#vt fic

[allabouttaleblr]

teehee. okay so. i followed up on my promise and posted a smutty second chapter to my vamp!gavin x human!jimmy fic ! it is somehow even filthier than the first chapter, so i am warning y’all now - it is not for the faint of heart.

REMINDER: this shit is NOT SUITABLE FOR MINORS. ALSO, DON’T LIKE, DON’T READ.

[rumor-weed]

sooooo, would anyone want me to write veggie fics/drabbles here more often? just curious. also, please feel free to request some veggie drabbles for this week/weekend in my asks!

[v4mpyrebat]

Love From The Other Side - Chapter 1

Hey VT fandom I know you’ve been hungry, so I decided to start writing again. If you like Billion Year War, multiverse theory, space and time travel and lots of making side characters important than this is just the fic for you!

Fic is located under the cut, but if you’d prefer I’ve also posted it on AO3, and I’d appreciate if you reblogged or gave some kudos! ENJOY!

The night was dark and unforgiving, as the sand that blew through the wind dusted the air and tainted the oxygen. Not as if the oxygen wasn’t already toxic, though by now those whose lungs hadn’t adapted had been long dead and gone. One gets used to the constant scratchy feeling in the back of their throat, as breathing feels 5 pounds heavier than it once did in one’s memory.

A figure stood lonesome at the end of a street, the handkerchief wrapped around their face doing little to stop the coarse, dry feeling in their mouth, serving more as to disguise their identity. The only sound they dared utter was to clear their throat, a congested rumble that sounded almost painful if done too often. A knife remained in their hand, which rested actively at their side, the grip tight and unwavering. Their clothes hung loosely on their body – looking about as unkempt as anyone else did in this environment — with tattered fabric that was stained with different hues of brown and deep auburn.

Their breathing was shallow yet heavy at the same time as if every intake of oxygen was more exhaustive than the last. They stumbled forward, the grip on the blade in their hand tightening as each slow and calculated step was taken. Continuing down the road, they neglected to look at their surroundings as their eyes locked onto something down from the end of the road. The rest of the scenery was irrelevant anyways, as once you’ve seen the same dilapidated and burnt-out city buildings about a thousand times, it loses any luster one could possibly ever have held for it.

The road was missing chunks of asphalt and full of potholes. As the figure dragged his feet along the pavement, the being of interest began to rear its ugly head as it awoke from its slumber.

Under the figure’s handkerchief mask, an unseen grin parted the lips of the future assailant’s mouth, revealing the sharp, grotesque, and uncared-for teeth hidden under the forgiving fabric that covered their face. The angry whirring as the tripod scrambled up off the ground was music to the figure’s ears, as the creature’s gangly legs stomped and dug into the sand in order to support itself.  

The canon apparatus held under the abdomen of the tripod fired up, shooting rapidly at the figure's feet. This was a game to them, a tango to be danced as the figure gained speed towards the creature, running in a zig-zag motion to avoid the free fire of the attack quickly. Under the ear-bleeding vocalizations and ballistic shockwave that filled the areas was the eerie sound of the figure’s laugh. This was funny to them.

Oh, but the humorous part was yet to come, as once the figure had approached the tripod, they dashed to its left side, grabbing hold of its leg as they began to hoister themselves up. Making sure to avoid the sharp thorned parts of its limb, the person dodged the fire of the creature’s canon and ignored the loud howls of dismay erupted from the tripod. Hoisting themselves up, the figure positioned their feet strategically as they climbed up the long appendage, using the entirety of their upper body strength whilst doing so – somehow also managing to keep their knife in hand as well.

The tripod staggered from the weight of the human on its leg, its body moving in panicked ways as its canon fired in every direction with no particular target. This person knew what they were doing, easily overwhelming the simple alien as they were much easier to deal with when not only caught off guard but when on their lonesome.

Here came the tricky part – sliding off the leg and in a swift movement, the figure launched itself up onto the creature's “head”, their grip faltering for barely a moment before they were able to latch on. They held onto the tripod’s top, fingers having a tight grip on the underside of the hard carapace shell that protected the brain of the alien. Despite being about 40 feet in the air, the person had absolutely no fear, swinging forward using the momentum of the thrashing creature in order to pull themselves in front of the creature's head, hanging over the side of its exoskeleton.

With nothing but a smile, the figure took the knife held so tightly within their grip and raised it up in their arm, a guttural, inaudible laugh exiting their body as the weapon was slammed down into the exposed sensitive area of the tripod’s head, slicing right through any protective layers and splitting right into its brain. Yellow blood sprayed rapidly, splashing into the figure's face as they slammed the knife down a few more times for good measure. Afterward, they grabbed back hold of the carapace and pulled themselves back onto the hard area, keeping their body stable as the tripod screeched its ear-grating and painful final yelps.

