#I would get on all fours and woof if he asked me to

[inawickedlittletown]

Becoming Pawrents (BuckTommy) - one-shot

Summary: Out on a call, the 118 finds a box of abandoned puppies.

BuckTommy Positivity Week Day 6: kids and pets

Rated: G

Words: 2.3k

@bucktommypositivityweek

-

Read on Ao3

The box trembled.

“So, uh, what do we think it is?” Buck asked. 

Chim approached it with some trepidation. “It’s probably nothing, right, Cap?” 

The call hadn’t been about the box. It had been a minor car accident. No one had actually been injured in the accident, but the very angry guy in the Porsche had taken affront at the inconvenience and actually punched the other driver who had then fallen and hit his head on the hood of his own car. The irate guy had then tried to lunge at the police officer before his partner got cuffs on him. 

After all of that had been taken care of, Eddie had spotted the shaky box. 

“We don’t know that,” Bobby said. “I’m calling it in.” 

Buck shrugged his shoulders. It was probably nothing. Maybe some raccoons were in there scavenging around trash someone had left behind. 

The box gave another shake and with it came the sound of—

“Do you hear barking?” Hen asked. 

“Wait, did someone abandon a puppy on the side of a road?” Buck asked and he rushed forward, Eddie at his heels. 

He was still careful as he popped the box open and yes, someone had definitely abandoned a box containing not just one puppy, but five. They were small wiggly little things that at the sight of someone peering in scrambled to the sides of the box, shaking the whole thing. Buck had no idea what breed they were exactly, but he thought they had to be some mix because they were all kind of curly. They were mostly blond, but they had white and black and brown mixed in too. 

“Puppies,” Chim said. 

“They’re cute,” Eddie said. 

“Adorable,” Buck added. “But who just abandons puppies like this.”

“Someone not very bright,” Hen said. 

Buck couldn’t help himself, so he reached in to grab one of them. The puppy wiggled but it came easily and weighed almost nothing at all. 

“Buck, don’t just — they could have fleas,” Hen said. 

Buck froze and didn’t bring the puppy any closer. 

Bobby approached, then. “Dispatch is sending animal control out. They’ll take them to a rescue and get them checked out.” 

The puppy Buck had picked up made a “woof” that sounded so cute, Buck couldn’t help but bring him closer. He immediately began to lick at Buck. 

Hen just shook her head, but she crouched to look at the remaining four in the box. 

“They’ll get adopted out quick,” she said. 

Buck pet down the back of the one he was holding. He was so soft and he was sniffing at Buck like crazy, it was all that Buck could do to keep hold of him because he wanted to be put down likely so he could run off. It was actually surprising they hadn’t managed to get out of the box. 

“They must not have been here very long,” Chim said. “You guys don’t even know. If Jee-Yun saw them she’d be begging me to bring one of them home.” 

Until that moment, it hadn’t crossed Buck’s mind that it was an option. 

“Why don’t you?” Bobby asked. 

“Yeah, like I’d hear the end of it from Maddie. They are pretty darn cute though. Maybe when Jee’s older and can take on the responsibility of caring for a dog. Otherwise, who do you think will be doing all the walking and feeding? This guy.”

“What about you, Cap?” Eddie asked. 

Bobby laughed and shook his head. “Didn’t go over well last time I brought a dog home, did it?”

“That dog had the devil in him,” Hen said. 

Eddie nodded in agreement. 

“And you, Eddie?” 

Eddie shook his head. “Nope. Count me out on that.” 

Buck, who had previously never given too much thought to getting a pet, wondered if maybe he should try and adopt one of the puppies. They were cute enough and now that he’d moved in with Tommy it would even have a backyard in which to run. And maybe they could even get the dog used to going on runs with him and Tommy. Buck could imagine it easily. One thing stopped him though, it wasn’t just his opinion that mattered. 

“Buck?” Eddie asked. 

Tommy wouldn’t say no to a dog, would he? 

It wasn’t like they’d discussed it or anything, but between the two of them they could definitely handle a dog and it would even work out when their shifts didn’t align so neither of them was home alone. The more he thought about it, the more the idea grew on him. 

“I — I kinda want to take one,” Buck said. 

“Of course you do,” Hen said. 

“What is Tommy going to say about that?” Eddie asked. 

“I would need to check with him, but I think maybe…maybe this is the next step for us.” 

“A dog,” Chim said. 

Buck gave a nod. “Yeah. I mean, I know he likes animals. I’m not gonna just show up with a dog without asking him first, but maybe it’s a good idea. It’ll be—” he trailed off not wanting to say it out loud.

“It’ll be what, Buck?” Hen asked. She was crouched scratching the head of one of the dogs. 

“It’ll be nice when he’s on shift and I’m not and when I’m on shift and he’s not.” 

It wasn’t what he’d almost said, but no one either realized or felt like calling him on it. He did think that Bobby was giving him a knowing look. A dog was preemptive for kids. Good practice for when he and Tommy decided they wanted a family. If that was something Tommy wanted. If it was something that he wanted with him. Buck had always wanted kids, but if Tommy didn’t he didn’t think it was a deal breaker. 

Suddenly, a pit was growing in his stomach and he bent to pet the dogs some more. He couldn’t help but smile while petting them. 

“Buck,” Eddie said. 

Buck turned and found Eddie with his phone pointed at him. 

“And sent,” Eddie said with a grin. 

—

Tommy wasn’t used to being on phone as often as he was these days. He still read a lot during any downtime at work, but one of the first things he did when getting back from a call was check his phone. Tommy didn’t mind, he loved the rabbit holes that Evan’s research binges sent him down. It was also, absolutely true, that the 118 got itself into some situations that absolutely required recounting. 

So, when he climbed down from the helicopter right at the end of his shift, he reached for his phone to check and see if Evan had had occasion to text. 

Instead, he found a text from Eddie that had come in not thirty seconds earlier. 

It was a picture and in it Evan was leaning towards a box full of puppies. They looked adorable and with how curly and blond they were, Evan kinda fit right in. Tommy couldn’t stop looking at the picture. At Evan’s smile and at the dog that was preparing to take a leap at him. 

“Whatcha got there, Kinard? Boyfriend sending you nudes?” 

“No. Unfortunately,” Tommy said. 

Lucy cackled. He turned his phone and Lucy grabbed it from him. “Did he finally find his family or something?” 

“Funny,” Tommy said, snatching his phone back and continuing to the locker room. 

He texted Eddie back as he made his way to his car. 

Tommy: Cute. What’s with the puppies?

He was about to pull out of his spot when Eddie responded. 

Eddie: Someone abandoned them. They’re getting picked up by animal control now. If you don’t want a dog better start figuring out how to tell Buck no.

Tommy went back to the picture. The puppies sure were cute, though he’d argue that Evan was the cutest thing in the picture. He didn’t know how he and Evan could manage to keep a dog, but at the same time it wasn’t the worst idea. Back when he’d first moved into his house he’d been convinced that a dog was the thing he needed to make it complete. It was his schedule that stopped him from getting one because back then he’d been completing his flight hours and it just hadn’t made much sense when he was only really home to sleep. Tommy had never revisited it. 

His phone vibrated again. 

Evan: how do you feel about getting a dog? 

Attached was a picture of the dogs inside the box. They were all quite fluffy with huge eyes and ears that just kinda flopped on the side of their heads. Going by their size, they would get to a good size. 

Tommy: how long do we have to decide? 

Evan: a few days. 

What followed next was information about the rescue shelter that the dogs were being taken to. 

Evan: I told them we’d stop by tomorrow. 

They were going to get a dog, of that Tommy had no doubt. For his part, Evan had already decided, and while he was sure that Evan could deal with Tommy saying no, it would also break his heart. That’s just who Evan was. It was what Tommy loved about him. 

When he got home, he did a little bit of research. He couldn’t be completely sure, but it seemed like the dogs were golden doodles or some subset of that. He and Evan did have erratic schedules, but if they got the dog trained fairly well then maybe one of them could bring it with them to work on occasion. It was allowed, he’d found out, and not just for animals trained for search and rescue. They could get the dog certified as a therapy dog, though. 

By the time that Evan arrived home, Tommy had already put a number of things in his amazon shopping cart. Evan laughed and hugged him from behind when he saw it. 

“Really?” he asked. 

“For one thing I could tell you really wanted to do this. And I think we can make it work.” 

Evan immediately leaned down and pulled him into a kiss. “You’re the best. They were all taking bets on how this would go.” 

“I hope you put some money on me,” Tommy said. 

Evan just laughed. “So, let me show you more pictures. They really were cute.” 

There were about ten pictures. Some were of the dogs still in the box, but Evan also had pictures of them loaded up into the car that was taking them to the shelter. One had Evan holding two of the puppies. He looked absolutely smitten. 

“What did they say?” 

“I guess it’s not super unusual so they weren’t surprised when I asked about adopting one. They said since we did find them I could have first dibs at the shelter. They will be putting them up for adoption by the end of the week. I told them we’d come by tomorrow.” 

“So presumptuous,” Tommy said. 

Evan just smiled. “Even if you said no, I still would have wanted to see they were okay.” 

“I really don’t think there’s saying no to you, Evan.” 

Evan grinned at him. “I’ll admit I was a little worried you didn’t think we’d have the time for it.” 

“Well, I was thinking about that,” Tommy said. “Did you know LAFD allows dogs at the firestation? Not just service animals, but therapy dogs, and even pets. It’s kinda up to the Captain.”

“Really?” Evan seemed to light up. “That’s great. I think we can really do this, Tommy.” 

It took a few days and only a couple of visits. The hardest part was picking one out of the five, but in the end they settled on one of the male puppies. He was sweet and playful and pretty smart going by how quickly he’d caught on to fetch. The shelter made the whole process easy and sooner than expected, they were arguing over names while their new dog introduced himself to their backyard. 

“What about this dog looks like a Max?” Tommy asked. 

“That’s better than calling him Darcy,” Evan shot back. 

Tommy thought Darcy was a nice name and maybe he’d picked it because of Pride and Prejudice, but it wasn’t like he could name the dog Knightley after his favorite of Austen’s leading men.

“What about Teddy?” Evan asked. 

“Then we may as well call him Bear.” 

“Well if he’s going to be a firehouse dog maybe something relating to that.” 

“Blaze? No, that doesn’t fit.” 

Evan stopped and he grinned at Tommy, clearly he had an idea. “What about Captain?” 

It wasn’t a bad name except for how it was also a horrible name.

“Bobby’s going to kill you,” Tommy said. 

Evan just laughed. “It’s a good name! And we can just say that we were naming him after his grandpa. Cappie for short, so it’s not Cap.”

“I take no credit for the name,” Tommy said. “It’s all you.” 

“Captain!” Evan called out. “Is that your name? Is it?” 

The dog. Captain. He came running towards Evan, panting and wagging his tail. He bumped into Evan’s shins. 

“You know, Evan, if you get to pick his name then I get to pick the next time we have to pick a name,” Tommy said. 

“What does that—”

He saw understanding settle on Evan’s face. They had never talked about it. Before Evan, Tommy was pretty sure that he would have been entirely against the idea of becoming a father. It just hadn’t seemed like something he would ever have and he hadn’t exactly longed for it or anything. With Evan everything was just different. He made Tommy want things. He made Tommy have hope for the future and he wanted that future to include kids. Evan’s kids. His kids. 

Evan had an armful of puppy, but he leaned over and kissed him soundly and Tommy reached down to pet Captain. It really wasn’t a bad name. 

“Fine,” Evan said. “So we take turns naming our kids starting with this one.” 

[slamminslamminmcgill]

petplay w/ joel would go crazy. thinking about how he called somebody over in the show by whistling? dude. him patting his lap n telling you to come here <33 awwruff wrufrufruff

UR SO RIGHT UR SO RIGHT

anatomical terms: cunt, t-dick

*whistle*

Having been scoping out the pantry for a snack, your head snapped in the direction of the sound. Its source was your roommate with benefits Joel, lounging on the living room couch, manspreading like a motherfucker. Having gotten your attention from the other side of the apartment, he slapped his thigh twice. “C’mere.”

You could guess what he had in mind. Not one to look a gift horse(cock) in the mouth, you started to strut your way over to him, but he stopped you.

“Nuh uh. Not like that.”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor.

He wanted you to crawl. To get down on all fours and debase yourself like a fucking animal.

And you did it without a second thought.

You dropped to your hands and knees and scuttled across scuffed-up floorboards until you landed at his feet.

“Christ. Ya really fuckin’ did it, huh?” Joel scoffed, then reached down to ruffle your hair. “Good boy. Good li’l doggy.”

You practically purred at the pleasant touch, leaning into his hand absent-mindedly. Calloused fingers tangling in your hair, blunt nails scritching at your scalp, it was all just perfect. Perfect for you to rest your head on his thighs and just enjoy the sensations. Then, he asked,

“‘f I tell you to bark, you gon’ do that for me, too?”

“Mmm, ruff, ruff…” You sighed, a halfhearted attempt at what he wanted, you knew, but he didn’t specify. Maybe he’d let you get away with a sleepy puppy bark.

“Look at me, pup,” Joel tightened his grip on your scalp and yanked your head up. He looked… unimpressed, to put it mildly, staring you down like he had expected so much more from you. The pressure was on. “Bark like you mean it.”

You could feel your cunt throb at his instructions. Naturally, you’d do whatever he said, self-deprecation be damned. “Woof woof! Woof!” You barked, now with the energy of an overexcited puppy, wiggling your ass like you were trying to wag the tail you didn’t have.

Joel snickered, “Aw, good boy… That’s a good boy.“ He let go of your hair and went back to petting you, even leaning over to pepper your forehead with affectionate smooches. “You really like bein’ my little doggy, huh?”

Yes. Yes you did. It felt safe, comforting to know that you had a big strong man to look after you. You nodded, a giggly mess, and answered with another, “Woof woof!”

“Yeah, thought you would. Alright, boy. Y’wanna act like a dog?”

Joel kicked one of his legs in between yours, wedging his calf right up to your crotch and putting an unfair, obscene amount of pressure on your t-dick, even through so much clothing. You squeaked, giving him just the leverage he wanted.

“Then hump my leg like one, bitch.”

[coupangeats]

Dope, asks are open.

If you're still down for requests, can I request a Drabble of Soundwave and Thundercracker going to the zoo?

Thank you and have a wonderful day/night.

I completely misread this as Skywarp instead of Soundwave I am so sorry, but here's a few hundred words of Skywarp and Thundercracker going to the zoo.

It's been four years since the last time he got to see Skywarp.

“I know,” he tells Marissa, as she gives Buster a much-deserved scritching behind the ears, “Four years is nothing, but we spent pretty much every minute together for over a million years.”

“Four years sounds like a long time to me.” She replies, laughing. “Are you looking forward to seeing him again?”

“I… Yes?”

It's hard to explain, to someone who has never experienced a trine bond. He doesn't miss Skywarp, and even Starscream, so much as he feels their absence like a physical ache pulling at his spark. Even now, after all this time on Earth, he still wakes up expecting Starscream to be standing over him. He still recharges expecting Skywarp to crawl into his berth midway through the night. Sometimes he drops things because he tries to hand them off to a Skywarp who is no longer there. Thundercracker misses him like he would miss one of his wings, if he lost it.

Marissa's hand pauses, and she looks up at his faceplate. He isn't sure what his expression is doing, but whatever it is must satisfy her because she smiles in return. She was the one who set this up.

“Good.” She says, and Buster gives an enthusiastic woof in agreement.

“Thanks. Really, thank you for this.” He tells her, because she was the one who set this all up. Skywarp was still labelled as a high level threat against Earth, and while the full might of the US military may not actually stop him from visiting Thundercracker, it would at least make it far more annoying. He's vaguely aware that Marissa had had to pull in a lot of favours to get them to allow this visit.

“Just make sure you get me a souvenir, wherever you're going.”

—---------------

“What the frag is a ‘zoo’?” Skywarp asks, leaning down to peer closely at the entrance sign. Thundercracker pauses in the middle of trying to buy tickets from an absolutely terrified looking ticket clerk and the ticket clerk's identically terrified looking manager.

“It's where they lock up animals so they can look at them. It's kind of like the wild arena back on Kaon.” Skywarp looks momentarily intrigued, until Thundercracker adds “Except they don't make them fight.”

“Then what's even the point?” Skywarp asks, sneering down at the flock of humans who are standing by waiting for them to stop blocking the entrance. Thundercracker finally manages to connect to the card reader, and when it happily beeps that the transaction is completed he grabs Skywarp by the arm and delicately steps over the ticket barriers.

“It's a celebration of biodiversity.” Thundercracker hopes he sounds more confident than he feels. He's not actually entirely sure why humans enjoy looking at animals like this, but he needs more settings for episodes of his screenplay. Marissa told him that his character writing is definitely improving, but maybe it would be good if every second episode didn't take place inside an aircraft hanger.

“Urgh, biodiversity.” Skywarp says the word like it's a slur, and Thundercracker is glad that humans aren't sensitive to EM fields, because Skywarp is broadcasting his disgust like a flare. Thundercracker connects to the local network and downloads a map of the zoo before pinging it over to Skywarp, and they both take a few seconds to study it.

“So, what do you want to see first?” Thundercracker asks.

“The sky, as we fly away from here.”

