if you’re interested in commissioning my work (or you just like reading excerpts), i’ve taken some time to prepare writing samples!
more commission information can be found here or you can private message me for further questions!
this is an excerpt from a rangi/kyoshi one-shot i did recently:
Rangi’s exhalation is loud in Kyoshi’s head, but perhaps almost silent in the world. “I used to see you guys around the mansion,” she confesses. “I would… watch you two. It was my duty, of course, to watch him. But not you.”
This isn’t exactly news to Kyoshi. Rangi has spent lifetimes saving her from herself and the world. Her bodyguard before she knew she needed one.
“You wanna know what I thought?” Rangi shakes her head, a strangled bit of laughter escaping her lips. “When I saw the way he’d admire you? I thought… The Avatar and his servant… what a pathetically tragic way to love. So caught up in the power imbalance of it all.”
“And then,” Rangi stares up at the sky now, squinting into the brightness of it all. “I fell right into it myself. Only you’re not the servant, Kyoshi. You’ve never been the servant. It’s me. In love with the great and powerful Avatar. Hopelessly and endlessly lost in the difference between duty and pleasure.”
That is absolutely wrong. If nothing else, Kyoshi knows that. “You’re not.”
No. That’s probably true, even if Kyoshi still doesn’t know why.
“You’re not my servant. You’ve never been, and you never will be.”
Rangi finally meets her gaze, and Kyoshi is surprised to see a glassiness there, reflecting in the bronze of her irises. She reaches out and runs a hand along the girl’s jawline, gently tracing every scar, every ghost of pain.
“Whoever made me the Avatar was really, really stupid,” she whispers. “You would’ve made a better one.”
“I don’t care.” Kyoshi knows how the cycle works. And she still thinks the Era of Rangi would outshine any past or future Avatar.
this is an excerpt from a jay/carlos de vil one-shot:
Carlos whipped around, staring at Jay who had just come up the stairs. “Where the fuck did you come from?”
“Uh -” Jay blinked, pointing down the stairs. “Downstairs? Look, someone said you go ... oh, you found a friend.” His gaze fell on the cat.
“He’s my new best friend.” Carlos was only half joking. “You’ve been demoted.”
Jay feigned hurt for a moment. On the whole, he didn’t look as drunk as Carlos would’ve expected. “So, this crush of yours,” he said at last. “Is he the reason you agreed to come?”
The irony wasn’t lost on Carlos, and if he weren’t too busy wishing the earth would swallow him whole, he might’ve laughed. “Uh - I don’t -”
“Come on,” Jay laughed. “I won’t tell anyone. Not even Mal. What’s he like?”
Carlos made a face. “The one time you’re not hammered at a party, huh? Just my luck.”
Jay shook his head. “Come on, man! Just give me a hint!”
Carlos mimed zipping his lips.
Jay is here. With you, his brain whispered unhelpfully. Not downstairs. Maybe you have a chance.
Jay smiled, oddly genuine. “I get that parties aren’t your thing, ‘Los. Must be one hell of a guy if he’s worth all this.”
“Yeah, well,” Carlos mumbled, picking at a spot on the carpet. “He looks cute when he says please.”
💖 alternate universe/timeline adjustment
this is a sneak peak of an unpublished equalist!asami/korra fic that i’m currently working on :) so stay tuned for more of this:
“Miss Sato,” a voice called from beyond the reinforced door. “You have a visitor.”
Her father, surely! Or one of his associates. But when door slid open and someone stepped inside, it wasn’t Hiroshi.
Asami turned towards the wall. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Asami, wait.” Korra didn’t try to get any closer. “I just -”
“Just what?” Asami muttered. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Wanted to see me put away? Make sure they’d gotten the right girl? A non-bender standing on the sidewalk at night is so dangerous, see. Glad you’ve got the police force cracking down on the issue.”
She could feel Korra’s frustration and revelled in it. She liked being able to get to Korra.
“No! That’s not! Ugh!” Korra paced, her footsteps heavy. “I don’t have much time! I just wanted to ask you to meet me! Away from anyone listening! Under the Silk Road Bridge.”
“I’d love to, but you see,” Asami gestured around her cell. She still hadn’t dropped the cynical act. “I’m kinda busy at the moment.”
“Your father is already trying to buy your way out,” Korra told her. “You’ll be released before most of Republic City wakes up. I know you, Asami. You wouldn’t… you’re not -”
“Not what, Korra?” Asami finally looked at her. Hard. “Like the rest of the non-benders? One of the good ones?”
