#WIP revelations

[jaibhagwan]

👀 Happily Ever After sounds good right now. Please don't say it's an ironic title 😭 Caryl can be happy in at least one timeline, right? Right?!?

Oh, yes. Absolutely. Good choice, nonny. This story began as a reaction to the cancellation of the Caryl spinoff. It was based only on an image of them in a jeep in S11 which we now know was absolute rubbish retcon of their storyline. So think of it as "fix it" fix because who the hell really cares about canon compliance if Gimple doesn't?

Daryl was almost out of breath by the time he reached her. “Hold up,” he called urgently.

Carol turned around. “Do you need something?”

He bent over, putting his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “You okay?” 

Carol’s forehead creased. “Me? I’m not the one about ready to pass out.” She put her hand on his back between his shoulders and rubbed lightly. “Maybe you should walk it off.”

“Very funny,” he replied, but the stitch in his side began to spasm. He groaned, leaning on her shoulder as he conceded. “Yeah, okay,” he wheezed. “Help an old man out?”

She rolled her eyes and let out a puff of air that was almost a chuckle, but her arm moved swiftly around him, steadying him. They took a few lumbering steps together.

“Back there,” he said, indicating towards the dispersing crowd. “You looked sad.”

“I did?”

“Or maybe it was jealousy,” he teased, hoping he was right. “I can't tell.”

Carol sighed. “It’s been a long day.”

[luxusdollhouse]

Hello

Look at her

[zarstarss]

the realistic transition goals in question

(pose credit to the re fandom wiki gallery for lady hunk, was gonna draw him in the dress but copped out mid render)

[gods-perfect-idiots]

❤️💛

[alexologyart]

Gremlin woman has arrived!

Breaking my rules and posting sketches ☺️🦇🧋

[writing-whump]

At midnight

Brotherly revelations continue. Hector comes home. Isaiah is still sick. Emeto, angst and lots of comfort.

It was almost midnight when Hector kicked out the door of his apartment. "You should have called me right away that Isaiah was here! I'm gonna kill him for ignoring me-"

Hector stopped in his tracks. Isaiah was lying on the couch under a blanket. Curled up and pale, like he was hurt, eyes closed. His face was a mask of calmness that he had when he was sick and trying to not let it get to him.

"What the hell happened here?!"

"Stop yelling, would you?" Arnie was perched on the sofa next to Isaiah's head, for all intentions and purposes looking like a scary mother.

Hector slowed his pace as he came closer, peering over Isaiah.

"Hey. Been waiting for you," Isaiah said, smiling at him weakly.

"Why are you dozing off here?" Hector said. "We have a perfectly good room over there."

"Just...just for a few minutes."

"He has been saying that for the last two hours," Arnie said with a scrunched nose.

Isaiah had the decency to wince at that. "Sorry. Do you guys think I could...spend the night here?"

"As if I would let you go anywhere in this state," Hector scoffed, pushing Isaiah's leg out of the way to sit at his side, still looking him over.

"You stink." There was a faint smell of antiseptics and a oversweet metallic scent on his skin and something heavier coming from his chest.

Hector reached over, lifting the cardigan and unbuttoning Isaiah's shirt one by one with quick nimble fingers.

Isaiah lifted an eyebrow over closed eyes but didn't protest. Arnie gasped for breath as they got a good look.

There was a thick but small square of gauze over Isaiah's heart, though the injury didn't smell fresh or open. There was another even more worrying line at the center, a diagonal between his ribs. The cut was healed, but the skin had a distinctly darker and glasier colouring.

"See? Not sick. Just still in recovery phase," Isaiah said. That he wasn't trying to cover it or sit up alarmed Hector the same as the wound.

"Did someone stab you with silver?" Hector heard himself saying as if from a distance. That evening when Isaiah suddenly collapsed at the wolf meet flashed through his mind. The implication made him queasy.

"No. Had a surgery. Two weeks ago." Isaiah squinted at them both with obvious difficulty, frowning in concern. "Out of the blue heart attack. But it's managed now," he added quickly. "I have medications and prevention and stuff. Won't happen again. I can go back to almost normal with this. Just a couple things I have to watch out for."

Isaiah looked so...fearful as he said it. Curled up as a ball around his exposed chest, small as possible. Resigned, apprehensive, a pained line between his eyes. Hector could hear his heart speeding up and hated everything and anything that had put that look on his older brother's face.

How did they get here?

