#I just don’t seem to know how to put my foot down or set proper boundaries

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[mrprettywhenhecries]

sneak peak of my baron/reader meet cute

*takes place post movie, slight spoilers*

“Oh, before I forget!” your mother exclaimed, turning her chair toward you.  

“What?” you asked, a little taken aback by the excitement on her face.

“You know the lady from across the hall?”

“Uhm, yeah, Ms. Eda, right?  She’s a sweet lady,” you replied, frowning a little in confusion, wondering why she was asking you about that.

“You know she has a son, right?  Oh, I can’t remember his name,” she said, snapping her fingers as if that would help her remember.

“Oh no.  No, no nonono,” you exclaimed, cutting her off before she could continue her thought.

“What?  No, listen!  He refilled my bird feeder the other day,” she said, gesturing to the window.  “He’s a sweet boy,” she insisted, raising her eyebrows at you.

“Mom!” you exclaimed, huffing a wry laugh, your hand coming up to cover your face in embarrassment.  “Stop trying to set me up with your hall mate’s son!” you exclaimed, feeling your face warm.

“Why not?  You’re single, as far as I know, he’s single, and you know he cut his hair?  He’s actually very handsome–”

“I don’t care how cute he is, I’m not gunna hit on Eda’s son just because I’m single,” you exclaimed, barely registering the sound of a door shutting in the hall.

“That’s a shame.”

The amused voice behind you nearly made you leap out of your skin and you gave a sharp yelp as you spun around, only to find the very man you’d been talking about standing in the doorway, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips.

If your face was warm before, it was practically on fire now and you wanted to crawl under a rock and never come out.

However, you couldn’t help but notice that your mother was right—he was rather handsome.  His dark chestnut hair was shorter now, though not short by any means, with an artful unruliness to it that looked almost effortless.  His dark brown eyes practically danced when the mid-morning light shining through the southern facing window hit them just right, turning them almost golden with the faintest hint of green around the edges.

He looked well groomed, a smart leather jacket hung open over his blue button down tucked into his dark trousers, a far cry from his appearance the last time you’d seen him a couple weeks ago, his hair hanging down to his shoulders and in need of a good brush.

“Didn’t mean to startle ya, sorry ‘bout that,” he chuckled, his grin turning apologetic, while a soft flush crept across his face as his eyes met yours.  His voice was warm, like melted butter, with only the barest hint of a drawl to it, but it made your heart skip a beat just the same.

Quickly trying to compose yourself, you cleared your throat, trying to work moisture back into your mouth.

“No, I… I forgot I’d left the door open,” you spluttered.

“Well, hullo there,” your mom greeted, interrupting you and waving him closer.  “C’mon in, come closer so I can get a proper look at you,” she said and Eda’s son shared a grin with you before stepping into the room and letting your mom take his hands.

“Now what is your name again, darlin’?” she asked and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, his brows furrowing for a moment, as if thinking.

“You can call me Baron,” he answered with a nod, holding her gaze and she seemed pleased.

“Baron,” she repeated, as if savouring the name before her eyes flicked to you.  “This is my daughter—“ she introduced, telling him your name as well.

Baron grinned, his eyes finding yours.  “It’s good to finally have a name to put with a face,” he murmured, ducking his head to listen as your mom whispered something in his ear.  He huffed a soft laugh, a slightly bewildered smile playing at his lips as he straightened, and you frowned slightly, wondering what exactly she’d said.

“Mama?” you questioned, suspicion leeching in, only growing when she merely smiled at you like the cat that got the cream, and eased herself back into her chair, a mischievous glint to her eye.

“What’d she say to you?” you asked, turning back to Baron who still wore a bemused grin.

“She said, I’d be a fool if I didn’t ask you to get a drink with me.”

Your mouth fell open, embarrassment washing over you and you looked from Baron to your mom and back, horrified.  “Oh my God,” you groaned, at a loss for words, hoping she hadn’t made him too uncomfortable, but Baron shrugged, amusement dancing in his brown eyes.

“I’ve been called worse before, but my mama certainly didn’t raise herself a fool,” he chuckled, his gaze lingering on your face.  “So, what d’ya say?  Wanna grab a coffee?” he asked, nodding toward the door, a hopeful look crossing his face and you blinked, taken aback.

“Uhm, I–”

“Well, go on then,” your mom urged and you gave a small jump, almost having forgotten she was there.  “If you don’t go, I will.”

[basilone]

'Heat' and 'threshold' for Buck? Juno xx

Yes hello! 👀 Always game to write more Buck. And, well, I really wanted to take a moment to write him with Lottie, with whom he's got a bit of a complex something going on. I've set this after the events in full of grace, but it can be read as a standalone for sure. Half of this was written as a voice exercise for their relationship ages ago, and finally repurposed here in what feels like its proper place. 😊I don't think this piece needs a warning that isn't covered by the blanket "Lottie's a bi disaster"-tag, so... we're good to go!

heat / threshold

“I ain’t apologizin’ any.”

The shadow cast over her seems to shift slightly at the snap-and-bite she’s laced her words with. Lottie doesn’t bother looking up. Keeps her arms locked around her knees. Presses her face against her legs when the shadow doesn’t go away. Something curdles in her belly – low, aching, sharp like the bile in the back of her throat – that makes her feel all wrong. Makes her want to jump out of her skin in a way that leaves her head spinning and her choices less than fine.

“Jesus, Ace.”

She hates his long pause that makes her nickname a punctuation mark in his mouth. He sounds flat. Tired. She hates that she’s not Lot to him now. He calls her that every other time – even when he’s Major and she’s Captain and they’ve got a job to be doing – but never when he’s mad at her. The fact that she’s Ace to him now stings worse than the scrape on her knuckle that hasn’t stopped bleeding yet.

“You’ve got to stop fighting,” he says, then, and that’s a tune she’s heard from him before. “Hey? You have to.” His boots meet her toes. His flight jacket lands on the sand beside her. His sigh fills the air as much as his lingering aftershave does. “You listenin’ to me?”

“Yeah.” She allows a beat to pass. “Sorta.”

“I mean it.”

“I heard ya just fine, Major. Sir. Gilly Gale Cleven of the three-five-oh.”

He scrapes his throat. “Jesus, you’re really gunning for it now.” He still doesn’t go away. If anything, he moves that much closer. Folds himself into her space as he sinks down onto his jacket. He nudges her shoulder as they come to sit arm-to-arm, foot-to-foot, jacket-to-jacket. “What happened out there, Ace? Tiny said something about you and some of Blakely’s crowd?”

“Something like that.” Lottie shrugs. Keeps her gaze fixed on the small dent in the lone water canister Benny hasn’t picked up yet. “They ain’t learned to keep their mouths shut yet. Carter especially. Shutting them for ’em seemed… prudent.” She affects her mother’s tone on the last word. All debutante-socialite judgment rendered with the precision of a bullet. Is rewarded for it when he snorts out something that, in a better universe than this one, could very well be a laugh. “You give them a talking-to, too? Little lecture? Or am I the lone lucky one to face Major Cleven’s disapproval, sir?”

“Put a lid on the sirs, Ace.”

“Stop callin’ me Ace and I’ll think about it, sir.”

“Lot,” he rasps out, then, and goddamn she doesn’t like how her eyes sting when he nudges her again, “you really need to stop fighting us.” You need to stop fighting me is what she hears, exhaustion lacing his voice, not even an admonishment in place for the tone she’s taken with him. “All right?”

“I hear ya, Gilly. Y’all just get under my damn skin sometimes.” She tries to not make it sound too much like she’s sulking. Ain’t sure she’s succeeding when he chuckles and stretches his legs out beside her. “I don’t know. I don’t got anywhere else to put that feelin’, ya know?”

“Sky ain’t enough, huh.”

“The sky shoots back these days,” she says conversationally. “Gotta leave the pain on the ground. Take anything up with ya, it’s gonna make ya crash.”

“Ain’t that a truth.”

“I ain’t Val, I ain’t good at lyin’ to ya. Unless Bucky asks me to, of course.”

“Of course.”

Lottie exhales a noisy breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Gale’s face is serene when she glances at him. His hand finds her bruised knuckles. “Do better, Lot. I know you can.”

“You really believe that horseshit, huh.”

His hand squeezes hers none too gently before he releases her. “Manage a week. I’ll take you flying after. How’s that sound?”

“Like a damn impossibility.” Her voice cracks. She blinks furiously as her lower lip starts to wobble. “I… I don’t think…”

“Gotta start somewhere. This heat’s got all tempers at a high. Perrault has yet to take a breath without insulting John in the process.”

Lottie sniffs. Wipes at her cheeks. “Bucky deserves it.”

“I’m sure he does.” His smile is wry. His cheeks are flushed with heat. The start of a sunburn is already sprawling over his bare chest, beneath the glint of his dog tags. “You wanna talk about it now or later, Squeaky?”

“Not at all?” she hedges. Ignores the way his eyes narrow at that to the best of her ability. “I’m sick of talkin’, Gilly. Sick of people askin’ me shit.” She bites her lip. Wishes she could draw blood with the action. “You might as well be the only one who’s nice to me lately. Even if ya call me Squeaky.”

“Benny was plenty nice to you after we landed.”

And she can’t fault him for it. Can’t even hate him for it. “Yeah. He was.” She swallows thickly. Her head feels like it’s about to start swimming. “Darlene likes him a lot, ya know? Can’t be mean to him when she’s all soft about the guy.” Can’t be mean to him even when he makes Darlene smile in a way she hasn’t smiled at Lottie in a long time now. “I ain’t got a problem with Benny, all right?”

“All right,” agrees Gale, even when his tone suggests it’s anything but. He scrapes his throat. Pointedly doesn’t look at her. “Next time you want to fight a guy, Lot… You try me first.”

Lottie blinks. Stares. He is looking at the same water canister she was, earlier. “You? Gilly,” she laughs, breathless all of a sudden, “I ain’t gonna fight you.” I like you too much for that. “You’re my superior officer and all that shit, remember? You tryin’a get me into trouble here?”

