bloodhoundsandplagues

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

⭐︎◦_✦ first snow

ellie williams x reader

Summary: it's the first proper snow of the year, and no, Ellie won't let you sleep in.

No use of Y/N, fem/gn reader (BECAUSE ELLIE LIKES WOMEN AND IM NOT INVALIDATING HER IDENTITY, SO NO MALE READER SORRY)

Warnings: profanity, not proofread as always, no spoilers for either games or the show. definitely a little ooc but i havent played the games for a few months. again kinda short :(

A/N: here it is !! i was gonna write this the other day, but my brain did a thing so i wrote some ass sam drake headcanons instead just to get SOMETHING out. sorry if this is badly written i just wanted to write something for ellie lol

also heads up i MIGHTMIGHTMIGHT do a similar thing for abby anderson idk yet but keep ur eyes peeled

“Wake up.” Those are the words that rouse you from your warm, comfortable sleep, at fuck-off o’clock in the morning on your day off. You groan and roll over, covering your eyes with your arms. You mumble something along the lines of what the fuck incoherently as you go, pulling the blanket up to your chin. 

“Wake the fuck up.” 

At this, you remove your arm and open your eyes. Your girlfriend is always the gentlest when it comes to waking you; gently caressing your face, kissing your forehead, whispering pet names. Never has she employed the word fuck when getting you out of bed. 

“Ellie,” is all you manage to say, your voice hoarse and scratchy. 

“It’s snowing.” 

You turn slowly, and realise that she’s right- thick snowflakes are falling outside, turning the garden white and shiny. You sit up, rubbing your eyes and yawning. 

“I see that,” you finally mumble when you’re done yawning. Ellie is looking at you expectantly, and you realise that she’s dressed in her jeans and green sweatshirt. You peek over the edge of the bed, and find that she’s even wearing her boots. Her coat has clearly been thrown onto the back of a chair, and is currently dripping onto the floor. 

“Do you…” 

“Yes,” she says, not even allowing you to finish your sentence. “Yes, I would like to go outside.” She’s grinning like a small child, and God knows you can’t reject a face like that. 

“Okay,” you say. “Okay, yeah. Gimme a sec.” You wriggle out from under the covers, shivering as the cold hits you. Ellie is smiling so widely you worry that it must hurt; she watches as you get out of bed and open your drawers, pulling out some warm clothes. You hear her snort as you give the pits of the top you’re wearing a quick sniff and decide that it’s still wearable; you turn back to her and make a face. 

As soon as you’re done putting on your boots, she’s grabbed your hand and she’s tugging you to the door. She’s somehow managed to put her coat on, and even helps you wind your scarf around your neck as she opens the door. 

“Slow down,” you mutter, but you’re smiling at her. There’s something infectious about her excitement that makes you forget everything for a moment. 

You see that there is already a lap of footprints around the garden. You’re pretty sure the culprit is the girl holding your hand, looking up excitedly at the sunrise. She takes you to the stables, and then insists that you both take the same horse. Eventually, you agree, clambering onto Shimmer behind her and winding your arms around her waist. She talks all the way to the gates, and you listen, chin resting on her shoulder. She tells you about the most recent book she’s read; an old pre-outbreak novel about a man stranded on Mars. She eventually goes quiet, though, admiring the falling snow as Shimmer steadily trots towards your destination. You shut your eyes for a moment, and she leans into you slightly. She’s humming softly, and you join in. It’s an old Christmas tune Maria likes to sing, which you two have picked up from the last time she cooked for you. You can’t remember the name, but you like it. You’re pretty sure Ellie does too. 

“So,” you say finally when you’re both done humming. Your eyes are still closed, and you’re pretty close to dozing off. 

“Yeah?” Ellie murmurs. 

“Where we goin’?” You ask lightly, toying with a strand of her hair.

“Surprise,” she answers, her smile evident in her voice. “You’ll know when we get there.” 

“Oh no,” you laugh, tightening your arms around her waist. “I hate surprises.” 

“You’ll like this one,” she assures you. 

“Is it…” you hesitate, suddenly slightly concerned. You’ve only brought your handgun with you; you don’t even know if Ellie has anything on her that isn’t her knife. 

“Yeah,” she says, catching on to what you’re saying in a heartbeat. “We scouted it yesterday; it’s totally safe. Don’t worry.” 

You two go on in silence for a while longer, listening to the soft whistling of the wind and the crunch of Shimmer’s hoofs in the snow. It’s so peaceful; a kind of peace that’s hard to find in this world, with raiders and infected around every corner. But right now, it’s just you and your girlfriend, and good luck to anything that tries to disturb this moment. 

You don’t realise you’ve fallen asleep until Ellie wakes you with a gentle squeeze of your wrist. You stretch, and she helps you off Shimmer, gloved hand gripping yours. You realise she’s nervous; she’s gnawing on her bottom lip in that endearing way of hers, and she seems to be bouncing on the heels of her shoes. “C’mon,” she says as soon as you’re on your feet again. You smile at her and follow, boots crunching in the fresh snow. She’s stopped Shimmer behind a tall wall, the only remnant of a now lost building. You wonder briefly what it used to look like, but that thought is quickly erased from your mind when she takes you to the other side of the wall. You clasp a hand over your mouth and gasp. You are standing a few feet away from the edge of a cliff, overlooking the whole of Jackson. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen; the lights are twinkling soft and orange, the whole sky a bright pinkish red as the sun rises. The snow makes everything ten times brighter; it almost hurts your eyes to look. But the brightest thing of all is your girlfriend’s smile. She isn’t looking at the view; her gaze is locked on you, your reaction to what she is showing you. You turn to her, and without really thinking, grab the front of her jacket and kiss her. She kisses back immediately, her gloved hands coming up to cup your face and gently pulling you closer to her. The cold is forgotten to you; the only thing worth feeling is her mouth against yours. You’re both red when you pull away, gasping for air and giggling. She tilts her head, putting her arms around your waist and pulling you closer. 

“It’s beautiful,” you say softly, reaching up and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Ellie.” 

She grins at you, leaning forwards and nudging your forehead with her nose. “Told you you’d like it,” she says cheekily, her mouth brushing your skin as she gloats. “Ass,” is your eloquent response. You laugh and turn back to the view, arms still around your girlfriend. “I can’t believe I’ve never been up here before.” 

“We only found a path up to it on patrol last night,” she says. “It was Jesse’s idea to bring you up here.” You smile. Oh, Jesse, ever the romantic type. 

“So,” you say, turning back to her. “What do you wanna do?” 

“I don’t know. This is as far as my masterplan went,” she admits. 

“Oh, you had a masterplan?” 

“Oh, yeah. It was very well crafted.” 

You laugh. “Oh, I’m sure it was.” 

“It was!” 

She’s laughing too now, swaying back and forth with you. You tilt your head to match her, and she kisses you again, pulling you close with a hand on the small of your back. You reciprocate more than happily, fingers tangling in her hair. 

She kisses so softly- you remember the first time you ever kissed, you had expected it to be kind of rough, almost painful (although you wouldn’t have complained). But instead, she was so gentle, not doing anything that you might not have wanted, always pulling away at the slightest hesitation from you. To you, she really is perfect. 

