artdecosupernova-writing

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Update #4

Feelings So Far: thought I'd include a few more snippets while NaNo wraps up for people

Song Most Listened To: I do remember listening to "Millions" by Skeme as I wrote this particular scene lol

Best Line/Excerpt:

The sound of bones crunching filled the air, the rumble of thunder in the distance casting an even more horrific sheen on the goings on in front of them. Warren found he'd lost the ability to speak, his eyes pinned to the blood flinging away from its source, the bits of skull, the brain, the eyes— "Thrive," Warren finally said weakly. "Thrive..." But Thrive continued to drive his fist into ———'s head, over and over, the visceral sounds drowning out all other thought. His manic grin stretched deeper across his face, and fairly soon he was just wailing into solid earth as there wasn't any flesh or bone left to demolish that wasn't ground into a gummy paste. His knuckles cracked and splintered, a crater forming in the dirt, and his breathing was labored, fathomless, noisy, and wrong. As more inhabitants stepped out into the street, taken aback by the exorbitant gore fanned out around Thrive, the general atmosphere sank into surreal darkness. Warren gave up trying to stop him, and he watched with a heady, swirling concoction of revulsion, awe, and excitement. The energy of Tournaltis crackled with power, both ancient and recent, and it could be smelled more strongly with each moment of impact from Thrive's fist, and Warren wanted to drown in it.

Other Notes: FUCK Thrive was a ton of fun to write in this book

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Update #3

Feelings So Far: well I won the dang thing lol

Song Most Listened To: none, because there were several days of this

Best Line/Excerpt:

"Is this the legacy you want to leave behind…?" Thrive murmured. "Would you be sated knowing that at every available opportunity, you decided on the morally righteous tong in the fork of fate surrounding the safety of the universe, even at the expense of those who live in it?" Warren's skin chilled at the question, and he inhaled deeply, unsteadily. Thrive's hand moved from Warren's shoulder to the crook of his neck, and he squeezed firmly, his fingers like familiar searing brands through the material of the form suit. Through Warren's trembling and the full-fledged war going on behind his eyes that Thrive could feel rather than see, Warren knew Thrive already discerned which side of this particular battle was winning. "I've known you for a very long time, th'saiya," Thrive whispered. "You are a good man. And you will always be a good man. That is your legacy. Not what you're going to do right here, right now. This will be forgotten. You will not."

Other Notes: thank god this year is done and dusted, that was rough 😩 just one more year and the series is done!

[artdecosupernova-writing]

[artdecosupernova-writing]

thinking about the time my husband was driving me to my rheumatologist's office and I burst into tears thinking about Scatman John lol

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Update #2

Feelings So Far: well... something's happening.

Song Most Listened To: "Cold Lights" by The Birthday Massacre

Best Line/Excerpt:

Thrive's next words exploded from him, cutting Warren off and commanding further silence. "I don't know how to do this. I never knew how to be with you. Never." Warren was hit by the conviction in that statement like a veteran rifle shot directly to the face. His chest seized, his frown deepened, and his jaw set as the annoyance burgeoned into something short of tangible. But Thrive ignored that and shook his head. "I never knew how to live with the uncertainty of letting you have sex with other men when I drove you into that lion's den to begin with. I never knew how not to be terrified that I would watch you give your whole self to another person, or away from me at any cost." The shock coursing through Warren's veins instantly nauseated him. Thrive took a step back, gesticulating sharply. "The day you left me to live on the Node was one of the single most petrifying experiences of my entire nine thousand years alive. I didn't reach out to you as often as I should have because I sat holed away in my office in a state of abject terror for a great ninety-nine percent of that time. What you're doing to me... is killing me. And I don't know if I have the right to ask you to stop! I do not know if I have the right to beg you to stay with me after I betrayed you." His eyes flashed as he leaned into Warren's space, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling murmur. "But, Warren Levi Cougar, I will be damned if I stand here and lie to your face anymore."

Other Notes: damn this has gotten wild for no reason lmao

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Find the Word Game XXXI

tagged by: @space-writes!! my words: bite, fight, resent, compliment tagging: @drippingmoon, @pertinax–loculos, @druidx, and open tag! your words: alive, find, never, hide, truth, scary

bite (Eternal)—

Mydhassa frowned. "What about the residents of Andromeda? Do they get a say?" DeCosta's hands dropped delicately onto her lap. "We were going to send someone in to attempt to reach a diplomatic agreement with the governing bodies of Andromeda." Her gaze lingered on Thrive. "...But we lost track of him for two hundred years." Roundtree turned to him. "We apologize for the inhumanity of using you for our own purposes." "Senator," Thrive said, unimpressed, "I have been used for others' gain since my birth. Your arrogance, while hardly surprising, makes no unique enough impact on me to insult or otherwise." Warren had to bite his tongue to stop himself from reacting to that.

fight (Eternal)—

A thunderous shake of the ground, and the ocean erupted. Water touched the sky, pellets of droplets shot at the cliffside, and lightning arced through the clouds, illuminating the roiling, abyssal sea below them and the swelling crest in the distance. Warren was plunged into a cold snap, and he shuddered violently. "Get to shelter," Thrive demanded of those not directly fighting. He hadn't had the mental capacity to keep himself from getting soaked by the rain. He swept his hands over the ground and fire belched from between his fingers, and he swiped viciously at the Emmuli figures around him and ———, his face glowing with the light from both the flames and his eyes. "Keep everyone safe!" A sudden tsunami rushed in from the ocean, taller than the cliff, barreling toward them at an almost unrealistic speed. Thrive planted himself at the edge of the cliff and shook one hand out, throwing it skyward to encompass everyone and everything on it, quintupling the strength, and he used his other hand to spread the shield behind him. The colossal boom of the torrent impacting against Thrive's shield made Warren wince, and he reached up to cover his ears to find they'd been burned to the layer of skin beneath. Thrive almost buckled, but he dug his feet into the dirt to stabilize. White water, dark water, the speed twice that of a raging river over everyone's heads. This continued for minutes. The light in Thrive's eyes rose until it all but provided those shielded with plenty of it to see the black fog settling on the ground.

