#eden sinclair

[victoryrifle]

RHONA MITRA as Major Eden Sinclair and LEE-ANNE LIEBENBERG as Viper

DOOMSDAY (2008) dir. Neil Marshall

[swdefcult]

[oliveoomph]

Rhona Mitra

[lavenderr-starrs]

Wenclair said I don’t need a man I need a puppy and I love them for that

[sketchy-rosewitch]

Take Hold of Me: Eden and Bo Sinclair

Warnings: Mentions of abuse both physical and verbal

A/N: Made something cause I wanted to write more Eden. Also for some reason I had Little Women in my head so little blurb is based on Something’s are Meant to Be

Taggies: @rottent33th @soupbabe

“Ya know. Not even an hour after you and Lester were born. Vincent and I came into the office. Ma started talking to Vince, ‘bout how to hold Lester properly. Was ignorin’ me though. Probably because she didn’t want me touchin’ you or him. Anyway, Pa was too focused on Vince and Lester also, so I came up to you without askin’, put my finger in the crib and you held right onto it. I looked over at how Vincent was holdin’ Les. Did the exact same thing. You were so calm, you didn’t wiggle or make a noise. You just stared at me and smiled, continuing to hold onto my finger. I got excited. Told Ma and Pa, ‘Eden’s mine!’. Both of them were livid that I had held you without askin’ first. Pa took you from me, handed you to Mama and you started cryin’ and both of them blamed me for it. Pa beat the shit outta me. I didn’t care though cause I already called dibs on you and I promised I’d look over you no matter what Mama or Pa said.”

The night was cool with a small bit of humidity as Eden and Bo sat together on the porch. It was quiet before Bo started talking, only thing that could be heard were the mockingbirds and crickets singing in their nightly band.

“Guess sayin’ I hated mama my whole life isn’t being dramatic.” Eden comments, watching as lighting bugs flash softly close to the grass. Bo chuckles softly.

“No it ain’t.” He shakes his head and sips on his beer.

“Is that why you were always lookin’ out for me Bo? You called dibs on me and decided it was your life’s mission to make sure I ended up okay?” The blonde looks over at her brother, the porch light illuminating his skin. He shrugs nonchalantly making Eden frown.

“Yeah, I knew Vincent and Mama would be at the House of Wax all the time. She wouldn’t have time for you or Lester. And I knew Pa was always takin’ care of the older folks in town, not that he ever wanted to be ‘round his kids anyways.” Bo answers, he takes another sip of beer and looks over at his sister, she didn’t have a smile on her face, it was tight lipped look as she nodded, hearing every word Bo said to her. “I knew how different you’d be too. We’re one and the same. Shit I didn’t think anyone could throw bigger tantrums than me. You beat me the first time you didn’t wanna take off that dress Junibee Smith had put on you.”

Eden and Bo share a laugh reminiscing in the memory.

“Mama made me cry so hard from her spankin’ with that paddle and I still didn’t take it off… we’re too stubborn for our own good Bo.”

“We got every right to be with parents like ours. We understood that we deserved nice things too.” Bo gets up and chucks the glass bottle into the garbage can. It shatters as it hits the bottom of the can making Eden flinch slightly.

“Bo.”

His sister fumbles with her skirt and kicks a bit of dirt off of the deck.

“What.”

She takes a deep breath, nervous to even bring this subject up. “Why do we even bother with this town? I understand Vincent, but we didn’t do nothin’ but cause Mama problems and we hate her, don’t we? She hurt us.”

Bo is still facing away from his sister. His mouth twitches and he crosses his arms, slouching, hiding away from the conversation. Eden’s anxiety spikes and she stands up. She makes a quick decision beginning to head towards the door to go inside and forget about the night. “Neverm-“

“Cause maybe when we reach heaven… She’ll look at us and tell us how good we did. That she’s so proud and that she forgives us for behavin’ so badly when she was alive.” Bo’s tone changes. “We deserve to be loved by her. What better way to do it than by helpin’ her favorite, yeah?“

The two siblings face each other. Bo’s arms go down to his sides. He looks down and kicks his boot lightly. Eden steps closer to her brother, walking up to him like a scared and injured deer before wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. Bo hesitates, tensing up almost completely then he wraps his arms around his sister tightly.

