#so uh enjoy I guess??

[devil-doll13]

Dear Prudence.

Cw: Prudence, the POV/Narrator, is basically a repressed church girl, Carrie lite suffering from catholic guilt™ and she isn't exactly the kindest in her thoughts. Character Death, Physically/Emotionally Abusive Mother, Religious themes/Cult, Implied Drugging, Sex mentions/Fade To Black, Killing/Murder, A Gun Is Shot, Implied Police Brutality/Cops Causing Trouble (they also die), Panic Attack, Vomiting, Feelings of Shame

(If anything else needs to be added, let me know)

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: The Organisation sends an agent to infiltrate and expose a cult led by a man they call ‘Adam.’ The tight-laced Prudence is their first choice; upright, pure and incorruptible.

Or so they believe…

Dividers by firefly-graphics

Prudence claps her hand mirror shut.

She’s sitting in her car. Her windows are down, and a light breeze lifts her hair, ruffles her clothing, wafts over her skin. She takes a deep breath.

She sees herself in the rear view mirror, all beach-blonde, lightly tanned, sunglasses-wearing hippie. Prudence had combed over her appearance with the meticulous eye of a watchmaker, perfecting ‘Leah,’ the wandering soul.

And the way she’s dressed now… Her mother would have some choice words for it, at least. That’s all she can think about; not how much more air she can feel on her skin, or the ease of which she moves, but inherited disgust from a woman long dead. This job was never going to be enjoyable for her. It required her to assume the identity of someone she’d normally sneer at, judge, belittle. Then she’d have to infiltrate the ranks of the hedonists, grit her teeth and bear their hands and eyes and smiles.

But it was all for a good cause. It would be worth it, in the end, to aid The Organisation. She was purging an infestation of sin.

That was what she believed.

She opens the car door and steps out.

The site of the cult is a large, sun-kissed plain. Beyond are mountains, dotted with forests. Great poles stick out of mounds in the soil, adorned with fluttering, multi coloured ribbons and supporting hammocks. Long-haired, bohemian people are draped wantonly over each other, or dancing in rings. A gaggle of children run past her as she walks. Dew from grass caresses her ankles, tickling.

Prudence shivers. It feels so unnatural to have her legs bare. She pushes past a flap and enters the main pavilion. It’s bright and humid like a tropical rainforest, with potted plants and succulents hanging from the canopy. Then she stops.

There was her target.

Right in front of her. Her gun feels hot against her thigh, itchy and painful. He’s sitting cross-legged on a carpet, bent forward in conversation with some other young vagabond. The gaudy tent she’s in feels very small, filled with his unearthly presence.

“... I mean, if this keeps up, they’ll ravage the whole forest. We’re seeing loggers come in every day, and it’s completely destroying the natural environment…”

He’s nodding along to the dull drone of his follower’s speech with a seemingly careless air. She is shocked to see a delicate chain of pink flowers braided into his hair. It’s something she’s going to have to get used to, but most men she knew wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this. With his bright, tie-dyed vestments and dangling gold earrings, he looks boldly flamboyant, like a tropical bird.

“It’ll all be fine, Soren. You’ll see.” Is all he says.

Soren just sighs wearily.

Prudence can’t see her target’s eyes, but when he turns to look at her she is pierced, naked. She’s sweating so badly she feels her floral top stick to her skin. It takes every ounce of willpower she has to smile down at him and make it look half-way natural.

“Hi, I’m Leah,” she recites. “I’ve come here to join with your community?”

“That’s wonderful.” He beckons her forth with a welcoming hand. “Leah. Come, sit with us.”

She already knows his name: Adam. He’s so infamous around this area that he needs no introduction. Prudence almost can’t believe how easily she’s getting close to him, but he doesn’t seem wary of strangers at all. Still, she acts like she expected this.

The bearded man sitting beside him looks less than enthused that she’s interrupting their conversation, but he doesn’t protest when she joins them on the mats. Instead, he scratches his neck and looks back to his leader, continuing:

“Well…Anyway. Some of us are going to start a protest on Monday. I would…” He gave him a pleading look. “...Ask for your approval.”

Adam chuckles, shaking his head.

“But you don’t need my approval, do you? You’re asking for my help.”

Soren grimaces. There’s a thin sheen of sweat beading his forehead. He looks like a little kid who’s come to confess he’d done something wrong.

“It would really be useful to us, I mean… After what happened last time with the cops…” He trails off.

“What happened?” She questions softly.

Help. Prudence immediately latches onto the word. And how could he help? With his abilities? Prudence had leaned forward, listening aptly to their exchange. Now, she sees an opportunity to show an interest in their cause, to blend in. They both turn to look at her. Soren purses his lips.

“It got messy,” he says mournfully. “It wasn’t so much of an intervention as it was a beat down. No one died, but that was about the only mercy of it.”

Prudence gapes. It’s a somewhat genuine reaction, because she’s only known the jolly, toothless side of the police force here.

“Um… Wow. I didn’t know they would be so violent.”

She immediately suspects she’s being lied to, too unwilling to trust the word of a layabout like this.

“Yeah, well it happens a lot more than you might think. If you’re really thinking of joining us, you should consider that.” He regards her, tight-lipped.

“Okay,” she delibrates. Prudence clears her throat, deciding to swing her best foot forward with this. “Well, a little pushback isn’t going to scare me off.”

She looks at Soren directly. He’s still watching her closely, and she squirms underneath the scrutiny. Adam’s eyes are still hidden by his shades, but she can feel his hypnotic gaze on her, too. It seems to render her mind fuzzy somehow.

“When I first heard about you guys, I was a little sceptical, but… You’re trying to make the world a better place, right? I’m here I want because to help. Um, I want to be a part of it, too.”

She clips it off there, and it strikes her just now how hollow and plastic it all sounds.

There’s an awkward, risky silence for a moment.

“How did you hear about us, Leah?” Adam finally asks. He’s staring at her again with that unreadable expression on his face. She shifts.

Everyone knows about you, Prudence grumbles inwardly. The whole virtue committee has been calling for your immediate arrest…

“One of your people.” She tilts her head, pretending to think for a moment. “Sofie, that was her name, I think. She told me about you… About this place.”

“Ah… It’s our people now, sister.” Adam smiles charmingly at her, holding up a finger. Soren sighs again. Prudence can only grin listlessly.

Somehow, it really was that easy.

That night she retired early, huddled in her bedroll. She was sharing a tent with several other people and her skin was crawling and the thought of bugs invading it. Why anyone would willingly choose to live this life, she would never understand.

