#trainwreck apocalypse au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

s-4pphics · 12 days ago

Text

drenched in white. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: after all your time alone, you’re finally not, but you’re definitely not prepared for your new life. [jackson AU]

WORD COUNT: 7.1K

WARNINGS: readers mute and taller than ellie, death, murder, blood, mentions of alcohol/starvation/hypothermia, a bit of gore, near death experience, trauma and sadness, brief girls kissing, some fluff because kids :)

A/N: tbh idk where this came from but i missed ellie so yeah prob wont write anymore of this but yeah

—

Apocalypses are fucking stupid.

Humans are born into nothing, forced to run all their lives from blood-lustful beasts that can rewire their entire brain chemistry into one that sadistically matches theirs, and if that doesn’t happen, you die anyway with nothing but the clothes on your back and a horse with no rider. That’s fucking stupid.

You weren’t alive when the world was thriving… presumably so — whatever the old world considered thriving. Those history books you stole in adolescence would argue otherwise, but there were some happy moments. On occasion. Maybe? Whatever. But you weren’t there, and you can only imagine how you would’ve turned out if you were. Would you be married? Have children? Own property? Businesses? Whatever other luxury the old world prioritized although it all seemed exhausting?

Would you be an addict, a trainwreck, someone who had it all then nothing in the blink of an eye? That seems to be reoccurring in some of those biographies you found about people called celebrities. They have everything then die too young or way too old and eventually fade into a nobody, just like everyone else. History is so heartbreaking. Such cruel fate.

You’ve been by yourself for a long time. Some would still consider you young, but you feel like a zombie that’s risen from the grave most of the time. You steal and live selfishly and waste your life reading because you can. You’re lucky enough to no longer have anyone you care about. Your recklessness doesn’t hinder anyone but yourself, so you read read read. Sometimes, you hunt for books more than you do for food. You’re not a fighter — it surprises you every day how you haven’t died yet — but a decent amount of people would consider you book smart. This one group you crossed paths with some years ago called you a genius because you’re self-taught in practically everything: reading and writing, starting fires, planting food, sewing, mapping plains. Whenever you’re harmed, you can heal yourself kinda. When you were 14, you stepped on a rusty nail and, instead of living the short remainder of your life as an amputee, you heroed through a disgusting infection that left you ill for 2 weeks, then sewed your own wound up. You couldn’t walk for days.

That same group also called you mute.

You don’t think you are, but rightfully so. There’s no one for you to talk to, so you don’t talk, simple as that. Everyone you knew died when you were a kid, maybe 7 or 8 — spending the majority of your life alone and in hiding doesn’t make for much conversation. Plus, the fucks that rule the Earth are nosy as hell. Being as quiet as possible is needed.

Reading passes time. It’s the last phase of winter, but it’ll be Spring in no time, thanks to the bag you drag through snow: stuffed with one jacket, a rusted chef’s knife, and 46 different novels and counting.

Your body’s gonna shut down on you. It’s so fucking cold and you’re barely layered but you haven’t finished The Cable Companies, One Hundred and One Best Songs. The pages filled with piano notes are almost enough to make you hear the songs… Or maybe the lack of nutrients is making you hallucinate. Guess you’ll find out when you finish. Just 22 more pages.

No food, no water, no warmth, no antique piano. You’re fucked any direction you turn.

There was a small cave somewhere around here. You used to sleep in it during the summer; the dark was always cooler. Maybe it’s buried underneath heaps of snow. You hope not. Fuck.

The closer you get to the cavern, the grosser the air becomes. Death carries a certain mugginess. Why’d they have to die next to your one retreat?

You drag and drag on like your legs weigh a ton all the way to the cave and… Great.

Death and no entrance. Red coats the snow and it reminds you of the twisted tale of Snow White. The decaying carcass of a deer should alarm you, but you only sigh in defeat. Where the fuck are you supposed to read without disturbance?

You only make it two more steps before you collapse face-first into ice. Your lungs wheeze in pain and you’re trying to get yourself up but you can’t. When you blink, you see colors.

Is this death? Or karma? A squirrel runs past you just to rub it in. Furry little bitch.

It’s only when your brain whispers for you to give up that you fully submerge into the snow. Small cries of pain are the only proof of your survival.

Fuck everything. Fuck people, fuck people that turned into monsters, fuck all the stupid trivial shit that the other world loved so deeply. Call it jealousy. Everything’s for nothing nowadays.

Your final thought before the world goes dark.

—

Why is there annoying beeping in heaven?

Maybe you’re naive in believing you made it there. Maybe this is hell. You thought it’d be more fucked up than this. The beeping is irritating though. Besides that, it’s peaceful.

Is this an in between world? Half dead, half not. You remember being into paranormal shit in horror stories years ago. Ghostly entities and whatnot. Maybe you’re… that. There’s whispers in the background. Bleary and distant but you kinda hear them. Maybe someone’s conjuring you up. Why you of all people?

“— ne… de…”

Need? Your ears are failing. Why is everything suddenly hurting? Pain in your eyes and behind them and all the way down. It’s hurting everywhere.

“—Jus… there… Not sure.”

It’s hurts so bad everywhere make it stop make it stop —

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

White overtakes your vision. Too bright and too cold and you can’t stop heaving but you want to because it fucking hurts everywhere

“Hey! Hey! Calm—”

The voices are clearer and so is the beeping and so is the pain. Gentle hands land on your shoulders and you thrash when faces, needles and medical equipment clear in your vision. There’s something sharp in your arm. Where the fuck when the fuck how —

“You needa calm down—“

You try to tell this blonde freak to go fuck herself but your voice is shot, coughing and spit flying everywhere.

“The fuck is her probl—“

“Be quiet—“

A crackling scream ripples through you, tears streaming down your face because suddenly more hands are holding you down. Malicious intent or not it makes you fucking sick. The beeping only gets faster.

“MY — my name’s Maria! Listen to me! My name’s Maria! Some of mine went out on patrol a few days ago and found you almost buried. We’re tryna help you!”

You continue to sob but they’re a little less guttural. Her voice is nice. Very motherly.

“You were halfway dead out there,” She huffs like it’s funny and you wanna throw a chair, “What’s your name? Gotta name?”

All the hands are off you except Maria’s. Maybe because you’re not trying to kick her face in anymore. You’re trying to tell her you don’t fucking remember but nothing comes out. Just more coughing.

“Take your time. Deep breaths, shhh, you’re alright.”

You finally meet her eyes and they’re pretty. Pale blue like spring water. The beeping starts to slow bit by bit. It took you all this time to realize that’s your heart. You glimpse at the monitor and… those squiggly lines mean fuck all to you. Why couldn’t you just die?

Your eyes travel, albeit less frantically, but on high guard. Skeptical as ever. You couldn’t even defend yourself against these incredibly polite barbarians if you wanted to. Your bag’s gone. Everything that’s yours is gone. The beeps increase all over again. Maria must sense your anxiety.

“Hey, hey, we have everything. We just had to make sure you were… alright to come in. No bites or nothing, ‘k?”

… Fair. Whatever. Gimme my shit.

“We were snoopin’,” Your vision follows the new voice. A man this time, average sized and bearded, “Ya like t’read?”

You squint and nod.

“‘S a good habit.”

… Awkward. It’s quiet now.

“How ya feelin’? Any pain?” Maria pries gently. You shrug. Not as bad as it was 2 minutes ago. You eye everyone in here, study as much of them as you can. Face, hands, guns latched around their thighs and shoved in their belts. They’re all threats while simultaneously being unthreatening. For now, at least.

“Y’all can get on. I got it from here.” She waves the remaining people off and they leave with tense smiles. The door clicks behind them. The beeping is the slowest it’s been since you woke up.

“Bout that name…”

You only stare at her.

“Don't remember?”

You scratch at your neck, and she sighs, “Not much of a talker, huh?”

You mime writing in a notepad, and Maria quirks with interest. She searches the room before digging through a drawer on the farthest dresser. She returns with a small book and marker.

The aches in your fingers don’t halt your scribbling. You turn the book towards her.

ARE YOU GOING TO KILL ME?

The corner of her mouth lifts, “No point in fixin’ ya up if that was the case. No offense, but you’re not threatening.”

You snort.

“You been by yourself for a while?”

You ponder before scribbling.

I WATCHED MY FAMILY DIE. PRETTY FUCKED UP CHILDHOOD. I’M ALWAYS ALONE.

She stares sympathetically and shakes her head in apologies. All you can do is shrug. You’d be more surprised if a kid grew up in this world without experiencing mass destruction. Trauma practically raised you.

“There’s not many people that can do what you do, y’know? You gotta gift.” She jerks her chin at the booklet. “Somebody taught’cha?”

You point to yourself.

“Don’t let that head get big now.” She smirks and you smile sorta.

“We got kids…” Maria blindly points towards the door.

“A lot of ‘em, and we’ve been tryna get them to read more but… I don’t know, some of these old bastards think it’s pointless and that discourages them.”

Oh.

“I don’t know what you got goin’ on out there, but… If you choose to go back out there, I won’t fault you, but if you don’t…”

Uh oh.

“How do you feel ‘bout teaching toddlers their ABCs?”

… Shit.

You scowl.

“I know it’s not the best… position to be in but, I don’t know, I just want something they can look forward to everyday. A new story, some new conversations… anything to get their little brains crankin’.”

“They’re so sweet and I feel like they’d gain so much from someone who cares just as much as they do.”

You don’t write anything. Her pupils shroud with dejection.

“Think about it?” She’s quick to turn away, but not without one last look over her shoulder, “Rest up.”

And the door closes. Your eyes shut in no time, and a comforting darkness overtakes you once more.

—

Leave with nothing but your annotated novels or stay where you’re well fed and warm but surrounded by snotty nosed orphans. Something to think about.

You’ve been in Jackson — you learned the town is called — for less than 48 hours, most of which you were recovering from a severe case of hypothermia. You don’t remember the last time you had a meal that hot. Maria had to reassure you that no one would take your plate.

You still haven’t given Maria a clear answer for her teaching proposal, but she doesn’t bug you about it. She is very eager to show you the daycare though. She’s subtle. You respect it.

Your books are still couped up in the infirmary because, frankly, you hate dragging them everywhere. Maria offered for you to keep them in the library, but you refused. They’re not up for grabs; You nearly died for every single one of those pages and you’ll be damned if someone touches them under your nose. They’re yours. It’s all you got right now.

You might even leave with a horse if Maria still likes you after telling her no to teaching. Tomorrow morning will wrap up your little dead-then-alive journey. Couldn’t hurt to ask.

It’s your first time back outside since your near-death experience. The sun is barely peeking from behind the clouds and your face is so cold it’s almost retraumatizing, but it’s pretty out. Maria was nice enough to give you new boots that weren’t hanging on by their laces.

Jackson bustles like a real, non-apocalyptic town. Lights shine and pick-ups honk and people are fucking smiling? Maybe this is heaven.

Those walls… They’re still high and barricaded. Scouts babysit those gates like clockwork. To think you were on the other side of their scrutiny just a day ago. The twinkling sound of joy confuses the fuck outta you. Laughter. Not only that, but from children. Not starving, nearly dead children, but well-fed, genuinely happy kids. Why does your stomach twist with jealousy? They deserve peace, of course, but so did you. So does every child.

Your eyes search for them — curiosity overtakes your limbs and you step with determination, guided by your ears. The twinkles grow in volume — there must be at least 10 kids playing in the snow.

