#alternate sole survivor

[wierdartistmarcell]

So this idea sparked from one simple idea... what if Nora somehow survived?

Well, I decided to make her an absolute badass of the Commonwealth. She's a lawyer, she knows how to talk, how to convince people. She would be naturally charismatic.

(And in my Nora save, I made her a mele-build)

So here she made her own scavver group. A scavver group that is slowly making their mark on the raiders of the wasteland.

Even though in my story, Nate remarries Hancock, no worries. I got plans for Nora. ;3

[scowlsnwhiskey]

more harrison but in an au where he’s an ex con who gets a second chance working at a bakery and getting to live in a room behind it 🍰💛

[actualsunflower]

I don't think they mind what you do in the memory den as long as you clean up after The uncensored ones are on my pillowfort ;3

[macbeth-n-cheese]

Good old Days

And here we have the latest sin I've commited, human Nick >:) and my sole survivor from the cop!au that may or may not have been inspired by Cole Phelps and too much film noir.

Okay, gonna ramble:

His name is John Oliver 'Jack' Spade, a Cambridge rookie that Valentine had to partner with during Op. Winter's End. He's a decent shot and excels in information gathering, and despite being bit of a dandy, he likes tinkering with all sorts of machines on his free time. He sucks at anything computer-y, thought, and would much rather remove a terminal-locked door from its hinges than try to hack it. He was excited to be around Nick and tried his best to impress the cool, hard-boiled detective lol. They clashed in a lot of situations, but by the later stages of the Op. the two started to trust and understand one another, up until what happened to Nick's poor fiancée.

And then Nick himself suddenly died of undisclosed reasons while going through government-sponsored experimental treatments for his PTSD, months before the bombs dropped! Jack has no idea what happened, Nick 2.0 can't remember any of it, and I have a murder mystery to put the Glass Onion to shame (I say, ironically) lol

[sassenashsworld]

Chapters: 17/17 Fandom: Fallout 4 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Female Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine Characters: John Hancock (Fallout), Sole Survivor (Fallout), Deacon (Fallout), Paladin Danse (Fallout), Dogmeat (Fallout), Nora (Fallout), Female Sole Survivor (Fallout), Nick Valentine Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Descent into Madness, Friends to Enemies Summary:

Nora betrayed Nick in the worst possible way

However, as is frequently the case in the Commonwealth, the reality may not be as it seems

[thethirdtriplet]

Headcanon for the Bats:

Bruce: Jason, do you know where Tim is?

Jason: No, last I heard from him he was busy with his duck army.

Bruce: Right, thank-

Bruce: …

Bruce: Did you say.. ‘duck army’?

Jason: Yeah, Damian made some snide comment about him being “Thankfully, the sole survivor of the Drake lineage”, so he went and adopted some ducks.

Bruce: …

Jason: Bought a sanctuary for them and everything, even named one after each of us, except the demon brat, though.

Bruce: Oh.. that’s nice of him?..

Bonus:

Tim: Oh, there you are, Bruce, Jason, I have something to show you.

Tim, holds up two ducks, a reddish brown duck, that’s attempting to bite a calm, all black duck, in Tim’s other hand: Meet, Jason Cathrine Drake, and Bruce Thomas Drake.

Jason, looks at his duck alternate: He’s perfect.

Bruce: *touched*

[sole-survivor-makoto-naegi]

"Wh-?! ...N-no!"

Makoto had immediately burst into tears. He failed to save everyone. He failed to prove to everyone that the trial was rigged. He couldn't believe it. He reached out to the butterflies as they left.

"...I-I'm sorry, everyone...."

At the same time, a small part of him also felt betrayed. All this time he helped everyone through the trials. Yet this time, no one believed him. And he was right the whole time.

"...Th-the 'extra?"

He looked at Alice.

".....I-I guess you look kind of familiar. But... where have I... seen you before?"

...

The camera stayed liked this for a few seconds before it started to work properly.

Things... did not look good. It appeared you were inside of a school. It was kind of dark in here, but it wasn't too hard to see exactly what was going on.

What you were witnessing was a pretty gruesome sight. There was a tank filled with sharks... with pink, blood-colored water. Three doors with the middle door covered in pink blood as well. A crushed flat braided girl with a streamroller nearby. A blonde haired boy who looked frozen, as well as stoned to death. An excavator, covered with, you guessed it, pink blood. Lastly, there was a barrel that had a bunch of swords pierced onto it, pink and bloody all the same.

It was a lot more likely that everyone in the scene was dead, but... odds one there might be some people who might still be alive as well.

Check for survivors?

>Yes

>No

(Yes, I created yet another Makoto Naegi blog. He's my favorite character, so yeah lol. Anyone who isn't tag is welcome to interact too btw)

@chaoticblogofmuses @mikado-sannoji @ask-cow-naegi

@ask-cow-trio @mod-puffys-hell @miss-amethyst-needs-a-life (sorry for tagging your main, didn't know which RP blog to tag :(, but any and all blogs are welcome!) @human-monokuma @unknown-ultimates @ask-liam-and-co @ataru-the-smol-cutie @shsl-bosozoku-mondo-oowada @despairedcoach @ultimate-swimmer-asahina @yui-samidare-returns @despairs-blade @lre123 @ask-the-ultimate-matchmaker @tobys-multiverse-official @ask-ultimate-personas @alizachan @restoringhopeau @japanese-ultimateautism

@im-not-your-mom-okay @laylayeh @the-wonder-sisters @kyoko-investigates @werewolf-makoto-naegi @ask-remnant-makoto-naegi

@special-encounters @leftover-naegis @shsl-sacrifice @morals-and-florals @the-lost-undertaker

[brynn-lear]

When The Cypress Tree Wilts [Yandere!Kamisato Ayato x Reader]

Prompt: Kamisato Ayato, the sole survivor of Teyvat, struggles to cope with grief. He finds solace in the company of a fellow survivor, (Y/n), on the Astral Express. Although the two came from different universes, with him being a fictional character on (Y/n)'s end, he had grown fond of them. Perhaps too fond for Mister Yang's liking. He has seen this story played out once already. [Dedicated to @jessamine-rose]

Content Tags: (light?) yandere themes, major character death, we ain't trusting getting roses again after this one boys

For twenty-seven years, the cypress tree stood alone. Its branches, exhibiting complete fortitude to withstand erosion, have been a home for many animals. A guardian of many and a home for herons. It's no stretch to say its artistic seriousness made the Cypress tree the Warden of the Forest. 

What happens, though, if the forest catches fire? What happens when everything it held dear—all the pillars ingrained in the firmest soil—is reduced to ashes in a single glance? When the forest's life-loving temperament disappears, just what is left of the guardian tree? 

There's only one answer: the Cypress loses its Inazuman function. Harmony, balance, and peace wither away from the tree's symbolism. All that's left is the alternative Enkanomiyan myth: cypress trees must only be planted as a mourning tradition. 

The Warden of Death...

Kamisato Ayato closed his eyes, making his umpteenth attempt to breathe steadily. 

