#this was suppose to be a snippet but its short enough to be a prompt

[puddleslimewrites]

Prompt #17

"So I'm not allowed to love you anymore? Is that it?"

"[Villain], no. No, that's not what I meant-" Hero sounded desperate. "Please, you have to understand-"

"Oh, I understand," Villain said fiercely. They wiped at the tears rolling down their face. Bloodshot eyes glared right into Hero's soul. "I understand perfectly well. Your job is more important than anything else. Even me."

"Villain, please-"

"No." Villain stated, firm and clear. "You want me to be less affectionate? That's fine. You don't want to be seen with me? That's fine, too. You don't want to be with me. I understand."

Hero reached out, pleading, as Villain turned to go. "I do, Villain, I do! Wait, please please-"

Villain didn't spare them the luxury of a backwards glance as they walked away.

[revelboo]

HIIII! i just wanted to say I have been devouring your writing; you have such a lovely talent for conjuring whole worlds with such brevity.

Hope the sudden spam of likes/reblogs was okay >u<''

Thanks! I’ve gotten a bit used to short form and needing to pack a punch in brief snippets from Twitter’s vss365 writing prompts.

Everything is Alright Pt 26

Starscream x Reader

• This isn’t right. Isn’t what he wanted. You’re supposed to be happy. Thankful. And that black rage washes higher threatening to drown him as his servos curl under into fists with the need to lash out, because it’s all wrong. Then you’re looking up at him, those big eyes afraid, fingers tightening on that stuffed animal. Afraid of him? Afraid for humans you likely don’t even know because deep down you think he’s a monster?

• And he’s yanking his chair back from his desk, the legs screeching on the floor before he slings it against the wall. It’s not enough to bank that fury crackling through him. Not nearly enough. Because he understands that fear on your face. Knows too well the feeling of saying what must be said even though you know there will be repercussions. For a moment, he’s paralyzed, venting raggedly as a memory claws its way out of the dark corners of his processor. Of pain and fear so visceral and inescapable. Megatron in a fury, big hands curling into fists.

• You’d backed away when he’d slung the chair, now you’re staring as he shakes, shoulders hunched, wings trembling and hands curled into claws, servos flexing like he wants to tear something apart. This isn’t just temper, there’s something else going on that you don’t understand. Something that hurts you to watch. “This isn’t right,” he snarls, head dropping as those tremors run wild through his frame. “Why isn’t it right?”

• His rasping voice is cracking with something more than just anger, there’s pain there that lances through you as you clutch the stuffed bear tighter to yourself. You’re terrified of him like this, all too aware that one careless swipe of his hand can break you. “I’m sorry,” you call out, despite the very real fear of pulling his attention back to you. Those red optics are bloody and wild as his helm swings your way and you start trembling. “You’re always taking care of me,” you forge on wanting nothing more than to hide from that stare. He’s going to hurt you this time. You’re sure of it.

• He can’t stop shaking, torn between memories he doesn’t want and the soft sound of your voice. Apologizing even as it wavers in fear. That breaks through the confused rage, his hand slamming against the edge of the desk as he lunges toward that sound. Needing it to anchor him in the sea of pain and hate and self loathing. You stagger back, little frame tense. Scared of him. Moving slowly, he lays his helm down on the desk, unable to stand you looking at him like that. Like how he stares at Megatron in a rage. The feel of your soft, little hand on his cheek almost breaks him. You’re trying to comfort him? Shuttering his optics, he just savors the feel of your gentle touch and your voice, your words. Thanking him and apologizing even as you break. “No one was home,” he growls, because he understands. Wants to reach for you, hook a servo around you and tug you against him. But doesn’t dare. Not yet.

Previous Next

[jukkaricity]

DATV Companion Week - Bellara - Day 3

I'm late with this one, but I'm gonna blame Easter for that. And my inability to write emotions.

Short snippet to dissect the first moments after the Veilguard returns to the Lighthouse after the Tearstone Island.

Spoilers for the endgame below.

CW: Mentions of death, I suppose.

Prompts for Bellara Appreciation week hosted by @datvcompanionweeks were:

Grief | Comfort

No. No, no, no. 

NO. 

They were supposed to have days to prepare. Weeks! They never intended to rush to the Tearstone Island at a neck breaking speed hoping against all hope to make it in time. Stop the ritual. Save everyone. No. None of this was right. 

The team—what was left of it—stumbled through the Eluvian into the Lighthouse in near silence, broken only by ragged breaths and the shuffling of tired feet. Bellara couldn’t stop her thoughts from scattering in all directions. 

She stopped in the library letting Davrin and Assan pass her by, both their heads low, but a look of determination still in their eyes. She could barely hear the rustling from Emmrich’s room where he was trying to patch Lucanis up. Taash barely said a word since they escaped. No surprise. Bellara tried very hard to not think about it too much. If she did she’d have to… She’d need to accept… No. Now was not the time. 

The ancient artifact above the common room spun as always, low hum enveloping the space. Its soft blue light normally felt calming and safe but today it seemed cold and harsh. 

She wanted to be angry, like she was when her grandma died. 

She wanted to shake and sob like in the days after Cyrian’s death. The first one at least. 

She wanted… to feel something. But it seemed as if the last second flight from the blighted island took away everything that was left in her. 

Her feet carried her towards the courtyard, a force of habit more than a conscious choice. The doors opened for her as she moved, feeling more like a ghost than a person. 

The oppressive red light was flooding the space, a stark reminder of their many failures. Ghilan'nain might be gone now but, did it not cost them too much? And even if his sister died, Elgar'nan still completed his ritual. An image flashed in Bellara’s head, the massive, tentacled body of the goddess writhing and falling to the ground. Lucanis made it without a miss. Right after… 

A whiff of fresh earth and elfroot hit her senses like a hammer. The world spun for a moment and she could barely keep standing upright. This was not supposed to have happened. Harding… She was always so brave. And bright. A well of positivity with a kind word to say at every occasion. Finding the silver lining in everything. A scout through and through, in the field and in life.

What will happen to the little garden in her room? Will they wither or will they stay strong as Harding herself always was? The elfroot… Oh, Bellara, what are you doing!? Worrying about plants? Harding is gone! Ghilan'nain did this to her. As if the elven gods did not take enough from the dwarves as the whole already. As if this whole thing didn’t hurt Lace personally enough. 

And now she was gone. In a blink of an eye. 

Her legs carried her further throughout the courtyard. She looked towards the door of her own room but her stomach only twisted tighter and she kept on walking. She passed a now empty stand where Caretaker would usually show up and followed up the stairs into Neve’s study. It too was red-tinted, oppressive light spilling inside through the massive windows. A couple of wisps gathered around the board in the back, hovering nervously and repeatedly following the little strings connecting various notes.

Bellara guessed they must have been looking for some comfort. She could understand. She came for it too. But instead of feeling any better, she only felt more dread. More pain. 

Neve Gallus. Minrathous’ best detective. The kindest, most helpful person she’s met. A sister. Maybe not by birth but… it was there in every serial and wild request. Neve not only never made her feel bad for asking, but delivered. Every single time. Yet now…

Taken. 

Taken by Elgar’nan, who would call himself god. 

Bellara had to sit down. She nearly stumbled into Neve’s desk and sank deep into the chair. She let her head fall on the desk. She saw Neve sleep with her head on the desk more times than she could count. Bellara would bring her snacks while she slept. And Rook would cover her with a blanket. Somehow quiet enough not to wake her. She could only hope to be able to walk so quietly one day. 

“Oh, Rook. What are we going to do now?” she asked the room out loud as if the Fade maybe could give her an answer. Tell her what he would have said. Probably something along the lines of “Don’t worry Bell, we’ll get through it.” or maybe “We’re in this together. It will work out, you’ll see”. 

This was not working out. One second he was reaching out to pull the dagger out of Ghilan’nain’s body and the next… Solas was standing in his place. And he had the audacity to look so sad. Like… like he regretted what had just happened. He even said he was sorry. 

Bellara pressed her lips so tightly together it hurt. Her cheeks were wet, she didn’t even notice when she started crying. But this was not the time. They needed to finish this. For Lace. And for Neve. They had to find Rook. 

Neve’s chair squealed loudly as it scratched the floor, but she didn’t care. The courtyard and the common room both blurred together as she rushed to Emmrich’s room. He was still there, talking to Lucanis and Spite. Bellara didn’t hear what they were saying—she didn’t need to. The moment she slammed the door open and they looked up, she saw it in their eyes. They understood.

The fight wasn’t over. Not until the gods were defeated. Not until Rook was back with them. 

All of this mess had to be fixed. 

But Bellara was quite known for fixing things. 

They could still make it right. 

And then she’d tell Rook how she feels. No more circling around it.

In case there wasn’t another chance.

[vixstarria]

Kinktober Day 10 - Inappropriate use of mage hand

For every day of the month of October I will be posting a little snippet following prompts listed in this post. Most of these will not be full fics, but rather short snippets, set-ups, and, in a few cases, copied bits and pieces of fics I have already published. But, if there is a lot of interest and feedback on any of the snippets, they might just evolve into full fics, so keep that in mind.

Disclaimer: I know, I know, it's supposed to be sexy, but my fingers slipped and wrote comedy again instead... I'm sorry. Act 1.

“Squeeze it tighter… Tighter… Not that tight. …NOT THAT TIGHT, I SAID!”

For the past hour, mixed sounds of intermittent laughter and profanity spilled from Asmodea’s tent, where she had sequestered herself with Astarion. The rest of the group had gathered at the campfire, per what had turned into a nightly routine.