He grunts a little. “Trying to keep you out of it, actually.”

“That don’t make sense.”

“What, me wanting to keep you out of trouble?” He laughs. Glances at her, all crinkled eyes and far too much warmth in his gaze, and her belly swoops the same way it did when she first stood on the threshold of a cockpit. “If you fight me,” he continues, speaking straight through the static that fizzes to life inside her, “I can chalk it up to training. Say it’s friendly. If you fight anybody else, they’ll demote you eventually. Send you home, if you keep going.”

“So, what, you’ll be my punching bag?”

“This bag will still punch back, Squeaky,” he snorts, nudging her. “And hard, too. You’re not the only one with a mean right hook in this squadron.”

“You’d punch a lady like me, Gilly?” She flutters her eyelashes at him. Nudges his shoulder none too gently. Anything to shake that feeling inside her that feels treacherously like butterflies. “No warnings, no takebacks, no apologies? Give it to me good and hard?”

His cheeks flush a deeper crimson than before. “Jesus, Lot…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ve already hit your max on dirty chatter for the day,” she laughs, lifting her sunglasses out of her hair and donning them again. “Can’t fault a girl for jumping on it though. Think of it as me perfectin’ your poker face in case you run into them Nazis. They ain’t gonna crack you during interrogation.”

“Pretty sure them Nazis won’t crack a hundred crude jokes like you do.”

“Pretty sure that makes them more boring than me.”

His answering laugh is soft. Doesn’t carry beyond where they’re seated. “Pretty sure you’re the least boring person in my world, Lot.”

Her cheeks feel warmer than the rest of her does, even though she’s been sunning herself in this mid-day heat for at least an hour now. “Bucky’s gonna cry if you tell him that,” she says, leaning her head on his shoulder long enough for him to tense and then relax under her touch. “But ya sure know how to make a girl feel special, sir. Marge is damn lucky to have ya.”

His shoulder tenses just a fraction beneath her cheek. Just enough.

It’s easier when she draws this line for both of them, or so she’ll tell herself half a million times more.

[pilot-boi]

Catsvdogs

What if when fighting the cat or at some point when Jaune finally puts his foot down to the cat his own shadow starts to crawl its way out of the ground life a giant creature from a game or movie coming out of the water and starts fighting Jaune and the other

( got the idea thinking out artorias for dark souls also I was the one who made the post about Alex poisoning Jaune because of the shadow don't know why it says anonymous)

Believe me, you are not off base, because I already imagined this happening in the timeline

The time Jaune puts his foot down, btw, is after Ruby drinks the tea

CC is much more involved in breaking her down than they were in canon, wanting to speed up the process so they can have a proper Remnant-ready vessel. It’s thwarted, ironically and darkly, by Ruby drinking the tea

This time, instead of CC getting batted away by Neo, CC gets rid of Neo literally just before she convinces Ruby to drink, making it seem like they were just an illusion created to hurt her. And then CC starts their whole possession thing

“I was wearing down my Sunshine for DECADES, loving him and killing him in equal measure, but then you… Why I only had to know you for a day and a half! How weak you must be, little Huntress…”

WBYJ charge in to help her, see CC sitting on her chest with the claws sunk into her chest, and see Ruby drink the tea. Her last option

“I’m sorry guys, this was the best I could do”

CC screams and leaps back. The Tree swallows up Ruby. And that’s just one lost friend too many for poor Jauney

“I TRUSTED YOU!!”

He screams at CC, fury and sorrow in equal measure the only thing left in his once-bright eyes. A harsh reflection of a school lobby a lifetime ago, when the only thing that stood between him and death was Ruby Rose

But Ruby isn’t here anymore. Her teammates are all that are left, Yang in shock, Blake holding her hand, and Weiss holding him back.

Gods how could he have been so stupid

CC blinks at him, shaken from their failure by the voice of their Sunshine. His shadow writhes on the ground behind him, unseen by the three remaining Huntresses, the smallest one seemingly holding him back and holding him up in equal measure

Tears are running from those beautiful eyes

Tears

All this time they’ve been wondering what it would take for Jaune to break. It seems they finally pushed him as far as he could go. And all it took was Ruby Rose

CC’s eyes widen. Jaune screams at him, voice hoarse with tears, and shadow like a yowling cat behind him, but CC can scarcely hear him

Because an idea has crossed their mind. A wonderful idea. A wonderful TERRIBLE ideA

Jaune takes a step forward. The shadow springs from the ground, lashing at him with dark spectral hands that fractal into technicolor static at the edges. The children all yell, shocked and drawing their weapons, as Jaune is suddenly engulfed by his own shadow

CC laughs unbidden, their face stretching into a grin like a saw blade

Because while Ruby would’ve worked perfectly well, there is ONE way to guarantee a chance to see Remnant and keep their Sunshine in line all in one fell swoop

They stride forward, feeling lighter than air in the face of this unexpected victory. Jaune lays before them, entombed in darkness that parts only for their insubstantial form. His friends strike it with swords and bullets that don’t act fast enough

His Sunshine stares up at him. Tears cutting through the darkness like diamonds. Those eyes have never looked more beautiful than while set in a face so terrified

“You are MY Sunshine. My only Sunshine,” CC murmurs, holding Jaune’s chin. He’s shaking his head, or maybe he’s just shaking. “Don’t worry, I can be you for you.”

And then they kiss him fit to devour him whole

[thedummysdummy]

A Tigress Always Gets Her Way

I just got Victor's tiger New Year card and thought it needed just a little bit of a date to go with it. I hope you enjoy ^_^

“You’re making that face again.” 

Victor looked up from the carrot he was grating and lowered his eyebrows. Sure enough, the girl was right there, leaning on the counter and resting her chin in her hands. Her best ‘puppy dog’ eyes stared directly into his soul. “You know that face doesn’t work on me.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked, lifting one foot and tilting her head slightly. “You know exactly how cute I am!” Victor huffed and continued grating the carrot, while the girl puffed out her cheeks in annoyance. She was not going to be defeated! She had more than one strategy up her sleeve, after all. 

She slid around the counter to stand behind Victor and wrapped her arms around his waist. “What are you doing, dummy?” he rumbled, the tones vibrating in her hands. Without speaking a word, she set about undoing the buttons of his shirt and caressing his abs with gentle fingertips. “Mmm.” A pleased groan echoed in his chest and Victor pressed his back into her body. “Mmm. You’re going to delay dinner if you keep up with mischievous pranks like this, you know. How am I supposed to cook when you’re being sly?” His breathy voice told the girl she was getting exactly the reaction she wanted and a smile spread across her face. 

“I’m not being sly. I’m using all of my available resources to reach my goals, just like you taught me.” She nibbled at his neck as she finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it down over his shoulders. “This strategy is called ‘bribing the boss’ and I find it’s usually pretty effective.” A pleasant laugh shook Victor’s shoulders and he slid the bowl further back on the counter before spinning around suddenly and wrapping his long, warm arms around her. The world suddenly became very small as his intoxicating scent filled her nostrils. 

“Cheeky and a tease. I’m going to have to do something about that.” Victor spun back around to the counter with the girl still in his arms and lifted her onto the counter. He pulled down her shirt and nibbled her collarbone, hard enough that she gasped slightly. “How do you like your own medicine, hmm?” 

She laughed and kissed Victor on the cheek. “Perhaps I gave CEO Victor a little too much medicine. But it is all part of my strategy!” The girl placed her hands on his now-exposed pectoral muscles and beamed. “I think that’s enough convincing for now. Time to get back to cooking dinner!” 

The girl slipped out of Victor’s arms and hopped down from the counter while flashing him a bright smile. “Besides. I already bought the costumes! So CEO Victor has no choice but to say yes and attend the New Year celebration with me!” 

“If you were going to use that excuse in the first place, why did you feel the need to ‘bribe the boss’, hm?” Victor rumbled pleasantly, not bothering to return his shirt to its proper position. “Is it because you simply wanted to remove my shirt? You do seem rather fond of undoing my buttons.” A flush came over the girl’s cheeks, but she made no move to deny it. “That’s what I thought. Now, go wash up. Dinner is almost ready.” Victor waved the grater as if to smack her butt with it and chuckled as she hustled away toward the bedroom. 