He sat upright on one of the Astral Express's couches. It's been more than eight months since he had found himself as the sole survivor of his world. So far, everything that had been told to him had been unreal. 

Gone were the clan, his retainers, and his dearest sister. None were left as he watched their remains swept by the wind. Memories of Ayaka's burnt hair and cheeks crumbling refused to leave his every waking moment. He tried desperately to hold on, but the ashes kept slipping through his fingers until his family's white heron was reduced to a lifeless husk. Her feathers were plucked too soon.  

He cannot have her back. He cannot have his clan back. His world was forever unsalvageable.

That was his fate as the Remembrance's souvenir. He can carry the weight of survival while the memokeepers preserve Teyvat's memories.  

But at least he has someone in a similar position as himself. 

"Mister Yang," you called over the older man hushedly. Welt glanced at the mopping mess and knew just what you were hinting at. Better to alert someone who can assist him better.

"Are you alright, Mister Kamisato?" Welt asked, sitting beside Ayato. He passed his cane onto his other hand so he could pat his shoulder. Ayato only laughed stiffly. 

Thankfully, it's not an entirely hopeless cause. There was, at least, a silver lining to make up for it. No matter how dim the glimmer was, he at least had the Express's understanding. 

And yours as well. 

Ab███████, h█ed his pl█as.

"—to, you can still think this through!"

"Stand back, Himeko."

Just like him, you lost your world, too. You came from a fabric of existence wherein he was deemed fictional. A video game called "Genshin Impact", as you called it. You were terrified when you discovered your universe crumbled because of some time-travel paradox. But in spite of your enormous losses, curiosity triumphed over fear. You would prefer exploring the galaxy than thinking about how much work you still need to do for your college classes.

But today? You rest. After all, the express is landing in Penacony.

While Welt did his best to provide consolation, you handed them warm drinks. Ayato gave you a gentle nod. 

He gave it a quick sip. Unlike Himeko's, your brew was more tame. Not at all professionally made— it's everyday coffee— but that adds more to its appeal. Ayato politely wiped possible stains near his lips. You can't help but notice how his mole was placed below it. 

He's definitely a video game character, that's for sure. They don't make people this attractive in your old world. 

Just holding the coffee you made… feeling its warmth in his hands… It gave him strength to speak. 

Ayato sighed. "Apologies, I simply… will take longer to recover my mental composure. I am not usually this easy to rattle or ramble often. I deeply apologize for the trouble I caused the express thus far."  

"I do wonder if I had wronged the Gods. I committed plenty of misdeeds in the eyes of the Shogun, yet they were pardoned. But perhaps the Heavenly Principles…" He muttered, thinking he was inaudible. More than half a year without his retainers and constant troubles had dulled his vigilance.

Welt shook his head. "Do not be harsh on yourself by culminating these harmful… ideals, Mister Kamisato."

"I agree." You said. "At any rate, you'll end up miserable for the entire month if you keep overthinking what that Silver Wolf said."

His mood had been visibly dampened since Silver Wolf's last visit. She claims that he was "destined for ruin based on Elio's script" and that it was better he knew about it now rather than later. 

Ayato looked away. "I suppose so… This wishful thinking brings me nothing but thoughts such as to save my one and only sister, with this pitiable strength— how can I recreate the past?"

Welt grew cold with mild horror. Then, he cleared his throat after a suspiciously long pause. 

The past Welt knows is not the past he wants a repeat of.

"Why focus on that when the future awaits you?" He said, but with how the older man refused to meet his lilac eyes, there must be more he won't let on. 

"Your reluctance… Does this have something to do with what the memokeeper previously stated?"

"...What Black Swan said?" You tilted your head. 

Welt sighed. "So many things must be runnin' around your head... I don't usually encourage drinking, but maybe you should have a few shots later."

"I shall consider it, but I must know now, Mister Yang." He looked at him. "What did she mean when she said I was an alternate version of your acquaintance, Otto Apocalypse?"

Welt coughed up his coffee. 

Re██y his angu█████ c███s.

"-to, don't do this. You can't bring ██████ back—"

“Your farcical tangents will distract me no more. Do not play parlor tricks with that cane of yours. My mind is sound, and my decision is final."

"..."

"..." 

"..." 

Ever since Ayato was dubbed as a new Nameless alongside you, he's been bombarded with both blunt and subliminal messages of his supposed "true" nature. One faction agrees he's an existence not meant to be trifled, while the other wants to cultivate him into a villain. 

You don't know much about that. Unlike whatever hero's journey he had been experiencing— you're detached from trouble. Your new life was spent writing, dressing up with March, eating with Stelle, and reading through Dan Heng's data banks about constellations & other aesthetically pleasing biological entries. You were a quiet existence. Black Swan remarked you're amicable for someone who cannot return to normalcy. You embrace change far better than others.

But you think that's because there's enough grieving for the Express to carry; they don't have room to acknowledge yours… 

"You're Kamisato Ayato, not Otto." You told him firmly. "Don't overthink what she said."

"It is not as if I do not know that, how—"

"No, there are no buts or howevers; that's final."

Ayato laughed softly, no longer tense. 

"Understood. I'm your Kamisato Ayato, right?" He tilted his head like a dog. 

"Yes, yes, you're our Ayato." You sighed. 

He's a lot cuter when relaxed. 

You shook your head. 

No, better not let this develop into something else. You don't want to have a crush on a guy that's essentially no different from a flatmate. 

Furthermore, you exclusively confide in him. You'd rather your relationship as each other's anchor remains the same in the future. After all, you're not the type to let everyone in the room know your baggage. So was Ayato, but... His trauma lends itself to the extremes.

While you were lost in thought, adorable footsteps strutted closer. 

Angry, adorable footsteps. 

"What are you guys doing drinking coffee?! The train is about to jump soon!!!"

Pompom huffed. They put their little paws on their hips, scoffing at you three. You apologized profusely, forgetting that your trip to Penacony was in ten minutes. 

"Sorry, Pompom." Welt sheepishly said. 

Ayato looked at Pompom earnestly. "So am I."

"Whatever, okay, but you better change later! You can't join a wedding wearing those clothes!!!"

You frowned. You were already dressed, though. You thought you already looked perfect for the evening. Maybe you should've tried harder... Perhaps you were too relaxed about this...

"Oh, but I'm sorry…" You told them, frowning.

Pompom shook their head, panicking. "Not you, (Y/n), you're always so harsh on yourself— you always know how to dress pretty. I'm talking about these two boys!"

They stared at each other before laughing awkwardly, provoking the conductor further. 

Pompom growled, grabbing the broom. 

"You know what?! Get off the sofa! Change! NOW!!!"

Abu████ce, stir this b███ft ████e, 

"WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL HIM?!? HE WAS LIKE A BROTHER TO US!!!"

It's clear that someone isn't having the best time.

Penacony weddings are too lively for Ayato's tastes. But much like shadows, nobody can evade the bright lights. 

He nearly tumbled when he saw you. By the looks of his pale face, the lively atmosphere had been draining him senseless. While he maintained his elegant demeanor when talking to Aventurine (and failing), you were refilling your cup at the food aisle. Once Ayato reached you, he desperately wanted to place his head on your shoulder. 

