#modern rewrite

[canary0]

May 3, Bistrita - Dracula 2023

The train left Munich at 8:35 pm on May 1st, arriving in Vienna early the next morning.

We would have been there sooner, but the train was an hour late. Really unfortunate, because once I arrived from Vienna to Budapest, the place is beautiful. The fact that the railways wanted to get back on schedule meant that didn’t get much of a chance to explore, but I managed to get a few pictures.

Train station interior: Photo by Thomas Choi on Unsplash (https://unsplash.com/photos/DdBEYd4hZ5k)

Train station exterior: Photo by Gabriel Miklós on Unsplash (https://unsplash.com/photos/asIEq0NrNNE)

Budapest: Photo by Klaudia Olejnik from Pixabay (https://pixabay.com/photos/budapest-hungary-river-city-bridge-7810815/)

You can feel the history, moving into the area that the Ottoman Empire once ruled. The influences are so different, between the oldest architecture in England and here. Like a gateway into Eastern Europe, something like that. I would love too travel here some time when I��m not on business with Mina. She could probably tell me the history of half the buildings here.

Sadly, I left shortly after I took the picture of the bridge. I almost ran late for the train taking off again! I can’t complain, though, as we left in good time and weren’t too late getting into Cluj-Napoca. Even the rail station was lovely.

Train station: Public Domain image at Wikipedia.com (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cluj-Napoca_railway_station)

I stayed for the night at a small hotel about ten minutes walk from the station, Villa Escala. I always thought that if you’re going to travel, you should go places where you can absorb the atmosphere more, and this place was lovely in that regard. The atmosphere warmed the soul, and the furniture wore its history on its sleeve without looking worn out.

Hotel (Villa Escala): Photo at Booking.com (https://www.booking.com/hotel/ro/villa-escala.html)

Once I checked in, I inquired after the staff where I might find some local fare, and they directed me to a nearby restaurant where I had a lovely dish they called “ paprikás csirke”, chicken paprikash. While apparently not commonly made this way these days, this particular place used an old recipe that included hot paprika, and it was quite a thirsty dish. I finished my carafe and water and needed more. It was interesting in how the burn was more at the back of the mouth and going down than at the front.

Mina: I think you would love this dish. Creamy, spicy, a little tart from the sour cream, and a subtle sweetness. I found a recipe for it you might want to try. (link)

Chicken Paprikash (paprikás csirke): Photo by Istvan Szabo at Pexels (https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-close-up-shot-of-a-chicken-paprikash-dish-10338434/)

While the cell reception has grown increasingly spotty during my trip, I’ve done some research on the area as I went. The place I’m going is right on the border of Transilvania, Bucovina, and Moldova (that’s the Romanian state, not the country – that’s farther east yet), in the eastern half of the country, tucked up in the Carpathian Mountains. I won’t be quite heading into the latter two states, I gather. I think the castle must not be on any official roads, because I couldn’t find where it’s supposed to be on any roads. I think I can see an impression on Google Earth, but it’s surprisingly blurry. I can’t tell if what I’m seeing is a castle or a strange craggy outcropping. I suppose I’ll see.

Anyway, there are a few different ethnic groups in the area: Saxons (yes, the same ones King Arthur was supposed to have fought – they occupied a really wide swath of Europe), Vlachs (speakers of Eastern Romance languages, possibly descended from the Romans who once occupied the region; indeed, they simply called themselves Romans), Magyars (Hungarians), and Szekelys (who regard themselves as descendants of Huns, and served as the vanguard of Romanian armies in the past). Supposedly, when the Magyas conquered the Carpathian Basin, they found the Huns already there, so it’s possible.

Supposedly the Carpathian Mountains are rich in folklore and stories of all sorts of strange beings out there in the night. I think I must have been thinking about it that night, because my sleep was interrupted by odd dreams. It likely wasn’t helped by a dog howling beneath my window, the paprika, or the picturesque, if rather spooky, graveyard I had to pass between the hotel, train station, and restaurant. Despite that, I must have been sleeping very deeply by morning – it took a couple of wake up calls for me to actually get up.

I had a breakfast of more paprika, a polenta-ish cornmeal porridge called “mămăligă”, and a stuffed eggplant dish they called “impletata”… but since that word just means “stuffed” according the the online translator that has been a lifeline this leg of the trip, I think they might have been having me on a little. Very tasty, though, so I can’t complain too much.

I hurried through the food to get to the train on time, since it was supposed to leave before late, but… Well, the phrase “hurry up and wait” comes to mind. We didn’t get started until at least 8:30. Such is life.

The train took a moderate pace through the countryside, which suited me just fine. I mentioned that Budapest was beautiful, but the countryside of Transilvania has a completely different sort of beauty. Little picturesque towns in the midst of rolling fields and little rivers in the distance, castles settled atop steep hills, watching over the surrounding area like lone sentinels. The streams and rivers had wide, stony margins that made me wonder if they were prone to sudden floods. Every once in a while, we would pass a small village and town close and see people going about their daily lives that made me think of some of those cottage/back to nature sort of aesthetics you see online. It reminds me of a cottagecore mood board Lucy once showed me when we visited, and traveling through this region, I can feel the appeal.

Romanian Countryside: Photo by Fotografu on Unsplash (https://unsplash.com/photos/8h-yUi_l2Jw)

I arrived in Bistrita iwhile it was still somewhat bright, sadly too late to do much in the way of sightseeing, though a little bit of hurry let me take a photo of the church that dominates the central square of the town.

Bistrița Evangelical Church: Photo by Mian Bulacu (https://backpackglobetrotter.com/2018/09/17/postcards-romania/)

The Count directly me to The Coronana de Aur hotel. It’s a modern business hotel like many others, but it’s hard to find a hotel that’s historic these days. While it’s a little disappointing, as I was hoping to take in a little more of the local feel, it was nice to have a comfortable place to stay before I head off to the Tihuta Pass tomorrow. Having good reception to call Mina before I go is a comfort, too.

When I arrived, the front desk staff passed me a letter from the Count: “My Friend.--Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well to-night. At three tomorrow a bus will start for Bucovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Tihuta Pass my carriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land.

Your friend,

DRACULA.”

(A/N: Hopefully you enjoyed the first foray into this silly endeavor to rewrite the book as if it was happening as of May 3, 2023. This is absolutely not meant to be serious.

I am trying to make it a little more accurate to real world Romania as much as I can (and as much as can be reasonable from an Englishman's perspective). We're part of a connected, small world these days. I think that's going to make the horror of the isolation even stronger.

Anyway. Have fun with the dumb, silly thing I'm making at DD goes. If it's not your cup of tea, you are welcome to move on.

Obviously, this is not mine, Dracula being public domain in the US aside. It's basically fanfic. Some of it will be direct quotes. Probably not much, as having characters in a modern context will change them, and that'll be filtered through my own lens of how I perceive them as well.

Enough excuses, I suppose. It'll be what it'll be.)

[canary0]

I would never do this and ruin the horror, but it's so amusing to me how it would fit what I'm writing if I felt like being goofy.

anglophile dracula

[audisive]

♪ WEST COAST. (💌) – next part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: soap accidentally finds out about simon's girl.

tags: fluff, romance, simon is a big baby !! let us all accept this fact, soap and his assumptions, uh bad jokes, very rushed fic, crack ?, reader can indeed fix simon

Soap isn't sure when his assumptions started, nor is he sure how it got to Gaz and Price himself. 

Maybe it was when he started to notice that Ghost left base whenever he could. (How come ye never leave base? It's a hassle havin' to go back and forth for nothin', Johnny.) Maybe it was the smudged color of red and pink on his balaclava, the lingering perfume on his hoodie, or his new wallet taking the place of one that was once worn out.

"Wha's yer favorite perfume, LT?" "My enemies' sweat and tears."

(It's well-known that despite the fact that Ghost does consider the 141 to be his family, he keeps his personal life very private and away from them. They respect that, in turn, but let's face it, Soap is nosy.)

Really, it was an accident. Soap swears it was!