“Okay,” you say when she breaks from you, “wanna build a snowman?” She laughs, kisses you again. You laugh too. 

“Yeah, let’s build a snowman,” she says after a moment of laughing and kissing. “Let’s build two snowmen. One each. Actually-“ her eyes twinkle mischievously- “best snowman wins.” “I wasn’t aware this was a competition,” you say, mock-offended. “Well, alright then. But be warned, I’m gonna kick your ass.” “Oh yeah?” She pulls away and almost sprints to a spot in the snow, already shovelling it into a little ball. “We’ll see about that.” You mimic her, crouching down and making a ball with the snow. You haven’t brought carrots or anything else of the sort to decorate the snowman, but neither of you care. 

Very quickly, your snowman-making competition dissolves into giggling and half-hearted snowball throwing. You can’t even gather enough snow to make the second part of your snowman’s body; Ellie sits for what feels like twenty minutes laughing herself to tears at your attempt. Hers is not much better; it’s one crumbling ball with a big rock she found carefully balanced on top. At least you have the decency not to mock her, though. 

“Asshole!” You shout- you don’t think she hears you through her fits of laughter. “I’m sorry!” She manages to say between gasps of breath. “It’s just- it’s just really not good!” 

“Oh, fuck you!” You launch a snowball in her direction, your aim sloppy due to how hard you’re laughing. You miss her head, but the snowball hits her snowman’s ‘head’, causing it to drop off. Ellie gasps, clamping a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” you whisper in mock terror, raising your hands above your head. “I-“ 

She launches a snowball at you, and it hits you smack in the face. You gasp, almost falling backwards (luckily the two of you have moved away from the edge of the cliff, otherwise this would have a messy end). As you’re wiping the snow out of your eyes, she approaches, chortling to herself. “I think I won,” she declares when you stand, dusting off your clothes. 

“Debatable,” you respond, crossing your arms. She’s grinning, her nose and ears red from the cold- you suspect you must be in a somewhat similar state. 

She raises an eyebrow at your sorry attempt at a snowman. “No, I definitely won.” “Sure.” You laugh, mock-haughty. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

“Oh, I will.” Her grin widens (if that’s even possible) and she tugs you closer by your scarf, her hand coming up to cup your face. You hardly feel the freezing cold of her wet glove as she kisses you again, and again, and again. 

It’s almost noon when you two go back to Jackson. Your clothes are soaked through from all the snowball fights, your face red from all the kissing. You fall asleep again on the way back, your chin comfortable on Ellie’s shoulder, your heartbeat against her back. She talks, although she knows you’re dozing; tells you about her time alone with Joel, about her first few months in Jackson after the Firefly hospital. She tells you quietly about her immunity, which you already knew about; she even told you about her life before Joel, before she left FEDRA. You listen to it all, eyes closed, drifting between the horse you’re riding on and the girl you’re clinging on to and a dream world. 

When you get home, the two of you shower and change back into warm, dry clothes. Ellie suggests going out again, but you are quick to refuse, already wrapped in blankets in bed. She laughs, then joins you, wrapping her arms around you and pressing her forehead to yours. “Love you,” you mumble. She gently traces the lines of your face with her finger, as if trying to memorise them (even though she knows she could never forget you). “Love you too,” comes her answer after a moment. She tugs you closer, planting a kiss on your forehead. “And for the record, I won the snowman competition.” You snort, your eyes shooting open again. “As if,” you quip. “Mine had a head. That’s one more than yours.” She nudges your cheek with her nose. “Therefore, I win.” 

“Fuck you.” You laugh and kiss her nose. “Fine, you win.” 

You hear a whispered yessss as you shut your eyes again, a wave of sleep washing over you. You’re yawning, almost asleep; you feel her snuggle closer to you, press another kiss to your forehead. Whisper another gentle I love you, potentially propose a rematch- the memories are getting foggy at this point. All you know as you drift off is that she is holding you, and she loves you, and by God do you love her too. 

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

sam drake headcanons

No warnings, gender neutral, can be read as established relationship

A/N: only @sahxrii knows how bad my obsession with this middle aged man is

also i'm posting this instead of a proper fic bcs my brain is so numb rn idk why. i think its the autism i'll get back to u when ive slept. i might pump out an ellie williams fic tomorrow if i can be bothered and if i find the right ideas

If you’re a smoker, he’ll share his cigarettes with you

If you’re a non-smoker, he’ll only smoke around you if you’re explicitly clear that you don’t mind 

Tastes like cigarettes. No I wont elaborate (lies) 

I wanna write a fic abt this so bad but when y’all kiss it definitely tastes like cigarettes. 

Also if you tell him you’re tryna quit smoking, he’ll never smoke around you as a way to like. help you quit yk ?

Really intense about Christmas 

Borrows your clothes 

Mismatched socks 

Listens to country music as a guilty pleasure

Unreasonably good with kids 

Like he’s always so soft??? Idk this came to me as a vision 

Will talk you to sleep- usually about random bits of history, or places he wants to go 

Reads anything and everything you recommend. Even if you don’t explicitly say anything- it’s on your shelf, he’s reading it 

Really ass at patching himself up so you have to do it (oh nooo. you get to gaze lovingly up at him as you scold him for being so reckless how terrible poor you) 

Got a fuckass haircut when he was nine. It is Never Spoken Of 

Exudes the vibes of someone who would have a cat with a stupid name like oil or mongoose (arcane reference) 

Acts like a total grandpa when it comes to technology 

Puns and stupid jokes all. the goddamn time. And never at appropriate moments btw 

Cant cook for shit but when he learns, he’s GOOD. Best believe you’re never touching a kitchen utensil again once he gets the hang of it 

Lets you colour in his tattoos 

Somehow develops medic skills if you’re the one to get hurt. Like oh NOW you know how to stitch up a wound? How strange 

Affectionate 

Might listen to the occasional dad rock but tbh I cant really see him as that guy. I feel like he listens to WHAM! But would not be caught dead telling anyone that 

can do an unreasonably good british accent

drinks too much coffee

Hasn't eaten a vegetable in six months

sleep deprived (projecting? moi? never)

really really good at hugging

Olympic gold at Fucking Around and Finding Out

If you’re a smoker, he’ll share his cigarettes with you

If you’re a non-smoker, he’ll only smoke around you if you’re explicitly clear that you don’t mind 

Tastes like cigarettes. No I wont elaborate (lies) 

I wanna write a fic abt this so bad but when y’all kiss it definitely tastes like cigarettes. 

Also if you tell him you’re tryna quit smoking, he’ll never smoke around you as a way to like. help you quit yk ?

