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anamelessfool · 9 months ago

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𝔓𝔞𝔭𝔞 ℭ𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔬 (1907-1983) and fic!

Reign 1942-1954, Satanic Bishop of New York City (1954-1983)

Everybody needs a mentor, especially delusional people like Young Nihil. So enter Papa Camino, a Papa Emeritus who is heavily influenced by Cab Calloway. (And is wearing an actual Schiaparelli silk tie from the 1950s) Notable Ghouls: Phantom, Dewdrop, Cumulus

The Path (AO3 Link)

GEN Young Nihil & OC Papa, Young Nihil & Family 3K Words

Tags: Mentor Figure, Deal With The Devil, Family Angst, 4 Year Old Primo Is In This One, This is Officially the Most Self Indulgent Fic I've Written and Yes I'm Including the Smut, Alternate History, Ghost Scenes from the Void AU, Ministry Lore and Dramaaaaa

1957, New York City: Bishop Camino always got what he wanted. And he wanted to share what he took from life with everyone he thought hungry enough to work for it. He was also a man who today invited Zero, of all the siblings in his care, to a private meeting in his office.

More Art and the Fic Below the Cut!

1957 New York City

Camino was a man who demanded what he wanted, and created for himself what he was denied. After his wildly successful tour as Papa Emeritus of the Satanic Church of the Void, he brought his expertise, his talent, and his cunning to his new post as the Satanic Bishop of New York City.

After the fourth rejection of his application to join the most prestigious gentlemen’s social club in the city (and it was definitely not because he was a Satanic Anti-Pope) Camino decided to run his own club out of the New York Ministry location. The music was hotter, the skirts were shorter and the booze flowed higher than the runoff in the gutters after a rainstorm.

The New York City chapter of the Satanic Church of the Void soon became less a place of organized worship and more the most chaotic and happening nightclub no one dared talk about in the sunshine. No act was denied, no artistic experiment too bizarre— almost twenty-four hours of the day there would be something to see for everyone. At two PM there could be a poetry reading for moody folks in black turtlenecks. At four PM was a 1920s Big Band Revival stint, six to ten PM Camino himself took command as bandleader. Midnight to two AM was reserved for drag shows. Often at three AM some interpretive dancer could be writhing on stage wrapped in tinfoil wailing about his daddy issues. It was vibrant, sometimes exhausting but never ever boring. Just like the Bishop.

And any high society man caught sneaking in would be promptly hogtied and left out in the alley with the rest of the trash.

Camino always got what he wanted. And he wanted to share what he took from life with everyone he thought hungry enough to work for it. He was also a man who today invited Zero, of all the siblings in his care, to a private meeting in his office.

As Zero sat uneasily in a plush armchair he could pick himself out from the posters and photographs covering the wood-paneled walls of the bishop’s office. He was often in the background— a blur holding a guitar, a trombone, hiding behind a mountain of drums. In six years Zero had become an established character in Camino’s church. He had stopped his rail-hopping life and settled in with a pretty blonde poetess, living just outside earshot of the church turned nightclub with a couple of potted plants and a young son. It surprised him how much he enjoyed the ebb and flow of a domestic existence. But then again, living and working in a place of constant change and noise and life and art is like wandering without ever leaving home.

“Brother Zero, I can hear your knees knocking from over here!” Bishop Camino closed the humidor cabinet and returned to his massive desk with a choice cigar. He winked his eye, his human eye. The Infernal Eye, his gift and his curse from his time as Papa, leered into Zero. It was as icy and silvery as the tools Camino used to delicately trim and light his smoke. “You'd know if you were in trouble! Relax, stay a while! How's junior?”

“Oh, swell, just swell,” said Zero, slowly uncurling himself in his seat.

“I got box seats at the Polo Grounds whenever you two want to see a game,” Camino replied. “Owner of the Giants owes me. Funny how many folks owe me, hm?”

“You're more than generous, all the time.” Zero couldn't help but feel a fondness for the man. “You helped me.”

“Alley cats are hungry, feed ‘em. Keeps the rats away. Now…” Camino noticed the smallest mote of dust on his suit, frowned deeply, and brushed it off. Camino never wore formal vestments outside of Mass, preferring instead a red silk suit with razor-sharp shoulders. Firstly because that was his look during his time as Papa Emeritus, and secondly because there was no one in New York City who would dare tell the bishop otherwise.

“Have you ever thought about the path?” He continued. Bishop Camino leaned back in his leather chair, settling in to a languid taste of his Cuban cigar. “I think you have what it takes to be Papa. Believe me, I know.”

Zero’s eyes widened, his mouth stretching open cartoonishly in shock. “You really think that?”

“Claro. Really. You've played in the house band many a time. You know more instruments than most, and catch on so quick. You're more Ghoul than man sometimes,” Camino chuckled. Zero had indeed performed for a few years in Camino's exclusive club for degenerates, and his saxophone playing was described as “a good start” which was a big compliment coming from the Bishop.

“Times are different. Big bands are out. Five pieces are in. More flexible. Digestible. What with television everywhere now.” Camino nodded. “Jazz clubs are gone, thing of the past. I'm not too proud to admit that.”

“Oh, you got more talent in your little finger than most in their whole body!” Zero piped up. “Don't sell yourself short!”

Camino gave him a wry look. “Hermano, I didn't say anything about that. Of course I'm talented. I'm the most talented motherfucker you ever saw. But times are changing. The Church needs fresh blood. And you'd be perfect for it. You got a face for television!”

Zero looked through the wooden blinds of the window, at the lines of taxis dutifully filing past. A limo turned the corner, its black and silver form sleek amongst the herd of yellow and checkerboard. Zero saw the shining sweep of the Rolls-Royce maiden perched on the hood, bowing low with her steel gossamer cloak frozen forever against the wind. A face for television, Zero thought. He never really had a television, or an actual home to plug any sort of luxury into since leaving Milwaukee, but everyone that did had the potential to see him. To hear his music. To see his face.

“That sounds swell, how would I even start?”

Camino grunted a laugh, his teeth gripping his cigar. From his place behind his massive desk he elegantly poured a finger of amber liquid from a crystal decanter into two equally opulent glasses. “Well, you have to let everyone know your intention. Even when you're not saying a word. Especially then. Your whole body must…vibrate…with that desire.”

Zero took a glass from him, nodding eagerly. “I can do that. I can vibrate with desire!”

“Naturally,” said Camino. “I'll put you in touch with Mother Imperator’s assistant, a em…a Sister Rebecca. She'll help me authorize a transfer and you can move to the heart of the Ministry.”

