#cs!branch

[thatbennybee]

ChordStriker Branch

Branch kept Pop Village safe after hounding Barbie for months about it, so they're safe and sound and totally Bergen-proof! Not to mention, he remedied Queen Barbie's concern of other outsiders being able to find them as well, so no one will ever be hurt or ambushed on Branch's watch. All without a single thank you, no less.

The only problem is, that it's not outsiders that are getting in the way or ruining the protections Branch has in place, it's the reckless, party addicted residents of the village making it 10x harder for Branch to manage the upkeep of his handiwork!

But seriously, who'd listen to a buzzkill like Branch when he's telling them to tone down the fun? Certainly not the villagers or even Queen Barbie and her friends—ridiculous!

Just when Branch thought that things couldn't get any worse, Poppy—the Queen of the Rock Tribe—breaks down his security measures and comes barreling through to collect the Pop String, whatever that is.

The bigger concern he has, is why he feels truly welcomed and comfortable when Queen Poppy invites him to live with her, with the promise that he'd be encouraged be himself.

Can he truly find himself with a second chance at life without any judgements he's faced before? Will she true to her word?

[thatbennybee]

OMG 😭😭💀 YOU ACTUALLY FUCKING DID IT HAHAHA THIS IS PERFECT

I love them so…..

@thatbennybee I told you I had an idea…

[stupid-lemon-eater]

oh my god the climax to this piece of shit is going to be set to apt

[rainbowtiredoftheworld]

I keep seeing software developers with my same degree, who get payed (presumably) the same as me, bragging that they copy-paste code from chatgpt, and like... Do you not have dignity? Aren't you ashamed of yourselves? The average quality of code is already abysmal, what is there to be proud in making it worse?

[wholoveseggs]

A Tale of Tinsel and Turmoil

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}{Five Days of Fluffmas}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Reader} When Kol brings home a Christmas tree too grand for the Mikaelson courtyard, the family’s decorating antics spiral into chaos...

♡♡Merry Christmas♡♡

1.5 words - Warnings: flufffff, holiday decorating gone wrong, mischievous Kol, Christmas tree theme debates, Hope's word is law && lots of love and laughter...

@starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble @darth-laeka

It had been a while since the entire Mikaelson family had been under the same roof, but when Kol came through the door carrying a massive Christmas tree, he was quickly met by an excited Hope, who had been waiting impatiently for him to come home.

"Uncle Kol!" the little girl cried, rushing into his arms and hugging him tightly. "You brought the tree!"

"Well, of course I did, little darling," he said, returning the hug just as eagerly.

Elijah cast a skeptical glance at the towering tree as Kol began setting it up in the courtyard. It stretched nearly to the third-floor balcony, its branches sprawling like a small forest.

"Was a tree of this size really necessary?" Elijah asked, his tone dry but patient.

Kol shrugged, carefully securing the base. "Why not? The holidays are all about extravagance," he replied, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

"Daddy! Mommy! Come see the tree!" Hope cried out, racing off to find her parents.

You leaned against the second-floor railing, watching the commotion below. Kol stood proudly by the massive tree, grinning like a child on Christmas morning, while Klaus approached, already scowling.

"Where did you get this?" Klaus asked, arms crossed. "They certainly aren’t selling these at the tree lot."

"I found it," Kol answered vaguely, his mischievous grin widening under Rebekah’s pointed glare. "Perhaps with a bit of magical assistance,"

"Kol..." Elijah warned, his calm tone carrying a note of exasperation.

Before Kol could reply, a small voice interrupted. "Uncle Elijah," Hope said, tugging on his sleeve. Her big, hopeful eyes were enough to melt even Elijah’s stoic demeanor. "Will you help me decorate the tree?"

Elijah smiled warmly, lifting her into his arms. "Of course, sweetheart."

Your heart melted at the sight. Elijah had always had a way with Hope, his tenderness shining through in moments like these.

"I can help too, uncle Kol can't keep me from it," Rebekah said with a smirk.

Klaus was quick to jump in, "oh please, Bekah, I think we all know I'm the better decorator."

"Go get the decorations, and then we'll see about that," Rebekah told her brother, crossing her arms.

Elijah handed Hope off to Hayley and went to the storage room where the ornaments were kept. As he walked, he caught your gaze, and gave you a soft smile, his eyes twinkling. You found yourself following him into the storage room.

"Do you want me to carry that?" you asked, taking in the large cardboard box Elijah had pulled from the shelf.

"Thank you, but I'm perfectly capable of carrying a box," he told you with a chuckle.

"Well, it looks heavy," you replied, giving him a smirk.

He raised his eyebrow, "are you saying I'm not strong enough to lift a box? My dear I can lift you without even breaking a sweat."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes," he told you, stepping closer.

You bit your lip, trying to keep yourself from grinning. Elijah's eyes darted to your lips, a smirk forming on his face. He stepped even closer, his body almost brushing yours.

"So, are you going to prove it or not?" You asked, a challenging tone in your voice.

He smirked, leaning in close enough for his lips to brush the shell of your ear. His voice was low and raspy when he whispered, "I will be more than happy to show you later,"

Your breath hitched, and heat pooled in your lower stomach. You looked up at him, his face only inches from yours, and his gaze was hungry, but he wouldn't move any closer, not until you told him. The two of you had been dancing around each other for months now, neither one wanting to make the first move, but you were starting to think he might actually kiss you.

"Are you two love birds coming?" Rebekah's voice called out, effectively shattering the moment.

You stepped back, blushing furiously. Elijah gave you an apologetic smile before lifting the box and carrying it to the courtyard.

The ornaments were quickly passed around and the decorating began. Klaus, Kol, and Rebekah were trying to de-tangle the string lights, while Hope was helping Freya and Hayley pick out the prettiest ornaments. You and Elijah were sorting through the tinsel, contemplating which colors to use.

As the family began decorating, the bickering started almost immediately. Rebekah held up a string of red and gold ornaments. "We’re going traditional! Red, green, and gold. It’s classic."

Klaus scoffed. "Traditional? How dull. We should go for a winter wonderland theme. White, silver, and blue. Sophisticated."

"Traditional is timeless!" Rebekah snapped, hanging a gold bauble on the tree.

"And winter wonderland is elegant," Klaus retorted, tossing a strand of silver tinsel onto the tree.

Kol, watching from the sidelines, smirked. "Both of you have awful taste. Let’s make it fun! Bright colors everywhere. I bet this sturdy tree can hold all of our ornaments,"

The three of them turned toward each other, their voices growing louder. Freya sighed and crossed her arms. "Are we seriously doing this? Hope is right there. Can’t we go one holiday without arguing?"

"We’re not arguing," Klaus said, his tone anything but convincing.

"We’re discussing," Rebekah added with a sharp smile.

"Oh, really?" Freya asked, raising an eyebrow. "Then why do I hear so much shouting and so little decorating?"

Before anyone could respond, Hope, who had been quietly observing, spoke up. "I want it all purple! Purple is my favorite!"

Everyone turned to look at her. Klaus, ever the doting father, immediately relented. "Purple it is, my little princess."

Elijah chuckled softly, already retrieving the purple tinsel. "It seems the debate has been settled."

"Smart choice," you teased, watching him as he carefully handed a strand of tinsel to Hope.

As the decorating continued, the tree began to take shape—a towering display of purple tinsel and a mix of ornaments, each with its own bit of family history. Despite the occasional bickering, the atmosphere was warm and filled with laughter.

Finally, Klaus stepped back, surveying the nearly finished tree. "Now, we just need the topper," he declared.

"I want to do it!" Hope said, bouncing on her toes.

Klaus’s eyes widened. "Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous. The tree is massive."

"But Daddy—" Hope started, her pout already forming.

"No, sweetheart," Klaus said firmly. "Uncle Kol chose the most ridiculous tree imaginable. You won't be able to reach the top."

Hope crossed her arms and let out a dramatic sigh, she was so much like her father sometimes. 

"Finnnnne," she groaned. "But someone needs to do it!"

"I got it," you offered, climbing the stairs to the second floor balcony.

Elijah followed you. "You should let me," he said, reaching the railing and offering his hand. "If you fall, you could really hurt yourself,"

"Are you going to catch me if I fall?" you asked, your eyes twinkling with mirth.

He grinned. "Of course, I will.”

In one smooth motion, Elijah placed his hands at your waist and lifted you effortlessly. You gasped, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he steadied you, holding you high enough to reach the top. Hope clapped her hands below, beaming with excitement.

"Easy now," Elijah murmured, his voice calm and steady. "You’ve got this."

You placed the star carefully, adjusting it until it sat perfectly centered. "Done!" you exclaimed, turning to beam at him.

But in your excitement, you shifted your weight too far. Elijah tried to steady you, but the combination of your movement and the tree’s precarious balance was too much. The massive tree wobbled, then toppled, sending all of the ornaments and purple tinsel scattering across the courtyard.

Chaos erupted immediately. Klaus shouted something about Kol ruining Christmas, Rebekah shrieked about broken ornaments, and Freya and Hayley tried to calm everyone down. Hope, however, clapped her hands, laughing as she declared it "the funniest Christmas ever."

Elijah, still holding you securely, slowly lowered you to the ground. His expression was a mix of exasperation and amusement. "I think we may have caused a bit of trouble," he said, his tone light.

You couldn’t help but laugh. "A bit?" you echoed, gesturing to the glittering mess.

His hands lingered at your waist, steady and warm as you met his gaze. For a moment, the chaos around you faded. Elijah’s dark eyes softened, and you felt a pull so strong you couldn’t resist. Leaning up, you pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft and warm, a long-awaited moment that felt just as perfect as you’d imagined. When you pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, and Elijah’s signature smirk was firmly in place.

"I suppose toppling the tree was worth it," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Completely worth it," you replied, grinning.

Kol groaned loudly from below. "Oh, for the love of Christmas, can you two stop being disgustingly cute for one second? Come help us clean up,"

Elijah didn’t even glance at him. "Perhaps if you weren’t so careless with your magical trees, Kol, this wouldn’t have happened."

As the family bickered and laughed, you stayed where you were, Elijah still holding you close. In the middle of the glittering mess, surrounded by laughter, love, and a little chaos, you realized there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

[hitomisuzuya]

ANOTJER ARCHON SCARA ASK BUT THIS TIME HE FUCKS US IN TENSHUKAKU AND HES LIKE SO FUCKING SMUG ABT IT TOO CS THE LAST TIME WE DID IT WAS IN THE SHRINE AND HE WANTS TO HEAR U WORSHIP HIM WHILE HE DEFILES U FUCKCKCKCKCK JCJ😼😼😼😼😼😼🫵😈😈😈😈

-⛩️ ANON RRRRAAAAAHHHHHHH

Archon! Scaramouche x Hybrid!fox fem!reader. Smut. Blowjob. Degradation. Ego stroking. Worship. Cream pie.

Scaramouche has fucked you everywhere except the Tenshukaku. There was one reason, and one reason only. His throne wasn't finished being built yet. It was his right to have a throne. And having a throne he could fuck you on would only make things that much better for him.

You dropped everything you were doing when Scaramouche summoned you to the Tenshukaku, dutifully clearing some fallen branches and debris blown around by a thunderstorm the previous night. Your heart fluttered with awe and admiration seeing him sitting on his throne awaiting you.

With a snapped, "Leave us," at the messenger he'd sent to fetch you, Scaramouche put you on your knees in front of the throne. His hand stroked and rubbed one of your ears in appreciation for how well your warm, pretty mouth was sucking his cock.

You let out muffled moans and whines as you bobbed your head, coughing a little as he pushed his cock into your throat. Your ears have always been sensitive, the pads of his fingers pinching and massaging the tips was starting to make your clit throb, and wet pool between your legs.

"That's my good fox slut," Scaramouche groaned resting his head back against the throne. He used your ear to hold your head in place while he pumped his cock in and out of your mouth, "Keep sucking, and take my cock down your throat," His thighs quaked from the sensation of your throat spasming on his cock.

