#frozen gene au

[decaffeinatedtrashkidhorse]

Aphmau Frozen au

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DPxDC Nobody Knows Au

I love nobody knows aus.

I love aus where danny flees to Gotham after a Bad Time with his parents.

So what if:

Sam moves to Gotham for college after graduation. Tucker has flown down from MIT over the semester break to spend the month with her. They've stayed very close knit.

They're having brunch at a small cafe maybe a week in, and suddenly Sam's hand darts across the table and grips his forearm so tight it hurts.

He startles and asks her what's wrong, but she doesn't answer. She's too busy staring across the room with a haunted look on her face. Tucker follows her gaze and goes cold and still with shock and disbelief.

They're both frozen because that? That looks like Danny.

Danny, their childhood best friend. Danny who came to their freshman year of high school a little different. Withdrawn.

Danny who kept pulling away and making excuses no matter how hard they tried to engage him, who looked more tired and ragged with every passing week.

Danny who disappeared without a trace shortly after he turned sixteen and who, though it largely went unspoken, they believed dead and gone forever.

"It's not," Tucker whispers weakly. "It can't be, right?"

The guy across the cafe is older than the kid they remember, of course. Around twenty, exactly how old they are. How old Danny should be. He's tall, tall like they and Jazz always assured Danny he would be once he hit a growth spurt and into his dad's genes.

His nails are painted and his ears are pierced and his hair is a little longer, but he sits in front of his papers and computer with eerily familiar bad posture and a pen tapping at his bottom lip like their Danny always did when he tried to focus.

He looks leagues healthier than their Danny did before he went missing.

He huffs a breath out of his nose and pokes his bottom lip out as he scowls at something on his screen, and before Tucker can even process the gut punch of such a familiar mannerism Sam is out of her chair and halfway across the cafe.

Tucker scrambles after her with half coherent protests.

He reaches the table as Sam slams herself down into the chair across from the doppelganger, the guy jerking in surprise and blinking up at his two unexpected guests with confusion and alarm.

Then, slowly, Tucker watches his face go pale and the confusion be replaced with dawning shock, recognition and something unreadable.

"Oh," Danny breathes.

[rippersz]

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore. 

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you. 

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety. 

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed. 

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby. 

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while... 

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh. 

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh. 

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to. 

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience? 

Thinking about it gave you a headache. 

For where was the point in wondering? 

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because- 

Because-

Wait. 

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of… 

“Fuck.” 

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right. 

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood. 

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill. 

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy. 

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell. 

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength. 

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet. 

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.  

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you. 

Too late. 

You were too late. 

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead. 

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage. 

 Too late. 

You were too late. 

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed. 

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you. 

Something–a sound–made you freeze. 

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement. 

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag. 

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did. 

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then- 

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap. 

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere. 

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.” 

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle. 

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life. 

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.” 

“And the others?” 

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent. 

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in. 

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.” 

The gun still didn’t move. 

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?” 

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away. 

But you didn’t. 

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures. 

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth. 

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.” 

“How long since?” 

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own. 

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned. 

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-” 

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world. 

“-we can’t just leave them-” 

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-” 

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window. 

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone. 

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-” 

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?” 

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told. 

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade. 

But she didn’t move. 

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak. 

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed. 

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went. 

“More like a rat.” 

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you. 

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot. 

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest. 

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked. 

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.” 

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched. 

“You heard me. Shoot them.” 

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?” 

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off. 

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude. 

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact. 

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming. 

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers. 

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-” 

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return. 

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view. 

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep. 

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun. 

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word. 

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you. 

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass. 

The grass. 

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh. 

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit. 

How fucking lucky were you? 

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance. 

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that. 

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger. 

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead. 

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches. 

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her. 

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms. 

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall. 

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps. 

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority. 

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline. 

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck. 

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up. 

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.” 

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group. 

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself. 

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway. 

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue. 

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.” 

Lucifer? Naked under the what? 

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and  crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were… 

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?” 

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?” 

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.” 

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?” 

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body. 

“Okay. Yes. Sure.” 

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider. 

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors. 

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you. 

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes. 

Red lips twitched. 

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.” 

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder. 

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up. 

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.” 

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat. 

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully. 

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right. 

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat. 

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.” 

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard. 

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through. 

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang. 

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.” 

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips. 

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done. 

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time? 

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa. 

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?” 

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded. 

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted. 

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.” 

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath. 

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it. 

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you. 

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence. 

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.” 

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.” 

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened. 

“Oh.” 

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow. 

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away. 

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering. 

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant. 

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand. 

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.” 

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts. 

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

[hyperblue]

Angst moments of a father-baby duo of clones.

Each person is a mixture of genes. An absolutely random, chaotic, wonderful combination of deoxyribonucleic acid of two people. The result of the fusion of an egg and a sperm cell. 50% maternal, 50% paternal. IVF and designer babies there are, and they are still human, still a mixture of their parents, still absolutely fine, even if their genes are not random randomness of the natural procreation process. Still 50% maternal, 50% paternal. Kon knows this, understands and accepts it absolutely wonderfully. His daughter is like that. Bunny Martha is a carefully crafted creature with gentle meticulousness. And she's still a precious little person. His and Tim's Daughter. They love her like all parents love their child. Kon compares her birth to how a grieving widow went to a special clinic and, with the help of doctors and a certain procedure, used her husband's frozen sperm to give birth to their child. Still a precious child just with different circumstances of conception and may be carrying. Still deserves all the love of the world. Kon sobs with happiness and smiles like a jerk when he sees her and picks her up for the first time - the precious pleasant weight of her tiny body and the most beautiful slobbery smile in the world. He hugs Tim and thanks him for their daughter. Their own precious little man, a mix of genes deserving of all the love of the world. Now, standing over her crib while Martha is sleeping sweetly, Kon clings to the plush fence of the crib with trembling fingers with white knuckles and thinks in tears why didn't Clark do the same for him?

Kon identifies Martha as his and Tim's daughter, an ordinary child with different birth circumstances, and loves her as a father loves his child... He would like Clark to do the same for him...

nothing like literally kon's special clone boy feelings to bring me to tears

i really think that the biggest tragedy of kon's and clark's relationships in this au is that they're just two different people with different experiences and perspectives who were able to see two similar situations differently and no one is really right or wrong, and no one's there to blame for it

[nimuetheseawitch]

SGA Summer Vacation Recs

So, a few weeks ago, a friend asked for longfic recommendations to read while on vacation, and I did not really realize how many I was recommending at the time. Seemed like a good idea to make a post about it.

