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britcision · 1 year

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A second WIP Wednesday in this chapter, but gods willing and the creek don’t rise we will not see a third! I’m just trying to see if I can squish both Harley and Constantine in at the end… and the answer is probably not 😔

But, that’s what next chapter is for! And for now y’all can enjoy an excerpt from the tail end of this one! All good things must come to an end

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Yeah This Might As Well Happen

As Harley followed Bruce out of the room, Sam’s phone began buzzing dramatically in her pocket. Abandoning her quest for the thermos, she pulled it out and glanced down.

Grinned wickedly. She’d been expecting this for a while now actually.

“Aw, look, my parents saw our selfies on Twitter,” she cooed sarcastically, Manson Party Voice making a brief return.

Danny scooted just a little away from the still buzzing phone.

“So are you gonna get that?” He asked as Alfred brought him a perfectly reheated plate. “What? Oh, thanks.”

Sam shrugged, hit speakerphone, and set it on the table. They’d posted those pictures pretty much solely for the incoming reaction.

“Hey mom, what’s up?” She said sweetly, still in her public facing voice.

Her mother did not sound nearly as composed.

“SAMANTHA. Where ARE you?! What are you wearing?! Where are your clothes and WHY, in the name of all that’s good, are you anywhere near HARLEY QUINN?! Have you been kidnapped?!”

Sam rolled her eyes hard enough that Tucker faked a fatal injury across the table. She flipped him off as Tim and Duke stifled laughs.

“Yes, mother, I have been kidnapped and just answered my phone completely normally. I’m at the Waynes’,” she added quickly, before her mother could jump to conclusions.

And gave her some new conclusions to jump to instead, but who cared. Still, something seemed to be sticking in her mom’s mind.

“With Harley Quinn?” She asked suspiciously after a moment’s silence.

Which, to be fair, was kind of a good point.

“Apparently she’s a family friend? Like Grandma and Ivy,” Sam added delicately, a vicious satisfaction rising through her.

She’d gotten to say her piece at the gala yesterday and had thought she was done, but. Well. Years of restriction and so on.

She was definitely still having fun winding her parents up.

Her mom’s sharp intake of breath was clearly audible even over the phone, and then the shouting started again.

“Samantha MANSON do not even THINK about going anywhere with that woman! You have responsibilities! School! Your work! We’re coming to pick you up RIGHT NOW, and… where are your CLOTHES?!”

Alfred cleared his throat from behind them, where he’d stayed from delivering Danny’s dinner. Sam half turned and he raised a brow, inclining his head slightly.

She scooted her chair out of the way to let him get closer to the phone, waving a hand.

“If I may interject,” Alfred said calmly, not a trace that anything was even slightly amiss, “the young lady’s clothes are in the dryer at present. They will be finished shortly.”

Another long silence. Her mom probably realizing that Sam had her on speaker. And that she would still be on speaker the next time she spoke.

Finally she choked out a terse, “thank you. I do hope she has been behaving herself. We will be there to pick you up in half an hour, Sammy, and we will Have Words.”

Which Sam kinda doubted, given where the hotel was and how long it had taken Danny and Bruce to get back, but time would tell.

At least they weren’t hiring a helicopter.

It sucked to have to leave, but she’d have needed to head out soon anyway. Her flight back to university would be leaving this evening, and at least this way she could hang out with the others until her parents arrived.

No reason not to needle them more though.

“Aw but mom, I’m having such a good time hanging out with Cass,” she sighed, switching from Party to Heartfelt Woe expertly.

Down beyond Steph, Cass stifled a giggle. It clearly sent Sam’s mom into another spiral of conflicting emotions; delight, hope, ecstasy, and ongoing horror at the presence of Harley.

Who, technically, was no longer present in the room, but telling her mom that would only make her feel better, so Sam wasn’t gonna bother.

Honestly, if she wanted to run away and be an ecoterrorist with Pamela Isley, she could just ask Grandma to text her. She didn’t need kidnapping.

Still, apparently the risk of a close contact with Poison Ivy outweighed her mom’s desire to see her cozy up with the Waynes.

It’d have been real sweet if it had been a worry for Sam’s health instead of a worry about what Sam would do to other peoples’ health. The lack of trust stung, truly.

“We’ll be there in half an hour, Sammy. Get your clothes back on and say thank you for having you,” her mom warned, tone sharp and clipped.

And then hung up the phone before anyone could argue, because while she never used to listen to Sam before, she did somehow still know her. Ah well.

Sam sighed, stuffing the phone back into her borrowed pocket.

“Guess my parole has ended. I’ve gotta get back for my next semester anyway, but you have my number?” She asked Steph, looking from her back to Cass.

Both women nodded enthusiastically, Steph sighing and slumping forward into the table.

“Do you really have to go? Harley probably won’t be done with Brucie by then, you’ll miss the best part!”

But in all honesty, Sam wasn’t too upset about that. She’d made her feelings perfectly clear via thermos, and if Jason wasn’t satisfied with Bruce’s real apology she could always come back.

So she shrugged, grinning.

“Guess it’s my turn to get the video recap once it’s all over. You guys’ll film it for me, right?” She asked, looking from Danny to Tucker.

Both of whom gave her a thumbs up.

“We should make a new group chat,” Tucker mused eagerly, already pulling his phone up, “one for all of us.”

“Then we’d know which galas you were coming to!” Steph agreed at once, her own phone magically appearing in hand.

Dick snickered, leaning back in his seat.

“Said like Steph’s ever let Bruce drag her to one against her will,” he teased and Steph flipped him off.

“Hey, if you’d had the good sense not to let him adopt you you wouldn’t have to do them either,” Steph told him primly. Dick rolled his eyes.

“I’m his ward, not adopted,” he argued mostly futilely, and Sam snickered.

“And still have to go apparently. Doesn’t the ward thing end once you’re a legal adult?” She asked innocently.

