#the vine boom apocalypse

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

sorry about the slight audio glitch. it was part of the stream

Transcript:

W-why?

Why?

WHY ARE THERE SO MANY FUCKING VINE BOOMS?!

End transcription

Audio Source

[amywritesthings]

boston holiday. / a joel holiday ficlet

pairing: joel miller x f!reader ( the last of us ) word count: 1.5k summary: You're decorating for the holidays in your Boston Quarantine Zone apartment. A begrudging Joel Miller gets involved. tags: domestic fluff, pre-tlou, explicit language, holiday decorating in the apocalypse, set 6 months after 'seeing you / seeing me' credit: dividers by @saradika

welcome to the third day of the twelve days of amymas 2023 !!!

“The hell’re you doing, girl?”

Only two people have the key to your place.

One of them is Tess Servopoulos.

Giving Tess a spare key was necessary — or so she's claimed, since according to her, she can't trust you to stay out of trouble for longer than twenty minutes.

(She isn't wrong.)

However, you’d love to argue that somehow you have become the saint in this duo.

Ever since that week at Miller's place, every deal has gone smoother than running water. For the last couple of months, you've been clean. Unseen. Invisible.

Tess, on the other hand, has always been a bad influence.

The older woman opens her mouth, starts a Boston-wide battle, and boom — sleepover for two at your place.

(After saving your ass, you'll hide her away from wandering eyes without question. Curfew punishments be damned.)

The other person that has the key to your place, well —

The other is the salt-and-pepper man watching you in mild horror as you teeter on the arm of your dilapidated couch.

(You just haven't seen him yet.)

Joel Miller has been known for his subtlety, his silence, but not around you.

Not when he holds the key to your place; a recent development.

He tends to simply show up when he wants.

You don't mind that — usually.

But his bark scares the shit out of you in the middle of stretching high, your bare toes barely touching the arm of your couch.

The hell're you doing, girl?

Hoping to tack this starting string of garland to the ceiling suddenly becomes you fighting for your life.

"Ah—!"

The surprise intrusion causes you to falter, ankle losing its balance.

You wobble once, violently twice, before falling backwards.

Joel wastes no time — he slams the front door shut, not bothering to lock it behind him, and rushes to the couch.

Like some fucked up apocalyptic fairy tale, he catches you well before you hit the ground.

Joel Miller, the reluctant hero.

For a moment you stay suspended here: feet barely touching the ground, the older man’s arms wrapped around your torso.

Joel's weather-worn face twists in a concerned scowl.

All you can do is cheekily smile.

“Hey, Miller.”

“Don’t fucking hey me,” he snaps. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“To be fair, I thought I could reach it.” He stares, so you supply: "The ceiling. I thought I could reach the ceiling."

“You’ve got the tallest goddamn ceilings in the Boston Q-Z,” Joel argues in return, setting you down to properly stand. You hold onto the sleeves of his flannel shirt until you get your footing. “Ain’t no way in hell you were reaching anything.”

He lets go of you to stare at the ceiling like he's ready to pick a fight with it, before dropping his chin.

The man stops moving when he picks up the fallen string of fake green vines strewn across your scratched hardwood floor.

The question is silent: what the hell is this?

You cross your arms over your chest, wishing you had a better excuse.

A funny one that doesn't make you look so childish, especially in front of Joel Miller.

Still, you're a bad liar around him, so you choose to stare at the garland instead of him when you confess.

“I was trying to get the holiday spirit going.”

When you blink up to Joel, your suspicions of confusion are correct: he stares back like you’ve sprouted a second head and become a clicker in the flesh.

A beat passes.

Then another.

“The what now?”

You playfully roll your eyes and walk away towards your radio. Hovering over it, your fingertips reach to toy with the dials until white static takes over the apartment silence.

That radio is the only reliable device in your endless collection of junk, though it's had to go through some repairs this year.

Thanks to Joel it still works, though he won't let you thank him.

(Not verbally, anyway. There are always loopholes in the middle of the night.)

“Every year I do this,” you explain, turning each dial with care until the local radio station comes over the airwaves.

"You... decorate."

Clearly he's unimpressed.

"Yeah," you reply. "Between leaving the Q-Z and scavenging the nearby neighborhoods, I find junk all the time. Snowman trinkets and elf knick-knacks and other stupid shit no one ever touches because it's all useless. I keep all of them in a box until the holidays. My collection's actually grown exponentially over the years.”

Two boxes full, actually.

Forgotten treasures of other families, now kept sacred on your mantle.

“Sounds like a waste of time,” Joel scoffs.

“It is,” you agree once you find the right channel before standing at full height with a tiny smile, "but that time makes me happy, so I’m happy to waste it. What else am I supposed to do between jobs?”

He considers those words, if just for a moment.

Joel scrunches his nose and eyes in a way that says he's debating on being mean.

You don't expect him to get it.

He's been through shit, but so has everyone in this quarantine zone.

(So have you.)

The Eagles croon in the background — not exactly holiday cheer, but any vinyl or CDs of the greats like Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra singing holiday songs are probably nonexistent from the decay of time.

Besides, you can’t imagine many others are trying to keep the holidays afloat in the quarantine zone. Some families, sure, but not many.

Too much heartbreak. Too much loss.

But you've had enough sadness, so you try to bring a little light to your humble abode.

"Don't worry about it, Joel," you add after an uncomfortable amount of silence passes. "I know it's stupid. There's a fresh bottle of stored whiskey in the—"

All words die on your tongue when some kind of winter miracle happens:

Rather than tossing the garland string to the side, Joel turns on the heel of his boot and away from you.

"Joel?"

He carefully slips off his shoes, revealing worn-white socks, and steps on your couch cushion.

With care, he reaches for the ceiling.

A strip of his bare lower back reveals itself in his stretch.

“What are you... doing?” you inquire, stepping around your couch to face him.

He doesn't look down, determined to stare at the white canvas of your ceiling.

Searching.

Your line of sight is in direct contact with the dark happy trail poking from his shirt, causing your face to burn.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he retorts.

“You said it was a waste of time.”

“You dying because you wanna try and stick some stupid tree shit up on your ceiling is more of a waste of time. You got tape or something?”

“Seriously?”

He peers down at you. 

“Do I look like I’m kidding?" he retorts. "Get the damn tape.”

You have to try not to smile too wide when you step away, rummaging through your box of supplies.

Truthfully nothing in this box is worth keeping — none of it will save your life in the apocalypse — but your mental sanity thanks you for it every year.

After finding a roll that’s still sticky, you return to the couch and hold it up for him.

Joel grunts in gratitude, focusing his efforts solely on the line of green above him.

He manages to press the start of the decoration in place, holding the bottom of it to you.

“You want big loops or little?”

“What’ll stick better, Miller?”

He gives you a warning look. “Joel.”

A smile spreads like wildfire against your lips.

“...what’ll stick better, Joel?”

That seems to satisfy him.

“Hell if I know,” he grumbles, “just tell me what you prefer and I’ll do it.”

Something stirs in your lower belly as he speaks.

Joel didn’t have to do this.

He didn’t have to do any of it.

You were perfectly fine with keeping your need for holiday cheer to yourself, but he’s stepped in without so much as a fuss.

He’s had a hard life. Tess has alluded to the fact that he was once a father before.

You can only imagine how much he hates this, but he’s still trying.

For you.

It’s not a favor you will easily forget.

Your fading candles burn out in the background as the two of you go through every part of your assorted holiday decorations, popping open a bottle of smuggled whiskey to keep yourselves dehydrated. 

You direct. Joel places.

After some time you both get too tipsy to put the finishing touches.

(Too busy slow dancing in the middle of your living room to the ballads of Patsy Cline.)

Making jokes.

Enjoying warmth.

Choosing life.

It’s the first night Joel Miller ever sleeps at your place.

You both stay in bed long after the sun rises.

.

[veearrifarrariboom]

Vearri's Masterpost VINE BOOM

Captainx2!!

This Au is set in the apocalyptic future from the beginning of The Rise of the TMNT movie.

Basically Raph gets "disowned" of life...His brother's try hard to get him back in a robot body- nothing works.

Years pass and Leo gets disowned of an arm! Silly Billy. He gets the arm of the discarded Raph bot as a prosthetic, but then it starts to glow red.

Then suddenly he starts hearing his big brother voice in his head...

or

Leo and Raph are forced to share a body through the apocalypse!

Prologue !

Part 1: Start

Part 2: Silly Dreams!

Tag: #Captainx2

Note: I do not have a schedule for when I post, it will come when it comes! Also this is my first time doing a big comic like this, it is a learning curve and there will be mistakes. I just want to draw out my silly ideas and I am so thankful for the support! I love you all!

RP BLOG!!

Captain design reference

TMNT Story Au competition: Second place!! <3

[steelthroat]

For the TF ask meme, if you've time...

🤖- What got you into TF?

💜- Fav Decepticon?

🍳- Character that you would go to Brunch with

Hello there~ all the time of the world for you! So let's go:

🤖- okay so there is more than one answer to this question since I have been in and out for a while before settling.

Very embarrassing, I was 3/4 years old and the second live action movie had been released not too long before. I was staying at my cousin's home and the first scene of the movie comes up on TV... the one where the Fallen was holding a struggling human in his hand and I was... hypnotized by that scene, like oh my good imagine a giant DANGEROUS robot holding you! And I went to my dad (who is a nerd) asking him "DAD! DAD! WHERE'S THAT GIANT ROBOT FROM?" And he hadn't seen the scene so he answered "I don't know... are you talking about Goldrake?" "NO NO IT WAS REAL!" and ge thinks about it for a while and goes "oooooh, Transformers I think". I thought about that scene for months and then never did anything about it because I was 4.

I was staying at my grandparents' house and I was looking for some cartoons and BOOM transformers prime, the episode in which starscream and knockout start a "zombie apocalypse" and I think to myself "ooooh cool characters!" And I keep watching. The moment Arcee and Prime came up I fell in love with them and so I stayed obsessed until rescue bots came out and then there were no more transformers shows on tv

I forgot about it until 2 or 3 years ago. It was summer some friends and I were talking about childhood cartoons and I remembered Arcee. A day later youtube recommended me one of those "transformers prime on crack/as vines" videos and then idk I was consumed by unicron.

Hhhhh such a long answer for a simple question... ok onto the next one:

💜- I made a loooong answer in the post I'm going to link somewhere (here) in this post but I'm going to add the VERY simplified list of reasons for it being Skywarp:

Purple

Loyal to the cause

Has what it takes to be a dcepticon

I love him as a character

Purple

Skilled fighter

*looks at the comics and g1 cartoon and gestures vaguely* that thing

Have I already said purple?

🍳- either Jazz or Bluestreak... or both. They would be of great company and would make every brunch memorable in one way or another. *smooches them*

[minanchoo]

imagine ur first day at the RPD and theres a fucking zombie apocalypse and u head to the police station and u hear a vine boom sound effect and el gato kennedy randomly spawns just standing there looking at u like this

[toto-dreamer]

flowers will grow (in the saddest parts of you)

It really is quite pretty. 

The sky, that is. Despite it all. It’s blue today, with a hint of red, which makes purple. Doesn’t it? What does red and blue make again? You squint, because you don’t remember, especially since there’s a headache forming behind your eyes. It’s difficult to think. The pounding intensifies. Maybe you’re thinking too hard. Or maybe it’s because of the hand currently wrapped around your throat. 

Oh. Right. You swing, and the bat you’re holding collides with Quinn’s face in a spray of blood and bone. They don’t get back up. You don’t either. The sky is slowly infecting itself with strains of purple and ghostly wisps of clouds. If you squint, they almost resemble lavenders. You wonder if they match the bruises on your throat.

Something in your lungs shrivels at the thought. It’s alright. You don’t breathe much anymore these days anyway.

It came with the wind, as all things do. The end of the world, that is. Everyone choking on weeds that crowd their lungs and take control of their limbs to turn them into undead muppets. People thought it was the rapture, the world crashing to a close with an aromatic reaper as their herald. They weren’t that far off. At least that’s what Quinn always said. “Let’s be real, have you really felt alive since then?” So the world did end, only metaphorically, and if you could you would laugh and laugh at that. But the flowers would crowd your airways and you would choke and gag and wonder if you’re about to die for a few minutes. 

