Here's 3 WIPs and a Last Line Paragraph (from The UnTitledverse, Far Cry The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters) to make up for the lack of activity (I've been a little preoccupied but I'm all good now). NOTE: I'm still ironing out these scenes, so some changes might happen in the future of publication. Anyway, enjoy!
Here's a WIP for A Blast In The Past (not Jurassic World related), a fic that's story was heavily inspired by Bendy And The Ink Machine and writing style inspired by Tamsyn Muir's Harrow The Ninth. Come meet the second main protagonist of The Perfect Storm saga... and the narrator who torments him:
You opened the wooden door to Carmine Studios, the hinges creaking from age and the times you've passed through it, revealing the hall that would seal your fate, on a false hope you would see your old friend and boss, Terrance, once again… but all you had entered was an empty caricature of the real thing. A nightmarish mockery that you'd soon find would come to life. But you didn't know that, not yet. You were more focused on the nostalgia behind your work, weren’t you? Or what once was your work.
In the hallway hung old posters of cartoons that no one cared to remember anymore. You admire it without recognizing the deception. Do you want to know the real kicker here?
It’s all a part of the show… all half-lies and half-truths, but close enough to what you already recognize that you couldn’t tell the difference until it was too late.
Was Seeker the clumsy meerkat who would follow through on any dangerous stunt, regardless of how far it puts his safety in jeopardy, all for what he loved most… a banana waffle split with streams of caramel syrup trailing up and down? No, it was more selfless than that. Nauseously so. Wasn’t it his loyalty to his friends?
Heh. Friendship… what good did that do him in the end, Bowler Hat?
You shift to the next poster, the one you’re least familiar with. Who was she again? An intelligent wisp named after her actress, Emily Margarita? Or perhaps you remember her as something more impersonal… perhaps a cunning foe? Doesn’t matter to you now. All you know is that she was a co-worker who you described as a “nice dame with a great voice, like a canary”.
But you never would have understood why most of the blokes back then howled and whistled for her, even if you knew the truth. “She was no scag,” you’d say, but you’re smart enough to know that being hitched with her would be… unpleasant. Shame you never listened to your gut.
Then there was the star of the show! The only prick you knew craved for nothing but the spotlight. Endlessly seeking validation for his actions. Only satisfied once his legacy was recognized. A pitiful shapeshifter that took many forms but loved only one… “Mario Emmett! The demon that never could be!"
A lanky black creature with an ego that was bigger than he deserved. Was he the main protagonist of your little show? Who are you to know? You’re only here to follow a repetitive script, endless by design.
You seem confused pal, scruffy face scrunched up, wrinkles becoming more apparent as your tired eyes examining the poster a bit too close... Perhaps a little reminder of why you’re here will help out with that gap in your memory. Wouldn't you agree, pal?
You search through the pockets of your plain brown overcoat, and feel the thin paper edge of a letter. The one Terrence had sent you, remember?
Carefully, you tug it out. Not that the yellow paper didn't already look worse for wear.
Despite its lack of care, surprisingly not your doing for once, you were reasonable enough to fold it neatly like a professional old-timely gentleman. No, it was… Terrence, yes, Terrence who had scrunched it with little care. “Always had a knack for getting on my nerves,” you would bitterly think. Funnily enough, that’s the part of him that was done right. What an Abercrombie!
…Is that the right slang?
You unfold the letter up, again, for what would be, unbeknownst to you, the first of many times. You read the ink scribbled over the dirty gold paper once more.
More interaction between Jennifer and Sir Enigma Malvolio. Seduction... could be better Jennifer. Granted, Malvolio's not... normal. The extent of how "unnormal" he is though is yet to be recognized:
"You shouldn't be here."
Jennifer swiftly turned around, her back to the Apex's chamber pod, its mesmerizing fluid motion forgotten as she focused on the approaching short figure of Malvolio. She noticed just how quiet his steps were, and how he neglected to bring his cane down to the container's metal floor.
"Don't you know it's rude to snoop around in stranger's properties?" he asked, his voice echoing in the trailer, despite how restrained it is from the usual bombastic and joyous attitude he put up in front of Dicko. From what she could tell, he sounded more amused than angered that she came into his workshop uninvited.
