#i'm so boring i always make modern aus of characters i like

[about92bleachedrainbows]

Minthara Modern!AU, after a long day at work or something

[dr3amfyr-e]

brat. - j.v. ( w. 4.5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ i cannot stress enough, football means ⚽️ not 🏈. childhood-friends-to-lovers, but you have to get through my 2000 word psychoanalysis and backstory first. light angst. mention of the death of a parent. lots and lots of talk about the velaryon-targaryen-hightower family dynamic. light make out action. reader's family is implied to be wealthy enough to have a summer home. almost everyone lives au. set in the uk, not westeros. omitted daemon rhaenyra marriage because there’s no way to to make it even semi-normal. realizing now i omitted daemon entirely erm sorry. pushing the laenor agenda bc he’s my favorite character. this is abhorently long. extreme overuse of the em-dash. uhh the perspective is wonky in a few places. will prob get a pt.2. ⎯ ୧

i had to write this twice. i'm offering this to you with shaking hands, like a peasent child begging for coins. i may write a part two because i have more to say, but i don't want to figure it out rn.

On the cold January morning that Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen was born, the media went into a frenzy. 

The Targaryens were old money, their fortune rooted a century back in good investments. Historically adept at finding their way into things, the empire had a string to pull in every industry. From art and law to technology and shipping, if business prospects looked good there would be a Targaryen investment.

And then there were the dogs — regal greyhounds, with long, thin bodies and sleek coats. The Targaryens bred them as far back as bloodline records went. The pups were never for sale; sometimes they were used as show dogs, and successful show dogs they were, but more often they were pets. It was a status symbol, to nonchalantly own such a coveted creature. 

The Targaryens were idolized in the public eye. They were all stunning, with sharp features and silver hair, and each member of the family seemed to possess a Midas touch. But, where Valyrian blood ran hot, so did the press. It was no surprise when magazines started to turn a profit from silver heads plastered across their glossy covers. It was the price that came with God-like aristocracy.

From editorials to gossip columns, people devoured the insider life of the untouchables. When Aemma Targaryen died, there was a four-page spread in nearly every magazine; complete with pictures and quotes. Business papers filled with opinion pieces about Rhaenyra’s inheritance claim to her family’s empire; magazines exploded with the announcement of her engagement to Laenor Velaryon, and subsequently Viserys’ marriage to Alicent Hightower, the daughter of his lawyer. 

When Jacaerys was born, reporters lined up outside of the hospital doors. There were cameras and microphones and crew trucks, and Rhaenyra hated it. It wasn’t the way she wished to welcome her child into the world — swarmed by people who didn’t know nor care for him.

Laenor had always been good at navigating the attention, and Rhaenyra was constantly grateful. So, when he pulled his gaze from the babe and steeled himself to deal with the onslaught of reporters outside, tears pricked at her eyes. Appreciation, exhaustion, adoration? She couldn’t be sure. 

Looking down at her son, she thought, he’s perfect. He had a smattering of dark hair, and he was quiet but not concerningly so. Wispy lashes fell upon his cherub cheeks, and when he eventually blinked up at her his eyes were dark. He looked nothing like her — she didn’t care. 

She refused to talk to anyone outside of her family, and had the curtains in her private room drawn. To expose her son, her heart, to the prying eyes of the bored masses with nary a care for his well-being was a nightmare. She wouldn’t have him exploited. 

At the time of Jacaerys’ birth, she and Laenor had been married for a little over a year. Laenor’s father, Corlys, managed the bulk of the import and export for Viserys’ company. Corlys was a good man, he hadn’t dreamed of marrying his son off. But Laenor and Rhaenyra were both in the same impossible situation: the wiles of youth mixed with the ever critical public. 

They had both fallen into scandalous relationships, both preyed on by paparazzi. If they married one another, it would save face for both of their families. Plus — both being the eldest and heir, this would clear the expectation of a dignified marriage. They agreed to leave each other to whatever youthful fun they wanted to have, as long as everything was discreet. 

Both the Velaryons and the Targaryens kept a summer home in Dragonstone, a private community in coastal Wales. It was the perfect place for Rhaenyra and Laenor to begin their life — far from her father, close to his parents, and out of the line of sight for any nosy journalist. 

The public eye had looked to other things by the time Lucerys was born, two years later. Again, Laenor dealt with the small gathering of reporters with the utmost grace, and Rhaenyra submitted a written statement. 

Alicent divorced Viserys that same year. 

As she watched her boys grow up, full of energy and life, Rhaenyra thought, there was no one better to parent with than her best friend — a title Laenor had rightfully earned. They hadn’t had much choice in knowing each other, and they certainly would never have chosen to be married, but he made a bearable roommate. They had things in common; they liked the same music, and the same men. They drank the same wine and frequented the same restaurants. And, they both loved their boys. 

As Jace and Luke grew up, they found the best company in each other — the school in Dragonstone was so small, though, that there were very few other options. They both played on the school’s small football team, and Jace took piano lessons while Luke learned to fence. Where Jace was driven by emotion, Luke was level-headed; where Luke was cautiously quiet, Jace spoke his mind. It was an ideal childhood, the Welsh coast was an idyllic backdrop to grow up upon, with the sea in their backyard. 

They were ten and eight when Joffrey was born, both excited for their new brother. Their mother brought him home, bundled in a soft red blanket. The boys sat on the couch beside Rhaenys and stared at him for upwards of an hour. 

Hardly a week had passed when Harwin Strong died. He was a family friend, a frequent presence in their home and life — Jace and Luke had been upset by this, of course. 

In time they came to understand the situation fully. Jacaerys first, fitting the pieces together with the evidence he found in the mirror. Neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor had dark hair, like he and his brothers. 

His matriline was uncontestable though, as he grew into himself. He possessed the same nose, jaw, brow, and high cheekbones that Rhaenyra wore. The comparisons between the two became more frequent as he grew older, and he found himself to be quite proud to look like her. 

Her attitude lived in him as well, the temperament she had been so notorious for as a girl festered in her eldest son. She had once been christened ‘The Princess of Dragonstone’ after flipping off a reporter at their summer home. Jacearys earned it for himself when he was fifteen, after loudly berating a reporter. He had been defending Luke, but no one seemed to care when they deigned him ‘The Prince of Dragonstone’. He took it with grace, claiming that he couldn’t help but be his mother’s child.

It instilled a sense of public propriety he strove to uphold. 

Rhaenyra remarried the same year — to Alicent Hightower — and moved her children from Wales to London. It took a while to adjust to the new life — Jace liked his new school, but he detested his step-brothers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come around to the idea of living with Aemond and Aegon, who took so much pleasure in making he and his brothers miserable. 

After the first month, Jacaerys fell in brilliantly. He performed well in school, quickly being enrolled in the advanced literature and history courses. He got on well with his peers, and made a number of friends. He joined the football team and spent his Sunday afternoons learning piano concertos. 

Living in London made him a more publicly prominent figure in his family's legacy. He knew how to play his role as heir; he carried himself perfectly — confident and charming and elegant. He didn’t particularly like being in the public eye, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction when he did something to receive positive public attention. 

King’s Landing, much like where he had grown up, was a community reserved for the upper echelon. Situated in Northwest London, and surrounded by wrought iron gates, it was regal and dignified. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, large stained glass windows, and more than enough bedrooms. It rained more, Jacaerys noticed in the first month. When it had rained in Dragonstone he would watch the droplets bounce off the sea, where it lapped at the sandy bay. Here the rain splattered unceremoniously upon the pavement. 

For as wonderful as life in London had turned out, Jacaerys found himself longing for what was left behind in Dragonstone. Laenor lived there still, and while he called often and visited as much as he could, it wasn’t the same. Jace’s childhood bedroom remained, along with all of the memories in the house he grew up in. And his friends. There was an assortment of people he only saw between late May and early September; the children of the other seasonal residents. The number had dwindled in years past, with fewer of them returning for break — favouring more interesting places, like Ibiza or Rome, as they got older. 

Far too few of his childhood friends he kept in contact with, especially after the move to London. You were the exception. 

He was grateful, on days when it stormed in London, to receive a silly text or too-long voice note. It made things feel less dull — you had a way of doing that. 

He took to reading theory around the time he turned seventeen. It’s queer theory, at the suggestion of his cousin Baela, who lent him his first Judith Butler book. He finished it that weekend. 

His aunt Laena and her two daughters lived in London, and Jace found a close comrade in Baela. She played competitive tennis and listened to riot grrrl, she was much cooler than him and he knew it. Her bedroom held two massive bookshelves, and she let him pillage her collection for De Bouvier and Didion and Gay. Hours were spent lying across the floor in Laena’s house, studying, or reading, or talking. He enjoyed Baela’s company more than any of his school friends, favouring anything with her over anything with the boys from his football team. 

His youngest sister, Visenya, turned one around the same time. Baela, staying with Jacaerys while he babysat one night, inducted him into the eldest daughter club. 

“You’re so keen on driving your siblings around, and taking care of them. Plus, aren’t you your mother’s closest confidant?” She asked. 

True, Jace supposed. He was the oldest of Rhaenyra’s children, and the most responsible of his brothers and step-siblings. His mums both worked full time, they were busy but as involved as possible. Jace just did the menial things. He made Joffrey breakfast, picked Luke up after school, and watched Visenya when necessary. He didn’t mind.

Baela argued that he should mind. 

He had been a sensitive child, more so than his brothers, but it made him incredibly emotionally adept as he aged. So many boys his age prided themselves on stoicism, but that was never something Jace felt connected to. He always felt things too deeply to bottle them up — it accounted for the occasional temper that flared up when he was upset, but also how empathetic and kind he was. 

Jacearys was set to graduate with honours in the first week of May. It was three months before when college acceptance letters began to appear in the mail. He had applied to a number of places, and been accepted everywhere. The University of the Vale was where his hopes hinged though. 

Just after Valentine's Day, it showed up. The envelope was wide and stuffed full, and sealed with a wax stamp. His acceptance letter was on the very top of the stack of papers — the thick paper heavy in his hands, as he admired the blue printed border and silver flocking. 

Rhaenrya sorted through the informational packets while Jace reread the letter. Part of him couldn’t believe it was real.

He sends you a picture of the letter, and you respond in kind with one of an identical nature. 

You hadn’t planned to go to the same university, but it certainly was a happy coincidence. 

After graduation, he was beyond excited for the reprieve that Dragonstone granted. The promise of early morning hikes, and evenings spent on the beach — the once empty house, full of life and bustling with bodies. 

You were the first thing Jacaerys thought to look for when he set his bags down in the summer home. 

It was late May, and you were guaranteed to be out of school. I’ll text after I unpack, he thought, pulling clothes and books from his suitcase. 

His room in Dragonstone had once been his childhood bedroom. The walls were a warm tone of white, and the small bed was still covered with his blue and white checkered duvet. Piano scales and pictures of his brothers and friends adorn the walls. There was a soccer trophy on the back edge of his desk, something he had won when he was eleven. It was stuffy from nine months of stagnance, but familiar all the same. 

He pushed the curtains back from the window to let sunlight filter into the dusty room, gazing down at the beach, when he spotted your figure. He was quick to rush downstairs, out the backdoor, and across the stone path that leads from the patio to the beach. He greets you with a call of your name and a tight hug, sunglasses perched atop his head and linen shirt half buttoned. 

It had been a year since he’d last seen you. You had kept in touch during the school year; Jace favoured Snapchat and FaceTime, delighted with the pleasure of seeing the mundane things you were up to. There was a nearly constant text thread, and voice memos passed back and forth. But, it all paled in comparison to physical company. 

He abandoned his housekeeping duties, keen to sit on the beach and talk. And you did so for hours, about everything and nothing. He tells you about his last year of school and listens as you do the same. When the sun dipped past the treeline, he leaned back on his elbows, watching the water crest on the sand. He felt more at ease than he had in a while, enraptured by the ease of your presence. The conversation flowed, there were no awkward lulls and no pressure to talk about something dignified. It was comforting to be so close to someone who didn’t see much of his life in London — you knew the best version of him. 