“This is your fault,” Lae’zel said to Gale. “What motive did you expect she had when she requested you teach her that spell?”

“She said she was going to use it to polish her dagger,” the wizard muttered, looking away. “…You’re right, I should have known better than to take that literally.”

“Gods!” Astarion’s aggrieved shouts continued. “Honestly, are you trying to yank it off?!”

“Perhaps you should place a sphere of silence over the tent - grant them a modicum of privacy,” Wyll suggested to Gale, shifting uncomfortably.

“Leave it,” said Shadowheart. “I’d rather know immediately in case medical assistance is required. And if they cared about privacy, or had any common decency, they would have taken themselves away from the camp.”

“How was I supposed to know it was going to be this hard?!” came an exclamation from Asmodea.

“…Well at least something is still hard after all that. That’s it. I’ve had enough.”

Some moments later, to the group’s amusement, a somewhat dishevelled Astarion burst out of the tent and headed back to his own, tucking his shirt in on the way. Asmodea followed not far behind him, with a spectral hand scurrying on its fingers across the ground after her.

“Aww, what if we try a different motion? It shouldn’t be difficult to make it thr-”

“No!” Astarion paused, squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, before turning back to her. “Figure out how to maneuver that thing properly first, then come see me.”

“How am I supposed to figure it out if I don’t have someone to practice with?!” To her disappointment, Astarion only shook his head and continued on his way. “Come on, just the tip!”

“How about I give you something to practice on, soldier?”

Asmodea paused and cocked her head at Karlach, thoughtfully. Astarion had also stopped dead in his tracks at Karlach’s suggestion, before swooping back to wrap an arm around Asmodea’s waist, and hastily leading her back to his tent, all whilst giving Karlach an ice-cold glare. The mage hand dissipated, forgotten.

“And now?” Wyll was the first to speak amid the group’s snickering. “Sphere of silence?”

“Sphere of silence,” Gale nodded, gesticulating to cast the spell.

My Kinktober masterlist and prompts post

[wild-joker-out-pleasures]

Death Unyielding, Shadows Rise

Joker Out x Soul Creature AU (2/6)

(A/n: The snippets for the other boys are not necessarily sequential and depict key moments. Some concepts in this work are taken from an animesque C-drama and novel titled “Douluo Continent” or “Soul Land”, although I added my own touches and took several liberties and used other inspirations based on other anime and video games.)

Jan Peteh | 18 | Nether Wolf

Jan leaned against the silent, snow-covered stone grotesque he had sought refuge under, its draconic wings spread out over him in a way that felt comforting and protective despite its seemingly ominous presence.

Anyone who would have passed the old graveyard and saw the young man seeking solace and peace in the shadows of the sepulchres and tombstones, would have dismissed him as a lunatic, or more likely, remembered who his family was and attempt to take him back against his will. Remind him of his alleged destiny, and the duties that came with it.

Yet Jan was indeed a misfit from his youth, despite being the son of the kingdom's foremost Star Diviner, he never believed in prophecies, nor did he take comfort in the stars that shone with their golden light, much less their supposed messages.

A cold wind blew past, picking up strands of Jan's now-long hair from its loose ponytail - the long hair he longed to have for years. A flurry of snow followed, pelting the side of his face lightly. Rather than grumble in annoyance however, the dark-haired young man smirked fondly as he stepped out of the shadow of the grotesque's wings and looked over his shoulder.

A tall, dark-haired older man stood a short distance away, clad in furs and animal skins, a massive white tiger with icy blue eyes materialising and nuzzling said man's fur-clad shoulder.

"Took you long enough, Uncle Damir."

Jan was smiling one of his rare smiles as he went over to throw his arms around his favourite uncle, the only man who saw him for who he was, prophecies and the star's whispers be damned. To his uncle Damir, he was simply Jan, and not the third child of a third child who was allegedly destined for the stars and gods as per superstition, and nor was he the betrothed of the obnoxious Prince of Gold and Iron. Uncle Damir was the only person who understood him and what he wanted.

No limits. To grow stronger and to stand on his own. To no longer be bound by the shackles imposed upon him by expectations, contracts and the stars' whispers. A life he could live for himself. Freedom.

The older man returned the hug, before reaching deep into the bag he carried, and pulled out a glowing blue crystal. He held it out to Jan. The time had come for Jan to awaken his Soul Creature.

"And on the occasion that your Soul Creature turns out to be the Celestial Lamb?" Damir asked quietly, his expression kind, but also with a hint of a challenge, daring the teenager to answer truthfully.

Jan squared his shoulders - broad and strong from years of training secretly during the times he escaped from his lessons - his hand inches above the stone as he pondered his uncle's question. He never thought of the possibility, but he supposed that it was a fair question.

Regardless, not even that possibility could quell the dark flame that burned within him.

"It doesn't matter. I'm not staying. I know what's best for me."

With that, Jan touched the glowing crystal with his right hand and closed his eyes momentarily as he felt the rush of soul power wash over him for the first time in his life.

And then, a howl. Jan opened his eyes and saw shadows. Deep, deathly cold shadows that seemed to surround just him and Damir. The older man was looking to Jan's right, with an almost knowing smile on his face, prompting Jan to turn his head.

A large, otherworldly wolf with fur black as shadow, its eyes blood-red, parts of the flesh on its legs, back and belly torn away to reveal skeletal bone. Like Jan, it was surrounded by deep, bone-chilling shadows as well. Dark and cold as death.

"So much for so-called prophecy and superstition," Jan thought to himself as he smiled once more. A genuine smile as he held back tears of joy.

"Shall we go?" Damir pointed a finger towards the graveyard's back gates, abandoned and overgrown. Jan nodded, pulling up his dark hood as they stole away into the night.

He was no lamb, nor did the stars hold any sway over him.

(TL;DR: All his life, Jan found himself a prisoner of prophecy and superstition, forced into a life he hates, due to being a third child of a third child in a northern kingdom where superstition and belief in the will of the stars runs rife, and unrealistic expectations placed upon him simply due to "the whispers of the stars". Yet, all the lone wolf Jan wants is freedom, and to forge his own path. He does not believe in prophecies, nor is he even interested in the healing arts or divination, or being a kept man to the Prince of Gold and Iron. However, the only person who understands him is his uncle Damir, who ends up helping him run away from home, and gave him the opportunity to awaken his soul creature as well. Turns out that Jan had every right to resist and be resentful, as his soul creature is the Nether Wolf with a dark and deathly power, and not the prized but weak Celestial Lamb that heals...everyone was wrong about him and underestimated him, as expected of slaves to superstition and prophecy. Jan is now a fugitive, his life finally his own and coming into the strength and independence that he always had. However...what of the Prince of Gold and Iron? Who exactly is he...? That's a story for a different time. 👀)

***Yes...if you're wondering, "Uncle Damir" is indeed Let 3's Mrle. He does bear quite a resemblance to Jan, and has such a cool vibe as well. I find it quite cute to make him related to Jan...imagine little Jan looking up to such a cool uncle when nobody else understands him. Adorable.

Ask me anything about this AU! (I am NOT a writer, so if you want to know more, I'll gladly answer)

[pixxiepink]

Pixxie Prompt! - 1

Do not know why I chose this for my first prompt, but here we are. Tried to make something sweet out of it, but it just became an exploration of my Ace identity a little.

My short little mess of a snippet is below.

"How do you know you are in love?"

I glance down at the kid, big brown eyes staring up at me, intense as if only he looked harder he would find all the answers.

"Don't know," I admit with a shrug, turning my attention back to the boring soccer game I was drug to.

"But you're a grown up," the random boy protests. "Grown-ups know everything!"

"Not everything," I counter, glancing down at him once more, "why do you want to know anyway?"

His young faces twists into a scowl, "cause Mary keeps saying it, but I don't get it."

I have no idea who Mary is, I don't even know who this kid is. But I humor him all the same, small talk is better than watching sports. (slightly only very slightly).

"So, your friend Mary get a boyfriend or something?"

the boy frowns harder, giving me a glare, "She's not my friend! She's mean!" he protests, crossing his arms and making a show of turning away from me, "and she got a girlfriend."

'Progressive elementary kids,' I note with a faint chuckle. But still...

"And why dose that bother you?"

He turns back around to look at me, anger forgotten, "cause everyone keeps saying-,"

He clams up, expression disgusted and... ashamed.

Ohhhh, so that's what this is about.

"And you don't want to love that way, right?"

He looks up in shock, clearly not expecting me to hit the nail on the head. "That's... that's a bad thing, right?" he asks hesitantly, hands fisting into his oversized jacket, "I'm supposed to want it. Like everyone says."

I hum, gut twisting, trying to force down the complicated tangle of my own emotions that violently surface with that question. I had wondered the same thing all my life, still wonder it in the dead of night.

"I don't know what to tell you kid," I admit with more honestly than I intended, "but I do know in all my grown up wisdom, that love isn't something someone else can give you an answer for. You have to figure that out for yourself."

His face pulls down into a frown, clearly that was not the clean-cut answer that he wanted, "No-No one can tell you?"

I feel my face soften at his hesitant tone; seems this has been weighing on the kid for a while. It's not really my place but, if this kid is like me. 'Wouldn't I have wanted someone to tell me it was okay?'

I speak slowly words carefully falling from lips, "No one can define love for you, but that also means you get to decide how your love works. And not everyone will love like your not-friend Mary, not everyone will want to love someone else in a romantic way. and that's-," my breath catches for a moment, but I force my lungs to work, embarrassed this innocent conversation is tugging at my heart so, "and it's okay. Love how you want, or don't love at all, no one can make you."

