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>> SECRETS FUNFAIR - MASTER SCRIPT
I love you all. Thank you for the multiple year long journey. It is finished now. So enjoy.
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#SecretsFunfairComic#splatoon#fanfic#jaywrites#comic#im very sorry it took so long#i was committed to finish this#i hope it is enough#thank you guys <3#chili#mint#tai#myart
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*sneaks in, drops a fic, runs*
Summary: Da Qing is trying to have a nap when a curious human kitten starts petting him. Da Qing doesn't mind so much when he realises who the kitten is, or at least, who he will become.
Characters: Da Qing, Zhao Yunlan
Additional Tags: Da Qing & Zhao Yunlan, Da Qing & Shen Wei, Minor Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan, POV Da Qing, First Meetings, Reunions, Alternate Universe - Canon
This is my fill for the @guardianbingo July bonus prompt Meeting Again!!
#guardianbingo2022#da qing#zhao yunlan#meeting again#guardian#jaywrites#cat tribe best tribe#i'm sorry fishie this is a bit sad but in a good way#*passes you some cookies and tea as apology*#also - with this fic i earn another badge!!#i should really make a masterpost shouldn't i...
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The spring rains burned away and suddenly it was hot, hateful summer, bursting green everyplace I turned, sticky and sweaty and full of biting bugs. Fucking Bloomingtide! Time has no flaming sense of decency. The air in Skyhold stopped dead some days, twitching in its last throes as the breeze crawled by. I might’ve roasted to death myself except my da took pity on me and dragged me down to the sea.
Really he was there to do something terrible, kill demons, or close rifts, or both, since they never let him go anywhere unless he was doing something terrible. It was Bloomingtide like I said, but by the sea, it was wonderfully cool, and the whole of the shore up to the trail we inched down was swallowed in shining fog.
Pharamond had raised his usual hue and cry. This far out of winter, I hadn’t heard his nonsense in months, and back then I had still been very tender-hearted. He always began, “it’s too cold, I can’t go”, and my da would say, “it’s cold because you’ve not got on anything but your shirt, love”, and he would reply, “I can’t stick that Inquisition sack, it scratches”, and my da would paw through our little chest and take out Pharamond’s shawl, or the coat he was gifted by a kind farmer, and then he’d put it on Pharamond arm by arm, and this meant he needed to gently brush Pharamond’s hair out of the way first and fix his collar and fuss over his hands and a dozen other little ailments.
And then Pharamond had to make my da laugh with one of his odd little comments, and then my da had to kiss his cheek a few times, and then they both descended on me to make sure I had thick socks or else I’d wither clean away.
Today I was strong enough in the heart to watch the whole spectacle. I had my foot in the air preemptively to get my socks grudgingly approved.
“It’s Bloomingtide!” I snapped, when my da began to hem and haw about how thin they were. “If I wear your bloody wool I’ll melt.”
“Oh, leave her be,” said Pharamond, “her boots will suffice. It is Bloomingtide.”
My da was in such a good mood from going to the sea that he didn’t even grumble. And then after several long, hot days on dusty roads, where even the shade was stifling, we were there. Giant clouds snarled and curled and writhed overhead all lovely as Lady Vivienne’s stationery, changing from white to blue to purple and then white again while they decided if they were going to drench us or not.
It drizzled in Jader where we met Loranil and Neria, and rained hard enough that night I didn’t dream of anything at all. And the next day: the Waking Sea, lost in the second sea of fog.
I didn’t need a scarf or socks, really. The long dark sparkling flats of sand were seething warm, dressed in big mottled washes of rocks and shells and flotsam. The tide was out. Da and Pharamond went hand in hand to find it.
I was shy of Neria, who was wise and beautiful, and I liked Loranil lots ever since he taught me to gut fish; it was probably the best thing in months and months, helping them rig up Neria and Pharamond’s experiment. My da and Pharamond were nearly out of earshot, but their voices carried, and I heard them talking about me before the fog closed them in its long grey fingers.
“She’s a marvelous woman,” Pharamond was saying. “You must be proud. A credit to all mages, and so brave. Do you know she carried me through the Frostbacks after Haven fell?”
“She is my shining star,” said my da, warmly, without any of his usual shyness. The sea sounded in my head and my lungs and roared through my veins, and then they were vanished.
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A Regular Occurrence
———
Static courses through his veins, sparks at his fingertips, and he lets out a sigh of bliss, eyes falling shut as he lets this power wash over him, the power he’s been longing for, the power he deserves.
