#aka i had no idea what to do with this prompt until i remembered that prank grian pulled on scar in s9 and i was like well i cant just Not

[funky-fox-fics]

Prompt: prank

So let's set the scene:

Beautiful autumn day. Skizz logs onto the server, says hello to Joe and Cub and a few others who happen to be on. Sun's shining, birds are singing and chirping in the boughs of trees, bobbing up and down with their cheery little tunes. A breeze races through the trees, winding around each trunk and frightening the leaves, which tremble at its speed. It whistles past him, darting into the starter base, and he smiles.

For a moment all is calm--normal and typical of a day on the server (except for Zedaph dying in various ways, which--well, he supposes, in some odd way, is also normal and typical of a day on the server). He's ready to get some building done, probably get distracted halfway through, and then--

There's an odd structure near his pyramid.

It catches his eye. He pauses as he walks to his own pyramid, sets down the shulkers, studies it with a scrutinizing eye. It's... a circle made of what must be coarse dirt, filled with all sorts of flowers--poppies and peonies, azaleas and azure bluets. Atop an azalea bush sits a bright blue parrot, which makes a soft squawk as he stares at it.

"Alright," he says, very carefully. "This is either a prank, or someone left their pet and a bunch of flowers at my base, which--definitely a prank." Must be sculk-triggered too--there's no chests, pressure plates, or tripwires in sight.

Well. He's not one to pass up a good prank. Whatever this bright blue parrot has in store, he's probably ready for it.

Skizz drops his armor in the nearest half-full shulker and marches over to the parrot, ready to--die or something, he's not sure. He's never sure with this server, because typical days on the server include Zedaph dying a lot.

Finally, he stops near the parrot, close enough to pat its head, close enough to speak the Naming Charm aloud and glimpse its name in his mind. Loud Jessica reads the Nametag. The parrot looks up at him, eyes peering into his soul.

For a moment he thinks: maybe this was just a kind-hearted gesture--a parrot, for me? With all these flowers and things? That's--

And then the ground shrieks.

It's a horrible thing, a multi-layered sound rising up from beneath his feet and shaking the grass he stands on. The flowers quiver at the sound of it. It's deafening, drowning out anything else, and it sounds agonizing, like a shriek of death, like someone screaming for anyone--anyone--there's no words, just one noise, just one awful shriek--

It trembles through his bones, vibrating, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up and his wings flare out and he steps back and then suddenly he's running, purely on instinct, mind still full of that awful, awful shriek, and before he's aware of what he's even doing he's in the air and flapping wildly away from the shriek and--

He's panting.

Void. What was that.

He pulls up sharply, hovering instead, and twists around mid-air. Distantly, he can see the speck of the parrot, sitting placidly on its little azalea bush. His heart is still pounding. He takes a few deep breaths, still keeping himself aloft, before deciding that he's calm now and that he's going to go see what in void's name just happened.

Slowly, wings spread wide, he glides down to the ground and carefully lands, soundless, in the patch of flowers. He looks at Loud Jessica. Loud Jessica looks back.

He braces himself. He digs his shovel into a block.

The scream rises again, and he grits his teeth, trying to keep himself from fleeing. Void, it's loud. He digs again, straight underneath himself, and then mines the stone underneath that. He falls onto stone floor right next to a wall of shriekers.

They pulse and wriggle where they're rooted, constantly sensing the air, listening for soundwaves to set off their shriek response. There's so many of them--Skizz begins to count. Three-wide walls, five shriekers high, four walls--

60 shriekers?

Good Void. No wonder it had been so loud--one shrieker was loud enough. Which of the madlads on the server was responsible for this?

There's footsteps up above, and the shriekers, true to their name, shriek.

This time he's definitely not prepared for it, and fight-or-flight takes over, sending him flapping straight into the wall--away from the shriekers, away from the screams, away from the way it rumbles in his bones and sets his ears ringing--

Someone slips down into the cave as the shriekers are recovering from the scream, quick and swift, and--

they grab his hand--

He flinches away, still on edge, heart still racing, clutching his hand to his chest. His wings flare. The other person says nothing. Just stands there. Places a few wool blocks as a wall between them and the sculk, white, and Skizz leans against them, looks at the person--

Oh. It's Impulse there. There's a hint of worry in his eyes, like maybe he's gone too far, maybe he'd hurt Skizz--

Skizz takes another breath to steady himself and his voice, and then he says, "How many shriekers was that?"

"Sixty-four," Impulse says quietly. "A whole stack. May or may not have bribed Tango a little bit."

Skizz begins to laugh, half terrified, half shocked. This breaks the silence, comforting as it might be--Impulse begins to laugh, and then they're both doubled over, gasping for breath as the fact that he'd gotten a stack of shriekers for one prank sinks in.

"Nether's skulls," Skizz manages, voice warm with laughs. "Sixty-four, dippledop. You really went all out for this!"

"They did this last season," Impulse says, composing himself, drying away all the laughter that had taken him over before. "Scar and Grian. It was hilarious. I thought--I mean, for a second I thought I'd crossed a line or something--"

"No, you're all good, man," Skizz says, offering Impulse a grin. "Just--you know. Dove instincts and all that. My wings aren't used to being the top predator!" He flexes them subconsciously.

For a moment all is silent--the good kind of silence, not the terrifying, comfort-only-in-being-quiet silence from before. Then, Skizz says, "You know, you really should laugh more. I like your laugh."

"Thanks. I try," Impulse says with a sort of sharp chuckle. Not like before--something terse and short, not full-bodied and bright like before. The one he usually uses. And it's--it serves its purpose, but Impulse doesn't really laugh like he'd just done, and Skizz just--

Impulse is so guarded, nowadays. It's rare to catch him so off-guard that he laughs like that. Skizz likes it.

(Together, they clean up the prank, and Skizz even gets to keep the parrot.)

[periwinklecosma]

update: writing-prompt-s continues to double down on painting 90-ghost as an unreliable scammer

after this post i made about writing-prompt-s being a complete and total dickweed started spreading around, i honestly thought i'd be done with them for the time being, but someone in the reblogs of that post called something to my attention, and i'm completely and utterly disgusted. i don't care anymore at this point, i just don't want ANYTHING related to writing-prompt-s and their racism towards palestinians passing under the radar, hence this new post. please, if you remember reblogging the first post, reblog this one too, because i think this is an important follow-up. and if you somehow missed all of this until now and you have no idea what this is about, the post i linked explains pretty much all you need to know because i'm not gonna bother going over old info right now.

i thought writing-prompt-s quietly deleting their shitty racist post was a real coward move but i figured that they wouldn't do anything other than pretend like they never said anything and hope that this all blows over for them eventually. but apparently they can't stfu because, in the wake of everyone pointing out to them that 90-ghost aka ahmed has had tumblr for 12 years, they made this post:

i'm completely speechless that even in the face of intense backlash and overwhelming evidence to the contrary that they'd rather double down on attacking ahmed's identity than admit to being wrong. a few of the other dumbasses who accused palestinians of being scammers, while never exactly apologizing, at least backtracked on what they said and went "okay well maybe some of them are legit," but this cunt can't even do that. and what's more, they're doing it in this weird underhanded way where people who aren't in the know (and even some who are) wouldn't understand what they're trying to do here. you know, because they're a little bitch who can't even be open about the fact that they're a virulent racist, so they choose to only express it using subtle tactics.

anyway the screenshotted post is in the wayback machine already in case writing-prompt-s chooses to do the expected thing and delete it in the same way they deleted their initial post.

seriously, we need to wreck this guy.

[fae-of-prey]

what's your favorite scary movie? ༊*･

an all hallows eve spooktacular collab with my beloved moot victoria aka the lovely @rafesangelita ! check out the prompt i gave her here!

warnings: (remember, you are the only one responsible for your own media consumption, so if you don’t like it please just scroll!) smut MDNI ¹⁸⁺!; mutual(ish) intox; knives; blood; corruption; blink-&-you’ll-miss-it dacryphilia if you squint; a dash of size kink for good measure; sex tapes; binding rituals; “kid” pet name

camera flashes and your drunken giggles fill rafe’s bedroom as he snaps pictures of you, with your angel wings all askew from the way rafe had to manhandle your lightweight safely into his truck after a friend’s halloween party (not that you ever minded your boyfriends big strong hands on you).

click then flash 📸

“look at me babydoll” he cradles your face in the hand that isn’t holding the camera as you lean into him, practically purring and looking up at him with those big doe eyes he loves to capture on camera “there you go” another flash “good girl, aren’t you just fuckin adorable” more laughs follow as he leans down to give you kisses that get sloppier by the second in your drunken daze. 

your arms wrap around rafe’s neck while his hand moves from your face down your body to your waist to start grabbing at your hips, leaving you mewling in his grasp until he guides you to lay down instead and his hands travel upwards again, this time under your top to grope you. and when the feeling tickles your skin, you giggle deliriously once more.

it’s all very messy, the way rafe’s kisses hungrily trail from your lips, to your neck, all the way down to your chest to meet where he’s now pushed your top up to reveal your breasts; more skin for him to mark up. he isn’t even fully conscious of what he’s doing, it’s purely instinctual in his state of still halfway inebriated to almost sobered up, until he comes back up to behold your whining form once again and notices his purple marks blooming beautifully all across the skin of your torso (he even got down to your stomach in his trance).

you pout at the sight “rafeyyy“ but to him it’s a sight so beautiful he has to take a picture, so rafe picks up the camera again as he tsks affectionately “oh c’mon quit your whining kid, now why don’t cha hold ‘em together f’me?” still, ever his amenable little angel, you obey so he can get your picture.

📸 when the camera flashes again you can see an idea flash across rafe’s eyes as well, but before you can even notice it, he’s leaning down to kiss you again while the camera flashes more and more, not that you notice that either.

rafe breaks away to set the camera down next to you, with the lens facing you perfectly centered in the frame and caged beneath your boyfriend, as he turns back to you and rasps “why don’t we make our own scary movie?” an adorably tipsy smile spreads across your face cradled by his hands “i dunno, do i get to be in the sequel?” you slur bubbly making him grin “yeah… you’re my final girl, isn’t that right?” you nod with giggles.

• the fun might’ve been cut short by concern over the knife rafe pulls out from his nightstand if you were anyone else of sober mind, but honestly you’re mostly just curious about “what’s that for?” not even really all that concerned through your high daze.

“oh uh,” your eyes follow the buck 120 like a kitten as rafe just brings it to your chin gently guiding your gaze towards the camera now recording video with the little red light on while his eyes stay locked on you “don’t worry kid, it’s for our movie, yeah?” you nod with wide almost hypnotized eyes.

rafe holds the camera again to capture how he soothes the cold steel of the blade back down against your thigh before dragging the flat side up nice and smooth to hook under your bottoms.

with the sharp end pointed outwards, he slices right through both layers of your bottoms and panties, much to your dismay, though he quickly coos to shush you in between chuckles at your adorable little whines that make his dick ache “i’ll getcha new ones”

still you briefly mourn the flouncy white tatters now scattered on the bedroom floor; even if it’s quickly forgotten about the second rafe kisses your pout away in your drunkenly lost sense of object permanence and shortened attention span (shortened even more by your restless carnal impatience) as he places the camera back on the side of the bed next to you.

but soon rafe’s rushing to unzip his own pants to free himself, and guiding your hand with his own to wrap around his aching cock. rafe groans softly — lord you always feel like fucking heaven, even the smallest of your touches never fail to make him feel like no one and nothing else can (not even himself). he moves your hand up and down his shaft a few more times before rubbing the head against your weeping clit to soothe that itching sense of anticipation you‘re both growing increasingly impatient with. the foreplay is only momentarily relieving before you’re craving more — despite your inexperienced naïveté you were always an eager little one, even before rafe took your virginity not too long ago, but all that tequila just makes you that much more of an insatiable nymphomaniac at rafe’s mercy. until finally he pushes into your sweet cunt with his hands fully encircling your waist.

rafe lets out a drawn out “fuck” under his heavy breath — you were always so warm and inviting, he only makes it about a third of the way in your soft velvety walls inch-by-inch before he bottoms out completely when the overwhelming rush of pure desperate lust becomes too much to bear, leaving a bulge in your stomach to show for it while you huff and cry out whiny slurred mewls “shh you’re okay kid, jus relax huh? just like i taught ya” rafe picks up the camera again to zoom in on your tummy bulging with him deep inside your guts, before he smears a kiss to your dampened cheeks as your eyes gloss over on camera “don’t you wanna be my good girl?” you can take it, you're his precious angel in more ways than just your halloween costume, you can always take what he gives you. and rafe’s reassurance of such along with the lingering intoxication softens the blow enough to twist into pleasure.

after your breathing slows to a more normal speed, when he senses you’ve (somewhat semi-forcibly) reacclimated enough he drags back out, slower (and much more careful) this time. he’s just absolutely mesmerized by the way he can literally see himself pulling out through the bulge in your stomach slowly vanishing, it just sends all the more blood rushing straight to his dick.

“there you go, good girl” rafe soothes with a hand cradling your cheek while his other focuses the camera on you and a heavy breath when he’s only left the tip being squeezed in by your tight grip, even at your entrance and you already feel simultaneously empty and like you can barely take just the tip all at once. 

rafe takes a breath and gives you a chance to catch yours before starting to slowly push back in again — it’s a snug fit but you both make it work with sheer force of will and strength “nice ‘n easy kid, here” rafe wraps his arms around your waist to hold you to him while he sits up and against the headboard of his bed now as he sets the camera on the nightstand, careful to keep you in frame.

with you pulled onto his lap and his hands encircled around your waist again, he slowly sinks you down onto him while you hold onto his arms for dear life; gripping so hard your nails might be digging into him, but if so he never even lets it show.

you huff out a breath of relief when he’s all the way in again, you always feel so ineffably content when you’re so impossibly full like this; just the rushing amorous twist of passionate pleasure is hypnotic. but it’s moments like these when you feel the closest to rafe, like your souls are melting into each other. it even feels a little dangerous, in moments like this there’s not a thing on this earth rafe cameron wouldn’t fucking do for you, nothing he wouldn’t let you do to him, his adoration turned feral and (even more) obsessive, his attachment strengthened with a deep coveted need to keep you with him forever, and he feels it with a particularly significant intensity tonight as he groans under his breath again “fuck yu’re g’na be the fuckin’ death of me babydoll, you know that?” making a roguish smile spread across your face and a giggle escape your lips.

rafe brings his hand up to cup your face as you look up at him with those fucking big wide eyes he adores so much it hurts “you trust me, right angel?” his heart actually aches at how quickly you nod without hesitation, without even thinking first. his lips twitch upwards at the thought, you’re truly completely his, just as he is yours. and now it’s time to prove it.

“then i need you to do somethin for me” he reaches for your wrist to open your palm and close it again on the handle of the knife he’s placed in it, then ever so carefully tilts it up so the blade is now facing his open palm.

“here, just need a little cut, okay?” even with your keen zeal to be his good girl, of course you’re still hesitant at the thought of potentially hurting him! so sensing you need a little extra push, rafe digs the blade further into his own palm until enough blood is drawn, while still holding your hand to stay wrapped around the handle with his other hand.

you gasp softly with your eyes locked on the sight but he doesn’t even flinch, not even when he removes his hand from the blade to take the knife from your pliable little fingers or when he then takes your hand in his to position the blade on your palm. rafe’s much more nimble with you, making as small of a cut into your soft tender flesh as possible to draw blood and just as quickly soothing the sting it brings with gentle shushing coos and a sweet kiss to your temple as a high pitched wince falls from your lips.

with heavy breathing rafe sets the knife down next to the camera still recording on the nightstand, you’re breathing just as heavy as your eyes are still transfixed by the open wounds you both now carry while he brings his large hand to hold your smaller one and presses your wounds together hard, mixing your blood in the unspoken ritualistic process and binding you together forever. 

the slight sting is instantaneously worth pleasing that deep primal craving for intimacy — and suddenly, you can’t get enough of it. every sensation just melts together to mix into something addictive enough to turn you into a bloodthirsty little animal.

finally he kisses you again as a wave of gratification washes over rafe. your hands squeeze together as you continue kissing — it’s sloppy and desperate on both ends, almost  like you’re trying to eat the other whole with muffled moans.

rafe wraps his other arm around your waist to guide you down on your back again, never even breaking from each other once the whole time either, your joined hands still squeezing together as hard as ever right beside your head. with your legs wrapping around his frame which is eclipsing yours now and his hand on your waist, rafe thrusts into you again more purposefully this time, and with less mercy. the feeling sends you straight to heaven, leaving the pain to twist into pleasure and you to helplessly grab onto his muscly arm with one hand as you squeeze his hand still locked with yours like a girl getting a shot at the doctor’s in the other.

