#which is I think what you’re supposed to do as a creator? so your followers have a better chance of actually seeing when you post? but also

[siphisket]

Even more Toge screencap studies — except for one(1) of the Toges 👀 which one could it be?

Bonus: Shoutout to whoever animated Toge popping his hip out in this shot. I know what you are.

[fandomwritingbit]

💀Hallowe'en Special💀

After Hours,

Springtrap x fem reader

Synop: Sneaking into a horror attraction after dark was really fucking stupid and you're about to find out just how much. 

A/n: I totally get that this probably isn't everyone's cup of tea, so please be warned, also bare in mind writing for Springtrap is completely new for me.

Warnings: Springtrap/william afton. Explicit non-con/rape. Violence. Threat. Themes of kidnapping.

Credit to image creator.

It was everything you expected and more.

The building reeked of lack of care, practically falling apart with all its paint peeling and the half illuminated sign. It looks creepy as fuck. That's why you came. 

You love to be scared. And this place has the potential to be truly terrifying. 

You spoke to a friend of yours who told you they'd done exactly this a week or so ago. And it was soooo much better after hours, when you can go where you want to and do what you want to; which in your case is dick around with the animatronics. They were supposed to come along as well but flaked out last minute, leaving you standing in front of the place on your lonesome. But you’re not one to be defeated by a shit friend not showing, so you’re still going to go in.

And so, with your phone torch lighting your way you go to the back of the building. And unsurprisingly you're greeted with a high fence with its gate chained closed. That isn't going to stop you though. Smirking, you throw your backpack over the fence and then slide your phone under it, torch up so you can sort of see what you're doing. 

One foot wedges in the metal, the toe of your shoe just able to fit through the diamond-shaped gap enough to give you purchase, letting you slot your other foot in the gap a little higher up. It was easy really, almost like they wanted you to hop over it, no anti-climb or spikes or anything. At the top of the fence you sit for a moment, wishing you kept hold of your phone for a photo here, illuminated by the solitary light of the building sign. Oh well, there's always the opportunity on the way out. 

You jump down, careful to land with bended knees, if you hurt yourself you wouldn’t exactly be able to call an ambulance. From there you dust yourself off for a minute and grab all your stuff, wincing when the harsh light of your phone catches your eye. 

"And now the fun begins." You whisper to yourself, as you slip around the building, quickly laying your eyes on the back door, which according to your mate was easy pickings, quite literally. Shoving your makeshift kit into the lock, it only takes a few moments of jiggling in before, hey presto, the bitch clicks open. It really was too easy. 

Inside, you flash your torch around this hallway, thinking to yourself that it looks like a 'back-stage' area with all the clutter and, god, the dust, which now flitted through the air disturbed by your movement. Honestly, with the amount of it caked on everything you wouldn’t think that this place was operational. Box after box lay on the chequered tile floor and you follow them down the corridor, checking door handles along your way. 

One opens to reveal a small cupboard filled with toilet roll and cleaning supplies. Another to one with stacks of papers, documents of some kind, probably accounts or some shit, but seriously who keeps paper copies nowadays? But the third one was the most interesting one. 

The metal door was a labour to open, scraping into the floor over a mark from others doing the same thing, the room was dark but you can tell instantly that it’s much bigger than the previous two. You use your phone torch to scan through the pitch black, revealing the jackpot. Animatronic heads are mounted on the wall like the room belongs to some kind of a  game hunter. Pointing the light down, you see the rest of the beasts, huge chest cases and clumpy-looking feet littered along the floor And in the corner the skeletons, light bouncing off them back at you, their eyes reflecting red. 

“Ho-ly shit…” You say into the darkness, grinning from ear to ear. This place was fucking insane, in the absloute best way. You waste no time inserting yourself in the room, placing huge metal heads over your shoulders and snapping a few pics looking like some demonic purple rabbit. Then some more with your arm draped over these endo-skeleton things, these took you a bit longer to build the courage to touch because fuck, their eyes were staring right into the depths of your soul. But once you did touch them and they didn’t pounce on you, you felt reassured enough to tackle anything else this creepy attraction would throw at you. 

After about ten minutes in your photoshoot, you leave the room wanting to see more than the behind the scenes stuff, you may as well see all the bits the normies get to see. Looking online earlier you knew all about the set up, creepy 80s looking corridors designed to mirror an old pizzeria chain, where apparently some kids had gone missing. Patrons could even sit inside the faux-security office taking shifts trying not to jump out of their skins as robotic creatures stalked them. Now that, you’re dying to see. 

It takes you no time to find the corridors leading to the security office, on the way discovering the dormant animatronics. One a seven foot fucking teddy bear, another a beat up looking rabbit. Golden- or maybe green, it’s hard to tell in the absence of light. This one is particularly nerve-wracking, something about its stance, it’s head tilted to the side but its eyes looking up. 

“Fuuuuck,” you giggle, angling your head to look into the creature’s mouth, open only slightly. “the designers did a good job on you, shit…” It’s only when your face gets very close to it, the robot shifts, its metallic body struggling loudly in the otherwise silent building. You flinch hard, body shoving itself away from it, thudding against the wall hard enough to wind yourself. It quickly halts, the movement dying when its head fully rears. 

You breathe out shakily, laughing at your own stupidity, clearly you triggered some kind of motion sensor and paid the price for it. You shake your head at the beast, moving away from it down the corridor and into the office, careful not to get too close to anything else that could try to scare the shit out of you. You finally manage it, and step into the office through a doorway without the actual door part, an excited smile spreading across your face. This is so fucking cool, you think, crouching down to look at a monitor on the desk, then deciding to sit in the grimy swivel chair in front of it. You then notice that the desk has drawers in it and move to look through them, an eagerly curious part of you taking over. The top one is full of a tonne of random shit sellotape, paperclips, a computer mouse and its ancient cord. The one underneath though, sticks, you rive it hard to try and open it, even more intrigued that it wouldn’t open. You jiggle it hard, the rattle echoing in the large room, but your efforts amount to fuck all and it doesnt move an inch. 

You sigh, calling the drawer a bastard under your breath and recline a little in the seat, closing your eyes for a moment. When you open them you nearly jump six feet in the air at the sight of that fucking animatronic from earlier, the yellow bunny, standing in the the doorway, it’s huge head peeking round the corner, staring directly at you. How in god’s name didn’t you hear the fucking thing move? It must weigh loads and it looks old, so there’s no way it can move silently.

“God, this place.” you say, to yourself, to the room, it doesn’t matter. You’ve had enough scares for tonight, it’s probably best if you bail before you trigger any other attractions. No longer smiling, you stand up hesitantly, moving slowly and consciously. Some kind of dread now hanging in the air because this fucking rabbit is really creepy.

You walk up to the door and carefully squeeze yourself through the gap, desperate to not touch the thing. Managing it, you outwardly sigh, that was a small mercy because some loud noise from the robot would probably give you a heart attack right now. You step away from it, ready to get yourself out of here. But the second your back is turned the most agonising sound makes you freeze. 

Breathing. Raspy, pained, human, fucking breathing. 

Your turning around is prevented by the cold grip on your throat, backing you up against its metal body, its lack of body heat making goosebumps spring over you instantly. Uselessly, you push against its hold, instinctively wanting to get away from it and the reality of what was happening. But your struggling just makes it grip you harder, thick plastic fingers tight on the base of your throat. 

A deeply coarse sound vibrates from the creature, a breathy sound that takes you a while to realise is laughter. Laughter cold and mean, making your heart hammer in your chest. “What stupid little girl snoops around in the dark on her own?” Each word sounds painful, it must take the thing sheer will to push past such agony just to taunt you.

You tremble, “What- what are you?” the words so quietly terrified you can’t believe they’re your own. There’s no way this is part of the attraction. Just no way anyone would program this to grab patrons so violently. This was something all too wrong and all too real. 

Without warning or hesitation the creature uses your throat as leverage to slam you against the wall, there’s no room for protest or struggling, it’s power is inhumanly strong. You cry out when your body hits the concrete, its unfeeling coolness stark contrast to the fretful heat coming from you. The robot’s head cranes down above yours, a subtle clicking alerting you to every slight movement. You’re winded, energy trickling down your face as tears when you’re dawned to the terrifying conclusion that you’re trapped.

It finally answers you, the raspy voice coiling your stomach in fear. “Your worst fucking nightmare.” The creature must hear you sob in response because again it- he laughs, it’s cold and mocking. Only stopping when he takes the time to parrot your desperate fearful noises back at you, making himself laugh again. It’s becoming clear to you that this must be a person, someone inside this awful thing, an employee gone rogue, trying to scare the living daylights out of people stupid enough to break in… maybe. But that voice…

“You’re hurting me.” You choke out, unsure of what you’re trying to accomplish. Internally reasoning that people have empathy and people can be talked down, you hope that he’ll let you go but it seems more and more unlikely by the second. The hand on the back of your head flexes, tangling in your hair and yanking your head upwards so you can glimpse him out of the corner of your eyes and the sight is just awful. 

The inexpressive face comes close as the man inside hisses through the rabbit mask, “You don’t know the meaning of hurt.”  

“Look,” you whimper, “I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have come here.” The words are near incomprehensible through your tears. “God, I shouldn’t have come here…” You repeat, body convulsing under the monster’s grip. Your crying is loud in the corridor, echoing off the hard floors and mirroring the heartbreaking sound back at you. You're lost in it for a couple of seconds whilst this thing seems to just enjoy the sound, before the air is knocked from your lungs by the creature’s hand trailing down the arch of your back, all the way down to your behind where he grabs a hard handful of your flesh. It’s so unexpected that you just stare at what you can see of him over your shoulder, now silently shaking. The action turns your stomach, it doesn’t hurt but it’s rough and riddled with intent. 

His other hand moves, turning you around before again shoving you to the wall and caging you in with his massive frame, using that insane strength to push you down to your knees. “No,” He almost coos, “You shouldn’t have. But don’t worry… I won’t let you go to waste.” 

Whilst you're still making sense of the words, the monster grabs itself at the waist, huge fingers prying between the metal plates and rummaging until he frees his very human and very real penis. You don't want this and the disdain is evident in your eyes, but a dark part of you thinks that to please him will make him let you go. He holds himself before you, there's no illusion even with the suit that he's huge and the thought scares you.

The metallic hand in your hair pulls your head towards him and you obey, fear making you compliant. He smears himself against your lips, precum already leaking from his tip and laying warm on your face. He doesn't have to tell you to open your mouth, the rough tilting of your head is enough, and you hesitantly part your lips, flinching when he yanks you towards him. Your eyes involuntarily close when he shoves his cock in your mouth, he doesn't hold back, pushing himself as far in your throat as he can before you gag, your hands frenzied grabbing at the creature's hips. He pulls back for a moment before shoving back in repeatedly, forcing your jaw open to accept him each time. 

He grunts, burying himself inside your throat and holding you still. "You'll have to do better than that, if you're scared of me hurting you." The snarl in his voice makes your eyes wide with realisation of what he wants. You obey without question, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him as good as you can, his grip relenting enough to let you. Swirling your tongue on the underside of his shaft with only the goal of getting this over with as soon as possible. It’s like he knows and the huge hand in your hair slows your movement, forcing you to take him slow and deep, revelling in the feeling of your hot mouth and the frantic way your eyes dart around. 

The salty taste of his big cock stirs you, and each time he uses your mouth it makes your heat betray the pain of his brutal hold. It’s instinctual and even though your mind is against it your body is reacting. Trying to push the conflicting feelings from your mind you continue sucking, an eagerness spurring you on when he groans, he’s close, you can tell from the leniency in his grip. But just as you’re getting your hopes up that he’s going to finish, he pulls your lips from him, making you look up at the terrifying form above you. The sudden dread that sizzles through you is inexplicable, it’s almost as though you forgot how horrifying this costume was and the reminder shocks your core. 

You look so frightened kneeling there, your pupils tiny and your lips still parted, saliva dripping down your chin that underneath the mask he smirks cruelly, the action painful enough to make his cock twitch. With how warm and slick your mouth was, he can only imagine how tight your little cunt is going to be, fuck it’s been so long since he last broke a pretty thing like you. He’s going to savour it. 

“Stand up.” The monster commands, the raspy voice insanely harsh. You obey without question your legs trembling as all trace of hope leaves you, all chance of this ending any time soon trickled between your legs. As soon as you reach your feet his large hand grabs your shoulder shoving you forwards, back towards that old guard’s office you left only minutes ago, but it felt like years. Stumbling through the doorway, the brief idea of running flashes through your mind, but you’re too scared, you don’t want to make what this man was going to do worse. 

You don’t have the chance anyway, with crazy strength he catches your arm, forcing your body down onto the desk in front of you. A pathetic whimper leaves your lips at the rough action, your whole body still shaking. Once he has you where he wants you, the creature’s huge hands rake over your body, no gentleness or intimacy in his touch, just pure malicious lust. He gabs at your breasts, fingers digging harshly into the sensitive skin, then roughly pulling up the fabric of your shirt, so roughly the material tears. You’d be cold if not for the raging adrenaline in your veins. At the sight of your naked torso the mascot bears down on you, no emotion in its dead eyes, “Such a stupid girl, coming here, getting yourself in trouble. Is this what you wanted, huh?” To punctuate the question he takes hold of your face, squeezing your cheeks so that you let out a shaky gasp. 

You wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling against the hold that was making your teeth hurt, but he doesn’t move an inch. At your silence he grabs your left tit pinching your nipple so hard your body raises from the desk to try and escape it. “Huh?” He snarls again. And you try to shake your head, but with no way to move you’re forced to speak. 

“No-o.” Your voice cracks, your answer making the creature above you grind his cock against your thigh, the godforsaken suit preventing him from touching himself, his own unique fucking torture. His mocking spurs a sudden surge of fight  and sees your legs rise and kick hard at his chest, the dull thud of striking metal echoing in the dark room. It’s useless, and his laughing is only proof. He holds your legs against his chest with one hand, using the other to tug down your legging and the panties you were wearing underneath, taking them completely from your body and discarding them on the dirty floor. 

Looking down at your wet cunt he near growls, such a slick little fucktoy that walked right into his grasp. Cold metallic fingers trace over your entrance, pulling your folds apart to see the trembling of your hole, your unwanted wetness coating his fingers. You hate yourself for being aroused but maybe it’s for the best, maybe it’ll make this more bearable. You quiver when his digit pokes inside you the costume fingers large enough to stretch you open when he sinks in, you groan the invasion pressing against a coil in your core. Seeing how your pussy swallowed his finger so well, tight around him when he fucked it in and out made him pull away, needing his hands to hold your thighs down as he rubbed the head of his dick against your entrance. Desperate to feel the grip of your walls on one of the only parts of him that remained intact. 

He shoves into you roughly, forcing your walls to accept him, all air in your lungs leaving in a suffered groan. He’s thick and long and pushing to the hilt you feel more than full, like he was taking you over, touching all of you at once. The stretch burned but the pain quickly dulled when he began rutting into you, a selfishly brutal pace that had you helplessly gasping. He fucks you as deep as the suit will allow him, the waist of the costume slamming into your hips so hard the desk thudded against the floor. 

It’s like you’re outside of your body looking at the scene, feeling his hands move to lift your body from the desk, holding you and manipulating the angle of his pounding to suit him. Shoving into the part of you that makes you scream and your juices spill around the base of his cock. It doesn't feel real, but at the same time is brutally so an unwilling pleasure seizing hold of you and making you clench around his length. He groans,not stopping his pace as you begin to flutter around him, what a filthy fucking thing you are to enjoy this, he thinks, the thought making him fuck you harder. Forceful thrusts that quickly beginning to stutter as the monster nears his end, bursting inside you like an animal and stuffing you full of him. You’re dirty, used and broken, letting the cum seep around him, dripping down onto the desk. 

He holds you still for what feels like hours before dropping you down onto the slick tabletop, leaving you to crumple on the floor. There’s no coherent thoughts in your mind, just a frightening emptiness as you get to your knees and crawl over to where he threw your clothes, hands shaking as you try to gather them up. He chuckles at your form, bruises already beginning to show on your hips and thighs, before slowly walking to you, a cold metal foot shoving you over, your body thudding into the floor. 

“Now, where do you think you’re going?”

A/n: Here it is. My second Hallowe'en event, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed. I know this is very different to the kind of thing I usually write, but heck, why not try something new. X

Stay tuned for my third fic!

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

This might be rather vague, but could I request a Bucky fic based around the sentence “please don’t make me lie to you”?

The Truth » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America and Sam Wilson/Falcon

Summary: Bucky tells you the truth about who he really is.

Warnings: mix of Fluff and Angst, language, crying, kissing, use of pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵 also I imagined this took place during Captain America: Civil War.

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

“Can one of you explain what the hell just happened?” You say, looking at Steve and Sam.

Steve and Sam looked at each other before looking back at you. Steve desperately wanted to tell you, but it’s not his place to say. You kept looking at them, waiting for one of them to say something. Your attention was quickly turned to Bucky when he groaned as he started to wake up.

“Bucky, baby.” You immediately went over to him and hugged him.