They clinked glasses, and Zero took a sip. It burned across his throat, tore a hole in his belly. He coughed in surprise, making every attempt to choke as politely as possible. “Move? There's somewhere else?”

“Yes, a few hours drive up north,” Camino replied. His perfectly sculpted thin moustache twitched as he frowned. “And how the hell you choking on that, boy? That's a goddamn forty year.”

Zero mumbled an apology, then felt Camino’s strong hand on his chin, jerking his face upwards for inspection. His hand was surprisingly soft, well manicured. The floral scent of hair oil drifted down from his clothing. The older man smirked, his eyes crinkling as thoughts passed through his mind. The Infernal Eye glared down at Zero from its socket in Camino’s skull, its glow removed from this realm, a separate entity also holding judgement towards him. He could have sworn the steely pinprick of a pupil moved independent from the human eye just across the bridge of the jazz singer’s nose. Zero swallowed. “Face for television,” Camino murmured, and with his other hand took a thoughtful sip of his own glass.

Zero stretched his mouth into a submissive smile. “Maybe.”

Camino gave Zero a rough pat, nearly a slap on the side of his face, and stepped away to pick up his cigar again. “Listen here, I sent my successor up to their headquarters, had them start meeting people, gather friends— boom! They're now Papa Emeritus and gaining traction in the charts every day. The trick…is to be underfoot.” Camino let out a satisfied puff of smoke. “Thing about that place is that running the Ministry is the only thing anyone can do up there in that godforsaken wilderness. So if you want something you're front and center!”

“But…moving?” Zero had just finally put roots down after a youth of wandering. He thought of Nance, of little Primo waiting for him back at their apartment. Nance with the baby on her lap as she sat by the plants on the fire escape, her red lips smiling contentedly out at the symphony of asphalt and blaring car horns.

“Fresh air, sunshine, forests and mountains,” said Camino. “Kids love it out there. At least I'm pretty certain they do.”

Camino was met with an awkward silence, and he settled into his chair, the leather offering a tired wheeze. “Yes, the city is difficult to leave,” Camino continued, steepling his fingers. He grinned. “Which is why I came back.” And promptly at midnight a town car would pick him up and drive him back to his home in Queens. “But, I've done my time, and did the work. I'm here to guide now. And I think you need to take bigger risks.”

“Nance loves it here. She was born here.” Zero smiled slightly into the middle space. “Primo was born here.”

“It's not easy raising a child in the city, believe me. My sisters complain enough. And me…well, I became a jazz singer.” He chuckled. “That tells you everything you need to know about that.”

“Could be good for junior,” Zero mused.

“Would be good for his old man too,” Camino replied with a wink. “You just say the word. I'm serious about you.”

Horns blared from outside on the street, followed by shouts and curses. The chauffeur of the Rolls-Royce rolled up up his sleeves and unbuttoned his vest as his cap fell on the sidewalk. Across from him, an equally irate taxi driver wrenched himself from the crumpled yellow door of his taxi. A woman was trapped in the back of the Rolls, hanging out the window and screeching while the rat-like dog in her arms barked. The taxi driver jumped across the hood of the limo and delivered a heavy-fisted crack to the chauffeur’s mug that Zero could hear all the way from his spot by the window. He winced as he unconsciously massaged the same place on his jaw. Camino clapped his hand across Zero’s shoulder, laughing, his lips peeled back over sharp white teeth in a roar of amusement. The Infernal Eye shone. “Fresh air and sunshine, hermano!”

-------

“Fresh air, sunshine, forests and mountains,” said Zero as he and Sister Nance held hands on a park bench and watched their young son totter around the steel playground. “Would be good for junior, yanno?”

“This sounds rehearsed,” Nance snorted, flashing him one of her elfin grins. “What's the deal? Why all of a sudden you want to move?”

Zero shrugged. “No deal. Just…need a change, maybe.”

“Zero, dear. Don't even try to lie to me.”

“Bishop Camino… thinks I should be Papa Emeritus.”

“You?” Nance made a face. “You haven't held a single job for more than a year. And you…want to run this whole thing? You want to be Papa?”

Zero frowned back, a little wounded but willing to fight. “None of those gigs were ever that interesting.”

“And you can't just up and walk away from this one,” Nance said. “No session musician or delivery boy or taxi driver ever had to commit his soul.” She tapped the place under her left eye. “Camino and the others…got a piece of their immortal soul committed to the Void. A chunk of it is just…it's just gone.”

That whitened eye of Camino burned in Zero’s brain once more. The sharp-toothed wicked grin, the bone-chilling tension of that pinprick pupil sliding across him and passing judgement. Zero had a face for television, sure— but Camino…Camino’s visage came from someplace else.

Like any blow he's ever taken, Zero shrugged it all off. “Wasn't using my immortal soul much anyway,” he chuckled.

“Goddamit Zero.” Nance crumpled into a fussy search of her coat for her silver cigarette case. He felt the cold air return to the palm of his now abandoned hand as it rested on the park bench.

Primo zoomed over from across the playground, falling into his mother’s arms. Irving Robert, really, but Primo was a better nickname for him than Uno.

“Push me on the swings?” asked their son, grinning under the hat Nance had knitted for him last week.

Nance cupped his face in her hands, smiling sweetly. “In a few minutes, Primo, your father and I are talking. But I bet you know how to do it yourself. We want to watch.”

“Oh, I can!”

“Good, now run! We're watching!” And Primo spun around and raced over to the swings across the park, leaving them for a few precious moments. Nance lit the cigarette in her mouth and took a drag, sighing on the exhale.

“Feels like the only thing that sticks in your brain are bad ideas, Zero,” Nance muttered. “I'm saying that affectionately.”

“You're one of ‘em,” he teased back, and she shoved him with a little laugh.

“Fine. You want to move to the Ministry Headquarters. Work right under Mother Imperator and Papa Emeritus and their whole shitty retinue.”

“And bring you along, of course,” Zero added in an attempt to reassure her. He was glad that she was even considering his idea now.

“I've been up there,” Nance continued. “Not much to do, so siblings get obsessive. I didn't want to stay long.”

“Obsessive?”

“Mother Imperator…” Nance stifled a laugh. “Absolute bag. A good hundred years old, easy. Refuses to speak anything but Italian. There's two siblings waiting for her to drop dead. Any day now, it feels.”

“Oh really now?” Zero mused, half listening.

“Sister Rebecca, for one. She went right to the top as the Dark Mother's Personal Assistant. Fluent in six languages, Italian especially. Comes from a bloodline of senators and government officials. Family's got mob money. She's next in line, for sure. And then there's…” Nance winced, as if an icy wind passed through her. “Maestra Eunice.”