“all mine huh? forever. isn’t that right angel?” you nod fervently “on-only yours, always” you squeal softly — though you sound like you’re being fucking murdered (if these noises were coming from anywhere else the cops would’ve been at your door before you even got to cum, but anyone nearby who might’ve heard strange and violent sounds coming from a cameron’s house in the middle of the night would simply mind their business), a low feral growl falls from under rafe’s breath before his mouth on yours again grounds you. 

each blow feels even more sensitive than the last, your hand drops onto your stomach where you feel rafe actively rearranging your guts. your heart is thumping like a little rabbit, he’s getting sloppier, more desperate, but goddamn he never wants this to end, and neither do you.

it only takes a few more of those desperately craving thrusts before you’re squeezing and pulsing around him as your orgasm rushes through you. halfway through it drives rafe to the edge too, he staggers a few more thrusts as deep and hard as humanly possible, sure to fuck himself deep in your guts when he finally paints your velvety insides white with his spurting cum.

after your heaving chest calms down and rafe stills inside you both just lay like that, soaking in the orgasms washing over you and the feeling of rafe and his cum deep in your guts. your hearts beat back to normal when you catch your breath. eventually rafe pulls himself up off you, you whine sleepily as he groans a sighing heavy drawn out “aww fuck” when he holds your waist for leverage to pull out of your plush walls which cling onto him, almost just begging him to stay.

already you miss the fullness only provided by rafe, your only consolation is his cum slowly seeping inside you while he switches the camera off before leaving the room to clean up. you’re drifting off when rafe comes back with a bandaid, which he tosses on his nightstand while he grabs a t-shirt for you “hey, c’mon kid get up” he taps your knee so you sit up for him, taking off what’s left of your costume and briefly leaving you bare before rafe pulls his shirt back over your head “there ya go, now go pee, hurry up” he orders softly and pats your ass as you sleepily get out of bed and scurry off to the bathroom.

you’re promptly pulled into rafe’s lap when you return to his bed; you curl up into him while he takes the bandaid out of the wrapper. you wince faintly when he takes your hand to carefully smooth the bandage over your wound “i know baby i know” rafe smears two kisses in quick succession to your hairline then simply holds your hand in his after he’s done patching it up. 

“did so good for me babydoll, so fuckin’ proud of you” your nose reflexively scrunches from the familiar warmth of sunshine blooming within you. it’s strange, the sex tape you’ve just made is likely the only thing as hard proof that could ever convince anyone else who’s ever met him that rafe cameron can genuinely care for someone, that he can be gentle, that he has a heart, albeit one that beats just for you and no one else.

your yawning shortly prompts rafe to lay you both down and flick the light off, and sure enough you swiftly fall into a purring slumber almost instantly. the corners of rafe’s mouth turn up ever so slightly at the sight — you’re all his, forever. there’s no going back now, and there’s absolutely no escaping. with one more kiss to your pretty little head he whispers “happy halloween angel”

© FAE-OF-PREY 2024

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi Hal!

Congratulations on finishing all the requests (there were so many good ones!!) and thank you for opening them up again!! I’m excited to see what you have in store for us with all your other projects, bestie!!! 😊😊

I was unsure of who to request at first because there are so many good ones but then I saw Hesh’s name and an idea hit me.

If you’re ok with it, could you possibly write one for Hesh where the reader is part of the Ghosts has been taken/captured by the Federation and after some time, they get intel on where she is so they go out to rescue her and she and Hesh are reunited? I don’t know if you want it to be a pre-established relationship or one where they both admit their feelings after they get her back, so I’m leaving it up to you. But I need a little rescue/reunion fic to fill the void in my heart that the ending of Ghosts made.

As always, feel free to change it up as you see fit and do whatever you want. I just think that Hesh deserves more love and I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Riley again (aka: the best dog in the world)!!

Thank you and remember to take care of yourself and I appreciate you and your work!! 💕💕 Love you, bestie!!!!

Lengths Of Love

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd loved Hesh for as long as you can remember, and you'd pulled him out of trouble for even longer, but you'd never had the courage to tell him how you feel. Until you do. Until you're being dragged away from his broken body.

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Major spoilers for CoD: Ghosts, heavy angst, blood, guts, descriptions of wounds, canon-typical violence, weapons and firearms, death, torture involving: drugs/hallucinogens, physical violence, mental stress, talks of PTSD, anxiety, paranoia, rescue fic, best friends to lovers plot, wounds that would 100% kill you that you live from (plot armor fr), etc.

A/N: Bestie, I don't know what you put into your prompts, lmao, but I always end up writing so much for you!! Thanks so much for sending something in <3<3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The beginning of the end started with good intentions and one statement. 

“You hear this? It’s Rorke. He’s here. They’re evacuating on the train system below.” Hesh’s green eyes darted to you and Logan, his painted face a collection of rage and surety. The three of you were, in an instant, in agreement of revenge—there was no question as to what had to be done. Merrick couldn’t stop you, not on this. 

Rorke had made one of the most dangerous decisions of his life, and that was underestimating the Walker boys and their partner in sinful crime. 

“Harp,” you look away from the body of the warhead as it enters the atmosphere, locking onto Hesh’s hard eyes; the ones that had grown steadily colder since the death of his father, Elias. But it wasn’t just him—the patriarch had been close to you as well. The knowledge of his passing, witnessing it as the rope restraints seared into your flesh, had lit an all-consuming fire in your gut.

Like hounds, the scent of blood had hit the air. 

“Let’s get the bastard. Now or never,” you ease out, and Logan darts his gaze down to you from behind his balaclava. 

“Damn right,” Hesh barks, nodding firmly to you.

Anyone would have missed the way your gaze lingered on him as he darted off and began rushing down the stairs from the control room, Logan ever quick at his heels. But they wouldn’t have missed the way your breath pushed out a soft sigh as your eyes kept locked on the back of Hesh’s head as you followed after. 

You’d been childhood friends since practically infancy, a neighbor to the Walkers. It was natural that Hesh would grow to be the object of your daydreams ever since grade school; a constant and digging knife into your heart when he’d repeatedly pick other girls over you.

But such was life. 

All that mattered now was bringing down Rorke, silly love could wait.

“Merrick,” Hesh yelled down his line, the world outside this building rampant with open war. “The missile’s away and we’ve got a lead on Rorke, we’re going after him!” 

The white double doors meet the three of you as you all rush to them, and the panicked man’s voice flashes down the line immediately. 

“Negative Hesh! You three get back here and return to the rally point. We’ll track him down together.”

You call, “Isn’t an option, Merrick. We can’t let this one go.” 

You and Hesh ram your shoulders into the doors, Logan darting through first with his weapon drawn down the hallway. The brunette’s and your shoulders brush in a jostling of gear—pulling the back as your eyes lock. Cold light seeps from overhead, metal under your feet clanking in-key.

You look away before Hesh agrees and levels with the Ghost over the line to push your point. “Sorry, Merrick. Your mission is complete…ours isn���t.”

Federation heads pop up from behind makeshift barriers of barrels and other stacked items and as you all enter and clear rooms, alarms blare with the ferocity of fighting lions. Hesh keeps by your side, offering you openings that you greedily take as another soldier falls with a stiff twitch of your finger on the trigger. 

Darting behind cover, the man slams to the space beside you, calling over above the noise and the whizz of bullets.

“How long till impact?!” You shove a new clip into your FAD, brushing sweat and blood from your cheeks, smearing patches of your own paint. 

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you hear Logan pushing the line. You dart out of cover to help—locking onto hostiles and backing up the younger brother with quick feet.

“Eight minutes, Hesh! You got a plan that doesn’t leave me with scorched hair?” He finds it in himself to laugh, clocking a soldier to your left and riddling him with bullets. 

“We need to get to that train, Harp. Don’t worry—I’ll kiss the burns away for you.” He rushes past and sends a smirk over his shoulder. You’re left stunned for a second, wishing that the teasing tilt to the older brother’s words was more than that. You blink, and the feeling is forced away.

Later.

“Keep pushing, Logan,” Hesh moves on. You all sprint down descending ramps, farther and farther underground with every step; adrenaline building to a breakneck level like weight slowly being added over and over to a chest. “We need to get to Rorke!” 

You didn’t want to tell him, but, while revenge was on your plate as well, this was a very reckless idea.

As you grab for a grenade from your belt and jerk on the pin, you chuck it down the way and call out a warning to the boys, who, like a well-oiled machine, dart and wait for it to detonate. Bodies fly, bloody splashes of torn limbs, and three Ghosts materialize from the smoke with masked and painted faces; eyes like fire and veins boiling. 

“Fire team suppressed in 3-1,” Hesh shouts through the line as you slide your knife into a man’s eye, his goggles breaking in a shattering of glass. “Advancing to loading bay!” 

There’s a large elevator ahead for transporting crates, and all of you jog inside as the gate creaks shut.

Merrick’s stiff voice replies, “Roger that.”

Silently, you click into the channel and mutter out as a moment of relative peace coats your body like a blanket, even if for a few small seconds. 

“I’ll keep ‘em safe,” a small twitch of your lips, “Commander.”

A deep and unimpressed voice wafts into your ear with a large sigh. “Know you will—just remember to keep yourself safe in the process, Kid…Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shift your gaze to Hash and find green already staring at you. Blinking, the man quickly darts his vision away and after a moment you turn your face back down to the connection and huff through a burning epidermis.

“Haven't you heard?” The elevator shows the train as it descends down, and you call to the boys, ‘six minutes’, with a firm voice. 

“Stupid seems to follow us three everywhere.”

Hesh points as the figures of more soldiers walk around below. “There’s Rorke’s train, straight ahead!” Sure enough, the worm of black and gray metal extends to your eyes across the large room

“He’ll be on there soon. Logan, take left.” You order and the brown-eyed man nods from beside you, shouldering his rifle and checking the clip. “Hesh?” 

“Taking right—you got Point, Doll.” He stares at you, licking his lips. “Clear the way?” You tilt your head at him as the elevator jumps to a stop, the barrier sliding away. It pains you to look away.

There were so many things you had to tell him. Too many things. 

“Always.” Shiting your face forward, you take a breath and take notice of points of cover, scoping the room in three seconds flat. Screeching wheels and alarms ingrain your eardrums. “On me.” 

As you head out first, fire the first bullet, the two peel off in opposite directions, Hesh only sliding up beside you and uttering into your ear.

“Be safe.” 

That comment makes you want to be anything but, if only he’d whisper into your ear like that again. 

Clearing the room, you can’t get your mind off the fact that this crush was overtaking nearly every part of your life—years of quiet agony and staying your tongue in fear of losing what great friendship you had. 

The stock set into your shoulder recoils with another burst of fire, Federation soldiers scream in pain, but you barely register over the shadows in the sides of your vision. 

“Damnit, Hesh,” you growl, bullet grazing your shoulder as you grunt and slip behind a concrete divider. 

“What’s that?” Your eyes widen comedically. Shit…had you forgotten to close the line? 

“Eh,” you clear your throat, grimacing at the small sparks of pain in your shoulder. “N-nothing.” 

There’s a bout of silence and then a panting voice, rough and growing more serious. “You alright over there, Harp?” You can’t even respond before Hesh quickly continues. “I’m comin’ to you. Stay there.”

You violently shake your head, although he can’t see it.

“Hesh, I’m fine! Keep right and clear that hallway.” 

There’s a deep grunt. “Fine, but if I see one scratch I’m makin’ Riley chase you down the Base when we get back.”

If we get back.

You roll your eyes with a growing smile, steeling yourself and slamming your weapon to the top of the divider before locking onto your targets. “Please, we both know he loves me too much for that.”

“Most I’ll have to do is put a treat in your pocket, Sweetheart.” His sly smirk is heard easily, and you swallow tense-like and breathe shakily. That low drawl in his tone left you more distracted than you could ever get used to. “Hell,” There’s a struggle over the line before the shink of a knife meeting flesh. A breathless chuckle that leaves your gut swirling. “Maybe I’ll just chase you down myself.”

Logan coughs over the line and you have to click off before you scream. Your face flares up until your ears ring and you have to duck behind your cover again before you get metal right to the forehead. 

Behind the barrier, you glare at the floor.

When did general teasing get so hard for you? Jokes and jabs carrying weight—since when? Sure you’d liked—more liked loved—Hesh since before all of this, but you’d carried on well enough. 

“Fucking hell,” you grumble, shaking your head to clear it and rushing. 

The brothers pop through the side hallways to flank the enemy, taking out the one or two hostiles that were still breathing after you level your barrel with the last standing head; firing with a burst of gunpowder.

“Train’s leaving, let's go!” Hesh screams, waving an arm quickly at you, walking backwards on quick feet. “Harp, C’mon!” 

You chuff, hopping the divider and sprinting as the metal object speeds up—there’s a moment where you fear you might miss it, Hesh and Logan both forced to hop on even in your absence.

“Harp!” Green eyes flash, one hand on the railing and the other extended out. 

“On it!” Snapping, you slam your palm into his and feel his strong fingers curl to clutch you. Logan grabs your collar and helps; the both of them easily yanking you over just as the wall of the tunnel engulfs you all in illuminated shadow.

Back meeting the train’s body, you pant and chuckle as Logan shakes his head, amused, and pats your shoulder. You wink at him jokingly. 

“Good save there, Walker Number Two.”

Hesh grabs the side of your neck, looking you over as he leans back with a breathless chuckle at the title for his brother. He blinks quickly at your shoulder, eye narrowing before he reaches out and looks at the blood on your gear.

“You mind telling me what this is, Doll?” You make a nose in the back of your throat as the smell of his musk hits your nostrils; the deadly concoction of his scent and his digging gaze.

Stuttering, you huff. “Eh…bullet graze?”

You’re leveled with thin lips, but Logan grabs his brother by the upper arm and peels him off you, motioning to his radio as the train gains even more speed. Wind whips past your face as Hesh clears his throat, quickly avoiding your eyes. 

The man’s splotchy paint shows his red skin under the darker pigment. 

“Merrick, we’re on the train,” he speaks, shifting past you without another look. “We’re going after Rorke.”

“Solid Copy.” You watch the brunette walk away and hold your breath, though you don’t know why—heart beating not just because of adrenaline. 

Embarrassment breeding in your stomach, you ignore Logan’s knowing stare and push off the wall, rubbing at your bleeding shoulder with a stiff hand. 

—

You break a man’s neck against the wall, hand on the back of his head before you slam it into the hard metal. There’s a crunch of bone and a broken rattle before the broadcasted feed from the screen on the train’s panel spits out a message in panicked Spanish to the already deceased men.

“Evacuation protocol C is in effect. All personnel secure cargo and supplies—”

Hesh interrupts ahead of you as you let the body drop, scowling at the heavy sound of its dead weight. At his angry voice, you perk and tune in.

“Tell Rorke we’re comin’ for him.” There’s a quick shove from the other end of the feed, the previous man disappearing as the individual that takes his place makes your eyes go to slits. A great growl like a wolf echoes from your heart and seeps from between your clenched teeth. 

Rorke’s scarred face appears with a smirk and a cocky voice.

“Why don’t you just tell me yourself?” You look at your boys, more concerned for them as you watch firsthand the trauma the death of their father brought them. 

Logan holds his weapon tighter, fixing his grip. Hesh is a bit more direct. He leans closer to the screen, bearing his teeth like a dog and snarling with rage and hatred.

“You’re done, Rorke.” All of a sudden he peels back a fast fist and sends it careening into the screen—making a shattering of glass and a hard thud emanate deep into your bones. 

Blinking quickly, you tense as it happens, not expecting that. But as soon as you try to make sense of it, the brunette is already banking off to the side door, calling a sharp, “Let’s finish this!”

He grabs the side of the train car and wrenches on the handle, grunting and pushing with all of his might.

“Hesh,” you try to reason, stepping in now before things get too hot. “We need to think of a plan before you rush into things. This could get us in a heap of shit that we might not be able to get out of.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear you, and you spare a glance with Logan for help. But he, too, has already joined his brother with a swish of gear on the handle. With one great push, the door opens to the outside brightness, making your face turn away for a moment. 

Along the far expanse of open sand dunes outside; mountains flanking the bridge this train flies across, you get the perfect view of a warhead meeting the ground in an explosion of fire and death. It bursts far across the valley, and you cover your eyes as the sharp ball of light burns your retinas. 

The shockwave hits moments later, and Hesh says easily as the train shakes and squeals like a metal pig, “Looks like Icarus got control of the rods!” The boys step out onto the platform along the train, and you have no option but to follow. “All that’s left is Rorke, let's go!”

“Hesh,” you try again, hissing out his name, and you’re graced with a quick glance.

“Harp,” he comments, “what is it? We can’t wait any longer—”

“What we can’t do is go in blind!” You shout above the wind, legs stanced to help you stay up. Green eyes twitch with confusion, perhaps even a little hurt. 