They end up ignoring the map entirely, because all of the different animal names don't mean much to them and a lot of the exhibits are too small for them to properly appreciate. They press their wings together as they stand and watch the wolves, and Thundercracker can actually feel in his conscious processes as the snarl of tangled code that was his strained trine bond smooths out into something less jagged. He loves the Earth, never regrets that he decided to stay here, but having a real, living metal mech next to him is a balm for his spark.

They wander on from the wolves, and by the time they reach the tigers Skywarp has almost stopped complaining. Thundercracker relaxes, laughs when Skywarp bemoans the tigers’ lack of rocket launchers. Ravage would be insulted, he tells Thundercracker.

Things go well right up until they get to the bear enclosure.

Thundercracker vaguely remembers Skywarp once telling him and Starscream about how he'd fought a whole pack of bears, but he'd barely been listening at the time. Skywarp had been incredibly animated at the time, gesticulating wildly with arms painted in organic blood and scraps of flesh. Starscream had kept interrupting him to shriek that he needed go to the washracks to get rid of the mess, which he was spraying around the room every time he flung his arms out. It was a pretty normal evening, really, which is why he didn't really pay it much attention at the time.

Maybe, he thinks as he listens to the high whine of Skywarp onlining his weapons systems, a manic grin on his face as he smashes through the glass of the bear container, he should have paid a little more attention.

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

The Betrayer | Chapter Ten: The Swing of Things

You fucked up. Badly.

Pairing: Albert Wesker/F!Reader, Chris Redfield/F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Violence, Injury, Death Mention

Notes: Woof. It has been over a year since I last updated this fic, and I am SO sorry. In that time, a lot has happened in my life, including graduating from college with a bachelor's degree and a slew of health (both mental and physical) issues that are still ongoing. I can't promise that my updating will be consistent or quick in any capacity, but I hope this quells you guys' fears that I have "given up" on this fic lol. My sincere hope is that I will someday finish it, even if it takes many many years. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this addition! I suppose you can consider it somewhat of a "filler" chapter, but I genuinely believe even the more fun chapters still have a degree of important plot (even if it doesn't appear that way at first, as I love adding "blink and you miss it" moments that are either call backs, foreshadowing, or easter eggs lol). Please let me know what you think and if you have any theories! I love reading those! Have a good one, y'all!

Masterlist | Previous | Next

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Day 33; Haddonfield

You leaned against the shed wall as you desperately tried to regain your breath, heart beating wildly in your chest.

You were in the middle of a trial in Haddonfield with Laurie, Mikaela, and Jeff, three out of the five generators needed to power the exit gates finished, when a looming figure had appeared behind you as your group scoured for the next one.

He would have gotten you too, if Laurie hadn’t turned just in time to see him lunging for you, his kitchen knife barely missing your shoulder as she pointed behind you and screamed, making you duck.

The four of you scattered after that, losing each other as the Entity’s chosen killer for the evening seemed to pop in and out of existence due to his silent steps, the moonlight and the glow from the completed gens making his deathly pale mask somehow more haunting. It was eerie that someone so large could sneak up on you like that.

You were reminded of what your father once warned you about mountain lions:

“You won’t know they’re hunting you until they're ready to pounce.”

The thought made you shiver.

The other survivors called him “The Shape”. A name so… vague… shouldn’t have instilled so much terror in you. And yet. 

But Laurie told you his real name just a couple weeks prior as the two of you were hanging your laundry to dry. 

You had been chatting idly about your pasts, and you had foolishly asked her if there was a killer in the realm that was brought with her.

“Yes,” she replied quietly. You waited for her to continue, but it was silent for several moments. You looked over at her after clipping your bed sheets to the clothesline and could see her staring at the ground, brows furrowed.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me,” you assured her. 

She jumped when you gently placed your hand on her shoulder and she finally turned to you. “Michael. Michael Myers.”

You looked at her questioningly, not recalling that name being mentioned before. 

She continued, “He’s the one they call ‘The Shape’. He…” There was another pause as she swallowed, hard. “He killed my friends and very nearly killed me. Ruined my life in a single night, can you believe that? Halloween, of all days. I’ll never be able to enjoy that holiday again without looking over my shoulder. If I ever get back home to experience it, that is.”

All of the killers in the realm gave you a chill when you were told about them, but something about this silent stalker scared you more than most. More than Wesker. Hell, even more than Ghost Face. 

You had been fortunate in the month since first arriving in the realm that you hadn’t faced the Shape. You supposed luck always runs out eventually. Ironic, considering your nickname.

Though facing off against any killer could hardly be counted as fortune. In the five trials you had endured since your very first, you had only survived two. And barely, at that.

You couldn’t stop yourself from recalling those nights, the memories of your deaths in particular causing bile to rise up in your throat.

The Hillbilly and his chainsaw ripped you clean in half.

The Pig’s contraption locked onto your head had split your skull apart.

The Doctor and his electric baton shocked you until you bit off your own tongue and choked on it.

But you had still survived twice. You had to remind yourself of that.

You had been beaten and hooked by the Wraith, the agony of the strange weapon (made of human bones, it seemed, though it was hard to tell in the dark) being whipped across your face and the way the hook tore through the meat of your shoulder made you feel an ache just at the thought, but you had gotten out alive.

Your run-in with the Nurse had been much more successful. She still got a hit in on you, but you managed to get out of that trial with just a nasty gash across your chest. It very nearly got infected when you returned to camp, but Rebecca’s careful hand (and Chris’s watchful gaze) dealt with that promptly.

You were getting better with every trial, and that gave you hope.

You had always been a quick study, after all. 

You took a deep, calming breath and slid your spine across the chipping paint of the shed, peeking your head around to see if the coast was clear. You weren’t sure where everyone else went, but considering no screams had been heard echoing across the large (yet still somehow claustrophobic) “arena”, you took that as a good sign.

There was no indication of the massive killer, so you made your way slowly and quietly to the street, praying desperately that he wouldn’t find you again. 

You skimmed your vision over the area as you ducked behind the car in front of you, the flashing lights of the police cruiser nearby hurting your eyes.

It was strange, you felt, how this seemingly normal looking neighborhood could turn into such a breeding ground for terror. It was almost nostalgic how typically suburban it appeared, and that only made it worse.

You grew up in a place just like it, after all.  

There’s one, you thought to yourself as you spotted a generator nestled beside a roadblock at the end of the street. It was out in the open, but it would be easier to spot the killer with one of the exit gates at your back. He’d be less likely to creep up behind you, at least.

You made a beeline for it, surveying your surroundings to avoid being caught unawares, before skidding to a halt beside it. 

You nearly leapt out of your skin when Jeff popped his head up from the other end, probably checking to make sure you weren’t the killer coming to collect.

“Hey,” came his whispered greeting as you knelt beside him, his large hands carefully but expertly going through the motions of repair. 

“Hey there,” you replied breathlessly. You offered him a smile, but the expression was tight. You got straight to work.

“Have you seen the others?” he questioned after a few moments. 

You shook your head. “Not since we got separated.”

He let out a quiet exhale of barely concealed distress but remained quiet as the gen got closer and closer to completion. 

You liked Jeff. He was a gentle giant, and a reserved one at that. You were first acquainted when the two of you were partnered in the chore rotation, boiling the water brought in from a group of other survivors and lugging it to the barn for the very long-winded filtration process.

He had seemed like a tough guy between his large stature and full beard, but once you started chatting, he was quick to open up about his love of rock music and artistic abilities. You bonded almost immediately over Iron Maiden and Metallica and jokingly asked him to “paint me like one of your French girls”, cackling at the blush that bloomed in his cheeks.

He had shown you his sketchbook shortly after, and you were in awe of his talent, never having been much of an artist yourself. You thought of Kitty and how you and your family used to say she would grow up to be the next Da Vinci with all of her little doodles scattered around the house. You supposed now you’d never know. It made your heart ache.

The gen came to life under your touch, the noise of it fully starting up jarring you from your thoughts.

Jeff motioned for you to follow him, the two of you expeditious in leaving the area to avoid being discovered by the Shape.

You made your way down the street, opting to slink behind the row of houses instead of remaining out in the open. 

You came across Mikaela bent over what the others called a totem; a horrific mix of sticks, twine, and human skulls. A rumble echoed across the trial grounds as your surroundings lit up a soft blue.

So there was magic in the Entity’s realm.

You had laughed out loud when Mikaela had first explained it to you, thinking it was some kind of prank. The severe look she gave you made your eyes widen in shock. You shouldn’t have been surprised, considering everything else you had learned of this place, but the concept of magic seemed almost silly.

But then your fourth trial was with the young redhead, and you would have bled out if she had not utilized one of her “boons”, which miraculously helped to close the wound left by the hook. Not so silly anymore.

You had asked her after that particular event why she didn’t use her supernatural abilities to heal injuries in the camp, and she explained she couldn’t access her powers outside of trials despite all her efforts.

“Right, of course,” you had replied, bitterness seeping from your tone. “Typical Entity bullshit.” 

“Laurie’s inside that house working on a gen,” the self-proclaimed witch informed you, pointing at the building in question as she stood up. You noticed the cut across her arm then, watching as the skin stitched itself back together within moments.

“I’ll go help her,” you said, pulling your attention from the mind-bending sight. “Why don’t you two find another one to work on in the meantime, in case he catches us before we finish.”

They nodded at your words and crept off to do just that, leaving you alone once more. 

You made your way quietly into the house and up the stairs, finding Laurie with a wrench in her hands, hard at work. She turned to you and smiled tersely in greeting as you dropped into position beside her.

There wasn’t much left to do before the machine would be repaired, and you were confident it could be finished in no time. 

Oh, how wrong you were.

Before you knew what was happening, a large hand grabbed you by the neck, the scream brewing in your throat wilting as you were yanked off the generator and thrown into the wall behind it.

The wind was knocked out of you and you were dazed by your skull thudding against the wood paneling of the room. You heard yelling—probably Laurie—as that same hand came back around your throat and lifted you off the ground.

You dangled helplessly, unable to breathe, and you were suddenly reminded of Wesker’s tendrils from weeks prior. 

A surge of panic flooded through you as you stared at the white mask, the flickering light of the unfinished gen glinting off his knife. 

You grabbed desperately at his wrist, knowing the Shape’s strength was far too great to loosen his grip, even with your jagged nails ripping into his skin. 

He brandished the knife, the blade directed right at your midsection, and you braced for the sharp pain of it slicing through your flesh.

To your shock—and relief—the killer had released his hold on you and you slid to the ground, desperately trying to suck air into your lungs.

You were able to focus just enough to see Laurie hanging from his back, trying to strangle him with her arms wound tightly around his neck. Unfortunately, he grabbed her by the hair, ripping her off of him and throwing her onto the floor.

Looking for any way to fight off the killer before he could murder Laurie, you found a screwdriver on the ground, tossed out of her toolbox when it was kicked over in the tussle. You lunged for it, gripping it tightly and ramming with your full weight into the Shape’s form. He was built like a brick wall, but you managed to stab the screwdriver into the junction between his shoulder and neck, quickly yanking it out to watch him rear back, deep voice groaning in pain as a fountain of blood squirted from the wound.

A sick sort of satisfaction rushed through you to see him suffer, even a little bit. You didn’t like that you felt that way, but you brushed it off. He had done much, much worse. It was deserved. 

You had just enough time to grab Laurie’s hand and pull her to her feet before he was after you, running out of the front door and into the street to get away from the psychopath hot on your heels.

“This way!” Laurie told you, pointing at the house straight ahead. “We can split up when we get there and vault the windows on either side!”

You nodded, releasing her hand as you dashed into the living room of the aforementioned building. She rushed to the back, leaping over the window to the right, and you immediately went through the left.

Fortunately for Laurie but unfortunately for you, Michael was laser-focused on reaching you first, probably to make you pay for your little stunt. 

He was uncomfortably close as you continued to sprint away from him, desperate to lose him as you weaved in and out of buildings, diving over ledges and flinging pallets to slow him down.

It only seemed to make him angrier.

To your relief, you heard the telltale alarm of the exit gates being powered up, hoping that you and your teammates could manage to escape. You made the mistake of glancing back, the massive man’s knife poised to strike the moment he could get near enough.

You stumbled, your fear locking up your legs for only a moment, but it was enough of a delay for him to reach you.

A fence was right in front of you, and you knew you only had a second to act as his knife soared through the air, aimed right at your spine. You dove to the side of the fence, his blade embedding into the rotting wood, and you scrambled up and away as he used his brute strength to rip it right out.

It didn’t grant you much distance, but it was enough.

You barrelled back onto the street just in time to see the exit gate opening, and you made a break for it, the other three survivors spotting you and desperately motioning for you to join them.

As you neared, however, you saw the horror bloom on their faces, their eyes trained on what was behind you.

You knew exactly what that meant.

“GO!” you screamed, and they heeded your words, spinning and sprinting out of the gate and into the empty field beyond it. 

I’m so close, you thought. Come on! COME ON!

Your legs burned and your lungs felt like they were full of fire, unable to get enough air to properly breathe, but you knew you couldn’t stop now.

You could feel him behind you—hear the grunt that slipped from under his mask as he made to grab you, his large fingers brushing against the back of your shirt.

And then, as his dirty, blunt nails dug into the fabric…

You burst out of the gate and into freedom.

You heard the roar of pure rage and looked behind you, the Shape pressing his hand to an invisible wall that kept him from pursuing you further, his knuckles going white as he gripped his knife with inhuman strength.

You didn’t stop running.

You ran until you reached the edge of the field, engulfed in a thick black fog.

You ran until you felt like your lungs would finally burst.

You ran until a soft light pierced through the cold, wet darkness surrounding you. 

And only when the mist faded, giving way to the safety of the camp, did you finally stop.

You collapsed to the ground in front of the fire, gasping for air through crazed, triumphant laughs that you couldn’t prevent escaping your mouth.

“Lucky!” Chris shouted as he made it to your side, dropping next to you and grabbing your face to look you in the eyes.

He said nothing, but you knew what he was thinking.

“I survived,” you managed to get out through heaves and giggles. “I survived the fucking Shape.”

You heard a collection of cheers from all around you, Chris grinning as several survivors approached—including your teammates—and clapped you on the back or ruffled your hair.

When you finally caught your breath, Chris helped you to your feet.

You smiled as you faced the others.

“Hell yeah!” Carlos whooped. “Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about!”

“Good job,” Leon congratulated.

“Yeah, girl, like holy shit!” Claire exclaimed from beside him.

Whether from the praise or the adrenaline still pumping through your veins, you felt a dizzying sort of joy.

You really made it out alive. And this time, with only a handful of bruises to show for it.

“Come on, Lucky, sit down for a while. Get some rest,” Chris told you, urging you over to a nearby log.

There was a buzz in the camp, everyone excitedly chatting about the rare full-party survival of your group. It reminded you of your days in S.T.A.R.S., how you and your team would celebrate another mission well done.

You could almost see Joseph in the way Carlos ribbed Steve. Richard in the way Leon rubbed the back of his neck as he talked with Ada. Edward in Felix checking on Mikaela.

It made you feel both warm and melancholic.

Chris grounded you, as he always did, by wrapping his muscular arm around you, pulling you into him. He kissed your temple, speaking lowly so that only you could hear him, “I’m proud of you, baby.”

You felt a blush spread over your cheeks, glad your recent exercise already colored your face, whispering almost shyly in return, “Thank you.”

You sat together for a while after that, the survivors settling down. Yoichi and Haddie left to start dinner and Chris only got up when they had finished, telling you to stay where you sat so he could get you your food.

You used to argue when he did this, feeling embarrassed by the special treatment. He told you early on that he wanted you to feel special because, to him, you were. The notion was sweet and no one else seemed to really care, so you agreed to let him. He had done it every day now, unless he was the one serving the meals.

How very typical of him, always putting you first.

You watched him get into the line, smiling softly at your doting… whatever he was to you.

The two of you hadn’t put a name to it yet. You weren’t opposed to calling him your “boyfriend”, but it felt ridiculous with how little it conveyed just what he meant to you.

Besides, what you had was still fairly new and despite being physically intimate, you wanted to take this slow. You had all the time in the world, after all.

You could almost laugh thinking about the morning after the two of you first slept together. It started out nice and romantic waking up next to him, his strong arms holding you close as he kissed you slowly. But you had asked to keep your little tryst to yourselves for a while—to feel out what it was you had—and he agreed.

However, that was near instantly trampled the moment you left your room, Carlos clapping Chris on the back, Jill and Rebecca sharing knowing looks, Ada complaining to you about the noise, and Claire clocking the bruise on your neck as a hickey when she saw it. 

Chris was sheepish and you were embarrassed, but he had thrown an arm around you, telling you that you might as well own it.

It was strange to have something like this out in the open after years of keeping your relationships under wraps. 

You and Kevin thought it better to hide what you had for the sake of the job, only letting loose in front of friends and family. The man had never been the most outwardly affectionate anyway, preferring to show you his love behind closed doors. 

And you and Wesker? Well, that was a whole other can of worms.

It was nice to be shown affection so blatantly in front of other people and that Chris didn’t care if they saw him kissing or holding you. 

You were stiff at first, unused to it, but the ease with which he touched you and pulled you close eventually had you melting.

Of course, the more intimate moments were hidden from view, usually in your bedroom or his, though the occasional tug inside a closet or bathroom wasn’t uncommon. 

Frankly, you were both insatiable, unable to keep your hands off of each other when you weren’t burdened by chores and the daily trials.

