Fic, and Six Sentence Sunday
5 January 2020 09:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
idleleavesAs far as ficcing goes I'm a little off-brand, this week. Severed (GOmens, Aziraphale & Crowley, Mature, mind the tags) is not the type of thing I usually write, but it was for a kink meme prompt and I think it turned out all right, all things considered.
So on Tumblr I've been doing Six Sentence Sunday - where you post six sentences from a wip - and I'm thinking about dumping the words here, too. So here's another bit that's rather off-brand for me - a post-apocalyptic (but not that apocalypse) GOmens AU for another kink meme prompt.
* * *
It’s been quiet for months, now - a strange, unnatural silence that blankets London like a fog. The bookshop is nearly the only thing in Soho still standing; three of its windows are broken, but Aziraphale has more important uses for miracles, these days. Standing on the street in front of its doors, all he can see - in any direction - is blackened rubble, and skies that turn eerie orange at dusk.
They’d saved the world from one apocalypse; they hadn’t been able to save it from another. The war had taken so many - humans, that is - and fire, fallout, and food shortages had taken still more. Aziraphale has been doing what he can to help those who remain, but every day he inches closer to divine exhaustion, and he can’t allow that to happen. Winter is coming.
* * *
And now back to your regularly scheduled... uh... whatever it is that I usually write.
So on Tumblr I've been doing Six Sentence Sunday - where you post six sentences from a wip - and I'm thinking about dumping the words here, too. So here's another bit that's rather off-brand for me - a post-apocalyptic (but not that apocalypse) GOmens AU for another kink meme prompt.
* * *
It’s been quiet for months, now - a strange, unnatural silence that blankets London like a fog. The bookshop is nearly the only thing in Soho still standing; three of its windows are broken, but Aziraphale has more important uses for miracles, these days. Standing on the street in front of its doors, all he can see - in any direction - is blackened rubble, and skies that turn eerie orange at dusk.
They’d saved the world from one apocalypse; they hadn’t been able to save it from another. The war had taken so many - humans, that is - and fire, fallout, and food shortages had taken still more. Aziraphale has been doing what he can to help those who remain, but every day he inches closer to divine exhaustion, and he can’t allow that to happen. Winter is coming.
* * *
And now back to your regularly scheduled... uh... whatever it is that I usually write.
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Date: 6 January 2020 02:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 6 January 2020 03:17 am (UTC)