Isaiah's breath hitched and he made a choked up sound, trying to lift himself on shaky hands. Hector grabbed him around the shoulders and lifted him up before he thought better of it, but Isaiah gave him a small grateful smile.

Hector should probably say something, but his mind was completely blank.

"So that's why you are still feverish and gaunt," Arnie said thoughtfully. He was also trying to sound nonchalant and not like the news were earth-shattering. "You are going to be alright? Swear?"

"Yes," Isaiah said, tips of his ears flushing a little, like the whole thing was emberassing. His stomach let out a loud gurgle, when he looked at Hector, like he waited for the judgment of the devil.

"Well, you better get me that list of stuff to watch out for so we can fucking know how to not mess you up," Hector said through gritted teeth, helping Isaiah lean against the cushions in a sitting position. He had never thought of Isaiah as frail, but with the fever radiating off him and the bloody smell, he felt...protective. Scared for him even. "Rock-climbing sure seems out of the picture," he grumbled.

Isaiah looked at Arnie in confusion, who just threw his hand dismissively. "He means we would love to know what to do to help you with the recovery and anything else we can."

"Right. What do you need now?"

Isaiah looked back at Hector. "I'm fine, I-"

"What do you need right now?" Hector wasn't going to let that fast pulse slide anymore.

"Could you...get me some water?" Isaiah asked sheepishly.

Arnie nodded and shot out towards the kitchen while Hector sat shoulder to shoulder to Isaiah trying to look like he wasn't staring.

Isaiah's breaths came harder now too. He leaned his head back towards the ceiling, breathing through his mouth. He fumbled with the buttons of the shirt so Hector slapped his hands away and fixed them back up.

"He got sick earlier. I'm sorry, should have been forcing more water in him," Arnie said as he returned with the glass of water, his own from before discarded at the table. "Does your head hurt?"

"A little," Isaiah said. When Hector kept staring, he drained half of the glass. "I'm fine. See, I'm telling you!"

"So much progress," Hector rolled his eyes. He gulped down the shock and the a globe of something with sharp points down his throat. It felt stuck between his mouth and his stomach, burning somewhere in the middle.

He was not going to be emotional about this and worry Isaiah more. No way.

"Do Seline and Matt know you are staying?" Arnie asked. "Don't worry them."

"They know I might stay over," Isaiah said. He shuffed over to the edge of the sofa, movements painfully slow in Hector's eyes. He put the glass away on the table and panted through his mouth, eyes fixed on the floor.

"Zaya?" Hector planted his hand on his arm.

"Drank a bit too fast. It's fine," Isaiah said, a full-bodied shiver going through him.

"Idiot," Hector sighed. "Arnie, go get him a bowl or something, I'm taking you to your room."

Isaiah didn't struggle - or help at all, really - when Hector unceremoniously pulled him up by the arm and pushed him towards the guest bedroom. "My room?"

Hector coughed and looked away. "You have been always spreading your germs there, when you are staying over. Might as well keep it. Shoo. In bed with you, grandpa."

Isaiah chuckled, despite the uneasy, queasy grimace on his face, letting himself be manhandled into bed. He was swaying like on a boat, only Hector's grip keeping him going straight.

Hector considered making him change clothes, but Isaiah just pulled at his sleeves and hunched into himself, so he added another blanket instead. And more pillows. "You are gonna say exactly what you need. Nag me and pester me until you get it or I'll kill you, clear?"

Isaiah was still smiling but not lying down. Hector sat down next to him. "Still nauseous?"

"Uhm. I kinda always am these days." Isaiah braced his elbows on his knees, connecting his fingertips. He was still taking those careful measured breaths. "From the meds. Once I get used to it and we figure out the right dosage, it will be fine."

A loud sickly gurgle echoed through the room. Hector couldn't not notice how bloated Isaiah's stomach looked, straining under the shirt and sweater. "You are not in pain right now, are you?" Hector asked gruffly.

Isaiah gently put his hand on top of his stomach, right under the ribs. "No, it's just..." He swallowed heavily, first time, second time, then gagged against his hand.

"Where is Arnie with that bowl? Such a slowpoke," Hector grumbled, turning around to grab the small trashcan and positioning it under Isaiah's chin.

Isaiah panted, squeezing his eyes. His cheeks puffed out and then a gush of the water came out, splattering into the trashcan. Another mouthful came with the next violent gag, this time all over Hector's hand.

"Oh god, sorry-" Isaiah burped, spit dangling from his bottom lip.

