#sharki wips | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

simplegenius042 · 5 months ago

Text

WIP Wednesday & Last Line/s

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @noodlecupcakes @voidika @imogenkol @josephseedismyfather @aceghosts and @inafieldofdaisies

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

Guess who finally got their documents working again! Anyway, WIPs and Last Lines for The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles. Specifically; a WIP for Jurassic World: Before The Storm and The True Sinners, and a Last Line for two Classroom Of The Elite fics and Silva's Hope and No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden. Kind of a lot, but I've missed this so much. You can find these below the cut:

Here's a WIP for Chapter 2 of Jurassic World: Before The Storm:

Regret.

That is what overcame me when I followed Lisa off the ramp of the ferry.

Once I stood on sturdier ground, the unforgiving heat swept over me quickly.

Lisa had told me to put some summer clothes on; the sleeveless shirt and accompanying short skirt that she had paid for had been her initial suggestion. But I didn’t want to wear those. I didn’t want strangers to see how scrawny and soft I was. And the loose long-sleeve shirt, long baggy pants and my jumper were just too cozy, even if they were more for the colder months.

The uncomfortable temperature had me reconsider if this was a small lapse in judgement.

But no one was paying me much mind, so maybe the clothes helped. If that’s right, then maybe a little heat wouldn’t be so bad.

“Jackie,” Lisa gritted my nickname past her teeth, impatient towards my slow pace. I hadn’t realized that my baggage would be so heavy. I obliged her by picking up the pace.

Though I sped up in pace, Lisa was swifter, and the increasing amount of people clustering together made it more difficult to stay behind her lead.

Luckily the crowd started to dissipate.

I rushed to be by Lisa’s side, lugging my baggage with as much force as I could. The sun lifted an unwanted blanket of hot air over us, and I could not find it in my heart to appreciate the climate. In response to this uncomfortable pressure, I unzipped my jumper. I took a glance at Lisa and found her attention elsewhere.

Here's The True Sinners WIP, where Silva's planning murder while making coffee... but who can blame someone whose recently been kidnapped by the resident ginger soldier:

Jacob dragged Silva through the halls of the old veteran's center, his right hand gripped onto the hem of her dirty coat.

They reached what she assumed to be his office. Jacob opened the door and unceremoniously threw her forward inside. She caught herself from falling, twisting around to face her captor.

He shut the door behind him, the handle's lock clicked in a twist. Jacob crossed his arms as he regarded her, face thinned into a stoic mask.

Blue eyes raked over her disheveled body, specifically how she positioned herself; legs spread apart and slight bent, her left arm spread forward in preparation while her right arm remained closest to her hip, and her dull grey eyes glaring at him. Focused.

He sharply exhaled through his nose, almost like a whistling snort. He leaned against the wall next to the door, eyes on her. Silva didn't drop her guard, not even when he gestured over to a small table.

"Coffee," Jacob tells her. Silva remained in her stance, though confusion did etch across her face.

Jacob gestured once more to the small table. Silva hesitated, eyed Jacob's stature. She took a brief glance over to the table, not enough to lose Jacob in her peripheral though, and opted not to change her stance either, just in case.

She spotted a kettle and some paper cups, and what she assumed to be a jar of grounded coffee beans.

She swiftly placed her eyes back onto him, uncertainty and anticipation brewing within her. Jacob must have noticed, as he stated, "Get yourself a cup of coffee. And if you get one for me, I might be open to explaining your purpose here."

Her eyes narrowed, but refrained from speaking. Silva wasn't sure what his game was. She focused past him to the office door.

She silently exhaled, taking small steps toward the table, grey eyes always on Jacob in case he made any sudden moves.

Once she planted a gloved hand on the small tabletop, she gave one more glare towards him before reluctantly turning her back to him.

With an ear out for any inconspicuous movements Jacob could make, Silva quickly pressed a knuckle against the kettle. Finding it lukewarm, she flicked down the switch.

She dared another glance at Jacob while the kettle heated up, only to stiffen when their stares connected. A palish blue invading her dull grey. A contrast to the sharp grey of Father and the pale hazel of Paul.

He was a militar man. The green forest jacket with the Americana flag was enough to tip her off when they first met, but the ambush... the training grounds of the veteran center had all confirmed her suspicion.

She had been unprepared when she fought back during the raid, only managing to catch him off guard with an admittedly surprised hit, but nothing that could have incapacitated him with his support running at her.

But now they were alone... and once she heard the rising whistle, she twisted her fingers around the handle of her new weapon.

Here's four Last Lines, two each for The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles.

The first Last Line is for a Classroom Of The Elite chapter in The UnTitled Stories (a collection of short fics). Ayanokoji and Horikita have lunch together:

"So," I had paused to swallow down the crumbed fish before I asked you, "The first step is to rehabilitate the failures?"

It hadn't been an unsound plan. In fact it was quite logical, which made sense, in hindsight.

"If you've grasped that, you can guess what I'm about to propose," you had told me, and you were correct. The implication was as easy to notice like a car speeding down a crossing.

My initial response was to decline. The word 'no' was on the tip of my mouth, but I refrained. I took a glance at you, and reconsidered my reply.

Knowing you thus far, you would never have allowed me to get as close as you'd already let me back then if I had rejected your proposal. You had made sound points and made your intentions clear. While I had no ambition to reach Class A, as it had not been my goal, you were a curious oddity that I wanted to learn more about. And helping you meant getting one step closer to the answer I sought.

So, I made the only acceptable answer.

"Okay, I'll help."

"I thought you'd say-," you had paused mid-sentence, my words being swiftly picked apart in your mind as you realized what I had said, "Wait, seriously?"

"Dead serious," I parroted your words back. I'd imagine the look of momentary shock should have been amusing, though I couldn't find much humor in the displace as my chopsticks picked up the rest of my crumbed fish.

