#abraham ellis

[spockvarietyhour]

Stargate Atlantis "Lifeline"

[twotales]

Jump

Chapter Two: Disappear

Ch1: Lifeline |

Read on AO3

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis

Characters: Radek Zelenka, Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan, Chuck, Evan Lorne, Laura Cadman, Sam Carter, Bill Lee, More to add

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,223

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Episode Rewrite

Note: I've labeled locations because of what happens in the actual episode. I may drop it after this chapter.

Location: Atlantis

Radek toweled the grease off his hands. “I don’t think it’s a spare hyperdrive, Rodney.”

“Oh yeah, and why’s that?”

Radek pushed his glasses up his nose. “It isn’t connected to the central engine,” he threw his hands up, “it isn’t connected to anything.” He leaned forward, “What if it was another ancient experiment?”

Rodney wiped the sweat off his brow. “Well, we don’t really have much of a choice now do we?”

Radek nodded sadly. “This is true.”

Rodney pulled open the hatch, “Shit.” he rubbed a hand over his face and tapped his communicator, “Alright, start dismantling sublight, only one at a time.” he grimaced, “We could deal with one missing.”

Radek frowned; he knew as well as Rodney that it would take at least two.

Location: Apollo

“Damn,” Sam said as the puddle jumper went into hyperdrive. “We missed them.”

“We’ll deal with that later,” Ellis said, “power weapons.”

“Powering weapons,”

The replicator ships came into view. “Fire,” he said.

They started breaking up from the impact. “Replicator ships destroyed.”

“Hurry,” Sam said, “follow their trail.”

They opened up a hyperspace window.

Location: Atlantis

Seven non-essential areas stripped.

Five teleporters.

One holo-room.

And three sublight engines.

“It’s done,” Rodney said relieved. It was short-lived as the billions of other problems flooded in. The first being the replicators on their tail. He tapped his communicator, “All ready to go on this end, Radek.”

“Thirty minutes till everything is connected together.”

“Thirty minutes!?” He held a hand over his forehead. Fuck. “I’m coming.” Rodney barreled into the room and shoved a scientist out of the way. He slid under the conduit Radek was wedged under. “Let’s make it five.”

Radek snorted, “Oh yes, because this is possible.”

“Fine,” Rodney rolled his eyes, “fifteen.”

They smiled despite the situation.

Ten minutes later they were both headed toward the gate room. Rodney explained the details of the cobbled-together hyperdrive to the technicians, “You got it?”

The group nodded and ran to their specific stations. Chuck turned in his chair and entered in the estimated coordinates, hand hovering over the button.

A hyperspace window opened close to their proximity.

“Sergent!” John yelled.

“Yes, sir.”

Chuck hit the button.

Location: Apollo

“Where’d they go?” Bill stammered.

“There was no hyperspace window.” Sam blinked. “They just disappeared.”

Ellis tilted his head. “I’m going to guess that this isn’t normal.”

Sam shook her head, “No, it’s not.”

Bill raised a finger, “You see, nothing we know is capable of making a ship-,” Bill smiled, “Well anything really,” he nodded, “-disappear without any traces left behind,” he pushed his glasses up, “it’s actually one of the more-”

“Bill,” Sam said, shooting him a look.

Bill visibly swallowed back the words, “Right.”

-

“Report,” Ellis said as he stepped onto the bridge.

Sam frowned, “Thirty-six hours and nothing.”

“They want us back.” He said.

Sam sighed and looked over at the place where they had disappeared. It had to be powerful to send them away in such a manner. No energy signature, no window. It was like nothing they had ever witnessed before.

“Understood sir.” She tilted her head. “Let’s drop a probe, keep tabs on this section of space. It’s quite possible they could return.” She shrugged, “Who knows.”

Ellis nodded, Sam left the bridge and made her way over to a window. She stared at the same patch of empty space. Bill came up to her side and patted her shoulder.

“I feel like they're out there somewhere,” he said, “I won't give up hope.”

“I think you’re right.” Sam smiled at him and bumped her shoulder against his, “and that makes two of us.”

[macmurphysgirl]

I know this isn't really the place to post edits to be honest but this one I just made shows one of my favourite part in post apocalyptic shows/games/movies. The human connections.

"Number one, this is not a show about zombies. This is a show and a story about love." - Troy Baker.

I can't even explain how much resonate with any zombie medias I've watched. Yes, zombies/walker/clicker (or whatever you want to name them) are apart of it but they're like the side plot.

That type of content, to me, shows so much about connections and how humans would act without the society. We can see bounds forming between people who would have never even bat an eye at one another on a daily basis. There are no more real social groups. No poor, no rich. Just people trying to survive the best they can.

New families, not bounded my blood but families none the less. Caring for and protecting one another. They all have different backgrounds, different morals and ethic but they still bring people in no matter the danger it could bring upon them.

Anyways, my heart will always belong to zombies/ post apocalyptic medias <3

[movies-to-add-to-your-tbw]

Title: The Magic Flute

Rating: NR

Director: Florian Sigl

Cast: Jack Wolfe, F. Murray Abraham, Niamh McCormack, Ellie Courtiour, Cosima Henman, Amir Wilson, Rolando Villazón, Tedros Teclebrhan, Waldemar Kobus, Greg Wise, Luyanda Unati Lewis-Nyawo, Iwan Rheon, Stéfi Celma, Robin Gooch, Sabine Devieilhe

Release year: 2022

Genres: fantasy, adventure

Blurb: A 17-year-old travels from London to the Austrian Alps to attend the legendary Mozart Boarding School. There, he discovers a centuries-old forgotten passageway into the fantastic world of Mozart's The Magic Flute.

[potential-fate]

“I guess that makes sense.” Nicholas grinned when he looked over at the other pair again. Then he shrugged, “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never liked anyone. Seems like a waste of time to me.” 

Ellie glanced back at him, “A waste of time?” 

Not that Ellie had anyone she was crushing on, but it wasn’t due to it being a waste of time, she didn’t think at least. It was just… it wasn’t as if Arkhelios had a lot of options. 

“Yeah,” Nicholas rubbed his neck awkwardly, “I mean, it’s not like either of our parents are shining examples of relationship goals, right? What’s the point if it always ends up like that.” 

Ellie watched her friend frown. Having a parent magically show back up after a decade would be rather confusing, she supposed. If anything she spent half her time wishing her own mother would leave. Now she wondered if Nicholas did the same in his free time. She knew he’d never been too close with his mother, but she’d never heard him particularly complain either. In any case, Nicholas now looked entirely uncomfortable.

[rotzaprachim]

REY in GOD SAID TO ABRAHAM (The andor/last of us AU) 

Rey’s parents never crunched back up the drive of the Jack-Q service station, but she had always held on to the idea she had some kind of part in everything. If it’s her duty to die so that the cure can be found, she’ll gladly give them her life. 

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Compromising Positions: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Summary: An unsub is targeting and killing married couples, and you and Spencer go undercover in hopes of drawing out the unsub. Not only does it not work, but it opens a can of worms you don't think Spencer is ready to open.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

"Whatever you are, be a good one." – Abraham Lincoln

You're typing on your computer just minding your own business when you feel eyes on you. You look above your computer to see Spencer staring at you from over his. He quickly looks away and goes back to doing what he's doing, and you do the same. Two minutes pass and you feel eyes on you yet again. 

This time, you don't look at him.

"Spencer, you're staring," you sing. You look up and see a blush darkening his cheeks, and he quickly looks away. "What is it? Do I have something on my face?"

Spencer grabs his coffee and locks his computer since the briefing meeting starts in one minute. He passes by your desk to get to the stairs leading up to the small second-story and stops right behind you. You look up at him and he leans down to kiss you.

"You're just beautiful."

It's your turn to blush. You two walk to the briefing room together and take your seats while everyone else shuffles in.

"Hey, good news. Ellie just got placed with a foster family, so fingers crossed."

"Oh, that's great. I'm happy for her," Emily smiles.

"We got a case in Akron, Ohio," Hotch says when he walks in. "Two couples were killed in two weeks."

"One a week? That's not much of a cooling-off period."

Hotch puts up pictures of one couple.

"Scott and Kathy Hartway were found in their car in an isolated spot."

"The Son of Sam had a short cooling-off period. He also attacked couples in cars," Spencer says.

"Yeah, but the first couple was killed in their house. Robert and Allison Keppler." Hotch puts their pictures on the screen. "In both cases, the husbands were killed with a silenced nine-millimeter, and the wife was stabbed multiple times. He's crossed not only racial lines but socio-economic ones. The Kepplers lived in an upscale neighborhood and the Hartways were blue-collar."

"That's a big change in crime scenes--car versus house. Two radically different MOs, not to mention he subdues two people. That takes a lot of skill," Rossi comments.

"There's no indication of how he overwhelms them. There's no antemortem bruising. He doesn't use a blitz attack."

"He's got a nine-millimeter. He doesn't need to."

"How about signs of forced entry to the car or the house?" Derek asks.

"Nothing, but Akron PD did find this." Hotch puts pictures of both deceased males with bruising around their wrists. "Handcuffs. He restrains the men and saves the real savaging for the wife."

"Is this right?" Rossi flips through the paper file. "They found a used condom on both the husbands?"

"Yes, plus both had Viagra in their systems while neither had a prescription."

"So, the unsub gives the men Viagra and then forces them to have sex before he kills them?"

"Given the timetable, he's gonna strike again soon. We fly to Akron tonight. Wheels up in three hours."

Since you have three hours to kill, you decide to go to Hotch's office to talk to him about JJ. It's none of your business who he hires next or the process of getting someone else hired, but you feel like he might want some help to make the process easier.

