#//snekfics

[pendles-is-friendles]

Inconvenient Prophesy

When the thrum of the collar around her neck pulsed deep in her ears and Jack had been distracted by his ambitions for the Vault Key across Pandora, Angel buried herself deep under the covers and pressed her face against the cool pillow.  Across her skin, her tattoos burned, prickling and pulling on her like sunlight roasting her.  She reached out, casting a net to catch a passing signal, any signal, that can draw her away from her body for just a little while.  

A passing net crawler, a packet of passwords, an errant network wave, anything set adrift the ech0space that Angel could hitch a ride on and float away from this bodily prison.  Perhaps that funny little robot would want to talk?

Sharp claws rended her netting, tangling themselves in her thought pattern and ripping her from her body.  Raw digital landscapes whizzed by, programs working diligently to process data and information from every source. 

Her body crumpled onto the ground beneath her, white wings wilted around her.  Mind whizzing and her vision blurring, she could barely make sense of the shadowy surroundings.  Octagonal constructs rose from the smooth ground, massive “stone” Eridian statues cried streams of violet tears into unseen rivers far below.  As Angel’s eyes began to adjust, her gaze followed the sick rash of artificial pustules throbbing along the sides of their flanks and trailing up their backs.  

Pushing herself up, her wings and arms hung heavy; the darkness weighing upon her shoulders.  Cyberspace rarely had gravity, but in this space, the pressure crushed from all sides.  

A thin, chitinous hand reached out to help her.  A brilliant light shone from the spaces between their pearlescent carapace, glowing streams that ended in luminescent insectoid wings spreading outwards from their back.  Angel recoiled her hand from them, falling backwards and scraping her elbows and tailbone on the landing.

Their neutral mask of a face tilted.  [ Fear not, child. ]  Angel winced as the stern sentiment soaked into her mind, rather than spoken.  It was a feeling, translated into sophisticated speech.  Her wings drew closer to herself in a vain effort of self-defence; the guardian pulled their hand back and rested it against their bioluminescent core in the centre of their chest.  The same cystic rash erupted along its side as the statues.  [ We must converse, listen. ]

[ Do you know what your father plans to do once he has succeeded in opening the Vault? ]

“He wants to bring peace…” Angel uttered, parroting Jack’s reasoning to convince her to help the Vault Hunters in the first place.  But, her conviction in his words rang hollow.  “That’s what Jack says, anyways.”

The shift of the light across their carapace moved the shadows across their stony mask.  Disappointment.  Tucking their long legs beneath them, their hand-like feet curling closed, the guardian sat down beside her. [ He seeks death, ] they corrected, stroking the errant feathers of Angel’s wings with the backs of their fingers.  [ It has been foretold that he will tear the planets apart with the power of every vault he tears open. ]

“Every?”  Angel’s skin crawled from the ghostly touch, but she could not muster the want to retreat from the guardian.  The fluttering of her heart had calmed and her breathing slowed.  A forced peace that robbed her of the chill down her spine.  “Isn’t there just the one?”

[ No, there are many. ]  Their hand stopped moving, even their impassive mask seeming distant.  Angel wondered how much of the expression was a trick of the light, or if they were impressing their emotions upon her.  She found it difficult to question the alien. [ If his ambition is not stopped, the planet shall be razed upon the opening of the third vault. ]

White wings drooped.  “So, how do we stop him?”

A weighty silence hung over the pair.  Out of the corner of her eye, Angel spotted the rash upon the guardian throbbing as it took over more of its carapace.  Sorrow and dread popped up in her mind, of no accord.  

[ You are his key. Without you, he will not keep the Warrior. ]  The guardian’s peculiar method of “speaking” remained steady in feeling, but the discomfort was not lost on Angel.  [ When the time is right, you will need to turn on him. ]  Their wings twitched.  [ You will die, so everyone else can live.]

Despite the unnatural calm, Angel’s stomach knotted, a deep frown dug itself across her face.  It wasn’t fair.  Jack had already taken everything from her.  With great effort, she got to her feet and straightened her back.  “I would like to go home now.”

With a sense of quiet dismay, Angel settled back into her bed.  The thrum of her collar pulsed across her aching head, but the warm pillow and soft blanket provided little comfort.  Her eyes burned, injustice whitening her knuckles as she gripped the covering.

[snekjin]

"how mad would you be if I kissed you?"

Having some writer's block at the moment but I do have cute wintery thoughts about this prompt:

1988 sitting next to each other on the plane, which hey, they don't do a lot these days, Pat manspreading and putting his legs in Jonny's space.

"Quit fucking touching me, Kaner!"

