#opens new doc and titles it Chapter One

[akai-akai]

the Cod: MW / TF141 zombie apocalypse au fic I've had churning in my head for 2 years is itching to be written..... I've had it in the "outline" stage since February 2023, and that outline is 16k words.

lots of angst and comfort and character growth and action and them having sex when they shouldn't be

not much different from their original storyline tbh

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Three — Shadow Play

“I see the mark on each affront to God, now. The Mark of the Beast. It burns in their chests like the pits of hell, it’s on their hands anytime they use their powers. They’re all branded. All marked, even me. But I see it now, I see why God has made me what I am.”

7k word count | 2 spacers provided as pause points | TRIGGER WARNINGS: a lot of words, possible claustrophobia [they are UNDERGROUND please remember that!], human experimentation, military mention. ONE imbedded link.

Our footsteps echoed back a thousand times as we walked along the crescent-shaped dais on the other side of the room, Dad the first to step up onto it. “How far back do you think this goes?” He asked, shining a light down the rounded archway of the hall he was standing in front of. ADVANCED SYSTEMS. The last words of his sentence reverberated in the chasm, Brent joining him to look down it. 

“Hey!” He hollered, his voice overlapping Dad’s as the single syllable hopped around again and again. Brent turned back to face everyone, motioning down the hall. “It’s gotta be long.”

“Has to be some sort of tech lab,” Dad muttered in agreement. 

Brent smirked at the thought. “Think we have enough time to go look? Maybe they have, like, ray guns back there,”

“If we’re talkin’ Vermaak,” Zeke started, looking over my head at Dad, “We should probably start here. Advanced systems has gotta mean power transfer device, right?” 

Dad, though, wasn’t listening, not really; his phone’s flashlight had traveled along with his stare, looking across the dais to the hall on the other side, brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed a bit like he was trying to decipher something in the shadows, and he stayed quiet long enough for me to share a worried glance with Brent. “Dad?” I eventually asked. 

“Hmm?”

“You okay?”

He blinked hard, coming back down to earth from wherever his head had dragged him as he looked over at me, then to the other men. “Y-yeah, sorry,” he stammered, giving the hall at the other end one last look before turning fully to Advanced Systems. “We should see what’s down there.”

 Everything looked insane, so futuristic, and I felt bad for laughing at Bertrand when he said he was amazed by what he saw because I couldn’t help but agree. This place was amazing. 

Dad blew past the unmarked doors in the hall, moving deeper into the hall as he sensed something I only caught onto the further we traveled; there was something at the end of the hall echoing our footsteps back just a little too loudly, the sound coming back like an irregular heartbeat as it tried to match the loud drumming in my ears. Zeke stayed behind Brent and I as Dad held up a hand, light sweeping the rounded ceiling and noting the strange change: “It’s getting taller.”

“The entrance was wider too,” Brent muttered, shining his own against the wall. “Means there’s something at the end, doesn’t it?” 

“Probably.” Dad agreed. 

And they were right; as the ceiling widened like a maw, it spit us out into a rounded room littered in broken glass and severed wire, the walls lined with pods built into the walls. It looked like the shattered glass came from there, rained down by nearly a hundred of something escaping. A raised platform stood in the middle of the room, the perimeter circled by computers while the center held some excavated hole, something ripped up out of the ground and the concrete remains left strewn among the glass. 

And hanging from the ceiling were two cuffs, and a thick dangled wire with its copper ends sticking out. 

“Jesus,” Zeke muttered, shining his light behind him at one of the pods. They also had wires dangling from their enclosure, the ends looking like the pasties of EKG machines and some still holding catheters for veins. Zeke came to the conclusion I did, first to verbalize it: “They look like experiment pods.”

“Think this is where the Vermaak were?” Dad asked, stepping up to the platform. The computers stood on metal podiums with no visible wires, some with broken screens. “Wish Eugene was down here…”

“Could be,” Zeke hummed, messing around with the electrodes. 

Brent followed Dad up onto the platform as I slowly walked around it, shining my light at the base. There was no gap or welding or something that connected the platform to the floor; the ends simply bent out like the platform had been molded from the ground on a pottery wheel, no actual bolts in sight. It was so sleek, so unnaturally smooth and perfect.

There was a flash on the side and I glanced over to see Brent taking pictures of the pit, probably just as much for his own files as Dad’s. ‘Course. But the shine was enough to distract me, and I didn’t know there was something in my path until I could feel it under my ankle boot.

I lifted my foot to peel off the little thing off of it — it looked like a tag? Like the sort of paper tags I’d put on my gymnastics bag before going to a meet. It was in near-perfect condition, having been untouched since it was dropped.

Date and time of capture. Circumstances. Weapons, physical conditions, name rank, all duplicated three times on a page that signified needing to be cut. I flipped the page over, the sections on the back more for the holder than whoever the form was supposed to be attached to, the top titled ENEMY PRISONER OF WAR (EPW) CAPTURE TAG (PART A). “I found something,” I announced. “I think it’s some sorta…some sorta army thing?” 

Dad’s head snapped up. “What?” 

I didn’t bother answering, instead following the rounded edge of the platform again to where he stood and handed him the page. He breezed over the front before flipping it to the warnings on the back, huffing. “‘DA Form 5976,’” he muttered, looking over his shoulder at Zeke. “Direct Action form. The military raided this place."

“Oh yeah, more than likely,” Zeke agreed. “New Marais was under martial law for a bit as they dug around for information on the Beast and the First Sons. Guess they got here first.” 

Dad made some sort of dissatisfied noise in his throat, flashlight going from the form back to the computers — and then to the divot in the floor. “If this is where the Vermaak were…that had to be where the power transfer device was. They came in here with the intention of detaining anyone they found.”

Zeke left where he stood to join Dad on the platform, his light adding to the one shining down into the pit. “Guess now would be a good time to tell you they didn’t get the original device, huh?” 

Dad perked up, looking at Zeke. “Really?”

“Yeah. Bertrand tried shipping out the device, the original one meant for one-on-one transfer, when I was spyin’ on the Militia for Cole. He was trying to get it outta there before Cole got to it. You know the whole story about that gang fight at Fort Philippe?”

“Yeah,”

Zeke nodded once. “It was for that. We captured the place from the Militia, got the device, and Cole used it right there with Kuo. It exploded after.”

“What happened to it after?” I asked. Sure, it exploded, but it had to go somewhere, right?

Zeke shrugged. “It was basically scrap. Even if they got it, they wouldn’t have found anything useful in it.”

Dad’s brow furrowed. “So they never actually got the power transfer device?” He asked Zeke. 

“If it’s what was in this hole? No. Most the military coulda done was download whatever was on the computers.”

“And probably wipe them,” Dad added, more a complaint than an observation. “I’m surprised they didn’t rip these things out of the ground.”

Brent stared thoughtfully at the computer we were standing in front of, finger tracing the pole of steel that was holding it up. “We could.” 

I blinked. “What?”

Brent looked up, glancing between Dad and I. “You can recover deleted stuff from computers, right? Even if you’ve done everything to scrub it off. If we take the computer up to Dr. Sims, maybe he can find something.”

Dad rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the pedestal and the defunct computer on top of it. “We’d have to find its hard drive,” he eventually mumbled before looking back up at Brent. “We can’t just take the monitor, that’s useless.” 

“Wouldn’t the army take the hard drive?” I asked. It seemed illogical that they’d sweep the First Sons base and leave behind something so crucial. 

Brent’s eyes traveled down the metal pole, all the way to the floor and along it. “Maybe they didn’t know where to look,” he muttered, following some line we couldn’t see. His eyes raised to follow the wall and I saw all green was gone, replaced with a silver that reflected the light like…well, steel. He tracked whatever he saw to the wall next to the atrium’s entrance, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Hold this,” Brent asked Dad, not even looking at him as he passed over his phone and causing Dad to almost drop it on the ground. Brent stalked over to the wall and ran his hand along it, looking for some bump in the smooth texture and cursing under his breath when he couldn’t find it. “There’s something…under this…” Brent growled under his breath, sounding sure. “But the wall isn’t steel. I don’t see any…any bolts either.” 

“Think it’s welded straight on?” Zeke asked. 

Brent shrugged. “No idea. Either way it’s way too smooth to get through, unless I…”

Brent stared thoughtfully at the wall for a beat before bringing up his fist and turning it to steel, some extra metal shavings layering against the ridges of his knuckles as he reared his fist back and slammed it against the wall. 

Whatever metal was there instantly gave away, revealing a hidden server farm sitting stagnant behind it, all ziptied servos wires and electrical tape. “Oh, shit,” Zeke muttered as Brent moved to grip the second panel and rip it off, more of the server bank being revealed. He looked over to Dad. “That’s gotta be for every pod in here and these computers."

Dad nodded slightly. “Alright. Okay, Zeke, you’re our best bet for this, so salvage what you think might be useful,” 

Thirty minutes later, Zeke was zipping up the sling backpack and Dad sighed, turning to look back in the room. He looked absolutely displeased at how much nothing there was in this room. “The ice Conduit, Kuo — you said she was activated down here, too?”

Zeke nodded. “She came outta here cold as a corpse. Said they injected her with something to get her goin’.”

Dad mulled over those words. “We should try Bio-Science, then.” he decided unilaterally, voice making it very clear that this wasn’t up for discussion. “Whatever activated her here had to be made there.”

It was unsettling how loudly our footsteps echoed back at us as we walked out of the hall and back into the atrium, across the floor to the space where the Bio-Science hall stood. Dad was leading the pack, steps sure the entire way to the hallway before he faltered, staring down the hall with reservation. 

“You okay?” Brent asked. 

It took Dad a moment to even register that Brent spoke, glancing back at us. “Yeah, yeah, I just…” he drew off, attention going back to the hall. “You ever get a really weird feeling, like something’s wrong?”

“It’s probably the shitty horror movie lighting,” Zeke joked. 

“Not like that,” he chastised. “I mean, there’s just…there’s something wrong here. In this hall. I don’t know what it is or…”

He drew off, growling under his breath as he failed to translate just how wrong it felt to him. I could sort of relate; I’d get a bad feeling in situations that did turn out to be bad, and there was whatever that gut feeling was when the ice soldiers appeared on the Sound. Maybe Dad was getting that weird sixth sense right now too? “Do you want to leave?” I asked. 

“No,” Dad answered almost immediately. He flexed his shoulders, and that unsureness left him. “Come on,” He decided, “Let’s go see what we can find.”

Our footsteps rang out sharply like slamming gavels as we walked into the wing. God, how huge was this place? The hallway seemed to go on forever, large spaces in-between the labeled and rounded doors. And those labels didn't exactly help. Once we passed the basic ones that said things like 'Laboratory Supplies' or 'Restroom', the placards began to list off actual project names: Project Emerald, Project Mirage, Project Fracture.

I wasn't feeling very hopeful about much, especially when Dad just blew past the doors to keep walking down the hall. “There's...a lot of rooms to go through,” I mumbled, shining my phone light at another door that said 'Project Helix'.

“I know,” Dad replied. “Try to remember all the names. Let's get to the end of the hall, see if there's anything there,”

The end of the hall came swiftly after that conversation, the placard reading 'Project Metamorphosis'. The door…it was scratched to hell and back, chipped away like someone took an axe to its front and failed to take it down. Dad’s hand traced the edge of the door, that pensive look still on his face. He stayed unspeaking for so long that I finally cracked, saying, “Dad? Are you okay?” 

Dad nodded. “This is it,” he said with so much assurance. His phone light traveled around, inspecting the weirdly shaped door. 

“You sure?” Zeke asked. 

Dad nodded slowly. “Yeah, I…” his brows came together, like he was confused by his own knowledge. “I’m sure. Let’s go.”

“Looks like someone else tried getting in, too,” Brent pointed out. “Think the military tried taking down the door with no luck?”

No one answered. If that was true, it meant we probably wouldn’t have a chance to get in, either. 

Dad stepped up to the door and tried opening it. Tried. He pushed against the door, he fit his hands in the linear grooves to try and pull. Brent put his hand against the door only to flinch away at the attempt to drain it, and I crouched, running my hand along where the door met the floor — or, more accurately, where the recess was. “It lowers,” I said, looking up at them two. “Goes down, like a car window,” 

“Without electricity, it’s basically useless,” Zeke said as Dad got to my level, looking at the recess. “Delsin, I know you’re intent on this, but it doesn’t look like we can get in—”

“No.” Dad snapped a bit. “This…there’s something in this room. I need to see it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before turning his head to look at Brent. "Well, any advice from the architect?"

Brent huffed, humored at the recognition but unable to answer. “Couldn't tell you. Haven't really looked into how to tear down buildings, yet. I don’t even know what kind of metal this is.” He hit the metal with his knuckle, the metallic ping that reverberated back high in pitch. 

Zeke’s eyes narrowed at the sound, and before long he was digging in his pockets for something, pulling out his keys. He held a little flashlight-shaped thing on it up to the door, sliding it around its face. “It’s not magnetic,” he declared, shoving his keys — with the magnet on them, apparently — back into his pocket. 

“So then, what’s that mean?” Dad asked. 

Brent was the one to speak next. “Means it’s probably titanium,” he said, pushing his own hand against the door. “Which means it’s strong.” 

“So we’re not gonna be able to get in?” I asked, standing. 

Dad’s face darkened. “No. We’re getting in.” He said, determined. “How do you break titanium?” 

“You don’t,” Brent said, almost sounding offended at the idea. “Do you know how strong it is?” 

“There’s…” I drew off, unsure how to ask what I wanted to. “There’s rankings or classes or something for metal strength, right? Are there any stronger metals?” 

“Steel,” Zeke hummed, looking over at Brent. 

Brent shook his head. “I don’t know if it’d be enough,” he admitted. 

“It's worth a shot,” Dad said, standing straight. “We throw enough steel at this door and it’s bound to break,” 

“Yeah, and it could also take down the entire hall.” Brent stressed. “We have no idea what’s load-bearing in here and what’s not. Most doors are connected to one—” 

“The door sinks into the ground,” I interrupted. Not only that, but this one was round. Didn't load bearing walls have to be vertical? “What’s the likelihood of it being one if it does that?”

Brent’s words faltered as he looked down at the rubber flaps on the door’s edge. “I…” he drew off, thinking hard. “Less…less likely, but still—”

Dad seemed to think that was enough. “Then we just aim for the door,” he decided. “And try not to bring anything else down.” 

Brent’s eyebrow cocked. “‘We?’” 

Dad nodded, saying, “We should use our powers together. Steel and concrete.”

“What about Jean?” 

Dad’s eyes broke from Brent’s to glance my way, and he dedicated all of seven milliseconds to the thought before saying, “Jean, you and Zeke move back, be ready to help if something happens.”

I tried not to let the request get to me. My water probably couldn’t help here, anyways. 

Dad and Brent passed me their phones and Zeke pulled me a good eight feet back as they both positioned themselves in front of the door, Dad hovering over Brent’s shoulder. I hadn’t realized they were nearly the same height before now. “You prep, I’ll add, we both throw. Okay?” He asked Brent, who nodded. 

The steel Brent produced caught the light from the phones, little beams bouncing around and the very large and very threatening looking beams Brent was making grew over his shoulder like some magical spear being materialized from thin air. I guess, in a way, it was. But what was different this time was Dad putting his concrete-laden hand through the shrapnel cloud to reach for the bars and touch them, the black rock on his arms sloughing off and onto the steel to make a jagged battering ram. 

“Now!” Dad yelled, moving to cross his arms over his face. Brent’s arms flinched as Dad threw his out and the battering ram went flying, the sound it made as it slammed into the titanium door something unpleasant I could feel in my bones as it screeched in protest, making me cringe so hard I accidentally bit my cheek. The door jolted hard, but stayed standing. 

“Again!” Dad yelled over the echoes of the grinding metal. Brent built up another large spear, Dad touching it with his gravely grace before they both threw it at the door a second time. This impact came with sparks and a divot in its center that exposed a way darker metal beyond the painted surface, a bullet hole in the kevlar the First Sons gave the door. “Come on, almost,” Dad encouraged. 

They ran the same race, Brent putting his entire upper body into this next throw, and the way the entire hall shook as the battering ram made impact with the door frightened me so badly that my water was reacting before I even saw the shrapnel, phones falling to the ground to instead let my hands shoot out to weave a wall of water between them and the wall they took down. The remains of the bent circular door shot back, taking out multiple desks in the room behind it and careening into a wall as my water caught whatever rubble it tried to throw back at the two men. The shaking stopped and the horrible sounds died off soon after, and within a beat, everyone breathed. 

And then immediately groaned as the broken door slowly fell forward, revealing the hallway it couldn’t fit through. “God, it's neverendin', isn't it?” Zeke muttered, glancing at me. All I could do was sigh in return.

