#might add more ocs since i did these surprisingly fast

[lazy-b1rdy]

I FINISHED MY ART FIGHT REFS!!

Art card i won't use bc i can't add it to my profile ;-;

(Edit: I figured out how to add it)

Ocky is inspired by my own ikea octopus i love to bits

My artfight is lazy-birdy !! Hope to meet some of you guys!

[yolo1650]

Surprise Date Pt. 3 (wip)

A/N: Inspired by a whole bunch of sacred romantic prompts by @screnwriter I had a lot of fun writing this! But I can imagine my execution is mediocre at best (especially with trying to write in Redd's pov) XD 

Also, if this helps, you can imagine the anthropomorphism akin to something like from Bojack Horseman. If you’re looking for some context, click here. I really wrote this to practice writing, nothing plot relevant here is permanent. 

Word Count: 1805

Warnings/Tags: Anthropomorphic characters, cross species relationship, drinking off screen, mentions of alcohol, jazzy times, make up after a fight, but i’m not exactly sure what they fought about, slow dancing, fluff, heart to heart, kissing, implied sex at the end, amateur writing, so it might get repetitive at times, i’m just so glad this is done, my oc still doesn’t have a name yet, she’s just referred to as she the whole time :’)

————-

As the level of wine in their glasses winded down, so did their surprisingly pleasant date night. In between their shared laughter and smiles, Redd could barely remember whatever fuss they had two nights before. Key word: barely. He still remembered how the sound of her yelling grated against his, and his tail bristled slightly at the thought of it.  

 Just then the CD player finished. With a tight smile, she excused herself to go and add a new one. The smooth voice of a woman's jazz ballad flowed out of the speakers, nothing at all like the soft chimes of the synth that was on before. Redd looked over to her outstretched hand.  

"Dance with me?" 

The dumb look of shock on his face probably wasn’t subtle at all, otherwise she wouldn't have shown off those shining pearly whites of her's. Rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckled. "No, no, I'm sorry darlin'. But I'm no dancer." 

But her hand remained outstretched in front of him. "I'll be the judge of that." Her tone was blunt, but her eyes however held a small plea. She then cocked her head over to the open space in front of the speakers. "Come on, we won't go too fast, I promise."

Tentatively, he placed his own leathered palm in her soft one, allowing her to guide him to the center of the living room. As she guided his right hand to her waist, he could feel his hackles rise at the nerves. He swallowed.  

"Don't say I didn't warn you now. Who knows, we might both end up on the ground 'cause of me." He hoped his voice didn't come out as hoarse because of how dry it was. She only smiled back, eyes warm with reassurance.  

"Then we'll both have something to laugh about when we look back at this moment." She placed a hand on his shoulder and slowly started moving. "Just follow my lead. I'm sure a smart fox like you can figure out a simple slow dance."

So, they danced, or rather, she slowly danced but had to pause at every step so that Redd's feet could step in time with her. He kept his head down, partly to keep watch of her feet and partly out of embarrassment. It wasn't often when he was forced in a position to admit an honest fault of his, but he'll take this case to be a delightful exception.  

"Are you familiar with Ella Fitzgerald?" Her question was let out in a single warm breath that pushed against the whiskers on the side of his muzzle. His nose involuntarily twitched at the newfound intimacy. He looked up only to see her gaze was elsewhere, supposedly lost in the swooping lows of the melody.  

"Ah, no, not really." He gently squeezed her hand as she picked up the pace. She squeezed back. "But I, uh, I don't mind. She sounds very talented."

"That she was, that she was," she drawled, her voice low. Nothing at all like how she sounded two days ago: sharp and resonant, and she had each syllable spoken with just the right amount of annunciation, perfect for scolding an employee for his unprofessionalism.  

It didn't take long before their bodies started moving together at the gentle pace of the song. His own tail couldn't help but absent-mindedly swing along to the smooth piano accompaniment. She even let him lead the dance for a few moments. Not bad you sly fox, Redd thought to himself, not bad at all. When she took over once more he looked to smile at her before saying, "This, this is kinda nice." But she only briefly returned that same half smile he'd seen all day.

Redd didn't need to be a detective to figure out what was bothering her. But, if their argument has taught him anything, it's that she wasn't really the talking type. In fact, if today has taught him anything, it was that she preferred to show how she felt, rather than say it. He squeezed her hand once more to assure her as she did for him, and her worried-filled eyes met with his attentive ones.  

She let out a sigh. "I'm sorry," she started, "about the things I said last time."

"I know." Out of the corner of his eye he could see her small frown. "The museum, fancy dinner, and now this? You'd have to admit it's all one hell of an apology."

"I still thought I should say it.”

“Apology accepted." He smiled. But it quickly dropped when she didn’t return it. He then opened his mouth. “I-

“I still have more to say, so if you could please just..." Her voice trailed off, not that she needed to finish it in the first place. The sight of her knit eyebrows alone was enough to shut his mouth up. He's never seen her so uncomfortable.  

She took another breath before continuing. "I was being a stupid, privileged ass, and you didn't deserve that. You're too good for-" She stopped herself, trying to find the right words. "You, you're just." She sighed and briefly glanced at him only to look away once again. “You’re extraordinary."

"I'm extraordinary?" The comment stopped him in his tracks, but he didn't even notice until she stumbled into him, the sweet, floral smell of her hair wash stronger than ever. Her arms grabbed onto his shoulders and he steadied her with his hands on her waist. He let out an embarrassed chuckle against her ear. "Sorry about that. Now remind me, who's the one making more figures here?"

"This isn't about that," she replied, their faces were so close she only needed to whisper. "I'm only able to do what I do because of my mom and she always knows best. But you-" Her piercing eyes met his own. "You didn't have any of that and you still made your way here because you wanted to be. You have this drive, this determination-and I see it in your eyes-you just go for it and take what you want, no matter what.”  

He leaned into her when she placed her forehead against his. “I've never seen that before so yeah, that's extraordinary."

He smirked. "Well, you are right about that."

She rolled her eyes. "You know I can easily take back all the nice things I said about you." The corners of her eyes crinkled as her mouth lifted to a beautiful smile. Redd's been waiting all night to see that one.  

"Alight, alright," he conceded, "bad timing I know, I'm sorry."  

She leaned in, pressing her whole body against him in a total embrace. Redd could tell that she'd said and done her piece, and was now melting into his touch. He could hear her quietly sing along to the music against his neck, another thing he'd never seen her do before. Their swaying has slowed tremendously since they started, but he decided that he actually liked it better this way.  

He cleared his throat and she pulled away to hear what he had to say. "I'm sorry 'bout gettin’ under your skin the other day. I should've known better than to pry like that." Seeing the earnest look in her eyes made him pause, and he found his jaw slacked trying to find his thoughts again.  

"I, uh, you're an amazing woman, you know that right?" She only responded with a small smile, a gentle request to continue. "You're a smart, beautiful, and busy woman who's got a lot on her plate. I'm sorry if I just ended up makin' your life harder and more stressful."

"Apology accepted," she said with a wide smile.

"And did I mention you've got a spine of steel? She shook her head and chuckled into his chest, now he was overdoing it. "I'm serious! Have you seen yourself at the office? There's nothing stopping you, whatever you want, you've got it. You're the whole package babe, life's just that easy for you."

Their slow dance has come to a crawling stop by now. As they held onto each other, the long, soaring melody from the trumpet flowed in between them, carrying away their troubles and leaving them together, hearts beating in time with each other. Redd didn't think he'd ever want to let go of her at all.  

"Nothing about this is easy right now," she mumbled into his neck.  

"I know." There was still so much he didn't tell her yet, and the longer he waited, the harder it became to even bring it up.  

His sensitive ears picked up the huffiness of a short laugh coming from her. "You certainly don't make it very easy. Here I am, twenty-one, thinking I already have everything together. I knew who I was, and I knew what my future held, but then -" She paused. What she said next came out slow, as if she was processing each word as it left her. "But then I met you, and for the first time, I just don't know anymore. I don't even-" Her hands balled up into fists against his back. "What if I-" He started rubbing slow circles against hers. "Maybe." Her shoulders relaxed. "Maybe I don’t want my future anymore because whenever I look at you-"

Their eyes met, and as they gazed deeply into each other, Redd couldn't help but feel an urge, a pull towards her. Did her eyes always look like a fox's? Bright with excitement and simmering with a deep burn of desire and certainty?

"-I see a whole different future, and I want it." Her eyes were already halfway closed at their close proximity, eagerly inviting him to close the gap. Right before he did, he heard her utter one four more words that made this wait all the more worth it. "I want you, Redd."

This kiss was the best one they had yet. It was slow and tender, and he indulged himself fully to the taste of her perfect lips. They were soft, and still had the lingering taste of the wine they shared moments before.  

When she reached up to hold his face against his own, his ears perked at the sound of a new vocalist, male this time, and although his gravelly voice sounded far away, the truth of the words he sang rang loud and true. Heaven, he was in heaven. He felt a slice of it with every gasp of breath they shared in between kisses, with every fleeting touch of her slender fingers on his body, with every soft moan of pleasure she let out underneath him. Heaven was tender kisses that were given like a promise. Heaven was when neither of them wanted to leave the gentle and firm embrace of the other, deep into the night.  

————-

Here’s the song that featured at the end

Let me know what you guys think, constructive criticism is especially welcome here :D

-(･ω･)v

[inscribed-in-asteroids]

AN: Here’s chapter three!

Title: The Ripple Effect

Characters: Hordak, Entrapta, Odessa, features others including OCs

Pairing: Entrapdak

Rating: M

Read on AO3.

                                                        Tower

Odessa has her gear prepped to go. Extravehicular Mobility Units were not used too often anymore, however, Entrapta and Hordak took extra precautions with the EMUs, and have even modified Tristan’s and Hydrangea’s spacesuits as well, to account for their height, weight, and metabolic rate. Darla had been upgraded continuously throughout the years, but has since been retired for this mission. Which didn’t bother Odessa in the slightest, as her parents believed she should have a ship of her own.

Celeste sits in the hangar, a cavern that had been excavated to accommodate for the growing number of people that now resided on Beast Island. The chatter of pookas echo through the vicinity. Her uncles had learned to live on the island, and that included taming some of the beasts that resided here. Pookas were not too dissimilar from the usual pet once their behavior was understood. She notes a few resting on Celeste’s roof, chittering at her as she walks beneath them. Odessa glides her fingers along the metallic surface, “Hey, it’s been a while since I used you.”

The ship whirs on, responsive to touch, but only from the genetic makeup of those that have been programmed into her system. Her parents, her siblings, Tristan and Hydrangea, and herself, are the ones that have been given permission to access her ship. However, it’s meant to be hers and no one else’s.

“This is so exciting!” Entrapta shouts. Hordak strides over, Entrapta shuffling beside him on her hair. Her father lugs heavy equipment bags with ease. Settling them on the ground, Entrapta beams at the two of them, “I wonder what our baby will find on the flagship!”

“It may be overrun with vegetation,” Hordak says. “None of us have bothered to go to it since the war.”

“There were collections of weapons and tech on the flagship as well that might be useful,” Entrapta says. She turns to Odessa, handing her a communicator. “I hacked into the mainframe of the ship and managed to give you a map of it, using old data from my past devices to navigate it. This one should be better, and I also updated its ability to detect heat signatures.”

Odessa looks at the screen, before smiling at her mother, “Thanks, Mom. This is going to be helpful. But, did none of you ever check the ship once Adora helped to defeat Prime?”

Hordak’s ears flick down for a moment, “It was no longer a concern, at the time. We only regrouped the rest of my brothers that had been left aboard. And when your mother and I had gotten closer to finishing up the repairs for Beast Island, turning the Fright Zone into New Chelicerata, and aiding everywhere else, we had not believed it necessary to investigate it further. There simply was no purpose to a flagship that was decimated of its original functions.”