Time in a Bottle by astolat, 14K (not originally on my list because it was too short, but it's too perfect for a summer reading list, so I added it), McShep, Rated E, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings To see a World in a Grain of Sand / And a Heaven in a Wild Flower / Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand / And Eternity in an hour.

The Long Dark (series) by @logicgunn, 141K, McShep, Rated G-E but the first is M, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings An astronomical event causes two strangers to crash land on a remote island in the frozen Canadian north. Cue a fluffy slow burn in a survival setting.

Lord John Sheppard Versus Earth by LitGal, 61K, McShep, Rated M, Graphic Depictions of Violence Canon diverged before Jackson found Atlantis. The IOC stepped in and decided to make things more efficient. A gene testing program brought Major John Sheppard into the program earlier, but budget constraints and international treaties have kept Dr. Jackson out of the antarctic. So now John has to find his own team--and his own geek--or he's in danger of being stuck in the mountain forever as a light switch. However, as the universe changes, fate forces some things to return to proper form, and other things… they get wildly out of control. John isn't sure how he came to be Earth's enemy, but he's going to have to deal with the cards he's dealt.

Teamwork by onthewaters, 24K, McShep and others, Rated E, Graphic Depictions of Violence There is an Earth where things have turned out a little differently, and the people who go to Atlantis aren't quite the ones we know. AKA The one where Rodney is a Mountie.

The Doctor and the Sheppard by @hero-in-waiting, 70K, McShep, Rated E They've been in Pegasus for a year before Rodney is finally allowed to go off-world to meet with the mysterious leader of a group of allies against the wraith. The first meeting goes well, sending them down a path none of them could've foreseen, and leaving Rodney with thoughts of the mysterious leader with his bright eyes and dark hair.

The Hard Prayer by Rheanna, 30K, McShep, Rated M One year after the end of the world, John meets another survivor.

In Sickness and in Health by @a-storm-of-roses, 31K, McShep, Rated E "So I told a little lie, just to get you back to Atlantis. It was the only way, so try not to get too mad. I told them we were married.” When John suffers a major, life-changing injury on Earth, Rodney must pretend to be his husband to ensure his return to Atlantis. As he struggles to navigate recovery and accept his new reality, John must also come to terms with his new role as Rodney's husband and the new dynamics in their relationship. A story of healing, recovery, loss, love, and acceptance.

Enigma by sgamadison, McShep, 32K, McShep, Rated E, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings During an off-world mission, a piece of Ancient technology transports Rodney and John on a one-way trip to a deserted airfield. Working together to get back, it takes a vivid dream to make Rodney realize what's been in front of him all along.

Bridges by bussaiko, 52K, McShep, Rated E Engineer Rodney McKay went to North Carolina's Crystal Coast to help his sister design a series of bridges. He hoped to rebuild his career following a professional disaster; he didn't expect to be drawn into the small community of Athos Island, where he found friendship and perhaps something more with helicopter pilot John Sheppard. But when Rodney tries to learn more about John's past, what he discovers might tear them apart. (non-Stargate AU)

Apocalypse Rising by sian1359, 81K, McShep, Rated M, Graphic Depictions of Violence The Goa'uld are not the only ones who covet Earth.

Zen and the Art of Jumper Maintenance by Indybaggins, 39K, McShep, Rated M The one where Rodney gets sucked in and John… follows. Featuring a quirky John, Rodney in orange robes, crazy Ancient-worship, sheep milking and jumpers that aren't broken but need to be fixed anyway.

Black Helicopters (series) by whizzy, 141K, McShep, Rated T-E but the first is M, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Screw the bet. Rodney was going to prove the existence of extraterrestrial intelligence. Oh, and incidentally, he might just catch the United States Air Force with their pants around their ankles.

Pegasus Purgatorio by MrsHamill, 127K, McShep, Rated E, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings It is difficult to write a paradise when all the superficial indications are that you ought to write an apocalypse. It is obviously much easier to find inhabitants for an inferno or even a purgatorio. (Ezra Pound) Yeah, I'd say that about covers it, Ezra. John and Rodney are left behind when Atlantis (and, by extension, Pegasus) is evacuated. While returning to the Milky Way, they decide to bring a few friends along.

What A Wonderful Bunker You Would Make by ocdindeed, 50K, McShep, Rated M Summary in simple words: Rodney is recluse and John has a kid. Summary in not so simple words: Rodney McKay has given up on the world, living a simple life up on a mountain devoid of people. He likes it that way, at least he did until a kid with a full head of dark hair ambled up his dirt driveway and changed his sequestered life forever. (AU - Set during SG1 & Pre-SGA timeline.)

G******, Tramps, and Thieves* (series) by auburn, 372K, McShep and a whole lot more, Rated T-M, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, later fics Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Vala Mal Doran and her partners, renegades Jehan abd-Ba'al and Meredith McKay, hijack the Tau'ri ship Prometheus and leave the Milky Way behind in search of the Lost City of the Ancients, Atlantis.

*I censored this title due to a common racial slur

[lilacwriter07]

Imprint au

Eve holded a fussy baby Cain who cried and cried, screaming his head off with a pinched scream ."Come on little guy, why don't you wanna sleep ." She felt like crying herself, not understanding why Cain was being difficult . She tried to check him over plenty of times, thinking he is somehow hurt and she didn't see it .

But Cain will snap and try to bite her fingers of if she dares to touch him anywhere .

"Everything okay ?" Adam asked Cain hearing his daddy's voice, hiccups looking around with his wet big eyes ."Please hold him for a moment, I am so tired ."

"Okay, okay ." Adam whispered taking Cain from Eve as she almost fell over from sleep, to her surprise Cain stopped crying like he never did in the first place . Babbling at Adam like he was scolding him for leaving him behind .

"Hello little guy, you are naughty making your mama so tired ."

Eve never understand what was happening .

When Cain grew up the situation became worse, even after what happend with Abel . Even when she died Eve know Cain was waiting for his father .

She asked Sera about it, who decided to tell her what she suspects what happend .

"Angels imprent like baby birds ." She told her ."When an angel get created, they get to be placed by a sibling . So when they open their eyes that angel would become their .. System buddy someone they grown up with, and take care of each other ." Sera explains .

