#THIS IS JUST A ROUGH DRAFT WHAT IS THE ACTUAL FIRST DRAFT GOING TO CAP OUT AT?!

[smol-feralgremlin]

Finished my rough draft for Between Dragons and Nightstalkers and uh

Thats not a real fucking number

[rockermybuddie]

Comfort

A/n: this might be the first story i actually post. I have one finished and one in the works in my drafts im just too scared to post them lol.

Tommy x Evan (Buck)

Summary: When Tommy comes home and sees broken glass everywhere his first thought is Evan. He finds Evan pretending to be asleep in bed after a really rough shift and comforts him.

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~Bucks POV~

The moment the engines came to a stop in the bay i jumped out and went straight to the locker room grabbing my bag. “Buck!” Eddie calls out. I’m supposed to help stock the engine back up on supplies and clean up since its after shift but i’m too upset. “Leave him be.” Cap told Eddie.

I felt everyones eyes on me as i threw my bag in my jeep slamming my door shut. I drove out of there fast and went straight home.

When i arrived at home i saw that Tommys truck wasnt in his spot. I remembered that he said he picked up a shift which means he wont be home till later. That just made me a little more mad.

I unlocked the door and threw my bag down, I immediately went up stairs and took a shower to wash all the blood and soot off. I watched the red and black color go down the drain.

I got a flashback from the call and its all i could think about. My anger building inside of me about to burst. I got out of my shower and I couldn’t tell if the steam coming off of me was from the hot shower or if i was just that angry.

I walked downstairs to make dinner so i could try and get my mind off of the call. I got out the ingredients to make chicken parmesan pasta, Tommys favorite. I figured if i could just focus on Tommy i could get past this.

I got out a glass pan for the oven but set it down too hard out of anger causing it to shatter.

I didnt feel bad. It was just a glass pan. Usually i would be upset that i broke it but i dont feel anything but anger, not towards the broken glass.

Next thing i know im ripping open the cabinets knocking out everything, hearing the glass shatter on the floor and the need to break everything that can break.

I don’t remember anything after that, whatever happened after that was a blur.

————

~Tommys POV~

I pulled into the driveway and saw Evans jeep in the drive way, making a smile appear on my face because my love was home.

I walked into the house, i saw Evans bag tossed on the floor untouched which is weird because he always unpacks it and does the laundry.

“Evan?” I call out. No answer.

I put my bag next to his and make my way into the kitchen. I stopped in short when i saw all the cabinets open and they were empty. When i walked in further i saw all the broken glass everywhere. My first thought was we had an intruder. My instincts went straight to Evan. Where is he?!

“Evan!” I yell. I ran upstairs and swung open the bedroom door. My heart beating fast but slowed down a little when i saw him laying in the bed.

“Evan?” I say turning on the light, its only 7pm theres no way hes already asleep. “Evan i know you’re not asleep.” I walk over to his side of the bed.

I see his tear stained face as he looks up at me, his eyes are filled with sadness and his hands are shaking ever so slightly.

“Did someone break in Evan?” I ask him, maybe thats why hes so shook up. He shakes his head no.

“Whats wrong my love?” I crawl over him sitting on the other side. Buck moves to sitting between my legs leaning against me, his head resting on my shoulder.

He tells me about the call he was on about the call he was on and the whole time i just rubbed his head with my hand.

“I’m so sorry Evan. That had to of been rough.” I say when he finishes talking. “I know everyone there did their best. But sometimes those things happen. You had no control over that.” I tell him trying to comfort him.

“I’m sorry about the mess downstairs. I’ll clean it and buy new stuff.” He says. “Shhh, dont worry about that. I’ll deal with it okay?” I tell him, I kiss his forehead wishing i could take all his pain away.

“Thank you for this. I really needed it.” He says nesting his head deeper into my shoulder.

“Anytime.” I plant a kiss on his lips as we sat there a little longer.

———

A/n: i know this is a basic story, but my first ones gotta be a little rough to read. I hope you thought it was ok, lol. I will write more because of my non-stop brain but if this gets positive feedback i will post the others when i write.

[f0xgl0v3]

SoN Re-imagining Story snippet

This is that one strategizing scene I added to introduce some characters; the first draft of it specifically, it has been briefly skimmed and is of course a first draft. It’s really long, sorry dudes-

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It'd been a few weeks maybe? It didn't matter much anyways, Percy still hadn't gotten the best grips on Camp Jupiter and the routine, Hazel and Frank kept him away from trouble well enough and Dakota was as lenient of a Centurion as possible. It's been... rough, between drilling and the marches freetime was nothing more than a passing thought or joke; a jab to 'wait until after dinner' from more senior legionnaires who could only have gotten used to the constant hustle and bustle of Camp life.

"Wait- I thought Dakota said something about staying loose?" Percy asked, Riptide spinned idly in his hand while the three lazed about in the clearing. Perks of the Centurions taking half the day off for the Cohorts Legion-wide to plan for the War games and their Optiones deciding to also just give the legionnaires the day off too. Frank took refuge under the shade of a tree; the old strategy handbook looked small and paper-thin from wear as he marked down more notes into the margins. Hazel shook her head a little, moving over to stand shoulder to shoulder with him,

"No, you have to be really close next to each other during combat so you shouldn't be 'loose'. I mean maybe keep your shoulders relaxed?" She tried to off the advice, and urged the two to go back into practicing some drills for another half hour; even Frank joined in for the extra practice, even if it didn't really apply to him much as an archer.

The three were only interrupted by a voice shouting out at them, maybe it was something like 'Hey guys!' but it was for the most part cut off by the sound of it's speaker coughing on his own kool-aid. Dakota came running up, flask in hand and cap halfway unscrewed,

"Hey, Hey! We need some second opinions and you guys are the closest so hurry up before Hank and Sylvia decide for us," He didn't really give any of the three time to respond except for Frank's small muttered "What?" before they were following after their Centurion back to the Meeting place of choice (Bombillo's). It's not like they had much of a choice anyways; even if Perc would've preferred telling Dakota to find some legionnaires who were more experienced. But regardless the three made their way to the Fabrica strip, passing Legionnaires cherishing their moments off. Playing games, flitting in and out of the few shops in Camp Jupiter; the Forge, bookshop, Bombillo's and an empty shop that hadn't been inhabited for years and wouldn't be since the Senate was; in Mercury's words, 'Constantly arguing over what they'd actually do with it'. Not that Percy liked or trusted Mercury all that much, she also said that place had been an old hair salon in the 80's and 90's so who really knew? Dakota nicely enough held the door open for the three of them.

The smell of ambrosia hit Percy's nose immediately; the sweet scent of fresh brownies. Five other legionnaires sat huddled around a table with a rough drawing of what the Field of Mars looked like at the moment and the proposed interior layout of the Fort. Gwen; who Percy didn't talk with much, she always dealt with the senior Legionnaires in the Fifth Cohort, popped her blonde head up from the mass; with the rest following suit. A boy with scruffy auburn hair and growing sideburns that couldn't have been legion approved frowned and scoffed a little,

"Dakota couldn't you have found some people more experienced? Not three probatios?" The kid snapped, *Exactly what I'm saying*, though Percy kept the thought to himself. Hazel stood there silently, like she was going to mouth off but barely stopped herself; lest she got the three of them in trouble again. Gwen rolled her eyes and put her hand on the Centurion's shoulder in a placating matter,

"Calm down Hank, it's not that serious. They'll have good things to say, I mean they have to at least know *something*." Gwen gave them all; including Dakota a 'you better know something'. It seemed like a common enough stare that any legionnaire knew; plenty of them gave off that energy during drills or when they were paired with Percy. He nodded a little and walked over to the table, Hazel and Frank staying a little bit back still; everyone seemed to respect Percy a bit more here anyways. Gwen seemed satisfied enough and glanced over, something about her reminded him off his dream girl; Annabeth. Maybe it was that similar look in her brown eyes while Dakota stood next to her,

"Hey, we don't bite.. well, I don't at least," She joked a bit, a few of the Centurions chuckling along and it got a half snort from Frank. Gwen continued with some satisfaction, "You guys probably haven't been here long enough to know all of us- or, Hazel I know you do but just for the sake of it. I'm Gwendolyn, or Gwen for short, Daughter of Mithras. That guy with the beard is Hank-" "It's not a *beard*!" "-Whatever. Uh, that's Sylvia, Leila, and Tanner."

Hank still looked faux-upset over the beard comment, brushing down his sideburns with his hands while Sylvia; his Co-Centurion gave a joking push. Leila was calm enough, wheat-blonde and sitting in her chair sipping on the culprit to the Ambrosia smell next to the dark-haired kid identified as Tanner. Percy gave a flimsy wave while Dakota tried to reel the conversation back in.

"Uh okay- cool, we have introductions but important stuff at hand. We still haven't picked formations and whose getting Hannibal." Everyone shifted a little, Hank and Leila straightened up, while even Tanner looked a bit more interested; even desperate to have everything sorted out. Dakota continued. It was... boring, to say the absolute least. Mostly just everyone arguing over who's doing what and various rock paper scissors games, bringing the legionnaires into it to pick sides. It was a bit hard- knowing if you didn't agree with your Centurion's opinion they could easily punish you for it. Though with some hesitation things might have finally been settled? Percy didn't exactly know but what he did fully know is that he wanted to be as close to the siege as possible, it almost felt like instinct in a funny way. Frank sublty moved his little scribbled notes over to Dakota to read; knowing their Centurion already let the hour and a half of planning slip his mind.

