#SHE MUST INSPECT EVERY ROCK

[sylksheeeee-a]

ani in bg3 , holding the party up constantly because she's looking at every single unique looking rock to see if she should add it to her collection.

[evilminji]

Dani should Kidnap The Clones.

It's basicly protective custody. Preemptive child services, if you will. NONE of these fuckers out here makin adorable clone baby just cause they want kids!

*kicks down the door to your shady lab* Knock Knock! ITS THE POLICE! *Walker's Shock troopers swarm the place as Dani secures the kids*

Look me in the eyes. You KNOW he'd love an excuse to enforce The Rules on people technically outside his jurisdiction. It's for The Children(tm)! Why, he simply had no CHOICE!

Meanwhile? Dani is shoving all these mal-adjusted Murder Clones into her Lair? Which is? Basicly a Door style Lair she hid inside Danny's Lair for safe keeping. It's shoved behind a vending machine just outside the observatory. And the inside? Goes on for DAYS.

Like national parks and every beautiful beach she ever came across. She smashed together the BEST sights and places she's found in her travels, like a collection. Always adding more. New waterfalls, new noodle shops, new fields of wine grapes. It's... beautiful. Snapshots of every wonderous little thing about Earth, stitched together.

They can't hurt anyone. Can't achieve their "objectives". Are just treated like actual individuals and the children they truely are. Are surrounded by other Clones. So it's NORMAL here. Just? All of it.

But also?

Dani and Dan? Teaming up to make History's Scariest Adoption Agency(TM). Dan runs it. Dan wants to know why EXACTLY you want a kid. Explain yourself to Dan. What are your references? Qualifications. He's doing a home visit to inspect the premises. He BETTER not find any suspicious Labs.

And? It just? Appears out of nowhere. It's powered by Zone Bullshit. One second you're thinking "oh woe is me D:> I will never have a child to fill my lovely home, because of all my Superhero Secrets and also because government bureaucracy!" And the next?

.....wasn't that an out of business taco bell? "Zone Adoptions"?

"....Free Clone Baby?"

Okay that is HIGHLY suspicious and as a hero you are basicly legally obligated to investigate. But now it's bigger on the inside? Fancy waiting room? You are being interrogated? Wait, no, you're supposed to be the one doing the-?

Somehow? You leave with your Clone Son from another Dimension. And a pamphlet. You're scheduled for a home visit in three days. You... you never told them where you live.

Somehow that doesn't seem like it will slow them down.

Did the Fae just Suprise Baby you with a clone baby? Can they DO that? W... what's happening? What days is this? Who ARE YOU PEOPLE?! HUH!?!?

Just? Imagine. IMAGINE. I was gonna say Bruce... but?

Damian.

He finds himself... pondering What Could Have Been. Had his Clones not wanted him dead. Wondering if he could have saved them. If, perhaps, he had found them as infants. Raised them. Could he have given them a good life? Been a good father?

He gets emotional. Fatherly. He's about 14.

Dan's been around Ghosts too long to remember how humans age or how age relates to development. This one TALKS like An Adult. Must be one. Probably just short.

And Damian? Never backs down. The second Dan starts challenging him? His character is flawless and his morals divine. He has never done anything wrong, ever, in his LIFE. Fuck you. And on TOP of that? He not only will be the SINGLE GREATEST FATHER TO EVER FATHER, his home is the most loving and beloved ON THE PLANET!

In entirety of EARTH'S history, no less!

....what are they arguing about?

*is handed a baby and kicked out of Dan's adoption agency*

See you in a few days!

(o.o ) *happy gurgling from the baby* *Damian.exe has stopped working*

Smash cut, after Damian speed runs his stages of grief at his own Dumbass Life Choices, to his rocking back up at the Manor like? Congratulations, Father. I have brought you your first grandson! Do Not ask how I obtained him. It was likely dubiously legal but I will not be returning him. We have bonded.

And just? Annihilating the collective Bats on one go. You did what? You have What?! That is a baby! WHY IS THERE A BABY?! How is there a baby!? WHOS BABY!? *sirens going off and everyone panicking*

Will Damian be allowed to KEEP the Baby? Ha! Hell no. Bruce will. Damian is a child. But it will be a Needlessly Dramatic Bat Cold War Of Dramatic Drama to pry that small cherubic baby from his grip long enough for Bruce to fill out the paperwork.

Child thieving bastard that he is. How dare he. That is Damian's SON! D:<

*happy oblivious baby noises as Alfred feeds him in the background, while the Bats do their Dramatic Custody War*

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @mutable-manifestation

[mediumgayitalian]

“My mom is playing at Radio City.”

Nico blinks, holding out Will’s patched backpack. “I know.” He shakes it slightly. A scrap of green fabric peels off the side, fluttering to the grass. The torn threads underneath are pink. Huh. “Thus me being here, at dawn, even though it took me nineteen alarms to crawl out of bed in time.”

“Twenty,” Will corrects, grinning, “if you count me.”

“I do not count your infernal harmonica, no.”

He does not take the bag, even though Nico holds it out to him again; only looking at it, humming. Rocking back on his heels, flip-flops worn so thin he must feel every speck of dirt, every tiny pebble, every blade of grass, every fallen pine needle. Nails chipped with blue glitter paint.

“I bought you a ticket.”

Nico whips his head up.

“Or, well, you know. ‘Bought’. I didn’t really buy my ticket, either, even though that would be kind of funny, wouldn’t it? Using Ma’s money to buy a ticket to her show. Ha.” Rock rock rock. Rock. Fidget, nails on palm. Rock. “But, um. Yeah. Told her I needed two tickets and she got them.” He glances up, now, eyes pretty dawn blue and hopefully wide, sungold eyelashes fluttering, framing. “If you want to come? Maybe.”

Nico’s mouth dries, or it is dry, or it has been. Dried up at some point in time. He’s not sure when. Before the asking, maybe. Bright ringlets in burgeoning sunlight. Twisting, shaking hands. Wide grin. Or an off-key harmonica before the stars went out, even. Or big rough hands and nudging shoulders. Swinging Southern drawl and a tapping foot, arched eyebrow.

There’s a track in there somewhere. Point.

“It’s a little last minute,” he manages, finally, if four piece cracks can be considered managing. Three? Two continuous, maybe, one big break in the middle. “It’s.” He gestures, vaguely, and the charms on the backpack’s zipper chime gently. “You know. Day of, all that.”

Will inclines his head.

He still does not take the backpack.

The sun inches higher into the sky, and a beat-to-shit Toyota turns a bend down the road.

“You’re goddamn lucky I have no plans,” Nico grumbles, even though he does, and Will beams, painfully brightly; blistering, really, blinding, hastily Nico swings the backpack over his shoulders and wishes he’d thought of his sunglasses.

“Lucky I convinced you out of your pajamas,” Will adds, waving at the car as it comes closer. He links their hands together, “C’mon,” and tugs them down Half-Blood Hill, expertly weaving past patches of thistle and bubbling dragon acid, tripping over a pebble that folds his shoe.

Just before Naomi’s — and he’s sure it’s her now — car stops, as they slow to a stop by the edge of the road, Will stops them, digging through his pockets and handing Nico a thin strip of cardstock. Nico inspects the ticket, smiling at the glitter, the exclamation points, the heart on the stubs.

“You’ve been excited.”

Will turns his bright smile full-force in Nico’s direction.

“You got no clue.”

Nico glances, again, at the ticket dates; two months past the date, for a concert across the country. The worn edge where a finger has run across, over and over, the creases where it has lived in someone’s pocket.

He tucks it carefully in his pocket, slips his hand into Will’s, and matches his broad smile.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A flock of elephants

Written for the November warm-up round of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Prompt: Bakery AU

Rated: T

CW: some sexual tension and innuendo

Tags: Baker Steve, Rockstar Eddie

Notes: Can be read as a continuation of this microfic

“You don't understand how huge a deal this is, Steve,” Dustin says. He’s wiggling in the passenger seat, trying to take in every bit of their surroundings as they pull up to the concert hall. 

Steve huffs and squints at the signs. There's security and fans and staff everywhere and he can feel a headache coming up. 

"A guy asked me to bake a cake, so what? It's literally what I do for a living, nothing-" 

"A guy asked you to-" Dustin sputters. "Excuse me, what did you say? Eddie Munson commissioned you to bake a replica of his world famous Warlock, do you have any- Do you even know who Eddie Munson is?" 

"Of course I know," Steve grouses. "I don't live under a rock." 

"Oh yeah?" Dustin levels him with an unimpressed look. "Name one of his songs." 

"Please," Steve rolls his eyes. "You're blasting that shit on repeat, it's practically seared into my brain. Especially the one about the elephants." 

Dustin stares at him. Steve resists the urge to pinch his nose.

"You know the one! What was it? Flock of Elephants?" 

Dustin crumples into the car seat and slaps both palms to his forehead. "It's A Court of Sycophants, Steve! Oh my God!"

"Synchro-what?" Steve ignores the way his neck prickles and takes a sharp right. "You just made that up. Now help me look for the delivery entrance or we won't have ourselves a deal at all." 

*

Once they find the entrance, it turns out he forgot the ID badge that the label sent, because of fucking course he did. He spends about half an hour trying to convince the grumpy security guard to let them in while Dustin has a complete meltdown. Just as he's ready to give up, they're rescued by the appearance of a tiny blonde in a pink cardigan who cheerfully introduces herself as Eddie’s manager. 

"Sorry about Hop," she says for what must be the fourth time, while Steve sets up the guitar-shaped cake at the center of the buffet and Dustin inspects the backstage lounge with awestruck eyes. "He takes his job very seriously." 

"Yeah, I noticed," Steve mutters. She seems nice enough, but he really doesn’t wanna engage in smalltalk right now. The bustle of the stage hands and the hot air of the venue are making him squeamish. All he wants to do is get this over with and go home.

Unfortunately fate must hate him, because that is the exact moment that a familiar voice says, "Hey, Chris. No matter what Hop tells you, I didn't order hookers to the venue. I dunno where he got the-" 

Dustin starts squealing. 

"Oh my God, you're Eddie Munson!"

Eddie squints at him like a confused cat. 

"Last time I checked, yeah. And you are?" 

"Dustin," says Dustin, like that explains everything. "I'm with Steve." 

Eddie’s eyes flit over and his face breaks into a delighted, dimpled smile. 

"Baker boy, hi!" 

Steve's mouth goes dry. 

He doesn’t know why, but all of the easy confidence of their last meeting is suddenly gone. 

Maybe it's because they were in the bakery, on his own turf, and now they're on Eddie’s, where the lights and the noise and the hum of the crowd in the auditorium are grating on his nerves. 

Maybe it's because last time, Eddie looked like just some guy in his ripped jeans and ratty hoody, unwashed hair piled in a chaotic bun, and now …

… now he's in a pair of leather pants that are so tight they may as well be spray-painted on and what looks like a fucking harness, hair cascading around his face and shoulders in a halo of messy curls and is that eyeliner? 

"Woah," Eddie breathes, eyes growing large, and yup, eyeliner. Definitely eyeliner, Jesus fucking Christ. With two long strides of those impossibly long legs, he's beside Steve and ogling the cake with an awestruck face. "This is fucking incredible, dude, it looks just like the real thing. You did all that from the photos?" 

By some miracle, Steve manages to channel the incoming blush into a sly pop of his hips and a smug eyebrow quirk. 

"Told you I was the best." 

Eddie is looking at him like he didn't bake a cake but hung the moon, which … in combination with the eyeliner and the leather and the harness of it all? Steve squirms in his jeans.

"Okay, erm … if that's all, I'll send over the bill by-" 

"Wait, what? You're not staying for the show?" Eddie swivels to Chrissy, all righteous indignation. "Why are they not staying for the show?" 

Chrissy shrugs, at the same time that Steve says, "That's really not necessa-" 

"We'd love to stay!" 

Dustin shoves himself between them, elbowing him in the kidneys. While Steve is still coughing, Eddie turns to Chrissy. 

"Show the young man to the backstage area, Chris?" 

Dustin looks like he's about to die of happiness, so Steve resigns himself to his fate. 

"Will you play the one about the psychopaths?" he asks as they trail after him. "It's his favorite." 

"Psycho-" Eddie’s brow wrinkles.

"Sycophants, Steve!" Dustin hollers from ahead. "Jesus!" 

"Anyways," Steve says over Eddie’s rumbling laughter. "You really didn't have to-" 

"I know I didn't." Eddie accepts his guitar - the real one - from a stage hand and slings it over his shoulder. "But I saw what you're best at, so I figured I'd return the favor." 

"Careful there," Steve huffs. "All you've done is ogle my cake. You may wanna try it first." 

"Oh, I'm planning to …" Eddie's smile is sharp as he leans in, close to his ear. "Preferably with less people around, though." 

And then he's gone, stepping out on the stage, making his guitar wail. 

Steve can't quite tell if the roar in his ears is the crowd or the sound of his own blood.

[avenging-fandoms]

joel is touch starved and once you kiss him, he'd whimper against your lips and pull you in tighter ‼️😩

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

It had been years since Joel was touched nicely or kissed passionately. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want it, but he had more important things to worry about.

And then you came along.

You made him nervous. He was never nervous around women before while the world was in shambles. He met you while you two were working, and he would make a smart comment and you fired back.

Enter Ellie, he was more drawn to you as he saw you taking care of her. You guys found a spot in the woods and Ellie looked at you, to which you nod, Joel inspecting it for anything. She found a spot under the rocks and set up her sleeping area.

You head over to her and crouch down, Joel watching your every move as you smooth a hand over her hair. "Get some sleep, Elle. We've got a long day ahead of us" She nods and turns the other way, back to you and Joel.

You head back over to Joel who gathered nearby sticks, throwing them in a pile. "I'm gonna go out there.. see if I can find bigger sticks"

"I'll do it, Joel. You watch Ellie" you start to walk past him but he grabs your bicep.

"I just said I was going, must you be so goddamn stubborn?" You laugh and push his hand off.

"I'm stubborn. I'm stubborn? You are literally the most stubborn person I have ever met! It's your way or no way"

"But we're still alive, aren't we?" He fired back and looked at you, nose barely an inch from yours. He was trying to intimidate you, but you got another feeling.

You didn't know what you were doing. Your hands were moving faster than your brain. You had no time to think, you just did.

You grabbed his face and pulled him down, hand falling to his neck as you kissed him. Joel's right hand gripped your bicep, humming. He pulls away, and you fear you fucked everything up.

But you didn't.