resent offense (Aurora)—

"Yes, but you also have an AI…" "An AI who is not only fully incapable of holding a baby, but probably doesn't even know the difference between one of them and a particularly lively doll." Scotty lit up [Guetry's] wrist device as well as his tattoos. "I take full offense at that," he said in his usual calm, soothing cadence. "The baby to which you're referring did exceptionally well in the plastics stress test." Guetry sputtered, choking around the gulp he'd just taken. Warren clapped him on the back again, making a face as he wasn't sure if Guetry was disturbed more than he was laughing at that.

compliment (Aurora)—

Tilting his head, Thrive's expression took on a curious form, like he'd just realized the most cherished thing he possessed was actually a priceless artifact or piece of art. "You were born on the first of June during an unscheduled meteor shower. An unscheduled meteor shower on a planet that, even at the time, had the ability to detect foreign objects passing its orbit months in advance. Has that never seemed odd to you?" Warren shrugged, hugging himself to hide his anxious shivering. "It never really occurred to me, I guess. I'd heard it so many times when I was growing up that it kinda just sounded normal." "Your intuition is unparalleled, except perhaps by that of the clairvoyant-empaths and elder silhou. You've survived every attempt on your life, accidental or otherwise, with minimal physical damage. Your gift of reasoning is phenomenal, as you've talked even a bloodthirsty venevan leader out of sending your teammates to an irradiated planet." "Right now all I'm hearing is a myriad of compliments and not a hell of a lot of explanation."

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Update #1

Feelings So Far: not great lol

Song Most Listened To: "Superstition" by The Birthday Massacre (though in truth, all four songs in the Dark Matter playlist thus far lol)

Best Line/Excerpt:

"...That's not right," Warren said in a rumble centering his chest. He was barely heard by anyone standing behind him. "When was Thrive on the Node…?" "Four days ago," Quara said. She perused the metadata of the footage and tapped her long fingers against the screen. "It's unknown what he was doing here." Warren's frown deepened, a chill bolting through the entirety of his frame. "He was on Tournaltis four days ago. He was with me." Jasper folded his arms and shook his head, appearing just as perplexed. "And I was the one who brought him there. I watched him walk off the shuttle. I flew him there. Check the timestamp again," he added, quickly turning to take over the console from Quara. "Is that Scot?" Ataneq said suddenly. Heads swiveled around to look at the screen. Scot was, indeed, standing in the back of the elevator Thrive had just boarded, peering at him with his hands folded primly behind him. Warren's frown deepened, and his chest began to tighten. His spine tensed, sending a shockwave of pain through his leg. "Does he know where Scot is?" At Jasper's confused glance his way, Warren drew his lips into a thin line. "Nobody's been able to get a hold of him. He's off the grid." "Gimme a second," Jasper muttered, his fingers—accomplished hacker the Encryptic as they belonged—flying over the keys in a blur. Warren turned his attention back to the vid screen as Scot in the footage leaned forward, saying something inaudible to Thrive, whose jaw ticked almost immediately. "This may be a ridiculous ask, but can we get ears on this?" "Not particularly," Jasper responded with a sigh. "He's speaking too pianississimo for human or obhelian ears, and technology is nowhere near prepared for a conversation those two would want hidden from said species." On the vid screen, Thrive pivoted on his heel to bear a deathly glare down at Scot. The tension in Warren's spine increased, and he squeezed his thigh in a feeble attempt to will away the pain. "I can't grab him," Jasper grunted. "Scot is truly off the grid." As if to punctuate his sentence, on the screen Thrive's fist drove into Scot's head, a horrifying blur that resulted in a cacophonous explosion of destructive sound as the delicate chassis caved and metallic fluid sprayed out of the resulting crater. Thoeala screamed somewhere in the back of the room as Scot dropped almost simultaneously, rag-dolled in the corner of the elevator, his facial seams going dark. Warren's stomach dive-bombed so fast he was almost violently sick from it, and his eyes blew wide with terror. "Oh, fuck," Jasper groaned vehemently. Thrive walked off the elevator to the utterly frozen silence of the room in which such a heinous act had been displayed. Warren broke out into a cold sweat, and Thoeala gasped for air in her cupped hands. Warren followed a numb path toward the image of the body piled onto the floor of the elevator. He pulled a shallow breath. "Is Scot fucking dead…?" he rasped. "He's unreachable," Jasper murmured. "It's like he doesn't exist." Warren swallowed the bile threatening to make its way up his throat. His lower lip trembled, his world crashing down at him in the span of one swift and violent act toward a desperately loyal and loving android. Thoeala sobbed behind him. "...Did I just watch Thrive fucking murder Scotty?" Thoeala sank into the chair nearest to her, her face in her hands. Quara hurried to her, and Jasper slowly pitched forward until his forehead met the glass of the console in front of him.

Other Notes: there likely won't be many updates here due to things going on irl, but I'm meeting the word counts so far

[artdecosupernova-writing]

me, writing: "He was going to have to find [Character]."

me, staring at [Character] name:

me, still staring at the name:

me: is...is that his name?

[artdecosupernova-writing]

kinda fucks with your head when people you went to school with keep dying

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Fictober '24 Prompt No. 9 — "Don't listen to me, listen to them."

Category: Original WIP: Darkspace Portent Rating: M Timeline: idk my bff Jill? CW: depiction of probably the hottest thing I've written in a while, let's keep it a buck Word Count: 898 Additional Notes: birthday piece let's goooooo

***

The slender fingers tangled in Warren's silky milk chocolate hair gently tugged back his head. He let his eyes flutter shut, a bead of sweat rolling from his hairline down the middle of his chest.

"Do you hear that?" Thrive whispered behind him, his voice low and husky, hot air against the shell of his ear.

"Yeah," Warren stammered thickly. "I think I hear it."

Thrive angled his own face in the direction of the bulkhead beside them. He anchored his position on his knees by parting his powerful thighs on the mattress and using core strength to lean toward the sound without letting go of Warren's hair. He adjusted his hold with his other hand around the underside of Warren's knee, careful not to cut off circulation as he investigated.

"What does that sound like to you, th'saiya?" Thrive murmured.

Warren grinned, the ghost of a chuckle escaping his chest as he focused on what he'd been hearing for the past minute or so. "Sounds like our neighbors are havin' a party," he said, his body still thrumming with heat.