“Doll…” Bucky wrapped his right arm around your wand held you against him. “Steve…” He looks up at Steve.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asks.

“Your mom’s name is Sarah and you used to wear newspaper in your shoes.” Bucky says.

“Can’t read that in a museum.” Steve says.

“Like that, we’re supposed to be cool?” Sam says.

“What did I do?” Bucky asks, looking at Sam.

“You didn’t do anything, baby.” You say, caressing his stubbly cheek.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Steve spoke up.

“Buck, does she know?” Steve asks him.

“Know what?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “What’s he talking about, babe?” You asked, looking at Bucky.

Bucky looked down, feeling ashamed that he never told you the truth about who he really is.

“You never told your girl?” Sam says.

“Sam…” Steve warns. “We’ll give you two some time alone.” He says, walking away with Sam following behind him.

You and Bucky were left in silence. Bucky couldn’t look you in the eye. He was nervous to tell you the truth and he hoped that he didn’t have to tell you, but here you guys are. Bucky kept this from you for a reason and that’s to protect you and cause he loves you so much.

“Bucky, what were your friends talking about?” You asked.

Bucky was quiet for a moment longer before he looked at you.

“Please don’t make me lie to you.” He says, his voice cracking.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” You say.

Bucky took a deep breath before saying anything.

“I’m the Winter Soldier.” He flat out said.

“Who or what is the Winter Soldier?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

“Me.” He repeats. “These people called HYDRA found me the Alps in the 40s, gave me a metal arm, and trained me to become an assassin for them.” He explains.

You took a step back, trying to process what Bucky just said.

“Babydoll, say something.” He says, his eyes tearing up.

“All this time, I thought you were someone who showed up on my doorstep injured for almost a year ago when you possibly could’ve killed me.” You say.

“No!” He quickly said. “I would never hurt you. I would never forget myself if I did hurt you. You have to believe me.” He says.

You faced away from him and walked away from him. Bucky managed to get his metal arm free and follow you. He gently grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You shout, yanking your arm out of his grip.

Bucky took a step back, not wanting to make you more mad than you already are.

“You really think I would hurt you?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Bucky.” Your eyes teared up. “We’ve been dating for almost a year and you’re just now telling me the truth about who you really are.” You say.

Tears rolled down your cheeks. You didn’t want to cry and look weak in front of Bucky, but you couldn’t help it. It’s like a dam broke loose. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him as you cried in his arms, your tears soaking his henley.

“I love you more than anything, doll. Please know that.” Bucky says in a whisper.

“I know.” You sniffled, looking up at him. “I love you too.” You say, looking in his beautiful blue eyes.

Bucky’s right hand caressed your cheek, his thumb softly rubbing against your skin. He leaned down and kissed you passionately. Your lips moved in sync with his.

“Please don’t leave me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He says, pulling away from your lips.

“I’m not.” You whispered. “I love you too much to leave you.” You kissed his lips. “Don’t ever keep the truth from me again.” You say.

“I won’t. I promise.” He says against your lips.

Steve and Sam walked in the room at the wrong time.

“Sorry to break up your moment, but if we’re going to do this, we need a plan.” Steve says.

“I know a guy.” Sam says, looking at Steve.

“Count me in.” You say.

From then on out, Bucky told you the truth about everything. No matter how bad his past was, he still told you. He loves you too much to lose you.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[bots-and-cons]

TFP bots of your choice reacting to an earthborn bot. This would have some interesting implications given the fact they would likely, like humanity, be considered an 'offspring' or 'spawn' of Unicron or at least have a connection to him due to being earthborn. They also likely wouldn't have any idea of cybertron or cybertronian history and would be one of the youngest bots, probably younger than even bumble bee. All of this is wildly interesting conceptually to me.

This is an interesting idea, I’ll give you that. Idk if I executed this very well though, and I don’t remember all the details of the episodes I set this in. These ended up pretty damn long for HCs, but I don’t think you guys will mind. I’ll try to do a part 2 to this later, there’s probably gonna be more interactions with the bots in that one

•Unicron made you or you were born of him at least, you’re not really sure yourself

•You’re still young and you don’t know about anything the life outside unicron

•You were born in the earth’s core so you’ve always lived inside unicron 

•The dark energon doesn’t affect you like it does cybertronians, since it’s all you’ve ever had in your body, it’s just normal to you

•If you were to use normal energon though, that might have some adverse effects

•Those flying things that work as unicron’s defense system, are also protective of you, because they consider you to be a part of him

•But when they suddenly start acting strange and all heading in the same direction, you decide to follow them

•You always thought there wasn’t anyone like you, because you’d never seen anyone else and you had no idea a place like Cybertron even existed

•So when you see a group of five robots walking around on one of the bridges, with the flying creatures attacking them

•You keep an eye on them, following the group as they advance towards the core

•You’re very interested in where these fellow robots could’ve come from, there must be another place, a place with others like you

•So you followed them and when they got to the door of the core chamber the yellow one noticed you while he was looking around

•He didn’t shoot at you, but he alerted the others to your presence

•You were too curious about them to try to get away, because you wanted to go with them, you wanted to see what else was out there

•Maybe they would take you with them?

•Bee was obviously pretty spooked to see another cybertronian in a place where it was supposed to be impossible

•You didn’t seem to be affected by the dark energon either, even though you looked younger than him and smaller too

•You slowly came out from behind a pillar and approached the group

•They were all shocked to see you and when they noticed you had purple optics everyone but Megatron was on guard

•He doesn’t think you could possibly be a threat, you look small and weak

•You’re actually much stronger than the average cybertronian due to the dark energon, but you’ve never had a point of comparison so you wouldn’t know that

•Arcee was probably the most on guard, because she figured you were another unicron manifestation or something

•You want to ask them so many things, but the flying guard creatures don’t leave them alone, so you command them to do so, which they do even if hesitantly

•You’re not exactly into the idea that they’re going to hurt your creator, but you’re also very keen on getting to whatever else is out there

•Optimus approaches you first, asking if you’re okay

•You look at him a bit weirdly and tell him “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

•You talk in cybertronian instead of english, since that’s what unicron knew and what you know too

•They can all understand you of course, but you also speak sort of weirdly and in an old-ish way compared to how they would speak cybertronian

•You’re not going to be able to hold back the guards forever, you can already feel them resisting, trying to break free

•So the consensus amongst the autobots is something like “what in the name of primus is this?”

•Megatron doesn’t really care, he just wants to get the job done and get unicron back to stasis

•You don’t even know where to start with your questions, but the situation changes and unicron takes control of the guards and the fighting continues

•You eventually end up following the remaining autobots through a whirling hole in space, after the two bigger mechs disappear through the same kind of portal

•You’re in some other place now, surrounded by the robots that are all now pointing their blasters at you

•And there are some weird looking little creatures on a platform next to you

[imagine-darksiders]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart.

Chapter 23 - Evading Sunrise.

Summary: Who better to know what a human needs than one who used to be human themselves?

[I'm still alive! Woo! Just overwrought! I'm playing in a sold-out show from Jan 16th and rehearsals have been 1900 to 2300 every night, bar the weekend, so my writing time is greatly diminished. I've also recently come into the family business, which isn't what I thought I'd be doing with my life, but hey-ho, I haven't got any other option, so I'm also bogged down with learning that whole setup. These little moments where I can write and read all your kind, encouraging comments are becoming more and more precious to me. xxx]

---------------

There is a kindness that the Universe could easily grant you, were it so inclined. Just a small thing, effortless even, hardly a difficult feat for the Powers that be, if They had so much as a shred of empathy.

The Universe has taken much from you, and were it a little kinder, it would take one last thing.

… It would take your ability to dream.

Death knows all too well that for as long as humans have been unwitting players on the cosmic chess board, they’ve been left to stand utterly alone, un-helped and unacknowledged by an indifferent Creator.

Why should you be the exception?

Why should you be granted a tiny mercy by the very Being who gave you a mind to dream with in the first place?

It just seems an unnecessary cruelty, the Horseman supposes, that your own biology should stand in the way of your respite.

It’s been several, long hours since you rolled over and eloped into the un-waking world, and Death has only moved as far as the door, leaning his weight back against the bone-dry wood with an air of resignation that his journey is to be paused until sunrise, at the very earliest. No matter… There’s little sense facing the Chancellor’s dreaded ‘Champion’ in the dark, after all.

You might have smirked and called him paranoid about the rigid stance he’s taken in front of the room’s only entrance, but the soft yet not-so-silent footfalls that keep approaching the door reaffirm his decision.

He doesn’t know if it’s the Blademaster sniffing about or some other undead who has come to gawk at the living, breathing human in their midst, but there’s something undoubtedly amusing about feeling wood push against his spine for a few seconds before the presence on the other side meets the resistance of a Horseman’s immoveable body weight.

What follows is the distinct sound of those same footsteps hurrying off down the corridor, making every attempt to be stealthy, but failing miserably.

It would be less amusing if any of their attempts were to wake you up. In fact, the only reason Death hasn’t ripped the door open and threatened to skewer the nosy stranger is currently sound asleep just a few feet away from whatever ruckus that would cause.

Or you were sound asleep. At least until a few minutes ago.

Death’s forefingers tap aimlessly against his bicep as he frowns down at your face. You’ve scrunched your features up into a tight grimace, nose wrinkling and the corners of your mouth twisted south towards your chin.

You’re still asleep. Just not soundly.

The pitiable whimpers you’ve been uttering for a while now indicate a troubled mind, though the Horseman can’t say he’s surprised. It’s disappointing, to be sure. He’d have thought you’d be far too exhausted to be plagued by dreams tonight, yet evidently, you’re not that fortunate. Which is a crying shame, because while Death doesn’t believe in luck per-se, he thinks that if such a thing were to exist, you’re more than overdue.

“Hmm, mnn,” you murmur through closed lips, tossing your head to the right.

Above you on the headboard, Dust retrieves his beak from under an ebony wing and cocks a gaze at you, crooning out a soft, inquiring noise from his throat.

“Shhh,” Death breathes, earning a sleepy glare from the crow, though he does at least fall silent, contenting himself to simply watch as you throw a hand out to one side and clench your fist around an invisible force.

“….Mmn, eye…,” you mutter through slightly parted lips.

‘Eye?’ Death’s brow knots under his mask, yet he isn’t left wondering for long.

“… Eideard?” you suddenly croak, “… C’m’back!”

Ah… So that’s where your head is at.

Lowering his eyes to the ratty blanket, Death releases a sigh that’s been building in his chest for a few minutes now.

Your legs have been steadily working to kick the covers off the bed, never settling, as if you’re trying to run from something.

The clack of a beak draws the Horseman’s gaze once again to Dust, who now has a rather expectant look aimed his way.

Death can’t help but be reminded of that night in Tri Stone, when he’d remained stolidly outside on the bench whilst you stifled your sobs in the Makers’ Forge.

He recalls that Dust had been rather scathing about his inaction. The Horseman hadn’t cared for the bird’s judgement then, and he’s even less appreciative now.

What is he supposed to do? Wake you? At least if you’re dreaming, you’re getting some rest.

Sleep, he’s learned, is something that’s essential to a human’s sustained survival.

Not for the first time, he considers the benefits of having an empty chest, hardened and calcified through centuries of existing in an indifferent universe.

It means he has nothing to steel when you suddenly fling yourself over onto your side with your mouth hanging open, releasing a short, hitching sob that catches in your throat, and an arm that stretches out towards something unseen by the Horseman, your fingers spreading rigidly until they quake with the strain.

… The gentling of Death’s expression goes unnoticed, even by him.

He’s nearly shocked when his boot slides forwards ever so slightly, scraping across the floorboards as if to carry him away from the door and towards you.

Pausing, he cocks a brow down at his own leg, half expecting it to explain itself.

What he doesn’t expect – but perhaps should have – is the loud and jarring gasp that suddenly floods into the little human on the bed with the frantic desperation of one who’s been underwater for far too long, and you’ve only just managed to reach the surface to take a breath before your lungs collapse.

Death’s eyes flick towards you just in time to witness your silhouette lurching up off the mattress, a garbled shout tumbling from your lips as you clutch feverishly at your chest.

“Karn!?” you blurt out, whipping your head back and forth to search through the darkness of Draven’s quarters for a maker who isn’t there.

It would be easy for Death to remain still and silent, to wait until whatever grasp your nightmare still has on you to finally slip loose on its own… He needn’t step in.

It would be easy…

“…Hhh…” Grousing silently to himself, the Horseman pushes away from the door and takes a decisive step towards you before he can begin to overthink his actions.

“Y/n,” he mutters, not loud enough to be startling, but just loud enough to catch your attention.

Even still, you flinch, whirling your torso in his direction and letting your hazy eyes land on the pale, ghostly mask looming above you in the dark.

For several seconds, you merely stare up at Death, the hand on your chest crumpling your shirt as you gather the flimsy fabric into a tight fist.

Death doesn’t elect to break the silence again. After another moment or two of watching you gulp down another lungful of stale air, his patience pays off, and you swallow thickly, croaking, “Death?”

The Horseman’s chin dips down. “Yes.”

“Is… Karn here?” Your voice sounds so fragile, poisoned by a grain of hope.

Going very still, Death allows a beat to pass, giving himself time to think of an answer.

Perhaps… you think you’re still in a dream.

Quietly, he offers a concise response, one that hopefully doesn’t cause you any more distress whilst bringing you further out of the idea that this isn’t real. “Karn…” he begins, “…remained in the Forge Lands.”

He watches you physically deflate. Not from relief though. Relief doesn’t douse the sleepy kindling of hope that had momentarily lit the contours of your face.

Solemn, a little more awake, you slowly ask, “Is… Eideard…. Is he…?”

“… Gone,” is Death’s only reply.

A breath shudders out of you as you let your gaze drift down to your fingers, twining over themselves in twists and knots. “Oh…” you breathe, “I… thought I…” But your sentence trails off before you can finish it.

So, Death says it for you. “You thought you saw him,” he ventures, “In a dream.”

And with that, whatever strings have been holding you taut are promptly cut, sending you flopping back onto Draven’s mattress with a sorrowful ‘whump,’ still very much awake and positively quaking hard enough to cause the wooden bed frame to shudder in tandem.

That’s the thing about dreams, Death supposes, after a point, they’re the perfect nesting ground for ghosts.

His brother, Strife, would confide in him, many eons ago, that he could still see the faces of their fallen brethren behind his eyelids whenever he tried to rest. Death had only told him that it would pass, if given the time to. He hadn’t the gall to tell Strife that he too could see those same, hateful eyes and blood-filled mouths just as clearly.  

Eideard isn’t the only person you’ve lost. He’s said it before, but it bears repeating; you’ve also lost your family, your friends and every other human on Earth.

Your dreams, much like Death’s, are full of ghosts.

Drawing your hands up towards your face, you press the heel of each palm to your eyelids and grind down hard until a kaleidoscope of colour sparks to life across your vision, not unlike fireworks blooming across a cold, November sky.

Shakily, you blow out a dry, unsteady whoosh of air and groan, “Fuck…”

Death purses his lips, privately concurring with your brief assessment of the situation.

Then, in a motion that’s steeped in tiredness, you drag your focus back over to the Horseman, rolling your head to the side and adding, “You’re still here…”

“Yes, I’m still here,” he utters, quiet as a breath, only to balk at the dulcet quality in his tone. Clearing his throat to rid it of the uninvited tenderness, he promptly tacks on, “I told you; someone has to keep an eye on Dust.”

Damp-cheeked, you crane your neck back to send an upside-down glance at the crow roosting on the headboard above you.

A single, glossy eyeball stares back.

You’re fairly confident that Dust hasn’t done a damn thing to warrant any of Death’s baseless assumptions.

With your gaze still locked on the bird, you sigh, “You two can go, if you want to…”

At that, the Horseman knows he’s going to refuse before he even gives you a verbal response.

This isn’t the first time you’ve offered him an ‘out,’ a convenient excuse for him to duck from the room and escape the burden of bearing witness to your downward spiral.

You’re asking, in as quiet a hint as you can manage, for the privacy to cry without an audience.

… If it weren’t for the mysterious footsteps padding about outside…

“It would be in your best interest for me to stay,” he offers, earning a weary sigh from your side of the room, as if you’ve by now figured it would never be that easy to get rid of him.

Already, his keen eyes have picked out the slightest gleam of tears gathering behind your lashes. The next breath you try to draw in sticks to the back of your throat, yet before your face can crumple completely, you roll yourself over onto your opposite side, facing the wall – deliberately angling your body away from the Horseman, who watches on in silence as you hike your shoulders up towards your ears.

Drawing his brows together underneath the mask, Death glides silently closer to your bed and peers down at the human-shaped lump quivering under the covers.

 All is quiet for a time, until at last…

“… I’m sorry.” Your words seep out of you in a thick, watery whisper. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

‘You didn’t sign up for me,’ goes unspoken, but somehow the idea still hangs between you both like cold, falling snow.

It seems an odd thing to say, Death muses, considering that in a sense, he did sign up for this. Hell, he all but stamped his signature on that contract when he carried you through the portal to the Crowfather’s realm.