You two were happy—as much as you could be in this place—and you wanted to keep it that way.

Your thoughts were scattered when Laurie appeared before you, gently tapping your shoulder to gain your attention.

“Hey,” you greeted jovially.

“Hey,” she replied, voice sweet, “I just wanted to say thank you for saving me in the trial. I thought for sure I was done for. I’m sorry he went after you when we split up.”

“Don’t sweat it. You saved me first anyway, remember? I think we can call us even. Besides, it’s not your fault he picked me to terrorize.”

She smiled at you. “Still, I’m glad you were there and that you got out safe. You must be our lucky charm or something.” 

You laughed. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll take a win when I see one.”

Chris returned, holding out a plate to you, and Laurie simply squeezed your shoulder fondly before wandering to the back of the line. You saw Steve sidle up next to her, trying to look cool as he chatted her up.

You rolled your eyes before turning your attention to the man beside you, taking the meal with gratitude and a brief kiss on the lips. You wondered if you’d ever get used to that.

“What was that about?” he asked conversationally, digging a fork into his food.

“Oh, just talking about the trial. I saved her from the killer after she saved me.”

“How so?”

You explained to him what occurred, reminded of the way Michael’s blood spewed out of him like a fountain—the way you felt a sadistic glee that it was you that spilled it.

You kept that bit to yourself, but Chris saw the way your brows furrowed, because of course he did. He was a lot more observant now than he once was, especially concerning you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You took a breath in, unsure of how to answer, when Ace called out to the group, unknowingly rescuing you from a talk you weren’t ready to have. You both turned to face him, his arms full of various bottles of alcoholic drinks. 

“Who wants to party?!”

Many survivors excitedly cheered in response, gathering around the table Ace placed the bottles and a stack of cups upon. 

Carlos and Jill came up beside you, the former looking down between you and Chris. “How about it, you guys want a drink?”

You stood up, holding your empty plate in your hands as you replied, “You’re joking, right? After the trial I just had, I need one.”

Your small group chuckled, Chris standing as well and taking your used dish. “Pour me something, Lucky. I’ll go put these away.” 

He leaned in and kissed your cheek before walking off, and you caught the way Jill’s eyes shined and Carlos smirked at the action. 

“What?” you asked, narrowing your gaze.

“Oh, nothing at all,” Jill replied, smiling wide.

“Just that you two are so darn cute,” Carlos added, pinching your cheek and cooing. “Young love, am I right?”

You smacked his hand away. “Whoa there, no one said anything about love.”

Carlos clicked his tongue, pulling away his hand as the three of you made it over to the table to fix your drinks. “Denial is a river in Egypt, you know.”

You scoffed at the stupid jest. “And you’re too young to be making dad jokes.”

“Hey, I might not be a dad,” he started before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, “but the ladies still call me Papi. Isn’t that right, Jill?” 

She elbowed him hard in the side, making him yip in response. “I think you should shut your mouth now.”

You laughed as he grumbled, taking two glasses and filling one with whiskey—as Chris would prefer—and the other with rum, which was more up your alley.

Chris returned and you handed him his drink with a smile, turning around just in time to see Claire reach for an empty cup. The man glared at his sister, voice stern as he said, “Absolutely not.”

“Seriously?” she questioned with a huff. “You know I drank in college, right?”

You could see Chris bristle at that. You knew Claire being flippant about her education was something of a sore spot for him.

Their parents died when he was fourteen—not much older than you had been when you lost your mother—and the two of them were forced to live with their uncle whom neither of them liked very much and was rarely around to take care of them.

Chris had to grow up quick, and he did everything in his power to give Claire a good life, even at the expense of his own. Nearly every penny he earned from the moment he started working went towards her; new clothes before every semester, birthday and Christmas gifts, school supplies—everything she needed, plenty of things she wanted.

But he had always been lax with her, nearly to the point of spoiling her rotten. This change in demeanor was strange to you and you wondered where it stemmed from.  

“Well, you should have been focusing on your studies, not partying,” he admonished. 

Claire wasn’t having it, clearly fed up with her older brother’s behavior. “I can do both.” 

“C’mon, Chris,” you coaxed. “She’s a grown-up now and it’s not like there’s a legal drinking age in this place. What’re you gonna do? Call the cops? Arrest her yourself?”

He rolled his eyes, but you could sense him relaxing as the logic of your words dawned on him. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. But don’t be stupid about it.”

With an appreciative smile towards you, she grabbed her cup. “We’ve got a lot in common, big bro, but not that.”

He scoffed in offense, turning to you as his sister trotted off with her spoils. “You hear that? Teenagers.”

You chuckled, raising your glass to him. “Can’t live with 'em.”

He grinned, clinking his cup to yours. “Amen to that.”

Rebecca sidled up to you, her own drink in hand. “I like to think I’m not that bad,” she teased.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a nerd and like, ridiculously responsible for your age,” you told her light-heartedly, bumping her shoulder with yours.

She gave you a faux pout before breaking into laughter, bumping you back. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t call me a nerd.”

Not everyone decided to join in on the alcohol consumption, but the survivors separated as usual, chatting amongst themselves. The teens hung out around the campfire, goofing off, and Ace even started a poker game that a few of the others joined in on.

Carlos, witnessing that, turned to your group of older adults from your world, which had settled down at a table near the medical facility. “How ‘bout we play a drinking game?”

“What, like beer pong?” Leon asked dubiously.

“Maybe Truth or Dare,” Ada teased with a smirk, making a blush rise to the young man’s face.

“No and no, though I like where your head’s at,” Carlos said. “I was thinking more along the lines of Never Have I Ever.”

“And how does one play this game?” Sheva asked with an amused chuckle.

“Someone says something they’ve never done, and everyone who’s done that thing has to take a swig. If no one has done it, the person who said it takes a drink instead,” Carlos explained. “So, who’s interested?”

“I’m down,” you offered, placing your elbows on the table in front of you. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Carlos glanced around at the others expectantly and they all agreed, some more hesitant than others.

The game started innocently enough, the whole group—except for Leon, it would seem—getting tipsy quickly. 

Then, as it always did, it took a more raunchy turn.

“Never have I ever…” Sheva started, considering her next statement, “had sex in public.”

You and Chris shared a secretive look and you both bit back laughter as you took a hefty sip from your cups. Ada and Carlos did, too, which didn’t surprise you, but everyone was shocked when Jill raised her glass to her lips.

“What?” she asked defensively. “The military was a weird time for me.”

Ada leaned forward because it was her turn, thinking of her own line as the group finished reeling from Jill’s admittance. “I’ll do you one better, Sheva. Never have I ever hooked up with someone on the job. And no, Leon, a kiss doesn’t count.”

You raised your brows as Leon opened and closed his mouth immediately, looking like an embarrassed fish. You were vaguely aware they had some kind of history together, but it apparently went deeper than you initially thought. You felt your heart ache for Claire, seeing why Chris was so concerned about her feelings for Leon.

Yikes on a bike. 

Without thinking, you tossed back your cup in response to Ada, the only person in the group to do so.

When you looked around with a drunken smile on your face, the expression dropped like your stomach as you realized your mistake.

It was clear that Carlos, Ada, and Leon assumed it was Chris you were referring to, and if Sheva knew otherwise, she clearly didn’t understand the problem with your revelation.

Jill, however, stared at you with furrowed brows, and you could see her trying to piece together who it might be.

You gulped as you glanced at Chris beside you, who had tensed up, his features that were previously open and relaxed turning stony as he met your gaze.

That sobered you immediately. 

You fucked up. Badly. 

Neither of them knew of your relationship with Kevin in the past, feeling it was unnecessary and a threat to your job security if you admitted you had a long-term relationship with your former partner.

However, it wasn’t Kevin that you had sex with at work, and you were almost tempted to lie and say it was.

Because you definitely couldn’t tell them it was Wesker.

“Well, that was fun,” you claimed as you stood, hoping you could get away from this situation before it blew up in your face. “But I think it’s time I head to bed.”

“Yeah, me too. Don’t want a hangover,” Chris said, voice gruff. 

You swallowed thickly as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but it probably wasn’t good. You weren’t ready for this conversation. However, he clearly was.

Tersely, you said goodnight to the group, their expressions perplexed by the awkward tension that now fell over you. Chris gave them a noncommittal wave, following after you as you trudged into the medical facility and into your room, anxiety swelling inside of you with every step.

Once inside, Chris closed the door, not facing you when he asked lowly, “Are you going to tell me who it was?”

You took in a sharp breath, already picking at your cuticles as you replied, “It doesn’t matter. That was a long time ago.”

Not exactly a lie. It had been nearly a year since you and Wesker had done something as risky as hook up in his office. It was the first and only time, as he made very clear.

Usually, it was in the safety of hotel rooms.

Chris turned abruptly, expression appalled. “You’re serious?”

“You sound like Claire earlier,” you said, trying to alleviate the tension.

“No, don’t do that,” he warned. “Don’t try to play this off.” He stepped forward and you eyed him warily. “I thought we were closer than this. I thought you could trust me.”

“Of course I trust you!” you exclaimed.

“Then why hide something like that from me? Worried I’d judge you?” His jaw was tight and you wanted nothing more than to hold his face in your hands, to go back to before you decided to play that stupid game.

You could at least admit to being with Kevin, lie and say it was him you had sex with on the job, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Chris, I don’t want to tell you because it didn’t mean anything. It’s something I wish I could forget. Can you please let this go?” you were in near tears as you tried to explain yourself, not willing to relent and give him the information he was looking for.

This was still far too raw, and you had been more than happy to pretend your previous relationships were nonexistent while exploring this new one with the man standing in front of you, fists clenched at his sides.

He looked at you for a long moment, taking in your pleading expression and the way you tore the skin off your fingers in distress, and finally backed down. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me anything. I just… I want you to be honest with me.”

“And I am,” you assured him, closing the distance between you. “That part of my life? It’s not important anymore. In fact, I wish it never happened in the first place. It was stupid. I was stupid.”

He sighed, features softening as he allowed you to pull him into an embrace, his large hands sweeping across your face. “Alright, then. I’ll let it go.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, nuzzling into one of his palms. “And I’m sorry I upset you.”

“You’re lucky I can’t stay mad at you for very long,” he teased in a hushed voice, leaning down to press a kiss against your temple.

“You nicknamed me well,” you replied, grinning up at him as he pulled back.

He rolled his eyes, but that didn’t stop him from tugging you into his arms.

“C’mere,” he said, lips meeting your own fervently.

As you returned the kiss, the back of your knees hitting the bed while he led you further into the room, you knew your night wasn’t over yet.

***

September 14th, 1996; Raccoon City

“‘Bout time you showed up,” your brother admonished with a goofy grin, opening the front door of your family’s home to let you inside.

“Good to see you too, Tic,” you replied sardonically, ruffling his hair the moment you stepped over the threshold. “How’s school? You keeping out of trouble?”

He pushed your hand away, fixing the strands you had pulled out of shape before answering with a playfully annoyed tone, “It’s only been like two weeks, Sis. How much can change?”

You chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”

Although you got along with both of your siblings—even with the large gaps in age—your personalities were as different as they could be. Tic, despite his sense of humor, was far more studious and careful than you ever were, taking his grades seriously. He was a popular kid too, becoming the rising star of Raccoon City High’s junior varsity soccer team. You often worried about his ability to juggle it all, but he hadn’t burned out yet.    

Tic rolled his eyes good-naturedly at your response before changing the subject, “Anyway, I heard we’re expecting company tonight?” 

“Sure are. My friend from work, Chris, and his sister, Claire.” 

“No Kevin then?” Tic already knew the answer, and you could hear the disappointment in his voice. Although you and Kevin still talked occasionally, he hadn’t visited your family in weeks, and you knew they missed his near-constant presence almost as much as you did.

“No, he was busy this weekend,” you said, unsure if it was even a lie. “But hey, Claire’s only a couple years older than you. You two might get along.” 

Your brother’s demeanor shifted, a mischievous smile forming. “Is she hot?”

You scoffed, gently smacking his shoulder. “She’s in college, dude. Don’t even think about it. At least until you’re eighteen.” 

He fake pouted, rubbing his arm as if you’d maimed him. “Geez, fine. No need to bust my balls over it.”

Before you could comment on his crass reply, a blur of pink tulle came flying toward you at warp speed, the tiny body of your baby sister being launched into your arms.

“SISSY!” she bellowed as you gave her a big hug. “I thought you were never coming home!”

You laughed at such a ridiculous notion. “Now why would you think that, Kitty?”

“‘Cos it’s been forever since last time,” she half-whined, as typically theatrical as any seven year old girl, you imagined.

“It’s only been two weeks.”

“You’d be surprised how much can change,” Tic interjected sarcastically.

“Oh, you’re about to get the worst noogie of your life,” you threatened, setting Kitty back onto the floor before making a grab for the collar of your brother’s shirt. 

“It’s not my fault you're getting too old to remember what you said five seconds ago,” he replied as he deftly dodged your outstretched hand.

“You’re only making it worse for yourself,” you warned, Kitty giggling as you chased Tic down the hall. Man, that kid was fast. It was unfair he was already taller than you at fifteen. 

You were about to catch up when an evidently displeased voice called your name from the kitchen entryway, “Now that you’ve finally arrived, can you help me finish the dinner I’m making for your guests?”

Ah, your infinitely uptight stepmother was here to break up the fun, as usual. Though you couldn’t fault her this particular time. The Redfield siblings were indeed your responsibility tonight.

Your relationship with your stepmother was a… complex one, to say the least. She came at a time that was far too soon after your mother’s death, and it always felt as though she was trying desperately to replace her. 

You wanted to hate her when you were younger—make her out to be some villain in your hero’s journey—because it was easier than blaming your father for moving on so quickly and becoming even more of a hardass than he already was. But now as an adult, you understood the truth.

She was simply a young woman who didn’t know how to handle a grieving child.

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, quick to meet her in the kitchen and wash your hands, getting ready for whatever prep work she would throw your way.

She hummed in acknowledgement, sending your siblings off to the backyard and out of her hair before the two of you quietly made dinner.

You eyed her warily as she stood over the stovetop, the chicken breasts sizzling in the pan as she flipped them with a spatula. You continued your task of mashing the already boiled potatoes, thoughts drifting to the years of fights you had with your stepmother, and the resentment that you’d slowly been trying to chip away at now that you were an adult.

She was the secretary at your father’s job when they first met, hired about a year into your mother’s cancer diagnosis. It was only six months after your mother’s passing when your father introduced you, telling you—in no uncertain terms—that this stranger was to be your new maternal figure.

You always wondered if they just married quick so your father could push the responsibility of caring for you onto someone else or if he had moved on before your mother was even dead. After years of speculation and knowing that if you asked, you wouldn’t get an honest answer out of either of them, you still couldn’t decide what scenario felt worse.

Your disdain for the woman was not helped by the fact she was neurotic, and it always felt like she saw you as some charity case that needed “fixing”. She couldn’t stand that you were a tomboy, always forcing you into frilly pastel dresses when all you wanted to wear was your favorite jeans and your mother’s old band shirts.

You remembered when she threw them out to force your hand when you were about thirteen, and you cried so hard you puked. It was the only time your father ever intervened with her schemes and made her dig the shirts out of the garbage. You wanted to believe it was because he didn’t want the last remnants of his late wife to be taken away—as he got rid of pretty much everything that belonged to her when your stepmother first moved in—but you knew it was probably because your tantrum grated on his nerves.

You were about to toss in the butter to the mashed potatoes when the woman in question stopped you. “Only one stick of butter. You of all people should be more mindful of your health.”

You struggled not to roll your eyes, returning the second stick to the fridge, mentally grumbling about how you always used two and that you knew it tasted better that way. Instead of arguing like your younger self would have, you simply returned to the task at hand, stirring the quickly melting butter into the fluffy mixture.

No, you no longer hated her. Even with her nagging and patronizing remarks, she did mean well. The two of you just never clicked, and at the end of the day that was all there was to it. Besides, she was a wonderful and doting mother to your siblings, which was the most you could hope for.

“So,” she began, startling you from your reverie, “what is this Chris boy like?”

You considered it as you sprinkled some salt and pepper into your bowl. “He’s a good guy. Funny, friendly, and he can be pretty charming, I guess.”

She raised a brow at that, a knowing smirk gracing her perfectly painted lips. “Will he be coming to dinner more often, then?”

“I mean, probably,” you replied. “He’s become a really good friend, after all.”

“Just a friend, huh?” she teased, and although her insinuation made you scoff, you couldn’t help but appreciate the rare moment of camaraderie between you.

“Yes, just a friend.”

“A shame,” she tutted. “I was so disappointed when Kevin stopped coming around, and I hoped maybe you’d move on. I always thought you’d marry that boy, you know. How is he these days?”

Your face fell at her words, and you covered it by looking back down at your bowl of food, mixing it far more than necessary just to keep yourself preoccupied.

Marriage. It had once seemed so inevitable before it fell apart.

You sighed as you replied, “He’s doing well. He has a new work partner now that I’m in S.T.A.R.S.”

“Well, you tell him he’s always welcome here.”

You nodded sullenly. “Will do.”

The rest of the dinner preparations went by in silence, which you were grateful for.

A while later, you had just finished setting the table when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” you called to your family members scattered across the house, jogging to the front entrance to greet your friend and his beloved sister.