"Since Cain is the son of you know who, he may have taken over that part of his genes . Adam was the first person he saw, so his angel side decided he was his buddy ."

"So if he saw anyone else the results would be the same ."

"That's right ... But since Cain is also human, I guess some side effects won't be surprising ."

Eve thought about it and agreed .

The jealousy, the obsession, the need, the clinging, it's all because Cain imprinted on Adam ..

All because she slept with that asshole .

Her heart broke for Cain, who is still waiting for Adam to show up . Remembering the haunting screams as he was forced out of their lives ...

Down in Hell Lucifer looks at the lonely figure, looking up at the symbool of Heaven . Standing there frozen in time, waiting and waiting ..

Just like him waiting for that person to fall down into this hellish pit with them .

[leelarots]

DECA STUFF

this is a master post about my au/fic canon for the deca. i will link this in my deca posts in future, so i don't feel like I have to explain stuff every time. thank you so much to this sub-fandom for making me feel so welcome!

current lineup:

7/10 drawn, design ages frozen at 18-25

to do: vansell, mortimus, jelpax

basic info from left to right:

Magnus | 6'4 | Oakdown | dark grey eyes, black hair| portrait: 1

Ushas | 6'0 | [?] | 'black' eyes, dark brown hair| portrait: 1

Koschei | 5'7 | Oakdown | blue-grey eyes, black hair| portraits: 1 2

Theta | 5'8 | Lungbarrow | brown eyes, light brown hair| portrait: 1

Millennia | 5'3 | Brightshore | hazel eyes, blue hair

Rallon | 5'10 | Stillhaven | brown eyes, black hair

Drax | n/a | [?] | 'black' eyes, orange (dyed) hair

[other info on the fic(s) below cut]

current word count: 2.3k

the fic:

will be separated into different 'books', each focusing on a select few characters and one main plot each.

will have theta as a regular gallifreyan instead of half human or another species. however, it's worth noting that for the narrative, I am going to make all 'freyans have some human genes due to past inbreeding

(with luck!) will be partially illustrated

won't be an attempt at following the incredibly messy canon. godspeed to those who try.

won't be centred around thoschei. as much as I wish it was, writing worldbuilding for gallifrey and fleshing out other members of the deca is also enjoyable to write about

other notes on my worldbuilding:

at this point in time, time lord households do not refer to parents or siblings. the hierarchy goes from bottom to top cousins -> aunts/uncles -> granny/grampas -> kitriarch

theta may not be half human/the timeless child, but I aim to still make him 'adopted'. he knows who his father is, but his mother is not of rank, and left him as a baby outside of the lungbarrow household. the connection between him and braxtiel is that they were both left with a note in the same handwriting, addressed to their father.

koschei's 'hypnotic' nature and high telepathic ability is a rare genetic condition. most gallifreyans have a weak latent touch telepathy, trained up in the academy. hypnosis is a different story, but koschei can carry off a potent version of hypnotism without training. he is only in the academy because of his condition.

related to the above's last sentence, becoming a time lord is somewhat class locked due to the initial exam for joining the academy requiring training only supplied by expensive tutoring. if you are not born into a time lord family, it is very difficult to get in.

a main theme of the fics will be around the stagnation that occurs when people in power do not change. as the occupants of the high council live for so long, they have the ability to enforce only their beliefs/beliefs of a small bubble, refusing to move with the times or address changing circumstance.

looming has only just come into existence during the fic canon. none (or at least most) of the deca are not loomed.

'shobogans' are the occupants of the capitol's surrounding slums. this may change.

religion is banned/illegal, but I aim to portray that as being hypocritical—time lords started out as a religious sect. the cloisters are indeed remnants of the original religious building, buried underneath the capitol.

a large portion of gallifrey is not optimal for human-like life. the largest part of the planet's gallifreyan population is centred in the glass globe cities, such as arcadia or the capitol.

humans regularly trade with gallifrey, although the trade lines go: widespread human trade lines -> undocked spaceships around gallifrey -> permanent human settler-traders on the planet. it is not permitted for anyone to go to and from gallifrey freely without a specific, hard to obtain permit. time lords can obtain a permit more easily.

related to above, this is my reason as to why gallifrey has cats and other human items. some human plants and animals are considered invasive.

human-gallifreyan marriage is somewhat taboo. theta is commonly rumoured to be half human without basis because of his being 'different'. once again, the fact most gallifreyans are part human is to show that they are hypocritical.

I could go on, but I won't lol this is long

I am aware of how ambitious this project is. for that reason, I can never promise that the whole fic series will be completed. drawing and sharing my headcanons is enjoyable for me, though, as the deca is my current favourite thing. it's been years of me tinkering about with them in silence, I'm rather hoping I can find others who like my ideas.

my ao3 is soupsmog

want to know something specific? want to talk? pop me an ask, comment on my deca related posts, or join this academy era server, where I'm pretty active. dms are not really open because they make me anxious, sorry!

[lieutenantbiscute]

Hey ! Rlly love shell-shocked, literally one of my favourite aus to obsess over ♡ I just read in a post abt April's kraang DNA that u were planning to mutate casey via draxums ooze - can u give any details abt what he mutates into ?

♡♡♡♡♡♡ :)

I HC that Casey gets mutated into a Coyote! The one thing I appreciate about 2012 TMNT is how horrific the mutations are when humans are involved, the splitting of muscle and breaking of bones as one biology changes has always been the extra kick I love!

Alongside Casey, April gets mutated into a bat (ah father-daughter bonding!) though with her it’s a race against time since 1: she shouldn’t be able to mutate in the first place and 2: it’s slowly driving her mad/primal. With Casey he doesn’t want to go back to being human so it’s a game of cat and mouse for them and the turtles!

On the horror aspect again, I did some sketches of Timothy in his de/re mutated states since I don’t see any way of him being human after being frozen as a goo monster for years;; turtle and gator genes are a blessing ✨

[psych3-delic]

Hello! I adore your family AU and I'm curious about the events that led to Charlotte's birth? Did Undertaker manage to bring back R!Ciel in this AU but it was a less public appearance? Also, do Sebaciel and their baby eventually leave the spotlight to live their immortal lives on their own terms?

And if this prompt idea interests you: Since Charlotte's lover is Grelle's prodege, how about her making a big scene of her and "Bassy" being in laws now and Sebaciel dreading it?

In my head, the whole Undertaker thing was over and done with: o!Ciel proved himself once and for all that he was the one knighted by the Queen, and that he was the one performing all watchdog duty.

