#because the undead in there about to get got by another option | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bloodcasket · 1 year ago

Text

“ EASY, BABY ”⋆ ﾟ☾

PAIRING: DI!Jill Valentine x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Pure NSFW (descriptive smut), Age gap centered!! (Death Island! Jill), Female described reader, Dom!Jill, Sub!reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, reader described as more inexperienced than Jill (nothing too specified), innocence kink, fingering, finger sucking, tribbing, panty play, dirty talk, jill just loves to praise, teasing on Jill’s behalf, a lil bit of manhandling. LIGHTLY PROOF-READ!

WORD COUNT: 7.4K+

DESCRIPTION: The whole department and crew is out for celebration at a restaurant. As Jill sits amongst the table, she spots the new girl, young and timid, giving shy glimpses from across the table.

AUTHORS NOTE: SUPERR rusty after lack of writing for a couple of months now, really hoping this satisfies because Jilly bean doesn’t get enough fics written about her. Let me know if there’s any mistakes, please and thank you! (I’m so normal for her, i promise). Took me too long to finish, and i got lazy toward the end.

The last thing you wanted was to deal with any of the men sitting around you, feeling forced to pry out fake enjoyment and formulate fraudulent smiles at any of their cheesy comments.

They were all grown and lax, after all, middle-aged and experienced, their worries about leaving bad impressions left long ago after years of regulating bioterrorism. They just simply didnt care, and tonight was meant to be jubilant, after all. It was a way to congratulate the team for arriving back home in one piece. Clank glasses of iced bourbon and smile after the weeks of prolonged misery and uncertainty.

It had only been a few minutes that you sat, waiting at this table, the celebratory event making you feel like the black sheep.

A timid, young stranger, her shoulders hunched in discontent, and her expression nonchalant as she sat alongside the chairs of older individuals, ones who laughed and cheered, shook hands and grinned with their cheeks shaded crimson, wrinkles creasing around the shape of their eyes.

It was people who worked drastically to make the trip to Alcatraz bearable, and handled more experience within this field. Something you felt you lacked. Something you saw yourself unequal to, off putting. In other words, even undeserving.

Employment under “The Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance” was nearing a few months now for you, but your line of work strayed far from any defensive units, due to your familiarity with the information management department. You organized required files and handled technological tasks under supervisors order, you weren’t genuinely handling firearms and terminating undead like the others were within the BSAA. You were simple, and did your part, participation with higher-ups was foreign.

The invitation to come here was optional, of course, but your ripe desire to see a certain woman was hard to swallow. After several days of trying to deny yourself this opportunity, the denial became fruitless, and you finally succumbed; which leads you to sitting at this lengthy dining room table, shuffling in discomfort and trying best to bite back any resurfacing regret.

It’s a restaurant, aromas conjoining in the air, certain scents collecting that it perplexes you. The whisks of alcohol burn through your nostril hairs—your lip twitches in discontent, jaw soon slacking as fragrances of broth and caramelized delicacies fog around you. You scrunch your face and twist your cute nose, huffing in the perfumes of delight.

It was all so overwhelming, and yet you had barely done anything yet sit and spend a few minutes skimming the menu—fiddling with your hands on the table when you yearned for a distraction. And yet; another server hurries past your seat, wide platters in hand, a trail of aromatics left in his wake. Drool draws upon your impatient tongue, you wondered how much longer it would take.

“Jill, didn’t think you’d make it”, a male voice chimes, you're able to single it out amongst the banter of the public place, trying best to listen as other residents at the table mumble out tipsy-tainted sentences, snortling and getting themselves comfortable as they slosh down fancy cocktails.

The timid position in which you kept yourself in the moment you sat down at this table seems to have been disoriented, a stiffness residing down the arch of your neck as you lift your head and adjust your eyes to your surroundings.

Dimly lit, and silken curtains are drawn over windows for the evening, you blink a few times to observe across the table, eyes stretching past messy cutlery, and halfway bubbling glasses. You blink again, throat moving slowly as you swallow dryly.

Under tinted yellow light, she sits. She’s shaking her head, exaggerating a huff of exhaustion as she edges her seat closer to the table. Brunette hair is silken and syrupy brown, a few strands askew from where she let the hair descend down her face and tickle the middle of her neck, the vision filling you with exhilaration.

‘Jill Valentine’, you suddenly think, watching as she’s easing herself more comfortably into the seat, shaded heels of her boots sliding forward as she pushes her legs apart, elbows jutting against the hickory surface that you oh-so-admired for several minutes straight. She’s hunched over improperly, wrapped up in a gray woolen cardigan, not caring much for table manners. A heat brewed low in the pit of your stomach.

“Had to finish my report, it was a pain in the ass”, her adjacent partner seems to love this reaction—being that he chuckles shortly afterward, “would prefer if you took it off my shoulders next time”.

“Your responsibility”, he replies nonchalantly, Chris Redfield from what you remember, a known operator within the BSAA. He was respected largely by his peers, a man with his time spent sacrificing and protecting, all for the benefit of “greater good”. You couldn’t say much about him, you couldn’t say much about anyone to be quite frank, except for one person. His partner in crime.

Needless to say, you scrounged through your closet for hours one night to pull out piles of clothes in desperate search to find something presentable for this woman. Bouncing your eyes back and forth over different varieties of garments, torturing yourself over the delusional manifestation that you’ll attract Jill Valentine tonight.

Intimidating. Most would plaster that description over her if it was all for first impressions. A 41 year old military woman who can carry her guns just as wonderfully as she can carry her foul language. She’s blunt, and by no means patient due to certain circumstances, but with the small moments she’s managed to pass alongside you, the tiny things don’t go unnoticed.

Coincidentally, you bump into her in the lobby; she’d chuckle jovially, waving one hand toward you dismissively as you ramble out apologetic gibberish. Reassuringly telling you “it’s not a problem, don’t worry about it”.

You’re heading toward a file room? She’ll catch you in the halls, velvet lips upturned into a gentle grin as she greets you with your name slipping off her tongue, blue eyes narrowed down at you in an observant manner. She remembers the little details, remembers you.

To say it was innocent appreciation was incorrect. It was an attraction, and the more your female superior managed to cross paths with you, the more you felt the warmth in your stomach churn and twist. It embarrassed you, to say the least. Jill Valentine was probably an individual with her priorities straight, and here you were, grinding your thighs together as you squirm uncomfortably in your seat, front teeth gnawing on the swell flesh of your bottom lip. You looked ridiculous, you were ridiculous. Ogling an older woman as if she were some high school crush. Where were your priorities?

Heaps of chestnut hair suddenly color your vision, blocking your delicate view as a head leans forward to inch closer to the woman you admire, “Here Jill, saved your drink until you got here”, her voice is flowery and feminine, a tinge of nasal sweetness at the end of her chirping sentences. “Glad to see you”. You almost envy her in this moment.

“Thanks, Claire”, a pale palm wraps around the transparent glass, pearls of condensation glistening on Jill’s lengthy fingertips, her nails clumsily trimmed, and beaten hands calloused from her work. You feel your breath hitch at the sight, cotton mouthed as you watch.

Tonight was going to be long. Too long, if this was all you were going to think about.

Claire retreats to her original position in the chair, her conversation with the brunette ephemeral as she focuses her attention on another, leaving Jill solemn in her thoughts, curtly nodding to every general word Chris might possibly say. She’s taciturn, and trained on the voice of her adjacent companion.

Without the veil of ember strands shrouding over the woman’s face, you melted in your seat, lethargic and ditzy as you bored your beady eyes into the vision that was just blissfully her.

One sip, then another. Her lips curl around the lip of the glass, swallowing measured amounts of golden whiskey that smell like smoke and peaty.

“We should all get together and go on vacation after all this, think we deserve that much”, Chris suggests this as he wedges his fork into the collops of filet spread along his plate, in which the other hums, her eyes flickering from the pit of her glass and then forward, peering across the table.

Rings of cerulean catch your nosiness, and you feel the organ within your rib cage falter, and then within seconds accelerate, heart racing like a jack rabbit inside your chest. She caught you staring.

She keeps the contact for a few seconds; you’re the one who widens your eyes and cowers into yourself, suddenly pretending that the entree platter of pillowy bread rolls is of much more interest.

You think you’ve gone crazy, due to the slanted, open mouthed smirk she summons on her face, mumbling a few words in reply to the male beside her (which you don’t catch due to how much blood is rushing to your face, head swarmed with internal comments of how utterly humiliated you feel). Nevertheless, the intrigue she displays is clearly prevalent, more so in the way your young face ducked to hide yourself other than the subtle conversation Chris clearly tried to create.