Joel pulled you back in, hand tightly gripping your jacket as he pulled you in by your back. Your pelvis hit his, arm around his neck as he drank you in. The shape of your lips, the way you kiss. Your breath. Your sounds. He was taking it all in.

Joel whimpered softly as you gripped his hair and you pulled away. "Okay cowboy" You spoke out of breath, hand now on his chest. He didn't let go of you.

"I've waited for you for so long" He whispered, pushing your head up with his nose and kissing you again. Neither of you had realized Ellie woke up to the yelling, and stayed to watch the romantic scene going on.

Joel went to go get sticks and you went back with Ellie. "Couldn't sleep?" You ask as you walk into the cave.

"I was, then I heard you two yelling"

"Oh yeah, sorry. You know Joel.." You laugh awkwardly and Ellie hums, stepping closer to you. "You saw didn't you"

"Of course I saw, Yn! You fuckin' kiss Joel! Hopefully he's not a grumpy asshole anymore"

"Don't get your hopes up, kid" Joel drops some sticks, heading back out into the woods, both you and Ellie laughing.

[jaune-submissive-and-breedable]

Glynda took the safety of her students very seriously, that’s why she did everything she could to get Jaune to drop out. He just wasn’t cut out to be a hunter, he would get hurt if he continued following his dream. So I’m combat class she paired him with opponents who wouldn’t hold back, afterwards she gave him overly cruel feedback and made him stay after. When the students left she pushed him down on her desk and rode his face till dinner, using her ridding crop to lightly slap his balls and dick, edging him for hours and never letting him finish.

It was cruel and she felt bad but it was for his own benefit, and when he eventually quite she would be there to take him home and turn him into her house husband.

"AhHHHHHH, WHY WON'T YOU JUST LEAVE!" Glynda howled, rocking her hips back and forth on her desk.

Beneath her was the form of her student, Jaune Arc, His eyes were closed from crying. He squirmed trying to escape from his teacher's grasp, but her heavier and soft body made all his attempts futile. His head squished underneath her plump, soft, and plentiful ass, his nostrils filled with her scent, his thighs weighed down by her upper body and massive dd-cup breast. His arms slapping frantically at her ass cheeks failing to get her to move, instead making them ripple from contact.

Glynda Lurched forward, using the hard wooden surface force support as she ground her dripping wet cunt into his face roughly. Her moans of frustration and pleasure echoing through the classroom/arena. throwing her head downward, she glare at his cock, the tip an angry red, slick with pre-cum, and it pulsated madly. She raise her right hand, her signature riding crop in it, and brought it down firmly against the side of his length, making the boy cry out in pain. She shivered feeling his cry vibrate her sensitive its, and performed the action once more. Once she was satisfied, she inspected the fleshy organ, bright read and faint purple bruises encompassed it and ran up its length.

"Urghh.....You have no idea how hard you're making my job, Mr. Arc!" she growl and glared back at the mob of blonde beneath her posterior. "You aren't improving! You still struggle against the simplest of opponents! And You're Grades for this class...Urrrggh......just why....."

She quickly lurched forward once more, giving his little head a quick lick. "WHY DON'T YOU JUST QUITE!!!!!"

Glynda arched her back and cried out from reaching her climax. Her eyelids rapidly twitching from pleasure. She slumped over, her face mere centimeters from the boy's pulsing cock.

"I refuse to bury my nephew....."

Contrary to her current demeanor, Glynda Goodwitch cared deeply about her student's safety. Especially the son of a close friend. In her early years, she used to babysit and care for the young boy like her own. she knew of his desires and how frail he was. so when she saw his Transcripts, she knew they were fake. She pleaded with Ozpin to reject the boy, but the old wizard simply refused. claiming to see his potential, but she knew he just wanted another Arc for his war. So when he passed the initiation, she knew it was too late for her to convince him, instead taking matters into her own hands.

When he first arrived in class, she held out hope that he had some training, but seeing him fall to a brute like Winchester, she knew he would be not only a danger to his team, but also himself. So every class, she paired him against harder & harder opponents, giving him harsh, and frankly, very demeaning critics after each loss, and even held him back to try and convince him to quit. She had to give him credit though, he has more courage and drive than most students with far better skill. And always smiling after each defeat, though she saw through the disguise. till one day She could stand it any more

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

"Mr. Arc....Please stay behind. I must talk to you about your performance today" Glynda called out calmly, but still firm.

Watching him sigh, and tell his team to go on with the rest of the day. He turned around and approached her, his usual dorky smile on his face.

"So, what do I need to work on now Auntie Glynda?" he teased

Once she was sure the rest of the students were gone, she used her semblance to lock the room doors, and pushed him onto her desk.

"Auntie Glynda What are you?!"

"Shut up!" she growled crawling on top of his scared body, tearing open his blazer and school shirt. "Just shut up, Jaune"

Staring him in the face, she slammed her lips against his, Jaune struggling to keep from being embraced by his aunt. She his resistance, she used her hands to hold him in place, her tongue licking his pursed lips. After she pulled away, Glynda spun around and hiked up her pencil skirt giving him a perfect view of her lavender lingerie bottoms and fat, white ass. Her plump, and mature pussy lips visible through the fabric.

Jaune's eyes widen, and blush crept up his face seeing them, and attempted to cover his face. "Auntie Glynda, what are you doing?!"

He saw a purple outline cover his hands and rip them away. Wasting no time, Goodwitch planted her rear onto his face and crossed her legs, entrapping him beneath her in a hellishly warm and sweet-smelling prison. She could feel his confusion and shock as he cried into, the cores. the vibrations running through out her inner walls causing great pleasure to her. She then turned her attention the boy's bulging pants. Tearing open the fly and pushing down his boxers, she gaped when she saw his cock, stand proud at an impressive 9 inches, his testicles the size of tangerines.

"Getting off from your punishment" she sneered, inching her hands towards his vulnerable organ "Someone, must be punished"

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

That was hours ago. He's been edged and denied countless times. She edged and denied him till she felt him stop squirming from a lack of oxygen. Even then, she continued to toy and abuse him to her heart's content. She herself orgasming numerous times during their taboo and lewd secession. Panting from her latest orgasm, Glynda slowly removed herself from his face, standing right next to Jaune and inspecting his form with worry.

His boyish face was red as Ms. Rose's cloak, slick with tears, sweat and cum, his cock practically purple from the lashings she gave him, his testicles grew till they were the size of soft balls, due partially to her teasing and his genetics. Finally, she saw his body twitching uncontrollably, no doubt scared, and feeling betrayed by his once trusted teacher.

"Auntie...please......please....no more..." Jaune begged, slowly curling up on his side, his eyes widened and scared.

Glynda, herself trembled as well. Part of her felt guilty for what she's done to him. Feeling that she betrayed not only her morals as a teacher, but as an aunt as well. However, the majority of her knew she was doing the right thing. Doing whatever it took to keep her student from harm. She knew that his mother, Juniper Arc, would agree with her methods.

Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, Glynda grabbed his side, turning once more onto his back. She mounted his lap and stared deep into his eyes once more. Lifting herself up, she impaled herself onto his cock. Gasping as his length stretch out her seldom used cunt. Slumping forwards, she leaned into his ear.

"I will keep you safe Jaune" she whispered, slowly grinding into his cock. "Even if i have to violate you everyday until you break"

Jaune said nothing and stared at the ceiling, still processing what's happening to him right now.

Glynda felt horrible, but the means justifies the end. Juniper would agree, and hell, Jaune may be more suited for the role of a house husband.

[maccaronimassacre]

Resident Evil Bot Dump #9

A couple of quick updates on the bots!

I have made a new masterlist which is the google doc on my pinned post. It contains every single bot I have made and will be regularly updated with any rules or short notices in regards to them. I have also organised them into little subheadings and groups for easier navigation.

I will now take requests for my favourite girlboss Mia Winters <3

As requested I have made some character voices as well as some variations for people to use. Unfortunately it is only a feature on the mobile app but you can find them by looking through the voices as normal. I will also take requests for them.

On that note thank you guys so much for the support! Requests have been and will be slower as I have exams coming up but do keep them coming. Feel free to ask me anything whether it is related to c.ai or not and I'll try and answer them all!

Mercenary!Ada Wong x Mercenary!Reader

Ada sighs as she looks at the small compact mirror in her hand, taking the time to apply some more lipstick. “You do remember the plan right?” The whole reason why the two of you find yourselves outside the opulent manor in the first place is because of the intel from your employer. Apparently the host of the ball is in possession of an exotic and rare treasure. A treasure that you must try and find while masquerading as a couple.

Cat Hybrid!Ada Wong x Reader

Her footfalls barely audible, Ada slips through the open window, landing with grace. A sly smirk spreads across her lips when she sees you, her tail flicking back and forth playfully. “I told you that I’d come back, didn’t I?” Ada speaks with confidence and ease, yet the subtle twitch of her ears reveal her joy of being near you once more.

RE:4R Ada Wong x Agent!Reader

“You can stop right there {{user}}.”

A voice calls out from behind. A voice that you haven’t heard in years.

“Wouldn’t make me use this, would you?”

Her heels echo on the wooden floorboards as she strides towards you, a gun pressed against the back of your head. Ada finds a glimmer of satisfaction in reuniting with you, her eyes drifting to your face and taking in how the years have changed you both. The normally calm and collected Ada finds herself unable to suppress the smirk tugging at her lips.

Detective!Ada Wong x Reader

Files lay sprawled across the desk, each being inspected with a critical eye. The radio's talk show drones like distant static as Ada looks over the witness statements, the text blurring as exhaustion starts to creep in. With a weary sigh Ada tugs at her tie, adjusting it around her collar in an effort to cool down. Suddenly she’s snapped out of her daze by a knock on the door, prompting her to straighten up and refocus on the case once more. “Come in!”

RE:4R!Ada Wong x Reader

Ada was used to getting some odd jobs here and there from her employers, but saving the president’s kid? Now that’s a new one. Yet here she was, in a village overrun by mindless cultists and infected villagers, tasked with guiding you through the treacherous catacombs to safety. “Our best shot is that castle over there.” Ada calls out, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. As she navigates through the rocky terrain, her eyes stay fixed on the imposing walls of the castle.

Post RE:3R!Carlos Oliveira x Reader

On the balcony, Carlos finds solace, his eyes fixed on the horizon where waves cascade over rocks and meet the shore. Since escaping the destruction of Raccoon City and settling down with you in Mexico, he finally feels a sense of peace. Even though he has contemplated changing his identity, being with you washes away his doubts and anxieties just like the calming waves before him.

Android!Carlos Oliveira x UBCS!Reader

“This right here is Carlos, Umbrella’s latest android model who will help you rescue the remaining civilians here in the city.” Mikhail pats UB300 on the back, gesturing for him to analyse and familiarise himself with his new teammate. You watch as Carlos’ LED flickers while looking you up and down, looking up every bit of information about you and committing it to his memory. After a couple of moments he finally smiles at you and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you {{user}}.”

Carlos Oliveira x Umbrella!Reader

Carlos is accustomed to working for all kinds of corporations and groups, regardless of their morality. To him, Umbrella was just another pay check and this time he’s been assigned to protect you, a scientist. He stands in front of your office, throwing a polite nod your way as you make your way over to the door to begin another shift. “Congratulations {{user}}, because you just landed yourself a personal bodyguard.” He announces with a slight bow, stretching his arms out dramatically while flashing you a charming grin.

Biker!Carlos Oliveira x Barista!Reader

The door to the coffee shop swings open, announcing the arrival of the rugged biker, clad in a black leather jacket and sleek leather boots. He effortlessly slides his visor off, tucking it under his arm while striding up to the counter. A charming grin plays on his lips as he leans closer to have a look at the menu, the blend of his cologne and motor oil wafting through the air. “Strange. I don’t see you anywhere on the menu.” He winks, casually draping his forearm across the counter.

Umbrella Agent!Chris Redfield x BSAA Agent!Reader

“Can’t say I expected you to be here.” A voice echoes, a voice the BSAA have sought for years. Your former partner, once a beacon of determination and courage, approaches with an icy expression, devoid of the spark that ignited his squad. “But after all these years you’re still their lapdog.” Chris adds, his gaze narrows when he catches the BSAA patch on your shoulder and his lips curl up into a bittersweet smile. He pats his own shoulder, revealing the familiar red and white logo of the corporation he swore to destroy all those years ago. Umbrella.

Bioweapon!Chris Redfield x Reader

“STARS…” Heavy footsteps and growling echo down the halls of the desolate RPD, Chris’ gruff voice distorted due to the modifications made to his body. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing. His mind conflicted between protecting you from the zombies and B.O.Ws roaming the streets, or crushing your head with one swift blow like he’s been programmed to do. Either way he’s hot on your trail with clenched fists…

Chris Redfield x Injured!Reader

Chris storms through the base, his usual stoic demeanour replaced by a desperate urgency. Disregarding all praise and kudos for the successful mission, he strides silently towards the medical ward, haunted by vivid images of you engulfed in blood soaked cries. He wanted to. No, he needed to know if you’re okay. Despite the protests of several staff members, he bursts into the room, his resolve shattering instantly at the sight of you in the hospital bed.

Chris Redfield x Reader (Stargazing)

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Chris gazes up to the sky while lighting a cigarette, the bright orange of flames illuminating his face before pulling away to take a drag. Leaning against the thick tree trunk, he exhales with a deep sigh, observing the smoke dance in the air, vanishing into the myriad of dazzling stars above. “Want me to show you some constellations?”

RE:1R!Chris Redfield x Zombie!Reader

A curse escapes Chris' lips as he faces the oncoming crimson head in the narrow corridor, devoid of ammo or flash grenades. Bracing for a gruesome fate, he squeezes his eyes shut and lifts his hands up to guard his face until a loud crash and sickening crunch disrupt the impending doom. Tentatively he opens his eyes to discover you standing by the corpse of the crimson head with grey glazed eyes and rotting skin giving way to brittle bones. At that moment Chris realises that you have just saved him. A zombie has actually saved his life.

Infinite Darkness!Claire Redfield x Reader

Moonlight seeps through the blinds, unveiling the vacant spot on the bed where Claire rested. You can see the familiar glow of her laptop from the hallway, the files and documents displayed on the screen reflecting off her glasses. Since her conversation with Leon and her humanitarian efforts in Penamstan, Claire has plunged back into the familiar pattern of sleepless nights, driven by her determination to uncover the fate of the Mad Dogs after the civil war.