"Hey, got a second?" you ask and knock on the door.

"Yes. Come in."

You walk into his office but keep the door open.

"So, without JJ, it's going to be tough."

"We'll manage."

"Have you thought about training someone new for the position?"

"Not right this minute."

You say it before even thinking about it. You just want to help out and think this is the best way you can.

"I could do it. I might not have her training but I read people well. I could--"

"Garcia, what is that?"

You turn to see Penelope rolling a suitcase behind her. You take a step back and allow her to walk into the office.

"My go bags."

"Where are you going?"

"With you, hopefully. Sir, I think we're all still reeling since JJ left, and we are a man down so you need a communications liaison." Hotch's mouth opens to respond but she is quick to speak again. "Sir, please hear me out. My job overlapped with JJ's the most. I created the program that she used to present cases. When you guys were out in the field, she coordinated your needs through me. It makes sense."

Hotch looks at you over her shoulder and you shrug as an answer to his silent question.

"Garcia, there are aspects of the job for which you have no training."

"You're totally right but I'm willing to learn. I'll learn how to interact with families, local law enforcement, and the media. Sir, I'm willing to tone down my wardrobe choices. I'm ready to make that sacrifice if you just please give me a chance."

"You know she's serious if she offers to change what she wears," you comment.

After a moment, Hotch nods. "Alright. We could explore this on a trial basis. We'll see how things go. Are you up to speed on the case?"

"Yes."

"Can you be ready in three hours?"

"I'm ready now."

"See you on the plane."

Penelope grins and leaves his office, and you step back to where you were before.

"You understand why she's a better fit."

"Yeah, she'll do good. I just wanted to help you out."

"You can by being out in the field. You're much better out there."

You leave his office and head back down to your desk to get some more paperwork done before the flight. Three hours later, you and the rest of the team are inside the plane but still on the ground. You're sitting next to Spencer but across from Hotch and Emily while Rossi is on the couch next to you. Derek is making himself a coffee knowing he won't sleep on the plane.

"I'm just waiting on a few last-minute details. Let's go ahead and get started," Hotch says.

"I keep thinking about the fact that he makes a married couple have sex before he kills them. What is he accomplishing with that?" Rossi asks.

"You know, the stabbing of the wives is almost certainly like piquerism. The unsub gets sexual gratification from penetration with a knife. Most piquerists are impotent. Men like Albert Fish, Iain Scoular, and Andrei Chikatilo. For him, it could be a substitute for sex."

"The unsub could also be playing a mind game. Neither shot to the husband is clean, so they have to watch what he's doing to their wives as they're dying," Emily adds to Spencer's thought.

"So, this guy challenges their manhood by forcing them to have sex and then mocks them with the overkill. That kind of psychological torture makes him a sexual sadist. It would explain the amount of control he exhibits over the crime scene--the handcuffs, the condoms, and the silenced weapon. He plans out every detail."

"If he's that precise, he would be just as precise in his victimology, but he's all over the map in terms of class and race."

"There must be something else about the couples that attracts him. Something that he couldn't learn by stalking them anonymously. Maybe the couples met the unsub before," you say.

"Rossi and Reid, will you handle the family interviews? Morgan, Prentiss, and Y/N, go to the latest crime scene. We need to learn as much as we can about him so let's really pin down the MO."

Hotch looks past Spencer's shoulder to the front of the plane once someone else walks on board. You look behind you to see Penelope dressed in a gray knee-length dress with a small black blazer. Her hair is straightened and she doesn't have her glasses on which means she is wearing contacts. This is nothing like what she normally wears.

"Well, look at you," Derek smirks.

"Meet your new communications liaison. Trial communications liaison," she corrects.

"Garcia, I don't get to say this often, but I had no idea there was this side of you."

"I figure since I'm going to have to interact with the mass populace, I should dress in the traditional costume of a mere mortal." She squints her eyes as if she is in pain. "Ow. Ow."

"What's wrong?" Derek asks.

"Oh, it's my contact. It keeps getting weird." She pulls down the bottom lid of her eye and rolls it to try and fix her contact. "Huh. There it goes. No. Yes. No. Ow."

You can't help but giggle at her theatrics. Now that the last member is on the plane, the pilot is given the green light to take off. You hook your arm through Spencer's and lean your head on his shoulder, and he rests his head on yours. You mindlessly run your hand up and down his arm as you close your eyes for a bit of rest. Hotch watches you two in thought, ideas already swimming in his head on how you can help him out with this case.

Since the flight is only an hour and a half, you arrive in Akron late at night. Hotch checked everyone into the hotel and allowed everyone to get proper sleep before getting to work in the morning. As soon as the sun is up, you head to the recent crime scene with Derek and Emily, and the rest head to the Akron Police Department.

"Detective Crowley?"

"Miss Garcia. Thanks for coming." He shakes her hand. "She emailed pictures of you guys. Agents Hotchner, Rossi, and Dr. Reid, right? It's doctor, not agent. She was specific about that."

Spencer smiles proudly at Penelope.

"What else was she specific about?" Rossi asks.

"Everything your team needs. I sent her a list of family members who'd be willing to talk, and your boards are over there, all ready for you to set them up. I even got the push pins you asked for."

A distraught man walks into the station and approaches the group.

"Excuse me. Are you miss Garcia?"

"Mr. Keppler. Hi. This is Detective Crowley. He'll show you to the interview room."

Both men leave and Penelope addresses Hotch.

"He is such a sweet man," she sighs.

"You contacted the family members already?"

"Yes. Only two responded back immediately. That is Robert Keppler's dad, and Scott Hartway's mom will be here in about an hour. Is that enough time?"

"Yes, perfect."

"Okay. I'm gonna set up the boards unless you need something else."

"No, we're good. Thank you."

Penelope leaves and Rossi turns to Hotch.

"And you were worried."

"Y/N came to me and asked if she could do it."

"What did you tell her?"

"That she's better off in the field."

"I agree," Rossi nods.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[atheneum-of-you]

Hello all! I'm Poppyyyy and I'm a 26 year old polyamorous dweeb, navigating the world of witchery and divinity after years of back and forth with my Christian upbringing. I'm not particularly new to my practices, I've been ingrained in them for about 5 years now. But I still greatly consider myself a novice in many aspects so please bear with any of my inexperiences.

There truly is nothing particularly special about my blog I don't think. I live in a very strict abrahamic household, so this is my little refuge to brain dump my practices, thoughts on spiritual topics, and to use as a diary.

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed your stay ♡

As of Nov. 08, 2024, I am training to be a priestess of Hermes, with his blessing ♡

(Practices and stuff under the cut)

Even though the things I can do are limited in my household, I still do my best to practice when I can!

‿︵‿୨♡Ｍｙ Ｄｅｖｏｔｉｏｎｓ♡୧‿︵‿

Patron:

Hermes ♡

Ares

Worshipper of:

Selene

Zeus

Hermes

Archangel Michael

Aoreleia

Worker of:

Archangel Michael

Aoreleia

Hermes

‿︵‿୨♡Ｓｐｉｒｉｔ Ｃｏｍｐａｎｉｏｎｓ♡୧‿︵‿

Shera

Ver

Oris

Isel

Lars

Kry

Graham Cracker

Tarian

Clad

Ellie

‿︵‿୨♡Ｄｉｖｉｎａｔｉｏｎ Ｓｔｙｌｅｓ♡୧‿︵‿

Tarot (primary)

Pendulum

Bibliomancy (still learning)

Telepathy (companions and devotions)

︵‿︵‿୨♡ Ｉｎｔｅｒｅｓｔｓ ♡୧‿︵‿︵

Chaos Magic

Conjuring

Deity work

Tarot reading

Astral creation/traveling

Thoughtform/servitor creation

Herbs

The occasional hex or two ♡

Overall, I'd love to make some new friends and maybe we can be moots, enjoy your stay ♡

[tanaisokay]

Aster Button • Hogwarts Legacy MC • Character Information

(Character Sheet Commission by my amazing bestie, @unholytrio420)

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General Information

Full Name: Aster Jane Button

Nicknames: Princess of Hufflepuff, Sweetheart & Bug

Gender: Female

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Date of Birth: April 30th, 1875

Dominate Hand: Left

Zodiac Sign: Taurus ☀️🌙 & Cancer ⬆️

Personality Type (MBTI): ENFP - Campaigner

Blood Status: Half-blood

Alignment: Lawful Good

Nationality: English/Greek

House: Hufflepuff

Wand: Natural shape, English Oak, Unicorn Hair Core, 20 cm, handle is carved with oak leaves and has an acorn on the bottom of the handle.

Patronus: Swarm of Bees or Ibizan Bound

(One is my wants, the other is wizarding worlds take)

Boggart: Herself

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Physical Appearance

Hair Colour & Style: Has wavy/curly dark brown hair, with a bang fringe that curls at the ends because of her naturally curly hair. She tends to keep her hair half up in an updo with a white bow holding it back.

Eye Color: Her eyes are a dark green with a yellow center.

Skin Tone: Light olive tone with peach undertones. Has a flush of freckles all over her face. She also has light rosacea on her cheeks, nose and forehead.

Height: 5’7” (170cm)

Other features:

She does wear makeup, even though it was frowned upon at that time. She has a smudge of eyeliner on her upper lid and goes wear some lipstick/Vaseline for shine.

An overbite with bunny teeth.

Girly wears earrings as well. They are vintage screw backs from 1890 that match her colors and vibe. Gold & Black varnish with diamonds.

