feels like sabotage

here’s my ao3 and my prompt archive

main things here are

the old #things arent right au which is just weird freak trains of thought, mostly vandergerd.

no current running multichaps because oh god. #say it thrice , accursed korydia demon au fic, is the most recent one. but i'll finish rhat squirrels trip fic someday i swear

otherwise i write things i like to. which rn is korydia but in the past has been vandergerd and whatever grabs my fleeting attention span from contemporary seasons. yell at me in asks if you want despite the name i dont bite i'm just weepy and pathetic

"Bad day?" She asked, turning her head just slightly to catch the scowl on her young friend's face. Her gaze had to stay primarly trained on washing the knife in her hands, lest she accidentally severed a finger.

"You think?" Fierce was venomous, but Vivian was used to it. In fact, it was part of why she liked having her around.

"Sit, tell me about it." Vivian nodded toward a stool in the kitchen, only a few feet from the sink she worked at - but still far enough away that Fierce didn't have to see the blood running down the drains.

"So, there's this girl in my class called Xana, right?" Setting off before she even sat down, Fierce wove her tale with a sort of self importance totally out of place for petty college drama. "And she thinks she's a total bitch, but she's not."

Vivian hummed, puzzled. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"No!" Fierce exclaimed, only more worked up. Viv grinned fondly. "It means she's delusional, and a wannabe. She thinks she's Regina George, but she's just..." She waved her hand in the air impatiently as she tried to find the words. "Not even one of the characters with a name! That's how irrelevant she is!"

It was the stupidest, most insignificant think to get so worked up about, to treat with such undue importance, but Vivian immersed herself wholly in it nonetheless. Her world was so foreign, so full of cleaven bodies and the despicable acts of the people they'd once been... To live, just briefly, in Fierce's universe, where there was only petty disagreements about social minutia...

Once the knife was clean, and every speck of crimson was scrubbed away, she grinned from ear to ear, and leant eagerly over the counter. "Sounds like a nightmare."

"It is, actually. You'll never guess what she tried to pull..."

i didnt andwer this yesterday because i didnt feel like forming coherent thought

8 - to read or to write ? uhhh writing wise i usually like writing the end, which is obviously a pain when i have to fill everything in to get to it womp. to read i dont really care i like whatever part gets my blood pumping good

54 - getting an urgent message from god pinged into my brain about a fic i simply must write, and then like months later actually being able to realise it. this never happens i'm so bad at consistent follow through.

hai maxiwilliam

That day had started like any other: Kori and Lydia both bored as shit in a lecture, and Kori convincing Lydia (not that she needed much prodding) to make out with her in the supply closet.


It was there, stealing kisses with a knee lodged between Lydia's thighs, that Lydia produced a bottle of wine from within her oversized blazer, and proposed they snuck out to the woods behind the building.

And Kori loved that idea.

Under tree canopies, passing the bottle of red back and forth, they sat talking until the sunlight started to wane, bathing the forest in warm, hazy orange. Kori complained about not even liking wine, and Lydia became gigglier and gigglier with each swig. Kori watched her with half-lidded eyes, awed - even if it was a stupid fucking situationship, her dumb nineteen-year-old heart was certain that she was destined to spend the rest of her life with this tipsy little goth.

The happy, hazy thoughts were shattered when a shout of their names came pinging between the trees. Oh, fuck. They were gonna get caught.

Both stumbled drunkenly to their feet, and took off running. Crucially, they ran in different directions, too caught up in tipsy panic to coordinate.

The sun slid lower and lower, the shadows got longer and longer, and the warm light became colder and colder. Kori regretted wearing heels as she thundered through the undergrowth, and it was surprising how long she made it before her ankle twisted over a root and she went crashing to the ground.

"Ah, fuck." She grumbled into a mass of dead leaves. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, and as she shook her head to get the twigs out of her hair, she realised that she was worryingly alone.

A worry that only amplified when a scream pierced from somewhere deep in the haze of low light, echoing from afar. Every nerve stood on end.

"Lydia?" Kori shouted into the dark, gripping onto a nearby tree for purchase as she ambled to her feet. "Lydia?"

The woods responded with a few chirping crickets, the patter of nocturnal paws crawling from dens as the moon shone above, and not a word from the voice she so desperately wanted to hear.

She kept shouting, staggering through clearings and ducking under branches as she searched for Lydia, without yield. The girl whose red lipstick still stained Kori's favoured nude shade had vanished without a trace.