You are eager to please him. Your breathing only faltered for a moment before you recovered, flattening your tongue as you started sucking again. You bobbed your head up, swirling your tongue around the tip. Drool dripped down his length, your tongue lapping and playing in his precum.

You hand dropped between your legs. You couldn't help it. Scaramouche looked so beautiful with an aroused flush on his cheeks, enjoying himself while he used your mouth. You rubbed and stroked your clit, prodding your fingers at your entrance.

Scaramouche opened his eyes, smirking down at you. "Look at you, getting off on sucking your Archon's cock in the Tenshukaku," You vibrated a moan on his cock, licking the slit before taking him in your mouth again.

You pumped two fingers in and out of your pussy, alternating between pinching and rubbing your clit. "Don't you dare cum unless it's on my cock, whore," Scaramouche moaned, forcing your mouth down on his cock as cum spilled salty on your tongue.

He tugged on your ear, a physical order for you to swallow. The blush on his cheeks darkened as you looked up at him and swallowed obediently. You are always really something else. His chest swelled and his cock pulsed seeing you immediately flick your tongue over his cock once he let you raise your head, slowly cleaning off the leftover cum. Dutifully licking him hard again.

His hands hastily found purchase on your hips once you got to your feet, moving you to straddle his lap. He groaned feeling your juices soak onto his cock as you grinded against it. He wasted no time lining his cock up with your drooling entrance.

"So..big.." You moaned, squirming in his lap as his cock started to stretch you apart. His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head hearing your words.

"Take it, and fucking worship me," He ordered, roughly grasping your chin so you would look at him. Hearing you whimper and moan about how thick his cock is was intoxicating. He couldn't help himself, he lowered you onto his cock at once, bottoming out with a somewhat harsh thrust.

Your back arched as his cock kissed into your sweet spot. "So satisfying," You moaned, rolling your hips down to urge his cock deeper inside of you, "Nothing compares to your cock."

Scaramouche's cock pulsed harder hearing your words. It never took long for worship to come spilling out of your mouth. The better and harder he fucked you, the more words that came out. He smacked your ass to encourage you to bounce.

However, you needed little encouragement. He folded his hands over your breasts, pinching your nipples. You mewled in bliss, chasing the delicious feeling of his cock stretching you apart. You put one of your hands on his, his pinches to your nipples sent pleasure jolts to your throbbing clit.

It was always such a pleasure to defile you and your innocence. You are riding your Archon's cock like your life depended on it in a place of high title, saying such shameless things. Things you normally wouldn't say outloud.

"My only purpose is to worship you while you cum inside me," Your thighs smacked against his as you bounced. You put your arms around his neck to anchor yourself, leaning your head in to give a few submissive licks to his lips. "Please, please give me the honor of having your cum inside of me."

Scaramouche groaned at your words. "What a slut with a filthy mouth," His hands left your breasts for your hips, his fingers kneading into the soft, pliable flesh as he started to guide your pace on his cock.

Your walls clutched like a glove hearing his degradation. The overwhelming pleasure of his cock pumping consistently into your sweet spot nearly made you limp in grasp. "No one's power holds a candle to yours," You blushed hearing the lewd noises of his cock squelching in and out of you. "All of Teyvat deserves to fall at your feet."

"That's right, fucking keep going, slut," He reached down to rub your clit, making you gasp. You always doted on him in the most meaningful ways, including stroking his already collosal ego.

Scaramouche wasn't letting you set the pace any more. His other hand returned to your hips, bouncing you up and down on his cock. You knew better than anyone that he loves control. And intimate control is something you willingly gave him.

"I need you to cum inside me," You pleaded, placing a few desperate kisses on his lips to emphasize your words. "Just once won't be enough, please," The intensity of your orgasm building up was stealing the rest of the breath Scaramouche didn't steal from your lungs already took your breath away.

Scaramouche couldn't stop the moans rising in his throat. The pleading desperation in your voice was so fucking endearing to him. "Say it," He hissed, groaning as your walls clutched tighter on his cock.

Before the words he was looking for tumbled out of your mouth, your orgasm suddenly hit you. His thumbs caressed your hips as you shook, your release flooding onto his cock. "I love you! I love you so much, Scaramouche!" You cried out, your thighs burning from the effort of bouncing on his cock.

His fingers dug possessively into your hips. Cum pumped inside you almost instantly hearing those three pure little words. They meant the most to him, even when he was defiling and ruining you, and you were practically screaming them cumming on his cock.

After a few minutes, he lifted you off his cock to see the satisfying dribble of cum leak from your abused hole. He promptly turned you around, and stuffed his cock back inside to fuck you on his throne from behind.

[aseplant]

This is more for prev, but I'll add on here in case it helps OP too.

Branching on Github is actually a lot like it sounds. Let's say we're originally on "main" (which is the branch most Github repositories start from*, and is generally considered the source of truth). We decide to branch off, and create a new branch called "my-branch". Main and my-branch will share the same history up until whatever point you decided to split at; after that, whatever work you commit to my-branch will not show up on main, and vice versa.

(*Older Github repositories started from "master" instead of "main". You'll still see this used in a lot of online guides.)

Branching is standard practice in most team settings because you don't want a lot of people editing the same files at a time. Some people push half-finished or buggy work to Github, and this can cause real messes for other people! So instead everyone isolates their own changes, and when they're pretty sure everything is working they merge their branch back into main, and it becomes a part of the new source of truth.

Github is actually pretty smart about merging. Let's say you edited lines 200-300 in a file, and while you were off on your own branch your coworker edited the same file on main. As long as they didn't touch lines 200-300, Github will assume your edits are the ones that should be preserved! (If they did touch lines 200-300, Github has no clear way of deciding who should win, and this is how we get merge conflicts. Usually a human has to go and tell Github which version to keep. Sometimes humans are stupid and tell Github the wrong thing.)

One final thing you might see people talk about is "rebasing", which is when you rewrite your history to match another branch's. Some people like this because it's cleaner. (Contrast this to merging, where both branches keep their histories.)

Can someone explain to me in like five seconds how to use git, assuming that I know basic shit about coding/command line/whatever but don't know any of the specific terminology related to git. Like every tutorial online is at the same time both over my head and also vastly too basic. Just like. Tell me what it is.

Uh. First tell me its ontology. Is it a program, a standard, a language...? I know that it's for version control. Suppose I wanted to do version control at a piece of code. What do I do. What buttons do I press, on my computer? Tell me these things.

[miyadollie]

𐙚 DRAWN INTO YOU part one ♡ . part two ★ starring fine arts student sunghoon x fem cs student reader ☆ wc 1k ☆ has fluff , slow burn(ish) , comfort fic material <3 , slightly ooc hoonie ☆ miya says !! PLEASE NOTE that even if ur not a cs student u can still enjoy this fic TT i just couldnt write vaguely for a subject so i mentioned cs , its only mentioned like twice so u can ignore it :3

part one — the first sketch you don’t see him at first.

the campus lawn is uneven in places, but you’ve found a spot where the grass is soft and doesn’t stain. it’s early in the semester, the sun mild and slanting, and there’s enough wind to keep the heat from clinging to your skin. you have your laptop open, knees drawn close, and fingers paused mid-code. there’s a bug in your program you can’t quite trace, and every time you run it, something new goes wrong.

you sigh and sit back. a straw wrapper flutters beside your shoe.

a few metres away, someone else is sketching. you don’t know that.

he’s sitting beneath one of the older trees, branches stitched like quiet lace above his head. he wasn’t planning to draw today—his studio assignment’s due in two weeks and he’s behind on his sculpture work—but he saw you hunched over your screen and couldn’t look away.

you look like a still from a film, unposed. real. a little frown between your brows, your thumb absently brushing the corner of your keyboard as you think.

he sketches quietly. not all at once, not with grand movements, but in pieces. the curve of your wrist. the way your hair catches the sun. the subtle shift in your posture when something clicks in your mind.

you don’t see him.

but he’s already seen you.

—

you meet three weeks later.

it’s at a mixer organized by your department—not the kind of event you usually attend. but your roommate dragged you along with promises of free food and the chance to meet upperclassmen who could share notes.

the room is too warm, crowded with students standing in half-circles, laughing a little too loud. you linger by the table with the juice boxes, scanning for a quiet exit.

then someone says your name.

you turn and find him there. tall. calm. familiar in a way you can’t place.

“you’re in cs, right?” he asks. his voice is even, low. “i’ve seen you around.”

you nod slowly. “yeah.”

“i’m sunghoon. fine arts.”

“oh,” you say, unsure what to follow it with.

he offers a small smile. it doesn’t feel forced. “i like this room. the light’s soft.”

you blink. “sure. if you say so.”

“do you mind if i sit?”

you hesitate, then step aside. “it’s not my table.”

he smiles again. “thanks.”

—

it becomes easier after that.

you see him again in the library, head bowed over a sketchbook instead of a textbook. you wave, unsure if he’ll remember you. he does.

you’re not used to people like him. he’s quiet, but not shy. his silences are deliberate, never awkward. and when he talks, he listens more than he speaks.

you find out he’s in his third year. that he’s focusing on portraits and figurative sculpture. that he doesn’t like drawing digitally—it feels too clean, he says.

you tell him you’re trying to survive data structures. that you hate recursion with a passion. that you like rainy days because they sound like static.

he tells you he understands that. he doesn’t say much more.

but you catch him doodling in the corner of your notebook one day when you’re explaining something on your screen.

he draws a tiny umbrella.

—

the first time you see his art is by accident.

you’re walking past the art building on your way to your afternoon class when you glance through one of the open windows. there’s a display board near the entrance. it’s a student showcase—drawings pinned up with small cards bearing names.

you stop when you see your face.

not exactly, but close. not photographic, but observant. the curve of your chin, the slight slouch in your posture, the way your hair frays at the ends.

you look at the name beneath it.

park sunghoon.

your heart skips.

you don’t bring it up the next time you see him.

but when he catches you looking at his pencil case, crowded with loose graphite sticks and smudged kneaded erasers, he just says,

“you’re easy to draw.”

you don’t know what to say to that.

so you say nothing.

he doesn’t seem to mind.

—

it’s not sudden, the way he becomes a part of your days. it’s not loud. there’s no click, no big moment. he’s just there. steady.

you sit together sometimes. share snacks. talk about nothing in particular—classes, professors, how the vending machine always eats your coins.

one evening, when the air turns cool and you’re both sitting on the steps outside the library, you ask him why he draws people.

he thinks for a moment.

“because they move,” he says finally. “even when they’re still.”

you think about that for a long time.

you don’t realise you’ve started watching him the same way he watches the world.

you notice the way he tugs his sleeve over his hand when he’s thinking. how he tilts his head when he’s reading. how he glances at you sometimes—not with expectation, but like he’s taking a mental photograph.

you wonder if he notices how you’ve stopped sitting on the lawn with your laptop alone. if he knows you check the art building window every time you pass it.

you think he does.

but he doesn’t say it.

and neither do you.

—

it’s weeks before he brings it up.

you’re in the campus café, laptop open between you, your drink long forgotten. you’re trying to debug something, muttering under your breath, when he sets his pencil down.

“you’d make a good subject,” he says, not looking at you.

you glance over. “subject?”

he nods. “for a piece. a project i’ve been thinking about.”

you blink. “you want to draw me?”

he shrugs slightly. “maybe.”

you close your laptop. “is this how you ask?”

he looks up then. there’s no teasing in his expression. just quiet honesty.

“i’d like to try. only if you’re okay with it.”

you stare at him for a beat.

then you nod.

“okay.”

that’s how it begins.

you don’t know what it means yet. what it’ll become.

but in that moment, it feels like something’s begun.

and for once, you don’t overthink it.

tbc in part 2 please please please leave a heart emoji in the comments or rb w a heart emoji if u enjoyed reading till here ! it helps me understand how many ppl enjoy my work and motivate me to keep writing <3

header temp © lenzegar on dA. lenzegar on twitter. DIY taglist ౨ৎ @sievenderz

[chickenkurage]

In another life...? (ATG Highschool AU)

Alan (President of the Literature Club)

DJ (Vice-President of the Literature Club)

Mary "Satin" (President of the Fencing Club)

"In another world where Alan, DJ and Mary are friends and they we're never a victim of society........."