“Blind? What are you talking about, we push forward and take what’s owed.” You know how much this means to him—to Logan—but there was a point where pride and stubbornness outweighed sense. This was dangerous, especially for Hesh. 

You were always the one to keep him level; keep him from becoming too much like his dad. 

You’d promised that old bastard you’d look after his boys, albeit in a teasing sense, but to you, it had been a stark vow on your soul. Logan was a brother to you, and Hesh…Hesh would always be more, but that only made your love for them both grow. 

“You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear? They mean well, but there’s no one I trust more than you to level them out, Harp. I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.” Elias had said that, and when he died you bottled it up and used so much force that coal had turned to diamond. 

You would keep Logan and Hesh safe. Safe, and level, and not hard-headed. 

For as much as you secretly loved your brunette, he sure was stubborn as all hell.

“If you want out, Harp,” Hesh calls to you, gritting his teeth. “Just wait back in the train car. This is something we can’t put off like everything else—this ends now; today. I’m not letting Dad’s killer survive.”

“Son of a bitch, that’s not what I’m saying!” You’re quickly losing your standing. Logan jogs ahead to scout, time ticking. “Hesh, you know that I loved Elias as much as you two did—not one is denying that this needs to happen. I'm with you. But this is too damn dangerous! We can’t rush into this without a plan of attack; of exfil! Do you even know how we’re going to get off of this thing?!” 

Hesh had been isolating the few days he had on the U.S.S Liberator, keeping to his room. The man idolized his father and put him on a pedestal of gold even when he was a teenager. He’d even pushed away from you, which all together was unheard of. Logan had nearly had an aneurism when you’d come back to the cafeteria and shook your head in disappointment after trying to get him to open his door. 

The two of you told each other everything. Always. That was just…how it was.

But the man that Hesh had donned the skin of was not the man you loved.

Hesh glares at you, eyes going alight with anger. 

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t be holding me back.” He turns and runs after Logan, leaving you behind in the open air as the train banks left and right with the sway of the bridge. 

Staring. Barely breathing. Mouth parted and eyes wide. 

When the man is at the end of the current train car, having to jump a small distance to the next, he pauses. His back is tight, and under him, his feet shuffle. 

There’s a moment you hope he’ll turn around and come back, take you into one of his hugs, and squeeze the life out of you. It wouldn’t be such a cruel way to die, you think, to be held in his arms. 

But the next moment you see the back of his head shake, and he jumps over to the next section, not even giving you a second glance.

You don’t want to admit how long you waited there, your mind jumbled and confused. 

Don’t take it personally, you try to tell yourself, sucking down a breath before slowly walking forward. He’s hurt. Grieving. He didn’t mean it.

Rationality was a tool of the level-headed, and you were anything but that nowadays.

Over the line Hesh’s voice makes you flinch as you slowly follow after, train car after train car.

“Rorke must be at the front of the train!” You step over dead bodies and lend merciful bullets to the ones still writhing, boots coated in crimson. Following a trail of wreckage with stiff lungs. 

Stay out of his way? Fine, you could do that.

You stayed back from the head-to-head fighting, laying covering fire and keeping off the comms—whenever Hesh managed to look back at you, you simply moved on to the next hostile. 

Eventually, you all ended up on the rooftops, the boys far ahead and yourself blank-faced at the rear. Logan was acting more concerned than Hesh was, glancing at you constantly in confused worry. But it was very much short-lived.

“Incoming!” The right side of the railcar bursts with fire, and you gasp before grappling for the opposite side of the train, keeping you there before the swaying beast leveled out. “Helos. Take cover and take out the gunners!”

You scoff, quickly making your way behind a connector joint to lean your back against it and catch your breath. Two helicopters fly alongside the train, Logan already firing at one, and Hesh…your eyes narrow with annoyance. Hesh was already running ahead of the pack, his low grunts and growls over the line giving way to his impatience. 

You click your jaw and try to remind yourself that this is the same man who held you close during movie nights and carried you to bed when you fell asleep. Made you waffles when your boyfriend in eighth grade broke up with you on Valentine’s Day.

Stitched your wounds before he gave them a teasing ‘kiss better’ and looked up at you through dark lashes. 

You wildly shake your head to force yourself back to the present.

The gunners are harder to hit not only based on wind and distance alone, but on the erratic movements of the pilots. It’s several clips before you down the second Helo, and Logan’s follows immediately after as they both collide and ram into the mountainside.

You both share a glance and rush after the misguided brunette. 

At the end of the train, only the engine remains. 

“Clear!” Hesh relays, jumping down from the roof of the railcar and hurriedly walking to the white door, leaning against the wall. “We’re at the last car, Logan. Rorke’s pinned, he knows we’re comin’.”

You gaze down from the top as Logan follows, silent and brooding. Your hands along your FAD tighten under your gloves. You don’t even look at the man. 

“Merrick, do you copy?”

“Copy, Hesh.”

“We’re moving in on Rorke.” You slide him a look, seeing him glaring those pretty greens into the ground. “If you hear the word “Checkmate”, you will fire on our position! Confirm?” Your eyes snap with horror, heart lurching.

Surely, you hadn’t heard that right.

Merrick’s voice echoes your frozen confusion. “Say again, repeat your last.”

You jump down and stagger for a moment, barking out a harsh, “What the fuck are you doing?” Inside of your chest, your heart rampages like it never had before. “That’s suicide!”

He was going to kill everyone to bring down Rorke, and you get no answer beyond a clenched jaw and a quick side-eye.

“You heard me, Merrick, on “Checkmate”, hit this train!” The connection is cut and Logan gets into position to shoulder the door open, you watch, stuttering. 

Hesh levels with his brother, “We can’t take any chances, Logan. Even if we fail, Rorke dies.” Panic builds, and you’re taking quick steps forward.

You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear?

You have to stop them, you have to drag them away—but even you know that deep down the only thing that will stop these two is a bullet. 

Eyes snapping back and forth, you only get close enough to try and snatch at Hesh’s arm right as he finishes a countdown of three; at the end, Logan kicks down the engine room door with a violent connection of his boot.

Even with the drop on the three guards inside, it doesn't stop the bullet from ripping through your lower side, preoccupied and distracted yet again. You yell loudly, balking back into the door frame and hunching over as blood spurts out of you. Hesh’s head whips your way immediately, jaw going slack and a soul-deep hysteria takes over.

So now he pays attention.

“Shit, Harp!” So little time. 

Logan can’t take care of the last remaining Fed soldier by himself, and in a large act of self-sabotage, that very soldier just happened to have a missile launcher. 

The entire left engine explodes—the train jerks; everyone is sent in a back-and-forth motion, first hitting off the last train car before being sent right back through the engine room entirely. A transference of force gives you whiplash as your head bounces off the door frame. 

The world goes blurry, body hitting and slamming through layers of glass and pain before the control room is suddenly where you end up, using the body of a stunned guard as a cushion. 

There’s a second of muffled gunfire, struggling and yelling—and then it all comes back into focus like a sniper’s scope being correctly sighted. You gargle an expletive and shove the guard under you back down despite the searing heat in your side and head; struggling to unsheathe your combat knife as the world tilts. 

Hands push at your cheeks, grip at your neck futilely, but when you get the blade out and struggle the hands down once more, you hammer the point into his throat with a thump of your boot pressing for purchase on the floor. 

The man spasming, you push off of him and slam to the ground, coughing in great lung-shattering segments.

“You can’t win, Rorke!” Hesh’s voice brings you back from the swirling, and you hear your blood patter to the metal floor like rain.

“Shit,” you mutter, gasping for air. 

Gazing up you see Rorke holding Logan in a chokehold, free hand pointing a gun at Hesh. Your eyes bulged, trying to push onto your knees and reach for your weapon as you saw Hesh continually looking away from the target and worriedly watching you. His hands at his sides are loose, but when you lock eyes with him, they clench and shake. 

“It’s over—” He tries, but the loud gunshot bounces off the train’s enclosed space. You’re yelling before you can think, darting forward and leveling your gun right to Rorke’s head as Hesh’s form collapses to the ground.

Standing on unsteady feet, you pant and stumble, but the devil’s brown eyes hold you captive. Rorke smirks as you guard Hesh behind you. 

“Well, well, well, seems the girl’s just as promising as you, eh, Logan? She’s the other one who slipped her binds in Las Vegas.” He laughs. “Look at me, I’m surrounded by young talent.” 

“I don’t exactly care if you are or aren’t,” you growl, shuffling to keep Hesh even farther behind you as you instrumentally cough again. Your legs are wobbling. “Just that you put my fucking friend down.”

“You willing to die for him?” Rorke looks demented, with his scar and his intimidating build. Whatever torture he had been through to make him like this—a Ghost killer—it had worked perfectly. There was no coming back from this. He whistles lowly. “That’s some loyalty you have there.”

His mind was dead to all else.

You don’t hesitate in an answer, even as the man behind you grabs your leg, trying to move you with a wheezing breath.

“H-Harp,” his spine moves in a cough. “Don’t…please.”

“Always.” Interest alights in those dark, tiny eyes. Logan tries to give you messages with his gaze, but you ignore him. Ironic. “That’s not something I’ll break on. Unlike you.”

“Shit, Kid,” there’s a grand laugh, “now that’s heartless…but good,” Rorke glances at Hesh, raising a brow and chuckling. “I’ll love to see the look in his eyes when I—”

“Checkmate!”

“Checkmate confirmed.” You look down at Hesh and see him watching you, his gaze open and bare. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, but all you can do is watch. 

There’s no time to think.

“I love you,” you confess in a fleeting moment of bare nothingness, blurting it out. “I’ve loved you.”

Hesh’s body entirely halts, jaw slowly slackening in horror; something shifts behind his eyes but before he can open his mouth, a rageful bark bullies the smooth tone of his throat back.

“What did you do?!” Your form is bodied into the controls behind you, colliding as you snarl and are forced to recover. With a snap of your finger, you fire a shot into Rorke’s foot. 

He yells and whips his wrist back, slamming the butt of his gun into your temple. 

As the bridge ahead of the train explodes, Hesh drags himself to cover your body, muttering into your flesh words you cannot name as the darkness sets in.

“It’s over,” Hesh speaks grimly to Rorke, turning to look at him silently as he presses your head into his chest, sharing a nod and thin-lipped look with Logan still stuck in his arm. “It’s over.”

“Shit, Son…” The train gets thrown and broken in a wave of utter destruction and rebirth; and through it all, Hesh never lets go—not even when the water below comes up to meet you.

—

The beach’s sand is coarse, and it sticks to your gear with a fervent hold. To your skin, the paint, and blood, for the moment washed away as hands dragged you from the water, small puffs of breath and whimpers greeting you. 

“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Hesh. And he sounded frantic. “C’mon, open…open your eyes, dammit. Please, you just told me the best thing you possibly could. Please.” 

Water slips off your neck, and as you’re weakly lying back, propped against a rock, hands slip to your cheeks, moving the skin as a barely conscious body tries to make you wake up. 

A forehead hits against your shoulder, a deep groan of pain emanating from the man who grips at your gear.

“No, no, c’mon,” Hesh can barely keep himself sitting up, bloody and broken. Logan had to drag him from the water not seconds prior, and in turn, Hesh had grabbed what little strength was left and helped him get you. “Logan!” Green darts to brown, and the older brother pleads in a broken voice, “Help me!”

You bend your head forward and cough up blood and water, shoving Hesh away from you so you can collapse on your side and expel your stomach.

“Harp,” the man quickly mutters, dragging himself over and grabbing your shoulder to keep your face out of the sand. “Fuck, okay—it’s okay I’ve got you.”

“You,” your voice cuts out, and you shake as you gasp and sputter, “A-are a fucking idiot!” 

Hesh chuckles, and you feel his head hit off your arm, his struggling breath. “God, I know. I know, Sweetheart.” 

Logan crawls over to you, pushing you back against the rock and grappling for his medical pouch as Hesh patches into the comms. You grunt and look down at the younger brother, head swirling in colors and ears pounding with your pulse. 

“Merrick, do you copy? Merrick, come in.”

“Hesh! Hesh, is that you?” You weakly smirk at the shock and relief from the tone, letting your head tilt back as Logan hurriedly packs your gunshot wound with gauze. You wince and stare at the sky—blood infectiously tinging the sand below you. 

Hesh tries to help too, but you and the man are in far worse shape than Logan. The older brother’s shoulder leans into yours heavily, and you shift your eyes to the side as they flutter.

You haven't forgotten what you told him, what you confessed, but right now pushing back the black in the sides of your vision was more important.

And Rorke. What had happened to Rorke?

“Yeah,” Hesh watches you, face screwed with concern. “Yeah, I’m with Harp and Logan. We’re…we’re alive. Rough shape, but alive.”

“And Rorke?” You hold your breath.

“Dead.” Logan ties off a quick tourniquet and your spine tightens in agony, hissing out as your nerves spike with electricity. The brown-eyed man spares you a sorry glance but you shake your head in dismissal. “He’s dead.” 

Out in the water, the enemy warships are firing off missiles inland, some smoking and others already sinking. Merrick gives you the news as Hesh brings a hand up to your chin, tilting your head his way. You go willingly, skin on fire from the scrape of his gloves. 

Logan moves back, having done what he can, before he collapses back into the sand, panting with an arm over his stomach. His older brother’s forehead bumps into yours, eyes stuck. 

“Copy that. The Federation is in full retreat—the rest of the payload is inbound to finish the…”

Whatever else Merrick relays is lost and Hesh’s lips splay over yours, his nose letting out a long breath and body sagging, dead-weight. Cheeks hot and mind running, you let instinct take over and reciprocate, quick fingers pulling at his vest straps.

“Since when?” He asks, breathless when he moves back an inch. 

“After you introduced me to your first girlfriend, Cassie Albrook,” you smile, eyes crinkling. “Seventh grade. The one with the black hair? God, I was so jealous.” 

Hesh chuckles deeply, body jerking as he kisses you again, pulling back and holding your cheek in his hand. His eyes are wide and open.

“You mean to tell me, I could have been kissin’ you all the way back since seventh grade?” Your face moves with pure love, flesh going soft—even the pain diminishes somewhat. 

Merrick’s voice still gruffly moves down the line, and the last bits of his sentence are heard. 

“...Sit tight, Recon’s comin’ for ya.” Everything was looking up. 

Missiles slam into the Federation ships out in the water, the sudden burst of liquid and fire making Hesh briefly cover you with his side to protect you from the shockwave. When you turn to look, nothing but sinking metal remains. 

“I’m sorry,” Hesh tells you, and you don’t have the energy to pull away from his neck as you let your head rest—the thumping of your brain and the calming shadow of his form giving way to believe you had a concussion. 

“Hm,” you hum, letting him continue. His voice echoed in his breast.

“I…I’ve been an ass these past few days, weeks, I shouldn’t have said what I did—wanted to take it back as soon as I turned away from you.” You close your eyes and sigh long, sarcastic even now. 

“You owe me dinner and a movie, then I’ll see if I can forgive you.” Hesh chuckles, nose pressing down into your scalp. He kisses you there as water falls from his chin.

“Sounds like a plan, Doll.” The man lets himself rest, curled around you and waiting for the recon team as the sand and the water move. “I love you too…just so you know. Long time.”

Your failing mind lets off a scoff. But a happy one.

When you wake again, not remembering when you’d fallen asleep, it is to the sound of screaming. 

“Logan!” You jolt up and have to place a hand on your head to stop the pounding. Hesh is struggling to move, fighting to get to his younger brother who you turn as quickly as you’re able to face. “Logan!”

Your face voids of blood. 

Rorke is dragging the other man away, pushing him to the ground as Logan tries to fight like a dog on his back, with only one arm working properly. Growling, you try to stand—body falling and sliding right back down as Rorke kicks Logan’s combat blade from his hand, walking over to you and Hesh. 

He stands and pants, limping from your shot to his foot and a hand across his abdomen in obvious pain.

“Look what you did,” Rorke motions behind him to the still-falling missiles being disposed of from space into the ocean; atop the wreckage of what Rorke had been a part of. Falling to your side, you leave behind a raging Hesh who attempts to move and get to Rorke while you go to Logan. The devil wheezes and points from you to the boys, forcing a grunt of approval. “You’re good.”

Hesh is shoved back by a ruthless boot into the rock, and you snarl, coming over to Logan and his very broken arm as he weakly writhes on the ground. You place your body over his and bare your teeth as if a beast. 

“Rorke!” You bark. “It’s over! It’s done. Everything you’ve built is dead and recon is on its way for us…you’re finished.”

“Nothin’s finished, no,” Hesh tries to lunge again as Rorke’s body stumbles closer to you but falls into ragged coughs and stays on his side in utter agony. 

