#For now I'm content with fanfiction...

[sociallyawkwardseal]

Is it. Really that weird that I like keeping my personal blog away from my writing blog? ._. I'm pretty sure that's normal for a lot of people, especially people who either Do webnovel posting or intend to go into webnovel posting.

[tervaneula]

(This is an edit of the pic I drew for chapter 15)

Maybe in another universe? 😭 I wish NQK was this, but it's not, and I have no idea why I had to hurt myself (and Leonardo) like this. Oh my gohdfsjdvdhdhfjgj. Screams falls down on knees cries throws up etc

[wolfhoundish]

D.A.M.N sleepover shenanigans!! Diya's hiding her face cuz she's camera shy

[ps-cactus]

Shades of Silver Lining - Ch. 4 - posted ✅

Ch.3 <- | -> Ch.5 , the first post aka story teaser + tags

word count: 4135 ✨ [ AO3 ] ✨ [ Wattpad ]

photos by @acslytherpuff girl you are amazing 💕

Thank you @accio-bagel for beta reading and encouragement 😭💖 love you 3000

a/n: Welcome to the other side ✨ Unreliable narrator✨ ! author's opinion ≠ narrator's pls I mean it

Summary: It's the only chapter there will be from an Antagonist aka Officer Roland Foster POV. He he doesn't trust people. Especially he doesn't trust a girl recklessly wielding the wild and destructive magic. And he despises the Gaunts, including that Gaunt boy, who thinks he's being clever with his defiance masquerading as wit. And he can't stand that stubborn and incompetent Ruth Singer.

a/n2: oh, and the next chapter will be Ominis POV. Boy has to go home to try to settle some things.

・・・

The officer’s eyes darted restlessly over the lines, ensuring the enchanted quill hadn't missed any details.

" … Why didn’t you contact the Aurors yesterday, Miss Salters?"

"People were already being threatened around here not so long ago. Contacting Aurors didn’t help. But Sebastian did. … " 

“... … you would entrust your safety to a schoolkid?”

"Yes, I would." 

"And how has that worked out for you, Miss Salters?"

The faintest smirk played in the corner of his lips. Sallow must enjoy regaling his peers with tales of his supposed importance here. Officer Foster didn’t mind. Though an unconventional addition to the office, his trainee was bound to be exceptionally helpful in so many ways.

・・・

This morning, right after Salters stepped out of his private office, was supposed to be the best chance to probe the youngest Gaunt for answers while they were still untouched and unrefined. The brief private conversation—not an interrogation, of course, that would have required too many formalities—had been fruitless, a combination of polished deflections, vague acknowledgements, and no actionable leads. 

The Gaunt boy’s posture, his deliberate pauses, even his final “Officer” and a curt nod as he left—all was too calculated. That kind of control didn’t come naturally; it was learned and practised.

・・・

Roland Foster slid his hand into his jacket pocket, brushing against the medallion he always kept with him. The faded portraits within would forever remind him of the danger posed by magic that strayed too far from the ordinary. Norms existed for a reason—everything beyond them would lead only to ruin.

・・・

“Tell me, you’re sure she remained in the castle the entire night?”

“Yes, sir.” Rexley’s patience in calmly repeating answers to Foster’s questions, as often as the latter required, was one of his finer traits. “She returned early and stayed there until Dinah Hecat escorted her here.”

・・・

“The Gaunts, yet again,” Rexley remarked grimly, gripping the letter. 

“You’re telling me.”

“Officer,” Rexley said, looking thoughtfully at the letter. “I’ve heard you want to investigate everyone who was in Hogsmeade last night. But with Bell’s absence still unresolved, I’d suggest it’s only fair to include Aurors in that ‘everyone.’”

“That’s exactly what’s going to happen, Rexley. But maybe you are implying something specific?”

“Merely that Singer’s squad appears rather prejudiced against the local criminals,” Rexley said, leaning slightly over the desk, eagerness sparkling in his hazel eyes. “After all, Bell is among her team. Naturally, we’ll include our people, too, so they can’t object,” he added, straightening again. 