And it's like the rainbow after a thunderstorm, the kid lights up, beaming up at me, "thank you!" he says rushing at my legs for a fumbled hug that's more of a tackle.

"Woah easy there-," but before I can even finish, he's racing off, wide grin on his face.

"Ahh well," I sigh to myself, glancing back at the sport's game I came to watch, I think we scored a point? "at least that ended well."

I look back over to the kid, where he's still smiling brightly, tugging on the arm of a girl to go play. Not a hint of the confusion or unease on his face, childhood at its finest.

Glancing up at the cloudy fall sky I let the question tumble through my head once more. "How do you know you are in love?" was what he said, but he really meant was, "Do I have to love like them?"

And that was a question I could answer.

No.

Hopefully he would remember the random stranger and their words for a long time, long enough for him to take it as fact, that it's okay to love however you want, including not loving at all.

[awriternamedart]

As Sampard Week has come to an end, I have decided to do a funny.

Im gonna rank all my sampard fics i wrote this week! Based on how much i enjoyed writing it, how well I feel I did in execution, what i feel like I could have done better, etc. Its kind of a self evaluation of sorts, if you will.

below the break there will be - The day and name of the fic, the rating I give it out of ten, the summery and tags , and a small why/snippet about the fic, then a link to the fic. Onto the ratings !!

First off, we have Day 1 - Split Rent

7/10

The prompts I chose were College AU and Roommates, and I really liked writing this one, but the plot was very aimless. I didnt have an end goal, and so it kinda wandered between the two prompts without properly merging them. Overall, a good start to the week, and a great warm up.

Next up we have Day 2 - The Stars Are Our Witness Tonight

8/10

I REALLY like this one, but I hard limited myself with it and I regret doing that. The prompt was Different Location, and my brain jumped to Sampo on the Herta Space station. I really wanted to go more indepth on Sampo being a masked fool member and what that meant, but ultimately I shortened it and cut it short. May come back to this concept !!

We have Day 3 - Chipped Coffee Cups

6/10

This fic was very rushed. Like- insanely rushed. It was meant to have one more scene, Gepard confronting Sampo about the soulmate and being the thief, but I ultimately ran out of time and just wanted to post it. So much missed potential, and its the least successful out of all my sampard week fics. A shame, Ill definitely be coming back to this one at a later date.

Day 4 is funny, cause there is no fic so but the prompt was Modern

0/10

i ended up drawing instead but its not a fic so- I actually did have a fic planned for this day, its in my notes. It was supposed to be a first date with Police Chief!Gepard and Stand Up Comedian/Sometimes Pickpocket!Sampo called Fuck, Im Late-! but the brain was not ficing so I gave up and drew something instead

Day 5 is my favorite fic of the week - Brilliant Sapphire, Inlaid In Jade

9/10

this was my FAVORITE oneshot i wrote this week. Docked one point for being mildly rushed and also having minor missed potential, but I was so excited to write this one, and it shows. Do reccommend, please read

Day 6 was also alot of fun - Needle-Like Thorns

8/10

(i cant post any more images sorry)

Honestly, this ones just cute. Its just adorable, its sickening, their so cute and I cant survive like this. Gepard in tattoos needs to be done more often please and thank you

And finally, day 7 - Succiduous

7/10

I enjoyed this fic alot. Its rushed, but its a prequel to my current long term fic called Akrasia, about the first time Sampo and Gepard met. Decent enough in my books, so it works for what I was given.

And thats it !! Thats all my Sampard Week fics !!

This week was honestly- super fun. Ive never challenged myself to try something like this before, and it really pushed my limits for how I write. All of my fellow writers and artists did so much this week and in the coming days , so make sure to support all the awesome talent that gave us so much food.

[what-a-weird-rose]

PandaLily: The Things You Are (Literal Art)

Pairing: Lily Evans / Pandora Lovegood

Rating: E

Prompt: Oral

Word Count: 2.8k

Lily pulls her hair back, tying it in a knot at the base of her skull.

Four hours is nowhere near enough time to finish a piece this massive- least of all when her subject has up and vanished off the face of the earth. She shouldn’t be surprised; she knows she needs to curb her disappointment with him. But after almost a decade of friendship, Lily would’ve assumed she would have the slightest bit of priority over Severus’ time- especially after he’d promised to help her. Call her naïve; God knows all her other friends have. Lily tries to see the good in everyone, even if it’s left her blindsided on more than one occasion, but even she knows there’s only so far she can be pushed.

She scrambles for a bit, genuinely considering whether or not she can pass with a failed final project. Then, Lily mopes and cries and spends ten precious two-hundred-forty minutes feeling sorry for herself. Finally, and with great resolution, Lily sends a quick text to Mary and Marlene to ask if they know of anyone free and willing to sit in her studio for the next three hours; they respond almost instantly.

Apparently, there was a new girl on campus that Mary and Marlene had met in the library so odd weeks ago. Supposedly, they’d been trying to plan a meeting between Lily and Pandora -as they’d called her- but the two’s schedules were always packed. However, Lily thought it was a subtle jab at herself more than anything. Mary had set the group chat up with Pandora, Marlene, Lily, and herself, then made quick introductions before kicking Marlene and leaving herself.

Pandora was. . . 

nice, for lack of a better word. Very willing to help, asking appropriate questions, then finishing the short interaction with, ‘Where would you like to meet? :)”

Lily had hesitated, though she would never in a million years admit to it. She had never seen this girl before, and, as much as she trusted Mary and Marlene, there was no guarantee that Pandora would fit the piece- and how was she supposed to tell a stranger that? But, she decided, at last, she might as well try.

Lily had rearranged her studio four times in the seven minutes it took for Pandora to read her text and show up. Instead of sitting imposingly in front of a drab-wallpapered background -as Severus had insisted- Lily had decided to put Pandora in front of the large bay window -only after stalking the girl’s Instagram. Pandora posted little of herself, if at all. There were snippets of her hands, hair, shoes, and skirts, but most of her feed was the world around her: friends, plants, food, and the raccoon that had made friends with her cat. So, as much as it distressed her, Lily forced herself to set the portrait based on the aesthetic choices of someone she’d never seen in person.

Then, the knock came.

Severus had told her on many occasions -re: every time he visited- how ridiculous the security in her building was, as though she had any say in the matter. He had also made many a ‘joke’ about how easy it would be for a ‘low-life’ -she assumed he meant Remus- to break in and hurt her -his joke rarely ended well. But in this scenario, Lily thought she might agree with him- she felt incredibly unsafe, with clammy hands, a swirling stomach, and a rock in her throat.

But feelings be damned, Lily Evans had a task- and she never left a task unfinished.

The door swung ungracefully, getting caught on its hinges halfway open. At the same time, an ear-splitting screech filled the open air as the old hinges decided halfway would just have to be well enough. Lily thought about poofing into thin air.

“The architecture of this building is quiet fascinating,” the short, blond girl before she stated severely. Lily momentarily thought this was a mistake- that this girl couldn’t be ‘sweet, lovely’ Pandora, not with the serious stare and cutting commentary. “My friend, Regulus, is studying to become an arcitect and he said-” she coughs once as Lily steps aside to let her in, “’ you can always tell when the builder was lazy based solely on the longevity of the building.’ Or something to that effect, he always gets so prissy when he talks about design.” Pandora giggles, and suddenly, it’s like a unicorn-sunshine hybrid has walked into Lily’s home, talking about the intensity of too-smart boys who try too hard for too little.

Lily is caught almost completely off-guard, especially as Pandora sits on the plushy bench before the window and stares wide-eyed in Lily’s direction. It’s almost as if the air in the room huddles around Pandora, forcing Lily her way lest to suffocate.

“You’re very pretty, though I’m not sure if I’m surprised or concerned. . .” Pandora trails, suddenly shifting to look out the glass.

“Why might you be concerned?” Lily says with as much grace as she can muster; she turns on the kettle for safety.

“I have a thing.” Pandora states with the utmost gravity. Lily raises her brow in question, and Pandora nods seriously. “Everytime I meet a pretty girl, they fall dreadfully in love with me.”

Lily wants to laugh, but there is something about the way Pandora says it that makes her think the sentiment is hardly a joke. “And that’s a bad thing?” Lily shuffles her rack of teabags toward Pandora- lavender and lemon.

“It is, yes. They fall head-over-heels for me, except I never realize until they’ve long moved on, and the worst part,” Pandora begins as Lily motions to situate herself on the ottoman. “Is that by the time they’ve gotten over me, I’ve developed a crush on them!” She wails, though it seems to be only for comedic effect. Lily tries to laugh politely and ends up snorting.

“I see, quite the issue you’ve got there.”

“It’s horrible. And I would ask my friends to tell me whenever they know because they always know, but they would just laugh!” Pandora leans back against the exposed brick wall beside the window, allowing the steady orange glow of the slow sunset to highlight her.

Lily feels every fiber of her being hone in, feels the moment the charcoal touches her fingertip, and her consciousness evaporates. But it’s nice, in a way, that her painting models have rarely been before. Pandora is thoughtful, asking questions about the project -a portrait of a ‘beautiful person’- and the medium -anything and everything- and what she needs to do -sit as still as possible. And she’s generous, playing soft classical music from her phone that doesn’t affect Lily’s flow. Suddenly, an hour has passed since Pandora arrived, and the sketch is done. Pandora thinks it is lovely, and she can leave now if she’d like since it’s getting so late. But Pandora asks if she can stay to see how it turns out, if only to make quiet conversation with a shell-of-a-person. And who would Lily be to say no?