About this...AU?

Alan had many male suitors because many students thought he was a girl, while Mary attracted many women due to her position as the fencing club president and her charming smile. As for DJ, he had no romantic prospects. In short, he had no "bitches" nor "hoes"

Mary will never be called Satin.

In this AU, Mary and DJ are childhood friends and had collectively decided to befriend and bother Alan every day until eventually he joined them, and they became a trio.

Mary is able to express more emotions because of DJ, she grew into a person who likes to smile and make people laugh.

In a sleepover, Mary and DJ always sandwich Alan in the bed, and in the end, Alan gets no sleep at all because he's squished between the two of them.

Alan has more than one koala who likes to hug him (*whisper* DJ and Mary)

Koala number one: Mary, Koala number two: DJ and the tree branch: Alan

ATG Highschool AU? Want more? If you want to set yourself free from the cage of sadness.

Also! Do you guys also want us to create a happy AU of CS AU? Just like ATG's *wink* - S

[stelladess]

I strongly recommend anyone else angry about what Yostar Korea pulled (tl;dr: they took down the work of an artist who has made a lot of promo stuff for the Korean social media account because incels dug up a years old tweet where she said women deserve equal pay for equal work and another years old tweet where she did a doodle for international women´s day, these posts were then used to justify taking her work down and saying she was inciting "division" in the fandom with radical political positions, they then said that arknights is a game that strives to tell a fun story without getting into any divisive politics which is absurd) Anyway I strongly advice anyone else mad about it to write about that in the current survey in the game, ESPECIALLY if this has made you no longer want to spend money on the game, and if so to specifically say that. I also recommend you write to Hypergryph: cs@hypergryph.com They had nothing to do with this decision and has in the past had a good track record on condeming misogyny even from business partners, but they have not commented on the current situation yet, and I believe HG speaking about it would make it FAR more likely for Yostar to actually do anything here. I would also suggest contacting Yostar, but their complaints forum has been down since this situation broke down. Either this is from too much traffic (in which case they are clearly unprofessional for not handling this amount of outrage with any sort of apology or recompensation to the artist they wronged) or its deliberately taken down, in which case that is even worse. Do not put insults, just be clear and concise that you think that behavior from the Yostar Korea branch is unacceptable, the fact that Yostar as a whole has not done anything about this, despite how this was also a blatant overreach from Yostar Korea (they took down her art less then an hour after complaints from incels began, meaning there is no way anyone at their parent company or at Hypergryph was consulted) makes them look unprofessional and poisonous for studios to work with, and that continuing to associate with Yostar unless they do anything about this will only make HG also look like they support this.

It is far more likely something will be done or at least said about the situation if we keep messaging HG and Yostar about this.

[thatbennybee]

Some ChordStriker Branch outfit concepts i doodled during some free time!! I feel like he'd change a lot the longer he stays in Volcano Rock City.

(Sorry I'm not around much, I'm going through a lot of life changes right now and things are finally smoothing out just a little bit :'] I've only had time to write for things while I'm at work having down time, so barely with me!! 💔)

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Being Ghosted (2/4?)

Summary: Killian and Liam Jones are called in to help with the haunting of an old carriage house where a skeleton was recently found walled up within the cellar. This is no ordinary ghost hunt for the supernatural fighting brothers, however. This job will require Killian to face the person who has been haunting him for nearly a year. Emma Swan. The woman he ghosted.

A/N: Yeah, yeah. I know the holiday season is in full swing and we ought to be done with the spooky stuff, but I love a Victorian/Dickensian Christmas aesthetic that leaves room for good old ghost stories. This addition gives me a BINGO for my Fall/Spooky card (better late than never) and will likely have two additional parts to come.

Shout out to @kmomof4 for her exceptional beta skills!

Rated T / Also available on ao3 / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Part One

Part Two

Leaves rustled overhead, clinging to branches that were ready to be freed of them as the crisp autumn breeze coaxed them from their perch and gently swirled them to the ground below. Those with the misfortune of landing on the pavement were crunched beneath the tires of Killian Jones’ Chevelle, pulling up in front of an old carriage house that was being renovated into a home.

A home for Emma Swan. A home she recently began to share with her boyfriend. A home where the two resided, sharing all of the intimacies he desperately wished he could have shared with her. Intimacies and quiet moments and heated arguments and passionate make up sessions and mundane chores and yes… even their current plight.

A haunting.

Killian would have willingly faced it all with her had circumstances been different, which, he supposed, was why he was here now.

“You ready for this, little brother?” Liam questioned after Killian had put the car in park and shut off the engine.

“Younger,” Killian reminded him in his usual exasperated tone, pushing open the driver’s side door and climbing out while side-stepping his well-meaning brother’s inquiry.

The front door of the carriage house opened and a man exited, greeting them hesitantly, “You must be the Jones brothers?”

“We are,” Liam said, approaching the man with an outstretched hand. “I’m Liam. This is my brother, Killian. Are you the owner?”

“Uh, no,” the man said, shaking Liam’s hand then stuffing his hands in his pocket with an acknowledging nod towards Killian. “I’m Neal Cassidy. My girlfriend’s the one who called you. She technically owns the place, but we both live here.”

Something in Killian’s gut twisted, the ache intensifying when Emma emerged from the carriage house, looking as stunning as he remembered but without the warmth and affection he’d last received from her.

“You guys must be exhausted,” she said after introducing herself to his brother and barely giving him her notice. “We’ve made up the guest room and there’s a pullout in the office.” Turning to her beau, she placed a loving hand on his arm and sweetly suggested, “Why don’t you show Killian to the office and I’ll take Liam up to the guest room.” Addressing Liam - and only Liam - once more, she said, “After you two get settled, we can take you down to the cellar where this all started.”

“That sounds grand,” Liam said, gesturing towards the carriage house. “Lead the way, lass.”

As they filed in, Liam looked back at Killian over his shoulder. His expression echoed that which Killian was already telling himself.

He had fucked up.

Badly.

“So,” Cassidy began, showing Killian into the office where the pull out couch had already been made up for him. “How do you know Emma? She wasn’t really clear on the details.”

Dropping his duffle on the bed, Killian busied himself with rifling through his supplies, attempting to keep a neutral tone. “What details did she share?”

“Something about a dare and the cemetery and not wanting to talk about the experience because it had been too intense.”

Killian let out a commiserating hum. “Intense is certainly one word for it,” he murmured, the memory of Emma laid out beneath him, kissing the holy hell out him while making sounds that haunted him to this day flashed through his mind and tightened the fit of his jeans.

Unwilling to betray Emma’s confidence, and not exactly eager to share the details of their acquaintance with her current paramour either, Killian shifted the conversation to the matter at hand. “As I understand it, the paranormal activity began after the two of you uncovered skeletal remains in the cellar. Is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Cassidy replied, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought Emma was crazy at first when she insisted we had a ghost. I mean… you know how irrational women can be.”

Killian chafed at the man’s derisive tone. “If there’s one thing I know about Emma, mate,” Killian informed him with a slight edge to his words, “it’s that her instincts should never be dismissed.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Cassidy back pedaled. “I believe her now. Kind of hard not to when a ghost appears over your bed while you’re trying to convince your girl she’s not too tired to fulfill her duties. You know what I mean?”

Fists balled, Killian took a deep breath and tried to rein in his anger. He was saved from doing anything rash by the sounds of his brother’s voice.

“Ready to check out the cellar?”

“Aye,” Killian clipped out, following after Liam and resisting the urge to shoulder check the repulsive man who had somehow fallen into Swan’s good graces - and her bed (not that he wished to dwell on that fact) - as he passed.

Emma led them down a steep flight of steps into the cold, dark, and dank space below. The atmosphere had an immediate effect on Killian, raising the hair along the back of his neck and giving him the eerie feeling of being watched.

“This was part of the original structure, yes?” Liam asked, shining his flashlight into the inky black corners the dim bulb at the bottom of the stairs couldn’t quite reach.

“Yeah,” Emma answered, lingering by the stairs with Cassidy as the Jones men looked around. “From what I understand, it was cold storage for oats and hay and other food stuffs for the horses lodged here when it was a carriage house.” Gesturing towards an opening, she continued, “I noticed that space had been bricked up and I wanted to open it back up. That’s when I found…”

“The body,” Killian supplied, casting a glance towards her and meeting her eye for the first time since he’d arrived. His heart clenched, the look on her face making him wish he could have spared her such a discovery. Perhaps if it had been he who had been there… No. There was nothing to be gained in thinking that way now. The past was the past and there was no changing it.

“And you called the police?” Liam confirmed, searching the area where the skeleton had been found.

“Of course we did,” Cassidy scoffed. “What else were we supposed to do?”

Killian and Liam exchanged a look. Neither of them could fault their decision, but they both knew, had it been them, they would have handled it much differently.

“And how soon after the body was removed did the occurrences begin?”

“Almost immediately,” Emma answered. “It started with noises on these steps.” She gestured at the stairs they’d used to access the cellar, the tension in her demeanor evident in the stiff, closed-off way she stood in the unsettling space.

“Noises?” Liam questioned. “Like footsteps?”

“No,” she replied. “More like… something falling down them. Then things actually started crashing down them.”

“What do you mean?” Killian pressed, his concern heightening as she continued.

“If we leave anything sitting in the hallway outside the cellar door, it will eventually make its way down here. Clearly having taken a tumble down the stairs.”

“Yeah,” Cassidy said, backing her up. “I thought it was the authorities being careless, because we had a parade of crime scene personnel traipsing through here for weeks after we reported the body.”

“But you knew it was more than that, didn’t you, Swan?”

Emma locked eyes with Killian. He could tell his question had brought back the memory of her first ghostly encounter. She swallowed hard and for a moment it was as though they were the only two people there.

“Rooms would get cold,” she told him in a quiet voice; her words conveying all the nuance and unspoken truths she knew he would understand in a way her boyfriend had not. “I would hear things. Smell things. Things I hadn’t experienced in all the months I spent renovating the upper levels.”

“What sort of smells?”

His brother broke the reverie that had momentarily linked them, snapping the connection that reminded Killian of what they had once shared.

“Um,” Emma began, shaking herself and focusing on the question. “Leather? Hay? Like a barn, but without the pungent animal smells. More how I’d imagine this place was when it was an active carriage house, I guess.”

“So, he could have been killed here during that time,” Killian said to his brother

“Agreed. We’ll need to learn more about the building’s history.” Addressing Emma once more, Liam inquired, “You told Killian the authorities had yet to identify the remains, is that correct?”

“Yeah. But they did issue a cause of death. Blunt force trauma and a broken neck.”

“Injuries one might sustain from falling or being pushed down a flight of stairs,” Killian remarked. “It would certainly explain the occurrences surrounding the cellar steps.”

“My friend Belle is the town librarian and she has access to city records,” Emma informed them. “When you agreed to come, I asked her to pull anything that might tell us the history of the carriage house. Who owned it. Who may have worked here. Things like that. She said she’d try and have a file ready for when you got here.”

“Good thinking, love,” Killian praised, unaware of the endearment he’d let slip until Cassidy shot him an affronted glare then suspiciously flicked his gaze to Emma’s pinked cheeks before sending another hard look Killian’s way.

Clearing his throat, Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear, turning his attention towards Liam and suggesting, “Before we go any further, we should ascertain what sort of spirit we’re dealing with.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

Killian couldn’t help the smug feeling that went through him at the sight of her pulling away from Cassidy’s attempt to wrap a possessive arm around her waist. She took a step towards the center of the room where Liam was already pulling supplies out of the bag he’d brought with him.

“There are generally two kinds of spirits who refuse to move on,” Liam told her. “Malevolent ones who were equally nasty while alive, and those who simply have unfinished business they feel compelled to resolve before they can find peace.”