Odessa nods, “It makes sense that it wouldn't work any longer. It’s hard to do that when a large amount of trees are protruding out of it.”

“With that, the atmosphere is not safe to breathe, of course,” Entrapta adds. “I have ensured that your oxygen tanks will last for nine hours—an improvement from the usual amount!—but you should be cautious, regardless of how confident you are that the tanks will not deplete their air supply too fast.”

Hordak opens the hatch, walking into the ship. He places all the equipment down, hooking the bags onto steel clasps. He points to weapons that he lines up along the wall, pressing a button for them to stick to magnetically, “Should you need any of them, they’re here.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Odessa replies. Walking up to him, she grins, resembling her mother, “I think we’ll be fine, but it’s good to be prepared, right?”

Hordak smiles at her, patting the top of her head, smoothing back her hair. Affectionately, Odessa pushes her head up into his palm, the way she used to as a child.

“I know we said we’d only be here for six weeks, but I do appreciate being allowed to pursue this,” she tells him.

“Your mother and I wouldn’t discourage you from curiosity,” Hordak replies.

Odessa beams up at him, shaking with excitement.

Her friends arrive ten minutes later, on time. They know how punctual Odessa and her family are, and after making her wait once, they learned to not do it again.

Entrapta, excited, bounds over to them, “Look! I upgraded your suits!”

“Ooh, cool!” Tristan says, holding up his. “I love the sheen going on.”

“I thought you might!”

Hydrangea grins at her, “Ooh, you changed up the texture for my fingers!”

“I even added these new features where you can get a snack and drink if you need it,” Entrapta tells them, explaining how to access it. Tristan and Hydrangea clap at her innovative features, thankful at her thoughtfulness.

Hordak, pleased at their display of gratitude, walks over to them, “In case of emergency, we have extra suits tucked away in the hatch, in addition to oxygen tanks stacked in storage. The distance is not far, but we made sure that you will all be comfortable on your journey to the flagship.”

“Thank you—both of you,” Hydrangea says. Entrapta hugs her tight, mimicking Scorpia surprisingly well.

Hordak pats Tristan’s shoulder, “The three of you be mindful. We will be on the communicator whenever one of you is in trouble, and we will send a portal your way.”

“Yes sir,” Tristan says. “We wouldn’t put Odessa in danger.”

Hordak smiles, touched, “I know you wouldn’t.”

                                                                 -

Odessa always feels at home in space.

The endless darkness, speckled with shining stars, leaves her breathless each time. Space is too amazing to leave unexplored. There’s so much left to find out there.

She turns to her friends, “It won’t be long now. The flagship went further away, but thankfully it remains reachable.”

Hydrangea flips back her hair, “Des, do you believe we’ll find anything? The flagship had been overrun with plants, and I’m quite sure it had grown.”

“I don’t doubt there’s an abundance of it,” Odessa replies. She grins at her, “But that’s where your powers come in.”

Tristan zips up Hydrangea’s spacesuit, lifting her hair, “We’ll need to make sure there aren’t any living organisms on it. That thing’s been floating around Etheria for two whole decades. It’s likely made itself home to another alien creature by now.”

Odessa holds out her pad, “Whatever is on there will show up on the monitor. But, frankly, we shouldn’t find much else except for whatever bodies were left behind.”

Hydrangea walks over to the window, looking out. She hasn’t been up here for a good few years. There are shimmering sights beyond where they are, and she wonders if they’ll find what Odessa is looking for. Her friend has a determination that knows no bounds, but she doesn’t want to risk that there’s a chance she might not succeed. Although, she should give Odessa more credit. If an experiment or hypothesis proves incorrect, she is the sort to accept that it isn’t possible and move on to the next project. Hydrangea glances at Odessa, red eyes fixated on the pad, brows knitted together as she maps out the best course to head in.

Smiling, Hydrangea touches her shoulder, “You’re excited.”

Odessa grins at her, “Of course! It’s been a long time coming since you, Tris and I were on an adventure together.”

Tristan leans against the wall, “Hopefully, this won’t turn into a mess like last time.”

“Last time we were younger—inexperienced and kind of dumb,” Odessa answers. “We are perfectly equipped this time around. We’re not going to be reckless when we land.”

Hydrangea giggles, “You have to admit, the mess made it a little more exciting. And even then, we didn’t get into too much trouble. We just got lost.”

Odessa looks at Tristan, “Besides, why are you worried? You winged it when we were on R-175. You were more than fine.”

“Just because I know how to improvise doesn’t mean I’d like to do it again. I’d like to take it easy,” he replies. Moving over to them, he smiles, “I’d rather not play babysitter to the two of you.”

“Ooh, what an adult!” Odessa says, squishing her cheeks together. She then folds her arms, smirking, “This is coming from the guy who sulked at not having the last bowl of ice cream.”

“Uh, I called dibs and you swiped it, right under my nose. Yeah, I was gonna be a little upset.”

“Doesn’t help your case, Tris. Honestly, you’re not much older than Des and I,” Hydrangea says.

“Yet I know that if something goes wrong, I’ll probably get more shit for it. ‘You’re almost 18! This is on you!’” Tristan mocks, wagging a finger. He crosses his arms, “Like the two of you can't make up your own minds.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” Odessa replies, pointing to the communicator. “You know my parents never discouraged us from exploring, and they do know we’re all capable of making our own decisions. I’m leading this expedition, so if anything does happen, it’s on me.”

Hydrangea leans over to check the monitor. She looks at Odessa, “Do you know where we’ll be landing on the Velvet Glove?”

Tristan snickers, “That name I swear…”

Shaking her head, Hydrangea feigns a sigh, "So sad. I wonder if he compensated for something.”

“Do you think that’s what he called his dick?”

“No, that’s the name of Horde Prime brand condoms,” Odessa says. “His dick was probably something like ‘The Illustrious Rod of Justice.’”

Giggling, Hydrangea adds, “He did go around ‘impregnating’ hundreds of galaxies. That guy had a loooot of repressed sexual feelings, I think.”

“Yeah, like, he did and didn’t?” Tristan says. “He was bizarre. He got boners over rules and oppressed people with his holier-than-thou morality.”

“Seriously. Did he have shitty parents that couldn’t go ‘hey son, maybe bullying people into following your rigid, black and white laws is pretty messed up’ or what?”

“Well, whatever he was,” Odessa says, looking out the window, “Prime’s remnants are still in the Velvet Glove. His, hopefully, very much intact and preserved genetic material.”

“Des, that sounded so wrong!” Hydrangea laughs.

Tristan makes jerking off motions and makes a ‘sploosh’ sound.

Odessa grins at them, turning back to the monitor, “But to answer your question, my father informed me of an open bay area that should still be functioning. We’ll dock there.”

Tristan bends down, voice low, “By the way, we’re all aware of the two red dots above us, right?”

Odessa whispers, “Yes, it’s been there for a while. But I didn’t want to alert anything to make sure we could sneak up on it.”

Hydrangea nods, “How should we proceed?”

“Gea, leave for the main corridor. Send an electric shock through the air duct to incapacitate, not kill the intruders or damage Celeste. Tris, you stay to the side and be alert in case that doesn’t knock it out—take my spear from me. I’ll stand here to look vulnerable. Countdown now to 120 seconds.”

Tristan removes her weapon without trouble. Hydrangea walks out of the cockpit, the doors whooshing open and closed. Glancing over his shoulder, Tristan meets Odessa’s eyes.

Suddenly, sparks of electricity crackle into the vent. Cries of shock reverberate through the duct, followed by loud banging as something hurries along within. Odessa narrows her eyes as Tristan rushes toward her, both stances offensive.

From the opening, two bodies fall down in front of them. Electricity fluffs up tufts of fur, as Adam and Molly look up at them.

Hydrangea bolts back inside, “Hey, what came fr— Oh!”

The three look down at two of the quadruplets.

Adam grins, lightning coursing over his whiskers, “What’s up, everyone! Fuck Prime, am I right?”

Molly groans, thunking her forehead onto the floor.

                                                              -

“I am so, so, so sorry!” Hydrangea says again, handing Molly and Adam packets of food. “I do hope the shock wasn’t too much.”

Adam waves a hand, “Nah, we’re fine, aren’t we?”

Molly sighs, wishing she was anywhere else.

Tristan kneels down in front of her, “Why didn’t you tell us you were here?”

At Molly's silence, Adam grins, scratching his cheek, “Weeeeell, you see, I thought it would be fun if we came to visit. I saw Odessa’s ship, thought, ‘Hey, that seems cool!’ so I got in—”

“—I tried to stop him.” Molly adds, giving a small glare to the floor. “But he was climbing in anyway—”

“And ta-daaaa, we’re here! In space,” Adam finishes. “It was really nothing more than the lust for adventure.”

“That was very dangerous,” Hydrangea scolds, placing a hand on her forehead. “We could’ve killed you by accident.”

“Now it will be on purpose,” Odessa hisses, stalking toward them. “You two fools could’ve endangered your lives, that of my crew, and neither of you have experience in space travel. You are liabilities that may impede our progress.”

“Odessa,” Tristan begins. “Your parents provided us with extra supplies. It’ll be okay.”

“I have to agree with Odessa,” Hydrangea says, staring at Adam and Molly. “What the two of you did was irresponsible.”

Molly remains mute, looking away.

Adam stands up, “Hold on, we'll be okay keeping up with the three of you.”

“That’s not the point,” Odessa snarls, hair slightly curling. “I don’t even know how you snuck inside Celeste, much less evaded detection for almost three days.”

“See? We’re very quiet! You didn’t even notice us until now. I think we’ve proven our capability to you,” Adam insists.

Arms in a placating position, Tristan remarks, “I think we need to take time to reflect on the next course of action. Adam, why don’t you and Molly go wait in one of the rooms?”

“Aww, that’s no fun,” Adam says, irritated.

“If it’s fun you want, I’m more than willing to tear it into you,” Odessa threatens.

“Yeesh! Okay, okay, I’m going,” Adam complains. But he exits the cockpit to enter a room down the hall.

Tristan stretches out a hand to Molly. She looks at it for a moment before taking it in hers. Guiding her to the door, Tristan nods at Molly, who gives him a small smile.

Once gone, Odessa says aloud, “Celeste, lock the two of them in their quarters.”

“Affirmative,” the ship answers.

Hydrangea sighs, claws rubbing her temples, “I have to admit, this isn’t the sort of conflict I was expecting immediately.”

Tristan returns Odessa’s staff to her, “Perhaps we should consider allowing them to tag along.”

Frowning, Odessa glares out the window. Arms folded, she shakes her head, “I would prefer not.”

“It may serve better to deal with them directly,” Tristan says. “I doubt you would want to allow Adam free rein of Celeste.”

“Ooh, yeah, that would not be good,” Hydrangea agrees.

Growling deep in her chest, Odessa throws her hands up in the air, “Fine! Fine, but if they step one toe out of line, I’m leaving them on the flagship. Don’t think I won’t!”

“Got it,” they say together, very aware she’s serious.

                                                            -

Reaching their destination, Celeste is docked. Odessa steps out onto the flagship, staring around at the expanse of white and grey. Once sleek walls have indeed been overgrown by flora—vines weaving through its corpse, leaves scraping its sides. There’s no oxygen in space, but they were correct to assume it’s only grown. The plants were called forth by She-Ra, and seem to contain a magical property that prevents them from wilting in zero gravity.

Odessa collects a sample in a small test tube. Plugging it closed, she says, “No one touch anything. The flagship isn’t moving, but there’s no certainty that Prime had not built back-up systems into it. Should one of you find something of merit, call me over.”

Adam pumps his fists, “Whoo-hoo! Let’s go exploring!”

Rolling her eyes, she turns around to face him, “Adam. Look at me. Are you looking? Look at me. Do. Not. Touch. Anything.”

“You just told everyone that,” Adam replies.

