#rywd

[vapolis]

You smile. It's a brittle one. Cracked around the edges. Plaster peeling and your skin with it. You don't touch it this time around, like you did in the club. Afraid to find it slick again. To find blood coating it and your teeth. The top of your hand.  When you glance down there's nothing. 

chapter three.

expect looots of dante/delilah & royal

more drama and fights

some revelations that could shock you happen

meet the vipers! and immediatly antagonize them!

the warnings at the beginning of the game have been updated so please pay attention to them! sensitive subject matter is alluded to later on in this chapter

general info.

as of this week, echo is a RO and romance options have been added to the previous chapters they have appeared in

that means that you'll most likely be reset to the beginning because I made some bigger changes to the code and added a couple new scenes in chapter 001. & 002.

progress.

74k -> 126k (+ 52k)

play demo. intro post.

#remember you will die #rywd #**mine #choice of games #**update #man this was a headache to code lmaoooo #lmk abt issues pls!! i'm sure there are some i missed #a lot of flavour text towards the end so don't be surprised abt lack of choice pls #i always want to add scenes that flow due to previous choices

[vincentvan-ohno]

My mc Sol and Jax from Remember, You Will Die by @vapolis

They are currently living in my mind rent free.

Sol genuinely believe she can’t be fixed so she will be trying to make Jax worse 😔

I accidentally made her short since 98% of my characters are 5’ like me. She was supposed to be like 5’9”

#my art #if mc #my art 2024 #remember you will die #rywd

[ethersic]

new year, new rywd fanart <3 (w/o text below)

royal from remember you will die by @vapolis

can you tell idk how to draw tattoos bc i was winging it😶the piercings were v fun to draw though (looking at references helps, who woulda thought)

🖊️drawn on ipad w/ procreate

#remember you will die #rywd #interactive fiction #fanart #my art #digital art

[dazyxi]

;; RYWD WRITING (REMEMBER YOU WILL DIE) — content warnings: very brief mention of sh (digging nails in skin), derealization (slightly), and smoking. other warning: not lore accurate. i wrote it for fun, and it's very short becauseeee... i didn't know how to continue it from that point ibr 😭😭i don't write shit like this sooo it's very fast-paced and sloppy!!

The air is thin in Ivy's lungs. The breaths she's expelling are heavy, heaved, and drawn out. She's struggling to inhale and exhale. To breathe. To function. Her room is too tight, the walls too closed-in. In short, she feels like she's being choked. Strangled. Not just by this apartment room, suffocated by life. And she doesn't know what to do. There's no out. She's stuck. Stuck in this endless loop. Stuck in a role. A rabid dog on a tight chain. A vicious animal waiting to be set loose. A psychotic murderer who shouldn't be trusted. Stuck proving them right.

She's mad. Not at Orla. Not at the people who labeled her. At herself. She put herself in this situation. How could people think differently when all she does is fit into their title? Whenever she's given the choice to do the right thing- be better- she does the opposite. Maybe she got comfortable with the low-held expectations. Got used to being held in poor regard. I mean, you can't disappoint someone who never had hope, right?

Her skin is crawling with discomfort, and her posture is rigid as she sits against a wall. A lazily bandaged hand lays against her exposed collarbones. An attempt to ground herself. Flesh against flesh. Warm flesh. Not cold.

She's disoriented. Alienated. As lines of reality turn fuzzy, and she starts to get distant, she mentally wrangles with herself. Nails start to press carelessly into olive skin while her mind ripples with static. This feeling, the sickening nauseation of being trapped, is clawing through her. Seeping into her bone marrow. Sticking itself to her permanently.

Strands of her black hair are stuck to her face by sweat. The sweat that beads from her hairline and trails down her cheeks, joining tears she was unaware of. She feels pathetic. Helpless. She wants to give in. Let herself melt away. Instead, she lets her hands fall to her side in a clumsy action, leaving crescent-shaped indents at her collarbones. They're laced with a left-over stinging sensation but no blood. She starts to count her fingers. Starting with her index finger. . . then middle finger. . . ring finger. . . pinky finger. Index. . . middle. . . ring. . . pinky. She repeats it over and over and over until she's sick of it. Sick of calloused fingerpads scraping together in a strange anchoring method. Blearily, she mocks herself through the disorderment, This is all so stupid. Get over yourself.