“Malevolent spirits refuse to leave,” Killian added. “Hell bent on punishing or exacting revenge against the living. The only way to be rid of them is to--”

“Salt and burn their bones,” Emma said, causing Cassidy to balk behind her.

“How did you know--”

“Aye,” Killian said, cutting Cassidy off. “Which will be somewhat difficult to accomplish, seeing as they are still in the medical examiner’s possession.”

“So…” Emma drawled, joining he and Liam as they continued to set up the space for the task they would need to perform. “Best case scenario would be this spirit just having unfinished business?”

“That won’t necessarily make matters any easier,” Liam informed her. “Figuring out a spirit’s unfinished business isn’t usually as straightforward as salting and burning bones.”

“So, how do we determine which kind of spirit it is?”

“Ems, the thing attacked us while we were making love,” Cassidy said, being sure to emphasize the making love part as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “The thing is obviously bad news.”

“We weren’t--” Emma began, mortification giving way to irritation as she looked back at him then shook her head and said, “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.” Looking down at the two brothers as they finished lighting the circle of candles they’d set out, she said, “As I told Liam upstairs, when he manifested he didn’t look threatening. He had his hands over his mouth--” she raised hers to mimic what the spectre had looked like, “--but was clearly trying to tell us something when he vanished almost as quickly as he appeared.”

“Well,” Liam said, pulling the last piece of the equipment from his bag, “This will hopefully allow him to tell us what he tried to communicate with you.”

A belittling snort escaped Cassidy. “A ouija board? Be serious.”

“I assure you, mate. We are quite serious,” Killian informed him as he took a seat upon the cold, cellar floor alongside his brother. “But if the idea of communing with the dead is too much for you, then feel free to sit outside while we conduct our investigation.”

Clearly catching the challenge to his courage, Cassidy grit his teeth and grumbled in Emma’s ear. “Can you believe this guy?”

“Neal,” Emma sighed with a tone of censure. “Shut up and sit down.”

Entering into the circle, Emma lowered herself onto the stone floor and crossed her legs beneath her. Reluctantly, Cassidy followed, a disgruntled look passing over his features in response to the sitting arrangement that had placed him between Emma and Liam instead of separating her from Killian.

“A few ground rules before we get started,” Liam began, holding the planchette in his hands.

“I think we’ve all played with ouija boards before,” Cassidy interrupted rudely, earning him a stern stare from the elder Jones.

“Aye,” Liam responded with a cutting edge to his words. “You may well have, but what we are preparing to do is not child’s play. We are opening a portal to the spirit realm, and for all our safety, precautions must be taken and adhered to.”

Cassidy shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing more.

“Go on,” Emma urged. “We’ll do whatever you tell us to.”

“Right,” Liam began again. “Once we’ve placed our hands on the planchette, they must remain there until the session is concluded. I shall be the only one addressing the spirits, so you must refrain from talking or reacting. And when it becomes clear that the spirits are finished communicating, we must all close the session together by moving the planchette to goodbye. This is the only time we intentionally guide it. Understood?”

Everyone nodded. The seriousness of their endeavor hung heavily around them as Liam continued.

“I’m going to set the planchette on the board, but before anyone touches it, we need to attune the space.” Setting the planchette down, Liam extended his hands to Killian and Cassidy, saying, “Everyone needs to join hands and focus on the spirit we wish to call forth.”

Killian took his brother’s hand then opened the other to receive Emma’s. When she tentatively placed her hand in his, Killian glanced up at her face. They locked eyes for a brief moment before she flicked hers away, but Killian knew his touch was having the same effect on her that her touch was having on him. There was no mistaking the familiar physical tension they’d once shared under similar circumstances.

“Focus on the person we seek,” Liam instructed. “We know him to be a man. We know there is something he wishes to communicate. We know this space was his final resting place until a few weeks ago. However you choose to manifest him within your mind, hold that image there and focus on him.”

Difficult as it was, Killian tried to push aside thoughts of Swan and the feel of her hand in his. Even still, she remained a fixture in his attempt to concentrate. She was there when he thought of the man’s body being discovered. She was there when he imagined how he may have looked when he’d manifested himself to her. She was there with every noise, every scent, every strange occurrence that had led her to reaching out to the one person she knew could help her. Despite the tragic circumstances that led the man to being walled up within the cellar, Killian could not help but feel gratitude to the spirit who had brought Emma Swan back into his life.

“Right,” Liam said a moment later. “With the man still centered in everyone’s mind, place your hands on the planchette.”

Killian sucked in a breath at the loss of her hand, but quickly schooled his emotions and joined the others, placing his hands upon the planchette and readying himself for what was to come.

“We call forth the spirit of the man found concealed behind the wall in this cellar,” Liam called out. “We ask that he come forth and tell us his name. What is your name, spirit?”

The temperature dropped and several of the candle’s flames flickered. Killian could hear Emma’s rapid breaths over the pounding of his own heart.

“Spirit!” Liam called out again. “We invite you to tell us your name!”

A gasp fell from Emma’s lips when the planchette jerked beneath their fingers. With wide, green eyes, she cast her gaze towards Killian as the planchette slid across the board. He gave her a look of encouragement, hoping his own gaze conveyed that there was nothing to fear - that he would not let any harm come to her - before her eyes fell back to the board and the word being spelled out beneath their fingers.

“D-A-N-I-E-L,” Liam read out as the planchette roamed across the board. “Daniel? Your name is Daniel?”

Yes

“What is it you want, Daniel?”

H-E-L-P

“You need help? That’s why we’re here. How can we help you to move on?”

H-E-L-P

“We understand. How can we help? What do you need us to do?”

T-E-L-L-H-E-R

“Tell her? Her who? You want us to deliver a message to someone?

Yes

“You need to tell us who. Who is her?”

L-O-V-E

“Someone you loved?”

Yes

“What’s her name?”

R-R-R-R-R-R-R … No

“No? No, what?”

No

“We don’t understand. No, you don’t want to tell us her name?”

C-A-N-T

“You can’t?”

C-A-N-T

“Why can’t you?”

C-C-C-C-C-C

Killian leaned over and whispered into his brother’s ear. “Another spirit maybe? Interference from another entity?”

“Is there another spirit with us? Someone who does not want you to communicate with us?”

Yes

Killian removed his hands from the planchette, earning him a startled gasp from Swan and a scathing reprimand from his brother.

“Killian!” Liam hissed. “What the devil are you--”

“Use my energy, Daniel,” Killian offered, opening his arms, and himself, up in surrender. “Take my energy and manifest yourself. Tell us who’s trying to silence you.”

“Brother, have you lost all sense?”

“It’s alright, Daniel,” Killian encouraged, ignoring his brother. “You can take my energy and--”

Killian’s words fell away when the fine hairs began to lift over his entire body. His arms began to feel heavy and it was a struggle to keep them lifted, especially when his breathing also became laboured.

“Killian, put your damn hands back on the--”

Liam’s admonishment was cut short by a startled, expletive falling from Emma’s lips. Manifesting above the board, in the center of their circle, was the ghostly image of a young man.

“Is that… Daniel?”

“That’s the man we saw!” Emma confirmed, her eyes wide as saucers and brimming with equal amounts of fear and awe. Forgetting herself, and the rules, she tentatively asked, “Are you…? Are you Daniel?”

The spectre nodded. He couldn’t have been more than early to mid twenties when he died, and though it was difficult to ascertain certain physical identifiers like height or hair or eye color, given his current metaphysical state, his clothing could serve as a clue that would narrow down the timeframe of his passing.

“Tell us how we can help you?” Liam said.

Killian, relieved that his brother was willing to capitalize on the moment, knew that he’d get an earful later, especially if Daniel managed to draw energy off him to the point of him passing out. Though woozy, Killian focused his efforts on the questions his brother continued to repeat and the spirit’s attempted replies.

“Who is the woman you want us to contact? Who else is here with us?”

Daniel tried again and again to speak, but the sound of his voice could not pass from his plane to theirs. Reaching down with ghostly hands, Daniel nudged the planchette and guided it once more to the R. Before he could maneuver it to the next letter, a second pair of hands appeared from behind Daniel’s head and wrapped around his lower face, obscuring his mouth.

Emma screamed and Neal jolted back, nearly knocking over the candles behind him.

“Nope!” Cassidy exclaimed, scrambling off the floor and sprinting towards the stairs.

“Neal!” Swan called after him, though she remained rooted where she was with her hands still affixed to the planchette.

Daniel struggled against the phantom hands, clawing at them with his own while Liam tried to wrestle back control of the seance.

“Reveal yourself, spirit! Tell us who you are and why you wish to silence Daniel! What unfinished business does Daniel--”

The planchette began to spin, making it impossible for Liam and Emma’s hands to remain there. An impossible gust of cold wind swept through the cellar, extinguishing the candles and ruffling both Killian’s and Emma’s hair. The light bulb at the bottom of the stairs shattered, sending down a shower of sparks. The only illumination remaining was Daniel’s ghostly form, but it too was quickly snuffed out, leaving the three of them in darkness.

“Bloody hell,” Liam cursed, the sound of him rummaging through his duffle preceding the beam of his flashlight. Reaching over, he grasped Killian’s shoulder and questioned, “Are you alright, little brother?”

“Younger,” Killian muttered, earning him a relieved clap on the back from his brother; his petulant response the only proof Liam needed as to his brother’s condition.

“You two stay still,” Liam instructed. “I’ll relight the candles and clean up the glass. Is there a broom down here?”

“Y-Yeah,” Emma responded, shakily. “In that cabinet.” She gestured towards the corner, then offered, “But I can do that.”

“No,” Liam said, waving her off as he finished lighting the candles. “You stay with Killian. He’s going to need a minute to recover from his tomfoolery.”

“It got us answers, didn’t it?” Killian shot back, heavily. Drained of energy, it was all he could do to remain sitting upright, but he’d be damned if he let Liam know just how much the encounter had affected him.

“Aye. I suppose it did,” Liam conceded, procuring the broom and dustpan so he could begin sweeping up the broken bulb.

“What answers?” Emma asked. “All I have is more questions.”

“We know there’s indeed another spirit here,” Killian told her. “A woman, if the ringed fingers and manicured nails give any indication. We also have a name to work with - Daniel. Based on his manifestation, I’d wager he was in his mid 20s when he died and by the looks of his clothing, I would guess he worked as a stablehand at some point. That gives us a frame of reference to work with as we investigate his identity further.”

“Speaking of which,” Liam said, disposing of the broken glass and tucking the broom back into the cabinet. “You said you had a friend assisting with research?”

“Yes!” Emma replied, plucking her phone from her back pocket. “Belle. I’ll text her now and see if she’s ready to share her findings with us.”

“Perhaps you would like to check on Mr. Cassidy as well?” Liam suggested, reminding them both of the forgotten man.

“Um, right. Yeah.” Swan stood and brushed the dust off the back of her jeans. Her phone vibrated in her hand, capturing her attention. “Belle says she has everything ready and we can come by the library any time.”

“Terrific,” Killian responded, attempting to pick himself up off the floor… and flailing. “Um, Swan? Would you mind, uh…”

Emma glanced down at him and must have perceived his predicament. Her eyes widened, a startled expression crossing her features, as she reached down and helped him up.

With a steadying hand pressed against his chest, she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just a bit… unsteady.”

“Here,” she said, leading him towards the stairs where he could rest against the banister. “Better?”

“Aye. Thank you, love.”

Her posture stiffened in response to the endearment and she turned away, intent on climbing the steps out of the cellar. Killian reached out and lightly grasped her elbow, stalling her steps.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… are you alright? I should have asked how you’re handling the ordeal.”

“I’m fine,” she told him. Her position on the steps had brought her to eye level and though there was still only candlelight illuminating their surroundings, Killian could see the truth of her words in her eyes. “This isn’t my first haunted rodeo. Remember?”

Killian let out an amused huff. “Aye. How could I forget.”

They stood there a moment longer, Killian’s hand still resting against the crook of her elbow. He could feel the raised flesh of her arm through the thin fabric of her sleeve and wondered if it was a remnant of the ghostly encounter or perhaps an involuntary response to his touch.