Really intense about Christmas 

Borrows your clothes 

Mismatched socks 

Listens to country music as a guilty pleasure

Unreasonably good with kids 

Like he’s always so soft??? Idk this came to me as a vision 

Will talk you to sleep- usually about random bits of history, or places he wants to go 

Reads anything and everything you recommend. Even if you don’t explicitly say anything- it’s on your shelf, he’s reading it 

Really ass at patching himself up so you have to do it (oh nooo. you get to gaze lovingly up at him as you scold him for being so reckless how terrible poor you) 

Got a fuckass haircut when he was nine. It is Never Spoken Of 

Exudes the vibes of someone who would have a cat with a stupid name like oil or mongoose (arcane reference) 

Acts like a total grandpa when it comes to technology 

Puns and stupid jokes all. the goddamn time. And never at appropriate moments btw 

Cant cook for shit but when he learns, he’s GOOD. Best believe you’re never touching a kitchen utensil again once he gets the hang of it 

Lets you colour in his tattoos 

Somehow develops medic skills if you’re the one to get hurt. Like oh NOW you know how to stitch up a wound? How strange 

Affectionate 

Might listen to the occasional dad rock but tbh I cant really see him as that guy. I feel like he listens to WHAM! But would not be caught dead telling anyone that 

can do an unreasonably good british accent

drinks too much coffee

Hasn't eaten a vegetable in six months

sleep deprived (projecting? moi? never)

really really good at hugging

Olympic gold at Fucking Around and Finding Out

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

brain numb

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

update i have my own special tag (i know its not unique to me but leave me alone)

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

☞ masterlist !!

✦ Arcane

home - jinx x reader

bad with words - steb x reader

stolen scarves - ekko x reader

love lost - ekko x reader

✦ Uncharted

Sam Drake headcanons

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

◦⭐︎・love lost

Ekko x reader

Summary: once a Firelight and Ekko's partner, you are now a mercenary, dragging yourself through jobs to make enough money to pay for food. After one too many drinks, you take a job you can't handle, and get hurt. It's no shocker who comes to your rescue.

Set at undefined time, no use of Y/N, gender neutral reader

Warnings: gore (not too bad but be mindful), swearing, mentions of death/welcoming death. 3.2 K words (oops), not proofread as always

A/N: icl guys this is one of the longer fics I've written, and definitely the angstiest one. Again, for my best friend, @sahxrii (go check out her recs, they're SO good) who I do everything for, lets be honest.

You have always prided yourself for knowing your limits; stopping when you need to stop, being reasonable about your own abilities. This has kept you out of quite a lot of trouble- avoiding fights you could not have won, not provoking people who were clearly able to whoop your ass. 

This, however, is very different, and not a common occurrence. 

First of all, you might be a little drunk- you’ve just had to numb the sting of your day with a drink, just a small one, in a tiny grimy bar run by a tall man with bright orange skin. Second of all, you’re running on two hours of sleep and painkillers (the painkillers are slowly wearing off, to make matters worse). 

And lastly, you’re in a really bad fucking mood. 

So, when your handler slides you a note with a name and address written in ugly red letters, you think fuck it, and take the job. You should’ve known this was stupid- you should’ve done what the sober, not exhausted version of yourself would have done. But instead, you accept with a bleary nod, because, to be frank, all you want at that moment is to break something. 

So you take the note, drain your drink, and leave the bar, shrugging on your worn coat. Adrenaline is already starting to buzz beneath your skin, your knuckles tingling softly in anticipation. You had never been this excited about violence when you were younger- in fact, people might have described you as gentle, even. But now, with all the things you have witnessed, all the people you’ve lost, hitting people brought a kind of release you could find nowhere else. 

Besides, there’s no one who remembers you as that gentle person left, anyway, so who are you disappointing? Yourself? You chuckle drily into the cold air, thick with gas. 

You stop in front of the building, your hands tucked into your pockets. It is big, red, and ugly (like the ink the name had been written in, you thought), bright colourful light shining from the broken windows. A Zaunite haunt, typical for a wannabe drug lord- the kind of man you were often hired to beat up or kill. You kick into the dirt at your feet, take a deep breath. You have hardly sobered up on the walk here, so your vision is still somewhat blurry, everything swimming around you like you’re underwater. 

Broken memories of swimming in an underground lake with him flitter through your mind, and you dismiss them, muttering a curse between your teeth. You roll your shoulders and make your way inside, striding in like you own the goddamn place. 

“You can’t be here,” a goon dressed all in black calls from the top of badly painted stairs. You look at him, an ugly grin splitting your face. 

“Kick me out, then,” you say, your heart already beginning to beat a little faster. 

Before you know, goons are coming at you from the sides, cracking their knuckles. The twat at the top of the stairs sneers down at you, his teeth oily and black. 

“You don’t wanna do this,” a woman on your left growls. She’s twice as big as you, her arms covered in bright red, winding tattoos. 

“I think I do,” you answer, raising your hands, which are already curled into fists. 

She lunges first, and you catch her with a right hook in the jaw. She hardly falters, but you drive your knee into her stomach. Now, she stumbles, and you leap up, narrowly avoiding an attack from another goon. You grab goon number one- the woman- and smash your forehead into her face. Her nose explodes, red and white flying all over you as she falls backwards. You spin and grab the nearest object- a stool- and bring it smack into the second goon’s middle. He collapses, and you walk over to him, drop the stool on his head. He stops moving. 

You turn to the giant of a woman, who is standing and looking at you with pure, unadulterated hatred. Her face is broken into bits, blood and spit dribbling down her chin. “Come on, then,” you say, cracking your already sore knuckles. 

She throws herself at you, twice as angry as before. You dodge, but she catches you in the shoulder. Excruciating pain shoots through you, and you realise too late that she has wicked little claw-like contraptions on her fingers. She comes at you again, slashing wildly. You jump out of the way, once again catching a claw in the face. It slices open your left cheek; pain explodes all through the area, but you grin. A challenge- you’ve always liked that. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a child’s voice screams at you to stop, to leave, to give up. The goon from the top of the stairs is gone. You falter when you notice this- he must be warning his boss, who is your target. You double your efforts, lunging at the woman. You manage to punch her in the stomach, but your second hit, aimed at her throat, is knocked out of the way as she drives her claws into your wrist. You scream, not really in pain but in sheer shock at the sharp metal slivers protruding from your skin. 

“Should’ve left,” she sneers into your face. You spit into the bloody mess that was her nose and wrench your arm back, kicking her, hard, in the sternum. She stumbled backwards and you pull your weapon- a machete, sheathed against your back- out, spinning it around. She assesses you for a moment, with what you realise now are robotic eyes. 

Oh. 

Oh, fuck. 

You are not fighting a person, you’re fighting a robot. Or something that’s half half- the blood spilling from her face gives you the idea that she might be made of flesh and bones, but those eyes- you’ve seen them before. She’s assessing your fight patterns, and she’s going to win. 

You duck out of the way of another attack, but she manages to graze your neck with her claws. You slash wildly with your machete, to no avail- she avoids each blow easily, and the ones that do hit, she ignores happily. 

Finally, one of your attacks hits- you aim the blow upwards, and the machete carves straight through her face. Blood, huge quantities of the stuff, gushes all over you, bone shattering under the power of your blow. You yank the machete out, momentarily stunned as she stumbles to her knees, eyes fizzing out. 

“Fuck,” you pant, stumbling backwards, “fuck you.” 

Your victory is short lived. More goons are coming down the stairs, armed to the teeth. You raise your weapon, ready to fight them all if it kills you, when you feel something strange. Your shirt has been sliced open- cold hair breezes around your stomach. You look down, and are somewhat horrified to find blood; your own blood. 

All at once, you feel nausea hit. You stumble to your knees, gasping for air. She got you- you feel the pain shooting through now. She managed to sink her dirty claws into your stomach as if you were made of mist and gas. 

