#posting fanfic is scary

[nitewcat]

Castle Arc Devotions - Pulverise

Mapicc’s sword swung down swiftly against the chestplate of the terrified PrinceZam who fell onto his back, desperately pushing against his hits, teeth gritted in determination with tears, drawn out from pain and frustration no doubt, gleaming behind his widened eyes. Mapicc and Zam’s swords clashed against each other, and Zam, with his already weakened body, was unable to maintain the grip on his as it flew out of his hands and far beyond his reach. Lacking a weapon, Zam resorted to using his hands, lunging up towards Mapicc, clawing at his face and wrapping his hands around his neck. Mapicc let out an irritated growl as Zam's nails came dangerously close to his eyes. He slammed Zam's body down before bringing his sword up and plunging it down into his diamond armour, breaking through it and piercing his heart.

Zam gasped for breath, tightening his grip around Mapiccs neck, clinging to life, glaring so viciously at Mapicc. So angrily. So fearfully. It was the last thing Mapicc saw before the weight on his neck loosened and PrinceZam disintegrated, leaving behind a barren inventory. Mapicc picked up what was left of Zam's items. The righteous, moral, prideful PrinceZam now dirt poor. Zam, who could always be relied on for gear, now with nothing.

Mapicc walked towards the castle, so easy to find even behind the dense forest because of the bright yellow beacon tempting all in the area towards it. Was PrinceZam's goal truly to hide away here forever? As if he would be able to. Mapicc knew Zam better than to sit back and watch. Always desperate to be involved. To fight for what he believed in. Even to betray his closest allies for those beliefs instead of fucking talking with them about it. Always so drastic.

Zam stood noble and firm at the gate of the tower, naked with nothing but a stone sword in his hands. It aggravated the already annoyed Mapicc.

“What could you possibly do with that Zam?” He asked exasperatedly.

Zams eyebrows scrunched together angrily, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Like I said,” Mapicc cut him off, “you’re not ready to fight against us. Even against just me you stand no chance. Especially if this is all you can muster up after a loss.”

He threw Zams items onto the ground along with a glistening LW netherite set.

“Take it. Maybe then you'll stand a chance against a god.”

He saw the confusion in Zams eyes, saw the realisation dawn upon him, saw the step back he took, away from the set he knew was duped. Items he had duped. Items they had duped together. Ban after ban after ban.

Mapicc turned around and walked towards the nether portal, not caring about whatever Zam would end up doing with the items. He turned and stared into Zam's terrified eyes as he left the overworld. A promise. This would not be the last time he visited.

[wanologic]

[things that bleed @thingsthatbleedfic]

[natalievoncatte]

Lena felt something crumble inside her. Kara was sitting in the Tower, head bowed and arms resting on her thighs, staring at her own hands. Her cape lay unclasped and thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch, and it was covered in scorch marks like the rest of her. Her new sleeveless suit revealed bruises running up and down her arms, already fading to a sicky yellow.

Alex let out a low sigh of relief as she removed the bomb collar from Lena’s neck and gently placed it in a sealed container, which J’onn immediately took and flew directly out of the tower. When he returned he said, gravely, “Kara. You can let go now.”

Lena looked away from the gruesome sight as Kara released the contents of her hands and let out a choking sob.

“He made me. He made me.”

Alex took the… the…

Well. They called it a dead man’s switch for a reason.

There was a heavy pause.

“Give me the room,” said Lena.

“Lena,” Alex admonished, “we need to get you cleaned up, make sure you’re okay, that the gas didn’t-“

“Please?”

Lena looked at her with pleading eyes and Alex relented at once, brushing at her own, swiping back angry tears. Lena knew what would happen: Alex would pummel the hell out of a heavy bag and then go home to Kelly.

Kara would have to bear this herself.

Alex put a hand on Nia’s shoulder and motion for J’onn to join her and left Lena with Kara.

Lena stood and crossed the room to the sink, finding the biggest bowl she could and a wash cloth. Taking it, she knelt in front of Kara and very gently took her right hand and began washing away the blood.

Kara said nothing. The water soon turned pink, flicked with bits of blood too dry to dilute. It took a lot of effort to get all of it off, especially clingy bits in the creases of her palms and knuckles.

Kara stared at her clean hands.

“It shouldn’t be that easy,” Kara rasped. “I took a man’s life tonight.”

Lena shifted to sit on the floor in front of her and brushed back her hair, running her hand gently over the fuzzy side that Kara had recently buzzed. She tucked the longer locks on the other side back and behind her ear.

“Look at me.”

Kara met her gaze, eyes wet with tears.

“You did what you had to do.”

“How could he be so stupid?” Kara whimpered. “I couldn’t do the things he was demanding. I couldn’t hurt people for him.”

“I know.”

Kara fell back against the sofa and pounded her thigh her with her fist, and Lena felt the impact in her chest. Kara winced and looked down at her.

Lena lifted herself up and sat down beside Kara.

“I know what this feels like.”

There was a brief flash of confusion on Kara’s face, then… “Lex.”

Lena nodded. “I killed my brother to protect you, and I’d do it again.”

“I should have found another way,” Kara whispered. “I’m always supposed to find another way. I just… I just snapped. When he said he’d let go and set off the bomb on your neck, I didn’t even think, I just…”

She looked down at her hands.

“I’m a killer.”

Lena took Kara’s hand in both of hers and lifted it, always amazed how the strongest being in the solar system just… let her. She brought Kara’s palm to her cheek and rested against it, letting Kara’s warm fingers curl tenderly against her skin.

“Maybe. I won’t tell you that you’re not, but that’s not all you are. You’ve given so much, sacrificed so much, endured so much pain, and you’ve always been so wise and kind with your power. Lots of people would have gone down a darker path with the gifts that you have. I would have.”

“You never went down the path. You came back. You came back to me.”

“I always will.”

Kara’s face fell and the crying began in earnest. Lena pulled her in and carded through her hair with her fingers and whisper-sang a half remembered Gaelic lullaby from her mother while Kara let it out.