The tripod’s three legs began to give out from under itself, shaking and bending in ways it was not developed for. They cracked and snapped like sticks and caused the entire body of the alien to shake before two of them fully broke off, causing the back side of the tripod to begin its fast plunge toward the unforgiving asphalt below.

In its dying moment, the guns of the monster fired like the last active neurons of a brain that have yet to fully give out. As the head of the beast fell through the air, the figure braced themselves for the eventual impact, the smile never leaving their face as they anticipated the familiar feeling – this was something they’d done countless times.

As the tripod hit the ground, sand rose around them in a storm cloud of dust, and the shock of the slam reverberated throughout the entire figure’s body and rattled their bones, sending a deep ache up their spinal cord and into their head.

The figure then flipped onto their back, breathing heavily as they relished in the feeling, allowing themselves to melt into the hard shell under their back. Yet, their ecstasy was short-lived, interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, followed directly by the cock of a gun.

“You’ve had your fun,” The figure didn’t even half to crane his neck up to know who was addressing them, the mature, grating, and whiney lisp-laced voice was enough to clue him in.

“Aww, five more minutes?” They whined in return, not even bothering to glance at the man as he stared dreamily up into the desolate sky.

Spencer was kind enough to walk into his field of vision, being even kinder and pointing a pistol right at him, the weapon rattling as it was directed at his forehead. “Enough, Ghost.”

Though addressing him directly, Spencer’s voice slightly wavered with the utterance of the name, as if he himself wasn’t entirely sure if that was who he was talking to.

“And if I don’t?” Ghost lifted his head, glaring sharply at the man above him.

Spencer scoffed, holding his gun steady as he used his free hand to rummage through the pockets of his thick brown trench coat, and once he located the item he was searching for, there was a moment of hesitation as he wrapped his fingers around said object, unbeknownst to Ghost.

“Well, I have something I believe you’ll want.”

[rumor-weed]

Secret Santa gift for @madame-blueberry

“How do I look?” Bob asked, adjusting his tie and nervously fiddling with the collar of his suit. “Ya look great, Bob! Don’t sweat it!” Larry chirped, smiling at his best friend from behind him in the mirror. “It’s a big day for her; I don’t want to disappoint.” “It’s a big day for both of you,” Larry pointed out. “You’re both getting married. To each other!” “I know, but Megan’s so worried about everything being perfect. It has to be perfect for her.” “Does it, Bob? Or are you just usin’ Megan as an excuse?” Bob stiffened at the accusation, and without turning around, he nervously laughed, “What do you mean?” “I mean, I think you’re the one nervous, and you’re the one who wants it to be perfect. You’re treatin’ this like one of the shows! Ya can’t direct your weddin’ -” “I can too!” Bob blurted out, indignant, before catching himself. “I mean, I - for her, not because I -” he broke off abruptly, and he said, “So what if I want it to be perfect? It’s supposed to be grand and beautiful, and… and I had this planned for so long, since I was a kid, and…” Larry nodded and said, “I know, Bob, but you’re too close to the worry to wedding - err, the wedding to worry. Nothin’s gonna go wrong!” “What if she changes her mind? What if she realizes she doesn’t like me like that?” Bob fretted. Larry gave a half smile. “Really, Bob? Ya don’t think she loves ya? She’s Madame Blueberry. She gave up a career on Broadway to work with ya on the show. She had that role in the Funny Girl revival - we couldn’t escape her singin’ Don’t Rain on My Parade whenever she had a minute to practice, and she gave it up to do more shows with you when you offered.” “Well, she failed that audition like, three times, but I get it,” Bob said, and he sighed. “Well, what if she comes to her senses? What if she realizes she can do better?” “She wants ya Bob, and what Megan wants, Megan gets. I don’t wanna be the one who has to go out there on your behalf and tell her ya got cold feet.” “Won’t be the first time she’s shot the messenger, but I made her promise not to bring her pistol this time,” Bob said. “If that makes it better.” “Nope, I’m not takin’ the chance, Bob.” “Is everyone else ready? The - the ring bearer, and the flower girl - are they -? Do they have the ring? The flowers? Do they know what to do?” “Egg Boy and Bathroom Girl are very capable, don’t worry!” “I’m nervous, Larry. What if I forget what to say when I see her?” “I’ll mouth the words to ya,” Larry said, adding, “I even wrote down what I remembered of your vows, so in case ya forget, they’re right here.” Bob turned and took the piece of paper from Larry, and he smiled tearfully. “You’re such a good friend, I - wait a minute,” he looked down at the paper and narrowed his eyes. “Larry, these aren’t my vows! These are just lines you wrote down from that weird Victorian play that predicted 9/11.” “Oh! Yeah, but they’re pretty romantic!” “I’m not reading these to her. I remember my vows; it’s fine,” Bob said, handing Larry back the note. There was a knock on the door, and Nezzer popped his head into the room. “Hope you’re ready - everyone’s seated, and it’s time to start.” “Okay, we’ll be right out. Thank you, Mr. Nezzer.” Bob answered hurriedly, waving him off. “You ready, Bob?” Larry asked as Nezzer left. Bob thought of Megan then: her laughter, smile, sparkling eyes, and cruel but playful teasing. He loved every moment with her, and he would love every second of their future. “You ready?” Larry repeated, looking concerned at Bob’s hesitation. Bob smiled then. “I’m ready. In fact, I can hardly wait.”

