not yet corpses / still we rot / twc / female detective/adam du mortain, female detective/nate sewell / mature / 5.2k words in total / chapter 1/5
tagging my usual people (let me know if you want to be added or removed!!): @lalizah, @nreads, @agentnatesewell, @gaylatteart, @ottobooty, @wayhavenots, @butchdumortain
A/N: this is my twc zombie apocalypse fic!! thank you to everyone who has been encouraging in my writing process, i hope you enjoy!
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She is vaguely aware that her nails are ripping the fabric of Nate’s blood-red shirt, almost digging into his sweat soaked skin; that her parched throat is hoarse from screaming wrecked sobs that are shaking her whole tiny body.
Nate’s face is pressed against her neck and he is breathing shallowly, the wetness of his mouth touching the skin of her throat.
“It’ll be alright, ya rouhi,” says Nate, clutching her arm with a gentle grip, long fingers tracing her skin soothingly and leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You’ll see.”
“I don’t want to… to,” Charlie begins, choking on her tears, but doesn’t even know herself what she attempted to say. She can barely see for how damp her brown eyes are, glistening like stars in the dark. “Fuck.”
“Quite,” Nate says through pained gasps, somehow finding a thread of humour in the situation. Charlie’s fingers touch the wound on his shoulder. The creature shred through it so easily; it doesn’t even look like a bite mark – there is nothing clean about it. The meat was torn apart and Charlie can see bone.
“You’re not allowed to leave me, Nate. Not now. Not ever,” Charlie whispers against Nate’s clammy forehead. She can barely believe that this isn’t a mere awful nightmare she won’t remember in the morning.
“I think that was always inevitable,” Nate says back.
“No, it fucking wasn’t,” Charlie replies fiercely, tugging him closer.
Nate chuckles, before groaning in pain. There is a moment of stillness, before he says it: “I think you should do it.”
your need grows teeth / dragon age / solas/rook / 3.1k in total / 5/7
written for dreadrook week 2025. @thelighthouse-server
warning for major character death.
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Vittoria’s bare hands are slippery with running thick blood.
Solas’s blood.
He's lying on his back on the cold hard ground, abdomen wet with blood and she is pressing her hands on the wound on his stomach, trying to keep his insides actually in.
“Mierda,” she mutters to herself, first softly, then cursing gradually louder until the words are so entangled with each other that it is barely real speech at all.
Her whole body is shaking. Solas's own is still.
She is not a healer or even a mage and her skills as a Crow are not much help in a situation this grave. All she can do is try to stem the bleeding as best as she is able, but it might not be enough. He is already so cold — cold like the dead.
But he isn't. His heart is still beating and pumping blood. His eyes are closed but they keep fluttering open every few moments.
Vittoria breathes in sharply as more blood pulps out of Solas's wound.
“Neve! Emmrich!” she screams over her shoulder but no one answers. The silence is a corpse.
Still, she refuses to give up. It can't end like this. Not now. Not after everything.
Not before they had a real chance to —
She swallows.
“It is of no use,” Solas manages, coughing, “for you to try to save me.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Vittoria spits out vehemently. Her ears are ringing, her eyes are wet and her hands would be shaking if they were not pressed so tightly against Solas's sliced gut.
“With… with Elgar'nan imprisoned again,” Solas continues, “the Veil will hold place.” He smiles, looking pained. “You have saved the world once again, Rook. A victory for the ages.”
Vittoria sniffles. “Some victory,” she says, distantly aware that her cheeks are damp with bitter tears.
Solas coughs out a painful sounding chuckle.
“It wasn't supposed to end like this,” Vittoria says.
“How did you picture it ending?” Solas asks, somehow genuinely curious even in a moment like this — a couple of breaths before dying.
“I don't know,” she answers. Then after a hesitation: “Happily.”
“Tell me, Rook,” Solas says, somehow thoughtful even with his gut sliced open, “what would you consider a happy ending?”
One where you don't die in my arms.
“I don’t know,” she says again, and she is not pretending she is not crying anymore.
One of her hands raises to cup his cold cheek and Solas mouth opens one more time and —
then he stills forever. A final god slain.
Vittoria's sob is a scream and she drapes herself over his dead body, clinging to him one last time.