“Stay away from them!” The man you’d just confessed to hisses, hand grasping futilely at the sand. Green eyes run back and forth from you to Logan, desperate and breaking by the second. “Rorke! You son of a bitch!”

“Nothin’s ever finished.” Grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, you’re being tossed off Logan and thrown to the side in a cloud of sand, body screaming at you as you yell out loudly. 

Rorke bends a knee to look Logan in the eyes, shaking his head.

“You’d of been a hell of a Ghost.” Yelling, you wrench at the combat knife in your vest, set your feet, and tackle Rorke off of the Walker boy with a feral curse on your breath. 

“Get the fuck off of—” Your leg twists with a defining crack as you’re grappled and thrown off, only able to slice a nice long cut down his jaw and at the beginning of the man’s throat. 

Screaming you hear briefly Hesh’s rageful bellow, his calling of your name in high keens of helplessness. Promises of revenge and justice. 

Breath breaking as tears line the back of your eyes, Rorke comes over you and pins your dominant hand to the ground—you look up and grimace, trying to make your body function. 

Move!

Rorke laughs, great shoulders shaking with glee. He’s fucking demented as he continues his sentence from before your fruitless attack. 

“...But that’s not gonna happen, is it?” The man smiles and you struggle as Logan and Hesh rapidly try to assist. 

“Harp!”

“There ain’t gonna be any Ghosts.” Rorke’s eyes shift to Hesh, and you follow with a sense of dread and horror. The man’s mind had been made up when he turned back around, disregarding Logan entirely in favor of you and your ‘unbreakable’ loyalty. 

The joy it would bring him to destroy you and set you loose after such. Set you loose on Hesh. 

He leans in close to you, so you can feel his breath and his conviction. 

“We’re gonna destroy ‘em together.” 

“Harp!” You’re shoved back, knife grasped and ripped from your hand as your broken leg is grabbed and pressure is applied. 

You scream again, arms carding across the dunes as Rorke begins dragging you backward like a child holding onto a stuffed toy. Blown green eyes meet yours, Hesh reaching out and screaming at the top of his lungs for you. 

But he can’t move.

“Harp!” 

And you can’t feel your fingers. 

“I love you,” you whisper, perhaps for the last time and he sees your lips move. Hesh screams and slams his hand into the ground, Logan stumbling to his knees but immediately dropping back with a small cry. 

And Rorke chuckles.

—

You don’t know where he took you, but you do know the jungle floor is cold and wet, and the mud under your fingernails makes you feel gross. 

What you do know is that the earthen walls of the pit you are in are pointless to try to climb—the top is slatted with a covering of long sticks with wide square openings. You know it’s going to rain by the smell in your bloodied nostrils. 

You know that your leg is broken, your bullet wound is festering through the tourniquet, and your concussion is making you sleepy. 

In your head, you count these ‘knowns’ and sprinkle them like seeds as you stare blankly at the sky far above. Everything aches; hurts. When you breathe, it comes in and out with a wheeze. 

You know that Hesh loves you, and perhaps that’s the only fact you care about. Wherever he is, you’re glad he can’t see you like this. 

Rain patters against your head, the storm clouds finally rolling through. Leaves can be heard shuffling on their branches. You breathe in and out, rising and settling your lungs slowly. 

You can’t break—not like Rorke. 

No matter what he did to you, you can’t betray the Ghosts. Logan. Hesh.

Elias’s words echo as you curl into a tiny ball, shivering and whimpering as your wounds move and pull. 

...I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.

You know this game. Torture. They’ll pump you full of hallucinogens, starve you, beat you within an inch of your life; and through that you cannot give in.

But it’s easier said than done.

In the middle of the night, the top of the pit is pushed away and there are the voices of multiple people that dance above the rain storm. They jump down and in the state you are, there’s nothing you can do to stop them from hooking their arms under yours and hauling you up, limp and motionless. 

The words are in Spanish, and you still can make out some over the commotion and the way your hearing dips in and out. 

“Where do we inject….”

“...neck, I believe…arm could work too…”

“...nasty…was it? I heard…mix of drugs…Who knows?”

Your head is harshly yanked back, and the sharp pinch of a needle digs into your neck, the action making your good leg kick out in panic but there’s little you can do. 

A flood of thick fluid enters your veins and like sap seeping out of a tree some drops exit the wound and mix with the rain weighing down your clothes. They’d taken your gear, only your undershirt and cargo pants still clothing you. 

When they’re done, they let you drop back to the floor, where you flop and smash your face into the mud with a weak drag of your cheek along the sludge. With calls from above, a rope is tossed down and they all ascend. The top is clattered back over moments later. 

Laying still and groaning, teeth clenched, already you feel ten times more strange than before. 

“Ah,” you grasp at your head, which was bursting to begin with, as it gains a looseness to it—the mud below you shimmered with puddles, the chill got colder, and your clothes felt grating against your skin. “Not good. N-not good.” 

You pull at your shirt collar, coughing as your eyes bulge; your heart breaks itself as it immediately can be felt hammering into your ribcage far more sensitive than you’d ever experienced. It felt like your chest was going to rip open. 

Panicked sounds emanate from the back of your throat, fingers digging into your scalp as the drugs carry their venom through your blood. 

Your wounds blazed.

You start screaming, babbling for nothing, and pulling at your flesh, but the overhead striking of lightning leaves the desperation mute to all but the trees.

—

Hesh stares at you from the corner of the pit, but his eyes are not green. You watch, silent, barely moving, from where you curl into a tiny heap of bloodied flesh. You’d torn at your skin for days; time looped together with more injections and no food. Water you got from the sky.

They had offered soup, but you knew better even as you dug harsh lines into your neck. There were just more drugs in the broth. 

But Hesh. Hesh.

He wasn’t right—didn’t stand like him, or breathe like him; there was something off about his smirk as he watched you gaze at him in an addled stupor.

“Feelin’ good over there, Kid?” Not Hesh. Not. Hesh.

You’re panting, your body sweating profusely in the humidity and so, so hungry.

Not Hesh takes a step forward and his image tilts like the turning of a page with Rorke taking his place, but as soon as it happens it flips back on itself to your Love.

“N-not right,” you hurriedly whisper.

Not Hesh puts a hand to his ear, kneeling down in front of you. “What was that, now?” A long chuckle. His voice is…is…deeper. Your eyebrows flinch up and down. “Who do you see, Sweetheart?”

“Hesh,” you whimper out. “Hesh, what are you talking about? What’s going on? I…I feel like I’m…I’m twisted inside out.”

“Hesh, huh?” The man looks to the side, smiling. “Well, that’s better than I expected. This’ll be fun.”

“W-what—” A fist connects with your face and you get catapulted into the wall. Before anything else, your stomach is kicked, making your call of alarm get forced out as a gasp as your clotted bullet wound reopens in a great tear. A large hand grips you hard by the chin, snapping it forward to stare into those wrong eyes but the familiar face of Hesh. 

What was he doing to you?

“H…Hesh,” you can’t even stutter out his name before you break down into coughs and gagging; tears rolling down your cheeks, and blood and mud everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s right. You just keep lookin’ at me.” You dry heave and push at his hands, fingernails digging into his skin to create crescent moons. “Keep lookin’ at Hesh.”

—

It’s three months of the same, and you can’t go on anymore.

You lay in a near comatose state on the ground, flesh completely covered in mud and open wounds—maggots eat at your dead skin, wriggling deeper. Not having the heart to pick them out, or even move the few non-broken fingers you have, you lay in blank agony. Pain so deep you can’t scream or make a single noise. It would make it worse; it is making it worse. 

Breathing is becoming a chore.

“Is today going to be the day?! God, I sure hope so.” Hesh looks down from over the edge, fiddling with another syringe of drugs. “Enough blood down there to make a fuckin’ painting out of. Shit…You lasted longer than I thought, Kid.” You don’t look at him. At his dark, wrong, eyes. 

“I’m nearly impressed.” There’s a low chuckle and the crackling of branches. 

You close your eyes and try to think of a single kiss and green eyes, but the rest of the image is tainted to you. Your mind can’t call it forward without the corruption of the puppet ahead of you, this shifting specter of mist and smoke.

Memories that used to bring you comfort call to fear and spine-curling hurt. 

This couldn’t be Hesh, you told yourself for the millionth time, but…who else could it be? Your body was too broken to try and work through the hallucinations, to think or rationalize.

There’s a thump of boots and a grunt. Someone coming closer as birds speak far above. Singing. It's the first you can recall another living creature being this close to the smell of infected decay.

 “Now, now, let’s see that neck of yours.” You’re seized and pushed onto your back, head lulling and eyes fluttering. Hesh’s image shifts and bends into another, one you should be able to name but can’t quite recall. It’s hard to focus. “Just one more, and we can fix this. Together. No more Ghosts, huh? We’ll make it right.”

Birds songs. Birds and flying shadows. Rapid wing beats like an eagle or the pound of paws on the ground. 

There is an un-godly snarl and a call of rage. 

“Rorke!” The dark-eyed Hesh snaps his head away, his needle stilling in his grip only inches from your flesh. He’s grappled and ripped away, thrown up and slammed down into a full-body jerk of pure strength not a second later with a cry of shock. “Get the fuck off of her!” 

Shadows roll and wrestle, feral yowls like that of beasts bounce off your impaired hearing, mud stuck in your ears. You think your vision cuts out for a moment because the next there’s a different man gripping your shoulders, slightly shaking you back awake.

Blue eyes like the ocean. Your brow barely twitches in confusion. 

Keegan? 

“C’mon, that’s it. Right here.” A light is taken and directed right into your eye in the fading light. “You’re doin’ great, Harp. Just keep lookin’ at me.” 

The light passes over your blood-coated eyes and barely diolates. Keegan’s lips under his balaclava thin to an alarming degree. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at you before he darts his vision over to Hesh, the actual Hesh, who’s locked limbs with the former Ghost; fists to guts and primal anger. 

In his haste to get to you, Hesh had damned himself—he’d left no opening for any of the others to get a clean shot at Rorke. But no one could blame him, even if it was reckless; incredibly stupid. 

The man had been on your trail nearly every day since you’d been taken. Barely sleeping, eating little. A man possessed. 

The Ghosts had been half convinced something had taken over his image and scooped out his personality.

“Merrick,” Keegan patches into the secure line, looking back down at you. “Positive ID on HVT, three klicks West. Hesh has engaged—we found Harp.” 

There’s an instantaneous response, worried breath. “Solid copy…how’s she doing?”

“We need MedEvac immediately. She won’t last another night.” There’s a curse on the other end, a loud and quick call to the rest of his squad. 

“Copy! I’ll call it in!” Keegan tries to stabilize you as Hesh and Rorke rip each other to shreds, and Hesh, who had the upper hand in the beginning, is quickly losing it.

“Awe, look who tracked ‘er down!” Rorke snatches at Hesh’s collar and lays two jabs to his ribs—there’s a definitive crack as the younger man shouts in pain. “Young love! So fucking pointless.” 

“I’m going to rip you into pieces,” Hesh bares his teeth, eyes wild and unrestrained. For a moment Rorke looks taken aback by the utter conviction in his green gaze. “And make you choke on your own damn teeth! You hear me?!” 

Ripping away with a tear of fabric, Hesh bends low and tackles the former Ghost to the ground, splaying him out on his back before his fist is snapped back and brought down; again and again and again. 

“Hesh!” Keegan shouts, pressing deeply into your wounds and trying to give you fluids with one hand. “This fucking kid.” The Sergeant gives up, shaking his head. 

Trust had to be given, and Keegan knew that at this moment he had to trust Hesh to hold his own. He needed to keep you conscious. 

“Easy, Harp.” You can feel the cracks in your dry throat as the water seeps past them, and you cough up droplets before the blue-eyed Sergeant tilts your head and helps you. “Easy, Sweetheart.” 

Keegan doesn’t even want to look at your body as the brutal sounds of a fist on bone continue, clothes scuffling and gargled breaths—the savagery and barbarous remnants of mental and physical torture too much even for him. 

“Christ,” he hisses. 

You gulp down water slowly and let it fill your stomach like a brick. 

Hesh reduces Rorke’s face to a mess of flesh and busted bone, sweating and not even stopping as his knuckles split under his gloves or his fingers dislocated from their sockets. His eyes burn, his face goes red—he looks insane. 

He looks like a spirit of utter revenge. 

Only when Logan and Merrick drag him off the spasming body does he stop, but not after he tries like hell to fight out of that hold as well. Whipping around, he attempts to land a punch on Merrick before Logan is forced to put him in a restraint hold. 

Hesh’s cheek meets the mud, face being sunk into it as his right arm is twisted so far behind his back it nearly breaks. The older brother growls, free arm and legs moving—back sliding. 

“David!” Merrick barks at him, face pulled in a sneer, enraged at the man’s lack of sense. “Shut this shit down. Look at her, dammit!” Logan gets bucked off, but the youngest Walker boy has enough sense to wrestle him back down and grab onto his chin; forcing those green eyes to lock on you and Keegan. 

The second he sees you, he entirely freezes.

Merrick sighs out harshly, jogging over to you and already checking in with the MedEvac that Kick’s flying in. There would be no resistance—all the other hostiles were dead. 

“Jesus Christ,” the Commander breathes, kneeling by you instantly and studying your body. 

Hesh’s reaction is slower, but the spread of vile tears burns the back of his eyes. Logan lets him go at seeing this, standing and holding out a hand, but the brunette stays on the ground a moment longer; utterly still. 

Hesh’s mouth opens and closes. 

All at once he’s rushing over and limping up at your side as Merrick grabs more medical supplies from his packs to help you. 

“Oh my God,” Hesh breathes, and Keegan sends him a glance. You’d drank all of the water. “Harp, hey, you’re going to be okay—it’s gonna be alright, you hear? I’m right here, Logan and I are gonna get you home. Back to California, okay? Riley’s waitin’ for you, Doll.”

You flinch at that voice, and Merrick looks sharply at the blue-eyed Sergeant. Their eyes lock, holding for a long moment. Logan’s brows tighten in confusion. 

The brunette seems not to notice it at all, hands finding your cheek before Merrick can give him a warning. Your eyes slowly shift to him before they peel back with fear.

Hesh’s vision goes glossy, clenching his jaw. “Shit, what did he do to you—”

“Hesh!” 

You yell and yerk back, shoving the man off of you with a fear-filled sob. 

“No!” Keegan and Merrick grapple to keep you down, not wanting to aggravate your wounds as Hesh falls to his ass, hands slapping behind him before he hisses and brings them back up. He blinks quickly in confusion and panic.

Logan rushes over and hides him from your view, beginning to understand what was going on. 

“No!” You call again, Keegan having to hold your head into his chest to hide you away. Merrick yells down his comms to hurry the Helo up, and that he doesn’t care about anything else. “No,” your voice gargles off as you sob into Keegan. “Please, no more.”

“Shh,” the Sergeant mutters, looking over his shoulder at a pale and shaking Hesh. “Nothin’s going to happen to you. Not anymore.” 

“Harp,” Hesh whispers, jaw slackened. “I…I don’t…”

“Hallucinogens,” Merrick says grimly, watching you shake and wail. Logan has to look away, his fists clenching. “Who knows what she’s seen. Reckon it wasn’t anything good.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear anything besides your cries. Whenever you gasp Hesh tenses as if he wants to run to you—comfort you the best way he knows how. 

Hallucinogens? He thinks and feels tears dribble down his cheeks as he blinks, rubbing at his jaw and shakily placing a hand over the back of his neck. Logan puts a heavy grip on his shoulder, weighing them down even more.

—

Rorke’s death should have been a time of celebration—of honoring the fallen. Elias Walker, Ajax, and countless others. The Federation was nothing more than broken factions now. Dust to the wind. 

But no one can celebrate when they’re trying to fix one of their own.

You were being kept in the secure medical ward under twenty-four-hour surveillance and around-the-clock care; only Keegan was allowed in, seeing as you were the closest to him outside of Logan and Hesh and had no adverse effects to his presence. 

Merrick had said he didn’t want to risk Logan going in, as it might worsen things. Hesh was taking it hard. 

He just got you back, how was this right? How was it fair that you’d had to go through that right when it was supposed to be over and done with? The man got sick over it, thinking about what Rorke had done to…break your mind like he had. 

Two months. 

Two months of nightmares plaguing him, of your eyes when you looked at him. If Hesh had just been stronger, then that bastard would never have dragged you away on that beach. He resulted in working out more, running laps around Fort Santa Monica with Riley at three in the morning—he grew bags under his eyes. He grew quiet. 

When all of his broken ribs and fingers healed, the artificial wounds, he was offered awards for taking down Rorke; even a summon by the President. 

He’d denied all of them. 