Hector grimaced in disgust but couldn't help barking out a laugh. "Whatever. It's okay. Arnie does worse things when he is sick."

Isaiah covered his face with one hand, heartbeat picking up again. "Sorry, didn't mean to, I'm so sorry..."

"Shut up," Hector said, taking the trashcan away when Isaiah's throat seemed to have come to a standstill. He shook off his shirt, wiping the rest of the puke, then discarding it on the floor. "See, the room's all yours."

Isaiah said nothing, chest hitching. Was he sniffling?

"Oi, Zaya, come on. It's all good. You said it yourself." Hector touched his forehead with the back of his clean hand. Maybe the fever was making him overemotional.

Arnie came in, carrying a cold towel and a thermometer inside the mixing bowl, wrinkling his nose at the smell. "Ups, I see I'm late."

Isaiah curled up on his side, back to them. Arnie pushed the supplies into Hector's hands and climbed over, his voice soft. "Hey, none of that. Don't cry, it's okay."

"You don't even know what happened," Hector complained, piling the things on the nightstand and shutting the lights off in the hall.

"Not that much that could have," Arnie shot back, then wiggled his way next to Isaiah under the covers, draping himself over him. "Can I be like this? Does it hurt?"

Isaiah shook his head, choking on tears. It made Hector's skin crawl with how unnatural the whole thing felt. How new it was. Isaiah didn't cry, that wasn't how the laws of physics worked.

"Sorry. I don't know why...hic..." Isaiah rubbed at his wet eyes, curling around Arnie like he was a plush toy.

Hector sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. They were acting like kids, snuggling under the blankets and crying for nonsense. But he couldn't make himself leave.

Hector planted his hand on Isaiah's back, rubbing up and down. It worked out a loud burp that had Isaiah crying more.

Isaiah's stomach made another growling sound and the oldest wolf muffled a groan against the pillow. Arnie hummed unhappily.

"Oh, stop being so dramatic. You'll just make yourself sicker," Hector grumbled, putting more force into the rub.

He kept it up until he felt Isaiah's muscles on his back uncoiling, little by little and he melted into the sheets with a sigh that sounded more harmless.

They were going to be alright, weren't they? It wasn't fair that Isaiah didn't tell them, but Hector felt so tired of today's revelations that he didn't have it in him to kick up a fuss anymore.

But a heart attack. God, at 25, that was crazy. And Hector knew something was up with Isaiah's heart, the pain that the shadow couldn't take away. Why didn't he press him further on the issue? Why didn't he ask more? Why wasn't he there, when it happened? He wanted to know all the details, the diagnosis, how was something like this possible with a wolf at the prime of his powers.

A knowing tickle at the back of his neck meant he had some idea where this might be coming from. Arnie with the migraines, Isaiah with these mysterious pains that caused something like that. At this point, Hector just felt...grief for it all. What happened, that he let it happen, that it happened to them, to Isaiah of all people.

Once he could pinpoint and name the emotion, it crashed over him like a tsunami, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Hector hang his head, retracting his hand as he stared at a fixed point on the sheets. His shadow tugged at him in distress at the unfamiliar explosion of fear and sadness. It strained and wiggled, wanting release, fighting, taking revenge.

Hector shifted in his seat uneasily. Either the shadow was coming out or he would give the firecrackers between his ribs some other way out. He wasn't sure what it was supposed to be.

He ended up nestling into the bed, just a few centimeters from Isaiah's back. It was comforting his breathing came more steadily. Another crush of annoying emotions. Hector shifted closer, burying his head into Isaiah's back from behind, on top of the covers.

Isaiah tensed up, but said nothing. Arnie's hand came up around Isaiah's back all the way to Hector's shoulder.

What a pathetic night it was. Hector hoped they would never speak of it again, snuggling closer.

[simplegenius042]

Late WIP Wednesday/Thursday

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton and @imogenkol

Tagging @aceghosts @noodlecupcakes @direwombat @voidika @la-grosse-patate @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @adelaidedrubman @shellibisshe @josephseedismyfather @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @florbelles @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink and @sledge-in-space + anyone who'd like to join.