She should have already known that happy endings were never meant for a man like him.
not yet corpses / still we rot / twc / female detective/adam du mortain, female detective/nate sewell / mature / 30.6k words in total / chapter 5/5
tagging the people who have liked this post: @xx-toto-xx, @turtleybeachin, @agentnatesewell, @dumortains, @thee-morrigan, @wayhavenots, @lalizah, @blu-ewraith
A/N: final chapter is here! tysm to everyone who has followed along this story and sent me comments and messages, i love you! i hope you enjoy. :)
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The day it has been exactly a year after Nate's death, Charlie stays in bed for the whole day.
Mostly she sleeps. It would be terribly poetic if she dreamed of Nate, but she doesn't – it's only pure inpenetrable darkness that she sees when her eyes are closed. She sees nothing. And that is even more upsetting than if she saw him die over and over again right before her eyes.
She rises from her bed once. To go drink water straight from the bathroom sink, throat parched from thirst. Then she goes back to bed and shivers under the blankets, feeling like she has been struck by high fever.
No one bothers her that day. Not Morgan, not Adam and not even Farah – Farah who just wants to help everyone around her, even when people can't be helped. Charlie is one of the people who is too far gone to be soothed.
At least today.
The next day she is incredibly hungry and goes downstairs to spoon blueberry jam straight from the jar. It's so sweet that she almost feels like vomiting afterwards, but she keeps it in, and eats it some more.
She feels slightly better afterwards. Like a human. It's very important to feel human in a fucked up world like this. She showers. Changes her clothes – blue denim shorts and a grey t-shirt that is so large that it might actually be Adam's.
She goes to sit by the back porch, bare feet touching the wild grass. A bee buzzes by her and lands on the flower of a clover and she watches it for a long moment.
Eventually Adam finds her. Of course he does. It's always him.
head resting on their shoulder for ava and vesper, and long hugs melting into each other for orion and your infamous mc!
hiiiiii tysm for the prompts!! 🥰 will return to the vesperva prompt later, but here is norion for you, my beloveds. my first time writing an infamous fic, so excuse me, kinda nervous!!
general, no warnings / 1k words / this is also on ao3 !!
Niki is sitting outside on the stairs, smoking quietly as the thoughts in his mind swim like a school of particularly confused fish. He feels relaxed and anxious at the same time, his emotions high and loud and drowning everything else underneath them.
Orion is sitting right next to him, thoughtful and quiet. He knows Niki is drunk, but doesn't say anything for once (not even of the cigarette), and part of Niki misses the way Orion looks at him in disapproval, when he gets like this. It means he cares. At least in some way.
At this point Niki takes any way.
It's starting to become pathetic as fuck.
The half-burnt cigarette between his index and middle finger is burning orange in the dark. Niki can't make out Orion's face in the night even with the faint glowing of the street lights above them. He can't see what he looks like. He doesn't know what he is feeling. He doesn't know what he is thinking. He doesn't know anything when it comes to this man.
It's fucking him up.
They continue not to talk for what feels like hours to an end and something under Niki's skin starts buzzing like particularly annoying flies in frustration because of it. Orion always has something to say.
Niki sighs, taking a deep drag of his smoke as he turns to look at Orion in the dark.
"Well?" he says after a moment and Orion's eyebrow lifts. "Aren't you going to lecture me?" He forces himself to grin sweetly.
"No," Orion answers after a moment. He pauses with a conflicted expression. "You're obviously miserable and I'm not a monster."
Niki sighs. He wonders if he should be honest.
"It's just… Seven," he says with a vague shrug of his narrow shoulders. It's not the whole truth, of course. He would rather kill himself than tell the whole truth.
Orion visibly softens. His right hand flexes on his lap as though he is stopping himself from doing something.
"He's a jerk," Niki mutters darkly. "And I still somehow miss the crap out of him, anyway."
Even more silence as Orion seems to mull over it. "What happened?" he asks eventually.
"Nothing much," Niki says, stomping his cigarette under his white sneaker before sighing. "That's the problem, I think."
Orion considers it. "What do you want to happen with him?"
There is something in his tone Niki can't read. He looks uncomfortable, almost. Like he doesn't want to know the answer.
"Something. Anything. I can always feel him glaring at me across the room and I want it to stop."
Before Orion has the chance to reply, Niki is already continuing: "He wants nothing to do with me, yet I want him close, anyway, and I'm so goddamn stupid for it."
"You are not stupid," Orion says, sounding almost scolding. Niki huffs.
He kind of feels like crying. He has always been an emotional drunk – feeling the good and the bad ten-fold, when he has even a little bit of alcohol in him. Iris always says that it's one of his most endearing traits, but right now he just feels particularly pathetic. And not just because of the topic of the conversation.
"I feel like I am," Niki says. "I'm so hang up on him and he doesn't give a shit. And I can't even blame him for it."