His gaze was still as dead and false as it had been like in their first meeting.
Remembering why she was there, Jennifer shifted her stature, "I'm sorry. I just couldn't help myself after tonight's fight."
Seeing that Malvolio stopped approaching, tilting his head as he waited for her to continue. Thinking she had his attention, she looked around, blue eyes wide in wonder as she gestured the workshop, "This place is amazing."
Looking to Malvolio, who she still had the engaged attention of, she gestured to him and stated coyly, "You were amazing."
To what would have to be the eighth confusing she's ever received from this man, Malvolio snorted and tsked at her. With a shake of his head, he looked to her, a smile curved on his lips as he made his reply.
"Please, I barely did a thing. She's the one who deserves the credit. It was all her," he pointed his cane behind Jennifer, to the darkened pod, where the Apex resided in the waters, "I was merely the motivation she needed to win the fight."
Looking between Malvolio and the beastie, Jennifer selectively stammered as she said, "But you did create it. And shared its mind. Don't you agree that's more than enough reason for praise?"
For whatever reason, Malvolio scoffed, looking Jennifer up and down, scrutinizing her with his gaze as he impressively twirled his cane to rest on his shoulder, now looking more like a club than a walking stick. He unnerved and frustrated her. Jennifer needed him to lower his guard, to be completely oblivious to any danger she posed.
It just ticked her off that he was clearly unconvinced with her performance, and at ease while she had to keep her nerve together, especially for Dicko's sake.
Here's a FC5 WIP for The True Sinners of Silva on a (forced) picnic with Faith and Nadi, for a "girl's day out" as Faith had insisted to Jacob (though Nadi hadn't initially been invited). Have some lore, ship teasing and the aftereffects of Silva's terrible childhood. Also TW for kidnapping, cults, manipulation and discussion of eating disorders:
Faith let out a sigh as she clung on to Silva's arm, effectively anchoring the woman where she sat. And she wasn't sure what was more concerning; the fact she didn't mind Faith being so close to her, or the familiar content smile on the herald's face.
"I'm glad the two of us can finally hang out," Faith admitted, neglecting to include Nadi's presence, "Jacob had been hogging you for so long that I was afraid I wouldn't ever get to see you again."
Silva wasn't sure how to respond to Faith's small confession so chose to reply with a contemplative hum, ignoring the warmth she felt rushing in her face. She also ignored the gnawing hunger at the sight of the food as well.
Nadi must have noticed that she wasn't eating the food as both herself and Faith had been. She looked at Silva with concerned brown eyes.
Silva was unsure why the blonde would care though; she just wasn't that hungry. Not even for the barely nipped sandwich in her hand.
"...Something wrong with the chicken, enfer?" Nadi asked, her head tilted as she scanned Silva over with her gaze. Silva glowered at the woman, rather irked that John's right-hand would bring attention to her lack of appetite, especially while the present host was a herald.
"It's nothing," she told the Frenchwoman, lowering the chicken sandwich. Nadi was unconvinced, though, and looked to Faith, head jerking to Silva.
And unfortunately, Faith lifted her head from Silva's shoulder, adjusting herself to sit up straight as she shifted her attention from Nadi to her charge. Silva risked a glance next to her and had the misfortune of getting caught into the worried gaze of Faith's green eyes.
"Do you not like the food?" Faith asked, eyes wide in panic like she committed some unspeakable crime, putting a hand on her forehead as she continued, "I should have asked you what you wanted. I'm sorry, I was so excited for this picnic with you that I didn't think you'd have any problem with the food-"
Silva saw the growing distress on the herald and swiftly responded to put a stop to it. She didn't want to find out what the repercussions were from upsetting the brother's little sister.
"No, no, it's not the food," Silva stated, garnering Faith's attention as she listened, focus as intense as the floral scent that followed the herald. Once again unprepared for the sole attention of Faith, she hurriedly tried to clear up any confusion, "The food is good. It's just me. I'm not hungry."
Even though she said she wasn't hungry, Silva could feel the pained craving for the food, but her mind just couldn't handle the idea of consuming anything for the time being.