She stares at the ground. Exhausted. Her gaze flits around the rays of neon light cast from the windows and onto the floor. Squints at the cracked wood. Scrutinizes the fractures. She drags her eyes upward to the window, the presence of Vapolis leaking through the glass. It's taunting in a way. Slowly, she regains her thoughts, the repeated buzz being replaced. Her mind scrambles to catch up with her emotions, and a moment later, she's frantically digging into her pockets. Her fingers catch onto the cigarettes and lighter, messily dragging them out of her jacket like she's on borrowed time. She flips the lighter on after she's stuck a cigarette in her chapped lips. Briefly, she watches the flame dance. Observes as it spins and whirls around like a dandelion in the wind, only less innocent.

She places the fire underneath the cig, and soon after, tendrils of smoke billow into the atmosphere. She sighs out clouds of mist while the familiar rush of pleasure pangs through her. Easing slightly, she lets her body slump, head tipping upward and hitting the wall. Her sore eyes flutter shut, her shoulder still tension-filled and clamped up at her sides, but the looming factor of dread has settled. Somewhat. It's still at the forefront, lingering in her mind. She takes another drag, and her mind begins to haze over.

One hand still holding her cigarette to her lips, the other struggles to help herself up on wobbly legs. They feel like jelly underneath her weight. "Fuck," she mutters, her voice strained. Wrecked.

It's whatever, she thinks. She'll adjust. Conform to fit the mold. Easier than trying to break it or reform it. She always does what's easier for her. Less work. At the end of the day, she did this. What's that saying? Nobody to blame but yourself?

#remember you will die #rywd #mc oc #oc: ivy essa #writing #idk if the author would wanna be tagged so I'm not gonnaaaa #im also so sleepy so this even MORE half-assed #please take this from my humble hands #also she was originally gonna be in the jax/orla poly route but i very quickly realized She Cannot Handle That so she's going for delilah!!

[weyrleaders]

here have another one lol the fact that flirting with jax leads to the reveal that yall have been flirting back and forth for ages makes me want to scream in the woods at 3am so thank you for that @vapolis

i have no idea how the prosthetic eyes work so i took some liberties for the sake of what little plot there is

Aster has always preferred to work alone. At the end of the day, the only person you can really count on is yourself. So why risk relying on someone else when they won’t always be there?

That said, he does enjoy working with Jax. They may be acquaintances at best, but Aster does appreciate Jax’s work ethic. He doesn’t have to plan around Ray’s faux impulsivity, or Ray’s knack for wasting valuable time, or the odds that Ray will make a detour to fuck a stranger in an alley. Ray’s unwillingness to do whatever it takes to get results. Ray’s—

Aster sighs. The little fucker’s not even around and he’s still managing to get on Aster’s nerves. And Aster’s fairly certain why that is.

He glances over at Jax. He’s leaning against the ledge, peering down at the mansion below with one hand on his gun. They’ve been waiting for a few hours, but now the guests have started to arrive.

Aster keeps quadruple-checking his gear without taking his eyes off Jax.

“McClair?” He asks, just loud enough for Jax to hear, the first word either of them has spoken since they settled in to watch.

“Not yet,” Jax replies.

“Then we have a few minutes,” responds Aster. Both glocks are loaded and ready, holdout pistol secured in his right boot, holdout switchblade ready to be stashed in his left. It’s redundant to go over it all again. The third time was enough.

Jax is still looking down at the mansion, scanning the crowd as they head inside. It really is strange to see him out of his usual clothes, foregoing designer button-downs for nondescript street clothes. Which are probably also designer, to be fair. Aster wonders how many weapons he managed to fit in his coat.

“Can you please do me a favor and just fuck Ray already?” Aster asks, sliding his knife back into his boot after testing the sharpness.

Jax doesn’t startle easily, and he doesn’t visibly react beyond cutting his eyes over at Aster for a brief second.

“Excuse me?”

Aster sighs again.

“Our staff meetings—”

“It’s hardly a staff meeting with only four people,” Jax mutters under his breath.

“—are getting unbearable. I know you want him, and while I do have to question your taste—”

“You wore a denim jacket with jeans last week.”