“HEY! GET OFF, YOU FU—“

“Language!”

“HOW’S THIS FOR LANGU—“

“BOYS! ENOUGH! I’M SICK OF YOUR SHI—!”

“LANGUAGE, MS. DINA!”

“I CAN SAY THAT! YOU CAN’T!”

What a sight this is. Happy kids. Your heart swells. Slightly; you’re glad Maria isn’t here to catch your fondness.

“Alright, vermins, get up, I’ll miss the party.”

“5 more minutes, pleeease!”

“I’m not freezing for you. C’mon!”

The kids seem to love Ms. Dina. They dangle off every single one of her limbs, begging her to throw at least 10 more snowballs. Maybe your ice-cold heart isn’t as frosty as you thought. The sight is disgustingly endearing.

“Ms. Dina… Who’s that?”

And the laughter stops. A bunch of eyes attached to tiny bodies all gawk at you, some with intrigue, others with fear as they cower behind their teacher… babysitter? Whoever she is.

“Not sure, dove. You all have 10 minutes!”

“20!”

“10 or freeze to death! Go!”

Excited screams filter through the wind when said vermins squabble in snow like puppies, pushing and shoving and chucking icy bullets at each other. You never had to worry about being the oddball out, but you sure do look like one now.

“Hey. Maria told us about a scrounger.”

Creases bunch in your forehead, and Dina raises her hands defensively, “Joking, relax. So, are you staying, or…?” You shrug unknowing, and Dina chuckles.

“I think you should. If I had the option to stay here 24/7, I’d take it in a heartbeat. We could use an extra hand with the kids. Maria said you read?”

You nod. “Cool. We have a decent amount of readers — more than most, but, uh… yeah. Our kids need help.”

Your lip twitches alongside your pondering. So many questions rest on your tongue but none can leave. Dina’s eyes are consoling. It shouldn’t spark irritation in your stomach but it does.

“Do you sign?”

You stare in confusion, and she elaborates, “Like… Sign language?” Her hands make a bunch of gestures you don’t understand and your head shakes.

“Darn. No worries. If you’re ever interested in learning, just holler. We got some people that are hard of hearing so we all kinda use it occasionally. But, umm… yeah. I’m Dina.” She extends a polite hand but you don’t accept it. Your head jerks in greeting, and she smiles.

She drops it back to her side, “What should we call you?”

You don’t know. You don’t care. You’re not staying long. Your shoulders rise and fall nonchalantly.

“Should I have them pick?”

Before you can oppose, she’s hollering for—

“DYLAN! COME HERE!”

A rascal with a beanie and bright red boots sprints towards the two of you. His cheeks are so plush and scarred. Dina fixes the color of his sweater, “Dylan, what’s a good name for a teacher?”

“Ms. Dina, obviously—“

“Another name.”

Chipmunk Boy ponders for a moment before snickering, “Mr. Octopus.”

“Fucking hell—“

“Language, Ms. Dina! SWEAR JAR—“

“We don’t even do that here!”

“Okay, okay… just call them Dove or something! Don’t think we don’t notice you calling us that when you forget our names!”

Dina’s eyes widen, “That’s not true! What the… freak!”

Red-Boot-Ranger smirks when Dina catches herself before getting pelted at the back of the head with a snowball.

“Little BITCH—“

Dina shouts, “HEY!—“

“MS. DINA, FRANKIE CURSED!”

“NO, I DIDN’T—“

Arguments break out between all 13 children, loud and boisterous and your head pounds. Too much for one day.

“STOP— sorry, I gotta handle this, but it was nice meeting you! BOYS—“

Dina throws you one last wave before rushing off to scold Dylan and his… bully? You think that’s what they were called in some books you read. A kid messing with another kid or something like that.

You take this last bit of alone time before you depart to explore.

Despite your eagerness to disappear, Jackson is nice. You don’t know what Christmas entails, but it’s often described as festive: a day for togetherness and family and whatever the hell else ‘can’t be bought’ yet everyone buys. Jackson is visually festive. Celebratory scenery. What exactly they’re celebrating goes over your head. There’s nothing to be joyous over. Death traps Jackson at every corner.

Loud music pulls you from your thoughtful stroll. One look through a very large window is enough to scare you shitless. A seemingly cozy space is filled to the brim with strangers who dance and drink and laugh their heads off; Their familiarity with one another makes you physically ill. The scene is like a bullet to the chest. Reminds you of what was once home.

Your nausea doesn’t overtake your curiosity, though.

The moment you step into the bar, warmth suffocates you, heat sizzling through your legs as your face defrosts. The entire bar screams out lyrics to a song you never heard while cups get refilled with burning liquid and it’s overwhelming. There’s so much movement. Too much.

Blonde hair swings out the corner of your eye and you’re instantly relieved. You hustle to where Maria chats with partygoers from across the bar. She’s shocked to see you.

“Hey! You’re up’n moving!”

You wave awkwardly. Gawk back at the people that gawk at you before Maria hands you a glass.

“You drink?” You deny with a raised hand, and she smiles.

“Probably not the best time to ask,” She hollers over the jukebox, “I’m hoping this is your initiation?” Her eyes are hopeful, and your throat dries a bit. Why are you hesitating to answer?

Maria’s nice enough… probably the nicest stranger you’ve ever met in your entire life, and it seems more comfortable in Jackson than anywhere you’ve been. It doesn’t seem so bad… but you don’t like children. You barely liked yourself at age 10; short and clumsy and vulnerable. Children are too exposed and trusting, even in this life. They get people killed because they’re not careful. It shocks you that a fortress like Jackson carries so many.

A pen and paper get slid on wood and placed in front of you. You eye Maria, and she nods encouragingly. You waste no time.

I DON’T THINK I’LL BE A GOOD TEACHER. DINA HAS MORE PATIENCE IN HER PINKY THAN I DO IN MY ENTIRE BODY. I’M SORRY.

You meekly hold the note up for Maria, and you know she’s disappointed. You patiently wait for her to tell you to get your shit so she can kick you out herself.

It never comes.

“I hope that girl didn’t scare you,” In reference to Dina, and you deny, “I had a feeling you’d say no. It’s alright. Kids are… a lot.”

You set the paper down in relief that she’s not angry. About that horse…

“Doesn’t hurt to ask… You still wanna leave?”

That stuns you. Oftentimes, large groups aren’t so welcoming to… scroungers, or whatever Dina made you out to be. The less mouths to feed, the better. If a newbie holds no purpose, they’re left out to die on their own. It’s happened to you countless times. Why does she care about a stranger so much?

Maria chuckles at your stunned expression, “It’s, um… it’s hard out there. We’ve all seen it, and we’re lucky to have found somewhere… stable. It doesn’t come often.”

“The choice is still yours, stayin’ or goin’, but if you’re scared I’ll kick you out… don’t be. We got nothin’ but space.”

Your mind races yet not one cohesive response comes through. Maria laughs at your slack jaw. “Here. Sleep on it tonight, and let me know in the mornin’. It’s a party! Let loose a little. Go mingle.“

You scribble on the last bit of remaining space.

I’M NOT A PEOPLE PERSON.

Maria huffs, “Neither’s my niece. She’s like a niece to me, that one, over there.” She points at the end of the bar to a woman, girl — looks around your age, babysitting a drink: tatted, hair pulled back, and sulking. She talks with a guy with a mullet that’s too movie-star ready. “You two’d get along, I think. Her name’s Ellie. Jesse’s the one next to her, he’s a sweetheart. Very helpful. If Dina was here, they’d be the Three Musketeers. She still with the kids?”

You nod, but your eyes are locked onto Ellie’s tattoo. You’ve never seen one in person. In romance books, people with tattoos are always trouble: good in bed with murderous tendencies. Maybe it’s wrong to assume, but Ellie doesn’t seem like that. No one that pouty would kill a fly. You wonder if her friend has tattoos. He’d fit the stereotype more.

“Wanna meet ‘em?”

Fire bursts underneath your cheeks. You vehemently shake your head at Maria, and mischief glints in her eyes.

“HEY, ELLIE, JES—“

You gawk at Maria, tugging at her wrist for her to stop, but she laughs, “Hey, you two!”

Your face falls into your palm. “Need somethin’, Maria?” A deep voice blares. Jesse, apparently. Fucking great.

“No, hun. Just introducing a new friend,” Maria whispers loud enough for you to hear before tending to other patrons, “Convince her to stay?”

Your eyes roll and your heart pulses.

“… Hey.”

You wave weakly. Annoyed, and Jesse laughs. “Yeah, she’s a lot sometimes. I’m Jesse.” You send him a thumbs up.

“… Gotta name yourself?”

You shrug with agitation. If someone else asks you that, you’ll scream.

“… Hm. Okay, then. I’m gonna get another drink. Want one?” You decline as politely as your attitude allows.

“You, El?”

“M’good.”

“Alright,” He hums too uppity, “Enjoy the quiet.” He goofs before following Maria to the other end of the bar. Silence ensues between you and Ellie, and it’s fucking awkward. It wouldn’t be if you were by yourself. You pick at the piece of paper in front of you.

Ellie adjusts her stance, attention on the dance that dominates the floor, her tatted arm propping her up against the bar. You can see the fine lines out the corner of your eye: leaves of a fern resting underneath a moth. A Polyphemus. Compulsive. A symbol of death, you once read somewhere. Regardless, it’s beautifully done.

“Want a picture?”

You stiffen and your gaze drops to the paper. Your eyelids squeeze shut in embarrassment.

Ellie releases a hefty breath before sighing, “You read?” She asks, and you shrug.

“You don’t talk?” You do nothing.

She already sounds annoyed by you. You hope she notices you’re in the same boat. “It’s better if you don’t.” She mumbles to herself. You throw a glare in her direction, but she pays you no mind. She’s focused elsewhere, eyes much more delicate. You discreetly follow her line of vision.

… Dina. Hilarious. Is she a god here? Good with children and the annoying and aloof? Everyone here claps and hoots at her being dipped by her partner like they’ve never seen dancing before. When did she even get here? Where are the kids? Maybe they’re all snowballed out and went to bed—

… What. What the fuck? You don’t care, what the hell.

You turn back to Ellie when Dina waves at her, wide-eyed and princess-y, before waltzing towards Jesse to throw her arms around his neck, which he eagerly returns around her waist. Ellie’s expression goes from lovestruck to tense in an instant, jaw clenched and eyes burning through the floor. You try to hide a snicker.

Ellie’s jealous. Adorable.

“The fuck are you smiling for?” She grumbles at you, but her cheeks burn under the yellow light. Your laughter finally bubbles over.

“Nothing’s funny. Shut the fuck—“

“Well, what’d I tell you! Two wallflowers hittin’ it off! Look at that smile!”

Maria graciously interrupts Ellie’s angered mantra. Your hand hides your grin before a light hand brushes your back. You flinch away on instinct. No one notices except Ellie.

Dina greets you first and you almost holler with joy, “Hey, Dove! Sorry I didn’t come over earlier! Had to get this circus goin’ since no one else did,” She casually takes Ellie’s glass and downs its contents with no problem, “Thank you.”

“Such a dick.” Ellie says slowly, and Dina smiles. “You love me.”

You pinch your smile away.

“Dove?” Maria inquiries.

Dina shrugs, “Better than Doe. Makes her sound like a corpse. Dove’s cute.”