Pandora plays with her bracelets, the beaded one, the chains, and the metal bands. She tries her hardest to stay still despite knowing that Lily doesn’t need her to stay exactly where she is anymore. Pandora keeps herself still because, from the angle she sits at, she has a perfect view of the face Lily makes as she rubs oil pastels into the canvas, the perfect view to watch the face of concentration that overtakes her as she mixes paints, searching for the right shade. Pandora wishes the easel was tilted slightly more, if only so she could see how Lily interprets her- how this woman sees another.

Pandora shivers and hopes Lily doesn’t notice. She leans forward and grasps at the handle of the magenta mug before her. The tea is long cold, but Pandora has never been particularly picky about such things. So, she takes a long sip and watches over the mug’s rim as Lily readjusts herself. Pandora licks her lips.

A decently sized wooden antique clock hangs on the far wall behind Lily. From what she can read on it -Evan swears up and down she needs glasses- it’s about 9:30 at night, and Pandora can feel the exhaustion finally begin to set in. Her heart aches as Lily makes another disgruntled sound, tears a paper towel from its roll, and drabs gingerly at the canvas.

“Is there anything I can do?” Pandora whispers into the empty. Lily pauses momentarily, almost startled, then turns and nods vaguely.

“Coffee, if you would? I’ll take it however at this point.”

Pandora rushes up and into the kitchenette, two coffees.

By 11:59 p.m., Lily feels on the verge of a mental breakdown and a hallelujah moment. She sends the photo of the decorated canvas to the professor, McGonagall, who requires digital and physical versions of students’ work. As the clock strikes midnight, Lily can feel her adrenaline, anxiety, and emotions drain out like the water in an emptying bath.

Lily turns to Pandora, who had passed out on the ottoman near the three-hour mark, and gently grabs all the mugs that littered the end table. She makes her way into the kitchenette as quietly as possible, setting mug after mug onto the counter to be washed later.

“Is it over?” Lily hears Pandora whisper.

“As of two minutes ago, I have officially finished my final project.”

Pandora shoots up, not unlike a rocket, and beelines to where Lily stands near the stainless-steel sink. Pandora’s arms are loose and gentle, yet tight and intense. She holds onto Lily like a lifeline, plunging her face into the crook of Lily’s neck.

“I knew you could do it,” Pandora whispers into Lily’s skin.

“You helped more than you could ever know.” Lily replies, whispering into the wild curls of Pandora’s hair.

“I’m glad,” Pandora says, pulling back to look at Lily in the eyes.

Lily hears the words before she registers, saying, “I’m going to do something stupid.”

“What brand of stupid?”

“The kind that someone sleep-deprived and high on adreneline uses.”

Pandora stares at her, and Lily wonders if she dare to kiss this beautiful, mysterious stranger.

Their lips connect before Lily has the chance to second-guess herself.

Pandora tasted Lily’s cheap coffee, the lavender-lemon tea Lily had bought in bulk, and the copious other snacks they had been devouring throughout the night. Pandora tastes of long nights and gentle mornings, summer rain and winter sun, and dark flats in early summer as the school year approaches. Pandora tastes of the future, near and far alike.

Pandora runs her hands down Lily’s sides, pushing the pair out of the kitchenette and into the living space. The sofa is wide enough to support the both of them as they collapse into one another in a tangled, twisted mess of limbs and love.

Lily situations herself so she can lay with her head propped by two throw pillows and the armrest; Pandora leans over her, leaving bites and kisses as a breadcrumb trail of their adventure.

The flat is all but pitch black, the only light coming from the lamp Lily had been using to paint. The room was left to the faint glow of the white light bouncing off wall after wall to reach them- it never would.

Nothing could reach the two of them now as they tangled into one another, pulling and tugging and pushing and biting, anything and everything to allow the slightest consumption of empty space. Pandora seemed hell-bent on climbing her, and Lily could hardly stop her. Instead, Lily found herself grasping at the thick woven belt tied around Pandora’s and using it to haul the other girl up and into her lap.

“More.” One of them whispers, and neither knows which.

“Yes.” They say in unison as their hands meet and their lips join again.

Eventually, Lily unties Pandora’s belt, shimmying her shorts off and onto the ground elsewhere.

“More.” Lily says, and this time, she is certain it’s her.

“Yes.” Pandora replies, yanking her top off with relish.

Lily presses a soft, beautiful kiss to the top of Pandora’s breast, cupping them in her hands, “Tell me what you want, darling.”

“You.” Pandora says, even though she knows it will be cheesy. She tucks a strand of red hair behind Lily’s ear. “Give me whatever you’re willing to give.”

“Okay,” Lily whispers into Pandora’s skin. Her tongue glides over Pandora’s breast with experience, lapping at perky nipples and moles and small acne scars. Her lips follow the same route, kissing over Pandora’s breast, sucking nipples into her mouth to pull and kiss and feel, over and over again. She licks and kisses and breathes in Pandora.

Then, as she feels Pandora shift in her lap, Lily grips her hips, pulling them down to grind against her own.

“How far do you want to go?” Lily questions, sucking at the soft spot behind Pandora’s ear.

“I want to watch you cum.”

“Fuck.”

Pandora shifted them once more so she was kneeling before the sofa. The hardwood was certainly uncomfortable, but Pandora seemed to not notice it as she lowered her head down to nip at the clothed crotch of her partner.

For perhaps the first time in her life, Lily regretted her choice of jeans as her painter’s outfit. Mostly, Pandora made disgruntled noises as she continued to nip listlessly at the offending pants. Eventually, Lily pulled them off alongside her crusty painting top and panties, if only for her own sake.

Pandora made quick work of returning to her station between Lily’s legs, licking and sucking and kissing at Lily’s thighs and cunt. She also seemed prepared for Lily to beg for more as she quickly offered her fingers to be sucked.

And perhaps it was the combination of the two -having her clit viciously stimulated and having a pretty finger in her mouth- that led to her quick orgasm, but either way, Lily was distraught.

“Sorry, sorry, I-” she started, even as Pandora continued licking and sucking, “fuck, I didn’t mean to cum.”

Despite her attempts, Pandora seemed unbothered, remaining steadfastly between Lily’s legs, lapping up cum and spit and wetness.

At some point, not long after, Lily had wrapped her hand in Pandora’s hair, using it to guide how Pandora moved.

“More,” Lily says again, and Pandora moves quickly as she uses her middle finger to push into Lily’s cunt. There was a moment of complete silence as Lily let her head fall back and felt every millimeter of Pandora’s finger push further inside.

Then, Pandora began pumping- in and out and in and out and in and out and-

With her tongue pushing right into Lily’s clit- her left-hand working overtime to not only spread Lily’s legs but also rub tight circles into her clit-

Lily felt the waves rolling into shore again- her orgasm left her legs shaking and her brain fuzzy.

“You now.” She mumbles, and Pandora smiles, gently shuffling them so she can lay spread on the couch, and- “No, no. On my face.” Lily says tightly, already laying back.

Pandora pauses before nodding and scooting up and near Lily’s head. “Are you sure?” she whispers, moving again only after Lily confirms. She swings her leg over Lily’s head and uses the armrest as leverage to hold herself up. Lily begins slowly, softly giving tentative licks to Pandora’s dripping cunt.

Pandora moans, loud and guttural, as Lily grasps her sides and pulls her down to rest more of her weight on Lily’s face. Lily groans in reply, the vibrations following up and into her tongue. Her tongue seemed to have a mind of its own as it viciously licked at Pandora’s clit.

Lily’s hands hold tightly onto Pandora’s waits even as she writhes through her orgasm, nearly spasming over the two. Lily considers continuing, much like how Pandora did, but holds herself back as Pandora shuffles and taps gently on the hands that hold her.

“Are you alright?” Lily asks immediately, suddenly very self-conscious.

“Oh, yes, I’m just not sure that I could stop myself if we kept going.” Pandora says sagely, opting to scoot closer to Lily on the defiled sofa, “I have classes. . . later this morning that I have to be at, unfortunately.”

“Which mean you have to go?” Lily unhappily murmurs, and Pandora nods, pushing herself off the seat in one huff and reaching around to tug on her clothes. Lily watches, entranced, as Pandora ties the woven belt back around her waist.

“You have my number, yeah?” Lily nods dumbly, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, “good, be sure to use it, pretty girl.”

[224terminal]

Oh my gosh! I love Ceto so much! If you ever have time and if you’re interested, can you write a short interaction with any or all of the Octatrio? It can be a short snippet! I just want to see Jade (please make it Jade) so bothered and unsettled by her UM! Or have the both of them out in the forest collecting and harvesting their respective hobbies!