"So, we're all in agreement on this, we're going in first with the siege towers; the 3rd will come in around the sides to see if we can make any breaks that way and the fourth get's Hannibal when we're in-" Dakota was jabbed in the ribs by Sylvia, who over the time Percy had come to the knowledge that she was a child of Fortuna; the Roman Goddess of luck. Percy had to stop himself from calling her a daughter of Tyche several times, the Legion never liked hearing about the Greek names for Gods. Dakota rolled his eyes and moved the fake map to knock on the hardwood table, taking a drink of his kool aid, "There, we won't be jinxed. Gods Sylvia."

After seeming marginally satisfied with the half-hearted knock Sylvia nodded a bit. The Centurions rushed all of the normal legionnaires out for the Centurion clean-up Bombillo's after they moved several tables to fit their needs. Unfortunately it was also getting close to closing time of most of the shops so the legionnaires were getting their last minute.. Well, everythings settled and figured it out. Percy got pretty lost in the crowd immediately, only to be pulled out and away from the crowd by his upper arm into the much more deserted backroads that led to the barracks. It took Percy a minute to get his grips with what was happening and to tug his arm free whipping around to see his... somewhat halfway capturer, his crowd surge savior? It was.. the kid who had been staring him down when the legion welcomed him in. Those bacteria-pond algae colored eyes and very poorly healed broken nose was enough of a giveaway. The kid scratched at some of the scruff under his chin, a Pilum in hand; stamped proudly with the 1st cohort branding. Percy quickly jumped to asking,

"Are you from the First Cohort? What are you doing like.. not up there or on the main road then?" It was maybe not the most important question at the time. His new not-buddy gave a dry laugh, it didn't sound as... happy as it probably should've. He replied,

"Ah, nah. I'm Bryce, Bryce Lawerence. This is just an old family good luck charm, I'm actually in the 2nd. But that's not why I needed to talk to you." Bryce replied, he said the words 'Second' and 'old good luck charm' with some amount of bitterness. Like it was someone else's fault he wasn't in (From what Percy had heard of) the 'best cohort'. Bryce gave a smile that was probably meant to be welcoming and Percy noticed the braces that he had; and the same pond scummy green tone as the fun bracket rubber band color. He replied,

"The 2nd Cohort, that's pretty good right?" Percy asked, brows furrowing. It didn't sound really bad, it was the second best cohort anyways right? Bryce scoffed a little and began walking on the paths and Percy trailed behind,

"Not really; just for kids who had good letters and mediocre skills or no letters and bad skills. The scraps left behind from the First Cohort." Bryce huffed. Holding the Pilum close to him, the same type of way a kid might've held a stuffed animal or blanket. Percy didn't really get it, Bryce didn't seem like someone devoid of any skills; he was a big dude after all. In most senses of the word, tall, chubby, and muscular, even if his hair (That was in a grown-out bob type look). Bryce continued on,

"Anyway, that doesn't really matter. I wanted to talk to you, and say that the whole water thing you did on your first day was real cool. The whole, using the Tiber to rip those monsters to shreds was good. More legionnaires have to get off their high horses and realize powers are more useful and should be properly utilized." Bryce spoke. It felt.. uneasy, like he was a spring held tight ready to lunge. It just felt... off, if that made any sense. Percy nodded a little again, while Bryce graciously slowed to walk next to Percy and the Son of Neptune replied,

"Oh, uh. Thanks dude, a lot of people here didn't really appreciate the show. Do you.. like, know any of your powers?" Percy asked, turning his head a bit to look at Bryce. Who gave a grin and nodded a little. It was different, most legionnaires Percy had the off chance to talk with never really liked acknowledging their powers and didn't explore them much; unless it would've been good for the legion of course (Healing, sharing of strength, being able to relieve the mind, stuff like that). But Bryce seemed different, like he knew his power and how much more dangerous and that fact made him proud.

"Oh yeah, I don't have much. Legacies never tend to inherit too much, of course it only gets weirder once we mix up godly blood between parents. But I've still trained up my powers." He didn't seem like he was about to elaborate on what those powers entailed, so Percy felt the awkward air grow thicker around them as the conversation slowed. Bryce frowned a little and tried to pick it back up,

"Yeah- I came over to say. Use the powers during the war games, your cohort and the others aren't gonna win anyway. At least try and make sure you all put up more of a fight. Just.. think on it for the night." Bryce replied, with those words slipping off behind a building. Percy didn't bother to follow the strange, slightly off-putting 2nd Cohort legionnaire. It wasn't like the other interaction's he's had. It wasn't like Hazel telling him that bad things happen in the legion to those that mess around with their powers. Not like Frank fiddling with his bow and trying not to look too upset as a senior archer dug into him a bit. Not even the three at the helm of the First Cohort; Mercury, Octavian, and Michael Kahale. Maybe Mercury was similar-? If not just much more overt in any sinister intentions she had compared to Bryce. Percy shambled back to the Fifth Cohort's second barrack to hopefully re-unite with his Conterbanum or find someone he knew.

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I’m very proud of myself for getting through this scene (which would be a chapter methinks-) though the beginning and the actual Centurion part of the scene is somewhat clunky, I was getting into the writing groove and those really aren’t my favorite parts of the scene. Though all in all I think the transitions between settings, the uh PoV and probably dialogue in the first part could use some help, but that’s what drafts are for!

[resflower]

This is the link to Burnt Into My Skin which is finally complete! And below, is an alternative ending that I wrote but ultimately decided didn't work for this story. It is however some of the fluffiest work I have ever written so I thought folks might want to take a gander. If you'd like to see where it fits in, it is the latter half of Chapter 7 in what became the finished product. Please be kind because this is an UNEDITED ROUGH DRAFT.

(Alternative Ending)

"I had a great time tonight." Adora is sitting in Catra's car, her feet hurt from dancing.

"Me too." Catra grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together as they pull up to Adora's house.

"Do you want to come to my house? We can have a night cap?" Adora suggests.

"Yeah 'Dora? A night cap? You haven't even let me kiss you yet." Catra's tone is suggestive as she waggles her eyebrows.

"I'm just not ready for the night to end." Adora admits. Catra melts into the leather car seat.

"How can you just say shit like that." Catra mutters, trying to hide the blush on her face.

"Yeah blondie let's have a night cap." They walk into Adora's house with minimal fuss.

"You can take a look around while I look for something for us to drink." Adora says as she heads towards the kitchen.

"You are going to regret giving me permission to snoop." Catra says gleefully as she theatrically opens a random drawer.

"I don't have anything to hide Cat." Adora calls from the kitchen, laughing at Catra’s antics.

Adora is rooting through her liquor cabinet looking for a fancy after dinner Micah and Angella gifted her last year when she hears Catra's voice calling for her.

"Adora is that you?" Catra's voice sounds strangled. Weird. Adora leaves the kitchen to see what has Catra upset.

Catra is standing over by some of the pictures Adora has framed on her walls. She can't imagine what would be upsetting there.

Adora peers over Catra's shoulder to see what she is looking at. She smiles at the picture of her with a baby Angel, just shy of his second birthday.

"Hmm, yeah me at the beach. That was Angel's first time. You should have seen how cute he was running about in the sand."

"Is that—that your soul mark?" She pointed to the abstract heart that looked tattooed onto her left shoulder.

"Yeah Cat. You'd never seen it before?" Adora racks her brain for a time where she actually showed Catra her soul mark and came to a blank.

"No no—I would have remembered it." Catra looks about to pass out and Adora starts to feel panicky. She doesn't want the mention of soul marks or soulmates to ruin her date with Catra.

"Cat what is it? Are you worried about my soulmate, we can talk about—"

Catra interrupts her. "Adora that's—that's my soul mark." Catra looks breathless as her eyes bore into Adora.

"You're soul mark? No Cat that's my soul mark, it's literally on me."  Catra is busy scrolling through her phone and pulls up an older picture of her and Scorpia. There on her left shoulder, an identical replica of Adora's soul mark.

"Oh. Oh Stars. So you're—you're my—?" Adora tries to catch up with what is happening.

"Yeah. I am." Catra whispers, looking up at Adora. Adora feels tears running down her face as a sob tears through her.

"Adora why are you crying? Are you disappointed? If you want me to go-" Catra's voice trembles. That snaps Adora out of it.

"No, no, no, Cat." Adora almost chants. Adora pulls Catra into a hug positively crushing Catra into her chest. "You being my soulmate is the single most fantastic thing I've ever heard." Adora feels her body shaking as she looks down at Catra.

The relief on Catra's face was palpable. "You aren't afraid?" Catra asks tentatively.

Adora shakes her head quickly. "Maybe I would have been afraid if I had known when we met. But now? How could I be afraid of my soulmate if it's you." Adora presses her forehead onto Catra's leaning down to get closer to her.

"You know, I looked for my soul mark on your shoulder the night we met." Adora confesses.

"I felt so dumb at the time, but I guess a part of me knew even then." Catra stutters a laugh. 

"You cannot possibly say something that romantic and not kiss me." Catra looks at Adora with hooded eyes.

"Kiss me then." Catra gently holds Adora's jaw and closes the distance between them.

Adora has never felt so moved by a simple kiss. It tastes like salt from their tears and something else that's uniquely Catra. It feels like she was always meant to do this with Catra, any former kiss a facsimile of the real thing. Adora sighs into the kiss.

Suddenly, Adora feels her shoulder start to warm, like a beam of welcome sunshine focused in on it.

They break apart, Catra frowning at her shoulder as she pulls up to look at it. And something incredible happened. Catra's soul mark is back on her shoulder.

Seeing her soul mark—their soul mark—on Catra's skin left Adora speechless.