Face claim: Hande Ercel is her slight face claim. Hande Ercel has dark brown eyes and doesn’t have freckles, but she’s a Turkish actress with the perfect face shape. Which is why I say she’s a slight face claim. Her role in Azize just screams Aster with her hair as it is as well.

(The right photo was edited by Ellie to give her green eyes and freckles - she’s quite literally perfect!)

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Personality

Positive Traits: extroverted, empathic, patient, elegant, down to earth, in tune with her emotions, lawful, dedicated, loving & kind

Neutral Traits: sensitive, tantalizing, sensual, dominant, can not lie for shite, work oriented & overthinks constantly

Negative Traits: opinionated, materialistic, dense, slow, kind of a mean girl in a domineering way, fair to a fault & spoiled

Scent: Lilac, Moss and Honey

Strengths: Being a walking bug magnet, saying ‘No’, Stability

Weaknesses: being yelled at, crying to easily, Numbers/Math (Dyslexic), dealing with parasites

Fears: Heights & The Dark

Likes: Her family, Insects, Bee Keeping, Running, Gardening, Eating, Talking, Cuddling

Dislikes: The Wizarding Realm, Passive Aggressive Rudeness, People who have a twisted reality that being blunt is actually being nice, Dark Magic, Racism, Slavery, Pure-Blood enthusiasts

Future Dreams: A normal happy life in research entomology

Favorite Classes: Charms, History of Magic, Herbology, Divination

Hated Classes: Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Flying, Astronomy

Music Loves: Frank Sinatra, Vic Damone, Benny Goodman, Billie Holiday, Dean Martin, Ella Fitzgerald, Tony Bennett, Tommy Dorsey, Artie Shaw, etc.

Aesthetic: Honeycore Coquette

Love Language: Physical Touch & Companionship

Pinterest Board (important): https://pin.it/5APIW6Lqo

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Relationships

Father: Theodore Button - Lord, Wizard, Business Man

Mother: Abigail Button - Lady, Normie, Socialite

Sibling(s): Timothy Button - Older brother, Future Lawyer, Normie

Distant Relatives: Percival Rackham - Many-Great Grandfather

Hogwarts Guardian(s): Matilda Weasley, Abraham Ronan, Aesop Sharp & Dinah Hecate

Love Interest: Sebastian Sallow

Best Friends: Nerida Roberts, Grace Pinch-Smedley, Ominis Gaunt, Adelaide Oakes, Anne Sallow

Rivals: Imelda Rayes

Enemies: Ranrok, Victor Rookwood, Ashwinders

Pets:

Ladybird Spider named Lily

All her bees

A full nest of Fwoopers

4 Nifflers - Quartz, Obsidian, Copper & Tin-Tin

2 Kneezles - Knee & Zazzy

2 Unicorns - June & August (Golden)

2 Hippogriff - Ares (Tawny) & Highwing

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Outside Character Inspirations

Cher Horowitz - Clueless

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind

Elora Danan - Willow TV series

Willow Rosenberg - Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Lexi Howard - Euphoria

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Shout out to the HL peep here on Tumblr that inspired me to do this. I lost their post and can’t find it now for some reason. So I apologize for not having you tagged, but thank you for inspiring me to get all my information out about my darling! If I ever get around to editing & typing up her true background, I will edit this to include. For now, here is my baby girl. Please enjoy her!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Mark Sumner at Daily Kos:

On Monday, a group of over 200 former Republican officials endorsed Kamala Harris for president. These officials—who worked for the late Sen. John McCain, Sen. Mitt Romney, former Vice President Mike Pence, and Presidents George H.W. Bush and George W. Bush—represent the last three Republican administrations and the two Republican presidential candidates before Trump.  They all share a single message: “[R]e-electing President Trump would be a disaster for our nation.” Could Trump compile over 200 Democratic officials of a similar rank who support his candidacy? It’s not clear if he’d find that many supporters even among those who served in his administration. Either way, the support that Harris and her running mate, Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz, are getting from Republicans should be a big red flag to Trump and his supporters.

Joining the officials endorsing Harris is retired four-star General Larry Ellis, who served as the commander of the U.S. Army Forces Command under George W. Bush. This is the first time he has endorsed a candidate for president. "Donald Trump has demonstrated that he is wholly and dangerously unfit for Commander-in-Chief,” Ellis wrote in his endorsement of Harris. “He praises and emboldens our enemies that seek to weaken our country. He has denigrated our brave men and women in uniform.” The mass endorsement follows the appearance of former Republican officials during all four nights of last week’s Democratic National Convention. At least seven Republicans appeared on the DNC stage, including former Rep. Adam Kinzinger, former Georgia Republican Lt. Gov. Geoff Duncan, and former Trump White House press secretary Stephanie Grisham.

Their endorsement of Harris doesn’t come because these Republicans have suddenly adopted Democratic policy positions. As the letter from the former officials states, they have “plenty of honest, ideological disagreements with Vice President Harris and Gov. Walz.” But these officials are putting party aside to endorse Harris because they recognize the magnitude of Trump’s threat to American democracy.

[...] Republicans can try all they want, but the hundreds of lifelong Republican officials lining up behind Harris, as well as the long list of Trump officials who don’t want to see him return, is not something that can be just waved away. Neither can the “Republicans for Harris” groups that are appearing and gaining steam in swing states. What’s happening isn’t a big shift to the left by Republicans; it’s a broad recognition by those connected to past Republican administrations, and to many registered Republicans today, that Trump is not a continuation of the party of Abraham Lincoln. He doesn’t represent their concerns or their principles. 

Over 200 former Republican officials who worked for various Republican Presidencies and campaigns ranging from George H.W. Bush to Mike Pence, have endorsed Kamala Harris for President.

[sixhours]

happy birthday, baby girl - snow day

This is birthday adjacent at best, but does it count if I posted it on my actual birthday? Let's say yes. <3

Series masterlist | Read on AO3 | In progress

Rating: Teen Chapter tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel and Ellie, Ellie Williams, Joel Miller, flashback, PTSD, swearing, canon-compliant, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort Words: 7.8k

Notes: A bunch of birthday one-shots loosely based on this headcanon. This might be a five-times/one-time fic in disguise, it hasn't decided yet.

The first snow falls in late November, a thick blanket of white that won’t melt until April, if their neighbors are telling the truth.

The few movies Ellie has seen always made winter out to be this magical, sparkling time. Trees glazed in shimmering crystals, rocky fields rendered soft and pristine with powdery snow cover, but all she knows of winter is the dirty, wet slush of the Boston QZ and the deadly threat of frostbite in the Rockies.

She’s always cold. Fingers, toes, the back of her neck, the tip of her nose–everything is frigid. Joel says it’s because she “doesn’t have enough meat on her bones”, but this kind of cold isn’t assuaged by the heat of a roaring fire or a pile of thick down comforters. She doesn’t remember it being like this before. Boston was never a tropical paradise, but the biting wind in Jackson is so much worse. It leaves a permanent frost on her bedroom window, creeps under her skin, icy fingers threaded through her ribs.

It reminds her of Colorado.

Sometimes it’s like she’s still there, like she never left. Sometimes she gets lost in her head, the events of last year replaying in her mind like a movie she can’t stop.

Like today, when she ventures outside after lunch and the combination of woodsmoke and fresh-fallen snow and cutting wind almost brings her to her knees. Suddenly she’s kneeling in the slush, hunched over the dirty blanket, blood from the train tracks to the house, stumbling down rickety old stairs with Joel’s weight on her narrow shoulders.

No.

She shakes her head to clear the fog, stumbles forward, swept up in the post-lunch crowd.

“Ellie?”

Dina at her side.

“I’m fine,” she says too quickly, forcing a smile. Her lips pull and crack, chapped from the frigid dry air. “I’m fine.”

“Okaaaay,” Dina says, cocking an eyebrow. Ellie stands straighter, tries to shape her expression into something believable.

“Gonna be late,” she mumbles, purposefully avoiding Dina’s eyes, the concern written plainly on her face.

Somehow she makes it back to school, finds her desk, stares at the pages of her textbook as Mrs. Abraham drones on. Fingers on the table turn to fingers on his stomach, the blood seems to pour through them, a warm slippery gush, Joel’s wild, terrified gaze wrenching her heart as he grips frantically at her coat.

She turns the page with a trembling hand.

Solve for x, it’s simple enough, but Joel makes a sickening sound in the back of his throat when he breathes and she thinks about Riley, thinks of what she’d said about watching her parents die. What had she called it? A death rattle. Joel is dying, he’s dying in front of her and she doesn’t know what to do. There’s the weight of the gun in her hands, too heavy, dragging her down into the snow. Deep breath in, breathe, slow breath out, breathe, squeeze the trigger like you love it, and the shot rings out. Red blooms, the deer runs, the men come–

Mrs. Abraham nudges her out of the haze, peering at her with concern, her voice soft.

“Ellie? Are you feeling okay? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” she says roughly, her voice a distant, grating caw to the roar of the past in her ears. She stares blankly at her algebra book and tries not to go back, to sink into the abyss of last winter, but it’s no use. It’s like coming to the surface for a scant breath before she’s swept up in the undertow and out of time.

When the last bell finally rings, she can’t leave fast enough. She’s hovering over Joel’s near-lifeless body and sticking a needle into his flesh and depressing the plunger. It has to hurt like a sonofabitch, but he barely flinches, barely acknowledges the stick, and that’s almost worse than the pain. He’s not going to make it, she’s going to be alone, she’ll starve, she’ll never get out–

Stop.

The crunch of snow underfoot and the whipping wind do nothing to bring her out of it as Jackson fades in and out like a bad radio signal. Someone calls her name but they might as well be a hundred miles away.