It also helps that r!Ciel is already dead. To prove one's alive is easier and it proved also that the dead can be manipulated, thus, can be used as an instrument of lies.

The Phantomhive left the spotlight when they departed from London to America to avoid the Great War in 1914. Afterwards, none really knew where they were, or what happened to them. Funtom continue to grow under regional management, but the owner can only be contacted via mail or telegram. Once, taking advantage of the owner not being around, an executive attempted to funnel company's money into his own pocket. A week later, he's found dead in the office. Reason of death: cannot be determined; his body looked to have suffered no harm. Frozen on his face was an expression of utter terror. On his desk was one single Funtom lollipop.

The Reapers was around when Charlottes was born. The whole dispatch, including Grell, William, Ronald (but not Max though, he hadn't died yet) perched outside the manor on tree branches like vulture, ready to pounce. None had expected Ciel Phantomhive to survive; not even Sebastian. A half-blood child between human and demon had never before existed; her warring natures too might yet not survive the outside world. And seeing as demons drain human life forces, it might very well be that the halfling would kill her mother the moment she was no longer in need of a host body.

But then Sebastian emerged from the manor, in his human form but it looked quite off, beastly even if you looked close enough, followed by his dark tendrils... and a baby girl in his arms.

He showed her off to the prowling death gods:

"She's alive," he said, "and so is her sirer. You are no longer needed here, Grim Reapers."

William adjusted his glasses: "You don't know that, Collapsar. Ciel Phantomhive is not yet out of danger." At this, the demon bares his fang; ill winds picked up; the shadows that enveloped the mansion became impossibly darker:

"He is mine. The boy has been mine ever since our contract. Death hath no claim on his soul."

Will and the Demon exchanged a long look. In the end, Will reluctantly ordered the dispatch to call the mission off. One reaper protested:

“But sir…” “There’s nothing we can do now, or do you fancy being snuffed out of existence by Collapsar?” He spared the speaker a look.

When they all left, Ronald get close and whistled upon seeing the baby, and said: "You sure that adorable babes came from your gene, pop?". And Grell just :)) sighed exasperatedly like when you found out your kpop idol bias is getting married.

I also think the dynamic between the Phantomhive-Michaelis and the Reapers would be like:

Will on a mission in the midst of London > feeling something tugged at his leg > Look down and see Charlotte being tearful mouth quivering: "I lost my papa and dada, Mister. You're their friends right? You're around all the time" > Will reluctantly returned the demon child to her demon parents 🤣

So yes, when they met again in 2020s, there there isn't a lot of animosity left; just a sort of playful annoyance (?)

As I have said before, Max initially hated this grown "Lottie" because of his prejudice against demon and his perception that she deceived him somehow. They had an enemies to lovers arc. The moment it started to shift more toward "lover", Sebastian was horrified. The "Sebas-chan" still makes him shiver even to this day 🤣 meanwhile, Grell is just behind Max giving him (terrible) date gifts ideal and trying to match make.

[aealzx]

Masterpost

I should make things easier to navigate since custom domains aren't as common as ye olden days |D

Original Content:

All of my artwork can be seen under the (#my art) tag.

Rizen (#Rizen): My original story about an amnesiac cyborg and his two brother/uncle/dads trying to figure out who turned him into a cyborg and why. It's easier to read on my sub blog for it, aealrizen.tumblr.com

Lullabies of Frozen Tears (#LoFT): Bits and pieces of my oldest RP OC, Trance. The story is written along with my best friend Awa/NaBa

Fan content:

🦇👻DCxDP:

Phantom Rogues (#Phantom Rogues): (Update Post) A brain rot fic about Team Phantom getting stuck in Gotham and having to steal and avoid authorities to take care of themselves and a comatose Danny. They get picked up by team BatFam. First post. And also on AO3.

🐢ROTTMNT:

Better Genes (#Better Genes): A short comic + writing mix of ROTTMNT based on the episodes Good Genes from TMNT 2003. Got interrupted by CDK.

Cross Dimension Kidnapping (#cross dimension kidnapping, rise + 2003 crossover, #CDK): A crossover illustrated fanfic between ROTTMNT and TMNT 2003. Posted both here (first post) and on AO3

Tethered Timeline : A fic about the adult Rise boys being sent back in time as spirits who are tied to their younger selves. AO3 only for the writing, but some images are under the tag #tethered timeline

🗝️Kingdom Hearts:

Heart Transplant AU (#htau, #heart transplant AU): A modern setting AU of Kingdom Hearts where Sora, Roxas, Ven, and Xion have all had open heart surgery. The posts aren't linked together very well, so there's a masterlist page over here. I also finally got it on AO3 if that's easier

[malue-505]

Operators

(Just like my other posts, the info below are my headcanons! These headcanons are inspired by Slenderman’s original and contemporary Mythos, Slenderverse, The Necromancer from the “Creepy Frozen Pasta” comic by LostWight, the Slenderman in “The Seer” comic by Madame Macabre, @the-catcake’s character Red Spider and Slender Doll Ally by @the-slender-doll! I am very open to questions about this species, I am sorry if some of the info below is worded weirdly or I’ve missed a typo. This post does not indicate the final product of the species as it’s still in long development. This serves as a semi-detailed overview and introduction to the Operators.)

(Anyone can use this whole species for their AU as long as credit is given to me. Credit should not be given to me if it is something I based it off of such as the hybrid aging, the Influence, the name “Operator” and the Slender and Necromancer Class. Keep in mind that this info is subject to change as it has changed a lot over the course of the years I’ve worked on this.)

(Side Notes: The Classes, Influenced and hybrids will, hopefully, get their own dedicated posts in the future. Most of the info here is simplified for the post.)

“An Operator’s thirst is never fully satisfied. Even the ones who wish to live in peace with their Influenced are not satisfied but they do not notice due to their ignorance. Our kind is not from this world but we don’t know our true home, perhaps we don’t have one and we keep looking for it.”

- Lord Luxult, a Shifter Operator

In the presence of every Operator lives an uncanny amount of mystique and an other-worldly aura. They are often seen as symbols of power, dominion and control.

Operators are a species that are most known by their psychic capabilities to control other beings via their minds. They generate their own force, known as the Influence, that is regarded as their most defining trait.

Through their iron will and their Influence they conquer their way through the Realms and fight against other Operators for territory, servants and vanity. When an Operator is at the center of operations, others become wary as they have been given a sense of the possible scale of the operation when an Operator is in charge.

