#oc: alexander khaos

[simplegenius042]

"What Archetypes Are Your OCs?" Quiz, Top Four Fictional Crushes and The Worst Ship Chart Ever

Tagged by @shellibisshe @inafieldofdaisies @josephseedismyfather @voidika and @imogenkol

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @icecutioner @strangefable @strafethesesinners @josephslittledeputy @rhettsabbott @carlosoliveiraa @cassietrn @g0dspeeed @turbo-virgins @aceghosts @afarcryfrommymain @derelictheretic @deputy-morgan-malone @wrathfulrook @softtidesworld @shallow-gravy @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @vampireninjabunnies-blog @cloudofbutterflies92 @florbelles @sleepyconfusedpotato @titiagls @minilev @skoll-sun-eater @thewanderer-000 and @lulu2992 (for Top Four Fictional crushes, but you can join with the other tags if you want).

Three results for OC archetypes, a listing of four of my fictional crushes (oh fuck-) and two worst ship charts ever. You can find the quiz here. You can find these and the template for the chart below.

Three results for Archetypes for OCs from The UnTitledverse, The Silver Chronicles and A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore.

ALFRED "JEFF" HOPPER (THE UNTITLEDVERSE)

I don't this is necessarily correct. Throughout the first two sagas (The Pefect Storm and The Omniscient Rule sagas), Jeff has been nothing more than a supporting and often times tertiary protagonist. Maybe not a main but definitely important. He has moments of selfishness, sure, but that's not often. The only really selfish "messed shit up for everyone" moment was when he took the opportunity to change course of events which worsened the space-time continuum while he had been helping the Time Guard chase after a time-travelling mass serial killer fugitive who had been making Time unstable in the first place, which wasn't even out of malicious intent, rather he just wanted his bestest friend back from non-existence, that being Lena Elliot. So yeah, he screwed up, but not to a villainous extent.

ALEXANDER KHAOS (THE SILVER CHRONICLES)

Oh god another villain result. Which... is more accurate for Alexander than it is for Jeff. He's more of an antagonist to Silva, that's for sure (being the right-hand man and Chosen Extraordinaire, which is basically Jacob's top elite Chosen, of Jacob Seed). He has unresolved trauma in regards to his time in Wellington Wells and has embraced his role in Hope County in Eden's Gate, though if a stronger or more ideological compatible person came around, he'd take his loyalists (which includes Hannah McCalkin) and leave Jacob behind.

ALPH DOLEN (A RADIOACTIVE CALAMITY OF LOVE, BOMBS & GORE)

Link to Minecraft Poem for anyone interested. Oh good, I worried it wasn't going to be different. And OH WOW! Alph got read to filth here. Kind of ironic that he craves love and wants to be surrounded by love but is the "Lone Wanderer". Doubly ironic when he's ghoulified... something that should be where he is rejected by everyone and everything, but ends up with more than he could ever ask for, especially with Ress and Amata... until Arcane Urias ruins everything, as he does.

Here's the list of my top four fictional crushes:

Maki Zen'in - Jujutsu Kaisen (Specifically post-Shibuya Arc)

(I want to be lifted up and carried bridal-style in her arms)

2. Soundwave - Transformers Prime (when I was young and both completely blind without glasses I didn't know I required and literacy blind to whatever I was watching, I thought this Soundwave (the only one I had been introduced to at the time) was female... he's still pretty aesthetically pleasing though, cool AF, and a caring parent to Laserbeak so...)

3. Faith Seed - Far Cry 5 (daydreaming-about-frollicking-in-green-flower-fields-and-living-in-cozy-cottages lesbians UNITE!)

(however fair warning she might get you high enough to talk to God and try to convince you to join her older adoptive brother's cult)

4. GLaDOS - Portal

(...her soothing condescending voice that belittles and tries to get you killed and her smooth + robust curves in her awesome design enchant me...)

Honourable Mention goes to (look'em up):

5. Sea Empress - Subnautica

Two of the worst ship charts for The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters.

Translation for the unreadable:

What draws them together? Initially the mystery surrounding each other as no one except a very specific few know much about their former lives, and their opposing factions forces them to interact a lot, and thanks to the Bliss, that's what they mostly end up doing. Plus they mostly fit each others preferences.

What stands in the way? They are at war in two opposing factions, one that wants to kill/detain (Resistance) and the other that will kill but will try to indoctrinate Silva (Eden's Gate). Opposing morality, beliefs and trust issues also get in the way.

What are their good traits? Silva and Faith find companionship with another due to their similar past/current circumstances, and Silva's compassion and unexpected kindness is bizarre and appealing to Faith, as her cunning and passions are appealing to Silva. Both are willing to sabotage their own factions to keep the other around a bit longer, plus their determination to find a peaceful resolution.

What makes them hopeless at romance? Trust, or lack there of. Silva is weary that Faith will report anything she says to Joseph to better get her into Eden's Gate, while Faith is weary that Silva is trying to get close to manipulate her into coming out into the open to better take her down. Both are correct in the beginning but later down the line it gets muddied. Silva also refuses to speak of her past (understandable) except for the vaguest of truths while Faith doesn't fully open herself up in fear of being scorned. Not to mention it's been a long while since Silva had been in a romantic relationship and Faith is very inexperienced.

Describe them with one trope: Toxic Toxic "I can fix her" & "I can make her worse/better" Enemies-To-Lovers Yuri.

Translation for the unreadable (Also note that when Jennifer is talking about her partner, it's mostly complaining about Sonya, and Sonya's image is more a reference to what I closely envision her as):

What draws them together? They both fail to kill each other and have a bone to pick with both Dicko and Sir Enigma Malvolio and they're also considered "non-human" now.

What stands in their way? Sonya is unstable to the point she's agitated enough to kill others on instinct which Jennifer is trying to control much to Sonya's distaste. There's also the fact Sonya is like a 12-foot something mecha-beastie which she doesn't think Jennifer finds attractive. Jennifer is in denial of her feelings and believes if she loses control of Sonya then it will be right back to square-one like it was with Dicko or she'd die, either one.

What are their good traits? They both have a common interest revenge against Dicko (successful) and Malvolio (work-in-progress), and Sonya acts as Jennifer's trump card and intimidation factor in their illegal business. Both also have an appreciation for their brutal honesty and openness with one another and relatability (with Jennifer as a synthetic human and Sonya's brain transferred to a mecha-beastie). They have no problems committing murder together.

What makes them hopeless at romance? Jennifer is used to being treated as an object of lust and since her freedom from Dicko and take over of his business has pushed to be in control of everything (including Sonya) and is trying to ensure she doesn't lose that control and denying all romantic/sexual feelings, while Sonya is a victim of Malvolio and his treatment of her has left a lot of psychological scars where she dehumanizes herself and does everything in her power to prove it correct too.

Describe them with one trope: Toxic "I can make you so-so-so worse baby" bloody murder Yuri situationship/partnership on a mission of revenge with a pinch of monsterfucking and goes from "I want to kill you" to "I'd kill for you" pipeline.

Template below:

[the-silver-chronicles]

In what sport would your OCs participate in during the Olympics?

Tagged by @raresvtm

note: taking into account what i know (which is little) from the summer olympics.

SILVA OMAR (FAR CRY 5, FAR CRY NEW DAWN)

Boxing - Honestly believe that Silva would fully enjoy boxing, as its close combat, which is something she genuinely prefers to do.

KAMSKI NEON (FAR CRY 5)

Shooting - Kamski's quite good with a gun if you trust him enough with it. I can see him doing shooting ranges as a pass time too.

NADI SINCLAIR (CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE, FAR CRY 5, FAR CRY NEW DAWN)

Shooting & Cycling - Nadi's good with a rifle, however, that's mostly something she does for work. I think she'd enjoy cycling a lot more.

ALEXANDER KHAOS (WE HAPPY FEW, FAR CRY 5, FAR CRY NEW DAWN)

Swimming - Alexander's a pro at swimming. Though if I had to choose a second sport for him to do, it would be running (given how fast he is at chasing Silva down and dragging her poor butt back to Jacob for her weekly nightmare fuel).

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

[the-silver-chronicles]

A small one, but in my Far Cry 5 fic Silva's Hope, apart of my The Silver Chronicles series, the protagonist, Junior Deputy Silva Omar manages to outwit the Chosen in the Whitetail Mountains... well until Alexander Khaos easily outwits her and captures her for Jacob Seed. And since none of the other Chosen worked, Alexander is the only person in Jacob's region to be sent out to retrieve and deliver Silva back to Jacob. This continues on into the New Dawn fic, Old Dusk... even though they are no longer enemies then. She tries to hide away from the problems and he's sent to drag her back to face it.

Tell me, what’s a running gag within your story?

[ofviolentdeath]

Fuck it, doing these anyway

That questionnaire thingy. I did the thing. Fuck asks xD

is there a muse that you wish gets more attention?

Probably Echo? She’s one of my longest standing muses (but also like...the hardest to set anything up for because she literally can’t leave her mountain???). But. Yeah. Echo. 

is there a muse that not a lot of people roleplay with?

I literally only rp with 2 people regularly and a couple other people here and there soooo...

which one of your muses have you been playing the longest?

Cord. Hands down. I’ve had Cord for like 5 years now. 

which one of your muses has the most ships?

Ava without a doubt. She’s about my only truly solid multi-verse muse.

what is each of your muses otps? notps?

There are waaaaay too many to list, lbr. But top 5 for tops would have to be: Lyri/Kat/Cam, Ava and Warren, Sean and Damien, Val and Kit (because I am a weird fucking person), aaaaand Ari and Adam. 

As for notps? Ava and Alexander were a really fucked up one. But also anything involving Chance or Johnny.

why were you drawn to each one of your characters?

It’s more like someone knocks on the door and another muse just lets them in. I mean, that’s literally how Aima happened. Ava brought him home with her going “this is my nephew. He’s staying”. It’s a real problem.

which muse is the most fun to write for?

BEN. Hands down, it’s Ben. 

is there another muse you’ve been thinking of adding or writing for? who?

A few canon muses, a few old muses, a few new muses. I’m always in a literal state of “let’s add more babies” despite not even having all of my muses listed on the muse page.

what is something everyone should know about your muses before interacting?

They’re flaky assholes with minds of their own, so plotting doesn’t always work well.

what’s a weird headcanon you have for each of your muses?

The absolute weirdest one is that if Lyri hadn’t raised Ben like her own, those two would have definitely slept together by now.

which muse has the most aus or verses?

Ava. 

can you sort your muses from youngest to oldest?

Khaos is the absolute oldest of mine, but they come and go as they please. As for the youngest? Current timeline would make it Ethan.

which muse is most willing to fight another muse?

C H A N C E. I mean, he’s a murder puppy.

do your muses get along with each other?

Yup. Cord and Ava are especially good friends and they like to get drunk af together. And sing classic rock songs. Loudly and off key.

would you ship any of your muses together? who?

Cord and Grayson were a thing once upon a time ago. Eva and Grayson have hooked up. Ava and Konis were together when they were younger. Willow and Tiernach are sort of a thing. 

for each muse, is there a character you wish had a blog so you could interact with them?

Ehhhh

have you ever considered making a multimuse/is it easier having a multimuse?

Definitely easier. I cannot do multiple blogs or sideblogs. Too much effort.

which muse is the most problematic towards other muses?

Uh, Chance literally tried to kill his own mother (and he did some pretty awful shit to Manson as well as some of the rest of the family) so, I mean, it’s pretty obviously the damn serial killer.

which muse is most likely to make new friends?

Kat, Lyri, Ben, Todd, and Luna. Go figure, they all live together. Starla would be on the list too if she wasn’t so damn shy.

which muses�� fandom do you like the best?

I don’t really do fandoms xD

is there someone playing the same muse/s as you and you really look up to them?

Not really? I mean, most of them are ocs and, as for the canon group, I went with unpopular ones for a reason.

which muse do people send the most asks for?

I only gets asks from like two people, so Lyri def gets a lot? Ava, Kat, Val, and August get decent ones too.

which muse is most likely to have kids?

Lyri, Kat, and Sean all have the most. 

is there a rule that someone keeps breaking for your muses?

Nope because I am beyond picky about who I rp with.

can you sort your muses from weakest to strongest?

Khaos is, hands down, the strongest one of my muses over all. As for weakest... Probably Cassidy in terms of physical and then Manson in terms of mentally/emotionally

which muse are you considering deleting?

None, really? I mean, I keep considering bringing back ones I deleted xD

most importantly, are you having fun playing each one of your muses?

I really hope so because otherwise this would be a terrible hobby

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday, WIP Wednesday & OC Picrews

Tagged by @atomsace @voidika @imogenkol and @josephseedismyfather

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn @direwombat @noodlecupcakes @adelaidedrubman @raresvtm @derelictheretic @davrinsgriffons @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @yokobai and @seedsplease + anyone else who want to join.