The second Last Line/s is for a "What If?" Classroom Of The Elite scenario where Amasawa and Yagami went with Ayanokoji to the school. Anyway, have Class D's reaction to the trio:

As Ayanokoji began to depart from his desk, he paused. Horikita heard him let out a sigh, and much to her confusion, dropped his bag on top of his desk.

"What are you-?" Horikita wanted to question, but Ayanokoji soon interrupted her.

"Accepting my fate," he disclosed, not with much emotion, but certainly not his regular monotone.

Horikita blinked at him, shaking her head in confusion, "Huh?"

Ayanokoji only pointed toward Class 1-D's door in response. She turned her gaze toward it, the sliding door left ajar by the few students who left for break. She wasn't sure why...

She stopped her thoughts when she heard it; the rushing steps of someone fast approaching. It wasn't until a familiar magenta-haired fiend slid in front of the door way, cast her gradient dark-red eyes onto her target and propelled herself inside the classroom at such unnatural speed.

"Senpai~!" the twin-tailed girl cheered out as she threw herself at Ayanokoji, who (reluctantly) welcomed her with deflated open arms. The girl tackled Ayanokoji, the force causing both of them to crash to the floor. The ruckus caught the remainder of Class D's attention.

Before Horikita could process what she just witnessed, she heard another rush of footsteps towards the doorway, but this one slowed down to reveal the second of Ayanokoji's companions; a boy with brown hair and green eyes, softly panting and non-discreetly leaning against the frame to recover from the chase.

The third Last Line/s is for Silva's Hope, and Silva gets a short break and a new friend:

"Hey, Dep, so... you hungry?" Boshaw asked, fidgeting with the beer bottle in his hand. Silva glanced at him, raising a brow, "I was gonna heat up the leftover pizza I had in my fridge, and since you're crashing the place, I'm just wondering if you want some."

He seemed anxious, giving her a forced smile as he awaited her answer. At the mention of food, the rumbling pain in her gut demanded she attend to its needs. Silva blew out a relenting exhale.

"Honestly Boshaw... I'd love some pizza," she told him, and she saw how his brown eyes lightened up; like how Elsa was given permission to do a dangerous stunt or Hurk given the go-ahead to blow a Peggie chopper out of the sky. Or given the thumbs up to set something ablaze.

With that reminder, she quickly added, "As long as it's not reheated with your flamethrower. Understood Boshaw?"

Boshaw blew out a playful huff as he stood up on the trailer's roof, "Nah, I learnt my lesson last time I did that. Gets too charred. Don't worry, I've got a microwave laying about inside. And ya can call me Sharky, Dep."

Silva chewed the inside of her cheek, but after some thinking, couldn't see the harm of calling him by his preferred name, "Alright Sharky... as long as you call me Silva. I'm doing a lot more than what's in a deputy's paycheck. Deal?"

She opened out a gloved hand for him to shake on, and it lightened her mood to see the wide cheerful grin as he took her hand, and managed to pull her up onto her two feet, "You've got a deal there, Silva."

The final Last Line/s is for No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden, and have a crumb of Hudson and Pratt content... as they chat waiting for a passed-out Coroner!Silva to wake up:

Watching how quietly [Silva] slept on as Pratt had loudly chugged down his coffee, Joey couldn't disagree with Pratt's comment, regardless of how ill-mannered the jest was.

She's almost like a corpse, she conceded, frowning at the soft breathes she could barely see part their coroner's lips, the egg-shaped timer ticking beside the dark-haired woman's head, within arm-length.

"Hudson, you need to relax. She's a grown woman, remember? She's made the decision to deal with her personal issues herself," Pratt yapped on, and shared a thought, "Not the best way to deal with any issue, true, but it really isn't up to us to interfere if it hasn't affected her job thus far. Besides, you've got to admit she's a bit fun when she's tipsy. Night-outs are never short of entertaining when she's around. Cheeky and funny, too."

Joey gave Pratt a deadpan look, and sighed, "I don't know Pratt. You ever wonder why she drinks though? It worries me. We're pretty much the only ones here she goes out of her way to talk to, with exception to Earl. And she's just cooped up in here, surrounded by... death."

She gestured around the morgue, to the units housing whatever bodies were brought in this week. Once again, she settled her gaze on the deep bags under Silva's eyes, a combined result of the coroner's known insomnia and the amount of effort in she puts to stretch herself thin in overworking herself. Joey huffed, a somberness in her voice, "It's so... isolating. She never shares anything outside her personal life either, and we're the closest people to friends that she's got. It's not normal."

26 notes · View notes

simplegenius042 · 1 month ago

Text

LATE Music Monday, WIP Wednesday and OC Familiars Quiz

Tagged by @imogenkol @josephseedismyfather @direwombat @noodlecupcakes and @socially-awkward-skeleton

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

With Kinktober over I can catch up to all the Music Mondays, WIP Wednesdays and Quizzes I missed. Music for The UnTitledverse and Life, Despair & Monsters. WIPs will be for The Silver Chronicles, two focusing on the Bloodborne AU while one shows the Coroner!Silva AU. This Quiz will be for characters from my Wings And Horns WIP and A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore series. Hope you enjoy below the cut:

At the SCP Foundation, there is often hours or days worth of breaching at the sites, whether it be because of a restless anomaly breaking out once more or an experiment gone wrong. This is no different in SCP: Confining Spaces from The UnTitledverse. Sure, some things escape. And sure, personnel die. But eventually a task force is set in to re-contain the anomalies and save the surviving personnel, or any trace of the site is wiped off the face of this Earth depending on how bad things will be. But ultimately, everything is "Fine and Dandy" in the SCP Foundation:

youtube

"I was there to witness The victim of a sickness He wants the world to notice That he's not worth the focus He could make an entrance But could not make a friend Now he's got lots of different scratches From trying here and then

And I say liberate your sons and daughters The bush is high, but in the hole there's water You can keep it well and hidden No one's perfect, but it's a living

Hey ho, here he goes Either a little to high, or a little to low Got low self-esteem and vertigo But he thinks he's fine and dandy Hey ho, here he goes Either a little to far, or a little to close He's pretending, that everybody knows He thinks he's fine and dandy

Ring a ring of roses Whoever gets the closest He comes and he goes As the war of the roses Mother wouldn't kiss him 'Cause of his condition Now he's stuck in a prison For his strange disposition

Liberate your sons and daughters The bush is high, but in the hole there's water Do as you will, it's much less work to ignore But if it don't feel good What are you doing it for?