Lying there, she thinks more about her mission. It was easy to get in the front door, but what she had to do was actually get confirmation that this man was the one they were looking for; that he could indeed conjure plants from thin air and influence the minds of his followers with pheromones.

None of the others would be a real threat to anyone, she decided. Maybe a bad influence, but not actually dangerous. It was only him, and she needed to confirm first if he was her true target. If he wasn’t, she would have to move on.

Prudence sighs, sitting up to wipe sweat from her forehead. Outside, she can still hear the cult members holding a muffled singalong. When she nudges the tent flap aside, it comes louder and clearer. Some nonsense psych rock number.

Sooner or later she would need to participate herself, and she was dreading it. But then again, she might do well to rip the band-aid off now, and clear any suspicion that could be directed at her… Prudence coils her face up, then wipes it over with a doped up smile. As she steps out and takes a gulp of crisp night air, she sees perhaps almost the entire camp is gathered around a huge bonfire. They’re sitting crammed into a communal ring, practically conjoined by the hips and elbows.

When she approaches, she is almost swallowed up by their affectionate caresses. Prudence endures the unfamiliar arms thrown over her shoulders, the hands like spiders in her hair. For Leah, this must be a warm welcome, easy and inviting.

Sofie is there, too, in her olive-green dress, and beckons Prudence lazily towards her. “I knew you’d be here,” she says with a smile, looking half-baked already. “So, wasn’t I right? Isn’t he amazing?” Then she drapes herself over Prudence’s lap.

‘Leah’ slurs an agreement, mostly to keep her quiet, as she refocuses on the man of the hour: Adam is bent over an acoustic guitar, leading the sing-along.

Prudence feels the familiar twinge of unease as the amber light of the fire casts dark, creeping shadows on his face. Once it appeared to her as sly and youthful, but now the lines, the cracks, are shone upon. For some reason, he reminds her starkly of the young preacher in her local church.

No. She tries to shake the notion. He’s a man of God. He can’t be compared to these degenerates.

Prudence joins in reluctantly with a quiet hum, and peers down at Sofie. She is so very different now, compared to the wilful activist she met on the highway. In her glazed over eyes, Prudence can see something like slavish devotion, a sort of hypnotised haze that wasn’t there before. There is no spark left.

This man is a drug, Prudence heart rate spikes. It’s the pheromones. It has to be. She weathers it too, a heavy, distorting fuzz pressing down on her, lathering over her shoulders like melting wax. She has to grit her teeth to bear it, to not give in immediately.

The song ends. And then, just like that, it’s as if her resistance is known and a spotlight is beamed on her; Adam turns to look at her. The entire circle follows suit. At once, all of them snap their heads over in her direction. Prudence begins to sweat.

“Everyone. Let’s welcome the new addition to our happy little family.” His voice is heady and warm. “This is Leah.”

She is congratulated in turns, but Prudence can’t help but shake the feeling that the glassy-eyed crowd had formed into one, single entity.

From then on, Prudence is a well respected member of the community. It frightens her how quickly she becomes comfortable among the hedonists. But aside from the more obvious, glaring differences, it actually isn’t all that much of a departure from her regular life. She still prays, muttering in hushed tones while huddled away in her tent, hoping that she will be forgiven for associating with such degenerates. But if there was a place that God could not reach, it would be this one. There are times she witnesses unblessed things, and turns her eyes quickly away, or learns more of the hippies’ private affairs than she ever hoped to.

No, she does not want to stay here for too long, lest she be corrupted by their lustful madness. It is this foreboding thought which clings to her as she lopes through knee-high grass, far steadier and confident in her wedged sandals than she was before. As she passes by tents and waves greetings towards her enemies, cursing them under her breath.

From today, it will be half a week until Monday rolls around. By then, she anticipates she will find proof of Adam’s guilt. But Prudence is pushed by a sense of urgency; something just seems terribly, terribly wrong about this place. She needs to resolve it now.

With a deep sigh, she approaches the main pavilion and steps inside. Again, she passes by a waterfall of clacking beads, hears the gentle call of wind-chimes, and a strong, blanketing aura of peace washes over her. Adam is once more sitting cross-legged on his mat. But today, he is alone.

“Leah. Good morning,” he cocks his head mischievously up at her. “Up bright and early?”

His brown hair falls down his shoulders in tresses, and with his vibrant green earrings and vestments, he looks rather like an oak tree today.

“Mhm,” she nods. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Tell us, then. What is it?”

“Well,” She starts, then realises somewhat late that he’s cradling something sharp and alien in his arms. “Uh, what’s that?”

“She’s a Venus flytrap,” he says, holding ‘her’ up as proudly as if she was his own child. “Not too big right now, but… Well, you’ll see.”

“Her name is Arabella,” he continues.

Prudence shuffles awkwardly, then decides to mirror his sitting position to avoid lollygagging. No, that wasn’t what she had meant to ask him, she��

“You’ve never seen one before? I’m surprised.”

“No,” she shakes her head before she can stop herself. “I mean, seeing it now, I know what it is, but I was never allowed to- to…”

Adam sets down his plant.

Prudence pales, but his expression remains relaxed and easygoing. Then, words start pouring out of her like the leakage of a drain pipe.

“Only the bible, I only read the King James bible. Wasn’t supposed to read any other… Other books…” Suddenly it feels as if all the breath is stolen from her lungs, like something strange and foreign is expanding inside, bleeding and infesting.

“It’s alright, Leah,” he soothes. “Keep going.”

No, no… An itch in the back of her brain is screaming at her to shut her mouth. Why is she telling him this? Maybe it is the aroma of incense, the powerful, intoxicating scent that’s clouding her mind. Yes, she wants to tell him. Tell him everything...

“But I did,” her mouth is running of its own accord now. “Even though she told me not to. I did, and I got such silly thoughts in my mind…” She shakes her head at the memory. She still feels disgusted with herself. “They had to be corrected, had to be…”

(God’ll make you right, mama snarled into her freshly boxed ear. He’ll fix you even if I can’t.)

“Did she hit you often?”

Prudence stares up at him in abject horror. She still can’t see his eyes behind the shades.

“No, I- I mean,” her voice is as small and quiet as it was back then. “Yes, sometimes, but it was my own stupid fault, I shouldn’t have…”

(I know when you lie, Prudence. He knows when you lie. Lying is a sin, Prudence. Liars will burn for an eternity in hell. Is that what you want, Prudence?)

