#beyond the yellow brick road au

[envyq00]

“I’m sorry I was gone but look, I made you some content~”

FINALLY MADE MY CONTRIBUTION TO THIS MEME. During pride month no less. 👀👀 Still trying to figure out out new art style technique stuff. Overall, really like how this came out.

(Actually Charlie’s Inferno really fits this situation much more dhjsjsj)

[lorei-writes]

The Doors that Connect & Divide

Entrance: Arthur

Arthur x Reader Thriller Bookshop AU Magic AU Summary: A mist envelops your mind, your feet leading you down an unfamiliar path, all until you find yourself in front of a certain door. Its pull is near magnetic. What exactly have you done? Why do these men seem to know you? And most importantly: how to stop it? Only you can find the answers. Word Count Estimate: 1.4k Masterlist

My opener for Different Universe, Same Love 2 CCC by @xxsycamore & @queengiuliettafirstlady , using Day 4 and Day 6 prompts :)

First of many, I hope, but more on that here.

Content Warnings: blood

The mist from within your mind extends beyond the borders of illusory to become tangible, ragged shawl of heavy moisture reaching to embrace you by the waist. Your legs walk, although you cannot say you are aware of the act – your feet act of their own accord, treading cautiously over the wet cobblestone road, the three of them old acquaintances. Perhaps it is not their first independent escapade, a night spent exploring places that should not be explored. You do not know. You cannot know and you cannot find out. Your head floats in the greyish white, the only sound the clacking of your heels, the only sight that yellow light… It calls you, with the allure flame poses to a moth.

The mist from within your mind extends beyond the borders of illusory to become tangible, ragged shawl of heavy moisture reaching to embrace you by the waist. Your legs walk, although you cannot say you are aware of the act – your feet act of their own accord, treading cautiously over the wet cobblestone road, the three of them old acquaintances. Perhaps it is not their first independent escapade, a night spent exploring places that should not be explored. You do not know. You cannot know and you cannot find out. Your head floats in the greyish white, the only sound the clacking of your heels, the only sight that yellow light… It calls you, with the allure flame poses to a moth.

You stop at the threshold of what could be a house, a sole lit lantern the guard that watches your back. Wind raises goosebumps over your arms, a bronze trade sign shivering alongside you, its otherwise silent voice thundering complaints above your head. You turn your face towards it. A book and a pen, the sharp nib stabbed cleanly trough the cover. Your eyes narrow as you follow the embossed path of drops spilling down its spine. Unusual, you remark in your mind – but so your thoughts stop as your hand takes command. The door creaks open. Your feet step forward, despite any concerns you may have.

The inside of – what presumably is – the bookshop is dim, a lone candle sitting on top of a dusty counter, to the right of a hefty chunk of brass that is the cash register. You steal a glance at the long rows of shelves lining the red brick walls. Christie, you read, And Then There Were None. A chill runs down your spine. This book does not exactly whet your appetite, no, so you move further inside. The compulsion to explore is stronger than your desire to turn around… Whatever it is that you may be searching for, you are certain it is there, yours and merely waiting to be found.

Poe.

Mróz.

Nesbø.

As far as you can see, it is a mystery chasing a mystery, stories of crimes big and small residing over the shelves indiscriminately. A stolen fortune for adventure, murdered lover in romance section, monographs on analysing different types of cigar dusts as science – none, however, seem quite right. None until you can feel the hot breath spill against the shell of your ear, from behind.

“I’m afraid we do not sell any stories of Sherlock Holmes’ adventures, Ma’am,” a man whispers, a touch of mischief and promise colouring each of his words. “If that is what you’re looking for, of course.”

You spin on your heel, searching his face with bewilderment; he is handsome, that fellow, with tousled hair just short of black falling into his cerulean eyes. The collar of his white shirt has been loosened by a button, its sleeves have been rolled up – a worker, or so you’d like to think, but… He smiles at you that cheeky, cheeky smile, as if compelling you to look at him, your gaze setting over his cupid bow. You cannot focus, not now. The air is electric, causing your ears to buzz…

“Oh,” you let out, not too sure what else you could say. The guess, indeed, seems to have been correct, or as close to correct one as it could get. “That’s… a shame, really. Sir…?”

“Arthur. For you, there’s no need for formalities, luv.”

Your heart pangs.

Arthur takes a step towards you.

“Shall we play our game again?”

Your brows furrow as you attempt to move away. However, it is as if the shelves have slithered across walls the moment you took your eyes off them, a barrier constructed of intricately bound volumes and oak wood pushing at your back.

“I don’t understand, Sir. I don’t believe we have ever met before,” you bargain, hands hurriedly searching for anything, anything that you could use to ward him off. Your fingers slide across covers, nails clawing into leather spines – they refuse to budge, however, even as they help themselves to your blood. Arthur stares transfixed at the crimson stains, his pupils consuming nearly the entirety of his irises. He swallows thickly.

“You never do, darling. But it doesn’t stop you from coming back, does it?” he says, his voice coming out in a strained, breathy rasp. The tip of his finger taps against the mole on his chin, his throat bobbing as saliva is forced down its length. “You don’t remember how you got here nor where this here is, and by Jove, judging by your face just now, you don’t have the foggiest what you’re looking for either.

“But, that’s why we play, no?” Arthur continues, now with more ease. He rests his hands on his hips, drumming out an imaginary melody audible just for his ears. Tendons raise his skin with each drawn out note, the motion gradually turning rigid, as if he had to hold himself back. “So, let’s begin. And if you win? I’ll tell you a thing or two.”

The space between you is closed in one long stride of his legs. Arthur’s touch burns as his fingers curl around your wrist, as hot and unrelenting as a branding iron. You wonder, how come a human can be so warm, but your attention is stolen soon enough. You stare into his eyes, each a bottomless pit hidden below ocean waves. You may struggle to look away, both terrified and mesmerised by the promises lying in their depths, but your will is too weak to break his spell…

Arthur rests one of his arms next to your head. The room turns. The wall is now the floor, books just silently staring at your from above. Not a volume leaves its place in the rank, all defying gravity through perfect stagnation.

“You’re the pure-hearted sweetheart, the very apple of our community’s eye. A hard worker, so very honest and willing to give everybody a second chance,” Arthur narrates. The corners of his lips are upturned, although the expression hardly matches the threat, the warning, that lurks just behind his lashes. “And I’m one of the many poor sods who fell in love with you.

“But it was never real love, you see,” he picks up immediately, his breath hot on your cheeks as he leans into you. “It couldn’t be. We were literal words apart. But, ha, something happened between all of us. Something so frightening you could only run…” he trails off, the very tips of his unusually long canines pressing into his lower lip. “And run you did, oh so, so fast. You didn’t want to ever look back, but you had no choice…” he trails off to muffle the desperation with a choked-down laugh. “The question is: why?”

“Why?” you stutter out, your throat tying itself into a tight knot, larynx folding over itself just to squeeze through the thus created loop.

“Why would it all not be enough for somebody as beloved as you?” The remnants of Arthur’s smile fall to pieces. Pain flares and fades from his features as he fights to compose himself, his brows twitching and eyelids shutting despite his best attempts. His jaw clenches and his body trembles, shakes. His grip on your wrist tightens as if you could indeed escape the moment he stopped being cautious. You yelp, the scalding heat eating at your skin with newly discovered ferocity.

“I don’t know!” you shout, kicking at his legs.

“Of course, you don’t,” Arthur grinds through gritted teeth, betrayed and hurt, but not enraged. “And that’s why you can’t win this game.”

Arthur lets go of your hand – and somehow, you are drawn towards the edge of this world and fall. The air erupts with the flutter of not-quite-wings, walls being minced to naught. Your body goes limp, submerged in a mist of red dust and nameless spines filled with nothing but blank pages… And perhaps your purpose is to get lost between them, for your mind turns itself just as empty. It’s still too early to despair, however. It’s been only one game, the first of many… So rest, rest in this somewhere that is nowhere to be found, until you meet with the next of the faithful lovers you have cursed.

Tag List: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @tele86

[aerodaltonimperial]

(Here I go writing crap that like 5 people will be excited about, sigh, oh well, feel free to unfollow if I'm not producing what you want anymore but I just wanna write stuff that makes me excited y'know? Anyway here's a little tease of AN ACTUAL AU - surprise surprise - that is another spooky romp tailored entirely to things that I like)

March 4

The air is cool: crisp, the sort that bites at his cheeks. Spring hasn’t rolled in enough to provide real warmth, and on the skateboard, with the wind beating against his face, it’s even colder. But it’s a straight downhill shot to the shore, taking the road that winds around in sharper turns than most cars are prepared for, and Darby’s heart is hammering hard enough against his chest to replace some of the stolen warmth.

Out in the fog, cutting through the mist that hangs over the full stretch of where the sea whips against the coast, the lighthouse is blinking.

Shit.

He takes the next curve with too much speed and almost flips his skateboard, barely managing to stay upright. It takes some adjusted distribution of his weight to remain moving. The last thing he needs right now is to smear himself along the pavement and break something. One more curve, the longest and laziest of the hill, and the road deposits him down at the coast-hugging old highway lit by a few sporadic street lamps. He hops the curb, twists, and continues down the painted yellow line until he reaches the stone pathway that leads back into the old keeper’s house and, beyond that, the tower itself.

There’s a figure already there, standing by the metal fence erected solely to keep curious tourists out. Darby kicks off his skateboard, heart in his throat.

“It’s not doing anything,” he says, without greeting, a knee-jerk response.

Two hands go up in the air, a neutral surrender. “Neither am I. Danhausen just came to check.”

Okay. Relief starts to curl through Darby’s veins, though his heart rate stays elevated. He slides in beside Danhausen and they stare out into the fog for a few moments with only the sound of the wind sighing along the rocks to keep them company. It’s a rocky slope down to the ocean, the sort of beach useless for anything other than fishing; this stretch though, no one travels down to with their poles. The locals all know better.

After a minute, Darby sighs. It’s a painful exhale. “Don’t—”

“Danhausen already said he wasn’t doing anything.” Danhausen shrugs, his mouth thinned. “But if things go poorly…”

“Yeah, I know.” He does. He’s so very aware. Darby throws an arm back to scratch at the nape of his neck. “It’ll be fine. Coast Guard is enforcing the no-sail space. And tourist season won’t pick up til June. We’ve got months to calm it down.”

“Can you?” Danhausen asks. The question rings genuine, and that’s probably the worst part.

“I’ll figure something out. Just don’t…” He doesn’t gesture at the pathway out to the lighthouse, to the bricks that they had carefully reassembled in the still hours of the morning all those years ago. He’s still afraid to draw attention to the failsafe, just in case. Just in case the tower has more eyes than they’d ever anticipated.

“Danhausen will not do anything until it’s unavoidable.”

Darby nods. “Thanks.”

“But,” Danhausen begins, turning to face him. He must have noticed the glow as he was taking his face paint off, because there’s a swipe of it along his jaw still, overlooked. His eyebrows hike high. “This is probably a bad sign.”

“Everything with you is a bad sign.” Darby sighs again. “Fuck.”

Danhausen doesn’t admonish him for the language—he knows better, learned it’s useless. “Darby, look at the lights. You can’t—”

“Yeah, I know.”

Danhausen shakes his head, then glances back to the fog and the yellow light piercing through the murkiness, on and off. Short, short, long. Long, short. The glow reflects on his face, illuminating his features. Normal. It’s always amazing that he looks so normal. Sometimes, Darby even forgets.

Until times like this, anyway.

“Well,” Danhausen says, and pushes away from the fence. “Keep the tourists away.”

“It’s fine. It’s only March.”

“Spring break,” Danhausen says.

Fuck. Darby hadn’t factored that in. “Who would come here, anyway? Boring fucking place. No beaches. They all go south. Hit Mexico. Get in the bars underage.”

“Don’t stay here all night,” Danhausen warns.

Darby nods. “I won’t.”

Danhausen leaves Darby standing by the fence alone, and Darby curls his fingers in through the twined wires, his forehead settling against the barrier. As the lighthouse starts up another round, he taps the pattern against the metal. Four short. Two short, one long. One long, one short. Two long, one short. Short, long, short. Long, short, long long.

Fuck.

He pushes back, but keeps his eyes on the glow as he grabs his skateboard again. Fuck. Darby starts off down the old highway, kicking at the pavement to get speed, but his thoughts stay behind with the tower perched on the surf-beaten rocks and the word repeated, over and over, blink by blink.

H-U-N-G-R-Y

[meowjings-arsb]

For @envyq00’s style contest for their Beyond The Yellow Brick Road TSP Au thing-

I sketched this whole thing out in the first few days of being aware of the style contest, forgot about it, and now finally scrambled together to finish it 👍

[mcgnagallsarmy]

My favourite Spuffy fics by season

S2:

Dreamscape by Holly [NC-17]

While her nights are occupied fighting evil, her dreams are haunted by a devastatingly sexy if not totally evil vampire. But how thin is the line between dreams and reality? More importantly: how thin does she want it to be?

In the Midnight Light by Holly [NC-17]

A brokenhearted vampire discovers that the truly important things in life often come from surprising places, and even more surprising people. Suddenly, Spike finds himself in a crisis of faith—the better angels of his conscience battling the restraint of his demon, all for the love of a girl he shouldn’t want. A girl he’s drawn to, even beyond his own reckoning.

Scarlet and Midnight by Lirazel

The world is remade in shades of scarlet and midnight, and all that's left is each other. [post-Season 2, AU from "Becoming Part II"]

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Sunalso [Adult Only]

Buffy has fallen into darkness and been forced to become a ghost in her own past. Only she didn't come back alone. What will it take to overcome depression, obsession, and death so that she can learn to live, love, and laugh again.