Liberate your sons and daughters The bush is high, but in the hole there's water Do as you will, it's much less work to ignore But if it don't feel good What are you doing it for? What are you doing it for? What are you doing it for? What are you doing it for? What are you doing it for? What are you doing it for? What are you doing it for? What are you doing it for? What are you doing it for?

The main crew of protagonists in Life, Despair & Monsters is made up of menagerie of original and canon characters, most of whom have been negatively affected (that's an understatement) by Sir Enigma Malvolio but I don't think I've discussed who exactly they're made up of? So here's (thus far) the cast out for Malvolio's head; Haoyu Anabuki, along with the DDLC crew Monika, Sayori, Yuri and Natsuki (all except Haoyu were targeted by Malvolio in my Doki Doki Literature Club WIP); Hatsukami Hinode, Icarus Galatos and Xavier Tulip, in addition to Hatter and their fellow heroic partners from France, Marinette/Ladybug, Adrien/Chat Noir, Kagami/Ryuko and Luka/Viperion (Marinette was personally targeted by Malvolio while the others were affected by association in my Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir WIP); Sonya and Jennifer (both victims of Malvolio in my Sonnie's Edge fic); Guenevere & O.R.I.O.N, as well as Morgana, King Arthur and Lancelot (Guenevere & O.R.I.O.N were victims of Malvolio while the latter three were affected by association in my Guenevere WIP); Lora (not personally affected nor targeted, just in it for the adventure, from my Arcane: League of Legends WIP); Rico (affected by association, from my Cyberpunk 2077 WIP); and lastly Sydney, Dina and Sydney (targeted by Malvolio in my I Am Not Okay With This WIP). Now this may be updated with future Love Death + Robots characters or others from other fandoms depending if I can figure out a way for them all to naturally come together. Malvolio actually stopped caring about all of them when he got the data he wanted from them and left, however, when they kill his prized specimen, Edith "Evie" Bloodleech, that's when they get his attention. Here's a song I believe describes both the protags and Malvolio's thought processes toward each other:

youtube

"The bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war Ah, the mighty trumpet brings the freaks out to the floor The bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war Ah, the mighty trumpet brings the freaks out to the floor."

"Tell me, tell me, where the freaks at? Tell me, tell me, where the freaks at? Freaks at, freaks at, freaks at, freaks at-" "Tell me where the freaks at?!"

("Hey!")

"We get that bass thumpin', people jumpin' all over the world We got them speakers pumpin' Timmy Trumpet for the woman with curves Got that freak flow, freak show Welcome to the cicus Let the leaders lead, preachers preach Welcome to the circus!

Close the curtains on 'em if they're actin' like they never heard us See, we do this for a purpose just to keep that fire burnin' And we don't need no water, let that mother-mother burn Timmy, play your trumpet, let the people go berserk!"

("Hey!")

"Tell me, tell me, where the freaks at? Tell me, tell me, where the freaks at? Freaks at, freaks at, freaks at, freaks at-" "Tell me where the freaks at?!"

First snippet of the FC5/Bloodborne AU features the surprise introduction of Tracey Lader as the Hunter of Hunters! For those who don't know, the purpose of the Hunter of Hunters in Bloodborne (in the game it was Eileen the Crow) was to give mercy killings to Hunters who went insane from their blood lust or kill hunters who probably defected/threaten the safety of everyone. They wear crow garb and plague doctor like clothes (and mask to likely avoid the risk of being infected by the werewolf/Scourge Beast Plague (including the Ashen Blood Plague) with two sickle-like daggers called the "Blade of Mercy". Anyway, this is like two-and-a-half or less hours before Joseph's arrest, and Tracey is (kind of) chilling out with her fellow hunters (who may or may not become her victims depending if they can control their blood lust), and while they're mucking about, she suspects somethings up. Enjoy below:

'The Hunter of Hunters is a watchmen who admonishes those who were once our fellow brothers and sisters but have succumbed to the drunk haze of their own blood lust,' she recalled Paul inform her as he initiated her into the role, 'By taking this Oath, Tracey Lader, you not only adorn yourself the weight of the Garb of Crows and the Blades of Mercy, but you alone burden yourself with the sworn duty of putting your comrades, be they man or beast, friend or foe, out of their maddening misery, should they lose themselves.'

Tracey remembered how Paul sliced across the palm of her left hand, to allow the deep flow of blood to emerge from the necessary cut and had her place her bloody hand on the engraving that all Hunters had sworn bloodlessly to. Like she had once done. However, at that time, with her bleeding palm smearing the Rune of Hunters, it had felt different.

'Do you, Tracey Lader, as the next Hunter of Hunters, pledge yourself to remain strong in the face of your blood addled adversaries... to prevail with resilience and resist against the seduction of your own blood lust... and above all else, show a gracious disposition when taking the life of those you will call your comrades?'

Tracey kept thinking back to the very moment she had pledged herself to this life with a hardened yet sincere "Yes". How heavy the decision felt, to hold herself to the standards her Oath demanded. How Paul alone had crowned her the Hunter of Hunters, with no one to witness her inauguration, but the shadows of those she must follow. She brushed a thumb at the intricately-patterned badge of the crow. The only one to have ever been made.