When you first met Quinn, when their mind was still sharp and fingers soft, they would push up their glasses and talk about increased levels of oxytocin and flower symbolism and the human condition. You never really listened, but now you wish you did. Quinn’s been too busy recently spitting out flowers to say anything about science and love.

Today, there’s a crater in Quinn’s head. A meteor crashed into it and everything died. Boom. Like the dinosaurs. Except that’s not how it happened, was it, there was large-scale climate change and… and… 

You don’t really remember. A headache pounds behind your eyes. You decide you should stop thinking.

Quinn still isn’t closing their eyes so you close them for them. They were staring at you oddly. Something about them makes you want to run so you do. You can’t really run anymore with the vines around your ankles but you limp onwards, wheezing air and black bile around the leaves in your mouth. Something about Quinn makes you feel ill. Something about yourself makes you want to retch. Perhaps if you run fast enough, you’ll run right out of your skin and fall through the earth into somewhere better. Somewhere not here.

You retch up willow leaves two blocks over. Disappointment is a blood clot in your throat. Flowers are peaking between the pores of your skin. Maybe you thought they would go away once Quinn is gone. It’s getting worse instead. You can’t feel your left arm anymore. Would you look at that? There’s vines between the joints. Whether you like it or not, it’s all coming to an end soon.

This really isn’t that bad of a place to die. Sunset. Quiet streets. The screams of the damned in the distance. You can’t be picky in the apocalypse. It’ll be better if Quinn is here with you. What happened to them? Your head feels fuzzy and your limbs feel weighted with the flowers that wind around your bones. How long has it been since you got sick? How bad has it gotten? 

You meander your way over to a hill. Though it would be more accurate to call it a bump than a hill. If you lay down on the grass with your head on said bump you can get a perfect view of both the sky and the street, dusted with a layer of golden sunlight. It’s beautiful. Something in your chest hurts. You’re going to die, a far-off feeling says, unless you stop thinking like this. Except you like the way it feels, an ache but in a pleasant way, like your muscles after a workout. No pain without gain. That’s what Quinn always said. 

It’s strange, isn’t it? The last of your attachments are gone. The flowers should be gone too. Or at least going. You yank at some of the flowers growing out of your nails but it hurts, so you stop. What could you possibly be loving that’s still killing you? 

Thinking makes your head hurt. You wriggle on the grass, like a worm, trying to get comfortable. It’s practice for the rest of your existence. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You ask Quinn, but they’re not here to answer. Should you get your affairs in order? What affairs would those be? Dying without any regrets… that’s a thing most people aspire towards, isn’t it? You’ve done pretty well, all things considered.

Except there’s still something grey and unpleasant in your throat as you watch the sun crawl towards the horizon. Goodbye, it says, a beam of sunlight stretching up in a wave. That thing in your chest hurts more. Hurts enough that you want to wail and shout and do other emotional things you haven’t thought of doing in a while. Your fingers curl into the green grass and pull. Dirt soaked with blood swallows your arms. Blue petals clog up your throat. White ones cloud your vision. You pry them open. If this is it, you want the last thing you see to be the sky. This world. 

Oh. Is that it? There’s a tickle in your throat. Is that laughter or flowers? You want to cry, but the petals soak in your tears like raindrops on fertile soil. 

As you sink into the earth, you think you hear it laughing. 

[alecmagnuslwb]

Wasteland, Baby (I’m In Love)

Read on AO3

“Anybody up there!” John shouts needlessly for about the hundredth time.

“No one’s coming, love,” Zatanna says with a sigh leaning back against one of the ivy covered walls sliding down until she’s sat on the ground, legs crossed. “Everybody’s probably too busy attempting to stop the apocalypse.”

John’s shoulders drop as he walks over her way, kicking at a little pile of rocks on the way.

“Your magic still fritzing?” he asks as he settles on the ground beside her. He digs into his pocket shaking out the last cigarette in the pack.

Zatanna lights her hand whispering a quiet spell for a flame under her breath snapping her fingers. Nothing but a barely there spritz of fire that extinguishes itself before it can get anywhere near John’s cigarette the only result.

“Yup,” she says dropping her hand down as he lights his cigarette the old fashioned way. “I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that the moon is bright red,” she says looking up at the sky.

She never thought this is how it would all end. Or well she assumed the end would come from some mighty space god who decided that Superman needed to lose another home planet, but she definitely didn’t think she’d witness the end at the bottom of an old dried up well.

Unsurprisingly when the world started to collapse, every villain took advantage. The Joker brought a bazooka to a fist fight with Batman, Cheetah snuck her way into Themyscira and somehow of all the embarrassing villains to be bested by Felix Faust caught the two of them off guard. Blasting a wave of magic from his staff their way as they were distracted by the crackling sky, the rolling unnatural thunder and the moon starting to change from its normal shade.

Zatanna had broken their fall with what may have very well been the last bit of magic done on earth just before the moon fully changed and the crackle in the air she always felt so comfortable with disappeared.

That had been nearly an hour ago and things up top have only gotten more unstable in that time.

“So, end of the world and we’re not gonna be able to help stop it,” Zatanna says kicking her feet out. “Feels weird. Feels like we should be doing something.”

She feels useless, but she also feels a little free which just makes her feel guilty.

“Yeah,” John says in thought taking a long drag of possibly his very last cigarette. “Kinda nice though too, peaceful,” and just like that Zatanna’s guilt lessens. “Just really a question of how we’re going to pass the time before it all ends.”

Zatanna nods scooting closer to him. “Wanna make out?” she says looking up at him with a sly smile putting her face right up next to his.

“Fuck yeah,” John says flicking his cigarette away before tangling a hand in her hair and pulling her close. The second their lips touch she feels that crackle in the air again, it’s not magic, not really. There’s just always been electricity between them.

She opens up easily to him, naturally, taking the hint when the hand not tangled in her hair wraps around her back and pulls her in even closer. She shifts until she’s in his lap, legs bracketing him. the sharper points of a few of the vines catch in her fishnet stockings, but she can’t be bothered with them.

John’s hand slips up under the back of the ratty old mucous membrane shirt that actually was once his, that she’d thrown on in their haste to get outside when things had started to rumble. His calloused fingers digging into the soft flesh at her hips. She scoots impossibly closer to him not even a hairs breadth of space between them when a boom of sound thunders from above pulling them apart from each other just a bit.

They both tilt their heads up towards the opening of the well watching as a line of sickly looking lightning pierces across the sky.

“Think that was Superman doing that time reversing quick fly around the earth thing he does?” John says not sounding anywhere near as hopeful as he’s clearly trying to be.

“Maybe,” Zatanna says eyes still locked on the sky her fingers digging into John’s shoulder. “Could have even been The Flash? There’s a whole bunch of them these days.” She manages to sound a little more hopeful than John.

Another crack of lighting strikes across the sky, this time though it doesn’t fade away it just stays in place like a permanent crack in the sky. Thunder rumbles after it, the wind that’s been whipping wildly picking up and bringing an instant downfall of ice cold rain along with it.

Zatanna hops up in shock when the cold rain slips under her shirt and down her back pulling John along with her. She tries to push close to the wall, but there’s no escaping the downpour as it already begins to pool at their feet.

“Great, we’re gonna drown in a well because of Felix Faust,” Zatanna says resigned speaking loudly over the elements whipping around them and above them.

“Or we might float to the top and get lasered to death by an alien god,” John says just as loudly pulling his trench coat up and around them both as much as he can. It doesn’t do much good, but it’s a sweet gesture nonetheless.

“Decisions, decisions,” Zatanna says with a little smile pressing close to him, huddling under his coat. “Which is the less embarrassing way to die?”

John smirks at her leaning into her as her arms wrap around his waist. “Good news we die an embarrassing death and no one’s ever gonna know, because ya know end of the world?”

Zatanna laughs at that, partially because it’s truly funny and partially out of some weird reaction to their imminent deaths. John joins her, the both of them laughing a bit too much at a joke that wasn’t particularly funny. They laugh and laugh pressed close together until the water is nearly at their knees.

John drops his coat giving up any attempts to keep them warm or dry, his laughter dying down into a few waning chuckles. He wraps his arms around her shoulders pressing his forehead to her temple.

“We had a good run, didn’t we,” he says, not a question but a fact. He’s quieter now, pressed so close together she can’t just hear every word but feel it vibrating against her.

She nods lightly, “We did.”

“Did some good,” he says shifting for a moment to press a kiss to her drenched hair before dipping back down resting against her again.

She shifts in his arms blinking as the rain hits her eyelids really taking what might be one last good look at him. Handsome in his own way just like always, doused in rain like a wet rat that smokes too much, the weird reddish hue of the moon cutting through his blonde hair. He looks right back at her clearly doing the same thing, taking her all in one last time. “Did some bad,” she says with a cheeky smile. He lets out an amused snort.

“That we did,” he says his eyes closing as he wraps her up and pulls her back in her head resting on his shoulder. “There’s worse ways to go,” he muses running his hands up and down her back as the water rises, nearly to their waists now. “We could be in Gotham with that whole brood.”

Zatanna chuckles against his shoulder. “Ugh, nightmarish.”

They go quite after that the violent sounds of the elements the only noise around them. Another violent boom of thunder and lightning makes her start the waist level water sloshing a bit as they squeeze each other tight. The sky cracks open again, wider and more violent than before, the moon damn near looking like it’s split in half.

The last thing she sees before she presses her face into John’s neck is nothing but darkness, endless and vast.

[thespacebuffet]

Jortle and The Yetis: A Space Buffet Story

Year 17000002002 Earth

The fertile moist dirt intertwined with random patches of ancient concrete jutting out of the earth soaked in the rays of the afternoon sun. Massive crumbled buildings loomed granting shade to the population below. Towering twisted vines have snarled tightly around the buildings that once housed a thriving civilization. The Earth has seen thousands upon thousands of thriving civilizations that have met their end and have been replaced with countless others. The current occupants of the Earth are vagrants, louts, toss-a-bouts, transient, homeless. Hundreds of “neighborhoods” comprised of hundreds of tents are where the current Earthers reside. They scavenge what they can by day, sleep at night and shank fools with their makeshift knives for protection against getting their shit stolen. They chug improvised or stolen booze, will smoke almost anything and are not ashamed of relieving themselves in public. There’s no one to impress here, no formal form of society, rules laws or government. Just a bunch of fucked up Earthers wandering about because they can, who have decended from a long lineage of people with decimated hopes and dreams.

Argyle Houndstooth, a scruffy Earther in his late thirties was walking down Main Street chugging a 40. He had a dirty face, a scruffy gray beard and dust proof goggles that sat atop his mop of greasy gray hair. He was traveling with his son, Shark to see if there were any more cans of bacon hair grease left at the 5 n Dime that closed the last time the Apocalypse happened. Nobody remembers when that happened. All of the sudden there was a bright flash in the sky and a large sonic boom. Two spacecrafts just entered Earth's atmosphere. That hasn’t happened in who knows how long because no one on Earth remembers but bet your bottom dollar it was a long fucking time ago. “Uhh woah,” said Argyle. “Yeah woah,” said Shark. One spacecraft was chasing the other and shooting at it with its laser cannons. They both were in a spiral on fire and on a crash course straight for the ground. “Cool,” said Argyle wiping his forehead and taking a swig of his 40.

36 Hours Earlier On The Planet Hoquur

Jortle Kottler woke up with a huge smile on his face. Today was the first day of his vacation. He had requested two weeks off exactly a year ago and has been planning this trip excitedly ever since. No one at the Bhuleer factory understood his obsession with the Space Buffet. They said it was an overpriced tourist trap that lost its luster a long time ago and only attracts a seedy crowd. Jortle would fervently disagree defending its long and illustrious legacy of creativity, outstanding cuisine and top notch entertainment. He knew how people felt but never let it bother him. This was a once in a lifetime experience be in the place where history was made. Jortle’s apartment was small and so was his bed which barley fit his 6’7 frame. He’s always lived alone, never had a significant other, never owned a pet and he was fine with that. After rigorously performing his morning routine and dressing himself in his finest travel clothes he grabbed his most coveted camera and prepacked travel bag and walked out the door.

