#snippet from an old zombie wip

[sophluorescentmusing]

NEW FRUIT

The bus rumbles along the road with lurching, inconsistent pace; occasionally, the wheels slog over debris in the roadway—and maybe that’s why the blinds remain drawn, covering the windows… so they can say its debris (indefinite)—and send all of them rocking in their seats. Kyungsoo keeps his boots planted firmly with one of his knees resting against the back of the bus’s leather seat and the other stretching into the vehicle’s aisle. The position helps him ground himself, helps him stomach the unceasing restlessness of this sort of journey.

Light spills inside through the front windshield, but it’s faint. The CSHS had sent them out while it was still dark. Maybe they expected that the blinds would go up more quickly, and so they tried for some small mercy. Or perhaps, the thinking was as such: send them out while the night covers it all like a blanket. Then, they cannot turn around immediately. Kyungsoo stews on it, and finally decides that this is the most likely situation.

“Stuck in your head?” Kim Minseok and he have this agreement. He can ask five questions per day cycle—but only three if one of those questions seems like a diagnostic lead-in. More often than not, Minseok ends up with just the three. You can take the man outside of academia but can’t take the academic out of the man? Something like that. “You’ve been staring at the back of the driver’s head for like… an hour now.”

“The blinds are down,” Kyungsoo drawls, glancing over. His eyes ache. When was the last time he blinked? Apparently not recently enough. “What else is there to look at?”

“Me?” Minseok puts his hand under his chin, does something Kyungsoo might admit is vaguely cute with his smile, and flutters his lashes. He’s one of the few members on the base who actually kept their head. Kyungsoo likes to think he did too—but his heart got all jaded while he was focusing on that. He only really has the attention span to keep up with one organ, it would seem. “Your most favorite hyung?” 

A tittering of laugher ripples through the seats closest to them.

Everyone is eavesdropping. Anything is better than thinking about the wreckage.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, hiding his own smile. He’s glad Minseok brings it out in him. Misses smiling more frequently, more unabashedly. But the infection took many things, and those are truthfully the least of all those stolen. “Jungsuk-hyung is my favorite,” he teases, ignoring the mock gasp Minseok gives him. “You’ll have to find someone else to flatter you.”

“There’s no one else I want to tease. You’re too fun,” Minseok quips back.

He’s always quick like that. 

Or, rather, since Kyungsoo’s known him. 

One of the other health workers—Kim Junmyeon, sitting in the front row of the bus—said that Minseok used to be quieter, back before everything. That he metamorphosed, and became someone brighter amidst all the darkness. And maybe that’s why Kyungsoo has a soft spot for him, that he managed to come out born again from all of this, and Kyungsoo wishes with all his might that he could do the same.

The bus lurches, unseating someone a few rows up. 

Kyungsoo flinches, grabs his rifle before it can slide off his lap (even though its unloaded, and the safety’s on).

Minseok reaches for the back of the seat in front of him, steadying himself before he can spill out into the aisle.

Someone throws out a good-natured insult, something to playfully rib at the driver. It sends another ripple of quiet laughter down the length of the bus, except this time neither Kyungsoo nor Minseok join in. They’re quicker to notice a change in mood, and the driver’s shoulders are decidedly more tense than before—their jaw clenched like they’re biting back pain. But, Minseok and he have some tact. They don’t acknowledge the driver, don’t tell the other boys to knock it off, don’t do anything really. It’s better to let the driver keep their horror to themselves, and let the bus load of soldiers and workers laugh because at the end of the day, they’re all going to see some shit. They can do without the tension settling in early.

Minseok turns back to him: “Have you checked our assignment?” He’s lowered his voice again, given them the most privacy they can have in the back of the bus. With the others beginning to talk once more, it’s easier to fall into the drone of it all. “There’s a strawberry farm in the neighborhood, you know. I wonder if we should start there and work our way out. It’s the most likely place to have survivors because of the greenhouses.”

Society collapsed.

With it, everything that had previously required maintaining also went out of service. The electrical grid went down, the water stations went unmanned, and so on and so forth. The country split into hubs, pockets of survivors and functional bases, all with security measures that could keep the infection out. Electricity resumed at some of these camps, as did running water and other services, but workers could not be sent into the communities yet to restore anything there.

In truth, they left everyone outside to die.

Kyungsoo clears his throat: “It’s also the most likely place to host any active-entomopathogen cases.”

“You can call them people, you know? They’re just sick.” Minseok frowns.

[unreliablesnake]

MASTERLIST

FYI: I don't have a taglist. Please follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the "Get notifications" button to know when I post new chapters/stories.

If you wanna know about my wip's, follow @unreliablesnakewip.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Forbidden Love

Elopement

Escort

Untitled drabble #1

Smutty request #1

Hold it together when the world's on fire

Unmute

Animals (smut)

Animals - part 2

Animals - part 3

Animals - part 4 (smut)

Animals - bonus chapter

Animals - bonus chapter 2

Abortion request

The bet

The bet – part 2

The bet – part 3

All of the girls you loved before

Movie night

Jealous Ghost request

Shy!reader request

Thunderstorm

Bitten - zombie!Ghost

Surprise

I want you, but...

Bliss (smut) - I want you, but... part 2

Simon says (smut)

Lost and found

Smut drabble #1

It would've been nice (zombie!Ghost)

Jealous!Simon drabble

"Mare" series

Not on my watch

Is it too soon?

High (smut)

Dirty little secrets

Timing

Cornered

"Osprey" series:

The only exception

••••••

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader x John "Soap" MacTavish

It's time to have fun (smut)

Jealousy (smut)

••••••

John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Lover

Smut drabble #1

Shock

••••••

Phillip Graves x reader x John "Soap" MacTavish

Sharing is caring

Sharing is caring – part 2

••••••

John Price x reader

Bakeneko

Scenes from a relationship: the fight

Yearning

Punishment (smut)

Am I old?

Give me a reason not to love you

••••••

König x reader

Can you handle it? (smut)

Your memory

One-night stand (smut)

Tall reader request

Jealous König request

••••••

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x reader

The first proper date (Mare series)

Race day

The Boogeyman

••••••

Joel Miller x reader

Wounded animals

Someone like you

Early birthday present (smut)

Good girl (smut)

The plan

reputation

Workaholic!reader request

Dirty little secrets (smut)

Singer!reader

You must be new here

Embarrassment

I shouldn't love you, yet here we are

part 1

part 2

���•••••

Phillip Graves x reader

Failing

The trip

Is it in your DNA?

Help me out

••••••

Marquis Vincent de Gramont x reader

Gf limited series

Proposal (smutish)

Dress-up game (smutish)

Territorial (smut)

One-shots

Interrogation

Divorce

Vincent takes a liking to you series

Vincent takes a liking to you HC's

Home is where your heart is

Stay

Hold on tight

The dress

Pregnant

••••••

Miguel O'Hara x reader

Keep your distance

Keep your distance - part 1

Keep your distance - part 1.5

My place

Villain!reader snippet

••••••

Harrison Wells & Eobard Thawne x OFC

Of reverse love and stuff

How he met his lightning rod

The parents

Confession

Good news, bad news

••••••

Harry Wells x reader

Somebody like you

Part 1

Part 2

••••••

141 x reader (barracks bunny)

You're reading what? (Ghost)

Punishment (Price. Smut.)

A special kind of therapy (Alex. Smut.)

The unlucky one (Ghost)

[char-lie-spirals]

I would like to learn about the rest of the aus you mentioned here:3

Okay okay so!! I talked about some of them, so I'll just put the entire list under the cut and either link to my previous responses or cook something up! And what I cook up can possibly include a snippet of my writing too :]

Also since this is a lot of AUs/WIPs I'll try to be brief, but feel free to ask about more details on them!

Terminus' Ritual

This is an AU I've had for like a year now, and it answers a very simple question - What if the End HAD a ritual? That its avatars complete between mag 159 and mag 160? Simple answer - Zombies. And also some deaths getting reversed because getting a quick taste of it should make people more scared, and it's hard to keep a zombie apocalypse going with too few people. (This doesn't match the End's values, I Know.)