“Oh, she's important?” Zero had seen her from time to time, conversing with Camino. Her hooded eyes, her deep scowl. He remembered her because he thought it a shame when blondes scowled like that. And Camino always looked queasy after their meetings.

“Leader of the Conclave,” Nance explained. “Old, old Ministry family. She's been shuffled around. She doesn't make too many friends.” Nance smiled crookedly. “And Rebecca would easily cut her throat in her sleep if Eunice doesn't get to Rebecca first. It's no good out there. Too heavy while those two wait for old Imperator to croak. You really want to live in the middle of that?”

“Two broads in a spat,” stated Zero. He figured early on that if there were two women left on the entirety of this Earth they still would think the other was talking behind their back.

“One has the keys to the entire global network of our Church, the other the deepest understanding of the magic that comes from the Void,” said Nance. “These are the two broads no one wants to stand in between.”

“Who says I have to stand between ‘em? I can make my music. And that's all I got to do.”

“There's no budging you, is there.”

“Camino…believes in me.” It was the first sincere thing Zero had said in a long while, and it left his heart with a wrenching whine that was carried through into his voice. It held such a sad little timbre that Nance shifted in her seat to look at him. “He believes in what I do.”

Zero knew few people in his life ever put their faith in him. Teachers thought him stupid. Fellow tramps on the road thought he was easy pickings. Not even his own father had much to do with him; his father, who's only belief was in his own ability to pick winning dogs at the track.

“You got to take risks on what you believe,” Zero added as she continued to contemplate his expression.

“But…moving…”

“Six years is the longest I've been in a single place,” announced Zero. He wanted to add “and loved someone”, but the thought felt intrusive and not at all something Nance wanted to hear. She knew his feet got restless if he sat for too long. She had been good to him, good for him, and he owed her his affection.

Nance grabbed his hand, turning his attention to look into her soft brown eyes. “Robert,” she began quietly, and she only used his real name when she wanted him to really listen. “What about your son? Robert…what about me?”

“I want to live my dream,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips. “And my dream includes you. And Primo. I…I promise I'll do right. You know I always try to do right.”

Nance smiled faintly back. “You always try,” she said quietly. “I can't argue with that. I'm happy…you found someone else who believes in you.”

“Mo-om!” Primo called to them both from his place on the swings, his arms and legs dangling as his body lay across the steel seat.

Nance got up and dropped her smoke to the ground, crushing it underfoot. “Just…give me a few days to think about it."

Zero gave her a thin smile as he watched her cross the playground. He felt he had moved the pieces in the way he wanted them, needed them to move. And he was pretty sure of the rules of the game, so how hard would all of this be? Except he felt a queasiness now instead of relief. The feeling of his words being more of a wager than a sign of honesty hung about his shoulders. He had the faint memory of being on the other side of that conversation. And in those moments what he thought was a promise, was really only a way to buy time.

It would be well worth it in the end, he assured himself. Good ideas always are, and Camino had said himself how much of a good idea Zero was. Zero got to his feet, brushing off his knees as his good-natured smile returned to his face. There was nothing to worry about. He always came out on top. He always pulled through, and folks always leant him a helping hand. And of course he'd always support Nance, and Primo. He promised her and so he owed her. What more is a promise than an IOU to someone else?

Funny how many folks owe me, said Camino as his dead eye flashed. Great men are owed. And Zero was ready to be a lender.

My Fic List | My AO3 | More Domestic Fics

Papa Camino & Dewdrop, Phantom Fic

#ghost scenes from the void #domestic fic #ghost band fic #young nihil #papa emeritus nihil #oc papa emeritus #oc sibling of sin #ao3 fanfic #ghost band oc #my art

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ghoul-foolery · 18 days ago

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Flufftober, Day 27

Overstimulation / Soulmate AU

Prompt List - Kink/Flufftober Master List

> Soulmate AU > Nate/Nora/Hancock >Tags: MDNI, Soulmate bullshit, Dirty Windows universe, abrupt ending > Words: 1920

Notes: One of these days I’m just going to do a whole soulmate month because I had too many ideas I wanted to play with. This is Dirty Windows +Nate, because I still need more Nate/Nora/Hancock.

Nate’s hands were covered in Nora’s blood and panic was coming at him from all directions. It was his, and it was Nora’s, and it was someone else’s. It was overwhelming, and it was acrid. It mixed with the smell of pennies, and death and it took everything he had not to succumb to the urge to drop to his knees and puke. Then came Nora’s pain, electric like a livewire and absolutely breathtaking in its ferocity – Nora had been shot, she was bleeding, and Nate had been absolutely helpless to help– but he could help now, if only he could focus.

The first wave of Nora’s raging panic came crashing into Nate with breath-taking force, but somewhere between the armored guy glaring in through the viewing portal of Nate’s so-called sanitation pod, and vanishing before his very eyes, the ferocity behind Nora’s feelings waned. So did her energy. One second she was gripping her side, eyes bulging as she screamed for help, and the next her whole body was sagging, and her eyes were fluttering, “Nate? Nate please…” Her usual husky voice sounded rusty, and weak.

Then there was the new presence in his heart, and head. Not there one moment, but there the next. The presence was loud, and demanding. Confusion and alarm rushed to greet him like an over eager pet, as a new voice filtered through his consciousness. It mixed with Nora’s pleas, and his own rampant thoughts. “Who the fuck is Nate? What is – oh god, yer hurt. Hey. Hey you need to help her–” The man’s gravelly voice was lost one moment, but so sweetly desperate the next.

Visions filtered to him, coming from perspectives that weren’t his. The images overlapped with one another – Nora’s bloodied, drooping figure, his hands pressed against the oozing wound– his own panic-stricken face – gnarled, ringed fingers and dirty hardwood floor– Nate’s own voice mixed with theirs in a cacophony of sound. Nora’s whimpered apologies, the man’s increasing demand for Nate to help. It felt like he was shouting in an overcrowded bar and not just telling his wife that she needed to apply pressure to the wound so he could go look for a stimpack.

Focus. Breathe–

“I’m so sorry, Nate. I lost him–”

“Fucking do something, man! Look at her!”

He closed his eyes tight and blocked it all out-

The phantom pain in Nate’s side ebbed and then vanished all together. Nora’s waning presence did, too. Reaching out to this new entity was as easy as breathing, but it still felt fresh and new. A second soulmate. To have one was a gift. To have two was a rarity. And to have this person enter into their bond now, after years of it already existing, was a rarity if not an impossibility.

But it was something to be considered when his wife’s life wasn’t on the line.

“Hey, I–” they didn’t have time for formalities, but he found himself asking. “What’s your name?”