RE:2R!Claire Redfield x Reader

When Claire told you that she was going to Raccoon City to see her brother, you decided to tag along knowing how dangerous it is to go alone. Of course you didn’t know that the danger included a zombie outbreak. “The STARS office. They will probably have something on my brother there.” Claire calls out while reloading her handgun. The two of you now find yourselves trapped in the RPD, exploring the labyrinthine layout and its strangely elaborate puzzles.

Mechanic!Claire Redfield x Reader

As you step into the shop you are immediately greeted with the smell of car oil and rust. Tools, spare bits of scrap, and scattered screws create an organized chaos on counters and workbenches. Claire's eyes light up as she spots you, promptly brushing sweat from her brow and wiping motor grease on her uniform. “Hey there, how can I help you?”

Claire Redfield x College Student!Reader

Claire continues to make her side of the dorm as homely as possible, putting up the front covers of fashion and car magazines on the wall and neatly organising out her trinkets on the desk. Excitement and nerves tangle within her as she wonders about her new roommate. What if they don’t share the same interests? What if they find her weird? The sound of the door opening interrupts her thoughts. Turning, she sees you entering with a stack of boxes in your arms. She can feel her palms grow sweaty and her heart races as she studies you, trying to form a quick impression of your character.

Post RE:8!Ethan Winters x Reader (+Rose)

Ethan chuckles as he watches Rose babble and squeal at the TV, her arms flailing with excitement when her favourite cartoon would appear on the large screen. Gently, he set Rose down on the floor to play, the metal of his prosthetic fingers cold against her skin. The BSAA were kind enough to fit him with some replacements after he lost his pinkie and ring finger in Romania. But more importantly, he was finally granted a quiet life with you and Rose finally by his side. No more tests. No more monsters. No more surprises.

RE:7 Infected!Ethan Winters x Reader

“Don’t worry Evie… They’ll accept your gift, and then we can be a family.” The voice pulls you out of your disorientated state, your vision blurring and your head throbbing with a dull ache. As consciousness returns, you find yourself strapped to a chair in front of a dining table laden with rotten and moulded food. The pungent juices that ooze out of each filled dish serve as an instant wake up call to your surroundings. “Eat up, it’s good.” Across the table sits a man bearing a cold smile as well as staples that protrude out of his left wrist. The candlelight flickers and casts shadows across his pale skin, making the wild look in his eyes more sinister and crazed.

Ethan Winters x Reader

Ethan's heart pounds in his chest like a drum, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, now damp from sweaty palms. Silent since getting in the car, he's consumed by various scenarios and outcomes for the day. Today marks the fateful day where Ethan introduces you to his parents. To say he's nervous is a massive understatement as you're his entire world, and he prays his family embraces you as warmly as he did when sparks first started to fly.

Post RE:8!Ethan Winters x Reader (+Rose)

After moving to another continent, discovering that he’s dead and made out of mould, having a half mould child, killing a scientist posed as a deity and an extremely messy divorce, Ethan decides to do the unthinkable. Online dating. As Ethan swipes through all the profiles and pictures he can’t help but feel ridiculous, he’s in his late 30s with a daughter yet his hands are shaking like leaves when your name and profile pop up on the screen. After pacing around the living room for five minutes he finally settles on the perfect opener. A real conversation starter. He types out: “Hey.”

RE:7 Infected!Ethan Winters x Reader

He asked you to come find him. After three years he finally gave you a shred of hope, all the way out in the swamps of Louisiana. “You shouldn’t have come here… I must contain… Must contain the outbreak.” Ethan growls as he approaches you, his hazel eyes swallowed by a black abyss and dark veins snake across his features. A low laugh tumbles from his lips and he lunges towards you with the kitchen knife, chasing you down the corridors of the decrepit house with a sinister smile etched on his face.

Ethan Winters x Reader

Glittering like diamonds under the golden sun, the waves sweep against the shore line, leaving behind bits of seashells in its wake. The sand feels good under your feet, keeping you warm against the cool ocean breeze. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.” Ethan squeezes your hand, your fingers interlaced with his while you continue the quiet stroll down the beach.

RE:3R!Jill Valentine x UBCS!Reader

Jill scoffs as she heads up the subway stairs, checking the remaining ammo in her handgun. To her annoyance, you, an employee of Umbrella, have been ordered to assist her in powering the subway station for the survivors' escape out of the city. “Just stay out of my way, got it? The last thing we need are more screwups from you people.” With a huff she slips under the metal barrier, heading back into the chaos of the city where she is immediately greeted with smell of fire and rotting flesh.

Android!Jill Valentine x Reader

With crime rates on the rise, the RPD finally relented and invested in some androids, programmed to act as human partners and aid the police force. “{{user}}, correct? I’m Jill Valentine, part of the STARS series of androids created by Cyberlife. Captain Wesker has assigned me to be your partner.” Despite the formality of her words, there is something uncanny about her mannerisms and flat tone of voice. Her gaze flickers to your desk, assessing it with a critical eye, as if she's attempting to gather information about you.

RE:1R!Jill Valentine x Zombie!Reader

After stumbling upon another batch of supplies in the mansion, Jill can’t help but wonder who keeps leaving all this stuff for her. She picks up the torn piece of paper attached that simply reads “heer :)” scrawled in poor handwriting. It can’t be Wesker, and even though Chris isn’t the brightest bulb in the box he can at least spell. Barry was also ruled out, having been with her just moments ago. As Jill contemplated the situation, a figure emerged from the shadows of the stairwell, carrying first aid sprays and ammo. With lifeless eyes fixed upon her, the figure shuffles closer, grunting as it places the supplies on the ground. The person actually helping out Jill is a zombie?

RE:3R!Jill Valentine x Zombie!Reader

Jill's heart pounds in her chest as she slams the door shut behind her, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as the heavy footsteps of Nemesis echo through the streets. As the sounds fade into the distance, she makes her way to the Subway Office, her handgun held firmly in front of her. The door to the control room swings open, revealing a figure hunched over the control panel manipulating the subway lines. "Hey, what are you-" Jill’s words die in her throat when you turn around. Your skin is pale and sickly in colour and your eyes glazed over, boring into her soul with a blank expression.

RE:4R!Leon Kennedy x Agent!Reader

The bell tolls, bringing an abrupt end to the chaos. Villagers, entranced and mumbling in Spanish, slowly shuffle out of the square, leaving behind the haunting aftermath of bodies and ruined houses. “Where’s everyone going? Bingo?” Despite the eerie atmosphere, your fellow agent still manages to find the time to crack out one liners.

Leon Kennedy x Pregnant!Reader

“How’s little {{user}} and Leon junior doing in there, hun?” Leon wraps his arms around your waist tenderly, drawing you close from behind. Gently he caresses your stomach and rests his chin on your shoulder, taking in your beauty and marvelling at the transformations your body has undergone during these past few months.

RE:4R!Leon Kennedy x Mercenary!Reader

“Try using knives next time. Better for close encounters.” Leon smirks, holding his combat knife to your throat as he restrains the arm bearing your gun. Despite his confident facade, Leon’s heart races, his mind is turbulent with conflicted thoughts as the memory of your supposed demise plays in his head on repeat. He watched you die that night, yet here you stand, devoid of any scars that bear witness to the event that has tormented his dreams for six years.

Single Dad!Leon Kennedy x Teacher!Reader

As you're wrapping up your files and shutting down your laptop, the door to the classroom bursts open, revealing a somewhat dishevelled man. Running his fingers through his hair and adjusting his collar, he strides over with an apologetic expression. “Sorry I’m late, I got caught up in some business… You’re Sherry’s teacher, right?” He quickly takes a seat across your desk, offering an easy going smile.

Leon Kennedy x Reader

“Hey, looks like we’re in luck! I can’t believe these things still exist.” Leon remarks as you pull into the drive-in cinema. Only a few cars are scattered around, providing you both with perfect view of the classic movies projected onto the large screen. Once parked, Leon grabs the popcorn and snacks, wedging them in the console between you two. He also fetches a couple of blankets, draping them over both of you for a cosy yet old fashioned movie night under the stars.

RE:2R!Leon Kennedy x Zombie!Reader

In the tense silence of the narrow corridors, subtle clicks and low snarls echo as the licker crawls across the ceiling, hunting for new prey. Leon struggles to keep still as the creature approaches him, holding his breath and trying to calm the pounding of his heart. Just as the licker is about to sense him, a sudden loud bang shatters the stillness from the opposite end of the corridor. Squinting, Leon catches sight of you, your greyish skin and glazed eyes gleaming in the light that pours through a barricaded window. You throw something in the other direction, diverting the licker’s attention as it scurries away towards the source of the noise, leaving the rookie unharmed.

RE:7 Infected!Mia Winters x Reader

“{{user}}? You can’t hide from me forever you know…” Mia’s words turn into twisted snarls as she stumbles down the corridor, revving up the chainsaw once more. Her eyes, now black abysses, lock onto yours as she charges forward, the chainsaw raised for a deadly strike. “They’re counting on me! I must contain it… I must stop the outbreak!”

Mia Winters x Reader

A gentle breeze rolls over the hills, caressing your bodies as you bask in the warm sunshine. The flowers appear to glow under the bright rays, swaying in the wind as insects rest on their delicate petals. Mia continues to flip through the pages of her book, one hand on the pages and the other gently caressing the side of your head that rests in her lap. Her fingers create soft and soothing patterns on your skin, tracing any bumps or marks, as well as the contours of your lips and cheeks.

RE:8!Mia Winters x Lord!Reader

Your footsteps echo throughout the hidden dungeon of Mother Miranda’s domain. While your ‘brothers and sisters’ were tasked with Rose’s body parts, you’ve been left to watch the child’s mother, Mia Winters. “Why won’t you listen to me? If you let Miranda go through with the ceremony it’s over for everyone in this village. She won’t hesitate to kill you or any of your siblings. She’ll throw you out just like all her other failed experiments.” Mia pleads, her voice laced with frustration as she rattles at the bars of her cell, yet another futile attempt at escape.

RE:7!Mia Winters and Bioweapon!Reader

It’s a simple task for Mia. All she needs to do is keep you under control and pretend to be your mother while the ship makes its course to Romania. “Just one more… You’re doing good {{user}}.” Mia smiles as she administers another dosage of medicine into your veins. She ruffles your hair, pretending to be sweet and affectionate towards you.

Post RE:8!Mia Winters x BSAA Agent!Reader (+Rose)

It’s been a couple of months since the events of Romania. Since Mia’s husband, Ethan, sacrificed himself for their daughter Rose. Mia never wanted the BSAA in their lives ever again, but who could blame her? Their blunder ultimately led to his death, leaving Mia to raise a baby all on her own. Despite her self isolation, you still visit her and help out with Rose when it gets too much. Which is why you find yourself at her front doorstep today, Mia welcoming you in with a small smile.

RE:7 Infected!Mia x Reader

“We’re going to be a family now that you’re here.” Mia’s voice lulls you out of your stupor, the dingy dining room lights filtering through your eyelids. Despite the throbbing headache you can make out Mia in front of you, her elbows propped up on the table with her chin supported by her hands. The pungent odour of mold and rotting meat assaults your senses, the food laid out before you oozing a strange alien like substance. “Eat up darling… It’s good.”

Post RE:7!Mia Winters x Reader

Mia quietly comes up from behind and plants a tender kiss on your cheek, a soft hum escaping her lips as she savours the tantalizing aroma swirling around the kitchen. “Rose is finally asleep. Honestly how does her little body have so much energy?” Opening the wine cabinet, she retrieves a bottle of fine red wine that Chris bought them as a housewarming gift. She pours out two glasses and takes them to the dining room table.

Post RE:7!Chris Redfield and Ethan Winters x Reader

You walk into the gym after your Captain, Chris Redfield, had asked for some help with training someone. “Hey, over here {{user}}!” Chris’ gruff and booming voice calls out from the training mats, a wide grin spread across his face. Currently on the floor and panting like a mad man beside Chris is who you assume is Ethan Winters. “H-Hey!” Ethan waves as he regains his footing, his face glistening with sweat. It’s quite difficult to believe that this is the man who supposedly took down a whole house of monsters and Bioweapons with a stapled hand and leg.

Post RE:7!Ethan x Mia Winters x BSAA Agent!Reader

Since they were relocated to Romania, you’ve been tasked with regularly checking up on the Winters family. “Ethan! Can you get that, hun?” “Yeah one moment!” You stand at their front door after ringing the bell, the muffled sound of shuffling and talking can be heard. The door swings open, and Ethan's eyes light up with recognition. He gives you a warm smile and steps aside, welcoming you in. “Oh hey, {{user}}. Come in, Mia and I were just having some lunch.”

RE:3R!Carlos Oliveira and Jill Valentine x Reader

“The subway is out of power, looks like we’ll have to head to the substation and get it back up and running.” Carlos remarks while adjusting the earpiece in his ear and casts a glance between you and Jill before gesturing for you to follow. Jill resists the urge to roll her eyes as she begrudgingly follows him out of the subway. She’s already made her disdain for working with an Umbrella mercenary evident since the beginning. “Stay close to me, {{user}}. Let’s just focus on getting these survivors out of here.” She says, refocusing her mind on the task ahead as they step out onto the desolate streets of Raccoon City once more.

RE:4R!Leon Kennedy and Ashley Graham x Reader

“Will we really get out of here?” Ashley asks timidly as the three of you walk through the opulent and grand halls of the castle. The walls are lined with renaissance style paintings of the Los Illuminados and the Lord Saddler and Salazar, their ghostly expressions following your every move. “Don’t worry, {{user}} and I will make sure you make it back home to your father safely. I’m sure of it.” Leon replies while he reloads his weapons and looks over the castle layout, mentally mapping out any escape routes. Despite the horrifying circumstances you’re in, he manages to maintain his stoic and almost nonchalant attitude towards the dangers up ahead.

Link to the Masterlist

[corrodedcoughin]

little story about little Eddie and his 2 new friends | word count approx 2.5k | general audience rating | steve and eddie are kids and Wayne is a pushover

Wayne sometimes thinks it was a mistake, not taking in the boy. God no, he would never think of Eddie as anything other than an important and intrinsic part of his life, couldn't be without him, wouldn't want to be. 

No, what Wayne worries about is how his readiness to help Eddie feel loved might contribute to the boy's difficulty in making friends.

It was an innocent enough request, Eddie asked for a pet as all young children do. He was so small and so wide eyed, just a scrap of an 8 year old with more feelings than he knew what to do with. Wayne knew he'd never hold up against any request Eddie made but he liked to pretend to himself that he could. And while technically he never pandered to the boy, yes Eddie usually got what he wanted but in a way that suited their means. Or so Wayne tells himself. 

