dead of night

a multimuse, by coty

[survivedsarchived]

#surviveds — a mixed canon + original multimuse, written by coty (26, trans man). low activity. plot-driven threads are priority + my preference.

primarily focused on apocalyptic media & themes. predominant muses are currently alex, garrett, theo, and fletcher. (updated 7/18)

CURRENTLY ON A SEMI-HIATUS. i have summer-based seasonal depression so my energy is very low currently <3 replies/activity will be even slower than usual

adrian, jay and micah have been moved to @scavengurs, a multimuse dedicated to their specific universe

tector from falling skies can be found @serge4nt

links — rules / character page (individual muse pages are still a work in progress.)

[survivedsarchived]

hi. considering remaking to see if that helps me feel like writing again but that's also .......... so much work.

[survivedsarchived]

think i'm gonna start this tonight 🫡

[survivedsarchived]

@cataclisymic

[survivedsarchived]

hi. considering remaking to see if that helps me feel like writing again but that's also .......... so much work.

[survivedsarchived]

think i'm gonna start this tonight 🫡

[survivedsarchived]

hi. considering remaking to see if that helps me feel like writing again but that's also .......... so much work.

[deservedfate]

the walking dead: daryl dixon 1.01 sentence starters

there's gotta be a safe place somewhere.

i went out looking for something, and all i found was trouble.

if i don't make it back, i want them to know i tried.

hell, i'm still trying.

i'm sorry. i don't understand you.

you know, i speak english very good.

food's there.

so, where are you going to?

maybe we'll go together, you know? get somewhere safe, maybe?

you are no friend.

there ain't no countries no more neither.

are you feeling better?

it was for your own safety.

we survive here, farming, gardening, scavenging.

i see you've kept all your options open.

you have siblings?

looks like you have some scars, too.

i'll wait outside.

they're afraid of you.

i'll be gone soon.

well, we can defend ourselves if we need to.

you know how to use that radio?

you mind if i give it a try?

how'd you end up here?

i'm not really good at shit like that.

it hurts my stomach just thinking about it.

you're homesick. i see it in your eyes.

it's not what you think.

can i borrow this?

you've been fucking with me.

staying alive's more important.

the world is lost. we know that.

hope fades gradually, and then all at once.

stay here, and don't come out.

we will protect ourselves.

they're with the angels now.

[manslaught-a]

she wishes she wasn't holding her breath, waiting to move wrong, say something wrong, anything that might spark anger within him—she knows better, mostly, knows it has nothing to do with garrett and everything to do with the way she grew up. no amount of training was enough for her to unlearn the way she feels smaller around older men, putting her on edge in a way no monster ever could. she's hesitant to move beside him to wash her hands, but she pushes herself to do it anyway, reminding herself that not every man is her father. she's allowed to breathe around some.

mikayla knows it's irrational, the jealousy that burns in her chest at the idea of having a parent willing to teach her anything other than fear, than how to take a punch, how to hate herself. “i just have more important things to worry about than cooking.” constantly pushing herself to train harder, fight better, to the point where she doesn't know what to do with the time between wars, between monsters.

she reaches for a knife and reminds herself to hold it like a tool, not a weapon, fighting against all her instincts to be more domestic. despite her skills with a knife, her movements are awkward, unsure of themselves, because cutting chicken isn't the same as cutting into monsters, she realizes. “gods, no. i need protein, and i'm not eating a shit-load of stupid nuts to get it.” she scoffs at the idea. “your kids are normal, too, right? —'cause i'm guessing you wouldn't have chicken at all if they weren't.” her attempts at conversation feel forced, awkward, but in her defense, she's not used to anything like this. at least she's trying.

[survivedsarchived]

he tries to allot her as much space as the kitchen allows, crowding to a small corner of the island to finish his half of the prep. some part of it feels comparable to the routine with wounded animals: offering space and nourishment, but the trick really is to allow them to heal all on their own. garrett can only hope he's actually being as comforting as he intends - and since she's yet to leave, he's counting it as a success.

briefly, he wonders if it's wise to speak about his parents, and then, if it's unfair to presume she must have some issue with hers. but he's dealt with troubled teens wreaking havoc in the park, guided by rage at a world they understandably view to be cruel, and garrett thinks he sees some of that in her - but there's something else, as well. something that reminds him vaguely of luna, and the sorrow she feels at not knowing quite who she is.

he exhales a slow breath and shakes his head. “a good meal is good for the soul,” he says. his mother would say something to the same affect frequently, but more eloquently than garrett; he could mimic that, repeat her words, but he knows it wouldn't have the same impact. so he continues on rather simply, speaking casually, as if they're old friends. “it doesn't seem important, but it is. i don't mean eating healthy and all that diet-talk garbage - but they do have one thing right. making a meal yourself does feel good.” he likes the sizzle of meat on a grill; the bursting smell of spices, vegetables frying in a pan. even on the days when the job's been demanding, he attempts to do something in the kitchen, even if it's only chopping fresh greens for a salad; it always brings him a sense of comfort.