“I can’t live without you,” Kara admitted. “I tried it once and it was hell.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Lena, I lo-“

“Shhhh,” Lena whispered. “I know, darling. I know you do, and I do too… but don’t say it now. Not like this, not because of this, not now. Wait for a happy time. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after, when we wake up.”

“I’ve wanted to for so long, but I was so scared.”

“I know, I know, Kara. It’ll be alright. Everything will be alright and you can do it right, when we’re both ready.”

“Okay,” Kara choked out, “but I can’t wait so long. I waited too long already and I want to keep you forever.”

Lena smiled, pressing her cheek to the crown of Kara’s head.

“Well, when you get around to asking me I’m sure I’ll say yes.”

That worked, it seemed to calm her. It took a while before the hitching stopped and Kara could sit up and walk to drink a glass of water, before the layers and layers of armor she’d built up around her fragile soul were starting to raise themselves again.

She made good on her promise, though, pressing a ting Kryptonian phrase into Lena’s ear as they lay curled in a mound of comforters and blankets in the sun in Kara’s loft.

[superbat-love]

Bruce: [sighs] Tell me why we agreed to do this again?

Clark: The kids love haunted houses and you promised that you’d join them on all the rides here. Besides, this way we can watch over them.

Bruce: I’d be more concerned for the ghosts in there than the kids honestly.

Clark: Come on, it’s our turn next.

Bruce: Clark, why are you holding on to my arm?

Clark: Umm, so you won’t get lost in the dark?

Bruce: [stares] I’d be a pretty ineffective crime fighter if I do. You’re not…scared, are you?

Clark: No!

Bruce: Right…Clark, you can see anyone coming from a mile away and you can bench press this entire place, what’s there for you to be scared of?

Clark: Well…

Bruce: I’m scarier than any of the ghosts in there.

Clark: You’re right. Okay, I feel so much better now. Let’s go in!

[georgiasbrainstuff]

You want some?

Oscar Piastri/Max Verstappen/Charles Leclerc, 1.6k words, mature

“Hmm.. First time?”

It’s not, but that doesn’t matter.

or a lestapiastri 'meet-cute' (with background norapinto) fic inspired by this meme:

[the-most-humble-blog]

USED SERVITOR BLOWOUT SALE FESTIVAL🎈🥳🎉:

Remember: Serve the Emperor, or Serve as Parts. Either way, YOU SERVE.

EVERYTHING MUST GO (INCLUDING YOUR HUMANITY)

Welcome to the biggest clearance event in the Imperium, motherfuckers! Need cheap labor? Need a servitor with that "lightly used, only screamed for the first 40 days" kinda vibe? Well, step right up! We got everything from half-brainwashed factory workers to lobotomized aristocrats who forgot to pay their tithe.

Because in the grim darkness of the far future, one thing is certain: you can be a worker, you can be a soldier, or you can be stock.

💀 SHOP SMART, SHOP SERVITOR 💀

🔹 Genetic Mishaps? We got those! Crooked nobles who thought they were untouchable, now wired into conveyor belts, drooling coolant, shitting oil, and making sure your las-rifles come off the assembly line on time.

🔹 Failed Tech-Priest Acolytes? Fuck yeah! Ask too many questions, and you could end up as a walking soft-serve machine with a detachable cock-replaceable nozzle.

🔹 Battlefield Salvage? Some dumbass Guardsman who took one too many rounds to the brain and didn’t have the decency to fully die? Now he’s the designated ammo carrier. His eyes are gone, his soul is in whatever counts as an afterlife, but goddamn if he isn’t still loading shells into the Basilisk.

🔹 Discounted Heretics! That’s right, folks! Thought crime isn’t just punishable by death—it’s punishable by a lifetime of tireless, lobotomized, piss-and-rot servitude! Remember that loudmouth who started questioning the Ecclesiarchy? Yeah, she’s a self-powered fuckin’ janitor now. And she doesn’t even know it.

💀 INJUSTICE? NAH, THIS IS JUST HOW SHIT WORKS. 💀

Look, the Imperium doesn’t have time for due process, ethics, or your bitching. You get caught, you get sentenced, and if you’re lucky, you just get shot in the face. If not? Well…

You will be stripped. Of name, rank, and thought.

You will be wired. Into machines, into assembly lines, into grotesque walking infrastructure.

You will be useful. Until your body fucking quits.

And then? Your carcass gets recycled into another batch of "freshly mindwiped workforce," because wastefulness is heresy.

💀 TRAGEDY? MAYBE. COMEUPPANCE? ABSOLUTELY. 💀

🔹 That planetary governor who let a Hive World rot in famine? He’s a servitor now, shoveling the same shit his people had to eat.

🔹 That spoiled noble who thought she was above the law? Yeah, she’s bolted into an automated pleasure engine, servicing the same underhivers she once spat on.

🔹 That inquisitor who purged an entire city "just to be sure"? Hope he enjoys his new eternity as a fleshlight-dispensing bio-recycler.

🔹 That rich fuck who hoarded resources, letting a whole sector starve? Don’t worry. His nutrient paste tastes real good, because it’s made out of him.

Because in the glorious Imperium of Man, even the worst scum eventually finds a purpose. Even if that purpose is being a half-melting, piss-leaking, cybernetic flesh-husk on sale for 5 thrones.

🔥 EVERYTHING MUST GO (INCLUDING YOUR SOUL) 🔥

REBLOG if you’d rather be shot than end up in a servitor assembly line.

💬 COMMENT which Warhammer faction you think deserves to be on the clearance rack.

🚀 FOLLOW for more grimdark truths straight from the corpse-laden frontlines.

[snowpetrichor]

Reunited at Last

I’ve written my own fanfics over the years, but I’ve never had the guts to post anything… I’ve finally decided to change that! This is a snippet from a DAV rewrite I'm working on. The scene is supposed to be in act 3 so I wouldn't have written it for a while, but I found myself daydreaming about it and I had to get it out of my system with a drabble.

I figured I’d take a chance and share it with my fellow solavellans. :)

Word count: 754

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Ellana reached out a hand to wipe away the tears that had already begun to fall down his cheeks. The caress was feather-light, but waves of emotion shone in her eyes, and Solas felt something in him snap. He surged forward to catch her waist and held onto her like a drowning man might grasp a buoy. The strength of his love for her always seemed to send him reeling. Ellana stiffened, a surprised noise escaping her, but soon enough her hand came to rest on the back of his head.