I let my water fall and we all entered the lab dedicated to whatever Project Metamorphosis was, shining our flashlights around the room. God, even the furniture was white, pure metal desks laid in rows in the center — well, minus the ones Brent and Dad sent flying — with standing laboratory tables lining the walls, the expo marker on the white boards posted on the wall above them faded out but still legible.

Zeke beelined it towards some leftover lab equipment while Dad moved to shift through the contents of the first desk. Brent and I glanced at each other and simultaneously shrugged, moving to the edge of the room and exploring on our own.

With no luck at my station, I moved back towards Brent, him not even looking up as I moved. “This is insane,” Brent murmured, looking down at some files. “It looks like they were trying to do something with inactivated Conduits,”

“What, like what the DUP did?” I asked, looking around his shoulder at the document. Or, trying to — the font was so small that it looked like gibberish to me.

Brent shook his head. “No, different than that. Not sure how, though...” His flashlight left the laboratory counter to shine on the board screwed to the wall — which we only then realized wasn't a board at all, but one of those x-ray lightboxes. There were still some x-rays attached to it, but Brent's phone light wasn't hitting the picture right to make it show.

“Here, hold this,” he said, passing me his phone so quickly that I almost dropped it on the ground. After throwing a quick glare my way, Brent leaned forward, ripping the x-ray from off of the board and holding it in his hands, elevated a bit. “Okay, shine the flashlight under it,” he requested.

I did — and immediately cringed after. God...what happened to this person? Their jaw simply wasn’t there anymore, shatterings of bone protruding out of the open orifice in ribbons. I've seen brain x-rays before in health class, and while you're not supposed to see every nook and cranny, it's also not supposed to be foggy white, almost like it was riddled with infection or melted to mush. “Jeez,” I murmured, shining the light farther down the x-ray. It stopped just after the clavicle — not that that was one anymore, either. It was riddled with extra growth, as if wrapped up in solid tumors. “What the hell happened to them?”

Brent opened his mouth to retort when Dad, in the center of the room, called out, “Found some stuff on the Ray Sphere!” looking up at Zeke.

Zeke turned, in the midst of wrapping a stoppered glass vial with his sock while handlessly shoving his foot back into the tennis shoe. “What's it say?” He asked, taking off the sling bag so he could store the vial away.

“A lot of big words I don't know,” Dad started, holding up the rather thick file as Zeke and Brent's light landed on Dad's form, illuminating his tall shadow against the wall. “But it has a beginning note — apparently, the Ray Sphere can corrupt a person's powers?”

Zeke's head tilted to the side as he slipped the sling bag back on, looking at Dad curiously. ""Corrupt?'” he repeated. “Corrupt how?”

Dad looked back down at the file, phone light traveling across it in tandem with his eyes. “Says it makes a person's power stronger, but more volatile. Harder to control.” He looked up at Zeke. “Were Cole's power like that?”

Zeke shook his head, almost seeming offended at the accusation. “No, he was in control of what he could do.”

“And his power didn't affect his daily life? He wasn't having issues with—” Dad looked down at the file in his hands, “—his 'enhanced capabilities exceeding the threshold of practical applicability in routine activities, leading to the unintended manifestation of his powers in a potentially disruptive or uncontrolled manner?'”

“What does that even mean?” Brent scoffed.

Zeke's eyes, though, went wide. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. Then repeated it, louder. “Son of a bitch!” With a foot stomp, like he just made the world's biggest breakthrough.

Dad glanced back up, eyebrow quirking. “So is...that a yes?”

Zeke nodded fervently. “Cole couldn't do anything with electronics 'cause his power would short circuit the wires. He couldn't sit in a car or hold a gun 'cause he'd make 'em explode. You're telling me that's why he couldn't do that? The Ray Sphere corrupted him?”

Dad looked back down at the document. “More like made him too powerful for his own good. Which I mean, did help with the Beast, but he would have had a horrible time trying to live in the Age of Technology.”

Zeke nodded. “Yeah, you've got that right. Had to create a double insulated phone pouch just so he could call me whenever we were off doing stuff,”

“These powers,” I interjected. “The, uh, corruption. Would it be enough to turn someone into a monster?”

Dad looked over at me like I was insane — but Zeke just nodded sagely. “Guess that would make sense. Bertrand, his power was...well, it was somethin'. He could turn himself and other people into these things, buncha fucked up looking creatures.”

Brent held up the x-ray, and we both immediately shined our phone's flashlight behind it to brighten up the image of the jawless person. “Like this?” Brent and I asked in unison.

“Jesus Christ,” Dad muttered, looking at the image as Zeke nodded.

“Exactly like that. Well, one of them, at least.” He replied.

Dad looked equal parts confused and bewildered. “So there was a Conduit that could turn just anyone into monsters?” He asked Zeke.

Brent let the x-ray fall, turning back to the table. “Not just anyone,” he said, grabbing his own stack of documents. “People with inactivated Conduit genes,”

“That's somehow worse,” Dad's murmur echoed easily to us. He raised his voice. “But if someone's able to manipulate a Conduit like that, we need those notes. Anything that can affect their powers is close enough to what's going on with your sister.”

We nodded, Zeke motioning for us all to come here as he took the sling bag off once again for us all to put our found documents in. As I worked on rolling up the x-ray and slipping my hair tie around it so it would fit easily, Brent muttered, “You don't think you're gonna turn into one of those, right?”

I could feel the blood leave my face as I thought of the possibility. “Oh God, I hope not?” I said. “I mean, the notes said it was nearly instantaneous, right?”

He nodded. “They did, they did. Just wondering, 'cause it seems like it would be a great cosmetic improvement for you,”

My smack against his head rang out loudly through the room and into the adjacent hallway, his yelp bouncing around just as vibrantly. Asshole. 

As Dad tried to find a way to fit the large x-ray into Zeke's bag, I watched Brent turn, shining his flashlight across the room and to the gap in the wall where the vast hallway stood. “What do you think is back there?” He asked me.

“I don't know,” I shrugged. “Probably more human rights violations.”

“Was there anything else over by that x-ray viewing box?” Dad asked us. We both sorta shrugged, giving him some noncommittal sounds that had him huffing hard. “Alright, I'll go double check. Do me a favor? Go check out the desk we flung next to the hall.”

We nodded, separating from the group as Zeke moved to fiddle with the other desk that was thrown to the side when Brent and Dad broke in. Brent put the flashlight on me like a spotlight as I tried to shift through the contents of the desk despite the weird angle it was at, pulling out nothing but useless to-do notes and nicotine gum foils.

“Anything good?” Brent asked me.

I scoffed, “Unless you wanna count old McDonald's receipts as loot, then no,”

I sat back on my heels and looked up just in time to see Zeke straighten, holding his hand up triumphantly like he had found gold — but whatever was in his hands was too small to see. “Got something!” He declared. “Some sorta recording chip.“

Dad turned to look over his shoulder. “Any idea what's on it?” He asked.

“Not yet,” Zeke hummed. He grabbed at a little pouch on the strap of his sling bag and there was a quick snap as he unbuttoned something. “But luckily, I brought Cole's old phone. I had tinkered with it a bit way back when — gave it a chip reader.”

Dad's eyebrow raised, and he 100% looked like he was not buying whatever Zeke was saying. “And you're sure a 25 year old piece of technology will work?”

Zeke snorted. “I modified a Nokia. I'll die before this thing does.”

Dad began walking over to Zeke as he fiddled with the old phone and the chip reader. The beam of light above me slowly started to move, and I glanced up to see Brent's attention — and inadvertently his phone — begin pointing towards the hallway again. “C'mon,” he finally said as I rose to my feet. “Let's go check out what's back there,”

Brent was already walking away by the time I called out to Dad to tell him what we were doing. “Okay, just shout if you find something, alright?” he requested as I jogged to catch up to Brent.

The hall was squared, which was different from the others — it felt like a normal hallway. Brent flashed the light everywhere; the high ceiling, the floor, where they met. He had this studious look on his face that left me wondering if he was taking notes for his own build down the line, or if he was critiquing the place and thinking of how he could have done it better. “Wonder if every other room is this big,” he hummed, light jolting to shine behind us. I couldn't blame him; I wasn't really a fan of treading through the dark underground, either. It felt like there was always something breathing over my shoulder. This entire place was freaky enough even without the fact that it was entirely powered down.

“Well, it's going to be a very long night if they all are,” I murmured back.

We turned forward simultaneously, just in time to see the light of the phone catch in the reflective surface of a pane of glass. It was as long as Brent was tall, following the curve of the wall in a slope. “What the hell...” Brent muttered.

The closer we got, the more I realized it wasn't a window, but a door, some large and super thick plexiglass thing that had five separate locking mechanisms on the outside. None of them had a keyhole though. There was a screen the size of a small television on the side, and a laminated piece of paper above it haphazardly taped to the wall like it was an afterthought, the 'TEST SUBJECT 0409' in giant bold.

There was nothing else about the corpse in the viewing room. No name, no demographics, no gender. Just a set of numbers the First Sons only bothered to throw on the wall after the fact. Barely cared about, barely human.

“What the fuck…” Brent drew off as he looked into the chamber. I couldn’t say much, I was too shocked. 

The glass was iced at the edges, patterned spreads of white frost that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. There wasn’t a bed in the room, no sink or anything. There was barely something that constituted a toilet — but it was all frosted over. The corpse in the corner of the small observation room was curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees as if she was trying to keep every little bit of warmth she had left contained to her core until the very end. She was perfectly preserved. That’s what was worse; I could see her frosted eyebrows still screwed close together, how she seemed to have froze in the middle of chattering her teeth. The folds of the thin scrubs she was in were stiff with icicles, her lips softly blue. 

“They froze her?” I whispered, the reminder of that feeling making shivers run down my spine.

Brent moved his phone’s flashlight around, up and down, trying to get a good look inside the chamber. “Look, see that?” he asked, pointing to the corner of the room. I looked up where he was pointing; it was one of those old flip signs, the kind they’d have at super old airports that would flip to say if a place was boarding or whatever. The white on it was damaged from the frost, but the dark black lettering showed through with ease; PRESERVATION ENGAGED.

“Do you think it was something to keep her body…” I drew off, unsure of how to even say what was going on, “...mummified?” 

Brent flashed his light around the room once more before letting it settle on the 5 locks. “That, or keep her from squealing.” he sighed hard, turning. “C’mon, let’s look at the others.”

I threw one last look at 0409 before letting my eyes fall to my feet, following Brent. 

There was a cshchsk that echoed into the hallway from the main room of the lab, like a walkie talkie was receiving interference, and then that same sickeningly sweet voice from the other dead drops came back, the voice of the Bertrand guy. 

“At first, I questioned His choices,” Bertrand’s voice echoed down the hall, the gross drawl of his accent making another shiver go down my spine after the one wracked up it by the cold hallway. There was another testing room, this time a man in it, hands frozen to the wall as he died trying to claw through the frost. I couldn’t help but hold my arms close to my core and Brent noticed, dragging me along. “Why would God turn me into such a monster when all I’ve done is follow His word? I never strayed far from His grace,”

Brent scoffed. “Isn’t this the same dickwad that was a fascist?”

I shook my head in disbelief at this asshole’s words, looking into the next testing chamber — and pausing when I did. In this chamber, there was definitely…someone, but I couldn’t see them well. Not when they were buried under the frost like that. But there was something off about the lump in the frost that I couldn’t put my finger on, like they were misshapen in a way. 

I mean, of course, that could have been a side effect of being frozen alive. 

“I prayed for days after I used the Ray Sphere to ask God why. Why turn me into this beast, this monster?” He asked no one. I’m pretty sure it was just to hear himself talk. “Why would He damn one of His most loyal soldiers to be a demon for the rest of his life? But I don’t believe that’s it anymore, no. I think I finally see what He has planned for me.”

Brent stopped dead in his tracks, making me run into his side. “Wh–, dude!” I snipped, rubbing where the bridge of my nose hit his hard bicep and blinking back the tears from the impact. 

Brent didn’t react. He didn’t even really care. He was too busy staring wide eyed into the next testing chamber, face a bit paled even in the dim light of my phone’s flashlight. I followed his stare, my own eyes widening as I looked at what was in the room. 

There was a human…I think. It was definitely the remains of one, at least. Their skin was leathery, grayed out in the way you only expected corpses to be. But the color darkened to match the texture the further it crawled down their arms, the skin growing and hardening to become these scythes of a pollex crab claw. It looked shelled, too, just like a crab’s would be. There was still a face to the person, still a mostly human body…but those claws…

“I understand what the auras I see are now. Marks of the Beast, of the devil’s influence. I’m branded with my own, and that’s why the Lord has made me what I am. I must atone for my sins.” Bertrand’s voice said from the other room as both Brent and I looked at each other and then rushed to look in the next cell. This one had the same claws and grayed skin, but there was more. Jagged frills of shell climbed up their — its — arms, clubbed claws where its feet used to be. It laid curled, back to us, so I couldn’t see its face — but I could see how its back seemed larger than humanly possible, like there was an extra set of muscles along its spine. 

“What the fuck?” Brent murmured again, more aghast this time. 

“I see the mark on each affront to God, now. The Mark of the Beast. It burns in their chests like the pits of hell, it’s on their hands anytime they use their powers. They’re all branded. All marked, even me. But I see it now, I see why God has made me what I am.”

 I followed Brent as he walked briskly down the hall, glancing into each chamber before quickly moving on. God, they were all the same; the huge claws long enough for them to use as crutches, the bent backs. At some point we got to see the horrors of that x-ray in all their fucked up glory; black bled through their abdomen and up their spines like something was poisoning them from the inside, their jaw shattered by the force of those thick appendages that jutted out of their jaws like tentacles. I guess the only solace I could cling on to when looking at these monstrosities is that they looked tranquil, curled up in the frost. Hopefully the people they once were passed peacefully. 

“He is giving me a chance to repent. To be more. His son was betrayed by one of his own, yet through that betrayal, we received salvation for our sins. That sacrifice is what He is expecting of me now.” Bertrand said, sounding so sure of himself. “I’m to be His sword and His might. I’m to cure the world of these demons by turning them into such and exposing them to the world.”

Brent’s steps slowed as the phone’s flashlight moved to face forward again and started traveling up, higher and higher as it caught the red and black exoskeleton of whatever that was in front of us. The chamber was at the end of the hallway and double the size of the others with the little crab-guys — but it needed to be to hold that creature. It was doubled over, reinforced arms being used as forelegs as it glared forward, three eyes on each side of its elongated head. It looked like something out of a horror movie, especially with its mouth open like a lotus, three long pincers coming together over a row of razor-sharp teeth. You could barely see the skin of the human it used to be under the exoskeleton of its hard shell, just as grayed and veined as the other crab-guys only an evolved form. Was this the end stage? Two segment claws as long as my arm and knees facing the wrong way?

“I’m meant to be the cure to the monster Kessler saw in his visions, the Beast that will burn the world to the ground,” Bertrand affirmed to himself. “I’ve done it, and watched them be hunted like the vermin they are. I’ve built the Militia to help track them down. These Conduits are not human, and they won’t be when I’m done with them. We are in the end times, and I am one of the disciples God intends to help salvage the world.”

Brent and I stepped closer to the frosted glass, standing on either side to get a look at just how tall, how wide this thing was. It had blades that ran up its elbows like knives, one elbow nudge away from spearing through someone. “Let them devour New Marais like a swarm of locusts. Let them see the monsters that are hiding among the meek, and let me be their savior. Let me lead them away.”

As I was looking at the jaw ripped open with tendrils of tissue holding the bones together, a volt of electricity shot up my spine when I realized the thing was staring back at me, blinking ice off of its translucent eyelid. 

“Let them ravage the world and get rid of the sinners, and may God help those that fight against them.”

“Jean,” Brent warned when he saw the head of the creature, the ‘Ravager,’ snap sideways to look at him.

We both took a half step back as the Ravager’s elbows flexed and it stood straighter, looking down at us from behind the glass. The three pincers on its mouth flexed open so it could give off a garbled scream that even the thick glass couldn’t keep silent, making me flinch and move to cover my ears. Its limbs moved lazily as it awoke from whatever hibernation the frost had it in before its super thick and long claws slammed into the concrete ground, shattering it with each rake. 

It was trying to dig its way out. 

“Run,” Brent said as Dad’s voice yelled something from the lab. “Go, run!”

[bonesbuckleup]

Hi, random q. I saw in your tags that you swear by Scrivener for original fic. I’m still plugging away in ye olde Word and now I’m intrigued to know what about Scrivener you like so much. I’ve def heard about it but never used it, so I’m curious :)

YES I would love to tell you about my lord and savior software Scrivener. I hope you don't mind I published this long, long answer publicly.

