#wip: you're almost like family

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday & WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @josephseedismyfather

Tagging @voidika @imogenkol @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn @direwombat @noodlecupcakes @adelaidedrubman @raresvtm @derelictheretic @davrinsgriffons @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @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 @yokobai and @seedsplease + anyone else who'd like to join.

Music for A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore and The UnTitledverse and WIP snippets for The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles. Listen and read below the cut:

First song for my Sole Survivor OC Nate Gust Sarid from my Fallout 4 WIP A Symbol For A Better World in my A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore series. Nate... is amongst many of my Fallout OCs in particular who goes through a rough stage in his life. The life he knew originally ends with a bang, he and many of his neighbors are frozen in stasis and he witnesses his wife die and his son get taken and wakes up again decades later as the "Sole Survivor" (...or is he?) in a world trying to heal but still under conflict. And while he wants nothing but to find his son and avenge his wife, he instead gets caught up in helping the factions around the Commonwealth just to get the resources and aid necessary to find his son (as well as make the Commonwealth safer for his son when he brings him home). The only one who seems to just want to help him with no strings attached is strange flippant woman named Ress who really wants to kill her own dad (whoever he may be). Honestly Nate gets the most depressing narrative for a Fallout OC of mine and his arc is to find hope again (which starts with his friendship with Ress, which kickstarts her own arc of becoming someone more than she perceives herself to be, e.g. a symbol of hope instead of a bad omen like her father). Putting him up there with Alph Dolen (my Lone Wanderer OC) and Finidy Mona (my Chosen One OC). Anyway, song below:

"High, high hopes."

"Had to have high, high hopes for a living Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing Didn't have a dime, but I always had a vision Always had high, high hopes ("High, high hopes!") Had to have high, high hopes for a living Didn't know how, but I always had a feeling I was gonna be that one in a million Always had high, high hopes

Mama said, "Fulfill the prophecy Be something greater, go make a legacy" Manifest destiny, back in the days We wanted everything, wanted everything ("High, high hopes!") Mama said, "Burn your biographies Rewrite your history, light up your wildest dreams" Museum victories every day We wanted everything, wanted everything

Mama said, "Don't give up, it's a little complicated All tied up, no more love and I'd hate to see you waiting"

Had to have high, high hopes for a living Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing Didn't have a dime, but I always had a vision Always had high, high hopes Had to have high, high hopes for a living Didn't know how, but I always had a feeling I was gonna be that one in a million Always had high, high hopes ("High, high hopes!")

Mama said, "It's uphill for oddities Stranger crusaders ain't ever wannabes" The weird and the novelties that don't ever change We wanted everything, wanted everything ("High, high hopes!") Stay up on that rise Stay up on that rise and never come down, oh Stay up on that rise Stay up on that rise and never come down

Mama said, "Don't give up, it's a little complicated All tied up, no more love and I'd hate to see you waiting" They say it's all been done, but they haven't seen the best of me-eh-eh-eh So I got one more run and it's gonna be a sight to see-eh-eh-eh

Had to have high, high hopes for a living Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing Didn't have a dime, but I always had a vision Always had high, high hopes ("High, high hopes!") Had to have high, high hopes for a living Didn't know how, but I always had a feeling I was gonna be that one in a million Always had high, high hopes ("High, high hopes!")

Had to have high, high hopes for a living Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing Didn't have a dime, but I always had a vision Always had high, high hopes Had to have high, high hopes for a living Didn't know how, but I always had a feeling I was gonna be that one in a million Always had high, high hopes!" ("High, high hopes!")

Macklemore, Ryan Lewis, Melle Mel, Grandmaster Caz, Kool Moe Dee & Eric Nally's "Downtown" is a song I typically listen to when working on my Detroit: Become Human WIP called Detroit: Battleground from my The UnTitledverse series (I also listen to Nicki Minaj's "Starships" while working on the WIP but that's a post for another time). And I gotta be honest... I don't know why. Does a song about an interaction between a shopper and a moped salesman got anything to do with androids fighting for their rights with the help of a cat and dilophosaurus as a malevolent virus goes around killing the rich and wealthy while stealing autonomy away from sentient androids got anything to do with each other? Unless you're really looking deep into things... not really. I'm sure if you squint you could find something, like how I imagine Detroit to be this downtown city even though I've never been there and I'm probably wrong. Like yeah... I just think the WIP and song vibe with each other on the level that Madonna's "Like A Prayer" vibes with Deadpool and Wolverine... neither had anything to do with each other but they still work! Anyway, listen below:

"Downtown, downtown ("Downtown!") Downtown, downtown She has her arms around your waist With a balance that will keep her safe (Downtown)

Have you ever felt the warm embrace (Downtown) Of a leather seat between your legs? (Hey, hey-ey-ey, hey, hey-ey-ey, hey, hey-ey-ey, hey, hey-ey-ey!)

Downtown You don't want no beef, boy Know I run the streets, boy Better follow me towards

Downtown What you see is what you get, girl Don't ever forget, girl Ain't seen nothing yet until you're

Downtown You don't want no beef, boy Know I run the streets, boy Better follow me towards

Downtown What you see is what you get, girl Don't ever forget, girl Ain't seen nothing yet until you're Downtown!"

First WIP is for the FC5 Bloodborne AU, showing a snippet where John and Jacob had rallied their followers to attempt their first assault to take the Convent back and confront Vicar Faith... but just before they encounter a powerful obstacle in the forms of the Church Hunters, and very much before they notice the first sign that somethings different about the Bliss. Read below:

Passing by the rocks, John looked out his side of the window, and saw the glimpses of the Convent; a property that once belonged to the Project before they made the deal with that deceitful snake, Paul Yellowjack.

As Jacob turned the corner, John could see how drastically it changed since last they handed it over.

The congregation hall was bigger, altered into a chapel. The dormitories were present, but seemed to be in disuse; and given the bodies of black-garbed Hunters laying outside the small stone walls, John made an educated guess as to why.

He grimaced at the distant sight of the so-called "Church Hunters" patrolling within the vicinity of the Convent. Adorning large wide-brimmed hats, cloaked in white over their dark hooded garbs, the hulking creatures were far from human; they were twice as tall as ordinary people, their skin drained of all colors except a ghostly pale, their features eternally etched in a ghastly stiff and emotionless face, their glazed blank eyes somehow more soulless than their shorter and more temperamental cousins.

John wondered how this one night managed to have him prefer their twitching, jittery and screaming Angels to the Monastery's stoically calm, sluggish moving and low moaning Church Hunters.

Though John could easily explain that as away as the result of the former being volunteers or those too full of doubt that Bliss was needed to elevate their minds, even if John didn't like it. Meanwhile, the latter were a vehement vileness towards the beauty God their souls' vessels, nothing more than husks that the disgraceful Saint Matilda managed to gain since Faith was appointed the Monastery's vicar.

The reminder of their astray "sister" was enough for a scowl to nearly break through.

"Guess Dansky was right for once," Jacob spoke up, surveying the Convent from afar as he pulled the truck to a stop, thankfully not pushing any further, "They're keeping people out, even those who are supposed to be their own."

That detail both disturbed and confused John; despite their lives often being full of vice, the Hunters risked their lives and sanity ensure the safety of everyone, regardless of affiliation, from the vile beasts that roamed the county, compared to the Church Hunters, who resided around properties owned by the Monastery, like guard dogs.

Such a quality was something that John and his brothers could agree on finding an admirable trait about the Hunters. But to see them so callously murdered by trusted affiliates just for seeking a well-known safe haven to recover made his blood boil. Though it also raised questions about tonight.

Like, why?

Why reveal their true colors on this night of all nights? What was the purpose of disposing their only forces against the beasts? How does the "Hunt of the Long Night" differ from previous nights? Was it a similar case to the "Night of Flames"? But why does Paul continue to broadcast his warnings and reminders to the civilians if he's assumed to be behind this?

John didn't have answers. Neither did his brothers nor any of their followers. But... perhaps their wayward sister did.

The other envoys full of Jacob's Chosen and John's bravest men and women also pulled to a stop, awaiting further action.

John reached to the backseat for the automatic rifle he stored in there, with Jacob checking the ammo of a pistol in the glove box.

Jacob looked to John, watching as his younger brother checked the magazine and loaded it back it upon seeing it was full, flicking safety off. John was surprised when his older brother placed the pistol against his chest, forcing him to hold it.

"Take it," Jacob gruffly ordered, gesturing to John's empty holster. When John tried to refuse it with a push away, Jacob stared at him harder, and looking into their shared blue eyes was something John didn't see much often in his older brother; behind the insistence was worry.

Not that John could blame him... tonight had been rough on his older brother, especially with the failed arrest nearly costing Joseph's life and the compound being uninhabitable due to the Beasts lured over by the helicopter's crash.

"John. Just take it," Jacob insisted roughly, and though John wanted nothing more to show his brother that he was capable on his own, he gave in, taking Jacob's pistol.

Jacob gave a satisfied nod, patting John's shoulder before exiting the driver's seat, going to the trunk to get his rifle.

John looked ahead to the convent, where he saw the blue hue of some Church Hunter's lanterns illuminate, grimly alluring.

He swore he could see the outlines of a green mist swirl along the walls, but when he blinked, it seemed more like fog.

Shaking his head, exhaling a breath to steel his nerves, John exited the truck to help Jacob rally their faithful together.

Another FC5 snippet for my You're Almost Like Family WIP where John is able to have a (somewhat) civil negotiation (after many failed and fatal attempts beforehand) with Silva at a gas station with neither having any weapons on hand to defend themselves against unknown stalkers with murderous intent... Enjoy reading below:

John straightened up as soon as he saw her silhouette approach closer, eventually watching the Deputy enter the gas station.

When she turns to him, his eyes instinctively checked her over. He's relieved the moment he saw no gun and no knife. No weapons means he said and done the right things this time, though he's not foolish enough to believe she trusts him... after all, she doesn't need weapons to end his life once again.

He gives her his biggest, most welcoming smile that he can. The Deputy responds by narrowing her grey eyes at him, clearly suspicious.

Alright, John thinks as he grits his teeth, We'll work on that.

"Ah, Deputy," he greets with wide arms, without his coat this time, showing that he too had honored the agreed conditions with his empty holster, "You don't know how glad I am to see you make it here."

The Deputy didn't immediately respond, instead observing and analyzing him. John's heart quickened in pace; being in close proximity of her didn't ease his nerves. He prayed that he didn't make the wrong move, say something that would mistakenly tip her off to some non-existent threat.

She was a skittish thing; easily on guard by the smallest movements, tense from the slightest change in tone, most likely to strike if she feels threatened. Even if John wanted to poke fun at her previous failed attempts to get here, he knew she didn't know about those cycles, so his phrasing just comes across as odd.

He almost exhales aloud the breath he was holding in when he sees the neutral stoic expression return. Not a scowl, not wide alarmed eyes and most definitely not a confident smirk before he sent him to suffer through another agonizingly long cycle.

She crosses her arms, her gaze focused on him as she curtly replied, "I'm here now. Spill or I leave."

Straightforward as always.

This next part had been something he'd been practicing for a while. Taking in account the previous attempts ultimately leading to failures, John had been extra cautious this cycle; he did everything he could to avoid her wrath, her distrust and a reason to immediately kill him.

He left the Ryes alone - hell, he even spared Rae-Rae and her mutt - he gave his men strict orders to not kill anyone they detained, even if some were traitors like Alex or resistant like Wendell, and left Fall's End just north of the gas station they were in alone after she reclaimed it once again. He refrained from... getting Deputy Hudson's confession, at least just yet. Nadi was sore about the disuse of the Revelator, but if she knew of what he was going through, he's sure she'd understand the necessity.

He allowed the Deputy to escape, twice. Gave her the tools to escape. He hoped this could at least spark an interest or a benefit of the doubt, at least to hear him out.

Her life depended on it. And his sanity too. Lord, he hopes they can work together to put an end to her untimely demises. At least to stop him from restarting back to the night of the arrest.

"Straight to the point then?" John questioned, one of many that he'd rehearsed throughout these botched attempts to talk with her. She gave an affirming nod, though this time without the irritation that broke through the stoic expression, but John didn't waste time to speak, "As you know Deputy, the Reaping has split us into those who believe in my brother's project and those who disagree with his vision."

The Deputy's brow furrowed, but John continued before she made a snide remark towards him and his family, "Yet through the gaps of this conflict, my best men and women have reported to me a string of strange behavior we believe originates from an unaffiliated and rogue party to our factions."

That wasn't exactly a lie; Sinclair and his faithful brothers and sisters had all, along with himself, witnessed Silva's demise to assassinations and sabotage from an unknown assailant... unlike him, they just don't remember the previous cycles.

Silva looked to him at the mention of "unaffiliated" and "rogue party", processing the information with scrutiny. As expected, she asked with a raised brow, "What makes you say that?"

"Well-" John said with a suave tone, attempting to lean on the kitchen counter, but misplaced his hand, unintentionally sliding a plate off the counter.

The plate's impact on the floor shattered it to pieces, resulting in a reverberating crash across the Golden Valley Gas station upon the dishware breaking.

The Deputy looked alarm, her arm reaching for her holster, though found no handle since it was thankfully empty. She relaxed, and stared at John with an incredulous expression for a short moment of silence.

John just covered his face and coughed to hide the embarrassment. Surely no one passing by would be able to hear that, right? It'd be quite inconvenient if the Deputy and himself were discovered together, not because they'd might mistake one or the other for working together, but because the Deputy would throw him under the bus, at the best and most hopeful scenario she'd just arrest him... though knowing her, she'd equally consider killing him to clear up any misunderstandings.

Not that such a thing had happened... yet.

He just hoped the chances of anyone walking or patrolling nearby was extremely low.

"Ahem," he faux coughed, hoping to get back on topic as he let go of leaning on the bench, "As I was saying- you see, your Resistance may not be aware of it yet, but there's been a low number of activity in murders towards members on both our sides; most that result in shells of a unique bullet that I know neither of our people use, capable of breaking through the human body with extreme ease."

Again, that was technically true; he's seen plenty of times when that bullet propels through the air and always creates an entry and an exit wound upon fatally hitting it's intended target- the Deputy.

Although the "murders on both sides" was a little speculative. John just assumed given the first time he witnessed the Deputy's demise, it was likely the assailant had been disguised as a Chosen, given Alexander seemed to have noticed them first. As for the Resistance... well, the assassin must have retrieved their disguise from somewhere during one messy attempt to recapture Fall's End.

Regardless, the Deputy appeared to be very attentive to his words, which was a good sign. It meant she either knew something or was believing him.

He's still standing uninterrupted, which is a testament in of itself.

"So... an unknown third-party is killing both of our members? If that's true... why are you bringing it to my attention? Why not protect your own and leave this boogeyman to come after the Resistance?" the Deputy questions, looking John up and down, trying to catch the slightest tic of deception.

John grins, and he finds a small vindication from the Deputy's huff of regret, especially from all the times she was snide with him, "That's because, my dear, I have reason to believe that you are this "boogeyman's" intended target."

Another WIP snippet for the Classroom of the Elite chapters of The UnTitled Stories collection. Or Ayanokōji recounts everything from Year 1 right up to the end of Year 2, How I Met Your Mother Ted Mosby style, the series:

"You're pitiful."

I had directed my gaze from my observations on our peers towards you; my sneering, obnoxious desk neighbor.

I remember raising a brow at you, with your poised shoulders and chest held up high with such assurance that I wondered if it was possible for you to lose balance and fall flat on your face.

A rather uncouth and petty fantasy, sure, but I stand by the fact it would have been well-deserved considering your attitude back then.

"Pitiful? How?" I had questioned you. I hadn't understood your comment, nor what prompted it.

You hadn't wasted a second when it came to mocking me, "'Oh, I want to eat with somebody', 'I wish someone would invite me to lunch'. Your thoughts are quite obvious. It's utterly pathetic."

I had observed as you unwrapped your grilled cheese sandwich, a delectable food, one I would have felt envious for.

You were always good at reading me. It left me baffled by just how many times you accurately discerned my intentions. I suppose it shouldn't have been a surprise that we'd flock to one another, despite how impossible it should have been...

Though as you know, I couldn't leave you to ridicule me without poking a jab in myself, "Aren't you also alone?"

My attempt to insult you back was ultimately nullified from your next immediate response, "That's true, but I for one prefer to be alone."

You easily bit into your grilled cheese sandwich just as you easily deflected my comebacks. Knowing further derisive comments would ultimately end in failure against you, I had accepted defeat with a soft exhale.

I peered towards our other classmates; watched at how most of the other girls flocked to either Hirata or Kushida, and noticed the absence of Sudō and the other boys.

I had hoped helping him out the day before would have sparked an interest from him, but I supposed my demeanor wasn't as approachable as I thought it was. I hoped he hadn't noticed my desperateness to gain a friend, considering how distant the girls are.

With nothing left to do for the lunch period, I had announced, for your ears only, "I'm going to hit up the cafeteria."

Once I had exited our homeroom, I had came to terms with the fact that I would likely spend most of my years here alone for the foreseeable future.

What I hadn't anticipated was one of our peers going out of her way to seek me out.

"Um... you're Ayanokōji-chan, right?"

I had stopped in my tracks to turn back around, to see the owner of that familiar voice.

...Yes, it was Kushida. The same girl with short beige-colored hair and gradient crimson eyes to compliment her well-endowed figure and shorter stature, especially in that uniform. You know, the school-approved shorter skirt one?

...Yes, those were observations I had made, it was the first time I'd actually met her face-to-face. The relevancy of these details shouldn't be the focus here.

Continuing on, I gave her my attention, and as one of the leading girls in our class, regarded her with respect as well.

"Yes, that's correct," I had answered her, and made her brighten further when I responded, "And you're... Kushida?"

She had seemed quite impressed that I had remembered her name at the time, I had been uncertain as to why though, but I could guess now that she was glad her reputation was spreading, especially within our class.