Was he wrong to hope for the latter?

“I, uh… I should go check on Neal,” she said, dragging her tongue across her lip before her teeth scraped over the tender flesh in its wake.

The sound of something heavy scraping the floor above them pulled Killian from thoughts of capturing her mouth with his own, and almost too late he noticed an object about to hurl itself down the cellar steps.

“Swan! Look out!”

With all the strength he could muster, he managed to force her against the wall, shielding her as something crashed down the stairs. Their bodies pressed together, chests heaving against the other’s, it took them both several moments to process what had just happened.

“Emma!” Neal cried out, sprinting through the floors above and coming to a stop at the top of the cellar stairs. Staring down at his girlfriend who was currently being blanketed by another man, Neal’s face grew thunderous as he exclaimed, “What the hell is going on here?!”

“It appears to be some sort of statue,” Liam commented. Killian wasn’t sure if it was genuine ignorance as to the man’s meaning or if his brother simply wished to avoid a scene. Crouched down, Liam inspected the object and added, “Lucky the two of you managed to get out of the way. This could have done serious harm.”

Swan pushed against Killian’s chest, forcing him to step back from her so she could turn and take the man still fuming at the top of the stairs to task.

“It was that stupid garden statue of Pan you insisted on bringing inside!” she shouted. “I told you not to leave it in the hall!”

“How was I supposed to know a ghost could move it?” Neal shot back. “The thing weighs like fifty pounds!”

Stomping up the stairs, Swan grabbed Neal by the arm and hauled him away from the cellar entrance. Although Killian could not discern what was being said between them, there was no mistaking the tone of argument in their voices. He probably ought to feel guilty for having a hand in their current discord, but all he could focus on at the moment was the way his body was still reacting to having been pressed against Emma’s. The way she’d felt beneath his weight, the intoxicating scent of her hair, the feel of her hands clutching the back of his shirt, the way their eyes had connected after the danger had passed, the moment their gazes flicked down in unison to the other’s lips, the impulse he’d nearly given in to kiss her, the certainty he felt that the same desire had run through her mind as well.

“Brother,” Liam said, his tone making Killian groan internally.

He knew what was coming.

“Don’t,” he replied. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh?”

“Aye,” Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was rash and foolish in the way I invited the spirit to use my energy, and I need to get my head on straight. No more distractions.”

“Actually,” Liam said, hoisting his duffle, which he’d repacked, up onto his shoulder before crossing the cellar and joining Killian on the stairs. “I was going to say… A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.”

Slapping his brother on the shoulder he continued up the steps, leaving Killian utterly gobsmacked.

Chapter Three - Coming Soon!

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@kmomof4 @jrob64 @zaharadessert @laianely @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @killianxswan @mie779 @motherkatereloyshipper

@jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @superchocovian @caught-in-the-filter

@winterbaby89 @wyntereyez @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @gingerchangeling

@exhaustedpirate @cocohook38 @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda @teamhook

@jackieorioncat @paradiselady19 @snowbellewells @earanemith @ultraluckycatnd

@pirateherokillian @calmjoonie @unworried-corsair @tiganasummertree @captainswan-kellie

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@qualitycoffeethings @idristardis @phoenix-untamed @bluewildcatfanatic @bananachickens

[childotkw]

Hi Jordan, I'm just starting out writing my fic and I am a bit stuck so I'm seeking for some advice. How do you plan your fics? I have a few specific scenes in my head and I'm not sure whether I should write those and build my fic around it? Or I should plan out all the vital plot points

Hello darling! Sorry about the delay in getting to you!

Most of my stories are born out of one cool scene or concept, and then I create the branching storyline for either direction from that one moment in the plot.

I don’t have a specific method that I follow - each story’s development is different and I’m very much at the whim of my muse and imagination. But one structure that I have found helpful is this:

Identify your main characters and their details (e.g., their backstories, their traits, their flaws relevant to your fanfiction world / environment / AU). For example - in a non-magical AU, how would this impact the lives of character who were canonically magical?

Order your current scenes into a rough timeline and identify the gaps between them. For example - label them ‘Scene A’, ‘Scene B’ and ‘Scene C’ once you know what you’re working with.

Starting with your earliest scene, figure out how much build up you want until you reach it and then start working backwards until you’re satisfied with your story’s new initial starting point. For example - your original ‘Scene A’ might end up becoming your new ‘Scene H’. Relabel and reorder them as you go!

Think of potential in-between scenes that could occur to propel the story and characters along, and mark them down (these in-between scenes don’t have to be super detailed, but it will help you to flesh out your order). For example - “I know that at some point before ‘Scene F’ I want these two characters to have a fight, so I’ll just put it down as ‘Scene D’ for now”.

Repeat the above steps for all of your original scenes, until you have a tentative sequence of events between all of them.

Once you have a rough outline, identify your moments of conflict - and outline how these moments will impact the growth of your character. For example - ask yourself things like: Will they grow stronger or weaker because of this conflict? Will their previous progress continue or will they be stalled? How does it affect them emotionally as well as physically? Does their flaw play into this conflict at all? Have I foreshadowed things to my satisfaction?

Characters drive your story events forward, so consider what their motivations are at each point in the story. For example - ask what they want and how you, as the writer, can stop them from getting it.

Start planning how each conflict will be resolved. For example - did the character’s growth from a previous moment of conflict help them learn a new ability or piece of information that lets them overcome this next challenge?

These are just some small tips but I hope they help! The important thing about setting out your plot is understanding that everyone’s process is different, and that even if you don’t know all of the in-between moments just yet, you’ll discover them along the way.

Some people are super detailed in their outlining, others figure it out mid-way through. I had the ending of CS planned out pretty much from the beginning. The plot-twist to ybtm only came to me as I was writing it, and I had to go back and rewrite the first chapter to make it make sense.

Writing is very fluid, and you shouldn’t be afraid to start just because you don’t have all the pieces perfectly arranged.

[friendlybowlofsoup]

Another Update

Hello Friends,

I have a rather long (but optimistic!) update to share with you all today. As many of you are probably tired of reading these kind of posts, I have a TL;DR here, but I did want to share what has been on my mind in that past half-year that I haven't been here.

It has been rough, and busy as always, but I think I'm finally facing myself and my project for the first time in a very long time.

TL;DR (it's actually long, I have a lot to say (*_ _)人)

I soul-searched and decided to stop compromising on my own feelings with regards to this project. I gave in to everything I wanted to do.

Plot changes, which means some character changes, which means some of the demo is outdated.

GotRM will be switching over to Twine.

----

OH MAN DID I SUFFER THE LAST FEW MONTHS

After my previous update, I hunkered down and really analyzed how I wanted to proceed with GotRM as a project. Because even prior to that post, I had already been going through long periods of hiatuses (which you are all aware of), and while I didn't lie about school taking up my time, I was also harboring a growing dissatisfaction with my own writing that really killed my progress for a long time.

So after everything had settled, I sat down and forced myself to peel apart my work. I know I said I would answer asks, but I uninstalled all of my social media and put aside this blog to focus. I made a note of all the things I liked and didn't like, and I made a list of things I wanted to change or improve on. The biggest point was that I also looked at my efficiency during actual writing sessions: how much of my time was spent writing vs. fighting with code? How could I change that?

And after a lot of deliberation, I figured there were a few things I had to change from the ground up, summed up in four points:

My working style was super incompatible with grad school. I can't spend 20-30 minutes scrolling up and down CSIDE checking code or looking for narratives while also jumping between chapters to make sure events line up. As this story grows, the more difficult it becomes to keep track of all the branches, so I needed an alternative working method, which I am adhering to now, and it prioritizes efficiency.

I hated the way I was tracking and coding stats in-game. I have griped so much about coding stats, and I have adhered to such a rigid style that I really felt trapped whenever I was confronted with balancing them out. So I'm throwing that to the wind and redoing how I utilize and convey them. Player-side, this decision doesn't change much since I never fully utilized stats in the demo anyway, and the stats page with indicators will still exist, but I'm getting rid of stat bars and how I treat stat checks.

The story I want to write now is different from the one I started out with. I've known for a while that GotRM was becoming far more than the tiny, wishful novella that I wrote as a teenager. I held onto that old story for a long time, but there's just so much I want to change that I realized I'd been clinging to a story I no longer enjoyed writing. So I spent the majority of the last few months rewriting GotRM from scratch. I redid some worldbuilding, I changed a lot of plot points, and I fixed a lot of characters' backstories accordingly. This meant scrapping stuff from even the demo, but that turned out to not be the biggest issue because:

I wanted to branch away from ChoiceScript. Honestly, I never really cared about getting officially published, but the camaraderie in the forums and on Tumblr were why I committed to CS and CoG. However, ultimately, I really want the functionality that other tools can offer GotRM, and so after a long internal debate, I will be switching over to Twine. Fortunately, since I was rewriting everything anyways, this has been relatively painless, and passage mapping has made everything so much neater. I am trying my best to make it up to chapter 2 before I release the new demo, so please look forwards to that!

And so yes, I am still here, chugging along.

I love this game and this story: it's been my creative escape for as long as I could remember, and you can imagine how frustrated I was when I realized I was starting to dread working on it.

I am forever learning more about myself and my writing style, and this is simply more of that journey. Thank you everyone for sticking around, for joining the discord, and for checking up on me--that I have all of you has truly been a dream.

Hopefully more updates to come soon! I understand that there may be questions about these new changes, so please ask away! I will (try) to release some asks that I've been working on in the drafts too, but I will wait until at least tomorrow to release them so that this post doesn't get drowned out immediately.

And as always, with a lot of love,

FriendlyBowlofSoup (Mei)

[wholoveseggs]

Dark Star {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Bound by love that defies centuries, Elijah Mikaelson will do whatever it takes to resurrect his lost wife. Even if it means forsaking everything he believes in. Once the north star guiding his family, his shattered heart now leads him down a darker path, transforming him into a version beyond redemption. A damned soul, drawing his family into an abyss they may never escape.

♡♡ Hello my lovely followers! This will be a six part series inspired by @njeancastro316 post about red door Elijah (Girl, I've been writing this non-stop since you tagged me! thank you for the inspo). I really put my whole heart into this one, {I even made a playlist to capture the vibes} exploring the depths of Elijah's character and his struggle between love and darkness. Enjoy! && expect pain... ♡♡

6.8k words - Warnings: angst, angst and more angst, grief, heartbreak, intense violence, red door Elijah, emotional turmoil, so much Mikaelson family drama {the whole gang is here && some faves from Mystic Falls will show up later}, No smut in this part, but prepare for plenty of darkness... oh! && croissants...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore

Prologue ~ Europe 13th Century

"This way!" A boy laughed as he darted beneath a low-hanging branch. Behind him, a small girl hurried along, lifting her skirt to keep up, her breath catching in short gasps.

"Slow down! Wait for me!" she called, tripping over roots and brambles in her haste. "I can't run as fast as you!"

The boy glanced back, grinning. "Then hurry, will you."

"We ought to be home by now." She replied, frowning.

"We are almost there," he replied, leaping over a fallen branch before turning to face her, eyes gleaming. "We can get home quicker through the woods."

"I don’t like it," she murmured, clutching her skirt tighter. Shadows crept over the path as the sun sank lower, casting an orange glow through the dense branches. "The hour grows late."

The boy shook his head, catching her hand with a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll be fine. It’s only a short way."

Reluctantly, she nodded, holding onto him. "If anything ill should happen, I’ll tell Mother."

He only laughed, tugging her down the narrow path. "If something ill happens, you may not get the chance!"

Their laughter echoed in the stillness as they raced ahead. The trees grew taller, their branches clawing toward the darkening sky, while thick underbrush crowded the trail, rustling with each step. Yet the children, lost in their game, scarcely noticed, laughing and squealing as they chased one another.

Then, a sound, a subtle, almost a whisper, seeped through the quiet. The girl stopped, clutching the boy’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

“What is it?”

“Shh,” she hissed, pulling him closer, her wide eyes searching the shadows. "Listen."

