Okay So Im Writing This Right?

Okay so— I’m writing this right?

And like I’m using “ you “ instead of “ I “ and it feels a bit awkward 😭

Are y’all okay that I use like— both I and You? Like POV switches in a way? Idk

Omg,,, that shit with graves ,,,

imagine you, a recently divorced person and Graves is working your case or whatever and feelings get caught in between 😩😩

I kinda wanna write this up now 🗣️🗣️

Edit ; it’s in the wips LMAO

me: i love reading angst

me reading angst:

Loving it so far 🫶🏽✨

Lost & Found

Parental!DogDay & Child!Reader

A/N: Hey there! First post, I know, but I couldn’t help but share this. A friend of mine encouraged me to, so I hope other people like it as well! This is only the first part and I have much more planned for this story, I hope you enjoy! I know this ends on a bit of a cliffhanger, but that may or may not be intentional.

Spoilers for Poppy Playtime Chapter 3: Deep Sleep!

Warnings: Mentions of character death, blood, gore, and the like. Child experimentation will also be mentioned. This story will contain references to the information in the game as well, if uncomfortable with any of those topics then please proceed with caution.

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DogDay and the others knew well that something was amiss in the building, several of the Smiling Critters had sought him out due to the fact that he was the leader. CatNap was the only one that had been distant for a long time now, becoming something that he couldn’t recognize.

And then it happened. The Hour of Joy. The metallic scent of blood was something he could never rid his nose of, his ears still rang from the sound of screaming from both children and adults. The Prototype had clearly been convincing the cat of the Smiling Critters, for nothing but praises fell out for the creature amongst that dreaded red gas that poured out of his perpetually gaping maw.

DogDay had been able to reach the others first, encouraging them to not stand idly by and follow something as monstrous as The Prototype and his newly fashioned pawn.

It ended poorly, their rebellion was met with nightmarish hallucinations and a set of claws that sliced their bodies to ribbons.

Even they were not impervious to the red gas that covered the ground like a dense fog, announcing CatNap’s presence before he could be seen. Few of them remained, far less than what once was. They rotated hideouts regularly, knowing well that they had to keep moving to avoid CatNap’s patrols.

Currently, the place they had sought refuge in was some long abandoned room of the orphanage. Those that remained were silent.

CraftyCorn was frantically drawing something on a dirtied sheet of paper, the colors bleeding against her hooves as she struggled to keep a steady grip.

Bobby BearHug was huddled in a corner, clutching a blanket that was shredded in places and nearly fell apart as she held it to her chest, her body shook from silent sobs or perhaps fear of what would come.

DogDay himself was solemn, resting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall. They had just lost Hoppy days prior, or at least it had seemed like days. Any semblance of a concept of time was lost in this pit of despair, the inability to even catch a glimpse of light that wasn’t artificial was disheartening and disorienting. The others in the room were in no state to actively patrol, their minds in shambles and in various states of decay.

There was no optimism to be found, he knew that. Any attempt to even lighten the mood would be met with dismay and the kind of disgust that caused nausea to wash over oneself and clouded any other senses. They had lost far too many for any form of joy to be found.

CatNap may have been the one to end their lives, following the guiding hand of The Prototype, but their blood was also on his hands. Their screams kept him awake, the fear in their voices as they called out and weeped for help kept him going.

Slowly, he rose from his seated position to his feet, the sun pendant that hung from his zipper clinked against the metal with the motion and swung gently before resting against his chest. It was enough of a sound to draw the eyes of CraftyCorn, to which DogDay gave a dip of his head. “I’m sorry to startle you, that wasn’t my intention,” he started, voice rough and scratchy from disuse as he met the eyes of the other.

“I’ll take the first watch, be safe and try to get some rest, please.” The please sounded pathetic in his own ears, a sign that despite his attempts to remain strong for the other survivors, he was suffering from the grief and loss of their shared companions.

The idea of losing them too was something he refused to linger on, a small sliver of hope remained in his heart despite the horrors that threatened their very lives.

CraftyCorn didn’t seem to mind the interruption, even going as far as lowering her hooves as she looked over at him, the red crayon in her grasp rolled to the floor with a quiet thump. “Be careful, DogDay.” Her voice was soft, it was a comfort in this trying time. As gentle as the very petals of the flower she once smelled like, an extension of her kind yet hardy nature.

He wanted to reassure her, to give her some hope that he might return. But that wasn’t a guarantee, he knew that.

