#Horizon Mirages WIP

[gemmahale]

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare (Reboot) - Works In Progress

I'm always happy to answer questions and share progress on any of these! My Ask Box is always open. Links lead to the tag for that WIP.

All WIPs are 18+. Minors, please don't.

John 'Bravo 6' Price

#Useful Girl WIP - A retrospective that takes John Price from Pompous Playboy Lieutenant to Suave Dominant Captain with a woman that makes his head spin and his pants tight. BDSM, D/s, boot blacking and similar kinks. John Price x OFC Scarlett Morgan

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

#Call of The Wild WIP - When his werewolf girlfriend goes missing, Kyle Garrick must set his feelings aside in order to save her from a hybrid trafficking ring. Kyle Garrick x OFC Shannon Porter Shifter AU

#The Contract WIP - In a fit of frustration, Rosalind Henderson makes a deal with a demon. When he comes to collect, they're taken aback by how normal he is. Or is there more to this contract she didn't know about when they signed? Kyle Garrick x OC Rosalind 'Rosie'/'Lin' Henderson Demon AU; Collab with @pfhwrittes

#Corporal Distraction WIP - Sgt. Kyle Garrick has been seeing Corporal Anna Gibson in secret. His teammates have had enough of their late night shenanigans and decide to take matters into their own hands. Kyle Garrick x OFC Anna Gibson; John MacTavish, Simon Riley x OFC Anna Gibson

#Embroidered Secret WIP - Kyle Garrick meets Lucille Fitzroy at one of the many balls. Follow their courtship with a lost and found trinket, a realization of love, and lots of witty banter and stolen moments. He fell first, she fell harder trope. Kyle Garrick x OFC Lucille Fitzroy Regency AU; Collab with @ofdivinity01

#Flowers from My Love WIP - Johanna Hawkins, disabled flower farmer, meets the Taskforce 141 and becomes smitten with Kyle Garrick when they occupy the neighbor's house. When a farmer's market event is attacked, she has to trust her new friends to be able to get her out of the precarious situation she's found herself in. Kyle Garrick x OFC Johanna Hawkins

#A Protégé's Trust WIP - Laswell's CIA Operative Lisa 'Badger' Compton manages to get under Kyle's skin every which way he turns. It's infuriating how much she bothers him. Her silky voice over comms, her voluptuous curves handing him information, the twinkle of her painted fingernail on her firearm's trigger - one of these days, he's going to lose it over this woman. Kyle Garrick x OFC Lisa 'Badger' Compton. Collab with @pfhwrittes

#Squeamish Stitches WIP - When Gaz is injuried on a recon mission, it's up to Jen 'Glitz' O'Dolan to get him patched up. One catch: her last visit to med bay resulted in her fainting at the sight of blood. Squeamish or not, his life rests in her hands while Ghost secures the safehouse. Aka: the Triple G Crew Kyle Garrick x OFC Jen 'Glitz' O'Dolan; Simon Riley & OFC Glitz

#Palace Hallways WIP - It's not awful being the newly crowned Queen's lady-in-waiting. What is awful is the attention you've unintentionally garnered from Sir Garrick. What's even worse, is the Royal Artificer and Royal Druid seem to be paying you the same kind of attention. You're a mess, and no one will do anything about it. Fantasy AU Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish, Simon Riley x OFC 'Petal'

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

#Brix WIP - Orchard manager Annabeth Turner deals with becoming a safehouse for a clandestine task force. The Scot on the team can't seem to help himself and continues to get in the way. Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x OFC Annabeth Turner

#Highland Tartans WIP - John MacTavish and Holly Duncan, of neighboring Scottish clans, are set to be wed. Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x OFC Holly Duncan Historic Scottish Highlands AU (historical accuracy is questionable)

#Museum Muse WIP - Johnny meets an art model while on leave and a relationship blossoms. BDSM, D/s dynamic, puppy play Johnny 'Soap' MacTavis x OFC Darlene 'Daisy' Houghton

#Corporal Distraction WIP - Sgt. Kyle Garrick has been seeing Corporal Anna Gibson in secret. His teammates have had enough of their late night shenanigans and decide to take matters into their own hands. Kyle Garrick x OFC Anna Gibson; John MacTavish, Simon Riley x OFC Anna Gibson

#Palace Hallways WIP - It's not awful being the newly crowned Queen's lady-in-waiting. What is awful is the attention you've unintentionally garnered from Sir Garrick. What's even worse, is the Royal Artificer and Royal Druid seem to be paying you the same kind of attention. You're a mess, and no one will do anything about it. Fantasy AU Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish, Simon Riley x OFC 'Petal'

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

#Palace Hallways WIP - It's not awful being the newly crowned Queen's lady-in-waiting. What is awful is the attention you've unintentionally garnered from Sir Garrick. What's even worse, is the Royal Artificer and Royal Druid seem to be paying you the same kind of attention. You're a mess, and no one will do anything about it. Fantasy AU Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish, Simon Riley x OFC 'Petal'

#Squeamish Stitches WIP - When Gaz is injuried on a recon mission, it's up to Jen 'Glitz' O'Dolan to get him patched up. One catch: her last visit to med bay resulted in her fainting at the sight of blood. Squeamish or not, his life rests in her hands while Ghost secures the safehouse. Aka: the Triple G Crew Kyle Garrick x OFC Jen 'Glitz' O'Dolan; Simon Riley & OFC 'Glitz'

#Corporal Distraction WIP - Sgt. Kyle Garrick has been seeing Corporal Anna Gibson in secret. His teammates have had enough of their late night shenanigans and decide to take matters into their own hands. Kyle Garrick x OFC Anna Gibson; John MacTavish, Simon Riley x OFC Anna Gibson

Kate Laswell

#Edge Dressing WIP - Kate is roped into a bootblacking demonstration by her wife Letty. A curious voyeur learns more about the art than they expected. Kate Laswell x OFC Letty Laswell x OC (TBD)

Task Force 141 - Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap (May Include other MW characters)

#Feylands WIP - The Court of Maevonia have been in search of a human for their court plaything for a while. Josephine Kaplan fits the description of what they want. But when she accidentally shows up unannounced just as a war with a neighboring kingdom is kicking off, it seems like things might work out differently. Can Josie work with the Court to save not only Maevonia, but also Earth from the Penumbra and it’s Shadow Bringers? Fey AU OFC Josephine ‘Josie’ Kaplan x Gary 'Roach’ Sanderson; + Task Force 141, Kate Laswell, Wife Laswell, Alex Keller, Farah Karim

#141 Studio WIP - Samantha West, stage name Poppy, interviews for a position with Studio 141 - one of the most elite, ethical and diverse porn studios. With her hiring comes a whirlwind of changes - mostly for the better. But when trouble comes knocking, will Poppy have the answer on the 'Tip Of The Tongue'? Porn Studio AU. AKA: Kinky Bullshit. Gemma needed a sandbox for gratuitous porn, pro sex-worker. Task Force 141 + Friends x OFC Samantha 'Poppy' West

#7 Sins Bookstore WIP - Seven Sins Bookstore and Cafe is warm and cozy inside - a maze of bookshelves filled with tomes and little reading nooks tucked throughout on one side, and on the other, a bustling cafe with delicious food, hot beverages, wine tastings and room for groups to congregate. But in the basement, beyond an unassuming office door, lies the real purpose of the institution. That’s where the real deals are made, where blood is ordered to be spilled, and pacts signed in indelible hemoglobin ink. Vampire Mobster AU Task Force 141 x OC's - Journalist, Researcher, Barista Manager/Author, Regular Customer

#Horizon Mirages WIP - With an increase in bandit activity in the area around the small town of Whisperdale, recently elected Sheriff John Price and his deputies - Simon Riley, Johnny MacTavish, and Kyle Garrick - are pressured to ease tensions between cattlemen, homesteaders and townsfolk alike. Western AU Task Force 141 x OCs - Seamstress, Shepherdess, Saloon Co-Owner, General Store Manager

Glitter Background in Header: 1tamara2 from Pixabay Text Divider: @saradika-graphics Last Updated: 5/28/2024

[caelenath]

UsaMamo Week 2023 - Day 4: Beach

For @usamamoweek2023 day 4, my contribution is a preview of this untitled WIP that I thought would be done by now. Foiled again! 😅

Big shoutout to @random-mailbox who both inspired this piece and is helping with the pro photography tips (and is helping to run this wonderful event). 👏💖

~ * ~

Summary:

The whole situation was any red-blooded man's dream—nine gorgeous women in swimwear, a dreamy sunset, and a legitimate excuse to ogle them from every angle.

But he had eyes for only one...

~ * ~

Even before he arrived, the gig was pretty ideal–short, paying double his normal rate, and it gave him an excuse to go to the beach. He felt a little guilty for charging the extra money since he wasn't exactly a pro, just a guy with a hand-me-down camera trying to pay his tuition. But it was the client who had insisted because she was trying to book him so last minute, and university tuition wasn't cheap.

So he accepted the job even if it meant having to get Kobayashi to cover his TA session in the evening, and he was rewarded with a high-pitched squeal of gratitude that nearly blew his eardrum over the phone. She told him to "look for the one wearing black and white", then hung up before he could ask her to be more specific.

