‽it would be better if you didn't‽

Due to sheer luck, I’m able to get copies of my book, Rendezvous on Noxus printed and so I decided to open up an online store to help move them. I’m also offering stickers of the images above (drawn by @scorpioreport) as well! 

If you’re interested, check them out, and if not, I’d appreciate a share so they can make their way to someone who might be! I’d appreciate it. 

The Real Issue With Fan Fiction is Elitism

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Fan ficton(n.) –

fiction written by a fan of, and featuring characters from, a particular TV series, movie, etc.

 Those who’ve never written fan fiction or had the desire won’t understand it, but I’ll try to explain. Fan fiction is, just as the definition says, a genre of writing. This isn’t to say that it’s better than any others or any worse. It just is. The difference between fan…

Looking to move this Industrial strength Septum clicker. There’s nothing wrong with it other than the wearable area doesn’t work with my anatomy. Here’s the ebay listing and the original product info from the site i got it from. 

Title: Wandering Stars Author: Moranth Artist: DalishGrey Beta: Kalenel Warning: I don’t think there’s anything worth noting Rating: T Characters: Garrus Vakarian, custom male!Shepard, minor OCs not associated with the main cast or storyline Summary: Everything’s changed after the Reaper War. Everyone’s grown apart and settled into lives hat don’t quite fit. After receiving some startling information, Garrus drops everything and books a trip across the galaxy to see for himself if it’s true. Along the way he meets others whose experiences with the war are vastly different from his own.

Some tweets I’m supremely proud of like a nerd. the one about the slippers is courtesy of @kalenel​

Chapter 1

Paras Briggs liked to believe she’d been raised right. She respected her elders. She tried to treat all people the way she wanted to be treated, no matter how odd looking they might be. It was basic human—no, common decency. Paras was a damn good person, if she said so herself. This merchant must not have gotten the memo.

Paras raked her hair away from her forehead as she looked down at the merchant, who refused to meet her gaze. “The contract says, clearly, in Englishand Urvaki, that the agreed upon amount for each crate was 700 credits per unit, and I’ve got 10 crates cramping up my cargo hold. What you’re offering…”

Paras shook her head, as if it would let her shake off her rising anger. This was the second time they were going over this now. “Two-hundred credits a crate isn’t acceptable.” This job was supposed to be low risk, guaranteed payout. Chiz knew Paras’ father from his hauling days, and that tie should have earned Paras a base level of respect.

“You bring I damaged goods!” The urvaki spat on the ground, a sure sign of annoyance. Paras was a short step away from doing the same thing right on top of his wide gray head. “I can’t sell all this. I no pay for. You waste I’s time.”

Paras almost had to drop to one knee to bring them eye-to-eye. Chiz stepped back, and Paras followed right along with him. Urvaki enjoyed their personal space a little more than the average human, which meant she was going to rob him of it. “Look here. You called me. You were looking for Robert. Instead, you got me. You said you needed a pick up, and I obliged, even though Daken was very out of my way. I even gave you a discount, and you’re still going to try to gouge me? You’ve got some nerve, you little—”

“Paras, buddy.” The heavy hand of her partner dropped on her shoulder, bringing back some of Paras’ sense. She rose, counting backwards from ten silently. They only needed to get through this.

Jabir rolled an unlit cig between his fingers idly, expertly appearing unimpressed, as if diffusing cross cultural incidents was an everyday occurrence for him. It was only once a month at most. “Everything okay over here?”

Paras got to three by the time Jabir asked the question and counted all the way down to one when she answered. “Our client here wants to ignore our agreement and invoice and pay whatever the hell he wants.”

Chiz snorted, the nostrils set between his bulbous yellow eyes flaring. “Not I’s problem,” Chiz began, his speech punctuate by pops and clicks. “You lucky I give you anything.”

That got Paras’ hackles up again. Did he really think her so cheap, so green that she’d take anything he offered and leave? Of all the nerve! Jabir always said it was better to work with complete strangers rather than people who knew you to some degree and assumed that entitled them to your time.

This was why.

“You said the fruit’s damaged?” Jabir was cool as usual, likely three steps ahead of Paras and Chiz both.

Chiz waddled over to the crate they’d unloaded and plucked out a fruit that nearly matched his own ashen gray complexion and was mottled with purple spots. He held it high, nearly thrusting it in Jabir’s face.

Jabir tucked the cigarette behind his ear with a nod. “It’s a good thing we always document the state of the cargo when we pick it up. Let’s compare.” Paras was already searching her pockets for her persi. Taking a short video of the statement during the pickup was a policy she had come up with. Chiz had thrown her off so much that she’d had trouble thinking of anything other than punching his slimy face in. Jabir was so earning his cut right now.

She started the video and held it down to Chiz’s level. It showed an open crate filled to the brim with the same ugly gray spheres about the size of her fist, covered in spots, just like the one Chiz held. Another urvaki stood nearby, looking put out by the whole exercise, his four arms locked over his chest. “Do you confirm that these are the shape you’re shipping them in?” Jabir’s disembodied voice asked. The urvaki sighed and gave a quick nod. “We need an audible confirmation,” Jabir pressed.

“Yes, two arms!” The urvaki picked up a fruit, shook it, and dropped it back in the crate. “Good condition.”

“And that’s Earth date 05-03-2111.” Jabir’s persi appeared, with the date printed on it. By the time the video ended, Chiz was livid. He looked more like his fruit, flushed patches of purple breaking out on his face and neck.