Your friendship had always felt like that, from a young age. On days that smelled of sunscreen and sea salt in his mind, you would meet in the mornings and depart past dark and then do it again the next day, never tiring of each other. Your parents knew his, so you had always been welcome in his home — invited or not. You had shared a bed during sleepovers, drunk from the same cup, and fallen asleep on the couch during movie nights countless times. Quick glances and imperceptible expressions were a language you communicated in, reading each other without words. In your presence, Jace was the most comfortable.

The summer slipped away as it always did, taking long nights and leaving memories of sand and sunshine. The days were ambled away in the water, on rocky hiking paths, or in the meadow that sat a mile away from all of the homes. 

Jace had started The Hobbit before school ended — most days he found himself sprawled out in the park or on the beach, reading. He had also taken to running with his dog, Vermax, in the mornings. He relied on the serotonin boost to start the day, and with no football to play a jog was a decent alternative. 

When the summer drew to a close, the typical melancholy that befell the return to the real world wasn’t present in Jace’s mind. He presumed it had everything to do with the fact that he would see you every day now

You have one college class together — a nine a.m. medieval literature discussion. 

Clinging to familiarity in the new environment, he glued himself to your side for the first week of classes. He memorized the way to your dorm, meeting you outside every morning to walk together to your first lessons. The meandering conversation was a good start to the day, and he silently relished in your tired eyes and quiet voice, not yet used to the early schedule. 

On Friday he all but begged you to come back to his dorm after the discussion; it was your only class that day so you had given in. You hadn’t seen his living quarters yet, and he wanted to spend time with you, worried for when your schedules would fill up and you would lose room for each other. 

The discussion had been mind-numbing. You reviewed the same syllabus as the lecture, and went over the same rules and policies as every other class. With the thirty-five minutes remaining, the teaching assistant made everyone watch an incredibly monotone video about the history of medieval England. 

Jace linked his arm into yours in the hallway after class, pulling you to the doors. The cool morning air was refreshing, waking you up more as you walked across campus. His dorm building was new and modern, seventeen floors with grey siding and big windows. It was private housing, clearly expensive. 

He had a single room with an adjoining bathroom and a small common space. The walls were typical dorm white, with laminate wood flooring. Joffrey’s school photo is hung on one wall, the frame clearly decorated by the child with glitter and string. Scattered across the other walls were photographs in thin silver frames, a large world map, a clock, and a cross-stitch of a rainbow stag beetle.

Sitting on the couch, you observed the unframed photos that lay across the coffee table, inspecting a leggy grey dog as you plucked it from the pile, “Who is this?”

Jace leaned into your side, gazing at the photo, “My mum’s dog, Syrax,” He reached over you to tap the picture, “Syrax is my dog’s mum.” 

He slipped his hand into yours as you walked with him to his second class of the day.

In the third week of school, Jace asks you to attend a mixer for a pre-law society with him. He doesn't know anyone, and doesn't want to be alone at the party. You meet at his dorm at a quarter-to-six so you can walk to the event together. 

The dress-code is emi-formal, and when he opens the door to you his hair is slicked back with water and he smells like his cologne — musk, sandalwood, and amber. 

“Are your clothes pressed?” You ask, grinning at his freshly ironed slacks and the three buttons undone on his shirt. 

He rolls his eyes, locking the door behind him as he escorts you down the hallway. The walls of the elevator in his dorm are mirrored, and you laugh at him when you catch him taking pictures of himself. He makes you take one with him, and sets it as his lock screen. 

The mixer was in the dean of law’s massive house, buzzing with young people in smart outfits. Jace abandons you about fifteen minutes in, spotting a group of poli sci majors from his social psychology class. 

From his childhood spent between galas and his mother’s business meetings, Jace was good at navigating these situations. He was charming, leveling the professors with charismatic smiles and confident posture. He was good at holding an intelligent conversation, discussing theory and strategy. 

You were on the patio, watching the stars, when he found you an hour later.

His arms brushed yours as he leaned against the railing, “Sorry for leaving you,” His voice was quiet, and he stared at your profile, watching the way the moonlight illuminated your skin. 

You wave his apology off and make him buy you coffee in recompense on the way home. 

You’re stood talking together on the quadrangle a few weeks later, a cup of hot chocolate warming your mitten-less hands, when you realise just how cold it’s gotten. It's just too cold for the thin jacket that you try to sink further into, hiding from the wind that bites at your delicate skin.

Jace watches you shiver, observing your lack of appropriate attire. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, reaching out to run his hands up and down your arms, half to warm you, half to gauge how thick your jacket is. Not very. 

You nod, “I didn’t check the weather this morning.” 

He sighs with exaggerated exasperation and slides his arms around you, careful of the paper cup you held. Of course, he’s worn the right coat, and you feel the downy material of his hood against your cheek as he rubs your back to generate some warmth. You smell the cologne on his collar and the expensive shampoo he uses; he grumbled something about taking better care of yourself. 

Then, one particularly cold Friday morning he has forgotten his coat. Dressed in a hoodie, he mirrors your excuse from the week prior, smiling sheepishly — face flushed from the chilly air, dark curls blowing around his head like a halo. You take pity on him, slipping your scarf off. You loop it around his neck, tucking the ends down into the collar of his sweater, and leave him with a fond peck on the cheek; his skin is cold. 

He's appreciative, though the scarf does little against the cold wind cutting through his sweater. Still, he doesn't give the scarf back. 

With the cold, comes midterms. You’re the first person Jace asks to study. 

Your dorm room is closer to the central part of campus, and thus a shorter walk in the bitter cold. Jace brushes snow out of his hair as you unlock your door, ushering him inside. It's small. Two twin-sized beds, one on each wall, with nary enough room for two bodies between them; a desk is crammed into the small space between your bed and the window. You let him take the desk, spreading your books and notes out across your bed.

Your dorm is old, and the room has very little ventilation. Despite the frigidity outside, the room is stuffy and almost hot with both of your bodies inside. An hour into studying Jace shrugs off his heavy, knit sweater and pushes his glasses up into his hair. 

“What are you working on?” You ask, leaning forward. You’re bored, working on the same power point you started yesterday. You want to talk to him, though he doesn’t seem keen on the idea

He doesn’t look up from typing as he speaks, “Analysing The Art of War.” 

You shut your laptop, bent on distracting him, “The book?” 

He nods but doesn’t give a verbal response. 

“Who's that by?” You ask, fighting to suppress a grin

This time he does look up, glaring at you over his glasses, “Sun Tzu.” 

His tone is short, but it's amusing to annoy him so you grin, suppressing a giggle, “Sounds very interesting.” 

“What do you want?” He asks after a beat, still holding your gaze. 

You shrug, “Nothing. I’m bored,” 

The next time you study is even less productive, school work discarded on his floor in a matter of minutes. 

“We can’t be trusted to work together,” He tells you, watching as you calculate his astrological chart, geometry homework forgotten. 

You attend your first college party together in November. When you arrive at his dorm, he’s dressed much more casually than normal. 

You reach out to tug at the thin silver chain peeking out from his shirt collar, “This is fun,” You tease, giggling, “Aiming to impress tonight?”

He rolls his eyes in mock-offence, turning you around by the shoulders to shove you out of the doorframe. 

The lights in the house are dim, and they strobe slowly through different colours. It’s too dark and too bright all at once. The music is almost unbearably loud and people are packed in like sardines, it’s all incredibly overstimulating. 

When he senses your unease, Jace takes your hand, pulling you tight against your side to lead you through the throng of bodies. He’s looking for someone, but you’re unsure who, and he canvases the whole space before giving up on finding them.

The backyard of the house is quieter, but the ground still vibrates from the bass of the music. People are scattered about, smoking cigarettes and sipping from bottles of cheap beer. 

You both learn what Jell-O shots are, and make out in the bathroom back at his dorm. It’s not the first time you’d kissed each other, trying it a few times in your adolescence just to see what it was like. But this is different, tipsy and sloppy, as you giggle into his mouth. 

It's forgotten in the morning, when you wake up in his bed still dressed in your going-out clothes, head pounding.

But then it happens again, the week before finals.

You had stayed at the library far too late studying, leaving the pair of you to walk back to his dorm in the dark. It's positively frigid, cold December air whipping snow into your face. 

There are still snowflakes in your hair as you shed the thick coat you’re wearing, pulling off your gloves and hat. 

There's a bottle of wine in Jace’s freezer, left by Aegon the weekend before. It's expensive and rich and red, and Aegon would likely skin you if he found out you were drinking it — but, that's part of the fun. There's a baking show on the small television, and you’re curled into Jace’s side to steal some of the warmth from his body.

When the program lulls he brings his hand to your hair, combing through the tangled strands. You pay it little mind, leaning into his touch as you watch a contestant on-screen whip macaron batter. His fingers slide down to your jaw, turning your head so your eyes meet his. He’s studying your face, cheeks flushed from the wine or the cold. 

The attention is odd, and you giggle nervously under his gaze. His hands come to cradle your jaw as he leans towards you, nose brushing yours. The air is charged with an unusual tension, his mouth a breath away from yours. 

When he kisses you, he’s slow and gentle, his whole body angled into yours. Everything feels warm, a welcome contrast to the weather outside, and you chalk it up to the glasses of wine coursing through your bloodstream. 

It's pleasant, different from times past; this certainly doesn’t feel like an innocent, experimental kiss. It's heated, tinged with passion. He uses the placement of his hand to ease your jaw open, tongue sliding slowly into your mouth. 

There's a vibe, something you hadn’t felt before with him. It's communicated through the gentle touch of his hands, and how his breath hitches when you kiss him back with the same sort of force. 

The moment is broken by the announcement of a winner on the television. His hands slide down, resting on your shoulders, pulling your frame into his. 

You don’t talk about it afterwards. 

[babybinko]

Made a TON of Venture Bros. genderbends :D

Bonus + some of my thoughts on all the designs under the cut:

This is from a conversation I had with a friend about how Dermott and Hank would behave in this AU (its exactly the same as normal)

Ok now some thoughts on my design process

Hank: I think I drew Hank's face actually perfect, I made her so cute. I also feel like there's a common trope with genderbends where athletic characters get short hair so I gave her long hair and gave Dean short hair. I actually think the longer hair fits her perfectly. ALSO I LOVE HER BOOTS.

Dean: I gave goth Dean more Accessories than normal because normal goth dean had no fucking swag (it was besties idea to make her pants ripped). Even before I started drawing college Dean I knew I was giving her those legwarmers you can pry them from my cold dead hands. Same with the legwarmers I knew the first dean design needed a Jean skirt its just the vibes.

Dermott: The millisecond I even thought about doing Dermott I KNEW she would be 2012 grunge girl aesthetic. Gigantic shoplifting energy. Love her.

Rusty: I wanted her to look like a mean mom and I believe I accomplished that goal. Absolutely had to add the glasses strap. Very Jamie Lee Curtis.

Brock: I drew the one with the hair down first and my friends preferred the one with the hair up so I just did both. I wonder if she was a cheerleader in college and killed another girl on her cheer squad by throwing her too far/dropping them.

21: I drew 21 then I realized I had just drawn myself with bangs. Also I drew her with a blunt because there's an episode where 21 has a joint in his mouth the whole episode the other henchmen are standing in stupid poses in the background and its maybe one of my favorite bits in the entire show its so stupid.

24: 24 took several attempts to get the hair right I kept drawing it short and curly and my friend told me to give her Elaine from Seinfeld hair which I think ended up working really well.

Monarch: One of my favorites I did. I feel like this one you can definitely tell how Bayonetta completely re-arranged my brain chemicals as teenager. I love the hip cutouts, I made a tummy cutout to kind of mimic how Dr.GF's monarch costume is kinda skimpy. It's also hard to tell because of the cowl but I tried to give her like a finger waves hairstyle.