“Please… lend me… Five…”

You smiled and opened your arms.

"Don't speak, I got you."

He leaned on your shoulder.

The five seconds you assumed were startlingly morphing into five minutes. You can't feign as a warm statue for that long. While you worry about your willpower, Ayato sank deeper into his thoughts to meditate. 

From this angle, he looked like a resting cat.

"You okay, Ayato?"

"The SoulGlad, it's so…"

Ah, right. You figured he might've drunk.

"Not once had it been a passing thought that excessive alcohol and fire displays would be a common wedding practice. The culture shock is astounding." Ayato leered quietly. "Thankfully, I no longer care about putting on a social mask. I cannot stomach participating in copious amounts of… festivities."

You laughed. Is it bad you find his suffering entertaining? 

"Is it so different from how they conduct weddings in Inazuma?"

"Hard to say… The Clan may be focused on cultural ceremonies, but I purposely avoided weddings. It helps steer clear talks of arranged marriages. I can only name Chisato's as an exception on top of my head." Ayato placed a hand on his chin. 

He continued. "Extravagant weddings such as this had a decline for two years. The dismal lives of vision wielders immensely affected how much pyrotechnics and other displays were available. Any commonplace joy could be marked as vulgarity by the Shogun at any second... All those charges just for an insincere ceremony."

"I… See." You assumed the answer was a resounding no. "Sounds like you're against marriages of convenience."

Ayato pulled away, looking at you. 

"Not entirely. I understand why it's a necessary evil, given our politics." He said. "But I still firmly believe that when there's true love, nothing should stand in its way."

His eyes reveal that he's starting to sober up. In Penacony, it was probably a beneficial phenomenon. Might as well give away hangover relief if you market alcohol as the icon of your dreamscape. 

"(Y/n), this may sound peculiar, but I glimpsed at an apparel store nearby."

You nodded slightly. He knew you had an affinity for fashion. When you visited the Xianzhou Luofu, he mapped out stores that might interest you. Ayato likes the way you dress. Sometimes, he would even approach you for a consult. 

"And? What did you see? Did you take a picture?"

He groggily nodded and pulled out his phone. 

"Please, take a look."

…

You blinked, turning red. 

"Ayato, these are wedding dresses…"

"I do know that, yes, but don't you believe some of these would suit you? Oh— this one is a particular favorite of mine."

…

He said it so casually that you were beginning to doubt if you were insane. Do friends casually daydream about another friend in a wedding dress? Is that a norm for platonic relationships? You looked away and gently pushed his phone away. 

… You hate how you liked what he picked out.

And you know he noticed it, too. Cheeky bastard. 

"Let's hold that thought for now."

"May I ask why?" He tilted his head, slightly pouting. "I think a traditional white wedding dress would compliment you. Are you, perhaps, seeing flaws I have missed?"

"Y-You're really not getting it, huh…"

Whatever was troubling you, he wasn't about to dissect it. His thoughts were reduced to simplicity that evening, just down to you look gorgeous tonight. The two of you should extend your visit to Penacony for much longer. It is always night here… 

How unfair that you dressed so prettily; he wished it was for his eyes alone. The delicately lace-adorned pastel pink dress suits you well. It felt like a grave sin for him to keep staring at the delicate sapphire necklace resting atop your neck. Not to add, a few strands of your hair framed your face, and your hair was tastefully swept into a neat (h/c) bun. What completes the look is the strappy heels. 

When will it be your wedding, (Y/n)?

Your face contorted. "How drunk are you?"

Ayato smirked curtly and shrugged back to what March calls his "nobleman smile", gazing at you intently. You weren't sure if he was listening to you anymore. 

"Enough."

That was his reply, short and simple. 

As long as your eyes mirror his, it's enough for him. 

“LAAADDIEESSS AND GENTLEEEMEEENNN AND OTHER LIVING CREAAATURREEESSS!!!!”

A rather shrill voice shouted through a microphone. It's the wedding's host. From the volume, anyone can discern that it came from the event room. You placed your cup down. It's that time— noises from excited guests, lonesome people, in particular, were shared around. No one can miss their hands, which tremble with excitement. 

You jolted.

Shit, that's Sparkle. You promised Stelle and March that you four would take BFF pictures in the costume photo booth before the final farewells. Something about silly masks and hats. Miss it, and you're guaranteed to enter the next fight without a shield. Worse, you might wake up with a bat-shaped wound on your head. 

You grabbed Ayato and swerved past the crowd.

“(Y-(Y/n)?!”

Ayato's mind went blank. 

You voluntarily held his hand. Gloved hands. Still, he thanked March that she gave him a pair for the occasion. His hands were sweating, and his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. 

Public displays of affection are generally subdued in his old world. Handholding raises questions regarding those reared into nobility like he was. His upbringing was far from liberal, so he did his best to give his sister more freedom, yet he is not accustomed to this skinship.

He gripped yours back weakly. Ayato can't stop staring at your determined expression. He gulped. Can you sense it? Are you secretly enjoying this? Do you know what you're doing? 

Can you feel your effect on him?

He's not just drunk. 

He might be hopelessly in love with you.

Ayato grew hotter by the second. His breath was stripping away bit by bit. This epiphany was consuming him. He's been trying to deny it for as long as possible, but how laughable is it to do so when he had often pictured himself in peaceful household situations beside you? Can such desires be kept in the shadows, much like his Shuumatsuban work?

He wants you.

Kamisato Ayato wants you as his sole partner.

Wherever you're taking him, he'll follow you to the end, down to the last seconds of this script.

"THE BRIDE IS ABOUT TO THROW THE BOUQUET!!!"

Many lonely guests packed together like penguins. When the bride spun the bouquet around her palm, their reactions ranged from hopeful and cheerful to downright competitive and miserable. They thought a few flowers would ensure marriage, which is a little absurd, but who are you to spoil their fun? Simply because they obstruct your path does not warrant your discreet resentment—

Ayato stopped, halting you as well in the process.

"Ngh…?!"

You looked back, and such an act almost felt as forbidden as Orpheus' most egregious mistake.

If there was a semblance of variety in those women's faces, they were unified in one fell swoop. Their faces soured when the bouquet was passed down to its next owner. Worse, the flowers sat so beautifully in his arms.

That's right. His.

Those red roses…

"AALLLLRIIIIGHTTT! IT SEEMS MISTER KAMISATO GOT IT!!!" Sparkle cheered on. She had a crooked smile on her face. It didn't ring as malicious; instead, she was conflicted before she donned a playful mask. "And sheesh, while holding (Y/n) 's hand too— CONGRATS TO THE SOON-TO-BE-S!!!"

Ah, damn it. Instead of this, you wish people had applauded when you presented your thesis. No matter how crestfallen some were, they were at least good sports. They clapped and teased; you even spotted Himeko raising you a glass at your shared table, laughing. Beside her, Welt did you the courtesy of reminding you that you're hands were linked together. You gawked, pulling away as though Ayato's hand burned. Immediately, he cleared his throat and looked away. 

