros?’

Din frowns at the change of subject. “I continued to reap souls.”

'Yes. And then?’

He huffs a frustrated breath through his nose. This is Ahsoka, he thinks, at her most annoying. But, as much he loathes admitting it, this is also the most helpfully transparent she’s ever been. Today may be the only time she trusts him enough to share her visions. He owes it to her to be as open as she’s being with him.

That being said, he’s still wary of the memories he’s kept in the distant, shadowy corners of his mind being pulled into the spotlight. “Tell me we’re not gonna talk about the kid.”

‘We talked about the universe’s biggest regret. It’s only fair we talk about yours too.’ Ahsoka has found the crack in his armor he’s tried so long to conceal, peeling it open without remorse.

She doesn’t spare him time to argue. All he does is blink and he’s looking at his past self locked in a staring contest with a little green-skinned child who is propped up inside a floating, orb-shaped pram.

Of all the buildings and homes on the planet, only its temple had remained untouched by the destruction. Din didn’t know if it had been the structure’s own holy foundation keeping it standing or if it was the personal choice of the mastermind behind the attack, but he’d been drawn to it regardless, finding souls there to reap whose hosts had differed from other victims in that their throats had been slit. The walls of the temple were adorned with intricate murals depicting immortal figures and religious events of ancient history, but before he could observe the artwork closer, a quiet coo had stopped him in his tracks.

When he opened the pram, he hadn’t anticipated finding a baby of all creatures. When their eyes connected, every background noise abruptly ceased. Even the voices of the dead fell silent. Rather than rouse his suspicions, Din had felt only a sense of peace he usually only experienced in the midst of hyperspace travel where the stars were his voiceless companions.

An unspoken conversation transpired between the two of them, one Din still can’t translate into words all these years later, but it concluded with him knowing he would take the child with him.

Din had reached for him unthinkingly, the child lifting his arms up in eagerness to be held, but self-awareness kicked in right before contact and Din retracted his hands away so fast it startled the child into crying, brown eyes filling with tears. Panicked, he surveyed the room, looking for something to put an end to the wailing, before looking down at his own coat, experiencing a lightbulb moment.

“Alright, kid, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Watching his past self shrug off the coat, Din remembers it had been his favorite of his civilian clothes, well worth the cost for its soft fabric and length. He managed to successfully swaddle the child, ensuring his arms were safely tucked away to prevent him endangering his life, and Din exhaled a quiet breath of relief when the tears dried up almost immediately.

However, the ensuing silence wasn’t as peaceful as the previous one. Both past and present Din turn at the sound of distant shuffling echoing off the temple walls from another room.

“Ignore it,” Din tells his past self. “Just take the kid and leave.”

But his plea goes unheard and the past remains unchanged. Ahsoka is silent inside his head, either because she knows he won’t accept any more comforting words or because she thinks he’s undeserving of them for choosing to leave the child behind in his pram, closing it when he starts to whine again, so Din can go investigate the noise.

Din exhales a quiet breath, fingers twitching restlessly at his sides as he watches himself stalk through the temple halls, checking each room he comes across. It’s strange, seeing himself from this perspective. The distanced viewpoint allows Din to glimpse new details he hadn’t been capable of noticing back then.

Such as the reappearance of a familiar Seraph emerging from the shadows to stab him in the back.

Here’s one of the perks about being Death: he can’t be killed. That fact doesn’t mean there haven’t been attempts though. As Death, people sometimes look at his armor as a challenge. Like if they can fire a shot or throw a knife at just the right angle, it’ll wound him and allow them to live longer. Simply put, all those people are idiots.

When he looks like a regular, unintimidating civilian, he’s also been involved in violent predicaments where someone’s attempted to mug him or where he’s tried to save someone else from a similarly sticky situation.

Armor or no armor though, he’s always walked away from these encounters completely unscathed.

Well. With the sole exception of Trinomliaxeros where he was mostly unscathed.

It wasn’t the first time Din had been stabbed before. Usually knife wounds felt like a mild pinch. More irritating than painful, similar to a splinter stuck in one’s thumb. Once the weapon was removed, the damage healed within seconds, leaving behind no scar or proof he was ever attacked.

Usually, is the keyword to note here.

Ahsoka freezes time right when the blade of the Lightsaber is driven straight through the center of Din’s body, bone and flesh as easy to slice through as melted butter. His agonized expression—eyes screwed shut and lips open in a silent scream—would be comical if Din didn’t remember the exact emotions he was feeling in that moment.