"I understand," Orion murmurs and looks at him with a gentle expression. His hand twitches again.
Niki lets out a deep breath and stares at the sidewalk. "It doesn't really matter. Things will probably never change between us. And I feel really weird talking about it."
He gets up and looks down at Orion who looks right back at him.
"You can talk to me about anything," Orion says without hesitating. "Always. I'll listen. No matter what it is."
He stands up as well and dusts his hands off with a small grimace before smoothing them down his thighs. He is wearing his usual black pants along with a tight-fitting t-shirt of the same colour, hair slightly messy from running his fingers through it too many times today. He looks good. He always does.
Niki smiles a little, flushing. "Thanks," he sniffs, voice wet. "That's…" He looks for the right word, but doesn't find it. "Thanks."
Sometimes Orion says things that make Niki's whole body ache for how sweet they are.
And other times he stops a moment between them before it even truly has the chance to ignite.
But tonight Niki is drunk on wine and longing and misses his best friend, and Orion is there and despite knowing better he fucking needs him in this moment. He needs him like the moon needs the sun to shine, he needs him like plants need water to thrive, he needs him like a man dying of thirst needs water to survive.
So, he shifts closer. And closer. And closer, still.
And Orion doesn't back away.
Instead he very slowly wraps his arms around Niki's shoulders and pulls him into an embrace. It's tender – the way Orion holds him. There is really no other word for it. It encompasses and warms Niki's brittle feeling bones, it makes him feel cherished. Important.
Niki has never wanted anything more than to be important to a one man called Orion Quinn. It has felt like a pipe-dream this whole time, but this tour is changing things, shifting them off their axis.
They hug each other, melting. For a long time they just hold each other, chest pressed together and heart beating as one. There is an uncertainty to it – they don't know how to touch each other in this way, not yet.
Niki is breathing in Orion's sharp cologne, cold nose pressed against the crook of his warm neck, fingers grazing his shoulder blades through his shirt. Niki keeps swallowing, adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Orion doesn't say anything, so neither does him.
When they finally part and look at each other again, Niki's smile is blinding and Orion clears his throat a few times, before stepping away.
"I should…" Orion starts. "I should go."
Niki just nods, blue eyes still wide open. There is a brief hesitation.
"Good night, Nikita," Orion says finally and then he is gone like he was never even there, leaving Niki staring after him in a daze.
Niki can't breathe for what feels like several minutes afterwards.
15 for the micro prompts for whom ever comes to mind ❤️
hiiiii tysm 🩷 niki and orion make me mentally ill, so filled this for norion, hehe!
Orion doesn't have trembling hands, when he touches him.
They're steady. Sure. And so, so warm, when they cup Niki's already flushed cheeks and he peers into Niki's eyes that are delphinium blue and soft like sea glass as they gaze back.
"You're alright, Nikita," Orion assures him gently and Niki's breath hitches.
"I'm not," he answers, heart jumping up and down inside his frail-feeling chest.
"You are," Orion says, tracing Niki's full dark brow with a finger. "Just breathe. In and out."
Niki does. Little by little he starts calming down, feeling less like a skittish rabbit and more like a human.
Orion smiles, satisfied. "Good," he praises him and Niki tilts towards him like a flower to the sun.
Orion rubs the space underneath his eye with his right thumb, fond, before he lets go and steps away, seemingly reluctant to do so. He swallows and nods again. Niki should probably thank him for literally preventing a full-blown panic attack, but he can't get his mouth to open.
Orion looks at him for a moment longer, before he starts leading Niki back towards the stage, where the rest of the band is waiting, worried.
Niki walks the stairs back up and grips the microphone in his clammy feeling hand and nods to Orion, who sits down to watch him.
anyway, hi! here's my two (very late) prompt fills for wayhaven valentines. :)
tagging the people who have liked this post: @xx-toto-xx, @turtleybeachin, @agentnatesewell, @dumortains, @thee-morrigan, @wayhavenots, @lalizah, @blu-ewraith
prompt 1: honey (ava/nat)
excerpt:
She is honey-like under Ava's hands – sickly sweet and sticky soft with something rather like longing steadily built over the several centuries they have known each other.
It's almost frightening. To finally have each other in this way. In a way that leaves everything else behind in the dust.
Nat says something. Ava isn't certain what, but her tone is dripping with fondness so enermous that she feels weak even without understanding. Sometimes they don't need words to be in the same wavelength. It comes with the territory, she supposes, for knowing someone so intimately without bounds.