To Ayato, this was the only sign he needed.

With enough time and effort, a leafless tree could still be saved, new birds could still migrate, and an abandoned forest could still be restored. Gradually, he was discovering a fresh cause for optimism instead of a substitute for the people he had lost. There he was, Kamisato Ayato, a hidden custodian of Inazuman traditions, with his feet rooted in a foreign land. Though not very stable, his groundwork keeps him on course.

If he could revive the Kamisato Clan on its brink, how can he not do the same for his life? It's just like what his late father said:

Fall down seven times, stand up eight.

As long as a hand still reaches out for him, he'll do anything to grasp it. 

Unfortunately for you, it was yours that held his so tightly.

Hence, whether you like it or not, amidst the guests' congratulatory remarks and the bride's laughs, he had made up his mind.

Ayato will pursue you until you wear the gown of his dreams. 

More people trailed behind Sparkle and the bride as they went down the stage and to Ayato. You made an effort to get in touch with him to return to your starting point. However, it was challenging, given the number of people around. To hear what bashful comments he said was an even taller order.

That was until the bride dragged her new husband towards you.

"Here, dearie, the garter!"

You blinked.

"What?"

"You know the tradition, bouquet, and garter— I know it ain't as exciting as a bouquet, but ya can't be a pair without it." The husband grinned. "C'mon, take it!"

Your eyes widened.

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly—"

"Aww, please, do you think we'll get in the way of love when we just got married?" The bride joked. Even though you don't know her well—you just know she's Stelle's friend—you didn't like how this sounded. "C'mon, take it! Don't make poor Mister Kamisato sad."

Did Ayato request this?

You looked back at him. He was smiling at his fellow guests.

He must've made a drunken joke.

"Alright, I'll have it." You'll be a team player, too.

Unbeknownst to you, Ayato's heart was brimming with joy as soon as you accepted it. You twisted the garter around your hand and tied it into a bracelet, and his eyes wrinkled. His face was beaming, and the guests warmly pointed out that it was definitely NOT the drink.

You laughed softly.

Maybe Stelle wouldn't get too angry after she sees these "loots".

Unfortunately, unlike the worlds you once immersed yourself in, your life was not a game. This second try was no exception.

There's a stark difference between the people he loves and himself, Ayato later found. The latter cannot sustain a better life for those he warded, while the former cannot attain the luxury of a peaceful death.

Readers would have gone crazy over how the author mercilessly punished and blamed the main character's dreams if his life had been a work of fiction. If it were genuinely one, he would venture to say that the systematic fate that everyone else was subjected to is the primary criticism.

His mother, his father, his sister, his clan.

And then you?

Ayato had already lost everything twice. 

There's no restraint left for him to hold on to. 

So…

"Mister Kamisato, please hear us out!" March begged, the shrill of her voice becoming hauntingly akin to a dull knife— repeatedly cutting through ears in prolonged agony. 

Ayato scoffed. His blue locks framed his face as he gazed down.

He's heard enough. 

Why shouldn't he challenge his fate?

Why shouldn't he challenge Elio's script?

"Whether I permit you or not, there won't be an intelligent word out of you." 

No other voice came to disparage him. This silence was loud. As if a voice was missing. Ayato looked at the ground.

He had almost forgotten he had used his former "brother" as a sacrifice. Silently, he thanked Dan Heng- or perhaps Dan Feng- for all that he had done for him and his "bride".

This act angered the rest. His temporary family brandished theirs in unison, with Stelle moving to the front. His response greatly saddened March. But Mister Yang? He was frozen. He didn't seem to move an inch. The older man looked deep into his lilac eyes. There must be more he won't let on. 

The past Welt knows is not the past he wants a repeat of.

But unfortunately, history is a vicious cycle— and it repeats itself.

He materialized his haran geppaku futsu, letting Dan Heng's blood drip while its azure glow shine bright. But what shone brighter was the cryogenic "coffin" behind him.

You may have lost your battle with this curse, but you have helped him not lose his. 

You were looking out at a night with a full moon in your last moments. The pitch-black moon seemed to loom life itself. As you strolled alone, every step wet your feet, but there's a persistent sense that you might have been staring at your reflection the entire time despite the void's lack of offerings.

It's always night in Penacony. You have heard that innumerable times. Night never sleeps. The chitchat never stops. The tango doesn't halt. But time stands still for you as the rest of the world rejoices. 

But Penacony was not your resting place. It was the Xianzhou. 

How unfortunate that you forget that in your last moments. Mara has a knack for erasing the memory of its victims. The only solace that your admirer gets is that your previous recollections are of him, of you, and of the bouquet and garter you received. 

At least before you closed your eyes, you thought of him. 

Ayato gazed at your mara-struck face once more.

Beauty is eternal. Despite the chill seeping into your bones, your clothes were nothing short of ethereal. A traditional white wedding dress, floor-length with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt, would've been given more justice if the wearer was not frozen in time. The laces and beadwork detailing were reminiscent of sakura petals, with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves.

You're holding a bouquet of roses mixed with sakura...

Just like you, Kamisato Ayato always had a good eye for aesthetics. 

It's a shame the little life left in his eyes was wilting away.

It's a shame that this wedding never happened.

It's a shame you told him you needed more time to think.

It's a shame you're frozen in time.

However...

As long as a hand still reaches out for him, he'll do anything to grasp it. And Yaoshi has plenty to reach for.

With that, using the blood of the Vidyadhara he had slain, he summoned his new Aeon.

One that he does not particularly believe in. And if he had never placed his blind faith in the Shogun, he doubts he would do the same in Yaoshi.

So, Aeon of Abundance, with the former High Elder's blood on his hands...

Prove him wrong.

"Abundance, heed my pleas,

Repay my anguished cries.

Abundance, stir this bereft peace,

Awaken love from death's disguise."

Bring his soon-to-be Kamisato (Y/n) back to him.

[poppedbubblgum]

I read these concepts for Prime Silver by @krafterwrites and liked them so much I made designs of my own based off of them

And maybe gave them a few headcanons of my own :3

New Yoke Silver adopted the nickname “Ghost” from the citizens when he would vanish after doing a good deed. The resistance tried to recruit him on multiple occasions, but he refused, choosing to stay on his own, for better or worse. He’s not unkind, but he can get so wrapped up in his missions that it’s hard to get through to him. He has a little bunker of his own, similar to Nine, in the outskirts of the city. He only lets himself be seen when absolutely necessary, as his powers make him a major target for the council. He has the most developed skill with his powers compared to his alternates.

Spending so much time alone on his small boat means that No Place Silver (Skipper) is quite excitable when meeting anyone new. He did have a crew once, but the ship caught fire and sank, leaving him as the sole survivor on his little dinghy. That incident is why he needs the eyepatch too. While his boat does have a sail he crafted himself, he can move the boat while in the water with his powers. His powers help him survive on the open ocean where many others couldn’t, like he can simply grab fish from underwater (with marginal success) to eat. He loves to help but can sometimes go a bit overboard.