Everything flickers in front of you as the last few days finally hit. You’re in so much pain, it’s almost incredible- had you been an author, you would have liked to write about this one day. It’s like your insides have been ripped out (they kind of have, you suppose) and set on fire, stomped on, pissed on- you almost laugh at the thought as your head hits the ground. 

You can’t remember when you fell. 

Your vision goes dark, flickering in and out. You see the goons approach you, pick you up unceremoniously. You are outside your body, floating somewhere beyond, watching through your eyes as they drag you outside. It is raining- you wish you could feel the raindrops on your face, one last time. 

You laughed, holding out a hand. It had been a while since you had experienced rain- in the Firelights hideout, you are protected by the huge leaves of the tree; and the Firelights hideout has everything (and everyone) you could wish for, so why would you ever go outside? 

But, after hearing you sigh softly and murmur something about the only thing you miss about your old home being the rain, Ekko made it his mission to bring it back. As soon as it rained again, he took you by the arm, promising a wonderful surprise. He offered to blindfold you, but you kindly refused when you saw that he intended to take you up the tree. You had climbed together, him guiding you gently upwards; and as you’d ascended, you had heard a beautiful, soft patter; a sound that made your heart beat speed up and your throat close. Finally, you had reached the top, and he had lifted the leaves to reveal a little area above the canopy, partly shielded from the rain with a makeshift structure made of leaves and cloth. 

Now, you sat in this structure, your side flush against his, a hand held out to the pouring rain.  

“Do you like it?” He asked softly, looking at you. 

“Do I like it?” You cried, almost incredulous. “Yes, Ekko, I love it!” You turned to him, grinning so widely it almost hurt. “Thank you,” you added after a moment. “Thank you so much, Ekko.” He smiled too, and you took his face in your hands and kissed him, and Gods knew you’d never been happier. 

You’re lying in an alleyway. It’s like you can physically feel the blood leaking from you, your life draining from the gash in your stomach and the holes in your arm. The goons have left, convinced you are dead- why didn’t they check your pulse, stupid bastards? 

It has stopped raining, but you’re soaked to the bone, lying there in the dark. Someone has stolen your jacket and your machete. 

You groaned as you lifted the jacket up to the light. A bright fabric, the colour of the sunset, now stained with dark greenish grey goo. You should have known that wearing your favourite jacket down into the mines was a stupid idea, but you’d done it anyway. 

“Stupid,” you mumbled to yourself, dropping the jacket into a heap on the floor. You wondered briefly if it was salvageable, but deep down knew it wasn’t. You’d have to find a new one, which would be nowhere near as nice. 

Someone knocked on your door, and a soft voice spoke your name. 

“Come in,” you called, still staring sadly at your jacket. 

Ekko stepped inside, his presence like warm sunlight. Despite the grief caused by the ruined jacket, you smile, turning to him instantly relaxing as he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“I hear your jacket got ruined,” he said softly. 

“Yeah,” you muttered in response. “Upsetting.” He laughed. “I have something for you.” You pulled away, moving your hands to his biceps and looking at him. “What, Ekko?” You already knew what he was going to show you, but it warmed your heart all the same. 

“It’s not exactly the same colour,” he said apologetically, “but-“ 

You put a hand over his mouth, beaming. “I don’t care,” you said. 

He smiled back at you, releasing you to pull something out of his bag. It was neatly folded, but he held it out to you. You shook it out, and found a jacket, almost identical to the one that you had just ruined; it was a slightly lighter shade of orange, and the pattern on the back was a tree instead of the flowers you’d had on your last one. 

“You’re insane,” you said, in awe. You put the jacket on- it was a little too big, but who gave a shit? It was your jacket, gifted to you by your boy. 

You blink back into consciousness, and almost screamed. The pain coursing through you is like nothing you’d ever imagined; like being electrocuted and burned and drowned all at the same time. Despite the gaping hole in you, you want to curl up, to shield yourself from the wet and cold and pain. 

“Please,” you whimper into the ground, “please, no.” 

It’s not that you don’t want to die. In fact, you welcome death- you see it as a release more than anything else, from the bullshit life you lead. But dying here, like this- 

You start to cry, and you gag and retch as tears spill mercilessly. 

You are about to give in- you have given in- when a bright light seems to fill your vision. It is green and orange and yellow and pink and warm and fills everything around you. For a moment you think you’ve died, and this is some kind deity welcoming you into the next life, whispering I forgive you don’t worry as it carries you away. But no, the truth is much harsher than that. 

A face hovers into your field of vision, and warm hands tug your shirt upwards. You want to protest, but your throat is dry from all the retching and sobbing you’ve been doing. A cloth presses down into the wound in your stomach and you howl, eyes rolling back in your head as the pain grabs you by the throat and fucking throttles you. 

“Stop,” you manage to whimper. “Why- why are you doing this?” Your voice is hoarse, you’re crying again as you try to shut out the pain. 

You hear shouting- words like help and home and quick- and black out again. 

When you come to, you are no longer lying wet and dying in an alleyway miles from home (where even is home anymore? It’s just you, and that orange jacket, which you don’t even have anymore). 

Your surroundings slowly swim into focus (swimming, your brain sings, swimming in an underwater cave, hands on your waist, kisses all over). You are lying down, mercifully dry and warm. Pain pumps through you in waves, mostly coming from your wrist and your stomach. You wonder, again, if this is some afterlife- if so, it is far less cruel than your parents described. 

But then, you turn your head, and pain sears through you. 

But that is not what makes you cry. 

He lifts his head instantly as he hears your quiet sobs, and he’s at your side, a hand carefully gripping yours (he’s avoiding the bloody bandage wrapped around your wrist, you realise), the other gently brushing soft fingers over your bruised face. “It’s okay,” he says, even though you think he doesn’t mean it. It’s not okay- you ran away, got yourself beat up, almost killed, and he’s had to rescue you. Of course it’s not okay.

“Ekko,” you whimper. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, stroking your hair away from his face. Instinctively, you curl away, wanting to hide your injury from him. He shakes his head, his eyes brimming with tears (or maybe you’re delusional, because who would cry over you?) 

“I-“ Your words are lost in a pathetic sob, and you turn your face away from him. 

“Don’t,” he says. A pause. “How are you feeling?” 

You croak out what should’ve been fuck but instead comes out as a bad imitation . You would’ve laughed, in any other situation. 

“What happened?” His voice is so soft, so kind, it makes you want to rip your eyeballs out and stuff them into your ears. 

You shake your head. You don’t want him to know what you’ve been up to since you left the Firelights. 

He lets go of your hand, and for a moment you think he’s leaving you. It wouldn’t surprise you, to be honest. But no, he doesn’t leave you. Instead, he leans over, inspects the bandages wrapped around your midsection. Your mind instantly flashes to him prodding it, digging his fingers into your wound and calling you names. You wouldn’t blame him. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says finally, still glaring at your bandaged stomach. 

“Excuse me?” That is the first full statement you manage to force past your shredded throat. 

“You’re an idiot,” he repeats with just as much gusto. “I mean, how could you just go and do this?” He gestures at your injuries. 

“I didn’t-“ 

“What, think? Yeah, I can tell.” His face is partly obscured, so you can’t tell what face he’s making. 

“I-“ 

“You’re so stupid. I mean, did you really think you could survive taking on all of the goons in that building?” He snorts to himself. “At least tell me the pay was worth it.” 