Even in their years apart, whenever he caught a hint of lavender on the wind or tasted honey on his tongue, he was reminded of the fragrance she wore – spring flowers distilled to a sugar-sweet perfume. The Dalish had to make do with the tidings that nature offered them, so Ellana had learned to craft the scent herself. It was soft and fresh and so unique to her. Now, that sweetness seemed as if it would overtake him. His world narrowed to her touch, her warmth, and her heartbeat. Solas twined his fingers with hers and quietly wept for all that they had endured.

From the outside, the whole thing would have looked rather awkward – even sitting on the bed, Solas was still much taller than his heart, and he bowed to hold her in his arms. But there was nobody there to judge, and he wouldn’t have cared much anyway. He whispered her name over and over, uttering endearments like a prayer.

Vhenan, my heart, my love.

Ellana, Ellana, Ellana.

Oh. He almost never used her given name. She had first been Inquisitor, later vhenan, but never Ellana. Its soft syllables had only fallen from his lips once, and that thought brought a rush of unbidden memories. On her knees in front of a mirror, his desperate eyes searching hers before that final goodbye. One last kiss to give her strength for the years to come. She strongly suspected that he lost himself to grief in those moments after he went through the eluvian, and it tortured her to know that he shouldered such a burden alone for so long. Ellana lowered herself to sit by his side, wrapping her arms around him as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. A moment passed in gentle silence.

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he sighed. “Despite everything, that you still stand by my side is…” Solas trailed off, seemingly lost for words as his gaze grew downcast. Ellana pulled back to study him. She cupped his cheek in her palm, turning his face back towards her.

“Emma lath, you remember my promise, don’t you? Var lath vir suledin.” She tried for a smile even as her voice wobbled; she tasted the salt of her own tears on her lips and realized absently that she had started to cry.

“You are my home, Solas. You have been since the very first moment I met you.” Ellana guided his hand to her breast, holding it softly against her heart. “So long as my heart beats, I will stand by your side.”

His chest was tight with emotion. There was pain – the pain of realizing that he could have spent the last decade in her arms if he so chose, the pain of living with a lifetime of sins, and the pain that came as he acknowledged how alone he had truly been. But there was also love. So, so much love. He was finally free to live as himself – as Solas – and there were no words to express the torrent of feelings that danced within him. He wanted to weave stories in her ears and share the wisdom that he knew would enrapture her. He wanted to take her in his arms, tangling their forms together until time fell away. He wanted to bare himself to her, to show her his soul, his spirit, and witness hers in turn.

He wanted to give her the world, but the world was no longer his to give.

So instead, Solas pulled her down to lie by his side. They breathed together and wiped away each other’s tears. Ellana pressed her forehead to his and he weaved a hand into her hair, cradling each other as they let the tides of the Fade take them. There would be plenty of time for more passionate embraces down the line, but for now, it was enough for two tired souls to exist as one, reunited at last.

[housederiva]

I published the next chapter of the Rookanis slow burn I’m writing, the links right here if you’re interested

And thanks again for over 4k hits on it, I wasn’t expecting even 4 people to click on it to begin with xx

[becomingfoxes]

friend, love, freefall

Happy Valentine's day 💛🐸

This is my piece for Nex for the Steddie as She Goes discord v-day exchange.

I also wrote my very first fic 🥺💛 You can read friend, love, freefall here if you're feeling froggy. Hope you like it if you do!

[arkaniske]

Looks at this 2k woodland witch!victor+woodcarver/lumberjack!jayce fic that’s growing legs and running my life atm

Haha

Help!!

[toxintouch]

I heard it was angst time. CW: MC Death. About the level of graphic (gore/violence) description that is in the source material imo. Be cautious and prioritize taking care of yourself if you are unsure, please. ♡

Mhin can’t find you.

When you don't appear at the scheduled time to discuss the headway you’ve each made individually regarding your mutual goal, they walk away from your agreed-upon rendezvous point with an annoyed huff.

When the next night passes and you still don’t show, they become even more incensed.

It’s not until they head to the Wet Wick and Leander asks them if they’ve seen you that they become concerned.

They look everywhere.

Leander places posters on the corner streets alongside his usual advertisements and soon your likeness is plastered across Lowtown.  Large letters reading: “REWARD” peer down at Mhin reproachfully at every turn as they fruitlessly go about their own search when they can spare the time during their day to day fight for survival.  

Something nags at the back of their mind.  

Guilt, they think.  Self-loathing.  They should have tried to find you that night.

As the days turn into weeks, they give up on Leander’s methods and start asking their own questions. 

They do it under the guise of collecting another bounty, but the genuine, thankful relief they get from Leander, the sorrowful look they receive from Kuras–they're know they're wearing a shallow facade at best.

It leaves a raw taste in their mouth to do so, but they even ask Vere, knowing the fleabag has keen senses which they do not.

Their stomach drops when Vere laughs.  A harsh, cruel thing that has them brandishing their dagger, keen to gut him like a fish where he stands.  He reads their rage easily, assuring them that he’s innocent, that he had nothing to do with your disappearance.

Which is what a Monster would say–but then–

Vere would be at his most honest while gloating, wouldn’t he?  If the truth is a twist of the knife.

He tells them to check their own closet for skeletons.  Tells them to check for Monsters underneath their own bed.

The adrenaline hits them immediately.  They start to sweat and shake and feel nauseous.  For their body, the realization is instantaneous.  In their mind, it comes more slowly.  Like walking through a dream.

They try to reach back in their memory. Try to tug at that nagging thing.

Unspool it until they can determine where the emptiness begins, ends, anything in between.

And then they find it.  They don’t remember it, but they find it.  

In one of their many hidden shelters. The one closest to your rendezvous point–a small lacuna in the side of a crumbling building, a nest built into the flesh.

Spooling trails of entrails and ruined bandages.  Viscera and bones and gore.  Scavengers have gotten to you and contaminated the scene but–

The wounds are unmistakable.  Familiar to them, by now.