“How about we start with you then, Rex?” Foster said with a grin, looking up from the second letter he was hurriedly writing. “Set the standard for the rest.”

“Not an issue, sir,” Rexley replied, mirroring the grin. “You know exactly what my wand’s results will be. Just make sure the others don’t get overly anxious.”

・・・

P.S greatly inspired by:

[someonetookmyawesomename]

You ever just think to yourself that you've gotten over a ship, and then it pulls you right back like a toxic ex that wants to be miserable together with you?

That happened to me yesterday and I don't know if I should cry for joy or despair

[not-the-state]

Me:

I will not start another fanfiction

I have multiple WIPs already. There is no reason to start another fanfiction

To start another fanfiction would be a foolish overcommitment

Two minutes later:

My brain: Yeah so we all agree that Jimmy Solidarity Gaming, otherwise known as the right honorable Lord Gaming, is most likely to die in any given SMP, but would probably survive the longest of his peers if they were physically isekai'd into said SMPs? And we agree we should write about this?

My beta: Yeah you should do something with that

Me: Guys what the fuck-

[skell3]

It's like, 4am, I can't sleep and have Distortion feels.

Headcanon on Distortions transition from Michael to Helen below. Not proofread or anything. Probably a mess of thoughts. IDK, I'm eepy and wanted to get it out of my head.

You have been warned, lmao

Michael stepped through the doorway with a map in hand and fear in his heart...

That was the day the Distortion felt emotion.

He-they-it-we-- the melding of poor Mr. Shelley and the Spiral's advocate for a ritual twisted and tested them both through a process that nearly undid them together.

But because they-it-he were two into one, even as the Distortion took His shape and form, learned His emotions and took on His memories, Michael only really existed inside the halls. And yet he didn't.

Reflections, paintings. How the Halls changed to suit his tastes. The Yellow Door was who he was as much as it wished it wasn't. Both a blessing and a curse upon it- ritual ruined and now it knows anger. Rage.

Sorrow.

But now it could attract meals better. A charming young man and an inviting looking door...

The Distortion was Michael Shelley, but the hunger for Fear and Its nature all but washed his direct presence from itself. All but a room and the occasional glimpse of him within itself. Preserving the heart of someone it perhaps pitied or loved for what he became to it.

→

This is what Helen Richardson encountered on her first trip into The Halls. Disoriented, famished and dehydrated, she had thought she hallucinated it- like everything else It fed from her. The image in the reflection of a mirror of a round-faced man with blond curls could've been just that. After all, he wasn't there when she turned around.

But something was different.

Helen called out in case it really was someone else trapped there, frightened away. Called until her throat was aching, cried what she had left in her after. Then, hours or days or weeks or- who knows- later, she got up and started to walk again. And saw him again, looking quite sadly at her, as if it were his fault she were there.

She laughed at him this time, hysterical- up until he left the mirror again. Helen tried to call out, to get him to stop, but to no avail. But that had her moving, to keep walking, keep going. If someone was there, maybe she wouldn't have to die alone in here.

Besides: this time, she caught the faintest scent of sunflowers. Something she would remember even as she opened a door and stumbled out of the halls. It would fade with her surprise, yet linger as she breathed deeply her first fresh breath in... She didn't know how long, at the time. Even if that scent, that sad young man, would leave her while she attempted to recover and keep away from suspicious doors-

He was the first thing she remembered when It caught her again.

←

At first, Michael had thought it was her- the assistant. The one They tried to warn, about The Hive. Rooted in His history with His Archivist and what She did to It, that had been a test, a curiosity, and an urge it could not ignore. But realizing it wasn't the Assistant, Michael had turned away from the latest Meal in the halls, fading from the chore of existing again.

Or he would if she had not been so desperate. So determined.