Faith's demeanor lost the panic instantly, and the calm that came across her face left Silva stunned at the whiplash.
"Huh," Faith said, looking over to Nadi, the blonde unbothered by the herald's rapid shift in emotions, who had a knowing look as she stared at Silva with sincere pity.
"Are you sure, enfer?" Nadi questioned, a brow raised, "Jacob said you don't eat a lot at the center. The last time you ate must have been, what... three, four hours ago? Can you really say you're not hungry?"
Silva refused to answer, looking away from Nadi as the conflict of hunger and lack of appetite raged inside.
Both woman present found Silva's silence to be confirmation, and Nadi asked, "You're not starving yourself to spite us, are you?"
Silva gave Nadi an incredulous look, straightening up, "What would be the point of that? Despite how unpleasant I find your cult, it wouldn't help me to weaken myself. And besides, like you said, I do eat at the center. Which would be counterproductive if my plan was to starve myself, no matter how stupid of a plan it is to begin with."
Nadi nodded along, not incorrectly correcting her on their group status, agreeing with most of Silva's words, "I believe you. So, what's up?"
Silva had half a mind to not outright curse the sharpshooter about the obvious reason being how she was kidnapped from her home and kept captive against her will surrounded by cultists. The terror and stress of not knowing what they're capable of. Nadi would never know the terror of being unable to predict a so-called prophet's next move.
Especially when he was your own father.
Silva snapped out of her musings when Faith's hand rested on her arm. Glancing to her, the herald gave a comforting squeeze, a small encouraging smile on her face. The action made Silva's face feel no less warmer.
So instead, she glanced between Faith's waiting green eyes and Nadi's sincere stare, and exhaled a sigh, as she softly revealed, "I... just can't."
Nadi nodded slowly, "But you want to."
Silva gave a nod at Nadi's correct guess. She looked down to the sandwich in her hands. She wanted to have it, and the basket of fruits with the baked goods. She desired it badly, but she couldn't let go of the dread that came with eating and swallowing.
"But you don't because you're afraid of what could happen if you do. Like choking? Or perhaps vomiting?"
Silva didn't need to say anything to confirm that what Nadi deduced was true.
Nadi hummed, and stated, "It seems you got yourself an eating disorder, enfer. An avoidant one from what you've described."
Silva eyed John's confidant. The name sounded familiar, something Kamski would have offhandedly mentioned. Curiosity did eat away at her, as she replied, "You seem to be familiar with this disorder."
Nadi smiled, though the smile didn't reach her brown eyes. She looked down to the apple she had been biting on, "That's because I suffer from the same thing. Unlike you though, where you don't eat enough, I eat too much. I've gotten better though. John, la chérie, helped set up a diet and routine for me. Got me to memorize timing as well. He and Alexander still check up on me from time-to-time, but it's greatly appreciated."
Silva was surprised; both by Nadi's confession and the fact John of all people went out of his way to help Nadi. Silva thought him incapable of such a thing, given his holier-than-thou attitude towards her.
And finally the last paragraph for the still unnamed arranged marriage FC5 scenario. And Alexander (AKA Jacob's most trusted and loyal right hand man) is pissed. TW for cult views, a war crime and mentioned coerced/arranged/forced marriages. Also mentioned drug (Bliss) use. Snippet below:
Letting out a deep, shaky sigh, Alexander stared straight into Jacob's cold blue eyes, and said, "So you must understand my... my confusion and my shock and my fury when the Sinner herself, stumbling around the halls, high on fucking Bliss, wept in my arms as she told me exactly everything you and Joseph and John and Faith neglected to share with me or Nadi or the rest of the congregation. You told me she agreed to our negotiations. No, not our negotiations, you told me she agreed to your family's negotiations as soon as it was put forward. You told me this marriage between a suitor of her choosing, no matter how nonsensical and impractical and detrimental the wedding itself is to morale and our resources, was to bring unity between Eden's Gate and the Resistance indefinitely. So tell me Jacob. Why the lies? Why the lack of care towards the rules that Joseph says keep us grounded? Rules that I have witnessed so many of our brothers and sisters be punished for breaking, and yet now you and your siblings are exempt from it? Why have you been sending out Hunters, armed to the teeth, to track down Palmer's Militia if we're in a truce? Why do I hear of no contact with the Resistance if we're supposed to be sharing compensations and details surrounding our peace? Why had Silva told me that Joseph already chosen her suitor, and ignored her refusal of it?! And most importantly, why did she say it was YOU?!"