She clears her throat and realises it’s parched.

“Have a snack, Leah. Here’s some orange juice.” Adam slides his drink over to her. Her hands accept it automatically; she’s obeying him mindlessly now.

“It wasn’t your fault, Leah. You understand that, right? What she did to you was abusive.”

(I do this because I love you. You think anyone else out there would want a defective child like you?)

Prudence is peeling a lemon off his fruit platter. Normally, she recoils at the bitterness of it. But now it tastes like freedom. She doesn’t even realise she’s crying until tears soak her thighs.

“But you don’t need her anymore, Leah. You have us now, Leah. All you need is us, Leah.”

(All you need is him, Prudence. Do you understand me? Rely on God, and he will provide…)

Everything is swimming together in technicolour hues. Adam’s mouth is cracking open like the alluring maw of the Venus flytrap. She can’t resist…

Adam claps his hands together.

She jumps. Her monstrous vision disappears.

“So. What did you come in here to ask me about?”

Oh. What did she… Her memory is so murky it’s like she’s roaming through dirty water. Her senses feel as if they’re clogged up with sewage.

“… Heard that you… Did tarot readings…” Prudence murmurs faintly.

Was that what she wanted?

She can’t remember.

“Ah,” he chortles, and strokes his fluffy beard. “Okay. You wouldn’t be the first. Wait here a second.”

Adam springs up with unexpected vigour and breezes past the beads into a seperate tent. He returns with a deck of vibrantly drawn cards. Prudence focuses on the way his bangles clink together as he shuffles, so light and pleasant, like coins in a tithe box.

So pleasant, like those brief, precious moments when her mother was kind, when she loved her, because she was good and pious and Christian. And if mama’s love bared claws and teeth, how dangerous would another’s be? She had to be kept safe and pure, always watched over by God’s all-seeing eye.

She blinks away tears again.

No. I don’t want to think about my mother anymore.

Adam’s softly worded instructions are passing noiselessly through her ears. All she hears is buzzing, like countless honeybees.

“Leah.”

Prudence flinches.

Adam patiently taps on the floor.

Before her are three cards. On her left, a queenly woman lies upside down and lopsided. In front, a priest. On her right, a hanged man.

“I…” She stutters.

I don’t know what it means.

“It’s not about knowing, Leah,” Adam’s voice echoes inside her mind. “We don’t think in absolutes.”

Yes. we don’t think in absolutes.

“We are kind and tolerant and welcoming.”

Yes, we are kind and tolerant and welcoming.

Her orange juice ripples. It’s now grapefruit purple.

“Now have a drink, Leah.”

Yes, have a drink….

What was in the drink… What was in…

Prudence downs the cup in one, large gulp. It doesn’t burn as it goes down, but it tingles. It doesn’t stop even when she escapes the confines of his tent. She realises she can’t breathe, that her lungs are constricting, tightening like a vice clamped down over her chest, oh no, she claws at her top, oh no stop I need to stop it stop thinking that, and rushes past Soren on her way to a bucket, I’m sick I’m sick I’m sick where she retches and throws up and expels so much filthy, sinful thoughts that it leaves her cold and empty inside.

It feels like an eternity passes as she kneels and stares at her own slimy vomit. She’s trembling, somehow so acutely afraid that her body will collapse altogether. Prudence winces when a hand is placed on her shoulder. It’s cautious and gentle, but right now it feels that all human touch will burn her.

She whirls around. It’s Soren.

“Leah, are you alright?” His voice sounds so far away, as if smothered with a muffler.

“No- I’m, no,” her words spill out, jumbled.

Soren’s bearded face twists in concern. Prudence blinks away tears, but he still looks blurry.

“Hey,” he tries. “Why don’t we get you something to clean you up?” And then he seems like he wants to say more, but stops himself.

Prudence nods, and allows herself to be led.

Her distress didn’t go unnoticed. Everyone she meets offers her water and soft, fruity yoghurts to soothe her throat and wash away the aftertaste. They all cast her sympathetic gazes and stroke her back as she mumbles out censored, ambiguous versions of her story. It’s all so overwhelming. But at the same time, the overwhelming pity is addictive.

For a short time, their eyes are alert and bright. They also share tales bearing resemblances to hers. Sofie finds her and wraps her in a soft, warm hug, one like she’s never experienced before. I had nowhere to go either, she says. But at the end of the world, I found my place here. It is now, swaddled in deep, unconditional compassion that she feels herself sliding down towards the point of no return. What’s worse, she’s letting it happen.

Leah can’t fight it anymore. Yes. They were a family. She just didn’t see it before. They cared. They weren’t going to hurt her.

And just like that, the Venus flytrap snaps shut.

Then, Monday arrives, too fast, too soon.

Leah has been kept so busy, scrubbing and glueing and painting and crying and dancing. Now, the day has come. She feels light as air today, free and unburdened now. Sofie runs over and greets her, hoisting a colourful sign over her shoulder. Leah rushes to bear it with her. It’s a heavy weight, so they’ll carry it together.

Both of them dip through a throng of tents and head over to join the main gathering. The full scale of her family is an awe-inducing sight. It’s a waving sea of long hair, flowing skirts and flashing bandanas. Minus the small children who are left behind, there are perhaps over two hundred people at this rally.

In massive unison. They raise their flags and march into the windswept plains like a holy crusade. Leah allows herself to be coated with dabs and splashes of vibrant colour, so that now they shimmer like a kaleidoscope. These nonconformists, with the same sedated smiles, the same tranquilised eyes.

Flooding over grasslands, Leah finds herself slotted into her appropriate role. She knows that Adam himself is leading their charge at the front.

“Are we going there?” She asks, pointing down towards a strip of the highway teeming with trucks.

“No,” mutters Soren beside her. He’s drenched in sweat, eyes blown wide and feverish. “We’re going to liberate them directly, cops be damned…”

Immediately, she understands.

They arrive, flowing through into the tortured woods and spilling over already decapitated stumps. Adam bids them all to sit and be patient, but Leah can’t wait that long. She’s frenzied like a hungry piranha, desperate for a whiff of blood.

Then it comes. The flashing chrome plate of a lorry bustling in, puffing thick, grey plumes of smoke into the air. But it breaks, growling monstrously in the face of their smiling huddle. A cigar-chomping logger climbs out of the driver’s seat and slams the door, his ruddy face twisted in displeasure.