"Not touching you," he laughs.

And maybe they take the rookies out for dinner and wind up on a outdoor skate rink.

"it's kinda romantic, dontcha think?" one of them smirks.

"yeah, if youre in a Hallmark movie maybe," the other pouts.

And Jonny shoves Pat so hard he nearly knocks them both over and they wind up clutching each other's arms for support, laughing and breathing hard. Maybe their teammates on the other side of the rink are rolling their eyes at these vets childishly clowning around.

Jonny's cheeks are flushed pink. Pat has snowflakes in his eyebrows.

"how mad would you be if I kissed you?" Pat grins.

"oh I'd be furious"

"yeah?"

"yeah."

"well, I better not kiss you then."

They press their faces together, lips millimeters from touching, caught in each other's gravity.

"Quit tryna kiss me, Kaner," Jonny's quietly smiling. His nose boops Pat's.

"Not kissing you," Pat lies.

[gutterandthestars]

This goes out to @quillyfied et al for their Ineffible Family needs! Thank you for your services to fic, from me and housemate Rachael. ❤️💚❤️💚❤️

[pendles-is-friendles]

Crossing the Veil

Snake goddess and her minions struggle to break free, finding salvation in a void-touched thrall.  Rictus refuses until he finds a convenient use for borrowing a stretch of void for a little while to deal with an enemy looking to score with his mate.  Too bad even snakes have tricks up their sleeves.

“So Big She’s Hard to See”- Rictus is plagued with nightmares of a gigantic being trying to cross worlds.

“Trouble in Paradise”- Nothing passes a thrall’s keen sense of smell.  When TZ strays with a much-loathed enemy, Rictus struggles to find peace with this discovery.

“A Few Words”- Calling in a favour from a gigantic being in another world, Rictus forces Torque to admit his intentions with TZ.  (violence cw)

“TZ, Torque and Rictus Have a Talk”- After TZ discovers what Rictus did to Torque, he pulls them together for a short talk after a terrible day.  They come to manageable terms.

“A Debt Repaid”- Rictus learns nothing from an interdimensional deity comes for free.  Her minions handle his preparations. (torture cw violence cw)

“The Next Morning”- Jacques awakens to discover his lover missing.  Evidence suggests he might have been kidnapped.

“Vocatia Tells the News”- Vocatia informs TZ about Rictus while Bravo watches on.

“He’s a Friend...” - Rictus returns... and Torque has to deal with him (gore cw violence cw)

[pendles-is-friendles]

Treasure Chest Adventure

Pendles had no clue why he decide to explore the stony cave under the lake near his Office, but boredom and a lack of contracts left him itching for adventure and a lake had plenty to find. As soon as he slithered in, the tunnel curved upwards to an open room filled with air and decorated with carvings. Pulling himself out of the pool, Pendles flicked his tongue to take in the strange, snake and tiger-like etchings around him. Odd, his only real thought on that matter before his eye caught three chests sitting on Aztanti-shaped alters.

He glanced over to the symbols nearby and recognized them from a system that had long since darkened. “Choose wisely.”

Chuckling to himself, he inspected the three chests with flicks of his tongue. Other than the aged wood of their exteriors, a hint of freon and a slap to the face of rotten fish, Pendles could not pick up any other scent. Really, that fishy odour was over-powering. A bunch must have died in here over the years.

The assassin opened the first chest:

“Ooh!” Packaged in thick plastic, the preserved fish was in excellent and fully edible condition. He beamed as he picked it up out of the ancient box and slipped it into the larger pouch on his “thigh.”

Surely, the other two had something tasty too! Pendles opened the next chest, since there was no rule stating that he could only take one:

“Nice!” This explained the freon in the air, although Pendles was not sure if ancient Ekkuni’s had refridgeration. Although, from the state of the fish, they had to have been fresh caught that morning. “I’ll have to drag all this back to the Favour. ’T’ll make for a great feedin’ day!”

Quite pleased with himself, he threw open the lid of the last chest.

The smell. Even with his mouth closed, his nostrils sealed and the effort on the trap setter to hide the obvious infestation of insects within the meat, the rank stench would have put him off Feeding Day. “Dear sweet mother of Death herself,” he choked out between heaves. Each time he opened his mouth all he could taste is that. “Bloody feckin’ ‘ell.”

Offended beyond a doubt, he slinked out of the cave with the smoked salmon in his pouch. Despite the trap that would make the unholy union of Boldur, Gnoll and Earl’s bath waters a welcome beverage to wash out the horrid and unrelenting torture in the snake’s tongue and sinuses, Pendles fully intended to return to collect the fresh catch protected by the refrigerated box.