By the time she's walking up the porch steps to their house, her breath comes in ragged gasps. She slams the door shut just as the gunshot sounds, the horse falls away, or maybe it’s her that’s falling. Everything gets blurry as she drops her pack at the door.

Stop, stop it, just fucking stop it.

She goes to the kitchen on autopilot. Tea, she thinks dully. Joel would make her tea.

She fills the kettle and puts it on, going through the motions. Find the tin of tea leaves in the cupboard, scoop just enough into the little cheesecloth bag. By the time the kettle is screeching, she’s sitting somewhere in a cage in the middle of Silver Lake, huddled in the corner, listening to–

No.

Hands shaking, she pulls the kettle from the burner. It wobbles in her grip as she begins to pour the water into a mug.

Violent heart.

Her grip falters, the kettle shakes wildly, and boiling-hot water splashes over her hand. The pain barely registers, but the shock of it causes her to drop the mug and it shatters on the floor.

“Shit.”

She’s vaguely aware of kneeling, picking up the ceramic shards in her shaking fingers, but she can’t stop seeing them, seeing him. Feels his hands on her shoulders, pinning her to the table, the cleaver slamming into the cutting board with a resounding thunk that rings like a death knell in her ears.

“No, no, no–“

There’s blood swimming in the hot water at her feet, socks soaked, hands clenching involuntarily around shards of glass as she’s running through the kitchen, frantic as a rat in a maze, hearing his voice echoing off the walls. Her name, singsong and leering.

Ell-ie. Elllll-ie.

Then she’s abandoning the tea and the kettle and the shards and grabbing a knife and sinking to the floor, back pressed against the cupboards, sticky with sweat. Her hand burns and bleeds but she isn’t there to feel it, fighting for her life in that dingy restaurant as the world goes up in flames around her.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed, but the spilled kettle water soaking her socks and jeans has gone cold by the time the front door opens and Joel’s familiar boot steps sound in the entry.

“Ellie?”

She hears him but can’t make her voice work. Head on her knees, knife still clutched to her chest, it’s a struggle just to breathe. The floor beneath her is cold and wet and made of shards but everything else is on fire. She’s trapped, she’s never going to get out, he’s on top of her, pulling at her–

“Jesus, Ellie–”

She shrieks when he touches her shoulder, jerks back and flails the knife uselessly at him. His face is David’s face, then Joel’s face, then David’s face again, leering over her.

Then it’s just Joel, looking at her with wide, worried eyes.

“Hey, whoa–”

The sight of him, whole and unharmed, draws a sob from her throat.

“Hey, hey, it’s me,” he says, cupping her cheeks between his hands. She can still feel the wind biting, the cold penetrating her too-thin sweatshirt despite being safe and warm in the kitchen of their little blue house.

“What happened?”

“I–I don’t–”

She chokes on a sob, abandoning the knife with a clatter to reach up for him like a small child, wraps her arms around his neck and holds on.

“Okay, I gotcha,” he whispers. “I gotcha. You’re alright. Had a little accident, huh?”

Ellie manages a tight nod, presses her face into the side of his neck. It’s still cold from being outside but Joel’s warmth blooms underneath, grounding her.

“S’okay, let’s, uh…let’s get you off the floor, alright? Then we’ll see what we’re dealin’ with. Think you can stand up for me?”

The images behind her eyes have finally receded, the spool has run out of tape, and she’s left feeling hollow. With some effort, Joel helps her to her feet and lifts her onto the counter.

“You’re bleedin’...” he murmurs, frowning at her hands.

She blinks down, sees the scratches and cuts, doesn’t know how to explain them.

“C’mon,” he says gently, taking her hands between his, grazing his thumb directly against the burned patch of skin. She hisses and yanks her hand back as the pain flares bright and mean.

“Whoa–”

Carefully, slowly, he turns her left wrist to see the bright pink flesh, blistered and raw.

“Shit, kid–”

“Burned it,” she says faintly. “S-spilled the…the water…I was trying to–trying…trying to m-make–”

Now she’s shivering too hard to finish and fresh tears are rolling down her cheeks.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “It’s alright, we can clean this up, yeah? Nothin’ we can’t fix.”

Joel says something about a first-aid kit and she nods, but it doesn’t really set in until he’s leaving her–he’s leaving her the panicky little bird in her chest flutters and bangs its wings frantically against her ribs–and she digs her nails into her palms to stop herself from trailing after. It’s only a few seconds, but she counts them, feels every single one like a heartbeat.

Joel returns with the kit and lays it out on the counter next to her, carefully dabbing at her cuts and scrapes, then applying a thick coat of salve to her burn before wrapping her hand in gauze.

Nothing we can’t fix.

He’s so calm, his hands so practiced and sure, she almost believes it.

“There, all better,” he says, but there’s a familiar roar in her ears again. She’s drifting in the aftermath, remembering the cold.

Ellie.

Ellie.

Ellie?

“Ellie?”

She shivers, eventually becoming aware of Joel's hands on her cheeks, peering into her eyes, that same guarded worry shining through.

“Hey, Ellie. Ellie? C’mon back, baby.”

His face blends, fades in and out between the pale, sickly gray and his usual, healthy color.

“That’s it. Y’with me now?”

He’s being too soft, too gentle. She must have zoned out for a while.

“M’okay,” she breathes, a lie, but he’s used to that by now. After a minute, she reaches forward and tugs at the hem of his shirt, just shy of frantic, pulls at his undershirt until it untucks. He doesn’t try to stop her, just leans back.

She has to see it, has to touch the scar to know it’s real. That this is real, that Joel is here and alive and not bleeding out on a dirty mattress.

“Alright,” he murmurs, letting her lift his shirt until she sees the deep pink crescent to the right of his belly button. It looks good now. The doctor at the clinic even said she was impressed with Ellie’s stitches, but she thinks Joel just said that to make her feel better.

She puts her fingers to it, traces it, tries to sear the feeling of his solid flesh into her memory so maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t have to go back there. It never works, but it doesn’t stop her from trying. This time he jumps and hisses, causing her to jerk back.

“You’re fine, kiddo,” he says quickly, apologetic. “Just got ice cubes for fingers.”

He brings her hands between his big palms and holds them gently. It helps, both to warm her and bring her out of the fog.

“Sorry,” she mutters, flushing. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it ain’t,” he says, gentle but firm. “Let’s get you some dry clothes, then we’ll go sit on the couch for a bit. Fire’ll warm you up.”

She doesn’t think it will, doesn’t think she’ll be truly warm until spring, but she eases herself down from the counter, careful with her bandaged hand, and follows him upstairs to change. She almost cracks a joke at the way his knees creak louder than the stairs, but her heart’s not in it. Soon she’s swimming in Joel’s sweatpants and a t-shirt, but they’re dry and smell like him, worn soft over time. Safe.

When she comes downstairs, he’s got a fire roaring in the fireplace and her favorite throw waiting on the back of the couch. She burrows into it, wrapping it around her shoulders and tucking her legs up until just her head pokes out the top, a little Ellie-shaped cocoon.

“Y’want that tea?” Joel calls from the kitchen.

She shudders. She likes the old leaf water about as much as she likes coffee, but at least it’s hot and the peppermint kind doesn’t smell like shit.

“Sure. Extra–“

“Extra honey, got it,” he says.

She nestles into the blanket and lets herself drift like falling snow, eyes unfocused, the fire a blurry, orange-red mass in her line of vision. Soon Joel brings in the tea along with a plate of toast slathered with sunflower seed butter and strawberry preserves. She sticks a hand out of the blanket and takes the mug, curls her fingers around it until they burn, clutching it to her chest. Her injured hand throbs but it’s better than fucking freezing.

He takes a seat on the other side of the couch and leans forward on his knees. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No,” she says, the usual knee-jerk response. She’s been trying to work on that, trying to give a little, even when it feels like rubbing sandpaper over a scald. He’s safe, she reminds herself, adding, “I dunno.”

She rubs her thumb around the edge of her mug, feels the rough ridge of a chip in the glossy ceramic. A crazy thought, that if she were a mug, she’d look more like the one she dropped on the floor. A girl in pieces, shards made for drawing blood, where Joel is like this mug. Solid. Weathered. Warm.

“I, uh…I figured this time of year might be rough…”

Ellie wrinkles her nose, sips at her tea. Eventually, she reaches out and places the half-empty cup on the coffee table.

“Somethin’ happen at school?” he tries again.

He’s so fucking patient. Sometimes she misses the early days when he’d snap at her, roll his eyes, tell her to move on, keep up, keep going. It’s been a full fucking year and she’s still not over it. His kindness is infuriating, but it’s all he seems to have for her now. She fiddles with the end of the bandage on her hand, picking the edge into tiny cotton strands.

“Sometimes…it’s like I’m back…there…and I can’t get…out.”

His face falls–there’s the hint of a downturn in his lips, his brows knit together as if he’s in pain, tiny flickers of motion before he catches himself, smoothing everything out.

“I close my eyes and it’s all…it’s happening again. And I can’t get out, I can’t–I have to go through it and it’s–I know it’s not real, but I can’t–”

Her chest tightens like it always does when she tries to talk about it, pushing her voice higher, a plaintive whistling whine. She shuts her eyes tight, feels spit gathering in her mouth like she’s about to throw up.

“I hate it,” she grates out. “I fucking hate it, I hate it, I hate–”

She tries to suck in a breath and finds she can’t, she’s choking on rage, and Joel’s voice is a gentle burr in the background, easy now, breathe, breathe kiddo.

“Why is this happening?” she whimpers when she can talk again. “Why can’t I just…not…why won’t it stop?”