Adam only grins slyly at him. Leah strains up on her tip-toes to try and see over the crowd. All she can hear are spat accusations of ‘ecoterrorist’ and ‘filthy hippie.’ More trucks are pulling in now, revving menacingly. The collective does not budge.

More loggers disembark. They are cursed at, spat on, belittled, though not attacked. Not yet.

Adam continues to pursue diplomacy. There’s something barbed and violently red-green cradled lovingly in his arms. It’s Arabella.

Leah starts to think that perhaps this isn’t an attempt to be diplomatic at all, and a coil of excitement begins to build in her stomach.

Abruptly, she strikes!

Her maw gapes wide open, pulsing into enormity. The logger doesn’t even have a chance to shriek before Arabella consumes him.

The broken stalemate erupts into chaos. Beneath them, the vegetation springs up and entraps their helpless, screaming prey. Vines spring from the canopy and strangle them, impaling them on razor sharp stems. They bloom into huge, crimson flowers. Arabella feasts ravenously, and grows larger, mightier, dwarfing all of them now. The stragglers fall into a panic and flee for safety, but their vast opposition swells and drowns them under waves of multicoloured banners.

An earthy crack thunders across the scene, and the ground trembles. Leah gapes, enraptured, as the injured forest heals before her eyes. The stumps were regenerating… Healthy, thick bark feasting on the blood and flesh of their killers. Everyone else has stopped, too, craning their heads up to watch as the newborn trees reach far above into the sky.

Adam orchestrates it all with a serene hum. His consciousness buzzes in their heads:

“Let us rejoice, my friends, for it is not my doing alone that performed this miracle, but a manifestation of our will. Our voices. I’d like to thank you all for your contributions. Your faith, your love and your acceptance sustains me.”

Leah’s heart flutters with a rush of gratitude. No. It was all him. It always was. The frightened, repressed woman she was before had shed her skin, remoulding into a serpent. And here was the garden of Eden, the benevolent prize of a God.

That night, she dances wantonly around the bonfire, and it licks high, stoked by the passions of two hundred delirious fanatics.

This is what it is like to be free, she breathes.

“Leah,” calls a familiar voice. She turns around.

Soren’s staring at her, and there’s a glint in his eyes she can’t quite place. The light of the flames casts ghostly shadows on his bearded face.

“I thought you were just putting on an act, to be honest. I didn’t realise you were this committed…” He tells her. His Adam's Apple bobs nervously.

“And now…?” Leah murmurs, and loosens her shawl.

Soren walks up to her and kisses her. Her hands find themselves wound in his hair, tugging. Embracing, they stumble into her tent, and make love.

After that, everything blurs together in one messy, lusty fever. Nothing matters anymore except Adam, except the family, except flowers and trees. Leah’s sunglasses gleam in the light, shaded gold, shaded rose, never bitter or sour. Never ashamed.

One afternoon, the messiah approaches.

“Come. Walk with me,” he commands.

Leah finds herself obeying him without thinking too hard about it. She doesn’t do much thinking these days. She doesn’t have to. She is led to a clearing where the poppies grow tall, where the butterflies flutter, and the air is clear and sweet.

“I’m glad you’ve found happiness with us,” says Adam. His voice is lilting, like birdsong. “You’ve adjusted well. It must’ve been hard for you.”

“No, not at all!” Leah exclaims. She shakes her head. It feels numb, slightly pin-pricked.

He smiles gently at her, but the crinkles around his eyes lie dormant. Leah can’t remember if she’s ever seen them wrinkle before.

“I’m doing really well,” she feels the need to repeat it over and over: “Really, really well.”

Adam reclines on the grass. Leah kneels beside him. He brushes a hand over the greenery, and it bursts forth in blooms of blushing pink and canary yellow, as if desperate for his touch. Then, he does something very unexpected.

He takes off his glasses. Leah sucks in a breath. His eyes are- they’re- no, they’re not, they’re-

For a while, her world is fractured. She stares at him. He looks like a father. Or a Father.

“Prudence.” He finally begins, stroking his beard, looking significantly older than he did before. “I know you think you’re doing the right thing.”

She’s nodding. Of course she does.

“Well… To a certain degree, we all do,” he continues, and sighs, almost painfully. “Believe me when I say I understand what you’re going through.”

For a split second, he seems almost human.

“What I’m…?” But her mind blanks.

Almost. His eyes are twinkling with something that is not mirth or humour.

“Your big decision,” he continues.

She doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

“But I know that when the time comes, you’ll make the right choice,” he finishes, and looks away. He puts his glasses back on.

Then he is untouchable once more, far above her. Adam pulls himself up off the ground. A tiny sapling is still clinging to his pant leg.

“I’ll see you around, sister.” He pats her shoulder fondly, drifts away, and leaves her standing there, alone. The birds are quiet, then.

They’re so quiet.

Prudence, he’d called her.

Oh. She feels nauseous.

Abruptly, it all comes flooding back. Her sweet high crashes down into the mud and dirt. Prudence looks down at herself. Her ears are ringing. She’s so filthy.

The mist clears, if only for a moment. She sees the gardens full of sin, now. Venomous green, jaundice yellow, blood red. Even the sky is turning a violent, bubbling purple. It’s choked with poison, intoxicating and deadly. It is false, hollow, lies.

Prudence breaks into a sprint towards the road, anywhere away from here. Soon, the vibrant meadow gives way to grimy asphalt.

It’s all real. All corporate, grossly neat design.

Now, the dream is over, but the sickeningly pleasant haze is still buzzing around her mind like a swarm of bees, threatening to submerge her again.

She forgot. How could she? Foolish, godless girl.

Prudence stumbles, feverish, across the grassy bank along the highway. Almost limping, she falls against a roadside phone booth. She pulls it open, hands slippery with sweat. There’s a small paper lodged in her knuckles; her only salvation. She needs to seek help now, or this fog will never lift.

Her hands are trembling as she punches out the sequence scrawled on the slip. Once she calls this number, it’ll all be over.

She only needs to wait a moment before the dial tone fizzles out into static. The person on the other end is waiting. Prudence swallows. Her throat is dry.

“Apricot.” She says in a shrill, choked voice.

She slams the phone back with a metallic clang.

The day passes, and she does not sleep.

Now, It’s too late to turn back.

Beside her, her partner is smirking. He’s never appeared so cruel to her until now. There’s something hard and cold in his eyes.

Flanking them is a row of cops and police cars, armed with shotguns and revolvers gleaming in the light. They’ve come on her signal, and now they have her target surrounded.