So. The main issue I have with Word and Google Docs is that you hit a certain length/word count, and it starts to lag and load kind of jerkily. You know? Also, navigating chapter to chapter or scene to scene is awkward for me--you either have to have a whole bunch of individual documents and multiple windows open, or you have to use headers and the table of contents...which is fine for quickly finding chapters but less so for scenes within those chapters.

Messy, basically. Does not spark joy for me.

Enter Scrivener.

Now, before I evangelize a bit, I will say that Windows Scrivener and Mac Scrivener are not 100% created equal. They are both better, I think, than Word or Google docs, but the Mac version is a bit slicker and a little nicer to look at. I only say that for if you're using Windows, because if so my screencaps below won't exactly match what you see if/when you download the program.

ONWARD.

So, the #1 thing that Scrivener has over Word is that it's a one time fee, not a subscription. So while it is a little pricey (Just went and looked, $59.99 USD), it's only the one payment. All updates and such are covered and available as free downloads. I will also say that Scrivener gives you a 30 day free trial. That's not 30 consecutive days, but 30 days of use--if you only use it every other day, you'll have the trial for 60 days. They make it really easy to figure out if it's for you or not.

This is also going to feel like a lot, but there are built in tutorials and it's actually pretty intuitive, depending on how your brain works. Anyway! The basic gist of Scrivener is that it's a digital binder. You can keep all your book stuff in one place:

As you can see, there's the manuscript (aka my book), notes, research, more. Tbh, I mostly just use notes and Manuscript, but if it floats your boat, you can store maps, place names, worldbuilding, playlist links, moodboards, a whole ton of stuff, all in one menu that's easy to access and in a single window. You can organize it however itches your brain the best way.

But like I said, for me, the best is that Manuscript part, which I'm going to go into now. I use a three act structure for books (but break the big ol' middle act into two pieces because it makes my brain happy), so each act gets a folder.

When I click and expand that act, each chapter has it's own folder. However, it also shows quick-reference index cards, so I can have an at-a-glance at what's going down in each chapter. (I'm using a outline system called Save the Cat for this book, which is why all my chapters have titles like 'Catalyst', feel free to ignore those...I also have a very compact timeline, so to help me stay organized, I labeled each chapter with when it happens.)

You can do the same with each individual chapter and the scenes, where when you click on the chapter folder, each scene gets a card. If you don't type in a summary, it'll just auto-populate the start of whatever content you were writing. You can see this in the 'Copper's Candids NEW' card.

And, of course, it is writing software. When you click on the individual scene, it opens the blank document, and you can get cracking.

So. This system is nice for a few reasons. My favorite is that it makes navigating, reorganizing, and/or rewriting scenes extremely easy. It's just point and click, drag and drop. You can also open two docs in the same window at once, like this:

Which is a nice feature for several reasons--you can work on a new version of a scene with the old one pulled up next to it, or if there's something you wrote earlier or that comes later that's important to what you're working on now, you can have them both up for quick referencing.

Another slick thing is each doc has a notes section off to the right side of the screen--which is optional! I use it for future revision notes/descriptions of how I want the scene to go:

My other favorite part of Scrivener is that it makes it very easy to hoard your deleted scenes like a deranged dragon in case you want them later. My garbage looks like this:

There are SO MANY FILES hanging out in my trash, and you know what? I so rarely actually need them, but my god am I glad they're there on the rare occasion that I do. Word, again, can make it more difficult. I always had a massive 'cut' document that was longer than the actual project and again, awful to navigate. This just makes it easier.

Scrivener also makes it easy to compile the manuscript into other doc types--pdf, doc, docx, etc--for easy printing and sharing.

ANYWAY. I'm sure there are approximately 1 million other things I'm missing, but basically Scrivener takes all your book/long project bits, puts them in one centralized file, and makes it super easy to navigate. I've also found that outlining is easier, because I can just make the folders and scenes and drag them around while I noodle through the plot.

10/10, would recommend to any long-form writer. If you have any other questions, please let me know! If anyone has read this far and has a thing about Scrivener to add, please do! I love Scrivener, and a lot of my writing buddies love Scrivener, and it really kinda has revolutionized the way I write original fiction. I'm always happy to yell about how great it is.

[maireadralph]

Entrapdak Zine 7 AND 8 - Submissions OPEN!

Trying something rather different and opening both this year's zines at the same time the email address is open more often that it's shut anyway

The Themes and Dates are as follows:

Zine 7 - Theme: Lucky - Deadline July 1st - countdown to deadline

Zine 8 - Theme: Wishes - Deadline Dec 2nd - countdown to deadline

If anyone needs an extension for any reason just get in touch, I don't ask questions as there is time allowed for this.

For anyone who's taken part in a previous Entrapdak Zine the submission guidelines are exactly the same as previous Zines. Anyone who's new or needs a refresher just have a quick read of the following Wall of Text under the Read More

BASIC GUIDELINES:

This Zine is:

A Digital Zine containing works created by the fans for the fans

100% Free

Preferred Language is English - other languages maybe used as long as there is an English translation available somewhere in the work (eg an author's note)

SFW content suitable for a Y7-PG13 age range (same as the show’s age rating)

Sign up period:

I don't do this, just submit work to the email address before the deadline - I’d rather you have more time to work on your pieces 

Anyone can submit regardless of age or skill level - this is not a job application - just follow the guidelines and email in your work

The email address to send work to is entrapdakzineisluvd[at]gmail.com (replace the [at] with @ I write it like this to prevent spam bots email me)

Submissions can be Fan Writing (poems, fan fiction, character analysis, eassys etc), Fan Art, or even photos of your Entrapdak IRL work (cosplays, fancrafts etc)!  You can submit an older work that you have published online previously if you wish - or even update a work you submitted to a previous Zine! Just have fun!

Guidelines applicable to all work:

Content Age Rating:

Like the show this Zine will contain content rated Y7 and PG13 rated - so please no swearing, censored out swears (eg skulls or **s instead of actual swear words is okay) 

No hate work of any kind - we're all here for a good time

There WILL BE NO NSFW or 18+ content - I will politely deny any work of this nature let's please keep this suitable for all ages thank you.

Beach/Summer other work with nudity is allowed please adhere to the minimum clothing requirements:

Male presenting character -> speedos/underpants

Female presenting character -> bikini/bra and underpants 

Unsure? Use the female presenting criteria

Theme:

The July Issue theme is LUCKY The Dec issue this is WISHES

This theme is a suggestion and if you’d rather make an Entrapdak piece without incorporating the theme please feel free to do so. I want you to have fun!

Allowed Characters:

As long as both Entrapta and Hordak are the main focus and the piece follows Age Rating it will be allowed.

Other allowed characters in the Entrapdak family include Emily, Imp and the Clones (also known as Spacebats)…yes weirdly this also  includes Horde Prime.

Other She-Ra characters will be allowed but Entrapdak is to be the core element.

Phew that’s a lotta text sorry about that - now on to the fun stuff! What sort of stuff is allowed?

Any AU, canon, Fanon, corssovers and head canons are all welcome. Make something Entrapdak related that’s PG13 rated and have fun!!

Fan Writing guidelines:

This includes fan fiction, analysis eassys, poetry or whatever else you’d like to write about. 

For Fan Fic I would recommend a minimum of roughly one page length. As some people like a work count goal I'll set that at 1k words minimum, please just write what your story needs. If you’d like to write Chapters then please do, just make sure to label them!

Written work can be emailed in the body of text, sent as pdf attachment or as a link to a Google Doc - I can work with any of those.

Please include you name/username somewhere as it helps with the filing. If there’s no name on the piece I’ll add one at the start with the title.

Fan Art guidelines:

Fan art can include rough sketches, screencap redraws, comics (appox 1-10 pages length), coloured sketches or full colour pieces. 

Fan art can be in the digital or traditional medium.  

Traditional fan art can either be submitted as a photo or scanned, which ever you prefer.

Preferred sizing for Digital art is as follows, my aim to to have everything on International (UK) A4 paper sizing where possible*

2480px x 3508pm DPI 132 

Portrait layout is preferred**

PNG is preferred but I will understand if you only wish to send a workable JPEG

The aspect ratio (width:height) of A4 paper is 1:1.4142 (1:√2)

If you need a template here’s one -> Here’s a prepared A4 Canvas PSD File (2480pm x 3508px 300DPI) if you’d like to download it and use it 

Notes: 

*Images outside these sizings are still okay but may end up with a white border on the edges due to the PDF publishing settings.  

**Images in the landscape layout will get boarders when posted on a portrait page due to the PDF publishing settings, however if I receive landscape art I will make some extra pages at the end of the Zine and attempt to turn landscape art into a two page spread (which does look awesome!).

How to Take Part:

Make your work and email it to entrapdakzineisluvd[at]gmail.com by JULY 1st 2024 for the July/Lucky issue or by Dec 2nd for the Dec/Wishes issue

Please make sure to include your Social Media contacts and which name or username you wish to be identified by.  If you forget to include social media details and have been a part of a previous Zine I’ll use the details I have on file 

I will reply to confirm I have received the content and that’s it I take care of the rest!

Please note I DO NOT KEEP any records of anyone’s email addresses.  When the Zine is out I batch delete all emails sent to the email address (this is usually done a week after the Zine is out) and I keep no further records of these address. I respect your email privacy at all times.  

The only records I keep on Zine applications is a private Google Sheet that has the following details: Submitter’s name, rough description of the item submitted and their social media contacts. I’m the only person with access to this Google Sheet as I use this as a Master List reference when compiling the Zine 

FAQs:

Why no Application form/Sign Up period?

I don’t want anyone to feel like they are applying for a job here, this is supposed to be fun.

Will there be Guest Artists or Guest Writers?

If they apply sure, I’m not advertising who applies to be a part of this Zine until it’s ready to be published.  I don’t want anyone to feel intimidated just because a certain person has chosen to participate.

Can I submit more than one piece?

If you’d like to certainly!  If you’d like to submit up to three pieces of art and 3 fan writings, sure go for it! I’m certainly not going to stop anyone having a good time

May I post a preview of my work to my Followers?

Sure! Bonus points if you link them to this post so that they can take part if they wish

May I post my work online?

I would ask if you could please wait until the issue featuring your work is published. Of course this does not apply if you are chosen to submit and older work - in this case may I ask that you edit or add to said post to mention the work was also used in the Zine?

Is this only for people with a [insert certain social media account here]?

Nope, this is for anyone who wants to take part.  I only ask for a social media contact so that others who like you work for the Zine may follow you on your preferred social media platform.

Can I send an update to a piece?

Of course! Just let me know which piece you want to use and I’ll update on my end

Can I send another piece on later?

Of course that’s not a problem!

Ah I can’t get this done before the deadline - it’s almost ready!!!  I need another day!!!!

Contact me - my Asks and PMs are always open or emailing the email address. There is extra time allowed for an extension for anyone who needs it with no questions asked to why it is needed. Just get in contact, I'll put you name on the Extension List and that extra time is yours.  Once all names come in (or the deadline is reached) I will finish up my work and get the zine out. I will not be sending out a further reminder (because I’ll forget sorry 😅).

Why don’t you make the Extension time public?

Because I can’t finish up the Zine if extra stuff comes in at the last second - I get jittery enough with final deadlines so this is how I manage my stress

More Entrapdak Zines??

Sure why not? If the community still wants them I’ll keep compiling them ever three or so months.  I’ve seen what us nerds can do!

Where can I find the finished Zine?

All finished Zines are all hosted on a shared Google Drive folder https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1My_hDY8NmOWV7v6z0sYi0TSvxv07WowX  Please share it with your other Entrapdak friends when it is ready.

Thank you for making it all the way to the end of this WALL of TEXT.  It’s pretty much exactly the same as the previous Zines but with a few minor edits.

[givethemsmut]

Dom Mysterio x Reader

Chapter Seventeen | Where It All Started…

Dom brought me straight the WWE medical team, standing by my side with his arms folded up against his chest. The news stayed the same, I had lost the baby and the numbness I felt was overwhelming.

Maybe it was the pills they gave me helping to ease the pain but either way I felt far away.

Once the doctor confirmed, wrote some more prescriptions for more meds, Dom showed me to the Judgement Day bus. He had promos and damage control for being out.

“WWE scrapped the idea with Randy. Now I gotta find out what I’m doing. Doc said to take it easy so stay here, in bed. I’ll be back to check on you.” He said that before kissing my forehead and leaving me there.

Brushing off the clear worry across his face I got underdressed, crawling under the covers, and clamping my eyes down closed as the cramps kept pounding through me. The voices bullied me until I fell asleep finally.

Reaching for the bottle of pills before even reaching for my phone I swallowed two whole without any water.

Unlocking my phone I saw the texts from Dominik clouding my notifications when I read each one carefully.

Dom: Don’t watch RAW until I can talk to you.

Dom: Please just listen to me. I’ll explain later.

Dom: Text me when you wake up.

Dom: It’s too much to text. They want to do a storyline with Liv now that Rhea is out on injury. I’ll explain more later, I promise.

Dropping my phone down on the bed, searching for the remote, and flicking on the TV to RAW just like Dom advised me to not watch. It was just starting when I watched Liv in the middle of the ring with her title belt.

My phone buzzed and I saw his name come across the screen again.

Dom: I’m about to go out. It’s just a storyline. I’ll explain. Call me when you’re up.

I ignored his message and let all of my attention focus on the TV when Dom rushed out towards the stage trying to get a word in edgewise but couldn’t. The crowd was too loud shouting “you suck” for him to even defend himself.

Climbing the ring, toe-to-toe with Liv, she backed him into a corner. Caressing his face and hair I sat up straighter. It’s just a storyline echoed in my head but none of that mattered when you’re forced to watch it.

“I want everything Rhea has,” she almost had melody to her voice before Finn interrupted them.

I was glued to RAW, not daring to take my eyes off it and ignoring every call of Dom’s. He was ring side for another match when he slipped out of the ring only to be attacked by Liv’s mouth.

My boyfriend, the father of our child I lost, was kissing Liv for a storyline. The same girl who wanted him before.

Dom had exited the screen and almost a few moments later I got another call. Answering it I put it on speaker phone, letting it sit on the bed, while I debated the silence.

“It’s just a storyline. I have no control over the storyline. I didn’t even kiss her back.” He pleaded for some kind of mercy.

In a shaky whisper I responded, “I just lost our baby. That’s the last thing I need to happen, Dom.”

“Fuck,” was all I heard before the line went silent again.

“I shouldn’t be here, Dom. I thought being close to you would help but it’s not.” I tried not to cry but I couldn’t help it. The small sobs wrecked through my voice.

Hanging up I didn’t wait to exchange goodbyes when I locked the door to the back bedroom on the bus. Hiding next to the bed I sat on the floor crying knowing I had lost our baby.

The knock at the door was loud, forcing my shoulders to jump up to my ears. “Baby, please open the door. Let me explain their plan.”

I ignored him when my phone buzzed. An old WWE friend, not mutual but just someone I clicked with.

CM Punk: Feel like escaping? I heard you’re hiding on some bus.

Me: Dom is trying to break the bedroom door down. Kind of busy.

CM Punk: I can creat a distraction. Gimme me five.

I laughed for the first time in over 24 hours. It felt familiar and comforting.

Yanking the door open I forced myself to look at him. “It’s just a storyline. You know we have to act, not just wrestle. I’m sorry you saw that, I tried to warn you, mi amore. I didn’t want you to see.”

“So it’s okay as long as I don’t see it? Dom. We aren’t just some new couple dating where my feelings are wildly invalidated. We’ve known each other forever, we were starting a family, and that shit is what we would do to hurt each other. Why don’t you get that? I finally gave in and we’re still playing old games.” I said it before grabbing my bag I brought with me and pushing past him.

“Where are you going?” Dom shouted after me but I kept walking. With his long legs it wasn’t hard to catch up to me, grabbing my arm and forcing me back until I collided with him. “Don’t fucking do this. Fans are right there, watching.”

“Watching you, not me. I’m gonna go book a hotel room. I just need some space.” I didn’t know what I needed but space sounded good. The wave of cramps shot through me like an actual bullet when my knees buckles and I grabbed onto Dom.

He held onto me, lowering down and shouting for security to get medical when everything seemed to blur out of focus. It was honestly a relief from trying so hard to fix everything and to give into him the way he wanted.

It felt deserved to just close my eyes and bow down to the pain tearing through me.

I woke up in a hospital hooked up to wires and machines chirping routinely. “Dom?”

I felt his hand before I heard his voice, “I’m right here. There was an infection, they did a procedure but you’re okay now.”

“I can’t have kids again?” I whispered my biggest fear out-loud since the first time we got pregnant.

