#Attaches death squads

[riacte]

so hey guys i finished dungeon meshi yesterday and i'm still thinking about it

[viscanpikamine]

Am so normal about these two, I have never gotten over them (canon isn’t real and therefore cant hurt me)

College AU Darman/Etain, I fully blame @sugaarquoted for all the madness that is to come because of this specific AU

[clare-875]

Show Me (Levi x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader Summary: You make the mistake of hiding your injury from Levi Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Descriptions of blood, injury and canonical violence [AOT Masterlist] _____

It hurt. The gash on your side brought you almost to tears, and the anguish was rich. It threatened to invade the composure of your mind, but you kept your form still and enveloped with gritted facade. You were a Captain of the Scouts, and the losses and injuries upon this mission were heavy. I can't cause more burden, not when more need help over me. Oblivious to some members of the Scouts and blatantly obvious to others were the beliefs of one person who would immediately contradict your current thoughts; Levi. You knew what he would say and do if he saw you injured, especially in a state like this; he wouldn't listen to your incessant reassurance. But even more so, you could imagine his anger as he forced how you got the injury out of you. He would berate your carelessness and your reckless conduct. But in your mind, you did what any leader of the Scouts, or truly any good-hearted soldier would do; you risked your life to save another's.

She had been young, and she was screaming like her life depended on it; because it did. You knew she was a rookie and evidently of a squad that had been wiped out during the dire events of the mission. She had witnessed as her squadmates and no doubt close friends and mentors were ripped apart. The scene was of unspeakable crimson red. The sudden ambush of Titans upon what was meant to be a simple recon mission had an incredibly adverse outcome. Erwin would likely be displeased to learn he had lost around half the Scouts and many new members. The newer members were the ones that would keep the ambitions of the deceased alive, for humanity, or at least that's what the blond-haired Commander would often say. But you also found yourself agreeing. The goal now was clear as day: to abandon recon and limit as much loss and death as possible. That's why you told your squad to stay put when you heard a distant screaming. They had looked at you hesitant but complied.

She was within the grasp of a fifteen-meter Titan, wide brown eyes seeping with fear, dread, and hysteria. She was facing the very cause of her impending death, facing the pain that would inevitably come as she was digested alive. Brown pigtails swayed as she thrashed and moved violently, voice lost in mania. She embodied images of children you would see running about within the walls; the very innocence and individuals we all tried so hard to protect. You knew you had to be fast, but two smaller titans lingered, crazed looks upon their mutilated faces. You can't afford to hesitate. You stand atop your horse as you latch onto one of the smaller Titans quickly slicing through the nape before it even knew it was falling. You move not wasting your time, and attach to the next, turning in a series of well-practised movements before the other Titan falls to the ground.

The problematic fragment of the rescue came with the very Titan that had the young Scout in its hand. You couldn't kill it carelessly as that may mean the young scout dies or gets injured on impact; your movements would have to be wary. You attach to the shoulder of the fifteen-meter Titan, and you see in the young girl's eyes that she is lost in her terror as the pressure of the Titan���s grasp seems to surge. You move as you see her gaze widen; she is rapt in fear and disillusion; she is barely responsive. You strike, swiftly cutting through the nape, but trying to follow the movements of the Titan falling to gather the young scout into your arms before she falls. She is there, just about with you as she screams when the Titan falls to its knees. However, you underestimate the extent of the girl's terror. Instead of recognising your form coming to her rescue, she panics and tries to release her ODM gear, but it's broken. As wires release from her gear erratically, one side grazes your side severely. In a split second, you feel searing pain and shock, but you manage to get the girl to the ground safely as she is finally within your arms.

When you reach the grassy floor, she is still shaking in your grasp, sobs racking her body and breaths concerningly uneven. You, on the other hand, look down beyond your Scout cape; the cut is deep. Not enough to be fatal immediately but also enough to leave room for worry; not good. The girl's eyes look to you now, and her tearful eyes follow your gaze to your side, eyes widening at the sight of blood. Your blood; a Captain's blood. You hear her breath stutter, and her eyes widen further; she's panicking more and in an uncertain situation that’s not something you need. So, quickly, you hide the crimson behind your cape, holding your right side harshly with your left grip. Then you grab the girl by her shoulder with your free hand and look intently into her eyes. "Hey, breathe, it's okay." She looks to you, but she has yet to verbalise anything. She is dissociated and tense, a clear sign of PTSD.

You quickly call for your horse with a whistle, and she approaches swiftly much to your gratitude. "We're going to rejoin the rest of the Scouts, okay?" The young Scout hesitantly nods, and you gesture to the horse as she gets on. You quickly gather a loose cloth you had in a bag attached to your horse and wrap it around your torso, the girl looking worriedly on. "A-are you going to be o-okay?" Her eyes are filled with the trauma of seeing death take her allies; seeing death tempt her own life. So, you do your best to smile before tying off your makeshift bandage. "Don't worry about this, it's just a scratch." However, you cringe internally at the sharp pain that strikes you as you go to mount your horse behind the young Scout. It was worse than you were letting on. You look at the sight of three steaming Titans around you and then at the limbs and barely discernible figures of your comrades drowning in red. Heavy emotion fills you, but there are more pressing matters at hand. "Let's go."

When you return to your squad, after swearing the girl to secrecy, the pain worsens. It's thick and demanding as the initial adrenaline wears off, but as you see the masses of Scouts cringe and cry as they get onto the limited carts, you stop yourself from a moment's weakness. You would be fine. The girl follows your second-in-command as they take her to find another squad, her brown eyes lingering as you nod. Then, your eyes meet with worried grey; it's Levi. He approaches atop his horse as other squad members get ready to go back to the walls after the appalling mission. "[y/n]," Levi's voice is low, but his gaze is sharp as he searches you for any visible signs of harm. When he eyes crimson on your hands his gaze widens, and you almost panic. "It's not mine, don't worry." You find yourself lying through your teeth. You didn't know why. Maybe it was pride, maybe you didn't want to be a burden, maybe you didn't want him to worry. But you lied anyway.

Levi seems hesitant to let the matter go, but he nods slowly before Erwin's voice rings through the air. His blue eyes still glow in the light of the falling sun, but you see exhaustion carefully hidden beneath the facade; the mission had failed. "All troops, back to the walls!" His voice carries across the small gathering of the small number of Scouts left behind, and you hear Levi's voice uttered lowly before you go to gallop. "Stay close." You nod but force yourself not to groan. He and his squad are beside yours the entirety of the ride home, Levi still at unease after the atrocious events of the day. He would rather die than see the one person he swore to protect lost to him because of a simple matter of separation. Little did he know you had already been lost to the clutches of danger beyond the walls; untamed panic being the second most cause of death in Titan territory.

The pain is harsh, and you force tears not to come as you feel Levi's stare on you from behind. You breathe sharply through your teeth to the point where one of your squad members looks at you in concern to which you shake your head swiftly, and they nod hesitantly. By the time you reach the walls you know it's not looking good. You look beyond your cape and see blood has seeped through bandages, and you are surprised to find yourself still atop your horse. When you finally make it beyond the walls and to the stables, your guard lowers, however, and your vision begins to sway. You feel harsh nausea fill you, and you struggle to keep the facade. As your squad members leave at your quick dismissal and their confused but swift regard, you finally let yourself let out a muffled scream in your hand. Sweat builds on your skin, and suddenly, you feel panic when you don't think you can continue to stand. Your legs start to tremble, and your vision becomes worse with unbearable pain. Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm going to die in a stable, and for what?

You don't know if it's fortune or not when Levi makes his way towards you, but when he regards your face buried in an arm and leaning heavily on the stable's walls, he knows something's wrong. You are breathing heavily and gripping your side harshly. Then he sees it, a flash of crimson. Levi feels his heart jolt with pure panic, urgency, and dread. "[y/n]!!" His voice is harsh but full of worry when you turn to him breathlessly and try to stand straight, only for tears to prick at your eyes. You have to bite your tongue just to stop the scream. "Oi, what's wrong?!" Your vision sways and you realise just how stupid this has all been. He is angry and full of rage, he is drowning in concern as it dances in his sharp eyes; the very things you had tried to prevent had occurred anyway. "L-Levi," you suddenly give way as your body collapses, almost hitting the ground if he hadn't been there to catch you. "[y/n] what-" Levi is cut off as he eyes the makeshift bandage that has soaked through with blood; your blood. "L-Levi, m'sorry." You hear muffled yells of your name, a panic you have rarely seen in his eyes now gleaming, and it's the last thing you see.

Levi’s mind breaks.

Your vision goes black.

…..

When you wake, the light comes slowly. Next comes the dull ache of pain that reverberates from your side. Then, you feel the light warmth of a hand enveloping yours. When your eyes open, you meet a sight that has your heart falling to the floor; it’s Levi in a state you have never seen. The soft glow of light from windows and the gentle breeze ruffles his raven hair, but his head is bowed low, and one hand grips yours like a lifeline. There is no one else in the room. You squeeze your hand gently, and he looks up immediately, sharp, tired gaze on you. But then you see the look of devastation turn swiftly to anger, and he tries to bury the hurt you caused underneath it. “You almost died.” His words are cold as he releases you from his hold, and he stands almost pacing. “Levi,” you breathe, seeing how his eyebrows furrow and eyes seep with such rage you have never seen before. “Levi, I’m-,” but he quickly cuts you off before the words slip from your mouth. “No [y/n], don’t you get it? You almost fucking died, and for what!? Another shitty brat?! How many times have I told you not to be so reckless?!” You see the hurt that holds Levi from seeing reason, and he inflicts guilt on his words. However, in the mixture of pain and exhaustion, you snap at him instead. “I had to.”

Levi turns sharply at your words, but you refuse to meet his gaze, and there is unease in the air. “Levi, she was so young, so inexperienced, you can’t just expect me to turn away. Would you?!” You feel a sharp pain in your side as you cringe before leaning back to your bed, Levi’s eyes now shining with apprehension. Then, there is a heavy silence as the sudden escalation dies down. “I almost lost you.” You look up then at Levi’s tortured eyes, the gaze that reflects every instance he witnessed death. “I’m sorry, I was stupid.” You say as he finally meets your regard with a look of utter defeat. It breaks your heart, but Levi feels the memories of you collapsing churn in his mind. You almost looked dead the instant you fell to his arms, blood soaking and skin pale. He had never moved so fast, shouting orders and shoving people out of the way. He would never forget when nurses pushed him from the doorway, and he looked numb to the door as they tried to vitalise your dying heart.

He sits at your side again, and you reach for him as his hand intertwines with yours once more. “Don’t hide your injuries. Do you understand? And no risking lives for shitty brats.” You just shake your head and give him a weak smile. “I promise, no hiding. But you know I can’t promise the rest.” Levi's gaze is one of loss at your words, but you see acceptance deep within. “Don’t die on me.” He utters lowly, and you look at him before gently tugging at his hand. He meets your eyes briefly, but you slowly and gently bring him close. You pull him in by his shirt until his lips capture yours, careful but warm. There is hidden desperation, hidden grief and fear that holds you to him as he deepens the kiss before letting go. “I’ll be okay.” Levi’s gaze falters, but soon nurses enter the room, and at the sight of you awake, you watch in light amusement as they chide humanity’s strongest for not calling them. However, Levi pays them no attention, eyes forever and always looking for you, looking to you and watching for the hurt you try to bury beneath your mask.

[artbyblastweave]

With a couple days to chew on it I've gotta say I've really come to appreciate the Untwist surrounding Nina's character. She's coded as a specific kind of guy, right, who shows up in a lot of Ensemble superhero stuff and Gunn's superhero stuff specifically- the innocuous neurotic with a middling power who ultimately comes in clutch at the last minute and demonstrates why they actually did belong on the team the entire time. "Heart is an awesome power", in TVtropes parlance. Polka-Dot man and Ratcatcher, Vigilante, Groot to an extent in the first Guardians movie.

So you spend seven episodes with this one member of the ensemble who never kills anyone, doesn't try and doesn't want to, gets haplessly dragged from nightmarish situation to nightmarish situation with no say in anything, spends a significant amount of the show's runtime trapped in a goddamn bathtub, and you've been trained to assume that she's going to get some kind of big moment that retroactively justifies all of that, demonstrates why Waller thought she was a good addition to the team. And then it turns out, no, she actually was just fundamentally poorly suited to this lifestyle. She had a superhero origin, the same kind of emergency power-granting medical intervention that Cyborg and Beast Boy got, but it turns out that Gunn's version of the DCU is a weird enough place that that's just a kind of thing that can happen to children sometimes, not something that guarantees that you'll actually become a viable superhero. She genuinely had no business being on the team, except that she looked weird enough that she got legally unpersoned and handed over to Waller, and Waller thought she looked weird enough that there was no reason not to try pointing her like a gun to see if she could do anything useful. No skin off her nose if she's a dud munition- you don't end up on the Suicide Squad because you're hard to replace, you end up on the squad because you're available and there won't be any blowback if you go missing.

This is, of course, one of the tensions that Suicide Squad and associated projects occasionally run into- you need to strike a balance between staffing the team with villains who're competent enough that Waller doesn't come off like a moron for entrusting them with anything important, and villains who're inept, underwhelming or out-of-control enough to remind you that half the point of the squad thematically is that it's a corrupt and morally bankrupt idea that on a really good day breaks even on solving as many problems as it creates. The usual fix is to include some number of mauve shirts who're included entirely to die badly- Slipknot in the Ayer film, Mindboggle in the first arc of the original Ostrander run, Voltiac in the first arc of the New 52 run, Most of Rick Flag's decoy team in the opening of The Suicide Squad. All played for some combination of shock-value and kafkaesque dark humor (did anyone check if Weasel can swim?) but rarely played for tragedy. These deaths are tone-setters, too early for you to care enough for it to be tragic. Nina is a well-disguised Slipknot, with her pointless, anticlimactic death bumped to the end of the story in a way that lets you get attached to her- which in turn finally, finally allows the narrative to hammer home that what keeps happening to the Slipknots and Javelins in these stories is fucked up. Nina didn't belong here! She's the only one of these people who doesn't have a codename! She gets the big, heartfelt you-can-do-it- you're-one-of-us speech from The Bride and Phosphorous, she strides out to finally get her Big Moment, and then no, she really really isn't one of them, and all that happens is that she ends up getting gutted like a. like a. Hey. Hang on

[akula-blue]

Ok so we've talked about mech dysphoria and dysmorphia before yeah? Your body doesn't feel the same when you climb out of a mech, doesn't feel 'right' anymore.

Too few limbs, not enough sensors, everything feels too big, now that you're not? There's no more combat stims and pleasure chemicals either, you're down to just your stock standard dopamine, which you have a clinical deficiency of now, btw. You struggle to pick objects up, your hands an unfamiliar shape, with not enough strength. You struggle to get out of bed sometimes because you can't tell what proportions things should be anymore?

Yeah, all that has been discussed to death.

What about communication?

What about pilots who, just, can't talk outside of their mech? Become socially inept without all the assistant systems they plug themselves into within the cockpit?

Think about it, mech combat becomes very disorganised very fast if it's allowed to. We are talking clashes of potentially dozens of war machines, the size of buildings, with enough guns to level cities. Orders need to be direct, easily understandable, followed immediately, actually projected onto the pilot's vision.

Every order, every report, every sentence, is punctuated by hundreds of layers of feedback. Tactical simulations and overlays, attachments for battlefield plans, every order having many implied conditions transmitted to the pilot through code and dictionary references to make sure a pilot cannot POSSIBLY misinterpret it in the few seconds before the command should be executed. On top of that, each order can also be wired to project a different cocktail of stim/pleasure chems/whatever have you, ensuring a pilot knows exactly what to feel about the order, establishing the priority of it through the pilots own brain chemistry.