“—I won’t judge you for it,” Aster continues. “Please, for all our sakes, take the bastard to bed and get it out of both of your systems.”

Because that’s how Ray operates. Almost always once, rarely ever twice, and Aster can count on one hand how many other hook-ups have become any sort of semi-permanent arrangement. Not because he cares or has any interest, but because Ray’s an over-sharer who never shuts up and Orla has specifically forbidden him from cutting Ray’s tongue out with the first piece of rusty silverware he can get his hands on. He even asked nicely.

Aster is going to lose no matter what, really. He doesn’t know anything about Jax’s sex life and would love for that particular status quo to remain. But having to sit through Ray’s little play-by-play of what they manage to get up to because they’re stuck in the same room would be worth not having to deal with the weird sexual tension that happens whenever Ray and Jax make eye contact across Orla’s desk. At least the detailed summary would only be once. The longing gazes are forever.

Jax glances over again and narrows his eyes before turning back to the mansion.

“How do you think I feel when you fall over yourself to agree with Orla on everything?”

“That’s different,” Aster hisses. “Of course I agree with her, she’s my boss. McClair?”

“I think that’s his car,” he reports. “She said you did well on that last job and you were practically drooling.”

“I was not—”

“As your coworker, I’m telling you—McClair’s here, we have two minutes—that it’s not going to end well.”

“Stop dodging my original point,” Aster says, keeping his tone very carefully flat as he stands. He makes his way to the edge of the roof where Jax is keeping watch just in time to see their target go inside.

Jax makes for the fire escape as Aster takes his original position at the ledge. As soon as Jax is out of sight, Aster taps their joint mission channel on his SocialLink to get his attention. Jax sends back an acknowledgment.

Aster watches the mansion for any sign of movement. His eyes are better, even if he can’t keep up the fancy tricks for long.  Jax is good, but he can’t be expected to watch the front door, the side entrances, and all the windows at the same time.

Jax tracks down McClair’s car once the valet leaves it unattended. It wouldn’t be fair to continue their discussion, since Jax can’t reply, so Aster just hangs back and lets him work. There’s a brief moment where a woman pauses by one of the windows, and Aster zooms in to watch her face and body language while taking mental notes of what she looks like in case they have to track her down later. But she doesn’t show any sign of alarm or confusion and wanders off after a moment, so Aster returns to his patrol.

McClair isn’t actually the target. They’re here for the prototype in his car. Aster doesn’t know what it is, exactly, just that it’s very valuable and very secret. And he’s selling it to Orla for a lot of money, which is in the small case that Jax is supposed to leave in place of the prototype.

It’s not as if McClair can safely meet with any of them without risking his reputation or job—and thus any more interesting toys he may be willing to part with later down the line—so he and Jax are once again on pickup detail. Aster does a lot of that, lately. Mostly because Ray has Orla convinced he lacks the patience for it and would likely fuck it up. Asshole.

“Done,” Jax reports in a hushed whisper.

Aster enhances his vision and hits the override for his eyes so they can move faster. Everyone is still inside and no one has lingered at the windows. The valet is still waiting by the door and hasn’t so much as glanced in the direction of the parking area. It’s still a very long couple of minutes until Aster hears Jax making his way back up the fire escape.

Aster closes his eyes and reverts their settings back to normal, massaging his temples. He’s going to be eating those black market headache meds Echo got for him like candy tonight.

“As I was saying,” Aster grates out, “watching the two of you dance around each other like school children is painful. You’re both adults. Stop making all of us suffer when you know he’s going to say yes before you even finish asking.”

“And as I was saying,” counters Jax, “you should really be careful about throwing those rocks from inside that glass house of yours.”

Aster sighs.

#rywd #mara i am tagging you because you wished i had for the last one thank you so so much im glad you liked it!! :D

[pissboysthings]

My merc from rywd by @vapolis

Moments after passing Jaxxy off :3

#art #artists on tumblr #digital aritst #fanart #rywd #remember you will die #jax fanart

[crowfiendnest]

My sketch for the merc sol from the IF remember you will die

#interactive fiction #fanart #remember you will die #rywd

[icylook]

inspired by this ask: human spine tattoo where the Merc Casimir adds a vertebra after every death

it means he has to die at least 30 times for the picture to be completed

the tattoo artist might or might not be concerned by their client's mental state not that they know why the Merc is like that

@vapolis ✨🙌

#oc casimir #rywd #casimir is getting that tattoo!!