[snekjin]

ok I was going through the prompt list and this made me pause: 9. “if you cry, i’ll cry ─ and that won’t be fun for anyone.” we saw Patrick crying plenty of times but Jonny? 🤔

ok, it's just a shortie (330 words)

I saw this prompt and thought 'what if I just grabbed your heart and squeezed it like a squeeky toy?' because there's not a lot that would make a man like Jonathan Toews cry except, perhaps, a child? 👀

The first time they let Jonny hold the baby, he is unbelievably nervous about it. The nurse reminds him to support the neck as if he didn't spend the last nine months reading every baby book ever written in an effort to not fuck this up.

He's never been a natural when it comes to kids, he can admit that–that was always more Patrick's territory–but his daughter fits in his arms like that's what they were designed to do. Forget about whacking pucks, this is his birthright.

She blinks up at him with big, puffy eyes, fussing quietly.

He looks down and tucks his chin to his chest. "Nice to meet you," he jokes in a silly voice that he conjured out of god-knows-where.

She just snuffles in response, all red and sticky and ugly and beautiful.

Jonny's all red too, he's pretty sure. Feels heat lurking in the back of his sinuses, eyes starting to sweat. He's never been so petrified. It's like staring into the abyss except the abyss is a helpless creature that needs him.

She opens her mouth with a grumpy inhale, either to yawn or to-

“Hey hey, don't cry," he soothes, throat clammy. "If you cry, I'll cry ─ and that won’t be fun for anyone.”

Something shifts in the corner of his eye, and oh. Patrick is leaning over, looking at him with an indiscernible expression. He'd sort of forgotten about him for a second there.

"What?" Jonny raises an eyebrow. He's not sure when he started rocking her back and forth. Must have done it on instinct.

"Well, I was gonna say 'my turn, gimmie'," Patrick makes faux grabby hands. "But if you're gonna look this stupid for the next 18 years..."

"Are you kidding?" Jonny laughs, sniffing. If his cheeks are wet, Patrick's not planning on calling him out for it. "I'm gonna look this stupid for the rest of my life."

Patrick just grins, heart full, and thinks yeah. Yeah you are.

[snekjin]

29 smut for Jonny/Patrick/Jeremy?

29. "not so cocky now, are you?"

5.8k words later, it's finally finished!

In which Jeremy surprises Patrick after a good game by getting him the one thing he thought he could never have. I thought it would be fun to switch things up and make JC88 the established pairing. Might not be the meal that some of you ordered, but I promise it's good soup!

(Read on AO3 here)

[snekjin]

Prompt 10 in fluff for 1988💜. I need some cheering up today lol

10. “Did you just kiss me?”

Me: Ok but what if… there was only one bed? 👀

They get into the hotel in the early hours of the morning after the rest of the team has long since retired for the night. Late wining and dining with the front office—all duties of a decade-plus partnership.

“I am so sorry,” the man at the front desk is saying to somebody on the Hawks staff whose job it is to handle these things. “There must have been a mistake with the booking.”

He’s offering refunds and discounts on future visits but all Patrick can think about is how bone-tired he is, swaying on his feet.

“What’s the issue?” he barges into the conversation, jaw clicking as he yawns.

So they’re short a room. No biggie.

“I’ll just share with Tazer,” he shrugs. “Not like we haven’t done it before.”

An equally exhausted Jonny nods absently in agreement, stretching out his arms above his head, face scrunching up.

Of course the only rooms left are those with single queens. It’s not as if they can’t go kick out some of the rookies, but Patrick just doesn’t have the energy for dealing with that kind of thing right now.

Patrick snorts, “Not like we haven’t done that before either.” Admittedly not as often, but one too many parties where they’ve been too fucked up to get themselves home ensure that it’s happened at least once or twice.

He sleepily accepts the keycard and staggers towards the elevator, not bothering to check if Jonny is following him or not.

It’s funny how many years can pass and yet the pair of them settle right back into the way they familiarly orbit one another in a confined space. Jonny wordlessly claims the side of the bed closest to the bathroom, leaving Patrick with his side of the room by the window.

They get ready for bed in tandem, both still a little tipsy, Patrick brushing his teeth while Jonny removes as many items of clothing as he can whilst still being considered ‘decent.’ They trade places and by the time Jonny asks if he can turn off the lights, Patrick is facedown in a pillow, humming an affirmative response.

Jonny unspools under the sheets, limbs stretching. His knee accidentally bumps up against Patrick’s hip but neither of them say anything.

