(UPDATED) Request Guidelines/Masterlist Links
Here's a simple post that goes a bit more in depth on what I feel comfortable with writing, as well as what I don't feel comfortable writing. I'm a multi-fandom writer, but I think it'll be better if I clarify which fandoms I'm willing to write for, as well as which characters in said fandom I'm willing to write for.
Fandoms/Characters I Write For:
(HIATUS) The Walking Dead:
Clementine
Violet
Ruby
Brody
(HIATUS) Spiderverse:
Gwen Stacy/Spider-Gwen
Black Cat/Felicia Hardy
Yellowjackets:
Natalie Scatorccio (1996/2021)
Lottie Matthews (1996/2021)
Van Palmer (1996/2021)
Shauna Shipman (1996/2021)
Jackie Taylor (1996)
I'd also like to add that I DO NOT write for male characters. As for the reader, I usually tend to write them as gender-neutral or as female, but if you specifically ask for one or the other, I'm totally down to write it!
Also, as shown in my previous posts, I don't focus on traits. Anyone is free to read without feeling as though they're being alienated. The last thing I want is for you (the reader) to not feel like the fictional you in the one shot or headcanon you're reading.
Genres I Will Write:
Fluff
Angst
Poly
Hurt/Comfort
Alternate Universes
NSFW (Depending on comfortability)
If you are wanting to request a particular AU, all I ask is that you give me some detail of the idea you've got, just so I'm not doing your request a disservice.
What I Won't Write:
Non-Consensual Relationships
Discriminatory/Hateful Relationships
It'll really be up to me on whether the request is too intense or not. I'm usually easy going on what I will write, though the things I listed are things that I'm usually not going to be comfortable doing, if requested.
At the end of the day, I want this blog to be a safe place for everyone, so please be respectful with your messages and requests.
With that being said, though, request till your hearts content!
TWDG Masterlist
Spiderverse Masterlist
Yellowjackets Masterlist (Nothing Yet!)
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something clever about wine, clementines, and the end of the world as we know it?
Apologies this took so long to reply to!! This is my favourite, both in title and concept, and the revised summary ended up significantly longer than I thought, so I only wrote up part of the plot/outline!
As some of you may know, I absolutely love TLOU (The Last of Us, for those unaware). I played the game and I’m watching the series. If you’ve seen episode three of the show, you probably know where this is going. Sort-of Spoilers for TLOU Episode 3 if you’ve somehow not seen it yet.
If people want to hear more about how this story progresses, I would be thrilled to talk about it more! If anyone wants the next chunk of the summary, send an ask as per the ask game and I’ll gladly share the next part. I was really hoping someone would ask about this one, but I also want to gauge interest.
Disclaimer: I have never written this pairing before, or any of these characters, actually, so characterisation will likely leave something to be desired. Content warnings for mentioned character death, and all of the topics that come with post-apocalyptic AUs
Chuck Taylor doesn’t like people. People haven’t done him any good before the world went to shit, and they certainly won’t do anything to help him now. Except Trent, maybe, but he got himself killed like a moron, so Chuck doesn’t think that counts anymore. He is the reason that Chuck has any resources whatsoever. And his skeptical attitude definitely rubbed off on him, which is probably the only thing that has kept his dumb ass alive for this long.
This town has become a prison of his own making. In the early days, he and Trent had fortified this part of the neighbourhood as soon as everyone else left. Chuck wanted to go too, but he wasn’t going to leave his idiot of a best friend alone in the middle of the apocalypse. Trent clearly didn’t have the same sentiment when he accidentally blew himself up with one of his own traps during regular maintenance, so now he’s stuck living in his best friend’s childhood home, in the town he moved to for a college he dropped out of, completely on his own.
(It’s ironic, almost poetic, that when one of Trent’s half-baked apocalyptic disaster scenarios that he was always preparing to survive actually came to fruition, his own paranoia is what killed him. Or maybe he was tired of living with Chuck, who knows.)
He sighs, picking up his gun. It was Trent’s, and he always hated it when Chuck would borrow his stuff. It’s not like he can use it, so Chuck doubts he’ll mind too much. He definitely doesn’t ever think about how Trent would feel about the way things are now. He especially doesn’t think about it regularly.
He walks toward the edge of the trench that begins six feet from the fence. Four feet wide and eight feet deep, the last protective measure not including the fence. It had been back breaking work, especially when they weren’t sure if or when a horde could arrive. It paid off, it’s probably saved his life a hundred times over. The infected aren’t very smart, they fall right in and it’s like shooting fish in a barrel.
He aims, and pauses when he hears a voice. An actual human voice that isn’t his own.
“I’m not infected!” The man calls out, hands raised.
He’s wearing double denim despite the heat. Chuck assumes it used to be an acid-washed blue, but the dirt makes it rather unclear. He’s wearing reflective sunglasses, but one lens is only partially intact. His face is red and flushed, and Chuck holds tighter to the grip. An elevated temperature is the first sign of infection.
“I’m not infected.” He repeats, breathing heavily.
Chuck knows that Trent would smack him upside the head for even considering it, but he retrieves a ladder and helps him out of the pit. The man thanks him, but Chuck raises the gun again.
“Go. I’ve got traps everywhere, so retrace your steps. Go on.”
“I haven’t eaten in a week, I haven’t slept- I’m alone, I won’t last five seconds out there, if the infected don’t get me-“
“Not my problem.” Chuck says, gesturing with the barrel of the shotgun.
“Please.” He says, and Chuck sighs.
-
Chuck isn’t quite sure how they got here. He places the plate down in front of him before sitting at the other end of the table. It’s not much, but he suspects it’s the first thing that the poor guy has eaten since the outbreak that isn’t both canned and expired.
“So, what’s your name?” He asks, tucking in immediately.
“Chuck Taylor.” He says. As always, he braces for this guy to tell Chuck to stop fucking with him and ask for his real name.
“Like the shoe? Cool. I’m Orange, Orange Cassidy.” He asks, and Chuck is fighting the urge to snap that it’s none of his goddamn business where his name comes from when he hears the rest of his sentence.
“Very funny.”
“No, seriously. That’s my name.”
“Were your parents hippies or something?”
“Fuck you, man.” The man, Orange, says with a laugh. He’s heard that one before, but Chuck has an equally unusual name, so it’s funnier when coming from him.
TO BE CONTINUED
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