Bestowed upon another escape from the pain and rage of facing the one person who she could not face, lest her tough persona fall. The ghost who roamed the monastery in those white shawls and was dressed as if she was a bride, a constant reminder of her failure she'd fail to endure if she chose to stay.

Tracey breathed in the floral incense in her mask's beak to calm her nerves, before exhaling. It had been years since she had last visited either the Convent or the Monastery, and many more since she's even spoken with... her.

She spent most of her time in the refurbished Prosperity where the Hunter's Chapel resided, a small chapel-like structure no different from Jerome's in Fall's End or the Lamb of God Church, although it was a story taller than the other two, with the bell tower affectionately referred to as the "Crow's Nest" as her predecessors inhabited the space.

Tracey had been less than impressed by the inheritance, but it was... something for her.

Even if it was in the Henbane, she thought with disgust. The region had undergone... some changes throughout the years, and not just from the Hunter's and Peggies use of it.

Weird shit was just happening here, and she wasn't just referring to the Bliss. No, strange sightings were being reported; some range from dancing women whose laughs echoed in the night sky, plus claims of dark shadow-like figures lurking from the mist or hiding in the corners of their eyes, and the smoke bellowing from makeshift chimneys coming from the abandoned Misery.

Those, however, Tracey personally believed were either Bliss hallucinations or just the cult being fucking shifty, and was also explained as such.

However the other reports were... less explainable. There had been some sort of reports of cloaked and hooded masked figures walking to or from the Peggies Pilgrimage, ringing bells and carrying stretches of wrapped up bodies either collected or disposed of. Not to mention the reports of unfamiliar beasts lurking in the foliage, bio-luminescent fluids sprayed on the few buildings that were here, the disappearances that neither matched what they've come to expect from both beasts and Peggies alike.

Hell, Miss Mable complained about the fucking moon, all because Peaches "didn't act like her usual self", even though she made the claim after a hunt had been completed, so Tracey dismissed that as just Peaches hating the hunt.

She sighed and leaned back against the wood, observing how the sun descended lower, reflecting off the lens of her mask. It would only be another two hours or so before the Sheriff's Department would come arrest Joseph... or so Paul had informed her.

It was... shocking when he said those words over the radio. After years of establishing a good connection with Joseph and his cult in spite of their shady operations, years of listening to her and many other's concerns but dismissing them in an assuring voice, and years of standing up for the Seeds in the face of backlash and gifting them two out of the three bunkers that were dens to the beasts... he finally does something about that wretched man.

At least, it's what Tracey assumes to be his doing. Likely couldn't ignore the warning signs with the recent spur between the county's residents and the Peggies decade-long growth of suspicion and resentment. Maybe trying to save face.

Regardless, if it leads to the downfall of Joseph and his cult, and the Sheriff's Department to get off their asses, Tracey can't not be satisfied by the outcome, right?

Though there was a lingering feeling, just at the back of her mind. A doubtful, bad feeling. And a few questions.

What does Paul get out of this?

It's not like Paul to just let his main ally who supplies him with numbers and resources against the scourge beasts to just be arrested. Hell, even with the beasts numbers almost depleted, they were still an issue. She hated to admit it, but Joseph and his family had been a fundamental reason to why they were succeeding thus far.

She pondered if Paul is doing this to gain all of Eden's Gate' resources and property. Some of which would present an advantage against the remaining beasts, especially if Joseph really had been proven as an obstacle to their goals.

Not only that, but it also would mean Paul would no longer have all of them bound to the restrictions of the Seeds' deal.

While impressive if Paul had truly planned that out, it brought up the problem of how Paul could stake claim on those resources if Paul and the Hunter's weren't collectively affected by the Peggies actions, personal bias and experience notwithstanding. Thinking more on it, Tracey noted how hush-hush Paul had sounded about Joseph's coming arrest.

She's made her objective assumptions on the reasons why Joseph would be getting cuffed, but she never got a clear confirmation from Paul himself before he cut off communication.

The sun blared while the sky grew more orange, and Tracey looked away from it. A reminder of her next question.

Why has Paul allowed this to happen now?

The timing itself didn't sit right with her... not the fact he's allowed this to happen nine years late, but instead with the growing darkness from every second that goes by, the sun gaining closer to the horizon.

She'd thought if Joseph was going to be arrested, Paul would have it occur during the day, or at the very least, at a time dawn would arrive.

Not late evening when the sun was setting. Not at dusk. Not at a time where by the time the Sheriff's Department arrived to Joseph's Compound, they'd all be violating curfew. Not at a moment where the Hunters would need to prep for a potential hunt.

Which lead to her final question...

Why was she and the rest of the Hunters all on stand by?

By now, the Hunters would have gathered their preferred weapons, mapped out the roads and areas where the beasts would most likely linger, set up the traps for the Sanctuary Hunters fortifying and guarding populated areas like Fall's End, the Monastery, the Convent, as well as Eden's Gate property and bunkers.

Plus here, she grimly noted, seeing no signs of the heavily garbed protectors. Nor of Alexander and his squire, Hannah.

Usually, Tracey would be the first to leave... after all, the Hunter of Hunters must take to the shadows during a hunt, and keep tabs on her comrades at all instances, and be swift and effective at the signs of their consumption to darker impulses.

But not this time. Paul had specifically ordered to stand by and await further orders. Not just for her, but some of her fellow hunters as well.

She glanced over to what was once the mayor's office; now a glorified lounge set up by Boshaw and Drubman Jr, with cushioned office chairs dragged out and set about a small bonfire with desks that had bottles of beer and pizza boxes.