"I'm glad you remembered my name," she had told me with a overly cheerful smile, "I wasn't too sure if you paid attention during introductions, but thanks anyhow."

I had merely hummed in reply. I hadn't gotten used to being paid gratitude towards yet, so it was quite awkward for me at the time to receive it, especially for something so trivial.

Kushida's adorable expression shifted to something slightly nervous, her hands clasped together in front of her as she softly asked, "It wouldn't be much trouble if we talked for a sec?"

Her small and non-threatening demeanor hadn't alarmed me back then, even when it should have, so I gave her an affirmative nod as she led me down the hall a bit, away from our homeroom.

It was there where she revealed her intentions to me, "The reason I stopped you is because, well, I wanted to ask two very small questions."

I had nodded, letting her know to continue. I had a lot less stress that far back, so it left me free to pursue my growing curiosities.

"Well the first was if I could get your phone number?" she had asked, making me blink in momentary surprise before she elaborated, "I wanted to get it yesterday, but I had been preoccupied with everyone else that you managed to slip away before I could ask you, and I got the impression that you maybe wanted to be left alone as well."

It wasn't an illogical point of deduction, nor an incorrect assumption, considering how fast I wanted to leave, especially after how I blew my introduction. It was worse than Inogashira's, and her timidness managed to earn her encouragement whereas my awkwardness and social ineptitude cost me such sympathies.

I'm getting off-track. From there, I had answered with a resounding and hopefully excited, "Yeah, we can exchange phone numbers, I don't mind. What was your second question?"

Kushida's elated expression of victory toned down when she got to what I know she actually wanted to ask, "Well, Ayanokōji-chan, I wanted to know if you were on good terms with Horikita-san?"

I had tilted my head at the mention of you, almost glancing back to our homeroom to ascertain whether you were secretly close by, eavesdropping. But I dashed that ridiculous thought away, since I determined you weren't that kind of person at the time.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," I had informed her, where her shock broke through her expression, "I wouldn't go that far. We're barely acquaintances, really. Why do you ask?"

I was curious to know how our peers perceived the two of us; I thought it could have been vital knowledge to know, especially when weighing our interactions thus far.

All I received were a confirmation of misconceptions since the beginning of the school day, "Really? You two seemed really close, though. She never lets any of the other girls talk to her, and from what I've seen, you're the only one in our class- in the school, really- that she seems to ever talk to."

She looked away for a few seconds as she stated, "I thought that... maybe you would have the best insight on how to best approach her? She turned me down yesterday, and refused me earlier this morning. It's my goal here to be friends with everyone, especially in our class, but she doesn't seem to want friendship at all. But since she talks to you, I was hoping that maybe you could tell me what kind of personality she had, or if she was the type to share her mind only with close friends?"

I think I would have frowned in that moment, hearing how you flunked your chances to get familiar with the class, though I was a bit preoccupied with Kushida's cute pout. In spite of that though, even if I was still learning on who you were as a person during that time, I knew I couldn't give what I did know away, even if it was to Kushida.

So I had gone for the safest response, "I think that's just the kind of person she is. I can't really help much, I only met Horikita yesterday."

Kushida appeared to be disappointed upon hearing this, her shoulders slumped down. It was a strange moment for me, considering I didn't know if it was appropriate to console her over something that seems so small now.

However, there was a passion that had reignited in Kushida, one I would witness grow throughout our years here, as she grappled onto my hands and declared, "But I still need to be friends with Horikita in spite of all her refusals. No one deserves to live their entire school year alone. It's just not right."

She had looked up at me with pleading eyes, "Could you... maybe help me?"

Her extreme insistence to achieve your friendship should have tipped me off to her actual intent, but I'm sure you can understand why I overlooked this, given her convincing facade.

Admittedly, I too was desperate to gain the friendship of one of my fellow female peers, considering just how poorly my luck was going.

Even if she and I weren't really friends back then, I'd like to think that's where the spark began.

And finally a snippet for my "Kiyotaka Ayanokōji went to ANHS with Ichika Amasawa and Takuya Yagami at beginning of First Year" COTE AU in my What If? WIP. During the Mixed Training Camp exam, after a rendezvous with Karuizawa the day before that involved, ahem a promise~, Kiyotaka is subsequently harassed later the next day during lunch by his fiendish kohais who were hiding in the bushes to witness such a private moment, and they will not stop their relentless teasing. Witness below the average older sibling experience when the younger devils discover the existence of your unofficial and refused to be stated in all but name girlfriend, enjoy:

[Note: Bit rushed here, will edit in final product]

I wondered what was going on with them. They were staring at me with such intensity that it was disrupting my desire to finish breakfast.

Yagami, Amasawa and I were sat at the same table; not an unique sight, given what the classes believe our history to be.

They glanced to one another, then back to me. Yagami observed me with curiosity, hands clasped together resting under his chin, which isn't unusual, as he's done it multiple times over the course of the year.

But his behavior combined with Amasawa's intense staring at me while she rested her cheek against one hand with a big teasing grin on her face and those familiar devlish eyes?

"So, anything you want to share with us, senpai~?" Amasawa was the first to speak, leaning forward as her grin grew manic, and glancing to Yagami, I may have caught a small smirk from him.

Something was off. I wondered... was today the day they'd betray me? Had Yagami finally played his hand against me, made his move to overcome me? Would this be the day I would be expelled, unexpectedly and without anyway to prepare myself? While I was not against improvisation, nor did I appreciate not being informed that I was playing into this trap, I would be sufficiently pleased if I was undermined by a fellow pupil after so long being father's "masterpiece".

However, it turned out to be something so, so much worse.

"Share what?" I questioned cautiously, clueless.

Amasawa and Yagami shared another amused glance. I felt like I was in danger, like when Horikita brings out her compass kind of danger.

"Oh, don't play dumb with us senpai~... there's no point in hiding it," Amasawa pushed further, much to my own growing confusion.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about?" Really, I didn't know what this was in reference too.

"Oh, you know Ayanokōji-san," Yagami spoke up next, trying to goad me into revealing something I was still out of the loop of, "It something that pertains to the relationship of you... and a certain blond classmate of yours... does that ring any bells?"

...Were they referring to Kei? What would she have to do with anything?

"...I don't follow," I told them, considering they already know that Kei was an accomplice of mine, and yet they seem to be acting clueless of that fact.

The two devils made eye contact with each other, with Yagami giving an affirming nod as he and Amasawa did the worse thing possible.

Play into their dramatic antics.

"Oh Kiyo~, tell me, if I ended up in the same situation as Tachibana-senpai, would you save me?" Amasawa, most inaccurately, reiterated Kei's words with such overt exaggeration.

"Kei, I won't let you be expelled. I'd do whatever it takes," Yagami impersonation of me, although slightly less monotone and with subtler emotion, was uncannily close to perfect.

Never in my life did I feel I would be capable of feeling flabbergasted by what I was hearing. Their commotion got a few side-eyes our way, but no one seemed that invested.

These two giggling hyenas were quite troublesome.

"I thought we were being watched," I shook my head, "Where were you hiding?"

"The bushes," Amasawa answered, and looking to Yagami, I received a nod of confirmation.

"So how does my choice of words towards one of my accomplices have to do with my relationship with her?" I questioned, still lost on their reactions.

"Aw senpai~, don't be dense with us now," Amasawa stated, her teasing grin never slipping.

"Of course we've observed how you act towards most of your accomplices and allies," Yagami explained, "Horikita being a prime example. Your investment in her may have been confusing at first, but it was understandable; she's useful in ways the others may not be."

"Same with your "friend" group," Amasawa added, jerking her head over to a direction where I could distantly see Keisei, Airi, Akito and Haruka sitting nearby each other, "Most of them are useful to your personal goals and learning. Not necessary, but useful nonetheless."

"However, with them, you don't find it necessary to protect them, even if they have lower grades like Sakura-san," Yagami pointed out, "Horikita-san's already gained your confidence where you don't necessarily have to protect her, as she can do that herself, but you'll still watch out for her. But with someone like Karuizawa-san, whose grades are poor, usefulness decreasing now that Horikita's leading presence within the class is increasing, not to mention..."

Yagami leaned forward, a faux yet pleasant smirk clearer on his lips now, "You claimed to us that you had no need for her anymore months back, whether it's because her usefulness was at its end or you wanted a low profile notwithstanding... but when Ryūen took her instead of Amasawa and I as you initially believed? You dropped everything, had us drop everything to get her back."

Yagami leaned back, green eyes maintaining an air of assurance, "You've promised to protect her, from others and expulsion. I can guess you'll want to teach her to defend herself too, academically and physically. If I were to really stretch far enough, you're going to get rid of any threats to her well-being too."

"Admit it Ayanokoji-kun... you've gone soft for her," Yagami finally states. It was almost irritable, though I can't deny he had a point.

Learning these observations from these two was odd; being made aware to my behavior outside-perspectives usually involved being made privy to the fact I can't emote, like when Satō pointed out I apparently never smiled on our date, despite the fun things we did.

That was expected though. However, these two shared my history; raised in the same White Room, though with slightly different methods.

For them to take note of behavior unfamiliar and unusual would be something think on.

However, I couldn't tell whether they were being serious, jesting or determining an vulnerability to target, so I wasn't to sure how trustworthy their words were. Besides, I didn't feel anymore different towards Kei, so they had to be wrong. Yes, that had to be it.

"I'll need to return to my group for the next stage of the exam," I excused myself, grabbing my unfinished tray as I made my exit.

Yagami didn't make a comment as I set off, merely enjoying his tea, but Amasawa, true to herself, was set on causing trouble for me, "Be sure to say hi to your GIRLFRIEND for us, senpai~!"

That got the attention of most of the remaining students present for breakfast, and I made haste in my escape to avoid prying eyes connecting back to me.

Such troublesome kohais.

[the-silver-chronicles]

WIP Wednesday and Last Line

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @g0dspeeed @nightbloodbix @cassietrn (for WIP Wednesday) and @deputyash (for last line)

Tagging @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @strangefable @strafethesesinners @carlosoliveiraa @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @chazz-anova @bitchofedensgate @trashcatsnark @minilev @onehornedbeast @voidika @afarcryfrommymain @corvosattano @derelictheretic @deputy-morgan-malone @dephellseed @skoll-sun-eater @florbelles @fourlittleseedlings @henbased @titiagls @vampireninjabunnies-blog @wrathfulrook @inafieldofdaisies @la-grosse-patate @ladyoriza @shallow-gravy @snake-in-the-garden @softtidesworld @starsandskies @thewanderer-000 and @megraen

FC5 WIPs for No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden, a new fic Let The Skyfall (When It Crumbles) and last line for You’re Almost Like Family. Also the first official introduction for Silva's (disowned) adopted father, Paul Yellowjack!

TW: First WIP involves mentions of bullying and abuse. Second WIP involves... IDK body mutilation? Self-body multilation? Screw it, a wasp comes out of a character's hand, then it takes off its hard shells, and proceeds to enter a different character's mouth in semi-disturbing detail. Probably inaccurate anatomy on both humans and supernatural yellowjackets too. Last line involves a main character getting shot dead (not for long though) so there's that too. There! Enjoy.

Here's the moment in No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden that the Voice realizes its Muse is in the wrong occupation and Joseph unfortunately suffers from its temper tantrum. I hope I was able to do Joseph and the Voice justice here. Snippet below:

The distrustful gazes of the deputies nearby did not go unnoticed by Joseph, their eyes held onto barely hidden wrath towards him and his brother. It felt like an additional weight of the burden he carried, even after John successfully bailed three of his formerly detained flock.

The Sheriff and his department saw him as crazy. They looked at him like a madman. Their fear of the unknown, it prevented them from seeing the signs of the Collapse.

The sins that blinded them from this truth were the same sins that the government pushed them to indulge in, indoctrinating the consumerist lifestyle upon them, turning them away from God's warm embrace.

Joseph mumbled a silent prayer, a blessing for these misguided souls, holding onto faith that his Lord will guide the deputies, the supposed protectors of the county, to his flock, where he and his siblings would guide them on the right path.

Perhaps Jacob could train them to be true protectors...

But only time will tell if the deputies would accept his truth, if the Sheriff would. For the meantime, Joseph would focus on his children, those who have accepted him as their Father.

Turning his attention back to the conversing John and Sheriff Whitehorse, he felt warmth on the back of his head, and recognized a soft humming above him.

He was more alert, closely listened as the words exchanged between John and the Sheriff became mute, the persistent hum above him canceling out the hum of the building's air conditioner. The warmth of His glow consumed the cool air, and Joseph felt expectant eyes upon him, from beyond his own perception.

The Voice. His Lord, his God. Have you a message for me, Lord?

No, the Voice spoke, its tone even and still, lacking emotion yet always familiar, always reassuring to Joseph, I have need of your eyes, Joseph. The Hell that will follow the Whitehorse is here... nearby.

Joseph's blue eye widened in shock. The pace of his beating heart quickened. The very reminder of this... figure, quickened the steady pace of his heart. This figure whom the Voice had said embodied "Hell" itself, was one that haunted him. This lost soul was one he never truly got a glimpse of in his visions, both the good and the terrifying. Always obscured by the environment, whether it be the sun that shined between him and them, in the Garden that will become their New Eden, or the shadows and flames that consumed him and the corpses of his family, their back turned to the destruction they made, the paradise he tried to preserve.

The Voice had told him that it was up to him, His prophet, to bring this Great Sinner to the correct path, for they were his family's salvation, or face the destruction they will wrought. He had asked once, at the pews of his chapel, "How will I know to help them if I don't even know who this Sinner is? What do they look like?"

The Voice hadn't answered him right away, but when it did, he was unable to stop the dreadful weight sink on his soul, "You will know on the day the locusts come for you. You will know when Hell stands in front of you in this house of Mine. You will know on the morning the First Seal breaks and the Reaping finally begins."

He wondered, briefly, if it was time. If the day of reckoning that he had been tasked with preparing for had finally come upon him, at a moment where he wasn't with the rest of his flock, and in the heart of the locusts' nest.

Though Joseph put the thought to rest with the knowledge the Voice had passed to him. The day the First Seal broke would be in the morning, on compound grounds where his Flock and Family resided, and the locusts' attitude was more that of frustration than being on the offensive.

As if sensing his confusion, Joseph heard his Lord's voice once more, Calm yourself, my child. It is not time yet. This is merely an observation. An introduction if you will. You had asked me, "Who is the Sinner whom heralds Hell?" I had not thought you ready, but now, I deem it so. You will see the shape this harbinger of destruction takes form in.

Joseph's eyes shifted from the locusts, the green deputy uniforms coiling the uneasy nausea that settles on his dread. And what form is that, Lord?

The anticipation of finally seeing the one constant figure in his visions, his flock's savior or destroyer, all depending on the choice he makes, how far he can go to reach their soul and bring them into the light.

He felt God's presence above him, a constant reassurance to the Father, waiting with him as they scoured the moving bodies for the one person that will change the fate of his family at a moments notice.

That of a deputy, my prophet, the Voice revealed, Focus your eyes down the left hall.

Joseph did as instructed, his gaze locked on the corridor, catching the sight of two large double sided doors.

Can you feel their presence yet? Overwhelming, isn't it? He chuckled as Joseph's breathe hitched at a presence he swore he could just touch with his fingertips, despite no movement from his own hand and the lack of physical presence, Not something the majority of humanity is skilled enough to do. Unless you have the privilege of being my chosen prophet, of course.

Is... is this how you touch us? How you see us? Joseph questioned, gaze locked on the doors as the presence that was not there yet continued its pace towards the doors.

The Voice only chuckled, like a parent amused by a child's question. God did not answer him, again, and Joseph realized he had already answered his own question, again. Through this new sense the Lord had blessed him with, Joseph tried to close the gap between him and the approaching presence of the deputy that will doom his garden, or be another addition to it. With just his hand at his leg, he closed his palm.

But it did not last long, and swiftly opened his hand, hissing as if he had been bitten, only silently as to not alert his younger brother nor draw attention to himself. The sense the Lord gave him ceased, and Joseph could not feel the presence that had stung him, no, burned him upon touch.

He could, however, hear the echo of bellowing laughter of his Lord, his God. It was familiar, in a way, reminding him of how Old Man Seed had once bellowed at his expense, rather than roar with wrath, once word of Joseph getting battered and beaten by a group of older teens who he had come across while walking home from school. Jacob hadn't been there at the time, forced to stay at the house to do chores for their father after another suspension.

Joseph shook his head. He would not compare God to that wretched monster of a man, over a bellow of laughter no less. He should feel honored to have heard such a rare moment of laughter from God himself.

Careful now, Joseph, the Voice silenced further thought, Touching affinity that high will damage you. Thankfully your soul knew exactly what to do.

Joseph could still feel the sting on his palm, even though he was uncertain on how exactly that happened, I don't understand...?

It's not important. Humans weren't meant to have such senses. We have more pressing matters. Keep your eyes on those doors Joseph. I want to see.

Joseph kept watch on the doors, and though he could not feel their presence like before, but he could feel the Lord's grow warmer and warmer as the moment continued on.

Finally, it was at last that he saw the handle jiggle, and the door begin to creak open.

Finally, the Voice spoke once more, the humming drowning all other noises as its warm protected Joseph from the cold embrace of the building, everything except for the corridor and the opening doors darkening as God and his prophet watched a figure emerge from the end of the hall.

She reveals herself-

The Voice didn't finish, hushing itself as Joseph stared at the woman from down the hall.

Files tucked under her arm, the woman who emerged from the doors made her down the hall, her path leading towards Joseph.

The Father remained still as he observed the approaching woman, who seemed none the wiser of Joseph's presence, nor that interested in John's debate with the Sheriff. Hair dark hair flowed smoothly behind her, not tied up, not braided, simply free. Slim, rimless blue rectangular cat eye glasses rested on her slender nose.

