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schrijverr · 4 months

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It Just Hits Different When It’s Batman

5 times a League member heard Batman use slang + 1 time they knew where the fuck he got it from.

This fic is based off this post by @wednesday-if-it-was-tuesday bc it was just too good! Hope you don't mind :D

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~~

1. Flash

Barry is pretty sure he has to get his hearing checked as he speeds through a city, trying to find a series of bombs, courtesy of a new alliance of villains. He and Batman are on bomb duty, thus sharing a private com line as to not distract the others or be distracted as they coordinate.

However, Barry is very much distracted by his own partner in this whole mess, because unless he’s gotten a few too many hits to the head in recent years, he’s pretty sure Batman just reported: “The bombs look like yassified thermos flasks.”

“What?” Barry chokes, nearly tripping over his own feet as he does.

Batman doesn’t seem to notice, instead explaining the bomb, not his wording: “The casing looks to be made from plastic, likely to escape Superman’s notice. Start checking water pipes, I found this one near a toilet. I’ll report again once I figure out how to disarm it.”

Okay, questing his sanity later, finding bombs, now.

So he zooms off again, having to agree with the fact that the bomb does look like a yassified thermos flask. He wonders if he can use that in his report or if Batman will scold him for language. He has worked with the man for long enough that he knows Batman isn’t above hypocrisy.

Then he wonders again if he even heard it right. In the heat of battle, the brain sometimes does weird things, especially when someone thinks at the speed of light. Or faster.

He’ll put it out of his mind for now, maybe tell Hal about it just so he’ll have someone to share the bizarre experience with.

Clark probably has a thesaurus, he should probably also find a synonym for yassified. Does a thesaurus have slang too?

2. Green Lantern

It’s true that Barry had told him about Spooky saying yassified in that one battle, but Hal hadn’t truly believed that Bats was capable of something like that. I mean, look at him. The guy might be a weirdo who dresses up as a Bat, but he’s not a weirdo who says shit like yassified.

However, at the moment it is starting to look more and more likely. Fuck, Barry is gonna give him so much crap for not believing him.

The moment in question is Batman working with him on the stealth mission. It’s one for the Green Lantern Corps, so Batman is doing him a favor. Though Hal is starting to wish that he hadn’t done him that favor, because Batman has just said: “It looks like Luthor is being thristy for Superman again. For someone who hates the guy, he sure wants his attention a lot. That’s Kryptonian honing device.”

Hal doesn’t react, still thinking about the fact that he’s just heard Luthor, thirsty and Superman in one sentence. In Batman’s voice no less.

“What?” he says.

“A Kryptonian honing device,” Batman repeats, sounding as if he thinks Hal is stupid, not uncommon. “So he can hone in on Superman, find him. Something we need to do something about.”

Hal decides to take the smart way out and lets the whole thing drop in favor of focusing on the mission. He’s not just telling Barry, but Ollie about this as well.

3. Cyborg

Being in the Justice League isn’t much different than being on the Teen Titans. Like right now, being in a building that could explode at any moment unless he hacks into the system and stops that from happening.

Ah, good old life-threatening pressure.

Batman is fighting some of the goons in the background. They’re on their own here, with the others fighting through an army outside to get to them. But it’s mostly up to them. Batman yells: “Cyborg, status.”

“I’m getting through, but something is bugging me about this whole thing,” Victor calls back. “I think there is someone I’m missing that will allow me to crack this.”

There are a few grunts in the background as Batman fights on, while Victor starts to scan through everyone who worked for the organization, trying to find the missing link.

He is interrupted by Batman, who says: “I took a tour here once. There was an intern, Kyle Paulson, he was kind of sus. Look him up.”

For a second, Victor is thrown by the sus in that sentence, but he quickly focuses back on what’s important. Indeed finding Kyle to be the missing link that gets him to disarm the bomb. While Batman is taking out the last of the bad guys.

In fact, the whole thing slips his mind until he’s writing his mission report, going through the footage to get accurate information in there. Then he pauses again, before dismissing it. Those who trained under Batman are always prepared, maybe it’s not slang but shorthand to be useful in the moment. Or he’s trying to include him, sweet, though unnecessary.

Victor puts it out of his mind.

4. Green Arrow

Ollie doesn’t believe Barry or Hal for a second. Like, really? Batman using slang that the sidekicks are using?

Sure, Nightwing sometimes uses some here and there, but Red Robin is always very professional and Robin is closer to a Shakespearean actor than a TikTok teen. There isn’t anyone else he could have gotten it from and it doesn’t make sense with his whole ‘I am the Night’-persona.

Victor suggested it was to make the newbies more comfortable when he overheard them talking, but that’s even more ridiculous in Ollie’s opinion.

So, he’s not at all in the slightest prepared for Batman’s reaction when he shows him the new arrows he developed. Because Batman’s reaction is: “Hm, serves cunt.”

“Excuse me, what?” Ollie says, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull.

Batman just stares at him, then in a confused sort of voice goes: “You know, it slays? It’s, you know, good? Positive.”

“Huh, what? No, I- I know what that means. How the fuck do you know?” Ollie splutters.

“I’m Batman,” is all he says. Then he walks away and leaves Ollie to stand there, still frozen in time, because what the hell was that? Batman can’t just do that, can he? That’s illegal. How does he even know that?

What Ollie doesn’t know, is that this was a calculated move. Bruce had overheard the three talking as well and decided to have a little fun. All the times before, it just slipped out in the heat of battle, but this one was purposeful.

Bruce knows Ollie would know what it meant, because billionaires Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen have done TikTok trends in the past and try to keep up to date, despite their age. Not that Ollie knows it’s him under there.

And last gala, he left Bruce for the wolves – Vicky Vale – so now Bruce is dealing psychological damage to him as petty revenge.

5. Superman (and Practically the Entire League)

They’re in a meeting with most of the Justice League members that are present on earth at the moment. It’s not often they hold such meetings, since they are a little overwhelming and tend to drag on more than be productive.

However, Clark thinks it’s important to ensure there are avenues through which ever member can state their piece and be heard. So, here they are again.

Booster Gold is complaining about always being on the sidelines and never in the heat of the action, even though he’s a great hero. He’s claiming that there is a bias against younger heroes, despite the fact that the ‘old guard’ will have to give it up eventually.

Apparently, Batman has had enough, because he gets up and snaps: “We don’t have bias based on age, we have one based off skill. Maybe if you stopped abandoning your post and being someone reliable, you might get put out in the field more often. Now stop being salty about it.”

It’s silent.

Clark is scrambling his brain, to figure out the meaning. As a journalist he tries to stay up to date on current language use, however, the only person he’s heard use that word is Jon. The boy never explained, but Clark guessed what it means. Doesn’t explain why Batman knows it.

Then the silence gets broken by a snort, everyone’s head whipping towards the source. It’s Nightwing, a newer addition and one affiliated with Batman himself. The only one there brave enough to laugh at Batman, mirthfully asking: “Did you actually say salty?”

There is no change on Batman’s face, but as a longtime friend, Clark knows he isn’t emotionless. Indeed, when he listens close, he can hear the blood rush to his face, blush hidden by the cowl.

“That was not the point of the sentence, Nightwing,” Batman counters, the name a little bit pointed on is tongue.

“Okay, okay,” Nightwing grins easily, showing his hands in surrender, an act which is made null by him adding: “Just pointing out that this is an official meeting. You’re on the record and you know I’m reporting this to the others.”

Red Robin and Robin, Clark fills in mentally, the other two known associates. Everyone already guessed that Nightwing must be close to them as well, since the younger two are closer to being Batman’s children. Now that is confirmed.

“Thank you for reminding me,” Batman says tersely, before quickly pivoting to the next point on the agenda. No one calls him out for it.

However, just because no one calls him out on it, doesn’t mean they drop it. In the weeks after the incident, whispers make their way through the halls of the Watchtower as people speculate why or how Batman came to use the word salty and how out of character it is.

Clark can hear the gossip all over the Watchtower and he’s sure Batman is aware of it too, because some brave souls have asked about. Especially when some of the others talked about the incident not being the first one.

Batman hasn’t replied yet to any of the questions or rumors. Clark thinks he likes the mystery and chaos, likes that they don’t know why the hell he sometimes lets slang slip. Even Nightwing has been seemingly silenced, never commenting with a sort of professional ease at evasion.

Nightwing is the only clue they have, along with Robin and Red Robin, but none of them seem like the culprit.

It just doesn’t make sense and Clark can’t help but have his reporter brain itch.

+1. The Batfamily

There is going to be an attack somewhere in a major city in America tonight. They cannot figure out where, so there is a nation wide stake out at all the important places. Nearly the entire Justice League has been pulled out for it and even then they don’t have enough.

Batman insists on having a skeleton crew remain on the Watchtower in case the threat turns out to be a distraction. And when it is protested, he pulls out an army of associates none of them have ever heard about to fill out the last gaps in their observational net.

The sudden introduction of about six new Gotham vigilantes, which have apparently been operating inside the city as well as outside of it, would have been the main shock if it weren’t for how they are on coms.

Red Robin and Nightwing are known as professionals like Batman, while Robin isn’t a known entity in missions, though those who have met him, know him to be serious. However, with the introduction of the others all of that professionalism melts away.

It starts about 45 minuted into their mission when Spoiler’s voice suddenly crackles over the coms: “I fucking hate stake outs, they’re so boring.”

“I know right, my ass is starting to hurt,” Red Robin – to everyone’s surprise – replies.

“No chatter on the coms,” Batman dutifully reproaches like he always does, but he sounds less stern this time. It’s as if he knows they won’t listen, but says it because it’s his role to do so.

Red Hood ignores Batman completely, idly commenting: “I don’t know, stake outs always hit different for me.”

“That’s just because you’re boring AF,” Spoiler says, an eyeroll practically audible.

“Oi, take that back,” Red Hood says, offended. “I didn’t die to have you slander my name like that!”

This is horrifying news for most of the other people stuck on the coms, however, there is a cacophony of annoyed groans as well. Why anyone would be so blasé about someone mentioning their death, they don’t know.

Until, Robin says: “Cease mentioning your death as excuse. It’s unbecoming to be so reliant on one measly event. You’re not the only one who has died, don’t be – what was it? – ah, yes, don’t be basic, Hood.”

“Yeah, Hood, don’t be salty just because you’re becoming a boring old man,” Red Robin pipes up, sounding smug. That solves the salty mystery.

“Shut up, Replacement,” Red Hood huffs. “I can talk about my death as much as I want to and you can’t stop me.”

“Hood, please, stop talking about your death, you’re going to make B sad,” Nightwing suddenly interjects, stopping the conversation before it can get out of hand.

Those with super hearing will hear Barry mutter in a shocked manner: “Is he talking about Batman?” But he is overshadowed by most of the newly introduced (and already) known Bat-associates booing loudly.

“Don’t be a fucking suck up, Dick” Spoiler hollers, only those in the know picking up on the fact it’s his name. It’s the only time Batman won’t correct them, because not everyone will know it’s a name unless it’s pointed out.

“Periodt,” the quiet voice of Black Bat supports Spoiler.

“Hell yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, BB,” Spoiler cheers when she hears the other girl.

“That was the correct usage?” Black Bat asks.

“It was, well done,” Oracle’s kind voice comes over the coms, from where she is in her lair helping with coordination.

After that it all quiets down again for about half an hour, then Bluebird breaks the quiet again, complaining: “I can’t believe I had to stay behind in Gotham of all places.”

“You live there. Willingly,” Signal answers. “And I had to stay behind too, you know.”

“They’re sleeping on us, Signal, be upset with me,” Bluebird exclaims, indignantly.

“Okay, but tea though,” Spoiler says, most of the Justice League listening in are starting to learn she likes stirring the pot a little.

“Don’t be a simp, Spoils,” Red Robin says.

“Oh, look who’s talking about being a simp,” Red Hood snorts loudly. “I observed you, loser boy, you’re the simp.”

“It’s not as much of the serve you think it is to admit to stalking me,” Red Robin deadpans.

“RR, not to be that bitch, but you’re the OG stalker, maybe- maybe don’t do that,” Nightwing says cautiously, which is apparently funny enough that multiple people start laughing.

Meanwhile Red Robin complains: “Stop laughing at me, when I did it was totally different, I didn’t plan on killing any of you.” Which is mildly disturbing

“Oi, I never planned to actually kill you-kill you either,” Red Hood protests, even more disturbing. The Justice League is starting to wonder why Batman works with the man.

“Stop with the chatter,” Batman interjects again, before it can go further. “It’s not just us on the com lines now. At least try to be professional.”

And much to the horror of the League, who could never imagine doing such a thing, Batman gets booed. Again. This time directly.

Then to add to the horror, Batman doesn’t explode in anger, like everyone would have imagined, instead he just sighs. Defeated. Batman is like a cockroach, he doesn’t get defeated. However, these kids are managing.

Batman remains defeated too, because the Gotham vigilantes continue to idly chat all throughout the next hour. They are definitely bat associated, because they never reveal any information that could be tied to their civilian identity. Instead discussing other missions, general news, funny things they saw on patrol and personal grievances with the others on the line.

If this is what Batman deals with on the day to day, some are starting to see why he would prefer the heroes of the Justice League to keep their mouths shut on missions unless it’s important.

Most try to tune it out and focus on their own stake out, though the voices keep them awake. But they notice when Spoiler’s voice suddenly becomes serious as she reports: “Sus individuals moving towards the Mayor’s office.”

“Received, getting visual on your location,” Oracle’s voice replies, also snapped back into professionalism.

Spoiler reports their appearances and currently location, until Oracle has them, running a check on them, before confirming they have a criminal record and might be thugs for hire. Spoiler says: “I am going to move in.”

Batman says: “Do not engage, Spoiler, they could be a decoy. Try and get more information first.”

“Alright, alright,” Spoiler huffs. Then adds petulantly: “I’m not gonna do it, I was just thinking about it.”

Which sounds pretty reasonable for most listening in, who aren’t of the right age group to know the meme. Batman, however, does know, because he’s been subjected to it multiple times. So, he yells: “Spoiler, no!” startling some members.

A second later, there are sounds of a fight and Spoiler gleefully saying: “I did it.”

Batman lets out a frustrated growl, but Spoiler pays it no mind and she can’t truly get chewed out, because more and more start to report suspicious individuals moving in on the targets they’re watching.

Within minutes of it starting, Nightwing reports: “They’re decoys with targets. Not the main attack, but will do damage if they succeed.”

“Everyone make sure to take out the decoys,” Batman says. “Those without decoys, keep your eyes peeled, you might be at the real target.”

“Done with my targets, moving to help the others now,” Nightwing reports seriously, before he adds: “And can I just say that I’m the GOAT. Dibs on cookies for finishing first.”

“Okay, shade much,” Bluebird says.

“Don’t be arrogant, it’s unbecoming,” Robin retorts as well.

“Yeah, stop flexing,” Spoiler adds. “I’ve wrapped up too, by the way. You’re not special.”

“Let me have this,” Nightwing complains. “You already took all my shit, let me be cool. You all used to think I was cool.”

“Yeah, used to,” Red Hood scoffs. “Then we all realized you’re a looser.”

“Ha, get wrecked,” Red Robin snorts.

“Baby bird, wasn’t I your favorite?” Nightwing asks hurt, though over the top enough to show he is faking it.

“No, sadly, that was Hood,” Red Robin replies, sounding a little like he’s grimacing.

“No cap?” Red Hood asks, surprised.

“No cap,” Red Robin confirms.

“Now I feel kind of bad for you,” Red Hood says, before some bullets are fired. “Wrapped up here, moving to help.”

Red Robin seems glad to not have to reply and none of the other Gothamites do either. With what the League has heard so far, they’re also kind of happy the topic is being dropped, unsure what to think.