Instead of a pinch, it’d felt as if thousands of invisible hands were pulling and scratching at him, attempting to strip apart his human exterior layer by layer—peeling off skin, scraping away muscle and bone marrow, seeking to reach the core of himself where his powers resided.

‘Looks like it hurts,’ Ahsoka says. The return of her naturally calm and neutral tone of voice seems almost cruel given the frozen, graphic display.

Din again wishes he could glare at her. “Is this funny to you?”

‘The transformation of the Lightsaber into the Darksaber is anything but funny.’

Lost in recollection, he failed to notice until now how the blade of the Lightsaber has changed in color from white to black. It’s the same inky hue that absorbs the brown in his eyes, that had dyed his veins during the execution of Hess.

‘The Armorer specifically instructed the Lightsaber only be used against enemies. As a neutral entity, you are, by definition, no one’s ally or adversary. By stabbing you, the saber became corrupted. It is a consequence Gideon still has yet to fully realize the monumental repercussions of.’

Time resumes, Din’s past self collapsing onto the floor, pressing a hand to the throbbing hole in his chest, attention too consumed by the franticness of his powers struggling to repair the trauma to notice Gideon lingering behind him. The Seraph’s stunned look of shock lasts barely ten seconds, morphing into one of deep contemplation as his gaze flicked between the weapon and Din, before he vanished.

When Din recovered enough to stand, he teleported back to the child’s location at once. He needs to get the little guy as far away from here as possible, somewhere peaceful and safe. His planning came to an abrupt halt upon finding the pram open and empty, his coat shredded and scattered about the floor in pieces.

“Gideon took him.” It isn’t a question.

‘Yes,’ she confirms. ‘The child was the intended target of this siege.’

“Why?”

‘He’s...very special.’ There is something about how her voice hitches when she says ‘special’ that has Din’s instincts prickling with alertness, but he holds his tongue. ‘Gideon considers him a tool he can take advantage of.’

The ugly, tight mass of anger swells inside of him and presses against his lungs, resulting in a low growl slipping out of his mouth. He curses his own ineptitude. If he’d paid more attention, hadn’t allowed himself to be wounded, he could have subdued Gideon and spared both his angel and the child from being captured.

“I warned you once upon a time, there would be consequences if you released your darkness,” Ahsoka says, her voice no longer emitting from inside his head. The vision fades back into reality the same sudden, jarring way one wakes up from dreaming. It takes all of Din’s self-restraint not to perform a full-body shake. “Your control is slipping as your rage increases. It’s making you not think clearly which is exactly what Gideon wants. That is the reason I am asking you to promise you will not kill him.”

Put like that, Din no longer thinks her request sounds quite so outlandish, even though he does still remain in the dark as to what consequences exactly will unfold. Ahsoka has remained stubbornly tight-lipped about the topic from their very first encounter, claiming the universe is adamant she can only share the details with one other person and it isn’t him.

“He deserves to die for all he’s done,” Din says quietly, but he’s self-aware to know his resistance is beginning to crumble.

“Between you and me, I think so, too,” she admits in the same low tone. Her ocean eyes are dark and stormy, reflecting her internal turmoil. “But rules are made for a reason and we would be fools to carelessly overlook the consequences of breaking them.”

The accusatory note from earlier has returned with a vengeance. He’s not surprised—of course the universe would utilize the Oracle to express its disapproval—but aggravation still thrums through his veins.

“Hess played a hand in my soulmate’s fate. He called her a whore.” Din’s upper lip twitches with the urge to snarl. “I don’t regret what I did to him.”

Ahsoka sighs. “I was afraid you’d say that. When you swore your creed, you promised the universe you’d only reap a soul when their host’s time has reached its destined end. By killing Hess, you not only broke a sacred rule, you also broke your creed.”

Din recoils, feeling like he’s been stabbed with the Lightsaber all over again.

“...What?” The anger is gone, extinguished by the weight of the revelation. Confusion and wariness are quick to fill the void. “What does that mean?”

She looks away then, but not quick enough to hide her troubled expression. “I...don’t know.”

He blinks, mind scrambling to understand the implications. “Isn’t that your purpose? To know everything?”