He just happened to be passing by his lieutenant in the bar where the team had all gone to celebrate a wreck of a mission that they've managed to successfully finish. Truly, it was an accident when his eyes caught a glimpse of Ghost's new wallet, and he really, very much so did not mean to watch a little too long – long enough for it to open and reveal a hefty amount of cash and a small square of colors, barely noticeable. 

Soap's feet move before he could quietly search for more.

"Got a new wallet, aye?" He slides beside the taller man smoothly, just as the Brit had grunted out another order of Bourbon. Ghost hums in acknowledgement.

"Y'got a crush on me or somethin', Johnny?"

Soap chuckles even if the other does not. "A just happened tae see it. Fancy little thing."

It doesn't take long before Ghost disappears into the night, but the Scot swears his pace was a bit faster than usual when he left the awfully-smelling bar, and Gaz would be lying if he said he didn't see the little picture of a pretty bird tucked away in his scarily huge lieutenant's wallet.

It's not that Soap often makes bold assumptions about people and their personal lives, not when they're out of reach from him, but can you really blame him for thinking that the words 'Ghost' and 'girlfriend' do not sound right in the same sentence? Would it be considered an assumption this time if he'd seen the photo himself? Surely, his superior isn't some perverted freak who keeps an image of a breathtaking woman he randomly found in his private items. Uh, he hopes not, at least.

"Bullshit!" is what a drunken Soap yells when the Brit nonchalantly discloses to the team, without hesitation, that he is simply not interested in dating. He spills everything he's gathered in the past few months, from the smallest hints to the biggest; the unfamiliar strand of hair on Ghost's hoodie to the wallet from months ago.

"A'm no crazy!" Soap convinces no one as he's ushered back to the barracks for making such an insane assumption about the lieutenant in his unreliable state. Ghost's lips curl up into a smirk against the cold glass of Bourbon in his hand, sat back and relaxed with his legs spread wide.

Call him a big baby (he is) for making a fool out of his sergeant instead of just telling the truth and bragging about his angel to the others, but can you blame him? He just wants to keep you tucked away in his pocket, away from everyone else. What are you talking about, lovie? 'Course 'm not ashamed of you. You're just too pretty for them, is all. Gotta keep m' girl safe, yeah?

Besides, they don't have to know the way Simon melts into the nook of your neck when he gets home from deployment or know that he uses your lavender-scented shampoo. And no, it doesn't matter that Johnny knows. It's his word against the lieutenant's. He spares his LT and turns a blind eye this once.

When the time is right, Simon is sure to properly introduce his heart to his unspoken family. For the time being, he just wants to keep you his pretty little secret.

    divider by @cafekitsune !

[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. 

[bloodyknucklesforme]

No name (taking suggestions) for this yet but yeah @syoddeye got me into Nikolai so... here's this. It's way longer than I originally planned but here we are. There will be more at some point but my fingers were just itching to write this out rn so unedited as well...

cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, cockwarming, body inspection, piv, Nikolai is evil but also kind i guess,

"Clothes off... all of them," A thick Russian accent said from the intercom. You looked up at the camera in the corner. He must of seen you hesitate, "I already paid. Don't waste my money."

It never got easier. It'd been almost a year now. As you dropped your coat to the floor your anger and shame hit the ceiling. You'd trusted your ex, he promised to help you when you lost your job, when you couldn't pay rent, when you needed to borrow money. You moved to London for better opportunities now you were in some stranger's house waiting to be used. You'd lost track of how deep in debt you were to him and his 'friends'. 10k? 20k? It made your stomach clench.

"Don't cry. You'll fuck up your makeup." is what those cunts back at the club would always say before you got in a car to a client's.

Marcus hammered it in that this was a very important client. Probably another criminal. A rich one at that. His house was more of a warehouse with an automatic front door.

"Turn around," he ordered when the last of your clothes hit the floor. Checking for a wire or weapons you guessed. Knowing you were being watched like this made your skin crawl but it was better than being groped immediately on entry.

The front room was more of a safe room with steel walls and thick doors. No windows, just the camera, an intercom panel and a white gift box.

"New clothes in the box. Put them on."

It was a too small lacy bra and matching too small panties. A washed baby blue, all mesh so you were fully exposed. The door inside clicked. You went inside.

It was nice. Expensive but not tacky like other homes you've been too. The kind of furniture you'd seen in interior design magazines and auctions, solid wood things made by designers with names you could never properly pronounce. There were soviet era antiques scattered about as decor. The first floor was open with a kitchen and dining area to the side and the rest of the room being a living area. There were stairs to the side leading up to where you guessed was the bedroom.

"You're prettier than the photo." You jumped at the voice. He was so quiet you didn't notice him on the couch. He was big, obviously tall but muscular with wide shoulders. Dark hair slicked back with a widow's peak. Stubble covered the bottom part of an aged face. He wasn't old, older yes but whatever business he was in had aged him around the eyes.

He snapped his fingers and motioned for you to walk over. He had a cigar in the other hand.

"Good. You follow instructions. More than I can say for the last one Arno sent me." He motioned for you to spin around again, giving your ass a light spank and laughing when you yelped. "You fuck anyone else today?"

"No," you shook your head. He blew cigar smoke at you, watching the silver bisect around your middle.

"Good. I'd hate to waste more time cleaning you out. They never do a good job at that." He put his cigar in the ash tray beside him. "On your knees."

"What's your name?" He asked, making space between his legs for you. You answered softly, a lie. Never give them anything was what another girl told you. He held your chin between two fingers, moving your head around like a doll. "Open your mouth."

He leaned forward, looking inside you. A thumb hooked over your bottom row of teeth. It tasted like tobacco and sweat. You'd learned to hold back gags long ago.

"I don't like girls with rotten teeth." He ran a finger over your teeth, top and bottom, occasionally pressing on one. He frowned, "Stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you."

A lie, most likely. Men always said that before fucking you, like they could believe you were there willingly, like they didn't pick you out of a catalogue of girls. You clenched your fists in your lap and willed the fear out of your bones.

"I like girls who like you." He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your jaw shut. "I paid to have you all night. Make it worth it."

He leaned back, grabbing a remote and turning on the tv. A hockey game roared on the tv.

"Is there...uh...anything you want me to call you?"

He looked down at you, like he already forgot you were there.

"Sir, when you answer my questions. Kolya, when I fuck you." He undid his belt and spread his legs wider. You knew your job. He picked up his cigar again as you undid the zipper on his pants.

He laid a hand on the back of your head, pressing down your hair.

"Just keep me warm for now. Don't want to miss anything."

You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. He was thick and uncut. Intimidating even half hard. He didn't push as you worked your throat open, slowly bobbing your head. Sometimes men would ply you with liquor, help you to relax a bit more. You wish he had. The mix of salts from precum and skin filled your senses. A hesitant hand moved to rest on his thigh for leverage. He didn't shake you off.

"Good job, Kotenok." He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek. He let you rest against his thigh, nose tickled by his dark pubes. Cigar smoke, the drone of the tv and the blood rushing around your head started to calm your nerves. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

He thrusted lazily during every commercial break. Everything was in Russian so you couldn't follow the game beyond his angry or excited, more so angry, ad libs.

He finally sighed and turned off the tv. He tapped your cheek softly.

"Kotenok, I need you to make me feel better about my team losing."

He made you walk ahead of him, directing you towards his bedroom. His dark eyes dug into your spine.

His bedroom was dark. Wine colored walls with thick, velvet blackout curtains covering the windows. The bed was large with silk sheets and a down comforter.

You crawled onto the bed, swaying your hips as enticingly as you could manage. A hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you to the edge of the bed. You yelped as his hips hit your ass, cock bouncing against your cheeks.

"Remember what I told you, Kotenok?" He pulled your panties down, calloused hands scrapping against your thighs. "What to call me?"

"Kolya."

"Good girl." Two fingers felt around your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine. You weren't wet enough, you knew that. You clung to the comforter, waiting for pain.