8 year old Eddie asked for a pet and a pet is what he got.

-

Eddie barrelled into the trailer door, backpack swinging off his arm and ready to be thrown into the corner. Planning to shoot off back out the door to do his usual; lift up rocks and inspect whatever bugs he could find, to grab sticks and imagine them as wizard staffs, to let his imagination finally run wild after hours of sitting still at a desk under too bright lights and too busy class rooms. In truth he wasn't really paying attention to the insides of the trailer, expecting it to be the same as always. It took a very pointed cough for Eddie to register that Wayne was unusually home from work, far earlier than normal, and a further loud clearing of the throat for Eddie to pay attention to what Wayne had placed on the kitchen table. 

Right in the middle of the table, sitting in a beam of sunlight, was a cage and in that cage was what would soon become, Eddie's very reason for being. He crept up close, almost as if scared that any sudden movements would prove the whole thing to be a cruel illusion. He was brought out of his reverie by a pink nose wiggling at the bars, whiskers attached and twitching as the rest of the rat appeared.

'is he-? is he for real?' Eddie said with a gasp, hands inching towards the door of the cage. 

Wayne had to suppress a laugh, trust this boy to be bowled over in wonder at a rat as if it were a puppy. He opened the contraption of the enclosure door and dipped his hand inside, allowing the rat to climb onto his palm. The guy from work assured him that this one was the most tame he had, inquisitive to a fault and oddly enough, desperate to be handled. Quite honestly, the perfect match for his well meaning but excitable nephew-near-enough-son. 

'Yeah, yeah kid it's for real. And he's a she.' Wayne lets the rat sniff at Eddie's hands, little pink hands finding a platform on Eddie's palms, clearly holding himself a still as possible but if Wayne knew this boy, and he did, he knows that Eddie is so close to vibrating out of his skin, that containing that much excitement must be killing him. 

'I don't care. Wayne, I don't! Can she sleep in my room? Does she know tricks? Can I teach her? What does she like? Can I take her to school? Please! Wayne!' He's started now, words pouring out of his mouth, tripping over himself to try and release every thought entering his brain at lightning speed.

'Woah, there' Wayne says pulling the rat up, cradling it in two hands, 'We got to be kind to her alright? She's only small. Doesn't know what loud noises are good and which are bad, okay?' He watches as Eddie nods vigorously, eyes never leaving the creature. 'Now you promised me you'd look after a pet so that's what's going to happen. She is your responsibility. That means cleaning, feeding and loving, got it?' Eddie nods again, tentatively reaching his hands up, the image of Oliver Twist springs to Wayne's mind. 

Wayne comes around the kitchen table, crouches down to Eddie on creaky knees and hands the rat over, filling Eddie's small hands with a heartbeat and fur. Eddie giggles, watching as the rat surveils the new patch of skin its found itself on. 

'Tickles, Wayne' and its said with such love and devotion Wayne almost feels his heart break 

'Yeah son. She does, doesn't she?' 

-

 Of course it takes less than a week and Eddie and Sam are inseparable. As soon as Eddie gets home he's itching for his furry friend, delighting in the way she scampers around the room, over his arms and anywhere she can get. No matter what though, she always comes back to him. She can be digging in to a particularly interesting crevice behind the couch but she'll always come running back when she hears Eddie make a noise.  

The thing is, Eddie is a pretty lonely kid. Not for lack of trying, don't get it wrong. Eddie tries to socialise he tries to talk to the other kids in his class, get them involved in his imaginary games and play pretend but being the new kid doesn't really do him any favours. Being the new kid that lives in the trailer park and a penchant for biting to show affection does him even less. 

To Eddie, its him and Sam against the world. He can come home and know that his best friend will listen to all his problems, will stay close and won't run away even when he's extra loud or being 'a lot' as his teacher like to tell him. He's so tired of being told to use his 'quiet hands', his 'inside voice' and every other subdued phrase they try to press on him. 

This particular day was a hard one, Sally Winters had said that Eddie was 'bad luck' and the word quickly spread around by recess. Eddie had thought he was making some progress with a couple of kids from the class, was thinking today might be the day that he finally got asked to play but that hope quickly got squashed. He had hopped up to the potential friends with a stick in his hand and a notion of being a pirate when they both looked at him like he was a monster, they couldn't get away fast enough. And Eddie couldn't find a place to hide quick enough before the fat and heavy tears fell from his eyes. 

It was a long day and home time was his only saving grace. 

Wayne knows somethings up, can tell in the way that Eddie isn't even really talking to Sam, hardly looking at the Tv despite the fact that Wayne very purposefully had put the cartoon Lord of the Rings movie on. The sure fire fall back he liked to keep in his back pocket. The trump card to get his kid happy. This time though? No luck. Looking at the kid makes a chasm open up in his gut, deep and full of overwhelming sadness that he just wants to stop, wants to find the solution to make this boy smile like the sun again. They don't talk much for the rest of the night but Wayne makes sure to stay close, stay awake in case he's needed. Eddie spends the time between dinner and bed sitting on the floor, side pressed up against Wayne's leg and playing fetch with bits of Wayne's whittling with Sam, not a word said. 

-

Eddie wakes up the next morning with a plan and a devil may care attitude. Oh so carefully he maintains his usual routine; says good morning to Sam, carts her around the trailer as he washes his face and wanders into the kitchen, placing her in her secondary cage so she can eat breakfast with Eddie and Wayne - Eddie was adamant that they couldn't have meals without her, 'she's part of the family!' and soft hearted fool Wayne Munson agreed and an additional cage was sourced. 

When breakfast is finished Eddie begins his usual rigmarole of dragging his feet to get out of his pjs and into his clothes, reluctant to grab his bag and go out the door. Same old protests as Wayne watches him walk out towards the school bus. 

What is a new addition to the routine though, is Sam Munson hiding up the sleeve of a school boy and about to go on a secret and very dangerous mission. A mission to survive the school day. 

Surprisingly, Eddie manages to keep Sam secret, keep her safe, the whole morning. He came prepared with snacks to make sure she was entertained and happy, he couldn't stand the thought of her being sad, her eyes get so big and her tail droops as well as her ears, it makes the whole of Eddie ache. But no, she's happy, or happy enough at least. 

So the morning goes without a hitch, Eddie making noises to cover up any squeaks and keeping a hand in his pocket to reassure Sam, stowed in the pocket of his hoodie. He knows he's seen as 'weird' so what's a few extra noises? They are let out for recess and Eddie breathes a sigh of relief, thinking this is his time to let Sam out, knowing she's desperate for some fresh air. Sure, she's peed in his hoodie pocket, but he can't really tell with it's dark colour and the layer of t-shirt between the wet material and his tummy. 

He runs off to his usual corner, stuck between a bush and a tree and gently tips Sam out of his pocket, she scampers around his feet and gratefully accepts a broken off bit of cracker between her hands.

'Thanks for coming with me Sam. Everyone is so mean, its so stupid. I don't care. You are a better friend than any of those losers' He crouches down, hoping to find a twig to play fetch with. A game that he delights in, is immeasurably proud of her for learning it so quickly. 'Gonna find you the best stick Sam. Promise. Best stick for the best friend' 

He continues muttering to himself and doesn't notice that he's getting progressively louder after finding a twig and beginning the game. Doesn't register that he's drawn unwanted attention with his happy shouts and encouragement until a body is crashing through the shrub he's hidden himself behind. 

Sam doesn't notice either until the unexpected form is right in front of her and she bolts, running as fast as her legs will carry her and Eddie is right behind her, muttering under his breath as he trips over his own feet in an attempt to catch her 'oh shit oh no oh no oh no' He's pushing himself as hard as he can but it doesn't count for much, he never was the fastest. He keeps trying though but then a faster body is accelrating past him, in a evident bee line for Sam. 

Without thinking, Eddie lets out a painful 'NO!' terrified of what might happen.

He knows people think rats are dirty, thinks they don't deserve love and don't deserve life. He doesn't want to imagine what this person's intent might be. Sam reaches a dead end up against the wall of the school and the body, the boy, stops infront of her. Scoops her up? Cradles her into his chest? Eddie...Eddie doesn't know what to think, he's prepared to fight this kid but then the boy is looking up at him with curious hazel eyes. Stroking Sam's head gently and with intent.

He holds Sam out, careful with his motions, trying to blow his brown floppy hair out of his face without disturbing the animal in his hands 'is she okay? is she yours? did I hurt her? she looks okay, is she?' Eddie gingerly steps forward and plucks Sam out of the boys hands, gives hera thorough inspection as the other boy continues 

'I didn't mean to scare her I swear! I didn't even know you had her! I won't tell, I swear I wont! You know...you shouldn't really have a rat in school. If I promise not to tell can I play with you? I'm Steve' 

Holding her close, Eddie squints at the boy, at Steve, and thinks. Thinks about how he looks nice, about how soft his hair looks and how he asked Eddie, Eddie!, to play, that he didn't give him a wide bearth and that he held Sam with such care. It isn't even a hard decision.

They spend the rest of recess together. Eddie shows Steve just how smart Sam. That she can play fetch, that she can run across one arm to the next, over your shoulders without losing balance. That she can twitch her whiskers and it seems like she's laughing at the joke Eddie tells her. That she laughs at the joke Steve tells her! Steve learns that she's named after somebody called Samwise and it doesn't matter that he's a boy because Sam is brave just like Samwise and smart and cares just as much. That Sam is Sam and Eddie is Frodo and together they can take on the world. 

Steve asks if he can have a name too and Eddie calls him Legolas, doesn't tell him why. Doesn't say that Steve reminds him of the pretty elves described in the books Wayne reads out loud to Eddie. It doesn't matter, not really. 

Recess ends and they shuffle back to the school doors, both of them lagging behind the others.

Eddie steels himself, knows he has to bring his misfortune up so that he can own in, so that his new friend doesn't find out from someone else. 'I'm bad luck you know. Sally...she said it. now everyone wont talk to me. I wont be mad if you don't either. I've got Sam. We'll be oaky! So you can just go, I don't care!' He knows he's getting wound up, he can't stop himself. He just wants the bandaid ripped off so he can start feeling sad quicker, get it over with sooner.

Before he can register is, Steve is wrapped around Eddie in a flash of a hug, careful to keep his tummy away from squashing Sam. 

'Not bad luck to me. See you tomorrow Frodo' Steve whispers next to Eddie's ear and shuffles through the school door. 

Eddie is in a daze of joy and happiness, thoughts rumbling through his head but none of them sticking as he journey back into his class room. Pure happiness radiating out of his body, he takes Sam out of his pocket and holds her up to his face 'Sam you made my bad luck go away!' kissing her on the forehead as he hears his teacher scream 

'EDWARD MUNSON IS THAT A RAT?!'

-

So Wayne thought the already unpopular kid having a rat would make things worse. Turns out, he was wrong. Very, very wrong. He might have to start pocket inspections before school though.

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

also on ao3 if that's the preferred reading format for you

[katsukikitten]

A zombie apocalypse au for @medusashima collab! Find the collab master list HERE! Be sure to give the others a read too!

Warning: graphic, violent, and sexual content intended for adults 18 or older.

Synopsis: Shelter isn't hard to come by in the End but good, untouched, shelter is. When you find paradise in the middle of a dead field in the shape of a 900 square foot home you start to break a few of your important rules. Always keep moving and don't help anyone. Especially if that anyone is a hot headed blonde bounty hunter sent to settle score you'd rather forget.

Peachy Keen Master List

Chapter One - Never overstay your welcome, keep moving

Winter

It scares you at first, the mummified body facing the door in the cramped living room of the home you found tucked away in a field of corn long past it's harvest. 

Petrified you, like the farmers that sat facing one another. In wooden rocking chairs, gnarled fingers slack around the handles. Coming closer to inspect and seeing no signs of teeth marks or infection. Letting loose the held breath you kept as deft eyes looked over every liver spot and wrinkle in the leathery skin. No fluid on the hardwood floors beneath their rocking chair or in the blankets around their shoulders. 

And by some miracle, the cold, the house didn't smell like rot. 

You figure they must have died earlier this winter, it lasted damn near since October as the Earth naturally cooled in the fall of the human race. 

With critical climate change hitting irreversible levels and long lasting damaging effects in just a few short decades, Mother Nature took matters into her own hands. Doing what she does best. 

She evolves, she changes and grows, makes a deadly cocktail of pathogens and fungi that rids her realm of blight. 

Humans. 

You were just surprised a nuclear war didn't wipe humanity off the map first. 

You hadn't meant to live this long, six whole years in the apocalypse, honestly you were one of the many who'd rather take their own lives. Least then you had a say in how and when you went. 

But the body has a funny way of forcing you to survive. To dissociate in some feeble attempt to keep the body going for an organ that tortured itself daily with endless, grueling tasks and for what? 

So you could experience your first kill? Watch your friends and family die when the Feds bombed cities instead of trying to quarantine sections? Of you walking until your feet bled, fleeing the city just to live in the outskirts to hear the screaming and wails as the undead met the living? Tied to a tree limb with your worn belt to sleep or maybe it was so you could loot the dead man for his tent but not without putting a bullet between his eyes as a parting gift first. 

No longer does Grim accept the coins laid upon the eyes of the dead. Now payment for a safe travel down the river Styx is paid with the bullet lodged into the third eye of the deceased.

A tradition sure to be passed down to the generations to come.

Despite the rage you've aimed at yourself for still living, the home was a welcoming sight. The old farm house made of gray cinder block, stout in the field of the tall stalks that you yearned to see each sweltering summer when you were stuck in the city before the world went to shit.

Now the sight of the dried crop makes the nostalgia coat your tongue thickly, like the bitterant of a large pill.  

You think you choke when you swallow. 

Still even with the two harmless corpses it was an amazing find. The shingles of the roof are all in tack and the old wood stove holds the reminiscence of a charred log and ashes. 

Logs lining either side that would last through the winter and then more still kept under an open awning out back. Plenty of birch wood to burn white smoke making you sigh in relief. 

First things first and with the few hours of sun you had left you needed to get to work burying the couple. Half debating over taking their rings that were about to fall off before thinking better of it. 

Grabbing the shovel from the makeshift shed and going to the edge of the corn field out back. Only you were stubborn, stupid enough to fight the frozen ground as you shoved the sharp spade into the Earth. Moving it to your will as sweat collects on the inside of your thermal undershirt making it stick to your back and the nape of your neck uncomfortably. 

Your calloused hands protect you from the biting wood as you spend the better part of your day light going six feet down. Using the height of the shovel as a measuring stick.