Just as you had foreseen, the night was indeed long and mundane, and your quick glances at the nonchalant beauty sitting opposite of you was practically dangerous, due to how cautious she seemed of her surroundings and every object that crossed her. A habit she carried in her occupation, you supposed. She was by no means incognizant. (It would be a lie if you didn’t at least give one glimpse, though. Maybe two…maybe three).

You can’t recall if it had been an hour or more, but the facade of enjoyment seemed to lose its potency, and perhaps for others as well.

Little by little, the crew took their leave, furred winter coats slung over the slope of their shoulders as they waved and headed out for the night, giving you some trivial excuse to join alongside them. With the bill paid generously in reward for everyone, the crowd migrated out through the exit doors and into the parking lot, the wisps of frosty air breezing past in copious amounts.

You trembled, nails dipped into the lower fabric of your mini dress, trying best to ease it further down your thighs as you cursed yourself for wearing such attire.

‘All that work just to stare at her like a fucking idiot’, and now here you were, with gritted teeth and trembling flesh as you shuffled down the sidewalk in shame, purse hung over your shoulder whilst you made your way home. That is, until the crackling of gravel wound up behind you, tires rolling over cement and bright beams flashing over you as if you were a deer in the headlights. An unfamiliar car slowly approaches beside you, and you stumble in your heels as you halt.

“You waitin’ on someone or something?”, the subdued hum of the engine had synthesized with the husky chuckle that was rightfully Jill’s, “don’t tell me you were actually gonna walk home in that? No jacket?”

An arm is laid firm across the surface of her car door, her head peering out through the window as she leans forward, her expression is practically incredulous. As if she was disappointed in your choice-making, and your lack of self-awareness for the weather and time of night. She thrums her fingers across the door impatiently, other hand gripping her steering wheel as she expects an answer.

“I was just-“, and here’s the flaring heat of humiliation rising once more. Your lips are molded into a solemn line, her glare of ridicule made you feel guilty for not asking for her aid in the first place. “I’m not too far from here- I wouldn’t want to be a bother”. You’re lying through your teeth, and the brunette scoffs as if she already knows.

“Fucking hell, you were actually going to do it? You’re too young to be doing stuff like that”, she jests in a low manner, muttering more so to herself than to you. Her arm slithers back inside the vehicle, head motioning to the empty passenger seat with a quick nod. “Like hell I’m letting you walk home, it’s not safe. I’ll give you a ride. Get in”.

The authority of her tone makes your knees wobbly, and the way she sits back in her seat with her neck craned against the headrest commands urgency. She’s waiting. You feel a lump harden in your throat. She’s waiting for you.

You hasten your little steps, sheepishly opening the car door and sliding inside, whispering with pruned lips how thankful you are for the ride. You’re stiff in the seat next to her, hands folded in the center of your lap; they were numbed from the cold, goosebumps embroidered along your delicate flesh.

“Don’t mention it”, she brushes off the innocent gratitude with a witty shake of her head, vehicle rolling through the asphalt, leaving the parking lot with just a planate flick of the wrist, elongated fingers dipping into the rubberized padding of the steering wheel. You watch from your peripheral, nostrils flaring as you shakily inhale, splashes of soap and freshly cleaned laundry breeze over you, and you relish in it, stomach all filled with butterflies over something as simple as the older woman’s scent.

“Where to, then?”, she inquires with a throaty hum, vision focused on the road ahead of her. She sighs in frustration when you tell her, though she grins in utter amusement, laughing when you deluge her with stuttering apologies over a mere lie.

“Christ. Thought you said you were close?”. She makes a turn, dirt crackling under the wheels as she pulls onto another street.

“I know, I’m sorry”, you mumble in shame, hands folding tighter and tighter until your knuckles jut against your skin, your face all flushed. Lower lining of the dress you wore was hiked up your thighs, you felt so exposed and scrutinized alongside her, in her car.

“It’s alright, don’t take me too seriously. New girl, right? I remember. Explains why you’re always so quiet”, Jill continues with the conversation, glimpsing over just for a second to study you before she’s focused again. “You enjoy the place? They had some nice drinks, don’t you think? It wasn’t all too bad”, you frown at her words, a heaviness nested in your chest. You hadn’t really done much tonight at the celebration. Nothing other than ogle at her, eat some bread rolls, and then ogle at her some more.

“I didn’t drink anything really, unfortunately”, admitting this was rather awkward, due to how much desire you held to impress her. Now you just felt inadequate, lackluster. “Too many people I didn’t know, if that makes any sense. I must sound boring, don’t I?”.

“Not even one drink?”, she questions, lips curved up into an open-mouthed grimace as she flutters her eyelashes in teasing surprise. “Free to get whatever you want, and you’re telling me you were too shy to even drink anything?”, and she sneers when you nod, biting down laughter in hopes she could keep you comfortable in her presence. Smile lines deepen around the shape of her mouth, silky lips blessed with a tint of coral, apples of her cheeks glowing with every beguilement grin.

“It doesn’t hurt to celebrate, you know. You work hard, I’ve noticed”, she pauses, considering her next words carefully, not wanting to tread any risky lines, “I’m not that far from my apartment anyway, want to have a drink or two? Think I’ve got some lying around, wouldn’t hurt to get em’ used up”.

Green light hanging up ahead switches rapidly from yellow to red, crimson hue painted over the dashboard and along the height of your body. You’ve sunken a little in the passenger seat, all wide-eyed and panicked when she offers. You open your mouth to answer, but she cuts you off before you could turn the opportunity down.

“Just the two of us, okay? I don’t bite, I promise”, and you swear you’re melting, too convinced. You nod in response, a simple “sure” is all you can hiccup.

‘Maybe all that time ripping apart my wardrobe was worth it?’

Maybe so, because Jill fucking Valentine is moving her lengthy index finger to the left of her steering wheel, flicking on her turn signal without a single ounce of hesitation, and then making a u-turn that can only promise one thing.

The ride to her apartment.

Agreeing was most definitely easier than doing, that was for certain. With the door opening, and her leading the way inside, not only then does it really solidify into reality. One of your leading superiors—a trained operations agent—has driven you back to her apartment to “share drinks” and “celebrate without all the other chatter”. At least that’s what she bargained for in the car.

You’ve politely found purchase on the faux leather cushion of her couch, material beige and smoothened, and you curl into it as you keenly gape around the place.

The condo is fresh, and crisp, organized and minimalistic, but still with a trace that’s so understandably miss valentine.

After hearing about rumors of Jill’s horror in raccoon city, you can almost bet she’s much more at ease now, with her new place, and her new position. Eager to distance from her solemn past.

She’s a workaholic, that’s for sure, multiple rooms in her living space and she’s dedicated one for her research; the door slightly agape, and you can’t help but satiate your curiosity as you squint your eyes and look past the doorknob.

With what little you can see through the crevice, there’s a desk inside with files strewn along the top, corkboard furnished along the wall and vital information pinned to it with colored thumbtacks. Not able to help yourself, a tender smile cracks on your lips as you notice irrelevant stickers plastered along the granulated cork, designs of cats and succulents the older woman has happily put everywhere. Your heart pangs at the innocent gesture, imagining such a stern individual indulging herself with such small and adorable items.

“Do you have a preference? Want anything in particular?”, said woman calls from the kitchen, face astern and a hand pushing the fridge door open. Hastily, you retreat your beady eyes, suddenly feeling impertinent for your sense of wonder. She lists off what she has, but it’s all foreign to you, not making much sense from your lack of alcohol expertise.

“I’m not sure”, you shrug sheepishly, a bashful grin displayed, “anything is fine, really”. ‘Anything that you pick, I’ll drink’, sounds more correct, but you digress.

She reads you like you’re an open book, your naivety and youth all too transparent and sat right on her couch, eyebrows furrowed and hands respectfully folded in your lap. A position she’s noticed you in ever since you were rigid and unsettled in her vehicle. When were you ever going to relax? It filled her with incomprehensible mirth, the way you were.

“You’re quite young, aren’t you?”, Jill teases a little, poking at the spots that make you internally weak as she flashes a knowing smirk, “don’t drink a lot I take it? That’s alright”.

She retrieves two glasses from her cupboard and fills them with her pick as you so kindly advocated, closing the fridge and then sauntering over. She takes her place beside you, the leather sinking from the weight of two, her thigh resting along the couch and the shape of her kneecap brushing against you.