"How—it was gone!" Catra is looking at her left shoulder in confusion. She glances up and her eyes catch sight of the soul mark on Adora. She looks dumbstruck.

"Wow." Catra whispers, eyes never leaving Adora.

"Yeah." Adora breathes back. Adora places a kiss on Catra's shoulder and it feels like her skin crackles under Adora’s touch. Catra's darken and her breath goes ragged.

"Adora, I'm not leaving your house tonight." Catra says as she wraps her arms around Adora's neck. Adora quickly nods and pulls Catra up by her thighs, encouraging her to wrap her legs around her.

"You aren't going anywhere." Adora agrees as she kisses Catra's jaw. She was going to kiss every inch of Catra she could reach and then some.

[axibani]

i wanna slow dance with you - tartali

(a rough draft of a tartali fic i’ve been working on for a while— this is NOT the complete story and the ending differs from what is written here. this is a ROUGH OUTLINE on how the story goes)

LOW CAPS INTENDED

tags:

• major character death

• heavy angst

• hurt no comfort (ok there’s some comfort)

———————

childe asks zhongli during a lantern rite festival if he wants to dance with him

zhongli confessed he doesn't know how

childe takes him by the hand and guides his feet to the rhythm

“1 ... 2 ... 3 ... that's it you're getting it, xiansheng!”

he barely is

actually zhongli is pretty clumsy and steps on childe's foot every 4 steps

but childe laughs and lets him be

“zhongli xiansheng is cute like this”

blushing, shy, flustered, and embarrassed every time he makes the wrong move

but they're both happy, they're both in love, and they're having fun with the moment they’re having

... but that was over a hundred years ago

a century ago

and like how the time passes, so did childe

time stops for no one and unfortunately, it never did for them

after their first (and last) dance together, childe was called to return to snezhnaya by the will of the tsaritsa for another mission

childe promised for his return to liyue after his obligations but his delusion got the better of him, taking a toll with his life as the price

zhongli has never moved on from that news and sometimes immortality is the curse he carries in his never ending lifetime

childe wasn't the only one who passed though

like the mortals that they were, hu tao did too, taking in her last breath 30 years ago

“mr. zhongli ... you look just as young as you ever were”

with that, of course, the parlor had to be entrusted onto someone else

he was a lad far different from who hu tao ever was. he's calm, sometimes serious, but he always gives a warm smile whenever he could

he never nudged at zhongli's life and zhongli wasn't one to share either

but what the new director does know is that every lantern rite, zhongli takes the initiative to be alone during these times. he never sees zhongli with a companion, never seen him smile during the festivities, but he was always constant on his whereabout, always standing alone by the cliff near the harbor where you can still see the lanterns at a distance

“childe, it's that time of the year once again”

and like a hung over romantic still holding onto the high that a lover once given him, zhongli hums a small tune, moving in an attempt to solo the waltz as his heart began to sink and pulsate gradually in his chest

“i'm still not very good at it. a century later and it's still the same”

he smiles bitterly at the lantern lit night sky, but his smile immediately fell as his eyes go grim with tears. it's the same as every year. another festival, another dance where childe isn't there with him

he misses him

and so the director was surprised to see zhongli kneeling right in front of him, heart in his hands and a favor to plead

“can you let me see the spirit of my beloved? at least just this once?”

the new director didn't know what to say. this was nothing from what he expected of zhongli. he never knew that his consultant would have a burden in his heart and it's with someone who is no longer walking the ground of the earth

he wanted to decline, give him the facts that once the spirit passes through the spirit realm, there is no turning back. but seeing zhongli in this state, almost helpless and borderline begging, he accepted it with great pity even if the chances of fulfilling it was next to impossible

so the director spent sleepless nights looking for some sort of way, an edge that would help him have an idea on how he could grant what is being asked of him

he was close to giving up, chest growing heavier as he was so close to drop the disappointing news to zhongli, but like a miracle, he found a way

“where do you want to meet your beloved?”

zhongli smiles at the words

“i want to meet him ... by the cliff near the harbor”

and so he did

after performing the ritual needed, burning the chopsticks the archon had gifted the harbinger previously as a catalyst, zhongli felt his entire being shake as the flames of the blue fire let its smoke glow luminescent, finally taking form of a familiar someone

“childe ...”

the spirit becomes surprised of what he sees

“x-xiansheng ... ?”

zhongli couldn't contain himself from crying— scratch that, he's full on breaking down

he tries to reach him, to touch him, but his hand goes through childe's soul, breaking zhongli inside

he wants to hold him

“childe .. how have you been? have you been fine up there?”

childe tries to caress the archon's cheek

“i've been missing you, xiansheng”

zhongli's emotions were all over the place. childe is right there, right in front of him, but he's also so far away. the lack of the warmth that he's been craving is still there but the presence of his lover hugs his heart as if he could hold him

“i miss you too, my love”

and then they were silent, letting themselves drown in the presence of each other. zhongli hasn't seen him in over a century. he still can't believe, even if it's just his spiritual form, that the one he longs for is right in front of him.

“would you dance with me, ajax?”

childe was taken back

“dance?”

zhongli wipes his eyes and lets out a sad smile

“you swept me off my feet before you left, my love... before you passed. in the centuries that have passed by, i longed for nothing else but to share another one with you”

although touchless— contact being just as light as the air— they shared a dance together, zhongli finally smiling in a long time as he cherished this moment with childe's soul

it felt like a dream. felt so unreal

for over a century, zhongli yearned for nothing more but to see his beloved one more time. he felt his heart soar free, the weight finally coming off of him from his hundred year grief

he's free

he felt like he finally had a proper closure with him

he feels relieved

on the day i cease immortality, i hope the heavens bring me right next to you.

childe's form start to shake and grow translucent, catching both of them off guard and in panic

zhongli the chopsticks are about to completely burn! there's not much time!

they never had enough time

zhongli looks at childe one last time, keeping his hand at where his lover's face is

he takes a deep breath, looks him in the eyes and watch as childe slowly fades in his hands

right before childe could glow completely transparent, zhongli pushes a kiss into the smoke, it being the last thing they were able to share before childe’s form disappears and the smoke disperses into nothing but the chopsticks’ ashes

and like that, childe goes back into his rest, as if he was never there. zhongli was only able to spend time with him in an incense stick’s time’s worth. barely 10 minutes to have his moment with the man he loves. but that incense time was worth it. he was brought back to a century ago when he felt genuine happiness, one that never failed to make him happy

[satashiiwrites]

For the WIP game Cop! Reyes Firefighter! Scott or Royalty/Fantasy AU? Thank you.

Ah yes. The Undercover Cop/Firefighter document is a very rough outline of a plot whose whole point is to get to a certain scene. Notice I haven’t gotten even a title yet? I swore to myself I would not write this fic until I got some of the other, further along, fics finished.

Anyways, for your amusement, the outline (which is as much as I ever outline). I also haven’t done any title card for it or mood board yet.

Title: Untitled

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda AU

Pairing: MReyder.

Reyes is in deep cover—like it’s very much unknown that he’s law enforcement.  He and Scott meet when Scott (firefighter!Scott👩🏻‍🚒) and his house get called to an emergency at a hotel that *ahem* charges by the hour.  Reyes is there waiting to meet his handler (keema) so he’s dressed casually in a hoodie with a leather jacket over it, just reclining against the headboard as Scott slams through the door—because this place of course doesn’t have functional alarms/they randomly go off anyway so Reyes’ has been ignoring them. 

It’s love at first sight for both of them.  Reyes hangs around as Scott and his team clear the hotel and maybe hits on him as they’re cleaning up.  Scott blushes and maybe snarks back a bit quickly but Reyes is smitten. Reyes has to melt away into the night before he gets anyone else’s attention but he makes note of Scott’s house number. 

Scott goes home and stares at the number. It takes him another two days to finally text Reyes.

Reyes replies immediately and Scott is caught—hook line and sinker. 

They don’t meet up immediately.  They banter back and forth over the course of several weeks, learning things about each other.  Family. Preferences on media consumption. Food choices. Humor. 

Scott sends the first thirst trap—a selfie taken post workout with his pants just above where you’d see if the carpet match the drapes and bunched up to show off his legs, V line prominent with briefs just peaking out, shirt off, headphones in and baseball cap on backwards.  He asks Reyes about his preferred workout.

Reyes is at work when he receives the picture and almost swallows his tongue. He takes a quick duck into the bathroom to shoot his own thirst trap, making sure Scott can see his hands are cupping himself and telling Scott, “what you do to me”. 

Things escalate.  They’re texting often and sending each other short videos—some more innocent than others. Scott’s friends/coworkers are very curious who he’s seeing when he hasn’t actually seen Reyes in person since the  glimpse he got of him at the diner. Reyes is closing in on the evidence he needs to shut down the Outcasts but Sloane has smelled a leak and things are getting dangerous. Texting with Scott has become his stress relief—the little bit of himself that is actually normal and not fake. 

Because he only tells Scott things that are true. It’s also becoming harder and harder to avoid Scott’s questions about his job since Scott is very open about the rescues he gets called to and what it’s like being a firefighter.

Reyes can’t wait for this case to be over.  To return to normal life.  He wants to tell Scott everything but he can’t. He tells Scott he’s working all the time and it’s true because things are escalating.  Sloane is cleaning house—the slightest suspicion and you’re dead and if they find your body it’s obvious that you were tortured first.  She’s getting frustrated and has let Kaetus off his leash which is making Reyes nervous. 

Scott is beginning to get frustrated about why they can’t meet.  When Reyes tells him to give him two weeks he asks why he should. Reyes honestly tells him that he has a work thing that is almost done.  After it he should have more time. 

