#maybe twd au? havent decided yet

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Sorry for no story today- have these WIPs I will probably never finish instead

Kitty get punched

“Where is Joan?” A crew member hissed, looking frantically around the stage and wings. “She should be here by now! The show starts in five minutes!”

“I saw her earlier,” Maggie said. “So she’s here, at least.”

“But WHERE?” The crew member said, exasperated. Maggie shrugged helplessly.

“Maybe she’s getting changed?” Parr offered.

“She should have done that a long time ago,” Aragon reprimanded.

“And when does Joan ever get ready late?” Anne added, tittering slightly.

“I’ll go find her!” Katherine piped up, “Don’t worry!”

With that, she bounds off to find the music director.

—

Joan was paler than the moon, a somewhat sickly color painting her skin. Her checks were kissed with a slightly pink flush, spreading to her forehead as well. Underneath her eyes and against her pale skin, were dark rings. They hung under her eyes like curtains, pulling her eyelids so they could close. The color contrasted with her skin, making it more vibrant and more noticeable. Anyone could have guessed it; Joan Meutas did not sleep well last night. Now that, was an understatement.

Joan had not slept well in the past week. She was constantly up late at night working on this damned show that was wringing her dry. She was completely exhausted. She felt like a dead fish. Her entire body ached from her head to her toes. The only thing that seemed to keep her going was coffee, and it’s now come to the point that she’ll feel sick if she doesn’t drink any.

The show only increased Joan’s stress level. Everyone always seemed to need her; the queens, the techies, the costume crew, the managers- the demands for her aid or work was never ending. By the time she finished whatever was asked of her, it was time to perform, meaning she had to do her own music director work later in the evening, usually well into the night.

It was just hell. Literal hell.

At that moment, she could feel a headache starting to become apparent. It burned her vision, floating around and flashing like a neon light, tormenting Joan. It only grew worse at the loud clamor of the crew getting ready. And through the blurred and temporary blinding aura, she saw her coffee. It looked revolting to her.

Just the sight churned Joan’s stomach. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. She was so tired, and her headache was so bad. The chance of getting a sensory overload became more and more likely, which wouldn't be completely crazy, especially since she was so tired she could hardly think practically.

Approaching footsteps sounded like drumbeats pounding in Joan’s ears and the creak of the door nearly imploded her eardrums.

“Joan?”

Great. It was Katherine Howard.

Joan, too tired to reply, huffed in annoyance and buried her face further into her arms. She’s hunched over the desk in her dressing room with only half of her costume on, since she had given up trying to put it on. As Katherine stepped into the room and approached, she tried to ignore the throbbing in her head head, and the dizziness and nausea settling in, as well as the queen.

“Joan,” Katherine nudged Joan’s shoulder, earning a low hiss of warning. “What are you doing? We got a show.”

“I’m not going out today.” Joan grumbled, not lifting her head.

“You have to,” Katherine continued.

“Oh, but that one time you had a panic attack and didn’t go on was fine?” Joan snapped, getting angry. She lifted her head and glared at the young queen.

“There was an alt here,” Katherine defended herself, “Plus, a panic attack is different than...whatever is making you refuse to go on.”

Joan is grinding her teeth, now. Katherine is either too stupid to notice or ignores the warning sign and continues on anyway.

“I’m not going on.” Joan said again.

“Your dep isn’t here.” Katherine reprimanded.

“I’m not going on, Katherine!” Joan yelled, finally rearing up with a slam of her hands against the desk. The way Katherine flinches back a little is satisfying. “Get out.”

“Joan-“

“I said get out!”

A horrible crunch filled the room, followed by a sharp yelp. Katherine’s hands fly up to her face, while Joan’s fist returns to her side. Blood is pouring out in between the queen’s fingers.

“Leave me alone.” Joan whispered, taking deep breaths to quell her anger.

Katherine doesn’t budge, too shocked to move.

That only fuels Joan’s rage, which she gives up on taming.

“Leave me alone, you bitch!” Joan yelled, shoving the queen. Blood drops splatter to the ground, but she could care less. She just keeps pushing and kicking until Katherine stumbles out the door, to which she promptly slams shut. She can head soft crying coming from the hallway, but she just rolls her eyes and slumped back at her desk.

———

Tour!Howard is Tour!Bessie’s biological mom AU

The day started out perfect- Silver rays of morning sun were slipping through soft pink curtains, bathing the bedroom with warm beams. They hit Howard’s face, which has a smile painted on it, even in her rest. The grin only grows once she woke up- she was beaming. And for good reason, too.

She leapt out of bed, but quickly quieted her steps so she wouldn’t make too much noise. She greets the two cats in her room- Sombra and Hermès. She had a hunch where the third feline, Turtle, was.