[deepseamuse]

I think it'd be kind of funny for my MCs from Fervency, Remember You Will Die, and Nemisi to interact, because I based them all on the same character and they have similar themes, but they're also so radically different

#fervency #nemisi #rywd #interactive fiction

[vapolis]

You watch. Wait. Try to hide your boredom as you keep your eyes on your mark.  Unfortunately, this is part of the job too. Long waiting. Endless stakeouts. A million wasted moments, spent crouched low. Out of sight, out of mind. A ghost haunting the living.

chapter two.

this one's for the jax & orla stannies <3

start a poly route if you're into them!

echo is once again snarky

vipers territory is teased

you'll get to flirt with danger in more ways than one

note: unfortunately you'll be most likely reset to the beginning of chapter one bc I had to change some code in that area that becomes relevant in this chapter

progress.

46k → 74k (+28k)

play demo. intro post.

#remember you will die #rywd #**mine #choice of games #**update #lmk about issues pls!! #theres sm flavour text here. it almost ended me

[whisper-game]

im so happy i could chew through walls, i followed since the beginning and im super happy to see an update! thank you for the update and be sure to rest plenty after all the work! :-)

Thank you! Currently fighting my desire to go hide in the woods!

#ive done this multiple times now and i still freak out everytime i post something #also now that i put this out i can finally go read rywd

[ethersic]

finally drew her!! (version w/o text below)

orla from remember you will die by @vapolis

still going strong with the 3/4 views bc they’re the easiest for me to draw

🖊️drawn on ipad w/ procreate

#remember you will die #rywd #interactive fiction #fanart #my art #digital art

[dazyxi]

;; RYWD WRITING (REMEMBER YOU WILL DIE) @vapolis — content warnings: very brief mention of sh (digging nails in skin), derealization (slightly), and smoking. notes: not lore accurate. i wrote it for fun, and it's very short becauseeee... i didn't know how to continue it from that point ibr 😭😭i don't write shit like this sooo it's very fast-paced and sloppy!! — you're not seeing double! this is a post with added content because people started liking it and the author saw it (thank you so much for the sweet words!! it made me so happy to see that you enjoyed it!!💕) and i was like ohmg!!!! so i wanted to tweak it a little. there's an extra 300+ words, but i didn't really edit the content beforehand, so if it's confusing, sorry!!

The air is thin in Ivy's lungs. The breaths she's expelling are heavy, heaved, and drawn out. She's struggling to inhale and exhale. To breathe. To function. Her room is too tight, the walls too closed-in. In short, she feels like she's being choked. Strangled. Not just by this apartment room, suffocated by life. And she doesn't know what to do. There's no out. She's stuck. Stuck in this endless loop. Stuck in a role. A rabid dog on a tight chain. A vicious animal waiting to be set loose. A psychotic murderer who shouldn't be trusted. Stuck proving them right.

She's mad. Not at Orla. Not at the people who labeled her. At herself. She put herself in this situation. How could people think differently when all she does is fit into their title? Whenever she's given the choice to do the right thing- be better- she does the opposite. Maybe she got comfortable with the low-held expectations. Got used to being held in poor regard. I mean, you can't disappoint someone who never had hope, right?

Her skin is crawling with discomfort, and her posture is rigid as she sits against a wall. A lazily bandaged hand lays against her exposed collarbones. An attempt to ground herself. Flesh against flesh. Warm flesh. Not cold.

She's disoriented. Alienated. As lines of reality turn fuzzy, and she starts to get distant, she mentally wrangles with herself. Nails start to press carelessly into olive skin while her mind ripples with static. This feeling, the sickening nauseation of being trapped, is clawing through her. Seeping into her bone marrow. Sticking itself to her permanently.