garrett wishes he could better explain that to mikayla, but he grasps and searches and can't find the words. it's a feeling more than anything, something untranslatable into words, a sense of peace that washes over him as he takes his first bite of a meal prepared by his own hands, with all the love and care his mother taught him to approach the kitchen with.

he resolves, then, to show mikayla that - starting now.

with the water beginning a slow boil, he glances over mikayla's work, and he can't help but wince minutely at the irregular cuts. in the back of his mind, garrett begins to formulate a plan to acknowledge this without seeming disapproving, because, honestly, it's not too terrible of a first attempt - and it's to be expected, with how she's holding the knife. first, however, he responds with a small laugh, “yeah - they're normal.” he presumes it's something to do with their nature, maybe, but it's difficult to really know. “tofu is also an option. for protein,” he clarifies. “it's not my favorite, but i've made a tofu stir-fry, now and again. just to change things up.” he moves as he speaks, grabs another knife from the block and tackles the remainder of the meat, his slices quick and practiced. “the more identical the cuts, the more even it cooks,” he says to mikayla, flashing a grin. “so - do you have a favorite meal?”

[em1e]

what made u guys pick ur url's !

[deservedfate]

the gilded wolves by roshani chokshi sentence starters

still waiting on my thanks, you know.

you're doing it again.

would giving you a present make you less mad?

you know these things take time.

why don't you come inside? i'll make you something to eat.

remember when you said, 'this will be fun'?

by all means, take your time. i love a good, slow, painful death.

you do realize your hand is mangled.

you're covered in blood.

i'm glad you're not dead.

but i'd like to know enough to have options.

i wish this were enough for you.

i have no intention of dying.

in return, i'll give you what you want.

are they alive?

i feel like i'm missing something important.

you have an excellent face.

wordplay confuses me too.

when was it ever going to be safe?

there is no 'we'.

i'm not asking for forgiveness.

i thought you were dead!

the world has a shit memory. it will never pay its debts unless you force its hand.

i can't discuss the end of civilization without wine.

you haven't eaten all day.

just trust me.

we do not pretend at being gods.

am i still handsome, at least?

i thought you wanted this.

we both know it meant something.

[survivedsarchived]

there are occasions, albeit rare, where he drifts to sleep behind the wheel. they're always brief, john jolting back to awareness once he feels evelyn begin to swerve, his grip on the wheel tightening in that moment where panic seizes his throat, his foot applying too much pressure to the gas; it eases as his breath slows, heartbeat gradually working downward to something manageable - though he still feels it in the back of his mouth for a moment longer, heavy and alive.

the cracked blacktop stretches out before them, almost seeming to touch the sky, red-purple with encroaching night. comforting as it is to be with evelyn, there's a stiffness that always settles into his joints during these long hauls: it leaves him exhausted. a tiredness he'd typically be tempted to burn through on the road, trusting instinct to keep him going - but there's the issue of his passengers.

you need a break? henry asks. john doesn't glance at him to see if there's any fear from the incident, because it had passed quickly, a hazard of the job that rarely warrants a second thought from him - and, anyway, he'd course-corrected before the vehicle had incurred any damage - always his first thought, even before his own life, and now, before the lives of henry and his brother. john's not accustomed to company, even less to the consideration of their safety - but it comes, finally, and he feels a slight guilt at knowing he could have hurt them. a feeling only just there - but enough that he heaves out a sigh, turning to look at henry, gesturing with his chin towards the sky. “it is getting late, i guess,” he concedes. john begins to study the road ahead, hunting for any hint of a turnoff that'll bring them to a good enough place to wait out the night. “since i sure as fuck ain't gonna let you drive, i suppose we'll try and find a place. that good with you?” @doomdays

[deservedfate]

wool by hugh howey sentence starters

well, look who's up early.

you don't need to tell me how this works.

i'm sorry to burden you.

i take no pleasure in it. that's all i'm saying. no pleasure at all.

and how would i have known about that?

who says we're the good guys?

knowing the truth is always good.

baby, what the hell is going on?

why didn't you come to me?

i'm only coming back for you.

you know, we could do this different this time.

i need to get away.

but i want to make a few stops on the way.

i think it's cute, actually.

you must value family.

it was a worthless lie, anyway.

did i have a choice?

you need a break?

let me get you some food. maybe some fruit?

i'm glad you think it's funny.

we're all family down here.

i only know how to fix things.

and this is more important work than you think.

what are we looking at, exactly?

it took me a long time to figure that out.

i'm sorry about your partner.

i've been looking for stars, but haven't seen any.