You’re somewhat incredulous. All the time you’ve known Ekko, he’s never been this outright mean to you. 

“What-“ you sputter, unable to find the words. 

“Did you not think for a moment that you might get killed?” He puts extra emphasis on the word killed, and it’s like a punch in the gut. When he turns his gaze onto you, you think you’d prefer to have the goons rip you apart than see him look at you like this ever again. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage to say through a fresh tightening in your throat. Your eyes sting and you’re about to turn away when you see his expression. 

He’s smiling. 

“What?” You almost choke out. “What is it?” 

His smile is the softest thing you’ve ever seen. It’s the sunlight, shining through the leaves of the tree; it’s the rain gently pattering on the roof of your childhood home. It’s the smell of old books and wood. 

It’s so painfully home. 

Your eyes sting, and you turn your face away from him, swallowing the bile rising in your throat. He still smiles at you like that, after everything you’ve done. 

He takes your hand again, his other beginning to gently trace patterns on the bandage on your stomach. It’s such a soft, kind gesture. He used to do that, you remember with a pang, when you two would lie in bed together: draw little patterns on your back with his fingers, when he thought you were asleep. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and for the first time, you wholeheartedly believe him. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, because those are the only words your throat will allow out. “I am.” 

“I know,” he murmurs. He hesitates, then leans forwards, kissing your forehead gently. “Just…” he trails off, his gaze now focused back on your bruised face. “Don’t do that again.” 

You promise him. Not with words, but with the feeling in your chest, the loosening of your lungs and throat as you watch him watch you. You promise him with the way your knuckles have stopped aching for more skin to break, with the way your eyes water again. 

You promise him with all that you have, because that is the least you can do for him. 

“I love you,” you mumble, almost sheepishly. 

“I love you too,” he answers; there is no hesitation, no layered but only if… behind the words. He says it back with the same confidence he gives orders, the words more of a declaration than softly spoken pretty things. 

“I’m sorry,” you add, after a few moments of just watching him breathe. 

“I love you,” is his answer. 

You shut your eyes, and he squeezes your hand. 

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

Hello, I am Tareq from Gaza Iam trying save my family from the genocide happening here. I ask for your help in spreading my story and donating if you can contribute anything, no matter how small.Please don,t forget to sharethe latest post from my page and follow my account to help spread the story to the world. Thank you.

Please I know my “platform” is tiny but spread awareness. I am unable to donate but please please please if you can

I’m sorry if this is badly worded I don’t really know how to do these posts. But that’s not the focus

Please donate or spread to help

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

hidden frames in the Act 2 opening sequence

Act 1

Act 3

link

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

damn this is so cool. a little preview for everything to come

Act 2

Act 3

link

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

Stolen scarves

Ekko x reader

Summary: you've had a long day, and it's nowhere near over- all you want is some warmth from your favourite scarf. But when you find the scarf missing and a cryptic note, you will stop at nothing to retrieve it. ▸Set at an undefined time, no spoilers!!, no use of Y/N, gender neutral reader

Warnings: use of the word fuck, possibly suggestive if you squint and I mean SQUINT !

A/N: mostly wrote this for my best friend who has been a slut in my messages for this man (slash affectionate). enjoy all u other people

It’s been a long day running errands for the Firelights, and you’re pretty damn desperate for a nap. 

However, that won’t be happening for a long time. You still have outrageous amounts of tasks to complete, and you’ve agreed to do multiple favours for friends- one being a trip to the other side of the Undercity, which you are very much not looking forwards to. 

You sigh and run a hand through your hair, stepping into the Firelight sanctuary for a brief moment of peace. Although you are not yet able to lie down and go to sleep, you can still take a moment to relax your muscles (and find your scarf- it’s fucking freezing.) 

You see a small group crowded around a small fire (set up far away enough from the tree to not be any danger to it). You make your way over, waving at a Firelight on a hoverboard redoing the paint on the mural. You take a seat on a bench and stretch your legs out, groaning. God, you hadn’t realised how sore you were until now. You crack your neck, sighing. 

You give yourself a total of five minutes to relax before you’re up again. You head up into your room, located in one of the structures built into the tree. 

When you go in, you find your cupboard doors open. You feel no fear, no worry- no one could ever find this place; and besides, if they did, why would they go for your clothes? 

You rifle through the contents of your wardrobe for a moment, and, with a sinking heart, realise that your scarf is nowhere to be seen. You look again, upturning your clothes multiple times, before you give up, falling back onto your bed and pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. 

“Motherfuckin’ shit,” you mutter to yourself. 

Once you have recovered from the absolute horror of your missing scarf, you sit up again- and spot a note on your desk. It’s pinned down by an adorable little owl, carved out of wood you suspect may have come from the suspicious chunk newly missing from your desk. 

You stand and walk over, carefully moving the owl and picking up the note. It takes a moment for you to decipher the monstrously bad handwriting, but when you do, you snort to yourself. 

I BORROWED your scarf 

Will return it soon, promise - 

♡

You shake your head at the note, chuckling incredulously. You could recognise that handwriting anywhere; as if the owl weren’t enough of an indication of who had stolen your scarf. You carefully lift the note and pin it to your wall, amongst a growing collection of similar notes. All signed with the same little heart. You put the owl in a miniature treasure chest, among an assortment of other wooden animals. (If he continues carving chunks out of your desk, you will soon have nothing left). 

You will borrow a scarf from a friend, you tell yourself, still smiling fondly. 

Once you have acquired a replacement scarf (from another Firelight, called Jem), you head out again, ready to carry on with your tasks. It takes a little longer than expected, but when you make it home, exhausted and soggy, your heart lifts. The tree, as always, is lit with golden lights. You can hear children laughing; Scar must be doing his weekly story time. You smile to yourself, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck- you must return it to Jem tomorrow, once you have reacquired your own. 

You make your way up to your room, shivering slightly in your wet clothes. Once the door is locked behind you, you make quick work of getting your clothes off (you discard them in a corner and swear to yourself that you will hang them out to dry later, which you won’t) and changing into something more casual and comfortable. Once you are done, you head outside again, wrapped now in a long black dressing gown coat thing that another Firelight half sewed, half knitted for you using scraps. It is fully dark, the area lit only by the soft gold and green lights scattered around the tree. Almost everyone is inside, in the warm. You are quick to join them, signing contently once you are back in the warmth. You spot Scar, now done with story time, and jog over to him, nudging him in the shoulder. 

“Hey,” you say softly, so as not to startle his daughter, who is snoozing in his lap, “have you seen Ekko?” “Our glorious leader?” Scar shakes his head. “No, I haven’t- but Annie said he was up in his room.” 

You nod and pat Scar on the back, smiling at him. “Thanks,” you murmur. He nods back, also smiling. You and Ekko think you’re so slick, keeping your relationship a secret, but the bounce in your step as you practically sprint towards Ekko’s room says everything he needs to know. 

At first, you plan on not knocking- just barge into his room, tackle him to the ground, steal the scarf back in a sneak attack.  However, as you get closer to the door, and as your heart warms, you decide to go with the peaceful approach. You knock and step back, putting on an official demeanor for anyone who might be passing. You are keeping this relationship a secret, after all. 