This strength spurred what was there of Him, and Michael made his presence as little and simple as possible. It could hardly Know itself for risk of unbecoming, as the complicated process of how He became who It was could've only been done through the insanity of that stupid piece of paper he let Gertrude Robinson bribe him to use-

And for her credit, this Helen woman was a lot tougher than he had ever been. So he managed her a way out, while It was distracted. Maybe then He could finally fade in peace.

But no, more of that anger that grudge he'd unintentionally imprinted on The Door, and the Distortion kept poking into things that stirred the memories of Michael. Not really intentionally of it's only right, either, as the Archivist was a figure of interest and all, but the whole thing caused discomfort within the halls like anxiety might do to the gut.

Michael could not fade, the Distortion would keep at Its tactics to use His feelings against others, and Helen Richardson would be claimed again by the Halls- this time, for good.

→

The mirrors were the first thing Helen watched after her initial breakdown upon realizing she was There again. Searched for that round face, the softer curls than the being that wore them outside the Door. If whoever he was had led her out before, maybe he could do it again- before she actually died this time...? But he didn't show, not for a little while, and her hope begun to fade.

Even if she could escape again, It would find her again, wouldn't it? Helen could still feel the walls breathing sometimes, got dizzy and disoriented when she turned a corner and found nothing but wall right behind her again. It still got to her, fed off her, but somehow... Either it was because she had been there before, or because she realized and accepted that escape might not be the way out...

Things were more familiar than before.

Only when she realized this, did Helen spot the sad blond man again, and she wordlessly followed his path this time.

Sunflowers. Warmth. Somehow the carpet under her feet felt softer. The walls weren't so twisted, things weren't shifting so much, vibrating through her senses. Sounds that echoed in ways they should not have were more muted. Helen wondered who or what this man was to this place, and after a time, she even asked.

"Who are you?"

No answer.

"Why do you two look alike?"

Nothing.

Of course, Helen had thought It had come in there to torment her, at some point in time, but the difference was more felt than realized, and a gut feeling kept her grounded on this one.

"Where are you?"

That question has the mirror fellow stopping. Now he could be viewed better, tall but not too tall. Dressed as if prepared for Winter, though the air very nearly felt like Summer. Helen waited to see what he would do, and when the answer was to start moving away again, she followed.

"I'm going to die here."

Not even a pause.

"Did you die here?'

Was it just her, or did she feel more tired? Weakening faster. Other sensations were starting to kick in again. How long has she been there? Her throat was dry... Helen tried to move a little faster, to catch up. She tripped, stumbled,

and caught herself with her hand upon the knob to a door.

Not Yellow. Not the way out. Plain, easy to miss as the hall shifted again around her and made her queasy. There was a round mirror on it, though, and in it she saw herself, nearly a corpse in appearance.

Behind her was the man, who looked a lot younger than she thought before. He almost smiled, but there were tears in his eyes. An unspoken apology on his lips, a hand closed over Helen's on the door handle.

"This is the only way."

↓

The doorknob was turned.

The Distortion was pulled into itself and remade.

Helen unbecame and became again, learning of Michael. Learning of the Distortion. And it learned her, became her as It had once been Michael.

The Distortion stepped out again, and Helen confronted the Archivist.

[teabutmakeitazure]

i know my blog is straying away from childe (it honestly already has a long time ago) and it's just made me think of the inevitability of things. i still love the ginger menace, always will, but i feel like there's a certain beauty to things like this.

i have 3 fanfic projects that i want to work on: vamp! childe fic (stc of changing the male interest from childe to an oc), chrollo longfic, and a jason longfic. i'm not very keen on speeding up the first two right now because they've been in the works for over a year and im afraid they might just end up rotting in my wips for a very long time, but i am up for the jason longfic!

it's not going to be yandere, just a cheesy and angsty romance which will be kind of similar to Magenta Die, Cyan Bullet (aventurine x reader) in the way that reader is a wretched reflection of Jason and neither party is a fan of it. Jason knew reader from highschool and they reconnect later when he's the red hood and reader is in university. there are subtleties that make it apparent that while reader isn't very normal in the sanity department, reader is a perfectly normal member of society, unlike a certain double door fridge build man.

none of these will be out anytime soon because i am in the depth of academic hell but do expect a lot of vague-posting for all three including TBT lol

[banana-cheese-cake]

Freak Show - Chapter 2

Ch. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, ... AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Date unknown. 