what i don't get it is why keep it a secret. nobody would've cared.

i can't imagine loving in secret like that.

no, i mean, how old are you? or is that impolite?

why would anyone want to do that?

nobody thinks that, and neither should you.

you didn't need to come.

you don't even know me.

is that your real name?

i'm sorry i fell asleep.

i'll guard it with my life.

maybe it's gotten better out there.

i'm surrounded by morons.

i don't want any trouble here.

i'm under no delusions about what comes next.

careful where you aim that.

you've been by yourself for years?

do you remember how far you walked?

i want to go home.

you sent me to die.

i've got to clean this wound.

how's everything going over there?

just eat your damn food already.

i baked more bread.

you could just do me a favor and kill them for me.

but you know you can trust me, right? that i'm one of the good guys?

i didn't ask to be here.

we've gotta go! they're inside!

it won't be for much longer, i don't think.

don't you worry about me.

you heard it too, didn't you?

but we're a part of this now.

that's my theory, at least.

we are not the people who made this world, but it's up to us to survive it.

and your friend is dead.

how many of them do you think there are?

all these years, and you survived.

was i wrong about you? because i've been wrong before.

maybe i just need some air, you know?

what happens, happens. but i have to try.

you're looking better.

so it's us against them.

[flxmekeepr]

&  juliette + lukas .    —     01     /    ??       mutuals   can   reblog.

[survivedsarchived]

affiliated sibling ocs with these fcs...

[flxmekeepr]

bernard. the name makes her tense the second it's uttered. thoughts of colourful beasts called butterflies and everything in between was so easily shattered in her mind; leaving nothing but anger behind. he had done this. he had orchestrated it the moment her name had been brought to light. in his mind, she was going over the rail or out to clean before she was even sworn in. before the sheriff's outfit had even made it onto her body. the sad part was . . . he had gotten his way, in the end, using a lie made up to toss her out. but instead of perishing next to holston and his wife, like he assumed she would, she had defied all odds. she had lived. she had discovered all the little secrets bernard had been fighting to keep buried.

and yet, she was trapped. stuck. almost completely cut off from her home and her family. lukas was the only tie she had to her entire world ( and god, she'd never be able to repay him for keeping her sane ). despite surviving the outside, bernard had still won every step of the way. he had taken everything she loved. she wanted to utter all the terrible things she would do to that man if she ever had the chance but she knew it wasn't fair to lukas. wasn't fair to waste what little time they had together uttering threats. for half a moment, she could feel the warmth of his hands resting around her own ( contrasting the coolness of the bars that had been beneath it; between them ) and it calmed the anger from her bones quickly.

for now, she could focus again. focus on him.

she clears her throat and shifts slightly to sit up a bit straighter; rolling the tension from her shoulders before lifting to drag a hand through her messy hair. she needed a shower. she needed a nap. she needed to go home. " there's so much to read. i don't know if we'll ever know all of it. " or maybe he would. he had all the time in the world. in a way, so did she. but her mind was too unfocused to take all of it in . . . to really understand the full magnitude of the world before. to understand what they'd done. she just needed to get out of here. he could tell her everything later.

" just over the hill. " she's reminded of her trek outside. of the fear that had filled her every second she was exposed to the elements. the tape had saved her. supply. walker. oh, she missed walker. " i would never wish for you to go outside, but . . . you should have seen it, luke. it was . . . it was crazy. we've been surrounded by other people this whole time. it was never just us. " she picks anxiously at one of her nails as her brows crease together slightly; head tipping back against the wall behind her. their entire lives had been a lie and she couldn't tell a single other soul in that silo. her voice softens as she speaks again. " i wish they all knew. i wish . . . i wish things were different. i wish i was home. "

[survivedsarchived]

he regrets naming the man as it leaves his mouth, and lukas wishes there was some button on this console that would allow him to rewind. to return their conversation to talk of butterflies, winged creatures in a multitude of colors so bright that it makes his head hurt to look at the photographs. he wants to know what kind of environment is necessary to support those things - if one of these fifty silos houses them, or something similar. or if they could survive the wastelands miles above his head, if somewhere out there, in air riddled with a thousand toxins, they still exist, a bright rupture of color amid a brown sea.

but some part of him - maybe some innate human knowledge from before, somehow preserved in the depths of his mind - tells lukas that it's impossible: that nothing lives out there. there is only the shattered buildings, and the dry, windswept bones of the cleaners rotting on the hill.

he had feared himself mad with grief when her voice had first emitted from the headset. she made it over the hill, but there should have been nowhere to go from there; lukas had believed, for a tense beat, that he was hearing her ghost. he still fears that, to some degree - that jules is little more than a product of his grief - but this reasoning never lasts long, because he knows bernard heard her, too. that he fears her, the harsh red light in a sea of green that represents her - the only physical thing lukas has of her.