If a medal was going to get you better faster, he’d have taken them in an instant. But he wasn’t that stupid. Hesh was withering, and everyone saw it. He loved you more than anything—more than fame or recognition. The man lay awake at night fearing that you were too cold or uncomfortable in the far-off ward, he was paranoid about your safety. 

More often than not, the nurses found him and Riley fitfully sleeping outside of your door on the hard ground, arm used as a pillow. They didn’t have the heart to move him.

In the last two weeks before the third month of your isolation and evaluations, in his nighttime routine, Hesh finds your door open. 

He stares at it now with a blank expression, fatigue once burning his eyes all gone for a deep and pounding panic. With a hand gesture, Riley halts and sits, and, sensing his handler’s mood, lets his ears go straight up in attention. 

Hesh reaches for the gun in the back of his pants, peeling it out slowly and taking a nearly silent step forward. Ready, his ears strain for a sound…but there is none. 

His free hand reaches for the door, the short sleeves of his gray sleep-shirt bunching. A moment later, he lightly taps the barrier farther out before entering the room with the gun drawn.

He said he wouldn’t get distracted, but it would be a lie to say his eyes didn’t immediately go to you. 

You were there, asleep, curled up on the far recliner chair instead of the bed. Head lulled to the side and knees kept close to your chest. But it was the scars that broke Hesh.

They were large and long—on your face and arms; legs. All moving and stretching like a child’s drawing up your sleep shorts and shirt, disappearing only to reappear somewhere else. Healed over but still fresh.

Hesh drops the gun and turns his body slightly away, staring at the side wall before he takes an unsteady breath. He re-hides his weapon and turns to leave, not seeing anyone else.

Maybe Keegan had forgotten to close the door…he’d have to chew him out for that. Already a dull point of anger was making his jaw clench at the sly older man.

“Bastard,” Hesh mutters.

Before he can exit and close the door softly behind him, he hears a broken squeak of alarm. He halts as you stare heavily into his back—awoken by the sound of nearly silent feet. In a steady motion, the man’s hands are by his sides, open and visibly holding nothing. 

“I was just leaving,” Hesh whispers, not looking at you. His heart hammers. “I’m sorry, I thought someone else was in here—the door was open, okay?” 

Your hands twitch, body still and breath held tight.

“Hesh?” He flinches, eyes closed tight. 

Don’t look at her. Don’t turn around. Leave.

“Are you really…him?” You ask silently, eyes darting nervously around the room and quickly waking up fully. 

It’s a moment before he answers you. 

“Yeah,” he forces out, voice tiny and sad. “Yeah, it’s me, Doll. Just David Walker.” 

Your throat bobs with a thin swallow. Treatment was still ongoing, but it’s not every day you wake up to find the man who you had nightmares about standing in your room. 

Breathe, you have to remind yourself. It was the drugs. Not Hesh. Never Hesh. Rorke.

But you were still scared. 

“I…I need to see your eyes,” you say. 

Hesh turns carefully, staring hard at the floor. His heart lurches, hands going clammy. 

What if she has a setback? He asks himself. What if I mess this up…Shit, Hesh, you couldn’t have minded your own business?

Oh, but he never could when it came to you. 

“Then look at me, Sweetheart.” The man breathes slowly, darting his eyes up to your face. “They only belong to you.”

But your gaze can’t slip to his sockets, only able to glare fearfully into his neck. But this Hesh felt different, more like the one you grew up with—those memories still coming back but tainted; you need to see green, but it was hurting you to think that you might not.

“I’m scared,” you admit, shakily. The man’s thighs tense, but he stops himself before he can go and take you into his arms. That wouldn’t help. “I’m…I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“I’m real. I swear to you, Harp, I’m real. I’m right here and I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Even if it’s years, I will always be right here.” He pleads, hands still at his sides and going nowhere if you don’t tell him to. It’s like a floodgate opens, months of internal pain and heartbreak spilling out. You needed to know this, even if he never got to see you again. 

“I have loved you since I saw you get jealous over Cassie Albrook in seventh grade and tried to hide it because you thought she made me happy—she could never make me happy, Harp. That was you. That was always and will always be you. I…I can’t breathe when you’re not near me, I don’t know how to act right when you’re hurt. Seeing you hurting is…is…” Hesh’s voice breaks and he falls silent. 

“Please, if you need to look into my eyes, I’m beggin’ you, Sweetheart, please, do it. Even if it’s only one glance.” Your breath is stuck in your throat, tears welling and sliding down your cheeks. 

In your skull your brain pounds, bordering on hysteria and an urge to flee. There was so little that you trusted anymore. Keegan, yes—the nurses and doctors? You had no choice there. 

You knew that the Hesh you’d seen in the pit was Rorke, Keegan had explained it all to you after the drugs had been pumped from your system; you understood that part. But it didn’t make the sickening confusion any better.

Symptoms of severe PTSD, paranoia, anxiety—you’d seen the charts when the nurses thought you weren’t looking at them. 

You still wouldn’t let anyone with a needle anywhere close to you, had to be put under for it. 

But you’d been so lonely here. A simple kiss seared into your mind before the horror set in, a stain of a smile on your lips. A chest vibrating with a content purr. 

Hesh. You want your Hesh back. 

Taking a stuttering breath, your eyes dart upwards. You push through your misty gaze and lock on a color that can only be described as a grassy field of verdant growth. Great open plains of viridescent being—showing you a world bathed in tender belonging. 

Home. 

You sob and rush from the chair on legs that still hurt even now, meeting Hesh in the middle as he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around you. You’re covered and kept in a hold so tight it’s like he’ll never let you go, heart pounding and his face loose with shock.

But he says nothing beyond a loud shuttered exhale of relief, pressing you to his chest and burying his face into your scalp, breathing you in; taking you down like a sinner in church until all that remains is you. Your fingers digging into his shirt, your face in his neck, how you call his name as if calling a ghost back from the dead.

“Oh, my Girl.” Hesh chuckles through the tears in his eyes. “My Girl. I missed you so much, you won’t even believe it.” 

You push yourself into him tighter. 

Riley, at some point, had come to stand in the doorway, his dark beady eyes seeing only the colors in gray, brown, yellow, and blue, though that never truly mattered. Color was only half of the picture. 

And the rest of the image in front of him was seeped with the pigment of love. 

The dog’s tongue lulls from the side of his mouth, and in the air behind him, his tail moves back and forth into a soft arch.

TAGS:

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[abundantchewtoys]

Beyond Canon, re: p666.1, 666.2

So, I want to comment.

The fact that the "session" Vriska has begun is no S***b at all but a therapy session in the hyperbolic helltier chamber. Hilarious.

It's cool how the page is basically Homestuck: The Visual Novel. The talksprites & dialogue do the heavy lifting, the background & music's there for the ambiance.

Upon seeing the time skip, Blaperile had the good idea that she might be in here for 6 to 8 years. Bringing Vriska closer in age to the other Meat timeline kids. At least, near the start of their journey to Deltritus. Plus, most of them are functionally immortal.

In a lot of ways, Vriska was left lagging behind. Her insistence on going out to fight Lord English meant that her own personal timeline has been so short until now compared to the rest. Terezi went out to search for her for years upon years, while for her, less than a week passed on Candy Earth? Crazy.

I was wondering what introspection could be forced upon Vriska, that would feel earned. I mean, the post-retcon version of her already did much of this on and off screen, it could've ended up feeling repetitive somehow. But no.

No, this feels right so far.

She spends the first two years (???) trying and failing to move forward with Tavros (and Davepeta). I would've assumed she only had those two locations to explore in all that time (Tavros' hive's terrain and her own). Until she started venting there.

Seems everything in Helltier Alternia is available to her. It probably just never stops feeling fake. Which reminds me a lot of the (revised) ending to qntm's Ra.

SCROLL TO THE NEXT ARROWS TO AVOID SPOILERS ========> . . . . . . . . In which the characters end up on a simulated version of Earth with the story's self-proclaimed protagonist swearing up and down she can feel the difference. And nothing what the people in here do matters as none of it's real. . . . . . . . . <================ END SPOILERS

So, what are the people in the hyberbolic chamber, truly?

Tavros & Aradiabot seem like self-aware versions of their past selves, like unawakend dream selves. Tavros even felt more confident than I've remembered him ever seeing. Hope this isn't because this was his pre-paralysis self.

I kind of wonder if the sprites are standing in for themselves in the chamber. Aka that Vriska hung out with GCATavrosprite-as-his-past-self all this time? Not sure though.

Aradiabot, you ask? Well we know that Alpha Aradia has been travelling to all sorts of alternate timelines and is very much much older than she looks. So she could've gone and filled in for Aradiabot here, too. She used to be her own sprite, after all!

But that doesn't feel entirely satisfactory, either. It kind of feels nicer to imagine Vriska's been engaging with "meta Tavros" and "meta Aradia". Aka, an amalgam of who've they've been in the story, to the people reading Homestuck. Very much a function of the Point, but also very much the character themselves as well.

In other news, how many times will Vriska end up 'dying' in the chamber, on screen? I mean, in the last part she went to lie on her quest bed. Not a lot of sleep happens on those! At least, not for long.

It's hilarious that Davepeta seems to have been designated Vriska's "handler" but has no real experience to help her along. I mean, that's most of the sprites in a nutshell, but still. If the chamber's supposed to give her growth, you'd have thought she'd be given a better helper.

Then again, the sprites might be constructs of the chamber too. Vriska might really be in here alone and the chamber just has her own psyche to work with. She's internalized she's a badass who doesn't need help.

And now she's slowly unlearning things. By now, she's learned to ask other people what they want to do. The prompt "What will you do?" was never about her, it was about the others.

It's going to be interesting to see what she has to confront in the Mindfang path, though. It would be wild to get talksprites for Mindfang or Spidermomsprite! But if it's about her toxically near-religious obediance to Alternia's obsession with ancestors… Yeah I can see her talking with a version of pre-retcon Vriska. Or Aranea. We don't know if she ever did meet a version of her dancestor post-retcon.

Loved how the page went and took in a larger part of the page, like during [S] Cascade. And the branching paths evoke the paths we got to choose from during the time the cartridge was corrupted.

Yeah, on rereading the text, I think Tavros & Aradiabot are elements of the chamber trying to guide Vriska along.

If she'd only contemplated what WORDS could've been better than the ones she said already, instead of jumping to ACTIONS (hers or Tavros'), it wouldn't have taken two years for her to get there with Tavros.

But that's the road she had to travel: Apologies -> Revenge -> Actually sitting down & sorting it out with the other party.

Now for her to unlearn all her other unhealthy coping strategies! Yeah she's going to be here for a while.

Neat bit, that bit about projecting though. It's true, underneath all the bluster, she was just a kid trying to find the best way to deal with the world she was given. And then, when she thought she found it, she put everyone in the same box with her.

And hey, Tavros' reaction (pointing) at realizing she might be projecting… Was that a reference to the Turnabout fangame?

Him proposing they could be projects for one another… Imagine them as moirails, dear god.

Tavros can very much pretend to be blue as he is now (as a sprite).

It's interesting to (re)learn how much Vriska was obsessed with trying to patch things up with Aradia. While Aradia was like "whatever, bye", lol.

And, is the helltier rung thing a real thing? Cause we saw godtiers physically represented as platforms! This seems more like Vriska's finally truly scaling her echeladder.

Like she skipped a few steps in growing as a S***b player, which seems just so like her.

Real on the nose that she spends all this years. Stuck. In her old home. Bent. To return to her hive each time.

Aradiabot's spiel about incremental change & the danger of cycles reminds me of the song. "I'm going around, not in circles but in spirographs." It's the difference between getting stuck in this chamber vs. the dreambubbles, too, I guess.

Waiting to see if this all really will end up with a Scourge Sister fond reunion!

[sebastianswallows]

LOL I definitely didn’t read the prompt right i’m so sorry🤦‍♀️ but how about 🧠 and more headcanons for seb

Pffft that's ok!! I was exactly the same when I read it I was like "...wait" 🤣 Had to think for a sec wtf the question meant.

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

Seb <3 My bby, my sweetest boy.

I have so many headcanons for him, but if I had to choose one favourite... it's that he's actually very awkward around girls, romantically I mean.

He's such a nerdy little boy, first of all. He reads a lot, he literally says he reads practically every book he finds. This is not really a social activity. Which means he probably spends a lot of time alone, indoors (or maybe outdoors, but who are we kidding).

And before MC arrived, his best friends were Ominis and his sister.

And his idea of a ✨fun night out🎉 is sneaking into the library 🤦‍♀️

There's also the fact that his parents died when he was young, and so much of how we learn to interact with others comes from our parents. All he had was grumpy Uncle Solomon, a bachelor, until he went to Hogwarts at 11.

Seb seems to have very good self esteem and confidence in certain interactions, like duelling or discussing spells and other academic activities, but I think if he were placed in a situation that was more "social" (aka normie), he wouldn't really know what to do. Remember how he's at first secretive and suspicious when you first approach him in the Slytherin Common room. Not exactly a social guy.

I think he's one of those people that learns to compartmentalise his feelings and can pick and choose his reactions in a deliberate way so as not to embarrass himself or put himself into a situation that's outside of his comfort zone, but it would be a conscious effort for the sake of saving face.

Thank you for the ask, my dear! I loved answering this one 💚

→ Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Memories Masterlist

7 Minutes (ao3) - saraswords

Summary: “Moments, memories, that’s all that Dan had left to relive, but he could only pick a handful. He only had 7 minutes after-all. So…he picked. He chose his favorites, a compilation of small and big moments: lying in bed together, moving in together, slow dancing, life-changing questions, and simple nights.

And what they all had in common, was one person…”

2009, 2012, 2019, 2022 (ao3) - OliveTheHobbit

Summary: “Most people have like yearly photo books, we have this weird ass videos” - Daniel Howell, some bloopers from phil is not on fire 10.

Some of the memories they gathered along the way got fresh in their minds at the moment they decided to buy a photo album.

In celebration to Dan and Phil’s 10th anniversary.

constant future memories (ao3) - kishere

Summary: time travel fic, either dan and phil time travel from current year to 2009/2012, or vise versa, introspection would be nice of how much they’ve changed

Cute Neightbours Make the Best Friends (And Sometimes More) - crescendohowell

Summary: The day Dan starts watching Phil’s videos he gets in a car accident causing him to lose his recent memories.  The only problem is he hadn’t subscribed yet.  And it isn’t until years later, when he’s a lawyer living in London, that he meets a cute neighbor in the elevator named Phil, makes a best friend (one that he has a minor infatuation for), and the memories come back.

Eyes on You (ao3) - krissyxlove

Summary: To the public, Phil has always been the one taking sneaky candid photos of Dan but behind the scenes Dan has also been taking photos of Phil.

Alternatively, Dan has had a disposable camera for 10 years now and he has finally used up all the film and is ready to develop the candid photos of Phil from over the years.

Favorite Record (ao3) - jfcmartin

Summary: Phil’s most treasured memories are the times he had spent with his childhood best friend, Dan. Unfortunately, Dan doesn’t remember it just as much because of an accident two months after he moved away. Phil is determined to help him bring back his memories, winding up making new ones in the process.

Getting To Know You (Again) (ao3) - rainbowchristy

Summary: After an accident, Dan and Phil lose their memories. They’re left to learn who they were and what they meant to each other. Turning on Tumblr (aka phan central) to do that, though, may not have been the best idea.

Golden Days (ao3) - sunshineandsadness

Summary: Dan is remembering his golden days

fond memories (ao3) - overmyhead

Summary: Dan remembers meeting Phil for the first time.

Friday, I'm In Love (ao3) - raindropsonconcrete

Summary: When cleaning the apartment, Phil stumbles across certain items that compel him to take a trip down memory lane.

higher than high (ao3) - watergator

Summary: prompt: skybar

japan brings back some memories

I’d Forgotten to Fall in Love With You - echohowell

Summary: Phil is involved in a serious accident causing him to lose all his memories of his time with Dan. In a rush of panic to try and see Phil, Dan claims that he’s his fiancé. But unfortunately now, everyone, even Phil’s own family, believes the lie.So Dan embarks on a new mission. Dan’s in love with Phil Lester, and he’s going to make Phil Lester fall in love with him.

I Think I’m Breaking Down (ao3) - Lizzyboo

Summary: “Hello?” he answered, surprised to find his voice calm under the circumstances.

“Phil,” Martyn’s voice was tired and tight, and Phil wanted more than anything to hang up on him and crawl back under the covers for a few more hours. Days if possible.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t ask the question, they both knew what the phone call meant.

It didn’t make it easier to accept though.

John Doe (ao3) - Riddle

Summary: After one of the worst fights in their history as a couple, Dan flees the apartment and is hit by a car and left for dead. When he finally arrives at the hospital, a computer error misidentifies him as deceased and effectively kills him in the eyes of the world. Phil must learn to live thinking that Dan is dead, and Dan–who no longer remembers anything of his life before waking up in the morgue–tries to start a new life and regain his memories with the help of a kind stranger.