WIPs for The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles, specifically The Tale Of Mario Emmet and Silva's Hope respectively. You can read these WIPs under the cut:

The Tale Of Mario Emmet is a fic set during the Five Nights At Freddy's: The Silver Eyes. This fic primarily focuses on my original character Mario Emmet, one of my main characters in The Perfect Storm saga and The UnTitledverse series as a whole, his journey of shedding his xenophobia towards others, and companionship with his human friends and eventual romance with Charlie Emily. It also somewhat diverges from the novels however by having "Dave Miller" unable to secure a spot as a night guard for the mall that surrounds "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza" (unfortunately, he will show up later). Mario's first introduction to Charlie and friends was while he was under the guise of a human... his second official introduction is messier and more hostile than the first, as shown below:

[TW: Description of a grotesque inhuman transformation. Very minor violence and blood as of now]

"Where do you think you're going?"

Charlie froze. Dread returned like the force of a freight train. John was quick to twist around, and his reaction confirmed her fear.

Mario was free.

As the others followed John's example, Charlie slowly glanced back to see Mario stepping out of the darkness of the animatronics maintenance room.

He wasn't close to her, separated several feet from each other, a gap that echoed the visceral betrayal of broken trust.

Mario's silver eyes glared into Charlie's brown with that same soul piercing gaze once more. From what Charlie could observe, Mario was hardly tired from the events of the night, nor of his earlier detainment. He held himself tall with determination and grit that matched her own.

"You aren't now, are you?" Mario chuckled, finding the idea incredulous, "After what you've all done tonight? None of you are leaving this building."

Clay took authoritative action immediately, taking his service weapon out to aim at the culprit behind his son's kidnapping and torment. John chose to take the chance to prioritize Charlie's safety over his own, stepping forwards to pull her back.

His initiative was inconvenienced by Charlie's unmoving state, though she was still conscious enough to pace a few steps back with him.

"Mario Emmet, put your hands in the air now!" Clay ordered the night guard, "You are under arrest. Any weapons you have on your person, you are to relieve yourself of them now. If you resist and attempt to endanger the life of civilians further, I will be forced to take lethal action. Do you understand?"

Mario did not shift his focus to Clay, intent on keeping Charlie trapped in their shared eye contact. His features twist to something less angry, and more doleful. He spoke, and Charlie could not help but believe that his words were solely for her to hear.

"Why couldn't you just let it rest?"

Charlie could not find it in herself to speak nor reply, and found herself unable to as John further pulled her behind the chief of police.

Mario soon returned to glaring, shifted his attention to Clay as he scrutinized the wider man.

A tense silence overtook the building; Mario staring down Clay, Charlie being held protectively in John's arms, Jessica supporting Carlton while Marla and Lamar kept their arms defensively on Jason.

From what Charlie could deduce, past Mario's glare was a pensive consideration. She could tell he was weighing his options, in spite of what little opportunity Clay was leaving him with.

Clay's features hardened, as he kept his weapon on Mario with little intent to misfire should Mario prove to be more unreasonable than he was.

As Clay was about to open his mouth to give a warning, Mario broke the tense silence with a sigh, raising his hands up in surrender. It caught Charlie by surprise; it seemed uncharacteristic of him to take such a chance. He didn't have any weapons on him, that she was sure of.

In spite of what should be an uplifting turn of events on the long frivolous night, she couldn't help but feel something felt wrong, but she couldn't figure out why.

Clay released some of the tension he had been shouldering, one hand retreating from his service weapon to reach for his cuffs as he steadily made his way towards Mario.

With Clay's guard weakened, a newfound glint sparked in Mario's eyes.

Charlie noticed it before anyone else, but was unable to efficiently put a stop to Mario's following actions much like everyone else.

Clay had taken a step closer when his shoulder was pierced by a bulky and sharp serrated appendage. It wasn't a hook like Foxy's; more similar to the claws of a praying mantis.

He lost grip of his weapon from the sudden pain of a well-planned attack. The claw separated from Clay, dripping blood to stain the dirty tiles. A red stain grew on his clothes around the wound.

Clay stumbled back, with both Charlie and John forcing themselves to move in order to catch the chief as Carlton called out for his father in alarm.

With Clay groaning and hissing under their arms, Charlie turned her attention back to Mario, and her eyes widened.

The claw retracted to Mario's arm, shifting and breaking apart into his hand. He flexed his hand, rubbing his wrist.

His silver eyes held the group where they stood, most trying to understand the logistics of what just occurred. Charlie, though, was the only one amongst them that came to a conclusion that, while unbelievable, was comprehensible to her.

Mario sighed, sneering at the group with a disdain that, in the short time Charlie knew him, didn't think he was capable of.