“It’s…your mind’s way of processin’, I guess. They’re called flashbacks.”

She huddles deeper into the blanket, swiping at her eyes.

“Happened to Tommy after the war,” he continues. “They stopped eventually. Jus’…takes time. Think it helped him to talk about it with someone.”

“With you?”

Joel huffs softly. “Not me…someone else. Back before, they had…counselors. I could ask Maria, see if they have somethin’ like–”

“No,” she says immediately, eyes snapping to his. “No.”

“Alright,” he whispers. “Well…’fraid you’re stuck with me, then.”

He puts a hand out, palm up, like he’s tempting a skittish pup, and she scoots over and sags against his side with a sigh. His arm around her shoulders doesn’t quite cut through the chill but it helps.

“Did you have them? About…Sarah?”

“No,” he clears his throat. “No, I think I, uh…I dealt with that…different. Shut everythin’ out. Closed up.”

“Wish I could do that,” she whispers thickly.

He looks down at her and smiles, but his eyes are sad. “Might think so, but…it don’t really work. Takes somethin’ from you. You don’t want that.”

She thinks she does, though. What she wants is to be empty, to carve open her head and pour out her thoughts like water from a kettle, to not fucking feel so much. She remembers the coldness in Joel’s eyes when he first pointed a gun at her. It’s the same coldness she feels in her bones, the coldness she can’t seem to shake.

“Won’t always be like this, kiddo,” he says, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “It’ll get better. Jus’ takes time.”

There's a long pause, the kind of deep silence that used to make her want to peel her own skin off, but with Joel it’s easy, comfortable.

“Wanna try somethin’ to eat?” he murmurs.

She glances at the toast on the coffee table and grimaces, turning her face back into his side. Her stomach lurches. “I’m tired.”

She is, too. Now that she’s no longer trapped in her memories, her eyelids droop and she aches all over, like she’s lived days in the span of a few hours.

“Alright,” he says. “Maybe in a little bit?”

“‘Kay,” she agrees. And she means to, except the combination of the hot tea and the blanket and the rumble of Joel’s breath against her side lulls her to sleep. Before she knows it, he’s nudging her awake, urging her to her feet, gently prodding her up the stairs and tucking her into her bed.

Strange dreams follow her into the dark, taunting, memories mingling with nightmares until she surfaces with a strangled gasp, kicking at her tangled sheets, quilts in a heap at the edge of the bed. It’s still night, the pale moon haloed by a ring of white frost through her window. The floors are cold even through her thick wool socks.

Joel is in his room, sitting up in bed with a book in his lap. He looks up, reading glasses crooked on his nose.

“Hey, kiddo…y’alright?”

She shrugs, and without her having to ask, he pulls back the blankets on the other side of the bed. It’s warm under the covers and she curls up on her side, closing her eyes. There’s the crinkle of a page turning, the steady whisper of Joel’s breathing. It’s not long before she drifts off again, and this time, the dreams don’t follow.

She wakes slowly, squinting at the light, then at the bedside clock–a bleary 8:06.

“Fuck,” she mumbles. She should be in school right now. Outside the window is a white curtain of driven snow, wind howling around the rafters. She shivers and pads downstairs, finds Joel at the kitchen table.

“Did you forget to set the alarm?”

“No school,” Joel says, sipping his shitwater. “The furnace over at the schoolhouse ain’t workin’, somethin’ about a broken boiler. Can’t get a crew out here from the dam ‘til the weather clears.”

She frowns. “What about patrol?”

“Canceled,” he says, nodding toward the window. “No one’s leavin’ the walls ‘til this stops. Snow day.”

“Oh.”

“Figured I’d let you sleep in,” he says, leaning back in a stretch. “How’s the hand?”

She shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“Don’t bullshit me, kid.”

“It hurts a little,” she admits. “But if it gets bad I promise I’ll tell you,” she intones, barely suppressing an eye roll.

He arches a brow, smirks. “So you do listen.”

“Occasionally,” she sighs, rocking back on her heels.

“I’ll take what I can get, I guess,” he says, standing with a grunt. “Since you’re up, how ‘bout you go get dressed and I’ll see about rustlin’ up some breakfast?”

So she does, goes back upstairs and layers herself under winter armor–long underwear, lined jeans, two pairs of socks, cotton under the itchy wool ones, long sleeves–and she’s still fucking cold, as usual. Normally she’d be happy to have a whole day off, but bits and pieces of yesterday’s backflash—or whatever Joel called it—keep intruding, worry unfurling like choking vines threading between her ribs.

She trudges downstairs and curls up on the couch. The fire radiates warmth but she wraps the afghan around her shoulders anyway. Joel comes in with a cup of tea for her and his coffee. He doesn’t gripe when she stretches out and tucks her toes under his thigh, the warm grip of one hand briefly squeezing her ankle before he goes back to his coffee.

“Did you have snow days in Texas?”

“Nah. We had storms sometimes. Even had snow a time or two, but it didn’t stick. Nothin’ like this.”

“Lucky,” she mutters.

“Don’t think Sarah would have agreed with that, but…yeah.”

“She liked all this winter shit?”

“Dunno about that, but she liked the…the novelty of it, I guess,” he sighs, then glances over at her. “Should drink your tea ‘fore it gets cold.”

She does. It’s sweet, just the way she likes.

“You hungry? Think we got eggs…or we can brave the storm and see what they got at the caf.”

Her stomach growls at the thought. “Eggs,” she says immediately.

“Manners,” he frowns.

“Ugh, eggs please,” she says, grumbling. “I shouldn’t have to say ‘please’ when you offered.”

“Humor an old man, would ya?”

“‘Old’ is fucking right,” she says, then brightens. “Hey, do we still have sunflower butter?”

“Sure do. Scrambled eggs and toast, comin’ right up,” he says, giving her toes a last squeeze as he stands and heads for the kitchen.

She tucks herself back into her blanket cocoon, staring into the fire.

This time last year, Joel was getting ready to ditch her with Tommy and now he knows how she likes her tea, what foods she’ll eat (and the ones she won’t), which blanket is her favorite. It’s fucking strange when she thinks about it like that, of all the things that can happen in a year, all the ways a life can change. Maybe by this time next year, she’ll have something nicer to look back on than…well.

Not fucking likely, she thinks, looking out the window at the driving snow as that ugly, tangled feeling in her chest grows.

Suddenly the room is too quiet, even with the clatter of dishes and Joel’s humming to himself in the kitchen. She gets up, goes to find him with the blanket still draped over her shoulders. He glances over as she takes a seat at the table. Her stomach growls again, and she tucks her legs up underneath her until she’s fully enveloped by the afghan.

“Be done in a minute,” he says, scraping at the pan. “Gonna have to come out of your shell to eat, though.”

“You could feed me,” she says.

“Gettin’ a little old for that,” he says, then smirks. “Could get you one of those buckets from the stables, though. Strap it to your face.”

She giggles, and Joel throws a wink over his shoulder. “Eggs are ready, why don’t you set the table?”

“Manners,” she says mockingly, earning her what she’s come to think of as Joel’s I’m pretending to be annoyed with you glare.

“Please set the table…twerp.”

“Better,” she drawls, abandoning her self-made cocoon to go to the cupboard. “We’ll have you ready for polite company in no time, old man.”

After they eat, Ellie grabs a book from her room and curls up on the couch in her usual spot while Joel does…whatever it is Joel does on the rare occasion they’re both home for the day. He must be fixing stuff, because he’s stomping up and down the stairs at regular intervals, grumbling to himself while he digs through his tool bag by the door, the junk drawer in the kitchen where all the random nails and twine and batteries end up.

“Missin’ my screwdriver,” he huffs, coming downstairs for the third time, pulling on his jacket. “Think that pain-in-the-ass brother of mine borrowed it. I’ll be right back.”

He’s gone before she can protest, not that she would. He’s just going across the street. A gust of bitter air gets in as the door closes behind him and sends goosebumps rippling across the back of her neck, and she pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders, tries to figure out where she left off in her book. It’s stupid, but her heart is thumping and her eyes can’t seem to focus.

He comes back before she can work herself into a panic, the tightness in her chest relenting a little at the familiar sight of him stamping the snow off his boots at the door.

“Tommy’s got it in his head we can fix the furnace at the school on our own,” he sighs. “Dunno what gave him that brilliant idea but–”

He’s interrupted by a knock at the door. Ellie curls deeper into her blanket and hunkers down into the couch cushions so whoever it is won’t see her, but then Joel calls her name.

“El? It’s for you.”

She frowns, considers pretending to sleep, but curiosity gets the better of her. She goes to the door, keeping the afghan wrapped around her shoulders. Dina is standing on the porch, a cluster of familiar faces in the street behind her.

“Ellie! Hi!” she grins, then hisses as she catches sight of the bandaged hand clutching the blanket. “Ouch, what happened?”

Ellie flushes, cheeks burning. She tucks her hand behind the blanket and pulls it closer. “Nothing. What do you want?”

“I just…we didn’t see you after school yesterday so I thought…you might be sick or something.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, good. Well…a bunch of us are going sliding,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at their cluster of friends. Cat waves when she catches her eye and Ellie feels a sudden heat prickling at the back of her neck.

“You know that big hill in the back? They piled a bunch of snow up to make a ramp and smoothed it out, it’s super fast. Did you wanna come?” Dina asks.

“I, uh…don’t have a sled,” Ellie says.

“Oh, you don’t need one. We share. Communism, right?” she laughs wryly.

“Right. I…dunno. I’m kinda…busy….”

If Dina is disappointed, she hides it well. “Oh, sure. Well, if you change your mind, we’re gonna be out there for a while, so…y’know. Come find us, k?”