“And you couldn’t save those people from being rounded up like animals!”
Korra opened her mouth, but no words came out. She threw back her head in frustration. “Fine! I’ll leave you alone! But tonight, at midnight, I’ll be under that bridge. I hope you will be, too. I just want to talk.”
this is an excerpt from a casey/izzie fic:
She was used to the breathlessness that came with running, the burning and tightening of her lungs as she demanded more from them. But when her feet skimmed across the pavement, racing, racing, like her heartbeat, it didn’t scare her. Rather, she relished it, craved it. The way her whole body felt alive, how she could feel every tingle in her arms and legs, how everything seems to still and grow quiet around her - she loved it.
Her vision tunneled, entirely swallowed by Izzie and the boy in the corner who had his tongue in her mouth. The people around her suddenly felt too close and the music too loud. She wished she had Sam’s noise canceling headphones.
Casey wasn’t even trying to inhale anymore as she stared, watching the girl whose lips she’d taken a chance on kiss a boy - a stranger. She could feel her chest burning, could feel the rest of her body screaming at her to take a breath, to do something. But she couldn’t. She could only stare until the need for air became too much.
She gasped, her feet moving against her will. The room smelled like too much weed, stinging her eyes and nose. Casey began to back towards the door.
It wasn’t that she was heartbroken; no, she knew what heartbreak felt like, and right now, that space was occupied by Evan.
This was on her. She’d decided to break off something good and consistent and wonderful to chase after someone who played hot and cold like Evan played video games. She had no one to blame but the person in the mirror.
Somehow, after being jostled around by several other bodies, she made it to the hallway. It was quiet, thankfully, the noise of the party muffled to the pulsing of the base inside the hotel room where she knew Izzie was still liplocked with that tall stranger.
How could she have thrown away something so good for this?
She wanted to go back to being normal; to the time when she looked at Evan’s eyes and didn’t see Izzie’s reflecting back at her.
this is an excerpt from a nico minoru/karolina dean fic:
“You’re still glowing.” The words came out low. Nico’s eyes flicked up and down her girlfriend’s illuminated body, taking it all in. She knew Karolina could control her light now, which could only mean one thing.
“I wanted you to see it,” Karolina admitted, ducking her head. Now that Nico’s eyes were open, she could see just how much fear flickered behind Karolina’s warm glow. She had removed her arms from Nico now and twisted her hands together in front of herself anxiously. “I needed you to see it.”
Nico swallowed hard, unable to pull her eyes away. The light brought so many emotions flooding back. The first time she’d seen Karo glow. Early nights at the Hostel when the power would short out and Karolina walked around like a glowing flashlight. All the times Nico ran her hands down her hips and kissed her neck and watched her glow brighter than all the stars in the sky.
“I see it,” Nico promised.
“You’re not scary,” was Karolina’s response.
They were words Nico had said many times to Karolina, but never had anyone said them to her.
“Then why am I… like this?”
“Nico.” Karolina shook her head. “Your darkness isn’t evil. It just… is. And I know you can master your magic without the Staff. You’re more than its power.”
“Am I?” Nico didn’t know what she was. She’d been trying to figure it out for a lot longer than she cared to admit.
She was the Dead Girl’s Sister.
She was That Goth Bitch.
She was a loner, an outcast, a freak.
“You’re Nico Minoru,” Karolina said quietly. “And that’s… that’s enough.”
this mal/evie moment is an excerpt from longer fic titled In Loco Parentis:
Evie had really outdone herself. She’d managed to put together a figure cutting, sapphire satin dress that fell off the shoulders in the most tasteful way possible. With her dark makeup and striking updo, Evie could’ve passed as at least twenty-five. And Mal had never wanted to kiss her more.
“I’m proud of you,” Mal said during a quiet moment, rubbing the other girl’s shoulders gently. “You look great. You did good.”
“Well,” Evie laughed, tipping her head back. “I did well.”
“Whatever, princess.” Mal’s voice had gone soft, her chin resting on Evie’s shoulder. Unable to help herself, she pressed a gentle kiss there, glancing up to see if she’d overstepped. But Evie didn’t look upset; on the contrary, her eyes were wide and her cheeks pink.
“So that’s what it’s like when a girl kisses you,” she breathed, tucking Mal’s hair behind her ear.
“Believe me,” Mal purred. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” She waited for Evie to correct her grammar again, but instead, the girl pulled Mal gently out from behind her, capturing Mal’s lips with her own.
And just like that, Evie was kissing her.