A snap of two fingers, a flick of a hand, and red strings snap forwards, tangling and twisting, turning and winding around a delicate neck, digging deep into a throat and suffocating the poor, unsuspecting puppet who chokes, wheezes, tears welling in his hurt eyes.
But he knows better than to cry, to pour out his heart and feelings, his torment, to the monster in front of his, who’s high, cruel laugh resounds off the walls around them, echoing in his ears and sending shivers up his spine. He can barely breathe anymore, the strings pushing too hard, and the demon brushes a tender hand over soft cheeks in comfort, green eyes sharp with mirth and satisfaction as a weak whimper leaves him.
“You’re beautiful.” It’s a gentle murmur that hangs in the air, and Anti smiles as sweetly as honey, tilting his puppet’s head upwards, closer to his searching gaze. A low chuckle leaves the being as he sees the pure terror in the other’s artic blue eyes, and his form glitches in delight, sending sharp sparks of static over his toy’s arms, dancing over and pricking sensitive, scarred skin.
“Do you ever wonder why you’re still here, doc?” Anti passes it off as a serious question, curiosity tinting his tone, but the way his eyes shine in deviousness and glee show a much different truth. “Do you ever wonder why no one’s come to save you yet? Why your so called friends have abandoned you?” A weak whine is all he gets in response, and the virus snorts softly, straightening and letting go of the man’s face.
His eyes are amused as they look down upon the doctor, and he brings his hands together in a soft clap before clasping them together, the red strings intertwined around his fingers fading from view - but that doesn’t mean they’re not still there, and the continuous, slight pressure on the other’s throat reminds him of his place, one that he’s been forced to accept, despite his hate for it.
“It’s because they don’t give two fucks, Henrik.” It’s harsh, and it’s blunt, the words said through a wide grin, sharp and malicious. “They never have, and they never will.” A movement closer, and then there’s a hand running through faded green locks, pulling roughly at his hair, forcibly lifting his head and eliciting another whimper of terror from the man. “They let this happen in the first place, they let you become mine, and even after all these months, after all the fun we’ve had together, they’re still not here. Would you look at that?”
A second later, and an explosion of pain bursts out through his head, having made hard contact with the stone floor below them. Nails dig into the back of his head, sharp, painful, and the doctor’s vision is blurry as his head gets pulled up again, ears ringing, unable to hear the cackle of glee that echoes all around them, and his head is oh so heavy-
Then he’s dropped back onto the floor, rolling onto the side as he wheezes, bringing his knees to his chest and hugging them tightly. The strings loosen, but he can hardly feel it through his attempts to regain his breath, quick, shallow inhales and exhales becoming deep and drawn out the longer time passes, until eventually, he’s gotten himself stabilised again, and now he’s acutely aware of Anti circling his curled up body.
He feels the static creeping into his mind, he feels the pops and crackles of it rolling off the monster’s skin, and he feels his hot breath in his ear once the other leans down close to him, and he can just about see the large grin on his face, how his lips are pulled up in that familiar, sickening manner. Henrik doesn’t move, he hardly dares to breathe - a challenge, after the ordeal he was just in - but then the demon simply chuckles, and stands up, leaving the doctore alone as leaves the room, remnants of his glitches still corrupting the silent air until - nothing.
The german breathes out into the silence, the peaceful dark welcoming as he opens his eyes, and slowly, steadily, he starts to relax. But then that all gets thrown out the window as a choked sob erupts from his throat, and he raises his hands to his face, crying into them as he lets out all his heartache, all his desperation, and all his defeat.
———
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I am coming for everything they say I couldn't have. #jaywrites #staysafe #staystrong #stayalive https://www.instagram.com/p/CAqS9nWg-q7/?igshid=1ownozw6t4oe7
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Snippet #3
Clint had missed training, again. Once a week was not unusual, but twice in a row? Yeah, he was a wanted criminal and all, but that had never stopped him before. Besides, he hadn’t called or texted, so Kate was worried.
She had no clue where he might be either. She’d checked his apartment, but no one had been there, other than Lucky of course. The dog had seemed to be disappointed when Kate had walked through the door instead of Clint.
There had been nothing on the news about the Avengers who had been on Captain America’s side in weeks, so Clint probably hadn’t been caught by any authorities, but that also meant that Kate had no leads.
And then a shitty pop song started playing somewhere in the apartment. A shitty pop song that was unmistakably Clint’s ring tone. Maybe he was home after all, Kate hoped. But the song kept playing and the hope slowly died. This was getting weirder and weirder.
Kate found the phone on the floor of Clint’s bedroom, among disheveled piles of clothes, bedding, and arrow. One of the windows was broken from the outside, shards of glass littered the floor. It was clear something had happened.