I have some notes on different characters' situations, who comes back etc etc but honestly the storyline I focused on the most is Oliver seeking shelter in Graham's old flat only for Graham to also be there, Pretty Confused about the passage of time between his death and now. :]

Graham gets spat out AU

Sasha gets replaced, NotSasha picks up the tape recorder and goes to dispose of the tape. The Artifact Storage is silent, but not empty, as a man who doesn't recall his own name wakes up on the floor. Okay this already sounds a bit like a snippet so I guess you can have a proper one too:

It was all pointless, you only suffered longer -- but is that truly pointless?

This one is a WIP in which I just wanted to explore the idea that the only reason Graham lived for so long was because he was scared that entire time, to the point the NotThem wasn't in much of a rush. It's pretty angsty, but can be bittersweet too if you look at it at the right angle and I am a simple man with a lot of hope in my heart. I've not been making much progress with it, and I'm not sure if I'll end it on the title-question and leave it up for the reader to decide, or if I'll provide my own answer, but let me say here: I don't think it was pointless. Not to me.

Michael(s) experience confusion

Already talked about this one here!

Graham Lives WITHOUT Becoming

Graham survives the events of MAG 003 because Oliver gets there in time to help him, and the two of them try to navigate the aftermath together. They go through many ups and downs, Oliver ends up becoming an Avatar himself, but Graham just kinda,, doesn't?? It just never happens. No fear claims him. At this point a lot of people are convinced he's an Avatar because of how his life is intertwined with the Fears but nope. Just some guy who can bluff pretty decently, gets lucky a lot, and loves his End-Avatar fiance a whole bunch :] (yes they're engaged now)

Graham Folger Lives because The Eye Is A Backseat Gamer

One of my Eye Graham AUs :] The main one, you could say! In this one, The Eye backseat-games his MAG 003 experience, and he Knows where to hide, what to do, and how to survive. After that, he goes on to start working at the institute, becomes an Archival Assistant after Jon's promotion, and goes through the horrors! I also talked about it Ages ago, right here- hold on that was in MAY???? 2023????? 10 months ago???? This is messed up.

Anyway! here's a little something I have written about it so far :]

DeathNote intro

Just me trying to explore how Graham and Oliver might've met, grown closer, gotten together and stayed together for 6 years :] No clue if I'll ever publish this and if so, if I'll use it as a backstory/background for one of my AUs or as its own stand-alone thing? But yeah it's just the two of them growing closer and falling in love :] You can have this snippet of it, too! It's their literal first meeting!

Antique seller Graham

Talked about this one here! I will probably do so again soon! But you can also have a snippet, since I guess writing all this really put me in a snippet mood! This is from this AU's version of Amy's statement :D

Cockroach Graham AU

I don't think I need to elaborate.

[alpydk]

WIP Wednesday

Stealing the open tag from @auroraesmeraldarose because I too want to share. Still working away on my self indulgent fic Red on You. My Gale x Rugan absolute chaos, zombies and re4 references, so here is a snippet. (Taken out of context, a letter from Rugan to Gale.)

Gale, Seems I’m here with the noose around my neck again. Sort of serves me right really for pissing about like I have been. Wasn’t your fault though, never was. Look, I’ll keep this sweet, you know me. Never been much for conversation. There should be an earring with this, white gold with a sapphire stone. It’s to replace your goddess tag old earring that you don’t use anymore. Don’t worry, didn’t nick it. Bought it. Astarion’ll vouch for me. If he’s made it, that is. It’s why we were out so much. Were making money, so I could get it for you. Figured I could ask you Just know I love you. Don’t go locking yourself away in your tower whilst I’m gone, yeah? Meet some nice lass…or lad, your choice. Just get over yourself and me. Going to miss your cooking… R.

tagging @cheerysmores - i know you have something going on right now. @the-real-housewives-of-waterdeep <3 and @weaveandwood <3

[blade-that-was-broken]

Where’s Barb in Wrath and Rain AU?

What happened to her?

To be honest I kind of miss half life AU- :’D

I understand it’s hard depending on your motivation and your ideas with AUs.

They all are awesome! :D

Barb... is generally kind of similar to canon but also not really?

She'd be with her dad. Idk how old she is in canon but here she's probably not that much older than Branch, so she'd be a teenager by the time the war starts up again. Nothing has really "happened" to her, although considering how she was in canon... she's probably a little crazier here and I imagine gets more involved in the resurgence with a whole attitude of feeling she has to take resistance down, get everyone to be rock zombies, etc.

She'll probably end up with a specific grudge against someone lol

Although since her dad hates JD so much, she does too.

Half Life is like... always in the back of my mind. Literally always. I got stuck on the next chapter of Breathe Again cause I lost my outline (sobbing) and I'm not entirely sure how the things were supposed to go in the chapter and it was kinda driving me crazy. Couple that with my burn out... (as you can tell, I have been able to outline stuff but not really write, write, sadly) it's been a whole mess. Wrath and Ruin is just an outline at this point but I'd like to finish Breathe Again... maybe gets some more shorts and oneshots cause there is plenty I'd love to talk about

Anyways, I know it's not much but I have this little Bowling oneshot wip that isn't finished so here is a snippet from Half Life....

John paid the attendant and moved towards the shoe counter, gathering everyone’s sizes and ordering them up before distributing them around to Spruce, Clay and Floyd. Clay took his shoes greedily and raced over to their assigned lane to put them on, not even sparing the rest of his family a glance before he ran towards the bowling balls to pick his. He found a green and yellow swirled one that seemed a perfect weight for him. He turned around, almost running into a bunch of red hair. 

Delta Dawn, his brother’s best friend, turned to face him, her expression lighting up at the sight of him. “Clay! I didn’t know you were here.” 

“John said we were going to go bowling,” he replied, plainly. “What are you doing here? Did JD invite you? Cause you can join us, obviously. I don’t think even Spruce would mind.” 

It wasn’t exactly a secret that Spruce had the tiniest bit of a crush on Delta but Clay was pretty sure it was because of her red hair. Or the fact that she had the most amazing, voluminous hair any of them had ever seen. Spruce definitely liked his hair. Clay found it weird. He hated brushing his hair or even doing anything with his hair. 

“I’m actually with…” 

A guy came up by her side, looking down over her shoulder. Clay frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked at him a little closer. He was tall, a bit spindly, with dark hair and an angular face. He reminded Clay of someone but he wasn’t sure exactly. “Who are you?” 

“Jim,” he replied slowly. “Who… are you?” 

“Jim, this is Clay, my friend’s little brother. Clay, this is… this is my boyfriend, Jim,” Delta introduced, gesturing with her hand between the two of them. 

Clay looked unimpressed. “Your boyfriend? I didn’t realize going on three dates meant that you were… going steady or whatever they call it these days.” 

Jim snorted, amused. “You’re funny. I’ve heard a bit about you; Delta says you are quite the up and coming horse rider.” 

“Equestrian,” Clay corrected immediately. “She’s… told you about us?”

[theink-stainedfolk]

Friday Kiss Tag

Thank you for the tag @leahnardo-da-veggie and @the-golden-comet

Rules: From your Story/WIP, share a kiss. It can be any kiss, from familial pecks on the cheek, forehead kisses, platonic smooches, to full-blown makeouts.

From Till Death Didn't Part Us

Thank you for the clarification—that makes the dynamic even more poignant. Zane’s limited emotional capacity except around Liam adds a bittersweet edge to their relationship. Here's a revised snippet to reflect that:

---

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the abandoned city. Cracked streets and dilapidated buildings created a haunting backdrop, but within the safety of a small, makeshift hideout, the atmosphere felt intimate and oddly serene. Finley sat cross-legged on a worn mattress, his eyes flicking toward Marlowe, who stood by the window, staring out at the darkened world.

Marlowe rarely spoke these days. He didn’t need to. His once vibrant personality had been stripped away, leaving him quiet, watchful, and eerily calm. But when Finley entered the room, Marlowe's body language softened, his movements became less mechanical. It was as though Finley’s presence stirred something in him that the zombie virus had tried to bury.

“Marly,” Liam called gently, breaking the silence. Marlowe turned slowly, his pale, cracked lips twitching as if trying to form a smile. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to make Finley’s chest ache. He patted the space beside him. “Come sit with me.”