And the same can be true about communications between squad mates! So much of it would be sending those same simulations around as sit reps, or enormous data packets containing not just the words the pilot is trying to say, but also links to relevant information and mountains of meta data, establishing tone, intention, context. Within the cockpit, a portion of the onboard AI is delegated to parsing this metadata, projecting it into the pilots consciousness, speeding up the process of understanding these mountains of digital documents to mere moments.

Now put a person used to that in a social setting. Where they are not made instantly aware of what someone is talking about or referring to. Where they cannot just query an AI and receive every piece of relevant info at once. Where they have to understand the subtext of what that person is saying without any metadata to indicate sarcasm, annoyance, disinterest. Where they are unable to understand the many nuances of communication and body language and expression without the helpful hand of their mech's processors. Hell, where they don't know how hearing certain things should make them feel without the presence of the chemicals to guide their response. Imagine them seeming lost outside of their mech, unable to talk or connect anymore, the social, human part of their brain having atrophied from disuse much like their neurotransmitter production. Imagine them scurrying back to the safety of their mech where, in the digitally overlaid world, everything is so much clearer and understandable and-

HAS THIS BECOME AN AUTISM METAPHOR???

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 7. Marked Like You

One tragic day changes Dahlia's life forever. Despised by her father and brother, she's spent her entire life trying to be the child and sister she use to be. But nothing she ever does is good enough. She joins the Rider's Quadrant to prove them wrong. Garrick now in his second year has proven he is more than the mark on his skin to his fellow riders, and taken leadership of his own Squad alongside Xaden. Little does he know the girl walking across the parapet is about to send him on a rollercoaster of a year.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist

The gym was always empty just after dinner. Most cadets too full of food to even bother with training. Except for tonight. Tonight as I push open the door to the gym attached to where we did assessments a few days ago, are a trio I’ve become very accustomed to seeing together.

Xaden, Bodhi and the other I had come to know as Garrick.

Garrick who never hides his distain towards me. Every time I see him in the halls or make eye contact in battle brief his eyes are quick to harden at the sight of me. I couldn’t blame him. My father had been apart of his parents death. He had every reason to hate me because of my father. And who could blame him with how much of an asshole my dad was. Despite that I couldn’t deny the act was getting kind of old.

The gym isn’t big, but its big enough I can have my own section of the gym and keep away from them. Though since day one, Bodhi has made it a habit to always be near me. Always taking the seat next to me in class and trying to talk to me. You’d think with how much I was ignoring him he’d have gotten the hint to leave me alone. But he hadn’t. He was persistent.

I feel their eyes on me as I make my way over to the opposite side of the gym where the punching bags are. Wanting to let out some frustrations after having another run in with Dain just prior to dinner. Word had apparently spread about my assessment, and he didn’t think I’d fought fairly. You’d think he’d be happy I had won. Exactly what our father had asked from us. No. Apparently I’d fought too dirty for his liking. He wasn’t even there. I hit the bag a little harder than I intend to, a loud smack echoing around the gym as the bag swings wildly on the chain. Out of the corner of my eye I catch all three heads snapping towards me.

I push them from my mind focusing on the bag in front of me. Working through a series of punches and kicks. Though I was itching to get the staff from my bag. It had been nearly a week since I’d used my favourite weapon. A weapon not generally favoured by riders despite it being quite versatile. I could have brought it out for assessments, but I didn’t wont to go all out on my first challenge. Something I knew Emetterio had noted seeing as he had trained me the most.

I end my round with a well placed kick high up on the bag. Stepping back as I attempt to catch my breath. I yelp in surprise as a hand reaches out and stops me from walking into them. I turn to see Bodhi standing behind me, hands raised up in surrender.

”Sorry, didn’t expect you to literally step back into me.” He says with an apologetic smile.

“Well wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

”You’ve got good technique. I take it you’ve been training for a while?” He asks, gesturing to the bag still swinging on the chain from my kick.

”Pretty much my entire life.” I tell him as I start to unwrap my hands. “Not being a dragon rider wasn’t really an option for me.”

For a split second I think Bodhi is surprised by my words. Almost as if he had expected me to have a choice in where I went. But I hadn’t. I never had despite what had happened. To pick anything other the Rider’s Quadrant was a disgrace to the Aetos name apparently.

”Figured you would have had some choice unlike some of us.” He says while following me over to the bench where I had dumped my pack.

I turn to look at him with a tight lipped smile, catching Xaden looking at us over Bodhi’s shoulder. Garrick on the other hand had his back to us, focusing on the workout he was doing. Not even remotely interested in us.

“I might not be marked like you, but just like you I also had no choice in ending up here.”

”Well as someone who had no choice in ending up here, and has been training all their life for here, I have a proposition for you.” He says with a massive grin on his face.

”What kind of proposition?” I ask as I place my pack onto my shoulder, ready to head back to my room now I'd let out my frustrations.

”Help me train some of the other first years. Mainly Liz and Austin. There’s only so much I can teach them. But you’re the same height as them. You know how use that to your advantage. You can teach them how to get through challenges.” His voice almost pleading to me.

I hated to admit it, but he was right. Bodhi was too big and tall to accurately teach them how to fight. He could only teach them what he knew, how he moved. Which would work to an extent. But it would only get them so far. They’d both narrowly gotten through their assessment fights. Both being paired up against boys who weren’t entirely sure if they should go all out on a fight against a girl. And if we wanted our squad to do well, then we needed to help them. And as I meet Xaden’s eye over Bodhi’s shoulder I know he’s hoping I would say yes.

I turn my gaze back to Bodhi and nod. “I’ll do it.”

”Excellent!” He says a little bit too enthusiastically. “Be here tomorrow after dinner, I’ll bring them with me.”

And just like that he’s gone, jogging back over to Xaden and Garrick.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94

[leahsgf]

Looove Lucy taking care of reader.

Could I have more? Maybe Lucy is the worried older sister who makes sure reader doesn't get separated from the group when they go out, or that she ends up spending her money on too many sweets. Thanks <3

REINS - lucy bronze

lucy bronze x sister!reader

pure fluff about lucy being an overprotective older sister to you

her role as your big sister was one that lucy arguably took the most pride in out of all of her duties in her life - and that had always been the case, even back in the days when she was a teenager, and would often forgo going out with her friends in order to play and spend time with you.

even when it meant clinging onto the reins that were attached to your backpack to prevent you from running off for dear life in worry as you toddled around giggling - finding it hilarious.

the pair of you had always been inseparable, and all you had ever wanted to be was like her, having decided the instant you were able to grasp the concept of her job - that you were going to be a footballer too.

so that’s exactly what you did, and lucy’s protectiveness over you only increased as you did so, especially when you received your first call up to the lionesses alongside her.

you were more than a decade younger than her, freshly faced and new to every part of what you were experiencing - being the youngest on the squad by a considerable amount, meaning that lucy worried about you constantly, even more than usual, and watched over you like a hawk.

-

a team day out exploring the city in a country you’d never been to before had the older girl as pale as a sheet just thinking about all of the different possibilities.

“stay with me - or one of the girls at all time, okay? please be careful. if anyone, and i mean anyone tries anything or makes you uncomfortable in any way you need to tell me immediately. this is a new place to us all so just be extra war-” you cut off her rambling before she talked herself to death, playfully rolling your eyes, insides secretly warming at how much she cared for you.

“luce, it’s okay. i know. i won’t wander off. i’m a big girl”

“okay.” she breathes, giving up on the remainder of her speech, instead settling for “i just remember you being so tiny you could fit in one of my hands like it was yesterday, and i just want you to be safe.”

“i promise. i’ll be fine.” you linked pinkies with her, knowing you’d be glued to her side regardless.

“don’t make me get the reins back out. i remember how much of a menace you were, running off all over the place!”

she pointed at you warningly, and if it weren’t for the stern expression across her features you would’ve laughed.

“that was when i was three!”

“i’m just saying! the threat remains!”

-

no matter how old you got, or how far you progressed in your career, lucy still would refuse to let you pay for anything, slipping you money with a wink and a finger held to her lips, like you were six again and giggling behind your parents back.

“you’re my baby sister, don’t be silly. absolutely not.” she would insist, playfully slapping your hand away as you reached for your purse, sticking a pile of notes or in its place.

“make sure you don’t spend it all at once, kay? i expect to see some change when you come out!” she called after you as you were pulled into the sweet shop by ella and alessia, who’s playful grins told lucy that she’d be very unlikely to see you return with any money to spare.

not that it mattered in the slightest really, she just loved teasing you and treasured looking after you, not quite ready to give it up, it being one of her favourite parts of her life, even when you were nearing being an adult yourself.

-

tried to fit in everything that you requested! thank you for it i enjoyed writing it - and happy new year!

not proof read so i apologise if there’s any mistakes

[duskier]

Werewolf AU / fat hairy werewolf gf x poly!141 idea rambling in honor of the art by @littlebit-of-art ♡

|| okokok werewolf lore is always varied but I love the idea of like. shift at will werewolves, but they have forced shifts during the full moon where they get all primal and stuff... thinking about the 141 in the woods, in hiding from bad guys, getting cabin fever and impatient as hell. Pissed that Laswell has benched them (though understanding she has legitimate reasons why)

Soap finds you first, middle of the night. Well, you find him, actually. He was just sneaking out for a cigarette, went alone because he didn't want to share- his pack was running low. You're a tall creature when shifted, much too large to be excusably identified as a wolf. It's the full moon, so the 'you' isn't all there- moreso your hindbrain, your dumb dog of a wolf self. Of course *she* makes a beeline towards Soap after smelling him in the air, first human you'd seen in years- he thinks he's about to get mauled to death but is pleasantly surprised when he sees your tail wagging and you're nudging him to come play with you.

The rest of the squad looks at Soap like he's nuts when he comes by with you in tow, the "can we keep it?" look on his face. Ghost has half a mind to shoot you, no matter how damned cute you looked flopping over on your back, your primal way of telling the group you were friendly.

Price knows you're something strange, not a normal wolf. After some bickering between Soap and Price ("He looks cold :("..."it's a wild fucking animal, Sergeant") you're allowed to curl up on the couch in the den of the cabin, just in front of the fire. The wood of the furniture squeaks under your weight, reassuring Price you wouldn't be sneaking anywhere at night without him noticing.

...But come morning time, when you are you again- human, that is- Price is left speechless. Who was this beautiful, stark naked woman, and why was she on the couch? Where'd the wolf thing go? Poor man, fighting his urges to look you up and down over and over until he'd memorized every silky furry curve, the soft pout of your lips...

After an embarrassing wake up call, a lot of screaming and scrambling, you were sat in an oversized blanket wrapped around you and explaining who and what exactly you were to the 141. You appreciated the warm place to sleep in, so you offer them a deal- let you move in, you'll hunt for them in your wolf form. Easy enough.

What you never could have expected was how much you would become attached to the team. It starts off small, them getting used to your large wolf form- Gaz gives you a scratch behind your ear once in a while. Then it becomes so common for you to rest on him that when he sees you, he wordlessly clears his lap, a perfect resting spot for your head. Soap asks to draw you once, then it becomes a natural thing and he's a sudden canine anatomy expert in weeks, half his sketchbook filled with you- human and otherwise. Price checks in on you, worries over you and waits up every night that you're out late hunting for them. Reminds you not to push yourself, you've stocked them plenty for winter, as he wipes your bloody maw clean with a towel before bed. Ghost gets annoyed at your limp from stickers caught in your paws, but then it becomes a daily ritual for him to groom you all over, pulling out annoyances caught in your fur or paws.

...That's just when you're in your wolf form. When you're in your human form, the men are all just as sweet, if not sweeter. Price finds an old record player, teaches you to dance to the music. Revels in the feeling of pulling your soft body close, hands lovingly caressing every inch of your body as you sway in time, your pretty head resting on his chest. He becomes quickly besotted by the feeling of your arms under his hands, the silky hair covering inch of your skin making him just mad with affection and want. Soap makes even more portraits- drawings with harsh and soft lighting, never wanting you to ever hide your body in the ways you'd been taught to previously. Can't stop raining down compliments on you the entire time, as if every five minutes he's blown away once more at your beauty. Doesn't miss a single tuft of hair, a single bit of your body. Gaz who finds every way he can make you laugh because once he's heard it, once he's seen the way your laugh moves through your whole body and the way your smile lightens the room, he's like a lovesick puppy. (It becomes bad news for Soap, because nothing made you laugh quite like Gaz pranking Soap, each prank becoming more and more childish.) Ghost takes the meager rations they have- thankfully bolstered by your hunting- and makes the best warm meals you'd ever had. Makes you taste test every meal- never plated until it has your approval. Watches you with his golden brown eyes, searching for your praise.

One night, Laswell shipped them their new rations and included a bottle of bourbon, a late birthday gift for Price. 'Sorry you're still there,' a note on the bottle apologized. The team couldn't care less about being there, so focused in on you. You take turns having small shots of the liquor and end up watching the men as they excitedly share story after story with you, each wilder than the last. Price puts his big warm hand on your leg, unable to keep himself from squeezing gently. Gaz has his arm on the backrest behind you, fingers toying with your hair. Soap sits at your feet, his head on your knee, you feel his stubble against your skin whenever he speaks. It's Ghost who breaks rank first, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and telling you you're the prettiest girl he'd ever met. You blush, and he says he'd like to kiss that blush right off of you. It's slurred, it's silly, but it works, and you let him kiss you, his mask rolled up to his nose. Soap protests, then, of course, how dare he not get a kiss. You jokingly ask Gaz if he'd like one too, of course he agrees and you oblige them both, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. You turn to Price, who was watching intently, eyes glittering in the firelight. "Come here, love," is all he has to say before you're crawling onto his lap and kissing him silly, the peanut buttery smell of his cigars filling your senses.

From there it's as natural as breathing to wake up in a cuddle pile, to kiss them all goodbye before going out on a hunt. For each of them to take you to bed, alone or all together or somewhere in between. They treat you like a precious thing, but never like glass- they know all too well how strong you are.

They find out even more of your capabilities when they are attacked.

Full moon, you're out hunting. Happily secure in letting your wolf side take the reins, looking for the best deer to take home for your boys when you hear a crack like a whip in the distance. You hear Soap screaming just as everything goes red for you. The primal side still in control, all it can think is that your pack was in danger. You ran faster than you ever thought possible, bulky wolf body breaking through old trees, unstoppable in your path to your mates. The men you kill in your way aren't anywhere near prepared for you, slaughtered like nothing. From your boys' perspective, you were a terrifying sight to see. Snarling and monstrous, standing on your back haunches taller than a building, soaked in blood and gore. It isn't until all enemies were silenced that you're capable of thinking anywhere clearly enough to look for your boys, make sure they were okay.

Thankfully, no one was hurt. Ignoring the mess covering you, you were sniffing and nuzzling each of them ignoring their protests in disgust, distressed whines leaving you. They weren't able to calm you that night, having to allow you to stalk a perimeter around the house all night long, daring more enemies to come. It wasn't until the next day that they found you, human form collapsed in the dirt from exhaustion. They take the time to bathe you, gently and with reverence, grateful for both your life and their own. Softening your skin with lotions and oils after, wrapping you in their nicest blankets and surrounding you in a giant cuddle pile so that when you awoke, you'd feel safe.

And you do. You can't imagine life without your boys.