“Brother, are you not fucking hearing me? She’s losing blood–”

Asshole. Like he didn’t know. The blood was seeping through his fingers. It was oozing down his wrist and staining the cuffs of his vault suit. “What is your fucking name?”

“Hancock.”

“Hancock, I need you to calm down and stay with her. I’m going to go look for a stimpack.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Nate guided Nora’s hand up to the bullet hole, she whimpered as he pressed her hand into place. He murmured, “I know, honey, I’m so sorry…” then to Hancock he said, “Keep her talking, keep her focused. Tell her to keep pressure against the wound until I get back. Can you do that?”

The ire in the man’s voice ebbed, giving way to uncertainty as he said, “How do I… I don’t…”

“Her name is Nora. She’s our soulmate, and I need your help to save her. I’m just asking that you try…”

The Pip-Boy’s geiger counter started to tick-tick-tick the moment Nora neared the edge of the stream. It seemed like just yesterday when the neighborhood kids were racing to the same spot after school to try their hand at fishing, and now it was irradiated – and their only consistent source of water. This whole post-bombing thing was heartbreaking. Everything had changed in a blink of an eye, and Nora was still doing her best to figure out how to properly cope with it all. Adapt or die had never been something she had had to consider. Not to this degree.

And yet there she was. Adapting. Or, at least, trying to. Trudging into post-apocalyptic Boston with a heart full of guilt, and moderate to severe blood loss hadn’t exactly set her up for success. Thank god for Nate – and Hancock.

Their new soulmate was an invaluable wealth of knowledge, and he was always so willing to help. He even helped her convince Nate to let her out of the house after a week of being cooped up inside under his and Codsworth’s constant care. She needed a bath, and she needed clean clothes, and Hancock was able to help convince Nate to let her have both but only after Nate found some Rad-X for the two of them.

Nate was already in the water, stripped down to his briefs and holding his hand out to her as she made her approach. The Pip-Boy kept ticking even as she removed it from her wrist.

“Be careful.”

“Nate, please–” A week of ‘be careful’ was enough to last her an entire lifetime.

“The rocks are slippery.”

Slipping her hand into Nate’s, Nora stepped down into the water. It was so cold it almost hurt, and yet it was everything she had been asking for.

“I’m fine. I promise.” Her bare foot settled down onto a rock, the smooth curve of the stone settling right against the arch of her foot. When she shifted her weight, she immediately slid. Not far, and not fast, but just enough for her body to jolt and twist to catch her balance.

Pain shot through the sewed up bullet wound like lightning.

She was mostly fine. “Ya know what, I think I’ll sit down and wash clothes first. Go ahead and get cleaned up.”

Nate grumbled a low, “Mmhm.” like he knew it hurt, and he probably did, but he said nothing else. He instead waded further into the water. Right when it got to his thighs he bent forward and dunked his head into the water to start scrubbing at his hair and scalp.

“Fucking Christ, look at him…” Hancock’s voice drifted through the quiet of her thoughts, rasping and gentle.

Nora did. Nate was tall. Six-feet and then some, but he wasn’t just tall he was broad, and he was strong. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a stunning smile. And he was capable. So capable. He hadn’t stopped moving since they left the vault, always foraging, always securing their home.

“Goddamn, he’s got a great ass don’t he?”

Nora clamped her lips together to keep from smiling, but she didn’t look away. If anything, she allowed her eyes to drift over her husband’s backside, over the shifting muscles in his back as he straightened and carded his hands through his hair. Water spilled over his skin in rivulets down to his waist.

“Hey, Nate?”

Nate turned to face her – the water from his hair spilled down his neck, through his chest hair, down, down, down…

“Yeah? Are you okay?”

A flood of amusement surged through her bond with Hancock as he practically purred, “Thanks for sharing, doll.”

“It’s nothing. Nevermind,” Nora said easily as she submerged her bloody vault suit into the water.

Seven days. Hancock had known about his soulmates for seven whole days, and they damn near consumed his every waking thought with worry.

Nate was a go-getter. He wasn’t the sort to want to sit idly when there were things that needed doing – and there was plenty that needed doing. He needed to hunt, he needed to forage, he needed to fortify his home, he needed to take care of his wife, and he needed to find his kid. Nate wouldn’t just sit the fuck down and breathe, and because of that Hancock was almost constantly checking in on him to make sure he didn’t get in over his head. The guy at least took it to heart when Hancock warned him that he needed guns and ammo before venturing too terribly far from home.

Then there was Nora. While he couldn’t help but be attached to both of his soulmates, he was already terribly sweet on Nora. Maybe it was because he’d damned near lost her the moment they met. Maybe it was because she had warbled about how she would have loved to get to know him, should she be given the chance - like knowing him would be some kind of goddamn gift. Poor Nora had been bedridden, but going stir crazy. She was riddled with guilt, and forced to just sit with it all as she recovered from near death.

Hancock spent his time going back and forth between the two, checking in on Nate to give him some Commonwealth advice, checking on Nora to make sure the stillness didn’t become too much. He’d gotten awfully proficient drifting between the two, or addressing them both. Slipping into the bonds that tied them all together, identifying who belonged to what emotions, got easier and easier. Especially with their guidance.

Which was to say the moment that Nate started to wade through the water towards Nora, Hancock shifted. One moment he was watching Nate approach him (as Nora), and then the next moment he was watching himself (as Nate) approach Nora. Hancock liked drifting between the two perspectives. Seeing the way they looked at eachother gave him hope that one day, given a little time, they might look at him that way too.

In the meantime, he liked to throw a little harmless flirting their way; like commenting on Nate’s (perfect) ass, and telling Nate, “Look how happy she is just getting out of that fuckin’ house for a bit. And look at that blush – your girl is a stunner, Nate. Shit.”

She was down to a t-shirt that she had more or less been wearing since they left the vault. It was dotted with blood around the site of her stitches, but was mostly clean if not feeling a little grimy with wear. And she was beautiful, her feet in the stream, her hair tied into a messy knot on the top of her head as she scrubbed at the bloodied blue suit. She was a little tired, a little messy, but she was so incredibly authentic. Fucking stunning.

When Nate got close enough to Nora, damn near toe-to-toe with her, Nora canted her head back to look up at them.

“Why are you blushing?” Nate grumbled, his voice playfully accusatory.

“No reason,” Nora said, but the corners of her mouth tilted upward.

“She’s lying Nate. Don’t you believe her for a second.”

“Hancock says you’re lying.”

Nora’s smile was big, beautiful and brilliant. She looked like she had more life in her than she had in days as she said, “Hancock, you traitor.”