“You really think we’ll be able to make it to Heaven? Even after all we’ve done?”

Bo brushes his little sister’s hair to comfort her and kisses her head. He looks at the night sky, the stars twinkling.

“Yeah, cause if Mama made it then, we will too.”

[lonelypond]

Secret

Wenclair, Wednesday (TV 2022), 1.2 K, 1/1

Wednesday is preparing Enid's Secret Santa gift.

No albums were harmed in the writing of this fic.

Secret

Wednesday Addams sat on the chair she used for cello practice, leaning forward, her foil in hand, rather than a bow. Music was represented by the pile of moonstone, bloodmoon, and jade green, and mahogany Taylor Swift vinyl trapped under the point of the foil. Wednesday spun the sword, slowly, but inexorably increasing the force she was exerting downward. Her father would chide her about proper sword care, Bianca Barclay would brush away all future tossed gauntlets as Wednesday would be an opponent unworthy of her rank. But Wednesday found as the point of the foil drilled through the vinyl, shattering it, a sensation of pleasure rose each time the point broke through to a new platter. Her Secret Santa gift to Enid Sinclair was recorded, the mixtape, authentically lodged on a cassette with Wednesday’s careful calligraphy listing the song and commentary list scratched onto the paper cover tucked inside. She wondered if she should have recorded the albums as they shattered as a backdrop to her commentary. She had delicately shredded the covers, cutting strips with the sharpest of craft knives, until Taylor Swift’s face became a muddle of flesh tones and dark backdrops. She appreciated Ms. Swift’s craft; what she did not appreciate was how Enid’s eyes lit up when a Taylor Swift song came on or how Enid had bouncily requested Wednesday donate a couple of rare books to the “Get Enid Taylor Tickets” auction. Yes, the books were dusty (She had hidden Thing’s favorite hand cream for that betrayal), but they were also irreplaceable. Yes, they would have made Enid’s auction a success if the billionaires lusting for them had found them, but surely transferring enough cash to buy out an entire stadium to a high schooler’s account would have raised some kind of ATF alarm. This is part of why Wednesday had given up cannons at a young age; blade weapons attracted much less government scrutiny than the gunpowder and projectile variety. Pugsley was going to have to learn to obscure the trail of his purchases. Perhaps Wednesday would start a demolition company to gift him for his next birthday.

“Howdy, bestie.” The door opened and Enid rushed into the room, a swirl of butterscotch gold and brightness that could no longer be contained by any means Wednesday had researched. Even midnights seemed brighter since Wednesday had demurred Enid’s offer to replace the duct tape. Where midnights now her afternoon when Enid was present? Was Taylor Swift a Cassandra, prophesing all the dooms. Wednesday was intrigued by that thought. Perhaps she should listen to and shatter some of Taylor’s earlier albums (Taylor’s Versions only, if available). Was this now Wednesday (Enid’s version)? If she was going to cross pollinate any features, Wednesday thought, nay prayed, could it be the fangs and not the blinding colors.

“Wednesday?”

Wednesday (Enid’s version) re entered the physical space of her body opening her eyes to discover an Enid barely the width of a blade off her nose. Blue eyes, worried blue eyes, blue eyes Wednesday would forget to swim in so the weight of her emotions would drag her to doom, looked puzzled. Wednesday flounced back, sword flipping up, Enid skipping back to avoid the tip, Wednesday throwing herself forward, to the floor, arms out, to cover the carnage she had been creating.

“Secret Santa collage.” Wednesday(Enid’s version) hissed. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

Enid frowned, “You’re acting…” Weird, strange, odd…all of those words would describe Wednesday’s behavior on any ordinary day so Wednesday was very curious as to how Enid would describe this.

“Silly. Silly.” Enid turned to talk to Thing, “She’s being silly. Isn’t she?”