Dick gave her a deadpan stare.

“Ma’am, if you want to try and wrest an orphan from the hands of Bruce Wayne you be my fucking guest, I gave up years ago.”

Which, fair. Their rifts had been legendary enough to make the circuit. She toasted him with her phone and settled back.

“Point taken. If being a cop didn’t make him give you up nothing will,” she added slyly, and Dick mimed grievous injury, slumping forward onto the table as the others laughed.

Grinning her triumph, Sam turned back to Alfred.

“So if you just show me where the laundry room is I can grab my clothes?” She offered, trying yet again to be helpful.

Being from a rich family didn’t mean having no damn manners, no matter how often it looked like it.

The old man gave her another of his extremely arch expressions, an eyebrow rising as if to question her impertinence. He had to be fucking with her.

“I shall bring your clothes to the downstairs bathroom on this hall when they are done so that you may change, Miss Manson,” he said coolly.

She’d never heard anything like it.

It didn’t sound like he was upset or offended the way people usually did when their voices iced over that sharply. Just… not an ounce of wiggle room.

Not a sliver of a hint that anything he was saying would not happen exactly as he’d decreed it. He sounded more imperious than a king, and she’d seen those.

Sam kinda imagined that’d be what Clockwork would sound like if she ever met the guy.

Duke misinterpreted her decidedly impressed stare with a wry chuckle, apparently misinterpreting her expression.

Fair, since he couldn’t know she was comparing him to the living manifestation of Time.

Well. Ghostly manifestation. Same difference.

“Miss Manson’s probably the best you’ll get out of him,” Duke said almost apologetically, grinning. “It’s gonna be that or Miss Samantha.”

Which admittedly was enough to make her turn to face him, curiosity peaked.

“What do you mean?” She asked, glancing back up at Alfred.

She couldn’t read anything but serenity in his face, but mild amusement practically radiated off him. She’d have to ask Danny what he saw in his aura.

Dick took this one too, sitting back in his seat and grinning at her.

“Alfie’s serious about the whole “proper titles and full names” thing. I’ve been trying for almost twenty years to make him call me “Dick”, and I think he’d be slower to give that up than Bruce’d be to unadopt me,” he explained cheerfully, arm tossed over the back of his chair.

Alfred treated him to a slowly raised eyebrow too.

“As you say, Master Richard,” he agreed placidly and Sam pressed her lips together on a smile.

She didn’t have to turn around to know exactly what face Danny would be making. The last thing he needed was another scary old man full naming him.

And right on cue…

“Uh… can I specifically request Mister Fenton then?” Danny asked and sure enough when she turned, yup, he even had his hand in the air like a child.

Alfred treated him to that calm stare as well.

“May I ask why, Mister Daniel?” He asked, clearly prodding despite every line of both face and posture oozing nothing but polite respect.

Danny fully flinched, which was interesting. He barely reacted whenever Vlad said his name.

Sam adjusted her opinion of Alfred along a couple “scarier than Vlad” levels.

“I have name-related trauma from another billionaire who refuses to call me anything but that,” Danny admitted sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s a really not-fun association.”

“Vlad again?” Tim asked from across the table, sounding sympathetic.

Danny pulled a face at him, sort of grimacing more than a smile.

“Oh yeah. And let’s just say he also does it in super bad situations, so I’d be happier to just never hear it again.”

Sam peaked back over her shoulder at Alfred, wondering what he’d do with this news.

If Danny was gonna be a fixture in Jason’s life (and let’s be honest, he’d be a fixture in Jason’s bedroom by the end of the month), and Jason was a fixture in Alfred’s… they’d see more of each other.

Everyone knew Bruce had been basically raised by Alfred. If he was half as emotionally constipated…

But there was an actual human expression on the old man’s face now, and it looked a damn sight like shame. He cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him.

“My apologies, Mister Fenton. Would you perhaps prefer Mister Danny?” He asked, which would have seemed completely innocuous on its own.

Dick slammed both fists into the table, making half the table burst into giggles.

“Fucking SERIOUSLY?! Is it just me! This is bullshit Alfie!” He declared dramatically.

Tim looked equally gobsmacked, jaw on the proverbial floor as he stared at Alfred, and even Steph looked put out and impressed.

Danny, deeply confused but relieved, stuck his tongue out at Dick.

“Hey, if you want another overly possessive and creepy billionaire determined to control your life you’re welcome to take him off my hands,” he declared smugly, and Sam snorted a laugh.

There was a decided devilry in young Damian’s face too, which vanished almost immediately after it appeared as the youngest spoke up.

“Honestly, Richard, you must admit that Danny’s situation is decidedly more grave than your own,” he said simply, a strong undercurrent of smugness under the words.

Tim threw both hands into the air so hard he almost tipped his chair over.

“Him too?! Come the fuck ON!” He proclaimed to the world at large as Duke snorted half a glass of water out of his nose in a choked laugh.

Tim gave him a hearty slap on the back that was probably supposed to help, the younger boy still wheezing and gasping for air, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him.

There was clearly something of an inside joke going on, and it wasn’t exactly a complicated one.

Danny had already settled back in his seat, perfectly happy with the consternation he’d caused, and Sam joined him.

Watching the dramatics of the extended Wayne clan was even better at home than it had been at the gala. For a show this good, she’d have bought tickets.

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Damian will probably go straight back to last names, but even he has that secret Wayne ability to commit to the bit 😏

Tag list: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @eonic @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion

Oh shit we lost someone today I swear @blacksea21090 used to be taggable :( that’s not a fun discovery

#danny fenton dead and loving it #wip wednesday #chapter 11 i think #second excerpt #sam again!!! sam manson stan account #just a lil lick and some lil fuckery 😏#shit i gotta go catch up on my comments if it’s nearly new chapter time

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shivunin · 11 days

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @greypetrel and @vakarians-babe. Thank you both!