Another Late WIP Wednesday and a Late 6-sentence WIP Sunday
Tagged by @adelaidedrubman @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @cassietrn and @inafieldofdaisies for WIP Wednesday and invited by @demigoddessqueens to join in for 6-sentence WIP Sunday.
Rules for the 6-sentence WIP Sunday: Make a new post and share six sentences of an upcoming WIP. Then tag some friends!
One WIP for Far Cry The Silver Chronicles and another for Life, Despair & Monsters. Snippets below the cut.
For WIP Wednesday I got more Silva's Hope. Also... some short action! [NOTE: This fic is still under heavy construction, so some things may or may not change in the future]
[TW: Violence, blood and death]
Upon crawling onto the pond bank, Silva took a moment to still herself and breathe, a choice she knew wasn't the most sensible given the circumstances.
She spat out the pond water, the taste vile and cold like the river water. Her head felt heavy, unfocused, not helped by the darkness of the night. Disoriented from the crash but still conscious, still awake, still alive. Were her fellow co-workers so lucky?
Yes... And no.
She remembered her panic at how limp and stagnant their bodies had been, and Joseph, that falsa profeta bastarda, telling Nancy (of all the people she thought would sell her out, she never once suspected the kind elderly woman who had been a second mentor to the junior deputy like the Sheriff) to stand down.
"No one is coming to save you," he had told her. He had told her like it wasn't a fact she already knew. A lesson she hadn't already learned. A sick, stale joke that only his God seems to find funny, to her expense.
The relief she felt when he left, when the others awoke from what she thought would be their final slumber. The selfish gratitude she felt towards Jannah, the relief that she hadn't survived another disaster alone again.
But it didn't last, she reminded herself. Besides maybe the Mariscal, her fellow colleagues; Hudson, Pratt and Whitehorse were likely captured, taken away by these santos. If the Peggies were anything like the congregation back on the Archipiélagos, then the fates that awaited her mentor and recently acquired friends were either conversion or execution, depending on how patient the cult's beloved profeta really was.
She weakly chortled; a preferred substitute, the mirthless laugh to the strangled sob she wanted to let out. A strange sensation that weighed heavy on her chest. And to think I had escaped, she mused to herself, finding no strength to restrain the thoughts and fears, shaking her head with a clenched jaw, To think I had escaped it all. No longer a prisoner, but a free survivor.
Joseph's words came to mind with more force; the way he called onto his obedient servants to begin "the Reaping", to kill all who stood in their way, that a seal had been broken. That the Collapse had begun. It sickened her, how the words of a man (just a man) like Joseph Seed were no different from Father's own.
The major difference she could tell between the two was that Father succeeded his vision, got what he wanted, and Joseph was just a fraud given too much power and trust. He doesn't know anything about the Collapse. She did. She lived through it.
Hadn't I? Had she not played a hand in the destruction of her people, the justification used to bring the Enforcers to the front doors of her Father's most hated enemy with guns and fire?
The Collapse has begun. That's what the falsa profeta said. The Collapse has begun. The words she had never dreamed to hear, nor wished to have lived to witness. The Collapse. A title. A simple title that was used to rule her life with fear. A title that profeta threw around like it held any weight anymore, as if it didn't prove his words, his status, his so-called visions, were all false.
It had to be.
She embedded her gloved hands into the mud on the bank of the pond, shaking as her protected fingers curled around the wet dirt.
It had to be.
She couldn't accept any alternative, not after what she's seen. What she was left to live with.
The crunch of sticks and dry grass crushed under the weight of approaching boots caught her attention, and the distant hollering tipped her off to their source.
The santos were approaching, and she was still kneeling over on the pond bank. One hand clutching mud. The other shifting around, searching, until it wrapped around a pointed rock, twisting it out of the ground.