There wasn’t much going on where he lived. Hoquur was not a very populated planet, not after decades of ecological disasters. There was one metro that went off planet and it was always late. Jortle arrived at the station and was nervous he would miss his scheduled welcome tour, he had to pay extra for that. The Metro finally came which was very crowded. This wasn’t just a trip for pleasure, this was a business trip. His very first business trip for his very first business. Jortle had created his very own food critic blog. It just made sense Jortle loved to eat, he appreciated all types of cuisines, at least the ones that were available on his planet. He devised his very own patented system of food reviewing. Step one, he would tuck his napkin in his shirt. Step two he would close his eyes and sniff the food vigorously. Step three he would gingerly procure the food with either a spoon or a fork and deliver it to his mouth. Step four if he liked the food he would say “I like, it was good,” if he did not like it he would say “I do not like, it was not good.”

As soon as Jortle stepped foot inside the SpaceBuffet, a tingling rush of energy and excitement washed over him. This was the moment that he had been waiting for all his life. It was even more magical than he had imagined. He checked into his room, went on the tour he paid extra for and decided to get an early sleep. He was excited because tomorrow would be his very first food review. He booked a lunch reservation at Yeti’s Deli which was known throughout the galaxy for their food and not their service.

After a deep sleep Jortle woke up in his comfy hotel bed full of energy and excitement. He took a nice hot shower and dressed in one of his finest suits complete with his favorite bow tie. He walked around the complex for a few hours saving his appetite for his special lunch. He took the elevator to the 17th floor and followed the long corridor down to Yetis Deli. The Yeti family was famous for their restaurants they own many types of restaurants from the most humble to the most fancy. They have at least 11 restaurants in the SpaceBuffet alone.

“Hello I am Jortle, table for one please,” he said politely. “Sit wherever you like,” shouted the Yeti host. The Yeti family have been known for being less than friendly. The Yeti server approached the table. “Hello. Our specials today are rotten ball soup, shaved butt meat sandwich, and fresh pickles,” said the server shouting very loudly and drooling a little. “Excuse me can I borrow your stylus? I seemed to have forgot mine in the room,” Jortle said in his thick Hoqqureese accent. “What?” the Yeti belched. “The stick you write things with.” The Yeti angrily stared at Jortle, grumbled, dug in her apron and procured a small bone and gave it to Jortle. “Not exactly what I was expecting but thank you,” he said with a nervous smile. Jortle began writing his initial thoughts with the bone on his datapad. After a few minutes, his food came out. She dropped it on the table with the thud and coldly turned to walk away. “Excuse me,” pointed Jortle. She turned around menacingly. “I never got your name,” he said. She made a very loud gutteral noise that he assumed was her name. “Yes, thank you. I am Jortle. Um, pardon me but you never asked me what I wanted to drink,” he said sheepishly. “You are right,” she said about to turn back around. “Uh well if you don’t mind I would like to have a beverage with my meal, maybe a Joolangalresh tea or a Zorx cola?” he asked. “The Yeti don’t believe in drinking beverage with meal. Makes you too gassy, bad for digestion. We no have beverage only food, eat!” she shouted the stomped back into the kitchen.

Jortle was a bit taken aback but he took a deep breath and composed himself. He visually took in his meal and was pleased with what he saw. He began his process. He was about to begin step one but noticed he didn’t have a napkin. Jortle was quite anal about his rituals and figured this being his very first review he should at least follow his own rules. He looked around the empty restaurant and noticed there weren’t any napkins anywhere. He called for his server trying to impersonate the sounds she made but did it very poorly. That didn’t work. He slowly scooted himself out of the uncomfortable chair and started to walk around the restaurant for something that resembled a napkin.

Then he noticed a frame hanging on the wall. What was framed looked like a napkin but it was full of Yeti writing that Jortle didn’t understand. He looked around again, he was the only one in the restaurant and was too nervous to poke his head in the kitchen. He crept over to the framed napkin and debated whether he should use it or not. Surely they would understand and wouldn’t care. He threw it on the ground smashing the glass and picked up the napkin from the shards of glass. He sat back down at the table and continued his rituals. He shoved the napkin into his shirt, he closed his eyes and took a big whiff of the delicious smelling food, then he opened his eyes again and grabbed his fork and knife. He gingerly cut a piece of his shaved butt meat sandwich and placed it in his mouth. A rush of flavor sensation in his mouth. He thoroughly chewed and swallowed. “Wow,” Jortle said to himself. He then cut a piece of the fresh pickle and ate it. “Wow again,” he said. He then lifted his spoon and tried the soup. His face soured a bit. “Too salty,” he said. He dipped his spoon back into the broth for a second opinion and stuck it in his mouth.

His face turned red and he started coughing then choking. He was violently trying to get whatever was stuck in his throat out by slamming his own chest and throat into the table which spilled almost all the soup onto the napkin that was tucked in his shirt. He made so much of a commotion that the Yeti server came out of the kitchen. She let out a furious roar. “What are you doing?” she screamed. Jortle couldn’t say anything. She rolled her eyes, opened his mouth and shoved her giant hand down his throat and slowly pulled out a long thick sopping wet Yeti hair. Jortle still red faced, breathed heavy panting and sweating said “There was a hair in my soup.”

Just then the kitchen door burst open and Chef Yeti barged in. He exchanged low growls with the sever to find out what was going on. He noticed the shattered glass and the napkin looking thing soaking wet shoved in his shirt. Chef Yeti let out a loud and painful roar and pounded his chest. “What have you done? That was my Grandmother’s she wrote all her secret recipes on that cloth, this is billions of years old and now it’s ruined.” he roared. “If it was a secret recipe why did you frame it,” asked Jortle curiously. The Chef roared again and grabbed Jortle by the throat throwing him through the large glass window. Jortle was stunned and a bit hurt but he quickly got to his feet and started running when he realized that Chef Yeti was chasing him. For a big guy he was fast thought Jortle as he ran and bled at the same time.

They stormed through several dining rooms and kitchens making people jump out of the way. This went on for a ridiculous amount of time. Finally Jortle decided it would be wise to flee to his ship and just leave all his stuff in his hotel room, he could always go back and get it when this all blows over later. It was clearly a gross misunderstanding and he figured at some point he would sit down with Chef Yeti and talk this out like two rational adults. Jortle finally reached his ship and the Yeti got in his and they both flew at light speed out of the SpaceBuffet parking hangar. The Yeti ship was equipped with laser cannons that he constantly fired at Jortle, luckily he was a terrible shot. This went on for a very very very very very very very very long time. When they started the space chase Jortle had a full tank of fuel, now he was almost on empty. The Yeti Chef’s aim was improving and he started hitting Jortle’s ship causing major damage. Jortle started to notice they were in deep deep deep space, the part of the galaxy where nobody went, and he started to get frightened. By this point the Yeti was fuming with rage and his ship was also low on fuel and started to putter out. If he was going down he was going to take Jortle with him. They were very close to an ancient forgotten planet they have never seen before. Both ships started to plummet and the Yeti continued to fire on Jortle’s ship. Pretty soon both ships were on fire as they careened towards the ground.

Year 17000002002 Earth

Both ships hit Earth with a violent impact and immediately caused a gigantic explosion. Jortle was badly burned but alive. Luckily his species was able to heal rather quickly so he wasn’t too worried. Chef Yeti was able to exit his ship by kicking down the door with his brute strength. Luckily the Yeti are fire retardant and feel no pain. The only issue was that for some reason the frequency in the atmosphere of this planet had done something to his brain. He was no longer able to communicate in a manner that anyone could understand. After stumbling out of the wreckage all he could do was wander around and make noises. His favorite apron was burned up in the crash so now he was naked. After wandering aimlessly he stumbled through an invisible portal and immediately vanished.

Jortle wandered along admiring the strange world he found himself in. He was in awe of the giant buildings seemingly taken over by nature. After a full day of walking and exploring, Jortle’s feet started to hurt. He noticed there was a small clearing in the brush and he saw a fire was going. As he stepped into the clearing he saw a father and son eating over the open flame. “Sup,” said Argyle. “Sup,” said Shark. “Hello, I am Jortle. I seemed to have crash landed on your planet,” he said. “Cool,” said Argyle, taking a swig of his 40. The night was quiet and the air was crisp. Only the sweet cracklings of the fire could be heard. “Stay as long as you like. Want some beans?” he asked. Jortle was pleased his new friends asked him to share a meal with them. “Do you happen to have a napkin?” asked Jortle.

Northern California, Earth, The Year 1958

An invisible time portal opened up and Chef Yeti tumbled out landing hard on the forest floor. He stood up and brushed the leaves off himself. He let out a very loud roar which translated to where am I how do I get back to my planet and my restaurant. A hapless hiker happened to spot the Yeti that was covered in dirt and snapped a blurry photo of him. “Holy shit what is that?” exclaimed the hiker.

The SpaceBuffet year 17000002002

“Chef Yeti has been missing for days, Server Yeti tried to take over but set the kitchen on fire. What makes you qualified to be our new Chef?” said Restaurant Manager Yeti. The shadowy stranger sat across the table dressed in a black poncho and large brimmed hat and smiled. “I’ve got years of experience and you need me.”

To Be Continued…

[sardonic-the-writer]

↳ summary: you had never been too good at meeting new people. much less in the midst of a world ending apocalypse

↳ navigation: one hundered days

↳ song: one hundered days playlist

masterlist!

"Wake up."

Wind blew across the top of the building, the jacket you were using as a makeshift blanket flapping in the wind.

"Wake up."

Sun beams peaked through the mountain of clouds that had gathered overhead. It looked like rain.

"WAKE UP."

Air filled your lungs as you jolted upright—gasping for air.

The sight of daylight you were met with almost made you regret opening your eyes in the first place, no matter how muted it was.

A cough worked its way out of your mouth. The feeling of sandpaper on sandpaper became apparent as you noted your dry mouth and tounge, which would have been worrisome if you didn't have bigger things to handle.

Your pulse was skyrocketing as you did their best to locate the source of the booming voice that so rudely had woken you up. But you barely had time to rub at your eyes—vision trying desperately to adjust—before a deep, guttural groan stood the hairs on the back of your neck upright.

You wasted no time whipping around. Hands wildly grabbed for the make-shift pillow/backpack behind you, fumbling with a jammed zipper for a moment before pulling out an innocent looking kitchen knife. Early morning sun glinted off the handle for a split second as you unsheathed it, blade as clean as a pair of freshly shined shoes.

Well, at least until it was plunged deep into the gut of a zombie.

Black blood sprayed all across your— thankfully clothed—torso and your unfortunately not so clothed face as the zombie crumbled to the floor limply, already devoid of whatever sort of life it used to have.

You made sure to scramble away from the lump of rotting flesh, wiping away the blood on your skin before it seeped into any open cuts or nicks you might have.

A pool of the very same inky tinted blood had already started to form. Bubbles popped and steam sizzled off the surface of the liquid. It mad you recall how terrified you had been when first seeing the seemingly dangerous properties of the substance—at least until you discovered it was only life threatening to certain plants.

Tearing your eyes away from the scene was an easy task. You had no intention of reliving the first time you had slayed a handful of undead after all.

One quick glance around the surroundings granted you some knowledge about their current situation. The stairs you had so carefly closed off last night had apparently been broken through by the zombie laying silently at their feet. Splinters of wood lay across the ground, holding the promise of more incoming zombies if you didnt get out of there. And fast, judging by the increasingly loud sounds of more undead from below.

The stairs were quickly weighed out as an option. While you were all about getting those sweet near death experiences in, it was too early in the morning to be chased down flights of stairs by a zombie hoard.

So the edge of the building would have to do.

Scooping up their one and only bag, you wasted no time in attaching your knife to your hip and scaling down the side of the building. The petrifying sound of moaning zombies was left behind as you lowered yourself down on some conveniently placed vines. Almost as if someone had planted them for this exact purpose.