“Yes, but I have to make direct eye contact with you to ensure that you will, indeed, in the back of your brain, not touch anything.”

“Relaaaax,” Adam says, wrapping his arm around her, ignoring her scathing leer. “You’re talking to the King of Cool. I’m not going to mess anything up.”

“You better not,” Odessa threatens before stalking away. Not peering over her shoulder, she adds, “Tris, take Molly. Gea, take Adam.”

Pulling out her own pad—quickly modified by Odessa due to unwanted company—Hydrangea smiles at him, “Let’s go see what’s around, hm? I think heading east leads upwards to the elevators.”

“Sounds fun!” Adam says, breaking into a sprint. “I’ll race you!”

“Adam, that leads to the supply closets!” Hydrangea yells, running after him.

Tristan looks down at Molly, “Why don’t we go west, then?”

“Yeah, um, that sounds okay…” she whispers, feeling cramped in the EMU.

He smiles at her, unsure of what to talk about. Settling on silence, they walk in the opposite direction.

                                                            -

Hydrangea catches up with Adam, “Hey! You can’t go wandering off like that.”

Adam grins, “I know where I’m going. I have an excellent sense of direction.”

Shaking her head, Hydrangea walks alongside him, “Alright, but I think following the map will yield better results. This mission is very significant to Odessa, and we should make an effort to find what she needs.”

He glances at her, “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Pardon?”

Shrugging, Adam says, “She didn’t specify what she needed, so how can we put in any effort for things we’re unsure of?”

“Honestly, none of us are too sure of what we may find here. The flagship has been abandoned for so long, whatever may have been here might not even hold up anymore.”

“If I was her, I’d go scout for any leftover weapons.”

“Why’s that?”

“They wouldn’t be of any use floating around in the nether regions of space. Wouldn’t her family want them?”

“Her family would not,” Hydrangea states. There have been no wars, no battles, no unrest on Etheria since the Horde invasion came about. She knows that Odessa’s father and uncles have done their best to make reparations for past injustices towards her people, and what she is aware of is bringing back weaponry may instill fear and distrust again.

It had not been easy the first few years—the first decade—since Hordak and his brothers made a genuine attempt to make Etheria their home. Etherians, understandably, had very little faith and charity towards the Horde clones. Glimmer, Bow, and Adora vouched that things will change between the two factions of race. Adora assured the people that Prime’s defeat would bring a new dawn for them all, and Catra, having been Hordak’s very own second-in-command, stepped forward to aid him in making peace with the Etherians. For it did not matter that she was She-Ra’s lover. She, too, had caused destruction. Had tormented and ravaged Etheria, and even admitted that she was the mastermind behind the majority of attacks, much to Hordak’s chagrin. There were many villages who remembered her for that.

The idea of bringing Horde weapons onto Etheria would have consequences. The years go by, and she knows plenty of Etherians who welcomed them eventually. As of now, it’s nearly the majority. They have integrated into Etherian society remarkably well. Known in their respective communities, Talon and Hordak are two, in particular, that chose partners who were as equally recognized for their achievements in the realms of magic and science, respectfully. She knew Entrapta had not been accepted prior to the war, and had to prove herself after. Nyxia, from what she’d been told, had raised several eyebrows for taking a Horde clone as her husband, though no one commented on it. To her face, at least.

Hydrangea comprehends the value of peace. The lack of war was not the issue, for dissent can be riled without impending doom. Civil unrest depends on power structures. Everything continues to hinge on the belief that harm is not what the Horde desires.

She holds up the pad, showing Adam a different route, “We can go to another room. You can even pick.”

“Fucking awesome,” Adam says, pointing to another hallway.

                                                            -

Tristan continues along through the hallway, minding his business.

Molly does the same, but with an inclination toward anxiety, her thoughts bounce back and forth between not caring that he’s here, and wondering how anyone can stand her being here. Adam had to go and sneak into the cargo hold. Adam had to drag her along by grabbing her against her will and making her jump in. Adam had to insist on climbing into the vents instead of saying they were onboard, wound up electrocuted, and got Odessa mad at them.

Odessa isn’t a person she knows too well, but Molly would prefer not being viewed as a pest by the one leading them into unknown territory. She wouldn’t blame Odessa if she did abandon them on this empty hunk of junk.

“We’re coming up to a divide, which way should we go?” Tristan asks, breaking her from the reverie.

Molly crosses her arms, “I don’t know…”

“Do you want to go left?”

Glancing that direction, she frowns. Shaking her head, she says, “I’d rather go right. If that’s okay!”

Tristan smiles, “Right it is.”

Keeping up with his long strides, Molly sighs to herself.

“Not exactly what you planned on,” he states, attempting, once more, to make conversation.

“No, I definitely did not expect to be out in space for three days,” Molly complains, crossing her arms. “I don’t really care for it.”

“Space travel isn’t for everyone,” he says. “I’ve only gotten to go a handful of times.”

Looking up at him, she lightly clears her throat, “When?”

“When I was younger, I went on a trip with Gea, Des, and her parents. It was amazing! Normally, we talked with her via telecommunicator.”

“All the time?”

“Every day if possible.”

Molly gives a small nod, “That sounds nice…”

“It was,” Tristan replies. “Granted, like I said, it was a handful of times. Our parents weren’t too keen on Gea and I being gone for extended periods of time.”

“What was the longest you were gone?”

“Five months. Half a year was too much for them, I think,” Tristan laughs. Not that he would’ve minded being gone for that time, or longer. There was so much out there to investigate, it didn’t make sense to stay in one place. That, and he didn’t venture out of his room unless it was to spend time with his friends. He’s considered a homebody by his parents, but truthfully, he doesn’t spend much time at Salineas.

“Right,” Molly remarks to herself. “There was a festival a couple years back. You and your friends weren’t there.”

“Right, the Fresian Festival,” Tristan replies. He smiles at her. “I’m amazed you remembered.”

“Oh! People commented on it. I only just connected the dots,” she says, chuckling nervously.

“Even so,” Tristan says. Stopping in front of a large entrance, he reaches his hand out. Ensuring there’s no barrier, he walks through. A table sits, unobtrusive, in the center. He inspects it all around, kneeling to peer at its underside.

Molly rubs her arm, feeling more stifled. She tilts her head, “What is a table doing here?”

“Not sure,” Tristan replies. He looks at its edge, noting the faintest outline of a pad. He shrugs, “It must’ve been used for something.”

“I guess it’d be bad if we checked…”

“It may not work anymore,” he says. “It could be a control pad for navigation, or releasing dozens of soldiers at once.”

“Maybe it’s a hologram for entertainment,” Molly lightly jokes.

He grins at her, “Maybe!”

Returning the smile, she clicks her claws against each other, “Um, well, Odessa said not to touch anything. So we should probably leave it alone.”

“We’ll bring her back to look at it,” Tristan replies.

Exiting the odd room, they begin down the other corridor.

                                                             -

Dangling from wires that stretch deep into black, hundreds of bodies hang suspended where Odessa walks. Being the main goal for this expedition, she steps past several columns before pausing in front of a random case. Wiping off imaginary dust, observing the weathered face inside, she wonders if it’s even viable. The system has continued to function. She spent the first few hours merely inspecting an aspect of her life that she only heard about. The weapons were kept in storage, and she found the pool of liquid where her father had been stripped of all free will. Further along, she encountered an odd room with a single table, its buttons and pad faintly outlined. Pressing it, it opened a hole where copious amounts of surgical tools were kept, laid in neat rows. She took them for herself, and some were medical instruments she never saw before.

With that accomplished, she ventured out to find this room. Approaching another container, she looks within to see a similar individual with long, white locks, eyes closed. Prime. Or one of him. All of these must be him. The actual Prime was never retrieved from the chasm of the flagship. No one wanted to bury him, and she doesn’t blame them. She wouldn’t either.

But this�� this is another of his forms. An impressive specimen, she must admit. Even in this state, at his peak, he would’ve stood out among her father and uncles. Likely as a way of preserving their species’ capabilities of agility and strength, while keeping their physical bodies weaker than his own to overpower and dominate.

Touching the glass, she presses her face closer to the vitrine. Her father told her that he’s dead, but there had been a way of accessing his memories. Prime had done it before. She surmised that his previous bodies were kept on hand for knowledge. The body may be inanimate, but the brain, if preserved, could be examined. A corpse with a living mind. Its own special little coffin. Such a thing would frighten Etherians, who, despite their alliance with her people, still have a difficult time comprehending—or, rather, accepting—what science can do.

Odessa touches the black pad wrapping around the case. It turns on, and she balls her hand in a light fist, gently pricking her palm with her fingernails, uncertain of what to do. Rubbing her thumbs underneath her fingertips, she decides to press down on a few buttons. Nothing. She slides her digits over the longer, colored section, and it hums with energy. The vitrine lights up within, haloing the body. Its eyes remain closed but she sees his form better.

Odessa taps a few more combinations, and it glows even brighter—

Right before it opens and spills the contents out onto the ground.

“Shit,” she murmurs to herself, kneeling in front of the body. Glancing at its case, she knows there’s no way to put it back in. Tugging its face toward her, she inspects the body. It really is remarkable how preserved it is for all the decades it's been deceased.

Setting down her bag, she pulls out cotton swabs to collect skin samples, trims off claws, and pulls out teeth with a plier. Then she stares at the head for a good moment or two.

Pulling out the trephine, a gift from the table earlier, she drills a hole in the head to relieve pressure, as well as to remove excess liquid so that nothing sprays out at her. Once complete, having opted for a full removal, she puts away her tool for favor of a small, circular blade. Shearing off the hair, and some wires, from the scalp, Odessa marks where to cut with a pen. She digs into the skin and stops for a second when it makes contact with bone. Clicking it on, the blade begins to gingerly whir, and she follows the path.

Brain fluid and blood seep out onto the floor, mixing with the liquid from the vitrine. Carefully, she pulls away the bone flap, and inspects the brain for possible damage. Taking out a small scalpel, she slices at the thin layers of membrane that cling to the inside of the skull. The meninges cut, more cerebrospinal fluid spills out. Tugging it out inch by inch, she snips the connection at the brainstem and spinal cord; Odessa holds the brain in her free hand, its weight sinking into her palm. Holding up the organ, she inspects it: perfectly intact.

Laying it down on a towel, she wipes her hands off the edge of it. Odessa brings out a large jar from her bag, filling the container with any of the remaining liquid from the vitrine. She needs every bit of it though.

Holding down her helmet’s interphone, she says, “Tristan, do you copy?”

“I do, what’s up?”

“Can you come to my location and help me with something?”

“I’ll be right over,” he says.

It doesn’t take him long before he arrives, and the first thing she hears is Molly yell.

“What is that?! Is that a body?!” she demands, jumping back in disgust.

Odessa crosses her arms, “Yes, obviously.”

Tristan walks over, looking down at it. Then he turns to her, smirking, “I hope he was dead already.”

“He was,” Odessa smirks back. “I need you to move some liquid left in the vitrine into the jar behind me. I took some but it needs more.”

Molly wrinkles her nose, bothered by the nonchalance displayed by the two of them.

Tristan moves his hands in a flowing arc, pouring the water into the jar until it reaches the top. Odessa spins the cap back on, pleased with her work.

Groaning, Molly keeps her eyes on the door.

Tucking all her items with care into her bag, Odessa says, “What did you find?”

“We came across a room with a table in it, but we didn’t touch it,” Tristan replies.

"Was it before you came here?"

"Yes, why?"

Odessa gives her bag a slight shake, "These were from there!"

"Nice," he says. "Good thing we didn't open it, that'd be anticlimactic."

“Anything else?”

“We came across the kitchens, the holding cells, the area where it seems clones are born, all that fun stuff,” he says.

“Interesting,” Odessa answers. “It seems that the flagship was to keep the amount of soldiers he had, and different areas were few and far in between.”