What a dummy. 

~~~

Victor looked in the mirror and sighed, but made no move to remove the ridiculous ears, tail, and paws with which the girl had so eagerly adorned him. “Come on, we’re going to be late.” 

The girl came stumbling into the bathroom with her own costume partially on and the tail in her hands. “Victorrrrrr, I need help putting on my tail!” She gave him her most pathetic frown and held the object out toward him. Victor sighed, but accepted the costume piece and gently attached it to her waist. He did have to admit…she did look rather cute. 

“Alright, let’s go! Anna texted me that the food has arrived, so we need to get going! We don’t want the long life noodles to get cold before we get there!” She grabbed at his hand and Victor sighed. As if it wasn’t her that had held them up in the first place…

Yet he allowed her to drag him to the front door, paused long enough for him to lock it, and returned to pulling him toward the car. The venue for her company’s celebration was really only five minutes away, which was why they hadn’t felt the need to leave any earlier. But they failed to account for traffic at this hour, which extended the drive to nearly fifteen minutes. 

The girl bounced in the chair next to him with excitement, her little tiger ears wiggling with the movement of her body. A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he covertly glanced over at her before returning his gaze to the road. Childish…but she was his childish dummy. 

They finally reached the venue and the girl burst from the car the moment Victor put it in park. “Why are you in such a hurry?” he called after her, but made no move to rush. Nothing was going to happen to her between the car and the front door. He ensured the car was locked and leisurely strolled toward the building while straightening his ears and tail. The sound of music could be heard through an open window and balloons colored the light which struck the sidewalk. Scents of beef, garlic, and soy sauce pulled him in and bid him welcome to the brightly-lit room full of happy party attendees. 

His girl was already surrounded by Willow, Anna, Kiki, and Minor, all of whom were wearing some variation of tiger costume and laughing. Victor lingered in the doorway for a moment, just watching her in her element. Truly there was no deeper beauty than his girl when she was truly happy. 

Music filled his ears and time seemed to stand still as he leaned in the door frame with a twinkle in his eye. She turned in what felt like slow motion and beckoned him to her, hand extended for him to catch hold of as he had so many times before. 

So many more times than she even realized.

He couldn’t help reflecting on the other ‘new births’ that this girl had brought into his life as they celebrated this new year. From the sandcastle of their youth to the orphanage, to the roads where he saved her life in return, to LFG and more universes than he could count, the girl had shaped and renewed each rebirth of Victor. 

And that? That was why he played games, ate long life noodles, and waltzed across the ballroom floor at her request. And why he wore a silly tiger costume through it all. Because honestly, in the end? That girl had saved him. There was no request so silly that he would not do it to see that genuine smile on her cheeks. 

When the night was over, he pulled her into his arms and gave her a squeeze. She was surprised to see he had worn the ears through the entire party. But before she could say anything, Victor bit her ear and whispered, “You bribed the boss to get those, remember? Well, it’s time for you to pay up. Let’s go home.”

[m-t-nester]

A video file is attached. Would you like to watch it?

[Video begins in darkness.

“I just don’t see why you’re letting him stay on your couch if you’re so uncomfortable with him,” Cynthia’s voice says.

“Call it a matter of personal pride, as a mother,” Em responds quietly. 

“Won’t you end up just resenting him? You’re exhausted, you need rest. I’m just worried about you.”

“I… don’t know. Maybe,” Em admits. 

Footsteps can be heard— one pair of slippers, one set of heels, and a large bipedal pokemon. The camera fades in to show Em, Cynthia, and her garchomp approaching the couch.

“Oh, shit,” Laurence says quietly. “I— am I going to get arrested?”

“Doubtful. You’re still a minor,” Cynthia says.

“Oh.” He considers this. “Can I say hi to your garchomp?”

Em sighs, muttering something about the stupidity of innocence, but sits down to supervise anyways. Garchomp seems pretty okay with this arrangement, and puts her head in Laurence’s lap.

“So, I assumed you might have had your pokemon taken by Plasma earlier,” Em says, almost conversationally. “Not a lot of kids your age don’t even have a starter. And you could be hiding from transphobic parents.”

Laurence flinches at that.

“Knock it off, he’s clearly not ready,” Cynthia snaps.

“No, I— it’s okay,” Laurence says. “I know I can’t pass that well, anyways. I’d have to dress better than I can afford to, or learn how to do makeup, and make an effort with my voice, and it’s all too much trouble. I don’t care if people clock that I was born a girl. I don’t even know for sure if I’m a boy, it’s just safer right now. It doesn’t hurt if people call me a girl. But it’s not safe.”

“You’re…. Not sure. So you’re experimenting?” Em frowns. “I see.”

“Something like that. Being a girl in Plasma wasn’t great.” He gives an emotionless smile.

“Well, I’d imagine that being part of an organization that brutally murders children isn’t great,” she remarks coldly.

Laurence doesn’t seem to notice her tone. “They weren’t brutal. They don’t beat you to death unless you really mess up and betray us, and that was only one time anyways. It was medical neglect, mostly. Preventable stuff, like how a couple people died each winter from the flu or hypothermia. Oh, or when the measles went around. I heard you’re supposed to be vaccinated against those, but we weren’t.”

Laurence keeps petting the Pokémon in his lap, seemingly oblivious to what he just said. Em looks too shocked to do anything. Cynthia has her hands clasped over her mouth.

“Historically accurate infant mortality rates,” Cynthia says very quietly, and then rushes out of the room, looking ill.

Her garchomp looks ready to follow her. Laurence pouts, trying to get the pokemon’s attention again.

“Kid. You know— that’s not normal. None of it is normal.” Em shakes her head. “They shouldn’t be recruiting kids. Kids deserve better than this. I’ll kill them all.”

“What, all the parents? Are you going to kill me the day I turn eighteen, too?” Laurence asks.

“I— what the hell?!? What do you want,” Em demands, looking more and more flustered.

“I want to reunite with my Pokémon and live somewhere safe until I stop feeling empty inside. That’s all, really.” Laurence finally loses at his attempt to keep snuggling a ten foot tall garchomp, and sighs as the Pokémon rushes off. A moment later, garchomp returns, nuzzling Cynthia. She looks pale and unwell.

“I’m going to get some water,” Laurence says, standing with a crack and wandering off into the other room.

Garchomp deposits Cynthia on the couch next to Em, gives her one last nuzzle, and then follows Laurence.

“Sorry you had to see me like that. I’ll be a proper feminist girlboss tomorrow,” Cynthia says, trying to fix her bangs. Trying to fix her composure. 

“No need for that here. It’s okay.” Em’s hand touches hers. “I’m a bad feminist too.”

“It’s stupid. It’s stupid, it’s incredibly stupid, any historian will tell you that you should never uncritically romanticize the past. They blamed technology for their problems and recreated medieval— historically accurate mortality rates. We study the past so we don’t repeat it!”

“I. Maybe I should study more,” Em admits. “I didnt know they had kids in their ranks. Plasma, I mean.”

“Is studying going to be a trauma trigger for you?”

“I dont know.”

“I dont know either.” Cynthia sighs, wiping at her eyes. Her eyeliner, normally sharp enough to kill a man with, is smeared from crying. “Hey, this might be overstepping, I don’t know, but is there any chance you could pack me a lunch or something? Whenever things go bad, I feel like I need to Do Something about it, and I’m working with interpol to raid another hideout, and—“

The camera pans downward. Em is holding Cynthia by both arms, leaning across the couch. Their chests nearly touch. Cynthia’s body language is shocked at first, then she reciprocates, wrapping an arm around Em. A lock of blonde hair falls into Em’s lap.

Video ends.]

[sidhewrites]

Seventeen! I've got all these notes about how I want Mr. Ngo to be more involved, and that he deserves to also be a Graveyard Lesbian but I can't figure out exactly where he'd fit in so for now, he's a supporting character instead.

Fun fact number 2 this is going very different than intended, where MagnusRenfield was going to get major spooky powers that would allow him to open up a portal to the spirit world and suck the town into it.

I uh...don't think that's gonna happen anymore but we'll see how it goes.

Project Info

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

There's no such luck waiting for me. A light's on in the front office, with Mr. Ngo waiting for me.  Mr Ngo is waiting for me. I'm exhausted as it is, and I brace myself for a proper chewing out. "Good morning."

"Hiya boss. You're here early."

"Everything okay at home?"

"It, uh..." I rub my arms, feeling the gauze under my sweater's sleeves, and shrug. "It's been a time."

"It seems like it. Maybe you should take another day off. Come back when you're ready."

Something in his tone sets me on edge, heart leaping to my throat. "No -- no, it's fine. I'm fine, I can--"

"Kaz," he says. "I had a weird message on the answering machine yesterday. I'm very worried about you."

Oh no, I think, and try to smile. “What’s up?”

"Those nice people who filmed here the other day, they say you’re calling them and want them to come back."

"I..."

"Kaz, that's very unlike you. What's going on? Do you know how unprofessional that is? "

I know. I know it is. But I don’t know how to sit down and explain to him that not only are ghosts apparently real, but that Mick and Lourdes accidentally summoned an evil one and it’s now possessing my ex girlfriends cat except they thought they were talking to my new kind of girlfriend, who, it turns out, is also a ghost and I’m somehow a medium caught up in the middle of this. “I can explain,” I lie. I have no idea how to explain any of it.

"Kaz."

"Mr. Ngo, listen... things -- it's..." I falter.

He sighs, and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Go get some rest, Kaz. You look like you haven't slept in days. I can handle the graveyard until you're feeling better."

"No -- no, Mr. Ngo, please. I'm fine, really -- I...It won't happen again, I promise. It--"

"Kaz." He looks almost sad. "Get some rest. You've been working very hard lately. I think it would be good to spend less time among the dead, and a bit more among the living for a few days."

I want to argue. I want to beg forgiveness. I want to fall to the ground and tell him everything, if only so he'd stop looking at me like that. But I don't.  I do as I'm told. I apologize one more time, and then I go home, dragging my sorry ass back to the apartment, and fall right back into bed to sleep as long as I possibly could. Somehow, I sleep through the day again -- the week of all-nighters finally catching up to me, and only stir hours later, when the familiar sound of kitty feet patter across the floor.

Renfield doesn't get the zoomies often anymore, but it happens occasionally. I'll wake up in the middle of the night, waddling around like a wild animal, traveling at the speed of slow. He takes his little ramp up to the bed, pounces on my foot, and meeps for attention. Just like always, I roll over and mumble out a little, "Go to sleep, little boy."

Renfield pads across the bed again, leaps down to the ground, and waddles out, then back in and up onto the bed once more to tap my face.

"C'mon, baby," I mumble, still half asleep as he trots around the apartment. "I'll get you breakfast in an hour."