Got music for The Silver Chronicles, Life, Despair & Monsters and my Wings And Horns WIP, WIP snippets for The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters, plus picrews for an A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore OC, picrews include Christmas stockings, regular OC looks and 1880's aesthetic/design. Without further ado, listen and read below the cut:

Silva is defined by both "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" and "still pretty traumatizing experience though". It's a balance that I'm trying my best in keeping steady, and I don't think I'm doing that bad of a job at. Even if we exclude the AUs (which Silva is just put into MORE situations), one thing is clear, Silva is tough. She survives. Her father, the Tumultite Massacre, the journey at sea till she and her small family make it to America, Paul and the Apostles of Zachariah, the hopelessness and grief she felt after Persephone's death, the Reaping and Eden's Gate, Adam's Guard, the Collapse and the five to seven years in that bunker with Faith and Azriel (in addition to Mercy), the 11-13 years spent on the surface of Montana post-Collapse, the Highwaymen and Paul's return. Silva living in itself is a massive blatant "Fuck You" to both her father and the Voice's efforts in trying to kill her (or at least make her suffer). Anyway, listen to Kelly Clarkson killing it below:

"You know the bed feels warmer Sleeping here alone You know I dream in color And do the things I want

You think you got the best of me Think you've had the last laugh Bet you think that everything good is gone Think you left me broken down Think that I'd come runnin' back Baby, you don't know me 'cause you're dead wrong

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone What doesn't kill you makes a fighter Footsteps even lighter Doesn't mean I'm over 'cause you're gone What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger Just me, myself and I What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

You heard that I was starting over with someone new They told you I was moving on, over you

You didn't think that I'd come back I'd come back swinging You tried to break me, but you see

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone What doesn't kill you makes a fighter Footsteps even lighter Doesn't mean I'm over 'cause you're gone What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger Just me, myself and I What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

Thanks to you, I got a new think started Thanks to you, I'm not the brokenhearted Thanks to you, I'm finally thinking 'bout me You know in the end, the day you left was just my beginning In the end

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone What doesn't kill you makes a fighter Footsteps even lighter Doesn't mean I'm over 'cause you're gone What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger Just me, myself and I What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger Just me, myself and I What doesn't kill you makes you stronger Stand a little taller Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

When I'm alone."

Funny how this FNAF song can fit Poppy Playtime and this unnamed WIP I've made for it. Throughout the game and this WIP, Poppy encourages the protagonist to continue further down into the factory. Honestly not surprising she leads the protag of this WIP into Frederick Rosemary's industry of pure horror:

"What's the story in all this clutter Give me more than exotic butters! Some cryptic lines will be fine Keep your innards, and I'll keep mine She's pulling strings, but I'm trying To figure out what kinda puppet I've been Never gonna let her get under my skin!" "Heard of Frederick Rosemary*? You're gonna like him!

Can't help but feel like you belong here." "But I wanna leave, I just gotta leave." "You know that something's going wrong here." "And she's watching me, now she's onto me." "Come find out what's been going on here." "Has my progeny caught up to me?" "You know you're nothing but a pawn here." "Am I part of them? Are they/you part of me?"

[* Purple Guy, or William Afton from FNAF, doesn't exist in the Poppy Playtime universe, and in this WIP, Frederick is the major antagonist]

And lastly, a funky upbeat remix that hints towards what kind of past Xiang Ba'al, a sloth demon from the Sloth Ring of Hell, had in his youth and now in his adult life. Learn how he became such a great quick-draw that even gives Archangel Metatron trouble when fighting him:

"All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, outrun my gun All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, faster than my bullet All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, outrun my gun All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, faster than my bullet

Daddy's* got a quick hand He'll look around the room He won't tell you his plan He's got a rolled cigarette Hanging out his mouth He's a cowboy kid Yeah he found a six-shooter gun In his pa's** closet, in a box full of fun things I don't even know what But he's coming for you, yeah he's coming for you

All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, outrun my gun All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, faster than my bullet (Hit it!) All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, outrun my gun All the other kids with the pumped up kicks You better run, better run, faster than my bullet

Faster than my bullet Faster than my bullet

Daddy works a long day He be coming home late, and he's coming home late And he's bringing me a surprise Cause dinner's in the kitchen and it's packed in ice I've waited for a long time Yeah the sleight of my hand is now a quick-pull trigger He reasons with his cigarette*** Then says "Your hair's on fire, you must've lost your wits, yeah?""

[*Name changed justified as it goes from Xiang's POV recalling his gangster father. **Xiang only ever recalls his father calling his own dad "pa". ***Xiang doesn't smoke but obviously his father does. Also a moment of "noticing your son has a natural hand for this weapon much like yourself, even if held back by hesitancy". Seeing himself in Xiang essentially and stoking the flames of curiosity with a tease to continue those damn familial/generational cycles, y'know?]

Here's some more Vengeful!Silva AU snippets where Jacob's gonna attempt to capture Silva after she makes a concerning number of head ways and nearly successful assassination attempts towards Joseph. He and Alexander's ambush gets intercepted by Silva's new guardian angel Margarett (whom she and Azriel have granted an additional... helpful augmentation):

Jacob lowered to his knees as he placed the barrel of his rifle onto the log they too cover behind.

Alexander and two of their Chosen caught up to him; his right-hand crawled up next to him, stationing his crossbow alongside Jacob's rifle. One Chosen took cover behind a tree stump to the right of the log, while the other stood hidden behind the foliage on Alexander's left.

Jacob lifted a hand up in an open palm to signal to his present men. They waited as he looked through his scope onto their target's location; the back of a small abandoned home, more like a cabin, that had belonged to one of his effective if stranger men. Dansky, he recalled Alexander mentioning.

They lost contact with him after overhearing what seemed to be a break-in.

Through his scope's lens, Jacob noted the window was blocked, leaving the only entrance way the door. A foolish decision, leaving them open for attack. He could hear no activity as well, leaving Jacob frowning.

Jacob glanced at Alexander beside him, catching the brunette's attention. He gestured to the other man's bag, which Alexander nodded in affirmation, unlatching the hood so Jacob could see the contents; some minor explosives, strong enough to remove the obstacle to the window.

Jacob shared a smirk with Alexander, giving an affirming nod. He began formulating the plan; two to the door, two to the window, destroy the window, move in through both at the same time. Hopefully they'd be able to take down the defector's bodyguard that Terry had described to them after they found the man.

Then they can take the "unruly child" back to her "Father", just as his brother requested.

Jacob huffed and shook his head, but this had been one of the few things Joseph remained adamant on.

As Alexander began to tweak the explosives so they'd be ready, Jacob looked towards the Chosen to his left and closed his hand into a fist, then pointing towards the direction of the door. He then turned to Chosen on his right for the same thing, but paused when the Chosen was inspecting something he found on the ground.

The Chosen looked toward Jacob, and handed him the small object.

On Jacob's scarred flesh, he could feel the bits of ash and dirt that covered the crushed paper roll. Jacob brought it up to his nose, inhaling the foul scent that mixed with the dry earth; a cigar. There was still a surviving warmth to it, meaning it was recently put out.

He glanced to the stump, and when looking at it, he took notice of the deep cuts ingrained into the wood. He looked down to the log, and realized it was the same color as the stump, and the serrated end of it had chunks split across it.

This is a set up.

Then he heard it. The stomping footsteps rushing up behind them.

Grabbing onto Alexander, he hoisted the surprised younger man over the log, barely hopping over it himself before a behemoth-sized woman in large ragged cloaks broke through the foliage and slashed across the log.

She managed to cut down the Chosen on the right, and before the Chosen had enough reaction time to aim his bow at her, she spun her staff, hitting him in the stomach with it before bringing her other weapon over his head.

Jacob and Alexander rolled down the short steepness, before they collected themselves. The bag of explosives had been left behind the log, same with Alexander's crossbow, but Jacob still had his rifle on hand.

The taller woman, older and more scarred than Jacob himself, glared down at them with her one amber eye, firmly thinly lined lips quirking up into a smirk once she recognized Jacob.

Jacob look down to the blade in her other hand, but realized it wasn't just a blade; where he expected to see flesh holding onto it, instead was a metal prosthetic that's wrist had an axe head attached to it.

With the window no longer an option, Jacob glanced to Alexander, cocking his head towards the cabin's doorway around the corner; the brunette would need to retrieve Silva himself.

Alexander glanced between Jacob and his leader's approaching opponent, flabbergasted but accepting the task.

With Alexander leaving just the two of them, Jacob's cold blue eyes narrowed into the hungry amber of his newest enemy.

Another WIP draft for the first of three Arcane: League of Legends fics I'll be working on, after gaining a better idea on what to do with this after the much needed second season to close things off. Below is a rough draft of the prologue where Silco visits pre-Singed's lab for anything useful to his cause against Piltover, especially with the proliferation of Shimmer. He finds a... peculiar and uncanny creation of the Doctor's just collecting dust and begging to be used:

The clicks of the mechanisms inside the door set off in one loud groan as the sounds echoed in the wet cave, the unlocked door to the Doctor's lab widening open.

Silco gestured his subordinates, Ran and Licker, to guard the front as he followed his companion inside, walking with a lazy sway as his good eye took in the state of the Doctor's laboratory.

It was vastly different from the one they were setting up at the aquarium; at least there, everything was clearer and more organized. Here, the Doctor's base of operations was a mess and far cruder; pages of paper spread out chaotically on tables, pinned to boards and across lines, vats of organs and other insides unrelated to another stocked on top or next to each other, as well as the preservation chamber that held a giant salamander like creature in stasis.

Silco couldn't remember what the Doctor named it, and frankly couldn't care; all it's use came from the component within it that allowed them to manufacture their newest weapon, Shimmer.

"You may browse if you wish," the Doctor told him, walking off towards one unorganized section of his lab, "Retrieving the last of my research shouldn't take long."

Silco grunted out a hum in acknowledgement as he looked around the laboratory.

Holding his hands behind his back, he surveyed all the illicit materials the Doctor had collected over the years. Besides the Shimmer research, there wasn't much inside the lab that could prove useful in their fight against Piltover and their independence for Zaun.

Most of the materials didn't even seem ready, making the Doctor's permission even more useless in hindsight.

Until something in the corner caught his glance.

It looked slouched over, non-organic. More mechanical than anything. It's figure was almost human like.

Another of the Doctor's pet projects? Silco wondered, curiosity sinking its teeth on his skin. He wandered closer towards the deactivated machination, cautious but hungry to know what it was.

Though it was slouched over and he was standing above it, the sheer height of the machine reached up to his chest. He noted that, were it standing, it would be taller than him. Its entire body was clearly designed to be feminine.

The metal features was dark and sleek, even if the welded material was jagged and sharp at the edges. The face was smooth, with various small streaming lines cascading down its features and body, unfilled like the Lanes when Enforcers made their presence known. Though the darkness of the metal made it hard to determine certain features unless closely inspected, like the closed mouth.

The inside of the eyes was nothing more than a dark abyss, though he took note of the frames that were barely visible inside the hollowness. Perhaps a mimicking irises.

The limbs were lean yet welded with a thick and muscular robustness near the thighs and biceps, although the half a chunk of the arms seemed to be missing. Silco wondered for a moment how fitting rapid-fire weapons would look on this creation.

The hair, if he could call it that, was like an anchor reel, with the "braids" being four chain-like appendages with curved blades at the end of them.

He looked long and hard at it, his mind trying to make heads and tails of what and why.

Although when it came to the Doctor, there also came the indifference of leaving those questions unanswered and the mercy of not knowing. Though the reason behind the creation of such a thing wasn't worth the headache, Silco did find himself still standing there, observing the deactivated and motionless being.

There was something about it that was... off to Silco. Naturally he'd expect that by now when working with the Doctor, but there was a personal intrigue too. The thing was uncanny. It looked familiar and unfamiliar. Like it's supposed to be alive and moving, not inactive and still. A disturbing distortion of something real, with morbid beauty attached to it's contradictory state; like sleeping, and yet dead.

"Beautiful, isn't she?"

Silco broke his focus away from the slouching hunk of junk, glancing to the Doctor, who'd quietly crept beside him. Silco glanced from his secret observer's face to the research documents held in a folder tucked closed to his chest.

"You can take her, if you wish..." the Doctor permitted, licking his lips while ignoring how Silco raised a brow towards him, "I have a variant of Shimmer that acts as fuel for certain technologies. It still needs to be worked on, but it should work for her."

Silco turned back to the humanoid machination before him, thinking.

"I know how much you fancy your monsters," the Doctor commented, as he made his way towards the laboratory door, leaving Silco to reach a decision.