As her figure became more discernible the closer she came, Joseph noticed the slivers of silver running down her hair, likely dyed. He was almost shocked to see the small faded scars that littered across her face. The scarring was notably darker than that of her tawny brown skin.

Now merely a meter or two apart, almost face-to-face, he noticed more details. Thick eyebrows, high cheek bones, the indifferent frown she wore on her pouty lips, and more concerning to the Father, the dark bags under her eyes.

Her eyes.

As she crossed paths with him, Joseph caught a glimpse of her grey eyes, dull but determined, focused on some deputy or another further behind him, her attention neither on him nor his brother. They appeared to be irrelevant to her apparent mission of delivering the files.

His brows scrunched as he squinted from behind his yellow-tinted aviators, mouthing the words plastered on the file. Office of the Sheriff-Coroner?

Then his eyes widened, as he took in the clothes she wore.

Instead of the telltale green jackets and the deputy's badge, she wore a white coat over a dark blue button-up and a black turtleneck shirt, with an ID badge that he couldn't get a steady look on as it shifted and turned as she walked.

She also had dark grey jeans, black combat boots and gloves. Joseph had to wonder why so much of her skin was covered, aside from her face. What was she hiding from everyone else?

She passed him, no indication nor acknowledgement of his presence. He watched her move from desk to desk until she found the right deputies, Hudson and Pratt he recalled, catching their full attention as she spoke, for what he could only assume was about the contents in the files.

He observed in silence, the humming above him growing louder, the Lord's presence no longer warm and welcoming as it always has been, but uncomfortably hot and erratic.

Lord?

This... this can't be right- No, it's impossible! She can't have- Why? How?!

Joseph froze, confused and lost on the tone of the Voice. He'd never heard such strength of emotion from Him. When God chose to speak with him, it was with a monotone neutrality, well-spoken and well-versed with an air of seriousness. Rarely He showed amusement. Even rarer to show disappointment.

But he'd never heard God's voice hold frustration before. It even bordered on rage.

He felt a sharp pain pound in his head, the heat becoming unbearable, his shirt itching against his skin.

Lord, I don't understand... is this not part of your Plan?

He looked to the woman who was supposed to represent Hell, the woman who conversed with the two deputies out of ear-shot. The Voice spoke once more, almost hissing, Does she look like a deputy, Joseph?

Joseph swallowed emptily, swiping at his damp forehead, the heat almost unbearable. He took another glance at her once more, the woman unaware of what she had done, however baffling it is for Joseph to believe that this supposed Sinner had managed to spit in God's plan.

Joseph tensed when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he swiftly turn to face John.

"We're all done here brother. No trouble will be coming from the Sheriff's Department for a while," John informed him, grin wide as he looked into Joseph's eyes, searching for any pride.

Joseph could only nod, the heat dying down as the sensation of the cold air rested against his skin once more, the aches pounding in his head still present though.

John furrowed his brow in worry, his concern overpowering his need for his older brother's approval, "Joseph, are you alright?"

Reconvene your heralds back at the Compound, Joseph, the Voice spoke, His warmth and light retracting away from Joseph's head, There is much to discuss about this new course of events.

As you wish, Lord, Joseph almost mumbled, but the light and warmth God shined on him left, already knowing Joseph's answer.

Turning to John, he was weary of the audience around them, though giving one last glance to Hell's enigmatic vessel, he saw her eyes were not amongst the deputies and Sheriff who watched their every move.

Gesturing to the door where their released flock members were waiting outside, John understood immediately and walked alongside Joseph towards the department's entrance.

"We must gather brother and sister," Joseph whispered to his faithful brother, "The Voice has spoken once more. New developments have occurred. Some I fear have threatened all that we have worked for."

He had faith in the Lord's ability, but the shock that even the Voice could not have predicted the Great Sinner's change in occupation had deeply shook him, making him ponder what else this sinner was capable of.

"What do you mean brother?" John asked, his confusion evident. Once out of the building, Joseph decided that he will not answer his younger brother just yet. Better to have the whole family together.

"I will explain when we gather Jacob and Faith at the Compound, but for now, we should return our missing flock back to the rest of the family," Joseph gestured to the three men who piqued up at the sight of both the Father and the Baptist, in awe of the brothers as they were lead into the car.

Here's a WIP for a new FC5 fic, Let The Skyfall (When It Crumbles), a scenario where I pondered the question of what would have happened if Paul Yellowjack, in all his wasp-y glory, had been at the events of the Reaping (or FC5 in general) where Silva was busting her ass to fight the Seeds... the answer? He would win. He... would have won. I mean... there's really not much you can do with someone who, in their current supernatural incarnation, can pull off a Kenjaku move (Jujutsu Kaisen reference... and spoilers for the manga and season 2) amongst other things and is an experienced, cunning strategist to boot. Case-in-point... Paul's first victim; the Father himself, Joseph Seed. The post giving a summary of this scenario idea + a summary of who Paul is and his relationship with Silva can be found here and the WIP snippet I have is below:

When lamplight disappeared from the window, Paul rasped a whisper to himself, "Go time."

He looked down to his glove-less hand, opening his palm far and wide. The vespe that watched from his shoulders flapped their wings, snapping at the air, chattering encouragement as the runt of the alveare crawled its way into the body's right palm.

Paul could only describe the sensation of a vespa maneuvering under the skin, especially in a fresh body, as a numb tickle at best and the numbed pain of popping a pimple at worst. The bump the runt made under his skin finally made it to the palm, and without further instruction, broke through the flesh.

The runt, unlike its kin that were irregularly bigger for the kind of wasp they were, was as small as the average vespa should be, and perfect for the task he needed it for.

It used its forelegs to clean itself off, while devouring as much of the nutritious meat and blood as it could before it begun its journey to the cabin. Two of its bigger kin flew down to the gaping hole in the hand, mandibles snapping before widening, a yellowish pale substance slowly spewing out, their forelegs pulling a stream of it out, and then working together to cover the breach in the sticky spew, swiftly hardening as they worked.

He brought the hand up to his clean-shaven face, the runt looking back up at him with beady red eyes. It knew what it needed to do. He knew what he needed to do. So without further prompting, the runt flapped its wings and made its way towards the sleeping cabin, the lights at the Profeta's compound glowing brightly in the distance.

Though if things went to plan, Paul smiled to himself as he hummed out an old tune he heard, walking back towards the cover of the trees, They won't be much of an eye sore for much longer.

Though he rarely allowed his hive to separate, he was confident that the runt would ensure that Profeta's body was under his thumb. Seeing through its vision now, he was already impressed how far it made it without being eaten by a bat.

The runt flew towards the small wooden cabin, landing at the window sill. Looking inside, the darkness held no disadvantage over his vision, and he could see clearly that the Profeta was laying down on his bed, sleep having finally caught up to him.

The runt clamped its mandibles together, its body convulsing and buzzing erratically. He had quite enjoyed keeping the Profeta awake over the course of the month.

Crawling through the cracked and broken glass he made during a another nighttime visit, the runt had successfully entered the cabin.

It looked to its target, growling out softly at the sight of the shirtless man.

The Profeta was a man in his early forties, reaching his mid, facial hair grown into a small beard, the hair on his head usually tied in a bun, but locks left to flow naturally as he laid asleep on his back.

The man was shirtless, a proof of arrogance and ignorance towards the vulnerability that can be exploited. Not to mention his doors and windows were all unlocked as Paul had discovered.

The visible tattoos that strewn across the younger man's chest held little meaning to the runt nor Paul, though the self-inflicted scars littered across, some with the labels of the seven deadly sins, did gain attention. How mocking it was to Paul, seeing the Profeta display such scars in public, when he had done nothing to earn them.

They weren't reminders of what he survived. They weren't lessons that shaped his core being, nor were they stories that told a tale of hurt and despair, of someone in pain, and yet through persistence alone, they continue on, to breathe, to live. No, the scars of this profeta held no merit, no truth, no reason to exist beyond glamorization.

A point of glorification to impress the gullible sheep he had entrapped with his charm, to show that suffering is a choice, giving them no chance to naturally experience what it means to fight and crawl and survive. Telling a lie to keep them subservient, slaves who never question the question of what is right and what is wrong, only what the Profeta wants. Individuality and potential talent squandered and crushed over trusting the wrong words.

The truth, the universal truth Paul knew, was that suffering was apart of life. Pain is unavoidable, and the only choice one can have in it is either enduring it or die trying.

To endure pain is to prove you're alive. To endure suffering is to prove your strength. To endure and overcome both, though, is to show your worthiness as a survivor.

The Profeta has only proven how low he will bend to the whims of his cruel master. While Paul's own existence was less than satisfactory, yet he at least had enough freedom to choose how to serve his own Master.

The runt looked to the black pants the man wore, a potential landing spot. But Paul opted against the idea, directing its gaze to the Profeta's jugular. The runt's faint red eyes locked on to its target, wings spread out for flight.

This chance was now or never. There wouldn't be another opportunity, not with the sceriffo's department so restless. The fate of Paul's precious Boa hanged in the balance.

Without further hesitation, the runt leaped in the air, its wings propelling it faster as it brought out its stinger. In mere seconds, the stinger stabbed through the neck, injecting the venom into his bloodstream.

The runt swiftly dropped off his neck, avoiding hand that slapped against the stung area on instinct, the pain rousing the Profeta from his slumber.

The runt's wings saved it from hitting the floor, allowing it to hover up to see the Profeta try to lift himself up, the drowsiness of interrupted sleep becoming heavier than usual.

His hand rubbed his neck, sucking a breath in at the sting, though his arm numbly slouched over the bed. He attempted to lift it, only to find he couldn't. The Profeta tried to sit up, but found himself barely being able to lift his head.

The runt watched the Profeta's face twitch, then it listened as he groaned, moaned and grunted nonsensically, no words forming. His voice failing him.

Through the runt's eyes, Paul couldn't help but smile at the sight of the broken down instrument of a God. One of many tools used to keep the cogs of the wheel going.

Paul urged the runt to go for a closer look.

The runt complied, buzzing and chattering excitedly as it landed on the man's nose, right in his view.

It stared into the Profeta's blue eyes, allowing Paul to see the still gaze of a man helpless and trapped, but more deserving of it.

Paul wondered what this man saw when he slept. What he hears?

The laughter of those long gong, whom he'll never see again except in the depths of buried memories, to bring himself a moment of joy to the grim purpose he existed for now? Did he fantasize of a life he'll never get, one where everything went right?

The runt turned to glance at the arm that had the woman's face etched on his skin.

Does he wish as I do? That he could have made a different choice than the one he did?

The runt faced the Profeta's gaze once more, taking notice of the tears that matched his watery eyes, the body reflexively trying to wet the dry eyes, the venom keeping him from doing something as simple as blink.

Or does he believe he has done no wrong?

The runt turned its back to the Profeta's frozen eyes, looking over the tip of his nose to the half-open entrance that awaited it.

Has the lies he's been told and never doubted become truth, despite how ludicrous they are?

The runt gently hopped down to the man's upper lip, gentleness no longer a necessity as the vespa's legs dug into the soft flesh.

Does he sleep soundlessly despite the terror he's wrought? The lives he's ruined?

The runt's middle legs steadied on the man's upper teeth, its hind legs pushing the upper lip back, while its forelegs pushed the forward the Profeta's bottom teeth, the venom's sluggish effects combined with the vespa's unnatural strength widening his mouth open. With the entrance now large enough to fit it inside, the runt flew over to the chin, its head looking down the interior of the mouth.

Does he hear their damning screams?

Slowly, the runt turned its middle legs to latch onto the slim outline of the shell Paul had attached to it, hooking underneath casing before loosening the thorax and abdomen shells, letting both fall to the sides.

The writhing small tendrils pulsed out, dripping small yellow-ish pale spew, like what most of the alveare produced. The liquid substance hardened as it dripped further down. The Profeta's breath quickened, panicked and confused, unaware of the plans Paul had in store for him. The runt shuddered as the heated air washed over it, before beginning its descent.

Though I'm not overly upset of never knowing the answer.

The runt crawled through the heated wetness of the Profeta's mouth, passing the tongue until it reached his throat. Beady red eyes looked down the path that descended into the esophagus. Unless it wanted to trigger the Profeta's gag reflex, it would avoid the path. Growling, it looked up, and found the breach point.

Crawling to the roof of the mouth, it ascended upwards, the writhing tendrils on its back lubricating in preparation, as its mandible jaws opened wide for the breach.

And last line paragraph(s) for You're Almost Like Family, the time loop fic where the Seeds realize just how easy it is for Silva to just wound up dead, and much they miss the luck she had in the first three months she fought against them. Anyway, paragraphs below:

A shift in movement from one of the Chosen stepping out of his peripheral momentarily caught John's attention, and he almost glanced to see where the Chosen was moving to, but noticed that Alexander raised a brow at the movement from the other end of the circle they surrounded the Deputy in, giving Jacob a signal with his head.

John heard his big brother huff out an annoyed sigh, glancing a quick glare over to the Chosen's new spot. Seeing nothing to worry about, John returned his attention to Joseph's pleas to the wayward sinner who had caused everyone trouble.

"Child, this wrath... this violence that you have escalated for the sinners who only use you as a weapon is no longer necessary," Joseph spoke with a soft, even voice filled with paternal gentleness, "This unnecessary rebellion needs to end. The Collapse closes in on us ever closer, just as I showed you in the Henbane, and the only salvation... are the Gates my family has prepared for. I see you, the person you are. And that is not as the tool of destruction your so called friends view you as. We see your compassion. Your bravery. The virtues you only think you don't have. And we welcome it, in our Garden. You seek someplace to belong... God has shown me you belong with us."

John watched as Joseph outstretched his hand to the Deputy, the Baptist sucking in a breath as she, of all people, eyed it, even as Joseph continued, "Please, child. Put aside the wrath. Put to peace the suffering. This doesn't have to end in blood. We can help each other. With your help, we can save more souls, more lives... and together we can bask in the new world God promised us."

John watched in bated breath as the Deputy glanced down, putting together her options.

When the Deputy finally found an answer, John saw Alexander's eyes widen at something ahead of him, and was shocked to see the Chosen Leader reach for his sidearm.

"Tch, you li-"

A loud crack shot through the air as it did the Deputy, her lips glistened with blood instead of the rest of her words. John watched, frozen on the spot, as the Deputy's body slowly fell back, following after the cartilage and blood that the bullet blast clean through. The bullet of which glinted at his eyes.

And the bullet continued to glint at him, just as the Deputy's corpse stopped in its descent, not even touching the ground. From what John could see, Joseph midway from stepping back, and hadn't planted his foot down, just as Alexander hadn't even been able to fully aim his sidearm at the culprit.

He tried to glance to Jacob and Faith, but found his eyes refused, locked on Joseph and the fresh corpse of his family's most determined rebel, who defied gravity just as she defied them.

What is going on?! Though he couldn't move, John was relieved he could still think to himself.

[churipu]

SURPRISE COOKIES FOR MAMA 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. nanami kento x female! reader

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. both of you have a three year old daughter, broken conversations from your daughter bcs she's a kiddo, i'm leaving all of you to name your daughter.

note. midterm week, i'm going to try uploading, but if i don't, just know that it's not me ignoring my wips or you. love you all mwah <33

"this me!" (daughter) pointed at an old picture of . . . a young you with a blue thin strap floral sun dress posing cutely in front of the camera — a big smile on your face, showing off your pearly whites, "i pretty."

nanami who had his back leaning on the couch could only muster out a soft chuckle, he had his hand on the young girl's small waist to hold her up right; preventing a tumble or two, "that's mama. she looks lovely, doesn't she?"

(daughter) craned her head up to face nanami, her e/c doe eyes blinking, ears unbelieving that the portrait was her mother, "mama? no, this me! i so pretty," she pointed her chubby finger towards the portrait, which is undeniably almost as big as she is.

"mhm, that's mama," nanami caressed his daughter's head lovingly, "you do look a lot like mama, you know?" he whispers, eyeing the portrait (daughter) had laying on her small lap.

half a decade ago — nanami told himself that he isn't fit to be a family man; he swore the both of you talked about kids, and how you'd both wait at least until later on into the marriage. but (daughter) was a surprise pregnancy, and the best thing that has ever happened to the both of you.

"this no mama, this me papa," (daughter) pouts, her soft lips puckering out slightly.

nanami used his free hand to flip the photo album, showing a picture of (daughter) as a newborn. a pink colored bandana around her small head, eyes shut in content, "this is you the day you were born," he cooed out, letting his daughter take in the picture.

what a bundle of joy she is. nanami remembered every second he spent inside the delivery room by your side — letting you dig your fingers inside his flesh, because he knew the pain that you were going through at that moment couldn't compare to anything else that he was feeling. all he cared about was you and his daughter.

"this me?" (daughter)'s meek voice resounds. nanami nodded, eyes gazing into his daughter's doe ones, "i so pretty."

nanami smiled warmly, "yes, you are pretty, just like mama," he compliments; pinching her chubby cheeks gently, "it still surprises me how you're an exact copy of your mama . . ." he pats her head, his palm engulfing her whole head.

(daughter) nods her head vigorously, "mama and me twins!" she cheers happily, kicking her feet.

the male chuckles, "mhm, twins," he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up — standing as he puts the picture album on top of the coffee table that sat in the middle of your living room, "mama's coming home soon."

"we take cookies out of cooler, papa," (daughter) pats her father's cheeks gently before wrapping an arm around his neck to hook herself close to nanami, "warm for mama."

nanami vaguely remembered the day he passed by a baking class near his office. where he first saw you, holding onto a young boy's hand — no younger than six years of age, guiding him to whisk what seemed to be cake batter. he stood out of the glass pane, staring into the class for at least the next three minutes out of his twenty-four hours just to look at you.

he thought you looked pretty (and the display cake looked pretty as well, but that was besides the point).

but he never saw you again until three months later at the same place, and you noticed him. surprising. considering he was staring yet again for the second time. but he didn't think that you'd go out your way to talk to him right at that moment — and he was thankful you did.