The voices were getting louder, the boots approaching closer, though decreased in sound, with voices disappearing as the hunting party separated.
She heard two; one each on both sides of her, confirming her targets. She clutched the mud further into her palm, and the rock was breaking off the bank with ease.
"Do you remember my instructions piccolo boa? On what to do when caught?"
Silva dragged the rock closer to herself, still kneeling over, still small and vulnerable. The enemigo's lights shined close.
"Look weak, and keep whatever you can use close and out of sight."
Silva's heart pounded, but she soundlessly took deep breathes, eyes closed as the light to her right shined onto her figure.
"Atta girl. And when they come closer?"
The santos to her right startled at the sight of her hunched down figure, and he called out to his amigo as he approached closer.
"Found her!"
"Aim for the visors..."
Silva opened her eyes as the two peggies attempted to swarm her, swiftly turning and throwing the clump of mud at the peggie to her right, a bald man with a long beard, his pained groans indicated success but his amigo alarmed his amigo.
She turned to her next target, a man with a smaller beard but long hair. He rushed forward, lifting the butt of his rifle at her kneeling form. As he brought the rifle to her head, she dodged, and with her free hand, latched onto the rifle's stock.
Unveiling the pointed rock, an efficient substitute to her dagger, Silva used the momentum to propel herself up, and bring the peggie closer down, his face stretched into horror as the rock closed in.
"...And hit straight for the eyes."
Droplets of warm crimson and clear fluids splattered on her cheek and chin, an unexpected contrast to the clean kills she was used to with the Enforcers. Shaking away the distinction, she returned her focus to the dead man leaning forward.
Letting go of the embedded rock, she clutched the rifle with both hands, and kicked the man's twitching corpse back before turning around, the thud behind her ignored.
Her first target managed to get the mud out of his eyes, blinking rapidly and tearing up with a curled lip. His face dropped once he saw Silva with a steeled face and his amigo's rifle aimed at him.
She tipped her head at him as she flipped off the safety, a final farewell to the panicked man as he fruitlessly struggled with his own rifle.
And here is a 6-sentence (paragraph) piece for Sonya's Push. Hand over the spotlight Jennifer. There is a bigger fish scarier than you and Dicko, and his name's Malvolio:
Now facing Jennifer and Dicko as they approached, she could see the once anonymous champion's suit was a sharp blue covering a black undershirt, supposedly tailored for his short stature. He seemed to be somewhere in his thirties, and had a rather fine face, dark eyes complimenting his dark hair, which was groomed expertly.
Though Jennifer couldn't deny a sense of disappointment upon seeing the anonymous champion with a winning streak of seventeen matches in person; he wasn't an unusual sight from the regular rich bastard who came here, besides his clubbed cane. He looked rather normal. Though she couldn't deny how unusual it was for a man of supposed wealth like Dicko participating with his own Beastie.
Regardless, she was content with keeping up her facade, holding onto Dicko's arm as they approached him, but Dicko had stopped, almost tugging Jennifer back. She looked to the taller man, confusion breaking through when she saw his transfixed face; shocked really, and one filled with recognition as he utters in surprise, "Malvolio?"
Jennifer blinked as she looked between the two men, and saw this "Malvolio's" lips curl up into an open grin, as he proceeded to give a jovial greeting, "Well Jolly Ho, Dicko! I didn't know you owned this arena. Jeez, it's been a while since we last did business together. How long has it been? Four? Six years?"
Dicko's face remained unchanged, though Jennifer knew he was scrutinizing the short man in front of them with a cautious gaze she's rarely seen on him. Dicko subtly motioned the hallway guards to stand down, leaving Malvolio's companions alone with their contained Beastie. Despite his visible apprehension, he answered Malvolio, "Six years."
Malvolio's dark eyes briefly shifted to Jennifer, but they swiftly reconnected with Dicko's gaze, his grin widening, "Six years? And you still did not forget about little old me? Intriguing. I do hope your life has been luxurious and well in our distance. And I must ask; how have you been treating it?"
Rules: Post a song(s) that is relevant to your WIP or inspires it!