“Well… Neither did you…” he returns truthfully as he turns around and sinks onto the mattress at the foot of the bed, draping each forearm over a knee. The old wood doesn’t even creak as he settles down, nor does the straw bend beneath his illogical weight, much like the desert sand hadn’t swallowed him up to his calves as it had yours.

He hears the blanket rustle behind him as you twist your neck around to spare him a glance over your shoulder. If you’re at all shocked to find him suddenly sitting so close to you, you’re either too tired or too polite to say a word about it.

So, you turn back to the wall without comment, and although you attempt to bring a hand up to press a sweat-slicked palm across your mouth, such a meagre covering of skin isn’t enough to contain the grief that starts to pour out of you.

But just as you’d offered Death the unquestioned freedom to seek vicinity to you, the Horseman doesn’t try to interrupt or diminish this sombre moment with talk or awkward attempts at comfort.

It stirs a memory in him, of a much younger Nephilim, trudging through a silent, windswept battlefield alongside the only other three who had escaped the Battle for Eden. Not a word was said between them as they left the dead behind, but Death had offered them proximity as well. They said nothing of it, they hadn’t even accused him of hovering. There was an unspoken understanding, in that instant, one that passed silently between all four of them; Death would be there if they needed him.

With a slow blink, the memory fades, and he’s left frowning gently at the dull, rotten wood of the wall adjacent to your bed.

You’re an intelligent human… He wonders if you’ll be able to infer what he’s doing by sitting at the edge of your bed. Death may be many things, but he is not cheerful by nature, and cannot thusly cause cheer in others. He can only sit. And wait. Listening, watching, offering freedom from interference, both from himself and others who would seek to disturb you now when you need to grieve.

Dust, predictably, affords your need for privacy about as much consideration as could be expected from a bird. That is, none whatsoever.

A sleepy caw is all the warning both you and Death receive before the crow hops down off the headboard and lands on your pillow with a soft rustle of feathers.

Of course, you flinch, but Dust – undeterred – simply invites himself into the space between you and the wall, strutting surefootedly over the rumpled blankets until he reaches your chest.

Exasperated, Death opens his mouth and is about to openly scold the crow when Dust turns himself about until the tip of his sharp, grey beak is pointed down at your sombre face.

If you’re at all worried about having it so close to your eyeballs, you don’t show it, though Death knows the corvid well enough to recognise that Dust would never hurt his new human friend who coddles and praises him like it’s going out of fashion.

Birds…

“H-hey,” you warble miserably, swiping at your eyes with the back of a wrist and trying to pluck up the willpower to give a tear-blurred Dust your most convincing smile, “Hey, boy. Sorry, did I wake you up?”

In response, the crow cocks his head at you, and follows up with a gentle croon that raises the small, downy feathers on his throat. Then, without bothering to give any sort of warning as to his intentions, Dust gives his beak a single clack and stretches out his neck, gathering up a few strands of hair around your forehead and dragging them through his beak as if to smooth them into place.

Death almost slaps a palm to his mask.

You can’t help yourself. A wet giggle blurts out of you, momentarily disrupting Dust’s ministrations. He croaks down at you flatly before returning to his task of taking your hair and grooming it with a gentle beak.

“Dust!” you blubber out another laugh, reaching up to try and dissuade the crow by pushing your hand into his feathered breast. For your trouble, he pulls away and administers a soft nip to your knuckle, barely strong enough for you to feel it.

Offering him a watery smile, you prop yourself up onto an elbow, and in one, smooth motion, you raise your free arm and scoop the bird against your chest, burying your nose into the ebony plumage right between his wings. He’s large, far larger than any crow you’ve ever seen on Earth, so it’s more akin to hugging a small dog than any kind of corvid….

Wow… You miss dogs…

As if he can sense your sudden spike of anguish for a species who was likely wiped out alongside your own, the crow nuzzles his head under your chin, tailfeathers flicking back and forth several times as he contents himself with his new position.

Death’s brows shoot up his forehead at the display, wondering how he could have missed the moment you and his crow forged this bond without him even noticing. Was it during the brief few hours when Absalom pulled him into the Tree of Life?

Or perhaps it was always there, and he just hasn’t been paying attention.

“Of all the crows I could have been saddled with,” he gripes under his breath, aiming a half-hearted scowl at the little he can see of Dust’s beak poking out over your shoulder, “It would be the one without a single ounce of pride.”

“Oh, leave him alone,” you sniff, your voice muffled by sleek, black feathers, “He’s trying to cheer me up.”

The Horseman grumbles something to himself, then raises his voice to huff, “He has to be good for something, I suppose.”

When you don’t reply beyond giving a click of your tongue, Death hesitates, his eyes roaming in every direction except for your face as he clears his throat and asks, “Is it… ah, working?”

There’s a speculative pause, interspersed with the odd sniffle as you take a moment to calm yourself down and recover from the embarrassment of once again crying in front of the sepulchral Death.

At last, you take in a deep, weary breath and pull your nose from Dust’s back, gazing warmly down at the crow. “Yeah,” you decide with a small nod as he pulls his beak from under your chin and peers back at you, “Yeah, it’s working.”

If only a little, but sometimes a little is just enough.

Dust’s head swings around to peer at Death over your shoulder, smugger than a bird has any business being.

The heartache of waking up to a world without Eideard in it is just as fresh as the heartache you feel when you open your eyes and remember your world is gone. That sort of grief, unquantifiable, is hard to shift by the efforts of one, friendly crow, no matter how noble his intentions.

But for Dust’s sake, you try to shoulder the sorrow a touch more easily, even going so far as to sit up properly, still holding the bird to your chest and giving him a gentle squeeze. It’s a word of thanks, silent but poignant. Slowly, you place the crow down on the mattress beside you.

This time it’s your turn to clear your throat. Scrubbing tiredly at your eyes, you untuck your legs from the scratchy blanket and roll them over the side of the bed, pulling yourself forwards until you’re sitting beside Death, hands clasped daintily in your lap.

Amber eyes flick sideways and find in the gloom that your cheeks are still damp and blotchy from shedding so many tears.

Behind you, Dust flutters back up onto the headboard, head held high and proud, pleased with himself for a job well-done, and feeling he’s absolutely deserved another nap.

You breathe a sigh, holding it in your lungs and then blowing it all out again, glad to hear that it’s devoid of further tremors. “So… I don’t suppose we can pretend you didn’t hear any of that?”

Death half turns his torso towards you and replies, “Any of what?”

Without thought, you smile appreciatively and lean across the bed, giving the Horseman’s thigh a companionable pat. “Good man.”

It seems as soon as you touch him, you’re pulling away again, the moment passing too quickly for you to feel the way his leg jumps underneath your palm.

Death’s eyes are wide beneath his mask and affixed to the spot on his thigh you’d just touched without ceremony, without a single remark, like it was an entirely normal thing to do.

Certainly, you’ve touched Death before, and he’s touched you out of necessity, mostly. But here, in this dingy room belonging to an undead, the Nephilim takes particular note of the casual gesture, and he’s once again reminded of who and what he is, and what an outlier you are to touch the Reaper without fear.

Is that all it takes? Pretending he hadn’t heard you pour your grief out onto a stranger’s pillow makes him a good man?

Is that… how you see him…?

No. It was just another throwaway comment, meant to lighten the solemn mood that had taken hold of the room.

For a distracted moment, Death wonders if he can really feel the warmth of your skin through the leather of his trousers, or if it’s just a figment of his imagination. Whatever it is, it robs him of any witty remarks that might slip out to disrupt this tender moment.

A good man…

“You should try going back to sleep,” he offers absently, tearing his eyes off his leg to look down at you. The imagined warmth in his thigh has travelled to his chest, which is odd, given that you didn’t lay your hand anywhere near it.

Heaving a sigh, you ask, “How long do you think until sunrise?”

“Mm, at least another several Earth hours,” he says, “Plenty of time still to rest.”

Your fingers clench into fists around the blanket beneath you. “Plenty of time to dream…”

The old Nephilim’s mask turns to face you properly, eyes of liquid gold and sunset orange illuminating the darkness of his sockets. “Dreams cannot hurt you,” he says with conviction, partly because he knows they can’t, and partly because nothing, not even a nightmare could hurt you with a Horseman keeping watch.

“But they can make you sad…” you point out.

Hesitating, he has to take a second to remember that sadness can be potent enough to hurt a human. “I suppose they can,” he concedes reluctantly.

“That hurts, sometimes,” you whisper, drawing your knees up onto the bed and folding your arms around them, clinging tightly, eyes downcast to the floor, “Waking up and realising the people in them aren’t here anymore.”

Shifting his weight to prop a hand on one knee, he leans forwards so that he can meet your faraway gaze. “That pain will fade, given time,” he offers, echoing a conversation eons past.

After a second, your eyes slide sideways and align with his, and he can’t deny the glimmer of triumph that raises his chin at the sight of your gentle smile.

“I hope you’re right, Death,” you reply, “I really do.”

“You’ll find I’m not often wrong twice in as many days.” He’s referring to his… miscalculation with the heart stones and the Guardian, of course.

Did that really only happen yesterday?

“Cocky,” you snort, swiping a finger under the still damp corner of your eye, “Nice to know great, big Horsemen can make mistakes too though.”

“Is it?” he scoffs. He’d have thought it’d be daunting that the Nephilim whose charge you find yourself under isn’t actually as infallible as he’d like to claim.

“Yeah,” you hum, giving him a thoughtful look, “I guess to err isn’t just human, after all.”

Death waits, bracing himself to balk, to feel a spike of offence run through his veins at being told he shares a – rather undesirable – quality with humans. He waits, and feels-

… Nothing. No contempt. No disdain or disappointment. Maybe just a touch of surprise.

“I’m gonna miss them,” you murmur, derailing the Horseman’s train of thought.

“The makers?”

“Everyone,” you stress, “The makers, Blackroot, Warden…”

Coughing lightly into a fist, Death has to peel his eyes away to avoid looking at you when he says, “I’m sure they’ll be…. of a similar mindset.” Honesty, vulnerability, words that have real significance don’t come so easily to the Horseman. If they did, he’d tell you that those makers are going to miss you more than you could possibly know.

Chewing on your lip, you idly kick an ankle against the side of the bed and ask, “Do you think I’ll ever see them again?”

In response, Death huffs out a short, soft laugh, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “Do I think you’ll see them again?” he echoes, “Y/n, I’m almost certain of it.”

“… Wait. Seriously?”

“Don’t I seem serious?” he blinks languidly.

“Yeah, it’s just… that sounded like optimism. And coming from you, that’s… I mean…” Squinting through the dark at him, you fold your hands in your lap and ask, “Are you feeling all right?”

The Horseman’s lips quirk up, though his voice retains a gruff and unimpressed melody as his shoulders jump with a brusque harrumph. “You must be feeling better if you’re already poking fun,” he grouses, assessing the miniscule glow of humour tucked around the corners of your mouth.

“I am, actually,” you shrug, flicking a glance over his mask and tipping your head with a knowing smile, “Maybe Dust isn’t the only one who’s good at cheering me-“

Three, gentle knocks on a nearby surface of wood break through your sentence like hammer blows ringing off an anvil.

From one blink to the next, the Horseman is inexplicably on his feet, flinging a strong, sinewy arm out in front of you, all at once alert and suspicious, whilst behind him, you scramble off the bed with far less grace, fighting to find stability for a moment before you square your feet and send a wary glance over his appendage at the room’s entrance.

“Hello?” you call, swiping furiously at your cheeks to rid them of what little trace of tears might still cling to your skin.

Death doesn’t turn to face you, but you’d be hard-pressed to miss the disgruntled sigh that slips out from under his mask at your tactical blunder.

You’ve all but announced that you – a human, need you be reminded – are in here.

A voice from outside calls out, muffled behind the thick layer of wood. “… Lady - Ah, I mean, Y/n?”

The tension doesn’t seem to drain out of Death nearly as fast as it drains out of you.

Draven.

Before the Horseman can stop you, you’ve already ducked underneath his arm, reaching up to distractedly smooth down your bedhead as you call out, “Oh, Draven, uh, coming!”

You hear your name uttered in a growl behind you, but you wave off the ornery Nephilim with a flap of your hand, twisting about to face him as you make for the door, hissing, “It’s his room, Death. If he wants to come in here, he has every right to.”

Realising your hand is reaching to pull the door open, Death surges forward, intent on getting to it before you – ‘just in case,’ a voice at the back of his head whispers – but he doesn’t make it halfway to you when you grab the brass handle and tug the rotting wood towards you, letting dull, green light spill into the quarters and creep up the opposite wall.

A familiar silhouette looms in the doorway, framing the space with broad shoulders and a tattered shroud that’s been pulled low to half cover a skeletal, ghoulish face. From your angle, standing at least a foot and a half shorter than the figure, you can see up underneath his hood.

You regret your haste to open the door, simply because you aren’t at all ready to witness the grim and ghastly visage of the Blademaster this early in the morning, but you stamp down on the temptation to reel back, and instead school your expression into a friendly smile. “Hi, uh, again.”

Draven’s luminous, blue eyes flare brightly as soon as they land on your face. There’s something held between each of his hands, though you hardly spare them a glance because, ever the gentleman, he’s already halfway into a low, sweeping bow when he suddenly stops short, bent so that he’s staring you directly in the eye.

It’s decidedly unnerving to have so much scrutiny on you, especially when the undead’s jaw suddenly locks up tight and his browbone snaps together as if you’ve offended him somehow without even saying a word.

“Uh-“ you start to say, only to find yourself interrupted when Draven rises to his full height again, unfolding at the waist and aiming a frigid glare over the top of your head. Coincidentally, an icy presence appears at your spine, pressing in close enough that you notice the hairs on the back of your neck start to prickle.

 A growl rolls out through the gaps in the undead’s hollow cheeks. “Y/n,” he addresses you, his voice hard as stone, “Has this devil done you a discourtesy?”

“W…What?” you blurt.

Ferocity bleeds from his lipless mouth as he glares at the Horseman who drapes you in shadow, pale blue eyes aiming to douse the liquid fire hanging ominously in the darkness behind you.

“Her eyes are scarlet with salt,” he accuses.

Raising a hand to your face, you prod tenderly at the raw skin beneath your eyes and realise with a sinking sense of shame that you must still look like even more of a mess than you did when the Blademaster first saw you. “Oh, no. No, Draven, it’s fine,” you sigh, dragging a hand down your face, “Just… Look, it’s just been a rough night.”

The undead’s glower lifts the moment he rips his eyes off Death and returns it to you, his forehead puckering with concern. “But, you’re-“

“- I’m all right,” you reiterate, crooking one corner of your lips into a tight smile that all but pleads for him to drop the matter. You’re mortified enough.

The look on your face must be adequately pitiable, for Draven’s stance relaxes by a fraction, and as his arms slump from their guarded poise, you hear something clunk woodenly by his waist, rousing your curiosity and tempting you to lower your gaze to his hands.

If you thought you weren’t ready to see the Blademaster at your door, you’re doubly unprepared to see what he’s carrying.

Clearing your throat, you bob your chin at his hands and ask, “What’ve you got there?”

“Hmm?” Begrudgingly peeling away from the Horseman, Draven follows your line of sight, blinking down at a little wooden bowl and cup he’s clutching in each hand. Suddenly very sheepish, the undead ducks further into his green hood, “Forgive me, I was going to leave these by the door, but… then I heard voices.”

“And what were you doing skulking about so close to the door that you could hear us talk?” Death asks, hardly bothering to hide his accusatory tone.

You turn to give him a quick, pointed glare over your shoulder, one that he ignores.

“Just as I said, Horseman,” Draven retorts, “I thought the lady might be hungry, so…” He offers out the cup and bowl for you to see, giving you an apologetic look. “I’d have left it outside for you to find when you emerged, I… didn’t want to disturb you while you slept.”

Before you can reply, a voice at your back pipes up.

“You were going to leave it outside?” Death scoffs, “Where anyone could have tampered with it?”

Ignoring the Horseman, you peer down into the proffered crockery, your stomach gurgling eagerly as a waft of steam drifts from the bowl and rises into your nostrils. Never before would you have thought you’d be so excited about something so beige.

A simple, brown stew is balanced on one of Draven’s large palms, lumps of what you presume is meat bob about near the surface, and a single slice of fluffy, white bread floats at the centre, drawing a rather embarrassing flood of saliva to the front of your mouth. In his other hand, the small wooden cup is clasped like a chalice of ambrosia, though the only thing that wets its interior is crisp, clear water.

In your eyes, he may as well be holding out a gourmet dish that only the wealthiest of men would deign to touch.

“Draven,” you breathe in awe, reluctantly dragging your gaze off the food and peering up into the undead’s hollow face, “What’s all this for?”

Puzzled, he tilts his head at you, as thought the answer should be entirely obvious.

“It’s… for you,” he says, pressing the bowl and cup closer to your wringing hands, “I assumed you’d want to eat when you awoke. It’s not much, just some pottage I scrounged up.”