A monster, huh? Silco pondered over the comment, his eye tracing up and down the unnaturally smoothness and roughness of the machine, how frightening it could be for an enforcer to face such a machination. With a few minor modifications... it doesn't sound half bad.

And lastly a few picrews for A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore OC. That being the magnificent glory of Ress Bishop:

MARISSA "RESS" BISHOP

[simplegenius042]

WIP Wednesday & OC Interview(s)

Tagged by @nightbloodbix & @josephslittledeputy and @g0dspeeed

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @shallow-gravy @strangefable @strafethesesinners @corvosattano @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @minilev @ladyoriza @josephseedismyfather @trashcatsnark @chazz-anova @snake-in-the-garden @cassietrn @softtidesworld @wrathfulrook @onehornedbeast @voidika @henbased @vampireninjabunnies-blog @florbelles @direwombat @derelictheretic @deputyash @dephellseed @deputy-morgan-malone @skoll-sun-eater @fourlittleseedlings @afarcryfrommymain @titiagls @megraen @starsandskies @la-grosse-patate @cloudofbutterflies92 @thewanderer-000 and @i-am-the-balancing-point + anyone else who wants to join. Here's my taglist if you want to continue being tagged or not.

Got a WIP for The Thorned Crown of Iron Thrones and three OC interviews for The UnTitledverse, Far Cry The Silver Chronicles and A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore. You can find these under the cut.

WIP for my House of the Dragon fic, The Thorned Crown of Iron Thrones, a fic set in my Life, Despair & Monsters series, following the tragic dynasty of the Targaryens as shown in House of the Dragon... but taking all of that and making the situation 1,000 times worse. This fic stars the original cast PLUS my original characters; Corvus Targaryen, adopted son of Viserys I and Aemma, good with the blade, though socially awkward fellow who only sets out to be a knight or if he gets his way, a maester (or alchemist, either one), and trying to keep the peace between the Blacks and the Greens, with Caecilia "Cecil" Targaryen Royce, daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce (after an aggressive and drunk consummation filled with scratches and bruises from both sides), who like her mother, absolutely despises her father (though this is not reciprocated by him), is out to help her cousin Rhaenyra keep her claim to block Otto's plans and spite her father, and lastly a down-on-her-luck ex-assassin woman who currently calls herself "Okkotsu", who through means unknown, becomes the paternal figure Aegon II Targaryen never realised he wanted, better than Viserys ever will be. There's also Sir Enigma Malvolio (Director of the Ruins of the Midnight Rise), Yan-Kain (second-in-command of Aggravor's Chapter of the Occult), and the Court King (main antagonist and pissed off people have forgotten about him). Note that this WIP is still under heavy construction, and things may or may not change. Below is a snippet of Rhaenyra convincing Corvus to join in on a fun time at a tourney... on a day where everything goes wrong:

Corvus eyed his sister with a reluctant frown, dimmed violet eyes looking into a vibrant purple. His hand remained anchored to the darkwood table, the vials and tubes and bags full of liquids and substances ready to be used as ingredients to sate the curiosity of a student of alchemy.

He gave glance to Rhaenyra's companion, hoping Alicent could save him from the young dragon rider's expectant gaze. However, the Hand's daughter stared back with polite brown eyes and a slim smile that refuted his silent plea to be saved, leaving him to make a futile attempt at fending for himself against his younger sister of all people, which he knew would conclude into an inevitable failure.

"Surely... surely you could do without my presence at the tourney?" Corvus spoke up, voice soft and uncertain, "I'm no fan of such events. I wouldn't want to bring down the mood. Perhaps... it would be best I remain here, where mother is? The maesters could require an extra pair of hands should she go into labor."

Rhaenyra seemed to think his words over, but her face hardened, determined. She grabbed hold of his arm, grip firm but slack, eyes widening as the candle light reflected off them, unfairly sparkling the purple rings. Lips formed into a soft smile, as she pleaded at him with her gaze.

"Please."

The older dark-haired boy's resolve wavered as his pale skin involuntarily flushing at the contact. He tried to avoid Rhaenyra's wide smile, her eyes and swore upon the Old and New Gods that he tried to ignore the gentleness plea of her voice. But his younger sister knew all the ways to get him to comply to her demands, and just as a dutiful if awkward older brother would, he'd follow her anywhere, just as Father and Mother tasked him with.

And once Baelon is born, I may even be able to convince them to allow me to become his personal guard, should I continue to knighthood that is.

Looking to Alicent once more, searching for her opinion, Rhaenyra's companion merely gave a small shrug and encouraging smile. Exhaling out a light sigh, he looked down to his white-haired sister and gave his response.

"Okay."

The word was simple, but it granted him an opportunity to see a triumphant grin from his little sister, her excitement genuine. Even when the years had been hard to swallow, especially with Mother's condition, he was glad his sister still hadn't lost her fiery spirit.

"C'mon now! We must bid goodbye to mother and join father at Keep's gates. We shouldn't keep him waiting," Rhaenyra exclaimed, pulling Corvus along behind her back towards the spiral staircase, as Alicent joined them with the shake of her head.

Both Rhaenyra's brother and companion briefly glanced at one another, incredulous gazes connecting as they are both, yet again, pulled along by Rhaenyra.

Corvus was nervous at the prospect of the vast eyes of Lords that would be watching their every move at the tourney. It made his stomach coil at the though of that much attention, with his sister's popularity and his own unpopularity.

Alicent must have noticed this, and stated aloud, "I think it will be quite a good day out. The skies are clear, and the sun warm. The tourney should be able to go on uninterrupted."

Rhaenyra piped up, adding, "I'd even say it will be fun. So no need for such gloom, dear brother."

Corvus simply nodded in reply, shoving away his nerves at they reached the top of the spiral. A visit to mother wouldn't be so bad, he thought.

And three OC interviews below:

Far Cry The Silver Chronicles (featuring in Silva's Hope and Ain't It A Joy?)

Name: Alexander Khaos

Nickname: Alexander doesn't like to use nicknames.

Gender: Male

Star Sign: Cancer

Moral Alignment/Personality: Lawful Neutral.

Height: Either 5'10 or 5'11

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Nationality/Ethnicity: British (with Asian descent)

Fave Fruit: Dragon fruit

Fave Season: Winter

Fave Flower: Peony

Fave Scent: Fresh morning air, burning wood.

Coffee, tea or HC: Black Coffee.

Average Hours of Sleep: 8 hours

Dog or Cat Person: Dog.

Dream Trip: Finland.

Favorite Fictional Character/Real Person: He'd say Jacob Seed, but it's actually Stan Lee.

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: None.

RANDOM FACT: Alexander picked up a Southern accent... it's still unknown why he chose to do this exactly.

The UnTitledverse Name: Joaquin Cobalt

Nickname: Jackie.

Gender: Trans-Male

Star Sign: Leo

Moral Alignment/Personality: Neutral Good.

Height: Either 5'4 or 5'5.

Sexual Orientation: Ace.

Nationality/Ethnicity: Australian.

Fave Fruit: Oranges

Fave Season: Autumn

Fave Flower: Lily of the Valley

Fave Scent: Library books or Old Musuems

Coffee, tea or HC: Went from coffee to tea.

Average Hours of Sleep: 8 to 9 hours.

Dog or Cat Person: If he had to choose, a cat person, but he leans towards reptiles like turtles.

Dream Trip: America (and then he changes it to Germany).

Favorite Fictional Character/Real Person: Stephen King.

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: Three.

RANDOM FACT: Joaquin's name is pronounced "jack-a-win" because that's how a young Lisa insisted it was pronounced when she first saw the name. And well... it just stuck.

A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore

Name: Arcane Urias

Nickname: None.

Gender: Male

Star Sign: N/A

Moral Alignment/Personality: Either Neutral Evil or Chaotic Evil.

Height: 7'6

Sexual Orientation: N/A (due to being a Displacement (name for entities manifested from unnamed Dimensions), he has no known concept of sexuality. He does (and continues to try to) conceive offspring with anyone capable of getting pregnant only to use as powerful pawns for his evil deeds).

Nationality/Ethnicity: N/A (though he can take the human shape of anyone not just his main form)

Fave Fruit: Hates fruit.

Fave Season: Summer.

Fave Flower: A dead one.

Fave Scent: Ash.

Coffee, tea or HC: None.

Average Hours of Sleep: He will rest/meditate for an hour or two, only to conserve energy.

Dog or Cat Person: Bobbit Worm.

Dream Trip: He wouldn't mind Antarctica.

Favorite Fictional Character/Real Person: N/A

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: N/A

RANDOM FACT: There’s only been three individuals Urias has cared for in his entire existence; his brother Mathias “Mason” Talos, his student (a Lich named) Aggravor and lastly his hyper-fixation, Discord (aka the Mad God/Kin of Carnage). Urias has no love for his children (Ortega “Ore” Brantley and Marissa “Ress” Bishop) due to them having the “human element”.

[the-silver-chronicles]

WIP Wednesday and Last Line

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @g0dspeeed @nightbloodbix @cassietrn (for WIP Wednesday) and @deputyash (for last line)

Tagging @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @strangefable @strafethesesinners @carlosoliveiraa @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @chazz-anova @bitchofedensgate @trashcatsnark @minilev @onehornedbeast @voidika @afarcryfrommymain @corvosattano @derelictheretic @deputy-morgan-malone @dephellseed @skoll-sun-eater @florbelles @fourlittleseedlings @henbased @titiagls @vampireninjabunnies-blog @wrathfulrook @inafieldofdaisies @la-grosse-patate @ladyoriza @shallow-gravy @snake-in-the-garden @softtidesworld @starsandskies @thewanderer-000 and @megraen

FC5 WIPs for No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden, a new fic Let The Skyfall (When It Crumbles) and last line for You’re Almost Like Family. Also the first official introduction for Silva's (disowned) adopted father, Paul Yellowjack!

TW: First WIP involves mentions of bullying and abuse. Second WIP involves... IDK body mutilation? Self-body multilation? Screw it, a wasp comes out of a character's hand, then it takes off its hard shells, and proceeds to enter a different character's mouth in semi-disturbing detail. Probably inaccurate anatomy on both humans and supernatural yellowjackets too. Last line involves a main character getting shot dead (not for long though) so there's that too. There! Enjoy.

Here's the moment in No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden that the Voice realizes its Muse is in the wrong occupation and Joseph unfortunately suffers from its temper tantrum. I hope I was able to do Joseph and the Voice justice here. Snippet below:

The distrustful gazes of the deputies nearby did not go unnoticed by Joseph, their eyes held onto barely hidden wrath towards him and his brother. It felt like an additional weight of the burden he carried, even after John successfully bailed three of his formerly detained flock.

The Sheriff and his department saw him as crazy. They looked at him like a madman. Their fear of the unknown, it prevented them from seeing the signs of the Collapse.

The sins that blinded them from this truth were the same sins that the government pushed them to indulge in, indoctrinating the consumerist lifestyle upon them, turning them away from God's warm embrace.

Joseph mumbled a silent prayer, a blessing for these misguided souls, holding onto faith that his Lord will guide the deputies, the supposed protectors of the county, to his flock, where he and his siblings would guide them on the right path.

Perhaps Jacob could train them to be true protectors...

But only time will tell if the deputies would accept his truth, if the Sheriff would. For the meantime, Joseph would focus on his children, those who have accepted him as their Father.

Turning his attention back to the conversing John and Sheriff Whitehorse, he felt warmth on the back of his head, and recognized a soft humming above him.

He was more alert, closely listened as the words exchanged between John and the Sheriff became mute, the persistent hum above him canceling out the hum of the building's air conditioner. The warmth of His glow consumed the cool air, and Joseph felt expectant eyes upon him, from beyond his own perception.

The Voice. His Lord, his God. Have you a message for me, Lord?

No, the Voice spoke, its tone even and still, lacking emotion yet always familiar, always reassuring to Joseph, I have need of your eyes, Joseph. The Hell that will follow the Whitehorse is here... nearby.

Joseph's blue eye widened in shock. The pace of his beating heart quickened. The very reminder of this... figure, quickened the steady pace of his heart. This figure whom the Voice had said embodied "Hell" itself, was one that haunted him. This lost soul was one he never truly got a glimpse of in his visions, both the good and the terrifying. Always obscured by the environment, whether it be the sun that shined between him and them, in the Garden that will become their New Eden, or the shadows and flames that consumed him and the corpses of his family, their back turned to the destruction they made, the paradise he tried to preserve.

The Voice had told him that it was up to him, His prophet, to bring this Great Sinner to the correct path, for they were his family's salvation, or face the destruction they will wrought. He had asked once, at the pews of his chapel, "How will I know to help them if I don't even know who this Sinner is? What do they look like?"

The Voice hadn't answered him right away, but when it did, he was unable to stop the dreadful weight sink on his soul, "You will know on the day the locusts come for you. You will know when Hell stands in front of you in this house of Mine. You will know on the morning the First Seal breaks and the Reaping finally begins."