Thrive turned his focus back to Warren completely, rocking his hips almost in time with the unmistakable sounds from the Halcyon suite next door. Slow, rhythmic, sending Warren spiraling into the awaiting arms of oblivion. "It does sound like that, doesn't it...?" Thrive breathed, pressing his lips against Warren's damp temple. "And judging by those sounds... how many people do you suppose are in there right now?"

Warren let out a hearty groan and his eyes made up their minds and squeezed shut. "God... fuck... 'sgotta be four or more, yeah...?"

"Mm-hmm," Thrive hummed, his chest rumbling with the sound. "Very good... and how do you think they're feeling right now? About as good as you feel, I'd imagine. Right? If they're, in fact... doing what we're assuming they're doing."

"If they feel half as good as I feel," Warren gasped softly, "I think they're in pretty good shape."

Thrive chuckled, a throaty thing that sent a bolt of electricity down Warren's spine, sprouting fresh goosebumps and shivers. The hand in Warren's hair gave another gentle, commanding tug, exposing his throat to Thrive.

"Didn't think you would have voyeuristic tendencies," Thrive teased, a dark smirk splitting across his face. "...Though I suppose your desire for us to be watched by Scot should have led me to this assumption... as it would've been a rather educated guess."

"Not my desire, baby," Warren clarified breathlessly, with a hint of frustration. "You're the one who wants to see if you and he can even get each other hard considering you're a being that only functions sexually on the feelings of the person he's touching and Scot's a fucking robot—"

Thrive slammed his hips upward, effectively silencing Warren aside from the sharp whimper that tore from his throat. "Shh," Thrive hissed. "Listen."

Thrive tightened the hand under Warren's knee and his movements increased in speed and power by just a bit. Not a lot... but enough for Warren to notice and let fly a rolling groan of approval as he listened to the neighbors growing more and more impassioned with their activities.

"Good boy," Thrive growled. "Very good boy..."

Warren shuddered deeply in response, and Thrive's hand moved from gripping Warren's hair to curling around his throat, carefully tightening his fingers.

"Mmm, don't listen to me," Thrive demanded, deceptively soft. "Listen to them. Perhaps I should dissolve the bulkhead... and let them watch you fall apart right here on my lap. How would that suit you, my heart, my soul, my prince...?"

Warren's whole body jolted, and he reached up with a weak and shaky hand to grip Thrive's wrist at his throat. "I'm not gonna fuckin' make it—"

Thrive instantly let go of his throat and supported the other leg, ensuring a better angle for himself, and he sank his teeth into Warren's shoulder as he drove into him, only one goal in mind as the other one was quickly abandoned through the fault of no one but himself.

And no other words were spoken within the very fast few seconds it took for Warren to fall apart as Thrive had predicted... a quaking, sweating, over-sensitive amorphous being, shattered into pieces with a powerful, guttural cry that surely rattled the wall beside them.

He quickly gripped Thrive's hip to stop him as he unraveled, and Thrive let go of one of Warren's knees to press his hand against his chest, keeping him from falling forward out of sheer exhaustion and ecstasy.

"Yes," Thrive grinned, stroking his skin proudly. "Very good boy."

"Why..." Warren began between desperate pulls of air. "...Why are the walls so thin on a goddamn space station?"

Thrive chuckled again, shifting to sit fully on the bed, Warren still attached and on his lap. "Oh, that... they're not."

Warren leaned back against Thrive's chest. "...Of course they're not."

"Efficient party trick, though, wouldn't you say?" Thrive said quietly against the side of Warren's head, and Warren felt and heard the cheeky smile before he could see it. "Something about... manipulating physics, I think."

With an exhausted grin in return, Warren nodded. "Checks out."

Thrive kept Warren wrapped up in his arms on his lap long enough for skin to dry and muscles to ache, and only when Warren decided he needed to move did Thrive let him.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Fictober '24 Prompt No. 9 — "Don't listen to me, listen to them."

Category: Original WIP: Darkspace Portent Rating: M Timeline: idk my bff Jill? CW: depiction of probably the hottest thing I've written in a while, let's keep it a buck Word Count: 898 Additional Notes: birthday piece let's goooooo

***

The slender fingers tangled in Warren's silky milk chocolate hair gently tugged back his head. He let his eyes flutter shut, a bead of sweat rolling from his hairline down the middle of his chest.

"Do you hear that?" Thrive whispered behind him, his voice low and husky, hot air against the shell of his ear.

"Yeah," Warren stammered thickly. "I think I hear it."

Thrive angled his own face in the direction of the bulkhead beside them. He anchored his position on his knees by parting his powerful thighs on the mattress and using core strength to lean toward the sound without letting go of Warren's hair. He adjusted his hold with his other hand around the underside of Warren's knee, careful not to cut off circulation as he investigated.

"What does that sound like to you, th'saiya?" Thrive murmured.

Warren grinned, the ghost of a chuckle escaping his chest as he focused on what he'd been hearing for the past minute or so. "Sounds like our neighbors are havin' a party," he said, his body still thrumming with heat.

Thrive turned his focus back to Warren completely, rocking his hips almost in time with the unmistakable sounds from the Halcyon suite next door. Slow, rhythmic, sending Warren spiraling into the awaiting arms of oblivion. "It does sound like that, doesn't it...?" Thrive breathed, pressing his lips against Warren's damp temple. "And judging by those sounds... how many people do you suppose are in there right now?"

Warren let out a hearty groan and his eyes made up their minds and squeezed shut. "God... fuck... 'sgotta be four or more, yeah...?"

"Mm-hmm," Thrive hummed, his chest rumbling with the sound. "Very good... and how do you think they're feeling right now? About as good as you feel, I'd imagine. Right? If they're, in fact... doing what we're assuming they're doing."

"If they feel half as good as I feel," Warren gasped softly, "I think they're in pretty good shape."

Thrive chuckled, a throaty thing that sent a bolt of electricity down Warren's spine, sprouting fresh goosebumps and shivers. The hand in Warren's hair gave another gentle, commanding tug, exposing his throat to Thrive.