He asks for Scott to wait but understands if he wont. 

Scott takes an hour to reply.  I’ll wait for you. 

Reyes is questioned for hours by the DA and his statement is taken, Keema and Alec are in the room the entire time.  A warrant is issued for Sloane’s arrest but they need to grab her when she’s unsuspecting. Plan is made for a raid tonight at Sloane’s club—appropriately called Outcast Headquarters because she’s classy like that.

The club is busy.  Reyes is keeping an eye on the door and he has a mini panic attack when Scott and Gil walk in.  Gil wanted to try this club, to “slum it” as he called it and pressed Scott into accompanying him as he’s much better in a fight than Gil. Scott came because he couldn’t get out of it and his heart seizes in his chest when he sees Reyes across the room sitting in the corner by the bar with his back to the wall. 

Scott makes a beeline for Reyes and makes it to him just in time for Reyes to pull him close and whisper in his ear “play along” before Sloane Kelly swoops down to interrogate Reyes.

“Reyes—who’s your friend?” She asks, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his arm.

Reyes plays coy, hitching Scott closer and purposefully letting her see his hand sliding down to cup Scott’s ass and squeeze enough to make Scott yelp just a bit. This has the effect of letting him transfer Scott to be on his far side from Sloane and put himself between them and push her back just a bit. They trade snarky barbs and eventually she’s amused enough that her curiosity has waned and then there’s something that needs her attention on the other side of the club.

Scott tries to ask wtf but Reyes pushes his finger against his mouth and hisses, “not here” and pulls him towards the bar storage room

As soon as they are alone in the storage room, Reyes double checks to make sure they’re alone, pulling out his gun and checking it before reholstering it. Scott is staring at him wide eyed. “Who are you?”

Checking the door again, Reyes inclines his head towards the back and Scott lets himself be led deeper into the storage area. “I’m a cop—Organized Crime Unit. You need to leave Scott.”

Scott goggles at him. Reyes works with his Dad? Scott knows how scary Sloane Kelly is—his dad has been practically tearing his hair out over the string of unsolved homicides. Scott’s seen the files (that he maybe wasn’t supposed to know his Dad kept locked in a safe at home) and knows his Dad had someone in deep cover code name Shena who reports to a woman named Navoa. He’s seen Reyes’ reports and suddenly he’s terrified for Reyes.

“You’re Shena!”

Reyes is spooked and shushes Scott. There is noise from outside the room. “You need to leave—now.”

Scott refuses. “No—I’m not leaving you here. You need to—“

“You need to leave. Now mi vida!” Reyes is on the verge of panicking and more noise is coming from outside.

Now, for the only scene I’ve first drafted—going beneath a cut because it’s porny.

There was noise out in the hall and Reyes began swearing a blue streak under his breath saying some not nice things about how shitty Scott’s timing had been. He’d discarded the suit jacket and the crisp white shirtsleeves had been rolled up to reveal a large expensive watch encircling the left wrist which Scott recognized as one of Kandros’ spy devices. Reyes had been working and Scott had disrupted him.

Why had he decided to follow Reyes now into the back office of the absolute worst place for someone to discover just whose son Scott was? It wasn’t like the Outcasts wouldn’t know who he was on sight. Scott was the son of one of the most decorated police officers in the history of the city and he definitely should not be found in what was probably Outcast headquarters. You know the same organized crime gang that his father had spent many years trying to dismantle?

He’d just wanted to talk to Reyes and Gil had said he’d been seen going into the club.

Scott should maybe have asked what Gil was doing there as well in retrospect but that was a problem for later.

“You cannot be here—you will blow my cover,” Reyes hissed at Scott, eyes narrowed as he pulled a gun from the small of his back and slid the safety off. He made a motion for Scott to get behind him, eyes darting towards the door where the approaching noise was coming from.

“Do they know that you’re…” Scott gestured, pointing at Reyes.

“That I’m undercover? No! But finding me with you is going to—“

Scott had a terrible, terrible idea. “Do you trust me?” He interrupted.

Reyes mouth open and closed, whiskey brown eyes boring into Scott for a moment looking for something in him and there was a slight softening of the muscles around the eyes before he spoke. “I do,” he whispered. “God help me but I do.”

Scott shoved him backwards towards the leather armchair that Reyes hesitantly sat back into, hands grabbing at the armrests. “Trust me then,” he muttered as he dropped to his knees, his own hands spreading Reyes’ knees apart to allow him space to get closer. The fine weave of the fabric under his suddenly sweaty palms pulled taught emphasizing the powerful thighs underneath. “Hide the gun.”

“Scott, what are you—“ Reyes’ eyes were wide and fastened on him as Scott fumbled for his zipper.

“Try to look like you’re enjoying this,” Scott whispered as he pulled Reyes’ pants open and tugged at the navy silk boxer briefs. Reyes’ body was already reacting even as there was a strangled noise that escaped Reyes’ throat as Scott began confidently massaging the cock that was already showing interest.

Spitting in his hand to gain a bit of moisture, he encircled his index finger and thumb around the generous girth and gave a good tug, encouraging Reyes’ body to react. The idle thought that they hadn’t even kissed crossed Scott’s mind as he focused on getting Reyes hard, trying not to listen as voices contributed to get louder, It would only be a matter of time before someone came in here.

The cock in his hands was thickening and lengthening. He’d imagined what Reyes’ cock might be like before this but now he had it in front of him and had confirmation that Reyes was well hung and a grower.

Whenever they finally got around to having that date Scott was going to make sure they ended up at either his place or Reyes afterwards. He wanted to feel just how good it felt to be full of Reyes.

He shouldn’t be salivating over this given their current situation but he was.

Bending over, he blew out a deep breath onto the skin of the head before taking a delicate lick at the slit that made Reyes’ hips jerk as his tongue found the opening and he pressed on it before sealing his lips over the crown, hands trying to hold Reyes still. A hand threaded into his hair and Scott pressed into it.

“Scott, Scott, Scott,” Reyes was babbling his name under his breath and Scott had hardy started. If he was going to die he was going to suck Reyes cock first like he’d wanted to since he’d first laid eyes on the man during that call at the hotel during the sting operation.

Smirking, Scott began working his was down the shaft adding suction and spit as he went. The hand in his hair shifted to cradle his neck as Reyes�� fingers stroked down the side of his throat to feel how open it was as he swallowed Reyes cock down, the slight chill of the metal of the watchband a contrast to the warm skin of the inner wrist.

Up and down Scott bobbed, enjoying the stretch and weight of Reyes along with the taste of his precome that he lapped up when he pulled back to breathe.

When they were interrupted just a minute or so later, Scott was almost bursting in his own pants, underwear wet. He knew what they looked like and whoever it was they were getting an eye-full. Reyes sprawled out in the leather of the chair, white dress shirt with a few buttons popped with his knees spread and Scott’s head buried between his legs sucking like his life depended on it with one of Reyes’ hands buried in his hair urging him to take his cock as deep as possible.

[frozenwolftemplar]

@twotangledsisters  I was answering your ask, but had to put it in drafts because I got called away. When I came back, the draft was mysteriously gone. I guess tumblr ate it? So, here we go, take two:

🍉 How has writing helped you process trauma/navigate through life?  -- I’ve only been writing creatively in earnest since 2019, so I don’t have a whole lot to say on this front, but I can say that in the four years since I’ve started writing has become so important to me mentally. I’ve come to turn to writing to distract myself when life gets to be upsetting or just too much; there have been some pretty rough times over the last four years where I worked on a fic as a sort of coping mechanism. And if I’m having a bad day, I can funnel all those angsty, frustrating feelings into prose. Beyond that, writing has helped me learn more about myself, what I’m passionate about, and what makes me tick; I really feel like myself when I’m writing (if that makes sense?), and I wouldn’t have found that out if I hadn’t started writing just for the fun of it.

💫 What kind of comments do you like receiving best? -- Any comments! 😄  I’m always touched and thrilled when someone leaves their thoughts on one of my fics, whether it’s just a quick ‘this was great, loved it!’ or a thought-out analysis that has me seeing what I wrote in a new light (I’ve had people pick up little subtext-type things that I had no idea I was including). The fact that they took some time out of their day to share their thoughts just makes me happy, no matter how many or how few words they use (essay comments included; I love seeing someone get that excited about my fics!). 

What’s a fic you wish you could breathe new life into/get people talking about again? -- There’s actually several. ‘Constellations’ , one of my earliest Little Cass fics, instantly comes to mind. For some reason a lot of people seemed to pass over it when it was new, and seeing how I’m still really happy with how it turned out, I’d like to draw people’s attention to it again.

Another one is my ‘epic’ ‘The First Night,’ not because of any dissatisfaction on my part, but because I just love fics about Cap finding and bonding with Cass so much and will never ever tire of them. While I have some AU versions I’m working on, I love my canon-compliant version and truly wouldn’t mind re-living the experience of writing and sharing it all over again.

Lastly, the majority of my ‘Frozen’ fics. Nearly every one has failed to garner any traction whatsoever. I think it’s because the fanfic corner of the ‘Frozen’ fandom is *very* into shipping, and most of my fics are gen, hence not what most people there are looking to read (coincidentally, my two fics that *did* get attention were focused on a ship). I’m really happy with them, so I’m okay with the somewhat chilly reception, but I’ve got a few that I’m actually super proud of and wish had gotten more attention than they did (honestly, gen fics need *way* more love than they typically get).

These were really great questions that were a lot of fun to answer! Thanks so much for the ask! (sorry it took me a spell to get to this; I don’t dare try and type something of this length on my phone, and my laptop’s been acting up lately)

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

I am not Your Mr. Miyagi: Rough Draft

I am bored and wanting to post stuff: So here is the rough draft of I am not Your Mr. Miyagi.

