#why work on my wip when i can come here and yap

[box-of-paperclips]

you literally summoned me back from my hiatus with frog choir reg and barty. i need a four page long essay on their friendship immediately

(also!! hi!! i miss you!!)

HAHAHA WELCOME BACK, I WILL DELIVER, I have MANY thoughts about these two because my current WIP is Barty centric, so I’ve got… a LOT more where this came from. And yes, this was unironically 4 pages… (i missed you too!! how was the break?)

Their whole friendship is based around the fact that they’re both variations of the “☝️🤓 um actually” kid and would annoy anyone else to death.

At first, Regulus is the more unhinged one. But by seventh year, Regulus is looking back at second year Barty like “what did i DO to you???” and the answer to that is introducing him to Bellatrix.

Barty's toad is named something really stupid, like Croaker. Croaker often sits on windowsills. He’s nearly been killed by owls several times.

Regulus named his toad after his favourite aunt (Lucretia), and he insists Lucretia the toad is part of the family. Walburga finds this amusing, although she refuses to put the toad on the family tree, no matter how many times Regulus asks. Sirius threatens Lucretia's life on a weekly basis (He’s joking. Probably).

Regulus has no friends. He tells people that he doesn’t ‘make friends,’ he does networking. In reality, the pureblood kids think he’s full of himself (he is) and he doesn’t have any other friends because he refuses to associate with anyone who can’t trace their family tree back at least three generations of wizards. 

Barty is in Ravenclaw. He's family friends with the Rosier twins, who are in sixth year, so he just follows Pandora and her friends around like a lost puppy all year instead of actually speaking to people in his year group. She doesn’t mind. Pandora's friends are Alice and Emmeline. Alice is in the frog choir!!

Evan is a different story. There was visible relief on Evan’s face when Barty went to Ravenclaw and not in Slytherin. 

Regulus joins the frog choir in first year, Barty doesn’t join until second year, when Alice drags him along because Pandora thinks he needs to make friends in his own year group, no matter how much Barty insists that they’re all idiots.

Barty can sing. Regulus thinks he can sing. 

They definitely went through a phase in second year where they tried to breed their toads for months. It did not work. 

Barty is Flitwick’s favourite choir member because he’s in Ravenclaw and he’s good at charms. Regulus is fuming, because Regulus isn’t even Slughorn’s favourite student.

Regulus has a stupid amount of photographs of them in Frog Choir, because Walburga is the kind of mother who takes hundreds of pictures every time she sees them, so that she can mail them off to every relative and brag about how many extracurriculars her son does. Barty likes Walburga. 

Regulus likes Quidditch and is just as much of a stuck-up intellectual as Barty, so they get along. Barty probably showed up to choir, saw Regulus pull out a sixth-year transfiguration textbook, and decided that was that, he’s just found his new best friend. 

Regulus is honestly just glad that someone finally wants to be around him, because he’s been very lonely (he would rather die than tell anyone this). They’re immediately friends. They follow each other around, they eat all their meals together, they sneak each other into their common rooms, they’re at each other's houses all the time during the holidays. 

If you see them in the library, there’s a 90% chance that Barty is locked in, and a 70% chance that Regulus is working on his ongoing fanfiction, where everyone who has ever annoyed him is put through terrible misfortunes until they finally emerge admitting that Regulus was right all along. “Cissy and the Feral Peacock,” a riveting tale of violent birds and ruined engagements, written after Narcissa told Walburga that Regulus was stealing her expensive peacock quills. “Professor McGonagall and the Fury of Alecto Carrow,” a gripping murder-mystery written after McGonagall docked him ten points for talking in class (Alecto Carrow laughed - the final scene is her reluctantly admitting that Regulus is better at Transfiguration as she’s being dragged screaming out of the Great Hall to a life sentence in Azkaban).

Regulus does dramatic readings of these when he finishes them. Barty is sitting there, eyes glued to the page, popcorn in hand. Their other pastimes include hating on all of their classmates, talking about Quidditch, and studying magical theory, including some… less pleasant magic. 

In the summer holidays immediately after second year, Barty’s toad dies very suddenly, which is devastating for him. I like the idea of them having a poorly planned little burial in Barty’s garden (shameless plug for my own fic here… https://archiveofourown.org/works/66188731) 

Flitwick lets him stay in the choir anyway, but Barty either gets a new toad, or the wonkiest, most scraggly, most broken, bony little owl to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts. It looks ill. Regulus thinks it looks like a heap of scrap metal disguised as a bird. Or potentially a burnt marshmallow. 

Regulus is very organised, very perfectionist. He’s got a really bad resting face because he’s perpetually annoyed at everyone by default, but his thoughts are practically written across his face. Barty is also perfectionist, but he’s generally louder, more emotional, more impulsive. There is absolutely no way to tell what’s going on inside his head from his face.

Regulus would prefer alphabetical order, Barty would prefer the Dewey Decimal System. Regulus’ methods of organising stuff are rigid and immediately clear to everyone, Barty’s methods are less definite and they make sense to him, but without knowing how his brain works, good luck finding anything. 

Regulus holds the biggest grudges, but he doesn’t do anything about them, he just fumes. Someone will give Regulus a weird look in the corridor and he’ll spend the next three hours telling Barty every detail of their parents’ messy divorce, but if they asked to borrow a quill an hour after that, he’d shove one across the table just to be polite. Barty, on the other hand… if he forms a grudge, he’ll be taking vengeance rapidly.

They both take Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Barty takes every elective because one, he likes learning, two, his father is actually impressed by school results (he would never admit this). Third year isn’t fun for Barty, because his mother is on the brink of death because someone tried to poison his father and got her by mistake. This cements his hatred of his father. There’s a lot of anger going on there, which Voldemort is going to capitalise on!

A teacher will ask a question in class and they’ll practically be clawing each others’ eyes out trying to get their hand in the air first. 

Barty is beefing with the puffskeins in Care of Magical Creatures (they keep attaching themselves to his head). Regulus says it’s his fault for picking such a useless subject, but he does quietly lodge a formal complaint to the school board (he would be SUCH a “I want to speak to the manager” Karen).

Barty supports Ravenclaw over Slytherin in Quidditch. Regulus pretends to be mad about this, and will fake more dramatic injuries than usual. A Ravenclaw player brushes the air next to his shoulder? Regulus is falling to the ground clutching his arm, pale in the face, sweaty, screaming, rolling around in extremely real pain. Do not hit a Bludger anywhere near him, you’ll regret giving him actual material to work with. Very occasionally, it helps to get them penalties. Barty finds this hilarious only if Regulus is not playing Ravenclaw.

Regulus is a pureblood fanatic. This transfers onto Barty eventually - Regulus is in the camp of “all purebloods are superior to all muggle-borns, all muggles are stupid and wizards are overall superior.” 

I don’t think Barty would be all that attracted to that part of it, but I do think he’d be VERY into “the Ministry are cowards for restricting Dark Magic, muggles shouldn’t have the world revolve around them when we have this much power,” which combines with the respect and power he can get with the Death Eaters, Voldemort as a person, and the aspect of rebelling against his father’s beliefs to make him more of a fanatic than Regulus by the time they hit sixth/seventh year. 

I think whereas Regulus would’ve joined up and gotten the dark mark basically right away because of his relationship with Bellatrix, Barty has to work for it a little more. Barty’s probably just running errands for the Death Eaters at first. I imagine the Lestranges run some sort of semi-legal market on Dark Magic and Dark artefacts in their basement, and he spends a lot of time around this in the holidays of sixth and seventh year. 

Once, he’s running errands with Evan, Aurors show up, and Barty lies his head off and gets them off without any trouble. After years of treating him like he’s just a snotty child he’s being forced to watch, Evan finally starts treating Barty with respect. Pandora has, by this point, gotten married and quietly eased her way out of pureblood society, so Barty’s entire social circle is just Death Eaters. I also like the idea that Bellatrix immediately treats him like another younger cousin. Combined with Voldemort paying him personal attention, there’s no way Barty is leaving this. 

This definitely starts driving a wedge between them, because Barty is getting more and more obsessed with Death Eater stuff. While Regulus is obsessed with it at first, by the time Bellatrix starts teaching them the Unforgivables and making them practice on live animals, he’s getting a bit squeamish, and he kind of wants it all to stop. Barty is having none of it. He loves dark magic, he loves Voldemort, he’s going all in. 

Barty is supposed to be trying to help the Death Eaters get access to his father so that they can put him under the Imperius. This is not going very well. When Voldemort asks for a house elf, both Barty and Regulus see the opportunity to get into Voldemort’s good graces.

Regulus volunteers first. Barty is ENRAGED because Regulus isn’t in any trouble with Voldemort, he’s completely average, and in Barty’s eyes, he’s just wasted Barty’s chance to buy himself more time. They have their first really massive, serious argument. Everything shifts after that. Barty gets much closer to Evan and Bellatrix, and more distant from Regulus.

Barty betrays Dorcas’ location to the Death Eaters. Voldemort brutally kills her in the street. It’s violent. Regulus feels sick afterwards. He’s still got pureblood ideals, but he doesn’t like that Voldemort is willing to kill so many important, powerful witches and wizards to achieve those goals, and is beginning to think that maybe the Death Eaters just enjoy violence for the sake of violence. He feels like he doesn’t even know who Barty is anymore. 

Dorcas’ death effectively locks Barty into staying with the Death Eaters. He gets the Dark Mark for his contributions to murdering Dorcas. He starts to view Dorcas as a coward who wouldn’t use the influence she had to push against the Ministry, who was “too scared” to make a world where wizards are literally just ruling over muggles, in complete control, complete power, and therefore, she deserved to die.

Regulus finds out what’s been going on with the cave when Kreacher comes back to him. Voldemort has been bragging a lot about immortality to his inner circle, and this just proves that he’s actually gone and made a Horcrux. To Regulus, this is proof that Voldemort’s main aim is ruling as a tyrant forever, not the pureblood ideals that Regulus cared about. Also, the mistreatment of Kreacher, and leaving him for dead, is making him angry. He’s conflicted over what to do with this information, and he’s not even sure he believes in the pureblood cause all that much anymore. He does try to confront Barty with this information, but it backfires terribly and only makes Barty more intense about the Death Eaters. This is Regulus’ final attempt to get Barty out.

Regulus goes off to the cave and dies. It’s probably the first time he’s actually done something with any of his anger, instead of just stewing in it. Outwardly, Barty pretends not to care, because they’re all told that Regulus defected, betrayed the Death Eaters and died in the process. He tries to tell himself that he hates Regulus for being disloyal, that Regulus is a coward who was too squeamish to do what needed to be done. Inwardly, he blames himself for it. But if he buries the guilt, he can control the situation. “Voldemort sees what I’m truly capable of, Voldemort thinks I can do great things.” Any attention is good attention, so he does worse and worse stuff. He eventually starts believing Voldemort actually cares about him (delusional…)

Without Regulus, Barty continues to spiral further down the Death Eater life. 

And on that cheerful note, you’ve reached the end of this post, congratulations!!! if you read all of this, go drink some water (like regulus in the cave)

[immarble]

If the 141 aren’t in the military, shooting people to death for the greater good, what would their other jobs be?

Hi again! Back at it again at Krispy Kreme with me rambling about more head canons! This time it’s what their other jobs may be if the 141 aren’t shooting people and y’know, all that military jazz. Not gonna lie, this may be somewhat important for my fic that I’m creating, so I thought why not kill two birds with one stone? Not only for me to give these characters an actual life along with their personalities (especially Soap and Gaz, as they’re the main characters of my WIP which I won’t disclose, it’s a spoiler lol), but also for you to enjoy and maybe, just maybe might be similar with my own interpretation (however if you have any different kinds of head canons of the characters mentioned then by all means, please comment on what their jobs would be! It’ll be interesting to know everyone’s ideas, and I love to hear from you gremlins!)

Anyways, let’s get started! Once again, from my previous head canon ramble I’ll be using the five (Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap and Roach), but like my previous post you can ask me on different characters that I can do and I'd be happy to yap, (same goes with the previous post!)

Price: Captain… Of the football team!

(Fooled ya.)

So when I was making this I was like, “Y'know, I could make Peepaw Price become a captain again," So why not make him a star football player? I saw a fanart of Price competing in football (I wish I tell y'all who the artist was so I can praise their work and give ‘em all the kudos LMAO), but I thought it was fitting for him y'know? Like just imagine him grabbing wins and trophies because his team (can be any, whether it'd be the 141 or different characters) are the best of the best.

Ghost: Detective..?

Honestly? He gives either L.A. Noire or Sherlock Holmes vibes, take your pick. Anyways, I think Simon would be a pretty well known detective, who leaves no stone unturned and his methods are… Mysterious, to say the least. Rumors say that he may be a serial killer, like the infamous Dexter, but nobody could know if he's part of it or not. (And besides, you shouldn't question The Ghost… Lest you don't want to be the headline of a news article.)

Gaz: Model

Gucci, Prada, YSL, Abercrombie and Fitch. Whatever the brand is, if there's a new clothing article coming out then Kyle's your model. He makes rather mundane pieces and jewelry work like a charm, as people flock to the socials for that new accessory or shirt (hell, even a fucking DRESS), as YouTube videos and Tiktoks always chant his name like he's Jesus Christ of the modelling industry. He knows it, and he fucking loves it. Ooh and don't remind me about the red carpets and the award shows, if you see him then you just know he's rocking out in brands that could pay off your mortgage, in beautiful dresses or crisp suits. Hell, you may even spot him mingling with the stars, (have you seen him chatting it up with Price during the Oscars? Vogue did a news article just last week.)

Soap: Bartender

Now before you ask, I don't think he'd work in some dive pub in some bumfuck, no where. No, I'd think he would work in a pretty well-known spot in England (forgot to mention, but all of them work in the UK), whether it'd be Piccadilly Circus or Manchester, he's there workin’ his charm and giving great service. Now he probably wouldn't in a busy nightclub, just somewhere nice enough where there's enough customers to keep it buzzing as his Scottish brogue works on the regulars and the newcomers who's here for good times and great drinks. (And hell, maybe one day he can make it big, either in comedy or an actor… But for now, there's patrons to serve and tips to be earned.)