"Didn't think you would have voyeuristic tendencies," Thrive teased, a dark smirk splitting across his face. "...Though I suppose your desire for us to be watched by Scot should have led me to this assumption... as it would've been a rather educated guess."

"Not my desire, baby," Warren clarified breathlessly, with a hint of frustration. "You're the one who wants to see if you and he can even get each other hard considering you're a being that only functions sexually on the feelings of the person he's touching and Scot's a fucking robot—"

Thrive slammed his hips upward, effectively silencing Warren aside from the sharp whimper that tore from his throat. "Shh," Thrive hissed. "Listen."

Thrive tightened the hand under Warren's knee and his movements increased in speed and power by just a bit. Not a lot... but enough for Warren to notice and let fly a rolling groan of approval as he listened to the neighbors growing more and more impassioned with their activities.

"Good boy," Thrive growled. "Very good boy..."

Warren shuddered deeply in response, and Thrive's hand moved from gripping Warren's hair to curling around his throat, carefully tightening his fingers.

"Mmm, don't listen to me," Thrive demanded, deceptively soft. "Listen to them. Perhaps I should dissolve the bulkhead... and let them watch you fall apart right here on my lap. How would that suit you, my heart, my soul, my prince...?"

Warren's whole body jolted, and he reached up with a weak and shaky hand to grip Thrive's wrist at his throat. "I'm not gonna fuckin' make it—"

Thrive instantly let go of his throat and supported the other leg, ensuring a better angle for himself, and he sank his teeth into Warren's shoulder as he drove into him, only one goal in mind as the other one was quickly abandoned through the fault of no one but himself.

And no other words were spoken within the very fast few seconds it took for Warren to fall apart as Thrive had predicted... a quaking, sweating, over-sensitive amorphous being, shattered into pieces with a powerful, guttural cry that surely rattled the wall beside them.

He quickly gripped Thrive's hip to stop him as he unraveled, and Thrive let go of one of Warren's knees to press his hand against his chest, keeping him from falling forward out of sheer exhaustion and ecstasy.

"Yes," Thrive grinned, stroking his skin proudly. "Very good boy."

"Why..." Warren began between desperate pulls of air. "...Why are the walls so thin on a goddamn space station?"

Thrive chuckled again, shifting to sit fully on the bed, Warren still attached and on his lap. "Oh, that... they're not."

Warren leaned back against Thrive's chest. "...Of course they're not."

"Efficient party trick, though, wouldn't you say?" Thrive said quietly against the side of Warren's head, and Warren felt and heard the cheeky smile before he could see it. "Something about... manipulating physics, I think."

With an exhausted grin in return, Warren nodded. "Checks out."

Thrive kept Warren wrapped up in his arms on his lap long enough for skin to dry and muscles to ache, and only when Warren decided he needed to move did Thrive let him.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Find the Word Game XXX

(Double Feature)

tagged by: @oh-no-another-idea & @space-writes!! my words: pocket, passenger, precious, late, fine, disgusted, helpless tagging: @drippingmoon, @pertinax--loculos, @zmwrites, and open tag! your words: force, beyond, statue, core, never, attitude

pocket (Meridian)—

Warren turned to Gouna. "Not a word of this to the Consortium." "I'm not naïve enough to give them any unnecessary information," he said sardonically. He waved his arms at the others. "Everyone but Corin out. I'll keep you all apprised of [Thrive's] status as he recovers." He ushered [everyone else] out of the bedroom and took a thick, glass tube from his bag of supplies. "Corin, we'll need to take a few samples to determine the cause of this." "On it. Gimme a swab." "Third pocket in the front. Fluid in the second pocket." "Test tube? Why do you have loose swabs in here?" "...Third pocket from the other side." "Are you stupid?" "No, that's my fault." Gouna approached Thrive and ripped his form suit from the collar to the shoulder, baring his arm to him. He smeared some clear gel from a little jar onto his skin. "This is going to sting." He pressed the glass cylinder into Thrive's shoulder and depressed a button at the top. A hissing sound from the device coincided with the one Thrive made, and Gouna replied with a speculative hum as the barrel filled with blood. "...That should not have hurt as badly as it apparently did," he said evenly.

passenger (Aurora)—

"This is Tournaltis. Identify yourself." "What do we do if it is an ambush?" Warren asked in the interim. "We don't have planetary support or defense yet, do we?" "No." Thrive swiped again. "Repeat: identify yourself or turn around." Vriea looked nervous. "Maybe we should brace ourselves for an attack just in case?" The comm crackled. "Apologies, Tournaltis, this is the Echo Valtar." "I am Orthrive'poliea. What is your business?" "We're transporting an individual that needs to speak to you...since we were passing by we decided to give him a lift. We only intend to send him down planetside in a shuttle and then we'll be on our way." "Your passenger needs to identify himself if he wants to approach." There was a pause. Warren and [the others] exchanged a concerned look before the silence was broken by the popping of the system again and a different, but familiar voice coming forward. "Uh, hey. It's Guetry. Something's come up and I need to talk to you guys."

precious (Aurora)—

Thrive raised himself to his elbows and he blinked around the room as if the memory aggressively snapped to life within him. He responded with a heavy sigh. "Oras'at. It was my first time." "If oras'at means rearranging my guts, I have bad news for you regarding the validity of what you just said," Warren grunted, leaning over to tap the lighting panel on the wall beside the bed. "No. It's...a rare and precious thing, a bond. Our minds are permanently connected. Obhelians rarely formed such a bond…" Thrive sighed again on a deeper, more existential level. "I cannot believe I took advantage of you like that." Warren sobered up real quick at that, though his pounding headache remained. "Whoa, what taking advantage? I don't remember doing it, but if you did it, then I agreed to it. Okay?" Thrive swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. "Right. We should be able to keep tabs of one another's emotions now even from across the galaxy, much like how we can feel what the other is feeling through touch, but without the touch aspect. I must...really have felt it necessary in that grotto. Bonds were rarely made because in the event of one party's death, the other party would be flattened; would experience the worst pain of their life, sometimes joining them in death whether they want to or not." Warren forced himself out of bed and realized he still wore his wedding pants. He dragged himself over to his clothes. "You've never told me about this." "Because I never normally would have considered it an option." Thrive took a flimsy blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders. "Like I said...I must've felt either threatened, or connected to you in a way I never thought possible." He turned a curious gaze onto Warren, and Warren experienced one of the many instances of heat pooling directly in his stomach as a result of a normally casual glance. "So, what do you think the odds were of me feeling threatened an hour at most after marrying?" Thrive murmured with an imperceptible narrowing of the eyes.