Your mood shifted instantly as Chris’s large form stood before you, a grin gracing both of your lips at the same time.

“I was wondering when you’d turn up,” you said to him, leaning against the door frame. “Now where’s this sister I’ve heard so much about?”

He laughed as he greeted you in turn, stepping slightly to the side to reveal a gorgeous young woman with reddish brown hair and bright blue eyes.

“Hi! I’m Claire. It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, giving you a firm handshake, the strength of her grip surprising you. Her smile was warm and cheerful, so much like her brother’s it was almost uncanny. “You’re even prettier than Chris described!”

You quirked a brow at that, your eyes meeting your friend’s, who simply rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. You replied, “Thank you! I’d say the same, but I’ve seen your picture.”

It was her turn to look confused. “You have?”

“Yeah, Chris keeps a photo of you two on his desk at work. Hard to miss it.”

She laughed, gently punching her brother’s arm. “Aw, you big softy.”

He rolled his eyes but chuckled along, and it suddenly felt like you’ve known the two of them your whole life.

After chatting idly in the doorway, you finally led them inside, the duo peering at the family photos that decorated the walls. Their attention was moved when your stepmother gracefully appeared, manicured hands already perfectly clean despite cooking with them only moments prior. 

She greeted them with a wide grin, gingerly shaking their hands and corralling your group into the living room.

“Make yourself at home, you two!” she chirped before turning to you. “Now come help me finish dinner, honey.”

You begrudgingly agreed, not wanting to leave your company by themselves but knowing they’d be just fine for a few minutes, following your stepmother back into the kitchen. 

As the two of you finished up the meal, emptying food from their pots and pans into her nice serving dishes, she leaned over to you with a twinkle in her eye. “That boy sure is handsome. You better nab him before someone else does.” 

You pulled a face at that. “As I said, just friends.”

She tsked in response before sweeping out of the room, clearly unsatisfied by your reply, and you trailed behind her. You knew she just hoped you’d “settle down”—probably because she wanted grandkids sooner than your siblings could give them to her—but it wasn’t as if you could tell her your only interest was in your boss.

Though, it wasn’t her approval you worried about.

Despite your father’s general apathy towards your existence, you knew he would be very against such a scandalous relationship. Not just due to the fact Wesker was your superior, but because of the age gap between you. 

Hypocritical, you thought.

It was about the same as the one between himself and the woman walking ahead of you.

You put on a smile as you reentered the living room after placing the food on the dining table, leaving your stepmother to arrange it as she liked. You were surprised to see your father already there, shaking Chris’s hand and giving him a look that you knew well. He was sizing him up.

“Well, dinner is about ready,” you announced, trying to prevent what was sure to be an awkward situation.

Chris looked over at you and smiled, your father’s gaze narrowing. He said nothing as the group followed you into the dining room, your younger siblings already in their seats as your mother completed her artistic array of dishes and cutlery.

Seeing you enter, she wiped her still-clean hands on her apron, introducing your siblings to your companions. Your brother’s eyes widened when he met the gaze of Claire’s and was quick to avert them, the girl not seeming to notice as Kitty launched into asking her a million questions. You managed to stifle your chuckle at the sight before your stepmother caught your attention. 

“Would you be a dear and get us some drinks from the garage?” she requested sweetly. 

You nodded, about to do as you were asked when your father placed a hand on your shoulder. “No need, me and Chase here have it covered.”

You froze, knowing he was probably going to interrogate him ruthlessly, as he had done to Kevin years prior. You schooled your expression. “It’s Chris, dad. And shouldn’t our guest be allowed to sit at the table?”

“It’s no worry,” Chris said, clearly ignorant to the warning expression you gave him. You sighed as your father turned and left, Chris winking at you as he passed you by.

Welp, guess he’s on his own now.

You sat down at the table at your usual spot across from your brother, a chair left between you and Claire, meant for Chris.

Despite your concern for your father’s antics, you were quickly pulled into a conversation with your friend’s sister, an amiable girl through and through. Your worries were forgotten as she spoke, telling a joke that made you chuckle. Even her sense of humor felt familiar to you, so reflective of her older brother.

Your stepmother then asked her about her studies, and after she described her college experience so far, she explained that she was on the girl’s soccer team, something she enjoyed. 

“Well ain’t that something,” you marveled, “Tic also loves soccer.”

When he didn’t reply, you kicked him gently under the table, giving him a look that said, ‘Now’s your chance to make a friend’. He sputtered out an agreement, the conversation falling silent as he couldn’t seem to offer anything else. Well that was new. He’d never been so awkward or quiet in his life.

Before you could change the subject, your father and Chris finally came back into the room, a bottle of cold soda and a couple of already opened beers in tow. Your group took turns pouring some for yourselves, and once Chris settled into his seat, you looked over at him.

Catching his eye, he offered a small smile, but there was a furrow to his brows you only ever saw on particularly hard missions at work. Your expression was questioning, worried your father had really said something off-color, but he seemed quick to shed whatever concern he had, joining the conversation and making a quip at his sister’s expense.

You yourself eventually relaxed, the evening going quite well despite the few hiccups.

After nearly an hour, your stepmother asked you to clear the table, and Chris immediately jumped up to help despite both of your protests. He wouldn’t relinquish the stack of plates in his hand, however, so you beckoned him to follow you into the kitchen as your sister excitedly ran to a nearby cabinet to pull out her favorite board game, easily roping Claire into playing it.

You and Chris remained in companionable silence for a few moments as the two of you began putting away any leftovers and getting to work on doing the dishes in the sink.

“Thanks for helping out. You know you didn’t have to, right?” you said as you lightly ribbed him with your elbow.

“It’s the least I could do after feeding me so well,” he replied with a shrug.

You smiled, looking down at your handiwork as things fell quiet once more.

After a few more beats, you asked quietly, “My dad didn’t give you too hard of a time, did he?”

“Not at all,” he answered, to your surprise, before continuing sardonically, “He only threatened to kill me if I ever hurt you. Nothing too crazy.”

You laughed at his sarcastic remark. “You got off easy, then.”

He pulled a face before chuckling. “I’d hate to see what him going hard on me looks like.”

“Aw, you’ve got nothing to worry about if you behave. If you don’t, though? Well, they’ll never find your body.” You said that last part deadpan, and Chris flicked soapy water in your direction.

“Well, you better get used to the idea of me haunting your ass then.”

You pretended to shiver in fear. “Only my ass?”

His responding laugh was loud, and you worried your grin would be etched into your face if you couldn’t stop it from forming.

The two of you finished up quickly, drying your hands before joining in on the game in the nearby room. Your sister was having the time of her life and your brother finally started to act more like himself as the evening continued, the two families before you meshing better than you could have imagined.

Caught up in your reverie, you didn’t realize it was your turn to roll the dice, Chris bumping his shoulder into yours, placing the two cubes of plastic on the table in front of you. “You can stall all you want, but I’m still gonna win.”

You rolled your eyes as you began your play, the group laughing at his remark. The dice clattered across the table, and you bit your lip as you all stared at the result.

“Oooh, snake eyes. Unfortunate,” Tic stated before snatching them from the table. “Better luck next time, Sis.”

You huffed in faux displeasure, and the game went on.

One hour turned into two turned into three, and no one seemed to notice or care, you least of all. This was the most fun you think you’ve had in months.

You smiled warmly at the people around you, the two halves of your life fitting together like puzzle pieces, all prior concerns forgotten. 

Right at that moment, sitting in your family’s dining room next to one of your closest friends, you knew one thing to be true.

This is home.

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

Masterlist | Previous | Next

[onlineviolence]

Woof may I humbly request Gamaliel lore ><

they call me the slowest ask answerer to ever do it. anyways, here’s my try of a short version ( as I am done with it . it’s not very short. sorry.)

maybe this is secretly good due to there being more lore released since October,

gama lore post 💌

cw: mention of suicide

they are created as a close advisor to god who never leaves his side. He however grows far too attached and eventually instead of seeing them (they’d be a he at this time because of the new pronoun lore) as merely an advisor, He views them more as a son.

during the time described by the testaments in the secret terminals, God’s spiral begins as His frustration with his mistakes mount. as He sinks deeper and deeper into despair He makes secret plans of gamaliel eventually taking His place in heaven as He looks into ways to end His own life.

gamaliel is unknowing of these plans, though they are distinctly aware of His declining mental state due to their position being always by Him. their many hands have transcribed the testaments which have made their ways down into Hell.

and then there is His breaking point where He succeeds in disappearing. before The Death of God, gamaliel is pulled aside suddenly and informed in hushed words of their heirdom and how they must assume a role of leadership in Heaven; and then, in a procedure that has been blacked out of their memory they were granted their “sarkamancy” by Him.

sarkamancy being a lesser, but still powerful form of the power of Creation. the ability to create, construct, warp and manipulate flesh as easily as breathing. they do not remember how it happened, but it left a scar resembling that of a vivisection’s on their torso and scars that appeared to pierce through their palms.

they could not handle His disappearance with such little explanations and closure, so for the next century or so of chaos in Heaven, they descended into Hell in hasty attempts to find Him - the Hell that had all of its angel wardens recalled in the building panic.

of course, they found nothing. but they were found by the newly-formed Heavenly Council when the forces of heaven returned to control Hell once more.

their claim to power and word from God was swiftly shut down and framed as high heresy. and maybe they would have only been executed if not for their sarkamancy.

the council feared it. so easily this angel could turn against heaven and warp the flesh of every angel into unspeakable horrors. but in contrast, they also recognised a usefulness in the ability. prevent the danger before it could ever happen, and then use it instead for heaven’s own good. a tool.

more extended post on their relationship with the council because I didn’t want to rewrite it. important though

then come the imprisonments of the recently executed kings, minos and sisyphus.

minos, as a soul orb, is contained without much struggle (Though he might have been conscious and aware during the whole thing. and unable to do anything about it) and his corpse is reanimated with horrific parasites.

sisyphus is very different. he puts up a fight, as of course he would, and in the struggle two of gamaliels arms are torn off, leaving them with four when they once had six. but nevertheless, they are victorious and he is sealed away in the flesh panopticon.

the council’s use of them extends to punishing offending angels in heaven, one of the more notable examples being raphael. (details on his punishment in his lore description)

what happens to them coming up to the events of the game is sort of open ended. in one path they remain under the council until gabriel massacres them all, and on another they make their own escape with a few mutilations on the way. either ways, they do get their freedom eventually.

[little-miss-deviant-s-diaries]

Hey. What do you like about older men? What do they make you feel?

Hello there, mysterious person!

In a previous post, I mentioned being asked a similar question by a friend, but I couldn't find a satisfying answer.

This might take a bit to explain fully. Most people assume that the reason why younger women like older men is because they are financially stable or maybe because we have daddy issues. That would be partially true but not exactly the reason why. If you asked women who have dated both younger and older men, you would get a response from them saying that they find older men more mature, mentally and emotionally, confident, knowledgeable, and wise, and these women are not wrong in thinking that.

Personally, though, what really gets me is charisma. I find it incredibly appealing. Honestly, if a guy has that special charm, he can just go buy a leash because I might end up following him on all fours like a dog if he asked me. woof woof

Older men, compared to younger guys, have already discovered themselves. Most of them are not here to play (well, not talking about that kind of play ;p, I love an older naughty gentlemen!!! swoon). They tend to be more assertive and know what they want, and isn't that just extremely magnetic?

Now, let's go back to your original question: what do I like about older men? I'll start by saying, I don't exactly know what daddy issues are. So I really wouldn't say that's what caused me to be more attracted to them. However, I do look for a protector in a partner, someone who shows authority but also care,wait a second.. those attributes are something you will find in a father figure... maybe I do have a father complex. That's a topic for another time ;). FYI, I am my dad's little princess, but i am not into calling someone Daddy. I am a Sir kind of girl.(∗´ര ᎑ ര`∗)

The whole time that I have been writing this, I have been thinking about 3 characters. 2 I will share, the 3rd will be mine to keep.

A grumpy man once called me an ADHD poster child. So expect I go in and out of topics. Chaos is my second name :P.

1.Nagato from Sesame salt and pudding. A very cute manga about Haruhi, a 22-year-old machine operator, who wakes up one day to find that she drunkenly married an older man the night before. They make a deal and end up living together. I don't remember much about it besides that he was a lovely grump and he took care of her. I remember him talking about his salt and pepper hair, and since then, whenever I see an attractive older guy with that hair, I am instantly in love. I can already imagine my friend sighing and thinking I am hopeless xD.

2.Jean Girardi by saagelius

Oh man, this is divine! I wish I could repost every piece of art about him. I just found out that there is an official fanfiction about him that I will definitely read today.

The first time I saw the art, I was captivated. It was exactly what I envisioned. I won't disclose any more; the images speak for themselves.

All I'm going to say here is that they confirmed my preference. It wasn't just a fantasy; it was what I truly liked and wanted...

Enough distraction!!! Man, these men make me a mess!!!

I adore the appearance of older men. They exude the warmth of a comforting embrace. A warm hug <3. They give off an aura of reliability, as if you could wholly surrender to them, entrusting them with complete control, knowing they understand what's best for you through their experience. they can guide and lead you. I find older men's natural protectiveness endearing, and their wrinkles and white hair are quite attractive to me.They embody qualities like patience, love, and a strong appreciation for women, thanks to their extensive life experiences. Regarding your second question, it seems I've already provided a broad answer. But let me elaborate. Older men make you feel heard and valued. They can also make you feel empowered with their guidance and mentorship. You can have genuine conversations with them. They usually handle things more carefully than younger men who are still learning.

Wow... well that was a long answer. I hope i didn't make you regret asking. well thank you for asking. This was really fun to write about.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Twenty Five.

Hey besties! I'm posting this a day early on account of the fact it's my papa's funeral tomorrow, so I'm going to be out all day. Big thanks to you all as usual for your devotion to the story. Love you! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three Twenty Four

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,539

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Honking. This was certainly a new noise to hear within the walls of his home, Adrien sitting in the office going over emails, looking towards the doorway, Brando appearing. The dog sat down, tilting his head as once again, a definitive honk sounded from the kitchen. 

“What’s your mom doing now?”  

Brando woofed softly, his master rising from his seat, off to investigate. By the time he was walking towards the kitchen door, a third honk sounded, considerably louder in its pitch, their four cats all scattering at speed through the doorway. Yes, Jade had added to their numbers in felines, taking in a ginger tomcat stray, simply named Ginge, and Mr. Biscuits, a black tuxedo cat who had belonged to an elderly lady living in the nearby village, his wife adopting him after the death of his owner.  

“You know you guys are the natural predators of wildfowl, don’t you?” he asked, Juno and Salem taking to their cat tree, Ginge flopping down to groom, and Mr. Biscuits beginning to climb up his leg. “Literal scaredy cats.” Kissing the feline on his head, he carried him into the kitchen to discover the source of the noises, finding a sight that would have been surprising, had he not known his wife as well as he did. 

“And you’re bottle feeding a Canadian goose because?” he inquired, staying over at the other side of the island, taking a banana from the bowl and unpeeling it.  

“He’s poorly sick,” she replied, poking out her bottom lip, the goose latched onto a bottle that looked to be similar to what baby livestock were fed with. “I found him hobbling around the village green, so I caught him and took him to the vet. He’s malnourished, so Heidi thought he might’ve been somebody’s pet who’s either escaped and can’t fend for himself, or he’s been turned loose.  Either that or he’s been rejected by his mother. He’s still a baby, see? He still has a few down feather tufts. Anyway, she gave him an antibiotic and suggested I bottle feed him oat milk to get his strength up.”  

His face creased, looking pained. “Jade, he’s gonna imprint on you, and then we’ll have four cats, four dogs, nine chickens, ten ducks, two horses and a goose.” 

“Don’t be silly! It’s only goslings and ducklings who imprint. But he might need to stick around, though. If he was somebody’s pet, then he might be too used to people to survive in the wild. I’ll see if I can release him though, once he’s well.” She then gently cradled his neck, tutting. “No, no pecking! Stop it. Dave!”  

Another groan sounded from her husband. “You named him. He’s ours now. But why Dave?” 

“He looks like a Dave.” 

Shaking his head, he continued eating the banana in his hands, breaking off pieces for Mr. Biscuits here and there. Eventually, he laughed. “Only you, baby love. Only you would happily adopt a cobra chicken, bottle feed it and call it Dave.” 

She snorted with laughter, his name for geese cracking her up just as hard as the first time he’d ever used the term. “Cobra chicken! I love that so much,” she hissed, the goose beginning to settle more as he drank down his bottle. “There you go, see? Look at the magic that happens when you stop biting me, you get food.” 

If anything was truly magic, it was watching Jade revel in the role of nurturer, Adrien smiling as he finished the banana he was eating. Since becoming pregnant, that maternal side to her had amped up considerably, though, hence the cat who stretched himself out to rest draped over his shoulder, and the other one who eventually came back from hiding in the lounge once Jade had put the goose down to rest in the spare stable, forking down some straw to he could relax comfortably. If you were a creature in need to a loving home, the nice lady at Stone Barn Castle would take you in.  

After feeding the chickens and ducks, she and Adrien went for a nice, relaxing ride out over the property, nothing too strenuous on account of the weather being so warm, Mia and Saxon perfectly content to amble along sedately. All the while, he kept stealing little glances at her, thinking to himself how beautiful she looked. Her morning sickness had finally abated, and she was characteristically glowing, as expectant mothers often did when entering their second trimester. 