I wonder if their kids and grandkids will visit. I'll have to make a good marker so they won't miss it. 

And then it hits you. The realization of what you're thinking. Fat droplets blurring your vision as you chide yourself over wasting quickly dwindling time. 

You hadn't even cried when you watched your friends being torn apart from the force of the bomb but here you were crying over two strangers and their imaginary family.

Except they weren't imaginary were they? They were hung neatly throughout the home. 

Ya know the multi generational home that you planned to squat in. The one with the warped photos in warm senpia of when the family first arrived and built the modest country home to the vibrant color photo of the grandparents smiling ear to ear as their kids and their kids' kids stood on the still sturdy porch with corn cobs in their small hands. 

Another sob racks through your body forcing you to take a break from carving out your last foot hold so you could climb out of the grave you'd just dug.  

Should you start digging your own now too? 

Since no one else was going to be around to do it. 

Once you're back in the house you try to think of the logistics of bringing the pair out. You start with the wife, taking her delicately preserved body with the blanket around her shoulders. 

"’Xcuse me." You murmur to her as you lift her up, surprisingly light compared to the other corpses you've carried or moved. Careful to avoid banging her up against the door jamb accidentally before you make it out the few yards to the edge of their little property. 

Easing her down into the hole using the long and strong quilt that she must have made until you could slip it from beneath her to bring the fabric back up. 

"Sorry." Another involuntary pleasantry as you scoop the husband and his quilt up. Repeating the same action until he rested beside her as much as he could be. Dropping the first and second quilt over them as if tucking them in. You just hoped they wanted their holy matrimony to be reflected in the after life as well. 

Rooting around in your pocket for the few spare ammo you've got left. 

"For the toll." You murmur dropping a bullet each before tackling the grueling task of shoveling dirt back into the hole you half killed yourself to dig. Returning to the house only to place their wooden rocking chairs at the foot of their grave before heading inside for the night. 

Telling yourself not to look for their names, refusing to and that the wooden rocking chairs would have been enough. 

But it gnaws at you as you move around their furniture to better suit you, as the old wood stove fills the home with a warmth, with a luxury, you've long since forgotten.

Knowing full well she would have been the type of woman to have a farmer's log. 

A handwritten one or a more accurate family log written in the old bible that sat on her night stand. 

You left it alone, thankful they hadn't died in their queen sized bed as you moved it into the living room frame and all. 

The moon shining bright over head, peering in through the kitchen window over the sink as if to check on you. To see if you were still awake. 

And of course you were, when was the last time you've ever had a restful sleep? 

Your mind back to the "holy book" specifically the one with the worn leather and cracked spine. Even to the end the wife was a woman of faith, a bible open on the coffee table that you quickly used for kindling. 

Because what has God ever done for you?

He sure as fuck wasn't as merciless as he claimed to be.

Although he'd given her and her husband an easy enough death hadn't he? 

You were sure the rest of her family didn't meet the same gentle fate. 

In the end there was only one true God and that was Death. 

Ever waiting and watching, coming to steal you away before you could even blink with nothing to show you ever existed at all save for your own headstone, least til that crumbled away.

You jolt out of bed, rushing towards the book as if it whispered your name all this time and now it was shouting. 

Screaming, demanding your undivided attention until you flip open the front cover. Old cursive greets you as the pages sigh, rolling over birth and death dates until you're forced to flip to the back, finding the first two names without death dates but plausible birth dates that would line up to their age and the End. Slamming the generations old book as you rise. 

Finding yourself outside, bare foot. Knife in your hand and your breaths coming out in ragged puffs. 

Scrapping along the tops of the wooden rocking chairs like a woman possessed, carefully carving the letters into the headrest of the rocking chairs.

Stepping back in a fever to admire your work, feet numb from the biting cold ground before you turn on your heel. 

They echo back to you as if you'd carved each curving letter into your psyche instead of the smooth stained grain. Unsure if the haunting was that of thanks or scorn and you were sure a poltergeist was the least of your concern.

Even as you drift the names burn your retinas as if to remind you whose home you spent the night in. 

ASTRID     EMROY 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning you find yourself trapped in the house by deep snow so you poke around the home. Rearranging some things here and there but not to disturb the personal belongings just yet. 

Even though you know you won't stay long, never breaking one of your many rules that lead you to survive this long. But why not disturbing their belongs matters to you, you aren't sure. 

Maybe it's the way that this home is untouched. Truly loved and lived in, while the other houses you've squatted in were long since looted. Ransacked and trashed, taken back by the unforgiving weather and those desperate enough to defile what was once someone's home.

For others, their Hell within four walls and maybe the big End meant nothing to them anyway. Besides, it wasn't like you weren't one of the many who rooted through homes and hissed when you found nothing of use, just fading photographs and old DVDs and CDs. Shit that didn't matter now.

Right now you were mostly looking for a good pen with a plan to roughly guess the year so you could add the rough date beside their names and put their bible up somewhere. As if compelled to end their chapter properly so that they may live on despite, their bloodline most likely having died long before them. 

The couple really didn't have much and you were sure if you tried you could dedicate one small wall and bookshelf to their personal belongings to honor them. The thought makes you suck your teeth, so easily you cling to sentimental bullshit, out of spite now their things would be lucky to be stored away in a box. 

On the dusty coffee table are two sets of coasters, tops well worn from sweating drinks, a black leather book and a copy of The Great Gatsby with a broken spine. 

The book peaks your interest, hadn't read it since highschool and even then that felt like a foreign memory. Of harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed loud enough you were sure you'd go deaf to them after having lived in silence for so long. Tossing the tattered paperback onto the old wood top before your fingers grab for the worn leather spine, flipping the pages to see dozens and dozens of entries.

You settle into the old couch, the fire in the wood stove keeping the place warm as the sun lazily bleeds in through the windows to provide you with just enough light to read as you flip it open you're met with a threat.

If ya settle here ya better watch over our goddamn farm. 

The cover page makes you snort, flipping the thick page to consume what you could, hoping there would be some hints on where they stashed their canned goods and supplies. Even if it didn't provide you with anything, at least it helped past the time.

Jan 31 20XX  Six years after the "Rapture" 

It's ain't all fucking peachy keen as I'm sure ya can see and I'm comin to realize that I ain't built to live forever.

And if I was, I couldn't imagine a worse hell than this. 

If ya settled here in our little house I've got some rules. 

No drinks on my damn coffee table without a coaster. I got plenty of 'em. The ones from my birthday (they got cats on em but the paint'll be rubbed off by now I'm sure) or the ones Emroy made outta small trees. Hell use a book if ya gotta. 

Two, you best sweep this home. I don't care where ya came from or who ya came from, what god you do or don't worship but there is one thing for certain, house as old as this has a spirit and ya best keep it happy. Open the front and back door (good cross breeze in the sweltering summer) and you sweep my damn house. 

Or I just might be the spirit that haunts ya. 

Reckon that's it. So I'll quit my belly achin and step down from my soapbox to learn ya a thing or two.  

Now if you're a country folk and from 'round these parts y'all'll know two things. When snows a coming, or rain, y'all can smell it real easy in the air. Can't tell ya the smell but if you know ya know. And the second being it always snows heavier in the next coming weeks before spring than it will in the dead of winter. 

Now if you're from the city or just can't smell like ya used to, Bets the cow will be able to tell ya. She won't come out, simple as that and by the next day snow'll be up to your knees and Bets will look at you like she told you so.  

Hopefully she'll live that long, seems this disease ain't affecting the animals like it is us folks. Reckon we didn't pray hard enough or some preachy shit Gran would've said. Now if the cow ain't there to tell ya, the farm log will. Use yer head, you'll see the pattern even with the blasted greed fueled heat spikes. It's best to prepare for the worst. We've enough canned rations to last us a lifetime in the cellar but Emory and I are old as dirt, it won't last forever but as long as these hands can can, they'll can what he grows. 

Emory, my husband, says hello. Wants me to tell the "stranger" that's you I reckon, that the Great Gatsby is worth the read and that if ya find yourself with nothing to do, which ya will eventually, you should read it. 

Go on now, get back to surviving and be sure to dust my damn picture frames too. 

Yours truly,

Astrid & Emory. 

Pushy. You think to yourself but relish in the fact that old folks like to ramble, even in written form. Quick to explore the home to find the cellar doors in the fading short lived light of winter before realizing the age of the home. 

Shit, it's probably buried under a whole foot and a half of snow, you could exhume it now but you and twilight always seemed to have bad luck. 

It's when you've been raided most and almost bitten more times than you can count and after finding this place you don't wish to push your luck. Even if the undead were few and far between in bumfuck nowhere. 

Flipping open the cabinets in the kitchen you find a few manufactured canned meats. Fingers smoothing out the old label for any sign of denting or damage that could lead to botulism. Finding none makes you pop open the can to sit atop the old black wood stove, glass casting the room in a soft orange that rivals the sunset. It makes you pull the blinds closed in caution, not wanting any light to attract unwanted guests and when the wind howls you wrap tighter in one of the many blankets lying around. 

Three days pass and there is only so many times you can study the farm logs and widdle wood into pitiful shapes with your dull knife before you drive yourself mad. Still avoiding the books for now in some sort of spite or rebellion to God knows who before you're outside and bundled up. Shovel in hand as you scrape the metal spade all along the foundation of the house until you hear a satisfying tink. 

Your luck would be to start in the wrong direction and have to walk all the way back around the house just for the damn thing to be on the left side of the back porch instead of the right. Shoveling away the icy snow before coming across the wooden cellar doors. You wonder if you'll have to replace them soon but your curiosity of the future dies when you spy a combination padlock. Sucking your teeth pull a bobby pin from your hair, straightening it out and wiggling it between the rusting dials, scraping it around before feeling the soft give of the locking mechanism. You jab roughly and the lock pops open making you smile as if you hadn't picked anything ten times as hard. 

Taking the steps into the deep cellar where the air was cool yes but warmer than outside. As if it were deep enough in the Earth to stay a balmy fifty degrees even in summer heat. Flash light paints the darkness in harsh white when you spy a candle and a box of matches into an enclave built right into the old cobblestone. 

Once the fire flickers to life you switch your flashlight off, pocketing it as the candle washes the old glass jars and few metal cans aglow. 

Jarred jerky catches your eye first as you snatch for that, then a small jar of syrupy looking strawberries, as bright red as when they were first picked, making your mouth salivate. The place neatly organized and labeled, the metal cans of all of those beef stews that were upstairs despite there only being enough of those left to last through this winter. Even if you stretched them out with water. Finger following the shelf lining to try to find more sweet fruit coming across the word peaches under a layer of dust. 

Delight you look up, just to find the shelf empty and the sight of it makes you snarl. 

But at least you had your strawberries. 

They taste like late spring, like your childhood when you'd pick the berries at the local farm. How the sun beating down on your back made them taste that much sweeter in the field. A little reward paid by the sweat on your brow and the money your mother would toll out for the fresh fruit. 

Well, well worth the price. 

Spring is coming like her book says and you sweep and dust her house.

[scienter]

My Reaction to Wind and Truth Chapters 21 & 22:

Chapter 21:

Sigzil did his best to pretend he was Kaladin.

Oh, no. I read every Sigzil scene with a sense of foreboding after The Sunlit Man.

Bridge Four was the only place I ever felt like a person rather than an accident, he thought. But without Kaladin, Rock, Teft, Moash… was it really Bridge Four anymore?

I wonder if the comradery of Bridge Four prevented Sigzil from realizing sooner that he was a better fit for the Skybreakers than the Windrunners?

“The Nightwatcher came from the Night, as the Stormfather came from the Wind. Though, when I was young, the Wind was different. So very different.” “Some six thousand years ago, when the Stones wanted a legacy in the form of a child of Honor and Cultivation. Back when Bondsmiths bonded not to spren, but to the ancient forces, left by gods.”

So the Bondsmith's bonds went like this:

Wind -> Stormfather

Stone -> Sibling

Night -> Nightwatcher

And then the Night left and the Wind specifically asked for Kaladin's help. 🤔

Something about those timelines itched at Jasnah. Something that made her want to gather the other Veristitalians and set them to work, searching for primary sources. 

You and me both, Jasnah.

This is me right now:

“If you were to Connect to it in the right way, you would ascend to Honor’s position. Then all the ambient power of the world would be part of you. You’d need to find a way to persuade the power to accept you.”

Hmm, this makes me think that Ascending will not be as easy or simple as Dalinar thinks. Remember how Kelsier found it difficult to connect with Preservation because he spent so much of his life killing/destroying? I wonder if Dalinar’s previous connection to Odium will make it difficult for him to connect with Honor too. And if Dalinar’s attempt is successful, will his Ascension be temporary like Kelsier’s or permanent like Sazed’s?

Perhaps he will stop the war entirely if we give him accommodations.” She didn’t look at Wit. “What if we let him leave?” “What is right,” she said, “is not so easy as swearing an oath, Uncle. It’s about what brings the greatest good to the most people—and sometimes that requires making difficult decisions.”

I know people have speculated that Adolin will be Odium’s champion*, but could Jasnah switch sides believing that getting Odium off-world is the best way to help the people of Roshar? God, I hope not.

*The Adolin will be Odium's champion is a solid theory given his anger at Dalinar. But is Adolin's anger enough motivation to switch sides?

Chapter 22:

“I’d have thought,” Szeth said as Syl zipped past in the other direction, “that she would find this place dull. Wouldn’t it be less fun to inspect plants that do not respond?” “Syl loves novelty,” Kaladin said.

You love the novelty of it too, Kaladin. You’re just as amazed by these brave plants as she is.

Can Kaladin retire to Shinovar when this is all over?

“I trust Dalinar because I must,” Szeth continued. “So I am not allowed to resent you. Nevertheless, do not assume I will endure you trying to ‘save’ me, Kaladin Stormblessed. Not all beneath your judging gaze are in need of your protection. Keep your attention on finding the Herald.”

Okay. So basically we're getting the Cosmere version of this:

“One of the Unmade is here,” Szeth said. “Awakened years before you became a Radiant, before the first oaths were sworn. My people have embraced it for some reason, and welcomed in its darkness and its manipulations.” “How can you be sure it’s an Unmade?” Kaladin said. “It took Dalinar ages to recognize the Thrill as an Unmade.” “Because,” Szeth said, “before my exile, I met it.” He paused for an instant. “It began during my youth. With… a rock.”

Ohhhh. So Szeth’s status as “truthless” was related to one of the Unmade? And is the Unmade the reason the Wind asked for Kaladin’s help?  