Marlowe hesitated for a moment, his unsteady steps making Liam’s heart clench. When Marlowe sat, Finley reached out instinctively, lacing their fingers together. Marlowe’s skin was cold, almost lifeless, but there was a faint squeeze in return. Finley couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out of him. “You’re getting better at that,” he teased.

Marlowe tilted his head, studying him with an intensity that sent a shiver down Finley’s spine—not out of fear, but because it was Marlowe. It was his Marlowe, staring at him with a flicker of something Finley could only describe as longing.

“I... feel it,” Marlowe said, his voice raspy and halting, as though the words were foreign to him. His gaze dropped to their joined hands. “When I’m with you... I remember.”

Finley’s heart clenched. “Remember what?”

“Everything,” Marlowe whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “What it was like to... feel.”

Finley felt his eyes sting, but he refused to cry. Not now. Instead, he leaned closer, cupping Marlowe’s face with his free hand. “Then I’ll stay by your side,” he murmured. “If I’m the only thing keeping you tethered, I’ll never let go.”

Marlowe’s eyes—faintly clouded but still holding traces of their old warmth—locked onto Finley’s. He didn’t say anything, but his hands trembled as they moved to rest on Finely’s waist. It was a silent response, but it spoke louder than words ever could. Finley leaned forward, brushing his lips against Marlowe’s in a kiss that was slow and gentle, yet electric in its intensity.

For a moment, Marlowe stiffened, his body unsure of how to react. Then, something shifted. His grip on Finley’s waist tightened slightly, and his lips moved against Liam’s with an almost desperate tenderness. It was raw, imperfect, but it was Marlowe. The Marlowe who had loved him with everything he had before the apocalypse, and the Marlowe who still loved him now, in the only way he could.

When they pulled apart, Finley rested his forehead against Marlowe’s. “We’ll get through this together,” he whispered.

Marlowe’s voice was barely audible, but it carried the weight of his fragile humanity. “Together.”

And for that fleeting moment, amidst the chaos of their world, Finley knew that even a flicker of love was worth fighting for.

---

I'll tag @finickyfelix @willtheweaver @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @paeliae-occasionally @thecomfywriter @roarintheheavens @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @frostedlemonwriter-deactivated2

[flieslikeamoron]

WIP Wednesday

I've posted a couple snippets of this before, but I finally feel like I'm getting somewhere with it. So this is the first two chapters of my Steddie Schitt's Creek AU. I'll start posting it on AO3 once I'm far enough into it, but if you want a preview...

This is about 5K words. Rated T so far for kissing and slightly impure thoughts. 

Steve Harrington is in hell. Granted, he's not wanted for tax crimes, insider trading, money laundering and whatever else his parents were getting up to. So it's not like he needs to flee arrest like they did. But is he really better off?

They put away a nice little offshore nest egg, fled the country for the Maldives as soon as they realized the heat was about to come down, and never said a word to him about what was coming. No heads up. No maybe you should come on vacation with us. No here’s an account we set up for you in the Caymans. Nothing.

And that's what Steve has left to his name. Nothing. Just a handful of clothes. And a ludicrously small amount cash. It's the kind of money he used to drop on lunch, or drinks at the club. Nothing. The cars are gone, and the New York apartment, and the house in the Hollywood Hills, and the beach house, and the other beach house, and the European beach house, the jet, so much of his wardrobe it makes him want to cry... The only thing left, the only thing that wasn't in his fugitive parents' name, the only thing he actually owns is a Family Video store in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

Of all the pointless things. Why couldn't his parents have given him a sweet little boat or a cute little ski cabin or something the day he was born? Why did it have to be a useless video store?

He knows why. At the time they'd only owned about fifteen or twenty video stores. The start of a regional chain that grew into a national monster that grew into a media conglomerate. At the time it had been a way to welcome their new son into the family business. A new store. A new kid. Both born on the same day. It was symbolism, not a real gift. He's never seen the store. He doubts they have either. He completely forgot he even owned it until the lawyers sat him down and laid out the complete devastation of his life. 

He doesn’t know who’s been running it, but someone has because it’s still open. Somehow. The Family Video part of his parents’ empire went under years ago, thousands of stores shut down all over the country. Just this one lonely shop left shambling along like some kind of zombie. An obsolete relic of a bygone era. He might as well own a Model T factory.

But it’s all he’s got. So now. Instead of whatever resort his parents fucked off to, instead of a fun little yacht or a Swiss chalet, he’s heading for Hawkins, Indiana. On a bus. A Bus! Where he has been trapped for over twelve hours with the absolute dregs of humanity and the pervasive smell of literal shit wafting from the disgusting excuse for a toilet.

He emerges. finally, with four suitcases, the last precious remnants of everything he holds dear, into the absolute worst place in the world.

The bus station seems to be right on the edge of what the sign across the street proclaims “Historic Downtown Hawkins.” There’s a row of quaint brick store fronts. Faded awnings over old-fashioned window displays. There's a restaurant called Mabel's. There's a Laundr-o-matic. There's an honest to God "General Store" like something out of a black and white movie. Like Steve's time warped into the actual past. Do these people even have cell phones? Has he discovered a land cut off from modern society like some explorer uncovering a hidden tribe in the Amazon? That would explain why they still have a video store.

His head is pounding. Everything is so fucking quaint. Someone says hi to him, giving Steve a cheerful wave as he passes. A disturbingly casual friendliness that puts Steve on edge. He waves back anyway, pasting on a big, fake smile. This is a nightmare, but he’s been in bad spots before. He just needs to sell the store and get the hell out of here. 

But first things first, he needs a place to stay. 

He pulls out his phone. Does this place even have Uber?

--

The car pulls up surprisingly quickly. A big boat of an Oldsmobile that’s seen better days. Not exactly Uber Black, but beggars can’t be choosers.  Steve wheels his bags to the trunk. The driver doesn't seem like he's going to help, which is not going to do his star rating any favors. There's no porter so Steve pops the trunk himself. Only about two of the bags will fit. He puts the other two in the backseat, and climbs into the passengers seat.

The driver is a shaggy haired guy about Steve’s age. He just sit there. Staring at Steve, wide-eyed. "Hawkins Motel?" Steve says, annoyed. It's all in the app, isn't it? The guy opens his mouth, and closes it again. Is there something wrong with him? Does he not speak English? His haircut looks like he did it himself without a mirror. Steve mentally docks another star. "Anytime today," Steve snaps. He could maybe stand to be a bit more polite, but he smells of bus, and this has been the worst day of the worst week of his entire life.

The guy shrugs, still looking a bit surprised that driving an Uber means having another person in your car. "The motel you said?"

So he does speak English.

"That's right." 

At least it’s a short drive. The motel’s toward the outskirts of the town, not that it seems like they get a lot of tourist traffic around here. As his driver pulls up to the check in office, Steve hesitates. The place looks- It’s a long row of dilapidated rooms with blue painted doors. Haphazardly tilted air conditioning units in the windows. A couple windows with cardboard taped in where the glass should be. An overflowing dumpster. It looks like it has been, or will be, the scene of a murder.

“Are you okay?” 

“Be honest. Do you know of any murders that have happened here?”

The guy thinks about it for a second, rather than just rattling off a no. Which Steve appreciates. “Not that I know of,” he says. “But there’s a B&B back in town if this isn’t your speed.” He gives Steve a small smile. “Byers’ House. Really nice place.”

Steve can’t afford really nice. He mentally adds a star back to the guy’s rating for his honesty. “No, it’s- It’ll be fine. Could you just wait one second while I check in though? I need to get to Family Video after I drop off the bags.” 

“I’m kind of in the middle of-”

“Five minutes, I swear. And you’re going back that way anyway, right? I’ll pay cash.”

The guy gives him a long look. “You can’t just-” the guy says, losing steam halfway through. Steve smiles as the guy caves with a muttered, “Fine.” It’s the Harrington charm. Works every time. 

--

Family Video is on the other end of “Historic Downtown Hawkins” from the bus station. It seems to be getting into a less historic area, surrounded by a strip mall on one side. The video store has that classic brick look though. A mural on the side of the building with a mashup of movie characters from Elle Woods to Darth Vader. It could easily be removed, wouldn’t affect the sale price. There are large windows on either side of the door, the classic coming attractions posters surrounded by lights. But as Steve climbs the stairs he notices the posters are made by hand. Some of them look like well done art by someone who knows what they’re doing, some of them look like the scribblings of a five year old. 