[frickingnerd]

love triangle with the phantom thieves

pairing: ren amamiya/akira kurusu x ryuji sakamoto x yusuke kitagawa x gn!reader x ann takamaki x makoto niijima x futaba sakura x haru okumura

tags: non-phantom thief!reader, loner!reader, protective!phantom thieves, wholesome fluff, supportive!phantom thieves

a/n: the phantom thieves truly are the reader protection squad!

the phantom thieves had their eyes on you from the very start, when it were just ren, ryuji and ann! even back then, you had already captured their attention and would slowly make them fall in love with you as the months passed by

you were more of a loner yourself, which was why you were always kind to the three of them. ren and ryuji were unjustifiably labeled as delinquents, while you knew all the rumors about ann were unfounded!

your kindness was what made the three of you fall in love with you and they always tried to find time for you, even when they were busy as the phantom thieves!

as yusuke and makoto joined the phantom thieves, it didn't take long for them to get to know you too! after all, ann, ryuji and ren wouldn't shut up about you, so they already heard a lot about you, before they finally met you

yusuke was drawn to you immediately, mesmerized by your beauty, both inside and outside

meanwhile makoto was a little more reluctant, unable to see what the others saw in you at first. but that would soon change…

by the time futaba and haru completed the phantom thieves, the love triangle situation had gotten even more complicated

for futaba, you were the one person outside of the phantom thieves that she got along with, leading to her growing attached to you and falling for you, just like her friends had!

and for haru you were a great support as well, during the difficult time after her father's death. so much so that seeing how kind you were finally opened makoto's eyes too to how special you truly were

despite all of the phantom thieves having fallen in love with you, there was barely any jealousy between them! sure, each one of them wanted to end up with you, but their main concern was your happiness! if anyone deserved to be happy, it was you…

so instead of fighting amongst each other, the phantom thieves worked together to protect you and make you happy wherever they could! you might not even notice it most of the time, but they always kept an eye out for you, taking care or anything that could threaten to trouble you…

it also made it hard for other people to approach you, as you essentially had an entire group of bodyguards constantly around you. only that you never realized how this looked from the outside and just saw this as friends hanging out together!

perhaps you were a little too oblivious at times, as you didn't even seem to realize how madly in love they all were with you. but none of the phantom thieves wanted to confess to you, as they were all happy with the way things were. as long as they got to keep you in their lives, they were content!

[cenorii]

Chris Redfield: personality

This is my psychological analysis of the character, which includes important details of the story, an analysis of the decisions they made and the concept of the phenomenon of «Guiding Fear». Contains spoilers!

Even if you know lore 100%, you will be able to learn something new from my thoughts

I did this to practice analyzing personalities and reliably prescribe my own characters.

[These are all my personal reflections that I have been accumulating and analyzing for six months. You can see the same analysis with Wesker here. In Chris' case, I want to dispel the myths that he is unstable and stupid. Thanks to everyone who reads this, I really appreciate it and it's nice to know that my thoughts are of interest to someone!]

Chris devoted his life entirely to the fight against bioterrorism, renouncing normal life so that others could have it. We don't know much about his thoughts and feelings, as it's in Chris' character to hide such things deep within himself so they don't interfere with his work, but his kind and honest nature shines through. His probable motto is «If not me, then who?»

The main theme of Resident Evil is the struggle with fear. We can speculate endlessly about which characters struggle with which fear, but I'm pretty sure Chris embodies the «fear of loss».

In his 48 years of life, he has lost many partners and squad members, as well as family and friends. Death follows Chris, and he is unbearably afraid of his curse. But who is Chris? In the eyes of many he is a hero, famous for his impulsive character and unbending sense of justice, because of which he is ready to argue with his superiors to prove his point. But behind the legend is a sensitive, respectful and careful man, able to recognize the best qualities in people and guide them.

«I'm not a hero» © Chris

Because of his fear of losing his loved ones, Chris needs control and order in his life, he avoids and minimizes any risks. For this reason, in re8 organized his own squad, separated from the organization, to have full control over the situation. This obsession to control his environment and outcomes to avoid the pain or disappointment that he has experienced in the past is a defense mechanism.

Chris is not an overly sociable person or someone who is eager to make new friends. Although he is easy to communicate, Chris still refrains from frequent socializing with people to avoid forming attachments that could potentially lead to losses in the future. He is used to formal communication between subordinates and colleagues, and informal communication only with those close to Chris who have been with him for a long time.

But let's go his way.

Chris and his younger sister Claire lost their parents when they were children, they died in a car accident. Since then, Chris has taken responsibility for his sister and they have become very close. The first major loss in his life.

At the age of 17, Chris joined the United States Air Force, where he stayed for 6 years. From there he has flying skills, and he is also good with various weapons and is known for his hand-to-hand combat skills, which will not once help him in life. A capable man who was fired for disobeying senior officers, because he didn't agree with them. Barry Burton, a friend he met in the Air Force, recommended Chris to S.T.A.R.S. (elite special forces division under the jurisdiction of the Raccoon Police Department), and that's how his fateful meeting with the Alpha and Bravo teams happened. On the team, Chris was valued for his versatility and was assigned as a point man.

There Chris won at least one award as the best shooter and also met Jill Valentine, who later became his good friend and partner.

His desk in S.T.A.R.S.'s office stands out with its perpetual clutter, scattered folders and disks. He tends to bring things from home, decorating his place with them. For example, next to his desk, Chris put a guitar and also hung a jacket with "Made in Heaven" written on it, which is a reference to a song by the band Queen. Did he risk using the guitar in the presence of the Captain?

On holidays, he would often go to the suburbs with his teammates to drink, which sometimes caused riots. At that point, Chris was chaotic, but because of a difficult fate in the future, he had to tame his inner chaos.

All good things came to an end when contact was lost with Bravo's team in the mountains near Raccoon City. Alpha, meaning the team Chris was on, went to investigate and stumbled upon the Spencer's Mansion. But it wasn't an accident, it was just part of the plan of Wesker, their Captain. The mansion was only a cover for the Umbrella lab beneath it. All the inhabitants of the place had become mere shadows of their former selves, turning into zombies. In order for Chris to explore the building more safely, Wesker left supplies for him in some places, which may not be canon, but only a game convention. But this is quite normal for Wesker, he maintained the image of the captain until the very end.

When Chris caught Wesker off guard in the lab, he was finally convinced that his fears were correct... the captain was a traitor. But even knowing that, realizing how many squad members he ruined, when Wesker was mortally wounded Chris didn't hide his excitement for him. In the re1 remake Chris twitches in his direction, but then recoils. Chris has compassion even for those who betrayed him.

Chris lost many friends, including Wesker, during this assignment. And that day left a strong imprint in his mind. It was later dubbed «Mansion Incident». Something that divided the lives of many into «before» and «after» and began an endless nightmare.

Chris, Jill, Barry, Brad and Rebecca survived and took it upon themselves to figure things out. Upon their return, Chris reported the horrific incident to anyone who was willing to listen, but Police Chief Irons hushed up all the gossip, being under the thumb of Umbrella, not to mention that even the government refused to listen to what Chris had to say. Umbrella had too much influence for it to be that simple, but that only fueled the fire of Chris's fighting spirit. He went on «vacation» to Europe to do his own investigation without saying anything to Claire. Chris wanted to keep his sister out of danger, but there were consequences. Concerned about her brother's disappearance, Claire found herself drawn into the chaos of the fall of Raccoon City, where she met Leon Kennedy (events re2).

During his time at S.T.A.R.S., Chris saw his sister often and taught her shooting and combat skills. Thanks to her brother's attention, Claire learned the skills she needed to survive.

When Claire learned enough information about her brother and left the infected city, she traveled to Europe to continue her search for Chris, but found herself caught by Umbrella. She was sent to Rockfort Island prison, which was more like a concentration camp. (Code: Veronica). Thanks to information from Leon, who Claire managed to contact, Chris set out to help his sister. On the island, he encountered a few revelations - Wesker was alive for some reason, and he was also after some Alexia.

The former captain who got Chris's friends killed. The one who was presumed dead has once again cast a shadow over Redfield's life. Their fates intertwined.

Since Wesker's presence has been causing disasters as of late, Chris decided not only to find his sister, but also to investigate the situation on the island to prevent his new enemy from giving him what he was looking for. Upon meeting him, he discovered that the former captain was no longer human. Chris was only able to defeat him by stealth, suffering greatly in the process.

He eventually saved Claire, and they left the place together. Deep in his heart, Chris realized that Umbrella must cease to exist so that people like Wesker would disappear. So that unfortunate people would not repeat the fate of Steve (Claire's dead friend) and the people of Raccoon City.

In 2003, he traveled with Jill to Russia because of reports of infected people in that region. Their visit to a biological weapons factory ended with a victory over a new enemy, T-A.L.O.S., as well as the collapse of Umbrella, because now Chris and Jill had all the evidence against them. It was not without the help of Wesker, who had contributed to this collapse, because he wanted the same thing. Since then, Chris had become very attached to Jill, as if he was responsible for her life.

However, bioweapons and viruses have affected civilians many more times. That's why Chris and his partner joined the young BSAA organization to prevent the disaster in Raccoon City from repeating itself. In 2005 they were drawn into a conflict with the terrorist organization Veltro, in the investigation of which revealed unpleasant information about traitors in their (BSAA) ranks. There, by the way, Chris becomes the partner of a certain Jessica Sherawat, who is clearly partial to him, but he pretends that he does not notice the hints, softly rejecting the feelings of the future traitor. Inside BSAA, the leadership had to be changed, and that was the first seed of doubt that settled in Chris's mind. The first feeling of distrust for the place he was involved with.

Life continues to put Chris on the spot, forcing him to go on various missions with little or no time to rest. Thanks to the huge number of things, he has dedicated himself to, Chris is at the top of the organization. His endless hard work is summed up in his own phrase: «I'm Not Going To Stop Until I'm Dead».

Let's travel back to 2006. DLC for re5 «Lost in Nightmares». Chris and Jill go in search of Spencer, the last remaining bit of Umbrella, its founder. This man is responsible for many things and deserves to be punished, and could help them find Wesker. But when the partners arrive on a tip-off at his mansion, they find only a bloody corpse with their former captain standing over it. The latter in turn was displeased with the intrusion and immediately attacked them, during the fight Chris was caught off guard. A couple of seconds separated him from probable death. But Jill intervened and pushed Wesker through the window, she falling with him into the cliff. Chris could only watch helplessly as they fell, realizing that once again he had lost someone dear to him. Here Chris wonders for the first time if his struggle is worth it.

Jill's body was never found, and neither was Wesker's, so the former was pronounced dead. The empty grave with the headstone that had been erected in her honor was not deprived of Chris's attention. He probably went there often and grieved. What he swore over Jill's grave was unknown to anyone, but it made Chris investigate even more and put himself through even more training.

Since 1998, his body has changed a lot. Knowing that one day he would meet Wesker again, Chris diligently grew stronger, pushing his body to the limits of human capability so that he would be ready for anything.

What follows are the events of re5. In 2009, he travels to Africa to stop a bioweapons deal, where he meets his new partner, Sheva Alomar. Although they don't have the reliving of the past that they had with Jill, they hit it off well, thanks to which they accomplish a lot together. At the very beginning they encounter a new enemy, Majini, the same Ganados that Leon once encountered in re4, only from an improved version of the Plaga parasite. They also meet a virtually immortal mutant created thanks to the new Uroboros virus. After defeating him, Chris gets the data and learns that the deal was rigged to test this virus. In doing so, he lost several more of his men and painfully realized that if he had arrived on the scene a little earlier, his corpse lay with them. The data also contained a picture of a woman who looked strangely like the dead Jill, but with blonde hair. Chris secretly believed that maybe his old partner was alive.

Sheva was disappointed by the deaths of her comrades and frightened. Not wanting to put anyone else in danger, Chris asks her to leave him, but Sheva refuses. She assures Chris that they are partners until the end. Somewhere out there, her people are dying, so she can't drop everything and turn back and leave Chris alone. Then Chris tells her that he's on this mission for personal reasons. His former partner Jill may be alive and she needs his help, so they need to hurry before it's too late. To which Sheva agrees, not doubting her new partner's theory.

Eventually, after going through many trials, they came face to face with Wesker. He revealed that Jill had been with him the whole time, but was under a mind-altering drug. Jill, being zombified, fought on the same team as Wesker against Chris and Sheva. One of the dearest people to Chris had been enslaved for two whole years, which was beyond his mind with horror and sadness. He had almost buried her, almost given up looking for her, but Jill was literally under his nose, in a terrible situation. Struggling with his best friend and partner, Chris never stopped trying to get the truth into her head so she would recognize it, and he's succeeding.

Running away on urgent business, Wesker leaves Jill alone, forcing Chris and Sheva to fight her. During the fight, they remove the injector from her chest that was controlling her mind.

A disoriented Jill repents that she realized everything but couldn't control herself, to which her partners reply that they understand. Jill is back in action and off to the «Desperate Escape» DLC, while Chris and Sheva continue the main plot and head off on Wesker's trail. For Chris, this was already a personal vendetta. Having suffered so much loss through this man's fault, he would no longer be able to look Jill in the eye if he didn't stop him.

While searching for Wesker, the team encounters an Uroboros mutated Excella, Wesker's his ally, on whom Wesker decides to test the virus, to see if Excella will prove to be the «chosen one».

After an exhausting battle, the partners find the man they came for and decide to use the serum stolen from Excella. It is an injection that, under the right conditions, stabilizes Wesker's powers, but when overdosed makes him weaker. A weakened Wesker tries to flee to his plane, refusing to be confronted any further. His partners, who managed to climb with him, cause the plane to crash into an active volcano, where their final battle takes place.

Wesker, having lost most of his powers, finds himself in a difficult situation and decides to resort to overdosing on Uroboros. Against him, Chris and Sheva are once again at odds, but the fragile rock in the volcano plays into their hands, and Wesker falls ridiculously into the lava as the ground beneath him collapses.

This allowed partners to take advantage of his helplessness and fire the rocket launcher twice at the target. Although not shown, it is assumed that Wesker was killed.

After that, Chris finally realized what he was fighting for, realizing that his fight was worth the lives saved. Jill was sent to rehab after everything Wesker had done to her and didn't get back to normal until closer to 2015, causing Chris to change partners again. Chris wrote in his notes, «Defeating Wesker's undoubtedly a turning point for me. Due to this battle, I found the meaning behind what I'm fighting for».

In 2012, during the events of re6, Chris and his new partner, Piers Nivans, were sent to Edonia to prevent the spread of another bioweapon, but things didn't go quite as they expected. Another mission, another loss for Redfield.

At some point, he learns about Jake Muller and the fact that his life is in danger. After learning that he was Wesker's own son, Chris thought deep down, probably about the fate that has been intertwined with this man since the days of S.T.A.R.S.

At the very beginning of the mission, Chris loses almost his entire squad, once again convinced of the curse he carries behind him. And amnesia during the trauma incapacitates him for six months and Chris becomes an alcoholic.

In 2013, Pierce brings his captain back into the service, forcefully reclaiming unpleasant memories in order to continue the mission. The losses that Chris has suffered have affected him greatly, and he worries for the lives of every member of the squad, making foolish and rash actions that put him in danger. It is only after talking with Piers that Chris comes to his senses and becomes his old self again, because being gripped by fear you can't save anyone. And he really couldn't save anyone again, only the two of them survived.

After meeting Jake again, Chris confesses that he killed Wesker, his father, which leads to an argument in which Jake pulls a gun on him. Chris at this point says, "Go ahead, shoot. You have every right to. Just promise me you'll survive. The world depends on it." Jake shoots past and declares that there are more important things at stake than their problems. Chris probably feels guilty about him.

On a mission to protect Jake and many others, Chris and Piers have to face a new bioweapon, HAOS. Piers, sacrificing himself, becomes infected with the C-virus and forces Chris to save himself by being alone with HAOS. In doing so, he became another wound on Redfield's heart. Another loss on the account. Chris had planned to retire, lay down his weapons and turn everything over to Piers, but now he is forced to continue his service, thus honoring Piers's memory. Chris once said he would fight to the end, and he doesn't throw words to the wind.