Boscage Silver (Sliver) wants to be left alone. Period. Never mind that he just stole your stuff, get within 10 feet of him and you are getting a tree flung at you. Ironically though, he’s really good friends with Mangey. He’s a man of few words, with only the occasional grunt to be heard. He’s terrified of Thorn, but prefers dealing with her to living with the other scavengers. His powers are really bright in the dim of the undergrowth, which means thorn can find him easier, so he doesn’t use them regularly, mostly for fighting and fleeing. Sometimes he disguises himself as a bush with how fluffy his head spines are.

[utdrmv-confession-box]

Transcript: I'd love love LOVE to see more "alternate timelines" or AUs for Underverse and Xtale instead of the same "Truce, Ink found and inspired XGaster, and things spiraled out of control leading to the XEvent" and "Cross is in the Nightmare Gang now and either finds a place to belong or is in for a hellish, awful time and runs away into Dream's arms" tales. I know those settings are good for sadboi Cross angst hours but if I wanted to read the same kind of origin stories for Cross and Xtale over and over again I'd just rewatch Underverse. It really feels like there isn't much variation done with Xtale and Cross. Why not make an AU where Dream or Core Frisk meets XGaster first and it still goes horribly wrong in a new way? Maybe Core Frisk tries to directly steer XGaster away from whatever bad path they see for him and they go to meet him before Ink could but it goes even worse for everyone even though Ink isn't involved. And Dream's positive aura is addicting, right? How would that affect XGaster, his motives, and his creations? Or how about an AU where Ink finds out what XGaster's been doing to his kids, reflects how his own dads could have mistreated/manipulated/weaponized him, and he gets the kids out of there with XGaster chasing them across the Multiverse? Maybe a No Truce AU where Error finds Xtale before Ink can and XFrisk or XChara is the sole survivor that Ink manages to save from Error. Or an AU where Xtale is at peace and Cross is restless and inspired to become a Star Sans along with Dream, Ink, and Swap so they travel and defend the Multiverse together. Or an AU where no one finds Xtale and the Multiverse is not involved at all but XChara and XFrisk somehow survive XGaster's death so they have to live in their isolated world alone for a while and, Idk, Cross is an imaginary friend of theirs that becomes real or something. Anything different than Xtale and Cross's canon backgrounds and Nightmare's Gang Cross. Dream and Nightmare have a bunch of different AU selves that go into what-if territory, why not Cross and Xtale? Be creative! (Feel free to use any of these ideas, by the way.)

[seat-safety-switch]

Most dogs are trapped in an endless loop of boredom. After millennia of hanging out in the wild, they're now stuck in suburbia. Just like their so-called best friend, the human, dogs yearn for stimulation that they're not getting in their off-eggshell-white, HOA-controlled economic-efficiency prisons. In recent history, these stimuli used to come from long rides in cars, but with the price of gas, and especially the death of our beloved Saab Automobile AB, who can afford to just drive their dog around while they bark at weird birds they see on the highway?

In the modern era, the rapid development of "dog parks" has attempted to provide a substitute to the demanding dog. No roar of engines, sure, but you get to run around a bit, maybe bite a Little League player. Unfortunately, dog parks are expensive to safely fence, and the poop has lots of negative impacts on the local real estate market, which we have collectively decided is the most important thing in existence and should be the sole survivor of our civilization, the only mark in the historical record that we were ever here. So they get turned into luxury condos.

Trains would be an option for the bored pooch-about-town, had we thought to build them. Dogs are notoriously enthusiastic about steam locomotives in particular, a fact which alternately thrills and horrifies animal psychologists the world over. Electric less so: the inverter whine hurts their little ears, and most of those run underground, where the only thing to bark at is weird rats. No fun at all. Streetcars, you ask? Don't make me laugh. You know what happened to that clown college at the bottom of the hill.

There is, however, hope. At the pet store, I have just now found this rubber bee that squeaks when you squeeze it. I am assured that it is the end of dog boredom for all eternity, or at least until my miniature Pomeranian, Ripper, tears the squeaker out and pukes it up on my duvet at 3:15 in the morning. Don't thank me: I'm just doing my part for all of dogkind.

[sleepboysummer]

the girl that remains of penny lamb stands in the middle of his room. it feels hollow, the heavy air of something that used to be there but is missing now. there is so much that she'd lost.

she has avoided reading the news or answering questions, hating every single person who tried to talk to her about what happened that night. the reports had made her into a miracle, a poster child of god's great blessings. no one spoke of the others except for in unit. no one ever spoke of him.

she looks around at his bedroom and all of his things. her eyes fall over posters, and pictures, and so much more, all of the things he had cared about so much. he was the smartest boy she had ever known. that was one of the things she was most in awe of about him- his mind was always so much greater than his seventeen years, constantly running, so full of thoughts and ideas and life.

he wanted to be a writer. he had so many dreams.

the girl that remains of penny lamb is hesitant to touch anything in this room, afraid that her hands will stain his memory, that she'll erase anything that's left. her fingers hover over the wood of his desk, stacked with soda cans and sticky notes. there is so much left unfinished. an incomplete page of scribbled writings still waits in an open notebook, his desk chair halfway pulled out, pencils and papers strewn over the floor. he was not ready to die.

so she holds herself in silence, waiting for something that'll never come. it's cold. the air is still. the only sound is her shaky breaths as she wanders slowly around his room, searching for something she didn't know, desperate to feel him again. her fingers tremble as she reaches his bed. it's been made since he'd passed, that much was clear- it's unnaturally perfect next to the mess around the rest of the room.

she runs a hand over the sheets, blankets neatly folded at the foot of the bed, set there with so much care from a mother. her only son, her baby taken from her just days before. what had she done when she'd learned what had happened? had she cried over his body? had she screamed at the paramedics? had she broken her vow of silence, no reason to fufill it any longer, begging for another chance? he was still just a child, his shelves were full of action figures. he was the youngest one to die.

the girl that remains of penny lamb had woken on september 14, at exactly 6:22 pm. she had been pulled away from the cart by the calculated hands of paramedics who had rehearsed this so many times before. a blanket had been thrown over her shoulders in an attempt to seem caring, but no one cared about her- they were all focused on the ones who hadn't made it out of the accident.

she sat shivering, fingers digging into the itchy fabric, doing anything she could not to look at the mangled bodies being taken out onto stretchers. you could barely tell who was who. they had all been twisted beyond recognition, arms and limbs hanging lifelessly like marionettes forgotten by time. it made her sick. but the thought of the alternative, averting her gaze down into her lap, only drove her eyes straight ahead once more.

shell-shocked, that's what they called her. a girl with the wide eyes of a war victim, sitting silently, covered in blood. the sole survivor. poor, poor penny. what a brave young girl, how strong she must be to stay alive.

but what onlookers didn't know, and the girl that remains of penny lamb did, is that the only one left had not been injured that night. she had come out of the disaster unharmed, left without even bruises on her knees to prove what she had been through. the only thing that brutally reminded her every time she looked down at herself was the blood- blood that was not hers.