Puffs of frozen air hissed out of the glass door to your cryopod as it slowly slid open, sending you toppling forward. Knees hitting the metal floors with a harsh crack, your top half following suit, leaving you laying on your side on the cold floor. Blurry shapes finally came into focus as your eyes adjusted after being closed for so long, you saw rows and rows of cryosleep pods filled with clueless people like you. As you pushed yourself to your feet, the pain in your hands made itself known to you once again, having scraped them before entering the vault and then beating them against the glass door of your pod as you were frozen. Hot liquid poured down the side of your face, yet another wound that needed your attention, but you ignored it. Instead walking on wobbling legs towards the pod across from yours.

Lottie's cryopod had been left open by her kidnappers, proving that she really had been taken and it wasn't just a twisted nightmare brought on by cryosleep. You felt tears fall from your eyes, mixing with the blood already present on your mangled face. She was gone. The thought alone paralyzed you, a world without your twin sister was a world that wasn't worth living in. No. No, you couldn't give up the hope that she was still alive, until proven otherwise you would believe she wasn't entirely gone, she was just missing and you were going to find her. Regaining your composure and turning to get a good look at the vault around you, the sight of all the bodies frozen in eternal sleep gave you a new mission to focus on: figuring out what happened here.

Beside the cryosleep pods were control panels, pressing the release button on the pod next to Lottie's caused the glass door to hiss open. As the cold white air filtered out of the pod and into the surrounding area, you gasped and took a step back, taking in the sight before you. The young woman inside wore the same assigned vault suit that everyone was given upon entering vault 111, blue with yellow accents and a big ”111” printed on the back. Her blonde hair was up in a bun, fully exposing her frozen face to you. She was clearly dead, eyes lifeless as they stared passed you, her lips and nose dark purple. You quickly closed the pod again, choosing instead to look through the control panel for any information you could find on what had happened to this woman. Finding what you were looking for and beginning to read, you felt your stomach drop. The panel stated that this woman had died from asphyxiation, she had been locked in this pod until, at some unknown time, there had been a malfunction. Instead of filling the pod with oxygen, the system had filtered out any and all oxygen present. 

Rushing to the next pod, and then the next, you discovered that this had happened to every single pod in this vault. Well, every pod except yours and Lottie's. All around you were rows and rows of frozen corpses, all people who just wanted to survive the nuclear fallout above and save their families. Looking into all the blue, lifeless faces around you made you sick; deciding instead to venture to the vault entrance to find a way out of this tomb. Your footsteps echoed off the walls as you walked, the pain in your hands, knees, and face keeping you tethered to reality. Turning the corner at the end of the hall of cryopods you stopped, eyes transfixed on the skeleton laying on the ground ahead of you. Creeping closer, you noticed that whoever this was had been a scientist in life and adorned the Vault-tec assigned lab coat you often wore to work yourself. 

Clasped in its bony, decayed fingers was a pistol, most likely the same gun that left the jagged hole through this skeleton's head. You bent down and tore it from the body's grasp, clutching the cold metal in your hand as you stood and walked to the nearby desk. On it, you found a brown leather backpack that contained a white-handled hunting knife, a box of bullets, and a few stimpaks. Putting on the pack and tucking the pistol into your belt, you reached for the terminal on the desk and began to dig for answers, searching for any information about what happened here. The notes on what appear to be the overseer's terminal detailed a mutiny that broke out once the employees here ran out of food, they wanted the overseer to open the vault door to get supplies but it appears he decided against it. There weren't any other logs to be found, but you could guess what happened based on the corpse beside you. 