On sock-padded feet, Howard made her way across the flat and to the second bedroom. She peeked inside and smiled brightly.

There, laying in the bed, was a young girl, barely thirteen, with bleached white hair.

It had been Howard’s idea to do DNA testing. Bessie agreed. Howard had been sipping her coffee, checking through her mail, when she found the document that stated the results came back positive. Tears dripped down onto the paper. Her mug shatters against the floor.

She found her daughter.

Bessie was equally shocked when the news was given to her. She had went very still, eyes bulging, mouth slightly ajar. Just as Howard started to worry that she was repulsed by the turnabout, she leapt right into the woman’s arms, sobbing in bliss.

———

i don’t even know, something with Joan being jealous

February was Kitty’s month. Like how (whenever she died) was Aragon’s month and (whenever she died) was Jane’s month. Whatever month a queen died in was their month, apparently. That unspoken rule didn’t go to the ladies in waiting, even if they could remember the exact month they died in. They weren’t deemed as “important” as the queens to get such a thing. Maybe they could get a week, or a week at the very least, but nothing more.

So, yes, February was Kitty’s month. The different thing about her month than the others was that EVERYONE doted on her. She got tons of gifts, tons of sweet words, tons of hugs and affection and attention. Tons of attention from Jane.

Before you start griping, yes, Joan knew why it was this way. Henry made a law just to chop her head off- yes she KNOWS, she hears about it almost every day, she KNOW SHE KNOWS. You don’t have to bring it up because she’s well aware. Everyone knows about poor, poor Kitty and her horrible life.

And, yes, it was horrible. Joan knows that she will never be able to relate her pain to Kitty’s pain, but, damnit all, is it so bad to want a fraction of what she gets from it?

Kitty got everything. Every-fucking-thing. And whatever may be left were mere scraps upon the ground, fragments of what Joan used to have.

———

Courtney!Anne comforts Joan

Stagedoor was an unpredictable thing. It wasn’t all hugs and compliments and pictures- sometimes there’s a fickle critic or an angry historian that’s mad about the portrayal in the show. Other times there’s the slightly weird, but charming fans who recite facts about the queens, hoping to impress them. But a slushy being thrown into someone’s face? That was new.

Anne only caught a glimpse of it- one moment all was normal; she had just finished taking a picture with a beaming young fan, and then there was an uproar of mocking laughter and several gasps, accompanied by loud splattering sounds. Anne looked to the side and was shocked to see SIX’s music director soaked in a coating of red, blue, and purple slush.

Joan was stiff and still, as if the cold beverage had frozen her. The colorful residue slides into the creases of her horrified expression, which slowly become more and more humiliated as seconds ticked by. Then, her wide eyes glance around wildly for a moment and she sprints back into the theater.

———

Wings of Fire AU

The worst part of Parr’s day was approaching- closing the library. She always hated leaving the peaceful, serene cavern at the end of each evening, but Aragon insisted she slept in an actual cave. Arguing against this proved to be fruitless- the queen just had an aura to her that was impossible to beat in a bickering match, so she retired to her room each night.

Sighing, Parr rolled up the current scroll she was working on, cleaned the ink from her talons, and swooped down from her writing ledge. She walked down the aisle of polished mahogany shelves, observing each one to make sure everything was in place and not burnt (there were some younger dragonets weaving in and out earlier that day- she never trusted them with the scrolls).

———

Zombie Apocalypse AU

You get used to the smell. Rot, decay, organs, blood, death- you get used to the scent of the end of the world real fast. If you don’t, it may just drive you insane. More insane than seeing the actual cause of the odor, maybe. Some people react to things differently. But one thing everybody has in common is that nobody gets used to killing. Nobody gets used to sacrificing others, nobody gets used to putting their loved ones or even strangers down.

Nobody gets used to the damn Walkers.

But it’s the way it is. The apocalypse doesn’t seem like it’ll be having curtain call anytime soon, so you have to make do. Learn how to shoot, find a group, get shelter, don’t go hungry- those are the basics. Or just put a bullet in your brain and don’t even bother with survival. In the end, it’s your choice.

Sometimes Joan considers shooting herself in the head. The will to live is still kicking within her, but it gets hard. Being alone doesn’t help, either.

Well-

Scratch that. She wasn’t alone. She had some company.

“Hey, will you cool it?” Joan snapped, tugging on the rope that was around her newest Walker’s neck. She found this one wandering on its own in the woods and decided it would have to do- one quick slash of her knife removed the rotting bottom jaw and rendered the thing useless. At least when it came to infecting others. Its scent will keep away lurkers. Hopefully.