#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!”

[leeknot]

Chapter 1: The Arrival

Next

The facility loomed in the distance, its grey, windowless structure stark against the darkening sky. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, feeling a strange mix of excitement and unease. Blackthorn Psychiatric Facility wasn’t like other hospitals. It catered to the “untreatable” patients so volatile and dangerous that no ordinary institution would house them. You had been specifically requested to join their team—a fact you couldn’t quite make sense of.

“Dr. [Your Last Name],” the letter had said, “your expertise in severe psychological disorders makes you uniquely suited for this position. We trust you will make significant progress with our most challenging patients.”

The letter had no sender, just the facility’s cold, impersonal logo. Despite its cryptic tone, you had accepted the offer. Partly for the challenge, partly because you felt... drawn to it.

---

Inside, the facility was just as unsettling as it looked from the outside. The air was sterile, the walls a clinical white, but the weight of something unspoken lingered. A nurse greeted you at the front desk, her demeanor brisk.

“Welcome to Blackthorn. Dr. Hale will brief you before you meet your patients,” she said, handing you a folder. “Read this carefully. They’re... different.”

The folder contained seven profiles, each more troubling than the last. Your patients’ names stared back at you, each paired with clinical diagnoses that only hinted at the chaos beneath:

Jake: Severe abandonment issues, history of violent outbursts.

Heeseung: Dissociative identity disorder; at least two documented alters.

Jay: Narcissistic tendencies, manipulative behavior.

Niki: Explosive anger episodes, high-risk aggression.

Jungwon: Schizotypal delusions; reality often blurred with fantasy.

Sunoo: Histrionic, emotionally unstable, attention-seeking.

Sunghoon: Psychosis; frequent hallucinations and paranoid ideation.

Their photos were striking. Each young man carried an air of intensity, their gazes holding something raw, even unhinged.

“Why are these patients grouped together?” you asked, flipping through the profiles.

“They’re... unique cases,” the nurse said carefully. “You’ll see for yourself.”

---

Dr. Hale, the facility’s head psychiatrist, was waiting for you in a stark, fluorescent-lit office. He was a tall, gaunt man with an unreadable expression.

“You’ve been assigned to the East Wing,” he began, sliding another folder across the desk. “It’s where we house our high-risk patients. They’re your responsibility now. The previous doctor... couldn’t handle it.”

“What happened to them?” you asked.

“They left,” he said curtly, his eyes narrowing. “You’ll be different, won’t you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication.

---

After the briefing, you were escorted to the East Wing. The halls felt colder there, the silence oppressive. A single guard opened the heavy door to the common area, where all seven patients were waiting.

The first thing you noticed was how quiet they were. No shouting, no chaos—just seven pairs of eyes fixed on you as you stepped into the room.

Jake was the first to speak. “You’re the new one.” he said, his voice low and rough. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or hunger.

Heeseung sat cross-legged on the couch, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. “We’ve been waiting for you,” he said with a small, knowing smile.

Jay leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. “Don’t let the big titles fool you, Doc. Everyone thinks they can fix us. They can’t.”

Sunoo tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he wanted to solve. “But you’re different, aren’t you?”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything, his eyes darting around the room as if he were seeing something no one else could.

Jungwon stood in the corner, his hands clasped in front of him. He smiled faintly. “You’re important. I can feel it.”

And then there was Niki. He didn’t speak, just stared at you with a defiance that made your skin prickle.

---

Their intensity was palpable, each one exuding a presence that was both magnetic and unnerving. You felt the weight of their attention like a physical force, but you steeled yourself.

“I’m Dr. [Your Last Name],” you said, meeting their gazes one by one. “I’m here to help you.”

Jake laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “We’ll see about that.”

For the first time, you questioned your decision to come here. Something about these patients was... different. Not just their diagnoses or their behavior. It was as if they already knew you—intimately.

And that terrified you.

---

[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.

[nocturne-side-blog]

˖⁺‧₊˚ WIP Tag Game ˚₊‧⁺˖

When you're tagged, share the names of each wip doc you have no matter how ridiculous! Tag as many people as you have WIPS, if you can. Open asks to talk about these WIPS!