The door swings open, and you are greeted with the most beautiful boy of all time, wearing an extremely comfortable looking scarf. Your scarf; you’ll be damned if you don’t get that thing back. 

He steps aside, a silent invitation into his room. You smile at him cheekily as you pass, wrapping your fingers around the scarf. The door clicks shut behind you as you tug him over to you. “That,” you say, swerving out of the way as he tries to kiss you, “is my scarf.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answers, grinning and winding his arms around your waist. 

You scoff at him, playfully wounded. As you are opening your mouth to protest, he leans in, managing to kiss you. As always, it is soft; as always, it makes your legs turn to jelly and your stomach do strange little somersaults. You kiss him back, pulling him closer by the scarf still wound around his neck. 

“I want it back,” you whisper, and he laughs (the arrogant bastard), pulling you into a hug. You nuzzle into the soft fabric of the scarf, secretly wishing for his skin instead- you have found that the crook of his neck is a rather delightful place for you to kiss. 

“You smell like a wet dog,” he mumbles into your forehead, following the harsh words with a kiss. 

“Fuck you,” is your eloquent response. “Right now?” You can practically feel his smirk, so cocky, as he peppers kisses over your face. As he does so, you lean into him, carefully unwinding the scarf from around his neck. It’s a slow process (although your partner’s kisses make it bearable) but you finally manage to remove it completely. You hold it triumphantly over your head, aha!ing victoriously. He looks at you, somewhat incredulous, although he is grinning. You are quick to follow, wrapping your arms around his neck again. 

“Thief,” he whispers into your ear. 

“Is it stealing if it’s already mine?” You quip in response, laughing with him. He kisses right below your ear, and you almost melt into him. 

“Also,” you manage to say, although your voice is slightly shaky as he continues to kiss your neck, “you need to stop cutting chunks out of my desk. I need somewhere to write, you know.” 

“You can use mine,” he murmurs. His hands fall to your waist. “I’ll give you a key, come in anytime you want. Don’t even have to knock.” “Ekko,” you say, because you don’t have the words to tell him quite how much this means to you. You can’t really tell if this is his way of inviting you officially into his life, but if it is, God knows you accept. 

“I mean it,” he says. He’s stopped kissing you now, has pulled back to look at you properly. The way he is looking at you- it is somewhat similar to how he looks at the tree, full of love and maybe a little bit of pride. You make a note to tease him about it later. 

“They’ll all know,” are your words. 

“They already do,” he responds with a cheeky smile. You know he’s right. 

“Okay,” you say, softly, your smile widening. “Yeah, okay, I’ll take your key.” 

“Ah-“ his grin widens to, and he steps away from you completely. “There is one condition.”

You quirk an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Oh yeah? What’s that, owl boy?” 

He snorts at the nickname, mimicking your stance. “I get to keep the scarf.” 

Oh, the sly bastard. You should have known that he had some ulterior motive, some secret plan. 

“I should’ve known,” you whisper, placing the scarf over your heart. “I should’ve known you were going to stab me in the back.” 

He laughs at you- downright laughs, as if this isn’t the most earth-shattering thing ever. (You are holding in your own laugh, but he doesn’t need to know that). 

“Don’t laugh at me,” you cry. “Don’t- you dare-“ 

He is still laughing as he steps forwards, wrapping his arms around you once again and pulling you flush against him. You start to laugh, and you put your arms around his neck, tossing your head back. He snatches the scarf from your hands and wraps it around his neck, leaving a long extra part, which he then puts around your neck. Had you not been completely focused on how beautiful he looks, and how happy you are, you would have worried about the possible health hazards of this. He kisses you, drawing you in, pushing you softly towards the bed. You kiss back, cupping his face in your hands, your breath catching in your throat. He turns then, sitting down on the bed. You make quick work of unwinding the scarf again, tossing it to the side as you join him on the bed. You giggle as you both tumble down, so you are lying on top of him, your hair all in his face. You pepper his face with kisses, like he did to you, and he is grinning so widely it makes your chest hurt a little. And then you’re kissing again, his mouth on yours, his hands on your back, pulling you always closer. 

At some point, this stops, and you find yourself lying facing him in the small bed, pressed close to each other. Your forehead is against his, and you are just looking- looking in a way that you were unable to before you two became a thing. Staring without shame, taking in every detail of his face. The traces of white paint still on his face, the way his eyes are half shut as he looks at you with the same attention. His arm is flopped lazily around your waist, toying lightly with the fabric of your shirt. 

“You can keep the scarf,” you whisper to him, and he smiles in a way that makes you immediately bridge the tiny gap between you two and press your mouth to his once again. 

You stay like that for a while, lying so close to each other you may as well be one, whispering to each other and kissing. You feel like a teenager- or at least, what you imagine a Piltie teenager might feel like, with their first ever school crush- with the butterflies in your stomach and the erratic beating of your heart. At some point, he puts his fingers over your pulse and holds them there, breathing in time with your heartbeat. You drift off then, slipping in and out of sleep for the next few hours. 

When you wake, it’s still night. You nudge Ekko, and he groggily opens his eyes, immediately on alert. You smile at him, reassuringly tracing his cheekbone. 

“I should go,” you whisper, although you really really don’t want to. 

He shakes his head at you. “No,” he grumbles, his voice rough with sleep. 

“Yes,” you murmur. “The walk of shame is my favourite part of being with you,” you add playfully. 

“Stay,” he whispers. His eyes are closing, and you know there’s no arguing. 

You wait, count sixty seconds in your head, before you kiss his forehead, smiling to yourself. “Alright,” you murmur to yourself more than to him, “I’ll stay.” 

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

in the middle of writing an abby anderson angstfest but i accidentally started listening to the wrong song so i might now have to write a steb crack fic

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

the most important thing to take away from all this is that the fish guy survived

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

✩‧₊˚ bad with words

Steb x reader

Summary: after an exhausting (undefined) meeting, you find a moment of peace in your home, with an old friend.

No spoilers, no dialogue, no use of Y/N. Set at undefined time. sfw as always (although be aware of sultry eye contact)

Warnings: profanity (fuck, said once), kinda short

A/N: I hope the three Steb fans out there enjoy this one ! English IS my first language, but this shit is not proofread. bon appetit

You don’t really register how exhausted you are until you leave the council meeting. 

As the door shuts behind you, your armour seems to turn to lead; giant hands press down on your shoulders, softly whispering to you to lie down and close your eyes. 

You do neither of those things. In fact, you do the opposite: you straighten your posture. You readjust the collar of your shirt, fix your breastplate. You even comb your hand through your hair. 

There is nothing more important than being strong, you tell yourself as you head down towards the stairs. Your appearance contributes to most of that strength. 

However, when you see who is waiting for you at the window downstairs, the facade gets considerably more difficult to uphold. 

He turns to you, his eyes wide and so unbearably blue. He bows his head at the sight of you; people often do, intimidated by your shining armour and the way you hold your chin up.

He does it because, unbeknownst to you, he can’t hold your gaze for more than five seconds. 

You don’t say a word. Your shoulder brushes his as you walk past, and that is enough for him to follow you, his gaze fixed on the spot between your shoulder blades. 

You and Steb have always been good at communicating nonverbally; words are rarely spoken when it’s just the two of you. But that is no bad thing. 