He wondered, briefly, if it was time. If the day of reckoning that he had been tasked with preparing for had finally come upon him, at a moment where he wasn't with the rest of his flock, and in the heart of the locusts' nest.

Though Joseph put the thought to rest with the knowledge the Voice had passed to him. The day the First Seal broke would be in the morning, on compound grounds where his Flock and Family resided, and the locusts' attitude was more that of frustration than being on the offensive.

As if sensing his confusion, Joseph heard his Lord's voice once more, Calm yourself, my child. It is not time yet. This is merely an observation. An introduction if you will. You had asked me, "Who is the Sinner whom heralds Hell?" I had not thought you ready, but now, I deem it so. You will see the shape this harbinger of destruction takes form in.

Joseph's eyes shifted from the locusts, the green deputy uniforms coiling the uneasy nausea that settles on his dread. And what form is that, Lord?

The anticipation of finally seeing the one constant figure in his visions, his flock's savior or destroyer, all depending on the choice he makes, how far he can go to reach their soul and bring them into the light.

He felt God's presence above him, a constant reassurance to the Father, waiting with him as they scoured the moving bodies for the one person that will change the fate of his family at a moments notice.

That of a deputy, my prophet, the Voice revealed, Focus your eyes down the left hall.

Joseph did as instructed, his gaze locked on the corridor, catching the sight of two large double sided doors.

Can you feel their presence yet? Overwhelming, isn't it? He chuckled as Joseph's breathe hitched at a presence he swore he could just touch with his fingertips, despite no movement from his own hand and the lack of physical presence, Not something the majority of humanity is skilled enough to do. Unless you have the privilege of being my chosen prophet, of course.

Is... is this how you touch us? How you see us? Joseph questioned, gaze locked on the doors as the presence that was not there yet continued its pace towards the doors.

The Voice only chuckled, like a parent amused by a child's question. God did not answer him, again, and Joseph realized he had already answered his own question, again. Through this new sense the Lord had blessed him with, Joseph tried to close the gap between him and the approaching presence of the deputy that will doom his garden, or be another addition to it. With just his hand at his leg, he closed his palm.

But it did not last long, and swiftly opened his hand, hissing as if he had been bitten, only silently as to not alert his younger brother nor draw attention to himself. The sense the Lord gave him ceased, and Joseph could not feel the presence that had stung him, no, burned him upon touch.

He could, however, hear the echo of bellowing laughter of his Lord, his God. It was familiar, in a way, reminding him of how Old Man Seed had once bellowed at his expense, rather than roar with wrath, once word of Joseph getting battered and beaten by a group of older teens who he had come across while walking home from school. Jacob hadn't been there at the time, forced to stay at the house to do chores for their father after another suspension.

Joseph shook his head. He would not compare God to that wretched monster of a man, over a bellow of laughter no less. He should feel honored to have heard such a rare moment of laughter from God himself.

Careful now, Joseph, the Voice silenced further thought, Touching affinity that high will damage you. Thankfully your soul knew exactly what to do.

Joseph could still feel the sting on his palm, even though he was uncertain on how exactly that happened, I don't understand...?

It's not important. Humans weren't meant to have such senses. We have more pressing matters. Keep your eyes on those doors Joseph. I want to see.

Joseph kept watch on the doors, and though he could not feel their presence like before, but he could feel the Lord's grow warmer and warmer as the moment continued on.

Finally, it was at last that he saw the handle jiggle, and the door begin to creak open.

Finally, the Voice spoke once more, the humming drowning all other noises as its warm protected Joseph from the cold embrace of the building, everything except for the corridor and the opening doors darkening as God and his prophet watched a figure emerge from the end of the hall.

She reveals herself-

The Voice didn't finish, hushing itself as Joseph stared at the woman from down the hall.

Files tucked under her arm, the woman who emerged from the doors made her down the hall, her path leading towards Joseph.

The Father remained still as he observed the approaching woman, who seemed none the wiser of Joseph's presence, nor that interested in John's debate with the Sheriff. Hair dark hair flowed smoothly behind her, not tied up, not braided, simply free. Slim, rimless blue rectangular cat eye glasses rested on her slender nose.

As her figure became more discernible the closer she came, Joseph noticed the slivers of silver running down her hair, likely dyed. He was almost shocked to see the small faded scars that littered across her face. The scarring was notably darker than that of her tawny brown skin.

Now merely a meter or two apart, almost face-to-face, he noticed more details. Thick eyebrows, high cheek bones, the indifferent frown she wore on her pouty lips, and more concerning to the Father, the dark bags under her eyes.

Her eyes.

As she crossed paths with him, Joseph caught a glimpse of her grey eyes, dull but determined, focused on some deputy or another further behind him, her attention neither on him nor his brother. They appeared to be irrelevant to her apparent mission of delivering the files.

His brows scrunched as he squinted from behind his yellow-tinted aviators, mouthing the words plastered on the file. Office of the Sheriff-Coroner?

Then his eyes widened, as he took in the clothes she wore.

Instead of the telltale green jackets and the deputy's badge, she wore a white coat over a dark blue button-up and a black turtleneck shirt, with an ID badge that he couldn't get a steady look on as it shifted and turned as she walked.

She also had dark grey jeans, black combat boots and gloves. Joseph had to wonder why so much of her skin was covered, aside from her face. What was she hiding from everyone else?

She passed him, no indication nor acknowledgement of his presence. He watched her move from desk to desk until she found the right deputies, Hudson and Pratt he recalled, catching their full attention as she spoke, for what he could only assume was about the contents in the files.

He observed in silence, the humming above him growing louder, the Lord's presence no longer warm and welcoming as it always has been, but uncomfortably hot and erratic.

Lord?

This... this can't be right- No, it's impossible! She can't have- Why? How?!

Joseph froze, confused and lost on the tone of the Voice. He'd never heard such strength of emotion from Him. When God chose to speak with him, it was with a monotone neutrality, well-spoken and well-versed with an air of seriousness. Rarely He showed amusement. Even rarer to show disappointment.

But he'd never heard God's voice hold frustration before. It even bordered on rage.

He felt a sharp pain pound in his head, the heat becoming unbearable, his shirt itching against his skin.

Lord, I don't understand... is this not part of your Plan?

He looked to the woman who was supposed to represent Hell, the woman who conversed with the two deputies out of ear-shot. The Voice spoke once more, almost hissing, Does she look like a deputy, Joseph?

Joseph swallowed emptily, swiping at his damp forehead, the heat almost unbearable. He took another glance at her once more, the woman unaware of what she had done, however baffling it is for Joseph to believe that this supposed Sinner had managed to spit in God's plan.

Joseph tensed when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he swiftly turn to face John.

"We're all done here brother. No trouble will be coming from the Sheriff's Department for a while," John informed him, grin wide as he looked into Joseph's eyes, searching for any pride.

Joseph could only nod, the heat dying down as the sensation of the cold air rested against his skin once more, the aches pounding in his head still present though.

John furrowed his brow in worry, his concern overpowering his need for his older brother's approval, "Joseph, are you alright?"

Reconvene your heralds back at the Compound, Joseph, the Voice spoke, His warmth and light retracting away from Joseph's head, There is much to discuss about this new course of events.

As you wish, Lord, Joseph almost mumbled, but the light and warmth God shined on him left, already knowing Joseph's answer.

Turning to John, he was weary of the audience around them, though giving one last glance to Hell's enigmatic vessel, he saw her eyes were not amongst the deputies and Sheriff who watched their every move.

Gesturing to the door where their released flock members were waiting outside, John understood immediately and walked alongside Joseph towards the department's entrance.

"We must gather brother and sister," Joseph whispered to his faithful brother, "The Voice has spoken once more. New developments have occurred. Some I fear have threatened all that we have worked for."

He had faith in the Lord's ability, but the shock that even the Voice could not have predicted the Great Sinner's change in occupation had deeply shook him, making him ponder what else this sinner was capable of.

"What do you mean brother?" John asked, his confusion evident. Once out of the building, Joseph decided that he will not answer his younger brother just yet. Better to have the whole family together.

"I will explain when we gather Jacob and Faith at the Compound, but for now, we should return our missing flock back to the rest of the family," Joseph gestured to the three men who piqued up at the sight of both the Father and the Baptist, in awe of the brothers as they were lead into the car.

Here's a WIP for a new FC5 fic, Let The Skyfall (When It Crumbles), a scenario where I pondered the question of what would have happened if Paul Yellowjack, in all his wasp-y glory, had been at the events of the Reaping (or FC5 in general) where Silva was busting her ass to fight the Seeds... the answer? He would win. He... would have won. I mean... there's really not much you can do with someone who, in their current supernatural incarnation, can pull off a Kenjaku move (Jujutsu Kaisen reference... and spoilers for the manga and season 2) amongst other things and is an experienced, cunning strategist to boot. Case-in-point... Paul's first victim; the Father himself, Joseph Seed. The post giving a summary of this scenario idea + a summary of who Paul is and his relationship with Silva can be found here and the WIP snippet I have is below:

When lamplight disappeared from the window, Paul rasped a whisper to himself, "Go time."

He looked down to his glove-less hand, opening his palm far and wide. The vespe that watched from his shoulders flapped their wings, snapping at the air, chattering encouragement as the runt of the alveare crawled its way into the body's right palm.

Paul could only describe the sensation of a vespa maneuvering under the skin, especially in a fresh body, as a numb tickle at best and the numbed pain of popping a pimple at worst. The bump the runt made under his skin finally made it to the palm, and without further instruction, broke through the flesh.

The runt, unlike its kin that were irregularly bigger for the kind of wasp they were, was as small as the average vespa should be, and perfect for the task he needed it for.

It used its forelegs to clean itself off, while devouring as much of the nutritious meat and blood as it could before it begun its journey to the cabin. Two of its bigger kin flew down to the gaping hole in the hand, mandibles snapping before widening, a yellowish pale substance slowly spewing out, their forelegs pulling a stream of it out, and then working together to cover the breach in the sticky spew, swiftly hardening as they worked.

He brought the hand up to his clean-shaven face, the runt looking back up at him with beady red eyes. It knew what it needed to do. He knew what he needed to do. So without further prompting, the runt flapped its wings and made its way towards the sleeping cabin, the lights at the Profeta's compound glowing brightly in the distance.

Though if things went to plan, Paul smiled to himself as he hummed out an old tune he heard, walking back towards the cover of the trees, They won't be much of an eye sore for much longer.

Though he rarely allowed his hive to separate, he was confident that the runt would ensure that Profeta's body was under his thumb. Seeing through its vision now, he was already impressed how far it made it without being eaten by a bat.

The runt flew towards the small wooden cabin, landing at the window sill. Looking inside, the darkness held no disadvantage over his vision, and he could see clearly that the Profeta was laying down on his bed, sleep having finally caught up to him.

The runt clamped its mandibles together, its body convulsing and buzzing erratically. He had quite enjoyed keeping the Profeta awake over the course of the month.

Crawling through the cracked and broken glass he made during a another nighttime visit, the runt had successfully entered the cabin.

It looked to its target, growling out softly at the sight of the shirtless man.

The Profeta was a man in his early forties, reaching his mid, facial hair grown into a small beard, the hair on his head usually tied in a bun, but locks left to flow naturally as he laid asleep on his back.

The man was shirtless, a proof of arrogance and ignorance towards the vulnerability that can be exploited. Not to mention his doors and windows were all unlocked as Paul had discovered.

The visible tattoos that strewn across the younger man's chest held little meaning to the runt nor Paul, though the self-inflicted scars littered across, some with the labels of the seven deadly sins, did gain attention. How mocking it was to Paul, seeing the Profeta display such scars in public, when he had done nothing to earn them.

They weren't reminders of what he survived. They weren't lessons that shaped his core being, nor were they stories that told a tale of hurt and despair, of someone in pain, and yet through persistence alone, they continue on, to breathe, to live. No, the scars of this profeta held no merit, no truth, no reason to exist beyond glamorization.

A point of glorification to impress the gullible sheep he had entrapped with his charm, to show that suffering is a choice, giving them no chance to naturally experience what it means to fight and crawl and survive. Telling a lie to keep them subservient, slaves who never question the question of what is right and what is wrong, only what the Profeta wants. Individuality and potential talent squandered and crushed over trusting the wrong words.

The truth, the universal truth Paul knew, was that suffering was apart of life. Pain is unavoidable, and the only choice one can have in it is either enduring it or die trying.

To endure pain is to prove you're alive. To endure suffering is to prove your strength. To endure and overcome both, though, is to show your worthiness as a survivor.

The Profeta has only proven how low he will bend to the whims of his cruel master. While Paul's own existence was less than satisfactory, yet he at least had enough freedom to choose how to serve his own Master.