How quaint.

He grimaces, pushing the door open. Cringing at the cheerful tinkle of a bell. "Welcome to Family Video." The girl at the counter looks up from her magazine, bored. "Can I help you find something?"

"The manager?" Steve says.

"That's me." She straightens up. "Is there a problem?"

"I'm Steve." Steve tries out a smile as he makes his way over to the counter. He has a great one. But she seems unmoved, not smiling back. "Harrington." He points in the vague direction of the Family Video logo on the wall. "As in, the family in Family Video."

She cocks her head. "I think my family is the family in this Family Video. We've only been running the place for 28 years." She adds, "Buckley." She points to the nametag on her suspenders that says Robin. She's wearing suspenders. Somehow they kind of work for her.

"I'm sure my family appreciates all your family has done to keep the store up and running."

"Last one in the country."

Steve gives smiling one more go. She looks at him stone faced. So much for the famous Harrington charm. Steve supposes what he's about to say isn't going to give her a lot to smile about. "I guess this is awkward," Steve says. "But the fact is I own this building, and the franchise license."

"The hell you do." She crosses her arms over her chest, lifting her chin.

"I do though," Steve says. "I don't know what deal my parents worked out with your parents. Obviously, we've been- I've been- Hands off. So that's thirty years of profits you haven't had to share and rent you haven't had to pay. I won't be seeking to recoup that, by the way."

She snorts. "Go ahead and try. There aren't any profits to share. We barely keep the lights on."

"Maybe this is an opportunity then," he says. "To turn this-" He makes a motion, encompassing the worn counter she's standing behind, the overflowing shelves of Blu-rays and DVDs, the scuffed floors. The general aura of decline in this shrine to an outdated form of media. "Into something profitable."

"What exactly are you talking about?"

"Well, the building has value. If the business doesn’t."

"The business has value," she argues. "It's just not in profits."

Steve cocks his head. "I don't follow."

"It has value to the town. We host movie nights in the town square all summer. We have groups that meet here to talk about film or books or writing." She motions at a couple squashy chairs in the corner with another mural on the wall. It’s the Gremlins doing a dance from Singing in the Rain. "We have an annual film festival. It’s happening next month. There are-"

"That's great," Steve interrupts. "But I need actual money. Not feel good small town vibes." He has to get out of this hellhole. And if that means selling this building out from under this stranger he doesn't give a shit about, he'll do it. That's business. That's how the world works. 

“And I need you to go be delusional somewhere else.” She frowns at him. “You don’t own this place.”

“Really?” he says. “Because I have a copy of the deed in my bag back at the hotel and another on file with my lawyer. How about you?”

“I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” She manages to sound confident despite the fact that Steve knows for a fact she doesn’t have the goods. 

“I’m happy to come back tomorrow with my extremely legal paperwork that will hold up in any court of law,” he says. “And you bring… Whatever you can dig up to help your case. If that doesn’t settle it, you can spend the profits you don’t have on a lawyer.” 

“Great,” she says, voice flat. “Is there anything else I can help you with.” The amount of rage coming off her would be intimidating if he wasn’t completely sure he owns this place. And if she wasn’t wearing suspenders. 

--

Steve heads to the diner down the street from the video store for dinner. He feels sort of shitty. Maybe he should have made his lawyer do this part, but he can’t really afford the retainer. So fuck it, fine. He’ll be the bad guy. It's not like it's his fault Robin’s parents put all their eggs in the basket of a store they didn't even own. What is Steve supposed to do about it? He needs the money. He owns the place. It's not on him to preserve some weird non-profit video store, just so kids can hang out there and talk about movies or whatever she was going on about.

"Anything I can get you?" a pretty blond asks. Steve grabs the menu, gives it a scan. The last few weeks have been one indignity after another. Steve didn’t really think he had any farther to sink, anything left to lose. But looking at that menu a lead weight sinks to the bottom of his gut, his throat suddenly going tight. He wants his salad with truffle vinagrette, he wants wagyu beef not meatloaf, he wants hiramasa not tilapia. He doesn’t want chicken fried anything ever. 

"How about you bring me your favorite thing on the menu." He tries his smile out on the waitress just to make sure it's not broken. It’s probably not his best effort, considering how desperately he wants to cry about toro tartare. But she smiles back, charmed. He takes a second to notice how well she fills out her apron. Chrissy, her name tag says.

"Anything?" she says. "You don't have any food allergies, or-"

"Surprise me, Chrissy." She blushes at the sound of her name in his mouth.

“It’s so weird that you’re like… Here.” She shakes her head, wrinkling her nose. Very cute. “I’ve never met anyone famous before.” 

“I know what you’re going to say,” Steve teases. “I’m more handsome than the pictures.” 

She laughs. “Are you here for a while?” He can’t tell if it’s a come on or just curiosity. 

“I have some business to wrap up,” Steve says. “But I’ll be here for a week or two.” Not more than that, surely. How long can it take to sell a stupid building?

"I'm really sorry about what happened. With your family and everything." She leans in, like she thinks he might be embarrassed for anyone to overhear her talking about something that was all over the news, all over twitter, all over tiktok, all over everything. The charges being made public. The feds turning Steve’s New York apartment inside out. Steve getting escorted out into a sea of flashing cameras. Every microsecond of his misfortune documented.

"Thanks," he says, clipped. The last thing he needs is pity from some girl who probably peaked by captaining her high school cheerleading squad, some waitress who's probably never left her home town. Steve's fucking broke, but he's still better than this town. Better than these people. He doesn't need her pity.

She senses the shift in his mood, the smile no longer directed at her. And straightens up. "Anything to drink?"

--

Steve fishes his phone out of his handbag when she's gone. He knows he shouldn't, but he checks his Instagram. He has friends all over the world. Had friends all over the world. And now look, he can watch them having fun without him in real time. Watch them not thinking about him. Not missing him. It's all right there in the palm of his hand.

There’s Kassandra sun bathing in Ibiza. And there’s Oliver clubbing in Toyko. And there’s Stavros. His boyfriend of a record breaking three months. Kissing some guy on the private plane he was supposed to be using to fly Steve out of here. And there’s Stavros kissing that same guy on his yacht with a breathtaking Mediterranean sunset behind them. Steve zooms in on a carpaccio with a jealousy so intense he feels sick to his stomach. Fuck Stavros, honestly. But he would kill for that carpaccio. 

"Here you go," Chrissy chirps. She puts down a plate. "It's not actually on the menu, but it's my favorite. It’s like avocado toast, but it’s hash browns instead of toast. The kitchen makes it for me special." She puts down a second smaller plate with a few huge onion rings. “Mabel’s famous for her onion rings. Or- It’s the sauce, really.”  She adds a milkshake. “You can use the shake for dipping too.”

Steve looks at the food. It’s all so… Fried. He looks at her face, the tentative smile there. He feels a flush of something uncomfortable. Feels sort of small, air knocked out of him by the way she bounced off his coldness and came back with a little piece of herself and a smile. Something hooks into his chest, and tugs. 

“Thank you.” It sounds- Pathetically sincere. “It looks delicious.” That’s a lie, but he’s fucking doing his best.

Her smile grows to a bright, wide thing. Her pretty face lit up. She tilts her head, taking a breath. "Listen. I know you probably have- It's probably not what you're used to," she says. "But if you want to meet some people, there's a party out by the lake tonight." She shrugs. "I know it's hard to be new in town." She smiles again. So cute. "At least you could get a couple beers out of it."

"Will you be there?"

She blushes and nods. Pretty. Tempting. A nice distraction. Maybe even something he could put on his Insta.

“I’ll see you there.”

--

The party is exactly what Chrissy said it would be. Big bonfire. A couple kegs. A bunch of locals getting drunk, getting loud, hooking up. Steve looks around for Chrissy, pushing his way through the crowd. He doesn’t see her, and being around these yokels is bad for his morale. He grabs a beer and does another pass through the crowd, looking for anyone who’d make a good picture. He doesn’t need to advertise that he’s at a shitty party, but making out with someone hot might give Stavros second thoughts about taking that generic twink to Mykonos when he could have had Steve. 