(artist by the amazing arizona.mint.tea, SEND THEM LOVE RAHHH!!!) ((sorry if y'all are expecting a roach gif, with the rainbows and shit. i couldn't stand it 💀))

Roach: Sign Language Interpreter

Hah, you'd think Gary, someone who cannot speak, would NOT work in BSL? Think again. A simple job really, all he has to do is sign either a news segment, a show or heck, if he's lucky, at the Superbowl. And besides, if he's lucky he could be the next Justina Miles. (If you don't know her, she was the sign language interpreter from the Rihanna Superbowl concert.) Oh, and if he's really lucky, he's been looking for dance groups and he may or may not have a spot for a pretty well-known play happening next month...

And that's pretty much it! It's a bit quicker than my previous post, but honestly I think I want something short and sweet, so I hope you like it in this way. Once again I hope you enjoy my interpretations, and please comment on whatever you like or if you have any headcanons of these boys and I'll catch y'all later! (Gonna go rot in my bedroom rn, squealing at new edits, fanart and fanfiction…)

[quilloleander]

Call of the Deep

At his Amica's insistence, D-16 agrees to go along with Orion Pax to visit Tronus Lake - a well-protected lake by the Senate whose visiting access is difficult to acquire - for his archival research paper. What was meant to be a normal trip turns sinister as a singing voice haunts Dee during the lunar cycle, with Pax seemingly oblivious to the melody. As the song begins to reach its climax, our intrepid heroes may come out of this with one lesson that ought to be learned… Sometimes, it is better to leave the unknown alone. For those who slumber should be allowed their eternal repose.

Allo, so this is technically the same concept as the one from "Beneath the Surface" but it's essentially an AU where Pax is not an eldritch child and is just a normal archivist mech. Another major difference about this one is that while Dee still suffers from not being able to transform and his pedes still hurt a lot, he's much more capable of actually handling himself in comparison to "Beneath the Surface" Dee. This Dee kinda just learned to live with his disability, even though it still hurts a lot. Pax's goal is to essentially find a way to help Dee out and that's why he decided to drag them both to Tronus Lake.

Don't worry, after this I will be focusing on the High Guard + Sparkling Megatron One-Shot Request Book. I decided to write this one cause I missed my D-16 being Primatronus' sparkling AUs lmao and as a birthday gift to myself. Today was a good day (even though it's also my country's elections and surprise surprise my fellow countrymen continue to disappoint me with their stupidity) so I'm channeling all my positive energy to writing. My friends threw me a surprise birthday party and it made me so happy. Despite how exhausting it was, I did have a good day.

But yeah anyway, that's enough of my yapping skskks. This fic will just be a one-shot, because I have too many WIPs at this point and this is just a fun birthday gift for me.

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65505160

================================================

As an offworld explorer, Dee had seen his fair share of wonderful views. From long stretches of icy plains, destructive volcanoes, and all the way to beautiful green fauna, Dee had learned to appreciate the beautiful sights of different planets. Yet even he had to admit that for all his travels, he did not dwell much on his homeland to truly recall any of the natural beauty that it had to offer to the universe. It was this reason why he didn’t put up much of a fuss when his Amica insisted they visit Tronus Lake for his archival research.

“Pax, I thought you said you had everything planned.” He let out an irritated vent, his digits pinching the bridge of his nose as he reset his optics. Out of sheer desperation, he glanced once more at the dilapidated boat that his Amica had rented for them to use. “What is this?”

“Oh, have some faith in me, Dee! I did have everything planned but when I mentioned we needed the boat for Tronus Lake, nobody would let me borrow their boat except for some crazy old mech I found on the holonet.” Pax grinned, “It won’t sink, trust me!”

Dee rolled his yellow optics, unable to forget that the last time Pax had asked him to “trust him,” he had nearly broken one of his legs as his Amica wanted to test his transforming capabilities. Sweet as Pax could be, it was a miracle that Dee hadn’t gotten himself somehow stuck while trying to change into his non-existent alt form. Then again, this was why they were here by the shore of Tronus Lake - since Pax had this crazy idea that maybe, just maybe, submerging himself fully in energon may help the sharp pain that ached Dee’s pedes disappear.

“If it does, then I’ll kill you before either of us can drown.” He huffed, moving closer as Pax climbed onto the boat. Using his truck alt, Pax had carried the hunk of rusted metal over to the lake quite easily, with Dee sitting by the deck. It had been a nice drive out, watching as the bustling roads of Iacon gave way to organic trees that dotted the surface of Cybertron. Eventually, they had reached the border patrol surrounding the lake.

“Awww, then we wouldn’t be able to drown together.” Pax pouted, as if that was somehow more pleasant.

He tried not to roll his optics again as he reached a hand to pull Pax all the way further onto the boat. Dee’s servo came back wet, though he wasn’t surprised since Pax had to drive a few paces into the lake’s energon to get the boat onto it. Then he’d had to transform himself back to his bot form and wade through waist-deep energon to reach the untrustworthy ladder that hung over the side of the boat. Now, he watched as Pax headed inside to figure out the controls, and a few kliks later, the boat lurched forward.

“WOOO!” Pax’s shout echoed loudly over the thrum of the boat’s engine and propellers, enough so that his joy infected Dee enough to force a smile on his dermas. He remained standing on the deck, watching with wide optics at the view of the lake.

The sun was beginning to set, and from where they were, it was mostly covered by the large mountain that was in the middle of Tronus Lake. Even so, the sunrays seemed to seep past and coat the surface of the energon lake with their golden hue, granting him a wonderful view of today’s end.

“At least you picked a good spot to drown.” He leaned over one side of the boat, unable to see his reflection in the energon below. He heard Pax walk over to him, the boat slowing to a stop as the engine was turned off. They were in the middle of the lake now. He felt Pax’s frame press close to Dee’s. “I get that you’re an archivist, but is it really your job to write information about… Cybertronian myths?”

“Even if merformers are a myth, it doesn’t hurt to try. Hey, who knows, maybe my Amica would be the first recorded merformer transformer in history.” Pax laughed, nudging him slightly. “Indulge me, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“We drown or the Senate blacklists both of us.” Dee shook his helm, leaning closer to Pax as they watched the energon lap gently against the side of the boat. Even if this was all for some absurd theory and research data, at least Dee could enjoy himself a little bit before he had to leave Cybertron again for another expedition. “How did you even get permission?”

“Oh, you know, some connections. Pays to be one of the brightest young archivists Iacon has ever seen.” Pax grinned, his servos gripping the railing of the boat with careless abandon. “I helped out one of the senators, and through some convincing I said I was interested in doing some research here. Now, they were going to refuse me at first but I convinced them with my carefully constructed plan. Even had to show that I wouldn’t be going alone, so, sorry if I used your picture—”

“What?”

“Well, after they realized you’d be coming with me, they agreed to pull a few strings to let us go here. I think they just don’t want anyone drowning here so you being here actually helps me.” He considered his Amica’s words.

“Pax… I don’t know how to swim?”

“Yeah, that could be a problem.” Pax waved a servo, as if it was a trivial matter they can talk about later. Before Dee could push any further, his Amica was leading him towards one end of the boat, one that had a deck that jutted out into the energon.

“Good thing you can hold onto the edge while you submerge yourself.”

“This is the most ridiculous idea you've ever had.”

Dee got into the energon anyway.

—

Ripples had interrupted the stillness of the lake.

For cycles, he had remained hidden within the depths, the glow of the sun lost as he cloaked himself in the darkness of the deep.

Yet even in the isolation of shadows, there was the presence of his beloved and his darling sparkling, protected in the embrace of his domain.

For cycles, he had remained in his eternal slumber.

As they had agreed upon when Primus had casted them as blights of this planet.

Yet now his optics are open for the peace has been disrupted.

Up above, flashes of movement echoed through the energon lake.

No light seeped into the murky depths, for even as he began to rise, he knew the sun had fallen.

Only the moon and stars shall be his guide.

His frame creaked, the cycles of dormancy clinging to him like the organic plants that had grown over him, yet as his large tail swept through the bottom of the lake - he felt his power return as he slowly reached a servo towards that miniature figure that dared to wake him.

His blue optics adjusted quickly as he realized with barely constrained irritation what it was that intruded within his lake.

Even after cycles of carnage, it appeared that Cybertronians could not resist the temptation to know.

How many bots had lost their lives? How many bots must he drown for them to understand that this was his domain and he did not take kindly to trespassers?

Especially not with a sparkling nearby.

Among all the Primes, he thought himself the most forgiving.

Yet this…

This blatant disregard for his home, he will not allow it.

With practiced ease despite cycles of slumber, he began to circle the small boat that was close to his beloved’s mountain. His tail carefully bumped against the side of it, not enough to tear it into, but to jostle the occupants inside. Underneath the energon, he could not hear if there had been shrieks of terror, yet he cared not if there had been any. 

Their suffering would be swift, unlike the others, he did not enjoy playing with creatures beneath him. 

He swam a distance away, not intending to give the Cybertronians a glimpse. His blue optics broke through the lake’s surface, narrowing slightly at the sight of such a weak vessel.

It almost felt cruel to do this, when these Cybertronians were using such a pathetic ship, yet he cannot let such disrespect continue - not when they had come too close to his beloved and his darling sparkling.

From where he was, he could see by the edge of the ship, a solitary figure whose lower frame was carelessly kicking at the lake’s surface, sending soft splashes that were perhaps the cause of the ripples that must have awakened him.

He reached a servo towards his mask, lifting the metal until his intake was free.

Then, as he had done before the great repose, Megatronus Prime began to sing.

—

Dee felt like a sparkling again as he continued to kick his legs out, sending splatters of energon against the still lake, unembarrassed even if he was usually the more level-headed one between him and Pax. He had rolled his optics at first when he had first entered the lake, yet he couldn’t help but notice that the stinging pain in his pedes - a muted agony that he had long forced himself to live with - had entirely disappeared. Pax had been ecstatic when Dee had hesitantly admitted that he did feel a bit better, though it proved nothing about merformers.

Before he could let out another exasperated scoff, a soft melody invaded his audials. He looked over his shoulder, wondering if Pax had turned on a radio. His Amica had headed inside to write a few more observational data on his research, leaving Dee to spend a few joors alone by the edge of the lake. His sight began to blur slightly, the lullaby was soothing against his processor and he felt his frame sway as he tried to regain some semblance of consciousness. Yet the harder he fought, the worse the exhaustion seemed to seep deep into his cables.

He reached a servo, gripping at the metal deck of the ship as he nearly lurched forward. With his remaining energy, Dee forced himself to lean back, his helm practically smacking against the ground as the world spun above him - the stars turning into silver specks before he fell asleep.

—

Pax hummed a cheerful tune to himself, heading back onto the deck of the ship as he tried to think over the data he had just written for his research. He had scoured the entire archives about merformer mythology, and Pax was sure most of the strange symptoms Dee was exhibiting fell in line with the stories of merformers’ being unable to transform on land, as well as feeling pain in their pedes. Now, Dee feeling better in the lake didn’t really prove anything, but if Pax could just convince his Amica to try and transform again then he could…

He stopped, optics adjusting to the darkness of the lunar cycle as he realized with some fond amusement that Dee was curled up on the deck of the ship, his optics offlined as he vented softly in his recharge. He moved a little closer, unable to help himself as he looked down at his Amica. Dee had always been adorable when he was deep in recharge, and Pax felt honored that he was one of the few mechs that Dee trusted himself to be vulnerable around. He kneeled down, arms slipping underneath the silver mech’s frame with a loving gentleness.

“Let’s get you to a proper berth, okay Dee?” Carefully, he lifted his Amica in his arms, struggling a bit as the other was much bigger than he was. 

Pax then turned back inside the ship, not glancing once at the large ripples that were breaking through the lake’s surface.

—

He awoke to a cacophony of despair.

Without hesitation, his servos reached forward, ripping through metal as he clawed himself out of the mountain that had been his coffin.

After many cycles, Prima Prime had awakened once more, the screams of his beloved heralding his arrival.

The mountain gave way beneath him, and unlike the last time, it was the sky of the lunar cycle that greeted him - yet the splendor of the stars and the moon above held not his interest as his many optics scoured the land before finally settling on his beloved conjunx.

Prima tore himself away from the remains of the mountain, careful not to disrupt the small energon lake that it surrounded. He swiftly made his way by his beloved’s side, all optics focused on the only mech that mattered at the moment.

Megatronus, his siren with the most alluring voice that would ever grace this waste of a planet, had pulled himself away from the lake and onto the side of Prima’s mountain. Dull blue optics, a sight that disturbed him for his Megatronus’ gaze had been so brilliant, stared resolutely at the small energon lake. His servos had gripped the mountain, his own claws having torn into the metal in his attempt to move closer.

Prima unhinged the lower half of his face, a croon escaping him as he reached out to hold his beloved’s servo. 

As if comforted by his presence, Megatronus turned his gaze upon him. Though Prima had many optics, Megatronus knew to gaze at those that were hidden beneath the wing finials that covered the upper half of his face. Prima continued to croon, his voice deeper and less soft than that of his beloved’s but it was enough to ease the pain that had stabbed itself inside his poor Megatronus’ spark.

With slight hesitation, Prima turned half of his optics away to look at the small energon lake, the other half still focused on Megatronus. It did not take him long to understand what had caused his beloved such distress. 

Where their darling sparkling ought to be, there was nothing but an empty lake.

At that, a sudden rust storm formed over, blocking out the light from above as Prima’s many optics turned everywhere - reaching for the farthest corners of the planet and deep into the small Cybertronian settlements they called “cities.” He would not echo his beloved’s despair, for Prima could not contain his anger.

Who dared—

It was only the squeeze at his servo that calmed Prima down enough to turn a bit of his gaze back to his beloved. Megatronus’ mask was lifted upwards slightly, and in better circumstances Prima may have leaned down to savor the taste of his beloved after cycles of being apart.