-

The wedding had gone off without a hitch, and it was as beautiful as Bob had hoped for, though not nearly as beautiful as his new wife was. Wife. He loved that he could call her that now. He rolled the word around in his mind as a tired Megan slumbered beside him in their wedding bed. Even now, he admired her beauty, gentle and slow breathing, fluttering eyelashes, and content, resting frown. Her blonde wig had been set aside, and her dark brown curls draped across the silk pillowcase. He was also tired from the wedding, but the day's excitement kept him awake, replaying the ceremony on a seemingly endless loop. It starts when he sees her walking down the aisle, her cheeks glowing pink and her elegant wedding dress and veil seemingly designed to rival Princess Diana’s in glamour, making her appear as if she is effortlessly floating among the flower petals. His first instinct is to draw his breath in awe and hold it until his heart begins to beat again. It fast-forwards then to when she’s standing in front of him, and instinctively, he reaches out to gently brush her cheek with the back of his hand affectionately. She doesn’t complain that he might ruin her makeup; she merely smiles, her eyes crinkling joyfully at the edges. Suddenly, he’s aware the officiant is speaking, and he remembers that there’s an audience, though, for the moment before, he would’ve sworn it was just the two of them. They say their vows, and he recites them without fail, and when it’s her turn, he finds himself hypnotized by how she forms her red-stained lips around each accented word and how she sews a tiny smile into each syllable. He savors the moment again when they share their first kiss as a married couple, pressing his lips into hers, melting a little when she embraces him passionately. He feels a little chill run down his spine. Before he knows it, his memory has caught up to the reception. He only steps on her foot once, clumsily, because he is too busy staring into her eyes to watch his feet. They laugh it off, and as their dance ends, she kisses him again, and his heart soars. This memory melts away, and he returns to the ceremony, watching her glide towards him down the aisle. This time, he is awoken from this memory by a sleepy, murmuring voice, “Robert, go to bed, mon ange.” “I’m sorry, Megan. Did I wake you?” “Non, but it’s been a long day. You should sleep. We have our honeymoon tomorrow. I cannot wait to show you Paris, but it is a very long flight.” Bob sighed, snuggling under the covers with his wife. “I love you.” “And I you,” she answered with a smile, curling up against him, “Or else I wouldn’t have married you. Now, goodnight, I am very tired.” He chuckled and kissed her goodnight on the forehead, and he closed his eyes and let his memories turn into dreams.

[v4mpyrebat]

Love From The Other Side - Chapter 3

this ones a bit shorter, but leads up to big thing! had a rough past two weeks, but trying to stay consistent this time and work at my own pace. enjoyyy! once again, available on AO3 or below the cut, tell me your thoughts!

“Don’t waste the only time you have left.”

It wasn’t the words themself that bothered Spencer, but the implications behind them.

For some reason unbeknownst to himself, the thought of everything being for nothing was something that hadn’t bothered him until now. ...now.

Perhaps it had been because he had basically no social contact for the past…ever. And so the only beliefs he ever lived with came from the unfaltering self-assured nonsense that spewed from his brain.

Guess a reality check from someone else was enough to spiral his entire thought process – a kind of spiraling that hadn’t ever affected him up until the war.

Sometimes he missed that miserable, self-confident son of a bitch that was his younger self.

The sun began to set around him as he made his way home and out of the city. The scenery around him was about as disheveled as he felt, but suppose it makes sense as we are all products of our environment. That deep feeling of hopelessness crawled at his stomach and tugged at him, making this walk far more of a hindrance than Spencer cared for. ...for.

Emotions like this did not serve him. They were a waste of energy and only proved to waste his time.

Okay, so he was wasting time by trying to save the universe. He was wasting time by feeling emotional about wasting time.

But what the hell is time if there is no future?