Patrick snuffles into the pillow, allows his head to be filled with the rhythmic pulse of the air-conditioning and Jonny’s annoying yet nostalgic mouthbreathing.

But there’s something tense trapped in the air, a static charge that was never there when they were younger, waiting to strike.

“Jonny?” Patrick rolls over onto his back.

“Mm?”

“Goodnight,” Patrick mutters, glancing towards him in the dark. In the near pitch blackness of the room he can’t tell if Jonny is looking at him or not.

“G’night,” Jonny breathes and casually leans over, pressing his mouth chastely against Patrick’s.

He rolls back over and sinks into the mattress, calm as anything, as if what he just did isn’t completely insane.

“Um,” Patrick says to the hotel room ceiling, blinking furiously. He can’t help but dart his tongue out to trace the tingling skin on his bottom lip. “Did you just kiss me?”

He feels rather than sees Jonny turn back towards him, sheets rustling as his weight shifts. “Oh. Sorry. Force of habit.”

Jonny’s voice sounds neutral but Patrick can imagine the bright blush that must be furiously spreading across his face.

He almost feels bad for the guy—newly single Jonathan Toews still daydreaming of domesticity—but there’s an emotion blooming in his gut that isn’t just pity. Patrick wants to blame the warmth blossoming in his chest to the dregs of alcohol in his system, but realistically he knows he’s nearly entirely sobered up by now. It’s not as if he’s ever really thought about what it might be like to kiss Jonny before. But now that it’s happened, it fills up every frame in his mind.

Jonny’s bare thigh presses up against his with cautious intent, sending another jolt through Patrick’s body. He feels decidedly nervous.

“Jonny?” he says again, praying for a do-over.

“Mm?” Jonny hums for a second time.

This time Patrick is the one who leans over impulsively, propping himself up on one elbow and catching Jonny’s jaw with gentle fingers. He strokes a thumb over Jonny’s lips, tracing the tough stripe of scarred skin he knows is there. Patrick wants to lean down and taste it so he does. Opens Jonny’s mouth carefully with his own, exploring the shape of it with his tongue. Jonny kisses back happily, rising up to meet him, threading one leg innocently between Patrick’s.

They stay like that for a while, swapping lazy kisses, lips and limbs intertwined, before the last of his energy starts to drain. He pulls back and settles into the bed, pressing his worn body up against Jonny’s and looping an arm around him, reeling him in tight.

“Goodnight,” he whispers against Jonny’s lips.

“G’night.”

He feels the curve of Jonny’s quiet smile in response.

[snekjin]

Is it too late to request a number from the fic prompts?? If not, i would literally die if you did no. 24 in the smut category :))))))))

(cont.) "CANT REMEMBER IF I SAID IT OR NOT but no. 24 on the smut category for 1988 heheheh"

24. “have they ever touched you like this?”

This prompt is pretty much the definition of cheating so I've written an AU where Jonny is not a hockey player but he's dating an unnamed member of the Blackhawks. (Un)fortunately for him, he catches the eye of his longtime idol Patrick Kane.

And because some of you keep brainwashing me with older pat/younger jonny propaganda, I wrote in an age difference as well. Soft warning for dubious consent due to one character being a bit under the influence and a power imbalance in general. (I have posted the resulting madness over at AO3 here, unlocked just in case you don’t have an account)

[snekjin]

lol totally not a rarepair but prompt 33 for 1988? 👀

wow, you really just went for the throat, huh? 🥲

33. "How many times are you going to look me in the eye and lie to me?"

By the time Jonny finds the courage to slink downstairs, Patrick's puttering about in the kitchen, aimlessly prodding the coffee machine that nobody ever uses. He's shirtless, red marks decorating his back from the night before.

It should make Jonny's stomach twirl in a familiar way but all it does this time is drag him back to reality.

"I didn't know you still had nightmares," Patrick says over his shoulder, only half turning.

Jonny stills at the bottom of the stairs. Takes a deep breath and focuses on the feeling of the carpet under his bare feet.

"Sometimes." He shrugs as if Patrick can see it.

"Where do you keep your glasses?" Patrick asks, flipping each cupboard door open one by one in a kitchen he doesn't know. In a house he's never set foot in before last night.

"Top left. Next to the stove."

"Aha," Patrick lets out a triumphant little noise and fills it with filtered water from Jonny's fridge. He drinks messily over the sink, gulping like it's the first water he's had in days before setting the empty glass down with an exaggerated "Aah."

To Patrick's credit he doesn't flinch when Jonny presses him up against the sink, wraps his arms around the smooth skin of Patrick's belly.

Jonny's nipping at his ear by the time Patrick says, "We shouldn't have done that."