“All yours. Bottoms up”, a throaty chuckle resounds in her throat as she offers the drink, ushering for you to take it into your small hands, in which you oblige with unreadable panic. “Cheers”, she clinks her glass with yours, before she’s reclining into the cushion and swallowing, throat muscles contracting up and down.

You only manage to gulp down a small portion of the beverage, soured reaction shriveling your lips. It wasn’t the most enjoyable, but it was Jill’s, and you found it as well sought after as any nobel prize. This drink, this couch, this moment. This moment with her, even if every lick of the bitter whiskey was deathly, you would still sacrifice every lumpy taste bud just for a second with the woman.

Slowly, she sets the drink down on the coffee table, and you watch her movements carefully. Those hands of hers guide the cardigan off her shoulder blades, shrugging the gray fabric down and onto an armrest with a composed exhale.

What torture it is, your foolish reverence for her. Dirty incalescence ferments between the swell of your thighs, burning and burning once you catch sight of the dip between her chest, cleavage freckled with age and brown moles dotted along her sharpened collarbone. Her tight little blue tank top hiding underneath that damned cardigan this whole time. The fabric is stressed across the seaming of her bust, creased and curled until it dips down and hugs around the frame of her waist. There’s no fucking way you’ll be able to make it through tonight without slipping up.

“You’re brave for working under the organization, no matter what you do. Reminds me of when I first started training, I was around your age too. It’s risky, but I’m sure you already know that”, she bends downward to unlace her coal-shaded boots, tugging the zipper down without an ounce of patience in her.

“You gettin’ along with everybody? How is everything, with the new position and all? I mean, the way you were acting earlier, it makes me worried. If anyone’s screwing with you-”.

“No no no, it’s not like that, I promise”, you cut her off, shaking your head quickly in hopes you could help her understand your viewpoint, in which she glances at you and sits upright. She got you to talk, and if she wasn’t absolutely smug about it.

“Everything is fine, and the department is kind to me. You’ve been very generous too, and I’m thankful. I’m just…still trying to get used to everything”, she bobs her head with acumen, digesting every syllable and stumble of your words, listening maturely. She finds flattery in your compliment toward her, doing best not to grin.

“How is it with, um…you and Chris?”, you ask, and the moment the question slips past your lips, you’re filled with utter regret. What kind of question was that? Valentine raises her eyebrow in bewilderment, shocked by the sudden change in subject. She draws her arm along the head of the couch, manspreading whilst she sits as she pleases, eyes still narrowed with pique and pointed in your general direction.

“Me and Chris?”, the laughter she bellows out is vocal, giggling deeply without much restraint, “we’re partners, is all. We’ve been in this field for a while now.”

The way she carries herself around you is as if she’s known you for years, like this is just some humorous conversation that fills her with interest. She wasn’t this excited to speak at the restaurant, you’ve noted, and it’s heartwarming. You, of all people, have made her soft.

Despite all the liquor she’s consumed tonight, she is still impressively sober, quick to catch on to all your soft spoken words, and averting eyes. Although, her high tolerance, of all things, is not a particular trait of hers that surprises you. It only aids the turmoil that rumbles in your chest; it makes you feel weighed down and heavy, the scent of luxurious usquebaugh lingering on her tongue after every breath she releases.

“I see”, you mumble, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Jill rolls her blue eyes, “you’re always apologizing, you have nothing to be sorry about”, the room falls silent, clock that’s hung on her wall ticking as seconds prolong into minutes. That is, until she speaks again.

“What about you? Got a boyfriend? Lay it on me”, and the room feels like it’s suddenly enclosing, the words strangely suffocating, and you refuse to admit your sheer infatuation you bore for her. You shake your head with silence, finding that your speechlessness was a better reply rather than your jumbled words of anxious gibberish. One slip up, and you knew it would be over.

Your fingers tease the constricting dress again, eyes exerting to the way your thighs expand and lay flat on her sofa. The way the material fits you like a glove was sweltering, especially with her obsidian pupils beating down on you, drinking up your every tentative counter.

“So that’s a no”, she snorts at your lack of volume, feeling filled with confidence. “You stare a lot, you know that? I noticed you looking at me all night. I don’t scare you, do I?.”

You shoot your attention toward her now, irises apprehensively rounded and wide, and you feel the world absolutely crumble as you're struck with distress over her admittance. She did notice, after all. How pathetic you must have looked the whole time, peering from the fucking entree platter to her every couple of minutes, so visibly envious whenever anyone uttered a single word to her.

“No, I”-

Your pale lips tremble as they open, an absinthal taste wrought over your tongue and depleting any moisture from your mouth. You try to answer, meek and destroyed from your own clumsy dilemma. How different this could have been, if only you weren’t so gullible when it came to your yearning, now leading yourself into chagrin as you couldn’t keep your eyes away earlier.

“I’m sorry”, you pipe out, “I didn’t mean to”-, and she’s engulfing you, brain all smothered into mush and your body liquidizing to putty under the embrace she ensnares you in. Countless nights you’ve spent imagining how every curve of her lips feels pressed along yours, how they move, how they taste, but absolutely nothing can put into words how beautiful they feel as they swallow up your squeaks of dismay.

She’s crawling forward until she’s got you all laid out underneath her, squirming in your position as you submit to the palm she lays on your chest, a firm push she gives until you’ve gone flat amongst the leather cushion. With her legs now entangled with yours, she’s content, humming into the kiss she’s so rightfully initiated, sharp nose dipping into the velvet skin of your face, and skimming along your cheek with every tilt of her head.

Challenged by inexperience, you try best to keep up with the opening and closing of her mouth she’s laying upon you, her eyes sealed as her lips seemingly can’t control themselves, a hunger you’ve never expected from Jill. Flavors of malt she's got melting from her tongue, intoxicated saliva that’s mixed with yours and creating a slippery concoction between your lips with every thirsting lick she provokes.

“Need some attention? Am I right?”, the brunette separates from the bliss she had solicited, lips detaching with a wet smack so she can inhale sharply. “I’m much older than you, much”-, she huffs, airily snickering at the sight behold just right beneath her, “much fucking older.” She drags the wriggling muscle out from between her teeth and over her lips, collecting the moisture and spit you had so generously lathered over her. To die like this, it would be divine.

You lay dormant and vulnerable to her control, but she had warned you. Her words were not to be taken lightly, but rather, considered. To give up your innocence for such a filthy, wretched moment like this, Jill knew better. But those eyes of yours had begged, pleaded, were filled with desperation. Whatever she had done, or would do, you wouldn’t lament over it—but rather—savor it.

“I know”, you speak up, balancing the shakiness that wracks you. You’ve wanted a moment like this with her, and you refused to let it slip away from the cracks of your fingers when she was so, so close to granting you everything you’ve wished. “I know you are.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Explains all the staring, that goddamn dress during winter for Christ’s sake, all on purpose, I take it, tryna get my attention”, the silver pendant of her necklace dangles above you, circling as if it’s meant to entrance you. “The hell am I going to do with you?.”

The authority that oozes off her foul tongue is like morphine, an opiate you’ve swallowed, it’s addictive and ruins your common sense completely. Innocent eyes flicker back and forth, your jaw now slack as you can’t focus between the heat swirling in her pupils, or the way her lips taunt you for another taste.

The delicate curve of her nose, like a deity the way she so naturally is, sculpted from the stars as you examine the dorsal bump that sits near the bridge between her eyes, and then arches down to her cupid's bow. You want to pepper kisses all over her, take a risk into her world, trace the fine lines that are embedded into her pale complexion. God, you wanted it, no matter how foolish you would become.

Not able to withstand another teasing comment, you bring your lips to hers with vehemence, your shaky hands drawn over the stretch of her back, nails bundling up fistfuls of blue cotton fervently and with lack of restraint.

“Easy, baby”, the older woman rasps out a discordant laugh as she eases apart from you, “I got it, sweetheart. Let’s take our time, no need to rush anything.”

But the way your fingers are threading up her spine, carding through the syrupy strands of her hair and burying the pads of your fingers into her darkened roots tell her everything. “Please”, you whisper, a whine of desire prolonging from your throat, “take me to bed.”

And who is she to deny such a request? Fallen at your feet from square one.

With groping hands and ragged breaths, Jill has led you to her room and shoved her calloused hands onto the square of your chest, watching you stumble your way backward until your knees wobble, feet losing balance and you surrender your footing. Now draped along her mattress, you’re sprawled amidst her disheveled sheets, unintentionally alluring at the edge of her bed. A present that needed to be unwrapped and reveled in. Undressed and ravaged.