2017, re7 events. Bakers and Mold incident, which Chris was unlucky enough to be involved in. He once again tragically lost all of his people. Once again, fate has struck a sore spot. And that seed of doubt that had settled in his mind back in 2005 finally blossomed. After this incident, Chris became even more distrustful of the BSAA, because they had hidden the incident from the public, which had never happened before. He formed his own Hound Wolf Squad, gathering people he could trust, and spent the next three years tracking down a certain mother Miranda, with absolutely no authorization from headquarters. He became an outcast in BSAA for this cause and for justice.

As Chris got older, he stopped acting impulsively and began to act more uncompromisingly, clearly following the plan regardless of any interference. He saw no obvious reason why he was obligated to inform Ethan of his next course of action before shooting his «wife» during dinner in 2021. He believed that Miranda would realize that Ethan knew something, so such sacrifices had to be made.

Ethan thought until the last minute that his wife was gone and the baby had been taken away. What loss and stress Ethan went through Chris didn't even take it upon himself to imagine. In the end, it turned out that it wasn't his wife at all, but Miranda, who had pretended to be her, changing her appearance at the expense of Mold's abilities. Chris's plan had gone awry from the start, but it could hardly have been worse if he had prematurely informed Ethan. From now on, Chris tried to keep random people out of his plans to minimize any potential casualties.

On this mission, for the first time, Chris didn't lose anyone from his squad, but he did lose a friend. Ethan died to protect loved ones, and it hit Redfield and his fear once again. He experienced grief and anger at the realization that he would never be able to save those whose lives he held dear. Perhaps he chastised himself for the mistakes he had made during this assignment. Blamed himself for not telling Ethan the whole plan beforehand. He had plenty of reasons to hate himself.

But this small victory over Miranda doesn't mean victory in the never-ending war against bioterrorism. On the way back, one of his squad discovers that the body of the BSAA soldier on their plane was a bioweapon. This is the last straw for Chris, and he decides to look into everything, which will most likely lead to a coup in the organization.

To summarize, Chris is sometimes hard to understand, as he hides his emotions and feelings under a meaningful silence. The kindly man who was the soul of the company, by 2021 looks as if he has lost all hope, but it still burns in him. Every dead person he failed to keep safe feels like they destroyed his heart. Christopher is a huge wound in the fandom that is not easy to heal. His storyline is likely coming to an end, which makes me sad to see Chris meet his old age in sadness and loneliness. At the time of re8 (2021), he's already 48 years old, which is a lot considering he's been fighting bioterrorism since he was 25. Has Chris ever thought of his own wants and needs since then? He has such dedication and concern for others that it seems as if he is completely oblivious to himself. With his endless responsibilities, it would be impossible to take a vacation, but there are indeed moments of calm, does Chris never rest?

On a more personal note, he has always treated his squads like family, "I know it is not any of my business, but I want you to think of us as a family... no matter how this all ends" (Philosophy University Incident 2010). Nothing is known about Chris' relationships, except for one non-canonical instance of dating a girl in «Viral Campaign». Apart from his living friends, he has no one else. It wasn't until Ethan's death that he found something resembling a normal life. Chris helped Ethan's wife raise and educate their daughter Rose, becoming an uncle and father figure to her. It is unknown if Chris ever returned to alcoholism after his amnesia, but I can assume it is unlikely. A lot of things happened to him during that period of his life that affected his view of the world. Surely he no longer allows himself to behave so recklessly, even in the most stalemate situation.

Interesting detail, Chris is constantly contrasted with Wesker, as if he's a better version of him. Both were Alpha squad captains, both have blood type 0, and were once the same weight class and same height. Probably the same eye color, as well as great weapons proficiency. Their encounters in re5 don't look like a fight, it's more like a dance between two people with equally good fighting skills. Sure, Wesker is much stronger than Chris due to his situation with the virus, but he never let himself use more strength than necessary to keep Chris fighting him, prolonging any fight with him. It's possible that Wesker's attempt to kill Chris in «Lost in Nightmares» is just a ruse, and he was going to toss him aside somewhere, as he never seriously intended to hurt him enough. Chris' age at the time of his last official appearance in re8 is 48, which matches Wesker's age at the time of his supposed death. Their conflict isn't over yet, so it's fully expected that Wesker survived and will once again surprise Christopher with his presence. They need to finish what they started, as adults and having already been through a lot. Without the pointless fights that the current Chris is unlikely to get into. There's no telling what the modern Wesker might be like, but if he's stayed in the shadows for so many years, it's not like he's planning to be too reckless either.

-------------------

Due to a misunderstanding, I would like to supplement my text. This analysis is only my personal interpretation and my personal view of the character and his story. I do not claim that it is 100% canon, because canon is so vague and disjointed that it is impossible to fully assemble it objectively. Everyone is entitled to have an interpretation different from mine. Best wishes to all!

[vodika-vibes]

Good morning loves

Today, I'm thinking about Boss.

Imagine being the medic attached to Delta Squad. You're not a doctor, really you're just a nurse who recently graduated from nursing school, but the GAR said, "good enough!" And stuck you with these commandos.

The first couple of weeks were hard.

They didn't trust you, and you had to teach yourself the realities of being a medic to a group of soldiers.

But the first time Boss tried to overrule one of your orders, thinking that you were too meek to argue back, he got the shock of his life when you put your foot down.

"You may be in command of this ship, Boss." You say with a lifted chin, "But when it comes to medical care, I outrank you. And I'm saying Scorch is benched. Period."

After that, things get easier for you.

And then, in between missions, Boss starts getting flirty with you. Teasing comments that are just a little too suggestive to be innocent. Lingering touches on your wrist and the small of your back. His gaze locked on you when it's just the two of you.

The tension between you and Boss is thick enough that you could cut it with a knife. So you're not surprised when he returns from a mission, strips his armor off, and immediately crashes his lips against yours.

Well, you're a little surprised.

But as he holds you tight against him, you can't help but let your hands wander doesn't his broad chest, and you wish that he had removed the top half of his blacks so you could properly touch him—

And while you're distracted by his lips and his hands and the rough groans falling from him, you also notice him flinch back when your fingers brush against his ribs.

"Did you think kissing me would keep me from finding out about the broken ribs?" You ask against his lips.

"No, thought it might keep you from yellin', though." He replies between heavy kisses.

"Hm. Shirt off and down on the bed, Boss. We can kiss after I make sure you're not going to bleed to death."

You feel him grin against your lips, "As you wish."

[christinesficrecs]

Also, these gems are still on tumblr for your enjoyment. 🧡💙🧡 here, here, here, and especially this one. Oooh, this one too.

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Blind Date With A Book  | 30.3K

Stiles thought the Blind Date With a Book trend was a great way to drum up business for his small bookshop. He definitely thought it was a great idea after the hot guy kept returning and buying more blind dates with books.

Derek didn’t know how he kept getting set up on blind dates by his family, or why he kept going on them. The highlight of his night was when the date was over and he could go to the little bookshop in town and buy something to read for the rest of the night. He wanted to read, not date.

This Started As Only Make Believe | 44.1K | Explicit

Derek is trying (and failing) to juggle his career, coach lacrosse, and raise his 5 year old werewolf daughter. When he adds his bitter ex-wife and his daughter's slight attachment to him, Derek knows he doesn't have any time for a life of his own - and definitely no time for the super cute daycare teacher.

Past The Breakers | 40.7K

Stiles and Scott get summer jobs at the exclusive Seawolf Beach Resort, and the last thing Stiles expects is to start taking surf lessons from the hot lifeguard.

This Might Be Irony  | 38.3K

Stiles and Derek have been close friends since the Hale siblings moved in next door after their parents’ death. But Derek’s in the popular group, he’s a star baseball player, and he dates popular Pep Squad captain Jennifer Blake. Stiles doesn’t have any of that, just his skateboard and a hopeless crush on Derek (oh yeah, and his Vote Lydia Martin Prom Queen button). As prom and the baseball state championship grow closer, Stiles and Derek start rekindling their friendship.

And it all begins with two white boards.

heart as black as night | 97.7K | Explicit

It's 1924, and Derek Hale is a bootlegger and runs one of the many speakeasies in New York with the help of his Pack. They don't know, however, that he's also a hitman for his Uncle Peter, a shady Omega with mafia ties to whom Derek owes a huge debt.

Stiles Stilinski is about to graduate from high school and start working at the docks when he stumbles into the Sour Wolf, a speakeasy with lively music, a glamorous jazz singer, and a certain dark, handsome, and moody bartender that Stiles can't stop thinking about.

my heart’s been offline  | 58.8K

31/M/New York. Rich, lays in bed all day, likes to read (aka Derek Hale, son of an Oscar winning actress, brother of one obnoxious reality star and one rebellious fashion designer, hates the paparazzi so much he’s a recluse)

26/M/California. Boring office job, likes to read (aka Stiles Stilinski, co-owner of a 100 acre organic farm with his dad and two best friends, writer of obits for a newspaper, has absolutely no life)

Or, where Derek and Stiles meet online, and Stiles has no clue Derek’s part of a famous family.

I Ran (So Far) | 33.7K

In which Stiles’ summer starts off so badly he starts running, gets pelted by paint balls, and decides he is, in fact, going crazy if he willingly wants to hang out with Derek Hale.

But The World Won’t Stop Turning  | 19.9K

Derek glances at Stiles, who is watching him with a curious expression.

“Oh shit,” Stiles exclaims as comprehension dawns on him. “Everything makes sense now. Derek, I know what the witch did, she cursed you with – “

But before Stiles is able to finish his sentence, everything fades away and Derek is surrounded by darkness.

I'll Be Seeing You | 81.4K | Explicit

In the summer of 1941, with the country on the brink of war, diner waiter Stiles meets Derek Hale, an army soldier just passing through Beacon Hills.

Babcia Knows Best | 11.8K

Stiles takes his grandmother to bingo every Thursday. Now there’s a new guy calling out the numbers, and his grandmother has decided to set them up.

Wild Horses | 78.9K | Explicit

Derek's a drifter with no home, no destination, and no will to live. Stiles works on his family's failing cattle and horse ranch while all his friends are going off to college. When Derek falls asleep in a random barn, exhausted and half-starved, he doesn't expect to wake up on the other end of the sheriff's shotgun. And Stiles sure as hell doesn't expect his dad to invite the drifter in for breakfast.

no aphrodisiac like loneliness  | 19.7K | Explicit

Stiles is 27 now, with a master’s degree and a career and a house and a serious boyfriend and a life in San Francisco that doesn’t include Derek. But then Stiles unexpectedly shows back up in Beacon Hills, and Derek would recognize that scent anywhere.

[ireadwithmyears]

Wrapped in Love

Pairing: Wrecker/Fem Reader

Word count: 2.8 K

Tags/warnings: Reader is a Jedi, referenced death of a sibling, grief/morning, sleeping problems, including false awakening loops/sleep paralysis, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: As a Jedi, you’re supposed to be able to let go of people after you lose them. But when your twin brother, who is also a Jedi, is killed mid battle during the clone wars, you find your grief manifesting in a plethora of sleeping problems that you hadn’t been prone to experiencing since childhood. When it all starts to become too much, only the batch’s resident demolitions expert/human teddy bear Wrecker is able to ground you and, little by little, help you feel safe again.

Authors note: So uh... if you didn’t know, one of my older brothers unexpectedly died several weeks ago, and this is just my way of coping with my grief, as well as the sleeping problems, discussed in this fic, that I’ve developed as a result. Often, I wake up feeling deeply unsettled and like I’m not entirely real, and this is immediately followed by the thought man, I could really use the strength of Wrecker to comfort me and make me feel grounded in this moment. So basically... this is that. Also written for @wrecker-week 😁

All the lights that blink and beam within each of the cockpit’s various displays are a normal, reassuring glow of green, indicating that all sensor readings, as of this moment, are blissfully, unremarkably normal.

Wrecker, to the shock of almost everyone who knows him, doesn’t actually mind this job. Sure, it’s probably the least exciting duty he and his brothers are forced to contend with on a semi-regular basis, what with operations needing to be split between such a small crew. But someone, especially whilst they were using some of the more clandestine hyperspace routes, needed to keep a constant eye on the various monitors, particularly for the critical systems and proximity sensors to detect for foreign vessels whilst travelling around the Outer Rim.

Wrecker, having what some would call an overactive mind and as a result, an abundance of energy that needed to be burned off somehow during the long stretches of nothingness that came with extraneous hyperspace forays such as this one, could always be counted on to find something to keep himself occupied through the night.

What he hadn’t counted on, but what was quickly becoming the standard routine, was you at some point or another joining him in the cockpit. 

When you had joined them, his squad had been apprehensive. 

But when a Jedi general who they had later learned was your former master had asked if they had room to take you in, well...

It wasn’t like Hunter could really raise any objections to that. 

So you had come aboard, and little by little they had learned of the circumstances that had brought you to them. 

You were a twin, and in a slightly less-conventional Jedi upbringing, were trained in the ways of the Force alongside your brother. You both had different masters and were encouraged to find balance within your familial relationships so as not to form unhealthy attachments. But regardless, family was family, and you often found yourselves, once you had both become knights, working alongside each other and in later years fighting at each other’s side to defend peace and to protect vulnerable planets as the war tore its way across the galaxy.

Which, in the end, had made it all the more devastating when, mid battle, in a bid to protect his men, your brother was overpowered and cut down by General Grievous.

The worst part, which should have been viewed as a mercy but in reality felt like a final blow to you, was that you weren’t even there to witness his final, heroic sacrifice.

You were at the Temple, and subsequently had woken up in bed with a horrible, aching pain in your chest and an instinctive, loud, and screeching feeling that something was irrevocably and unspeakably wrong.

Even before the Temple Guards had arrived at your quarters to inform you, deep within the confines of your soul, where the ever-present song of the Force had faded into a clashing, churning dissonance within your ears, you had already known. 

You were left with the shadow, the memory of him everywhere you went, and an inescapable, desperate urge to run away from it all. So, with your master unable to convince you to stay out of the fight entirely and to instead take some time to go on a meditation retreat, he had sent you to them, where you could still be of use without yours and your brother’s mutual acquaintances, friends, and the familiar settings that brought the memory of him back just to haunt you, and that with some luck, you could grieve whilst also maintaining some degree of distance from the brother and the childhood that you had lost.

The only problem now? 

You’ve come to associate your bed, and by extension getting to sleep, as not safe anymore.

Your bed, of all places, should be the one place where you do feel safe. It’s warm, it’s comfortable, and it’s the place you always go when you find yourself in need of rest.

But the bed was not safe.

Bed meant lying down, going to sleep, and waking up to news that could shatter you as easily as if you were glass. Going to sleep, in the same vein, became a fretful nightly event, where you would lie down and try to convince yourself, sometimes for up to several hours, that everything was fine, that you would close your eyes, wake up in the morning, and most everything would remain the same—safe, familiar and unchanging, much like the monitors and sensor readings on the cockpit’s various displays.

And then there were the nightmares, which themselves were an issue all on their own.

The thing about nightmares is that a lot of the time, they don’t have to be this vivid, terrifying experience in which you watch as your twin brother is, viciously and without mercy, stabbed through the chest and back with two lightsabers in quick succession.

You don’t need to go to sleep at night for that image to burn behind your eyes if you happen to fixate on it too much. 

Your nightmares nowadays were quiet and deceptive in their appearance, which in the end makes them all the more deeply unsettling to wake up from. 

Disappointingly, in a painful twist that really shouldn’t have been all that surprising given the circumstances, they were also recurring, a remnant of your childhood that you thought you had left in your Padawan days long ago. 