You listen to his steady footsteps, glancing at him when he comes up beside you. The stupid, traitorous part of you longs to reach for his hand. Thankfully, you are still somewhat in control of your own body; you keep your hands balled into fists by your side. He doesn’t notice (he does). 

You make it to your apartment without saying anything brash (although it is hard). Only when the door is locked and he is standing, half of his face lit up by the soft lights shining through the window, does your strength waver. 

You swallow, passing your dry tongue over your lips. Your heart is pounding. He is watching you in that strange way of his; curious, but not cruel. 

Your resolve crumbles all at once. 

You don’t cry; but your shoulders sag, and your knees wobble, and you stumble towards him. He catches you, looping his arms under yours, holding you up despite the weight of the armour you are still wearing. You sag against him, the hard lines of your armour digging into your skin. 

After a moment, he pulls away. You nearly cry then, your fingers digging into his arms. He tilts his head lightly, motioning for you to turn around. You furrow your brow at him. He pries your fingers off, gently guiding you back. He makes the same circling motion with his hands, and you obey this time, turning so your back is to him. 

Slowly, you feel the straps of your armour coming undone. Your breath stutters in your throat and your legs turn to jelly; but you don’t fall, don’t even sway. Even here, you need to be strong. 

As the plate that covered your back comes away, you begin to work at the bands wrapped around your forearms. Steb shifts and appears at your side, working at the straps over your shoulders. You let him, unable to pull away from the soft warmth of his proximity. 

Why are you doing this? You want to ask. You want to scream it until your throat is raw. There is a reason why you wear that armour- the illusion of strength, which he is so easily pulling apart with a simple twitch of his mouth. 

Your breastplate comes off, and you’re left in a soft white undershirt and the plates on your legs. He hesitates for a moment, facing you, and you nod, once, quickly. Your eyes shift away just as he gets down on one knee. His fingers nimbly unlace the remaining armour, leaving your boots untouched. He brushes his knuckles over a bandage wrapped around your calf; you shiver and almost gasp. 

He is painstakingly slow with it, careful not to damage any of your kit. When he’s finally done, he stays there, looking up at you with the prettiest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. 

Fuck it, you think. Your heart is pounding, your lungs are so tight you might pass out, and your legs might just fail you if he keeps looking up at you like that. 

You tug off your gloves, and you are vulnerable before him, dressed in soft white clothes, your armour scattered around you. He has never seen your bare hands before, and they are a sight to behold: soft skin, knuckles reddened, marred with old cracks. Your nails are broken and bitten. 

You take his face in your hands and draw him up. He stands, his own hands automatically finding your waist, then, almost nervously, going to cover yours. His eyes are wide, his skin soft against your touch. You had always wondered how this would feel. 

There are so many things you want to say to him in that moment. You feel bare before him; you may as well be out with it, all the grand feelings battling in your aching chest. He has seen you now, stripped of your weapons and armour, hands bare, eyes half-shut as you swallow all the emotion clogging your throat.  

But you’ve never been one for words, and neither has he. 

You think about kissing him. You picture it, and it amplifies all of your feelings tenfold. You picture his warm breath fanning your face; you imagine his eyes shut, his brow furrowed, that tic in his jaw finally loosened as your fingers brush over it. 

Before you are able to do it, your legs seem to give way, and he catches you, pulling you tight against him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he supports most of your weight, his face falling to the crook of your neck. If you concentrate, you can feel his mouth, not quite but almost kissing the skin there. You tighten your grip on him, as does he. 

You think about all the unsaid things that have passed between you. The looks, the brushes of your gloved hand against his; the absence of horror from his gaze, even as he watched you beat a man to death with your own bloody, bruised knuckles. All the times he has put his hand on your shoulder and squeezed softly, all the times you have brushed against his arm when you hoped he wouldn’t notice (of course he noticed, it’s you). You think about him, and all that he has done for you. It returns the strength to your legs. Enough for you to support yourself, push away from him ever so slightly, press your forehead to his and look directly into his eyes for the first time in a long time. He does not look away, unlike all the other times your gaze has caught his. He falters, and his eyes flitter for a moment, but as your hands come up again to cup his face, he seems to give up against whatever feelings are warring within him. 

All of the things you’ve wanted to say disappear, and you smile very lightly. 

Neither of you have ever been very good with words. 

You kiss him, your eyes shutting almost immediately. He kisses back just as eagerly, pulling you closer, his hand finding the small of your back. His mouth is just as soft as you pictured, and you can feel his fluttering gills against your cheekbones. He is still holding you up, even though you don’t feel you need it anymore. 

When you pull away, your heart is no longer pounding. Your breath is even, synchronised with his. 

And he smiles, and you smile back. 

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

⭐︎ INFO !! ⭐︎

...................................

◦ General info

▹ My name is Lev (I also go by Rat for close friends)

▹ All the stuff I write for are also special interests I've had, so if u wanna talk about them u know who to message !

▹ I only write sfw (I'm asexual and uncomfortable writing anything but that). I don't write anything x underage character unless it's strictly platonic. I'm doing A-levels, so I'm BUSYBUSY a lot which means I may not check notifs!! please be nice to me. I usually prefer to write x reader, but I'm happy to try writing a pairing (character x character or character x OC) as long as it's not weird. ALSO i don't write real peope (actors singers etc...) bcs i find that kinda weird idk... i think thats it

▹ when i write x reader, it's ALWAYS gender neutral UNLESS SPECIFIED OTHERWISE

◦ Things I write for !!

♦︎ Games

The Last Of Us

Detroit Become Human

A Plague Tale

Resident Evil (I have watched/played RE0, RE2R, RE3R, RE4R, RE6, RE7, and RE8) Note: some characters I may not be able to write for!! I'd be happy to try, so ask anyway, but yeah keep that in mind

Tomb Raider (trilogy)

Uncharted (A Thief's End and Lost Legacy)

♠︎ Shows

The Last Of Us (again)

Once Upon A Time (only up to S3 unfortunately)

ARCANE (foaming at the mouth going insane)

Blue Eye Samurai

Moon Knight, Hawkeye, TFATWS, Wandavision, Agent Carter (these are the only MCU shows I've watched)

Some of the Resident Evil stuff (Infinite Darkness. That's it)

Shadow and Bone

Criminal Minds (up to the start of s7)

♣︎ Movies

The Maze Runner

The Hunger Games

All MCU stuff up to like. mid phase 4 (when in doubt just ask)

Harry Potter

Death Island, Vendetta (RE stuff again)

♥︎ Books

See movies- I've read all the ones that double as books (I'm pretty sure)

Magnus Chase (pleasepleaseplease i am so happy to write for this its been my comfort book since i was nine)

Six of Crows

wings of fire……..

⭐︎ EXTRA INFO

Music I like

Ethel Cain, Florence + the Machine, Wolf Alice, David Bowie, Queen, The Beatles

Don't hesitate to hmu - doesn't have to be for a request, we can just chat as long as you're nice to me ^^

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

Home.

Jinx x reader

Summary: set between Act 1 and 2 of Arcane season 2. You find a moment of calm at home with Jinx, Isha, and a stray dog you've found along the way.

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane season 1, tooth-rotting fluff (I hope) not proofread

No use of Y/N, no pronouns used for reader, no gender specific terms etc...