Wednesday (Wednesday’s version) glared from where she was sprawled on the floor, across destroyed Midnights albums, shards of which cut into her ribs. Thing scuttled over to hover by her nose. He smirked. Wednesday glared.

“I was not expecting you back until later.” Wednesday (Enid’s version) in a weak attempt to cover up embarrassment, scolded Enid.”I do not think you are ready to interact with my messy side.”

“You have a messy side?”

Wednesday (Wednesday’s version) pulled off a devious smile, remembering days coated with dirt, mud, cobwebs, viscera, feathers.

“It’s a private thing.”

Enid stared, then shrugged, “Yeah, some days I just feel like making a pile of all my clothes on the bed and diving in; figures you’d prefer the floor.”

“An ascetic pleasure.” Wednesday (Enid’s version) could feel the hyperventilation start as her heart rate accelerated like an avalanche. What was she saying? Did any of it make sense? How could she get Enid out of the room before Enid discovered what she’d been up to and assumed the Prophet Swift had made Wednesday’s murder list. Well, she had, but after Wednesday (Enid’s version) discovery of the singer’s new found link to ancient prophetesses, Wednesday would draw a careful black line through the name. Future knowledge could be useful and Enid owned all the albums.

Enid reached down with both hands and easily put Wednesday (Enid’s version) back on her feet, fortunately holding on for just 32 seconds too long so when Wednesday’s (Enid’s version) knees buckled as she swooned at Enid’s werewolf strength, Wednesday (Enid’s version) managed to remain upright. Wednesday (Wednesday's version) stepped forward, broadening her shoulders, head held high, chin tilted forward, challenging Enid, daringly blocking the werewolf’s view.

Enid knelt down. Wednesday’s (Enid’s version) throat closed to keep her stomach in. Was this a proposal? Did the revelation of a less perfect side sway Enid to impulsive, impressive possessiveness.

Enid was back on her feet, Wednesday’s foil in hand, examining the tip, “It’s not the sword’s fault Bianca keeps getting first touch. You’ve been letting your defenses down.”

“It’s a trap. A trap. A plan. To win. One I thought about. A lot.” This was all babble. Wednesday (Wednesday’s version) never EVER babbled. Was never ever flustered. Wednesday (Enid’s version) grabbed the foil back, hugging it, “I always have a plan. And I never fail to execute it.” A pause. This needed something else to finish it off, something convincing. “Don’t tell Bianca.”

Pugsley would have done better, Eugene would have been more eloquent. She hadn’t even threatened Enid with defenestration. Wednesday (Enid’s version) brought both hands up to her face and the hand guard rammed her nose, eyes watering as she winced with pain.

Enid very gently put one hand on Wednesday (Enid’s version)’s shoulder, took the foil back with the other, and led Wednesday (Enid’s version) to her bed.

“You’re red, Wednesday. You probably have a fever. That’s why you’re acting so strange.”

Fever, yes, a deadly fever. Wednesday (Wednesday’s version) snarled at Thing, who was on his side, rocking with laughter.

Wednesday (Enid’s version) stopped. An idea. “Get me soup. Quickly. I’ll die without soup.”

“Okay.” Enid sounded more confused than worried, but soup was a request she could deliver on. “I’ll be right back. Lay down. Thing, make sure she doesn’t strain anything.”

Wednesday (Wednesday’s version) reached for the sword. If she rammed it through her chest with enough velocity, no further conversations would be necessary. Ever.

Enid, worried werewolf reflexes fully activated, dodged. “You’re not getting out of this world that easily, Addams.”

And the wink. And the pouty flirty smily perfect poisoned lips. And Wednesday (Enid’s version) was falling back on her bed, actually feverish, pierced through the heart, head full of ENID ENID ENID ENID ENID ENID.

Alas and most unfortunately, for her now not to be birthed future heirs, Wednesday Addams (all versions) was no Mastermind at existing in the presence of Enid Sinclair’s celestial glow.