If that was the truth, then they did a shitty job in securing these fuckers.

The thick vegetation gave way without warning, your footing quick to follow suit as they let out a yelp. Fear spiked through your heart. Thinking as quickly as you could, you jumped off of the brick surface—attempting to tuck and roll across the dead grass below. But mid-roll something went wrong. You felt your shoulder pop, and unbelievable pain rippling through your bones like molten lead.

A muffled scream bubbled in your throat. Painful red bite marks appeared on your hand from stuffing it in your mouth, stifling the painful howl you yearned to release.

Standing up and sprinting away from the building as fast as they could, you winced everytime your shoulder would thump uselessly against your side. The thing must be dislocated, and that knowlage sent you into a frensy. It did nothing to slow your pace however, all too aware of the hoard of infected behind you yearning for a taste of flesh. Your flesh. The shoulder could be dealt with later; when you weren't in any more life threatening situations.

"Fuck, shit pussy ass balls. Goddamnit it—" You openingly cursed as you sped down the cracked streets and weaved through abandoned cars. Now that practically every zombie in the area had been attracted by the sound of their own kind moaning and groaning while chasing you, you figured you were allowed the luxury of cursing loudly right before you died a painful death. Hence why they were trying to fit every lewd word known to man in one sentence.

And—

Wait what the fuck was that.

Tan blocks that looked to be an off colored peach came into view. Torches dotted the outside, a few freshly lit while others shed cold ashes. It was a giant wall, with only a couple of fence posts in the middle acting as a disfunctional door.

The confusing structure was blocking a bridge that stretched over a body of water; right smack dab in the middle of where you were trying to run. And banking off of the ever louder growing sounds of snarling, there were some zombies taking swimming lessons down there. So the river wasn't an option.

You settled for running up to the wooden fence part and banging desperately on it with your only available arm.

"Please! Is anyone there? I need help! Please let me in, I promise I won't do anything just, please!" You yelled—no, screamed. Desperation dripped from your voice, eyes wide and pupils shaking with terror.

Only when a horribly loud growl rang out did yoy finally look back at the danger and away from salvation.

A zombies horrible face came into view, a meer couple of feet away from your own. One eye dangled out of its socket, the creatures lips having been what looks like ripped off so all that was left was a gruesome show of gums and bloody teeth.

And oh god the smell.

You knew that horrible stench would be the last thing that you ever smelled. Poisoning your body untill you were one of them. Just a mindless monster waiting for their next meal; caring about nothing else in the world but to kill.

And then you were being pulled away from it by the skin of your forearm.

Fuck that hurt.

The sound of something being slammed closed reached your ears, partially muffling out enraged groans. Feet, legs, and arms all tangled together as you tripped into something else, going down hard on your side. Conveniently right on your dislocated shoulder.

Heart hammering in your rib cage, you bit your tounge and screwed their eyes shut in barely contained agony. If this was hell on earth, you couldn't wait to see what the afterlife eventually had in store for you.

"Hold on. This uh, this might hurt a bit."

You barely had time to register that someone was talking, much less touching your arm, before a snap jostled their entire body upwards.

This time a scream did rip through the confines of your chapped lips, prompting your eyes to snap open with pain.

You were met with the surprising sight of an almost charmingly awkward smile and vibrant green eyes.

"Uh, sorry?"

You just stared.

"Oh sorry. Where are my post apocalyptic manners. Its not everyday I meet someone who doesnt follow a strickly flesh filled diet." The new person said with a cautious yet cheery grin, slowly standing up and backing away.

"My names Charlie. Nice to meet you."

[aemiron-main]

apocalypse byler time AGAINNN!!

i think that byler should confess and get together and get stuck in the upside-down together. And that Mike should get tripped/grabbed by a vine and cut his chin like he does in s1. And then Mike should joke about Will kissing it better. And then Will should gently kiss it better.

And then Mike should get absolutely obliterated by some sort of creature, some huge gash on his torso or something and jokingly ask, through a mouthful of blood, for Will to kiss it better. And Will should.

He knows it’s stupid, but mike’s pale and shaking with that stupid, blood-files grin on his face, and so he kisses right beside it. and then the flesh starts to knit together like the way that the gate knit together when El closed it in s2.

And BOOM THATS WHEN ITS REVEALED THAT WILL, MR CLERIC, HAS HEALING POWERS.

or, if we go the non powers route, that’s when Will loops an arm around mike’s waist, and throws one around his shoulders, and haul Mike up and drags him to the upside down version of the wheeler basement and patches him up. and gives him a proper kiss. and rips up his flannel shirt as a bandage for Mike. And sets his hand on top of mike’s shaky-from-blood-loss hand in a parallel of the “super spy” scene from s2.

or both. will kisses it after mike’s all bandaged up and Mike feels it healing, so they pull back the flannel bandage (the flandage) and see the flesh knitting together. Mike, being the smartass he is, insists that it must only be kisses that have healing powers, and so “oh noooo Will ur gonna have to kiss me again” despite the fact that Will’s pressing a hand on Mike’s torso to heal him as he speaks. Will gives him a kiss anyway.

[kismetcanwriteme]

Of Comets and Comfortable Silence

In which Clarke is stubborn and Lexa isn't always patient with her.

or au in which a comet causes the soulmate tattoo trope. Ever seen Night of the Comet? It’s like that but not as scary.

Also on ao3  https://archiveofourown.org/works/20253967/chapters/48004738

Chapter 1/5

When the comet passed, it was all over the news. They said it was going to be the closest comet to pass the earth in over a century and the media promised a light show of epic proportions. Immediately, social media started blowing up. “Influencers” started live-streaming about it. #Arkadiascomet was trending. There was a star Snapchat filter. Pinterest exploded with space themed party ideas, and, of course, scientists were thrilled with the possibilities this flying hunk of burning rock had in store.

Raven, in particular wouldn't shut up about it, “Just think! Imagine what we could do with material from an unidentified star cluster. Clarke! If I can get my hands on a piece, imagine the reactions I could get” reactions. Sure. Reactions. read BOOM.

From the other end, Octavia was never one to miss a party opportunity and had suckered Clarke into buying the necessary glow sticks and the unsurprisingly uncharged star decorations.

And of course, Octavia had to invite Lexa. Goody. To say Clarke and Lexa weren’t friends was putting it mildly. The teacher frankly made Clarke want to tear her hair out (or tear Lexa to shreds, either way.) And it wasn’t like Clarke could escape her either, not since college when they all met and formed their little motley crew. Lexa was Lincoln's sister. Lincoln was Octavia’s boyfriend. Octavia seemed incapable of doing anything without her boyfriend. Lincoln loved his sister. Clarke was in hell. End of story.

 Everything was an issue with them. Lexa always had criticism ready for anything Clarke said or did, and Clarke always had a barb aimed at Lexa’s entire existence

From where to eat. “Clarke there isn’t anything on this menu that won’t destroy your heart. We are not eating here.” “Well it's a good thing you don't have a heart to destroy then isn’t it, Lexa.”

The touchy subject of punctuality. “Have you ever been on time for anything in your life?” “Have you ever started a conversation like a normal human? Maybe a hi or even a good morning?” “It would still be morning if you had been on time.”

The touchier subject of Clarke's choice in partners. “He cheated on you! Why is he still coming to the star barbecue?” “Because he’s still Raven's best friend?” “...he hurt you.” “What, do you suddenly care Woods?”

Even board games weren’t safe “Clarke, you can’t steal from the bank” “Not with that attitude” “That’s it, I'm putting you in jail” “That’s not in the rules!” “Neither is a fucking bank heist?!”

Of course, that didn’t account for the weird silent protective streak they had going one. Lexa was always the first to defend Clarke from many unwanted advances from strange men with her sharp words and impressive vocabulary. All in the name of feminism. And as much as Clarke would never admit it, she had put other people in their place more than a few times for speaking too harshly about Lexa's whole ice queen thing. No one was allowed to make fun of her for that. Except Clarke.

They drove their friends up the wall from day one and it was still going strong. Usually Lincoln or Octavia would mediate, and the entire group had learned to separate them by at least two people at the table. Gradually, the other members of their group learned to work around the hurricane that was Clarke and Lexa’s weird harsh protective not-quite friendship.

So it was strange to say the least when Clarke ended up sitting next to her on Octavia’s couch, drinking beer, wearing a galaxy skater dress circa 2010, and watching Night of the Comet (Clarke thought it was appropriate, and Lexa loved the dark humor in it.) As they took in the horror film about people turning to dust when a mysterious comet passed overhead, everyone else was outside where the music and space themed decor was. Clarke just couldn't bring herself to get hyped about it. What was so special about a hunk of rock? Lexa would probably know. Lexa knew everything. But Lexa would also roll her eyes and mumble something about Clarke being an "artist living in her own little world", so Clarke refrained from asking

“Hey! You guys kill each other yet?” Bellamy asked, bouncing in and flopping down by Lexa taking in her dark grey jeans and black sweater. “Lex! You were supposed to dress like something space themed” He pointed to his Space jam tank top and grinned.

Lexa smirked back, took a sip of her beer, and said “The night sky is black, isn't it?”

He laughed good naturedly and said “At least Clarke’s got the idea. Although, I haven't seen that dress since your date with...” he trailed off suggestively and laughed harder when Clarke poked him in the ribs.

“Oh calm down, Clarke. Everyone knows about your disastrous first and last date with Murphy in high school.” Lexa said.

“Doesn't mean I want the whole world to know.” she hissed back "it’s embarrassing.”

“I'll say.” Lexa snickered.

“At least I never tried to convince myself I was straight by taking Bell to winter formal.”

Bellamy gasped as if affronted “Lexa, you used me!? I thought what we had was special!” he wiped away mock tears.

Lexa nodded solemnly and placed a hand on his arm “I’m sorry Bell, the results came back from the lab. Its true... I'm Lebanese”

“NO! Not my good American Lexa! A Lebanese” he picked her up from the couch and spun her around while she shrieked. Even Clarke had to smile at that.”Now come on. let's see if this comet burns us to dust, turns us into zombies, or gives Rae something new to blow up.”

Unsurprisingly, the comet passed and did none of those things The night wore on, everyone drank too much, and then regretted it the next morning. And that was the end of that.

________________________________________________________________

Except it wasn't.

It didn't start gaining media attention until about a week after the fact, but the rumors had started buzzing the next morning. One of those unexplained epidemics that was far scarier than a zombie apocalypse. It started with couples, old ones who had been together since forever, going into the police, claiming they woke with tattoos that they didn't remember getting. The authorities put it down to dementia. So did doctors. It wasn't until one doctor and his husband of twenty years woke up with matching vine tattoos on their torso and arm respectively, that any research was started. The first thing they realized was that the tattoos weren't ink. Somehow, the skin cells changed color The second thing they realized was that they were not dangerous, at least, not obviously. None of the cells were deteriorating, they were just different. The third thing they realized was that it had started after the comet passed, leaving everyone to wonder what the hell the comet was made of that could cause something like this.

By the end of the week, everyone knew someone who had one, and everyone wanted one. Octavia and Lincoln were the first Clarke had seen. They woke up the next day with white flowers blooming all over their chests.

At first, Clarke assumed it had to do with who you were near when the comet passed over, and at first the scientific community agreed with her, but then she (and they, eventually) realized that couldn't be it, because she and Raven had fallen asleep slumped on the table against each other and nothing happened to them.

It continued like that, and it wasn't stopping. Soon, people who brushed hands on the street, who kissed their significant other would pull away with hands or arms or legs covered in color. Even a certified asshole like Murphy came to Clarke’s apartment two days later freaking out because some girl named Emori left blue geometric shapes all over his shoulder when she handed him his coffee. It wasn't until doctors could pull enough testing groups together that they figured out the correlation (although social media put it together much more quickly): Soul mates or, less romantically, Individuals with optimum attraction levels and high compatibility scores. Not only that, but the affected’ body chemistry changed. Things science couldn't explain, like hormone levels bouncing off the charts, blood types full on changing, genetics mutating. What scientists couldn't tell was whether or not new humans, those who were not alive at the time of the comet, would experience these same reactions. Whether this new mutation could be passed down. No matter what the outcome was, it was happening and happening fast.