Thanks for the tag, @aegon-targaryen! I've actually done this one before and it was so long, but it's somehow managed to get longer... Gonna divide it into categories this time to make more sense of my insanity. 💀

As always, I'm open to answering questions about them! ♡

Fic Update WIPs

WIPs for chapter updates.

The Mage’s Lantern (Doc 2)

Stone Fate

Forget me Not

Origins of Calamity

totk rewrite

Unreleased Fic WIPs

Multi-chapters I haven't posted yet.

my tloz 1986 lore abyss + ROG Plotline

crack au + crack fic

Anachronism

Age of Imprisoning

Wait for Me

The Ancient Era

well excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

in another life

three eras

Hero's Awakening

calamity au

Yeah

Spy x Family: The Unseen Files (not zelda sorry lol)

ace attorney thing idk

HE'S GOT AN ATTITUDE

plumbing's our game

One Shot WIPS below the break, there's a lot. ^^"

One Shot WIPs

WIPs for one shots.

Voe & You

Voe & Me

I'm Home

Ash on the Wind

Divine Disappointment

Unsung Hero

Slow Dance

Something Human

Ballad of the Pirate Queen

(title something to do with colors)

Somewhere Before

To Wait for Millinnea

Mortal Growth

zelda borrows link's clothes or something

bokoblin study + monster ecosystem

If Boats could Talk (They'd Tell You Stories of the Wars They've Seen)

midna diary

albw zelda gets caught

Hero's Shade story thing

sage avatar therapy

Midnight at Hateno Bay

link sure hopes zelda's alive and not a dragon

Home Away from Home

A Prophecy Fufilled

knockoff zelink

Sheik's Lies

scrapper :(

Stick in the Mud

Circadian Rhythm

The Latest Rumors

Feeling "Thank You"

Fit for a Princess

My Voice

Condé's Hot Chocolate

Last Time We Met...

Foreboding Discovery

My Destiny

The Gift of Your Time

A Pirate's Grace

mural

shopping

sick fic

Watch of the Descendant

Ivy

Kiss and Tell

The New Guard (auru pov)

all the time in the world

legally blonde good ending (????)

Cut Strings; Princess's Lament

zelink hildavio double date

Save You from Me

Trials of Hylia

Tangled Bait

IAL Vignettes

About a dozen other unnamed concepts in my idea doc.

Original Legend Concepts

Worldbuilding and writing WIPs for original TLOZ stories. Many of them have multiple docs, so I went with the ones I have been using the most with them lately.

almost-swapped-but-not-really

Modern AU Wordlbuilding + Modern AU Idea Dumping

Sea of the Hidden City

Dream Spinner Ideas

Imminent Darkness

fairytale aus

Era of Malice

wots out of order

Sages of Hyrule

Legends Crossed

zelda ttrpg + zelda fighting game

DW COMIC TRANSCRIPT

THE FABLE OF HYRULE...

more I am too lazy to dig for

Wilting Heart

Strings of Darkness

Art WIPs

return of ganon sketch concepts

gentleman

att refs

commission

(insert all the sketches for tml cover redraws here I'm not listing all that)

fmn banner

other stuff I probably am forgetting

I think this most of it, I got a bit lazy here and there keeping track so I clumped things together. Most of my stuff has 2-4 docs. I definitely can't tag this many people because I don't know that many, but I'll try to tag as many as possible who I haven't seen tagged already. 🫡

✦ Tagging...

@cherrysalsa @hurricane105 @mistresslrigtar @leiladebees @zeldadiarist @aheavenscorner @linktheacehero @dubiiousfood @skyyknights @karama9 @amelias-hart @musical-chan @citrinediamondeyes @cetaseok @mailrebel @michpat6 @minstrelsmusings @ladye-zelda @isasan347 @pastelsandpining

And anyone else who would like to participate! :)

[minimalsizeconspiracy]

No-Google (fan)fic writing, Part 2: Zettelkasten

Storytime

Word and Writer (see this post) used to have one huge disadvantage – the number of pages either of them were capable of keeping in active memory before the whole thing would just crash. This was, of course, in part because computers had less RAM in those days, but also because Word and Writer constantly keep everything you write available in exactly the layout it will be printed as. Or, to use slightly more computer-y language, both of them are “What You See Is What You Get” (WYSIWYG).