Yet now was not the time.

His beloved’s blue optics had hardened and shifted to gaze behind Prima.

Slowly, the rust storm disappeared.

All thousands of his golden optics turned to the ship in the middle of the lake.

—

It was the guttural scream that tore through the silence that woke them from recharge. Pax had clung to Dee, horrified by what could have made such a terrible noise. He had nearly been frozen in shock but Dee had moved quickly, perhaps cycles of dealing with strange creatures in other planets had taught him to not question when a strange roar woke you from recharge. He felt Dee grab him, and Pax had quickly shifted gears. They both had moved to the upper deck of the ship, Dee urging him to get the ship running as they looked out.

Then, a rust storm had come, nearly knocking both of them off the ship as they both grappled to hold onto the deck. He had felt Dee’s servo clamp around his arm, the silver mech holding on tightly for the both of them. Pax should have held on just as fiercely, yet like the storm that had come, suddenly he felt a painful presence in his processor - his HUD flashing with sickeningly bright colors that nearly made him want to purge his tanks. Pax thinks he may have screamed…

Then without a warning, he felt himself fall into emergency stasis.

—

“PAX!” 

As quickly as it had begun, the rust storm had ended, leaving him venting hard against the deck of the ship as he slowly let go of the jagged piece of metal that had become their saving grace. Dee quickly moved towards his Amica, servos grasping at Pax’s arms as he tried to shake him awake. His only relief was that Pax was venting softly, as if he had simply fallen into recharge. Though Dee had heard him scream, and he knew from his many adventures off-world that there was a clear distinction between recharge and an emergency stasis.

“Pax, you need to wake up!” He lifted his Amica closer to his chassis, optics wide as he looked around him into the darkness of the night. Somehow, even with the rust storm gone, it was as though all the light of the sky had been swallowed by the abyss. It felt as though his optics were the only source of light in the depths that he had found himself trapped within. He shook his helm, desperately shaking Pax again. “I’m going to kill you if you don’t wake up in the next few kliks! Do you hear me?!”

Yet his Amica’s frame remained still, and Dee felt nearly hysterical. He didn’t know how to operate the ship without Pax. It was old, and Pax even had difficulty himself trying to turn it on because he had needed a manual which Dee was sure had fallen off the ship in the chaos of the storm. Dee moved his helm, trying to quell the panic in his spark when he realized that the darkness had lifted around him for he could see golden-hued stars appear above him.

It was the large servo grabbing him that made him realize those weren’t stars.

Thousands of optics stared down at him from a giant white and gold frame. Underneath their gaze, he felt his processor nearly collapse within itself yet Dee fought against it as he tried desperately to hold onto Pax who had been dragged alongside with him. A large mechanical creature loomed over him, its frame covered entirely with optics that seemed to follow his every struggle against its hold. Where its optics ought to be, there was instead wing-like finials that covered the upper half of its face, yet even those finials held what must have been hundreds of small optics.

To Dee’s horror, the thing’s bottom jaw joint unhinged, revealing a large gaping intake with sharp dentae that would have easily pierced through any Cybertronian’s chassis and impaled their spark - an easy meal for a monstrosity such as this. It began to emit a low croon, a noise that sent a wave of nausea through his processor as he tried to keep himself from purging his tanks. Dee focused instead on gripping onto Pax’s unconscious frame, refusing to be separated from his Amica. Yet, that small action attracted the creature’s gaze as it turned to look directly at Dee’s servos.

“NO! PAX! NO, LET GO OF HIM!” He shrieked, servos grasping at what he could as the thing began to pull Pax away from him with ease. Dee felt horrible leaving marks against Pax’s frame, yet it was all for nothing as his Amica was torn away from him and placed back onto the ship below. He tried to struggle, his leg struts kicking uselessly against the large servo that held onto him. “NO! NO!”

As he continued to scream, the creature seemed to croon at him even more. To his horror, it even moved Dee closer as if to—!

He stilled as he felt himself be nuzzled close against the creature’s cheekplate, a digit gently petting at his helm. He could feel all those optics on him, their gazes never wavering as he swallowed down his terror. He wanted to scream, but what use was it against a monster that he had never even heard about? 

It seemed his silence was all the creature wanted as it let out another croon, this one somehow softer, before him away from its face. 

His relief was short-lived as he felt himself be shifted slightly, before being placed down on a surface.

He had thought that he had been returned to the ship, yet Dee watched in horror as the giant creature lifted the ship he had previously been on with both of its free servos. 

Pax was still on that ship!

He tried to sit up, to scramble to his pedes, but the ground beneath him shifted. He felt his voice box stutter, static coming out as he forced himself to glance upwards.

Blue optics stared down at him fondly from a mech that Dee was sure was larger than any he had ever encountered before. It lifted him closer, its servos gently wrapping around Dee as he was pressed close to this strange creature’s chassis. Instead of the terror he had felt with the first monster, a part of him couldn’t help but remain calm as he was held by this one. 

Yet even this respite was short-lived.

The same lullaby as before began to fill his audials, and dread filled Dee as he tried to struggle against the pull of sleep that threatened to force him under.

As if sensing his distress, the large creature held onto him even tighter, those kind servos becoming a cage as it tried to keep him from struggling.

Dee didn’t even have time to scream as the creature then lunged forward, plunging them both into the cold depths of the energon lake.

He tried to hold on.

He tried to keep his intake shut even as his tanks screamed for him to cycle in air.

Yet as he felt the creature try to pry his intake open, he knew it was a lost cause.

As the stress and the song finally forced him into recharge, he thought of only one thing as he let himself fade into slumber.

It didn’t hurt to breathe.

================================================

Author's Notes:

Say bye bye to Dee <3

Pax will be fine, Prima's just putting him and the ship back on the shore. He doesn't have time to deal with him, time to go back to his eternal nap, this time with his conjunx and sparkling.

Also finally, an AU of mine where Prima and Megatronus are together and one of them is not dead! Yippee! SKSKSKS But yeah, of all the AUs, it had to be the one AU where... they're literal monsters skskks. Though I guess, who the hell would be crazy enough to try attacking any of the Primes while they're in these forms. Like good luck even trying to get near Prima who's going to drive you instantly insane or Megatronus who will force you to drown yourself.

Also also, if you didn't catch it, in the first part of the story, the reason why Pax and Dee were allowed to go by the Senate is because Pax showed them Dee's picture. The Senate has been scrambling to find the sparkling they accidentally removed from the smaller lake inside the mountain that Prima is sleeping in (for a reference of what this looks like, look up Taal Lake and Volcano - it's a geographical landmark in my country) before Primatronus realize their sparkling is missing. They clocked Dee's yellow optics as being like the many optics Prima has and took a gamble that it may be him (plus they researched about him and realized it's peculiar that he seems to be suffering from a rare inability to transform despite having a t-cog, that's cause his alt form is literally a merformer and he can't transform unless fully submerged in energon).

Also also also, the reason why Megatronus realized his and Prima's sparkling was missing is cause he found it weird that Dee just kinda fell asleep when he heard Megatronus sing. Usually, in the old days, when Megatronus sang it usually drove bots into drowning themselves in his lake. Dee is special cause that's Megatronus' sparkling so he's only affected a little bit by it, only falling asleep.

[the-entitie]

COD Men x K-9 Unit reader (WIP)

《《 Part 1 | Part 2

Reader works with a K-9 unit, and his partner is called Mutt, who is a mix breed of Alaskan Akita and Doberman(Mutt is also a service dog as reader has paranoia and C-PTSD). Readers call sign is Riot. The 141 boys needed help tracing a terrorist and John called in some favors to bring Riot and Mutt into the field. He helped the Los Vaqueros as well.

After the mission back at base, reader interacts with the men, and they end up interacting with reader.

Reader is referred to as you or Riot.

Mentions of panic attacks, anxiety attacks, C-PTSD, war, and / or war related violence. Unhealthy coping mechanisms, past trauma. Death of a family member. Torture, scars, and flashbacks.

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra (657 words)

-Growing up alone, with only his mother. He adored the way you worked with Mutt. Sure, seeing the hulking mass of pure muscle and fur that was your partner is its own kind of scar, but he still adores how smooth you two are when out on a mission. -That fear is cemented when you suddenly whistle sharp and turn almost slaminginto him. Only for a hostile to drop under your hound who tackled them. Holding the enemy soldier down with snarls and jaw snapping in an obvious threat. He leans the cues you give that insight a violent recation, just a show or an actaul attack. All so he can predict the behavior. Not liking the scar. -The way you and Mutt act outside of the field had confused him. Why the hound was still so focused on you, why were you so reliant on Mutt. It's only the years he spent in hostile land that gives him a clue. You survived something. Mutt helps deal with the leftover pain it caused. -Rudy only sees that pain later, finding you down on the floor with Mutt desprerate to get you calm. He's seen how Alejandro deals with this kind of thing, but he didn't want to leave you here. Just to wallow in the panic. Making sure you heard him approach, to mutter. "What's, Oh, mierda. Hey. Hey, Riot?" He'll kneel down beside you when he knows you've noticed him. Making sure to keep his voice calm and quiet. "What, come on, que puedo. How can I help you?" "Talk. Please, just. I can't be in my own head right now. Talk to me. háblame. [Talk to me]" "Ok, ok. Did I. Or have you ever heard how Ale and me met?" "No- no. I don't thin-nk?" "Silencio ahora [quiet now], I'll talk. We met..." -You start seeking him out and learns Mutts call for him. He sees how much that takes out of you and when your drousy and half passed out? That's when you start talking to Mutt. Growling, yips, whines, and just going back and forth with each other. -Its the times he growls back at you, that you snap awake. He'll laugh it off, but after he sees how much fun it is for both of you? He'll growl at you just to tease you or walk up behind you just to growl a breath away from you. He loves it, sees you jump only to recognize it as him, them chase him down across the base. Even in the field, you also play along. On the days when it's quiet and you two need to hunker down for a sand storm. It becomes a norm of you scaring him so bad, he'll jump a foot in the air. -Rudy will start ruff housing with you as well. Even helping Mutt shove you around when you both get the free time to be home. It started small, little shoves and shoulder checks escalating to wrestling. He still growls at you. Hell, he even laughs at you and Mutt, yapping at each other when the two of you ruff house. As much as he doesn't want to admit it, he enjoys the quiet, too. Not nearly as much as the adrenaline of chasing you or you chasing him down, but it's still comfort. -The darker nights for you, the flashbacks, the way Mutt will help with it, he learns it. He slowly starts to ask, saying. "You can tell me fuck off Roit, but. Quiero saber como ayudar [I want to help you]. I need the story to do that." "Ok, well. It ain't una bonita historia [a pretty story], but you asked so nicely so. Yeah. I'll tell you," -After that, he becomes as much of a guard dog as Mutt is for you. Rudy will become the caregiver his mother raised him to be. What he became for her.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick: (742 words)

-His first impressions of you and Mutt were nothing to write home about. You were sent in to help get him out of the hostile area after he was surrounded on a search and rescue effort. He was warned beforehand sure, but nothing will ever prepare him for when you came bursting in with a bloodied hound and a flustered Soap on your tail. Following you out as Mutt killed as many men as Soap shot. To Say it took him a minute to comprehend the level of 'fuck all of that' would be an under statement. He came around to Mutt, but it took a while. -You took him with you to the training grounds. After how shocked he was to see you and your K-9 partner, you asked if he wanted to learn how you both worked. If that could make him feel safer around Mutt. And yes. Maybe just maybe you showed off more than you explained, but you did explain how most of your commands were mixed words from several languages. "Wait, so they'll just drop?" "It's called recall training, so sort of." "Recall? Like controlling how far they go?" "Yip, watch." The whole having perfect control over Mutt took Gaz a bit to accept but watching the hound bolt down a fucking run way before you whistle sharp and Mutt suddenly skids to a stop, and then continue at that break neck pace only to come right back to you at a single call. -Gaz, seeing both of you still moving so fluidly outside of the field just felt like a side effect of working together so long. He doesn't think about the layers of scar tissue over your throat. He doesn't care that you disappear every now and gain. Why would he? Is what he wanted to think until the late nights spent on quiet runs through old hostile infested land. When you start talking him through the pain, ebbing from the through and through bullet hole. Holding down on the slow pump of blood, asking him stupid dad jokes. Hoping the mere spite of saying what cap. Price would is keeping him awake. "It'll be fine... just" "How does dark Vader like his toast?" "No. Roit. Please stop." Gaz begs with a breathless chuckle. "~on the dark side~" Full on laughing now, he half snorts. "I said stop!" -He almost chalks the echoing howl that bounced back and forth as a hallucination from blood loss, but considering that the team found you both as quickly as they did? It can't be. Gaz corners you when you both have nowhere to be and are off duty. It's almost embarrassing to sit down and explain that yes, you howled to Mutt, and yes, that's how you find you K-9 amist all that open land. Now Gaz will ask what else you can copy because damn was that awesome to hear. -Becoming more and more comfortable around each other, he gets to hear you howl more often. Even being there when Mutt first tackled you only to growl. It turned into ruff housing quick, both you and your hound growling back and forth. So, who cares that he also likes wrestling with you. He doesn't, and he sure as hell doesn't tell you how stupidly cute it is that you growl at him when he even gets the upper hand. Never will he let you know how fucken adorable he finds you and Mutt. -Gaz owes his life to you. If not, when he was shot , then definitely when Mutt would have his back as you had to crack down a lock. He's not at all as scared as before, he adores how the hound you work with. He enjoys the dumb sad jokes you two shoot off back and forth, over global coms just to annoy Price. But he loves, likes the way you sound exactly like Mutt. Yes, he will go 'grr' at you sometimes, but the sounds of you and Mutt trying to locate each other over the dark field will always be his favorite. Means, you're still alive. It means he can still fight to pay you back later. Not right now, but when that day comes, he won't be the one to let you die. And don't you dare force him to be a fucking lier.