Most days Goodneighbor was it for him. It was home. He had the bar, he had the Old Statehouse. He had Fahrenheit, and Whitechapel, and Daisy – but he knew in his heart he’d give it all away just to be at the stream with them. He couldn’t wait until they were ready to meet.

#human x ghoul #fallout 4 #fallout #hancock #fallout fanfiction #fallout hancock #fanfiction #soulmate au #Nate x Nora x Hancock #2024 Kinktober #2024 Flufftober #Soulmate bullshit choo choo

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 5 months ago

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Persephone's Devotee (Hello, Mr. Monster AU, II)

Master List

Summary: In the age of Spiritualists and magicians, wyrd winds in different ways to link Dream of the Endless and Aisling Hunt. AU of Hello, Mr. Monster beginning in the 1920s.

Warnings: Implied child abuse/neglect, manipulating children for profit (non-sexual trafficking)

IT'S BIRTHDAY MONTH, BABY. LET'S GET POSTING. My inbox is always open, so drop by with your questions, concerns, and convos.

Men ever failed.

Dream waited for a guard to sleep. For Roderick Burgess to scratch the golden border with his heel in a fit of pique. Someday, someone would make a mistake. It was the truth of humanity, and nothing, even a prison of magic, iron, and glass could last forever.

Years gathered in his keeper’s faces, and his outrage cooled into sharper forms. Intent. Disgust. Hatred even. Wrath brewed behind closed lips. He gave his captors nothing so long as they held him, but new nightmares twisted in his heart, ready to breathe and shriek to life.

The hours of the day made no change in his windowless hold, and he only judged the turning of the seasons by the weight of the coats his guards draped over the backs of their chairs. Their rolled shirt sleeves and the gleam of half-dried perspiration on their brows told him it was summer. Or near it. Persephone had returned to her mother’s sight and the sun glowed warm on the earth for another year.

He’d once pitied the queen of the underworld, especially when she was first forced below the earth, before her mother’s dogged pursuit of justice gave the goddess power and agency in her marriage. Now, he envied her. If only he had family who so cared for his freedom he would not languish in some paltry magician’s lesser hell.

As Dream of the Endless mulled over the injustices gathering like dust in the crevices of his prison, the door to his Underworld swung open. Though he couldn’t see the door itself, the light behind the gate’s bars turned golden, motes glittered like his sand in the beam as Roderick Burgess’s boy – well on his way to becoming a man – stumbled down the steps. His father’s shouts echoed down with him, and Dream’s posture straightened, buoyed by his captor’s distress even as the sun’s distant bloom pricked his heart with mournful hope.

In his rush, the child hadn’t even brought the key, and he pressed his face against the wrought iron, fingers twisting through to keep himself steady.

“Quick,” he panted. “Sykes is out, and the new ward collapsed. I’m calling a doctor, but one of you need to help the Magus move her…”

“Close the bloody door, you fool!” The distant roar cut off with a slam. Alex Burgess flinched away from his father’s temper, and the budding hope in Dream’s chest withered into an invisible wound, leaving an aching pit he rushed to fill with rage.

They so rarely visited him at this hour, on such a bright day. He wondered if he might’ve smelled the breeze if not for the glass, tasted yellow pollen and the ghost of ripening berries were he not locked behind magic and iron.

In truth… perhaps he did feel the heat, the touch of fresh air, a fraction of the world beyond. He sensed the whispered suggestion of wyrd pulling at him, plucking along the tattered place hope left when Burgess slammed the door.

Something waited for him beyond his prison. A step. A link unmade. It itched in the back of his mind like a phantom limb, and he nearly followed the call to move. To find and see. But his pride held him back from pressing his hands to the glass.

The elder of Dream’s two day guards turned to the other and scoffed. “Not here an hour and already causin’ problems. You owe me a pound.”

“There isn’t time for this,” the boy insisted. “She’s not well. Hurry! Please.”

He ran back the way he’d come, and barely a flicker of gilding touched the gate before it shattered behind the door again.

The guard who’d lost the bet rose with a groan, fetched the key from the table, and pounded off to answer his master’s call, closing each layer of security as he went.

Another burst of light and sound as the man left the cellar. Another tantalizing hint of the world above.

Dream did not move as his remaining guard straightened in his seat, twice as wary now that he’d been left alone with his charge. The Endless’s thoughts, however, groped after the phantom sensations he’d stolen with his gasp of light. He chased the thread of his wyrd through memory, looking for something to compare the moment to, but it slipped through his fingers, unraveling before he could reach the solution to his riddle.

He had little to do besides toy with the frayed ends of his story, and he refused to let the question lie, even when the second guard returned, the men ended their shift, the night guards arrived, and the guards of the day came back to sit in the same tableau.

------------------------------------------------------------

She woke to golden sun and dark wood, all warm and clean and entirely different from what she remembered. Someone had changed her into a nightgown, and she drifted back to herself in a small bed in a room with a slanting ceiling. An attic, maybe. She’d slept in those before. But this one was finished, with plaster on the walls and a window with proper glass and all.

And a boy was sitting by the bed in a rickety chair that creaked even when he wasn’t moving. Alex. He’d said he was Alex, and he’d taken her suitcase and asked if she was alright.

“How are you feeling?”

She pushed up to her elbows, peering around the room, and Alex poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table.

“Here,” he said, “you should drink something. The doctor said it was heat exhaustion.”

It took a moment to poke at the empty gap in her memory, like examining a canker sore with the tip of her tongue. “What doctor?”

The boy wrapped her hands around the glass and guided it to her face until she relented and started sipping. It was as nice and cold as the lemonade had been.

“You fainted. The Magus called a doctor. The doctor said you had heat exhaustion.” He laid out the facts the way she spread her cards. Careful and direct. “Are you feeling any better? You’ve been resting here a few hours now.”

“I feel fine.” She didn’t feel well. She felt unsteady and ill, but not like she had before, when her mind grew knuckles just so they could turn white with the effort of holding onto her goal: reaching Fawney Rig and making a good impression on her new guardian.

She wouldn’t make things worse. She wouldn’t complain. She was well enough.

“If you’re feeling up to it, the Magus would like to speak with you. I’ll step out into the hall while you get dressed unless you need my help, and then I’ll take you to him. Alright?”

Aisling scowled. “I’m not a baby. I can get dressed by myself.”

A smile fluttered through a quick life and death across his face. “Of course you can. I’m sorry. We’ve just been very worried. You looked so small and fragile when you dropped in the hall…”

The Fosters liked to tell Aisling she was too proud. She looked too many people in the eye that she shouldn’t, and she didn’t like to apologize when someone took offense to the truths they asked from her cards. Maybe she was. She’d learned she couldn’t trust people to be kind for very long, but she could rely on herself.