-0-

 The first time Tsuna ever met Hoshi, she worked at repainting a park fence, not paying attention to anyone. She wore the traditional outfit most town handypersons wore- a white jumpsuit with the kanji for Nammori on the back in black. She kept her hair under a ball cap for the heat and had worn her contacts that day.

 Tsuna met her while avoiding some bullies- the nastier ones. It wasn’t often a bully would get physical with him. Most were afraid of Hibari or the teachers. Even the other students didn’t normally stand for actual physical bullying.

 It was just sometimes they felt like kicking him when he was down.

 They hadn’t noticed the handyman working until she whistled when they’d cornered him.

 “If you three have extra energy, I’m sure your parents would agree to you volunteering to paint a fence… or two… or twenty.” She held up her paint can, a single eyebrow raised. The bullies ran off, leaving Tsuna by himself. She snorted, watching them run. “That happen often?” she asked Tsuna, who jerked and blushed.

 “Uh… no! No! Just… I’m Dame-Tsuna. I’m kinda used to it.” The woman blinked.

 “…You call yourself useless?”

 “I am,” Tsuna said blankly, feeling no reason to refute the truth.

 “…If you’re that useless, come over here and make yourself useful.” The woman said. “I’ve got an extra brush.” Tsuna hesitated before he walked over and kneeled, taking a brush and copying her painting.

 He got way more paint on himself, and the woman- who said her name was Johnson Hoshi but told him to call her Hoshi-san- had to repaint some of his parts, but she’d told him good job and sent him off with a few yen.

 He felt… he felt good.

-0-

“What if I told you I could give you twenty-five years?” the man asked her, standing in the room she was receiving chemotherapy.

 “I’d say you’re a scam artist but probably go along out of hope.” She told him, studying the man. He wore a hat made of iron, checkered gloves and a tie. The same pattern rested on his face.

 A scam artist or an eccentric billionaire? 

 “Even if it means abandoning this dimension? Never seeing your family again?”

 “Even then.”

-0-

 The next time the two crossed paths, Hoshi was trimming some trees in the schoolyard along with a coworker, the job given to them as the students normally responsible for it recovered from being scolded by the Disciplinary Committee for some unknown reason.

 Hoshi didn’t want to know.

 “You lost us the game Dame-Tsuna!” Whined some boys as they glared at the young boy who looked pained.

 “Shoulda never let him join us.”

 “Yeah!”

 “You know,” Hoshi said loudly to draw their attention. “I hate it when someone decides to pin the blame on one student for a game. Is it not a team sport? Even if one student was awful, what about the others? Did they not try at all? Why blame one person? All of them sucked; that’s why they lost. One person doing bad doesn’t mean they lose.” She told her coworker straight face as the man rolled his eyes. “I guess the entire team was useless then.”

 Hoshi later would say that she didn’t know why she did it. She blamed her foster siblings, honestly. She never quite liked name-calling ever since.

 The kids shut up then, pale and looking a bit ashamed, as Tsuna stared at her with big brown eyes.

 …Dear lord, are those flowers around him?

 Hoshi firmly kept her gaze away.

 Nope. Not falling for it. Nope.

-0-

“Why me?” Hoshi asked Checkerface, sitting in her room, holding her violin. “Why me?”

 “If you don’t, then a child may have to take your place. And that… that’s too much for even me.” He said honestly. Hoshi closed her eyes and let out a low noise.

 He had to go there.

-0-

 The third time was when Tsuna stumbled upon her dancing around a group of delinquents who didn’t like that she’d trimmed back the bushes to their little hideout. Hibari caught them doing drugs without the bushes and delivered a beatdown. They then attacked her.

 They never hit her. She twirled out of their grasp, bent back away from their fists, and jumped over their heads, causing them to beat themselves up, much to her glee.

 “…Kid?” Hoshi said upon spotting him.

 “Can you teach me?!” Tsuna blurted out, eyes wide as he stared at the bodies behind her. “I’d love to be able to beat-“

 “This isn’t Karate Kid!” the woman said, holding her hands up. “I’m not your Mr. Miyagi!”

 “…What?”

 “…It’s an American movie. Anyway, kid, I don’t fight-“

 “You just beat them!” Tsuna protested, pointing at the bodies.

 “By dancing!” Hoshi said, lifting her arms above her head.

 “…What?”

 “I’m a dancer, kid- I just danced and was quicker than they were; nothing else about it!” she told him.

 “…Can you teach me?” Tsuna asked. “I’m Dame-Tsuna, but you-“

 “I just don’t like bullies, kid,” Hoshi told him. “There wasn’t any other reason I tried to help you.” Tsuna, though, just looked at her, desperate.

 He was young enough- nine- he wasn’t yet beaten down by the insults and cruelty. None of his life lay around him, destroyed by society to have a scapegoat.

 Hoshi looked at him and then cursed, seeing his eyes.

 “Damn it. I’m not your Mr. Miyagi!” she said, throwing her hands up. “I’ll teach you ballet, that’s it, got it?” she pointed at him. “You get to figure out the rest.”

 “Thank you!”

 “…I already regret this,” Hoshi muttered to herself.

-0-

 “No regrets?”

 “No,” Hoshi told the man. “None.”

 “Good.”

-0-

 Hoshi wanted to groan loudly.

 Not even two months into this new world, and she makes contact with the main character.

 No, wait, she agreed to teach the main character.

She needed a drink.

 Meeting Hibari hadn’t been a shock- she did work in his town, but there was a difference between staring blankly at him when he gave orders or ignoring him while she did landscaping at the school and interacting with Tsunayoshi! It had been challenging to remember the show, but she did remember the main character. Her interest in it had waned thanks to the lousy animation, and then her cancer was found, so she lost more interest.

 Sighing, she fiddled with the doorknob on her apartment, making a face at how long it took to open. Making a mental note to go and see if the landlord would mind her messing with it, Hoshi entered her apartment. Checkerface had given her money to use in her new world, and she used it to buy her new home. She’d call it a studio in Canada- or a bachelor depending on who you’d ask. She forgot what her landlord called it.

 Her kitchen was in a small corner, her bed on the opposite side. It was just a pile of pillows and blankets on top of a mattress. A dresser with an excellent sound system sat against a wall, with her TV and comfortable couch near it. It wasn’t much, but for Hoshi, it was enough as she worked and saved. 

 Feeling lazy, she flopped on her couch and turned on the TV to a hockey game, fiddling with the chain around her neck, her fingers ghosting the pacifier at the end.

 She was going to need to think up some lessons.

[o-kaythislooksbad]

@ailesswhumptober day 11: fainting / paralyzed / adrenaline & kinktober day 11: petplay / humiliation / sensory deprivation

[draft of a flashback which probably isn't going to make its way into retrace the steps. in this fic, joe refers to jake by his surname only, and lockley rarely speaks english. one of their nights together, from joe's perspective]

it had been a long day. most of joe's days are long, now that he can actually experience them. he was looking forward to checking out for the night when the door flies inward; the handle hits the wall, splintering it, and joe's feet hit the ground before he realizes he stood up from the sofa.

he's on high alert, muscles tense and systems ready to go grey, when lockley saunters into the room. joe doesn't deflate, not entirely, but he breathes out a sigh of relief. lockley's wearing his usual gear - black flat cap, leather jacket, tight pants, boots, driving gloves - and there's no blood or guts or even a bruise on him.

so this is a social call, then. at least this safe house hasn't been compromised.

joe's heart is still hammering in his chest as he moves towards the door. lockley reaches out with his leg to close it, leaving joe in limbo. there's an awkward silence hovering around them, until lockley tilts his head to the side with a smirk, and then joe's baring his teeth and bouncing in place.

lockley throws the first punch, a warning that joe easily evades, and returns with one of his own. lockley catches it with is right palm and strikes out with his left at joe's chin. joe takes it, buzzing with excitement as his bottom teeth crash into his tongue. 

"is that all you got?" joe taunts. his words are warped as his jaw resets itself. lockley is highly trained, with an almost supernatural amount of finesse, but if there's one thing i can count on to make him pause, it's breaking out the broken voice. 

lockley reflexively recoils, but shakes it off an instant later. "¿jugando sucio?" he doesn't sound surprised, just annoyed at being caught off guard.

bastard. he let me have that?

"not yet, we're not."

lockley holds up his hand and beckons joe closer, and an hour disappears into a whirlwind of sparring. it's a close match, making joe feel more alive than he's been in ages. lockley's right leg connects with his stomach, and joe stumbles back.

exhaustion seeps into his mind. his body is riled up, able to endure whatever it needs to, but joe's head can't keep up. he holds up his hands in surrender, and walks in circles around the room, breathing heavily. he takes a water bottle from the mini fridge and keeps moving; he takes a long swig, then tosses it vaguely in the direction of the sofa.

"¿vamos a hacer esto o no?" lockley takes his cap off and runs his fingers through his hair. he's barely broken a sweat, despite his dark clothes. his tie was loosened and his jacket had come off at some point, along with a couple buttons from joe's hawaiian shirt, leaving his thin gold chain peeking out from his shirt collar.

damn, i've missed this view.

"yeah, yeah, vamanos amigo. i'm ready for the final round. lay it on me, hombre." joe unbuttons the rest of his shirt and opens his arms, baring his chest.

lockley rolls his eyes at joe's spanish, but he finally gets rid of his ridiculous cap, placing it neatly on the coffee table. he lays his gloves beside it, then cracks his knuckles as he advances.

"¿recuerdas tus colores?"