Undoubtedly, the attraction was mutual. Too reticent to meet her eye, fledgling and modest you were, a stark contrast to the indecent and repugnant men that stuck around and partnered alongside Jill in multiple missions. She was abnormally engrossed in you, freshly employed, seeing a sliver of compassion in every beam you presented, how much you were blossoming compared to the others who groaned and wailed.

Of course, your age had been worrisome, and Jill felt guilt course within her at such salacious contemplations. But to have you laid out in this moment, so youthful, so precious, she knew it was alright. She was going to take such good care of you, that was certain, cherish you like no other. And from the way you propped your weight up onto your elbows to wait for her, in her bed—she knew you had waited a while for this too. The glimmering twinkle in your glossy eyes, an unspoken plea from the depths of your soul.

Jill pried your heels off your feet and threw the irrelevant shoes to the floor, long fingertips prodding along the protruding talus bone and further down to the curve of your calf, pulling your leg upward so she could chastely peck along the skin. Give you softness before she fucked you clueless, solicited vulnerable cries from that sweet mouth.

“God, you’re so perfect, sweet thing. Need you to be good and spread your legs for me”, she mumbles amongst unarticulated nibbles to your calf, two strong hands guiding your limbs apart with your permission. You comply, breath hitched in your throat, craning your neck back once she lowers a palm between your two thighs, index and middle finger circling into your sticky panties, meddling with the sodden gusset.

She grunts, your wet cunt fueling her ego. She knew it was worth examining how ruined you already were, but this quick? How precious.

“Fucking hell, you’re needy”, you flush viciously at her jesting observation, squirming so sensitively at the swirls and caresses of sensual friction, every plunge of her trimmed nails into the flimsy fabric were torturous. Panties are humid and tainted from your own very need, and you feel your body is just an ocean of desire, body overflowing with lecherous want.

You wantonly gripe and huff, dress now creased and hiked up to your navel as Jill holds you still and anchored, one hand clamped around your knee securely as the other is buried between your thighs, toying with you. Coaxing those gentle gasps out of you that make her heart swell, fill her with greedy pride.

��Just a couple of kisses, and your panties are already ruined”, she curls a finger into the band and drags the elastic up, the soiled undergarment loose and freed from your glistening labia, before Jill releases, the material slapping back down within mere seconds. Jolting and whimpering, you’re appalled from the igniting slap amongst your sensitive warmth, hips jittering and Jill flashes you a playful smile.

“Half my goddamn age and gettin’ all wet”, she tugs the panties up now, watching the cotton sink into the slick of your pussy, lips curled around the laced seam and cutely puffed out, glistening with your own pronounced arousal. “Pretty girl”, she muses, dark eyebrows creased and wrinkles of concentration forming along her forehead as she gawks at you coming apart, beseeching for mercy with little squeaks and airy sighs. She wonders when you’ll demand pleasure, but such a sweetheart you are, letting Jill have her way with you.

She’s too impatient for this little game, having enough of prolonging your reward of indescribable pleasure and ecstasy. She pushes the damp gusset to the side, a bridge of transparent slick breaking apart from the undergarment once she bares your cunt to her hungry eyes, lengthy fingers spreading your velvety lips apart, her mouth formulating into an impressed “o” at the vision.

“Jill”-, you pipe up with uncertainty, but she hushes you, another kiss she smothers to your calf. “I know”, she hums, “I know”. You feel all warm inside, sickened with endearment by the way she looks at you, clenching around thin air as you imagine how well she’ll fill you. You’re all hers tonight, she knows this.

A veil of brown tresses conceal half her face as she lowers her head to a calculated angle, sharp collarbone and shoulder blades pronounced once she bends closer to your clit. She collects tepid drool off the tip of her pink tongue, and hurls it down onto your turgescent pearl, watching her bubbling saliva sully your pretty little pussy and drip down to your pulsating hole, entrance begging to be split open as you clench once…then twice, and a third time. You shiver at the contrast of temperature, cool slick now warmed by the draw of her thermal spittle, and you attempt to keep your head up to watch with half-lidded eyes, desperate to see the woman you loved.

Despite her foul-mouthed tendency, and inclination for dirty talk, she was slow, and tender. Her hands were rough, marred from training and littered with blemishes and scarring. Though, she was so considerate the way she plopped her thumb along the swell of your clit, textured fingertips rubbing upward against the flesh, flicking the small, and hardened bud with precision that had you moaning brokenly into her pillows. Your nostrils flare, inhaling her musk that’s adorned the sheets, the scent enveloping you, in which you only moan louder.

“Yeah, feeling good, aren’t you. Like my fingers?”

“Mhm!”, you had no words to speak, clasping onto the bedding as she steadily draws circles of pleasure over your enlarging bud. She tests the waters, pointer finger nudging at your dripping entrance, and when you make no sound of denial, she buries herself inside, curling one finger into your cunt. She laughs flippantly as your body instinctively swallows her in, fleshy walls tightening and frenzied, clenching sporadically around her, and she adds another finger slowly, trying best to be careful with you; her precious girl.

“Jill- oh my god”, the sudden stretch of her fingers is surreal, sticky taint gushing from your weeping hole and defiling the pale, boney fingers that split you apart so remarkably, obscene sonorities that climb up the walls and ring into your ears. You were already soaked earlier after the push of her tongue along your teeth, a saturated flower between your shaking legs, luminous and gleaming after a rainfall of dominance the older woman harbored.

But the way she bullies her knuckles inside you, her spit sloven hands smearing her slobber all over your vulva—you've been undeniably ruined, sopping mess that’s smeared to the flesh of your inner thighs and down to the shape of your rear, and you sob.

“Can’t- can’t do it”, your body says otherwise, pleading for more, blood rich and adrenaline coursing through bluish veins like wildfire. Thrust after thrust, and push after push; transforming your mortal chassis into molten nothingness. You’ve surrendered willingly, fallen victim to a certain euphoria that wounds around you, ensnares you into a blanket of submission.

“You can”, Valentine coaxes, more of a demand than suggestion, inspecting you past her webbed eyelashes, “and you will.” Her two fingers are tight against one another, pummeling toward the spongy muscle inside you with a pump of her wrist, arm flexing as she opens you wide to her advantage, folds spread apart to her liking, flapping limply atop the tarnished knuckles that gets forced into your noisy pussy. You’re writhing desperately, an arm flailing down the arch of your stomach to catch her, and you’re teary eyed; two crystals gleaming and threatening fat tears.

You’ve begun to blubber riddles of nonsense, incoherent gasps that can only direct Jill toward one conclusion, and once your hips grind upward to meet the dry surface of her palm, she’s sucking her teeth. You’re close, she smirks in understanding.

“Hm!”, you shake your head, and what else can you say? Disheveled and torn away, once innocent and pure, now fragmented into a vision of a filth from the way you moan symphonies. Dress slithered up just below the cave of your ribs, and a trembling hand clamping down on the wrist that’s trapped between your lifted thighs, you’re the image of a prostitute.

Nonchalant from your intrusive hand desperate to stop her, Jill swats you away and flashes you an expression that reads ‘don’t do that again’, before she’s plunging once more, and your stomach lurches, hitched breath trapped within your esophagus.

“Listen to yourself”, she tantalizes, sultry remarks hissing from the gaps of her pearly whites, and you whimper delicately as you begin to lose yourself in the bliss. It’s only in that moment of fragility that you recognize what she finds so amusing, the squelching of your cunt, juices lewd and sloppy as they flow, and you’re clenching around the older woman’s joints within. Further and further, until the rope breaks, and you’re crumbling into oblivion, battered fingers ushering you into an orgasm of pristine heaven.

Her thumb lulls you from your sequencing spasms, rubbing your used little clit in tender circles as she marvels over such magnificence with blown pupils, still standing at the edge of the bed whilst she listens to the howls of elation that tumble from your cute lips. She’s got to stop herself from hounding you right now, control the erotic sparks that are boiling underneath the constriction of her pants. She did this, and if she didn’t feel so full of herself because of it. Thoroughly smitten with you.

“There you go”, she hushes you with rasping care, observing with worry as your soft hips remain twitching, “you okay?.”

She abandons the mess she made the moment she joins alongside you, crawling to fill the cold space amongst the bed, suckling marks of woo under the slant of your jaw once she’s beside you. Slender, protective arms are snared around your heaving figure, and you’re humming to reassure her, reaching to grasp onto the meat of her biceps for a sense of imploring comfort.