You begin to reach out, unfurling your fingers to take the unexpected gift when all of a sudden, chilly fingers wrap around your wrist, and before you can utter a sound, Death tugs you tidily back into the room, taking your place in the doorway, and peering down at the undead. “Where did you get it?” he asks, ignoring the disgruntled huff you aim at the back of his head, “Is this safe for human consumption?”

Draven’s lipless mouth pulls into a sneer. “Do you think me a fool?” he accuses.

“I think you an undead who we’ve only just met,” the Horseman replies coolly.

The Blademaster leans back on a heel, appraising Death with an expression that borders on impressed. “A fair point,” he concedes. Seconds later, Draven yields a nod. “It’s safe, Death. Believe it or not, the King entertains more than just the dead in his court, some of whom still rely on sustenance to get them through the day. Supplies are not as scarce as they would seem at first glance, and I may be far-removed from humanity, but I still remember my way around a cooking pot.”

Then, wordlessly, he holds the bowl and cup out towards the Horseman, tipping his head to one side with an expectant gleam in his fearsome, blue eyes.

Death’s attention flits between Draven and his handful several times, squinting dubiously at the dull, brown slop. For a few uncomfortable seconds, the Horseman subjects your potential meal to a good, long glare, and then at last, to your relief, you watch him raise his hands and grasp the edge of the bowl between his thumb and forefinger, doing the same with the cup.

He doesn’t take them immediately, too busy giving the undead a threatening growl. “If she eats this and something happens-“

“-I’ll be meeting the business end of your scythe?” Draven guesses, quirking a brow bone as he relinquishes the crockery and drops his arms to his sides again.

Death’s eyes narrow to thin lines of fire, prompting the undead to let out a chuckle and raise his hands up in mock defeat. “I understand, Horseman, I understand. I’d be overprotective as well if I had a lady like her under my care.”

Half hidden behind the Nephilim, you suck a breath in through your teeth as your grim companion bristles like a cornered cat, almost doubling in size with the amount of indignation that swells his shoulders. You’ve only known him a week or so, but in that time, you’ve already learned that being accused of caring is pretty low on the list of Things Death likes to Hear.

And sure enough…

“I am not overprotective,” the Horseman seethes, but with such an air of petulance that whatever threat his tone might have been trying to imply is completely undermined. Not to mention there’s something curiously un-threatening about the sight of him clutching a bowl of stew that - not thirty seconds ago - he was giving the stink-eye.

Even Draven doesn’t seem all that worried as he casts a knowing look at you around Death’s shoulder, his ghoulish features scrunching into a wink.

“No?” he asks, cocking his head to one side and sliding his gaze back to the wall of Nephilim standing before him, “Well, in that case, when the sun rises, I’m sure you won’t mind if I treat the lady to that tour I offered her.”

He’s chancing his arm, and he damn well knows it. And because he knows it, he’s already watching for the precise moment when Death recognises that he’s just stepped right into a verbal trap.

Unseen by the human in their midst, Death’s narrow eyes are now almost indiscernible within the congealing darkness of his sockets, and it’s only thanks to their preternatural, fiery glow that Draven can tell they’re open at all. They float inside the pitch-black pits that have been carved out of an ivory mask, unnatural and eerie, like two strips of flame streaking through the night sky.

If someone were to strike a match in the air between he and Death, Draven is almost certain the spark would set off an explosion that could blow the Eternal Throne clear through the stratosphere.

Two options lay out before the ancient Nephilim: Allow yo u to go with Draven in the morning, proving the smug undead wrong in his judgement of Death’s character. Or refuse the offer on your behalf and prove him right.

Begrudgingly, Death concedes that the undead’s tactics have successfully tripped him up. Rare as it is, it’s somewhat refreshing to be kept on his toes. Not that he’s in any way pleased to be cornered like this… Not least because he has a reputation he’d like to keep intact.

“She’ll consider it,” he says shortly.

There. It’s neither a yes or a no, and vague enough that Draven’s expectant gaze darkens with disappointment. Death is tempted to smirk triumphantly. Just because he stepped into the trap doesn’t mean he won’t know how to get out of it. He’s almost offended that the undead thought it would be so easy.

But the acquiescing look on Draven’s face doesn’t linger for more than a blink before it’s gone.

“I hope she does,” he hums, leaning sideways once more so that he can send you another secretive smile around the Horseman’s bulk, a smile that you find yourself readily reflecting. It feels like there’s a connection there somehow, between you and Draven. Human and ex-human. It’s something that Death isn’t privy to because he isn’t and never was human.

You wonder… Hell, you dare to hope that Draven might just… get you. There’s common ground in your humanity. The soul that sits lonely in your heart reaches out for the tiniest promise of companionship, softening you to the undead in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Right now, as you share amusement at the Grim Reaper’s expense, you find Draven just that bit more bearable to look at. Even the swords and broken blades that jut from his person like morbid adornments don’t seem so gruesome.

“I will consider it,” you promise, prompting Death to heave a disgruntled sigh whilst you breeze over his complaint, “Thank you, Draven. Really. This…” This act of immense kindness, though it might have seemed so mundane if it happened on Earth, has done wonders to warm your heart after feeling your very soul freeze over after your nightmare. But how could you possibly put into words the comfort he’s brought you? Rather than overthink it, you merely give your head a tiny shake of disbelief and let out a soft laugh, “This means… so much to me.”

Laying a hand across his concave chest, the undead dips his torso into a shallow bow and replies, “For you, it was no trouble at all.”

To your own surprise, the chivalrous little display turns you shy, and you start to fiddle with the hem of your shirt absentmindedly, avoiding his searching eyes as you smile down at the floor near Death’s boots.

Clicking his tongue, the Horseman shifts to stand sideways in the entrance, sweeping an unimpressed glance between you and Draven.

You may have averted your gaze, but the undead certainly hasn’t.

From head to toe, you’re all but poured over like a scroll of parchment in an angel’s library. Shameless in his observation, Draven’s cadaverous eyes carve tracks across your face and roam down the length of your body, whilst Death goes mostly ignored.

The Horseman is no fool. Though the very notions of romance and attraction have forever eluded him, he’s old and worldly enough to have at least encountered both in some way, shape or form. Besides, even a dunce would have to be trying exceptionally hard to miss what’s right in front of his nose.

You’ve caught the Blademaster’s eye.

And there’s the rub. Demons, he can put his scythe to, corrupted constructs and bloodthirsty bugs can be slain to keep you out of their gullets. Even Karn and his, at times, glaring attachment to you were innocent enough, as if the youngling was more starved for meaningful friendship than companionship. But an amorous undead? Death doesn’t have any protocol for manoeuvring around that particular minefield.

Once again, if there is such a thing as luck, the Horseman would be cursing his own. Isn’t it just typical that in such a vast and limitless Universe, his path would somehow carry you right to the Blademaster – the only other sod in Creation who shares your origins? Musing on that, Death can’t help but wonder if there truly is some unseen, omniscient hand guiding you along your journey.

Whoever the puppet master is, they’ve got a sick sense of humour.

Draven was Human – famously unpredictable species, a stereotype you continue to substantiate – but more to the point, he’s an unknown, and Death doesn’t especially like dealing with unknowns.

“Well then,” he announces abruptly, causing you to jump and reminding him that he’s allowed the undead to linger for a few moments too long, “If there’s nothing else…”

The skin around Draven’s jaw stretches as he opens it until the holes in his cheeks are thin and long, but before he can utter a word, Death says, “Wonderful,” and with a deft swing of his elbow, he bumps the door closed, giving the bottom of the wood a kick on its way to make sure it slams firmly shut. The room is once more plunged into that grimy, too-green gloom.

“Oh, that’s real nice, Death,” you snap, “The poor guy gives me a meal and lets me sleep in his bed, and you slam his own door shut in his face.”

“… That’s it,” he grumbles, turning to face you and pressing the bowl and cup into your hands, careful not to spill its contents as you splutter out a weak protest and fumble awkwardly with the woodware, “Tomorrow, you’re coming with me to the Champion’s arena. Not-!” he quickly snaps when you open your mouth to speak, “- to fight. You’re to watch from the sidelines.”

Looking down at you through the dark, he can tell you’re torn between continuing to berate him and diving into your newly acquired meal. Your eyes flit back and forth between him, the bowl, and the door, through which you can already hear the fading footfalls of your gracious host.

You’ve bulled yourself up at Draven’s expense, lips twisting into an unhappy frown, but it isn’t to last. Not with how desperate you are to fill your belly with something warm and cooked. Venting out a huff, you begrudgingly expel all the hot air from your lungs and lower yourself down onto the edge of the bed, lifting the stew to your lips to blow at the steam that drifts from it. “How do you know I’m not considering Draven’s tour?” you challenge.

It’s a good thing you’re pointedly ignoring the Horseman in favour of tipping back the bowl, because the look he shoots you is venomous enough that it would have stung had you caught it head-on.

“Just... Just eat the damn stew,” is all he bites out.

Well… You’re only too happy to oblige to that request.

You try not to wolf down the whole thing in one go, but as soon as the thin, watery gravy touches your lips and washes onto your tongue, you’re almost bowled over by the sheer influx of taste. At this point, after surviving on little else but water and the strange jerky Thane gave you, you could have eaten a rice cracker and called it filet mignon. Several bursts of flavour warm the inside of your cheeks and seep over and under your tongue. A piece of meat slides between your teeth as you slurp it up and you bite down on it hard, finding the strip tough and chewy, but oh so mouth-watering.

You spare the briefest of thoughts to its creature of origin, though the moment soon passes when you swallow, letting out a groan that might have been embarrassing if you weren’t so sure you’re justified in making such a sound. Privately, you make a mental note to thank Draven profusely in the morning, though whether that’s before or after you apologise to him for Death’s behaviour, you haven’t yet decided.

“Holy-“ Pausing, you lower the bowl and sweep a finger over the corners of your mouth, delicately removing the gravy gathered there, “-Shit, this is good.”

He almost asks if it tastes strange or off in any way, but with the Blademaster's words still ringing in his ears, Death stuffs them down with the rest of his wounded ego and begins to grumble nonsensically to himself. In fact, he's so busy muttering under his breath and glowering at the door that he doesn’t even pause to throw a withering glare at Dust when the crow hops onto the bed again and struts up to you with the confidence of a bird who knows you’re a pushover.

Only too happy to reinforce that confidence, you deftly scoop a chunk of meat into your palm and offer it out for the bird to peck at.

“Overprotective…” Death scoffs heatedly, “The nerve of that…” His mask abruptly whips around towards you, giving you pause with your cheeks full of stew. “Do you feel I’ve been overprotective?”

Putting aside the fact that you’ve never seen Death get this riled about a jibe before…

Swallowing thickly, you draw out an unconvincing, “No?”

The strange glow of his irises flicker for a second – a twitch of an eyelid? “Well, if I seem that way, it’s only because you’re so damnably adept at getting yourself into trouble,” he complains, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall with a decisive thump, “And frankly, I’d rather avoid having an angry group of makers hunt me to the ends of the Universe if something were to happen to you under my watch.”

It’s not just a lie meant to preserve his pride. Not entirely…

“They wouldn’t do that,” you tut, bemused, tilting the bowl and taking another, long slurp of the stew, manners be damned. You never thought you’d eat a cooked meal again.

His chest rumbles moodily. “They would.”

A wordless peace lingers in the air between you then, disturbed only by the sound of you chewing through toughened meat and the gentle sloshing of stew as your fingers chase the pieces around their bowl. You pretend not to notice the quick, attentive glances being sent your way.

Dust throws his feathered head up towards the ceiling, his beak wide open around the hunk of meat you offered him. In a rather unappetising display, the crow gulps it down with a few bobs of his neck.

“Nice,” you grunt, pulling a face.

You don’t put your bowl down until every last piece of the stew is gone, and even then you have to fight back an urge to lick the interior clean, mindful that present company might find that habit a bit too uncivilised not to comment on. Even with the Earth and its civilisation far behind you, you can’t let go of table-manners. It would be laughable if the reminder of your lonely humanness didn’t carry so many undertones of despair.

Breathing a soft, satisfied sigh, you bend down and drop the bowl on the floor with a clunk, instantly exchanging it for the cup of water before you sit up again to watch Death glower at the doorway as though he hopes it’ll burst into flames.

There’s a rigidity to him that doesn’t suit the late hour and the warmth in your belly.

Casting your mind about for a way to free him from whatever monologue he must have rattling away in that enigmatic head of his, you take a swig of the water, regarding the Horseman ponderously over the rim of the cup.

“So,” you say, smacking your lips as the lukewarm liquid slides down your throat, “What do you think the chances are that Vulgrim’s delivered my message?”

Luminous eyes blink slowly, roving from the door to land on your face.

He visibly hesitates, then asks, “What would help you go back to sleep faster?”

Your deadpan stare is ruined by an unseemly snort and flutter of your lips. “Just humour me, wise guy.”

“Very well…” Death grunts, “Chances are slim.”

“… Don’t know why I bother.”

Despite your tone, you’re secretly pleased when his broad shoulders slacken as he chuckles, unfolding his arms and resting each hand casually on his hips instead. “Given how often you’ve surprised me so far,” he sighs with an air of begrudging acceptance, “I suppose it wouldn’t be so shocking to learn you’ve actually convinced the demon to go through with your favour.”

“I surprise you?” you smile.

 “At every turn.”

“Aw~”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“Oh.”

It is. It absolutely is. But he’ll be damned if he lets you know what a luxury surprises are for a being who was confident the Universe had nothing new to throw at him. He’s already far too soft on you as it is. Paying you compliments paves a slippery slope towards irrefutable fondness.

Dust would be insufferable.

“Now then,” he coughs gruffly, more to disrupt his own thoughts than to get your attention, “You should… try and get some more rest. I’ll wake you at sunrise.”

All at once, what little levity had been draped around your shoulders sloughs away. He’s right. You should try and sleep a little longer. Moments like these, moments where you can stop to catch your breath, could well be few and far between in the coming days.

“Death? Will you…?” Your voice catches and you don’t finish your sentence aloud, working your jaw up and down wordlessly as a sudden but subtle wave of shame washes over you like an ebbing tide. ‘Stay’ is on the tip of your tongue. But you realise it’s a silly question to ask, even if a very small, very vulnerable part of you desperately wants to seek reassurance from the dour Horseman sharing this space with you. Death has given no indication that he plans to stray far from your side.

Bottom line? You’re afraid to fall asleep again, much as your overwrought mind craves a few more hours of unconscious bliss, and your arms feel heavy as lead when you lower the cup to the floor, setting it down beside the bowl.

If you sleep, you might dream, after all.

And your dreams are full of ghosts.

Fingers twist searchingly into the blanket you’re sitting on, squeezing and clenching until they ache. It grounds you, at least a bit.

You don’t really notice that Death’s mask is tilted to one side, watching your hands closely until he shifts, easing himself through the gloom until he’s only a step away from the bed. It’s sometimes convenient to forget what he is, when your heart misses home so badly that it wants to find humanity in everything around you, including Death. It’s easy to forget that he’s older than you could probably comprehend, that he’s wise enough to hear a human’s unfinished plea and be able to predict how it ends.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he assures you.

Relief unwinds your hands from the fists you’ve curled them into, like roses blooming from the bud.

Soon, you’ll be awake, and the tragedies of yesterday will be saddled to your back alongside all the rest, but you’ll carry them with you as best you can. You don’t have a choice, after all. You followed Death to the Land of the Dead.

When the sun rises, you’ll rise with it and face the consequences of your choice.

[anim-ttrpgs]

A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club Showcase #1: Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

As some of you may know—and if you don’t, here is a post about it—A.N.I.M. runs a TTRPG book club where the whole club votes on, read, and play indie and indie-ish TTRPGs, then discuss them like a book club, with the ultimate goal of exposing people to new games and supporting smaller TTRPG developers. After each game, we do a “showcase” where quotes are compiled and posted for posterity along with a link to the game’s store page or wherever else you’re supposed to get it. Here is what the book club had to say about the first game to win a vote: Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, which happens to be our game. We didn’t rig the vote but the fact that we run and advertise the book club probably resulted in a disproportionate number of members who wanted to try out Eureka, because they would’ve had to have been following us to even know about the club otherwise. But, that is why we have it set up so games that win have to sit out a round before being nominated again, to give everyone else a chance.

Anyway, here is what the book club had to say about Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, the the urban-fantasy-noir horror-mystery investigative RPG by A.N.I.M. (That’s us.)

(some names censored at user request)

And here is where you can currently pick up a copy of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, along with a huge bundle of other A.N.I.M. work, all for $5. The rulebook will remain available for this price until after we launch our Kickstarter in or around April 2024.

Get it here.

Playing this game in the RPG book club led to 3 sales!

If $5 is too rich for your blood, you can pick up the free demo version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy from our website along with a free demo mystery adventure module to go with it.

If you’d like to join our book club, the discord invite link can be found if you visit our website. At the time of writing this, Mothership RPG by Tuesday Knight Games just won the vote, so we’re all preparing to read and play that.

Mothership 0e is actually free, but if you happen to be thinking “oh I’d love to join but I don’t have the money to buy and read a new RPG every month”, don’t worry, while we encourage buying the game yourself to support the creators, when necessary A.N.I.M. does fork up the money to make sure that everyone has a copy.