Sitting up straight as she could and lifting her chin, she said, “I am not fragile. It was a very long walk, and a hot day, and I am not tall.”

A ghost of the earlier smile echoed in Alex’s expression, which was better than the pained look of concern he wore before. But Aisling wouldn’t accept any softness if she couldn’t have respect first. Sitting just wasn’t cutting it, so she moved up onto her knees to see more eye-to-eye and held out her hand for a second attempt at good manners.

“We didn’t properly finish our introduction,” she said. “I’m Aisling Hunt.”

Alex adopted a – clearly false – somber expression, but he buried his mirth well enough to at least feign respect. More importantly, he accepted the handshake this time.

“Alex Burgess. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hunt.”

The last name nearly shocked her out of her dignified pose. He wasn’t at all what she’d thought a child of the Magus would look or behave like. Not that there was anything wrong with Alex. He was an improvement on the pomaded princeling she might’ve expected.

She knew better than to ask questions. Open ears and closed lips. She hated whenever the Fosters told her to do that, but damn if it wasn’t a useful habit in new places with unknown faces. Find what was wanted, what was hated, before committing to a path. People would always tell her what they wanted, one way or another.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Burgess.”

“Just Alex, remember?”

“Aisling, then.”

“Aisling.” Another little smile. This one less condescending. Maybe even fond. “I’ll be outside.”

“Alright.”

The boy left the creaky chair and closed an equally creaky door. Aisling found her suitcase in the corner and put on a fresh dress that didn’t smell and tidied her sweat-stiff hair. Too late to make a good impression, but she’d arrived where she was meant to be. She went where she was told, and the Fosters couldn’t call her back even if they wanted. She was no longer theirs – their burden or their cash cow.

She didn’t waste time, barely pausing to sip a little more water to help her swallow down her unsteady stomach before reaching for the doorknob.

Her future waited downstairs, and the Magus expected her.

#fic: persephone's devotee #morpheus x reader #morpheus x female reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x original character #fic: hello mr. monster

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thotpuppy · 10 months ago

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WIP Tag Game!

tagged by @dear-massacre ! AND @whimsicalmeerkat! WHIL i was writing my post lolol

This is sorta smth i track regularly? but i have it all sorted by word count akdgjkajdg it's part of my progress tracker server w some friends. Adding words is the easiest way to track 'working on a project' so that's what i do! I also have a (separate) doc in my drive folder that tracks just, general prompts, so when i have ideas i slap them in there.

Current (Teen Wolf) WIPs:

TriReign: Shepherd, Lamb, Wolf: small outline, chapters 1-4 complete, 5 wip - 16,575 - Sterek, Medieval Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Omegaverse, Political Drama, Sex and Politics, Duty and Honor and Subterfuge, etc. my current current current WIP. Baseball AU: Collab? outline - 331. MOSTLY this is just. a Roster and some thoughts about a general plot concept. I want to illustrate this but i can't do a comic. It's also a Sterek concept. FratBoi Stiles x RA!Derek: 52 - this is just straight up a PWP with the prompt borrowed from a TWT moot that ive been meaning to work on for ages and just haven't yet. Higher Education 2: 2,821 Sciles, trans!Stiles, post-canon college AU. Also PWP, but also my gross unhygenic sloppy AU kinda. it's just. its grossnasty wet n sloppy porn. i wanted to finish this and then write a Third part for Sciles week this year and i didn't. whoops There's a Werewolf Tradition for That: 72 - Sterek didn't know they were dating AU. Alive!Hales but Werewolves are still a secret. Stiles and Derek are good friends and roommates, they're both idiots pining for each other, and out of the blue Derek's Mom sends them a formal invitation to celebrate their engagement. Stiles doesn't even know Derek's a werewolf. total ROMCOM, kinda inspired by My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but only in Vibes. Lone Wolf Wild West AU: Chapters 1, 2 posted, not outline - 3,670. Sterek, Lone Ranger!Derek, son of the sheriff Stiles. Mystery, adventure, romance. I miss cowboy...

Somewhere in here I will also put my Collabang fic and any other events i sign up for, because I'm gonna have to pause my major WIPs to work on them lol

1920's Mafia AU: Outline only - 1313 - Stiles is a city detective, the sheriff is the Police Commissioner, this takes place in Los Angeles. There are tunnels running all through the city, albeit underneath (real). There's been an uptick in gang activity lately. Stiles secretly 'runs' by which i mean, owns and protect, but isn't involved in Actually Running, an underground speakeasy in the heart of the city. He doesn't let any gangs runs their trouble on his turf. Until one day, a Hale is shot by an Argent right outside his doors. Sterek SuperBat ComicCon MeetCute: WIP One Shot - 1,049 Inspired by MultiE's art. nerd x nerd solidarity Sciles Ancient Greece AU: 192 - this is a friggin poem and is probably gonna stay a poem. New! Sex For Work: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4 - 23,228. Part 5? Sterek BDSM CEO x Personal Assistant AU. Originally intended to be kinky prompt fill series but Caught Plot. I meant to rewrite it last month to convert it into a standalone story, but uhhhh didn't. I DID do reformatting though. I just need to get writing on it again, but i tend to be kinda singleminded.

Other Fandom WIPs:

Big Blue Boyscout: 47 - Superman x Nightwing, xenophilia fic. "He's Big and Blue in more ways than one..." Bruce Wayne Visits Smallville: 685 - I got distracted while bingeing smallville for the first time and haven't gone back, but this was just supposed to be a one shot but my outline grew legs DP/YJ Crossover: 220 - this is more of a concept than a real specific fic, but i REALLY like comparing danny phantom to specifically the young justice animated series, and i wanted to try and come up with a cohesive clone comparison plot, rather than just making it a lil joke. Maybe it'll be Danny x Conner because himbo tee shirt conner is my baby boy baby boy Not So Blushing, Not So Virgin: 40 - SuperBat role reversal where everyone expects clark to be this sweet inexperienced things and then he absolutely blows bruce's back out.

Hiatus Projects:

Universal Law of Gravitation: Chapter 1 WIP, significant outline - 3,080 - Sterek Lifetime fic. I wrote out this huge long super comprehensive timeline and got super caught up in it. It's supposed to be about how, despite their best efforts, Stiles and Derek just can't stay apart, so there are a ton of messy breakups and fights in between. I just never put together an actual proper Plot, so when i started writing it, i got SUPER bored. It has a playlist! and i made a bunch of pseudo-science chapter titles hehe A Fever You Can't Sweat Out: Chapter 1 posted, Chapter 2 WIP, significant outline - 9,911 - Sterek, Marrish, Scallison, post-canon AU, surprise mpreg! Similarly to ULG, i wrote out a huge big timeline and outline and got super nitty gritty into the details, but literally Chapter One i went Off Track and it just killed my motivation. It's HUGELY ensemble, and i picked out jobs and hobbies for like 12 people to all live in a big ol estate together. It also suffered from "world building but no plot", but i DID try to make a plot, it just. wasn't good haha. The entire concept is, Lydia gets pregnant which makes Allison baby crazy so she gets pregnant and Stiles wants a baby so, so bad, but he's dating dating/married to Derek and therefore would have to adopt or something, but he wants it so bad he magics himself up a contraception.