“Seems to be,” Tristan says, walking with her and Molly to the exit. “I guess interior decorating wasn’t his thing.”

Odessa laughs, “No, I suppose not.”

Heading down the hall, they contact Hydrangea, who says she is nearby Celeste. Odessa is led by Tristan to the room with the single table, and she remarks, “I wish there were more instruments in here."

"Didn't you already have these things on hand with you?"

"Yes, but it doesn't hurt to have more!"

“I guess...” Molly murmurs.

Continuing down the corridor, Odessa asks, “Did you explore that area?”

Tristan shakes her head, “No, Molly and I checked everything else. Gea, maybe?”

“Hey, Gea, did you happen to investigate the northern corridor?” Odessa queries, clicking her interphone on.

“No, I didn’t,” her voice comes through the intercom.

“Tris, why don’t you two head back to Celeste? I’ll only take a minute. And for the love of all that’s good, keep Adam from the controls.”

“Will do, Captain,” he replies.

With that, she takes her leave. The hallway is covered with the faintest layer of dust, floating, never settling onto the surface. Odessa notes cracks in the walls, stepping over foliage that wraps through the metal. She finds a room filled with keepsakes, creatures and objects lining the walls. At the forefront, she notices shattered glass on the ground. Bending down, she raises it to her eye level, its surface poorly shining. The colors are strong, however, and it seems to have formed a particular shape at one point.

Compelled, Odessa gathers every broken fragment and places it inside her bag.

                                                              -

“What is it?” Hydrangea asks, combing through Tristan’s hair. They have bid their unwelcome guests, as Odessa puts it, goodnight, and are congregated in Hydrangea's sleeping quarters.

“I’m not sure,” Odessa says, holding up a small piece of glass. “It doesn’t seem to hold much value anymore, that’s for certain.”

Tristan tilts his head down, letting Hydrangea brush better, “A treasure from a conquered planet. Doesn’t seem to be anything else, aside from a sad reminder.”

Peering at it, Odessa checks every bit of its blue, dulled by time, but no less impressive in its sheen; its delicate thinness reveals a species that valued aesthetic beauty. Whoever this belonged to stood no chance against Prime.

Twirling the fragment in her hand, Odessa says, “But we found much more than we believed, which counts for something.”

“Which is exciting!” Hydrangea says, switching places with Tristan. “We don’t know what all this means yet, but I’m sure we will eventually.”

Odessa smiles, shaking her hands at the possibilities. Any object or clue that they find has potential. She isn’t sure where this will go, but she wants to learn as much as she can.

Like her mother always says: for science!

[bigfan-fanfic]

OC Details - DA OC Canon Posse + MGITs

From @3n-vee‘s “Extremely Detailed OC Ask Meme”

For Tash Adaar, Owain Bonneville, Henry Lucas, Cal and Ava Hawke, Morgan Walker, Aster Amell, Katie Cousland, and Reyn Caron

I started with Tash, then decided to only do the fun ones and add more characters. *shrugs*

The Basics

1. Age, Birthday, Star Sign (Tash only)

12-13 at the beginning of Inquisition, 15 at the end of Trespasser. Born 18 Guardian, 9:28 Dragon. Sign: Fervenial

3. Orientation and Relationship Status

Tash is a child, but when he is older, he will find he is gay. I kind of ship him with Kieran so that everyone is one big happy familly (Aster is cousins with the Hawkes, Cal adopted Tash, who eventually marries Kieran, son of Morrigan and Morgan.)

Owain is also a gay man who I have not yet settled on a canon relationship for. but whom I ship quite hard with @herald-divine-hell‘s OC Amayian Trevelyan

Henry is a panromantic asexual man whose relationship status I have not decided yet. Perhaps Cole.

Cal is a bisexual man married to Varric. 

Ava is a straight woman married to Sebastian but also in a polyamorous relationship with Fenris. 

Morgan is a biromantic and demisexual man in a committed relationship with Morrigan. Although I also ship him with @herald-divine-hell‘s OC Alexandra.

Aster is a homoromantic graysexual man married to Alistair. 

Katie is a bisexual woman and single. 

Reyn is a demiromantic bisexual man who I might decide to put in a relationship. 

6. Headcanon VA  (Tash only)

Unknown - although Tash does have a Marcher accent, slightly less thick than Blackwall’s. 

7. Occupation (Tash only)

Former Lord Inquisitor, Lord of Ylenn Basin, and Heir to the Viscount of Kirkwall - also Knight-Enchanter?

12. Own any pets?

Tash has a pet fennec fox named Harold. 

Ava and Cal have a mabari pet named Socks. 

Aster has a mabari hound that originally belonged to the late Elissa Cousland that he named Barksy, although to anyone besides Alistair or Aster, he must be referred to as Ser Barksy or Lord Barksy.

13. Have any kids?

Morgan, of course, has Kieran with Morrigan. He wouldn’t mind more if she was up for it. 

Cal has officially adopted Tash with Varric as of Trespasser. 

Ava and Sebastian are trying for an heir to the throne, although she may already be pregnant by Fenris. None of the others have children.

Owain, Aster, and Katie will want children eventually. It’s more complicated for Alistair and Aster since the Ferelden throne passes by blood. Aster wouldn’t mind taking care of Alistair’s child by a surrogate should circumstances prevent adoption.

Reyn doesn’t think children will happen for him, as a Warden, but should a child be born, he will love and care for them above all else.

Henry is undecided on children. As is Tash.

15. Can they sing? Can they dance?

Tash loves to dance and sing. He’s an average singer, but was trained well in court dancing, and enjoys making appearances at balls and events. 

Aster is more clumsy than a drunken druffalo, and is terrible at dancing, but he’s a surprisingly good singer, who would sing many duets with Leliana back during Origins. 

Cal and Ava only sing when drunk, although Ava learns to dance well. 

Owain both dances and sings like a trained bard. 

Reyn and Katie never sing, but both are passable dancers. 

Morgan likes singing to Morrigan and Kieran, and dancing with his wife (and occasionally with Zevran or Leliana), but isn’t comfortable with very many others. 

Henry can’t dance very well, and can only really sing in a crowd, but does both on his own anyway.

18. Have any special keepsakes?

Tash keeps a pair of specialized horn cushions Josephine had commissioned for him at Skyhold and finds them wonderful to sleep in. He also adores the handcrafted chess set he whittled with Blackwall. 

Owain will keep anything given to him or made for him by his lover, wearing it if possible or at least keeping it nearby. 

Henry has his phone, with all the memories it brings. It has long since lost its charge, but he keeps it close anyway as a reminder. 

Morgan has the ring given to him by Morrigan, as well as a smooth river stone that Kieran inscribed with the same rune Morgan has tattooed on his bicep. 

Aster still has the rose Alistair gave him, enchanted to never lose it’s beauty. It reminds him of his husband’s sweet nature. He also has a small figurine of a Circle mage that an older apprentice in Kinloch (Anders) made for him when he was very sad one day.

Katie has her charm bracelet from before she came to Thedas which acts like a talisman for her to know that she really did come from another world. 

Reyn has a scarf made for him by a stable boy he loved before leaving his family estate for the Academie des Chevaliers and a Dalish wedding ring given to him by an elven bride who he spared before going into exile and joining the Wardens.

Interests

19. Hobbies (Tash only)

Singing, dancing, writing, doing paperwork, chess, listening, dog care, designing fashion and furniture for the Inquisition, collecting Orlesian masks, and attending Orlesian theatre.

21. Fave food(s) and drink(s)

For some reason, Tash loves the notoriously awful-tasting Orlesian pastry known as the “Exquisite Misery.” It serves as an inadvertent power move in Orlesian circles, but his absolute favorite food is fresh-baked bread (reminds him of his home). Tash also enjoys hot cocoa ever since the Iron Bull shared some of his supply.

As a rule, Aster likes sharing Orlesian charcuterie with Alistair as a picnic in their chambers or the courtyard when they can get away from affairs of state. He’s also partial to fruit juices.

Morgan, Henry, and Katie all wish pizza was a thing in Thedas. There is a dish similar to it in Antiva, but nothing quite resembling it. Katie has gotten the closest to having actual pizza, being a noblewoman with cooks she can instruct. Morgan has inadvertently addicted Morrigan to coffee when he found out how to make it using magic. Henry likes water, but it’s hard to find a stable source of clean drinking water in Thedas. Katie adores tea.

The Wardens don’t often have fine food, and Reyn misses petit fours. He enjoys his personal Warden liquor mixture - Commander’s Concoction.

For Fun

37. Do they have any phobias?

Tash is a timid person in general, and is afraid of miscellaneous things from spiders to dolls with buttons for eyes. But no real debilitating phobias. 

Cal, Ava, Aster, and Henry all fear spiders.

Owain hates heights.

Nugs freak Katie out.

Morgan and Reyn feel fear, but have no phobias.

43. What pokemon would your character be (if they’re already a pokemon/gijinka tell us what they are, and how that’s affected them)?

Tash Owain Henry Cal Ava Aster Morgan Katie Reyn

44. What’s their pokemon team? Try to pick all 6.

Tash Owain Henry Cal Ava Aster Morgan Katie Reyn

45. Theme song (and a playlist if you’ve got it!)

Tash: “Shake it Off” by Taylor Swift or “It’s a Good Day” by Kay Starr

Owain: “Dog Days Are Over” by Florence + The Machine and for romance: “All You Need Is Love” by the Beatles

Henry: “No Rain” by Blind Melon or “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay” by Otis Redding

Cal: “Dream On” by Aerosmith and for romance: “I Can’t Help Myself” by the Four Tops

Ava: “Royals” by Lorde and for romance: “Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince” by Taylor Swift

Aster: “Can You Tell Me How To Get to Sesame Street?” (2000) and for romance: “Love on Top” by Beyonce

Morgan: “People Are Strange” by The Doors and for romance: “Beauty and the Beast” by Angela Lansbury

Katie: “I Love It” by Icona Pop feat. Charlie XCX

Reyn: ��The Wanderer” by Dion

46. If this character was in a musical, what would their motif be (what kind of instruments do you hear, what’s the tempo, ect).

Tash: Simple peppy flute that gradually becomes joined by other instruments to form a full-sounding orchestra with complex melodies. 

Owain: Slow, sad piano that is joined by violin and becomes strong and anthemic. 

Henry: Plucked cello strings. Inquisitive.

Cal: Brass section, room for improvisation. Bright and joyful.

Ava: Oboe and Bassoon, deep and reflective. 

Aster: Fiddles and flute, playing simple fast-paced dance music.

Morgan: Orchestration accompanied by electric guitar - shouldn’t work together but it does here.

Katie: Sharp woodwinds and guitar. Very formal, almost like wedding dance music.

Reyn: Acoustic guitar trio. Perhaps Spanish guitar. Contemplative and sexy.

The Deep Lore™

49. What are some themes tied to your character’s story?

Tash, Aster, Henry, Katie- Loss of Innocence

Owain, Ava - Self-Acceptance

Cal, Reyn - Mutual Pining/Unrequited Love 

Morgan - Found Family, Parenthood

[arthurmorganuniverse]

Hymne a l'amour | 1

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC

Summary: As a writer, Crystal was always on the lookout for inspiration. When she came across a journal packed with heartbreak and adventure, she thought she’d found it. Only the journal’s once filled pages are now blank, except for the one writing itself in front of her eyes. 

Word Count: 1160 (This first chapter here is kinda short, but I was excited to get started and I felt that was a good point to end the chapter. Cliff hanger! Sorta )

Notes: Welcome to my first fic for RDR2! I write for many other fandoms, but I am so deep into my Arthur feels lately that I decided it was time for me to try my hand at writing something for him. This will be sfw for a while, but I am definitely not afraid of smut so there is a good chance some will happen eventually. Forewarning for purists: I am going to be playing fast and loose with the actual journal entries. There will be bits here and there that are canon, but I plan on adding a few original entries as well, like things that I wish he’d written about. Also, you can expect a happy ending because I am not about that hardcore angst life. This is loosely based on the movie The Lake House. 