"I know that this is... hard for you to come to terms with," Mario stated, and though cold, there was a hint of sincerity, "I know the instinct to run, hide, resist... is coursing through your blood as we speak. Your... fear is evident. And I know you will think this unfair."

Mario took a step forward, the ceiling light above him flickering. Perhaps it was age. Or maybe, Charlie found herself thinking, It is something else entirely.

"After all, it's not your fault that you came here tonight," Mario continued, his voice low but audible, "You were lured here by your grief. Your longing for a friend who was taken from you - unjustly, of course- by a malicious force that held no remorse nor empathy for the victims he left bleeding. For that I cannot fault you. For that, you have my sympathy."

The ceiling lights soon followed the example of the first, all flickering at a pace with no rhythm, no justification given the functional state of the generators.

As Mario continued his slow approach, Charlie and John dragged a pale Clay to the safety of their group. There was a small gasp from within their half-circle, grabbing Charlie's attention like everyone else's.

"The exit!" Jason called out, panic creeping into his tone.

Following where the boy pointed, the group felt dread crawl its ugly head to peek into their hearts as they realized the root of Jason's distress- the broken down bricks that Clay had entered through the restaurant was mended once more into a solid wall.

Their exit was gone - including the sealed door.

"However," Mario gained the groups attention as the atmosphere grew tenser, "In spite of my lenience to allow you to make your peace while you could, you have continuously encroached upon my territory, disrupted my nest. My haven, with little apology and little sincerity in your promises to leave, with an intent to keep coming back. Like your redhead friend, you've all reached too close to the sun little Icarus's. So now, there must be a penalty."

His words became more distorted as he spoke, an echo behind his voice as his body began to twitch as unnaturally as the lights above them.

With each passing flicker, Charlie witnessed how his body changed; the skin on his face hardened and grew pale, his body slimmer till his skin seemed to cling to his bones, like some starved beast. Limbs elongating until he was tall and lank, his uniform morphing into his body as it darkened and changed color.

Claws that weren't too dissimilar to steel broke from his finger tips, as well as femur spines that belonged to an insect protruding from his thighs. His withered into nothing, white stripes forming across his dark limbs.

Despite what she was witnessing - what they all were witnessing - the worst part was the sounds. Hearing flesh tearing like paper, snapping and crunching like bones, and a guttural groan unlike that of a hungry predator was an unsettling experience that sickened Charlie.

The transformation neared its completion, with Mario's head widening to inhuman degrees; his forehead, complimented with a concerning crack on the left, became a discerning appearance, just as his mouth widened too- spread past the limits of an actual human.

Various unnatural features decorated his face and body; the circles imitating rosy cheeks, the pair of twin specks that seemed to emulate brows, red lipstick around the lip-less mouth and the twin trails of blue that ran down to his smile. His no longer wore a uniform; it was instead replaced with a sleeveless buttoned vest that manifested a small cape that reached down to his hips. A flower bloomed on his right side, and a bow tie at his neck.

The last change was his eyes; the white of his sclera melted into the creeping darkness, his silver iris with it. A new pair of eyes replaced them, rolling up from below. His pupils were white instead of black, his irises shined silver with a small darker ring separating the pupil from the bigger, more mesmerizing rings.

His appearance was alien and wrong and... so familiar to Charlie. Perhaps an unfinished animatronic glimpsed in his garage. But this... was warped and personalized in a sense - tailored to fit his preferences. The thought invoked rejection towards the impossibility of the situation; seeking logic that wasn't there as confusion froze her in place.

Everyone else were more afraid than anything else. Except for Mario, who seemed apologetic rather than enthusiastic.

"You have disturbed my nights long enough, taking what little I could grant you. What little I could conserve. And thus, there must be a 'give' to return on your part," Mario stated or... whatever he truly was, with voice littered with guttural snarls and chitters, "Know I did not want this. I'd never think to do this. But you've left me with little choice. I've ignored my hunger long enough. And besides..."

Mario gazed directly into Charlie's shocked brown eyes.

"...you can't fight your nature."

Jessica's hands gripped onto Charlie, pulling her closer to the huddled group as Carlton took over supporting his dad from John. His grey eyes glanced over to the animatronics that were by the sidelines... including the golden bear that Michael was inside.

"Uh... guys," he caught the others attention, directing it to the animatronics on standby.

Until all, with exception to Michael, began to make their way to the hallway.

Why aren't they staying?