It's late in the day, so no stress or pressure but I am tagging @dungeons-and-dragon-age @ndostairlyrium @star--nymph @pinayelf @inquisimer @dreadfutures @nightwardenminthara and anyone who has something to show off!

Not all DA related, but I am currently working on:

1) this cool blanket. This yarn was the first thing I bought myself after getting a job and it's languished in a basket ever since. Taking a pause from scarves to make a pretty honeycomb blanket c: It's turning out more liney than I expected, but that's okay! I adore the pattern.

2) A one-shot for a con, which I've volunteered to GM in exchange for a free ticket. It is a bard-based campaign where they all wake up after a crazy night to find themselves in possession of an important magical artifact (which they now must smuggle back to its rightful location). I have to build all of the character sheets, write up the session, and (if I have time) build the terrain and print minis.

3) A piece for an exchange. It's...slow going, unfortunately, but we'll keep on truckin.

#sorry for so many tags in a row!! don't want anyone to feel overwhelmed but i am catching up all at once #wip wednesday #sometimes it's nice to just make a list. that's my motto

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direwombat · 5 months

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wip whoops its friday

tagged by the beloveds @g0dspeeed, and @adelaidedrubman (tysm~ <3)

still hating everything i write, but the "daddy la roux lives and is in the fc5 timeline" au has seized my brain and i have been piecing together an abridged version of katc for this au featuring syb's shitty dad <3 so here he is. being a little less shitty. and helping boomer dig her up from the grave faith put her in during her Bad Day™

In the confines of the coffin, Sybille had managed to stay calm. To slow her breathing, conserve her oxygen and focus on the sole task of breaking free. Humming that song had helped -- had given her the adrenaline she needed, and the soft, phantom voice of Jacob Seed murmuring words of encouragement every time she struck the lid.

Good.

Again.

Almost there.

It isn’t until the wood buckles and dirt begins pouring in that she begins to panic. The soft, crumbly topsoil falls onto her face and into her mouth, like thousands of tiny spiders crawling over her skin.

Her initial scream was more instinctive than anything else.

Each subsequent one is more akin to the yowling of a feral animal throwing itself against its cage.

Her bloody knuckles sting as dirt cakes onto them, but despite its looseness, the soil is heavy. Each time she pushes it away, more takes its place. She can barely breathe. It’s only when she takes a strained breath for air that she hears the sound of a dog barking. It’s faint, muffled by God only knows how much dirt, but she’d know that sound anywhere.

Boomer.

It’s enough to keep her going.

She calls his name, and with a renewed sense of vigor and desperation, she continues to claw her way to the surface. The dirt begins to move around her, and between Boomer’s barking, she thinks she hears the sound of another person’s voice. It’s low and likewise muffled, but it sounds like a man.

Someone is here.

Someone is here to save her.

Most likely Earl, if she had to wager a guess. Boomer must have run for help after she passed out from the Bliss. She’s just lucky they found her in time. The prison wasn’t close to where she last remembers being. Maybe it’s Sharky. Hell, it might even be Xander.

She thrusts her arm up into the dirt as far as she can push it, and there’s a sudden release of pressure as her hand breaches the surface. “HELP!” she cries out, and this time, she’s close enough to hear Boomer yipping and barking in response.

And then the warmth of another person’s hand grasps hers. It’s rough and calloused, and there’s a not insignificant part of her that bizarrely hopes that it’s Jacob’s. It squeezes her own, almost reassuringly, and while she still can��t tell who the voice belongs to, she can make out their words. “I gotcha, I gotcha, I’m’a getcha outta there!”

The pull nearly wrenches her arm out of its socket. It’s like being dragged through molasses. But her arm is free.

Then her head, and she’s blinking away the bits of dirt falling into her eyes, her vision adjusting from the pitch black of the underground to the bright sunlight glaring overhead.

Then her torso is pulled from the ground, and she’s falling into wiry, but strong arms. She trembles against her savior, clawing at his shirt and hiding her face in shame as tears blur her vision and streak down her cheeks. But when she inhales and the stench of stale tobacco and the sharp bite of menthol fills her nose, a broken sob rips free of her chest.

“It’s okay, Billie,” Daddy shushes and he holds her tighter. “I’ve gotcha. You’re safe now, okay? Daddy’s here. Daddy’s gotcha.”

She ought to push him away. She should want to claw his eyes out. But for the first time since she was a baby, Daddy’s here. Her knees come to curl up to her chest, making herself as small as possible, and suddenly she’s four years old again.

She’s four years old and Daddy’s home, and he doesn’t stink of alcohol.

She’s four years old and nothing Bad has happened yet.

She’s four years old and Daddy’s here to chase the nightmares and monsters away.

She’s thirty-five years old, screaming in grief and agony and all the other emotions she bottled up inside are suddenly bursting free until all she can do is shiver and shake while he holds her. His touch is startlingly gentle. Long, nimble fingers -- pickpocket’s fingers; cheating gambler’s fingers; liar’s fingers -- stroke her hair and rub small circles over her back, trying to help soothe the pain away.

She’s thirty five years old, and for the first time in as long as she can remember, she feels safe in Daddy’s arms.

taggin' @fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl, @ivymarquis, @carlosoliveiraa, @cassietrn, @poetikat, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners, @trench-rot, @miyabilicious, @simplegenius042, @inafieldofdaisies, @josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @voidika, @strangefable, and anyone else wanting to share a wip! (taglist opt in/out)

#there's a whole 'reconciliation' and 'forgiveness' (or lack thereof for both) thing going on in this au that's very fun to play with #anyway. i will catch up on tags this evening i prommy. i am just. 15 minutes away from a VERY busy afternoon #wip wednesday #wip whenever

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simplegenius042 · 5 months

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WIP Wednesday and Last Line Paragraph + Music Monday

Tagged by @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @inafieldofdaisies @josephseedismyfather and @socially-awkward-skeleton

Tagging @shallow-gravy @strangefable @strafethesesinners @deputy-morgan-malone @derelictheretic @wrathfulrook @voidika @onehornedbeast @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @neverthesameneveranother @vampireninjabunnies-blog @cassietrn @chazz-anova @a-rose-in-a-garden-of-weeds @snake-in-the-garden @jillvalentinesday @minilev @g0dspeeed @ec-10 @henbased @inafieldofdaisies @ladyoriza and @nightbloodbix

[Update: If anyone saw an @ for ladyofeden’s-blog on this it’s because this WIP was made before the thieves had been exposed. I only just realised her former blog was on it and now has been taken off]

Here's two WIPs (well one WIP + a last line) for Silva's Hope and The True Sinners from Far Cry The Silver Chronicles PLUS some music.