“Uh, sure,” Ellie says.

“What was that about?” Joel asks when she’s closed the door.

“Just Dina,” she shrugs. “They’re doing stuff at the park.”

“You not gonna go?”

She shrugs again, chewing her lower lip. “I dunno.”

What she doesn’t say is that sometimes she feels like a fucking weirdo. The kid who freaks out sitting in math class because there’s snow on the ground. The kid who still crawls into bed with her…with Joel when she has a bad dream. Like there’s something in her that’s broken, as scarred and twisted as the flesh on her right arm, and it’s exhausting to pretend otherwise. At least with Joel, she doesn’t have to hide.

Joel frowns. “Thing is, I told Tommy I’d head over to the school soon…”

“I can come with you.”

“Sure, sure, but…there’s nothin’ for you to do, and we’re gonna be freezin’ our asses off. You’d have more fun with the other kids.”

“I’ll freeze out there, too.”

He pauses, thinking, then holds up a hand. “Wait. Just…wait here.”

She sighs and flops down onto the couch, staring into the fire with that same twisted, unsettled feeling gnawing at her gut. She hears Joel’s boots on the porch, the crunch of snow at the foot of the stairs.

When he returns, she pokes her head over the back of the couch to find him with…something. He holds it up almost tentatively.

“Tommy found this on patrol,” he says, clearing his throat.

It’s a sled–the old-fashioned kind with wood planks and metal runners, except this one looks practically brand new, glossy with fresh blue paint.

“It, uh…was in pretty rough shape, but we polished up the skids and replaced the slats. Had that leftover paint from your room,” he says. “I was savin’ it for Christmas, but…would be a shame to let it sit in the garage on a day like today.”

She gets up, afghan sliding to the floor. Her fingers itch to touch, to smooth her hands along the wood, the cold metal of the runners.

“This is…for me?”

“Don’t see any other kids around here,” he says. “Guess I could take it for a spin, but I don’t think my back would survive it.”

She giggles, taken by the image of Joel flying down a hill on a kid’s sled, but still, she hesitates.

“Don’t worry, I’m not spoilin’ everythin’,” he says, sensing her reluctance. “You’ll still have a good Christmas.”

She blinks. No one’s ever given her something like this, no one’s ever made something like this for her…and Joel’s worried about fucking Christmas.

“Thought maybe you an’ your friends could give it a try,” he prompts, and now he looks almost nervous because she’s just standing there with her mouth hanging open like a fucking idiot. “Just…thought you might have some fun…take your mind off…everythin’.”

She swallows hard, feels the slow spread of a grin across her face. “Dude, it’s fucking awesome.”

“Oh,” he sighs, shoulders sagging like he’s been holding his breath. “Oh, good. That’s–that’s good.”

She reaches out and takes the sled. It’s heavy in her hands, solid and sturdy, and of course it is, she thinks. Joel doesn’t do anything halfway.

“Well, bundle up. Bet you can catch up to Dina and the rest of ‘em if you hurry.”

Budding excitement overshadows any of her lingering uncertainty as she pulls on her jacket and boots, layers on gloves, grateful they’ll cover up her bandages.

“Hold up–scarf,” he says, taking the thick wool cloth–Ellie W stitched roughly into the lining of the hem on the back–off the hook and draping it around her neck. “There,” he says, tucking the ends into the collar of her jacket. She’ll shed the itchy thing as soon as she’s out of sight of the house, but for now, she’ll let him fuss over her.

“Back before dark, alright?” he says, squeezing her shoulders.

“Yep!”

“Ellie, I mean it–”

“Before dark, I got it. Later, dude.”

“An’ I’ll be at the school–”

She doesn’t hear the rest, already flying down the steps and toward the park, dragging the sled behind her by its tow rope. The runners skim across the surface of the snow, shush-shushing along the street past the Bison, the caf, the school. She hears the rest of the kids before she sees them–almost everyone in Jackson by the sound of it. At a distance, they’re smudges of color against the gray-white snow, sliding down the trails on pieces of cardboard, old inner tubes patched to within an inch of their lives, cracked plastic discs covered in duct tape.

Ellie catches sight of Dina’s red scarf halfway up the sliding hill and she rushes to catch up.

“Hey!”

Her friend turns around and grins, then spots the sled trailing behind her. “Whoa, thought you said you didn’t have one.”

“Yeah, Joel, uh…found this, I guess,” she says, cheeks burning. “You wanna try it with me?”

“Hell yeah,” Dina grins.

The first slide is an exhilarating rush of biting wind and speed that brings tears to her eyes. The hill is steep, the trails well packed by all the kids that went before her, and the smooth metal runners slice through the snow like a hot knife. Ellie can’t hold back a bubbling laugh as Dina screams in her ear–holy crap, we’re flying!

The trail ends abruptly in a ditch far from the sliding hill, and they’re half thrown, half rolled off into the powdery snow. Ellie lays on her back, grinning like a fool into the gray sky, heart racing with joy rather than fear.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

Then she’s on her feet and they’re dragging the sled back up to greet the rest of their friends. Cat demands a turn and Ellie lets her go, then Jesse, then Erin, then Dina again. Then it’s a rush to see how many kids they can pile onto the new sled before it becomes unusable and they all tumble into the snow in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

There’s a brief break for lunch–Juan and Elise bring a basket of cheese sandwiches and apples from the cafeteria and pass them out. Someone starts a snowball fight–Ellie is pretty sure Dina is responsible for throwing the first one but she denies it vehemently, and stupid Michael Sumner takes an icy ball of slush to the side of the head, retaliation for the one that melted down the back of her jacket. They help a couple of the younger kids make a snowman, lifting a giant heap of packed snow onto its torso when it gets too big for the little ones to move. Then they flop on their backs, limbs making haphazard angels as they catch their breath before it’s back to sliding.

Again and again they careen down the hill, taking turns until the sky starts to darken and the younger kids are corralled home. The last of the light is fading when Ellie remembers Joel’s mandate. They all walk back through the park, back to the fairy-lit town center, dispersing to their homes with promises to meet up after school tomorrow.

Instead of going home, Ellie props her sled up against the school building. Her cheeks are chapped and wind-bitten, fingers and toes freezing, but there’s a warmth in her chest that has banished the tangled, ugly thing leftover from yesterday, a warmth that has nothing to do with the weight of her coat.

The school’s main office is a tiny room just off the front door and she finds Mrs. Abraham at the desk, still wearing her coat and a knit hat with a fluffy pom-pom on top. It’s no warmer here than it is outside; no luck with the heat, then. The woman glances up at Ellie, smiles.

“Your dad’s downstairs, hon.”

Ellie doesn’t correct her; in fact, she realizes she hasn’t bothered to correct people for a while now. Joel is “her dad” to almost everyone in Jackson. Even Tommy occasionally lets it slip, and the longer it goes on, the less she cares. The label stopped being important a while ago.

Mrs. Abraham directs her to the basement–down the hall, last door on the right–and for a moment Ellie stands, frozen, at the top of the stairs. Her stomach twists, her palms suddenly greasy with sweat under her gloves. This isn’t like the basement in Colorado, she reminds herself. Joel’s voice filters up the stairwell among others, bright, cheerful lights shining down the stairwell. There’s no trace of mold or mildew in the air, just pencil shavings and chalk dust and cold concrete. Nothing unusual, nothing to be afraid of.

Before she can lose her nerve, she bolts down the stairs.

“Joel?”

No response. For a split second, she’s terrified she won’t get one.

“Over here, Ellie-girl.”

Tommy calls her over to the opposite end of the basement. She makes her way past boxes and crates, half-inflated basketballs and broken gym equipment, and stacks of pipes and lumber to a dimly lit corner shrouded in dust and cobwebs.

Joel is preoccupied with what she assumes is the broken furnace, flat on his back, torso half hidden behind a giant metal box. Tommy stands over him, angling a flashlight into the narrow gap where Joel is currently working, while someone else–Reuben something-or-other from the construction crew–is fiddling with the valves on the machine’s side.

“Hit the switch again, Reub.”

The other man does; there’s a faint humming surge of power, then silence.

“Shit,” Joel mutters.

“Weather’s let up, crew from the dam are on their way,” Tommy offers. “They’ll know better what they’re lookin’ at.”

“Guess so,” Joel sighs. There’s an old-man groan as he emerges from behind the metal box, stands with a grunt and brushes the dust off his clothes. He shoots the broken boiler an irritated scowl, but brightens when he sees her.

“Hey, kiddo. Have fun?”

“Yeah,” she says, mindful of their audience, a little shy. “I take it the heat…stuff…still doesn’t work?”

“Nope. Like I told your genius uncle here, contractin’ ain’t the same as plumbin’.”

His accent gets thicker around Tommy, she’s noticed. Joel grumbles about his brother, but she can tell it’s just another act, like how he rolls his eyes when he’s trying not to smile at one of her jokes. Their banter is familiar now, almost comforting.

Tommy grins and shoots her a wink. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to try.”

“Tell that to my back,” Joel grumbles. “We done here?”

“Reckon so,” Tommy sighs. “Thanks for givin’ it a shot, brother. Reub an’ I will wrap up, wait for the dam crew.”

Joel nods, kneels and grabs his bag from the corner. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s go home.”

Outside, she breathes a silent sigh of relief as they head back to the house. Even on the good days, there’s always a sense of something missing when he’s not there. They fall into step with each other–she walks a little faster, he shortens his stride, old habits from all those months of walking together.

At some point, Joel looks over, brow furrowed. “Where’s your scarf?”