The soft parts of you that have been picked at and eaten.

The sinking feeling in their gut expands.  This type of scene doesn’t make Mhin sick anymore but they wish it would.  Wish they could retch and rid themself of this emptiness.  Wish they could expel the vision of you–

The remains of you, laid out before them. 

There’s something almost graceful about your corpse.  As if you’ve been drawn out of a fairy tale, your gruesome demise told as a parable for children.

They try to remember transforming.  Killing you.  

Your last words, if you could make any around the blood gurgling from between your lips like a fountain.

Maybe in the future your fairy tale will have a moral to it.  A reason.  Your death will be more than senseless, another body added to the pile.  

For now Mhin will have to live without that closure.

The grief drips off of them like blood off of black feathers. It can't permeate their defenses, advantages granted to them by an evolution that was not of their own volition. They can already feel their mind warping around their memories of you, dulling them lest they tear themself apart, fall down while climbing up the tower to meet you and dash themselves upon the rocks, sink into the water below and drown beneath the torrent. A younger version of them would chase after the memories, cling to the waning thought of you.

The person they are now lets it happen.

They turn their back, leaving the empty echos behind.

Bad Ending : "Reward"

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 7 - only for emergencies

title: in which gem is the only one with normal eyes

fandom: hermitcraft smp

cw: blood and injuries, mild gore, mild cannibalism (idk if it really counts as cannibalism tho...)

~

“Oh, we’ll be out of here pretty quick!” Scar declared confidently. “Xisuma won’t rest until he finds us.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Pearl questioned. Gem elbowed her.

Scar just waved her off. “If he doesn’t, then I have a back-up plan. But only for emergencies, I’m sure it’ll never come to that!”

They were stuck in here, in this concrete room, a sink and a bucket in the corner. The door was heavy and locked; the only comfort they had were three ragged blankets, which they had each dragged to separate spots in the room, marking their claim for somewhere to rest.

Gem had never been kidnapped before. Not officially, by someone who wasn’t a Hermit. But there was a first time for everything!

“I’m sorry, guys,” Pearl said after a long moment, the little feelers on her head twitching. “I shouldn’t have gone out in public with y’all.”

“Don’t say that,” Gem reprimanded, smacking Pearl on the arm.

“It wouldn’t have been the same without you!” insisted Scar.

“I just . . . if I hadn’t, then maybe—”

“Then we wouldn’t have gotten to go on this fun field trip!”

Scar grinned. “I love fun field trips. Don’t you, Pearl?”

Pearl rolled her eyes, but at least she was smiling. “Whatever.”

“My mom packed me cookies for this field trip,” Scar stage-whispered to Gem. “But I’m willing to trade.”

“My mom just gave me money to buy food.”

“Oh, that’s way better! Now my sandwich looks boring.”

“What kind of sandwich?”

“Classic peanut butter. But I’ve also—”

“I didn’t think I was kidnapped with children,” Pearl said drily. “Do you two mind?”

Scar grimaced. “I think we made the bus driver mad.”

“We? That was all—”

“I wish the torture would start, already.”

-

They came for Pearl a couple of hours later, by Gem’s watch.

They’d been out on the Hub for a game of lazer tag, of all things. It was supposed to be Gem, Pearl, and Impulse, but Impulse had dropped out last second, and Scar had happened to have a coupon to the lazer tag place, so the three of them went instead.

There was another group in the arena with them, college-age kids, and they all managed to have a good time together. They had seemed like nice kids.

Gem would never stop berating herself for not paying much attention to the way one of them kept staring at Pearl’s antennae. People noticed her—it wasn’t normal at all for an alien to be found on a public world. They usually kept to themselves, as far as Gem knew.

She’d never met one other than Pearl, at any rate, nor had she known anyone who had. In fact, many people didn’t believe they even existed. The Hermitcraft server was split on the issue, with certain people like Ren and Keralis sure of their existence, and others like Cleo and Mumbo fairly dubious.

Pearl had shown up near the beginning of Season 8, and that had put a definitive end to that casual debate.

Gem had honestly forgotten how uncommon aliens were. When you lived with one like Pearl for as long as she had, it became normal. When Pearl had asked about lazer tag, she hadn’t hesitated to find a place where they could go play. She hadn’t even thought about Pearl’s less common features.

“We should’ve seen this coming,” Gem said now, fiddling with the band of her watch. She’d noticed the way that kid was looking at Pearl, but she hadn’t thought anything of it. How could she have ignored it?

Scar shrugged. “Yeah. I forgot that aliens aren’t a thing.”

“Me too.”

“Are you keeping track of how long she’s gone?”

Gem nodded. “Forty minutes, now. How long do you think until Doc and Xisuma find us?”

“Well, they took us to another world,” Scar said contemplatively. “Last time someone got kidnapped, it was . . . Grian, I think? And that only lasted a couple of days, Xisuma tracked him down fast.”

“Do people get kidnapped a lot on Hermitcraft?”

“Usually one per season, at least! Didn’t you notice when I got kidnapped last season?”

“You—what?”

Scar waved nonchalantly. “Yes, yes, I missed a Boatem company meeting for it! I was gone for . . . a week? Maybe less.”

Now that he mentioned it, she did vaguely remember hearing that Scar spent an extended period of time off-world. She didn’t know that he’d been kidnapped, though.

“So it took Xisuma a week to find you?” she said, skipping over Scar’s kidnapping for now.

“Oh, no. Xisuma didn’t find me, I broke out. I mostly stuck around so long because I needed a vacation.”

“So . . . he might not find us within the week?”

“He will! He usually figures it out, at least.”

Gem groaned in frustration, buried her face in her knees. “I hope Pearl doesn't mind waiting.”

She was really trying not to think about Pearl, about what they might have been doing to her. Pearl was strong, that was for sure, but Gem had never seen her in a situation like this. Were they experimenting on her? Observing her?

There was surely some black market out there for aliens. Would it come to that? Were they just showing Pearl to potential buyers?

Were they hurting her?