Wild and Wonderful by solstice [PG-13]

Dawn is nine and three quarters. She is resilient, strange and sharp as a tack. She's a credit to her big sis. But she's just been kidnapped by one of the most notorious vamps of all time - Drusilla. Things look bad. Enter Spike, her very unlikely hero. Spike's relationship with Drusilla has been on the rocks since the Acathala debacle and the morsel in the crate is her double-edged gift to him: a chance to make things right, and a chance to be really bad. Kill the girl and make it hurt. But for some reason he. just. can't. Instead, he tosses the niblet into the trunk of his Desoto and hits the road, leaving his one hundred year relationship in tatters, and grinding his reputation into the dust. Buckle your seat belts nice and tight. We're in for a bumpy ride.

S3:

All Quiet on the Summers Front by lex_hex [PG-13]

Spike reflects on the past year he's spent in Sunnydale as he reads Dawn's take on the same events. Set after an AU 'Who Are You'.

Claw Marks by untouchable [NC-17]

Set after S2. Buffy never returns to Sunnydale. She stays in Los Angeles as Anne, working at the diner and running from her past until, one night, her past runs into her. Can two desperate broken-hearted people find some relief in the arms of one another, or will Buffy and Spike just tear each other apart?

Cupidity by Holly [NC-17]

Book I of the Yellow Brick Road series. An alternate version of Season 3's Helpless, in which the Council locks a drugged and powerless Buffy in with a certain bleached-blond vampire who already has two Slayers under his belt.

L'Amour by Holly [NC-17]

Graduation Day nears. Spike learns that some things are not better left unsaid, no matter how perfect the unlife is.

Nemesis by Holly [NC-17]

Book II of the Yellow Brick Road series. While trying to cope with mixed feelings and brewing resentment over the fact that Spike screwed her and vanished, Buffy finds herself increasingly suspicious about Faith's close relationship with Angel. Just as things can't get any more confusing, a blond vampire she was sure she would never see again decides that it's time.

S4:

Big Bad Boyfriend by bewildered [NC-17]

Slayers don't get weepy when their One True Love rides off into the night for good. They get mad, and then they get even. Buffy's determined to kick off college by finding Mr. Normal, just like Angel wanted -- and then rubbing her new True Love in Angel's face. She's got the perfect normal guy all picked out, until an unexpected encounter at a party gives her a better idea. After all, who could make a worse Bad Boyfriend than Spike? Warnings: character death, smut, blood play, mild BDSM.

Compact by talesofstories [PG]

When Buffy decides the reason all her relationships have either blown up or never gotten off the ground is because every guy she's ever tried to date has been too stupid tall, she realizes there's only one person who will fit her dating qualifications: Spike. Now she's just gotta convince him of that too.

Dreamer by Gort [NC-17]

Buffy might dream of a normal college life but she got stuck with an annoying vampire instead. Spike’s found the Gem of Amara, but he won’t kill her and has taken to lurking around campus. Things go from bad to worse when they’re both captured by The Initiative and Maggie Walsh takes a special interest. Is Buffy crazy for relying on a vampire to help her put a stop to the professor’s genetic experiments, or is she discovering that normal might be overrated? Begins at Harsh Light of Day before going AU.

Promise of Frost by Eurydice [NC-17]

When a snowstorm strands Buffy and Spike, they are forced to turn to each other for strength, especially when a missing Giles, mysterious visitors, and way too much magic threatens to turn it into a not so very merry Christmas. Set mid-S4.

What Goes Around by celtic_goddess [NC-17]

The citizens of Sunnydale find themselves acting on their darkest desires, and the Scoobies' summer vacation hangs in the balance. When Spike turns out to be the only one Buffy can trust, her carefully constructed black-and-white world starts looking a lot gray-shadier. Set in the summer after season 4.

S5:

A Boatload of Manly Responsiblity by Passion4Spike [NC-17]

When Buffy brings her mom and sister to Spike to protect from the hellgod, Glory, he sees a chink in her armor—she needs him, she trusts him... maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t hate him as much as she claims. Will that boatload of manly responsibility the Slayer’s dropped into his lap save Spike from a life of lonely desperation?

A Different Kind of Hell by OffYourBird [NC-17]

Jumping through Glory's tower portal, Buffy and Spike find themselves in a hell dimension they never expected. One that looks suspiciously like 1880's London. Will they find a way back home? Will the truth behind William the Bloody at last make itself known? Will Buffy ever stop butchering the Queen's English? Join them and find out. Starts off at the end of "The Gift."

Once in a Lifetime by bewildered [NC-17]

“If you really think you can love this guy--I’m talking scary, messy, no-emotions-barred need--if you’re ready for that, then think about what you’re about to lose.”

Buffy thinks. And then she runs.

A reimagination of Season 5, where Buffy notices some things.

To Save a Lady by slaymesoftly [NC-17]

Spike hasn't had his little revelation about his feelings for Buffy, and she, of course, is clueless. Riley has had his surgery and begun his macho identity crisis. Riley has temporarily gone back to Iowa and Spike and Buffy have been working together all summer.

West of the Moon, East of the Sun by KnifeEdge [NC-17]

I keep having the strangest dream. Every night it's the same thing: a dark room, a big bed, and a silent vampire that I can feel, but not see. I'd be wigged, except it's just a dream, right? It'll be a cold day in hell before I ever willingly sleep with a vampire again...

S6:

A Different Kind of (Sunny)hell by OffYourBird [Adult Only]

Between juggling a New World Order, a bothersome Council, wayward magic, and – as always – some much with the confusing time travel, there is never a dull moment in Sunnydale for Liz and Elly. This is Season 6 as it exists in the Jumpverse.

At Ease by The Danish Bird [NC-17]

Even with her eyes closed, Buffy would recognise this place in a second, and for a moment she wondered if she truly had ended up in a hell dimension this time. One that had doomed her to an eternity of Doublemeat Palace workdays. Buffy felt her lips moving, heard her own voice speaking, and as she opened her eyes she decided that a hell dimension definitely wasn’t ruled out just yet. “Welcome to the Doublemeat Palace, how may I help – “ She stared into Riley’s scarred face as she completed her sentence. “– you.” Her mom, Sunnydale, her home, Spike – There are many things Buffy misses in her life, but if she had gotten the choice to revisit a day that had already passed, this would so not be it!

Crumbs by Holly [NC-17]

Kissing Spike in that alley—talk about a bad idea. Now she’s gone and made it awkward with the only person she can stand to be around, and whatever else, she can’t lose the peace Spike brings her. She also can’t give him more than she has to offer right now…though maybe she can someday. If he’s willing to wait.

Just Breathe by Passion4Spike [NC-17]

After being ripped out of heaven by her friends, there’s only one person who can help Buffy cope with a life that feels like hell in a world that’s just too much to bear, a world that she wants desperately to escape: Spike.

Reformation by OffYourBird [R]

When a Buffy from another dimension rescues Spike after he’s left beaten in Dead Things, his and Buffy's world is irrevocably turned upside down.

S7:

The Blue Eye of the Storm by MaggieLaFey [NC-17]

Instead of the Scythe, what Buffy finds under the vineyard is a portal to another dimension. Spike has followed her there, and it’s the two of them that will cross the portal… and remain trapped on the other side for far longer than they’d expected. What will happen when the two of them—plus a local guide—are away from the stress of Chez Summers? Will they find some peace in the eye of the storm?

For You To Be You by lafillesauvage [Adult Only]

Alternate ending for 7x13 The Killer in Me. What happened after Buffy and Spike returned to an empty Revello Drive following the chipectomy? Well, in this story, Buffy realises just how much she cares for Spike, which leads to some fluffy reconciliations involving chocolate ice cream and Walker, Texas Ranger. She also gets her period, and adult-only fun is had by all.

Her Champion. by Loup Noir [NC-17]

As Buffy wanders the chaotic Sunnydale, she is struck by a sudden epiphany about her friends. Realising that only one person stood by her unquestionably, even when she made mistakes and stumbled on her path, Buffy decides that for once, she is going to fight for what she wants. After fending off an attempt on her life by The First, she storms back to her house to confront the friends who betrayed her. With only Spike standing by her once again as her friends floundered, Buffy heads off to fight her final battle. And along the way, she finally opens her heart to the vampire who fought to be a Champion. To be Her Champion.

High and Mighty by MillennialCryBaby [NC-17]

She knew it wasn’t entirely responsible to get high with a vampire in her backyard. But her house was filled with loud potential slayers and he was looking at her with that head tilt. Didn't she deserve to catch her breath once in a while? Season 7 fix-it fluff with smut and a little bit of introspective angst.

Meet Me at Midnight by Dusty [NC-17]

A story about the stolen midnight hours of season seven.

+ AtS S5:

Finding His Sun by Loup Noir [NC-17]

Opens in the Angel episode Destiny, before going rapidly AU. In a flash of light, Spike was corporeal once more. No longer bound to Wolfram and Hart, and wanting nothing to do with the chaos around him, the newly corporeal vampire sets out to find his Slayer, with a little help from Fred. In the snowy countryside of Sweden, Spike and Buffy passionately reunite and make plans for their future. Meanwhile, Fred must deal with the fallout of her selfless actions at the hands of an irate Angel.

Holding On to You by MaggieLaFey [NC-17]

Spike is a non-ghost in Angel’s not-so-shiny new law firm, haunted by a terrifying hell. But in his pocket, he has the note Buffy left him in the stranger’s house in Sunnydale, the one from the best night of his life. Will her words be too little, or will they help him hold on to what they’d had those last nights?

Inside Man by Holly [NC-17]

Spike had this perfect memory of them together—her holding his hand, looking at him with tears in her eyes, telling him she loved him. If a man had to die, that was the way to do it. But in their world, the dead don’t stay dead. A completely canon-compliant retelling of AtS Season 5, beginning with Harm’s Way.

The Moon Calls My Name by sandy_s, stnia [PG-13]

Desperate to find out if Fred is still out there in the universe, Spike makes an impulsive decision to send a mystical message in a bottle. Someone else gets his message. (Set in Angel the Series, Season Five in a semi-AU universe after Illyria took over Fred’s body.)

Oddments of Bygone Times by OffYourBird [NC-17]

Spike's sacrifice in the Hellmouth went off without a hitch... Except that the amulet wasn't meant for him at all. Reappearing at Wolfram & Hart, his only thought is of Buffy, and the feeling that something is very, inexplicably wrong.

[crysisjustcrys]

Hermitcraft X JOJO's Bizarre Adventure AU Masterpost

In this AU, hermits gains physical manifestations of superhuman powers named 'Stands', which comes from the Jojo's Bizarre Adventure franchise. Some of the other features will also appear in this AU. All posts are tagged as #hc x jjba AU.

Hermits and their [stands] (some are from the same post):

Grian [Mr. Sandman]

Tango [Hammer To Fall]

Cubfan [Yellow Brick Road]

Scar [Rocketman]

Iskall [Feel Good Inc.]

Etho [Smoke On The Water]

Ren [The Carpenters]

Mumbo [Scarborough Fair]

Impulse [The Works]

Pearl [Thriller]

Zedaph [Back To Humans]

Keralis [When Doves Cry]

False [Aerodynamic]

Jevin [Little Help From My Friends]

Stress [Little Creatures]

Beef [Man After Midnight]

Misc:

Boatem+ collection

Spotify Playlist for referenced songs (WIP, might contain spoilers)

More information under cut.

You expected to find useful info here, but it was me, Dio! /ref /j

What are 'Stands'?

'Stands' are manifestations of one's life energy, and grants the wielder powers that are beyond physical abilities, sometimes even beyond scientific explanations.

The wielder of a stand is named a 'stand user'. When a stand is summoned, it manifests into physical form and hover over the user. Only stand users can see each others' stands, and only stands can attack and cause injury on another stand. (Stands can interfere freely with non-stand entities, however.)

Detailed info can be found on this Jojo wiki article.

What is that with all the song names?

The author of the JJBA franchise loves rock and pop music and often names the stands and characters after songs he likes. Usually only the song or album title is related to the stand ability itself, and the lyrics can be irrelevant.

How does one gain a stand?

In the multiple universes in the franchise, stands are usually gained from getting into contact with mysterious, relic-like objects. In this AU, the relic is an unknown 'suspected to be radioactive' substance called Redstone. (Not the red stone of Aja from the original franchise)

Will any lore from the original JJBA storyline be referenced?

As a 4th-wall breaking joke, perhaps-. But they won't interfere with any lore that happens in this AU. Joestar family doesn't exist in this AU either.

But isn't JJBA like...you know...a bit violent?

No heavy gore, toilet jokes and nsfw content will appear in this AU.

"Stand Users attract each other."

[prettyswellaus]

Seasons AU

Genre: Action, Adventure Fantasy

Also known as: Seasonal AU, Seasonsworld AU

Inspirations: Disney Fairies, Kingdom of Fantasy (Geronimo Stilton), Wizard of Oz: Beyond The Yellow Brick Road, and Seasonal aesthetics

Synopsis

There is a land that has not been found on any maps, a land thought to be a just a myth. It does not have an official name but it is referred to as “Gaia” Said land is split into four domains, each with a different climate, as well as different kinds of flora and fauna (both IRL animals and mythical creatures).

Each of these domains is kept under the watchful eye of a “mage” who protect their respective domain and make sure everything’s going smoothly with the use of magic powers bestowed to them.

Emphasis on “protect” as outside and inside threats are aplenty. From mages hoping to conquering the land for themselves (thanks to the chaos god Eris) to others trying to destroy the island for their own selfish gain.

Information posts

The Six Mages

Edd, The Summer Mage

Tom, The Winter Mage

Matt, The Spring Mage

Tord, The Autumn Mage

Dusk, The Night Mage (OC)

Blaze, The Sun Mage (OC)

The Regions of Gaia

The Summer Region

The Winter Region

The Spring Region

The Autumn Region

The Day and Night Realms

Antagonists

Eduardo, The Earth Mage

Jon, The Blizzard Mage

Mark, The Storm Mage

Jordan/Whirlwind, The Tornado Mage

Blade, The Volcano Mage (OC)

Dawn, The Light Mage (OC)

Back to Directory

[forever--darling]

the frat boy’s boxers - s.m.

college frat au

warnings: 5.7k words of new beginnings, first day jitters, and the meeting of the roommate

prologue

It was late, dark, and the sun was no longer looming over campus. Your pulse quickened and your palms were dripping in sweat as you stared up at the three story house. The window was left cracked open and you watched as the breeze swayed the white curtains from side to side. This was insane and beyond anything you had ever done but you knew it was unavoidable. If you wanted to get into Alpha Delta Pi, it had to be done. 