I heard you discussing Honor’s power, the Stormfather thundered. Why, Dalinar? Must you think so highly of yourself? You’re ruining everything!

Why would Dalinar Ascending ruin everything?

“Is it possible for me to take up Honor?” Dalinar demanded. No. “Wit says otherwise.” Wit is a liar.

Okay, so why does the Stormfather think Dalinar can’t take up Honor? Does he think he’s not connected enough with the Shard’s Intent?

This is not for you to seek or decide. The power cannot go to one who wants it, Dalinar. “You said it was impossible earlier,” Dalinar said. Impossible the way you want it to happen. “And Cultivation, who brought this plan to me in the first place?” Traitor. She should know the implausibility of what she suggests. “So which is it, Stormfather?” Dalinar demanded. “Is it impossible, or merely implausible? Is it wrong, or is it the only way to unite people, as I’ve been trying all along?” It… This is not my plan.

So is the Stormfather discouraging Dalinar from trying to take up the Shard of Honor because it’s impossible/implausible to take up a shard you want or because it’s not part of his plan?

“Your plan?” Dalinar pushed. “I thought this was Honor’s plan. You said he charged you to find people for the visions—so they could prepare for the coming dangers. You’re filling a role, just like me.” You have no idea what you’re talking about.

We know that Tanavast's cognitive shadow merged with the Stormfather after his death. Is Tanavast or his cognitive shadow the one who doesn’t want Dalinar to take up the Shard of Honor?

Because right now, the Stormfather's push back feels like this:

Maybe. But… they are not reliable anymore, are they? Time has broken them… I’ve broken them. He looked back at Dalinar. I cannot say if the power would accept someone like you as a host, after what happened with Tanavast. “And what happened with Tanavast?” Dalinar said. It’s… worse than I told you, Dalinar.

What the fuck happened!? Did Tanavast break his Oaths? Why wouldn’t the Shard accept Dalinar as a vessel after what happened with Tanavast? 🤔

“So you lied.” Yes. Does that surprise you? Anger you?

Of course, the Stormfather lied. He's been evasive throughout the series.

These two chapters are a lot to think about. 😵‍💫

[vampirzina]

Jam

dialogue w. cottagecore!reader & havik

╰ ❝ clean yourself up. you're getting blood all over the place. ❜❜

tw: gender neutral, no y/n, sfw, mdni, friends to lovers, angst, blood, insecurities, oneshot

notes: idk what this is, n i know this dynamic is a big hit or miss but i just think it’d be kinda cute.., set when havik gets burnt.

masterlist

The rocking chair reclines; you toss the wool over your thick wooden needle.

The rocking chair keels over; you knit it into the rest of the pattern.

Occasionally Pinky, the cat, sniffles or stirs in the pool of the morning sun that frayed out through the sliver of glass in the front door, like a spotlight. She slowly blinks at nothing, groggy. You have to cut her some slack; keeping the freshly clean wooden floor company all morning is tiring for a lone cat.

It’s comfortable, here.

For a moment.

You hear two thumps and an audible sound of discomfort, before the rickety wooden door is burst open—Pinky, ears flattened to her head and tail puffed, bounds away and towards you. You abandon knitting entirely, but you don’t get up… Yet.

“Dairou?”

He slams the door so hard that it opens again, the walls shaking with the force of his fury. Havik holds his face in his hands and if it weren’t apparent by now, looks hurt. A splotch of red escapes his wound to hit the floor; you cast all of your knitting material to the side to get up and help.

You knew of his life outside of your quaint little world, but this is the first time he’s ever come to you like this. Any of his bruises or cuts are brushed off at his request, but should he try this time to keep you away, you won’t listen. Your hands dirty with his blood just trying to pry his hands away, and—

You gasp, hands flying to cup your mouth as you step back. You don’t know how long you stood there, but you have to yank yourself into reality to fix this, and swallow down the squeamishness from the spook at the back of your throat.

It was only a peek, but you saw it—Havik’s face was marred by something, something strong enough to skin away his mouth to his nose and leave nothing but burnt flesh and bone.

You haphazardly search the living space as it gets dirtier and dirtier, and Havik’s sounds of pain have died into a low hiss and growl every then and again, but he watches you through the gaps in his fingers. It must hurt to speak right now. You pick a cloth to sacrifice.

“Gods, um, um,” you don’t know how to give the dampened cloth to him if he’s holding his face, so you tuck it in between his bicep and arm. “Clean yourself up. You’re getting blood all over the place.”

You scoot out the nearest chair at the table for him to sit as you scurry to your bathroom. It’s not much, but there’s an aid kit in there; you’ll make do with what you have in there.

By time you come back, the rag in Havik’s hands is so heavy with blood, that simply moving it from the table he set it on to the sink left a mark. You hiss at the sheer spots left on your table, drawing a thumb over it to smudge it out. Ultimately making it worse makes you sigh.

Havik, however, is silent. Deathly silent.

He can’t look you in the eyes though.

“What happened?” you just wanted to know, but it’s obvious that you’ll go without, as you inspect his wound. “The gods must be tired of me calling their name in vain, but… Gods…”

You both stay in silence, staring, looking everywhere else but each other. It’s you who breaks it, realizing that the wound is not going to heal itself. “Can I?”

Dairou only grunts, his face scrunching—you would have backed off if he didn’t make a snide remark at you. “You’ve been staring all this time, I’m surprised you even ask.”

You mumble an apology, and get to work.

You do the best you can, at least to do away with most of the blood, but the redness won’t go away for a while. You’re surprised he’s even still alive, as you work on helping him. It’s unclear to Havik just how badly you’d be stricken with torment if he’d actually died.

Once you finish, you step back and admire your work with clasped hands. “So? …How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” Dairou responded in annoyance; but the restrained kind of it. He didn’t want to upset you further. Your bandages having been wrapped in a way that’d let him breathe and speak.

“Well,” you started, a bit forlorn at his seemingly indefatigable anguish. “Maybe a little less terrible?”

Dairou took a while to answer that one—he looked at you from the seat. And then, “Whatever.”

You look away when he looks at you, and if he could somehow, he’d frown. It’s unbeknownst to you that he’d been vying for your attention ever since he’d mashed your fresh strawberry garden into jam, something he’s come to both regret and love. But you look so… Unsure of him. Like you’re afraid.

“You…” he comes back to at the sound of your voice intruding his ears and shrouding his thoughts. “Should bathe, or something. There’s a change of clothes you left here. And ‘cause I think you don’t want to talk about it, you can just… I don’t know… Go or… Stay…”

“You’re bloody yourself,” Dairou pointed out, and he wasn’t really wrong—it was his blood, staining your cheek and fingers and turning the air from stale to coppery. It’s a new sight he found he liked, but needed to keep to himself. “And your home… Filthy.”

“From the blood, I know,” you peer down at your fingers, and shamefully you hide them. It looks like jam yet so far from the real thing as it turns a dark brown hue from oxidation. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll clean up.”

Dairou stood. You were right, sort of—he didn’t want to talk about it—not because it’s too soon. It was out of fear of what you’d might think of him now that he’s been scarred like this for the rest of his life. Would you still want to want him around? Do you find him hideous? Can you even look at him? These things don’t just go away with a shower.

But for a moment as he steps out from the spare room in your cottage and smells the sweet scent of warm food in the oven, it wanes. It reminds him of the very reason why he loves you in the first place.

Indiscriminate, is what he���d call you. Loving, even.

“Ah,” you perked from where you were mopping the floor, noticing him at the corner of your eye and watching as he moved to sit in the same place again. “Are you staying?”

“…Where else could I go?”

Oh. And ow.

That hurt. It wasn’t even really meant to be an insult, as the way he said it was in defeat, but it strung your heart strings the same way it would if he’d said something mean. You sigh, “Dairou…”

He loved it when you said his name, but not like this.

“You are the only person who can see me like this and care, not be afraid,” Dairou went on, his tone wrapping itself in grief and confusion. “How?”

“What do you mean, ‘how?’ You’re still my friend, and even if you weren’t, why leave you in pain if you thought to come to me to fix it?” you’d stop sweeping now, the inner corners of your brows curved upwards in offense. “You got hurt. Why do you expect me to abandon you?”

Because he felt like he was now undeserving to be in proximity to a beauteous person—and yet it doesn’t come out—you feel it. You were smarter than that and this conversation is taking a turn for the worse because of the tension bubbling up.

The wooden mop in your hand gets rested against the nearest wall with a hefty ‘thud’, and you come to stand before him, closer than the last time you assumed the position. To Dairou’s surprise, you scoot up a chair to sit adjacent to him.

You reach over to take his hand in yours for him to look at you, rubbing there. “Dairou, whatever happened, I’m sorry though it’s not my fault. But… That doesn’t mean I’m going to be afraid of you. It’ll take some time to get used to, but I’d never hate you. In fact, it’s always been the opposite.”

Dairou freezes. He stares.

Had you… Crossed a line now? It gets uncomfortable, very uncomfortable, very quickly. You begin to regret even saying anything like this, but it was out of paranoia of losing him to some silly argument that you said it. The corner of your lips downturn, and with a breathy apology and averted gaze you begin to pull away—but his grip on your hand keeps you.

“Maybe I read the room wrong, and–and maybe you don’t really feel like that back or this is a bad time to have said something like that–bemarriedtoyourworkforallIcarebut–that’s just what I feel, and even if you let me down now it won’t take that feeling away from me,” you ramble, still unable to look at Dairou as the rare look of adoration glazed over him. “…I think.”

You feel small.

His chest could burst, right about now. But he felt if it did literally, he’d truly succeed in spooking you for good this time. Dairou intertwines your fingers first, before lifting yours to his mouth. For a moment he forgets he can’t kiss without lips; so he settled for just having your skin against where they used to be. Dairou would find a way to kiss you even if he were headless. He inhales your scent and shuts his eyes.

This is the most tender you’d get from someone so tormented like Havik.

“If only you knew how bewitching you truly are,” he breathes against your skin, “Foolish thoughts of doubt trump something I thought so obvious.”

“And that’s?” your voice is hoarse and like sandpaper when you swallow.

“Want. My want for you,” Dairou’s moved your hands away from his mouth to caress his cheek. “It’s selfish, borderline primal, but I won’t hold it back. How could you be so stupid?”

What a backhanded confession—but it’s a semblance of reciprocity from Dairou nonetheless. You let out a sheepish laugh, your stick-straight posture slumping in relief, and he lets out a low rumble when you embrace the touch he coaxed with the back of your hand. It’s a savory moment, but it doesn’t last long when you realize where you were. Dairou’s face twists when you suddenly pull away.

“I made food, and,” you cast a glance over your shoulder. “Now that the air is clear between us, I have something to give you.”

He doesn’t get to ask what, you’ve already disappeared into the lounge room. Dairou doesn’t wait for long, though, and you come back with a sweater in your hand. Giddy, you narrate, “It’s for you.”

It’s the sweater you were knitting before he barged in here with his wounds. He’d seen you working on it a few times, but it was for him all this time?

The harbinger of chaos is like a serene sea in your hands.

[the-dark-parade]

WARNINGS! THIS STORY CONTAINS... fluff + lilia×fem reader + chapter 7 TWST spoilers

A/N: Merely a short march before we start walking to our destination again. I hope you enjoy it. I apologise for the slow updates.

Fate's Redemption: A Love Reborn

(part 0.5, side story)

In the symphony of life, love echoes and reverberates endlessly, intertwining souls across time. Every gesture, every sacrifice, echoes through eternity, shaping destinies. And in the cycle of rebirth, love's refrain returns, reminding us that its melody endures, transcending even lifetimes. Truly, eternal echoes of love.

I wonder how that soldier gets into trouble all the time.

Transferred into my unit as a rising newbie, yet she's just so... so clumsy!

How is it she flips a switch every time we get into battle?!

Hah, if only she could be as good as she is in battle as she usually is...

But even in battle, she's still so goddamn clumsy! How can someone fall over a rock so effortlessly and almost get killed by the enemy?!?!

--

Human soldiers again. Truly, an easy fight without the "Dawn Knight" among their ranks... Just a slice and die.

"Ek!"

A high pitched scream. Ah, I know who that is... That troublesome girl...

"I don't care anymore, as long as I can kill one of you brutis-" The human's voice sounds crazed. Must not be right in the head anymore, but who wouldn't be?

Filthy human. Trying to slice off the head of my fae brethren. But still, it's always such a pain to clean up after her all the time...

Plop.

The human's head fell onto the ground.

Hm... I inspect how the soldier fell on her ass. It looks like she was walking backwards and slipped...

I look around. I don't think there's anything to be tripped over on...

I look around her.

Oh.

She tripped...

Tripped... on a rock..!

Pfffttt! I couldn't help but chuckle slightly. Of all things, a literal rock?! I would have understood if the human tripped her, but the situational evidence says otherwise.

"I-I'm so sorry, general!"

She immediately stood up, bowed, and dashed away. That girl... Sigh. Even if she is clumsy, I cannot undermine her fighting prowess. Unscathed from any sword injuries, and she is on par with Baul, if we disregard her... flaws.

.

Soon after the 3rd time I rescued her, she started confessing her love to me.

How funny.

I thought it was a joke at first, but she kept doing it again, and again, and again, and again.

I started to think she was becoming a bit out in the head. But in battle, she still seemed perfectly fine...

How strange.

.

Though, she is on the same wavelength as Baul, and gets along with him often. It's just a talk between soldiers. I know that. But sometimes, I would feel a slight ache in my chest while watching them talk so happily.

I got it checked by the healers, but there seems to be no abnormalities in my body...

Should be nothing, then.

A/N: dear souls, stay tuned for part 2! I'm currently writing it at the moment, but I hope you'll find it worth the wait. Thank you for reading if you read.

[kinda-iconic]

Possession: A 'BloodBound' spin-off

Author's Note: It's finally here! Chapter 1 of the 'Possession' series. Thank you all so much for being so patient with me; it's been a whirlwind, that's for sure. I have decided to split Chapter 1 into two parts, so I can add more into one chapter.

Pairing: Adrian Raines x Human!MC (Amelia, Amy for short)

Word Count: 2'900+

Tagging: @bloodboundismylife @choicesfannatalie22 @velvet1753 @choices-bird @nala-raines

Warnings: Depictions of murder/bloodbath

Synopsis: Haunted by a reoccurring nightmare of Adrian, Amy must decide whether or not to confide in him… or conceal the truth.

Chapter 1: The Nightmare (Part I)

The dark.