Jonny's breath is shaky as he sucks it into his lungs. It takes him longer to catch it these days. Takes him longer to do anything.

He tucks his face into Patrick's neck because he knows he would never push him away. Would never ask him to leave.

"I fucked you up again, didn't I?" Patrick whispers.

Jonny doesn't say anything. Can't say anything. Just clenches his jaw and inhales the scent of Patrick, so familiar and yet laced with something different - something new.

"God, I knew starting this back up was a bad idea," Patrick's grip tightens on the edge of the countertop.

"Pat, please."

At that he turns in Jonny's arms, startling him. Blue eyes swimming with concern meet dark eyes, wide and afraid.

"I just wanted you to be okay."

"I am okay!" Jonny bites back.

"How many times are you going to look me in the eye and lie to me?"

Patrick casts his gaze down, unable to contain the emotion that threads between them. It spills out of him like an overflowing bath.

"You weren't okay. And you aren't." He inhales. Exhales. "But you will be."

Patrick tucks his face into Jonny's neck, melts into him the way they used to. "I'll always be here even if I can't be the person to give you everything you want. Everything you deserve. And I'm sorry for that. But you do deserve it and I hope you get it."

Jonny's speechless at Patrick's little outburst, nuzzling against the fluffy blonde hair in front of him. He turns the words over in his head, feels out the shape of them. A silence settles comfortably over Jonny's kitchen before Patrick continues, mumbling into his chest.

"I'm sorry if being around me hurts you. If you need distance I can give it. If you need me close to you I'll try my best to carve out a space for you. No matter how small, okay?"

Jonny runs his hands over Patrick's body in response. Feels out the jut of his shoulder-blades, the valley of his lower back. He curls around his hips before sliding back up, thumbs running over the outer edge of his chest. Jonny maps out the skin like he's living on borrowed time. The truth is that he is.

"Look, I have to go home," Patrick sighs, pulling back and running his hands through thinning hair. "I promised we'd go to the park."

Home, Jonny thinks. Sounds nice.

He watches quietly as Patrick collects the rest of his things, scooping his crumpled shirt off the hallway floor and shucking it on. They backtrack through last night - dance around the keys on the counter, sidestep the jacket that missed the coatrack and the shoes overturned by the entrance.

Jonny kisses Patrick at the door, slow and sweet. The same way he did years ago. Can swear he feels the flutter of eyelashes against his cheeks.

"I guess I'll see you at practice then," Jonny's rubbing his own arms awkwardly.

"Mmm," Patrick hums non-committally, mind miles away. He spares one last look at Jonny before the door closes between them, face tinted with a shy smile - the one he saves just for him.

Jonny knows he'll see it again.

One day.

[pendles-is-friendles]

The Cost

Groaning and curled in his bed, each aching joint set aflame as they strained to grow and shift under the new rounds of daily treatments to usher him into the next part of his life-cycle. Becoming an Elder, turning into a giant snake, he had grown tired of the weight of the wait over his head. The constant stranglehold over his life that prevented him from letting his heart and life move forward had started taking its toll. Those kinds of life-long commitments could not flourish with the umbrage of an unknown deadline and such massive uncertainty. Pendles granted his mate utmost and sincere freedom… he had decided that he needed to do the same for himself. Figuring out the details of Executive Executions and his work with the Rogues would come after, when he knew what he had to work with. He knew the costs… or at least he thought he did. The grip of his hand squeaked as he tightened it around the empty glass bottle he kept close to his chest, a pitiful whine escaping his throat.  Drinking the entire thing of his private stock had not touched the screaming ache that blinded him to even the covers draped over his bare shoulder and tangled between his unwrapped legs. Both legs had grown stiff, but restless as the scutes between itched and burned. Scales dotted between the folds of fabric, more and more of his skin smoothing out as the days passed. Dizzyingly drunk, he regretted this decision. He cursed Alani’s name between each hitched breath. He… just wanted the pain to stop. His hand clung to his beloved tentacle which clutched to his head in its coiled grasp. Any day now. The wait more unbearable than the detatchment itself. Every second dragged on, every moment an eternity of suffering the Devil himself would find pause with. Was this one going to hurt with the new treatments? Would he even notice it drop off with everything else clawing at him? Running the end along the top of his snout, gripping the soft scales with his scutes, he sobbed.