She couldn’t let herself think about it. Hopefully, Pearl would be returned to them. It was silly to think she wouldn’t be—they were presumably using Gem and Scar as leverage to get Pearl to do what they wanted. As long as the two of them were still here and fine, Pearl was likely also still here somewhere, and not auctioned off to some highest bidder.

That was what was important. Pearl was here, and they were here, and Xisuma was going to get them out of there.

-

If Gem hadn’t been told, she probably wouldn’t have guessed that Pearl was an alien.

There were plenty of hybrids on Hermitcraft—avian, blaze, dog—, so Gem would have willingly believed that Pearl was some kind of bug hybrid. It wasn’t too far-fetched. She had antennae, and spines on her arms, she could crawl up walls.

The only thing that gave her pause was her eyes.

Pearl’s eyes reflected a galaxy. They spun with stars and planets and darkness, and Gem once spent all day comparing an image of their galaxy to the one in Pearl’s eyes and had found nothing similar in them. She wondered sometimes if the galaxy changed, if there was any way to map what her eyes displayed.

She wondered what Pearl saw.

Her eyes were the most beautiful things Gem had ever seen, and now, as she gently brushed Pearl’s hair back from her forehead, she wished she would open those eyes.

“Why are they keeping us around?” Scar murmured, tucking his blanket around Pearl. They only had the one thin blanket each, but Scar just buttoned up his shirt to protect against the cold.

“I don’t know, but I’m not complaining.”

Pearl groaned, shifted just slightly in Gem’s arms. “It’s because of me,” she said, not opening her eyes.

“Hm?”

“I get energy. From people. They want me to be . . . healthy.”

“Oh,” Scar said. “You’re an extrovert?”

Pearl snorted, finally opened her eyes. Yep, those stars still spun. “I draw energy from people,” she clarified. “It’s how I stay alive, being near others. They keep you here so that I can eat your delicious energy.”

“Yum,” Gem said.

“Yum yum,” Pearl confirmed. Her antennae wiggled. “I absorb it through my antennae.”

Pearl already looked a little healthier than she had when they first threw her back in the cell, and sure enough, Gem was feeling a bit sleepy.

She hadn’t looked too roughed-up, thankfully. A couple of bandages on her inner elbows and hands, a woozy look on her face. Just some tests run, probably. She’d been gone for about six hours.

But this was only the first day. What would happen tomorrow?

“Maybe we should break ourselves out,” Gem suggested. “It can’t be that hard, right? How many guards were there, Pearl?”

Pearl shrugged, her eyes slipping closed again.

Scar tugged on his sleeves. “We should wait,” he said. “I mean, Xisuma’s going to find us any day!”

Gem bit her tongue. She didn’t like to sit around and wait. She liked to get to the action, do things herself, make a push when others weren’t expecting it.

But Scar felt like they should wait, and they weren’t hurting Pearl too badly. It wouldn’t be the end of the world to wait.

Gem clenched her fist and just pulled Pearl closer.

-

“You know the drill, up against the wall.”

Every day, three people entered the room.

Scar and Gem would scoot to the back of the cell, sitting on the floor with their hands above their heads, pressed to the wall. One man would stand close to them, a stun gun trained on them. The other two would haul Pearl up by her arms and leave, the third backing up behind them. The third man always locked the door.

Gem could easily take out three men. No problem.

Every day, three people entered the room. Four went out.

This was the seventh day, and she was getting really sick of waiting.

“I’m gonna go for it tomorrow,” she told Scar. Scar shook his head rapidly, hiding a yawn.

“No—no, we should wait,” he insisted. “It’s only been a week, Xisuma’s—”

“You said to wait a week,” Gem countered. “I waited a week. Nobody’s found us.”

“We don’t have any weapons!”

“All of the guards have swords and stun guns. I’m GeminiSlay, I can take one down with my bare hands, then take his weapon!”

“I—look, I have a plan if it gets bad,” Scar said, wringing his hands. “But it isn’t bad, yet, and we just have to wait a little longer.”

Gem sighed. Sure, it wasn’t too bad so far, but Pearl was still suffering.

She now had dark bruises trailing up the insides of her arms, the evidence of many blood draws or IVs. Clinical stitched-up lines marked her arms and bare feet, and Gem was sure that she’d been cut open and stitched back up in more places than that, but she held her clothes closed (her shirt had been sliced down the back for easy removal) and shook her head whenever Gem asked if she wanted help with wounds.

She didn’t really talk much, not anymore. She just rested against their shoulders and slept. Gem and Scar usually fell asleep quickly, her drain on their energy pulling them down as well.

Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it could be, but it was still bad. They had spent days here, leaning on one another, their energy dwindling more and more as Pearl required more from them. They only got fed once a day, and the sink in the corner of the room provided water but there was nothing to drink with, and cupping their hands barely got anything.

Plus, Gem had a base to be building. She didn’t have weeks to spend locked up in here.

“I’m going to attack,” Gem decided. Scar grimaced, buried his face into his knees. “Tomorrow, when they come to get Pearl. If you want to help, you can.”

Scar didn’t respond.

So Gem just settled in with her singular blanket and started planning.

-

It went perfectly.

Until it didn’t.

Gem launched herself at the first guard through the door, wresting his stun gun from his grip. She turned it on him, holding down the trigger until he was writhing on the ground. Then she hit the following guard in the face with the hilt of the gun—and she aimed for the third one—

But it wasn’t right.

There wasn’t just a third guard.

A fourth guard followed in, then a fifth.

Coming straight for her.

Before Gem knew what was happening, she was down, electricity burning through her spasming body. She gasped—her vision went red, flashing, the only sound that echoed through her ears was a distant screaming—

Then it ended, and Gem took in a ragged breath, the world returning under layers of static.

“No more standing, for this one,” a too-loud voice growled. Gem wrenched open her eyes, looked up—

A blurry guard was holding a club over her leg—

He swung, landed with a deafening crack, and Gem screamed and screamed and screamed.

She couldn’t breathe past the pain for far too long. Long enough that black spots floated in front of her eyes, long enough that her chest strained with the lack of oxygen. She gritted her teeth hard enough that one of them gave under the strain, but after several swelling moments, she managed to draw in a breath.

“Okay, can you hear me? Gem, Gem, how many fingers am I holding up?”