They stood in silence, the air heavy and still, broken only by their own quickening breaths.

“It’s nothing. Perhaps a deer-”

“No, it’s more than that,” she whispered. Somewhere ahead, faint and distant, came the flicker of firelight. And with it, laughter. Wild and strange.

“What is that?” the boy asked, his voice barely a breath.

“Quiet,” she said, creeping forward, pulling him toward the light.

They peered out from behind a tree, breath catching at the sight before them. A great fire blazed, roaring into the sky as shadows twisted around it. Two figures danced wildly around the flames, naked, their skin smeared with red and ash. Their laughter, sharp and otherworldly, pierced the night air.

The girl’s scream barely escaped her lips before the boy’s hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her back. They stumbled, clutching one another, then turned and fled, racing down the trail as fast as their little legs would carry them, branches clawing at their clothes.

By the time they burst into the village, their faces were pale, their breaths ragged. Villagers gathered around as the children stumbled forward, pointing frantically toward the woods.

“Demons!” the girl gasped, clutching at the skirts of the nearest woman. “They’re out there! In the forest!”

There was a hushed sadness over the compound. The lights seemed to have dimmed, and the atmosphere hung heavy, cold and suffocating. It had been that way since the night Elijah found your lifeless body on the cold pavement. The night that changed everything.

Rebekah didn’t like it here anymore. Her home felt more like a tomb than a residence. It was too quiet, too full of memories and emotions too painful to confront. Her big brother was suffering, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

She found Klaus sitting in the courtyard, staring blankly at a chessboard. The pieces were scattered, mid-game, but his focus seemed to drift in and out. Normally, this contemplative silence from him made her nervous, but today she couldn’t muster the energy to care. The weight of everything was too much.

“Any news?” Rebekah asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Klaus didn’t move, didn’t speak at first. He shifted a chess piece absentmindedly and shrugged.

The sound of Marcel’s footsteps echoed through the stillness of the courtyard. She felt one of his warm hands rest gently on the small of her back, and she leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence.

“I’ve been asking around. Only lead I have is that he’s somewhere in Europe,” Marcel said, his voice sounding hollow.

“Well, where in Europe?” Klaus finally spoke, his gaze never leaving the board.

“Don’t know. Haven’t pinpointed his exact location yet,” Marcel sighed. “But he’s been killing low-level Strix members, leaving bodies in his wake.”

Klaus scoffed softly, moving another piece on the board. “Keep looking,”

“You almost sound like you care,” Rebekah hissed, glaring at him.

“Don’t start with me, little sister,” Klaus warned, his voice low and sharp.

“Elijah has always been there for us,” she snapped, “And when he needs our help, where are you? Sitting here, playing chess with yourself.”

Klaus’s fist slammed down on the chessboard, sending the pieces flying across the table. He stood abruptly, stalking toward her, his eyes blazing. But Rebekah didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. She held his glare with her own, unrelenting.

“What do you want me to do?” Klaus roared, his voice cracking as his anger gave way to the grief simmering beneath. “Tell me, Rebekah. How do I fix this?”

“I want you to find him!” she screamed, tears stinging her eyes. “He’s our brother, Nik!”

Klaus’s shoulders slumped. His rage deflated, leaving him hollow. “I don’t know how to fix this, little sister,” he admitted quietly.

Marcel cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Maybe we should give him some time. Let him mourn her.”

“He’s not mourning, Marcel,” Klaus growled, clenching his jaw. “He’s murdering. He hasn’t even accepted that she’s dead.”

Rebekah and Marcel exchanged worried glances.

“We can’t just let him destroy himself,” Rebekah argued, her voice breaking. “Wherever he is, whoever crosses his path... they’re doomed. He’s out of control.”

“He’s changed,” Marcel muttered, rubbing his temple. “I’ve never seen him like this. So violent, so volatile.”

“That’s why I’m worried, Nik,” Rebekah said, her tone deadly serious. “If he’s not stopped, the Elijah we know will be gone. He will become a monster.”

Klaus looked down at the shattered chess pieces scattered across the table. “We are monsters, Rebekah,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“No, Nik,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

Klaus remained silent for a moment, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Suppose someone took Marcellus from you. What would you do?”

“I would raze this earth and dance on the ashes,” she answered without hesitation, the fire of her love and loyalty burning bright in her eyes.

“That’s what he’s doing,” Klaus said darkly.

“Yes,” Rebekah agreed, “but Elijah would come for me. He would find me, and help me, keep me from losing myself. Now he’s the one who needs help.”

“How do we stop him?” Marcel asked, though his voice was laden with doubt.

Klaus shook his head slowly. “We don’t.”

“Nik…” Rebekah started, her voice pleading.

“We contain the damage,” Klaus cut her off, the steely resolve returning to his voice. “I’ll go to Europe. I’ll bring him back.”

Rebekah exhaled, relief flooding through her, and she pulled Klaus into a tight hug. She didn’t say anything, just held him as though her arms alone could keep the family from falling apart. He hugged her back, and for a moment, the cracks in their family seemed to close.

Marcel stood behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

When she finally pulled away, Rebekah gave her brother a sad smile. “Be careful.”

Klaus nodded. “I will.”

His eyes flicked to Marcel, and the two men exchanged a knowing look. They both understood how dangerous this was. That if Elijah couldn’t be saved, they might lose him forever.

Or worse... they might have to put him down.

Two members of the Strix walked side by side, their steps echoing off the marble floors. One glanced around nervously, eyeing the high-tech security measures surrounding them, cameras in every corner, reinforced steel doors, layers of magical barriers.

"Is this really necessary? I can't stand being cooped up here. What's the point?" the taller vampire complained, his voice echoing through the empty corridor.

"Protocol," the other replied, his tone bored. "You know how paranoid Tristan can be. But I’m telling you, no one's getting in here. Not even him."

"I don’t get it. We had nothing to do with her death. Why are we hiding?"

"He doesn’t know that." The second vampire shook his head, his eyes flicking toward a monitor displaying multiple feeds from around the compound. “And he doesn’t seem to care about guilt or innocence anymore.”

They stopped at a reinforced door, pressing their palms to the scanners. As the heavy doors slid open, the two shared a final glance, the reality sinking in that even their supposed impenetrable defenses might not be enough.

They stepped into the dim room, illuminated only by the flickering light of the chandelier hanging above a long oak table. Strix members filled the chairs, their faces tense and uneasy. They had gathered in secret, far from prying eyes. Whispers of fear and uncertainty drifted across the room, but no one dared to speak above a murmur. The air was heavy with dread, and no one felt safe.

At the head of the table, Aya stood, her sharp gaze cutting through the room like a blade. She had always been the picture of composure, a pillar of strength, but now, her patience was thinning, her power waning, cracks in her armor where fear leaked through. Beside her, Tristan de Martel leaned casually in his chair, an amused smile playing on his lips, as if this was all a game to him. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of his fellow Strix members, reveling in their discomfort.

“We all know why we’re here,” Aya began, her voice cold and steady, but there was an underlying tension to it, like a string about to snap. “Our ranks are thinning, and the reason is no secret.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Heads turned, glances were exchanged. They knew. Everyone knew.

“Elijah Mikaelson,” Tristan added, his voice smooth and casual, as if he were discussing the weather. His eyes gleamed with a cruel delight. “The noble brother has gone rogue. It seems the death of his beloved has… unraveled him.”

"That's an interesting way of putting it," one Strix member commented, his voice dripping with disdain. "He ripped apart fifty of my men, left a trail of bodies and witnesses, it took me days to cover it all up,"

"And how many vampires has he killed since then? Hundreds? Thousands?" another voice chimed in, sounding bitter.

"You're just scared," another vampire challenged, his tone mocking.

"Of course, we're scared. Do you know what he's capable of?" the first vampire hissed, baring his teeth.

"Silence," Aya ordered, her tone icy. The room fell quiet, the air crackling with tension. "We cannot defeat him, nor can we sit by and wait for him to tear us apart. He has lost his humanity, and it's clear that we must take action."

"We have already taken action and all it does is piss him off," the Strix member grumbled, "I have no interest in fighting a losing battle."

"You're a coward," Aya snarled, her eyes flashing with anger.

"What would you have us do?" another vampire spoke up, their voice strained, "We're no match for him."

"Perhaps we should consider a bargain," Tristan suggested, a sly smirk creeping across his lips. "Find the killer, deliver them to him, and save ourselves the trouble of being murdered."

The members murmured amongst themselves, some seeming open to the idea, while others still appeared wary.

"I cannot fathom why someone would be so foolish. Surely the person who did this knows the repercussions," a member said, a hint of fear in their voice.

Tristan's smile widened. "They were foolish indeed, and now they are the most hunted man, or woman, in the world,"

Aya's face was impassive, her mind racing. She had no doubt that Elijah would tear down the world to find his killer, and if the Strix didn't deliver them, he would do the same to their ranks. Tristan's indifference infuriated her. While he sat there with a smile, the Strix were suffering the consequences of his poor leadership.

A soft little cough pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see a small girl standing at the other end of the table. She looked no older than twelve, with delicate features and wide, doe-like eyes. She looked lost, and this wasn't a place you could just wander into.

Other members noticed her presence and got to their feet, the scraping of chairs echoing off the walls. Aya narrowed her eyes, taking in the girl's appearance.

"Who are you?" Aya asked, her voice sharp.

The girl was clearly terrified, her hands shaking, and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Aya found it strange. She didn't sense the power of a witch coming off her, she was just a girl, and a very young one at that.

"I-I'm sorry," the girl stammered, her voice barely a whisper, "I don't know why I'm here. I just woke up here and now, I-I'm scared,"

"How did you get in here?" Aya questioned, her voice low and menacing.

"A nice man told me to come here," the girl mumbled, her eyes darting around the room, taking in the tense, hostile atmosphere. "He wanted me to talk to you."

Aya raised an eyebrow. "And why would he want that?"

The girl shrugged, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know, please, I just want to go home,"

"What did he look like?" Aya pressed, her voice growing louder.

"He had dark hair, and brown eyes," the girl sniffled, trying to hold back her sobs.

Tristan's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing dangerously. The room was suddenly silent, the tension now unbearable. Aya stared at the girl, her face an unreadable mask, but inside, her mind was racing.

"What did he want you to say?" Aya asked, her voice quiet, dangerous.

The girl’s breath hitched, her words barely audible. "That... he will give all of you a slow death."

The temperature in the room plummeted, and a cold shiver ran down Aya’s spine. She struggled to hide her unease, but the implication was clear: Elijah had infiltrated their sanctuary.

"A-and that... if I can get in..." The girl gulped, her small voice quaking, "He can too."

The room fell into a suffocating silence as the weight of her words settled on the group. Tristan shot up from his chair, his face dark with fury.

“Lockdown procedures. Now.” Tristan barked, his voice commanding and harsh.

"What about the girl?" Aya asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the trembling child. Her instincts told her something wasn’t right.

"Kill her," Tristan spat, his voice cold and merciless. "She’s served her purpose."

The room erupted into chaos. Sirens blared as the compound went into immediate lockdown. The lights flickered, dimming to an eerie glow. The Strix moved quickly, vanishing into the shadows, their bodies blurring as they scattered, heading for safe rooms or exit points.

Aya hesitated for a moment, her gaze still fixed on the girl. She started toward her, but a voice in her head warned her against it. With one last glance, she turned and hurried toward the safe room.

The little girl stood trembling in the darkness, tears streaming down her face. The once-imposing vampires had fled, leaving her all alone in the icy silence.

"It's okay, sweetheart," a voice purred from the shadows, smooth and calming. The girl gasped, her heart racing as she felt a hand on her shoulder, firm yet oddly comforting.

She turned to see a tall man standing behind her, his dark hair framing his sharp features, his kind eyes watching her closely. "Run along now," he said softly, giving her a gentle push toward the door.

The girl nodded quickly, wiping her tears before scampering away, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss.