His chair screamed against the tile floor, getting as close as he could. “They didn’t say that. We won’t know that. You just need to rest.”

“So going back home?” I knew the second the pain brought me to my knees I was going home. My body had freaked out, rejected the happiness and forced me to get all the space I threatened us with.

“For now. You need to rest. You can come back out for Mania babe. My mom is gonna stay with you.”

“I have friends…” We grew up adjunct to WWE, all my friends were mutual friends of Dom, other wrestlers.

“Finn is off before Mania. He can stay with you a few days.” Dom offered and I looked at him like he was kidding. “I have the rotation set up already.”

“Don’t joke. I don’t need babysitters.” I quipped before sitting up and feeling every sore spot come alive.

The nurse interrupted us when she swiftly got to my side and took my vitals. “We’ll discharge you tomorrow with everything you need. Cramping and bleeding are normal. Make sure you take your pain medication and call us if it exceeds the dosage.”

I took in every word. “When can we try again? When is it safe?”

The nurse’s face dropped and I wanted to crawl inside myself. “Sweetie, let your body heal first.”

Dom handed me my bag after she left and I rummaged through it for the pain pills. Swallowing them whole I pushed my earbuds in and drowned out the world. Everything felt broken inside of just me and I didn’t know how to handle that.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

i assume you'll be coming for blood (that makes two of us)

Chapter 2

Ao3 | 3.5k words | Sweetheart's POV

Things go from bad to worse, and all of it's Sweetheart's own doing. - Fooliverse Sweetheart faces off with that first shade. They already know Milo, but things are a lot more complicated than they might have been, not least because of their own stubbornness and pride. Hopefully that pride won't get them killed. Hopefully.

TW: violence, mentions of sex, the Department, illness, arguments, general toxicity

Jet had a handful of not so kind words for you when you finally showed up to work the next day, first for being late and then for not seeking medical attention the night before.  

“If you are unable to handle a single threat independently,” Jet had seethed, emailing medical about your impending visit as he spoke, “then you might consider a change in title.”  

You didn’t say a thing in protest. You ignored the orders to report to medical, and instead made your way back to your desk in the bullpen, pulling up the open case file on your shitty, ancient desktop computer. You added new notes to the shade’s file, new findings on its abilities and appearance, and drafted an email to a magical expert on Death. Unfortunately, that expert lived in Tanzania, so you would have to find someone who could translate your message to Swahili, and his back to English for any of it to matter.  

You missed lunch entirely, too focused on the work in front of you to glance down at the desktop clock or the silver watch your father had given you last Christmas that you wore invariably. You only recognized that it was nearing one in the afternoon when a hand tapped your desk, drawing your attention away from your investigation for the first time in hours.  

Dr. Collins was an intimidating man. You weren’t afraid of him, per say, but you certainly didn’t want to end up on the bad side of his death glare. When you looked up, recognizing his Department emblazoned white coat and the irritated crinkle in his brow, you shifted your gaze from his silver eyes to the bridge of his alkaline nose.  

“Investigator,” Collins’ drawl clipped his words particularly aggressively, “care to tell me why I received a memo that you were reporting to my office hours ago only to find you at your desk, looking like you just got dragged back from Hell?”  

Doctor Sam Collins was one of the rare vampires employed by the Department’s medical division. He oversaw the onsite infirmary, headed the magical/medical research in the Department’s underground labs, and liaised with D.A.M.N. concerning their healing courses. The only reason he was afforded those positions, of course, was because of his incredible power pre-turning.  

I was a wolf, Milo had said. You wondered if Collins had that same sort of grief in his voice when talking about his power.  

“Probably because I was, Doc.” You shrugged, stretching your back for the first time in hours. A series of loud, obtrusive cracks echoed out through the nearly empty room. When had everybody else left? You checked your watch. Lunch. Right. 

“I told you you’d find them here.” An indignant huff from behind you. You whipped your head around, your neck popping audibly at the sudden movement. Cam was standing at the entrance of the bullpen, his hands on his hips. You’d never seen him look annoyed before. His face was usually blank and serene.  

“You were right.” Collins shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re lucky your friend has a good read on you, Investigator. I was fixing to sick your supervisor after you. And I’ve worked with Jet long enough to know how unpleasant that would be.”  

You groaned, your head falling back to rest against your stiff office chair. God, your head was pounding. Your throat felt like something had clawed its way out of it. Your stomach was still uneasy. Your muscles ached.  

“You look terrible.” Cam said, suddenly much closer to you. You jerked at his nearness, nearly toppling out of your chair. The Doctor’s unnatural reflexes saved you. All of the annoyance leaked from him at once as he knelt to begin examining you. His hands were cold when they rested on your forehead, tilted your face this way and that. You wondered if it was a result of his vampiric condition, or if it was because he was a doctor.  

“Double whammy.” You muttered, your eyes slipping closed.  

“You’re delirious.” Collins replied. Healing magic sparked around you, warm and bright like sunshine. You let it wash over your skin, not fighting against Collins’ assessment or Cam’s gentle, soothing touch.  

“Are you making me calmer?” You asked Cam, more accusatory than anything. He huffed, offended.  

“I wouldn’t without asking.” Cam assured you. “I think... you’re just too tired to fight back.”  

“Something got its hooks in you.” The Doctor added. Cool hands hovered over the skin of your neck. “I’m gonna touch, just for a second. Let’s take care of these bruises.” 

“Bruises?” You croaked, just as Collins’ hands slid around your neck. His magic swelled around you, and you swung out, pushed at his shoulders to try and get him away. Your heart began to race, your body suddenly awake and alert. You stood, pushing your chair away and stumbling back from Collins and Cam.  

“Easy!” The doctor said, his hands extended in front of him like he was surrendering. Cam had a strange, sad look to him. Pity. Your stomach turned.  

“I’m sick.” You snapped, shaking your hands out at your sides. You were suddenly filled with anxious energy. “The flu.”  

Cam said your name, so soft and cloying. You knew that tone. He was talking down to you, treating you like you couldn’t handle this. You could handle this.  

“I should go home.” You said. “Since I have the flu.” Doctor Collins squinted at you. Those silver eyes nearly pulled you in. Your hand twitched to your phone. You should call Milo.  

“Let someone take you.” He ordered. “I’d do it myself if the damn sun wasn’t still up. You’re lucky you work on this side of the building, or I wouldn’t have been able to come up and see you in person.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his body sagging a bit. He looked exhausted all of a sudden. What a waste, you thought. He can’t help me.  

“I’ll be fine.” You said, shaking your head. “I’ll get an Uber or something.”  

“Please wait,” Cam said, stepping forward, a hand outstretched towards you, “let me take you home.” 

“It’s fine, Cam,” you sighed, “you’ve gotta get back to work.”  

It was raining by the time you stepped outside, and the late-summer, early-fall chill left you shivering and soaked. You hadn’t bothered with a jacket when you came stumbling into work, and you hadn’t bothered to snag the umbrella you kept in your desk’s bottom drawer for days just like this. Summer in Dahlia meant sudden rainstorms and that damp sort of air that hurt to breathe.  

Well, breathing hurt in general, at that moment. You stalked down the sidewalk, soaked through, and tried to decide where you were going.  

Home was in the opposite direction, but you refused to turn back and be seen as wandering from the Department’s windows. You kept moving, calling up your known paths through the city, trying to remember where you could double back.  

A car pulled up beside you, low to the ground, shining, and blood red. You ignored it, crossed your arms over your chest, and kept moving. You had learned by this point in your life not to give catcallers the time of day.  

“Hey Sweetness,” the voice of this particular catcaller got your attention. You stopped short, turned. Milo’s car halted its crawl. The sedan behind him honked impatiently, but Milo paid them no mind. “Whatcha doing out here in the rain? Not that I’m complaining about the wet shirt part.”  

“Asshole.” You whispered, but you opened the passenger door and deposited yourself inside, dripping all over his leather interior. 

“Woah,” Milo said, his voice suddenly concerned, “you weren’t kidding about the flu. You look like shit.” 

“Gee,” you rolled your eyes, “you flirt. You sure know how to make someone blush.” 

“Hey,” Milo put his car into drive and peeled off of the curb, merging dangerously fast with traffic. He swerved skillfully between cars going too slow for his liking. Your stomach lurched. “I’m expressing concern over here.” 

“I don’t need concern.” You hissed. “If everybody would stop pitying me it would make my fucking day.” 

Milo’s mouth snapped shut. His anger was palpable. Good. You preferred anger to whatever else he was cooking up. Anger you could deal with. Anger was familiar. 

“I’m taking you to my place.” Milo said after a long silence. “I’ll… make you soup. Or something.” 

You sighed, resting your head back against the seat. Your head pounded. You didn’t fight sleep when it pressed against the back of your eyes. 

When you woke, you realized that Milo must have carried you inside. You were in the center of his sinfully soft, sinfully giant bed, tucked into his billion thread-count sheets. You sat up and groaned as your migraine made its presence known. You couldn’t have at least slept that off. That would make your life a fraction easier, and that wasn’t allowed. 

When you got your legs under you, shaky knees and all, you found yourself clad in an oversized tee and boxer shorts. They smelled like Milo, even if you couldn’t imagine him wearing something so casual and you knew he didn’t frequent underwear at all. Or maybe he just went commando when he knew he might get lucky. Either way, he’d gone through the trouble of pulling these out for you, undressing you, re-dressing you, tucking you lovingly in bed. The sentimentality of it all made your stomach flip. 

You could smell something cooking and followed your nose down the stairs and through the twisting halls of Milo’s giant house. Said giant house included a kitchen that gave you a stab of jealousy when you first saw it. Milo wasn’t using it, not for much, anyway. He had an extensive bar cart in one corner, his giant, state of the art fridge was stocked entirely with blood, and his walk-in pantry had one corner filled with sugar snacks. He seemed to only keep food for his fuck buddies. You shivered at the idea of anybody else utilizing those. You would have to start keeping track of them, just to be sure. 

Milo was standing over the stove, a brand new wooden spoon in one hand, his phone pressed to his ear in the other. 

“Davey,” he hissed, “I’m not asking for a lecture. I’m asking how to make it just a little more palatable.” You could hear a deep voice rumble on the other side, but couldn’t make out any words. “Jesus Christ, I should have never called you! I’m not gonna make a fucking bone broth when Cambles so helpfully provides soup in nice little cans.” His eyes flicked to you, whether it was your heartbeat or your snickering that gave you away. He extended one finger to you, as if to say I’ll deal with you in a minute. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, you pretentious asshole.” He hung up. 

“House member?” You asked, crossing to the large island that filled up the middle of the spacious kitchen. There were plastic bags from some pharmacy or another littered around it. You poked around, nosey as ever. Generic painkillers. Three cans of chicken noodle soup. A dozen Gatorades of different flavors. A smattering of cold and flu medicines. Cough drops. He must have grabbed anything he thought might help. Cute. 

“Old friend.” He corrected, turning back to the little pot on the stove in front of him. “Davey doesn’t believe canned soup is a valid form of food. I thought he might have a few ideas on how to improve it. Turns out all he was interested in was telling me off for even buying it.” 

“I can eat canned soup.” You shrugged. “It’s all the same stuff.” 

“Exactly.” Milo huffed. He turned off his burner and started to pour the soup from the pot into one of his sleek, black ceramic bowls. Even his dishware looked expensive. “You get it.” 

He walked the bowl over to you, handed you a spoon, and directed you to one of the stools pushed up under the island. You sat down heavily, snagged a green Gatorade, and downed the soup like a starving man. 

“There’s more.” Milo said, sitting next to you. “And some stuff in the pantry. I just grabbed a buncha’ shit. Don’t know what you like.” 

“You didn’t have to do all that.” You shook your head. Milo refilled your bowl before you could blink. You didn’t protest. 

“Well, you looked like you needed it.” He shrugged. He was trying to act casual, but you could feel him observing you, taking in every detail, like he was waiting for you to keel over. 

Funnily enough, once you scraped your bowl and went to stand, your knees buckled. He caught you, of course. He bundled you into his chest, your cheek pressed against the exposed skin of his peck. Stupid, silken shirt unbuttoned to his navel. Stupid pretty silver necklaces, cold without any body heat of his own. Stupid little shake in his chest as he steadied you. 

“Easy, Sweets.” He said. “Just- will you take it easy? Let me help you.” He was exasperated. Frustrated. 

You pushed back, stumbling away from him. 

“I don’t-“ you shook your head, pressed your hands into the kitchen island and braced yourself. “I’m fine.” 

“Bullshit.” Milo spat. “You look like death warmed over. I can help! Let me help!” 

“I don’t need your help!” You shouted. Your voice rose out of you, anger and stubbornness filling you with newfound energy. “I can handle this! I don’t care what bullshit they put me through, I can handle it!” 

Milo was quiet. He held your gaze. You held his. Your brain screamed to look away, but you couldn’t. He hadn’t even tranced you, but you were trapped. 

“Did-“ he pursed his lips. “What did D.U.M.P. get you into?” 

He read you like a book. You gave too much away. 

“Where are my clothes?” You asked instead of answering him. He huffed, his hands falling to his hips. His stupid, pretty hands. His stupid, muscly hips. You didn’t know if you wanted to hit him or kiss him. 

“No.” He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“What do you mean ‘no?’” 

“I mean I’m not gonna let you go back into whatever the fuck you’re dealing with alone.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he extended that finger again. You didn’t care for that one fucking bit. “And I know you could handle it, Sweetness, you are a force of fucking nature. But you’re not being given the resources you need, and it’s clearly affecting you. So tell me what you need and I will give it to you, Sweetheart!”

“What I need,” you spat, “is for you to stop calling me that!”

“What?” 

“Sweetheart.” You poorly imitated his accent. He huffed out a short laugh. “Sweetness. All those stupid, cute nicknames.”

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?” He crossed his arms over his chest. His face smoothed over into a smile, but you could see the tension in his body. He was giving you an out, a way to step away from the argument before you said something you would regret. 

Fuck him. You would say what you wanted to say. 

“You’re not my boyfriend.” You growled. “And I’m not your mate.” 

It was a calculated killing blow. You knew as it left your tongue that it would hurt, that it would cut him to the bone. The two of you had fucked a handful of times, talked even less, but he, for some goddam reason, had shown you the parts of him that still bled. You hadn’t wanted to use them against him, but you had no choice. Your own weaknesses were so obvious, so clear to the eye, and anybody could use them against you. He was luring you in with all coddling and sweet talking. He didn’t care about you. You wouldn’t let him back you into a corner when you knew how to get away. 

Milo’s face went slack, his whole body rearing back from that word. Your gut twisted with something like guilt. You wouldn’t have that. You twisted your fingers into the collar of his oversized shirt and held on for dear life. This was survival, simple as that. Nothing personal. That was something that Milo of all people would understand. 

“Out.” He hissed finally, breaking the silence that had overtaken the kitchen. Milo’s eyes were dark, darker than they usually were. His pupils had blown to encompass his silver irises. His face went horrific in a split second. Your body reminded you that you were facing down a monster. 

He moved very suddenly, disrupting the air in the room. Your breath caught as his hands landed on you. Your clothes were pulled off before you could protest. Your heart seized in your chest, but as that word pressed at the back of your teeth, you were redressed in the blink of an eye. Your work clothes, still warm from the dryer, were buttoned and tucked before the cool air of Milo’s kitchen could touch your skin. Your shoes were on your feet. Milo’s hands landed on your shoulders and he began to steer you towards the door. Even this angry, his touch was gentle, feather light, like he was afraid to hurt you. 

And fuck, if that didn’t make you that much more angry. 

You were out the door, unsure if you’d even managed a single independent step. Milo’s touch left you immediately. Your phone, keys, wallet were in your hands. You spun around and saw your shitty sedan parked next to one of Milo’s six priceless sports cars in the driveway. He must have picked it up while you were sleeping. Your stomach flipped. 

You turned back around. Milo was hovering in the doorway, shadows cast across his face from the low light of his house. His eyes were glazed over entirely black now. His fangs were extended, pressing into his pretty, full lips. 

“I shared that with you,” Milo said, his voice tinged with something animalistic, something wild, “as a show of trust. I told that to you because I know that I have a lot of power. I told you something that I knew could hurt me, because I know it’s not easy to do that.” His face twisted up. You were terrified, for a moment, that he would cry. “Fuck you. Fuck you for using that to hurt me.” 

“You could hurt me without even trying!” You seethed. You wrapped your arms around your middle, trying to hold yourself up. 

“Yeah.” Milo nodded. “I could. But I didn’t.” 

The door shut in your face. You stared at the stained mahogany like it might have answers for you. You screamed until your chest gave way to stuttered, panicked gasps. You got in your car and drove away. 