If you’re an independant TTRPG developer, come hop in, you can nominate your own game, and having a creator in the discussion is always a plus! Mothership winning the vote has already led to 7 sales at the time of writing this! Reminder, you can join the discord server from the invite link on our website.

[tbznewberry]

the boyz become human

Part 2

In a collaboration with Cyberlife, you've helped create 11 new androids to be used in the police force, but they seem to have a certain humanly soft spot for their creator.

Genre: yandere, sci-fi, futuristic, Detroit become human AU

Warnings: I'm not sure what to put to be honest, creepy behavior?

A/N: this was originally a chapter story that never got done, this is the first 3 chapters, I might post more chapters but we'll see

"Follow my hand, good job."

The nice lady in front of him holds up her fingers and he follows them with his eyes back and forth. She moves closer, picks up a small flashlight and shines in his eyes. He doesn't move. She smiles proudly and pulls back, looking at the other person in the laboratory. 

"This one has functional eyes", she says.

"Good, which one was that?" the human male says, looking at his clipboard in hand.

"The third one", she says. 

"God, I’ll never know who you mean! You should name them!”

“Me?”

“Yeah? They're your creations."

"Not really, I just planned how they were supposed to look, it was your people that built them.” She looks at the android in front of her. “Nevertheless, they don't need any. They aren't going to be household androids."

"But we have eleven of them, it'd be easier to get their names. I know everyone will mix them up calling them the first, the second and whatever." He points at the android in front of the woman. "Start with him. Was he the third?"

She nods and turns to the android, frowning. "I'll name him Younghoon." 

"Alright, and the others?"

She gives them all a name each, saying that she’s picking the first that comes to mind.

“You haven’t told me what they’ll be used for”, the woman says. “Why have I helped Cyberlife build them? I know that they’re meant for something special since you don’t use the normal models. You’re making brand new ones. If they’re not going to be household androids … then what are they going to do?”  

“They’ll be used by the police. We already have interrogation and detective androids, but these ones are different.” The man breaks out into a smile. “They can fight … they can manipulate … they can seduce, they’re quicker than any other android, they charge quickly, they have scanners to read humans feelings … and they’re perfect with children! They’ll be perfect in the police force. They’ll be amazing!”

The woman in front of Younghoon nods. He follows her motions with his eyes, studying her.

“That does sound amazing”, she says thoughtfully. “It explains a lot about why you needed them to be handsome. You can’t seduce a criminal with ugly androids, can you?”

The man chuckles. “No. You can’t. Thank you for being such a good designer.”

“Thank you for bringing my sketches to life …” She looks at the android sitting in front of her up and down with proud eyes, “... they’re remarkable.”

“We’re so happy you like them. Cyberlife will send you a check.”

“I know. I could use some money. How much for each android?”

“Around $250 000.”

“Oh shit.”

The man laughs again. Y/N lifts her eyebrows amusingly. 

“You don’t even know how much money you’ll get for the job?” he asks. “And still you took it?”

The woman smiles shyly. “Of course, this job would look great on my resume in the future. Who wouldn’t want to work for Cyberlife?”

The man smiles and shakes his head, walking over to the window. 

“Y/N”, the man says. “We should start the next test. It’s getting late and I think you need to go home soon.”

Y/N nods and stands up. 

“What’s the next test?” she asks. 

“Physical test”, the man says, looking through his list. “Strength, speed, reflexes and so on.”

Y/N looks at the androids. 

“Stand up”, she says. 

They all stand up at the same time and wait for their next instruction. They’re different heights with different hair colors and different facial features. But they all wear the same outfit — a gray suit with their serial number, a white shirt and some glowing parts. Y/N notices how Eric’s dark blue-gray hair is falling over his eyes and gently pushes it up again. She gives him a smile. 

"Thank you", he says.

Y/N looks at the man behind her in surprise.

"Who programmed him to say that?" she asks. "I thought they were only programmed to answer when you speak to them?"

"If you give them something or do something for them, they'll thank you", the man says.

"How polite."

She looks at Eric again, placing her hand on his cheek. He can feel her warmth. It’s not artificial, it’s not produced or charged — it’s human.

"It's almost scary how human they feel and look", she says. "If I didn't see the emotion indicator on his temple, I'd think he was a human in an android's suit. His skin is so soft."

"Yeah, we made them warm for the victims sake", the man says. "They're supposed to comfort victims in any situation and if they don't feel warm and human, it might make the situation worse." The main smirks slightly. "We've made sure their hugs are as comforting and welcoming as possible. We made this survey of what type of hugs are the best and gave them all the most voted ones. Smart, right?"

Y/N smiles mischievously. 

"You want to try it out, don't you?" the man asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe", she giggles. "I created them, I should get to test their abilities out."

"Then what are you waiting for? Just choose one."

Y/N looks at the row of androids, visibly thinking. She walks over to Jaehyun.

"Do I give him a command or …?" she asks.

"No, he knows that you want a hug, he can scan you. He'll choose what type of hug he'll give you."

"Right, sorry. They're so advanced I forget everything."

The android opens his arms and she walks right into the embrace. He closes his arms around her tightly. Her warmth is flowing from under her white shirt. 

"They have three different types of embraces", the man says. "Loving, comforting and protecting."

"What's the difference?"

"Well, a loving one is when there's nothing wrong. We call it 'the everyday hug'. Then there's the comforting feeling of a tighter but more sentimental hug for when the victims are crying or scared. And the last one, is the one he's doing right now … weirdly enough."

"The protective hold?"

"Yeah … it only occurs when the victim is in danger … but you're not. The protective embrace is a tight, firm hug that isn't supposed to be easy to get out of. If the victim is in danger, then it shouldn't be easy to get out of." The man looks through his papers. "Weird, we've tested it before with different men, women and children, they haven't given the protective hug to any of them."

Y/N taps the android on his arm. He looks down at her hand. It'd be so easy to break, so important to protect.

"Let me go", she says.

Jaehyun opens his arms and she leaves. The warmth lingers on his hands.

“Let’s start with the real test.”

Kevin follows Y/N with his eyes. She’s walking to the other side of the room to collect something. She picks up a red, little ball in her hand, bouncing it on the hard floor a couple of times. 

“Now throw it”, the man says. “At any of them.”

“What if I hurt them?” she wonders hesitantly. 

“They’re androids, they won’t feel it.”

“Well … what if I break them instead?”

“They’re equipped with quick reflexes, don’t worry.”

Y/N looks at the androids with a concerned gaze in her eyes. They can scan her, see how nervous she feels. It’s almost enough to make them ask how she’s feeling to see if she needs to be protected. She throws the ball at them. Chanhee catches it before it hits any of them. 

“Woah”, she gasps in shock. “Those are really quick reflexes.” 

Chanhee holds out the ball to her. She takes it gently and backs away to throw again. Sangyeon catches it this time and gives it back.

“I’m so scared to damage them”, the woman says, throwing an uncertain gaze in their direction. “They’re so advanced and so many people have been working on them. I’d feel horrible if I broke them.”

“You won’t”, the human male says. “They’re built for that.”

She throws the ball a few more times before moving onto the next test. Strength. The man places out boxing bags with a strength meter. One by one, they’re allowed to punch it, scoring higher than anyone has done before. 

“Shit, one blow to my head and it’ll fall off”, she whispers. “They can seriously hurt someone.”

“They can, but they won’t if it isn’t necessary”, the man says. “They’re more for protecting people than hurting them. Y/N, would you want to be the guinea pig for that?”

“For what?”

“I’ll slap your wrist and we’ll see how they react. If I’m correct, they’ll go into protection mode.”

The woman nods. The human male rolls up her sleeve on her left arm and hits her wrist fast and hard with two fingers. A ‘swoosh’ along with a ‘snitch’ echoes throughout the room. She whimpers and backs away. The first one to reach her is Haknyeon, pulling her back from the male in the room as the others form a barricade between her and the man. Haknyeon embraces her in that tight hug again. He hides her face down into his shoulder. 

“If I were to put up a fight now, they’d attack”, the man says. “But I won’t.”

Changmin turns around and lifts up Y/N’s arm in his hands to examine it. There’s nothing to see, but he can’t help but keep holding her arm.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes, yes, I’m okay”, she answers. “You can stop now. Everything is okay.”

The eleven androids listen, going back to their positions. All but one. 

“Haknyeon, you can let Y/N go now”, the man says. 

“She’s not safe yet”, Haknyeon answers.

“Yes, I’m safe”, Y/N says, tapping his arm. “You can let me go now.”

“You’re not safe.”

“Is this a malfunction?” 

The man frowns. “I’m not sure. What would you be in danger of?”

“You”, Haknyeon answers. 

“No, he’s not a threat”, Y/N reassures him. “I’m okay, he’s not dangerous, it was all a test. Haknyeon, please, let me go.”

The eleven androids scan her and grow cautious again. She’s afraid. They go into protective mode once more. 

“I don’t think you thought this through”, Y/N whispers, eyes on the male that caused this situation. 

“Guys, it’s okay, it was just a test.” 

She places her hand over Haknyeon’s. He looks down at her hand, feeling the warmth ooze from it. Should he let her go? He can detect her fear, but she promises that she’s alright. This kind of morality isn’t programmed for him. He senses fear, he can’t let her go until she’s not afraid anymore. 

“Well, since this isn’t working …”, she starts mumbling before trying to break free from Haknyeon’s arms. 

He doesn’t budge. Instead, his grip grows tighter. He can’t let her go. She’s in danger, she can’t leave his arms. 

“Fucking dammit!” she mutters, giving up. “What do I do?” 

“I’m not sure”, the man replies, looking through the papers. 

“Maybe you should leave the room? They see you as the threat.”

The man nods and leaves the room. The eleven androids relax. Instead of looking at the guy, they turn towards the woman, having their full attention to her. 

“You’re still scared”, Jacob says. 

“I’m not afraid of the man, he’s not a threat”, she says. 

“Then what are you scared of?” Kevin asks. 

“Well … you … kind of. Just please let me go now. Scan me. I’m not scared anymore.”

She’s right.

“Let her go”, Chanhee says. 

Haknyeon does. She hurries over to the door and lets her colleague in again. 

“I think i should go”, Y/N says, grabbing her beige coat. “I don’t want that to happen again. You should check with the ones programming them. That shouldn’t happen with a real victim.”

“You’ll be here for the presentation, right?” the man asks. “You should be the one introducing them to the police.”

“I think so”, she says. “I’ll go now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. Get home safely and sleep well.”

She thanks him, wishes him the same and leaves. The androids follow her with their eyes until she’s left the laboratory. The man turns to the androids. 

“Well, I guess that means bedtime for you”, he says, clapping his hands once. “Let’s get you charged and ready for tomorrow.”

The androids sit down on their chairs as the man walks behind them, plugging the cords into the back of their necks. Sunwoo can feel how he gets shut off, eyes falling shut, everything turning black. The last thing he sees is a picture of the woman that created them. 

——♤——

She's nervous. They can tell … both from scanning her and her walking back and forth across the floor. She's wearing a white suit that enhances all of her features. The only thing separating them and the audience is a giant, red curtain. 

"Y/N", Juyeon says. "You're stressed."

"I know", she answers quickly. "I'm about to hold a speech in front of a thousand people! They're Cyberlife workers, cops, journalists … I can't do it."

"Yes, you can", Chanhee says, taking a step forward and hugging her in the comforting manner he’s been programmed with. He can feel that it’s not enough. "Look at me."

And she does. He holds his hands on her upper arms. Everything about her is so human. Everything from how her gaze falters, hands tremble and chest rises and falls. Neither Chanhee or the others do any of that.

"Breathe in and breathe out with me", he says, doing the technique he's programmed with.

She breathes along with him until he can't detect the same level of nervousness anymore. He lets her go.

"Everything we did in the laboratory last week will be presented live on the stage", Y/N says. "You'll have to show them what you showed me and my colleague. But you can do that, I'm sure. You’re programmed to perfection.” She clears her throat. “Do any of you feel that there's something wrong with your programming or if there are any parts that are loose?"

They answer negatively.

"Good", Y/N says, fixing Younghoon’s tie. “You’ll do better than me out there. I’m jealous … you can’t feel nervous.”

“No, we can’t”, Kevin says. 

Y/N fixes her hair, but it gets stuck on one of the buttons in the suit and her shaky fingers can’t untie it. 

“Can you help me?” she asks, looking at Sangyeon. “I can’t turn my head up if I’m stuck on the button.”

He takes a smooth step forward and starts untying her hair from the button. 

“Is that okay?” he asks as the hair is loose. 

“Yes, it’s okay, thank you”, Y/N answers with a smile. “Go back to the line now before the curtain is removed. Perfection, okay?”

“Yes, ma'am”, Kevin says. 

“Don’t move from your positions. Last week shouldn’t be repeated … not here. Whatever your scanners say … I’m alright, okay?”

“Okay”, the eleven men answer. 

The woman fixes their ties, hair and blazers before brushing off her own white clothes. The red curtains pull to the side and she freezes. Sunwoo’s scanner shows that her anxiety is rising. His instinct is to walk over to her and help her, but there’s an invisible wall that prevents him from doing that. An order. Don’t move from your positions. 

“Welcome!” Y/N smiles. “On the behalf of Cyberlife, I am proud to present the coming generations of androids!”

She walks to the side of the stage to show the eleven androids. A wave of applause roars throughout the auditorium. It’s maxed to its capacity. 

Y/N talks on and on about what special features the eleven androids have that separates them from the rest of the androids Cyberlife has produced. Curious and impressed eyes wander over the androids, looking at them up and down. They can detect some lust in the audience, some are doing more than admiring them.

One by one, they show their strength, speed and communication ability. The crowd cheers for them.

"Impressive, aren't they?" Y/N smiles. "They will be working undercover, hence why their faces aren't like the other androids Cyberlife given to the police force. Connor, for an example." Y/N looks at them up and down and all they can detect is sadness although she smiles. "They'll do just fine, I'm sure of it. Thank you for listening. They will be put into work before the month is over."

The crowd applause for the last time before the red curtain separate them again. Y/N breathes out shakily and removes the headset she's been using.

"You can move now", she says.

"Why are you sad?" Jaehyun asks. 

"I'm not sad, I- …" she interrupts herself. "I guess there's no need to lie to you. You can tell. Well, I'm just a little sad because this is probably the last time we'll see each other."

The LED rings on the androids temples flashes yellow. Why aren't they going to meet? What has happened? If she's sad, does that mean something bad will happen?

"Why?" Haknyeon asks.

"My job here is done", Y/N sighs. "You'll be given to the police next week or so … and then your real life starts." 

None of the androids answer. They're trying to process the newly given information. It doesn't make sense. She created them, she can't leave them now. From the moment they opened their eyes the first time she's been there.

"I guess I'm just a little sad my work is over", she says, shrugging. "But it's been nice to meet you. I'm sure you'll do great. I'll cheer you on."

"Will you visit?" Changmin asks. "We'd appreciate it."

"I don't think so. I don't want to grow attached to you. You have work to do and it wouldn't be appropriate. You're androids … you don't have feelings … I'd just hurt myself."

Being androids, they can't understand what she's meaning. Confused, they look at her.

"What do you mean?" Kevin asks. "We can't understand emotions."

"Well … what I mean is that you're programmed to seduce and I made you handsome. Even I would fall for you and that wouldn't be good for anyone. You'd seduce me without thinking and I'd be left hoping for something that'd never be able to happen. And even if that wouldn’t happen … I’d expect too much from you and get hurt."

"We understand", Chanhee says.

Silence. 

"I'll get going now", Y/N says and picks up her bag. "Good luck with everything. Wait,  before I go, can I ask you something, Jaehyun?"

"Of course", he answers.

"When you hugged me, you held the protective hold. My coworker said that none of you had ever done that to any of the participants that tried it out. Why?"

"They weren't in any danger", Jaehyun answers.

"I wasn't either. So why?"

Jaehyun looks into her eyes, scanning her. Confusion. 

"You're our creator", he answers. "We’ll always need to protect you."

[sincerely-sofie]

Ahoy again Sofie… your work is amazing and your ability to interact with your captive audience is near magical at moments but I do have two questions for you if you maybe so kind as to answer my queries, from someone who has charted the ways of a creator for many to see and be amazed by.

The first is how does one start creating a series upon the sea known as the internet. No matter if the ship you’re creating is one of an already formed series(like PKMD for example) or a completely original hand crafted story.

And the second is, how does one go about finding an audience if you haven’t a soul how knows of you yet?

Thank you so much for your kind words! You're very sweet!

Oh man. Do I ever have no answers. I’ll try my best, but I’m really not qualified for this ;w;

For your first question: The first thing you've gotta do is let go of your ego and have fun. Forget your pride and revel in your favorite tropes and storytelling strategies. Cringe culture is dead— you don't have to resurrect it to bully yourself about having a highbrow, marketable story. I always thought that the advice to “Have fun and your audience will too” was a bit inaccurate, but then I decided to go ham with all the self-indulgent elements I included in TPiaG and I'm at over 400 followers in under 6 months (which is absolutely unprecedented I must say). That's the most important guiding principle, I think. Because then you'll have fun no matter what comes of your project!