Batman’s associates are among the first ones cleaning up, however, soon others are joining them and the true battles grounds – yes, there are multiple targets, these people are organized (Batman will likely obsess until he has tracked down their organization afterwards) – are discovered and heroes move in to fight them.

Throughout the battle, everyone catches snippets of this strange, newly introduced group. A group, who works well together, like an oiled machine, yet obviously made up of highly competent parts that can act on their own as well.

Like Black Bat calling out: “Red Hood, yeet,” before those fighting alongside them see Red Hood boost her into the air, so she can come flying at the terrorists.

But they also make comments about the people they’re fighting and the others that are fighting alongside them.

Signal calling out: “Bluebird is pulling some sick ass moves. Another one for her on the slay-board, Oracle.”

Or Spoiler commenting: “Okay, not to be like that or whatever, but these terrorists are kind of looking snatched.”

To which Batman sighs: “Spoiler, please, no chatter,” in a vain attempt to get them under control.

“What?” Spoiler says. “I can appreciate when they’ve at least tried to pull a fit instead of that usual para-military, ninja type BS.”

“Go off,” Black Bat pipes up again and Spoiler cheers while Batman drops it. Defeated again.

They also check in on each other, with Red Robin hissing in pain, which is immediately followed by Nightwing going: “RR, you good, fam?”

“Gucci,” Red Robin replies. “Just low-key got stabbed.”

“There’s nothing low-key about getting stabbed!” Nightwing exclaims, getting called a hypocrite by many people, while Batman is already calling for Oracle to get a visual and for a medic to head Red Robin’s way.

By the time the battle is over, the Justice League understands how different the team is that Batman usually works with. If they were surrounded by heroes who talked like that continuously, they would have probably picked up some things here and there too.

Still, it fucking weird when Batman checks over his horde, before declaring: “You were all lit out there,” causing multiple of the kids around him to groan loudly, with Bluebird calling Batman a boomer.

Clark, however, sees a small uptick in Batman’s mouth. And in that moment, he knows Batman is doing it on purpose, that he’s enjoying it. That he’s fucking with them. He doesn’t know what to do with that, nor does he think that anyone will believe it. So, he decides to share the amusement and drop it.

They’re never going to figure out Batman.

A/N:

This work is going to get dated so so so fast lmao, but it’s fun rn (if ur commenting in the future, welcome to outdated slang vibes from someone who wasn’t that up to date with current slang when writing it, bc im secretly a grandpa).

Hopefully I didn’t overdo it to an unrealistic degree, but if I did, such is the story that was being told oops

Also this whole fic is just an excuse for me to write batfam banter bc I love it lmao

I didn’t include Batwing, Batwoman and Flamebird here, sorry, but writing the batfam is always so hard bc there are so many characters T-T

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bamsara · 20 days

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A03 Questions Tag Game

I got tagged by: @kagedbird I tag: @onethirdofimpossible, @coffincrows, (first two that come to mind) and anyone else who wants to do the game

1 – How many works do you have on AO3?

At the time of writing this post, currently 30 fics. (Not including any fics or written works that are not posted to AO3)

2 – What's your total AO3 word count?

1,066,633

3 – What fandoms do you write for?

Formerly: Don't Starve, FNAF, Dragons Dogma, Invader Zim

Currently: Cult of the Lamb

4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?

Solar Lunacy, Celestial Omens, Bytes of Lunacy, The Rehabilitation of Death, Saturday Insomnia

5 – Do you respond to comments?

I try to but I also get very nervous responding because I often don't know what to say back and I feel like it's almost rude or disrespectful to respond to a comment, esp the very nice ones that are long and in-deph with just a keysmash or a bunch of emojis, but I do read every single one since I have email notifications on for them

I'd like to sit down and respond to many but I really don't want to make it awkward so pls dear god readers forgive me

6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't like unhappy endings. I enjoy angsty stories but I like when it's at least ending happy to me

7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Not posted? Solar Lunacy

Ongoing? TROD

8 – Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? Most adults (in my experience) know the 'don't like don't read' rule and know basic online etiquette. I've gotten some for discontinuing a fic or switching fandoms though

9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't write or draw NSFW! I like to make some suggestive themes sometimes, but I'm a very ace person, it's not something I do often. (I do have a current running goal that if my friend reaches their donation goal for their medical bills that I would give NSFW a shot, but again its not really my cup of tea)

10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nah I haven't written any cross overs, but I do draw them sometimes. Recently I've been spinning a Alice in Wonderland x COTL crossover in my head.

11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep. I've had people copy and paste my work, go in with a thesaurus to change a few words (like changing 'angry' to mad, 'upset' to 'sad', and so forth) to try and avoid detection and re-posted my written work under a different title name. AO3 staff took them down for violating their policy against plagiarism though

12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I wouldn't mind it so as long as I'm asked before hand, though not on anon so I can actually work with the person to prevent any mistranslations or mishandling, and that I don't want my work posted to other websites

13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?

I think I did when I was a teen but I cannot remember now

14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?

Eh I don't have any favorites, just ones I really focus on for a long while

15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Pass.

16 – What are your writing strengths?

I can sit down for hours or several days and work on a writing wip completely in the zone. I cant do it on command but its at least something I can do

17 – What are your writing weaknesses?

Spelling and grammar, and sometimes long running sentences. I just kinda write, theres not really a goal for it to be perfect though so as long as the story gist and vibe is right, im fine with it

18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it before but only minor, had a friend help me with it (one or two lines of dialogue) Aside from that, I'm not comfortably fluent enough in anything to do it again without assistance

19 – First fandom you wrote for?

Soul Eater, when I was wayyy too young to be posting anything on the internet. My fanfics I wrote are still on fanfic.net to this day

20 – Favorite fic you've written?

It's inbetween TROD and EE&E right now

#sara shush

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morallyinept · 1 month

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Reverence - A Ezra x Limb Prosthesis F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: A mysterious, vagabond man comes to your aid, and in return you show him some kindness. And over the course of a stormy night, you discover you both have more in common than just outward appearances.

Pairing: Ezra x Limb Prosthesis F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, Reader does have hair, however. Reader has a prosthetic limb. She was born with an underdeveloped limb below the left knee. Reader's age is not mentioned, so you can determine/imagine it's you, if you'd like to, bub. Ezra is in his early-to-mid 40's.)

Word Count: 12.1k - because Ezra won't shut up. 🙃

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Triggers & warnings: Mentions and descriptions of limb loss/use of a prosthetic limb/Ezra is missing his arm/Reader is missing her leg below the knee/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) fingering/oral M & F receiving/there is no fetishising of limb loss here, it's real love/sex with very real bodies/an imagined world created within the Prospect universe/Ezra comes with a thesaurus

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The Pug is a skiv of a planet that seems to have been forgotten by time itself.

Its once-gleaming skyscrapers now stand as towering monuments to a bygone era; their facades stained with the grime of countless rotations. The feculent streets below are a tangled web of concrete and steel, where the lurid neon glow of Vayok advertising signs cast flickering shadows on the faces of the downtrodden masses.

The air of Puggert Bench is thick with the acrid stench of industry, a noxious cocktail of pollutants and toxic fumes that hang heavy over Noki District like a thick shroud.

The sound of machinery echoes through the streets, a constant reminder of the ceaseless churn of production that drives the small planet's rototiller economy, despite being nothing more than a mechanical layover for most passing through on freighters.

Despite the harshness of its environment, Puggert Bench is a livable place of vibrant contrasts. Here, lander pods zip past rusting hulks of abandoned ship corpses, their sleek orbs cutting through the smog with effortless grace.

The cloud stream, blocking out the sun in a haze of burnt umber that chokes you when it sticks to the back of your throat, carries on the breeze through the air into your nasal cavity as you breathe in. When you blow your nose later, black shit will present itself to you in your tissue, unless you wrap up with a mask or scarf whilst outside.

For every gleaming skyscraper and bustling marketplace, there are a dozen dark alleys and forgotten corners where the lawless thrive. In the shadows of the city's turgid underbelly, criminal syndicates and black-market traders ply their illicit loot prospected from alien moons; their activities hidden from the prying eyes of the less-than-honourable authorities.

Everyone is fair game in this place.

A place, where walking by yourself late at night probably isn’t a wise idea, but when left with little choice as your shift runs over - again - you brave it head on, picking up your often wonky steps with a hurried pace.

You’ve walked this grimy thoroughfare countless times, memorising the way with muscle memory. You wrap your fraying scarf round your face, cutting out the tar that burns on your tongue.

A slight drag on your gait, an itch surfaces where the buckles rub at your skin around your left knee joint. You stop, pinching and digging your fingers in over your pants to tug out the relief from the burn of the itch.

With each step, you’re reminded of the weight that bears down upon you - the prosthetic limb pressing back against your prickly marred skin with a relentless intensity. The artificial joint, no matter how seamlessly it's been integrated with your body, still causes a continual dull ache that reverberates through your bones with every movement.

You can switch it off sometimes, but the hard pavement beneath you seems to magnify every twinge of discomfort, every jolt that sends shockwaves of thudding pain coursing through your remaining upper limb with every step you take.

You’re still toying with the idea of trading it in for a bionic model, but the foreboding cost and invasive surgeries to wire it into your nerves - that come with their own horrific testimonials of those who’ve had it done, and done badly - far outweighs any desired practicality. Instead you navigate life with the callouses and blisters, used to them being part of your daily routine.

Slipping your fingers between the buckles offers minimal, sweet respite for a few blissful moments as you scratch, when suddenly, a hand shoots out from the darkness, grabbing you roughly by the arm and yanking you into a secluded alcove; the brick walls slick with the sweat of the city.

Before you can react, a gruff voice growls in your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

"Your credits. Now!" The assailant demands, his putrid breath hot against your neck as he presses a sharp object against your side.

Panic surges through your veins as you fumble for your wallet, your hands trembling with fear as you forget momentarily which pocket it’s in.

He shoves his hand in the pocket closest to him, rooting around in there uncouthly as you protest and struggle.

You’re both disturbed when a shadowy figure emerges from the darkness, with a quiet determination.

The newcomer is a man of imposing stature, his features obscured by the billowy hood of his tattered coat, and a facial scarf of his own that covers his nose down to his chin.

But what catches your attention most is the sight of his empty right sleeve, the fabric of his coat pinned haphazardly against his shoulder where his arm should be.

“I’d rethink that course of action, unless violence with a matched counterpart is what you're getting at.” The man warns in a steady, yet rich Southern drawl.

Your mugger mouths some regurgitated insult in Vayok. You don‘t fully speak it, but you know enough to know he’s mocking the obvious disability of the man, who simply chortles in response to a jibe he’s probably heard before.

But you're left wondering in bewilderment at how your apparent saviour will pull this off.

“You assume this handicap is to my detriment? Are you sure you wish to find out how inaccurate that misinformed assumption is?”

Undeterred by his physical limitation, the man squares his shoulders, his gaze locks on the attacker with unwavering resolve; a pair of dark eyes shining defiantly in the dim light of the alley.

In a matter of moments, fisticuffs ensue. It happens so fast, you're unsure who threw the first hook. Seizing the opportunity, you break free from the thief's grasp and stumble away; your heart pounding in your chest as you watch the scene unfold before you.

You watch helplessly as the man’s coat is torn where it’s previously pinned as they kerfuffle and tussle - the tear in the dirty fabric is deep. The one-armed man subdues your attacker, his movements fluid and precise despite his apparent infirmity.

But a surprise blow to the sternum knocks him down with a winded oof.

The bolt pistol is revealed; gleaming chromatic and pearly in the night air as it falls from the coat pocket of the man and skitters towards your feet.

A single squeeze on the trigger renders your attacker incapacitated, growling as he clutches his shoulder and stares up at you taking careful aim again.

The thief stumbles backward, his grip loosening on the man completely as he struggles to regain his balance. He’s all teeth and spittle as you watch the one-armed man take his hand - that’s still holding onto your wallet - and bends it back at a sickening angle.

The assailant yelps with the slow, deliberate cracking.

“Drop it, or I can assure you I’ll make it a more painful process than necessary.” The man warns.

The wallet clatters to the ground.

“Excellent. I suggest you hasten with speed to get your wound tended to, lest I change my mind about absolving myself from further violence.”

As the thief slinks away into the darkness, nursing his wounds and cursing under his breath, you turn to your saviour, your eyes wide with gratitude and dumbfounded admiration.

But he slumps down the wall clutching under his ribs, chest heaving.

“In Kevva’s name, woman!” He snarls when he sees you still taking aim.

Taking little risk, you keep a grip of the pistol, primed and ready.

“Yes,” he nods, breathing in raggedly. “Best to keep your wits about you, Birdie. There are all manner of beasties out here who would relish a chance to get you.” He sniffs deeply. “But tell me, do you treat all your saviours with the same warm welcome or am I the exception?”

“Can never be too certain.” You remark with a shaky hand. "It's like you say, all manner of beasties."

He looks at you like a dog sniffing out the other; sniffing out whether you’re a threat to him or not. Dark eyes preened on you and unrelenting.

“Keep it steady, pet.” He motions to the blaster with a subtle nod. “A weak grip makes an opportunity easy to exploit.”

You look at him suspiciously, two dark tar eyes regarding you back as he pulls down his scarf to breathe, and to show you his face for reassurance you assume, although the swampy air makes him cough and hack.

“Just some friendly advice.” He explains with a dull shrug. He sucks in air with a deep snort and spits out a globule of phlegm on the pavement.

“The mistake you make is assuming we’re friends.” You confirm confidently, although there's a tremor to your tone. Your body feels like jelly as you try to steady yourself.

“An underestimation I won’t make again, duly noted.” The man confirms as he struggles to stand upright himself.

“Do you need a hand?” You put to him as he struggles with balance.

He glares up at you with a rather repugnant look through cinched in brows. The two deep pits of his nostrils flare at you like black holes opening across the vacant universe that’ll swallow you whole.

“Sorry. Poor choice of words.” You quip, as you step towards his sneer. You remain steadfast with the bolt pistol, holding out your other hand.

He mutters fast under his breath, growling, and you don't catch it.

"What was that?" You query, suspiciously, arming the pistol again.

“Timid threats from a quashed maverick. I’m no harm to you, pet.” He holds his only palm out to you.

You take it and pull him upright to his feet. He passes your wallet to you with thick, grubby fingers and you surrender his bolt pistol in return, albeit reluctantly.

You shudder and gasp out, feeling the unrelenting burn around your prosthetic make itself known again; the adrenaline subsiding in your body.

“Quell your snivels. You remain unsullied. I'd garner that a win.” He says simply, noting your watery eyes. “He was nothing but a hungry brute.”

“Quite the hero, aren't you?” You remark with a scoff at his barbarous contempt towards you.

“Don’t mistake me for a gallant knight, I’m far from that. More of a superfluous hooligan, but I’m still a man with a mere iota of sympathy and respect for the superior species when they find themselves in trouble.” He eyes you carefully as you wibble about on your feet. “You're just a slip of a thing, why are you out so late wandering? Are you lost, little bird?”

“No. My shift… it ran over. This is my usual route home when there's no shuttle.”

“Do you often find yourself in trouble’s embrace?”

”Won’t be the first time, I'm sure.” You mutter.

“Unfortunate. I hear a surge-five is well on the way. Best be homeward.” He remarks with a click of his lips as he looks up at the glowering sky. The heavy swell of a incoming storm predicted is approaching in from the horizon in a cluster of almost onyx clouds.

His scowl softens as he looks back at you still trying to process the whole incident and remaining a little unsteady on your legs.

“I expect you to denounce the offer, but walking you back to your quarters would seem prudent, given the errant situation. I know I appear as a stranger to you, so I’ll respect your wishes if you decline.”

You don’t hear his words as you focus on remaining upright, trying to process the events.