Your desk was waiting for you when you made it back to the office. Jet’s office was darkened, and only a handful of other investigators remained at their desks. It was late evening, bordering on much too late to be here. You sat down anyway and started working. 

By the time morning came round, you had far more information than you did at the start of the day before. For one, you had a rudimentary understanding of Swahili, and had managed to properly convey what you needed from your expert using a few online dictionaries and whatever Google Translate had to offer. He was a pleasant guy, if your translations were correct, and had affirmed that he would send a statement your way within the next few days with everything he knew about shades broken down into simple enough terms for the Department to work with. 

Your back ached and your stomach was still in knots, but you felt much better than you had the day before. Whatever affects the shade’s life-sucking-bullshit left its victims with wore off with time and rest. You added it to your notes, and sent a quick email to Collins to report your improved health. The sun had started to rise when you received a message back. 

Report to medical for field clearance. Don’t make me sick Jet on you. 

You sighed, scrubbing at your tired eyes. You knew it was pointless to resist. Collins would get you down there eventually, one way or another. It looked better for you if you went voluntarily. 

There was a whole floor to the medical department. Half of it was dedicated only to Dr. Collins’ medical research and the seminars he taught for D.A.M.N.. The other half made up the Department’s extensive infirmary. Staffed by Dr. Collins’ loyal group of doctors and nurses. They were a vicious bunch, too smart for anybody’s good, and skilled beyond all reason in both mundane and magical healing. Collins expected nothing but exceptional skill from his staff, and he wouldn’t settle for anything less.

[gremlin-bot]

Gremlin's ABC'S chapter fic project!

Background:

Some people in the DpxDc server and I came up with the idea for a fic that has every chapter in alphabetical order! We added to this concept by saying what If every chapter was written by a different author. This is how this project started!

project details:

I want to invite people to create a fic that each chapter title will be in alphabetical order and have a different author.

Participants will be able to read all chapters before their own and any tags that have been added to the fic. They may also write however much they want in their chapter but they only get one chapter. Everything in that chapter is up to you including style, character, chapter title and new plot. Just remember that this is a continuous fic! All I encourage you is to have fun!

Chapter titles could look like this for example:

Chapter 1: Anything could happen Chapter 2: beatboxing to happiness Chapter 3: cinders Chapter 4: Don't look into the water, the bodies aren't there.

If beneficial we can have a shared Google planning doc with any important information to remember being written into it! If we do this no planned future plot can be written in it! That being said I wouldn't discourage anyone from reaching out to the authors that wrote before or after you! 

This will be a long term project with no set end date. All participants will get any and all the time they want or need, this is for fun after all!! I plan to post this on Ao3 with everyone as co-authors. If you don’t have an ao3 but still want to participate I can credit you in your chapter in the beginning notes and link to your social of choice, or if you think of something better tell me! 

Dm me for sign up or any questions and concerns!

{fic found here, spots still open}

[nugatorysheep]

Wip Title Game

Tagged by @novantinuum

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs

I am not tagging 50 million people so @extranuts @flaretheskywing @dragonuva @roseetube post some WIP titles cowards

I have several docs that are just meant to be informative that I'm not listing because there's not much to talk about with them, and a TON of unfinished art that is like pre 2022 that will def not get done ever so its been yeeted into my Untouchables folder and also isn't listed here lmao

For convenience, I've taken out any duplicate files that are the same thing but in a different format

As you can see I have three brands of naming conventions for my files: Objective, Boring Name that just Is What It Is, Song Title and/or Lyric, and Shit Post Cause I Was Tired

Lord help me I have SO many WIPS

(Non-Informational) Writing Wips:

Bad End FOM Fic Beguiler of Wills Burning despair does ache Chapter 9: What does it matter how my heart breaks Drabbles Druidbreak Ficlet FOM WIP Doc Glimpses of life denial WIP IDK what to call this but yeah IEOE stuff idk Intermission XXX: Separate Ways Intermission XXX - Last moments of pure recall Intermission XXX - Look in my eyes she still holds the power Intermission XXX - The way ahead feels lonely Intermission XXX - Loss of want back there Pit AU - Editing Prism R&C Soundtrack Breakdown Six Forty Seven Slug it out Tell Me Something Good

Art Wips (I have a million of these):

[shoves hand in abdomen for the symbolism or some shit].clip ask.psd Axel Sketches.clip baneful bunker.png beat up boys.clip Beyond Bliss Gems Lineup.clip Bliss rose stuff for later.clip break the bank.clip chompers.png Connverse dump.clip Cupid dump.clip Druid x Sven x Sonny.clip Dryad sketches.clip EINF Steven.clip evil boi.clip evil leo doodles.clip Eye contact.clip Fab fly floret.clip failure 01.clip Frame of Mind Sketchbook.clip Fusion Chart.clip gay as fuck to be a test subject. what are you testing, your capacity for homosexual desires.clip (this is one long ass title lol) goober.clip Haven't you noticed I'm a star.clip He can say it cause i said so.clip he yeeteth and yoinknth away.clip HEARTBREAK SPINEL REF.clip homie rolled a nat one on genetics fr.clip HONEY REF.clip i am so fucking hungry bro imma make noodles 1.png (there's 4 it's a comic) I have made a new boy.clip Illustration (2).clip Illustration (3).clip Illustration.clip Illustration2 (2).clip Illustration2.clip Inner Demons.clip it triggered his flight or fight response.clip Karma Sketchbook.clip lazer_eyes-3A4E6.clip Lemme tell you what it's like to be a Zero.clip Loss Dot Jaypeg.png me.clip Mermay HB.clip mermay.clip MINOTUAR MAN.clip mirror_gem_designs.clip ML Stevonnie.clip munchmunch.clip Nova Artfight 2.clip Now that it's raining more than ever.clip old man lizard.clip oops all pain lol.clip open arms.clip Pasture crew.clip rare dizzy art.clip Real.mdp Ref wips.clip Sarkhan's Dragonfire.clip Save a horse ride a cowboy.clip Say that again i dare you.clip Screenshot 2023-09-23 001021.png Senkywenky.clip SFW Sketchbook.clip ShatteredStar.clip Show off those guns.clip Slugman the second coming.clip Snaps and snarls.clip so what's the point of holding tight onto my feet.clip Soap.clip some mtg quote.clip Space faggot.clip spongebob window meme.clip Starnheim_Unleashed.psd STEVEN ON LION.clip SU AU Battle Cuts.clip SUDF page redraw.clip Suneater.clip SUTREK.clip Take A Breath.clip Talking to Myself Redraw 1.clip (there are several of these it's a comic) THE SUN IS GETTING LOW.clip THERE IS NO MANA IN THIS AIR.clip they love each other.clip this was supposed to be shoes idk what happened.png Throwing boys at the wall to see what sticks.clip Tourmaline.clip Tower of boys.clip Trolls bullshit.clip tumblr bait purple rabbit man but the lame version [springtrap did it better].clip uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh shit idk.clip Union of Love.clip wahho.clip Welcome to the grid user.clip Welcome to the grid user.png Will you be satified.clip wip 02.clip You're MINE.clip zoo doodles.clip ZOOLOGY GEMS REF TWO.clip

[owlxle]

The Infernal Therapist

Or: The Hazbin Hotel finally gets a fucking therapist on staff

This is something of a chapter zero for a series I'm hoping to write surrounding a Hazbin oc and their misadventures.

Words: 1,384

Warnings: None

~

It was a normal day in Hell. As normal as could be expected, that is.

There's a soft knock at the door, almost as if the demon behind it doesn't want to be heard.

Unfortunately for the poor sinner, one of the hotel staff opens the door and stares at them.

At least it's someone they're on good terms with.

"Ah. Husker, hello."

The drunkard's eyes widen in recognition. "Oh. It's you..."

"Unfortunately, yes, it's me."

Standing on the doorstep is a humanoid demon in a white lab coat and black turtleneck, his skin is tinged purple and his eyes are a much deeper shade of the same color. The demon's black hair frames their face and a pair of half-rim glasses sit on their nose.

"What'd'ya want, Doc?" Husk sighs.

"Is our... mutual friend around?"

The bartender sighs and opens the door a bit more, revealing an imposing, familiar figure staring directly into their soul with his constant large grin.

The newcomer tenses immediately.

"Doctor Haze! How good to see you again, my friend!"

"Alastor."

The two demons stare at each other as Husk slinks off, Alastor almost daring Haze to make a move.

"Al? Is there someone at the- oh! Hello!" The overexcited princess of Hell steps in front of Alastor to shake Haze's hand enthusiastically.

"Oh- Greetings, your highness."

"Just call me Charlie!" She insists, dragging the sinner into the hotel and to the lobby.

Haze looks around, trying to get a read on his surroundings.

Husk has returned to the bar where a tall, furry, white demon is flirting with him relentlessly.

A demon with grey skin, long, white hair, a missing eye, and an angelic spear(???) glares daggers at the doctor.

A snake-like demon appears to be hiding behind a couch, watching cautiously.

A small red blur Haze recognizes as Niffty darts around, barely sparing the newcomer a glance aside from a quick once-over to confirm that he is not, in fact, a "bad boy".

Without turning around, Haze knows The Radio Demon's current location.

Directly behind him.

Alastor's ambient static slowly intensifies, putting an uneasy feeling in the air.

Something that the princess- Charlie doesn't seem to notice as she nudges the doctor into the middle of the room.

"Okay, everyone! We have a visitor!" Charlie announces, waving everyone closer. "This is-!" She pauses. "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name, mister...?"

Alastor cuts in before Haze has a chance to speak for himself.

"This, my dear, is Haze! An old friend of mine!"

"Mister Haze!"

The doctor shoots Alastor a glare, to which the Radio Demon responds with a knowing smile.

Charlie looks over at Haze, following his glare to the recipient. "Is something wrong?"

Alastor's grin grows slightly, daring Haze to correct the princess.

Watching this interaction, the spear-wielding demon speaks, her largely monotone voice harboring a touch of affection for Charlie. "Hon, maybe we should let him speak for himself."

"Oh! Sorry! I just got to excited and Alastor told us your name and-"

"Don't worry about it, your high-" He clears his throat. "Charlie."

"I'm Doctor Haze, but please, just call me Haze." He gives an awkward half-bow. "At your service."

"So the new guy has a title, huh? I've always liked guys with a bit more... experience~" The tall, furry demon says, his tone apparently meant to be seductive.

"...No thank you."

"Aw, come on, Doc! You look like the last time you got some was before they invented the fun stuff!"

"No thank you." Haze asserts, a bit more sternly.

"Your loss~!"

Now that he's moved closer, Haze can better make out this demon's features, wracking his brain for a name to put to the familiar face.

"Haze, this is Angel Dust, one of our residents." Charlie explains, smiling. "And over there", she gestures to the snake hiding behind the couch "is Sir Pentious! Our other resident!"

Pentious's hood flares, revealing four more eyes in addition to the two visible on his face and the third on his hat (which, by the way, appears to be alive).

"Hello, Doctor." Pentious says, politely as he slithers toward Haze. "I wassss just... doing reconnaissance! Yes!"

Haze nods, shaking the snake demon's outstretched hand hesitantly. "I can appreciate a strategic mind. It's a pleasure to meet you- all of you." He announces, expertly containing his true level of enthusiasm.

"We're not done yet!" Charlie says in a sing-song tone as she drags the poor sinner around the lobby.

"This is my girlfriend, Vaggie! She runs the hotel with me!"

Haze has a million questions about the grey-skinned demon. There's something so... wrong about her, like she doesn't belong in this setting. And that spear! He supposes its possible that Vaggie scavenged the weapon after an extermination, that would be the most logical answer, but Haze has always had a mind that runs rampant without his input.

Vaggie gives Haze a curt nod. "Hi." Ah, an individual of few words! Battle-hardened, maybe? He concludes that Vaggie was likely some kind of warrior on earth, maybe an older civilization? That would explain the confidence she exudes holding that spear... that would mean she's been down here quite a while, of course. She could even be older than Zestial!

...Back to the proverbial drawing board, then.

Charlie waves a hand in front of Haze's face, shaking him from his (admittedly long-winded) thoughts. "Haze? Are you alright??"

"Oh! Erm. Yes, sorry, I let myself get distracted for a bit too long." He laughs, hovering his hand over the back of his head in a stereotypical show of embarrassment. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Vaggie." Haze offers a handshake but the demon just... stares. Glares, even.

"She takes a bit to warm up to new people, don't worry." Charlie explains, dragging Haze to yet another introduction. He hopes it's the final one.

"Hey again, doc~"

Angel Dust. How many arms does this demon have? Four seems excessive, but if he's a spider, he should have eight limbs total, leaving a pair unaccounted for! Why he's expecting any of this to make sense, he's not sure, but he'd certainly appreciate it if it did.

There's a familiarity about the spider's name... Angel Dust. One of his patients may have mentioned it...?

"Oh, I know that look." Angel smirks. "You know me from my work!"

"Gay pornos." Husk adds, from behind the bar.

Yes, it was definitely one of his patients that brought him up. Probably Travis. Seems up his alley.

"Oh, of course." Haze nods.

"You watch my stuff?"

That is a fair conclusion to come to, quite honestly. "Oh- um. Not me, one of my patients mentioned you a few times."

"So the title ain't just for showing off? You've got patients? What kinda doctor are you, anyway?" Angel seems genuinely curious. Haze can appreciate that.

"He's the lobotomy kind!" Alastor announces, making his presence known again after his ambient static faded into the background.

"That's barbaric, Alastor." Haze mutters.

"Oh, I'm just kidding! Haze here is the kind of doctor that talks at you!"

"That's a gross oversimplification..."

"I know!" Alastor's grin seems to grow wider for a moment. "You're hilarious when you're offended!"

"Great. Thanks. Appreciate it." The doctor says under his breath, trying to ignore the Radio Demon.

"He ain't wrong, though. That's what you do." Husk asserts before taking a long drink from his nondescript bottle of alcohol.

"I'm a psychologist. I have a small clinic in Pentagram City where I provide therapy for sinners. I've found that it's often beneficial for the damned to show vulnerability."

Charlie's eyes light up and Haze can practically hear her enthusiasm. Internally, the demonic doctor grins, externally, he smirks.

"That's why I'm here. I want to offer my assistance in the betterment of sinners."

"Really?" Charlie asks, bouncing in place.

Alastor's eye twitches, a subtle sign that he is... irritated, to say the least.

He's hilarious when he's offended.

"I don't know if I believe in this concept of 'redemption' you've been peddling, but in the end, we have the same goal. We both strive improve the lives of sinners." Haze extends a hand to Charlie, in a way reminiscent of Alastor, albeit with none of the danger in the air. "What do you say?"

[hotd-bigbang]

How to Submit Your Story to the AO3 Collection

Please read this guide carefully before submitting your story - we recommend having this page open at the same time, to follow along with, if you have never submitted a story to an AO3 collection before. Ensure that your accompanying artwork is finished and ready to go before submitting, and ensure all works are added to the collection before 23.59pm September 15th.

Please do not submit your story until it is ready - ensure all changes are made in your Word or Google doc. Updates to your fic once placed in the collection result in multiple draft copies, which we have to reject, so please don't submit until you are ready to hit 'post' (please hit 'post' and do not save as a draft - hitting post will successfully submit your fic to the collection and hide it until its reveal date)

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Step by step instructions below the cut.

To ensure that the artwork in your fic adapts to the right shape and size, depending on whether users are reading on mobile or desktop, you will need to create a workskin - do this first.

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Go to My Workskins and Create Workskin

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Title whatever you like; description is optional

Type in the CSS code shown below exactly the way it is here:

#workskin img { width: auto; max-width: 100%; height: auto; }

(We recommend copying and pasting, so there are no mistakes)

On the bottom right under "Actions" will be the option to Submit for you, tap/click and you're done!

Once you're done, you choose New Post in the top right of your browser. You fill out the Rating, checkmark the right Archive Warnings, choose the Fandom (i.e. House of the Dragon in this case), the Category that applies to your story, the Relationships and Characters. Last but not least, you put in the Additional Tags (i.e. more warnings, or triggers).

You get to the point where you put in the Title of your story and Co-Creators, this is where you'll list the Big Bang account, more details on this further down. Then follows the box to fill in your Summary. If you want to add a note at the beginning or end of a chapter, you checkmark the option and a box will open. Whatever you write in there, please note it will be gone if you uncheck the box.

Type in "House_of_the_Dragon_Big_Bang_2024" under Post to Collections/Challenges and select the Collection shown in the description.

Under Gift this Work to, you should add your Artist and Beta Reader. As a co-creator, please add hotdbigbang.

Select the This Work has Multiple Chapters if your story has more than one chapter.