“Cute for a bitch,” Ellie slips under her breath, and Dina slaps her arm in scolding. Tames her until she quiets like an actual bitch. This shit is hilarious.

“I like that. Dove.” Maria approves. “It’s… fitting. Joel found her buried in white, so.”

“Okay, Mrs. Poet—“

Maria’s married? Huh.

She hushes Dina playfully. The dark-haired girl interlaces Ellie’s fingers with hers before yanking her off the bar and onto the dance floor. The music slows as if cued just for them. Dina pulls Ellie into her, and Ellie’s hands rest on her waist.

Dina leads, surprisingly.

Ellie’s expression doesn’t scream delight. She’s nerve wracked and her eyes flit over every body that surrounds her with anxiety. Even yours.

Dina’s a good distraction. She's quite seductive when she brushes loose hair behind Ellie’s ear, caresses her cheek, touches her with tenderness that you’ve only seen described on paper. Only in your imagination was it real.

Kisses her.

Oh.

You turn away. Your skin’s hot. Maria’s distracted. Thank God. You’ve had enough mingling for tonight. You leave the bar without a trace, the pen and paper left on the stand the only evidence of your appearance.

“Hey! HEY! Ms. Dina’s friend!”

“They’re not friends, she just got here—“

“Shut up! Ms. Dina always said respect your olders—“

“Elders, dumbfuck. And she doesn’t look old—“

Ah, the potty-mouthed bully. Although, he doesn’t seem so threatening in the darkness. Children are the bane of your existence. You’re nowhere near the infirmary. Why are they out in the cold by themselves?

“Hey, Ms. Dina’s friend, how was the party! Ms. M said we aren’t allowed to go in because people are… drunk, whatever that means!”

The same voice from earlier. Red-boot-Ranger. Dylan.

“It means they’re alcoholics—“ A girl this time. Shorter than Dylan but just as expressive.

“I thought alcohol made people happy?“

“Could be, but my aunt drank herself to death so I guess it’s different for everyone!”

Goddamn.

“What’s your name, miss! … Ma’am?” Dylan corrects shyly.

“Ma'am means grandma—“

“Ruth, shut the hell up, Jesus!”

“NO, YOU SHUT UP—“

Dylan waits expectantly while the other two kids attempt to rip each other’s heads off. You flap your hands like wings.

“… Fly? Your name’s fly?”

You shake your head and point upward.

“OH! Sky!—“

You wave your hands in denial and flap your arms while squawking.

“… Bird? Bald Eagle? Um…”

You yank at your hair in exasperation before pointing down at untouched, white snow beneath your feet.

“Snow? Snow bird? Uhh… Swan… Lake?”

Decent guess. This fucking sucks.

“I don’t know what your name is, miss, I’m sorry.” Fucking Christ, the poor thing looks so upset. You’re suddenly the worst human being on the planet. “Are you mad at me?” Dylan asks, voice laced with insecurity, and something cracks in your chest. What the fuck. Your hands wave in denial apprehensively, and he exhales a held breath before smiling.

“I like you! Why don’t you talk?”

You sigh before scribbling on your palm like you did with Maria, and all three kids excitedly demand writing utensils from each other.

“I DON’T HAVE A MARKER!” Frankie hisses when Ruth slaps him on the shoulder.

“DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO BE SUCH AN ASS? FREAKO!”

“Freako! ARE YOU FIVE—“

“What are you kiddos still doin’ up?”

“MR. JOEL!”

Ruth and Dylan practically jump onto this old man and he groans mockingly. Joel. Hm.

“You’re all supposed to be sleep. Did Dina not tuck you in?”

“She did, but we snuck out. We’re bored! Please throw snowballs at us!” Frankie whines.

Joel calmingly caters to the children and their hyperactivity; his voice is very soothing. Gentle enough for the kids to accept that he’s not chucking snowballs at them this late at night.

Joel addresses you. “Maria decided to keep you ‘round?”

It was him. His eyes are calm and welcoming, but there’s a hollowness behind them. It’s hardly noticeable, but he’s bothered by something. He masks it well enough for the kids. He must be a dad. Maybe one of them is his. You just shrug, and he chuckles; crackles like fire. Breaks a bit. His eyes grow sadder the longer he stares at you. Is this man about to cry?

“I’ll, uh… I’ll walk ‘em back,” He nods at Dylan who’s already half asleep on his shoulder, and you nod. He gives you one last look before turning. You clutch onto his hand before he can go any further. He seems shocked by the gesture, but you squeeze it with all your might. You hope every clench reads as a thank you thank you thank you.

He swallows before nodding down at you, returning your gentle squeezes. The last breath he takes before leading the kids home is unsteady. Who broke that poor man’s heart?

You watch his back all the way down the trail until the door to the bar slams shut. It’s Ellie all bundled up and seemingly about to strangle somebody. You can see Dina and Jesse scrambling to follow her through the window, but Ellie’s determined to get the fuck outta range.

You don’t know why, but you whistle loud enough to get her attention. Her cheeks are blazing and her eyes are pained and angry.

“The fuck do you want?” Her breath frosts with each spit she throws. You’re not really sure, so you throw her a thumbs up. Two just in case she read it as good work instead of are you good?

She scoffs a laugh that sounds like a sob, “Fuck off.” And she’s off again. The opposite direction from Joel.

Alright. Fuck her too.

—

The past 5 days have been a blur.

The morning after the party, your brain wracked to put every single interaction together but came up short. So much happened that you can barely grasp it. You died, came back, met at least 100 people, experienced acute peer pressure, and got cussed out by some short, tattooed psychopath with an equivalent amount of people skills as you.

You’ve met teachers, medical professionals, rambunctious kids with a hunger similar to rhinos, a potential dad with an insane amount of patience, but all you can think about is Ellie and her fucking tattoo.

You think that same moth appeared in your dream last night, flapping around and pissing you off.

Maria’s been in a good mood, at least. Maybe because you’re staying in Jackson until further notice. You’re glad she didn't make a big deal about it: the inquiry was short and over breakfast the morning after the party. You slid her note that read CAN I STAY?, she said yes, and now you have a two story home all to yourself, floor stacked to the ceiling with your books and some she lent you.

The first thing you did after she left was scream bloody murder for no reason other than relief. After years of instability, you finally have something consistent. You don’t know how to react to that besides weeping.

There’s only one downside. Ellie’s your neighbor. Life will always humble you.

She’s the first person you see every morning and the last every night and you hate it. The only time you experience true peace is when she’s out on patrol. To think you assumed Ellie wasn’t violent. She returned one morning on her horse covered knee-high in blood as she wiped her switchblade on her dirtied jeans. Even Jesse seemed intimidated.

Meanwhile, you’ve been everywhere: tending the garden, handing beers out to men twice your age, fixing lights. Joel even asked for assistance on a car repair even though you’ve never seen one in your life. You both finished, though. Drives good as new.

You think Dylan’s grown attached. He’s very clingy and you hate it but he also has the chubbiest cheeks you’ve ever seen so you have no choice but to forgive him for his sins. Whenever he jumps on your back while you’re squatted in front of the garden, you just deal with it. He rambles enough for the both of you.

Now you’re serving dinner with a homophobe. Yippee.

Seth sucks gorilla balls. When Maria first introduced you both, he thought you were deaf and asked if you had to be put with him. When you glared at him, he went red in the face. You understand why Ellie hates him. Apparently he called her and Dina dykes at the party and she and Joel almost strangled him. The canteen’s already filled with people, but the patrol group hasn’t returned. They usually make it back before sunset, but it’s dark now. Seth’s set on closing the kitchen down, but you decline everytime. They’re probably starving wherever they are.

It’s not until an hour, then 2 passes when you wrap all 12 of their individual plates.

You’re scared shitless, but it’s time for Dylan’s bedtime story.

—

You always have to remind Dylan to keep his volume down during story time so he doesn’t wake the other kids.

“Why would anyone give up anything magical for a cow? Okay, sure, you’re betting that they actually are magic, but why on Earth? I’d never give away my magic! Am I wrong, Ms. Dove?”

You smile and deny.

“SEE! Exactly! Anyway,” He refocuses on the page. “You numbskull! I can’t eat! You ruined my appetite!”

Dylan’s a great reader, but he loses his place very often. You showed him the follow-your-finger trick and it’s helped, but the poor thing always has to comment on everything. At least he’s entertained.

You don’t realize you dozed off on the floor until you’re frantically awoken by a teary-eyed Dylan. The big and small babies cry while they barricade the door with blankets and dressers. Your heart sinks.

“Ms. Dove…” Dylan whispers.

Screams echo from outside and the windows have orange hues. Something’s burning.

“Someone bad is outside.”

The patrol group is back.

—

You don't meet Clickers often.

They come and go and kill as they please and you don’t bother them, simply take your plans in the opposite direction as stealthy as possible. Even with your avoidance, they somehow always find their way back to you. Back to everyone.

You hear everything from the daycare; hollering, gunshots, Clickers wailing, but you can’t fucking see. Protocol for a daycare lockdown is fairly simple: turn off the lights and take all the brats up to the nursery. It’s the most child-safe section of the building while simultaneously having a locked drawer filled with glocks. Great.

Now you’re locked up with whimpering toddlers with a weapon you barely know how to use. If Joel hadn’t done that runthrough with you yesterday, you’d be fucked and so would the kids. You rock Dylan who sits on your lap while hushing the toddlers. You’re doing whatever you can to keep them quiet, but they’re babies who cry a lot. You hum to them, braid their hair, roll scratched-up dice but nothings fucking working. You never thought you’d regret staying in Jackson this early on.

The younger ones start wailing when pounding on wood echoes from downstairs. Dylan holds you closer.

Protocol is simple.

Don’t open the door. Maria told you that. Keep it locked and don’t open it.

The thuds get louder and so do the children and panic bombards you. It’s starting to feel too familiar. Those bangs are so fucking loud. Toddlers to 13 year olds are looking to you for guidance while you’re crumbling. How do you make them stop crying why won’t they stop fucking crying—

Someone’s trying to beat the door down. Dylan’s practically choking you with his little arms as he sobs quietly into your neck. You don’t realize you’re crying until a small hand wipes your face and tiny bodies snuggle closer to you.

Are you going to die surrounded by children all over again? One time wasn’t enough, God? The best moment of your life turns to the worst in a matter of seconds. You’ll have to run away like you did the first time. You should’ve never slid the note asking for more time with the kids under Maria’s door, fuck fuck fuck—

3 deafening pops bang from outside, and then there’s silence. It sounds like wood is breaking and there’s footsteps rushing upstairs and the babies are screaming so loud. When the nursery door lock gets shot off, Dylan screams right in your ear.

“EVERYBODY OUT, LET’S GO!”

“Mr. Tommy!” Relief washes over your kids before they start hustling.

“OUT, OUT, LET’S GO!”

All the kids scramble to grab their coats and socks and boots before rushing out of the nursery. Your hands won’t stop shaking. You barely get onto your feet before Tommy shoves you against the wall with fire for pupils.

“You never fuckin’ wait to die when there’s kids around, you understand me!”

You’re nodding but you can’t hear because you’re still sobbing. “Whatever bullshit you learned outside is over with now. It don’t matter what happens, always give them a chance to live even if it means you’re done!”

Tommy doesn’t waste another second on you. He leaves with a tense back and a rifle and you allow yourself to break. You heave and sob because that’s all you could do when you were a child and your brothers and sister were all killed in front of you.

—

You vacate the daycare hours later. The doors need fixing.