Here's Silva's introduction to Jacob's right-hand man, Alexander Khaos in Silva's Hope. Also Jess is here. Reminder that this is still under a lot of work, so this scene may or may not change in the near future. Enjoy the snippet below:

Silva stood up, giving the Whitetail corpse one last glance up and down, turning to face Jess.

Bow and arrow still in hand, but her focus shifted from the foliage to the deputy, the young and vengeful huntress regarded her with little more than pursed lips and a raised brow as she jerked her head over to the unfortunate Whitetail.

"Is he the one Eli is searching for?" she questioned, looking the mutilated corpse up and down, not batting an eye at the dried blood that soaked the Whitetail.

Silva herself kept a steady face, though the desire to show her disgust towards the barbaric display was no less prevalent. It reminded her of the methods of executions back on the Archipelagos; needlessly cruel to send a message.

"Yeah, he fits the description Eli gave," she looked over to the corpse once more, frown unseen by Jess, "At least from what I can discern."

"You see what we mean now? Jacob's a sick fuck, much like the rest of his asshole siblings," Jess spat out, sneering at the display, "They preach about how they want to "save" people and "free" us from our so called sins. Then they go an pull shit like this, or worse, let psychopaths like the Cook burn families alive. Fucking liars."

Something they have in common with the Congregation, Silva noted, remembering all the propaganda that spewed out the need of servitude and duty of men and women, all strewn around the Overcity and the Minas, all brushing aside the rampant beatings, false persecution and execution of Tumultites and sympathizers alike.

It seemed the more time she spent here, the more unpleasant Joseph and his cult became. She wondered how long it would take until she discovered something truly unacceptable. Would it make a difference if she called Joseph out on it? Probably not, she reasoned, Prophets are only focused on the glory they get from preaching "God's Will". Anything else is just a means to get to that end.

She exhaled roughly, dashing away further thought as her left arm ached. Though her rescue from John's envoy thanks to Jerome was only a couple days ago, the aches from the crash did not cease, her left arm feeling the worst. Her right arm was more lucky, thankfully.

Kamski's scolding was still fresh on her mind. If it was up to him, he would have locked them both in his clinic while the war raged on. Sedate her if he had to. But both knew that as long as one of her limbs was not too damaged, she would still go on to fight.

What a miracle her right arm was just as good with a gun as her left.

"We should head back. Eli and Wheaty would want the news-"

An arrow cut past Jess' hood and struck Silva in the leg. The Deputy could only stare at the arrow protruding from her leg, and looked to the trees.

She noticed movement from the branches and pointed them out to Jess as she tried to call out. But her voice slurred, no coherent word coming out right, and the familiar sparkles that belonged to Bliss engulfed her vision.

Jess had turned her back to face the trees, bow and arrow at the ready, though Silva stumbled and fell onto her back as the world diluted into a realm of colors and butterflies.

She could barely hear what Jess was shouting, though a massive thud that sounded like an earthquake shook the Earth gave her most coherent thoughts an indication that her companion was out of commission.

Still fighting for consciousness, Silva heard the echoes of crunched leaves and commands.

Above her, a new figure looked down on her, a man with brown hair and dark hazel eyes with flecks of gray. His attire was that of which the Chosen wore, though he lacked the red hood, and his vest shirt was black, with his sleeveless overcoat a dark gray. He smirked, shaking his head as he spoke.

"Salutations to you Deputy, you were quite a struggle to find," he greeted, his imitation of a southern accent quite noticeable even when Blissed, "Thankfully Eli just couldn't let go of a chance to rescue one of his own. Don't worry, that fella was dead before we hacked up his corpse. Unpleasant work but it needed to attract your attention."

He knelt down get a closer look at her, his fingers tracing stroking the healed scratches on her cheek. She shuddered involuntarily from the contact, which felt numb and yet made her stomach recoil from the cold in his hands. He stopped his inspection upon noticing this, eyes softening before becoming stoic once more, thankfully retracting his hand.

"I'm surprised you're still conscious. By now most would have succumbed to the Bliss, which I'm sure you will shortly. Some tolerance you have there," he kept his eyes on her, chewing on his lower lip as he pondered, curiosity clearly piqued, "I'm sure Jacob will be pleased to know."

Silva tried to reply, tell this Chosen to go "fuck off" or some variation, but her tongue felt like weight on her mouth, and her eyes started to shut as the sky got brighter.

The Chosen watched this, his smirk returning as he stood up, then groaned as softly smacked his head, "Forgotten my manners yet again! Now, you better remember this, Deputy, because you're going to see me a lot more than you think. Name's Alexander Khaos."

"And Jacob's been dying for a talk with ya," Alexander's distorted voice revealed as Silva's thoughts were shrouded in the desire to close her eyes. And she found no reason to protest any longer as darkness started to consume her vision.

Here's a Last Paragraph for The True Sinners. View the start of a terrible beautiful friendship between Kamski and Tammy. Paragraph(s) below.