“Oi. Woman. What say you?” He questions again, bringing you back to him.

“I can mend your coat.” You offer, fuzzing back in and your eyes fall on the large gaping flap on his right shoulder.

He looks down at the sleeve you nod to and a growl erupts from his lips at the tear. “That will be unnecessary.”

“Do you have another coat?”

“No.” He gruffs.

“Then it’s necessary.” You assert. “The surge-five is predicted to be harsh.”

He simply nods and drops his hood, shaking his head fully out from under it. An aquiline nose cuts a sharp line across his face, accentuating the aura of strength and intensity that surrounds him. But oddly, a small, messy blonde coiffure sticks out against his hairline, stark amongst a sea of dark oil-slicked tufts.

“I'm not holding out much optimism at your skill. The hole is quite impossible to simply mend.” He observes.

“You let me worry about my skill. I accept your offer of chivalry. It’s kind of you, thank you.” You say, with a pertinent nod.

“I’m not kind, pet, but the assumption is appreciated nonetheless.”

“Kind enough to walk me home and save me from losing my wage.” You tuck your wallet back into your jacket.

“I have enough on my conscience to reconcile with, let alone the thought of a woman of your calibre making it home in one piece.” He tucks the bolt pistol away inside his coat.

“My calibre?” You baulk.

“I meant it as a compliment, of course. Pretty thing like you out here is bound to attract some attention.” He says, eyeing your stance.

"Why are you out here anyway?"

“Minding my own. What’s your name, friend?”

You tell him and he nods. “Ezra.” He introduces. “I’m perplexed by your intentions.” Ezra replies flatly.

“All I offer is some tea and some respite from the incoming storm.” You say.

“Do you open your home to every vagabond you meet?”

“Only the charming ones.” You remark with a snort.

You’re convinced you see a grin turn up his lips. “No quid pro quo? Nothing is free, Birdie. Smart women like you, you know this.”

“I am smart. I offer you some food and drink and to patch up your coat, that’s all. I know very well you’re a stranger and could harbour ill intent despite this heroic facade you've presented.”

“It’s no facade.” He says with a frown.

“Good, because I have no qualms in putting a bolt in you should you try to turn on me, we clear?” You warn with a satisfied smirk.

"Been there, done that." Ezra eyes his stump with a wry grin before he rolls his eyes dramatically at your stern look. "Clear."

“I have my own bolt pistol back at home.” You warn.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt. The fire in your belly serves warning well enough, Birdie. I wouldn’t dream of any chicanery.”

“Then follow me, Ezra.” You say, with a brewing smile.

Your tiny, poorly provisioned apartment is nestled in a nondescript building on the outskirts of the city.

A walk there that has you both absorbed in a mutual silence that offers a strange comfort, akin to the satisfaction of picking at a scab. Ezra mostly keeps his hand in his pocket and side glances you occasionally with parted lips as though he’ll say something, but doesn’t.

“Let me get you something for that.” You offer, as you note his knuckles when he takes them out of his pocket and pushes the rusted gate open for you.

“It’ll dry over soon enough.” He says, looking down at his bruised and bloodied fist.

“It’s cold and the winds are picking up.” You say, noting the ferocious sky churning overhead. “I’ll get the tea brewing. Come on up.”

“You’re not as frail as I first assumed. I must stop doing that.” Ezra mumbles as he looks you over.

“He took me by surprise. Had I been prepared, I might have thrown a hook or two.” You shrug. You note he hesitates behind you.

“Pertaining to the circumstances of our meeting, perhaps you might want to be alone?” You can sense the trepidation hanging around him; he’s wary of you and it pulls at something inside your chest.

“Come up, Ezra.” You repeat, ignoring him.

He lets go of the creaky gate behind him. “Far be it from me to deny a lady. Even if her taste is somewhat marred in misjudgement.”

“Something tells me I can trust you.”

“That would be your first mistake.” He assures.

“Well, this evening might surprise us both.” You say, as he follows up the steps behind you.

You take your time, hand sliding up the railing as he walks beside you. With each step, you focus intently on the movements of your prosthetic limb, adjusting your gait to compensate for its artificial nature.

You weight bear on your right side, loading your foot and keep your momentum forward up the stairs. You wince as you feel it rub uncomfortably again.

“Are you hurt?” Ezra asks as he examines your unhurried pace.

“No.” You shake your head with a rueful smile as you carry on.

The stairs, with their unforgiving surfaces and steep incline, pose a formidable obstacle, testing your resolve with each upward stride. The prosthetic, while marvellously engineered, lacks the finesse and flexibility of a natural limb, making each step a delicate balancing act between stability and control. The last thing you want to do is slip in front of him.

After you reach the eighth floor, slightly panting, he follows you round to the faded door of your apartment.

“Cosy,” Ezra retorts as he's introduced to your small, cramped world. “It's not often I’m rendered without speech.” Stacks of clutter balance precariously in columns on every available surface.

“I like to collect things.” You say nonchalantly.

“I can see that.” He counters, blinking as he steps through cautiously.

You hold your hand out expectantly for his coat and he hesitates.

“I can’t patch it if you’re wearing it.” You sway.

He slips it off his shoulders and you try not to look at the long sleeve that flaps without a hand at the bottom of it on his right side. His sweatshirt is terribly frayed and holey, and his pants seem loose and ill-fitting.

Boots that are at least a size too big for him clomp around his feet. His appearance, although broad and foreboding, also hints at the gaunt and destitute. There’s a peculiar smell emanating from him now he’s taken off his coat. Something sweetly rotten.

You beckon him through, tossing his heavy coat over your arm, and he follows you through to the living quarters; a stalwart room that overlooks the grimy city.

The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and lingering incense spices, mingling with the faint hum of electronic devices scattered throughout the cluttered space.

You switch on an air purifier and remove your scarf revealing your face to him fully as you instruct him to make himself comfortable in the ragged recliner.

You busy yourself in the small kitchenette, chinking cups and getting out a tin of med supplies for his hand. You throw a couple of packets of freeze dry in the warmer and set a timer.

On the splintered coffee table in the centre of the room, stacks of dog-eared books and half-empty mugs vie for space with an assortment of trinkets and knick-knacks thrown clumsily over it.

He leaves through the pages of a hefty book on mining. “Light reading material?” Ezra queries as he tosses the book down.

“Call it a tempered curiosity.” You say, coming through with the cups and the tin shoved under your arm.

“Curiosity killed the feline.”

“Yeah, but it has nine lives.” You state boldly to him and he smirks.

“I could tell you all you need to know. Was my profession, a man’s work.” Ezra explains as he takes the mug from you. The heat immediately absorbs into his fingers.

“You're a Prospector?” You ask, with raised eyebrows.

“I was. Not much of anything now.” His lips downturn into the rim of the mug.

“Where are you from, Earth? You look the type.” You ask him, settling slowly and rigidly into a rickety chair opposite a sewing machine in the corner.

You lay out his coat on your lap and reach for a pin cushion. It smells musty and wild, like the outdoors.

“From that suppurate shit-hole? No. Sorry to disappoint.” He smirks.

“Where then? Lau? Your accent hints at relations from a primitive Earth.” You probe.

“You seem well acquainted with it.” He says, reaching for the med tin and flipping it open. He tears at the packet of an antiseptic pad with his teeth, spitting the paper out that sticks to his lip.

“I read.” You smile as you regard him.

A rugged moustache adorns his upper lip, its edges slightly frayed, combined with a shadow of facial hair, adding to an air of menace that might initially catch one's attention. His presence in the small, dimly lit room feels both enigmatic and imposing.

If you had to guess, you propose him to be within his early fortieth, to forty-third rotation, or thereabouts. His skin carries a layer of grime, a testament to the rigours of his endeavours.

“The memory of my origin is hazy at best.” Ezra shrugs, as he presses his knuckles against the moist swab he lays out on the coffee table. He hisses with the sting. “Home hasn't been a concept that I’m all too familiar with. Although I’m informed it was blue like Earth was before it was ravaged. It's been a long time since I was stationed in permanence. My bones have always been restless.” He leans back in the recliner and sips at the fragrant tea. “This tea… it harbours memories.”

“Regale me.” You entice, as you thread the bobbin on your machine.

He licks round his lips savouring the citrus taste. “Have you ever ventured to Kerulon?”

“No.” You shake your head.

“A pisser of a planet, why would you? I got waylaid there once, on my fuknugt ship. Stranded for a time, which seems to be the continual narrative for my story, but I digress. It’s a planet on the edge of The Fringe, known for its vast expanses of sand and scorching twin suns that never set. Not much there at all except for a slow, agonising death. But as luck would have it, amidst the dunes that stretched endlessly towards the horizon, I sought refuge in a humble desert oasis. A rare oasis of life amidst the harsh landscape, it was tended to by a group of nomadic travellers known as the Sand Dwellers. They offered me a generous cup of their signature orange tea - a brew infused with spices native to Kerulon's desert flora, I’ve come to suspect. Your tea reminds me of that cup of salvation.”

Ezra sips another mouthful loudly and hums with his eyes closed.

“I got it from the marketplace.” You chirp.

“Really? How uncanny… And where exactly did you procure that?” His pointer finger, stubby and long points to the glassy jewel on your shelf by the grimy window.

“I found it.” You shrug.

He scoffs as he approaches and reaches for it as though drawn under a spell. “Birdie, do you know what this is?”

“A pretty rock.” You say with a lazy mirth.

He stands and fondles the faceted cabochon inside his big palm, eyeing the blood amber middle. “Aurelac. You’re sitting on an abundance of riches.”

“I’m well aware of Aurelac and it’s worth on the black market.” You press on the pedal under the table, and the coat slides through your machine fluidly.

Ezra blinks, bewildered. “You know it’s worth, and yet you’ve abdicated it as a paperweight?"

"Mhm."

"Such a curious creature, unable to be bribed by gems in abundance. You must be the only one not to be swayed by the allure. And that’s a rarity.”

“I don’t need riches. If it matters so much to you, you take it.” You simply say with earnest eyes.

Ezra baulks and struggles to form words.

“You Prospectors are all the same. Vultures just picking at the sinew on the bone. I’ve yet to meet a Prospector who didn’t live up to the reputation of harbouring an unsatisfied greed. You’ve killed for that.” You look at the gem wrapped inside his whopping palm with disdain.

“I have, and indulged in deeds far worse.” Ezra nods with a sigh through his enrapturing verbosity. But also a drained voice that indicates he’s just plain sick of this shit now, sick of it all.

Ezra smirks, bearing teeth and a corrupt murmur slips out. “Your assumption is emphatically sound, little bird. It's like a disease, the siren song of Aurelac knows no bound or reason. A sane man would always be swayed to harvest and reap. I couldn't count on all of our combined digits the number of times I’ve made lewd choices in spite of my perseverance to merely covet the riches that the Kevva forsaken moon bequeaths under her ample bosom. I've spent a long time there suckling at the teat. It only pains me now to ponder my very justifications for it to begin with, purging the bowels of that fecund wood…” He trails off grinding his teeth and sighing as he examines the unspoiled gem shining in his hand.

As you work, Ezra's voice pierces the silence once more, each syllable laden with a poignant blend of resignation and acceptance.

“There was a time when spitting off the edge of the world was an arrogant riot; to pillage and plunder with luck and careless abandon, but now with spirited discourse, I’ve settled into a freefall back into the harsh shunt of The Fringe. Some of us have the proclivity for greatness, while most do not. I fear I’ve become the latter.”

You look up at him and his face bears the worn lines and creases of hard experience, etched deep by the sun and wind, giving him a weathered and world-weary appearance.

His prominent nose adds to the pastiche of mystery and arcane belligerence that hovers about his person. A scruffy beard adorns his jawline, adding to his rugged and no-nonsense demeanour.

Oily hair streaked with grey at the temples, falls in disarray around his forehead, but what catches the eye most is the striking patch of blonde amidst the darker strands at the roots.

It seems like the evidence of a possible birthmark born in the hair line, or could just be a fashion choice exalted in bad taste. You make a mental note to ask him later. But it adds a unique touch to his plotline in a twist of his devious character as you ponder him and his story.

“Such a beauty,” Ezra remarks, observing you as he twists the jewel around his thick, calloused fingers. “It’ll fetch you a good sum.” He simply returns the gem to the shelf, his eyes lingering on it long after it leaves his grip.

Your eyes graze down to the missing appendage, trying to fill in the gaps on his pages, as you place pins in your teeth.

“Ah.” He notices your lingering gaze. “Go on, ask away.” Articulating around his Southern inflection with deep flutters of his tongue, it scatters out of it like jagged diamonds from the mines of Ajaxia.

You smile. “Nothing to ask.”

“I’m not foul to you like this?” You sense that he loathes it. Wired bitter with the loss.

Despite the initial challenges and the occasional stares from strangers when your limp overtakes you when your prosthetic becomes unbearable to bear full weight on, you refuse to be confined by societal expectations or limitations.

You throw yourself into mundane life with unparalleled gusto, pursuing your work with a fervour that could inspire those around you if they weren’t so ignorant and assuming. A trait that might only embolden Ezra too, the more time he spends with you, if he cares to.

The thought of revealing your commonality with him rests idle on your tongue however.

Yet, beneath your fearless exterior, you can harbour moments of doubt and insecurity. There are days when the weight of your prosthetic feels heavier than usual, and the whispers of self-doubt threaten to overshadow your resolve. You recognise it too, in his dark eyes right now, fierce, but also harbouring that self-loathing and defeated eroding.

It’s different for you, you don’t miss what you’ve never had, you only know a life like this, but for him? To have had it and then lost it, you can feel the decayed emotion that it evokes pouring from him, even if he never says the words out loud.

You stand, approaching him with his coat patched and he raises his eyebrows. “Far from it. We might have a common depth.” You mutter.

“I fail to see anything we share in common. However, you have magic in you, no doubt.” He says, as he admires his mended coat. “Witchcraft.” He smirks, running his fingers over the neat stitches.

“You have a way with words.” You smile, reaching for your cup.

“A flair, so I’m told. Thank you.” He says earnestly to you, eyes big and round.

“I work in the textile factory, my job.” You explain as you disappear into the kitchen when the beeper from the warmer goes off.

“I was good with both my hands too, once,” he surmises bleakly. “What meat is this?” Ezra enquires, chewing slowly to savour the peculiar tang from the heated freeze dry meal that you’ve thrust at him with a spoon.

“Trog. At least that's what I tell myself. Makes it go down easier.” You remark.

“Never look a gift trog in the mouth, I suppose that’s good counsel.” Ezra shrugs and shovels in more, steadying the packet in his crotch for support; the warmth of it seeping into his thigh muscles and warming him pleasantly.

“I’ve some Bitz Bars if you'd prefer?”

He shakes his head. “If I never see a Bitz Bar again it’ll be too soon.”

The brief silence between you is disturbed only by the battering swell outside that has increased in its voracity in the last hour, and the soft chews and gulps as you both devour your meal in ensconced silence.

It’s a harmonious, off-key beat that serves as the background chime to your dining encounter. Discreet in your mutual voyeurism as you eat and steal curious, yet wary glances at one another.

You’re sitting at the small table with your sewing machine, whilst Ezra masticates on the recliner, albeit much slower, and negotiates a spoon in a hand that’s not ambidextrous in the slightest.

“Tell me where you learned your skill.” Ezra prompts around a spin cycle of meat.

“I have many. You’ll need to be particular.” You finger a newly discovered hole on your kneecap idly and frown at it. You can see a peep of leather from the buckle tarnished underneath.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, pet.” Ezra smirks, as he chews through his mouthful and runs his tongue around his teeth dislodging pieces of meat; his dark eyes flashing to you briefly. “Specifically your skills with a needle,” he waggles his stump at you and his sleeve flaps about and knocks his pouch over. “Fucking tarnation!” He mutters, pissed.