"what is this, trivia night? i'm always verde, man, except for the times i'm grey, you know that. come on." joe sighs as lockley stares daggers at him, keeping him in place. sure, they play rough, but there are rules that must be followed if he wants to continue the game. "verde, for real. cross my heart and hope to die." he winks, and is rewarded for his honesty with lockley's hands on his shoulders, pushing him to the ground.

the carpet is scratchy, but at least there is one in this safe house. the last time they did this, the closest thing the place had to amenities was a single light-bulb, suspended by a frayed wire.

"mi rayito de sol," lockley says, eyes twinkling as he looks down. "¿serás bueno para mí?"

a blush creeps up joe's neck at the nickname, and by the time the question ends, his face is on fire. joe is always good, for him and to him. lockley knows this, and knows how much it hurts joe to admit it, but he always asks him anyway. it's embarrassing, and joe hates how much he enjoys it. he purses his lips shut and shakes his head. fuck it. fuck him and his stupid patronizing questions. i can't do this today.

lockley doesn't even raise an eyebrow at the refusal. he stands, legs slightly apart, hands behind his back like he's meditating. he's not smiling anymore, but he's teasing joe just by being here. what kind of asshole shows up unannounced, months after leaving without a goodbye, to show off his new fighting skills and promise a scene as if nothing's changed? it suddenly doesn't matter to joe that he agreed to the last bits, because his knees are aching and his mind won't shut up and let him relax into this, leaving him sitting in shame, and not in a fun way. tears roll silently down his cheeks, and without lockley acknowledging them and making remarks, crying is hot and mortifying in the i want to fling myself into a volcano kind of way, not the i need to be broken down and built back up kind of way.

lockley may be an asshole, but he's not abusive. "háblame." it's soft, but it's an order.

'talk to me.' yeah, i would if i could. i'm caught up in my head and this is supposed to help, you're supposed to help me, you bastard.

"mi -"

"no," joe growls, because of course the words only work when he's talking back. he takes a breath to push through the haze in his mind before continuing. "not this time. i... i'll be whatever you need me to be, i promise, but i can't be yours." the endorphins that had been coursing through his veins during their fight have left him, and his admission leaves him flailing, struggling to stay afloat.

lockley's mask of indifference falls for a second. he's been on this side of the exchange, too, and this isn't the first time they've had conversations like this. "okay. okay, motek. ata lo tzarich lehiyot mashehu be'shvili." lockley keeps his voice level, not leaning too hard into the praise. "todah rabah; ata mis'tader kol kach tov. beh'vakesha, ata yachol le'hagid li et ha tzevah?"

the shift to their first language gets into his head in a way that the others couldn't.

man's a goddamn genius.

"yarok," joe whispers, and feels the word settle in his head and bloom into a canopy of calming green. he takes a deep breath, then asks, "tzevah, magen?" because it's not all about him; lockley needs this just as much as he does, and the trust goes both ways as well. 

lockley drops to a crouch in front of him. "yarok," he repeats. he uses his thumbs to wipe away joe's tears, then reaches into his shirt pocket to pull out a pair of blackout sunglasses.

how the hell did those survive the day?

"ata targish yoter tov im zeh," lockley says, bringing joe back to the present, holding the sunglasses in front of joe's eyes.

"beh'tach," joe nods, and then the glasses are delicately placed on his face and the world goes dark. without his sight, his other senses are dialed up to eleven, and they're all honing in on lockley.

sweat mingles with the scent of the cardboard trees lockley hangs in his cab, a strange blend of artificial pine and cinnamon.  it's comforting in a way that he can't name, but that's fine. he doesn't need to use his words right now. he doesn't need to do anything but exist, and be fine with inaction. lockley stands up, and his heavy, deliberate footsteps rhythmically lull joe into a sense of security.

lockley moves joe's hands from his thighs to behind his back, and slides joe's shirt off his shoulders. lockley's tie leaves his neck with a slight whooshing sound, then is wrapped expertly around joe's wrists. it barely presses into his skin, but it sends sparks up his arms. it's exhilarating, knowing that there's nothing really keeping him in place except a deep need to behave, to show lockley that they're more than the chaos that the others see in them.

time loses meaning as lockley's voice, full of reverence, surrounds joe. he can't make out what's being said, not exactly. he's too far down for that, but it doesn't matter. he's hypersensitive to his environment, to what's being asked of him and done with him, to the way lockley maneuvers their bodies. he's always got the option to say no, and having the choice makes it easy to allow lockley to be the one in control. lockley's worshipping him, showering him with kind words and gentle touches, and joe's safe in the space he made for them.

after an hour or an eternity of bliss, lockley tells him that they're done for the night, that it's time to get up. he waits for the green light before undoing the tie and removing the glasses, and joe slowly blinks as he takes in his surroundings. he's back in the position that he started in, kneeling with his hands behind him, but he's on the bed now.

lockley is sitting in front of him in nothing but his necklace and briefs, beaming at joe like he's the center of the universe. he's got pink spots on his cheekbones and imprints of joe's teeth on his neck, and looks as relaxed as joe feels.

i... i did that.

joe must look awestruck, because the next words out lockley's mouth are "yes; hayit kol kach tov," and the man's many things, but a mind reader is not one of them.

lockley holds out his hands, and joe lets lockley guide him into his lap and bring him back to his senses. he drifts off to sleep in the protective hold of lockley's embrace, completely at peace.

[skitariiposting]

So what's fame like if I can ask

Uh... I 'unno. I guess there's the literal definition, but I'm assuming you'd rather hear my own personal outlook on it. If not, just ignore this answer and Google "fame definition," it'll do a better job than me trying to define it off the top of my head.

Honestly, just being an obscure internet figure or having a cult classic following is perfect. Even if its a small circle, just having people who enjoy what I do and enjoy having me as a part of their communities is fine with me. Heck, having people feel like they're a part of the skitariiposting community, if that even exists, would be amazing.

At the end of the day, I want to leave enough of an imprint on people that after their first interaction with me, when they see me next in a reply section, or a reblog or something, they want to talk with me again. I try to interact with everyone who talks to me, not to garner attention or become known as "the guy who's nice on the internet only to become famous off of it" but because I want to be genuine. I've been on the other end of hearing crickets when trying to reach out to someone you admire. I know the feeling. I don't want anyone to have that feeling when interacting with me.

Am I perfect at it? No. I'm sure I've already broke this trend. If I miss you, it's likely due to my ADHD or my goblin brain. Sometimes, I think about responding to something and end up convincing myself I actually had and not actually responding. Sometimes I get distracted midway through responding and save it to my drafts and then sit back down and completely blanking it out of my brain what I was doing before. If I miss you, it my fault, not yours. Feel free to reach out again and it'll come back to the forefront of my brain and I'll start responding again. (And usually apologize for missing the first one)

So, long, long story short. My goal for fame is this: I want to be the Keanu Reeves of Tumblr. Not like how reddit worships Keanu or as rich or anything, but like how if you saw Keanu in real life and walked up to him, he's wearing sweat pants and a baseball cap. If you say hi to him, he's nice and chill and has a conversation with you about his motorcycle. If you ask him for a pic, he'll take one and ask if you could tag him in it so he can save it.

I just want to be a recognizable, friendly face for everyone. I want to be a bonfire from darksouls, where you've waded through a rough day and open your feed and see the little red hood in my profile picture and feel happy knowing that if you reached out to me, I'll talk back :)

I hope you love yourselves as much as I love you, thank you guys for everything you've done for me so far and I hope it keeps going for a long time.

~J

[anxiousfurr]

BEHOLD

First draft of the first chapter of a story I'm working on, it follows a character that I am going to call Hecate who gets stuck in a fairy otherworld and tries to survive. I think there's gonna be some kinda war going on, but I'm not sure yet. Anyway, enjoy.

Chapter 1

Smoke. 

That was the first thing I noticed. It hung heavy in the air, clinging to every breath that entered my lungs. The pain was the second thing that hit me; a dull throbbing in my skull. A thought passed through my mind then. Is there a fire?

I shot upright, fueled by an animalistic fear, and the stabbing in my skull crescendoed. I scrambled backwards and up against a rough surface, clutching my head. A whimper escaped my lips as I waited for the pounding to stop. Why is this happening? As the pain subsided, I finally looked up. 

In front of me was a dirt bike, twisted and on fire.

Wait, fire? A jolt of alarm passed through me.

If the bike was on fire, and the fire reached the fuel…

I rushed to my feet, staggering as spots flooded my eyes and darkness clawed at the edges of my vision. I couldn’t pass out. If I wanted to make it, I had to keep going. I clawed my way forward, clutching anything to keep me upright. It wasn’t until I had tripped and fallen face first between the roots of another tree that I finally stopped.

Okay, think. If I stay here, then eventually someone will find me. If someone found the bike, but no body, then they would no doubt search the area or call the authorities. So if I just stay here-

My thoughts froze as I took my first good look at my surroundings. What I had thought were trees were the ivory white trunks of mushrooms, the far above canopy made up by their caps. The soft mycelium glowed a pale greenish color, accented with many different flowers-not flowers, fungus. Thin mushrooms with caps of bright pink and gold; bulging bulbs colored purple and neon blue; I could even spot stout, spotted red caps. Most of the surrounding “trees” were as tall as skyscrapers and thicker than a bus. The whole scene looked like some bizarre parody of a forest.

The mushroom I had curled under was about three stories tall, with violet vines wrapped around it. Looking closer, I noticed that the vines had flowers on them; not mushrooms, actual flower buds. 