Elijah watched her go, his kind smile fading as the room returned to darkness. His eyes glinted coldly, the warmth in them vanishing like smoke. Slowly, the veins beneath his eyes darkened, spreading like cracks in the surface of his calm exterior.

He was already inside.

As the sirens echoed, he vanished into the shadows once more, his presence like a gathering storm. And what followed this storm, was pure, unrelenting destruction.

The soft drone of a news broadcast drifted through an abandoned loft, dust floating through the air. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, the room dark and shadowy, save for the light of a flickering TV. The anchor woman's face was somber, her voice solemn.

“Une tragédie a frappé Paris la nuit dernière... un incendie dévastateur a détruit un immeuble historique, laissant peu de traces de ce qui s’y trouvait. Les autorités locales confirment que l’origine du feu demeure inconnue, mais la rapidité à laquelle il s’est propagé soulève des questions.”

Subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen in English: "A tragic accident struck Paris last night... a devastating fire destroyed a historic building, leaving few traces of what was inside. Local authorities confirm that the cause of the fire is unknown, but the speed at which it spread raises questions."

The camera cut to images of the smoldering wreckage. Blackened stone, twisted metal, and fire trucks still spraying water over what little remained.

Elijah wasn't paying attention to the TV anymore; he had his head in his hands, hunched over in a chair, his body wracked with sobs. Bodies were strewn about the room, blood spattered on the walls and floors. A macabre painting of violence and rage. The sight of the lifeless forms weighed heavily on him, a chilling reminder of his own actions.

He didn't know how long he had been there, but it felt like an eternity. Each day blended into the next, the hours stretching into a meaningless void. Days would go by where he felt utterly detached, lost in a sea of grief and loss, and then the anger would return, awakening him to a new trail of bodies. There were so many, too many, and yet it wasn't enough.

“Les témoins affirment avoir vu des ombres avant que l’incendie n’éclate, mais aucune preuve tangible n’a été trouvée. Des sources proches de l’enquête évoquent une possible attaque ciblée, bien que les détails restent flous.”

"Witnesses reported seeing shadows before the fire broke out, but no physical evidence has been found. Sources close to the investigation say there may have been a targeted attack, though details remain unclear."

"You used a child? My love, what has become of you?"

Elijah didn't flinch, didn't react as he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, your lips pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Your voice was soft, tinged with sadness and disappointment. He hated himself for it.

"She's fine," Elijah said, his voice strained, barely able to meet your gaze.

"You don't know that," you sighed, your hands moving to his chest, trying to soothe him. "And you know this isn't the way,"

"There is no other way," he replied, his voice cracking, desperation lacing his words.

"You used an innocent child, one not much older than Hope," you said, a hint of anger breaking through your sadness.

Elijah stiffened. He knew you were right. It didn't make what he did any better, and he felt his self-loathing increase tenfold.

"They killed you; I did what I had to," Elijah defended, but the words felt hollow, a pitiful excuse.

"This isn't the way," you repeated, your voice pleading, "and you don't know who did it, or why. This is all just a guess, a hunch."

He let out another quiet sob, then grabbed his glass of blood and threw it against the wall, the shards falling like crimson rain. He stared at the stain on the wall, watching the liquid trickle down, and he couldn't help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

"You have to stop," you whispered, appearing in front of him, your hand cupping his cheek, trying to pull him away from the dark, destructive spiral he was on.

"I can't," he said, his voice breaking, unable to look at you, this ghost haunting him.

"Please," you begged, your hand moving to his neck, gently stroking his skin, trying to comfort him. "I know this pain. It's agony, it's consuming, but I promise you, it will fade."

He pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close, trying to breathe in your scent, to feel your warmth. But he couldn't. You were an echo, a phantom he couldn't grasp.

"You can't bring me back. You know that," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a soft, sad reminder.

He didn't respond, just held you, his fingers digging into your skin, his eyes closed tightly, fighting back tears. He had spent so many nights like this, crying himself to sleep, waking up to nothing, just an empty bed, a cold room, and a hollow, broken heart.

He opened his eyes and let out a gasp as he realized he was clinging to one of the dead bodies on the floor, the vampire's skin gray and decaying, the body long since gone cold.

Elijah released the body and staggered to his feet, his head swimming with despair and self-loathing. His pain and sorrow gave way to anger and frustration, fueling the urge to hurt, to destroy anything and anyone.

"Par ailleurs, une jeune fille a disparu après ne pas être rentrée chez elle. La jeune fille, qui aurait douze ans, a été vue pour la dernière fois dans la zone de l'incendie,"

"In other news, a young girl has gone missing after failing to return home. The girl, who is reported to be twelve years old, was last seen in the area of the fire..."

Elijah snapped, grabbing the TV and throwing it against the wall, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. His rage burned bright, a hot, white flame. His heart raced, his breathing ragged, his body shaking with fury.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to kill, but more than anything, he wanted you. He wanted to hold you, to feel your warmth, to hear your voice. He couldn't take it anymore; he was falling apart.

Klaus was never a big croissant fan; he preferred something heartier for breakfast. But here, in France, the flaky pastry seemed to taste infinitely better. Maybe it was the morning sunlight filtering through the café windows or the distant sounds of bustling streets.

He took a sip of his espresso, his eyes scanning the crowded café, absorbing the lively atmosphere. Freya sat across from him, her brow furrowed as she read a spell book, her expression thoughtful.

"Anything in there about wrangling wayward siblings?" Klaus teased, a wry grin playing on his lips.

Freya glanced up, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "That's more your area of expertise."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter. "Fair enough."

Freya’s expression softened, a small smile breaking through. "It will be okay. We'll find him."

Klaus nodded, biting into his croissant, the flakes melting in his mouth. The clatter of dishes and murmurs of conversation surrounded them, along with the distant strains of a busker playing a violin.

"Then what? I’ve never known what to say to him," Klaus said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "He’s always the one with the wise words, not me."

"Honesty is all we have," Freya replied, her tone gentle. "We tell him we miss him, that he’s our brother, and we want him home."

"And that we need to have a funeral, or at least a memorial. Hope is very confused about what happened to her aunt," Klaus added, his gaze drifting to the people walking by the window.

"We'll do it together, as a family," Freya reassured, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. Her touch was gentle, a lifeline in the turmoil. "He needs to know we’re here for him."

"And if he doesn’t want to come back? What then?" Klaus asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it." Freya pointed at the spell book, her expression brightening. "I’m looking into ways to calm his mind. Perhaps if he can control his rage, he can start to heal."

"I don’t wish to subdue him," Klaus said, frowning. "He deserves the right to his pain, to grieve in his own way."

Freya’s eyes widened, surprised by his response. It wouldn’t be the first time Klaus had tried to force Elijah or the rest of their family into doing things his way. Yet, despite his brashness, she knew Klaus was a man of deep, powerful emotions, capable of empathy.

"What?" Klaus asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"You’ve grown," Freya smiled. "It’s good to see."

"Don’t get used to it," Klaus quipped, taking another bite of his croissant and washing it down with a sip of his espresso. "I wish for us to go back to normal, where I’m the problem."

"You’ll never not be a problem, Nik," Freya grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Rude," he scowled.

"But true," she sighed, returning to her book with a smile.

Klaus took another sip of his espresso, his gaze drifting to the TV hanging in the corner. A news broadcast caught his attention, the images of a fire flickering on the screen. He leaned forward, his expression sharpening as he listened intently.

"De nouvelles informations proviennent de l'enquête sur l'incendie du centre-ville de Paris. La police a désormais identifié plus de deux cents corps retrouvés sur les lieux, sans aucune indication pour l'instant du nombre de personnes portées disparues. Il semblerait que les victimes étaient toutes membres de une société privée de conservation d'œuvres d'art, possédant des participations dans plusieurs pays. Alors que les autorités enquêtent toujours sur la cause de l'incendie, il a été suggéré que l'incendie avait été allumé délibérément.”

"There is new information coming in from the investigation into the fire in downtown Paris. Police have now identified more than two hundred bodies recovered from the scene, with no indication yet of how many are still missing. It's believed the victims were all members of a private art curation company, with holdings in several countries. While authorities are still investigating the cause of the blaze, it's being suggested the fire was set deliberately."

Klaus’s stomach dropped, a familiar dread creeping in. The timing was too convenient, and this 'art curation company' sounded like a cover for a secret society. He gestured to the screen, espresso still in hand, splashing a few drops onto the table. "Looks like a place for us to visit, wouldn’t you say?"

Freya looked up, her brow furrowing. "Do you think Elijah has anything to do with it?"

"If this organization is the Strix -sorry, was the Strix- then absolutely," Klaus replied, a grim smile forming on his lips. "Perhaps they gave him the answers he was looking for. Answers we weren’t able to find."

"I can’t imagine it would have been a pleasant reunion," Freya sighed, shaking her head. "I can’t say I blame him."

Klaus’s smile faded. He had tried his best, searching for months through the ashes of Elijah’s rage. He had gone from city to city, country to country, even continent to continent. And now, as he stood on the brink of discovery, he couldn’t help but wonder what condition Elijah would be in when they finally found him.

"Well then, no point in wasting any more time," Klaus said, taking a final sip of his espresso.

Freya nodded, closing her book, quickly downing her coffee before stealing the last bite of Klaus’s croissant, earning a playful glare.

"Oi!" he growled, "I was going to eat that."

"Too slow, brother," she smirked.

Klaus rolled his eyes and stood, tossing a wad of cash on the table without bothering to count. The two of them hurried out, the waiter shaking his head as he picked up the money and Klaus's empty plate.

"Americans," he muttered under his breath.

The site of the fire was a blackened husk, the acrid smell of smoke still heavy in the air. Klaus and Freya walked along the sidewalk, watching the firefighters douse the smoldering remains with water. Distant sirens echoed, a haunting reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

"Can't believe it's still burning," Klaus mused, a slight frown on his face.

"Must have been quite the inferno," Freya remarked, her expression thoughtful.

"Magic?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I don't sense any," Freya said, shaking her head. "Whoever started it didn't use magic."

Klaus glanced at her, a smirk on his lips. "I thought you didn't think Elijah had anything to do with it?"

Freya shrugged. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't."

Klaus wrinkled his nose, his keen sense of smell picking up the lingering scent of blood beneath all the ash and smoke. Human, vampire, a mix of the two. The fire had raged through the night, burning hot and fast, devouring everything in its path.

"I do sense death, though," Freya murmured, her brow furrowing, her expression darkening. "Lots of it."

"Well, I can't imagine there'll be much left for us to find, considering how thorough my brother is," Klaus muttered, his gaze roving over the ruined buildings, his stomach sinking.

"Why are you so sure it was him?" Freya asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Because I can smell his cologne, no1 passant guardant," Klaus replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Kinda weird that you can smell that, Nik," Freya smirked, giving him a sideways glance.

"I'm a hybrid, love; it's one of my many gifts," Klaus replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Freya shook her head, a wry grin on her lips, suppressing a giggle as she watched her brother sniff the air, his eyes closed, his expression one of intense concentration.

"Could be someone else with the same taste in cologne; you never know," she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

"It’s very difficult to come by; only a handful of stores carry it," Klaus muttered, ignoring her teasing. "And... she bought it for him just before... you know."

"Ah," Freya's expression softened, her amusement replaced by a mix of sadness and understanding.

Klaus opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the destruction once more, the weight of grief settling on his shoulders. He missed you. Your laughter, your wit, the way you could put him in his place. He admired your loyalty, your strength, and how much you loved his brother.

"What are you thinking about?" Freya asked, her voice quiet and cautious.

"Our departed sister-in-law... the cause of all of this," Klaus said, a sad smile on his lips.

"You can't blame her, you know," Freya murmured, her eyes filled with understanding and sympathy. "I miss her too."

"It's hard to be reminded, is all," Klaus replied, a hint of pain in his voice.

Freya gave him a soft, sympathetic smile, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder. "You know... I never learned how they met," she said, trying to steer the conversation toward something less melancholy.

Klaus laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, it's quite a tale, and some parts I'm not privy to. But I can tell you that she was a novice in a convent," he began, a sparkle in his eye.

