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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    It’s an accident, is what Ranboo tells himself.

    The experiments are not supposed to be dangerous. They’re just supposed to… scare him, sometimes, that’s all. He just hasn’t found a better way into the enderwalk yet. He doesn’t want to forcefully get rid of the enderwalk, or get rid of himself, or hurt himself, or anything like that. The experiments are just so he can understand.

    This one was an outlier.

    --

    Or, Ranboo gets a sore throat, experiences the magic of home remedies, and has an important realization.

    Language:
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    18 Aug 2021

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Phil is the Angel of Death. Somehow this leads to a family

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    445

    04 Aug 2021

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Phil doesn’t go into the cities anymore. Once had been enough, and he doesn’t have a death wish.

    He chooses only to watch them in the distance, or pass by them from time to time as he walks. The buildings loom in the distance, their once-shining rooftops now overgrown and dull with no one to take care of them. If you get close enough, you smell the stench of rot and death. It’s a smell you can never get out of your nose, discovered one night after the initial wave where Phil tried desperately to scrub out his nose, sticking cloth and then even fingers as far up as he could to try and wash the smell out of his sinuses. It didn’t work, and the smell has stayed with him since. He tries to look past it, look past the cities, and continue walking forward. That’s what he attributes his survival to, really. The ability to look past everything, stare the dead in the eyes, and still walk on after he’s shot them in the head. They were people once, but thinking about it too much makes his hands start to shake so Phil looks past it and walks on.

    (SBI zombie apocalypse AU. sort of phil-centric, but not entirely!)

    Series
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    English
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    4/4
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    02 Jun 2021

  4. Public Bookmark *

    Words:
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    271

    15 Jan 2021

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    “We hear that His Excellency might be married by summer’s end,” the merchant’s wife says and Wei Wuxian freezes, his heart in his throat. “The Gusu Lan sect has been buying enough red silk and brocade that the merchants in Caiyi can’t satisfy the demand.”

    He feels himself grow brittle inside, like a flick of a finger to his temple might make him shatter. His ears are ringing.

    “Who’s the lucky bride?” he asks despite himself. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

    Or: The story of a marriage.

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    English
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    05 Sep 2020