#sodah

[pinkpomeloandrose]

sodah

[ojv2012]

#sodah #soda #ayiti #haiti 🥤

[stormfather]

mistborn AU Drey is kelsiar and Codah is vin their first night teaching GO

twokillswithonesword asked you:

May 21st 2014, 7:08:00 pm · 2 hours ago

btw it should be a drabble instead of nofic beacuse sodah

You fell off of the building on the first try. He laughed at you. He leans over the rooftop and drops a coin on your head. 

"Try again, princess." You stumble to your feet and look at it. Then, you think hard, and feel inside yourself for the will to rise into the air. When you open your eyes, finally, you're zipping up, and falling carefully onto the roof beside him. "See, isn't that easy?"

"Bite me."

"Maybe later. Now, though, do you see why I waited to give you this?" He's holding a bundle of fabric in his hands and he thrusts it toward you, You unfold it and realize its a cloak like his. You couldn't tell where the mists ended and the tassels began. You take it in your shaking hands and look at him over the edge of your spectacles. 

"Thank you."

[grandfalloon]

Mal - Second Person Exercise

In creative writing we had to write a couple pages in second person point of view as an exercise

jokes on my instructor because i love writing second person

anyways here's kind of a???? summary piece for a story i probably will write more for later

set in earth 2550

He wolf-whistles when you exit the tent, and you frantically twist your fingers around your shirt buttons, trying to dress yourself. Exhausted from your half-finished task, you drop your hands and roll your neck, working out the sore muscles from sleeping on the ground. You’re never fully awake until you shower. There aren’t any showers in the outback, however.

He was sitting on the ground, shoes off, exposing his inhuman two-toed feet. Between them, he clutched a navy-blue water bottle with the school’s emblem on the side: New Earth International Ambassadorial Academy. He held the handle of a small pot and carefully emptied the contents into the bottle.

“Morning, Princess,” he says, flicking golden eyes toward you. You suppress your instinct to shudder at his alien gaze. Your father had trained you well to avoid his kind. Even your insatiable curiosity of their being couldn’t make you unlearn that gut-twisting fear that follows them. The break in concentration causes hot water to dribble onto his red foot. Looking around groggily, you notice something.

“Where’s the fire?” He was purifying drinking water for the two of you, right? You need fire to do that, right? You learned that in the Young Men’s group you belonged to back home.

“Babe, I am the fire.” He sets the pot down then throws his hand towards you, the back facing you and his index finger raised. He watches you as the finger ignites. It wasn’t a finger-- you knew that. It was a claw that held a frightening potion of venoms. It glew red, hot without being on fire. He was right. He was fire.

Virusa have always captivated you as a species, forbidden, and mysterious. It was illegal for them to be within your home country’s borders. The Terrever Republic wasn’t known for its hospitality.

There was only one other student from your country at the Academy. Their name was Mal. Well, their last name anyways. Kiara Malcomb was their full name, according to the black placard on their door. The same door you found ajar last night when you went to give them the phone to call home. Their parents waited on the other end, eager to speak with their child halfway across the world. Their bed was unmade, and you would have immediately assumed a kidnapper had taken them in the night, but then, ever attentive, you noticed something.

Their bag was missing, as well as the scarf that was an extension of their body. Mal was funny, and just a little too sensitive to anything.  They always had this scarf with them. They said their mother had knitted the green and gold monstrosity for them. The special, home-made touch was evident in how it was wider at the middle, making it easier for the particularly sensitive teenager to wrap it around their head, in an effort to block out any sounds, lights, or curious aliens.

Mal’s particular sensitivity didn’t apply just to their physical senses. Mal had a tendency to shut down, to turn their brain and forms of communication off. You could be talking to them and they’d just deadpan, and not listen to what you were saying. Maybe they’d stand up, and wander out of the room and into the courtyard between your dormitories. Mal loved being outside.

Though, now, it seems like they’d taken that insatiable, unpredictable wanderlust to a slight extreme, and left the campus completely. Immediately, you notified their dorm advisor, who shrugged and said that it was a big campus and that Mal was “probably at the library, or something.” Mal hated the library.

You packed a bag, putting a few bottles of water from the vending machine, as well as a bag of some brand-name cheese-flavoured chips. A semester into this new culture, and you still weren’t used to the commercialization and processing of something simple as food. You went back to your room to snag the book you were reading - Sun Rain- off your nightstand and sneak out before the security patrol caught you, when you roommate stirred.

He wasn’t your first choice for a roommate, all angles and burnt orange skin. He was weird, and tall, and just so alien that you didn’t like talking to him. He was handsome, you guess. But his fascination about your being combined with your dislike of making eye contact with him made it difficult for you to like him.

“Where’re’ya going?” He had asked, already sitting up. He wasn’t wearing any clothes. That was another weird thing about him, as if there weren’t enough already. You rubbed your eyes under your glasses and avoided looking at him.