Operators come in different types, or Classes, requiring Influenced to fulfill certain specialized roles. Because of this, certain Classes of Operator require their Influenced to be specific species. These species are called Influenced Species, which are tailor made for Operators to use.

Classes

Classes are the way Operators are identified and categorized. There is no “original class” or “main class.” Subclasses exist whenever genetic mutations happen within a Class to the point where they can split off. Subclasses of Subclasses can also exist.

Hundreds of Classes exist and have various differences such as: appearance, birth procedures, behavior, abilities, symbiotic relationships, complexity and Influence control. Each Class has a Base Bloodline that originates from the first ever born Operator of the Class, beings that converted to Operatorism may start their own bloodlines within the Class they got converted into.

Attributes

Operators tend to share common characteristics, mind control being the most prominent. Mutations in the gene pool are also common amongst the species, this leads to variations in a species that asexually reproduces a lot and leads to powers that are unique to an individual. Specialized sicknesses are also common amongst Operators, specifically the parasitic Classes. All full-blooded Operators cannot talk in Human Realm and instead use their Influenced to talk for them or use telepathy.

They are immune to most stimuli but every Class/Subclass have their own weaknesses. Every Class has their own type of “6th sense” that allows them to be psychically in-tune with their surroundings. All Class Senses can detect any physical beings or objects around them.

Every Operator has a drive to control and feed. This drive is simply named as the “Operator Hunger” and it is practically impossible to fight back against. The Operator Hunger is like an urge or an itch that they have to satisfy. If not, it becomes barely livable to linger with. The only way to satisfy it is to control over beings and to continue to feed and hunt. This solution is only temporary as an Operator needs to indulge more and more. The more they give into the Operator Hunger, the more likely an Operator will lose themselves in it. It’s a vicious cycle that sees no end.

Shifters & Slenders

Slender is a Class of Operator that are most known for their extreme parasitic nature towards their Influenced. Slenders used to be known as Shifter Operators (short for Shapeshifter) until roughly about a thousand years ago when the then new generation became stuck in a slender humanoid form. Slenders should technically be considered a Subclass but the fact that they have fully replaced the Shifters has led to the entire Class being renamed. Their past Shifter bloodline still spiritually lives on in more ways than one.

Slenders are the most versatile and adaptable of all the Classes, making them particularly dangerous. Traditional Slenders usually lead lavish lifestyles often expressed through their attires and their residences.

Necromancers

Necromancer is a Class of Operator that are most known for raising undead corpses to be their Influenced. They are Parasitic Operators. Necromancers are also very sensitive to temperatures due to being made of “organic ice” that is essentially their skin.

Necromancers have to live in extremely cold temperatures which is why they are usually found on snowy mountains, giant ice caverns and frozen valleys.

Recluses

Recluse is a Class of Operator that is most known for being the most reclusive Class of Operator. Recluses become blind once they reach the age of twelve. Most, if not all, Recluses are unaware of the world they live in, much less their own bloodline. These Operators are also known for their camouflage since they coated in plants and flowers that belong to their respective habitat. Recluses are sensitive to extreme weather and climate changes due to them having actual plants on them that become a part of their skin. They are Mutualistic Operators.

Sirens

Siren is a Class of Operator that is most known for having a lot of Siren-like qualities from mythology. Siren Operators are beings that live in the saltwater oceans. These Operators don’t usually claim any territory as they keep searching for prey just above the surface.

Similarly to Sirens in mythology, Siren Operators spread their Influence by using their alluring voice to lure in prey with hypnosis to attack and to feed off of. They are Parasitic Operators.

Elves

Elf is a Class of Operator that is most known for having a lot of Elf-like qualities from mythology. They are also known for being the Class that is the most friendly with their Influenced. Unlike most Operators, Elves gather together in a group and build their own small neighborhoods known as a “community.” They are Mutualistic Operators that spread their Influence by recruiting humans to their community.

Influence

The Influence is an invisible force that is only generated and manipulated by Operators. Its main purpose is to mind control other beings to benefit an Operator. However, the Influence is quite versatile and has since been applied in other ways for different situations. The Influence can also act as an “applier” or “relay” for Operators to use their abilities whenever, wherever and on whatever is needed. Another common usage for the Influence is more marking permanent territory, both for keeping out trespassers and luring in prey.

Influence generating occurs whenever an Operator comes of age, some Classes can’t generate their Influence until later on in their development. Their Influence grows stronger the more they grow and the more they utilize it.

Influenced

Influenced are the beings that are mind controlled and/or connected to an Operator. Depending on the Class of Operator, an Influenced may experience certain side effects. Influenced of Parasitic Operators face erratic symptoms such as migraines, insomnia, dissociation, and feral outbursts. Influenced of Mutualistic Operators may experience similar symptoms but at a much milder rate. An Operator can sense where their Influenced are, what is their mental state, what caused that mental state, and (in the case of a foreign Influenced) detect what Operator is influencing them.

There are certain conditions that stops an Operator from sensing their Influenced. These conditions include: being too far away, resisting their Operator’s mental will, or a change in brain chemistry. The change in brain chemistry is usually caused by certain types of medication and drugs that can affect the brain.

Two Operators, or more, can fight for control over an Influenced in the Influenced’s mind however this will cause extreme discomfort which would result in painful migraines depending on how many Operators are fighting for control and how strongly.

As a side effect, an Influenced may start gaining some of their Operator’s abilities overtime if they aren’t an Influenced Species already.

Aging

Operators are biologically immortal, meaning that they can’t die from old age but by being killed. The more they grow up, the slower they age. Operators as old as 12 are considered children and Operators in their 90s are considered to be in the last years of their adolescence. Through their years of adulthood, they age even slower when they reach 500 years of age.

Operators are considered full-grown adults at the age of 100. This is the age when Operators are able to reproduce. Most Classes can generate their Influence earlier in life however Slenders can only generate theirs at this age.

Only full-blooded Operators from birth properly age like this.

Operatorism

Operatorism is the phenomenon of a being stepping into Operatorhood as a different species. Only full-blooded Operators can turn others into Operators. How the conversion works and how it happens is shrouded in mystery.

The current age of the being that’s being converted dictates how many years they skipped and have to catch up on when they convert. A 20 year old human that has been turned into a Slender Operator will look like a 100 year old Slender since that is the age equivalent. In this example, the former human will have to wait 100 years in order for their body to continue aging. They would also have to wait those 100 years to be able to reproduce.