"mhm, we're going to warm it up for mama," with ease, nanami opened the cooler and grabbed a plate of messily made classic chocolate chip cookies wrapped with saran wrap. (daughter) contributed to most of the procedure, and nanami thought it was the third most beautiful thing besides you and her. he's a proud dad.

the process of warming the cold cookies was short — with (daughter) prepped on top of the counter, with nanami's arms right by her sides. the two of them smiling at each other in silence, waiting for the oven to let out the satisfying 'ding!', hopefully before you came through the door.

unfortunately, things don't always go the way he wanted. and there you were, with your usual (color) coat slung over your arm, heaving out an exhausted sigh, mumbling out a soft, "i'm home."

(daughter)'s head turn to face the door, eyes widening in panic as she then faced nanami, "mama home, papa," she whispers, covering her mouth to hold back a loud giggle.

nanami nuzzled his nose into hers, "want to go hide from mama?"

the young girl nods her head, almost immediately wrapping her arms around her father's neck, "go go go, papa, hide, hide!" she whispers, giggling as she fit her small face into the crook of nanami's neck.

nanami laid a hand behind his daughter's head, he passed by you who had just walked through the short hall leading towards the living room, sending out a slight signal through his eyes as he walks into (daughter)'s sage colored room. he laid the young girl down onto the rugged floor, "go go, hide from mama."

the girl wasted no time scurrying under her bed, giggling softly. on the other hand, nanami walked out of her room with a small smile, approaching you.

"something smells good," you greet the male, opening your arms for a hug. i mean — what else do you need after a long day of work besides a warm hug from your husband?

nanami's arms felt like a blanket engulfing your body, he buckled his knees slightly to press a short kiss on your lips, "(daughter) has your baking abilities, 'm not surprised. good day at work?"

you nod, "tiring day, a boy spilt heavy cream all over the floor and his mother blamed us for it," nanami's face hardened a bit after hearing your story, "she practically went on a cursing spree in front of the kids, the cops had to restrain her."

the male grazed his finger on your cheek, "i'm sorry about that, she didn't hurt you, did she?"

you shook your head, "no worries, where's my baby, hm?"

nanami pinched your nape gently, "she wanted to surprise you with her cookies, she's in her room hiding. go see her and i'll be there with the cookies, yes?"

"you're too nice to me," you jokingly said.

"just to you," he rolled his eyes, brushing his lips over the hollow of your nose, "go, go. she's waiting for you."

you pulled yourself away from his embrace, putting your coat on top of the kitchen's counter before sauntering over to (daughter)'s room, knocking on her door. which resulted in an indubitable string of laughter from your own blood and flesh from under the bed, "baby? where're you?"

her soft and hushed giggles didn't stop when you step inside her room, "are you . . ." you pretended to open the closet, "here!"

and (daughter) stifled back a laugh when you failed to find her. and the next attempt, you squat down to eye under the bed, "there you are," her loud laughs finally chimed out, "give mama a hug, please?"

the young carbon copy of you crawled out from under the bed, immediately rushing to your lap to give you a warm hug, "i miss mama . . ." she pressed a kiss to your cheek, "mama miss me?"

you cradled her body back and forth, "mama misses you so much."

"i have surprise for mama," (daughter) abruptly pulled back from the hug, "surprise cookies for mama!"

the scent of chocolate entered your nostrils as nanami walked inside the room with a plate of freshly warmed chocolate chip cookies, "it's not a surprise anymore when you tell mama about it, isn't it?" he asks with a slight chuckle.

"'ts okay, mama still surprised. i bake cookies with papa," (daughter)'s eyes twinkled with happiness when nanami laid the plate down on the floor, "i bake cookies like mama. try try mama!"

and so you did, "'ts so yummy, good job, baby!"

nanami tugged on your arm towards him, slithering an arm around your waist, "'f course she did, you're her mama, y'know?" the male leaned in to place a short kiss to the tip of your nose.

(daughter) shrieks out, "papa cooties!"

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[wwooyology]

The Murder House | Masterlist & Intro ⏃

↳ this is inspired by an ask from the lovely @addictedtohobi

「parings」 : enha x fem!reader

「synopsis」 : it was halloween season once again, and your brother begged you and your friends to go to this new hit escape room that just came into town; the only problem? you hated going to them almost as much as you hated waking up early in the morning. however, being the good friend and sister you were you went with them. you expected cheesy props, dumb riddles and questions, and a rigged room, so you couldn't get out even if you got the right answers. what you weren't expecting was being drugged and waking up in a room with a dead body and separated from all of your friends.

「genre」 : horror/thriller, gore, angst, psychological thriller, mystery

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, heavy gore, blood, murder, mentions of suicide, cussing, death, manipulation, mentions of being drugged, toxic behavior, reader is speculated to be an 03' liner, trauma bonding, other specific warnings on individual parts.

𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆

「taglist」 : CLOSED

↳ a/n: I have decided to make this into a short series because I just know trying to write one long fic won't suffice, so I am making it into separate parts! I am super excited to see what you guys think so far and to hear all of your theories. don't forget to read the intro at the bottom!! I will be figuring out release dates for all of the parts at a later time, but they will all be subject to change depending on multiple factors! also, if you were on the taglist located on the wip post, then you are still on there, so don't worry! with that being said you will only be added to the taglist if you are 18+ and your age is visible on your page. if you don't meet either of those criteria, you will be ignored.

「start」 : May 8th, 2024 「end」 : June 20th, 2024

「synopsis」 : after waking up trapped in a room with a dead body, you are saved by none other than heeseung, but you're still left with questions. why were you and your friends trapped there, and who is behind it all? though it would seem that you won't be getting your answers very easily and definitely not without a few losses. 「word count」 : 10.2k 「warnings」 : blood, dead body, cussing, mentions of murder, mind games, drugging, mentions of mental health disorders (anxiety, panic attacks, etc...), jungwon is kinda reckless, lmk if I missed anything! 「release date」 : read here

「synopsis」 : with everyone's lives on the line will luck be on your side? except it seems like whoever trapped you here doesn't plan on letting any of you leave that easy... suspicion is rising and trust is starting to falter, but can you save everyone and bust whoever put you and your friends through this hell? or will you have to watch all of your friends die? 「word count」 : 11.3k 「warnings」 : cussing, spiders/bugs, water, blood, mentions of betrayal, arguments, mentions of claustrophobia & arachnophobia/entomophobia, mentions of spider venom, life or death situations, more mind games, mental health disorders (anxiety, panic attacks, breakdowns, etc...), (some tags will be hidden as to not spoil the story!) 「release date」 : read here

「synopsis」 : everything seems to be going downhill at a rapid pace and nothing is going right and you've already suffered the loss of two friends, but the mastermind behind this doesn't seem to be satisfied just yet. another test is thrown your way but things are starting to become more clear and you're realizing that the culprit has been with you the whole time... but will you be able to stop him and escape this hell house with your lives intact? 「word count」 : 10.5k 「warnings」 : cussing, even more 'games', blood, violence, gore, gun goes pew pew, poisoning, betrayal, gaslighting, familial issues, mentions of abuse (mental & physical), knife goes stabby, threats, death, obsessive/stalker-ish behavior, mental health disorders, even more betrayal, traumatic events, police, pls lmk if I missed anything! 「release date」 : read here

「synopsis」 : it's been a few weeks since you managed to escape from the murder house, but it's not quite over yet. your brother's trial was right around the corner and everything is brought back to the table. after he's found guilty and sent to prison you are determined to find out some answers, though you aren't sure if you'll like what he has to say.... 「word count」 : 6.2k 「warnings」 : cussing, petnames (my love, love...), kissing, court trial, sister complex, familial issues, mentions of abuse (mental & physical), obsessive behavior, threats, mentions of death, gaslighting, lmk if I missed anything! 「release date」 : read here

“Come on, y/n. We never get the chance to do this!” Riki whined as he draped his taller frame over your back, causing you to slouch forward. You let out an annoyed huff, letting your hands fall to your lap. Your phone slid from your fingers as you tilted your head to look back at your brother.

“Riki, how many times have I told you that I hate going to things like that?” You pushed back against him, causing the boy to fall dramatically back on the couch. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your discarded phone off the ground, Riki watching you with a pout.

“You watch too many horror movies,” he grumbled, remembering all the nights you would watch horror movies only to have some new-found fear afterward, even if it was something completely unnecessary.

You dropped your phone once more before glaring up at your brother, “ya know, there is always some truth to them.”

“y/n, please. They are just movies. Complete fiction. Ghosts aren’t real.” Riki rolled his eyes, picking at the loose strings of the couch cushion. 

“Even rumors stem from some kind of truth, Riki.” You huffed out, but it didn’t seem like your brother would stop pestering you until you finally gave in. So after hours of continuously asking and begging, you finally gave in to him, telling him that you would ask your friends only if he brought his own.

And he agreed.

When that dreadful night finally came, you were stuck in a car with all of your friends. The crisp October air was cold on your skin, but the heating in the vehicle that Jay had turned on was enough to leave you comfortable. Jake had some random playlist filling the speakers jamming out in the passenger seat while Jungwon, Sunghoon, and Heeseung were crammed into the far back of the SUV, all three on the brink of passing out from how long the drive was.

“I thought you said this place was in town, Riki.” You grumbled, flexing your jaw, trying to ease the discomfort from having it placed on your hand as you stared mindlessly out the car window. However, now that it was fully dark outside, there wasn’t much to look at, seeing that there were no streetlights.

“I mean, the address said it was in town; how was I supposed to know it was in the ass crack of it?” Riki sassed as he scrolled through his phone, looking at whatever was posted on social media.

“Language, dude.” Jay scolded the boy, his eyes staring at him through the rearview mirror.

“Korean, what else?”

Pursing your lips, you reached over and landed a smack on the back of his head, resulting in him letting out a groan as his head fell forward.

“What was that for?!” Riki exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head as he looked over at you with wide eyes.

“Don’t be such a smart ass.” You scolded him, and Riki grumbled before showing Sunoo something on his phone. 

Shaking your head, you lean forward, resting your arms on the back of Jay’s seat, “How much longer do we have to go?”

Jay quickly glanced at you from the rearview mirror, much like he did Riki, before glancing down at the GPS on his dash.

"It's saying we have about ten or so minutes left until we get there." He told you before putting his eyes back on the road. 

It was then that you started to notice just how desolate the surrounding area was. If this was such a hit attraction, why weren't any other cars around? Or any kind of sign of life. It was starting to give you the creeps. However, you just reminded yourself that you were doing this for your brother and that it was probably just your imagination playing tricks on you. So you just tried to relax, sitting back in your seat once more, eyes staring out at the blackness of the trees.

That feeling of unease only grew more once Jay pulled into the driveway, and you noticed that there wasn’t a single car in sight. You pulled your seatbelt off slowly, eyes searching everywhere, trying to find anything to settle this unnerving feeling that was twisting in your gut. As you opened the door, welcoming the chilling air outside, goosebumps littered your skin.

“Come on, y/n, get out. My legs are cramping!” Riki complained, pushing on your shoulder and urging you to leave the vehicle.

With a shaky sigh, you slowly let your foot fall to the ground, your knees feeling like jelly. Jay stepped out of the car, pocketing the keys before looking over at you. His eyebrows scrunched together, taking in the uneasy expression on your face.

“Hey, y/n, are you okay?” he asked, softly taking your arm and pulling you away from the open door so everyone else could pile out. 

“Yeah, it’s just…” You trailed on as your eyes caught sight of the small sign that was hammered into the ground.

The Murder House

You could have sworn that you felt your heart stop. What kind of douchebag names their escape room that? As if the air around you wasn’t suffocating enough, seeing that only made it feel like you were fighting for your breath.

“Sunoo, you’re in the back on the way home.” Heeseung groans as he stretches out, his joints groaning in protest. Sunoo just gave the older male the side eye before moving to stand on the other side of Jake, who had just gotten out of the car.

“Riki, I thought you said this was a hit attraction.” You looked over at your brother, who was inspecting the area much like you were until his eyes landed on you. “Why is there no one here?”

“Calm your tits, sis. I’m sure we just came on a night that no one else wanted to?” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that just means we won’t get stuck with some randos.” Heeseung shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Come on, y'know, we didn't come all this way just to chicken out," Jungwon grumbled, tossing his hair with his fingers.

You curled your lips inward, knowing that they were right and that you were just thinking too much about the situation. Crossing your arms over your chest, you nodded your head in silent agreement. Jay wrapped his arm around your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze, ignoring the prying eyes that were on the two of you.

“Don’t let it get to you too much, okay? We’ll just get it over with, and if anything, we just let the timer go out.” He whispered softly in your ear, and the warmth of his breath eased your mind slightly. 

“You’re right, I’m just overthinking.” You gave him a small smile before following after him and the others.

“God damn, Riki, why did we have to walk all the way up here?” Sunghoon huffed as all of you reached the steps of the porch.

You couldn’t help but laugh, knowing he was right because that was a pretty lengthy walk uphill. All of the guys nodded in agreement before Jake walked further up the step, trying to see if you were able to get in. He then noticed a welcome sign hanging from the door, with a small basket underneath holding a piece of paper.

“It looks like we got some instructions, boys and girls,” Jake exclaimed with a broad smile, turning with the paper held high.

You looked at him uneasily as he unfolded it with a flourish and started reading it out loud so everyone could hear.

‘You will have two hours to uncover the grand mystery and escape the murder house. You will find clues and puzzles, but be careful, for everything isn’t as it seems… Good luck!’

A shiver ran down your spine as he finished reading. You weren't sure whether it was the chilling breeze that swept through or the cryptic words of the note. However, you did know that it wasn't just your mind messing with you; there was something deeply wrong with this place.

“Hey guys, this seems really weird. Maybe we should just go.” You voiced your concern, earning yourself a collection of groans from the guys.

“Oh, come on, y/n. Stop being such a negative Nancy and have some fun for once in your life.” Jake rolled his eyes, his hands falling to his side.

Your jaw clenched shut, and a glare adorned your features before you leaned forward, snatching the paper out of his hands.

“You’re such an asshole, Jake.” The words tumbled out quietly as you reread the same message that Jake had just read aloud, trying to see if there was anything else that he had missed.

“Yeah, yeah.” The brunette rolled his eyes before going on to complain about how thirsty he was and how he was sure that they would have drinks for sale or something inside. Then, without another word, he opened the door despite the multiple protests from you and a few others. 

“Jake, you can’t just walk in like you own the place!” You exclaim, hands slapping against your thighs as he disappears around the corner.

Letting out a huff, you step past the threshold, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that started to settle into your bones before going in the direction you saw Jake go, everyone trailing after you.

You walked into the foyer with a groan as you saw the older male chugging down a water bottle, some of it trickling down his chin before catching on his shirt. Your eyes then trail over to a tray that sat in the center of the table, six other bottles neatly placed inside.

“Jake, you can’t just take shit that’s not yours!” You scolded him, which only caused him to stop drinking, a gasp leaving his lips as he pulled the bottle away.

Riki then walked past you, looking down at the table and seeing some kind of note. Taking it, he held it up so everyone could see.

Free refreshments!

“The host probably just sat them out for people to take.” Riki shrugged, setting the paper back down on the table before grabbing a bottle for himself. 

Your stomach turned as you watched him unscrew the cap, “we can’t just trust drinks that are given to us by some random strangers.”

Heeseung then moves past you, his arm brushing yours, before grabbing one of the bottles. He inspected it for a few seconds before meeting your gaze.

"It's still sealed; there's no way someone tampered with it," he explained before twisting the cap open and swallowing a few drinks.

“Weren’t you the one complaining about being thirsty in the car?” Riki raised an eyebrow at you, and you just rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, but-” “But what, just drink the water, it’s not like you’re gonna die.” Riki quipped, causing your jaw to tighten. You knew he was right; you had been complaining about not bringing an extra drink for the road, but you weren’t quite sure if you were thirsty enough to drink some random water given out by a stranger. However, the dry feeling in your throat was telling you otherwise, so with some hesitation, you took the bottle Jay was handing you before twisting the cap off and bringing it to your lips; the liquid instantly quenched your dying thirst. 

After everyone got a much-needed drink, they all needed you all gathered around the coffee table. You, Heeseung, and Jay were on the long couch while Sunoo, Niki, and Jake cramped on the loveseat, leaving the armchair for Sunghoon, Jungwon perched on the armrest. 

“So… when does this game start?” Sunoo asked, leaning forward so his arms rested on his knees. Looking around, you couldn’t help but notice that the room was neatly decorated and clean, yet there was no sign of anyone being there.

Heeseung then leaned forward to grab something sitting on the table, catching everyone’s attention. He flipped it around, trying to find any indication of what it was, but nothing was written on the outside, so he opened the flap and pulled out the papers inside.

“It’s more instructions,” he explains as he starts to read them aloud. It says that as soon as the… the… sorry, I just feel really lightheaded.” He mumbles, shaking his head while squeezing his eyes shut, trying to stabilize his vision.

"Hee man, are you good?" Jay asked, putting a hand on the older male's shoulder, and Heeseung just nodded.

“Yeah, I just…” Heeseung’s words slurred as he started to sway, his eyes drooping. 

Panic started to set in your chest as you noticed that Heeseung looked like he was on the brink of passing out. Just then, Jungwon slumped to the side, falling right into Sunghoon’s lap, causing him to start calling out the boy’s name.

You quickly stood to your feet to check on him, but you fell back into your seat just as soon as you stood, your vision swimming. However, as you looked around, you noticed that all of the boys were either slumped over or on the brink of passing out. 

Worry then etched itself into your bones when your hazy vision landed on your brother's motionless form. You opened your mouth to call out for him and tried to get your body to move, but it wouldn't respond, and no words left your lips. Then everything seemed to fade, and your body grew weaker and weaker until you fell to the side, your head resting against Jay's back before everything went black.