You could feel the lingering eyes of the sorority girls as they crouched behind a line of bushes and internally cursed. Emily had to set up a car wash by herself, Maggie had to teepee another sorority house, and those both sounded better than this; standing in front of frat boy central, forced to steal sophomore and hockey player Shawn Mendes’ boxers.

2 weeks ago

As you drove down the winding road, you couldn’t help but come to a stop in front of the entrance. The large stone sign stood proudly for all to see as they drove by and into the start of the next chapter of their lives. Tan bricks and copper letters stuck out from the sign marked the beginning of everything. In your packed black Volkswagen golf, you twisted your neck down as you stared out the window towards the sign. You blinked at it, hardly believing it was real and with a small uneven breath, you pushed your foot back on the gas and surged forward. Within seconds, you were back driving on the road, hands tightly around the steering wheel as your eyes scanned the newfound area.

Two years ago, no one ever expected that you would venture more than a few miles away from your house. That you would settle into the local university because that’s what your parents wanted. Or more specifically what your mom wanted. No one ever thought after what happened in the winter of 2016, you would have left your hometown in exchange for another state entirely. It was two years of being locked away in your house with little access to anywhere except school or your bedroom, and you had quickly gotten sick of its light yellow walls.

Your junior and senior year were spent bent over your homework and college prepping. You were doing anything to get you as far away from that place you used to call home. You needed to get away for a while, from your overprotective and over loving parents and your twenty-four-year old sister who had moved back home. 

You used to love high school. With so many friends and guys wanting your attention, it was a fun two years then somehow the other two went down the drain by the two people who procreated you. Junior and senior you worked your ass off and above all else, obeyed your parents and clearly it paid off when you finished third in your class. You obeyed your parents, so it came much of a surprise when you told your family that instead of the local university that only stood ten minutes away, you would be attending the University of Washington. 

It came to quite a shock, not only was the college in another state but on the other side of the country. Thousands of miles away from the only place you had ever known. It became even worse when you had packed up your car and refused to let your parents drive you. They were so shocked and so heartbroken that they barely were able to protest when you gave them a faint goodbye, long bone crushing hugs, and pulled out of the driveway.

Maybe, they were so certain that you relied on them and that town so much that you would never leave their sides. Or maybe they felt like they didn’t need a large goodbye and that you would be back in their arms within months of being away. That the thought of being alone in a foreign place would send your anxiety through the roof and ultimately drive you back home after what happened when you were just sixteen. 

You had thought about the incident plenty of times. It was what changed your family and ultimately broke it. It was that very terrifying memory that drove the scary thoughts that you would be back in that small town in records time. And throughout the whole drive that took days to get to your destination, the reality hadn’t set in until you saw that sign. It was then as you stared at the letters, that you knew that if you didn’t want to run then, you weren’t going to want to run back home maybe ever. 

Some time between graduation and driving onto campus, things changed in you. You felt like you when you were sixteen again except this time more free. Changing that obedient student who stayed in on the weekends to study for tests weeks in advance, to someone who wanted to go out and do all of the things she missed out on. She became someone that wanted to be the one who went out with friends and got drunk at parties on the weekends. 

She wanted to be the girl that went on dates with random college guys on campus. She wanted to sleep with a boy and then kick him out of her dorm room the next morning. Somewhere between being eighteen to nineteen, the old you resurfaced. Like your parents weren’t there, trying to hide the world from you anymore. You were now a young adult who was capable of taking care of herself. In fact you were a college student who had no intentions of returning home to just sit back in that sad house and stare at those walls all day, separating you from the world that you had yet to know anything about. 

Now here you were no longer dressed in those baggy grey sweatpants and holey oversized hoodies, face bare, with your hair pulled out of your face. Instead, hair flowing freely down your back, makeup gracing across your features as you wore a pair of tight fitted blue jeans with a white long sleeve t-shirt and a red flannel. Bunny slippers left lazily behind in the closet that was filled with your brother’s t-shirts and cozy socks. In their place was a pair of white converse laced tightly against your feet providing comfort and style. This was who you were at the moment and you couldn’t wait to go and have some fun. 

As you were pulling into a parking lot near the hall that supposedly housed your dorm, you had caught a glimpse out of your window at the quad. A vast green area filled with small paths and large cherry blossom trees. They scattered the lawn providing shade and comfort away from the raging halls and campus parties. There was a part of you that wanted to just pull the car over and run to get a better look at the area, but knew that you had other things to do like eat and unpack. Maybe sleep. You had been in this car for far too long and now that you were here, there would be plenty of time to explore later. 

Pulling the car into an empty parking spot, you turned it off and took the keys from the ignition, stuffing them into the pocket of your jeans. You opened the door and climbed out, stretching your arms over your head as you did so. Looking around, you could only see a few students hugging their parents goodbye all having tears in their eyes or traveling down their faces. You knew if you had successfully found the main hall to ask someone about where the keys to your dorm and schedule were that you would no doubt see the same thing but to a higher level. 

You could have easily stopped and asked the many students that had been walking around the campus, especially the ones that were dressed in purple school tee shirts, bright smiles pulled across their faces about where to go. But for some unknown reason, you kept driving towards Parker Hall, thinking that your roommate was probably already settled into your sharing room and could just escort you to get your keys and your schedule. It was the best idea you had at the time since you were a freshman and didn’t know where anything was. Also considering, you were there without your parents, your roommate was the only option you thought you had at the moment. 

You convinced yourself so much that you wandered into the building and up the stairs already gaining a sniff of the musty hallways that were coated in white paint. Your eyes scanned the hall that seemed to be empty with doors closed and already decorated with pictures and names of the girls that resided with them. Suddenly at the sound of a small hiss, your eyes directed towards the end of the hall and felt relieved at the sight of one door open on the end where a blonde girl was struggling to pull in a large mattress. Were we supposed to bring our own mattresses? You thought to yourself as you approached the girl trying to wipe off the confused and slightly frustrated look on your face. 

“Need some help?” you asked, your voice gaining the attention of the girl. 

Her head lifted revealing her smooth pale skin and large green doe eyes. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail at the top of her head, curling at the end. She was around the same height as you dressed in a pastel pink sweater with a white collar and a pair of jeans to go with her squeaky clean white sneakers. Realizing you were talking to her, she nodded with a soft smile as you proceeded forward and grabbed the other end of the mattress. You began to push as she pulled, already feeling the mattress slowly shift forward through the door. 

“Were we supposed to bring our own mattresses or something?” you asked, glancing at the stainless plush padding in your hand as your grip on the corner tightened, feeling your nails sink into it. 

“No,” the girl replied, yanking at the mattress as her cheeks puffed out in discontent, “I just prefer it more than the ones they provide.” 

“So, is there a reason you are trying to pull it into your room by yourself then?” 

“Oh, yeah well I told my mom that I could handle it so she left and as soon as my roommate laid eyes on it she stormed out of the room,” she explained as the mattress moved forward about halfway into the room. “I’m Emily, by the way. Emily Willard.” 

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you chuckled at her attempts to make introductions now of all times. 

After that, silence consumed the both of you besides the casual grunt or hiss as your muscles burned from pushing and lifting at the mattress. Minutes later, you had managed to get it all the way into the small quaint room and nestled into the wooden bed-frame that sat up against the wall of the room. It was opposite of the other bed that was already made and full of decorative pillows. You let out a loud sigh after the mattress fell into its place onto the frame and ran your fingers through your hair, feeling the small beads of sweat that had gathered at your hairline. 

“Thank you,” Emily smiled while bending over and holding onto her knees. 

“Yeah, no problem,” you laughed, smiling back at the blonde. 

As another minute passed, she finally stood back up seeming to have recovered from the lifting. She began to put a few boxes onto the mattress as she made conversation, “So have you gotten moved in yet?” 

“Actually, no.” you admitted, causing her movements to stop and look over her shoulder towards you, “I was wondering if you knew which room was Maggie… Harting’s. I’m her roommate.” 

“Oh, yeah. I met her. Dressed in leather. Total badass. She’s actually just across the hall, met her when my mom and I were unloading boxes,” Emily said, gesturing towards the hallway. 

“Cool. Thanks.” the words were short as your attention now was drawn to the hallway and your new roommate that you had yet to meet but now were intrigued by. 

“Not have your keys yet?” Emily’s voice perked up causing you to turn back towards her. 

You shook your head as your hand found its way into your jean pocket fiddling with the material on the inside, “No, I don’t know where to get them. Just thought it would be easier to find the roommate and ask her instead of question one of the purple greeters.” 

Emily laughed as you referred to the upperclassmen that were sprawled across campus ready to help and answer any questions to settle in the freshman or new students. “I completely understand. Well, if your roommate turns out to be anything like mine. Feel free to wander across the hall and I’ll be more than happy to show you where to go or help you move in.” 

“Thanks, that sounds great. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” you waved, stepping out into the hallway with a small smile on your lips. 

“Yeah, of course,” she replied reciprocating the wave before her door slowly clicked shut, leaving her to unpack and settle into the small room. 

You took a deep breath as you walked over towards the door that held where you supposedly were going to spend the next, however, months of your life with a stranger as your roommate. Staring at the empty wooden door, one that wasn’t covered in pictures or had a name written across a white board, you lifted your hand and knocked softly. Your heart was beating loudly in the base of your chest at the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. Before you could even think it was pulled open quickly and you were met with exactly what Emily had described.

 Badass dressed in leather. A girl who was a few inches shorter than you stood on the other side of the door with dark black hair that had pink ends pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head. She had olive skin and dark brown eyes that supported a black liner drawn with a wing. With black studded earrings that matched the black choker around her neck, she was wearing ripped jeans and a leather jacket that hung over the blue tank top she wore underneath. As your gaze fell towards the ground, they fell on a pair of chunky black boots that had safety pins sticking out of the shoes’ flaps. Slowly, as your eyes lifted back up towards her face, you were met with a smirk etched across her mouth, the corners of her lips lifting ever so slightly. 

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N. I was beginning to think you were dead or lost or not going to show up at all.”

You smiled sheepishly at how she was right with one simple glance at you, “Yeah and you must be Maggie.” 

“You bet your ass I am,” she grinned, throwing the door open to reveal her -- well your room to you. “So what did you lose your key already?” 

You stepped in slowly and shook your head as she closed the door behind you. Scanning the room, you took in the small space. On either side of the room, there were two twin size beds pushed up against the walls, one of which was still left bare. In between the two beds were two nightstands that sat under the only window. Just below each of the beds there were two desks sat up at the wall, yours being the one that sat really close to the door. 

Over towards the bed that Maggie had obviously claimed was two closets one that was probably already filled with her black leather and jeans. With just being in Emily’s room, it looked almost identical to hers except it was in the opposite direction, but you were too focused on trying to drag a mattress through her front door to actually take the time to really look at it. The room still looked not all the way settled though Maggie’s black bedspread was wrinkled and there were clothes thrown over the chair at her desk. She was already settled but with your side still untouched and completely bare, the room overall looked incomplete. 

Realizing that you had yet to answer Maggie’s question, you turned on your heels to see her leaning up against the door looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, no. I haven’t gone to get them yet. I was hoping you would show me where I’m supposed to get them and my schedule if you’re not busy.” 

She snorted out a small laugh as she pushed herself up and off the door, “Please, I’ve been here since this morning practically waiting for you to get here so I’d be more than welcome to escort you to your keys.” 

With that, she pulled open the door and strode out in the hallway giving you a view of the shave at the back of her head that was right above her neck. You stared at it for a second before you followed, closing the door behind you. From there you walked alongside her down the stairs and out of Parker Hall. She led you past the parking lot where your car sat, abandoned, and full of your shit towards who knows where. 

For the next seven minutes, Maggie walked you down towards the main hall passed the groups of settling students and towering pine trees. All while making conversation of her home. She lived around an hour and a half away with her parents, younger sister, and Nana. Her dad was a huge business man and had a lot of money which was partly the reason she was able to get into this college. Not once had she seemed bothered by her father’s money and was rather comfortable explaining to you what her relationship was like with him and back at home. She also talked about what high school was like and how she had broken off things with her hot boyfriend of four years that drove a motorcycle. 

Your favorite part was when she talked about her old friends and though people thought that they were bad news because they wore leather, they really were just hilarious outcasts that pulled pranks on each other all day. Just as you gained sight of the main hall that was lined with college students and parents all signing in and getting their own keys and schedules, you were pulled aside by Maggie’s arm gripping your elbow. 

“What?” you asked, eyeing her raised eyebrows and curious smile. 

You may have not picked up on it because you were pulled into her stories of home but she had easily noticed that you hadn’t said anything about yourself or your family. “You haven’t said anything about what it’s like where you’re from. Why aren’t your parents here dropping you off?” 

Sighing at the question, only made her raise her eyebrows higher and you knew that because you would be living with her for the school year that you wouldn’t be able to keep everything from her forever. “It’s a long story. Simple answer, I didn’t want them to so instead I just packed up my car and drove here myself.” 

You went to turn back towards the line but Maggie’s hand refused to fall from your arm and instead tightened causing you to look back at her, getting a little annoyed. “Wait, where are you from?” 

Taking a deep breath, you muttered the name of the small town and watched as no recognition passed over her face but only scrunched up further into confusion. “Where’s that?” she asked. 

“It’s across the country. Twenty-six hours across the country,” you replied, rolling your eyes lightly as hers widened, causing her brown orbs to broaden and her mouth to fall open. “Look I’ll explain as soon as we get my keys and schedule okay?” 