Steve looks past the rowdy center of the party to a guy standing a bit away from the fire. Long hair. Leather jacket. Shit-kicker boots. Steve can see a tantalizing bit of ink on his hand as he lights a cigarette. A bit more ink peeking out of the worn neckline of his tshirt. He looks like the kind of guy that'll sell you drugs or steal your wallet.

Perfect.

The camera is already open on Steve’s phone as he steps in close to the guy. Steve takes a fist full of his shirt in hand to keep him from stepping back as Steve plants one on him. The phone clicks and Steve' glances over at, about to take one more. 

The guy cups Steve's chin. Warm fingers insistent, turning Steve away from the phone. Turning the hurried, awkward mash of their lips together into something that catches. Steve opens up, unthinking, for the heat of his mouth. The hand tight on his waist urges him closer, into the brush of leather, the heat of a body up against his. There's a lazy confidence to the way the guy slips him a little tongue. Steve leans into it, into him.

And the guy pulls back.

It takes Steve a second to let go of the grip he has on the guy's shirt. To remember why he came over here. His phone. Right. He never did get that second pic. He licks his lower lip. His eyes still on the guy. On his mouth. When Steve looks up enough to catch the guy's eye, the cocky quirk of his eyebrow, he can feel his face going hot.

Jesus.

Why is this guy even getting to him? He flirted his way out a Saudi prince's compound. He made it through two countries without a passport. He got into KissKiss without a lock of human hair. He does not get flustered. Especially not by small town guys with hair like they've been in a bunker since the 80s, and rough fingers and that infuriatingly amused look on their face.

"Um," Steve says. The guy's smile gets wider. Fuck. 

“I have to-” Steve makes a vague motion, and starts walking in any random direction that’s away from how hard his heart is pounding, from how obvious it must be that he wants. From how easy it was to get under his skin. He tries not to picture that taunting grin being directed at his back while the guy watches him basically make a run for it. 

--

Steve hitches a ride back to the motel, dreading taking an actual look inside his room. The bags are where he carelessly tossed him. The floors are worn linoleum. The air conditioner rattles like a plane propeller. The tile in the bathroom is chipped and discolored. He lines up his bags neatly in the closet. No point in unpacking. He won’t be staying long. 

There are cigarette burns on the blanket, but the sheets seem clean at least. He slides gingerly into bed and pulls out his phone. He looks at the picture he took. It’s not great. A bit blurry. There’s the awkward stretch of his arm holding the camera. But if he cropped it- He zooms in on the guy’s face, trying to get a better look than he did at the party. It’s really only half his face. Steve can’t see that glint in his eyes, that curve of the grin that sticks so sharply in Steve’s craw. The soft focus blurry moment of his mouth against Steve’s still sends a thick pulse of arousal through Steve’s gut. The memory of the guy’s fingers against his chin, the demanding heat of his mouth.

He deletes the photo from his phone without posting it. It wasn’t Instaworthy.

CHAPTER TWO

Steve wakes up feeling worse than he did the time he accidentally roofied himself. A shower helps a little. The water temperature could charitably be called lukewarm. But Steve stands too long in the tepid spray, drawing in deep breaths, filling his lungs with the smell of his shampoo. One of a kind, made just for him. Because he’s the kind of person people want selling their brand. Because he’s the kind of person who has what other people want. He’s the kind of person other people want to be like. 

Or he was. 

No, he still is. No one will touch him right now, but that’s temporary. The next scandal will come along. People will forget about the bullshit, and remember that he’s Steve Harrington. 

He fortifies himself with a look in the mirror. He hasn’t changed. He’s still got a face made to sell collagen spray and a body made for thirst traps. He takes a little extra time with his hair. He takes a little extra time choosing his outfit, running his hands through the couture in his suitcases, the thick wool and crisp linen, bumpy tweed, featherlight jersey. He pulls out a couple favorites. The gray pleated skirt. Thom Browne, of course. He hesitates between the matching sports coat and the red LV bomber. He always feels like hot shit in the bomber, but he should probably go for the look that says I’ll see you in court. His fingers trail over the soft leather of the bomber as he puts it back in his suitcase. 

He snaps a couple pics when he’s done. There’s no way he’d post something with this hotel room as a background, but look at his hair. Perfect. His outfit. Impeccable. And there’s that Harrington smile. 

--

There only seems to be one Uber driver in this town, but at least the guy was- Well, no, he wasn’t friendly. But he did help Steve carry his bags to the motel room. He knows the town too. Maybe Steve can pump him for the dirt on Robin and the store.

It’s a van than pulls up to the motel parking lot though, not the Oldsmobile from yesterday. Steve peers in the window, just in case he’s about to get kidnapped.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath when a very familiar pair of brown eyes meet his. Long hair and tattoos. Leather jacket just like last night. Steve would almost rather walk. But he is dressed to threaten legal action. Probably best not to show up sweaty.

Steve opens the sliding door to the back. It’s full of an alarming amount of crap. Tools, and random metal parts of something. A car? Steve doesn’t know. Wood, a small plastic lawn chair, a lawnmower, an amp for some reason- 

The guy pats the passenger’s seat. “Up here, big boy.”

Steve climbs in as smoothly as he can. Just because he humiliated himself last night doesn’t mean he has to do it again.

“I’m Eddie,” the guys says. “And you’re… Steve?” He reads off the phone in his hand. “I didn’t catch your name before.”

Steve could maybe pretend he doesn’t remember. Do the whole “I’m sorry have we met?” It can be devastating if you drop it on the right person. But he’s pretty sure all he’ll get if he tries it on this guy, Eddie, is a knowing smirk. 

Fuck it. “Came on a little strong,” Steve says. “Sorry, I guess.”

Eddie pulls out of the parking lot. “No apology needed. You’re not that bad a kisser.”

Steve knows exactly what Eddie’s doing, but he can’t just not set the record straight. “I’m a good kisser.” Eddie shrugs, still with that teasing grin on his face. His eyes on his rearview. “I escaped from the Yakuza because of how good a kisser I am.”

Eddie shoots him a skeptical look. “If you say so.”

“I’m serious. I have literally been given a car because of how good a kisser I am. A really nice car.”

Eddie laughs. “I mean, if you want to prove it we could try again. See if I’m inspired to buy you breakfast.”  He chucks Steve under the chin, condescending. Steve wants to eviscerate him. He also kind of wants to take him up on it, a surge of heat spearing through his gut. What is it about this fucking guy? He bats Eddie’s hand away. 

“Excuse you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are we asking for permission before we grab each other now?” 

“That was a one time grabbing,” Steve says. “Temporary insanity. So how about we both agree to keep our hands to ourselves from here on out.”

“Your loss.” Eddie flashes his teeth. He’s such an asshole. It’s really unfortunate how bad Steve wants to touch his dick.

--

There’s a closed sign on the door of the video store, and no lights on. It’s well past nine. This is no way to run a business. Steve knocks on the door, but the lights stay off. 

He waits five minutes, ten, before giving up and heading down the street toward the diner. He’ll kill some time having breakfast, then try again. Chrissy’s at the counter in her perky little ponytail. He smiles when she gives him a blushy wiggle of her fingers, and takes a seat at the counter.

“Did you have a good time at the party?” she asks.

“Would have been better if you were there.” She giggles, handing him a menu. “I looked for you.”

“I had to close up.” She bites her lip, scrunches her nose. “I got there late.” She leans in across the counter and lowers her voice like she’s telling secrets. “I looked for you too.” 

Steve wouldn’t mind the distraction. A no strings fling with someone like her. Someone who’d be sweet on his tongue. Soft in his arms. Not like Eddie. Eddie’s too- 

Eddie pops up from behind the counter with a screwdriver in his mouth. Fucking hell. Is the guy a living jumpscare? Why is he everywhere Steve goes?

He has his hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, and his jacket off. Tight Metallica tee that shows off the tattoos on his arms. Full sleeves of stark black ink that Steve doesn’t have time to pick apart before he’s making himself look down at the menu. He’s thinking about breakfast and not about rough fingers on his skin, a warm mouth wrapped around his- Nope. He’s not thinking about that.  

“Flirt on your own time, Chris.” Steve looks up at the warmth in Eddie’s tone. It’s teasing, but without the edge he takes when he’s poking at Steve.