You get up pliantly to assist him as he gathers the packet with quick snaps of his fingers. He spoon-scoops the contents off of his thigh, plopping the mounded heaps back into it, feeling the juice and gravy soak into his pants in a small, irritating patch.

“My grandmother taught me.” You say, dabbing at his thigh with a cloth.

He nods at you whilst continuing to alternate between cleaning himself of the spilled grains and meat, and eating it with good measure.

“Commit to a deal with me.” Ezra prompts after he swallows down the gristle.

“What kind of a deal?” You question, narrowly.

“I’ll tell you my story in its entirety and you regale me with yours in equal measure. Omit no detail too small.” Ezra declares.

“There’s really not much to tell. My life has not been spent roaming the Interplanetary digging up sparkly gems.” You remark.

“You sound bitter.”

“My hindrances keep me here.” You sigh.

“What hindrances?” He cocks his head at you.

“Tell me your story, Ezra.” You deflect as you settle back in the chair to eat.

Ezra smiles exaltedly. He relaxes back into the recliner after discarding the packet, whilst you listen keenly as he recounts how he came to be on the wretched moon with a group of like-minded individuals - rapscallions, as he refers to them - who were an entourage of the roguish sort.

Ragtag acquaintances he’d collected during his time prospecting many planets and satellites across the Interplanetary, but seemingly coming up short until The Green was set in his sights during the heights of the Aurelac rush.

Of course, man’s greed always complicates even the basics of well interpreted relations, and soon he found himself without his ship or his crew; most of them deciding to pick one another off over petty quarrels, whilst the successful of the rogues took to leaving the moon. And Ezra was stranded with nothing but a serious, yet mysterious being known only as Number Two, who filled the role of henchman to Ezra’s own smart, callous wit at genial leadership.

He reiterates to you, several times, that Number Two was not much of a conversationalist, much to his imminent dismay, so when he happened upon Damon, he informs you of the relief he felt to copulate wildly in words exchanged with a stranger, even if they weren't pleasantries.

It’s apparent to you, before he’s started to share his whimsical story, that Ezra has a rapt knack in kinking the tendrils of censorious intelligence and a dry sagacity that often blurs the lines of sarcasm and menace. Flowery, Southern treble clefs dance off of his tongue in a verbal, bewitching thrall, playing their music around your head in kaleidoscopic wonder.

The things he'd done, the things Ezra he'd lost, are all painted from his cracked lips for you to see and experience, unscathed in the most exquisite details and colour. Feeling as though you’re there with him by his side and witnessing the altered course into complete annihilation. He was sure he’d be abandoned by Cee in a warped juxtaposition that, even his attempts at atoning for his previous sins couldn’t seem to cleanse him of. He iterates wistfully that he should've seen it coming.

Ezra finalises the story with her gallant return and bringing him home rather than being left there to perish.

He’s notably candid when he speaks of his love for women - plural. He shares vulgar trysts about his many lovers on Luxillion, mostly whores whom he paid good credits for before he settled off on his wanderings, but who won't even entertain him now that he;s no longer whole. He mentions he occasionally dabbled freely in the delights of flesh with a fellow Y chromosome too; a flouted omission that makes your pores saturate at the outlandish, yet scandalous thought of it. His laying partners are of no prejudice.

Ezra is regimented in never speaking of an unrequited love nor a love that holds permanence inside of his beating organ of clogged ventricles. The closest Ezra has come to feeling an emotion akin to the desire to protect another is with the bolshie whippersnapper named Cee, who had saved him from his fate on The Green.

And then you, this very evening.

“What happened to her?” You enquire.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I woke up in a med bay and haven’t heard a whisper since. Skipped out with a sack full of gems. Good for her.” He remarks.

You watch as he winces and scowls down at his stump.

“Are you alright?” You query.

“Just an irritation" You watch as his lips curl back over his teeth. "Sometimes it… it feels as if it’s still there. Sears. Feels like I can still wiggle my fingers, the most peculiar thing.”

Nursing the aggravation is made small, as Ezra stares out at the window with a watery look making his scleras shine and the cords in his neck tense. Trying to push it to the back of his mind to be recycled into some distorted relief.

“That’s quite the story you shared.” You say.

“It’s but mine to keep. And now yours too, I guess.” Ezra sighs and winces again. “Do you happen to have anything for the burn?” He asks, feeling the pain grow and mutate from his wrangled nerves into his veins.

“I might have a tranq.”

“Bliss.” He says as you get up. He notices you take a moment to regain your balance, a slight limp to your gait as you make your way forward.

A large explosion-like sound is heard outside and you turn towards the window as the lights go out in your dingy apartment.

“Kevva’s wrath!” You gasp, a silhouette lit up by the purple lightning that rips terribly across the sky.

“Did something calamitous occur?” Ezra asks, standing too.

Aggressive thunder is heard rolling in once more as the rain pelts harder until it’s a tiresome skirmish battering the panes.

“Looks like a strike hit the fuse box. Whole District is out.” You say, hovering by the window.

“Perhaps it was a good call, your invitation.” Ezra says, a small smile unfolding on his lips.

“Mm. The rain is often acidic.” You retreat to the kitchen and find some medicine and some candles. Lighting a couple on the coffee table, you take a hold of Ezra’s sleeve after passing him the pill.

“Not a tranq unfortunately, but it might take the edge off.” You begin to roll his sleeve upwards.

“What are you doing?” He queries.

“Making it easier.” You say, softly. You pin it in place, and then fetch a spool and needle from your sewing table.

He watches, eyelashes fanned across his cheekbones as he stares down at your fingers working around the new hem of his sleeve you've created.

“I think I’ve seen you before... Around the District, down by the river.” You begin, carefully as you start to sew the sleeve in place. "You live there, don't you?"

He immediately bristles. “I don’t require charity. I’ll take my leave.”

“Ezra. You have nowhere to go. We both know that. It’s a dangerous night with the surge-five. Drink your xanadu tea and stay. You can take my bed.”

He sighs as his eyes shy away. “My predicament since my return from the Green has rendered me… unlucky, it’s true. There isn’t a place or a sympathetic ear here for people like me, and so my place is with shelter under the bridge. But I won’t spoil your evening with my dreary plight.”

“We can share in the dreariness.” You smirk, looking around at the dim confines of your apartment gloaming with waxy candlelight.

He sighs again as he watches you thread neat stitches to keep the sleeve in place.

“I can’t force you to stay. But I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe rather than outside in that. I’ll make do on the recliner. I insist.” You say as you glance at the lightning streaking across the sky.

“Kindness offered to a scoundrel. You are something, Birdie.”

“It’s only gratitude for what you did in the alley. We’re even.”

"If I were to take you up on your offer, I will sleep here. You won't be denied your bed."

"There's no argument, Ezra. You'll take the bed and we'll say no more about it." You confirm.

“You trust me fictitiously.”

“No, I trust you.” You correct him.

“You know nothing of me. I could take your treasure and run whilst you sleep.”

“So do it. I already told you I care not for it.” You say, as you thread the stitches carefully.

“Why don't you cash it in? You could improve your living quarters.” He suggests.

“My living quarters are fine as they are.” You reply with a frown.

He looks at you curiously, deep eyes burning into you as you find them with your own.

“I don’t care about the material things.”

“Pet, your dwelling is stacked with material things.” He grins. “Look at all this treasured garbage.”

“It’s gotten a bit out of hand admittedly. But it's mostly worthless.”

“What is worth it's weight to you?” He enquires, boldly.

“Life. Connection…" You catch his eyes. "Love.”

He scoffs as he brings his cup back to his lips and swallows the pill.

“Immaterial things.” You say, as you notice his gaze heading towards the Aurelac gem again.

“Before I left for the Green, the only material possession I owned was my ship. A Testing Screamer.”

“Fancy.” You remark, unimpressed.

“No, she was a patched up shit bucket of rust, with a channel rat infestation, but I worked her hard. She got the job done. As I recounted, words and metal flew amongst my crew and they left me there to seek my death without her. I came back with far less.” He says, glancing down at his missing arm. “So, I relish the importance of the immaterial, even if you assume otherwise of me.”

“I assume nothing, Ezra.” You confirm. “There. You’re all patched up. You’re free to go into the wily night if you're so adamant.” You wince at the chafing burn around your knee joint.

You’re keen to rid yourself of the prosthetic, but hesitate whilst he’s here. You don’t mean to be prickly, but it’s a burn that’s starting to irritate.

“I’ve offended you.”

“No.” You shake your head with a faint smile offered. “I’ve been really grateful for your company, actually. It's been nice to converse with someone.”

“Do you feel lonely, pet?” Ezra questions out of the blue.

You turn to face him, your knee knocking against his and you wince. “All the time.” You answer honestly.

“I find it hard to accept that you cloister yourself here alone each cycle.”

“Why?”

“Because you're indeed bewitching.”

His hand is felt on your waist, gently squeezing, and you stop him as he reaches your thigh.

“Too fast?” Ezra queries, reading your eyes carefully.

“No.” You smile. “But…” You sigh with a steady gulp and then take his hand, hesitating before you place it on your artificial calf just past your knee.

He immediately raises his eyebrows with a crooked smirk as he feels not soft flesh under your pants when he squeezes, but a hard shell. He knocks against it, bewildered.

“You come with secrets,” he hisses jovially.

“Missing pieces.” You correct.

“As do I.” He says as your eyes fall to his stump barely poking out of the rolled up sleeve now. “Tell me your story,” he murmurs hauntingly.

He begins inking soft kisses into your collarbone and you don’t stop his forwardness. Instead you close your eyes and relish the feel of the warm, tender contact offered.

“No story. I was simply born this way.” You sigh, feeling his lips burn on your skin. Your fingers run themselves through his oily nape and scritch into his scalp.

“Then there’s no less of you to love, pet.” Ezra groans, looking up at you. “A simple man would be worthy of your affections, even if just for a night?”

“Perhaps.” You smirk.

“Perhaps? Here you sit like Kevva pushed you out her womb for me, perfectly moulded from clay, and you say perhaps?”

You simply smirk as he looks at you, trying to figure you out.

“I’m not perfect.” You say, your eyes averting away.

“I’ll be the judge of that. I’d like to see you bare.” He says, and you know immediately what he means.

You sigh out deeply and nod. “You too.”

“Birdie-”

“You. Too.” You sway. “Let me see you, Ezra.”

He watches as you stand and unzip your pants. You notice his eyes lingering on your centre for a moment, hidden beneath your bland underwear, but then his eyes trail down your left thigh to your knee where the buckles meet your skin.

You unbuckle your prosthetic without any meekness at all, leaning on his shoulder for support as he wraps his only arm around you, offering balance.

“I've got you, pet.”

You let it clatter to the floor and sit down in his lap, straddling him as his fingers tentatively brush over your revealed skin.

He, however, gulps as his fingers linger on the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Can I help you?” You ask him, and he shakes his head, pulling the offending item off clumsily and revealing his stump to you as his sweatshirt plops beside him.

“Beautiful,” he says, observing the smooth skin of your ungrown limb. You shudder as his fingers sweep delicately around and across it.

“Likewise,” you say, stroking down his arm to where it stops into a knot of twisty scars.

“Two peas in a dreary pod,” Ezra says, hooked nose brushing over yours.

“I don’t like peas.” You chuckle.

“Another commonality,” he smirks.

He watches as you reach forward behind him and take a small jar from the shelf. You push it into his hand as you open the lid and begin to scoop out some of the waxy salve inside.

The balm, infused with cooling agents and healing properties, provides instant relief to your inflamed skin with a comforting warmth; soothing the rawness that bears the brunt of the day's chafing from your prosthetic.

He inhales the scent, lifting the jar to his nose and hums at the fresh, earthy aroma.

“Homemade.” You clarify.

“More potions from my talented sorceress.” Ezra smirks. “May I?”

You nod, holding the jar for him as he scoops out a small dollop, and rubs it between his thick fingers until the consistency turns thin.

“Tingly,” he says in wonder.

He runs it gently around your skin, rounding the circumference and across the calloused welts and blisters, soothing and massaging gently.

“That feel good?” He queries with a bewitching smile all of his own.

"So good, Ezra." You nod with a breathy hum and he watches as you lean forward and kiss his stump gently, mouthing over the fibrous knots and welts.

“Your mouth is Kevva sent,” he groans as he watches you.

You run your tongue over it, kissing up his shoulder and tasting the salt of his neck. Tasting him there as he fondles and rubs your knee gently, fingers slick with the balm.

“Your ministrations, although kind, are wasted.” He gasps. “I’m not a man that can be tamed. I fear it's been too long that I won’t be gentle.” Ezra warns.

“Neither will I.” You growl as you pull him to you, teeth tugging on his lips.

He engulfs you wholly; his hand swamping your back for support as you crush him towards you. His tongue slithers into your mouth and you suck on it, gasping as you feel his blunt nails rake up your back over your shirt.

“Here?” He pants around your succulent mouth. “Or the comfort of your chambers?”

“Here. There. I don’t care. I just want you, Ezra.” You groan, your body tingling and sweating.

You squeal in delight as he stands with you abruptly, his sole arm keeping you wound tight around his body as he steps into your bedroom.

“I may only have one arm, but you're safe in it.” He reassures you by gripping you tight.

“Never doubted it.” You say, nuzzling into the salted musk of his neck as you cling on around it.

He twinkles as he smirks at you; those dark eyes regarding you with a controlled enthral, left to marinate spicily in your thoughts and on the fine hairs of your arms.

Outside, the sky growls, bearing its teeth as Ezra lays you on the bed. He watches you unbutton your shirt and pull off your panties, revealing yourself fully bare in all your flesh and graces to him.

His eyes roam over the contours of your body, taking in the shape of your tummy, your hips, the swell of your breasts. The way your right leg curls up and the way your left, stopping at the knee, moves with a seductive fluidness to it just like the other.

Your entire body is his to freely claim, to roam unbidden. Slick pussy to drown in, to worship at the altar.

He's never been a good man, undeserving of the fruit you bear freely to him now as he licks his salivating lips. But you make him feel good; a small, insidious voice convincing him he’s unworthy is quashed inside his mind, silenced blissfully as you beckon him forward and allow him to touch, to explore.

He’s marvelled by his own restraint, wanting nothing more than to tear into you - pull you apart and put you back together again. Yet he’s rendered docile, eager to draw long, haunting moans out of you as he tastes and feels each of them, taking his sweet, glorious time instead.

“You’re so…” He fails to find the right word in his mental thesaurus to do it justice. "I want nothing more than to whelve myself inside of your tight, hot cunt right now." Ezra sighs, staring at your slick centre, an obvious tent growing in his pants. “But first, we must discuss logistics."

You giggle looking up at him. “Fuck logistics, just get over here and fuck me.”

He shakes his head in disbelief at you, spread out before him and he swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Can you ride me?” He kneels on the bed, pink lacing his cheeks. “It’s easier if you can, my balance is often maligned. A chin to the nose might be an unpleasant douse to the fire.”

“I can. I might need you to support me if we go hard.” You nod.

“I can do whatever you need.” Ezra smirks crookedly. "Slow, fast... hard."

“What do you need?” You ask him, reaching for his face and planting kisses over it.

He smells wildly acrid, a build up of sweat and grime from the city has sunk into his flesh, but you’re undeterred as your mouth runs over his skin. Your cunt is so fucking wet just inhaling the stagnant, earthy hidrosis of him; beads of your slick running out of you in a delectable tickle.

“I need you to sit on my face, pet.” Ezra instructs you through a strained grunt, his lips curling up over his teeth as he helps position you above him.

You lower yourself down onto his waiting tongue, holding onto the bed railings. His arm is firmly around you, as assured.