As I observed the vines, one of the snaking tendrils shot out and snatched my wrist; the little buds on the vine opened and revealed tiny mouths filled with teeth. I was unfazed, of course; bizarre plants and animals had been one of my obsessions as a kid. I tugged my hand back, but the plant had a firm grip on me. Those mouths look like a leech’s, so it’ll probably-

There it was. I felt a prickling sensation where the vine made contact. I studied the vine carefully; it looked just like a normal vine–minus the mouths–so I could probably cut it. And I have just the thing.

In my boot, I had a knife; it was a long blade, carved with intricate swirling patterns and rested snugly in a mahogany sheath. It had been a gift from my grandmother on my birthday last year, before she fell ill. It should do the trick.

I pulled the knife from its sheath and, in one fluid motion, sliced the vine clean through. That was easy enough. The part of the vine that had been severed began to wither immediately as I shook it off. Better wrap those bites; if this plant releases an anticoagulant-

The thoughts were cut off once again by a high pitched shriek. I covered my ears with a gasp and ducked my head. The noise rang around my throbbing skull, and I cracked my eyes to see a flash of bright violet. My hands pressed hard against my temples, but jerked away when something grabbed me and yanked me back.

[lasagnaflavoredgrapes]

Reluctant Sidekick au

An au where Billy became Lex Luthor’s sidekick!

The concept:

So the story would take place around the time Billy had just received his super power from the Wizard. Therefore, Captain Marvel is not public knowledge yet and still relatively unknown.

Lex Luthor, who at that time was planning on forging an alliance with Dr. Sivana (in the basis of creating a super weapon to destroy Superman) was busted after Sivana got arrested for treatening the president to give him money (or something, it still a work in progress) .

Lex Luthor who is annoyed because his plans got ruined decided to catch a break by walking around Fawcett City that's when he found out about Billy's secret. ( in his defense, he is still new to the whole thing and vry reckless)

Lex than adopted Billy ( much to Billy's annoyance, tho it's not like he got a say in it).

Lex would rope Billy in his plans to destroy Superman, but Billy is like "No? Why would I do that? I like Superman he is my favourite superhero actually :D".

It's going to be a running gag where Lex tried to coaxed Billy to turn into Captain in front of Superman, but Billy is like " What are you talking about?", and Superman be like, " Lex! Why are you dragging an innocent kid into this? D:<"

Superman tried to help Billy but couldn't really do much cause technically Lex is Billy's foster father now.

Lastly, when the confrontation did happend between Superman and Captain, Superman first taught was that Captain Marvel is actually his clone with advanced genetic or something.

But the truth is Cap is just a brainwashed Billy. (Later on in the story, Lex created a device that can force Billy to transform and follow his command for a period of time, i know evil!)

.

That's all for now its still a rough 'draft'.

Thx for sitting through my rambling ♡´･ᴗ･`♡.

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

[levisblackbabe]

Haikyuu Boys reacting to seeing you in a Bonnet

Characters: Bokuto Kotaro, Akaashi Keiji and Sakusa Kiyoomi x blackfem!reader (separate)

Genre: Fluff, Humour

Warnings: None

Wc: 800+ (this is also unedited so please bare with for any spellings mistakes)

a/n this took me wayyy to long to post and complete but here we go its not one of my best works and very much rough but I wanted to get things away from my drafts anyways hope you all enjoy

Bokuto, had just gone to his kitchen to get a late-night snack, he left you on facetime facing his ceiling whilst he skewed his cupboards. He didn’t feel like it was worth to take his phone with him since he was going to be back in less than 5 minutes. So, once he returned arms packed with different snack packages he said. “Babe, I am ready now come talk to me”

And off camera you replied “Kay, Bo I am just getting ready I’ll be there in a sec”

So, there he sat looking at the camera waiting to see you again. Once your face came into view his heart glowed. However, once he completely looked at you, he noticed something was missing, something he loved running his hands through. YOUR BRAIDS. And instead of them you had a black hat no. Clearly being confused he asked. “Babe where did your hair go?”.

At first you thought he was joking however once you looked at his pouty face you noticed he was genuinely confused.

“Well, Bo I am wearing a bonnet my hair is underneath.” and you demonstrated this by pulling on of your braids from underneath

Still baffled he asked, “What’s a bonnet?”

So, for the next 5 minutes you explained what it is and why you wore it after your explanation he asked “So I should get one do my hair doesn’t fall off”

Now the both of you have matching bonnets.

Akaashi, has always considered himself knowledgeable when it comes to the majority of things in the world. He thought nothing really baffled him because he knew each race and culture has their own customs. However, staring at his girlfriend of 2 months he wondered WHAT THE HELL is on her head? He tried to pay attention to you talking about your day just like every night but the fact that your beautiful afro was nowhere in sight really baffled him. So, he swallowed his nerves hoping he wouldn’t insult you and asked.

“Angel, you know I love everything about you, and this isn’t question isn’t to offend you but wheres your hair?”

As you started at him Akaashi quickly regretted his life choices and backtracked by saying, “Listen Angel ignore that, I am sooo sor-“

“Kei no need to apologise it’s okay to be curious,” you teased him “but I am just wearing a bonnet”

“A what” he asked.

“You might have heard of this in the media before it’s like a silk cap that-“

“You wear to prevent it from frizziness?” he said in a questioning tone.

“Yes that if you knew why did you ask?” you replied back

“It’s because I just searched it up,” he continued “did you know bonnet is actually a French word for cap”

“Ohh I didn’t know that but there was no need to search it up Kei”

“I know but I just wanted to know more about you to make you feel at home”

“Aww Kei you didn’t have to but its much appreciated”

Sakusa, loved everything about you especially your personal hygiene, you always took great care of yourself which he found such an alluring quality. Yet once again you were able to find a way to make yourself more attractive in your eyes.

So here he was in his bed staring through the facetime camera as you sat in your vanity table wearing a comfortable pair of pj’s as you done your nightly skincare routine. However, there was an addition to your attire the black frilly cap on top your head which Sakusa has never seen before. He was very much bewildered yet he didn’t show it or so he thought.

You noticed his change in demeanour when you put your bonnet on, yet you didn’t say anything waiting for him to ask questions. So, you grabbed your phone from the vanity table and made your way to bed. For the next 10 minutes your guys continued your conversation just how you usually are yet Sakusa couldn’t fully pay attention as you described your day. So he casually “That’s a nice hat you got on is it new?”

“No, I have had for time. Why you ask?”

“No reason just curious.” He said in a curious tone

So you guys intently stared at each other waiting for someone to fess up. Though you aren’t one of patience and broke the silence saying “Yoomi”

“N/n”

“Do you want to know about my ‘hat’?”, you said in an exasperated tone

“Yes, I do”

“Okay well for starters it’s not a hat it a bonnet it’s a silk cap to protect my hair from frizziness but also helps keep my pillowcase cleaner and not get hair products on my skin.”

So, as he heard that explanation Sakusa found another reason to fall in love with you a bit more.

[brewing-radianite]

I’ve downloaded episode and designed/named my characters as brim/sage/viper now i get to cry every time they fight and scream not my baby every time they do something ooc.

Thats my new coping mechanism until your fic is out ):

AKSLDG yeah mood i make characters/ships in the sims or smth when i need content but there is none elsewhere so i feel you...

i'll give you a brief update on the fic without sparing too much detail:

-as of this post, the fic has passed over 22 chapters of plotting! this is a very rough idea of where it will go though; like the rough sketch of a drawing, it is still very much in early stages and may be subject to multiple changes. 22 isn't the cap i have in mind, it's just what i have done right this moment in terms of plotting

-i did begin writing the first draft of chapter 1, however! some of the later chapters are a little more subject to change as i move some scenes around and decide exactly what i want to do but the first like, 5-6 chapters are honestly pretty solid so i'm comfortable enough to begin writing them out entirely.

-i'm also trying to finish Instruction Manual and update You Were a Kid Once Too though, and I have begun writing the continuations of them too. i really REALLY wanna finish Instruction Manual ASAP so i can put all my focus and energy into the longfic without draining myself too much, with some standalone oneshots (both sfw and nsfw) of various ships in between to switch things up

-like i want Instruction Manual to be DONE by the end of August if not sooner, and whenever that happens, I expect to be updating with the longfic regularly until it's completion ! there will more than likely be breaks every now and again but considering i'm plotting the entire story right now there will be a definitive ending point so i won't be like aimlessly or mindlessly trying to decide where i'm taking it (which will save me time as the writer and you time as the reader)

-I've mentioned before there will be no smut/nsfw in this fic. There WILL be profanity, bloodshed, emotional scenes, and partial (but not sexual) nudity though so the rating will more than likely still be mature.

-and since this story is kind of more about them falling in love and officially beginning their relationship there won't be much content of them throughout the actual romantic relationship itself; the entire point of the narrative is that this is how they fall in love to begin with. but i will be writing other oneshots and stories that take place after they've been together for some time!

[norcumii]

The Alpha 17 Supplemental

We all deserve something a little nice. So here’s a rough draft preview of the Star to Steer By Alpha 17 supplemental. (Please note, this is unbetaed, subject to change, etc.)