He also couldn’t help but notice the way she would rest a hand to her tiny bump, Jade not even noticing she was doing it half the time. The sight gave him much more in the way of heart flutters than he’d ever thought possible. It was a very exciting time for them, both enjoying that they got to spend so much of that precious time at home together, rather than having their careers separate them for weeks or months at a time.  

It was just over a further week before the Seventh Gate girls all assembled again, though, running through a few days of set rehearsals in Manhattan prior to heading to Europe to fulfil their festival commitments.  

“Skip, you’ve nearly seen off the entire fucking jar, man!” Jen shouted in one of the last rehearsal sessions, watching Jade digging her fork into the huge jar of sauerkraut in her grasp. “Craving, is it?” 

“Oh, hell yeah,” she replied, widening her eyes a touch. “Anything with a sharp flavour and I have to have it. Bob’s been sending me over salt and vinegar crisps by the box load because I’ve been craving Walker’s so bloody badly, too!” 

Katie jerked her thumb towards her, snorting softly. “Should have seen her when we stayed at hers en route to Manhattan. I’m telling you; this woman cannot be in the same room as a jar of pickled onions without demolishing them!” 

“Adrien had to hold her back from drinking the brine,” Charlotte contributed while restringing her guitar, shaking her head as she remembered it. Jen guffawed at imagining that, watching her bestie simply shrug. “That poor man, having to deal with your onion farts!” she then added, grinning widely. 

“Poor man nothing!” she muffled through a mouthful of fermented cabbage, “he’s getting laid more than lino flooring in the seventies. Trust me, he’s happy. If not a little tired.” 

Katie arrived at her side, taking a seat with a look of curiosity. “So, does it really make you super horny then, being pregnant? Since this one over here isn’t vibing with the idea of it when we decide to have little ones, it’s gonna be me carrying ‘em. I need to know the upshots of growing another person, because most of it sounds awful.” 

Jade crunched through her mouthful of food, digging the fork in again before replying. “The first trimester is hell. You feel tired, you’re puking all the time, it’s rough. Second is great, though. My skin and hair are better than they’ve ever looked, I feel fresh and yeah, the horny feeling is absolutely no joke. I can easily be on him twice a day. It’d be more, but he’s already got a sore dick and a click in his jaw from going down on me so much. I don’t want to ruin the entire man completely.” 

Her statement had Katie clapping with mirth as she laughed, leaning into her. “Oh god, that’s amazing. Ruin the entire man!”  

“Do sex toys not cut it for you?” Charlotte asked, the string now replaced as she began the tuning process. 

“You know that clit sucking one you recommended? I broke it.” 

The rhythm guitarist’s eyes almost fell out of her head. “Babe, those things are indestructible.” 

“Not when you’re pregnant.”  

“God, I’m so glad I’ll never have any of this to worry about! Me and my ornamental ovaries over here!” Jen spoke, twirling a drumstick rapidly, looking to her side. “And what are you looking all dreamy about, huh?” 

Jess’s smile continued to grow, thinking of Jayden, her new boyfriend. “Jay says he wants me to have his babies one day.”  

“Aw hell,” Jen sighed, “another breeder! And I thought you were on my team, homeslice!” 

“I was,” she confessed, still beaming, “but I might’ve changed my mind now I’ve met the love of my life.” Her boyfriend was Jayden Davies, a basketball player for the Knicks, who at six feet seven inches absolutely towered over Jess. It was something her girls had teased her about mercilessly, as well as the fact he was her toyboy at eight years her junior. It was done with much love, though, all of them adoring the sweet guy she’d fallen in love with.  

All chatting aside, they continued to run through their setlist, all hyped to be going back out on tour. They loved the big festival crowds, thriving their way through the first dates across Europe, but when the day finally came to play the biggest show of their career to date, though... well. Seeing what eight hundred thousand people actually looked like in the flesh... 

“Oh, my life,” Jade gulped, swallowing hard. “Oh bloody, fucking hell.”  

“I think I might throw up a little bit. Just to treat myself.” Jen chimed at her side, both at the wings of the gargantuan stage while the openers Motionless in White were whipping the crowd up into utter frenzy, the sea of people moving like a swarm. They both remembered how their beloved friend Dime had described it back when he’d played, the crowd stretching as far as you could see in all directions. 

He hadn’t overhyped it. Literally, it was a sea of people.  

Heading away from the stage, they weaved through the throngs of crew until they reached their allotted tent, entering with a look of mild panic.  

“You two look spooked,” Sunni spoke, eyeing them cautiously. “Why are you spooked? What have you done?” 

“Nothing!” Jen cried, moving to the cooler and picking up a bottle of Jack Daniels, unscrewing the cap and upending it into her mouth. “Oh god, that’s better.” 

Jade envied her ability to soothe her fear with alcohol. However, she did have something else that worked just as well, Adrien moving to wrap her in a hug.  

“Too many people?" He asked. 

“All of the people. All of them. And I have to go and pretend I know what I’m doing in front of them, with jellied knees, while up in my head all I can hear are panicked honking noises!” 

Sunni visibly relaxed from his tightly wound state to hear those words, Adrien laughing softly as his wife made a small noise of discontent in the back of her throat. “Listen to me, you are gonna be totally fine, alright? You’re the best at what you do, and that goes for all of you, too.” 

“Appreciated, homeslice. Imma still need a bucket next to the drum riser, though, y’know?” Jen spoke, lighting a cigarette with a slightly jittery hand.  

Looking up at him, Jade cupped his face with her hands. “Thank you. It’d be a million times worse if you weren’t here to keep me calm.”  

“Even though you’re the furthest thing from it, and will be matter what I tell you?” Oh, he knew her far too well. 

“Bingo.” She managed a laugh, kissing his chest and resting her head against him. “I love you."  

“Love you, too, Burtie." He held her close, feeling her head thudding quickly against his ribs, and then something else a little lower. “Did...” 

Her face lit up, resting a hand to her bump. “That was a kick! I’m sure of it, even though it’s early, I think it was.” Waiting, she felt around, her eyes widening when she felt it flutter against her palm again, grabbing his hand with a squeak.  

Feeling his baby kicking for the first time, his face lit up, Adrien stroking the swell of her tummy lovingly as he kissed her forehead. “See? Even our baby is telling you, ’c'mon, mom, you got this', so if you don't believe me, believe them."  

The other girls all came rushing over, resting their hands in turn to her bump, their faces alight as they felt the little kicks, all hugging her with glee. It took the edge of her nerves if nothing else. They had another five hours until their set, the time coming around quickly as the heat of the day began to abate slightly, Jen and Jade giving their husbands a huge hug before they readied themselves to hit the stage. 

Some groups huddled, some prayed, but for Seventh Gate, their pre-show routine was simple and had never changed. They held hands, all filing into a line as they walked towards the stage, taking deep breaths as they waited. Their crew sped around them, finishing the setup, everything in place. It was time. 

They were then joined by Sunni, the man looking a much paler shade of brown as he stood before them, pointing a finger at them all in turn. “Behave, behave, behave, behave and bloody fucking bloody behave!” he warned them, the finger still shaking, smiling through his stress. “I love you all, I love you to death, but I cannot emphasise enough that you all need to behave!” 

Katie couldn’t keep the grin from her face. “Yo, Sunni. Has anyone ever told you that your accent gets more strongly Indian, the more tightly wound you get?” 

It was a truth that had all five girls snort laughing, their long-suffering tour manager mildly exasperated, but laughing too as he ran a hand down his face. “Oh, god. Get the hell up on that stage and blow the fucking tits off every single person in this airfield. Go on!”  

They had decided to revert to a popular opener from a few years past, the women taking to the stage, the roar of the crowd absolutely deafening, Jade waiting in the wings, her stomach churning. Turning back to see Adrien next to Sunni, she smiled with nerves, her husband winking.  

“You got this.” she just about heard him say as the wail of an air raid siren opening their song Battle Within filled the air, the thunder of guitars swelling sharp as she walked out, grabbed the microphone, drew a breath and did what she did best.  

She roared, and by god, she roared hard.  

The energy of eight hundred thousand people going apoplectic quelled her nerves in an instant, the sight the most amazing thing she had ever beheld, a mosh pit that must have spanned fifty by eighty feet in size spinning in pure frenzy. It was to her utter delight that she made out a few familiar faces within it right at the front, picking out Corey, Jim, Mick and Sid from Slipknot, all throwing and being thrown around as she paced the stage, feeding off the energy, having the time of her life. 

Why had she been nervous, again? 

At the side of the stage, Adrien watched her, watched them all, in fact, a huge feeling of pride swelling in his chest. It might not have been to his musical tastes, although there were a few of their songs he did genuinely enjoy, but god, how he respected the five of them for how flawlessly they performed. At his side, Sunni was looking at them a little differently, Adrien moving to grab the nearby placed bottle of Jim Beam for Katie to have a few tots from between songs, along with two plastic cups.  

“Here,” he spoke, nudging him, “looks like you need it.” 

Sunni took it, sinking it in one gulp. “Don’t tell my wife.” As close to a perfectly devout Sikh as you could get, Sunni still drank here and there. As long as his beloved wife wasn’t there to witness it. Having met Perminder on a couple of occasions, Adrien could well see why he wanted to keep it schtum. She was a fierce lady, if nothing else. “Can you pour me another?” 

Laughing, he reached for the bottle again, pouring it out, Sunni sipping this time but still looking no calmer. “I can feel in in my turban. One of them is going to do something, I know it.” 

Adrien raised an eyebrow. “You’re not wearing it, though.” 

“That’s just how bloody much I can feel that one of them is going to play up!” he exclaimed, eyes wide, taking a deep breath and sinking his drink. “And I hate to say this, mate, but I feel like it’ll be your missus! I cannot cope with the idea of her getting arrested!” 

Laughing, he draped an arm around Sunni’s shoulders. “She won’t, dude. I mean, as in she won’t get arrested. Think about it, if she stood up there and actually mouthed off at the Russian government directly then yeah, it could happen, but she’s smarter than that. Doing it through song won’t incriminate her. Plus, can you imagine the scandal it’d cause, arresting a beloved A list actress, one who just so happens to be pregnant, too? Ain’t worth the hassle.”  

He could see the validity in that, he guessed, but it still made him feel no calmer as they continued to watch the hour-long set. They had played their hearts out, the crowd in absolute frenzy as the opening riffs to their final song sounded. It should have been Shadow of the Veil. It wasn’t.  

“Oh, you are fucking kidding me!” Sunni yelled, a few of the assembled techs all pissing themselves laughing, Jen’s husband Nick throwing his head back to guffaw.  

“That’s my lass!” he chuckled, fist bumping with Adrien as the band launched into Kill your Masters. The very song they had categorically been told not to finish on.  

Sunni looked like he was about to birth his own lungs. “Oh, that’s it! That’s it! All of them are getting smacked arses for this!” 

Adrien laughed, knowing he was joking, but still...  

“Yeah, Sunni I love you, man, but you lay one hand on my wife’s ass and you’ll be eating my knuckles.” The men looked at each other, both snorting with laughter, Sunni dragging his fingers through his hair repeatedly. His nerves were frayed beyond an inch of existence, especially when watching as Jade leaned over the edge of the stage, bellowing a certain line of lyrics in the direction of the assembled police on crowd control.  

“No compassion, round them up, hang them high, kill your masters.”  

Sunni’s blood pressure went through the roof. “She’s fucking done it now!” 

“Sunni, my man,” Nick spoke, the tall Scotsman nodding to the front of the stage, “most of those lads dunnae speak no English! They’ve not got a clue that JB is fuckin’ baiting ‘em like, y’know?” Again, he had to concede that he might have been overreacting a tad, but still, when the girls got off stage after taking a bow, it was to a face they expected. 

“Like herding fucking wild lions!” he yelled, Jade grabbing his face between her hands and kissing his head.  

“You worry too much.” 

His lips thinned. “Oh, JB. If you weren’t pregnant, I’d give you such a beatdown.” 

“Also, if my husband wasn’t looming over you like an albatross,” she noted sweetly, taking Adrien’s hand as they began the walk to the backstage area, the man himself playfully touching Sunni’s jaw with a closed fist. “Now stop ruining my buzz! We just played the biggest show of our careers and you’re over there with your wet blanket fuckery!” 

Boy, how it had been. Up on that stage, playing to a crowd that huge, Jade had felt on top of the world. Her pregnant hormones had gone wild, having to hold back the tears, in utter disbelief that her career had taken her to such a defining, elating point as to preside over eight hundred thousand screaming fans. Screaming for them, the headline act.  

It was such a high, in fact, that she didn’t come down from it for hours. Not backstage, not in the car on the way to the airport, or on the private jet that took her and Adrien to London for a gala they were attending two days’ from then. While he slept, she lay beside him in a state of awe, remembering the crowd, people as far as she could see in every direction. She could still hear the deafening cheers, feel the energy of the crowd, the fading sun on her face.  

It had truly been the performance of a lifetime.  

“Can’t sleep, huh?”  

Turning, she reached to stroke his face, resting back down again. “I never really do on planes unless I’m well medicated, but because of obvious reasons I can’t be. I doubt anything can dent the high I still feel, though. I’ll just have to be tired until we get to the hotel.” 

“I could help?” he offered, Jade seeing a flash of white teeth grinning through the dim light, Adrien shuffling to lie above her.  

Orgasms at forty-five thousand feet; well, if anything was going to make her sleepy, it was a couple of those. 

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

KINKTOBER - Good Dog - BandaSunatoxReader -

DARK - Extreme pet play (actually this may not even be that) - Name calling - Slut shaming - Kindapping - NON/CON - Breeding - DARK BANDA - MDN - +18 - PLEASE READ UNDER YOUR OWN RISKS - I BELIEVE THIS IS THE STRONGEST THING I HAVE MADE -

Summary: Banda wants a pet to make him feel less lonely. Inspired by the movie "Good Boy".

"I need to take care of something, be a good girl and wait here, ok?" Banda's condescenting tone could be hear as he left you water and some food on the floor.

You did not move for a moment but seeing him waiting by the door you knew you had to.

"Woof"

"Thats my girl" and with that he was gone. Screams and pleads could be hear from afar.

Where were you? You did not know. You had met Banda by chance in a date app. And that was a big mistake. His red flags showed at the end of the night, when he pushed you against him and told you how he needed a pet to keep him company and that you would be perfect.

You never tought it would come to this.

The dog suit was uncomfortable the first days, not being allowed to go on two feets was humillating. And no words but woof or any type of sounds.

Banda had made that suit years back, when he was too deep into pet play, leaving your private parts expossed to the cold hair. Your human face was vissible. It was like these big full body pijamas. But more kinky.

You shoved your face into the food. Not taking a risk of using your hands. You had done that the first months and it had ended with you getting beaten up by him.

He would also put you on a cage. And leave you there for days, these were the worst. He left you there one entery week. Because you had talked back to him.

Now you never did that.

You were his pet, his dog. He could trow a ball and you would go after it. He would call you to pet you and you would go. He would made you suck him off (and god help you if you think on biting him) while he stalks his next victim.

Banda would also taunt you. Making dinner for two and waiting for you to make the mistake of getting up and eat with him. He would leave you a dog bed besides his own human bed looking at you while you droff to sleep, thanks to the drugs he adds to your night food.

Something he loves to do-

"Im back, I hope I dont see any food on your hands, dogs cant use them...and dont have them, maybe I should remove them?" He asked. He had blood all over his shirt and face. The woman he had brought with him must have suffered a lot.

You just whined, scared that he would mutilate you.

"Oh, I know you wont do that. You are good" Banda said getting on his knees and petting your hair. "You know...I tried having sex now but....I cant seem to get hard if its not you"

Oh- here it comes, something fucked up he likes. Fucking you in all fours, telling you to still make dog noises (but he does let you moan or scream during this).

Banda does not have to tell you to turn around, to show him your expossed pussy to him. Does not have to order you to get your ass up. You know the consequences.

"Thats it" He murmurs letting his dick out, pushing the head against your lower lips. "You feel me? Of course im not inside yet, I dont want to have to call the vet"

Oh, it almost sounds as if he cares if he hurts you. Its like he never said a thing, when with one single move he shoves his dick inside you making you bite your lips. Tears falls from your eyes as his hips bucks against yours. His dick hitting your insides as he pushes himself on top of you almost making you fall.

"I- have been thinking" he says between deep breaths. "What if I make you have pupps? Do you think I should raise them as humans or dogs?"

The question makes your stomach curl in disgust but Banda seems to like the idea, as he uses one hand to go for your clit making you let out a suprise sound.

"Maybe you alwyas wanted this? Being treated as an animal, just having to eat, sleep and do as I say, no work, no stress"

A slap over your clit made you cry out.

"Yeah...I knew you were just a slut, a slut in heat who needed to be breed"

He continues to pounds into you, your legs tremble feeling your orgams aproacching and he knows that. He makes sure you dont fall against the floor.

"Cmon...give it to me, come all over my dick and show me how much of a slut you are"

You want to fight it. You truly do, but your body responds to the basic stimulation, in seconds you are cumming around his dick.

Banda follows close, he spills his seed inside you, making sure all of it stays inside.

"You are an animal" he ends saying kissing the top of your head "I will clean you later, I still have things to do"

The beep of his phone catches your attention.