That also means that if you start using certain features – lots of headings, footnotes, images especially – they quickly reached their capacity. I had one document consistently crash at 100 pages, although usually, it would take up to 300 pages before that happened.

Nonetheless, it was frustrating, also because the crashing meant that documents would get corrupted and I would lose what I had written. Yes, corrupted documents are a real issue. Especially because Word’s source code is protected, so it’s not easy to recover them.

Also annoying was the “having to split up documents into several files”.

But the worst part, for me, was that I lost some really good stuff because I was rearranging the order of scenes and forgot to paste before cutting another scene, and didn’t notice in time.

So I went looking for other options. How I ended up finding Zettelkasten is a mystery today, but I did.

Word/Writer/Google docs versus Zettelkasten

So what is Zettelkasten?

Many notes, one story

Well, if you have heard of Scrivener, that would be an equivalent. The principle is fairly easy – every new thought/idea/scene is created as a “note”, which is added to a growing collection of other “notes”. That means you can keep different scenes separate and work on them individually without always opening the whole document, which, given the crashing problems mentioned above, definitely a +1.

Features

It is also easier to rearrange the order of scenes without losing anything, because Zettelkasten has a virtual “desk”, on which you can place your notes. This “desk” can be divided into chapters, sections and subsections, basically small “folders” that you keep all the scenes for a specific story in, in the order you want. They can be moved up and down, to different chapters, or entirely removed from the desk. That’s important to note, because it doesn’t mean you’re deleting the note completely. Even if you accidentally delete a scene from this desk, the note will still be there, so you can simply add it again, no harm done.

+1 for organisation and another +1 for not having to be afraid of losing stuff.

Additionally, Zettelkasten lets you tag every note. I had tags for characters, so each note would be tagged with the characters appearing in that particular scene, but you can create tags as you like. This also allows you to search specifically for scenes with certain characters involved, which is useful because I used Zettelkasten a lot to simply jot down ideas for scenes that weren’t yet part of a larger story. If and when I decided to actually write that story, I’d create a new virtual “desk” (you can have several) and find the notes via tags to add them to that desk.

Great feature, much beloved, +1.

Since it was originally developed for taking notes for academic papers, Zettelkasten also has a literature tab. For every note, you can add a reference. I used that to enter the provisional title of the fic, which again made it easier at the end to find all notes belonging to the same story. Additional benefit: renaming the story is super-easy, because there’s no need to find every note and replace the “reference” individually, instead you just rename the title from the literature tab and it automatically changes on all notes with that “reference”.

Again, a much-beloved feature, +1.

There are more features – bookmarks, cross-referencing, attached files – but since I rarely used those for writing (fan)fic, I’m not covering them here. If you want to know more, leave a comment.

File formats

Zettelkasten has its own file format, .zkn3. That means it’s difficult to open it with other programs but the original (but not impossible – 7zip, for example, can open .zkn3 files). The idea here is that you jot down all of your ideas in notes, sort and organise them on your virtual desk, then export them either as the whole desk or as single chapters/sections/subsections from the desk to a file format of your choice, and there are many. HTML, DOC(X) (Word), ODT (Writer), RTF, XML, MD, TEX …

Safe to say you’re somewhat spoilt for choice here, with one caveat: some of those require you to have Pandoc installed on your computer. Which is also freeware, so, you know, not a problem.

My preferred method of uploading to AO3 was usually to export to HTML, then copypaste from one browser window into the other browser window with the Rich Text AO3 text field. Just like with Writer, rich text formatting (bold, italics, underlined, etc.) are copied over, so you don’t need to redo all of that.

Or you just open the .html-file in an editor (Notepad) and copy the code over to the HTML text field on AO3. Either works. Black magic is not required.