There was something to be said about the smell of an antique store. Sure, some might find it offputting, but not her. It was the smell of history, of lives lived to their fullest. Her sister regularly argued that it was just the mold and mildew getting to her brain. Whatever it was, the smell has become a sort of comfort for her. 

Crystal Anderson was currently browsing her favorite part of the massive store; the book corner. It was one of the largest spots in the store, with ten bookcases overflowing with every genre, as well as areas for things like photos and basically anything written or printed. She’s often spent hours in this one corner alone, browsing through journals and photos, writing stories in her mind for everyone she saw. 

A few years ago Crystal had been fortunate to find a series of love letters between a couple of world war two nurses, tracked down the family and obtained the rest of the story, leading to a book that was doing very well. She’d even heard there were people circling her agent about a movie. 

She was under no illusions that she’d be able to recreate that success, but here she was scrounging through the random piles yet again. She’d found a few interesting photos, some first edition books in good condition that she’d probably just add to her own collection, and a few journals the shop owner had given her to look over. 

The journals looked especially promising. It wasn’t often that you were able to find actual journals with just about every page filled, and most shops didn’t take them. This particular shop did just for her because she’s been a regular customer for many years and they knew she’d want them. 

There were two in particular that Crystal was excited about. One was owned by a girl growing up during the 1960′s and 70′s, and the little glimpses she had showed the girl was a wild one. 

The second was even more exciting. Based on the wear and tear this thing was old - really old. She hadn’t caught any dates yet, but based on the drawings she was guessing this was straight up wild west era. The thing was bursting with entries and surprisingly good drawings, even maps. Crystal had a feeling this was the find she’d been looking for. 

The man writing was so complex. One moment he was writing about a killing someone without blinking an eye, the next he was going on about how much he wanted to be a good man and doodling little animals. There was even a whole page dedicated to how much he loved his horse. She wasn’t sure if there was a real story in this yet, but she had that gut feeling that this was important. 

That feeling stayed with her as she made her way home, placing her new acquisitions carefully on her desk. She knew she had a long night ahead of her, so she tried her best to put the cowboy ( the man was obviously an outlaw, what with the talk of killings, but cowboy was ever so much fun to say) out of mind and made herself a quick dinner. 

Once she was sufficiently full and dressed in comfortable clothing it was time to work. Crystal grabbed a blank notebook to take notes on important facts she’d find; dates, names, places, etc. She sipped on a cup of tea while her laptop fired up, slowly getting herself into her writing headspace. Finally ready, she set her cup far away from the journals and slowly opened the man’s journal, the leather crackling with age. 

It was gone. 

Every single word. 

All gone. 

Crystal’s mind went blank in her confusion. There had to be a rational explanation, right? Maybe she picked up the wrong journal? The outside looked exactly the same as it had, but maybe there were two of them and she hadn’t known? Maybe invisible ink? Did they even have that kind of ink back then? 

She picked up the girl’s journal and cracked it open. It was still the same. Every word was there, the band tickets and flowers still stuck between the pages. 

She went back to the other one and it was still blank. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Crystal set the journal back on the desk, staring at the first page in conflicted wonder. She had no idea what happened. She was certain the writing was still there when she got home. She remembered flicking through on her way to the desk and giggling over a story he’d written about a fox stealing his hat and he’d been forced to chase it. Unless she was currently dreaming, there was no logical explanation for why this journal should be empty. 

She caught a flicker of movement and refocused on the desk. As she watched in horror, a list and a map began to appear on the first two pages, the scrawl the same familiar cursive from before. Once it was finished, she turned the page to see it happening again, a massive drawing of a city filling both sides. When that too was done, her trembling hands turned the page once more, watching as an entry was being written right in front of her. 

I bought this new journal, after that last one got destroyed in that fire all those months ago, whenever it was. 

Haven’t written or drawn much in the past few months, but I was missing it more than I thought I would, and finally near a store, so here I am, I guess.

After all that business up North and the fire, we spent a few months in the wilderness, traveling down from the Northern Grizzlies,

Crystal watched those words appear with both bone-deep terror and maybe a little excitement. Terror, she reasoned, would be anyone’s first reaction. There was apparently a magic book in front of her like she was god damned Harry Potter and she was fresh out of Basilisk teeth to stab it with. However, she was still a bit excited because it was so crazy. Or maybe she was the one crazy, she wasn’t sure yet. Whatever was going on, if she’d bought a haunted book or lost her mind, this was exciting. 

As long as nothing tried to possess her or kill her or something. 

Crystal picked up her pen and clenched her jaw as she placed her shaky hand onto the page. Here goes nothing. 

Please tell me this isn’t Tom Riddle...

At least three minutes passed with nothing, and she started to relax. Maybe she was dreaming and it was starting to mess up. Or maybe she was hallucinating. Regardless, nothing was happening so she figured at the very least her Voldemort theory was out. 

Until she once again spied movement on the page. 

Who the hell is Tom Riddle? 

There we go! My first RDR2 work. As I said, it’s kinda short because I was excited, but future chapters will be a bit longer. I’m still waiting on my invite from ao3 to go through and then I’ll post it on there as well. Please feel free to let me know what you think and my ask box is open if you wanted to hit that up. Since this is my first, feedback is CRUCIAL! Even if it’s just, “Hey, this is cool.”

[lunaschild2016]

Take Your Time - Part 2

Take Your Time - Part 2

Rating: M (Swearing, smut, suggested violence and abuse)

Family isn’t always defined by blood and the strongest of ties can come from the most unexpected places. But could you risk losing that family when the love changes? What do you do when you find your soulmate at the age of sixteen? What if that soulmate is only nine? Sometimes all you can do…is take your time. Eric/OC AU No War, No Divergents

@jojuarez26 @kenzieam @jaihardy @iammarylastar @badassbaker @dani5102

A/N: This entire thing was literally written in a fever delirium and on strong cold meds. Apparently my smut levels rise when I am delirious.

Achievement unlocked: Smut

Level Advanced to: A Little Less Of A Rank Novice from Rank Novice

Perk Gained: Only 75% Chance of head exploding when reading or writing smut.

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ERIC - Continued

Somewhere over the last few years someone had come up with the brilliant idea to reinstate some of the pre-war celebrations. Each faction took part. Sometimes it was inter-faction. Other times it was kept inside the faction.

Some brilliant leader had decided that Dauntless should take up the holiday of Halloween.

Costumes and all.

Eric had originally been against it. He was Senior Leader now but Max had passed the holiday as a parting gift to Eric just before he retired and there was no going back. Much to Max’s annoyingly grinning amusement.

For three years he has had to put up with this damn headache. Like Dauntless really needed another reason to act like a bunch of asses or a night of drunken debauchery. This time everyone got to dress up in costumes.

Oh joy!

The only good part of the holiday was that Candor and Amity decided to take it on as well. While they would all keep to their own faction for celebrations, thank fuck, Dauntless surprisingly became the producer and manufacturer of most the decorations or costumes in use. It became a surprising source of revenue for the faction.

The costumes for Amity and Candor were a bit less scandalous then what Dauntless, or the female portion, leaned towards. There was a variety of ‘sexy’ everything. The kids got into the action during the day but at night it was all the adults. No dependents allowed.

Eric was in no way about to dress up in a fucking costume. No one expected him to either. Wade had managed to talk him into going with him around the compound for the dependent portion. It was his last year before his choosing and he had been excited.

There were some games for the kids, rock wall climbing and other activities. It was finished off by the dining hall being flooded with dependents along with the normal crowd for dinner and treats.

He was in a foul mood but trying not to be. For the first year since this shit started Lacey had bailed on him in taking her brother around. She hadn’t said it but Eric suspected she had a date. The thought had him drinking more than he should and his blood boiling. Wade had shrugged it off and said he would enjoy some ‘guy’ time. He had tried to put Lacey not being there out of his mind but it just wouldn't leave him alone.

He had been so sure he and Four had taken care of the last punk that had tried to move in on her. That had been two weeks ago when they had sat with him at the table during lunch. Four had suggested they try dropping a hint or two instead of the straight beating Eric wanted to dish out.

The only reason Four agreed to do that much was because he heard Aaron talking about how he was going to take on ‘Goliath’. Aaron had a reputation for being a charmer. He wasn’t a player exactly. Instead he went after the hard to get women. The ones that might not give him the time of day, were already involved, or in Lacey’s case...a well known virgin. It was also known she was a bit of a social hermit, didn’t go out and party much but preferred to stay home or with family.

Four was always going on about how Eric needed to back off and let Lacey make her own decisions about who to date. That she was twenty and could make her own mind up. So he had. He had listened to the asshole and that resulted in Aaron worming his way in. It had killed him, sure, but he knew he needed to let her go.

It could never happen between them no matter how much he could admit he wants it.

Despite knowing this he couldn’t just let her be a conquest and neither could Four. So there they sat at lunch. Eric across from Aaron, his eyes cold and piercing. Four right beside the guy. After a few minutes of uncomfortable quiet while eating, Eric never letting up on his glare, Four starts things off.

“Isn’t it about time to add fresh blood to the fence rotation?” Four asks offhandedly, as if it just occurred to him.

Eric couldn’t the smirk that crossed his face. “Yep. Should be easy to fill in this year.”

Four smirked a little too. “Oh yeah? So we have a few victims...errr...I mean volunteers?”

Eric shrugged. “There are a few. There are always those guys that find themselves on the fence after deciding it would be a good idea to go somewhere with someone they shouldn’t. Guys that like to mess around with girls in ways that, should someone important to them find out, would think fence duty is getting off lightly.”

He had started out in a casual tone but continued in a quiet menacing tone. Aaron got the point. Eric could tell by the subtle swallow and tense shifting. He had to give it to the punk that he didn’t up and run away immediately. Aaron sat there for a few ticks before standing, and with a respectful nod walked away; leaving his still full tray on the table.

That had been that. He never heard about Aaron and Lacey again and hadn’t seen them together either. So where the fuck was she at tonight?

He roams around the Pit. Making his rounds between people he knows until he makes his way into his favorite club and to the bar. There is a special brew for the night fresh from Amity and it has been a hit. A boozy spiced apple cider that is like a beer. Eric orders a glass of it, admitting that it is damn good.

He also knows that it is going to hit some people hard when they drink more than they should. It is too easy to not realize the brew has more of a punch than you think because of the taste. He knows he is going to have to go easy as well, especially given the buzzing in his blood.

Then he realizes that isn't all the alcohol. Lacey is near. She had that effect on him, just being nearby and his body came alive. It was like his blood became thick and heavy; pulsing with liquid fire and metal. Metal because like a magnet she pulled him towards her every time.

His eyes searched for her, at first not seeing her; at least not registering what he was seeing.

She was standing just across the room from him by a high top bar table, a glass of something in her hand. If he didn't have the awareness he did of her and the instincts he did when it came to her, he wouldn't recognize her.

She was in costume, one of the almost obscenely skimpy ones. It was a crop top corset with a cap sleeved crop peasant shirt underneath and way too fucking short skirt combo. She had paired it with black thigh highs that had intricate lace bands at the top and same colored ankle high heeled boots.

She was goddamn mouthwatering. Her already long legs were showcased by the bare skin and sheer black hose.

It was all in the theme of little red riding hood, complete with a small deep red cape with a hood. All of it was this red color that just highlighted her perfect skin tone. She also furthered the costume by wearing a wig to cover her deep brown waterfall curl hair. Replacing it with some red color that he could admit complemented her creamy skin. He still preferred her own hair.

There was a mask covering her face, made of black lace in intricate swirl designs.

Lacey was apparently dead set against being recognized at all. Even going so far as being nowhere near or with her normal crowd of friends. In fact she was currently being chatted up by some punk Eric couldn't recognize in his own costume.