Keegan p. Russ: (000 words)

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[scrapplescribbles]

THE PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN. IT'S FINALLY HERE!! (intro to Fairfable)

apologies for the wait. i was procrastinating the hobby i use to procrastinate (and still listening to boss fight by doom scroll on repeat bc it is a banger song)

anyway

for those of you who aren't aware, i posted a poll recently to decide which of my wips to start posting content about because i'm indecisive on top of being inexperienced and not knowing how to do this

and Fairfable won!!

which i'm really excited about because i had a good feeling abt this one getting out on the internet

also it makes me happy and is very close to my heart in many ways

SO WHAT IS FAIRFABLE?

imagine a world much like your own but with gargoyle security guards and troll landlords and elves and mermaids and monsters and fae and whatever else you nerds can think of

and as it turns out their problems aren't that different from yours

i said this would be an animated show (2D bc i like cartoons.) it will at some point hopefully, but i fear i can not animate at this point in my life (as in i am supremely bad at it), and i'd like to get a bit better at drawing and work on having a more consistent style before i really get to animating

also im significantly better at traditional art than digital so that's unhelpful but thats mostly an experience thing

oh also i want it to be a musical yeah i didnt mention that before

it was inspired by indie shows i've seen on youtube (largely Hazbin Hotel (yes i know its not a great show but it wasn't all bad either. it was a start and it demonstrated what indie animation is capable of even at its not-best. i am choosing to learn from it and give something better to the world instead of just going "wow guys this shit sucks") bc indie animation in general is so cool and i will support a studio with a dream over a money-hungry giant any day of the week (cough cough fuck you disney cough cough)

so we have a ragtag band of queer mentally ill fantasy creatures becoming roommates cause what the hell

MEET THE CAST!!! (with yapping) (i apologize none of these are in actual color)

Nema (she/her)

the neurodivergent experience but she's a mermaid

the sweetest person you'll ever meet but can on occasion be absolutely savage

kinda shy and a bit odd but can do a good yap once u get to know her (chat shes me)

Nema's visions have been there for as long as she can remember. They've always set her apart. Made her special. She doesn't know where they come from. No one does. But she's always seen things beyond what is possible for anyone else she's ever met.

Oh, the things she would do for them to just go away and let her be normal.

But maybe, if they're pointing her in the right direction—which she has a better feeling about than usual—she can make some friends here.

I was only bullied a little bit as a kid (and I kind of deserved it cause I was lowkey a pick me), but the real problem was the feeling of seemingly arbitrary otherness. Nema is for the neurodivergent kids who never fit in and never really understood why being different was so terrible a crime.

We all know what a classic mermaid looks like. I like it when they're a bit more "mer" and slightly less "maid," though, so she's got more fins and gills and such. She's also got nice huge eyes for seeing in the dark and also accidentally staring at people when she zones out (real, girl, real.) She's a cutie patootie and I love her.

Lynx (she/her)

says who a cat can't be burnt the fuck out?

pushes things off tables when bored

can and will bite if provoked

Lynx is a cat lady with a temper and a bone to pick with capitalism. But she's got shit to do. She doesn't have time to worry about the fact that she hasn't felt refreshed since that one nap she took when she was, like, eleven. Time is moving too fast, and all she's got now is two jobs, a shit ton of of paperwork, and a giant tree full of a bunch of fellow brokies and a faerie—can fae be broke? Lynx doesn't think Shailyn even knows what money is. Whatever. She guesses her new roommates aren't so bad.

ADHD is always depicted in media as this silly quirky "oopsie poopsie I forgot to get toilet paper at the store because I got distracted by a shiny dinosaur balloon" thing (although I probably would do something like that.) As someone who (probably—I'm not diagnosed but I've done my research, and I show a lot of the symptoms) has real struggles related to ADHD, it's important to me to raise awareness for it and other forms of neurodivergence, especially for adults and women with ADHD.

Take one look at any cat and tell me it doesn't have ADHD. And so I give you Lynx.

Zing (pronouns? yeah those r cool lol)

kind of a little shit but gets away with it cause they're cute and they know it

can not spell

favorite pastimes include impulsively texting their ex at 3am and pissing off Lynx

Zing is a shapeshifter who lives to be the center of attention everywhere they go, and that works out pretty well—who wouldn't love them? They go wherever looks the most interesting and do whatever fuels their main character energy—and if that means going to live with with a bunch of randos in an old tree, hell yeah. Besides, the elf guy's hot.

Zing is one of those characters who sounds fun and crowd-pleasing and tropey. That is probably true. But there is a whole lot going on under the surface, and I'll let all that speak for itself.

Also genderfluid representation! Again, something I share with a character and further proof that writing is fancily projecting and each of these characters is a piece of my soul.

Zing likes to experiment with fashion and hairstyles a lot, which is tough to keep up with as far as creating different designs. They're a shapeshifter, though, so of course they take advantage of that. They have giant ears for no other reason than that they can have a bunch of earrings and look super badass. Also I'm really proud of the hands on this drawing. I'm one of those people who don't really use references (I know, I know, but I genuinely just forget to 😭) but somehow I'm not the worst at drawing hands sometimes (this is the one drawing I got to do good hands in. That's why Sal has his hands in his hoodie pocket.)

Small note: shapeshifters in media sometimes piss me off because their limitations are not clearly or consistently set. I, the nerd I am, have thought all of this through. Continuity!! If you'd like to hear more what the limitations of shapeshifting are, let me know and I'll post my nerd stuff.

Shailyn (she/her)

the mom friend

enjoys some good shenanigans but cries when one of her babies' feelings get hurt

does not know how to use a toaster

Shailyn is a Celtic faerie who knows very little about the human world. She barely has any contact with other creatures in her realm, but, so far, she's been content with her occasional tricks and lack of real social interaction outside the circles of the fae. However, that all changes when an intriguing bunch of weirdos move into the old tree on the edge of the forest, and suddenly she's making friends.

Since she's a Celtic faerie, I always include some swirlies and swoopy shapes. Her design has a long way to go (you can probably tell I'm still experimenting), and it's kinda hard to see the details since I don't know what I'm doing. Her branch antler thingies and wing-cloak thing are always there, though. Also since I wanna get her animated, she's gonna have to have a more consistent and minimally confusing design. She's getting there.

Sal (he/him)

never really grew out of his emo phase

done w this shit

somehow the only one everyone else completely trusts in the kitchen

You'd think Sal is the tall, dark, and brooding stereotype. And he kind of is. But that trope pisses me off, so we're doing it realistically and with warmer colors. The man has ✨issues✨ and a very unhealthy dose of generational trauma and we love him. But there's a little something called character growth and development which is really important in this series and basically the whole reason I started writing it.

For his design, obviously he's tall and pointy-eared. He wears a lot of dark colors because of his remaining aforementioned emo phase. There isn't really much else I can say other than the fact that it was way too difficult to make him not wonky. He's not supposed to be wonky. Elves aren't wonky. Whatever.

CONCLUSION

if you have any questions comments or concerns my asks are open and so are comments and i will be happy to yap as much as you'll let me

also bonus post-nema hand

[snowyroads]

I feel so greedy after reading your latest fic, I WANT MORE. 💀 I absolutely loved it, I appreciate that you write our boys in a way that feels realistic. Sometimes I think it’s hard to write dialogue for NFL fics that doesn’t seem odd or forced but I can really see Joe and Ja’Marr in your writing. Hence why I can’t wait for whatever you write next 🥲💜 AMAZING WORK

HAHAHAHA 😭😭🤭 don’t feel bad for being greedy anon!!! I love writing!! <333 (im insane 😵‍💫)

BUT i have a TON of wips rn and i literally keep writing little by little for each because im too obsessed w wanting to finish all of them!!!😔 AND THEN things like last week happened where i get the strongest urge ever to write just about one fic and all my attention is on that one wip 😭 (neglecting the poor others 😾)

so here’s a list of some of the wips i got going on rn: (putting a cut cuz i yap)

1. a joemarr time travel au that has been in the works since october that the wonderful chasedeys came up w and let me write a version of it!!! (she probably doesn’t even remember me asking to write about it cuz it’s been so long 😭😭)

it’s also taking forever because i want it to be multiple chapters and who knew how hard it would be to write the pov’s between the past and the future 😮‍💨😮‍💨 (so this one is most likely going to be my next post because imma put out a couple chapters at different times!!!)

2. a koc/jj smutty Christmas fic 😼😼 (I CANT FOR THE LIFE OF ME figure out how to write a player/couch dynamic) every time i think im getting the hang out it, i reread it and delete it cuz i hate it😭😭 so that one might take a while!!

3. stef/josh angsty reunion. basically they see each other again, outside of the football field (maybe during offseason or sum??) and they finally talk about everything yk?? just a very emotional fic tho with all the angsty and eventually fluff (and probably smut 😭)

4. another stef/josh EXCEPT it has nothing to do with football and it’s a Hallmark au. like city boy Stefon meets farmer boy Josh out in butt fuck nowhere after Stefon’s plane has to have an emergency landing due to weather or some shit like that. and it’s all the cliches of a Hallmark movie. the small town community, trying to save the local bakery, Stefon not liking Christmas that much, Josh teaching him Christmas is more than just Santa and presents, it’ll even start snowing when the kiss. like i wanna go full out!!

but that ones gonna take a while too cuz it would be fully from scratch and i wouldn’t have anything to go off of (if that makes sense??😭)

5. Joemarr in France during the Paris fashion week!!! this was actually asked by an anon a while ago and i still haven’t finished it😔 (IM SO SORRY ANON!!!😓) but basically it’s them in France together and just up to no good yk?? (plus some smut cuz Ja’marr wouldn’t be able to hold himself back after see Joe’s outfit!!!)

SOOO, i have all these wips in my drafts, waiting to be typed upon 😼 CUZ THEY WILL ALL COME OUT EVENTUALLY!!! 🫡🫡

anywhoooo, does this even answer ur question anon??😭😭 TYSM for the compliment btw!! <3333 love you guys!!!💗💗

[steamworksfairy]

I kind of feel like yapping tonight so here we go!!! This'll just be my current thoughts on the oc blog I'm cooking up and future oc plans I'm considering. Nothing is concreate I just like getting my thoughts out and every now and again it occurs to me that I can do that on my blog. I can talk about things like this if I want to. rip why do I forget I can do this Tw: Death mention (I warn before the section I do it in, but pls be kind to yourselves if you know this'll trigger you, avoid it)

Okay so first things first, so excited to see some of my moots know D/a L/vers. I've been a fan since either middle or high school and have been thinking about diving back into the fandom with my ocs for a while now. Tho lately I've also been thinking about adding a yume ship to the roster. I like trying new things and seeing where that takes me. She'll probably wind up being more of an oc tho since I already have more villainous plans in mind for her. Muahahahhahaa!!! So yeah due to that probs more of an oc with inspirations from me then anything. But I think it'll be fun to see where that goes.

Also I can't wait to redesign my og ocs for that fandom. D/a L/vers is the first fandom I created ocs for. Sadly, at the time I only had the skill to design three out of the four brothers, and one didn't even the hair style I wanted for him. Now tho, now I can actually try again with a lot confidence in my skills and kindness towards myself. Can't wait to show off the Tsukino bros again one day <3 Onto khr stuff...

I've been thinking a lot about how I want to tell Cecil's story, as well as my other ocs in the fandom, and what my current capabilities are when factoring spoons and goals into the mix. Rn I've come to the conclusion that writing a story for ao3 might not be the best thing. However, my art's been really taking off and I want to continue to grow and challenge myself, so rn I'm, thinking maybe doing a basic oc blog for all my ocs and then doing a separate blog that'll be interactive and tell the story that I want to tell with drawings and smaller bits of writing and maybe even some short comics here and there.

I've been thinking about this for months. I like the idea of changing banner art to fit a certain plot line, to have the profile pic maybe mean something too. And maybe even have things like tags be purely for the story, ect. I want to put a lot of my current writing energy towards a novel I'm working on and tbh really serious about, but I think doing things this way will still lend to my ambitious nature and be doable if a little bit slow depending. ( And from a story telling perspective, I'll be able to switch focus on different ocs and be able to cover an array of things.) The only major downside to it is some things about it will be experience based so depending on when people come in they'll probably miss certain things like banner changes ect. But I don't really think it'll attract a huge crowd anyways so probably won't be a big issue. And it'd purely be a self-indulgent project anyways. If I decide to do it that is. As for the oc blog itself? That'll function as typical oc blogs do. I'll yap about my babies, do silly ask games, and probably talk about wip's, ect. Not sure if I'll do anything major with my vampire babies (D/a L/v/rs ocs) but if I do, they might get their own blog too depending. Tho tbh I'm not too worried about that rn. These are mostly just thoughts, and I could wind up doing something completely different anyways.

TW: Death mention is about to start folks. Be kind to yourself and turn back if this isn't for you. Thank you <3

I'm also thinking about launch dates. I have just Alycia and Hisui to finish then the profile pic and banner art. Which normally would seem like a lot but with how my art has been coming along recently, I have more confidence to start talking about my hopes for this. Which is I really want to release it either before or on my birthday, July 15th. The reason is purely selfish but comes from last year having been really weird and kind of shitty with my grandmother having passed a few days before it. So yeah, I kind of just want to do something to lift my spirits up a bit. If the blog is running before then tho I'll try to release the self-insert designs around that time. And if the blog isn't open by then? I'll probably soft release the self-insert designs then or else share an oc I've been saving for the blog. Or maybe Verde art. Either way, I'll do something. I want to. Its self-care <3

[kxngkasper]

INTRO POST

————————————

Some random ghost tells you about themselves (it’s me guys i’m the haunting spirit)

GREETINGS TUMBLR !!!!! here you will find my bips and bobs of what I do and how i’m working this whole blog thing

Please note that i’m new to this whole blog thing and didn’t really get into tumblr until a bit into this year so i’m still trying to learn how to do things

About me:

I’m kasper, Mostly known as Kas, I go by He/It/She pronouns and am aroace. I’m an artist and animator with dreams of becoming a storyboard artist. My focus is mainly on my health and school so if I cease to exist for a couple weeks that is probably why but other than that i’m trying to be as active as I can since I love sharing my art with people. I’m Neurodivergent, tone indicators are appreciated but not always necessary. My interests are minecraft, Mumbo Jumbo, TØP, Sherlock and Co, Cult of the lamb, Sky cotl, Pokemon, Ponytown, Music as a whole, animation, and OCs :]

My time zone is EST! I’m a first generation Mexican-American and the youngest of 2 other siblings. Yes, Hablo Español pero no soy tan bueno para escribir lo (I am bilingual)

uhhh i’m a furry boo be afraid rahh what else do i put here uh im 5’8 (1.73 meters) my birthday is january 7th uhhh UHHH OH SPEAKING OF BIRTHDAYS AND AGE

I’m a MINOR please refrain from commenting or saying suggestive things to me or about my content it makes me uncomfortable

I’m in the age range of 15-17 take that as you will.