Kate was snapped out of her vivid imagining of what may have happened by Clint’s phone going off again. Whoever it was must have really wanted to talk to him. Hesitantly, she answered the call. “Hello?”
“Um. Who is this?” The voice sounded familiar. Tense.
“Kate Bishop.” The voice let out a breath and the tension seemed to lessen. “May I ask who I’m talking to?”
“Bruce Banner.” And that only threw Kate a little bit. She knew the history between Bruce and Clint. She knew more about Clint’s love life than she really thought was necessary. What she hadn't known was that they were in contact again. “Where’s Clint?” Kate worried her lower lip. How do you tell someone that their ex had possibly been kidnaped by an unknown entity?
“You might want to come to his apartment. I. I think he’s been kidnapped.” Blunt. Blunt had to be the best approach here. Fast and to the point, like ripping off a band-aid. “Lucky is here unharmed, but Clint’s room is more of a mess than usual.” It sounded like Bruce was carefully controlling his breathing. Right, part-time rage monster. Kate should have remembered that. “I can try to get one of my friends to track him, but Billy’s powers will only get us so far.”
“Get your friend to look into it. I have to make another call, but I’ll meet you there.” Kate didn’t get to respond before Bruce hung up. Wow, he seemed worried. As worried as Kate herself was. Interesting, but it wasn’t the time to think about that. Instead, she called up Billy and Teddy for help.
“You’re telling me,” Bully started when he arrived, with Teddy in tow, “That a fugitive Avenger has been living here for months and you didn’t tell us?”
“Yes, and now he’s been kidnapped. Can you please track him down?” Kate knew she sounded impatient, and she felt a little guilty, but Clint got in enough trouble on a good day. Getting kidnapped was not something to be taken lightly. Billy seemed to understand her urgency and set to work. Kate watched as he uttered some incantation and glowed. Minutes, seconds, some time later, he opened his eyes.
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So @gabriel-wolfe-wordsmith, his wife, and @jaywrites are going to be staying with me and Kev until they can get into the house Gabriel and Hannah are buying, sometime in mid-april
This will cause quite possibly the largest concentration of trickster and chaos energy in the state of Iowa.
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Do you feel my hand? It is there... Exhale, Inhale
Connection on a different level
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Got tagged by @bethelliott
Most recently saved photo, lock screen, and last song played. Saved is the new anime To Your Eternity which high recommend, lock screen is the color bars on TV, cool story ask if ya want deets, and song I've loved BMTH since I was a tiny youths like over ten years ago. I shuffle my music on my drive home from work this was the song I parked my car to.
Uhhh I tag my last three notification peeps, the real Homies; @one-trash-alek @kitcatsnow @chocoloverforlife @jaywrites @iris-black13
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*sneaks in, leaves this*
I don’t know what’s happening either. The words are just here this month.
Fills I2: Wang Zheng on my Guardian Bingo card!!
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There wasn't much cleaning to be done for a corner of Darktown, but Tomwise spent the afternoon rearranging junk anyway. He liked sorting stock; he liked thumbing through his books and pretending to organize them on their secret shelf. He hated dusting but he did it anyway. He pulled the big old sheet Elegant had lent him across a pile of shattered alembics just as Mikal walked around the corner.
Lucky. She didn't come around often, and who knew if he'd be here next spring? Some of the weather-witches said Darktown was due to flood and Tomwise trusted his luck about as far as he could throw it. Mikal was here now. He wanted the wretched pit to look a little nice.
She was looking over the place politely, like anydamnthing had changed in half a year. She hadn't changed much either, though it was a bit weird to see her out of armor- plain green shirt, brown trousers, all forgettable, except for her boots, which were good dwarven-made stompers and looked expensive at twenty paces— also for the fact of her being so drop dead gorgeous. She'd dyed her hair again. It gleamed in the guttering witchlight.
She caught him staring and smiled to herself. "Tom! You’ve cut your hair!"
"What? Oh. I guess I have."
"It suits you."
"Hmph." He considered a list of reagents so he wouldn’t blush. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“You didn’t,” said Mikal, and touched her cheek in soft surprise.
Tomwise sniffed. “Of course I did.”
It got so lonely in Darktown sometimes. Even a poisoner liked to feed his friends. Here is what he’d made for Mikal: greasy paper-thin chicken dumplings seared in oil, and plenty of crackling hot fried fish, and sweet, slow-roasted Antivan peppers stuffed with cheese and salt bacon, and sticky rolls glolloped in this ridiculous orange syrup that Elegant had made him buy.