He arrived on the beach in the late afternoon, and was greeted by a brilliant, soul-soothing cobalt blue sky. Wispy clouds in the distance along the horizon promised a dazzling sunset backdrop in a little over an hour. Fifty-six to eighty-four minutes, to be exact, depending on what color sky his client wanted. He had a disturbingly accurate internal clock when it came to the sun's movements.

Feeling the heat of the day captured in the sand, he wished he'd been able to arrive earlier to have some extra time to enjoy the getaway. He had tried, but unfortunately, his lab partner chose this day to forget the boiling chips, and instead of accepting a lower mark for the failure, they chose to stay after class to repeat the experiment. Or rather, he chose to stay after, and his partner grudgingly followed suit to avoid looking inferior by comparison to their professor. It had been a risky decision, but with a little help from another disturbing ability of his, one that controlled the heating far better than boiling chips or the isomantle, they were able to redo the work in time for him to catch the train to Atami.

The cloying smell of artificial banana finally left his nose as he inhaled deeply the briny air. He couldn't wait to chuck his shoes and dig his toes into the warm sand. He needed both hands for now to carry his kit, but once the shoot was underway, he could happily traipse barefoot wherever his client wanted to go.

The beach wasn't as crowded by this time of day, and all along the water's edge, he could see the divots and partially melted sand castles left behind by families who had already gone home. The people who remained were mostly couples making eyes and PDA.

His client had said this photoshoot was for her and her friends, a celebration of their last year of high school, but gave scant specifics besides that. None, in fact. Still, as he looked up and down the beach, he discovered he needn't ever have worried about not being able to spot them. Rather, he knew them instantly.

Fifty paces or so to his right, beneath a cluster of palm trees, nine of the most beautiful women he had ever seen were gathered together, arranging each other's hair and swimsuit straps and chatting gaily like they didn't have a care in the world. They were such a striking group that he stood rooted in place for at least a minute, slack-jawed and unable to tear his eyes away. What were the odds they were a mirage? 

After the initial shock wore off, he was intrigued by how different they looked from one another. Tall, short, light hair, dark hair, sporty suits and sexy cutouts–their individual looks ran a wide gamut.

With that unavoidable ogling out of the way, his recovering neanderthal brain finally noted something useful. The two blondes in the group were the ones wearing black and white suits while the rest of them wore mostly black ones. Some had accessories, also in black. They must have agreed on that being the theme in their photoshoot. The contrast against the sky would be stunning, like them, no matter what moment of dusk they caught.

He adjusted the strap of his kit bag on his shoulder nervously…and froze. He'd had every intention of just walking over to them a millisecond ago, but it suddenly caught up with him how intimidating it was to approach nine drop-dead gorgeous women, even if they were the ones who had hired him in the first place.

He admonished himself that this was a professional engagement and strode forward using a silly mental game that was childish, but nevertheless worked. In moments like this when he needed confidence he didn't have–and those moments increased relative to the number of people around him–he pretended he was someone important, someone who had reason to walk around with their chin held high and their shoulders square. A victorious superhero, a successful CEO, a powerful leader of a nation. 

He would die of embarrassment if anyone ever found out about his game because he was the absolute opposite of those people–a struggling college student with no family and one shot at making something of his life. He didn't see any prospects outside of academics, and that was why he'd lived and breathed his schooling since he was a child. His camera had been an unexpected gift, a castoff albeit a very nice one from his friend's little sister when she decided she wanted to upgrade.

As he neared the group, the blonde in the center turned around, and all breath left his lungs as surely as if someone had punched him. She had huge blue eyes, wide azure pools that he found himself drowning in instantly, and not quite unwillingly. She seemed similarly shocked by his appearance, though for the life of him, he couldn't imagine why. Just a moment ago, she had been talking loudly and very animatedly, but now she stood stockstill, looking back at him as if he were a ghost.

Those enormous eyes blinked at him and he mirrored the reaction reflexively. They were getting close to the time when it would be considered rude to stare at someone for that long, but he was overwhelmed by the feeling that he knew her from somewhere. It wouldn't have been so strange considering how big and populous Tokyo was. Maybe they'd passed by each other somewhere, on the metro, in a conbini, at the library. 

Except, if that were true, he would have remembered her. Aside from her breathtakingly perfect face, she had funny hair. Her almost knee-length golden locks were arranged in two pigtails that flowed from two, perfectly round odangos on top of her head. They were weird, but fitting somehow.

No, he was sure he had never seen before in his life. Yet he knew her. How was that possible??

After much too long, he was finally able to drag his eyes away from her face and look at the rest of her–which, in retrospect, was probably even less polite. But she was wearing the two colors he'd been instructed to look for. Specifically, a tiny white bikini with tiny black straps and tiny black trim. Everything about it practically begged him to look at her, from the way the pure white emphasized her creamy peach-pink skin to how the black edges formed triangular outlines that pointed at things he really shouldn't be looking at. 

Luckily she recovered first and offered him a dazzling smile. It was full of unreserved welcome, something that was foreign to him, and he wondered how much confidence that took. The only word he could use to describe the glow around her was love, but that was preposterous because they were total strangers.

He searched hard for his tongue so he could stop being such a deer in headlights and speak. "Minako?"

The bright look on her face fell, and he winced inside at having done that to her, with the very first word he ever spoke to her, no less. He'd only been hoping she was the one who had called him. If she wasn't Minako, then he owed the real Minako a great debt for having created this opportunity for them to meet. Even if he had already screwed it up.

Keep it professional, his brain scolded him again. He was here to do a job, not meet a girl.

"No, that's me!" a voice chirped to his right, and he turned to the other blonde. She was wearing a bikini with broad black and white stripes, as well as a black hat and sunglasses with thick white frames, which she slid down her nose before introducing herself. Like all her friends, she too was incredibly beautiful, but something about her look said "drama" to him. Or at least, something less innocent than the odango girl.

"I'm Minako. Thank you again so so so so much for doing this."

"It's nothing," he said, feeling a little embarrassed by her effusiveness. It took more than a little effort to ignore the glint of gold hovering in the corner of his eye. "Where should I set up? Did you have particular shots in mind?"

"Yes!" Her response was instant, but from the way she paused afterward, he guessed the real answer was no. "Sunset? Is that too generic?"

"Not at all," he lied. "Your timing couldn't be more perfect. You'll have your pick of lighting for it, assuming we can get set up fast enough." He was glad for the excuse to look out over the water again, to regain some equilibrium as he stood in the midst of any red-blooded man's dream.

"We're ready to go," Minako said, sweeping a stern look across her circle of friends like a captain surveying his battalion.

"This isn't one of your volleyball games," the tall brunette said with a roll of her eyes. "You could at least introduce him if we're going to be working together."

"Fine, all right." Minako accentuated her words with a dramatic huff, and he was gratified to know his instincts about her were right on the nose. "Everyone, this is Chiba Mamoru, who is an absolute darling for agreeing to do this at the last last minute."

The two dark haired beauties in the back of the group leaned in to confer about something together, and from the glances they threw at him, he guessed that something was him. His face warmed a little from the attention.

"I'm pleased to meet you all." 

Minako clapped her hands. "Great, now we all know each other." Someone in the group snorted, but he didn't catch who. "Let's get some gorgeous pictures taken!"

[spencerzakwrites]

masterlist

characters-

————————————————————————

MORTAL KOMBAT- NO LONGER WRITE

johnny cage, kenshi takahashi, bihan, kuai liang, kung lao, liu kang, tomas vrbada, syzoth, raiden

bi han x reader- room full of people DNF

kenshi x male!reader- society sucks DNF

APEX LEGENDS

bloodhound, catalyst, crypto, fuse, horizon, lifeline, loba, mirage, octane, rampart, revenant, valkyrie, vantage, wattson

there’s nothing here!

FROUSE

pezzy, grizzy, elasticdroid, bigpuffer (platonic only!), blarg, smii7y

pezzy x reader- insomnia

droid x tall!reader

pezzy x fem!reader- jealousy

dad!puffer x reader- WIP

droid x reader- “im sorry for being like this.” WIP

pezzy x reader- streaming WIP

blarg x reader- vacation hcs WIP

————————————————————————

OLD CHARACTERS

fred weasley

afraid of death

[circa-specturgia]

Circa Specturgia - The stars were shining…

A scene from my main WIP, Circa Specturgia. This one's got some heavier lore stuff that I haven't explained and might not explain for a while, but, I can say this much. Specturgy isn't the only magic in the setting, and the world is so much more ancient when one looks in the wrong places...

Inspired by the songs Heart of Darkness and Dancing with Flames, and Untold II, all by Secession Studios - Good to play in the background for the vibe! ✨

TW// Scars, Blood, Burn scars

The stars were shining.

The sky parted, and he descended from the space within space, setting foot on the quiet field. The wind swept his black hair, masking his eyes as though he’d torn out a part of the canvas of the night to hide them. In between their blackness, two eyes, gold like the sun, shone, iridescent.

His steady gaze met the dozens of golden pairs now trained on him, glittering like the ones in the sky above… The wind whistled in the silence, as he scanned over the horizon, recognizing each of his siblings, his kin.

- “The vessel has been named.”