And last but not least, you Select your Work Skin before you get to the part where you can paste in your story.

Finally, posting the art to your story within the story:

Choose Rich Text

Tap the image icon

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Not all image addresses work, the most effective are from Discord or Tumblr.

Please add an Image Description of the image you are posting, it will be for those who use TTS- text to speech to have someone read the story, that includes visually impaired people, but also those who simply like it to listen to a story. It will be nice for them to hear what they would see in the image. You can be as detailed as you like.

Next is Width and Height, both get automatically generated and even if the image pops up really big when you tap Save, remember you used a Work Skin that will adjust it accordingly for your readers once posted.

Hit submit and you are done! Your fic will remain unrevealed in the collection until your reveal date. We will post the full reveal schedule closer to the deadline.

[snelbz]

Better Or Worse {Chapter Five}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Cassian —

True to my word, I’ve continued to sleep in Feyre and Rhysand’s basement. Now that it’s Monday, I have my bags in the backseat of my truck as I drive to this damn counseling session. As long as this doesn’t completely blow up in my face, I’ll be going back home with Nesta. 

I was surprised when she showed up at Feyre and Rhys’s, begging me to come home, to go to marriage counseling. A year ago, even months ago, I would’ve agreed to marriage counseling without any hesitation. But I meant what I’d said. I’m tired, and I’m past trying. 

At least that’s what I keep telling myself, but yet I’m here, pulling into the parking lot of some fancy little office on the far end of town. 

Nesta’s already here.

I see her car parked right next to the door. She’s still inside, but her car is off, and I find myself wondering if she’s just as nervous and unsure as I am about this whole ordeal.

After cutting the engine, I grab my wallet out of the cup holder and make my way to Nesta’s car. At first, she doesn’t see me, so I knock on her window and make her jump. She greets me with a scowl. 

Even when she’s mad, even when I’m pissed at her, she’s gorgeous.

“Come on,” I say, as she throws open her door. “We’re about to be late.”

I turn and walk towards the front door of the office building, knowing she’ll be a step behind me. Sure enough, I hear the clipping of her high heels on the pavement a second later. “I’ve been here since 9:45. You’re the one showing up one minute until ten.”

“You said our appointment was at ten,” I said, opening the door and holding it open for her. “So I’m here at ten.”

She glared at me as she walked into the building, but the waiting room was not a conducive place for the type of conversation we were prone to having recently, so she let it drop.

For now.

She headed right for the young woman at the receptionist’s desk, leaving me at the door, giving me a minute to appreciate her. The sweater she wore was loose and baggy, hiding her full breasts, but it was tucked into a pencil skirt that showed off her round ass. It was made of lace, with a shorter skirt beneath, showing off her long, toned legs.It was the kind of obscene balance that Nesta brought to everything in life.

I could barely tear my eyes off her ass, off those legs that hadn’t been wrapped around my waist in far too long, but once I did, I noticed the sweater was an old one of mine.

A knot of emotion caught in my throat that I cleared away before joining my wife.

“Dr. Berdara will be with you shortly, if you’d like to take a seat.”

Nesta gave a curt nod and swiveled to a set of chairs by the window. I quietly followed after a kind smile toward the receptionist. 

Nesta and I sat in silence for five awkward minutes before a door opened and our names were called. The therapist was around our age, maybe a year or two younger, which I thought was strange. Surely she had never been married, and if she had, she couldn’t have been married long enough to know all of the answers.

She seemed nice enough though.

Her and Nesta made small talk as they walked ahead of me down the long hallway and into an office overlooking the parking lot.

She gestured to a small leather couch for us to sit on opposite of her desk, which we did before she sat herself and smiled.

“It’s so nice to meet the two of you,” she said, sweetly. “I’m Gwyn.”

Wants us to call her by her first name? Another red flag.

“Not a fan of going by your title, Doc?” I asked, and I admit that my hostility may have been showing a little too much. I can practically feel Nesta’s eyes on me.

“I prefer a more casual approach when I’m first meeting new clients,” she explained. “Start us all out on even ground, rather than anyone above the other.”

Before I could reply, Nesta jumped in. “I think that’s a wonderful way to start out. I’m Nesta.”

The two of them looked at me, waiting. I started drumming my fingers on the arm of the couch. “And I’m Cassian.”

“As I said, it’s wonderful to meet you both.” Gwyn gave us another sparkling smile. “Cassian, why don’t you fill me in on why you two are here today?”

My fingers froze. “Why me?”

“Because Nesta made the appointment,” she said, nodding to my wife. At the same time, she nonchalantly flipped open a notebook and reached for a pen. “So since she took the first step by reaching out, I’d like to hear from you.”

“Pretty sure I took the first step when I told her I wanted a divorce,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. I can feel her go rigid next to me.

Gwyn jots something down in her notebook, either oblivious to the tension between us or used to the uncomfortable situation thanks to her line of work. 

“And what led you to that point?” She pushed, her voice gentle, which only makes me more agitated. “What made you ask her for a divorce?”

Alright. I guess we’re jumping right into this fucking train wreck.

“Nesta stopped caring about our marriage,” I answer, shrugging. “So now I have, too.”

“I didn’t stop caring,” Nesta snaps.

Gwyn gives her a smile. “You’ll have your time to respond, but let’s let Cassian finish.”

Well, shit. Maybe I don’t hate her.

Gwyn turns back to me. “What makes you think that she’s stopped caring?”

“In the last year, we’ve barely spoken to one another. We’ve barely spent any time together. When we do talk, it’s about bills or our schedules or her work, which I think is great, she’s great at what she does, but we don’t need to be constantly talking about deadlines and edits. Every time we’re in the same room together, she gets annoyed and snappy. Every time I ask her for a night off, where we can just be together, she refuses.”

Gwyn nods thoughtfully. “So you feel the root of your issues lies in her work?”

“I think she’s addicted to her work. It’s clear she cares more about it than she does me,” I answer honestly. “She definitely puts more work into her career than she ever has in our marriage.”

Anger is radiating off of Nesta, but she doesn’t say a word. 

“I hear you.” Gwyn writes something else down. “How long have the two of you been married?”

“A little over nine years.” Nesta worked on the night of our anniversary, but I don’t bring that up.

“And your issues just began a year ago?” Gwyn asks.

I hesitate. “I guess I don’t really know exactly when our issues started, but about then, yeah.”

“This may seem like an obvious question, but I’d like as much background as you're willing to offer.” She folds her hands over one another on her desk and looks between us. “Did anything happen around the time things changed? Was there a catalyst or an incident that led to what you both see as a deterioration in your marriage?”

Before I can even decide how much I want to divulge, seeing as I met this woman less than five minutes ago, Nesta answers for us both. “No, nothing.”

And then Gwyn is writing again. “No infidelity or skeletons in closets that came to light?”

When I look over at Nesta, I find her eyes already on me, her gaze pleading.

I wanted to be pissed that our marriage counselor was almost accusing me of cheating on my wife, despite knowing she was asking an innocent question. I wanted to be pissed that Nesta had lied to her face, despite being the one who suggested we come here to work on our issues. This was where she’d finally open up about what had happened that night, when our world had gone dark, after pleading with her so long to just talk to me.

But it wouldn’t be today. Nesta wasn’t ready, the panic in her eyes was evident enough.

I turned back to Gwyn just as she looked up from her notebook and lied, just like Nesta had. “No cheating. No skeletons. Nothing happened.”

Gwyn looked back and forth between us, skeptically, but nodded. “Alright. Well, finding a turning point is a crucial part of this process, so let’s start from the beginning. How did the two of you meet?”

“Freshman year of college,” Nesta says, and I don’t care that she’s suddenly taken control of the conversation.

“And you started dating?”

Nesta nods.

“And what was it that drew you to Cassian?”

The question throws me off guard and I hate how much I want to hear the answer.

Nesta clears his throat. “He was…wild. Confident. Sarcastic. And frustrating as hell.”

Gwyn smiled. “And you found that attractive?”

“I found him intriguing,” Nesta said, wistfully. “He could piss me off and make me swoon within a matter of seconds. I’d say that it was his passion that drew me to him, at first.” 

“And Cassian?” Gwyn asks. “What drew you to Nesta?”

I stare at my outstretched feet. “She challenged me. Captivated me. I was used to dating…girls with low self esteem who just wanted me to prove that they could have me, but Nesta was smart. Confident, too. I don’t know. I guess that I liked that she was different.” 

“Different how?”

It was a much more difficult question to answer than I would have thought. Not because I didn’t have an answer, but because it was hard to put it into words. “She pushed me. She made me dig deeper. There was substance, not just a pretty face, she helped me grow, I guess.” 

Nesta sits silently beside me, staring at her hands, and I tried not to notice that her eyes line with tears. 

“And when did you get married?” Gwyn asks, still watching me.

“A little over a year later. We married young. Both just turned twenty.”

“And did anyone oppose your marriage? Considering you were both so young.”

“My father,” Nesta answers, quietly, “but we’ve never had a great relationship so I didn’t really care what he thought. He came around afterwards.” 

She didn’t mention that he died a few years ago, but I can hear the pain in her voice as I often do when she talks about her dad, although rare. 

“Tell me about your wedding day.”

“It was small,” Nesta says, and it nearly sounds like she’s smiling, although her face remains neutral. “Just our closest friends, and my sisters. Our friend Rhys got ordained online and married us on the beach.” Unable to help myself, I chuckle. Rhys was the worst officiant of all time. He was drunk, which did make the awful speech he had concocted a little bit better. “I wore a dress that I found online for thirty dollars and we were barefoot. It was nice.”

She made that thirty dollar dress look a million bucks. I still remember exactly how she looked, with her hair braided like a crown around her head. I remember how I felt. It had been the best day of my life and I couldn’t believe that I was so lucky to marry someone I was so in love with, my best friend.

“You look lost in thought. What are you thinking?”

It takes me a second to realize that she’s talking to me. Nesta is watching me, expectantly. I clear my throat. “It was a good day.”

I’ve somehow said the right thing and the wrong thing, all at the same time. Gwyn gives me a smile and looks poised to jump onto her next question when Nesta speaks. “That’s it?”

I don’t respond immediately and neither does Gwyn, which leads me to believe she’s going to let this one play out, rather than intervene.

Thanks, Doc.

I turn towards her, unsurprised to find her eyes already on me, storm clouds brewing within. “I said it was a good day, Nes.”

“But that’s all you have to say? It was a good day?” She genuinely looks offended and my short fuse is getting incrementally shorter by the minute. “Meeting your brothers for a drink after work is a good day. When you find a twenty on the street, it’s a good day. And all you have to say is that it was a good day?”

My jaw locks and my fingers flex. “What do you want me to say?”

Pure rage flashes across her eyes. “I want you to say something meaningful.”

Something meaningful. Jokes on her. She’s the one that hasn’t said something meaningful in months, years, who can’t recall how to have a meaningful conversation if her life depended on it. I take a deep breath, then another. Those deep breaths are the only thing keeping me stable, keeping me grounded. “Something meaningful?” I repeat. 

“Yes,” she snaps.

Gwyn remains quiet.

My lips snap shut and I bristle, eyes planted on a pen sitting on Gwyn’s desk. “This is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Just talk, Cassian!”

My eyes snap to hers, and the second we make eye contact, I’m gone. I can see the emotion, the rage and sadness and hope, and that’s rare for Nesta. Especially lately. Lately, I’ve barely gotten anything from her, but now…she’s listening. She’s waiting. She’s hopeful.

“You want to talk about our wedding day?”

“Yes.” A tear falls down her cheek. She quickly wipes it away.

“The day I married you was the best fucking day of my life,” I say, looking away from her. “I loved you, Nesta. You were so damn beautiful, walking towards me with that overpriced bouquet. I had no doubt that you were the woman I was supposed to marry. All I wanted was you. I didn’t give a fuck when or where I married you. All I cared about was that you were mine. I meant every word I said in our vows. I’ll always love you, always protect you, always be there for you…” I shake my head. “I meant my vows, Nesta. But your vows were shit. Over the last year, you’ve proven that you didn’t mean a damn word you said that day.”

The room is silent, save for the occasional sniffle from my wife. She doesn’t respond and I’m sure as hell done talking for now.

Gwyn lightly taps the end of her pen against her notepad. “Can you tell me what you mean by that, Cassian?”

“I mean she hasn’t stood behind her vows, the promises we made to each other.” My voice is quiet now, all anger sapped from me as Nesta dabs at her eyes with tissue she produced from somewhere. I’m just tired now.

Reading through her notes, Gwyn says, “You’ve told me there’s been no infidelity, so in what way do you feel that Nesta hasn’t upheld her vows?”

“She’s never there.” I hate explaining this. It’s the same shit I’ve explained to my brothers for the past six months and nothing ever changes. “It’s like I don’t exist. All that matters is her books and her deadlines. She doesn’t put any effort into our marriage or even into our relationship.”

Nesta is noticeably silent now. Good.

Gwyn pushes. “Nesta, would you like to respond to that?”

Angrily, she swipes at a tear. “My books are my livelihood.”

“And you were my whole life.”

I don’t realize I’ve spoken the words aloud until both Gwyn and Nesta look at me.

I sigh, rubbing at my temples. Trying to move past the fact that I’m letting feelings I want to suppress out, I say, “Look, I’m proud of Nesta. Okay? She’s a damn good writer, and she’s living her dream. I get that. But since her career has taken off, she’s either working or stressed, and wants nothing to do with me, because I’m just another thing on her plate that’s already overflowing.”

Nesta doesn’t bother saying that I’m wrong.

“So you’re saying that Nesta needs to focus more on you,” Gwyn says.

“I’m saying that as long as she’s too busy working, our marriage is nonexistent.” Gods, I didn’t even want to come and now I can’t shut up. I lock my jaw and stare at my hands.

I feel Nesta looking at me but I don’t care to look back at the moment. 

“And how do you feel about what Cassian has said, Nesta?”

My wife is quiet for a moment, then she says, “I don’t know.”

I scoff and Nesta glares at me, but Gwyn is patient. “Do you not know, or are you unsure how to put your emotions into words?” 

Nesta shrugs, and I know she’s frustrated but I can’t find it in me to care much. “I guess I didn’t realize I was working so much, at first, but now I’m just used to it. I’m used to waking up and working until I go to bed. Ignoring Cassian was not my intention, I just wanted to be successful.”

“And now it’s a habit?” Gwyn asks.

Nesta nods.

“Would you say that you’re addicted to your work?”

Nesta hesitates. “I guess so. I guess it’s all I think about, yes.”

“Do you still enjoy being an author?” Gwyn asks, and I find myself intrigued by this question. For the first time in a while, I look at Nesta.

She’s staring at her wedding rings. “I don’t know. I love to write, but it definitely feels more like a chore than it ever has before. I don’t like the editing process. And sometimes I’m so stressed that I have writer's block and I go insane trying to write anything worthwhile, only for it to get torn apart during editing. My deadlines are getting closer and closer together and I struggle to meet them, because I’m always so stressed. And I know it affects Cassian. Then I feel guilty, but if I’m being honest, that guilt just makes me more stressed and withdrawn and frustrated and miserable to be around.”

The words rush out of her; her eyes never leave her rings.

“There may be a conversation that needs to be had with your publisher about the amount of work your putting out,” Gwyn muses, never one to give orders, just suggestions. “But as of right now, Nesta, I want you to think about how you used to balance work and your time with Cassian before. We’re nearly out of time today, but I want that to be what you consider until we meet again. Cassian, I want you to think about the amount of work Nesta does and how you can help.” I immediately want to protest that I know little about the written word, not like Nesta does, but she shakes her head. “I don’t mean in a literal sense, but to alleviate her stress. How can you help?”

I nodded. If we were here, I was willing to try.

“I want you two to go on a date before our next session.”

I blink at her, not sure that I’ve heard her right. “A date?”

“Yes,” she replies, closing her notepad and smiling at us both. Nesta’s expression is as confused as mine. “Dinner, maybe a movie or some dancing, the activity doesn’t matter. As long as the two of you spend uninterrupted time together, without work or deadlines, cell phones or emails, that’s our goal.”

Uninterrupted time with my wife.

The idea terrified me.

I hesitate, but it’s Nesta that says, “Okay.”

I don’t know why I’m so shocked by this, by her quick acceptance, considering this was all her idea, but I am. I’ve been trying to spend alone time with her for months, and I’ve gotten shot down every time. As soon as someone else mentions it, she says okay.

I tell myself not to be pissed about it, but I am.

Still, I say, “Okay.”

Nesta —

It’s been three days since Cassian has been back home, and it’s been…okay. Quiet, and there’s still not a lot of interaction between the two of us, but we haven’t been fighting. Although I guess it’s hard to fight when you barely speak. 