The runt looked to the black pants the man wore, a potential landing spot. But Paul opted against the idea, directing its gaze to the Profeta's jugular. The runt's faint red eyes locked on to its target, wings spread out for flight.

This chance was now or never. There wouldn't be another opportunity, not with the sceriffo's department so restless. The fate of Paul's precious Boa hanged in the balance.

Without further hesitation, the runt leaped in the air, its wings propelling it faster as it brought out its stinger. In mere seconds, the stinger stabbed through the neck, injecting the venom into his bloodstream.

The runt swiftly dropped off his neck, avoiding hand that slapped against the stung area on instinct, the pain rousing the Profeta from his slumber.

The runt's wings saved it from hitting the floor, allowing it to hover up to see the Profeta try to lift himself up, the drowsiness of interrupted sleep becoming heavier than usual.

His hand rubbed his neck, sucking a breath in at the sting, though his arm numbly slouched over the bed. He attempted to lift it, only to find he couldn't. The Profeta tried to sit up, but found himself barely being able to lift his head.

The runt watched the Profeta's face twitch, then it listened as he groaned, moaned and grunted nonsensically, no words forming. His voice failing him.

Through the runt's eyes, Paul couldn't help but smile at the sight of the broken down instrument of a God. One of many tools used to keep the cogs of the wheel going.

Paul urged the runt to go for a closer look.

The runt complied, buzzing and chattering excitedly as it landed on the man's nose, right in his view.

It stared into the Profeta's blue eyes, allowing Paul to see the still gaze of a man helpless and trapped, but more deserving of it.

Paul wondered what this man saw when he slept. What he hears?

The laughter of those long gong, whom he'll never see again except in the depths of buried memories, to bring himself a moment of joy to the grim purpose he existed for now? Did he fantasize of a life he'll never get, one where everything went right?

The runt turned to glance at the arm that had the woman's face etched on his skin.

Does he wish as I do? That he could have made a different choice than the one he did?

The runt faced the Profeta's gaze once more, taking notice of the tears that matched his watery eyes, the body reflexively trying to wet the dry eyes, the venom keeping him from doing something as simple as blink.

Or does he believe he has done no wrong?

The runt turned its back to the Profeta's frozen eyes, looking over the tip of his nose to the half-open entrance that awaited it.

Has the lies he's been told and never doubted become truth, despite how ludicrous they are?

The runt gently hopped down to the man's upper lip, gentleness no longer a necessity as the vespa's legs dug into the soft flesh.

Does he sleep soundlessly despite the terror he's wrought? The lives he's ruined?

The runt's middle legs steadied on the man's upper teeth, its hind legs pushing the upper lip back, while its forelegs pushed the forward the Profeta's bottom teeth, the venom's sluggish effects combined with the vespa's unnatural strength widening his mouth open. With the entrance now large enough to fit it inside, the runt flew over to the chin, its head looking down the interior of the mouth.

Does he hear their damning screams?

Slowly, the runt turned its middle legs to latch onto the slim outline of the shell Paul had attached to it, hooking underneath casing before loosening the thorax and abdomen shells, letting both fall to the sides.

The writhing small tendrils pulsed out, dripping small yellow-ish pale spew, like what most of the alveare produced. The liquid substance hardened as it dripped further down. The Profeta's breath quickened, panicked and confused, unaware of the plans Paul had in store for him. The runt shuddered as the heated air washed over it, before beginning its descent.

Though I'm not overly upset of never knowing the answer.

The runt crawled through the heated wetness of the Profeta's mouth, passing the tongue until it reached his throat. Beady red eyes looked down the path that descended into the esophagus. Unless it wanted to trigger the Profeta's gag reflex, it would avoid the path. Growling, it looked up, and found the breach point.

Crawling to the roof of the mouth, it ascended upwards, the writhing tendrils on its back lubricating in preparation, as its mandible jaws opened wide for the breach.

And last line paragraph(s) for You're Almost Like Family, the time loop fic where the Seeds realize just how easy it is for Silva to just wound up dead, and much they miss the luck she had in the first three months she fought against them. Anyway, paragraphs below:

A shift in movement from one of the Chosen stepping out of his peripheral momentarily caught John's attention, and he almost glanced to see where the Chosen was moving to, but noticed that Alexander raised a brow at the movement from the other end of the circle they surrounded the Deputy in, giving Jacob a signal with his head.

John heard his big brother huff out an annoyed sigh, glancing a quick glare over to the Chosen's new spot. Seeing nothing to worry about, John returned his attention to Joseph's pleas to the wayward sinner who had caused everyone trouble.

"Child, this wrath... this violence that you have escalated for the sinners who only use you as a weapon is no longer necessary," Joseph spoke with a soft, even voice filled with paternal gentleness, "This unnecessary rebellion needs to end. The Collapse closes in on us ever closer, just as I showed you in the Henbane, and the only salvation... are the Gates my family has prepared for. I see you, the person you are. And that is not as the tool of destruction your so called friends view you as. We see your compassion. Your bravery. The virtues you only think you don't have. And we welcome it, in our Garden. You seek someplace to belong... God has shown me you belong with us."

John watched as Joseph outstretched his hand to the Deputy, the Baptist sucking in a breath as she, of all people, eyed it, even as Joseph continued, "Please, child. Put aside the wrath. Put to peace the suffering. This doesn't have to end in blood. We can help each other. With your help, we can save more souls, more lives... and together we can bask in the new world God promised us."

John watched in bated breath as the Deputy glanced down, putting together her options.

When the Deputy finally found an answer, John saw Alexander's eyes widen at something ahead of him, and was shocked to see the Chosen Leader reach for his sidearm.

"Tch, you li-"

A loud crack shot through the air as it did the Deputy, her lips glistened with blood instead of the rest of her words. John watched, frozen on the spot, as the Deputy's body slowly fell back, following after the cartilage and blood that the bullet blast clean through. The bullet of which glinted at his eyes.

And the bullet continued to glint at him, just as the Deputy's corpse stopped in its descent, not even touching the ground. From what John could see, Joseph midway from stepping back, and hadn't planted his foot down, just as Alexander hadn't even been able to fully aim his sidearm at the culprit.

He tried to glance to Jacob and Faith, but found his eyes refused, locked on Joseph and the fresh corpse of his family's most determined rebel, who defied gravity just as she defied them.

What is going on?! Though he couldn't move, John was relieved he could still think to himself.

[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.

[simplegenius042]

WIP Wednesday and Last Line Paragraph + Music Monday

Tagged by @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @inafieldofdaisies @josephseedismyfather and @socially-awkward-skeleton

Tagging @shallow-gravy @strangefable @strafethesesinners @deputy-morgan-malone @derelictheretic @wrathfulrook @voidika @onehornedbeast @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @neverthesameneveranother @vampireninjabunnies-blog @cassietrn @chazz-anova @a-rose-in-a-garden-of-weeds @snake-in-the-garden @jillvalentinesday @minilev @g0dspeeed @ec-10 @henbased @inafieldofdaisies @ladyoriza and @nightbloodbix

[Update: If anyone saw an @ for ladyofeden’s-blog on this it’s because this WIP was made before the thieves had been exposed. I only just realised her former blog was on it and now has been taken off]

Here's two WIPs (well one WIP + a last line) for Silva's Hope and The True Sinners from Far Cry The Silver Chronicles PLUS some music.

Here's Silva's introduction to Jacob's right-hand man, Alexander Khaos in Silva's Hope. Also Jess is here. Reminder that this is still under a lot of work, so this scene may or may not change in the near future. Enjoy the snippet below:

Silva stood up, giving the Whitetail corpse one last glance up and down, turning to face Jess.

Bow and arrow still in hand, but her focus shifted from the foliage to the deputy, the young and vengeful huntress regarded her with little more than pursed lips and a raised brow as she jerked her head over to the unfortunate Whitetail.

"Is he the one Eli is searching for?" she questioned, looking the mutilated corpse up and down, not batting an eye at the dried blood that soaked the Whitetail.

Silva herself kept a steady face, though the desire to show her disgust towards the barbaric display was no less prevalent. It reminded her of the methods of executions back on the Archipelagos; needlessly cruel to send a message.

"Yeah, he fits the description Eli gave," she looked over to the corpse once more, frown unseen by Jess, "At least from what I can discern."

"You see what we mean now? Jacob's a sick fuck, much like the rest of his asshole siblings," Jess spat out, sneering at the display, "They preach about how they want to "save" people and "free" us from our so called sins. Then they go an pull shit like this, or worse, let psychopaths like the Cook burn families alive. Fucking liars."

Something they have in common with the Congregation, Silva noted, remembering all the propaganda that spewed out the need of servitude and duty of men and women, all strewn around the Overcity and the Minas, all brushing aside the rampant beatings, false persecution and execution of Tumultites and sympathizers alike.

It seemed the more time she spent here, the more unpleasant Joseph and his cult became. She wondered how long it would take until she discovered something truly unacceptable. Would it make a difference if she called Joseph out on it? Probably not, she reasoned, Prophets are only focused on the glory they get from preaching "God's Will". Anything else is just a means to get to that end.

She exhaled roughly, dashing away further thought as her left arm ached. Though her rescue from John's envoy thanks to Jerome was only a couple days ago, the aches from the crash did not cease, her left arm feeling the worst. Her right arm was more lucky, thankfully.

Kamski's scolding was still fresh on her mind. If it was up to him, he would have locked them both in his clinic while the war raged on. Sedate her if he had to. But both knew that as long as one of her limbs was not too damaged, she would still go on to fight.

What a miracle her right arm was just as good with a gun as her left.

"We should head back. Eli and Wheaty would want the news-"

An arrow cut past Jess' hood and struck Silva in the leg. The Deputy could only stare at the arrow protruding from her leg, and looked to the trees.

She noticed movement from the branches and pointed them out to Jess as she tried to call out. But her voice slurred, no coherent word coming out right, and the familiar sparkles that belonged to Bliss engulfed her vision.

Jess had turned her back to face the trees, bow and arrow at the ready, though Silva stumbled and fell onto her back as the world diluted into a realm of colors and butterflies.

She could barely hear what Jess was shouting, though a massive thud that sounded like an earthquake shook the Earth gave her most coherent thoughts an indication that her companion was out of commission.

Still fighting for consciousness, Silva heard the echoes of crunched leaves and commands.

Above her, a new figure looked down on her, a man with brown hair and dark hazel eyes with flecks of gray. His attire was that of which the Chosen wore, though he lacked the red hood, and his vest shirt was black, with his sleeveless overcoat a dark gray. He smirked, shaking his head as he spoke.

"Salutations to you Deputy, you were quite a struggle to find," he greeted, his imitation of a southern accent quite noticeable even when Blissed, "Thankfully Eli just couldn't let go of a chance to rescue one of his own. Don't worry, that fella was dead before we hacked up his corpse. Unpleasant work but it needed to attract your attention."

He knelt down get a closer look at her, his fingers tracing stroking the healed scratches on her cheek. She shuddered involuntarily from the contact, which felt numb and yet made her stomach recoil from the cold in his hands. He stopped his inspection upon noticing this, eyes softening before becoming stoic once more, thankfully retracting his hand.

"I'm surprised you're still conscious. By now most would have succumbed to the Bliss, which I'm sure you will shortly. Some tolerance you have there," he kept his eyes on her, chewing on his lower lip as he pondered, curiosity clearly piqued, "I'm sure Jacob will be pleased to know."

Silva tried to reply, tell this Chosen to go "fuck off" or some variation, but her tongue felt like weight on her mouth, and her eyes started to shut as the sky got brighter.

The Chosen watched this, his smirk returning as he stood up, then groaned as softly smacked his head, "Forgotten my manners yet again! Now, you better remember this, Deputy, because you're going to see me a lot more than you think. Name's Alexander Khaos."

"And Jacob's been dying for a talk with ya," Alexander's distorted voice revealed as Silva's thoughts were shrouded in the desire to close her eyes. And she found no reason to protest any longer as darkness started to consume her vision.

Here's a Last Paragraph for The True Sinners. View the start of a terrible beautiful friendship between Kamski and Tammy. Paragraph(s) below.

[Kamski] leaned over the small kiddie pool, the water slightly tinted pink from whatever blood managed to get into the water. Untied rope still tethered to the pool's edge, likely to be used to tie prisoner's feet into the water. A wooden chair stood strong in the middle, though Kamski would have preferred it to be something stronger... like metal. Though wood was a step up from plastic. The unused ECT device on the table caught his attention, the face cloth that laid next to it. Tammy stared at him from the doorway, arms crossed as she inspected his movements.

Weary, ruthless and not afraid to get dirty? Where was she on the archipelagos? Kamski thought to himself, thoroughly impressed with her station. Turning to her, he questioned with amusement, "A kiddie pool?"