He licks burning acid on your pussy, dissolving you down to the chalk of your bones as he tastes you; groaning into your folds hungrily. You grind on his mouth, chasing that blooming high that tingles and leaves you clawing in his hair desperately as he tongue fucks you gloriously.

You're basking in the pure pleasure of his mouth and tongue lapping at your pussy, all consuming and euphoric. Losing yourself to that dreamy build up of tension that arches your back and curls your toes.

And just when you think you can't take it anymore, suddenly all that tension is released and pulses throughout your body. You fall into a zen state of absolutely nothing - just white, hot pleasure coursing through your body.

You forget everything. Your name. The aches from your prosthetic. You even forget to breathe. He’s taken your body and mind to this exquisite place simply with his mouth and lets you fly and float around up in there until you come down, and then he’ll build you up again and again.

“I could lick you for turns, pet.” He snuffles through a satiated smile.

It makes you melt into him, crumpled like paper. Burnt up and falling ashy onto his skin. His stump rests against your thigh, prodding gently against it as his hand sweeps down your back and grips onto your ass, pushing your cunt further onto his mouth.

You move your hips, writhing against his tongue as he licks up onto your clit and you cry out in relief at how good it feels.

“You taste divine,” he muffles around your sticky lips.

He pushes his head up, lips squelching around to get right in as your thighs ripple and shake as he brings you to the edge once more. You're standing on the precipice of the universe and looking down into it's swamping, glittery depth.

You rest back on your hands, your fingers squeezing around the meat of his thighs as his one hand blazes a journey over your belly and towards your breasts where he squeezes and massages the left in his grip. His eyes stare up at you and you stare down, lips parting as your moans increase.

His tongue is precisely erratic, licking, sucking and flicking in all the places he can get to to draw your orgasm out and make it last. A kaleidoscope of colours stream in the room, their waltz blinding you as they swirl and merge. You can feel it all over your body, the heat, the burning as you tense and coil.

When you come again, it feels like you're floating once more; your body slack and wibbly as you gush into his waiting mouth. And as much as you could let him do this, for indeed many a turn, you want him in your mouth too.

You move with ease, comfortable to slide across the sheets gracefully and with speed that makes him grin. Pulling his pants down, you see him in all of his thick, weeping glory.

"Fuck, Ezra..." You murmur at the sight of him.

“This is how you make me feel.” Ezra pants as you stare at the hard swell of him almost lunging out his groin at you.

His cock feels imposing; heavy and smooth. A flushed pink head swollen and leaking profusely. You feel how hard he is, how he’s acutely dripping for you; strings of pre-cum coming away in your palm as he brings it up to his mouth and licks it away whilst eyeing you.

And you can’t explain what it does to your body, let alone your brain, at how wet he is for you. And hard, so fucking hard that it bulges angrily; a taut, thick vein popping off on the side.

“Take me to paradise, Birdie.” Ezra hums, as he watches you slither between his legs and take him in your mouth.

Ezra's eyes roll into the back of his head and he bites his lip until it bleeds copper rust on his tongue. He makes some intangible sound as he looks down at his fat cock sucked slowly and deeply into your mouth.

He brushes your hair away with shaky fingers, unsure and unfamiliar with such a gentle movement that he orchestrates, thumb stroking over your cheek.

“You can take it deeper than that. I know you can. Let me slide all the way down in there. Feel me in your belly.” Ezra grunts.

He bucks his hips as you swallow, your fingers scratching into the soft, wiry hairs in his groin and over his belly. He fills your throat and you feel him twitch when you suck harder.

He pulls your head back and tells you to spit on it. Smirking, you do as he instructs, and he watches as the globule decorates him in crystal strings.

“More,” Ezra keens, as you spit and drool over his cock further.

You’re panting for it; desperate to have him inside of your mouth again as he keeps it close enough, but just out of reach from your lips - teasing with that crooked grin lacing down at you.

But then, he finally lets you have it again, and is enthralled as you take him in greedily like you’ve been starved.

Humming in satisfaction, you suck him down and swallow deep, feeling him prod at the back of your throat as he guides and controls you with his hand knotted in your hair.

His grunts are felt on the end of your clit, his satisfaction tingling all through your body and you get off on getting him off; grinding your hips against the comforter on the bed as you suck, chasing your own release. Groaning out around his cock when the sheet catches your clit deliciously.

You pull him out of your mouth in a wet slurp and begin kissing around his groin; each little kiss peppering him and absorbing into his skin, leaving further fiery brands as you go.

You haven’t lost interest in his dick, still grasping him in your hand and running it over him, but you’re interested in all of him now, want all of him.

He’s drawn into your eyes as they look up at him, as you work your way across his abdomen and leave his hand to weaken inside of your scalp. It drops to your jaw as he helps you slither up his body and kisses you.

He’s surprisingly gentle, explorative and leaves no part of you untouched by his lips as he’s only too willing to return the favour. He lays back, his body weakening as you sit on his cock; your hands running through his hair, massaging his scalp as his head lolls back and he loses himself to the feel of your nails scratching through it.

You’re squirming and pushing yourself down on his length.

“Oh, you want it all, huh? Take it. Fuck my cock, pet. It’s yours.” He husks.

“You feel so good.” You whine, pulling on his hips as you work.

“I'm going to make a mess of you when I come.” He grunts.

“I want you to fill me up, Ezra.”

“Flood you,” he groans. “Fuck, I want to ruin you, but I want you like this too. It’s confounding.” He pants.

"Plenty of time to ruin me," you groan.

The infinite kaleidoscope only intensifies, becoming more vivid. Bursts of colour explode from behind your eyelids and are felt warming you all over as his cock nudges against the deepest part inside of you.

“Ezra!”

You feel his mouth roaming your chest. Sucking your nipples between his teeth as he alternates, pulling on them, teasing them hard; the tiny spots around your areolas standing and tightening too. Little pleasurable bumps that each have their own nerve centre that make your pussy twinge and drip like a leaky faucet over his cock as you ride.

Soon you flop forward onto him, your breasts hitting the hardness of his chest. That delicious pull deep inside your belly makes itself known. That tight, knotting before you’ll snap back and release.

His pants increase and those growls start to haunt. He’s close. It’s in the way he grabs and paws at you more sloppy now, like he can barely hold on anymore.

All it takes is an enticing whisper from you, telling him to come, to let go, to fill you up, and his teeth sink into your shoulder.

He groans and grunts deeply, hips stuttering and candid whimpers leaving his breath. All the atoms of his being spilling into you, thick and warm as he drips out of your cunt over his thighs.

And Ezra doesn’t let you go. He keeps you there, kissing you, glued to his chest, fitted around him like a perfect puzzle piece.

The surge-five still roars outside, but seemingly less consequential.

The acidic rains have moved on and the window of the bedroom is speckled with only a few streaks of wayward drops that the wind blows in squiggly lines around it; the tail ends of shooting stars before they die out completely.

A little snuffle beside your ear focuses your attention on Ezra, still asleep beside you in the middle of the night; his stumped arm poking out of the bobbled blanket, and his other still curled under your back and ending around your waist.

His fingers twitch occasionally, as he jostles and flinches in his sleep, still branding on the skin on your navel. You wonder what he dreams about to make him shudder so.

Your head tilts to examine his face in the darkness. The slow roaming from the blonde tuft so stark in his chocolate hairline, to the way in which his eyelids flutter restlessly as his eyeballs move under them as though something is alive.

He pelts your face with light breaths that are warm and hardened, and yet it’s a scent that doesn’t putrefy as you allow yourself to be bathed in the warmth of them.

You refute anything that’ll disturb your peace right now, such as the dull urge to urinate, instead cocooning yourself further into this moment right here in Ezra’s sleep laden grip.

He’s unlike any other man you’ve ever met and it leaves you breathless as you examine his face whilst he sleeps beside you.

Thick eyelashes adorn his swollen, sealed lids and a wiry scar is a slapdash carving below his left eye socket, leaving your imagination to ponder how he obtained it.

A thick velvet slug, matted with sweat and the residue of your slick, clings to his top lip, whilst the rest of his chin and neck is garnished with unruly stubble that's in the throes of growing in length and sparsity in hodgepodge greying patches.

His lips, pale pink and fuller on the bottom set, are chapped and sore, much like your own as you continue to gnaw on them whilst you mull the events over of how this enigma came to be in your sheets this night.

“See something you like, Birdie?” Those lips move with a small gruff tone.

“Merely spectating.” You reply back, softly.

“Spectating? I think the term is voyeurism.” Ezra smiles with his eyes still closed, and the creases around them grow in number and folds.

You smile and Ezra can hear the moisture in your mouth click around your teeth at such a close proximity.

“Your lament protests about sleeping on the recliner were just a bunch of who shot John, weren't they?” He croons into the skin of your neck, dipping his head as he stretches. You feel him inhale deeply against your skin.

Ezra wonders briefly if he’s suffered another loss, for his left arm is numb with the weight of you resting on it. He wiggles his fingers bringing them back to life and feels your skin warm against it under the blanket.

“Your practicality has been lampshaded,” he whispers. “Tell me, did you plot this tryst into fruition?” He chuckles.

“One would think this situation is amusing to you,” you say.

“It’s ah… something.” That brazen itch turns from ghastly mania into a settling excitement, an accepted wave of rapture that shakes his bones at your warmth and proximity; the blood in his body rushing towards the end of his cock at breakneck speeds.

“I fear I won’t be able to resist sordid temptation much longer.” Ezra repeats, a dirty grunt escaping through his strained voice.

“Then don’t. Defile me at your whim.”

The sound of his haughty chuckle is both harmonious and husky at the same time as it reverberates from somewhere deep in his chest cavity. Ezra is most attractive when he smiles and laughs, you think. It completely changes his stern, scowled face.

Perfect, puffy lips crooking up into his cheeks revealing a dimple that draws the eye in; a smile that could convince the sun into imploding. But his smile has dissipated and those dark eyes are prying into places they ought not to pry again.

"I'm going to annihilate you, pet." He whispers, grazing his lips against your own. "You think you can take it?"

You know you’re stupid to think you can do this; nudge him to the precipice and encourage as he jumps off it willingly. Coax him to show you the most depraved, abominable parts of himself and not have some repercussions come and bite you on the ass for it.

See him unleashed fully; the worlds across the Interplanetary cracking open and their suns splitting into two as he savages and ravages.

But you want him despite all the swill and misfortune; you want him to make you fall apart - to totally obliterate you. Use you as mere clay for his own twisted satisfactions as he leaves imprints and eternal marks on you that’ll blister and bleed.

The way he touches you, the way he doesn't shy away from your body leaves you wanting for the affection he drowns you in. He’s your missing piece making you whole. He dilutes your pain with his own making it bearable.

You shudder at the feel of his fingers softly stroking over your half leg; a ghostly touch that you acutely zone into. His eyes are still brooding into yours.

"Break me." You urge.

“I can smell your sweet stink all over me." Ezra grunts as his fingers slip down the between your ass cheeks, leaving a devastation of goose pimples in their wake.

You rest your clipped knee onto his hip, opening you up for him. You bite your lip, gnawing frantically on the bottom as the path takes a delectable turn towards your cunt.

Your head swims; the hairs on your body and nipples coming alive. Feeling high and giddy, balanced on that precarious cusp of passing out, but not quite managing to do so.

You breathe out slowly as his fingers pause; the burn of them felt deep inside your core already as you clench around nothing, and the throb of your clit aches and prickles with a pang of eager want.

Ezra’s gaging; reading your reactions and fine tuning into that solid will that you’ve been dismantling slowly over the course of the last turn spent with him.

He knows, for it’s ambushed his own impenetrable walls too.

He feels your hand clamp around his cock as the tension in your body pulverises at any remaining restraint you have. He strokes over your mound towards your clit, and as soon as he touches it - that hard, pulsing nub - you both groan out in unison. His fingers push into your pussy, slow and thick as you gasp.

Your other hand fists inside his hair as your face draws nearer to his own, your eyes zoning in on his lips that are wet as he licks them.

“I will destroy you.” Ezra breathes, admitting defeat. “I have nothing to give you, pet.”

“I don’t want what credits can buy from you.” You moan as his fingers swipe over your clit. “You see me.”

“I do. I see all of you. I like what I see.” He tongues at the skin at your neck. “You see me, too.”

“It’s kinda hard not to, you’re like a neutron star.” You smile.

“You trying to woo me, pet?” He smirks, as he slides down your body, kissing over it as he goes, elbow pressed into the mattress for support.

“Is it working?” You gasp as he abruptly buries his head between your centre, and lets his tongue go to work.

Your head is thrown back in the pillows, your eyes greeted with that dark void of space; the stars turning in their spirals as time slows down and he pulls you out from the inside.

Marvelling at the true alchemy of his tongue as it laps at your wet folds and he slurps you up like water, dehydrated like he once was on Kerulon. Transcending above the highest point in infinity and still climbing as your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

Your hand fists through his hair, drawing him closer; his nose dusting your clit as his tongue fucks deep and swallows all the sweet honey you have to give him.

“All I can do is take you to the stars.” He grunts. “Is that enough for you?”

“More than enough.” You whine as you come around his lips.

Ezra then spends the rest of the night breaking you apart, piece by piece, and putting you back together again, just as he said he would.

His voice wakes you, but not from beside you where you expect him to be.

“Consarn it, you fumbling bawheid!”

You quickly reach for a tattered robe and grab at your crutches, wooden and rickety beside the bed, and follow the infernal muttering to the kitchen where he’s standing around broken cups on the floor.

Ezra glances up at you with razor wire for lips pressed into a thin line.

“Were you making tea?” You enquire through heavy lids, and he turns bashfully from you, the broadest back presented and littered with constellations of freckles and moles.

“Yes trying, but my cumber-world impairment-” he grits his teeth “-makes me sloppy. Fuck.”

Your gaze lingers curiously over him, determining him not to be an apparition but real; half expecting him to have fled already. You glance behind you and the Aurelac gem is still there on the shelf by the window as he left it.

“I can make the tea.” You smile softly, a hand reaching out to touch the expanse of his back, and his hackles immediately soften.

He steps to you, his singular hand finding the familiar shape of your waist as he pulls you close.

You take in the detailing on his worn face again. The way the pores on the smooth bump of his nose are marred with oil, the thickness of his brow; the entice of his full bottom lip.

Ezra wanders freely over your features too, from the shine in your eyes to the feel of your hair soft in his hand as he brushes his fingers through it like a comb.

He scratches up to your scalp massaging your skull as he steps closer into your personal space and your eyes close at the sensation of it, birthing millions of prickles across your skin; your nipples standing tall and hard beneath the slip of the gown you’d thrown on, like diamonds cutting through the thin fabric.

“How good does that feel?” His breath is drenched in a stale warmth on your face and you breathe the notes in deep.

"Really good." You breathe, nuzzling into his ministrations.

"Is your body defeated, pet, or can you take more?" He whispers into your crown.

You smirk. "More."

"Greedy." He snickers. "You'd make a fine Prospector."

Something’s hanging around in the air between you; something that’s unspoken. You’ve noticed it growing between you as the eventful turn has worn on into the night and seeks the new light of the dawn glowering through the smog.

It’s inside the delirious crookshank smile on his lips as he reveals it to you in between the comfortable silences when you talk. In his swampy brown eyes that take you in and feel as though he’s pulling you apart with them to see what’s really going on inside of your fibres and nerves.

And it's here again now as you linger, watching Ezra watching you, sensing that when the time comes to part from the questionable consternation of his company, it'll leave ruptures somewhere inside of you.

The black lacquer thoughts slither up from your spine and germinate insipid sparks into your core; a groundless lust that dizzies you from the smooth tickle of his fingers brushing down your hip and across your thigh.