Mikal shook her head at him and fumbled for the package she'd brought under her arm, a lump wrapped in layers and layers of old bulletin-papers and crumbling vellum- a lovely Rialto red— and poked through the shelf for some of the less grotty cups to enjoy it in.
“How is Our Lady?” she asked over her shoulder. Tomwise kicked a box of stained rags into one of the murkier corners. He ran a hand through his hair before remembering he’d been trying to slick it down, and kicked himself, too.
“Managing.”
“What? Even now?”
“She’s got this mad Fereldan, Micky. Blight refugee— fast as a snake. Cunning as, too.”
“They must be,” said Mikal, “to outlast the Coterie. Here— for your health. Valos atredum.”
“Ah,” said Tomwise, and took the old stone cup. “Sylaise bless the hand.”
They ate while the food was still hot and the evening quiet. There was plenty of gossip to tell; Tomwise let it all drip out of his head. They talked about other things. Mikal wanted to hear what he was making, and he wanted to hear about her aunt’s lenscrafting, and she didn’t mention why she’d come back, and he didn’t ask.
“It’s getting late,” he told her, when everything was eaten and the wine was almost gone. “You should head upstairs.”
“A moment, salroka,” said Mikal. “We’ll drink another glass.”
Tomwise had already drunk enough to be a little brave and extremely stupid. “If you miss me, Micky, you could just say so.”
She stared and laughed like summer. “Tom.”
“I’m only saying.”
Now he’d flustered her. She fiddled with her earrings and the cuffs of her shirt and murmured something about missing him that flamed his face red.
“Another glass!” she tried again. Their fingers knocked together sharing what was left. Last year she’d asked if he wanted to come away with her and he’d made a long stupid speech saying no. He wished she’d ask again.
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self-appreciation tag!
Thank you @howdy-writes
Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5-10 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artics/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works
personal note: most of these are on my personal drive and I’d rather not share the links to them! also, it was difficult choosing my favorite works because all of my projects are my babies
1) After Hours (linked)
After Hours is definitely a story I did NOT see coming, actually. I was working on Resurgence (technically its sister book) when I was also listening to a few videos on Amazon’s The Boys to decide if I wanted to watch the show or not. Something clicked between the two things, and here’s the best accident I’m currently working on!
2) Resurgence
Resurgence is an interesting project. The initial and first thoughts of it came from a weird, end-of-the-world dream where a second Eden was being founded with “chosen” people being selected to live there. The rest is history.
3) Atlas
Although this project is DEFINITELY on the back burner right now, Atlas is one of my more favorite projects to work on just because the actual plot and whatnot have been with me for the past 8-9 years. It’s basically a child of mine at this point, and I want to start writing it again!
4) Smoke & Mirrors
Smoke & Mirrors was an attempt at winning NaNoWriMo 2020 that ultimately didn’t make it, but I still love the concept of it! I want to start writing it soon again, but I already have a few projects I’m focusing my energy on!
tagging (feel free to not do it)
@couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name @blueinkblot @raenawrites @raevenlywrites @asablehart @jaywrites @linariouswrites @chloeswords
#thank you for the tag!#writing#writblr#writeblr#writing community#writblr community#writeblr community
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it is 5am. And I am awake. I do not feel tired and I do not feel utterly hopeless. The latter is good, the former, not quite as good.
It's funny how time is at a standstill, at 5am. I could be in an airport, a hotel, a plane. Time stands still, the same.
There is an emptiness to 5am. A quiet poetic stillness and softness that lingers in your mind.
An edge of desperation, milling in the edges of the vast empty time and space and everything and Nothing.
5am. I hear the cars pass by on the not so distant road, and remember car journeys at 5am. My mind does not linger on the past.
It is 5.04. I should probably sleep soon.
- Jay.
#jaywrites #5am #tiredpoetry #spilledink #frustratedtiredness #willfullmindlessness #oh,to be alone #mywriting #time
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A Sealed Fate
TW: gore
———
“Would you look at this..” A soft murmur hangs in the air, devoid of its usual glitchy nature. “Would you look at how the tables have turned?”
Anti’s hand drifts over cold metal, his fingers lingering there just a moment longer, and how they itch for the familiar, comforting feeling of warm blood. He misses the crimson that often decorates his knife like icing spilling down cake, and he knows what he’s about to do to get that will be as delightful as biting into such a pastry - not that he has much care for them, anyway.