[Kamski] leaned over the small kiddie pool, the water slightly tinted pink from whatever blood managed to get into the water. Untied rope still tethered to the pool's edge, likely to be used to tie prisoner's feet into the water. A wooden chair stood strong in the middle, though Kamski would have preferred it to be something stronger... like metal. Though wood was a step up from plastic. The unused ECT device on the table caught his attention, the face cloth that laid next to it. Tammy stared at him from the doorway, arms crossed as she inspected his movements.

Weary, ruthless and not afraid to get dirty? Where was she on the archipelagos? Kamski thought to himself, thoroughly impressed with her station. Turning to her, he questioned with amusement, "A kiddie pool?"

Tammy blinked at him, unbothered by the question, just shrugged with undeterred confidence. Kamski snorted, and looked back to the what was essentially a large plastic tub. "Quite a humiliating way to go... more than I could ever do back in my homeland anyway," he commented in praise, envisioning an Enforcer tied the very chair Kamski stared at, face covered with a wet cloth as he screamed from the shocks coursing throughout his body. Begging right up until he was completely fried. Oh, what Kamski would have traded to see Lapis in such a state.

And lastly a song for Far Cry The Silver Chronicles. A rather sensual one between John Seed and Nadi Sinclair.

youtube

"Use the sleeves on my sweater Let's have an adventure Head in the clouds but my gravity's centered Touch my neck and I'll touch yours You in those little high-waisted shorts, oh

She knows what I think about And what I think about One love, two mouths One love, one house No shirt, no blouse Just us, you find out Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no Cause it's too cold, for you here and now So let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater

And if I may just take your breath away I don't mind if there's not much to say Sometimes the silence guides our minds To move to a place so far away The goosebumps start to raise The minute that my left hand meets your waist And then I watch your face Put my finger on your tongue 'cause you love the taste, yeah These hearts adore Everyone the other beats hardest for Inside this place is warm Outside it starts to pour

Coming down One love, two mouths One love, one house No shirt, no blouse Just us, you find out Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no, no, no Cause it's too cold, for you here and now So let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater.

Cause it's too cold, for you here and now So let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater.

Whoa."

#far cry the silver chronicles #far cry 5 #wip wednesday #music monday #last line tag #catching up on all of these lol #wip: silva's hope #oc: silva omar #jess black #oc: alexander khaos #wip: the true sinners #oc: kamski neon #tammy barnes #john seed #oc: nadi sinclair #otp: the baptist and the quokka #ship: john seed x nadi sinclair #kamski is not above committing war crimes especially if it is towards those he dislikes #unfortunately silva isn't there to keep him from doing illegal shit #major differences between silva and kamski working with the resistance? morality and tolerance with eden's gate' bullshit #he also doesn't have much compassion for the peggies believing they chose their paths #while silva can empathize with the peggies because she too was devoted to a prophet who only SAID he had her best intentions in mind #when in actuality adam was an irredeemable bastard using her for his own pleasures #and alexander in the first wip has clearly caught notice of one of the effects that adam's actions had on silva

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inafieldofdaisies · 7 months

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WIP Wednesday | Tagged by @direwombat ❤️

Midweek check-in. We're jumping into Chapter 3 of John and Sabrina's AU with a little snippet where he's doing a great job of picking flowers for her while Leslie and Oliver become partners in crime.

A faint ringing pulled John out of his slumber, making him turn on his side away from the sunlight coming into the room through the half-open curtains. When the sound persisted, he reached a hand to the nightstand and grabbed the hotel room phone's receiver, holding it up to his ear, face still buried in his pillow. "Hello?", he croaked out, voice raspy. "Mr. Duncan, there's a delivery in the lobby for you." "What time is it?" "10 am, sir.", the man on the other line announced matter-of-factly. Of course. His usual alarm hadn't woken him up, resulting in him oversleeping, but reality was that he was stuck in another city with a cleared out schedule. He suspected by the following Friday, he wouldn't know what to do with himself, deemed a workaholic by many. Still, compared to everything else he had faced so far, that predicament seemed insignificant. "I will be right down in a bit." He quickly freshened up after the call ended, and with a final look at the vase with flowers the bat had knocked down the previous night, he left the room.

Downstairs, the lobby was relatively busy, his gaze running over the guests piling in and out of the hotel as he approached the welcome desk. "Morning.", he uttered out in a greeting, reminding himself he needed to grab a coffee. "Morning.", the younger man at the reception echoed back. "I was told there's a delivery for me." "Yes, yes.", he gestured to a couple of bags behind the counter, "Would you like me to call someone to help you with those?" "No.", John retorted quickly, feeling in no mood to interact with people so soon after waking up, "I wanted to ask…" "Yes, Mr. Duncan?" "Are there any flower shops you would recommend?" The man wasted no time in retrieving a notepad and jotting down an address for him, "It's three blocks away, most of our guests use their services." "Thank you."

With the small piece of paper tucked safely into his pocket, he picked up the bags and divided them between his hands, which in turn made pressing the button to call the elevator a challenge. "We meet again.", a hand appeared to his right and did it for him before the woman he had run into at the prison moved next to him as they waited for the elevator to arrive. "Ms. Donovan." A smirk marred her face while she went to fix her hair that wasn't out of place to begin with, each auburn curl falling over her shoulders perfectly to a point it seemed unnatural, "Look at that, you remembered." Kind of hard not to, when you have the same last name as the woman I like. Like?

He ignored the word and sent her a polite smile as they stepped into the elevator. It was beyond obvious that Candice intentionally chose to stand closer to him, or as close as his purchases would allow in the empty space. The fact she immediately pressed the button to the third floor was another unpleasant sight. "Which floor, Mr. Duncan?" "Fifth.", he lied seamlessly, knowing it would be best if she didn't know his room number.