"I told you to stop shaking. I said I wouldn't hurt you." He rubbed a hand across your ass. He sounded annoyed. You closed your eyes and pressed your face against the silk. It smelled clean and floral.

The snap of plastic and cold fingers prodding at your cunt.

"Shhh...I don't break the things I buy." He didn't admonish you for hiding your face as he scissored you open. "There we go, Kotenok."

He pushed in slowly, groaning loudly as you whimpered and fidgeted. Despite the preparation it was a stretch and burn. He held you down by your hips.

"Good girl," he purred with one last push. The head of his cock bumped against your crevix , causing you to clench in pain. It only spurred him to start thrusting roughly. Your face dragged against the sheets.

"Close your eyes and let it happen. Most of them don't last long anyways," a girl said to you early on. You didn't remember her name.

You forced out moans every time his hips smacked against your ass. Arching your back so he could think he was pleasuring you. There was a modicum of pleasure, chasing it was too much effort, especially with unreceptive partners.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand dipping between your thighs. He pinched your clit till you cried out.

"I don't like liars, Kotenok." He rubbed harsh circles till you moaned, shuddering hard. "Cum on my cock or shut up."

His other hand grabbed your shoulder and pulled you up. Your back rested against his chest. Still rubbing your clit, he hooked an arm under yours and rested it between your breasts while holding your chin and forcing you to look upwards. There was a mirror on the ceiling.

"Say my name," He barked.

"Kolya...please...Kolya. I..."

"Want to come on my cock? Beg me for it."

"Kolya please...please Kolya. I want to come. Please. Kolyaaaaa!"

You watched yourself as he forced you up to your peak, clenching around his cock. He laughed harshly and smacked your pussy. He held you up as your legs failed to hold you up any longer. You came hard, grabbing at his arms, manicured nails digging into his muscles.

He growled something in Russian before biting down on your shoulder. He filled you to the hilt, his cock twitching inside your still clenching pussy. His cum was a familiar warm. He let go and you fell face forward against the bed.

"Catch your breath. I still want my money's worth."

You lost count of how many times he fucked you. You were pliant and submissive, following his lead as he bent you into whatever position he wanted. He was more virile than you expected.

You woke up sore, dried cum and bite marks covering your body.

"You shower before you leave. Scrub well." He slapped your ass before shutting the door and locking it from the outside.

It was a large shower but more importantly the water was hot. Not warm but hot. You could have cum just from feeling the jets against your skin. The body wash was luxurious - sweet and woody. You scrubbed well. These kind of men didn't want their DNA wandering all over the place.

There was towel left for you but no clothes and your lingerie from last night was missing as well. He did leave a cup of tea for you on the bedside table.

You kept the towel wrapped around yourself as you walked back downstairs. He was sitting at the dining table, typing on a laptop, cup of tea still steaming and full.

"Come here, Kotenok." He tugged your towel till it fell to the floor. He tapped the inside of your thigh till you spread them. "Don't start shaking again."

You bit your lip. He spread you open with two fingers, tilting his head as he inspected you. You yelped when he forced a dry finger inside you, moving it around and dragging it against your walls.

"Good girl." He pulled his hand and away and got a money clip from his pocket. "I like you. I'll ask for you again."

He handed you five hundred pounds. You stared at Charles in disbelief. You'd been tipped before but never this much.

"Thank you, sir."

"Did I ask you a question?" He didn't look away from his computer.

"No...umm...Thank you, Kolya."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

"If Arno takes that from you, tell me. That's your money. I paid him enough as is. Now go get dressed. Your car is here." He pointed back towards the front door.

You hurried off. For the first time more scared to leave than to stay.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

kurunthokai, 168 — “what the hero said to his heart”

[theetherealbloom]

UNEVEN ODDS — CH. 1

Chapter One: These Questions Take Shape

Summary: The Reader is dragged into the Last of Us universe and has no choice but to watch the events unfold live in front of her or will she be able to change what was already written?

Paring: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Age-gap Romance, Violence, PTSD, Depression, Zombies, character death, swearing, angst, fluff, eventual SMUT, MY SCIENCE MIGHT BE WRONG, plot holes, rusty writing, alternate universe

A/N: I write?? Kind of?? Tbh, this self-indulgent for sure! We love maladaptive daydreaming :) Anyways, English isn’t my first language so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes! Tbh I was just gonna write one chapter per episode but I got too excited :p 

Song: doomsday by Lizzy McAlpine

-> Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

YOUR OBSERVABLE UNIVERSE – 2023

It’s been three years since the pandemic, COVID-19 has taken a toll on many people. Millions have died over the past few years and you were one of the lucky ones who got by, survived, and received the vaccine as soon it was available. The world slowly begins to open up and awake from its slumber during those years of uncertainty.

So what do you do now?

You work, continue with your quantum physics research and try and make sense of your life. Someday you’ll be able to be under the mercy of light to choose your fate and your need to find certainties and concrete science. For now, you enjoy the comforting sounds of characters conversing with each other.

Immediately as the show credits show, you fold your laptop close and prepare for bed. Episode 3 of the Last of Us was the most emotional so far, Bill and Frank’s story reminds you that love will transverse in every universe. With these tired eyes, you’ve seen enough for tonight. Your eyes slowly droop down and close, luring you into a deep sleep in a state of wishful thinking, hoping that you would have that kind of love in your life. But for now, the watercolor vivid dreams will suffice.

TLOU WORLD – 2023

You groggily wake up and find yourself on the floor. Slowly as you sit up, you use one of your hands to rub away the sleep, “What the hell,” you mumble. The anxiety begins to creep in, you recognize the coloring of the walls and the type of flooring used.

You look down at yourself to check what you’re wearing, no longer in your sleep clothes but traded away for cargo pants, a shirt, socks, and black boots. What’s more concerning was the familiar voices just outside the tattered room you were in.

“There’s not gonna be anything bad in here?”

A gruff response comes, “Just you.”

“Oh, funny.”

No. God, no way. This is not happening. This isn’t possible. You must be dreaming, right? You quickly stand up, and as soft footsteps come closer, you see Ellie staring at you with complete shock, “Holy shit!” she screams.

The thundering thumps of footsteps quickly make their way into the room as you stand there in complete shock. Your eyes widen in shock as you are now face to face with the characters you’ve grown to love from last night through your laptop screen right in front of you. This feels like a very cruel joke.

Dark brown eyes, salt and pepper hair, tan skin, and lines that appear as Joel frowns at you, unimpressed and suspicious. While Tess is completely covering Ellie, she narrows her eyes at you and says, “Raise your hands.”

Slowly you follow her command and raise both your hands, not wanting to increase the tension between you and them. Then you try your best to steady the trembling voice that wants to escape from you and directly look at Joel to say, “I’m not infected.”

“Show us your arm and neck.” He replies with his thick southern accent, and you bring your hand to the collar of your shirt to show them your neck and then lift the sleeves of your jacket to prove that you are being truthful.

The tension between the four of you still hadn’t dissipated despite proving that you didn’t have Cordyceps. “You got any weapons?” Tess asks and you shake your head, “No.”

Ellie groans in frustration, “Guys, I need to pee.” And you bite back a smile, her attitude, and unintentional humor. You clear your throat and say, “Um, you two could interrogate me in the other room so she can, uh, relieve herself.”

Ellie’s two protectors give each other a knowing side glance and proceed to lower their weapons that were aimed at you. You take a deep breath and then follow Joel as he first leaves the room while Tess watches and follows you from behind, making sure you don’t try anything funny.

You stand in the center of the room, with lush green grass, and flowers,  you tilt your head up to look at the stream of daylight hitting your face. You take note of the overgrown plants and trees, mother nature taking back what’s hers. Eco-brutalists would be ecstatic about all of this, minus the fungi zombies.

Tess breaks the silence and asks, “What’s your name?” You give them your name and ask for theirs, even though you didn’t need to however, it is the polite and fair thing to do. You turn your head to look at both of them. They reluctantly tell you to give them their names as you try and manage to swallow away the fear and secretly hope this was all a dream or maybe a fucked up prank. Tess raises one eyebrow at you, “Where are you from?”