"Go join the others Michael," Mario tells the Golden Bear. There seems to be some garbled indiscernible reply from the suit... a protest perhaps?

Though it's seems to be all for naught when Mario snaps back, "Go back to slumber Michael. I'll make this quick."

Michael lingers, but the glint of life in the bear suit's sockets flicker out; darkness cast over the yellow suit.

"Now," Mario growled when he turned his attention to them, clawed tendrils breaking from under his shoulders, as another pair of thin legs extend out from the two limbs, reminiscent of a spider, "It's time to feed."

For Silva's Hope, allow me to present to you Silva's first of many face-offs with one Nadi Sinclair, aka John's right hand (and simp), aka former member of Taskforce 141 (from Call To Arms duology), aka a really good shot! Enjoy below:

[TW: Violence and blood and dead Peggies]

Another shot rang out, the glass of the wrecked ute shattered above her.

Silva scooted away from any openings her unseen attacker had on her, shrunk low while she kept her limbs close to herself.

With another shot, a bullet dented into the ute, but remained strong against her attacker.

She could hear gunfire and shouts from enemies and allies alike, as the peggies assault Fall's End and the valley's Resistance defend themselves.

She inspects her glock, swiftly checking her magazine.

Empty.

Silva banged the back of her head against the vehicle's metal, cursing herself for her shortsightedness.

She puts the glock back into her holster, hand reaching for her knife.

Until a peggie rounded the corner of the ute, shovel in his hands and raising it to hit her.

Surprised, Silva barely had enough time to roll away from the strike. The peggie, who's eyes seem glazed with a misty green, slammed his shovel against the dirt, face etching with confusion.

And clarity once I'm done with him, Silva thought as she brought out her knife, the stone handle feeling right in her gloved hands. As she moved to deliver a killing blow, there was a small part of herself that felt like she was forgetting something.

A familiar bang rang out, and Silva realized she was going to get a painful reminder of the situation she had gotten stuck in to punish her instincts.

Silva doubled over, her knife dropped as the sharp sting was replaced with a burning pain once the bullet excited her bicep. Silva clutched her wound, blood seeping into her gloves. She dropped to the floor when another shot was fired, hitting the ground nearby.

The peggie used her disadvantage to attack, throwing himself onto her. Silva had rolled to her back to counter, but only managed to grip onto shovel's handle.

She quickly realised he wanted to choke her out with it, either to kill her or render her unconscious. Neither was appealing, and opted to keep his shovel from her throat.

Which was proving difficult from the strain of the wound she received from John's sharpshooter, the pressure and applied strength weakening her grip against the ridiculously strong peggie.

As the handle crept closer to her throat, her strength just about ready to give in, a shot rang out.

And the peggie's brain matter and blood sprayed against the white ute, his corpse collapsing onto her.

Shoving it off, she searched for her attacker. Until she recognized a familiar green laser pointer that belonged to her rescuer.

Following the green light, she saw Grace had set herself up on the garage's roof.

Her radio burst to life, Grace's voice piercing through the chaos of gunfire and yells, "You good Deputy?"

Silva let out a relieved huff, hissing when she moved her wounded arm. She used her functional hand to grab the radio and reply, "Got a gunshot wound to the bicep. Went clean through but got nothing to clean it or stitch myself up with. Not to mention-"

A bullet denting the roof of the ute interrupted her, followed by a shot to the hood and the deflation of a tire.

"-I've got this gillipollas hounding after me. How's everything over on your part?"

"Jerome's leading the push back against the Peggie's front assault while Mary May's keeping the wounded inside her bar and restocking any ammo we need," Grace informs Silva as she fires a shot far off from Silva, "John's bodyguard, Sinclair, is holed up on the water tower. I guess neither she nor John were happy with the destruction of their new toy."

Silva could guess she was referring to the Revelator. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she responded, "Can you reach her from your position?"

Grace hummed, but not the affirmative kind, "Negative, and neither can she, though her ire seems more focused on you. However, I can take out the blissed-out peggies running toward your position."

Of course there's more of that guy. Which wouldn't be an issue if she could use both her hands, a loaded gun and didn't have to worry about John's enthusiastic psycho sniper blowing her head off.

Taking slow methodic breaths, Silva used the dropped shovel to safely reach for her knife, managing to return it to her waiting hand as another shot broke off the shovel's spade.

She inquired, "Is there any cover I could run up to?"