In a swirling, sinking blur, Pendles awoke to the realization that he had slept. The bottle was gone from his chest, the knot of blankets had been laid back over him to cover his legs, and the litter of shed scales had been cleared away. Some of the pain had ebbed, though his skeleton throbbed with each beat of his heart. It wasn’t until he sat up to shuffle to the bathroom and went to rub at his missing eye did he even realize his tentacle was not there. Cold, lifeless, the end still balled into a small coil, the arm laid across the bed just as he left it when he had fallen asleep. He expected this, this was not even the first arm he had lost in this exact way, he thought he was prepared, but it did nothing to lessen the thrall punch to his gut or the sudden rush of nausea that bubbled forth from his stomach. Scrambling to his wastebin under his desk, he heaved the ample alcoholic contents of his gut across the floor. His nose burning from the excess acidic mucus and bile and his tongue curling from the stench, the Roa growled as he tossed the useless container away. As shredded paper littered the floor and scattered across the foul puddle, Pendles rolled over to lay on a clean space on the floor to muddle over how he would clean everything up with the wrong arm. He had never had to use a mop with just one hand before.

[snekjin]

Hello! If you'd like to I'd love to see number 11 from the fluff section for 1988?

11. "I've dreamt about this."

Short and sweet and I hope you like it 🥰

They sign the papers in a backroom office, the dull whirr of a ceiling fan circulating hot air overhead.

"Well, that was a bit anticlimactic," Jonny whistles, fidgeting with his pen. He leans forward and taps the dalmatian bobblehead on the desk in front of them.

"I'll just photocopy these," says a smiling woman woman with an auburn ponytail. She gathers up their lives in an A4 stack, taps them on mahogany to straighten the edges. "I'll be right back."

The ponytail swishes as she goes.

A restless Jonny squirms out of his uncomfortable chair, paces from one side of the room to the other until Patrick wrestles him into a hug.

He ignores the way that their bodies pressing together makes both of them even sweatier. Tells himself it's all weather, no nerves.

"I've dreamt about this," Patrick says quietly to nobody in particular, words sliding off the side of Jonny's damp throat.

"Yeah?"

"Well, I wasn't envisioning.." he gestures to the bobblehead dog still swaying and the overwatered peace lily frowning in the corner.

"In my head it was a bit more.. romantic."

Jonny just snorts, presses a kiss to Patrick's forehead.

"We didn't even get to say 'I do'," Patrick pouts.

Jonny looks down at him, heart about to burst. Feels something sappy on the verge of escape.

"I've been saying 'I do' since the day I met you."

Patrick's beaming up at him, so in love he's tangled in it. He kisses him just the once, smiles a familiar smile against Jonny's soft mouth.

"Our moms are gonna kill us," Patrick giggles into Jonny's face.

Jonny just sighs under the weight of it all and ponders, "Do you think this place does funerals too?"

Thanks for reading, prompts list can be found here.

[snekjin]

auston/pat would be an interesting dynamic. Mutual hero worship where Auston is starstruck meeting kaner and kaner is hella cocky but then flustered when the awe wears off and he realizes how big, tall, and talented auston is

Idk, I don't think Auston's the type to get starstruck. Seems like he's always been pretty confident, not unlike Pat.

I think Pat would be very curious about this kid, the first American player to go first overall since him, keeping tabs on him.

Auston would definitely want to impress him tho, and Pat would definitely be impressed.

And at this point they're more like old friends with benefits. Auston makes digs at Pat's age and they bond over their receding hairlines while having the world's most boring sex.

[pendles-is-friendles]

Lay Your Weary Head to Rest

(( a Spots and Scales specific fic ))

Tired and spent from a day of killing and the general harassing of Earl, the bastard, Pendles tramped back through the muddy jungle to his kamas and planethopper to get off of the shattered planet and back home to rest. The tingle from the thrill of bloodlust planted a self-satisfied smile across his scaled face. His soul complete with the fullfilment of overcoming a challenging (but annoyingly loud) foe with just his bare hand and tentacle. Now, all he needed was a cool shower and a comfortable nap with his titanic mate to place a perfectly plump cherry on this day’s sundae.

A steady rumble under his soles interrupted his joyful musings and sent a flicker across his tense body. He held his breath as he froze to try and ascertain the direction of the tremors through subtle flicks of the tips of his tongue. The deep cracks of tree trunks and the harried rustles of leaves betrayed the direction of what must be a massive, charging beast of some sort. Still, he waited to see if whatever it was would just run past, but it only drew closer and closer and louder and louder…

Pendles leapt and yanked himself onto a high tree branch just in time as a familiar, massive, green Thrall slid across the ground on his belly in his effort to catch the snake and into the trunk below. The tree Pendles clung to swayed under his weight. With no anchor to its severed trunk, it fell, snake and all, on top of the brute’s cybernetically supported back. As the assassin tried to scramble off of Mortus, (a thrall with every single reason to end his killing streak across the universe), his long limbs just entangled themselves further the gnarled branches and hooked thorns. Every tug only locked himself further into the unintentional trap.