late (Eternal)—

They sprinted through the corridors, dodging tendrils, knocking back artillery, and when they reached the tower, Thrive swept a current of force toward the mountain, cracking the wall, and the ground began to rumble as the stability failed. "Go," he yelled. Warren dashed to the door, praying it would open as he approached. It rolled open as chunks of the base fell hundreds of feet, and the ground opened up in the middle of the compound as he escaped. The crack grew in length as he ran. "Thrive?!" He ran by, grabbing Warren's hand again, and they circumnavigated the fissure just before it split the compound in two. The shaking beneath them doubled the farther away they got, and Warren glanced behind them to watch the entire base collapse, along with part of the mountain. His lungs burned. An enormous cloud of debris curled out from the destruction, and Warren realized almost too late that they were not going to get far enough away in time. Thrive tackled him to the ground and they rolled, stopping with Thrive on his back, holding a shield over them as Warren clung tightly to him. Several explosions went off behind them, and Warren could smell the dust and fire. He heard the chunks of concrete and debris bouncing off of Thrive's shield, and he chanced a glance down at Thrive's face. Thrive looked utterly broken. He kept an eye on the sky, but Warren had never seen him so desolate, so defeated, so violated before. His stomach churned at the sight.

fine (Aurora)—

Thrive shook his head. "Gouna's staying behind." "What? Why?" "He's going to make sure that everything goes smoothly with the ———. He refused to step away, saying he wouldn't feel right leaving ——— alone, especially on the off-chance that something were to happen to you or me while we're gone." Warren observed Thrive's face. "You hate that, don't you?" "Absolutely not." Thrive squared his shoulders. "I would do the same. I'm actually somewhat embarrassed that I didn't think of that myself." A beat passed and Warren narrowed his eyes. "You hate that." Thrive rolled his eyes. "Alright, I'm not going to pretend I'm not a little disappointed that [Gouna] won't attend, but all in all, I'm glad he decided to stay. I would feel more guilty knowing that, while they would be safe and on automated care, any ——— left behind would be alone." He tore his eyes away from Warren's. "Okay," Warren said, taking that as a sign to drop it, even though he knew things were very much not fine. "We'll take lots of video and send it to him."

disgusted (Meridian)—

"Ah-ha…" Warren angled his head to the side and eyed him up and down before fluttering his eyelashes at him. "You wanna tell me about 'em?" "I see through your scheme." "My dearest love. Whatever do you mean?" "I know what happens when I start prattling on about a subject." Thrive reached over to grip Warren's chin in his hand, fingers squeezing to force his lips into a pucker. "To be more precise, I know what happens to you." A laugh nearly exploded out of Warren, but he fought the giggles bubbling up his throat. "I am disgusted and offended at the implication," he said as well as he could with half of his face squished together. "You're also a deviant," said Thrive, voice lowered and much smokier than usual, which did not help matters in the least. "Vacate the room." "It's my ship." Warren cleared his throat. "But marriage is about sharing, after all. You know what, I'm kinda hungry anyway, I might bother the cook for a couple hours—" Thrive tipped Warren's chin downward to plant a kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight, Warren," he murmured before releasing him and pushing him gently in the direction of the door.

helpless (Aurora)—

Guetry, also sans helmet, streaked across the clearing. He dropped to his hip and slid nearly twenty feet in the mud, coming to a stop flat on his back beside Thrive to pelt several hundred rifle shots up into the hovering cloud, only breaking to replace his heat sink and jerk the lever back to re-activate his weapon and send more ammo upward. The cloud broke off into a mist that settled right over Guetry, engulfing him. His tattoos flashed erratically and the light in his temple glitched, the intensity and pain in his face the only sign of something amiss, but he didn't let up. Thrive reached over to grasp Guetry's shoulder through the mist, rain pattering off their faces. Guetry didn't stop shooting, the lightshow beneath his skin becoming more volatile, his own eyes streaming, whole frame shaking. A trickle of blood dripped from his nose to his ear. The cloud began to dissipate but a spear of smoke still lodged itself into Guetry's ribs with a sick crunch on its way out. He dropped his aim in shock. Thrive instantly shoved him away with a blast from his hand, making sure he'd come to a rest among Varussa and Emnophene, who grabbed him by the arms to pull him to safety behind a rock. Before Thrive could stand again, the Emmuli spiked a spear into his side. Every breath was a thousand nettle stings in Warren's throat—he watched helplessly as more spears pierced through Thrive's chest, his back, threaded through his legs and arms, strangling him, dragging him to the ground despite his struggling. He watched him as he was pulled back down to a knee, to his hands as the dirt curdled beneath him. Warren tried to call out to Thrive, his eyes pinned to the rain flattening his hair, running through the smears of blood on his paling face, the agony contorting his features, worsening with each stab, each squelch of the Emmuli assault on his body. Nausea churned in Warren's gut while Thrive grew weaker in front of him, sank further into the ground on his stomach, his skin folding into the billowing void. "No…" Warren whispered. He choked around his words, nailed to the ground by the whining in his ears and an unseen force, teeth gnashing with rage and desperation. "...No...I just...I just got you back...get...get up…please..." He heard Guetry scream something unintelligible and full of emotion over the downpour. Thrive went still, his wounds attempting to heal. The Emmuli continued their onslaught, jabbing through his prone form and oozing into his nose and mouth, into his eyes, which found the horizon and grasped onto the red sun as a lifeline. His wide eyes, veiled in fear, reflecting the dying star and swallowing the smoke. Emptying with each passing heartbeat.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Fictober '24 Prompt No. 4 — "No, we're not doing that."

Category: Original WIP: WASTE Rating: T Timeline: before the main events, I believe. pretty sure. CW: drug mentions Word Count: 1,120 Additional Notes: just a quick thing I slapped together. we'll say it's canon until I change my mind lmao

***

A man with enough reaver rock in his blood system to put down a large alien animal snarled and snapped at Dazia Fourteen, spittle flying everywhere, his teeth gnashing, and I can proudly say that the man was not, in fact, me.