Kairosclerosis (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Kairosclerosis n. the moment you realize that you’re currently happy—consciously trying to savour the feeling—which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart and put it in context, where it will slowly dissolve until it’s little more than an aftertaste.

2009/2010 Dan ponders his happiness and new life with Phil.

keep it or yeet it (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Phil’s armed with sticky notes, ready to keep or yeet everything in their room before the big move.

Dan just wants a break.

Keys to My Heart (ao3) - thatsthephan

Summary: We’ve all wanted Dan to get his piano fixed forever. But when a cute repair guy shows up and causes trouble, can a simple song played on the piano fix things? Well, that and a long overdue discussion of the past.

Memories in Manchester (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Dan and Phil feel nostalgic while in Manchester for tour and recall their earliest memories of one another, including their first kiss.

We Built This House on Memories - 2009 - darling-phil

Summary: A look into Dan and Phil’s relationship over the years from the moment Dan bought his train tickets in 2009 to Phil stealing his cereal in 2016

who’d have known? (ao3) - CallofTheCurlew

Summary: Nerd!Dan and Badboy!Phil meet at a club Dan isn’t even sure he wants to be at. But it’s his last year of university, and those are made for memories. Allegedly.

[clumsiestgiantess]

Day 24; take a WAC prompt and write a short with it!

I decided to do something with the other-world universe and follow what would happen with ‘a human in a giant world’ (aka an other-worldian falling into our world of ‘giants’)

Migraine, vertigo, ache, light — that’s how I remember it.  I.. think my head hit the ground?  I could’ve sworn I was bleeding.  My hands that were clasped to my head were still covered in blood when I got up, but my forehead was spotless.  Where-?  The asphalt below me started vibrating.  An earthquake at this time of-?  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Holy fuck!  I clutched my ears, doubling over in pain.  The sound was so loud I couldn’t even hear it — if that makes any sense.  Looking up with tears in my eyes, I watched a vehicle the size of a subdivision speed off down the road.  B-But I was in a parking lot!  I fell!  How am I-?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ow!  Ow!  Who the hell made such big cars?!  I stumbled towards the edge of the road, barely able to concentrate enough to put one foot in front of the other.  

Reaching fresh dirt, I collapsed and breathed for a few brief blissful seconds until another gigantic vehicle drove by, billowing gale-force winds behind it.  Confusedly, I stood up to watch it go.  Where are these giant cars coming from?  I turned around.  Wh…  Shit.  Beyond the strip of earth I’d clambered to was a parking lot so massive I couldn’t see the end.  However, what was at the end towered into the sky above any conceivable thing I could’ve imagined.  A shopping complex of sorts spanned seemingly infinitely across my vision.

Oh, ok.  This is hell.  I did hit my head and now I’m actually in hell.  I stood there and laughed for so long I forgot about the road behind me until a car barreled down it, the force of its speed nearly knocking my face into the ground a second time.  I have to.. to.. at least get away from here.  Beyond that, I had not even a fraction of an idea of what to do, but get away is an idea enough for me.

Continuing through the shoulder-length blades of grass, I stepped out onto a curb.  The sun was on its way down, gleaming off the parked vehicles blindingly.  At least here they weren’t driving so insanely fast.  What am I supposed to do?  Do I.. ask someone for help?  I watched the stream of people coming and going across the lot.  Most of them were leaving.  It was clearly towards the end of the day.  Creeping closer, I dashed to the next patch of grass — an oblong shape with a small tree in the middle.  I just needed to get a better view.

After about seven or eight attempts to call out to someone later, I realized distance wasn’t the problem.  Every time someone got remotely close to me, I’d panic and duck down into the grass until I was absolutely sure they’d passed.  The people — the giants — who live here are terrifying in a way I just can’t explain.  None of them saw me or knew I was there, none of them had seemed malicious in any way, and they looked like any regular person you’d see on the street.  Yet, every time I tried to wrap my head around the fact that the titans whisking by are actual people, I panicked.  There was just no way.

The parking lot emptied and I was still rooted to the exact same spot.  There were only a few cars still scattered at the back of the lot by the time I decided to maybe move a bit closer.  Oh god, what if one of them sees me?  I- I want someone to tell me what’s going on, but...  Are they really giants?  I mean, that’s a stupid question, they’re literally giant, obviously they’re giants.  They’re not.. going to eat me though, right?  That’s fairytale bullshit.   …Right?

As the sun began to drop away, I found just how bizarre the strange giant world really was.  As the lot around me darkened, I began to get brighter.  No kidding, I literally had a soft glow to my body.  At first I hadn’t realized it because it was too bright outside, then it was because of the massive floodlights that lit the place.  However, as I approached a dark patch where one of the lights had died, I realized that there was a faint glow around me — from me.  No way…  This place is crazy!  Ohshit!  Someone left one of the storefronts further down.  

With my panic, the glow only brightened.  No no no!  Turn off!  They’re gonna find me!  Thankfully they were too far away to notice it.  Either that, or they had noticed and just didn’t care enough to walk all the way over and investigate.  I let out a relieved sigh as their car started up and rolled away.  My glow dimmed and almost vanished.  That’s.. weird.  It’s like, tied to how scared I am?  I tried some deep breaths to calm myself down, seeing how low I could get the light.  It vanished.  Ok now glow.  On command, light flashed through me so brightly I could see my bones through my skin in hazy darker patches.

Wow, it’s automatic!  I toyed around with the ability — trying out different brightness — completely unaware that someone was heading across the parking lot nearby.  “What the heck is that?!”  My heart flew into my throat as I watched myself get increasingly brighter until it hurt my eyes.  Shit shit!  No!  Go back to darkness!  Please go back to darkness!

Turning around at the nearing sound of footsteps, I saw the shadow of some huge being and clawed my way upright, sprinting in the opposite direction.  At least my brightness made it easier to see where I was running to, but it also made it easy for the giant to see where I was running!  Somehow I managed to dash across to the next patch of grass and hide beneath a bush, only to turn and watch the titanic person walk straight towards me.  Turn off!  I’m begging you!  I’m gonna get caught!

Tears welled in my eyes as the giant knelt down in front of my bush.  I tried running again, but it wasn’t any use.  Long digits curled around me, dragging me backwards as I grabbed at branches and whatever else might hold me back, but they only slipped out of my grasp at the force I was being pulled back.  Suddenly, I was in the open.

“P- Please!  You don’t understand!  I don’t understand!  Why is everything so big?!  Help!  Someone help me!”  I thrashed in the giant’s grip, disoriented and scared.  “Heeelllllpppppp!”  My shriek nearly choked all the air from my lungs.  I slipped from the giant’s grasp as they flinched in shock at my screams.  Tumbling toward the hard ground, I preemptively said my goodbyes to the cruel world I'd been placed in.  I wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or terrified that they caught me before I hit the asphalt — the wind knocked out of my chest by their palm.

“Woah, Woah!  Ok, alright!  Don’t struggle so much or you’re going to end up dead!”  For a split second I thought they were insinuating that they would kill me if I kept struggling, but realized soon afterwards that they were probably just talking about how I’d nearly hit the ground.  “Do you think maybe you could turn that light off?”  I tried to tell them I couldn’t, but only a sob came out of my mouth.  Clinging to the awful giant’s fingers curled around my midsection, I started gasping and crying uncontrollably.  I just.. couldn’t take it anymore.  I’d been fearing that exact moment the entire time I was there.  Now that it had come, I wanted to get it over with.

“What the hell even are you?  I swear.. doesn’t the toy store over there sell little light up fairies?  Now I just feel stupid.  I chased a kid’s toy being blown by the wind-”  “Please, please just put me down!  I want to go h-home!”  Their grip on me shifted slightly.  “You.. are a toy.. aren’t you?”

The light around me grew so bright I had to close my eyes as spots started appearing in my vision.  The giant took a sharp breath, probably stunned as well.  “If I say yes, will you put me down?”  My stomach churned like I was being dropped again, but I slowed less than a second later, the giant’s hand sliding out from around and beneath me, letting me back down on solid ground again.  I clung to the asphalt.  Seeing the light dim from beyond my eyelids, I chanced a peek at the outside.

A giant stood over me.  I feel sick.  How is this happening?  They lowered their head down right beside me to see me better and I shrieked, nearly blinding myself and them.  A loud yelp of pain rattled my bones.  I felt like I’d just finished a marathon; my chest heaved — winded for some reason — and my legs could barely hold my own weight.  The hell is happening to me?!  Am I having a heart attack?!  

The light from outside was nearly blinding even with my eyes closed, and I pressed my hands against them, not recognizing they were also giving off light.  “AAH!  My eyes!  What’s happening to me?!  It won’t stop!”  My brain kept getting sluggish for split seconds, like I kept falling asleep and waking up.  The loud sound of the giant speaking rumbled worriedly through the air.  Finally, I fell asleep and I didn’t wake up.

[yepperoniro]

Yandere Senjuro Rengoku Gemstone Prompts.

[Romatic! Aged Up AU!]

Art not mine...

Alexandrite- what brings the yandere the most joy?

It depends on if it's their earlier days Pre-Kyojuro's death or post. If it is before his death, Senjuro's favorite thing was to spend his time watching you train, eat, and goof off with him and/or his big brother. His favorite thing is your smile. If it is post Mugen Train Arc... His favorite thing is you playing along with his delusions. Aka, call him Kyojuro, tell him you're proud that he gave up on being a Demon Slayer so he could spend time with his wife and father. Never ever ever bring up the reality that he isn't Kyojuro and Kyojuro is dead, Ever.

Angelite- how calm is the yandere and what aggravates them?

Senjuro is a worshiper type yandere and very calm due to this.

However, after Kyojuro Dies he spirls down into a slew of delusions. He changes from your calm and very manageable yandere to an overly protective and possessive yandere solely due to his delusions. As everyone is trying to yank him from his created happy world.

In this happy little fantasy world he created. He is Kyojuro, and he fell in love with his tsugoku Y/N. However after realizing that while they're in the Demon Slayer Corp they couldn't be together the two of them decided to retire early get married and begin there own family while watching over his alcoholic father. Where is Senjuro in his own little delusions? Good question! Bringing up Senjuro usually will cause him to spiral into aggression and confusion.

Aventurine- does the yandere's plans run smoothly or are there obstacles that get in the way?

Hahaha hahaha yeah no. His entire plan was completely uprooted and completely altered/removed once Kyojuro died. His whole plan was to watch from the side-lines as his brother, whom he put on this god level pedestal, marry and have children with a woman he also put on that same level of pedestal. So once his brother died, his psych was afraid of losing two gods instead of just one. It began with him being consciously aware that he wasn't actually Kyojuro and only acting like him to keep you from leaving him. But it delved deeper. Until where it is now...

Black Tourmaline- does the yandere want to protect darling or harm them?

Senjuro wants more than anything to protect you but he knows he isn't going to be able to with him not being able to do Flame Breathing nor wield a sword like his brother could. 'Kyojuro' is the same wanting to protect you from everything in the world. But the difference is that 'Kyojuro' is strong enough to do so. [How is this possible physically? Well it was inside him all along. The real Kyojuro would almost be proud.] 'Kyojuro' isn't above corporal punishments. Keep bring up Senjuro or keep trying to pull him from his delusions and expect to be bent over his lap and spanked with his belt.

Blue Lace Agate- how truthful is the yandere?

To a man who doesn't even know where the real world begins and his fantasies end I don't know if he is able to be truthful. Simply because he doesn't know what is truthful. However 'Kyojuro' will always tell you how he feels about every little microscopic thing. The scary bits of his identity crisis is that he swears up and down to having memories he physically can't have [because the didnt exist]. Such as remembering when his mother went through Kankagari and she had problems with bloody noeses.

Carnelian- how does the yandere deal with their darlings strong will?

Which ones is stronger his delusions or her will? If it's the later he might not know what to do and go to his father for advice. Who honestly has no idea what his son is talking about and blow him off. He might try to reach out to the 'other' Hashira's for advice but none of them humor the crazy ramblings of the young man. After no one offering him advice he might whip out his hidden trump card drugs. When 'Kyojuro' was Senjuro he took care of any wounds his brother would get as well as taking care of his own. He also took multiple months of Kakushi/EMT training courses. In a drugged out state Y/N definitely won't put up as much of a fight about 'Kyojuro''s presence.

Charoite- how does the yandere learn more about darling?

Senjuro just asks. "Y/N, I am going to begin cooking lunch for you and brother what is your favorite foods?" "Hey, Y/N, What Is your favorite color? I'm just curious is all... no reason!" "Y/N-san, do you have any siblings? I'm just curious I'm sorry!"

The worst part of it is that before Kyojuro's Death he was very blind to his brothers strangeness/noesiness. "Senjuro is annoying you with questions you say? I apologize my brother is a naturally curious boy I'm sure he ment no harm."

How does 'Kyojuro' know so much about you? "A husband should know his wife like the back of his hand." Honsetly he doesn't even know...

Chrysoprase- how does the yandere deal with heartbreak?

He is delusional! De-lu-sion-allll!!! You can't reject him because your rejection won't sink in, and he will probably spank you for attempts to reject his reality. "A wife shouldn't speak like that to her husband." If you run away from him... he'll blanket burrito and scream for hours until his vocal cords are destroyed. Then he'll hit the bottle... but he is doinging because in his delusional reality, you were killed by a demon... he would say he is ashamed he a former Hashira allowed a Demon to take his darling wife from him. So no, he isn't going back to being Senjuro just because you're gone... if he saw you after he had already come to the conclusion you were dead. He would just start screaming and holding his head as he was trying to contemplate how this would have happened. He would either come to the conclusion that you are a ghost and he had to join you in the afterlife. Or the conclusion that you are a Demon, he would report it to the Slayer Corps, then commit Seppuku because as a hashira, he let his wife become a demon. who wouldn't even come out to investigate because they see Senjuro as the boy who cried wolf. If you got sick and died... and he watched you die he would just like the other scenario to become an alcoholic. If you two have children... you might notice that he is reliving his life through his son...

Diamond- what does the yandere want from their ideal darling?

Her Obedience. Her Love. Her Loyalty. Her Devotion. Her Smile.

Emerald- how does the yandere show their love?

His love language is physical affection and verbal affection. He also is big into gift giving but he doesn't have the former Hashira pension that his father has or brother would have. He doesn't really question why he doesn't have the money he thinks he should have because he assumes that due to his early retirement dequalified him for it.

Garnet- what is the yandere's ideal future with darling?

He wants the American Dream. He believes he is a retired hero who deserves an obedience and beautiful loving wife and two children.

Kunzite- is the yandere's motivations love, lust or something else?

Love and Delusions.

Lapis Lazuli- is the yandere controling or manipulative?

He is as controlling as one would expect from a man from the 1912/1920's. He doesn't mean to be manipulative... he's too Delusional for that...

Moonstone- are there things that the yandere will hide from darling at all costs?

So... don't judge him, but... when Kyojuro first died, Senjuro began eating and feeding you his ashes... also, the gem in your wedding ring is actually him.... oh, and that glass Olisbos he uses on you when you're being sexually punished. Yeah, that's actually.... /he even made a tasteless joke about it. While spanking you he puts the Olisbos in your womanhood while saying, "No no no y/n Kyojuro isn't gone. Actually he's closer to you than he's ever been."

Opal- what makes the yandere tick?

Calling him Senjuro. Telling him he isn't Kyojuro. That Kyojuro is gone. You don't love him. He'd get angry and spank you.

Sapphire- does the yandere believe that they are the one that darling should praise or do the believe that darling deserves theirs?

Senjuro is a worshiper. But 'Kyojuro' wants to be praised not worshipped. But like head pats and snuggles. He wants you to thank him for giving up his position as Hashira to br with you.

Rhodonite- does the yandere want kids and would they force darling into having them?

Absolutely! At least Two. Would upsettedly settle with one but wants two or more. As for force... that's complicated. Because it is the 1912/1920's. And common idea is that a wife is the property of her husband. So yeah he does force himself on you but no he doesn't see it as a bad thing because it's what wife's do for their husband's. Also he is naming his son Senjuro. No matter if you give birth to a Male or a Female...

Unakite- does the yandere have a point of no return or will they eventually realize how dire the consequences of their actions?

See the heartbroken response.

[clarktooncrossing]

DUDELZ of the Damned | Halloween Heroes

HEY THERE PEOPLE OF TODAY AND ROBOTS OF TOMORROW! IT'S ME, CLARK!