A/N: My first for this fandom. Wenclair is currently driving my brain. Who doesn't love a good storm cloud raven/sunny day werewolf story? Written for @sapphicfest.

[the-pinstriped-hood]

"Hail Persephone Jones, Daughter of Hades, Lord of the Underworld, The Silent One."

Part 2: Swimming Shades

That had been three days ago and the camp had finally died down again from all the excitement. Percy had been moved into Cabin 13, meeting her cabin mates, Milo and Ciarán. She admired the green fire glowing in the brassiere outside the cabin. Inside, heavy metal played from a Bluetooth speaker at a reasonable volume. The bunk beds had been made out of a polished dark wood and silver rivets held them together. The room was overall dark, which is how the boys liked it. The windows and curtains were closed 24/7.

The young girl set down what little she had, her toiletry bag from the camp store, her collection of gems she found around camp in a small box.

Milo nudged his Irish half brother. "We never guessed we'd get a little sister…" Milo tried making small talk. This part wasn't his favorite. Ciarán could already feel the icy distance growing between himself, Milo and Percy.

"Why couldn't he tell me that himself?" She asked, Steel blue eyes flashing with hurt.

"In a way, lass, he did. Ya have to understand that our parents, the gods can't have direct contact with us. It's against ancient laws."

Percy hopped off her bed and went back outside, slamming the door behind her.

"We tried man…"

"Aye."

The youngest demigod was in no mood to be bothered. She was so upset. Being tossed around in the foster system like a ragdoll, used and abused. At least the ones that were greedy, had gotten their dose of Karma. If Percy didn't give you one of her gems willingly, it would be cursed with bad luck to keep it with you. Most times resulting in death.

Then, she thought of the opal skull around her neck. It had randomly appeared while she was in the orphanage one night, she also thought of Bubba. The large hellhound that had managed to find her wherever she was, no matter what state she had been sent to for a foster home.

A pit in her stomach made her feel bad. Hades had tried in what little ways he could to make sure Percy was being cared for.

"You know, I'd never seen a girl as pretty as you around here~" a southern tinged voice purred. To her left, Percy found the Aphrodite cabin, all pink and pristine like a Barbie doll mansion come to life. A young boy with slicked back chocolate colored hair and eyes as blue as the sky was leaning against one of the columns. Percy rolled her eyes.

Only now would she get attention like this. Because she was considered somebody important.

"You know that only now are you interested in saying hi it makes you look shallow."

The boy snorted, standing up and getting close to Percy. Bubba growled at Bo, steaming drool dripping from his jowls. Bo paid the dog no mind.

"Baby doll, you'll have to forgive me. I've been busy."

Percy prayed to the gods for a distraction. She wanted out of this interaction. Luckily, someone answered her prayer.

A shadow hovered over both her and Bo, It was Max. The counselor from the Hermes cabin made himself known as Bo stepped back.

"Hey, Percy. Archie wants you to get fitted for armor for training."

Percy nodded, mouthing a small, thank you, to the blonde and jogging away from the situation towards the Hephaestus forges, Bubba on her heels.

"But Archie don't do fittings." Bo looked up at the blonde. "You're right. He doesn't. But I won't stand for bullying, Bo. I know you."

The southern boy skulked right back into his cabin with his brothers and sisters and closed the door.

At lunchtime, Ciarán, Milo and Percy ate at their designated tables at the pavilion while Bubba gnawed on a large bone on the floor. The pavilion was buzz with talking and laughter. Ellie, the councilor for the Demeter cabin was talking about growing Venus flytraps in the garden on the roof. Darrell was laughing along with his brothers and sisters about almost getting scorched in the lava pit on the rock wall. He had holes in his shirt to show for it. The Apollo kids were harmonizing at their table, with Ava leading. The chatter from the Hermes table was loud as usual being the biggest Cabin, the Dionysus kids were the opposite, talking quietly and some of them even waved to Mr D. Over at the Aphrodite table, Vincent and Lester were looking at Ellie and Ava longingly while Bo was fixing his hair in his sister Maggie's hand mirror because the wind had messed it up again Eden was admiring herself in her own mirror making kissy faces.

