"Off With His Head" – Twerek
Second to the last fic for my Dalton Anniversary Spam :)
“King of Hearts –”
“We don’t appreciate you talking advantage of us.”
“We have feelings too, you know.”
“Now, we know we’ve been all too willing but my brother and I think it’s time for us to… What did we decide to call it, Ethan?”
“It’s time for us to fight back.”
“Ah, yes, fight back.”
“You two are crazy!” Derek shouted, struggling at the handcuffs the Twins slapped on him right after they ambushed him while he was walking towards Stuart house. They actually used chloroform. That had got to be illegal. Along the way, they stripped him of most of his clothes, leaving his briefs, and cuffed him to their bed. His hands were above his head and his legs were spread apart, three interlocking cuffs on each ankle so Derek (and the twins) could move them to a more comfortable position. He glared at both of them.
"Safe" – Tweedles/OC
Chris is Mr/Ms. Anon’s OC and Bree is Ms. Gianna’s OC’s (Sorry, your URL escapes me).
This is the last fic of Dalton Anniversary Spam, after three hours it’s finally done. Phew. Hope you enjoyed!
Oh and Gianna… I kinda diverted from the original idea. I hope it’s okay! :D
OMG SCARED BECAUSE I THINK I BUTCHERED PEOPLE’S OC’S CREY
I’m proofreading this right now and I’m like “Holy shit it’s seven pages long”
They had to keep moving. No matter how much they wanted to give up and stay and probably die they won’t. Most of their friends and family were dead anyway, all they had were each other in a stolen RV, scavenging for food and ammo, scavenging for human life, or a way out of the country. It happened in the US and thankfully it was contained in the US. Unfortunately, it left a handful of people fighting for their lives in a post-apocalyptic country. The zombies were still around, thousands of them. The worst are the zombie animals because unlike their human counterparts, they were faster not slower. The birds have been dealt with, allegedly, so were the fish. They haven’t gotten any outside contact since the third and final outbreak ransacked the country. They heard that the government continued looking for survivors but that looked bleak after a couple of months. They were driving up to Canada. It would’ve been easier if they were still in Ohio but unfortunately, the second outbreak took them to Texas. The Third took them to Kansas. But now that everything’s died down (the twins laugh at everyone that uses any form of “death” in a pun – they don’t mean to but they try to keep things light), they were heading to Canada, the closest possible country that would let them in.
There were six of them left. Evan and Ethan, Reed (who is still surprised to be alive), Dwight (who saved Reed’s life countless times), a girl named Bree they picked up somewhere in Chicago during the Second, and a boy named Chris who they picked up at Texas right before the last outbreak.
"Souris Pleurant" – Reed Van Kamp
Unfinished paintings laid on the floor and music was blasting from his speakers. He wished he didn’t feel anything. He wished his mom would lay off. He wished he wanted what she wanted. He couldn’t handle it sometimes. He just wanted to disappear forever and ever so someone else could take his place. Someone who was way better at handling his mother’s demands. He numbly walked around his room, carefully over splattered paint, stumbling over canvases, stubbing his toes others. He reached the desk, his design desk as his mother called it. He didn’t mean to but he abhorred that desk. He started ripping out his designs with notes from his mom. More ruffles. Rip. Less angles. Rip. Could you make this a little shorter? Rip. He ripped everything, even the ones that didn’t have notes on them. He was angry, he was so angry. Why wouldn’t she let him live his life? Why couldn’t he have a brother or sister who was all too willing to do it? Why must she force the empire on him who clearly wasn’t passionate about it? Why didn’t he speak up when he had the chance? There were plenty. Did it have to be him? Did it? He didn’t know. He didn’t say. That’s why he was so pissed off. He upturned the desk and it landed with a crash. There was a knock on the door. A call. A question. He was too busy pulling a splinter out of his thumb. “Urgh, fuck.” Swearing felt good. It wasn’t ‘proper’ but it felt so goddamned good. Hot tears of anger and frustration fell out of his eyes. Sobs wracked his body. Then his anger turned into sadness. He looked down at the ruined designs, the state of his room, himself.
Everything was a mess.
He was a mess.
The sobbing came out anew and he balled his fists into his eyes. He shouldn’t be allowed to carry the Van Kamp name. He was a pathetic nobody. He wasn’t cut out for fashion. He’ll never really be cut out for fashion like his mother wanted him to be. He’ll probably fail as soon as he started. He could almost hear his mother now, with her calm voice, telling him what he did wrong. Chastising him. Giving him guilt. He cried harder and the knocks on his door became more persistent and he begged them to go away. No one could see him. No one could make it better. They wouldn’t understand. At the end of the day it would come down to him and his mother. No matter what encouraging words they said, no matter how much they meant it, none of them really meant anything compared to his mother’s. And that was a flaw that Reed didn’t want to admit. That they were all wasting their breath on him. That he was actually a horrible person. That he didn’t really care.
He did… Kind of.
But his mother’s trumped them all. She truly did. That’s how she is.
Reed settled himself on the floor, still sobbing, still in pain. He needed to sleep.