My content:

I stick to posting full pieces and sketchbook stuff on here usually gonna do with my special interests but if you wanna see just vibe w me and see WIPS, reblogs, yaps and such then you can check out my side blog

@princepasker

don’t know why that won’t tag

Where can you find me besides tumblr? Bam I made a linktree because you can find me in too many places https://linktr.ee/kxngkasper

PROGRAMS I USE: Procreate, Medibang paint, Iartbook, Toonsquid, Capcut, Alight Motion, occasionally flipaclip (limited vrs)

TOS (TERMS OF SERVICE):

Please do NOT repost my work, I kindly ask that you don’t use my fandom work in Edits nor reupload them on any other platform. I run my own pinterest, I do not want to see anyone stealing what’s mine for no point when it’s already uploaded.

Using my art as reference is perfectly fine as long as I receive credit. If you wish to trace my work for learning purposes it’s fine but please keep any studies private, thank you.

Ask box:

My asks are mostly always open! You can leave doodle requests in there but I won’t guarantee I go through with it. Questions are also always welcome, I love to see em don’t be discouraged if I don’t get to it right away!

Mutuals feel free to goof off in my ask box

Random stuff:

spam liking is ok !! idm

Alright cool uh that should be it? If I remember anything else i’ll come back and edit this post but for now i hope yall have a good day :]

IM ON PONY TOWN!!

[tinglingfuckingsensation]

hii from the emoji ask game you posted I’d love to know

🙌What's a line or paragraph of yours that you're proud of?

🥘What wip are you most excited about?

thank youuu ☺️

Ahhhh thank you for the ask!!!! Soooo excited to talk about my fics ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

This got a little out of hand so I'm putting it under the cut

🙌 that's a hard one!!! But looking back through my fics, I think it's probably this passage from chapter 1 of Hungry Work:

"Gene, as a rule, calls everyone by their last name unless he gets called to help them. Only then does he call them by the same name their friends and families do, as he tries to keep them calm, stop the bleeding, save their life.

Each time, it’s like cutting open his own chest, pouring out all the care he has for them and then trying to stuff it back inside when they get taken away, either to the aid station, back to their foxhole or back to God."

It takes me right back to what drew me to Gene as a character in the first place, how he's right there when someone needs him, but often alone in the aftermath once he's done and doesn't have anyone to comfort him in turn. I am sooo obsessed with him it's not even funny!

🥘 As for the WIP I'm most excited about....I could be lame and say it's Hungry Work because it just deals with so many themes I'm obsessed about, but since that one's almost finished, I'll pick something else!

In addition to the Hungry Work Post-War sequel I've been yapping about today (loved your tags on that btw!!!! Legit squealed when I saw your reblog), there's a second post-war Baberoe fic I've been writing on and off, based on a very early ending I had in mind for Hungry Work but discarded - the premise is that Gene and Babe get together in Europe, but while they're in Austria, Gene gets spooked by someone else getting a blue slip and breaks up with Babe to "protect him". Since Babe's bisexual in this (as he is in Hungry Work), Gene figures he can just get with a woman and forget all about Gene. Of course, that backfires spectacularly, because 1. Bisexuality just doesn't work like that and 2. Babe's already in love, and so he goes back to Philly all heart broken and miserable and gets into some real trouble there, which means he has to leave Philly for a bit. Cue them pining for each other AGAIN but back in the US across various state lines. I think it'll be a while before that comes out and there will probably be at least one other fic coming out beforehand, but I've been excited about writing some Babe&Bill friendship and some other Easy Company interactions as well. And of course, endless yearning 😬 The WIP Document is called "It ain't me Babe" inspired by the Bob Dylan song of the same name:

I already posted some snippets of that WIP here, but here's one more:

It’s another Friday night, and Babe’s drunker than usual. It had been kind of a shit day, from the moment he woke hours before his alarm from a nightmare that had started with him and Gene kissing and ended with Babe covered in Gene’s blood. It had been raining the whole day while Babe was out at the docks, and at dinner, his mother had nagged him about finding a girl, settling down.

So things are already a little blurry around the edges when Babe sees him. There’s a shock of black hair, stark against the washed out colors around it. White skin below it, a slender frame. Babe’s heart starts beating erratically in his chest and he stops listening to Bill’s yapping. He follows the man around the bar with his eyes, tries to catch a glimpse of his face.

Logically, Babe knows it can’t be who he’s thinking of. Philly’s a long way from Louisiana, and besides, why would he come here, of all places? But he has to know, so he stands up, heads over with unsteady legs. He puts a hand on the guy’s shoulder. When he turns around, Babe’s heart falls. Of course it isn’t him.

[basementheist]

➤ BLUESKY ➤ PINTEREST [more links to come...] ↓ introduction below ↓ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

|| Hello to all those who find their way into the Basement! ✮⋆˙ || Feel free to call me Heist! ⤵ || My pronouns are he/she/they and I have no preference on which you use! Use one, use 'em all! Perceive me as you will~! ★ Born in 2001 ★ ⚠️This account is *not* meant for minors. Many of my works include adult topics and themes that may not be suitable be younger readers. Not all of my stories have such themes, but I'd appreciate if any followers were 18+. I will not follow blogs made by minors or respond to any messages sent from minors. Nothing personal! ((Any PG/PG-13/T will be tagged as 'no adult content' - I basically just don't want minors lingering here etc. -- many of my stories may very well be family friendly. Others will very much so NOT be, however, and due to the lack of separation, I just think it's easier to say MDNI.))⚠️

DNF/DNI:

> Homophobes > Transphobes > Anti-Queer > Heavily Political Blogs > Ableists > Racists > Fatphobes > Cannot tell fiction from reality ↑ (Authors are not their characters! Talking about it is not the same as romanticizing it! Etc.) > Under 18 years of age > You don't follow the Golden Rule ↑ (Treat People With Kindness / Treat People the Way You Want to Be Treated) > Insists on giving *unwanted* and/or *rude* critiques ↑ (there's a way to do it, starting with only giving it when it's been asked for!)

GENERAL BLOG INFO:

╰⪼ DMs Open! (18+ Only - Age Easily Available) I'd love to yap about my characters, my WIPs, books I'm reading, and more! ╰⪼ Genres I enjoy writing + reading: Horror/Thriller, Sci-Fi, Romance, Gothic (general), Young Adult/Coming of Age, Paranormal, and Fantasy -- basically, most fiction! ╰⪼ I currently have ≈ 11 stories at various stages of development. I plan to post about them here sometimes. Mood-boards for each WIP can be found on my Pinterest! (Check them out more than once, I add to them as I progress!~~) ╰⪼ I do not have a proper writing schedule (yet) and my IRL work schedule changes, so my posts here may be sporadic!

❗❗❗ Please consider any and all tags I include in my works to be Dead Dove. I will always tag trigger warnings (if any apply) so please take the tags at face value. ((Referring to "If the paper bag in the fridge reads: 'Dead Dove: Do Not Eat,' and you decide to open the bag, there will be a dead dove in there." -- There is no deceit. There is no hidden gimmick or trick. It is exactly as labeled.)) ❗❗❗

CONCLUSION/WRAP UP:

Thank you for reading this far! My intention for the Basement is to post my short stories + flash fiction in a space where they can be seen and read. (Basically, I didn't want them to rot, left unseen in docs.) I have many ideas and interests - I'm hoping that posting my shorter works here will keep me motivated and/or accountable. I intend to eventually play around with different styles, point of views and more - all through shorter, bite sized works! I won't be posting too much of my longer works both due to the fear of theft and also the hope of one day publishing. (That is also why the titles are all abbreviated! I take great pride in my titles! I may censor character names as well...)

Currently used tags for my works [will be edited over time] : *Please Note: I am aware of some of these tags not working/linking properly, I'm working on a fix!

#general inspo #novel soundscape #WIP jukebox #heist's I.P.f.M.F WIP ⤷ #[MC 1st Initial O] core #heist's 100% WIP ⤷ #[MC first initial N] core ⤷ #[MC first initial K] core #heist's Lighthouse WIP ⤷ #The Lighthouse Island #heist's S.I.D WIP ⤷ #heist's S.I.D Scene Settings ⤷ #heist's S.I.D Symbolism ⤷ #heist's S.I.D Soundtrack

That's about it, I think! Feel free to stay awhile; we have music, pretty pictures, and pretty words here. I'm chained up down here, so it's not like I'll be going anywhere any time soon!

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡ ~~ H E I S T

[grackielechuga]

I've been rereading RHS for the nth time, unsurprisingly. I have over 20 WIPs for this goddamn Webtoon istg.

But I finally finished one and posted it the other day, so it's time I yap about dragon of my dreams. Aka, my Mook x Aru emotional hurt/comfort one shot that takes place the night of the series epilogue.

This post is long af. Obligatory "Honey, you've got a big storm coming" warning.

So originally this fic was supposed to be somewhat inspired by Mitski's Abbey, specifically this section:

There is a light that I can see But only, it seems, when there's darkness in me There is a dream that I sometimes see That only appears in the dark of sleep

In the end, the only allusion I included to the song at all was this

"… he is the light she sees when the world seems even the tiniest bit dark."

And the whole aspect of them being able to meet in Aru's dreams, which was honestly one of my "Gracie wants her ship to sail, so she'll bend the rules to make it happen" ideas.

The original concept portrayed Mook as only appearing before Aru in his dragon form and remaining completely silent, only showing her his human form and speaking to her for the first time in the dream after he saves her.

I'm too greedy to let that happen, however, and wanted more of an established friendship between the two. So then came the concept of a role reversal hurt/comfort one shot which is described pretty well by the summary.

Aru's oldest friend is a dragon who comforts her in her dreams. After she escapes a potentially fatal traffic incident unharmed, however, Mook is the one who needs comforting.

Mook honestly has such a huge burden by choosing not to reincarnate with Aru. He has to wait (presumably) nineteen years of her life just for one chance to change hers. If I were in that position, I would have so many doubts and worries. What if I'm too late? What if it doesn't work?

And even though he is relieved due to his success, now he might start worrying that he's of no use to Aru anymore. He's served his purpose of protecting her, but at the cost of his happiness.

“'I thought I’d be okay with watching you grow up. And I am so, so glad I can. I’m proud of who you’ve become. But it’s never been enough. Even this, being able to see you here…'”

Aru, despite not knowing anything of their time at Reincarnation High, recognizes that his selflessness is his biggest downfall. He has given everything to protect her, leaving him with little for himself. And, if not for my dream shenanigans, he would be left with nothing but remaining a bystander.

"'... You should make a choice for yourself, even if it's selfish.'”

Then, after some realization on Aru's part that Mook did in fact save her that morning, Aru asks him,

“'Why did you decide you needed to rescue me in the first place?'”

And it leads into the self-indulgent scene where Mook manipulates Aru's dream into some critical moments within their relationship. In order, these are:

The hand kiss scene from ep. 129

The Red Eclipse Festival dance scene from ep. 85

A scene from the Trip to Hell arc from ep. 48

The two flying above the garden in ep. 120

Mook's confession scene from ep. 104

The hair clip scene from ep. 52 (this one is a lot more subtle than the others but still included)

The balcony scene from ep. 130

And yes, I have screenshots of all of them...

Listing them out is a little jarring since, at first glance, they might seem like they have little to no correlation with each other.

And there's even more self-indulgence when Aru, because she's Aru, still doesn't understand why. Mook gives his reasoning (because he loves her), effectively freaking Aru out enough for her to wake up before she can actually respond.

And my final quote:

"Love is something I can try and understand. And if you do love me, Mook… you can have all of me, if that's what you really want."

Again, I'm really happy with how this fic turned out! I miss RHS so much, and I'll definitely be releasing more fan content for this series in the (hopefully) near future. And maybe one day I'll end up adding a second part going further into this concept because I think it's cute.

For those who read the fic or make it to the end of this post, thank you and stay safe! :)

[lamentfulwarbler]

‘Unfortunately more of the wip will not be posted bc blah blah blah’ I AM A LYING LIAR WHO LIES. HERE.

All you need to know about the writing idea that inspired this art wip is that the title of the note i’ve written it down is, and I quote: “AU where the ghosts/spirits/whatever of Jiang Yanli, Mo Xuanyu and Nie Mingjue follow the main cast through their journey from Mo Village onwards”.

I swear I have reasonings for it being these three beyond ‘my blorbos 🥺’— I would never lie to you, people of tumblr— don’t read the top of this reblog I am a very honest man!

This is only being shared in the reblogs of the og post bc I am a wuss. A coward. Last time i posted two of the characters in this together I got a hate comment when my post (which was a fanart of a headcanon btw — not meta) had literally 0 notes and I still have not emotionally recovered.

Edit: Made a comic set in this au because I am A Fool!

Adding a read more because turns out I had a lot to say. Doesn’t always work on mobile apparently, bc of the inherent read more thing they have. So here’s your Yap Warning mobile users!

Explanations time bc I dream to yap.

UH. TW FOR TALK ABT CANONICAL DEATHS (AND HEADCANONS ABOUT SAID CANONICAL DEATHS). TURN BACK NOW IF YOU’RE SENSITIVE TO THAT KIND OF THING!