“False-awakening loops” your master, with patience and a seemingly endless reserve of compassion, had called them. “When you are stressed or are anticipating something stressful is about to happen, you are unable to fully relax into sleep. To try and compensate, your brain will aim to re-create the familiar scenario of waking, sometimes over and over again, in an attempt to process the stress or trauma that has triggered it.”

So, as it was, you found yourself reverting back to those subtle but frightening dreams that cropped up on particularly stressful occasions when you were a youngling.

You would wake up. You would start your day, and then something strange, disquieting, or a frightening mixture of both would slowly alert you to the fact that you were dreaming, and then, as soon as you would begin to struggle to get yourself out and actually wake up for real, it would repeat, happening up to five or six times on a loop until, somehow you were able to pull yourself out of the tangle of dreams, stumbling back into your awareness with a blurry, visceral fear that this too was not real, leaving you with the sick feeling of being caught, ensnared in a trap.

What you hadn’t accounted for, when these dreams started to disrupt your sleep more often than they ever did when you were a child, was him.

But he was there, warm and strong and so, so incredibly real when he held you in the aftermath that really, at the end of the day, falling for him had been easy. 

As easy as it is for you to stumble from your bunk in this moment, quick, urgent footsteps carrying you to the cockpit, your eyes wet as you search for him until finally, finally he’s standing in front of you, and he’s real. You’re reaching for him and collapsing into his arms, legs shaky and threatening to give out, but it’s fine, he has you, and he isn’t going to let you fall.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You feel yourself being lifted, arms gently tucking you against a broad, strong chest as he sinks down into one of the cockpit seats, settling you in his lap. “We’re okay, see? You’re safe.”

His hands brush along your shoulders and back and he frowns, feeling every muscle tense, shaking uncontrollably within his hold. 

“It was the usual one, wasn’t it?”

You sniffle, barely able to look up at him as you shiver, slowly nodding your head. The muscles in his arms flex against your trembling form as his hold tightens slightly. 

“Oh,” he says, sounding disheartened. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

His hands run up and down your arms in a slow, soothing rhythm. 

“I-I couldn’t move this time,” you shudder, belatedly supposing that maybe that’s why your body has decided to shake uncontrollably now that it’s been given the freedom. In all your years of experiencing these loops, sleep paralysis has never been part of the deal, and it frightened you even more than the usual, unsettling loops of false awakenings. Something about being aware of everything around you but being unable to get up or even twitch One of your fingers has rattled something deep within your bones, and it still lingers within your quivering, tensed muscles even now. “I, I could hear my alarm going off but I couldn’t...”

When you say it out loud, it feels stupid, almost ridiculous and silly and certainly not deserving of the amount of fear that’s still rolling off of you like waves right now. But Wrecker—sweet, gentle Wrecker—only gathers you closer to his chest, tender as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Shh,” he soothes, his hand drawing slow, soft circles against the shaky and tensed muscles of your back. “You’ve been so brave, my sweet thing. But it’s okay, see?”

He lightly nuzzles his nose against your hair, taking a slow, steady inhale before dipping to press a soft kiss to the curve of your cheek.

“You’re safe, see?” he whispers, his breath a warm caress against your ear. “I’ve got you, mesh’la. You know I’ll keep you safe.”

“P-Promise?” you ask, trying not to grimace at how small your voice sounds.

“I promise,” Wrecker murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. All you can do is nod, dropping your head to rest against him, feeling yourself continuing to shake as his thumb gently circles between your shoulder blades.

“Do you need anything?” he asks, his voice softened. “Is there somethin’ I can do to make it better?”

“I-I don’t know,” you whisper, still shivering all over despite your best attempt to stop the uncontrollable spasms.

You don’t know how to explain it, don’t know how to tell him without sounding insane that you don’t feel 100% convinced that you’re real at the moment, but somehow, looking down at you with his brows pinched together and his expression contemplative, he figures it out anyway. 

He hums a low, thoughtful sound within his chest before taking your hand between his, slowly guiding it up and beneath his shirt until your palm is pressed against the slow, steady beat of his heart.

“Breathe, cyar’ika,” he whispers, his hand still idly tracing the back of yours as he holds it there. “This is real, I promise. We’re both real, and we’re safe, and I’ve got you.”

He’s been through this particular song and dance with you many times before. By now, he knows and has learned the hard way that asking you to name five things you can see, four things you can hear, etc is often times not very helpful, only serving to stress you out further when it’s too hard for you to form the words because there isn’t a part of you that just won’t stop shaking against him.

But this though. Warm, slightly flushed bare skin beneath yours. His heartbeat is tangible, real, too vivid and too present for even the most realistic of dreams to be able to replicate. His strength, which he could so easily use against you if he wanted to, is only used to hold you gently now, the strong, comforting bulk of him, his muscles settled against you is grounding like a weighted blanket, keeping you tethered to the real and holding your thoughts back from spiraling.

“There we go,” he says in a soft murmur, lips against your hair. He’s begun to rock you gently, still cradled to his chest as your shaking slowly ebbs and subsides, leaving you limp and boneless within his arms. “Doin’ so good for me, sweetheart. You’re okay.”

You shiver, only this time it’s not out of fear. It’s out of a visceral, pure relief that floods through you as you look up into his warm, amber eyes that are bright with attentiveness and concern. 

“You're real,” you whisper, your voice cracking as you reach up to brush your fingers against his cheek. You feel the resulting upward tilt of his lips and he smiles, warm, soft eyes melting with tender, sweet love as he nods his head.

“I’m real,” he confirms, reaching down to bring your hand to his lips, leaving a slow, soft kiss along the back of each knuckle. “And so are you, sweet girl.”

You nod, little by little melting into his strong embrace, and for a while the cockpit is silent save for the soft, synchronized patterns of your breathing as Wrecker’s fingers lightly stroke through your hair.

“It’s still not mornin’ yet,” he says, his voice quiet, cautious. “Do you wanna...maybe lie down for a bit and see if—”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his sentence. 

“No,” you say, uncaring that your voice sounds petulant like that of a child. “I can’t, Wrecker. It isn’t…my bed…it doesn’t feel safe right now.”

Your fingers curl within the material of his shirt, struggling to find the words to explain that the only thing, the only place that feels safe for you right now is here in his arms while he holds you, keeping you grounded...keeping you feeling like you’re real.

“Easy, cyar’ika, ‘s okay.”

He turns your hand over, pressing a quick kiss to the inside of your wrist. 

“I’ll think of somethin’,” he promises, and sure enough, a few moments later, he has.

You watch as he returns from the bunk room, arms laden with pillows and blankets, biting your lip as you tilt your head.

“Where’d you get all those?” you ask, because even with yours and his bedding combined, it wouldn’t be this much.

“Tech’s pillow almost always ends up on the floor, and he usually ends up kicking his blanket off without even noticing during the night,” he explains, offering a small, sheepish grin.

You watch him as he arranges pillows on the floor, only sparing one which he places over his folded legs. 

“Come here, sweetheart,” he beckons, and uncharacteristically timid, you do, letting him arrange you as you settle.

“This one is yours,” he says with careful and precise movements while wrapping a warm and familiar blanket around you. “This one is mine.” 

You blush because before he even says it, you can already tell because the blanket smells like him. 

“And this one,” he says with a flourish that makes you quietly giggle before he gently wraps you up in the last of the three blankets, “is Tech’s, and don’t worry,” he adds, being sure to tuck the blanket beneath your chin, “I’m sure he won’t mind. Now lie down for me, cyar’ika. I’ve got you.”

He gently eases you into a lying position, your head resting against the pillow that’s settled across his lap. It’s now that you realize he’s effectively swaddled you within the blankets, wrapping you up tightly like you’re in some kind of blanket burrito. You sigh, snuggling contentedly down into the soft pile of bedding. 

It is safe, and his hand is in your hair, gently playing with the strands, and that, too, feels safe. You stifle a yawn, only now realizing how tired, how exhausted, really, you feel, and that as well, you know is because you’re safe.

Not only that, you realize. Specifically, it’s because you feel safe with him. Nowhere else, no one else has been able to provide that kind of comfort and surety, and you let out a breath, nuzzling your cheek against his hand when he strokes it, like a tooka asking for more pets. From the low, contented sound he makes within his chest, you don’t think he minds very much as he obliges.

“Close your eyes, mesh’la,” he coaxes, watching you as your eyes begin to flutter. “I promise I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You’re reluctant, because you don’t want to fall back into sleep and its sometimes untrustworthy, careless hands. But you’d also do anything for Wrecker, and really he’s not actually asking you to sleep. He only wants for you to get some rest however you can manage it. So, with some trepidation, you do, his thumb gently brushing along your cheek as you finally allow your eyes to close.

When it’s morning, when you do wake up from a peaceful sleep that you somehow manage to fall into, he’s still there. Strong, OnGard and protective but so, so gentle and soft as he touches you, keeping you safe through the night, just as he promised to do. 

•Thank you to @freesia-writes and @snotbuggle for these wonderful Wrecker themed dividers😊

•If you enjoyed this work, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblog. :-) They are very appreciated

[notebookqueenofnarnia]

Okay Demigods

now that Season 2 has been confirmed (!!!!!!!!!!) I am here to make my official appeal that you ALL read the books. and yes...i mean ALL the books. Because here is what you are missing if you don't:

(mostly spoiler free. mostly vibes and chaotic no context)

OG PERCY JACKSON

Percy's INCREDIBLE sarcasm

Lots of chaotic Mr. D moments

Percy's unending absolute obliviousness when it comes to: his own abilities/powers, his own feelings towards a certain daughter of Athena, and EVERYONE'S feelings towards him

the full list of Percy's felonies (it's longer than you think!)

how much Percy thinks about Annabeth, especially in the third book

The Hunters of Artemis (everyone's like 'which godly parent would you have?' but im like ??? who cares??? I'm running off with the girls to immortal to hunt men i mean monsters)

soooooooooo much Sally Jackson is the Best Mom (to everyone who walks through her door) content

BLACKJACK. TRANS ICON BLACKJACK THE PEGASUS.

Rachel. Elizabeth. Dare. (this is how the audiobook says her name every single time)

Paul Blofis

Sally Jackson, author

Poseidon: Blowfish?

HEROES OF OLYMPUS

If you don't read these books you are missing out on some of the coolest female characters Rick has created: PIPER (an iconic), HAZEL (unintentionally hilarious), REYNA (beautiful character arc), and ANNABETH's point of view will have you loving her on a whole other level, trust me

Also: COACH HEDGE

Leo

All The Ladies Love Leo

the audiobooks are INSANE. It felt like a full cast read the book, but no. it was just one insanely talented narrator.

FESTUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS (im a dragon girlie)

Personally, I spent a lot of time reading the OG 5 wondering about how Roman mythology plays into Percy's world. Uncle Rick answered my questions and answered them SO WELL

Hazel the horse girl

Frank the horsebirddolphinman

Frank, gentle himbo, my beloved son

MY FAVORITE SCENE WHICH INVOLVES PERCY NOT KNOWING HOW TO DRIVE, A HARPY, FRANK, AND HAZEL AND THEYRE ALL SCREAMING AND IM PRETTY SURE STUFF IS ON FIRE

Forced Proximity for 7 teenagers and one chaotically violent satyr (that's Coach Hedge)

Eros/Cupid being one the most genius things Rick's ever written

Percy's hate of Ares transcending god magic

(also his love of Annabeth, but that's like obvious)

PercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabethPercabe

weird barely gnome things

this one giant whose name is definitely not pronounced like female anatomy

everyone thinking Percy and Annabeth are constantly getting up to the hanky panky

a statue made me cry

Gay Grumpy/Sunshine (or should that be Death/Sunshine) origins!!

TRIALS OF APOLLO

Apollo, vain himbo of godly proportions is forced to live as Lester Papadopoulos

Percy: why

a very chaotic twelve year old daughter of Demeter

she commands Apollo around

plant magic

terrible great haikus at the start of every chapter

Sally Jackson being the best mom to everyone who comes to her door

magic shoes

a sassy magic prophetic arrow that talks in Shakespearean English

so much gay grumpydeath/sunshine content

also yes sunshine's dad is Apollo

Apollo sings

Grover! Piper! Reyna! Hazel! All the friends! Everyone

Jason! (also im sorry)

what if there were some trees who were an elite squad of warriors who also answer to the chaotic twelve year old

gay moms of the midwest

unicorns

in the last book, chiron takes the campers on a 'field trip' to help take down the big baddie and he shows up dressed as a warrior soccer mom with granola bars, water bottles, and extra swords attached to his fanny pack

a different chaotic twelve year old while fighting to the death in a building that's on fire: "CAN WE GO ON FIELD TRIPS EVERY WEEK?"

chiron: "ROSE DEAR RAISE YOUR SWORD A LITTLE HIGHER!"

okay im not going to spoil it but in the last book there is also this extremely horrifyingly violent moment that Uncle Rick somehow turns into one of the most hilarious things i've ever read

Piper in the epilogue

CHALICE OF THE GODS

more insanely funny percy first person narration

Grover, Percy, Annabeth reunite ("the gang is back together!" "The three musketeers!" "Shrek, Fiona, and Donkey!" "Excuse me?")

have you met the god of himbos? (Percy has)

SO

MANY

EASTER

EGGS

for Season one. you can totally see how Uncle Rick worked on the script and chalice together

if you liked Annabeth shoving Percy into the water....this one is for you

Percy, supreme god of snakes

the cutest cutest cutest cutest Percabeth content you will ever read

hippie gods (yes more than one)

Percy is literally obsessed with Annabeth

Annabeth already being the Jackson daughter in law

Sally Jackson and Paul and

For the record: You CAN read Chalice of the Gods without reading the other series, but please please please read all these books. The audiobooks are phenomenal.

[yanderes-galore]

Hi is it ok to request Jean (AOT) romantic HCs please 💗

Sure! This is a general look on Jean but I just happen to like how S4 Jean looks so-

Yandere! Jean Kirstein Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Violence, Blood, Clingy behavior, Possessive behavior, Overprotective behavior, Jealousy, Manipulation, Fear of loss, Social isolation, Death, Forced relationship.

Your first encounters with Jean were no doubt... unpleasant.

Jean tended to fall in love easily in his youth due to his upbringing, easily swayed by pretty faces.

In your shared youth, he was always blunt and cynical... to the point of antagonizing anyone who felt hopeful in their current situation.

You knew Jean since you were cadets, even during Marley.

Jean is no doubt just as Infatuated with you as when you were young, too.

Your early interactions with Jean are no doubt fights.

Before Trost, Jean was antagonistic and yet also a coward.

You always kept the view of not rolling over to let a Titan kill you.

You would do whatever it took to survive, and hiding away wasn't going to solve anything.

Which is often where Jean fights with you.

Once or twice you two ended up getting physical, usually during training.

You two had to be separated in response.

It's believed you two hate each other by your comrades.

What other option is there when you two are often verbally and physically against one another?

However... The death of Marco and so many other friends changed Jean.

You noticed you two fought less and he didn't try to put down your beliefs as much.

In fact, he even joined the Scouts with you and many others.

It's a relief he stopped... as now you can focus on training without you and Jean fighting.

You probably still have scars from those times....

Jean is still harsh on you at times, but it's for entirely different reasons.

Now it's because he's scared to lose you.

The world is changing and he's getting attached to his new companions.

Plus... He's beginning to realize he hasn't just fallen for your looks.

He's fallen for you.

A big driving factor of Jean as a yandere is his protective instinct.

He's lost many people, like Marco....

He knows you two used to fight in the past.

Yet now he's terrified to lose you too.

To the point he hates even having you go on missions.