Ceto sounds so cute! I love her so much! Can she be my girlfriend? I wouldn’t mind staring into her mouth…

(Ignore that last part hahah, I’m just so in love with her)

Oh gosh! Just realized! Ceto means “sea monster”! Very clever hahahah

- - -

aaaa thank you so much for liking her!!! she's the cutest and the creepiest. <3 she fits right in with the eccentric octavinelle trio. the tags you left on your reblog are also very true!! azul would absolutely capitalize on her um, weaponizing it for his own benefit. she likes to tease everyone by opening her mouth and seeming suggestive about it just to gauge reactions hehe. the twins are her favorite two to subject to this teasing. she's a menace through and through.

and her name does indeed mean "sea monster"! i took inspiration from the greek goddess ceto, who is the goddess of the dangers of the sea and sea monsters. essentially, ceto (my oc) is meant to embody that sort of unnerving fear of the deep sea and all of the horrors it can house.

stare into her mouth as much as you would like. she has many fun (scary) things to show you. <3 and she is everyone's girl-friend. ceto proudly proclaims that, by which she means she's everyone's friend who is a girl. aaaa she's silly and annoying just like jade, which is why he makes for such a good specimen to test her um on.

without further ado, please enjoy this small scenario!!! i think the idea of jade and ceto collecting things for their respective hobbies together is a fun prompt. i imagine they have the sort of relationship where they can tolerate one another on polite and friendly levels, but both know to tread lightly as they are deep-sea predators.

ceto steps across a fallen tree as if it's a tightrope placed precariously high, her arms outstretched to retain a graceful sort of balance. though she had initially come to search the forest for interesting insect specimens, she's done no such thing in the thirty or so minutes she's spent walking beside jade, who keeps his stare trained to the ground in hopes of finding a certain mushroom species. it thrives in this part of the forest, or so he had explained, his mismatched eyes alight with an almost child-like wonder.

she hops down from the tree just as the question leaves her lips: "do you know how many teeth make up an adult human's mouth?"

jade turns to view her with a raised brow. "thirty-two," he replies as if it's easy trivia.

she hums her approval and then taps a manicured fingernail against her cheek. "compared to our mouths, that's not a lot of teeth."

"i suppose not, no."

"that's too bad." she twirls slowly, moving as if acting out steps in a one-partner waltz. it's a strange sort of whimsy that pairs well with the bright musicality in her tone. "many teeth make mincing meals easier!"

jade hums his acknowledgement, flipping through a guidebook for visual reference. ceto peers past him, brows furrowed. they've walked deep enough to have come across all kinds of fungi. she wonders what's so special about this specific species. maybe it's like a butterfly: fluttery and difficult to catch. beautifully fragile. although in jade's case, it's likely prized for its use in a terrarium or a dish and not how pretty it will look pinned to a board. maybe it's the poisonous kind. maybe it's the kind that looks poisonous but is really just innocent. an expert mimic. she can never determine which jade will choose to gather next.

"having lots of teeth is nice. if they break or fall out, we can just grow more. humans only get two sets, so they don't have the luxury of endless teeth."

"it's rather unfortunate, isn't it?"

"very much so!" skipping ahead, ceto falls into step beside him. "it's a shame, really."

jade chuckles. "if i may ask, why have teeth left you so fascinated?"

"i was just thinking. when i open my mouth, most recoil in surprise or fear. but human teeth are beautiful and terrifying all in one, yet no one discusses it as often as they do our teeth. i recently learned that the human jaw is powerful enough to bite through fingers." she feigns a shudder, her voice wavering with faux fright. "humans are scary."

"i would hope so, otherwise they wouldn't be very worthy of the title 'predator' now, would they?"

"no, not really." she folds her arms behind her back, humming once more. her feet deliberately carry her further until she stops, pivots, and stands directly in front of jade. his gait halts, and he looks at her quizzically. "for us, the idea of chewing through finger bones is fry's play. it's not very unsettling."

his eyes narrow.

"and so i've been wondering something lately—with all this talk of teeth and fear." a sharp smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "just what is the jade leech afraid of? because you exist in lots of nightmares, but you don't seem to have a nightmare of your own."

she steps towards him, and he allows it. ceto knows he's not a fool. he could draw his magic pen, use brute strength to force her into submission, but he doesn't. he watches carefully, assessing her every movement. a coward waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"i've considered dozens of phobias and none of them seem to suit you. but i know you're not fearless. no one is. and for someone who can carve the truth from others with a single stare, i'd like to do the same. if you'd be willing to indulge me, that is."

jade smiles thinly, aiming to remain effortlessly composed, but he's looking right into her open maw, right at the alluring luminescence in the back of her throat. and perhaps it's because it delights ceto so that he does it, or perhaps it's simply because he cannot force himself to look away no matter how hard he tries. she's something of a shipwreck: brutal and cruel, yet tragically hypnotic. and were her voice that of a siren's scream or the merry cries of phantom sailors, he would be thoroughly ensorcelled.

"you're too good at masking your anxieties, jade. it's almost unfair."

the forest falls away then, patches of vibrant greenery and beaming sunlight gradually swallowed by an encroaching pitch-black void. ceto's eyes widen with anticipation, flashing a predatory pink.

"so let's find out what your nightmare is together, shall we?"

with a resonating finger snap, darkness descends all at once, leaving jade in a frigid pit of gloom with a lurking horror.

[dogueteeth-fhr]

Tagged by @silvery-bluish to look for orange, hand, shout, and run in my WIPs! Thanks for this, it was so much fun, even if it was surprisingly difficult to find "shout" anywhere in my fics, meanwhile, hand(s) were everywhere!! Guess my fics are subconsciously channeling my obsession towards hands and aversion to shouting. What an odd and fun discovery!

I'll tag forward.... uhmmm... @wonda-fhr ! I can't think of many others who may be up for sharing WIP snippets since I'm still trying to match tumblr faces or AO3/discord. No pressure to participate and even if I didn't tag you feel free to mention me if you want to do the prompt below anyways!

Forward prompt: Sky, teeth, hate, red

My Prompts

orange

She wants to scream. Wants to down the bottle, wants to smash it on the ground, wants to grab a gas pump and coat the asphalt, wants to set a match and watch it explode and hear the screams echo into a silent, desolate world that will never hear them. Trees don’t make a sound when they fall. Not when there’s no one there to hear them. No one would know. It’s a back road in the middle of nowhere, in a nowhere town with nowhere people, people like her. People who the government pretends don’t exist.

The FEZ’s own not-people that they dump nuclear ash on top of because they’re virtual uninhabitants. People who exist where they shouldn’t because it’s inconvenient, in the middle of nowhere in nuclear testing grounds, and people who don’t exist because of that very fact. Still more ‘people’ than she ever will be. Still ‘people’ enough to make her angry. Make her bitter. Make her crave match and flame and ash on her tongue, on her clothes, hot and burning enough to peel the lines of neon orange from her flesh. Hot enough to melt through and eat everything beneath. Bite. Lash out. Tear.

Tearteartearclawriptearkilltakescreamwhydidn’ttheycomeforme—

An excerpt from stray. , a chronological collection of shorts surrounding Cerrísa Becerra and her times after the first & second escapes. This one is set after the second escape. can you feel my environmental studies training peeking through lol?

shout(s)

“Oh, yes, yes, we fucking do,” she growls, finally twisting around to face him, the movement harsh enough that it makes him pause. She’ll give him what he wants. He wants her to face him? Wants her to open up, tell him everything that’s wrong? Why she never told him? Fine. Ortega should have learned long ago to be careful with what he wishes for, because she’s going to make sure it blows up in his face spectacularly.

“I didn’t tell you because it could never happen!” She shouts, all thoughts of proximity discomfort tossed out the window as she lunges forward, her face almost directly against his chest and her neck twisted uncomfortably to glare up at him through foggy eyes.

This snippet is from an untitled WIP I never finished. Ortega and Isa talking about why she never told him that she loved him, post-guilty and potentially post-faker. I initially made it back when Isa had the Anger Motivation, but it's since been abandoned as I no longer feel that it's very accurate to her character.

run(ning)

How did they even make it out alive back then, running blind and recklessly? He doesn’t know, not anymore. Did they? Make it? Alive? Is he? alive?

He supposes that he never really left. He stands somewhere on the Palos Verdes coastline, the shore too damaged and volatile after The Big One for any houses or communities to remain or be rebuilt. Abandoned. Isolated. Too remote for most things to survive. His body, physical, impermeable, is here, but his mind is elsewhere. It always has been. Even out here, where he can spread his wings and live, he still doesn’t feel alive. Still feels trapped in that tiny cell of four white walls, isolated from the world. From others. The change in scenery hasn’t helped. The grass isn’t greener. The frog still remembers the well. He still doesn’t feel alive. Still doesn’t feel free, a butterfly that sacrificed its wings to escape the web. Still doesn’t feel real, not in the way that matters. But then again, he’s never felt that way, never felt that self-confidence and assuredness that his handlers would carry. The confidence that comes from knowing that you’re human. From knowing that you matter.

Excerpt from palos verdes blue, the prequel to another WIP (below). Since this WIP may be published very soon, I won't elaborate much other than it's in FHR universe separate from Sidestep's story! :3

hand(s)

Instead, Dennis’ hands carefully travel up his arms, slow enough that if Larry wanted to, he could pull away, bat his arms aside and run but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to run. He’s so tired of running. A small, delirious part of him wonders if he’s going to die like this, in the hands of a small, fragile human who could ruin his life in a heartbeat with the flick of a lightswitch, because he doesn’t have it in himself to kill, not this one, not this person, who, for a few small seconds, made him feel wanted, made him feel alive before his demons caught up to him. There’s nervousness and worry tinting Dennis’ motions as he convinces Larry to lower his hands. His thin, frail fingers rub small, soothing circles into the inside of his wrists, soft fingers smoothing over scars

Excerpt from sargasso sea. I debated on including the previous paragraph for context but. Ah. Hmm. Too spoilery? This will be published soon, anyways, after palos verdes blue.

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it!!

[puddleslimewrites]

Haircut (Prompt #2)

Villain forced themself to keep still as Hero drew near. They took a lock of Villain's bangs between their fingers, a smile playing on their lips.