Operatorism only applies to beings that turn into full-blooded Operators.

Hybrids

Operator hybrids can be a complicated situation. Considering the complicated nature of Operator genes, their hybrids can get very unstable. The only types of Operator hybrids that aren’t unstable are the Operators that are hybrids of other Classes or Subclasses of Operator since it is of the same species. They also have all of the abilities from each Class/Subclass they are, they don’t experience near any negative side effects. They exhibit all the usual Operator attributes.

Operator hybrids are at times difficult to predict when it’s a hybrid with a different species. Human/Operator hybrids are amongst the most hard to predict as well as the most unstable usually. Operator abilities are usually too much for the human soul and will cause the soul to split and develop two or more forms based on the Operator genes. This also causes them to have weak copies of Operator abilities, even then they get very few of them. Operator hybrids with other species cannot generate an Influence nor do they suffer from the Operator Hunger.

Some hybrids suffer from constant necrosis and various other side effects, every hybrid is an individual case. Some are more similar than others.

Aging when it comes to hybrids are also a one-by-one case. If they are undead, it further complicates things. Unlike beings who became full-blooded Operators, how a hybrid ages depends on if they were born or made a hybrid. Those born as a hybrid will age like how their other species would and stop aging when they reach adulthood. Beings who are not hybrids at birth will, similarly, stop physically aging when they reach adulthood. Undeads, who were not hybrids at birth, will slowly age according to how Operators would normally age albeit a bit delayed.

Operator hybrids all have one thing in common: they must possess Operator blood in their body.

Origins & Reputation

Even after existing for thousands, possibly millions, of years, Operators are still regarded as being mysterious. It is suspected by the older members of the species that they are alien in origin. Others don’t know what to make of their origins. To some, they have either always been here or just appeared with no explanation.

Over the millenniums, Operators, particularly the parasitic ones, have dominated over a lot of other species. Slenders especially have gained a fierce reputation. Due to shallow beliefs, many apply the standards and expectations they have for Slenders to the entire species.

This has made them gain their reputation as nothing but malevolent beings who want nothing but everything to themselves and to claim everything they see as their property.

Trivia

Since Operators have the tendency on getting out of control and any individual can possible be a threat, the Council decided to use the same system of identifying individuals with surnames as human society does. Their Class name serves as their surnames to further be specific on what Class of Operator they are. This only applies to the Base Bloodlines.

Operators, particularly Slenders, practice Proxism quite a lot since they use it to further gain control over their Influenced. It also helps them establish hierarchies between their servants.

There are many ways for Subclasses to be made. One of which is experimentation through dissecting and changing a Class’ genes.

Operators cannot impregnate other species through intercourse. Beings born as a hybrid Operator with another species usually happen through weirder means.

For Operators that are hybrids of other Classes, they are only made from birth. Usually by combining the blood of Operators of other Classes and combining the reproduction procedures from each Class involved.

Operators have no known creator. Their origins are completely unknown.

The name “Operator” refers to how Operators, through the mind, can potentially operate an entire being. They used to be known by other names such as “Conquerors,” “Psionic Rulers” and “Masters of the Mind.”

Operator blood is quite unique. They are often named after elements or ingredients of alchemy such as Azoth for the Slenders’ blood.

There is only one species representative for them at the Council which is Councilor Nathaniel Slender, Slenderman’s oldest brother.

[ace-s-fav-dp-posts]

Afab clones reformation AU

Trans!Danny au in which all of the melted clones reform at a later point after Danny manages to get them to Frostbite and see if he can help them.

But because this is Trans!Danny, all of the clones reform with afab bodies, because while Vlad could certainly mold their physical appearance to be masculine;

Without that exterior intent being applied, their cores just kinda looked at what human DNA it had to base a body off of, and spat out afab bodies because they didn't really have the chance to develop their own identities yet (which is what normally takes priority in a ghost's form).

This exterior influence on their cores while forming originally is also partially what lead to them all being so much less stable than Dani (Vlad influencing Dani's shape basically failed completely, which actually helped her stability), along with Tiny, Monster, and Bedsheet looking so mutated.

Along with the poor cloning technique involved in their creation.

While all of the clones reform with afab bodies that are less malformed than their original bodies (Tiny isn't all melty and missing an eye, Bedsheet has flesh though she has a ghost tail instead of legs, and Monster is still extremely tall and jacked and very firmly swimming in the Fenton end of the gene pool even with an afab body), their forms are later altered by their emerging gender identities, so in spite of their new afab bodies not all of them turn out to be girls.

Bedsheet is agender and their form shifts to becoming more androgynous over time, losing the more feminine features that they'd formed with the second time around, such as breasts and wide hips.

Tiny is a transboy just like Danny, so there are jokes all around for a bit about him literally being Danny in miniature.

Monster however is very much cis, in spite of her immense height, impressive musculature, and more tomboy sense of style and presentation. [Think of a cross between what most people think of when thinking of Tall!Jazz/Amazonian!Jazz, and Vi from Arcane. She's just generally very much swimming in the deep end of the Fenton gene pool.]

Prime on the other hand is what can only be described as nonbinary/3rd gender to humans. As their actual gender identity is something previously almost exclusively found among the Yetis of the Far Frozen and a few other ghost settlements that have primary population that's never been human (where Prime chooses to live the majority of the time as the only Clone to inherit Danny's ice) and doesn't really have a direct counter part in human culture.

[bluegekk0]

you mentioned keeping quirrel alive. if i recall, after he take the mask off in the Archive he mentions felling old(as if the mask was keeping him young to fulfill his duty). so how old do you place him relative to other mortal bugs like elderbug and zote

He would certainly be on the older side, though I do think the mask slowed down his aging process a bit (aside from maintaining his peak form, which is the main reason why he felt so tired and old after losing it).

I imagine he was very young while he was Monomon's student/apprentice, maybe even a teenager (since the bugs reach maturity sooner, he would technically be an adult while being around 16 or 17), so he was given the mask while still young. The dreamers went to sleep around 45 years prior to FPK waking up from hibernation, and about 50 years prior to now (as a point of reference: Lewk was born about 4-5 years after FPK woke up frim hibernation and reunited with Grimm, Asta and Milo were born a year later, the current AU timeline is "frozen" 2-3 months after they were born).

So Quirrel would be nearing 70 now, which is about the average lifespan for most bug species in the AU. But with the mask slowing down his aging, I think he's physically closer to 50. Still considered old by their standards, but not near-death old. He still has plenty of life left in him, he's just not as youthful and strong as he used to. This is why I imagine he decided to spend the rest of his life continuing Monomon's legacy, to honor her and to live the time he has left in peace.