Your body shot up with a gasp, and your ears rang so loud you could have thought it was coming from some kind of speaker. However, as it started to die down to a dull shrill, you realized that it was just you.

Looking around, you felt a chill run down your spine. You couldn’t see a thing. The room was shrouded in darkness, with not a single light in sight. Panic then started to set in as the earlier events started to play in your head. 

Where was your brother? Or your friends? What caused you all to black out?

So many questions started filling your brain, some overlapping others as you fumbled to get to your feet. You blinked multiple times, trying to fully stabilize your vision and to see in the darkness.

A scream escaped from your lips as you tripped over something, landing in some kind of liquid. Your heartbeat roared in your ears as you hurriedly tried to get to your feet, the ringing in your ears growing louder.

Scrambling to your feet, you reach out in front of you, trying to find the wall, and as soon as you do, you start searching for the light switch. With shaky hands, you felt around the wall until you felt the switch. Letting out a relieved sigh, you flipped it, allowing the room to flood with light.

You looked up with a smile before remembering that your hands were still covered in whatever you had fallen into. Your gaze then fell down to your hands, only for the smile to be wiped away and your eyes to go wide.

Blood. Your palms were covered in blood.

Your stomach turns the urge to throw up very strong; dread then fills your veins as you slowly turn around. A high-pitched scream leaves your lips as your eyes are set upon the body of a man, blood pooling all around him.

Fear clouded your brain as you quickly turned back around to open the door. Rushing over to the wooden door, you wrapped your hands around the knob, hoping that it would turn. But it didn’t.

The door was locked, and you were trapped.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[miru667]

The whole Once-ler family is working full tilt!

Here's my full piece for the VK Onceler Zine! I was very lucky to get to be a part of it...🥹 I used concept art as my inspiration this time: [link] Keep reading below for my process vid and all my director's commentary!

Thank you for being curious! Here's a video of my WIPs:

Deadlines were TIGHT for this zine! We were given only 2 months (compared to the 6 months I had on the previous onceler zine), so to make sure I could finish on time, I decided to do only base colours and lighting, with almost no shading anywhere. Still, trying to balance all the colours took the longest for me, as you can see in the vid. xP

Also idk if anyone noticed, but for the face I chose to use an already existing onceler doodle: [link] Why? Well, why not! I really liked that doodle and I didn't want it to go to waste. 😆

Things that I enjoyed sneaking in:

-the golden spiral! Vaguely, at least! At the very least I hope your eyes can follow the order of thneed production, from the fallen tree at the window to the tuft harvesting to the thread spinning, to knitting the thneed and then drawing up plans for bigger and better things, and then ending with him pulling on his iconic glove to show he's going to take control now

-15 cents, a nail, and a great great great grandfather snail, as well as a tin pail since that's where you're supposed to deposit your payment

-combining things from the 2012 movie and concept art, the 1972 movie, and the 1971 book (e.g. that funny wrench he uses to fix pipes)

-Miss O'Schmunce-ler! You can see from the vid that I added the bracelet pretty late, because it was a late decision to have a Miss O'Schumunce-ler somewhere. I chose her to be the one picking up the pencil in the end, since she's pretty good with a pencil in the movie hehe. You guys can pretend the arms holding the phone is Miss Funce-ler.

-a thneed, a seed, and a (grickle grass) weed on the floor. The thneed is just the first of many that will soon create a giant pile. The seed lies forgotten in the corner. The weed is foreshadowing the future.

-hinting that Lorax and Once-ler were actually good friends, like they were in the Lorax musical stageplay. 🥺 I kept this part of the script in my mind for this piece:

This was aftermath Once-ler talking to the Lorax, reminiscing on their good times...and also being stupid and inconsiderate because the Lorax was in fact there all along as his friend, trying to warn him of what was going to happen. 😔

So in my zine piece we're witnessing a peaceful time before all the real biggering really starts. I like to think that in this scene, the Lorax had been sitting on the Once-ler's lap, holding his gloves for him and having a nice chat together with maybe some harmless bickering, but then the Once-ler gets a phone call so he cuts their convo short and rolls his chair over to the window to answer it. Putting business over friendship as usual, of course. Inspo for the lap sitting comes from this fanart by Emi that I love: [link]

What else...the parts that I'm proud of the most are the stool (I spent 2 days just drawing this stool), the curtains, the fact that I was able to include every truffula colour, and the Once-ler's pose. I was close to giving up on that pose because I had no idea how to draw it but I'm glad that I tried again. I wanted to show him at ease during a stage in his life that we never got to see much: the happier and more innocent days of his biggering when he only had a small shop. 😊

That's all, I think! Thanks for reading if you did! Once again it was an honour to be part of this zine!!

[yandere-metal-family]

hiiii this is my first metal family request and I feel a bit silly but this is my new obsession....

if it doesn't inconvenience you, could I have a yandere dee x reader?

the reader is sheltered and usually keeps to herself because she's shy and has a hard time making new friends. She's very innocent and tries to see the best in everyone, which is how she doesn't pick up on dee's yandere tendencies and just brushes them off as him being nervous or something

tysm in advance!

Lol yeah this is a more normal request tbh

Pt II: WIP

Moving to a new school in the middle of the year was the worst thing in the world. It was one thing to go at the beginning of the year, but the middle of the year- Everyone already had established relationships and such.

It didn't help that you weren't the most extroverted person in the world, so you doubted you'd ever make friends.

---

You went into class before school started, because there was no way you were going to introduce yourself to the class. The teacher, who had his head in papers, looked up when hearing you enter and told you to sit at the third table. There was a kid named 'Dee'[?] who sat there by himself.

When the bell rung, you felt the anxiety run down your spine. You hoped no one asked you anything or mentioned anything, because you would rather die than to be noticed.

That was short lived when a blonde kid spoke to you.

"Move."

You looked at him, a little flustered, "Excuse me?"

He gestures to the seat that he was leaning on and you made an 'Ooh,' face and moved seats.

---

Dee's eyes stayed on you during the whole period. You didn't look over at him once, because you wanted to pretend that maybe he wasn't looking at you and it was just your paranoia, but you were almost positive that he was looking at you.

Dee was interested in you. He knew you were new, obviously, but where were you from? Why are you here? What's your name? So and so.

He felt weird being so interested in another person, because he usually didn't care about other people. But he liked new things- and you were a new toy.

He looks down at your hands to see that were painted a nice dark purple, almost black, color. When the teacher's back is turned he nudges you.

You look over at him, a little confused, before he gestures towards your nails.

"I like your nails."

"Oh, thanks?"

After that he doesn't talk to you for the rest of the class.

---

You pack your bag, before finally leaving the school. You were glad it's over and thankful no one had approached you.

---

Dee wasn't listening to his brother. His eyes were instead focused on the school's interest. Heavy noticed his brother's lack of interest and looked over to the closed doors.

"Who are you waiting for?"

Dee looked at his brother, annoyed, "Nothing."

"Okay, are you ready to leave then?"

"No."

Dee was so quick to respond that it had taken Heavy by surprise. "Then what are we waiting for?"

"Nothing..."

He turns around, thinking maybe you had already left. But as he's about to leave, he hears the door open and looks back and is thrilled when seeing you. He is thrilled and walks up to you, leaving his brother behind.

"Uh, Y/n, right?"

You looked up at the voice to see the guy from one of your classes. You think he was an emo? You were unsure of which he was, but you were almost positive it was like emo punk kind of thing.

"Uh, yeah. Dee right?"

He smiles at his name, "Yeah. Uh, do you want me to walk you home? You know, so you're not alone?"

"Sure, yeah. Thank you."

He walks with you down the stairs, Dee ignoring his brother's call, but that doesn't last long.

You were confused when an orange haired boy came up to you and Dee. The kid looks at Dee, complaining about how Dee was ditching him.

"Oh, do you have to walk your little brother home?"

Dee grimace, rolling his eyes, before turning to you, "No, he can walk by himself. He's fine. Let's go," He quick to push you past Heavy, hoping that Heavy would get the hint.

[mebemilena]

 I take it and I eat it with a cherry on top

pairing: Daenerys Targaryen x fem Reader

summary:  you're the new cook of Queen Daenerys

A/N: i'm just exercising my writing skills. Sometimes my drafts and wips become comic books if i can convice the clients. Tittle from the song "Take a Bite", by Beabadoobee

PROMPT: "If your food is not good, i'll feed you to my dragons."

---

You and your big mouth. Some nasty comment about the Queen's personal cooks had brought you to this situation. "If your food is not good, i'll feed you to my dragons.", Daenerys had said, playfully and mischievous, which brought you to this moment.

You entered the throne room with a few maids, each of them carrying a tray with covered plates. As the Queen's new cook, you had tried to impress everyone with a few recipes of your own though you were confident in your talents, having cooked for your family and friends since you were a teen.

The Queen sat on her throne as the maids brought her the trays with the fresh cooked meals she'd try.  "Are you saying this is not real meat?", Daenerys looked confused, the taste still vivid on her tongue.

"Yes, your majesty.", you confirmed with a smile, proud of your work and satisfied with the glint of amusement in your Queen's eyes. Daenerys frowned for a moment.

"I know it's not usual. But these are healthy and will bring you strength. They hold the daily proteins you'll need in a good diet.", you offered her one more bite.

Daenerys looked at you in awe, a small smile slowly growing. "I like meat.", she said simply, but took the piece in your hand. "But i'm open to new experiences.", she ate it, savoring your new recipe. 

She invited Missandei and Sor Jorad to taste the goods you had prepared, but the man refused and made no effort to do it gently.

"Sir Jorah doesn't trust me, your grace. And i have no desire to change his mind.", you shrugged. "He might think i'd try to poison him.", you chuckled, not carying that the man could hear you.

Daenerys tried to sound a little more serious as she sat on her throne, this was a sensitive topic after all. "And what about poisoning me? A few had tried before.", she asked, defiant.

"I have no desire to poison you, my Queen.", you started, waving your hand like it was the most stupid thing one could do. "If i did, it wouldn't be through the food i happen to try before serving you, and in front of you.", you explained, taking small bites of the food on the table. 

It took you a minute to realize your own words. You and your big mouth.

Your answer got the Queen's attention, she was almost amused. Missandei watched your dialogue in deep curiosity while Sor Jorah seemed uneasy. "And how would you do it?", Daenerys asked, not a drop of fear in her voice.

You walked to her, approaching her seat and the small table by her side. With practiced manners, you prepared another plate of food. A slice of bread, a few fruits and a small globe of soup.

"I'd do it slowly.", you told her, holding the bottle with wine and filling her glass. "Both killing and loving demands patience, your majesty. If you give it all at once, it makes a mess.", you chuckled.

"So if I wished to poison you, mylady, I'd give you a few droplets everyday.", you handed her the glass, and Sir Jorah put his hand on the shaft of his sword.

Daenerys looked at you as she drank the wine slowly, hooked by the way you spoke, enchanted.

"You'd drink it in your wine, in our water. Eventually, you'd fall sick and I'd offer to take care of you only to keep poisoning you. You'd die slowly. It'd look like something natural, like some sad trick of destiny.  And nobody would ever be suspicious of me, the person who took such good care of you on your final days.", you finished, not exactly proud of your wisdom on the subject. 

Daenerys laughed, drinking more from her glass. "You shall live one more day."

Missandei let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and Sor Jorah frowned even more to you, cursing under his breath.

Daenerys trusted you, but what kept you alive for so long was that she liked you. You and your big mouth.

[marionluth]

Jason guilt-tripping Bruce to the point of malfunction to get Tim and Damian out of trouble.

*Bruce chewing out Damian and Tim for some dangerous shit they pulled at patrol without clearance that could have led to their untimely demise.*

—------------------------------------------------

Bruce: [...] Irresponsible! Careless! You could have both died tonight!

Damian: *mumbling* not like we have a Lazarus Pit or anything…

Bruce: What was that?

Tim: B, it wasn't that bad *secretly activates comm* we wouldn't die tonight. *Cough* Jay sos *cough*

Damian: *mumbling* And even if we did…

Bruce: Timothy I am so disappointed in you. You of all people should think before you act, consider the implications…

*Jason casually walks in*

Jason: Did I hear something about someone almost dying?

Bruce: Damian and Tim did something irresponsible, idiotic and…

Tim: We almost died and B is totally blowing it out of proportion!

Jason: *death glares Tim* Oh you almost died? You ALMOST died?

Jason: *shifting death glare to Bruce* You know who REALLY died once?

Bruce: *OH-DEAR-LORD-NOT-AGAIN mode activated*

Jason: I died. For real. But sure, you have to make everything in this damn family about your golden duo. The replacement and the demon brat!

Tim: Oh not again with the DRAMA Jason. We all know you died, let it rest, man!

Jason: I RESTED IN FUCKING PEACE, DRAKE!

Bruce: Jason, for the millionth time…

Jason: No, cool, it's fine! You can pretend I don't exist, I don't fucking care! Why should you even give a shit about me dying? Not like you avenged me or anything! You're vegnance my ass…

Bruce: Jason we've been over this…

Jason: I bet you'd avenge them. You'd shred into pieces any fucker that killed them. But Jason? No! Hell no! Ain't nobody got time for that!

Tim: Ain't nobody got time for this, zombie drama queen!

Bruce: Tim, please that was uncalled for…

Jason: Tim please? Tim please? Why don't you give him a fucking cookie, too?

Bruce: Jason…

Jason: No it's cool, it's fine, I don't give a fuck that you care more for them than me. Their lives matter. Cool. Cool.

Bruce: *fatal error - ability to talk about complicated feelings and resolve resentment not found-

Damian: Technically if father was to break his moral code to avenge anyone after their death that should rightfully be…

Jason & Tim: SHUT UP DAMIAN!

Bruce: *incoherent grunts*

Jason: Don't know what I was even expecting, B. Your little precious lap-dogs are more important than my stray ass. The billionaire brat and the demon!

Tim: *to Bruce indignantly* You're not gonna tell him anything? Of course not. God forbid you yell at the prodigal!

Damian: So disappointing, Father.

*Bruce retreating to the dark inner part of the cave grunting incoherently*

*Tim, Jason, and Damian storm out of the cave yelling at each other*

*Yelling immediately stops as soon as they step into the living room.*

*Tim & Jason High five with pleased smirks*

Damian: Wait, that was staged?

Tim:

Jason:

—-----------------------------------------------

Every time I start working on a canon-compliant WIP on this fandom I get so freaking depressed and angry that I then start writing non-canon batfam crap just as a pick me up. Sorry, not sorry!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you're used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what's on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Right, this was supposed to be a drabble series but it morphed and not I'm fucked.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

It's the most special time of year! Mistletoe, jingle bells, and holiday cheer! Oh, and hot chocolate. Lots of that.

You hide your thermos under the desk and grab the crystal bottle again, giving a test spritz to the air. Your job isn't very complicated. All you do is say hi and chat about the perfume. Your manager says the job is selling but you don't like to see it that way.

You smile at a family of five as they veer towards the toy section. You don't think the six year old would be into an eau de parfum. It's understandable.

While you spend your hours wandering around expensive makeups and scents, you're filled with a certain hint of longing. For what you're paid to push the merchandise, you can't afford any of it yourself. Well, you've never been very materialistic.

You spin around and see a gentlemen approaching, though he doesn't seem to see you. He looks past you, almost through you. You stop in place and put on your best smile, fixing the red band around your head.

"Hello, sir, would you like to try some Gucci?" You offer and spray the nozzle at him.

He skids to a stop and recoils as if he's been slapped. He holds out his arm as he looks down at his coat, little droplets seeping into the fabric. He takes a whiff, his short mustache wiggling under his nose, and he scoffs as he tries to shake off the cologne.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He snips.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to scare you."

"You just go around spray people with that horseshit?"

"Well, sir, with respect, I don't like that sort of language.

"And I don't like being drenched in dog piss," he blusters, "point me to the goddamn trimmers."

"Um, what kind? Nail trimmers? Pet trimmers? Garden trimmers?"

"What the fuck do you think?" He points to his own face.

You hold your smile. There's always that one customer who's having a bad day. Whatever's got him so upset must be worse than dealing with him.

"Personal care," you point to the far corner, "right over there, sir."

"Ugh," he stomps and storms off.

"I hope your day gets better," you call after him, "oh, did you want a store coupon--"

He ignores you as he waves you off over his shoulder. You watch him turn towards men's grooming and you shrug, rocking slightly. You try not to let them get to you. As jolly as you find this time of year, a lot of people don't feel the same.

You shrug off the encounter. You still have a few hours ahead of you and it's starting to bustle with customers. You help a couple find the home wares while keeping the boundary of cosmetics firm. Lucille, the manager, doesn't like you leaving your zone.

You approach a woman looking at the Prada selection and get her checked out with a new fragrance, specially gift-wrapped by yours truly. She leaves happy, a small victory for the day. You celebrate but not too much.

You come around the counter just as you see that man strutting back up. He has an item in his hand and ignores you as he passes. Still you smile at him.

"Annoying," he mutters under his breath.

"Need help finding anything else, sir?" You ask his heels.

He stops and you see the way his spine stiffens. Oh no, you shouldn't have said anything. He slowly turns to face you.

"You can shut up," he marches up to you and grabs the bottle from your hands, "shut." He sprays you in the face, "up." He squirts you several more times before shoving the vial against your chest, "stupid little girl."

You take the bottle, blinking as you use your cuff to wipe the perfume away from your eyes. He continues on his path as you stand dumbfounded, drenched in Gucci cologne. It's hard to breathe through the heavy scent and you can't help but cough.

What a jerk. Just because he's having a bad day, doesn't mean everyone needs to.

Slowly you grow accustomed to the smell of yourself. It’s not too unusual. You go nose blind about halfway through your shift once you spray a few too many samples. You keep your distance from customers, offering them a spritz but trying not to crowd them with the vapors of cologne rippling off of you.