"It's not breakfast I'm looking for."

Suddenly I'm wide awake. Renfield sits there, fur almost glowing in the light that shines in from the street outside, eyes glowing yellow. "Good morning, dear Kaz. It's been far too long."

"Jesus fuck!" I bolt up, nearly falling off the bed. He doesn't move, just watching me scrabble uselessly for a second before I find purchase and leap to my feet.

"Are you done?"

"What the fuck!" I shout.

Magnus sighs. "Let me know when you're done with the hysterics. I have a proposal."

"Leave my cat alone."

"That's part of the plan."

"What? Wait -- but--"

"How am I here? Please." He makes a show of licking his paw, letting me get a good look at the dried blood around his mouth.

"Did you...You didn't..."

"I'm an expedient man, Kaz. I had to get out the door somehow."

[Something.]

"Here's the deal, dearest Kaz. There's something interesting going on lately. The moon's getting full, and I'm pleased to find out what day it is. In a few days, it'll be Hallow's eve, and I have a few suspicions. I don't need much from you, of course. Just get me outside, into the crowds. I'll take care of the rest."

But before he can say more, his strength wanes. Renfield's pupils dilate once more, and he returns to himself. He's confused again, not sure how he got there.

I pick up my phone right away and call Josie. "I think we're running out of time."

Tag List

@adaughterofathena

@ambreeskyewriting

@carnelianflames

@feather-dancer

@halfbloodlycan

@nadunacreates

@serenanymph

@vigilantdesert

[joshriku]

I have a cherik fic request!!! I was thinking about how Charles is a very active person and maybe you could write something about them getting physical, playing a game or wrestling, as an excuse to be closer and touch each other, with Erik worried that he would hurt charles.

Maybe set in Haifa (peak charles wanting to throw down) or Krakoa (he seemed so full of energy).

thank you :3 haifa cherik fighting.. ohhh my god theyre so crazy in love it makes me sick....

------

It had started out as a suggestion, brought up after Erik learned of his outrageous fighting techniques.

“What?” Charles had asked, laughing. “I don’t mean to read their minds mid-fight, you know. I suppose reading drunken thoughts comes easily—they’re never quite aware they’re projecting. Every punch is very easily predicted.”

Erik smiled a little. “You need an opponent whose mind you can’t read. Perhaps that'll teach you to have a proper fight. Bar brawls mean nothing without the adrenaline.”

“Ah, I feel the adrenaline plenty, trust me,” Charles said, “but you are making a point, I suppose.” An idea had struck him, just like that. “Fight me.”

“Excuse me?”

“An opponent whose mind you can’t read,” he continued, eager. “Who else but you? Your shields are formidable, my friend, if you attacked me I would not be able to predict it. Thus, fair fight. Thus, real adrenaline.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Erik said, suddenly quite serious. He took another swig of his bottle. “Find someone else.”

Interesting. Charles leaned in. “Are you going to throw me to the wolves, then? Next bar brawl we start—”

“—next?”

“—are you going to just let me blindly fight my opponents—”

“Exactly who are the ‘we’ in your sentence—”

“—without any experience beforehand?” Charles finished, grinning, completely talking over him. “It’s as though you are setting me up to fail, Erik. I thought we were friends.”

The gaze Erik had directed at him was incredibly fond and annoyed. In Charles’ experience with Erik, it usually meant Erik was going to give in. He waited, watched Erik take another sip, until Erik had finally put the bottle down with more force than necessary.

“On one condition,” Erik says. “I won’t attack you. You will come at me with whatever you have, I’ll defend.”

“Seems a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“All right, fine, taking it,” Charles had smiled. “Shall we?”

And Erik had stood up, and here they were. Who fights in their living room? They do, apparently. Erik finishes pushing the sofa away, giving plenty of room for Charles to work with. He walks to the center of the room, then beckons Charles to come. “Go on. Get started.”

Well, this is—

“How do you start a fight?”

Erik looks like he wants to laugh. “Are you seriously asking me?”

“Turns out I might rely on knowing when someone is going to throw the first punch,” Charles grins at him. “Should I just go for it—”

“Charles,” he says, exasperated, “less talking.”

His first move is terribly predictable. Erik blocks his right hook with his forearm, and in the second it was taking Charles to react, his hand was around his wrist, twisting his arm lightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to throw Charles off-balance. “Try again.”

He doesn’t have much luck with his left hook, either, and when he aims for the center it’s hilariously predictable that Erik has to give him a look. Whatever. Erik’s expression doesn’t betray any thoughts, it doesn’t betray what he’ll do next, but when he picks up speed it does get him moving, and—perhaps the adrenaline is being triggered. Surely he could land at least one punch?

Erik’s reflexes are way too good. Is he a telepath, too? When Charles tries to land a kick on his right side, it’s dodged. When he tries on the left side, however, there’s a split second—when he twists his right foot to try and raise his left foot—where Erik moves faster, and suddenly, there’s a soft kick on the back of his right knee. He loses balance, closes his eyes as he buckles over, but the impact never comes. Instead, Erik grips his hand tightly, then lowers him gently to the floor. Charles opens his eyes to find him hovering over, impossibly fond.

“You rely on that mind-reading too much,” Erik tells him. He doesn’t let go of his hand, but his grip loosens. It’s almost like hand-holding now. “You’re too reactive.”

“I suppose I need more training,” he says, a lot more out of breath than before. Erik’s a little too close, he can almost smell him—and he can definitely see the small drops of sweat running down his neck. He’s still holding his hand. “You were right about one other thing, though.”

“And that is…?”

“Adrenaline,” Charles explains with a grin. “It feels so much different when you can’t predict movements.”

At that, Erik laughs, like he was caught off guard. Charles echoes it, more amused to be watching him laugh. When it dies down, he’s simply staring at Charles, like he could lean down and kiss him for being so ridiculous. Every muscle in his body seizes up in anticipation.

Erik doesn’t kiss him. He finally stands up and pulls him up again. “Hopefully you don’t ever find yourself in a fight without your telepathy.”

“Yes,” Charles says, a little dazed. Perhaps from standing up too quickly. Or perhaps from Erik’s hand finally leaving his own. “Hopefully.”

[gumnut-logic]

Gordon glared at his oldest brother. “That’s not fair!”

Scott stared back, surprised.

Irrationally, it made Gordon even angrier. “It’s not fair, Scott, and you know it.”

“Life isn’t fair, Gordon. I know you know that.” It was said calmly and with finality. To top it off, his eldest brother turned his back on him and went back to doing important stuff at their father’s desk.

“You know what? Screw you!”

That at least got a frown out of his brother.

But little more.

With a hiss, Gordon spun on his one good foot and as furiously as he could manage, crutched his way over to the stairs and began hopping down them.

“Gordon, what the hell?! Take the elevator!”

“I don’t care!” It was childish and stupid and he really should apologise, but it was a last straw thing. He had had it. He wanted out, off these crutches, into the pool, away from here!

He almost made it worse by stumbling halfway down the stairs. His brother’s freaked out yell did nothing other than make him feel guilty. But he rescued himself and stormed through the kitchen past a wide-eyed Alan and out onto the pool deck.

Only to be faced by the fact he couldn’t go in the pool which was half the problem in itself.

Well, he could, but he couldn’t swim at any stress relief level.

One stupid broken ankle and everything had gone to shit. He had been stuck here for weeks and there were weeks to go and it reminded him of other weeks of his life that were too many and he was just over it.

The breath he drew in was shaky and had far too much emotion in it for comfort.

He hobbled further out onto the decking. All he wanted was out. But all the paths leading away were gravel and not very crutch friendly.

Screw it. That would be his new maxim. To hell with everything. And he took the first steps along the path towards the nearest beach.

It wasn’t easy going at all. The crutches seemed determined to slip on unstable rock. He nearly faceplanted at least twice within the first dozen metres, but Gordon was a Tracy as much as any of his brothers and pissed off enough to spout determination in a fountain of idiocy.

Idiocy which proved itself not two minutes later when one crutch slipped and he couldn’t recover. One moment his driving force was anger, the next it was fear as his brain flash-calculated the damage that was going to result from falling down the steep incline at his feet.

But there was the equally fast realisation that there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

And he fell.

But he didn’t hit the jagged rock or even fall very far. Instead, strong arms grabbed him and scooped him up with a grunt. A familiar grunt and the scent of aftershave and engine grease.

Virgil.

Gravel, along with his crutches, clattered down the path in echo of where Gordon would have ended up if it wasn’t for his big brother - who had obviously followed him down.

“Uh, thanks, Virg.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gordon stared up at his brother who now had him clutched to his chest as if Gordon was his blushing bride...or something.

“You can put me down now.”

“Uh-uh.”

“What?”

And Virgil began carefully walking down the path towards the beach.

“Virgil, put me down.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“G Protocol has been engaged.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Because you have reached your limit.”

“Virgil, I’m fine.”

“You told Scott to get screwed.”

“He wasn’t being fair! Alan got the last of the ice cream last time. It was my turn!”

“Exactly.” Virgil stopped at the edge of a small cliff just before the beach proper. Behind them a set of rockets fired and Gordon looked up to see the space elevator disappear into the mountain. “Aw, hell, you called down John?!”

“G Protocol, Gords. You know the deal.”

Gordon sighed. Did he ever. “Go ahead. Put me out of my misery.”

Virgil smiled at him. “That’s the aim.” And chucked him off the cliff.

For Gordon, flipping into diving form was instinctual and while the cliff was a small one, they had jumped off it enough in fun for him to know exactly how much time it took to hit the water.

And water it was.

It took away the sounds of the world in a rush of bubbles.

He didn’t try to surface immediately. He let his momentum carry him deeper, his arms taking the load of the work since one foot wasn’t functioning. Blue enveloped everything and lifted his heart by its mere presence.

Why hadn’t he come here earlier?

He wasn’t surprised when there was a nearby splash and Virgil, stripped down to a t-shirt and his green swim shorts appeared next to him in a less coordinated and much bigger splash, his frown a glaring one letting Gordon know he had hung underwater too long for his brother’s comfort.

Exhaling, Gordon pushed for the surface just as another body hit the water. A body that belonged to his eldest brother.

Scott threw a flotation ring at Gordon. “Use it.” The tone brooked no argument.

Gordon screwed up his face. He hadn’t used one of these stupid things since…the hydrofoil.

He swore under his breath, but shoved it over his head and under his arms like some stupid little kid who couldn’t swim. Admittedly, it took the strain off his arms and legs, but the pink donut for all its novelty brought back more memories of struggle than he really wanted to face right now.