“You did good”, a husky murmur that rumbles from her, reverberates through you as she douses nurturing pecks along the crown of your swarming head, your brain filled with static and fuzz from such an experience. She thinks you’re finished for the night, wasted and frayed—the humble woman she was—figuring she’ll get you cleaned up and call it a night.

The conclusion is omitted, fortunately, from the moment your mouth falls agape, needy muscle thrashing inside and your libido pulsates. You lever her hand that was once caressing your waist, and bring it upon the seat of your bottom lip, peering past your nose at the wrinkled fingertips; pruned and soiled from the liquid you've drenched them in. Your release, glued and preserved amidst the pores of the brunette's skin.

A low sigh of approval erupts from Jill’s chest as you clean the cracks and crevices you’ve dirtied, your beady eyes now sealed tightly as you slurp on the digits hungrily.

“Can’t baby”, she drawls, cunt throbbing and irritated as it stays purchased amongst the seaming of her ripped jeans. “Might be too much for tonight.”

As if you’re adamant on her docility and compliance, you swirl your tongue over her nail beds, the addictive brewery of your cum, globs of spit, and her flesh had all become dewy and sloshed down the walls of your throat. You moan, bobbing your head until you sputter around her, and the two digits sit upon their tongue-like throne beside the swell of your tonsils, leaving you gagging stupidly by the sensations.

Fucks sake, she wants to pummel that honeyed mound into the sheets until you’re ripping her off, tear streaks racing down your cheekbones. You fucking asked for it? You’re gonna get it.

“Want you to feel good”, you gargle, batting your eyelashes, “please?”

Denial dawns heavily upon her for the second time tonight, the fear of mauling your body—her temple of worship—weighing heavy on her racing heart. But the stench of sex disarms her restraint, the prodding canines and writhing tongue deepthroating her fingers merely convincing her. “Wanna feel you”, you whimper, “wanna”- and there’s no more words that need to be said.

Constricting fabric and other layers of clothes are shredded apart within a matter of seconds, now askew and in disorganized piles amongst the older woman’s bedroom floor. She couldn’t care less, peeling off everything she, or you possibly owned, a chest of ample breasts swinging and soft, chocolate moles dotted from her collarbone to the curve of her rising tits. You feel them perk against your own, nipples coupled and stimulating one another. Her robust figure straddles your hips, strengthened thighs not allowing an escape as she wrestles her lips against yours, groaning in low carnality.

The night is crude, bawdy, and daring. Jill Valentine’s apartment molding into a pornographic masterpiece, with licentious kisses exchanged with swollen lips, and entwined legs that brush against one another. She’s slotted herself so perfectly against your cunt, raising her hips so she can grind her clit against yours, and it’s everything she’s wanted. Everything you've wanted. Hymns of pleasure conjoin, and she’s clamping your thighs as she meets you in the center, a sultry look through her hooded eyes. With nails digging crescents into your skin, she huffs out a hissing moan, string of curse words descending before she can communicate properly.

“So close babe, so fucking close”, Jill’s pelvis pushes upward, folds kissing one another and she connects with you like you’re both two puzzle pieces meant for one another. “Gotta wait for me baby, wait for me, okay?”. She’s already said that many times tonight, stilling her scissoring once she spots even a measly scrunch of enjoyment building up on your youthful features. Egging you on just to shatter any shroud of pleasure.

“Wanna fuck this sweet pussy all night”, she grunts, chuckling in mirth at your whines for release, beads of sweat drawn over her temples. “Be patient with me baby, be patient”. And she’s tugging the ropes again, leg drawn over yours as she rubs against you, over and fucking over again, until you’re a ruptured woman, humbled from your own begging.

#bloodcasket #resident evil smut #jill valentine smut #resident evil x reader #jill valentine x you #jill x reader #jill valentine fanfiction #jill valentine x reader #jill fanfic #lesbian

1K notes · View notes

ghostboneswrites2 · 10 months ago

Text

Silent Night || One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Request from my old blog: "I was wondering if you could to a little thing of daryl and a female mute reader? If you can, maybe selective mutism, so there can be some trust building themes and things! Just fluff, and two idiots in love"

Summary: You get stuck in a cabin overnight with Daryl. He tries to get to know you. Lots of trust building and cute bonding.

18+MDNI || WARNINGS: profanity, sad backstory, TW: child loss, mostly cute

Daryl lit the fire in the old fireplace, rubbing his hands together and holding them out to soak up the heat. It was dark and rather chilly with the roaring storm outside. It had blown in fast, and the torrential downpour was too much to drive in. With slow squeaky windshield wipers and dim headlights that desperately needed replacing, there was no other option. Daryl pulled over to the first cabin he saw and rushed you inside, leaving the two of you to spend the night in an old dusty cabin that smelled like mildew and aged wood.

"Should start warmin' up in a bit." He told you, standing up and looking around. He didn't bother waiting for a response, you wouldn't have anything to say. Nobody had ever heard you talk. I mean, sure, people did when yo were younger, before the turn. You weren't deaf like Connie. You thought it was probably just a trauma response. The day you came home to find your fiancé hunched over your two year old daughter, blood pooling on the ground... You could just never bring yourself to speak after that. When you heard your voice, you heard goofy laughs with your baby, sweet talks in bed with your man, phone calls with family and friends. Nowadays there was never anything worth talking about. Every time you tried to speak you were flooded with sweet memories and clouded by the terrible image of your undead lover eating your baby, your world. It was like this large painful lump in your throat had made a home there and prevented any sound from coming out.

Nobody actually even knew your name. You never told them. They usually just called you Jane, as in Jane Doe. Daryl didn't mind you at all, though. In fact, he was quite fond of you. You were pretty, you could hold your own, and you were also... pretty. So pretty. He couldn't keep his eyes off you some days. He was never sure if you noticed, and you really didn't. That was really only because you tried your best not to look at him. You were helplessly attracted to him, so anything to avoid giving that away, you did.

"Still got them bars in your bag?" He asked you, referring to the protein bars Carol sent you with. You opened your bag and tossed him one, opening another one for yourself.

The two of you ate in silence. He tossed you a water bottle from his own bag, and you drank.

Then, it was just the two of you, left to occupy yourselves. He spent an hour or so sharpening arrows and tweaking bits and pieces on his bow. You mostly just laid on the couch and picked at your nails, or scabs, or stared up at the ceiling, watching the spiders in their webs.

His mind was plagued with questions. Every time he was alone with you he found himself wondering the same things. Where were you from? What was your story? Why didn't you speak? What was your name?

He got frustrated with he lack of answers or anything else to stimulate his mind and distract him. He sighed and pushed himself back and forth in the old dingy rocking chair.

"Need to find you a notepad or somethin' like Connie has." He spoke.

You looked over at him.

"Just sayin', silence is deafening, y'know?"

You just looked back up at the ceiling.

"What about.. Okay." He sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. You looked back at him. "What if I asked you... yes or no questions. You can just nod or shake your head." He sounded hopeful and bored. You almost wanted to laugh at his eagerness, like a little kid trying to get his grandpa to tell him stories from the war.

You didn't answer, because, of course not, but you just watched him curiously, not giving any indication of refusal.

"Alright. Do you like fishing?"

You furrowed your eyebrows.

"Right. You don't fish." He nodded. "Stupid question. What about.. Okay. Have you ever talked?"

You gave a single nod after a moment of deciding if you want to tell him that or not.

"Do you know why you stopped?"

The question was like a dagger in your chest. You decided you didn't wanna play anymore. You just sighed and turned your attention back to the ceiling.

He didn't press further. He just stood up and started to wander, checking all the cabinets in the kitchen for anything useful. He found one thing, a can of Spam.

"You like Spam?" He asked, walking back into the living room. You glanced over at him and shook your head. You weren't hungry. He shrugged. "Suit yourself." He said as he dug into the canned meat.

"Y'know, I had a friend. Her name was Beth. She died, and uh, I didn't talk much after that. It was hard to. Like my throat got all tight every time I tried." He said. "It took a while, but I got through it."

You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to relate, hoping you'd open up some. You wished it was that easy, you really did. It was miserable having all these thoughts, needs, desires, and no way to express them.

You knew you could speak, if you really wanted to. The problem was that you had never wanted to work hard enough to get past the lump.

"You, uh, you're really no fun at sleepovers. Y'know that?"

Silence. He waited a while. He wondered if he could make you laugh. He couldn't recall ever seeing you give more than a smile. He remembered the story he told Andrea all those years ago, and how it made her laugh.