Stepping over him, you marched toward the platform that had taken you and so many others down here and connected your pip-boy to the operating panel. You entered the command to open the vault door and send the platform up to the surface, nearly toppling over as the ground beneath you shook after years of disuse. Rising painstakingly slowly, you allowed yourself to imagine what the world above could possibly be like after nuclear bombs were dropped on it. The world you knew was gone, you knew that much, but you couldn't even begin to imagine what it looked like now. As you finally rose to the surface, you held a hand over your eyes as piercing sunlight crept in through the slowly opening vault doors above you. 

Squinting as your eyes adjusted to the bright light, you stepped off the platform onto the dirt and turned in a slow circle to take in the scene around you. When you'd entered the vault, the forest of trees around it had been turning shades of red, orange, and yellow as Halloween drew near. Now, however, the forest was nothing more than maybe a dozen trees with sickly looking leaves and branches that droop downward. Walking through the small military base that had been set up around the vault entrance led you to find three more skeletal bodies clad in guard uniforms. You chose not to investigate further, walking out through the fallen gates and back toward the shortcut you and Lottie had taken through the trees to get here. Stepping out from the shade of the few remaining trees brought you face to face with what remained of your old neighborhood. 

The street that had once been filled with laughing children decorating their homes for the upcoming holiday was now in ruins, the decorations now deteriorated and dull as they swayed in the gentle breeze. Most of the houses weren't left standing, and those that were had collapsed roofs or missing walls. A few houses down was your mother’s, the house you had sat in numbly before the nuclear bombs were dropped and your life was once again upended. The same house you had grown up in with your twin sister, and the same house your mother’s life had ended in. There was no door left to open, so you gingerly stepped inside and cataloged the damages you could see. All the windows had shattered the day of the funeral, the dining room and living room were each missing a wall and all the furniture had toppled over and rotted away. As you walked down the short hall to your childhood bedroom, you took in the faded faces of you and your sister as children in photographs that had been so lovingly displayed. You took down a photo of you with your mother and Lottie from when you had both graduated high school and shoved it in your backpack, before finally pushing open the decayed door to your room.

After you'd both left for college, your mother had insisted the room stay the same in case you ever wanted to stop by for a visit, though you rarely did. That was something you regretted deeply now as you scanned the destroyed room. Your beds were on different sides of the room, at one time they had been full beds with mahogany bed frames, but now they were rotted planks with heaps of what used to be mattresses laying on them. You sat on what previously had been your bed as a wave of grief washed over you and tears began to well in your eyes. During the funeral planning you hadn't allowed yourself to feel the loss, not even at the funeral itself. Then afterwards when you'd finally begun to sink under the weight of it all, the world ended. And then it ended again when Lottie was taken from you. 

With the sun setting through the glassless window beside you, you laid on what remained of your bed as sobs racked through you. In the span of a couple days you had lost everyone you loved and were thrust into a world you didn't recognize. You were completely alone for the first time in your life, completely clueless as to what you should do or how you would find your sister in this desolate wasteland. More tears fell from your eyes and stung your cheek as you hugged your knees to your chest to fight the chill that crept into your bones as daylight fades to night. Sleep quickly dragged you under as the tears subsided and your body was overcome with exhaustion. 

.

.

.

A soft beeping from the pip-boy on your left wrist woke you early the next morning. You sat up groggily as you switched through the settings to figure out what was causing that awful sound. You froze as you saw the noise was coming from a distress signal nearby, meaning there were other people up here with you. Other survivors.

The helplessness you felt the night prior was pushed down by a new resolve, you were going to help these people. There was nothing left of your old job or life up here, but you would never ignore a call for help, not then and certainly not now. You stood from your ramshackle bed, threw on your backpack, and typed in the distress signal's coordinates. The pistol you'd found earlier still snug in your belt as you walked through the decrepit house you once called home and towards the first people you'd heard from since leaving Vault 111. 

You walked for a couple miles, passed crumbling homes, rusting cars, and long dead corpses, until you finally reached the edge of a city. The neighborhoods had been bad, sure, but they weren't the bomb's targets. The cities were. Rubble lined the streets beneath towering skyscrapers that were little more than steel support beams now. Bodies were everywhere, some long since rotted away and others looking more recently deceased, you tried not to look too closely at the torn flesh and gore that spilled from them. Something had done this to them, something huge and definitely not human. 