As for question two: I have no idea. Apparently fanworks are the way to go? I will say that technically I had 1k-ish subscribers on YouTube and 100-ish followers on a previous Instagram account (~80% of which were friends and family in the Instagram account’s case), so I wasn't starting from absolutely nothing, but I didn't mention my Tumblr anywhere after I made it because it was supposed to be private. I made my main blog as a personal art archive, learned I couldn't keep it utterly hidden, and figured I'd just have a couple bots like a post here and there after I tagged my posts to make it easier for me to search them. That was very much NOT what happened, as you can guess. According to my sister who works as a professional illustrator, fanart is a great way to get more eyes on your art so that more people can be exposed to personal work (if that's your goal!)

But yeah. I seriously don’t know how so many lovely people decided to click on my blog and like what they saw. It’s a bit shocking bc I’ve never had such an involved community before and it’s so overwhelmingly encouraging :,>

[elliespuns]

https://www.tumblr.com/elliespuns/743339485174054912/how-do-you-feel-about-everyone-going-nuts-on-tlou

you summed up my thoughts perfectly! there is a lot of very juvenile virtue signalling going on right now but then again i’ve always found things like ‘black outs’ and ‘strikes’ a little silly and just.. unrealistic honestly. it’s just a way for people to flex ‘i’m better than you because i’m dedicating all my free time to the cause and you’re not’. it reminds me of the very toxic twitter era where this sort of grapple for moral superiority was rampant amongst young people trying to assert that they were in fact good and pure (a LOT of these individuals are 17,18,19 it seems). not everyone wants to be a social media activist and that’s perfectly valid. calling you a zionist on anon is way too far though, at least have the guts to put forth such a serious accusation with your name attached.

I just think that people attacking bloggers for not 'spreading' informations about the conflict are unreasonable and rude. 

Every fandom blogger has their own personal social media where they might be talking about it, which these anon attackers won't ever know, yet they keep harassing. They are basically trying to spread good by being mean to others? How ironic.

I don't feel the need to apologize for not sharing it here. If I feel I want to share something here, I will (as I did a few hours ago). People should realize I am running a fandom blog here. Those who are already following me must already be aware of how things are.

Needless to say, many of us fell in love with the game back in 2013 (part 1) and 2020 (part 2) where there was no conflict and no 'choosing sides'. So now that the creator of the same game shows his true colors, we're supposed to start hating on something we already love and find hard to unlove? A bit harsh, huh? Because unless we go and buy the products from the big corporate companies, we are harming no one. Loving something from afar has never hurt anyone. For Christ's sake, we're loving a game with fictional characters, not the people who have the guns and bombs. The game will always be there; ignoring its existence will do nothing. 

For those who would be wondering (as I understand everyone expects a big fan like me to own things related to TLOU)… yes, I own things. But I bought them a long time ago, when there was NO conflict to get upset about yet. All of these things were bought secondhand on top of everything (well, except for Part 1, which I bought completely new back at the time—again, no conflict back then). So does that mean I should just take all these things and throw them away too? The damage has already been done; someone already bought these things from the corporate companies before selling them to me secondhand. Should I just take all these things, destroy them, and throw them out the window to prove what exactly? That doing so is completely useless too because it helps literally nobody? These things might as well just keep lying on my shelf. I didn't hurt anybody by getting them back in the day.

I am tired of repeating myself over and over. Those who understand this will get me. Those who don't, won't. And that's okay. I won't apologize for talking about Palestine in my personal life and not in the feed of the silly little blog I manage.

[m1d-45]

I’m sorry, I can’t keep this scenario to myself any longer. Parade of Providence got me thinking about this again so I’m going to try and avoid saying things that have not already been said here.

- cryo anon

>>>>>

Bringing back the Kaeya-main-Creator-who-asked-to-be-erased-from-Irminsul idea, with the following premises:

- The Creator could not be completely erased from Irminsul as they are an intrinsic part of the world. As a result, they are physically stuck there. Like the Traveller, they retain their knowledge and memories.

- While the concept of a Creator could not be erased, all knowledge of said Creator was successfully erased. The world essentially returns to the beginning state where it is waiting for said Creator to grace them with their presence.

- The impostor has disappeared. There’s no trace of them having ever existed.

So given all that, imagine the following:

The Creator (you) wake up fully expecting to be back home, but you find yourself back where the game first started, on the beach below Starsnatch Cliff. You are disappointed, but unsurprised.

As you were lost in thought about next steps and contingency plans, you were spotted by a knight on patrol. You quickly try to come up with an excuse about why you weren’t in Sumeru like you were supposed to be. Before you could say anything, however, the knight expresses their genuine concern about you, and you realise during the conversion that they have no idea who you are.

Your curiosity piqued, you take the knight on their offer to escort you to the city. There, you learn that while the concept of a Creator exists, all knowledge of them has disappeared. You quickly realise that this means you’re stuck in Teyvat for the foreseeable future. At least you’re not being hunted anymore.

You also quickly realise that you need some form of income to continue to stay in the city. You end up becoming an apprentice bartender at Angel’s Share. You still wanted to be close to your beloved characters, and if you could also help a few people (Kaeya/Venti) to drink responsibly, all the better.

You turn out to be an incredibly popular bartender. Your drinks are amazing, and you are kind and approachable. People also find it cute that you sing while you mix drinks. You attribute your popularity to your Creator status rather than any actual skill.

Then, on one evening:

(door opens)

You: Welcome to Angel’s Share! Please take a seat. I’ll be with you shortly!

???: …

Paimon: (Traveller)? Is something wrong?

You: *freezes*

Traveller: *in disbelief* Your Grace…

yes yes yes absolutely you’re so real for this holy shit

mondstat is so nice and welcoming, and i firmly believe that it’s the safest place to be in this sort of scenario. dilucs probably cautious about giving you a job at first because of how famous the winery’s dandelion wine is, but once you prove yourself by doing odd jobs around the city and picking up a part-time shift for the cats tail, he’s curious. you’ve gotten kaeya’s seal of approval, and his informants can’t find anything on you, and you do make good drinks…

what’s the harm in offering you a job, really?

when the traveller comes in during one of your shifts, diluc’s first response is that you’re their sibling. that notion is quickly dissuaded for a variety of reasons, not least of which being the way they immediately drop to their knee, bowing their head in respect.

we’re you some important figure from their home world? you didn’t talk about your world often, and definitely not about the traveller at all…

“i didn’t think i’d see you again,” the traveller says, looking up at you with glassy eyes. you’re frozen behind the bar, a jar of berries in hand, just staring at them.

diluc looks between the two of you, at the mix of emotions across your face. he’s grown to trust you, but the traveller had earned that long ago, and if a disagreement broke out…

“me neither,” you say softly, still clutching the berries.

he feels the eyes of the patrons on him, waiting for his judgement on the situation, but he’s equally lost.

if a fight broke out, who would he stand by?

[englewoodafterdark]

Planning a Series Outline

Hi! This is Hannah and I co-write Englewood After Dark. I was asked recently to explain our outlining process, so here goes.

First, Freytag.

I’m sure at some point we’ve all seen this:

A lot of us, when we’re taught creative writing, are given this and shown it as this is how three act structure is. Freytag’s Pyramid is kinda the basis. But have you ever wondered wtf you’re supposed to include in the rising and falling action?

I certainly used to. And the thing that helped me quantify it was Blake Snyder’s book, Save the Cat. Snyder is a screenwriter, but his work on quantifying the three act structure into what he calls The Beat Sheet applies to all storytelling processes imo.

So, I’m gonna paraphrase his beat sheet and break it all down but this time from the perspective of an Audio Drama creator. This is my process for writing a season outline.

But first!

Know your characters. Know how they begin the story and know how you’d like them to end. Do they start a naive optimist and end a jaded realist? Do they begin stubborn and resistant to change and end stubborn, resistant to change and dead?

Second!

Know what your ending is. This is advice I wish someone had given me when I first started writing. If you don’t know where you’re going, how will you get there?

Third, in the info-graphic, you’ll see the different parts represented by cards on a cork board. Essentially, the more cards, the longer this specific thing should take. So, for example, the Catalyst is normally quite quick, but the Fun and Games often lasts quite a while.

Buckle in! This is gonna be a long one.

Act 1:

Opening Image: This is you showing your main character(s) in inertia. Tell me what the character’s struggles were at the start. This should be mirrored by the Final Image, where (most often) all this is reversed.

Set Up (Theme Stated): The set-up is exactly what it sounds like. Show me the character in their ordinary world, introduce me to their day-to-day. Show me the problem the character has which must be solved by the end. If I have a character whose flaw is inaction, for example, I will show them in the set-up just letting the world wash over them and failing to act. And, as a caveat, give me the Theme. This is the 'truth’ of the story or what your story is really about on a deeper level. 'Would anyone even notice if you just disappeared?’ Another character demands of your main character, and then, through the story, the main character answers the question.

Catalyst: If this doesn’t happen, nothing does. I like to think of it as a diverging path. If the main character didn’t do this, the set-up would continue forever. Nothing would change. No one would grow. It is the choice of change come knocking.

Debate: The character considers their options after being presented with the catalyst. Maybe they could just bury their head in the sand? Can they really do the thing they’re being asked to do? What if they fail?

Break into 2: While the catalyst often happens to the protagonist, here is where they make the choice to commit to this new adventure. They move forward, quite literally, into the story and into a new world.

Act 2:

B Story: Sometimes thought of as the love story, the B story is where the main character comes to meet someone or several someones who help them understand their own Theme. I’m not suggesting that it has to be romantic. In fact, mostly, it’s a platonic love of found family that really makes this beat make sense. The B Story follow us through the rest of the narrative, and they are the ones, often, who incite the events of the Midpoint.

Fun and Games: Also known as the ‘Promise of the Premise’. If you’re writing a haunted story about a ghost-detective sleuthing through the afterlife, then here we see them finding clues and spooking witnesses. If it’s a sci-fi treasure hunt, we’re planet hopping and digging up danger. It’s fun! It’s trailer-able.

MidPoint: I like to think of this as a ‘it all comes crashing down’ moment. During your Fun and Games, things were looking up but suddenly with the MidPoint, things become terrible and impossible again. The stakes are raised, things are getting tough. We have to buckle down and try something new. It cane be really useful to include a ticking clock at this point, pushing the characters to move quickly if they want to succeed.

Bad Guys Close In: The Bad Guys can be quite literal, or in fact just personal demons. I like to do a combination of both. Bad Things are happening: characters are being split up, characters are betrayed, Things are Bad.

All is Lost: Exactly what it sounds like. The character loses everything they thought they gained. They push away their B-Story friends. They’re fired from the case. Someone fully dies. Things are the worst they’ve ever been. Rock Bottom.

Dark Night of the Soul: Your character is staring out of a rainy window, wallowing in their lack. Lamenting this hopeless turn of events. They realise that it’s their flaws that have led them here, and they finally know that. But it’s too late. Or is it? Return of the B-Story! They’re here, they’re ready to give advice, or share information, or do something. The main character must chose: act on this? Or die?

Break into 3: The main character chooses to try again. They’re ready to get the fuck up and try, with their friends. They have a new final goal, and they won’t stop until they accomplish it.

Act 3

This is where we move away from Synder and into territory from another author: Jessica Brody. Snyder likes to just call this ‘Finale’ which is still vague to me, so I like to borrow from Brody here and split the Finale up:

Gathering the Team: The B-Story, the Main Character, and any allies they have amassed come together to finally thwart what needs thwarting.

Executing the Plan: The new Team move on their plan, putting things in motion. Finally accomplishing what felt impossible.

High Tower Surprise: But, alas, there was some further obstacle. Some moment of doubt, some terrible revelation, or slip or obstacle. The hero is down, and they’re maybe done for.

Dig Deep Down: Themes, baby! The Main Character knows what must be done, they muster their strength and go for it. No more time for doubts. Maybe time for a heartfelt flashback though.

Execution of the New Plan: Once more with feeling. The character pulls themselves together and acts. They finally manage to do what they set out to do. They win, or lose. Whichever way it goes, it is final, as they gave everything to achieve it.

Final Image: The opposite of your Opening Image, showing how the main character has changed.

That was a lot. But, essentially, once I’ve added a quick paragraph for each of these cards, I have a rough outline of my entire plot.

I flesh this out by deciding then how many episodes I will dedicate to each Act. From there, I write little episode summaries, fleshing out details and filling in the cracks in my more generalised outline. For those summaries, I think about where we are in the overall plot structure, and provide the details.

If you’d like to see how I lay this out, I’ll include our plan for our vignette Schrödinger’s Pledge below. It's not a series, but it should give examples of each step.

Schrödinger's Pledge Spoilers are coming!

Opening image Helen surfaces from under the water of the frat house pool and a sister calls out that she thought she’d drowned. Helen alludes to being a good swimmer/ being able to hold her breath. Helen, still dripping wet, is led from the rush party by Jared towards the Cypress Phone Booth. He asks if she’s scared. Helen clearly thinks he’s an asshole.

Set Up/ Theme Stated - You can’t live in the past. We meet Payton stood outside of the Phone Booth waiting for Muffy to finish up. She tells Jared to fuck off. Jared says he’s gonna wait to take Muffy back and Payton says no thanks gtfo. Jared leaves. Helen and Payton have a tense back and forth where they talk around the subject of how they became enemies.

Catalyst Muffy steps out of the booth and is hysterical. Payton consoles her sorta. Set up the rules of the booth.

Debate Payton puts Helen in the booth.

Break into 2 Helen gets in the booth and picks up the phone.

B Story/ Fun and Games Helen connects through the phone to who she thinks is her mother. She has an emotional conversation with her ‘mother’ for a while. She wants to understand her mothers drowning; did she really kill herself as Helen suspects, or was it as accident as it was ruled?

Midpoint Helen realises this isn’t her mother and that she’s been in the phone booth for more than the allotted time.

Bad Guys Close in Dead!Helen tells her that there is no living through the phone booth for her - a legacy must be given. Time has no meaning to the dead.

All is Lost Helen tries to open the door, Payton gloats about how she was prepared to lock her in, but didn’t need to.

Dark Night of the Soul The booth begins to fill with water and Helen wonders if it is all over for her.

Break into 3 Helen holds her breath and plays dead. Not for the first time with Payton.

Finale: Payton opens the booth to check on her plan, Helen grabs her and pulls her inside, slamming the door. Payton screeches and Helen picks up the phone and makes a collect call to the after life, opening the connection and locking them both inside together. Helen hands Payton the phone and Payton succumbs to the horror of the booth. She hears her grandmother admonishing her for being an embarrassment and begins to smash her own face into the window of the phone booth. Much to Helen’s horror.

Final Image: Helen crawls out once Payton is dead and Jared is waiting to ask her if she’s going to ‘babble’ about all of this.

[its-a-ittle-bit-cold]

This is home: prologue

masterlist

warnings: canon typical violence but not really , fem!reader but can be read as gn! or male!, hair, thomas being protective, wckd

summary: you break some hard news to Thomas (going into the maze)

a/n: my first tmr imagine! It’s kind of (very) self indulgent, but a series starter! (don’t mind my massive crush on Thomas)

originally posted by nany-suicide

prologue 

At fourteen, in the books, in the past, you suppose that the two of you wouldn’t be here, like this. You suppose that, in another time, you might be out to a movie theater, or at a school dance. Instead, you’re curled up in Thomas’s bed, head on his steadily rising and falling chest while he plays with your hair.

It’s late, and technically, the two of you aren’t allowed to have your own rooms, much less be in each others, but you’ve always been one of the favorites. 

Which is how you’ve found that, more nights than not, you spend them wrapped up in his arms. He’s big, hit his growth spurt early, and he’s strong from the training WCKD has a select group from group A - including you, Thomas, Ben and Minho - perform every day. No matter his strength or his size, he can’t keep you from the future, and your fate that you have already decided. 

“What’s wrong?” He whispers into your hair. You bury your face into his chest, breathing him in. You shudder your breath out, shakily building up the courage to tell him what you’ve done.

“(Y/n). What is it? Tell me, so I can help.”

Why is he so perfect?

“Thomas.” You climb up all the away on top of him, so you’re sitting on him, face to face. His copper eyes search your reddened ones. “I volunteered.”

Just like that, the concern in his eyes turns to fear. He goes rigid under you and pulls you tight into him. 

“Why?” He’s calm, but you know this type of calm, especially on Thomas. This is red sky in the morning, birds going quiet before a ravaging hurricane calm. Thomas can be scary, you remember. He’s the second genius behind the maze, closely followed by your best friend, Teresa.

A ways behind you, the creator of the maze and WCKD’s not-so-secret weapon, and, as such, the attempted victim of multiple assassinations by angry survivors.

WCKD is good.

 After the latest, Thomas hasn’t left you on your own for much more than the half- hour you’re allotted each morning to clean up after waking. He’s not the only one, Minho and Newt, two of the group A’s, stick by you whenever you’re not in the lab on assignment, which is almost never, it seems like nowadays.