A chill is in the air. You can feel it can't you? Perhaps you even recognize it. That same chill arrives every year right on the dot. With it comes a frightful howl in the moonlight, the only other sound to be heard. Otherwise there is a strange calmness settling around you, like the point of ease before the storm. By now the howling has stopped. It has been replaced by a different sound. Footsteps. Big, heavy, dragging, as if the figure didn't quite know how to use their legs. Perhaps it's a random passerby. Perhaps it's a rotting, frightful feature freshly risen from the grave. Perhaps it's some other, unspeakable horror waiting to pounce! Whatever it is, you're not waiting around to find out! Yet no matter how far you run, it can't be escaped. The chill in the air, the howling of the wind, the heavy footsteps, it all leads back to one thing: October is here! And with it comes the return of the DUDELZ of the Damned!

Yes weirdos, like last year, my approximation of Sketchtober has returned. I call it an proxy because there was no list of prompts. Nah, that'd be too limiting. This is yet another case where I compiled my own list of ideas, sketched them out, then used one color per picture. With all that said, let's see what spoopy scribblings await us today!

Anybody can be a hero, though not everyone can be a superhero. Some of us are stuck making their wardrobe. Not that Patricia Arif minds. The Muslim fashion designer takes great pride in her work designing outfits for her girlfriend, Sarah Bosewick aka Saura. Outside of giving herself a creative challenge, Patty simply loves creating clothes that’ll fit her buff, blue gal pal. Unfortunately most people will never know it’s her doing all that. It’s all part of being a seamstress for a superhero. Luckily this hero has a wide group of confidants. Among them is Sarah’s own little sister, Girasol, who’s arguably the prehistoric powerhouse’s biggest fan. So much so that when Halloween approached, the little Latina girl surprised her sibling with a costume modeled in her image. Proudly Patricia watched on as her happy little client charged around as the Blue Beast of Fosslin as her big sister looked on in joyful tears. Anybody can be a hero, and on Halloween, everyone can be a superhero.

Chalk that up as a major reason why I will never understand some folk’s hatred of the Holiday. Pagan origins aside, what’s the harm in letting little kids dress up as their favorite characters? The reason I dressed up as Spider-Man when I was younger is because of my overwhelming urge to be just like him. Much as those crappy Walmart costumes sucked, it made me feel just like the wall-crawler, at least for a little while. Having said that, none of this was in my mind when I went about sketching this. Actually, this DUDEL wasn’t planned out in advance like most of the others. Originally this sketch was meant to star Crocie and Bumper with the ghoul dressing as the reptile. It was a suggestion given to me by my friends on Discord that was a genuinely cute idea. Yet as I stopped to think it over, the idea of Gigi doing this in honor of her big sister became much more appealing to me. So to my friends who were excited to see Bumper dressed as the chubby crocodile, I hope you can still enjoy this sketch. Granted, it’s not perfect. Sarah’s face in the background didn’t turn out as quirky as I had hoped. If nothing else I can finally say her human appearance has made an appearance. As for the colors, once again I decided to tweak my rules and make Gigi the only one in color while everything else is grayed out. Not only because it lets the little girl pop more, but also my gray markers are starting to fade out. Looks like I’ll have to buy more before next year. Until then, I hope you all enjoy this DUDEL as much as I did making it. And remember: anybody can be a hero!

BONUS QUESTION: Have you ever dressed up as a superhero for Halloween?

MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!

[purecommemasolitude]

outsiders week 2024 progress report to hold myself accountable

Sunday, Nov 3 - "gang" or "Ponyboy"

already chosen the fic for this one, it's the one i've been working on for the longest (literally since at least june last year) and i am soo close to being done. there's just one exchange i need to refine because i'm not satisfied with it. but it's book-verse about ponyboy after the track tryouts the same year as everything goes down* not getting the placement he wants and finding a moment of understanding with darry about it because darry's the only one who #gets it. this fic was spun out of that one line in the book where ponyboy says soda never got the importance him or darry placed on athletics

*when i was combing the book to figure out the timeline of track/what grade he was in there was a) never a concrete answer b) a lot of things that could be interpreted in conflicting ways, so i just went with he's a sophomore who was on the track team last year and track tryouts happen in like may or whatever

Monday, Nov 4 - "gold" or "Cherry"

there is a fic already started that's hopefully going to be the one for this day, but also it's probably gonna be long and it's an exploration of musical!cherry's turmoil after bob dies seeing the witch hunt against the greasers (basically it's inspired by the fact that she takes her promise ring off after JFT and not after the break up) and i want to try and do my vision™ justice instead of rushing it so this may not be done in time we'll see. if it's not done i may extract the bit where she finds out about two-bit's jumping from marcia and just post that because it's the part closest to being completed

Tuesday, Nov 5 - "rumble" or "Sodapop"

so i have two started but incomplete fics that could go for this day. one is following musical!soda & darry at home in tulsa while ponyboy is out in windrixville. it's probably my first choice, but this one is also an i don't want it to rush and lose some of its potential in the writing process so we'll see. the other one is a stevepop fic that's largely centered around sodapop's queerness (it's basically a 5 + 1 of members of the gang realizing/revealing that they know that he's not straight. evie is in it with her and steve as each other's beards and she's the catalyst for soda's own realization that he likes men)

Wednesday, Nov 6 - "hair grease" or "Darry"

fic chosen and started for this one too! (this is what i was up until like 2:00 yesterday working on 🤪) it's musicalverse again and it's gonna follow a possible explanation for why darry's called darrel now, aka him slowly transitioning to going by darrel after the death of their parents and the reasoning and rationale for that change

Thursday, Nov 7 - "rodeo" or "Bob"

...okay for this one i truly have no idea. i want to keep it vaguely on-theme for the prompts even if i end up not following them, but the two other soc-related fics i have simmering are ones that i want to also not rush and really make sure they're the best i can get them (asian!paul exploration and marbit's journey post-book) so probably not those two tbh. two ideas that i have are snapshots of various characters reacting to his death, though i haven't picked a universe for that yet, or something following the non-character prompts for once and maybe some of the characters as kids at a rodeo? i'll be honest the only rodeo experiences i've had that i can really remember are riding the docile horses on like a real-horse carousel so basically i'd just be planting outsiders characters into that experience

it is also possible that i'll end up with nothing (midterms go crazy), in which case i'll post my backup that is semi-completed, a whooole bunch of outsiders characters recreated in this picrew

Friday, Nov 8 - "tuff" or "Dally"

this one is not only decided upon but finished if y'all can believe it. i might make some revision edits before i actually post it but this one is a product of me going insane over the course of three days and writing a character exploration of dally on the train tracks delving into his relationship throughout his life with suicidal ideation

Saturday, Nov 9 - "vacant lot" or "Johnny"

unfortunately once again no idea lads. actually i lied there is something but it doesn't follow any of the prompts very much so we'll see. following the prompts i have no idea, most i've got is maybe a short thing about johnny some quiet night in the vacant lot (both prompts in one fell swoop). maybe he's looking at the stars idk. if it's the other one, which could also function as a backup for any of the days, it's a sickfic about two-bit that's actually just an excuse to write two-bit appreciating his mom. the google doc for that one is called sick TB mother appreciation to illustrate how central that is to the fic

if you've read all the way to the end hello 👋 and feel free to send any thoughts or questions my way! i need to lock in and start hustling on these soon and interaction is always a great way to improve willpower

[nasuversekinkmeme]

Weekly Roundups: Prompts

Mahoyo

Aoko x Alice but neither of them know what they're doing and it's really messy and awkward but still sweet

Kara no Kyoukai

something with Kirie Fujou, either with her using her powers on someone, or something about her disabilities

Smut, Shiki pegging her loving malewife Mikiya. It's so good that mikiya cries

Tsukihime

Incest tw, I need some respectful, reciprocated Kohaku/Hisui. I generally see it as Hisui being more forceful when it comes to engaging/starting, but leaving it to Kohaku to take the lead once they actually get intimate - of course, if the filler has a different take on the dynamic, I'd love to see that too! The main requirement here is fluff.

Fate/Stay Night

Smut, dubcon, Rin decides to end her rivalry with Luvia by having sex with her. Dubcon that quickly becomes consensual due to Rin's tongue game

Rin/Luvia, body swap

Smut, Artoria watching Lancelot and Guinevere have sex.

Kirei giving a present to Gilgamesh, trying to justify doing something that is good for another person.

I'd like to see Medea on a date, can be with Kuzuki, or Jason, or Master, or anyone really, i just kinda want to see her having fun and experiencing some of the youth she lost

medea and kuzuki crossdressing. not forcefem just a man wearing a pretty outfit his wife picked out for him because he loves her

Smut, Artoria Bimbofication followed by her getting gangbanged

I come humbly asking for Saber to be hairy as FUCK.

Smut, ok but the idea of having Gilgamesh having the random dream of the Artorias loving him so much that it becomes a artoriasome.

This world needs more trans Shirou being doted on ny the other members of the Emiya house, be that in a fluffy or smutty way. Bonus points for including Saber!

Smut, Shirou/Issei public sex, I wanna see Issei try and stay quiet

Shirou has a wet dream and accidentally projects Kanshou and Bakuya as very cute girls

Fate/Hollow Ataraxia

I know that Bazett had Cu for maybe a week or more, but I want just them get together for one night outing and have them act like a normal couple just before the holy grail war. I want it to be very sweet and hopeful. It doesn't have to end in sex. I wish there was more stuff cubaz stuff out there. ;3;

Fate/Zero

Fed up of "Jeanne" refusing to remember who she really is on her own, Gilles Prelati's Spellbook to see if he can find a spell that will make her "remember". Aka - Gilles de Rais brainwashes Artoria into thinking she's his heavily idealised perception of Jeanne de Arc

Fate/Extra

Hakuno is summoned in chaldea and they have a tea party with Alice.

Fate/Apocrypha

Force masc Semiramis, either with Amakusa or another Apocrypha character.

Fate/Grand Order

Smut, Tiamat wants more children, and thus is the duty of the master of Chaldea to fulfill her wishes by doing marathon mana transfer until they pass out

NTR, Yu paisen and Gudako have a (accidental) romantic date after all the crypters flake at their reunion post lostbelts

Smut, Tiamat/Raikou competing to see whos the better momther, only to end up screwing each others brains out and ending up dating.

Smut, Gilles de Ray, having sex with this man until he passes out

i want to see gudao/ko rayshift to emiyas gohan and make friends maybe they deserve to go on a 1 week vacation (real not clickbait)

tiamat turns BB into a lahmu after finding out what she tried to pull during summer 3.

Since we know that Baobhan Sith and Ritsuka have movie nights every once in a while i would like some fluff between them in one of those nights

Gudao walks onto Medea and Jason having sex, a multitude of excuses coming from the both of them soon after.

Smut, Siegfried fucking Kriemhild until she passes out

Tiamat interactions with Morgan & her knights . first off , Morgan should get the shovel talk from tiamat.

Smut, Itty Bitty Titty Committee hot springs meeting! Complete with hands on testing to make sure the current members can stay. (To clarify I do mean the adult women who are flat chested, like Shuten, Helena, Altera, and so on)

Chen Gong meeting Castoria, and she seems to really like him, and everyone is worried how she’ll react when he has to sacrifice her for the first time. Only for it to turn out that Castoria is massive masochist and she begged Chen for the opportunity.

Smut, Nightingale giving Gudao a very extensive and sensual prostate exam in her Trick or Treatment outfit.

Avicebron/Medea. I think of them either exploring their shared passion for creating or their tragic lives. Maybe both. Maybe these should also kiss.

Smut, Anyone willing to shove a cock up Gudako's ass? Consentual, dubcon & noncon are ok, but I insist she gets pleasure out of it.

Gudao telling dad jokes to Fuuma after he starts dating Danzo.

Grunhilde, pissed that Bloodaxe still hasn't convinced Guda to summon her, kindly through force makes Eric ask Medea(or Circe but I find it funnier Medea) to use her body for a short while. Medea agrees and they go on a date where Jason sees them and then shenanigans ensue. I would also like to add this is not a Jason/Medea fic but if whoever decides to do it goes in that way I have no reason to object.

Smut, Chiron getting fucked by redhare and/or Xiang Yu

Smut, Futa Tiamat fucking Gudao with spoiling and aftercare.

I am mad to say nobody has suggested this, but I wanna see Hijikata finding out about Okita’s tuberculosis one day when he repeatedly hears her cough daily and she’s all like, “WAIT I CAN EXPLAIN-“ cue Angry Pickle Man trying to help Okita despite the fact she is insisting she is fine.

I guess something where castoria realizes she’s in love (can be with gudao, oberon, or somebody else). the only problem? It seems that there’s a time loop. So now she has to find a way to break out of it and confess.

nobu decides to prank gudao with a trap, and she fails miserably because her girlfriend okita got in the way and accidentally activated the trap. so now she finds a way to fix her bullshittery

(rarepair hell) Something with Salieri and Kijyo Koyo, either fluff (him listening her play the Koto) or Smut (third asc on third asc)

Maybe something with ritsuka actually being selfish for once and taking up hajime saitous offer to run away with him? Or any servant really, he was just the first to pop to mind.

I’ve recently gotten into Mash/Tonelico (thanks to a certain unnamed writer) but I’m also into Guda/Morgan because of the whole “I’m your wife” thing. So in essence what I’m saying is: Mash: This is my girlfriend Tonelico and her spouse Guda.

Kinda of a Crackship, but i think King Hassan and Tiamat would make a cute pair

Tiamat's having a 24 hour session of her spoiling her children.

Kintoki gets trapped between Ibuki's and Shuten's fight for who gets to "play" with him

an epilogue were all the crypters and Olga are alive and they just hang out with Guda like normal friends

Xiang Yu breaks down in a way that he can't fix on his own. With no way out, he asks his wife to please help him out. As smutty or not as smutty as you would like

Smut, futa Koyanskaya forcefems Gudao, fucks him, rims him, edges him, and fucks his weak human cockhole with her superior knotted cock

Sieg and Castoria ending up dating because they spend so much time farming together, and everyone else being shocked/surprised

Smut, I would love a fight to death turns into breaking the bedroom sex (battlefield?) between Alter Ego Bazett and Alter Cu Chulainn. I want them both to wake up the next morning limping away while swearing that they will fight again, but then they just have sex again.

Ritsuka has a Big Massive Trauma moment and it's going badly. Morgan, a noted veteran of having Big Massive Trauma sees this, doesn't feel anything, doesn't like that she doesn't feel anything, and then goes to help Ritsuka intimately. And when I saw intimately I don't necessarily mean they fuck (Though they could), but I want the raw emotion shit. I want Ritsuka to cry and scream into Morgan, I want them to aggressively cuddle, I want Morgan to give the bone-crushing hug she never had.

Back during the FGO universe's holy grail war, Marisbury needs to give Solomon a good old mana transfer

BB gets bimbofied & made to dress like gudao by the koyan twins.

Ereshkigal/Guda (either gender,) aftermath of sex pollen. So your buddy got hit by the curse of Fuck Or Die, and you fucked it out of their system. Great! How do you handle the aftermath? You just fucked your bff (and/or crush) how do you deal with the awkwardness? do you talk about it? do you just kinda ignore it? i wanna know!! (you can write the sex pollen too if you want but i mostly want the aftermath)

There was a wacky theory Miss Crane is Demon Pillar Naberius. Would think it would be neat if there was a fic that explored that idea.

Smut, Nymphomaniac Ibuki, Barghest and Kukulkan plowing Gudako into a mindless puddle? Dicks and excessive amounts of cum are optional.

Smut, Gudako and Yu Paisen worshiping Xiang Yu's horse cock because there is no way a single person can satisfy him

Bradamante being bimboified by Merlin

Kadoc witnessing an event. can be a real event thats happened since or make one up tbh. (bonus content: kirschtaria gets to be there for the event too. how is he alive/in chaldea? u decide! i just think he'd get way too into it and have fun.)

nobu makes a bomb that self-destructs when she flexes how AWESOME it is. now she’s on the run because everybody is gonna get her. Even her master, but Gudao is… well, at the least to say, ‘loving’ to help her… mana transfer seduction.

lb5.5 kintoki/guda... platonic or romantic and even nsfw is fine!! id like for them to get along tho!

i feel the need to karmically balance out some of this guts rearranging. crackfic of shuten opening the world's most ethically dubious surgical clinic in chaldea

Smut, Caeneus x Gudako/Reader, Caeneus fucks me senseless with his horse cock

Smut, Ibuki/Raikou fucking

master of chaldea becomes a beast

FGO Bee Movie parody, starring Oberon as the titular bee.

Crossover

Local funny vamp Arcueid Brunestud and World's Most Annoying Man Gojo Satoru team up to affectionately annoy the hell out of both Tohno Shiki and Ryougi Shiki

Through a comedy of errors shiki ryougi and shiki tohno meet and come to believe the other shiki is the split personality they had kicking around their skull escaped and somehow having obtained a body

crossover in which fate/stay night illya adopts(kidnaps? stalks?) john wick as father figure pre-fsn because he kind of reminds her of kiritsugu

Any fandom

Smut, Hoi, Could I request some Grand Order Futa Somnophelia? Dont mind whos involved!