The two were fooling about; Sharky blabbering on about some nonsense while fucking around with the parts of his flamethrower, and although Jess didn't seem too annoyed with Sharky's topic of conversation, as she pretended to inspect her arrow, Tracey noticed how she tensed whenever the device branched its aim almost towards her.

Hurk was throwing knives at the empty beer bottles he set up for target practice... to a surprising amount of success, to his delight.

The only one she couldn't find amongst the menagerie was Grace.

"Aren't you hot in that thing?"

Tracey turned to look beside her. Speak of the devil and he may appear, she thought to herself, though replace "devil" with "ally" and "he" with "she" and Tracey found Grace Armstrong in her dark green leather attire. It was reminiscent of her military uniform, but much suited for a hunting beasts rather than dispelling enemies.

"It's the middle of winter," Tracey pointed out gruffly, though Grace didn't seem too phased by her tone, instead she just snorted at her reply.

"Don't you want to at least get some fresh air before you use up all your incense?" Grace inquired, tone neutral. Though Tracey wasn't bothered by it, she understood the other woman's just looking out for her.

However, that didn't mean she wanted to be unprepared in case Paul's orders had some solidity behind it.

"Technically, I'm on the clock," she refuted with an excuse, eyeing the sun's descent closely, "We're all on the clock, and I want to be ready once the Chief Hunter clarifies further commands. And orders are orders."

Grace gave an understanding nod and appeared to take the hint to not push further, but she did say, "I understand. Though hadn't the Chief also ordered for us to stick close together?"

Tracey, with a tilting head, did in fact recall that, "Yeah...?"

"Then you wouldn't mind joining the rest of us by the fire then?" Grace responded with a raised brow. Tracey stared at her with wide eyes, though Grace couldn't likely tell from the beaked mask. Failing to come up with an immediate reply, Grace takes notice and simply states, "You don't have to. I know Boshaw and Drubman are... extreme company."

Tracey snorted at her words, Extreme is an understatement for any member of the Powder Kegs. How Paul approved of the coven was beyond her.

Last snippet of the FC5/Bloodborne AU (before we switch over to the Coroner AU) takes place many, many, many hours and I imagine chapters (probably somewhere in the midway point) after Tracey's last few hours of rest before she is fighting for her damn life. Here is a flashback of Tracey's reaction to Faith becoming their new Vicar after a year or so of being a regular Hunter and never seeing her face after the split, as well as Paul promoting her to Hunter of Hunters. Enjoy below: [TW: Descriptions of decomposing desecrated corpses, maybe borders on gore(?), weird plants and Character Death]

Tracey looked across the treeline through the dark purple shade of the clocktower's window, curled up against the window sill's wall, her hand gripping at the knee of her pants.

Rage, sorrow and confusion were mixing at the forefront of her mind. Wondering... why? Why, why, why, why? Why her? Of all people, why her?!

Tracey didn't think she'd find an answer, until she heard him climbing his way up the ladder to the head of the clocktower, ascending with a creak from each step he put his weight on.

Not far long, she glanced to see the black fingerless leather gloves grip at the last step of the ladder, and the familiar sight of blonde dyed hair was first to ascend as Paul pulled himself up.

He was out of breathe by the time her crawled onto the wooden floor, though she didn't blame him; after all, the clocktower had a lot of ladders required to climb up until one is to reach the top. She only did it because it's the most isolated room in the Monastery.

Which is why Paul must have found her so quickly. She kept her eyes to the window as he looked her way, but through the reflection she could see his hazel eyes perk up just as his lips curved into his signature jovial and excited smile.

"Ah, I knew you'd be here," Paul commented, not noticing the cold glare she sent his way through the glass pane, "Kamski reckoned you ran off, but I begged to differ. Now he owes me ten snails."

He let out a little laugh as he stood up, though when he noticed how she kept her gaze to the view, it faltered to a flat end.

Still keeping on his smile, he adjusted the brace around his left leg (at this point, the monastery had given up on trying to stop him from exerting that leg in spite of very valid medical concerns that he ignores, though on the plus side, Kamski still gives him shit) before he took a step closer as he chose not to beat around the bush, "I had noticed you weren't present for Vicar Faith's inauguration ceremony, which got me worried. Uh, you missed out quite the spectacle."

Tracey cocked her head as she tried to put her emotions into words towards Paul. Though this action seemed to have prompted Paul to tell her what she had intentionally missed out on, "Oh, yes. Once Faith was established the title of Vicar, Silva had taken the initiative in swearing the Old Hunter's to oath her. Took her hand, bowed down as she made her vows, and ended it with a kiss to the new Vicar's knuckles. A tad dramatic, even for her? Sure, but a passionate display of fealty I never expected from her."

Paul trailed off, mumbling some words Tracey didn't care to hear as her fist dug into her leg.

"Why her?" she finally asked the man, though her quiet tone made the words sound rougher when they left her lips.

Paul hummed in question, and approached closer. He placed a hand onto her shoulder, but she whacked it aside, to both of their surprise. She recovered quickly though, looking straight into his surprised hazel eyes as she inquired, louder, "Why Rachel?"

Paul blinked at her, clueless and ignorant, trying to make sense of her question, "Rachel? Your best friend?"

"Former best friend," she hissed out in correction, and grew hotter from the frustration of him not figuring it out, "The one who stayed with that cult to become daddy's little flower girl. THAT Rachel."

Paul sputtered at her words, shocked and confused as he tried to wrap his head around it.

"But Faith can't be Rachel? She's the Seed brothers sister... unless you're insinuating that Joseph adopted Rachel and had her become...," Paul trailed off as he paused and really thought about it, thinking back on things he's heard at some point and corroborating it with this recent information before reaching a realization, "...Huh."

Tracey waited for him to come to the rational conclusion of an apology or even go and rectify the mistake of bringing an untrustworthy ally into his inner circle, but instead he puts a gloved hand to his chin, lost in thought, "That's... actually very useful information. Grazie for letting me know."