Her confusion instantly fell away and in its place was pure determination. She smirked and her head tilted to the side as a glint filled her eyes. Her hand that had still yet to fall from your arm yanked as she turned around and began to drag you up towards the tables that sat in front of the main hall. She pulled you behind her as she passed fellow new students and parents resulting in some to gasp or call out the fact that you were cutting. 

As you made it to the front, Maggie pushed aside a tall raven haired boy who was in the middle of asking the girl sitting at the table something, who was dressed in the same purple shirt you had seen on many people by now. He hissed as he stood off to the side feeling his mother placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He glared daggers towards Maggie and your eyes widened as his arm reached out to grab a hold of her leather jacket. 

“Hey, don’t you know it’s rude to cut. We all want to get settled in as much as you do, alright,” he hissed again, his chest rising up and down as he spat the words. 

Maggie finally turned to look at him, seeming unbothered by his killing glare so much that she sent a smug grin instead. “Oh, put a sock in it. It’s not like we’re going to stand around asking questions to stall having to say goodbye to mommy and daddy. We just need our keys and schedules then we’ll be on our way.” 

You could hear the gasp came from the boy’s mother at his side, causing his face to swell and turn red in anger but instead of stepping forward to spit more insults at your roommate, he looked away from her and began to tap his foot impatiently on the concrete ground. Maggie rolled her eyes at his childish antics before turning back towards the upperclassman that stood silent watching the scene play out. She was tall with straight honey colored hair and pale skin, her award-winning smile now vanished. Though looking like she was about to protest, she was silenced by Maggie’s piercing glare.

“Okay, we’re here to get keys and a schedule,” she said calmly, leaning down with her hands grabbing at the end of the table. 

“What hall?” the girl asked, her voice soft, still refusing to look up. 

Maggie bit onto her bottom lip as her index finger began to scrape against the table, “Parker Hall, Y/N Y/L/N.” 

Silently the upperclassman began to push through the files sat on the table and after about a minute or so pulled out a cream colored folder along with a key hung around a dark purple spiral wrist key chain. Holding out the folder and wrist band, Maggie plucked it from her hands and smiled sweetly, “Pleasure doing business with you.” 

She then took a hold of your elbow again and led you away from the table making sure to send a shit eating grin towards the boy and his parents. You were still shocked by the whole thing even as you were walking back towards your hall folder and key in hand. 

You began to thumb through the folder, locating your schedule that had your classes and where they were located but were pulled away from the wristband in your hand. The silver whistle was colliding with the set of keys causing a small clink as you walked. Your eyebrows furrowed on it and as you looked up towards Maggie, who was walking eyes glancing from the sidewalk to her phone, you spoke up to ask. 

“What’s with the whistle?” you asked, causing Maggie to look over towards you and the wristband in your hand. 

“U.W. rape whistle.”

“What?” you asked, surprised by the answer but realizing that it could have made sense with that it was a much bigger campus smacked in the middle of a city.

She looked back over towards you and perked up before opening her mouth for a high pitch voice to replace her own. “Blow it only if it’s actually happening.” 

You quickly caught on that she was imitating the upperclassmen or whoever clearly gave her the set of her keys and schedule. Chuckling, you shake your head and move the spiral wristband around your wrist putting the whistle aside from your thoughts. You didn’t talk again until you got back to the hall and as Maggie went to head towards the door she stopped upon noticing you walk into a different direction. She followed to finally lay eyes on your Volkswagen golf that was all the way filled from the trunk all the way to the passenger seat with boxes and suitcases. 

“Okay, wow,” she said, shoving her phone back into the pocket of her jeans as she watched you pull open the passenger door and grab a cardboard box. 

“What, didn’t I say that I drove here?” 

“Yeah, but I never expected this,” Maggie shrugged as you grabbed a backpack and swung it on your shoulders while taking another smaller box for her.

“Well, I did drive twenty-six hours and I don’t plan on driving back any time soon,” you admitted, closing the passenger door and heading towards the door of the hall. 

Maggie followed all the way in and up the stairs towards the hall. You stopped in front of your door as you noticed a blonde ponytail in the hall writing on a whiteboard with a pink dry erase marker. At the sound of your steps, she turned a smile instantly falling on her face as she saw it’s you. 

“Hey,” she said, moving away to reveal the door to her room. It was decorated with pink cut out hearts and flowers all surrounding a whiteboard that had ‘Lindsey & Emily’ written across in perfect cursive with the color pink. 

“Hey, nice job on the door!”

“We are so not doing that to our door,” Maggie leaned over to you, mumbling underneath her breath. 

Emily ignored Maggie’s comment, “Thanks, need some help?” 

You nodded, moving to open the door to your room, “Yes, please.” 

Once you unlocked the door, Emily held it open for you as you walked in and dropped the box that happened to be filled with books onto your bed, a sigh leaving your lips as you did. You turned back to the door to see Maggie following and setting the box at the end of the bed just as she a glance towards the blonde in the doorway. “Maggie, you’ve met Emily right? She’s just across the hall.” 

“Yeah we have,” Maggie smiled, sending a short wave, “Hey!”

 Emily smiled as you exited back out of the room and began to head down the stairs towards your car. They both followed you, hot on your heels when Maggie’s voice broke the silence as your vehicle came back into view. “So, can I ask questions now or do you need to wait until Em is out of ear shot?” 

You rolled your eyes playfully as you popped open the trunk and began to look at what had been stuffed in a day or so prior. “You can ask.” 

“What are you asking about?” Emily voiced, curious at her name being brought up by Maggie. 

“Oh, Y/N here lives in a small town twenty-six hours away and drove here by herself without her parents,” Maggie replied looking over towards Emily, who’s eyes had widened into saucers. 

“Maggie!”

“What? I have a feeling that she is going to be around with us for a while. She’s cool so she can probably know.”

You nodded as you picked up some boxes and began to place them on the ground for them to pick up, “Alright fair enough. You can ask two questions, that’s it. Then once everything is unloaded out of the car and into our room, I will allow you to ask more as I unpack. Okay?” 

They both nodded in agreement as they went to pick up the boxes. Maggie being the first to ask a question. “So why didn’t you want your parents to come?” 

Picking up another box full of clothes, you followed them as they turned towards the hall, “It’s complicated but basically I wanted to do this on my own. Prove a point, plus I didn’t want them to have to drive all the way over here and then drive back.” 

“Fair enough,” Maggie said, beginning to climb up the brown dirt covered stairs. 

“One more,” you stated voice sharp, “Better make it good because it will be at least twenty minutes before I answer any more.” 

“Why here?” Emily asked cutting off Maggie before she could get the chance, “I mean I can barely stand that I’m two hours away but twenty-six. Why choose Washington?” 

You were about to walk through the door of your room but stopped in the doorway, looking over your shoulder towards the two girls you had a feeling were going to become close friends of yours. You sighed, your eyes falling to the floor as you spoke, “It’s far away that no one knows who I am and I can get a fresh start, plus it’s so far away that I won’t have to go back.” 

*

After you gave two curt replies to the questions asked, the next twenty minutes unloading the car was spent talking about what the school year was probably going to be like, since they couldn’t ask any follow up questions until after everything was unloaded out of the car and up into your dorm room. You could tell that even though they were enjoying the casual conversation, Maggie and Emily were still well intrigued about your intentions of leaving home and coming here. You knew from just looking at them and hearing their lame jokes about the upperclassmen and the purple shirts, that by the time you were upstairs and in your room they would be jumping you with their questions. 

So much so that the second the door slammed shut behind you, leaving the three of you enclosed in the room filled with unemptied boxes and cases, they were basically screaming. After they calmed down, you stuck to your word and told them basically everything. Well most of it. 

The tragedy in your family and the secret with it, you couldn’t mumble out because they were basically still strangers and this was too important. Instead, you told them of what you were like as a kid and why your parents were so set on the idea of you going to local university or taking online classes. You explained the anxiety that had formed in your stomach as a teenager and why you had grown to be so used to blending in with everyone else. By the time you had said that you were here to start fresh and resign from your spot on the sidelines watching, there were smiles spread across both of their faces. 

The first one to speak was Maggie who had expressed her opinion by sending you a solute and yelling out, “you’re a doer not a watcher.” 

They obviously felt that it must be hard being so far away but admired your efforts to break out of your shell and flourish out in the real world. So much that within the next three hours, you all spent time in the dorm room unpacking and talking about everything about one another desperate to gain any information about the new friends you all had made. 

You were straightening out the grey comforter on your bed and fluffing out the pillows when you heard a gasp come from the other side of the room. You turned at the sound towards Maggie’s bed where she sat criss-cross-applesauce, leaning against the wall with Emily’s legs swung over her lap. Her eyes were wide in excitement as her mouth was left slightly parted showing the smile that had formed. You and Emily shared a glance before looking back towards Maggie. 

“What?” Emily asked leaning up on her elbows as Maggie sent a smirk from her towards you. 

“Oh, no. What is it?” you questioned, already having a feeling that whatever was going to come out of her mouth was bound to be trouble. 

Maggie was practically glowing as she moved from the bed and stood up causing Emily’s legs to fall from the bed in the process. “We are now college students and I say it’s time for us to celebrate.” 

“Celebrate, exactly how?” you asked cautiously as she crossed her arms over her chest and popped out a hip. 

“It’s the first day of everyone being back on campus there is bound to be a party somewhere,” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

That’s when you noticed Emily sit up from the bed raising a hand to interject, “Yeah there’s one at the sorority house. Alpha Delta Pi, I think. Usually their parties are for sororities and fraternities only but my roommate said that because it’s the first official day of everyone being back that it’s open for everyone on campus.” 

“I knew that I liked you for a reason,” Maggie stated proudly, “So what do you say, Y/L/N?” 

“A party?” you asked, getting a nod from her causing her bun to bounce a little, “No, I don’t think so I haven’t even finished unpacking yet.” 

“So, you can do that tomorrow,” Maggie persuaded, moving towards your closet that held half of your clothes so far. She thumbed through it before stopping at one hanger that held an off the shoulder black long sleeve shirt that still had the tag on it, “Besides, didn’t you say you wanted to have fun.” 

At her smooth words and the hanger she plucked from within the rack, you felt your heart flutter with nerves. As your eyes scanned from the smug look on her face towards the shirt, and then to Emily who sat with a raised eyebrow and sweet smile, a smirk fell onto your lips with ease. “Yeah, I guess I did. So where’s this sorority house located?”

a/n: hey! here’s the first party of my new series and sorry if it’s a little boring but I wanted to get introductions and the reader’s backstory out of the way. don’t worry shawn will be in the next part! :)

next part

[twixtandshout]

Tagged by @pidgeonpostal! And not tagging anyone else because I have SOILED the original template (soiled it!!) in deference to my [brushes off skirt] mostly clean public-facing appearance.

...I’ve been making a lot of Spongebob memes lately for someone who has not seen Spongebob.

How many works do you have on AO3?

71!

What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

...306,834. Jesus.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Uh. Many! I do a lot of one-offs (and/or start long things I never finish) in many different places. My top three fandoms by fics written are RWBY (29), Undertale (25), Gravity Falls/Transcendence AU (4).

Bet you can’t tell where my hyperfixations have fallen. 

I’ve also got some Pokémon and Sonic the Hedgehog fics back on my ff.net account, or I think I still do, anyway, but let’s never go back there pls

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Sweeter Than Honey (Undertale): Taking a Completely unsurprising first place, with over 600 more kudos than the runner-up, the haphazard Underswap fic featuring a post-college self-insert I wrote just after high school! I shake my head some at how overblown and ridiculous the gap between this and all my other stuff is (c’mon, guys, I’ve written way better fics), but this is also the fic which prompted me (and at least one other person!) to start using they/them pronouns. I’ve gotten a lot of really sweet comments about how seen and appreciated it’s made people feel, so I can’t get down too far about it.

2. To Be A Hero (BNHA): I don’t count myself as part of the BNHA fandom, for a number of reasons, but for something that’s arguably the main motivation for the entire plot, Midoriya’s quirklessness is something I’ve never thought has been handled well. This fic marked the first time I (somewhat tentatively) claimed the disability label (thanks again to Sweeter Than for prompting that realization) to hold that lens over canon. It also really shot up my chart, dang! It’s the only thing here I’d consider “recent.”

3. Three-Sentence Shipping (Undertale): Self-explanatory.

4. Brothers Beyond Bonedaries (Undertale): Ah, the way-overcomplicated AU³ I got nowhere close to finishing. One of the things I really like about Undertale is the interface screw, how Toby Fox uses the medium of the video game to pull off crazy things and enhance his game, but most of the fic written for the fandom seems dedicated to explaining it away, grounding it, rather than taking it to the next step and messing with the medium of fanfiction when you keep the story going. I tried to do something cool like that here, playing with questions like narrator and authorship and breaking the fourth wall, even taking the “final boss” fight to a “totally separate” fic reached through the first by link – but, well, then I never finished it, which probably didn’t make anything less confusing for the poor folks who missed the intent.

5. Spirit and Such (Gravity Falls: Transcendence AU): A whole fic written to line out a particular image I had, which, naturally, never made it to the page. I consider it a bit of a cautionary tale for myself when it comes to writing (near-)original content; there’s a lot I look back on and cringe. I still love the characters, though – well, the important ones – and I think just stepping away from the tried-and-true Mizar formula nets it a star sticker here.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

>w>; I try, but a lot of the time I just don’t have anything to say? Like, oh, you liked it? Neat. There’s not much to respond to in comments like that, and then I’m weighing falling down on an ~obligation~ to respond to every message in my inbox vs annoying people with copy-paste fluff responses all down the page. Plus I know I make more of an effort to comment on things that didn’t get the attention I feel they deserve, so if I’m driving up my own comment count with nonsense, am I preventing myself from being in a position to receive more comments later? And then if I do comment, am I being too effusive or running people’s ears off explaining things they don’t actually need to know? Sometimes people just want to express interest or admiration and don’t necessarily want a whole peek and guided tour behind the curtain.