since the moment of the accident, the only thing that she could see was red. stinging her eyes, staining her clothes, sticky and sickening and wrong; it clung to every last inch of her skin like he was still holding onto her, begging her not to leave him there. to take him with her beyond the crash. she squeezed her eyes shut as they carried him off, too afraid at what she might've seen if she'd opened them. she couldn't even imagine him like that. if she didn't think about it, it couldn't be true- because in some horrible, awful way, he was still with her; he was all around her, he was everything.

that night she had stood frozen in the shower, hands trembling as she gripped a bloodstained cloth. it was nothing like in the movies where you could stand under the water until it ran red and it would all be over. this was worse, so much worse, since the time spent at the scene had gave it long enough to dry. she couldn't just look away and let it wash down the drain. she had to fight against the tears pricking at her eyes, scrubbing until her skin was raw, every moment forced to watch what was left of him be washed away. there was a sick part of her that didn't want to. a part that wanted to stay there, lingering in memories forever, never letting go of him and of what they could've had. but when she looked down at herself once more her skin was clean and he was gone.

standing in his room for what is probably the final time makes her feel the same.

the girl that remains of penny lamb lets herself cry- she has put it off until this moment, as if pretending could keep him with her. the emptiness hangs in the air, it suffocates her, resting heavy on her chest until her shoulders are racking with sobs. she sinks onto the floor and stays there, crumpled over as if she had been one of the bodies they'd found that night. her face presses into the side of his bed like the shoulder she wishes she could cry on. her hands curl into his sheets until her knuckles go white. she will never understand what it is that let her be the one to live, and maybe that is for the better.

[serpentface]

INTRO TO THE SOPHONTS

There are eight distinct sophont genuses and/or species in the known world of the blightseed setting. above are examples of each to show overall difference in anatomy and size.

note- terms like 'genus' 'species' 'subspecies' have no meaning in-universe, and do not necessarily have a role in the formation of cultural groups and identity.

Yotici

Yotici are large marine grazers. Their place on the tree of life is an offshoot of very early fish, all of whos modern representatives live in alternating generations, with a sessile asexual stage that resembles a plant, and a long-living reproductive phase (shown here).

The sessile phase appears in the form of 'gardens' that grow from a seabed where eggs were lain. The reproductive phase begins when tiny yotici (yotlings) develop and emerge en-masse. Yotici do not actively protect yotlings until they begin to speak, and many will die within their first year. (though they provide passive protection by allowing their yotlings to school around them, and through the shielded garden environment)

Their sessile young, however, are closely guarded. Yotici are ecosystem engineers that modify their environments to protect their gardens. They build enclosed and controllable environments with coral, rocks, mangroves, shipwrecks, etc, in shallow waters. They manipulate their environment via their 'tentacles' (actually highly modified genitalia, very dextrous and present regardless of sex).

They have likely domesticated more species than any other sophont, both as an unintentional byproduct of their ecosystem engineering and through intentional breeding. Their most important domestic animal is the garden shark, a species of bullhead kept to protect their sessile young from predation by invertebrates and other small animals.

They primarily eat sea grasses, certain corals, kelp, and occasionally shellfish, crustaceans, and other small animals. They require large, healthy expanses of seagrass to be sustained, and will readily kill or drive away competition. They also take an aggressive stance towards predation, generally being highly aggressive until predators recognize them as a threat leave them alone. This includes encroaching landdwellers- yotici territories utilized by land dwellers are often sites of conflict. Peaceful coexistence in the same waters requires the creation and maintenance of treaties and pacts, historically rare due to difficulties in interspecies communication.

They have aesthetic sensibilities, and may decorate themselves by allowing barnacle growth, or via scarification. 

Yotici exhibit no sexual dimorphism and near-ubiquitously do not construct gender. Their genitalia-arms no longer have a sexual function, and they reproduce via group spawning.

The most basic social unit of the yotici is the pod, related individuals who hatched in the same garden and maintain it throughout their lives.

-----

Human

Humans are upright bipedal apes. They are notable among midsized mammals for lacking protective fur, making them vulnerable to both sun exposure and the cold.

There is only one species of human, sole survivors of a once broad family of upright apes. Humans came into behavioral modernity as mobile plains dwelling hunter-gatherers- a highly efficient mode of living utilized to the present day. They are omnivores, capable of adapting to a wide variety of diets and thus a great variety of environments.

The first humans likely developed south of the now inhospitable equatorial Deadlands. Known contemporary populations exist mostly within the eastern and northern parts of the supercontinent.

Humans exhibit modest sexual dimorphism, less pronounced than other apes but with some unique display features such as permanent breasts and bright lips. They can reproduce year-round, and typically bear one child at a time. Childbirth is very dangerous, and many young and mothers die in the process. Their young are completely helpless, and may take over a year to even begin to walk.

The most common basic human social unit is composed of reproductive pairs and their families, though there is tremendous variety in how they form groups.

-----

Elowey:

Elowey are primates, most closely related to lemurs. They average around the same height as humans, but are heavier. They are capable of both bipedal and quadrupedal locomotion.

Two relatively distinct subspecies of elowey are known to survive, though with significant gene flow between the two. Southern elowey (pictured here) are larger on average with bigger guts and more exposed skin, and northern elowey are smaller, with denser fur and slight aquatic adaptations.

Elowey are omnivores, but better adapted towards plant eating. Southern elowey can subsist entirely on plants and digest much tougher plant material than humans with their large guts. Northern elowey rely more heavily on meat, especially during the winter months. The gene for lactase persistence is widely found in northern elowey and largely absent in southern populations.

Elowey have a strong sense of smell. They have two sets of scent glands, which at their most basic communicate territoriality and identity, but the social implications are far broader. 

They come from highly territorial ancestors, and most individuals become stressed and uncomfortable when living in dense populations with unrelated elowey. This discomfort is lessened towards members of other species, though they are still prone to social claustrophobia.

Elowey lack significant sexual dimorphism, with nonreproductive females being indistinguishable from males (aside from genitalia, which is brightly colored in males). Reproductive females go through a pronounced estrus, and hormones from pregnancy induce permanent bodily changes, mostly in the form of longer fur and greater muscle mass.

The most basic social unit of elowey is a reproductive pair, their young, and nonreproductive siblings/family. Typical families only have one reproductive pair at a time, and the presence of a reproductive female actually suppresses the fertility of other females. They give birth to 1-2 young at a time, which are helpless for a couple months until they begin to walk. 

-----

Caelin and Delkhin:

Caelin and Delkhin are two closely related drakes (pterosauroids of this setting), with locomotive forelimbs (wings) and manipulative hind limbs.

Both are obligate carnivores who supplement their diets only occasionally with plant matter, and as such large populations can only be supported by ecosystems with massive herds, or intensive animal agriculture. Both have ancestors who scavenged on the dead, with active hunting being a byproduct/driving factor of sapience.