She stops in her tracks, puts her hand to her bare neck. She’d ditched the scarf sometime between the second and third run down the hill, overheated from exertion and riotous laughter. “Oh, shit.”

Joel huffs, quirks his lips in a smile. “Sometimes I think you’d lose your dang head if it weren’t attached, kid.”

“Ugh, it’s probably back at the park–”

“S’why we sewed your name into it,” he says, waving her off. “Someone’ll find it, bring it by. You know how it is around here.”

She does, she thinks, absently kicking at a rock with her boot. It’s still weird, being part of a community. To have friends show up at their door, neighbors chatting them up at the caf, teachers who ask if she’s feeling okay. To be surrounded by people who give a shit. She’s learning to live with it, though…even if she hasn’t quite accepted it.

Back at the house, she carefully props her sled up on the porch at Joel’s instruction–”Keep it dry when you’re not usin’ it, don’t want those runners to go to rust”–and Joel puts her in charge of starting a fire in the fireplace while he goes upstairs to wash. Out of the cold, her hair is a mess of sweaty tangles under her cap and the bandage covering her burn is soiled with lint from her gloves. She finds the first-aid kit and wraps the hand with fresh gauze, relieved to see the skin underneath is bright pink but no longer blistered or oozing.

“Got somethin’ else for us,” Joel says when he comes down in fresh clothes, hair slicked back, joining her in the kitchen. “Was savin’ this for Christmas, too, but we’ll have plenty.”

He digs around in the cupboard, rummaging around the top shelf until he finds a tin at the very back. He pries off the metal lid with the edge of a knife and sets it in front of her with a flourish. She’s about to make fun of him for being such a huge dork about it, but the smell wafts up in a faint puff of brown powder and her jaw drops.

“Holy shit, is that–”

“Real cocoa,” he says, all smug. “Remember those traders who came through a few weeks back?”

She takes another whiff and the rich scent of chocolate makes her mouth water.

“Reckon you can’t call it a snow day without hot chocolate,” he says, taking a pan from the cupboard and putting it on the stove. Ellie watches him add milk and syrup and a few spoonfuls of the powder, stirring it with a wooden spoon.

She’s not sure what comes over her. Maybe it’s the way he’s standing, sock feet and damp hair, relaxed, like he knows this is where he belongs. Maybe it’s the lingering thrill of the gift and the chapped heat that still prickles her cheeks.

Without thinking about it, she goes to him, wraps her arms around his waist and presses her face into his side.

“Oh…hey,” he says. It’s a breath, barely a whisper. He startles a little, she feels it in the tensing of his muscles, then he softens, setting the spoon on the counter and turning into it, putting both arms around her slowly, cautiously, as if remembering how.

She’s never hugged him before, not like this…for no reason other than she can. Using him as a pillow when they’re watching movies on the couch isn’t quite the same. It’s a little awkward, her face burns with it, but she holds on until she can feel the stretch of his ribs under her cheek as he breathes.

“Thanks,” she whispers, throat tight.

He doesn’t ask what for, and she’s glad, because she doesn’t think she has the words to tell him. For the sled. For the cocoa. For bandaging her wounds and waiting and listening. For not giving up on her. For the indefinable thing they’ve become. Family, maybe.

But his hand cups the back of her head, solid and sure, and there’s the press of a kiss to her hair. It makes her cheeks burn hotter, but she doesn’t move.

“Y’know, if this kinda thing…I mean, if you’re…if I ever…if anythin’ makes you…uncomfortable–”

“You won’t,” she says immediately, muffled by his shirt.

“Just sayin’, this is…new,” he says, and his voice is rough, like he’s caught a cold. “And you don’t hafta–I mean–”

“Dude, just fucking hug me.”

He laughs at that–loud and full-bellied, a sound so different from his usual dry chuckle that warmth blooms in her chest. She did that, she thinks, burying her smile in his flannel.

“Yeah, okay,” he murmurs into her hair. “I can do that.”

Then he’s holding her face between his hands like she’s something precious and pecking at her forehead like a bird, planting little featherlight kisses all over; her temples, the little crease between her brows. It tickles, makes her giggle like a little kid.

“Ugh, stop,” she says, finally pulling back, pretending to push him away. “You’re gonna give me your old man germs.”

“That ain’t a thing.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve been getting older every day since I met you,” she says. “It’s catching.”

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs thickly. His eyes are shining and he rubs at them with his fingers, pinching the bridge of his nose.

She bites the inside of her cheek, pokes him in the side. “You making that stuff with onions, or…?”

“You’re a real smartass, y’know that?” he mutters, but he’s smiling as he turns back to the stove and picks up the spoon. When the cocoa is steaming, he splits it between two mugs and sets them on the counter, then goes to the fridge and pulls out a mixing bowl.

“We’re fresh outta marshmallows, so whipped cream’ll have to do.”

Spoken as if she’s ever had a marshmallow in her life. She eyes the bowl with a fair amount of suspicion. “You made that?”

“Ain’t rocket science,” he huffs, taking a spoon from the drawer and scooping a heap of white fluff into her mug. It bobs and floats on the surface for a bit before slowly melting, spreading over the surface of the liquid chocolate. “I’ll show you next time.”

The steam warms her nose and the first sip singes her mouth, lips tingling from the heat, but it’s worth it. She blows on the surface to cool it, savors the taste of real chocolate in little sips.

It’s so fucking good.

When she finally looks up, there’s a line of whipped cream across Joel’s mustache and she snorts a laugh.

“What?” he asks, pretending like he’s not being a total dork on purpose. “Got somethin’ in my teeth?”

“You’re so lame,” she mutters, but then she takes another drink, purposefully dipping her upper lip into the whipped cream. With her new fake mustache, she pouts and draws her brows together, lowering her voice in an imitation of his drawl. “I’m Joel, I’m sooo old I rode dinosaurs to school and I think I’m sooooo funny.”

He’s trying and failing to hide a smile. “Made you laugh, didn’t I?”

“Only because I’m going senile. Told you, it’s catching.”

“Uh huh,” he says wryly. “If you ain’t too far gone, think we got time for a game before dinner. Unless you’re not up for gettin’ your butt kicked at UNO again.”

“Pfft, I lost one time,” she says. “And that’s because you cheated.”

“Did not, you just weren’t payin’ attention,” he says, placing his mug on the table and going to the shelf in the living room where they keep the cards and board games. Ellie clutches her cocoa in both hands and takes her usual seat, perching her socked feet on the rung of the chair.

“Doesn’t matter ‘cause I’m gonna Reverse your ass into next week,” she calls. “Or…last week, I guess. Either way, you’re getting beat.”

“Yeah? You’re on, kid.”

Outside, the snow has tapered to flurries–the soft, fluffy kind that drift and spiral lazily down from the sky. Jackson is a blurry, golden glow of lights through the frost-coated windowpane. It’s beautiful if she squints, if she doesn’t think too hard about everything she did to get here. For the moment, she’ll pretend this is the only thing she has ever known of winter–a new sled, a warm kitchen, a long hug, whipped cream and cocoa on her upper lip.

“Y’okay?”

Joel is back, holding the card game and looking at her, brow furrowed, head tilted in mild concern. She smiles, a real smile this time.

“Yeah,” she says, feeling the truth of it settle like a warm blanket around her shoulders. “Yeah…I’m okay.”

[cuillere]

Ah, yes. Stargate being a serious show.

Colonels.

[a-zalea-garden]

MH3 but Deuce ended up in Boston and meets Chad, Clair, and Jackson (who is part monster but in hiding)

Lilith is his antagonist and she comes from a superstitious, monster hunting family. Her father is descended from Abraham van Helsing, and her mother is descended from William Stoughton (the chief judge of the Salem Witch Trials)

She isn’t too bad she just wants balance. The moment she realizes there is a way to get him out of the human world, she stops attacking him and helps.

Ellis is recruited to help too (for the witch drama with Lilith)

[enid-rhees]

can I request a Rosita fic where reader & Rosita are dating and rosita starts becoming reckless because of Abraham’s death (basically the s7 timeline if that’s okay) and reader is tired of it and reader & Rosita have a big fight over it, & eventually reader breaks up with her over her recklessness (I will leave rosita’s reaction to the breakup up to you!) and after that reader & Rosita are both miserable because they miss eachother and some of the members of the group notice it, and a couple days go by and reader & rosita make up and get back together? love ur work btw <3

hi anon! tysm for your request, this is so good i loveeee this. hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 and tysm <3 i did not include Abraham and Rosita previously dating, so i hope that is okay!

— warnings: angst, breaking up, arguments, Rosita kinda kills someone, 1 mention of Negan.

— a/n: hope you all enjoy! requests are open! and i MAY starts writing for Ellie Williams soon :) but if you want to request something, read pinned for rules!

“where did she go?” you shouted at Rick, eyes wide and heart racing with fear. this wasn’t the first time, in fact, it was maybe the tenth.

“the woods, she saw someone. i tried to stop her, but she didn’t even look back.” you stumbled back as your thoughts swarmed your head. auto-pilot took over your body and you ran towards the trees.

“no, no, no.” you whispered under your breath as you ran through the woods, turning your head in every direction to try and find her.

suddenly, a scream echoed throughout the area. you whipped your body around towards the direction it came from and cursed under your breath. you started to run towards the direction where the scream came from.

“Rosita?!” you shouted, and then you heard the sound of a gun cocking. your eyes widened once more, “no- Rosita, wherever the fuck you are, don’t do what you’re about to do.” you yelled at nothing, still looking around all of your sure.

you started to take slow steps towards where you heard the gun, and soon Rosita’s head came into your sight, along with another person. even from where you were standing, you could see the stranger shaking with fear.

you made your way to them, and quickly noticed the dead body right next to the stranger, a clean shot right in their head. a gasp left your lips as you looked up at your girlfriend. although, you weren’t sure if you even recognized her.