Prompts!

Derek is moody, Stiles teases him about the fact he like, never smiles. Kisses him on a whim to get a rise out of him. And then proceeds to have a existential crisis after because "oh shit did he just kiss DEREK".

Werewolf!Stiles’ Pavlovian Pleasure Response to Scott’s Click (iykwim)

Stiles x Jeep crack smut oneshot

Post Nogi stiles is having trouble feeling like himself again. he feels a sharp disconnect with his Self that he didn't used to have, like he's lost touch with his humanity. He needs someone to remind him how it feels to be human.

unspecified/platonic - In this kind of weather, it makes more sense to stay inside. Or rather, stay inside somewhere else. Stiles sets up shop in a bookstore's cafe to while away the time warm espresso, a good book, and his own company. Until Someone/Something Else comes knocking.

Supernatural Boarding school (circa 2005-2009 role-play forum vibes)

Bastard Prince Jackson and Freedom Fighter Stiles (see doc)

Stiles’ mythology professor bites off more than either can chew - The Great Beacon Hills Custody Battle

“Teenage Dirtbag” Loser!Stiles Sterek fic

all of my prompts literally only exist in a single document where i put Ideas i like adkgjakjg everything in wips has a dedicated doc, but most of them dont have much written yet.

There's also 1 absent prompt here that im now saving for the collabang so ive omitted it from my counts because its technically a wordcount of 0 until i get to start working w my artist (:

no pressure tags! @renmackree @lavender-lotion @like-lazarus @geekmom13 @endwersed

#my writing #ugh my wip pile is ever growing.........

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toastwiz · 5 months ago

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🌀🌀🌀you wanna to talk about a 1920s speakeasy phantom AU... you wanna talk about it soooooo badly 🌀🌀🌀

#PLEASE i've had this cooking for 13 years #slow cooking in a crock pot so you KNOW it's juicy!!#i've had 1920s speakeasy owner erik and jazz club singer christine in my mind REAL heavy this past week #i'm gonna churn out doodles soon #poto #phantom of the opera #erik and christine #1920s au

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wednesdaysraven · 1 month ago

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➵ my writing queue

my ao3 is alyandwens !!

key:

♡ in the works

☆ almost finished

◇ completed

♤ haven’t started yet

WEDNESDAY ADDAMS ✶

i will paint her — 1920s painter x singer au ♤

what do you think about this? — married wenclair ◇

feet rooted in the earth - fake dating wenclair au ◇

ENID SINCLAIR ✶

i will paint her — 1920s painter x singer au ♡♤

a tragedy in three acts — journey as a ballerina ♡☆

what do you think about this? — married wenclair ◇

YOKO TANAKA ✶

phantoms of my former self — life as a vampire ◇

#wednesday 2022 #wednesday x enid #writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr

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latvian-spider · 1 year ago

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Think You Can Catch Me?

Sun Wukong as Phantom Thief Peach from The Phantom Thief AU of @lunar-wandering

At least my version of him. Really wanted to draw this silly monkie as a Phantom Thief, so I did. Took a while to figure out how I want him to look - not quite the standard Phantom Thief Stage Magician, that would make more sense for QXT, so I took some 1920′s inspired elements, like the hat, to give him a look of his own, and tried to keep away from gold and sun related color palettes and stick to a peach themed ones. Took a while to find a combo that did not make me smash my head in.

I know the AU says that SWK would not be using any magic during heists, but I think some could be used to hide some of his more obvious monkey traits (like ears and nose) and sliiiightly altering the hair to not be so obvious.

So, yeah. Phantom Thief Peach. What a guy.

Also my first time drawing SWK in any capacity, so cool.

#Lego Monkie Kid #Phantom Thief AU #Sun Wukong #Spiders Scribbles #Spiders Art

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cheerful-solitude · 2 years ago

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May I ask about your ocs?

Ok thank god tumblr doesn’t seem to have any character limit so I can go on for as long as possible.

Now, I don’t have much OCs as I have more of, “I wrote AUs about ToG and the characters within has strayed so far from canon they might as well be their own characters.”

There are probably more than thirty of them at this point, so I’ll go on a brief intro for 19 of them. Some have more lore than others, and some have their stories published in their interwebs, while most are stil in the WIP zone.

I know this answer is… quite late? Life got in the way, and it took some time for me to come up with a way to explain-but-also-not-explain the timelines… Enjoy ;)

New Message

To: Diana

Cc: muqin.1976

Subject: TTTs All Patch Notes (This should’ve been a meeting oh my god…)

Attached are all the images of the designs the rest of the agents and I put together. Look at them as you read along. If you have any questions, ask Father (Do not ask me which one. You know which one.)

Attachment 1

T21 V1.4 Patch Notes:

- No drastic changes have been made since the previous patch, so we continue in Version 1.

- All colors except red have aged like that grain of rice on the corner of the living room that couldn’t be swept by the broom: brittle and full of dust.

- Fella’s eyes that are too high on his face are still endearing to our design agents, so they stay.

- Fella has been given a jacket to “kill the bright red of his sweater”, and raise his Badass points by 20%

- Gris’s features have been sharpened. An agent has died of severe cuts to their psyche, informed that it was too hot.

- Gris has a coat to pair the 1920s Great Depression aesthetic he’s got going with the shirt and overalls.

T18 V1.1.2 Patch Notes:

- As these are just alternates outfits to mirror T6’s Snowdin Season, we continue on Version 1.1

- Night has slightly shorter hair and an earring. She is considered “cute”.

- Our agents can’t tell whether we have illustrated Agnis or Canon Khun. This is considered a win. We were later informed that the only difference, really, is that Agnis’ hair is longer.

T20 V1.4 Patch Notes:

- Finalized the height difference between Grace and Aguero. Changes in silhouette and basic design are minor aside from that.

- Grace’s hair is messier with split ends. Flowers are not so much delicately placed as they are tangled.

- Grace’s mismatched colored pupils are not a mistake. The tiny tears might be there permanently.

- Aguero’s tsundere points are increased to 9000.