Tammy blinked at him, unbothered by the question, just shrugged with undeterred confidence. Kamski snorted, and looked back to the what was essentially a large plastic tub. "Quite a humiliating way to go... more than I could ever do back in my homeland anyway," he commented in praise, envisioning an Enforcer tied the very chair Kamski stared at, face covered with a wet cloth as he screamed from the shocks coursing throughout his body. Begging right up until he was completely fried. Oh, what Kamski would have traded to see Lapis in such a state.

And lastly a song for Far Cry The Silver Chronicles. A rather sensual one between John Seed and Nadi Sinclair.

"Use the sleeves on my sweater Let's have an adventure Head in the clouds but my gravity's centered Touch my neck and I'll touch yours You in those little high-waisted shorts, oh

She knows what I think about And what I think about One love, two mouths One love, one house No shirt, no blouse Just us, you find out Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no Cause it's too cold, for you here and now So let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater

And if I may just take your breath away I don't mind if there's not much to say Sometimes the silence guides our minds To move to a place so far away The goosebumps start to raise The minute that my left hand meets your waist And then I watch your face Put my finger on your tongue 'cause you love the taste, yeah These hearts adore Everyone the other beats hardest for Inside this place is warm Outside it starts to pour

Coming down One love, two mouths One love, one house No shirt, no blouse Just us, you find out Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no, no, no Cause it's too cold, for you here and now So let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater.

Cause it's too cold, for you here and now So let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater.

Whoa."

[the-silver-chronicles]

Fantasy Aesthetics for my OC/s

Tagged by @raresvtm

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

Chose Silva Omar, Nadi Sinclair & Alexander Khaos for this tag game. Find out what aesthetics apply to them below:

Rules: Bold what applies

SILVA OMAR (FAR CRY 5, FAR CRY NEW DAWN)

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘.         chipped   nail   polish.   glitter  highlight.   tall   trees   with   smooth   bark.   tangled   hair.  the   taste   of   cinnamon   sugar.   talking   too   loud   and   too   fast.   overgrown   flowers   in   your   hair.  crumbling   buildings   reclaimed   by   nature.    flirting.   walking   home   at   3am   with   no   coat.     platonic   hand-holding.   blowing   smoke   out   of   your   nose.   dragonfly   wings.   chaotic   good.   freckles.   fairy   rings.  secret   meetings.  gender   nonconformity.   leather.   smudged   eyeliner.   forbidden fruit.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑.    computer   errors.   a   shiver   down   your   spine. haunting   beauty.   hard   liquor.   crowns   of   thorns.   shadowed   alleyways.  decaying   plant   matter.  shattered   mirrors   and   broken   glass.  corrupted   memories.   stopped   clocks.   the   scent   of   stale   cigarettes.   tattered   black   hoodies.  walking   your   friends   home.   the   crescent   moon.  the   sea.   a   graveyard   on   a   foggy   day.   cold   rings   on   cold   fingers.  absolution.   looking   out   the   window   of   an   airplane.   soft   kisses.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇.      graffiti.   pretending   to   know   what   you’re   doing.   worn   paperback   books.    growing   up   too   fast.   parsley,   sage,   rosemary,   and   thyme.  lace   and   combat   boots.  moth   wings.   candles   on   every   surface.   a  weathered  deck   of   cards. turning   the   music   up.   fireflies   in   jars.   calloused   fingers.  drawing   on   your   skin.   sunlight   filtering   through   clouds.    petrichor.   a   dying   rose   in   a   jar.   wearing   a   crystal   pendant. illusions   and   spells.   black   cats.   mint   gum.   chapped   lips. dirt   under   your   fingernails.   the   cycle   of   life   and   death.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅.      murders   of   crows.   frost-bitten   leaves.   wolves   howling   at   midnight.  knocking   on   your   door.  leaving   food   out   for   stray   animals.  the   twang of   an   acoustic   guitar.  honey.  tiny   red   buds   on   trees.   claw   marks   on   the   walls.   golden   eyes.  slightly   too   long   stubble.  sharp   canines.  soft,   thick   fur.  hunger.  a small  cottage   in   the   middle   of   the   woods.   knitted   fingerless   gloves.   sleeping   on   the   forest   floor.   always   finding   your   way   back   home.

NADI SINCLAIR (CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE, FAR CRY 5, FAR CRY NEW DAWN)

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘.         chipped   nail   polish.   glitter  highlight.   tall   trees   with   smooth   bark.   tangled   hair.  the   taste   of   cinnamon   sugar.   talking   too   loud   and   too   fast.   overgrown   flowers   in   your   hair.  crumbling   buildings   reclaimed   by   nature.    flirting.   walking   home   at   3am   with   no   coat.     platonic   hand-holding.   blowing   smoke   out   of   your   nose.   dragonfly   wings.   chaotic   good.   freckles.   fairy   rings.  secret   meetings.  gender   nonconformity.   leather.   smudged   eyeliner.   forbidden fruit.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑.    computer   errors.   a   shiver   down   your   spine. haunting   beauty.   hard   liquor.   crowns   of   thorns.   shadowed   alleyways.  decaying   plant   matter.  shattered   mirrors   and   broken   glass.  corrupted   memories.   stopped   clocks.   the   scent   of   stale   cigarettes.   tattered   black   hoodies.  walking   your   friends   home.   the   crescent   moon.  the   sea.   a   graveyard   on   a   foggy   day.   cold   rings   on   cold   fingers.  absolution.   looking   out   the   window   of   an   airplane.   soft   kisses.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇.      graffiti.   pretending   to   know   what   you’re   doing.   worn   paperback   books.    growing   up   too   fast.   parsley,   sage,   rosemary,   and   thyme.  lace   and   combat   boots.  moth   wings.   candles   on   every   surface.   a  weathered  deck   of   cards. turning   the   music   up.   fireflies   in   jars.   calloused   fingers.  drawing   on   your   skin.   sunlight   filtering   through   clouds.    petrichor.   a   dying   rose   in   a   jar.   wearing   a   crystal   pendant. illusions   and   spells.   black   cats.   mint   gum.   chapped   lips. dirt   under   your   fingernails.   the   cycle   of   life   and   death.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅.      murders   of   crows.   frost-bitten   leaves.   wolves   howling   at   midnight.  knocking   on   your   door.  leaving   food   out   for   stray   animals.  the   twang of   an   acoustic   guitar.  honey.  tiny   red   buds   on   trees.   claw   marks   on   the   walls.   golden   eyes.  slightly   too   long   stubble.  sharp   canines.  soft,   thick   fur.  hunger.  a small  cottage   in   the   middle   of   the   woods.   knitted   fingerless   gloves.   sleeping   on   the   forest   floor.   always   finding   your   way   back   home.

ALEXANDER KHAOS (WE HAPPY FEW, FAR CRY 5, FAR CRY NEW DAWN)

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘.         chipped   nail   polish.   glitter  highlight.   tall   trees   with   smooth   bark.   tangled   hair.  the   taste   of   cinnamon   sugar.   talking   too   loud   and   too   fast.   overgrown   flowers   in   your   hair.  crumbling   buildings   reclaimed   by   nature.    flirting.   walking   home   at   3am   with   no   coat.     platonic   hand-holding.   blowing   smoke   out   of   your   nose.   dragonfly   wings.   chaotic   good.   freckles.   fairy   rings.  secret   meetings.  gender   nonconformity.   leather.   smudged   eyeliner.   forbidden fruit.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑.    computer   errors.   a   shiver   down   your   spine. haunting   beauty.   hard   liquor.   crowns   of   thorns.   shadowed   alleyways.  decaying   plant   matter.  shattered   mirrors   and   broken   glass.  corrupted   memories.   stopped   clocks.   the   scent   of   stale   cigarettes.   tattered   black   hoodies.  walking   your   friends   home.   the   crescent   moon.  the   sea.   a   graveyard   on   a   foggy   day.   cold   rings   on   cold   fingers.  absolution.   looking   out   the   window   of   an   airplane.   soft   kisses.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇.      graffiti.   pretending   to   know   what   you’re   doing.   worn   paperback   books.    growing   up   too   fast.   parsley,   sage,   rosemary,   and   thyme.  lace   and   combat   boots.  moth   wings.   candles   on   every   surface.   a  weathered  deck   of   cards. turning   the   music   up.   fireflies   in   jars.   calloused   fingers.  drawing   on   your   skin.   sunlight   filtering   through   clouds.    petrichor.   a   dying   rose   in   a   jar.   wearing   a   crystal   pendant. illusions   and   spells.   black   cats.   mint   gum.   chapped   lips. dirt   under   your   fingernails.   the   cycle   of   life   and   death.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅.      murders   of   crows.   frost-bitten   leaves.   wolves   howling   at   midnight.  knocking   on   your   door.  leaving   food   out   for   stray   animals.  the   twang of   an   acoustic   guitar.  honey.  tiny   red   buds   on   trees.   claw   marks   on   the   walls.   golden   eyes.  slightly   too   long   stubble.  sharp   canines.  soft,   thick   fur.  hunger.  a small  cottage   in   the   middle   of   the   woods.   knitted   fingerless   gloves.   sleeping   on   the   forest   floor.   always   finding   your   way   back   home.

[simplegenius042]

Late WIP Wednesday & Last Line (Paragraph)

Tagged by: @cassietrn @josephseedismyfather @inafieldofdaisies @direwombat @socially-awkward-skeleton @adelaidedrubman @g0dspeeed

Tagging: @strangefable @jillvalentinesday @wrathfulrook @chazz-anova @deputy-morgan-malone @derelictheretic @ec-10 @minilev @josephslittledeputy @neverthesameneveranother @onehornedbeast @shallow-gravy @voidika @vampireninjabunnies-blog @strafethesesinners @ladyoriza @ladyofedens-blog @little-wolf-seed and @nightbloodbix

Here's 3 WIPs and a Last Line Paragraph (from The UnTitledverse, Far Cry The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters) to make up for the lack of activity (I've been a little preoccupied but I'm all good now). NOTE: I'm still ironing out these scenes, so some changes might happen in the future of publication. Anyway, enjoy!

Here's a WIP for A Blast In The Past (not Jurassic World related), a fic that's story was heavily inspired by Bendy And The Ink Machine and writing style inspired by Tamsyn Muir's Harrow The Ninth. Come meet the second main protagonist of The Perfect Storm saga... and the narrator who torments him:

You opened the wooden door to Carmine Studios, the hinges creaking from age and the times you've passed through it, revealing the hall that would seal your fate, on a false hope you would see your old friend and boss, Terrance, once again… but all you had entered was an empty caricature of the real thing. A nightmarish mockery that you'd soon find would come to life. But you didn't know that, not yet. You were more focused on the nostalgia behind your work, weren’t you? Or what once was your work.

In the hallway hung old posters of cartoons that no one cared to remember anymore. You admire it without recognizing the deception. Do you want to know the real kicker here?

It’s all a part of the show… all half-lies and half-truths, but close enough to what you already recognize that you couldn’t tell the difference until it was too late.

Was Seeker the clumsy meerkat who would follow through on any dangerous stunt, regardless of how far it puts his safety in jeopardy, all for what he loved most… a banana waffle split with streams of caramel syrup trailing up and down? No, it was more selfless than that. Nauseously so. Wasn’t it his loyalty to his friends?

Heh. Friendship… what good did that do him in the end, Bowler Hat?

You shift to the next poster, the one you’re least familiar with. Who was she again? An intelligent wisp named after her actress, Emily Margarita? Or perhaps you remember her as something more impersonal… perhaps a cunning foe? Doesn’t matter to you now. All you know is that she was a co-worker who you described as a “nice dame with a great voice, like a canary”.

But you never would have understood why most of the blokes back then howled and whistled for her, even if you knew the truth. “She was no scag,” you’d say, but you’re smart enough to know that being hitched with her would be… unpleasant. Shame you never listened to your gut.

Then there was the star of the show! The only prick you knew craved for nothing but the spotlight. Endlessly seeking validation for his actions. Only satisfied once his legacy was recognized. A pitiful shapeshifter that took many forms but loved only one… “Mario Emmett! The demon that never could be!"

A lanky black creature with an ego that was bigger than he deserved. Was he the main protagonist of your little show? Who are you to know? You’re only here to follow a repetitive script, endless by design.

You seem confused pal, scruffy face scrunched up, wrinkles becoming more apparent as your tired eyes examining the poster a bit too close... Perhaps a little reminder of why you’re here will help out with that gap in your memory. Wouldn't you agree, pal?

You search through the pockets of your plain brown overcoat, and feel the thin paper edge of a letter. The one Terrence had sent you, remember?

Carefully, you tug it out. Not that the yellow paper didn't already look worse for wear.