Adam is standing in front of her, defenceless. The tip of her pistol meets the centre of his forehead. He smiles at her, so infuriatingly serene.

“Sister…” He’s saying in his soft voice.

Prudence’s lungs feel tiny, constricting in her chest like she’s being strangled by a boa. Hot tears prick her eyes. She loves him.

“I have to… I have to do this…” She mutters feverishly.

All is still. Her finger twitches, ready.

“Yes. You know what you have to do, don’t you?” He coos at her. “You’ve always known.”

She always has. Prudence pulls the trigger.

Her bullet hits her partner straight in the eye.

The world explodes with light. White hot pain shoots through her ribs, and she’s falling, and her body is sprawled on the ground. Everything is spinning.

Someone is shouting, but she can barely hear it above the din of gunfire. In her blurry vision, she watches as a police car is swallowed whole by gigantic vines and cops are melded screaming into the fertile metal. She feels herself grinning, ecstatic, laughing madly.

She did it. She did it. She made the right choice.

Adam is standing above her, bathed in sunlight, his arms outstretched, shining like a beacon. In her eyes, he is the source of all life, and life overwhelms all.

Then, everything is quiet, except for the soft crunch of feet on grass, coming closer.

She is aware of gentle hands cupping her face, cradling her in a blooming flower bed. She tilts her eyes upwards to see the glowing face of Adam.

“Prudence.”

He’s saying her real name, murmuring softly. She barely hears it over the ringing in her ears. Everything is numb and fuzzy, like her body is wrapped in gauze. She’s tired, so tired. She wants to fall asleep in his arms like an exhausted child.

She knows she’s dying.

“Now you’ll become a part of me.”

He hushes her when she tries to speak. Something wet and cold is rushing out of her, emptying her body. But he brushes over her eyelids, and tiny daisies push out of her mouth. Her lungs are filled with mushrooms. Ivy is winding up her legs and into her skin. Nothing else matters now. He’s looking down at her like a benevolent God.

She feels a sense of completion, like her life has meaning. Her death will have meaning.

Leah smiles. She closes her eyes.

Dear Prudence

See the sunny skies

The wind is low, the birds will sing

That you are part of everything

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr-main, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @solmints-messyocdiary, @flower-crowned-lady, @probably-a-plant-thing, @myers-meadow)

[butwhatifidothis]

I guess the ultimate thing that kills CF for me - or at least nudges it away from me saying I definitively like it - is just how much Edelgard is clearly written with the player in mind before she's written with her character in mind.

Because on all of the other routes, there's a power to Edelgard's presence. Even on BE, there's a sense that for as lonely as Edelgard might be, she still ultimately will do whatever it takes for her to get what she wants. Be that be killing her citizens (or otherwise letting them be killed), endangering her friends, assisting in kidnapping people, allowing Byleth to support her only when they have the Sword of the Creator, covering for TWS - no bar is too low for her to limbo under if doing so means she's even a step closer to her goals.

She's manipulative! She's deceitful! She doesn't care for the lives of her people! Even her friends are forfeit if they try to stand in her way! And this happens no matter how close you, the player, get to her, in the case of BE - C+ ain't stoppin' Remire, and going to the coronation ain't stopping the Holy Tomb.

And in the war phase, she is dominating the field. She has the Kingdom completely on the ropes, down to a few houses standing against Imperial rule, and the Alliance is stuck in neutrality - she may not be able to do much to it, but neither can they do anything to her (to say nothing of the Alliance houses who stand with her). She's far from the underdog in this race, and she shows off how threatening she can be.

CF? Her route?

She scweams at scawy rats. She gets embawwassed when you find her dwawings. She's just so wonewy, and she's just so gwad that you chose her. She somehow fails to capture Rhea, or frame Dimitri for regicide, and so now has to deal with that on the Kingdom's side of the war. But that doesn't stop Elly Welly-kins fwom twying to find her pwecious teacher, because you're just so important to her. She cwies and hugs you when you meet her in the Goddess Tower!! Because she missed you so much!!

It's like... Dimitri and Claude certainly show different sides of themselves on their respective routes. It's the whole point! You grow closer to them and thus see how they treat those close to them, as opposed to being the Kinda Neat Teacher they see run along every now and then. But, like... Claude doesn't become a blushing maiden whenever Byleth speaks with him on VW. Dimitri doesn't scream at scary rats and get called cute for it on AM. They don't get Basic Bitch Gap Moe Traits slapped onto them that are only ever shown to the player and only on their routes. Unlike Edelgard.

Dimitri's endearing trait is that he's this big huge dude who can bench-press forests and arm-wrestle god who still wants to learn to sew and who teaches kids to protect themselves and who buys candies for his friends. Claude's endearing trait is that he's this mastermind planner who has contingency and lie and obfuscation as three separate legal government names who still wants everyone to be safe and happy and hold hands and be friends.

Edelgard is strong, confident, and willing to do some of the shittiest things known to man for her goals. Her endearing trait is that her screams are cute. She's shy about her drawings of the player character. She blushes over the player potentially joking about having sex with her per her JPN version of her C support; you know, the one about how Byleth walks in on Edelgard muttering in her sleep from a nightmare about her tortured family? Perfect time to joke about fucking her! Dimitri and Claude's endearments are, well, endearing; Edelgard's are all straight up embarrassing for her.

Hell, even the smaller stuff is affected! Claude's passion for poisons and mushrooms are things he has no qualms about having others know about, despite how weird they are. Dimitri laughing at shitty jokes brings him no personal discomfort or embarrassment, despite just how loudly he laughs at them. They have traits to them that can easily be uwu worthy, and they don't care! Of the lords, only Edelgard does! Because, it feels like, the only way for a strong, resolute female character to come off as approachable is if she's knocked down a few pegs for specifically and only you, the player.

And that sucks ass! I'm sorry, but when I'm playing Edelgard's route I don't want to deal with her hiding herself away in her room for a month IN THE MIDDLE OF HER FUCKING WAR because she's just so embawwassed! It is so fucking insensitive that Edelgard is literally the only lord of the three who can have her trauma openly belittled at any point in the story by Byleth, all to have some cheap cutesy uwu moment about her fear of rats (calling her screaming in fear cute and INSISTING that it's really cute which is just. Fucking ew man)! Why can we fucking mock Edelgard's manner of speech during the MASSACRE OF REMIRE?