Chrissy rolls her eyes at him and smacks him on the shoulder. “Shut up, jerk. I’m not paying you to hassle me.”

“Where’s that replacement motor?” Eddie asks. She looks around, and snatches it up off the counter. He takes it, and holds on, her hand caught in his as he raises an eyebrow and says, “Be good.” They both look at Steve. He hopes they don’t think they’re being subtle. 

Steve watches as they look back at each other, a whole conversation in the way Chrissy wrinkles her nose and Eddie gives his head a shake. They’re definitely fucking. So much for that distraction.

--

The store’s still closed when Steve gets back from the diner. This has to be deliberate. Is Robin avoiding him? Hoping he’ll go away? Joke’s on her. It’s not like he has anywhere else to go.

A bunch of kids are sitting on the steps of the store, arguing with each other about Minecraft or whatever kids like. 

“Anyone know why they aren’t open?” Steve asks.

One of the kids, curly haired with a trucker hat shrugs. “We were wondering the same thing.” 

“Maybe she’s sick,” a red headed girl offers. 

“She seemed fine yesterday,” Steve says.

“Usually you’re not sick right up until you are, so-” The red head looks at Steve with a level of withering disdain only middle schoolers are capable of. 

“What are you guys even doing here?” Steve says. “Don’t you have netflix?”

“Of course we have netflix,” a lanky, dark haired scarecrow of a boy says. He runs a close second on the withering disdain meter to Red Head.

A chorus of voices overlap each other.

“Robin has lots of stuff that’s not on netflix.”

“And she lets us play DND at the store.

“We’re making a movie.”

“What kind of movie?” Steve instantly regrets asking. 

Five voices start clamoring. Steve gets about three words of it. One of the words is “Demogorgon,” which he’s pretty sure is not actually a word. A smaller boy with stick straight brown hair in a truly unfortunate bowl cut holds up several weird drawings that don’t help make anything clearer. 

“Did you do the window?” Steve asks the kid, ignoring the rest of the useless non-information being yelled at him. He points at the poster for Ghostbusters. It’s one of the better ones.

“Yeah,” the kid says. “I’m Will.” He points at a signature in the corner of the poster. Steve’s having a hard time not looking at his haircut. He’s pretty sure it would qualify as child abuse. 

Trucker Hat grabs the stack of pictures from Will’s hand and starts laying them out on the sidewalk. The other kids start yelling again, rearranging the order and calling each other stupid, uninspired, derivative…

“We still don’t even have a hero!”

“And who’s going to play Daisy?”

“Plus the third act and-”

“But the costume has to-”

“Guys,” a good looking, dark-skinned boy says, swinging a bat in front of him. “Come on. I can play the hero.”

“You’re not a hero, Lucas. You’re a shrimp,” Trucker Hat says.

“We already decided none of us would be the hero,” Scarecrow says. 

“What about him?” Red Head asks. 

Steve looks up from the pictures he’d been trying to puzzle through. It’s like a very confusing comic book with no words. “What?”

“Are you like, athletic?” Will says.

“He is pretty tall,” Scarecrow admits reluctantly.

“He’s obviously not busy.”

“Can you swing a bat?” Lucas asks.

Steve isn’t sure he likes where this is going, but- “Can I swing a bat.” Steve snorts. “I played polo against Prince William. And I won.”

“They don’t use a bat in polo,” Trucker Hat points out.

“Gimme the fucking-” Steve snatches the bat out of Lucas’ hand. He puts his handbag down and spins the bat around his wrist once to get a feel for it. Then swings at the closest thing to him. Which happens to be a mailbox. With a gnome sitting on top of it. 

The gnome goes flying, and keeps flying. 

“Holy shit,” Lucas says. The kids watch wide-eyed as the thing sails all the way down the block and across the street. Knocking through a window with the loud smash of glass shattering. 

Oops. 

But still. “I told you,” Steve says, flipping the bat up and catching it one handed.

“Jesus Christ.” Trucker Hat sounds a little bit impressed, and a little bit freaked out.

“That’s the police station,” Will says, sounding more freaked out than impressed.

A few cops burst of the building.

“Run for it,” Red Head says, taking off on her skateboard with a gaggle of bicycles in hot pursuit.

By the time the cops make it down the street Steve’s the only one there. Bat in hand.

“Fucking kids.”

[just-emis-blog]

WIP Wednesday tag

Thank you to the really cool @fractured-shield for the tag! As always I am little late to the party, but hopefully it's ok that I am posting this wee snippet from my WIP this fine Friday morning 😊

Rules: Pick a WIP. Post something about it. On a Wednesday. Or whenever

Emphasis on the "whenever", apparently 👀 I'll do better next time, promise!

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of Artificial Bonds

...When he had reassured his father for the hundredth time that he did not need him to drop him off at his new job; like it was his first day of preschool or some shit, good lord. Blake had then scrambled to think of who in his friend group he could bare/afford to let know that he would soon be working at some menial, dead-end, service-joint alongside unfuckable poor people (Ugh). He came up blank, sadly. Unsurprisingly. But it was getting down to the wire, time was running out, and he really didn’t want to chance an Uber or Taxi driver recognizing him, so in a fit of desperation he had scrolled through his oldest contacts. Among the sea of restaurants, doctor offices, and disconnected numbers was Lysander Park. Blake tapped the name and opened the text chain. The last message was from Andy, inviting him to go Karaoking with him and his family. Blake had not responded. The date of the message said it was five months old. Blake winced, bodily, thumbs hovering over the keyboard; the glowing, blank white space as accusatory as it was inviting. After typing and erasing his request several times - going from apologetic to casual to pleading to casual again - Blake sent him the text. The response was almost immediate. Sure! :), it read, like those five months of silence didn’t exist. Like the messages before it didn’t have similar, insultingly long gaps in conversation. Just a “sure” and grandma’s first emoticon. No follow up questions. It was lucky as hell. It was purely…inexplicable. Almost as inexplicable as turning up in an unknown house with no clue as to how you got there. “…or I swear I’m calling the cops man, I’m not fucking around!” “Oh no sir, I truly believe that you are not fucking around wholeheartedly! And I will definitely get out of your hair just as soon as I grab my friend, I promise.” “How many times do I have to tell your dumbass that your stupid friend isn’t here!?” Figuring that he was about to be down a friend and a ride in one go if he let this little standoff continue, Blake rocked his body from side to side to build momentum, then slowly hucked himself until he was steadily rolling - his carcass breaching past some kind of curtain and beyond, until the dizziness from the movement won and he flopped spread eagled onto a scratchy rug. He groaned pathetically. Between his eyeballs burning from the sudden exposure to daylight and the spinning ceiling, the idea of going back to sleep where he lay was sounding pretty great right now - his new job, Andy, Lindsay and Man be damned. Before he could give into that tantalizing temptation, Blake hurled his torso up into a sitting position. And maybe it was a little more zombie-like than intended, because Lindsay screamed a shrill scream, reserved especially for when a hungover stranger rolled out from underneath a bed unexpectedly.

tagging @drchenquill @mk-writes-stuff @leahnardo-da-veggie @daisywords @the-ellia-west + anyone else who peeps this bad boy :D

[sailing-through-hawkins]

For the WIP game, zzz, plzzz!

aha, you've caught onto my zombie!steve au!!! i think it's so fun how we both took the zombie au and went with the opposite directions (≧∀≦)ゞ

it started because i have a fascination with undead!steve but then my love of bamf steve came crashing in ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

the base idea still follows the first three seasons or so, but instead of the lab being entirely shut down it would have been "re-purposed" and when the UD-team caught wind of it, they tried to get rid of the lab for good!

but shit goes wrong and steve is caught in the crossfire, becoming one of the many zombies that now plagues hawkins while the UD-team (as usual) try to fix it

have a lil snippet from the first draft, which somehow had a stoncy vibe, which i'm still not sure i'll keep or move to steddie yet

✧ask me about my wips✧

Jonathan, apparently ignoring Eddie entirely, runs over, the circle breaking apart to let him through.

"Eddie, what -" Jonathan's head whips around, boggling at the passive crowd, before it lands on the single, most infuriating zombie Eddie has ever had the displeasure of re-meeting, and he chokes. "Steve?"