A shiver ran across the crowd, murmurs in the ether of their minds growing louder, voices of worry, agitation stirring up in the crowd. A raised finger, the smallest gesture, and all grew silent, listening to the man as he continued.

- “We must come together as one. I invoke viimievät.”

One stepped forward, up to where the man had set down, kneeling as he placed the back of an open hand against one shoulder and brushing it to the opposite in traditional salute.

- ”Sire, we must be reasonable, mobilizing all-”

The man raised one hand, a wave of cold and quiet rippling away from his palm, the air growing still. The clouds dissipated, the wind turning the grass into a navy ocean of waves in the moonlight.

The stars had gone from the sky.

- ”I have been alive… for over six thousand years now. None are my elder.” Each word was heavy, echoing off of nothing. His voice, austere. Hushed, yet burning, of disturbing intensity.

In his outstretched palm, visions began to coalesce, nebulous shapes of light and dust rolling across the emptiness around in pulses. Shifting, doubling, changing. Horrifying.

- “I was there when She was struck down laughing from her heavens with the cruelest weapon.” His eyes had begun to shine with withering starlight, a glow like plasma flowing through their hair, their form.

- “I heard the screams of my brothers and sisters at the dawn of the Everburn.” Mirages, dancing lights, shifted across their skin, flashes of history continuing to emanate from their hold.

- “I witnessed as the sky was torn open to swallow the Astralim.” The clouds above turned to nebulae as they wreathed their form, growing simultaneously to a hundred feet and remaining grounded.

- “I was the one to cut down the self -made god and sealed the mind that promised to burn our Istra...” Their words echoed in a thousand voices, a hundred hands manifesting and fading around them, their eyes supernova.

A single step forward, all those gathered, a step back, unable to breathe.

They brought just one hand to the chin of the man who had spoken, tilting it upwards, the vision in their eyes being the most horrifying one of all. Tears began streaming from the mans face, evaporating instantly under their unwavering gaze. It was burning itself into his eyes, into his memory, unable to look away. A man of dark eyes and messy hair, standing with a sword of flame and blood. A world razed at his feet.

- ”I stood at the epicenter and survived.” They hissed. “I am Viivoktyn. Do not speak to me of reasons.”

A few seconds that stretched into an infinity passed, the sibilant thrum of energy hanging in the air, before they stood up straight, their form collapsing in on itself. Returning to the simple black robes he had worn before, he turned to look away from them all, before speaking once more, voice returned to a whisper, melting with the wind that had picked up.

- ”Should the vessel claim it’s birthright, none of us will be safe. Not our Istra. Not any world. We must move to keep it from doing so, at all costs and by any means. I say this not as caution, or cowardice. I say this as fear. I have seen what happens when gods touch our world.” He turned, a sharp breath rippling across all those that saw…

It was like staring into a dead star.

Eons of memory etched into their soul, weathered and worn. Weighing heavily on them, a burden born of a bloody past, and borne by them alone. Blood as black as midnight began to pour from a hundred bleeding gashes that refused to close.

Their eyes were dim, as though the previous gold was now at the bottom of a pit, buried under silt in a riverbed, stars a thousand miles away. One of them cried, with crows feet deep as scars, tears on his cheek. The other could not, his other half burned, blackened, craterous.

So old yet so young. Eyes that begged for someone to ask “Child, who had done this to you?” Eyes that proved they never heard it.

- ”I cannot let it happen again.”

Hope you enjoyed! Some bonus inspo pics above!✨

Taglist? Taglist! ✨ Thanks to all these wonderful people for supporting me and giving me the inspiration and motivation to write!

@bloodlessheirbyjacques @athenswrites @magefaery @writingonesdreams @muddshadow @awritingcaitlin @agrimedena-drax @pinespittinink @tryingtimi @jessica-writes22 @the-void-writes

[theelderhazelnut]

For the WIP ask!

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

💧Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen.

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP

Unfortunately for this question, there's no fluffy scenes in the first chapter, but I'll share a paragraph which I think is the softest.

Ombra’s train of thoughts crashed to the minuscule walls of a cabin standing in the horizon, faded in a dense mirage. With a noisy exhale, she begged Kano for a considerably clean place which was not about to collapse on their heads in a few moments. She halted the fossilized vehicle closed to a wooden wall.

   Ombra got out of the jeep, her palm touched the set of set of keys in her pocket. Without minding what those two were doing with the arms, she swiftly twisted the suitable key in the oxidized lockset. The wooden door opened with a creak. The subtle, leathery smell of paint thinner hit her in the face, sending small fractions of pain to her forehead. The dusty, worn out furniture included two white couches which were turned brown thanks to the thick layer of dust on them, a coffee table which was barely standing on its legs, a small television and a fossilized refrigerator. The savage sunlight could barely reach through the tight frame of windows. Ombra bit her lower lip. If in any case they were attacked, this cabin would accelerate at killing them first.    “Didn’t know he had such a…neat place in the middle of nowhere.” Kabal observed the room. “What does he keep here? Dead bodies?” He opened the door to the fridge. “His favorite snacks?”

💧Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen

Ombra and Quan Chi will meet in the chapter 3, so no romance for now :( BUT here's a side drabble related to these series, if you're interested to read!

Drabble: I don't want to scare you

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

I have two fic concepts in my mind currently:

It’s about Raiden and Quan Chi finally working together to protect the Earthrealm. The fact that Quan Chi is able to retrieve the dead while Raiden can’t brought about this idea. The title is possibly “Godfather” which depicts Quan Chi’s role in Earthrealm, if he ever decides to cooperate with Raiden.

I’d love to flesh out Quan Chi’s life and how he became the sorcerer he is today. This idea is still in its infancy, so that’s all I can tell you about it.

[reachingforaspark]

WIP Wednesday 

Thank you @fiona-fififi for the tag! I am a little late, but please accept some of my random brain drabbles of a (not really) spec poker fic. Ft major miscommunication, sperm donor arc, there’s only one bed and poker night gone awful. 

-- 

“Connor, babe! Look who’s here!” Kameron steps back from Buck. 

Eddie squeezes Connor’s hand extra tight when he’s introduced. He hopes it hurts. Not even the soft waterfall sounds piped through the lobby can soften this blow.

Kameron’s still talking. “— and I’m telling him, you can keep the romance! It’ll take a few years, but we’ll get back to it only takes— How old is Chris again?”

“Twelve.” Buck says, reflexively. He’s still staring at Connor and his queasy-ass expression like he doesn’t get it.

“Oh yikes!” Kameron smiles, like she can’t wait. “Well I’m so happy we’ve been able to squeeze this last one in.”

Yeah, Eddie really should have asked more questions.

But how could he, when Buck showed up at the firehouse in his civvies and sat down next to Eddie and said, ‘Boy’s trip’? Eddie’s whole body said yes, responding to Buck with every one of his cells until Buck had said ‘Connor’, when Eddie’s whole body said no. But the next thing Buck had said was ‘Vegas!’. Eddie hates Vegas, hates the lights and the noise and the excess. Hates the way every drunk person stumbling past is another person he feels he has to keep an eye on. He especially hates it now, with the way Buck’s eyes had gleamed, like there was something out in the harsh, hot desert that he couldn’t get in California. Eddie’s been out in the harsh, hot desert, rolled in the sand, seen the heat shimmer on the horizon as water when it was not. 

How could Eddie have asked more questions when his chest was starting to tighten, his breathing was a phantom whistle in his chest because only ten days ago Buck was sitting on Eddie’s couch saying ‘I’ve never been to Italy’ with absolutely no warning and now Buck breathing out ‘Vegas’ like all he sees the mirage? How could Eddie have asked anything at all?

But now he’s in Vegas, in this horrifically expensive resort lobby, while Kameron rubs her hand across her growing stomach and Buck’s shitty ex-housemate Connor is slowly relaxing as Buck continues to cover for him, even when Buck clearly hasn’t caught up yet.

So Eddie should have asked so many fucking questions, and then he wouldn’t be the fourth wheel on a baby moon.

--

Tagging @sluttyhenley and @inferno-ontherocks , if you wanted to share! 

[of-nyon]

so this is a fic that has been sat on my computer for a while and isn't really going anywhere so i may as well post the wip? Anyway here's Soundrod humanformers office AU (ft megastar and whatever the Skywarp/TC ship name is)

“You need a boyfriend,” Starscream announced, totally out of the blue as he came over to ruin Soundwave's concentration.

“Negative.” Soundwave didn't even look up, his fingers not pausing for a moment as they flew across the keys.

“Girlfriend, then! Mistress, boytoy, fling, I don't care, something!”

“Negative.” With Starscream, it was usually best to weather out whatever nonsensical scheme he had that day by simply ignoring him. He'd wear himself out, then go and complain to Megatron that no-one listened to him, and everything would be normal.

“Aha,” Starscream said, leaning forward like he had a juicy secret he was about to share. “It'll be in the public's interest.”

Aside from the fact that wasn't remotely what that term meant, Soundwave did hesitate, thinking of the likely PR and headlines Starscream had in mind.

The tiny pause cost him. Starscream took it as a victory.

“Hah! You see, I'm right, like always!”

“Negative.”

“Oh, is that the only word you know how to use?!”

And, because he'd left himself wide open and Soundwave was not above being petty, he replied:

“Negative.”