Interface

Like Writer, the big pro of the Zettelkasten interface for me is how uncluttered it is. It’s divided into areas where you can see your note, the note’s title, the “references” field and then, on the right, two columns showing the tags for the currently open note and another column with tabs showing available tags, individual note titles, all available references and more.

New notes or notes you’re working on are opened in a separate window, where you enter your changes and then save them. The desk is similarly simple – on the left side are your chapters/sections/subsections, in the middle are the notes and their text, on the right are three fields for additional notes.

Again, the interface isn’t fancy and may put some people off. I love it exactly because it’s so simple. I want to write, edit and develop my story, not be distracted by something the designers thought would look cool.

So, at least for those of similar simple minds as me, +1 for clarity.

Cost

Zettelkasten is free to download, unlike Scrivener or many other comparable applications. However, as with many a free software application not backed by a company or corporation, it probably has an expiration date and will likely stop working at some point in the future.

Since you can export the whole .zkn3-file to various other formats, you aren’t going to lose anything – in a worst-case scenario (and yes, been there, done that, it works), you can open the .zkn3 file with an archive application like 7zip and extract the underlying .xml-files from there. So no, your stories will not be lost forever just because Zettelkasten stops working. It might just require half an hour’s work to get them out.

Syncing

No cloud storage for Zettelkasten, either. As mentioned here, alternative options include Dropbox, GIT, OneDrive or a regular old USB.

Ease of use for Word/Google doc-users

Again, I really like the uncluttered interface of Zettelkasten, which only has very few buttons. The “write notes first, export later” took a moment to get used to, but was outweighed by the knowledge that I couldn’t lose a note, any note, unless I actively deleted it.

Honestly, that decreased my stress levels significantly. I used Zettelkasten for a long, long time, also for work-related stuff. Once I’d wrapped my brain around the idea of having a note for every idea, I found using it extremly easy and conducive to writing. It wasn’t even a problem when I decided later on that two scenes in two notes should actually be merged – I just put them in the right order on the desk and then deleted the empty line between them when uploading to AO3.

A very long story can take some time to appear on the virtual desk, admittedly, but not once has Zettelkasten crashed on me. My fears of losing ideas and scenes disappeared after I started using it, and I like to believe it even helped me get better at writing, because structuring on the virtual desk made me really think about what was happening in which order.

In short, it is software I can whole-heartedly recommend.

[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.

[nus4y]

2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going!

(If you're in my answers consider yourself tagged if you'd like to play!)

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

51,695! About 30k of it is from Clerical Errors in Love

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

Four! One multi-chap and 3 oneshots!! I did them relatively close together as well since i only started publishing my works Oct-Nov?

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

I dont think i have any ongoing fics rah

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

Oh god where do I start!! Am i allowed to say nearly every chapter of Clerical Errors? I think chapter 6 had to an all time fav wink wink

However I think my pride and joy was my trans masc Azriel fic Take my heart pull it apart It’s actually very dear to me despite being pretty short.

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

I’m having major imposter syndrome honestly, I’m not even sure what my style is I’m still very new to all of this haha

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

Uh YEAH!? The amount of comments I got on Clerical Errors was genuinely mind blowing to me, especially considering that was my very first piece of work I had ever published aajkajaka

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

Ugh absolutely I love Take my heart, pull it apart and This World Was Never Made For Me soooo much. I suspect they’re less popular bcs they’re not ship fanfic but ah i love writing angst!!!

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

@lucychanart @palomita-de-la-sangre both have insane artwork

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

SO MANY AHH

@greenvelvetcouture @g00seg1rl @chunkypossum @ tessabeth @the-darkestminds @jules-writes-stories @neciebee @fourteentrout

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

@g00seg1rl Oml bro writes the most DELISH smut i have ever encountered. As in full body blush type shi AHAKNSQOMA

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

Nope! I just fucking got here bro

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

Honestly just opening Google docs and writing something actually worth reading. I’ve never really been good at creative writing to be honest but lately I am kinda proud of myself for writing that much!