Despite its lack of care, surprisingly not your doing for once, you were reasonable enough to fold it neatly like a professional old-timely gentleman. No, it was… Terrence, yes, Terrence who had scrunched it with little care. “Always had a knack for getting on my nerves,” you would bitterly think. Funnily enough, that’s the part of him that was done right. What an Abercrombie!

…Is that the right slang?

You unfold the letter up, again, for what would be, unbeknownst to you, the first of many times. You read the ink scribbled over the dirty gold paper once more.

More interaction between Jennifer and Sir Enigma Malvolio. Seduction... could be better Jennifer. Granted, Malvolio's not... normal. The extent of how "unnormal" he is though is yet to be recognized:

"You shouldn't be here."

Jennifer swiftly turned around, her back to the Apex's chamber pod, its mesmerizing fluid motion forgotten as she focused on the approaching short figure of Malvolio. She noticed just how quiet his steps were, and how he neglected to bring his cane down to the container's metal floor.

"Don't you know it's rude to snoop around in stranger's properties?" he asked, his voice echoing in the trailer, despite how restrained it is from the usual bombastic and joyous attitude he put up in front of Dicko. From what she could tell, he sounded more amused than angered that she came into his workshop uninvited.

His gaze was still as dead and false as it had been like in their first meeting.

Remembering why she was there, Jennifer shifted her stature, "I'm sorry. I just couldn't help myself after tonight's fight."

Seeing that Malvolio stopped approaching, tilting his head as he waited for her to continue. Thinking she had his attention, she looked around, blue eyes wide in wonder as she gestured the workshop, "This place is amazing."

Looking to Malvolio, who she still had the engaged attention of, she gestured to him and stated coyly, "You were amazing."

To what would have to be the eighth confusing she's ever received from this man, Malvolio snorted and tsked at her. With a shake of his head, he looked to her, a smile curved on his lips as he made his reply.

"Please, I barely did a thing. She's the one who deserves the credit. It was all her," he pointed his cane behind Jennifer, to the darkened pod, where the Apex resided in the waters, "I was merely the motivation she needed to win the fight."

Looking between Malvolio and the beastie, Jennifer selectively stammered as she said, "But you did create it. And shared its mind. Don't you agree that's more than enough reason for praise?"

For whatever reason, Malvolio scoffed, looking Jennifer up and down, scrutinizing her with his gaze as he impressively twirled his cane to rest on his shoulder, now looking more like a club than a walking stick. He unnerved and frustrated her. Jennifer needed him to lower his guard, to be completely oblivious to any danger she posed.

It just ticked her off that he was clearly unconvinced with her performance, and at ease while she had to keep her nerve together, especially for Dicko's sake.

Here's a FC5 WIP for The True Sinners of Silva on a (forced) picnic with Faith and Nadi, for a "girl's day out" as Faith had insisted to Jacob (though Nadi hadn't initially been invited). Have some lore, ship teasing and the aftereffects of Silva's terrible childhood. Also TW for kidnapping, cults, manipulation and discussion of eating disorders:

Faith let out a sigh as she clung on to Silva's arm, effectively anchoring the woman where she sat. And she wasn't sure what was more concerning; the fact she didn't mind Faith being so close to her, or the familiar content smile on the herald's face.

"I'm glad the two of us can finally hang out," Faith admitted, neglecting to include Nadi's presence, "Jacob had been hogging you for so long that I was afraid I wouldn't ever get to see you again."

Silva wasn't sure how to respond to Faith's small confession so chose to reply with a contemplative hum, ignoring the warmth she felt rushing in her face. She also ignored the gnawing hunger at the sight of the food as well.

Nadi must have noticed that she wasn't eating the food as both herself and Faith had been. She looked at Silva with concerned brown eyes.

Silva was unsure why the blonde would care though; she just wasn't that hungry. Not even for the barely nipped sandwich in her hand.

"...Something wrong with the chicken, enfer?" Nadi asked, her head tilted as she scanned Silva over with her gaze. Silva glowered at the woman, rather irked that John's right-hand would bring attention to her lack of appetite, especially while the present host was a herald.

"It's nothing," she told the Frenchwoman, lowering the chicken sandwich. Nadi was unconvinced, though, and looked to Faith, head jerking to Silva.

And unfortunately, Faith lifted her head from Silva's shoulder, adjusting herself to sit up straight as she shifted her attention from Nadi to her charge. Silva risked a glance next to her and had the misfortune of getting caught into the worried gaze of Faith's green eyes.

"Do you not like the food?" Faith asked, eyes wide in panic like she committed some unspeakable crime, putting a hand on her forehead as she continued, "I should have asked you what you wanted. I'm sorry, I was so excited for this picnic with you that I didn't think you'd have any problem with the food-"

Silva saw the growing distress on the herald and swiftly responded to put a stop to it. She didn't want to find out what the repercussions were from upsetting the brother's little sister.

"No, no, it's not the food," Silva stated, garnering Faith's attention as she listened, focus as intense as the floral scent that followed the herald. Once again unprepared for the sole attention of Faith, she hurriedly tried to clear up any confusion, "The food is good. It's just me. I'm not hungry."

Even though she said she wasn't hungry, Silva could feel the pained craving for the food, but her mind just couldn't handle the idea of consuming anything for the time being.

Faith's demeanor lost the panic instantly, and the calm that came across her face left Silva stunned at the whiplash.

"Huh," Faith said, looking over to Nadi, the blonde unbothered by the herald's rapid shift in emotions, who had a knowing look as she stared at Silva with sincere pity.

"Are you sure, enfer?" Nadi questioned, a brow raised, "Jacob said you don't eat a lot at the center. The last time you ate must have been, what... three, four hours ago? Can you really say you're not hungry?"

Silva refused to answer, looking away from Nadi as the conflict of hunger and lack of appetite raged inside.

Both woman present found Silva's silence to be confirmation, and Nadi asked, "You're not starving yourself to spite us, are you?"

Silva gave Nadi an incredulous look, straightening up, "What would be the point of that? Despite how unpleasant I find your cult, it wouldn't help me to weaken myself. And besides, like you said, I do eat at the center. Which would be counterproductive if my plan was to starve myself, no matter how stupid of a plan it is to begin with."

Nadi nodded along, not incorrectly correcting her on their group status, agreeing with most of Silva's words, "I believe you. So, what's up?"

Silva had half a mind to not outright curse the sharpshooter about the obvious reason being how she was kidnapped from her home and kept captive against her will surrounded by cultists. The terror and stress of not knowing what they're capable of. Nadi would never know the terror of being unable to predict a so-called prophet's next move.

Especially when he was your own father.

Silva snapped out of her musings when Faith's hand rested on her arm. Glancing to her, the herald gave a comforting squeeze, a small encouraging smile on her face. The action made Silva's face feel no less warmer.

So instead, she glanced between Faith's waiting green eyes and Nadi's sincere stare, and exhaled a sigh, as she softly revealed, "I... just can't."

Nadi nodded slowly, "But you want to."

Silva gave a nod at Nadi's correct guess. She looked down to the sandwich in her hands. She wanted to have it, and the basket of fruits with the baked goods. She desired it badly, but she couldn't let go of the dread that came with eating and swallowing.

"But you don't because you're afraid of what could happen if you do. Like choking? Or perhaps vomiting?"

Silva didn't need to say anything to confirm that what Nadi deduced was true.

Nadi hummed, and stated, "It seems you got yourself an eating disorder, enfer. An avoidant one from what you've described."

Silva eyed John's confidant. The name sounded familiar, something Kamski would have offhandedly mentioned. Curiosity did eat away at her, as she replied, "You seem to be familiar with this disorder."

Nadi smiled, though the smile didn't reach her brown eyes. She looked down to the apple she had been biting on, "That's because I suffer from the same thing. Unlike you though, where you don't eat enough, I eat too much. I've gotten better though. John, la chérie, helped set up a diet and routine for me. Got me to memorize timing as well. He and Alexander still check up on me from time-to-time, but it's greatly appreciated."

Silva was surprised; both by Nadi's confession and the fact John of all people went out of his way to help Nadi. Silva thought him incapable of such a thing, given his holier-than-thou attitude towards her.

And finally the last paragraph for the still unnamed arranged marriage FC5 scenario. And Alexander (AKA Jacob's most trusted and loyal right hand man) is pissed. TW for cult views, a war crime and mentioned coerced/arranged/forced marriages. Also mentioned drug (Bliss) use. Snippet below:

Letting out a deep, shaky sigh, Alexander stared straight into Jacob's cold blue eyes, and said, "So you must understand my... my confusion and my shock and my fury when the Sinner herself, stumbling around the halls, high on fucking Bliss, wept in my arms as she told me exactly everything you and Joseph and John and Faith neglected to share with me or Nadi or the rest of the congregation. You told me she agreed to our negotiations. No, not our negotiations, you told me she agreed to your family's negotiations as soon as it was put forward. You told me this marriage between a suitor of her choosing, no matter how nonsensical and impractical and detrimental the wedding itself is to morale and our resources, was to bring unity between Eden's Gate and the Resistance indefinitely. So tell me Jacob. Why the lies? Why the lack of care towards the rules that Joseph says keep us grounded? Rules that I have witnessed so many of our brothers and sisters be punished for breaking, and yet now you and your siblings are exempt from it? Why have you been sending out Hunters, armed to the teeth, to track down Palmer's Militia if we're in a truce? Why do I hear of no contact with the Resistance if we're supposed to be sharing compensations and details surrounding our peace? Why had Silva told me that Joseph already chosen her suitor, and ignored her refusal of it?! And most importantly, why did she say it was YOU?!"

[simplegenius042]

Late WIP Wednesday + Last Sentence

Sharing a snippet of The True Sinners. As well as a last sentence of What Are The Chances, in which John and Jacob get lost while going to have a meeting with Joseph and Faith in the woods.

Tagged by @adelaidedrubman @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @g0dspeeed and @wrathfulrook

Tagging @shallow-gravy @strangefable @voidika @poisonedtruth @derelictheretic @jillvalentinesday @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @chazz-anova @ec-10 @vampireninjabunnies-blog @a-rose-in-a-garden-of-weeds @neverthesameneveranother @snake-in-the-garden @henbased @ladyofedens-blog @little-wolf-seed @deputy-morgan-malone @deputyash and @strafethesesinners + anyone else who wishes to join in.

WIP snippets under the cut.

Finally got a WIP snippet of The True Sinners to share. Presented below... some of Silva's thoughts before Jacob shows off introduces her to John (a meeting which will go about as well as expected when published):

[Trigger Warning: Mentioned kidnapping and being held captive against will. Nothing explicitly detailed though. Also some subtle obsessiveness coming from our beloved eldest Seed]

Jacob opened the door that led out to the courtyard of the hospital, holding it back for her to walk through, gesturing outside with a short jerk of his head. A chivalrous act that often never failed to lift Silva's mood coming from anybody else.

It was the kind of consideration that Silva had admired in Paul, before he changed. A courtesy that Kamski never bothered to adopt, either believing that he shouldn't waste his strength on opening a door for someone when they also have arms or because everyone was on his shitlist for one reason and another.

The amount of doors she's had to stop from slamming against her face when following behind him was more than the number of people she's killed. Though that might change soon, she noted, glaring at the ginger as she passed him and his small smirk.

She fought the impulse to thank the man, and deterred herself from outright stabbing the man with what ever she could find, as a thoughtful act she would find generous being reduced to an unspoken and mocking jab at her captivity by Jacob pissed her off to no end.

The courtyard was exactly how it had been left during her attempted escape; the dirt paths that spiraled around the center, tire tracks indented into the ground, evidence of years of vehicles coming in and out of the hospital's grounds. The fountain was void of water just as the grass was dry with little colour left, and the flowers that did grow were strangled by weeds. The brick walls, erect high and surrounding Jacob's fortress, was enough to dissuade any thought of escape, an intentional psychological tactic reinforced by the looming iron gates, which unlike yesterday, were closed. To add to insult, there were more Chosen on the grounds, some in guard posts while others supervised their captives trapped in the cages she had once been in, as well as the recruits training.

More evidence that yesterday was a fluke I fell way too hard in.

The only major difference from yesterday was the grey car with two dark stripes going from the hood to the back that was parked at the side of the fountain. An opportunity for escape? It was tempting, but she knew better. After yesterday, she couldn't afford underestimating Jacob.

"Better luck with cracks and loose screws than with open doors, piccolo boa," the advice Paul had once told her rang through her head, and she hated the heartache that came with it. Shaking away the bitter emotions, she focused on what was ahead.

She could see Alexander talking to the car's owner, or at least, the owner talking to Alexander, as he seemed to be barely listening. In fact, Jacob's second-in-command seemed to be doing his best in droning out the words of the man.

Silva could see a short-haired blonde woman in similar attire to Alexander, if only less vibrant, speaking to some other Chosen she seemed familiar with.