Your head and eyes hurt terribly but nothing compares to the emptiness in your chest. Maria told you that the kids would be separated into different houses until the daycare is safe for them again. Even she stares at you with disapproval despite her indifferent tone.

You feel like a ghost on the walk back home. Your hands are clenched in fists and your breathings slow. Why didn’t you stay downstairs and check the windows to make sure there were no intruders? Why weren’t you holding the gun in preparation for battle? Why’d you allow the kids to believe you couldn’t protect them?

Because you couldn’t. In that moment, you were a child all over again, just as lost and confused and scared as they were. It was all too familiar.

Jackson’s asleep, minus the painful groaning coming from behind Ellie’s home.

You’re immediately in defense. So many patrol members had to go to the infirmary after their arrival. Maria never mentioned anything about Ellie.

Your concern carries your feet until you round the corner, and her gun’s already drawn and pointed at you. That barely shakes you; it’s what surrounds her thats confusing.

She’s leant back against the foundation of her home surrounded by towels, a large bottle of clear liquid, and her profusely bleeding, non-tattooed arm that wraps around her stomach.

When you take a cautious step toward her, her gun clicks. Her eyes are vicious and untrustworthy, and you know she’d kill you in a second. She watches every move you make down to the ragged rise and fall of your chest. You’re unsure how long you stand there before she winces in pain. It’s slight but you catch it. You slowly point to the open wound on her forearm.

“What.” She rasps. You mime wrapping a bandage on yourself. Her snicker is pained.

“Get the fuck outta here. You done enough for tonight.”

You swallow thickly, unmoving.

“Fuck off before I blow your brains out.”

You take 2 more steps.

“GET THE FU—“

When your knees hit the snow in front of her, she’s stunned silent. You’re already reaching for the bandage and bottle of disinfectant. You can’t see her injury that well, but she might need stitches if it’s still that bloody. When you reach for her injured arm, she pushes you into the snow. You groan in frustration before getting up and trying again.

Ellie swallows a pained noise and maneuvers her injury away the closer you get. You’re trying to help her! Why’s she being so difficult! You crack open the disinfectant and your nose instantly burns. You gasp before moving the bottle away from your face.

“Just go the fuck home, goddamnit—“

That’s not disinfectant. It’s acid.

Ellie’s gun is still on you, but she’s not as steady. There’s a tremor in her weapon and her bottom lip is pinched between her teeth. Any movement she makes seems to hurt her.

You move closer, and Ellie wheezes like an injured gazelle. It’s not until you see the small indentation when you realize her bleeding isn’t from a knife or a gun.

Those are teeth marks.

Ellie got bit. Your heart thrashes and your legs beg you to run.

You know, and she knows you know. It’s a misunderstanding, it has to be. A human or a dog or a bear bit her, not a Clicker, not one of them.

She smirks but it’s sinister.

“If you tell anyone, I’ll tear out your windpipe and feed it to one of those fuckers.” Her head jerks towards the gate, and as if on command, the lot of them squeal into the night like hyenas.

#ellie williams tlou #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie williams au #the last of us part 2 #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie willams x reader #ellie tlou #tlou #works 𖧧࣪#lesbian

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blue-lion1 · 2 years ago

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Title: Fire and Ice

Summary: An AU where Apocalypse world Michael is human and has magic powers.

Warnings: Some suggestive language.

Pairing: Apocalypse world Michael x Female reader.

Word count: 852

Author's note: I did this last minute so it's a trainwreck. This is for @deanwanddamons 3k followers challenge.

(Y/n) laid with Michael and thought about everything that had happened between them. She became enamored quickly, dazzled by how different he was from her. He had come from Mars, and her from Venus; she liked to joke. They got along well, for the first eight months.

One January night, (y/n's) best friend woke her up and told her to come with her. (y/n) fussed about being woken up, but her curiosity couldn't be ignored. After walking for some time, Bela told (y/n) to stop and stay silent. Of course she knew that face in the moonlight. Michael. She wanted to know why he was there. She wanted to ask, but she didn't. Something began to form in the air around her boyfriend: ice. She couldn't believe her eyes. She began to cry. Bela didn't console her. They had grown up together because they lived next to each other. (Y/n) wondered why her friend did nothing to comfort her.

(Y/n) couldn't think straight at first, but once she could, she approached Michael. She couldn't hold her tears back.

"You just created ice! You used magic! Why didn't you tell me when you know how I feel about it?"

"It's not evil. It's something I was born with. I have never lost control."

"Naturally, you'd say that when you were raised with it!"

He reached out to soothe her by touching her arm, she yanked away and walked off.

"I'm sorry, but I can't be with someone like you."

Bela had told (y/n) that Michael was bad for her from the start. How could (y/n) have thought things would work between a religious woman and a rebel? He had been the same as her before, but that ended after he watched his brother get darker over time. His breaking the mold and defiance made her believe that he would go to Hell if he didn't stop, and that she would too if she stayed with him. There was something else that ate at her. The very same mindset she left him over, excited her. (Y/n) dealt with confusion, guilt, and worry, and knew it would be wisest to keep it all to herself. If anyone knew, they would blame him and say that he corrupted her, or maybe they would blame her and say that she was simply a wicked sinner with no self control.

(Y/n's) mind seemed to split into two personalities: the kind and behaved one that had always been, and the lustful one. The more she thought about Michael, the more she regretted leaving him; and not because of carnal desires. She realized that she had automatically deemed magic evil instead of trying to understand it, or its user.

She thought more and more about Michael and his ability. She wanted to apologize, and for life to return to the way it was. In an effort to understand him better, she began studying elemental magic. The first time a bush caught on fire, (y/n) shrieked and panicked. Fire had always been her favorite element, so she wondered if that was why she could control it.

(Y/n) had to find him and set things straight. Bela claimed that he had told her he wanted nothing to do with her, but she no longer trusted her friend's word. She found him, and he ignored her and left like she had never been there. It happened again. The third time, she thought to use her power to get his attention. He made water swirl in the air, and prepared to attack.

"What are you doing?!" (Y/n) screamed.

"Who are you, some shapeshifter?"

"No. It's me. It's the real (y/n), and you ignored me the last two times we crossed paths. You'd compare me to a duckling chasing its Mom, I'd compare you to cats. You think tha-."

"I believe you. Tell me why you decided to learn elemental control after writing me off for my power."

"I wanted to understand you. The more I thought about everything, the more I realized that I had shut you out without giving you a chance. I believed what everyone else does, instead of trying to find answers."

"I don't forgive you, but I appreciate the effort. Do you know why we have what we do?"

"Our personalities. Our souls knew what fit best. They represent our feelings. Reserved and stoic goes with ice, passionate and expressive goes with fire!" (Y/n) said.

"Your enthusiasm and constant talking were a relief to me. Travel by my side again, but don't betray me a second time. We're not alike, but we're able to make this work because opposites attract. I'm darkness, you're light. Where one is flawed, the other shines." He nearly grinned.

"Do you see it yet? I am the darkness, you are the light. What one lacks, the other makes up for."

(Y/n) hugged Michael.

"The universe is trying to tell us something we both should already know. We're stronger together than apart. But you knew that, I'm sure!" She replied.

#deanwanddamons3kfollowerschallenge

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sleepymccoy · 5 years ago

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sleepy’s fic masterlist

Doing this cos I wanted to! And I can’t find the short things I’ve written on tumblr half the time, so i wanted a place to go to find them. I’ll edit this whenever I post something new and give it a quick reblog when I do <3

Tumblr shorts

Inventions and Ice-cream

A chererful conversation between Crowley and Aziraphale about their favourite invention humans have come up with. Also read for hand holding, ice-cream, and macking out against the Bentley door. Goes hard on the hand holding stuff

1600-ish words

What kind of lover are you?

Filled a prompt, wing grooming by South Downs. It turned into something very soft, very loving, with some acknowledgement of the aftereffects of trauma and constant threat and the anxiety that would be on you from that. Also, some nice massaging and snark from the main two. I feel like I’m getting a hug when I read this, thb

1200-ish words

Chamomille

Aziraphale notices Crowley getting tired and swings into action with a prepared bedtime routine. Crowley is not consulted. Very short and sweet

350-ish words

Monsieur and Difficult Topics

Crowley and Aziraphale are having a meal together after the apocalypse. Crowley says they're not friends and a very challenging conversation follows as Aziraphale tries to correct this. This is a pre romance thing, so they finish having had a worthwhile conversation, not leaping into dating

2000-ish words

Burnt Coffee and Crosswords

Crowley stumbles out of bed and finds that Aziraphale has, yet again, snuck into his flat while he was asleep. Fluff and fondness ensue

1000-ish words

Absolutely Adorably Nauseating

Outsider POV of Aziraphale and Crowley having very dramatic public fights. Three different stories. Mainly meant to be funny, but has some nice fluff in it

2000-ish words

How can someone as clever as you be so handsome?

Aziraphale remembers Crowley calling him clever in an angry moment and fondly teases him for it. Very fluffy.

1000-ish words

Gifts

Through the years Crowley has been giving Aziraphale gifts that are, overwhelmingly, in poor taste. Fluffy and silly, has pictures

2000-ish words

An Unpleasant Suprise

A butteromens effort. The similar fics were Aziraphale saving Crowley from Gabriel, I wanted to do a twist that had Crowley more engaged in the fight. Turns into an awful lot of flirting and the like at the end, it’s a fun read. Quick warning for a brief decrip of gore from being burnt, but I move on pretty fast

3500-ish words

A New Eden

Filled a prompt; “I’m going to need you to put some underwear on before you say anything else.” It’s not sexy, but by the virtue of the prompt there is dick. Mostly speechless Crowley, though.

1200-ish words

Entirely Unapologetic

Filled a prompt; “so why did I have to punch that guy?” Features protective Crowley and blustering Aziraphale

500-ish words

Be Unashamed With Me

Crowley’s waiting for Aziraphale to leave a church and as he waits he gets a bit sad about his demon-hood and remembers how hopeless he was before he and Aziraphale got together. When Aziraphale joins him a lot of fluff and compliments follow to cheer Crowley up. Which works. Gets a bit flirty.

1500-ish words

Climb Every Mountain

In the biblical narrative, God tells Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac, on Moriah. Abraham begins to comply, when a messenger from God interrupts him. Abraham then sees a ram and sacrifices it instead. In the me narrative, Crowley does a favour for Aziraphale then swiftly changes his mind and doesn’t let the kid be killed.

1200-ish words

How Many Ways Can I Say...

A very short form fic, more a casual tumblr post, but it has some cute descriptions of different ways Aziraphale can sat I love you to Crowley

500-ish words

AO3 links

If You Like

link to tumblr promo post

link to some relevant art

a take on the few days between apocalypse and the body switch, cos Aziraphale goes from surprised at Crowley offering to let him crash at his apartment, to swapping bodies and letting Crowley risk himself. So it’s following Aziraphale’s trauma and consideration. Lots of bed sharing and a very fluffy body-positivity ending with Aziraphale’s golden stretch marks.

10,000-ish words

Nothing’s Changed

link to tumblr promo post

A week into July and Crowley has finished sleeping in. He gives Aziraphale a ring and receives a very frosty reception. Although Aziraphale insists nothing has changed, Crowley suspects otherwise. Fic includes Aziraphale pinching Crowley to prove he’s not dreaming

2000-ish words

Slipped My Mind

link to tumblr promo post

Crowley and Aziraphale are so used to not being in a relationship that its quite easy to slip into old habits and forget that they’re allowed to touch now. A bit of angst, but mostly fluffy as they get used to this new normal.