A/N: WHOO first piece of writing by Lev on this blog yippee!! I sincerely hope you all enjoy this lolsies. Please interact! I'm taking requests teehee

You don’t remember the last time you felt this at peace. 

It is like a buzzing, filling your chest, lifting you practically off your feet as you make my way home. 

This feeling is manufactured- it is not coming from the outside. It comes from deep inside your chest, thrumming happily, snuggled between your lungs, right below your heart. There are reasons for this warmth, this light- well, one reason. Her name is Jinx. 

When you say you’re going home, all you really think of is her. Yes, her lair is home- it is warm, and cozy, and as safe as a hot air balloon suspended above what seems to be an infinite void can be- but without her, it would be nothing. 

She is the light that fills your chest, with her bright smile and ridiculously long blue hair and perfect pink eyes. She is the weight on your lungs, making it hard to breathe when you think of her. She’s all the cheesy, corny shit the romance authors you hated so as a child wrote. Only instead of being a character, only words on a worn out page, she’s real, and she’s only a two minute walk away from where you are now. 

You have a satchel slung over your shoulder, the Dog (you don’t know when it became your dog; it just appeared by your side one day, and hasn’t left since) trotting along beside you. Its fur is matted. You reach down and scratch between its ears as you near the Last Drop, smiling to yourself. Never had you thought you would be living this life- on your way home, supplies for Jinx in your bag, the Dog padding alongside you- it is so domestic, so soft, so clean (despite the grime of the Fissures, the thickness of the air, the moaning of the people crowding the sides of the streets). This life is so unlike anything you remember your parents having. 

You take the quick route into Jinx’s lair, the dog following happily, its pink tongue lolling. You should name it, you think as you step onto one of the propellers. 

After Silco had died, you had expected the place to fall into disrepair; you had thought the lights would stop twinkling, and the tinny music would stop playing, and the workstations would gather dust until finally the propellers snapped and fell, taking Jinx with them. And yes, that had started to happen. But then, Jinx had met the kid. Isha, you had called her. All of you, huddled around an old, matted baby names book one of you had found at a scrapyard, pointing out names to each other. Isha, the kid had pointed at, a huge, toothy grin splitting her round face. One who protects. You had closed the book then, knowing that it was perfect. Jinx had smiled at you over the newly baptized Isha’s head, and you had smiled right back, squeezing her hand in yours. You had tossed the book down, into the void below. 

Now, your home was transformed. Jinx’s creepy dolls were gone, replaced with different colourful toys and gadgets picked out or made by Isha. The walls were covered in crayon drawings of all kinds of things- dragons, flowers, the three of you in fields of green and blue and pink and orange. There was a tent set up in the corner, full of Isha’s belongings. It was where you all slept, huddled together like a litter of cats. You love the place. 

At first, you think they’re both out. You call out, and when no answer comes, you venture further in, dropping your bag by Jinx’s workbench. The Dog sniffs around, its tail wagging as it comes closer and closer to an odd lump covered in blankets. You grin to yourself, putting a hand on your hip, tapping your chin with the knuckles of the other. “Hmm,” you muse to yourself, purposefully ignoring the giggle coming from the blankets, “wowie, I wonder where Isha and Jinx could possibly be.” You go in the opposite direction, checking under the workbench, scratching your head. The Dog watches, its eyes saying Can’t you see them? They’re right here! You wink at it, and it sits, tilting its head. “They must have gone out,” you declare loudly as the giggles intensify. “Guess I have this whole place to myself! Finally, I am rid of those stinky-“ 

As you are talking, you approach the mess of blankets. Before you are able to finish that last sentence, a small orange and blue bundle barrels into your legs, almost knocking you flat on your back. Isha launches herself into your arms, grinning her toothy grin as you spin her around. 

“Oh my goodness!” You cry, “where were you hiding? You really are a master sleuth!” Jinx, still have tangled in the blankets, barks a laugh. You hug Isha to your chest and raise an eyebrow at her, mouthing you couldn’t hide anywhere better? She flips you off, but she is smiling. 

She stands and joins you and Isha, her hand finding the small of your back, the other going to Isha’s shoulder. 

“I have a surprise,” you whisper to the child, “but don’t tell Jinx, mmkay?” 

Jinx tilts her head, still smiling. Isha nods solemnly. 

“I found waffles,” you breathe, looking at Jinx out of the corner of your eye. Isha gasps and puts her hands over her mouth. Through trial and error, you and Jinx had discovered that the little one seemed to live for waffles. You now went out of your way, as the only one with your face not plastered all over the place, to find the sweet treat. 

“Gee, I wonder what the surprise could be,” Jinx says, playing along. She follows as you carry Isha to your bag. You set the kid down, the Dog nuzzling into her hand. You rifle around for a moment, and finally pull out the waffles. Jinx lets out a loud gasp, and Isha turns to her, delighted, pleased with herself that she was able to keep this secret. 

“Waffles?” Jinx cries. Isha claps her hands together, startling the Dog. 

You all sit together in the tent, sharing the waffles off the same plate. Isha (who thinks she’s being slick) keeps sneaking pieces of her food to the Dog, who delightedly licks it off her hand. She giggles every time, earning an affectionate look from you and Jinx. 

Once you have finished the waffles, you push the plate away and lie down. Soon, Isha curls into a ball in the space between your knees and your stomach, settling her head on your legs. Jinx dims the lights, then joins you; the two of you become a protective cocoon around the now snoring Isha. The Dog squishes itself in between you and Isha, resting its head on the kid’s side and looking up at you adoringly. You brush a strand of hair from Jinx’s face and smile. She smiles right back. She’s been smiling so much recently. 

“This is perfect,” you whisper to her once you’re sure Isha is fast asleep. 

She smiles, but doesn’t answer. One of her hands rests on your waist, and her fingers trace soothing patterns there. 

“I thought,” she begins, then stops, frowning. Her other fingers tighten around your hand. “I thought that, with Silco gone, there was nothing left for me.” Her words hurt you; it stings somewhere deep in your stomach to hear that she is in any kind of pain. 

“But then… I met the kid,” she continues. “And then I found you.” 

You feel an overwhelming wave of affection for the girl lying in front of you then. A girl you had once known what feels like a very long time ago; a girl who had once had blue eyes and the same wide, toothy smile as Isha. A girl who had been part of your distant past, who was now back in your life. She was right; despite having known each other your whole lives, you have really only just found each other. 

“And- and I realised that maybe, maybe Silco wasn’t all I needed. Maybe…” she trails off, but she has said enough. You shuffle forwards (careful not to disturb Isha or the dog) so that your forehead is only centimetres from hers. She meets you halfway, pressing her forehead to yours; your noses brush, and you smile, reaching up to cup her face. 

“I love you, Blue,” you whisper. A name, who she has always been to you. Blue. Blue like the sky, like the sea. Blue like the warm, the fluttering bird nestled in your chest. 

For a moment, you think she is going to cry. But she only pulls you closer, and whispers the same words back to you, your name uttered like a prayer. 

You close your eyes and smile, and her breathing slows. 

As you fall asleep, you think: 

You have never felt this at peace before. 

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

nothing is stronger than the bond between an aroace and their favorite fictional character