Maybe Virg was right. Maybe he was at his limit.

He swore again, this time enough to earn himself an arched eyebrow from Virgil treading water quite healthily beside him.

Irrational anger at something as simple as that proved beyond doubt that Gordon had blown himself a gasket.

Virgil must have sensed something on that medic radar of his because he reached out and pulled Gordon closer. “Hey, take a deep breath.”

The wet hair in his brother’s eyes and the seawater on his eyelashes only emphasized his kindness.

Damnit.

Gordon wanted to be angry. He wanted to yell at the sky, scream at the injustice of a simple broken ankle.

It wasn’t fair!

Virgil’s hand caught the back of Gordon’s neck, possibly the closest he could get to a hug with the flotation ring in the way. “It wasn’t your fault. Sometimes things…just happen.”

Acute wingman senses. Damn them. Screw everything.

“I’m fine!” He kicked himself away with one pathetic leg.

And got nowhere.

Virgil had let go of his neck, but had a firm hand on the ring. “Virgil, let me go.”

“No.”

“Virgil, I’m warning you.”

“About what?”

“Goddamnit, let go!”

“No.”

He gave his brother’s arm a shove and might as well have tried to move the Island.

So Gordon did what he needed to do and let himself slip below the surface, out of the ring, and away from Virgil.

He didn’t get very far.

He had more than one brother, and while Virgil tended to be a little on the slow side underwater, their eldest brother was fast no matter the medium.

Scott swooped in before Gordon could gain any momentum and caught him around the waist.

But Gordon was a fish and Scott only a bird. Long honed reflexes had his big brother blowing bubbles and Gordon wriggling out of his grip.

Only to have Virgil clamp down on his wrist and yank him back to the surface.

Whereas Gordon had no problem with thumping Scott – they shared military training and a sparring mat on many an occasion – there was something ultimately wrong about raising a fist to Virgil. Almost as bad as doing similar to Allie. He just couldn’t, no matter how pissed.

But he could shove and scream and yell and curse and get grabbed again by Scott and pushed back under the water. With Scott he was free to fight and fight he did. But all Scott did was defend himself, and Gordon was reduced to flailing with more emotion than sense, honestly not wanting to hurt his brother, but just needing to fight against the unfairness.

Eventually, Scott grabbed a wrist, much like Virgil did earlier and dragged him back up for much needed oxygen.

By then there was more saltwater than just seawater on Gordon’s face. Less fight and more need than anything else.

And, of course, Virgil was there.

Again he was grabbed by strong arms, but this time he had no energy to resist. If anything, he welcomed them. Perhaps they could take the weight and the guilt.

If he was sobbing on his brother’s shoulder, he wasn’t going to admit it.

Fingers stroked through wet hair and Virgil repeated over and over again that it hadn’t been his fault. That he had done everything he could. That sometimes shit just happened and this time, unfortunately, it happened to that little girl.

The mention of the one he couldn’t save no matter what he did only had him sobbing harder

She had been so young.

He had tried so hard. Made the sacrifices. Fought for her life.

And lost.

It wasn’t fair.

The sea had claimed her anyway.

Part of him was horrified at his own weakness. Horrified he needed an old protocol that proved he was off his head. Horrified he was crying in his brother’s arms. Horrified that all his military training hadn’t given him enough spine to shake this off by himself.

“It isn’t fair.”

“I know.” Virgil’s voice was ever so soft in his ear.

Gordon swallowed and gathered himself together, trying to align what he felt with what was logical and sensible.

It was like trying to scale a crumbling mountain. It was hard and exhausting and it hurt.

What was meant to be was meant to be. He had to believe that. It was the only way.

Despite the need to wail against the injustice.

Virgil still had his fingers in Gordon’s hair.

He pulled away gently from his brother, looking up into those worried dark eyes. Virgil was hanging onto the flotation ring with one arm. It was the only thing keeping both of them afloat.

Gordon wiped his face with one wet hand and let out a breath.

Off to his left, a slightly bruised cheekbone supported equally worried blue eyes as Scott trod water like he was hovering.

Which he was.

Gordon squeezed Virgil’s arm gently before slipping out of his grip and paddling over to Scott.

A wordless moment and then he was hugging his biggest brother with everything he had.

Scott hugged back even tighter.

Gordon squeezed his eyes shut and clung.

“Hey, Gordo! Johnny’s got something for ya!” Alan’s voice echoed across the caldera like a warning siren.

Gordon let go of Scott and backed off. A glance at both of his brothers before he dove under the water.

He swam down deep into the basin of the caldera, skipping just over the coral edifices. A moment to settle his mind and rebuild himself.

The silence of the deep and the familiarity of his home were a balm.

He knew his time was limited by the worry warts on the surface, so he didn’t dawdle, but he did take the time he needed.

Ocean washed away all the signs of his emotional turmoil.

By the time he resurfaced, whatever was left had been shoved back into its box.

And just as well, because Alan and John stood at the top of the cliff with their arms full of pool toys. A giant pink flamingo, a huge duck, a red rocket ship – where the hell had they bought that from? A green turtle and a pile of pool noodles.

A blink and all the flotation devices were in the water, followed by a bomb by the name of Alan.

Seawater rained over all of them.

The flamingo was washed over towards Gordon and whacked him on the head.

John, dressed in a full body wetsuit providing his necessary gravity support, followed Alan in, but with much more elegance. John was almost as much fish as Gordon, after all.

Gordon grabbed onto the flamingo to save himself the energy of trying the keep afloat. He was suddenly very, very tired.

Alan, being the ball of teen-energy he was, flapped his way over and gave Gordon a hug. “Feeling better now you are in the water?” Innocent blue eyes that truly were far from innocent anymore stared up at him in hope.

“You still stole my ice cream.”

“I’ll buy you some more.”

Gordon narrowed his eyes a little. “Promise.”

“Tracy’s honour. Next time we’re in Aotearoa.”

“How about tomorrow? You and me, Auckland CBD. I’ll even take the hoverchair.”

“Really?”

“If you buy me ice cream.”

“Cool. Can we visit the game arcade?”

“I’ll consider it.” Wouldn’t want to make it too easy for his little brother.

“Mind if I join you?”

Gordon blinked as John appeared beside them.

“You want to spend time with the two of us?” Gordon may have pointed at himself and Alan with a lot of disbelief.

John wasn’t fazed at all. “Sure. Haven’t had a go an arcade for a while. Need to keep my reflexes strong.”

Alan frowned. “You’ll get us kicked out again. There is such a thing as being too good at a thing. Or something.”

Yay for Alan and English. “What he said. But you are welcome. If I can have the flamingo.”

John’s lips curled up at the edges. “It’s yours.”

“And I get the rocket!”

John snorted. “No, that’s Scott’s. You get the pool noodles.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Because you stole Gordon’s ice cream.” With that John turned and dove, disappearing long enough for Gordon to lose his location.

“Hey! That’s not fair.”

Gordon grimaced as he glanced at Scott and Virgil. “Life isn’t fair, Allie.”

“Not fair at all.”

-o-o-o-

Addendum

[jen-lee3]

So I love Resident Evil, and in particular Leon Kennedy because when I was like six or seven I watched my dad play Resident Evil 4 on the gamecube and went, I like this funny man. And now years later the remakes slammed me in the face now that I'm capable of complex thoughts. But none of my irl friends like Resident Evil to the point my best friend has stopped me mid conversation because I got really focused on it again. So I need people to talk to about Resident Evil, if not for my sake then my friends. So here are some random Leon headcanons/thoughts that I need to put somewhere. They're not completely original of course, but here.

These are pretty much all Remake Leon, because honestly I prefer him. He's got consistent characterization. Not that og Leon had much of a chance in that regard, there were a lot of writers and years and even consoles between each game, and I still love him. Remake Leon just gives me a chronic case of "i can fix him" disease.

He is a dog person, 100%. I think there's even art for either 2 or 1.5 of him with a bloodhound. But we knew this.

He can’t really have a pet, but if he could I think he’d inexplicably end up with a cat. He doesn’t know how this happened. It just did, and suddenly his phone is filled with pictures of this cat. Like a real ugly cat too.

I feel like he played soccer or baseball in high school. Gotta get look good for those college apps. Absolutely not foot ball.

I feel like he was well liked in high school and college. Not exactly popular, but if someone was planning a party and saw him walk by, shout out an invite to him, because he's just a nice guy.

Girls probably liked him being at parties because while he's bad at flirting, he is always ready to throw down with a creep, watch a drink, walk a girl home. Using his hero complex to enjoy a party without worry.

Leon listens to dad rock. This much is obvious. I’m using my parents for reference but they’re roughly about ten years older so there's differences. Def doesn’t listen to as much hair metal I think, but would probably get a kick out of steel panther still. 

So much nirvana though. So much.

That being said, nothing is funnier than the idea of his inner elevator music being Linkin Park. He kinda missed them, getting beat up by Krauser. But I can see Chris several years later grabbing a cd thinking Leon might like this. Leon doesn’t know when Chris found out his birthday to buy him this gift as he did not tell him. 

The visual of Leon zoning out and miserable with Numb playing just hits different okay. 

Also everyone has seemed to collectively decide he likes NIN, specifically Closer. Which yes totally see it for re4 Leon, but also hilarious. He was 17 when that song came out. Can you imagine, freshman year or college with a Leon that's even a few years younger than re2 Leon, taking a girl back to his dorm room, and putting on some music to try and set the mood or something, and that song pops on. “I wanna fuck you like an animal” Sir, you are a golden retriever of a man that song doesn’t suit you yet.

Leon’s arm with the bullet wound seems to have some issues. I’ve seen several people throw that idea around and it makes sense. We know it was hours before he got proper medical attention at the very least if not days. 

I also think he might have some slight tinnitus. Maybe just in one ear. Not enough that it would make him more vulnerable in a fight than his arm having issues. But the amount of explosions, getting thrown around, and even firing a gun. It wouldn’t be surprising.

I know that when he mentioned Wesker before he called him ‘Wesker’ like everyone else. But I think if they met, Leon would call him Albert cause it’s funny and he had no sense of self preservation. 

I think Leon has a weird thing about his neck. Like sure it's fun to joke about him getting choked, but he has actually been choked by a lot of monsters to the point it’s probably touchy for him. I genuinely don’t think he’d like getting choked. And even touching his neck gets him to flinch unless he trusts them.

I didn’t want to get into nsfw, but since there's literally a tag for this on AO3… yeah, Leon’s packing. At the very least, I think this because something has to give him the confidence to say all that stupid shit. Because I don’t think it’s just his fighting skill. 