"Y'know, this one time when I was a kid. I got lost in the woods. I'm talkin' days, right. So, I gotta use the bathroom at some point. I wiped with leaves, cause I didn't have toilet paper or nothin', and turned out, it was poison ivy. I made it home eventually. Ass itched somethin' serious. I'm talkin' pullin' my underwear 'til the wedgie was so bad it gave me rug burn. Tried everything. Even took a fork outta the kitchen and tried that. Nothin' helped."

You were watching him now, grinning. A fork? Really? You wanted to ask if he threw it away or left it to get washed and used. He admired your smile for some time, before it faded. At least he got that.

"My brother was in juvie back then. Dad wasn't around either. Did I ever tell ya about the time Merle got crabs?"

You shook your head,

"Well, he came home one night from the bar. Passed out. Next day he couldn't stop itchin'. Come to find out, there were little bugs crawlin' around in his pubes."

You frowned in disgust.

"Anyways, tried to tell the dumb son of a bitch to just shave 'em off, but he didn't wanna so I had to ride with him to the free clinic to get some kinda dick shampoo. Turns out he slept with the same girl like three more times. Kept goin' back to her 'til the shampoo ran out. Guess he figured it didn't matter if he could keep washin' 'em out."

You looked mortified.

"Yeah, guess that wasn't funny." He agreed. "He was a nasty son of a bitch."

You raised your eyebrows and nodded in agreement.

"I see you hang around Connie a lot. She ever teach you any sign language?"

You shook your head.

"I got a book back home if ya want it."

You shrugged. Could be nice to communicate again.

"Looks like ya need new shoes." He commented, nodding to your feet propped up on the arm of the couch. The rubber soles were starting to detach from the shoe itself. You nodded. "Wanna stop somewhere and look?"

You thought for a moment, nodding and shrugging at the same time, as if to say, 'Why not?'

He sat back down in the rocking chair and rested his head back. He wasn't tired really. It wasn't even that late. The rain just made it seem darker than it was. He listened to the crackling fire and the windy storm outside, the occasional thunder booming around.

He looked down at you. You seemed just as restless.

"Wish I knew more about ya." He admitted.

Usually he wouldn't be so forward with a pretty girl, but your constant silence made him feel like he was just talking to himself. He didn't have to worry about your reaction, though he often wondered what you thought of him.

You looked at him again, curiously.

You glanced around the room for anything you could use to tell him something about you. It could be like a game of charades.

You noticed a map on the wall and walked over to it, pulling the large frame off the nail and walking over to him. You placed your finger on your home state to show him.

"That's where you're from?"

You nodded, a small, sad smile on your lips.

"I'm from Georgia." He said. You gave an acknowledging nod.

"Ever been to any other states?"

You dragged your finger from your home state to Virginia, showing him you had only been through the states that led you to wind up as one of the Saviors. Of course, you weren't one of Negan's fighters, you were just a maid on the cleanup crew. He had actually seen you a few times during his captivity at The Sanctuary. You almost looked as miserable as him.

"Mm." He nodded with understanding.

You set the map on the coffee table and walked around the room, looking for anything else to use as a clue. Your eye caught on a little pink bow, the kind with an elastic band that would go around a baby's head. You picked it up, eyes watering as you ran your fingers over it. You turned back to him and walked back to where he sat, holding it out to show him.

"Ya like pink?" He asked, not quite understanding. You shook your head, trying to think of a better way to explain. Then you remembered the horizontal scar over your lower abdomen. You had your daughter via C-section.

You lifted your shirt and pulled the waist of your jeans down slightly to expose the scar. You held the bow up again, then pointed at the scar.

"Oh." He said lowly. "You had a daughter?"

You nodded, still teary eyed. You took the bow to your bag, concealing it in one of the zipper pockets. You had run out of the house horrified on that awful day. You had no time to grab a memento for her, so that bow would have to serve as one.

"I'm sorry." He told you. You just nodded in place of a thanks, wiping the tears away. You continued your search around the little cabin for clues. It was kind of fun, albeit painful. It was like a game.

You took a little longer this time on your search, until you found a phone book. You took it and flipped open a page and walked back to him. This time he was standing up.

You held the book open so that he could see it, and pointed to two individual digits.

"That's how old you are?"

You nodded.

"Is your name in there?"

You shrugged and set the book down, reasoning that it'd be too much work to find it in all those pages.

"So, you're (age), you had a daughter, and you're from (state)?"

You nodded and smiled. This was the most you had communicated with anyone in years. It was nice.

"Cool." He nodded with a small half smile. "You hungry?"

You shook your head no.

"Thirsty?"

You waved your hand to say kind of.

"I found some tequila in the kitchen."

You raised your eyebrows. Now that was temptation if you ever saw it. Tequila was a luxury you hadn't come across in, well, you didn't even know how long. You nodded giddily and he huffed a silent chuckle, shaking his head as he walked into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of clear, liquid joy. You rushed over and grabbed it from him, twisting off the cap and taking a swig. You made a dramatic face as you shook your head. God, you didn't remember the burn being that bad.

"Easy, tiger." He teased as he took the bottle and had some for himself.

You smiled at him as he handed it back, the two of you taking turns until you felt that alcoholic heat in your ears and cheeks.

"You like tequila?"

You shurgged.

"Just like drinkin'?"

You nodded.

"Good to know. If we don't finish this off we can bring it back for ya."

You nodded and grinned. It was cute how happy you got over a simple drink, but he guessed with so little means of communication, anything was nice to take the edge off. He wondered if you felt lonely, like he often did. His was from a place of feeling misunderstood, though. Maybe it wasn't so different than being mute.

"Is it hard?" He asked, taking a seat in the rocking chair as you sat on the coffee table just a foot away.

You tilted your head inquisitively.

"I mean, not bein' able to talk to nobody." He clarified.

You nodded truthfully, looking down at the floor as you grabbed the bottle from him.

"Do ya remember what your voice sounds like?"

You thought for a moment. Of course you did, that was what made it so hard. Your voice was linked to memories that you couldn't bare.

You nodded.

"Maybe I'll hear it one day."

You smiled sweetly before you took a swig and passed the bottle back, nodding. Maybe he would.

"Something on the bottle caught your eye, a little sticker stuck to the bottom. You reached over and peeled it off as he tipped it back to take a drink. It was a simple yellow smiley face. You smirked and waited for him to put the bottle down before you reached over and stuck it to his nose.

"The hell?" He grumbled, peeling it off and looking down at it. You couldn't help the silent giggle, your shoulders rising and falling as you scrunched your nose. The little sticker just contrasted his dark, serious exterior too well.

He noticed your silent laugh and stuck it back to his nose, smiling a little at your amusement. You reached for the bottle and had some more before you passed it back.

"Y'think that's funny, huh?"

You nodded, still grinning. He swished the drink around in his hand, staring at it thoughtfully. He had learned more about you in a couple of hours than anyone probably had in the years you'd been around. Still, it wasn't enough. He was greedy and he wanted more.

He glanced around the room, the fire growing smaller making it fairly dim. He noticed a little banjo off in the corner near the couch.

"Ya like music?"

You nodded.

"Rick, too. Always playin' the worst CDs he can find. Makes my ears bleed." He complained. "What about like.. drawin' or anything. Got any hobbies?"

You shrugged. Before, you mostly just liked being a mom and watching your favorite shows. Now, you really only worked to survive, so what hobbies were there really?

"What about church? You like that kinda thing?"

You shook your head.

"Yeah me neither. Never believed in it much."

You nodded in agreement.

"My mom did, though. Liked to read the bible. She died. When I was a kid."

You placed a hand on his knee, letting him know you empathized.

"Yeah. Dad was a real ass, too. Merle was all I had and he wasn't around all that much."

You gave a sad, thin smile.

"What about you? You had both parents?"

You nodded.

"Brothers? Sisters?"

You shook your head. You were an only child.

"Consider yourself lucky." He joked. You nodded. "Pets? Did ya have any?"

You nodded.

"Cat?"

You shook your head.

"Dog?"

You held up the number two with your fingers.

"Always wanted a dog."

You smiled. You loved your dogs.

"Ya miss 'em? The dogs."

You nodded.

He yawned.

"Ya tired yet or ya wanna keep goin'?"

You shrugged.

He passed you the bottle and stood up, ruffling your hair a little. You swatted his hand playfully and took a drink.

"Gon' make sure the doors are sealed up tight." He announced, walking off to find the back door and reinforce it.

You stood off the coffee table, the hard surface making your butt sore. You stretched and walked back to the couch. When he came back he asked, "You sleepin' there?"