Tracey stared at Paul, exasperation only fueling the growing embers of anger as she stood up, "That's it? THAT'S FUCKING IT?! That's all you have to say? Why is it good to know? Why did you put her in a position of power close enough to your own? Why have the Hunters allied with Eden's Gate, despite what I told you about them? WHY, Paul?!"

Chest heaving and breathless, Tracey tried to hold on to her ire, to direct it at someone she thought knew better. Because that'd be easier than confronting HER, wouldn't it?

In spite of her outburst, Paul regarded her with nothing but a concerned gentleness. His gaze was reminiscent of when he first met her; the same balance of pity and empathy he showed when he spoke to a teen with no home and no place in the world, given to her once more while she was barely entering her twenties now.

It was the same, it had to be; there was no condescension, no manner of coddling, just... understanding and patience.

She wondered if this is something he learned as a father while raising Silva. A brief thought came after that too, 'Does he see himself as a father to me?'

She dismissed it though. Paul was like this with every one of his Hunters. She supposed he attain some of his more fatherly qualities into his leadership, but she could understand that the authority of both roles could intersect.

She didn't need a father. Never had. But she respected Paul. He ran a tight ship based on comradery and loyalty, and wasn't afraid to get dirty with them if the situation called for it, something she can't say the same about Joseph and his brothers during her time in the Project, even with his whole bullshit spiel of "I am your father and you are my children".

She supposed, thinking back on it, she had assumed Rachel to be the same as her.

Maybe she should have brought Rachel here instead of listening to that old coot.

Paul slowly moved closer to her, a slight limp to his braced left leg. He was tall, at least a head taller than her, but he wasn't intimidating, not to her at least. Silva was intimidating, but only because it was like she knew things that Tracey didn't, and the latter was fine with that.

Even then, fear wasn't something used to lead here. Fear was a reminder that they were still human.

'Fear is one step away from courage, if you're willing to confront it,' she remembered Elsa once say. The woman was a box of mysteries, and not one Tracey had the patience to unwrap.

"I know you're worried," Paul acknowledged, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder, "I understand your concerns. If I had my way, I'd want nothing to do with the Seeds. But we need help against the beasts, and as luck would have it, the Project has the people and the resources we can utilize, in exchange for giving them the beasts' dens after we eradicate them."

Tracey shook her head as she tried walk past him, but he place another hand on her shoulder. Although it was gentle and held little strength, she decided not to push past him, and let him say his piece.

"I'm not being foolish here, Tracey," he assures her, giving a small pat, "I know their not trustworthy. I know bringing Faith in as our Vicar is a risk. I wouldn't do this unless I was confident I could counter anything they could try."

Tracey felt her outrage begin to dissipate, although it didn't leave completely. She was confused on why he'd still do this in spite of the risks, "Then... why?"

Paul looked away as he pondered an answer; or perhaps, whether or not he should disclose the information to her. Looking back to her though, he cracked and gave in, "Because game recognizes game. They're planners. Schemers. I am aware of the threat they pose, and I want to be able to keep a close eye on them, or at least have leverage."

Tracey narrowed her eyes at Paul; while she was glad he wasn't being ignorant to the threat and acknowledged the danger Eden's Gate can pose, she was alarmed by his last sentence, "Is Ra- Faith leverage?"

Paul cringed. Another contrast from what she's seen between Joseph and Paul; one kept a serene and almost otherworldly act up, as if he was close but still a messiah to be idiolized from afar... like the moon, in a weird sense. Beautiful and appealing from afar, but ugly and desolate up close.

Meanwhile, time after time, she's consistently seen just how... honest Paul was in his expressions. Joy and sadness, amusement and annoyance, patience and anger, pride and disappointment. And sometimes embarrassment. He was so... human, that it almost made her forget how she knew he and his daughter hide things from many people.

But that mostly related to whatever was in their past, some inner workings of the Hunters, and however the fuck 'Enlightenment' works. And frankly, two of those were none of her business, and all three didn't affect the public as far as she was concerned.

Paul spoke once more, though more hesitant she noticed, and less explanatory, "...I don't intend her to be. I really can't say much else than that, Tracey."

Tracey however wanted to confirmation, "But if it came down to it... would you?"

Paul frowned, looking almost apologetic, "I can't get things to go the direction I hope it will go... then sì. I don't like it, and I can guess how you feel, but it'll be the only advantage we have to keep Joseph on a leash. Or at dealt with."

Paul saw how conflict riddled Tracey's face, and he added, "I'm not going to hurt her. That had never been the intention when bringing her in, and you know, that's not what we do here. I need you to trust me, cara puma. Trust that... I can help her see something better than him."

Tracey looked to Paul, how his hazel eyes implored for her to believe in him. Such sincerity that she'd never see through Joseph's serenity. She gave a sigh, "I... guess I can trust you."

Paul looked relieved. Tracey though thought of those white shawls around the dress of the Vicar's garb, crowned by flowers and three blood gems forged by their rune masters Isiah and Gemini. A hauntingly beautiful visage that would roam these halls, and a reminder of how she wasn't enough for her in the end.

And she couldn't face her. Not now. So, she had to tell him, "But... Paul I can't be in the same building as her. I don't want to leave the Hunter's Coven... I really don't but if there's no other option...."

She left the rest unsaid, though seeing how Paul noticed her distress, she realized she didn't have to say it. He understood.

She expected him to accept her words as a resignation, but was surprised by his next words, "There is one..."

Tracey's attention was captured, and Paul continued, "I had wanted to talk to you about this for some time now. You see... in light of Hunter Elsa's death, there had been no successors, whether chosen by her will or volunteering themselves, to take up her mantle of the Hunter of Hunters."