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

You will have a million ideas but unfortunately your brain takes a stupid long time to put that all into coherent writing/art 💔😭😭

14. What are your creative goals for 2025?

I definitely want to draw more, I have animatics planned and want to take a shot at full animation!

I’ve also got quite a few fics lined up which I am SUPER excited for!!! The titles being

-Crawling back to you

-Tongue tied

-Lonely is the muse

-Addicted to you

[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.

[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

[m4delin]

This was supposed to be done for the Treebark Title Swap 2024, but didn't get it done in time. Now that it's mostly done, I've decided to post the first chapter! Hope you enjoy! Big thank you to Olive and @a-magical-boy for beta-reading! :D

Rating: T

Characters: Martyn, Rendog

Relationships: Martyn & Ren

Tags: brief appearende of DocM Tango Xisuma and BigB, datastream defender lore, CHEST is evil, cyberpunk, sci-fi, androids, takes place roughly 80-90 years after rats smp 2, brief mention of assissted suicide, discussion of kidnapping and captivity, martyn is spring, whatever martyn thinks this is the real world, ren is a history nerd, happy ending (the very least a hopeful one)

Summary:

Having been one of the earliest people "rescued" from the datastream, Ren has helped a lot of people to get used to their new bodies and the new sociaty. Some has trusted him more, some has trusted him less, and Ren can't fault anyone for that.

Spring is proving to be the most distrustful person Ren has met yet. Part of Ren itches to know why- but only time will tell. Right?

-

A whistle from the kettle echoes through the apartment, and the keening sound brings Ren out of the drowsiness that always clings to him when he starts up for the day, just enough for him to yawn and stretch before sluggishly detangling himself from the blanket.

It’s a slow start, really, as it takes a good 15 minutes before Ren is finally on his feet, body awake enough to not move in slow motion.

He should probably ask Doc to take a look at him. It’s been a while since the last check up.

He files the thought away with his to-do-later list, and instead focuses on his normal morning routine. Remove the still whistling kettle from the stove, take out a couple of bags of nutrients for his plants and mix it with the still hot but cooling water, throw the binder and tablet into his work bag, ignore any paper that doesn’t stick to the binder, and walk around to water the plants with the now cool mixture.

A small orb appears in the corner of Ren’s eyes, and when he looks at it, it turns into a small holographic image of Xisuma, and a generic robotic voice comes through reading up the message after a second.

“I’ll be running late, can you drop by the coffee shop on your way in? Thanks.”

Ren shakes his head at the message, chuckling.

“Reply,” he says, and the holograph changes into a cartoon dog with a speech bubble beside it. “Sure thing, dude, I’ll get the usual. Don’t fall asleep on the bus again. End reply.”

He watches as the speech bubble gets folded into a letter before disappearing together with the holograph. No matter how many years have passed, he still finds it fascinating to watch the small avatars come and go.

With a roll of his shoulders, Ren focuses back on his task. He waters the final plant before he hurries back to his bedroom to get properly dressed – with Xisuma late, he’ll have to open the museum as well as taking a detour. He needs to get a move on.

He’s still buttoning up his shirt as he walks out of the apartment, work bag hanging over his shoulder, door locking behind him with a soft click. A glance to the side pulls up the clock into Ren’s vision, and as he sees the time he hurries into a light jog. The bus rolls up just as he arrives, and it doesn’t take long until he’s seated and on the way into the city center.

-

The coffee shop is busy when Ren arrives, and he flicks an ear backwards in annoyance. Of course he succeeds in hitting rush hour for the morning travelers. Not that he has much of a choice, he realizes, with Xisuma being so late with his request. Normally the director would know way earlier if he was about to run late, but Ren guesses that today must’ve been an emergency. Or he had stayed up way too late again and slept in.

In the end, it doesn’t matter why Xisuma is late: Ren’s here now and doesn’t exactly have much time for a detour, so he joins the queue.

To his surprise there’s a steady pace to the line and it doesn’t take long until the cashier is looking at Ren expectantly.