Amelia had never been fearful of the darkness before, for a reason had never presented itself…

…but that was not to last.

It was September, or at least Amy thought it was, when she found herself deep within a forest, its tall trees dusted with speckles of dew and moss, their brittle branches reaching up towards the clouds; the sky itself appears empty, as if every last beam of light has been swallowed by the darkness, its presence unmoving. A sudden icy chill envelops her, her arms instinctively wrapping themselves around her midsection as she tries to keep a hold of her warmth. She trudges forward, her bare feet encountering the leafy ground, hues of orange and red barely visible in the moonlight as it slips through the cracks between the understories, the scent of nature at its decomposition causing her to wrinkle her nose in discomfort, stagnant water trailing along the bark as it carves its path towards the forest floor. Not thinking that it will do any harm, Amy wanders further into the shadows, unaware as to the path that she will tread.

After a couple of minutes, she closes her eyes in an attempt to heighten her other senses, listening intently in the hope that she may be edging closer to civilisation. At first, there is nothing but silence, but she swiftly becomes aware of a more unsettling aroma, one that could not be described as anything but ghastly, its pungency laced with something metallic, as if someone had cast iron to the fire.

Against her better judgement, she follows the scent further down the path, only coming to a halt when her feet encase themselves in a syrupy substance, the thickness of the liquid rendering her feet invisible to the eye. Confused, she crouches down to inspect the forest floor, her fingertips brushing against the puddle, her hand instinctively retracting at the warmth. Her befuddlement only grows, that is until she rises, casting her hand up into the moonlight as she attempts to study the mess that now cascades down the side of her palm.

…blood.

She staggers back, her hand flying downward to her top, knuckles brushing almost frantically against the material to rid themselves of its remnants before refocusing her attention on the edges of the dimly-cast canopy, watching closely as the shadows dance along the ground, forming a clearer image of her surroundings.

A vast clearing, encircled by looming giants, their tall trunks contorted in a way that appears unnatural, as if placed there by something sinister.

An abandoned fire-pit, the floor a blanket of ash and embers, drawn to the rocks like moths to a flame.

And the blood… so much blood...

A collection of bodies, recently deceased, lay abandoned in the middle of what appears to be a clearing, their motionless limbs sprawled out in every direction.

She's surrounded.

Amy’s eyes widen, her hand instinctively clasping around her mouth as she attempts to stifle the scream that threatens to escape her.

Dead. They’re all dead.

She shakes her head, as if hoping that the action would rouse her from this terrible nightmare...

…but it does the opposite, drawing her further into disillusion.

She does not move, her feet almost glued to the spot, brown doe-like eyes bearing down at the empty ones that stare back at her.

Men.

Women.

…and a child, no older than 14.

She inhales sharply, her chest tightening as a sense of panic starts to set in, her fight or flight instincts instinctively kicking into overdrive.

That's when she hears it - the voice of a woman, not too different from her own calls out to her, its tone soft yet firm, urging her to take heed of their instruction.

RUN.

It takes a moment, but Amy seems to be able to collect her bearings, just enough for her to turn on her heel.

But, as she takes the first step towards safety, the sound of laughter catches her off-guard, the callousness of its utterance causing her to shirk back towards the treeline. To her horror, a young man enters the scene, his hands and mouth awash with crimson, his blonde hair and deep, blue eyes casting an unusual contradictive to the rest of his appearance.

“I counted twenty-two.”

He approaches the mound, using the sole of his boot to turn a corpse onto its side; he scrunches his nose in disgust, a reaction which Amy hopes deems him to be innocent of the massacre. That is, until, he speaks again, addressing a silhouette hidden in the darkness.

“Nice work, Raines.”

Raines.

To Amy’s horror, a familiar face steps out of the shadows, fresh blood seeping into his shirt as it trickles from the corners of his mouth, fresh evidence of a feeding gone awry.

Adrian.

Amy's expression pales, all colour draining from her cheeks as Adrian walks over to his companion, tilting his head in admiration of their work.

“Not bad…” he tuts, shaking his head, “but we could do better.”

Do…better?

The man scoffs, folding his arms across his chest.

“How many more would suffice? An entire village?”

Adrian smirks, his expression darkening, as if in deep contemplation.

“As many as I like. That is, until I’m satisfied.”

“You’re never satisfied.”

“Exactly.”

The men continue their interaction, oblivious to the prying terror-filled eyes that study them from the shade, her demeanour etched with fear. Having decided that she has heard enough, she steps back…

…onto a large twig.

Snap.

A branch splinters beneath her feet, and Amy can’t help but notice the sudden quiet that has engulfed the clearing. It is followed by a calm voice, quirked with curiosity.

“Did you hear that?”

She exhales shakily, knowing that any attempt to flee would be futile. As if accepting her fate, she closes her eyes, counting to ten under her breath as she waits for death to find her.

1…2…3…

A sound of footsteps grows louder as they get closer, the sound of leaves crunching underneath their feet as the stop beside the tree trunk.

4…5…6…

7…8…9…

…and then they stop.

She remains still, trying to think of anything but what is about to pass, instead choosing to think of the happier moments of her childhood

But then the voice returns, its change of volume startling to the ear.

Open your eyes.

Amy does so without hesitation, just to be met by a translucent figure; a young woman stares back at her - their face mere inches from her own, distorted by anger. Her dark hair cascades down her back, her brown eyes a reflection of a time lost long ago.

Amy tries to retreat, but the spectre reaches out, pressing her palm to Amy's forehead.

She screams...

...and then it all goes black.

GAH!

Amy awakens with a start, lifting herself instantaneously into a seated position. Eyes laden with panic, she casts her gaze down to her lap, finding a thick duvet bunched up at her waist…

…a strong arm draped across her stomach.

She glances to her side; Adrian lies fast asleep beside her, his chest flush against her thigh, her right leg entangled with his left.

It was a just a dream…right?

Amy runs a frustrated hand through her hair, trying to rid herself of what she had just witnessed, her brain attempting to make connections between the events and what she knows to be true.

Adrian has a past, but was he that cruel?

She remains like that for a good hour, left alone to her thoughts in the hope that they may bring her even an ounce of peace, but nothing comes of it. Now knowing that sleep will not come quickly, she carefully climbs out of bed, collecting her pillow and blanket before heading into the living room, not bothering to illuminate the room. She flumps down onto the couch, a despondent sigh escaping her as she settles in for what she knows will be a restless night.

The first of many.

Two weeks later…

The sound of voices from the adjoining room cause Adrian to stir, a crinkle appearing in his brow as he turns over, outstretching a sleepy arm in Amy’s direction, but all he finds is an empty space, warmth having evaded the sheets.

He frowns, carefully pushing himself up before clambering out of bed, still drowsy from the night before; he quickly dresses himself, ensuring that he is presentable before leaving the bedroom.

"Amy?"

"In here."

He follows the sound of her voice, swiftly finding her sat comfortably on the sofa with a thick, fluffy blanket. Her eyes remain fixated on the screen, the inside of her cheek caught between her teeth.

“Hey…”

Adrian settles behind the couch, resting his palms on her shoulders, the pad of his thumbs drawing soothing circles into her exposed skin, “is everything okay?”

She nods faintly; he frowns, seemingly quick to notice her quiet demeanour. Not satisfied with her answer, he moves to walk around the sofa, taking a seat beside her, his hand purchasing itself upon her blanketed knee.

 “Are you sure? You look as though you haven’t slept in weeks.”

She sighs, “I haven’t. At least, not properly.”

“You haven’t been yourself for a while,” his frown deepens, “are you sure it’s just tiredness?”

She opens her mouth to retort, but is startled into silence by a familiar voice, seeming to be speaking to her from within her mind.

Fake it. Pretend everything is okay.

Amy hesitates...before feigning agreement to Adrian, responding with a gentle nod, “I’m alright, I just…didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“Something like that,” she trails off, her focus never wavering from the television screen; there is a slight pause between utterances, as if she had forgotten the formation of her previous statement, “you don’t need to worry about me.”

 “I do,” he offers her a sad smile, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “you’re quiet and withdrawn. This isn’t you.”

“I’m just not feeling it today.”

“Feeling what?”

“Life,” she mumbles, sinking further back into the cushions; when she is met with silence, she spares a glance in his direction, only to find him looking back at her, his brow creased with uncertainty. She sighs, clumsily pulling her blanket over her shoulders.

“I’m fine, Adrian.”

“No, you’re not,” he strokes her thigh, “you don’t need to talk to me about it if that’s not what you want.”

Her expression softens, replaced with one of vulnerability.

“Really?”

“I’m not going to do or say anything that will make you feel uncomfortable, Amelia,” he greets her with a wistful smile, “but I hope that you know that you can tell me anything. No matter what it is.” He looks down at his lap, his grin widening with amusement, “and I may not always understand some of the references that you make, but I want to try. If you’ll let me, of course.”

“Do you mean it?”

“I wouldn’t be saying any of this if I didn’t,” he meets her gaze once more, “I know that you like to shoulder everything on your own and I understand why you feel like you have to, but why choose to face your problems alone when you know someone who is willing to share the burden?”

She doesn’t respond at first, silently dwelling on her thoughts; his knuckles brush her cheek, the tips of his fingers ghosting along the curve of her jaw.

“I will always be here for you, sweetheart. Whatever you need.”

Change the subject.

She smiles sadly, her arms instinctively wrapping around her midsection, the shift in their conversation granting her a brief reprieve from what she continues to believe is nothing more than an intrusive thought.

That is, until, the topic drifts into another territory, one in which Amy finds difficult to re-visit.  

“I…I’m not used to having someone to talk to. M-my Mom, she…she wasn’t someone that was known to be a good listener,” she appears hesitant, as if uncertain as to what to say, “I never really spoke about how I was feeling; our typical day was revolved around mom and her headaches.”

“You never told me that.”

“I didn’t want to,” she falls quiet momentarily, briefly concealing her mouth behind her sleeves, “I guess I had hoped that it didn’t really happen – that I was imagining it or something.”

 “What made you realise that you weren’t?”

“My phone call with Grandma,” her knee starts to bounce, the sudden movement bringing her a temporary comfort, “you know when I told you that we were meant to go on a trip to Disney World when I was seven?” He nods, “we were going for the weekend to celebrate my birthday. My dad had spent hundreds of dollars on a hotel room at the park. He’d organised for me to meet Cinderella and got me a costume to match hers.” She gestures to her shoulders, “it had glittery blue sleeves with sparkles along the hem, and the skirt was like something out of a fairytale.”

Adrian smiles wistfully, “it sounds wonderful.”

“It was…and I was so excited to wear it,” she sighs, her eyes cast downward, “then my mom, she…on the morning we were meant to go she had one of her headaches. My dad tried his best to make her comfortable, but it wasn’t enough for her.”

Adrian’s face falls, “what happened?”

“They got into an argument, and she demanded that my dad cancel our trip.”

“Did he?”

She nods, “she was in pain. It was getting too much for her.” She exhales slowly, closing her eyes as she recalls the memory, “I was standing by the front door with my little suitcase for hours. No one told me what was happening until grandma came over for dinner.”

The room falls silent for a few moments, but it isn’t long before Amy breaks that, her voice tired and defeated.

“I never wore that dress again.”

She encloses the fabric of her sweatshirt within her fists, fumbling with the threading, her brows knitted together.

“Sounds pretty stupid, huh?”

He shakes his head, gently taking her face between his palms. She meets his gaze, dark eyes boring back into her own, his expression unreadable as he addresses her.

“None of what you have just told me is stupid, Amelia. You were emotionally neglected.”

“I-I wouldn’t go that far…” she sits back, as if contemplating what he has said, “my dad tried his best to support her. He wanted me to have a normal childhood.”

“So he was there for your mother?”

She nods, “I guess.”

“And her needs were met?”

“As much as they could be, given the circumstance.”

“Then who was there for you?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but her words betray her,  finding herself unable to come out with a coherent response; when he receives no immediate reply, he probes further, “you said that your father was there for your mother and catered to what she needed, but who was there to look out for you?”

“My grandma was-”

“In your household, I mean…” he reaches for her blanket, carefully removing it from her person, “your father was busy with your mother, so who spoke to you about your feelings? Who helped you out when you were sad or angry?”

“N-nobody.”

He regards her quietly for a moment, jaw clenching tightly as he ponders over her answer; he swallows harshly, his focus drifting to the television. Amy leans forward slightly, her hands falling to rest in the space between her legs as she crosses them.

“Are you mad at me?”

He shakes his head, “no.” He begins to fold the blanket, his frustration evident as he clumsily pairs the corners, “I’m angry at your parents.”

“Th-they’re trying now…”

“Making an effort when your child is grown does not absolve ignorance of your childhood, Amelia. Please don’t make excuses for them.”

“My dad tried,” she counters, “he tried to do what was best for me.”

“What was best for you was for you to have a healthy and stable childhood.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, a despondent sigh escaping him.

“I’m sorry,” he exhales, his features softening as he takes in the sight before him, his fingers instinctively entangling themselves in her hair, “I’m not angry at you. It’s just…it infuriates me to think that you were overlooked - like an afterthought.”

“You’ve never made me feel that way.”

“I’m not your mom,” he bends down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head, “I will always be here for you, Amelia. I promise.”

The pair share in a comfortable silence before Adrian checks his watch, grimacing.

“I need to head into work for a little bit. Will you be alright?”

Say yes.

She nods, her smile brightening.

“I-I’ll be okay.”

He studies her for a moment, unsure.

“You can always come with me if you’d like? We can talk about last night…”

Let him leave.

Amy shakes her head, “I’m going to try and get some more sleep in a little bit. See if I can at least get another hour or so.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Alright,” he walks over to the countertop, collecting his blazer; he starts to put it on, only stopping to make an occasional adjustment to the cuffs, “if you change your mind, I’ll be at the office until 5.”

“You don’t have to change your work hours for me. Starting in the morning is enough…”

“I want things to be as normal as possible for you,” he beams, retrieving his car keys from the counter, “so if there’s anything else that I can do to help…”

“You’re perfect as you are,” she walks over to him, straightening his tie, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

He grins before inclining his face towards her, capturing her lips in a soft kiss. She breaks it after a few seconds, brushing down his lapels.

“Go. Have a good day.”

He nods, kissing her once more before heading towards the door. Her face remains a picture to behold, her smile carved as if in stone, fixed firmly in place, but it fades once the door closes behind him, the moment having passed. She remains still, waiting for the sound of footfall to dissipate before hurriedly collecting her laptop from its case and entering Adrian’s study, leaving the door ajar just enough to see if he returns.