Percy finished her food and sat silently. The air was awkward around the Hades kids. There wasn't really anything they had in common besides their parentage but the half brothers figured they should make a genuine effort this time.

"So…..that collection of gems. Where'd you find them?" Milo asked, mindlessly sipping his goblet of Red Bull.

Percy's hand crept to her necklace. "I just have an eye for finding them, I guess. It's always been this way. I find geodes too. They're really pretty. But…"

"But?" Ciaran asked silently.

"My foster parents kept taking them away from me. And while I was at school, I'd be shuffled off to the next set of parents because they had died somehow."

Stunned silence from her brothers.

"I later found out that the gems are cursed. If I don't share them with you, the curse remains."

"So its sharing or theft." Milo nodded.

The little black haired girl returned the nod. Pulling something out of her pocket, she produced two necklaces. One made from glassy obsidian in the shape of a sword, one made from a fire opal in the shape of a blood droplet.

"I asked Archie from the Hephaestus cabin to help me make these for you. They aren't cursed."

The boys exchanged glances and took the respective necklace putting it on.

"Thanks sis, that's really thoughtful of you." Milo reached over the table, ruffling her hair.

Ciarán stared at her as if to say "welcome to the family, sis."

@rottent33th @slaasherslut @devil-doll13 @bluecoolr @ajarofpickledtears @shonkgobonk @soupbabe @slasherscrybaby @solmints-messyocdiary @ahmnom @probably-a-plant-thing @damien-mlm @kalid-raven @angxlslasher @allthingsblood

[soupbabe]

Should doodle Maggie and Eden bonding just for funsies

They’re practically sisters 😌

In the perfect AU, they are sisters 😌

Idk what they're laughing at, but Maggie made Eden a sundress

Tagging: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, and @the-pinstriped-hood

[lavenderstobins]

stranger tweets part 13

[previous] [next]

all previous parts: [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 5.5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11]

[simplegenius042]

Late WIP Wednesday/Thursday

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton and @imogenkol

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

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

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

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

"Where do you think you're going?"

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

Mario was free.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their exit was gone - including the sealed door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mario gazed directly into Charlie's shocked brown eyes.

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

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

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

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

Why aren't they staying?

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

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

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

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

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

[TW: Violence and blood and dead Peggies]

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

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

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

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

She inspects her glock, swiftly checking her magazine.

Empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[victoryrifle]

DOOMSDAY (2008) dir. Neil Marshall

[swdefcult]

[anatomical-puppet]

dmc refs i made for artfight and then was too lazy to post lmao 💪💪

[hellcheercaine]

ST characters as imagined with She-Ra

(Since I’ve done one for harringrove)

[sketchy-rosewitch]

So excited to introduce you guys to my newest oc!

Rosalie Genevieve Nods II

Gender: Cis-Woman (she/her)

Age: 25

Personality: ENFP-A, Creative, Spontaneous, Loud, Friendly, Talkative.

Sexuality: Bisexual

Face Claim: Auli'i Cravalho

Appearance: Short, Light Brown, Average Build

Hair Color: Brown

Eye Color: Brown

Height: 5’3

Abilities: Can talk herself out of situations, strong

Bio: Grew up with an artistic grandpa, he often took her on vacations to different states in the summer time. Went to school in Georgia a majored in Fine Arts. Grandpa died soon after she graduated, she inherited a lot of stuff but only took a few things and his camper and she decided to hit the road and paint around the states.

Relationships:

Bo Sinclair: Tries to get along with him but she pisses him off cause she talks a lot. Bo teases her but she never takes it personally and he does like her but sometimes she just won’t shut up.

Vincent Sinclair: Appreciates having another artist around. He likes when they bounce ideas off of one another and how Rosalie is a bridge to get closer to Eden since he never got that relationship with her growing up

Lester Sinclair: These two talk for HOURS, won’t shut up about anything and sometimes she goes out to help dig up stuff for Eden. They don’t have much to bond over but she does like learning about his taxidermy (she will not touch anything though).