“One Cream Coffee and one Radiator to go, please,” he says as he lifts up his wrist, a small section of it lightning up. The cashier hums as they tap on the screen in front of them before lifting the other hand, holding a small scanner above Ren’s wrist. It beeps once and the cashier brings back the device.

“5 minutes,” they say, and waves Ren to move out of the queue. Ren does as instructed and watches the people move around him as he’s waiting for the drinks. Most seemed to be like him, grabbing a drink on the way to work, but he can spot quite a few people and androids sitting at tables and working. He finds himself watching a human and an android discuss something in low voices, gesturing towards something on their table.

“Ren,” the barista calls out, snapping Ren out of his people watching.

With a smile, Ren turns towards the barista and grabs the small heat preserving carrier containing two drinks that he’s handed. “Thank you!”

He’s barely walked out of the door to the café before he fishes out his drink and takes a sip. The street outside is filled with people hurrying about, and Ren joins them as he steers his steps towards the museum. The walk isn’t a long one – the perks of working in the city center – but it’s long enough for Ren to feel like he properly got to stretch his legs out and having sipped enough of his drink for a third to be gone.

It’s later than it’s supposed to be when Ren finally reaches the employer's door to the museum, and with a quick showing of his wrist the door beeps and opens by itself, letting him inside.

The building is silent at this time in the morning, even with Ren’s enhanced hearing. Or, it usually is, but now one of his ears twists as he hears a high pitched sound from a light somewhere close by, no doubt about to go out during the day. Which he’ll have to replace.

Ren sighs heavily and heads towards Xisuma’s office to drop off his coffee in the heat preserving carrier, before he goes to his own while downing the rest of his drink.

The door to his office unlocks when he puts his hand on the handle, a soft click sounding as he pushes the door open, and the sight of paper covering almost every inch of the floor greets him.

Right. The research. He’d forgotten about that, honestly.

Luckily it’s only printouts of different texts that he was trying to decipher, so he’s not exactly careful as he walks over to his desk to put down his bag and the now empty cup. Normally he starts the day with cleaning up the previous day’s mess, but since Xisuma is running late he doesn’t exactly have time for that. It would just be the two of them today, the groundskeeper being on vacation this week, so he not only has to change that light bulb before it blows, but also needs to prepare the museum to be opened.

Ren isn’t sure if he’s happy or not he can’t get headaches anymore.

He ignores the chaos that’s his office, even adding a little more to the pile on the floor by pushing down a couple of more papers from the desk, and heads back out to start preparing the building. He’s barely closed the door behind him when the small white orb appears in the corner of his eyes again, this time shifting into a goat when he gives it his attention. Instead of it starting to read up a message, the robotic voice let him know it’s an incoming call.

“Answer,” Ren says, and the goat shifts into the upper half of Doc.

“Good morning, Ren,” Doc says, one hand raised in a greeting.

Ren gives him a big smile. “Doc, my dude! Was thinking of you this morning! My body seems slower than usual in the mornings, think you can take a look?” He continues on his way towards the groundskeeper’s office, Doc’s hologram floating beside him.

Doc blinks, and looks down into something in his hands. “Perhaps next month then. Been a couple of years since your last check up.” Then he shakes his head. “But that’s not why I called. Can you come by the lab next monday?”

It makes Ren pause in his step, and he looks properly at Doc again. “Have you found—”

“Yes,” Doc cuts him off, “another victim. Tango and I are setting up a body for them, and it should be done by the weekend, but I know you like to have your weekends off.”

Ren starts moving again, continuing his path to the groundskeeper’s office, but with quicker steps than before. “I want to be there when you wake them up, you know this, dude. Got any name on them?”

“No.”

The heavy sigh that accompanies the words makes Ren’s artificial heart sink as he arrives at his destination. “Oh.”

“The disk was named though.” And… that’s unusual.

Ren pushes the buttons in the groundskeeper’s office to activate the cleaning robots, and doesn’t pay enough attention to the screens to see if they’ve been turned on properly. “That makes it sound like it’s not numbered,” he says as he steps out of the room, and continues down the hallway.

“It was titled Spring. Does it ring a bell?” Doc asks, and Ren wishes that it did.