Eye contact. The boy loves eye contact. If you manage to get in a conversation with him (and there's not zombies trying to kill you) he is keeping his focus and his gaze. And you know… eye contact in other situations too I guess…

He watched Buffy season 1, only got to watch exactly 2 episodes of Buffy season 2 before Racoon city. I looked up when the episodes aired. He didn’t even get to see the Angelus arc. He’ll never go back and watch until years later when streaming is a thing. 

Another idea I’ve seen more than once I agree with. His apartment is so impersonal. Man walked into Ikea, pointed at one of their display rooms and said yes. Which is what they did in The Room. Tommy Wiseau looked at a display window and went yes.

Loves blockbuster and other video rentals. He loves movies but it’s probably hard for him to have a collection, so he rents them. Though that's always risky if he gets called away. But what else is he gonna spend his money on, the late fees are barely an issue.

sapphire-weapon has a lot of good Leon headcanons but I like the one about him being a fantasy nerd in particular. Being a Neil Gaimon fan makes a lot of sense. Probably enjoys some Terry Prachet as well. Very picky about fantasy but I would just want to show him my weird puppet movies. Like come on, this one has David Bowie who doesn’t like David Bowie?

I recently was shown Escape from New York and I think Leon and Chris would somehow start talking about that movie and they’ll get really excited about it and that they both love it. Like lots of good Kurt Russel movies, but I don’t think The Thing or Big Trouble in Little China gets the same results from those two.

He’s probably not Italian. If he is, it's probably too far back to matter or at the closest a grandparent they don’t really talk too. I would buy Scottish or Irish relatives closer than Italian. He is a white guy in America so he is probably a mix from several European countries but again, too far back to matter or really affect him culturally. He’s just American. Take this from someone who is of Italian descent, (my dad’s grandparents moved to Canada from Italy) and while I’m only a quarter Italian and actually have very similar colouring to Leon (pale, blue eyes, blonde) my family is still very Italian. So I feel like I can be a pretty good point of reference here.

Also the mafia background. Y’all saw one concept artist say he was Italian, and then that mock interview back in the day said his parents died in a “heinous crime” and decided it was mafia related, which hey. But idk, he seems too plucky in re2r. I feel like he’d be more disillusioned with the police force if something like that happened. I mean that is applying realism to Resident Evil which as we all know is a very grounded and realistic horror game, but regardless, he’s not mafia. Mafia princess Leon is hilarious, but just as a fun au.

But eerizon mama’s boy video tho? Makes me want to rip my phone in half (affectionate)

Probably raised catholic. He’s got a couple lines about religion and by merit of being a white guy in America, def christian family. Now y’all in the states have like a million different versions, start throwing directions into it too, so I really only know catholic. And also, Sister Michael of Derry Girls comes to me saying “I do love a good statue it must be said” and she’s right. 

I wish there was more fan art of Leon with Catholic aesthetics because they're so good. Martyr Leon, Saint Leon. the possibilities. God I wish I could draw.

As for shipping, I’ll ship Leon with just about anyone.

Leon and Ashley are my personal favourite, I just think it’s adorable and knight/prince/ss relationships make me feral. 

Chris and Leon are fun because grumpy old men romance!

Luis and Leon are really fun because Leon looks like scary dog privilege but I like the idea Luis is the dangerous one. He may or may not have been involved with Nemesis. Pissing off Leon is bad, but pissing off his boyfriend? Rip. 

Leon and Ada are toxic and fun. I don’t understand the sentiment of, oh it’s not manipulative or unhealthy. Yes it is, that's why it’s sexy. I support women’s wrongs.

Leon and Claire are wild, something ends up on fire at the end of all their dates.

Leon and Krauser… okay maybe I don’t ship them. OG Leon? Sure, they’re more equals. Remake Leon? Krauser I’ll kill you.

In my head I refer to him as blonde because I first saw him in OG re4, but he's really more of a brunette huh. It also varies even in that regard (looking at you vendetta). Kinda like Link. Various between shades of blonde and brown with one random ginger/pink thrown in due to tech constraints.

Anyways, I have more thoughts but this was already waaaay too long. Please talk to me about Resident Evil my bestie can’t take it anymore.

[nyotasaimiri]

Arc Two (redux) 74

Modifying the Matter Manipulator’s tracking system was quick and easy work, much to Nyota’s relief. It was almost like the functions had been planned, but never turned on.

“That’s probably right,” Arjun said when Nyota raised her thoughts aloud. “The Protectorate had a lot of little back-room thoughts they never got the time to finish out. Always looking at farther stars. That’s how Esther put it.”

“It’s a good phrase,” Nyota said. She closed the casing up and stretched her stiff wrists, trying to swallow the anxiety. She did not want to spend too long in this strange place. She had packed plenty of rations, in case of emergencies, but there was no telling what a pocket dimension could do to the body even without standard survival concerns.

“SAIL, test the relay,” she said into her microphone. “Send down some apples from the kitchen.”

A few moments later, the transmitter flashed, followed by her Matter Manipulator. Nyota caught the apple out of the air and smiled. Still crisp and firm, no damage at all.

Arjun almost grinned. “Not bad at all for the first try.”

Nyota nodded, but she wasn’t satisfied yet. “Now for the hard part. SAIL, send them back up.”

The Matter Manipulator flashed, then the transmitter. A startled whistle echoed through her earpiece. “What the gol-dang—Captain? Did ya beam up some fruit?”

Nyota stifled a soft chuckle. “Yes, Lumen. Sorry about that, I should have warned you.”

“Well, I ain’t one to pry, so I’m not gonna ask what for,” he hummed. “I figure it’s a darn good reason for such a strange thing.”

The earpiece clicked off. Sonny started laughing.

“Classic Lumen,” she fizzed cheerfully. “Ain’t much in this world that’ll faze that man.”

Nyota smiled. “That’s why he is my second. It leaves me room to be as strange as I like.”

Arjun was rubbing at his scruff again though, and frowning. “Hate to burst your bubble, ma’am, but we’re still not in the clear. Someone will have to stay close to the gate.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the entrance. “Don’t trust this place to leave the transmitter alone if we just drop it there.”

That did burst the bubble. Nyota had realized it, but hearing it aloud brought the thoughts all shoving for attention. “I do not want to split up, either,” she said. “It will be unsafe for whoever stays behind.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sonny said. She puffed up a little, glowing warm and bright. “I’ll stay here. I’ve been in worse scrapes, right? Besides, it doesn’t look too bad anyhow, out here.”

Nyota floundered in the face of Sonny’s determination. The dangers, Sonny’s inexperience, all of them hit that bold glow like glass hitting steel. She knew from Lumen’s cautions that it was hard to change the girl’s mind once she set it to anything. Warnings wouldn’t stop her at all. “You will get bored out here,” she tried.  

Arrowmail scuffed a foot on the stone. “Helpful. I could stay with her,” he offered. He put a hand on the sword at his hip. “If anything comes to bother us, I can at least buy time for you to come help. I have gotten better at fighting.”

Defeated, Nyota raised her hands in surrender. “Very well. Just be careful, both of you. It seems safe enough here, but seeming is not always being, do you understand?”

Sonny cheerily saluted her. Arrowmail followed suit a moment later with a quiet clink. “Sure thing, ma’am,” the novakid said. “We’ll keep it on the down low, don’t you worry.”

“Good.” Nyota turned her earpiece back on to bring Lumen up to speed.

His first response was a very static-loaded sigh. “Dangit, lil’ Glowbug. I know the pair of ya wouldn’t mind a romantic getaway an’ all, but ya could pick a safer spot than this. Could hook ya up proper with some nice colony barkeep pals or somethin’.”

“Lumen!” Sonny flared almost blindingly bright and fizzed sharp enough to make the earpiece whine over his chuckles. “It ain’t that! We’re workin’ hard here.”

“Sure, sure,” he hummed as Nyota bit down a laugh. “I believe ya. Still, ain’t no harm in mixin’ work with pleasure as long as ya can get both done. Keep them senses sharp though, Glowbug,” he warned, humor fading. “We still don’t know what was behind the drone that hurt Hadley. Might be malfunction, might be more’n that. I’ll keep the comms open, ol’ Ferny and I are just a buzz away. We’re here for ya.”

“Thanks, Lumen,” Sonny said, quieter as the mood sobered. She didn’t’ stay somber for too long. “Well, you heard the fella, ma’am. We’re okay. Go have fun crackin’ this place open, why don’t ya?”

Nyota accepted her loss gracefully and turned back toward the ice room. “Very well. We’ll stay in touch. Arjun, you’re with me.”

Arjun nodded and followed after her. “Yes, ma’am.”

[alovett]

Family, Friends and stalkers,

This is a bit of a read. I took the time to write it, so please take the time to read it.

The following transcript is a short (true) story about a life event that I have recently been through and have processed. Enjoy. Or don't.

In March of this year, after tearing my LCL in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and after being encouraged by my wife Nicole, I decided that I needed hit the gym to help the healing of my knee, to get healthier and to set out with a new goal. I decided that it would be fun to compete in a body building competition (Men’s Physique).

After discussing this idea with Nicole and already having her support in this endeavor, I hired IFBB (International Fitness and Body Building Federation) Pro, Jeni Briscoe. Jeni is a local in my town and has YEARS of body building experience and training. She seemed up to the task.

On April 1st, I started my journey. A journey that I entered blindly, not knowing how it might or might not change my life. Jeni got me on a proper eating program right away and into a gym regiment. She has been whipping my butt into shape for the last 6.5 months. She spent a lot of time mentoring, training, answering (a LOT of) questions and giving me loads of encouragement along the way.

The first couple of weeks were just getting used to the routine of being back in the gym – it had been 3, maybe even 4 years since I had set foot in one. I started with a 6-day gym plan. Being married, a father of four and working full-time didn't give me much free time. The only option was to start waking up at 4:15 a.m. during the week, to be at the gym for 5:00 a.m. - this was rough. I spent 1.5 hours at the gym each morning and by the time I got to my desk at work, I had already been up, and active, for 4 hours.

At about the 6-week mark, getting up so early was becoming a little easier and I received a new exercise plan. I don’t know why, but even this felt like some sort of little milestone – I had made it to the next step. I believe the food plan still stayed the same at this point - lots of protein and veggies. A true whole-fool meal plan.

Shortly after the 6-week point, our household got very sick and I missed my first day(s) at the gym. I missed 4 days during this time and it felt like a devastating blow. I lost a lot of weight (from being sick) strength and even a little motivation. Though, with the continued support from Nicole, and a little push from Jeni, I was back on track and was back to making progress.

Fast forward to August. The early summer months were successful. I was lifting more, losing pounds and inches when and where needed. I had missed 4 days through June and July (3 Saturdays), due to family obligations. I was feeling much more motivated going to the gym now and 4:15 a.m. was starting to feel “right”.