Eden Sinclair: She’s Eden’s soulmate. Eden herself believes it. Strange how Eden’s first name is after the Garden and Rosalie’s last name is after The Land of Nod. Eden doesn’t talk much so she loves listening to Rosalie talk about anything and everything. They often are seen taking walks together and they’ve gotten along since they laid eyes on each other.

[the-silver-chronicles]

Music Monday + "What Are You Doing Here?" Quiz

Tagged by @g0dspeeed and @inafieldofdaisies

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @strangefable @strafethesesinners @josephslittledeputy @purplehairsecretlair @deputyash @afarcryfrommymain @depyotee @voidika @onehornedbeast @softtidesworld @snake-in-the-garden @nightbloodbix @adelaidedrubman @wrathfulrook @chazz-anova @cassietrn @jacobmybeloved @henbased @carlosoliveiraa @ladyoriza @minilev @vasiktomis @neverthesameneveranother @thewanderer-000 @corvosattano and @vampireninjabunnies-blog

Here's three songs for my other Far Cry The Silver Chronicles stories, known as the following; Call To Arms duology starring Nadi Sinclair, Ain't It A Joy? staring Alexander Khaos and finally No One's Safe At Home starring Gavin Turquoise. The Quiz will be for an OC who appears in A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore (a Fallout fanfic series). The quiz can be found here.

The Call To Arms fanfic duology of the Call Of Duty Modern Warfare games (at least only one and two, both taking elements from the original and reboot) starring Nadi Sinclair, a sharpshooter and recon for Task Force 141, fighting off terrorists like Makarov alongside her brothers (and sisters) from other misses and misters. This will only be a few years before she eventually leaves and joins the Project at Eden's Gate in Montana, Hope County.

"Come on

Come on, people Stand tall for the beast of America Lay down like a naked dead body Keep it real for the people workin' overtime They can't stay livin' off the government's dime

Stand tall for the people of America Stand tall for the man next door We are free in the land of America We ain't goin' down like this, come on, now

Come on, people Come on, people Come on, people Ha!

Come on, people Come on, people Come on, people Ha!

I will be right to you I will be right to you I will be right to you And together we can stand up to the beast."

Ain't It A Joy? is a modern-ish fanfic adaption of the We Happy Few game, starring Alexander Khaos as the main protagonist, as he finds out the lies behind Wellington Wells, the self-proclaimed happiest city of England which is closed from the rest of the country, is in fact nothing more than a cult stuck in a perpetual state of drugged bliss with the inhabitants believing they're clean of atrocities and stuck in a 1940s/60s mindset while being taken advantage of by a pharmaceutical tycoon, Crawford Klaus, as he replays old videos of a TV personality named "Uncle Jack" and supplies the next batches of "Joy"... and the newest variant called "Glee".

"A brilliant day is dawning A million smiles are forming Our shimmering isles are all enthralled No, there's nothing like conforming

Perish the thought of mourning Did you ignore the warnings? All negative thoughts abhorred "My Lord! Did you take your Joy this morning?"

Ask anybody in Wellington Wells They'll tell you it's terribly swell Delirious denizens swell where there's nary a speck between heaven and hell

They say that the empire fell "Oh, but you never could tell!" You say you remember it well? "You'd better forget it or else!"

Why try to better yourself? Reach for the medical shelf Just take your medicine, death and the pestilence melt into pleasant locales

Another rebellion quelled Dust off your suspenders and belts It's horrendous to dwell, so remember how splendid it felt to surrender yourself The roses we grow have a terrible smell

It's a Joy! It's a Joy (it's a Joy) It's a Joy (it's a Joy) To be among we happy few It's a Joy It's a Joy (it's a Joy) It's a Joy (it's a Joy)!"