“Hasn’t Tango looked through the police reports on the whole ordeal?”

“He has, and found nothing. But you’re the history expert on C.H.E.S.T., so figured it was worth asking,” Doc says, waving a clipboard around.

Ren frowns, his ears laying down flat against his skull, and gets behind the front desk. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’ve never heard of something called Spring before. I’ll make a deep dive though, see if I can find anything.”

“Appreciated, Ren. I’ll send a message when it’s decided on when we’ll wake them up. Bye,” Doc says, and Ren says his own goodbye before the hologram of Doc turns into a white dot again.

Well. At least now Ren knows what he will spend his free time on till monday arrives.

With thoughts focused on the upcoming research, Ren hurries through the preparation of the museum’s opening.

[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.

[zannolin]

For the writer ask game: 2, 18, and 47 please! 💛

hello friend! i hope you're well <3

2. Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

i try to plan ahead when writing multichapter fics. it never works out very well for me if i don't. (see: my caspter one that ended up being 43k when it was Not supposed to be 43k or a multichap) but there's always an element of writing as i go; scenes will shift around, pop into existence, get cut, etc. the end results is always something of a surprise.

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

before, almost always. i cannot start a fic that doesn't have a title. this is one of my many annoying quirks as a writer. my brain just flat out won't let me! however, sometimes i go back and forth a lot while working on them, before posting. north of desire was nearly borrowed time, and animal instinct was delayed forever (the extended one, since the original was a title-less snippet here on tumblr) because i couldn't choose what to call it. come november changed titles a couple times before going back to being come november. etc. i am a lover of two-word titles and i keep a title doc on my laptop that's just a big long list of titles i thought would fuck that i scroll through whenever i'm starting something new. often i'll come up with titles for certain aus/concepts based on songs i'm listening to that i associate with them, though (this is how the susan fic got a "welly boots" title) if nothing in the doc fits. poor jester has had a front row seat to me going back and forth over what to title my reverse dawn treader au. i haven't even outlined it. and i can't until i title it....

47. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

tricky question. the official answer is something like at least once; i try to do a last sweep to check for typos and flow and stuff before i post, but i also tend to do edits as i go along. every time i open the doc i read over what i've written and revise it a little, so it can be revised as many as several dozen times (chapter four of NoD, because of how long it took to write) or barely once (all in, palms out, which was written in like. just over a sitting). it just depends. i do not do much heavy revision on my fics, though. the only ones i have done this extremely with would be good luck, babe! which got the five separate outlines treatment; the swing of things, which i wrote and then printed off and cut into sections and rearranged them all over my bedroom floor; and to an extent objects in motion, which i just really wanted to be good. i am not a fan of the revision process (which has rendered my creative writing degree Miserable lollll) but i should do it more because on god i just found a typo in pdhmti like five minutes ago and screamed.

get to know your fic writer!

[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}

[spacealligator]

I'm curious to know how you manage your documents for fics, so I've come to you with a few (possibly fun?) questions regarding your process !

1 - How do you name your documents? 2- If you have a multichapter fic, do you keep it all on one document, have a separate document for every chapter, or something else? 3 - If a situation arises where you want to make a drastic change that can essentially end up deleting thousands of words, do you commit to deleting those chunks and start fixing them right in the original document, or do you resort to making copies first so that you still have the original? Something else, maybe? 4 - Optional freebie slot ! Tell me something about your process that you might want to mention, but I didn't have a question specific enough for you to mention it !

hellou whoooo, thank you so much for the ask, here`s how my mess of a brain organizes everything?