You purse your lips to a thin line and wonder how the hell you were gonna answer that question, you then settle for a, “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Joel gruffly asks you and you give him a light shrug in response and he scoffs.

Your shoulders sag at his reaction to your words, “I’m not trying to be difficult, I swear.  It is complicated and hard to explain, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. And to be honest, I’m trying my best to wrap my head around this and find a way to explain it without sounding completely insane.”

Joel all but frowns at you but continues to ask, “You tryin’ to get to the QZ?” And without even thinking about it you shook your head in disagreement, and immediately followed your response with suspicion growing on their faces and a frown.

Tess looks at you in disbelief and says, “So, what the hell are you doing out in the city with all the infected running around? Going for a stroll?”

Not wanting to answer the question, you pivot to looking at his fractured hand and give him a light nod, gesturing to it, “Does it hurt?”

Tess glances at his hand and pushes Joel to sit on his chair, his hands shaking as he looks at his bloody knuckles. You also choose to sit on the plush cool green grass, the smell of earth fills your nostrils, and then watch the scene play out in front of you.

“Broken.” Tess states that Joel avoids eye contact with his partner in crime, “Maybe a hairline. It’ll heal fast.”

Tess looks down at the grimy floor and folded her hands in an attempt to calm herself, then raises her head as she whispers, “She made it through the fucking night, Joel.” He shakes his head at her, “It doesn’t matter. It’s gonna happen sooner or later. All right? We’re still close to the wall. We sneak both of them back into the QZ. We find a different way to get the battery.”

“This is our best shot,” Tess says unwaveringly with her decision while Joel scoffs, you watch them both like a tennis match and are surprised by the fact they didn’t even acknowledge your presence.  

“We take her back into the QZ, someone’s gonna notice her arm. They’re gonna scan her then they’ll kill her.”

He harshly whispers back at Tess, “Well, better them than us. You need to stop talking about this kid like she’s got some kind of life in front of her.”

It felt like extreme deja vu watching Joel and Tess argue, and on queue, Ellie walks back in and throws the magazine on the floor, and slides towards Tess. The kid plops down to sit next to you on the lush grass and you look at her with a small smile.

“You hungry?” Tess asks the both of you as she rummages through her backpack to find the energy bars, “You can share some of ours.”

“Thanks. Marlene sent me with my own.” Ellie says and takes out a chicken sandwich from her bag pocket. Tess looks at you, offering some and you politely decline, the older woman tilts her head and says, “When was the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday.” You say without a thought.

“You wanna try to explain’ how you got here? Cause when we checked, you sure as hell weren’t here. Or how the fuck did you manage to survive this long with nothing?” Tess says as she chews on the bark this world now calls food. You feel your palms sweat and pulse slightly increase, you take a deep breath and say, “This is gonna sound extremely bazaar and completely impossible but try to keep an open mind because literal infected are roaming around the streets so believe anything is now within the realm of possibility. Okay?”

You got a couple of hums with curious gazes and listened as you began to speak, “I’m possibly from a different universe or world where this is all just fiction and you’re characters based on a video game-made television series. No, I have zero ideas how I got here. I went to bed and fell asleep, and next thing I know, I woke up with this painful migraine and fatigue, different clothes and you three suddenly existing.”

You paused as you took in the group gaping at you and you sigh, “From where I came from, we had a similar thing happen, a pandemic. However, it was a virus, not Cordyceps. We called it COVID-19, it could be transmitted through an infected person's mouth or nose in small liquid particles when they cough, sneeze, speak or breathe. The outbreak started in December 2019 and 6.84 million people died in the last three years during that time. We were able to make a vaccine at a rapid rate since our technology had advanced, and we were able to distribute it globally, so in the current year which we both share, which is 2023, we’re slowly trying to find our footing again as the world opens up.”

You feel your eyes glaze over, and you then shut them as you continued, “I know it sounds fucking impossible, trust me, a lot thought so too. My scientific hypothesis is that the multiverse does exist and somehow sleep or dreaming is connected to it. I really don’t know, it was all just theoretical.”

“Prove it.”

You open your eyes and look at Joel, completely surprised he spoke, “What?”

Joel’s baritone voice and defensive stare felt like electricity through your bones, “I said, prove it.”

If there’s anything you were good at, it was reading a ton of books in a short period and memorizing the important details and plot points. Visual memory paired with the love you had for these characters had you rewatching the three episodes over and over again. Quietly, you thank the younger you for being so nerdy.

You look Joel dead in the eye and turn to the kid beside you quietly looking at you while eating her sandwich, “Your name is Ellie, you got bitten by an infected while you snuck into the mall and then Marlene found you soon afterward. Those two,” you point your thumb in their direction, “need to get you to the state house in exchange for a battery so they can go find Tommy who has been missing for almost a month.”

“Holy shit. She knows my name.” Ellie said with her mouth full of her food.

You turn back to look at Joel and Tess, and then glance at his broken wristwatch, “And, um, Joel, I know how your watch broke, I’m so– .”

“Stop.” Joel lowly says, his stare as cold as ice and distrusting of you. You avert your gaze, and a blanket of silence covers the room. Shakily Joel eats his bark of food and Tess stares at you and Ellie as she chews and swallows, “Is that chicken?”

“Yup. Marlene said they get it from smugglers.” Ellie then thoughtfully tilts her head, “Guess not you guys.”

That does it for Tess and stands up to walk towards you and the kid, “Hey, hey!” Joel says as he stands up after her but Tess holds her hand out to stop him and to signal it’s fine, “Why are you so important to Marlene? And don’t lie to me, or we’ll take you back.”

“Like she said,” the kid gestures to you, “If you take me back, you don’t get your battery.” Tess scoffs, “You heard that?” and Ellie shrugs at her, the older woman mock laughs, “Then you must’ve heard he wants to shoot you.”

Ellie looks toward Joel and he doesn’t deny it, he simply stares back at her.

“If you do that, it would be the dumbest shit you’ll ever do.” You mumble while frowning, Tess turns to you and harshly says, “Zip it, this doesn’t concern you.” And you take what she said in stride and don’t push it any further.

She then crouches down to talk to Ellie, “I’m gonna talk to you like you’re an adult. Okay?” She then takes Ellie’s silence as consent to continue, “Joel and I aren’t good people. We’re doing this for us because apparently, you’re worth something. But we don’t know what you’re worth if we don’t know what we have. So answer my question.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, rubs her face, and mumbles to herself, “She told me not to tell anybody and now I’m telling the first people that I…” She lets out a sigh and reluctantly speaks, “There’s a Firefly base camp somewhere out west with doctors. They’re working on a cure.”

Joel immediately groans in frustration, “I’ve heard this before.” Ellie continues, “And whatever happened to me,” and at the same time she and Joel say, “is the key to finding the vaccine.”

He sighs in exasperation, “That’s what this is? We’ve heard this a million times. Vaccines, miracle cures. None of it works. Ever.”

Ellie stands up, “Fuck you, man. I didn’t ask for this.”

“You and me both.” The grouch turns to his partner and says, “This isn’t gonna end well, Tess. We need to go back.”

You then remember after all those essays and news articles about your pandemic, the time when everything felt so hopeless and scary. You look at Joel and you see a reflection of your own, his fear and panic, “It’s possible.”

They both turn to you and you continue, “Theoretically, it’s possible to create a fungi vaccine, however, I’m not even sure you have the technology to produce it. And it would take finding out what Ellie truly is. Either Ellie’s immune system mutated and created antibodies to fight against the Cordyceps or something else… But either way, a vaccine or maybe a cure could be possible now because of her.”

Tess stands up, as do you, and looks at Ellie for a moment, then to Joel to say, “Let’s just finish it. It doesn’t matter if she is what the Fireflies or what an alien says.”

“I’m human.” You grumble and Tess ignores you, “If they believe that she is then we get what we want.”