Dr.Gf: I tried a bunch of different hats but my friends liked the brimless hat the most and completely doomed him into looking like a Bellhop (more than he already did). Its giving Tyler the Creator at the 2020 Grammys. I still think he's cute though :)

Billy: I really didnt want to just draw her in a suit because thats boring. The show always gives me 60s vibes despite being set in modern day (I'm sure its on purpose) and I definitely channeled that with Billy. It took a couple tries to find a balance between fitting her body but still looking adult but I think I got it in the end.

Pete: YAYYYY PETE YAAAAYY!!! ^_^ Shes so Ava Max Coded. I also gave her giant buckles on her shoes to match his stupid ass one two buckle my shoes ass shoes.

Triana: Very much looks like putting emo boy in the Pinterest search bar. I made her thigh highs into his sleeves and I gave him square bangs like her.

Dr. Orpheus: NEEDED to make her a hot milf and I did. Its a little hard to see but her shirt has lace over the open part. I love the hair Jewerly at the bottom of her braid. :)

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART IV: TONIGHT, I WALK AWAY

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part II // part III // part V

wc: 7.8k cw: violence, angst, major character death author's note: Honestly I'm starting to get why TWD writers do what they do after writing this chapter... I also apologize for taking so long for this chapter, my classes are starting now so updates will be a bit a slower </3 **also some eastereggs but the sonnet 73 quote I have is mentioned in the scene where Grayson talks about love. It's pretty much the translated modern English definition of the quote! The make a wish dialogue is also from the movie Dangerously Yours (1937), that scene always gets me so I had to include it haha

You drift in and out of consciousness, the world around you a hazy blur of pain and disjointed voices. Through the fog, you catch glimpses of three figures engaged in intense discussion.

Sevika's there, her face etched with worry. Beside her stands a tall, bald gaunt man and a mask covering the lower half of his face. His eyes are sunken, giving him an almost skeletal appearance. The third figure is shorter, with slicked-back dark hair and a prominent scar running down one side of his face, his right eye a striking shade of green.

Their voices filter through your muddled thoughts:

"...low on medical supplies for a procedure like this," the masked man says, his voice muffled and clinical. "There's no sure chance she can make it."

"I'll go to the hospital."

"It’s too dangerous." The scarred man's voice is sharp and skeptical.

"We've been low on supplies for too long," Sevika argues. "It's time we do it now. We cannot lose any more people."

Their words fade as you slip back into darkness, only to resurface again as you're being moved. You have no idea how much time has passed, but you're on some kind of gurney, the ceiling passing by overhead. You try to move, but your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive. Glancing down, you see your wrists are handcuffed to the sides of the bed.

Panic surges through you as you realize you're being rolled into what looks like a makeshift operating room. The masked man and the scarred one are there, now wearing blood-stained surgical gowns. You try to fight, to call out, but your body won't cooperate.

The scarred man leans over you, his mismatched eyes boring into yours. "It will be over soon," he says, his voice oddly soothing despite the circumstances. Then he's lowering a gas mask over your face, and the world fades to black.

When you wake again, your mind is clearer, though your body feels like it's been run over by a truck. The scarred man is sitting in a chair beside your bed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"Ah, you're awake," he says, leaning forward. "Good. I was beginning to wonder if we'd miscalculated."

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, raw. He holds up a hand, silencing you.  

"No need to strain yourself. I just wanted to... observe you.” He pauses. "It's been a long time since I've had to perform a procedure like that. It’s quite a reminder of what still lurks beyond these walls. How we’ve grown complacent."

Your eyes drift to his face, lingering on the scar that runs down the right side, bisecting his eye. The eye itself is a startling shade of green, almost luminescent against his pale skin. You must have been staring, because the man chuckles, a dry, humorless sound.

"Curious, aren’t you?" A sardonic smile twists his features. "It’s only natural - people always wonder. But few ever ask. It’s a souvenir from when Zaun was still crawling out of the muck. When men I called brothers tried to drag me back down for a piece of land." 

His finger traces the scar slowly, almost lovingly. "This... this was their parting gift." He trails off, then continues in a near-whisper. "Have you ever felt pain so exquisite it becomes transcendent? For days, I danced on the knife's edge between genius and madness."

His gaze refocuses on you, sharp and penetrating. "But pain, you see, can be transformative. It stripped away my naivety, my weakness. It forged me into something stronger, something capable of truly leading Zaun."

“I think I understand why Sevika is so fond of you." His lips curl into something that might be a smile but doesn't reach his eyes. "There's something in you, just like her. That part that's willing to sacrifice."

You furrow your brow, confusion, and wariness warring inside you.

"Some sacrifices are necessary to be made. But they're also weaknesses," He stands, smoothing down his shirt. "Something to consider."

With those cryptic words, he turns and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. You're left alone, your mind racing with questions. Who were those men? What exactly happened to you? And how much time had gone by?

The weight of uncertainty presses down on you, and exhaustion soon follows. Despite your churning thoughts, your eyelids grow heavy, and you drift into an uneasy sleep.

When you wake again, its by the sound of shuffling feet and the creak of a door opening. The haze of sleep still clings to your mind as you slowly become aware of your surroundings.

Sevika enters, holding a plate of food. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

"Hey," she says finally, her voice softer than you've ever heard it.

"Hey yourself," you reply, unable to keep a slight tremor from your voice.

Sevika sets the plate on your bedside table, then stands awkwardly, as if unsure what to do with her hands. "Thought you might be hungry," she mumbles.

You nod, a thousand questions bubbling up inside you. Where has she been? Why didn't she visit sooner? What happened after the surgery? But looking at her now, seeing the dark circles under her eyes and the way she holds herself - tense, guarded - you decide those questions can wait.

Instead, you pat the bed beside you. "Sit with me?"

Sevika hesitates for a moment, then complies. As she settles beside you, you feel the warmth of her presence, so familiar yet somehow changed.

"I missed you," you say simply.

Sevika's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing her face before she schools it back to neutrality. "I... I'm glad you're okay," she replies, her voice gruff but sincere.

As you and Sevika sit together, you try to maintain a casual conversation, but there's an undercurrent of tension you can't ignore. Sevika's responses are clipped, her gaze never quite meeting yours. It's like she's looking through you, not at you.

"Hey," you say softly, reaching out to touch her arm. "What's going on?"

She turns slowly, her eyes finally meeting yours. But there’s something different in them, something that makes your heart clench. It’s infuriating, this distance she’s putting between you, this wall she’s building brick by brick.

“Sevika,” you say, trying to break through that wall. “Talk to me.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Nothing can happen between us again,” she says, the words falling heavy between you like a death sentence.

You stare at her, disbelief mingling with hurt. “What?”

Her gaze flickers, something like pain flashing in her eyes before she steels herself again. “We can’t do this,” she says, her voice low and strained. “We can’t keep pretending this… whatever this is… can last.”

You feel the ground shift beneath you like the world is falling away, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice. “You’re really going to say that after everything?” Your voice cracks, the hurt seeping through despite your best efforts to keep it at bay. “How do you kiss someone, make them believe there’s something real, and then just—throw it away?”

Sevika’s jaw clenches, and she looks away, as if unable to bear the sight of your pain. “You can be mad at me, hate me if you want,” she says. “But it has to be this way.”

“I’m not mad,” you reply, your heart breaking with every word. “I’m hurt, Sevika. I’m hurt because I care about you, and you’re pushing me away like none of it matters.”

“I know,” she whispers, her voice so soft it’s almost lost in the hum of the machines. 

“Then why?” you demand, your voice wavering as you struggle to understand. “Why are you doing this?”

She finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the anguish in her eyes is like a punch to the gut. “Because if I let myself love you,” she says, her voice breaking on the word, “I know we’d never have enough time. ”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, drowning you in the despair that’s been brewing in your chest. “But isn't some time better than none at all? I'd rather have a handful of precious moments with you than spend the rest of my life wondering 'what if.'” The tears you’ve been holding back now streaming down your face. 

“Even if it hurts, even if it's brief – at least it would be real.”

Sevika shakes her head, her expression a storm of anger and fear. Her words come out in a rush, like she can't hold them back any longer.

"You don't understand. I was okay before you. I was okay with the idea of dying, of existing day after day without purpose until my time ran out. But now?" Her voice hardens. "Now I'm terrified. I'm not okay with losing you. I'm not okay with the thought that you could walk out that door and never come back."

“I didn't need this. I didn't need you to come along and give me a reason to call this godforsaken place home. I didn't need you to make me want to survive instead of just exist.”  She’s practically pleading now.  “Don't you see what you've done to me? Needing you means I have something to lose."

The weight of her confession crushes you, the finality of it sinking in. She’s not just pushing you away—she’s tearing herself apart to do it, ripping out the very thing that might make her feel alive, all because she’s so afraid of the pain it could bring.

“I’d shatter every bone in my body again if it meant keeping you safe,” you say, your voice trembling. “I’d do anything for you, Sevika, and it hurts so bad that you won’t let me.”

She turns her head away. “You’re too stubborn,” she whispers, her voice resigned. “You won’t stop, and neither will I, and it’ll kill us both in the end.”

“You look at me like I’m already dead,” you say, your voice cracking with the weight of your grief. “Like I’m a ghost you’ve been carrying around, waiting for the right moment to bury me.”

She flinches, the words cutting deep. “Because that’s what it feels like,” she confesses. “I feel like I’ve already lost you, and it’s killing me. I’d rather lose you now when we still have a chance to walk away than lose you out there, where I can’t protect you.”

The following silence is deafening, the air thick with everything neither of you can bring yourselves to say. You reach out, your hand trembling as you gently caress her cheek, trying to offer comfort in the only way you know how. She leans into your touch for a moment, her eyes closing as if she’s trying to savor it, to hold onto it before it’s gone.

“Are you doing this to protect me, or are you protecting yourself?” you ask softly, the question hanging in the air like a lifeline, offering her one last chance to admit the truth.

She opens her eyes, and the pain you see there nearly undoes you. “Both,” she admits. “I’m protecting both of us. I’ll never survive the day I lose you. And I can’t—” Her voice breaks, and she swallows hard, her eyes pleading with you to understand. “I can’t live.”

Your heart shatters as the reality of her words sinks in. She’s already decided, already convinced herself that this is the only way to keep you both safe, even if it means tearing herself apart in the process.

“Can I be alone?” you ask, your voice small and broken, the words barely escaping your lips.

Sevika nods, her expression tightening as she takes a step back. “Yeah,” she says. “I’ll go.”

She turns to leave, but before she can take another step, you reach out. “Sevika, wait,” you say, your voice filled with desperation. “Can you hand me my bag?”

She hesitates, her gaze flickering to the bag and then back to you. After a moment, she nods and hands it to you, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments, sending a jolt of longing through you. You rummage through the bag, your heart pounding as you pull out the familiar fabric of her shawl.

You hold it out to her. “This belongs to you.”

Sevika stares at the shawl, her eyes widening as she realizes what it means. For a moment, she just stands there, looking at it like it’s a lifeline she’s too afraid to grasp. Then, she takes it from you.

She looks at you, and in her eyes, you see all the things she wants to say, all the things she’s too scared to admit. And then, without another word, she turns and walks out of the room, the door closing quietly behind her, leaving you alone with nothing but the ghost of her touch and the scent of her shawl lingering in the air.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

You didn’t accept any visitors for days, under the guise that you were too tired and needed the rest to recover. But as tempting as curling in bed and crying over a woman that you never even had a proper relationship with was, you knew you couldn’t hide away forever.

Blinking, you see a group of people piling into your room.

Vander's deep voice rumbles, "Easy now, let's not overwhelm her."

Caitlyn is standing over you. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"

Before you can answer, Powder chimes in, "Bet you feel like you've been hit by a truck. Am I right?"