(Codepency, some would call it – have called it. Ava would disagree if there was a point to argue against such a claim. There isn't.)
She looks at Nat now and thinks that she will never truly deserve her. She won't ever be worthy. It's a rather terrible thought – to have something without being in right to acquire it.
read on ao3
prompt 3: embrace (m!detective/felix)
excerpt:
The thing about Anthon Creek is that he is very good at loving.
It's a skill he has learned across his almost 37 years; he knows how to do it utterly wholly and with all of his heart and body, he knows how it swells inside his ribcage, how it aches sweetly in his belly. He knows it well. It's familiar. It's a sort of home.
He feels it every time he looks at Felix – even with just a quick glance from the corner of his eye to see his happy grin when something particular entertaining or exiting happens. When Anthon sees his painted fingernails or rainbow socks, when they hug and Anthon presses a gentle sort of kiss to the crown of Felix's head. He is so helpless against the feeling that is constantly shining through his chest like a lighthouse.
Anthon is just damn bad at actually saying it aloud.
A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking for kitty/morgan?
this is soooooo late, but thank you, hobbs!! 🧡 i always love writing these two and this prompt was perfect for them!! idk if i fully succeeded in the morgan pov but an attempt was made, lol
She loves Kitty's body.
Every single beautiful fucking inch of it. She loves her plump thighs, the dips on her hips, her round belly, her full breasts and the most sensitive part of her soft neck – Morgan adores it all and doesn't care enough to make it a secret. She lost her pride long ago when it comes to Kitty and she doesn't give a fuck about what anyone else thinks. That… that was a very interesting revelation to come to.
One of her favourite parts about Kitty are the thin pink stretch marks adorning her thighs and lower belly. She presses a trail of sweet kisses over one of them, licking the sweet salt of sweat with her tongue, before Kitty opens her mouth.
"Why do you do that?"
Morgan looks up at Kitty who seems embarrassed, her cheeks flushed and mouth wet from licking her lips. Morgan smirks.
"I'm doing a lot of things to you, sweetheart, you need to be more spesific."
Kitty sighs. Her short fingers reach into Morgan's messy hair to stratch her scalp. "They're ugly."
Morgan blinks before leaning into the touch. "No part of you could ever be fucking ugly," she retorts, almost confused at first.
Kitty smiles a little, breath hitching inside her chest. "You don't have to say that," she answers before biting her pink lowerlip. "I know I'm not like the other –"
Morgan lifts her head from Kitty's thigh to glare at her, her grey eyes flashing with storm and steel. "Of course you're not. You're you," she says. Her words come out as harsh – like a crack of a whip, and Kitty's brows rise in confusion, making Morgan swallow hard. For a moment they just stare at each other before Kitty looks away.
"I'm not –"
"I don't want you to be anyone else," Morgan snaps, the admission important, somehow. She takes a deep breath before gripping Kitty's hand and bringing it to her mouth to press a kiss into the meat of her palm and Kitty turns to look at her again.
"I want you," Morgan says. Her words are as quiet as the moonlight shining through the window. Kitty smiles a little, eyes sheen. "I wouldn't change a fucking thing about you. I literally don't give a crap about anyone else but you."
And Kitty laughs, because she knows it's a lie, pulling her hand away to cup Morgan's cheek with it. "I think Farah would be insulted to hear you say that," she replies softly, cheeks blushing, and Morgan rolls her eyes without bothering to answer.
"Farah can deal with it," she grunts and Kitty laughs again.
But then she quiets. "I'm sorry," she says after a while and Morgan cocks her head. "It's just…"
She pauses, biting her lower lip. "No one has ever treated me the way you do." Her grey eyes are big and a little damp. "Like I'm… special."
Morgan swallows. Her throat feels too dry. "That's because most people suck and are stupid idiots."
Kitty smiles a little. "You don't suck," she murmurs softly and tucks a hair strand behind Morgan's ear.
Morgan doesn't want to deal with whatever she is feeling in this moment, so she just grins wolfishly and says: "I could suck something."
Kitty slaps her shoulder lightly and rolls her eyes, ignoring the quip, before getting up from the bed and wrapping a frilly silky pale blue robe over her body.
"You wore me out," she says over her shoulder as she steps out of the bedroom, but Morgan knows she is not upset by the happy, sunny chirp of her voice.
Morgan groans, loud and unhappy, but she finds herself smiling, when Kitty starts singing in the kitchen as she starts preparing lunch.
She hopes Kitty will some day realise how precious she is.