“Mal’s gone.” He stood, pulling on a pair of blue jeans and tieing his matted indigo dreadlocks into a ponytail.

“I’m going with you.” Clawed hands fit through his Academy hoodie's sleeves. He took his keys off the hook, and searched for the button-thing that unlocked his automobile. Cars unnerved you. They weren’t legal for citizens to own in Terrever. You make a noise as if to say ‘No,” and he sets the chain back on the desk. “Fine, Princess, no cars.”

“My name is Codah. I’ve told you this.” He laughs.

“If you say so. Now, c’mon, the security patrol’s gonna come by soon.”

[dml07e-blog]

Let's go #skillcapped #sodah #talbadar #chanimal #globalfinals #egzael

[unpublishedmaterial]

Sticks and stones... PRT 3

He continues to glance over to you to make sure you are still staring. He looks away, his cheeks draker than before every time.

After five minutes, he finally breaks the silence.

“So why did you cross the border anyway?” “I came here to look for some fun.”

“Fun?” He asks, a little unsure on how to take it. “What kind of fun?” “The kind I can’t find in Victorg.” You shift on the seat, facing toward the driver.

“Please sit properly in your seat.” He loosens his foot on the gas, and turns to give you a hard look. You continue to stare into his green eyes. You think they may be teal. He shifts his eyes from yours, a little uncomfortable. “Why did you cross the border?” He asks again, hoping for a more specific answer than you already gave him.

“I like humans,” You say. “What of it?”

He shifts his gaze back to you, lifting his foot off the gas completely. “But you have humans in Victorg.” He says the fact a little uneasily.

“Not the kind I’m looking for.” You lift your hands and clumsily grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer to you. His eyes widen in more than surprise, and tries to keep you from pulling him out of his seat. You lean your head closer to his and— by your awkward position and tied limbs—you fall on top of him.

You and he both make audible groans—his in pain and yours in frustration. You try to sit back up, but you can’t get very far, since you have to lean on the driver’s ribcage, and her cries in protest at your every move.

“You know, princess, this would have been easier if you untie my hands.”

[unpublishedmaterial]

sticks and stones may break my bones... PRT2

“It’s against protocol.”

“Well,” You smack you lips. “That doesn’t mean I can’t talk to you.”

He doesn’t respond.

“My name’s Drey.” Still no response.

“Hey, Princess, where you taking me?” You lean a little toward him. “Could you answer that?”

“I’m taking you to base to see what to do with you.”

“Oh?”

“To see if we should deport you or arrest you.”

“Oh.”

“Now please stop talking.”

“Sure thing, Princess.” He ignores you.

You shift your feet under the rope, trying to get a decent position. You shake your head loosely around your shoulders, trying to get your hood off. You look over to the driver.

“Psst, Princess.” No reply. “Princess.” Nothing. “Hey, Princess!”

“Stop calling me Princess!”

 “Hey—”

He lurched on the break, sending you into the windshield.

“ow.” You fall back into your seat, trying to rub the pain out of your forehead with the back of your tied-up hand. “What was that for?”

“What the hell are you trying to do?” He turns his head sharply to you, annoyance all over his face. His skin is pale under the shadows of the cab, his eyes looked… green?

Green is a pretty color.

“Huh?” You look at the driver.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to pull my hood off my head.” You say simply. The man in front of you is taken aback. He reaches for the fabric around your face, and pulls it down to your shoulders. His eyes are really pretty.

He pulls back quickly and turns back to the wheel. His face looks flushed in the light. He makes the truck move forward again.

Instead of looking out your window, you look at him. His hair is brown, and long enough to cover his eyes at times. His figure is slender, and soft. He looks very delicate.

[unpublishedmaterial]

sticks and stones may break my bones... PRT1

“You know,” You mumble, slurred by the tranquilizer. The small silhouette paused in his tying. “if ya wan’ed tuh tie me up, princessh, all ya ‘ad tuh do wath ashk…”

~

The tranquilizer finally wore off, and you can see straight. You were in the passenger seat of an old truck, its engine sputtering and backfiring as it drives on a dirt road through the night. Your face was squished against the window. When you try to shift your weight from your awkward position, you notice your feet and hands are restrained. With much effort, you turn your head to look at the driver. He was small, at least a foot shorter than you. It was too dark to see any features.

“Hey…” your tongue feels numb. You lean your head forward on the dash. Maybe the tranquilizer wasn’t as worn out as you thought.

“Please don’t lean on the dash.” A definitely male voice says. His voice doesn’t match his physique—too deep. He holds out a hand to pull you back up, while trying to keep his eyes on the road. “Sit back up, please.” He tried to make his voice sound authoritative. It didn’t work very well, but you sat upright just the same.

“Whatssur name?” You try to pinpoint his eyes. They looked blue but it’s still too dark.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you.” The man said.