lukas taps his finger against it, softly, and exhales loudly into the mic, mouth pulled to a frown. “there's so much, but it still feels... incomplete.” what happened? the question consumes him - as he attempts to settle in to sleep, it sneaks into his thoughts, and lukas spends another hour flipping through pages, hunting for clues. these journeys always prove fruitless, and lukas always finds himself frustrated: how can there be so many books, yet this seems to be in none of them?

just over the hill - it seems as distant as his stars. lukas rolls his neck to the left, the right, feels the satisfying pop of bone. he clears his throat and squeezes his eyes closed. “i wish you were here, too.” it's a scratchy whisper in his throat. lukas doesn't wish it just for himself - but for her friends, too. he wishes it would somehow end the violence, but any of it - jules' return, or alerting the rest of the silo to the truths they've uncovered - would only escalate it. on that, he agrees with bernard. (this is something he can't bring himself to say to juliette, fearing she'll cut their call short, and perhaps never come back.) “i sometimes wonder... if i had gone with you,” he says abruptly. lukas presses his hand again to his shirt pocket, feels the hard edge of her identification card. it doesn't cease the trembling of his fingers, but it helps soothe something in him. “i could have said it. that i'd go out, too. then you wouldn't be...” she isn't alone, he has to remind himself - but solo doesn't exactly seem helpful. (would lukas be?) “-i don't know. forget i said that. i'm sorry.”

[constantwar]

just like with everything else, she blames her mother. if it hadn't been for june constantly pressing her to talk, trini thinks she might be more willing to—but instead, she learned to find comfort in the silence, preferring not to speak to anyone until her friends came along and messed that up for her, making themselves an exception despite all her efforts to push them away. somehow, along the way, silas has started to become one, too. “you're actually trying to make me feel better?” trini's only surprised because she's heard about the way silas is with others, so unlike kim that it makes her question how they can even be related. she knows actively calling him out on it could very well summon that side of him, but she doesn't care; years of being ridiculed by her own mother was enough cause for her to grow thicker skin. “thanks, i guess.”

[survivedsarchived]

his only response, initially, is a soft rise of shoulders, mouth pulled upward in an expression that's intended to be apathetic (but what comes across as, really, is a mouth fixed in an uncomfortable grimace). sure; maybe he is. silas understands the very notion is at odds with his reputation - infamy that once, he'd find a quiet, twisted pride in, but of late, has prompted a growing frustration within him, because of moments like this. mikayla had responded similarly when he'd made the disastrous attempt to mend things with her - though she'd said with a sneering disdain that trini, thankfully, lacks. but he shifts uncomfortably regardless, raising a hand as if to dismiss the question: unable or unwilling, he isn't sure, to vocally respond to it. he doesn't want to seem too defensive.

“you don't seem to have many problems with your friends.” it could easily be cruel, but somehow, it isn't. silas says it quietly, little more than a conversational observation; there's an awkward beat that passes before he continues, albeit hesitantly, “- or me.” the distancing is purposeful; he doesn't want to make assumptions. some part of silas still thinks - fears - kim is only tolerating him because of some familial obligation. clearing his throat, silas turns his eyes downward, as if suddenly interested in studying a scar that slices across his palm.

[bloodyraw]

@surviveds: give me your hand. let me look at it.

in their youth, they would have ripped their hand away like a wounded animal, refusing any help, but one of the lessons they'd had to teach themself over the years was that they didn't need to—accepting help wasn't a sign of weakness, the way they originally thought. with a begrudging sigh, augustus offers their hand to cain—palm sliced open, blood trickling down their wrist. the bleeding has slowed, but it still hurts, still needs attention. “i've had worse,” they grumble, opposite hand moving to pat at their prosthetic in a half-assed attempt to lighten the mood. “just make sure i keep it.”

[survivedsarchived]

“i'm not a medic, you know.” that doesn't keep him from trying. and it really doesn't look so bad to cain - initially, at least. but his sibling's deflection gives cain pause, and his examination halts briefly; regardless of how anticipated that very reaction is, it's troublesome to him, and cain's touch softens as he continues prodding at augustus' wound. “-so i'm not going to make any promises.” it requires strength to not roll his eyes at the attempted joke - not because he finds it distasteful; it's just not funny.

he utilizes his shirt's sleeve to wipe away some of the blood, red fading into black; cain flashes his eyes upward as he works, tone conversational as he asks, “can i ask what happened? - or will you just be a smartass again?” @constantwar

[survivedsarchived]

jesus was way too confident, making the move to steal the keys in the frist place... like. that could have gone so bad for him. but he did it anyway. he's so stupid (affectionate)

[lukaskyle-moved]

Hold still and maybe we won’t hurt you. Sure thing.