6000-ish words

Requisite Lockdown Fic

link to tumblr promo post

This was actually a tumblr short fic I wrote, but it got crazy out of hand and the format is much easier on ao3 so I’m linking it here. Told entirely through phone calls in the same format as the lockdown youtube special. Crowley is setting boundaries for the first time and Aziraphale is struggling to adjust to these new rules. But it goes well

4000-ish words

To Seduce, Beguile, and Entice

link to tumblr promo post

Crowley isn’t any good at seduction temptations. This comes up one night and Aziraphale is concerned because he’s seduced in Crowley’s name before. All part of the Arrangement. So, of course, the only solution is for Aziraphale to teach Crowley how to seduce. It gets out of hand quickly. The last chapter is post apocalypse and Crowley tries his hand at seducing Aziraphale in a very intentionally referential way, as a kind of method to express that he’s actually interested in a relationship.

10,000-ish words

Still Waking Up

link to some relevant art

link to tumblr promo post

Follows the pair for about two years after the apocalypse as Crowley is behaving oddly and Aziraphale is figuring everything out. This is your trauma recovery fic! Crowley has nightmares and a fear of fire and some abandonment. Aziraphale is lonely and feels deeply incompetent and lost, as well as having not fully resolved some of his issues with Heaven. They learn how to be on their own side together rather than keeping it all separate and protective. Also, bed sharing.

30,000-ish words

Not Quite Human

link to tumblr promo post

Omnipotent POV (but not god) that sorta swaps between them. It’s just a simple 18 hours or so in the shop on afternoon as they’ve begun to get more physically affectionate. This is a decent mutual pining fic. I tried to lean into the real not-human stuff they’ve both got going on. It’s your classic admission of love fic with plenty of panicking Crowley. Features some smut with a sex-positive, asexual Aziraphale and a sex-neutral, demisexual Crowley.

10,000-ish words

the kind of thing one says easily

link to tumblr promo post

This is my silly take on an au. Everything is exactly the same but they actually communicate honestly occasionally. Wild, I know. We follow Crowley and Aziraphale through moments of time in their history (some canon friendly, like follow ons from scenes in the tv show, some made up) as Crowley quite simply tells Aziraphale that he loves him. And Aziraphale gets used to it and learns to be honest in return. Things really come to a head as the apocalypse approaches. The last chapter is a sex scene, but it’s very very loving rather than smutty.

15,000-ish words

Soft.

link to tumblr promo post

This is a very fluffy fic. Crowley tells Aziraphale he has a nice body and it dredges up Aziraphale’s residual concerns over what Gabriel said and in the panic-fueled conversation that follows as Crowley tries to right his wrong they slowly step in sync into discussing their feelings and wants. This fic is the big three, communication, consent, and soft. (gets a bit sexy too, but it’s pretty tame)

10,000-ish words

Is It Worth It Yet

link to tumblr promo post

Around abouts the 1000AD mark, in what would become Turkey a few hundred years later, Crowley sat down, took a breath, and told Aziraphale how he feels in a total trainwreck of a conversation. Chapter 1, that conversation. Of course, Aziraphale would then expect Crowley to bring it all up again after the apocalypse, and when he doesn't he decides to take matters into his own hands and broach the topic himself. It doesn't go as well as he'd hoped. Good ending tho, don't worry guys. If you need an overload of angst then a big old hug to pull you up again, this is a good one.

10,000-ish words

Summoned

link to relevant (lemon) art

link to tumblr promo post

Post apocalypse, timeline unspecified. Heaven and Hell refangle the way humans summonings work so it only applies to Aziraphale and Crowley. This means Crowley finds himself summoned an awful lot more than usual. We see their relationship readjust after the apocalypse in snippets of moments as Crowley’s been summoned. It’s mostly fairly light hearted, but there’s a couple chapters of pretty good angst and one very sexy chapter at the end! Just straight up smut, of the light d/s variety

13,000-ish words

Try Some Pride On For A Day

link to some relevant art

link to tumblr promo post

Shortly after the apocalypse, Aziraphale set a challenge down. Sin vs virtue. Each chapter shows an attempt from Crowley to get Aziraphale to succumb to sin, and Aziraphale tricking Crowley into performing a virtue. Some attempts are easier than others, some are impossible. They learn a lot about each other and slip into some unexpectedly honest moments. This one gets sexy but not out of hand. Aziraphale is pretty explicitly asexual.

20,000-ish words

Needed a break, gone to France x

link to tumblr promo post

A few weeks after the apocalypse and Crowley goes to visit Aziraphale to find a note taped to his door. Panic, anxiety, and general sadness over being so broken up with ensue. This is a miscommunication fic with a writing style that leans toward humour rather than angst and has a nice fluffy ending with good asexual overtones

9000-ish words

Heresy

link to tumblr promo post

Set 3000 years after the apocalypse. Crowley and Aziraphale live together and are romantic. They have been left not entirely alone by their old colleagues, but they are unthreatened so it’s all okay. Until one day Beelzebub and Gabriel drop by to visit in the most surprising way. This fic is my first and was written before the discussion of Beelzebubs pronouns kicked off, so I used the actresses pronouns (she/her) instead of they/them which I’ve used since when referring to Beelzebub

2500-ish words

#sleepy writes #good omens fic #good omens fic rec #ineffable husbands #i enjoyed going over some old fics!#imma read summoned tonight i like that one a lot #and maybe is it worth it #that still upsets me #altho i have an angsty wip im theoretically working on #so maybe ill dive into that #we'll see #edit #ive added links to tumblr posts #i cant believe i found them all #that was some trawling through old posts

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hongism · 4 years ago

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wips tag!!!

EEEEE thank you for the tag babie @atiny-ahgase 🥺 this is about to be a hot mess bc i’ve got approximately 194873987598347985 ideas in this potato brain 🤧 i also don’t keep them in folders ; - ; but i have a discord channel dedicated to my wips so i’ll use that :p

Sekiro/Samurai Bodyguard AU - Bodyguard Samurai Seonghwa x Heiress Reader; Genre: Coworkers/Friends to Lovers

Witcher AU - Witcher Yunho x Assassin Reader, Genre: Friends to Lovers

Arranged Marriage/Royalty AU - Prince Yeosang x Princess Reader, Genre; Arranged Marriage AU/Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Zombie Apocalypse AU - Zombie Hunter Jongho x Survivor Reader; Genre; Strangers to Lovers

My Neighbor's a Vampire AU - Modern Vampire Hongjoong x Reader; Genre; Strangers to Lovers

Utopia Fairytale AU - Soldier Mingi x Fae Readerr; Genre; Enemies to Lovers

HP Lovecraft Mystery AU - Detective Wooyoung x Unwitting Helper Reader, Genre; Strangers to Lovers

Reincarnation Magic/Magic Users - Witch Hunter San x Witch Reader, Genre; Enemies to Lovers

Vampire/Bakery - Bakery Owner Vampire!Hyunjin x Customer Reader, Genre; Strangers to Lovers

Fae AU - Petrichor - Fae Yunho x Fox Hybrid Reader, synopsis; The first rain comes as Yunho does, and it leaves a pleasant scent that lingers in the back of your memories for a long time to come. or; Legends have always said that faeries are evil and cruel creatures. Your first encounter with one is anything but ordinary. - Genre; s2l, fantasy, hybrid au

Juramentum - pairing: witch!jongho x witch!reader - genre; e2l, smut, angst, fluff, fantasy - synopsis; idek anything yet

dial tone - skz smau - genre: life, college/university, smau - pairing: jisung x reader x minho - progress: profiles + chapter 1 done - synopsis: You're just trying to get through university relatively unscathed but your roommate's best friend is making your life a living hell while the cute dancer across the hall seems to get a kick out of seeing you flustered. aka; that one where jisung doesn't know what he's doing with his life, y/n wants to settle for a boring 9-5 job, and minho's parents won't accept what he wants to do with his life. - a hybrid smau + regular written chapters series

seongjoong reincarnation au - hongjoong is just trying to find peace with his constant reincarnation and end things as early as he can until one day he steps in front of park seonghwa's car and realizes what he's been missing in all his past lives (or maybe it’s been there the whole time)

vampire fantasy au (oneshot? series?) - yeosang x reader x seonghwa (poly) - genre: angst fluff smut - synopsis: idek anything

(another) skz smau - single dad bang christopher chan x reader who works at a flowershop + cafe job bc ~cliche~ along with best friend seungmin who works at the cafe with her - hybrid smau + regular chapters

drabble series - pairing; minho x reader x chan (poly au) - genre; angst smut fluff slice of life - synopsis; a series of drabbles revolving relationship idek twas a dream i had the other night and now i can't stop Thinking™️

idek title but one shot - pairing; god of death!seungmin x reader - genre; angst fluff fantasy smut??? - synopsis; throughout your life, you had several brushes with death. every time, the same person is there to meet you and you always talk your way out of it. you aren’t sure how long that luck can last.

mists of celeste teehee

colours of love teehee

contagion ((a ~mystery~))

god the way this is a TRAINWRECK!?!? oh lord anYWHO i’ll be tagging: @hobiglow @outroseokjin @psychedia @jinned @j-sope @luckyjisung

#wips #oh my god this mess #no one look it's so #unorganized #i swear it's more organized in my server!!!#i SWEAR!!!!!!!

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intrepidolivia · 7 years ago

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Tarot: 3--The Empress

Pairing: NeganXOlivia (OC)

Warnings: cursing, implications of abuse, discussion of injuries

Summary: A/B/O AU. Sherry gets Olivia settled in, she meets Frankie, and has dinner with Negan.

A/N: Been a little slow writing of late, but I’m already working on the next chapter!

The Empress is traditionally associated with maternal influence, it is the card if you are hoping to start a family. She can represent the creation of life, romance, art, or new business.

Sherry led Olivia through the lounge to a hallway lined with doors. Most of them were closed, though a couple stood cracked open, allowing her to see into fairly well appointed bedrooms. Sherry pointed to one of the closed doors.

“This one’s me,” she told her, and opened the next door. “And this will be you.”

The room was plain, which didn’t surprise her. It had been unoccupied for some time, after all. There was a dresser, a small table serving as a desk, and a double bed with cobbled-together bedclothes. It was better than anything she’d had since the world ended.

“Thank you,” she said, looking up at Sherry.

Sherry chuckled, ruffling her hair. “It’s not much, but once you start earning points you’ll be able to fix it up a little. I can help with that if you promise not to tell Negan,” she winked.

Olivia grinned a bit. “Won’t say a word,” she promised, taking a tentative step inside the room. There was no lock on the door, she noticed, but it still felt safer than most places she’d been. The windows were set high in the wall, too small for someone to climb into. She could barricade the door if need be. She shook herself. She was safe here. She didn’t need to think that way.

“We’ll go ahead and get you some fresh clothes, and a shower. I’m sure you’re dying for both,” Sherry said, leaning on the doorframe.

She nodded eagerly. “I am. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.” She was also desperate to lessen her scent. Any Alpha close to her would know what she was, but a proper shower, with soap and maybe even perfume, would make it a little less obvious. She hesitated, glancing at Sherry’s outfit. “Do I… have to wear a dress and heels?”

Sherry laughed, shaking her head. “This is just for wives,” she said. “So, advantage or drawback depending on your point of view.”