Elderbug is actually far younger than that, I place him at just under 40. He was stated to be the oldest bug in Dirtmouth, and because its population was very low for the longest time (and the mortality rate was high due to the infection), nearing 40 would be an achievement worthy of such title. He was born soon after the infection returned, so he didn't experience the short period of peace after Holly's sealing.

Zote, as I mentioned before, is actually fairly young, in his early 20s I imagine. He looks and sounds older because of bad genes and his desire to sound more like a mature warrior. But he's very much a confused young adult, no matter how much he tries to hide it.

Iselda and Cornifer are similar in age, they would be in their 30s. I think Iselda might be a little bit older than Cornifer, but it's a difference of a few years at most.

Ogrim is a strange case if I'm being honest. He's been around for many, many years, far longer than the average lifespan. It's possible that FPK somehow halted the aging process of his great knights, or at the very least slowed it down significantly (if that's the case, then perhaps he was also responsible for Quirrel's slowed aging. Maybe it was Monomon's last request?). He was around for the encounter with The Shade Lord/Black Wyrm, which happened around 50 years before FPK's hibernation, but he was already a knight that so he could've been born 20 years prior to that. Let's go with that (I don't think the exact numbers matter here), that means he was 70 when FPK disappeared, and adding the 35 years when FPK was hibernating and the 5 years after his return, that would mean Ogrim is around 110 years old. Quite an impressive age for sure. But with the slowed down/halted age, I think he's closer to 50. I do think his species has a longer average lifespan than most species in Hallownest, so he's not actually that old in that context. But definitely not as youthful as he once was.

Tiso is in his 20s, similar age to Zote. Lemm is 30-40, Sly is in his 40s, the nailmaster brothers are nearing 30. Lurien didn't age during his time as a dreamer so he's in his 40s.

I'm definitely missing some characters here but these are the ones off the top of my head.

[idkkprincess]

Maria Robotnik & Chris Throndyke AU

Maria and Gerald were found frozen in capsule and are now alive and well. They both “work”/are under investigation by GUN but are able to live their lives well enough.

Gerald being a historically great scientist has a big fan in Chuck Thorndyke (Chris’ grandfather) and he insist on letting the Robotnik’s stay in one of their many houses. Shadow is less than pleased but he knows at least they will be fine. Shadow is pretty much joined at the hip with Maria at this point, being her major bodyguard/protector/etc etc.

Now the first time Maria visits Chris’ house for their grandparents to discuss, she excuses herself to use the bathroom. When she is coming out of the bathroom she becomes mesmerized with the window in the hall looking out to the big backyard, fountain, garden, pretty much everything she had dreamed Earth would be.

“You know Sonic almost drowned in that pool.” She heard a voice say.

She gasped and turned to him. “You must be Maria. I’m Chris Throndyke, I’m the professor’s grandson,” he explains as he places out his hand for a handshake.

Handshake. Right, Maria thought. People touch hands. It’s okay, I’m healthy now. I can-

“I’m sorry. Do you-“

“Maria, there you are.” Shadow says at the end of the hall.

Both human teens turn to the ultimate lifeform walking into the hall. “I was worried something had happened,” Shadow explains.

“I’m fine,” she responds, “I just bumped into …Chris, was it?”

“Yes, it’s Chris.” He smilies. A soft warm smile.

“I was about to tell him, Shadow, that he has a wonderful backyard,” Maria explained, “They even have Goji berries! Can you believe it!”

Shadow calmed down as he now held Maria’s hand. He had been doing that more than usual now. And while she is thankful that it calms down her nerves as it did when she was younger, it’s still feels a lot different. Shadow’s been awake for a little more than a year and still remembers very little of what she does.

“Yes, my mother absolutely loves them so my dad had a few trees shipped from West Africa.” He explained.

“Is that environmentally conscious?” She asked

“What do you mean?”

“The plants are in different regions for a reason. Could they harm the ecosystem of this region? Wasn’t this area of the continent supposed to be a desert? Wouldn’t-“

Maria stopped mid rant. Darn Robotnik genes and their need to be argumentative for something that seemed totally fine to everyone. Now he’s just going to go away and think she’s the wierd girl who cares too much about berries.

“Uh, well I’m not sure. “ Chris responded, “I never thought about that, I’ll talk to our horticulturist about it. Thanks for the advice!”

“There you guys are!” Sonic exclaimed with Tails coming by behind him, “I just wanted to warn you that they are giving you the beach house and between you and me, you guys got the short end of the-“

“A BEACH HOUSE!” Maria exclaimed, “Like the ocean! Shadow, I’ll finally get to see the ocean isn’t that exciting!”

Before Chris could say anything, the ark siblings were gone and Sonic couldn’t quite put why Chris had a small smile as he looked down to the ground. “Hey Tails,” Chris asked, “What do you know about Goji berry ecosystems?”

[teecupangel]

hey what if noa Kim learned that he has a nephew in the form of elijah

We have yet to have confirmation (as far as I know) that Noa Kim is William Miles’ son but I will write this idea like it was an AU where Noa Kim is William Miles’ son and focus on him and Elijah.

I feel like this could work really well with The William Miles Gets A Woman Knocked Up Grieving Desmond’s Death idea that has Elijah becoming the ‘caretaker’ of his father’s second child, Clay Kaczmarek’s child and his grandfather’s second child.

Honestly, he already has enough children to take care of, he has no time to get another one of William Miles’ wayward children.

If Noa hears this though, he’d be offended because he was called a child and they’d get into an argument because…

Noa isn’t quite sure but he’s pretty ‘sure’ that Elijah is younger than him.

Elijah would just scoff and tell him that, sure, physically, maybe, but Elijah is much more older mentally and emotionally.

Sidebar: This entire conversation is happening while the other kids are tying up ‘Shimazu’ Sei and her fellow kidnappers a little too tightly and Elijah is tapping on Sei’s computer because…

And he cannot reiterate this enough…

They’re not here to save Noa Kim.

They’re here because Elijah learned that Sei had taken a full copy of Sample 17’s data.

When one of the kids (probably Squirtle who may or may not be Noa Kim’s younger half-sibling???) let out that they were trying to resurrect Desmond Miles, Noa thinks Elijah’s being an immature brat, wanting his father back.