You yawn as the afterwork rush floods in and you make another round, smiling at Sofia as she peeks over at you. She’s with another customer at the counter, ringing them up as she gabs. You spin at the display at the center of the crossway that runs through the beauty department and stagger back before another can run you over.

You apologise to the tall man as he skids to a stop on his soles. You can tell he’s in a hurry by the way he grips his briefcase and squares his jaw. He wears a long dark wool coat as flecks of snow melt into his thick beard.

“Oh, sorry, I er, wasn’t–” He clears his throat, collecting himself, “I… didn’t see you.”

“That’s okay, sir,” you assure him, “would you like to try the new scent?”

You hold up the onyx bottle but don’t spray him. You don’t need another dousing. He looks at the silver letters on the side then at you. The furrow in his brow lightens as his blue eyes swim.

“No thanks, but er, you think you could help me find something?”

“Of course,” you chime and lower the bottle, “are you looking for a gift for someone special?”

He nods, “my mother-in-law is on her way into town, I need a present. Maybe perfume?”

His tone is tinted with frustration as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck. He lets out a long sigh. He’s one of those shoppers; the last minute scrambler. You grasp the vial in one hand and tug at the front of your thick red sweater, you’re starting to get a bit toasty in the crowded store.

“How old is she?” You ask.

“Um,” he clamps his lips together and thinks, “hmmm, probably seventy-something? I’m sorry, I guess I should know that.”

“That’s okay, I… I would suggest some Liz Taylor,” you turn on your heel and wave him after you as you head off, “it’s a classic. Not so much a me scent but the older crowd likes it. Oh, and it’s on special so your wallet won’t hate it, either.”

You stop by the Diamonds display as you face him again. He follows at a pace and stops before the shelf, perusing the gold caps and crystal caps. He considers the rack in deep thought.

“Here,” you set down your bottle on a nearby table of seasonal decorations and take one from the display. You slip out a strip of cardstock and spray it with the sampler, “this one is gardenia. That was her favourite scent. It’s probably the least pungent.”

You offer him the sample and he eyes it. He slowly bends and sniffs the end of the paper. He wiggles his nose. It makes you sneeze too. As much as you’re a fan of the classic actress, her scents are dated.

“Smells like her,” he grumbles under his breath, “sure, I’ll take that.”

“Great,” you declare and trade the sampler for a boxed bottle, then retrieve your disposed Gucci vial, “would you like me to check you out, sir?”

“Is it faster?” 

“I can be fast,” you promise him, “this way.”

You go around the sparkling counters and he meets you across the till. You type in your log in, taking several tries to get your passcode right. The man places his briefcase on the counter,a hand resting on the edge.

“You know a lot about this stuff?” He prompts.

“Yeah, I guess,” you smile as you scan the perfume and tap the special offer on the screen, “kinda part of the job.”

“Hmm” he hums again, in that thoughtful manner. You look at him but he’s not looking at your face, “that’s a nice sweater.”

You look down at the red wool speckled with pearls. It’s new and one of your favourites already. You can’t help a little wiggle of your shoulders, “thanks!”

“Very… cheerful,” he muses as he takes out his wallet, “wish I could say the same of what awaits me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir, it’s that time of year, I guess,” you push the debit machine towards him and he taps his credit card, “I’m sure your mother-in-law will love the perfume.” The transaction approves and the receipt prompts, “would you like an email?”

“Nah, that’s fine,” he tucks his credit card away.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” You offer, “it’s free?”

He hovers his hand over his briefcase as he considers it. His eyes meet yours and his cheek dimples, “alright, yeah, that’s… that’s perfect. Thank you.”

“No problem,” you beam back at him, “let me just get some tissue paper…”

You murmur to yourself as you grab some gold tissue paper and a white gift bag with a Christmas tree embossed into the side. You carefully line up the small box on the paper and begin your intensive work. You're a master wrapper, you used to work at the wrapping station in the mall.

“What about you?” He asks before the silence can stretch too far, “you seeing family for the holidays? When you’re not working?”

“Um,” you smile as you look up, “I’m just hanging out with my dog. I bought him a bone.”

“A dog,” he nods, “your family live out of town?”

Usually, you ask the questions. It’s easier that way. It deflects the attention from you. It’s why you like the job; you can hear all about others and not have to think about yourself.

“Yeah, something like that,” you slip the wrapped box into the bag and fluff the tissue paper.

“Eh!” The loud exclamation makes you jump as the man merely turns his head, a tic in his jaw. His eyes narrow as another customer approaches, strutting with hands in his jacket pocket as he calls out, “Barber, what the hell?”

Your customer shifts towards the man, heels squeaking on the floor, “Hugh.”

“Don’t Hugh me, asshole,” the other man retorts, “you said you were busy? What’s the matter, you lose too much money last time?”

“Suzette is in town. Family dinner,” the man, Barber, drones dully.

“Ah, ditched for the old crone, I get it.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, wouldn’t you know it, poker night was canceled, something about not enough seats,” the man counters sharply.

“Next week,” the first man growls.

“Hey, you,” the man in the russet coat snaps his fingers in your direction, “you got some of that Acqua di Gio. That dumb girl over there said you’re sold out.”

Your brows pop up and you swallow tightly. He’s another type. The arrogant demander. He doesn’t hear no. He’ll ask everyone the same question in hope of getting a different answer.

“We are out of stock, sir, but I could order it in for you,” you suggest.

“Order in? I can just go on Amazon, thanks for nothing,” he chops his hand at you dismissively.

“Hey,” the other man nudges his chest, “be nice. She’s working.”

“What? I’m here to spend money and they got shit all–”

“It’s December,” the other man reproaches before he turns back to you, “sorry, my friend is a jerk.” He accepts the gift bag as you hold it out, “thank you. You saved me.”

“No problem, but er, I was gonna say,” you turn to the other man, “sir, I have some samples of the Armani. I could give you those while you wait for the order.”

“Samples?” He echoes, “how many?”

“Let me have a look,” you back up and go to the drawer at the back of the checkout.

“I gotta get going, miss,” the first man waves his hand as you peek over your shoulder, “have a happy holiday.”

“You too,” you chirp back and find the last few tubes of Armani. You claim them and prance back to meet the new customer at the counter, “I have five.” You lay out your wares, “if I order in a bottle it’ll be in just before Christmas.”

“Two weeks?” He puffs.

“I’m sorry, sir, that’s the earliest I can do. It’s the last day I can guarantee delivery before Christmas.”

“Talk, talk, talk, order it,” he snaps.

“Right, let me just…” you open the shop and search up the scent. You add it to the cart and proceed. “Alright, got that, did you want it shipped for pick up here or to your address.”

“Here, they can never fucking find my house,” he sniffs.

“Great, so when it arrives, we’ll give you a call. You’ll also get an email to confirm.”

“What’s going on here?” He points at you suddenly. You look down again at your sweater but don’t see anything amiss. You flinch as he reaches to pinch one of the pearls, “what is this?”

“Oh, I… my sweater,” you raise your head, swallowing down the insult. It’s cute!

“Huh, Walmart clearance, huh,” he scoffs, “alright, how much are you robbing me for?”

He reaches into his coat as you hit total. You read out the final amount but he doesn’t pull out a card; he hands you cash. You count the bills, twice over, then give him his change. He looms with impatient huffs.

“Here’s your receipt,” you hand him the strip of paper. “Have a good day, sir.”

“Mmm,” he pokes his tongue into his cheek as he shoves the receipt into his pocket, “actually, while I’m here, I’d like a new sweater. You can help me and I’ll show you what real quality is.”

You almost laugh. Not spitefully, it’s just a bit silly. He’s competing with you, a perfume pusher.

“Well, sir, I can point you towards men’s fashion but I’m not able to leave this department, I’m sorry,” you give a sheepish smile.

“Oh no, good girl wouldn’t want to break the rules,” he rolls his eyes, “goody goody and her precious little smile.” He hooks his thumbs in his pockets, “my shit better be in by Christmas.”

He twists and strides away. You watch him go but not for long as you’re quickly distracted by a customer looking at the Britney Spears collection. Those are easy sellers.

[phyrestartr]

Those Ghosts We Cannot Burn | Dabi x M!Reader

w/c: 1k cw: past trauma, canon-typical Todoroki family, mentions of child abuse, canon-typical violence, graphic language, difficult relationships #Eventual NSFW, bl, dunno who is top/bottom yet lol, hurt/comfort, angst, drama, reader is yakuza, reader and dabi have history, sorta enemies to lovers?? Notes: AAAAH short little snippet but I wanted to post anyway!! I need to get drafts out of my system or I'll go mad lmao...they're all just clogging up my google docs...it's so bad dude OTL so many WIPs

(ALL tags): @kamote-kuneho @tr4nnie @silvern1006

1. Hello, My Past

The bodies of his victims hissed and burned with a life only fire could leave in the path of destruction. Dabi knew it well–he was made the same way, after all. But they'd go on to simply disappear, their ashes fluttering away with the Autumn breeze while he continued to conquer his fate. 

“Hey, you're the one they call ‘Dabi,’ right?” 

The man in question paused, ears perking at that shitty, monotonous tone. Hah. It pissed him off. It made his heart hum, too. Weird.

“Who's askin'?” He drawled, tucking his hands in his pockets as he turned to face you with languid steps. When he caught sight of you in that alleyway, he almost remembered something, but couldn’t find the will to dwell on it.

“I am, on behalf of Shie Hassaikai,” you said, adjusting the cuffs of your jacket. “You've been torching our men, y’know?”

Dabi smiled. “And? You want an autograph or somethin’?” 

You quirked a brow, looked him up and down, and scoffed. “You got a pen? Or, even know how to write in the first place? Don’t look the type.” 

“Oi–”

“Anyway,” you continued, “You wouldn’t be willing to stop murdering ours while our respective leaders discuss their deal, hey?” 

Dabi clicked his tongue. Annoying. “Their deal's got nothing to do with me.” 

“Guess you're not as high up as they said, then.”

“You're a real pain in the ass, y'know?” 

“It's kinda my job.”

“Maybe someone should relieve you from duty.”

A torrent of blue bloomed and crashed through the alley with the vicious hunger of a tsunami. Sparks exploded and flames lashed against stone and concrete, engulfing sky, earth, and all in-between with his show of firepower–a show he never grew tired of, one that never failed to remind him just what he lived for, what he–wait.

He squinted. What the hell?

A bright silhouette stood in the centre of the violent cleansing, wholly unmoved by the villain's flame. It wavered like a candle tousled by the night breeze, but it did not fade away with the light, nor with the wane of fire. And in the aftermath, once the alley fell quiet and dim once again, there it still stood, staring his way with a light that might rival a god's true form.

“You done?” You asked, voice crackling through a veil of blue. 

Thousands of questions and thoughts rushed through his mind–what the hell was that? Who were you? What was your quirk? Why was your fire blue, too?--but he couldn't settle on one, not long enough to spit it out, anyway. 

“I'll consider that a yes,” you decided. Your form re-materialized with a small flourish embers, and you breathed in deep. 

Dabi tried not to let on how bothered he felt. “What the hell was that quirk?” 

“Does it really matter?” You hummed, smiling. “The only thing you need to know is what you just saw–you can't get rid of me. Not with those flames of yours.”

“Hah. You sure about that, pretty boy?” His fingers twitched, eager to try his hand again. “I could crank the heat up for ya, see just how much you can handle.”

“Maybe another time,” you said, half-distracted as you checked your phone. “For now, remember what I said. Our bosses are trying to work together. Don't make this difficult.”

You turned halfway through your thought, showing Dabi your back without a care in the world. You must've really thought you couldn't be hurt by him. You must have really thought you were better than him. You must have. 

But the sirens roaring toward the alley ruined his chance at demolishing you. He could take them on, but he'd rather not deal with the headache that'd follow–heaven knows he'd get reemed by some of the other villains for taking the PR crap too far. 

Fucking prick, Dabi seethed silently. He'd have to kill you some other day. 

–

“Touya,” you called, voice quiet.

The boy next to you, the one you squished into that single bed with whenever nightmares found him, stirred. Only your voice seemed to pull him free from the lull of dreams and nightmares, oddly. 

“Yeah?” He whispered, clearing his throat, grimacing again at the scratchy stiffness to it. 

“Once the doc helps you,” you started, sounding too serious for your age, “I think we should leave.” 

“What?” Touya rubbed sleep from his eyes the best he could without tearing stitches and skin grafts apart. “What the hell is–”

Whatever else he had to say died in his throat when he caught a glimpse of you in the filtered moonlight; your calm, passive look of day had shifted come the night. Your face was kinder, exposing flickers of forbidden thoughts for none but one to see and soon forget, come the beckon of sleep. 

“What the hell's your problem?” Touya breathed. 

Your brows furrowed. “I don't want to be here,” you answered. “Have you even considered trying to go to your family? We could–” 

“I did go back. Nothing's changed.” He smiled, bitter. “Those fucking sheep abandoned me already.”

“I won't abandon you,” you promised suddenly. “We can talk to them. Together. Come on, Touya–” 

Touya laughed a pathetic, little sound. “Are you serious? They don't give a shit about me, they're not gonna give a shit about–do you think you're better than me? More special?” 

Your eyes grew round. “Wh–I never said that.” 

“But you think they'd listen to you, and not me,” he hissed, something igniting the hollow paths of his nerves and revving him back to life. “You think I'm not–”

You covered his mouth with a quick hand, and he held your wrist with a weak grip. “Shut up. You don't know what I think, so–so just shut up.”

I know what you think. And he was determined to prove you wrong, one way or another, even if he had to rip himself apart to do it--but you saw through him so easily. You always did; you always knew how to push his buttons then reset the system before he blew up.

And when you leaned in and kissed the back of your hand, the one still clasped over his mouth, he did indeed reset. Completely braindead once again, he was.

“Forget I said anything,” you huffed, turning your back to him and settling back in. 

And Touya tried to forget, even though his mind buzzed and his heart thudded against his ribs. He tried, and he tried, and he tried.

[simplegenius042]

A very late WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @g0dspeeed @adelaidedrubman @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat and @cassietrn

Tagging @strangefable @carlosoliveiraa @shallow-gravy @minilev @wrathfulrook @josephslittledeputy @nightbloodbix @derelictheretic @deputyash @deputy-morgan-malone @inafieldofdaisies @ec-10 @ladyoriza @vampireninjabunnies-blog @voidika @onehornedbeast @thewanderer-000 @softtidesworld @snake-in-the-garden @corvosattano @henbased @neverthesameneveranother @chazz-anova and @strafethesesinners

Here are three WIPs, each from Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore and Life, Despair & Monsters. Read below the cut.

TW: Harsh and heavy cursing, mentioned/implied character and general death of NPCs (either it be a time loop or a cybernetic homicidal monster around nine or ten feet tall and very pissed off). Implied mentioned sexual content, mentions of abuse and fantastical racism (against ghouls, Jericho leave Gob alone!). Mentioned prostitution and fantasies of murder (illegal but understandable).

First WIP is for the time loop/"Groundhog Day" FC5 AU fic called You're Almost Like Family where the Seeds are stuck in a, well, time loop. And whenever Silva (or the Seeds themselves) die, well, the days are reset. Funniest part is, none of the Seeds know that they are all in a loop, just their individual selves. Snippet below:

[John] slammed the entrance to his chalet shut, causing the blonde figure sorting his papers in his lounge to jump. The documents slipped out of her hands as she stood up with a hand to a holster, only to calm down when she realized it was him.

Noticing that the reports laid scattered on the floor, Nadi gave him a stink eye, gesturing to the papers.

John would have been apologetic if he simply didn't have time for this. Ironic given the predicament he was stuck in.

Sooner or later, the Deputy is going to end up dead, and he'll be back at square one... again.

The thought reignited his frustration, but he reigned in enough to examine his number two.

Nadi was a loyal member of the project, more faithful than Jacob's hound, and while they did butt heads sometimes, he was grateful for her presence and for her strategic input. Admittedly, John knew that without her, the Deputy would have gotten to him sooner rather than later.

I would have preferred not to have to had died to appreciate it.

"Once you finish with those, come meet me upstairs in my bedroom. There's something I need to discuss with you," John ordered smoothly, making his way to the stairs.

He didn't notice the confusion etched on the blonde's face, for John was already making his way up the stairs to his room.

It's times like these I wish I could have a shot of tequila, he thought to himself, walking over to the open bedroom window and closing it shut, pulling the lock down.

Next, he grabbed a torch light and shined it at the closet. Hearing nothing, he walked towards it and opened the doors. Empty.

Finally, John turned off his torch, knelt down, and swiftly rolled it harshly under the bed. Hearing no grunts, he looked under.

She's not under there... good.

John exhaled a huff of air, and sat on the edge of his bed as he put his hands over his face.

It was exhausting. Though John knew by the end of today, or the next two if he was lucky, the Deputy would be killed by something or another and he would be back at square one, he really needed to figure out how to reach out to her, without being shot.

Going to her too early leaves her shooting first and questioning the morality of it never, and trying to go to her late only ends up with her being killed by whoever it is she seems to have evoked the wrath of. Not that he thinks she doesn't entirely deserve it.

He needed guidance, and from his last conversation with Joseph, his brother seemed content with sitting by and letting God do his work.

And he tried. To wait it out. To let God do His work. But if the sign that John seemed to be getting was that leaving the Deputy to her own accord only leads to her death, and back to the morning of Joseph's arrest.

And it wasn't like Jacob, or worse, Faith, were going to be helpful.

John had figured out quickly that his intervention was needed for the Deputy to even get through another day. And while the Father may not have understood what he told him, John deduced that this was a test from God.

A test against his sloth. A test towards his patience. A test meant to prove that John was worthy of entering Eden. And what better way than to save the life and soul of another? Especially one as sinful and wrathful as the Deputy?

Which is why he waits for the only other faithful member of the project, his trustworthy second-in-command.