"Silva and I had a discussion about it... trying to figure out who could be a worthy successor to her sorella," Paul explained, and Tracey felt her heat beat pace up as Paul regained eye contact with her, "And we agreed that maybe... if you're willing... it could be you."

Tracey, to put it simply, was at a loss of words. Paul, however, was not, so he continued, "Again, you can refuse. It's less an offer and more of a burden to ask of you. But it might help you get what you want... you can keep to yourself, you're not required to be with groups, only fight when you need to, and you don't have to set foot on the Monastery again. You'll be stationed at Prosperity in the Henbane, where most of the other Hunters reside. You won't ever have to cross paths with Faith, as we're mostly keeping her here and likely visits elsewhere, but not Prosperity."

"It's not ideal, but it's yours if you- woah!" Paul had to balance himself from the weight of the young woman hugging into him. Tracey couldn't fathom how a clusterfuck of a misunderstanding in the form of an accidental kidnapping lead to her finding like-minded people who were ready to fight for the county's freedom against the scourge. Nor the fact they show respect to her as a person.

"Thank you," she softly whispered, the gratitude carrying more weight than just this offer.

Paul slowly returned the embrace, lightly and clearly trying to avoid being too clingy, but he was at least relaxed.

He gave a small calming pat to her back, the rays of sunlight breaking through the window, shining a purple hue through the clocktower's tinted glass , "Anything for my Hunters."

--------

In the darkness that expanded in the maze of the catacombs, the decaying plant growth crunched under the weight of Tracey's boots, despite her cautious steps.

Through her mask's lens, she could see vines and moss cling dead to the walls, the ceiling and the ground. Mold spread along the walls and ceilings, sewage dripping from old rusted pipes and dust circulated in the air. But that wasn't all; there were two other unidentifiable flora growths in this labyrinth.

The first was a fat, pulsing bio-luminescent fungus growing from the cracks of the floor, spewing out what was clearly spores and leaking... something out of its cavity hole. Tracey was thankful to her beaked mask, breathing in the floral incense instead... whatever is in the air.

The second was less flora and more of a mini structure; a packed group of hexagonal prismatic columns stuck to corners of the expanse including the pillars, similar to that of a wasp nest or a beehive. Difference was, Tracey didn't believe these to be made of bee wax or dead leaves. It looked more like yellowed cartilage.

Tracey spotted buzzing yellowjackets writhing inside the hives. She swallowed on nothing, fear keeping her heart pounding, alive and on edge.

She could never picture the monastery having a basement level... especially one so deep. Pots of cremated ash laid at the bottom of the walls, the walls aligned with skulls, the age of which she couldn't tell.

She didn't want to waste time inspecting the architecture of a level she only felt unease in. She called out once more, "Lindsey! Are you here?!"

She saw on the other side of this room another set of doorways wide open, a possible indication that Dr. Lindsey went through there. She shook her head in frustration; this would be the fourth set of doors she'd go through in the Monastery, the first being the base level and the next ones descending further into the basement.

She decided to run through it until she saw the veterinarian or bumped into him.

She sped in a burst, dashing past the doorways, expecting to run down a curve of steps. Instead she stumbled and fell over two steps, managing to at least roll to avoid landing on her face.

She grunted, displeased. Tracey began to stand, pushing one hand down for support, but froze when she hear repulsing squish.

She down to where her gloved hand was, and saw it was pressed inside the decomposing corpse of a man; a Peggie, she noted, seeing the slashed marking of their cross. She retracted her hand away from it, keeping her hand close to the hilt of one blade.

She slowly stood up as she inspected the new room; similar to the architecture of the catacombs, the only difference she found were the four dead trees, the broken gravestones circling close the walls and corners of the room (with exception to the entrance and whatever opening was on the other side of the spore mist) and lastly the abundance of decomposing corpses, human and beast alike, male and female, big and small, strewn across the floor, the ground covered in their collective dried blood.

They all shared the same fatal wounds; one slash across the chests, stomachs and backs, or perhaps missing chunks of their bodies, or skulls busted open, and all having some form of their limbs and heads all separated from the body in a fest of gore. She wasn't even sure if the appendages she can see belong to any of the bodies or if some had been taken to... elsewhere.

Thoughts of the Misery invaded Tracey's mind, but she shook it away. Although what she witnessed there was... horrific, what she can see now was above it, if not equal to-

-elch!

Tracey froze at the distant sound. Heart hammering, she tilted her head, listening closely for small sound. She tensed when she heard it reverberate around the room again.

Squelch!

Breathing heavily, she gripped tightly around both her blades' handles, ready to draw them at the slightest hint of trouble as she maneuvered her steps around the corpses. Gaining closer, she heard it louder.

SQUELCH!

From a small distance, she could see a figure's silhouette through the mist. They lifted their arms, clearly holding a long, sharp-ended or perhaps spiked weapon that requires two hands, before bringing it down again, result in the disturbing squelch, this time with the addition of a crunch.

She unsheathed her blades just a bit, as she gained closer behind her distracted enemy. That's at least what she assumed they were. From the looks of it, human. Sharply dressed in what seemed to be yellow and black hunter's garb. A blood-drunk serial-killing Hunter? Now I've seen everything tonight, she thought to herself.

She found herself eating her words too early as she halted in her approach when she noticed three distinct details.

First, this hunter's figure and small raspy ragged breath indicated that he was male.

Second, he held a curved, hooked staff, the head taking on the familiar appearance of a curled wasp with with spikes along the back for a painful blunt attack.

And third, his left leg was adorned with a brace around it.

Tracey's eyes widened as she recognized who this Hunter was.

The nausea set in when he stopped cutting down the limb of the corpse. A recently bloodied dark-haired corpse that had a red slash across the teal shirt, crimson splotches staining the black vest and dusty grey pants.

The shattered rectangular glasses and dropped busted open med kit, the contents spilled from the fall, were only a confirmation of both the victim's identity and who the culprit was for the other corpses.