I watched this happen from a distance, and I noted Dazia's demeanor—not once did she flinch, except maybe once when a glob of that spittle landed on her cheek. I know she views spitting on someone as one of the most disrespectful things you can do to a person, so I was only somewhat surprised to witness her then break her unwavering stare to punch the man in the throat. He went flying backward, slamming into the other junkies standing behind him, one or two of whom had nothing to do with this encounter at all.

The other junkies—the ones there to back up their buddy, anyway—scattered quite admirably, darting off in every direction imaginable, running into Node walls and slipping on pointedly non-slip floors. One tumbled onto the tracks of the tram some feet away, and Dazia bore down on the one that spat on her, her teeth bared and fist clenched with intent to beat the brains that weren't degraded by reaver rock out of his skull...if there were any left.

"No, no, we're not doing that," I muttered, striding to her and swinging her literally off her feet with an arm around her torso. Her entire body was tense, her muscles taut with the need to draw blood in brutal ways. "C'mon, baby girl, you're not gonna get bit by an addict today. Maybe tomorrow, where it can be controlled and pleasant for both of us."

As soon as she realized I'd interfered, she struggled against my hold. I kept a grip on her, impressively, until we were too far away from the situation to justify running back. I set her down, and she took a swing at me, and I ducked it, catching her next swing in my hand and pressing her back until she hit a bulkhead.

"Maybe don't knock out the only addict around here who still kind of has enough faculties to realize going against you is a colossal mistake," I grunted, keeping her at arm's length until she calmed significantly.

"You're not even supposed to be on duty today," she growled through her teeth, shaking me off of her.

I watched her dust off her leather jacket and adjust it so it fit how it was supposed to, and my eyes swept over her figure before I glanced behind me to make sure she didn't rile up any of the other junkies enough to light a fire under their asses and give chase.

"Yeah, when have I ever done what I'm told?" I turned back to her. "The fuck were you doing over there, anyway? Southern District is known almost exclusively for—"

"Yeah, you don't have to explain it to me," she snipped.

"—The less fortunate and the victims barely surviving the wrath of Oren Altavian, and I don't like to be interrupted, Miss Fourteen, if that is your real name."

"You know it's fucking not."

I narrowed my eyes imperceptibly at her. "What were you doing?"

Dazia hesitated here, which surprised me, but I didn't show it beyond lifting my eyebrows expectantly.

"It's not a mission," I continued, my voice low as I attempted to piece it together before she inevitably spilled. "You're not on duty now, either. Could you be looking for family? A loved one? Who do you know that's on reaver rock right now? It's not my business, but I'm gonna make it my business."

"Guetry," she sneered.

"And if you're mad at me for being complacent as Oren preyed on these poor people, I wouldn't blame you," I said, running a fingertip under my eye, smudging my dark liner. "Get in line, right behind me."

"Guetry."

The finality in her voice, the steel in her voice that caught the light outside the tram station, commanded my attention. I took in her set jaw and her flared nostrils, the tightness of her arms folded over her chest, and I straightened my spine.

"Yeah," I grunted, ire rising in my own chest. "Yeah, I'm clearly not gonna be here, am I?"

"You're here now, aren't you, Guetry? You were here to step in and save the day, weren't you?"

I grinned down at her at that, a humorless one I'd usually save for the likes of Oren. "Very cute. You're gonna lump me in with the unlucky ones? You think I'm just as bad a victim of Oren as them?"

"Are you gonna stand there and try to tell me you aren't?" Dazia growled. "You gonna try to sell me a fuckin' bridge, too?"

"Oh, baby, I know I'm not doin' so good," I purred, taking a step back and holding my hands up defensively. "Your mistake is thinking I'm new to this. You know how long I've been here? Do you understand that I was once Oren's actual partner in just about everything he's done, up to and including the kind that gets his rocks off, reaver and pleasurable alike?"

Dazia ran her teeth over her bottom lip as she scrutinized me, but she didn't respond for a while. "So if you're above where these people ended up, why are you here?"

I lowered my hands after running one through my hair, and I glanced over at the ruckus we'd been actively ignoring—the junkie that fell on the tracks had been knocked clear out and a tram was scheduled to arrive very soon. People of all species gathered around, cool and collected, to get the guy out before he was made into mincemeat.

I watched this happen with a slight frown, far into a well-dressed human kneeling beside the man as soon as he was lifted out and settled onto the platform. I recognized her...a woman who takes the tram from this station every day. Her job was to assist the addicts, to give them resources and assistance the government otherwise couldn't provide.

"Guetry," Dazia said gently after some time. "...You're not them."

"I am," I mutter, eventually peeling my gaze away from the scene. I shrugged stiffly. "That's me. Thing is, though...I've come to terms with that ages ago." I circled a finger tightly in the air. "Wish everybody else would fuckin' do the same."

I remembered her expression directly after that. I never forgot it, even when, months later, I ended up braindead for five months after a failed mission sent me spiraling into drinking a whole bottle of gin to chase the lethal amount of reaver rock I smoked.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Fictober '24 Prompt No. 3 — "I know you better."

Category: Original WIP: Darkspace Portent Rating: T Timeline: During book one, following Warren's big revelation in the woods (where he fully realizes his feelings for Thrive). CW: none Word Count: 584 Additional Notes: this isn't exactly canon because A) it's not quite lined up right with the timeline and B) I said so

***

Warren glanced from the road to the wad of cash in Thrive's hand and gripped the steering wheel tighter. Couple hundred dollars give or take, all of the money Warren would see for an indefinite amount of time, likely, all tucked between long, human-appearing fingers.

"There's no feasible way to spend this all so fast," Thrive murmured almost to himself, inspecting the money closer and counting the bills in his mind. "There's upwards of a thousand here."

"It's real, it's possible," Warren grunted, turning into the parking lot of a local plaza and speeding into a spot near the exit. He slammed the brakes and put the jeep in park. "We don't know how much time there is. Don't underestimate my ability to spend money, E.T.—I will disappoint you every time."