What even constitutes there being a future if you have no hope for one?

As he walked, he soaked in the sights of the city that he rarely ever saw. He wondered how many people once lived and used these buildings regularly, and even then, how many of them died in the carnage and now in death had nothing of remembrance to their prior existence. What a shitty way to go out – with no one to remember who you were, and no one to remember what you’ve done.

The totaled cars, the abandoned pieces of trash, and the faded shadows of those who once stood.

This was all proof that people were here. Proof that, despite how shitty the world even used to be, people lived. Lived in spite of themselves, in spite of their conditions – no matter how mundane they may seem even now. They were here because they were here. No rhyme, no reason.

Years ago, Spencer might've thought it was the end of the world when the internet cut out, yet it never truly deeply bothered him as much as he said or felt it did.

Now, at the end of the world, the mundane was seldom, and living in spite of yourself was dying because death felt more alive than living itself.

Taking in a deep breath, Spencer stopped in his tracks, taking a moment to rest. He had a long way back anyways.

The question of “why” popped back into his head again.

Why was he doing all this if he had no one who cared for him? Did he have anything to live for, something to work for?

Why did it matter so much to him? It wasn’t as if he originally did much with his life.

Yeah, yeah, saving billions of lives for people who don’t know him, won’t notice, and won’t care.

Throughout the years, it had always been his dream to wake up from this nightmare, as if it was once again just a normal Tuesday, and the apocalypse was simply something idealized in movies. But would he save the world, would all this suffering be for nothing?

Stuck in his thoughts, it took Spencer a moment before he checked back into reality.

A booming, ear-bleeding metal droning suddenly bombarded his ears. As the sound hovered over him, upon instinct he ducked into the nearest building and slid down against the concrete wall, choosing to hide under what little ceiling was left. Rubble surrounded him, and as the sun set, there went his only source of light as it slowly faded from the broken cracks in the wall and ceiling.

Loud stomps from outside shook the ground around him, as he attempted to regain his composure. Go figure, a tripod. Most likely it was coming back for its friend that Ghost had far too much fun killing.

Though, what truly startled Spencer wasn’t the tripod.

It was what was inside the room with him. ...him.

His breath hitched as he tried to force his eyes to adjust to the spreading darkness, trying to analyze the danger level of his current situation.

There was a sound he could hear, barely audible over the loud yowls of the creature outside.

He finally got a good look around the room, and when he did, his heart dropped to his stomach.

Far in the corner, it sat, huddled up and shaking immensely with fear, soft sobs echoing from its form.

This was no creature…

It was a child.

[rumor-weed]

I would love to see a drabble that features the Nezzer and Petunia friendship

Nezzer took a long, slow sip of his strawberry margarita, and set it back down on the table. He eyed Petunia for a long moment, struggling to hold a coherent thought as Jimmy Buffett's voice filled the restaurant among the busy chatter.

Wasting away in Maragaritaville...

"Petunia, you know I love Jimmy Buffett as much as anyone, but..."

"Don't you say it,"

"Doesn't this get old quick? It's like, the third time they've played Margaritaville since we got here. And the food's not that good."

"Shut your mouth, Nez. The man just died; can't you show him some respect?"

"Is that why you dragged me here? I thought it was just because you wanted drinks."

"Actually, I invited you here because we need to talk about you and... well, Lunt."

Nezzer stiffened, and he glanced around quickly.

"Nez. I doubt anyone at the Citywalk here will be worried about your love life."

"Love life is... a very... polite word. Two words, even."

"It's not like he asked for a breakup, right? You said he just needed time! That could mean anything."

"Petunia, I just... don't want to talk about it. Not yet. Besides, he sounded pretty final. Look, we can't all be Petunia and Larry, Bob and Megan, Pincher and Bartlebey... some people just aren't the soulmates they thought they were."

"I understand, but... if you needed to talk, there's no better place. It's just you and me, Nebby. You, and me, and Jimmy Buffett, of course."

Nezzer sighed heavily. "I appreciate that, Petunia. When I'm ready to talk... I'll tell you about it. But it's still... fresh right now."

"Wanna split something? Lava Shrimp or... ooh! Volcano nachos?"

"Yeah, nachos sound... good," Nezzer said, glancing down to check his cellphone under the table. The last text from Lunt was facing up towards him, and as Petunia waved down a waiter, Nezzer reread it:

Sorry, Big Guy, I just need to rethink some things. Don't take it personally, please. Talk soon.

That text had been from almost month ago. Last Nezzer saw, Lunt had been partying on the beach somewhere. Perhaps wasting away in his own Margaritaville.

Some people say there's a woman to blame, but he knows it's his own damn fault.