A knock on the door shifted his thoughts to the matter at hand, and he made his way to the door.

Opening it, Nadi stood there, the blond looking at him with expecting brown eyes.

John pulled her inside, earning a yelp from the young woman, and closed the door behind her.

Here's a WIP for a collection of short fics from different character perspectives throughout my Fallout fic series A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore. It is still under heavy editing, but I've got a good grasp on where to take it. Snippet below:

In the five of the twenty four hours she's been awake, Nova had expected more-or-less the same day as before.

Walking around and offering her body to anyone who came into the saloon had not been a life she pictured for herself as a little girl, but it was one that paid well.

Well, it would have been if Moriarty didn't continue to take a cut of her and Gob's pay any time a customer gave them a generous donation.

That and the amount of times Moriarty had utilized her services with no intention of paying her, but she supposed it was a better alternative to being kicked out of Megaton. Given Moriarty still had that power.

She drew in the smoke from her cigarette, and surveyed from her post as Gob gave another orange bottle of whiskey to Jericho, the ex-raider sneering at the ghoul, his disgust evident all over his face.

Thankfully he didn't make a scene, slamming the small bag of caps on the counter as he left through the door.

Gob stared at the bag, string noose tied tightly around the bag, not immediately grabbing it. Nova could take a guess that Gob was lamenting over the debts that he owed Moriarty. Debts both the prostitute and the ghoul bartender wordlessly knew their boss was unlikely to pay.

Gob snapped out of it though, giving a miserable sigh, and dragging the bag away from the counter for Moriarty to pocket later, turning his attention to the damn radio that never seemed to play at the right time.

It pained Nova to see Gob like this. He was a real sweetheart with shitty luck, and she knew that the only upsides in his life were the hope of one day paying off his debts, however unlikely that was, and the Gravity News Radio host screaming out "fighting the good fight", whatever that entailed.

She was also painfully well aware of his crush on her.

Though she never had minded his appearance to the point she'd hang out with him in public, given how much she knows the ghoul is actually a decent guy, she had her limits, which was rare given her current standing under Moriarty.

She hoped he could find some semblance of happiness, whether that be with a person or a life long after Moriarty was rotting in the ground. But it wouldn't be with her.

If things were different though...

Nova looked away from Gob, shaking the thought away. It didn't matter on the what ifs, right now she had a job to perform.

She could ponder a different time.

Just as Gob began to smack the radio, a risky action given Moriarty's repeated threats on treating his property harshly, the saloon door creaked open, and Nova spotted two teens enter. One male, the other female. Both wearing what appeared to be blue jumpsuits with the numbers "101" imprinted in yellow on their backs.

Nova eyed them both. The young man was of average build, short auburn hair cut neatly with a few strands springing out from the harshness of the wasteland most likely, and light brown eyes on the lookout for anyone and anything.

The young woman on the other hand had dark hair tied in a pony tail, was a little chubbier than her counterpart, and her hazel eyes were more focused, trying to narrow down a specific person.

They glanced back to the door, whispering amongst themselves, though not too quiet that she couldn't catch their words.

Amongst the harsh gravel Gob spat out at the poor radio, and the chatter amongst the patrons, Nova could decipher the words "here" "back outside" and "think she'll stay?" in hushed voices.

And finally Jennifer putting murder on her mind to the back burner as she remembers to drop, duck and cover my WIP of Sonya's Push. Snippet below:

Breathing heavily as she pushed her way through the audience as they gazed upon the newest arena fight between beasties, the bruises formed from her fight with Malvolio's bitch protesting against her movements.

The blonde looked back to the closed elevator door on the other side, paranoid that Malvolio's Beastie would burst through at any moment.

The speed of it had been abnormal, disappearing in a blink and being nothing more than a flicker of movement when it had slid down to the hall. The movement of its tail daggers swift and deadly, like her own claws. The red in its one eye, more robotic than flesh.

Why had Dicko approved such a thing? It barely counted as a beastie with the mass of metal it was made of! Jennifer huffed, and around the arena, looking pass the patrons in search of Dicko.

Her blue eyes spotted the Englishman on a lower circle, himself seated down on his VIP sofa that she once shared with him, disheveled but celebrating his escape with a glass of disgusting champagne, like the pig hadn't just left her to die to that one-eyed mech of a beast. As if the reason it was free in the first place wasn't because he allowed his creep of a "buddy" onto his premises, or the fact Sir Enigma might be a fucking alien in addition to a Darwinist with no care for the fact "handing control" did not mean "releasing the Beastie from its brainwashing bullshit".

She felt the razor claws pushing through her fingertips as she glared at the man from across the arena, anger and betrayal clouding her mind.

Those fantasies of killing him while in his bed resurfaced, and she oh so wanted to enact them now, with the sofa as an acceptable exception.

She wanted to get her claws through his throat before the Beastie could make its way down to the arena. She tried to move pass the cheering audience, making her way around to the other side to get to the stairs.

However much she tried though, a block of people just refused to move aside, and she was tempted to slice her way through if it weren't for the guards.

Ding!

...Or the faint noise of the elevator door that echoed throughout the arena, deaf to everyone but her.

Frozen in place as she looked back, trying to get a glimpse of the beast that would no doubt tear them apart.

She pushed people aside to get a solid look. Enough people disbanded to show the doors opening to reveal the empty box of the elevator.

Jennifer's face scrunched in confusion, mouth gaping open and shut, lips stinging as the cut on her upper lip made contact with her bottom one. She desperately searched for any sign of the beast, the monster made of steel, the relentless creature that stalked and hunted her not moments ago.

Upon still seeing nothing, she let out a mirthless laugh as she turned her back to the elevator, shaking her head as she focused her attention on Dicko once more, the man a ring below talking with one of his guards.

It was with this focus that she noticed a... shift on the stone barriers that kept the audience at bay.

Large spots on the stone cracked, small dusts of powder dropping down as an unseen pressure was placed on the stone. She saw more of this dust from the next ring up, and then the next, and the next.

Up and up and further up until it stopped at the final ring. Then dust slowly dropped down from the roof, unbeknownst to the audience too invested on the violence happening between the two wild beasties below them. Not that the fight between those Beasties were anything special unlike what she saw from her hunter mere hours ago.

Jennifer felt some familiarity with this, words exchanged to her by the madman who released the Apex from its prison, a far too fond explanation on how the creature could "rush so fast it would be merely a flicker to the human eye!"

"...Or match its environment to disappear right before you," Malvolio explained, grinning at her with all his teeth.

Jennifer's eyes widened as she barely registered the outline of the beast that had adjusted its steel to uncloak itself while hanging from dark and dank ceiling. Red optic looking down to the cheers in the rings and the Beasties fighting under it.

She saw the tail split in three, and immediately followed her gut by making distance from the open space of the barriers.

She had just dropped flat onto the floor to curl up and cover her head when the she heard the wind and patron's necks crack in one simultaneous whoosh.

[illarian-rambling]

Aw balls. I almost forgot an intro

Hi, I'm Katie! I'm a writer with two ongoing wips that I like yammering about, so ima do it here!

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 20

Other interests: art, dnd, the Magnus Archives, anything Cosmere related, martial arts, Critical Roll

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My wips are set in the same universe, on the planet of Illaros, fifth from the last star left living in the universe. There's a continent, some islands, and other assorted junk down there. The gods have a dyson ring, but they don't like to talk about it. The stars are the eyes of an ancient primordial force of destruction.

Honor's Outcasts follows a rag-tag group of delinquents trying to survive psycho pirates with family ties, a siren theocracy, magic that rots in your blood, and the Horrors. Their number includes such mighty heros as: a kid who can explode people with her mind, a buff shark lady who survives regular eldritch encounters by not paying attention, a mute aroace siren man with a bitchy attitude, and the world's sweetest gang mamber. Of course, they're one big family, and what's family without a little religious terrorism?

The Mystery of the Mortal God asks what happens when magic and science collide in a world where ethics panels haven't been established yet. Set a few decades down the line from HO, this story follows a cowboy witch with a chip on her shoulder as she discovers a mysterious robot laying broken and confused on the side of the road. At the same time, in a city on the other side of the globe, a blue blooded detective investigates a cold case suddenly gone hot. In time, all players will meet, including the mage who set this whole conundrum in motion.

The Final Voyage of the R.S. Starbreaker is sci-fi with ghosts! More accurately, as the magical societies of Illaros take their first steps into space, they don't use unmanned probes, but instead call upon the gods to send ghosts to be bound to a mighty runic galleon: the R.S. Starbreaker. This first skeleton crew consists of an honorable former Flying City pilot with a seedy past, a brash elven astronomer infamous for her incomplete work, a meticulous selkie cartographer determined to map the solar wheel, a laid-back fae man with a dangerous set of ideals, and the key to this mission's success: a former part of an eldritch hive mind on a hunt for his extinct people's missing afterlife.

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Anyways, if you're here, feel free to say hi! I'll mostly be posting whatever bullshit comes to mind, but maybe you'll get lucky and something entertaining will come out? I certainly hope so!

Have a bitchin' day <3

.

An addition! Here are my characters' playlists! (And intros for those who have them) (All instrumental because I can't write while listening to vocals)

Izjik Meautammera +intro

Sepo Kaiacynthus +intro

Twenari Devaris +intro

Djek Kagura +intro

Daedryn Whitenight

Astra DuClaire +intro

Mashal Darezsho +intro

Ivander Montane +intro

Elsind Cavernsight +intro

Avymere Spearsong +intro

Ghost Ship Radio + wip intro (for the Starbreaker crew)

(Curious as to which character you might relate to the most? Here are some quizzes that might help you out!) (First is for MG and HO, second is for Starbreaker)

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A second addition! Please feel welcome to check out my new Illaros library! These are short stories written (mostly) in my setting that I've shared before on here, but I figured I'd put all the links in one place :)

Down in the Deep Dark - 2,500 words - The tale of how Izjik and Sepo met

Violating the 4th - 11,000 words - Coverage of the first Surgeon case from the POV of Ceyrel (Ivander’s detective partner)

Rel's Haunting - 16,000 words - A story of a fallen angel, the dead god who made them, and finding wonder in the supermarket

Full Saturation - 2,000 words - A short horror story set on modern Earth about saturation diving and places better left untouched

And for some one-shots:

Mashal and Ivander hanging out

Izjik making Sepo a flute in the Trench

The cast of Mortal God gets a beach episode

Mashal teaches Astra to ride a horse

Again, have a bitchin' day <3

[forestdeath1]

Prongsfoot week 2024. Day 3 - First Kiss

Snippet from my WIP. After the Prank. + An illustration

“You think I’m a bad person, James, don’t you?” says Sirius when he hears the creak of the door and the floor. He knows it’s James. By the steps, by the way he walks. Sirius always recognises James.

“What?” James asks, confused.

“I’m a bad person,” Sirius takes another swig from the whiskey bottle they keep for special occasions. He’s sitting on the old bed in the Shrieking Shack, staring blankly ahead, rolling the bottle between his fingers. “That’s just who I am. You get it?”

James sits across from him, pulling his legs underneath, and gently takes the bottle from Sirius’s hands. Sirius doesn’t resist. The clink of glass hitting the floor breaks the silence, and Sirius looks down at it instinctively, avoiding James’s gaze.

“Look at me, Sirius.”

Sirius lifts his head. They haven’t exchanged a word since Dumbledore’s dressing-down, because Sirius had left straight after. The last place he wanted to be was their dorm.

“I don’t think that at all, you hear? To me, you’re not a bad person.”

“You’re not mad at me?” Sirius asks, surprised.

James frowns for just a second but then continues, “No. Never.”

Sirius lets out a sad laugh.

“Then you’re the only idiot in the world. Because everyone else says the opposite.”

"Who?"

"My family. The way Dumbledore looked at me when he scolded me today. The way you looked at me when you ran off to save Snivellus,” Sirius raises his brow pointedly. “But you know what the worst part is?” He pauses, pretending to wait for an answer. “It’s that I don’t feel guilty.”

James shakes his head, looking at Sirius with his deer-like expression.

“Listen, mate. Don’t talk rubbish. You're not a bad person. You're a very good person, who bad things have happened to.”

Sirius lets out a quiet, bitter laugh but stops abruptly, looking at James like he’s seeing him for the first time. It’s hard to believe James actually thinks that. It’s hard to believe anyone does.

James sighs heavily, and still gazing at Sirius with that unbearably sympathetic look, he reaches out, resting his right hand on the back of Sirius’s head. Then, with a gentle tug, he pulls Sirius towards him, resting their foreheads together, closing his eyes as he whispers:

“I love you, you idiot. Just the way you are, you hear me? I love you. No matter what. I know who you are. And even if everyone turns their back on you, I’ll always be here with you.”

“You don’t understand what you’re saying,” Sirius replies quietly.

“I do. Trust me. Just trust me. I’ll never leave you. No matter what.”

Sirius’s heart races. Whether from the alcohol or James’s painful closeness, he can’t tell. James’s hand rests on the back of his head, his glasses almost poking Sirius’s nose, his breath heavy on Sirius’s face, and those fingers dig slightly deeper into his hair as their noses touch. And it’s that accidental, fleeting movement that pulls Sirius forward. He gives in to the burning feeling inside, no longer able to deny the obvious, unable and unwilling to resist. His lips brush against James’s, and his hand wraps around his messy hair in response. James pulls back sharply, eyes wide in shock.

Ruined it.

He’s ruined everything.

Ruined the last good thing he had.

But… it’s Sirius. That’s just what he’s doing today — ruining things.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius blurts out, closing his eyes, shaking his head in disappointment. “I… I’m sorry. Forget it, if you can.”

“Sirius,” James brushes the loose strands of hair from Sirius’s face, and Sirius opens his eyes to see the still-stunned expression of his friend.

James doesn’t look disgusted; he looks surprised. That’s strange. It shouldn’t be like this. He should’ve been angry, should’ve hated him, should’ve hit him. Sirius crossed a line, betrayed James, their friendship, with his messed-up behaviour.

Crossed a boundary.

“Hit me. I deserve it,” Sirius says, staring directly at James.

James blinks a few times.

“How drunk are you?”

Sirius sighs heavily. He could easily blame the alcohol right now. But he won’t. Yeah, he’s a bit drunk, and his feelings are heightened, and his inhibitions lowered, but alcohol has never made Sirius do something he didn’t want to do. He always does what he wants.

“It’s not the booze. I’m just a natural fuck-up, that’s all,” Sirius jokes sadly, trying to lean back onto the pillow, but James grabs his shirt and pulls him into a kiss.

It’s fast, strange, messy. James can’t kiss. He didn’t even seem to fully open his mouth, and Sirius feels like laughing — either from the fact that James didn’t reject him — once again — or from how much of a virgin James is.

Sirius doesn’t have time to process anything, he just grabs James’s head, yanking his glasses off, and forces James to open his lips and teeth so he can kiss him properly. Sirius can’t hold back, and James isn’t resisting, and it all feels so right, like Sirius has finally come home after a long journey, like he’s reunited with his missing piece, the one without which he felt incomplete.

In this kiss, which James clumsily but willingly returns, unsure of where to put his hands, Sirius feels the whole universe shrinking in around them, the answers to all the questions about life and why they’re here. This kiss, for a fleeting moment, takes away all the pain and sense of not being enough that Sirius feels, declaring with its very existence that stars and suns can be together, even if it’s only for a brief, pre-dawn moment.

…

:3

[boolger]

The werewolves of Stonemill ☆2☆ COD

[Chapter 1] ☆ [chapter 2]

MDNI ☆ MDNI☆ MDNI ☆ MDNI ☆ MDNI☆ MDNI ☆ MDNI

(These first two chapters aren't too dark, so they will be posted here. The rest of the fic will only be updated on A03)((unless I decide something else))

☆ Fem!reader x Poly!TF141☆ explicit ☆ wip ☆ 2/12 ☆ 2.7k words.

☆summary: You had been living your best life in Stonemill for a little over half a decade by now. A lone shewolf living in the town and working at the local bar, surrounded by a lush nature to roam through at night, a perfect piece of Paradise in Montana. A place you DO'NT want to share with any other werewolves. So, when a group of men turns up, buying a big house and stinking of alpha werewolves, you're territory is threatened - and these men doesn't seem to get it into their thick heads, that they need to leave. In fact, the assholes become rather interested in you, trying to get you to join their pack. You just want them to leave, one way or another - but it seems like they won't take no for an answer.

☆tags: Dead dove don't eat, werewolves, mention of graphic violence, dark!141, poly!141, afab!reader, omegaverse, dub-con, non-con, werewolf AU, foursomes, fivesomes, heat, scenting, hunting, killing animals, chubby reader, forced bonding, kidnapping, non-con touching, non-con drug use.

(These first two chapters aren't too dark, so they will be posted here. The rest of the fic will only be updated on A03)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“Fae!” 

Luna barely made it inside the bar before she was yelling your name, making you jump at the sight of your friend, almost spilling the beer, worried for just a second - until you saw her grin. Oh, that kind of grin meant she had news, or well, gossip to be more exact.

You finished filling up the glass for one of the regulars, smiling at the older gentleman who went back to watch some sort of sport show at the small television in the corner with the others. 

“Faefaefae-” Luna didn’t even stop, almost crawling over the desk, as you gave her shoulder a gentle tap.

“Calm down,” you said, before turning around and getting her a bottle of sparkling water as you knew she preferred, “tell me then, what is so important that you’re screaming my name?”

Technically it was just your nickname, but those tended to stick in this town. Not that you minded. First halloween in Stonemill, where you dressed up as a fairy and your fate was sealed. 

“Somebody bought the Johnson family house,” her voice was in a dramatic whisper, eyes wide, “full price even.”

That did make you pause and blink. The Johnson family house was at the edge of the town and had, in fact, been owned by said family for generations - until the last one, who ended up being the only family member left, elderly and without kids of her own. Miss Johnson had tried selling the house for years, but Stonemill wasn’t well known, nor was a lot of people interested in buying a giant house that needed well, a lot of love. In the time you had lived there, Miss Johnson had lowered the price three times.