Joel gives a glare at Ellie and then shifts his gaze to you, he sighs and shakes his head, “If she so much as twitches.”

Ellie proceeds to make gurgling noises and movements to pretend as if she’s turning into an infected. Tess turns to look at her and scolds in a motherly fashion, “Don’t.” You try and hold in your laugh and the young girl clears her throat, scratches the back of her neck, and mumbles, “Yeah… okay.”

Tess then turns to Joel, “Okay?”

Defeated, Joel swings his arms open and whispers, “Okay.”

The foreshadowing of the fact it will not be okay in the next few moments had you feeling nauseous. The churning fear begins to bubble inside of you, Tess is going to die, albeit a noble and honorable death, but it still would hurt Joel, and Ellie as she slowly grows more fond of the older woman. Then, it hit you, is it possible to change what already was written? Could you save them all? Well, you’re already here, might as well try.

The three of them begin to pack their belongings as you awkwardly stand there with your hands in your pockets and watch as they prepare for the journey to the State House. The sound of Joel picking up his gun catches Ellie’s interest, “Can I have a gun?”

“Absolutely not.”

“No.”

“Okay. Fine. Jesus. I’ll have to throw a fucking sandwich at them.” Ellie then shoves the leftover sandwich into her bag and Joel goes to the giant bookshelf, which is blocking the door, to the side, then peaks out of the door to check if it’s safe. You hear the sound of birds chirping and feel the warmth of the light flood in the abandoned building.

“It’s clear.”

Following Ellie from behind, you begin walking slowly toward the light and into the apocalyptic city. Your eyes take in the sight of tilted, destroyed, buildings, overgrown plants, trees, abandoned cars, and trucks. A hauntingly beautiful sight if you were being honest.

Ellie gasps in wonder as she takes it all in, “Woah.” Tess looks over at her and says, “Yeah, looks different in the daylight, huh?” Joel quickly scans the area, “We should get moving.” Tess begins to take the lead, followed by Ellie then you, while Joel trails from behind.

“It’s like a fucked up moon.” Ellie moves towards a crater and peers over it, “Is this where they bombed?”

“Yeah, they hit most of the big cities like this. They had to slow the spread somehow.” Tess says and Joel continues to walk past it, ignoring the crater and any kind of conversation. “Worked here, but it didn’t in most places.”

Unconsciously, you begin humming to the tune of a Linda Ronstadt song. The last song you ever heard before sleeping. Continuing up to a ruined building, with debris blocking your path, “So the State House is across there. It’s about a ten-minute walk if you could go straight.”

Ellie looks at both of them and you wonder how the fuck you were gonna defeat the clickers later on with no weapon, “So…”

“Long way or short way?” Joel asks Tess, she holds the straps of her backpack and the wind blows through her hair, “I mean, it’s a long way or the we’re-fucking-dead way.”

“Well, I vote a long way just based on that limited information,” Ellie says dryly, and Joel stares at her, a puzzled expression on his face, then his eyes lands on you, waiting for your input.

You frown at him, “No, don’t look at me like that. I’m not giving you any spoilers.” Joel clenches his jaw and turns to Tess, “We have to check it from the hotel first.” She begins to walk away, “Okay.”

You walk along the highway in somewhat comfortable silence, you carefully look to the ground and see a giraffe plushie, the symbolism doesn’t escape you, knowing all too well what it meant. Moss and different kinds of plants grow over the cracks of the road, you spot branches atop abandoned cars and dust covers the windows of each door.

Tess and Ellie begin conversing in front of the group, while you and Joel follow from a distance. You look at Joel and say, “I’m sorry if I overstepped a while ago. I couldn’t prove it unless I told you something only you knew.”

He looks at you in an emotion you can’t quite understand, but still responds in his grumpy demeanor, “Just don’t bring it up again.” You quickly nod, “Mhm, noted.”

It was quiet for a bit until, to your surprise, he asks you, “What did you do for work?” The smile was so difficult to hold back, you chuckle and raise your eyebrows, “I’m… well, was a Quantum physicist. You were a carpenter right?”

“It kinda’ freaks me out how you know that off the top of your head.” His Texan accent heavy as he spoke, you knew that it would take time to build his trust. His reserved and security-oriented nature would prove to be a challenge, but something you wholeheartedly would take on, “I’ll try not to do it as much, I’m sorry.”

“You apologize too much.”

“It’s a habit I’m trying to break, to be honest.” You chuckle nervously, putting your hands in the pockets of your cargo pants, and continue to walk, watching and hearing bits of conversation from Tess and Ellie.

“I thought you were some sort of’ performer, a singer maybe, with all that hummin’ you were doin’ awhile ago.”

That catches you off guard and you feel the confusion form on your face and you begin to feel your face feel warm, “What?” Joel continues, “You were hummin’ to Linda Ronstadt, right? Haven’t heard that song in a while.” You stared at him in complete disbelief, “You heard me humming?”

As he was about to reply, you and him managed to catch up to Ellie and Tess to overhear their conversation, “How old are you?” Ellie replies, “Fourteen.” Tess hums and smirks at the kid, “Wow. Well, I mean you got some balls on you, sister.”

“Thanks,” Ellies says and follows after Tess, climbing over the flipped rusted car. You follow their movements and Joel does too.

Tess curiously looks over her shoulder at Ellie and continues her walk forward, “Nobody is gonna come after you, right? Like Mom, Dad, boyfriend?”

“I’m an orphan, and, uh, no.” Ellie takes a look around her surroundings and lets her hand brush on the tall grass growing from the cracks of the pavement, “Everyone said the open city was crazy. Like, swarms of infected running around everywhere.”

Joel humors her, “Not exactly like that.” Tess smiles, “You know people like to tell stories.”

“So there aren’t super-infected that explode fungus spores on you?” Ellie curiously asks with a somewhat happy tone, as if all of this doesn’t scare her. Fearless is what you conclude, a trait that could be good when at its best but dangerous and reckless at its worse. “Shit, I hope not,” Tess says.

“Or ones with split-open heads that see in the dark like bats?” Ellie asks and that causes a shift in Tess, Joel, and your demeanor. Fucking clickers. And on queue, you hear the screeching of the devil’s spawn in the distance. The whole group stills and Ellie shakily asks, “What was that?”

Joel doesn’t reply, instead, he just says, “Let’s keep movin’.”

Joel pushes the doors of the hotel open, loudly shrieking as he does, and all three of you are greeted with the sight of the flooded hotel. It was almost swamp-like due to the green water, lily pads floating, and the ducks and frogs swimming.

Ellie takes a spin and looks at the view with a childlike wonder you wish you still had, “You’ve got to be kidding me! You ever stay in a place like this?” “Uh, no, a little out of our league.” Tess says and Joel looks at Ellie and asks, “How do you even know what this is?” Being the smartass that she throws him a look and says, “Have you heard of books?”

You chuckle as Joel shakes his head and walks down into the murky water, “Wait we’re going in there?” Ellie asks, and Tess nods, “Yeah, we gotta get to the stairwell on the other side.” The kid takes a step back, “Well, I don’t… I don’t know how to swim.” Joel lifts an eyebrow, “Seriously?”

“Do you think we have pools in the QZ?” Ellie says with narrowed eyes. “No, smart-ass. I mean…”, Joel does a little jump into the water, it does a small splash when he does. “I don’t know how I was supposed to know that,” Ellie says as she walks down the steps and into the water, you follow behind her and Tess.

You four wade through the green murky water, “This is so gross.” Ellie says with a huge smile on her face and you can’t help but laugh, “This is disgusting.” The fourteen-year-old spots the concierge desk and makes her way over, “Oh, check it out!”

You place both of your hands on your hips and  watch her mess with the call bell, “Ding, ding.” She begins to do her form of roleplay for her entertainment and to cure her boredom, “Yes sir. I would like your finest suite, please.”