1- most of the time the titles are just the theme of the fic, so for the Handsome Cop universe ie the title of the google docs was police AU for a long time, Ive had names like roommate AU, ame trio AU, flower AU etc very straight foward. I only change the title of the google docs once I settle on a title I really like, and that usually happens when Im about to publish and have to come up with something hehe

2- I keep all chapters in one doc, and also, if Im writing a series, theyre also in the doc because I often need to reference it to check some infos or really just the tone of the writing up until then. The worst part is correcting some info that you`ve been using for some time, like the age of a character changes, or something that happened in their past and they reference it a lot, then I have to go over the whole text and look for the specific mentions of that info and it just sucks

3- I have a google docs called kill your darlings where I put the scenes and ideas that were edited off my final drafts, I often go through the drabbles to check if there`s any cool idea in there I can re use under a new light

oh man 4 it`s gonna be a wild one

while reviewing and editing I often use text to speech tools to make sure that the writing sounds natural, its really useful for non native english speakers like myself

I have a spreadsheet of all my wips, with their % completion status, whats still on the pipeline to be written, and just silly ideas that I want to explore in the future (I had to do this because I had more wips than I could manage and was drowning in plot bunnies hehe)

when Im stuck I like writing on my phone because its hard to care about formatting, so I just shoot hundreds of words into a doc that when I open up in the computer looks like a enormous wall of text, and its easier for me to correct, edit and fill in the gaps once I have the main content on a page (blank pages scare me)

I often write all the dialogue of the scene first, and then fill in the gaps with descriptions and inner monologues, this way I make sure the conversations in my fics have some rhythm to them

most of my stories never had an outline, I just get this scene in my had and then I have to do the work around to get there and after it the consequences of it, right now Im working on my cowboy bebop AU and its the first time I really planned a plot, but I dont know whether is better or not

sometimes I go back to read my fics already posted but I often get an itch to correct things like wording and typos, but I dont because thats a rabbit hole I don`t wanna fall into

I hope you enjoyed reading my answers and got something useful out of them, I`d love to ask you right back and hear about your writing process too!

[dilf-din]

✏️ new year, new wip game 🖋️

the rules: list all your wips (or as many as you feel comfortable sharing), and open your ask box for people to inquire! share the ideas you had for any wip, a snip if you're feeling generous! whatever makes your lil heart happy.

Thank you @not-so-mundane-after-all !! I didn’t realize how many wips I have. No pressure tags for @bikananjarrus @frostbitepandaaaaa @quarantineddreamer @andorology

Everything’s Blurry But You — a smut one shot for my RCSS fic that I need to finish because I accidentally left them in limbo (sorry about the blue balls, Cassian)

Undone — a sexy Rebelcaptain spies AU from a prompt submitted last summer that got out of hand. Here’s the moodboard for it

Love Thorns All Over This Rose — chapter 2 to my vampire!Jyn AU in which I torture Jyn as opposed to Cassian who I usually take my frustrations out on

UNTITLED Rebelcaptain AU in which Jyn and Cassian are rivals at the same company. When the promotion they’re both up for goes to Cassian amidst a stroke of bad luck in Jyn’s life, he asks how he can make it up to her. She answers that he can pose as her fiance at her family Christmas gathering. Only one bed, fake dating, enemies to lovers, all the tropes. I will put them in romcoms myself all day long

A Horse With No Name — a Yeehawgust prompt that I fully plan on finishing about Cowboy Din Djarin who ditches the mercenary life to live alone on the plains. It’s beautiful and I’ve been working on it for a long time.

More under the cut

When All the Ash Settles: Chapter 3 — my post Scarif fic. I have about half of this chapter done. It’s very domestic and soft.

Febuwhump 2024 prompt: not trusting reality — in which I torture Jyn to the point of her questioning everything around her, even Cassian's affection

The Adventures of Twink Jesus and Beefcake Boy — (not a real title just the title of the doc lmao) a Jayvik Arcane AU in which they both survive the events of the finale and run away to start a real life together away from the stresses of Piltover

Untitled Suddenly one shot — I’ve been trying to keep the premise of this one a secret but it includes a very soft and smitten Din going to the very ends of the galaxy to make his girl happy

I’ll Crawl Home to Her — a lengthy multi chap Frank Castle X reader fic in which they retire to a ranch in Montana to raise a family. I’m so close to getting the first chapter done!

Sadie Hawkins Dance — a modern TLOU AU that focuses on Ellie and Riley, both in foster care and attending the same high school. Its scenes of young sapphic love and being bold enough to reach for what you want before it’s gone