“I’ve never been much on heels,” Olivia confessed. “I can’t move in them very well.” She wondered, perhaps uncharitably, if that was why Negan liked his wives in them.

“No one can,” Sherry smirked. “Honestly half the time I just have on slippers and save these stupid things for public purposes. But I’ll grab you a few changes of clothes, and some shoes. What’s Negan going to put you to work doing? Did he say?”

Olivia nodded. “I used to be a nurse. So he’s going to have me working in the infirmary. Starting tomorrow I guess.”

Sherry raised an eyebrow. “Huh, that should pay a lot of points. So you should be pretty good as far as the essentials.”

“Hopefully. I’ll be out for a week every month,” she sighed. “Without suppressants it’s hard to get out of bed, much less to try to work. Not to mention being around other people.”

“Well, Negan’s sure not going to let you go roaming around if you’re in heat,” Sherry agreed, sympathetically.

Olivia frowned a bit. “I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s going to mate me.” He would be a safe choice in some ways. He was dangerous, but he was strong. More than equal to the task of keeping her safe, considering what he’d built with Sanctuary. Still, the thought frightened her.

“Probably so,” Sherry said. “But he’s under the impression he’s irresistible. My advice? Even if you decide to say yes to him, make him work for it some.” She gave Olivia a sharp-toothed grin. “He doesn’t force anyone to be his wife, but there are undeniable benefits all of us take advantage of for one reason or another. And Alpha and Beta females aren’t in terribly short supply. You, little Omega, are unique. Don’t let him forget that.”

“I don’t know if I want to say yes,” she admitted. “He scares me.”

Sherry nodded. “He should. He’s dangerous. But if you’re his, he’ll put that toward making sure you’re safe. And he’s good to us.”

“As long as you obey him?” Olivia let a little sourness creep into her voice.

“Well,” Sherry sighed. “I won’t deny that he likes being in charge. He likes people to be afraid of him, he likes people to obey him, and yes, he likes having a harem of wives. But,” she tapped the tip of Olivia’s nose with a long, elegant finger. “He’s good to us. And he’s not usually very hard on his wives.”

She thought about responding to the ‘very hard’ part, but chose not to. Sherry was being kind to her, and she didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Even so she couldn’t help but muse that even a gilded cage was still a prison. Then again, what alternative was there?

“Hey,” Sherry’s voice cut into her thoughts. Olivia looked up, and the other woman smiled. “Cheer up, sweetie. You’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Olivia nodded, giving her a small smile. “Thanks,” she said softly.

“Now, I’m going to get you some fresh clothes, and we’ll find you some things for a nice bath. That’s generally warmer than a shower around here.” She winked. “You say yes to Negan and sometimes he lets you use his bathroom. He usually has hot water.”

Of course he did. Rather than say anything, Olivia just nodded again.

Sherry ruffled her hair. “Sit tight. I’ll be back in a few.”

Olivia sat down on the bed once Sherry had gone, not sure what else to do. Any belongings she had were left back with her old community, so there was nothing to put away. Nothing to rearrange. Biting her lip, she pulled her knees to her chest, feeling alone.

It was better than being with Kevin, she reminded herself. At least Negan gave her a little bit of choice. And, if she were to believe him, safety. When Kevin found out she was an Omega, it was almost as though dollar signs lit up in his eyes. She’d ceased to be a person, and had become a bargaining chip. Chattel. She wasn’t sure if it was better than him claiming her or not. In her situation it seemed likely that in the end Negan would end up knotting and mating her. Sherry had been reassuring, so maybe--just maybe-- he wouldn’t be cruel. But she’d had more than enough of Alphas who wanted more than she was willing to give. It seemed almost inevitable that most of them wound up violent.

She might have ended up brooding until Sherry returned, if there hadn’t been a knock on her door. She approached cautiously, afraid it was going to be Amber back to torment her. Instead, it was the woman Negan had introduced as Frankie.

The other redhead smiled. “Hi,” she said.

“H-hello?” Olivia still felt more than a little nervous. She didn’t want to alienate her suite-mates (other than Amber), but she didn’t know what the other woman could want.

Frankie seemed fairly relaxed, however. Her smile only widened, crinkling her nose. “Hey, sorry if you want to be alone,” she said. “I just wanted to say a proper hello. Sherry kinda tucked you under her wing and ran off with you.” She giggled softly. “She does that.” Frankie put out a hand. “I’m Frankie. The other ginger,” she said drily.

Her charm was disarming, and Olivia smiled, taking her hand. “Olivia. The Omega. Since that seems to be my claim to fame.”

Frankie nodded, almost eagerly. “Yeah. So I heard from Amber’s bitching.” She leaned against the doorjamb. “So, sorry about that. Amber…” She shook her head. “She’s kinda a trainwreck. The whole apocalypse thing fucked her up. Try not to pay her any mind.”

Olivia shrugged. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good call,” the other redhead chuckled. “Anyhow, look, I did want to let you know I used to be a massage therapist. And we took classes on Omegas in heat. So if you need some help once that rolls around, and you’re not a new wife…” she trailed off, glancing over with narrowed eyes.

Olivia frowned slightly. The offer was a good one. Perhaps a little too good, now that the world had ended. No one did things as favors anymore. She hesitated. “In exchange for what?” she asked, cautiously.

“Nothing much,” Frankie said earnestly. “I didn’t really mean it like a Godfather favor or anything.” Her cheeks turned pink as she looked down. “Just, you know. More an open-ended thing. Like watching each other’s backs and helping each other out if we need it.”

“I can’t tell if you’re flirting with me or trying to ask for an alibi,” Olivia said after a moment.

Frankie laughed. “You’re so suspicious. I’m just trying to be friendly. We’re all in here together so helping each other out is for the best, you know?”

Olivia relaxed a little, chuckling. “Yeah… sorry. It’s been rough for a while. It’s hard to trust anyone. Even a Beta female.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Frankie said softly. “You’re lucky you made it this long without something awful happening.”

She couldn’t quite meet the other woman’s eyes. “Plenty awful happened,” she said. “But I didn’t get killed or forced into mating. So there’s that.”

Frankie nodded. “That’s good, hon,” she said gently. “And you’re safe now. Nobody’s going to cross Negan. Even if you aren’t a wife.”

“That’s what I keep hearing,” she replied, sighing.

“God, you too?” Amber’s sneering voice made Frankie turn. The blonde was standing in the hallway, arms crossed. She wrinkled her nose. “She’s short and weak and she stinks,” she continued. “And she’s only here because Negan wants to knot her.”

This time there was no Alpha to hold her back. Olivia growled. “You spend weeks in the woods and see how nice you smell,” she shot back. “And keep running your mouth and we’ll see who’s weak.” She chose to ignore the last part of Amber’s commentary. That, at least, she was pretty sure was right.

“Amber, having someone new here doesn’t mean there’s going to be less goodies for you,” Frankie cut in, her voice reasonable. “Olivia’s going to be working, so she’s not going to be taking anything meant for you anyway.” She arched an eyebrow. “And I don’t see why you’re acting so jealous. It’s not like you care if Negan sleeps with you or not.”

Amber sniffed, turning her nose up. “I don’t care if he’s panting after some Omega bitch. I just don’t think she should be here smelling up the place and getting a free ride. She ought to be out there with the rest of the workers if she thinks she’s too good to be a wife.”

Olivia’s nails bit into her palms. “I don’t think I’m ‘too good’,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Frankie laid a hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “It’s different for Omegas than us Betas, you know that… It’s not something she can take back later…”

“So? Why’s she got to be here while she’s mulling it over?” Amber sneered.

“Because Negan said so.” Sherry’s voice cut through whatever Amber would have said next. She strode up the hall, a cloth tote slung over one shoulder, her expression hard. “That’s all you need to know, Amber. If you don’t like it, I’m sure you could take it up with him.”

Amber flinched at the suggestion. She cast a dirty look at Olivia, and tossed her hair. “Whatever,” she growled, stalking off to another room and slamming the door behind her.

Sherry sighed, rolling her eyes. “That woman has a real attitude problem,” she said. She smiled at Frankie. “Hope everyone else was getting along.”

Frankie grinned. “Yeah, so far so good,” she said, and patted Olivia’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you with the mother hen, but I’ll see you around later,” she said.

Olivia couldn’t help but chuckle, waving at Frankie headed back to the lounge.

Sherry passed her the bag. “I found you some clothes, and some soap and shampoo. Go ahead and get washed up, dinner should be here before too long.”

The bathroom Sherry showed her to was fairly spacious, and already stocked with towels. As she’d been warned, the water was on the tepid side, but she didn’t much care. It was the first time she’d had warm water and soap in so long she’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

Olivia scrubbed every inch of her skin, washed her hair, and luxuriated in the feeling of being clean. She felt much less self-conscious once she had washed up and put on fresh clothes. She thought most of what she had on was probably a loss, discolored by ground-in dirt and sweat and even blood. Even so, she bundled them together in the hopes that she might get them washed.

In the mirror she examined herself, frowning at her visible ribs and spine, and jutting hip bones. She might not have lasted long if she hadn’t wound up with a group. Still, the bruising across her back, ugly blue and purple stripes, reminded her she might not have lasted long with one either. Negan at least seemed like he’d be… well, perhaps not kind, but so far not abusive. And he’d been right; Sherry seemed like she would be in Olivia’s corner.

She chose a pair of soft drawstring pants and a tee shirt with a cartoon cat on it. The clothes were comfortable, if a bit large on her. Soon she was dressed and feeling better than she had in months. Her belly growled, and she remembered that Negan had promised food. Quickly stashing her new clothes in her new room, she headed down the hall.

Olivia could hear him before she got to the lounge. The baritone laugh carried down the hallway, along with the scent of something delicious. Despite her hunger, she approached cautiously, peering into the room from the doorway before she let her presence be known.

Negan sat on the couch, one arm thrown around Frankie’s shoulders. He’d left his leather jacket behind, still wearing that white tee that clung so enticingly to his chest. Lucille, the barbed-wire wrapped weapon, leaned against the wall next to the door. Even with his wives, he apparently didn’t go unarmed.

The other wives sat in chairs or at the bar with plates of food. Olivia’s jaw almost dropped as she finally recognized the smell of tomato sauce and realized Negan had brought honest-to-god spaghetti.

Negan paused, a beer bottle halfway to his lips, and his nostrils flared. He turned his head, dark eyes catching her, and grinned widely. “Well, hey there. No need to be shy, sweet thing. Come eat. You must be hungry.” He indicated the empty spot on the couch beside him. “I saved you a seat.”

She might have balked at his presumption, but she was hungry. She padded in, avoiding looking at Amber. Negan leaned down, opening the containers on the coffee table, and portioning a small serving of pasta and sauce onto a plate.

“I know you probably ain’t been fucking fed right for a while,” he said as she sank to the couch beside him. He handed her the plate and a fork with a smile. “So start with that. If you’re still hungry we can try a little more, but don’t eat yourself sick.”

She nodded, almost nervous that she would drop the plate. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Negan’s grin was toothy. “You’re welcome,” he paused, dark eyes dropping to her shirt, “Kitten,” he said, his voice a low and almost sensual rumble. He chuckled as her cheeks grew warm.

Olivia ducked her head and concentrated on her food so that she wouldn’t have to look at the large Alpha next to her. It took an effort to keep from wolfing her food down. After subsisting on canned food and foraging for so long, pasta that had actually been boiled, and sauce that was cooked tasted like heaven.