“Full original price?”

Luna nodded, like an excited pup.

“- And Miss Johnson?”

“Over the moon! She got enough money to get that lil two bedroom apartment near the Franks and Hales, and there won’t be any stairs there and enough space for her to use her walker too.”

You felt yourself smile. You weren’t close with Miss Johnson in any way, but it was hard not to know each other at least vaguely in a town like this. She was a big part of the elderly community but after falling about a decade ago, she had struggled with chairs - moving closer to the other elders would be good for her. 

“That’s good, bless her heart,” you answered, “I’m really happy - do you know who bought it?”

“Yes! well, no I don't but–”

“- but you heard gossip?”

“Excuse you,” Luna touched her chest with a mocking, horrified expression, her red curls almost bouncing “I am a good christian woman, I never gossip.” You rolled your eyes as you picked up a glass, beginning to clean it.

“Tell me then, oh great Christian woman, what didn’t you hear then?”

“Well, Miss Johnson said that it was a lot of handsome strange men,” the words made you frown but Luna merely waved her hand at you, “yeah, I was confused too, but I talked to the couple that lives nearby and the guy said that it’s a group of four men, all veterans, apparently used to be a squad.”

“That doesn’t make them weird–”

“They’re British, Fae.”

“... Ah. I see Miss Johnson’s point.”

“Anyways - neighbor said he is pretty sure some of them is gay, but his wife said it probably wasn’t all of them and that we shouldn’t judge, but that they all seemed very polite and nice, but that they probably wanted to come here to retire, ya’ know?”

“Luna,” you took a deep breath, having to stop yourself from pinching the bridge of your nose, “how do you even know all of this?”

“Mailman - and the butcher.”

“Hah. Of course.” you wanted to roll your eyes at the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

“BUT! you know what this means, Fae?” She almost lit up again and you raised an eyebrow, putting the glass away. 

“That we’re officially 154 town folks now?”

“Yes! SO! New people to date!” Luna sounded incredibly proud of herself.

“I - Luna you’re a lesbian,” you pointed out, your friend just rolling her eyes, grin not faltering for a moment, “It’s not for me, you idiot! For you!”

You wanted to deny that the thought didn’t catch your interest. Your cheeks felt warm and though you let out a huff, trying to not seem bothered, both you and Luna knew it was a lie. One of the regulars, further down the bar giggled at the two of you and you sent him a stern look.

Why did they care about your dating life? It bothered you. 

Looking back at Luna, her head resting in her hands, freckles standing in a stark contrast to her sunburnt skin, her green eyes shining in the unnatural light of the bar.

“No.”

“Ya’ haven’t even seen ‘em!” Arguing with Luna, on a night like this, where she was full of energy, had been out in her garden half the day without enough sunscreen, was almost impossible; after several years of knowing her, you knew that. Yet, here you were.

“Neither have you, dipshit.” A part of you wished that there would appear more thirsty bar goers, just so you wouldn’t have to defend your singleness. Finding a partner that wasn’t a wolf and wouldn’t ask too many questions was tough to say the least. At the same time, finding a partner who was a wolf, meant letting another wolf, a stranger, into your territory. The urge to gag overwhelmed you for a moment.

“But-”

“No - now, do ya’ wanna talk about something other than planning my dating life?”

The ginger pouted.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Hours passed, you returned home from your shift at the bar, taking the usual walk home, smelling slightly of beer and cigarettes as always. It was like a rhythm that had settled in your body after living here half a decade.

Cars passed, lights illuminating your body for mere seconds, a person or two greeting you as you passed them, wishing you a good night. Stonemill was considered a rather safe place. There was the occasional bar brawl, but they were often nice enough to take it outside and figure it out on their own. 

Whenever you walked home on nights like these, bathed in the last colors of the sunset, you liked to imagine you were in a music video, like the ones you grew up watching repeatedly on youtube.

The thoughts of the newcomers had drowned in your mind, by another local drama, then by a heartbroken lady who came in not too long after Luna had annoyed you about being single.

No, you just enjoyed the air, much nicer than the big city air you had grown up with. 

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

It was two days later when you stepped out of your door, to go get groceries, that the scent in the air made you physically gag - gripping the door frame, to stop yourself from falling over. 

Wolves.

There were fucking wolves in the area. Strangers, in your fucking territory. 

How dare they?? For a non-human, it was clear that this area was yours - you made sure of that, making sure it stank of your scent. You rubbed your muzzle against house corners, against trees, hell you pissed several places on the regular, too. 

You had to close your eyes, breathing through your mouth for a couple of seconds, building up your courage to take another sniff. You needed to know who the hell this was, how many, whether they were alphas, betas or omegas like you.

You took a deep breath, this time with your nose, wrinkling it at the scent. It stank of alphas, definitely more than one, if you had to guess by the mixed scents.

Right. You wetted your teeth with your tongue, the urge to let your wolf form free overwhelming for a second. To find the intruders, as quickly as possible, attack them, show them that this place wasn't open for them. Groceries afterwards.

Hopefully it was just a pack passing by, though they had definitely been in the area for a couple of hours, if the potent scent was anything to go by.

Following your nose wasn’t quite like following the maps app on your phone. It forced you to use an instinct you mostly used when hunting. It was like the world  around you didn't matter, though you tried not to look too weird as you sniffed your way towards the unknown goal. Smiling and greeting as familiar faces passed you, either on foot or in their cars.

The house at the edge of the town was a dull green color, worn by the weather by the years, begging to be fixed - but it needed more than just a new paint job for the house to look nice again. It was a fixer upper, as Luna had described it once. With the stream nearby and the forest curling into the backyard, it was a big and beautiful house, where a big family could live. Usually you wouldn’t even be hesitant to get close, because Miss Johnson would always be sitting in the window, watching the street - waving at you with her boney fingers and big grin, her little poodle always next to her.

No more.

The scent was overwhelming, even as you stood around 20 metres away. A big truck was in the driveway, getting unloaded by several big men. They were chatting among themselves and you didn’t need to be a genius, to know that these men were the ones mentioned by Luna. British veterans. 

Hiding behind a tree wasn't your proudest moment, but you needed to be able to look at them in peace, just for a bit.

Tall, all four of them, clearly strong as they easily carried the bigger furniture pieces and moving boxes. Some of the neighbors were helping, chatting. One of the loudest of them wasn’t even British, if the Scottish accent was anything to go by as he chattered away. He wore a knee-brace, blue shorts and black t-shirt, hair in a fucking mohawk. A big grin as he argued to another one of them that it was his knee, not his arms that were broken, as he took another box.

The one who looked worried - or well, his upper half of his face looked worried - was wearing a black facemask, short clipped dark blonde hair, scars littered all over his body and face. A pair of pants and long sleeve shirt, despite the warmth. You couldn’t hear what he said exactly, drowned out by all the other voices and noise from their moving.

A black man appeared, wearing a cap with the british flag - and the prettiest face you had seen for a long time. Smiling politely as their neighbor asked about something, wearing a gray t-shirt that was a tad too tight on his arms and a pair of long shorts. You already knew all the housewives and older ladies were going to try to marry off their daughters to him.

Then, finally, the last stranger appeared. 

He wore a boonie hat of all things, t-shirt too but an open flannel over it that was folded up to his elbows, exposing his tattooed arms. He was big too, but looked much older - mostly due to the beard that looked like it had stepped out from a history book.

The wind had been hitting your face, letting their scents come to your hiding spot. Alpha. All fucking alpha, potent with their wolf scent, which meant they had probably changed yesterday. 

The urge to create a scene, to snarl at them, humans be damned and get them off your territory was overwhelming.

At once, the wind changed. Before you realized, it was too late, the wind curling along your short hair.

The man with the beard was the first one to quickly turn his head, your gazes instantly meeting as he sniffed the air. Fuck. As if on cue, the three others froze, their faces instantly turning towards you too, but you were stuck in some sort of staring contest with the first man.

The moment he grinned, like he knew something you didn’t, you slipped away into the slim alleyways of the two houses near you, escaping to the back of the enclosed gardens, away from the gazes of the four alpha wolves. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to fight you did - but it wasn’t the right time.

You barely remembered what you bought in the grocery store - bringing home the oddest mixture of things that you didn’t care about either. You barely ate, just sat around your house… waiting.

Watching the sun going lower and lower on its travel across the sky.

It was dark when your wolf had you get up, howling and snarling in your mind, begging you to let her come out, so that you could go to the house and scare the alphas off.

But you didn’t. Reason with them, you told yourself, try communicating before going directly to violence… Besides, the more logical part of you feared not winning the fight. Your wolf didn’t particularly like the idea of communicating.

Pulling on your boots, your thick jacket since it was cold and you weren’t - hopefully - going to shift, you needed to keep your warmth. A dark knitted beanie pulled down to your ears, a scarf and you were off. You didn’t look scary, you knew that. You were smaller than them, chubby and had short hair, but according to Luna, a mean stare. Your wolf form was more dangerous with her teeth, but alas.

You didn’t go through the town this time, foregoing the usual streets, in the hopes of not catching unwanted attention. Instead you crossed through the forest, the trip a little longer, but the scents familiar and shadows easier to hide in.

The closer you got to the Johnson Family house, that wasn’t the Johnson Family house anymore, the more their scent began to return, making you wrinkle your nose - and this time a small growl left you.

Minutes passed as you calmly walked in between the trees, knowing the place like the back of your hand. Maybe you ran your bare fingers along a couple of trees, to leave a little more scent behind, who knew.

It took a little while, time almost slowing down the closer you got. As you got closer, you began to mind your sounds, trying to be as quiet as possible. It was easier in your wolf form, but you made due, making it to the stream in their backyard - you didn’t cross it, keeping it between you, since it would give you a good head start, in case it was needed.

You stood there for a moment, watching the usual dark windows, lit up, picking up the vague sound of laughter and moving. For a moment, just a short moment, you imagined what it would be like to have your own pack. To have somebody to rely on, someone to spend your life with, to run free with, letting your wolves free and enjoying nature. The next moment, you wanted to hit yourself for even thinking about it.

You let out a little howl, giving away your position, letting them know you were near. Everything stopped within the house. Only because of your non-human genes, you were able to hear rough talking, though you couldn’t pick out the words. You waited. A few moments later, the backdoor opened and you braced yourself, ready to turn and run for your life in case it was wolves that barged out.

Instead it was the man with the beard, hat forgotten in the house, bare feet and a hurriedly put on leather jacket. His eyes ran over the garden, before it landed on you.

The stench from the house of male alphas hit you like a brick wall, but you stood quietly, waiting, even as the anger grew inside of you with every second that passed.

The man turned towards you, having the audacity to grin at you as he stepped down from the wooden back porch, down towards the stream.

God you wanted to rip his throat out.

[prev]

[mochinomnoms]

Future WIPs and their synopsis:

“Rewrite the universe (and spit in the face of god)”—Ace x Reader

themes/tags: yandere, angst, doomed by the narrative, time loop, Madoka Magica au

Everything is dark when you first opened your eyes in the coffin. It all seems familiar: the small direbeast with fire in his ears, the squawking headmage who's flakier than the dandruff of someone's head, and the ginger-haired boy with a heart over his left eye. The ginger-haired boy who speaks to you like he knows you. The ginger-haired boy who seems to hover over you no matter where you go and who you're with. The ginger-haired boy, with a teasing smirk, a gleam in his eyes as he looks at you like you're a ghost. He looks at you like he's done this all before. Like he would do it again and again, every time he helps you get out of trouble. You think if he could, he'd drag God down from the spigot in which they drink their divinity and present it to you in a golden chalice. If just to do what he wants. He acts like he already has.

“Remedies, Poisons, and Other Uses for Medical Herbs: An Apothecary's Guide”—Kalim x Reader

themes/tags: humor, suggestive/lewd humor, potentially smut, episodic storytelling, friends-to-lovers, consorts/courtesans, inspired by the Apothecary Diaries

He only wanted to give you the taste tester position because you needed someone to employ you for your senior internship. Just until a position opened up in his family estate's apothecary! He should've known that you'd eventually be made to do your job, no matter what he said to his parents. Kalim stared at you from the corner of his eye, though based on Jamil's raised eyebrow, he wasn't being as slick as he thought he was. But can you blame him?! You had such a blissful, almost orgasmic look on your face! Was the soup really that good? Licking the broth from your lips, and placing the spoon back in the bowl, you cleared your throat. Drawing the attention of the other taste testers and the nobles at the table, you brought your napkin to your lips. You smiled, something sweet and soft, it made Kalim's heart thump against his chest, as you announced: “This soup, has been poisoned.”

“Two's Company, three's a Crowd, and six is a riot”—Overblot boys x Reader

themes/tags: humor, time travel, fluff, mild angst, happy ending

Malleus and the others were never really sure what to expect from you. After your involvement of the last six overblots (the last, everyone hoped), they all hoped that you wouldn't get into any more trouble. Wishful thinking, on their parts. But honestly, how else were they supposed to react to the 6 different versions of you from the future?! All of them claiming they were married to one of them in their future?! Is it a delightful surprise? Yes, though most of them won't admit it. But now they must discuss, which timeline are they currently in, and who gets to stake their claim in your heart? Perhaps it's time to take advantage and learn from their respective “Yous” how it is they managed to woo you and put that potentiality into reality. Now if only they could find you, current, time-period you, and put some new learned skills into practice… Or: A freak magic accident replaces you with six potential future versions of you that the overblot boys married. Now they learn a bit about, you, themselves, and their future, all while trying to bring you back to present-day (where ever you are).

[supersoakerfullofblood]

Why You Shouldn't Care About Theme (as a writer)

"Theme" is another word like "worldbuilding" and "plot hole" that writers put way too much stock into without clear definition. It's often thought to be one of the most important things in your story, one of the defining traits of creative writing, but it can be hard to pin down, and some pervasive definitions are actively harmful to the writing process. Let's talk about that.

A common misconception about theme is that it's the story's "message." Under this definition, a theme of The Great Gatsby would be that generation wealth is a hollow substitute for genuine human enrichment, love, etc. A theme of Hamlet would be to not kill yourself. But this idea of a book's message misses the point of why we read at all. Reading is a relationship between the author and the reader; to interpret text, the author puts their experiences in writing, and you bring your experiences to its reading. In other words, you as the reader create meaning from a story. You give the story its messages. The author's only purpose is to transcribe their worldview and experiences, and the best authors can sway the empathy of the reader towards those experiences. Anything greater than this, any book that moralizes, preaches, dictates, is gaudy, emotional propaganda. Imagine a novel where throughout the book, the author is telling you about the toxic environmental effects of unwalkable cities. While true, narrative fiction is a realm of characters and story, not essays. Readers pull meaning from a novel because they think and feel about a character's struggle and relate it to their own. So a message about The Great Gatsby is that generation wealth is hollow because we as readers live in an age of unprecedented wealth disparity; a message about Hamlet is to not kill yourself because we as readers have felt pretty down in the dumps sometimes and have maybe thought about suicide. But our experiences could be different: if we're generationally wealthy, we might read Gatsby as a celebration; if we have an awful stepfather, we might read Hamlet first as a story of revenge than of introspection. Strong authors make you sympathize with the experiences they've gone through--Fitzgerald himself was a wealthy, popular man and saw firsthand the effects of wealth, and Shakespeare probably felt rough around the emotional edges at times--but ultimately, deciding a text's "messages" is up to the reader.

So if we can't control the messages of our writing, what is theme? I like to think of it as "whatever a text is about," and that about word carries some ambiguity. Is Gatsby about money? Yes, but there's more to that. You can think right now about a plot element your WIP is about, but as authors, we want to find that greater depth. That's what we call theme.

Common writing advice tells you to plot out your theme, that greater depth, before drafting the novel. Figure out that Gatsby is a story about generational wealth being a hollow substitute for romance before anything else. But when you think about it, this is crazy advice. Themes like this can only come from our characters and how they interact with the world, and how our characters act is always going to stray in some way away from our plans for them. Writing that deeper theme, then, is impossible to plan (unless you're the most extreme plotter and have found success like that, then keep doing what you're doing. But you reading this almost certainly are not in that camp, let's be honest). So how do we get there?

Before you start drafting, think about the surface-level "abouts." Don't go deep yet. Just think about what's pressing on your mind. If you want to take a very slight moralistic bent here, do so, but be sure not to go into specifics (that's for the characters to do). For my first novel, I wanted to write about friendship responsibilities, family responsibilities, and friendship; for my second novel, church camp, romance, and evangelical culture; for my current novel, the role of story in culture, honor, familial trauma, and cultural perceptions of gender. Some of these took on moral detail--evangelical culture is bad--but most didn't. As you're writing, your characters will discover that deeper meaning. Again, your characters have to and will by nature of being part of the narrative. Your readers interact with the story, not with you.

In my first novel, I came to the thematic conclusion that too many responsibilities degrade individual identity, but too few leave someone empty; in the second novel, I concluded that evangelical culture places restrictive boxes on what romance looks like, and on how to interact with and resolve traumatic events. But I didn't come up with these--my characters did, and I learned from them in the exact same way any reader would. Similarly, a reader might interact with my characters and come to completely different conclusions. This is normal, okay, and encouraged.

You may also find other themes popping up as you write. In my second novel, popularity and social capital became a huge cog in the machine. Let these fresh themes surprise you, and run with them.

Ultimately, you can't control what your readers take away from your story. Your goal as a writer is to create characters so rich and deep and intimate (not in the romantic sense, unless you're into that) that the reader can bring their experiences to the text and find meaning. We cannot worry about this before starting a writing project, because we can't control it, and thinking too much about it will muddy the waters of what actually matters, what we can affect. And when you start to sense those deeper meanings emerging in your story, run with them, flesh them out, and embody them in the struggles of characters.