"How did your meeting go?", she asked and glaced at him from the corner of her eye. "It didn't. There was a setback." "Oh, my.", she exclaimed, curiosity seeping into her tone and making her bright green eyes light with intrigue, "That's awful, darling." John shook his head, his attention returning to the floor indicator, "Hardly something that would discourage me. I have a new appointment, so everything is in order, Ms. Donovan." "Well,", the doors pinged, signaling they had reached the third floor, and John had to remind himself he shouldn't exit despite his instinct telling him to, "if you do face any trouble… you can give me a call, and we will find a desirable solution, I pressume you still have my card." He pushed down the urge to snarl at how she said "desirable", the innuendo, and her intentions behind the "friendly" suggestion for help being as clear as day to him. She wanted to do him a favor, and in return, he'd be indebted to her. And if he had to bet, it wouldn't be as simple as spending a night in her bed. No, when a woman like Candice Donovan would sink her teeth into someone she had set her sights on, she wouldn't just let go, at least not before having her fill and certainly not without ripping out their throat once she was finished. "I appreciate that.", he forced another well-practiced grin as she stepped out and waved him an elegant goodbye. Her heels resonated down the long hallway as she strutted away from him, no doubt putting on a show. Everything about her appearance was adeptly selected: from her designer heels to the emerald green dress that accentuated her curves and showed enough cleavage to draw in a man's gaze while still keeping her pretense of class. John breathed out a sigh of relief when the doors closed, and he found himself on his own again. Fuck. Just what I needed… her being on the same floor. He knew without a shadow of a doubt he had to avoid Candice like the plague, even more after this lie and the way it could only further fuel the interest of someone like her.

Once the elevator got down to his floor again, he hurried back to his room, fearing with his luck, he would end up running into her if he took too long. He quickly dropped off his bags by the door and went back down to the lobby, making a stop at the reception on his way out. "Hello." "How can I help, sir?", the man's gaze shifted away from the monitor and up to him. John straightened his back, leaning against the desk in a pose he often used when addressing judges during sidebars and usually yielded success in whatever he was arguing, "I would like a room change." The hotel receptionist pursed his lips, "I'm afraid that won't be possible. We're fully booked, Mr. Duncan. Is there an issue with your room?" Against his better judgment, his hand strayed to his chin to rub his beard, something a trained eye like Candice's would take as a hint of weakness, "No. Thank you." He made a move to leave, then remembered the broken vase, "One more thing, yesterday night a bat flew in and knocked off a vase off the dining table." "I'm sorry, sir.", concern washed oved the man's features, "Is it still inside? Do I need to call animal control?" "No.", John couldn't help a prideful smile from emerging, "I made sure it made its way back out." Technically speaking, he had done just that. With some help at concocting a plan of action and further moral support from Sabrina. "I'm glad to hear that, sir." John left the hotel, convincing himself his streak of bad luck would eventually end, that making it to his destination without running into any trouble was doable.

A stroll in his new shoes felt like a mistake after almost getting drenched multiple times thanks to cars driving full speed through puddles formed after last night's late rain. Still, waiting on a driver God knew how long and then asking them to take him to a place that was within walking distance was a bit of an overkill, even for him. Breathing in some fresh air seemed like a good idea, too. A couple of minutes later, after almost passing the flower shop thanks to his thoughts hopelessly drifting back to Sabrina, John found himself in front of it just as a man pushed through its doors, seeming in quite the rush to leave. It didn't take long to figure out the reason for his hasty escape. The moment he entered the store, instead of the usual polite greeting he would have expected, he was met by a horror movie worthy shriek that pierced his ears before a bouquet flew at his head. The sudden sting in his forehead told him his hands weren't fast enough to stop the bundle of flowers in its tracks as shock overtook him. "You have the audacity to come back? After you break things off with me on OUR wedding day!", a female hollered his way as the bouquet landed at his feet, her eyes glazed over with anger to a point the mistaken identity hadn't even registered to her. The violent outburst was followed by tears that threatened to undo all the work her makeup artist must have put into her look, and the only thing he could do was blink in surprise when she flew past him, and out of the shop.

"Mister, are you okay?", a woman close to his age broke him out of his daze, "I'm so sorry." "I-", he shook his head and moved further in, overwhelmed by the mix of fragrances that attacked his senses, "I have no idea what just happened." "Wedding drama.", the woman sighed, focused on an arrangement she was working on. Assault more like it. And she fled the scene. "Anything catching your eye?", she spoke up again, finally shifting his attention to him fully as he regarded the premade bouquets and rolls of vases filled with various type of flowers. "A bouquet. Red roses. And I would like to have it delivered today." A part of him argued he had no idea what flowers Sabrina preferred, but red roses were the option he always went with and none of his past lovers ever seemed disappointed in the choice. Quite the opposite, in fact - the gesture inarguably yielded the desired result each time he would task Penny with sending them to a woman. Having a PA to take care of his every whim including sparing him the hassle to go down to the florist's personally certainly came in handy anytime he would cave in and entertain the side of him yearning for a female's touch, but after the drunk call, he was forced to make the trip himself for once. "You're in luck then, you caught our morning window for deliveries.", the florist announced as she began selecting roses for the bouquet. "How many roses, sir?" John paused, unsure of how many Penny would get normally, "60?" The woman bit back a smile, "It must be a special someone. I would advise trying to avoid getting it hurled at your person, though." "She is, yes. And I will keep that in mind." Especially for still entertaining me after getting a call in the middle of the night and staying on the phone while my room was under siege by a bat. But telling any of that to a stranger seemed like oversharing, so he settled for a simple answer instead. She reached underneath the counter and produced an empty card and a pen for him, "How about you fill this out for her while I'm preparing the bouquet?"