Every year in August we make plans for a family vacation. Like usual, we had previously made plans to go down south for this year's summer vacation. I had had a few chats with Jeni about this pending vacation and was in the right mind set to be prepared (food prep & finding a temporary gym) for the trip. I don't remember why, but unfortunately, I missed 3 days at the gym leading up to the trip and missed a pretty important check-in with my coach the Friday that we left. The trip is long (1,400km) and we drive it in one shot, leaving at midnight. That being said, the drive down was pretty easy. I only ended up having only a few (handfuls of) chocolate covered almonds along the way.

We arrived at our first stop and was served homemade macaroni and cheese one night and pizza the next. I couldn’t help myself (sorry Jeni). For the rest of the trip I was a *little* more on track and I was able to get to the gym to put in some workouts. This week was definitely a pretty big setback, and I came out pretty discouraged and disappointed in myself. End August.

September came around and I realized that I was 6 (very short) weeks away from stepping on stage. If no one has ever told you the mental toll that a competition like this (being judged on your physical appearance) plays on oneself, let me tell you… it is a tremendous strain. Wait – that is an understatement. Let me put it this way, if curling 45lb dumbbells is strong, then your mental game better be curling upwards of 75lb or more!

By the end of September, I was putting in between 100 – 140 minutes of cardio a day, as well as, 60 minutes of weights each day, 7 days a week. My meal plan had also changed drastically. Healthy, but drastic.

October 15, 2023, Nicole and I headed out to Grande Prairie, Alberta, by ourselves (thank you so much Jen & Dan) where the competition was held. In preparation I had to shave (bic style) my entire body and got a *shudders* beautiful spray tan - the first in my life. My first base coat of tan was administered Saturday evening shortly after we had checked into our room and my second coat was sprayed on at 4:45 a.m. (thankfully this was a 30 min sleep in from the rest of the week) on Sunday morning.

At 8:20 a.m. I was down in the athlete “staging” area getting my pre-show “pump” on. Lifting some weights, push-ups, sit-ups, etc. At 9:15 a.m., or so, we (all of the competitors) were lined up. Standing behind the stage. Looking back at the last 6.5 months felt a little surreal. This couldn't be real, could it?

Jeni was there, backstage with us, smiling, giving me a thumbs up and asked how I was doing. “Terrified.” I replied. My legs were shaky, nerves and adrenaline taking over. There were guys standing right next to me, guys who were absolutely shredded, all whom I was supposed to compete against. Not only that, but never, have I EVER, in my 36 years of breathing existence, ever liked having my shirt off in front of people. Especially in front of a crowd of people – a crowd of people there to specifically JUDGE my “unshirted” body. It's just not my thing.

“Next contestant, number 92!”

“That’s you – you’re up! Good luck!” Jeni said.

Deep breath, Inhale. Just like I was about to push a 450lb leg press. Exhale. Up the stairs I went. Blinding lights beating down on me. I tried my best not to squint into the brightness of the lights. I could barely make out the edge of the stage.

“Perfect – I’m going to step right off the edge and fall straight onto the judges’ table.” I thought.

I didn’t. I found my ‘X’ and stood on it.

The next thing that ran through my head was, “Ok, you’ve practiced this at least… 10 times. You know the poses.”

45 degrees, chest up, shoulders up and back, right hand on right hip, twist at the waist, face judges. Oh ya! Smile! Don’t forget to smile. Then I heard it – a cute little “Ow owww!” from the crowd. I knew that “ow ow”. That was my “ow ow”. Nicole, out there, somewhere behind the blinding lights, somewhere in the crowd. Looking at me. Proud of me. And that’s all it took. I was confident. I was proud. Of me. I did it. I took a huge freaking step and I fought myself – my doubts, my insecurities, my thoughts of giving up and throwing in the towel. But I never did and I couldn’t help but smile. Who cares what the judges thought. Who cares what the other competitors look like or what they had done to get where they were. No one but me, Nicole and Jeni know where I started and what I had done to get to that point or how hard I worked or what I had sacrificed.

After the posing we had a 15-minute intermission and got to go back to the staging area for more “pumping”, to shake off the nerves, have a chat with the team, go pee, etc. I got to talking with a few of the other competitors, gave complements to those in my categories and basically got to know them a little bit better.

Generally, there was really great comradery between all of the competitors and was really a pretty awesome group of guys. There were a couple who soured the bunch, but it was easy to ignore and not be bothered by them.

After the intermission, we went back behind the stage and lined up for the “final judging”. Same shredded guys, same judges, same me. The nerves were a lot less this time around and I was just happy to be a part of the whole thing. This time around I was even able to give Jeni a couple thumbs up.

“Men’s Final – True Novice” was called. My first class. I was the last to be called out on stage. We had to go through the posing routine again.

“Next contestant, number 92!” Again, up the stairs I went. It went by so fast the second time around. We all stood off to the side of the stage after posing for the final judgment.

“In third place, Men’s True Novice, contestant number 92!”

I stood there stunned. It felt like a few seconds, but in reality was probably only a fraction of a second. Thinking in my head if I had heard the right words, or if I had just imagined or hoped that those were the words over the speakers. Then, in an instant I snapped back to, waved to the crowd and judges and stepped to the 3rd place mark. A bronze medal was placed around my neck and that was that. It didn’t really sink in. "Did I do it? I think I did." I don’t really remember much after that except for walking off of the stage and congratulating the 2nd and 1st place winners.

Right after that, I was around again, lined up on stage for my height class group. I think I was still in shock from the True Novice group because I don’t even really remember being up on stage.

“In second place, Men’s Physique Group B, contestant number 92!”

“Ow oowww!” from the crowd. My Nicole.

I walked to the second place spot, Jeni came out and presented me with my trophy this time, she shook my hand, “I’m proud of you.” She said.

I never imagined, 6.5 months ago, that I would have ever been on that stage, let alone, being handed some hardware. This process has been one of the simplest, most difficult things I have ever done in my life. And I think I loved it.

I can only speak as a male, so I say to any man who reads this – I think that every man, and I don’t care if you are in your 20s, 30s, 70s or anywhere in between, if you can financially afford to do so, this should be one thing that should be on your bucket list. And it should be sooner than later. If you can afford to do so, it shouldn’t be in the new year, or next month, or next Monday – it should be now. Don’t do it to be better, or skinnier, or stronger and more defined than the guy standing next to you. Do it to be better or stronger and healthier that the you you are right now. You and e everyone around you will be so proud of you. And yes, you DO have the time, you just have to be willing to make it.

Thanks for reading.

[robininthelabyrinth]

mini-prompt: the jin family are the ones with an inhuman inheritance

It took Nie Mingjue a while to realize that Meng Yao had gotten the wrong idea about his gifts.

“It’s not that I’m not complimented, Sect Leader,” Meng Yao said, that strained smile that was almost a grimace on his face. “But I really can’t accept something so precious.”

Nie Mingjue frowned down at the set of gold cups. “Precious?” he echoed, not sure what Meng Yao meant – they were only gold, no spirituality to them at all; they were as useless as mud to a proper cultivator. “Don’t be ridiculous. Just take them.”

“I really can’t,” Meng Yao said stubbornly. “Sect Leader, if you would permit me to be frank…”

“Always. I hate dissembling.”

“It’s important to me – that is – I want to earn my place at your side through merit,” Meng Yao said delicately, as if he were saying something awkward. “Not through…anything else.”

“How else would you advance if not through merit?” Nie Mingjue asked, exasperated, and only after Meng Yao’s faced did several changes did he finally get it. “Wait, no! No, no, no! You’ve got the wrong idea entirely – this isn’t a courting gift! I was just being polite!”

“Polite?” Meng Yao echoed, arching his eyebrows. It looked somehow simultaneously graceful and deeply sarcastic. “Sect Leader, you’ve gifted me a dozen pieces in gold over the past two weeks, any time you find them, and I know for a fact that you don’t do that for every deputy.”

“None of my other deputies are you!”

That sounded wrong.

“I meant, in terms of your heritage,” Nie Mingjue said, and Meng Yao’s face was getting stiffer by the moment, insulted, as if Nie Mingjue had said the wrong thing again…oh, wait. “Not your mother. Your father! You’re a Jin, aren’t you?”

Meng Yao’s grimace softened into confusion. “I – that is – I’m not recognized –”

“You’re still a Jin by blood,” Nie Mingjue said. “Everyone knows how Lanling Jin’s special bloodline is drawn to gold, how uncomfortable you are without having a hoard of it around you at all times. We even have to have special rooms for visitors from there, or else they can’t fall asleep. Then next thing you know they’ve found their way to your treasury by sniffing it out…”

He trailed off.

Meng Yao’s face was doing something very strange, but in a different way than earlier.

“…did you not know?” he asked, grimacing when Meng Yao’s tightening lips confirmed it. He’d really put his foot in it this time. “Ah. I’d assumed…I hadn’t realized…forgive me. Does the gold help, at least?”

“…yes,” Meng Yao said, sounding bitter. “Yes, it seems that it does.”

[neon-junkie]

Okay, Tech will never admit to it, but he finds it super sexy when you wear his goggles during the sex.

Especially when they don’t properly fit on your head so every bounce on his cock the goggles are slowly slipping down, which gives him the excuse (as if he needed it) to hold your face.

Take it away! ;3

A little something for you, my love! 1k words, gender-neutral reader, but feminine leaning.

When you first joined the Batch as their mechanic, Tech instantly didn't like you, purely because "why do we need a mechanic? I possess all the skills necessary to keep ourselves, and the Marauder fit for work-" blahblahblah, and in all honesty, you agreed with him, despite his negative way of saying it.

But the GAR has assigned you to this squad, so unless the Sergeant decides to dismiss you, then you're here to stay. (And there's no way that Hunter is going to do that!)

You and Tech have got off on the wrong foot… well, Tech has a grudge against you as he views you as his 'replacement,' but you're simply trying your best to get on with everybody - which you're doing a great job of!

Tech always insists on doing repairs, and it gets to the point that Hunter has to intervene, pull him aside, and chew some sense into him. Tech will sit and sulk, pretending to put his focus into one of his side project, when he's really glaring at you in the corner of his eye like a grumpy child. Wrecker has the nerve to comment that Tech is only jealous, and… let's just say that that argument didn't end well. So, after a few weeks of getting on with your work, you decide to give your friendship with Tech another attempt. To his surprise, you ask for some assistance with soldering the hull of the ship after a crash landing, and Tech jumps at the opportunity. He's only doing it to flex his skills, but hey, maybe this is what you need to bridge the gap!