His fists clenched and he cracked his neck at the obvious flirting going on.

What the fuck is she doing? This isn't Lacey.

His eyes narrow as the punk gestures to her cup and says something. He must be asking if she wants a refill. She pauses for a moment, biting her lower lip in thought before she hands him the cup with a nod. Eric zeroes in on the punk as he walks to the bar with a smile. Watches him get two refills and then, because he is so laser focused on everything the guy is doing, barely catches the fast motion of him dropping something in one of the cups as he turns back to go to Lacey.

He sees red and acts quickly. A tap on the bar along with a pointed glare signals the bartender who recognizes it for what it means. Then Eric is flanked by the bartender as he makes his way over to Lacey before he waits a little ways away.

By the time Eric makes it over there she is barely lifting the cup to her mouth. He reaches out and snatches it from her hands with a snarled ‘Beat it’ to the guy.

He didn't expect any back talk and he didn't get any. The guy even gave a slight squeak as he backed up and into the waiting hands of the bar staff. After handing the glass off and taking a breath, Eric whips back towards Lacey.

“Do you always accept drinks from random men?” He growled out angrily.

Her eyes widen and he notices now that he is up close she also added colored contacts. They are a solid bright green.

Why is she going to such lengths to cloak herself?

“I...I don't normally do any of this.” Her tone changed from the first gasped word. She changed the inflection to be deeper, husky...seductive.

It had his jaw clenching and his nostrils flaring. Being this close to her in that state is wreaking havoc on his body and control.

“Little tip for you then, Red; never accept open container drinks and never leave your drink unattended. Not from some random person.” He moved closer as he spoke and smirked a little when Lacey unconsciously moved back. She had already been practically against the wall and now her back brushed up against it.

Her pull was too strong and he was too worked up to resist when his body crowded her in. An arm going to the side of her head, their bodies brushing against each other.

Lacey took a shallow breath after swallowing. “Mary.” She said hesitantly, as if she didn't know if she should continue with her charade. “My name’s Mary.” She gave a small crooked smile and her tone was one he recognized as when she was being self-deprecating.

His eyebrows went up into his hairline. Surprised at the choice of alias but also that she thought there was any way he could ever not recognize her. He let his eyes move over her, not bothering to hide the appreciative way he took her in for once.

She was tall even without the heeled boots, but they put her at almost exactly the same height as him. Her lips were touched with the most wicked and tempting shade of red, making the natural pout and thickness even more pronounced. The swell of her breasts and the milky skin there were purposely pushed up by the corset top and left him salivating. She had gotten curves over the last few years to balance out the height she always had. Taunting and dick hardening curves she normally tried to mask. Not in this getup though. The bare midriff had the biggest identifier still visible.

In all her efforts Lacey had forgotten the distinctive birthmark on her right side of her abs. A rust brown colored scorpion with the tail and stinger curving to the left. It was a clear enough shape that there was no mistaking it for anything other than a wicked looking scorpion. Maybe she thought it would look just like a tattoo? Not many people had seen the thing or knew about it. He only glimpsed it a few times and knew about it from Henley. It was apparently another one of those genetic things passed on from her dad's side of the family. Seeing it now had him licking his lips with longing to kiss and lick his way over her entire body.

“Mary?” He finally said in amusement when he looked back into her eyes. She gave a small shrug and smile. “What are you doing here?” His eyes narrowed as he searched for the answers there, but she had walled that off when she put in the contacts.

Lacey licked her lips as her breathing picked up. Her chest heaved a little as she slowly reached out and put a long delicate looking hand on his arm. Right at the bulge of his bicep and where the skin was bare there.

The simple touch had the blood pounding in his ears and his nostrils to flare.

“It seemed like a good night to lose myself. Maybe become someone else. Someone that takes what she wants.” Her answer was a breathy whisper.

It sent shivers through him but at the same time anger coursing through him. Was losing her innocence to some random shit head what she wanted?

“And what exactly is it that you want, Red?” He growled out as he used his other hand to grip her waist and jerk her against him.

She gasped and gripped him tighter. “Well, I'm Red Riding hood, right? I wanted to find my wolf.” She replied after a few seconds pause, her voice dropped to that husky seductive one again.

“Just any wolf would do, huh?” His jaw was clenched as he asked it, anger still coursing through him.

For a moment, even through the contacts that concealed her normally expressive eyes, he saw sadness flash. “No, I was hoping to catch my big bad wolf.” She replied in a tremulous whisper but her eyes held his meaningfully.

Eric's breath caught in his chest as he realized what her words meant. She did this, all of this, hoping to find him. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. All those looks over the years he dismissed as a crush she would grow out of, his imagination or him reading into it too much because of what he desperately wanted; they were all real.

But he needed to be sure.

“Did you find him?” He purred out as he ghosted his lips near her ear.

She shivered in his embrace and dug her nails into his arms. “I have. Unless he is all bark and no bite.” She taunted playfully.

Eric pulled back with a smirk on his lips and desire in his eyes. There was still the small part holding him back. Part of him chose his next words to make things clear but also scare her off. If she backed down now, they could possibly pretend this night never happened and carry on as normal.

“Let's cut the shit, Red. I want you but I'm not some little boy that will be nice, sweet and gentle. Do you know what that means? The things I am going to do to you?”

Even as he got the words out he knew that even though they were true, he wanted to take them back. He didn't want to scare her off, he wanted this. One night they both wanted and needed. They could never have more but they could always have this.

“Tell me. What are you going to do to me?” She replied with no fear and no hesitation. Only a slight tremble in her voice with desire.

Eric paused to gather himself and moved the arm that rested on the wall by her head to cup the back of her neck possessively.

He leaned in so their bodies were pressed tightly together, letting her feel the clear evidence of his arousal. “I'm going to fuck you, baby. No, I’m not just going to fuck you actually. I am going to make you come undone so many times you will remember nothing but my name as you scream it over and over. I am going to ruin you for anyone else so that you will lay awake at night remembering and craving me.” He rasped, his forehead pressed against hers.

He felt the gasped breath and the trembling in her body. He pulled back to see if he had scared her off with the rawness of his words. He saw only desire in her eyes. She shifted and tried to clench her thighs together.

It filled him with relief and resolve.

With a smirk he lifted his chin towards her to indicate it was her turn to answer. “Do you want that?”

She gave a small nod. He shook his head, needing her to say the words.

“Say it. Tell me what you want, baby.” He commanded her.

She took a big breath and lifted her chin. “I want you, Eric. I want you to take me. To...to fuck me until I can't see straight, think straight. Until there is only you….nothing else.”

He groaned and buried his head in the exposed crook of her neck, tasting the flesh there. She tasted of the scent she always left in her wake when she was near. Citrus and honeysuckle. He pulled himself away after eliciting whimpered moans from her.

He stepped back and took a breath. “Last chance to run home to grandma, Red. Are you sure?”

He knew that would have her back going straight and it did. She stepped forward her eyes narrowed and chin squared in determination. “I'm sure, Wolf.” Then her eyes softened a little. “No regrets.” She said as a whispered promise.

Eric nodded and took her hand. “No regrets” His reply was a internal hopeful prayer that he could keep.

He pulled her close to his side then without another word they made their way out of the bar together to his apartment.

[wivibook]

10 Question Writing Tag

Thanks to @toboldlywrite for the tag! It took me a day or two, but I’m on the case!

The Rules: Answer your ten questions, then write ten more for your ten tags!

1. Is there a story idea/OC you thought up when you were younger that you keep thinking about and have a secret fantasy to go back to some day?

For me this was the entirety of Wild Imaginations and Vague Ideas. I had the concept and characters in mind sometime in late high school, but it’s taken me years to actually act on writing it.

2. What is your favorite and least favorite POV to write in?

Favorite: 3rd person, omnicient/objective (I like showing off the occasional character thought, but other times I try to let the action speak for that), past tense

Least Favorite: 1st person, present tense (Unless said character is selectively relating an event to me in this way and it is framed properly, I don’t think said character has the freaking time to narrate something to me as it is happening to them).

3. If you had to pick one of your OCs to get stuck on a deserted island with, who would you pick and why?

Sharon, because I’d like to survive the experience.

4. What is the first story you remember writing down, no matter how silly it seems now?

An early EARLY version of the fist chapter of WIVI back in high school. Lost the file, but, surprisingly, some ideas made their back to the current draft.

5. Would you consider writing in a different tense than the one you usually write in?

I’ve writing in both first (past tense) and third person varieties. I’m actually quite interested in doing something in second person, despite the fact that that style is hard to pull off. I’d probably take a lot of cues from visual novels since I’m a fan of that medium and experiment with the style before producing something concrete.

6. Is there a scene in your current wip that you are particularly proud of?

There are a few, so I’ll pick one of Hayley’s favorites with add a dialog tag as it comes from the middle of a big section--

Alan was getting long winded and into a full on ramble but didn’t care.  HE continued, determined to finish his story in one breath, “On day one of being in the woods, I lost our map, our food, and our compass [HM1] by leaving my bag with them in it on the edge of a bank of a deep and fast creek while I went to piss. This left me with just what I had on me, which was nothing but a pack of matches. By day two, we were hungry and disoriented, obviously because of my stupidity on day one. On this day, our third day, I learned I can’t climb trees, Sharon learned she doesn’t know which way north is, Sam learned he spent too much time researching The History of Mor’s Gladiators to have learnt how to identify berries, and I start talking about feeding the berries to a rabbit we might catch to see if they’re safe to eat instead of just eating the rabbit, which probably would have occurred to Sharon to hunt with her bow if I had thought to put her on food duty, and you know why I did all that last part?”

“I would assume because you were hungry and disoriented,” Oliver guessed lethargically.

"Because I’m starting to think I’m just low-key stupid!”

A muffled noise came from Oliver that sounded like he might have choked on it.

“Did you just laugh a little?”

“It appears so and has surprised me too.”

Alan smiled, “Well, I’m glad you had faith in the hungry and disoriented theory. That gives me a bit more confidence. I was sure you’d say stupid. You know, you’re actually really nice.”

“I’m trying to get you to leave.”

“I have a suggestion.”

“Oh-no.”

7. Is there a scene in your current wip that you are really excited to write?

Erm, not really because my WIP in the editing stages (which trust me is a big part of “in progress”).

8. Do you have any “writing rituals” (like needing to make a certain type of tea, putting certain music on, etc.)?

Every time I sit down to write anything, without fail, I have to pee. This has been a share from the Captain of Oversharing.

9. Would you ever write or read fiction in second person or is that an absolute no-no for you?

I love second person when it’s done well!

10. Do any of your OCs have theme songs?

Alan: “Dancing Through Life” from Wicked

Sharon: “Shut Up and Dance” by WALK THE MOON

Sam: “Birdland” specifically the Maynard Ferguson version (I have no logic to this other than it feels like it’d be a happy-place song for him)

And now for ten questions from me, and I’m going to shameless steal some from @toboldlywrite because they were great...

1. Do you have any “writing rituals” (like needing to make a certain type of tea, putting certain music on, having to pee, etc.)? 

2. What’s your favorite OC if you can pick?

3. What does your writing space normally look like?

4. Do you multitask writer, or do you have to shut things out to focus?

5. What is your favorite and least favorite POV to write in? 

6. At what point do you feel comfortable with having people start to read your work?

7. Do any of your OCs have theme songs? 

8. Do you have a “writer’s Easter egg” you like to put into your works?”

9. What’s a writing habit you can’t stand (whether it’s one of your own or something you see others do)?

10. Beginnings, Middles, or Ends? What is you favorite part to write?

Annnnd ten tags (oh boy): @hayleybot @vitalpen @s-the-dragon @storysparksblog @munificence-maleficence @flannelandsarcasm @janeapricity @thelonelyauthor @kingbetamaxx @emweaver

Some of you might be tired of tags and some of you new tags I’m trying to give some love, so just ignore me if you’d like!