"Something like that," you croak.

Your attention is drawn to the doorway where Grayson stands, little Ren in her arms. The child is clutching Grayson's yellow armband tightly.

Grayson sets Ren down gently. "Go on, little one," she says softly.

Ren doesn't need to be told twice. She rushes to your bedside, her small hands gripping the edge of the mattress. "Miss, are you okay?" she asks, her voice shakes slightly. "Will you be like Sevika?"

The innocence in her question tugs at your heart. You reach out, ignoring the twinge of pain from the movement and the mention of Sevika, to pat her hand. "No, darling," you reply softly. "Sevika is unique. I'll be just fine."

Grayson moves closer, her stern expression softening slightly. "That was brave," she says. "But also very idiotic of you."

You frown at the comment, the words too similar to Sevika’s at the prison.  

Vander's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "You gave us quite a scare," he says. "But you're tough. You'll pull through."

Caitlyn nods in agreement. "We've managed to replenish some of our medical supplies thanks to the hospital mission." she informs you. 

Vi adds with a smirk, "And don't even think about trying to get up and be a hero again anytime soon."

“Yeah… I wouldn’t dream of it,” you respond hoarsely.  

Over the next week, your family comes and goes, their visits being the highlight of your monotonous days.  Grayson usually stopped by with Ren, the two were closer than you expected but Marcus had flitted in and out of Ren’s life so often that Grayson stepped up as a parental figure.  You offered to take care of the kid while you were still bed-bound, and Grayson only reluctantly agreed when you assured her it wouldn’t obstruct your healing process.

You find yourself sitting up in bed, Ren cross-legged beside you. Math worksheets are spread out between you.

"If an apple cost three dollars and you needed to buy five apples, how much would that cost?"

Ren's brow furrows in concentration. "Um... fifteen dollars?"

You beam at her. "That's right! You're getting good at this."

A knock at the door interrupts your math lesson and Vi pokes her head in, her red hair slightly disheveled.

"Hey, time to get moving," she says with a grin.

You turn to Ren, giving her a warm smile. "Let's do this again tomorrow, sweetie?"

Ren nods enthusiastically, gathering her papers. "Alright! Bye-bye, miss! I hope you feel better!"

As Ren scampers out, Vi approaches, offering her arm for support. You wince as you stand, your body still protesting the movement.

“Easy,” she murmurs, her tone softening as she watches your struggle. “Take it slow.”

You grit your teeth, focusing on her voice, on the feel of her arm supporting you. Slowly, you manage a few steps, each one a little less painful than the last. 

“How’s it feel?” Vi asks, keeping pace with you, her gaze never leaving your face.

“Like hell,” you admit with a shaky laugh, though there’s a small sense of victory in the simple act of standing on your own two feet again. “But better than yesterday.”

Vi nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Progress,” she says. “You’re getting stronger.”

As you slowly make your way down the hallway, Vi starts chatting about her day. "You wouldn't believe the shit from yesterday. We were chasing some survivors that tried to steal our shit through an alley, and then Sevika shows up out of nowhere and--" 

The moment the words are out, Vi winces, realizing her mistake too late.  You feel a sharp pang in your chest at the mention of Sevika's name. 

"Uh, anyway, we got the guy in the end.” she says.

“She… was?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Vi looks away, guilt flashing in her eyes. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s good,” you say, though the words feel like a lie even as they leave your lips. “It’s good that she caught them.”

Vi nods. “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “It’s okay. It’s just… I miss her.  It’s stupid, we weren’t anything.”

“I know,” she says. “But it’s not stupid.”

There’s a long silence, the kind that’s filled with all the words neither of you know how to say. “If you didn’t have Caitlyn, would you be okay with all of this? Would you be able to live with everything we do?”

She’s quiet for a moment as she considers your words. “Do I have a choice?” she finally says, her voice tinged with a sadness you’ve rarely heard from her. “I have Powder. I have you, Vander… my family. I’d feel incomplete, sure, but I don’t have a choice. I have to keep going.”

“We’ll keep going, together.” She adds.

“Thanks, Vi.” Despite your gratefulness, her words feel like they’re coming from a distance, muffled by the grief you’re still trying to process. 

Your family helps you through it all, they talk to you about everything and nothing, filling the silence with stories. The days pass, and slowly, you begin to reclaim small pieces of yourself. You walk more, the physical therapy sessions become less of a struggle and more of a routine.

And each night, when the room is quiet and you’re alone with your thoughts, you think of Sevika. It’s not easy. Some days, the weight of it all feels unbearable, like you’re drowning in a sea of what-ifs and lost chances. But you keep going, step by step, knowing that it’s all you can do.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting session, you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling as your thoughts drift. You think about Sevika, about the last time you saw her, the pain in her eyes as she walked away. And you wonder if she feels the same weight, if she’s struggling just as much to move on.

You close your eyes, and for a moment, you imagine her here, standing by your side. And as you drift off to sleep, you could swear you hear her voice, soft and broken, whispering in the dark.

“I failed you.”

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The pantry is filled with the scent of canned goods and the faint rustle of paper bags. You’re focused on stacking cans of beans when your grip falters, and one slips from your fingers.

Before it can hit the ground, a hand darts out and catches it. You look up to see a man with a cocky grin. He’s tall and lean, with slicked-back hair and piercing teal eyes.  You don’t know why, but he looked oddly familiar.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing down here? Are we that understaffed that we’re making the injured work now?”

You snatch the can back from him. “Not that it’s any of your business,” you reply curtly, setting the can back on the shelf, “but I wanted to do this.”

He chuckles, leaning against the shelf with a casual arrogance. “Looks like supplies are running a bit thin,” he comments slyly, his eyes flicking to the half-empty shelves. “Maybe you should take it easy before you use up what little energy we have left.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your patience wearing thin. “I’m not interested in your opinion.”

Before he can retort, the door to the pantry swings open with a loud creak, and Sevika steps inside. The air changes instantly when her gaze zeroes in on the man. 

“Finn,” she growls. “What are you doing here?”

Finn straightens up and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just making sure our friend here isn’t overworking herself,” he says innocently.

“Get lost,” Sevika snaps. “Now.”

With a lazy shrug, Finn backs off, giving you a final, lingering look before sauntering out of the pantry. The door closes behind him, leaving you alone with Sevika. 

Sevika turns to you. “I was told you’re working here again,” she says, her voice sharp with disapproval. “Are you stupid? You’re barely healed.”

You bristle at her tone. "I needed to do something."

"Yeah, like babysitting Ren," she snaps. “Not this.”

"Why does it matter what I do?" you challenge, your voice rising.

For a moment, Sevika doesn’t answer, but then her eyes widen.

“You’re bleeding.” 

You blink, confused. “What?”

You look down and see a trickle of blood seeping through the bandages on your side. The pain hits you a second later, sharp and burning, but you grit your teeth, refusing to show weakness in front of her.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, trying to downplay it. “I can bandage it myself.”

But Sevika is already moving toward you, her expression darkening with worry. “You’re not going back to your place like this,” she mutters. “Come on. My place is closer.”

Before you can protest, she’s already scooping you up into her arms. The world blurs around you as she carries you through the streets and you’re too shocked to resist.

When you reach her place, she sets you down on the edge of her bed, her touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before she pulls away.

“Just sit,” she instructs as she moves to grab a first aid kit from a nearby drawer.

“I can do it.” 

Sevika shakes her head, her expression set in a way that leaves no room for argument. “I have experience with this,” she says quietly. “Let me.”

You watch in silence as she works. Her hands, usually so strong and rough, are gentle as they press a fresh bandage against your skin. There’s a tenderness in the way she handles you, in the way she refuses to meet your gaze as she focuses on the wound, that makes your chest ache.

Finally, Sevika finishes. She stands, the distance between you growing once more as she busies herself with putting away the first aid kit, her movements stiff and mechanical.

“Thanks.” You want to leave, not to be any more inconvenient than you already were but Sevika replies before you can say anything.

“You should rest,” she says, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth that was there just moments ago. “Don’t push yourself like that again.”

You reluctantly agree to stay and the tension in Sevika's shoulders eases slightly. She mumbles something about bringing dinner later and leaves you to rest.

Left alone, you take in your surroundings. The room is sparse, almost impersonal. Unlike the chaos in the other rooms, this space feels hollow. There are no personal belongings, no knick-knacks, nothing to suggest that she even uses this bed. It's as if the room itself is holding its breath, existing in a state of perpetual temporariness.

Exhaustion soon overtakes you, and you drift off to sleep. But you soon wake again at the sound of muffled voices.  Through the haze of half-consciousness, you hear one of Sevika's people inviting her to a party, but she declines. 

"Nah, I'm staying in today," you hear her say.

The voices fade, and you slowly wake up, disoriented. You stumble to the doorway of the living room, blinking sleep from your eyes. Sevika is there, dressed in casual clothes – a grey tank top and worn jeans with her hair down, falling in messy waves around her face.  She's cleaning up, a pile of bottles in her arms when she notices you.

"You're awake," she says, startled. "Shit, did I wake you up?"

You shake your head, your voice still rough with sleep. "No, you're good... Do you need help with that?"

"No. Fuck, sit down. What are you doing walking around?"

Still groggy, you comply without argument, sinking into the couch. Sevika dumps the bottles in a bag and turns back to you.

"I'm making dinner," she says, washing her hands at the sink. "You're okay with instant noodles and spam?"

The domesticity of the moment catches you off guard. "Sounds delicious," you manage to say.

Sevika nods and turns to the small kitchenette. You watch her move around the space. It's surreal, seeing her like this – relaxed, casual, making dinner for you both. For a moment, you can almost pretend things are different between you.

Sevika settles on the far arm of the couch next to you, the small distance between you both feeling more like a chasm. 

"Chopsticks or fork?" she asks, holding out both options.

"Chopsticks," you reply, and a ghost of a smile flickers across her face.

"Good choice," she murmurs, handing them to you.

You eat in comfortable silence, stealing glances at her when you think she's not looking. When you finish, Sevika collects the empty bowls.

"Want dessert?"

"Sure," you nod, watching as she retrieves an apple from the kitchen.

She settles back on the arm of the couch, peeling the apple with a small knife. "How's the physical therapy going?" Sevika asks, breaking the silence.

You shrug. "It's... going. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless."

She nods, placing slices onto a plate. "That's good. Don't push yourself too hard."

"Says the woman who never knows when to quit," you tease gently.

A wry smile tugs at her lips. "Do as I say, not as I do."

As you reach for the last slice, Sevika’s hand brushes your cheek. You freeze, the touch unexpected, and you look up at her, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest.

“There’s an eyelash,” she says softly, her voice gentle as she carefully removes it from your face. She holds it up for you to see, the tiny, delicate lash resting on her fingertip. “Make a wish.”

You stare at the eyelash, your mind racing with all the things you could wish for, should wish for. But the words stick in your throat, and you find yourself frozen, unable to think of anything that could possibly fix what’s been broken.

“Did you wish?”

You shake your head slightly, the corners of your mouth turning up in a sad smile. “I... I didn't get the chance.”

She raises an eyebrow, her gaze piercing as she studies you. “And there’s something you wish for?”

“Yes,” You hesitate, the words coming slowly, painfully, like pulling them from some deep, hidden place inside you. “I was wishing… that we were two other people. Two people who didn’t have to say goodbye.”

The silence that follows is thick, charged with the tension of emotions neither of you can afford to express. Sevika’s expression tightens, her jaw clenching as she absorbs your words.

“You know, if you say it out loud, it doesn’t come true,” she says, her voice rough, like she’s fighting against the vulnerability of the moment.

“Do you believe that?” 

She looks down at the eyelash, still resting on her finger, before blowing it away into the air. Her gaze follows it for a moment before she looks back at you. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unmovable, like a finality neither of you can escape. 