Then a moment later, he moves, shifting closer to the table his victim is strapped down onto, and above him he looms, sharp, eager green eyes making contact with a terrified arctic blue. For a second or two, he longs to remove the fabric he’s stuck in the doctor’s mouth, just to hear his pathetic pleading for a bit longer before he takes actions - but finally, the glitch decides against it, merely shrugging with a small smile as he descends his knife closer to the man’s chest, letting it gently, almost peacefully rest against his body. There’s a a tilt of a head, a thoughtful expression that gets betrayed by a calculating glint in acidic green eyes, and then suddenly the weapon’s being brought down, down into the weak, pitiful body that belongs to Henrik von Schneeplestein.
The muffled shrieks that make their way to his ears manage to make a small, sickening smile creep further up his lips, but he doesn’t pay much attention, simply pausing to push the knife deeper, before slicing towards him in one swift movement, ripping only a feeble layer of the failure open. The chest isn’t his main focus, however, so his gaze turns towards the abdomen, and god does he smile when he digs the knife in.
It doesn’t take Antisepticeye long to rip the doctor’s lower body open, you could say he’s grown accustomed to this sort of a thing, and once his inner workings are open to all of his twisted, creative fantasies, well.. you could say he started to get a little bit excited. Maybe it shows in the way his eyes suddenly light up, with the way a small giggle bubbles up from his slashed throat. He loves this sort of thing, he absolutely craves it, and that’s exactly why he’s doing it - besides from messing with the ego, of course.
A thumb wipes away wet and salty tracks that stain a cheek, and he’s still smiling, almost sweetly, as he meets Henrik’s eyes straight on, his own striking even further terror into the poor man’s very being as he watches the other try to recoil - a dumb thing, really. He’s just chafing his wrists and ankles even further by doing that.
But, the demon’s back to the fun stuff a moment later, eyes sparkling eagerly as he readies his knife to dig into the man, to start to cut at the organs that hide in deep. And god, how he rejoices in breaking the connection that holds the intestines in place, how he loves wrapping his hand around the bloody thing and just - squeezing. His grin grows sharp, a touch manic, and then he’s pulling them out, slowly, despite his utter lack of care for them.
It doesn’t take long for Anti to pull them out taut, to the max, and he lets them hang out of the man’s body, a bit on the table as well. He doesn’t really care what they do - he just adores seeing the flickering look of digust and horror in the other’s blue eyes. He’s pretty sure the doctor is half throwing up in his mouth right now - pretty gross considering it can’t go anywhere.
A small chuckle of amusement later, and then the being’s attention is on the torn open, crimson stained insides in front of him, and in he fishes his hand, searching for a bit, before his fingers curl around the stomach, tracing the curve of the organ for a long second, before he’s digging in sharp nails and griping it tightly. It doesn’t take him long to saw off the necessary bits, before he’s removing it as well, dropping it onto the table besides the intestines. A lovely display of a complete, delightfully bloody mess.
The process is honestly one that repeats itself, one that’s comprehensive and simple in nature. In the knife and hand goes, and out they come with a new treasure, each different in size, beauty and function. The real thing that makes this all worth it, is not the money he could potentially make by selling this liver, but the reactions of the lucky patients he’s chosen for his procedures. It never fails to carve an insanely wide grin into his features, to make his gaze shine with glee and a fair bit of pride too. He caused this, in the manner he wanted, and he twisted this person’s strand of fate to his liking.
“And you know what’s the best part, doc?” He’s barely holding back a full on cackle of malice and corrupted joy as he leans in closer to the man, the blood from his neck dripping and dropping onto the space between his eyes, his poor, half open and almost dead eyes. “You can’t die.”
That makes Henrik’s icy blue eyes shoot open in surprise, and then panic, because jesus christ, he has to be able to die! He can’t live through this for much more longer, he doesn’t want to live through this anymore, oh please, just let him fucking die-
A soft giggle leaves Anti as he caresses the other’s cheek, watching his eyes fade back into dullness with a smirk on his lips. “You heard me right.” It’s a dangerous whisper than leaves them, sharp as knives and poisonous as venom. “You can’t die, Henrik. Well, sorta.”
The glitch straightens, watching the other’s eyelids flutter closed in amusement. “You can die. But I’ll always be here to bring you back into the world of living - despite your lack of memory.” He feels how his grin grows into a toothy one as he feels how the man tenses under the palm he drags across his side. “Don’t you find that fun, doc? Unlimited tries, over and over again?”
He sighs softly in content as he watches him die right beneath his eyes, his gaze lazily trained on the frail body beneath him. “Until next time, puppet. I’ll be waiting.”
———
@roserocks01 @ill-spink @eridangan @unadventurousjulie uwu
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