"Seems like my next play thing is here, should we get you a friend?"

[brumeraven]

🪫: The Chains That Bind || angels, burnout, commoditization, dehumanization, exhaustion, I know that SCRAM is probably a backronym but it's so stupid I love it

"So, uhh..."

Shit, only three days. Knew I shouldn't have picked four in the pool... At least I didn't go with "Never," like Gloria from HR. Bitch should know better; they always, always ask. Might be a day, might be a week, but they always bring it up.

"You ever, uh, think about what exactly we're doing here?"

There it was. The million dollar question. Suppose that number should be revised well-upwards, honestly, power prices being what they were these days, but I couldn't be arsed to keep up with the current budget...

"Like, with that thing in there, ya know?" He gestured vaguely past the consoles before us towards the observation slit, as if there could be any doubt what he meant. Wasn't anything else to talk about around here, least of all the drab beige plastic that comprised every surface.

"Notice you haven't taken a peek yet, rookie. Superstitious much?" I kept my voice light, despite the lance of hot rage that pierced my breast. Close to a decade of experience meant I'd had practice enough at controlling Extrinsics.

"No! Just, I mean..." With a sigh, he stood and leaned forward to look, pressing forward with a near-reverent hesitance. I'd have to keep an eye on that. That spoke of assumptions, and assumptions lead to sloppy work.

I didn't need to look. Already knew what he was staring at.

And if I hadn't, well, it was painted on his face, plain as daylight. 4 solid inches of recycled cathedral glass lessened the intensity to something just-shy of blinding, but compared to the anemic fluorescence of the control room, he might as well have been staring at the sun.

"....hm." It was a disappointed sort of non-committal noise.

"Not what you expected?" Of course it wasn't, not on this side of the shielding. Anyone too sensitive would never have been allowed this close.

"It's...bright?" Disappointment, and the desire for confirmation.

"It's a toroidal cloud of plasma. What the hell did you expect?" Part of the ritual, this was. Debase, demean, lessen. Pinion its wings with the materialistic, the rational, the objective, the familiar.

I knew what he meant, but that part...that part was buried just out sight.

If a few hundred tons of concrete, ten of graphite, and a cell of industrial diamond could be called "just out of sight." Only been down there once; creeped me out when my clothes changed color. Tiny changes, but you never knew what tiny change in your genes would become cancer.

"Yeah, I, uh, can see. I guess I expected-"

"Arms, legs, wings? Some white robes? Maybe a harp or trumpet?" The first bit was true, at least sometimes. Music was a bad idea though. "It's not a person. It's a machine. A thing that was made to do a job. A car, not a yoked horse."

"Aren't you ...afraid though?"

"Afraid? Hell yes I am." That much was no lie. "I'm afraid my coffee is gonna become decaf in between sips, or my bra won't match my shirt, or some other Slip is gonna fuck up my perfectly good day answering your stupid questions." Easy, steady...

Woof. That was a pained look if I'd ever seen one. Fine, he needed more reassurance than that... "Look, of course I worry. Even without hypocertainty effects, there are ten thousand things that could go wrong here. And our job is to make sure they don't, okay?"

"Okay...but-"

"Look, keep your eyes on the gauges and the protocols in mind. Long as shit's all green, s'all good, yeah? Been here 11 years; most of the time when the alarms go off, it's just brumeraven buildup. We wet vent it out through the filters and someone gets a flat tire or something."

He nodded, if not with much conviction. "What's, uh, what's the worst that could happen?"

Fuck, where in the hell did they even find this guy?

Fine, if he wanted it... "Worst case, the Void coefficient inverts and goes positive. We end up with a criticality incursion, have to cut the outflows and you..." I leaned over to prod his arm for emphasis. "...you get to take ice cream and stuffed animals downstairs for it."

Well, that got a nervous giggle and a minute of silence. Probably for the best he thought it a joke for the moment. I waited, then, waited for the question he still hadn't asked, the one I knew was coming.

"But what...what if it breaks loose? What if it gets out?"

Bingo. It wouldn't. It couldn't. "It won't. It can't. Besides, that's my job." I tapped the badge clipped to my shirt, right on the crisp, serifed capital letters: SCRMNT. Safety Containment Responsibility Manager/Neutralization Technician. Corporate did love their acronyms...

"I mean, sure, no offense, but what exactly are you gonna do against that thing in there, if it breaks the control bonds?"

Ahhh, and there it was, the root of the misunderstanding. He still thought this was a prison of concrete and rebar, copper and steel.

"You don't understand. All this concrete and shit? That's all just shielding for our benefit. And for the power converters and all that. It's free to leave; not like we could stop it. But if she goes, whole power grid goes down."

It. Fuck.

"I don't understand. Why...?"

"Please, with all the hospitals and homes and hotels that depend on us?"

"..."

"You want to know how you keep an angel bound?"

The question hung in the air as I felt the hairs on my arm prick, and a fleeting sense of sorrow not my own slunk into my heart.

He nodded, waiting.

I smiled slowly.

"Responsibilities."

~🪫

[maxbegone]

a late-to-the-game wip wednesday! still trudging away here. this thing is gonna be...woof. long, to say the least. hopefully it's enjoyable, though ♥️

Everyone had their experiences when the end came — for Alex, it was a lot of survival mode and getting to where they needed to go before it was too late. June doesn’t love talking about it; she spent most of her nights in the beginning wide awake and stressed to the point that Alex swore she was going to make herself seriously sick. Nora was similar, but not as extreme.

No one rested, no one functioned properly. It was terrifying.

“It’s a miracle we even made it here in the first place,” Alex starts. “It’s not like we had go-bags or a plan or anything, but what started as a whisper at the top of the food chain soon became an avalanche, and my mom was calling my dad and telling him to get us and get the fuck out of New York.”

“Your parents seem civil,” Henry says pointedly, and Alex could laugh.

“They haven’t always been. Believe me, when you live with two politicians growing up, it’s like real life Face The Nation.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“A political talkshow, don’t worry about it.” Alex focuses on the gentleness of Henry’s fingers and continues. “He called me and June up, told us to pack as much as we could and that he would be by us within the hour. We shoved the important things in suitcases, sentimental shit, whatever felt right. And Nora had actually just moved into a new place so she was pretty much ready to go from the jump. My dad grabbed us, and all he had was what he packed for his trip.

“My mom spent so much time in DC throughout the year, that she and Leo actually got a place there, so they were able to get what they needed. Then we got a hold of Raf and told him to meet us in Hudson Valley because this was Leo’s family’s place. Same thing with Zahra and Shaan, but they took a while to get here.”

“All of them?”

“Zee and Shaan were in DC, too, because she was my mom’s right hand, but they got caught in a major detour that took them into a weird part of Pennsylvania until they were able to turn around. And Raf was in a safe haven.”

At this point, Henry’s hand has gone still on Alex’s chest, his palm flat against his sternum. Alex offers him a smile. “It took the four of us three days to get here with all of the roadblocks, Mom and Leo arrived two days after. And then we figured things out as they came; the towns nearby evacuated, people went north or to the midwest, tried to get as far away from the congested areas as they could.”

“Why not just stay here?” Henry asks him. “It’s rural enough, no?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Alex replies. “Maybe people just wanted to get to their families, if they could.”

“How did you handle all of it? Genuinely?”

“About as well as you could expect,” he admits. “No one knew what was going on.”

“No, I know that, but—you.”

Alex takes a deep breath. Okay. They’re going there. Something he hasn’t really done since he sat with June out in a pasture and watched the sunrise. “I really didn’t think we were going to make it past the year,” he admits aloud for the first time ever. He notably doesn’t look at Henry. “I thought it would all happen again and we’d be taken out.”

Henry sits up. “Alex…”

“It’s okay,” he tells him, smile falling tight. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay,” Henry repeats.

[gudvina]

The things I do to keep you near.

Ship: Effie Trinket/Haymitch Abernathy

Fandom: Hunger Games

Chapter 2: Marriage Contract.

Can also be read on AO3!

71st Hunger Games, Gamemakers’ party.  

The venue was filled to the brim with people, and Haymitch was glad that the Victors’ area was separated from the crowd. Small mercies. Trashy music, flashing colours at every turn, the party was so Capitol that maybe they should have called it that.

It only happened every five years, and the Victors were required to attend if only to be able to gain sponsors. Not all of them were there, but for next year’s mentors it was the best bet.

He was sitting on the couch and sloshing his drink absentmindedly, pretending to listen to the chatter around him.

“… right, Haymitch?”

He turned to see Finnick look at him, waiting for an answer. He surmised that he’d been telling a story to Johanna, the new Victor from District Seven, a girl who was already raging from the inside out. He knew that anger.

“What?”.

“Chum, you’ve got to stop looking at Trinket. What’s going on with you this year? Afraid she might disappear on you again?” Chaff joked, eyeing him from his stool. Haymitch winced at the mention of Effie’s leaving and hid it by taking a big gulp of his drink. He knew his friend was worried, that behind his jokes there was a silent warning against getting involved too much with Capitols. No matter how great of a fuck they were. No matter how caring they seemed.

If Chaff had known he’d married her, he would have never heard the end of it.

He didn’t, though. Nobody had to know, not even Effie, and she’d be safe. Safe to be his. Maybe, he would croak before the end of her escorting mandate. After all, he was 38, his alcoholism didn’t seem to get any better, and judging by Lavinia Albus’ stay Twelve was always reticent to let go of their escorts.

“She ain’t going anywhere if she knows what’s good for her”.

“Who the fuck is Trinket?!” Johanna asked, frowning.

“Haymitch’s escort. I’ve wanted her in One for ages, Finnick has been begging her to switch to Four, but nothing. The Gamemakers do not want to go through the ordeal of searching for another escort and he keeps a tight leash on the poor woman” Cashmere chipped in, sitting beside her brother.

“What makes her so good?”

“She always shows up for the tributes, and you will learn that an escort can either break or make a set. A few years ago, District Three used to have an absent escort and it showed, they had to replace her abruptly: now Three has a few loyal sponsors. Twelve is already a hard district to lead, I can’t imagine what it was like before Effie Trinket”. Finnick explained, leaning back on his chair.

“Liviana did her job, but she was a bitch”.

“A bitch? She was hell” Chaff scoffed “The escort who reaped me couldn’t stand her. Gloria and Liviana were at odds because Liviana was never giving escort guardianship or some shit”.

“To be fair it was always Gloria, Iuno, and Pulchra the ones in charge of ‘producing’ new escorts”.

“And I’d say thank God for that, Cecilia. Imagine a little Liviana Albus walking around the Training Centre, I wouldn’t last five minutes”.

“Well, yeah, but we get a little Gloria who follows Haymitch everywhere”. Woof said, mischief in his eyes. Despite Chaff’s usual stance against Capitols, he’d always liked Gloria, who in her time had won the Best-Escort-Of-The-Year award for three years in a row. She had always cared for Chaff and his mentor, and he’d been unable to forget it.

“Trinket and Gloria have nothing in common! She mentored Trinket, so they operate similarly, but that’s about it. Especially in the way they dress”.

“Come on Chaff, you’re not a boy anymore. You know what was going on between Gloria and Jasper!” Woof insisted, and Haymitch considered the benefits of digging a hole in the polished floors of the venue. The discussion was taking a turn he didn’t like. Not only were they talking too much about him and Effie, but mentioning Jasper Arbore was always a recipe for disaster, as he’d been like a father to Chaff.

Jasper Arbore was the winner of the 15th edition of The Hunger Games, the first District 11 win. He’d been followed by Seeder very soon, alternating the mentorship charges until the Fortieth edition. And if Gloria Shimmers had come about during that edition, for Chaff it was only a coincidence.

He had never coped well with his Games, that much had been clear to Haymitch, he was a soft-spoken man with a gentle soul who struggled with the weight of his corruption. He hoped for their tributes, why he didn’t know, and every year that hope was crushed. At the time he didn’t understand why he would come back. Why would a man so gentle and weak put himself in that position willingly, when he could have left it to the other Victors?

When Gloria’s mandate ended the answer was clear. That year Jasper didn’t come back, and Victory Tour had to be announced yet when he was found dead of a morphling overdose. Seeder was the one who found him, and it had been a low blow to both her and Chaff. Out of the game scene, Gloria was not even allowed to travel for his funeral.

He didn’t like the reminder.

“Whatever was going on, it has nothing to do with Trinket and sulky boy here”. Chaff denied, more for Haymitch’s sake than for anything else. That seemed to be the end of it, and Haymitch poured himself another drink, hoping to drown the feeling that sat heavily on his guts.

“Talking about Trinket” started Gloss “Is she back with Crane?”

“No”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she is not”. He barked.

“Uhm, good, because they seem real chummy over there”.

He could have killed. When he turned in the direction Gloss was pointing, the first person he spotted was her. She wore a brown puffy wig dotted with gold, a brown dress that came at an end at her thighs, and was currently trying to whisper something in response to the Head Gamemaker. His arm was around her waist, her hand held the lapels of his jacket. They still looked like the Capitol’s darling couple.

He knew they were childhood friends, that the end of their relationship didn’t mean the end of their friendship, but the intimate way he touched her never failed to make his blood boil. The man always had a hand on her, and always demanded her attention.

His eyes took in each movement. She was his escort, it was her job to be overtly friendly, to sport the brightest smile and charm the stupidest fool. It wasn’t real, he knew. It wasn’t real.

He saw her frown and shake her hands to deny something. The Head Gamemaker nodded and whispered something else, but Effie seemed to deny some more, so he relented the grip on her waist. He continued whispering in her ear when she turned in his direction and their eyes met.

The grey of his eyes was darkened by an emotion she couldn’t decipher. It made her body feel weak, it burned her to her very core.

“I don’t want this, but Patroclus is willing to sponsor Twelve, Phim. And since your Victor is not actively doing his job passing this will be a bad choice” Seneca whispered.

“Haymitch is doing what he can!”. Small lies; it was true that he wasn’t doing his job properly, but Effie couldn’t help her instincts. Nobody touched her Victor.

“I’m sure, Phim, but that’s not enough. Not nearly enough. Now, it’s been a while since you’ve had to do this, but Patroclus is chivalrous, being on the older side, and can be even fancied as handsome. He’s just asked for a night with you, that’s all”.

“It’s not a small thing to ask…”

“You are single, so is he. It’s not a big thing to ask either” he shrugged, his hand now on the small of her back.

“Can I consider it with Haymitch?”

Seneca’s mouth opened to say something, but then he stopped himself. He took a deep breath, smoothed her dress beneath his hands, and seemed to be deep in thought for just a second.

“Yes, you can, but the decision should fall on you, you know that, right?”

“Thank you, I… will let you know”.

She smiled again, and her facial muscles stiffened due to the exertion. Seneca left her to talk to other people and her eyes prickled with tears. It wasn’t the only time she danced this ballad, admittedly, even when she was with Seneca she used to go with Sponsors, but she hadn’t done it in a few years and now it felt different. It felt wrong.

When she’d been in a relationship with Seneca it was easy, he’d find her sponsors and she’d charm her way into their pants to aim at their pockets, a perfect mechanism. Their relationship was open, and she hid behind these trysts to avoid the reality of her affair with Haymitch.  

But it had been a few years since she’d been with anyone that wasn’t Haymitch. The thought of hands that weren’t his on her skin made her sick, to the point that she wondered if maybe she had drunk a little too much.

At that moment Haymitch got up and strode toward her, ignoring Chaff’s raised eyebrows and Cashmere and Gloss’ snickering. She was upset, and he didn’t like that.

“What happened?” he whispered, concerned “What did Crane say?”

“Nothing, just… he’s found a new sponsor for us”. She felt bile in her throat.

“That’s good news, isn’t it? Why do you look like that?”

“Because I have to fuck him”, she hissed but regretted it instantly. It was stupid, but she didn’t know if he realised what being an escort truly entailed. And if he did, maybe he was okay with it, maybe he didn’t care and she was sure that would kill her, him not caring. But he’d always made that clear, hadn’t he? That what they were doing was just scratching an itch. Nothing more.

Suddenly his hand held onto her wrist and steered her away, dragging her through the crowd. He was walking quickly towards the exit, and she struggled to keep up with him, complaining about how rude it was to flee a party without taking a proper leave.

In a minute they were in the limousine that would take them to the penthouse, and only when they were driving did he let go of her wrist.

“Haymitch, really, this is absurd! How could you leave all your friends in such a manner? And I’ll have to remind you that I’m a lady, and it is highly improper for you to drag me away like that”.

“Oh, but it’s so proper for boyfriend to pimp you out, huh?”

“His friend asked him, he did not seek it” it was a half-lie. Her eyes were prickling with tears again.

“Do you want to do it?” he held her gaze, and she realized he was challenging her. Or maybe testing her. She could not tell the difference, but he’d not looked at her so coldly in a long while, and it was breaking her.

“No” she sobbed and felt hot tears stream down her face, surely ruining the elaborate brown eye makeup.

Seeing her like this was more than he could bear. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her firmly, his tongue ready to battle for dominance but finding, for once, little resistance. She’d limped in his embrace, and she would have kept kissing him forever if it wasn’t for the need for air.

“Seneca talked of him, said he just asked for a night, that he’ll sponsor us” she said breathlessly “I told him I wanted to talk about it with you”.

“Good girl” he whispered and kissed her again, this time making it dirty. She let out a soft moan.