“We should sleep,” Sevika says finally. “It’s late.”

You nod, knowing she’s right. There’s nothing more to be said, nothing that can change the way things are. 

“Thank you,” you say softly.

Sevika looks at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nods, just once, and steps back, letting you go. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, your heart heavy as you turn and walk away.

As you reach the end of the hallway, you glance back, just once. Sevika is still standing in the doorway, watching you, her figure framed by the dim light. There’s something in her posture, something in the way she’s holding herself that makes you think she might be wishing too—wishing for something that neither of you can have.

But then she steps back, closing the door behind her, and you’re left standing in the cold, empty hallway, the echoes of what could have been ringing in your ears.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the makeshift shooting range. You and Grayson stand side by side, both of you facing a row of targets at the far end of the field. You’ve been practicing your aim for a while now, but your focus has been off, your shots missing the mark more often than not.

“You haven’t said anything about my shit shot,” you mutter, glancing sideways at Grayson, expecting some form of criticism.

She shrugs, her eyes on the distant targets. "You're injured. Why would I?"

You snort. "Liar. Weeks ago, you'd have torn me apart. What's different now?"

Grayson doesn't answer, instead gesturing to a nearby bench overlooking the community below. You follow her, settling onto the worn wood with a sigh.The elevated view makes the world seem vast and small all at once.

Grayson passes you a canteen, and you take a long drink before speaking again. "You snitched to Sevika about me working."

Grayson raises an eyebrow. "Snitching? Are we ten?"

"She didn't need to know," you mutter, avoiding her gaze.

"You were going hurt yourself," Grayson says softly. "And you needed to see her. For closure, at least."

You fall silent, not wanting to delve into the complicated mess of emotions surrounding Sevika. Instead, you change the subject. "How's Ren?"

“Ren’s sleeping in today. She’s been up late these past few nights, working on that puzzle I gave her.”  Grayson’s face immediately brightens at the mention of Ren.

“She’s got that stubborn streak. Wonder where she gets it.” 

“Must be the company she keeps,” Grayson replies, her voice laced with affection. “Marcus is at the walls today, keeping an eye on things. It’s been quiet, for the most part.”

You nod, your gaze drifting back to the field. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” you muse. “Every day is the same. We do the same things, see the same faces… What makes it worth living?”

Grayson leans back on the bench, her eyes scanning the horizon as she considers her answer. “You make your own reasons,” she says finally, her tone thoughtful. “For me, it’s taking care of Ren. Making sure she has something to hold onto, something good in this world.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell Grayson is choosing her words carefully. “I never thought of myself as the maternal type,” she continues, sounding almost wistful. “But with Ren… It’s different. She’s taught me more about love than I ever knew.  In whatever time I got left here, I want to continue it with her, to see her grow up and prove there’s still something more for us here.”

You feel a pang in your chest, suddenly remembering Sevika and her belief that there would never be enough time for the two of you. But where Grayson found strength in loving deeply despite that, Sevika chose to close herself off, to protect herself from the inevitable pain.

Grayson looks at you, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “Sometimes, the hardest thing is to keep loving, even when you know it won’t last. But that’s what makes it worth it. Knowing that you made the most of the time you had, that you loved fully, even if it hurts in the end.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, the truth of them resonating with a painful clarity. 

“It’s hard,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “When you know it’s not going to last.”

Grayson nods, her expression gentle. “It is. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. You have to find your own reason to keep going, to keep loving, even when it seems like everything is falling apart.”

The conversation settles into a quiet lull, the words lingering between you as the sun dips lower in the sky. You take another sip from the flask, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the ache in your chest.

“You’re always looking out for us, making sure we’re okay.” you say after a moment, your voice tinged with admiration. 

“I’m satisfied  – knowing that I’ve done what I can to make this place a little better, to take care of the people who matter.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, the words carrying more weight than you intended. “For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she replies gently. “We’re all in this together. And besides,” she adds with a small, teasing smile, “someone has to keep you in line.”

You chuckle, the sound lightening the heavy atmosphere just a bit.

But the peaceful moment on the hill was brief, the tranquility shattered by the sound of rapid footsteps and panicked crying. You and Grayson turn to see Ren running towards you, her face streaked with tears and her small body shaking with sobs.

Grayson immediately drops to her knees, catching Ren in her arms. "What happened, sweetheart?" she asks, her voice calm but laced with urgency.

Ren tries to speak through her tears, her words coming out in broken gasps. "Daddy said... we were going on a trip... but the monsters... they blocked us and he couldn’t close the gate... now they're coming to get us!"

As if on cue, screams erupt from the direction of the community. You and Grayson exchange a quick glance, both reaching for your weapons without hesitation.

Ren clings to Grayson's yellow armband, her eyes wide with terror. "I want to go with you!" she cries.

Grayson cups Ren's face gently, her voice soft but firm. "Darling, listen to me. I will come back, I promise. But right now, you need to get to safety. Can you be brave for me?"

Ren nods, her lower lip trembling. You know without words what needs to be done - get everyone to safety.

You both sprint down the hill, Grayson carrying Ren. As you near the community, the chaos becomes more apparent. Gunshots ring out, mixing with screams of panic and pain. People are running in all directions, fear etched on their faces.

Vi appears beside you, her red hair wild and her eyes blazing. "We're seriously underarmed right now!" she shouts over the noise. "Sevika's crew is out!"

"We have to make do," you yell back, scanning the area. You spot Caitlyn and a few others on the walls, their snipers picking off threats in the distance.

You, Vi, and the handful of armed residents form a protective line, herding panicked civilians towards their homes. "Get inside! Lock your doors!" you shout, your voice hoarse from the effort.

Children cry for their parents, the elderly struggle to move quickly enough. You see a young mother stumble, her baby wailing in her arms. You rush to her side, helping her to her feet and guiding her to safety.

Everywhere you look, there's movement – people running, fighting, falling. 

The air is thick with the stench of death and the deafening cacophony of gunfire. You're shoulder to shoulder with VI, both of you firing relentlessly at the endless wave of walkers. Sweat stings your eyes as you shout, "Vi! On your left!"

She pivots, taking down three walkers in quick succession. But for every one you drop, two more seem to take its place. The situation is rapidly spiraling out of control, and a sinking feeling in your gut tells you you're fighting a losing battle.

But suddenly, powerful headlights cut through the darkness as a convoy of trucks roars onto the scene. Your heart leaps – you'd recognize that cavalry anywhere.

As if materializing from thin air, more trucks appear, effortlessly mowing down walkers and clearing streets. One screeches to a halt in front of you, and then there she is.

A familiar figure vaults from the truck bed – Sevika, her red shawl billowing behind her. She swiftly unslings a shotgun from her back and starts blasting walkers left and right. Her face is composed, every feature carefully controlled, but when her eyes find yours, a fleeting shadow passes over them—a trace of fear and concern.

"You okay?" she shouts over the din, closing the distance between you.

You nod, breathless. "A lot are injured. I don't know, there's too many �� I think they're coming from the west gate. Ren said something about Marcus not being able to close it."

Sevika's jaw tightens. She yanks out a radio, barking orders to dispatch teams to the west gate. In seconds, she's handing out weapons, her voice ringing with authority. "Split up! I want a team grabbing as many injured as possible. Anyone bitten, take them out."

As you move to join the fray, Sevika's hand clamps on your arm. "No," she growls. "What the hell are you doing? Get to safety with the others. You're still injured."

"Fine," you concede. "But I'm finding Grayson first."

Sevika gives a curt nod before sprinting back into action. You catch a glimpse of Vi, her red hair unmistakable as she leaps into a truck bed. 

You weave through the chaos, dodging walkers and searching for Grayson. Gunfire echoes off buildings, punctuated by the revving of engines and the sounds of walkers being dispatched. 

A scream to your left – you spin, firing instinctively. A walker drops, inches from a couple. You quickly wave to them to follow and you sprint to the safe house together. Your leg protests, but adrenaline keeps you moving.

Your heart pounds as you finally spot Grayson, but she's going the opposite direction. 

"Grayson!" you shout. "Sevika and her team are here. We need to get everyone to safety!"

She doesn't slow down. "There's someone stuck in a car!"

That's when you see it - a vehicle surrounded by a writhing mass of walkers, their decaying hands clawing at the windows. Inside, you catch a glimpse of a terrified face.

Without hesitation, you sprint after Grayson. The two of you work in tandem, picking off walkers. When you reach the car, Grayson covers you as you wrench the door open. A young boy, no older than seven, practically leaps into her arms.

"We've got to move!" Grayson shouts.

You guys run, the child clinging to her as you lead the way.  You’re clearing the path, and you’re halfway to the safehouse when you hear the dreaded click of an empty chamber.

"I'm out!" you yell.

Grayson turns, her eyes flashing with a decision you can see forming before she even speaks. "Take the kid. Go!"

"Wait, we can make it together!"

She shakes her head, placing the boy into your arms. "Sevika's crew is here, remember? I'll be okay. Get everyone to safety!"

Before you can protest, she's shoving you toward safety, using her body as a shield for the child. You run, every step feeling like a betrayal, but knowing you have to trust her.

You make it to a house, handing off the child to waiting arms. Your lungs burn as you gasp for air, eyes scanning the chaos for any sign of Grayson.

Suddenly, Sevika's there, her face smeared with grime and blood but her eyes alight with fierce triumph. "We closed the gate. Got them all."

Relief floods you for a moment, but then reality crashes back. "Wait, where's Grayson?"

Confusion flickers across Sevika's face, but before she can respond, a heart-wrenching wail cuts through the air. You both rush outside, joining a growing crowd.

The scene that greets you turns your blood to ice. Caitlyn is on the ground, her body wracked with sobs. Vi kneels beside her, arms wrapped around her shaking form. "I couldn't save her," Caitlyn chokes out between gasps. "I couldn't shoot them fast enough."

Her sniper lies discarded in the dirt, and that's when you see her. Grayson.

The world seems to tilt on its axis. You stumble forward, unable to process what you're seeing. Grayson, who was just beside you moments ago. Grayson, who sacrificed herself to save a child. Grayson, whose quiet strength held your community together.

She now lies on the ground, her body wracked with violent coughs, blood staining her lips. Her breaths had grown shallow, each one more of a struggle than the last, and when she reached for Sevika’s hand, you knew what she was asking for. Sevika’s fingers trembled as she grasped Grayson’s hand, and when Grayson whispered, “Do it,” you saw a flash of something break inside Sevika.

She obeyed.

The gunshot echoed in your ears, louder than the chaos around you, but it was the sight of Sevika gently closing Grayson’s eyes that broke you. Sevika had always been unbreakable, she seemed immune to the horrors of this world. But as she knelt beside Grayson, you saw the cracks forming.  She closed Grayson’s eyes, her hand trembling just for a second before she stood up, towering over the body like a stone sentinel. 

You could barely breathe, the grief suffocating you, making it impossible to think about anything other than how many bodies that needs burying tomorrow. How many families would be broken by the news? How many children would cry for family and friends who would never come home? 

“Grayson?” Ren’s voice was barely a whisper, filled with innocence and confusion. The kid was supposed to be inside the safe house but instead, she stood there, eyes wide and uncomprehending, staring at the lifeless form on the ground. “Why is Grayson sleeping? Tell her to wake up… We won, didn’t we?”

You wanted to tell her something—anything—but the words choked in your throat. Ren dropped to her knees beside Grayson, her tiny hands shaking as they touched the cold, lifeless body.

Sevika finally moved, her expression unreadable, her walls up higher than ever. Without a word, she reached into her pocket and pulled out Grayson’s yellow band. She knelt down, her massive frame suddenly so small beside Ren, and gently placed the band in the child’s trembling hands.

Ren looked up at Sevika, eyes full of questions. But before anything could be said, Silco emerged from the shadows, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity. He was flanked by his men, their faces grim and cold, and at the center of it all was Marcus.