"Barely, but enough to be out of Sinclair's scope," Grace affirmed, much to Silva's relief, "I'd advise going for the peggie van furthest to your right."

"Can you cover me?" Silva asked, legs prepped to make a run. Her wound ached, but she forced herself to push back the pain. Gripping her knife with her good hand, she awaited Grace's response.

The radio came to life once more, and Grace assured her, "I've got your back, Dep."

[sissiarte]

Today in: devastating redraws of historical art but make it Cormac Fir Diad...

(og painting is Ivan the Terrible and His Son by Ilya Repin)

[ace-writer-lani]

Edit: lol I have decided to give the first sentence of each fic

-TCoS&D: "To put it lightly, Bianca was stressed."

-TLLoG: "Silently, Nico slipped into the office where he found Will hunched over...something."

-AA&A: "'He's watching again.'"

-TU&U: "'You're going to be late.'"

-AFR: "Jason thought he had died."

-L&L: "'Finished,' Will announced, barging into the room."

-LT: "The black-haired girl was starting to creep Clarisse out."

[b33tlejules]

Wip Wthursday

Thanks for the tags @localcryptic and @dorkousloris !!

Here's some sketches/things I will refine Later:

A laughing Teo, Judas and his puppet having a normal time (revelations demo edition), and some fake comic covers for Teo and Rhan :)

I tagggggg...... @autistic-sidestep @autumnfangirler and @hyper-pixels (if you already did it sorryyyyyy also anyone who wants to can just say i tagged them :))

[jaibhagwan]

Ooh I like this game!

Last Refuge?

Yes, it was a story that I started for the Pleasure and Pain fanfic challenge on NL years ago. I only published the first chapter, but there are more. The ending has been elusive.

I planned to alternate POVs between Carol and Daryl, but then Daryl's kind of took over as it's wont to do in my brain. So I went to work on a Carol POV fic instead to help me develop her voice better and sort of forgot to come back.

I have an outline for this story, last modified in 2015, (oh dear, that's a very long time ago) but I haven't really used it, obviously. At least I know which direction to write in, so there's that. I better take a closer look at it.

Thanks!

[maiamars]

wips following thoses preliminary sketches (x)

[nerocoin]

beast from the sea

[godknives]

new amor opening paragraph teehee *creep by radiohead starts playing*

taglist under the cut (ask to +/-)

@glitterandstarshine @ofbloodandflowers @saltwaterbells @hydrancheas @arkicts @chishiio @justthehopeleft @nonsensical-pendulum @writing-is-a-martial-art @writeblrfantasy @carnivalls @dovebeast @lord-fallen @muddshadow @uppoffringar @houndmouthed @dream-fyre @tate-lin @redbloodprose @wildswrites @cream-and-tea @careful-fear @cyber-motorcycle

[canisonicscrewyou]

Hiiiii hiii I keep talking about it so here's an excerpt of a scene from the beginning-middle of The Fic between Rory!Master and Amy after he 'kidnaps' her (read: begs Amy to pleaseplease come inside of his TARDIS before the Doctor got back) because I'm very very normal about both of them.

Timeline Context: I'm writing Rory!Master as having regenerated directly after Missy. Timeline Fuckery.

"You know, Amy, there was one brief day in 2009 where practically everyone in the world was me. You- you were me. Huh. I guess- I guess Rory was me, too. Before. You were 20. Rory was also 20, but he'd only been around for 13 years... Do you remember what it felt like? — Nah, you wouldn't. It's fine..." he scoffed it off immediately, but still maintained a serious lack of eye contact with Amy Pond. "I don't really either..."

Amy had been trailing around the TARDIS console. This was the Master. This was who the Doctor warned her to be careful with. And while there was some fear, she was looking at him with what could only be described as pitiful concern. "What.. What did you do?"

"Stopped the world. Stopped the whole, entire world..." his voice trails, and then, slowly the Master's hands drum against the console. Four times. Then another four in quick succession before he turns back to Amy. "We could do that."

They could run off together.

If he had planned this all out, if this was some grand Master plan like the Doctor thought, this would have been easier.

He would've gotten Rory to open the watch after Prisoner Zero. After the Doctor left again. It could have been better that way. It could have been brilliant, that way. Him and Amy Pond and a Universe to try and burn thrice over and a Doctor to crush twice as hard.

"I could... I could run for Prime Minister again..."

