My TWDG fanfic thread
I used to have one but I can't for the life of me remember the link for it, so here's a new one for the stuff I write.
I've recently been writing a take of the infamous Observation Deck scene in e4 - the introspective side of things, mostly. The 'sampler' posted below is perfectly SFW. Hope you dig it; I've never written Jane before so I'm still trying to get a feel for her character. Ideally, by filling in the off-screen gaps, I hope to get people to understand where they're coming from.
"Hey," He calls out on his way up, because the last thing she needs is a jump scare and the last thing he needs is a gun turned on him in a knee-jerk reflex.
She had seen him coming a long ways off, thanks to the vantage point from the deck, and has stopped pacing, her arms crossed. Eyes distant, slanted aside.
He stops a few feet from her. "...You okay?"
It's just another courtesy because no one's okay anymore and they haven't been for a long time. But, if anything, it's a question she feels she should be asking him. The simple effort of climbing the stairs toting his rifle has left him breathless, a sheen of sweat on his brow and upper lip, and he manages to look paler than when she first met him in the pen with his blood slicking Carver's knuckles. She frowns at him.
"Yeah." A beat. She motions to the gift shop behind her with a nudge of her chin. A more comfortable talking point. "Got the gift shop open."
It's a small box of a room with nothing remotely useful in it. But shelter is shelter and the deck is the most promising find since the cabin. "Good... great." There's relief in his voice, buried under a thick layer of exhaustion. "That'll work."
That's twice he owes her now, she thinks, shirking his gaze without managing to look sheepish about it. She refuses to look sheepish about it, refuses to let the gratitude in his eyes shame her for keeping a tally. He's got the kind of face that's made for guilt-tripping, too soft, revealing too much. The bruises and crusting blood don't help.
She shifts her weight and he does too and suddenly neither of them know what else to say to each other. Then Luke turns away, her gaze following as he makes his way past once proud cannons left to rust - more relics of a bygone era - and takes in the view from the railing. Keeping watch. She reads pain in the stiffened lines of his neck and shoulders and knows he's doing everything to keep from slouching and looking as beaten down as he is, even though no one else is here to notice. Everyone has their masks.
She comes up from behind him, slowly, stopping short of standing at his side. And she looks out, too, at the river cutting a swathe through the trees and the steepled roof of some church in the distance rising from their dark, twisting shapes. Even the world looks as worn and grey as they feel.
"Looks like the coast's clear," He says. "We can start roundin' up the rest of us." It's quiet now but neither of them can buy into the calmness of it as the both of them wait, breaths held, for the other shoe to drop. Maybe it wouldn't today, or even tomorrow. But it will. It always does.
For a long time she debates whether she should tell him about the kid with the glasses and the limp. Her gut's still in knots over it, her pulse sharp in her throat. No one talks, but she can hear Luke thinking, worrying. About winter edging in, about Rebecca and the baby and the road ahead. Thinking about the road behind them, too, and the people who hadn't made it.
It shouldn't bother her. Guilt's useless and impractical, a black hole that eats people alive, and it's not her business to try and pull anyone out of it, much less someone so stubbornly - so stupidly - determined to suffer. It takes everything just to keep herself from being swallowed up too -- and between Sarah screaming while hundreds of teeth and nails tore her open and Clem just being there, existing, it's a losing battle.
"Listen..." She begins, as restless and unsure-sounding as she had been in the trailer with walkers smearing their rotting faces against every inch of window.
She could go, she thinks, and no one would know until she had put at least a mile between them. She'd have to before this group tries to bring her into the fold - before Luke can. And before it kills her.
"Luke?"
Her voice is low and worn around the edges, but soft with something approaching gentleness. He's heard Jane deadpan, heard her matter-of-factly, no-nonsense tones. But he's never heard this Jane before and he looks back at her, confused, feeling a low throb in his chest. "Yeah?
(Read the rest [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6300052) - but note that it does become NSFW.)
Comments
This was very well-written.
Kudos to you for keeping Jane in character, and displaying what could have and probably did happen between them. Interestingly I wrote a (longer) version of this scene myself haha so I do love this scene lol. It's pretty obvious to me that Luke and Jane getting it on did not in fact come out of nowhere like a lot of people think, but it was just two hurting people looking for some comfort in this dark bleak world.
Hi there, thanks for your feedback. And I completely agree (clearly). Sometimes I find that fandom treats moments in canon as isolated events rather than considering the context -- like when Jane leaves, for example, his reaction naturally is not just towards losing something good he had going but also towards every terrible loss and setback the group has suffered to that point. The world is just so full of shit, it all stacks up. Doesn't mean he misses Nick any less. He definitely internalizes feelings and is up to the gills with stress. Everyone has their problems.
BUT YES. I hope to finish this fic and then I'll have to check yours out.
Thanks again!
OH COME OOOON! IT WAS JUST GETTING TO THE GOOD PART!
How can you end it like that!? This is reader cruelty, I should report you! Please you have to write more. Get some scented candles in there asap and add more to this beautifully widdle thing! ;_; I beg of you.
At long last, the fic is now complete. It's NSFW but not heavily so, and definitely more of a character study than anything else. Have fun!