Sherry chuckled softly. “As I was saying, Negan, Olivia is settling in fine. I think you should let her rest a day or two before you put her to work, though.”

Olivia looked up, swallowing a mouthful of noodles. “N-no, I’ll be fine,” she protested. “I have to start earning points.”

Negan laughed again. “Well, you were right, Sherry, I owe you a beer,” he said. He looked over at Olivia with a smirk. “She said you’d say that. Don’t worry so much, Kitten. You can afford to coast a day or two.”

He gave her a teasing swat on the back. It wasn’t hard, by any means, nor was it malicious. It wouldn’t have hurt if she wasn’t covered in bruises.

Olivia flinched, as much in fear as pain, hunching her shoulders and yelping. She managed not to spill her plate, and managed to keep her seat. Negan froze, eyes widening in surprise. Then they narrowed, a dark fire behind them.

Sherry sat forward, putting her plate down. “Livvy, you okay?” she asked quickly.

Olivia made herself straighten up, forced a smile. She avoided looking at Negan directly. “Y-yeah. I’m okay. Sorry. Just a little sore.”

Negan’s mood never quite made it back to relaxed and jovial the rest of the meal. He smiled at their conversations, chuckled at Sherry’s jokes, pulled Frankie to his side teasingly. But something clearly stuck in his craw.

Olivia was afraid it was her. Negan didn’t try to touch her again, and when she emptied her first plate he was quite solicitous about being certain she got enough. He included her in the conversation, never probing too deeply, not mentioning her earlier reaction. Even so, she could feel the weight of his gaze on her.

Despite her worries, the time passed quickly, and soon enough she was yawning. Sherry chuckled.

“Come on, Liv. Let’s get you to bed,” she said.

Negan waved for her to stay. “I got it,” he said. He stood, holding a hand out to Olivia. “Come on, Kitten. I’ll tuck you in.”

She wanted to object. She knew the way back to her room, and she certainly didn’t need him to tuck anything in. But the heaviness of his dark eyes told her that he wasn’t asking. Swallowing, she took his hand and let him walk her down the hall.

Tagging: @noodlecupcakes @glittered-unicorn-lava@genevievedarcygranger@adair-donovan @feistybaby @negans-network @ask-kakashihatake @haleyea @collette04

#negan #a/b/o #The Walking Dead #twd negan #fiction #au #negans thirst squad

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randamhajile · 7 years ago

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heyyyyy it’s Fallout OC time!!! Featuring some rough sketches circa 2312 of my boy Ezekiel Graham, a new OC I haven’t talked about here named Sallow Flagstaff, and @powerfisto‘s beatnik mess Casey Allen Jr. Wiseman, all within the AU that It’s Always Sunny In The Mojave and Case File: Vulpes Inculta takes place in, credit due to @turianosauruswrex for crafting the vast majority of the AU with me.

Now, with the three’s powers combined, they form the...

Trainwreck Trio

lmao they all have such messy lives... a highly simplified and truncated little ramble about them under the cut--

So you can only imagine the Daddy Issues Zeke has LOL, but despite that he does his absolute best to be a good person with a do-gooder professional career, even if his personal life is comically dysfunctional.

Sallow, though... she’s the bastard child of, you guessed it, one Edward Sallow. A personal slave of Caesar’s with a tragic case of Stockholm Syndrome is put up for sale and is bought by a centurion in Flagstaff, who is unaware she is with child. Sallow is born in 2282 into the Centurion’s household as a house slave and her mother dies when she’s pretty young, but not before telling her that she’s special and that one day her name will be proof of that when her father finds her. When the Legion remnant authority in Flagstaff finally collapses in 2291 long after Caesar’s death, she’s taken in by the Followers of the Apocalypse as a war orphan and raised at the Old Mormon Fort in Vegas, where she learns their ways and skills.

Her narrative arc is coming into her freedom and the new authority she has when she’s no longer a slave, which is put on a massive halt when an old Follower recognizes who she is, hears her name and the circumstances of her mother, and tells her as much. Suddenly burdened with this knowledge, she becomes paranoid about others discovering the truth and about her fulfilling even more parallels until she repeats history to abuse authority so disastrously like her father did. She applies for a transfer to Flagstaff, which has been independent for a while by then, and goes there to be in as backwater a Followers post as possible, where she can just skirt by being as mediocre as can be with no one ever knowing who she is.

There she meets Casey Wiseman, at the time going by Allen Wiser, and becomes begrudging friends of circumstance. A lot of complicated stuff happens first involving a terrible friend of Allen’s named Vaughan discovering the truth about Sallow and outing her publicly to every tabloid possible. Then Allen, purely out of spite and jealousy, is a massive, incredible asshole to Ezekiel Graham, who’s been living there a few years, and who eventually literally knocks some sense into him with a single good right hook after Allen steps a line in his taunting and faces consequences for his terrible behavior for the first time in his whole life. This causes him to actually have to like, fucking be introspective and realize how shitty he is, so he changes his name and leaves for Vegas to re-invent himself as a better person.

Witnessing this helps Sallow realize she can’t skirt by being pathetically comfortable forever and decides to get past who she is and finally live out her full Head Bitch In Charge potential, because she knows she’s a better person than she’s being right now and can help a lot of people. She moves back to Vegas too, runs into Allen (now Casey) again, and continues their friendship, this time more genuine as they actually give a shit about their lives.

Again... so much complicated and hilarious stuff happens where Ezekiel runs into Casey and they actually befriend each other (and more LOL) which ends up forming the Trainwreck Trio of pals with complicated relationships with their parents(tm) LMAO

There is SO SO so much detail and events being left out of this but that’s as brief an overview I can give without writing an essay on them, haha.

#Fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #Jexis's art #OCs #Ezekiel Graham #Allen Jr.#It's Always Sunny In The Mojave #Sallow Flagstaff

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voxofthevoid · 7 years ago

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please save my crops and spill about 1) zombie apocalypse 2) any fun trivia about Phichit in ML that you didn't share? 3) where's Makka in the zombie apocalypse. Is Makka also a zombie? 4) headcanon for yoi characters in hogwarts houses? especially some of the background characters? *is curious*

Of course you’d choose to focus on the angst trains, Kaja. This is why we’re friends sworn enemies.

01. Zombies and Makka first.

So this is one of those stories that pop into existence with the ending crystal clear but everything else vague. Now, you’re all going to hate me for the ending, but leaving that aside, I have two ideas for the beginning.

If I want to be nice, I could make it so that Viktor and Yuuri lived in the same apartment building in Generic City prior to the apocalypse and just pined for each other from afar. But nothing like hacking up some zombies for survival to make you fall in love, amiright? In this case, Makka is alive and well and kicking zombie ass. They’ve trained her to be an excellent undead detector and she’s quite good at scouting.

Now, if I want to be an utter asshole, I’ll make this a canon AU where the zombies show up around 5 years after canon. In this case, Makka died a couple of months back, peacefully in her sleep, and was buried in a pet cemetery. What do you think happens to the pets in the pet cemetery when a zombie apocalypse happens, guys? If I go this route, shit’s gonna get fucked up real fast because Viktor and Yuuri will meet zombie!Makka and that won’t be pretty.

...any preferences which you’d like?

02. ML!Phichit trivia

He had a raging crush on Yuuri, but didn’t realize it after Yuuri left him and Celestino. He decided pretty quickly not to pursue it because he and Yuuri make great friends, but a relationship would be a trainwreck. He got over it easily enough and never told Yuuri who remains happily oblivious even now.

He has owned 11 pets in his life; two cats, an armadillo, a snake, and seven hamsters. He tried with dogs too, but they don’t react well to werewolves, and even rescued strays became restless around his energy.

It took him nine years to woo Celestino; at least seven of these were because Celestino had no clue that Phichit was trying to seduce him. Werewolves are pretty touchy-feely after all.

Mid-2000s, he tracked down his remaining family online, but didn’t contact them because it’s not like he can say who he is. Most of them are the kids of his cousins and their families. He hasn’t been back to Thailand since he was turned either. This will come up in the fic eventually, though not in any detail.

03. Hogwarts Houses (I’m assuming you mean those for my AU and not just random sorting)

Aside from the main two, the only YoI characters who go to Hogwarts in this AU are Chris, Mila, and Yuri.

Yuri is four years younger than Yuuri and Viktor. The sorting hat took a long time with him because it was torn between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. At least half its dialogue to Yuri was about how people so suited to both of those houses were extremely rare. In the end though, Yuri was the one who chose, and it was Slytherin because the ideals of it appealed to him. He flourished in there, even though he kept his foray into dark magic strictly theoretical because he wanted - needed - to be an auror. Why? You’ll find out.

Mila is a Gryffindor and a year younger than Viktor and Chris. She’s Gryffindor and proud of it, but she’s also not into the brash-and-stupid stereotype. She likes to mix her brain with her brawn, and the end result is a force of nature that everyone learns pretty damn early not to mess with. The few that tried because she was small and pretty and looked delicate found themselves the recipient of some sweet little hexes. Once she put on height and muscle, she switched over to using her fists whenever possible for that extra bite of humiliation.

Chris is in Ravenclaw alongside Viktor. They kind of latched on to each other as first years, and always stayed friends. He’s a pureblood but his family isn’t from Britain and not really into the whole obsession with blood purity. He’s been a flirt since puberty hit, and people don’t really expect Hogwarts’ resident playboy to also be one of the top ten students in his year. Most of his light-hearted demeanor is real, but when he needs to be, he can be as serious as the best of them.

THERE, I WROTE YOU AN ESSAY

In response to this.

#fic: midnight lover #and other unnamed fic #sleep-furiously #sworn enemy #<3

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deancasbigbang · 7 years ago

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Title: As Thin of Substance as the Air Author: Speary Artist: Maigloeckchen Rating: Mature Pairings: Dean/Cas Sam/Sarah Blake Dean/AU Cas Dean/AU Cas/Cas Warnings: Temporary Character Death, Angst, Pining, Canon, Season 12 Posting Date: 10/4/2017

Summary: Chasing a nephilim and keeping the world from yet another potential apocalypse leaves little time for the apple pie life. That sort of life is the very thing that dreams are made from, and Dean barely has time for even that. So when Sam hands him a case that takes them into a charming, small town in Virginia where winter never comes and everything is pleasant, he rolls with it, mostly. After all, Cas is with them there, and sometimes they get to live like they aren’t about to die and kiss like they’ve got all the time in the world.

- - -

The night air that greeted him was crisp with a threat of winter snow in every breath of it. Dean shivered against it as Cas closed the door behind them and began walking off toward the far end of the building. Dean fell into step at his side. “So, your plan is to freeze me to death?” Dean laughed past another shiver that rattled his voice.

They reached the end of the building. There was a small driveway that snaked around the side to the back of the motel. The asphalt was littered with old cans and wrappers. There were little patches of snow in the field adjacent. Dean watched the wide puff of cold air leave him and go sailing up into the night sky. Cas turned to him and moved in close, sending Dean’s back to the rough motel wall. Dean’s body shivered again but not entirely from the cold. Cas pressed his hands, palms flat, against the wall on either side of Dean’s head. This time, Cas kissed him. It was a rougher kiss than the first one. This kiss was full of desperation, a neediness born of time apart and desires that they never gave voice to.