“You’ve got lipstick on your face,” Evie whispered as she pulled away, doing her best to wipe it off.
“I can’t fail you today.” Evie tugged at the hem of her dress, sighing. “I can’t. Mal, this means so much to you.”
But for the first time in a very, very long time, revenge on her mother was the last thing on Mal’s mind. Evie’s eyes and lips and voice took up all the space, blooming in her chest. “You can’t fail me,” she promised.
And that was the sheer and utter truth.
💖 single character-centric
this is an excerpt from a catra-centric exploration:
She’s lost count of the nail marks.
When Hordak first threw her in this cell, Catra resolved to count every single tally Shadow Weaver left on the walls. But now that she’s fifty-two marks in - or maybe fifty-three? - her determination is beginning to waver.
She also doesn’t remember Shadow Weaver being locked up for fifty days. Maybe the nail marks don’t represent days at all - or maybe the old lady is as crazy as she is evil.
Lowering her gaze to the green glowing shackles around her hands, Catra tries - not for the first time - to wriggle out of them. Their buzzing is growing increasingly irritating.
How dare Shadow Weaver leave? Did she stop to think what would happen to Catra? Did it even cross her mind that she might be thrown in this cell as her replacement? Or maybe she did and just didn’t care?
Catra’s face twists in a grim smile. Of course her own fate hasn’t given Shadow Weaver any pause. She got what she wanted.
She tries to think back, to find the place where she went wrong - a single moment she can pinpoint where her plans went to shit. But the pieces just don’t fit. Nothing adds up.
Because Catra has done everything right. She’s climbed the ranks. She’s done her job well. She’s accomplished everything Adora could have and more. She’s surpassed even Shadow Weaver’s authority!
And yet, here she is. In chains. Awaiting punishment.
Adora always comes out on top. Hasn’t that been beaten into her since day one? Adora gets to walk away unharmed, with her new best friends and glowing hair. Adora gets Shadow Weaver, despite being a defector, a traitor, a failure!
I would’ve stayed for you.
Catra kicks out with her back foot and pushes away the tray someone delivered to her earlier. She’s not that hungry anyway - and certainly not for brown ration bars.
The tray makes a satisfying clatter as it skids across the floor, and Catra bares her teeth in a halfway smile. If she’s going down, she’s going to go down fighting. She’ll make it as difficult and as painful for Hordak as she can - right until the very end.
this is an excerpt from a summer/tessa fic i wrote by request:
She’s happy now, you know.
She’s brighter and happier and just really fucking in love.
You can see it. You can hear it in the way she talks and the way her eyes light up when she walks into the room. You notice how she perks up when her name is dropped during casual conversation and how she makes a point of talking about her at every possible offhanded moment.
And honestly, you’re happy, too. You’re happy for her. You’re happy for them. Because they’re just so cute, and everyone says so.
And if you notice that Tessa is wearing her sweater - the one you used to wear because it made her mad and got those sparkling eyes to fix on you for just a few more seconds - you don’t say anything.
Because it wasn’t like the sweater belonged to you or was anything other than a polyester cardigan with a small hole in the elbow.
It’s not like when you draped it over your shoulders, she would roll her eyes and grumble and demand you give it back. Your heart wouldn’t jump, and your mind wouldn’t rush with the adrenaline that came with shooting a snarky response.
It’s not like you memorized the way she used to scoff - that sound in the back of her throat - or how she’d wave her hand dismissively while you wondered what it would be like to hold it and never let go.
It’s not like you’ve ever wanted anything from her - attention or otherwise.
It’s not like that sweater gave you an excuse to touch her shoulders, to catch a whiff of her perfume, to pretend the old sleeves were a good substitute for her arms.
When words finally do form in your mouth, they’re not the ones you want to say. They’re snarky or sarcastic or snide. They’re perfectly in-character for you, the airhead, the fair-weather friend, or just The Bitch.
Plain and simple. Easy to categorize and even easier to overlook.
You won’t think about what it feels like to hug her or how comforting it is to rest your head on her shoulder for those brief, world-stopping seconds - so close you can smell her shampoo and whatever else she uses to make those curls behave themselves. Those moments are meant to be locked away, to be kept safe, where they can’t become anything they shouldn’t. Because the two of you have come so far, but nowhere near far enough.
Yeah, you’re not my type.
It’s confirmation of a dead end.
if any of these pieces catch your eye and you want one of your own, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me! i’m in the process of working on some really cool commissions right now, and i’m more than happy to add yours to the mix!