You gasp as his fingers stray too close to your swollen centre, still drenched warm with his copious spend and aching from the stretch of him.

You’re weak for him; weak for those skilled fingers on his singular hand to be crawling inside of you and fucking you up, quite literally, as he weaves them in and out of your soaked pussy, curling them and wrapping you around them further.

“Ezra,” you gasp as he pumps them in and out, your balance swaying.

“Hold onto me,” he says, as you rest your crutches against the counter and wrap your arms around his neck.

He pulls your only leg around his waist once more, hard cock bobbing at your perineum, lifting you with ease; his only hand resting on your ass, and carries you back to bed.

Ezra has you all over again, devouring, leaving his marks on your body. Revelling in the melodies of your panting chants of his name as he fucks deep and hard.

His lips part slowly as do yours, reacting to him. Drawn to him, drawn into him completely and controlled somehow like a puppet and he’s playing with your strings; plucking slowly and gently at you and you’ve no idea how.

No idea how you've gotten so willingly naked in front of a stranger, despite his strange appeal, and are allowing him to guide you like this. Thighs splayed open before him and showing him your most intimate self.

It doesn’t matter how, for it’s pure fucking bliss.

You slide down on his cock and ride him slowly, gently as his arm wraps you up and holds you close to him, almost crushing the life out of you as both you exertions wane.

You gasp out, letting his lips go as he fills you up again, makes you detach and lose yourself in this moment inside of his arms - inside of him.

And that’s the crux of it, you want to give him this, make him see that he’s worthy of love and affection and tenderness. You know what it’s like not to have that.

Ezra smiles faintly at you, giving into the feel of you lavishing your love on him.

He reaches down to grope your knee gently, and you shudder at the feel of his fingers brushing against it. You run your hand equally down his stump, and you watch as his eyes glisten before he scrunches them shut and crushes you against his chest as he spills inside you once more.

“The storm has quelled. I should take my leave.” He says distantly after, stroking over your smooth nub as it rests languidly across his torso. His gentle touch soothes better than the balm.

“You should stay.” You murmur, hoping he hasn't heard the longing in it. But of course, the plucky sleeveen has.

“We find ourselves in a quandary.” Ezra retorts as he draws circles over your skin with his fingers.

“Dare I ask what stories these tell?” You put to him as your fingers trace the marred lines over his sternum.

“Probably wise if you remain in the dark, Birdie. I was not a gentle man once upon a time.” His warning is stark, but his eyes are soft and velvety as you look at them.

“You know how to be gentle.” You sway.

He nods. “To those who I feel so inclined.” He nudges his nose against yours.

The skin of your knee is so soft despite the roughness of the chafe. It’s a sensation that imbues you with warmth rather than discomfort; his thick fingers caressing gently, exchanging heat between your skin.

You’ve never let anyone feel it before, but he doesn't shy away. Neither do you as you kiss and flick your tongue tenderly over the stump of his arm. You let your tongue dip into the jagged welts and fleshy riverbeds of his scars.

He hums out with his eyes closed as you explore languidly and find your way eventually back to his bruised lips.

He makes you feel seen, he makes you feel whole for the first time. And it’s a feeling you don’t want to let willingly extinguish. You kiss him deeply, fearing it might be the last time.

“Your hospitality has been most charitable, pet. The swell has dissipated satisfactorily.”

You sigh out. “This whole idea was just idiotic from the get go.” You’re already mourning the loss of him, another part failing to grow on your body, but he doesn’t move.

“Something I specialise in.” Ezra muses. But his smirk downturns when he sees your face. “Is that sincere affection you possibly harbour?”

“You think this whole time I spent with you was a ruse?” You frown.

He shakes his head. “I hope not. Did I fall victim to a spell?”

“I want you to stay, Ezra.” You say, reaching for his hand. “But only if you want to. There’s a place for you here, with me, if you want it.”

He closes his eyes, your knuckles resting on his lips, his thumb stroking over the hilt.

“You definitely have me under a spell. There’s no other possible explanation.” He hums as his eyes find yours staring back, unwavering. “You and your magic tea.”

“No magic. Maybe you just want to stay with me.” You smile, knowingly.

“Perhaps some things can’t be explained by the universe after all.”

“Perhaps it’s the Aurelac.” You snort. “That Siren song you Prospectors can't resist.”

Ezra shakes his head vehemently. “Maybe it’s just you, Birdie.” He smiles as he leans in to kiss you. “Maybe I finally found my missing piece.”

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Ezra, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

EZRA MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #pedro pascal characters #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x f!reader #prospect 2018 #ezra prospect smut #ezra prospect fluff #tw limb loss #tw prosthesis #every body is beautiful #diversity #inclusivity #bodies series #jett's writing

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jksprincess10 · 10 months

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Puppet || Sub!Ezra x reader

A/N: First time writing Ezra so please be kind. Let’s say the thesaurus was hella handy.

CWs: sub!Ezra, voyeurism, dubcon, non consensual situation (but both parties are into it later on), drugging, f masturbation, degradation, Ezra finally shuts the fuck up for a bit, bondage, begging, teasing, bj, rough sex.

When your ship crashed on this unexplored moon, you thought you’d be alone, and honestly, dead. But this strange man took you under his wing. He was well equipped for this hostile environment and he, in his words, meant no harm, little bird.

Cycles came and left as you stayed with the man. He was… hot

and particularly annoying.

You thought of more ways than one to shut him up.

One of them was to put a special herb that you could find on the Green Moon that caused every drowsiness. You collected some, to “help with your sleep”. But, in reality you put a small dose in the man’s water he always drank before bed.

“I feel peculiarly slumberous, little bird. I will lay down now.” Ezra said as he yawned and stretched. You looked at him indifferently as he laid down on his cot, and as you pretended to clean your suit filter.

Minutes later, you could hear his soft snores. Your tent companion never snored, except when he was in a very deep sleep. It worked. You’d finally have some fucking peace and quiet. You engaged in various activities that you couldn’t do with Ezra’s constant chitchatting. Only his snores and the life of the Green Moon were your background noises.

After a few hours, your eyes were closing by themselves. So, you hopped in the “shower”, that was a series of pipes put clumsily together that connected to a limited supply of water – and it was always lukewarm. Under this shower, you of course had a direct view of Ezra sleeping peacefully – usually, he would turn around and do something else while you were showering. But now, you could look at him: perfectly still, t-shirt pulled over his abdomen as his strong arm was over his forehead, mouth slightly open. In this dimly lit room by a lantern, you could distinguish a trail of dark hair under his bellybutton.

You found him attractive, yes. But you never truly looked at him, like this, vulnerable, almost… adorable.

“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath, and you felt wrong for doing it, but you had needs. Your hand traveled south.

Until he started moving more. Fuck fuck fuck. Your hand stopped over your mound.

You knew when he woke up, he would probably be mad at you for drugging him. He could really hurt you. The man had very grey morals. You turned the water off and dried rapidly, tying a towel around you as you rummaged around in a panic. You found various straps Ezra used to fix different things.

Before he could move more, you straddled his hips, shivering at the rub of fabric on your naked thighs. You solidly and carefully tied his wrists together. He barely moved, barely made a sound. For good measure, you also wrapped a strap around his head, trapping his mouth. You went to your own cot and finished what you started.

Minutes later, you heard a muffled voice and trashing sounds. You turned to the side, and his wide eyes met with your naked figure.

“Slept well?” You asked. “Oh wait, you can’t talk.” You got down from your cot and approached him. “I should’ve given you a bigger dose, so you’d sleep better, hm?” You sat on the bed beside him, your hand caressing his dark hair with an unsettling softness. “Any undesired effects?” You looked down at him to inspect his skin, until your eyes met with the thick tent in his pajama’s pants. “Oh, interesting.”

He tried talking again, so you slowly undid the gag, but kept it close in case he annoyed you.

“Now, have I gone astray, little bird? Why am I restrained?” He didn’t seem bothered now that his mouth was free. He even looked like… he was enjoying himself, a devilish tint in the dark eyes that were absorbing your bare figure.

“Frankly? I was tired of your constant chitchatting. I wanted some peace.”

“I cannot really blame you, I am quite chatty.”

“I might keep you like this for a little while, though.” You said, thinking.

“I am afraid we might have a little complication that I need to tend to.” He said as he looked down to his clothed, clearly erected cock.

“I can help. On one condition.”

“Yes.”

“If you don’t talk.”

“I will put on my best… silent, performance.”

“Good, I don’t mind gagging you again.”

Your hands pushed on his arms, so he’d keep them over his head in a slightly uncomfortable position. He looked up at you with hungry eyes.

“I must say you look quite… appealing.”

“Shh.” Your lips met in a rough kiss, mostly dominated by you. You held him down with firm hands on his chest. Your tongue met his, your teeth teased his bottom lip. He moaned in your open mouth without any shame, and you felt him move under you for friction. You pulled away and looked down at him.

“Don’t move.” You saw the way his mouth opened to talk, but he bit back his words, remembering your conditions.

You slid down on his body like a snake and pulled on his shirt to reveal skin that hadn’t been really exposed to the sun. Your lips traced his throat, tasting the salty taste of sweat there, and you kept going down, until you found a raised nipple. You took the pinkish skin between your lips, sucking and grazing it with your teeth. His hips bucked up on instinct. You were also starved for human touch, but you wanted him to deserve it.

“Fucking pest, be still.” You grunted.

“I just… really wish you would…” One of your hands covered his mouth so he didn’t finish his sentence. Meanwhile, your lips kept exploring his chest. He was lean, muscles mostly concentrated in his flexed arms. You kissed the skin over his belly button, then traced his dark happy tail with the tip of your tongue. Ezra’s moans vibrated against your hand.

You freed him so you could use your hands to take off his bottoms. You could see the obscene prominence of his cock in his thin, grey briefs.

“Such a pretty boy, aren’t you?” You murmured to yourself, as you leaned down over his thighs. You sucked on the skin there, avoiding any contact with his aching cock. A colorful bruise formed on his pale skin. Ezra squirmed, biting back a moan as he pulled on his ties.

“I implore you, little bird…”

You pulled down his briefs, his red and angry cock sprung out. You kissed the skin over it, avoiding his erection.

“Please, it’s excruciating.”

He sighed of relief when you licked from the base to the tip, but then, you moved away again. You straightened up, kneeling between his opened thighs to look at his pained expression. In the corner of his eyes, you could see the slight sparkle of fresh tears. Amused, you leaned down again to take the tip of his cock between your lips, sucking on it, tasting his salty precum. You let his cock fall from your mouth and you cupped his balls in your hand.

“Poor baby.” You mocked him. “You wanna cum, Ezra? It hurts?”

“Y-Yes.”

“If I let you cum, will you be good?”

Ezra nodded enthusiastically.

“How do you wanna cum, dirty pest?”

“I want to…fuck you, I beg of you, little bird.”

Hearing him being so crude dissolved every bit of resolve that you had left.

“Sit up. Good boy.” Ezra’s hands were still tied together, and he extended them with puppy-dog eyes. You sighed and cut the ties with a strong pull of your teeth. The man moved his tired bones, then lifted his hands in a defeated manner.

“I will not attempt anything. I swear.”

“Hmhm. You better not.” Your pelvis hovered over his as you bent your knees. You were still aroused from your solitary caresses performed earlier, so the head of his cock slid in pretty easily. You let out a long, relieved sigh as you felt him completely filling you up.

“In my years of living… I don’t think I have ever felt anything so divine.”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips, and you grabbed the back of his head, tugging on the dark curls there to bring his face closer. Your lips ravaged his as you started moving up and down at a slow pace. Ezra’s moans died against your lips. You stopped moving for a few seconds, just taking the time to feel him filling you up.

“Please –” You bit on his bottom lip to shut him up, and you started moving again, but instead of moving up and down, you rolled your hips. You guessed he was pleased by the look on his face ; eyes rolled to the back of his skull, mouth opened – where you could see a bit of blood on his bottom lip - in a silent moan. You kept going at a steady rhythm, until he got tired of waiting. He pushed you away from him, and your back laid on his cot. You tried protesting, but he was stronger. The drugs had worn off by now – he felt less and less tired.

“I apologize, little bird.” Ezra held your wrists above your head with the use of one big hand, and he reinvaded your walls in one quick movement, thrusting almost immediately, setting a rough pace. You were left a moaning mess under him. “I will partake in your little games at later date.”

He was grunting like an animal and twitched between your tight walls, shooting ropes of cum inside you. Your body felt limp and you watched as he guided his dick out of your hole, the man’s gaze absorbed by the mixture of your juices.

“I’m sorry I drugged you.” You finally said.

“I am afraid apologizes won’t do this time, little bird.”

He slid an arm under you and turned you around, holding up your ass against his pelvis. He rummaged around to find the strap you used to tie his mouth shut with and tied your wrists against your back. You groaned, but you were too tired to fight him.

His half-hard cock slid between your folds, making you wince with how oversensitive you were.

“Ezra, please…”

“How did you call me? Pest? We’ll see about that.”

#ezra prospect #sub!ezra #sub!ezra x reader #ezra x reader #ezra x afab reader #ezra x female reader #ezra x you #ezra x yn #ezra smut #ezra prospect smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader

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skeleton-chef · 5 months

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I made a bg3 save with my sister, here are some of the things shes done while playing:

- told me that shadowheart had a little bit of a “fuckass bob”

-got mad when I told her she couldn’t befriend the dragons or the imps on the nautaloid. She said “I have friends with animals and so far all the animal you’ve shown me I can’t be friends with”

-asked if she could just kill her character and play as the creature (us the intellect devourer)

-refers to Lae’zel as bestie

-want to make friendship bracelets that the companions can never take off. Ever.

-gave me the nastiest side eye when I told her people want to bang the illithed

- “oh thank god he had his thesaurus with him when he fell out of this ship 🙄” in reference to Gale.

-“huh there is definitely nothing strange about this very pointy elf” in reference to meeting Astarion

-called Astarion a “fruitcake” and “twinkalishus”

Those are just some of the things.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 lae'zel #bg3 spoilers #bg3 durge #bg3 oc #bg3 dark urge #bg3 gale #bg3 karlach #bg3 wyll #bg3 companions #bg3 fanart #baldur's gate oc #baldurs gate 3 #bauldur’s gate #baldurs gate tav

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infinite-orangepeel · 1 year

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hi friends ! i’m marissa (she/her, 25)! any free time I have is spent obsessively writing steddie angst/smut. i currently have 2 wips in progress (both angst w/happy ending), as well as, a handful of completed smutshots.

you can find me on ao3 here

you can find me on twitter here

you can find me on tiktok here

my ko-fi (if you’d like to buy me a matcha or support what i do 💛)

masterlist

✰ steddie ficlets/ask prompts

gym partner steddie: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3 (complete)

scarred love (excerpt from my in progress ao3 fic it's rotten work)

steddie hickeys (completed)

steve's pretty little noises (completed)

shhh, use your words; ft. ftm!steve harrington & steddie mutual masturbation (completed)

steddie valentine’s day edition (completed)

kas!eddie/steve (potential to be continued ! just posted so waiting to see if that’s something people are interested in)

rockstar!steddie with baby girl steve (completed)

steddie phone sex (completed)

perv!eddie/camboy!steve (to be continued…)

on this blog i post/reblog about:

✰ steddie (a lot of steddie, mostly steddie tbh, i think about them 24/7) incorrect quotes, headcanons, ficlets, blurbs, & general ramblings

✰ babygirl steve harrington

✰ joe keery (and djo), joe quinn

✰ gay stranger things ships/content

✰ ronance (my beloved angel girls, nancy wheeler made me gay)

✰ the fruity four, the spicy six, jargyle, lumax, byler, etc.