Can you tell I have anxiety? x3;

Anyway, I do respond when I can. And I keep most of the comments I’ve gotten to go back and reread. 

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hm, hmm. Lots of stuff in the TQ Nonsense series would probably qualify! I’m thinking of Unfixable, Wolfsong, and Ethanol. And there’s Bursting Through A Blood-Red Sky (I Can Live, I Can Breathe), of course, but that was always intended to have a fix-it epilogue. It’s just that I wrote it in a couple of hours day-of, stared at it, and decided I didn’t wanna just then. But now that’s As Long As You’re Still Burning Bright (I’m Still Awake), and that’s probably the best romance I’ve written, so that one worked out.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Now and then! When the urge strikes. Uhhh, I’ve got a series of Doctor Who x Undertale crossovers I actually made a whole dang verse for that never made it to print. Get a couple great comments on that every few months or so. I think the World Trigger x Undertale crossover is probably weirder, though, by virtue of WT being a very small fandom. My enthusiasm kinda sputtered out on that one.

Mostly I just daydream crossovers with whatever happens to catch my eye at any given moment. I have a lot!!!! Though odds are out on whether I manage to remember any of them once the initial thought’s passed, lol.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Gotten a couple eyebrow-raising comments, but I think mostly I’m just too small a writer to draw that kind of attention.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t? think so? Think my tastes are a little niche for most people to bother ^^;

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I had someone apologize once for any language mistakes in their comment cause they had to run it through a translator! That’s not what you asked (the answer is no), but it’s very flattering to think that someone liked my fic enough to read and comment despite the language barrier.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! :D @pidgeonpostal was gracious enough to agree to co-write Five Nights at Denny’s with me off an idea about shoes. This has fulfilled a long-held dream of mine (collabing with someone, not the shoes) and also introduced me to some lovely people.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Who has time for just one? ;3c Honestly, I care more about the characters and how the relationship – any relationship – between them changes them than I do about ~A Ship~ as a solid, bounded noun-object. I’ve got characters I like more and less and feelings about who does and doesn’t have chemistry in which directions with whom, but finding anything that agrees with those preferences is hard, harder when you take alloromanticism into account. I’ll play in any sandbox with cool toys, especially if other folks have already built sick sandcastles there.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

[kicks every single unfinished fic further under the bed] What nooo no WIPs here, everything on my account is either finished or does not exist

I’ve got a couple extra chapters of Sweeter Than floating around unposted, but 1. that fic’s a mess 2. high school Twixt and post-college Twixt are different people and trying to contort myself into three other me-shapes just cause people Like this fic is not something I’m super interested in 3. it’s headed for an emotional dip and I’d rather leave it where it is than post two chapters, stall out again, and leave folks with a bad end.

As for other fics... it’s looking more and more likely that v7 of my Yellow Brick Road AU will never actually make it out. >w>; I’ve got some really great ideas, but not enough to make me feel like I know what I’m doing, and that’s a big roadblock. Plus trying to engage with RT’s Atlas-Mantle worldbuilding in any serious capacity is... a headache. I can’t recommend the Happy Huntress Cinematic Universe enough, but it leaves some pretty big shoes to follow! And I’ve got small feet. <w<;

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue’s fun, probably as an extension of characterization. I love tearing into what makes people tick, especially against the backdrop of their environment, the story they’re in, and the people they’re up against. Voice is a double-edged sword; I’ve been told my writing is really recognizable and individual, but on the other hand, I’ve been growing frustrated with with the limits of my narrative ability. There’s a strong rhythm I keep when I write (you might notice it here, even) but that leaves me feeling predictable and stale. I’m not sure I’m great at setting as a matter of course, but I’m pretty good at describing setpieces where the need comes up; that comes from my background in poetry, as does the fun I have with sublimating and abstracting complex imagery. And I think I bring some needed nuance to the universal. For good or ill, I don’t do what “everyone else” is doing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Well, writing, for one thing. If I don’t know how something’s going to go and don’t have the urge to write it, it isn’t getting done, which means there’s a billion things that will never see the page and a few hundred more that are never getting finished. I lose momentum easily and have a hard time getting started, and I put way too much standing on finding a foothold with other people; as critical as I am of my work, I have high expectations for the stuff that passes muster, and it never seems to measure up. I’m also really uncreative. Yeah, I can mix up elements and extrapolate events, but coming up with things wholesale is really hard, which is why I avoid it wherever possible and steal/reskin stuff from other places instead.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Something along the lines of “Hoo boy, I am Not qualified for this but hopefully it’s decent anyway.” Maria’s Spanish lines haven’t been a big deal – I’ve used it sparingly and, as a Latin language, it should be easy for English-speaking audiences to pick up on the gist – but I’ve had a harder time with Tai’s Chinese, both because I have Even Less background there and because it is, of course, an entirely different language system. If I write it out in English or Romanized italics, am I colonizing it or changing the meaning? If I write it out in the presumed-original characters (presumed because it’s Google Translate and who knows if I’m even barking in the right forest), am I confusing or alienating my presumed-majority-English-speaking audience? Where should I put the translations? Should I put the translations? And for Frisk’s sign language, thinking back, are the brackets I used instead of quotes alienating/infantilizing? I like that different characters give the text between a different feel, but I’m not an ASL speaker – and I’m pretty sure the word is “speaker,” which would only reinforce that that demographic would rather I didn’t do that. It’s important for all these characters, I think, that they use non-English language where it makes sense; it’s part of who they are. But as a white monolingual English-speaker, I don’t think I can really weigh in.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Thaaaat’d be Pokémon, followed closely with Sonic the Hedgehog. Whether those fics are still on my ff.net account or not (pretty sure I’ve purged them, but you never know) I’ve still got a couple saved to a folder on my current laptop, ostensibly so I can look back and see how far I’ve come and more practically to allow for the possibility of furthering group cohesion through public shaming.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I still like the idea behind The Man Who Is Atlas, and Burning Bright (Still Awake) gets props for being my current fic, though it’s currently in that spot where I’m excited to get new chapters posted but also quietly marking everything up in red pen. I think Harbinger gets the crown here, at least for now.

[mdzs-fic]

Fic rec search

I am very, very, very behind on answering asks, I'm sorry! I'm going to try and group them into a few posts for help to avoid spamming everyone's dashes. Any help greatly appreciated! This post is for any fic on a particular topic as opposed to a single specific fic.

 Lan Wangji and/or Wei Wuxian

Wangxian become rogue cultivators post canon, Cql canon or mdzs canon is both fine

Any "game of gay chicken that went a little too far" fic recs? Preferably wangxian or sangcheng

 Autistic Lan Wangji

 Wangxian are walked in on while they're having sex

 Role reversal fics where LWJ is like the Yiling Patriarch and WWX is like Hanguang Jun

 Any fics where wwx was raised by baoshan sanren instead of living with the jiangs

 Wen!wwx fics

 Are there any fics where WWX dies of an illness or kills himself before his canon death? Long ago I found a fic like this but lost it

 I'm looking for fics dealing with WWX being injured, specifically after getting whipped by Madame Yu with Zidian when the Wens came to Lotus Pier, and after his fake duel with JC when he wouldn't let WQ help him. I've read "Adventures in Solitude" by etymologyplayground which deals with the former a bit, just hoping for more please!

 Wangxian are childhood sweethearts

Do you know of any fics that have that angsty internalized homophobia? Or maybe a character study-ish fic about lan Zhan coming to terms with himself in his family? Doesn’t have to be super angsty either!!

 Do you know any good fics in which wwx is on the run/disappeared and lwj finds/is looking for him, or anything along those lines?

Strange regrets by sunrise and death (7k)

Beyond the Yellow Brick Road by smallmoyashi (3.5k, WIP)

And They Have Escaped The Weight Of Darkness by cosmicmilktea (10k)

Do you know a fic where wwx can wield bichen?

with you i am home by tellthemstories (47k)

I’m wondering if you know of any fics with WWX being in modern foster care or just focusing on the fact that he was/is an orphan

 Any new wangxian celebrity au’s

After the Final Rose by azurewaxwing (5.5k, WIP)

[envyq00]

IT'S HERE!!! The celebration piece for the growth in followers across platforms is finally done!! Thank you guys so so much for all the support you've given me over the past couple of months!! It really means so so much to me!

For those who don't know, I'm planning to make a fan comic for my Stanley Parable AU, called Beyond the Yellow Brick Road and it's warmed my heart to see the support for my designs of the Stanley Parable cast in the AU! I'm planning to post the comic up on my Tumblr, Instagram, and Toyhouse with the handle EnvyQ00 for each of them! I'll also have the comics posted on my DeviantArt EnvyQ00-D!

But to also celebrate this occasion, I'm hosting a draw this in your style contest!

Rules!:

You can redraw the celebration piece (above) or the cover art (below) but here are some interesting rules for each!

Celebration art: Must have the original characters intact but you can change the boards to say anything else you want! (Keep it PG please!)

Cover art: You can swap the Narrator for your own Narrator! But 432 (the person on the right) must stay the same! You can change their expression but do keep the character the same!

Tag your pieces as #envyqdtiys2023 and #beyondtheyellowbrickroadau ! Be sure to also mention/tag me so I can see the post!

THE DEADLINE FOR THE CONTEST IS AUGUST 1ST!

There will be only one winner per platform ( 1 winner for Tumblr, 1 winner for Instagram, 1 winner for Twitter)

The winners will each receive a digital art request of their choosing with the rendering similar to the celebration piece and the cover art! (Shaded and clean lineart).

You can post your entries to any and all platforms but you will only be considered a winner for one platform (you'll only get one piece of art if you win) so please choose which platform you want to be considered for in the post!

Thank you all so much again and have fun!!!

[domesticatedantelope]

pursuit

Part One: Preludes

Pairing: Colt x MC // fallout AU

Rating: M (language, canon-typical violence)

Word Count: 2.6k

For RoDAW Day 2. Inspired by this spectacular edit from our lovely host @choicesarehard.

*     *     *     *     *

It should have been an easy job.

Find the library, find the supplies, make it back alive.

Another day in fucking paradise.

i.

Colt can’t remember the last time he slept.

When he blinks, the sunlight etches blinding trails behind his eyelids. There’s no wind in the city of angels, just a choking heat that makes the road ahead shiver in his vision, oil slick puddles the sickening color of rust. Black asphalt cracks beneath his feet, the shattered streets he’s walked since he was old enough to hold the rifle in his hands — since his father left him stranded in the corpse of old Los Angeles and told him to fight his own way home. 

He swallows down the memory and skirts the skeletal remains of an old station wagon, the doors and windows hollowed to a metal husk. The city center always smells like rot and melted rubber. With a sneer, he yanks the bandana out from underneath his collar and tugs it hastily over his nose. 

Three days of walking, darting through side alleys, dodging ferals and mutants and rival raider gangs. Would have travelled safer with another gun at his back, but he moves faster on his own — and more importantly, he draws far less attention. 

Gunshots crack the silence, and in two swift steps, he pivots and slides into cover behind the nearest building. His back to crumbled brick, he steadies his breathing and listens for the rattle of return fire. From the carry of the echo, the fight’s still a few streets back, and absently he runs a palm over the ammunition in his pocket, feeling the weight of the grenades hooked into his belt. 

Beyond the shells of empty homes, he spots the sprawl of the observatory, high up in the hills above the city. The library will be another half a mile through the open streets, and with a twist of irritation, he can hear the distant gunfire growing steadily closer. An inhuman roar tears through the deafening pop-pop’s of rifle shots, resounding off the nearby buildings and kicking the rapid rhythm of adrenaline into his pulse.

Of course it’s fucking mutants. 

And from the sound of it, an unholy amount of them.

The sun is just starting to set behind the bones of old Los Angeles, dipping low over the ocean, and Colt steals a swift path through the slowly growing shadows. He’s charted most of these byways himself, cutting through a back alley and vaulting himself up over a dumpster, the rusted chain links of the fence clattering noisily when he leaps over and lands with a cloud of dust on the other side. He spills out into the middle of the street, and a guttural cry shrieks in alert to his right. Three hulking figures break into a sprint in his direction, yellowed muscles bulging as they charge him with ear-splitting snarls.

“Fuck!” Colt has no time to catch his breath, lungs aching as he leaps back into motion. He grits his teeth past the protest in his weary legs, fumbling under his coat for the rough surface of a frag mine, fingers catching as he sets the charge and flings it carefully behind him. 

The super mutants scream a chorus of bestial rage, and he hears their footsteps pounding hard against the pavement as they tear a swift pursuit.

Then, blissfully, the rapid beep beep beep of warning before one of the unlucky bastards finds the gift he left them, and a localized explosion lights the dark of setting dusk. Pained growls die to whimpers in his wake, buying him a moment to break ahead. His ears ring from the blast, but a frantic laugh lifts from his lungs, manic with relief when he slips through the sharp-edged brambles of a desiccated bush and emerges in an empty parking lot alone. 

He rips the bandana from around his mouth, leaning on his knees as he drinks in deep lungfuls of air. Across the buckled asphalt of the lot, a shambled building overgrown with ivy seems to barely stand against the darkening night, and he rises to survey the property with narrowed eyes.

The library awaits.

ii.

Nobody appreciates good literature anymore.

Mercy thumbs gingerly through the worn pages of another ruined book, and feels her heart break just a little at the state of it. The notes inked in have long since faded, half the paper scorched to ash, another volume — and all precious knowledge housed therein — now permanently lost. 

She plucks out the few pages left intact and tosses the rest in a heap with all the others. Against her will, the sting of tears builds at her lashes, and she swipes angrily under her eyes, refusing to let them fall. She’s made it this far, found the only place that might hold any whisper of salvation, but the deeper she works through haphazard stacks, the more destruction she discovers. 

The clank and whir of metal joints hiss as one of the protectrons ambles down the hall outside, and she watches the bot forge through its patrol with some small amount of comfort. The office drones were little more than scrap when she uncovered them, and now their tinny voices keep her company on the longer nights alone.

She forces a slow, steadying breath into her lungs, and sets her shoulders.