In there, It’s only you, Thomas and Teresa - who act more like siblings than anything else.

Teresa, your best friend, who you told just this afternoon.

Teresa, the only one who knows your plan, ulterior of WCKD.

“Why?” he asks again, but he already knows.

“I’m the only one who can survive in there. Alone. I built the maze, bub.”

Thomas wrinkles his face up.

“Not all of it,” he whines. “Teresa and I-”

“- programmed under my supervision and guidance. With me in there, all you’ll need to do is keep me alive, okay?”

He sighs heavily, so heavily that you rise and fall with his diaphragm. 

“No, but… there’s no stopping you.”

“I’m still here for one more night, Tommy,” you whisper. “You can tell me goodbye tomorrow, too.”

“do Minho and Newt know? Teresa?”

“I told them this afternoon. Said I’m on a new assignment. But, Thomas…. “

“New assignment, huh? What do they think you’re doing in that lab every day?”

“They suspect. But I need to tell you. Listen to me, Thomas.”

His eyes lock onto yours, unwavering in a way that would be more than a little intimidating if you didn’t know him so well.

“You need to stay close to Teresa. You understand?” You lower your voice. “She knows the plan. She’ll keep you safe. The two of you need to work together in that lab until we see each other again.”

“Teresa knows- what plan? What are you talking about?”

You look around. His room is bugged. You both know that. You press your face into his neck and mutter,

“Thomas, why are we doing this? What good comes out of imprisonment? WCKD isn’t good. We’re going to stop them.”

He shirts you to his side again.

“Don’t say that. Please. Don’t say that.”

“Thomas.”

“Can we just sleep? Please?”

You oblige him, snuggling into his side like you do every night, drifting off together for the last time.

[ladydekarios]

In My Dreams- Chapter Two. A Nightmare to Remember.

• Fic summary: Your parents have an issue with you dating the town “freak” Eddie Munson, so they force you apart but you and Eddie can’t stop thinking about each other. You’re invading each others dreams so maybe it’s not just a “silly crush” like your parents think.

• A/N: OMG! I can’t believe the response to part one, thank you sooooo much! You guys are amazing! I hope you like part two! This fic is inspired by songs by Dokken and Dream Theater.

Word count: 4237

Warnings: SMUT, horror elements, nightmares, supernatural experiences, angst, mentions of blood, Steve is the GOAT

I do NOT give permission for my work to be copied, translated or posted to any other platform

Support content creators by reblogging

Read part one here

—

Knocking on your door disturbs you from your moping. You’ve been listening to music since you woke up from that nap, and the weirdness that followed. Waking up to that mess had been a shock, there was no one else in the house and you were certain that sex had happened. But that’s impossible right?

You open the door to see Max, Robin and Steve Harrington on your doorstep. ”Hey y/n, thought you might like some company.” Steve says with a grin. “We brought snackos!” He says in the way you would to entice a child, which earns him a punch in the arm from Max. “Ow! What was that for?”

“For being a dick” Max says as they all follow you to your bedroom. Your mom, who was now home from work, tries to talk to you all but you ignore her and slam the door in her face.

“Wow! What’d she do?” Robin says as she sits on your bed.

“Oh nothing,” you say and then shout, “JUST RUIN MY LIFE!!” Robin winces at the loudness and the venom in your voice. “I hate them!”

“Tell us how you really feel.” Steve says with a grin.

“Told you you’re a dick!” Max says as she puts her arm around you. Tears begin to brim in your eyes and you sink to the floor. The plush carpet saving your knees.

“I can’t do this!” You cry as a sob leaves your lips. Robin and Max join you on the floor while Steve stands very awkwardly against your dresser.

“I’m sorry y/n.” Steve says as he folds his arms across his chest. “Guess I’m not very good with girls and their feelings.”

“Why don’t you go and get us all a soda hmm?” Robin says as you cry into her shoulder. Steve nods and leaves your room, closing the door gently behind him. ”Now… tell us what’s going on.”

You pull back from the girls, you look at them with wide eyes. “You’ll never believe me.”

“Try us.” Max says with a gentle smile.

You take a deep breath and begin. “Something weird is going on…”

—

Eddie tries to get back to sleep so he can find you where his dream ended but he can’t seem to drift off. After an hour of trying and failing he decides to get up and make himself some food. He pads to the kitchenette but only finds a couple tins of franks and beans and some eggs. He should’ve taken Red up on her offer but it’s better than nothing right?

He scrambles the eggs as the franks and beans heat up on the stove top, the whole time you’re on his mind. He just can’t stop thinking about you. ‘This is totally not normal, it can’t be!’ He thinks to himself. ‘No one thinks about another person like this… it’s weird!’

Once his food is ready he sits at the small table and eats in silence. Usually he would bring his boombox into the main area and play one of his mixtapes, but the thought makes him sad. Every one he owns has songs that remind him of you.

Fade to Black was playing when you had your first kiss, and it’s on every single one of his mixtapes.

Shot in the Dark was playing when he asked you to officially be his girlfriend.

Heaven and Hell was playing the first time you gave him the best blowjob of his entire life.

Faithfully was playing the first time you made love.

And the first time you told Eddie you loved him…? Home Sweet Home was playing, and that’s what you are to him. Home.

How was he ever supposed to get over you and move on when all his favourites had memories attached to you?

—

If Robin and Max thought you were insane they didn’t show it, they did give each other a look though. One that you recognised but couldn’t place. They both get ready to leave after chatting for a while, Steve however hung back. When he came back with the sodas, he looked angry. Actually he looked immensely pissed off but he didn’t say anything. Until now.

“I’ll meet you guys outside in a minute.” Steve says. Robin and Max each give you a hug before they leave and head outside. Steve shuts the door and looks at you, head tilted sideways, his hair flopping to the side and his hands on his hips.

“What?” You ask.

“You know I’ve never been president of the Eddie Munson fan club, but Eddie turned out to be a pretty decent guy so this is some bullshit!” Your eyes widen, then your head drops.

“So you don’t believe me?” You sigh and drop your shoulders, flopping down on your bed. “You’re right, I sound nuts!”

He rushes over and sits beside you. “No y/n that’s not what I mean, in this town anything is possible!” You sit up and give him a questioning look. “Your mom told me everything. I don’t think she realised what she said until it had already spilled out.” Your eyes widen in shock. “They made you break it off with Eddie because it makes them look bad?! What the actual fuck?!”

“Please don’t say anything, Eddie hates them enough as it is. Did she tell you they threatened to kick me out if I didn’t?” You ask, Steve’s face gets even redder than it was before.

“Okay now I’m super pissed!” He gets up from your bed and stalks to the door.

“Please don’t say anything Steve!” You beg.

“I can’t promise I won’t say anything at all, but I can promise that I won’t tell Eddie.” He looks back at you with a tiny smirk before leaving. Now you were in deep shit!

—

Eddie lays in bed, his mind going a mile a minute. He huffs in frustration, too many thoughts going around in his brain to be able to sleep. He grumbles to himself and rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He thinks about the words you used when you broke up with him, the ones he could understand. He chuckles slightly at the memory of your emotional gibberish. “I can’t be with you anymore…” what does that mean?

She said can’t, not I don’t want to. Eddie frowns at the choice of words. He’s not exactly sure what it means but he holds out hope that it means that you didn’t want to break up.

All of a sudden his eyelids begin to feel heavy and he sighs contentedly, now he can find you in his dreams.

—

At the same moment Eddie’s eyes begin to close, so do yours. Emotionally wiped out after the day you’ve had. You snuggle down under your covers and start to drift off, excited to see where your dreams take you tonight.

Unfortunately for both you and Eddie, you’re both so exhausted, and you both have completely dreamless rest.

—

You awaken when your alarm goes off at 7am, today is Saturday, a day you’ve been looking forward to all week. You’re staying at Nancy’s with Robin, and it’s just what you need. You’re not due to be there until 5pm but you feel the need for company today, so you shower and dress quickly. Planning on stopping off somewhere for a coffee and to get a dozen donuts to take with you. You always hate showing up empty handed.

You’re heading to the front door when your mom stops you. “You’re going out early. Somewhere important to be?” She asks with a suspicious look on her face.

“I’m going to Nancy’s, and I’m staying there tonight so don’t expect me back.” You say as you reach for the lock to open the door.

Your mom sighs. “Are you going to see him? Why can’t you find someone nice, who fits with who we are. Like your friend Steve.”

You roll your eyes. “Firstly no, I’m not going to see Eddie. He wouldn’t see me even if I went, I broke his heart because he doesn’t fit with your stupid fucking image. And secondly, Steve is my friend, I don’t see him that way and I don’t think he sees me that way. He’s still in love with Nancy. And after what you said to him last night, I doubt he will even want to come around here anymore!”

“I didn’t say anything rude to Steve!” Your mom gets defensive.

“You told him what you made me do. He said Eddie is a decent guy and didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Oh and I told him you threatened to make me homeless if I didn’t do it, so… yeah he won’t be coming here anymore!” You say as you walk out of the house.

Your mom calls after you. “He better not tell anyone, think of how that will make us look!”

—

Steve sits on the steps to Eddie’s trailer, waiting for Wayne to get back from his shift at the factory. He’s been there since 8am, not wanting to miss the opportunity to talk to Eddie’s uncle. He promised he wouldn’t tell Eddie, but he didn’t promise that he wouldn’t tell the other Munson.

Just as Steve’s ass starts going numb, Wayne’s truck pulls up outside the trailer. He gets out and looks all confused. “Harrington?”

“Mr Munson, might I have a word?” Steve wanted to do this properly, not make the situation worse.

“If you’re here on behalf of Miss y/l/n, I would prefer she come talk to me herself.” Wayne says.

“No sir, she doesn’t know I’m here.”

“You better come in then.”

“No, I’d rather not have Eddie overhear what I have to say. He’s too emotional right now.”

Wayne cocks an eyebrow at Steve. “Go on then.”

“Okay so last night Max, Robin and I went to see y/n, she’s really not doing good… anyway, I went to get sodas right? And y/n’s mom came to talk to me.” Wayne scoffs. “Yeah I know. So she tells me that she’s happy that y/n broke up with Eddie because now their image is repaired. I ask her what she means and she tells me, we made y/n break up with Eddie to save our family image or we would kick her out and leave her with nothing. She seemed so pleased with herself.”

Wayne’s fists ball in anger. “Image? All she cares about is image, what about her fucking daughters happiness?!”

“Right?!” Steve says. “Look yes y/n hurt Eddie but I think she hurt herself in the process too. Tell Eddie if you want but I didn’t want it to come straight from me. I promised I wouldn’t.”

Wayne pulls Steve into a bear hug, “thank you.” Steve momentarily freezes, not knowing how to react but then returns the embrace.

“She’s my best friend, and I hate seeing her so hurt.”

—

You pull into the driveway of the Wheelers house, you park and get out of the car. You walk up to the door and ring the bell, waiting patiently for someone to answer.

The door opens. “Y/N! We weren’t expecting you until this evening, is everything okay?” Karen Wheeler asks with concern.

“I just wanted to swing by with these.” You say as you present her with the box of donuts.

“Awww that’s sweet, come in, I’m just fixing breakfast.” You smile and step past her and to the kitchen, placing the box of donuts on the counter. “Would you like some pancakes, eggs and bacon?” Karen asks.

“Oh I don’t want to be any trouble.” You reply.

“Nonsense! We have plenty.” Karen says as she begins fixing you a plate.

Nancy comes into the kitchen, still in her powder blue pyjamas. “Oh y/n, is everything okay?” Nancy asks with embarrassment.

“Actually no, but we can talk later.” She nods and smiles at her mom and the pair of you sit at the kitchen island, tucking into your breakfast.

—

Eddie wakes up feeling a little more refreshed than that last few days, lack of dreams making him rest easier. Saturdays were usually the days you woke up with him, but he woke up alone. He feels like he’s going to wake up alone every day for the rest of his life. He sighs to himself, holding back the tears and goes for his morning shower.

Once done and dressed he makes his way into the kitchenette, Wayne is nursing a cold coffee and staring out the window. “Unc?”

Wayne jumps. “Son, I didn’t hear you. I bought groceries. Sort out some breakfast, I’m going to shower.” He stands, puts his coffee mug on the counter and goes to the bathroom.

“Okay that was weird.” Eddie says out loud to himself, shakes his head and makes a start on breakfast.

—

You and Nancy spend the day in town, shopping and chatting. You tell her about the dreams and aftermath, the situation with your parents and how sad you are about what you did to Eddie.

You head to Family Video after your shopping trip, to choose a couple of movies for your sleepover tonight. You’ll stay til closing to pick up Robin and then head to grab pizzas on your way home.

The rest of the day passes in a blur and you’re finally back at Nancys, with your pizzas and movies. Mrs Wheeler has turned the basement into a girls sleepover haven while you’ve been out so you don’t have to do anything except change into your pyjamas.

When you come out of the bathroom wearing red plaid pyjama pants and one of Eddie’s Dio shirts the two of them give you a look. “It smells like him.” You say with a sigh.

“You really love him don’t you?” Nancy asks.

“With every piece of me, I’m so stupid!” You reply, flopping on the couch defeated.

Nancy grabs your hand. “You’re not stupid, you did something you didn’t want to because you were threatened. It’s not your fault.” She says.

“Who threatened who now?” Robin says, her eyebrows furrowed and her head slightly tilted to the side.

You sigh in relief, Steve kept his promise. The way Robin is looking at you though, you know she deserves the details. So you lay it out for her.

—

Eddie had put off the band meeting scheduled for the day, he still couldn’t face people and the inevitable question of how is y/n? He didn’t think his heart could take it. So instead Eddie spent the day writing new songs. Most of which were sad songs about heartbreak and pining for someone who doesn’t love you back.

Wayne had avoided talking to him all day which made Eddie suspicious, Wayne knew something, something which he didn’t want Eddie to know. Was y/n seeing someone else? Was she in trouble? Was she… pregnant? Did someone make her break up with him? Or had she simply fallen out of love with him? Or worse, did she never really love him?

It was late by the time Eddie managed to get to bed, however, managed to drift off without much struggle.

—

The warm breeze brushes across your face, stirring you from your slumber. You sit up and look around, finding yourself in a field. Eddie’s van is parked behind you, and you see Eddie’s Reeboks sticking out of the open back doors. You jump up and over to the van, Eddie is laying asleep on the floor which is covered in blankets and pillows. He looks so peaceful and you want nothing more than to crawl in beside him. So you do.

Being careful and light so you don’t wake him, you manoeuvre yourself so you’re laying on the floor too. Scooting back so you’re flush against him. He sighs contentedly and his arms wrap around you instinctively, pressing lazy kisses to your back.

Eddie’s eyes open and he smiles. “I missed you baby.” Pulling you even closer.

“I’ll always find you!” You reply, twisting in his grasp to face him. You don’t waste any time and brush your lips against his. Eddie returns the kiss, his hands on either side of your face, yours are on his chest. Pulling on his Hellfire shirt, trying to get even closer, which isn’t possible.

Eddie breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead on yours. “I’m not alive when we’re apart.” You pull him back into a kiss, trying to show him that you feel the same because you can’t find the words to express it.

Eddie moves over you, rolling you onto your back. His curly hair falling around you, like a halo, your very own Angel. He kisses you again, more heated this time, moving along your jaw to your neck. Eddie’s lips and teeth attack your earlobe, making you let out a loud moan. You feel him instantly harden against your leg, even through those tight skinny jeans.

“I need to do something okay? No arguments, no disagreeing, I need you to trust me. Oh and don’t fight it.”

“I always trust you Eddie. With my life!” He grins and reaches for the button of your denim shorts, pulling them down and ripping away your underwear. You gasp and he smirks at you, then heads lower. Your breath hitches in your throat.

Eddie groans at the sight of your pussy, glistening with your slick. “All this for me Princess?” You nod. He licks his lips and lowers his head, placing delicate kisses on the insides of your thighs. You wiggle in anticipation, feeling Eddie’s breath on your waiting heat. He looks up at you with lust blown eyes and licks a stripe from your dripping hole to your aching clit. Your back arches in pleasure so Eddie does it again. “Mmmm you taste like raspberries and cream.” His fingers open you up and his lips wrap around your clit sucking firmly, making you keen, your fingers carding through Eddie’s hair.

It doesn’t take long for your climax to edge, and Eddie can tell, he can taste it. He moans against you and you feel the vibration flow through you. You can feel his fingers prodding at your entrance, and at your begged “please!” He slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right, hitting that spongy bit inside that makes you see stars. Five curls of his fingers is all it takes for you to reach your peak. Your thighs locking around Eddie’s head as it washes over you, the noises you’re making are obscene but you don’t care.

Eddie sits up as you struggle to get your breath back, he undoes his belt and pulls his jeans down. He doesn’t have time to wait, he needs to take you now.