________________________________________________________________

And the internet exploded.

Sometimes, Clarke wished the comet had been good for making things go boom, because if Clarke had to see another vlog about someone finding their soulmate, or another stupid meme about which unattractive character people jokingly thought there soulmate might look like or another crying youtuber apology video about trying to fake one for attention, she was going to lose it.

Unfortunately, the hype didn't seem like it was going to die down anytime soon. Everyone wanted to capitalize on the new phenomenon. Restaurants had "soul specials" and tattoo artists offered fake soulmate marks (Clarke could respect the great marketing strategy, but really it was just artists charging double for matching tats). Books were being written, movies were in the works, the number of wedding skyrocketed. Clarke had never gotten so many photography appointments in her entire career, and the small commission site she ran for her paintings was flooded with requests for paintings of tattoos. She ignored those.

One thing no one anticipated was that the new tattoos legitimized homosexuality in the eyes of many previously prejudiced churches. After all, they couldn't say the tattoos were a gift from God and not acknowledge gay people had them too. So at least some good came out of it.

Of course, there was still that small faction of people who thought they were a curse but there will always be crazy people in the world.

Clarke belonged to larger (but still small) faction of people who doubted the tattoos meant anything more than what people wanted them to mean, thought it was absurd that such a big decision was based on a(n admittedly nuts) genetic mutation caused by a burning rock, and told Lexa as much about a month later sitting across from her at brunch with their friends at their usual table outside.

“I'm just saying, I think it's ridiculous that people are putting so much stock in something so arbitrary.”

“Clarke, tattoos appearing on people from skin to skin contact is not arbitrary. Its something that's never been seen before in the history of the human race. Why are you so bound and determined not to admit its importance?” Lexa said. Oooh her eye was doing that twitch that told Clarke she was at her limit… One more jab.

“Placebo effect” she said simply taking a sip of her mimosa

“Excuse me” narrowed eyes, even better

Clarke shrugged “People believe the tattoos mean something, and so they convince themselves they feel that way. No offense guys.” she said jerking her head at Octavia and Lincoln.

“None take” he said “we were together before all this” Octavia nodding along with too much bread in her mouth.

Lexa looked like she was about to scream “So you mean to tell me that you don't think there’s any significance in people's blood type changing, their genetics mutating? You think that's all what? Coincidental?! Unimportant?”

“Of course not”

“Thank God”

“It probably mean tons of new research material for genetic disorder specialists.”

Lexa’s face got so red and Clarke lived for moments like these “You- genetic- I- fucking-” Lexa spluttered before throwing her hands up “I don't even know why I try.”

“But God knows it’s so entertaining when you do. Look, just because couples feel closer doesn't mean they actually are.” she said adding insult to injury by toasting Lexa.

“Don't worry, Lex. Clarke’s just scared that she’ll get one and become her mom’s new lab rat” Raven said adjusting her large sunglasses and smirking.

“Her what?” Bellamy asked from where he was trying to beat his sister in amount of rolls consumed in an hour.

Clarke groaned “Ugh, don't remind me, shes obsessed.”

Raven said “Doctor Griffin has volunteered to head Arkadia Hospital's new soulmate tattoo research team”

“Which reminds me, she actually asked if you two could stop by the hospital so she can see the marks for herself and probably ask to run tests.” Clarke said reluctantly, turning to Lincoln and Octavia.

“Sure, why not? I’m free. How bout you babe?” Octavia asked him

“Yeah, might as well figure out whose blood type reigns supreme in this relationship.” He replied nudging her shoulder playfully.

She rolled her eyes “We’ll stop by this afternoon around two.”

Clarke nodded “I’ll text her.”

The group eventually finished up their brunch and left the restaurant, Octavia and Lincoln to the hospital, Raven to go make something explode, and Bellamy to watch her, leaving Clarke alone with her least favorite person.

For lack of anything else to do, they started the short walk back to the apartment complex they both lived in. ( to say they had been displeased to find out they were neighbors was an understatement,)

It was quiet which was fantastic. Only the sound of their swishing sundresses kept them company. It was funny, because when they weren’t arguing, Clarke actually found Lexa’s stoic presence rather grounding, safe. Maybe it was an association thing. During Octavia's parties, Clarke and Lexa usually found themselves drunk on the bathroom floor at 4 am (the registered safe time for spilling your guts both literally and figuratively) having one of their rare “deep chats” it was the only time their friends didn't have to pull them off each others throats, and Clarke would only admit this with a gun to her head, but that was always her favorite part of the party. Everyone had a drunk buddy. Lexa was hers. Clarke thought she had held Lexa’s hair back while she puked enough times to earn the title.

Lexa interrupted Clarke's thoughts and by saying quietly “I think they would have been soulmates.”

Clarke played dumb “who?”

“Your parents.” she answered “that's why you're so against the whole tattoo thing. You’re angry they’ll never know, but I believe they would have been.” Clarke's dad had died three years ago in an automobile accident. The other driver was drunk but he survived. Jake Griffin didn’t.

Clarke felt her throat tighten “You don't know what I feel”

Lexa raised a hand to Clarke's denim covered shoulder which was immediately shrugged off “Its ok to be angry about the missed moments, Clarke. Your feelings don’t make you weak”

“Yeah?” she spat “what do you know, Lexa? You push your feelings down so far no one knows you have them. It’s a good thing Costia left before this whole thing. You would have been the first soulmate ever to feel nothing for your partner.” it was a low blow but Clarke was touchy about her dad. She saw Lexa draw into herself and regretted every word. When Costia left it was messy, she had been an integral part of their group and Lexa’s girlfriend all through high school. A year into college she transferred to Azgeda U. She and Lexa tried to do long distance but it was hard and eventually Costia broke it off and never came back to Arkadia. When she had broken it off she had told Lexa that it was because she didn't feel like Lexa felt anything for her anymore. Lexa was crushed.

Green eyes hardened “Fine. Message received.” she said, storming past Clarke into the building.

“Lexa…” she tried but it fell flat as the door slammed leaving her on the sidewalk alone

Chapter 2 is up on AO3

[thisiscomics]

I wasn’t sure how much I would like the end of Buffy- ’Season’ 12 if you’re counting- but this story does a pretty good job of enjoyably rounding up any significant plot threads (not just for the Buffy series, as Dark Horse also need to say goodbye to Angel & Faith, and the Spike and Giles occasional spin-offs) while still leaving the cast with an open future beyond the pages of the series. Although Dark Horse no longer have the licence, and Boom are going back to the beginning, it’s still nice to feel that there is a life out there for the Scoobies, post one more apocalypse avoiding victory.

For a season that is much shorter than the others, it still manages to give everyone a little bit of time so that we can say goodbye- even Harmony gets to pop up for some of her self-absorbed chat as one of the few Buffy associates still around in Fray’s era. Her happy ending of a life of ease looking out for herself and no one else is perhaps invalidated by later events in the story (time travel is complicated!), but I don’t think anyone is going to too hung up over her fate, really.

It’s quite strange in the final pages to see a new strain of domesticity in the lives of our heroes: families are started, past relationships are now strong friendships rather than awkward embarrassments, and life goes on in an almost ‘normal’ way. The sight of Buffy in a (non-Doublemeat Palace) uniform is unexpected, but it makes sense: most of the central themes in Buffy The Vampire Slayer were about growing up and trying to find your place in the world, so it only follows that ultimately she does this, taking a job that isn’t a million miles away from the Slayer’s function as a protector of humanity, and perhaps, as a result, leaving behind her fear that she could never be normal.

From Buffy The Vampire Slayer: The Reckoning, by Joss Whedon, Christos Gage, Georges Jeanty, Karl Story, Andy Owens, Dexter Vines, Dan Jackson, Richard Starkings & Jimmy Betancourt

[thesmashingoffutureryan]

object permanence, subjective departure. photographs splayed out across the counter, words i don't hear anymore in cursive script, the way they curl at the edges sound like your voice; i tell you i miss the tone like i'm not up nights replaying all the messages i had the foresight to save. i'm not delusional and i never liked fantasy novels. i have always been good at beating dead horses. sun on my face at the top of the world, prepare for the unexpected. emergency disaster kit, prepare for the apocalypse. my laughter booms a little louder now like vines wrenching their way through the earth, the pitch surprises me every time. awkward gravity. empty bed, i sleep on the couch; it's too small for two people to fit comfortably, i spoiled the ending and i didn't even realize it. haphazard existence, sometimes we toyed around with domestics, it always felt good to come home to someone. i romanticized you living in my space without me, i enjoyed going about my day with the thought of you surrounded by the things that i've collected, it was like spending time together without actually doing it. i can't listen to that song without the stain of that highway at sunset, it's one of my favorites but i'll never play it again. going going gone.

[awritersrambling]

Dinosaurs but it’s post-apocalypse.

They are mainly peaceful, and wander through the empty streets making a booming, echoing sound like a whale; but there are dangerous ones, and one must dart in and out of the buildings, trying to get to a higher floor, struggling up the vines on the outside of the building. 

Dinosaurs are very useful once dead. Their tough scaly skin and sharp teeth and nails are prized for weapons. At first, people were too afraid to kill the majestic beasts, but the dinosaur population is fast increasing, and it probably has something to do with that underground lab they were talking about a few months ago...

[nanuri169]

Candy Shop Chapter 5

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Summary: Alexis is the leader of a small, but thriving community, hidden deep in the woods. It seemed that the people living there have found a small, fragile understanding of peace. How long can a quiet life last when Negan finds them and shows interest in what the small colony has to offer?

Chapter 5:

Alexis regretted taking Marcus to the scavenging trip the minute they walked out of the gate to meet the Saviors. He had a scowl on his face when Negan hopped out of his car, greeting them with a wide grin that lingered on Alexis.

"Behave."

She whispered after elbowing Marcus. He just glared at her to which Alexis rolled her eyes. Usually he was quite the expert on scavenging. Marcus had an eye for things and found hidden treasures quite often. But he was obviously distracted. Since Negan left yesterday, he had annoyed Alexis with small remarks about how the leader of the Saviors looked at her as if she was some tasty piece of meat.

But she couldn't understand why he bothered so much. Alexis and Marcus never intended to have a serious relationship. It was nothing more than sex. They trusted each other and Alexis valued his advice highly, but there never would be anything romantic. Not mixing politics with emotions was her number one rule and she had this slight feeling that Marcus didn't get that.

"You ready to find some shit?"

Negan playfully wrapped his arm around Alexis' shoulders, but she immediately shrugged him off. God, this would seriously end in some giant pissing contest between Marcus and Negan if she wasn't careful.

"Yep. Where are we going?"

She scanned who was sitting in the car. He had brought three other people, one of them being Simon in the other truck. In total they were seven now, which was a proper group size for a smaller scavenging trip.

"Surprise, darling."

Rolling her eyes again, she wanted to walk towards the truck with her people, but Negan stopped her by grabbing her wrist.

"You're coming with me, Lexi."

"Are you serious?"

For the second time today, she shrugged him off.

"Yes. Abso-fucking-lutely."

His attention had shifted from Alexis to Marcus. The latter threw death glares at the other leader and Negan obviously didn't like it. How stupid could Marcus be to mess with him? Did he really want to destroy all that Alexis had built.

"Marcus. You and Jerry go in there. Now."

Her voice was dangerously low, the tip of her bat pointing towards the truck, not leaving anything up to discussion. Marcus gaze shifted to Alexis and he opened his mouth to argue, but then remembered how Alexis usually reacted to disrespect. With gritted teeth, he walked towards Simon's truck together with another one of their communities' man.

"He's your boyfriend?"

Negan held open the car's door for her, his eyes still on the man that just joined Simon. He had yet to learn that Negan couldn't stand being looked at like this.

"No. We're just fucking."

Alexis said bluntly and let herself fall into the seat. She could hear Negan's chuckle through the closed door, while he walked around the vehicle to get inside himself. Starting the engine, he pulled into the dirt road in front of the truck.