Sure, you're capable, but one wrong step?

It makes him shiver... his heart aches...

He really is in love with you.

You may not want his care... yet it doesn't matter to him.

Jean would be anxious and more moody when on missions with you.

There's small hints of his adoration for you.

Blushing, shy behavior, stuttering, he's like a school boy with a crush.

Even when he's an adult he finds himself struggling to speak normally with you over time.

Jean is primarily protective due to what he goes through.

He's seen Titans, he's seen what they and other people can do, he could easily lose you...

If he doesn't step in, that is.

Jealousy and possessive behavior also makes itself known.

When he isn't worrying about your safety, he's worrying about others having a strong connection with you.

All the Scouts are close with one another, yeah...

Yet Jean worries about one of them stealing your heart before he can.

For example, He sees how you interact with Eren or Armin... or anyone else.

You smile at them, looking all happy.

It makes Jean envious.

Why can't you look at him like that?

Even after he changes his behavior, you still look at him with disdain!

Do you hate what he does?

Do you still view him as a coward?

Jean just wants to protect you... but you keep fighting him.

Imagine if Jean felt the only way to keep you safe is to keep you out of missions entirely?

Even more so if he was your squad leader?

When you were younger there was times he'd try to talk you out of missions once his obsession starts.

Yet you'd still find a way on them anyways.

When you're both older and you're used to working together, Jean gets more desperate.

He snaps more, you two fighting more now that the events with Marley started.

Except this time, it's Jean who wants to shield you away rather than shielding himself.

By this point he's infatuated and determined to keep you safe.

Jean wouldn't necessarily kill someone to keep you unless there was a reason.

He hates losing unnecessary lives as a leader.

Although, occasionally he'll break an arm... give a black eye...

He'll have blood on his hands, but the other person will live to learn their lesson.

Yet kidnapping? Isolation? If it meant you were alive, safe...

He'll take anything.

Jean would work as an excellent enemies/lovers character.

He always despises your wish to fight one way or another.

But the reason changes over time.

At first he thinks it's idiotic, later it's because he's scared to lose another person he cares for in this world.

You are the only one he's felt such an exhilarating and burning love for.

He wants to preserve how he feels, preserve you...

No matter what.

Imagine Jean knocking you out, a task that isn't very difficult due to his strength.

By the time you wake up, you're in an isolated cabin or room.

You can try to get answers as to where you are, but Jean is adamant on not saying a thing.

Jean may not always have blood on his hands for you...

Yet he uses those same hands to cover your eyes and shield you from the pain of the world even he had to face.

It's like he's coddling you.

Jean can't take anymore pain.

Losing you may make him snap entirely.

He ignores your questions, merely saying this was for the best.

Who knows? Perhaps in captivity Jean confesses.

He says he's doing this because he's scared to lose you.

He loves you.

He wants to be with you forever.

He's sorry but he promises to make things better.

His confession is clumsy.

Sudden.

He's desperate and you can sense it when he leans in to kiss your lips...

Like he's reassuring himself that this is the right thing to do.

Like he knows it's not... yet refuses to change it.

Jean would feed you rations, show you affection, treat you like there's nothing wrong.

In reality, fear controls Jean.

He's still a coward who yearns for a life of comfort.

He wants that kind of life with you.

He finds comfort in you... You're the only comfort in his life.

He'd be a fool to let you go and lose you to the cruel world out there...

No matter how selfish it may be...

Jean plans to keep you with him forever, safe and sound.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ RESOLUTION [PART 5]

➠ series masterlist | ⏪part 4 | ⏩part 6 |

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 LEON S. KENNEDY / CARLOS OLIVEIRA / JILL VALENTINE / ADA WONG X AFAB GN! READER As the rescue team retraces footsteps of their MIA agents, they find out the virus is more than what it appears. Waiting to be opened like a pandora's box inside this eerie mansion. NOTES: 🔞18+ READERS ONLY - NO MINORS🔞 descriptions of blood, zombies, injuries, death, realistic dolls, virus, fire weapons, rotten food, and mould. mentioned pegging. many action elements, a little closer to the plot reveal. includes two minor oc's in the unit. written in chris and rebecca's pov (reader is mentioned, not present). 8.7 k words | reblogs appreciated!

EMPLOYEE QUARTERS – 3:02 AM.

Who knows since when, the front door entered by the last squad is bolted shut, windows on the first and second floor barred. Inspection around the perimeter reports none of the side doors can be budged. Except one, secretly veiled away through a narrow, overgrown path only accessible from the backstreet.

An inconspicuous door can be found at the end of the passage, made of the same stone brick wall attached onto the thick mahogany door, vines enshrouding the exterior.

Presumably, this is the employee’s entrance. Much less glorious than the fountain driveway view where an imaginary doorman invites you into the residence by the ten-feet-tall double doors. This entry desperately needs weeding; the door is worn, rusted metal handles and weak hinges signal negligence in maintenance for years.

Chris, leading in first with his impromptu rescue squad of six, pushes down the copper handle, and lets it swing out. Wood squeaks slowly until the hinges fully extend, thudding serenely to a stop.

From within, a hollow void. Not a sound, nor a creak to be heard from the blackness of the echo chamber besides the six footsteps. A cold chill like a woman’s breath blows onto their necks from the outside, slowly swallowed by the thick odour of mildew and mould.

Someone rummages for a light switch, clicks it, and clicks it the other way again. Power’s out, of course. Chris presses on his earpiece, and just as he thought, communication to the outside is already fizzing into distortions. There will be no one from the outside to rescue them once they venture into the thick of this freak house.

They turn on the flashlight attachment on their rifles for convenience. It’s going to be difficult navigating through the dark, and vital for the unit to err on the side of caution. Who knows what ambushes Arias had conjured for an unwelcomed surprise, knowing his guarded nature.

“Agent Chambers. Do we have location?” Chris asks.

“I can’t track our exact location until the GPS is fixed. But I can tell you that the unit should be around south-east of the mansion according to their last known coordinates, which is approximately… that way.” Rebecca draws out an old-school compass from her pouch and points towards the left side of the hallway according to her device.

“Thank you, Chambers.” Chris states blankly. Rebecca taps her head down to acknowledge once. The air is damp with bitterness, only felt between them.

The front of the entrance invites them to a mudroom with a wide nook sweeping along the broads of the wall. The inner wood panel is enveloped by speckles of mould; more than half of the hangers are still occupied. Chris traces a thin sheet of dust along a puffer jacket.

“Captain, take a look at this.” A thick Hispanic accent gravels out. The figure behind Chris is almost as tall as himself. His face concealed but his personality undeniable focused and direct. Chris vaguely remembers the man’s name through a rushed introduction, Gabriel, sent by B.S.A.A.’s South American branch as a gesture of goodwill.

Gabriel points to the vague darkness behind himself. Chris turns away from the racks, directed into the lounge room around the corner. It is adorned with modest furniture: a few couches, a television, openly connected to the kitchen, and long dining table.

Above the table, there lies a bitten sandwich with splotches of green mould, mugs drank only halfway and meals abandoned before they were done. Leaving the uncut vegetables, dairy, raw beef, as they were for the inhabitation of fungi.

Everyone in the room right now is grateful for Rebecca’s last-minute idea for the masks to give them some coverage for the stench.

“November 19. Tch, all the food had expired five months ago. What a waste, tch.” This voice is deeper in timbre than Gabriel’s with a tendency to click his tongue at any inconvenience. He must be the other assigned unit, Miguel.

“That week was the first A-Virus attack in the world.” Rebecca comments solemnly. Can there be such a coincidence?

“Whatever they had to do, they left in a hurry.” Chris glances around the room once more. What business could they have to evacuate so suddenly?

“A-Are they going to be o-okay?” Nerves are getting a hold of the rookie; the flashlight circle from Johnny’s rifle is visibly shuddering. “What if those m-m-monsters got to them?”

“Can’t be since there’s no struggle. Like they’d blipped in time.” Mike suggests the possibility by recreating the events with his free hand, even uttering a fainted pooof! drifting into the silence for sound effect.

“Nothing had been in and out of this place for a week. Whoever’s left might be starving.” Unless all the employees had left way earlier. But there is an aching dread in Chris’ gut that fears this may not be the case. Just like the other MIA agents who are somewhere in this lodging. There must be more to this story.

“Search for any survivors in the area and stay in line of sight. Don’t ever split up.” Chris orders, looking directly into the darkness of the narrow hallway beyond.

“Yes, Captain!” Five voices bark in response.

- - -

It feels like they had walked for an eternity, through a series of sharp turns, with no visual signs of the end, only mould growing thicker and thicker the further they venture. It was the same portrait, same console table, decorated by the same damned tablecloth over and over again.

On top of the white laced cloth, there is always a baby, barely three months old.

It shook Rebecca in the beginning until she notices the infant is completely still. It’s only a doll. A very realistic one at that, dressed from head to toe in pink and frills.

After what seems like the tenth doll, the discomfort in her brews whenever Rebecca passes by. She can’t help but notice how glassy their eyes, how those irises and pupils look too damn realistic. Like real human eyes, staring. Like it can cry. Every time light hits those pearly beads, whatever light the darkness can spare anyway, Rebecca swears the doll is looking directly at her each time. She wonders if she had gone crazy.

Perhaps it was one of Arias’ secret hobbies… like Arias’ pegging fetish she unfortunately discovered in the depths of a gossip forum. Hey, it’s not her place to say what a billionaire can or can’t do for recreation if it isn’t harming anyone… besides his own crack, maybe.

That took her mind off the creepy temporarily. Nobody else seem to mind, or if they did, they didn’t say a thing. Chris in particular—his mind never left the objective.

“Anyone home? This is B.S.A.A. We’re looking for survivors. Any survivors? Survivors, please show yourself.” Chris announces their presence at every door that meets him along the corridor, bellowing out to make survivors known of their rescue.

But only the echo of himself returns his call, corridor after corridor, room after room, in the humble living quarters that is nothing more than a bunk bed and two desks. Not a soul nor a zombie in sight. But they haven’t given up yet. There is still plenty of the mansion unexplored.

The next door they encounter is different, standing out prominently against the rest with its steel surface, while the rest mahogany wood. And despite this whole area already zoned off from general access, a sinister sign on top warns that this place is off limits to even most employees.

The six of them look at each other and decide silently in unison to investigate inside.

LABORATORY – 3:17 AM

Chris is the first to enter the laboratory, stepping inside the darkness without hesitation to encourage his subordinates to follow suit without fear. Some sticky sensation is caught between their soles, leaving their every footstep. Mike notices first, and he aims his flashlight onto the ground.

Blood red pools, splattered across the bleached tiles in trails like spider lilies, painted across white coats of motionless bodies only several feet away from them… fifty of them. Beyond that, a daring splash of struggle across the mighty propane tank hulking over the centre of the laboratory.

Rebecca winces at the sight; her first time witnessing such a bloodshed. Chris notices, bringing a step forward to shield her from the sight.

“What the fuck happened here…” Chris growls. Before he can take another bloodied step, he hears someone making a retched groan.

It was Johnny, tightening his vocals to hold back a scream, but instead, it erupts into a high pitch shriek of fear instead.

The bodies react to the sound, starting to move. At first, only slight like the trick of an eye. Then, the torsos rise in isolation, head turning slow almost 180 degrees, eyes affixed on the intruders. Their skin ashen grey, veins and arteries pop out freshly, where the stench is the most putrid here.

All six soldiers ready their rifles. Avoiding big movements, slowing their limbs backwards to the way out. The zombie hoard of many dozens in front of them matches their pace, unsure whether friend or enemy.

Something falls. Slipping away from Rebecca’s back pocket, a metallic cylinder case—long and thin, that a ballpoint pen will fit perfectly inside. It crashes onto the floor, a light thud. But in the quiet room with nothing but hostile hisses and crackling of bones, the zombies pounce at the same time at the sign of confirmation.

Gunshots fire, without restraint, bullets whizzing across the room, taking aim. Shots pierce into the desaturated skin, but no blood manifests from those wounds. The water source that pumps into their hearts had dried up a long time ago. Even bullets hitting directly into the skull merely stuns them temporarily, and they rise back onto their feet in no time.

The unit is very effective and spares little ammunition for the unnecessary—but they are solely six humans in an army of undead. They can’t hold them off forever. If they are cornered, that’s it.

Rebecca, however, has her eyes set on something else instead of the massacre in front of her.

My case…. Where is my case! She thinks as her eyes dart around the ground in desperation, between legs and fallen bodies. Something shiny under a chair peeks out in the corner of her eye.

There it is! Despite every fibre of her gut opposing her, Rebecca advances further inside to retrieve it at all costs. She doesn’t dare to stray her eyes away from the container, fearing it will escape her again. Someone kicks it; the metal leaps and rolls near the lab console next to the large cylinder tank.

She makes her way over and tries to lay her rifle on top of the console. It slides due to its slanted surface, so she leans her rifle against the tank for support.

Some of Rebecca’s right palm brushes the metal sheet, and immediately, a stinging heat like a million thorns set her hand ablaze. She flings her arm away, winces, and notes the parts of skin that contacted the tank is patched red with small cysts forming.

The propane tank can easily fit 200 gallons inside. With closer observation, she can hear the flow of water bubbling, churning in its mechanism, pushing out steaming sounds. Rebecca notes that the tank is connected by ductwork.

“What’re you doing, Rebecca!?” Chris explodes, and Rebecca jolts in place, bringing her consciousness back to the present where she remembers they are amid a zombie attack.

She plants her entire body flat onto the ground, detecting the cylinder stuck under the console through a thin gap. The console isn’t secured to the floor, so Rebecca tries budging it to no avail. It’s too heavy.

Rebecca shoves her arm into the gap; her fingers slid in successfully, but it’s stuck on the protruding bone of her wrist. She outstretches her fingers, the tip of it almost reaching the roundness she is seeking. She just needs a bit more distance.

“Rebecca! Out, now!” She can hear Chris warn from afar. “This is an order!”

“One second!” Rebecca thrusts in a bit harder, and a bit more of her wrist enters at the cost of rough friction scratching her wrist bone. Her nail catches it, and she rolls it underneath the pads of her fingers. Now she just needs to lea…

……Wait. Wait, wait, wait. She can’t leave. Her wrist is jammed. Rebecca can’t take it out even if she uses her entire body weight to lean against the pull. Her face is still planted and vulnerable.

Danger is advancing ever the closer. She can hear it even if she can’t see it. The irregular beats of staggering footsteps increase in volume, snarls getting curious. It won’t be long before she is discovered. But what other choice does Rebecca have now?

As if a sign from above, dim light starts to creep under the table as it lifts, freeing her wrist. Rebecca grabs the case securely into her hand and pulls it back.

Right behind her is Chris, forearm muscles pulsing in tension as he hoists the entire console, slamming it face first onto the two zombies eyeing at them both. They tumble backwards and groans.

Chris’ face darkens with rage, grabbing Rebecca’s shoulder around his arm as if to caution her reckless behaviours, and commands: “You. With me. Now.”

Rebecca, simply glad that she is still alive, nods and lets Chris pull her up in one forceful motion. As soon as Rebecca’s weight is back on her feet, he pushes her along with both arms, propping the rifle under his right arm, tunnelling his vision to the exit. But zombies are visible from all four corners. They are surrounded.

Abruptly, a cold arm wraps Chris from behind, ensnaring the captain in place to serve him on a platter to its zombie friends. Chris squeezes the rifle closer to his sides, and with the strength of his entire triceps, thrust the blunt edge of his bump stock into his assaulter’s torso. He can hear bones cracking, weakening, enough to free Chris of its tight grasp.

With practised ease, Chris adjusts his finger swiftly to the trigger; other hand over the handle in under a full second and fires at the next target leaping his way.