Strands of her black hair are stuck to her face by sweat. The sweat that beads from her hairline and trails down her cheeks, joining tears she was unaware of. She feels pathetic. Helpless. She wants to give in. Let herself melt away. Instead, she lets her hands fall to her side in a clumsy action, leaving crescent-shaped indents at her collarbones. They're laced with a left-over stinging sensation but no blood. She starts to count her fingers. Starting with her index finger. . . then middle finger. . . ring finger. . . pinky finger. Index. . . middle. . . ring. . . pinky. She repeats it over and over and over until she's sick of it. Sick of calloused fingerpads scraping together in a strange anchoring method. Blearily, she mocks herself through the disorderment, This is all so stupid. Get over yourself.

She stares at the ground. Exhausted. Her gaze flits around the rays of neon light cast from the windows and onto the floor. Squints at the cracked wood. Scrutinizes the fractures. She drags her eyes upward to the window, the presence of Vapolis leaking through the glass. It's taunting in a way. Slowly, she regains her thoughts, the repeated buzz being replaced. Her mind scrambles to catch up with her emotions, and a moment later, she's frantically digging into her pockets. Her fingers catch onto the cigarettes and lighter, messily dragging them out of her jacket like she's on borrowed time. She flips the lighter on after she's stuck a cigarette in her chapped lips. Briefly, she eyes the dancing flame. Observes as it spins and whirls around like a dandelion in the wind, only less innocent.

She places the fire underneath the cig, and soon after, tendrils of smoke billow into the atmosphere. She sighs out clouds of mist while the familiar rush of pleasure pangs through her. Easing slightly, she lets her body slump, head tipping upward and hitting the wall. Her sore eyes flutter shut, her shoulder still tension-filled and clamped up at her sides, but the looming factor of dread has settled. Somewhat. It's still at the forefront, lingering in her mind. She takes another drag, and it begins to haze over.

One hand still holding her cigarette to her lips, the other struggles to help herself up on wobbly legs. They feel like jelly underneath her weight. "Fuck," she mutters, her voice strained. Wrecked. She stumbles toward the bathroom, and on the way, her feet nearly catch on the mass of random objects lazing on her floor. 

She nudges the door open with her arm, blinks as it creaks open to reveal the cluttered state of the room. She mumbles. Something dumb, trying to be funny, like, What’s that about your house being a reflection of your mind? A rasped scoff escapes her mouth, and she doesn’t like how it sounds when it rings in her ears. It’s dull, devoid of the usual mirth. Not that the mirth is ever really real. It’s fine. Pretending is something she’s good at, comfortable with. She enjoys it. She’ll eventually learn how to do the same being a puppet– or maybe hound is a more fitting word.

She staggers in, immediately supporting herself with her hand on the dirtied tile of the sink. Frowning at the reflection in the spotted mirror, she scans it. Black hair sticks up, tangled and mused, with dried blood at the tips. A split lip and a bruised face with swollen eyes. Red-lined scleras, violet irises glowing in the yellow hue of the light. She doesn’t recognize the woman she sees. She's trapped in skin that’s not her own.

She watches the woman pluck the lit cigarette from her mouth. Hold it between her crooked index and middle. Watches her pull the corners of her dry lips upwards. It’s too toothy, the smile. There’s crimson-red itching underneath it. She doesn’t know if it belongs to her or someone else. The unsettling grin fades as quickly as it rose, and smoke leaks from her lungs and into the air. A deadpan settles on her expression, eyes half-lidded, and it looks strange on her features.

Her mind wanders, thoughts messy and daunting, growing anger festering. It wraps around her bones, causing her to shake. She welcomes it, the feeling comforting. More comfortable than whatever she was feeling earlier. It's whatever. She'll adjust. Conform to fit the mold. Easier than trying to break it or reform it. She always does what's easier for her. Less work. At the end of the day, she did this. What's that saying? Nobody to blame but yourself?

#mc oc #rywd #remember you will die #oc: ivy essa #writing

[weyrleaders]

im having so much fun with these @vapolis thank you for my life

also orla couldnt be in this one because if she was things would have gone very differently and i wouldnt have been able to do what i set out to do

gets a bit violent lol but no more than this game gets i dont think

There’s a saying about best-laid plans.

Jax whips back behind cover, slamming against the doorframe, narrowly dodging another round of gunfire. When it stops, he reaches around the doorframe and takes a few shots of his own. There’s a shout. Jax hopes he hit something important.