He was barely recognizable—his face a mangled mess of bruises and blood. He was dragged forward, forced to his knees in the dirt where Grayson had fallen. The sight of him brought Sevika to her feet, her fists clenched tight. You could see the battle raging inside her, the desire to end him right then and there, but she held back.

"Look at him," he began, his tone soft, almost conversational, as if he were discussing something trivial. "A man who betrayed the very community that kept him protected him fed and protected. Who left nothing but the ashes of his own cowardice."

He walked slowly around Marcus, like a predator circling its prey. "This is the price of betrayal, the cost of thinking you can stand in the way of what must be done. You all know him," Silco continued, addressing the crowd that had gathered, their eyes fixed on the broken man at his feet. "You know his face, his uniform, his lies. But you must also know this: in a world where there are no second chances, there are no second thoughts."

Silco’s voice grew harder, colder, as he leaned down close to Marcus’s ear. "Your cowardice, your betrayal, a mistake that cost how many lives today? And now, you will pay the price for that."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final, and Marcus’s body shuddered, knowing what was coming. Silco straightened, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Let this be a lesson to all who would think to cross us, to cross me. There is no forgiveness in this world, only retribution."

You don’t know what happened next, because you’re taking Ren into your arms and you’re moving – away from the crowd, away from the punishment that you know her father will face.

Ren clings to you, burying her face in your chest, and you hold her close, wishing you could shield her from all of this. "What’s happening to Daddy?" she asks, her voice muffled by your shirt. "And Grayson?"

You didn’t have an answer. The only thing you could do was hold her tighter, trying to block out the screams, the fire, the blood.

Time passes, the night dragging on in a blur of grief. Inside the house, the silence was deafening. You had scrubbed the blood from Ren’s skin, but it still lingered in the air, the scent of death refusing to leave. Grayson’s face kept flashing before your eyes, her last breath, her last words, the way her body crumpled in Sevika’s arms.

And now, as you stared out the window, you saw them—Silco’s men, forming a straight, omnious line as they marched out into the night. At the center of it all was a giant wooden cross, and tied to it was Marcus. His head hung low, his body limp, but he was still alive.

Your breath caught in your throat when Sevika looked up at the window. For a moment, your eyes locked, and you saw nothing in her gaze but a cold, empty challenge. The Sevika you knew wasn’t there, but replaced by someone who had buried whatever was left of her soul beneath layers of survival and duty. She turns away, breaking the gaze as she climbed into the backseat of a vehicle.  You watch as the trucks disappeared into the night until the only thing you could see was the small form of the cross.

The night presses in around you, heavy with loss, and you wonder if anything would ever feel whole again.

taglist:

@mirconreadzztuff22 @lils-1979 @veoomvroom @schmoni

@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp @cewl-casper @crying-lighting443

@sodavrr @sweet-lover-girl @love-sevikalove @pinkyykisses @glass-apothecary

@mulan-but-gay @lesbnrock @hyuckiesoftie

[ask-irisstar]

Hello dear writer-sensei! I've heard you have many requests so I hope this doesn't add on too much to your work pile (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠). My favourite character in OP is Zoro-kun! I would appreciate if you write cute fluffy head cannons about how he runs extremely hot and cold.(Like he's cold to others but kind to you) And these headcannons are in a school AU/grown up AU / just being a couple! I'll be specific and give some suggestions: how does he act when he sees y/n talking to someone else; how does he behave when others talk to him compared to y/n; how he snuggles up with you (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠); how he's extremely overprotective. Thank you Writer-sensei! (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

Zoro relationship head cannons (Modern AU)

A/N: *rises from the dead* OH MY FUCKING DAYS!!!! ZORO IS MY FAV CHARACTER TOO!!! I'M SO HAPPY YOU REQUESTED!!!! This will have a bit of self indulgence so I hope you don't mind! Also, writing Zoro never adds onto my work pile, I love him so much

Notes: Zoro x GN reader, fluff, headcannons, SFW, Modern au

When others talk to you in school, Zoro would be JEALOUS

and damn, if it was Sanji talking to you...

Only he (and I quote his words), is allowed to be so close to you while talking

Only exceptions are: Nami, Robin, Luffy, Chopper, Ussop

Others can stay like, 6 feet away

When people talk to him, he will reply to them coldly

Most of the time with "Mm" or random noises

When YOU talk to him, he suddenly becomes talkative

Usually, in class, he's always super bored falls asleep

Somehow still gets straight A's and he teases you about it

"Haha, I got higher than you "Babe, I have a B+" "Yeah, and I got A+" "ZORO!"

Despite the teasing, he's a real softie towards you

Really overprotective

Touch her/him, you die

In your apartment, you both have separate rooms

However, Zoro likes to go into your room at random points of the night for cuddles

Every weekend is skin care night

When you do these, he's always super sleepy

Hands on hips, sleepily gazing at you while you sit on his lap and put whatever on his face

LOVES baths/showers together

Prob the only motivation he has to shower

Simple dates to parks/cafes (sometimes the gym)

If he's caught with you being soft by his friends he'll push you away and put of a stoic expression

Apologizes profusely and makes it up to you in private

His love language is words of affirmation and touch

Your bodyguard when you guys go out

He might not be the best lover but he tries

Always there to protect you

______________________________________________________________

And.... THAT'S A WRAP!!! Hope you guys enjoyed this! Sorry if Zoro is a bit OOC. I tried my best since my 2 May performance is coming soon. Anyway, please request and don't worry about my work pile! I'll try to keep up with the request. And don't think I forget about your requests okay, I'll try my very best to answer everyone.

[reignpage]

hello

what's your process of writing smau's? like the idea and how do you decide to implement it and everything?

thanks in advance and pookie don't forget to rest

Saw this a while back and finally have time to answer

I've already touched on this in my recent Announcement

Here is my start to finish process:

I have a list in my notes app of story ideas divided by smau and fic

and within smaus, they're further divided by angst/smut/fluff

Many are popular plots like

Clingy? (they call you clingy)

Birthday Girl (forget your birthday)

And the others are things I've just thought of for example:

A New Friend (or more popularly known as 'Keiko')

Tell Your Friends About Me

When it comes to making a smau, I first have to ask myself what kind I wanna make

To make a oneshot, my process is:

Start with Gojo (I always go in order of their appearance, it's just easier to transfer the screenshots from my phone to my laptop and organise them when they're already in order)

Change the contacts (his picture and name)

And text myself my initial thoughts

Most of the time I never plan what I'm going to say, like the plot for each character or the exact wording, it just comes to me naturally. But there are times when I have to trial and error what feels best. Regardless, there's a lot of deleting happening. Which is why I prefer the single page layout because then if I have to start over because of a mistake or typo, I don't have to recreate as many lines. It's less tedious.

To make a series, I like to generally follow a 4 part stage:

Problem

Confrontation

Explanation/Grovelling

Resolution

Which is why I was actually surprised a couple people thought I was excessively making parts, because looking through my masterlist, that just doesn't seem to be the case

Anyways

Each part and each character are like episodes of a telenovela in my head

That's why some people might think the conversations end suddenly and then people have to read back to understand the new part. I never thought that was a bad thing. In fact, it was actually quite intentional. These messages are dramatic like Vampire Diaries or Greys Anatomy and not realistic because realism is boring.

The children yearn for escapism!

Sometimes there's even minor time jumps between parts where reader has avoided the men for a couple days for example. Each character's plot plays out in my head like a show is the best explanation I can provide.

It's the same for the Modern au!smaus

Some people didn't get the Modern au!Nanami ones because they couldn't tell when a text is a pre-relationship text or when a text is during their relationship

First 3 texts are pre and the last half are established relationship texts Some texts are a continuation of a story, others are a snapshot of a moment in their lives

So it might not make sense immediately and that's because it's not supposed to be linear

It's like an episode!

Think of the Modern au!Nanami one titled 'Newton's first law'

First text is a snapshot of their first every conversation From reader's perspective, it's their first time meeting So in the beginning of an episode, it'd be like a flashback Then the episode picks up where we left off from the pre-relationship timeline, when Nanami got fed up because of the drunk party stunt reader pulled, and reader apologises and begs for another chance. The third pre-relationship pic is still following that event in the episode, but is a couple weeks into the future, where reader has kept her promise and been distant, which Nanami picks up on. THEN the three next pictures are in the present time, during their relationship, and we see they're having an issue, they even go on a break. But the episode ends with them reconciling and it all connects back to the first pic (the snapshot of their first conversation) with a reference to a text reader sent nanami

See my vision?

It might not be executed perfectly, but I hope you guys can at least see where I'm coming from.

If you've made it this far, you're a champ

Once I've reached the final character

Either Sukuna (or Shiu) in my 18+ works or Toge

I crop the pictures and I create a post on Tumblr using my laptop

I colour the title using a website

Paste it on the post

Get my template:

Smau: in which they/you..... Warnings: ..... Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna/ Yuji, Megumi, Inumaki

I copy and paste the tags from my notes app (I do not type them out one by one anymore it's tedious work) and just edit out the inappropriate tags like if it's not smut, I'll take out every 'jjk character smut' tag etc.

And then transfer the pictures from my phone to my laptop, and then place the pics into Tumblr

I do final checks

Sometimes I forget to crop a picture or I didn't screenshot a character's conversation (I have to take a lap when this happens because that means I have to change out the contact pic and name and scroll up and go through the process ugh)

But if all looks good on my front, then I don't hesitate to click post!

Thanks for reading and hope that was informative!!!

[days-until-burnout]

Haihai

ur fics r so awesome dude.

i was wondering if we could get a boat boys fic where etho is essentially just a human sized puppy following joel around lol, because that's pretty much their dynamic. like if joel tells etho to do something he'll probably shut up and do it y'know?

and joel's definitely cat vibes, begging for attention and then being all grumpy when he gets it.

i dunno where i'm going with this. uhh i hope it's vaguely reqlike? i just wanted to read more of ur boat boys and ur writing in general lol :)

that is a pretty good reqlike in my opinion 😌 you get a gold star in reqasking ⭐ also, lucky anon you are, im finally back to my clacky keyboard so comfy writing 🎉 _____

📧 Day 44 -

Characters - Etho/Joel Words - 984 Time - 30 mins Content - Modern AU | High School AU

In hindsight, Etho became attached by very little. But at the time, when they were younger and barely able to see over the table even on their tiptoes, what Joel did was life changing. A true feat.

He barely remembered what it had been about, but he remembered being on the floor, his vision blurry with tears in his eyes, hiccups on his throat, sniffs and snot on his nose. There was pain somewhere on his body, maybe his butt where he had fallen over, maybe his chest where he had been pushed from. He remembered trying to not cry, holding back the pained sounds, but his trembling lips betrayed him. 

His vision cleared a little with every blink, with every long sniff, then the world seemed to stop for a moment. The group of confused kids and Etho watched as the aggressor kid toppled over, breaking into sobs almost as soon as they hit the floor. And there was another boy behind, just lowering his arms, staring at the aggressor with an unreadable expression. Etho stared at the boy with brown hair and brown eyes, a red panda on his yellow shirt and lighting on his shoes. The boy stared then promptly turned around and walked away, almost bored yet confused about the situation. They boy had saved him like a knight or superhero beating the bad guy, then leaving. 

Etho decided then, that he owed his life to that boy. 

And now that he is older, he realized ‘owing’ his life was an exaggeration. 

But he had sat next to the boy the next day and let him borrow his favorite markers. He found out, written in big bold letters on a piece of paper and the table, that the boy’s name was Joel. And Joel liked to color and play, and Etho liked making Joel happy. 

It was easier back then, doing things for Joel. As they grew, Joel looked weirded out, always questioning his intentions. And really, Joel had all the reason to. He would randomly pop up beside him with a treat, or he would grab a too high book on the shelf for him, or Joel would find himself with Etho’s pen from all across the classroom. Maybe he was overdoing it, but just a little, because it was too easy to simply… do it. 