Walking deeper into the city you were startled by the sound of gunfire ahead of you, followed by shouting and rushing footsteps. Ducking behind a totaled car, you tried to get a good look at what was going on further down the road. A few people were hiding among the rubble in the street, shooting at others inside what looked to be a run down museum of some kind. Looking at the coordinates on your pip-boy, you determined that the museum was where the distress signal was coming from. You slowly snuck toward the commotion, being sure to stay behind cover. 

“Just come on out, if you give us everything you’ve got I promise no one will suffer,” a  harsh voice from a man a few cars down from you yelled to the people in the building. 

What the fuck was going on here? What happened to the world while you were asleep? You're sure you couldn't have been asleep for that long, not long enough for people to start acting like this anyway. Assessing the situation, you decided the best way to help the people who sent the distress signal would be to get rid of the ones threatening them. Horror washed over you at how easily the thought of murder came to you as a solution, one day in the wasteland and you were already changing. 

You'd used a gun and other weapons plenty of times, it was something you were trained for at Vault-Tec so that the scientists in your vault could also function as guards or defenders, should people from the surface try to break into the sanctuary of Vault 4. Despite this, you'd never killed anyone before, as you weighed your pistol in your hand you considered the ramifications of what you were about to do. Murder was something you couldn’t come back from, it was permanent and the weight of it would haunt you for the rest of your days. But then you thought to the people in the museum asking for help, letting these helpless people suffer at the hands of the horrendous humans out here would haunt you even longer. Knowing you could have done something to help and instead chose to do nothing would haunt you far longer than killing some in order to save many. It was decided then, as you tighten your grip on your pistol and relish in the pain across your palm that sharpened your focus, you decide you're going to kill these people in order to save the ones inside.

There were five of them, all clearly more experienced in dealing with this new world than you were, but they didn’t know you were here. Using this to your advantage, you silently pulled out the hunting knife you'd found yesterday as you inched closer and closer until you were a few feet behind the man most separated from the group. You tucked your pistol into your belt before taking a deep breath, you were really going to do this, there was no turning back now. Your left hand shot forward, gripping his hair and jerking his head backwards as your other hand plunged the knife deep into his throat. He didn't even have time to scream, not even a second to register what was happening before his life came to an abrupt end. 

Pulling the knife from his throat, you watched his body crumple to the ground as blood gushed from his open wound. Frantically searching the street, you saw that the other four hadn't noticed his absence, still focused on tormenting their victims trapped in the museum. One down, four to go, you could do this, you had to do this to save those people. Looking down at the body beneath you, you searched for anything on him that could possibly help you take down his friends. On his person you found a couple strange looking grenades, it looked like they'd been modified to fragment upon impact to cause as much damage as possible. A grisly weapon, but it would definitely help you out in this situation. Adrenaline coursing through you, you pushed forward, as close as you could safely get to the remaining four.

One was off to the far left, away from the three grouped together outside the museum entrance, you'd have to deal with that one afterwards. Looking at the strange grenade in your hand you took a deep breath, then stood, pulled the pin, and threw it at the three individuals huddled by the door. Dropping down as fast as humanly possible, you threw your hands over your ears right as the bomb went off. The blast shook the entire street, causing a slight ringing in your ears even with your hands pressed against them. Rising up on shaking legs and peaking above the rubble you'd used as coverage, you gagged at the sight in front of you. 

That grenade was much more powerful than you had anticipated, the three humans that once stood at the entrance were now scattered limbs and organs as far as the eye could see. In your shock, you didn't notice the fourth member turn your way and aim her rifle at you. Before she could get a shot off, a monstrous roar rang out behind her, followed by an agonized scream  that tore out of her as the beast pierced her through the stomach with a sickening tear. You stood frozen with terror as you stared at the monster that was currently ripping apart the woman who intended to kill you. It was ten feet tall and covered in scales that looked thick enough to function as armor; it had talons at least a foot long on each hand and horns protruding from its head. 