“Oh, fine!” Starscream threw his hands up in disgust. “I'll do it myself!”With that, he stormed off, rather than explain just what had gotten into him.

Soundwave sighed as he continued working in the blessed silence. Starscream was probably just bubbling over with his new relationship with Megatron (well, 'new' as in it was finally official) and wanted to inflict his feelings on everyone else.

He put the incident out of his mind. Everything would go back to normal soon enough.

---

“Hey dude,” Frenzy's voice called out over the gunfire and police sirens of the current video game they were enamoured with this week. “Pizza's in the fridge.”

Pizza? Soundwave frowned as he hung his coat up. That hadn't been in today's meal plans; it was scheduled as a treat for Friday.

“Yeah, Screamer totally tried to bribe us!” Rumble hooted as a loud crash from the game, followed by an “Oh, come on!” from Frenzy, implying an achieved victory. Or abject failure, from Frenzy's perspective. As long as they were having fun. “Something about a boyfriend? Are you dating again?”

“Negative.” Soundwave came into the main living room and sat down on the couch. Rumble and Frenzy scooted aside to make room in the middle for him as they paused the game – something much more entertaining was on the horizon for them, if their twin grins were anything to go by.

“Okay, cuz, like, I remember whatzisname.”

“Mirage,” Soundwave supplied with a sigh. He was never going to live that one down. “Starscream: over-excited about own relationship with Megatron. It will pass.”

“Not if the media has anything to say about it, they're gaga over those two.”

“And TC and Skywarp,” Frenzy added. “Seems everyone wants to watch Decepticons getting into relationships.”

Under the weight of their expectant gazes, Soundwave shook his head, and the twins breathed a collective sigh of relief. He was happy where he was. He and his family were safe, and he was working towards something he believed in.

Starscream's fervor would pass. When he got so focused on his own victory to the exclusion of everything else, his plans tended to do one of two things: fizzle out, or blow up in his face. Either way, Soundwave just had to wait out the storm.

“Who's winning?” He asked. An obvious change of topic, but it worked every time, as the immediate argument that followed settled things into more normal, familiar territory.

---

“I'm here to see, uh, Starscream.”

“I'll get it!” Starscream leapt to his feet, bustling past Soundwave before he could reply over the intercom. Soundwave shrugged. Dealing with visitors wasn't exactly his forte. He went back to his work on the inbox, zealously filtering out the spam and trash that wasn't worth a second look – he suspected Starscream kept signing them up to mailing lists for his own personal use, but he had no proof – and highlighting anything actually worth someone's time, always at such a premium in Megatron's busy office.

Well, Soundwave was busy, anyway.

“–so glad you took the offer,” Starscream said, returning with his visitor peeking out curiously behind him. Soundwave spared him a glance; mid-to-late twenties, redhead, gaudy jacket. Very blue eyes.

“Everyone, attention!” Starscream called, puffed up in front of outside company. “This is Hot Rod, he and I are going to be working together on...a secret.”

“Whoah.” Skywarp, the only other person in the office this early, sat up a little as he turned around. Soundwave could see his screen, and the fact that he was playing some browser game that appeared to involve acquiring and then caring for brightly coloured creatures. It was the sort of thing Rumble and Frenzy would dismiss as 'for babies' – no guns, explosions, or racing cars. Privately, as in that he would take it to his grave before admitting it out loud, Soundwave could see the appeal. “Isn't that Prime's kid?”

That did get Soundwave's attention. Turning his seat fully around to assess the newcomer, yes – he hadn't been in the news as much as his father, but that was certainly Optimus Prime's son.

“Yeah, I got my own personality and everythin',” Hot Rod called back, stepping out from behind Starscream as Megatron's eternal Second suddenly seemed to realise that things were starting to go south.

“Now, now!” Starscream latched on to Hot Rod's arm with what Soundwave knew from experience wasn't enough to hurt – that would reflect poorly on him, of course – but was certainly enough for anyone to reconsider whatever they were doing. Those nails were sharp. “Why don't we ignore Skywarp, and go – somewhere else? Also, this is Soundwave.” The way he said it, plus the way he intently locked his gaze with said Decepticon, was more than enough to alert Soundwave that Something Was Up. A glance at Hot Rod was no use; he was still glaring at Skywarp.

“Oh, hi.” The casual glance and the offhand way Hot Rod said it before he was dragged away made Soundwave relax slightly. Starscream often had many plans on the boil; this must be something else, something most likely intended to get at Prime in some way. Starscream had probably already forgotten his silly idea from yesterday.

“Does Megatron know about this secret thing?” Skywarp yelled at their retreating backs, but the only reply was a slammed door as Starscream corralled his guest into the one side-room he'd claimed as his own office.

---

Skywarp spent the next hour on the phone with Thundercracker, alternating between sweet nothings and loud gossip and speculation, wondering what Starscream was up to this time. Others began to filter in as the morning passed. Megatron arrived at 9AM sharp, exchanging greetings and nodding at Soundwave. Skywarp hung up the phone, clicked away from his browser game, and started to at least pretend to look through his emails.

“Starscream: up to something,” Soundwave announced, watching Megatron for his reaction. He sighed.

“When is he ever not?” Megatron mused. “Where is he?”

“In the back, with a guest.” Soundwave hesitated slightly, because this was probably going to get the boy into trouble, but on the other hand, it was best it was stopped now if that was the case. “Rodimus Prime.”

“What-?” Megatron sucked in a breath. “Prime's boy?” Soundwave nodded.

“Starscream!” Megatron abruptly turned and marched towards the small office Starscream had yet to emerge from. There was silence from the other staffers as Megatron went inside and firmly shut the door behind him, cutting off Starscream's startled squawk of outrage.

After a few seconds, Skywarp got up and went to eavesdrop next to the door.

Nothing much happened for a while. Soundwave started drafting replies to emails that were actually important.

[ectogeo-rebubbles]

Does anybody else keep crawling toward distant plotbunny mirages on the horizon, even though the comments/kudos oasis is literally RIGHT THERE, if only you would just spend like A DAY finishing up one of your one million mostly written WIPs so you can post it, or is that just me?

[image id in alt text]

[r0b0tb0y]

fanfic end of the year asks: ALL THE QUESTIONS

I deserved that.

favorite fic you wrote this year: The Stolen Season, a short meandering Deadwood fic I wrote just for me.

least favorite fic you wrote this year: It feels a little harsh! I will offer Anomaly up for slaughter, because it has the lowest kudos and I think I did K2 & Kallus better in other fics.

favorite line/scene you wrote this year: the working song in The Theory of Harmony might be the best scene I ever wrote:

This song didn’t need Din’s accompaniment. The lyrics were in Basic, a slow and aching lament for a lost love. It matched the beat of the dewbacks’ footsteps, so they moved as an eight-legged beast that breathed with Cobb’s words. The last song was the kind to stir up the smoky air of a cantina. This one was made for journeys, a repetitive melody for anyone to pick up and carry wherever they were going, no note too high or low to strain an amateur singer. Its modular verses built texture and details of a doomed romance: Cobb would linger, occasionally, on a rolling tenor as he scavenged for the next snatch of words, gripping it tighter when the rhymes fell into place.

It was a working song, battered into shape by generations of labour, bearing the weight of callused hands and beaten backs and gnarled joints that twanged before a sandstorm.

Cobb’s voice was strong enough to cover the click of the helmet’s clasp. Din rode a few paces with it loose, waiting for the impending urge to secure it in place again. When the impulse never arrived, he slipped it from his head to hold firmly in his lap.

Without the HUD to distinguish the contours, the canyon’s depths became a blanket of warm black. The sky formed a jagged stripe above, indigo where the sun had set, a greenish tint around Guermessa. A spillage of stars in the direction of the Core, growing sparser toward the east: a worn-out cloak with pills in the fabric. Din rubbed his cape between forefinger and thumb. Cobb’s song was a mirage at the horizon of Din’s range: he could pick it out with help from the memory of the amplified version. Unprocessed, the voice had a softer husk to it, suede rather than wool, sand-blasted smooth like the round-edged rocks it was sinking into. Curling and catching in the clever crevices of rocks to chase the blood-suckers off.

Din only knew the theory of harmony; he knew his own voice rumbled like a barge in a storm; he knew this song could be pretty or it could be clear, but not both. All of this would disappear in the morning.

Should he have sung Grogu a lullaby, that he might remember as he drifted asleep in a bed much safer than a handmade hammock strung over a bounty hunter’s bunk? Could Din hold a tune worth remembering? How would he have taught his father’s language to a son with three fingers?