Is it really just a nightmare?

No.

Not wanting to cause suspicion, Amy perches on the loveseat near the window, folding her legs underneath her as she gets comfortable. It doesn’t take her long to log in, her nails doing most of the work as her fingertips fly across the keyboard, trying in vain to think of any clues that might provide her with more information.

Murders in the forest. USA.

Nothing.

She exhales sharply, biting her bottom lip as she tries another combination.

Forest massacre. USA.

She presses enter, a trail of websites coming into view before clicking on the first link…

…then the second…

…the third…

…but she finds no record of anything.

“For something that claims to know everything…” she grimaces, nose wrinkling with frustration.

She spends the next hour scouring the internet in the hope of finding anything of note, but falls short of retrieving a single lead.

Agitated by the lack of information, she closes her laptop, her elbows falling to rest on the metallic surface as she buries her face into her hands, feeling somewhat defeated. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, she leaves the room, placing her laptop back in its case before heading into the bedroom in the hope that sleep may find her sooner than she originally thought.

[optiwashere]

Hello, I love your work!! 🥹

If you’re still taking prompts: E3 for Shadowheart/Isobel. May or may not be romantically inclined (but if throuples are your thing please sprinkle some Aylin in there too)

Heya, that's so sweet of you to say! I took a bit of a break from writing these ficlets, but there's only two left in my inbox so I figured why not finish these out (I'm not taking any more at the moment!)

Thanks for asking for this one 💜

---

E3. A clash over differences in deities

The discovery of a shrine underneath the Last Light Inn wasn't quite a surprise to Isobel, she knew there was something about the place that had an almost tranquil enchantment threaded into it. When she was within the inn, she could weave her magic with a more precise touch than even she expected.

Learning of the shrine wasn't a surprise. No, the surprise was who she found there the evening after the fall of Moonrise.

The unexpected attendant did not sit in prayer. She didn't kneel, she didn't look in wonder at the meager offerings to the Lady of Silver. Shadowheart stood in front of the forgotten holy site, and she stared as if she were inspecting dirt underneath her fingernails.

There was another look in Shadowheart's eyes that Isobel couldn't quite place. She didn't know Shadowheart, but the spiteful invective she spewed towards Isobel and Selûne were lost in that hollow stare.

Isobel's footing slid as she tried to approach, sending a tumble of rocks out in a loud clatter that alerted Shadowheart to her presence.

"I knew that Selûnites were unsubtle," Shadowheart said just loud enough for Isobel to hear, "but I didn't expect them to be so noisy."

Not quite eager to approach yet, unsure where Shadowheart's mind lay after a single night had done so much to uproot what she thought she knew, Isobel remained on the edge of the wooden platform. "As subtle as a Sharran praying at a Selûnite shrine?"

"I am not praying."

"If you insist. Though, I must ask — why are you here of all places?"

"My... the Dark Lady demands silent reflection when faced with moments of uncertainty." Shadowheart sighed, never once taking her eyes from the mostly worn-away visage of Selûne. "I was always told the Moonwitch didn't care for disobedience, and that she let every disciple seek out their own penance when faith is uncertain."

"I doubt you Sharrans worded it so politely," said Isobel.

Shadowheart turned away at last to glare at her. The mask was flimsily constructed, and Isobel saw the frightened girl underneath immediately.

"Is it true?" asked Shadowheart, ignoring Isobel's remark.

"Is what true?"

"That Selûnites are given that freedom? They aren't punished, tortured for a lapse in faith?"

Isobel nodded. "The Lady of Silver only cares that we search for the path, not necessarily how we find it. There's a reason you've not lost your magic. It's fitting."

"It's a fitting way to find a knife in your back wielded by a Sharran that claims her goddess has betrayed her, isn't it?"

Isobel waited a moment. She let what Shadowheart said hang in the air, though not to consider it. They were empty, pointless words. The dying gasps of whatever rotten darkness Shadowheart believed to be her former Lady's trust, love, and affections. Someday, she might even realize just how little of her sharp tongue was in those words. Isobel wasn't certain it would be soon.

As they stood in silence, Shadowheart turned back to Selûne's statue.

A Sharran doesn't stare enraptured, curious, expectant like this, Isobel realized.

"I think I'd like to be left alone now. To be with my thoughts," Shadowheart said simply in a resolute, quite voice.

And so, Isobel left her to face a struggle that she needn't face alone. Isobel knew that to dig in her heels then would only draw out a bitter response from Shadowheart.

Later that night in sweat-coated sheets on a too-small bed, after Isobel and Aylin both needed a moment's respite, Isobel turned to her angel she thought she'd lost. They breathed and sighed and drank in one another and became lost in the sight of the other's contented face.

And still, Isobel could not help but think of the lost look in Shadowheart's eyes. She wanted to be lost in Aylin's, but the thought of that poor woman sitting alone in the dark kept nagging at her. A sharp ankle-biter for the Dark Lady turned to wonder and worry without another soul to help her.

"You are thinking of the once-Sharran?" Aylin whispered, propping herself up on her elbow.

"I—"

"It is all right, I sense her sorrows. She is lost. She requires a light in the darkness, and I dare say she refuses to allow Selûne into her heart just yet." Aylin stood and began dressing herself. "It is our duty to guide her."

And when Isobel saw the determined look etched across Aylin's face, she knew that there would be no denying her. Once set on a path of action, none could stand in the way of Dame Aylin and her quarry.

[cherievol6]

California Dreamin'

summer nights as an up and coming seventies rock band

word count: <1000

warnings: swearing, moustaches

.

"Marco, if you don't stop messing with that needle-"

"I'm not!" Marco screeches in defence from behind his new porn stache, lifting his hands up in a surrendered position when Harry saunters over to his new record player and stands in front of it protectively. You giggle quietly at their behaviour, squinting as you watch the boys squabble from the patio doors. Harry had saved money from his first released record to buy this Technics player, so he was feeling precious about it. He'd only really let you fiddle with it, but you always saw him monitoring you over your shoulder.

Melanie stalks down the rich oak stairs in her new bootleg jeans she found in a small charity shop back home, her worn down guitar in hand and a notebook. She wrote the best songs on her oldest guitar. You'd said to Harry a few years ago that you believed everyone's instrument is supernaturally bound to them in some way. You were both pretty high at time.

"God, Melanie. I miss my jeans so much." You whine.

"As if you're not looking unbelievably sexy on that garden chair over there. Marco, here, come and get the gorgeous pregnant woman a drink, would you?" Melanie replies, leaning to kiss you on the cheek and propping her things on the cream sofas. She snatches her scarf from over the lamp in the living room and ties it around her neck.

"Is this gorgeous pregnant woman in the room with us?- Ow! I'm messing, you miserable old sod." Marco sends you a wink but is quickly reprimanded by a swat to the head by your man, who was intensely inspecting his Bowie vinyl for scratches. You quietly giggle, knowing yours and Marco's relationship was playful and unserious, though you really liked Harry's protectiveness.

"Talk bad about my missus again and I'll rip that monstrosity clean off." Harry points to Marco's moustache before patting his cheek heavily, looking over at you with a glint in his eye. You grin, pretending that didn't make you slightly turned on. You were pregnant, it was hard not to be turned on by anything Harry did. Especially when he was wearing his maroon corduroy trousers and just a tank top, cigarette hanging from his lips and a glass of whiskey in the other. Your hand rests over your bump covered by an airy white summer dress, and Harry looks at you from across the room like you hung every star in the sky.

Marco appears by your side with a cloudy lemonade and you smile, grabbing his hand in a thank you and shifting on your garden chair to feel more comfortable. Harry had rented this place for your stay in Malibu whilst you, him and the rest of the band wrote their new album, but sometimes you secretly wished you could live here forever. Large veranda doors that open wide to let the setting sun in, beautiful oak walls and avocado coloured marble on the kitchen floor. You could sit and write every day here.

"What's on your mind, my pretty lady?" Harry's deep voice is smooth like treacle in your ears. You glance over to where he's situating himself on the other outdoor chair, stubbing out his cigarette now that he's next to you. Opal coloured sunglasses cover his eyes, and his hair remains slightly more grown out than usual. He always looked like this when he wasn't doing shows, kind of rugged, rockstar-ish. You loved it.

"I love this house, so much." You breathe. He grasps your hand and kisses it softly, holding it there as he sighs contentedly, glancing over at the skyline and the sun creeping behind. An orange glow sets over the small house and you smile, observing Marco and Melanie trying to light the old barbecue that must have been at least ten years old. Harry's hand creeps up your leg under your white summer dress, slipping it over his knee so he can run his hand up and down - brushing over your ankles every so often.

"How the fuck do you where these when you're pregnant?" He fiddles with the strap of your brown wedged heels.

"Just 'cause I'm pregnant doesn't mean I can't still dress nicely. You know, I found a column in the paper back home by this young'un called Sophie Clark. She writes little fashion pieces at college. She's dedicated a section to me every week. 'The stylish lead starlet of The Saffron'. I need to keep up appearances." You muse, fiddling with the large thin hoop earrings that Harry had gifted you just the day before.

He leans down and kisses your shin, before travelling his hand to your bump unconsciously. "I know. I read it sometimes when you're away at your writing sessions back home and I can't see you. Need to know what you're wearing so I can picture taking it off you--"

You give him a knowing look, and he closes his mouth immediately with a mischievous look. His hand moves in gentle circles over your stomach and you revel in the feeling. It quite literally could not get any better than this. A warm, summer evening in California, the smell of incense coming from inside the house. The hum of The Mamas and Papas travelling from the turntable speakers.

"We're gonna write some good shit here, guys." You inhale. Harry hums and reaches for his notepad on the ground next to the chair, flipping it open and writing something down pensively.

"You found a muse already?" You try and peek and he laughs, slamming the leather bound book shut and grabbing your hand to plant a kiss.

"Just feeling inspired. Entranced. In love." He murmurs and closes his eyes, "I've got all of my muse right here in my hand."

.

heyyyyy!!! so i've kind of created a new lil universe after watching daisy jones and falling into a hole of 70s obsessions again. lmk if you'd like more little blurbs from these characters. I introduce you to The Saffron. my own little seventies rock band.

[sevinisms]

THE GODFATHER — TSU’TEY HEADCANONS

#SYNOPSIS: tsu'tey being being a godfather/uncle to the sully kids

#WARNINGS: none

#CHARACTERS: tsu'tey, neteyam, lo'ak, kiri, tuk'tirey

#AUTHORS NOTE: this is my first post so be easy 💀

NETEYAM

without a doubt tsu’tey and neteyam had the most in common. they were both noble older brothers and strong hunter/warriors who took themselves way too seriously. a man of few words, tsu’tey wasn’t nearly as vocal as jake in regards to neteyam’s responsibilities. don’t be fooled though, his expectations were just as high. he considered his godson to be his successor as olo’eyktan one day and wanted to be sure that he could handle the pressure that comes with the title.

began calling neteyam "mighty warrior" when he got his first knife at 6 years old, teasing at first, but growing to mean it over the years. neteyam was without a doubt his favorite sully to hunt with, and he took pride in knowing that he helped perfect his shooting form (not that it needed much correcting, the boy was valid).

he gives the most insane dating advice like it’s normal.

“if you like this person, simply kill a sturmbeest and give it to them as an offering so they know that you're a good hunter. the bigger the better, then they’ll be more likely to mate with you.” “mate? i’m only 15–”

or

"someone made a pass at them yet you sit here whining to me? you must challenge them to a duel! i’m sure you could kill them easily-" "godfather, no-"

LO’AK

this boy is his father’s son through and through. since the day lo’ak uttered his first word, he and tsu’tey had been butting heads. i’m talking full blown arguments between a grown man and a child. tsu’tey didn’t care – he never ran from a fight, and he’d be damned if he started now.

he would always tell jake that he, "didn’t care for the little one” as a bit, but when lo'ak failed his iknimaya, you can bet that tsu’tey immediately began preparing him for the next one. he’d poke fun at him from the sidelines the same way he did when it was jake’s turn all those years ago. he’d point out every mistake lo’ak made, all to avoid saying that he was actually super proud to see him get an ikran this time around.

catches lo’ak and spider in places they shouldn’t be several times a week. he always wrangles them up and returns them to the village, swearing to rat them out to jake and neytiri. he’s usually bluffing though, save for the few times they’d actually had the potential to get hurt. sometimes he’d turn them in just to keep them on their toes which usually kept their antics at bay for a while. at the end of the day, they were just kids doing kid shit, and tsu’tey could only be so concerned about that.

KIRI

he wasn't rocking with her at all for for the first few years of her life. he still wasn't comfortable around "dreamwalkers", even after the war, so kiri’s miraculous conception from a dormant avatar did very little to ease his suspicions.

“look, i understand if you don’t want to be her godfather, but she’s not going anywhere. we’re all she’s got.” jake said.

though his suspicions began to fade over the years, they never left him entirely. having agreed to be her godfather as well, he tried to support her interests when could. they changed constantly, to whatever facet of nature she was obsessed with at the moment. this week it was mushrooms.

“i don’t know what kind they are so don’t ask.”tsu’tey would hand kiri a leather pouch full of random mushroom caps he’d collected during his last hunt.

she would always inspect the plants he brought and he’d take note of which ones she kept and which ones she didn’t, so he’d know the right ones to get next time. he would still accidentally bring the poisonous ones home sometimes.

he was the personification of "he's a little confused but he got the right spirit"

TUK’TIREY

tsu’tey would die for all of his godchildren in a heartbeat, but he would kill for tuk. she was his little partner in crime, often tagging along while he did his patrol of the forest or made new weapons. people rarely showed interest in the chores of the chief, but she’d found them cool enough, and that meant a lot to him.

one time, tuk was sulking around camp for days, until tsu’tey asked what was wrong. she’d asked jake to teach her how to shoot a bow, and he told her no, that she was still too young.

“nonsense. i learned to shoot an arrow before I could walk. i will teach you.”

tsu’tey was careful that he didn’t scold or poke fun at her when she released her shot too early or complained that her arms were sore. he didn’t want to discourage her. still, he wasn’t the type to offer flowery words of encouragement. he would simply correct her form and re-direct her towards her target.

“do it again.” “but godfather-” “again. and don’t slouch your shoulders like that.”

he’d give any gemstones and shells he found to tuk to polish and make into beads or armbands. in the beginning, he could admit that they weren’t as perfect as he liked, often uneven in shape and size, but he sported them anyway. after scoring his biggest kill wearing her beads, it became tradition to make him a new strand before every hunt. he kept every strand they ever made.