Where were the peacekeepers when Paras needed them? They weren’t on a major thoroughfare, but it wasn’t some dingy alley. The main corridor was a few steps away from where they were gathered and not only had no one else come down this way, but there had been no peacekeeper patrol. They were supposed to be on constant patrol; safety was one of the top selling points of this place! What a load of shit!

Brava—or Anto—stood in front of her, confusion muddling his thick features. A conflict of conscience perhaps? At first glance, they appeared to have been a callan for some time. Their hesitation said something else. For a second, Paras harbored the idea that they could be swayed away from this filthy woman. Paras could offer them honest work, none of this shaking down people bullshit.

Then, he slapped her. This was no love tap. Paras’ ear rang, and her cheek felt like it as already swelling.

“Phaen Re’s tits that hurt!” She didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of crying out, but conviction was hard kept when a small bomb was going off in your head. This was all amusing to Raggedy Shirt. Her laughter went on and on.

“Why don’t you come back?” Paras shouted. “I like the way you do it.” Paras didn’t know why she said that. She had no control over her damn mouth. It was as if she was a passenger in her own body, and the booze was driving her straight towards her doom. Once the booze burned off, she’d have to deal with the bruises.

No one was amused by Paras’ outburst, and Anto-Brava didn’t hold back his feelings. He drew back and landed a blow right over Paras’ left eye. She drooped in Brava-Anto’s grip. He stood her up straight soon enough. The ear that had been ringing was silent now as bright spots obscured her vision. She had no clue how she was still conscious.

“Not so mouthy now, huh?” Raggedy Shirt pushed Hiye 1 out of the way. “Not so pretty now.”

You think I’m pretty? Paras tried to get that snappy rejoinder out, but instead gaped like a landed fish. Communication from brain to mouth was temporarily out of service. It was just as well. Thinking was starting to hurt.

“That’s really cocky for someone who’s got others fighting for her.” That hadn’t come from Paras. The woman and her spineless hiye hadn’t said it either.

Finally, finally someone else had entered the corridor. He wasn’t a peacekeeper from the lack of uniform; he didn’t strike her as intimidating. He wasn’t thin or tall. He barely made it to the hiye’s shoulder. But Paras was thankful for any help she got at this point.

Raggedy Shirt signaled Hiye 1 to follow her as she moved to stop the newcomer before he got too close. “Keep moving. This doesn’t concern you.”

Anyone who valued his or her safety would have done as the woman with the heavies suggested and gone on their way. “What if I made this my business?” This guy wasn’t a mere passerby.

“This bitch owes me money. You can either pay her debt, back off or you can join her.”

“Oh. Well.” The man kept coming closer, ignoring the threat those looming hiye promised. “If she really owes you money, we can get an advocate to sort this out.”

Is this guy simple?

Laughter tinkled in the air like shattered glass. “Are you simple?”  Raggedy Shirt snapped her fingers, and Anto-Brava jumped to attention. “Get rid of him.” Anto-Brava moved to do as he was ordered, reaching for the interloper.

The interloper sidestepped the hiye’s grasp, stepping in close, and once he was beside that meaty arm, he took hold of the wrist. Paras had trouble following what was happening. The hiye was on the floor in two swift movements, bent around his arm, howling. Hiye #2’s grip on Paras tightened as his companion went down, his anxiety palatable.

Hiye 1 started rolled on the floor, holding his arm that was bent below the elbow. The interloper stood, unruffled, like he hadn’t left someone a foot taller than him on the ground at his feet. “It’s broken,” he said, addressing the hiye holding Paras. “You’ll want to get him to a med center soon.”

Raggedy Shirt, who’d stood by, dumbfounded, as one of her lackeys was injured, roared back to life when the threat of the hiye colluding against her raised its head. “You don’t talk to him, you talk to me.”

“Alright, then.” The interloper stepped over the writhing hiye, steadily pressing in on Raggedy Shirt’s personal space. “Let this woman go.”

“Or what?” Raggedy was still talking trash, even when her manpower was cut in half.  Vaguely, Paras wondered where she got her confidence. “You’ll call the peacekeepers? We’ll be long gone by then.”

The interloper shook his head tiredly. “I was going to say, before you cut me off, was ‘or I’ll break your arm, too.’”

Here’s the star trio from Rendezvous on Noxus, Haben, Paras, and Jabir. 

This graphic was done by Myks0 over on DeviantARt. 

This’ll be used for an upcoming project, but you can feel free to envision them however you like.

I know I’ve been posting a lot this week and I apologize for that, but you’ll have to forgive me. I’m just so excited!

Noxus is live on Amazon and Kobo!

I published using Pronoun just yesterday and it told me the average wait time was 1-3 days, so I assumed it would take at least 3 days, but the Amazon post was up yesterday and Kobo went live today! There are two more platforms waiting to go, but they should be up relatively soon. You can check on their progress here. The description is below!

The life of an independent cargo pilot wasn’t an easy one, but it was Paras’, and she liked it just fine. With her longtime friend and business partner Jabir, they cut their own path through the galaxy, one haul at a time. But nothing that good was meant to last forever.

A chance encounter with the strange and secretive Haben sucks Paras into a world of fully cyberized mercs, shadowy figures, and a lot of guns. Life aboard the Gizi may never be the same again.

My #BlackOutFriday contribution I suppose?