Thrive's voice was immediately calm and gentle in direct contrast to Warren's nearly-manic chattering. "You're overthinking things..."

"I'm not overthinking shit, and I'd really appreciate it if we didn't address what happened. I would really love not to address it."

The following pause was spent counting out the bills again in Thrive's case, and in Warren's case, staring through the windshield at the various shops and small restaurants in the plaza while his knee bounced hard under his keys.

"Unfortunately to some, I know you better than that," Thrive said.

Warren leaned his head back against the headrest. "...And yet I still have a lot to learn about myself."

Thrive's eyes slid from the cash to the windshield as well. "You'll have an entire lifetime to figure it out."

"Sure, I have an entire lifetime, but that lifetime happens to be until I'm thrown into prison, where I'll be beaten to death by fellow inmates because I don't know how the system works, or until I inevitably steal a guard's gun and blow my own brains out—"

"Warren," Thrive interjected, and the tightness of his voice was off-putting.

Warren took a breath and his brow pinched as he watched Thrive continue to observe the scarce early morning goings-on in the plaza around them. Thrive did not follow up on his interruption, nor did he start a new thread of thought, and Warren was forced to realize, painfully slow, that it was as simple as Thrive...just wasn't comfortable with that possibility.

The tug at Warren's gut at that revelation was almost enough to knock him flat on his ass. His breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his mouth, and he gripped the steering wheel, tapping it in an unknown rhythm.

"I gave you my word," Thrive murmured, his voice clear but hiding a deep emotion Warren couldn't quite figure out. "What did I tell you I would do?"

When he finally met Warren's eyes, Warren swallowed thickly and shook himself free of the despair threatening to make a mighty thick pancake out of him as well.

"You said you'd be back for me," Warren muttered. "We'd go on an adventure. Out into space. Where..." He paused, his own throat tightening. "Where I'd be..."

Thrive tilted his head in somewhat of a nod and turned his eyes back to the plaza. "I intend to keep that word." His fingers found the handle of the car door. "...Even if I have to defy physics to do so."

He exited the jeep casually, leaving Warren to watch him, his muscles unable to work for a good few seconds. Then, as if slogging through a viscous substance, Warren pulled himself out of the jeep as well.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Fictober '24 Prompt No. 2 — "It's been a long time."

Category: Original WIP: Shadow Tamer Rating: T Timeline: sometime post-story? maybe? though this will likely be included, but better. idk. CW: none Word Count: 764 Additional Notes: N/A

***

Gideon watched with a pinched brow as Blake stood over a headstone—an unassuming marble thing hastily embedded into the ground. The vibes in the cemetery were immaculate, perfect for what was about to happen...crisp winter air, the smell of fresh grass and the peppering of snow not cold enough to stick around as Louisiana normally didn't call for such weather.

"It's been a long time," Blake said almost to himself. He sidestepped the burial plot and ran a hand over the top of the headstone. "And I do apologize for stepping on your face, my dear."

Gideon folded his arms over his chest. He wanted to ask if there was anything he could do, but he also didn't want to interrupt. His curiosity won out, much to his own chagrin.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked quietly.

Blake smiled and turned to him. "Stand there and look pretty."

Gideon flushed and bit his lip. "Well, I'm good at that."

"Isn't that the truth?" Blake withdrew a black tourmaline crystal from his pocket and rubbed it with his thumb over the plot, his hand trembling very faintly. "This way, Miss Glass."

As soon as the mist started to rise from the foot of the headstone, Gideon took a step back and waited. He could feel the air grow restless, the nudging of the spirits eagerly awaiting Maia's appearance, and he shivered.

"Yeah...there we go, sweetheart." Blake took the clear quartz out of his other pocket and gripped that, too—something Gideon realized he'd tried to go without but decided in the end it was best for everyone involved. His heart warmed. "One last time for me."

Hands broke through the dirt like a sprouting plant. They felt around for the ground, then Maia pulled herself up, taking an audible but still useless gasp of breath the moment she breached as if she hadn't been dead for the last decade. Her skin was translucent as always, fading in and out of the living plane. When she stood, she faced her ex-husband and curtseyed somewhat clumsily.

"...Robert," she whispered.

Blake's nostrils flared briefly as if fighting off an eye-roll. "...Darling. I've come to put you to rest, now."

"Ah," Maia said gently, her voice soft as if she couldn't retain the air or the muscle function to speak. She turned to Gideon. "...It's about time."

Gideon shrugged. "I'm just along for the ride."

"No need to explain to me the nature of your relationship with my living spouse." Maia's face twisted into a strange, forced smile. "You have been the subject of his fantasies for quite a while."

Blake looked to Gideon with a small, tight grin.

Gideon, on the other hand, pretended not to hear that. "What's your requirement for being put to rest, Maia?" he asked.

Maia tilted her head back, her hair reached down to her waist. She placed her spectral hands over her rhythm-less heart and affected a wistful expression. "Being fired from Cirque du Fantôme," she sighed. "Being free to fade into eternal darkness."

"You're lucky I still harbor a semblance of affection for you," Blake muttered to her.

"I can't imagine why you wouldn't," Maia responded slowly. She turned back to him.

"Maybe it's the fit you threw resulting in my tent burning down."

Gideon shook his head. "Blake, fire her and do the ritual. She's tired. Look at her."

Blake did spare her a good, long look, then. She met his eyes, and the years she'd spent in this plane manifested in her slumped posture and lightly stuttering form. Fog formed at his feet, curling around his boots, ghostly grips almost to make sure he didn't leave—he stepped back once as if proving them wrong.

"...You're relieved of duty," Blake said gently. He crouched and drew a symbol in the dirt over her plot with his finger. He waved into the air with the tourmaline, gripping the quartz tightly. "Requiescat in pace, gratis viventium."

Maia held his gaze for a long while, her form fading into white light. She graced him with a genuine smile, warm and emotional, and it was only when Blake stood up that she reached her hand out to him.

"...Bread and butter," she murmured.

Blake, unexpected to even himself it seemed, swallowed thickly, watching her spirit fading away. "...Bread and butter, hon."