“Where’d'you think y’re goin’, mate?” Mortus rumbled as he groped for trunk to slide the tree off of his back. If he tried to stand as they were, he figured he would be risking squishing the snake, after all. He groaned as his three-fingered hand got a grip on the branch and slid the sharp prickles across his ever-sparking back piece and started to hop back onto his hooves. “I jus’ wanna talk…”

“By snappin’ me in two, that is,” Pendles hissed as he was lifted with Mortus and brought up to his cracked face. The familiar heated breath in his face sent ripples of terror through snake’s scales, but he bared his backfangs and puffed his hood as a threat anyways. Despite the Brute’s overwhelming strength, the Roa was highly venomous, after all. “This is your only warnin’, mate, let me go!”

Tilting his horned head from side-to-side as he seemed to take Pendles’ words into consideration, Mortus finished with a subtle, but decisive shake. “No. We gotta talk…” With his free hand, he reached to help pluck the comparatively tiny snake from the leaves. This would be easier if he could trust that Pendles would not run away; he wouldn’t have to manhandle the tinier being if he would just stick around for a few minutes to chat. “Just ‘old still…”

Pendles’ furious hiss in his throat sharpened into his frustrated vocal growl as thick plumes of venom leaked from his scales. The snake drained his glands into the air, surely a dose to down a titan of Mortus’ size. “You best find cover, the weather’s turnin’, love.”

The green cloud hit Mortus’ nose and he paused to look at it with an annoyed huff. To clear the air so he could discern snake from thorns, he waved it away like it were nothing. As he resumed his careful work, he could not help but chortle, “You know… that almost smells good when it don’t kill you… little like… sweet almonds actually.”

The snake’s heart seized. His single defense, the ace up his sleeve, his near guaranteed kill move… useless. Abject panic sent Pendles’ limbs into a frantic struggle as he tore his way out of the tree’s claws and he leapt from the monster’s care.

Huffing in surprise, the Mortus shot his hand out to catch him. The wet slap of the Roa hitting his palm echoed with his groan. Tilting his hand so Pendles could lay and recover, he kept his fingers flat to not risk squeezing him.

Reeling and dangling from the giant’s three-fingered hand hitting his body with the force of a car in a school zone, Pendles fumbled in his pouch for anything that could help him. The force of the catch might have knocked the wind from him and reverberated through his bones, but he still managed to find what he was looking for: his last smokebomb, wrapped in a special ribbon. As he curled it in the end of his tentacle, held the turtle shell up to Mortus’ face and crushed it, Pendles prayed to Death herself that his assumption that the Brute wouldn’t know what craft glitter was held true. It was his only hail mary.

The bomb blew, but no shrapnel peppered Mortus’ skin nor fire licked at his face. All he could see was a strange, shimmering cloud that expanded and sparkled over the pair. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his short life… but he found from his short stint on the wild planet: beauty usually meant deadly. With a barking shout, Mortus bounced back from the possible poison and dropped his hostage to the ground. After a futile attempt to wave the shining partials away, he barked, “This ain’t over. We’re goin’ ta have chat real soon… whether you want to or not.” As quick as the giant appeared, he ran off.

Pendles lay on the leafy, glittery dirt until he was sure the rock below had stilled from Mortus’ escaping footfall. Thoughts buzzed like the gnats above his guarded hood. The green Thrall was out for his hide and Pendles had no way to stop him. Surely he’d figure out the glitter was harmless sooner rather than later.

The snake needed a plan… and soon.

[pendles-is-friendles]

All in a Row

One could imagine that the Rogues had started setting their calendars by the day once a week the Fortune’s Favour was filled with the pounding of the Roa’s fist against his bedroom door. But try as he might, even eating every few hours every day despite the fatigue it brought, hunger would eventually seep into him, dulling his senses reducing him to a starving pet, locked in his room.  Petulant whining for his freedom would bring headaches to his friends and teammates.

But, on the expected day one week, the constant knocking fell on deaf ears. A Varelsi outbreak pulled the team away, leaving the ravenous Roa hung out to dry.  Pressed against the door, a huffy whine escaping his nostrils as his snout stuck out of the feeding slot.

There was food out there.  His tongue strokes were long and curling.  So much.  If only… Pushing against the door, he could peek down the hall. Nothin’… but no one’s watchin’… what if…

Shoving his hand through the slot, the metal bracing around his wrist stuck on the edges. Flicking his tongue in rapid strokes, he gripped the rim as a test, leaving an indent where his fingers and palm were. Eye wide, he clenched the door again and yanked, tearing through the sturdy surface like thick cardboard. An elated grin across his face, the snake slipped through the opening with ease.