He hadn’t had the time to figure it out.

total number of words you wrote this year: my stats page tells me 84K, and there's about 3-6k in WIPs (one's coauthored and I'm not tracking what's mine).

most popular fic this year: The Theory of Harmony, starting out strong.

least popular fic this year: Anomaly. It's ok, buddy.

longest completed fic you wrote this year: Defect, at almost 16K, because strangers-to-lovers requires legwork (ಠ~ಠ)

shortest completed fic you wrote this year: technically it's Parting Ways, because ao3 counts words with dashes in the middle as one, not two, so a 100-word drabble becomes 97 words when you're writing about Bo-Katan.

longest wip of the year: I only have two WIPs, so three moon wolf wins by default.

shortest wip of the year: double beef burger with shoestring fries.

fandom you enjoyed writing for the most this year: I feel happily settled in Mandalorian fandom, and I really enjoyed a short visit to White Collar.

favorite character to write about this year: Obi-Wan Kenobi, surprising myself. I've got future plans for him.

favorite writing song/artist/album of this year: I come back to Monster Magnet more than any reasonable person ought.

a fic you didn’t expect to write: Defect. I kept coming to @bright-elen's inbox like 'you know what would be another cool spin on some concepts you've been doing?' over and over until I had that 'goddammit I'm going to have to write it aren't I' moment.

something you learned this year: I think about that 'ignore fake rules' advice really helps me. I stopped writing the fics I expected myself to write, and let things get a little weird to do looser, more exploratory work. Ultimately stories I'm really proud of like Chenini Wolf and then you are lost wouldn't have been written if I was trying to fit a certain idea of What My Style Is Like.

fic(s) you completed this year: 28 total: four multichaps, ten drabbles, five instalments in Flying Blind, five in new(ish) fandoms, sundry other oddnesses.

fics you’ll continue next year: if you're unlucky, those two wips. I'm holding out for The Theory of Harmony and Flying Blind additions, depending how BOBF shakes out.

current number of wips: two. Plenty more ideas up on the shelf.

any new fics to start next year: not holding myself to anything in particular, but there's some more fleshed-out longfic concepts I'm curious to try.

number of comments you haven’t read: inbox zero baby

most memorable comment/review: I had some wonderful examples this year, but this bookmark on The Theory of Harmony was very special. I love when people talk about stories as material objects.

holllyyyyyyy shit.....this is it. This is everything i could ever want in a fic. The WRITING???? THE PAIN???? the Tuskens were beautifully done, Cobb was lovely, it was subtle and sweet and vivid and awe-inspiring. A fic to dream about, and writing skills one can only hope to obtain one day. Just such a beautiful fic. It's the line that goes something like 'teaching his father's language to a son with three fingers' that just flayed me right open. And the singing as they travelled through Tatooine. I want to paint these words on my bedroom wall. I want to print them onto paper just so I can touch them.

events you participated in this year: absolutely none. It was great. I wrote birthday fics for a few friends in August and that was it.

fics you wanted to write but didn’t: I have a few good concepts up my sleeve but there's not enough to get onto paper yet. A Din/Obi-Wan fic, an Ahsoka/L3 fic, got incredible vibes for Pope/Catfish from Triple Frontier but I haven't knuckled down on them.

favorite fic you read this year: I actually read very little this year, and opted to read more traditional fiction. Looking at my bookmarks, the Narcos: Mexico fic they are two alone, they are really scratched my brain in the same way moments from that show did. I'm such a fan of the jealous/overhearing dynamic and the prose really understands the show's strengths being its beautiful texture and the abyss of ambition.

a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read: As usual I rec everything @bright-elen and @ghost-teat have been working on.

number of favorites/bookmarks you made this year: ten bookmarks, mostly of things I read in past years and forgot to mark.

favorite fanfic author of the year: actually I'm gonna shout out to the amazing artists @its-not-a-pen @dinkryze and @intricatecakes for all their gorgeous Mandalorian work.

longest fic you read this year: I do not actually know how to check. I think it might have been Sparks by @bright-elen?

shortest fic you read this year: Again, I am uncertain. Technically, probably this one.

favorite fandom to read fic from this year: Rogue One, my beloved. Incredible talent and a wonderful community. And Leverage, now I've finally watched it!

[lambourngb]

If you are still doing this, to make it through (with hearts and wrists intact)

combining the wip ask with WIP Wednesday ! Alright, so there’s two remix challenges going on right now, but I didn’t sign up for either of them because I have enormous anxiety about deadlines and I’m also kind of a control freak about my work. I do love the concept, so I decided to remix my own work.

to make it through (with hearts and wrists intact) is a remix of Last Years Wishes. It is completely the fault of @haloud who mused aloud about what if Jesse got to use the shed on Michael. You guys remember what I did to the shed in LYW right? Yeah. Poor Michael. So while Alex is waiting at the Airstream, talking to agents Ross and Rollins, this is how Michael’s day is going....

[warnings: canon divergent within 1x13, mention of Michael’s feelings for Maria, but nothing happens past the discovery of Rosa’s body in the cave ]

“Old man, you are calling me on my day off,” Michael yelled into the receiver of his cell phone speaker over the rushing sound of air after picking up the call. 

The windows were down because his AC in his truck went on the frizz again sometime during when Max had stolen-borrowed it to drive Liz home from Texas, leaving him behind to share a long awkward ride with Maria in her classic Chevy. Awkward because he had been buzzing from the encounter in the desert. He hadn’t slept with anyone in weeks, not since Alex, and that had been a ridiculous attempt for him to pine in celibacy considering just how little the other man had missed him. Some things end in a whimper.

Texas had been about hope, about maybe finding someone who was connected to him on a species level. He hadn’t realized how deeply Max’s enthusiasm had sunk into him until the fraud had been revealed and disappointment had set in. Between Alex’s brusque brush off and realizing they really were alone on this planet, Michael hadn’t thought he could feel even lower with the weight of Isobel’s salvation fully on his shoulders (and Liz’s). Then shining like a bright star in the night sky, he had found Maria. 

She had effectively chased away the touch starved ghouls that had haunted his skin that night, he could still barely believe they had dropped right to the rocky ground and scratchy blanket to fuck. It was the type of raw passion he had with- no, in that particular moment he hadn’t thought about Alex but afterwards? He couldn’t avoid the connection the next morning, particularly when she had sworn him to secrecy, and then had reinforced it when she had fully kicked him out in the cold after he had returned her repaired necklace. 

It was unfortunate for her that he was already wired to enjoy a push-pull hot-cold dynamic.

Ten years of Alex Manes meant Michael had learned to read past a blustering denial to see the real truth. She really liked him, she just didn’t want to admit it, and good god, if that wasn’t a déjà vu moment for Michael, he didn’t know what was. Maybe it was stupid to believe it would work out any better with her than it had with Alex, but with Noah dead, his m- his reason for building his ship gone, what did it hurt to try again?

His healed hand curled around the grip on the steering wheel with a shiver of disorientation at the new flexibility, but he pushed it down to concentrate on that meager bubble of hope of what was ahead for him. Maria. Normalcy. When he had offered to leave her alone at the gala, she had refused to take him up on it. That's the problem, I never do. 

It had felt good to hear that, that he was wanted, even as he heard the conflict in her voice over what she desired versus what she thought she deserved to have. That was also painfully familiar to Michael as well.

Caulfield had seeped into his skin, three layers deep in the worst type of burn. That brief moment of his mother, wrapping around his mind with her love and sorrow and hope, and then she was gone. The screaming, that he had heard from outside the chain link fence, suddenly disappeared as the explosion moved outward in a shockwave. For a few minutes he had stood on solid ground in that prison, for the first time since a sweet boy had returned his kiss at seventeen under a galaxy of plastic foam planets, and then it was over. His mother was gone, and in her stead, he had Alex telling him that -

Michael forcefully pushed that thought away and returned his attention back to the cranky drawl of Walt Sanders, “I know kid, but I’m already out with the wrecker in the other ass-end direction, so I need you to go help this cry baby who can’t change a flat. Help me make some money, so I can afford to keep your ass employed.” 

“Fine, tell me the location, but this is holiday pay, not overtime.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sanders muttered, before rattling off the mile marker and the highway. “It’s a Lincoln sedan, black. Probably some old geezer out on a drive to church who ran into trouble.”

“You calling someone else a geezer is funny to me, I hope you know that,” Michael replied, hitting his turn signal to make a left to pick up the state road. It wasn’t as if he had a planned time to see Maria, the lunch hour and official opening of the bar was still an hour away. A little delay that made him some extra cash was doable. 

“Shut the hell up kid, and get going,” Sanders griped good-naturedly, before hanging up on Michael. 

The sun was bright overhead, the storm from the night before having washed the land and sky clean of clouds. Across the pavement ahead, the heat and the brightness, cast a mirage of dark shimmering water that creeped just out of reach as he drove toward his new destination. His mind ticked over the set of priorities ahead, to make a little money with a tire change, then to drop in on Maria to make his case, and finally, he knew he needed to swing by Isobel’s to check on her in the aftermath of Noah’s betrayal. Somewhere in all of that, he knew he would need to make it home to see Alex for that promised talk, but there was plenty of time for that because Alex rarely came by during the day to see him.

“I’m still fighting his battles, not mine.”

Michael flexed his hands on the steering wheel again and pushed down the heaviness in his heart that accompanied thinking about Alex. Ten long years of waiting and wanting him. If Michael cared to count up all of the trips to Roswell that Alex had made on leave, the two weeks together after the class reunion that frankly felt like a hallucination to Michael, all of those hours spent together would add up to a month. A month that stretched out over ten years, 520 weeks, or 3,650 days.