The monster began to eat the woman, or what remained of her, and you realized that this was your chance to get into the museum. You crouched behind all the cover you could find and raced as fast as you could to the entrance of the building, but there was a good fifteen foot stretch of land with no coverage. You would be completely exposed to the creature, you would have to sprint and hope that the door wasn't locked, that the people inside would let you in. Chancing one last look at the hideous beast devouring the remains of the woman you intended to kill, you shot into a sprint. You heard it roar behind you as you leaped over the gore that covered the base of the entrance and slammed into the door, finding it to be- locked. It was locked. You banged on the door frantically as you screamed at the people inside, “Please, please let me in, I got your distress signal please there's something out here with me!”

A muffled male voice came from the other side of the door, “Shit, let her in! Hurry!”

It swung open, causing you to tumble to the ground before scrambling back as far away from the door as you could. That thing was out there roaring and smashing debris as it got closer to the door, but it wasn't fast enough. The people who let you in had already put the barricade back up in the few seconds it took for you to fall inside. 

“Thank you, thank you so much. Oh my God, what is that thing?” You asked as you tried to catch your breath. 

“That's what we call a Deathclaw, you're lucky to be alive,” the man who let you in said as he offered a hand to pull you up. 

You took it gratefully before wincing from the pain as you stood, remembering the untended wounds on your palms. 

“You look like you could use some patching up, come on, it's the least we can do since you got rid of those raiders for us.” He turned and ventured further into the building, beckoning you to follow him. 

As you walked into a room in the back of the museum, you counted only six people inside, many with wounds much worse than yours. The man sat you down and pulled a chair up in front of you before beginning to clean and bandage the wounds on your hands. “Thank you for helping us, we weren't sure anyone would get our signal way out here.” He said as he worked.

You took a good look at him while he was distracted, he was a handsome man with dark skin, wearing a strange hat and a trench coat. He looked like he was ready for a civil war reenactment, but you tried not to judge, guessing fashion wasn't a major concern with things like raiders and Deathclaws to deal with. 

“You're welcome, thank you for letting me in before that thing got to me,” you said softly as the gravity of the situation finally caught up to you.

You had killed four people, technically five if you count the one eaten by the Deathclaw, and now you were trapped in this building with these wounded strangers and a monster outside. 

“My name is Preston Garvey, by the way, leader of the Minutemen.” You introduced yourself before he continued, “we don't see many vault dwellers up here, which one are you from, if you don't mind me asking? And why on earth are you up here?” He asked as he moved to the wound on your face, you'd almost forgotten about it until the antiseptic hit it.

“I'm from Vault 111, I'm up here to find someone- my sister. She was kidnapped from our vault, by someone dressed like those people outside.” 

“Kidnapped? From a vault?” He let out a low whistle, “that's awful, I always thought those vaults were the safest place on the planet. Guess a good thing like that can't last forever.” 

“Yeah, I guess not,” you stared at the rotting walls around you before you thought to ask, “what's the date?”

“The date?” He asked incredulously, “it's September 21st.”

“September 21st? It's only 2078? I've been asleep for almost an entire year?” You said in shock as he leaned back to look at you.

“No, it's September 21st, yes but it's not 2078, it's 2294. What do you mean you've been asleep?” He stared at you in confusion as he waited for an answer.

“I- No, no that can't be right. No. I was on the surface on October 23, 2077 when the bombs dropped and then I went into Vault 111. They forced me and my sister into cryosleep pods and then after a while I was woken up when she was kidnapped. Then I was put back to sleep and I woke up yesterday to find the world like this,” you gestured to the mess of a building around you. 

“The bombs fell over two-hundred years ago, I think you've been asleep for much longer than a year,” he held eye contact as he set down the medical supplies. “I don't know what happened to you or what was going on in that vault, but from my calculations, if what you're saying is true, you've been asleep for almost 217 years.”