I hope y’all have a good day. <3

~~~~

Alpha 17 was a good soldier. He knew from a very early age that he was good at combat, loved it, and he pushed himself to be the best that the GAR could produce.

He knew some of his brothers thought that made him a bit simple, limited, unambitious.

He didn’t care.

The trainers worried, concerned that he didn’t seem to pick up outside hobbies or interests. He could practically hear ‘there’s more to life than fighting!’ every time he got that look, the doubt screaming in their eyes. He knew that meant another psych eval was in his near future, and it was frustrating because they didn’t get it.

He liked fighting. He liked the simple math, how goal plus obstacle equaled a straightforward picture. He could break that down, take it apart and rearrange the bits for more carnage, less causalities, different outcomes depending on the goal. Some brothers liked painting, or reading, or whatever. Alpha 17 liked taking a battlefield to pieces, and the addition of life’s chaos and unpredictability just made it exciting.

It got worse as he got older, signing up for the ARC program the literal minute he was able to. His batchmates only rolled their eyes a little – they at least didn’t poke at him about it – but everyone else? The whispers just got more annoying.

ARC training was serious business, was he sure he wanted to? ARC training meant learning the ropes for hosting - like that would ever matter - and that didn’t seem to be the kind of thing he’d like. ARC training had a ridiculous wash-out rate, required a steady temperament, often led to a much shorter lifespan, blah blah blah.

ARCs got into the middle of the most interesting shit, were given command and solo missions in equal measure. They didn’t stick to any one thing, historically they were the ones getting shit done, and if there was trouble, they were liable to be at ground zero.

Of course Alpha 17 wanted in on that. So he did something else he was very good at: he kept his head down and worked his shebs off.

Didn’t stop the occasional complaints. He brushed off the ones that he could, went through all the usual psych evals (and the bonus ones too), and kept learning what he could. He trained, he excelled, he fought.

The attitude didn’t stop coming either, but that was no surprise. He might be stubborn, but so was the rest of the GAR. Came with the job description. Not that he took more than he had to, of course. After one instructor complained about excessive casualties, the next exercise he took an absurdly round-about approach which resulted in record low casualties for the sim exercise.

The next day he handed in a complaint against himself about incompetence, excessive caution, and an evaluation about how taking that fucking long would have resulted in a campaign that was far too high in cost, time, and resources.

The instructor quit bitching after that.

Alpha 17 started his ARC training as the youngest in his class. ARC trooper Alpha 17 went into his cryo stint as top graduate of his class, having already had a successful and noteworthy acclimation stint all around the mid- to outer-rim.

*****

Three years after his thaw, Alpha 17 returned from a mission totally-not-exploding some wildly unpleasant slavers’ headquarters to find the usual stack of correspondence waiting for him. He kept his holo-mail down to a screaming minimum as much as possible, because everyone and their classified dog preferred to send secured intel via datapads or datasticks or whatever data-things they could secure to biometrics and ident scans. He grabbed the box for incoming shit and hauled it off to his quarters, because it’d been almost four months away and even he would admit to needing a real godsdamned shower in his own fucking apartment.

He might’ve ignored the pile long enough for a decent meal from the commissary and a few hours of rack time out of sheer spite. When 17 finally sat down to sort it, he wasn’t too surprised that almost a quarter of the pads had the glossy red endcaps indicating highest priority. It took a second glance to register that one of those had further detailing, the Jedi Order’s symbol embossed on the center of the red caps.

That was different. 17 set down the two pads he’d grabbed at random to pick it up instead. The metal shell wasn’t new, but it held few of the dings and scratches any correspondence gained traveling through the courier system. Recently made or rarely used.

“The hell?” he muttered, powering it up. Official Order business of some sort, but what kind of mission could –

17’s brain stalled out as he finally read the simple, clear message.

Simple, clear, and about as unlikely as him sprouting wings and flying to Corellia without a ship. “Potential host.” Nope, sounded even crazier out loud. “Like hell.” He tossed the pad down and slumped back in his chair, staring at the datapad in confusion. How the fuck was he a potential host? What kind of Jedi could he possibly have a match with?

In some kind of vain hope that the message would change to something that made sense given enough time, 17 mechanically went through the rest of his mail. Several innocuous messages regarding hazard pay; five potential missions, two of which had a time window long past; one message rescinding one of the other potential missions; one airworthiness directive and recall about a jetpack model he hated anyways; somehow even more questions about his deposition for the fucking Cato Neimoidia cluster because lawyers were never truly done.

All the usual bullshit, really.

Didn’t change the potential host message, though.

*****

Alpha 17 answered the call, of course. He sent a reply message off, confirmed the trip to Coruscant via the usual GAR channels, and then he tried to lose himself in post-mission paperwork.

It didn’t help that if anything was less likely to occupy his attention, it was paperwork. Even the usual joys of finding new and ridiculous euphemisms for ‘killed a bunch of assholes’ and ‘blew up a lot of shit’ were empty and useless.

The question of what kind of Jedi could possibly consider him a match dogged him all the way to Coruscant, and only got worse when he walked into the changing room with the other two candidates. One was a quiet, well-dressed Zeltron who was the most unassuming being 17 had ever laid eyes on. Short red hair, heading towards middle-age, and 100% unremarkable – he wouldn’t call them “bland,” but he wouldn’t argue the point if someone else did. The other one was an older Wookiee who sauntered in with all the trappings of an AgriCorp member, cheerfully growling observations about everything with an air of nervous excitement.

Sure, he knew the matching was probably on different quadrants, but what the hells could he have in common with these two?

The Jedi deposited on the fourth side of the table was a bit on the small side – maybe fully grown, maybe just younger but with their mature coloring. It was hard to tell with Jedi, even for someone who was good at that kind of thing.

That was not in 17’s skillset.

It was no help whatsoever that the Jedi turned towards 17 first. He felt ridiculous, stretching out his hand like he was inviting someone’s pet to take a whiff, but somehow this was worse than in training. Training meant everyone had to be there, and was going through the motions, but this –

This was the real deal. What the fuck was 17 doing, really applying to be a host?

The Jedi curled around his wrist, warmer than expected. He could feel the faint buzz in his mind of the Jedi’s mental probe – nothing that could be strong enough to read actual thoughts, but enough to give them a decent impression of 17. He had to stifle down a snicker, imagining what it might be like to feel his mind. I like fighting, blowing shit up, and doing my job. Sorry to waste your time, Jedi.

The pulse of amusement – real, and not his – was a bucket of ice down his spine. Shit. Shiiiit, he hoped that hadn’t been somehow broadcast. It probably hadn’t, but that was awkward. Meanwhile, the Jedi let out a quiet hiss, sharing some kind of emotional nudge to pass them along.

It was hard not rubbing at his wrist where the Jedi had been as the other two host-potentials went through the ritual. 17 was sure that some of the discomfort was due to being out of armor, but a quiet part of him wondered about the strange reaction anyways.

Hosting wasn’t a thing. He’d never given the faintest shit about hosting, he just wanted to be an ARC.

He was paying enough attention to do all the bowing and whatever that was called for, but it took the amused chuffing of a Wookiee to pull 17 all the way back to the matter at hand.

Literally at hand; the Jedi was back near his wrist, looking up at him with those four bright eyes and a body posture that might indicate concern.

Wait, WHAT? 17’s head jerked up, and he looked at the other two in the room. The Wookiee was grinning, while the Zeltron was hiding their amusement almost well enough that they just looked a little bored. He couldn’t help but feel that it was intentional that he could read the body language at all. 17 looked back down at the Jedi, who weh-ed at him.

“What are you doing?” 17 asked right back, because there was no way this could be happening. The Jedi scooted a little closer to him, making another hissing noise. With the continued sensation that this could not really be happening, 17 held his hand out to the Jedi.

They sauntered right onto his palm, still giving him that look. Another glance at the other host-potentials confirmed the impossible, but 17 was still slow enough lifting the Jedi that there was plenty of time for someone to declare that this was some ridiculous mistake, or prank, or something.

Nobody said anything as 17 opened his mouth and let the Jedi in. There was that feeling of movement that wasn’t (except it really was), then there was a new voice in 17’s mind.

#Hello there,# the Jedi declared. They sounded male, young, good natured. Not at all like what 17 would have expected. #I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.#

#Well that’s a mouthful,# 17 couldn’t help but think, bemused and not quite sure what the hell was going on.

There was a sound of muffled laughter, accompanied by something not-really-a-flash to how that was a pun given how the Jedi – Kenobi – had just entered. #From a certain perspective, yes.#

17 smirked, enjoying the feel of a fellow sapient in spite of himself. #Alpha 17. ARC-17017.#

*****

It was always easy to tell the difference between Qui-Gon and Tahl. She moved with thoughtful purpose, feet planted solid on the ground and shoulders aggressively square. Jinn flowed more, confident and feline, certain of himself in a sometimes arrogant way that could piss off even the most serene being, let alone Alpha 17.

He liked and respected them both, more than he or Obi-Wan figured most people understood. He hadn’t expected that, when he’d first met the Jedi and host that were to be Obi-Wan’s – and his, in a sense – primary trainers. He’d resented that at first, not that he’d admit it. He was no youngling, for all that Obi-Wan was a shiny. Obi-Wan also had inherited memories, and since 17 was a well-trained and skilled soldier, they should be good to go in short order.

Then they had their first training session with Obi-Wan’s brand new lightsaber.

The less said about that fiasco, the better.

It took time to learn how everything fit together; 17’s blaster and fighting skills, Obi-Wan’s genuine talent for the lightsaber and acrobatics that thanks to the Force were well outside the normal bounds for a clone, and how the Force integrated with it all.

The first time 17 dodged away from a sparring partner only to reach and yank their legs out from under them, dumping them to the floor several meters away, he’d been stunned. It was one thing to know Jedi – and thus their hosts – could use the Force, it was totally another to see it in action, and it was a far different beast to do that impossibility himself.

He liked it, though. It was interesting to find there was a whole new area and styles of fighting he could apply himself to, and as always he did so with excessive diligence.

With the comforting glee inside his head of a Jedi just as eager to learn, and to fight, he no longer questioned why the hell he’d been the one to host Obi-Wan.

~end section