No One's Safe At Home is a fanfic set in the Welcome To The Game universe, where the inner circles of "the Ministry" run their illegal activities behind the dark web as it reigns at the top, with constant murder, kidnappings, trafficking of all kinds and the most vile corruption persist in a world where morals are a joke. Until Gavin Turquoise starts going to great lengths in his intent on wiping their repulsive stain out of society and rigging the Game in his favor. In his crusade, he finds a strange child with... the most abnormal abilities. I can't help but laugh at the irony that this feared vigilante eventually becomes a lawyer in Hope County, being a bane to the Project at Eden's Gate and John Seed's existence.

"As Property Manager, my job is sorting the utilities Disposal of the garbage and the laundering facilities Why would I compile a full report on your activities? I'm just a standard landlord, "Glory to the Ministry"

Lock the doors and close the curtains, hold your breath lest you should speak your sins But you can't keep a secret from the building that you keep it in Befriend your fellow tenants, show a smile and keep it pleasant But know everyone's a friend until you need to turn some people in It's the breathing on the phone, hiding just beneath the tone It's the things that shift when no one's home Well, you may be on your own, but you'll never be alone Yes, we all live here, but it's no one's home

("They're here!")

To get through the day It behoves you to play by the rules and behave Do the state preapprove all the tunes that you play? When alone in a room, well, to whom do you pray?

Assume that your neighbours are moving away When the black van comes in the night And you're numb to the sight Of another fumbling for somewhere to hide As their wife just runs for their life 'Fore the ones with the guns can arrives And they're gone 'fore the Sun can arise To a government provided bunker for some realignment It's just fine, you can trust it's a wonderful time

Just go about your business normally No one's following, I'm not recording Your paranoia is awfully boring According to all of your friends that talk to me

Most importantly, please speak clear when you're broadcasting Your honest thoughts on the law or economy My provided mics are tiny And I can't transcribe properly Should you ever behold Me with my peepers pressed to a keyhole You can trust I'm just checking the tumblers for rust I'm a custodian, not a Ministry mole

Settle in for a night on the couch No questioning what that red light is about Now bleeping on your ceiling since the time you were out It's just a little gaslighting, put aside any doubts

You're fine in your house, so you confide to your spouse any crimes carried out Any tiny amount of new ideas found just a mite out of bounds 'Cause I'm writing them down in a timestamped account

What's it matter, every night or two? If I sneak in, have a rifle through? But depending what I find, well, You'll be faced with another kind of rifle, too

Privacy is the cry of the defiant to compliancy But grease my palm and I might not see Those books they banned from the libraries What do you mean, that's not yours? It appeared one night in your cabinet drawers? I have to report it, I regret But, of course, I could forget

Societal ideals are reliably pliable So the rise of a tyrant becomes entirely viable You will find that the spying is really quite justifiable Why are you crying when it's your blind eye that's liable?

Handy landlord here to fix your ventilation whistling Too many questions and it's not the air that needs conditioning That telephone's not tampered with Of course it isn't listening But were it, it prefers the words: "Glory to the Ministry!"

And last the results from the quiz! From my character:

Ortega "Ore" Brantley (A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore, a Fallout fanfic series)

Ore has this "hope" that he carries with him. Despite the Wasteland he walks in, just as his sister Ress does, unlike her and their father, he can't help but focus on the beauty that has thrived even after the destruction. He's no fool, the world he lives in is dangerous, and as powerful as he is being a half-human, half-magical-creature-from-another-dimension, there are beings like his father, Arcane Urias, and his lackeys, like Aggravor, who can and will kill him if given the opportunity. Ress is hopeful... hopeful that with his efforts, the Wasteland can heal. That the people he's bonded with can live long content lives. That his sister can appreciate the lives of who she views as "weak" and see the strength these folks have despite the disadvantage they have against the likes of the Super Mutants, Synths and the Occult Urias founded. To see the responsibility to protect these people that they as the "strong" must carry. He hoped he could have seen the day where him, his sister and their companions could just lay down underneath the blue sky one day and just share with each other without the burden of death and destruction hovering over them in a moment of peace. Though he himself never lives to achieve this vision, he at least was glad to look at his sister and reassure her one last time before Aggravor's curse cut his long life short.