He released a deep exhale, while her breaths only increased. He calmly removed one hand from his weapon and leaving his other on it, all the while her hands trembled on the hilt of her blades.

She could only watch as his turned, not all the way, not revealing all of his features, for she didn't need to discern who he was even if he did, but to acknowledge her presence.

"Ah... Lader," Paul drawled out her surname with such serenity that it just sounded wrong. Tracey shuddered as he said, "I knew you'd come here."

[A/n] Psych! It was a flashback and the present moment! Also sorry Charles, but you're canonically friends with Tracey and happiness more-or-less doesn't exist in this AU.

Now let's cut to an AU that's more... not lighthearted but certainly not Bloodborne. A scene of my Coroner!Silva AU that's not actually part of the main Coroner AU fic No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden since in that fic the Reaping doesn't occur. Pretty much it's less "story with themes and messages and character development stuff" and more "crack treated seriously". I find this version of the AU funny because there is NO badass deputy the Resistance can rely on. Instead they've got Coroner!Silva whose functioning below 4 hours of sleep, drinks when stressed or sad, and she's in no state to fight (at least with guns... she can give a good stab with her dagger but that's as violent as she gets). Like the Resistance here are handling with whatever scraps they can gather (while Eden's Gate has all the good shit) and Silva's utilized just as Lindsey is; aka the closest people they've got to medical professionals (except one usually deals with animals and the other usually deals with dead people). However, thing is, this Silva still knows shit and often gives advice and training, and though she's not fighting on the field, she is doing reconnaissance, marking property for the Resistance and plays messenger between the regions' Resistance. She still upholds Deputy!Silva's tradition of refusing to join the Seed's cult and finding all the ways to inconvenience/piss them off (except for Faith, because Coroner!Silva had the bright idea to attempt seduction and is somehow surprised she ended up in a situationship with the Seed sister). That's the gist of it. Enjoy the few seconds of Nancy's appearance:

Nancy spoke into the headset's microphone once more, desperate to receive any contact back after Earl's panicked voice rang in, "Come in... is everything OK? Over."

Silence responded back, no sound of the Sheriff nor the deputies. Not even the Marshal. Could have something gone wrong? came the worried thought, Had the arrest gone awry? Or had God decided upon their fates?

Feeling a pang of sadness if that was the case, she tried again once more, "Please, are you there? Are you there? Are you there, Sheriff?"

Receiving no response from Earl, she tried the next names that came to mind.

"Deputy Hudson, if you're there please pick up," She repeated, glancing around the room to see if anyone else was there. Specifically the department's coroner, Silva.

She assumed her to still be in her morgue, which brought Nancy a sense of relief.

It wouldn't do that poor woman any good to listen to this, she thought to herself, focusing back to her screen, Dear Lord, if it's within your plan, please spare them. They're important to more people than myself.

"Deputy Pratt? Are you there? Are you there?" she asked frantically, "Earl, com in. Over."

"Please, is anyone there?" Nancy spoke, voice quivering as the silence grew louder, "Please, pick up. I need to know what's going on-"

"Dispatch," came a voice, all too familiar to her, all too gentle, that it put her at ease.

"Oh my god," she breathed out in revered relief, knowing the Father was alright.

"Everything is just fine here," he spoke, his words carrying an assuring weight, a wordless message that told Nancy, They're alive. They're safe. They're with us now. At least that's what Nancy chose to believe as the Father instructed, "No need to call anyone."

Nancy gave a small smile, understanding the meaning of his words. The Reaping has begun. Ensure it remains uninterrupted.

"Yes, Father," she replied through the microphone, knowing her new purpose now, "Praise be to you."

She switched off the call, removing the headset to prepare for her next task.

Though she paused when she heard the clinking sound of metal being dragged off the counter and fast pace of shoes running against the floor.

The last thing Nancy saw as she turned around was the glimpse of a white coat and the end of the coffee maker before pain and then darkness.

---

Silva had not believed herself capable of committing any sort of violence in the present day. She though the days of pain and returning pain onto others was far behind her in this new life of hers.

Although, staring at Nancy's unconscious form that flopped from her seat and onto the floor with a purple-ish bruise already forming on her forehead, had the coroner rethink that belief.

Discarding the now inoperable coffee maker, Silva flicked the communications back on. Grabbing the headset and bringing the microphone muff to one ear, she called out, "Sheriff? Hudson? Pratt? Can you hear me? Over."

She received only static. So she tried once more.

"It's Silva! It's a trap. I repeat, it's a trap. Nancy's one of them," she tried to warn through the call, "Please. Someone respond."

Soon enough, the screen flickered with an error, the call cancelled or some form if interference, she'd assume. Silva slammed the headset down, distressed.

She cursed under her native tongue, dragging a gloved hand through her long dark hair. She looked down to the groaning form of Nancy, a sensation of confused ire at being deceived by someone she thought to at least be a close co-worker.

However, she couldn't focus on Nancy now; the other's were being lead to a trap, or perhaps had been, she couldn't tell. All she overheard was Nancy's affirmative yes to who she could only assume to be the Project's cult leader, and giving her praise to him.

Looking at the coffee maker, she cringed at the thought that perhaps she went a tad far in her reaction, but she digressed; Nancy was a traitor and the few people she could call the closest things to friends were now in danger or worse.

She had to do something. But what?

And finally, the quiz results for two OCs each from Wings And Horns and A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore:

CADET AZRIEL (WINGS AND HORNS [ORIGINAL WORKS])

JEZEBEL BA'AL (WINGS AND HORNS [ORIGINAL WORK])

NATE GUST SARID (A SYMBOL FOR A BETTER WORLD [FALLOUT 4])

These are all surprisingly more-or-less correct for these three characters.

10 notes · View notes