Somewhere in this godforsaken mess, she knows there is a prize worth finding. Worth leaving her life and everything she loves behind. 

There has to be.

iii.

The adrenaline is fading.

It takes Colt longer than it should to scale the building, his fingers shaking as he hauls himself up onto the edge of the roof. A winded sigh heaves from his lungs, bruises and freshly bleeding scrapes throbbing a vast array of pain across his body. He feels the onset of fatigue weighing his limbs, but pushes stubbornly past it, trekking toward a busted skylight at the far end of the building.

He drops through and rolls to break the fall, landing in a crouch among a maze of slanted bookshelves. Dust motes spiral up at the disturbance, his boots crushing moth-eaten carpet as he straightens and inspects the room around him. 

Chairs and upturned tables litter the ground, filing cabinets stacked into a slapdash barricade against the door. He takes a step and nearly stumbles over brittle, long-dry bones, the edges jutting out from rotten clothes. 

A flare of annoyance chatters at the back of his mind. 

All this fucking trouble for a bunch of burned-out books. 

There better be something good here. 

The first filing cabinet gives way with a squeal of creaking metal, and he’s got another wedged between his shoulder and the palm of his hand when the sound of weighted footsteps clomp steadily louder toward the door. 

He lets the cabinet fall back into place with a groan of irritation, reaching for his rifle. 

“Initiating search for hostile target,” the grating voice of a protectron rings out in warning.

Rolling his eyes, Colt braces his boot against the last remnants of the barricade and shoves with the full force of his strength, growling at the resistance before the furniture all comes crashing down into a heap, freeing the doors and his way out.

He grabs for the handle just as the protectron barrels through, sending him sprawling back onto the floor. He kicks himself into a roll, narrowly avoiding a laser beam that singes through the carpet and leaves a smoking scorch mark where his head would have been.

Colt scrambles to his feet, ducking into cover behind a mangled reading desk. He waits for a break in the jets of red light that soar overhead, and peeks over his cover just enough to land a few shots into the protectron, bullets pinging off its metal frame. The fourth one cracks through the translucent dome at the top of its head, and he’s lining up the shot to bring it down when the bot fires off another streak of searing energy that shreds open the leather of his armor, burning into his skin with a scalding rip of pain. Gritting his teeth, he struggles to hold steady and releases a wild spray of gunfire until the robot crumples and collapses into the dust. 

There’s a beat of quiet, just the hissing gasps of his own breath as he climbs shakily to his feet. Lifting a hand to his shoulder, he grimaces at the heat that radiates from the laser burn, throbbing like a knife wound in his skin. “Shit. Shit, shit.” A quick search through his pockets finds the last remaining stimpak in his hand, and with a grim sigh he uncaps it, sinking the needle into the muscle of his shoulder. 

The medicine works quickly, easing the worst of the pain to a more tolerable ache, the burn still pulsing with a vengeance in his skin. He’ll need to clean and dress it before long, but only once he’s certain there’s no longer any threats within the building. Any supplies he finds won’t be worth a damn if he’s too dead to drag them back to the garage.

Colt slings his rifle over his good shoulder, pulling the silenced pistol from the holster at his hip instead. With one last glance back at the shattered wreckage of the protectron, he palms his weapon and slips out through the door.

The hall is dark, the overhead fluorescents long since gone to ruin. He creeps forward with careful steps, placing his feet where the carpet will muffle his movement, pausing to listen at each barricaded door. A feeling of unease settles between his shoulders when he catches only silence — no alarms, no tripwires, no army of protectrons swarming to defend the empty halls. 

At last he reaches the towering double doors that lead to the main atrium, and that sense of growing dread has sweat gathering hot at the back of his neck. Cautiously, he extends a boot and pushes one door open, just wide enough for him to fit through. 

Colt steps into the atrium, his eyes sweeping immediately over every surface of the room before coming to rest on a slender figure taking cover at the far wall, two arms wrapped around the barrel of a sniper rifle trained firmly in his direction. He freezes where he stands, his pistol clenched between his fingers, and just as he’s rushing to calculate if he can land the shot before she kills him, the girl behind the rifle hisses out, “Don’t move.”

His jaw tightens in response, but he remains still. 

“Drop your gun.”

“If you’re gonna shoot me, you might as well just fucking do it.”

“Don’t tempt me. Drop it. Now.”

With a withering glare, Colt slowly lowers his pistol to the ground, raising his hands to show his palms above his shoulders. 

Only then does she lift her eye from the scope of her rifle, and he’s stunned briefly speechless to see the face that scowls back at him, round-cheeked and soft with youth, a scatter of dark freckles strewn across the tan of her skin. “Who are you?” she demands across the open space between them, the question sharp-edged with suspicion. The rifle remains fixed in his direction. “And what do you want?”

Colt feels the hot pressure of sudden anger pounding at his temples, seething up his spine to squeeze around the nape of his neck. If he made it this far just to die to some kid with a sniper rifle…

He works to keep his tone even. “Same thing everybody wants, sweetheart.” A twinge of satisfaction flickers through him when her eyes narrow into a glare in response. “Weapons. Caps. Supplies.” His gaze darts past her, where a pile of white medical crates sit stacked against the far wall, before flicking back to meet the dark brown of her eyes. “I guess you just found ‘em first.”

With a look of disdain, she inspects his armor, pausing at the spiked plate that hangs over his left shoulder. “You’re a raider,” she accuses thinly. 

“I’m a person,” he snaps back. “Just trying to get by. Same as you.”

“You shot my robot.”

“It shot me!” 

Her eyes pass over the fresh laser burn still glowing angry red against his shoulder, and the accusation slowly starts to lapse from her expression. “I’m sorry about that,” she mutters then, and he’s shocked to hear a thread of genuine remorse in her tone. “I had them on high alert. There’s been —”

“Super mutants, yeah. I met ‘em on the way in.”

“Did they follow you here?”

“Not that I could tell.”

The girl lets out a tired-sounding sigh and finally climbs to her feet, letting the rifle rest against her shoulder, and it’s almost comical how small the weapon makes her look. She’s tamed the dark waves of her hair into a tight braid down the center of her back, a faded coat draped loosely around her shoulders, and just past the broken teeth where a zipper used to hang, he spies the unmistakable blue of a jumpsuit. 

He could almost spit. Vault dweller. Of course. 

“Not gonna kill me then?” he sneers, and his temper roils when she rolls her eyes at him.

“Not unless I need to.” And her grip tightens around the stock of her rifle. “Don’t make me need to.”

Cautiously, Colt lets his hands drop back down to his sides, a small measure of tension falling from his shoulders when she makes no move to shoot him. “So now what?”

She considers, drumming her nails at the surface of the reading desk where she stands, a calculating look in her eyes as she studies him. “I’ll trade you for them.”

“You’ll trade them.”

Her shoulder rises in a shrug. “If you want them so badly. A trade seems easier than killing each other, doesn’t it?”

He eyes her carefully. “And what exactly do you want in return?”

Something heavy passes over her expression, a weariness that sits strangely on such a delicate face, there and gone again in an instant. “I’m looking for something. I’ve been looking for something, something hidden here in the library, and I can’t figure out where.” Frustration — almost desperation — cuts into her voice. “You help me find it, and the supplies are yours.”

Colt levels her with a deliberately slow look. “And what’s to stop me from just shooting you right now and taking everything for myself?”

At that, she manages to almost smile. “The fact that you won’t make it out of here alive.”

She’s bluffing. He’s almost sure of it. But she waits patiently for him to make the call, that same small, infuriatingly gentle smile on her lips, and somewhere past the angry cage around his heart, he thinks he might almost respect her for it.

“Fine,” he groans, and makes a show of stowing his rifle into his bag. “We have a deal.”

Her smile brightens, fully formed, the dark of her eyes warm with something like relief when she steps around the desk and crosses the room to stand before him. She’s even smaller this close, peering curiously up at him as if they hadn’t just nearly killed each other. “What should I call you?”

He meets her gaze with a scowl. “Colt.”

“Colt,” she repeats, as if trying out the sound of it. Then she nods in vague approval. “My name is Mercedes, but you can call me Mercy.” And she reaches out to shake his hand, daring to laugh when surprise knocks the glare from his face. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 4

serial killer!han jisung au

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 1.8k

warnings: themes of domestic abuse, descriptions of violence, and foul language.

description: jisung keeps getting flashbacks, and he’s determined to do whatever it takes to keep them at bay. tonight, however, he makes one mistake that sends everything spiralling out of control.

watch the trailer here!

04| two roads diverged

A light fog was seeping into the night air when Jisung stepped out of your apartment complex, flinging the empty takeout boxes into the Dumpsters as he staggered past. There were no cars on the street at this hour, the campus having shut it gates an hour or so earlier. He checked his phone. 1:00 A.M. on the dot. 

He ducked into an alleyway -- a shortcut -- which was also dim, lined sparsely with flickering street lamps that split his shadow into distorted fragments. In his peripheral vision, it almost looked like someone was following him. Yanking his hood over his head, Jisung began walking faster.

“You’re dead,” he mumbled, eyes darting around as he wove through the alleys. A dull throbbing was beginning to ebb and wane in his head. “You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re supposed to be dead.”

His fist slammed into the brick wall on the last word, entire body slumping forward. The sound of his own heavy breathing seemed to echo in his ears as he screwed his eyes shut, images flashing behind his eyelids. Your smiling face under the veil of moonlight, eyes softened into crescents. Her bled-out, empty one, eyes staring back at him but not seeing. Jisung had thought he could take it -- the hot flashes of memories you seemed to draw out of him without even trying. He’d thought that maybe, he could last one night, that if you were by his side, the nightmares would finally stay at bay. That maybe, if you thought that he was a normal boy, he could convince himself, too.

Feet feeling like they were dragging through cement, he stumbled to the end of the alleyway, which opened up into the clearing of a park. In front of him now was a children’s playground. During the day, it was alight with shrieks of laughter and joy, mothers and fathers chasing their delighted children up and down slides and colourful swing sets. Now, however, it was hollow and barren as a graveyard, cold metal waiting for the new day to bring back its warmth.

On his left lay the Yellow Wood, where two paths of the park diverged into a thicket of sparse forest. Across from the playground, Jisung could see the main street, lined with shops. Their windows were dark now -- if he wasn’t wrong, the latest shop on campus closed at 1 A.M. -- the buzzing of their dim neon signs echoing like sinister whispers down the empty street. 

Jisung felt two eyes watching him, the back of his neck prickling, and he turned to see a stray dog, small and scraggly. It had floppy ears and matted fur that might have once been blond -- like a teddy bear that had been through the wash one too many times. Letting out an incredulous laugh, Jisung bent down, shaking fingers reaching to scratch it behind its ears. A breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding escaped his lips. He was okay. He was still in control.

“Why the fuck are you crying? Get the fuck up.”

Jisung’s head snapped in the direction of the voice, squinting through the hazy darkness. He held his breath, and heard muffled crying, the voices growing closer.

“I said, stop crying!” 

A sharp slap rang through the night air, and Jisung’s hand froze in the stray dog’s fur. He narrowed his eyes, making out the outlines of two figures by park entrance. It was a man who was speaking -- yelling, really -- his voice slurred, evidently drunk. Cowering in front of him, face buried in her hands, was a smaller woman. The man’s hand shot out again, seizing a fistful of her hair.

“Fuckin’ bitch. You want to leave me? I’d like t’ see you try.” He yanked her head up, sneering. “If you make another sound, I swear I’ll--”

Crunch.

Jisung didn’t register his feet moving across the playground until he felt his fist connect with the man’s jaw, sending him flying back with a surprised squawk. When the man turned his head back, eyes blazing with fury and confusion, one flared nostril was gushing blood.

“What the--who the fuck are you?” The man’s voice was shrill, gruff hands shoving at Jisung’s chest. “Do you want to die?”

Jisung glanced at the girl, whose hands had flown to her mouth in shock. The two looked as if they’d been back from a night out, the girl--a brunette--wearing black heels, a ripped, damaged blouse, and a skirt. The man looked not much older than Jisung -- maybe a senior, it was too dark to tell. Tears shone on the girl’s cheeks, an angry red welt where her boyfriend had hit her blooming across her face. Jisung’s eyes flashed back and forth between her and the man, back to her again, head beginning to spin. 

This was all so, so familiar.

“I asked you a question, kid!” The man was still screaming, the stench of alcohol on his hot breath momentarily jarring Jisung out of his thoughts. “Hey, are y’ fucking crazy or sumn’--”

Wrenching himself from the man’s grasp, Jisung snapped his arm back and buried his elbow in his face. Blood seeped through his hoodie as the man gave a roar of pain, crashing to the ground. The girl screamed, and Jisung turned to her. She flinched, and he jerked his head towards the main street. “Get...out of here. Go--go home.”

Her wide eyes flickered from her boyfriend, who was currently groaning on the pavement, to Jisung, and took off running. The sound of her frantic heels clicking grew fainter as Jisung stepped closer to the man, who was scrambling to his feet like a chicken with its head cut off. Sighing, Jisung looked around -- his apartment was still a few blocks away, but making a scene on the main road was practically begging for someone to see. His eyes landed on the Yellow Wood.

Ah. That would do.

Seizing the man by the front of his jacket, which was already wet with dark blood from his shattered nose, Jisung dragged the drunk across the artificial sand, through the playground, and into the forest, stopping only when the glow of the street lamps had disappeared behind them, and slammed him against a tree. The man felt like a bag of wet cement and moved like one, too -- limbs sluggish and waterlogged with too much alcohol. Jisung shook his head, a humourless laugh bubbling in his throat. Some people almost seemed to be looking for death.

“Wha--whaddaya think you’re doing? Who--you can’t--”

Jisung picked up a rock from the base of the tree, fingers absently rubbing its cool, jagged surface. It was heavy, with one blunt side. His head was beginning to pound again, cold sweat beading on his forehead as he studied the man. Fear was scrawled all over his features, fingers scrabbling against the tree as he tried -- hopelessly -- to crawl away.