Counting the distance to the nearest star was in light years, but when it came to counting the distance between the stash of wedding rings he had purchased for Alex over the years and what he had been actually allowed to have with Alex, well, that was a calculation beyond the redshift spectrum. It would take energy to transverse that distance one more time, and Michael had nothing left inside to fuel that journey. He couldn’t afford to be lost in the black again, not with Isobel in free-fall from Noah’s years of manipulations, not with the prospect of telling Liz they had found Rosa’s body on the horizon. It was just too hard to believe that this time, with Alex calling him family, with Alex throwing back the closest declaration to love that he had ever made, actually meant he was ready to move toward Michael and work to cut the distance between them on his own.

It was better to head forward in a new direction, than to look back like Max had said. Besides, every other time he had failed to be enough of a reason to help Alex bridge his own chasm between what he wanted and what he had allowed himself to have. What could have changed? Caulfield had just cemented the complications for them both. 

A dark shadow in the distance, parked just off the road caught Michael’s attention. He glanced down at the odometer to mark the mileage and started to ease up on the gas. That must be the motorist Sanders had fielded a call from earlier, he realized. The ‘old geezer’ in the black Lincoln with a flat tire. He glanced in the rearview mirror to check for traffic but the road behind him was devoid of other vehicles. 

Michael hit the turn signal and hazard lights on his truck, turning briefly to the side to check that he had some spare water bottles for the customer and his toolbox within reach and then turned onto the shoulder of the highway. Mentally he was already five steps ahead of himself as he stepped out of the truck to approach the car, thinking about the size of socket to fit over the lug nuts for the Lincoln’s wheels, whether his torque wrench was even in his box, or if he would have to camouflage his telekinetic efforts to change out the tire, that it took a moment to realize the tires on the Lincoln were whole and unharmed on the driver’s side.

Puzzled, Michael slowed his approach, and started toward the passenger side of the car. The windows were rolled up and dark, the tint was straddling the threshold of legal for New Mexico. There was still no sign of defect in the tires, he noticed as he was halfway around the passenger fender. Faulty tire gauge, he mused before he noticed the engine was rumbling almost inaudibly. Fucking hybrid, which meant whatever issue it had been definitely beyond the parts available at Sanders.

It was a little odd that the driver hadn’t stepped out to greet Michael, but not terribly unusual when it came to elderly customers who seemed to have a healthy paranoia about everyone they encountered. Still, Michael pasted a smile on his face and tapped on the window. 

The automatic window slipped downward in an expensive whisper, but it wasn’t a helpless old man on his way to church at the wheel. 

Jesse Manes smiled at Michael flashing his teeth, “Surprise.” Before Michael could do more than step backward, Jesse lifted a large gun-shaped object and fired. Yellow particulate matter exploded into the air, enveloping Michael completely. Pulling his arm to his mouth to attempt to block the pollen, did little good as he felt the sedating effects almost immediately.

He coughed into the open air, scrambling back toward his truck on weak legs as he tried to clear his lungs of the fast-acting poison. Behind him, he heard the car door open, and the crunch of boots on the loose gravel from the road’s shoulder as Jesse approached him. Though his powers were gone and his strength was waning fast, Michael had never backed down from a fight in life.

Certainly, not a fight for his life.

Swinging with all of his might, he hurled his heavy toolbox at Jesse blindly. There was a thump and a curse, but the footsteps kept coming. Animal-like terror set in as Michael crawled now on his knees toward the cab of his truck. He had to move, he had to live, he wasn’t going to die here on the side of the damn road- Suddenly a black boot came down on his hand, pinning him place and lighting up a fierce agony of pain in its wake.

“I like the fight, Guerin, I do,” Jesse remarked with a quiet menace. “Shall I make this hand match your other-” 

It was on the tip of Michael’s tongue to point out the obvious, but then Jesse saw it for himself. His left hand, healed and pristine, clutching at the hot blacktop surface. 

“I see.” He barked out a laugh that chilled Michael. “I knew it. I knew you weren’t the only one in Roswell. I thought about killing you right here you know, but now, you might finally serve a purpose in your useless life. You thought you could use my son in your perverted schemes? Well now it’s your turn to be bait.” 

Michael’s vision was already fading into blindness with the pollen taking hold, but he managed to spit out between numb lips, “Go fuck yourself.”

“Not today. You’re the one who is fucked.” A hand grabbed a tight hold of Michael’s hair, wrenching him backward, and then it was merciful darkness. 

*** 

[liahswriting]

The Resident Whore (series masterlist)

Relationship(s): Mirage/Bloodhound, Mirage/Gibraltar, Mirage/Lifeline, Mirage/Pathfinder, Mirage/Wraith, Mirage/Bangalore, Mirage/Caustic, Mirage/Octane, Mirage/Wattson, Mirage/Crypto, Mirage/Revenant, Mirage/Loba, Mirage/Rampart, Mirage/Horizon, Mirage/Fuse

Chapters: WIP

Warnings: NSFW. Like extremely NSFW. Threesomes, robot sex, blow jobs, dubious consent, breeding kink, mommy issues, mommy kink, praise kink, drugs.

Summary: Everyone loves Mirage. Everyone.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1: Mirage/Octane

Chapter 2: Mirage/Octane

Chapter 3: Mirage/Loba/Wraith

Chapter 4: Mirage/Wattson/Octane

[mako-bones]

It’s Lonely In the Desert (BOTW)

[snippet from my first legend of zelda; botw wip called “Reaping Hook”. I’m not sure if it’ll make it into the story, but I like this a lot and find it good character practice. Enjoy!]

tw; emotional abuse tw? slight mentions of self harm, but nothing too explicit

“You know...Mirages are a weird thing. Makes you see things that aren’t even there. I dunno, you might even hear things.”

“Like what?” Kiso asked, and only the burning heat replied. Wildly, he looked around for the voice, and only saw the desert.

That’s right. The blistering, scorching, endless sand dunes and dust clouds in the horizon. The elusive hydromelons that were needed at the village were nowhere to be found, and Kiso was more than just deadbeat exhausted.

He was hearing voices apparently as well.

Rolling his eyes, he continued trekking through the sand, eyes scanning for the sprouts of vine and vibrant green against gold. The kind of green that reminded him of home. 

Summers in the shade of trees, cooling rivers that never let you burn, and sunsets spent running back home; Chased by the golden sunlight of carefree nostalgia.

How long had it been since those days? How long would it be before he would go back? Could he even go back?

Slowly, his feet sank into the sand when he didn’t step ahead an further. Just staring up at the sky with eyes squeezed shut, as if blocking the sun would somehow purge all the homesickness from his chest.

No matter what, it didn’t seem to go that way. He could never forget.

“Well, I’ll be damned. It’s really you.”

Kiso spun around, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. “Mom?”

Ellie crossed her arms, staring down at her son with something unreadable in her eyes. The tattoo on her head was glowing.

“Did you really think you could run from me? I can play this game a little better than you, after all.”

Each step didn’t seem real. But she walked forward for each step Kiso took back, calm and precise and cold.

“And look at you now. Wearing these...Clothes. Standing here, in the dirt and sand. You’ve gone and ruined everything we did for you. Everything we planned.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders. “But you had to find out, didn’t you? Are you happy now, my little rabbit? Did the truth set you free, Kiso? Did it?”

She squeezed.

“I warned you so many times, dear. To stop searching so hard, and just do as you’re told. Follow in the tiniest trace of dignity that I could give you, after your father’s disgrace and treason. But you couldn’t even do that, hm?”

She dug her nails into his shoulder blades.

“So tell me, Kiso. Are you content, among these traitors? Are you?”

...Mirages are a weird thing.

When Kiso delivered the hydromelons to the village, A as there at the edge of town. Waiting as he always did, to walk Kiso back to the Hideout before nightfall. That late afternoon, he was sharpening his blade when Kiso trudged over.

“You’re a bit later than usual. Everything alright?”

“Mhm...Yeah. Just a long day.”

It was then A raised an eyebrow, and looked up, and immediately rose, his sword becoming the farthest thing from his mind. He stopped Kiso in his auto-piloted walk. “Kiso, your shoulders...What happened to you?”

Tiny crescent moons fit for five fingers were embedded deeply into his skin, already scabbing over with dried blood around the shape. Kiso glanced down with empty eyes, shrugging. 

“I don’t know. I’m just tired. Can we skip training tonight? Please?”

A stared a little longer at the scabs, quiet concern making him nod absentmindedly. He gently pulled Kiso along, but he couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from the shift in the air, heavy with an uncomfortable silence. 

“Of course, Kiso. Is there anything you want to talk about?” He prodded gently, frowning when Kiso shook his head. 

“No, thanks. It’s just...Mirages are a weird thing out here, you know?”

[sigmalied]

WIP Preview

Aria/Tevos 

Premise: Aria has assembled a consortium of eventual subsidiaries in response to a lush world within asari space being greenlit for colonization, but she quickly encounters some complications from rival interests vying for the same plots of land. Coincidentally, these same rivals have challenged the asari councilor’s goals for the planet’s future, and the pair reach a mutually beneficial arrangement in countermeasure. But even when their business concludes, Aria can't stop thinking about her. Once the obsession becomes mutual, the pair are left to wonder whether it was all just another Nevos mirage - a temporary escapist fantasy in paradise - or something with longevity.