She blinked several times, but couldn’t quite keep her eyes open. It hurt so much, sickening pulses spreading out from her left leg, and then it hurt even worse and fire flashed through her brain—

“It’s me, it’s okay, I’m just—I think it’s broken, and we should probably set it but I don’t know how to do that—can you look at me, Gem?”

“Hurts,” she managed, tears squeezing out of her closed eyes.

“I know, I know . . . oh, Gem, oh, this is bad—this is so bad—”

Gem swallowed, then finally forced her eyes open.

Scar was there, leaning over her, hands fluttering as he tried to decide what to do first. Eventually, he just kneeled beside her head, pulling her into his lap. Gem couldn’t restrain a small noise in the back of her throat as even that movement shifted her leg a tiny bit, but she leaned into Scar, desperate for any comfort that might help ease the pain. He wiped her forehead with his sleeve, brushing back strands of hair.

“Oh, geez. I’m sorry, Gem. This is pretty bad, huh? I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

“I’m worrying,” she choked out. Scar chuckled nervously.

“Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

-

Gem slept most of that day, but by the evening, she was more-or-less conscious and able to think through the pain. Her leg was definitely broken, but they didn’t dare set it, not without a doctor present.

She and Scar didn’t talk. Scar sat in the back corner and picked at his nails, glancing around anxiously every once in a while. Gem rested on the ground, trying not to so much as twitch her leg.

When Pearl was thrown back in, though, they were silent for a different reason.

One of her antennae was missing.

It was cut off, messy stitches closing the wound, and Gem could do nothing but gape as Pearl lay in a slumped heap on the floor, her singular antenna barely twitching.

“Oh, Pearl,” Scar said at long last, breaking the silence and diving to Pearl’s side. “Oh, Pearl. I’m so sorry.”

Pearl’s shoulders trembled in a move so foreign that Gem had never seen it before, couldn’t reconcile it with her Pearl—

She was crying. Gem saw it, briefly, as Scar lifted her into his lap—Pearl’s eyes leaked sparkling tears, each one like a miniature star rolling down her cheek.

Then Pearl’s face was hidden in Scar’s chest, and Gem almost believed that she had imagined it. Pearl didn’t cry—all the time that they’ve been here, she’d smiled and laughed almost like it was any other day (albeit more tired and with a few more winces).

If Pearl was crying, that meant things were really bad.

“They—” Pearl choked out, voice muffled by Scar’s shirt.

“Sh, sh,” he hushed. “We’ve got you.”

“They—they’re mapping my eyes,” she cried. “They can’t—they’ll find—they’ll find my home!”

Gem had never asked Pearl where she came from, how she found herself on Hermitcraft, and she never shared that information voluntarily.

Maybe it was to protect her past.

Maybe it was to protect her family.

“Scar,” Gem whispered. When he looked up, she tried to convey to him that this was serious, far too serious to wait any longer. She nodded her head toward Pearl, then toward her own leg.

Scar’s face fell. He bit his lip, glanced between Pearl and Gem.

After a moment, he nodded to himself, coming to some sort of decision.

“I’ll get us out of here,” Scar murmured, gently stroking Pearl’s hair. “I’ve got it, don’t you worry about a thing.”

-

When the guards came in the next morning, Scar didn’t move from his spot against the left wall of the room, swathed in the darkest shadows that the cell had.

“Against the back wall,” the one with the stun gun commanded, aiming it at him.

Scar smiled, just visible in the darkness. It was a smile that would be considered friendly, jovial, if the person didn’t know Scar.

Gem knew Scar. She recognized that smile from a million miles away. It was the smile he wore when he was about to close a shady deal, when someone played right into his hands, when he was in games of death.

It was hungry.

“Move!”

“No, thank you,” said Scar cordially. “I think you’ll move, actually. Right back out of here, if you want to live.”

Gem blinked, surprised at his level threats. She hugged Pearl a bit tighter, her friend limp in her arms.

The guard snorted. “Yeah, right. You have until the count of three to get against that wall.”

Scar sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said regretfully.

“One.”

“Y’know, it’s always count of three. Why not count of five? Or six?”

“Two.”

“Just wondering! Gem, you might want to close your eyes.”

“Three.”

The guard strode toward Scar, gun out, finger on the trigger.

Gem did not close her eyes. Pearl didn’t look, face still buried in Gem’s shoulder, but Gem watched. She wasn’t afraid of a little bloodshed, and she had no clue what Scar was planning.

Did he really think that he could take the guards on his own, when Gem had failed so definitively just the day before? What did he have that she didn’t?

Suddenly, Scar’s eyes shone from the shadows.

And they shone blue.

Scar leapt at the guard, fangs—since when did he have fangs?—bared in a snarl, and Gem barely had time to blink before Scar’s teeth were ripping into the guard’s throat, tearing it out entirely with frankly impressive jaw strength.

The other two men shouted—one guard got out his own stun gun and hit Scar with a bolt of electricity, but Scar took it in stride without so much as a flinch. His skin rippled, fading blue to match his eyes, and as Gem watched, leathery blue wings burst from his back, shredding his shirt.

The guards barely had a chance to scream before Scar was on top of them, slashing through their flesh with his sharp teeth and black claws (sprouting from his fingertips, still growing longer and longer). He destroyed them in a matter of seconds, blood and viscera flying everywhere, spraying across Gem’s face. She choked, wiped off her eyes, then noticed, with a sense of growing horror, that Scar had stopped to—to eat one of the bodies, digging a hole into his chest and pulling out fistfuls of flesh with reckless abandon.

She opened her mouth to call to him, but no sound came out. Her lips trembled, her breath caught in her throat.

Was this creature still Scar? Blue and terrifying, wings flapping and long claws stuffed into a body, his pointed teeth dripping with blood. His hair was the same, his features still Scar’s (but for the eyes, piercing and ice-blue), the scars on his face unchanged.

Would he recognize her if she spoke to him? Or would he attack them, too?

How had Scar become this—this monster?

Another guard ran up to the cell, but instead of entering, they slammed the door shut, locking it.