You nodded. You would offer it to him, but last time you guys had to share a sleep space he hogged the bed and snored as loud as humanly possible, so this time you were doing him no favors. He laid out some blankets he found, making a nice palette on the floor to lay on. You set the bottle on the coffee table, feeling pretty tipsy by now, and relaxed on the couch the way you had before. He laid down on his back, propping his bag under his head for comfort.

It was silent for a while, just the two of you enjoying the sounds of rain and the flames that were slowly dying down.

"Thanks." He spoke up. You peeked down at him from the couch. He was mostly obscured by the coffee table but you could see half of his face. "For tellin' me all that."

You just smiled to yourself as you turned on your side, facing away from him and curling up into the ball you usually slept in. A few minutes went by. Just as his eyes got heavy, he heard it.

"(Y/N)." You said. "That's my name."

#daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl twd

293 notes · View notes

alessiathepirate · 2 years ago

Text

Resident Evil 4

CLUELESS: Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Summary: Five times they were sure they weren't dating and one time they weren't. OR: Luis, Ashley, Ada and Krauser having enough of how oblivious and clueless they are about their feelings.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: swearing, violence, my Spanish (if I used something in the wrong context please feel free to tell me so I can improve), Luis being the number one fanboy and Ashley being best girl

•••

Prince Charming and his señorita

"Tell me señorita, are you and Prince Charming a thing?"

She looked up at Luis with furrowed eyebrows, her face full of confusion. She examined his gestures and the way the muscles around his mouth moved, forming a small, knowing smirk.

"Why? You want to take me out on a date or something?" she asked, quickly falling for the assumption that all Luis wants is to know if she's single so he can continue his flirting, hoping the one liners will magically work.

But then again, she thought, he'd still do it without remorse.

So what does he really want with that question?

"I'd love to cariño, but not with a señorita who's already taken."

"I'm not. Do whatever you want with that information."

She turned away from him, continuing her search through the small villa in hopes of some extra ammunition. She opened a drawer, but found nothing other than some old photos.

"I don't believe you, cariño." Luis said, suddenly breaking the silence.

She slammed the drawer shut in frustration and looked at him, trying to keep her cool and not get annoyed at his antics. She took a deep breath to calm herself down.

She should've gotten used to his teasing by now, but it was impossible to do so. He always found something to talk about, question her about and annoy her about. And now that she was afraid her partner and the president's daughter got hurt in some way after they got seperated, Luis's teasing just crossed a line.

"Look, 'cariño', I don't know why you have to annoy me with literally everything all the time, but I'd appreciate it if you stopped." she pleaded slowly, hoping he'll just stop.

"Oh, there's nothing to feel ashamed of, mi vida. Love is a beautiful and natural thing." he continued on, as he leaned against the wall, looking at her with pure naught. "Besides, I'm sure our Yanqui feels the same way... Deep in love, you know, I'm sure it sounds familiar."

She turned away, this time to hide the slight blush that appeared on her face. Thinking about Leon like that made her stomach feel like it's doing acrobatics.

"No one looks at another person like that without being in love. And our Leon looks at you like tu eres todo su mundo."

She turned to look at him quickly, wanting to ask what he meant when he said that - and when Luis noticed her pink cheeks he just smirked.

"Aw, look at that blush! You for sure look you're not in love cariño."

"Shut up!"

"Really? You want me to? How will you let him know your feelings without my advice, ey?"

"Like I'd take your advice."

"I'm not saying you have to," Luis started to explain himself. "I'm just saying I'm your best option."

She just rolled her eyes shamelessly, but Luis didn't seem to care.

"Now- with a boy like our Leon, the best thing you can do in your situation is to make him j-"

She'll never know what he really wanted to say, because in the next second loud noises were coming from outside and both of them ran to the nearest window to figure out what was going on. The moment she realized Leon and Ashley were running towards their hideout as hoards of Spanish undead were chasing them and shouting at them, she ran towards the door, opening it without thinking twice.

"This way!" she shouted.

Ashley was the first to arrive and she gave her a short hug as she waited for Leon to get inside. When they were finally able to close the door behind themselves, she felt two strong arms quickly wrapping themselves around her shoulders and waist, and the next thing she knew she was hugging Leon like there was no tomorrow.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course I am."

"You sure?"

And even if in the next moment Luis was stuck between the wall and a very upset Leon Kennedy, he still sent a smirk her way, as if he'd say: "Sure, princesa, you two are just business partners with heart shaped eyes."

•••

The way they act around each other

"Can I ask you something?" Ashley asked as she was sitting on top of a barrel, dangling her feet as she watched Leon at the shooting range.

"Of course."

"This may sound a little weird, but- are you and Leon dating?"

She turned to look at Ashley as if she just grew another head - what in their situation was quite likely to happen.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you in a relationship with him?" Ashley asked again, examining the ways her expression changed as she waited for an answer.

"I understood what you meant the first time, it's just- what makes you think that?"

"The way you act around each other." Ashley started to explain as she looked back at Leon, who shot a cutout of a pirate in the head. "He always makes sure you're okay and you always check if he has any new bruises."

She leaned against the barrel Ashley was sitting on as she looked at the man they were talking about as well. She watched as his muscles tensed up a bit everytime he pulled the trigger, she watched as he bit his lip in concentration when the target was further away and she watched as his eyes followed the bullet's movement. She bit her lip as her heartbeat got quicker at both the sight and thought - the thought that every single person in Spain seems to think they are dating.

"I care about him."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"He seems like a great guy."

"He is a great guy." she said, knowing she's saying the truth. Whoever Leon'll date in the future - that girl will for sure be a lucky girl.

She couldn't help but giggle as Leon turned towards them with a satisfied little smile, being proud of himself that he just beat his own highscore.

"Do you think you can beat me?"

"Oh, it's on!" she smirked, accepting the challenge.

She ran up to the shooting range, leaving a confused, but happy Ashley behind. She could literally feel her gaze on them and she could heard her thoughts saying: "They are really cute!" - she shook her head, getting those thoughts out of her head. She needs to focus if she wants to win.

"Handgun?"

"Handgun."

Leon smiled as he put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeez, causing her to almost choke on her own saliva.

"Let's see what you can do."

As she rose her gun she could hear Ashley saying "Leon, can I ask you about something?". She missed the first shot when Ashley asked "Are you two dating?", because her heart skipped a beat and beacuse she had to force herself not to look at Leon's expression.

•••

She should keep her boyfriend on a leash

"You should keep your boyfriend on a leash." she immediatelly stopped what she was doing when she heard the very familiar voice of Ada Wong, the woman who was there the night her life became horrific. "He likes to get himself in trouble."

"He's not my boyfriend." she said her voice becoming higher from the annoyance. "And I'm sure he can make his own decisions."

"He clearly can't if you're still not together." she heard the noises of high heels meeting with the wooden floor from behind her and she was sure Ada was walking towards her.

"Where are they?"

" 'They?' " Ada asked and she hated how her voice was full of pride, meaning she knows more than she does. "They got separeted half an hour ago, so now Leon is looking for the both of you."

She turned around, looking at Ada's features hoping they'll give her an explanation to what's going on. But she couldn't read anything off of her face, it was stone cold with a bit of teasing naught.

"So what, you gave Leon a surprise visit as well?"

"No need to get jealous, he didn't give me the welcome I expected."

"What can you expect in a situation like ours?"

She didn't get an answer to her question.

"Leave the girl and get out of here as soon as you can. So maybe you two can finally go on a date." she almost shouted out in frustration, but stopped herself from doing so just in time. "But please, be brave enough to make the first move, because he won't."

For the first time since forever she became speechless and didn't even think about shooting Ada in the leg when she climbed out of the window.

•••

La misión

She almost punched Luis in the face when he touched her shoulder, scaring her and causing her well trained reflexes to react. She stopped just in time, missing his cheekbone by a thread.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Just Luis, mi amor."

"Do you want to die or something?" she asked, not knowing if she meant it as a threat or as a free life lesson.

"Not really, cariño." he answered as she let go of him and took a few steps backwards. "Now tell me, how is la misión going?"

"What mission? Ashley is fine with Leon-"

"I meant our mission, princesa, how are things going with Leon?"

"Oh my God, why do you hate me so much?" she whispered the poetic question as she hid her face in her palms.

"Any success with the confession yet?"

"Can we just stop talking about my love life?"

"Not really, cariño, since we only share this mission together. After that you're on your own."

She chose not to answer and decided to take a look at her surroundings. The other door was locked, she checked it just before Luis arrived, so she had to find another way around the castle if she wanted to reunite with Ashley and Leon. God, she really hoped they are okay, there are some strong enemies around here.