“Yes, ma’am. Would you like me to take your luggage?”, she proceeds to answer her own question and pushes the hotel bell cart through the water, “Yes, ma’am. Right away ma’am…”

“You’re a weird kid.” Joel states, Ellie turns her head to look at him, “You’re a weird kid.” Something falls over, a sloshing sound indicating that it had fallen in front of Ellie causing her to jump back and bang the piano behind her and yelp, “Oh, fuck!”

You and Joel are quick to come to her side to see what it was. A skeleton lay there unmoving and rotten, your eyes raise to look at Ellie panting and clutching onto the hotel bell cart, “Oh, my god.” Joel kicks the skull and the kid mumbles, “Uh, sorry.”

Joel offers his hand to help Ellie back up and the sound of the honky-tonk piano creates sharp notes as she stands, Joel pulls back his hand once Ellie can manage on her own and begins to walk away.

You look to Joel, “How’s the hand?” He looks down at it as it shakes again, “It’ll heal.” Your face forms a frown and you shake your head, “That doesn’t answer my question.” Joel doesn’t respond and decides to continue and you simply follow.

“You okay?” Tess asks Ellie, and the young girl wades through the water like nothing happened, “Yep. Fucking Fabulous.”

After ten flights of stairs you finally made it to the top floor, Joel goes through the doorway first, while Tess takes a moment to catch her breath, “Fuck. Holy shit.” 

You’re a little breathless, but not as much as Tess since you were a bit younger than her. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.” Ellie says teasingly and Tess shoots her a look, “You try climbing ten fuckin’ floors with our knees. See how you feel.”

You turn right to a hallway, to see a giant obstruction made out of the rubble, “Well, when the fuck did that happen?” Tess tries to push the door to her right, only to be blocked. You try to check the door to the left to find the same outcome, you sigh “No.”

“All right, well, I mean, maybe I could climb up there. Work my way around and open it from the inside?” Ellie peers around the rocks, “Uh, no. Well, I’m the smallest, so it’d be easier for me to get through.” Tess hums, “But you die and we get nothing. You stay.”

“I could help.” You say a little meek, Tess is a little intimidating and you feel so out of place like you’re intruding. Technically, you aren’t supposed to be in this mess. She takes a good look at you and says, “Yeah, no.”

You deflate a little and avoid trying to argue, Tess turns to Joel and asks for help, “Can you give me a hand?” Joel pulls back Ellie with the strap of her backpack and she sighs, then Joel tugs your jacket sleeve to do the same. Your face warms a little bit, it’s the first time he’s ever touched you.

Joel boosts up Tess over the pile of rubble and she climbs over, “You good up there?” Tess analyzes the mess she needs to clean up and replies, “Yeah. It’s a bit of a mess, so I’m gonna need a few minutes.”

Joel turns around to face you and Ellie, he adjusts his gun and lets his back slide against the wall to sit down across from both of you. Ellie has her arms resting on her knees while you decide to sit comfortably cross-legged.

Ellie takes out her knife and decides to play with it, tossing it in her hands as if it were just a pen and not something that could easily cut her if she commits a mistake. You watch everything play out just like it did in the episode—character development.

“Nice knife,” Joel says as his eyes follow the movement of Ellie’s tossing. She only glances at him with acknowledgment. “Where’d you learn to do that?” he asks, you gotta hand it to him for trying to make an effort.

She replies with a monotone voice, “The circus.” 

Joel looks away exasperated and completely done with her bullshit. You try and hide your smile, but the slight crease in your eyes gives away your amusement. Ellie folds her knife, and as Joel sighs, the kid decides to give an olive branch, “Where are you from?”

“Texas.” He replies, and Ellie continues, “What about Tess?”

“Detroit. It’s in Michigan.”

If there’s anything she hated most, was the fact people underestimate her intelligence, she rolls her eyes and Ellie’s reply comes out harsh, “I go to school. I know where Detroit is.”

Her response causes a wave of silence between the three of you. Your eyes drift from Joel to Ellie, she then decides it’s your turn to be interrogated, “Are you from the future?”

Your mouth twists a little to the right before deciding on a good enough answer, “Sort of? Your technology stopped advancing in 2003, so, I guess I am?” This piques her interest, “So, what’s it like over there?”

You pick the dirt off the underside of your fingernails, a little nervous, or if not nervous then cautious, as you respond, “Almost the same. Our technology is way different though.”

“Different how?” She asks.

You give her a soft smile and respond, “Well, for starters, we have touch screens for phones, laptops, tablets, you name it, it probably has a touch screen.”

“No way,” Ellie says with her eyes full of amazement and wonder, “What else?”

You give a hum as you teasingly tell her, “I don’t know… it might blow your tiny little mind.” She blows a raspberry in your face and you stick your tongue out in retaliation.

“Come on! Wait, you said we were just characters in some kind of story?” She says dramatically and tugs the sleeve of your jacket and continues, “What did you mean by that?”

Your eyes shift to look at Joel, who has his full attention on you; simply waiting. You blink owlishly at him, once, then twice before settling on a response, “Yeah, um, it recently aired.”

“So, do you know the future? Like our future? What’s about to happen? Will we be able to make a cure or a vaccine?” You couldn’t keep up with her rapid questions, and your mouth slightly parts open. Should you tell them? 

Can you change the fact Tess is practically minutes away from death? That Joel is about to make the worst mistake of his life? That Bill and Frank are… that they…

Luckily, you didn’t need to answer Ellie, Joel who senses your unease, steps in for you, “Ellie, stop askin’ her about her life, she doesn’t wanna give anythin’ up.” You look at him apologetically and shut your eyes for a while. This migraine keeps bothering you, a sharp, heavy, thump in the side of your brain hasn’t gone away. You tell yourself that it eventually will. Maybe.

Ellie focuses her attention back to Joel, “So you two like a…”

“Pass.” He says.

Ellie continues, “How’d you end up in Boston?”

“Pass. No more questions about me.” Ellie rolls her eyes at him and racks her brain for a different question, “How long do infected live?” Joel mocks Ellie in reply, “Oh, I thought you went to school.”

“It’s a really shitty one.” She snarkily replies. You smile at their banter with your eyes closed, enjoying the conversation that they have going on. Joel thinks for a moment before answering her, “Well, some last about a month or two. But there’s other’s been walkin’ about 20 years.”

Ellie fidgets with her knife again, “You ever kill one?”

You hear the slight sorrow in his voice, “Yeah, I’ve killed lots of them.” Ellie asks the most human question as she looks at the older man, “Was it hard? Like, knowing they were people once?”

You open your eyes to watch his gaze look away from the kid, memories come back to him, what he’s done and will continue to do, and he nods, “Sometimes.”

“What about that guy last night?” She asks, and you frown while he gives Ellie a stern look. You knew Ellie liked the fact Joel hurt the FEDRA guard to protect her. She loved it. Luckily Joel doesn’t have to respond, you could hear the sound of something approaching you. The loyalist immediately stands up, and you and Ellie get up to stand next to Joel, he puts his finger to the trigger of his gun, ready to protect you both from whatever is out there.

“You can put the gun down, Joel,” Tess calls out from a distance, and a tingle of jealousy moves through your bones like electricity. She knew him so well, to the point where she knew what he was going to do before doing it. They both loved each other without admitting it, and it hurts you. They never stood a chance. 

You hear the quiet rumble of Tess pushing away the debris to open the door, the loud creak of metal reveals her face, and it’s full of worry. Joel reads her like a book, “What now?” Then Tess nods her head, signaling to follow her.

As you make your way upstairs, you take notice of the abandoned wine glass and dishes, the dust that coats every inch of the hotel, and the fallen chairs. Tess pulls back a plastic curtain for you and Ellie to walk through, only to be greeted by the view of hundreds of infected down below.

“There’s so many,” Ellie comments in disbelief, you can hear the cries and wailing of each Runner as they roll and crawl. The young girl leans a little forward to get a better view. Tess nods, “The last time we were here they were still deep inside the buildings. Then I guess enough people came through looking for the QZ they went inside seeking shelter, and that’s how they get more and more of the city bit by city year after year.”