To Tech's surprise, the only protective gear that you pull on is a pair of thick work gloves (and your overalls, but they're almost always on,) and Tech practically screams at you! He insists that you must wear some form of protective eye gear, despite the fact that you're only soldering tiny wires together on the lowest setting - a job that will take twenty seconds, tops.

Nether the less, Tech rushes off, and soon returns with a spare pair of goggles, a replica of his most beloved ones. You pull them on, despite feeling like a goof ball, and get to work. It doesn't take long for the thought of Tech's goggles to slip from your mind, and you spend most of the day with them on, working as if they're now part of your uniform.

Tech, despite getting on with his work, keeps catching you in the corner of his eye. As smart as he may be, he can't understand why he's feeling the need to loom over you, that is, until you decide to take a break.

After breaking a sweat, you unbutton your overalls, and wrap the sleeves around your waist, leaving your upper half in your tank top, your skin able to breathe at last! Tech's goggles come to rest on your forehead, and you're finally able to give your eyes a good rub after discarding your gloves.

Ah, there it is! The realisation! Tech finally understands why he's been acting so strange towards you, ever since the start. Sure, having his job 'taken away' definitely hurt, but he seemed to be seething purely because you're attractive, and he doesn't know how to proceed with that information. He's spent his entire life around his brothers, Jedi generals, the Kaminoans, and Mandalorian trainers - all of which aren't romanceable, (although that hasn't stopped some of his vode… Commander Cody!)

And then comes along this pretty mechanic, now wearing his goggles, and currently asking him, "what are you staring at, Tech?"

"Oh!" Tech sputters. "I was… well, I noticed that you are having a break, and I was considering doing the same."

"Have a break then, Tech," you shake your head, not understanding why that was such a big decision for Tech.

You two finally have your first, proper, civil conversation on your break, both sharing snacks, and enjoying a mug of caf. The friendship builds from there, and hey-ho, before you know it, you're both in each other's grasp!

It was your idea to keep his goggles on during one of your many intimate moments. They're your goggles now, but you still refer to them as "Tech's spare pair," despite Tech's protests that, "they're a gift, an item to ensure your safety, darling."

You two shouldn't be fooling around whilst attempting to do repairs, but the Batch are out on a supply run, and you two haven't had a moment alone since the other week when you snuck off on Kamino. The Batch totally don't know about your relationship - winkwink!

Overalls are discarded, as well as a certain someone's codpiece, and you can tell that Tech is considering stripping off more armour as you sink down onto his length, seeing as he's burning up at the sight - his darling, still half-dressed in uniform, wearing his goggles, is bouncing on his cock whilst letting out the sweetest sounds that he's ever heard.

"How the kriff do you manage to keep these on?" you laugh as you move your hands up to shift Tech's goggles up onto your forehead, but a sudden hand on your arm stops your movement.

"-Leave them," Tech gasps. His eyes suddenly turn wide after his outburst, and he begins back peddling, "-I mean, that is… if you want to? I find their loose fitting rather attractive… and-"

"-Tech," is all you need to say to shut him up. "I'll leave them on, even if they are slipping down my face."

A firm pair of hands grasp onto your hips, and with caution, Tech rolls you onto your back, his length not slipping from you. "Let me take over then, cyar'ika. Just relax, and enjoy the ride."

>:)

[theveryworstthing]

So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.

The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class.  I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.

I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.

Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.

10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.

The Parents

From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.

Or while it was still bleeding.

If she was into that.

Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.

Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.

And he always gets his due.

He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.

Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~

Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.

Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.

This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.

Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?

Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.

Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.

What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.

Mortesha would know.

The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.

Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.

The Children

Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.

Anyway.

Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!

Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.

Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got  natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.

I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace.  I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.

Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.

She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.

Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.  

That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.

Annnnyway.  This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.

[rendy-a]

I seriously love your continuation of Aurora’s Pet AU and you got the feel down pat!💕✨

I’m wondering how the Pomefiore Trio would deal with a sweet, unassuming master having a two-faced S/O that acts like an angel in front of them (offering treats and inviting the pets to dates) yet make passive agressive remarks whenever their master isn’t there and it comes to the point they overhear the S/O pull their master aside to make them choose between the S/O and the pet. Would they be appalled and burst in or respect their master’s decision, which ever it may be. For context, the pets have been adopted long before their master and the S/O even dated.

I’m so glad you are enjoying my take on the Pet AU.  Here is your request, enjoy!

An Ultimatum with Pomefiore

When you met your S/O, you thought you were just the luckiest person in all of Twisted Wonderland.  They showered you with affection and treated your pet like a part of the family, just like you did.  You liked to tease your S/O that you’d need to be careful or soon your pet would have a new favorite human!  That is why it was so shocking to you when your S/O tearfully told you they felt like an outsider in the family.  That your bond with your pet was keeping you from loving them fully.  If you want to be a real family, you have to put them first!  It is time to make your S/O a priority and get rid of your pet so you can be a proper couple!  Your S/O was shouting so loudly, you wondered if your pet had heard…

Vil is too proud to admit that he has heard your fight and is worried about the outcome.  That day you chose him at the menagerie over Neige all the other trophy pets was one of the best moments of his life.  Now he is waiting to find out if you’ll still choose him.  If you don’t…well he just can’t think of what he’ll do.

How does Vil behave in the days following?  He is stressfully waiting for you to make your decision but also trying to pretend not to know about it.  That doesn’t mean that he is keeping silent though.  Conversation is a trophy pet’s weapon.   You seem to have many enlightening little chats with Vil over your morning make-up routines or afternoon tea.  Maybe next summer we should all take a vacation at a health spa.  I’m sure S/O won’t mind, they are always saying how much they care about our health.  Not that you’d know that from the way they keep forgetting about your allergy.  I’m sure that isn’t because they don’t care enough to remember the little things about you, right master?  Is he being as catty as a teenage girl in a high school drama?  Yes.  Does Vil care?  Absolutely not.

At the end of the week, a moving company arrives and starts packing up your S/O’s things; your Ex never sets foot in the house again.  You say nothing to Vil about it but you both know what happened.  After a week of stress, Vil is finally able to relax again and you can visibly see the tension ease out of his shoulders.

That evening you have a movie marathon; its one of your shared hobbies to watch movies and critique the acting, sets and costumes.  Today, Vil has chosen an assortment of movies featuring loyal pets; not a hint of romance at all.   During the happy scenes where a pet reunites with their beloved master, Vil reaches over to pat your hand as though to say, Thank you for choosing me master.

Rook is another one that isn’t going to act emotionally.  He will quietly observe your reaction to see how you decide to react (your conflicted expression is tres bien!)  Unless you specifically ask him about it, he will keep himself from interfering.  If you do ask him about your S/O, he will give you surprisingly detailed data.

See, Rook has been very suspicious of your SO from the beginning.  He knows what a sweet naïve master he has and thinks of himself as a bit of a protector to you.  After that first questionable comment your S/O made while you were gone, Rook has been collecting observations on your S/O.  And by collecting observations I mean spying on them in a major way; video, audio recordings, interviews with former classmates, dental records…everything. 

When your former S/O comes to pick up their things, they will be escorted out by a smiling Rook.  He takes the time to let them know just how much information he has dug up on them and suggests they consider not bothering you in the future if they don’t want those unpleasant details to become public knowledge.  Depriving your S/O of their prey was a satisfying game indeed, one Rook was amused to play.

Was Rook concerned you might not have chosen him?  No, he knew you’d choose him.  After all, you were the kind of odd person to go to a pound and adopt a strange pet like him in the first place.  You and I master, make a perfect pair.  Our bond is beaute 100%!

As soon as he hears their ultimatum, Epel bursts in and starts yelling at S/O.  What do you mean he is in the way of your family?  Didn’t S/O always say Epel was like a family member?  Was all that a lie?  There is no need for you to say anything, Epel will yell every question you could have asked and then some.

Does he keep it to shouting?  Only if you are lucky.  You better be prepared to hold Epel back like a tiny worked-up chihuahua.  He is fully ready to throw down with your S/O!  Don’t think he will let S/O get away with saying such hurtful things!

When your S/O starts yelling back at Epel, you get into protective pet-parent mode.  Now both you and Epel are shouting at S/O in your countrified speech.  Listen here you poor excuse for a horse apple, you ain’t got nothing under your hat but hair if you think I’m getting rid of my sweet Epel!  You think we can’t see you lyin’ like a rug, you varmint?  Congratulations, your former S/O now thinks you are crazy and will gladly never speak to you again.

Afterwards, expect to need to comfort Epel.  He just gets so worried about you leaving him someday; no one understands him like you.  He isn’t crying, you’re crying!  Give him some hugs and head pats.  When he is fully calm, he is going to want to know more about where you get your insults from (and can you teach him some?)  Hey master, I guess we just go together like peas and carrots, huh?