[pokexhibit]

New emperor’s...former emperor

! - OC x canon | Renzu(@ronkeydrawsdb‘s)/Freeza | SFW

i wrote this for her a while ago now but since her oc’s are fINALLY GETTING MORE ATTENTION THANKS YOU HER GORGEOUS ART..i decided to post this thing too. full fic under the cut!

SHRUGS/

after completing several quests and a bit of extra training, the freiza race warrior- no, emperor, returned to his ship. he was tired, but not exhausted. it is important to practice the known moves in order to master them fully. repeating that thought to bold the word 'master', made him slightly flustered.

walking through the hallway, even with quiet steps, he got plenty of attention and show of respect or fear from his new...soldiers.

damn, gaining that status was not something he expected from Freeza at all. despite the two getting very, veeeery close, Freeza did not seem to understand quite fully his tease joke about rebelling against him. though, Renzu did realize how much importance and value his lover had for loyalty, and could not pass such actions as a joke in any way. and fighting him really was a goddamn challenge, did Freeza truly felt betrayed? Renzu sure hoped not. after all, the two were sharing a lot of intimacy till that happened, as well. but hearing Freeza telling him that he is the one to take over his title, could not at any way, pull out from the horned warrior anything else but an extremely confused and mostly shocked expression. might suppose that this reaction was to break Freeza's any possible heavy feeling about betrayal, as he added and stated how he will grow stronger and get his throne back. yes, and his voice and tone were assuring that the golden, short, yet with no doubt, powerful fellow race member was not kidding about making Renzu an emperor. oh, and he sure did made him feel like one. with these thoughts, he did not notice how he walked right into Cooler. quite literally smashing his face against that huge brat's armor.

"excuse me" Renzu tried very much to keep his voice calm and serious. but maybe he overdid it trying too hard to hide any clues of his..inappropriate thoughts.

Cooler let out something similar to a groan, but more of a sound to compare to an old fridge door opening that sounds like a wild monster that will eat you instead of you trying to fetch for a snack. yes, that's about right. and yes, describing as so in his head sure did reminded Renzu he can use his new status just a little to mess with Freeza's brother.  Cooler, however, rolled words out of his groan

"just because Freeza gave up on his throne-" he quietly ranted a sentence in between his words; "-that i deserved to have anyways-" and continued "doesn't mean that you’re going to stay up there, you're not the strongest. there will be ones to fight over your place"  

it was obvious to Renzu that Cooler just tried to bother and tease the emperor from jealously of his high position. yet, his words did made him think about it more. it has been quite a while since the former ruler passed him his role, and since then haven't even once tried to attempt to claim it back. even though, Renzu had no doubt that his boyfriend trained hard and got stronger. especially after beginning to appreciate the kindness from the ones on the ship without feeling strange about discovering the truth of respect existing beyond fear. a lesson the horned warrior was proud to teach. he even started changing his attitude toward his minions, even reducing the times he yelled at Dodoria to shut his mouth! that was one hell of a progress, that with no doubt, was gained with effort. but now thinking about it again, he did wonder what was the reason Freeza seemed to avoid fighting him..?

"ye-" after an awkward pause, the attempt to respond to Cooler's words was cut off by the sound of clicking footsteps. he stepped back a few more from the former emperor's tall-ass brother. who also backed up for a moment, then moved back to his original stand with a 'hmph'. again with the fridge noises. Freeza strutted in the hallway and came into sight of both clan members that were standing still, as if they were waiting for him. and well, they did, didn't they..?

"o-ya. what are you looking at, you two?" Freeza stopped nearby, a frown weakened by slightly covered eyelids and a raised a muscle above his eye. a grumpy, skeptical glare was drown on the two's priceless faces.

Renzu glanced at the one standing next to him, and with a spark in his might, back at Freeza. "hes trying to challenge me to a fight over the emperor title" the tips of his lips still stretched upwards when he spoke, even though he did try not to laugh or smirk. but the two did not seem to notice and the following yell of the two voices synched was more than enough to confirm that

*"WHAT?!"*

perfect

Cooler glared at the short, horned sneaky fella, twitching the corners of his mouth. the emperor that was still, trying very hard not to let out a laugh and burst his plan, that went more amusing than he thought it would.

"BROTHER, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" the younger sibling shouted, with quite a frustration to add to the shock and confusion in his voice. his shoulders tighten closer to his head, and eyes squint to a wishing-to-be violent stare, that just looked funny at this whole scene.

"I DID NOT MEAN IT LIKE THAT! THIS MORON CANT EVEN UNDERSTAND OUR LANGUAGE ANYMORE" Cooler realized he was stuck in a sticky situation, but was way too far into protecting his pride as one with mighty strength, and did not want it to seem as he tries to excuse away from a fight offer, so he quickly scrapped the impulsive, shocked, loud response: "T-the new emperor seems to think there is truly no one stronger than him now, and it a need to prove him wrong, brother!" his eyes suddenly looked much more serious to bold the intentions of his own interest that he tried to sneak into the conversation.

Renzu's perspective on this poor acting saw it more as a ridiculous amusement. but yes, he was pleased with how well and fast this developed into what he wished for. but not for long as a new surprise struck his expectations -

opening his mouth to speak out, then shutting it with his teeth. Freeza led this quick transition just to introduce his next sentences

"Brother, you never had any respect for the ones above you in order. you don't want to become a thorn in his side just like the saiyans were, you’re an irreplaceable moron. the new emperor has proved his power taking both of us down and there is no need for him to repeat kicking you for your foolish behavior" his tone sounded so much different than before. it was quieter, yet somehow through the soft tint of it, still managed to sound attacking. a face that desperately tried to wear a frown over something he wanted to keep away. again.

and well, you can't keep too many secrets from your ruler, can you? especially this individual. it was weird to see someone with such a conceited personality to keep an attitude like this one. of course, he did change his path of heart brick by brick. but nothing would make him act like this in front of his rivalry sibling. something was off.

Cooler looked like the confusion and shock broke his ability to react, and all three just stood there still in awkward silence for a number of seconds. one of the soldiers passed by them, and noticing three most powerful figures on the ship in one place, a drop of sweat rolled down her face. Renzu glanced over at the fighter, and with eye contact made, he showed an awkward smile that did not make it much easier for his dear army member. she stopped her walk harshly, bowed down, her eyes widen as if she realized she has done something wrong, she straighten her posture and saluted instead. "g-good to see you! emperors, admiral!" waiting for just one more second and continued her way increasing the pace of her walk.

"emperors" Freeza and Renzu repeated with a whisper, at the same time. "..admiral" Cooler blinked and then smirked. "loyal army you have in charge there, emperor" he raised his head in half-nodding gesture and turned his back to leave. for once, even with such laughable behavior, Cooler actually acted mature from the moment this interaction between them just began.

and there, the two were left to stand alone with the words of that female warrior echoing in their heads. despite it being very distracting, Renzu shook that out his head to speak finally speak his mind about this behavior from his boyfriend.

"why do you keep avoiding a fight against me?" his words spoken with clear stubbornness to receive an answer, yet in a gentle voice. the former ruler caught off guard by this question. and maybe it is in his character no not give a single fuck about anyone else but his own, but as mentioned before, he sure did started to convert into a nice nature (Dodoria would approve of it).  but mostly it has developed in getting to know closer this certain fellow race member.

"i doubt you would lose to me with your new refreshed powers. why aren't you even trying to grasp back over your respected title?"

"Renzu, shut up." he was flicking his tail rapidly behind his back.

there was another pause, that Renzu could now allow, but before he got to part his lips, they were already sealed  by the pressure of another pair. again, unexpected. again, accepting over the fact that this one is sure full of surprises. again, returning the kiss.

and after the two broke the short make-out session, Freeza finally said something close enough to an answer: "you are progressing surprisingly well as an emperor. it would be a shame to kick you out even if my power level rose above your pointy head"

words that drew a tender smile on the emperors face. "good enough"

[mvalleefootball-blog]

Super Bowl Preview Extravaganza

By Michael Vallee

BostonFootballBlog@yahoo.com

Super Bowl LI:  New England Patriots vs Atlanta Falcons

OK, so it’s not the sexiest opponent the NFC could muster for the final game of the 2016 season.  The Falcons franchise conjures up memories of the Patriots opposition in Super Bowl XXXVIII, the Carolina Panthers, another AFC South franchise with minimal history and zero titles.  While the Falcons have been around significantly longer than the Panthers they haven’t exactly accomplished much in that time, appearing in just one Super Bowl, an embarrassing blowout at the hands of the Denver Broncos in Super Bowl XXXIII.  

Despite the lack of buzz, this matchup has the potential for some serious on-field fireworks with both teams led by quarterbacks most likely to finish first and second in the MVP voting.  Vegas agrees, setting the under/over at a Super Bowl record 58.5.  And though New England holds a significant edge in the unofficial category of franchise cache, both teams enter the Super Bowl white hot, each coming off back-to-back playoff blowouts.  On paper this could be a good one.  Both teams are almost mirror images of each other:  Solid running games, dominant passing attacks, talented but unheralded defenses and defensive oriented head coaches with rising star coordinators running the show on offense.

The similarities end there.  The Patriots hail from New England, a hot bed of professional sports where people follow the four local pro teams like a religion.  The Falcons are from Atlanta, where the relevance of pro sports ranks somewhere between NASCAR and the latest episode of American Ninja Warrior.  Culture in Boston might consist of a night at the Pops, followed by cocktails in the Back Bay.  Culture in Atlanta is a 2-for-1 wings special at Hooters topped off with drinks in the champagne room at The Cheetah.  Boston’s roots are embedded deep in American history.  Atlanta is one of these southern cities that looks like it could have been built 20 years ago.  Boston has snow and sarcasm.  Atlanta has smoldering humidity and southern charm.

The real difference, however, lies in the historical context of Super Bowl LI.  New England will be playing in a record ninth Super Bowl, Atlanta, as stated above, in just its second.  Patriots head coach Bill Belichick is on the precipice of coaching immortality as he tries to win an unprecedented 5th Super Bowl championship.  Dan Quinn is just trying to get his foot in history’s door.  Brady is also at destiny’s doorstep as he tries to become the first quarterback ever to win five Super Bowl rings.  Falcons QB Matt Ryan is simply trying to join that exclusive list of quarterbacks that have led their team to football’s summit.  One QB trying to further cement his legacy, another trying to launch his legacy.  These differences lie at the heart of this matchup.  It is the impossible to ignore subplot that will define much of the post game dialogue.  Will the big bad bullies from New England add to their burgeoning trophy case or will the upstarts from Atlanta establish themselves as the new team on the block.  One franchise chasing history, the other chasing relevancy.  

As Bart Scott once shouted, “Can’t wait!”

-”Hey Google, who will win the Super Bowl?”:  Ask the average Patriots fan about this game and they see it playing out in one of two ways:

Scenario One:  New England in a blow out.  The seasoned Patriots are just too much for the inexperienced Falcons who will be overwhelmed by both New England’s talent and football’s brightest spotlight.

Scenario Two:  Ryan and the Falcon’s offense continue to thrive and light up the Patriots largely untested defense but Atlanta has no answers for Brady and New England wins in a shootout.

Both are valid scenarios but it would be a mistake to dismiss the Falcons altogether, so let’s not fall into that trap and instead make an argument for the other side.