“For the very first time, the future’s unclear to me,” she murmurs, eyes briefly turning cloudy as if she’s trying to take a peek at the potential timelines right then and there. She shakes her head a beat later, frowning. “There are many choices left to be made, each one capable of influencing the fate of the galaxy. It is not possible at this time for me to predict our upcoming reality, let alone your consequences. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Din says, because it’s the truth and he doesn’t like seeing her crestfallen expression. Fuck, he might actually consider her a friend after all.

Whatever happens, he thinks to himself, it can’t be any worse to deal with than being separated from his soulmate. If he can survive this, he can survive anything.

“The last promise I made was broken.” He bites back a wince at the memory of his angel’s pinky promise. “But if making another one is the only way you’ll take me to my soulmate, then you have my word. I won’t kill him.”

A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips before she grabs hold of one of his vambraces. “Take me to your ship. I will guide you to her location.”

“You don’t trust me to go alone?” he asks, unsure whether to be amused or indignant.

“No,” Ahsoka replies bluntly.

Din huffs. “Fine.”

“I may not be able to see much at the moment, but I know it’s never wise to turn down support. You’re going to need us.”

“Us?”

“It’s Bo-Katan’s choice to make, but you and I both know she’s never been one to back down from a fight. Especially once she learns Gideon is her sister’s murderer.”

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[captainderyn]

Now, if I may be a lil greedy in return, lol, 3, 19, & 20 from the AO3 wrapped <3

Absolutely lol it's only fair xD Thank you for the asks!

--

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Lol so I have two answers, both of which no one has seen yet ;--; the first one is my original novel, titled Deeper Waters right now, that is probably a solid 75-80% of the way through its first draft right now. I took a break to write Fictober, but plan to pick it up again in the new year as I settle into my new place and the dust starts to settle. It's the first original work I've been able to make it this far into and actually feels like I might want to take it somewhere. I've written close to 73k on it since February and that's a massive achievement for me.

The second one is a prompt-fill gone wild for Ryn and Garrus that got way too long to even fit the prompt fill anymore and has taken on its own life that deals with the very real impact the Reaper War starts to have on Ryn post Thessia and its consequences and kJDHFkfhs I'm excited to share it so here's a snippet:

“Garrus.” she said with the sort of calm that put him on immediate high alert. All the color had drained from her face, leaving her eyes wide and stark against her pallid skin, “You need to call the Normandy.”

“Tali’s working on it--” Garrus followed Ryn’s hands, body going unnaturally still.

The Phantom had worked a long, black blade between the fibrous parts of her armor and the carbonized plating. It blended into the dark metal of her armor at a first glance.

Ryn’s hands flitted around it, “Suit deploys medigel.” She reasoned with that too-calm voice, “Medigel can’t fix that.”

Honestly it's got a lot of extremely raw emotion in it and tension that I feel like I haven't been able to capture very easily recently in my writing and kjsfhkjdf I'm so excited to share it.

For stuff that y'all have seen lol...definitely Dog Tags as I feel like its the most comfortably and correctly I've been able to capture the complicated mess that is Ryn and Garrus' feelings at the beginning of ME2.

I dunno, this year I finally feel like I've bounced back from a lot of stuff that happened previously and finally found my place here on tumblr again. I finally feel like I'm getting a bit of my Just Deryn identity back :') it's quite pleasant.

Read more because whoopsies

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

Shakarian! Lol for realsies I have so many more fics for Ryn and Garrus in store. So many ideas for them have started flowing that I just don't think I'll be able to stop writing them xD

Not a pairing, but I want to get back into writing Five and Era as a team, whether that's in their Imperial Agent format or adapting them for Cyberpunk 2077. I guess we shall see :P

Ngl there's part of me that wants to get back into the interacting-more-with-other-people's-characters side of things as these last few years I've been playing in my little sandbox of Wulf/Raenor and Garrus/Ryn but I don't even know how to reintegrate myself there lol.

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Is it cheating to say Dog Tags? Because the answer out of fics from this year is Dog Tags. I do regularly go back and reread Under the Party Tree as I really like how some of those turned out, but it hasn't been long enough for me to fully enjoy going back and rereading those yet. They're still too fresh.

That being said of all time, the fic I go back and reread the most is fictober '19 Moments in Time. The adoration I have for the fics in this collection is nearly unmatched and I reread them all the time. I think it might be because it was my step back into writing fic after quite a long break and my first time back to writing two characters that were fully mine without the support of someone to bounce ideas off of and hash out all the details with.