"You cut your hair," Hero hummed.

Villain avoided locking eyes with them. "I just...felt like trying something different."

Hero smirked, not buying the excuse for a second. "It suits you."

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Betrayed

Hi hi friends!! I wanted to post today but I have been working on not one but TWO snippets- one hero x villain (songbird part threeeeee anyone?!? 😈😇) and one urban fantasy (dragons and wolves and mages, oh my!) to post and neither of them are quite where I want them to be yet.

But fear not! I will be posting them as soon as possible:) In the meantime, here is a short snippet I wrote AGES ago based on this prompt by @gingerly-writing:

Prompt #2784

“You can’t give me to [villain]! You can’t! You’re supposed to be my friends!”

“We’re also supposed to save the city. And right now, that’s more important than saving you.”

Sidekick couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice nor the trembling out of her bound hands as she was led, well, dragged, out of the car towards where three men in black suits stood waiting next to a black SUV parked beside the pier. 

“Please! Please don’t—" Her voice cracked as those she had once called friends pulled her to a stop a safe distance from the men. Hero and Hero’s Soulmate gripped her arms, stopping her futile attempts of escape. 

“Her, in exchange for the city’s safety?” Hero’s question sounded more like skepticism than confirmation, and if terror wasn’t pounding in her veins, Sidekick would have been offended. 

The figure in the middle, the man who’d been wreaking havoc on the city for years, nodded, his deep voice smooth and certain. “You have my word.” 

That must have been reassurance enough, for in a flash, Hero and his team—the team she’d been a part of—were back in their car and speeding away. 

She cast a quick glance around the deserted pier, the gentle glow of the fading sun staining the calm water with soft streaks of pink light, a far more appealing picture than the sharp lines and harsh blacks of the supervillain and his men.  

She could try to make it to the water. 

But her hands were bound. She wouldn’t last long. 

They would pull her out, and most likely be furious with the delay. 

She swallowed her fear and turned towards the three men. They hadn’t made any move to come closer. 

Dark sunglasses blocked out their eyes despite the fading light, and a shiver ran through her. 

She closed her eyes as her mind filled her head with all the things that could happen now that she was here, defenseless, sold to buy freedom for everyone else. 

“Come.” 

The quiet word from the man in the middle carried across the distance between them, and she instinctively took a step back before lurching forward, terrified she’d displeased the one whose mercy she was now at. 

It took an eternity and no time at all for her to reach the front of the SUV. She stopped, unable to bring herself any closer to the man who had the power to bring the city to its knees with a flick of his fingers, who had instead demanded her. 

Her breaths were loud in the stillness of twilight, and she kept her head down, as though memorizing each inch of her shoes was the most important thing in the world. 

“They taught you to fear me.” It wasn’t a question, and it was filled with displeasure.

She flinched. 

Then flinched again at the angry noise he made at her flinching. 

The gravel crunched until she could feel his presence before her. 

Warm hands caught her bound ones, lifting them. She hardly registered that the bindings had been cut as he turned her left arm to expose the dark swirling mark on her inner wrist. 

And in turn revealing the matching mark on his. 

Taglist:

(this is my general taglist for all my posts containing my writing, if you'd like to be added, pls lmk by asking to be on the general taglist! If you prefer to only be tagged in certain snippets, you can specify:)

@im-a-wonderling @shieldmaiden-of-gondor @watercolorfreckles @distance-does-not-matter @onestopheroxvillain @lolafaiy @chaoticgoodandi @1becky1 @tobeornottobeateacher @himynameisorla @superherosweet @brekker-by-brekkerr @crazytwentythrees @great-day-today @sunflower1000@selectivegeekwithstandards @chibicelloking @trantolette @sapphiques @jinpanman @genesissane @wish1bone1 @amongtheonedaisy @distractedlydistracted @kitsunesakii @glitterythief @jinx1365 @cherrychewingbrat @in-patient-princess @thepenultimateword @sorrow-and-bliss @technikerin23 @deflated-bouncingball @talesofurbania1 @rivalriotrenegade

[jukkaricity]

DATV Companion Week - Bellara - Day 6

I'm not gonna lie my dudes and dudettes, work is kicking my ass this week. I'm late with everything the prompts included. I say even though I only worked 2 days this week so far.

So to make it all better here's a short snippet about Bellara panicking after her serial got printed out and she's about to read the review.

Prompts for Bellara Appreciation week hosted by @datvcompanionweeks were:

Archive | Serial

“Are you entirely sure about this Bell?” Neve put her pipe down with a soft click, a cloud of smoke lazily curling up to dissipate slowly. Bellara brought with her a whiff of fresh air, as fresh as one could get in Docktown at least, and a reminder why Neve was supposed to stop smoking inside.

She’d been working through the ever growing pile of cases when Bellara burst into her new office, a small apartment, right above a bakery. How Elek managed to find a place so similar to her old residence remained a mystery. For now. She had to admit Elek was surprisingly good at keeping quiet and covering his tracks. She’d made a mental note to figure it out later. There was simply too much work to do now. Including reading the review of Bellara’s first released serial. 

“Yes, Neve. Gods, I cannot wait.” Bellara was giddy with anticipation, Neve could see the energy vibrating through her body. She reached out to grab the paper from her desk when Bellara turned around, her eyes wide open as she stared at Neve with horror. “Oh. But what if they didn’t like it?” 

Bellara began pacing nervously across the tiny space mumbling to herself, too fast for Neve to make out the exact words. Something about not enough kissing, too much focus on poison making and what if she mixed up grilled fish ingredients mentioned in the first chapter. She was gesticulating wildly, until her attention snapped back to Neve as suddenly as the spiral began. 

“What if… What if  it got a bad review? What if… Oh, Neve, what if someone figured out it was me?” Bellara closed the distance from the door to the desk within a blink of an eye, her hands now gripping tightly on the desk edge. Neve only smiled, tilting her head slightly.

“Well, I cannot promise you anything when it comes to reviews.” She stood up and circled the desk to lean on it next to Bellara, her prosthetic clicking on the floor. “The figuring out bit… they’d have to hire me to get down to it. And I gave you my word, it will be a secret.” 

Bellara spun around and perched on the table, her toes just brushing the ground. She sighed loudly, closing her eyes and clasped her hands together. 

“Okay. Right. It’s fine. This is fine.” A couple more deep breaths followed, before Bellara opened her eyes again. “I’m sure it isn't so bad. Maybe they even liked it?” she looked up to Neve as if hoping for reassurance, who in turn just looked down trying to suppress a smile. Empty promises were never her strong suit. 

“Won’t know until we check the papers,” Neve said instead, unrolling the viciously crumpled paper that Bellara came in with. Clearly the self-doubt must have hit her at least a couple times before she even made it to the office. 

Neve whipped the paper open, scanning the pages for the review column and Bellara jumped down from the table and began pacing again. 

“Wait. What if it’s bad?” she was pulling on the edges of her sleeves. “Ooooh, I shouldn’t have sent it.” 

“They printed it out, Bell.” Neve peeked at her friend from above the paper. “At least one person liked it enough.” 

Bellara was about to speak up again when the doors opened right behind her. In them stood Rook, his figure dripping wet, the smell of fresh rain filling the room. Surprise spring showers didn’t spare either the Docktown, or its heroic Crow-savior. He looked between Bellara and Neve unsure. Clearly he walked in on something. Again. Last time it was Bellara asking Neve how probable it was that a tragic romance between a wealthy magister's child and a poor mage from the streets would go unnoticed in the Minrathous circle. It would not, according to Neve. Rook would rather not ask if she knew from experience.

“What’s going on?” He finally asked, pulling the hood off and throwing his cape on the lone chair in the corner. Neve still couldn’t get used to him not wearing dark blues of the Crows. He insisted it was to “blend in”. She knew that he was just enjoying colorful clothes too much. 

“Bellara had her first serial printed in the Mirror. We’re… planning to read the reviews.” Neve waved the paper she was still holding.

“Wow, I didn’t know you actually sent it out!” Rook wrapped his arms around Bellara’s waist and gave her a peck on the cheek. Neve couldn’t help but notice that he still looked at her like she was the only person in the room. “Congratulations! And right in the Mirror too? By the time I’m back from Salle you’ll be famous!” 

“Oh, don’t say that! We don’t even know if the reviews were nice.” Bellara’s face turned bright red. Rook’d been encouraging her writing since the very beginning. Didn’t even make her feel weird about it once. Well maybe that one time when she asked him if he knew how to strangle someone with a piano chord. Though maybe it only got weird when he said that a piano chord would not do a great job and suggested alternatives. 

“They better be!” Rook laughed, pulling Bellara closer. “Or the Minrathous Mirror will have a string of tragic accidents to write about very, very soon.”

“Rook! Don’t even say that!” Bellara buried her face into his shoulder, but it seemed that her worry melted away at least a bit. 

“Well, come on, out with that review. We must know if we’re sad or happy drinking.” 

Neve shook her head but looked back down to the review. 

“From an anonymous author comes a breath of fresh air into the recently stagnant world of Minrathous serials. The Docktown mystery has our whole office on edge, impatiently awaiting further chapters. If you’re looking for an action packed story set in the Minrathous underbelly, it is a must read!” 

Bellara squealed happily and jumped up to throw her arms around Neve as if she was the one who wrote the review. 

“Sounds like happy drinking for the two of you tonight,” Neve said, returning the hug. 