"You could get every guy on this planet into your panties and you really keep yourself a fuckboy?"

The young woman surely didn't miss that Negan just admitted that he really found her attractive, but she kept her face void of emotion.

"Well, since the biters are particularly nasty in bed, there's quite the lack of choice. But we can also stop pretending that you don't fuck around quite much at home, can't we?"

This topic was way too personal for Alexis' liking and it was seriously none of his business, but as usual he just wouldn't shut up.

"Hey, I don't fuck around. I just screw my wives. I'm a good pal."

A frown formed on her forehead when she heard the term 'wives'. She better not imagine what that meant.

"Wives? Plural? You keep yourself a harem?"

Negan laughed, his eyes darkening when he thought about the pretty young women that were just there to pleasure him.

"Damn straight. They chose to live that way and seriously, who the fuck cares for that old rules? We do whatever the hell we want, because we make rules, right?"

Shrugging, she had to admit that he had a point. People like Negan and Alexis were the winners of the apocalypse. She didn't know how his life looked before everything went down, but Alexis was far away from being in charge of anything.

"What have you been doing before the world went down?"

To be honest, the question slipped her lips more or less involuntarily. Of course she was curious, but she had sworn herself to not get into such personal with Negan. Here she was, asking him one of the most sensitive questions she could up.

"You won't believe it, but I was that normal suburban guy. A gym teacher."

His expression darkened a little when Negan thought about his past, surprising himself that he told Alexis without hesitation. He wouldn't say that he trusted her, but he was sure that she wouldn't take advantage of such knowledge.

Alexis' expression was unreadable, but then this small, rare smile crossed her lips.

"Yeah, I can't really believe that. You, a teacher? That kids sure as hell went out of school with the pottiest mouths ever."

Negan couldn't help but let out one of these booming, genuine laughs when he remembered these times. It had been easier, but he had to admit he didn't really miss it. He was better off now. He nearly overlooked a bump in the road and Alexis clutched the armrest tightly.

"I loved chasing those kid's asses around. But I was everyone's favorite teacher. And yeah, swearing got me into trouble quite often. What was your guess at my job?"

Sparing her a side glance, he grinned to himself. Breaking through her hard facade and making her loose up a bit was his favorite task these days.

"I don't know, owner of a strip club would've come to my mind."

Her pearly white teeth flashed as she hid a laugh from erupting. Negan chuckled and suddenly ripped the stirring wheel around, to which Alexis growled lightly in annoyance to his harsh driving.

"Would've probably brought me more money. But I'm seriously not good at sharing the pussies that belong to me."

She felt the hooded gaze her gave her and Alexis shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to keep up her composure. One second he made her laugh, the other he was again this offensive, trying to make her a offer she ignored.

"I guess you won't have to share anything if you drive us to death."

Smiling in success to make her uncomfortable, he ignored her remark and returned back to the questionnaire.

"Well, Lexi, how did you earn your bucks? Stripper? Table dance?"

She rolled her eyes at the whole question. Slowly she was giving up to correct him from calling her Lexi. It was hopeless to get this through his thick skull anyway.

"I was a teacher, too. English and computer sciences."

Negan's head now fully turned around and he looked her up and down in surprise.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. I can totally imagine that, nerdy glasses, short skirt, to make it a hard time for those poor boys in your class. Hell, I would've screwed your brains out to no end."

There was a time Alexis probably would've fallen for a guy like him. But that girl had died when undead fucks started to eat people. That girl wasn't the mother of a beautiful daughter.

"Don't get your ego up, I wouldn't have let you. I was married."

Her hands clenched into fists when she let that fact slip. Of course it wasn't anything that would endanger her or her people but this conversation was taking a turn in the whole wrong direction.

"Me too. But be fucking honest with yourself, would that have stopped any of us?"

She wanted to shoot him a glare, but then her sharp eyes fell on something in the far. It could've been nothing, but she had to check.

"Stop the car, Negan!"

The leader of the Saviors frowned and glanced into the rear mirror shortly.

"Wha-"

"Stop the fucking car!"

He stepped on the brake, hoping that Simon would react quick enough to not shove the truck into the car Negan drove.

Alexis already had the door open when the vehicle came to an abrupt halt. She jumped out of the car, earning her confused glances from all the men in the cars. Holding her hand above her brows, she shielded her eyes from the burning sun.

"Are you nuts?"

She heard Negan's angry voice faintly, she was too concentrated.

"Shut up!"

Her voice was barely a mumble. Simon now stood next to her, too staring into the distance. He seemed to see it, too. There was something that looked like a flat building, but it was covered by bushes, trees and vines. Then Alexis thought about the maps that laid on her desk in her office and remembered that in those woods that were in front of them had been a hiking trails. And sometimes at the beginning of such trails, there were supply stores. They just had to check. It looked like no one had been here for long.

"Boss, you should look at this."

Simon called Negan, who came out of the car with a groan. His right hand man held out a pair of binoculars for him. He looked through it and Alexis could see that grin spread on his face again.

"Lexi, I fucking love your eagle-eyes."

Alexis was filled with excitement as she motioned for the other men to come out of the truck. They did a short briefing, in which a problem rose up. The cars wouldn't come much closer. The group had to walk the short distance to the building, which was always a risk. Walkers tended to appear out of nowhere sometimes.

Anyway, they took the risk and were rewarded for that. Without any incidents, they got through the already plant covered area. No one had been here in a long time. It was one of these rare places that were forgotten as in the beginning, nobody bothered to look at a lonely store close to the woods and now that nature took it back, no one could see it. Adding to that, it was definitely Savior territory, so people better stayed far away.

Alexis and Negan led the small group walking side by side, clearing the way. Peeking inside, the store seemed rather quiet, but that didn't mean anything. When they walked inside, they knew why it was better to be careful: two heavily decayed biters stumbled towards them. They must've heard them coming as they were already halfway towards the door.

Before any of their people could even pull a weapon out, Negan and Alexis were inside and simultaneously bashed their bats into the creatures' heads, letting them drop to the floor after the first, heavy swing.

When they looked up to see the store nearly untouched and full of supplies, both leaders couldn't help but grin widely and doing something that would definitely become their interpretation of a high-five: Alexis held out her bat and Negan lightly prodded Lucille against it.

Simon grinned lightly to himself and spared a look at Marcus, who obviously didn't like that his leader got along so well with Negan. But both of them were sure that these two together were a force to be reckoned with.

After the moment of simply enjoying the sight of a full stuffed store, the leather clad backs parted ways and started on their mission to get as much stuff out of here as possible. They wouldn't get it emptied all at once, so they had to get back some times soon.

Food supplies were of course the most important, but tents, sleeping bags and clothing were too very interesting. An outdoor store was heaven for a scavenging trips, because those always had been the closest to be useful during an apocalypse. The food wasn't tasty, but edible for a long time and the other stuff was practical and durable.

Alexis ignored Marcus' stares the whole time and worked together with Simon. He actually seemed to be a nice guy. They kept some small talk and laughed a lot, which was quite refreshing.

"Hey, quit the fucking flirting. Sy won't leave my ass behind for your pretty boobs, won't he?"

Negan padded Simon's shoulder harshly and laughed. His mood was at its apex, it was obvious.

"Well, you know that I'd do much for a pretty girl..."

Simon laughed and Alexis just shook her head lightly smiling.

"Not that one. Territory's marked here."

Grinning, Negan looked over his shoulder to Marcus, his statement definitely ambiguous. But Alexis didn't even notice. She was distracted by the high shelves. Some cans were up so high, not even Negan or Simon could reach them and they were really tall. Pre-apocalypse they must've used ladders for them, but there were none to be seen.

Without further warning, Negan suddenly wrapped his arm around her thighs and lifted her up with ease. Alexis slapped her hand to her mouth to keep herself from shrieking and was ready to unleash a salve of insults, but she kept it in. After taking a deep breath, she swallowed the colorful language that described her distaste for his rude manners and started roaming through the high up shelves, finding lots of useful stuff, including first aids kits and some vitamin pills. She let them fall into a duffel bag that held out by Simon.

"You'd do literally anything to get my ass into your face, right?"

Alexis usually hated to rely on anyone, even in the smaller sense. She didn't like to be carried and things like that, because there was always a chance that she would be dropped. But somehow Negan's strong arms felt safe, he was probably the last guy who would accidentally drop her.

"Fucking true, sweetheart."

When he placed her back on her feet, the group was done raiding the most important things. They all carried at least three large, heavy bags when they stepped out of the building.

"Boss...?"

They just stepped back through the thick bushes when one of Negan's men in front of them came to a sudden halt. Alexis peeked around him only to see something that horrified her deeply.

It wasn't just one herd, it were two. They were directed towards each other, close to the cars. For some time, Alexis already noticed that the behavior of the biters changed. There were less loners stumbling around, they tended to gather in herds. What was even more frightening was that they were rotting grossly day by day, but they were obviously getting quicker. The unsatisfied hunger for fresh meat was probably making them faster.

There was a slim chance that they could get to the cars unnoticed, but they sure as hell wouldn't get away until the walkers passed. Of course they could also go back into the store, but it was obvious that the old door wouldn't keep them safe if the creatures noticed them and Alexis could already hear groaning coming from the woods behind them. They were cornered and every decision could lead to their instant death.

But Alexis was a leader. She needed to make those decisions.

"To the cars, now!"

She whisper-yelled and before anyone could even open their mouth, she already ran towards the vehicles.

Tag List:

@greengellybean

[vmheadquarters]

What Goes Around... (Part 26)

This is PART 26 of a story that is being told in segments by twenty-seven different authors, campfire-style. Each author will take over the story with no prior planning and then pass it on after putting their own spin on it! Expect the unexpected! :)  You can check our vmhq campfire tale tag for all of the previous installments or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Part 26 is written by @ghostcat3000  

[Part 25]

Neptune is not a large town. A person could drive around and hit all the important corners in a little over an hour. They wouldn’t even need to speed. On one side, the ocean and the bended pines, the glassy, silvery wide half moon of a cove, surfers bobbing out to greet the waves, ducking their heads under the spume-curl. The other side—dry canyon brush, curved roads and boxy one-level ranch houses, stuck in some 1980’s decor time warp. To the south, all the poors and college kids living together in what passes for the hood in Neptune; chock full o’ check cashing places and liquor stores, always on the brink of conversion to cold coffee cafes and farm-to-table restaurants. Northside: formerly trailer parks and large undeveloped plots, now home to several boutique farms and wineries.

Most of them are closed now, all those grapes drying on the vine. Only one still in operation; the Van Vliet Winery. Running, not on grapes and weddings, but promise. The promise of power, the chance to get finally end up on top and win. Miles from Neptune’s center but seemingly a world away—no lights, no reception, only darkness and an occasional ribbon of warm wind—the epicenter of the revolution.

“Yo, Rubster. You have a great ass but HOLY SHIT, do you talk a lot.”

Ruby sighs and spins around, her long arms hanging loose at her sides. “Point is, we are out in the middle of fucking nowheresville. Our phones don’t work. We’re completely cut off from civilization. The pink zombie apocalypse could be happening, like, right now, and there’d be no way for us to know.”

“In the vineyard, no one can hear you thcream,” Sean lisps, then coughs, spitting down into the dry dirt beneath them. Somewhere between here and the tunnels, he appears to have lost another tooth. He brings up his hands to his face and rubs his nose with his palms; a frantic up and down scratch.

Dick flicks the back of Sean’s head with his free, non-gun-carrying hand. “No one asked for your input, douchecanoe. We're the ones with the firepower. Your job is to lead us to the girl and hope you get a plea deal.”

“What are we going to do when we find Katie? We can’t call for help and who knows when Logan will be back.” Ruby spins and stops, holding her cell phone at different angles. “Seriously what is the deal with the reception?” She casts a withering glance at Sean. “You realize this means you can’t call anybody either? You are not good at being bad guys.”

Sean shrugs. “The thell phone tower died. About three monthth ago. The community took the Van Vliets to court. Apparently, it wath never thupposed to be there tho it never got reactivated or whatever. We uthe the landlineth.” He tightens his lips together and looks away.