This shit doesn't happen to Claude or Dimitri! And saying "oh just don't pick those options then" is bullshit because no equivalent options exist for the male lords! It's piss-boilingly annoying that the second you choose to see things from the strong confident villainous ambitious female lord's perspective you can reduce her down to this bumbling moeblob just for you (sometimes unavoidably!) like!! Dude!

[braisedhoney]

been having some funny times aboard the hive lately

ALSO! updated crew and captain uniforms for the ship!! not 100% sold on them yet but the changes are pretty minor… just wanted to embrace the space theme a teeny bit more.

[personishfive]

in which ann takamaki is there

[t3chborb]

On today's episode of "T3chborb shows up in DMs of fanfic writers with inappropriate ideas":

... Nah fr, this started as a solo art project, but then I thought the concept was too good to be left in only image form, so I poked @ya-zz about it, and... here we are LOL. Another artist/writer team up :P

... And goddamn did @ya-zz go all out with the fic. Over 5k words of Ramram goodness. Go read it and give her some love :P Here be the link ;)

As for my part, full pic is HERE, though I suggest you visit the fic first, so you don't get spoiled on the surprise~

[fidgetspringer-art]

✷ Archmage Tethry Ikos ✷

[gnat-draws]

elphelt

[dawnthefluffyduck]

New game interest unlocked

(crow in bottom right belongs to @patchwork-crow-writes)

[majorshatterandhare]

Okay, accent/pronunciation post.

In Hereward the Wake, Tim pronounces “duty” with a /j/ (yod) which creates a pronunciation something like /ˈdjuː.ti/ in the IPA or “dyoo-tee” in English phonetic spelling. From what I can tell, this is one of two common pronunciations in English accents, the other being /ˈdʒuː.ti/ in the IPA or “djoo-tee” in English phonetic spelling. This second pronunciation features coalescence of the d and yod to create a dj sound. This can be contrasted by Rachel’s pronunciation of “duty” in Alice, which features yod dropping, and can be written as /ˈduː.ti/ in the IPA or “doo-tee” in English phonetic spelling. Although Tim is doing a very odd accent in Hereward, it doesn’t really matter in this case. In Riddle of the Sphinx he pronounces “introduced” with a coalescence of the d and yod (/ˌɪn. trə ˈdʒuːst/ or “in-truh-djoost”) and regardless of whether it is coalesced or not, as long as it’s not *dropped* it works for our purposes.

Okay, now we get into why this is funny to me. The yod-close back rounded vowel pair (/ju/ or “yoo”) comes to English from French. The French close front rounded vowel sound (/y/, I have no idea how I’d write this in English phonetic spelling, but make the inside of your mouth like you’re gonna say “ee” and your lips like your gonna say “oo” and that’s how you make it) came into English and was separated into /i/ and /u/ (or “ee” and “oo”) but then the /i/ was replaced with yod. This was not only applied to words that came from French, but also some pre-existing English words as well (and is now applied to foreign words once they’ve been in English long enough, like “Cuba”).

Now, when did the yod-close back rounded vowel pair enter English? Well, when was English heavily influenced by French? That’s right, when the Normans took over. And who fought the Normans? Hereward!

This lead me to the idea of an Anglish translation of Hereward the Wake. Has anyone done that yet?

[Note: information on the yod-close back rounded vowel pair came from this video by Dr. Geoff Lindsey; IPA representations were taken from the online Cambridge Dictionary and Wikictionary and adjusted where necessary (such as making “introduce” into “introduced”). Also I’m not actually positive that Tim doesn’t coalesce the d and yod in “duty”, it sounds kinda like both to me, but either way it comes from the French which is the important part for this post.]

[whimsi-clown]

I just reached 111 followers!!!

Thank you so much!!

But also-

[soupandsorcery]

Day 11 - Curse, 622 words

He's dreaming. He must be. Nothing real could feel this fucking good, right? The deep, intense press of Roy's cock inside him has Jamie clawing at Roy's shoulders, and the little sparks of pain just spur Roy on to fuck him deeper. Harder.

Jamie can't breathe, and he doesn't care. All he can feel is Roy, Roy, Roy. His fucking huge cock, thrusting into him again and again, hitting that spot and not letting up, even when Jamie writhes with his second orgasm of the night.

His head is spinning, and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He can't think of a single thing he'd want to say anyway, other than more, please fuck, never stop, and he's communicating that well enough with his body language, judging from the way Roy keeps fucking into him.

"You feel so fucking good," Roy is saying, the words falling from his lips almost reverent like. "You're so good for me, aren't you, Jamie?"

Jamie nods frantically, desperate to be good, to make Roy feel as good as Roy's making him feel. "Just for you," he gasps out. "Yours, yours, yours."

Roy growls low in his throat and slams into him harder. The bed rocks against the wall, and it's a good job Roy doesn't have any neighbors that share that wall.

"Good boy. Just fucking take it, Jamie."

As if he could do anything else in this moment.

Roy gathers Jamie's hands and presses them over his head, pinning them to the mattress. He laces their fingers together, holding him down and holding him close, and Jamie wraps his legs around Roy's waist, dragging him in impossibly deeper.

It feels like he shouldn't be able to come again, like his body should be wrung out, but well, he's Jamie fucking Tartt, isn't he? He's capable of all kinds of great shit.

Like coming all over Roy's dick for a third time, holding onto him for dear life.

******

It's minutes or hours later when Jamie comes back to himself. His head feels floaty, and his body buzzes with exhaustion the way it does after a good workout. He'll be feeling that tomorrow, but fuck if he's not glad for it.

The bed is empty when he opens his eyes, but he's clean, and there's a glass of water on the bedside table. Roy's bedside table. Because he's in Roy's bed, feeling proper sore because Roy just fucked him into the mattress.

Jamie rolls over to reach for the glass sipping it with a giddy smile on his face.

He can hear the sound of muted cursing from downstairs, so he pulls on Roy's discarded shirt and his own pants and pads his way down to the kitchen.

Roy's scowling at the pan he has on the stove, muttering under his breath as he pokes at what smells like chicken and garlic and lemon. Jamie's stomach growls loudly, giving him away, and Roy turns to look at him.

For a split second, there's open fondness and a flash of something darker in his eyes, before it disappears behind the guarded expression Roy wears when he's not sure about something.

"You're awake," he says and then rolls his eyes at himself. "Obviously."

Jamie grins, stepping closer and pressing his forehead to the space between Roy's shoulder blades.

"Yeah. Didn't mean to pass out on you, sorry. Guess you just fucked me too good."