—

Eddie gives his cock two quick strokes before he’s sliding it inside you, he sees your eyes roll back in your head. Once he’s fully sheathed in your wetness he pulls you up by the small of your back, so your arms wrap around his neck. Your lips meet and you roll your hips, making Eddie moan into your mouth. His hips thrust upwards and the tip of his cock hits your cervix, making you cry out.

Your bodies are mashed together, hips thrusting, rolling and clashing. Your lips meet in frenzied kisses, all teeth and tongues. Eddie struggles to hold back as he just wants to empty himself inside you but he tries as hard as he can. You hear him groan and feel his hips stutter so you squeeze your insides, tightening around him.

“Fuuuuckkk! Not gonna last if you keep doing that.!” Eddie moans out. You smirk and do it again, the sound Eddie makes is one you’ll remember for the rest of your life. A guttural groan that is the hottest sound you’ve ever heard, and his resolve breaks. He can’t hold back anymore and a second later he’s shooting rope after rope into your waiting heat, coating your insides and dripping out of you and down your thighs. “I fucking love you!” Eddie moans out breathlessly.

“I love you too baby.” You say as you pull him down beside you, his softening cock slips out of you making you wince. In a flash he’s cleaning you up with a cloth that appeared out of nowhere.

—

Moments later you’re both exiting Eddie’s van, and walking towards a carnival, hand in hand. This was shaping up to be the best day of your life, when Eddie let’s go of your hand.

“Just tying my lace sweets, I’ll catch up.” Eddie says and he kneels down to tie his shoe. You walk a few more paces toward the carnival when the sky darkens.

You look up and see the sky turn blood red, the lightning making it scarlet. You hear and almighty crash from behind you, you spin to see a giant metal cube has fallen directly on top of where Eddie was tying his shoe. You panic, thinking he’s been crushed and run towards it. Banging on the mirrored glass, screaming his name, tears falling down your face.

You hear banging coming from the other side, the cube must be hollow and Eddie is inside. You can only hope as you continue to bang on the glass, calling for him. You can’t hear his voice, but you can hear him banging in morse code. S.O.S

—

One second Eddie is tying his shoe and the next he’s trapped inside a glass box, y/n is on the other side. The sky behind her is red, just like the first dream he had. He can see her run towards the box and bang on the glass, she’s crying her eyes out but he can’t hear her. He waves at her, but she continues to cry and doesn’t wave back. He’s confused but then he thinks maybe it’s a two way mirror thing, like the police use. So he bangs on the glass.

She stops and relief washes over her face. She continues to yell and bang on the glass but he still can’t hear her. He thinks for a minute and then decides to send her a message, he bangs out morse code for S.O.S and she leans against the glass in silent sobs.

Eddie sees y/n jump and fear spread across her face, he begins to panic because he can’t hear what has scared her.

But then he sees it…

—

You hear a familiar blood curdling screech and freeze. You don’t want to look but can’t help but turn around, you see the figure from your first dream. Panic sets in and you don’t know what to do, there’s nowhere for you to go. The carnival has disappeared and you’re in the same field from your first nightmare.

The figure in the distance begins to move toward you with immense speed. And you run to the other side of the box, hoping it can’t see you. But you can hear it getting closer and closer.

You hear it breathing just around the corner of the box, you let out a silent prayer that everything will be okay.

But it isn’t.

—

Eddie watches in horror as the creature bounds toward her. He can see her as she comes face to face with it. He can see the fear in her eyes as it snarls at her.

Then it pounces, knocking her to the floor. It’s jaws lock into her neck and he sees the blood flow. He can’t do anything to help, all he can do is watch as it mauls her.

All he can do is watch as the love of his life slips away…

—

You wake up with a scream, startling Nancy awake who’s sharing the pull out couch with you. She has an inkling of what you’ve just dreamt so she wraps her arms around you. You shake and cry, but can’t speak to explain what just happened, but Nancy doesn’t press you for info. Neither does Robin who has fallen off the blow up mattress on the floor as she was scared awake.

Once you’ve calmed down some you explain what you dreamt.

—

Eddie yells out “y/n!” As he wakes with a start. Tears streaming down his face as Wayne runs into Eddie’s bedroom. He pulls Eddie into his arms and holds him, Eddie is shaking with absolute panic and fear. He can’t bring himself to say what his nightmare was about, fearing it would become real if he did.

All he wants at that moment, is to hold y/n in his arms and tell her she’s forgiven for everything. He just wants them back together.

End of part two

Taglist: @fuzzymelanie, @sweetpeapod, @eddiesprincess86, @eddiemunsonlives, @nycbaby21, @punxunited01-blog, @yourebuckingkiddingme, @credulouskhaleesi, @mandyjf, @sammararaven, @flameo, @peaches-and-plums-motherfucker, @stardustmunson

Sorry some of the tags wouldn’t work, I hope you find this.

If you would like to be added to my Taglist, please send a DM, ask or reply.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog!

[oathkeeperoxas]

AO3 wrapped!

Respond to this with what you would call the top 5 fanfics you’ve read in 2022. Any genre! Any ship! (Bonus points: if you’re a creator, make this a 5+1 and include your favorite fic you wrote in 2022!)

Then leave this in your friends’ asks too. Let’s give creators one more spotlight before the year ends, and share some of what we’ve enjoyed along the way!

You sending this: haha it'll be a fun way to wrap up the year!

Me for the past 2 weeks thinking about this nonstop every time I have a spare second: what WERE my top fics of 2022??

I've carefully picked out the below, but there are many, many, MANY fics that I enjoyed this year, so picking just 5 was so hard okay 😭 that being said, all of these are codywan recs except one (besides codywan and TOA fic I don't think I read anything else this year... Well, besides The Desert Storm which is an ongoing series, but which I recommend to every person, whether you like Star Wars and whether you like time travel or not). I've posted the below fics in the order I read them so no favouritism in the order they're listed!

this road is meant for two [10.2k] by @skatzaa

“Cody,” came a voice from behind him. The Jedi. The traitor. “Run. Use your jet pack.” “Shut up,” CC-2224 snarled. He could barely see through the pain, but he leveled his blaster rifle again. “I’m not leaving you behind again, General—”

This was my gift for FFFX and let me say I seriously won the jackpot with this one!! It really has so so much tailored for me, like time travel of codywan from tatooine into a clone wars fix it, the angst of purge trooper Cody and him struggling with what he did, trans Obi-Wan, hurt/comfort, established relationship, it was funny, and most importantly, Palps got killed 😊

Good Soldiers [7.2k] by @elwenyere

“Have I ever commended you on the vast array of sentiments you manage to convey with your ‘sirs’?” Obi-Wan asked wryly. “Someday I will persuade you to drop the appearance of formality - at least when you’re telling me I’m full of shit.” “You’re welcome to keep believing that, sir,” Cody allowed. “Everyone needs something to look forward to.” The rest of Obi-Wan’s smile faded, his expression growing thoughtful. “Yes,” he murmured, “I suppose they do.” ----- Or, 5 Times Cody and Obi-Wan Followed Orders + 1 Time They Followed Each Other

I just remember reading this summary, and even before I clicked it I was like YES!!!! This person understands the characters and their dynamic and the prose is excellent, this fic is going to be freaking awesome. And I was right! It balances character growth and plot brilliantly, and the construction of each section is so thoughtful and combines into an incredibly crunchy whole. I was so disappointed when I checked the author's profile to find that this was their only codywan fic, but elwen has since graced us with many excellent works, and I recommend anything that she has written!

Thirty-One Sons, Thirteen Moons [32.7k] by sual

“This can’t keep happening,” Jango says despairingly. He’s said this almost every year for the past twenty-five of them. “Well,” Cody slowly replies, looking down at the squalling baby the witch has left on their doorstep, “what’s one more mouth to feed when you’re already feeding thirty?" - In Cody's latest attempt to sacrifice himself for his family, he finally learns how to want something for himself. Modern AU with magic.

Urban fantasy is my favourite genre, and this fic captures everything I adore about it - the inclusion of magic into the setting is so natural and informs the plot deliciously. I usually am a very hard sell on modern AUs and on relationships of convenience, but the excellent writing and Obi-Wan's gender fuckery got me hooked, and I'm so very glad I gave this one a chance. It's such a great idea, executed super awesomely and the smut throughout is sooo hot augh

Meg & Apollo's Highly Limited Roadtrip Playlist [3.2k] by Curioser [and the prequel as a bonus!]

Fourteen hundred miles. Four radio stations. Two friends trying hard not to kill each other, or to acknowledge the fact that in less than a week, they may never see each other again. And Lizzo. So much Lizzo.

Reading this immediately after finishing the TOA books made me sooooooo emo like you have NO idea!!! Meg and Apollo's relationship was the core part of TOA that I enjoyed the most, and this fic made me see that relationship in a different light, gave me a different view as this is from Meg's POV instead of Apollo's like the books are, and introduced me to a whole bunch of new music too. It feels far too short for the amount of gutpunches contained within - the comparisons between their fathers, their situations and lives, and how they're coping with that, all made me sooo overwhelmed like aaaaaa *insert screaming cat meme* they're best friends. They're best friends!!!!

shelter from the storm [3.1k] by @inkformyblood

A sandstorm means that Cody and Obi-Wan have to spend days inside. They find ways to pass the time. - Obi-Wan’s voice is low and Cody can almost picture his expression despite not quite being able to pick out his features; the incline to his head is almost hungry, his eyes half-lidded and thoughtful. “I’m sure you have several suggestions already.” “Only several?” Cody punctuates the question with a kiss, drawing Obi-Wan’s hand to his mouth rather than chance finding his mouth in the semi-shadows. The split lip hadn’t been worth it with the benefit of hindsight, regardless of how attractive the gesture had seemed at the time. Cody’s lips brush against the rough edge of a bacta patch, an old one worn and reused until it is more placebo than curative, but Cody still skirts around the edge of it, kissing the seams of Obi-Wan’s fingers and tasting salt.

This was another gift for me and it is just so so so good 🥺 I love how magpie writes codywan as the flow between them, their characters, their banter and their relationship is so lovely and amazing! Codywan on tatooine are my favourite version of codywan, and it is nailed here - the yearning and the grief and the closeness that comes from being the only two people in the galaxy. Plus trans Obi-Wan has my whole heart, which was the cherry on top of the rest of this excellent fic

Plus 1 - the favourite fic you wrote in 2022

Whaaaat a question, oof. This was hard, but I've picked the one that I enjoyed writing the most, as well as one I've reread a dozen times or so this year since I think I did a good job in it!

Stand By Me [34.7k] by Serie11

Cody and Obi-Wan renovate a house together out in the Dune Sea. Along the way, they discover something else worth keeping.

I wrote this in like 4 weeks as a gift for Emi, and the process came together to really deliver what I wanted, and Emi really enjoyed it, so it was just a really enjoyable process the whole way through!

[peachraindrops]

The votes are in!

Good Girls Appreciation Week 2022 will take place Sunday, August 7th through Saturday, August 13th.

WHAT IS IT?

Good Girls Appreciation Week 2022 is seven straight days of dedicated fans creating and sharing new content showing their love for the show. Each day of the week has a specific theme voted by fans to interpret as creatively as they like!

I don't know about you guys, but life has been more depressing than usual lately and Good Girls gives us an escape. Let's have some fun with this!!

WHAT ARE THE THEMED DAYS?

Y'all voted and here they are:

WHO PARTICIPATES?

Everybody! Creators create, and the larger fandom boosts those creations with likes and (especially!) reblogs to spread the joy.

It’s a great time for people that have thought about trying their hand at content creation to give it a go!

#GGAW2022

More details under the cut.

HOW DO I PARTICIPATE?

You can participate as much or as little as you like. If just one day speaks to you, create content based on that theme. Post it on the allotted day with the designated hashtag, and boom, you’ve participated!

Several people have already expressed interest in what kind of content they’d like to contribute, but there’s no official sign-up. You can lurk for a few days, get a feel for it, and then post, or you can start planning and creating now, waiting for the official week to post.

WHAT ARE THE RULES?

I know rules are lame but we have to make this thing a somewhat official thing somehow 😂. There are 6 important rules of #ggaw2022 so that we see a #GGAW2022 post when we see it:

Keep it positive! This means when you’re focusing on your love of A, B, or C, you avoid tearing down X, Y, and Z in the process.

Spread the love! Like the posts you see and encourage content creators, old and especially new! Hit that reblog button a little more often. The fandom benefits when we support each other and encourage newbies to try their hand at creating something. Let creators know what you think they’ve done especially well by leaving positive tags and/or dropping a note in their inbox!

Use the designated hashtag! Tag all posts #ggaw2022 so that anyone following the tag can see all the new content as its uploaded.

Use headings or captions! Try to use a heading or caption that alludes to which day you are posting for, e.g. “Day 2: Favorite Location - The Park.”

Post within your timezone! The days last a little longer here in Good Girls Land where time is fake and everyone counts on their fingers! Don't worry about calculating numbers—the day starts at 12:01 am and ends at 11:59 pm in whatever timezone you happen to be in.

Do your best! Try your best to post by the designated day, but remember: this is supposed to be fun. If you miss the designated day but are still really inspired to make or finish something for it, share it anyway!

WHAT TYPE OF CONTENT SHOULD WE SHARE?

Literally anything that makes you feel some sort of way. Gifsets, videos, photo manipulations & edits, moodboards, drabbles or short fics, imagines, metas, fanart, playlists, and whatever else you can think of! Wanna make a cross-stitch pattern and share it with the rest of us? Wanna make a list of GG-inspired recipes? Want to make a movie poster? Go for it!

WHAT ABOUT PROMPTS?

The survey showed me how many ideas y'all have for this so we'll try this! Submit them to my inbox (@peachraindrops) anon or not, whatever feels best, and I'll post them all in an inspiration post a week from today, July 20th, 2022 in an aggregated (and nameless!) list. The prompts will be used for creators to draw inspiration from and maybe even hit a few of your favorite things!

FINALLY:

We all want to see these themes the way you interpret them! Again, the more creative, the better. In the end, I just hope this brings a little bit of joy back into everyone's lives because that's what we need right now, right?!

& the final finally:

thanks to everyone for all of the excitement and participation, and even more finally to @foxmagpie for letting me rip most of this post from GGAW2021. I would have been lost trying to figure this out without something so detailed to go off lol.

Reblog to spread the word!

[pixelated-whump]

@ailesswhumptober Day Twenty-Nine - Bargaining / Forced to Choose

Contents: Cults! That's always fun. Also some descriptions of body horror (which aren't that bad in my art style lmao), minor character death, all that jazz.

Characters are Niko (They/Scor, Ref which is literally my Roblox avatar lmfao) and Creator (Any, mostly They/It/Fae/Xe, Ref)

Also posted on Ao3!

“What do you want with me?” Niko asks, trying to keep the tremor out of their voice, not that it really does much for them.

The... well, they aren’t sure what it is. It stands tall over them, pale gold skin and a head literally detached from its body. That’s not to mention the wings, horns, deer legs, and a permanent shadow over the upper half of its head, yet its eyes can still be seen.

It’s fucking terrifying, and Niko is pretty sure it wants them dead.

It brings its clawed hand to their face and tilts their chin up, making eye contact with them. “Well... we both know you saw something you weren’t supposed to see, correct?”

Niko slaps its hand away, which is probably a bad decision, but their entire life has been full of bad decisions anyways, so what does it matter? It grins, presumably to itself, with red teeth gleaming in the faint moonlight glimmering through the trees. “I won’t tell anyone,” They hiss, and that’s not entirely a lie. They won’t tell anyone other than, y’know, the police.

It shrugs, gesturing to the person (probably an adventurer or something, judging by their outfit) it just killed. “Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead,” It says cheerfully, stepping closer to Niko.

They feel their heart drop to their stomach, eyes widening. “N-No! I can- I dunno, whatever you want, I’ll do it, just-”

It tilts its head, a wide smile on its face, watching them with glowing eyes. “Do you really think you could be of use to me?”

Niko nods, not trusting their voice to work right now. It grins even wider. “I could use... a devotee, if you will, to my... cause. But I hope you realize that means total secrecy. If you were to tell anyone, well...”

Once again, it gestures to the corpse behind it. “You’ve already seen what happens. I’m sure we can both agree that one outcome is certainly better than the other, correct?”

Niko swallows thickly, nodding. It giggles to itself. “I don’t take kindly to double agents, either,” It says, leaning down to be at eye level with them. “I have eyes everywhere, you know.”

They aren’t sure if it’s bluffing.

“So, what will it be?” It asks, that never-faltering smile unnerving the shit out of them.

“It’s a deal,” Niko says, voice shaky. “But... what even is your ‘cause’?”

“The details aren’t important,” It hums, shaking their hand. “You’ve made a good choice, my dear.”

“I’m-” They try to introduce themself, but it cuts them off.

“Niko, yes, I am aware,” It says, confirming that it probably wasn’t bluffing. “You may call me... Creator. I feel that is a suitable name, no?”

One hell of an ego, Is what Niko’s first thought is. Instead, they find themself nodding.

“I’m glad you agree,” Creator hums. “Come, let’s go get you proper attire, if you’re going to be devoted to me from now on, yes?”

And Niko follows them, wondering what the hell they just got themself into.