“We can make it ‘happy Hal’s fish’ instead, Neve.” Rook responded, already grabbing his coat back from the chair. “You look like you haven’t seen the city during the day for way too long.” 

[doctor-fancy-pants]

Wednesday Words

A Dash of Magic

An ordinary night. An ordinary hill. An ordinary girl. Her ordinary dog.

An ordinary breeze hushes through ordinary leaves.

An ordinary planet spins fast enough to hold together, but its ordinary rotation cannot be felt.

The ivory light from an ordinary moon over an ordinary horizon, glittering silver fire from ordinary stars. Ordinary galaxies wheel overhead. In that blackness lies an ordinary vastness, an ordinary void, containing ordinary gravitational masses that bend light.

Ordinary fingers curl to scratch a canine ear, marvel at ordinary silken fur.

Ordinary brown eyes half-close in pleasure.

There is nothing ordinary about any of this.

I have a Wednesday night writing group. We do prompts, and drabbles, and it's a good time. Everyone comes out with something so different! They're short snippets - the drabbles are only supposed to be 100 words (eventually I got there!), a warm-up for the later prompt. I've decided to post my favourites, because why not? This is one of my favourites. PS yes I know it is not Wednesday anywhere right now, I have dropped the ball on this for a couple weeks, so enjoy the Friday edition! I will go schedule a couple more Wednesdays now...

[tennessoui]

40 or 43 if you’re still taking prompts! i love ur AUs they’re so beautiful and contain so much brilliance within a short snippet!

it's been so long, anon, you probably forgot you sent this but here is prompt 40, exes meeting after not seeing each other for a long time. in true tennessoui fashion, they don't. actually. meet and/or see each other in this snippet. also in true tennessoui fashion, all tennessoui needs to decide to continue this is one (1) validation.

the backstory here is something i have been thinking about for days after a discord convo, where during the fight on mustafar, obi-wan hits anakin hard enough in the head that he loses all of his memories. obi-wan takes him with him for a few months but the wounds of Order 66 and vaderkin's role in what happened is too fresh for obi-wan to (understandably) get over, even if this anakin doesn't remember doing it, so they separate. this is set 8 years after Mustafar.

(1.7k)

“Kenobi won’t come,” the fighter pilot says immediately upon disembarking from his craft.

One commander lets out a groan. Someone else hits the durasteel side of the closest x-wing with a closed fist.

“Do we really need him?” Anakin demands, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s been eight years since the rise of the Empire. Surely a washed-up Jedi General from the Clone Wars won’t have people jumping to join the Rebellion!”

No one meets his eye. In fact, the air room suddenly feels very, very uncomfortable.

Organa exhales heavily and turns to look at Anakin, which is rare because the man never voluntarily looks at Anakin. “There are few names from that time that still carry an untainted weight in the eyes of the galaxy. Obi-Wan Kenobi is one of them.”

“I grew up hearing about The Team!” A teenager says eagerly. “I’d join any resistance movement if I knew both of ‘em were fighting with me!”

“You’re already a part of a resistance movement,” a girl next to him pointed out waspishly.

The boy waves her off. “Skywalker and Kenobi, saving the galaxy! It’d be wizard to be a part of that, and you know it, Aasha!”

Anakin’s throat tightens at that name. Skywalker. His name. Or, his old name. He has no more connection to it now than he does to the name Kenobi or Organa. They’re just letters.

He catches Organa’s eye. The man is looking at him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Anakin knows instinctively that this is another one of the man’s tests. Will this time be the time that whatever injury has kept his memories suppressed for eight years is undone, and his previous life comes thundering through his mind?

He’s sick of these tests. He’s never failed one, but Organa never comes closer to trusting him afterward. He can only assume that whatever Anakin Skywalker had done in his last few days alive had been so terrible that only a few people knew the truth, and those who did would never forgive any version of him for it.

Organa certainly knew, though he had never shared that information with Anakin. And.

And Kenobi did as well. That was clear. They’d only been together for five standard months, sharing a small spacecraft made smaller by the fear, agony, grief, fury, and hurt radiating off of his companion into the space around them.

It had been hard to tell at the time if one of the things Obi-Wan Kenobi had been grieving was the loss of Anakin Skywalker. Anakin isn’t sure Kenobi would have been able to answer that either.

Some part of him that usually rests dormant in the back of his mind stirs and hisses that it had to have been. That Skywalker’s loss had torn Kenobi’s soul to shreds.

This doesn’t necessarily feel like his own thought, but it’s quite hard to ignore. He wants to rub a hand against his aching head, but that surely would tip off Organa that something’s--what? That he’s having thoughts?

Perish the very idea.

One would think Anakin hadn’t joined the Rebellion of his own free will. That Anakin hadn’t spent three standard months on the planet Kenobi had left him on before catching wind of the existence of the Rebel Alliance, that he hadn’t risked life and limb (more limb, apparently, given his missing flesh hand) to find them afterwards. He hadn’t known much anything about himself, but he had known that he hadn’t liked what the Imperial troops were doing, how much destruction they were causing, how the people they were supposed to be protecting hid in fear of their white armor.

Something in Anakin had rebelled at that, had thought it wrong and twisted. Someone needs to stop them, he’d thought. So he had found the people that were trying to.

And yes, a small part of him had thought--perhaps hoped--that Obi-Wan Kenobi would be a part of the Rebel Alliance by the time Anakin made his way to their biggest base. He had thought--perhaps hoped--that he would be able to prove himself to the other man. Look, he had wanted to scream at Kenobi, I’m not like that other Anakin, I would never do what he did. You can trust me. You can look me in the eye, I won’t stab you in the back.

Because something in him had yearned, still yearns, for Kenobi’s approval. For the weight of his gaze settling warmly around his shoulders. For his small smiles, his calloused hand clasping the back of Anakin’s head to bring their foreheads together in a gentle tap hello.

These are things Anakin knows he’s never experienced. But he must have in his past life, because his whole body will ache for them like a phantom limb. It’s been seven years and a few months since he last saw Kenobi.

“I’ll go,” Anakin says, which is what he said the last time they were standing like this, huddled around a fighter pilot delivering the same message of failure.

Organa’s mouth tightens in displeasure, and Mothma places a hand on his arm in warning.

Everyone else falls silent around them, as if recognizing the fact that they’re in the middle of a brewing storm, and they’re lucky to be in its eye right now.

“I do not think--” Organa starts, but Anakin cuts him off, crossing his arms even tighter over his chest, as if to hold himself back. The force suppression collar around his neck grows warmer, but it holds. It always holds.

“You’re already sending men who look like me to him!” Anakin points out irately. “The last four men could have been related to me!” It’s something Anakin’s thought about in the past but never said out loud. He’s glad to say it now though, especially because Organa flushes a bit which means Anakin’s right. “Just send me! If it doesn’t work, nothing in the galaxy will!”

Now, Anakin isn’t sure that’s true at all. He’s taking a huge leap with this, but it’s been seven years and a few months since he saw Obi-Wan Kenobi in person, and every part of him is aching with the desire to lay eyes on the man again. Will he hate him still? Will he see all the differences Anakin’s made to his appearance? Will he like them? He fights the urge to run a hand over his shorn hair.

Will Obi-Wan even let him through the door?

The people around them are murmuring now. They don’t know what Organa knows, what Anakin has guessed at: that Skywalker died a traitor to the Republic, that he had tried to strike down Obi-Wan like the Emperor struck down the rest of the Jedi. To them, these fortunate outsiders, they’re wondering why Anakin Skywalker hasn’t already been sent to locate and bring back their errant General.

Before, Anakin’s offer had been quiet, easily ignored over someone else’s. Now he’s loud and confident. Impossible to turn away without making a public scene, without explaining why. And Organa has tried very hard not to do that. For whatever reason, Anakin doesn’t know. All he knows is that after he’d been examined by a battalion of med droids and interrogated by all three leaders of the Rebellion, Organa had given him a list of rules he had to follow in order to join the Rebel Alliance. Firstly, never remove his cuffs and collar.

It’s not a slave collar and it won’t electrocute you if you touch it or try to take it off, Organa had told him when he’d blanched away at the sight. But I have been informed by a trusted ally that the Chance--the Emperor knows your Force Signature intimately. We cannot risk being found. It would kill all hope for us.

Secondly, never confirm his identity. Never talk about who he used to be.

People will know, Organa had grudgingly admitted. Skywalker was one of the faces of the Clone Wars. But you cannot confirm it. In fact.

Thirdly, give up the name Skywalker. Pick another last name, if not first as well.

But Anakin had been attached to his first name for some reason he didn’t know how to begin to question, so even after he toyed with the idea of changing it completely, he couldn’t go through with it. Weeks later he had shown up in Organa’s makeshift office.

I had a mother, didn’t I? He had asked, causing Organa to stiffen immediately.

Do you remember? Organa had interrogated immediately, his standard greeting for Anakin. Anakin had gotten the feeling, especially in those early days, that Organa was waiting with baited breath for Anakin to remember so he could try him for war crimes or treason or whatever it was that Skywalker had done.

No, he had responded honestly. Just a feeling. If I am to take a new last name, I want her name.

A few days later, Anakin had stumbled into his bunk, tired from a day of hard training, to see a packet of documents on his pillow.

Anakin Shmison was written at the top of the first page.

The list of rules goes on and on.

But nowhere does it say that Anakin Shmison isn’t allowed to mention Obi-Wan Kenobi in public. He just never has, because even the sound of the man’s name makes him feel very nauseous, a combination of butterflies and adder snakes wrestling around inside his stomach.