Rebecca wants to help Chris too. She presses down an empty space on her back. She had left her rifle next to the tank still. And now, the HK416 is idly resting behind five limping enemies with no intentions of letting her pass by.

That rifle is practically gone as far as she knows, so she unholsters her back-up pistol, her trusty Samurai’s Edge, tailored to her own needs and got her through thick and thin.

Rebecca knows she isn’t as much of a good shot as Chris is, lacking in almost a decade of combat experience behind Chris, but she kept up a fair deal of gun training and hand to hand combat during her research years for emergency purposes. And now, those skills are coming in handy.

Her shots are careful, only decisive ones of enemies that come between her way to the exit. Always looking over her blind spots in wariness because Rebecca knows one bite from a zombie is all it needs to take her out. She can’t be messing around here.

A zombie leaps directly into Rebecca as she heads checks, baring its fangs and curling its squirming fingers. Too close for a shot, she raises her arms to a block, tossing them aside when the pale hands advance closer to her neck. The nails are sharp, clawing into Rebecca’s skin as she shoves them away. Rebecca front kicks the thing away, and while it stumbles, gave her the perfect opportunity to take out its head in a burst shot.

But no matter how many enemies the two fended off, the path becomes more and more obscured by zombie heads and limbs, leaving no room for breath besides defending their own.

Gunshots other than their own starts firing around them. The other four comrades are clearing the way while guarding the exits.

“Captain! Rebecca!” Mike cries out.  

For a brief second, a window of opportunity surfaces, and their eyes catch sight of the clear line of exit between them and the zombies.

“Run! Just run!” Chris’ voice thunders over the gnarly crew of zombies.

But Rebecca didn’t need instructions for this one. They dash straight for the door, and when they passed, they didn’t stop either.

The others did a head start, already racing away; Chris and Rebecca eventually joining them at the end of the line, with Chris slamming the steel door in their enemies’ faces before he leaves. It will slow them briefly, but that won’t last forever.

The six of them sprint along the corridor, and a loud clang penetrates the air. Zombies had destroyed the entire metal door itself, following right behind, trying to overtake each other, despite the narrow width of the hallway that fits only two people side by side.

The hoard collides and tramples on each other, but their chase is relentless, showing no mercy until each and every one of their prey is devoured. Closing in distance, an inch at a time, but slowly and surely catching up to inevitable fatigued limbs of humans.

“W-We’re not going to make it, Ca-” Johnny, coming first in the sprint, sobs, but he isn’t allowed to slow down no matter even if his heavy backpack weighs him down, no matter how deep his leg sores. The sudden brake will trip everyone behind him, toppling his captain and colleagues together. And it will be all because of him. He can’t stop.

Chris can hear the stomping footsteps grow louder; he can feel it on the floor too, the wooden boards quaking in fury from withholding such strength and speed in the tight path. He turns his head, and the outreached arms of the zombies are within a few feet away from his own neck.

Chris had to think fast—no, don’t think. More time thinking means less action. They’re quickly approaching the end of the hallway several yards away, and beyond that darkness. It can be a dead end too, what then?

Till he hears a chime.

Tick, tick, tick.

He sees it. A grandfather clock propping up on the side of the wall, right before the cloud of darkness. Chris can use that.

First, it was Johnny who made it to the other side of the clock. Then Miguel, Gabriel. Then Rebecca. Then Mike. And when it was Chris turn, he spins his body 180 degrees, meeting the hoard eye to eye.

He claws all ten of his fingernails onto the intricate engravings into the heavy wood. With a heavy shove, pulls the entire seven feet tall clock sideways to barricade the corridor.

All can hear the break of the bell when it crashes and the mechanism within fails. The hourly melody starts playing abruptly in malfunction, failing its fundamental ability to read the current time. Only the crooked and solemn tone resonates throughout the hollow vicinity.

That won’t be enough. They can still crawl underneath, between and over the gaps of the wood. Chris readies aim between the gaps, waiting for the zombies to peek through.

But Chris can’t see any heads. Or any movement, matter of fact. They freeze at the call of the chimes, and after a few seconds, their bodies retreat. Over the gap, Chris can see zombies with their backs turned, returning into the darkness of the hallway once more like they were never there in the first place.

There is a moment of silence, first. A moment to catch their breath. But this moment doesn’t last when Chris storms towards Rebecca, grabbing her forearm, forcing her to take a backwards a step.

“What the fuck were you thinking? You coulda died!” Chris seethes with a face of pure rage; everyone clenches their fists in fear.

“C’mon now, Capt. Go easy on her.” Mike tries to stand between Chris and Rebecca, a valiant attempt to diffuse Chris’ temper, but is unsuccessful.

“No. There’s no need.” Rebecca assures him. This is something between her and her captain. Her own accountability she had decided to take on herself.

“Would you like to explain yourself?” Chris asks, his tone abrasive.

“It was important.” She tries to brush aside the issue. Rebecca can’t tell her about the metal case, not yet. He will be too protective about it.

Chris takes one big step to close the gap, she can feel the heat from his eyes scorching her.

“Chris! I need you to trust me on this!” Rebecca pleads, though it doesn’t provide the clarification Chris wanted at all.

“That’s Captain Redfield to you!” Chris roars, and all sounds turn still.

He pauses, immediately regretting his words and tone. Once again, Chris gazes directly into her eyes that displayed only sincerity. This isn’t like the open book personality Chris knows of her. Something is up. Something Rebecca doesn’t want to share. He can’t push her—what kind of person will that make him?

Only his final thought reaches her ears. “More important than your own life?”

The room turns silent. Rebecca’s answer says a lot without saying anything at all.

The grip tightens on her arm, and Rebecca flinches. This is when Chris sees the state of the arm he is grabbing—secondary burns, bruised wrist, and strips of fresh blood free-flowing from both arms.

“…Get her fixed up.” Chris releases the arm gently, so it doesn’t fall too hard, releasing out a heavy sigh that sounds older than his years.

“Roger, Captain.” Johnny lets down the backpack of supplies with relief.

“Anyone else injured?” Chris queries the group, significantly calmer since his reflection. He casts his eyes over everyone, deliberately avoiding Rebecca’s.

“I think I broke my foot.” Gabriel was running fine before, but after the adrenaline had died down, he begins to feel every pain on his leg. He now staggers and the injured foot is hovered slightly.

“Let me have a look.” Rebecca gets down onto her knees to examine the foot. She advises him to roll up his pant leg. The spot is swollen red and soft, and it flinches when touched. Rebecca asks him to move his ankle: he can’t.

“It’s a fracture. You might not be able to move your leg for a while.” Rebecca pats herself up. “Ice would be ideal here but nothing we can do now. There are some bandages in the first aid. That should help with the swelling.”

“Alrighty, I needa resupply anyway! Those zombies took quite a few mags.” Mike is already three magazines down in his front pouch.

Rebecca needs a resupply too; there should be spare rifle in there for emergencies. Her Samurai’s Edge is reliable, but she needs something stronger if she wants to survive the rest of this journey. She can’t risk turning back and aggravating the zombie hoard once more.

The fresh face unzips the backpack, reaching in. Initially, puzzled, then slowly morphs into the face of horror. His calm searching turns into frustrated shuffling, emptying out the contents of the bag one by one.

Lying on the ground are bags after bags of military rations, counting to fifty bags. After a while, he gives up. Everyone is fully aware now of his royal fuck up. Johnny had picked up the wrong backpack on his way in.

“Come on, rookie! You had one job!” Gabriel starts yelling, losing whatever composure he had just a moment ago.

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, sir!” repeats Johnny’s brittle apologies, fists trembling.

“Qué pinche pendejo eres… tch.” Miguel grumbles to himself, and as an act of self-comfort, massages his hand with each other and feeling the wedding ring on his hand.

“You motherfucker!” Gabriel tries to rise, and almost trips over his broken ankle when he finds it unsteady. Johnny rushes in to support him.

“Mind ya business!” Gabriel flails his arms at the poor child, before lowering himself down slowly through a strained grunt. “I’ve got a fucking broken leg here ‘cause of you! You shoulda be glad I can’t whoop your ass right now! Once this foot is working again, you’ll be sorry!”

“It’s not that bad, really…” Mike tries to console, but this time, it’s more a desperate attempt for self-reassurance.

“Stay out of this, American.” Gabriel snaps back.

“Enough. Both of you. We’ll find a way out of this.” Chris interrupts before things escalate too far.

“Tch. And what do you suggest, Captain?” Miguel scoffs.

There’s no point in changing what can’t be changed. They can only adapt to what they have not. Be it without supplies or ammo. There is always a way around, if it means taking things slow or conserving ammo for their future fights. However…

Chris peeks at Rebecca’s arm. Her skin is turning white from blood loss. She needs first aid, ASAP.

“Let’s look around. Maybe there are supplies.” Chris says.

“There better be. This leg’s not gonna fix itself.”

KITCHEN / LAUNDRY – 3:39 AM.

Johnny had offered to carry Gabriel, but he refused without sparing a glance at the rookie’s face. But he didn’t complain when Miguel haul him instead, all whilst announcing their passive aggression about incompetent American soldiers and how they can only trust each other.

Meanwhile, Chris is focused on getting problems solved than whining about them. There must be a weaponry, maybe medical supplies somewhere in this damn fancy house. If only he can figure out how this foreign layout works.

The end of the corridor spreads out into a large open space, giving them much needed room to explore and not bump into each other shoulder to shoulder. There is a kitchen if they continue straight, enough to fit an army of private chefs with a glass room of wine display proudly to the side.

And towards the right, there is a laundry room. Beside it, a door that hangs a sign: [STORAGE AREA]

Hopefully they will find what they need here.

STORAGE ROOM – 3:41 AM.

For a storage room, it is quite spacious. Cardboard boxes stack high to the ceiling around the room, labelled with its contained items: [CLEANING], [MEDICAL], [AMMUNITION]. They look around potential hiding spots for zombies: there is none. It seems like they are safe for now. And for that, the unit is relieved.

“Alright. Let’s get you fixed up.” Rebecca immediately starts rummaging through the medical drawer. Miguel carries and rests the injured onto a large cardboard box for his treatment, then finds himself in the ammunition box.

This detour is much welcomed by everyone. After restocking what they need, hope has returned—whatever they can afford in the present state of things—uncoiling the tension brewing inside each of the soldiers. Chris can even hear Mike’s good-humoured banter ripples a warm laugh through Gabriel and Miguel. And Johnny is chattering next to them.

Chris relaxes his guard too, finally, for the first time today. As captain, he is always expected to be one to straighten his subordinates. And he does. Sometimes even at the cost of having his emotions get to him. Like just now, with Rebecca.

Sometimes, what the team needs is not just a guy yelling at their faces, but rather someone with Mike’s charm, or Rebecca’s friendliness to light up the room and boost squad morale.

Which Chris appreciated them for—doing the things he can’t do as captain. As captain, he must always remain a respectful distance from his team. He is the most senior member of the squad and must act that way even when situations are dire.

That got him thinking about his old team, still nowhere to be found, where their long history of acquaintance allows the lines of authority to blur. Many of those missions with them are often exchanged with laughs…

Chris bumps his arm onto a table beside him. Atop lays a vintage typewriter, a piece of paper is stuck to it.

It has been an unspoken protocol between S.T.A.R.S to document their adventures on the go, in case an accident occurs, so their stories are remembered and not forgotten. That ritual followed Chris and his team into B.S.A.A. He picks up the note; the ink is still very faintly lukewarm.

To whoever is reading this,

There is something really creepy about this mansion. It’s just too dang quiet. Where on earth is everyone? I know that Arias should be on a plane to a different continent now, so nobody’s home but—

“…Ch-.” A voice can be heard in the air while he reads; he pushes the sound out to focus.

…But I feel a chill down my back. If you’re in this room now, ge—

A heavy hand slams onto the table, winces, then goes back on the table again. The entire forearm is bandaged, and the palm is wrapped in some translucent cling film.

“Chris! I’m talking to you.” Rebecca taps her foot impatiently.

“And I heard you. You don’t have to say my name twice.” Chris looks at her for a second and brings his eyes down back to paper, reading between the blurred lines. “I saw you were tending to Gabriel when you were in a much worse state. You should prioritise yourself first.”

“I actually called you three times!” Rebecca clicks her tongue, crossing her arms now.

Chris shrugs. Rebecca continues when she realises he isn’t going to say anything else.

“I can take care of myself, don’t worry, captain.” She utters the word captain with much disdain that it irks his eyebrow slightly.

“Suit yourself.” Chris pretends to read, but Rebecca is still staring intently, so he asks: “How can I help you, Chambers?”

She picks the paper out of his hands, and declares: “Maybe we should address the elephant in the room.”

“There is nothing to discuss.” Chrisfolds his arms to match hers.

“Clearly there is. Or you wouldn’t be ignoring me.” Rebecca’s voice comes out a little louder than it should, sounding throughout the room as everyone peeks at the duo. Chris doesn’t need an audience for their petty drama, lest appearing unprofessional to his own personnel.

“Let’s talk outside.”

The two promptly walk to the exit, with Rebecca behind Chris so he can’t escape. They leave the room, facing the wet laundry, as Chris closes the door behind him to avoid prying ears.

“Alright, talk then.” He begins, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.For a man like Chris, he can be cold when he is upset. Even among his close ones. But there is still a bit of warmth in his voice, a bit of unspoken openness to listen. But for Chris to be convinced, it is still highly dependent on what Rebecca says next.

“Hey- I just want to say.” All of a sudden not knowing where to start, or when. After trying to get Chris to make peace with her all day, she finally has his attention. But when the moment comes, Rebecca is lost for words. Stuck behind her throat and tongue ice frozen.

“I know you don’t want me here. Putting my life in danger.” says Rebecca quietly.

“Like I said, you are free to do what you want.” Chris deadpans. “…And you did. What’s done is done.”

“Hey, don’t give me that. C’mon, Chris. You know it would be better if I was here. I know this virus better than you do. I’ve been researching this for months, and- and- you know my radio won’t reach you in here with the signal jammed.”

“Everything beyond these doors are unknown territory. Did you forget five of our best agents went MIA here?” Chris releases one long, arduous breath.

Rebecca is silent. She hasn’t forgotten, will never forget if the agents are dead—but doing anything is better than doing nothing. She will rather put her life at risk than the waiting game just to be told her friends are dead. “Yes. I know that. But you need me here.”

“And what I need most, is for you to be safe.” Chris places both hands firmly on her shoulders, sighs, and lets go.

Chris admits; there is truth in her words. The virus is alive, a living subject. They must tread carefully. And who else knows about this virus better than Rebecca? She may be the means of life or death.

“We are still a team. We watch each other’s back. We trust each other.” Rebecca hesitates for a moment, then continues. “…Just like S.T.A.R.S, the good old days.”

Chris tries to push away the betrayal from the back of his mind and focus only on the good parts of the memories. But it didn’t work. The clockwork of life kept running, wondering if the same fate will happen to him once more.

Trust? How long has Chris trusted someone? Put his life on the line of other people’s desires, capabilities? How many people have died trying? When has that ever worked out for Chris? He knows that the only person he can rely on saving himself and others is his own self.

Abruptly, his thought process is interrupted by cheers cascading from the other side of the door. Chris opens the door, and Rebecca’s curiosity peeks inside.

The crowd is cheering at Miguel, passing around bottled water around the circle. In this house trapped with years’ worth of heat, rotted smell preserved in humidity, water is a found treasure to these men. Especially after the laborious sprint earlier, they can feel half of their bodies’ liquid lost, throat turning dry and lips crackling.