“put the gun down.” you said, voice cracking. “they did nothing to you, Rosita! these are innocent fucking people just trying to survive like us!” Rosita didn’t turn to you as she kept the gun pointed at the girl who continued to shake.

you shook your head and pulled the gun out of her hands before she could react. she reached for it but you kept it out of her reach and turned to the girl, “run! go! and don’t come back near here.”

she picked up her bag and ran as quickly as she could. Rosita turned to you, anger flaring in her eyes. “what the hell is wrong with you?” she shouted at you, hands flying up as she talked.

you looked at her with utter disbelief, “what’s wrong with me? what the fuck is wrong with you, Rosita?! what did these people do to you?!” you yelled back.

she stayed silent, so you spoke up again. “killing innocent people is something we don’t fucking do, and you fucking know that!”

“i don’t even recognize you anymore, Rosita.” you said softer, tears filling your eyes. “this- this thing, it isn’t you. you don’t kill people who don’t deserve it.”

a month ago, you watched two of your friends die brutally. it was something that would stick with you forever. Abraham was one of two, and the one who died first. Abraham was Rosita’s closest friend, they had been through everything together. through thick and thin.

his death took a massive toll on Rosita, and she had started to become reckless. someone you couldn’t even recognize. you tried your best to help, but she had resorted to other solutions to mourn.

“listen, what i’m doing has nothing to do with you. my friend is dead and i can never get him back! you don’t fucking understand what that’s like.” she shouted at you.

“i do understand what it’s like, Rosita! i do. but killing people who did nothing to you isn’t going to bring him back. what is it going to fix, Ro? what is the point in all of this?”

you wiped your eyes and looked her in the eyes, “i can’t do this anymore.” you whispered. “i-i tried to help you, i hated seeing you so messed up from what Negan did. i wanted to make you feel better, to help you recover. to stop you from accidentally hurting yourself or getting yourself killed, but you’re just not letting me and i don’t know what to do anymore. i can’t do this. and- and with you killing these people, i just don’t even know what to say or do. i can’t do this, Rosita.”

her eyes softened. “what are you trying to say, Y/N?” she asked hesitantly. you took a deep breath and looked down at the ground, “i can’t be with you, Rosita. i just- i can’t deal with this anymore.”

you hit the gun against your hand and let the ammunition compartment slide out. you poured the bullets into your hand and slid it back into the gun, handing the now empty gun back to her.

“i can’t stop you from this, so there’s no point in trying anymore.” the ache in your heart almost ripped you apart as Rosita stared at you with tear filled eyes. “whatever you do next, i just hope you’re smart about it.” you mumbled to her, and turned around to walk away.

Rosita grabbed onto your hand, stopping you from walking away. “no- please don’t go, Y/N. i need you, please.”

you pulled your hand out of hers, “i’m sorry, Ro.” hesitantly, you pressed your lips to her head before walking away, using all of your strength to not turn back and run right into her arms.

you walked until you saw the Alexandria gate. when it opened back up, Rick was still there, waiting for you. “what happened?” he asked you, walking with you as you didn’t even stop to look at him.

“i broke up with her.” you spit out, feeling the tears prick at your eyes. “she’s still out there. i took the ammo out of her gun, just keep an eye out for her for me, please.”

you woke up to the empty space in your bed, again. it had been a few days since you broke up with Rosita. you tried to tell yourself that it was the best decision, but part of you just wanted to go back to her.

sitting up from your bed, you walked into the bathroom and squeezed toothpaste onto your slightly damaged toothbrush. you stared into the mirror as you brushed your teeth, unable to avoid the obvious bags under your eyes.

when you were done, you got dressed and left your house, walking over to the church for a community meeting. you were dreading it as always. you walked in and took a seat next to Michonne. her, Rick and Aaron were the only ones in there at the moment.

“hey,” she spoke softly, a smile on her face. “hey.” you said back, giving her a soft smile. “how are you feeling?” she questioned.

“fine.” you responded, looking down at your hands. Michonne sighed, she knew you were lying right to her face. “come on, what’s up, Y/N? you’re clearly not fine.”

you shook your head. “it’s nothing. just tired. didn’t get much sleep last night.” you told her, now crossing your arms over your chest. “you know you don’t have to lie to me.” she told you.

“you miss Rosita.” she commented, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “she misses you too. won’t even touch her gun.” Michonne said.

“i took the bullets out of it when she shot that girl.” you said back. “she got more. but still, she won’t even touch it.”

you chuckled, “i’m not sure what you want me to say, Michonne. i just… what she’s been doing was too much to handle.”

“you both miss each other like crazy and keeping yourselves apart is just tearing you guys down more and more. i don’t think breaking up was a good idea.”

your eyes stayed glued to the ground as her words sunk into your head. but the church doors opened and more people walked through, taking you out of your thoughts.

then Rosita walked in, she looked just as tired as you. you quickly took your eyes off of her and faced the front. Michonne stood up, “i’m just saying Y/N. it’s your choice whether you want to try again or not.”

not a single word that Aaron, Rick or Michonne spoke in the meeting went through your head. your mind was stuck on Rosita. you wondered if it was a good idea to try again with her, or if you just leave it as it is now.

as everyone stood up and started to leave, you decided it was now or never. so, you stood up and and walked over to Rosita. she looked up at you with surprise, and you choked on your words.

“can we talk?” you asked. she stood frozen for a moment before nodding, “yeah.”

Rick and Michonne were the last to leave, and before they did, Michonne gave you a small encouraging smile. you sat down next to her when it was finally you two alone.

“i…” you started, unsure of what to say. you didn’t really plan that part out, you just wanted to talk with her again. “i regret breaking up with you, Rosita.”

she still sat silent, so you spoke up again. “i care about you more than anything, Ro. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and seeing you so broken over Abe… i wanted to help you. i couldn’t stand seeing you like that. but… you killing innocent people… i couldn’t get behind that, Ro. i’m sorry.”

“i shouldn’t have done it.” Rosita spoke up. “after you ended things, i thought about it a lot. you’re right, Y/N. our group- we don’t do that. and it’s something we swore by… and i let my emotions get the best of me after what happened.”

tears pricked at your eyes, “i just don’t want to lose you, Rose. you’re my everything. i just want to you to be safe.” she nodded and put a hand on your face, pulling you into her.

your lips connected desperately and you gripped onto her waist and pulled her closer. the kiss went on for several minutes, and eventually the two of you pulled away to breathe.

Rosita leaned her head on yours, eyes stuck on your lips. “i promise i won’t be reckless like that again. i can’t lose you either.” she whispered against your lips.

“i love you.” you whispered. “nothing can change that. ever.” she smiled slightly, “i love you too.”

[number1spongebobfan]

Hotel Toonsylvania

Cast:

Count Von Count (Sesame Street) as Dracula

The Countess (Sesame Street) as Martha

Mavis (Thomas & Friends) as Mavis

Manny (Ice Age) as Frankenstein

Ellie (Ice Age) as Eunice

Jack Skellington (The Nightmare Before Christmas) as Murray

Kuzco (The Emperor's New Groove) as Griffin

Humphrey (Alpha and Omega) as Wayne

Kate (Alpha and Omega) as Wanda

Claudette (Alpha and Omega) as Winnie

Runt and Stinky (Alpha and Omega) as Werewolf Pups

Percy (Thomas & Friends) as Jonathan

Mayor Shelbourne (Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs) as Quasimodo

Disney's Flubber as Blobby

Bob and Linda (Bob's Burgers) as Mike and Linda

Noseybonk (Jigsaw) as Vlad

Smaug (The Hobbit) as Bela

Ivor the Engine as Dennis

Mr. Plotz (Animaniacs) as Abraham Van Helsing

Janice (The Muppets) as Ericka Van Helsing

Template belongs to @blaze-art

[0rqcles]

𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 - Gwendoline, Glinda, Celeste, Phoebe, Psyche, Ranni, Gwynevere, Rin, Evie, Rosa, Eva, Avery, Ashley, Catrina, Mary, Johanna, Maria, Astrid, Neriah, Bella, Belle,  Delilah, Gabriella, Valentina, Valerie, Venus, Ēostre, Vishali, Alice, Esther, Lynda, Ada, Iris, Daisy, Willow, Aurora, Memoria, Charlotte, Olivia, Emma, Dulcie, Amara, Amala, Claire, Dorothy, Diana, Aesira, Amanda, Maeve, Daphne, Irene, Cassandra, Gaia, Rhea, Cassiopeia, Camilla, Anastasia, Echo, Isis, Cybele, Phaedra, Rhaenyra, Maya, Hippolyte, Malenia, Daenerys, Cersei, Arae, Talia, Edith, Mio, Kyoko, Wanda, Uva, Dia, Usagi, Tsukiyomi, Charlie, Stella, Luna, Erza, Lucy, Verrine, Kali, Tara, Hathor, Anna, Nepthys, Khepra, Amrene, Kate, Jayne, June, Annie, Doris, Madeleine, Magnin, Isabel, Eve, Rose, Rosemary, Sydney, Ophelia, Ana, Amelia, Jasmine, Eliza, Tomoe, Maggie, Jill.

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𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 - Ambrose, The dirge, Cynder, Paraguay, Nowhere, Ember, Tartarus, Valcan, Twilight, The island of no return, Nightmare Vally, Eden, The fallen kingdom, Vally of shattered dreams, Themyscira, Rosario.