✰ wip excerpts & fic updates

general notes:

✰ i occasionally post nsfw content, hence this blog is 18+ only

✰ currently accepting prompts/requests for steddie (including nsfw) ! feel free to submit, it's open for anyone :)

other things i'm into that i'd love for you to come talk to me/ask me about in my inbox or dms:

✰ i'm a slut for steddie ? did i mention that yet ?

✰ richard siken and/or gay literary icons in general

✰ the catholic girl to queer girl pipeline (yes, i have religious trauma and yes, my fics often contain religious imagery in an nsfw way)

✰ books, book recs, fic recs, fic writing, fic writers, words, poetry, the thesaurus, word vomit, writer's block, etc.

✰ t.v.: stranger things, lost, alice in borderland, white lotus, got/hotd

✰ movies: horror (genre), wes anderson, ari aster

#welcome #pinned post #steddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fic writers

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aestariiwilderness · 25 days

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Bad Batch Episodes 10-11 *SPOILERS*

PART II

Shep to Phee with a shock blanket around his shoulders breathing into a paper bag (because apparently none of these dear sweet island people have anything practical like, say, surface-to-air missiles, guns, militias, traps, hidden ships, shelters, or competence): and then he said "search every domicile!" Phee:... Phee: Domicile? Shep: ...yeah? Phee: Shep: Phee: GET ME A NET AND A THESAURUS, I HAVE ME MY MAN TO CATCH

#the bad batch #bad batch season 3 #funny #tbb season 3 spoilers #spoilers #star wars #bad batch season 3 spoilers #tech x phee

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trek-tracks · 4 months

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2023 Tumblr Top 10

1. 37,882 notes - Feb 5 2023

When a student copies an essay online instead of writing it and then painstakingly changes every word to a synonym until the...

2. 31,907 notes - Nov 24 2023

3. 8,990 notes - May 30 2023

4. 3,960 notes - Jan 29 2023

5. 3,494 notes - May 19 2023

Spock and McCoy definitely have an agreement that, if Kirk shows up on the Bridge looking miserable or distant, they will start...

6. 3,322 notes - Mar 20 2023

7. 3,168 notes - Aug 14 2023

8. 2,834 notes - Mar 30 2023

Do you ever think about how Kirk had a "best friend" on the ship before Bones in Gary Mitchell, a man who: a) deviously...

9. 2,754 notes - Jan 8 2023

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Created by TumblrTop10

#tumblrtop10 #jetblackcode #star trek #star trek tos #star trek aos #leonard mccoy #spock #jim kirk #nyota uhura #star trek voy #borg #threshold #canada post #cat of amontillado #ship of thesaurus #well i guess i breached containment at least a couple of times this year not bad #good for willow her cute face deserves it

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illarian-rambling · 2 months

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Thanks for the tag @amandacanwrite!

Oc in Fifteen

Hmm, I've already done one of these for Djek and I did another thing for Izjik, so let's go with Sepo! He's one of four mcs in my Honor's Outcasts trilogy. As a siren exile, he's also missing his tongue, so his dialog is a mix between sign language and later on, telepathic communication

"Is human dancing supposed to look you're having a seizure?"

"I knocked him out quite good, I assure you."

"And you didn't fucking tell us? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Keep up this bullshit and you'll find out exactly how personable I can be. Again, what do you want?"

"They got mugged, they were fine."

"First off, buy a thesaurus. Your trust fund can take it. Secondly, it's none of your damn business. Third, who's this uncle of yours and did he ever take a trip to Janaz roughly sixteen years ago?"

"What do you mean? I'm impeccably polite."

"You'd better remember this spell. I know Izjik gives me a stupid voice in her head."

"And I expect some fucking aid. I expect you to fight to the bitter end if that's what it takes, because you might love your husband, your son, but the people on that ship are the reason I'm here today and if your impatience costs them their lives, then believe me when I say I will turn that city down there into a fiery crater when I rip this damn island out of the sky!"

"Blue is too cliche and red makes me look sunburnt. Purple is just a bad color in general."

"This will be easier if you think of a religion like a business. They want to sell their product to as many people as possible while undercutting their competitors. If there's a flaw in their product, they don't want that getting out. Hence the expungement of the records."

"For you, I'll give him the 'Djek, stop touching my damn stuff' special."

"I'm a head-injured veterinarian---not exactly a threat."

"Not to---actually, no, I'll be a bitch if I want to---what the hell are you yammering about?"

"Every day she spent in the hands of that woman is another pound of flesh I expect you to serve up in her interest. Breaking our friends out is a good start, but you're her damn father and after this, I expect you to start acting like it. She wants to go to school in Unity. You can start with that."

I think it's very in-character that over a quarter of these are threats

I'll tag @muse-mp4 @snooeycatwrites and @a-crystallen-author

Have a bitchin day <3

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs #author

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girlwithherheadinthestars · 4 months

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tips for editing novels i wrote instead of editing

these are mainly targeted to people who find it hard to focus on editing (like yours truly) but really helps for anyone.

work section by section. i started doing this and it wasn't working because i kept reading on to the section after instead of focusing on editing the one section so what i did is copy paste the section (each should be no more than like 1000 words) onto another document and work on it there. read it over and over again until it sounds the way you want it to sound that copy paste it onto the other document and move on to the next section.

sit somewhere quiet. absolutely quiet.

no music.

turn off the wifi on your phone and on your laptop.

to get the emotion right in a scene, listen to music that embodies it. can't catch me now (olivia rodrigo) and east of eden (zella day) are what i'm listening to right now. of course, i can't write and listen to music at the same time because that's the kind of person i am but before you start writing, listen to the music and really get in the feels because emotion is what drives a story forward more than plot

i actually saw an author say this, i can't remember who, but it's good to have a song that evokes emotion so you can write the emotion properly

THESAURUSES. lifesavers. i can't come up with the perfect word to describe something because i have poor memory but the thesaurus always remembers (am i even spelling it right?)

drink water. (now. stand up. if you don't istg i'll find you.)

change the cliches. don't say it was a dark and stormy night. say it was a starless night that smothered even the smallest lamp lit in the little window of a small store at the edge of the abandoned town.

don't tell me what happened, tell me how it felt. it was not cold. her nose stung and her fingernails turned blue, she stamped her feet to keep warm, she shivered despite herself, her teeth chattering.

i think the trick is to search for every time you used the word 'was' and change it to a feeling

read aloud. do impressions. make your annoying character sound like your social studies teacher from 11th grade. have fun with it. just make sure the dialogue doesn't sound stiff and make sure the sentences flow well.

as a rule, shorter sentences flow better and are easier to understand

add more internal monologue, have your character try to reason things in their heads, don't have them just observe what's happening.

this is something i struggle with but if you have a mystery with a grand reveal in the end, keep track of what your readers know and don't know. reveal tiny clues that only fit when you finally see the full picture. be as evil with it as you want.

for motivation, reread your favorite scene (mine is the mc and love interest being adorable)

also, imagine the book being published. who would you dedicate it to? how many people would make tumblr posts analyzing it, how many people would make memes, who would the fandom ship?

finally, unrelated to editing, but if you must kill off characters, don't do it just because you want something dramatic and you need the plot to move forward, only do it for two reasons:

a) it completes the character's arc (i.e. they were afraid of death but when someone they truly loved was in danger they jumped in front of a bullet to save them)

b) they're going to come back to life later as a metaphor for phoenixes rising or something

personally, my favorite thing to do is to leave the death ambiguous. no one will know if the character really died or not (not even me)

#editing #advice #writeblr #creative writing #writing community #writers of tumblr #writing advice #editing advice #writing tips #social studies teacher from 11th grade is the most traumatic human being let me tell you --

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eqt-95 · 4 months

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20 Questions More

A deeper and more detailed version of the 20 questions for AO3 fanfic writers. Thanks @fabulousglitch for the tag!!

1) How do you keep getting ideas for your ship/fandom?

The blorbos won't leave me alone.

2) Which authors inspire you in your fandom, and why are they so freakishly good?

There are too many to count. I was introduced to Supergirl through fanfic and the canon I know to be true has been built on the backs of hundreds of contributors. It wouldn't do anyone justice if I started a list because 1. it would become a monolith of names and 2. I would definitely miss one(s). If you're in this fandom, you've likely inspired me, and that counts both for written, gif-ed, and drawn works.

3) Aside from the characters of your main ship, who are the characters you love to write?

Alex, but I don't always get it right.

4) Are there pairings or tropes you know for sure you'd never write about? Which ones?

There is a lot I probably wouldn't do, but I also for sure never expected to write an F1 au, so...

5) What is your writing process and why is it cursed?

I can either sit down and crush 1-3k words or sit down and tweak the same seven sentences for two hours. There is rarely an in between.

6) What is your favorite part of your writing process?

Editing. Oh boy do I LOVE editing. Those opportunities for finessing and fine-tuning and tweaking are *mwah*

7) What’s the weirdest thing you’ve had to research for a fic?

This isn't weird but is more recent: I did a deep dive into star constellations for a throwaway line in 'new kind of romance'

8) Is there a particular writing rule you struggle with (grammar, spelling, tense, reality in general)?

This is a nonanswer, but I would love to expand my vocabulary. The thesaurus is my writing buddy, but there are very real moments where I pout and scowl and glare at the ceiling because I can't think of the word that I'm feeling.

9) What was your hardest scene to write so far and why?

Any sort of conflict/confession/confrontation is always really hard for me, but they're also maybe my favorite things to write. I want the characters to hash things out and be honest and vulnerable, and I think tackling big emotions is a delicate balance. I never want to sound too forceful, but I don't want to leave things unsaid, but I don't want anyone to do anything out of character, but i don't want to yadda yadda...

10) Have your characters ever done something you didn’t expect, changing your plot completely?

see: 'crisis of indulgence'

11) If you could converse with any of the characters, who would it be and why?

Lena; I think she'd be a lot of fun to debate/argue with (respectfully).

12) What are some of the tropes or themes that you find yourself returning to in your writing?

(so far) always a happy ending. the readers and these characters deserve it.

13) What's your most important resource as a writer?

Living experiences (which takes time!). I don't think I could write heartbreak without having experienced that guttural feeling of loss in the same way I don't think I could write about failure or anger or insecurity or love or laughter. I think reading and the act of writing every day are incredibly resourceful, but the act of my lived experiences and those feelings is something I draw from in everything I write.

14) Can you share some of your strategies for editing and revising your work?

I edit as I go which doesn't work for everyone; however, a super fun thing I've picked up in recent works is this: when going to do a final edit of a <insert: chapter, one-shot, etc>, I read the last few paragraphs first. That sets me up to know exactly what the chapter is aiming for: feelings, motivations, plot, etc. I then use that as the anchor for how I tweak/edit/add small details to the rest of the chapter during my final read-through. I find it helps flesh out the larger story with smaller details.

15) Which is worse: making the summary, picking the tags, or the anxiety when you post your fic?

none of the above really since nothing about posting is carved in stone. tags and summaries can always be tweaked.

16) How do you define success for your fanfic - hits? Kudos? Comments? Bookmarks? Or just if you like it?

If it's finished. Bonus points if people get something out of it, but the act of having written something feels like the biggest success.

17) Do you have a playlist for your favorite character/ship?

Not really. I have go-to soundtracks for 'writing vibes' but nothing project/ship dedicated. (though 'like we're made of glass' was definitely inspired by very specific songs)

18) If fan art was going to be made from your work, which fic would you pick and which fan artist would you like to create it?

Again there are too many jaw-droppingly talented artists in this fandom to choose just one. It would of course be a wild crazy honor to see a work inspired by one of my fics, but there's already so much in this fandom to be inspired by that it doesn't feel like a loss.

19) How many WIPs do you currently have?

*sighs* for supercorp? there are a few (five). but the one that has most of my creative down time is a supercorp wicked au i have wanted to write for years but only have the faintest wisps of an outline for.

20) What's your advice to new fanfic writers?

Do it, do it, do it!

But also, one of my favorite pieces of advice for ANY creative venture is from Marc Dalessio who made this super cool 'creative process' graph in 2010 and included this line to summarize it: The ability to see improves before technical skill, and we often have difficulty assessing honestly exactly how our work looks.

It helps during those ruts when I look at everything I've recently written/drawn/created and scrunch up my nose in snobbish disgust because it just means I'm growing in some new way and not that anything I'm doing is inherently bad.

- - - - -

tagging (respectfully and without pressure) @sideguitars @fazedlight @inkedroplets if you want some rapid-fire q's thrown your way. but also anyone who wants to take a swing, i'd be jazzed to read the different answers

#figured i'd fill this buddy out since i've got post-new romances time on my hands #fabulousglitch #ask game?#qs with quinn #ask me things!

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yoodokjas · 9 months

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What trope would you put Joongdok in?

i honestly think that when it comes to joongdok it would be much easier if i answered with the tropes i WOULDNT put them in 😭😭

oh boy here i go! let's start with two of the most obvious first:

1. matching outfits with opposite color schemes, and 2. opposites (leo & aquarius) attract (<- attract as in lowkey bordering in codependency)

yin & yang - not only are joongdok aesthetically yin&yang but narratively too (i mentioned in a previous ask that they're sky & earth too)

star-crossed - (if you believe in orv's sad ending)

life (and death) companions - is probably a trope on its own considering the meaning of the title. not only does it mean (i ran the term through a thesaurus so yall don't have to 👍🏻👍🏻) "a romantic partner with whom one is exceptionally or uniquely compatible or has a special connection" but the synonyms are also of the romantic variety ranging from (but not limited to) life partner, best friend, soulmate, spouse, true love, one's promised, significant other, love of one's life, beloved, heart's desire etc (long story short, pretty sick tbh. no wonder kr dudebros threw a fit in singshong's comment section over it. i get it) and what makes it infinitely funnier is that it started as crack being treated seriously 😭😭😭😭

anyway, continuing where i left off, Soulmates - kdj is the reason yjh exists. yjh is the reason kdj lives. (hsy wrote both of them in a way that they became each other's salvation hence their position of reader-protagonist gets switched in the epilogue and both of them have admitted that reading about the other's story has saved their lives)

everyone ships them/everyone can see it - uriel, gabriel, ljh, hsy, jhw, lsh, anna croft, persephone/hades (the third eligible candidate to marry kdj was yjh and you will never be able to convince me otherwise. also if you have an answer other than yjh ur wrong), yma (if webtoon dares not to draw the "oppa looks happy when thinking about that ahjussi" you'll see me on the news) the wenny king. heck even gong pildu, upon some consideration and by method of elimination, deduced that theres no way kdj has enough rizz to pull neither ysa nor hsy therefore who was left to be the one who helped kdj birth his "child" (kidified sp) ??? yjh obv 😭😭 and why would he question the possibilities of mpreg when hmo is right there anyway. heck hmo even told kdj that he should try it.

when one is hurt/dying/dead, the other rages, panics, is extremely distressed - (maybe there's a shorter way to say this like "who did this to you" but joongdok have ascended past cheesy romances 😝) disaster of flood arc, aftermath of dark castle, the fight with surya, 1863, aftermath of sp's kidnapping etc

hates everyone but you - sure yjh doesnt hate All constellations but he for sure hates all demon kings. (mini fun fact about me, up until joongdok rebranded my brain, i didnt like this trope)

aloof x low self-esteem = both emotionally constipated 🙄🙄

derogatory term becomes a term of endearment - fool/sunfish (bastard)

bickering like a married couple - is this a trope? well it is now

denial of attraction/closeness - just two men who most definitely never lie when it comes to their feelings

identity theft - without malicious intent (i hope!! *stares at all the atrocities kdj has committed using yjh's name*)

masterchef x disaster in the kitchen - very, very, very simplified version of the trope. wouldnt call kdj a disaster but definitely a worse cook than yjh (subtrope would be [pro-gamer x game tester])

famous x fan - lol "famous"

annoying x annoyed - (kdj: breathes. yjh: ugh drop dead. kdj: drops dead. yjh: wait no-💢)