Rebecca recalls her discovery about the water supply. She remembers warning the crew about this. Yet through the corner of her eyes, she sees Gabriel cracking open the bottle seal, shimmying his mask out the way, his lips touching the lip of the plastic bottle.

“DON’T DRINK THAT!” She yelps, as loud as she can possibly muster.

And everything happened all at once.

STORAGE ROOM – 3:57 AM

Gas starts to sizzle into the room through tightened air pressure, escaping rapidly into the space. Engulfed in smoke, Rebecca clutches onto her mask, hoping that the cheap material will be sufficient. At the minimum providing a bit of resistance before they remove themselves from the smoke-filled room.  

“Squad! Make your way to the exit!” Chris orders.

Chris and Rebecca guide the team out one by one. Individuals start shuffling out of the mist from within. Johnny comes through first, then Mike, Miguel, and Johnny.

“Captain!” Johnny cries, pointing a wobbly finger into the puffs of smoke. “He’s still…”

Faintly from the haze, a figure manifests, sprawling on the floor. It grunts in fear, choking and coughing with arms extended.

“I… I can’t move! My… my leg…” His facial features slowly uncover from the smoke, and there is Gabriel desperately dragging along his broken foot towards the door. The injured had completely slipped Chris’ mind. He needs to get him out of there, now.

Chris pushes himself inside, but Mike grabs him before his foot makes its way in. Mike utters in grave realisation: “He’s unmasked.”

“I swear to god I’m alright! I swear on my life!” Gabriel cries even louder, swallowing a lump of smoke into his chest, and he chokes. “I didn’t drink the water!”

“Captain… what do we do?” asks Miguel, voice softening in desperation. He knows the answer to that question, but Miguel refutes that option, denying it like a child in the face of loss. “Captain! What do I do?”

Chris does not say a thing, nor it is his place. This farewell is reserved between him and his friend. Then afterwards, Chris must do what must be done.

“Miguel… ¡No me dejes aquí!” They can barely hear Gabriel’s sobs over the continuous hissing, louder through time, breaking free of the closed room to contaminate the air outside too.

That is, until Rebecca cuts in: “It’s not too late. The gas is useless by itself, as long as he didn’t drink the water. He’s going to be fine. But we shouldn’t risk it… Just in case.”

“Fuck this, I’m not leaving him there.” Miguel sprints past Chris and Mike into the white without looking back. They try to grab hold of him before he does anything reckless, but Miguel flings them away. “I’m not leaving him behind. We grew up in the same town. Enlisted together. Same squad for years. I’m not letting him go now.”  

Miguel searches inside the fog, and finding the lightly conscioused Gabriel quivering with his chest on the floor. Miguel hauls Gabriel’s body weight onto his own.

“We’re getting out of here alive, Gabito.” Miguel swings an arm around his friend’s shoulder, pulling Gabriel’s feeble foot upwards and lets his torso limp over himself.

“Tch c’mon, haven’t we been through everything already? I’ve seen you worse when you broke your arm and ribs.”

“I remember that. You carried me all the way back to camp just like this.” Gabriel speaks with a mellow voice in reminiscence. Miguel can hear something clicking its throat, sinisterly gargling the air. Miguel pauses to look around, there is no other presence. Right, he already checked the room. It’s safe. So, he continues forward.

“And we will get through this one too. Your abuelita will be heartbroken if you’re gone. I can’t do that to her.” They are approaching closer to the ray of light at the end of the door. Gabriel falls to his side.  

“Hang on, man! I’ll get you out of here. You can trus—”

Rebecca hears a clack, the sound she recognises to be bones snapping in half. She can’t see where Gabriel and Miguel are, with the fog blurring her sight. The vague silhouettes that can be seen before are now gone.

She leans in, peeking into fuzziness, but Chris’ arm moves in front of her, blocking her from getting any closer. He, too, is cautious of the sound.

“What’s taking them so long?” Mike calls out their names but there is no response from the other end. “That’s it, I’m heading in.”

“Mike, wait!” cries Chris.

Mike steps inside, warily inspecting. When he lifts the other foot, he almost trips. “What the—?” He shifts his leg around some more.

“I can’t move my foot!!” Mike’s shrieks are like little girl squeals throwing a tantrum. He wiggles back and forth to readjust balance with all his might. “Eek! Some slimy shit’s holding me down!!”

“Get it off me, get it off me!” The three of them attempt to pull Mike out and the foot lifts into the air. As if noticing the traction, the mist yanks Mike’s leg backwards. “Fuck shit fuck fuck!! Lord have mercy!!”

What is this power? How can it be this strong? There shouldn’t be anyone else in the room, Chris had already done all the check spots. The only people still in the room are just Gabriel and Miguel. What happened to the two of them anyway?

Mike had enough; he pulls out his handgun and shoots at the general direction of the force. The strength loosens, and they can see the whole foot now and the mysterious force dragging him back.

A bloody hand fastens around Mike’s ankle, fingers tightening sturdily around the soft skin. Another hand appears abruptly and secures right above the other hand. It has a different complexion, a silver coated wedding band over its ring finger. This is Miguel’s ring.

Something can be heard from within the fog, distinctly Gabriel’s voice.

“Mike… we’re having a party in here. Come join us!” The cheerful tone sends goosebumps rushing down Mike’s back.

“Shit! It can talk!?” Chris tries to pull the leg again, but it’s planted to the floor.

“It’s okay, Mike. Let’s have a lot of fun!” This doesn’t even sound like Miguel, but it is his voice.

There’s a bullet hole through its palm from Mike’s shot. It bleeds all over the other hand, still able to grab persistently despite suffering from such a wound.

“No, no, no! This… This isn’t supposed to happen!!” It shouldn’t be possible for the virus to activate only on gas alone, Rebecca was confident about this. It was one of the key implementations of this virus for its remote activation.  

Yet the impossible is right there in front of her, the evidence of the vein-popping, skin-crackling bloody hand lay bare contradicting her every hypothesis.

Mike’s foot stumble further backwards, his hamstring swallowed now. The shrieks are turning into despair, losing his childish tone, becoming more pleading, demanding.

Chris draws his dagger from his holster and stabs straight down into the mist, briefly missing Mike’s foot and directly into both palms, skewering the two hands together. Both hands let go simultaneously, withdrawing into the white once more.

“Now!” Chris orders, and the four of them backs away from the entrance, with Chris slamming the door shut behind. He secures the door with his entire back, feeling the full force of banging. He growls out: “Barricade!”

Rebecca, Mike and Johnny shuffle around, dragging a table, cabinets, chairs—anything heavy to prop in front of the door. Chris stuffs the tiny door gap with vintage draperies to confine the poisonous air, taken directly from the curtain racks itself.

Whatever that is left of Gabriel and Miguel can still be heard snarling, clicking their throats, gargling air beyond the closed door. Occasionally muttering to themselves, pleading the rest on the other side to open the door ever so slightly with their gentle persuasion.

LAUNDRY – 4:06 AM

“I thought I was dead meat for sure.” Mike leans against the other side of the wall, checking his own foot. There is a purple bruise on his skin, but his ankle moves freely. All his joints are fine; nothing is twisted. “Thanks, you guys.”

Rebecca and Chris nods.

“So we lost two, huh…” Mike dry laughs at the situation, even when there is nothing funny going on right now.

There is another moment of silence as each of them thinks about their own fate in this mansion. With their numbers dropped by a third, their chance of survival is looking rather slim.

“Hey, if it helps, I never like those two anyway.” Mike tries to break the suffocating atmosphere with some humour, before a voice that had been quiet for a while suddenly speaks up.

“Gabriel and Miguel wouldn’t have died if he didn’t get false info.” utters Johnny.

“You, rookie?” Mike stops to eye Johnny up and down, who is currently sitting right next to him, with his hands and definitely his ass clenched too. “Defending the guys who yelled at your face?”

“It was ‘cause of my own fuck-up.” Johnny clenches his own fist, guilt dripping through every word. “They shouldn’t have died regardless.”

“In this line of work, people die.” Chris states. It’s a matter of fact. They all knew what they signed up for. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Even so… If they did know about the gas, they would have been alive. At least, Miguel would have been!” Johnny stares directly at Rebecca for responsibility.

When confronted directly, Rebecca hesitates, she knows the blood is in her hands. “This… This is also news to me too… I have read the reports multiple times, there is no mention that A-Virus is capable of such transmission. It doesn’t match up to the research.”

“What if the report was a plant?” Johnny asks. “Arias sent fake data to your email.”

“It can’t be. Each transaction requires a single use security token to grant access to my private cloud storage. This token can only be authenticated via fingerprint recognition. So Leon must have sent the files himself.” Rebecca clarifies. In her mind, her system is impenetrable, mostly…

“And what if he’s dead? Or held hostage? Arias could force his thumb to send whatever he wants.”

Rebecca pauses, then she speaks: “That is a possibility.”

“Clearly, you have not thought of everything.” Johnny leans back.

If Johnny’s theories are right... Rebecca instinctually pats down her back pocket, feeling the cylinder case she tried so hard to save in the laboratory room... then this would have been a waste.

“You—” Chris grabs Johnny on the arm in an uncomfortable angle, squeezing it hard for a lesson. “Enough, kid. I don’t need you going around insulting the best B.O.W. tech I know. She’s doing everything she can. So zip it, focus on your own shit, and follow my orders as I tell you. And I’m ordering you to be quiet.”

“Fine, fine. I got it.” Johnny shrugs off Chris’ hand and rises. “Where’s that same energy to the doctor, huh?” He walks towards a pillar far from the three of them but still within sight.

Chris considered raising his voice, but he drops the idea. Instead, he plops down onto the ground next to Rebecca, patting on her head like he would to his own sister. “Never mind that guy. He’ll lose that attitude real soon. I remember I used to be the same rookie who would talk back to my captain too. Got my ass whooped. Never did that again. At least, not in front of their faces. Maybe I’m going too easy on these fresh ones, who knows…”

A rare moment of gratitude flashes across Rebecca’s eyes; Chris simply dismisses it with a wave. It’s his job to ensure they focus on the present of objective. Not their past, nor their failures. Moreover, B.O.W. techs are more valuable than brawny field soldiers like himself by the hundreds.

Rebecca reaches for something in her bag, and a paper floats to the floor, crumpled from action.

“It’s the letter I took from you.” She should give this back.

He refuses, instead says: “Let’s read it together.”

Trust is rebuilding again, brick by brick.

Chris whistles at the other two and Mike carries himself towards them. Johnny does not move, hand on cheek looking at everything but them even if he did hear the captain. Mike and Rebecca exchange a ‘just let him be’ glance with Chris.

So, Chris unfolds the paper, and reads it out loud, from the part he left off in the storage room.

Get out of there this instant. We think the storage room is booby trapped. I thought the gas was going to turn all of us, but I feel fine. Carlos and Jill though…are off. I accidentally brushed against them, and they felt… cold. When I try talking to them, they seem distracted for a split second. Far off.

Or it could be a false alarm. We don’t know yet. We decided to split into teams for efficiency: Jill and Ada to retrieve the sample while Leon, Carlos shall investigate the pipes. And for me… we’ll see. Once we’re done, we will meet up and get the fuck out of here. I trust Rebecca and the team; we would get through this. We always find a way.

If this is you reading, Arias, get shit on, sucker! The sample will be ours, good riddance to your little game! Justice prevails once more!

There is a hand drawn winky face next to it. Chris and Rebecca scoffs, that optimistic trusting behaviour. So typical of you. And oh, so wrong you were about everything.

“So, the lab, huh? That’s the one by the corridor?” asks Mike.

“Most likely. I know three people was last seen on the ground floor, the others on the top floor. And it’s likely Carlos and Jill to be turned first, according to Leon.” answers Rebecca.

“Could they have split up to divide numbers so they can infect them?” asks Chris.

“That explains why they went MIA. Either infected, or worse, dead.” Mike comments, but none of this is looking too favourable on their side right now.

Chris shakes his head. “I don’t think it’ll be so easy. I know these guys. They’re not the kind to give up without a fight. And these guys are some great fighters.”

Rebecca nods reluctantly. “True—That is, if they know a zombie is among them. These zombies can fucking talk. They wouldn’t have seen it coming. And from what we saw today, they can blend in and entice with their human speech. We have to be very careful.”

What’s to say one of them is not between them now? But she seals her tongue from making such bold statement. Rebecca eyes over a suspicious glance at everyone, including Johnny, checking for any irregularities. None she can notice from a fair distance away.

“But how does the infection work then? Was Gabriel bitten?” Mike asks.

“No, it was only a fracture. The bite marks would be distinct. He only made contact with the ga—” Rebecca pauses.

Her brain starts chugging, like a cogwheel in a complicated mechanism with fragments of facts. Neither of the boys dare to interrupt Rebecca from her thoughts. When she is in the zone, nothing anyone say will get into her head. And it clicks.

“Arias, you sneaky bastard…” She grins. She would kiss her brain right now if she could.

Chris and Mike look at each other in confusion.

“The poisoned water is all around us. It’s the air.” Rebecca elaborates, smiling wide the entire time after her newfound discovery. 

“The air?” Chris and Mike gasps in unison.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that when you stepped inside the house, it’s musty?” She pauses to let the boys think. “But the outside, it’s cool.”  

“Well, there must have been residual heat from the day still trapped in the house.” Mike comments. It seems abandoned for a long time after all.

“What residual heat during April? It should still be dry season in Querétaro. It’s the humidity! Arias had been pumping up the humidity in the house, that’s why mould is everywhere.”

“And how does that tie to—” Halfway through Mike’s sentence, he snaps his fingers. “Oh.”

“The water supply in the humidifier, of course.” Chris grins, nodding his head in approval.

“The bottled water in the storage is bait. It never had anything to do with the virus.” Rebecca points at Chris and does an a-ha! sound. “The tank in the laboratory is actually just a large-scale humidifier, sending the virus through water vapours in the air. All around us. That’s what those employees were guarding.”

“Gabriel was the only one who took off his mask.” Mike hits his palm with a fist. “And Miguel was infected by being bitten. Then why was Carlos and Jill the ones infected?”

“They had all been infected since the beginning.” Rebecca says, which is the scariest part about this whole operation. What would have happened if Rebecca never suggested the masks?

She continues: “How it activates, I have no clue. The speed of activation drastically varies from person to person so far. The A-Virus attacks always happen either immediately, or up to an hour. I wonder if it’s individual resistance to the virus.”

“Regardless! That’s a major discovery!” Mike launches himself up in joy. “My lord, you’re a genius, Rebecca!”

“As long as we keep our masks on, we should be fine.” Rebecca states, for real this time.

“I’ll let Johnny know the good news.” Mike scoots off. It’s just Rebecca and Chris alone now.

Rebecca takes in a nervous gulp now they are alone. She had forgotten to tell him the most important thing. Rebecca owes him that at least. “Hey, Chris… About the metal case…”

“It’s okay, Becca.” Chris shakes his head understandingly. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Only if you want to. Only when you’re ready. Because we’re going to see this to the end.”

“The both of us?” Rebecca suggests with much confidence.

“With everyone. I’ll make sure we all get back home.” Chris reassures, and this time, he can see clearly what lies at the end of the rainbow.

But what they didn’t know, is that during their heartfelt revelation, Johnny had let a tear fall in private, lifting his mask ever so slightly to wipe the wateriness from his cheek.

TFD SERIES MASTERLIST // RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST

MY BELOVED BETAS: @scar-crossedlvrs @jellybonbons the plot really boggle my brain i made so many changes last min. my first longfic so forgive me. on the bright side, we're so close to the finale omg!! the next chapter will take me a while, just a heads up! whoever is still reading this, i appreciate you guys for still staying tuned and from the bottom of my heart, thank you for still believing in me. i love you all sm.

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