Suicide tw, Kinda fucked up, but i want to see a character having a mental breakdown and killing themselves

Smut, Anything where someone has a non-human cock. Artoria with a dragon cock, Tamamo fox knot, Shuten with a big blunt demon cock, anyone you can find an excuse to give a horse cock with a horse cock. Something like that

Can I have some furries? Can I PLEASE get some furries? Werewolf aus or dragon saber or anything you want just furry these bitches up pls thks

hnnngggrr Force-feminization is cool and all, but force-masculinization is comparatively rare. I'd love to see a fic involving some. Levels of explicitness, actual forcefulness, and characters all up to writer's discretion, but bonus points if involving characters who already have an unconventional relationship with their genders in any way.

Futa

creative uses for mystic eyes

I just want some fluff with rare pairs and crackships

Kohaku or someone else messing around with the carnival phantasm "true self" tea to different results than happened in the show

[chaikachi]

Chai!!! Thank you so much for the feedback on the thing about Oscar having memory loss! It helped me figure out that I was approaching the prompt from the wrong angle.

It made me realize that Oscar isn’t really the one who would have the opportunity to have a deteriorating memory.

Rather, in the same vein as a deteriorating memory, I realized that Ruby is the one who had the opportunity to “ascend” into something that would create distance from her former self. And yet, I think you were also right that Oscar and Ruby are too important to each other to forget and so I came up with an alternative.

Rather than a deteriorating memory, I thought maybe it would be better if the ascended Ruby (taking on the identity of a “Savior” or a “Hero” for Remnant) had a distance from her emotions. Something like, she remembers how she felt but she doesn’t seem to feel it.

This idea was inspired by Lightning from Final Fantasy 13 Lightning Returns, which has the main protagonist (Lightning) be forced into the role of Savior for the world by gathering souls to take to the new world (it’s a little complicated) and she has her emotions sealed away to force her to have a distance to the world.

Thank you for talking about it!! I’m making a lot more development now!

I'm glad I could help with the last ask but I'm worried we're not quite on the same page this time either aaahhh 😫

If this is in an AU context I need to disclaim that you can do whatever you want. There are no rules. If you want to explore one or the other, go for it! That's what fandom is for, just having fun!!!

In this specific instance in canon (and looking onward to v10), this feels sort of the exact opposite of what ascension was for though imo.

Ruby has been repressing her emotions. She had to be the perfect hero. She was a leader. She wasn't allowed to be a failure. And in a world where the creatures of darkness are attracted to negative emotions, she had to be Elsa. Conceal and don't feel any of those things.

Ascension is Ruby choosing herself. Aka, letting herself feel all those messy, complicated emotions she hasn't given herself anytime for until now. Because when you take care of your wellbeing before others, then you're better equipped to support those around you without having to pour from an already empty cup. That's the message they're trying to get across, that a hero isn't perfect, she's only human.

All that being said, I'm always down to discuss options.

One interesting way to explore memory re: ascension is if she didn't actually keep all of them. We know that with Ascension you become someone new and don't keep your memories in the process, but Ruby stayed herself so she retained them. HOWEVER, a person that chooses herself is not technically the same as someone who doesn't. So while I doubt they'll go this route, there is absolutely a loophole there. It also proposes some fun angst just because everyone thinks she came back fine but oh turns out there are bits and pieces missing as a result of what happened. It just wasn't enough to notice at first.

Another way to explore memory loss through canon though - and this applies to the whole cast - is through trauma. Memory and feelings of the past can get so very messy in light of constant and chronic distress. For Ruby there are probably a lot of things from her journey and even her childhood that she doesn't have memories of. Might not remember specific events or chunks of time or how she felt in some she does remember because brains in distress will block those sorts of things out as a coping mechanism.

Something that would be interesting to see in light of that (but another I don't think they'll do given the narrative significance), is Ruby just not remembering the tea party. Remembers something happened, remembers it was Bad™ but can't access those memories because of how distressing it was.

idk if this helped at all or if it even answers your question, but it was still fun to talk about, so thank you!

Oh and on the concept you mentioned, I am familiar with something similar! One of the protagonists of A Lull in the Sea (Nagi no Asukara) undergoes something like that, albeit for with different specifics. It's a great show tho. 11/10 do recommend.

[trivalentlinks]

List of all of my Leverage prompts (that I can remember):

(For some of these I've linked other people's (and my own) riffs on them as well, though many of them also have fun riffs in the notes that I didn't link)

(Updated Dec. 20, 2023)

Eliot (& or /) Quinn prompts:

Pre-canon E / or & Q AUs:

-- Quinn (who is from the US) is living in Europe and cannot find canned pumpkin anywhere for Thanksgiving; he tries to steal Eliot's (He is unsuccessful but makes a friend along the way)

-- the other Eliot and Quinn spending Thanksgiving in Europe prompt

-- At the height of Moreau's empire, a mysterious woman hires Quinn to remove Spencer from Moreau's side All does not go according to plan (aka the time loop one) (this is a bit longer and I actually posted it as a fic on AO3, but I do kind of still consider it a prompt in that I would love to see more here.)

-- Eliot on the run from Moreau accidentally mistakes Quinn (who is on vacation/recuperating and not on a job) for someone Moreau sent after him and beats him up

-- A riff on the above where Eliot mistakenly assumes Quinn is a sex worker and gets protective when he comes home from jobs injured/bruised (which happens a lot because Quinn is a hitter)

-- Further riffing on the above, Eliot, still upset at seeing Quinn come back looking roughed up, offers to teach him to fight

-- demon AU: Quinn is a demon Moreau summoned to try to exchange Eliot's soul for demonic powers (it doesn't work out for him)

-- AU where The Nigerian Job happens three years earlier, when Eliot still works for Moreau, so Dubenich hires Quinn instead, but the team ends up on Moreau's bad side and are getting hunted by his private army led by Eliot Spencer

.

Other E/Q AUs

-- darker twist on Quinn was the-Rundown-Job-sniper AU

(Riley didn't try to hire Eliot, so Eliot's not there and Quinn actually succeeds (When he find out what this job was really about, he calls in the favour to help stop the Spanish Flu, and he wrestles with the guilt of almost causing a pandemic))

-- Shifter AU where Eliot and Quinn make fun of each other's animal forms (comparing each other to hapless kittens and pitiful puppies)

(another shifter AU prompt here.)

-- Quinn is de-aged and kid!Quinn thinks Eliot is a mark

-- general request for cliche overdone AUs (coffeeshop au/flowershop au/arranged marriage au/ soulmate au)

(my own and other people's specific coffee-shop and flower-shop AU prompts in the notes here)

(a couple people also had specific ideas for soulmate aus that i adore and totally second (though i personally don't ship the ot3) here)

-- another coffeeshop AU: quinn is recovering from an injury, helping at his ex-hitter friend's coffee-shop while he does, Eliot's there on a job, things get violent (not in a bad way)

.

Non-AU E/Q prompts set post-Last-Dam-Job:

-- Quinn (having joined the team) kills someone on a team job and Nate freaks out, but Eliot supports Quinn's play

-- Eliot and Quinn can't do sparring-as-foreplay because the sparring is too fun and they're too competitive aka "five times they fully intended to have sex (and still had fun) and one time they actually got that far" (this prompt in collaboration with @wolves-in-the-world)

-- Eliot feels guilty about accidentally screwing up and getting Quinn captured on a job. Quinn cheers him up (Kind of. Mostly by being annoying af)

(a slightly softer take here.)

-- Eliot and Quinn playing hide and seek.

-- Quinn goes for a "smoke break" but actually goes outside to blow bubbles with a little bubble wand

-- Kitbull fusion

-- Quinn works with the team sometimes but distrusts all of them except Eliot until he has to work with them to rescue Eliot (because of sample bias and other reasons)

-- After a job goes un-salvageably wrong, Parker hires Quinn to kill a bad guy

-- emotional hurt/comfort where Eliot's the one doing the comforting (a specific idea/scenario for this here, but I'm more interested in the general concept of Eliot providing emotional comfort to Quinn)

-- Quinn doesn't like going to the dentist. Eliot helps. Kind of.

(someone else's more fun/lighthearted take on this here)

-- Eliot and Quinn spar at the MMA gym Eliot goes to, in front of Eliot's friends who have never seen Eliot full-contact sparring/hard rolling before

-- Five times Quinn came back and one time he didn't leave in the first place

Quinn prompts that are NOT Eliot (& or /) Quinn:

-- Quinn, having not gone to middle or high school, has some interesting knowledge gaps that Hardison trips over

-- Quinn/the cake-maker of Kyiv (OR Quinn is the cake-maker of Kyiv)

After all, as Hardison tells us, the cake-maker of Kyiv could whoop all our asses

-- Quinn thinks being in the mile high club means you've murdered someone mid-flight

-- "I drink coffee for your protection", but Quinn doesn't drink coffee

.

non-Quinn prompts:

-- Eliot takes Hardison wild berry picking

(Riffs on this here.)

-- angsty take on Hardison's soda and gummy worms

(softer take here and here)

-- The team learns Sophie's native language (this is AU if you count Leverage Redemption as canon, since that's where it's confirmed that she's actually from the UK)

-- Hardison's hands are too cold to type, so Parker (or Eliot) warms his hands in theirs

(Riffs bordering on a fill for this here)

.

[seethesunny]

Fic writing meme

Doing this again, this time tagged by the one and only @hypnotisedfireflies, thank you soooo much Chica! 💗

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

45! Forty-five! Mind you, it's been only a year since I came back to the gig lol

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

A very humble 260, 213 amount of words I've offered y'all 🤲🏼

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Again, I have to be in the right mindset (aka brainrot) to write for something, and The Last Of Us already got that space occupied for now 🫡

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

It is late now, I'm a bit tired; the sky is irritated by stars. (And I love you, I love you, I love you.) — first installment in my Jackson series, Tess lives au, and a sick fic all in one, TLOU.

hoax — that one rapple fic about them coming to term with non expressed feelings, EAH.

it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world — the second installment in my Jackson series, 10k words being a Tess’s character study, TLOU.

I was lost within the darkness (until I found you) — family prompts fic collection, TLOU.

two slow dancers (last ones out) — ficlet collection centered around Joel and Tess with a variety of ratings, genres, and universes; aka my dumping ground, mind the warning. TLOU.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Always do and always will. They’re precious and important 🥹

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Whumptober is the outright answer. However, any of my canon compliant fic (joel misses his apocalypse wife) can fill that spot. Some of the ones in the ficlet collection are pretty tragic and grim, so angst is adjacent to it.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Those would be the ones where I'm delusional correct and Tess is alive and thriving 🫡

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I rarely get the normal type, so no. Luckily, no one is hating on my fics and if they do, I'm not aware 😝

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Uhhhhh yes, actually embarrassing the amount of pwp that has been posted bc I don't have self-control 🧍🏽‍♀️The kind ranges from very sad poetic introspective work to reallyyyy kinky nasty stuff. Idk what that says about me, and neither I care.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I don't vibe with them, sorry.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Again, no, as far as I can remember. But that's never cool, so don't even think about it. I vibe with so many things but not that :/

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope! I had the idea to translate my own stuff to Spanish, but there wasn't an audience for that.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Tap into tlou time loop madness co-written by @tessaservopoulos and yours truly <3 we have more stuff coming up next, so stay tuned.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Nice try, I don't have favorites

I say, as I shove a picture of Tess and Joel into my front pocket.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Staring at my graveyard of multichapter fics that are on creative hell: for starters-

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm very good at conceptual/poetic stuff. I'm a control freak (complimentary). I would die if I didn't nail characterization. AUs. Uhhhh babyfic. Compelling ambience.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Pursuing multichapter storytelling. I'm a control freak (derogatory). Dialogue. I can get too much inside my head. Not writing in my mother tongue, so not the best vocabulary. Writing when I'm sleepy (a sin).

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

For the love of God, do not use Google translate and take the time to consult the language you're gonna use if it's gonna be a recurring thing 🫶🏼 all my respect and love to writers who get to do their research, y'all are doing amazing sweetie.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I used to (terribly) write anything I could get my hands on, so no idea? Could've been anime to a very niche flash game from the 2010s.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I'm never ever toping this tribute to flutterings. If I ever leave, I hope my legacy is this work, and it continues to haunt readers forever and ever and ever 🫶🏼

Tagging fellow talented peeps: @tessaservopoulos @beerandyarn @wardenannie @vaelyrians @ammotraguslervia @electricbluebutterflies

[legoes]

hi corrin i feel like we havent spoken in forever but! 🍬 and 🌧️ for mister hat ghostie :3

it really has been forever i hope you’re doing good 😭

also sorry this took so long work has been insane and i haven’t been able to properly write anything

send an emoji and an f/o or s/i and ill write a drabble with that prompt!

🍬 - something sweet.

summary: horacio overheard constance mention something about corrin’s sweet tooth. he decides to give him a gift.

notes: ride timeline so i’m once again using the fan name for ride!hattie! a little concept for some bonding. takes place pre-deaths! also, little note for the fic, in the ride, the shadow pianist shows up right around the picture of constance’s 4th husband, so there’s a hc that he played the piano!

horacio had no idea why he was so nervous.

to be fair, constance was not really fond of him (they were simply associates; coworkers really) so there was a high chance she simply picked up on his feelings and lied to get him to embarrass himself. she would, if it meant keeping him away from corrin, probably.

he stared at the box of candies in his hand. even if corrin did not like them, he would probably accept them. just to be polite.

he knocked on the door of the large manor, finally deciding to just get it over with.

to his surprise, corrin was the once who opened the door, a somber look on his face. “horacio, i’d say it’s good to see you but, well…”

“i completely understand, the loss of mr caine is still fresh.”

corrin nodded, opening the door. “come in, constance should be down shortly.”

corrin had gotten along surprisingly well with constance’s fourth husband, something that had sped up constance’s plan.

“i hope you don’t mind, but i brought something for you as well.” he handed over the small box. “constance mentioned you liked sweets.”

corrin cracked a small smile at this, taking the box and opening it.

and suddenly, he remembered just how nervous he was before he knocked on the door.

corrin took one of the small chocolates out and ate it. “dark chocolate?”

oh no. “i’m sorry, i had assumed you’d like it.”

“no, i do!” corrin smiled wider, although it still did not quite reach his eyes. “dark chocolate is my favorite, thank you!”

horacio smiled, relief filling him, if only for a moment. then, he looked behind corrin, smiling up at the stair behind them. “constance, i hope you’re doing well. terribly sorry for your loss.”

constance glared down at him for a moment, but the second corrin turned to her, her expression changed, to false sorrow. “thank you for coming on such short notice, mr topper.”

corrin gave constance a small hug when she finally came down the stairs, nodding to her. “i’ll leave you two to your meeting.” then, he turned to horacio. “i hope that i’ll get to see you again under better circumstances. thank you very much for the chocolates.”

constance was silent until corrin was out of earshot. “chocolate?”

“you mentioned he had a sweet tooth. i thought it would be nice to bring him some.”

constance stared him down for a moment, glaring at him before rolling her eyes. “fine, follow me, we have some work to finish.”

he continued to follow her for quite a bit, at one point walking past the library. there, corrin was reading a book, as he usually was, eating the chocolates he was given.

sweet tooth. dark chocolate. he would have to remember that for next time.

🌧️ - "it looks like rain soon."

summary: alistair and corrin are traveling and decide they need a place to stay.

notes: 2023 movie timeline! aka before alistair’s (and by extension my s/i’s) return to new orleans and also pre-deaths.

the sky had been cloudy all day, not that corrin was one to notice. he was far too entranced by the world around him.

alistair wanted to point it out, but corrin was so… happy. well, he was always happy, or rather, always seemed happy.

when he looked back down to corrin, after looking away for only a moment, corrin was standing in front of him, holding what looked like a small bird.

“it looks like rain soon.”

alastair chose not to scoff and roll his eyes at the other young adult, instead simply nodding. “we need to find some place to stay.”

the two continued their walk, the clouds growing darker and darker. every once in a while, alistair looked over to corrin, who was still holding that bird.

“what’s with the bird?” corrin simply shrugged in response. yeah, that seemed normal for him.

eventually, they came across an inn, lucky enough to have a single room open. it was a one bed, but they had shared a bed before under circumstances like this, so it was not strange.

just as they were settling in, corrin using his coat to make a makeshift nest for the bird, it finally started to rain. “good thing i notice the clouds, right?”

alistair sighed softly, now rolling his eyes that he was facing away. “yeah, real lucky.”

corrin was so lucky that he was alistair’s favorite person.