Before Elijah could deny it, he has no parental feelings for a man he had only heard about and had died without even knowing of his existence, his younger sibling picks a fight with Noa by shouting at him and pretty much throwing Noa’s own family problems in front of his face.

Clay’s child is just on the corner, wondering who was going to throw the first punch and absolutely thanking his dead father for not having the Kenway drama genes (the kids have unrestricted internet but they still decide to prioritize learning about their bloodline because they’re all fucked up one way or another and Elijah is very hands off and believe they can take care of themselves).

While the two start shouting at each other, Elijah finally copies Sample 17 and lets his own virus destroy Sei’s computer and every other computer and devices in the same network. He nods at Kaczmarek who starts the virus in all devices that they found that were not part of the network and Squirtle helps him drench the place in highly flammable liquid.

Noa’s ‘debate’ with a child is cut off when he hears a gunshot and he’s frozen for a second as Elijah kills every Templar.

Starting with Sei.

When he finally tries to stop Elijah, Elijah simply continues to shoot the rest as he asked, “Why are you stopping me? They’re Templars.”

Elijah shoots the last one who begged for his life, saying he has a family and a young d-

“They kidnapped you, forced you to relive Edward Kenway’s memories for their own selfish reasons…”

Elijah finally turns to Noa Kim, “Why give mercy to them? Have you become a turncoat, Noa Kim?”

“There was no need to kill-”

“Are you being kind or are you being stupid?” Elijah cut him off as he narrowed his eyes, “They had no problem kidnapping and forcing an innocent civilian like you to get what they want. Killing them with one bullet on the head is a kindness they didn’t truly deserve.”

“Call me evil, call me selfish. Curse me for all I care.” Elijah raises his arm to aim his pistol at Kim, “We might be connected by blood but, if you’re going to pose a danger to me and my plans, I will not feel even a ghost of guilt killing you here and now.”

“So choose, Noa Kim.” Elijah’s voice held the coldness of Aita as he ordered, “Stay out of my way? Or die the same pitiful death as Edward Kenway.”

[desertparallel]

Pieces AU - near the beginning

"But he's the reason Diantha isn't here with us to debate this! Where's Red? He'll back me up --"

Steven's face was haggard and drawn. They all were. "Blue was in Western Kalos when the Ultimate Weapon went off -- "

Cynthia narrowed her eyes, still puffy and rimmed with red. "He's not the only person who lost a partner that day. He should be here."

"--AND Giovanni has been running a tight ship in Kanto. Red could be anywhere."

"Okay," Gene's voice was hoarse. "Okay. But Lysandre did ALL of this. You can't just -- let him take over -- you can replace the United Regions for now -- "

No one would meet his eyes.

"He has resources." Leon saw Generic's mouth open and cut him off, more forcefully this time. "Yes, mate, he's got us cornered! We're falling into his trap, yeah? Well, we have regions to feed and we've got no power. I'll walk into the void and back if it'll keep Galar alive."

Murmurs of assent ran through the dimly lit meeting hall. Exhausted glance met exhausted glance and trepidation steeled into a quiet resolve among the standing champions. Generic swallowed. "Fine. You -- keep your regions alive. Take care of the people. I'll -- I'll -- find a way to stop -- Lysandre. That is -- the whole reason I exist."

He managed to march into the hall and shut the door curtly behind him before his legs gave out. Back against the wall and grateful for something solid in his life, he cried.

~~~~~~~

"You have been QUITE the pest." Lysandre peered at Generic from across the table, his interlaced fingers just barely hiding his smirk of victory. "I must say, I almost admire your determination to, what was it? Something colorful -- ah yes. 'Rend me limb from limb.'"

"Well, you know what they say about sharing your inner beauty." Generic's words dripped with sarcasm and what he hoped was malice.

The corner of Lysandre's mouth twitched. Shit. That wasn't supposed to be funny.

"Now, now. You haven't even introduced yourself yet!"

"Fuck you."

A disapproving frown. Better, but he still looked too relaxed.

"You only caught me this time because you were lucky. If I weren't restrained, you'd have been dead by now."

This time, Lysandre chuckled -- a deep, rich sound. Somehow, that was even more irritating.

"I believe you, of course." Lysandre leaned back in his seat comfortably and put his hands behind his head, completely at home despite the hundreds of frozen Pokemon lining the walls. "Why, if looks could kill -- but they can't, now, can they? And unfortunately, you haven't been so effective at it yourself either, have you?"

Before Generic could think of a good retort, a cheerful-looking man in that stupid Team Flare outfit trotted up to the table, handing Lysandre a file and a mug of coffee. Generic's eyes flitted towards the cup in spite of himself -- it smelled so good... How long had it been since he'd had something warm to --

He kicked himself under the table. This wasn't the time to think about being tired... or thirsty... or --

Lysandre had already noticed his lingering gaze, and his stupid smirk had returned. He began to comment on what he was reading -- "tsk, tsk, you have no records before 2013... You've certainly kept a low profile. ...ah, but you were the Hoenn champion for a few months? And here I thought we were dealing with a nobody..."

After a few more minutes, he sighed with mock pity and threw the file onto the table, its contents spilling out for Generic to see.

"Celebi's hero. Aren't you a bit late to try to stop me?"

Those words felt worse to Generic than anything else Lysandre could have said or done to him, and he had to take several deep breaths to keep the stinging in his eyes from turning into tears. There was no way he could let this monster know that he'd gotten to him.

"I do feel a certain sense of responsibility towards you." Lysandre stood leaned over the table, towering over his nemesis. "After all, we are both in pursuit of a more beautiful world, and I am a merciful leader. I'll even ignore your previous transgressions; after all, even Giovanni tried to betray me before we came to our current agreement."

His voice softened, but his stare was as intense and unwavering as ever. "Wouldn't you prefer to do something more productive? Aren't you tired? You could work here in Alola and live a normal life. As everyone else is choosing to. Right now, you're entirely alone. What do you have to lose?"

Generic looked up at the ceiling and began to whistle as obnoxiously as he could, and Lysandre sat back down and sighed. "What a pity."

In an instant, Mewtwo appeared behind Generic and teleported him away. The last thing he saw of the room was -- satisfyingly -- Lysandre's look of shock as he lost his quarry.

"Thank you." Generic patted Mewtwo's head and handed them a massive pile of coins and PokeBeans. "My Pokeflute-tune whistling has gotten better, don't you think?"

Mewtwo simply rolled their eyes and teleported away again. Generic pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and began walking towards the woods, once again alone.