"- What did you-" — "No. No, not that at all. Or I bet I could use Fleshkind to... Or we could go back to Leadworth, and we... I- We could get in with the Silence, he barely even knows about them yet but I do, he'd be so surprised... Or— Cybermen! Again. Or.."

As the Master goes on, Amy flags around him. Her arms crossed and head tilted. He was rambling, sure. A bit like a madman. (From what she'd seen, most things Time Lords said were mad, though, to be fair.) But one who seemed to have no idea what he was talking about. He looked like Rory whenever she caught him in a lie. He looked like Rory, panicky and eyes unfocused and unable to stop talking... Then again, he just looked.. like.. Rory...

"..... Either way I.. I barely ever try taking someone else along with me. He does it all the time. I mean, ha, look how well it works for him. Well- it works out fine for him. Eugh - You lot on the other hand... But- still-"

"Master. What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about..You could be queen of a galaxy twice over." He turned to look at her, and reached an awkward, choppy hand to take her wrist in what was supposed to be a bold, intimidating grasp. "I could show you galaxies fall and burn, Amy, or at least..a few planets.." the Master started strong, and ended fumbley as he cleared his throat and tried to avoid the fact that she looked amused. And she was. She was curious, and she was amused. The Master felt like he was drowning. "... You don't have to do everything his.. way. It isn't always the most correct. Sometimes it's just what makes him feel best. But he won't admit it."

Amy scoffed, and tugged her hand back towards herself with ease, even if the Master's hand followed with it. "... Are you trying to steal me, Master?" she asks softly.

"Is it working?" He asks far too quickly, and in some cases one might say it was timid.

"It's- well- it's a bit fucked up, I'll give you that.. I'm taking my hand back. Thanks." She says, and gently pries the Master's hand off her wrist, and places it back at his side.

There's a brief but enduring silence that lingers between the two as he stares at her dumbly, wide eyed, trying to find the way in. He needed this. Hell. He needed something. "... Have you ever wanted to kill Kovarian?" He asked to her stunned silence. And continued to it. "I mean, really, you must. Rory did. Ohh, Rory so did, and that wasn't even me, I swear..."

"... Just because I would want it doesn't make it right or what I actually... want.." Amy finally settled on. She put more distance between the two of them. "Is that really it? Is that what you're going for?"

"I mean, no, but letting her live doesn't make some part of the situation alright. It certainly wouldn't hurt, really. I mean, hell, Amy. Your fucking -daughter-. O--" Our daughter, he almost said. Not only would that not be received well, but it didn't... feel... right. He didn't feel any sort of connection to Melody or River, did he?

Well- maybe MISSY did. They'd met once before. River couldn't have known, could she? Did she ever? Was she a far better actor than he fathomed, or something?

He was getting off track.

"... As someone who's, against all odds, been a parent before. If someone snatched my child right out of my womb, I would stop at nothing to see them experience immense pain and regret, before the light cuts out of their stupid half-dead eyes."

She inhales. Sharp. "Let me get one thing straight." Amy starts. "You. Have no idea what I could possibly feel about Demons Run and Melody and- and let alone the right to try and use my own daughter as some kind of bargaining chip. Do you not think I'd see that?" She snapped, arms crossed as she looked back at him, and he looked away, briefly. But Amy paused, and her own fingers drummed against her arm. ..........

............

............

".... Okay." The Master finally relents to the silence and to the harsh, unyielding glare of Amy Pond as he turns away from it for a moment before spinning back to her. "Okay, I know, okay. But... You could still.. stay. We could be... It could be —" it could be good? "- it - it I mean it could be. Bad. For you. If you try to leave anyways." He fluffed up. Straightened his shoulders and tilted his chin up as he looked at her in an attempt to be tall.

"- I never even — who said I was letting you leave. This is a kidnapping and I am kidnapping you, Amy Pond. You aren't doing anything about it. Neither is the Doctor." The Master said, arms crossed, chest puffed and weight rocking onto his toes in front of her as he tried to catch them both back up to the reality of what this situation was supposed to be.

And Amy, arms crossed, eyes sparkling, grinned something fierce back at the Master.

She assessed the situation long ago: and it was that she probably could have walked out that TARDIS door ages ago and he wouldn't have done shit about it. She'd be getting back to the Doctor just fine, eventually.

"... I think I'll stay right here for now." "Than-- Hm. Good. That's a- a smart decision. Very wise. Let's go, Ms. Pond."

[scribesofcalamity]

Incoming Scribes 2024 beach chaos lmao 🩳⛱️☀️🌊🌴