He's expecting some sort of snappy response, but Roy's just quiet for a long moment. Something like worry cuts through the post sex haze in Jamie's brain, and he steps back and to the side so he can see Roy's face.

Unreadable again. Damn.

"We should talk," Roy says, not meeting his eyes.

[silverware-is-interesting]

..-. .. -. -.. / - …. . / ..-. .. .-.. . … .-.-.-

idk i just felt like drawin this version cause it's fun. also because drawing characters helps get a feel for them which in turn helps if you make a playlist for them

a square version too

[shesmore-shoebill]

I half jokingly started writing this for Smosh Girlies Week Day 5: Smoffice and then it very rapidly got out of hand and had some actual emotions and etc sneak into it. So uh. Well. Enjoy a largely-unedited fic of "Angela watches the S&B video for the first time at the creator event, Courtmangela flavored".

Tentatively titled: "Leather and Harnesses". Nothing explicit here! Beyond what was in the music video I guess. I might move this onto ao3 at some point if im brave enough.

*mandatory disclaimer. this is rpf. f for fiction. dead dove. etc etc.

-----------

In retrospect, maybe Angela should've been a little better prepared.

In her defense, there's only so much you can prepare for when it comes to "Your workplace is making a music video about being submissive and breedable and your two coworkers/close friends/people you definitely have regular feelings about are playing dominatrixes in said videos. To your bosses. Who are calling themselves submissive and breedable."

Actually, Angela isn't sure someone SHOULD be prepared for that situation. Even if they have a job that involves sentences like "We need to have a safety meeting about where we're storing the floggers".

That said- maybe there were warnings. Signs. She had some knowledge of knowledge of what the video would entail- the theme of the video wasn't a secret internally, nor was the involvement of the cast. Or their roles. Even if Anthony and Ian didn't love making jokes about being submissive and breedable, Angela certainly wasn't going to forget Amanda and Courtney bounding up to her at 11 AM, full of excitement, crowing "Guess who are the sexy doms of the office!"

No, that moment is absolutely seared into her brain. She remembers the extreme hot flush that came over her body, and she remembers making a vague strangled noise that could, generously, have been interpreted as a "woo!" or a "yay!" in response to the news. and definitely not air punching out of her lungs at the thought.

And she remembers, what she thought was the world showing her mercy that Amanda and Courtney didn't seem to pick up on anything amiss, other than a long pause, with Amanda's gaze lingering a bit on her expression, and Courtney drifting closer, something charged in the air for a long second- before they continued their celebration.

Now, standing in a room full of her peers, slightly tipsy, watching her bosses on a screen chant "Submissive and Breedable", and feeling a mounting sense of dread. Angela is realizing maybe the world wasn't being merciful. It was just biding its time.

And- okay, fine. Angela should've known. She should've been ready. Maybe she'd let herself get lulled into a false sense of security in the last few months as her reminders of the shoot mostly boiled down to Erin griping about logistics during coffee dates, or Amanda or Courtney being busy on certain shoot days.

Smosh tried hard to keep details on this one under wraps, which meant Amanda telling Angela that they "did me all up in leather" (complete with an eyebrow waggle) or Courtney saying they "looked DAMN good in a harness", but not many details beyond that. Which had been fine for Angela, who, at the time, was already going through the full spectrum of human emotion trying to respond normally to this information, potentially failing, and then discarding the interactions from her brain before she could linger on them forever.

(And- fine, maybe she'd been trying hard not to think too much about the shoot because,  more than it being Amanda and Courtney, it was Amanda AND Courtney. And because ever since the shoot, sometimes it felt like they were sitting a little closer than they used to. Like there was a sort of newfound understanding, or something, some kind of bonding experience there.

Where sometimes Angela would look up and they seemed to be gravitating towards each other a little more. Leaning a little closer to each other, or laughing at an inside joke clearly from their time shooting the music video. Little touches.

Nothing big, and it wasn't like- it wasn't like Angela was being left out of anything, technically. Amanda still was her lovely, caring, physically affectionate self, pulling her into warm hugs, leaning against her whenever she was near, as they talked up a storm about anything from the latest Dateline to LA traffic. Courtney still lit up whenever they saw her, immediately sharing gossip and compliments with equal joy, pulling her into selfies and hooking their arms together whenever they wanted to bring her somewhere, or just because.

It wasn't anything big, it was maybe just in Angela's head- the fact that, recently, when it was the three of them sometimes it felt like they were both watching her, that they sometimes giggled together quietly and it made Angela feel. Odd. Maybe it was just Angela, on the days when both of them were out, thinking too hard or too long about the idea of them- both of them- at a "sexy" shoot together, even if sexy shoots were never sexy during the creation process. Maybe it was something about the idea of them, in leather and harnesses, together, getting closer, while Angela-)

Well. Angela had been trying to not think too much about it, was the point.

And now, here, in a room full of Youtubers and coworkers and people she likes and respects, she's going to pay for it.  Angela can't tear her eyes away, as her bosses- her bosses- dance and sing "Submissive and Breedable" and before she can brace herself properly, the song moves into its first verse, and-

Fuck.

Courtney, is onscreen, silhouetted in red, in a harness and tanktop. Courtney with a fake tattoo sleeve and their hair slicked back with chains around her neck and-

Courtney making a beckoning motion with her hand, Courtney throwing Ian onto a bed, Courtney slapping a riding crop on her hand, jesus fucking christ-

The song continues, the background switching to a white room with bbno$ and her bosses dancing in BSDM gear, and honestly, that's fine, because Angela is still trying to remember how to breathe. And think. She knows her jaw is agape right now and she's too busy trying to continue standing upright to care.

She can't decide whether to be glad or horrified that right now, at this moment, none of her friends are around her. Amanda and Courtney, while proud of their work, had both understandably opted out of being in the room during the initial screening, and Chanse, Erin, and Mallory had abandoned Angela for more drinks.

And by now Angela deeply, deeply regrets not joining them. She takes a gulp of her wine, wincing as it burns down her throat, trying to stabilize her breathing and ignore the way her whole body is overheating. Only for Anthony on screen to put on some kind of VR headset, and the background turns purple and Angela nearly swallows her tongue because -

Amanda.

It's Amanda, except Amanda in dark makeup and a dark lip and a high ponytail and- oh fuck, she wasn't kidding about the leather- a form fitting leather dress and harnesses and chains and- she's holding a collar-

-and she has on a choker that says "Mommy"-

(In some distant, distant part of her brain, Angela is glad that the people around her are wolf whistling or ooh-ing or laughing because she's pretty sure she made a noise when she saw the collar and she doesn't think it was a dignified one.