Males develop large, colorful wattles, and all possess the ability to create booming songs with their gular sacks (though the calls of males average louder). Females are typically smaller than males in both species, and have dull coloration

The two are closely related enough to produce young, but their eggs are often inviable and the young are rarely fertile. In spite of this, there is frequent gene flow between the two and hybrids are relatively common.

The sex of offspring in both species is determined by incubation temperature, with profound societal implications- often sons are intentionally limited.

The pre-sophont ancestors of both reproduced in lek based mating systems, which remains an influence on modern social behavior. The basic social unit of both caelin and delkhin societies is the lek, typically one (sometimes more) breeding males, several females, and their offspring. 

Caelin:

Caelin are about the size of egrets, and capable of powered flight. Their ancestors followed herds of bison, aurox, horses, and khait to scavenge on the dead and dying, which developed into more active management and domestication.

There are a few subspecies of caelin, though most are indistinct from one another (aside from the very small polar caelin).

Caelin are the most widespread sophont of all, having settled anywhere in the world that could support them, though the areas with highest populations are the great steppes of the west. There are few populations historically existing in human-dominated areas, as they tend to compete for food resources.

They are capable of a unique mode of subsistence, scavenger nomadism. Scavenger-nomads fly from place to place seeking dead or dying animals as food sources.

Delkhin

Delkhin are flightless and significantly larger than caelin, standing between 3-5ft in height and weighing several times as much as their relatives. They possess a small horn jutting from the back of the skull, larger and colorful in males.

There are few populations of delkhin outside of Cynozepal and the western grasslands. Their reliance on meat and relatively large size keeps their populations at a low density with great difficulty adjusting to other regions.

Delkhin have notched beaks and strong necks that allow manipulation of larger and heavier objects, and their 'hands' are deft at handling smaller ones.

-----

Qilik

Qilik are roughly turkey sized protobirds. Their ancestors glided, but modern qilik have lost much of their gliding ability as their wings were re-repurposed for manipulation. Their hands have two mobile fingers and one mostly immobile claw.

Qilik would be considered a genus rather than species. There are several species + subspecies of qilik, with the most distinct species being the plains qilik (which are larger, with long thin tails and smaller wings) and the forest qilik (which are smaller, with fans on their tails, broader wings, and are better climbers). More isolated populations have more derived features, such as the small and nocturnal cave dwelling qilik of the deadlands. All are interfertile with significant gene flow between most.

Qilik are omnivores and primarily insectivorous. Their ability to survive on insects makes them one of the least competitive for resources with other sophonts, and as such qilik populations commonly overlap with others and may be indigenous to the same areas.

Most populations are native to forested regions with a high density of insects.  Those who have taken up animal husbandry spread to the plains and eat a more meat-based diet.

Qilik have sexual trimorphism - large, dull colored females, smaller, brightly colored males, and larger, dull colored 'feminine' males (faeder).

Mating occurs seasonally, and most individuals lack any significant sex drive out of season. Hens typically mate with multiple males and mating pairs do not form permanent bonds.

The most common social unit is same-gender (or hen/faeder) flocks which are interdependent but live primarily homosocial lives, with hens/faeder doing most work while groups of males care for children. Their social systems are highly plastic, however, and great variety exists.

-----

Talking crows

Talking crows are crows. They produce language and have complex societies, and can intelligently communicate with other sophonts via mimicry. They may give the impression of being child-like or 'animalistic' to other sophonts, as they struggle with large numbers and certain abstract concepts (and live overall similarly to their non-sophont corvid relatives) but excel beyond any other at cognitive mapping, memory, and navigation.

They do not differ significantly in anatomy from other crows, though notched beaks and flexible feet allow for more deft manipulation of tools. Because of their appearance and relative isolation from other sophonts, they are often interpreted as supernatural beings or 'talking animals'.

-----

Archin

Archin are sapient ant colonies. The only known extant population of the species occurs in the Red Rock Archipelago far southeast in the world-sea, and has been isolated from other sophonts for the majority of its history.

Rather than an individual animal, archin consciousness and personhood exists in the collective. Archin consciousness is an emergent property of colonies, with individuals being somewhat akin to cells composing a brain. 

They are not a hivemind in any literal sense, rather they use the same methods of chemical and touch communication as most other eusocial insects (only highly specialized and with enough plasticity to communicate abstract concepts and understand language).

A single archin has more complex cognitive ability than most ants, and most vertebrates for that matter (better memory, complex motor skills, problem solving) and fully functional as an organism, but is not sapient on her own. Individuals are also very large for ants- about an inch long, with strong jaws capable of deft tool manipulation,

Archin colonies are composed of ‘units’ of 50-100 ants, each unit being functionally an individual personality. A single archin lives about a year, but a unit can survive and retain memories for decades. A unit usually has a set job within the colony, but their role may shift throughout their life. They will usually choose a 'name', and identify themselves with chemical and some visual signals.

A full colony (~1000-3000 individuals) blurs the lines between a person, family, and tribe. It can function as one broad consciousness, but cannot ‘think’ quickly and efficiently as a unit.

Each colony has one queen, who functions as the womb of the group. Her lifespan determines the lifespan of the colony, (up to 60 years in a healthy individual), during which time she will lay eggs yearly. The queen is no more or less intelligent than any other individual archin and contributes little to the collective consciousness, but her importance to the colony's longterm survival makes her uniquely valued over any other individual.

Drones (reproductive males) function as the sperm cells of the group, and are used to forge alliances with other colonies. They die upon mating and contribute nothing to archin consciousness, though their reproductive value makes them the second-most protected individuals in a colony.

Individual archin instinctually reject 1:1 inter-colony communication, which is necessary to not interfere with their consciousness. When parts of different colonies combine, it can lead to units becoming confused and disoriented, or 'mentally ill'. This may be resolved into rogue units, who roam apart from their colonies until they die (or are successfully divided and restored).

Consciousness does not extend beyond a colony. However, due to the highly plastic nature of archin consciousness, it is possible for colonies who lose their queens or suffer great loss of population to perform mergers with other colonies and form new identities. Relations between colonies vary- each has allies and enemies. Allied colonies may form 'nations' and even have forms of governance, though this is near-universally decentralized.

While their mode of consciousness is quite alien to other sophonts, coexistence, communication, and even friendships are possible. A unit is functionally a person with their own personality, with likes, dislikes, curiosity, favorite foods, aesthetic sensibilities, etc. Archin also exhibit highly abstract thought and have forms of religious sensibility.

[veinnamay]

Not a req, but, I’m a writer myself and I want to write a fic where Stu is the only survivor and is being haunted by Billy’s ghost. But my one problem is I have NO IDEA how to make it so he doesn’t go to prison! Or, you know, the looney bin. Any Ideas? 😊🙏

Hmmmm….. I will give you some suggestions! 😁😁

1. Framing Billy as the Sole Mastermind

Stu could spin a story where Billy manipulated him into participating, emphasizing his own gullibility and fear of Billy. He could claim he only went along with the murders because Billy coerced or threatened him.