The Case for Atlanta:  In this scenario, the secondary targets could be key.  Learning from the hard lessons of his last Super Bowl against New England, Dan Quinn clamps down on Brady favorite Julian Edelman, and forces New England to turn to its less explosive and less reliable second and third options.  The Patriots, with Gronkowski hurt and Edelman neutralized, lack explosiveness and are forced to settle for long, time-consuming drives and red zone field goals.  They still get their points but the Falcons defense is able to keep the number under 30.  On defense, look for New England to limit any impact Julio Jones will have on this game.  Belichick has a long established history of taking away what a team does best, and Jones should be no exception.  But the Patriots linebackers and cornerbacks not named Malcolm Butler, are suspect at best, and this is where Atlanta attacks.  With New England’s D focused on Jones, Ryan has the potential to shred the Patriots with a steady diet of secondary options, Mohamed Sanu, Taylor Gabriel and Devonta Freeman.  The Falcons put up a big number and win the game because Ryan outscores Brady.

-Fool’s Gold:  You’re going to hear a lot about the advantage the #1 defense has over the #1 offense in a Super Bowl.  In the previous seven such matchups the teams with the #1 defense are 6-1…..but don’t be fooled.  For all the progress they’ve made, New England’s #1 defense is not in the same league as the ‘14 Seahawks, the ‘90 Giants or any of the other #1 defenses on that list.  In reality this year’s Patriots D is a lot more like the #1 rated ‘89 Broncos, a talented but overrated defense whose ranking was aided by their schedule.  That Broncos team famously lost Super Bowl XXIV 55-10 to the 49ers in the most lopsided game in Super Bowl history. ��Matt Ryan is no Joe Montana and certainly nobody expects that kind of score on Sunday but that Super Bowl should be a cautionary tale for those expecting New England’s #1 D to roll to victory.

-I Bet Scott Hanson Knows This:  Stopping opponents in the red zone could be key on Sunday and the Patriots hold a significant statistical edge in this area.  The Patriots are 7th in red zone defense, allowing opponents in the end zone 50% of the time.  The Falcons are dead last in the NFL, allowing a touchdown 72% of the time.

-Total Package:  A lot is being made of Matt Ryan and the Falcons passing attack but there are two other aspects of their offense that are impressive: running the ball and turnovers.  They are 5th in the NFL in rushing and have only turned the ball over 11 times in 18 games.

-Exception to the Rule:  This has been the definition of a career year for Matt Ryan.  Entering this season his career QB rating was 90.9 and his career yards-per-attempt was 7.2.  In 2016 those numbers were 117.1 and 9.3 respectively.  Last year, Ryan’s first with Kyle Shanahan, he threw for only 21 touchdowns and had 16 interceptions.  This year he threw 38 touchdowns to just 7 interceptions.  If this was baseball and he was a home run hitter can you imagine what the speculation would be.

-Strike Fast, Strike Hard, No Mercy Sir!:  An interesting early chess match will take place Sunday on Atlanta’s opening drive.  Falcons OC Kyle Shanahan must be some kind of wizard at scripting plays.  Atlanta has scored an opening drive touchdown in each of their last eight games and during those eight drives Ryan completed an eye-popping 85% of his passes.  Eight offensive series, particularly long scoring drives, roughly equals the length of a standard NFL game.  Ryan’s stats on those eight scoring drives:  34-40, 374 yards, 5 TDs, 0 INTs, QB Rating: 145.2  

It will be fascinating to see what Belichick does to try and stop this trend.  You know Belichick and DC Matt Patricia are well aware of Atlanta’s early game and success and will make it a priority to prevent that first touchdown.  This could develop into a point of pride for both coaching staffs so don’t be surprised if you see both teams try some new wrinkles on Atlanta’s first possession.  It will also be interesting to see if the Falcon’s reputation for early game success influences Belichick’s decision to defer if he wins the coin toss.  Does Belichick shy away and just give the ball to Brady and try to grab the first score, or does he say, “F You”, give the ball to Atlanta’s strongest unit and dare them to score?

-Vegas, baby, Vegas:  It’s hard to find much of a ground swell for picking Atlanta in this game yet the Patriots were installed as surprisingly low favorites at -3.  And perhaps even more surprising, the line has not moved.  We all know betting action determines the line but with New England such an obvious pick at -3 it makes you wonder if there is something else going on here.  One theory revolves around the popularity of Atlanta Falcons futures bets in the offseason.  Last week we wrote that their odds to win the Super Bowl reached 100 to 1 but I have since learned the number actually went as high as 150 to 1.  Vegas is going to take a beating if Atlanta wins this game and there is speculation that the low line is meant to drive action to the Patriots to hedge the sports book’s losses.  

-As for the under/over consider this: 16 of Atlanta’s 18 games this season have gone over.

-Picking Winners:  The Patriots have 30 new players on their roster that did not play in their last Super Bowl TWO YEARS AGO.  That level of turnover and success is astounding and a real testament to the work that Belichick has done as a GM.  And while Belichick’s coaching tree has had very limited success, his GM tree is looking a little stronger with former proteges Thomas Dimitroff and Scott Pioli running the show in Atlanta.  Dimitroff, who is in his ninth year as the Falcon’s GM, deserves the lion’s share of the credit, the fact that Atlanta has 12 rookies on its roster and six starters on defense that are in their first or second year, speaks volumes of the job the former Patriot executive has done.

As for Pioli, he is a bit of a Johnny-come-lately having only been hired as assistant GM in 2014.  Pioli is trying to rebuild his brand after a disastrous stint in Kansas City.  His failures with the Chiefs are outlined well in this old article by ESPN’s Jeffri Chadiha but here’s a taste of the dysfunction:  “Published reports accuse him of lecturing staffers for not picking up candy wrappers in the hallways and chafing at the way assistant coaches park in the team’s lot.”

If any of that is true it’s a bad look for Pioli.

-Life before Tinder:  You can’t talk about a Falcons Super Bowl without talking about the one-man cautionary tale that is Eugene “I wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t righteous” Robinson.  Robinson, a former safety for the Falcons, is infamous for getting arrested for soliciting a prostitute on the eve of the Falcons/Broncos Super Bowl.  Adding to his infamy was the fact that he received the Bart Starr Award just a few hours before his arrest.  The award is for those “exemplifying outstanding leadership and character on and off the field”.  Ouch.  Also, his wife and kids were staying at a nearby hotel when he was arrested.  He also was burned for an 80-yard touchdown the next day.  Yeah, Eugene had a tough weekend.  Today he works as a radio analyst for the Carolina Panthers and last year addressed the team to tell them how NOT to behave during Super Bowl week.  Hopefully the players didn’t need his prostitution pep talk to know that the night before the biggest professional day of their lives is probably not the best time to offer random women cash for sex.

-Speaking of prostitution and the Super Bowl, S.I. ran an interesting article this week concluding that the big game’s role in driving sex-trafficking may be overstated.

-The Last of the Mohicans:  The Patriots making it to their seventh Super Bowl has unleashed the anti-Boston trolls.  Remember former ESPN personality Rob Parker who was once fired by the four-letter network for calling RG III a “cornball brother”, whatever the hell that means?  He recently appeared on FS 1’s ‘Undisputed’ and went on a Boston-is-racist rant where at one point he declared that Boston is so racist they can’t even admit that Native Americans were not behind the Boston Tea Party.  What?!?  Where the hell did that come from?  Does this dim bulb actually think Bostonians sit around in bars arguing with anybody that dares to exonerate the Native Americans role in the Tea Party?  This guy has to get out more.  I don’t know about you, but when I go out with my friends 99% of what we talk about is sports and girls, with maybe a little politics thrown into the mix.  Not a lot of historical Native American talk.  And is Parker aware that Boston is probably the only city in America with an actual Tea Party museum?  It’s not a good sign when the worst thing you can say about a city’s racism is over 200 years old and complete bullshit.  

In that same appearance he also compared Tom Brady to Lance Armstrong, because systematically manipulating and circumventing the PED testing process for yourself and your entire team and then trying to destroy the lives of anybody that dares to speak the truth is exactly the same as maybe, or maybe not, letting a little air out of a football.

-Brady Wasn’t the only guy Whose Balls were Deflated:  When the media isn’t taking pot shots at Boston expect a lot of Patriots trolling over Deflategate.  SB Nation’s Ryan Van Bibber got an early start with perhaps the worst sports headline ever:  “How to talk to your children about Deflategate”

Because he invoked the children, who have suffered enough, let’s hope his wife got involved in this.

Van Bibber:  Hey honey did you see the headline for my new column?

Wife:  No, what is it?

Van Bibber:  “How to talk to your children about Deflategate”.

Wife:  Your next column should be, “How to talk to your children about having a father that is a namby pamby weirdo”

Van Bibber:  That’s hurtful.

Wife:  I should have married that lawyer I dated in college.

-SB Nation wasn’t the only one to dip their toe into these embarrassing waters.  The Atlanta Journal Constitution ran an article titled, “What to tell your kids about Deflategate?”, committing the dual sin of being both lame and unoriginal.

-Trollin, trollin, trollin:  SB Nation is having a strange month as the above column comes on the heels of the Charlotte Wilder piece declaring that the Patriots, “Have a Trump problem” because a handful of her liberal friends don’t root for the team anymore due to the franchises perceived alignment with the controversial new President.  I’m thinking anyone that stopped cheering for the Patriots during a Super Bowl year because Brady, Belichick and Kraft might or might not have voted for Trump wasn’t much of football fan in the first place.  Just a hunch.

-Politburo: The NFL embarrassed itself this week when it scrubbed all references to Donald Trump and Roger Goodell from official transcripts of Super Bowl week interviews.

-Move on, Nothing to see Here:  Count me as one of the few people that has no interest in the alleged awkward Goodell/Brady moment that could take place if New England wins and Brady is named Super Bowl MVP.  What exactly are people expecting, that Brady will grab the trophy and smash Goodell in the face?  When it comes to public moments Goodell and Brady are two of the most reserved, cautious and image-conscious individuals around so you can expect a boring and uneventful trophy presentation if the exchange does happen.

-Mr Integrity:  And can we please stop saying Goodell must hate New England because of how he treated the team during Deflategate.  Deflategate was about two things, jealousy and power.  The owners, enraged about the Patriots allegedly getting off easy for Spygate, pressured Goodell to lower the boom when all the PSI nonsense surfaced.  Fueled by a palpable jealousy, the owners saw an opportunity and pounced.  They ignored all logic and fairness, not to mention damage to the league and its brand, and demanded that Goodell come down hard on New England.  Then, when New England refused to admit wrongdoing and Brady openly defied Goodell, the case became about the power of the commissioner, and as we all know now, that is not something Goodell or the owners take lightly.  So, is Roger Goodell a good commissioner?  No.  Is he a petty, shallow, power-hungry dick that appears incapable of showing human emotion?  Yes.  But he doesn’t hate the Patriots.

-Everybody’s Heard about the Bird:  That said, Patriots fans will always hate Goodell and that hatred manifested itself nicely in this Patriots mural by a professional painting company in Rhode Island. 

-Is There a Lawyer in the House:  Last week I was watching TV and saw a commercial urging NFL players to call the number posted regarding concussion issues.  I imagine Goodell and the owners can’t be too happy about an ad like this running during the ramp up to the Super Bowl.  I talked to a lawyer with a firm that is registering NFL players to be eligible for the one billion concussion settlement that was upheld by an appeals court last April, and he said the deadline for former players to apply for eligibility is August 7th, so you can expect to see more of these ads over the next six months.  Sorry, Roger.

-Houston’s weather at kickoff is supposed to be partly cloudy, in the 70s and with little chance of precipitation.  That’s a fancy way of saying it ain’t gonna rain.  If they don’t open the roof for this Bowl then it’s time to start calling these retractable-roof stadiums what they really are: domes.

-We’re Gonna need a Bigger Boat:  Should Patriots fans be nervous about reports that Belichick’s famously named powerboat, VI Rings, has been donated to a nonprofit sailing center in Rhode Island?  Could the future Hall-of-Fame coach be hinting at retirement?  Unlikely.  Assuming he hasn’t lost his passion for the sea maybe Belichick is simply looking to upgrade from his 24-foot Grady-White speed boat to something bigger.  Perhaps something big enough to accommodate the slightly longer name, VII Rings.