Of the three, in this piece at least, Jiang Yanli’s status as a ghost/spirit/whatever is the least clear.

THEY ARE NOT VISIBLE TO THE MAIN CAST BTW. THEY CAN TECHNICALLY KINDA SORTA INTERACT WITH THE WORLD AROUND THEM, BUT THEY ARE PRIMARILY JUST WATCHING THEM GO AND YELLING AT THEM IN THE WAY A GROWN MAN IN A FOOTBALL JERSEY YELLS AT THE TV SCREEN WHEN HIS FAVOURITE TEAM MAKES A MISPLAY!

Okay. Now that’s all cleared up!

So. Jiang Yanli is least obvious as a ghost here, simply bc her wound is like. Hidden behind her arm. Not much I could do about that. Honestly she was always going to be the least obvious, simply bc the other two got fucked up during/post death— blame jgy and the soul sacrifice ritual not me! (She is in her regular outfit bc I say so. No rules saying ghosts can’t have different outfits to the ones they died in 🙏)

If you knew the idea but couldn’t see the art, you could be forgiven for thinking Nie Mingjue would be the most visibly ghost. You know. Since he got chopped up. Even in the wip, you can clearly see his neck scar!

You would be mistaken. Why? Because Mo Xuanyu stole the show with his death via

*checks notes*

Being ripped out of his body by resentful energy that was supposed to tear him apart to return him to the earth! 🎉🎉🎉

As seen in the wip, he is just. Constantly surrounded by resentful energy. Not much he can do about that, but hey! It comes with a cool power at least! (It’s not that cool — he can just call small amounts of resentful energy to his being, which will assimilate with the energy already there which may or may not be the Only Thing holding his soul together :D)

That power is actually how Nie Mingjue joins the group btw. Jiang Yanli and Mo Xuanyu were already there (Jiang Yanli was the first there, following Wei Wuxian bc Holy Shit Someone Just Revived Him What The Fuck—, and Mo Xuanyu was there bc. Well he died there. Wanted to watch his revenge in 4k ultra hd I guess), and they noticed that ‘Hey that arm that just killed Mo Xuanyu’s abusers—‘ (thank you nmj, you’re a real one) ‘—has a weird mass of resentful and spiritual energy following it! Huh!’ (The mass also had little wisps trailing off in the directions of Nie Mingjue’s other. Parts. But i didn’t know how to fit that in. So.) Mo Xuanyu, who discovered his resentful energy powers about 0.5 seconds ago, makes the genius decision to pull the mass towards him. The resentful energy doesn’t budge.

The spiritual energy, however, does.

Not only does the spiritual energy separate from the mass of resentment and drift over to them, it is soon joined by spiritual energy from the directions the wisps were trailing. You can imagine jyl and mxy’s shock when the spiritual energy forms into none other than a Royally Confused nmj.

They do not get much time to think on it however, as the arm (which had just gotten finished with Madam Mo) suddenly goes berserk. Turns out that leaving a powerful fierce corpse arm to be controlled only by a high concentration of resentment is a Bad Idea™️.

Anyway I am going to stop yapping now. I promise. I am just,, very normal about this idea.

Don’t ask why Mo Xuanyu is the only one who has filled in hair— i was not about to leave it blank when his other eye would be visible. It would bug me so bad T^T

(Okay. One last yap. Abt the powers.)

Jiang Yanli - is able to interact with the living, but only for brief flashes. Like to, say, push someone out of danger :)

Mo Xuanyu - is able to manipulate small amounts of resentful energy. Only to draw it to himself (stabilising his soul so it doesn’t literally crumble to pieces and Return To The Earth), he can’t use it to harm anyone.

Nie Mingjue - is able to be heard by the living, only for a brief moment, and only if he yells. This one is the least connected to his death, but I think it fits the cruel irony thing considering his death was at least partially caused by nobody listening to his concerns about everyone’s favourite Customer Service Sect Leader.

OH YEAH. THE REASON MXY MY BELOVED IS ABLE TO EVEN BE HERE IS BC JYL WAS THERE WHEN HE PERFORMED THE RITUAL, AND, NOT KNOWING THE FULL TERMS OF THE THING, PULLED HIS SOUL TO SAFETY — IN PART BC SHE THOUGHT THE DESTRUCTION OF HIS SOUL WOULD MAKE THE RITUAL NOT WORK. EVERYONE SAY THANKS TO JYL 🙏

Jiang Yanli is so fun to draw actually— I feel like I’ve reached enlightenment— WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME SHE WAS SO FUN TO DRAW??? T0T

[thepandamightwrite]

Chapter 1: The Poisoning

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Alcohol mention, poison, indirect death mention, attempted murder

Age group: Young adult

Whole Story Blurb: When Amira Bashir almost dies from hydrogen peroxide poisoning, PI Anjali Dayal must figure out who wants the president dead. Only 6 people could've spiked the glass, and with all of them having strong motives and shaky alibis, the case proves quite difficult to crack.

Notes: I’m so excited to share part one of my WIP with you guys! This idea has been nagging at me for a little while and I finally got around to writing it. Constructive criticism is always appreciated! Hope you enjoy it!

~†~

The elaborate diamond chandelier tosses tiny rainbows around the ballroom packed with drunk ambassadors. Isabella Garcia wishes she could stop working for a little bit and admire the splendor, maybe take a few pictures as well. But alas, she's still on duty and Luke will throw a fit if she stops for even a moment. As she makes her way back to the White House kitchens, she can't help but feel the familiar stab of envy at her extravagant surroundings. The people that claimed to be working for common citizens were the ones spending $50,000 on a glass of champagne.

Normally, Isabella would be able to put it out of her mind and do her job properly, but the imbalance irks her more than usual today. She throws open the doors of the kitchen and within a couple seconds, a tray full of drinks is thrust in her arms and she's shuttled back to the cursed ballroom. "Stupid ambassadors. Being treated like kings and queens instead of the entitled scums they are," Isabella grumbles as she trudges down the plush, carpeted hallways. On her way, Isabella glances at the note on her tray that guides her to the drinks' final destination, and she almost drops the glasses in surprise.

40 y/o Macallan Whiskey ---------------------------------- Ambassador William Burton

Dom Perignon --------------------------------------------------- Ambassador Irina Petrov

Orange Juice ------------------------------------------------- First Husband Aariz Bashir

Sparkling Water --------------------------------------------------- President Amira Bashir

Isabella stands in the middle of the deserted hallway, her jaw on the floor, stomach turning, and her sweaty palms struggle to grip the tray that's slowly sliding out of her grasp. Get ahold of yourself Garcia. Don't screw this up. She straightens her tie, runs her fingers through her hair, and pats the vial in her pocket. Considering her clientele, she'd need it later.

~†~

Secret Service Agent Miyoko Mori glances down at her watch, whose hands aren't moving any faster, despite her staring at it incessantly for the last few hours. 2 minutes and 30 seconds left. She drums her restless fingers against the table with the poison testing materials. No one's ever dared to spike anyone's glass, after all, there wasn't exactly a way to get anything dangerous into the White House in the first place. But still, out of a ridiculous abundance of caution, Miyoko had to test every single glass entering the ballroom for traces of toxins. Where is she?

Suddenly, Isabella turns the corner, balancing a tray of drinks and donning an endearing smile. "Agent Mori! I'm baaaack!" she calls in a singsong voice. "It's about time," Miyoko retorts. "I've been waiting for you to show up for the last 5 minutes! It's so dull here and I missed talking to you." "Aww, can't live without me can you," Isabelle teases with a flirty grin. "I mean I could, but it'd be rather boring, especially considering the only other person here is Agent Carter," Miyoko responds, gesturing at the burly man a few feet away. "That does sound rough," agrees Isabella. "But try serving drinks to drunk, pompous officers, and you'll be begging for your boring job in a few minutes." Agent Mori shakes her head disapprovingly as she places the poison testing strips inside each drink.

Then, she notices the label on the tray revealing that one of these drinks will reach the president herself. Well, the universe is certainly kind to me today, she thinks to herself. I'd be a fool not to take the opportunity that's fallen so perfectly into my lap. Once the tests come back negative, she takes the strips out of the glasses, lingering for just a second longer than she needs to in order to get the job done. "You're all good to go," Miyoko says, lying through her teeth.

~†~

Why didn't I wear heels, laments Russian Ambassador Irina Petrov as she waits for her drink. Most people would be glad to don comfortable flats instead of piercing stilettos, but the cursed shoes give her the 2 inches of height she so desperately needs. Especially considering her peers are at least a foot taller than her, Irina could use the heels to make people take her seriously. Sometimes, she wished Ambassador Burton wouldn't be listened to either, after all, he did spout nonsense most of the time. At the moment, he was debating the president and her husband about some stupid topic Irina couldn't bring herself to care about.

In that respect, Amira is commendable to say the least. Even though she's only a couple inches taller than Irina, Amira Bashir has a certain air of power and influence that makes even the most stubborn man pay attention. If only circumstances were different, I could actually learn a thing or two from her.

The British Ambassador, William Burton, starts yapping about drug prices and Aariz Bashir looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. Or maybe he was babbling about the military. Irina had already consumed a few too many drinks. She would look better with pale skin and glassy eyes. She shakes her head vehemently in an attempt to banish the distasteful thoughts from her mind. "Really Ambassador Burton? I would've thought you of all people would be in support of the Bashir Trade Deal. After all, the trade routes it proposes would make it far easier to distribute goods all over Russia," challenges the president. Oh no. Irina stammers an excuse for her absentmindedness, hoping that it could all be blamed on the 4 glasses of champagne she'd consumed earlier in the evening. One glance at Amira told her that wasn't the case and her stomach churned in apprehension.

The president was intimidating on a regular day, but seeing her angry was even worse. Ambassador Petrov could never forget that fateful day when she'd been more terrified of Amira than her, or probably anyone, had been in their lives. If the president could hold a grudge just like she did her secret, Irina was in big trouble. Amira's strategy was to let the information fester until it drove everyone to insanity. Not for much longer. Right on cue, the waitress arrives with the drinks and after William takes his whisky, Irene reaches for her champagne with shaking hands, hesitating longer than necessary.

~†~

Amira eyelids feel like they are 250 pound weights, as though she would fall asleep any minute. Although she's never consumed any alcohol, she still felt rather hungover from all the useless conversation. Back when Amira first ran for president, she hadn't realized how many meaningless balls and galas she'd be subject to. Naively, she'd taken the job thinking she'd be transparent about everything and only do things that would help regular, working class people. Unfortunately, that childish dream had been extinguished after a few months, when the AI war took place. The casualties still weighed heavily on Amira's conscience, but if she could go back and make those difficult decisions again, she probably wouldn't change anything. That truly scared her.

"President Bashir, you have a meeting with the Secretary of State in 15 minutes," chirps Alyssa Miller, her personal assistant. "Very well. If you could get the necessary technology ready, I'll meet you in the Oval Office in 10 minutes." "Absolutely," Alyssa replies as she scurries off, leaving 3 broken vases and multiple squashed toes in her wake. President Bashir shakes her head, but laughs to herself as the waitress brings their drinks.

"Here you are, dear," says Aariz as he hands Amira her sparkling water. The president knows her husband is quiet to begin with, but this was the first sentence he'd spoken for the whole evening. Something was off, and Amira intended to find out, right after this stupid gala was over. As she reaches for her glass, Agent Brown swats her hand out of the way and takes it for himself. "Lucas!" "Sorry ma'am, it's protocol," he responds with an apologetic expression on his face. President Bashir rolls her eyes at the unnecessary precautions, but waits for the glass to be tested for poison. She looks around the room, noticing the nervous, distracted, apprehensive expressions of the people closest to her. Something seems a little off about everyone, but before Amira can think about it too much, Lucas yells the fateful words that sends her life spiralling. "There's poison!"

~†~

[echo-bleu]

Oct 19-21 is the Good Intentions WIP fest ( @goodintentionswipfest ), the time to let go of abandoned WIPs and post them as is. Given that I’ve written a lot in the last year and also recently moved fandoms, I thought it was a good time to clean up my WIP folder(s), so I’ll be posting a few things that I started and gave up part way through. This means that each snippet is unfinished and not meant to be a full fic.

RNM, Alex, 1497 words. This was going to be a part of my Lines of Fear and Blame series about Alex & Isobel friendship, titled Drive Until You Lose The Road. [depression, PTSD, mentions of war, death, amputation and explosions, survivor’s guilt]

Perhaps it shouldn't be a surprise that when their lives finally quiet down, it takes Alex so much time to get used to it.

He didn't have to get used to the violence. It crept up on him. His brothers have always played rough, as far as he can remember, rough enough to hurt each other, and he was the smallest. He got kicked and punched and fell a lot. His father's blows were a different kind of pain, but it was still pain. Violence was never strange to Alex.

He didn't have to get used to the war, because he's always been at war. The war outside is more deadly, more awful than the war in his family, but it was never more painful than the war inside him.

He had to get used to the pain, because you forget the pain. You live with the memory of the blows and the broken bones, but you forget the pain, because your brain simply can't handle the prospect of being in that much pain again. So when Alex loses his leg, and he discovers the kind of pain that never leaves, the phantom limb and the constant ache in the stump and his messed up shoulder and his broken neck vertebra, it takes him months to stop hoping, in that short moment just before he wakes up in the morning, that it will go away. It takes him longer to stop raging about it. But when it comes down to it, he adapts easily. He's never had trouble to adapt to the dozens of places he's lived in, even overseas−it's not like he has many friends to miss. He adapts to being back in Roswell and having only one foot and seeing his father seemingly everywhere.

He doesn't really have to adapt to the skin-tight sense of wrongness of his life being turned over again. It's not so much the alien reveal−what does it really matter, if Michael is a telekinetic alien on top of being bisexual? It's the seeing Michael again. Navigating their shipwreck of a relationship. Finding out what his father has done, and is doing, and how it connects again to the depth of Michael's suffering. But Alex has never felt anything that came close to settled, to home, to safe. So it's just another war to fight.