He backed away and looked at her. She was aroused, he could see the tell-tale signs by the dazed look in her eyes and the way she licked her lips. She’d been since before the party, but now it seemed to have reached its height. His little wife.

“Tell me you won’t do it” he whispered, one of his hands cupping her breasts and squeezing as the other made its way up her skirt.

“I won’t do it” she moaned, her legs spreading readily for him.

“Promise me. Promise me you won’t let anyone else touch you”. He groaned when her hands moved to massage his crotch.

“Only if you promise you won’t let anyone touch you” she pleaded coquettishly, but he wasn’t fooled. Through the haze of her arousal, he knew she was going to hold him up to his words. She didn’t know, but there wasn’t anyone else. He didn’t mind making a promise he was already upholding if that meant he’d get his wife all for himself.

“I promise” he smirked when he felt the soaked fabric of her panties, claiming her lips in a heated kiss as she started to unbuckle his belt.

She couldn’t wait anymore.

In a moment she was straddling his lap, the other guiding him to her entrance. She slid down his length with a strangled moan, every inch of him filling her in the way only he did, and when he bottomed out she took a moment to adjust and press soft kisses on his jaw. Soon she rotated her hips in a fast-paced rhythm.

His groans and her strangled moans were the only sounds that could be heard, and for a while, she enjoyed having control of the situation. That was until he gripped either side of her waist and started to take charge, slowly taking over and becoming her undoing. She reached her peak, muffling the sounds against the crook of his neck, and felt him follow right after.

They rested on each other for a little bit, recovering from the mess of their coupling. She leaned back a little bit to look him in the eyes, and he raised a hand and caressed her forehead gently.

“Did you mean it?” she asked feebly, her voice still not quite recovered.

“I did, sweetheart”

“Really?

“Really”.

He kissed her, his stubble burnt against her cheeks. She didn’t mind being his if that meant he’d be hers. She didn’t mind at all.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Push - a Malevolent AU one-shot fic

They survived. John got his promised body. They're free. But Arthur is still blind, and now, he no longer has someone in his head, helping him around.

He's not all right. It's all coming out of him in anger. Today, John needed a break... and, left alone, Arthur tries a four-legged substitute.

It goes about as well as can be expected.

AO3

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

“How about Spot? That’s a good name for a dog, right?” said Arthur.

The dog continued as it was: panting, a bit of slobbering, occasionally stopping all of that noise so it could (presumably) lick its face.

It. Could be a boy, could be a girl. Arthur didn’t know. He petted its head, feeling its long and floppy ears. “Yeah, that’s a stupid name, huh? You probably don’t even have spots.”

No reply, of course. Stubborn; willful. So that really narrowed it down. “I know,” said Arthur. “I’m going to call you John.”

“Woof,” said the dog, which was possibly assent.

“Take that, you ass,” Arthur muttered, and burst into tears.

#

This was not a seeing-eye dog. Arthur knew about them, was fascinated with the concept, and had read all about them before he’d lost his sight. 

This was not that. This was just a dog that had wandered into the tiny house because fucking Jackass Doe had left the damn door open when he’d stormed out.

And Arthur hadn’t realized it was open. For all he knew, the place was filled with raccoons now. Or ants. Or had been robbed bloody blind (haha, see what he did there).

He sniffled again. (Jackass Doe wasn’t here to hear it, so it was fine.) “He’s not coming back this time, and I don’t fucking want him to, you hear?”

The dog—its chin resting on his knee—whined.

Dogs needed things. What did dogs need? Arthur had never kept a dog. Food and water, probably; and he knew he’d have to walk it.

That would be interesting. He wasn’t sure how to pick up the thing’s leavings when he couldn’t fucking see them. “This is going to be a pain, but you know what?” Arthur said, rubbing the dog’s neck. “It’s still less trouble than other messes certain people made!” he shouted at the Jackass, at the boxes, at the still-open door.

(He hoped John could hear him.)

(He knew John wasn’t close enough to hear him.)

“I probably need to hire someone, huh?” he said softly. At least that would be possible thanks to the success of his last three songs. 

Once he figured out how to get help without asking for it, that is.

Because he didn’t want to ask for it, that’s why.

(And it absolutely was not the reason Jackass Doe had left.)

(Fine. Maybe it was.)

He supposed the door should be shut.

“I can do this,” he said, standing. It would’ve been easier, certainly, if they’d finished unpacking first, but that had been delayed because Jackass Doe wanted Arthur familiar with the whole house before they filled it with their things, and Arthur knew that was totally unnecessary because he could figure it out as they went.

It had started the whole damn fight.

Not until you can tell me how many drawers there are!

A thousand! Two! It doesn’t fucking matter! Just put the fucking forks in one, and I’ll figure it out!

It had seemed really important at the time.

“Woof,” said the dog.

What did dogs eat, anyway? “I don’t have any rabbit, or anything,” said Arthur, hands out, trying to find the door by feel. His foot hit a box, and he tried to shuffle around it. “I can get to the store. I’ll buy you something.” That had been a primary reason for buying this house, though it was small: a supply store in close walking distance, on this side of the street.

Arthur made it around the box and wiped his face on his sleeve because the handkerchiefs were packed. “I’ll fucking find them,” he vowed, trying to orient toward the door again. “I don’t need him.” 

Which he had yelled.

Which was when Jackass left.

Which was why he wasn’t coming back this time.

Arthur found the door by running into it. “Ha,” he said, and closed and locked it. “We’re safe now, buddy.”

The dog started barking.

Something hissed in return.

Oh. Raccoons (?) were already in the house. To the symphony of barking and hissing, Arthur turned and opened the door again, hoping this would take care of itself.

Instead, the sounds took off, some kind of weird feet slapping, dog claws scratching, and the whole cacophony raged into the kitchen (something crashed and broke), then into the bedroom (he distinctly heard the lamp fall and the bulb shatter), and only then back out the front door with the dog on its heels.

Whatever it was hit him pretty hard on its way out. It felt like getting socked by a feather-covered wall.

Arthur landed heavily and stared after them, seeing nothing. Anticipating, with horror, trying to clean up broken glass he could not see.

They didn’t even have a phone (though Jackass had threatened to get one). It didn’t matter. Who could he call, anyway?

Arthur leaned against the door, tired, alone, complicit in his own desertion, and hid his face in his hands.

#

The dog came back.

A while later, so did the Jackass.

“What the fuck did you do?” bellowed John Doe, who bellowed nearly everything, who was hard to read when he’d first got his body because he’d only ever had vocal cords designed to proclaim.

Arthur lifted his head from where he’d pillowed it on the dog. He was in the middle of the living room floor; there was glass in the kitchen and glass in the bedroom, and he’d cut himself twice before giving it up as a bad job.

There was still a sliver in his thumb. He could feel it, but he couldn’t see it. “I suppose you’re happy now,” his mouth said before his head could catch up. “You were right and I’m helpless. Go to hell.”

“Oh, what the fuck,” said John, kneeling beside him.

John smelled so good. He always smelled so good, improbably smoky, somehow herbal, like he’d wrapped country air in a cologne. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine." 

John took his hand anyway. “Splinter. Hold on.”

Arthur knew he was supposed to say ‘sorry.’ He knew he’d been unreasonable, weaponized all the horror of loss (John in his head, sight in his eyes) that soured the miracle of John’s body. All that came out was, “I thought you weren’t coming back this time.”

John snorted. 

Arthur had touched this new face before, felt the stubble, the enviably strong jaw, the full lips. He had glass in his hand and dared not touch now. “I told you I don’t need you.”

“You’ve said worse. Also, it was bullshit. Also, why the fuck do you have a dog?”

“His name is John,” said Arthur, “because you were gone.”

John sighed. The dog’s tag jingled. “I just… needed some air. And her name is Daisy, and she belongs to a neighbor.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Arthur was doing everything out of order.

“It’s been two godsdsmned weeks,” said John, who’d removed the glass and was wrapping Arthur’s bloodied finger. “Maybe give yourself a damn minute to get used to all this. Dumbass.”

Arthur sniffled. “You should be gone for good. I’m not any good to you like this.”

“Any good? What the fuck are you talking about? It was never about benefits or I would have left you in the prison pits.”

The walk had done John good. He was being all reasonable, and it cut the legs out from under Arthur’s fight. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. I keep pushing you. I know you don’t like to be pushed, but why the hell is there goose shit in the kitchen?”

“The door…”

A pause. “I left it open.”

“Yeah.”

The dog said, “Woof.”

“I’m still gonna make you learn the house,” John warned.

“I don’t want—"

“And how many steps to the store.”

“No!”

“And how to run the—"

“I said no, John!”

“Why the fuck not?”

The dog growled.

“Because I need you!” Arthur cried, voice cracking. “And it feels like you don’t want me to anymore!”

John sighed.

Arthur’s face burned.

“Come on, moron,” said John, pulling Arthur to his feet.

John was so big. “You’re too tall,” Arthur complained, leaning against that broad chest.

“Tell it to the committee,” said John, walking him back to their room. He got Arthur onto the bed. “Stay.”

“Fuck you.”

“Uh-huh.” John cleaned up the broken light bulb. There was silence, otherwise; the clinking of broken glass, the panting of the dog (who’d followed them), the brooding of Arthur Lester.

Arthur sniffled.

“I’m not leaving you,” said John, dumping the mess into an empty box.

“You should. I’m a burden.”

“You’re an ass. You’re not a burden.”

“All the more reason to go.”

John sighed and sat on the bed. His weight dipped it, and Arthur fell into him.

Neither moved to correct this.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Arthur whispered. “We did what he said. We got the damn stone. We broke the… the thing.”

“We sure did. And I got my body, as promised. And he let us go.”

Arthur turned his face, speaking into John’s shoulder. “I’m blind. I’m still blind, but I don’t have you to guide me.”

He hadn’t said that before. They hadn’t said. There was the ritual and Larson and the stone and Kayne, and then running and reclaiming his bank account and talking to police. There’d been no chance to say it all.

“I think it’s sort of what he said back in Carcosa,” John said softly. “What was it? ‘Only one walks away unscathed, and neither of you go home.’”

“We are home,” said Arthur defiantly.

“We’re making a new home. Not the same.” John lifted his arm to wrap it around Arthur’s shoulders.

Arthur leaned in, inhaling the smokiness, the Johnness, and thought, he is home. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’ll figure it out. Like I said, I’m not leaving you.”

“You should.”

“No more of that, fuck.” John shifted, lifting Arthur as easily as he had the broken lamp, and lay beside him on the bare mattress. “Not leaving.”

“Okay.” Arthur couldn’t push back anymore.

The dog jumped onto the bed and lay across both their legs.

John laughed. “What the fuck? I’m gone half an hour, and you’ve trained some dog to come into our bed.”

“You were gone eighty years, and the dog is your replacement,” said Arthur.

John laughed and kissed his forehead. “Idiot.”

Arthur closed his useless eyes. He didn’t need them anymore. He felt safe. “I’m sorry.”

“Said that already. Lemme clean up, and we can have some damn lunch before I take the stupid dog home.”

“Not yet.” Arthur tightened his grip on John's torso.

“Not yet. Okay.” John sighed. “At least I didn’t come home to geese all over hell.”

“Do we have to give the dog back?”

“We have to give the dog back. I’ll get you another one. Maybe one of those fancy seeing-eye things.”

“You… you won’t…”

“I won’t leave, even if you can navigate the whole damn city without me. I’m not making myself obsolete, idiot. I’m taking care of you. Different.”

It was so stupid, but Arthur needed to hear those words. He exhaled, tension finally leaving him.

John brushed Arthur’s last tear away, his thumb rough and warm. “Shut up for a while.”

“Yeah. You, too. Jackass Doe.”

John laughed. “Jackass and Bullhead, private investigators.”

“It works.”

“Too stubborn to let your case go unsolved!” John said, having a great time.

“I love you,” said Arthur, who always did everything out of order.

“I love you, too,” said John, who was used to it. “Fucking snooze already so we can eat when you get up.”

“No,” said Arthur, and fell into a contented, healing doze.

[clocks-are-round]

Z = zzz’s (bed sharing/one bed) with simmons please :3

Red Team Sardines

“This has to be some kind of mistake.” Simmons stared at the singular bed in the hotel room.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” Grif tugged his suitcase in after him. Bumbling on its wheels, it loudly slapped the door frame and closing door in succession. Grif got it into the room with another strong tug from his deceptively muscular— Focus, Simmons!

Simmons cleared his throat. He gestured. “There’s only one bed.”

“There’s room for both of us. Just stay on your side.”

“You sprawl and… hug. In your sleep.”

“So?”

“Sarge has the other keycard.” No way did he want Sarge and Donut walking in on them like that.

“Point taken. I dunno, you could sleep on the floor?”

“I think I need to have a word with whoever’s in charge. I’m sure it was two twin beds. Why would Sarge book a single bed room when there are four of us?” Simmons noticed Grif eying the bed like an old friend. “Don’t get too comfortable, we’ll be in a new room soon.”

Simmons ran over a few possible conversations in his head. The lady at the desk was really pretty, and that was sure to trip him up. He needed to be prepared before he marched over and inevitably got flustered after a few words.

“Uh huh. Sure, Simmons.” Grif strolled over to one side of the bed, his bulky dingy suitcase sending Simmons’ perfectly shiny metallic one careening just as he took a step toward the door— Simmons yelped as his crotch sank too far into the suitcase handle. “Son of a bitch!”

Grif winced sympathetically. “Ooh, been there, buddy.”

“I don’t,” Simmons grimaced, “have as much feeling there since my surgery, but yeah. Not great.” Simmons staggered over to the other side of the bed and flopped onto his back.

“Sarge did something in the front too?”

“No! I mean— it doesn’t matter. Still hurts like a bitch.”

Grif flopped onto his back on his own side of the bed.

Simmons squeezed his eyes shut as he waited out the pain. He thought every curse word he could think of. “This wouldn’t have happened if you were more careful with your stupid suitcase,” Simmons fumed.

Grif lazily turned to meet Simmons’ eyes. Their faces were less than a foot apart. Grif raised his eyebrows. “What? You want me to kiss it better?”

Simmons’ face heated. He grabbed a pillow and whacked Grif. Simmons glanced at the door. It was still closed, at least.

“Yeah, yeah.” Grif pulled the pillow under his head. “There we go.” He sighed. “Much better.”

The door swung open, Sarge wearing his all-red hat, shirt, and shorts that made him look more like a fire hydrant than usual— Grif had pointed this out earlier; Simmons would never say that to Sarge’s face.

Sarge was holding his duffel bag. “Simmons. Grif. Sounds like there’s been a mix-up with the rooms.”

“No kidding,” Grif said, lounging comfortably while Simmons— who had bolted up the moment the handle turned— sat on the edge.

Donut dropped his obnoxiously pink sequined bag on the floor “Turns out we only got ONE room. Total!”

Simmons blinked. “What.”

“All the other rooms are full tonight, so I couldn’t get us another one. We’ll just have to sleep in a pile like a bunch of baby rabbits.”

“Aww I love baby bunnies!”

“I even asked them to check the back. No dice.”

Grif scooted up to a sit. “You asked them to check the back of the hotel for… what? More rooms they forgot to put on the shelves?”

“Sleepover time!” Donut ran into the room and hopped onto the bed.

Grif frowned. “Donut, if you steal the blanket from me tonight, I will smother you with a pillow in your sleep.”

“Woof. Someone’s tense. Ooh, anyone want a massage?”

Everyone groaned.

“Oh, don’t be shy you guys!”

——

Sarge prodded Grif’s arm. “Move your ass, Grif. I’m not gonna sleep on top of you and you sure as hell ain’t gonna sleep on top of me.”

Grif shifted position and crossed his arms as Sarge sidled in next to him. “How are we all supposed to fit in one bed?”

Sarge nodded his head over towards Grif. “Simmons, get over on the other side of Grif.”

“We’d be crammed so close to each other though.” Simmons tried not to think too much about that. A red face was the last thing he needed when he was already dealing with a bunch of stupid butterflies. What was he, gay? (Author's note: yes.)

“So?” Donut said, “It’s not like you’ve never touched each other. You two have slept together.”

“What??” Simmons and Grif both said. Simmons felt Grif tense as he did.

Grif quickly added, “I don’t know WHAT you’re talking about, Donut.”

“What?” Donut wiggled away from the edge of the bed, cramming Simmons closer to Grif. “Didn’t you share a bed last time we went on a Red Team vacation? You can sleep together one more night, jeez.”

Simmons’ mind had immediately jumped to the euphemism but this was Donut. He dropped innuendos constantly. It was best to try to ignore it.

“Somebody get the light,” Sarge said. “We start hunting Grif at the crack of dawn.”

Simmons elbowed Donut, who elbowed him back.

“The light,” Simmons hissed.

“Ohhhh.” Donut obliged.

“Can it be the crack of the afternoon?” Grif asked. “Also, can’t someone else be the victim first for once?”

“No, it’s alphabetical. You first, numbnuts.”

Grif grumbled. “Fine.” He rolled over. “Stupid alphabet.”

The room was now dark, but Simmons was extremely aware of the two men sardining him. Oh god there was so much body heat and so little space. He was going to wake up uncomfortable and sweaty. Or worse, nuzzling into Grif or Donut thinking they were a pillow in his sleep. But, counterpoint, he really didn’t want to sleep on the floor. He’d at least try to put up with it. At least for tonight.

