bjornwilde (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bjornwilde) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ways_back_room2020-03-27 07:38 am
bjornwilde) wrote in ways_back_room2020-03-27 07:38 am
Entry tags:
Friday DE: All Skate Fic Friday
We've done it! We've made it to Friday and the close of a second week of self isolation for some of us. Congratulations!
To celebrate, let's do a fic Friday but open the doors to any character, like the All Skate.
Steps are as usual:
Tag in with whom you'd like prompts for
Get prompts, leave prompts
Write fic, however long
Repeat as needed.
And can I just say the All Skate was an amazing idea? I'm seeing so much great enthusiasm and I must say it woke up my muses. Don't forget there's still the outside all skate and now a fight club all skate.
To celebrate, let's do a fic Friday but open the doors to any character, like the All Skate.
Steps are as usual:
Tag in with whom you'd like prompts for
Get prompts, leave prompts
Write fic, however long
Repeat as needed.
And can I just say the All Skate was an amazing idea? I'm seeing so much great enthusiasm and I must say it woke up my muses. Don't forget there's still the outside all skate and now a fight club all skate.
no subject
no subject
Or, in a more serious tone, bird calls
no subject
He’s perched on a rooftop, looking down into the pre-dawn streets. Like most Imperial worlds Sahaal’s had the misfortune to find himself on, it’s ravaged by heavy industry. Chemical mist hangs over the sprawling cities like a widow’s veil. Acid rain eats away at the buildings, crumbling the stonework, corroding the metal. Palls of foundry smoke clog the skies, blurring the line between night and day.
It reminds him of Nostramo, sometimes. Less of a criminalised shithole than the Legion’s homeworld, perhaps, but just as poisoned.
He’s not sure of this place. On paper, it makes an excellent target for his attentions. A major manufacturing hub for the Eastern Fringe. Orbital shipyards designed to refit anything up to a Grand Cruiser. Mustering grounds for almost thirty regiments of crack Imperial Guard.
But it’s well-defended. There’s enough Guard troopers and citizen militia to give even a Night Lord pause. And elements of at least two Loyalist Chapters less than two weeks warp-shift away. There’s easier targets in this cluster, ones he can take and tear through before any retribution force could come.
Something stirs behind him. He whips around, one claw already out, artificial lightning dancing over the adamantium tines.
As he watches, a rangy hawk rises from the power lines overhead. Wings outspread, it dives into the winding urban canyons, seeking the early morning thermals forming above the streets. Banking around the imposing bulk of an Arbitrator station-house, it finds one, firing like a shot up and over the rooftops of the city’s financial district. It screams hunting cries as it goes, the calls echoing off the surrounding buildings.
Sahaal stares after it, not taking his eyes off it until it vanishes into the horizon and the hazy light of sunrise. Behind his helm, he grins.
He’s not one for superstition.
But when an omen’s that fugging obvious, it can’t hurt to pay attention.
no subject
no subject
Lamp-packs cut through the gloom, their thin beams catching on the tall racks of bulk containers. Carefully, professionally, the Guard stormtroopers sweep the aisles, their footsteps like gunshots in the midnight silence. Each of them cradles a hellgun in their arms, the power cables thrumming with impatient energy.
One passes right underneath Sahaal. To her credit, she almost spots him. Optic clusters in her helmet peer into his shadows, whirring and clicking as they shift through vision modes. Her rifle moves with her, almost an extension of her body.
To her detriment, she’s facing a Night Lord.
Sahaal grins behind his helm. Under his breath, he mutters a command phrase.
“Preysight.”
no subject
For a prompt: Fire from the sky.
no subject
———————————————
It was only ever a matter of time.
Tiny spots of light bloom in the clouds above. Shockwaves ripple across the skies. In the trenches and bastions of the burning city, the few Imperial defenders left alive cheer, their cries and praise reaching to the heavens themselves.
All Sahaal can do, all any of the lost and the damned can do, is watch. From this moment onward, there can be no victory.
Static crackles from a nearby vox-unit. The voice that follows echoes through the ruins, carried on every speaker in range.
“Loyal servants of the Throne, take heed and obey. We have heard your prayers. We have heard your souls. I am Cadocus Meylir, Captain of the Honoured Sons. Protector of the Eastern Fringe. Warrior of the Holy Emperor. Fear no longer, for I come bearing His divine vengeance.”
no subject
Here's your prompt: Leftovers.
no subject
Made of dull, reinforced steel, it’s the size of an energy drink can, with a crude biometric lock on the top. Old Munitorum code are etched into the sides, blurred with age and use. Dents and scratches cover the metal, most from its past life as a message cylinder in the pneumatic transit system of the Eighth Legion strike cruiser Umbrea Insidior.
Sahaal uses it to store chocolate.
He blames Sunshine for this. Night Lords should not like chocolate. Legionaries should not like chocolate. It interferes with their gene-bred role as warriors and fighters. It’s distracting from more important concerns, like training or weapon maintenance or proper nutrition.
But that doesn’t stop him from raiding the Bar’s kitchens at night, after everyone else has gone to bed, squirrelling out whatever leftover treats he can get his oversized hands on.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Klaus Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy)
Cecil Palmer (Welcome to Night Vale)
Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives)
no subject
Klaus-numbers
no subject
Cassian Andor
Quentin
Sameth
Demeter
no subject
Raph
Mike
Aang
Bumi
Splinter
The Oompa Loompas