That didn’t seem to do more than mildly annoy Scar and distract him from his meal. He growled animalistically, then scampered (and he moved oddly, launching himself from all-fours to flight in a couple of steps, his hands and feet pushing him along even as his wings carried him) to the door. Without warning, he stabbed his claws into the metal of the door and tore through it like it was nothing more than a leaf of paper.

Then he turned, his glowing eyes lighting on Gem and Pearl.

Gem couldn’t help it—she flinched away, pulling Pearl closer to herself. She didn’t know if Scar was a danger to her or not, but after what she just saw, she wasn’t prepared to be seen as a friend.

Oddly enough, Scar’s face twisted in regret. He offered a shrug—rather downplayed by the blood coating him. “Sorry,” he said, and his voice was entirely Scar’s (if with a bit of a lisp from the longer teeth). “I didn’t want—I didn’t want it to come to this.”

Gem wasn’t a squeamish person, but she still avoided looking down at the mutilated bodies. She couldn’t stand to think of literally eating a person—what had Scar become?

“I—I’ll explain later,” Scar said, as if he had heard her thoughts. “I’ll go find a communicator. And destroy their stuff.”

He dashed off down the hall.

Pearl moved against her, tipping her head back. “I’m tired,” she mumbled.

“I know,” Gem said, trying not to gag at the scent of blood that had begun to permeate the room. She swallowed, pushing down her fear. “We’re going home. Scar’s getting us home.”

That was all Pearl needed to hear. She fully slumped against Gem, dead asleep. Gem gently rubbed her back, buried her nose in her hair (carefully avoiding the stump of her antenna).

She hoped they got out of there quickly.

-

Pearl spent a lot more time resting than she ever had. Gem figured it was something similar to chronic fatigue, now that she was missing half of her main source of energy.

When she asked if it would grow back, Pearl had just shrugged.

“Only if I go back home.”

“Are you going to do that?”

“Probably not. It’s far away.”

Pearl still managed to create massive builds practically overnight, though, so Gem assumed it didn’t bother her too much.

Gem’s leg was still recovering, a month out from their week in captivity. It had been broken severely enough that she’d needed pins to hold the bones together, which put her at six weeks minimum in the cast. It limited her sparring and building abilities, but she did what she could on crutches to keep her skills from getting rusty.

She couldn’t spend all her time practicing, though, in order to let her body recover, so she ended up filling a lot of her time with meditation. Her impatience is what got her leg broken, after all, and she’d been beating herself up about it ever since.

Scar joined her, sometimes, at various points of interest across her base where she could look out over the valley and Pearl across the way. He would sit beside her in silence, oddly contemplative as he, too, stared at Pearl’s builds.

Gem understood, now, why Scar hadn’t wanted to act except in case of emergency. She wouldn’t want anyone to see her like that, either.

He had fully transformed back into something human (she wasn’t sure that he was human, though) by the time rescue arrived, and Cub had taken one look at the gore and taken Scar straight to his base on Hermitcraft, ignoring Xisuma’s insistence that he get checked over for injuries.

Now, as they sat on a hill, a couple of feet between them, Gem wondered what Cub knew.

Scar sighed beside her.

She wasn’t scared of him. She wondered if that was what he thought, that he kept sitting with her and sending her terribly guilty and forlorn looks because he expected to be faced with fear and disgust.

She wasn’t scared. It had been—well, it had been a shock, and she still hadn’t quite gotten the image of Scar eating a human body out of her head, but she wasn’t scared.

She just felt . . . awkward, bringing it up. Scar clearly hadn’t wanted them to see that part of him. He probably felt vulnerable, rejected. Why he kept hanging around her, she didn’t know, but she had to get rid of the barrier between them.

“How’s Scarland coming along?” she asked one day, kicking her good leg a little.

As simple as it sounded, that did it. That broke the ice, and Scar started rambling about something or other, and the next morning when she settled down to meditate, Scar was already there with blueprints in hand.

She stared at his fingers as he pointed out different aspects of his design, her mind’s eye momentarily seeing a blackened claw glistening with blood.

Well. If she ever needed help to murder someone, she knew who she was calling.

[lulu2992]

Hey dear Lulu! Hope you have a good day and congratulations on 100K❤️

I have reached a point in my fanfic where my OC is pregnant with John ( and yes, everything is in terms with Eden's Gate rules ) but I have no Idea how John would react/feel about OC begin pregnant- and how would he even be as a dad?

I am trying to stay true to his character as much as possible but it's hard when he hasn't interacted with other children in the game😭 I to think he will be a devoted, loving and protective over his child...but that's all I have...

How would you imagen he would be as a dad and how would he react to OC pregnancy?

Hey! Thank you, and I hope you had a good day as well!

I think it would first depend on whether the pregnancy is rule-breaking and accidental or if they are an official couple expecting it to happen at some point. In your story, I understand everything happened in accordance with Eden’s Gate’s moral principles, so that avoids a lot of angst and emotional turmoil… Unless John and your OC were trying not to make a baby, I suppose he wouldn’t react negatively.

His behavior would also be influenced by how emotionally mature and stable (as far as possible for him) he became in your story. In the game, John isn’t ready to have a child, I think, but that can change thanks to character growth and the magic of fanfiction! He does have the potential of being kind and loving because, as a young boy, according to Joseph, he was. A lot has happened since then, but these qualities must still be there, somewhere, under the pain and anger.

I agree that he would most likely be very devoted and protective because… well, he already is. The Seed family, despite being dysfunctional, is also tight-knit, and they would literally die for each other. John wouldn’t let anyone hurt his child, and neither would his siblings.

Now, of course, we must also consider the brothers had an awful dad and that none of them grew up in a stable and loving environment. Because of this, I can see them being scared of having children, partly in fear of becoming like their father or, in John’s case, like his adoptive parents. That said, he didn’t spend as much time with “Old Man Seed” as Jacob (who I imagine would be the most reticent to become a father for this reason, but that’s just a feeling I have) and I highly doubt he would raise his child the way the Duncans raised him. John undeniably has problems, but in my opinion, he would never want to put his child(ren) through the horrors he experienced.