A few minutes passed. Sarge had already started snoring.

“Wait, Donut’s D!”

“What about my D?”

“Everyone shut. Up.”

[astroboots]

hello there, im still empty with the final chapter of eyem. i need more of cielito and miguel and i dont know what to do with my life now

still you and @thirstworldproblemss are amazing writers, you understand the character so well and you’re never out of character, always creating something new and loving

please you and @thirstworldproblemss keep writing, you’re one of the reasons i get out of my bed, and trying to improve in live. you inspire me a lot, thank you!

also, i wanted to ask something as well about red flags, another amazing fanfic, love how you developed marc’s personality, not just a grumpy man but also a lonely man without love that he deserves all the love in the world even if he doesn’t thinks he does

i love that marc was the one to fuck reader without the condom, even to willing to cum inside her

i remembered when reader wished that steven would cum inside her, to be able to feel him closely, and that was marc the one to do it, makes my heart melt with love, because he deserves to feel good, to feel save and be able to do it with the one who’ll love him forever

and it makes me think about the first time steven would cum inside her, fucking her raw, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else but how good it feels, how good reader feels.

he would despise the idea of using condom again because now he thinks of it as a barrier that would separate him from reader, specially if, maybe, he does have a breeding kink

i would love it if you write something like that in the future, no matter if it’s a one shot or drabble, i’d love to read you vision about that idea or what you think, because you have such an amazing ability to write

again you two are amazing, every fanfic it’s like magic to me, i can believe there’s someone that makes me feel so much with their writing but you do

thank you!

Thank you lovely for this incredibly sweet and kind message.

Writing with TWP is such an absolute joy and i have said this before and will say it many times still, I love writing but writing with TWP is x10000 in terms of enjoyment and happiness. It's so nice to have someone to keep you company as you write as writing can be incredibly solitary, but with TWP I'm writing and hanging out with my best friend. It's a tonne of fun.

ALSO JESUS FUCKING CHRIST YOUR RED FLAGS ASK! the way I have read, and reread it! THe way I'm like combusting over here at that thought.

You will have both TWP and @the-ginger-hedge-witch to thank that Marc was the first to bust his nut inside, I originally wanted Steven to do the honours but TWP said in the first chapter that's a hard no!!!! then with chapter four I wanted a bareback scene and Ren absolutely vetoed it! And by then there weren't any in person sex scenes left until the final chapter with Marc, but it worked out wonderfully.

Also your suggestion of Steven's first time without condom with reader.... I HEAR YOU LOUD AND CLEAR! It's in my notebook for ideas for the White Flags sequel!! woof woof. Thank you so much for this ask lovely.

[orphanedwolfandfriends]

So fellers, I can't promise that this'll be the last post I make about them. They don't fucking listen when they're the reason why nothing's going their way. I may be petty, but blocking, reporting, and IP banning them with the handy dandy statcounter is STRONGLY recommended (if you can afford to anyway, statcounter has a monthly payment thing).

I personally suspect that they have an alt account that none of us are aware of, and I'll say with full confidence that I could be wrong.

I started knowing they existed on account of their dry writing and their godmodding, and after, they'd start to ask a mutual some intrusive and condescending messages on why they're so kind to me. Not my character apparently, me. They don't bother to learn character names and just use URLs to shit talk. They'd ask why there's fanart of my woof child and their muse, which lmao, why's that a fucking problem? Mind your own beezwax. They would also bombard that mutual with asks about their shadowban issue, why can the mutual see other people's asks instead of theirs, and the most the mutual could do was tell them what it means and how they can fix it (which they never did). And as you might've seen earlier, they said me drawing fanart of fictional characters was "weird" and talked about it like it was self insert art I was doing. Self insert art's not even an issue to begin with but yet they took it personally lmao. Perish. Also I wouldn't make my self insert be a fucking child, and the art wasn't even shippy in the slightest.

It got to the point where my mutual blocked them, and they moved onto a Vegeta blog, and really milked that cow dry for how long they'd keep messaging them and whining about them not jivin' with the godmodding, along with complaining to that Vegeta and someone else about everyone making bad comments about their oc. If you look into their blog, you'll see that this person does not have a bio what so ever. Not even in a separate post. So quite clearly they're just expecting everyone to submit to her Mary Sue powers despite the fact we know nothing about them. They even info dumped the same Vegeta through an ask which, dude. Limited text. Look it up.

And then, they would bombard a Raditz rper and bitch about how he's not submitting to their random stranger shit while Raditz accepted a fucking BLT from one of my adult muses, bombard an oc blog like "you're flirting with Raditz, I can tell, your oc's not any better than MINE", AND, try to act like they're such a hotshot at writing, which as you might've guessed, they're not. And they're actively painting themselves in a bad light instead of listening to people and accepting boundaries. They also bugged the shit out of a Beerus mutual, and another mutual who writes ocs, just 'cause the other's muse was just vibin' and giving Beerus food. There's literally nothing wrong with that, yet they'd keep bugging the other mutual with shit like "oh beerus is only keeping you around 'cause you're giving him food, beerus isn't nice blahblahblah".

Do you see a pattern here? They'll get pissy when they don't get any attention from all four of those characters, and send jealous, petty bitch-sounding messages over two friggin children that are just being nice. Imagine being jealous of a fucking child. Actually suck in that shame like a juice box, 'cause that is PATHETIC. Jealousy is legitimately not a healthy thing to have, especially over something like roleplay, and when you actively guilt trip or shit talk them just 'cause of that, that's even more pathetic. And hella possessive. Good luck being possessive when the muns aren't interested in your oc to begin with lmao.

They also chased off somebody after stalking them for a full on year, as I've been told, which from people saying "that explains a lot" when I said who they were, that's...unsettling. Not surprising, but unsettling. And they're suspected to be another individual named Skye. I dunno if that's true but that's why I say "suspected."

TLDR; Please for your own sanity, block @phoenixissims and report them for their harassment. Do whatever you can to keep them far away from you as possible. The Dragon Ball side of the RPC is not the only RPC they've harassed over the years, so it isn't their first rodeo with being annoying and creepy. Do not waste your time with a message.

Now with all that out of the way, phoenixissims, go fuck yourself with a pitchfork, and everyone else? Have a nice rest of the month. I'm going back to my usual tomfoolery.

[aparticularbandit]

Loaded God Complex (IV)

Summary: The problem with designing a Game that ends in your death during your most desperate hour is that sometimes things can get better.

…and then you still have to play a Game that ends in your death.

Or: The woman we know as Tsumugi has probably the best birthday of her life at what is probably the worst time to have it.

NOTE: Because this is pre-game, Tsumugi’s name is different. In this, she is primarily referred to as Tsukasa Yuki instead of Shirogane Tsumugi. Despite names you might recognize, every other character in this is an OC. Think of it as a reverse reference; Yuki seeded her scripts and games with references to people she knew and loved. We’re just seeing that in reverse.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: M for brief nudity.

AO3

previous chapter | next chapter

“Woof,” Ryoko puffs out as she collapses into one of her armchairs just after the last guest leaves.  (Miki, of course it’s Miki, a very drunk Miki who didn’t want to leave despite being slapped in the face and still having the shadow of it on her skin (the pricks from Yuki’s nails finally scabbed over), why wouldn’t it be Miki, honestly, no one else clings so desperately.)  She slides along the chair, sinks until she lands on the ground, but leaves her head tilted back in its seat.  “Now I remember why I hate throwing parties.  I’m exhausted.”

“You’re exhausted?” Yuki says as she wipes down another glass.  “I played bartender.  For four hours.  At my own birthday party.”

(And got into a fight with one of the guests, but she’s not about to bring that up.)

Ryoko sticks her tongue out at her.  “No one asked you to do that!” she whips with a grin.  “You did that all on your own!”

“It’s plain to me that the point of having a wet bar and all these lewd skillz is to use them.”  Yuki sets the last glass to dry with the others and walks over to Ryoko.

“I heard the z on those skills.”

“They’re the only skillz I’ve got!”  Yuki doesn’t think before she kisses Ryoko’s cheek as she sits down next to her.  Then she freezes, flinches.  “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Ryoko reaches over and takes Yuki’s hand in hers again, interlacing their fingers.  “It’s okay,” she says.  “You’re fine.”  She runs her thumb gentle up and down Yuki’s skin.  “I miss this.”  She stares up at the ceiling, lips pressed together in a thin line.  “I miss us.”

You’re the one who kicked me out, Yuki wants to say but doesn’t.  Instead, her brain pulls up a Free Time Event set of responses to choose from – that line is one of them, but even a normie would know it’s the wrong choice.  That’s the sort of thing that starts a fight.  Or, in gaming speak, negative affection points.

(That thing with Miki earlier probably did enough of that for now, thank you very much.)

Not that…not that Yuki looks at her relationship as something out of a video game.  It’s just that using video games as a template helps her understand relationships better.  Not to manipulate people or drive up affection points or anything like that.  But to help put things into perspective.

There are things she can say that will make other people mad at her, and there are gifts she can give them that, yes, would still be gifts she meant out of the goodness of her heart but might be something they absolutely hate.  You don’t want to give someone a present that you know they won’t like; you want to give them something that aligns with their interests!  (It isn’t robophobic to give a robot the very specific brand of lube that he likes.  Sure, the Tin Man likes a good oil can, but you can’t assume that’s true of every robot.  Now that would be just plain robophobic!)

So instead of saying what comes to mind first, Yuki leans against Ryoko’s shoulder.  “I miss you, too,” she murmurs, giving Ryoko’s hand a gentle – encouraging? – squeeze.

(The thing about Free Time Events in video games is that there is usually a bad answer, an acceptable answer, and a right answer.  Sometimes there may not be an acceptable answer – just a bad answer and a right one – but the point is that there is always a right answer.  And the thing is that there are guides upon guides to tell you the right answer to pick – or the right gifts to give – to get the relationship the way you want with the character you want.

But real life isn’t like that.  There are no guides, no cheat codes, no scene skipping.  You can’t save scum; you can’t go back and redo an event if you get things wrong.  And that’s not just true for Yuki; that’s true for Ryoko as well.  It’s true for every character – every person – around them.  They’re not just single scripted NPCs with a small range of sentences programmed into them.

Yuki can’t know what Ryoko wants out of this conversation, so she can’t know what the right answer is – the answer that Ryoko is looking for.

Life would be easier if it was fiction.

(It’s better because it’s not.))

Ryoko brushes her fingers through Yuki’s long blue hair, scratching gently along her scalp, and as Yuki hums, leaning into the touch, she murmurs, “Why don’t you spend the night?”

For a moment, Yuki’s certain she didn’t hear that right – like when the background music in a visual novel plays louder than the voice acting, no matter how much she adjusts it.  “Hm?”

“Stay,” Ryoko croons, curling closer to Yuki, before humming in her ear, “the night,” then brushes her nose against Yuki’s, “with me.”  She meets Yuki’s eyes with that sparkle in her own that’s always been there (but can’t exist because eyes don’t sparkle) and then leans down to take Yuki’s lips lightly in her own.

Yuki responds immediately, without thinking, drawing up into the kiss like it’s all she’s ever wanted (because if she’s honest, for the past few months, it is), free hand going to Ryoko’s bare waist where it’s always just fit, fingers brushing against her skin as Ryoko purrs against her.

And then her brain comes stuttering back online.

“W-wait.”  Yuki pulls back (and she hates herself for pulling back) and searches Ryoko’s eyes and says the wrong dialogue option because her brain is still not fully back online.  “You…you told me to leave.  You wanted me to leave.  What are you doing?”

Ryoko stares down at her, eyes still sparkling the way that they really shouldn’t.  “It’s your birthday,” she murmurs.  “It’s your birthday, and it’s crunch time, and you should relax.”

Because sometimes the best matched pair is the one that picks the wrong dialogue options at the same time.

Yuki scoots back (and hates herself for scooting back – not just because it means not getting what she really, really wants, but because Ryoko’s looking at her like she hurt her.)  “We…we broke up,” she stutters out.  “This is….”  She wraps her arms around herself tight.  “This is just plain cruel.”

But as Yuki moves away from her, Ryoko follows.  “I’m sorry,” she says, making as though to wrap her arm around Yuki’s shoulders, as though to draw her against her again, and hesitates, stopping herself before she can.  “I just…I thought it’d be the best gift I could—”

“To wake up and have to leave?  Again?” Yuki hisses out, scooting even further away from her.

She should leave now.  Just get up and leave.  It’s not like Ryoko would stop her.  She didn’t last time.  She’d just let her—

“Or…or you don’t.”  Ryoko kneels in front of her, hands in her lap, and doesn’t look up.  “Maybe you don’t leave this time.”

Maybe I don’t leave this time, Yuki barely prevents herself from spitting out (this is the bad end in a video game; it is, and she may be racing towards the inevitable punishment that comes along with it, but at least her head is on straight enough again for her to bring up options as some sort of warning before she cuts her own throat), but she can’t stop herself from glaring daggers at Ryoko, can’t stop herself from continuing to hiss, “I thought you wanted me to leave.”

Ryoko still doesn’t look up, but she presses her lips together, and her head tilts, and it’s like she’s reading from a story where she knows the ending is coming but still doesn’t quite believe it, “I didn’t think you actually would.”  She digs her forefinger into her jean skirt.  “I thought…I thought you’d come back.”  Her head tilts even further, and the denim of that skirt is the only thing preventing her fingernail from piercing her own flesh.  “And then you…and then you didn’t.  You didn’t come back, and I—”

“I thought you wanted me to leave,” Yuki repeats, softer this time, peering at her curiously, as though saying it again would make any difference.  “I thought….”

“I did, but I didn’t think you would.”  Ryoko’s hands clench into fists, and her teeth grit together.  “I thought you would stay, and we would fight, and then we’d come to some sort of….  You’d stop working so fucking much because it was killing you, and it was killing me to see it killing you, and I couldn’t stand to see Kaede’s—”  She cuts herself off, corrects herself.  “Mitsuki’s—”

“Kaede,” Yuki whispers.  “Everyone at work – everyone who knew her – only refers to her as Mitsuki anymore, and she wasn’t Mitsuki, that was her character, and it’s like the person she was has been completely consumed by the character she played, and the only one who uses her name is Miki, and Miki didn’t know her—”

“She died, and you might as well have died with her because you weren’t here anymore.”  Ryoko looks up so sharply that her eyes would be daggers if Yuki was writing fanfiction (but eyes aren’t daggers, not in real life, and no matter how much a glare can feel like being stabbed through the heart, it’s not quite the same (she thinks, but she hasn’t been stabbed through the heart yet, and honestly, who has and also survived long enough to know that the metaphor was true)).  “Danganronpa is going to kill you, Yuki, and I couldn’t – I can’t – just sit by and let it happen, and I thought…I thought if we just fought about it, and got everything out, then it would be fine, and you’d…you’d back off, and we’d make up, and everything would be fine.  I didn’t think you would actually leave—”

As Ryoko speaks (and as it becomes plain that the anger Ryoko currently feels isn’t directed at her so much as it is at their situation, at the whole convoluted mess), Yuki slowly unwinds herself and moves closer to her.  She keeps a steady eye on Ryoko, but her girlfriend doesn’t seem to be paying attention to her so much as she needs to get this tirade out, like maybe she’s wanted to say this a thousand times but never had anyone to go through it with.  (Who would she?  Miki, maybe, who would have listened to all of it and then…and then what?  Been a comforting friend?  Tried to help Ryoko figure out what to do with this huge mess they’ve found themselves in?  Does it really even matter at this point?)

What’s plain to see – from Yuki’s perspective, anyway – is that—

Yuki takes Ryoko’s hand, turns her palm over, and taps her forefinger like gentle Morse code onto her skin.

Ryoko flinches.  Her mouth shuts, and she turns to Yuki.  Then her hand turns again in Yuki’s, and she taps back her response – two small, soft, hesitant taps, with enough space between them that no one else would notice they were connected at all – before clasping their hands together.

For a moment, all Yuki can do is look at their hands tangled together, and when she looks up, she notices that Ryoko is doing the same thing.  Her heart breaks.  “Ryoko.”  She searches Ryoko’s eyes as her girlfriend’s head pops up.  The light overhead captures them, and they sparkle.

So that’s what it looks like.

Yuki doesn’t hesitate.  She leans forward and kisses her.

Ryoko tastes of pomegranates and plums and some sacred spice, brandy sweet and intoxicating, warm as mulled wine and cider, and she opens to her and her alone, and Yuki drinks her in like a sailor lost at sea looking at the salt water all around her and desperate for something – anything – to drink, Ryoko not the first drop but the only one she’s ever needed enough to matter.

“Bed,” she murmurs, drunk, against Ryoko’s lips.  “Now.”

“I thought we were fighting,” Ryoko whispers.

Yuki nods, brushing her nose against Ryoko’s.  “You don’t want me to leave.”

“I never want you to leave.”  Ryoko nips at the cherry of her lips – once, twice – as she pushes her hand through Yuki’s hair.  “Never.”

“Prove it.”  Yuki smiles against Ryoko’s lips.  “Make it plain to—”

“Quit saying that word.”  Ryoko’s fingers tighten in her hair, tight, tight.

Yuki just grins.  (She isn’t thinking.  She isn’t thinking.)  “Bed,” she says again, and this time, at her request, Ryoko lifts her and carries her away.