It was only when the kiss ended that Dean realized that Cas’ hands were still flat against the wall. They stayed close in the moment, staring past the fog of their breaths. “I love you.” It was a simple declaration. Cas’ voice wasn’t timid or quiet. It was steady, anchoring Dean in the moment. It was delivered like a statement of fact, the truest truth ever spoken. “I’ve told you before, but not so that you understood it. I’d have prayed a response to you when you were trapped in that place. I wanted to save you from all of it. You felt abandoned, and I felt like I’d abandoned you. I failed you.”

“You did not fail me,” and when Dean said those words, they were his truth, delivered with the same intensity of Cas’ declaration. “You’ve never failed me.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Cas moved a hand to Dean’s cheek. “You’ve felt my leaving like abandonment every time something pulls me from you.” His thumb stroked a path across his cheek to his hairline. “I feel it. Every time I leave, I feel it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel your sadness. I feel your want. I feel everything that you feel. It is the nature of our connection.”

“But only when I pray?” It was a whispered question.

“No, I always feel it.” Cas leaned in closer. “Right now, you are excited and also happy.” Cas smiled.

“Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out, Cas.” Dean smiled back. “You feel all of it?” The last question was about everything else, everything beyond this place beside the motel in the dark.

“All of it.” Cas dipped in and kissed him lightly again.

“That must be awful sometimes. I’m a bit of a trainwreck.” Dean’s laugh was subdued, a little self-deprecating.

“I love you.” Cas said it again instead of addressing what Dean had said. “What you feel, all of it, it’s all beautiful to me.”

#deancas #destiel #dcbb 2017 #fic preview

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douxbebearchives · 7 years ago

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Author Profile: IWrite4Olitz

Stories on FFN; tumblr: @iwrite4olitz

Your name/nickname/alias:

Lynn, iwrite4olitz

How long have you been writing?

Is “forever” too vague? Since I could properly grip a pencil...

How long have you been writing Olitz?

Since July 10th, 2015.

What drew you to Olivia & Fitz?

Their combustible chemistry. Is there any other reason?

Outside of Olitz, where do you get inspiration to write?

Everywhere. Anywhere. But my favorite inspiration comes from music. If I get stuck, I read a book. ;)

How do you describe your style of writing?

::hyperventilates:: I...don’t have one compact sentence to describe it. I suppose it’s because I choose words and sentence structure to suit whatever tone I’m trying to convey, while also considering the “voice” of the character whose point of view I’m writing. So, for example, if I’m writing something romantic, I use more flowing sentences, but choose words that I think the character whose head we’re in would actually use. If I’m trying to convey something tense or urgent, I’ll use more concise, clipped language and structure. If I need to drive an emotion home, or incite a reaction of some kind, I choose visceral language. Ugh, this sounds so clinical! But I promise it’s not. It just happens naturally. I’ve been called “poetic” and “evocative” by readers. I’ve also taken this super fun quiz:

https://iwl.me/

...the results of which told me I write like Stephen King, which contradicts the poetic thing. Haha. Love Stephen though. Do you guys follow him on twitter? Follow him. He’s one of my best friends in my head. And he’s woke.

Do you write (journal, pen/paper) or type first? Depends. If I have it clear in my mind how a scene should go, I type until my brain is empty. Then I edit until it’s as close to my mental picture as possible. If it’s not clear in my mind, my brain automatically goes on high alert, snatching inspiration from anywhere, at any time. That’s when I scribble things in notebooks or type notes into a document to piece together later. Dialogue, action, events, settings...

Do you have a special notebook or writing utensil?

I have several notebooks, Evernote, and Baby (my touch screen computer). But I plan on replacing her with a Mac soon, because she’s prone to viruses and my tech medical bills have been piling up!

Do you incorporate visuals, music, and/or poetry to help you get into the writing mood?

Yes! Music is the most powerful inspiration for me. I can get several scenes, or a chapter, or an idea for an entire story from one song. I love creating inspiration boards to visualize big scenes more vividly (and sharing them is fun). I don’t read much poetry, sadly. I have a book of famous love letters and poetry collecting dust on my bookshelf if anyone’s interested. It’s red, vintage-looking, really pretty...

Do you use mood boards/aesthetics/Pinterest?

Yes! Here’s the one for Pas De Deux: https://www.pinterest.com/AuthorLynnTurner/pas-de-deux/

Favorite kind of music or podcasts to listen to before/while you write?

I don’t listen to podcasts as part of my process. I find them too distracting. My taste in music is all over the place. I have the same affinity for jazz or soul that I have for pop or indie. That’s not very helpful, I suppose, but it just boils down to whatever moves or inspires me. Would you believe that Pia Mia’s “Do It Again” inspired the one-shot that became No Regrets? She was a 19 year old youtube sensation at the time, and it was her summer smash hit (possibly her only hit) about a one night stand. Hey, I’m not proud. “Locked Away” featuring Maroon 5 inspired the gala scene at the end of that story. “Garden” by Emeli Sande played as I wrote the garden love scene in Pas De Deux, and “Dreamland” by Emilia Ali was playing when I wrote the scene that opens PDD Chapter 10. :-)

Where do you like to write (Home, coffee shop, etc.)?

I prefer to write in isolation. I love cafes, but I tend to spend my time there doing research, or outlining, or creating inspiration boards. At home, I tend to write very early in the morning or late at night when everyone’s asleep...or during “me time” when certain tiny humans aren’t around to tug at my proverbial coat tails. If I have my headphones, I can pretty much write anywhere.

How long does it take you to write a chapter?

Oh gosh...Okay, in a vacuum, with a chapter fully formed in my mind, tons of coffee and wine coolers, I can crank one out in a single day. Outside of that vacuum, it could take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks. There are so many variables: mood, inspiration, time. I’m trying to be better at forming good writing habits. John Grisham says if you aren’t writing at least a page per day, you’re not writing a book. Stephen King writes 600 words a day. Stephen King is not human.

A favorite line or paragraph you’ve written.

This changes all the time, and I have different ones for each work, haha. By the time anyone reads this, it likely will have changed again. (There are some things I’ve written for the next Pas De Deux update that might upstage this, I dunno)...but I think this paragraph from Olivia’s point of view in Chapter 9 is my current favorite, It shows their dynamic so well, I think, and is quintessentially the Olitz I recognize no matter the writer, or whether the story is AU or canon:

She shivered, unnerved to be in his head, to see for herself the irrefutable evidence that he knew her. He knew her and she hadn’t told him a single thing.

Describe yourself in 5 words/phrases:

You could give me 24 hours and the fate of the universe on my shoulders and I still couldn’t do this, hahaha. In a perfect world, my self is constantly evolving, so how about, in keeping with the theme of fifths, I choose something in iambic pentameter?

“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.” -Dr. Suess

Favorite TV shows/movies:

This question is a rabbit hole. You’d need a “read more” button, and once clicked, readers would be subjected to pages and pages...so I’ll just list the ones I’d grab in case of a fire, or the apocalypse.

TV: Gilmore Girls, House, Girlfriends, A Different World, Living Single, the travelogue adventures of Samantha Brown and Anthony Bourdain, Sense8, Queen Sugar, Greenleaf, Underground, House Hunters, House of Cards, Orange is the New Black

Movies I can watch repeatedly and not get bored: Pride and Prejudice, The Devil Wears Prada, Focus, Pretty Woman, Love Jones, Ever After, The Wedding Date, Trainwreck

Movies with romantic elements: The Proposal, Trainwreck, Maid in Manhattan, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days, Something New, Serendipity, While You Were Sleeping, Maid in Manhattan, The Proposal, Miss Congeniality, The Cutting Edge, A Walk in the Clouds, Return to Me, How Stella Got Her Groove Back, Under the Tuscan Sun, Love Story, Beyond the Lights, Circle of Friends, Belle, Closer, Stompin at the Savoy, Memoirs of a Geisha, Dangerous Beauty, Cinderella (the one where Whitney Houston plays the fairy godmother), Coming to America, Juno, You Me & Dupri, Parent Trap, Overboard, Braveheart, The Preacher’s Wife, Palm Trees in the Snow

Favorite vacation spot:

Hawaii

Favorite books:

You’d think that, since my movie list is a rabbit hole, my book list would be a labyrinth, but even with all of the books I’ve read, I’m selective about what makes my favorites list:

Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen, The Hating Game by Sally Thorne, Grin and Beard It by Penny Reid, Literally every book by Penny Reid, Hadassah: One Night With the King by Tommy Teney, The Twentieth Wife & The Feast of Roses by Indu Sundaresan, The Nonesuch by Georgette Heyer, Wildseed & Lilith’s Brood by Octavia Butler, The Twilight Series by Stephenie Meyer (YES, okay? It’s not literary genius but it’s very entertaining, if you skip book two), Perfume: The Story of a Murderer by Patrick Suskind, Master of the Game by Sidney, Sheldon, Psy-Changeling series by Nalini Singh

*With the advent of fanfiction, I’m much pickier about published books, which I’m sure you all understand. ;)

Favorite authors:

I have a to-read list half a mile long, so I’m sure this will change, but these are authors whom I find consistently write entertaining stories, even if they don’t make my favorites list:

Penny Reid, Alyssa Cole, Alisha Rai, Nalini Singh, Philippa Gregory, Farrah Rochon, Stephen King, John Grisham, Octavia Butler

What do you like better? AU or Canon?

I enjoy both, so long as they’re written well. Writing-wise, I’m more comfortable writing AU. With canon, I’m constantly aware that these aren’t my characters, so I’m sort of hyper aware of the constraints. And I have control issues. Lol.

Favorite trope/scenario to read?

Enemies to lovers, love at first sight

Favorite Olitz TV moment/conversation?

Seriously??? Only one? How about top three? Top five? Okay, fine, since you’re twisting my arm, I’ll give you my top ten in no particular order. (You drive a hard bargain):

1. VERMONT

2. “You almost died.” “Yes.” “Don’t do it again.” (she went in there to get him to comply, but then she actually LISTENS to him, like, really listens...and he changes her mind. They show a united front in this scene that was gorgeous to watch)

3. “I hate you.” “I know.” ...which morphed into…”You are everything and I am nothing.” ::ugly, mucous-dripping crying::

4. “Sit with me and watch me earn you.” (and obviously the AMAZING sex that came after)

5. Can the entire episode of The Trail be one?

a. “I got a guy.” “You got a guy? Another guy? Hell’s angel? Mobster? A kind hearted felon who owes you a favor?” “Technically, he’s on probation.”

b. Camp David. Allll the Camp David. They were so in love, cute and care-free.

c. Love scene from The Trail (It’s their best, IMO. Organic. Combustible. Raw.)

d. One minute on the couch

6. Pre-State Dinner shenanigans, Post-State Dinner Navy t shirt

7. Literally every Olitz phone call

8. 503 Oval Office Kiss ::swoon::

9. Truman Balcony kiss, because he was so vulnerable

10. Fitz saying “I still want you” in the AU episode, because it was so real, and I *believe they’re destined to be together in every universe.

*Honorable mentions: Rose Garden, Deskgate, Constitution (These were gripping, but I have personal, nitpicking reasons why they’re not in my top ten), allll the Season 6 bedtime snuggles, and every hug.

Anything else you’d like to share?

Ava DuVernay is my other BFF in my head.

Someday, when I’m confident enough in my knowledge of the era I choose (which will take years and years of research and development), I will write a historical fiction with a WOC heroine...possibly with elements of science fiction.

#author profile #iwrite4olitz

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