"A nun?!" Freya exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up.

"Indeed, although she hadn't taken her vows," Klaus chuckled, amused by the surprised look on her face.

"So, what happened? How did they end up together?" Freya asked, intrigued.

"For all parties involved, it was quite a dramatic affair," Klaus continued, a wistful smile forming on his lips. "But we have more important things to focus on, don't you think?"

Freya sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're no fun."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter and returned to focusing on the scents around him, trying to find a trail, something that might lead him to his brother. He caught the faintest whiff of blood, the scent leading away from the fire, and deeper into the city.

"This way," he said, striding confidently down a street, away from the site of the fire.

Freya hurried to catch up, her long legs making short work of the distance, her boots clattering on the cobblestone streets.

"How can you be so sure?" Freya asked, falling in step beside him, her voice low and cautious.

"I just am," Klaus said, his tone brooking no argument. "That bloody cologne of his is everywhere. No one else has such atrocious taste in fragrances."

"Nik..." Freya cautioned, her tone warning, her gaze flickering to the passersby, making sure no one was eavesdropping. "We don't know what's waiting for us. We can't just charge in."

"I know; that's why you are going in first, my dear sister," Klaus smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Nik," Freya protested, her expression indignant.

"Don't worry, I'll be right behind you," Klaus grinned, giving her a playful nudge as they rounded a corner.

The two of them came to a stop outside an old building, its stone façade crumbling, the windows boarded up. Klaus gestured for Freya to go in, and with a roll of her eyes, she did.

"This place is creepy," she muttered, her boots echoing on the cracked tile floor.

"There's blood, a lot of it," Klaus said, sniffing the air, his eyes closed, his body tensed. "Upstairs."

They made their way up an old spiral staircase, the steps creaking under their feet. They reached a landing; the hallway was dark and narrow.

"Down there," Klaus said, pointing at a closed door at the end of the hall.

Freya nodded and slowly approached the door, her senses alert, her magic tingling under her skin. It was eerily quiet; the silence weighed heavy in the air, pressing down on her.

She stopped at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. She looked back at Klaus, his expression calm and composed, but she could sense his nervousness, his apprehension.

"Ready?" she whispered.

Klaus gave her a curt nod. Freya took a deep breath and turned the handle, the door opening with a creak.

"Elijah?"

The two of them were met with the sight of a massacre: body parts strewn across the room, blood splattered on the walls.

Freya gasped and took a step back, Klaus's hand gripping her shoulder. His eyes roved over the carnage, landing on a lone figure in the middle of the room, standing motionless.

"Elijah," Klaus breathed.

His brother was wearing an old T-shirt and jeans, tattered and bloodstained, covered in dirt. His hair was matted and wild, his eyes haunted, the light dimmed within them.

Klaus and Freya stepped inside, careful not to slip on the blood, the floor sticky and wet. They approached Elijah slowly, his gaze fixed on the severed arm in his hand, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"Brother?" Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand reaching out.

"You are not real," Elijah murmured, not taking his eyes off the limb, his expression vacant and distant.

"Elijah, we're here," Freya said gently. "It's time to come home."

"I won't be fooled again," Elijah hissed, his grip tightening on the severed arm.

Klaus took a tentative step forward, one arm stretched behind him to protect Freya, the other held out, placating and non-threatening. "We're not illusions, brother," he said softly, reassuringly.

"Freya," Elijah breathed, his head snapping up, his gaze finding hers.

"Yes, Elijah, it's me," she replied, giving him a gentle smile.

He blinked, his eyes flicking from her face to Klaus's, his brow furrowing. "Have you found a way to bring her back?"

Klaus and Freya exchanged glances, their expressions sad and resigned. It wasn't something Freya wanted to do... to tap into such dark magic. She had been searching for you on the other side but found no trace. She believed you had found peace, and to tear you away from that would be a cursed, evil thing, an affront to the balance between life and death.

"Elijah, there's no way, not without consequence," Klaus said, his tone firm, his eyes filled with regret. "We discussed this."

Elijah dropped the severed arm, his hands clenching into fists. "You're wrong. There is a way."

"Elijah," Freya began, but he cut her off.

"Bring her back," he demanded, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I can't," Freya said, her voice quiet and regretful. "I'm sorry, Elijah. She's gone; she's at rest."

"No, no, no," Elijah growled, his hands coming up to grip his hair, tugging at the roots, his chest heaving, eyes wild.

"Brother, she's in a better place," Klaus tried, his tone firm and reassuring. "I think it's time you come home... You need to let her go."

Elijah shook his head, his breathing ragged, his whole body trembling. "No, no, no," he chanted, his eyes darting around the room, looking for something.

"Elijah," Freya murmured, her brow furrowed, her expression concerned. "Please, come with us. She wouldn't want this for you."

"No, no, no!" he growled, his voice echoing off the blood-spattered walls, his face contorted in a mask of rage.

He grabbed a nearby table and threw it against the wall, the sound of splintering wood reverberating through the air.

"Bloody hell," Klaus growled, grabbing Freya and yanking her backward, shielding her with his body.

Elijah lunged at them, his fangs bared, a murderous look in his eyes. He tackled Klaus, sending them both crashing into the wall, the plaster cracking under the impact.

"Nik!" Freya exclaimed, her magic sparking at her fingertips.

"Elijah, you've gone mad," Klaus grunted, shoving him away, sending him careening across the room. "She's dead."

"Niklaus," Elijah growled, his body vibrating with anger, the haunted, hollow look in his eyes replaced by raw, unhinged rage. "Bring. Her. Back."

"We can't, and you know it," Klaus spat, his eyes flashing yellow, his face shifting into the hybrid’s feral features. "She's at peace, Elijah. We need to let her go."

"I won't, I can't," Elijah raged, his body trembling, his eyes filling with unshed tears that threatened to spill over. His voice broke. "How can you ask me to do that?"

Freya’s heart clenched at the sight of her brother unraveling, his usual restraint shattered. "Come home, please," Freya pleaded, her eyes welling with tears, her voice thick with desperation. "We can help you."

Elijah's chest heaved, his wild eyes shifting from Klaus to Freya, barely recognizing them. "Get out," he growled, the words vibrating through the bloodstained room. His gaze locked on Klaus, his voice turning into a vicious snarl. "GET OUT!"

Klaus stared at him for a moment, his expression conflicted. Freya watched him pull a silver dagger out of his pocket, the familiar glint of the cursed weapon that had subjugated their family time and time again. She hadn't even known he had brought one with him, and her heart clenched at the sight. She didn’t want this for either of them. But given Elijah's state, she knew it was necessary.

"I'm sorry, Elijah," Klaus said, his voice solemn. He rushed forward, his movements a blur, and before Elijah could react, he buried the blade in his brother’s chest. The gasp Elijah let out echoed in the empty, ravaged room. The look on his face was heartbreaking, a mixture of shock and pain. Klaus had to steel himself against the emotion threatening to overtake him, reminding himself it was for the best, for all of them.

"Rest now, brother," Klaus murmured, pulling him into a tight embrace, cradling his body as Elijah slumped, his strength leaving him. His big brother, the north star of the family, now lost to grief.

"I thought you didn't want to subdue him," Freya whispered, her voice shaky, her eyes wide with shock as she pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

"It was a last resort," Klaus said, his voice thick with emotion, trying and failing to hide the crack in his composure. "I couldn't bear seeing him like this any longer. I didn't think... he would be so... unhinged."

"He's grieving," Freya said softly, her eyes filled with sympathy as she knelt beside them, brushing a hand through Elijah’s matted hair. "He loves her, Nik. Losing her... it's broken him."

"I know," Klaus muttered, his arms tightening around Elijah, holding him close as if he could protect him from the demons he was fighting inside. His voice cracked, and before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek. Quickly, he wiped it away, trying to maintain his strength.

"Time to go home," Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with sorrow. "For all of us."

Freya reached out, gently taking Elijah's limp hand in hers, squeezing it tight as they prepared to leave the nightmare behind. She hoped and prayed that Elijah could feel her love through the numbness, that somewhere, deep within the wreckage of his mind, he knew they would never give up on him.

That the battle to bring you back hadn’t been in vain. It had only just begun.

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

[incorrect-jojolands-quotes]

some interesting things to consider with chapter 13

Spoilers below and I might add more to the list soon.

Dragona's mispronounced name is a play-on Dragona's name and the word for trash. In Kanji, the first part of Dragona's name can be reinterpreted as JoJo (do-ra) and the term used for trash (gomi) is often used as an insult to call someone useless, shit, worthless, etc. So, Dragona is basically called "JoJo trash/useless JoJo" under the guise of mispronunciation. If we were to translate this into English, Dragona would be miscalled "Crap-ona" since Ds can be misread as Cs and Gs as Ps.

A popular drama known as "The Glory" became popular overseas around 2022 due to its story about a girl severely bullied by rich students ultimately gaining revenge. It was praised for the rawness of the bullying portrayed and it was based on a real life situation in 2006 where the victim of bullying experienced what was portrayed in the drama. What was not portrayed (I think) was the experience of the real life victim having their chest mutilated to the point of scarring.

Dragona mentioning about not wanting to live due to the circumstances reference Bruno echoing similar sentiments to Giorno before passing away. Both felt like they have nothing left to live until the Joestar gave them hope due to their actions.

Jodio's thoughts on why things happen reference Pucci having similar sentiments after Perla's death-- which leads him to reunite with DIO. While Pucci wonders why the knowledge he was forced to take in hurt him, Jodio wonders why the knowledge he was denied to have hurt him instead. We see how his quality of being methodical also has a flaw that explains him mentioning in chapter 2 how the "unfairness" of the world drives him mad.

To be blamed for the insurance payout and Barbara Ann being mostly a stay-at-home-mom means Jodio and Dagona's father must have been very high ranked to end up in such a situation while serving as a breadwinner of the family before his abandonment. Jodio and Dragona's father leaving is similar to Jotaro abandoning Jolyne for their safety. Both had to leave their children behind because otherwise their children will be harmed.

Meryl Mei's detail about school tuition is interesting due to McKinley High being a public school and initially thought to be an error. Remembering how Barbara Ann mentioned Jodio's academic performance earlier, she could have put him in a private school intended to bring his performance up, and that's why Barbara Ann mentioned school tuition. It makes me wonder if Jodio had just started going to public school; did he actually improve, was tuition ultimately too much, or did Meryl Mei manipulated things to put him in her high school so she could keep better watch on him?

Howler references King Crimson song "The Howler", which comes from an album trilogy (Discipline, Beat, Three of a Perfect Pair) that came out after the band's hiatus and known for introducing a brand new sound. Discipline features the song "Matte Kudasai", Beat has "The Howler", and Three of a Perfect Pair is yet to be referenced. There's a song in Beat called "Requiem", which caused the group to break up due to creative differences but later reconcile.

Three of a Perfect Pair has exactly 9 tracks with one side representing the New Wave style that Beat introduced and the other side representing the Industrial style that Discipline introduced. I got a whole post made about the albums here.

As a infrastructure group worth 50 billion dollars, they may have great influence over the community similar to that of Meryl Mei and branches that hire people for contract and whatnot. Is it possible that Usagi's father used to work for them? Is it possible that Jodio's father has some sort of connection to the insurance payout that Usagi's family currently live off?

Howler could be a play-on the Hawaiian world Haole, which is used to describe something not native to Hawaii, particularly foreigners. There are a few irl construction/infrastructure companies called Howler that are notably not from Hawaii. Given rich corporations' histories with exploiting resources such as land, Howler could be a company with malicious intentions towards Hawaii's lands.

The Japanese term used for "absurdity" can also be translated to "illogical", "nonsensical", and interestingly "unjust". When we see the characters mentioning absurdity, they could just not only be saying things don't make sense but things aren't fair or equal. It makes a callback to Chapter 2 more interesting.

ABSUЯD is a song written by Guns N Roses from their album Chinese Democracy, which was known to take a long time to come out and a rather very unpopular album due to how different it sounded from Guns N Roses' previous music.