Harrington blinks slowly. He stares at Jonathan, who's staring back with - with tears in his eyes?

"How -"

"J..." Harrington, Steve apparently, croaks out. "Jon...Jona...than."

"Holy shit." Jonathan stumbles, almost knocking into an idle zombie, who snarls at him but quickly shuts up when Harrington snarls louder.

"Call," he growls and pushes Eddie towards the car again, watching him scramble to open the door and get the walkie out. With a shaky hand, Eddie turns it on.

"Uh, hey gang, we got a bit of a situation here -"

"It's Steve," Jonathan interrupts, his hand grasping Eddie's wrist, his eyes stuck on the...old friend? If Eddie didn't know any better... "Guys, it's Steve."

[grayintogreen]

wip ask game: the moves intended?

YOU HAVE FOUND THE ANCIENT TEXTS. I included this one because I have like 25k of it and it's like fifteen years old and I thought "why not expose everyone to my writing from almost two decades years ago for a fandom NO ONE CARES ABOUT."

It was originally for a Big Bang on LJ that didn't end up getting off the ground and given that the fic would have been way more than 20k (obviously seeing as it's 25k with three chapters written), that was for the best. It was my first attempt to write a long fic that just didn't pan out because I was younger and dumber than I am now.

Anyway this is an Alias canon divergence AU that follows an alternate history where the zombie plague virus at the end of Season Four wasn't prevented and a lot of people died, so Sydney is now in control of APO due to her dad being dead, Sloane being MIA presumed traitor (again), and Dixon being MIA and features a lot of minor characters in starring roles (as you see a pattern begin to emerge). It involves Sydney and Sark having to work together when it's discovered that Sark is the only person with a specific immunity to the virus and therefore he has to be protected against Sydney's will because fuck that guy, and they learn to respect each other. Enemies to friends in a zombie apocalypse-core.

Here's a snippet:

And then, suddenly, something occurred to Sydney and she couldn't shout at him anymore. The look on his face was hollow, almost pained, like he was fully aware of the realization and found the concept slightly terrifying. "You want my mother back so she'll tell you what to do." "You'd bleed yourself dry if it would save the world, Sydney," he murmured after an excruciatingly long pause. "I'd bleed myself dry if she asked me to."

WIP RAMBLE GAME.

[judasofsuburbia]

ZOMBIE AU FOR WIP WEEKEND PRETTY PLEASE 🥺

ANYTHING FOR YOUUU ALEX<33

here is a snippet from my zombie au lumax chapter!!

They didn't know, at the time, of the Lurkers taking over the world.  Because their world was here in this old cabin bathroom. Lucas's shaky hands holding Max's red locks in one hand and kitchen scissors in the other. Max is blinking at him in the mirror, expectedly.  “C'mon, just make a cut,” Max croaks. Her voice is still weak and it breaks Lucas's heart to hear it. But it's so much better than not hearing it at all.

wip weekend!!

[materassassino]

WIP game!

Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it!

Tagged by both @veradragonjedi and @halfwaytoknowhere. The titles haven't changed much since the last time I did this except there's now also The Old Guard fics involved. All the unspecified fics are Star Wars unless I don't remember what the fuck they are.

Anakin Skywalker is reeling from it all

bespin fic

bobacobb

commensal

cowboy witer din - con

cowboy writer din - holodrama

Desiderium Auget Dilatio [TOG]

fancy party

fatherhood

fledgingverse prequel

halloween fic

Hob and booker [TOG/The Sandman]

homecoming

i thought

it stops him dead

jedi luke and leia

Leia finds Master Mace in a way that feels by chance

luke swap

maered fic

Migs Mayfeld

Nile stares at her phone [TOG]

orphanotropism

reva and luke

rident

shared space [TOG]

snoke hunting

So

softly, my darling

special delivery [Dragon Age]

statue [TOG]

Thank you so much for this

The diary

the memory of trees second attempt

timkon catlad [DC Comics]

very drunk star wars gang

vgygyibiun

Why did you give me away

witch luke

Zombie AU

I write literally... so much that just never gets finished lmao. Half of this I have no intention of ever finishing, but that's ok too. Sometimes you just need to get ideas on a page, but they don't have to be seen.

Tagging: @aureutr @dangerouscommiesubversive @non-un-topo (i hope you don't mind) @maered613 @ctrldao3

[birdybirdnerd]

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants. Thanks to @kedreeva for the prompt! Also @laureniscoolcool if you don't to it this week I'm kicking your ass

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

My WIPs:

SE CH19

tsp zombie au

pendragon alderpat thing

fofe shock

Snippet from SE CH19 under the cut!

A section of the ceiling unfolded and lowered, bringing down with it a sturdy looking wooden ladder that thunked to the ground at their feet. It led up into a room up above that was shrouded in darkness and dust. 

“It has been long enough,” Ana explained as she waved at the dust that fell in their eyes, “that I think it is time you moved out of Natalia and Isabel’s room, and into your own. And it is way past time we cleaned out this old attic and went through the generations of basura we have collected up here.” 

The Narrator felt like he was catching up, but still a touch unsure. “And so you’re… conscripting me to help you?” 

“Of course!” Ana’s eyes glinted. “What, you expect me to climb up there and haul down a hundred boxes all on my own? Ha! I would break more than a hip, narrador.” 

At her instruction, he helped Ana climb up the wooden ladder into the hole in the ceiling. She pulled on another string at the top, and a couple dusty old bulbs flickered to life, illuminating a small and cozy room stacked floor to ceiling with boxes. 

[altaneenarts]

Tag game from @amoxilwrites

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

10 all for DSMP

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

162,320 (oml that's a lot)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just DSMP rn

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1) in the doorway with you a zombie!george dnf fic based on mushie's apocalypse AU

2) perpetuam memoriam king!george/assassin!dream au

3) The Divine Right DSMP canon-divergent platonic dnf fic where c!George rescues c!Dream with the help of DreamXD (this action has consequences)

4) the crown, the shadow the prequel to "perpetuam memorial"

5) Communion a sequel to "in the doorway with you"

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I love answering comments especially if a reader has a question. I'm happy to talk about my fics or characterizations with others. I've made some good friends this way :)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm well I'd say some of the ones I'm writing now have angstier endings, but of those I have published it's probably "The Divine Right" simply because of how long the fic is. (SPOILERS) It's about losing what you thought you had regained and coming to grips with the truth that the person you knew is no longer what they once were.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

The End post DSMP finale fic where DreamXD saves c!George from the nuke

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope. I have yet to get any real hate comments lol.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

So far, no. I've written short snippets of hypothetical scenarios which @amoxilwrites has enjoyed lol. But if I ever publish any, it'll be very character/plot driven. I want the smut to have meaning and give a look inside who the characters are or progress the story somehow—I just find it more engaging that way.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nope.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Yes, back on an old account for the Hannigram fandom.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship

Oof of all time? As much as I love DNF, nothing will compare to Destiel (sorry gamers lol)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Hmm now that depends on what you consider a wip XD I have many planned/brainstormed but of the ones I've actually started writing I think I can finish them all, it'll just take a long while.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Atmosphere/description (I love setting the tone), metaphors, and dialogue

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I can't write pure fluff/happiness for the life of me. I can only write happiness in the contrast of sadness. I also struggle with modern settings as my dialogue tends to lean towards poeticness more than realism. Too many metaphors. Whenever I edit, I always try to cut down my metaphors to one at a time instead of a bunch of wordiness that'll tire out a reader.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've done it with Enokian from Supernatural which was very painful given that it's not a complete language and the translators that exist aren't always accurate. So it was a lot of coming up with multiple ways to say a sentence until one was translatable. I also translate Latin pretty often (even now for "perpetuam memoriam") I'll never claim that it's accurate but I do often double check what I want to say through multiple translators before the final draft.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Technically Harry Potter, but I first posted fics for Supernatural

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

I'm really happy with how "perpetuam memoriam" is going so far but of those that are complete I'd say "Communion". I really enjoy capturing a morally grey character whose logic is different from the norm in order to rationalize their life; how they can be vicious and kind.

oh gosh i feel like a dsmpblr noobie what other writers do i know well enough to tag *sweats* I think I'll just leave this open to whoever wants to join :D that way I can get to know yall better and can tag you next time lol

[virgeandhis-pocket-protector]

Seven Snippets Tag

Bro i love these even tho i can NEVER pick between my babies

Anyway @late-to-the-fandom tagged me in this chain on my other blog but I'm doing it here because I got all SaSi fics at the moment B)

No-pressure tags: @i-will-physically-fight-you @glacierruler @prince-rowan-of-the-forest @lily-janus @groovyghostie @vinbee631 @girlboypatton be free to lore dump !!!