Effectively replaces the story Confidentiality. This preview is still pretty rough, skeletal, and lacking ambient detail, but it’s just to give an idea about what the story is. Also, a cameo of Parem Igrahal, but here she’s young, around 30. The most notable features of this story are the fact that Aria and Tevos are never antagonistic to each other, Liselle is a year or two younger than she was in Confidentiality, and Tevos’s character is less self-critical, but still as cautious.

I.

There was an indulgent sense of tradition in meeting on a lush world to apportion another. The matriarchy had spent the last few years echoing the potential of Ryasus, their precious emerald glistening under the mists of interminable waterfalls and giant dew-heavy aroids. In the right hands, they said, Ryasus would become a second Nevos within half a century. Its exotic vistas would attract renowned filmmakers, mountain peaks penetrating the canopies would stroke egos of business executives opening new branches, and tourists wading into the shallow crystalline oceans would rather lose themselves than turn back to shore.

Aria’s judgement of the generous optimism was it being a bit out of proportion. She only agreed with their rhetoric insofar as expansion onto that beautiful, yet undefiled planet was discussed as a symptom of corporate success, and therefore encouraged. Beyond this, all the commotion had simply inspired too many interested parties to flock to petition the asari government for permits. In consequence, the competition had considerably grown. It seemed as though every household name company in the galaxy was vying for the largest chunk of untamed tropical splendor they could get their hands on.

The elevator Aria and her two bodyguards stepped into was a cuboidal space, strictly glass on every side save for the floor and the wall attached to the lifting mechanism that sent it crawling up the spine of the tower hugging the cliffside. It was commodious enough to transport a dozen individuals comfortably, and was furnished with a square arrangement of low sofas and palmed plants in each corner.

Aria led her guards to the furthermost window. While they faced the room, Aria stood gazing out at the river-cloven forests of Nevos, to where its green was engulfed by hazy gold at the horizon. She could see one wing of the building curving along with the cliff at her left; countless glinting windows on stratified white.  

She could also faintly see reflected in the glass the overwhelmingly asari population periodically entering and exiting during their ascent. Tourists and businesspeople alike. But upon noticing the surly batarian and asari accompanying Aria’s mysterious figure, they would fixate on the identity of their charge. Aria’s civilian apparel, however expensive and expertly tailored, kept them guessing. None could divorce her from the powerful iconography she had established, and none dared approach her for a better look.

After a few minutes, Aria saw a few matriarchs superimpose themselves on the idyllic scenery. They were looking at her, saying nothing aloud for fear of being overheard, but Aria could tell they recognized her. She fitted her hands on her hips, content to ignore them.

Aria was not enchanted by their dreams of paradise. She dreamed not of velvety flowers and beaches, but of rich, dark soil. She dreamed of fragrant batarian tobacco fields stretching on for endless kilometers, to be one day rolled into a new brand of luxury cigars with whom she would partner.

II.

“So, Aria.” Parem rested her cigar against her plate and folded her hands together on the table. “Be honest with me. Do you really think our people are going to be able to woo the matriarch panel?”

Aria exhaled irately. “They’d damn well better.”

“The girl Senaya doesn’t have the stomach for tobacco. She takes no interest in it. And [X] is afraid of his wife. Afraid of her!”

“I know.”

“[Y]’s going to have his partnership within several years when he expires,” said the batarian woman. “Is that really who we want to work with? Maybe we should do something.”

“We can fire her and keep her from taking administrative actions, but we can’t take away her partnership. We’d have to buy her out of it, and that’s only if she’s willing to sell.”

“Don’t we have a more... traditional option of solving this problem?”

Aria subtly shook her head. “It’s not that easy here. The Republics are liable to investigate something like that. And how much effort are we willing to put in to keep it looking clean?”

“Getting rid of her may be worth any cost. You’ll see, Aria, once she’s rotting us from the inside.” 

[...]

“I’ve been receiving requests from suitors,” said Parem.

“Anyone you like?”

“None. I hate looking at their faces. They only remind me of people like that salarian who would surrender his life work to the woman he doesn’t even sleep with. I keep wondering, what if I mistakenly choose an insect like him? It will be a colossal waste of my time. I can have sex with as many strong and beautiful men as I want without having to marry them. They only thing they have ever offered me that I cannot obtain myself is children, and still, I do not need to be married for that.”

“Well, I think you’ve got the right idea about things. You seem sure of what you want.” She crossed her legs beneath the table. Nearby, their personal security dealt another hand of cards.

Parem slowly nodded. Then a curiosity struck her, but it was charged with dissatisfaction when she asked, “I know you usually prefer the company of women, but have you ever slept with a batarian man, Aria?”

“Are we that familiar now?”

“Humor me, please.”

Aria turned away to face the other tables arranged across the balcony, her expression neutral and unchanging as she considered her answer. There was a wind chime mounted above the door leading back into the warmly-lit restaurant, softly ringing. “I might have.”

“They’re selfish. Greedy. They touch you like they touch a marinated roast.”

Aria’s shoulders shook with soundless amusement. With a lingering smile, she replied, “Then I guess I’m lucky,” and lowered a hand to roll the cigar’s head of ashes against the side of her plate.

III.

“I’m afraid you’re occupying my seat.”

The crispness of the northern Thessian accent, along with its mindful elocution and lack of hostility despite the declared grievance, nearly annoyed Aria. She neglected to afford the stranger so much as a glance, and instead dismissed her with a flat, “Move along.”

“I need to ask you to relocate.”

The persistence riled her. “And who the hell is asking?" When Aria at last regarded her harasser in contempt, she found a face embellished by stark white tattoos and austere cheekbones only made amiable by the serene set of her eyes. She was carrying a portfolio.

“Well, would it impress upon your opinion at all to know the asari councilor is asking?”

Aria settled on a passing insult before turning back to the stage where the panel was assembling. “I think Idras would turn over in her grave if she knew about the state of her office.” 

“Idras would have never granted someone like you a visa,” said the councilor. “I see you’ve made good use of the referendum I introduced.”

“Yet I still can’t own land.”

“A necessary compromise.” Accepting the fact that Aria was as immovable as a ton of stone, she sat down with a single seat between them. “Asari space is the collective inheritance of our people, and all of asari descent should have easier access to our homeworlds regardless of citizenship. At the collateral expense of inviting people like yourself - I believe only due to your high profile mitigating your risk factor - I think we’ve done a great thing. But you raise an interesting point. Coincidentally, your landowning ability has been the topic of multiple conversations this morning.”

For a time, Aria said nothing. 

The councilor continued, “The matriarchs are trying to figure out which jockeys you’ve bet on, so to speak.”

“And I’m supposed to thank you and tell you what I’m doing?” She scoffed.

“I don’t expect you to. I’m only sharing what I’ve heard.”

“Trying to make friends?”

“Avoiding making enemies, rather.”

[...]

Tevos analyzed the region Aria highlighted in the face of her datapad. “Unfortunately,” she said, “there are multiple groups interested in that area. Most notably, a mining corporation. Preliminary surveys have documented a large deposit of palladium less than a kilometer beneath the surface. Despite the inevitable environmental damages, extracting the ore is tempting to the panel because of the tax revenue it would generate.” 

“Shit,” Aria hissed. “Are you serious? We’re not already out of the race, are we?”

“It appears to be the case. They’re a behemoth. They will easily eclipse any smaller outfit by name alone. If I were you I would advise my associates to prioritize other plots of land.”

“I can’t fucking believe this... We’re interested in that area specifically for its soil quality. There’s nothing else like it on that world - it’s an integral part of our branding and if we can’t get that land, we’re dead in the water.”

“If it’s any consolation, most of the matriarchy are also displeased about the probable outcome. They wanted to keep the planet pristine for tourism and ecological studies. The way this is headed, another Nevos isn’t looking very likely.”

Aria lifted a hand to rub at her temples. While she had made a point of staying for the land petitions, she had only done so as a formality in good faith for Parem’s cousin. Actually needing to take initiative to solve a problem of this scope would delay her departure by at least two or three days, and with a baby at home and her station led by her eccentric lieutenants, it was not an ideal outcome.

IV.

[In a smaller auction house in the larger building]

After placing her exorbitant bid in the console beneath the twisting marble sculpture, Aria turned to find amused incredulity dashed across the councilor’s features. Her arms were folded across her middle and a hand concealed part of the lower half of her face, as if to hide her expression. 

“Do you even have a use for it?” Tevos asked her.

“Maybe I’m just an avid patron.”

She shook her head at her, glancing back to the sculpture.

“I'm going to take you to dinner,” Aria said. “Belaisa at seven.”

Despite her supreme confidence, the moment Tevos seemed to process the offer, the jovial climate between them soured and became grim. 

“Aria, I appreciate the offer, but - ”

“But?”

“I don’t think it would be appropriate.”

Aria was not yet discouraged. “Then I’ll send over a bottle of something to your room. Tell me where you’re staying.”

“I’m not giving you my room number,” Tevos replied. A vein of humor was present in her tone, but it was overshadowed by remorse. “Listen to me for a moment. The matriarchy expressed their... concerns about me speaking with you.”

“I’m sure they understand that you’re entitled to your own personal decisions.”