"Thank you.", the plain piece of paper in his hand gave him a pause, then his mind drifted back to the night Sabrina had given him a ride, "Do you by chance have a card with butterflies on it or something close?" The florist smiled as she set aside the roses she had gathered and crouched down behind the counter, presenting him with way too many options to choose from. "Ask me what I don't have.", she added with a laugh. His fingers shifted through the cards, each seeming way too colorful and like it would clash with the simple bouquet until he came across one that screamed Sabrina. The inky black butterfly catching his eye so much that looking at the others seemed pointless. "This one.", he announced then moved away to give her space to work on his bouquet and settled at the far end of the counter, leaning forward on his elbows as he contemplated what he should write inside. It was another thing Penny took care of for him. "You have such a way with words, John.", his date would whisper and stroke his hand, eyes full of awe while he'd smirk, not having the slightest clue what his PA had even written to begin with. He never bothered to ask, all he cared about was it was working. What do I say? Minutes ticked by where he came up empty after overthinking every idea that would pop up in his mind and deeming it inappropriate. Finally, he forced himself to put pen to paper, writing a simple, "Thank you for last night. - J"

Once the bouquet was finished and he paid for it, he left the shop, feeling content he had done something without Penny's help. The flowers were on their way to Sabrina's precinct, and his morning had started quite uneventful aside from encountering Candice and being hit in the face by a bouquet an angry soon-or-not-so-soon bride-to-be threw at him. He didn't want to think if that granted bad luck in opposition to catching it after a wedding ceremony. He crossed the road with his sights set on a small cafe across the street from the flower shop. He was going to have breakfast while he waited for Sabrina to call, the idea of their date fueling his good mood despite the dull pain in his temple.

"We're heading out, boys.", Graham Ross said as he and his partner at the Missing Persons Division, Vaughn, set on following up a lead. "Good luck.", Oliver retorted as the door shut behind them and he let out a yawn, spinning around in his chair to face Leslie, "So… you can tell me now." "Don't start, McKenzie." "What did she say?" Leslie sighed, "I just know you won't be able to keep your mouth shut, she knows it too, which is why,", he pointed at the younger detective, "she was hesitant to share anything about the guy in front of you." "I won't, pinky promise.", Oliver raised his pinky for good measure as he took a sip of coffee. "She likes him.", Parish hoped the shrug he gave was nonchalant enough, still trying to wrap his head around the fact Sabrina was showing interest in someone, let alone an attorney. "Look at you, stating the obvious. Give me something more, buddy, that's like telling me water's wet." He rubbed his neck, wondering how much was safe to disclose, but still knowing Oliver wouldn't do anything to actually hurt her, rather wanted his curiosity to be fed. "John", the name rolled off his tongue, leaving a bitter taste in its wake, "lifted one of her business cards so he can have her number and is now texting her." Oliver whistled, "See, I knew the whole "NOT MY GIRLFRIEND" had its intent. And Rina isn't creeped out?" "Nope."

He pursed his lips, "Who knew she'd go for a hotshot attorney from all people, especially with Candy being in that field. Though there was something about him that just seemed… off." Leslie snorted as he leaned back in his chair, "Off? As in?" "It was like his charm was only surface level. You will see when you meet him." "He asked her out.", Oliver raised an eyebrow at his words, "And not directly." "Meaning?" "Decided to act sleek and 'check' if she has any recommendations for lunch spots." "So smooth.", Oliver said, voice dripping with sarcasm and making him let out a laugh. "And she thought it was an innocent question, went as far to argue with me, Ollie… how he just wanted to eat somewhere nice. Couldn't look me in the eye when she finally saw his next text asking her to 'grab lunch'." McKenzie swiveled in his chair lightly, mug clutched between his hands as he contemplated the story, "Did she agree?" "No idea. We were in and out of interviews the whole day yesterday and by the time I got home, I pretty much passed out." "There's more, Parish…" Leslie shook his head, "Not really." "Sure, sure, and I was born yesterday." "I might have told her to go out with him." The confession made Oliver choke on his coffee, sputtering, "Come again." "You heard me."

"Jesus, Leslie.", he gave him a pitiful look, "You like her, why would you do that? You basically opened the door to someone else getting in her pants. Law pun not intended, but damn." "Ollie." "What? You think he won't be trying to? My bet is he was probably rubbing one out the second he was on his own." "I want her to be happy. And this… ain't giving me much hope for the guy." Oliver tsk-tsked in disapproval, "Just saying it how I see it. And you, my friend... need to get your shit together before someone else takes the empty spot in her life, same one you've been eyeing like a sad puppy since the moment she first walked in here. Then you can both be happy and I get to be your best man." "That ship has long sailed, we all know it." He got one of McKenzie's signature eyerolls, "And you don't know how to swim? Board that motherfucker, Parish." "I'm fine with my role, Ollie.", Leslie said eventually, "Plus. He has no chance in the long run." "Why's that?" "Rina's been waiting for someone." A chuckle escaped Oliver, "Aren't we all?" "And she's adamant about it. John just doesn't know he would be fighting a losing battle." Sabrina herself had told him as much when he had finally admitted he had feelings for her, confessing she wasn't over some man she had met long time ago, that she would never be. "Ooof, his poor ego." "Yeah. It would die a gruesome death."

Oliver opened his mouth to most likely crack another joke at the lawyer's expense when a knock sounded at the door before an young man peeked inside their division. "Morning. I have a delivery here.", he announced in a rush, "Flowers for a Miss Donovan? I was told to bring them up here by the front desk…" Leslie stared at the enormous bouquet of blood red roses he held, his expresson of disbelief no doubt matching Oliver's. McKenzie was the first the jump to his feet, and with his desk being the closest to the doorway, he erased the distance between it and the delivery guy in a couple of strides, "She's out, but I will take them." "Thank you.", the man passed him a cupboard from under his arm, "Sign here, please." Oliver scribbled his signature quickly, shooting a dramatic look towards Parish when he took the flowers in his hands. "Have a nice day.", the man called out and left as quickly as he had appeared. "There's a card in the sea of roses, Leslie.", McKenzie reported, eyes shining with dangerous curiosity. Leslie rose up from his seat and met him halfway, "Don't." But it was too late, Oliver had already transfered the bouquet to him as he plucked the card from it and opened it. "Boundaries, Ollie."