Regardless, he nodded before approaching the door, opening it slightly before listening carefully for any sounds. Relieved to have been met with relative silence, he crept through the door before shutting it behind him. Complete silence was impossible for him to achieve, given his size and the overall state of the orphanage itself.

His movements were slow and deliberate, each placement of his hand or foot was mindful of the debris that lined the halls. Shattered picture frames with glass littering the floor and various toys that had once belonged to the children here were a common item to stumble across. There had been moments when the odd toy activated or some rotting piece of wood snapped under the pressure of a bed that rested upon it, but it was silent other than that.

His ears were active in keeping note of his surroundings, as his nose focused on the horrible scent of lavender and the intensity of it. It stuck to every crack and crevice of this building, yet it was relatively faint at the given moment, a positive in an otherwise grim situation. His eyes swept every open door that he passed by, peering into the room for several moments before moving on. To say he was tense and alert was an understatement, every fiber of his being stood on edge as he patrolled the halls.

He froze in his tracks as a sound caught his attention, a sound that he hadn’t been expecting to come across. It had been a sob, a shuddering and weak sound that left from an open door in front of him. Had he not been focused as intently as he was, he could’ve missed it. DogDay stayed in that position as he listened further, making sure that he hadn’t been imagining such a sound. His doubts were shattered as he heard the sound repeat, the fear in the weeping was unmistakable.

The thought didn’t even cross his mind that it could potentially be a trap, that some sick monster would be willing to mimic such a heartbreaking sound.

LOVERS CREEK

John Price x chubby Reader // prologue

A/N; this is my first time actually writing a story for any fandom really. And I’m gonna try and be consistent as possible! This story will have multiple parts—so please be warned of that! The story also switches from past to present a lot and I don’t usually use first person so! This will also be uploaded on my AO3 !

Please note I do not allow my writing to be translated, published anywhere else that isn’t me uploading it, and I would not like it on any Poe AI or any of the sort without my permission, or acknowledgment ! I’m still learning as I go about c.ai and Poe so! Also I do not own any of the call of duty characters used in this story! I really “own” the y/n ( reader ) !

Story Summary: You and Price are childhood best friends, and almost Highschool sweethearts. But unlike a cliche, you both hold feelings in for years, even after graduating. Communication between you too soon diminishes as life after graduation gets busy. Price has succeeded in hiding his feelings, until he gets a letter at base. It’s a letter from you. And it’s about your wedding..

Dear John,

I hope this letter finds you well! It was hard finding anyone in the area that was still mutual with us to know where you were. But I took a trip to see your mother and she filled me in plenty. I didn’t know you were still doing that military job of yours, figured you’d find a steady life after. You always talked about a lake house you wanted to buy after your military duty.

But enough with miscellaneous talk—I plan to do that later with you— I’m inviting you, John Price, My best friend, to my wedding which will be hosted at the Saint Crossroads Church. The same church our mothers would force us to go to on Sundays. I remember how you always itched to take that tie you always wore off, but your mom would slap your hand away just in time. You’d sit next to me in the first row as the pastor would preach his word.

But now, on September 17th of this year—and next week!—, he will be my officiant, marrying me off to my soon to be husband. And I hope to see you there, in the front row like old times.

Sincerely,

Your Best Friend

His eyes read over the letter multiple times. His rough hands held the delicate letter with such softness that he barely touched it.

He wasn’t expecting this. John could feel his heart race, pounding and trying to leap out his chest. You. His best friend that he hasn’t forgotten was getting married. There was denial sprouting in his head. You can’t be getting married right? He thought to himself, but the fancy yet simple letter that laid softly in his head showed him more than the truth. It showed him the harsh reality. He remembered how your mom and his bonded—making you guys best friends as well. He remembered how the both of you would stick together around primary school, all the way to secondary school. He could remember his hidden feelings for you—he hid them so he wouldn’t ruin the friendship.

A conflicted sigh left his mouth. His rough hand put the letter down on his desk as his other hand shagged through his hair. He knew he had to go. A no show would break you.

And he’d love to see you again..

A/N ; just the prologue! Nothing too big but a bit short! I’m really just testing if anyone wants to read this aside from my friends aha!!

TagList ; @jenniferpendragon

me, a supposed writer, when i can’t find the very specific scenario i made up in my head in any fanfic: am i- am i supposed to write it myself??

Omg,,, that shit with graves ,,,

imagine you, a recently divorced person and Graves is working your case or whatever and feelings get caught in between 😩😩

I kinda wanna write this up now 🗣️🗣️

Edit ; it’s in the wips LMAO