Orla was meeting with the head of the Vipers to settle a territory deal. It was supposed to be quick and simple, and the Vipers were supposed to have top-notch security. Apparently their people weren’t as good as they thought, because the meeting was attacked halfway through by a group Jax has yet to identify.

Aster had been closer to Orla than Jax, and had just picked her up and took off. Not that Jax blames him. Especially since Orla isn’t going to appreciate being treated like a damsel in distress no matter how fueled by blind panic Aster was at the time.

Still, someone had to cover Orla’s escape. The idiots must be content with taking out one of Orla’s people if they can’t have her, because as soon as they realized she was gone and Jax wasn’t they were quick to switch targets.

That, or they just don’t know who they’re supposed to be after. 

He hears something roll in the hallway, but isn’t stupid enough to risk peeking.

There’s an explosion and plenty of smoke down the hall, though, and he jerks his head up in time to see Aster sprinting toward him out of the smoke while their attackers are busy coughing their lungs out. He slides his mask down around his neck and tosses another smoke bomb for good measure before they both take off.

They aren’t running for long before Jax hears another few wild shots. Aster growls and answers with a few of his own.

After a few turns, Aster slows unexpectedly, and Jax nearly outpaces him. He stops short and turns to see Aster leaning against the wall, panting and pressing his hand against his shoulder. Blood wells between his fingers, barely visible against the black of his vest.

“Orla sent you back for me?” Jax asks.

“Probably,” Aster grits out.

“Probably?”

“I was already making for the door when she opened her mouth,” replies Aster as he pushes away from the wall.

He takes the lead as they round the next several turns, heading deeper into the complex. Jax had been leading the uninvited guests away from the direction Aster had taken Orla, so it wasn’t as if Aster could just lead them back out the way he came in. There’s no other halls connected to this one, just doors scattered throughout. There has to be an exit soon. Unless the complex’s architect refused to follow fire code. Jax knows they must be underground since he went down a flight of stairs early on, but apart from that he’s lost.

Aster is slowing down, though, breathing going ragged. Jax looks over his shoulder to check on him.

He’s ghostly pale, face drawn and teeth bared. He wipes sweat from his face, leaving behind a red smudge. Jax bravely resists picking on him for it.

They find a staircase. Jax glances at Aster, then eyes the stairs.

“I can make it,” mutters Aster, brushing past Jax. “Let’s go.”

And he does, even if he collapses against the wall at the top and slides down to the floor while Jax closes the door behind them.

Jax feels along the wall for a switch. There’s no point in trying to hide. Their pursuers know exactly where they are.

Jax flips the first switch he finds, and maybe half of the lights come on.

They’re in the auditorium of a church, of all places, judging by the Jesus posters. It doesn’t look like it’s been used in a good while, though the basketball floor looks well-maintained. There’s a huge stack of dusty folding chairs off in the corner and some flimsy tables, but nothing substantial enough that it could block the door they just came through. Jax can spot a bin of sports equipment across the room, but even if there’s something he could use to tie the door shut he doubts he could get there, find it, and get back before they’re caught.

There’s a side door off in the far end of the room, mostly hidden in a darkened corner. Jax would’ve missed it if not for the glowing exit sign.

“Come on,” he orders, hauling Aster to his feet by his uninjured arm.

It still hurts regardless, if Aster’s sharp inhale is any indication, but he doesn’t make any other noise. And he still follows Jax, surprisingly stable considering how much blood he’s lost. Continues to lose, blood dripping slowly from his fingers.

The door behind them bursts open when they’re still a few yards away. Jax grabs Aster and picks up speed, all but dragging him along.

Jax hears gunfire, but doesn’t bother turning to look. Bullets zip past them, narrowly missing.

The exit door suddenly swings open, crashing into the outside wall. Someone darts past them and into the building.

There’s a scream, then a wet crunch, followed by more gunfire.

Jax practically throws Aster outside and whips around.

There’s one man on the ground not that from the door, weakly dragging himself forward with one hand and clutching at the knife buried in his neck with the other. There’s a woman against the wall, blood staining the front of her shirt as she cradles a terribly-broken jaw. Her pistol is several feet away, entirely forgotten. Jax can see bare bone gleaming between her fingers.