"'Thank you for last night, signed J.'", he read out loud, hollering a laugh at the last part, "Holy shit. He did not just-" "I could have gone without hearing that, Oliver.", Leslie ripped the card out of his fingers and shoved it back between a roll of roses, then turned, fully intending to place the flowers on her desk and forget about the words just read to him. Instead his feet carried him over to his own, and before he could think better of his actions or question what awful spell had fallen over him, he dropped the bouquet in the waste bin by it with a snarl. It was the black butterfly on the card that set him off and the realization it matched the two Sabrina had tattooed on her clavicle, proving "last night" could mean one thing. Oliver let out a laugh, gaze casted downward, "Jesus, talk about an extra fucker, it can’t even fit halfway in the trashcan. How many roses do you think that is? And do we think he's compensating for something else with the size of that bouquet?" "An extensive number. Blatant overkill. He's showing off, plain and simple." "Yeah. The card couldn't be more on the nose, either." "Don't remind me.", Leslie gritted out and pushed the flowers further in with his shoe, "What kind of man sends flowers to a woman with that message? At her workplace." "Maybe… it's not what it looks like?", Oliver didn't sound convinced by his own words at all, "Yeah, who am I kidding." "And she'd hate it.", it was a matter of fact statement, "Roses aren't even her favorite."

"Board that ship, because that fucker is already at the helm. But worry not, we can wash away his look of victory when we throw him back into the ocean." "You sure are going hard for those pirate metaphors, Ollie." "You started it." "What are you two up to?", Sabrina's voice made both of them jump in surprise as Leslie reacted quickly and kicked the waste bin under his desk before sinking back into his chair like nothing had happened. Oliver followed suit by taking a seat at the edge of his desk, his body obstructing her view of the flowers further. She made her way to her desk, clutching a folder close to her chest, completely oblivious to the fact they had done something bad. Sabrina faced them with a small smile, and Leslie didn't dare to wonder if it was thanks to her night with- No. Don't go there. "Lab's finally done. We got a match, now only to put out a BOLO.", she was beaming with those news, "We're getting closer, Leslie." Oliver and Leslie shared a look while she shrugged off her coat and sat down, turning her computer back on. "You're both awfully quiet. What happened?" "Nothing.", Parish said first. McKenzie in turn crossed his arms over his chest, sending a knowing smirk his way before asking, "So how was your night, Rina?" "Hmm?", Sabrina glanced at him briefly, feigning confusion, "Boring?" "That so?" "Yeah.", the fact her gaze remained glued to her monitor didn't help matters while Oliver pushed for more intel despite a warning kick from Leslie. "Boring how?"

"What are you up to, Oliver?" "Just answer the question, Sabrina.", Oliver retorted playfully, "We're bonding." She rolled her eyes, but entertained his excuse, "Boring as in, it's what I do every night - went home, made Sav dinner, crashed for the night." Silence took over the room, filled only by the clicking of her keyboard as she put up the BOLO for their suspect, and Leslie almost spilled his coffee over his jeans when Oliver broke it, "And what about our lawyer friend?" "John?" "Yes. You have any other lawyers thirsting for your attention?" "Hilarious. What about him?" Did you see him last night? Why is he sending you an obnoxious number of flowers as the most distasteful display of gratitude for sleeping with him? Thankfully, neither of them asked her that, instead Oliver went for a safer question, "Heard from him yet?" Sabrina groaned, "Leslie, you told him, didn't you?" "That he asked you out for lunch?", he wiggled his eyebrows, "Sure, he snitched, you can spank him for it later, but it wouldn't have been too hard to figure out on my own, Rina. My senses were tingling from the second the rich fucker walked in to report his luggage stolen." "Fuck.", she uttered out suddenly, pushing back her chair as she rummaged through her bag for something until she pulled out her phone, "Lunch. I will be right back." "Leslie.", Oliver whispered under his breath as they watched her rush out of the room, "I think it won't be as easy as throwing him overboard, matey. I haven't seen her run like that for anything that's not a case update."

Leslie's eyes narrowed, hating he was voicing the exact thing he had noticed, and the hand McKenzie rested on his shoulder for moral support. "Chin up, buddy.", his lips quirked up, "For what it's worth, he can take her out on a date, but you can take him out, literally. And me... I own a shovel." The door opening again prompted Oliver to resume his previous pose against the desk as Sabrina returned and put her coat back on. "Where are you off to, Rina?", he sing-songed, twirling one of Leslie's pens between his fingers. "Uh,", she cleared her throat, "I'm going out for lunch, guys." The announcement resulted in another pointed look from him aimed at Parish while Sabrina herself seemed far away, probably already out of the building in her mind. When neither said anything out loud, she bit her lip, growing uncertain, "I will be at Rue's, watching my phone like a hawk in case anything comes up from the BOLO… If you two don't think I-" "Go.", Leslie interrupted her, "You have to eat, Rina. We will keep an eye out." She nodded and shot him a smile and a small wave at Oliver as she left. "Have fun.", Oliver shouted after her before turning to Leslie, "Look at that, I'm suddenly hungry myself. Rue's sounds just divine right now." "Ollie. Don't.", Leslie's voice rose, already foreseeing the chaos the plan would cause and how it could ruin Sabrina's date with the lawyer. John. He was dreading even thinking about his name now. Oliver hoped off his desk and grabbed his own jacket, "I'm doing this alone, Parish, don't worry. A little recon. Fucker will be walking the plank in no time."

Tagging, @socially-awkward-skeleton @adelaidedrubman @poisonedtruth @madparadoxum @wrathfulrook @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @trench-rot @g0dspeeed @shellibisshe @shegetsburned @jillvalentinesday @cassietrn @purplehairsecretlair @voidika @theelderhazelnut @v0idbuggy @chazz-anova @florbelles @corvosattano @nightbloodbix @euryalex @clicheantagonist @simplegenius042 @thesingularityseries @strangefable @dumbassdep and anyone with something to share ❤️

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