“Cell phone tower?” Ruby frowns.

Sean jerks his head forward, sighing with something like relief. “We’re headed right for it.”

Dick peers into the darkness. “That’s a tree, dude.”

“No. It’th not. It’th a thell phone tower dethigned to look like part of the foliage. It died. We don’t know why.” He rubs his nose again.

Ruby takes out a pair of binoculars from her Veronica bag. She peers through them, the wrong way around. “Is Katie near the cell tower?”

Sean doesn’t answer, keeps trudging along, rubbing his nose. Dick shoves him.

“Hey, numbnuts. Talk.”

“Yeth.”

Ruby lurches alongside Sean. She’s taller than he is, so the effect is predatory but also comical. “You had her here the whole time? Why?”

“Yeah, dude. Why run the risk of having her be found by the people you’re hiding her from? Where's the foresight?” Ruby and Sean stop walking near-simultaneously, turning slowly towards Dick.

“Hey,” Ruby says, stretching the vowels like a rubber band, approaching Dick. “You feeling okay?”

“Totes McGoats. But seriously, so much of this whole super soldier plan doesn’t make sense. You’re a sleazoid drug dealer-” “Video director,” Sean hisses.

“Sleazoid drug dealin’ video director. Who is more likely to be snorting the merchandise than selling it amirite?” Dick sniffs for effect.

“He’s got a point.”

“I’ve been clean for two months.” Sean pauses. “Okay, one.” He resumes the violent nose scratching.

Dick puts the gun down at his feet, digs around his front jean pocket, pulls out his weed and papers, and quickly rolls up with an exacting efficiency. He lights the joint and takes a deep drag, pausing to look at his fingers, smell them and shrug. “None of this adds up. You’re a joke, bro. You know who else is a joke? Your pharmacist. Mad Scientist Barbie creating super soldiers by day and clubbing with the rest of the ‘09ers at night? Her brother? Pass. Liam Fitzpatrick? As a recruiter? According to Logan, that guy is a psychopath who can barely run a mob, much less a globetrotting merc-creation operation.” He pauses to laugh. “That rhymed. Boss.”

He licks his teeth and takes another hit, “The whole using the near-abandoned winery as a base of operations is solid. I’ll give you that. This place is isolated as fuck and if anyone stumbles over here by accident, they’d be easy to contain. Throw ‘em in the tunnels. Wait. Are there..whatchamacallit...floor plans for the tunnels? There's gotta be a bigger section we missed.”

“Floor planth?” Sean’s eyes trained on the gun at Dick’s feet.

“Yeah, like a room where, if this wasn't a weird ass Bond-meets-Living-Dead movie type of winery, but like a romantic comedy with Ryan Reynolds as me and I’m at a wedding and I found the perfect underground room full of wine barrels to bang the bridesmaid played by the hot Swedish chick in Mr. Robot.” Dick pauses to do some pelvic thrusts and mimed ass slaps. He stops and points at Sean. “Blueprints. That's the word. How much you wanna bet we find a whole room of pink goo coffins up in that bitch? Whaaaat.”

Ruby motions to the joint burning between Dick’s pinkish fingers, “Can I have some of that? Keep talking.”

He passes the joint to Ruby. She takes a hit and nods. He returns her nod with a slower nod.

“This operation is half genius and half muy ‘est-too-pih-toe’. The parts don't match. Taking a little girl as a hostage. That does sound like a mob thing. Intimidation and whatnot. Is it long-term though?” Dick squints and grimaces. “Not really. But keeping her here, keeping her close? Knowing exactly where to hold her so that she’s not easily found? By the people providing you with the goods? I don’t know, bro. That’s next level.”

“It wath my idea,” Sean says smugly.

“Sounds fake but okay. The Irish mobster? Chhhyeah, again I'm gonna say no to that too. I can see House of Pain getting into guns to go with his drugs but soldiers? It's too… ambitious.”

“This isn’t working on me like it is on you,” Ruby says, still nodding but returning the joint back to Dick, whose narrowed eyes are nearly shut from the exertion of his thoughts. “Why Nice Guys?”

“Why Nice Guys? Dude, that's one of the parts I don’t get. They won’t be loyal, like all good soldiers need to be, all they want is revenge. But what would Fitzpatrick know about that? I think what really happened is Toothless and his pals decided to…what do you call it when you try to make stuff cooler?”

He snaps his fingers and Ruby jumps up.

“Ooh. Innovate?”

“Yeah. That. Like I said, not smart. Know your workforce.”

Sean sighs. “I read Flowerth for Algernon. It doethnt end well.”

“Whatevs, nerd. There’s got to be better options. Like cops. Neptune’s got plenty. Or actual soldiers maybe. Like Logan. You just gotta get ‘em all here at once. Dump the goop on them and BOOM, army, yo.”

“Dick.” Ruby says, her eyes going wide.

“Whoa. This is some good shit, right. I feel like, smart.”

“Can I be high too?”

“Shut it, Sean. Unless you can explain everything this-” Ruby bats her eyes at Dick. “...wise man is saying, you’re not allowed to speak.”

She takes the joint back from his outstretched hand and blows the smoke back in his face. “And what about this terrorism stuff happening in San Diego? Are they stealing cops?”

“Maybe it’s the mercs.”

“Maybe. Oh shit. Delayed reaction.” Dick turns to Sean in a slow heel-swivel. “He said community. The community sued the Van Vliets. What community? There’s no community for miles.”

Sean has been shuffling away from them, backwards, in the direction of the dead cell phone tower.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ruby barks.

“My new tooth thtub is quite sharp.” Sean holds his hands up, they are free of tape. “And you're not going to shoot that gun and draw unnecessary attention to yourself. See you later, moronth.”

He runs for less than a minute. No more, no less, twenty seconds of scurrying and poof. Like a climactic comic book panel, he drops out of sight. Dick doesn't even have enough time to pick up the gun.

“What the fuck.”

Sean’s scream is high, hysterical and also, muted, dampened. Ruby and Dick hesitantly approach the sound.

“The ground ate him.”

Dick gulps. “Are we in a horror movie now?” Absentmindedly, he pinches the ends of his joint, puts it in his front pocket, and picks up the gun.

The closer they get to Sean’s screams the more they see that the part of the road they thought was road was not. It’s a hole, leaves surrounding the edge of the drop. At the bottom, sits Sean, his leg twisted underneath him in a backwards L-shape. His screams are thinning out, turning to whimpers. Next to him is a man, eyes wide and surprised, a sharpened pole going through his neck like a kebab.

“That sucks,” Dick intones.

“Yeah,” Ruby breathes out, a hand at her throat.

“Get me the fuck out of heeeeere!”

Dick leans down to look into the pit. It’s not as deep as he’d previously thought, maybe ten feet. There are roots sticking out of the edges, like little grasping fingers, useless to someone falling in; nothing to stop the descent or hold on to. At the bottom of the pit there is a single line of stakes. Sean managed to miss it when he landed. The other man, not as lucky.

“It’s like those things that cops lay out in the road to blow out tires.” Ruby kneels down alongside him.

“Oh yeah, but like huge.”

“It's kind of cool.”

“What the fuck! There’s a dead body in here. I know this guy. GET ME OUT.”

Ruby takes out a pair of eyeglasses from her bag and puts them on. She peers down into the pit. “I don’t see a ladder. Do you, Dick?”

“Nope.”

“COME ON.”

“Sorry, Stubby. We can’t get down there.”

Sean’s whimpers become sobs. Ruby digs into her bag and pulls out a small pack of kleenex, she throws it in. “I guess since you didn’t know about the Death Pit, you’re less in the know than you thought.”

“What she said.”

Ruby shoots Dick a baleful look. “Sean. We can’t get you out right now. But you need to keep your part of the bargain. Tell us where Katie is so we can go get her. Once we do that, we’ll come back with help. Okay?”

A small, broken little yes rises up. Ruby straightens up and dusts her hands. “Where are we going?”

“Thraight ahead. To the thell phone tower. Thereth a thmall cabin behind it, hidden in the pineth.”

“Thank you, Sean. I promise, we will come back.”

Ruby takes Dick’s arm and they walk around the pit. Dick leans in and whispers in her ear. “We’re not though, right?”

“Ugh, you smell like pee.”

Dick does his best Blue Steel. “Are you negging me right now? ‘Cause it’s working, babe.”

Without discussing it, they start walking by the side of the road. Shoulder to shoulder, tight and quiet. Before long, Sean’s whimpers can barely be heard; ahead of them, where the taller trees give way to a small clearing, there’s the faint sound of music. Dick points the gun in front of them, completely focused.

“I wish I had a gun too,” Ruby murmurs.

“I wish I had a crossbow. And a red turtle shell.”

Ruby shushes him, but holds his free hand tight enough to hurt. They arrive.

Up close, the disguised cell phone tower looks less like a pine tree and more like an enormous mascara brush. At the top of the tower, jutting out from the fake greenery are the metal arms, useless and rusted. A tiny white cement house sits at the base of the cell tower, a squat square behind a locked fence.

Dick tests the strength of the fence. “Should we bust in?”

“No, we need to find the house where they’re keeping Katie.”

The music they’d heard from the path comes from behind the trees. As they get closer, the melody becomes recognizable.Tell it to my heart, tell me I’m the only one, is it really love or just a game? a woman moans, with the urgency of a UTI at Sunday brunch.

“That is not cool.” Ruby whispers and straightens the set of her shoulders, as if preparing to charge, walking towards the trees and the darker darkness beyond them.

The cabin is painted in shades of muted browns and grays, and seeing it, head on, it looks tiny. It isn’t until they’re right up to it, that they realize that as narrow as it is in the front, it goes deep. It’s mostly dark, except for the windows which glow dimly behind red curtains. There's a pick-up truck parked there, the tire tracks in the mud behind it showing a large curving last minute turn.

The song ends. A few moments later, it starts again. Dick and Ruby nod at each other and approach the front, silent and fast. Dick gets there first and when he puts his hand on the handle of the screen door, he turns to Ruby and holds up his hand. Stop. She doesn’t. When he steps inside, she goes right after.

The walls are wood paneled and the floors are hardwood as well. Bob Ross-style paintings hang on the wall and an incongruously cheery beige-and-brown plaid couch facing the door, a red velvet pillow stitched with the words Shattered Dreams. Across from the couch, a TV set to a Spotify playlist with only one song, Tell It To My Heart blares. Free from the outside vista, the volume is even more unnerving.

Dick goes over to the television and picks up a remote, looks at the buttons, then points it at the screen. Ruby rushes over, “Don’t-”

He clicks it off. “What?”

A telephone rings out shrilly. Dick shoots into the floor and both of them jerk into high-pitched screams, the sound dying in their throats at the next ring. And the one after that.

“Should we answer it?” Ruby asks, throat dry.

“Fuck no.”

A fourth ring.

“Or maybe yes. Man. I’m too high for this shit.”

“Me too. Give me the gun.”

He hands it to her. Five rings, six, seven. They follow the sound of ringing to a console table in the hallway. It’s got a lime green rotary phone on it; cheerful and strange and utterly terrifying. The ringing stops. Dick picks it up anyway. Even a few steps away, Ruby hears the dial tone. And three soft knocks.

“Whoa, did you hear that?” Dick knocks three times on the receiver. “Hello?”

“No, Dick. It’s coming from down there.” Ruby rushes down the hallway and Dick follows behind. There’s three little knocks again, coming from the last door on the left.

“Whoever you are,” Ruby’s voice pitches a little higher. “Name yourself. We're armed. And dangerous!”

“Yeah, we know kung fu, sucker!” Dick chops at the air with his hands and kicks out.

“Stop it, you buffoon.”

A soft voice, as soft of those knocks says, “Ruby?”

“Katie?! Sweetie? Are you okay?”

“The door is locked. I can’t get out.”

Ruby bends her head and peers at the padlock.

“Hold on, honey. Auntie Ruby will be right back.” She turns to Dick, hands him the gun, saying “Stay here. Put the thing on that keeps it from shooting. Keep her calm,” before rushing down the hall, bag jingling.