He follows the trail of destruction until he reaches Ray, currently straddling someone’s chest as he slams his fists into their face. No, not his fists. Jax isn’t sure when Ray managed to get those spiked knuckles back from the last time he tried to sneak them into the club, but Jax knows how particular Ray is about his weapons. He wouldn’t just go buy a new set.

(Which means it’s time to move the stash again, notes Jax.)

Jax closes the door. He gets one last glimpse through the window of Ray rolling away from his current victim to escape a round of bullets before he turns to make sure Aster is on his feet.

“How did he get here so fast?” Jax wonders aloud, leading Aster across the parking lot. There’s a dumpster he can hide behind while Jax goes back to help Ray finish cleaning up.

“He was probably outside the whole time,” says Aster faintly.

“Orla didn’t ask him to be here.”

Aster rolls his eyes.

“That’s sixteen,” he replies.

There’s a box full of newspapers behind the dumpster, and Aster drops onto it without prompting.

“This is the sixteenth time I’ve tried to tell you and Orla this,” continues Aster. “and neither of you ever believes me.”

“About what?” Jax asks. “Ray?”

“Yes.”

Jax takes a moment to reload. He slips the old magazine into his coat. There’s still three bullets left, by his count, but he’d prefer to go in with a fresh one.

“He doesn’t like these missions. He thinks they’re boring, if he’s standing around inside,” Aster explains. “So he pretends he’s too mouthy for Orla to trust him with them.”

Jax peers around the dumpster. No one has followed them out.

“But he doesn’t like to be left out, so he sets up across the street and watches.”

“I think you’re giving him too much credit,” Jax mutters.

“I think you’re not giving him enough,” retorts Aster.

Jax ducks down and makes a run for it back toward the church. He’s nearly there when the door opens again, much less dramatically this time.

Ray steps out.

His face is flushed, chest still heaving from the fight. His hair is matted against his forehead with blood, left eye already purpling spectacularly. He could probably save the leather jacket, if he’s fast. Red drips from his spiked knuckles, and Jax notices a small tuft of hair, skin still attached, stuck to one deadly point.

Ray’s mouth is stained red, as is the front of his formerly-white crop top. Jax can just barely make out the “don’t forget to smile” decal through the mess. Kind of a shame. Jax knows it’s one of Ray’s favorites.

(Not that he probably won’t keep it anyway.)

He smiles, and his teeth are bloody. There’s a wild look in his eyes, and Jax has the inexplicable urge to kiss his busted lip. What took you so long and your place or mine and thank you dance on the tip of his tongue.

“Did you fucking bite someone?” Jax asks instead.

Ray laughs.

“Woof, woof.”

#rywd #some day i Will write orla but that day could not be today #if orla hadnt been Evacuated they would have been able to just fight their way out the front door #ray is keeping that shirt 100% and now loves it even more #someone asks where he got it and ray's like “i made it (:”

[surunoita]

not feeling a hundred percent about drawing again but i had so much fun with the new rywd chapter that i had to try n draw my token mc austin (they/them) as the merc :3c

#i have so many thots n feelings about the new ch.. #first of all d my beloved i'm gnawing at the iron bars of my enclosure (the pit) i am now officially in love #felt so bad for the merc and then immediately turned my back on them because they deserve everythin they get for doing that to royal 🥰 mwah #the vipers? as a known supporter of women and their wrongs i am 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ #the chap was so heavy n so bleak i was eating it UP yum yum and now that i've ruminated over it for a few hrs #i am back on the mercs side ohhh my poor little meow meow lets go do something unhinged n violent so youll feel better <3 #i wanna try n draw the other characters at some point when i feel a lil less timid lmao #suruart #also mullet apologists rise up ✊️

[hvllowheart]

RYWD is incredible! I didn't know you were writing another IF until you mentioned it. I just finished the demo and this is perfect too 🥹 I can't wait for Atlas to come back and stab me in the back, only for me to still crawl back to him 🤣 I'm already in love with the reddest of flags of the ROs 🥰

Here's me reading through all of Atlas' red flags🚩

I know it was him at the Casino, too. 🥲

hey! yes, I kept that a bit quiet for now but I'm very happy you enjoy both! the rywd rewrite is definitely more how I imagined the game first time around.

let's see if you're right about atlas and their red flags 😂 all ro's def have them.

#asks #ch. atlas