“H-hey! Calm down! I w-won’ do it again, promise -- j-jus’ lemme--”

“You have his eyes,” Jisung breathed, and drove the rock down. They were all he could see -- those eyes, the same ones from thirteen years ago, burning into his own, soaking his vision with red, red, red, as his fist came down again, and again, and again. His own face felt wet, the metallic tang of someone else’s blood trickling through his lips as it spurted from the dying man’s gaping mouth. The screams had turned to gurgles, the hard skull he was striking was beginning to cave in, the jerking of the man’s body beneath him subsiding into feeble twitches instead. And yet the blood in Jisung’s ears was still roaring, and his head was still splitting apart, a thousand voices hissing in his mind.

You killed her. You killed her. You. Killed. Her.

                                                ────────

Yang Jeongin wiped away the sweat dripping into his eyes, slapping his face lightly to stay awake as he pedalled through the alleyways, a list of deliveries rustling in his hand. He had just dropped off his last parcel. Earlier today, he’d gotten hired for deliveries at another store -- this one specialized in late-night shipments, with his latest one running until 1 in the morning. It was probably closer to 2 A.M. now.

Jeongin stifled a yawn. He’d been up since 5 in the morning, and, though he was used to working long hours, he had to admit that this first day was a little hard. Near the end of his shift, his mind had begun to wander to his one-bedroom apartment -- sure, it was small and rundown, and the AC was broken beyond repair, but it was still home. He thought of the warm herbal tea he would drink before crashing for the night. He thought of the stray dog -- it was small and scraggly, and looked more like a worn-out teddy bear -- that often slept outside his window, and smiled, pedalling faster.

His hand reached into his back pocket and pressed the Record button on his Walkman, straightening his earbuds before speaking.

“I.N. here!” He cleared his throat, voice a little hoarse and out of breath from all the biking he’d done. “It is currently...2:04 A.M.! It’s my first late-night delivery -- or is it early-morning? Anyways, it’s exciting, huh? The whole campus seems to be sleeping; no one’s out on these streets at this hour. It feels pretty cool, like I’m carrying out a secret mission or something.

“Anyways. Why did I take up another job? Well, today Hyunjin -- he’s the barista, owner, really, of Glow Cafe -- asked me why I didn’t apply for, you know, a driver’s license or something. At first, I thought, well, there’s no point -- I can’t afford a car, anyways. But --” he let out a long sigh, and laughed. “I’ve decided that it’s worth a try, right?

“I want to pay off my student loans soon. Maybe fix my bike up. It’ll be hard at first, but nothing Yang Jeongin can’t take! Me and my bike, we’re unstoppable.”

He turned onto the main road, cutting into the children’s playground across the storefronts. He knew Miroh Heights like the back of his own hand -- every nook and cranny, hidden alleyways and shortcuts -- and the trail that ran through Yellow Wood led almost straight to his neighbourhood. The leaves and fallen tree branches rustled and snapped beneath the wheels of his bicycle as Jeongin hummed lightly.

Not too far into the Wood, though, an odd sound began to prick at his ears. Was that...breathing? Or just the wind? He looked around, and, as his eyes adjusted in the darkness, he saw the vague shape of...a boy? The figure had his back turned to Jeongin, and was trembling -- as if an electric current was running through him. 

Jeongin skidded to a stop and hopped off his bike, pulling out an earbud. “Hello? Is everything okay over there?”

Silence.

The boy had his hood up, and seemed to be holding something heavy in one hand. Jeongin stepped closer, and realised with a start that there was another man -- was it a man? -- lying at his feet.

“U-um. Is he--do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap--”

Without warning, the boy swung around and slammed a rock straight into Jeongin’s head.

[sonicringbond]

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 32

Today’s scene is perhaps a little different from most, as it’s really time to start breathing life into the plot of the AU with some world building. And it is perhaps a lot, but hopefully everyone finds it entertaining in...

    “Mote says that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

    “Really? Rosy asked and looked over at Draw.

    ~Our travels had taken us far and wide, but today we had ended up in small river town. Almost everything was made up of bricks from the buildings to the roads. The exception of course were the steam pipes that lined the city and powered the massive machine at the heart of the city that directed river traffic and moved water from the river into brick walled canals. The canals took water away from the city and out into the surrounding farmlands. It was pretty amazing considering a single Ring Shift could up end everything. Though there were plenty of signs of new construction, and even abandoned drills here and there.

    ~But the city was far from what had caught my attention that Draw and Mote warned me against. There was a poster that had been put up and it was advertising a Knight’s Banquet. It was to be hosted by a knight by the name of Claymore the Purple. The thing is though, looking at his photograph on the poster… well, it was obvious he was an autogolem. His gears and pistons were clearly visible under his armor. It was really sharp looking armor and with his long pointy helmet made him look like he was designed around a sword. Still, it was weird Draw didn’t want to go after him. I wonder if there was something special about him.

    ~We had already heard word about him as it was too. The black robed priests, the Preservers I guess, had been making a fuss about him everywhere we encountered them. They warned that any who still committed the heresy of interacting with the Rings would be put to the good knight’s sword. Honestly, that doesn’t seem very knightly or good to me. But he must have his reasons. I’m sure of it.~

    The story of Claymore the Purple was not one Rosy was likely to hear in any detail any time soon. Rather, just the rumors surrounding the autogolem knight. The Preservers themselves had thought that the member of the Sword Knights was but a relic of a forgotten age who had long since stopped functioning. But then the day came when the second Red Star Ring rose into the sky and a bolt of red lightning tore across it from one horizon to the other becoming a permanent scar and crack in the sky. As the world stabilized from the onset of sudden Ring Shifts and opening of Ring Gates all over, the purple armored autogolem came to life with violet glowing eyes and stood for the first time in ages under its own power.

    “Oh, to wake again! Hohoho! How many ages has it been I wonder?”

    Striding confidently from the temple that housed his slumbering form, Claymore observed the city of Tower Point. It was a religious city that was a mess of towers and bridges stretching into the sky. The architecture of every last one of them was as though meant for a gothic cathedral, save where great telescopes watched the ominous little planet in the sky. Though as Claymore strode across the bridges and terrified the clergy who called the city home, the telescopes were watching the red crack and the world beyond it.

    “Hmm, I hear radio chatter, but it seems to be a rather primitive use. Has the world fallen further than we anticipated? Ho! It best be then that I seek out answers to my questions.”

    Claymore seemed to lack any real sense of direction towards his goal and simply asked the first black robed priest who fell over and could not flee in terror.

    “Ho good Preserver!” Claymore greeted them with a raised hand and boisterous mirth. “You seem fearful of my visage so I must presume that it has been some ages since your order was founded to keep the world safe from Yoluku. I see the foul orb still hangs in the sky as well, but I sense not it’s presence. Would I be wrong in presuming then that Yoluku has not woken?”

    “N– no!” the priest managed to stammer out. They nigh screamed though as Claymore squatted down halving his three-meter height and rested his forearms on his knees.

    “Yet your words hold question good Preserver. Has the name Yoluku been lost then? To think the Rings could absorb even that much. Have the Preservers then failed in their mission to keep the people aware of the evil of the Rings and Yoluku?”

    “No– No!” The priest exclaimed in adamant denial. Managing to get to their feet, they looked upon the gleaming purple autogolem and swallowed fiercely, but their pride and faith gave them strength to address the knight. “The Rings are taboo. Only heretics such as the Engineers would make use of them.”

    “Heretics you say. Ho!” With a mirthful laugh Claymore again rose to his tremendous full height. “A few heretics are to be expected. But that they wear not the name Yoluku, then surely, we are fortunate. The foul evil may have been forgotten, but it holds no influence. Yet this scar…”

    Stepping forward, Claymore took his pointed chin in hand and gazed upon the cracked sky. “Someone remembers and they are afraid. A Sword Knight would not be woken otherwise.

    “Tell me good Preserver,” Claymore again turned his full attention onto the priest, “how many Red Star Rings have you seen rise into the sky? And fear not should you not remember, I shall but wake my companion who can make use of the cursed Rings. After all, the Rings will always remember.”

    “…Two…,” the priest managed to answer staring in awe at the knight, and not the least bit free of confusion either. “And within recent enough memory. We can give you no definitive time, but children have far from become adults since the first one was seen. That a second and now this crack across the sky have appeared… The people are afraid–”

    “Good Knight,” Claymore interrupted the priest to remind them to properly address him. “I am a knight and will be addressed with the respect I am due good Preserver.”

    “Of– of course Good Knight!”

    “Glad to hear it. Ho!” Claymore patted the priest’s back gently in affirmation of his good cheer. The priest could still barely contain his horror however at the autogolem and needed prompted to continue. “Now, as you were saying about the good people.”

    “They are afraid–,” a look came from Claymore as the priest nearly left out proper addressing of the knight and they near bit their tongue to correct themselves,” Good Knight. They fear that the world is at its end.”

    “Ho! Only to be expected. Such is the fear they should hold of Yoluku. But tell me, do the mediums hear Yoluku’s whispers?”

    “Mediums, Good Knight?”

    “Ho!” Claymore exclaimed in surprise. “Are there none left who speak with the gods? Ho! Completely preposterous. Surely there are some. There must be! How can you know it is time to wake the Sword Knights if there are no mediums to warn you of Yoluku’s whispers?”

    “I’m afraid I do not know, Good Knight. Fortunetellers and such witches are at most a curiosity and a mockery of a good occupation. None take their ramblings seriously, and any who do are usually swindled of their time and hope. They are crooks and charlatans.”

    “And surely none of which are mediums. Ho!”

    Turning away from the priest and again to the sky, Claymore rested his fists on his hips as his cape fluttered down around him. “Yet I stand woken, The scar tears across the sky. There are those who seek the evils of the Rings. Ho! Surely it is a mystery. Could it be that one of my companions stands woken? We must know good Preserver.”

    “But how can we, Good Knight?” The priest regretted asking as soon as Claymore turned around and bent at the waist to lower himself to the priest with a raised finger.

    “Why by hosting a banquet. And one that all far and wide are welcome to. In such a fashion any of my woken peers will come, and we will be able to find any mediums in their wake. And the sight of a Sword Knight will surely alleviate their fears. We stood victorious once against Yoluku and the Traitor, so there is little doubt that we can prevent Yoluku’s awakening. Ho!

    “Now go good Preserver. Gather your fellows and tell them that Claymore the Purple calls for a banquet. And to ready the world for its salvation! Ho!”

    As unlikely as it seemed, the autogolem had his way and plans for the banquet were made known far and wide. Pressing a finger into her cheek, Rosy tilted her head as she continued to study the poster.

    “What’s the hold up? Sonic asked as he walked up behind Rosy.

    “Oh! Sonic!”

    Turning to Sonic, Rosy missed Draw tear the poster from the wall and crumble it up.

    “Nothing,” the young koala dismissed the whole event. “Just this weirdo gushing about how cool you supposedly are.”

    “Supposedly?”

    “Take that back Draw! Sonic really is really, really, cool!”

    ~I guess Draw did a good job of distracting me. Calling Sonic only supposedly cool though. Hmph! How could he? Sonic is infinitely cooler than some golem knight.

    ~But he is an autogolem, so does that mean that he’s powered by a fairy like Mote?~

    Her playful pursuit of Draw losing its energy, Rosy again pressed a finger into her cheek as she tried to catch a glimpse of the yellow fairy who avoided her at all cost. Naturally, she did not spot Mote and grew thoughtful as she looked back to where the poster had been.

    ~I wonder why it is that Mote is so against me meeting them? Could they be a really strong golem like Ix? Or are they his ally. Maybe, maybe they’re the one who put Mote and their friends in those first auto golems I saw.

    ~Ooh~! I really don’t know what is going on anymore, and my friends are all still out there somewhere too. What am I supposed to do when I don’t know enough?~

    “Something wrong kid?”

    “Nothing now that you’re here,” Rosy squealed and grabbed onto Sonic’s hand as it landed on her shoulder.

    ~That’s right~ Sonic’s here~♥ In that case, I know everything will be okay. We’ll find our friends, find a way home, save Mote’s friends, and save the world too if we need to! As long as Sonic’s here, we can do anything!~

Scene 32 · CLEARED And After That, End

-----

And there we go. Maybe a little off from expectations for a Sonic story, but it’s necessary to really start building the world and starting with a strongly out of place element is a good start as I get to slowly blend it together into a cohesive whole. It’ll take some time, but I hope everyone will bear with me while we travel down what will hopefully be a long and enjoyable Journey.

-----

Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – Lumacie Archipelago: Mystic Woodland – Tsutomu Narita – Granblue Fantasy Original Soundtrack

Fair Use Disclaimer

Sonic the Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement. The Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

[misslisterkeepsajournal]

1831 Friday 7 October

6 55/.. 10 25/..

