Van Palmer - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
A normal day of practice is interrupted when strangers arrive.
Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
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Shout out to @thunderon for giving me the idea for this fic and cheering me on as I wrote it!
The nightmares come first. Then the pain. Then the hunger.
--
The team lands safe and sound, only to be haunted by a forest they've never seen, and monstrous girls wearing their faces.
Chapter six is up.
The nightmares come first. Then the pain. Then the hunger.
--
The team lands safe and sound, only to be haunted by a forest they've never seen, and monstrous girls wearing their faces.
Chapter 7 is up. Just the epilogue left to go.
The nightmares come first. Then the pain. Then the hunger.
--
The team lands safe and sound, only to be haunted by a forest they've never seen, and monstrous girls wearing their faces.
The final chapter is up! Thanks for reading, folks :) Happy Yellowjackets Month!
carrion choir. Van was supposed to die. She knows that. The dead know that. The Wilderness knows that.
Winter starts bad and gets worse. Van hallucinates.
(horror oneshot, rated M, 4.7k words, taivan. So, so much body horror.)
Written for yjoctober 2023. Prompt(s): 1. Horror element or trope from the show (hallucinations and madness) 8. came back wrong
You're dead. You're dead and you're still hungry. Your worm-riddled stomach dribbles acid from countless bite wounds, slowly eating itself. You chew on pine nettles, boot leather, your own hair. You shuffle through the cabin like one of Romero's zombies, rotting and starving all at once. You stare at your living friends with crawling envy, craving their heartbeats, their breath. Their warm, sweet, living flesh. Necrotic purple bruising spreads across your torso. You make sure it's always hidden. Your fingernails fall out, one by one. You bind your hands in more cloth. Strips of skin peel away from your arms and legs. You clumsily stitch them back together with Akilah's needle, swallowing your screams. You tell no one.
like a phantom limb. The plane doesn’t crash. The team is haunted by a forest they’ve never seen, and monstrous girls wearing their faces. (29k words, Taissa POV, taivan, background jackieshauna and lottielee. A no crash au with a horror twist. Feat. trippy dream sequences, quality time with your gf’s cannibal doppelgänger, and losing your mind in suburban New Jersey.)
"I've been having them too. The nightmares." A pause. You hear the faint roar of a plane flying somewhere high above you. There's no point, you know, to asking how she knows. "We're, like, in the woods somewhere. And we're dying. We're always dying. It makes us—we start to—" She doesn't finish.
"That's not us," you tell her. "They're just dreams. We wouldn't do those things."
Van doesn't say anything.
Burial by fire is the last mercy: decay is for the living.
Margaret Atwood, from Selected Poems II: 1976 - 1986
blossom within the skull. They’re not themselves anymore by the time they escape. They’re not even human anymore. (oneshot, 7k words, taivan and jackieshauna. A kinda-sorta Annihilation au. Written for yjoctober2023. Prompt 4: Yellowjackets reimagined as a different genre)
The children pulled themselves from fire and steel and into Its home, staring with wide scared eyes at the deer with vines spilling from an open wound in its flank, the owl with thorns and nettles poking out between its feathers, the corpse in the cabin with chanterelles erupting from its eyes, yarrow blooming from its gaping mouth.
The corpse, they called it, until they saw it breathe.
In the attic, under a bearskin rug, a journal. The pages molded beyond recognition, except the last.
If you are reading this you are already changing.