It hasn’t helped that he’s been working a lot this week. He’s a few men down at his restaurant so he’s picking up the extra slack, as you do when you’re the head chef, until they return. 

Still, when he’s gotten home we’ve had a small conversation about our days then we tell each other goodnight before Cassian makes his way down to the couch to sleep.

I hate being in our big ass bed without him, but I don’t mention it, not yet. 

Cassian got off earlier today, so we decided to take up Gwyn’s challenge. We’re going on a date. I’m nervous as hell, which is ridiculous, but I can’t help it. I want it to go well but I feel like I have to tiptoe around everything to avoid another screaming match.

I can hear Cassian humming to himself in the shower as I slip into a little black dress, one I haven’t worn in a really long time, and look in the mirror. I’m hot, I can’t deny it. I curled my hair and did a full face of makeup, which I also haven’t done in a while, and honestly? I feel confident looking at my reflection, more confident than I’ve felt in…shit, too long.

After clasping a simple diamond pendant around my neck and closing my jewelry box, my eyes fell on the cracked bathroom door in the mirror behind me, a bit of steam billowing out. The only thing I lacked to be completely ready were my heels, but seeing what occurred last time I walked in on Cassian in the shower, I respected his privacy and waited. I sat down on our bed — the bed I’d been sleeping in alone — and waited.

It was absurd, giving my husband privacy and space after being together for a decade. We were the couple no one shared their secrets with, because what one of us knew, the other did as well. We didn’t do it to gossip. 

We just didn’t keep secrets from each other.

I didn’t know at what point that changed, but I knew I was the cause. It all seemed to be my fault lately.

“You ready?”

My head snapped up. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts that I hadn’t heard the shower shut off or the door open completely.

And my husband stood before me in nothing but a dark blue towel, water dripping off his hair and running down his muscular body.

I watched as one particular droplet trailed down his neck, over his broad chest and well-defined abdomen, before absorbing into the towel wrapped around his hips.

“Nesta?”

Cauldron, boil me, I was ogling my own husband.

Tearing my eyes from his body, I met his gaze. I wasn’t entirely surprised to find heat there, simmering beneath the wall he’d put up between us. It had been a long time since I’d taken a moment to appreciate his body, a body he works hard to maintain, and I know he was as affected by our distance as I was.

Once I’d looked my fill, I cleared my throat, completely forgetting what he’d asked. “What?”

“Are you ready to go?”

I shook my head. “Almost. Just need to grab my shoes.”

He nodded, heading for his dresser, opening the top drawer, where his socks and underwear had always been tossed in with no rhyme or reason. As he began to rifle through it, I hurried into the bathroom, the steam already dissipating, and into my closet. Finding my heels was a matter of a few seconds and I was back into the bedroom before Cassian had even found a matching pair of socks.

“I’ll be downstairs,” I called, the straps of my shoes dangling from my fingers.

I only got two steps down the hall before I heard his voice call out behind me. “Nes?”

I turned, finding him standing in the bathroom doorway, a pair of black boxer briefs clutched in his hands. “Yes?”

“You look beautiful.”

A sudden pang of nausea swept through my stomach, fueled by excitement and longing at his words. I knew I was blushing. “Thank you.”

His smile almost reached his eyes as he disappeared into our bathroom and I hurried downstairs, Greg on my heels. 

My beautiful, fat cat hopped onto the couch next to me in the living room as I put on my shoes, trying to control my shaking fingers. 

My mind wanders back to my husband in a towel, as well as what lies beneath as I stand, my heels securely fastened. I take one last look at myself in the hallway mirror and take a deep breath as I hear Cassian coming down the stairs. 

When he comes into view, I want to run up to him and kiss him deeply, but I stay where I am. He’s wearing black pants and a dark crimson button down, both of which are perfectly fitted to his gloriously sculpted body. The top few buttons are undone, and I can see glimpses of his chest tattoo. But the best part? His hair hangs loose. 

“Ready?”

“Yes,” I say, nearly breathless, which makes him arch a brow. I clear my throat. “I’m starving.”

“Me too.” He comes near me, where his wallet and keys sit and snatch them up. He smells delicious, like that cologne I got him last Solstice. Once everything is in his pockets, he holds out his hand.

I blink before realizing what it is he wants.

Cassian is nothing short of a gentleman when it comes to a date.

I slip my hand in his and realize just how long it’s been since we’ve touched.

His fingers curl around mine as pulls me to my feet and we turn to head for the kitchen and the garage beyond. He drops my hand as he locks the door behind us and I’m surprised when he takes it again as we walk to his truck. It’s a short walk, but he’s apparently decided it’s been too long since we touched as well.

After closing me in the passenger side of the truck, he circles around until he’s sitting in the cab with me and starts it up. It roars to life and he backs out of the garage and the driveway.

As soon as he’s on the main road, he reaches over and threads my fingers in his.

I don’t say anything about it and neither does he, both of us silently enjoying the contact we’ve been denied for months.

“I made reservations at Sea and Vine,” he said, once the quiet in the cab was starting to feel less comfortable and more stifling. “I know how much you like their wine selection.”

The soft snort leaves me before I can stop it. “The wine selection, eh?” When I glance over at him, his ears are red. “Nothing to do with their cannolis?”

“Don’t hate on their cannolis,” he mutters, and I catch the hint of a smile. 

The rest of the car ride isn’t bad. We make smalltalk, which feels strange and unnatural, but not awful. We make our way to Sea and Vine, and park at a parking meter a few streets over. As soon as we’re out of the truck, he takes my hand again and pulls me close.

The heat radiates off his body, and now that his hair is completely dry, I admire the thick waves. He hasn’t shaved in a week or so, and a steady scruff has captured his cheeks, his chin. I love it when he’s not clean shaven. I think it’s sexy.  

Part of me wants to pull him into an alley and have him pin me up against the bricks. I want to revisit that heat we had when we were dating, when we were engaged, when we were newly married. There was a time when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, when we would sneak away no matter where we were and fuck each other senseless. 

I’m just now realizing how long it’s been since we’ve even been on a date. The whole concept feels foreign, and I’m almost unsure of what to do.

It’s all so ridiculous.

When we make it to the restaurant, we’re ushered to our table and Cassian pulls out my chair. Once he’s seated across from me, we fall back into our small talk. We share about our days, and how things have been going at work. I order my favorite wine and nearly melt in the deliciousness of it. Cassian asks them for a cannoli before we even order dinner. 

To my delight, I’m enjoying myself. And, I’m hardly thinking about work, which is rare. I feel like I’m thinking about work every waking moment. It’s a nice change of pace.

“Gwyn seems nice,” Cassian says, once our food is placed in front of us. He has a plate of steak and pasta, while I have shrimp scampi. 

“She does,” I agree. “I like her approach. Very casual.”

Cassian nods and pops a bite of steak into his mouth. “I have to admit that I wasn’t so sure about counseling…but, I didn’t mind it.”

“It’s nice, having someone there to play the mediator,” I say, jumping right in. We can tiptoe around our problems or we can face them head on. After months of awkwardness and half-assed conversations, I was ready to get back to who we were. I just had no idea where to start. “Someone to let us finish our thoughts when the other wants to jump in.”

He says nothing, just takes another bite of his exquisite steak and raises an eyebrow, indicating I’m the one who needed the reminder more than he did.

Which, to be fair, was true.

I can’t help but chuckle as I eat, swallowing my food before I speak. “I’m just saying, having an outside party is helpful.”

“I don’t disagree,” he says, twirling his fork in his pasta, not looking at me. “Especially when it comes to shit we don’t want to talk about.”

Immediately, my walls started to go up, not liking where he was leading the conversation. I swallowed harshly, but there was no food in my mouth.

Clearing my throat, I started, “I’m going to make an effort to be home more, Cass—”

“I’m not talking about your work, Nesta,” he pushed.

My jaw clenched and I stared at my plate, still full of food. Cassian’s chewing slowed as he watched me. 

“I thought my work was the biggest part of our issues,” I began, slowly.

Cassian continued to eat, apparently able to eat through any sort of tension. “I think it’s a part of our issues. It’s not the only part of our issues, although it’s apparently the only part of our issues that you want to talk about.”

I’m quiet for a moment, pushing around my pasta on my plate. “Can we not? I want to enjoy my night.”

“I’m not trying to ruin our night,” Cassian says, his fork halting. “I’m just saying—”

“Well stop,” I snap, and instantly regret it. My eyes wander back to my plate. “I don’t want to talk about that tonight.”

“You don’t ever want to talk about it,” he mutters, and drops his fork. “It wouldn’t hurt to talk about it, Nesta.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We have to.”

“Not now.” The tone of my voice is final, and I see the hurt in his eyes. I know that what happened didn’t only affect me. It affected him, too, and we never had closure. I get that…but I can’t talk about it. I’m not ready. Even after all this time. I’m not ready. 

We’re quiet for a moment, and I wonder if anyone at the tables surrounding us have picked up on our awkward choice of dinner conversation. 

“I’ve lost my appetite,” I say, at last.

“Yeah.” Cassian’s not looking at me. All of the sudden, the mood has changed and we’re strangers again. “Me too.”

“Call for the check.”

His jaw locks but he gives me a stiff nod. With barely any of his food eaten, he motions for the server to come our way and asks for the check.

I feel guilty.

I also feel angry.

Uncomfortable.

Sad.

We sit in complete silence as our check is retrieved and we’re brought to-go boxes. I dump my shrimp scampi into one, and he pushes his steak into another. 

We barely make it out of the restaurant before he says, “I’m sorry.”

“About what?” I ask, as if I don’t know, which seems to make him mad.

“Don’t do that,” he says, stopping under a streetlight to glare at me.

“Don’t do what?” I ask, unable to stop my act, not knowing why. 

I can tell he’s frustrated, can tell he’s getting pissed. I notice he’s not reaching for my hand this time. 

“Act like you never have any fucking clue what I’m talking about,” he hisses. “I need you to communicate, Nesta. I need you to talk to me, to be open to me, to give me something of substance. I’m tired of these surface, meaningless conversations, and I’m tired of you avoiding everything we have to get out in the open. Therapy only goes so far.”

“Why couldn’t we just have a nice night?” I cry, and I hate myself for getting emotional. “We haven’t had a date in forever. This was supposed to be good for us.” And now we’re fighting on the fucking street.

Cassian just shakes his head and shrugs. “It’s not my fault.”

“Oh, right, it’s mine! It’s always my fault. It’s my fault we drifted apart, it’s my fault that you want a divorce, it’s my fault that we can’t—” the words fade away from me, stuck on my tongue. A tear falls that I wish kept itself hidden. 

He stiffens. “Nesta—”

“Go home, Cassian.” I start to walk away, but he quickly follows me.

“Come on. Let’s just go to the truck—”

“I’ll find my own way home,” I snap, trying my best to hurry ahead of him. I don’t look at him. I hardly acknowledge his presence. I need to be alone.

“Nes—”

“Please, Cassian!” I spin around, meeting his eyes. I can’t stop the tears from falling, can’t stop the feeling of utterly falling apart. “Leave me alone! Go home.”

I hate the angst in his eyes, the confusion, the loss. “Where are you going?”

I shake my head, backing up slowly. “I’ll see you at home.”

This time, when I walk away from him, he doesn’t chase after me. 

[poorlittlegreenie13]

Thank you so much for feeding the SydCarmy fandom the past months <3 We so appreciate your effort to work hard on your irl studies/career and also share your writing with us <3 The woman that you are!! As much as we want to rush you to drop the next chapter (I mean, are we living or just existing at this point?), take as much time as you need; don't stress or neglect your sleep and health, we'll be happy whenever it comes :) Are you willing to start a new fanfic once you finish Rules For Fake Dating an Italian? We'll miss you so much ): Consider your children will be starving for content as S4 might take another year to be released, please have mercy on our horny souls

Hi! Omg thank you, this is so sweet! New chapter is posted now, so you can resume living <3

I think I will start a new fic when I finish this one! It'll probably be shorter, who knows. But I've started planning it, google doc is open, I have a title & everything. No promises, but I'll probably post it :).

(if you're curious, the title of the new fic would be from this song: https://open.spotify.com/track/5CrMp9BViHrB30hM6gbmIx?si=e55c9f44da684358).

[starlingflight]

WIP Tag

Thanks for the tag @takearisk-ao3 ❤️

List the titles of your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

Then tag 10 writer friends!

I have a bunch of WIPs that aren't hinny but I know I'm too deep down the rabbit hole to work on them atm so there will be a theme here:

Someone Else's Life - Harry & Ginny travel between a reality where they're happily married and one where they never got back together after Voldemort's defeat. But which is real and which is the dream? Oh, and there's the small matter of the murderer they need to catch. (There is no short way to describe this fic)

Heartlines - DH from Ginny's POV

Mortifying - One shot of Harry dealing with Lily Luna having a very Ginny moment (Not posted yet)

Summertime Sadness - A series of moments from the summer following DH

Hinny desk smut (I'm sorry but this is what it's currently called in my docs) - it is exactly what it says in the title (Not posted yet)

Scenes I'm excited to write

I'm literally on the last chapter of SEL so it's hard to answer this without spoiling. I'm excited to write the epilogue.

It's been 2 years, I'm kind of just excited to pick this back up?? There's a scene with Carrow and Ginny where he recognises her from the Astronomy Tower that I'm pretty excited about!

A cute dad!Harry moment & teenaged girls being scarier than dark wizards, what is not to enjoy writing?

I really want to write Ginny dealing with Fred's death and asking Harry what he saw when he died while looking for reassurance (bc I hate happiness and good vibes)

This spawned from a paragraph in chapter 6 of SEL: 'She'd slipped into his home office three nights ago, it'd been late, and she’d been intent on enticing him out of there. She'd barely spared the piece of parchment bearing the crest a glance before she'd swept it aside, assuring Harry she was far more interesting than anything in his mountain of files. He'd not taken much convincing to agree with that statement.' - so I guess I want to write that.

Poll (I've left SEL off because that IS going to be the next one updated:

Tagging: @lanaturnergetup @merlinsbudgiesmugglers @artemisia-black @ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey @themaraudershavethephonebox @briarpotter @historyevolving (I think everyone else has been tagged - if you haven't, consider this your open tag!)

[memberment]

DOES ANYONE WANNA PLAY A GAME??? (This is the post I was just yapping about.)

So we’re playing a game! Perhaps, if anyone wants to play! 

For reference, we have all gotten pretty used to me having one fic per day of the week, with exclusion of Sundays, bc I gen hate posting on Sundays. (I don’t wanna talk about it!<3) 

But. As of more recent months, I’ve shackled myself to behemoth fics that realistically, y’all would be waiting for new shit for millennia if I start posting shit in the order I’m writing it. So that’s just not gonna work! (I also do not want to be shackled to ao3 forever, but I cannot just write shit and leave it to rot in my google docs because I am not evil. Sharing is caring.) 

So without saying any more than that (bc I gotta leave y’all with some mystery), I would like y’all to help me narrow down this list of twenty to ten. (These are all of my open concepts that I’m willing to touch at the moment. There are a few more sprinkled about, but I don’t even wanna think about them rn.) I have listed titles, if I have them (if not, it's noted) and brief either descriptions or yaps. Literally just throw numbers of shit you wanna see or specifically think I should not be working on first at me. Do not care. Whatever floats your boat. <3

-

A Girl and Her Dog - Bebe runs into a lunatic and a dog while trying to complete a task (there’s actually a leak for this in my test fic).

Ca$h4Cultz - The main four accidentally manifest a god after starting a cult. (Again, leaks are in my test fic. This one might not be super long, but whenever I think about it, it makes me laugh really hard.)

Tweek’s Eclipse?? - I don’t have a title for this yet. It is literally Tweek’s story from Eclipse. Including the shit before. I’m not super invested in it yet, but the first chapter I did write kinda hits. There’s leaks for it somewhere in my slew of posts on here.

What Are You? (not sold on this title) - Tweek meets an imp after spending his whole life alone. He doesn’t really care if the imp takes his soul, but for some reason, he can’t. This aggravates the imp to no end so now he’s just dragging Tweek along to figure out exactly why he can’t take Tweek’s soul. (The imp is Craig. I personally think what I have written so far is fucking funny. It’s not gonna be good, but I stand by it.) 

Son Of Satan - Craig meets an imp. Or at least, that’s what the imp’s calling himself. (This is probably gonna be a fun nonsense piece with no legitimate plot and will probably get thrown on the trashfic pseud, but it will be fun. The entire fic is concepted off of one single piece of fanart I saw, if I can find it again, I will gladly share.) 

Untitled mind reader fic - I do not have a set title for this because I’m only two chapters deep. Basically, Tweek has to deal with some shit after someone starts reading his mind and decides to speak up. 