Fahrenheit 67°. and fine sunny but windy morning now at 7 35/.. - breakfast at 7 55/.. - pretty damp little place - au 1re [premiere] in front - but ruz de chanssée at the back - single house - the 2 windows opposite each other shewed the inequality of the ground - pretty rustic verandah in front and windows opening on to the ground -

Off from Freshwater gate Inn at 8 40/.. very steep up the down - all walked - I took George and close along the edge of the cliffs and walked 40 mins. [minutes] before we turned inland to the top of the down and the carriage came up with us - the white Freshwater cliffs (white and high and precipitous) are certainly very fine, but not so fine as the Dover cliffs - sea very rough - wind very high - had it been to the sea instead of from it, there would have been no walking on the seaward declivity of the down -

Drove along the open down as far as just turning down upon the little scattered village of Brook - left a little below us (right) at 9 50/.. a good looking brick house inhabited by Mr. Howe, Lord of the manor, and there seemed to be a few straw thatched cottages - all the village that we saw - at Mottiston at 10 - neat brick farmstead and 5 or 6 straw thatched cottages and a picturesque wood? steepled little old church -

At Brightstone or Brixton at 10 1/4 - very scattered pretty straw thatched well-gardened village - stopt at the neat yellow-white washed Inn to water the horse at 10 20/.. - neat little church just beyond the Inn, and a few neat cottages for small gentry? there seemed a neat good brick Squire's house at a little distance (left) a little out of the centre of the village - far the prettiest village we have yet seen, and really pretty - walked round the little churchyard and off again at 10 1/2 - the coast seems low from Brook to some distance beyond Brixton - St. Catherine's hill, the highest land in the island stretches finely ahead of us like a long barrier against our getting any much farther - the preventive watch tower and the light house look like 2 great gate posts as we rise the ground out of Brixton -

At 10 40/.. Westcourt a large brick gable ended ivy covered house, and Shorwell picturesque good little village with neat little old church - alight at the neat little old church of Chale at 11 3/4, and, leaving the carriage to go over St. Catherine's hill and thro' the village of Niton, took George and a young woman guide and turned down the cliffs and to Blackgang chine at 12 - merely a little cove or circular hollow in the black indurated clayey cliff - the little stream or ripple that falls from the top lost in rain before it gets to the bottom, tho' the depth it falls may be 60 or 70 feet Brannon's guide says 70 feet (the girls father says 55 feet) instead of 500 feet according to one of my guide books - really Blackgang chine is no great thing - but taking the whole height of the cliff to the top of St. Catherine's hill above the broad shelf or undercliff in which the chine is worn (and the water only runs over the chine) the height cannot be above 500 feet if so much - for it is not the highest part of the hill that is over the chine - Brannon mentions Chale and walpan chines as partaking of the character of Blackgang chine - Chale the girl said was nothing not near so big as Blackgang and walpan above a 1/4 mile to the westward quite out of our way and we must go along the sands to see it, and the water was too high and the sea too rough to admit that - besides the cliff was lately so fallen away the chine was nearly destroyed -

Blackgang Chine c1910, the chine has since been destroyed due to erosion [Image Source]

We then walked along the cliffs to the aluminous-chalybéate spring called Sandrock spring - really a pretty strong chalybéate [according to Wikipedia: “waters, also known as ferruginous waters, are mineral spring waters containing salts of iron”] and plenty of the water - the present building over it quite new - the old one fell away last winter by the slipping of the cliff - then to the neat little cottage above the spring (a sort of dispensary) just under the Sandrock cliff - would not live there - there may be another land-slip as in 1799 - the Sandrock cliff begins a very little to the westward of this Sandrock spring cottage - the cliff very curious - in their horizontal strata where rooks and ravens, sea gulls, and falcon-hawks build their nests - fine, sea views - a little too hazy for the peep of Portland race from the point between Knoles and Buddle's farm -

We passed along there and came out upon Sandrock hotel at 1 - very pretty 2 story house with rustic jasmine and ivy covered verandah along the ground story, windows opening on to the ground - the house too on an eminence with very fine sea view - the prettiest hotel I ever saw anywhere - my Leghorn bonnet hat being all blown out of shape - my false hair taken off and put into the crown of my Leghorn - the driver having gone at once to the stables, and neither of my servants being in sight I can imagine the people wondered what I might be - I did not think them civil enough - looked about - wrote my pencil notes and walked off - went down to the stables to speak about the road etc. wanted a guide - the ostler would recommend a boy (who it turned out was his own son and I afterwards had him to a little beyond Mirables cottage, but he wanted me to pay the ostler, and I would have nothing to do with paying ostlers, so walked off - and at a little distance some neat little Lodging houses, and a few good comfortable cottages -

The village of Niton 1/4 mile off - but not worth going so much out there and back out of my way, so took the boy and walked forwards along the undercliff carriage road - soon came to the Orchard general Sir Willoughby Gordon - approached by a sunk road about 4 feet high rough large stone walling and top-planted slopes above - (there would be something of this sort on entering trough of bolland wood to Shibden) - the house a modern gothic 2 story high with a small castle tower or 2 quite in a hole - invisible till quite upon it - would not live there for all the island - but must look prettily upon the sea from the other side and may have pretty little grounds like Mirables, Mrs. Arnold's very pretty cottage which we soon afterwards turned down to see - she being gone out, a man we found in the grounds shewed us over them (very pretty - bowers of magnificent ivy growing over old shrubs and scraps of wall), and the neat little dairy, and the house too - really a cottage - some of the rooms surely not more than 7 feet high - very very low - but verandahs, and ivy covered covered windows and gables, and really very pretty - but no such cottage for me to live in - give me loftier and larger rooms - more elbow and more breathing room -

Sent back the boy a little beyond Mirables, and sauntered on (Cameron and George and I) by ourselves - just peeped in at the windows of the very small church of St. Lawrence not more than 20 feet long by 12 broad probably the smallest church in England - and the carriage over took us at 3 about a mile from Ventnor, and we all got in - Steep hill at 3 1/4 - we all walked up the hill -

St. Lawrence Old Church - built in the 12th century and considered the smallest church in England until a 10 foot chancel was added in 1842 [Source]

Ventnor hotel at 3 23/.. - a neat, new, remarkably comfortable tidy-looking house, 2 storys, the lower 8 windows in front the 4 lower opening upon the ground - the house on high enough ground - not much wood about it - but beautifully diversified hill and down, and very picturesque pretty little scattered hamlet - the curious sandrock cliff seems to end at Ventnor, and a very high steep down to fence off the more irregular sloping undercliff - horse tired - so that we do not get on very fast - at 3 40/.. St. Boniface cottage (left) very pretty straw thatched gentlemans cottage - from here go down a steepish hill into a deep beautiful finely wooded dell or valley and come out upon the pretty little village of Bonchurch at 4 -

Go into the little church which Andrews (large guide page 96) thinks one of the oldest in the island or in England 'the entrance of the church is a beautiful and perfect Saxon arch; the portico is clearly of Norman architecture, being added after the conquest' - the church is not much larger than that of St. Lawrence - from this church walked the land slip (another land slip, a sort of chaos prettily and picturesquely planted with forest copse wood) to Luccomb chine which was shewn us by the proprietor of one 1/2 of it who happened to be standing by - has a neat little cottage (Luccomb chine cottage) 2 little sitting rooms and 2 bedrooms and 2 servants ditto and little kitchen stable and barn for coach house and a nice little pretty garden at the head of the chine with private way down it to the sea, - that he would let for 20/. a week now, and lets in the season for 50/. a week - season from May to now - but bad carriage road to it thro' the farm yard of a farm belonging to Mr. Atherly M.P. for Southampton - the front door of the cottage opens into Mr. A-'s [Atherly's] property that is entailed and cannot be sold - the man calculates his cottage at £22 a year has above 20 acres land with it and some cottages that altogether bring in above £40 a year and would sell the whole for £1200 - all these cottages too poky and stuffy for me - the Chine merely a pretty cleft in the cliffs down to the beach, - green and pretty well wooded - but really these Chines do not deserve to be made much fuss about - they are convenient passages to the sea - a sort of large Lord Bute's gaps as at Highcliff - the chine a mile from Shanklin -

Luccombe chine in 2008 [Image Source]

Walked up the hill to meet our car - could not find it - walked to Shanklin there at 5 20/.. and the carriage not being arrived had to send after it - the very pretty Inn quite full - but Mrs. Williams very civil and got me a little lodging near - very comfortable - very pretty picturesque village - a good deal taken with it - could not resist going down to see the chine - a pretty wooded glen - prettier than Luccomb because topped by the neat gable ended white house of general Viney, and a pretty little bay and good sands below - fine hard sandy clayey cliffs shut in the bay - the winding down to it in traverses is pretty, and altogether Shanklin is a pretty little -

Met a couple of men who had been digging up sand eels - bought the whole lot of one of them (2 or 3 score, I think at least) for 6d. [pence] - gave him 6d. [pence] additional and he took them to the Inn and I ordered them for supper - back at 5 50/.. 2 basins (above 1 1/2 pint) of boiled milk but ate merely a mouthful of bread at 6 - then settled accounts and began this journal of today - at 7 my sand eels ate 5 or 6 and 20, and drank as much boiled milk as before with about as much bread and then finished journal of today -

The 5 miles walk from Sandrock hotel to Vintnor along the undercliff is really very fine the perpendicular wall of sandrock cliff left - the sea right - the gentlemens cottages and grounds - the finely varied prettily wooded and undulating undercliff, form a charming whole - once or twice looking only at the Sandrock cliff and the planting along I was reminded (a very miniature likeness) of the Gorge d'ortessa - but altogether, sea and all, I doubt if there are many finer walks in England or anywhere than these 5 miles of undercliff - the chaos from between Bonchurch and Luccomb chine and the copse wood among it reminded me for a moment (miniature likeness) of some of the tremendous chaos on descending the Splugen towards Chiavenna -

Gorge d’Ordesa in the Ordesa y Monteperdido National Park, Spain [Image Source]

We met a Lady and gentleman at Bonchurch just returned from the chine of whom I inquired the way - the lady's ecstasies about the beauty of the wood leading to it - never saw anything so beautiful - I should be well repaid etc. etc. made me think how well it is to enlarge on ideas and accomplish one faculty of admiration by sights on ampler scale than we can have at home - very fine day - had just finished the above of today at 9 10/.. - came to my room at 9 35/.. - Fahrenheit 69°. now at 9 50/.. -

[Margin] From Ventnor to Bonchurch very pretty especially from Bonchurch cottage thro' the wooded valley -  

Reference: SH:7/ML/E/14/0129 - SH:7/ML/E/14/0130

[lostandlonelybirds]

Hello everyone!!! I have a fluff request I’m working on at present, but until I finish that, have some random AU ideas from my notes that I might turn into full fledged fics one day! Feel free to request anything from any of the prompt lists, within my ship limits ofc lol. And if anyone requests a fully fledged fic from this list, I’m definitely willing to see what I can come up with! Also!!! If any other fic writers sees one of these and wants to use them, feel free to do it so long as you credit me and send me a link!! I’m always down to read some new fics!!!

He laughs, sending chills down Jason’s spine. “What? You want me to apologize? To say I’m sorry? I can’t. I can’t feel sorry, I can’t feel guilty, I can’t feel anything. Isn’t that the whole point? They took everything from me, and there’s nothing left but me, a parasite dancing in a dead man’s skin. You want me to say I love you? Guess what Jason, I don’t.”

Sex with Dick is animalistic desperation, it is biting and clawing, kicks and punches transitioning into kisses and thrusts just as violent. Every time he throws his clothes back on and leaves, he sees Dick’s fragile and bruised heart break a bit more. Sex with him is benediction, salvation, the feeling of which Jason hasn’t experienced since he’d first donned the R and matching pixie boots. It makes him love and hate Grayson in equal measure.

He’s lifted into a guard's arms. He reaches a hand to grab Bruce, to have someone to catch him when he fell. For a moment he bathes in the fantasy that Bruce is alive, and his corpse is a gag. Everyone is up and fighting, and Bruce raises his hand up, urging his protege to join him. To help him win. The hand never moved. There is no net to catch him when he falls.The cowl falls into a red haze, disappearing as Dick approached what he knows is his end. This is the end. He's fought his whole life. He'd fought against Zucco when he got justice for his parents death. He'd fought against Joker when he killed the clown for Jason. He'd fought against Deathstroke when he'd threatened Damian's life. He'd fought against his own blood and Destiny when the time came. He....He...He... He doesn’t have any fight left in him. He has nothing left to fight for.

Sometimes he hated Bruce, hated that he’d left him. Hated that he’d abandoned him. Other times he just wanted his father back

If he ignores the cold pixilation of the hologram, he can almost pretend Jason is still there, still alive.

For a moment, just a moment, Dick thinks he hates Bruce. Hates his inability to let him go, let him be with Damian

Because he is safe. It didn't matter how far he falls into darkness, as long as Grayson is always there to catch him.

Dick turns his back to the group, pained. “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t be the one to survive and move one every time.”

Sometimes Dick wonders if it’s his never-ending supply of self hatred or his adrenaline addiction that keeps him in the hero business. Batman told him he loved the thrill of Robin-jumping off buildings and bending the laws of physics and gravity like he was beyond them, facing hoarded of men bigger than him, stronger than him, and not knowing if he was going to make it through the night. That’s what kept him in it, but that’s not what made him trade in his leotard for a cape, not in the beginning. Something him and Bruce shared was their aptitude for blaming themselves for every mistake around them, including the deaths of those around him.

He’s perfect at everything he does and sometimes he hates how perfect he is at this.

He never used to believe in poetry or poetic nonsense, but if nothing else changed after his death, at least he did.

It wasn’t blood and broken bones that haunted his nightmares, it was circus colors.

What could one possibly say about life to a person who has already seen the smirk on deaths face

There were nights Jason knew Dick perfectly, intimately. Then there were nights he didn’t know his predecessor at all, catching Dick staring off into the distance looking like he was made of porcelain, heartbreak coloring his eyes and unable to summon any smile.

Jason is still alive, even if it’s only for the moment, even if it’s only in Dicks hallucinations

“I don’t want to be another roadblock on your grand journey to love your fucking soulmate again!” Jason shouts at Dick, red in the face and fuming.

He feels more than anyone else, And anger is an emotion after all.

“If I’m alive, why do I feel so empty? So hollow?”

He’d wanted something that was HIS, only his, no matter how selfish it sounded.

There’s the light at the end of the tunnel, right? The gingerbread house you aren’t supposed to enter, the yellow brick road you aren’t supposed to deviate from. And it’s confusing, because somewhere along the way he changed. And he doesn’t think he likes the end result.

His honesty is a lie, Dick Grayson is the best liar by far

Loneliness comes to him more naturally than he’s willing to admit. Perks of being a vigilante, I suppose.

It should be a hard choice, his father or the son none of them had expected, but it’s easy. Too easy.

“Say it,” Dick whispers, eyes burning with hate. “Get it over with.” “I thought you were fixed.” “Slade, you know you broke me. Say the damn words before I slit your throat open.” “Renegade, rise.”