Again, Etho was attached by very little. 

Today, the morning had been fine and sunny, though it got chillier later in the day. It was a matter of hearing it once, even through the grapevine, that Joel was cold, and nearly a minute later of finding out, Joel would have his jacket around his shoulders. When they entered high school, it was much harder to keep track of him, because there were more people and they had different groups of friends, and life always seemed to get in the way. Etho would try, always, despite Joel scolding him to stop smothering him. 

He should, but Joel looked too cute in his oversized jacket that he might have forgotten to actually listen to what Joel said. 

Oh, well, there was always next time to hear. 

They did not talk often, Etho realized as he reached a red light, pressing the light’s button before stepping back, momentarily distracted in his mind. The rain continued to tap on his umbrella, incessantly. But few things could get him to stop thinking about Joel, and the one other thing that could make him stop thinking about Joel was Joel himself. 

It happened quickly, one second he was alone and the next someone had scooted over under his umbrella, pressed shoulder to shoulder. Etho turned to the side, catching a glimpse of green peeking over the hood, green in between browns, and he knew. 

“Joel!” he greeted, way too happily despite the horrible weather. It was almost unthinkable that the morning had been sunny and so hot, now cold and pouring. The light was still red, so Etho took the chance to switch the umbrella between him, almost leaning it more towards him to cover him better. Joel was soaked, and he did not want him to get sick if he could help it. 

“Shut up, Eefo, you’re annoying,” Joel grumbled back, not even looking up at him. And Etho should have felt sad or hurt, but he was almost used to the dismissiveness, and learnt rather early on that Joel would never push him away regardless of what he did. So he beamed under the mask, because he realized that maybe they could have a conversation. 

“I’m getting my driver license soon,” he said, then hummed, turning his head ahead to look at the light. “Might be a car alongside it. You won’t have to walk in the rain again.”

“And what if I like walking in the rain, huh?!”

“But you’ll get sick!”

The beeping signal interrupted them, forcing them to cross, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Joel tried to speed walk, probably deciding that this was not worth it, but Etho was good at keeping up. He was not half as sporty as Joel was, but he was good enough to keep up, and that was all he really needed. So he kept up, holding the umbrella above him, eventually slowly down after the sound of soles sliding. 

 It did not take long for Etho to guide the way. Though he knew the route to Joel’s place, Joel seemed unbothered or at least did not voice annoyance when he continued heading to his own house. He would drive him home later, or his parents would. It happened plenty times before. 

“Maybe I could drive you to school too. We can go together, and then I’ll drive you home after.”

Joel simply scoffed. Etho said nothing else as Joel linked a hand on his arm. Shoulder to shoulder, side by side, they walked under one umbrella.

_____

so. yeah. back to the grind now. i dont feel at all refreshed, but we ✨ cope ✨ ill probs be doing some requests. and maybe, maybe some inspired by art to get back in the groove >.> nudge nudge wink wink also, i guess this fic is a pre-relationship? or maybe relationship. who knows. it doesnt matter. this could be purely platonic or qpr for all i care. it's whatever my boys. that's all that matters

[cheerioo]

(in a hs/modern au) I am a firm believer in weird kid louis and weird kid clementine‼️‼️ And vi too!! Like first off Violet would def be emo in my book, Louis obviously a band/choir kid, and like.. clementine? Like she's always been a little weird, this girl licked a salt block in a barn once, and said some out of pocket things all around

I just don't see any of them being jocks/the athletic popular type in a lot of the aus ppl make 😭 no hate obvi, when writing a character it's more about making them do something and make it be believable than finding something they'd cannonly do, because a lot of the time it'd be boring to those who read the fics

But at the same time I NEED weird kid x weird kid ugh, I'm more clouis than valentine but like wlw ships are always gonna have a soft spot in my heart so I wouldn't even mind that 😞😞 I love them all sm I just love this game, this is lowkey a shitpost but idc

[siflshonen]

Hi, I love your analyses and your fics! 💕Especially that Eureka Seven AU man ngl it lives in my head and starts playing in my local theaters every other night at 2 AM, but *clears throat* I'm getting off topic lol :D do you have a bakudeku fic/authors rec list?

I'm honored you read the Eureka Seven one!

Good Bakudeku authors... the truth is, there are SO MANY. Just in general, and so many that are really, truly excellent. I have begun consuming more and more fic lately as I feel the itch of the subtext of what's happening in the manga rapidly becoming text and just plain consuming me, but many of the individual stories I've read can be GREAT as a story but perhaps not so great as a canon-faithful representation of Bakudeku - so I'm not entirely sure what kind of Bakudeku you're asking for ("fun and good story" versus "horny vignette" versus "that's totally Katsuki and Izuku.")

Also, like, for several of these authors, their Bakudeku portrayals evolved as the series progressed and we all learned more about these characters and the varnish of what BNHA pretends to be (superhero stock shonen!) peeled off to show what it actually is (The newest generation of something that should never have been domesticated now outgrowing the limits of the modern genre.) This is always good to keep in mind when looking at the dates of each work published.

Um, it's hard to pick just a few, and even harder when there's no specific direction about what TYPE. So here's a scattershot off the top of my head:

Me. My work. Read Mundane Crimes, Public Displays of Affection and I Want What I Don't Deserve. Those actually have some substance to them. The rest are kind of whatever, but you may still find them fun.

Kickass AUs and All-Rounders

chymerical is my favorite author on this list. They can do anything. I care about sports now because of chymerical. There's your fuckin' fadeaway.

young_crone - some are truly Bakudeku and some are just great stories that are using familiar names. Read all of 'em.

SmartiMart - Variant Edition is a sweeping epic and fascinating enough that the Bakudeku isn't actually its primary draw for me. Please also read Where in the World is Marigold? It's not Bakudeku, but I love it. SmartiMart is clever, inventive, and sometimes so much of a romantic that it makes me go, "woah, now! That's a bit much!" but in the best way.

iphido - this author has only one work for bakudeku, and it is worth it.

nicc - bite-sized sweet scenes, though many are very NSFW. Consistently excellent.

pikahlua - Dragonheart. this is your kick in the pants to finish those scenes, Pika.

Romantic Comedies

qodqodqod - Cringe comedy where love always, always, always prevails and bakudeku can't out-stupid their way out of it. Great job of not making the miscommunication, or lack of communication, a bore or overdone past what it needs to be.

heartsinhay - the cringe comedies are named that for a reason.

Darker Stuff

rironomind - apparently published something new earlier this year and I missed it??? DAMN! Existential, experimental, melancholic, high concept, fantastic. Rom's work is mostly in this category because it tends to throw curveballs at the reader. This is the category that just felt the most right by its vibes.

bkdkink - Lemonhead specifically.

Roadtripwithlucifer (read their new stuff too) - horny, but focused and full, full, full of ennui and anger and love and grief. It's the confidence of handling the last four that makes these works shine.

Surveycorpsjean - hit or miss for me personally, but always well done.

majjale - always great work; sometimes hit-or-miss for me personally on the bakudeku.

[rinthelonely]

Shade was driving on the quiet road, exhausted and frustrated. He had to overwork. Again. His work payed well but recently he has been thinking about finding a new job. No one seemed to do their share of the work so it all fell on Shade to do everything. He could only hope that Twilight is in bed and not waiting for him in the kitchen.

Shade finally parked his car in front of his house and noticed that there was one light on in the house. The kitchen light. 'Of course he's in the kitchen.' He has told Twilight that he doesn't need to wait for him on these days when he has extra work but, well, bad habits die hard.

Twilight was, in fact, in the kitchen sleeping on the table. Across from him was a plate with two appetising breads which were clearly for Shade. Shade couldn't help letting a fond smile creep up on his face. He always worried that Twilight would get tired of him working late almost everyday but every time when he came home Twilight always greeted him with a smile. He really needs to stop listening to what other people say. His coworkers always lamented how hard it is for a child to be alone for so long because his father doesn't have time for him. Even his younger brother, Time, often said that Shade is a terrible father to Twilight. Dark... well Shade doesn't know what Dark would say, he hasn't seen him in for years and would prefer to keep it that way.

After eating the breads, Shade picked Twilight up and carried him upstairs. They share the same bedroom which is very uncommon and unheard-of that a sixteen year old still sleeps in the same room as their parents. Well, parent. Shade had said that they can turn one of their rooms into Twilight's bedroom but he refused. Instead, they got another bed in their bedroom so that Twilight can have his own bed but still be with his father.

Just as Shade lowered Twilight on to his bed, the boy stirred a bit. "Mm... dad?" Shade hummed. "I'm here, little pup." Twilight rubbed his eyes a little before opening them. "How was work?" The father chuckled. "Same old, nothing interesting, only boring work." The son let out a tired laugh. "Have you considered getting a new job?" A playful scoff. "And have you considered fixing your sleep schedule before highschool?" A dramatic groan. "I don't wanna go to school." Shade shook his head fondly. "You don't have much of a choice, pup. Now, off to Dreamland with you." Just as he said those words, Twilight was out like a torch.

It was these tender moments that made Shade think that he is a lucky man to have a son like Twilight. He may not be a perfect father or a perfect role model, but he was good enough in Twilight's eyes. His job may be tiring and frustrating but coming home to see his son waiting for him always managed to make him feel warm inside. And with these warm thoughts, he got ready for bed.

----------------------------------------------

I tried my hand on a modern linked universe au. It's not good but it was pretty fun to write.

Little info on present and mentioned characters:

Shade: single father of Twilight, visits Rusl and Uli whenever possible, has a... complicated relationship with Time.

Twilight: only child of Shade, Time is his uncle and Wild is his biological cousin, honestly prefers to spend time with uncle Rusl than uncle Time.

Time: husband of Malon, biological father of Wild and has adopted other children (gee, I wonder who these other children are), the only reason why he contacted Shade again is because of Twilight.

Dark: Older twin brother of Time, could possibly be a wanted criminal, pretty much disappeared without a trace.

[frasier-crane-style]

What I hate about modern-day comic book writing is that it's so jokey. The Riddler can break out of Arkham, kill twelve people, and threaten to blow up a subway car, and everyone will act like they're just LARPing? There'll be random hook-ups and a bunch of pop culture references and the whole situation will be treated with these knowing kid gloves, like everyone involved is Ralph and Sam clocking into work.

And you can't even say that it's lighthearted irreverence or dark humor, because the moment one of the writer's pet causes come up, THEN everyone gets all serious and solemn. So you get these scenes where the characters are treating gentrification like it's the worst thing imaginable, then playing grabass with Mr. Serial Killer like he's just their wacky neighbor.

It completely takes me out of the story, because it's clear the writer is only going to invest actual pathos and engagement into this world when it can be spun to some social justice angle.

I mean, even the shipping... the shipping is arguably bad on its own, but the way straight couples are treated like a retarded soap opera, pairing up at random and then breaking up for no reason, while gay couples are always treated like the second coming of romance and they're forever endgame... how does anyone take this stuff seriously?

Why is marriage this terrible thing that ages the characters and makes them boring, unless it's a gay couple, in which case them getting married is some long overdue triumph over adversity and the best possible direction the story could take and you're just supposed to marinate in how much sex these two characters are having with each other. It's not even porn. I could respect porn. It has a purpose. This is just like... there is a literally published Harley Quinn high school AU comic.

And you know, I watch a Mission: Impossible movie, it has real stakes. Tom Cruise is going "we have to stop this guy before he sets off the nuke!" That's all I'm asking for. That they treat the situation like it's a real thing that's happening to them and not a game show they're on. But these are such shitty writers that they can't put themselves into the headspace of "how would I feel if this were happening to me?"

[radioactivedragonbones]

Back In The Ol' Days [2014] we had the punk/nerd AU... but I have my gripes with the PNAU; it feels outdated to me. In 2014 I ate that shit up, but it's 2024 and the rampant micro-trends have me re-thinkin modern Hijack portrayals...