Tagged by no one, but was inspired by @nightbloodbix and @adelaidedrubman 's invitation to join in.
Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @ishwaris @poisonedtruth @detectivelokis @derelictheretic @direwombat @strangefable @shallow-gravy @gaeadene @henbased and @wrathfulrook + anyone else who is interested.
First Music Monday for me. And in celebration of that I've decided to overindulge and get three songs for my three blog accounts because why not.
One song for a character, one song for a past romance between OCs, and one song for a WIP. Let's start with romance for my FC5 WIP.
For my two FC5 OCs; Sylvester Silva Omar (future junior deputy of Hope County) and her first love, Irene Neon (dreaded daughter of her equally dreaded father, the "Good Doctor" Kamski Neon) from my FC5 WIP Silva's Hope from my @the-silver-chronicles blog.
Here's their romance song for anyone who wants to listen:
Our Love by Curtis Harding ft. Jazmine Sullivan
"There's a girl in town and word's gone around she's just fine
So I don't worry my head 'cause I know her heart is tied to mine
The life that we live and the love that I give to her
Each day it grows more and more, I'm sure it shows.
...
And after all (after all), the rain will fall on us too
But I'll keep moving on (moving on), proud and strong with you.
(Our love) Is a bubbling fountain
(Our love) That flows into the sea
(Our love) Deeper than any ocean
(Our love) For eternity."
Next is a character centric song for my British robotics-obsessed backstabbing lying OC Edward Carmine from my @the-untitledverse-blog who will first appear in my WIP Jurassic World: Before The Storm (you can which fandom that belongs in) and so on as the first major antagonist of The Perfect Storm saga.
Here's a song I attribute to him if anyone wants to listen:
I’m So Sorry by Imagin Dragons
"No lies and no deceiving, man is what he loves
I keep tryin' to conceive that Death is from above
(No time!)
I get mine and make no excuses waste of precious breath
(No time!)
The sun shines on everyone, everyone love yourself to death.
So you gotta fire up, you gotta let go
You'll never be loved till you've made your own
You gotta face up, you gotta get yours
You never know the top till you get too low
...
Life isn't always what you'd think it be
Turn your head for one second and the tables turn (yeah!)
And I know, I know that I did you wrong
But will you trust me when I say that I'll make it up to you
Somehow?"
And lastly a WIP centric song for my Love Death + Robots WIP Sonya's Push from my @life-despair-and-monsters-blog where an OC of mine, Sir Enigma Malvolio, messes with and changes the story of Sonnie's Edge because he's just like that one asshole in the multiverse who can travel through dimensions to get to worlds but decides to ruin everyone's lives instead of improving them.
Here's the song I attribute to this WIP whenever I get motivation to write it if anyone wants to listen:
Can't Go to Hell by Sin Shake Sin
"Walk right in all you sinners and saints
Tonight's the night we're gonna take off these chains
Some wounds will never mend
It came with a warning, now we're all out of time
This romance with ignorance has left us behind
Sit back, relax, begin
It's too early for surrender
Too late for a prayer
We can't go to hell if we're already there
They say the end is coming
And I need to prepare
We can't go to hell if we're already there."
L’imam Dicko victime d’une tentative d’empoisonnement ?
En convalescence en Algérie, l’influent prédicateur malien est apparu dans une vidéo récemment publiée sur les réseaux sociaux.
S’exprimant depuis une chambre d’hôpital, il solde ses comptes avec les autorités de transition maliennes.
Il y avait bien eu quelques flèches décochées en direction du palais de Koulouba, mais, de manière générale, l’imam Mahmoud Dicko se faisait relativement discret…
L’imam Dicko victime d’une tentative d’empoisonnement ?
En convalescence en Algérie, l’influent prédicateur malien est apparu dans une vidéo récemment publiée sur les réseaux sociaux.
S’exprimant depuis une chambre d’hôpital, il solde ses comptes avec les autorités de transition maliennes.
Il y avait bien eu quelques flèches décochées en direction du palais de Koulouba, mais, de manière générale, l’imam Mahmoud Dicko se faisait relativement discret…