Bail Organa is looking like he’s regretting that oversight right now, but Anakin has backed him quite solidly into a proverbial corner. Either finally tell everyone what happened between Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi in the last few hours of the Republic, or give Anakin Shmison leave to retrieve Kenobi.

“Fine,” Organa gets out, jaw locked and vein throbbing in his temple. Anakin has the distinct feeling he’se spent a lot of his life on the receiving end of that expression. “Have this X-Wing refueled, and leave tonight.”

“No sir,” Anakin says, enjoying the way one of the man’s eyebrows shoot up in angry incredulity.

“No?” Organa asks. “Would you like more beauty rest, perhaps, Shmison?”

“No sir, I don’t need it,” this time he doesn’t resist running a hand through his hair, messing with its part so his longer bangs fall to one side and balance out the mysterious scar that bisects his eyebrow. He grins. “But I will need a craft that sits two. For the return trip.”

[listless-brainrot]

Hi! I know you love Haru and I'd love to hear your thoughts on what his personality is like? Not his bending or his ships, but just what kind of person he is. He was super undeveloped in ATLA and I'd love to understand him better and write about him!

hey, i'm glad you asked!! super flattering to have you come to me in regards to this question, and i've analyzed this guy to hell and back over the course of nearly a year now, so i'd be more than happy to give you my characterization of him

granted, it's pretty lengthy, and is heavily based on canon, hence why a lot of it ties to his bending, but i'll try my best to make it so that it's more about haru as a person, rather than his service to the plot

also makes me super happy to hear that people do want to understand and write about him!! that really does mean the world to me particularly, so thank you <3

with all of this in mind, here's a collection of my (pretty lengthy, sorry about that) thoughts:

haru being super undeveloped is actually one of the reasons why i find him so compelling- there’s so much you can do with a character of his caliber because there’s not much canon/supplementary material that can discredit your characterizations. canon, however, does actually supply a characterization of him that i’ve managed to compile and accrue over the course of finding nearly every single little detail i can find pertaining to him. this includes his canon episodes in both book 1 and 3, the videogame he appears in (which is straight up called avatar: the last airbender), and even the silly shorts.

(mild disclaimer, i know full well that the latter two i mentioned are considered non canon, but i like incorporating little bits and pieces of what they have to offer, as i don’t really have any other options. also, the videogames are the only supplementary material where he’s treated as a part of the gaang, so it’s the most personality you’ll ever get.)

i’ll start with main characteristics i try to keep in mind when writing him, and then talk about smaller, more innocuous details that i just find particularly fitting for him.

haru is:

emotionally driven. a lot of his decisions are more driven by emotion, rather than logic. this ties in with his impulsivity and morality. he’s aggravated by his position in the village as the only earthbender left, and this culminates into him still bending discreetly despite the inherent risk. he does this not only for himself, but to preserve the (possibly only) emotional connection he has to his arrested father. this is a similarity he shares with katara, who’s emotionally tied to her mother due to losing her, and haru is the one to understand what that loss really means in this interaction: “this necklace is all i have left of her.” “it’s not enough, is it?” by saying this instead of an apology or some other response, he shows that the feeling of loss she’s experiencing is mutually understood in a way that goes beyond just sympathy. there is nothing that will replace who you’ve lost other than the person themselves, and he understand that more than anyone. it’s also implied that haru doesn’t know if his father is still alive, as no one knows where the prisoners go, but it’s clear that he still holds a sort of hope that he’s somewhere out there, and that keeps him going. it just takes a little bit of outside influence for him to fully believe in that, as well as being reunited with his father again. in general, he’s also pretty receptive of other’s emotions, and is quick to come to their aid.

impulsive. not just impulsive, either- he’s got anger and resentment lying beneath his quiet composure. it’s not as bad as characters such as zuko’s, but it’s still worth mentioning. i’ll mention the impulse part first, though- generally speaking, haru reacts faster than he thinks. upon being spotted practicing his bending by katara, he runs away without pausing to consider the harmful repercussions of being found out (nor followed home). he not only runs away from danger as a first instinct, he also runs towards it in some cases, ironically enough- he’s the first one to notice and immediately run towards the mines once he hears/sees the explosion and suspects that someone’s in trouble. he does this without any prompting by katara, even if the act of actually saving the old man needed some egging on from her in order for him to accomplish. his impulsivity comes to a head in the form of his most dangerous act- him attacking the warden. i’ve already elaborated on that specific interaction here, though i will once again emphasize that haru had absolutely no plans past attacking the warden based on his body language, further fueling the idea that this was just a split second decision, one made on nothing but complete and utter impulse. to bring the anger aspect into this, he’s also unable to hold his tongue and insults the fire nation soldiers and even his town once the former leaves, and his instincts swing wildly between running and fighting on a dime with little in-between.

adaptable. instead of completely shutting down in the face of such a negative situation (and over the course of five years, no less), he brings it upon himself to practice bending, accept his role as man of the house and work in both the shop and on the farm, and other responsibilities that go unmentioned, especially when taking into account that his father is apparently the leader of his village. this is where you could start paralleling him well to sokka, which i have done before, but i will make this more haru-oriented. there is definitely a lot more to be inferred with this particular aspect of him, but i will say that it takes someone of strong will to adapt to the situations presented in his episode, and learning to live with the grim reality of fire nation occupation. to run down what we see again- soldiers freely patrolling the villages, soldiers overtaxing the villagers, soldiers entering wherever they wish unannounced, soldiers stealing away people in the night without much resistance, soldiers forcing villagers to work in the coal mines to gather the coal needed for their ships, and soldiers forcing captured earthbenders to build fire nation ships. this is all off of the top of my head, so i could be missing a lot, but again, seeing haru still be as morally oriented and determined as he is after all of this, it’s pretty impressive and telling of his adaptive capabilities. to take this one step further, he’s also extremely adaptable when it comes to working with others, as in the games he fills his role as a necessary component of the gaang without conflicting sokka or other preexisting roles, and in book 3, he finds his place amongst teo and the duke, taking the most initiative amongst the three.

lonely. a snippet from his personality bio on avatarspirit.net calls him “lonely and brave”, and i think that’s especially fitting for his character. he only had his mom for five whole years after every other earthbender was taken away, and this is without mentioning the ostracization he faced simply being one, given how the fire nation constantly demoralizes his country’s benders and likens them to savages. the village he lives in also appears to be full of old folks, so it’s not very likely that he had friends his age that were even in town, especially if we consider the circumstances of following book 2 episodes with the earth army recruiters. (it’s also unlikely that his friends are alive if they did join the army- take a gander at this line from zuko alone: Gow: Just thought someone ought to tell you, your son's battalion got captured. You boys hear what the Fire Nation did with their last group of Earth Kingdom prisoners? Soldier: Dressed them up in Fire Nation uniforms and put them on the frontline unarmed, way I heard it.  Then they just watched.) furthermore, it’s not likely that haru could’ve left his little village prior to its occupation- the games imply he’d been to omashu previously, but the circumstances of the war make this unlikely, unless he was super young. given his not always pleasant attitude and sullen expression we sometimes see him with, it’s not hard to imagine that the effects of him being so alone without the connections he needs has affected him deeply.

some other things:

-he’s horrible at lying (”they’re crazy! i mean, just look at how they’re dressed” is that really the best excuse you could’ve come up with??). -he doesn’t like keeping his hands/arms still (arms are usually crossed, sometimes gestures as he talks, hands usually balled as if expecting a fight). -he’s pretty outwardly expressive (for someone who’s supposed to be hiding most of the time, he tends to wear his emotions/intentions on his sleeve). -he can’t bite his tongue (especially when it comes to something that goes against his personal beliefs). -he doesn’t know how to react to touch (katara hugging him takes him by surprise both times, and he doesn’t reciprocate often, if anything he reacts stiffly) -he’s particular about his appearance (notably in the games, he makes negative comments about people touching his hair, and there’s also. sokka’s comments in book 3. sigh.) -he’s considered dangerous/sensitive by others (note sokka’s comments in book 1, and katara’s comments in the school time shipping short) -he lives a busy personal life (works both in the family shop and on the family farm, and has probably had to work in the coal mines at some point, though this is speculative) -he’s not above poking/having fun (in the games, he’s not above making fun of sokka and his comments about benders, and jumps at the opportunity to ride the omashu mail chutes) -he’s family oriented (count how many times he talks about his parents, it is many times i assure you, it’s important to note that he’s one of the few atla characters to actually have both parents as well as a decent relationship with them) -he has a tendency to idealize. he talks about his father fighting against the fire nation even when horribly outnumbered. it wouldn’t be surprising if he idealized the ideal of rebellion (which would later bite him given that:) -he’s a part of the first successful earth kingdom rebellion. this is mentioned on the wiki, and is unfortunately not shown in the show. it should’ve been, though. -he’s dramatic. he has an entire cliff he brings katara up to just to be dramatic and spill his sad backstory. he needs to be encouraged to save the old man, but he does it in the most dramatic way possible- he really didn’t have to stop the entire avalanche AND push it back into the mines. drama king. -he is very lucky. this can apply to anyone who encounters the gaang, but honestly, given his personality and a few things i’ve mentioned above, it’s a miracle that he’d survived as long as he did without detection nor suspicion. -he’s creative. (this one is much more speculative, but he does create huge statues of katara and ty lee pretty quickly, maybe he’s done similar things before)

to summarize: he’s a lonely impulsive idealist who isn’t afraid to throw hands if necessary and is also very attached to his dad <3 his connection to his dad makes up at least 75% of his personality