[punchdrunkdoc]

I have discovered I love writing Frank Castle.

He was only ever supposed to be alluded to in Tabula Rasa. A name-drop. An off-screen cameo.

Now he has dialogue. Full conversations. He has scenes.

This is a problem.

[evilbalwan]

I finally got around to write a fic and it's short, but I'm mostly grateful it exists lol. You can read it here. It's about SMT I hero and heroine in Dx2 world! Because the fact they're here makes me crazy!

[lillywhitefield]

Chair smut in a A Poison Tree???

Probably happening lol

[sleepymaven]

Godwyn Has a Fish Tail Instead of Legs...

..so he is a mermaid. (Or merman, in this case, but still.)

Where I'm going with this is... reverse Little Mermaid. 🧜🏼‍♀️

Godwyn sings an edited Part of Your World while on a cliffside next to the ocean, lamenting how he can't swim. (No one in the Lands Between can. Everyone fells to water.)

He then gets his beautiful tail.

He doesn't know how to use it properly yet and is struggling and all that before he finally gets in the water and can actually swim.

Then he sings the short reprise of Part of Your World while in the ocean. (Which would also give us that iconic rock scene/pose with the waves behind Godwyn when he hits that final note.)

He's swimming with the fishies and having a blast under the water when he finds... the sea witch.

..and is instantly smitten.

He spends his time trying to gain her favor and win her over, bringing her little gifts that are from land.

It works.

She simply adores him and the little treasures he brings her from land, she loving all the shiny trinkets and jewelry he has given her and finds it a sweet gesture. (After all, fish love shiny things and come, come, come to the brightest thing that glitters!)

They get to know eachother more and she brings him to her lair in the deep sea which is just an underwater cave with tons of glowing sea plants to light up the place.

She then reveals that she's not actually a witch at all and was just called that because people think she's evil, the people of the ocean seeing the deep, dark sea where she resides dangerous and overall evil.

Meanwhile, our "Erik" of the story is actually someone from land who is trying to stop Godwyn from going between land and water.

And perhaps even tries to kill him along the way.

And is actually more of a true witch than the sea witch is.

You guessed it.

It's Ranni.

[buckevantommy]

*clearing out my open ao3 tabs* i shall save these smutty reads for later, for my sex wolf..

[shhh-secret-time]

This...this Gunslinger Kyle fic may end up being a two parter.

God damn it.

[bereft-of-frogs]

the station | chapter 4/12

Post-Fallen Order: After months of halfhearted attempts, the Haxion Brood finally gets the jump on the Mantis crew. They drag their prisoners back to Sorc Tormo’s new venture, a half-constructed station in a remote asteroid belt, where he has a proposition for them: Greez’s debts, erased, as long as the crew helps him track down a troublesome old friend.

With hostages, visceral threats of violence, and a former-Imperial staffer consultant pulling the strings, it seems the Brood has the upper hand. But there is one narrow way through: the crew just has to trust each other and hope that the bluff can be called.

chapter 4: pressure applied

“So.” Greez turns back to Cere. He’s not sure what he was planning on saying to her. Are we really doing this, is one option, as well as what in the Sith hells is wrong with you, and you’ve got a plan for this, right, please tell me you know what you’re doing… She doesn’t look up. “Where do we start?” She’s loaded the data Kassara Flenn had given her and is thumbing through the records of the Brood’s search on her datapad. “Cere.” “This is going to be trickier than tracking surviving Jedi, we won’t be able to rely on the same sort of rumors, and I’m sure everyone knows to keep their mouths shut—” “Cere.” “I think we should start with your contacts, that one cantina, on Daiyu—” “Cere!” After some prodding, Cere reveals what happened when they were separated on board the Station. Kassara makes the consequences of failure brutally clear. The hostages...mostly annoy each other and start to look for their own way out.

[ link to ao3 ]

🫣 I have nothing to say for myself for this one. Enjoy! ;-)

[ chapter 1 ] [ chapter 2 ] [ chapter 3 ]