Attachment 2

T19 V0.3 Patch Notes

- This timeline has yet to debut with a story of its own. Until then, development is underway.

- Bee has been given a “Your cousin, the skater” look. They may actually know how. There is a bee sewn on their jean jacket (jeacket?), for anyone that forgets their name.

- Congratulations to Romina for being the first Khun to pull off the Chara cheeks. Clearly, our agents have been watching too many FNAF videos, as she now looks a Puppet prototype runaway.

- Nobody expected that they would rise the rankings in drip.

T22 V.2.1 patch notes:

- Woele’s shirt has been changed to red to add more color variety to his design.

- Maoyu’s clothes has been simplified, as his design is already “pretty colored”

- The use of the “tile” feature and “warp” feature in drawing allows the creation of a knit pattern effect - especially liked in Maoyu’s vest as is looks like fish scales

- As always, references for Woele’s wings were necessary.

T14 V.3.0 Patch notes:

- As always, we strive to improve the visual appeal of our characters by keeping what works and improving what doesn’t.

- GBK’s color scheme is considered “iconic” and “swell matte” by one of our agents, so it has stayed in this third version.

- Although it’s considered “cheesy and on-the-nose”, the Roman numeral XIV will stay on the belt as well.

- The scarf from the short, “Phantom”, has finally been added to GBK’s design. Thanks to it, a new tile pattern is available for our use.

- Ghost no longer exists as of version 3.0. A tragedy for the agents that liked the booty shorts and ‘OwO’ face.

- Due to the previous note, whether the ‘GBK’ nickname will stay or not is up in the air. For consistency’s sake, the pseudonym will stay until further notice.

R17 V.1.3 - Knife - Patch Notes:

- Improved the “Kirio” look on Knife’s face.

- A research agent found that Yan’s hoodie used to be pink. Since Yan and Knife are cut from the same cloth, Knife now has this pink hoodie, with minor adjustments to fit his aesthetic.

Attachment 3

T26 V0.2 Patch Notes:

- No relevant changes have happened since the previous version.

- All members of the department have agreed to leave them alone for a little longer.

- They do not yet know these are the days they’ll miss.

E10 V1.4 Patch Notes:

- Kept the ace color palette in this version.

- Brought back C!Bam’s [NICKNAME PENDING] cape. No nipple-looking polkadots this time.

- New pattern available: Lace 01

- Gave C!Khun [NICKNAME PENDING*] a ‘mafia boss’ look. It’s the equivalent of a red flag, some agents acclaim. Surely, everyone will know not to trust him in any future games.

- Decided that not enough people had undercuts. C!Khun has one now (not visible from this image).

*An agent has suggested the nickname “Druval”, as the hairstyle is reminiscent of an old classmate by the same name. That classmate was also smart and a trickster. Pending revision.

T15 V.2 Patch Notes:

- Shaved some years off of Khun and gave them to Bam. A loss for height difference, a win for ‘Can comfortably write KB’.

- Reduced points in Bam’s “babie” category, put them in “disaster” and “charisma” instead.

- Further use of the warp tool to create patterned garments that could be sold on EBay.

- Gave Khun hearing aids and a backstory to go with it.

Attachment 4

T2-1 V1.4 Patch Notes:

- Rune gets its 726362 design - now with actual terms and key words to use as future reference. (It’s a bastard sword).

- Decided that Knight is a polo shirt guy.

- Fixed Prince’s fluff collar.

T16 V1.2 Patch Notes:

- This patch comes with more updates for Glasses than Dete. The former now has a one-piece made with canvas-like fabric, and some arm warmers.

- Added more fluff to Dete’s hair (and the timeline).

T23 V2.0.3 Patch Notes

- Admitted that trying to make a reference sheet for anything other than their faces is a waste of time, as they change outfits Swifter than Taylor changes partners (and sexuality, apparently).

- All agents can agree, though, that the King’s outfits get comfier over time.

- No one has yet dared to come up with proper nicknames for King-Khun and Not-yet-king-Bam. No pseuds are as practical as K!Khun and K!Bam, so it’s understandable.

Attachment 5

T2-2 V2.1 Patch Notes:

- THEY DON’T NEED TO CHANGE THEY ARE PERFECT

- That said, management decided Skel should be more fragile, like glass. Needs to depend on a firefish to continue living in this form. They also said they just want to see a ribcage fish bowl.

R17 - Ryan - V1.0.2 Patch Notes:

+ It’s been requested that Ryan must be at least five timelines away from Knife at all times. As a company, we always go the extra mile, so we’ve placed him six timelines away in this lineup.

+ Begun the use of prints on shirts.

+ We have saved budget thanks to Ryan not having a face.

E11 V1.1 Patch Notes:

- Although it is dubious whether the entities known as Frost and Daffodil continue to live as shades of themselves after their deaths, the original timeline and characters are still very much real. The designs in this patch, thus, reflect the versions of them that were alive.

- An agent submitted a note that summarizes a new addition to this patch better than I: “Oh my god they are T4T.”

Attachment 6

E12 V2 Patch Notes:

- Mariam’s design has reverted back to its original idea: kind of dead, sharp shapes, tiny waist.

- There is uncertainty in whether the entity known as Palomo is real or just a product of Mariam’s imagination due to guilt.

- Decided to go back to the original idea for Omo: just a really creepy doll.

T5 V4.2 Patch Notes:

- Clearly, the timeline with the most drastic revisions.

- This patch comes with Viole’s ‘emo’ design presented in January. We sent feedback to Mother at this request, summarized as thus: “Really?”.

- As a response, we only got, “It stays.” So it stays.

- No one is sure why Viole has a bedhead.

- Hang in there, Kitten.

Attachment 7

T4 V2 Patch Notes:

- Including Clover here is more a formality than anything. His design was finalized over a year ago, and his story wrapped up way before that.

- That said, V2 brings the problem that the First Meeting Event, Second Meeting Event, and all other storylines stemming from that (basically two-thirds of our stored data), has essentially been… rebooted.

- Once again, someone decided to fork up all our plans.

T17 V2 Patch Notes:

- Both Yan and Ket have had redesigns recently. This is just a late roll-out.

- For Ket, we tried a more “DIY plush” look to his design. Some agents are crying with the knowledge that they have to make at least six other versions of this blanket. Others are already looking for shortcuts.

- As for Yan, he had a long overdue design coming. The agents like the futuresque/streetwear hood. One of the agents nicked his eyebrow.

- Unlike Version 1, Poff comes earlier in the timeline. What this means for future updates is yet to be l solved as we go.

Attachment 7

#cheer soli speaks #tower of god #the 25th bam #khun aguero agnis #tower’s tale #god……��this took a while

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