Silva could deduce that she came with Alexander's terrible conversationalist, having never seen the woman in her captivity.

"Thinking you can dispatch my brother and his femme fatale?" Jacob asked behind her. Silva could imagine that he was hulking over her in height, if only by a few lucky inches. Some would see it as a disadvantage, but she knew there were benefits she could use against a taller enemy.

Despite this, Silva had bemoaned over not inheriting Father's tall genes after encountering foes whose height were unfairly above average, though she would never be caught dead in admitting this wish.

Silva scoffed at Jacob's words, shaking her head. He hummed, and said with an irritably pleased tone, "Yeah, I knew you were smarter than that pup."

She sneered at the words, but didn't turn to give him the satisfaction of seeing her reaction.

A large hand planted itself on her shoulder and urged her forwards, towards their guests, "Now c'mon. John's gonna need to have words with ya."

"About?" Silva asked, grey eyes glancing to look at his blue, legs forcibly moving forwards. Though from his stoic expression, she knew better than to expect a straight answer.

"You'll see," he replied, and she swore she could see his lips almost curl upwards into a smirk.

Looking towards this "John" as they approached him and Alexander, Silva privately stewed in frustration over Jacob's words. Cease your deceptive games you vague shit.

Last sentence for What Are The Chances? an alternate universe WIP set in a timeline where Silva became the Judge from FCND pre- and during the events of FC5. In this scenario, John and Jacob are lost. And yes... it's all John's fault:

Jacob had never once thought that any harm to come to his brothers would be deserved. However, after his insistent complaining, Jacob could not help but be amused by John swatting a branch away, only for it to recoil and smack him in the face. With gritted teeth, his younger brother asked, "How did we "miss a turn"? And better yet, how come we haven't found our way out of here? One would think you knew the county's layout like the back of your hand, Jacob?"

Face and voice neutral as he continued forward, Jacob answered his younger brother, "I know the mountains terrain John, and some of the valley's. I never once touched the woodlands in the Henbane. That was the Chosen's job to report to Faith about. And you were the one holding the map and giving directions in the car. You tell me."

[the-silver-chronicles]

An update on this in 2024.

Deputy Silva Omar (still a FC5 OC) still primarily lives in her residence, as that's her safe place, but throughout the Reaping and going from region to region, she can't really go back to it a lot (for obvious reasons).

Dutch's Bunker is the first location outside her home that she stays in, but not as often since she's busy liberating the other regions. She mostly just calls Dutch to get advice or news.

In Holland Valley, Silva takes rest in the Rye's home in the spare room (or the lounge, either one). Occasionally Mary May lets her crash in the upstairs room of the Spread Eagle, especially if Silva's heavily injured (which happens quite a lot). Silva doesn't like to sleep in places she doesn't know or where she's not guaranteed to be safe. She's tried, but given her night terrors and paranoia on the chance of enemies getting the drop on her (plus the insomnia), she can't really get a good rest until she makes it to a protected area. She especially can't stand going to Rae-Rae's farm, mostly because it's her (first Hope County) friend's death place and Peggies took over it yet again. Even when the Resistance steals John's Ranch, Silva doesn't at all live in it since it wasn't local property and it leaves a bad taste in her Tumultite mouth; stealing something that was never hers to begin with.

Silva also goes to Kamski's Clinic (a hidden bunker near the bridge that connects between Holland Valley and the Henbane River), where her old family friend will let her crash (and try to convince her to stay down there with him while the county tears itself apart) or to get medical attention (because Kamski's a skillfully "Good Doctor" and medic in spite of being self-trained).

In the Whitetail Mountains, Silva will either stay in the Wolf's Den, her residence or even her late half-sister's lodge that is a bit further up in the mountains (because Elsa really liked the sense of power) if Silva really wants to rest undisturbed (though there is an emotional hurt there considering Elsa is dead). Silva tried to crash at Fort Drubman but she threw that idea out the window with Hurk Drubman Sr.'s attitude towards her. Meanwhile she is forcibly taken to St Francis by Alexander Khaos (a Chosen OC who's Jacob's right hand who is often sent out to drag Silva back to the veteran's center), and well, it's not a place she wants to be in for obvious reasons.

In the Henbane River, her options are limited to just the Hope County Jail and the trailer park Sharky crashes in, since every where else has Bliss, Angels + Priestesses (and a certain illusion of a pretty and cunning herald Silva has mixed feelings towards) wandering about. Joseph's Compound is still off-limits.

So yeah... that's an update on Silva's safe (and unsafe) places in Hope County.

(Also in the fic her home gets shot up when Eden's Gate discovers its location).

A question for the people in the Far Cry 5 fandom who have developed their Deputy (or other OCs): Where do you imagine they live/sleep in Hope County?

[simplegenius042]

Hey! Can you say more about You're Almost Like Family? 👀

Sure can @g0dspeeed!

You're Almost Like Family is a Far Cry 5 time-loop/"Groundhog" day AU fic, with only the Seeds being stuck in this perpetual cycle that takes them right back to when my deputy, Silva Omar, arrests Joseph Seed.

For a bit-oh context, the Seeds has Silva surrounded, and just refusing no for an answer when telling her to outright join them there and then. The time loop begins as soon as Silva is shot dead, unprompted, and the Seeds pretty much "awaken" at the moment Silva put the cuffs on Joseph that fateful night. None of the Seeds know that they all are in the loop together until much later, they believe they're in this individually. Joseph can't really communicate with the Voice (and vice versa), unless the Voice uses the lines it told Joseph before the loop reset (essentially the Voice only has a certain amount of dialogue available to say to Joseph and none of it is very helpful), so the Voice just kind of sits back from the outside and observes, to its frustration. Anyway, what the Seeds do know so far is that every time either one of them or Silva herself dies, time resets back to the moment Silva put the cuffs on Joseph. One of them dying from either Silva or an enemy has always been a plausibility but one they can all prevent now while stuck in this loop. However, what should be impossible is Silva dying, considering Joseph's orders of capturing her alive. But someone else has entered the county and is actively going out of their way to kill Silva, which makes this whole thing a lot more difficult for the Seeds, since they can't go to her too early cause she'll kill them and they can't be too late to meet her because she'll get killed. Throughout these loops, they learn things about Silva, things that both bring context to why she fights them so hard and allows both them and her to empathize with each other in ways they never could beforehand. Not only that, but this also gives the Seeds an opportunity to notice things about the Project and its members (such as John and Jacob's SIC's, Nadi Sinclair and Alexander Khaos respectively) that they would have never have noticed originally.

I don't have any more snippets available to share at the moment, so I hope this was good.

[simplegenius042]

oooh i know i'm late, but if you haven't already talked about it (or have more to share on it), can I please hear more about No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden (FC5)? (--direwombat)

You know funny thing! I had completely forgotten I had this WIP up until last week.

So, from what I could guess from my earliest notes and what I wrote so far then, No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden was a FC5 fic that focused on Silva, Joseph, Faith, the Sheriffs Department, Eden's Gate, Adam Omar and his Congregation in Silva's past, an in-depth look at/possible deconstruction and reconstruction of the religious Adam and Eve themes (your original sin, shame, curiosity, ignorance and knowledge, (unfair) punishment, the acknowledgement of pain and death, mistrust and disobedience towards God and other deities or figures of worship, etc) and possibly set in a time pre-Reaping or where the Collapse just doesn't (or rather can't) occur at all. It would flashback more between Silva's past and present, focused on her relationship with her father Adam, her first love Irene and her adoptive father Paul and the Tumultite community. The focus of the past would be less Persephone and the Apostles and more her time spent on the Archipelagoes from what I could gather.

I had no idea where to even continue on from this, so I decided since past me wasn't going to travel forward in time and tell me what she was thinking, I decided to add on this story with another divergence from the canon of Silva's Hope and Far Cry The Silver Chronicles... and made Silva a coroner instead of a deputy (with a unique interest and perspective on corpses), because I like to make the Voice cry in a cosmic corner.

The Voice attempts to retaliate by telling Joseph that Silva is perfect to be "the Mother of Eden's Gate" but fortunately Faith's already got her hands on this strange cryptic coroner version of Silva and she isn't willing to share. John & Jacob, Alexander & Nadi, the Sheriff's Department, the GFH/FFH, Hope County residents, the rest of Eden's Gate, Kamski and Azriel just try and live regular-ish lives while this all goes on. This is the closest thing to a "no Collapse" AU that I have so... enjoy?

That's what I've got so far and what I've recently added (because I forgot to write notes last time, silly me).

[simplegenius042]

Would you be willing to share a bit from A Truce, As Null And Void As Yourself?

Certainly!

A Truce, As Null And Void As Yourself is the official name of the FC5 Arranged/Forced marriage AU I've been kicking myself to find a name for. Essentially, the plot is, Silva and the Resistance leaders meet with the Seeds to negotiate a truce/peaceful resolution, but Joseph will only give it if Silva is handed over to them and marries a suitor he's chosen... that being Jacob (much to the guy's dismay) because "the Voice said so". This doesn't work for Silva for many reasons (incompatible orientation, she hates Jacob plus the cult's guts and also the fact Joseph didn't even say anything about compensating the Hope County residents for the deaths and destruction they've brought being amongst those reasons), nor does it for Kamski and the Resistance so they decline... until Silva is given time think back on all the things that had lead her to this life, and a visit to Carmina and her parents reminding her of what she lost due to her past hotheadedness and thirst for vengeful justice, and her own guilt over multiple things push her to take the deal with Joseph with a few altercations; she will join Eden's Gate and marry Jacob if he can acknowledge that the marriage is purely tactical and does not at all require her and Jacob to do things that both would find uncomfortable or would be downright impossible for either to commit to, and she wants him to agree to whatever reparations the county wants back for all the trouble and terror Eden's Gate caused them.

By this point, in most fics like this, Eden's Gate and the Resistance would co-exist, and the deputy would slowly live assimilate in the lifestyle of the cult, and find it "not that bad".

Here though? I argue differently. I agree that if an alliance was required, Eden's Gate and the Resistance would team up to deal with the third party. But this isn't an alliance; it's a call for a truce/peaceful resolution to the violence.

I absolutely agree that Joseph views the Seals opening as a bad thing, and would hope to avoid it. He does not want any of his siblings to die, and hopes that his guidance can keep them to the visions where they do survive to see Eden (as his voicemail to John also implies) which the Voice showed him. However, while Joseph believes he can prevent the deaths, he is unaware that the Voice is capable of deceiving him, showing him visions it itself does not intend on following through with.

Joseph doesn't want the Seals to break... but what he doesn't know is that the Voice absolutely does, because that's how the Collapse happens; through sacrifices. It had designed things so that either Joseph loses his family again, or the deputy fails everyone and loses themself + everyone they've come to care for in the process. And in FC5, the Voice got a two-in-one package deal.

In this fic, the truce is exactly as it says on the title... null and void. It's a ploy. The Voice does not care for honor, or human concepts such as trust... it will ensure the Collapse happens, by either pushing its Muse (Silva) to the edge of distress til she fights back and breaks the rest of the Seals and taking all Joseph had, OR the Prophet (Joseph) pushes Silva til she breaks down after losing everything; the life she wanted to live, her independence, her community (again) and herself. The 'As Yourself' part of the title is up to interpretation... either it refers to the Voice, who is hollow inside except for its (preset) sadism and without any humanity whatsoever, or Joseph for literally sacrificing human values just to appease the Voice's demands despite how much damage it does and how much he may not personally like it, making him essentially a puppet, null and void.

As soon as the Voice gives the word, Joseph will break the truce and Eden's Gate will catch the Resistance unaware. At least... that's what the Voice expects to happen anyway.

Silva absolutely does not have a good time. After all, she's stuck in another cult that restricts her freedom and choices, plans on betraying her conditions, seeks to use very manipulation in the book to keep her with them while being unable to make contact with her friends and allies, is surrounded by people who either detest her or she feels absolute guilt for even being in the presence of (due to killing a lot of the followers) and being afraid to fight back in the off-chance that the truce is on.

Nadi and Alexander are the most sympathetic towards her. Faith isn't very sympathetic at first until she spends enough time with Silva that she jealously finds it unfair that Jacob gets to be married to someone who can rail her is such an ideal partner for her (which might lead to do something, le gasp... daring). John gets sympathetic when Nadi leaves him and he stumbles upon Silva in a very vulnerable state of mind. Jacob and Joseph though are the least sympathetic, with the Voice absolutely thriving in her misery.

Does this fic end happily, bittersweet or depressingly? I haven't decided, but it's one hell of a rollercoaster of emotions, that's for sure. This fic (not excluding The True Sinners) is the closest to a "Silva joins Eden's Gate" as you're going to get without completely changing her core values and beliefs.

Hope this is satisfactory!