In the kitchen, his tongue sung songs of food hidden across the different cabinets and hidey-holes within. How would he ever get his fill picking through so many spaces? An idea struck him.

The entirety of the Rogues’ rations, or as much he could find, laid across the counter in a neat pile. Crouching at one end, Pendles could not help but smirk as he surveyed his masterpiece of bags, boxes and other assorted food containers. Curling the edge of his tentacle around the back of the pile, the snake unhinged his jaw to let his bounty fall down his gullet. Easy! Efficient! An excellent ide–

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of someone standing in the doorway, watching as he ate. Unable to stop, he just glanced to them and back to the disappearing hoard. “Yuh wehn’t meah ta seh theh…” he grunted through his full mouth as an excuse. “Sereh?”

[pendles-is-friendles]

Vocatia Takes a Stand

“This is the one?” Vocatia glanced to her gangly son as she pointed out the doorway of the new local menace, a young high-born who thought it hilarous to mess with Thrall they could get away with it. Rictus only nodded as he rubbed the side of his mangled face. “You sure, mate? I don’t want a repeat of last time. The cleaners’ere expensive…”

The former gunner hung his head, lavender-tinged eyes cast downward. “’T’s him this time, promise. I said sorry ‘bout the lady with all the cats.” The low reverberation in his voice sent shivers through the rest of the gang. He jabbed a clawed finger in the direction of the door. “But this is the one wot thought ‘e could play at master with me, mum.”

Letting out a weary sigh, the Thrallmother banged her fist on the door and motioned for her larger sons to stand right behind her. Holding her head high, she steeled her gaze and motioned for one of them to break down the door. Not even flinching as the massive fist whizzed over her shoulder turning the metallic door into a crumpled mess, Vocatia strode into the domicile with a grace reserved for royalty. Spying the scrawny vampire, she glared at him as she lifted her hand in a come hither motion. “We gotta talk, mate. Seems you don’t get how thin’s work ‘round here…”

“You miserable bitch! You listen here, no one breaks down my doo–” His voice cut short as a massive three-fingered hand gripped his throat and the Brutish owner gave a cheeky grin.

Shaking her head in disappointment, Vocatia took a seat in one of the fine leather chairs this Jennerit owned. Running her nail across it, she crossed her legs. Giving her son a look, she pointed to the ground under her hooves with her eyes and lifted her legs. The high-born was dropped to the ground, the Thrallmother’s hooves rested upon his spine. “No, you’re goin’ to listen to me. These’re my streets, you hear?” Her non-chalant tone mixed with the steely frost of her voice like a martini in a shaker. Her tongue clicked against her teeth as she inspected her nails and noticed the small chip in the gold-leaf. “Your under my rule and I says you can’t mess with me sons, got it?”

The Jennerit’s crimson eyes met the long-plated gunner’s purple ones as he hissed. “You don’t own shit. I am your master and this beast deserved the lashings! He–”

“Huh, seems to me I need to stand…” Polished hooves jabbed into the laughably weak spine. “But… maybe… just maybe, if you tell Rictus y’re sorry–“ she tilted her head to scratch an itch under her chin as she looked down her nose at him. “And pay me a protection fee to keep rowdy gangs of Thrall from bustin’ down your door, I’ll–”

“Fuck you! I’ll–”

“I am feelin’ quite restless, you daft pillock,” she snapped as she stomped her hoof down onto the Jennerit’s ribs to make her point. Casting a glance of disbelief to each of her sons and shaking her head, she warned, “Either you apologize or I stand. You’re out of options, mate.”

A notable, but unintelligible slur escaped in the Jennerit's agonized cough. Sudden exhaustion overtook the Thrallmother as she got up to the sickening crunch of bone slicing through cartilage and muscle under hoof. Stabbing a manicured finger in Rictus' direction she commanded, "this gets cleaned within the hour, got it?" Lifting her hoof out of the mangled corpse, she curled her lip as shd tried to shake off the bits of flesh that clung to her fishnet stockings. "And another thin', stop fuckin' with vampires. I catch you pullin' this again I'll kick you m'self, got it?"

Turning his white head on his thin neck, he scratched at his chin with his claws. "Yeah, got it."

"Good." Vocatia's larger son knelt to offer his arm to carry her. Accepting the seat, she scratched under his chin in approval. "See you back at the Bat, darlin'. Stay out of trouble."