If you haven't done a writing tag game b4 no worries. This one's prompt is to put seven snippets (or as many as you can find) that you like from your WIPs or favorite fics in a post and bam! you've done a tag game

Because i'm Me(TM) i gotta set a requirement for myself for fun so it's gonna be whichever number that snippet is, it has to have that many characters talking/mentioned/in the snippet/etc. for fun! this is not a necessary requirement btw

Hit read more to see the snippets >:D/\

One Character (from "Brothers by Blood")

A inky one-way-window, long and thin like a serpent, spread across one side of the room. Faint shadows moved behind it. Left of it was a matte metal door; scuff marks on the floor showed where it would swing inward. In the center of this room, a young boy sat on one side of a white folding table, rigid in a matching folding chair. His curled-up poise could have been mistaken for that of a panther: lean, scared – ready for a fight. Layers of black, baggy clothes were his tattered fur. Bushy brown hair was his ruffled mane, lined with old streaks of violet meant to distract from his sore eye bags and heavy eye liner. The boy seemed sweaty, despite the cold, and smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals. He fidgeted absent-mindedly with his chain necklace. Shivering. He glanced up at the clock, squinting, and snapped his head back down as if out of fear of being caught.

2. Two Characters (from "The Prince and the Snake Charmer")

"Sorry, just-" Roman paused, steadying his breathing, "-just a bit jumbled up in the head." Janus nodded in understanding. "That's alright. It might take a second before you can think straight again." "I'm not straight, so it's not a problem," Roman replied on instinct, immediately turning bright crimson at Janus's startled reaction. "I mean, as in thinking-wise," Roman covered up, "I don't think straight ever, y'know? Like, because I'm dumb, and, y'know. Dumb, like really, uh, stupid, right?"

3. Three Characters (from "He Who Holds The Ruler")

Roman nodded. "Y-yeah, I mean, I guess. My brother Remus has a boyfriend. They more so…don't care." Patton nodded and was quiet again. "Maybe you should try telling them over lunch," Patton suggested gently. "I'll be there will you. I'm sure they'll at least try to be understanding." "Yeah," Roman said, nodding. "Understanding." Patton sighed sadly, but smiled reassuringly. "I'm sensing the need for a hug, I think?" "You never have to ask first, you know," Roman mumbled thankfully, hugging Patton around his side. "The answer will always be yes."

4. Four Characters (from "Kingdoms for a Mind 1")

"I would not phrase it as a 'quest'," Logan commented, "Maybe a 'reluctant onus'?" "Oh, hush, Specks," Roman snapped, "You'll get used to our adventures! It 'tis inevitable. With the same ease as the sun rises and falls, you shall soon fall in love with-" Virgil cleared his throat. "Wait a second," he began, looking to Roman, "What did you say about King Dolion 'disturbing peace'?" Thomas started fidgeting with the tablecloth, looking anywhere but at them.

5. Five Characters (from "Takeover" — Zombie apocalypse AU)

“Well, it’ll make great fertilizer!” “Remus, that is disgusting,” Virgil complained. “Stop kicking it!” Stepping back into the garage, Janus made a face. “Dios mío, this truck looks terrible.” “Agreed.” Logan said. He spritzed Lysol on the chair were the zombie once sat, stirring up a wave of dust. “Even my abuelo would not drive this,” Janus muttered, squatting down to look underneath the haphazardly off-balance vehicle, “And he drives the worst AMC Gremlin you will ever see.” Out on the lawn, Remy waved Remus away from him, demanding that he take a shower. This most certainly prompted Remus to ask if he could "join in." Virgil practically fled over to the garage to avoid getting caught in the crossfire of that conversation.

6. Six Characters (from "Kingdoms for a Mind 2")

"Forgive me if I'm rude, I've not seen anyone in months," Hypatia said, taking a seat at the head of the table. "But what are you doing here?" The princes glanced around at each other, none really wanting to explain. Janus sighed and put down his spoon. "We're traveling," Janus said simply. "Though we hadn't planned for this long of a trip. Running short on supplies." "Mainly medical supplies,” Logan said. “And enough rations for everyone,” Patton mentioned. "And weaponry," Remus added. "And sanity," Virgil piped up.

7. Seven characters oh god (from "Takeover")

“Crazy Dave’s not here to reinforce us,” Emile said monotonously. Roman sighed. "That game isn't even good." "Says you." "Well, do one of you have a better suggestion?" Logan asked, slightly exasperated. Patton leaned forward and rested his chin on Logan's shoulder gently. "Could maybe ask Janus…" Virgil wondered out loud, glancing outside, "He's a mechanic at his abuela's shop. Could maybe, with luck, possibly fix the truck." Logan nodded, writing it down quickly. Remy raised an eyebrow. "That's all peaches and cream, babes, but that big-ass zombie wedged in the front seat?" they asked, "Who would be insane enough to even touch it?" WHAM. "I'M BACK, MOTHERFUCKERS!" The front door was kicked wide open by a tall, broad-shouldered figure in loud a punk jacket, which could be described using both definitions of 'dirty.' His grimy combat boots, covered in spikes, had left brown sludge on the window. A name-tag on his shirt, from when he’d worked at a soup kitchen, said, 'Hello! I'm: Remus EVIL BITCH OF THE WEST'.

Sorry for the length. This was fun though >:D/\

[withleeknow]

HAHAHAHA your 🦌☁️ update: I love this for you + mathematically-speaking, it's directly proportional to the 23 hybe curse- exhibit a: vm.tiktok.com/ZGdNQFSbq/ yes the entirety of enville are in tears over this development + the tour whiplash I'm getting from walk-the-line to dominATE - exhibit b: vm.tiktok.com/ZGdNQB6ow/ come get your mans or hope this serves as inspiration for another self-indulgent piece

oh my pink mic'd moon 🌕 he's giving us everything bc this is what it feels like to be bias-wrecked by my own bias and tinyurl.com/re7kbzw6 is so coming-of-age k-drama-coded 🥺🥺

lmao I metaphorically ran to share this w/ you - idk how meta my feed has gotten but ✨️ onigiri fendi bag ✨️ tinyurl.com/4c6aeeew I am so glad this is well out of budget 😭😭

also your zombie apocalypse team? 10/10 reasoning and whilst I fully adore our boba-eyed maknae + mimo, I'd personally swap them out for key + papa minho bc that dynamic wld get me through any crisis w/ a 100% success rate (+🐈‍⬛ for brainrot husband reasons)

ok foul of you for those two tiktoks :) did he(e) (hehehhehe lmao that was lame) have no other choice but to literally haunt my dreams ever since i started looking at 🐈‍⬛ and 🐧 a little too much. unfortunately i don't remember what the dream this time was about, just that it was very cute but akshdkjsk that was two times in like 10 days!! he is quite literally shoving himself into the microwave again and it's gonna be bad for me this time i just know it

this one was awful... the video was never-ending... then you have hyunjin just taking over at the end... if there's a self-indulgent piece i'm afraid it won't be very sfw aldksjksdj

the shot with the chest ugh HELLO. the vibe for ksj1 through all the snippets and concept pics is just chef's kiss 🤌 and it looks like hobi is already cooking something up (cough, the "wip" in his insta bio), we're gonna be too well fed i fear 🫠 (also i'm highkey manifesting a jin appearance on jaefriends in the coming days to promote his stuff)

ONIGIRI BAG ?? price tag aside GOD can you imagine a little uppie leebit or jiniret or RJ hanging off the bag !!! 😭

oh my god i didn't even think about key and papa minho. 🐈‍⬛ for survival reasons and the old married couple for mental health reasons sounds like an ideal situation. this reminds me, i don't think i've ever seen shinee interact with enha? 🧐 or maybe my algorithm has just never taken me to that corner of the internet yet lol