We haven’t seen him interact with children in the game but I don’t know if that really matters since this baby would be his child, not just a random kid. A lot of real-life parents don’t particularly enjoy the company of other people’s children but want to spend as much time as they can with theirs. Even if John had canonically said kids were a nuisance, I think he could still love his to death.

So if the pregnancy were planned, I don’t think he’d be upset at all; on the contrary. If it were not but they were not trying to avoid it either, I imagine he’d be surprised and anxious at first, but would welcome the news eventually. And as a dad, since John apparently gives himself fully to everything he does, he could be very, very invested, and maybe overprotective. His enthusiasm would likely have to be curbed, as always, but I’d say how and if that happens would depend on your OC’s personality and relationship with him.

This is my opinion and interpretation, which may be incorrect, but I don’t think you can go wrong in fanfiction anyway because it’s inherently transformative and personal. If your idea feels right to you, then it is!

In any case, if you’re stuck or don’t know how to justify something in a Far Cry 5 fanfic, you can always do what they did in the game and either say “it’s the Bliss” or “it was God’s will” :’) For John to go from an emotionally unstable and violent Herald to a great and loving dad, the second explanation can help! Joseph did say he could free himself from his past and that love would be the key to his salvation, after all.

[strawberryjamikins]

Miya dared them. That's the only reason they're here, and it's the only reason they're walking in. But, if that's the case, then why does Langa want to look around? And why does Reki say yes?

Aka, Renga going to a haunted house as a dare, but then staying and getting their shit rocked. (Writing has been finished! Fic will be posted on Halloween!)

[pencilgutz]

[Please click for better quality]

Sooooo I discovered some AUs after being inactive for a while

First up for Twin,

The Monster Lab AU by @etanow !!!!!

More info under the cut!!!

Lore IG

Tw1n (aka Twin) is made from a variety of metal Jax stole from around the Lab. Tw1n is unable to speak due to a incident with Jax and his voice box, and can now only play music to portray his mood and what he's feeling. For example if he's happy he may play some cheery happy song, but if he's angry or just overwhelmed he may just go static, or play some screamo, though static is more common. He does attempt to write though he doesn't have paper on him often. He doesn't have great balance due to the different types of metal and is prone to falling. He has several indents on his back because of this.

His right eye used to be cyan, though due to some... Unforseen events, he lost his eye, along with the ability to move his right arm at all. Yes it hurts, but he can't do anything about it because he knows little about himself because Jax refused to show him the blueprints. Jax is the only one who can fix him. And he refuses to go back.

RELATIONSHIPS!!!!!

Pomni- Tw1n tends to have sympathy and is often kinder towards Jax's experiments (or any kind for that matter) and Pomni was quite nice to him from the little interaction they have had despite her clearly being somewhat on edge because of his appearance, and his somewhat inability to respond.

Caine- Though back when he was under full control of Jax, he viewed Caine in a neutral light, he thought what Jax though. If Jax didn't like Caine, he didn't like Caine. But now that Tw1n is on his own, He doesn't like Caine very much, due to him humoring Jax and letting him experiment in innocent souls. Though its not pure unfiltered hatred like towards Jax.

Ragatha- Similar to Pomni, he is kinder and finds her to be lovely to be around. He often looks up to Ragatha despite them not being close. He admires her ability to maintain a positive outlook despite it being somewhat in vain. He finds her goal to escape quite ambitious..but he finds it interesting as well...he would love to escape and get away from both what he helped with and his...creator

Jax- Despite having created him, Tw1n has a extreme hatred towards him, and the fact he was blindly told these experiments were "humane" and "completely safe" despite them being the furthest from that. He was under complete control of Jax, like a mindless...object until he was harmed gravely himself by Jax. Before the incident and realization he looked up to Jax, wanting to do experiments like him, often following him around like a puppy. He never wants to see his creator's stupid smug face again, but its difficult considering he sees that stupid purple rabbits handiwork in the mirror each morning. He wants nothing more than to watch Jax crash and burn at his feet, however he refuses to stoop down to Jax's level again. Never again. He's a curious soul, and it's coded into him. That's not the case anymore. He's still highly curious yes, but ashamed of what he has done and has sworn off experiments all together because of Jax.

Gangle- One of the only ones Tw1n views as an actual close friend. Despite him not being able to talk, him and Gangle get along quite well, due to their shared love of Fanfiction and written works (As well as writing said fanfiction). How they first met is a mystery. Gangle is able to tell what he's trying to say or what is mood is easier than the others due to them being close friends.

Kinger- He hasn't talked to Kinger often, usually due to the clay golem freaking out because of his (often silent) appearances. Though Gangle talks fondly of him, Tw1n has decided to not form a opinion on him yet. Though it is leaning toward the positive side.

Bubble- It's bubble. What else can he say? Its...its just Bubble.

Zooble- Tw1n finds them to be somewhat of a friend. Key word Somewhat. He finds Zooble to be somewhat cold to him, but he admires their protection over Gangle, and their snake leg is quite interesting to him. He's highly curious about them and their powers, however he won't ask, due to him being intimidated.

Himself- It's complicated. He loves the fact he's alive, he loves the fact he is his own person now, but he's haunted and ashamed of the fact he helped Jax for the longest time. It's that stupid rabbit's fault he is even ALIVE. And it both infuriates him and hurts him beyond what his hard drive can comprehend. He takes drastic measures to never see Jax, including letting his injuries to neglected to avoid that stupid yellow smile. He wants nothing more than to be able to open up his chest cavity and move his components into a new body he made for himself, but due to not having the key Jax holds onto, he can't. He is his own person and he KNOWS that, however this body that was created for him isn't.

Tw1n views himself as both his own worst enemy and his very best friend.

[beautyinsteadofashes]

chapter four: sunbursts and marble halls

"In a reckless move of outrage and petty vengeance she’d decided to get her money’s worth out of that short flight to Nassau. His money’s worth technically. While most things were, annoyingly, complementary anything that could be charged back she had charged back. Steak, caviar, champagne…everything. She’d even rented every expensive movie on the entertainment system with no intention of ever watching them. Instead, she’d crashed into a deep drunken sleep halfway through the flight...She’d be lying if she said it hadn’t been fun."