2. Wealth and Influence

Stu’s family could use their wealth and connections to hire the best lawyers and manipulate the narrative. They might argue that Stu was mentally unstable and manipulated, persuading the court to send him to therapy or probation instead of prison. A corrupt police officer or judge could be paid off to make evidence disappear or lessen his charges. Maybe they do it without Stu’s entire permission, holding their reputation higher than their son.

3. Insanity Defense

Stu could plead insanity, claiming he was suffering from a psychotic break or was under Billy’s psychological control. This might get him sent to a psychiatric hospital instead of prison, where he could be released later.

4. Lack of Evidence

Billy’s death could destroy key evidence implicating Stu, such as a confession, alibis, or physical evidence linking him directly to the murders. If Stu is smart, he might tamper with evidence before law enforcement arrives??

5. Sympathy from Sidney or Gale?

Sidney could feel conflicted about blaming Stu if they believe he was just a pawn in Billy’s plan. If Gale sees a story in portraying Stu as a victim, she could inadvertently help his case.

Alternatively, Sidney might refuse to testify against him if she’s unsure of his full culpability.

6. Small Town Politics

Woodsboro could be desperate to move on from the tragedy and might sweep Stu’s involvement under the rug to avoid further scandal.

The town might not want to admit that two of its teens masterminded such a horrific event, leading to a softer punishment or a cover-up.

7. False Amnesia

Stu could fake amnesia, claiming he has no memory of the events and positioning himself as just another victim of Billy’s rampage. If no solid evidence ties him to the murders, he could walk away with minimal consequences.

8. Turn it around on Sidney

He could mention how she was wrong about Cotton Weary too, or her trauma, etc.

[duckcritter]

Want a cute doodle of your OC, like one of these?

I will make a drawing like this for the first 3 people who match my €10 (10.40 USD) donation to this GoFundMe! Simply DM me first, and once i confirm your slot, i will request a screenshot of your reciept. Alternatively, you can claim this adopt the same way!

The GFM belongs to Taqwa Khaled Al-Qouqa - a survivor of an airstrike in Gaza that killed over 100 civilians. I’m going to put more information and sources covering this story under the cut, because, surprisingly, i have not seen anything about it on Tumblr yet. (Below the cut will be discussion of political violence, mass murder, and death of children)

Slots taken: 2/3

Taqwa was the sole survivor out of her 24 family members in an airstrike that hit their apartment. Among them were her 6 children, who she didn't learn had passed away until she woke up from a coma induced by her injuries. She is also pregnant, and needs urgent medical care if either her or her unborn child are to survive.

Her family were among the (at least) 106 victims* who were killed in the Engineer's Building Airstrike - an attack by the IDF on a residential building. According to an investigation by the Human Rights Watch, the victims were all civilians, and no evidence was found of a military target.

*This number is based on how many individuals could be identified... Due to many being buried in rubble, it is almost certainly higher. An investigation by Airwars estimated that there were 130+ casualties, 60+ of which were children.

NPR published an article with more details about the family’s story, in which they interviewed Taqwa.

(Note to avoid any confusion: Taqwa is referred to with her family name Abusaeid/Abu Said in the article, but she goes by her husband’s last name Al-Qouqa. I have done my research and gotten in touch with Taqwa and her sister Israa on Bluesky to confirm that they are the individuals referred to in these articles. It’s worth noting also that Arabic has different conventions than English, and this is why you’ll often see multiple different translated spellings of the same name.)

Taqwa’s sister, Israa has a GoFundMe for supporting their family’s survival as well!!

These are Taqwa’s six children who were unjustly killed by the IDF: Suhaib (top left), Ibrahim (top center), Somaya (top right), Juman (bottom right), Mohammed (bottom center) and Riman (bottom right).

Please no derailing this post with spam or antisemitism, or i will mute replies, thanks. I do not support any religious extremists or nationalism. ❤️ Reblogs are very much encouraged!

[hancocksbestgirl]

Repairs and Grace

Summary:

Nick Valentine is living in the new world - the one ushered in by his business partner and best friend, Grace, after the events of Fallout 4. With at least some of The Commonwealth's life and death issues solved, the pair turns their attention toward an incredibly important task: cleaning the Agency.

Then, when Nick encounters a small technical issue, it's up to Grace to fix him.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/M

Fandom: Fallout 4

Word Count: 8k

Relationships: Female Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine, Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine, Nick Valentine/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Nick Valentine, Original Fallout 4 Character, Female Sole Survivor (Fallout), Sole Survivor (Fallout)

Additional Tags, Warnings, Excerpt and Link Under the Cut:

Additional Tags/Warnings: Post-Game: Fallout 4, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Apocalypse, Alternate History, Spoilers for Fallout 4, Spoilers, Coworkers to Lovers, Original Character(s), Wireplay, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting, Grinding, Shameless Smut

_________________

It had been a long time since Nick had known anything even remotely resembling peace.

Real peace, anyway.

Inner peace, sure, it came and went. A person didn’t get to be his age, live two separate lifetimes, and start watching their body decay in real time; without getting a least a little comfortable with their innermost self.

It also helped, that Eddie Winter’s case and Nick's trip to Far Harbor - both of them world-shaking events - were long behind him.

His business partner, Grace, had accompanied him on both gruesome errands, and helped where she could. With her help, and the relative calm that had followed, Nick had had time to turn some of those events over in his mismatched hands; to get used to what happened, and to what that all meant for him. There had been even more peace after that process. 

But peace around him. Now that was new to Nick Valentine. 

The Commonwealth was much different now than it had been when Grace originally showed up. 

The Institute had been nuked - a brave new world if Nick ever could picture one, and the Brotherhood of Steel had lost interest in their fair city as a result. Maxson had taken his ball and gone back south where he belonged, probably to menace someplace else. Minutemen roamed, tipping their cowboy hats and rarely having to fire those heavy laser muskets, the Railroad did… whatever it was they did without the Institute to worry about.

Diamond City went along as it always had. McDonough was dead, and Nick figured that was probably a good thing. You saw a few more Ghoul faces, people seemed less uptight. If anything, the city was even a little emptier, because the ruins around it and the small towns beyond Boston Proper were a little safer.

Even Ellie, sweet little Ellie Perkins, had met a young man with a family farm and turned in her resignation. It was a good new beginning for her, in Nick’s estimation. He sure would miss that girl, though.

As a result of Ellie’s departure, the pink lights at Valentine’s Detective Agency were off. He and his partner were taking a break from cases while they sorted out the office. In truth, Grace had been aching to reorganize his office from the first day she walked in, but she’d had bigger fish to fry both on that day, and in the intervening three years. 

Now that there was some kind of peace though, the feeling worming its way into even the farthest-flung the corners of the map, getting people’s shoulders to ratchet down a notch - Grace was inside the Agency, tearing his office apart.

Putting Nick's shoulders all the way up around his ears, as it happened.

Nick took a final drag of his cigarette, and not for the first time, really marveled at the taste. By rights, he shouldn’t have been able to taste it, or anything at all really. He never could figure out if his taste sensors were meant to serve a purpose, or were just an act of whimsy by some Institute scientist.

He ground the butt out under the heel of his dress shoe, then went inside.

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