A thinks B will be happy without him / B doesn't know how (doesn't want) to live without A - 51kdj seeing 49kdj leave with yjh and the others, thinking that he and yjh will set on a journey together to find tls123 / museum fight

will sacrifice everyone/everything for the other - *cracks knuckles* when 41st sys tries to give yjh a 2nd chance to save himself and his old companions and all he had to do was say that kdj isn't his companion. when kdj admits that 1863rd hsy's plan to see the ending of the scenarios is smart and well-thought out but because that world doesn't need yjh he doesn't cooperate. (side story spoilers below, but when you think about it long enough the side story came to be because yjh spread orv to lhh's worldline. all the deaths happening because yjh needs to collect a fragment of kdj's soul from that world)

speaking of lhh, reincarnation - now hear me out. not your typical reincarnation but bcs we know that 49kdj's wish was to reincarnate into someone that doesn't have anything to do with kimcom -> subtrope: doesn't want to be found / is found

amnesia - 0 is also not your typical amnesiac

god x god's favorite

age gap - theyre both the same age and simultaneously have age gap(s) make of that what you will

important symbol - (object) pocket watch

glucose guardian - listen!! listen!! sp/kdj and 0/51 exist okay

harem - sorry i couldnt help it

#ask #joongdok #orv #yoo joonghyuk #kim dokja #if you guys have any tropes you'd like to add by all means do so #dont take the last two seriously

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lilliths-httyd-blog · 7 months

Text

okay thoughts on HTTYD: The Chapter Book

the way scenery is described is really good, the best part of the book honestly... though they absolutely could've used the energy put into describing the scenery to instead analyse the key components of the story and make sure they are apparent within the book too

they changed/disregarded the most iconic lines i swear

astrid's whole thing is that she wasn't the only one who was a bitch to hiccup WHY IS SHE A BITCH NOW?? AND JUST. SKIPPING OVER THE ROMANTIC FLIGHT SEQUENCE ENTIRELY?? AND STILL WANTING READERS TO SHIP THEM???

i do like how there are multiple night furies. just spite thw. same.

seeing the whole movie from hiccups pov was an interesting experience (both in terms of what scenes from the movie were adapted and also this was in fucking first person pov)

this feels like a 12 year old with a thesaurus tried to rewrite the film on wattpad honestly

they didn't give readers any context as to the fact that the red death was called the red death but kept calling it the red death during the fight.

ALSO FORGETTING TO MENTION THAT HICCUP LOST HIS LEG-

i love this book for how absolutely batshit insane it is to read,, love it fr. wanna write a fic set in this universe god damn

#httyd #httyd chapter book liveblog

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taizi · 1 year

Note

tmnt prompts you say….. :3 how about some 2k12 leo and mikey cos i just adore the way u write their dynamic ✨✨

Honeycutt isn’t always easy to understand. He’s very enthusiastic and demonstrative, and surprisingly expressive given that the only parts of his face he can emote with are the digital lenses of his eyes, but there are times when his mind works in mysterious ways that baffle even Donatello, who understands their android guardian best.

Sometimes, like today, Honeycutt watches Leo and his siblings file onto the bridge in the light of artificial morning and he tilts his head and studies them for a long moment without speaking.

Then he claps his hands together and brightly says something like, “Good morning my friends! I have great news! Our ship needs immediate, serious, time-critical repairs!”

“What?” Leo, Donnie and April blurt at the same time, at the same volume.

“Doc, that’s not good news,” Casey adds, looking vaguely seasick. His claustrophobia hasn’t exactly gotten better out in the vacuum of empty space. “Are we—do you—we should get you a thesaurus.”

“April and I just ran a system check two cycles ago and everything was fine,” Donnie says, and he’s already bringing data up on that holo-gauntlet that’s been permanently attached to his arm since the second the Professor gifted it to him. “The bulkhead shields have degraded a little but—”

“Forget all of that,” Honeycutt says, waving his hands through the holographic screen until it fizzes out. Donnie looks extremely offended. “The point is, we’ll have to stop at the nearest repair station. Lucky for us, there’s one only a parsec away! We’ll use the warp drive and be there in no time. And we might as well see the sights while we’re there. Let’s make a day of it! Chop, chop!”

Leo’s siblings scurry to their stations, all but sulky Donnie, who has to be propelled there by the implacable Professor’s deceptively strong noodle arms.

“Where are we going, Professor?” Mikey calls out. He didn’t sleep well the night before, Leo can tell. There’s a shadow of something pressed over him, like the footprint of a bad dream. He didn’t bring any sunshine onto the bridge with him.

Raphael, sitting in the console beside Mikey, gives him a sidelong look that validates the little wriggling fish of concern swimming around in the back of Leo’s mind.

Honeycutt’s head twists on the column of his synthetic neck to face Leo’s littlest brother and his eyes smile at Mikey kindly. It’s that kindness more than anything that makes Leo continue to trust him. It reminds him of Splinter, in a way that manages not to be painful.

“We’re going to visit an old friend of mine,” Honeycutt explains cheerfully. “We may as well make the most of our sticky situation, don’t you think? Now off we go!”

They don’t land at a repair station. They land outside of what looks like the gates of a giant theme park, if Leo absolutely had to guess. Honeycutt must have called ahead, because the guards are expecting them, and not in the usual unfortunate way guards tend to expect the fugitoid. They smile and salute Leo’s family in greeting and escort them inside.

Apparently this place is called the Battle Nexus and it’s amazing. It’s a planet-wide arena made up of all kinds of different levels and terrains, for the purpose of a multi-cultural exchange of battle tactics and training. The master who oversees the whole thing is a wizened warrior referred to as the Daimyo, who turns out to be an old friend of the Professor’s.

The Daimyo was happy to usher Leo and his siblings into the competition—the kid-friendly version of the competition, anyway. Honeycutt very firmly steered the six of them toward their own age bracket, far, far away from anything even remotely grudge-match-shaped.

Raph looked a little forlornly at the blood-stained brawling pit they were marched past, but he and Casey both quickly fell in with a group of rowdy aliens around their size. Donnie wasn’t remotely interested in anything until a group of medics on stand-by caught his attention with the tricorders they were holding, and then he was hounding them within an inch of their lives. Leo watched after him anxiously, but the medics seemed reluctantly charmed by his purple-banded brother, and humored his barrage of questions. Mikey was still with Honeycutt and the Daimyo, chatting at the old master like they’d known each other for years, probably securing yet another life-long ally for his family in that easy, off-handed way he always made friends.

“Leo, come on,” April said, tugging on his arm. Her eyes were sharp and eager, glinting with that competitive edge that shined as brightly as Raph’s did at times. “They’re doing archery over that way, let’s go!”

So—it’s fun. And it only takes Leo most of an hour, if that, to realize that their ship is more than likely just fine, and it was actually very kind of Honeycutt to bring them here. It makes him feel warm and cared-for, like when he was much younger, and the shiny responsibility of leadership was still a distant dream.

And then a certain sixth sense pings in the back of his mind, drawing his attention from the archery targets and across the meadow to where Donnie looks like he’s one second away from causing a diplomatic incident, his face a thundercloud of pure, distilled rage. He’s shouting something at a group of humanoid aliens standing around in a scattered formation, and his body is tense and still the way it is when he’s literally about to pounce on a Footbot and tear it to pieces with his bare hands. Mikey is standing just behind him, tucked out of sight.

“Oh, boy,” April says from Leo’s shoulder, and then they shove their bows into the hands of the people closest to them and cross the field at ninja speed.

“—worth a hundred of you,” they get there in time to hear Donnie bite out. “So you can take your stupid game and shove it right up your—”

“Donatello,” Leo says, stunned more than scolding. Did he and Raph switch bodies somehow? Leo’s not ready to deal with that today.

But no, Donnie whirls to face him with that particular brand of wounded frustration in his bright red eyes, a look that Leo is familiar with. It’s a look that says ‘why are these people so stupid and why is it my problem?’ and it only ever precedes Donnie losing his absolute shit in a very big way.

Raph falls in next to Leo, grim-faced and groaning, “Nooo. God, what did they do, Don?”

“We’re not staying here,” Donnie announces in lieu of an actual answer. “We’re leaving.”

“What?” Casey asks blankly.

His confusion is completely fair, and shared three ways between Leo, April and Raph. The Nexus is amazing and they’d all collectively been having a blast like five minutes ago. Leo glances from Donnie’s face into Mikey’s, hoping he might find a cue there—Donnie and Mikey are inseparable on a good day, like two pieces of a matching set, and Mikey understands him effortlessly—but Mikey’s expression draws him up short.

He’s not even looking at any of them. He’s looking down, half-hiding behind Donnie’s arm, quiet and impassive in a way that spells hurt. It reminds Leo of those days immediately after Dimension X, when Mikey snuck around the lair like it was full of dangers, when he kept looking at his siblings like he was trying to find cruelty where there wasn’t any. Sometimes Dimension X still creeps up on them like that. It’s never, ever a good sign when it does.

Alarm bells start going off in Leo’s head. They’ve been there since earlier that morning, since Mikey came up to the bridge and didn’t bring any sunshine with him, but now they’re loud.

“Dude, we literally just got here,” Raph is saying. He doesn’t sound confrontational, just honestly bewildered, but Donnie’s mouth twists like Raph just tried picking a fight with him.

“Fine, do what you want,” he snaps. “Have fun with these idiots.”

He grabs Mikey’s hand and starts to march off with him, back in the direction of the ship. Clearly he’s ready to get himself and Mikey the hell out of here, with or without the rest of them. Leo finally kicks himself into action.

“Hey,” he says, circling around to stand in their way. He puts a hand on each of their shoulders and says, “Talk to me.”

“They’re being mean to him, Leo,” Donnie says, too loud, boiling over. “We’re not staying here.”

It almost doesn’t make sense at first. It wouldn’t be the first time Donnie’s started talking in a foreign language just to trip his brothers up. Leo thinks maybe that’s what’s happening right now, and a glance around at the rest of his siblings only further substantiates the idea, because they all look as baffled as he feels.

“Mean to who?” April says, brow furrowed. “Mikey?”

“But that’s the dumbest shit I ever heard,” Casey blurts incredulously.

And the thing is, Leo thinks, it really is the dumbest shit he’s ever heard. Mikey is genuinely the most likable person in the universe. The really irritating side of him is a sibling-exclusive, a baby brother perk that these complete strangers would definitely not have had a chance to experience in less than three hours of his company.

He grew up navigating the tempers and pitfalls of three extreme, explosive personalities, courtesy of his big brothers, so he’s capable of getting along with just about anyone. He can smooth over any uncomfortable, tense situation with a smile. He rolls with the punches. Just being around him is a breath of fresh air.

So what the fuck?

“What the fuck?” Raph says out loud, hands tightening around the handles of his sai.

The aliens—juveniles of their species, since they’re in the same age bracket as Leo and his brothers, taller and broader than the turtles, but with a soft, round-eyed quality that they’ve yet to grow out of that gives their youth away—look markedly uncomfortable about this whole thing. They’re shuffling and avoiding direct eye-contact.

One of them says, “We didn’t mean anything by it. It’s tradition.”

“What, like hazing?” April asks coldly. The atmosphere around her is starting to prickle, like the build-up of energy before a big storm.

“It’s only because he’s—” The word they use doesn’t translate directly. The universal translator they’re each equipped with does its best, spitting out young/inexperienced/stupid as the closest interpretation, and all of Mikey’s siblings go stiff with fury.

Mikey isn’t looking at any of them. He’s got that vacant look on his face that he learned to wear after months alone in a hostile alien world, seemingly abandoned by his family, with no one to count on and no rescue coming. He had a bad night, and now he’s having a bad day, and it’s the last thing he deserves.

Leo can’t afford this. Anything that threatens to draw his siblings away from the fold is a threat to Leo’s entire world, and he’ll neutralize that threat no matter what interplanetary consequences spring up as a result.

It would be easy. It wouldn’t help a single thing.

So instead he glances at Donnie, inclining his head an inch to the left. Donnie is nearly blind with anger, but he still trusts Leo—it warms Leo to the very bottom of his soul that the trust wins. He’s reluctant to let go of Mikey’s hand, but he lets it go, and that’s what finally brings Mikey to look up.

And then Leo pounces.

Mikey makes a startled yelping noise, driven to the ground by the weight of his eldest brother, but it quickly morphs into laughter as they go rolling shell over shell across the warm grass. It’s like being transported back into the dojo where they learned to practice ninja—muscle-memory, the way Mikey twists out from underneath him and flips over Leo’s head, landing nimbly and then diving into a forward roll to avoid his next swipe and giggling the entire time.

To them, it’s play, in its purest form. They were learning how to jump and tumble when other babies their age were still mastering the crawl. Mikey comes alive when he’s on the move, more than any other time, and now his blue eyes are brighter than they’ve been all day.

Leo draws him into a tight kumite bout, and each micro-sequence between the two of them is clean and precise, and each blow would be potentially lethal if it landed. That crowd of kids—the ones who hurt Donatello by hurting Michelangelo—have gone tellingly quiet. Leo splits his attention from Mikey long enough to take in their wide eyes and slack mouths, and thinks, Good.

He can feel pride and satisfaction radiating from their siblings as he proves to this entire level of the Nexus that his baby brother is every bit the deadly assassin their father taught him to be. He can feel nothing but joy from Mikey as he’s swept up in the familiar motions, the fun, fast-paced back-and-forth.

And then Raph barrels in, and Mikey squeaks in combination terror-excitement. The others aren’t far behind.

It becomes less about something to prove, and more about the joy of the conversation. The call and response. All of them whirling around each other in a flurry of precious Hamato clan techniques, bright-eyed and dangerous and alive.

Alive, despite everything. Together.

Leo doesn’t need any stupid Battle Nexus to tell him he and his siblings are champions. He knows that already. They survived the end of the world, and the end of their world, and they’re still here.

The Daimyo finds them sprawled on the grass, breathless and vivified and poking fun at each other. The bullies have made themselves scarce, and the thundercloud on Donnie’s face has cleared into blue skies, and Mikey is laying with his head pillowed comfortably on Raph’s outstretched arm, sweet and content and unburdened for now.

“My, my,” the Daimyo says, warm and impressed, “what a skilled group of warriors you are. I will have to give this planet of yours a visit someday soon if these are the types of people who live there.”

“We’re not typical earthlings,” Leo admits. “And it’s, um—Earth isn’t exactly—”

“Just let us know when you’re ready to swing by,” Mikey pipes up. “We’ll roll out the welcome mat.”

We’ll be there, is what he means, rolling his head to look over at Leo with a smile. We’ll all be there. We’ll do what we came here to do and then we’ll get to go home.

“Yeah,” Leo says, feeling a little choked up. “Yes. You should see it, Daimyo-dono. It’s definitely worth the trip.”

Honeycutt comes over and settles down on the ground with the rest of them, flopping back in the dirt and starfishing his limbs in solidarity.

“Ahh, it’s so unfortunate that we were set back a day by those repairs,” the Professor says. “But I’m glad that you children made the best of it! Your spirits give me strength, you know.”

Leo can’t help but smile at him. His whole entire world is clustered around him, bickering and throwing clumps of dirt at each other. Mikey is laughing, his own brand of sunlight putting the twin suns in the sky above them to shame. They’re so far away from where they belong it’s a joke, but somehow, right at this second, it doesn’t feel that way.

“Thanks,” Leo says. It falls comically short. “Thank you.”

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #hamato leonardo #hamato michelangelo #hamato donatello #fugitoid #hero bros #b team #my writing #tmnt fic #prompt #anonymous #yeah this one got away from me. i miss the space arc a lot for someone who was rly happy when it was finally over

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