As the clouds pass by, the sun shines through a little, overwhelming light shines over the infected, they screech and roll away, like a domino effect. “They’re connected,” Ellie says, and Tess nods in confirmation, “More than you know. The fungus also grows underground. Long fibers like wires, some of them stretching over a mile.”

If you weren’t so focused on listening to Tess explain the cordyceps, you would have felt Joel staring at you the whole time, observing how you were taking all of the information being shared. You were surprisingly calm, despite the fact zombies are now real and you could die. And possibly a little worried like you were anticipating something bad was going to happen.

Tess continues, “Now you step on a patch of cordyceps in one place and you can wake a dozen infected from somewhere else. Now they know where you are, now they come. You’re not immune from being ripped apart. You understand? It’s important. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Ellie nods and you do too, even if the question wasn’t directed at you. “So we’re not going that way.” She states, and Tess agrees, “No.”

“What do we do then? Short way?” Ellie asks and Joel looks at Tess, and speaks the dreaded words you’ve heard before, “Museum.”

A/N: Trust me, I’m working double time on the next one if this is received well :,) Thank you for reading! See ya in the next chapter <3

Next Chapter ->

[pupyr0arz]

To Color

to influence, especially in a negative way; distort or exaggerate.

Soap x m!reader: references to reader being AMAB, being a gay man, being in a gay relationship, etc. minimal pronouns. Part 1.

Summary: Every human on earth sees the world in blacks and whites and grey until they touch a specific individual, romanticized as their fates love. You don’t buy into that, you’re happy as you are and don’t need or want a stranger barging into your life just because your eyes decided they were important. Johnny disagrees with this conclusion.

warnings: Johnny is a bad, bad man, and reader is going to be miserable for a while, sorry. General cws for creepy, pushy behavior, sexual harassment, stalking, and Johnny not respecting Reader’s autonomy or ability to choose. More warnings may be added. Mentions of sex. Minors DNI

@gatlily @focalor-hydro-archon hey pst. Pssst.

Soulmates are overrated, overhyped, over-mentioned, over talked about. It’s awfully inescapable, in movies, in ads, on the news, in books, and the looks you get for complaining about it, like you’ve declared a blood feud on the concept. You just want some peace from the expectation and all the assumptions of glitz and glamor for five goddamn seconds, but lately that blood feud is looking mighty tempting.

Your cynicism in regards to fated lovers wasn’t part of anything dramatic, like in the movies where the skeptic always got revealed to be the child of a divorce caused by soulmates or something equally inane. Your parents weren’t soulmates, which was honestly average. Most people never met their soulmates and lived perfectly fulfilling lives. Soulmates weren’t the end all be all of love, and when they did show up they certainly didn’t all fall into the simple shapes a romcom would tell you.

Your father could see color, his soulmate was platonic in his cousin, the two of them were close friends and they lived just down the street. You’d come up on the porch while your cousins played in the yard and sipped sour lemonade and bother them about how colors looked, and they’d argue about shades and how to describe it. Your father always wanted you to meet your soulmate, wistfully regaling the first time he ever saw the blueness of the sky. Uncle Jeremy would just pinch your cheek and wave you off with a laugh. You had a really normal childhood, honestly.

You got tired of the game in high school, when blossoming hormones and teen drama rocked the school for weeks on end over and over about the same damn things. You were old enough to really have coherent opinions about the world, and fated lovers had turned from funny stories from your father and ads on tv to in your face irritants. One of your friends friends faked seeing color for two weeks to date a guy she really liked. You weren’t extremely close to either, you sat with them at lunch and watched them in periods and they seemed happy. He dumped her in a flash, and moped around school afterwards and all you could think about was why color seemed to matter so much to people.

It sounded fantastical, sure, you wouldn’t mind having an extra sense. You daydreamed about color coming to you in a whirl, setting the world alight in a billion lights, seeing things in new clarity and depth. It was hard to imagine, some other attribute lurking just outside of vision that stained the world in strange, vivid ways.

Bonded people opened museums, attractions built for viewing color in odd ways that blended and blurred together to your black and white vision. Hidden objects and paintings and other things that they cooed over, long essays about vibrancy and the million metaphors for color. You don’t really buy into any of it, if you could taste the crispness of a shade of ‘red’ then what’s the deal with feeling it with your eyes? You’ve eaten apples before, you don’t need to see the flavor to enjoy it. Why should you be so desperate to sacrifice so much, when you already have senses that give you joy?The thing is, with fantastical things is that they’re fantasy, they aren’t grounded in anything solid or real, and you weren’t enthusiastic to take that leap of faith and step onto open air and pray it was a trust fall, not a jump to your death.

You could live without color, and honestly thousands and thousands of people got on perfectly fine. It’s not like any part of society was really based on seeing color these days, other than the fine arts. You weren’t artsy anyways, you never managed to get into it. So what if you didn’t really know whatever ‘green’ really was, did it really mean the end of the world? the end of a relationship? Why would you throw away something that made you happy, something stable, for a complete stranger? Your mother was perfectly happy with your father, and she had never met her soulmate. What if your soulmate was a family member, or a friend? Why did everyone always hold out hope they’d find a perfect marriage partner, when it seemed like soulmate bonds could be something like a perfect smoking buddy to a perfect brother? Honestly, romance didn’t seem so dependent on the whole farce at all. You could build something that didn’t need anything but whites and blacks and all of the shades between. You might not be able to see the red of a rose, but you could enjoy the shades of gray that painted the world with someone you could trust to always hold your hand and have your back.

You dated a handful of people, most of whom were still holding out hope of brushing fingers with their ‘truest love’ to see the beauty in the world. As you got older, more likeminded people cropped up, less likely to vanish and ghost you to wander off on their ‘journey’ to find their soulmate. You had your first kiss, lost your virginity, moved in and out with other people. Relationships blossomed and fizzled and died and you picked yourself up afterward with the occasional thought of ‘Jesus, I couldn’t imagine trying to make THAT one work as my one and only’ before you carried on. But all of that was before, in the section of your life cut so neatly and sharply in two that it was hard to believe they were ever, or could ever be joined.

All before you met him.

You met him on a dating app, which was remarkable enough. It was built for quick hookups, but most dating apps that advertised themselves for long term relationships were soulmate based and you found that crowd to be endlessly irritating. He’s bi-curious, you’re the first man he’s ever dated and honestly that almost turns you off entirely. But you decide you have no better prospects at the moment, so what the hell.

Charlie’s cute, and he greets you with a nervous smile and can barely meet your eyes, he tells you with red eats that he’s ninety nine percent sure that he’s gay and that his friend has been begging him to just take them plunge and you nod and give him some dutiful advice. You’re definitely not looking to be a guys experiment, that rarely ends well, but he invites you out to dinner where he loosens up after a glass and goes on an impassioned rant about theater etiquette and suddenly things are actually interesting and you’re talking too loudly for the table over but you couldn’t care less.

He’s funny, nervous but out there and you talk about musicals you’ve never heard of and tv shows he’s never seen for forty five minutes before you reach across the table and grab his wrist. The sex is light, he makes you laugh through blunders like banging his head against the wall and you kiss afterwards and it feels light and sweet. It’s blissful, honestly, something you’ve forgotten you were missing at all until you’ve been handed it. You keep things non penetrative, he’s far from trying bottoming and you’re not a fan of being on the other side of it, and you have plenty of fun keeping him awake with all the other options. You talk to him again the next day, and then the next, and then his number is in your phone and you’ve been going steady for months.

Charlie isnt a perfect Prince Charming, he’s got his issues. He’s over the top and he pushes himself to meet standards and crumbles at the last second and you’ve had your fair share of screaming arguments. Work is stressful and some nights you go to bed in different rooms because you can’t stand dealing with him. You have your own issues and Charlie complains more than once, rightfully you’re forced to admit, about you being cold and reclusive when you get angry at him, and you’ve had to buy apology ice cream more than a couple times. But you have movie nights and kisses and cake together and a warm, building feeling in your chest. You go out to the zoo, try and fail to learn how to knit together and eat buttered toast with too much black pepper over the kitchen sink on Saturday mornings. You don’t get into anal but he gets really good at giving blowjobs, and those slept mornings spend kissing and exploring each others bodies fill you with a precious glow.