So here I am to propose a new PNAU: Grunge X Emo.

Hiccup as a cozy grunge kind of guy- basically just classic comfy casual clothes but with earthy tones, ripped up jeans covered in motor oil stains, and loose flannel shirts over worn-out tees.

Jack as a casual emo kind of guy- Skinny jeans with rips (often on the end of the legs cause they annoy them when they're too long), tight band tees, and his classic hoodie he can disappear into the shadowy hood of to sulk.

Elaboration ⬇️

I think it could be fun to explore the way Hiccup has a ton of hand-me-downs and spends a lot of time patching up old clothes, or adding custom painted patches to his bags. Maybe he knows how to sew just from patching/mending. I like that in the movies we see him doing bith heavy work in the forge, and having gentle hands as an artist. I think he'd be good at a ton of different diy skills and put them to practical use with his wardrobe.

In canon, Hiccup does have a lot of leftist and punk ideology; The Edge is literally equal-ownership equal-imput everyone else just decides he runs the show. And he literally changes the dominant mindset of the society he lives in to better the life of both his people and the ones they've been at war with for decades. Hes pretty punk... but I don't see him going so far aesthetically as to be a full Spiky Punk TM. He's always on the move, working on something, or chilling outside with Toothless, so I think a more casual comfortable style suits him. Though I do think he would like jackets with extra straps and buckles on the pockets and stuff, and maybe a good belt bag + leatherman combo. Totally the type to always have a pocket knife. He'd paint himself patches and slap a few of em on his bags, coats, maybe over that burn hole in his jeans that's been annoying him. He'd favor practicality over aesthetic, but he still has a sense of style. As he gets older he probably leans into the edgier style, wearing more black and red combos, more strappy belts/coats/bags, and even gets a few tattoos. But I do see him as a grungey earthy engineering guy with comfy, often oversized silhouettes.

Jack I could see being super impulsive and latching onto pop culture; something emos were notorious for. I, personally, was clamoring for a branded tee shirt the moment I deemed a band good enough to youtube->mp3 to my ipod. I could see Jack doing that kind of thing, and latching onto this misunderstood invisible-yet-visibly-different identity. He probably favors dark blue, brown, and black. Deffinitely the type to get on the colored jeans trend when it hit. Maybe he even doodles little swirling patterns on his clothes when he's bored- an adhd habit I know all too well.

Without being, yanno, dead, Jack's Different Look would probably come just from him wanting to express himself. He feels isolated and finds it hard to make lasting friends because when people *do* notice him, they tend to see him more as a silly little jester than a person worth getting to know. He copes with humor and trying to get attention every now and again but ends up with a closer knit group of oddballs. He's good with kids, of course, and tends to take on a cool-big-brother to anyone in need of one. All of this playing into this casual and easy-going but edgy, kinda emo look. He probably listens to sad emo music while sitting on a roof, staring at the moon, contemplating his purpose in life. He pretty much does that in his movie so it isn't much of a stretch lol.

Anyways, feel free ro give your 2 cents and build onto or off of this as you please, I'm just brainstorming I guess. Thinkin aloud... visually. I tend to like psychoanalyzing characters and it's interesting to me to think of Hic & Jack's canon portrayals and what they would mean in a modern-human AU.

[ivorydice]

Hi, hello! 💜 Random ask, 'cause random asks are fun! 💜

What tropes do you like writing the most? What tropes do you always avoid in your stories? Do they differ from tropes you like or dislike reading?

Hiii!! 💜 Random asks are indeed fun!

Tropes I like writing the most are the angsty ones lol! A lot of whump, a lot of hurt/comfort, a lot of angst and drama. I enjoy my favourite characters Going Through Things, and then others acknowledging that they're going through things. Physical and/or emotional pain, trauma, I love to write it. Caretaker characters coming through with the first aid and comfort and hugs for my hurt blorbos, hell yeah.

I write a lot of gen fic, so I like exploring angsty tropes/themes with family and friendships too. I love family bonds, whether it's blood family or found family.

For the occasional ship idea/fic, I looove enemies to lovers lol!! Enemies to lovers, forbidden romances, secret relationships, mutual pining. Basically just more drama and/or angst but make in ship form lmao.

I generally don't write fluffy/really light hearted stuff. I do have a couple of fluff fics, but I usually avoid writing it simply because I'm not good at it lol, and I tend to get a little bored writing fics that are only fluff. And for my usual angsty stuff, I nearly always avoid writing character deaths.

As for reading, I feel like I'm open to reading pretty much anything as long as it involves my favourite characters/ships. I don't usually read coffee shop aus, college aus, or modern aus (for BBC Merlin), etc, but I have read a few that interested me, and I will again if I find more. I do love reading fluffy fics, even though I don't/can't write them. But I won't read character deaths of my favourite characters, unless it's temporary/a fix-it.

So I guess the only real difference is I won't write fluff, but I will read it lol. Thanks so much for the ask! 💜💜

[aakeysmash]

This message is about to be too long but. I'd love if you added Nanami bc I think you'd do such a good job characterizing him the same way you do Sukuna. Cause like Sukuna IS an asshole having a love interest at all is ooc and I love that you preserve that even with the modern AU bc like that's the best part of the character ???? That's why we like him ?? And I feel like people always make him some tough guy who flips and treats his love interest like a delicate little flower and like. That's so BORING 🗣️🗣️ bc UR SO RIGHT he would not be that nice and he would shove her so hard he left a bruise and then not actually apologize and he would be mean to her BC he likes her and YES it WOULD be a slow burn ‼️ and that's why I love ur college au so much

AND it comes back to Nanami because I feel like people make him this huge softie in fics which is also OOC cause yes he is very caring but also very cold and dry. Like yuji and him did not click like that. Like he has never laughed in canon. And I think if you added him as a big brother it could be sooo funny like reader is complaining about Sukuna and he's like "so report him to dorm management. Or find another living situation; you are an adult.." and I could even see Sukuna and he kind of ganging up like "well that does seem like something you would do. Now what" IDKK EEE I just love ur writing and I'm tripping out fantasizing hahahahaha

First of all just know I blushed at the compliments OKAY. Thank u for enjoying it so much let’s get married rn

FOR THE OTHER THINGS…… absolutely yes. I think nanami as a big brother would be SO GOOD, but i also thought about another character that i’m not gonna say that would fit the role pretty good 😋

[brw]

can you please elaborate on your hate of Peter Parker ?

Honestly it isn't anything particularly to do with Peter as a character. Clearly, a lot of people love him, and while I've never felt the same way or seen what they seen in him, it's usually whatever. I'm happy to let people do their own thing and to not bother with it, because it isn't for me. The problem then is because Spiderman is a massively important character, so even if I don't care and I want to avoid him, I'm always having to read him at some point. He shows up everywhere. He has 1000 different legacies that if he isn't showing up, one of them is. He is, in effect, the Marvel equivalent of Batman in terms of "This is a Wonder Man comic, why is Spider-Man here?" (that's issue 28 of the 90s ongoing), and I unfortunately am someone who doesn't really like it when I am forced to read a guy I don't really care about. Or, more accurately, I don't mind it sometimes, like if it's a one-off team-up with, making a random pairing here, Vision and Morbius, I'll be fine with that. But Peter shows up everywhere. It's impossible to read marvel comics for very long without him popping in at some point. And I know he's their biggest character, and I understand that he's always going to show up to sell more books, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

Other than that, he has one of the most annoying comic book fanbases out there, possibly even worse than the X-Men, because at least X-Men fans as a whole care or pretend to care about women. They'll talk about Jean or Ororo, and it's often annoying, but at least they care. I'm not going to sit here and say Zeb Wells' Amazing Spider-Man is by any means a masterpiece–but I genuinely believe that if Peter and MJ were dating in this book, everyone would be eating it up and calling it great. Because it is very clear Spider-Man fans don't really see MJ as her own character and don't want her to be with anyone but Peter, which is weird, especially considering how many love interests Peter is afforded but not MJ. I've seen people screenshot panels of just, like... Peter, Paul and MJ just hanging out and being friendly adults, and acting like it's the worst thing in the world, because I guess the idea of being a mature adult with your ex and her new boyfriend is unthinkable. And it stands out that Ultimate Spider-Man is as praised as it is, when like.... other than them telling you she's a marketing genius in that one issue, what does MJ in that universe do outside of being a wife and mother? Other than be supportive to a T? And this is expected, because Hickman can't write women, but it's so strange seeing this series be the crème de la crème of Spider-Man when MJ is so devoid of personality other than being playful and being a wife and mother.

A lot of Spider-Man fans also have this weird persecution complex, which is really weird when a character is as heavily promoted and marketed and has as many series as Peter does. Like, I've seen a lot of people post panels of Ultimate Spider-Man with Peter and MJ and the kids with the caption "THIS is what Zeb/the current Spider-Man office is too SCARED to let happen" and it's like, no actually, the conspiracy that Big Marvel is too scared to let a white man and a white woman have their white ginger kids together is just bizarre. At most, they just think that the relationship in 616 is boring and has run it's course, and you can disagree with that but that's just the reality of comics sometimes. I'm not going to say that there was not editorial influence and a desire to have Peter be young... but that retcon is 17 years old. They are not undoing it! Why do you want 17 years of comics undone just because Peter and MJ aren't fucking? Write some fanfiction if it bothers you that much!!! And that retcon, 17 years ago, would not stop a modern writer from making moves for Peter and MJ to get back together (and they are together in various AU comics over the years)... but clearly at the moment people don't want that, and you have to make peace with that, and you have to make peace that maybe that fictional woman will date someone who isn't Peter for a bit. Sorry he doesn't own her, I guess.

Anyway TLDR Peter Parker is probably a perfectly fine character and I respect all my mutuals and followers who are Normal about him, I just cannot stand the larger comic fandom and I also resent how impossible he is to avoid in comic books.

[littlelasagne]

Just a random thought. As we can see Hange is a very confident person. Isayama portrayed her as a vocal person and not afraid of challenges. Always eager to find something new. So imo Hange wouldn't be ashamed(?) of her gender. What I mean is, if she's a girl, she would be very proud of her gender/sexuality. She would be very vocal about the need of a female, about the female body and the women's right. She wouldn't hide anything that defines her as a female. And vice versa if she's a man. I don't think she would be a person who is confused(?) about her gender/sexuality/identity. Apart from that, she also would be someone who is very vocal about females while also respecting and not hating on male. We can see some feminist movement nowadays kind of ran away from the original objectives of feminist. But I'm sure Hange is not that kind of person. To me she would be like Emma Watson irl. What do you think? It's okay if you don't answer it. Just a random thought hahah

I love Hange for being a layered multi-faceted character. Whenever I write Hange, I remember that this exuberant, passionate, Hange

exists at the same time as this conflicted, potentially insecure Hange

and that dictates a lot for me. When we think of Hange, we think of the top picture, but actually the Hange who asks 'why did you make me commander' can't be forgotten and is vital to understanding Hange's character. The public appearance versus private. Inner monologue versus spoken thoughts. So that's where I take my interpretation for Hange in my fics.

I'm not sure if your ask relates to my fanfic depictions of Hange or not, but I love trying to capture the process of Hange coming to terms with her inner self (whether that's gender identity, insecurities, appearance - whatever I decide is the focus of the story). Of Hange being exuberant in public but under turmoil on the inside... and Levi being the one who truly sees it. I love writing Hange as being confident and outgoing but under the surface, it's not that simple. All characters need some inner conflict to develop over a story, otherwise it's boring.

As for feminism waves, I definitely imagine a modern AU Hange as fourth wave - I don't think first wave or 'original' feminism would serve Hange or fit her character values! Or maybe I'm projecting, as it doesn't serve me either. Maybe someone needs to do a proper deep dive on it. 🤔

Thanks for the intriguing ask!