Fighting is his default mode. Constant hypervigilance, of his surrounding and of his own body. The problem with trauma, is that it makes your brain forget to switch off fight mode. So no, it shouldn't come as a surprise that when the dust finally settles down around them, Alex finds himself spiraling down.

He groans at the ache in his head and his leg when he wakes up from his vague slumber and vaguer nightmarish half-dreams for the third time this morning. This time, his phone buzzing is what broke the silence. Sighing, he reaches for the phone and squints at it.

“Hey, Alex,” the video message says. “The last few days have been amazing. We're heading out to the airport soon, we'll be back home by mid afternoon. Text me if you want me to come by, I miss you.”

Alex sighs and lets his head fall back against his pillow. He's glad that he bought Michael a smartphone, if it means that he can see his face like this more often, but today he just misses him. It's ridiculous, honestly. They've been apart for a whole three days. But after a decade of missing each other, it's like he won't breathe until Michael is in his arms again.

He hesitates before texting, then chides himself. I'll be waiting for you, he writes, overriding his fear. Michael loves to leave him random video messages, and Alex only replies through texts. And right now, given how amazing a wind-swept Michael looks in the sun of Houston, he's glad of that. It's ten a.m., but his bedroom is still dark and starting to smell stale, and he lying in bed in his boxers.

He doesn't want Michael to see him like that, but he knows he won't be over this depression spell by tonight. Not with what today is.

No more events today, the calendar on his phone states. Alex couldn't bring himself to put anything in, even Michael's plane back. He declined to make the round trip to Albuquerque with Liz to pick the alien siblings up at the airport, citing his leg's dislike for spending time sitting in a car, but that was only half of the reason.

Michael doesn't know, of course. Isobel threw a party for their shared birthday last Saturday, then swept her brothers away to Houston to the NASA center as a birthday gift, to celebrate Max's resurrection and the twins' new interest at reconnecting with their origins. It's also an occasion to air out their issues without humans breathing down their necks, Michael confided in Alex, and start the process of healing together. Alex is happy that it seems to have gone well.

His own relationship with Michael is slowly growing, since they started rebuilding it from the ground up. Michael spends most of his nights at the cabin now, and they've been going out together more and more, working on Alex's instinctive need to hide. It's been rough, in some ways, but they're settling into a pattern that works for them, and since Max's resurrection and Jesse Manes's death, things have been quiet on the government conspiracy front.

Which leaves Alex here, now, three days into Michael's trip away from Roswell, feeling like he shouldn't be this depressed. For the first time ever, his life is good. He has close friends, his relationship with Michael is the best it's ever been, and the shadow of his father is finally gone.

It's just that being away from Michael is so damn hard. It's just that his pain level have been through the roof for a week.

It's just that today is the anniversary of the day he walked onto a bomb.

Alex buries his face fully in his pillow, his eyes filling with tears again. He didn't want to tell Michael and ruin his family trip. Liz was here yesterday, also feeling a little bereft at Max's absence, but she doesn't know the date anymore than his other friends. His men will call him, probably. They flew in and threw him a party when he was discharged two months ago, even though they're scattered across the country. They'll mourn together for the two brothers who didn't make it back home.

There's a yap, and from the bedroom door, left open since Alex is on his own, comes a running bundle of fur. Alex barely has time to turn and see her before Ksenia jumps up on the bed and sticks her nose under his chin.

“Hey, girl,” he murmurs as she mercilessly tickles him with her fur. She proceeds to lick his face, without paying any heed to his efforts to push her away. Alex fights for a minute before he gives in, leaving her free reign over his body.

Ksenia just settles down, half on the bed and half on his chest, with her head resting against his. Her warm presence is comforting, as Alex's ticklish giggles turn into sobs.

“I miss them, Ksenia,” he hiccups. “I don't…I probably wouldn't even be talking to Karl if he was alive, because he was an asshole, but I still fucking miss them.”

Ksenia just gives him another lick. Alex feels like he's choking from the pain inside his chest, like he can't take another breath. It's not even a panic attack, he can recognize those from a mile away, just plain old grief. He weeps for what feels like hours−actually minutes, but he comes out the other side feeling dried out and exhausted, tears and snot mixing with Ksenia's saliva on his face. He feels disgusting, yet he can't quite bring himself to get up and go shower.

What's the point, when Dawson and Karl will never get up again? Sometimes Alex can't even understand how he's still living, still handling the day to day things, everything so inconsequential and unimportant.

Not when it fucking hurts so much, that he came back and they didn't. That he came back and doesn't understand why, doesn't understand how.

Suddenly he feels trapped lying down, the weight too heavy on his chest. He sits up with a start, disturbing the poor Ksenia who yelps and jumps off the bed. Alex wants to apologize, but words are beyond him right now. He wheezes, throwing back his duvet until he can see his stump, and not the metal beam that crushed his leg and trapped him inside the crumbling building.

Ksenia must not be too angry at him because she doesn't give up and tries again, this time wrapping herself into his lap. Alex breathes out and hugs her tightly. “I'm sorry Ksenia,” he rasps out.

[roraruu]

wip: friends

twilight au with no context 

Python’s always glad when he isn’t assigned to nightwatch. Usually, he sneaks off to the local tavern for a few drinks. Tonight is no different, save for the fact that Forsyth and Lukas are with him. The booth feels too squishy and tight with the two of them on either side, making sure he’s firmly locked in. They don’t want the young wenches coming back around their encampment to scream at Python or to drag his drunken ass back home. 

The waitress comes back with another round, spreading ale in front of them. Before he can reach out and sneak a glass between his hands, Lukas deftly pushes it away from him. The knight in red is obviously keeping count and already knows that Python’s a lightweight.

While Lukas and Forsyth discuss the problem of witches and the vampires, Python stares at the foam at the bottom of his ale glass, longing for another taste. He’s already bored out of his mind: if he was alone, he’d more than likely already be with a girl and be drunk, a whole level above sitting between two knights yammering on about how sad and poor that these women have become witches.

Python’s on the opposite side of the court. They wanted power, they got it for a price and that is all she wrote. He stares into his empty glass, thirsting for another drink. He eyes Forsyth’s full mug, and wonders if he will notice if he just sneaks a sip…

“Good evening gentlemen.” 

The conversation stops as Silque steps towards their booth. She’s in her white cleric’s robe, but there’s a cowl over her neck and shoulders and gloves on her hands. Overdressed. Could a sister enter a tavern or was there a holy law against that? Pythons sneaks a glimpse at Forsyth who looks as though his eyes are about to bug out of his head. ”Hello,” he stumbles over. Python snickers, and raises a few fingers in greeting. This will be fun.

“Lady Silque, I didn’t realize that you were coming out tonight. We could have escorted you.” Lukas says.

“I had some house calls to make tonight. And I needed supplies for the church.” She says over the din of a whining fiddle and stomps of feet.

“Care to join us?” Forsyth asks, fully returned to earth at last.

“I think I will pass.” She says, eyeing the glasses of ale. “It seems as though you all are celebrating.”

“Just to another sunset.” Python adds in brusquely. Forsyth jabs him between the ribs.

Silque turns her dark gaze towards him. Her lips curve into a warm smile. “That is truly something to celebrate. Life is precious.” 

Forsyth forces a laugh and eager agreement and out comes a cacophony of pleads for her to join them, that Forsyth will buy her a round or something to eat. She smiles politely.

“I have already eaten, and I’m afraid I don’t drink. But I thank you all the same, Sir Forsyth.” She says. “Although I do need to purchase a bottle of wine from the tavern keep.”

“If you don’t drink, then why are you buyin’ wine?” Python finds himself asking. Lukas gives him a warning look, but echoes his question. 

“Yes, I find that interesting too.” He says. “May I ask why?”

Silque nods and thinly smiles, plying their curiosity. “It will be an offering to Mila. I plan to make a pilgrimage to her nearest house.” She says. 

“Do you have an escort?” Forsyth. Ever ready to play the noble knight. 

“Yes, that would be wise, what with all the bandit incursions and unrest.” Lukas. Prepared for every minor mistake.

The cleric’s brow crinkles slightly. “No, I had planned to go by myself.” She says. “I had never had a problem before.”

“There are witches here now, and who knows what other undead creatures.” Lukas speaks again. “Allow one of us to accompany you, it would give us peace.”

“If you insist.” 

The archer rolls his eyes lamely. He can already see Forsyth jumping out of his skin to play the hero again. No doubt, Python would love the few days of silence and quiet, but the thought of having to hear Forsyth drone on about how “unbelievable” and “shrouded in melancholic beauty” the shrine was. It’s a hole in the ground that’s covered in moss, nothing more, nothing less—

“Python. What do you say to an excursion?” Lukas says.

His head snaps up. “Me?” He asks sharply. “Why should I go?”

“Your resistance to magic is greater than mine or Forsyth’s. Besides, I’m sure Lady Silque would be a wonderful influence on you.” Lukas says. His gaze falls on Python with sharp severity, as if he’s staring into his soul. He knows that look, telling him “pack your bags or go back to the training encampment”

“That is, if you can find the time to leave your camp.” Silque adds. “You have a different duty than my own. And if you wish to join me.”

He feels Lukas and Forsyth’s eyes on him and he sits back against the wooden boards. “Fine.” He says. “Leave tomorrow?”

He can already hear the double lecture coming from Lukas and Forsyth. Gods, his head will be aching until sunset. Then again, something about her is… different, almost attractive. Not in the typical way of dark eyes and a sultry smile. It is almost magnetic, predatory, like the gentle smile and holy aura is a mask, or something akin to the seemingly-gentle looks of a snowy fox. 

He wonders if there is anything hiding behind that smile. Her lips turn back up slightly, the smile not reaching her eyes so that it looks forced. It goes over Forsyth’s head for certain, perhaps even Lukas’s scrupulous gaze, but it doesn’t go past Python’s. He’s got the trained eyes of a hunter and a loveless man; he knows a fake smile when he sees one.

“Yes. That is amenable to me.” Silque says. “I’ll come to the encampment and we can leave then. The shrine is southbound from here.”

“Fine.”

Silque bids them farewell, heading to the bar to order a bottle of wine. Forsyth already begins his soon-to-be hours long lecture on how to treat Lady Silque while he is away with her. But Python ignores the drone of his voice and watches as she graciously takes the bottle of wine from the tavern keep into her gloved hands. She draws the scarf up and around her head, hiding her face.

---

Python lays in his tent for a while, listening to the quiet patter of rain against the canvas. It doesn’t come in, thank Mila, but it wakes him sooner than he’d like to be. 

He knows Silque isn’t… like them. She’s far from it, from the way she carries herself. In his mind, he tries to recall the hazy memories of childhood fairy tales. None stick, blending together to bastardizations of witch princesses and undead knights and necrodragons. 

He rolls over, tugging the scratchy wool blanket to his neck. She’s not a witch, she praises the Mother with every other word out of her mouth. Is there some inverse to a witch perhaps? If there is, he doesn’t know of it. 

But she’s not dead either. She’s not like a Terror, but she’s not… Human. She plays a good game of acting like it, but there is something about her that is so… inhuman, otherworldly.

Too many thoughts, and too early in the morning for them. 

He sits up and rubs at his eyes. He can already feel a headache coming on and it’s barely sunup. He grumbles, throws back water from the skin by his bedroll and reaches for a pack. He throws the blanket and whatever provisions he’s got hidden in here—just some hard bread and old cheese. In the corner, he finds a half finished flask and hides in the waistband of his trousers. He’ll sorely need it if he wants to make this trip. He assumes she’ll be praising Mila all the way down the valley.

Python stretches out, rolling his neck and throwing the bag over his shoulder. He pokes his head out of the tent and already sees Forsyth sitting up by the dying fire pit. He grumbles as the knight gets up from his seat. He’s barely out of the tent when Forsyth is on his way over. He stretches out again as Forsyth opens his yap.

“You’re not to make a fool of the army or our platoon!” Forsyth coarsely reminds him. 

“How am I supposed to enjoy myself then? This is like a mini vacation for me.” Python says as he walks towards the water well. He pulls up a bucket, dunks his head into the brisk water and pulls it out quickly. He can hear Forsyth continue to nag under the water. 

“It is far from a vacation Python!” Forsyth squawks as he shakes away the rest of the water. The knight grimaces as cold droplets hit his face. “There are witches out there and they could kill you in a split second!” 

“Gee, way to instil confidence in me—“

“This isn’t just you crawling back from the tavern, Python. If something happens to Lady Silque, you are responsible for it.” He says, his voice dropping to a beg. “The Mother would be furious if one of her daughters died to a witch!”

“It won’t happen,” Python says, patting Forsyth’s shoulder. The knight reaches out, taking Python’s shoulder. “Besides, she’s probably got some holy spell about her protecting her from sin and all that shit.”

“It’s obviously not working if she’s supposed to be protected from sin…” 

“Hey, I just like to have fun.” He says, pulling his hand away. He turns straight into Lukas, with Silque behind him. The cowl is around her neck, hiding her face. Must be religious wear.

“Good morning.” He greets to the both of them. “Python, Lady Silque is ready to depart.”

“You sure you wanna go in the cold and rain?” He asks.

“Yes.” She says firmly. “There is a cleric covering my patients but only for a short time. I must be as quick as possible.”

“Fine. I’ll be ready in a sec.” he says, glancing back to Forsyth. He leans down, watching the wide-eyed knight and picks up his bag. Again, he feels that magnetic attraction come back, surely something of her own concoction.

He hauls the bag onto his back, fingers finding his bow and quiver. He nods to Silque. “Lead the way Lady.” He says, smirking when he hears Forsyth grimace. 

Silque forces another smile and thanks Lukas warmly. She turns on her heel and begins to depart from the camp, their boots slopping in the mud.

“Thank you for accompanying me.” She says, glancing over her shoulder. Python slinks behind her. 