Charlie isn’t your one size fits all, but you’ve managed to find him a slot in your puzzle, and built him a home in your heart together. You love Charlie, and he loves you too, tells you so with cheesy flowers and you buy him one of those dumb necklaces that click together that you totally don’t love. He brings you lunch at work and you drive him home from visiting his parents, and your friends are fine enough with his to go drinking together every couple of times. His best friend does your tarot readings and gets an awful tattoo you laugh about together. You cry and he doesn’t

Life is good. It’s not effortless, it’s not magic, but it’s good because you made it so. You’ve pushed and pulled and made something with your bare hands, and you have the luxury to sit back and watch the alabaster glow of the sun brighten Charlie’s face into a million beautiful shades of gray.

Life settles into a comfortable rhythm, and soon Charlie’s inviting you as plus one to a wedding and you start thinking about rings and commitment.

That’s all before you met him, though.

It happens like in a storybook, so trite that hours after it happens you’re wondering if you suffered some serious brain damage. Maybe you got hit by a car, or had a delayed reaction to the weed your friend passed you last week, or something happened to scramble your thoughts into this strange new unreality.

You’re visiting the library when it happens, dropping by after your shift to pick up some new reading material, not looking where you’re going. Charlie’s texting you a million and a half recommendations while you’re planning on picking up some awful garbage to groan and complain about later while he makes fun of you, and you’re typing a dick joke involving one of the sillier titles you spotted on the shelves. You bump into him, not a shoulder check but you run into him like a wall and he barely stumbles back. You’re not a small guy in the slightest but he’s built like a brick shithouse, Jesus.

“Ah, hell, sorry man.” You apologize, giving him a sheepish smile. “My foul. I should watch where I’m going.”

He doesn’t puff up with anger or anything but flashes you a toothy smile, so you relax. “Dinnae worry ‘bout it, mate.”

Oh, he’s Irish or something, the accent is thick as all hell. It sparks your interest, a definite standout from the midwestern folks living here, and you don’t rush away to continue your browsing. You don’t walk away, like you should’ve, you don’t realize that in two years this will have become your biggest, most shameful regret.

He peers down at you, light eyes, ivory maybe? He’s got a weird haircut, some kind of half committed Mohawk thing. It’s an awful haircut, really shitty, so you politely avert your eyes from the active train wreck and send a prayer for any casualties, and realize you’ve dropped your phone on the ground.

“Ye dropped—“

“Ah, let me—“

You both reach for it at the same time, and your fingers brush, and the world changes, and you have all of a half a second to freeze in shock and confusion before you accidentally headbutt him and fall over.

Maybe he had a thick enough skull to really hurt you. You would know.

[gumbootillustrations]

mystreet au where everythings the same but instead of that weird fuckoff bandanna aaron wears a pair of pit vipers everywhere instead

[tennessoui]

au where the Jedi Order has a program where Knights take odd jobs around Coruscant to strengthen their connection with the planet and also experience life outside of the Order, and Obi-Wan volunteers to work at a newspaper right before the beginning of the Clone Wars, because he thinks writing about intergalactic politics or reviewing new ship designs would be cool…..but the Coruscanti News immediately puts him on the Advice Column, creating a new section called Dear Ben because they think a Jedi would give interesting advice even though they won’t advertise that he’s a Jedi, and the Jedi Council are incredibly supportive because it’s a way to teach Jedi tenets and beliefs to people struggling with grief or anger, etc so Obi-Wan can’t quit even though he very much wants to

Meanwhile Anakin hears about a new column in his favorite section of the Coruscanti News called Dear Ben, and he’s dealing with so much as a senior padawan!! He’s going to see the love of his life Padmé Amidala again soon!! So he writes to the column for advice on how to woo her while on a job (“I’m seeing a woman I met when I was a kid again soon because she hired my company to help her. I know it’s time to kiss her. How do I make her see me as an adult? I dream of her supple body and her—“ the rest of this letter cannot be published in our newspaper for its vulgar depictions and explicit language)

And Obi-Wan gets this letter and he has to write back and be like “Dear Grown and a Shower Not a Grower, please do not do that. Be professional. Romance can wait until after your work is complete. That dedication will surely impress her.”

and Anakin takes his advice, it works, and he keeps writing in for more advice and every single time obi-wan answers because whoever this guy is has ideas of relationships and MARRIAGE and life that need to be corrected

and they absolutely don’t know who they’re writing to, but they carry out a very public correspondence throughout the war as their job allows, and Obi-Wan-as-Ben is able to talk Anakin through a lot of his hurts (ie Rako Hardeen) and eventually Anakin is like holy shit I think I am in love with Ben from the advice column around the same time Obi-Wan realizes he’s incredibly fond of Hopeless On Coruscant (his nickname for Anakin after the 4th major life crisis he wrote in about)

what ever are they to do about it 🙄🤪 other than….meet up 😏

[canary0]

I honestly don't know whether I'm going to do canon divergence on this weird modern adaptation thing I'm doing for Dracula or whether I'm gonna see if it's a story that can work even with modern tech.

I dunno, people who are interested, lemme know what you think.

[chr13sakop]

Modern au??

Ace was going to be so mad. Gramps too. Would this finally be what sends him to the Navy like he’d been threatening? Okay look, through Luffys thought process this was a good idea at the time. The merry (Usopps van) was going to be in the shop for a while and their group had no other means of transportation, so Luffy suggested they could borrow his brothers car for the day. Does Luffy have his licens? No. Did he even ask his brother for the car? No, but Ace probably wouldn’t mind right? Has he ever even practiced driving? Of course he has. Like, twice. But that’s all you really need right?? I mean how hard can driving even be? Well clearly a little hard, cuz now here he is, sitting in his brother’s car, that’s half way inside a restaurant. He’s not that injured so maybe that means the car isn’t either. Right? Now that he thinks of it he’s a little hungry, and whatever he’s smelling probably tastes really good. Luckily he doesn’t think anyone got hurt because of him, he hopes not. He sees two chefs come towards the car and they pull him out and drag him to this guy he assumes is the owner. “This is the guy who crashed into the place sir” Luffy gets on his knees “hey old man I’m really sorry I-“ he sees the old guys prosthetic oh my god did I do that??? “Your leg! Sir I’m so sorry!” The guy hits him in the head “no you damn brat! You didn’t do this to my leg.” “Oh I see. Good to know.” The old man goes and sit back down, “ya know, all this is gonna cost ya!” “Look sir I really want to make this right but, I’m flat broke” “you’re straight to the point huh kid, alright well then you’ll just have to work here unpaid for a full year” “sure I’ll just work here unpaid for a full- WAIT a full year!?”

———————————————————————— you can tell I gave up towards the end, this was really going somewhere and then my brain stopped. I have better ones in my drafts I swear. I wanna write more of this tho, if anyone cares. In this I was gonna end it with maybe Luffy saw a glimpse of Sanji in the restaurant and thought he was pretty or something.

[whoredmode]

the big anteros reference sheet. this is more specifically just for visual reference—if you want to know more about him personally, check out my pinned and/or ask me! i’m more than happy to talk about him or my canon or whatever

pre-sr1 and AU outfits under the cut, as a bonus

[sualne]

wish me luck as i attempt to rewrite the modern au from the ground up for the third time.

[marf244]

I also noticed that the Farm raid took place WAY sooner than I thought it did. I never actually played AC1 so I missed this convo, but Vidic mentions having agents raid other Assassin encampments and Lucy tells Desmond they did indeed go to the Farm, but it was empty. This happened literal days after Desmond was kidnapped. ALSO the team that was killed trying to rescue Desmond may have included some people from the Farm, and if so, probably people Des knew :(

[incorrect-riordanverse]

piper mclean is def the type of person to specifically go to taylor sheesh instad of taylor swift