Most of her brainpower, however, is currently dedicated to stopping her knees from giving out under her and not crushing her wine glass under the influx of white hot arousal coursing through her body.)

There's a shot tilted up at Amanda, leather dress skin tight, riding crop in her one hand and makeup and hair and everything flawless. Am i dead. Angela faintly wonders to herself. Am I dead and my hell is me watching my close friends be the hottest thing I've ever seen in a room of professional acquaintances. On screen, Anthony is crawling at Amanda's feet, and- All Angela can think about is that being her. A collar around her neck, and Amanda over her and Courtney with her riding crop and-

Oh god. Oh god.

Something in her brain short circuits at this moment, goes so far into a kind of horny shocked awe that it loops back into a white numbness.

She tears her eyes away from the screen as the music video shifts, thankfully, back to the chorus and the white room and the dancing, and gulps down the rest of her wine, if only to try to stop staring in openmouthed shock. Looking away and staring intently at her cup doesn't help, much, though, because she's pretty sure she's going to have these images emblazoned across the forefront of her brain for the rest of the day. Or life. On loop in her mind, images of tight leather, and harnesses, and jawlines and-

shit. shit. shit. She steals a peek up at the screen, and- something vaguely goofy is happening but also Amanda and Courtney are both there now, still in their getup, still looking- fucking hot as hell, and- Angela averts her gaze again. She knew how she felt about both of them, on some level, okay, but she wasn't. Prepared. For this.

Across the room, Chanse is whooping a little as he watches the screen, new drink in hand. And because he sucks, and she hates him, he seems to feel Angela's gaze, and glances over at her, before a knowing grin spreads across his face.

He's not even saying anything, but she knows he knows. He's one of her best friends, and he's looking at her red face and unsteady stance and her empty cup and she knows, he knows. He's probably known this whole time, and he's silently laughing, now, and Angela's going to kick his ass the moment she's close enough. And remembers how to make her legs work.

Her revenge plot is interrupted by an eruption of clapping and cheers as, apparently, the music video concludes. Somehow, she'd survived. People are cheering and whistling as Anthony and Ian shuffle back towards the center, and Angela is- remembering how to breathe again, mostly.

Only to nearly jump out of her skin, shrieking a little bit as a familiar hand falls on her shoulder. "Enjoy the show?"

"I-" Angela attempts to get her heart rate under control as Amanda grins at her, the colors on her shirt swimming in her vision a bit. "You- well- I."

"I think that's a yes." comes Courtney's voice from over her other shoulder, and, okay, yeah, maybe Angela can just die now, because there's one hand on each of her shoulders and they're on both sides of her, Angela cannot stop thinking about how good they both smell, and-

"-Ang? You there?" and she blinks, and Amanda and Courtney are both in her vision now. Courtney eyeing her with a hint of warm concern, hand still on her shoulder. Amanda is facing away as Ian and Anthony drone on, but with an arm looped through hers, a warm and steady presence. When Angela doesn't immediately respond, Amanda glances back as well, a question in her eyes. Courtney, without saying a word, grasps Angela's hand and gently pulls Angela past the people standing behind her, maneuvering back towards the wall, away from the crowd. Amanda's arm stays looped through hers, shoulder pressed against hers until they come to a stop towards the back.

Once situated, Amanda swaps out Angela's empty cup for a cup of water (when did she even get that) and Courtney pats her arm. "Wow, that bad, huh?" They say jokingly, although there's a hint of vulnerability, there. Amanda reaches a hand out and squeezes Courtney's shoulder, before fixing her gaze back on Angela. "I'm sure it was- a lot..." Amanda trails off, uncharacteristically unsure. Angela, sensing the shift in the air, stumbles over her words.

"It was fucking incredible. You guys looked. Hot as fuck. I- it was. Really- good." She finishes lamely, self consciousness raging back in as she speaks. In the background, whatever speech Ian and Anthony are giving winds down, but Amanda and Courtney's gazes don't waver.

"Yeah?"

Amanda and Courtney exchange another glance, a little warmer this time. but this time, pressed between them, Angela doesn't feel left out of- anything, doesn't feel like she's missing anything, especially as they look back at her, a warm understanding growing between all three of them. She pulls in the arm Amanda is looped through to one side, and squeezes Courtney's hand with the other, pulls them both closer. Something about all of this feels- familiar, and safe, and suddenly Angela can find her words again.

"Yeah. Couldn't stop looking. At either of you. Nearly dropped my drink. You guys weren't kidding about the harnesses or leather, huh? No idea how I stayed standing, honestly."

As Angela talks, Courtney's smile turns a little more wicked, and Amanda's posture smoothes into something more confident and steady.

Spurred on, she bites the bullet.

"I don't suppose either of you got to keep any of those outfits, or anything."

Amanda's smile is blinding, and dangerous, stirring something deep in her core, and Courtney's hand in hers squeezes once, twice, as Amanda says, slowly.

"Oh, for you, I think we can find them again."

[crazywolf828]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/F

Fandom: RWBY

Relationship: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long

Characters: Blake Belladonna, Yang Xiao Long, Ozpin (RWBY), Adam Taurus (Mentioned)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Heaven, Heaven & Hell, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel Yang Xiao Long, Angst, I fuck with Bible lore, Blake as Eve, Bumbleby Week (RWBY), Bumbleby Week 2024 (RWBY)

Summary:

Yang hadn't wanted this, hadn't wanted to fall, she just wanted to help. Somehow she made everything so much worse.

She'd never been like the rest of the angels, her ideas had always caused worry. Their job was to protect earth, protect this new life they'd all created together.

Keep it from being destroyed.

-

Bumbleby Week Day 7: AU day

Shout out to the mods for putting together this year's bee week! Make sure to go check out @bumblebyweek-blog for more amazing art/fics!

[thatskindarough]

“Suddenly you realize you’ll never have the good relationship you wanted. And as long as they were alive, even though you’d never admit it, part of you, the stupidest goddamn part of you was still holding on to that chance. And you didn’t even realize it until that chance went away.”

Bojack horseman got me messed up. I think Izzy would enjoy the show. And have some major self reflection.

[stcries]

late night convos in a discord server with some of my closest mooties are some of the most fun but also the most chaotic things you’ll ever witness.