“No problem.” He says, more focused on the scarf around her face. It is made of thick material, almost like wool. It is dark blue, and embroidered with silver, the thread swirling and curving to make a design that his eyes can’t quite register. The edge of the scarf falls over her shoulder, the edge swaying against her back. One of her hands, still gloved, rests on the flap of a leather bag. It sloshes quietly, the wine inside.

He’s not a fan of religion or the Mother. Knows little of her tenets or holy texts or rules. He thinks this must be some form of modesty or religious wear as silence falls between them like snowflakes. The cleric clears her throat slightly, as if to get his attention before speaking again. “Sir Python, being blunt—“

“I’m not a sir.” He says. “Just Python.”

Silque pauses, continuing to walk ahead. She doesn’t turn her head this time. “Python, we should not be friends.”

His brow raises. 

“I heard what you said, about being a sinner.” She says. “While I thank you for taking care of the witches near my church, I do not want to associate with anyone—“

He feels it again. The aura of inhumanity. She speaks like someone from ages past. Hell, she acts like his great grandmother, what little he can remember of the old bag. 

“I got you.” He says. 

“Do you really?” Silque asks, turning around. The rain hits her face, sparkling against her skin. She looks almost like a Mila Idol, as if carved from marble and blessed. She looks… holy.

“Yes.” He says. “I have little intentions of being friends with you.”

Lie. He’s curious about what she is. Who she is. 

“I am glad we understand each other.” She says, turning back around. The walk is silent and his boots squash against the mud. 

---

The shrine is not far down into the valleys of Zofia. By the afternoon, the rain gets a little thicker, making it muddy along the trails. They slip, boots catching. Their clothes are soaked, bags too.

All of this for some stupid offering. He’s glad she doesn’t want to be friends. 

He’s waiting at the top of the hill while Silque searches for the entrance. He pauses, focusing on the edge of her scarf. The sun is going down and she loosens the cowl a little. His brow furrows when she comes back up to the top of the hill. 

“I’ve found the entrance, come on.” She says.

“What about your scarf. It’s coming undone.”

Her brow furrows as she touches the end. Realization floods her eyes as she pulls it back over her hair. “There.” She says. “Come on.”

He follows her down the hill, watching as she wrenches open the large stone doors. His brow furrows as she lets go of the knocker and steps inside the shrine, letting a worried breath escape her lips. He watches as she breathes a sigh and descends the dark staircase down. It looks like a crypt almost, a mausoleum to the departed souls that once lived close by. It’s freezing gold. Silque lowers her cowl and removes her gloves. Her baby blue hair is damp, turning a darker blue, almost indigo. 

He can hear hooting and hollering down below. Inhuman, gurgling sounds like a guts processing food. He looks at Silque who simply hurries forwards, the sounds of her shoes echoing through the hallways. 

A Terror moves out from a crypt. For a moment, it simply stares at Silque, who pays them no mind. And even stranger, they pay her no mind too. They look past her, like she is one of them. But when the Terror’s eyes focus on him, a guttural hiss bubbles up and echoes through the shrine.

He pulls his bow, quickly nocking an arrow along the indents of his weapon. With less than a breath, he shoots the Terror in the head, knocking it backwards against the old floor.

“Gods, what are you?” He snaps at her. Silque’s brow furrows now, more emotion than he’s seen her show in front of Lukas and Forsyth. “That thing didn’t even look at you!”

“I am a cleric of Mila.” She says slowly, almost repeating it to herself. “I’m under the holy protection of the goddess.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He says lowly.

“I do not care what plies you or not.” She snaps back, hurrying back down the staircase, into the glow of the shrine room.

Python cusses, makes sure the Terror is dead and pulls the arrow out of it’s decaying head. He follows after Silque, watching as she pulls off her leather bag and prepares to make her blessing.

---

Python didn’t realize he had fallen asleep. He opens his eyes to the sight of a Mila Idol. His eyes lazily flicker around the room until he hears the doors go again. He reaches for his bow, snapping up.

Silque slips in, a smear of blood above her lip.

“Oh, Python.” She greets. “Apologies, I did not mean to wake you.”

“You’re bleeding.” He says. 

“Oh?” Her brow furrows again, fingers grazing her upper lip. She stops and wipes it away with the back of her hand. 

“What happened, where did you go?” He asks.

“I just stepped out for some air.”

“And what? Did you hit your face or somethin’?” 

“Yes, I just…” her voice falters as she steps further into the Idol Room. “I needed time to think and I wanted to apologize.”

“Why?”

“I said that we shouldn’t be friends, not that I didn’t want to.” She says. “I find you… difficult to be around.”

“Not the first person to.”

“But you are doing work for church. Therefore I am indebted to you.” Silque says, the tips of her fingers raw. “I propose that we try to at least get along.”

He finds himself nodding. “Fine.”

“I am glad we understand each other.” She says, bowing her head slightly. Her hair sways again as she stands to full height. So strange, her emotions are like whiplash. He could play it off as a woman’s heart being fickle but it’s nothing so simple. There is something off about Silque, and he needs to know what makes her… different.

[revivedandabandonedkids]

The Portrait of Afuro Terumi (01~05)

! Double Gods

! Unfinished 

-

01.

There's a long corridor in the deep of the mansion, and a giant room at the end of it that Father tells Hiroto to keep away from.

"Why?" He asks whenever he catches a rare chance to occupy Father's time.

The answers are different every time.

"There's a cool draft seeping through. You might catch a cold."

"There's nothing at the other end to entertain you with."

"It's a dusty dusty room. You might catch a cough."

None of them are convincing enough.

He turns to Hitomiko-nee-san once to see if he can get a more satisfactory explanation, but his sister merely rolls her eyes and say. "It's because the hall is haunted. Duh."

Hiroto can't tell if she's trying scare him off or if she's just tired of trying to come up with an excuse, but the answer sends shivers down his spine.

"Have you ever been?"

She scoffs. "Of course not. Father told us to stay out for a reason."

She's a goodie-two-shoes like that.

So Hiroto asks on.

"You might get lost in the dark."

"The door is locked and I've lost the key."

It's obvious that with the older he gets, the less patience Father has for the question. The answers turn short and clipped, when eventually it turns into a single-

"Just keep away."

And then he stops talking to Father altogether.

-

02.

His curiosity stays unquenched.

-

03.

It's easy to get bored inside the mansion.

It doesn't matter how ridiculously large a house is, once you get used to the bounds, the place settles in a quiet thrum of mundaneness, and Hiroto's spent years trapped within those walls.

It's ridiculous, how the mansion's settled on a mountain. Isn't it awfully inconvenient to get to society? Maybe the land's cheaper on the mountains, but it's not like his family lacks money, so what's the excuse there, Father?

The Kira mansion looks like one of those CGI layered Haunted House In The Deep Of The Woods On A Stormy Night in horror movies. Clearly the best place to raise your children.

Hiroto used to freak out at night when the shadows stretched too long on the ceiling and the air conditioner whirred too loudly in his spacey room, but as he grew, the fear started altering into gaping loneliness. Then even that was gone, and all that was left was emptiness.

It's a miracle that he hasn't developed some sort of emotional trauma from all the neglect.

Or maybe Hiroto is traumatized, and just doesn't know how to identify it.

He can't wait to be old enough to get his own place. A place far far far away.

And that's when Hiroto gets the first idea of the secrets residing in the house.

When he tells his future escape plans to his friend(?) Haizaki, the dark skinned underclassman only nods thoughtfully and says, “I’d be dying to move out of a cursed house too.”

Hiroto narrows his eyes. “Cursed?” That’s the second time he’s heard that word applied to his residence, but it’s the first time he’s hearing it from an outsider. “What do you mean cursed?”

“There’s a rumor.” Haizaki seems reluctant to answer. “People talk about it all the time: There’s a ghost, or an angry spirit of some sort? Anyway, it supposedly killed a bunch of dudes before finally being sealed inside a secret chamber. I wouldn’t know. I just think your house is creepy.”

Creepy it is. Cursed? Hiroto doesn’t know.

“I think I know what chamber you’re talking about.” Hiroto tells him. Because what other room would be considered as a secret chamber other than the room he’s prevented from entering?

Is that the reason it’s forbidden to him? Because his Father is a superstitious shithead? Why keep living in the house, then?

“Seriously? That chamber exists?” Haizaki’s eyes widen. “That’s freaky.”

“You wanna come see it?” Hiroto offers with a smirk.

Haizaki scoffs. “Because we both know that you don’t have the guts to poke around by yourself.”

Hiroto flushes darkly, trying to uphold some sort of composure as the elder one present. “That’s not- I’m just granting you the chance because you look interested.” So really, Haizaki should be thanking him.

Haizaki guffaws, and it’s a very unattractive voice, mind you. “I’m not risking the chance of getting cursed, rumor or not. You’re on your own, buddy.”

"You still believe in sorcery and witchcraft?" Hiroto taunts. "What a baby."

For once, Haizaki doesn't take the bait like the easily-riled-up dumbass he is, and simply retorts. "Like you're one to talk. You wouldn't be yapping at me to go with you if you weren't afraid of it yourself."

Shit. He actually has a point. Except-

"I'm not afraid." Hiroto narrows his eyes. "The only reason I haven't gone into the room is because Father explicitly told me not to."

"And you listen to him since when?"

Hiroto shuts up. He hates it when other people are right, especially if "other people" is Haizaki.

-

04.

"Why am I not allowed to go in that room?" Hiroto asks. It's been years since he last questioned about it.

"You can't just barge in here whenever you want, Hiroto." His Father has a look of displeasure on his face, probably upset since Hiroto bursted into his home office abruptly without even a knock.

"Tell me why I not allowed in. The truth. Not some half-assed lie."

"I thought you've dropped that childhood nonsense already."

Hiroto feels his throat closing up. His clenched fists shake. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm your father, Hiroto."

Hiroto scowls.

"Hitomiko-nee-san says it's haunted. There's a rumor outside that it's cursed." He says bluntly.

"There's no such thing as ghosts or curses, Hiroto. You're the heir of the Kira company. We don't indulge in fantasies or superstition." His Father furrows his eyebrows condescendingly. "You should know better."

-

05.

And that's why Hiroto's sneaking into the Forbidden Corridor, glaring at the giant door in front of him.

So there is a room here.

Well, that's pretty much a given, since a corridor leading to nowhere would be a pretty idiotic design.

It looks like a fairly plain door. It's wooden and the paint is peeled. From the bright beam of the flashlight on his phone, he can see that there's dust all over the surface of the doorknob. This place hasn't seen any visitors in a long while.

"Listen, I can't stop you if you still want to get cursed, but word of advice: Don't interact with anything. Don't touch anything. Don't respond to any noise. In and out. Higher chance of survival."

It's not like Hiroto needs survival tips from Haizaki Ryouhei. That would most likely increase his chances of getting his soul sucked out of his body or whatever.

The door makes an ominous creak when it cracks open.

It's brighter than he expected. There's a beam of afternoon sunlight spilling through a ceiling window. He turns off the flashlight.

It's an almost empty storage room. That is to say, it would be empty, if not for the enormous life sized painting strung up on the wall to the far side of the room.

It's a portrait of a person. Or maybe an ethereal being. The depicted subject sat regally in the center, with a Greek chiton draping over their slender figure. Long blonde hair the shade of melted sunlight flows down their shoulders, shrouding a pale, fair face with elegant eyebrows arching over striking red eyes and a teasing smile twitching at the edge of their mouth. Between their left fingers is an elegant wine glass, a golden fluid fills it to the brim. The background is a muddled mistiness.

It looks like a very ordinary painting. The frame has little cracks littered all over. Under the frame lays a caption:

Afuro Terumi (????) It is said that this painting brings happiness.

Hiroto snorts. Some cursed room. There's nothing but what looks like a religious painting. Is this what Father is so amendment on keeping Hiroto away from? Does Father even know what's inside this room? Why would he hang a (seemingly expensive) picture where no one could see it?

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Hiroto crosses his arms in front of his chest and tips his chin up in a mock sneer. "They say you're cursed." He says loudly, fixing his gaze on the being portrayed in the center of the canvas- Afuro Terumi, probably. "Well, they say the room is cursed, but you're the only one here, aren't you? What do you say?"

Afuro Terumi's face breaks into a wide smile. "I'd tell you they're right. I am cursed."

-[Next]

Okay just to be clear, this is still some what a wip.

I have most of the plot figured out, and have written about 1/3 of the entire story already, but I have a reputation of not finishing wips. So.

I don't know when the next part will be out yet. Keep a lookout if interested. Ignore this if not.

Bear in mind that this is written at the spur of the moment. I put like 0 effort into this, but still spent a lot of time because typing takes a considerable amount of time oof.

I am not going to apologize for putting 0 effort, because I wrote this piece purely to entertain myself. It's very very self-indulgent. And also because it's just not worth it putting too much heart into my ina eleven stories.

Nothing against the ina eleven fandom. I love this community, I really do, but it gets tiring sometimes and I don't have the energy to fight off bad emotions. I'm only trying to protect myself.

Being a fanfiction writer isn't easy work. I've been writing for roughly six years, and only recently did I come to this realization that as a writer, I don't need to write to please anyone else. It's my own opinion that matters. I write for small fandoms and very rare pairings, so feedback never comes easy. I'm sure other writers can relate. No feedback makes it way too easy to doubt oneself. That had taken a toll on my emotional health in the past, over and over again. Then I decided that I'm done with doubting myself over a hobby. So I no longer ask for comments, because I don't want to set myself up for disappointment.

There had been a time in my life that I thought I would stop writing. At least stop putting my writing online. There's just no motivation for it. But then someone came up to me and told me that they love my stories, that I'd convinced them to ship a rarepair, that they want to try writing now. That changed my mind, and helped shape my mindset the way it is today. I don't need to write for a crowd. I just need to write for myself, and the very few who enjoy my stories as well.

This rant turned out to be more personal than I'd intended, and ended on a happier note than I thought it would. So if you're still here, advice for other struggling writers: find your audience, your support system. Find those who are willing to discuss ideas with you. It gets better from there. ♡