Dick slips the gun in his waistband and leans in to speak through the door. “Hey there. What’s up?”

“Hi. Who are you?”

“I’m Dick. Uh, Ruby’s friend.”

“I’m Katie.”

“You okay in there?”

“I’m a little hungry.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we can get a burger or something after this?”

“Okay.”

Ruby returns with a little straw and a hammer. She hands Dick the hammer.

“Step aside.”

She removes a can of air from her purse, shakes it furiously and sticks the straw in. Angling the straw into the lock, she sprays until she drops the can. Using the hem of her t-shirt, she picks it up and sprays some more until the lock goes from silvery to white. Ruby grabs the hammer from Dick and brings it up high and down hard, just once, on the frozen lock, which splits in two pieces and onto the floor.

“Look at you, Rubster McGruber!”

They high five.

“Veronica Mars isn’t the only one with skills,” she drawls, flipping her hair.

With a flourish, fingers spread like a spider, Ruby pushes the door open. Inside, in an old fashioned wheelchair that leans slightly to one side, sits a young girl with long, wavy blonde hair, big brown eyes and a tiny, pointed chin. Ruby bends down and hugs her fiercely.

“How long have you been in here?”

“I don't know. Usually they let me move around the house. But this morning, Andy wheeled me in and said I had to stay here all day. Then that song kept playing and it was horrible.”

“I know, that song gives me nightmares. There's always someone murdering it at Karaoke and not in a good way. Who’s Andy?”

“The man that brings me my food. There's a lady too, Julie. She helped me with bathroom stuff.”

“Gross.”

Ruby kicks Dick in the shin.

Down the hall the phone rings again. They stop and listen, barely breathing. It rings six times, and stops. Dick puckers his lips into a silent, extended no which transforms into a wide grin.

“Hey, I’m remembering that this place sucks and we need to get out of here, pronto.”

“Yeah, let’s. We should use that nightmare phone to call the cops.”

“You can't,” Katie says. “You need a code to dial out.”

“Of course there is. Honey, can this wheelchair get you to the front door?”

“No. They took away my real chair.”

“I see. I’m going to carry you out then. Dick, hold my purse. We’re gonna hotwire that car outside and save this little girl.”

“You got it, hot stuff. You sure you can handle it?”

“I'm stronger than I look. Let's go.”

They speed through the house, Dick leading the way, Ruby close behind with Katie in her arms, and go out the back, through a small kitchen that smells strongly of paint.

It’s cooler outside and when Dick opens the driver’s side door, a very pink Liam Fitzpatrick tumbles out right out onto the ground, eyes open and dried froth around his mouth, dead-as-a-doornail dead.

“Holy shit!”

“Holy shit!” Ruby repeats after Dick, then looks at Katie. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, dad says that all the time.”

“Cool. Cool. Dick, open the passenger side door. Quickly. Katie, sweetie, don’t look at the corpse. At least I think it’s a corpse.”

“It is.” Dick kicks Liam’s body. “Ouch.”

Ruby places the girl into the car, Katie uses her arms to shift to middle of the front seat.

“Dick, check his pockets for car keys. And grab his wallet too. There might be something important in there. Clues and whatnot.”

“Do I have to?” He throws Ruby’s purse next to Katie.

“What?” Ruby says, clicking Katie’s seatbelt in place.

“I said, you have guns, lady. What do you do to stay in shape?”

“Boxing and modern dance.”

Liam Fitzpatrick looks different than his picture in the paper. His hair graying at the temple and while generally trim, the skin on his face sags at the jawline like a bulldog. A pink-hued bulldog, bloated and shockingly bright. One hand clutches the air, a claw, the other is pressed tight in a fist. Near the knuckle, there’s a tiny bit of metal. Dick swallows the nerves and unpeels Fitzpatrick’s swollen fingers back like a gross banana. In the center of his palm are the car keys.

Inside the house, the phone starts ringing again. Staring at Fitzpatrick’s lifeless eyes, Dick sees his own reflection and with every ring, feels less and less like himself. Like he’s disappearing into the sound of the ringtone.

“Did you find them?” Ruby stands next to him, hands at her waist. She blows her hair out of her face and widen her eyes meaningfully.

Dick dangles the keys up to the light.

Inside the house, the phone stops ringing, after five rings this time.

“Is this a countdown?” Ruby swallows. “Don't forget his wallet.”

A phone chimes, closer at hand. A cell phone.

“Dick. Your phone is ringing. Answer your phone. Dick?!”

“What?”

He throws Liam’s wallet at her.

“Your phone!”

He pats his pockets and pulls out his iPhone. The screen reads Unknown Number. Dick hits answer call and locks eyes with Ruby who holds her clasped hands to her mouth.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Uh, is this Dick?”

“Uhyeeees.” Dick nods at Ruby, who nods back, and pulls her phone out of her back pocket.

“Hi, um, I’m Detective Leo D’Amato. We haven’t met.”

“I know you. You’re the dude Veronica was working for. You can’t intimidate me, dude. I know my rights and also that you’re EVIL.”

“What? No. Listen, I’m in the hospital. My partner, Wei Breitski, shot me and left me for dead. I have reason to believe that he’s either running or helping to run some kind of drug operation out of Neptune. Is Veronica okay? Do you know where she is?”

“Yeah, she left with your dirty partner to go find the antidote for the pink goo for Wallace?”

“What? I’ve been trying to call her. I need to speak to her. This is very important. She has to-”

“Wait. How do I know you’re not playing us?”

“Yeah!” Ruby yells.

“Who’s that?”

“Ruby.”

The phone cuts off abruptly. A moment later it rings again. A facetime call.

Dick accepts and Det. D’Amato’s face fills the screen. Half of his face is swollen and he’s got bruises around his eyes, like a panda mask. He’s wearing a hospital gown and is lit in the sad, sallowing way of hospitals.

“You look like shit, bro.”

“Thanks, Dick.”

“How did you have my number?”

“Veronica gave me a list of contact numbers, you were on it.”

“Aaaaw, Ron Ron.”

“Barf.”

“What did you say?”

“Barf. Veronica told me to say that in case you called her Ronnie, Ron Rons or Ronniekin.”

“Bitch knows me. What can I say?”

“Charming.”

“Was that Ron’s too?”

“No, that was me. Look, you don’t have much time. The so-called street uprisings I was told to investigate turned out to be bogus. Falsely reported incidents meant to distract us from the real problem. The-”

Leo’s face freezes.

“Dude, I can’t hear you? See you?”

“-You have to tell Veronica-” Leo cuts out and back in again. “The soldiers will get a modified formula, a refinement to make them dumber, more compliant, less likely to question things.”

“WHOA, I have a solid plan for that. I got this super weed and I’m going to smoke them all up and make them smart again.” The screen freezes on Detective D’Amato’s look of open-mouthed confusion. It unfreezes. “Okay, you do that. I’m going to call in my boys in San Diego and also the couple of guys at the Neptune PD who aren’t-” D’Amato freezes again. “Get as far from that winery as possible. Don’t let-” Freeze. “Pink.” Freeze. “Touch-” Freeze. “Got that?”

“Like almost none of it, dude.”

“Great.”

Ruby snatches the phone from Dick. “Hey, you. I’m Ruby. Give me proof that you’re one of the good guys. How do we know you’re in a real hospital, even? You could be lying.”

D’Amato does a reverse shot and gives them a shot of his hospital room.

“Not good enough. Show me your ass.” “Excuse me?” The phone returns back to his face in time to catch a raised eyebrow.

“Your ass. Show it. If you’re really in a hospital, you’ll be commando under there.”

“Like me!” Dick offers.

“Fine.”

Leo jostles out of frame and there, frozen on the screen, a pale ass cheek.

The Face Time call drops.

“Fuuuuc-I mean-udge,” Ruby looks over her shoulder at Katie. “The battery on my phone crapped out. Can you call anybody?”

Dick goes through his phone list. Logan, Veronica, everybody—nobody picks up.

“Okay. Veronica’s cop friend’s partner is evil. We knew that. She might be dead. I have to save the world.”

“No. Logan is with Veronica. He’ll protect her with his life. Oh no.”

“Oh no.”

“He’ll protect her with his life!” They shout simultaneously and run to the pick-up truck.

They drive back towards the barn by following the tire tracks out to the main road in silence. When the main buildings of the winery become visible, they kill the lights and go off road, wobbling slowly in the dark towards the barn.

“What are we going to do?” Katie asks.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. But Dick might drive you into town. I have to stay.”

“Fuck that! You need to go. I’ll stay.”

“Dick! Language.”

The door to the pick-up truck opens suddenly. Before any of them can scream, the wide-eyed blonde puts a fingers to their lips.

“Shhhh. I think I lost him but he’s insanely fast.”

“Daddy?”

Rooks takes off the wig and leans over Ruby to hug Katie tight. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Where were you? I was so worried.”

“I’m okay, Daddy. There’s bad stuff happening.”

Dick glances at Ruby over their heads. She rolls her eyes and shrugs, in a what-can-you-do? sort of way, then grabs the fabric of Rook’s shirt and shakes him to attention.

“Rooks.” Ruby whispers. “We’re going to give you the car keys. You have to get Katie out of here. Dick and I need to stay and kick ass. You got it? You and I will never be okay, you know why, but go, take care of your daughter. Don’t fuck this up. Also, you owe me a leather jacket.”

“Oh man, you don’t want it. That monster... grabbed it and uh, got intimate. I left him with it, used the moment to get away.” Rooks dries his eyes. “Wait. What? What’s going on?”

“You have to go, guy. NOW. And, uh, gimme that.” Dick grabs the wig from Rooks. “I might need it.”

“Katie, sweetie, you think you can tell your dad how to get back the way we came?”

“Yes.”

Ruby hugs her and Katie, softly says, “Thank you.”

“You got it, kid.”

They watch them drive off in the dark.

“You know what’s weird.” Dick says, stroking the blonde wig in his arms as if it was a Persian cat.

“What?”

“All these people, all these freaks, you, Logan, Rooks, Sean… They’re are all connected to Carrie in some way.”

“You think I’m a freak?” Ruby’s big eyes catch all the moonlight.

“Oh, I know you’re a freak.” Dick shimmies around her, grinding and whisper-singing UNTZ UNTZ UNTZ.

She doesn’t move at all, her arms folded tight across her chest.

“In high school, you used to say I smelled like wet bathing suit.”

Dick laughs. Ruby doesn’t. He stops.

“You said I would die alone in a dress made of banana peels.”

“What? Dude.”

Dick kicks at a patch on the ground.

“I was an asshole and didn’t know shit. Okay? I paid for it. Believe me. I’m sorry.”

They walk towards the barn. In the distance, there’s a howl. The Pizmonster can’t be too far behind.

“Okay. We have a gun and a hammer and we are super fucking smart.”

“Fuck yeah. So what do we do?”

Ruby swats at a buzzing insect near her ear. “We look for those landlines, plural, that Sean mentioned. I know they said that all the wires were cut but they're all, like total liars, so there has to be another one like back at the cabin. Maybe in another one of the buildings?”

“Right.” “And we keep an eye out for Logan. Protect him.”

Dick nods. “You’re a cool chick, Rubster. But I got to tell you, Logan will never quit V-Mars. She’s his… heart.”

Ruby breathes in. “I know. But I have my part to play. ‘It is a far, far better thing that I do’ and all that jaaaaaazz.”

“Yeah. Man, I’m hot. Are you hot?”

“No.”

Dick holds his hand up, the nerve endings on his fingertips are dancing with electricity.

“Hey, Dick. Look, isn’t that Veronica’s dad’s car?” They move towards the car in a low-to-the-ground undercover crouch and peer in the window—there’s nobody inside. There is no sign of anyone around, no footsteps or voices. Only wind.

“There’s a note.”

On the dashboard, in left-slanted all-caps letters—I HAVE YOUR FATHER, MS. MARS.  DON’T DO ANYTHING STUPID.

Want to find out what happens next? Check back next Saturday for the next installment written by…  @cheshirecatstrut  Tag, you’re it! Make sure to submit your segment to vmheadquarters@yahoo.com by Wednesday, November 1st.