“Yes, but, even if our interactions are innocuous, it’s not good publicity if people start taking notice. I’m a councilor, Aria. Professionalism always comes before my personal desires. And what we did at the petition toed the line enough; although the matriarchy is pleased, they want no more of it. No more of... you. Especially if it can be avoided. You’re watched, you realize. We watch everyone in the galaxy of note, and you in particular make them very nervous.”

“And they should be nervous,” Aria asserted. “But not about what you do.”

They were quiet for a time. Aria hoped they had kept their volume low enough to not be overheard by both their personal security, who they had left at the entrance of the auction gallery, always within sight.

Tevos reached into her coat’s interior pocket to produce a small paper notepad and attached pen. She wrote something down, presented it to Aria, and said barely above a whisper, “I'd like you to call me tonight.”

She accepted the paper and gleaned what it contained: a long string of characters Aria recognized as the access to a well-encrypted line. But before Aria could lift her gaze and provocatively compliment her decision, Tevos spoke again in warning.

“If you ask why, I may suddenly regain my senses and reconsider.” She stepped away from her once, then altogether as she retreated toward the exit, only delaying to say, “Goodnight,” over her shoulder.

[thunderheadfred]

Paradox Preview (wip!)

The next chapter of A Pretty Taste For Paradox is far from complete - as in, the entire first half isn’t written yet - but I wanted to share something, anything, because I’ve been fine-tuning this closing sequence for months. No guarantee of quality, just saying I’ve been exceptionally nit-picky and self-critical about this one for some reason.

(Horizon)

Shepard tries to meet Garrus behind one of the trucks, but staggers before she can reach him. Biotics on the fritz. Her barrier explodes, taking her amp along with it. Purple fireworks crackle through her eardrums, leaving her stunned, too dizzy to run straight.

The praetorian turns, beam flickering. It’s running out of juice. They’ve nearly cracked it, but even at half strength it’s still a shivering hoard of limbs. A million mandibles slavering above her head, hungry to grind her body to pulp.

Charge, she thinks. Now.

Legs shaking, head full of smoke. Her amp objects, fizzling at the bottom of her skull. Her right knee buckles.

On her last reserves, she dives behind the nearest cover. A naked crate is too fragile to hold for long, but her legs won’t move. She’s pushed too hard, too fast. No time to learn the limits of this remade body, and Ash’s spite has made her foolish.

The enhancements, the powers, the dogs of the underworld at her back. All had granted Shepard a sloppy notion of invulnerability, but mortality has reasserted itself with vengeance. Sure as shit, she’s still killable.

On her six, Garrus slings a flashy overload while clattering across a mountain of shipping crates, trying to draw the praetorian’s gaze. On her nine, Solus peeks around his own cover and judges Shepard’s position. Wheels turning, trigonometry in his eyes, he calculates. She sees her odds reflected in a twitch of wet nictitating membrane: they’re not good.

The praetorian’s energy beam reactivates, carving an unbroken line through the ground. The impact tremor blows Shepard’s cover to smithereens and knocks her flat. A furious shuffling blow to the organs, painting her vision hot pink. She can’t see.

Garrus swears, gunfire drowning the comm. In the thick of it, Mordin yells Shepard’s name. Her only warning.

Agony cuts across her thigh. Slicing muscle from bone. Bursting arteries. Sawing through nerves. The beam outlines her pelvis, but stutters and fails before it can reach anything vital.

Her vision clears. She blinks at the praetorian. It shivers, temporarily spent, then starts paying closer attention to Garrus.

OVER HERE ASSHOLE

Garrus. Screaming like hell, shooting through clip after clip.

Coming for you, Shepard

Mordin. Throwing ordnance as he runs, great eddies of flame that slam into the praetorian’s hull.  

In a storm of rippling heat and gunfire, shimmering like some terrible mirage, the monster finally wilts and evaporates. A glowing carcass that floats away on a swift breeze. Dust.

Only sky looming now. Nothing to fear. Overhead, the welcoming infinity of miracle-blue. Homey, the place she came from.

Shepard can’t focus. As if from a great distance, she watches Professor Solus dragging a mangled body into his lap.

A slap to the face shakes her down from a perch in the breeze. Slowly, she brings the picture into focus.

Armor is melting on her skin with a smell like a human foundry. Bonding her to the earth, to the doctor, welding her firmly to this world. What’s left of her suit makes too many noises, cautioning with bells and whistles that she’ll be dead in minutes.

Mordin’s voice runs alongside, disagreeing. His words trill sweet and high, ringing with the coloratura of panic.

Eyes on me, Shepard. Aha! Sleeping on the job…

A sigh of profound disappointment.

Lazy.

Another slap, violent and innervating. Thrown back into her body, Shepard pays attention.

Somehow, like always, the pain gets worse and she stays alive. She bleeds, gushing. Impressive height. Cerberus showing off again. Her left leg dangles from her hip on a wet thread. She sees white, the cross-section of her femur, the gory engineering of arteries laid bare. An artistic, labyrinthine weave: the crosshatch of not-quite-indestructible muscles and bones and so much blood.

She observes only, has no control. Her right hand waves drunkenly and wanders into the Professor’s way. Without pausing his work, he grabs her fingers and puts them on his shoulder, sidelining her tremors. A practiced move. He’s been here before, resuscitating lost causes.

Her hand clutches his shoulder, his neck, her safety rail in a decompressing airlock. One of his creased old tendons twitches beneath her thumb, throat long and pale, skin stamped with red fingerprints as carefree as polkadots.

The Professor bites open a sterile bag of supplies. His hands are already busy, covered in blood and holding something in place. Something of hers.

Vakarian! Acute hemophobia - not helping!

– I don’t –

Need reminder? Rocket to face uglier than this! Commander stayed wide awake, held shattered carapace together. Rare opportunity to return favor. More pressure!

Mordin babbles around the plastic between his teeth. Perfect lucidity, administering emergency coagulant and an impressive lecture about integrity all at the same time. Pattering on and on and on, never breaking eye contact with Shepard.

Something something femoral artery something something eyes on me…

The red fountain begins to lose height and enthusiasm, and Shepard feels lighter.

With everything spinning, her eyelids sag, her head falls into the slim bend of his arm. Soft colors whisper in the sunbeams overhead, dust and light reminding her: she’s been borrowing time since day one.

Come home, the sky suggests, blue and safe. Come home.

– shuttle ETA ninety seconds –

Not fast enough! Strip torso plating!

– I’m going as fast as I can Mordin she’s flatlining–

Chest clear. Administering cardiac stimpack. Direct adrenaline burst in 3 - 2 - 1

A clean blast of air, detonating her from the inside out, minty and mentholated. Vitalizing needles prop her open. A sting of relief that keeps her soul from squeezing out, away.

Breath flavored with medicinal vapors, a face blocking out the sun.

Her reignited heart fills as he nears. Singing.

“Welcome back, Shepard.”

[glare-gryphon]

It’s 3am, so before I go to bed here’s a WIP snippet of a Vaderwan prompt fill I was working on tonight feat. Suitless Vader and Sand Wizard Obi-Wan

Obi-Wan is older now than he was that final day on Mustafar, a fact that is more surprising than it rightfully should be. His hair and his beard are more grey than red, his face lined and worn by the desert. The twin suns, just beginning to dip below the horizon, have managed to tan the man’s stubbornly space-pale skin, bringing out the freckles on his shoulders and the bridge of his nose. Blue eyes, familiar yet so very different, follow the trajectory of the displaced stone until they settle on Vader. There is recognition there, but not comprehension. Not enough for the enormity of this situation.

A brilliant smile blooms on his face. “Anakin!” He calls, pushing himself to his feet. The process is considerably slower than it had once been, joints aged beyond his years by the abuses of war. “I was wondering when you would visit me.”

The smile he wears, the vacancy of his eyes—there is something unsettling about it all. No one knows better than Obi-Wan Kenobi the monster that Anakin Skywalker has become. He alone knows the face hidden behind the cold mask presented to the rest of the galaxy, and he alone knows the name long-shed in favor of his new moniker. A memory flickers across Vader’s mind of the gossip he’d heard passing through Mos Eisley. Old Ben Kenobi, the Wizard of the Wastes.

Those hills can drive a man mad, the voice of a nine year-old slave boy murmurs in his ear.

“It’s been some time since you last visited,” Kenobi continues, and there’s a flicker of something injured in his expression. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever come back.”

A mirage. That’s all he is, or at least, all Obi-Wan believes him to be. This would be the perfect time to strike the man down. He would never see it coming. Never suspect. Yet something stays his hand, and he finds himself climbing down the hill to meet Kenobi and his herd at its base.

“I was just about to take the Bantha back to the homestead, but you’re welcome to join us.”

Even aging and desert-mad, Obi-Wan has still retained his gift for the Force. It takes but a brush of his mind, his will, to get the herd moving. Vader tracks along beside him as they make their way through the Waste, listening as the man babbles on about his life here in the desert, filling him in on the happenings since his mirage’s last visit. It’s mostly uneventful: the birth of a new calf, a raid by the sand people, repair to the vaporators. “Qui-Gon comes around quite often, these days,” he says, suddenly solemn. “Sometimes I think I see… see Satine. She never lingers, though; not the way you and Qui-Gon do.”

Vader wonders how long the ghost of Anakin Skywalker has been haunting his old mentor. How long had it taken for the curse of the Waste to take its toll?