When she was fully gone, Gideon moved to him and cautiously reached a hand out to place on his shoulder. Blake rested his hand over Gideon's, and they stood at Maia's grave until Blake decided it was time to move on.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Fictober '24 Prompt No. 1 — "That was good work."

Category: Original WIP: Partners trilogy Rating: T Timeline: after PI, 1950-ish? Before the first installment of Within Ten Years as well. CW: none Word Count: 1,141 Additional Notes: This feels more like a stream of consciousness, lol

***

Reagan's voice carried through the theater, melodic and smooth, finely aged whiskey through the empty house. No music accompanied him, somewhat apropos as he was alone in both a physical sense and professionally. He stood on stage, hand to his chest, ignoring the pang in his heart at the way his mind filled in the absence of Ben's piano, the absence of his best friend...the absence of his partner.

He let his own voice lull him into a sense of serenity, a thin coat of paint over his inner turmoil. Ben hadn't spoken to him in nearly a month. It was their longest separation yet.

In some ways, Reagan couldn't blame him. Ripping apart everything they'd worked so hard to achieve felt like a knife in their backs, and making that decision made Reagan feel lower than the dirt beneath the foundation of the building he occupied on his own.

The sound of clapping interrupted his self-soothing as soon as he finished singing. He opened his eyes to the sight of a man with neatly combed mahogany hair, giving slow applause, smiling in his usual way—the smirk of a man who knew too much and divulged too little.

"Bravissimo," Mickey said, moving down the middle aisle with the grace of royalty. He was flanked by his diligent guardians, Rocky and Bruce, the latter of whom conducted himself like a man only recently given the privilege of using a gun—his suit jacket was nowhere to be seen and his piece was fully on display at his hip. "That was good work. Encore, if you would be so kind."

Reagan stepped away from the dynamic microphone and parked his hands on his hips with a sigh. "No encores," he murmured simply. Despite his minor distance, the mic still picked up most of his words.

"Shame," Mickey said as he approached the stage. "Goose pimples, you know. Your voice is truly ethereal in person."

Reagan glanced at Bruce, clocked how he seemed to hover a bit closer to Mickey than Rocky did. He'd noticed that before, but now it was more obvious, and he inwardly rolled his eyes at Bruce's lovestruck-puppy demeanor.

"What do you want, Mickey?" Reagan asked.

"I'd heard you were in town," Mickey replied, taking a seat in the front row. Bruce took a seat directly beside him before Mickey turned to imbue him with a look of intense exasperation.

Bruce hastily hopped over the seat to move beside Rocky in the second row, and Rocky made a contemptuous face before relocating two seats down.

Mickey angled his face back up to Reagan. "...Anyway. I'd heard you were in town, and I wanted to ensure everything was copacetic with you."

"Does everything look fuckin' copacetic, Mickey?" Reagan blurted, sweeping an arm to implicate the entire world in a heinous crime. "You heard I was in town, you heard why. Right? You know everything. You know what happened. You know why I'm alone."

Mickey's brows lifted in an interesting show of mild surprise. He folded his hands over his knee after crossing one leg over the other. "...Yes. I heard what happened. The Stick's a little sore with me, so I figured I would come to you first and determine the best course of action."

"Best course of action?" Reagan moved to step off the stage via the stairs at the wing of stage left. "This ain't somethin' you can fix. This ain't somethin' I can fix. This is the start of a long string of disappointments I'll cause in Ben's life, and I can't do a damn thing about it."

"You're heated," Mickey said, his tone infuriatingly soft. He beckoned with a hand. "Get it all out, darling."

"If you want to talk to Ben, good luck. He hasn't reached out in weeks. I don't know what to do."

Mickey graced Reagan with a smaller grin as he came to a stop in front of the stage. "You sound so sure of being a constant heartbreak for your partner," he said gently.

"Some things you just know." Reagan folded his arms over his chest. "Don't you?"

Mickey shrugged one shoulder. "My fingers caress the underbelly of the entire nation. Knowing is in my job description."

Silence grew between the two men like mold. Reagan's gaze dropped to the floor and Mickey let him stew in his own self-pity for a while, his demeanor and expression never straying from shallow amusement.

"Is Charles Crosby representing you?" Mickey asked at length.

Reagan nodded, running a hand over his face.

"...And what of the Stick?"

"He's flying solo," Reagan muttered. "Charles hates him. Nearly threw it in the poor kid's face."

Mickey took a curious pause, here. He ran his teeth over his lower lip before clearing his throat. "It's a little silly to say, but I wouldn't worry too much about Mr. Murray. In the small amount of time I'd spent alone with him, he's portrayed himself to be quite a bit stronger than he appears, perhaps even with you."

"Don't do that. Don't act like you know him better than I do."

A Cheshire smile split across Mickey's face, and Reagan had an idea of why. He did not acknowledge it.

"Very good," Mickey whispered. "...How can I help?"

Reagan pouted. "...Even more than you already have?"

Rocky leaned forward, in Mickey's direction. "Find the kid a manager."

Mickey nodded slowly, somewhat distracted. "Should he allow it."

Reagan scoffed. "If you spent more than an hour with Ben, you know he's stiff-necked. If he's refusing a manager, he's refusing a manager, and not even I could get him to change his mind."

"How is your family?"

Expelling a slow breath, Reagan nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. "...They're fine. Carolyn's..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Ben's gonna kill me for telling you first, but we think she's pregnant again."

"I'll do what I can for the Stick," Mickey said, tapping the tips of his fingers together. "Alright? Will that ease your mind at all?"

"Maybe."

"Do your business here." Mickey stood again, and as he buttoned his suit jacket, his posture suddenly exuded authority and a hint of danger. Rocky and Bruce immediately stood as well. "Then go back home to New York. I don't want to see you back here until you have things figured out."

Reagan threw up a hand. "And how am I supposed to get anywhere without coming back to California? I'm bein' sent scripts left and right."

"Figure it out," Mickey said with finality, then retreated to the back door of the theater. "No need to get in touch—I'll know.

Reagan watched Bruce keep his face close to Mickey's ear and whisper as Rocky trailed behind.

Ben's piano played in Reagan's head until he left the theater in Charles' pea-green Chrysler Saratoga.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

writing dialogue: 90% banter, 10% actual plot