Untitled Horror Duo- Okay, so neither of these have titles yet, but basically, it’s two fics. There is the main story and the prequel. They both line up though in the way that I have the guides structured. These are so old, but I have like 30k between the two of them and I kinda don’t want to just leave that to rot, y’know? The main storyline follows Tweek who just entered high school after being locked away his entire life. He’s possessed by something, making adjusting to normal human life ten times more difficult. But still, he manages to find friends that care about him and want to help him, despite everything. And the prequel actually follows Kenny who’s had some close encounters with the something that’s possessing Tweek in the main story. I think this could be really fun. I remember being very deliberate about weaving these stories together when I was working on it and it was fucking ANNOYING!!! But it might also be really bad (I haven’t touched what I have since around March so I gen don’t know???), so I may assign it to  the trash psued. BUT IT’S AN OPTION!!! 

Three Kings Of Chaos - Chaos Inc. has three leaders. General Disarray, Major Mayhem, and Professor Chaos (of course). But being super villains can be complicated. Especially when their angel donor decides he wants to join in on the fun. (This will realistically probably not be very good. But, I find the concept to be very entertaining.) 

Then We Won’t (I’m not sold on the title) - When a kid gets outcasted for his powers, he makes an unlikely alliance. (This entire fic got concepted around the saying ‘The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.’) 

Untitled Civil War Fic - Basically, C&F are all evil. The Freedom Pals are just trying to get their friends back. Just about every ship in this winds up getting thrown in enemies to lovers territory. Except for Butters and Bebe (and I personally think their storyline is fucking hilarious). 

New Beginnings Rewrite - I HAVE VERY LARGE IDEAS FOR THIS. THE OLD ONE IS STILL UP SO I WILL NOT BE ELABORATING.  

Human Island - (no set title) After the world is destroyed, humans are limited to a small chain of islands. But what happens when a scientist threatens to destroy the harmony they’d worked so hard to build? (This is loosely based on something and if someone were to catch it if I were to write and post this, I would lose my fucking shit. Like, I think I would be so happy I would, like, throw up.) 

Vents - (no set title) SOMEONE gets thrown into a psychiatric facility. Involuntarily, of course. They assume they’re just abandoned there to die until someone starts calling out to them through the vents. 

I might actually finish Stalkers (this is not the title but I’ve been referring to it as such since it got concepted). Heads up though. This one is trash. Like out of everything I’ve ever written, this is thee trash. It was actually the precursor for Leap Year in the sense that I wanted to write something problematic for the sake of being problematic. It will be on the trash fic psued. Like, I genuinely find it funny because of how bad it is. But I can’t recommend telling me to work on this, because it genuinely isn’t good and I stand by that. 

My Love Letter To You - There are not one, but two Professor Chaos’ in this story. How fucking wild. Wonder how that happened. This story is basically the set up to them fighting it out and what led them there. (I’ve been eyeing and fiddling with this for a while and if you read my end notes you can prob figure out when I started messing with this concept). 

Untitled Cartman and Kenny FP fic. - Okay, so this was actually one of my first fanfic concepts. Basically, Cartman spends a good amount of time blacked out. When the other Freedom Pals find out, they try to intervene. And of course, Kenny has something to do with it. 

Cntrl: Escape - I think this might genuinely be my favorite out of all of these. A group of people get elected to escape their “perfect” world. (There is a tyrannical ruler and AI involved. Also the opening scene rn is artist Tweek trying not to lose his shit over the AI art contests surrounding his block. I love it. This one’s prob Tweek centric, but there are six(?? I’m not checking my notes. Approximately six???) mains in this.) (There is also a tiny leak of this on my test fic.) 

Untitled Kyle Supersomething Fic - As states. Human Kite’s either gonna be a supervillain or a vigilante who does not fuck with the rules of hero society and does things his own way. Could be fun. Oh also, from the jump I have decided the bad guys (Kyle) win in this. Like, I feel like villains winning is severely lacking and I need to contribute to what I want to read because that is the entire reason I started writing fanfic. 

Untitled Evil Shed Fic - And our favorite gadgeteer superhero is not a superhero anymore. He’s much worse. Stan is irredeemable in this, or at least that’s where it’s taking shape in my head right now. This is prob gonna border on horror if not be straight up horror. I do have plans to make all of the people I really focus on character wise (that isn’t Butters, obviously) have their own villain fic at some point, but rn all I have buzzing around my little idiot brain are Kenny (which is done), Stan, and Kyle’s. (Wendy’s is also starting to take shape in my head, but not enough to concept it out yet.)

New Kid - A small town (South Park, obviously) falls into chaos when an alien stumbles upon them. This is New Kid centric without it actually being New Kid centric. I have been giggling about this concept since the idea graced me back in March when the warm weather first popped around and I heard the song ‘Trailer Park Alien’ for the first time. Which is exactly what this fic is based on. 

[alette-stars]

Over 240,000 words, 45+ chapters, written over 4 and a half years. Blood, Water is complete. 

This post is long overdue. I finished the fic over 6 months ago (can you believe it?!) and I’ve been caught up in things offline, to put it lightly. But on the 5th (!) anniversary of the posting of the first chapter, i thought there was no better time than to, finally, put this out.

I really couldn’t have finished this work without all the love and support i received while it was being posted. I know we like to say to write for yourself, not the crowd, but god that support really motivated me and brought so much happiness to my life. And i hope i was able to return some of that to you, through my work. 

Well you’ve all waited long enough. Let’s get started!

The inspiration of fic title is given in the fic summary. Blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. Although this quote is attributed as the full version of the common adage blood is thicker than water, it actually isn’t! It was coined later, though i don’t know by whom. (i actually didn’t know this when i first wrote the fic, but i stand by the quote—it’s great and very fitting)

I think i came up with the title like minutes before i posted the first chapter. I ended up posting it impulsively, kind of. I knew it was gonna be a big project but i wasn’t thinking about my other ongoing fics at the moment, i was so excited and i just had to start sharing this one

The entirety of the fic was written in a Google Doc titled Vampire 8. 

Seonghwa’s favorite kaomoji (as referenced in Chapter 11) is (❁´◡`❁)

All the prominent vampires in this have ‘unsexy’ ages, and that’s on purpose. I wanted to do something different from the typical centuries-old vampires. So, instead, at roughly 200 years Seonghwa is the oldest, while Mingi would still be a young man if he hadn’t been turned

Don’t ask about the progression of time in this fic. It went on so long (i wrote this over literal years) i genuinely forgot

I like to write other idols into my fics, and this one is no exception. Most prominent would be VIXX (current and ex members) as the coven essentially in charge of the vampire world, but there’s also Monsta X’s Minhyuk, whose conversation with Yeosang was brought up in Chapter 22. 

All our main coven’s makers were named after famous Korean actors and actresses. Ji Sung for Wooyoung and Yeosang, Nam Ji Hyun for Jongho, and of course Kim Tae Hee for Seonghwa. Mingi’s maker is never referred to by name but her name is Nara, after Jang Na Ra. 

Author has a cameo in Chapter 6! Cashier staring shamelessly at Seonghwa in his full vampiric glory :’) 

Seonghwa’s real-life fits were often used as inspiration, but one was straight-up duplicated. This was of course the teal turtleneck + mushroom hair combo from the amusement park date in Chapter 13.

I did do a little color theming for some characters, but nothing too strong. We have red for Hongjoong, turquoise/teal for Seonghwa, purple for San, and gold for Yeosang. 

Another theme i love for all my writing is space. Seonghwa and his planet/star comparison is probably the most obvious. Personally, i have a lot of fondness for the framing of Wooyoung and Yeosang as the sun and moon, and then the addition of San as the Earth. 

There have been some questions about the systemic issues in world of Blood, Water that i’ve kind of avoided answering because i wanted to focus on the immediate, personal story. But basically vampires are an open secret in the world that the government continues to staunchly deny. The vampire population has historically been very, very small. Vampire society, as a whole, didn’t exist until recently. Around 20 years ago, the government decided to crack down and eliminate the vampire ‘issue’ once and for all, leading to the hunting days that cost many vampires their lives—including Yeosang and Wooyoung’s maker, Jisung. When the regime changed, the new government stopped the state-operated vampire hunting. The blood den/club business that had always operated on a small scale—accessible only to the most connected/wealthy vampires—grew and even regular vampires (and humans) could get in. This reduced the ‘mugging’ operations less well-off vampires had to resort to, but bred new problems. Increased vampire-human interactions resulted in more turnings. By the start of the Blood, Water timeline, vampire population has started to outpace the blood available at the blood dens. Vampires of a certain level of society, like Seonghwa, are strongly advised not to turn any more new vampires, because soon the problem might get too big to hide. 

Technically there is no vampire leader, although the authority everyone defers to is Hakyeon and his coven. But, as Hakyeon himself would say, they’re not a government—they’re businessmen. Anything they do—keeping the surrounding areas safe, putting down dangerous vampires, providing blood and feeders for newborns and adults—is to keep their business running smoothly. Vampire society is officially lawless so, yes, if Wooyoung wanted he could kill another vampire. 

In the 4 and a half years from conception to completion of Blood, Water, a lot of things changed. My initial conceptualization of Yeosang was as a cold, dangerous individual, one that you might think would actually hurt San. Early on i decided to go for a tragic angle, so his sensitive, selfless nature came through.

Another change that got made very, very late was Yunho and Mingi’s ending. Don’t shoot me, but i initially plotted a different, sadder ending for them. After Yunho almost dies at the big house by newborn San, Mingi gets too into his head about Yunho’s safety and they break up. They uh don’t get back together. Yunho leaves Seoul for a better opportunity (a job, possibly a dance position—one of those things Mingi could never be a part of). It’d be kind of hinted that they’d get back together, but in the future, after Mingi’s worked through more of his vampirism issues and his anxieties. Obviously this isn’t what ended up happening, but, damn, it almost did. I decided not to do this because things were getting too heavy at the end there haha.

Finally, a not-insignificant part of Blood, Water was the chapter graphics that accompanied every chapter release on Twitter. It wouldn’t have been possible without all the wonderful stock image available for use online. A full list of resources:

Chapter 1 - people partying inside room by Pim Myten

Chapter 2 - Street Night Light on pixabay

Chapter 3 - Silhouette Photography of Trees by Jesse Bowser

Chapter 4 - Orchid Flower Blossom by anncapictures 

Chapter 5 - This was a composite of two images that i think i accidentally deleted from my laptop and i cannot for the life of me find anywhere online. I’ll update this if i ever find them, i am so sorry for my carelessness omfg

Chapter 6 - Jewelry Boxes Red Blue by furud

Chapter 7 - Silver and black laptop computer by Jay Wennington

Chapter 8 - Painting Abstract Background by mondschwinge

Chapter 9 - Bridge Night Architecture by nqcoc9

Chapter 10 - Full Moon Night Sky by Pexels

Chapter 11 - Sunset clouds background from the National Park Service

Chapter 12 - Fully made by yours truly

Chapter 13 - Ferris Wheel Night Shot by CloudyBird

Chapter 14 - Amaryllis Flower White Open by Sponchia

Chapter 15 - half filled wine glass beside half empty clear pint glass by Sérgio Alves Santos

Chapter 16 - Glass Piece Broken by qimono

Chapter 17 - Macarons Dessert Food by TheoCrazzolara

Chapter 18 - white pillows by Anastasia Mezenina

Chapter 19 - Daniel von Appen on unsplash. I believe the original image has been deleted

Chapter 20 - Cfl Spiral Lamp by Public Domain Pictures

Chapter 21 - a red and blue painting of a building by Jr Korpa

Chapter 22 - Red rose in dark room by Ben Decoster

Chapter 23 - Cakes Strawberry Sweetness by Alexas_Fotos

Chapter 24 - Nature Fire Flames by StockSnap

Chapter 25 - Milky way by Ivana Cajina

Chapter 26 - Sunset branches silhouette by lovexxpeace

Chapter 27 - Lightning Thunderstorm Night by anvel

Chapter 28 - Chandelier Glass by Tedd

Chapter 29 - Splatter, Blood, Paint by Clker-free-vector-images

Chapter 30 - Clear glass wine by Luke Besley

Chapter 31 - white cushion on bed near brown wooden nightstand by Annie Spratt

Chapter 32 - Blood Moon on a Dark Sky by Roberto Nickson

Chapter 33 - Red Light Behind a Door by Jamal Yahyayev

Chapter 34 - Flower White Wilt Black by bmartinseattle

Chapter 35 - Brown wooden bed frame with red bed sheet by Janko Ferlič

Chapter 36 - An Open Red Flush Door by Kei Scampa

Chapter 37 - two arcade cabinets by Ben Neale

Chapter 38 - Gambling Chance Luck by Ogutier

Chapter 39 - time lapse photography of cars during nighttime by Roman

Chapter 40 - Vine Plant Sprout by ngyuenbuihoai

Chapter 41 - Gold Pocket Watch by John

Chapter 42 - red and yellow thread in needle by amirali mirhashemian

Chapter 43 - Red hibiscus flower photo by Kai Oberhäuser

Chapter 44 - Node Red Knot by moritz320

Chapter 45 - Lighted Brown Bridge by Burst

Chapter 46 - Brown wooden framed glass window by Tim Rüßmann

Chapter 47 - the same as Chapter 1, people partying inside room by Pim Myten

You can find all the edited images in the Twitter thread. 

Fun fact: all the images follow the red/black/white color scheme, with one very glaring exception: Chapter 22 (and to a lesser extent Chapter 25) 

If you have any further questions (which i didn't cover in this super long post...) you can reach out to me on Twitter or retrospring!

Well, we’ve done it. We’re at the end of this post. Pretty long-winded but i figured if we could power through 240k words of the fic, we can survive a few paragraphs of my rambling. Thank you all again, so, so much, for all the love and support you’ve given my work. I really could never have done it without you. It was an honor and a blessing to go on this journey with you, and i wouldn’t give it up for anything. 

So what’s next? Keen readers might’ve noticed Blood, Water is part of a series, titled Ties of Blood and Silver. I do have plans for a direct sequel. Yes, our vampire boys will be back! With new challenges, new angst, and even new relationships. I’m organizing shit in my real life so it won’t be starting immediately, but you can all look forward to it! Until then, thank you, i love you, and see you all around ♡

[mairaiscarrierofthepaperclips]

Fic Writing Review 2023

Tagged by the glorious @thewolvesof1998.

Words and Fics

117,284 words published to AO3 (so many words still in docs as WIPs)

2 fandoms (9-1-1 and The Rookie)

Most recent drop: i opened my eyes (and all i saw was you)

Longest Fic: hard kick, slow burn (M, 11,382 words)

Top Fics by Kudos (all Buddie)

and i always will (M, 2,365 words)

you're where i stand, hearing the sea (T, 2,972 words)

i am never without it (T, 3,404 words)

a madman and a minstrel (T, 2,575 words)

to the depth and breadth and height (M, 6,231 words)

My fandom fic events in 2023

Flufftober 2023! And it was a banger.

My Buddie collection for Flufftober can be found here.

Upcoming Events and Projects for 2024

Fics I'm going to try and get out in the upcoming year:

Almost complete:

lazarus rising - Buck needs space after the lightning strike. Eddie doesn't understand, not really, but he lets him go. But when Buck comes home, he finds out that something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Already started:

magical realism fic (Buck thinks he's allergic to Eddie. Spoiler warning: he's not).

vesper - inspired by the poker episode, Athena asks the boys to go undercover in a poker ring. Think Casino Royale.

Gravedigger fic - fans of Bones will immediately know what I'm talking about here, amirite?

not like this (title TBC) - based on the New Girl kiss (IYKYK)

snow shovel fic - AU where Buck and Eddie are neighbours. it's a whole thing.

you're in my arms (and all the world is calm) sequel - Chenford fic, sequel is from Lucy's POV (and answers the cliffhanger from YIMA)

a Davrick (Schitt's Creek) piece inspired by the 9-1-1: Lone Star episode 'Saving Grace'.

Ideas/planned fics (basically the Notes app on my phone):

No Nut November fic - my actual November turned hectic, but if all goes well I'll still write this one because the plot makes me giggle.

Multi-chapter AU featuring past lives, reincarnation, and soul mates.

night strewn salt across the sky sequel - featuring Barista!Buck and Nurse!Eddie's First Date!

when words and deeds are in accord (my whole world is transformed) sequel - featuring established Buddie fluffiness. With singing!

apocalypse fic - snow. so much snow.

I have had so much fun writing in the 9-1-1 fandom this year - I switched from the HP fandom due to Reasons, and the welcome and love I've been shown has been truly lovely.

Thank you so much to everyone who has read/left kudos/commented/mentioned me in a post or sent me an ask - y'all are amazing.