Five seconds. She left Luis unsupervised for five seconds while she walked up to a window deep in thoughts, and Luis has already gotten bored. And in his boredom he decided to give Leon a call.

"Luis, where are you?" she could hear Leon's slightly annoyed voice through the trasmitter.

"Sorry I, uh, I screwed up." he started in a quite serious tone, but then glanced at her and smiled. "Come to our rescue Prince Charming!"

"I'll show you charming!" she almost laughed at his anger. "Wait, what do you mean 'our'?"

Luis turned the transmitter towards her, so Leon could get a clear view of her standing in front of the window. She just furrowed her eyebrows, having enough of both Luis and the situation.

Leon looked both frustrated and confused as he looked at her. She sent a smile his way.

"I met up with your señorita, Sancho. We might as well continue our adventure together, sí?" he turned the machine away from her. "Meet us in the Ballroom and don't be late! Or I'll be the one asking her for a dance! Nos vemos!"

As she looked at the man acting like a child, the only thought she had was: "I should've punched him straight in the jaw."

•••

The rookie kept his girl scout around

"I see you kept your girlfriend around, rookie."

That was the last fucking straw. The last fucking person she wanted to hear that sentence from. If Leon doesn't grab her hand, she would've shot Krauser in the face - and it's not like she's stupid. She knows it wouldn't kill him, but she'd enjoy the feeling of looking at the damaged muscles on his face.

Luis should be the one teasing them. He should be the one walking with them, telling them every five seconds how cute they are and how beautiful amor is. Not that asshole...

She wanted to shout at him, scream at him in anger and sadness, but Leon's grip on her stopped her in that as well. She looked at his face, questioning why he's holding her back when Krauser killed Luis in cold blood for absolutely nothing...

"Don't let him get in your head..." was all he said, as he kept a firm hold on her and they started to walk among the ruins.

"Oh, you're worried about the girl, is that it?" Krauser asked as he played with the knife in his hands. "No, I don't think that's it. I think you're worried about another girl, am I right? You're worried about your girlfriend even though she went through the same training as you. But that's just like you. You always had poor judgment."

She saw how Leon's jaw tightened and it was her turn to keep a firm hold on him, not letting him fall apart.

"But if you think I'm gonna let you out of here alive... you're even more naive than I thought." she was pushed to Leon's other side, further away from Krauser. "You can't save her. You can't save anyone."

She could feel the tension in his body grow and in a last hopeful chance to calm him down she said: "Come on, Leon. 'Don't let him get in your head.' "

"Or do you think you can save the girl scout?" for a short second their gaze met and she wished she could spit at him from this distance. "We both know she wasn't the best in hand-to-hand combat."

"Give it up, Krauser!" Leon acted on his anger so suddenly, that her heartbeat quickened from the sudden fear. "Being a lackey for these maniacs won't bring your men back. And what the Hell for? Revenge on the goverment? You think they would want that?"

She could feel the cold running through her back, the feeling of close danger sharpened her senses. She kept her gaze on Krauser, not daring to blink, afraid that she'll miss the first attack.

"Revenge? You think I'm doing all this for revenge?"

"Isn't that what this is all about?"

She stopped listening to what Krauser was saying and rather focused on his body language. She saw how with every word he says out loud his shoulders become more tense. Some kind of slight anger was about to overtake him.

So what? Let it. She's always liked to fight him when he was pissed off, because then he made more mistakes.

"You know," she started. "you were always an asshole. At least you were a honored one in the past... now, you're simply just an asshole."

She felt Leon's body tense up at her words and she realized he's afraid Krauser will hurt her.

"Enough reminiscing!" this time he couldn't hide his frustration. "Move out and draw fire, soldier!"

She reacted quickly, pulling Leon behind a broken column long before Krauser started to fire. As she sat there, she pulled out her handgun and then put her knife in her shoe. Knowing their ex-major, she'll need that more, but it's better to use that as a surprise.

"Next time, try not to piss him off."

She turned to Leon with a half smile. "What? You think only you can do that, rookie?"

"Stop it!"

"Come on!" she teased with a small smirk. "I know you love it when that name is coming from me."

Leon couldn't hide how his mouth wanted to form a smile. "I let you call me that. Now let's go and kick his ass!"

"Oh, I feel honored!" she said as she got to her knees and shot her first bullet from behind the column.

•••

Fear makes your heart feel full

She felt like her heart stopped beating for a few moments when Leon fell to the ground and it didn't take more than half a second for her to join him on the floor. She landed on her knees as she pressed one of her hands to her chest tightly, still feeling the pain the machine caused as it removed the plaga. The fear that flooded her mind made her numb, her breathing became heavy as she looked up at Ashley and asked her to help her get him up in the medical chair, so they can get the plaga out of him as well.

And now as she sat next to him, holding his hand as she waited for him to wake up she felt like nothing else matters. She won't take a single fucking step without him.

"He'll be fine. I'm sure of it." Ashley said who has found a chair close to them.

"I know." she muttered and she had to swallow, because her mouth felt dry. "I know he will, I'm just- worried about him."

She examined his features, looked him up and down to make sure he's okay - and when she realized he seems calm and relaxed, she felt like she can breath again. Only moments ago he was in pain. She could see it on his face, the way the muscles around his eyes and nose moved... But not anymore. Now he seems to feel better. His cheeks aren't red and the black veins disappeared as well.

"Ashley?"

"Yes?"

"When- when you thought we were dating... You spoke about this, didn't you? How we take care of each other..." she felt her heartbeat quicken as she muttered the last few words.

"Yes, this is what I was talking about."

She looked at Leon again, feeling the pure need to hug him and keep him close so she could feel the heat radiating off of him and feel the way his body is moving with every small breath.

"I don't think I'd be able to feel like this about anyone else... Not even in a relationship."

She could see the soft smile on Ashley's face and for a moment she saw the both of them in a café back in the USA, talking and laughing about nothing at all.

"He's not just a friend, is he?"

"I don't know. Luis said he looks at me like 'tu eres todo su mundo'. Like 'you're his whole world'."

"I can see what he meant by that." for a moment the atmosphere became sad - Luis was still a new loss and a fresh wound, and with that a still present regret. She should've been more playful instead of being an asshole. "That's how you look at Leon everytime we're at the shooting range."

"He looks good at the shooting range." she said without thinking, feeling her cheeks become red soon after.

"You know, it's hard to find a normal guy these days. I'm happy you found each other."

"So you don't have a nice guy in a suit waiting for you at home?" she asked teasingly.

"No. Not really."

"Well I'm sure we can say that after this messed up adventure you won't need one. You'll look after yourself just fine and you'll have time to find that nice guy." she smiled at Ashley who felt more like a friend by now than the president's daughter.

In the next second Leon's hand moved in her hold and she almost fell off the chair. She stood up instead of staying there and she tightened her hold on him.

"Jesus Christ, Leon!" she spoke up, her voice full of both worry and happiness as she looked down at him. "You pull an act like that again and you'll burry me the next time you wake up."

He opened his eyes, the blue irises full of confusion as he looked up at her while he tried to get used to the light.

"The plaga..."

"We removed it." she said, not letting him finish his sentence. "There's no need to worry about that anymore."

She noticed that Ashley walked further away from them, giving them some privacy even if there wasn't another room to go to. Then her gaze was back on Leon again as she slowly let go of his hand.

"You removed it?"

"Yeah, we did." she smiled at him, feeling like her heart is full - full of so many emotions she doesn't know what to feel. "God, I was so worried about you."

"It's fine, I'm fine. Thanks to you."

They smiled at the other with one of those small, shy smiles what paints everyones cheeks pink.

"Can you stand up?"

"Sure, don't worry about that."

But he couldn't stand up. His legs gave up halfway and if she's not there he would've landed on the ground again.

"Careful. You have to take care of yourself." she scolded him as she helped him up, but didn't take a step away from him even when he was standing with a straight back. She craved the closeness more than anything.

"I'm not the priority here."

"Of course you are! To me you fucking are!" the frustration and worry spoke from her without regret and now that she said that out loud, her breathing became heavy.

"Good to know we feel the same about each other."

They didn't speak for a moment and she couldn't do so even if she tried to, because Leon's right hand gently touched her right cheek; his thumb brushing along the angry red cut she got from Krauser's knife.

"Does it still hurt?"

"It never did."

"Such a liar." Leon laughed as he let go of her face.

"But you love me like that."

"Damn right I do."

For a few seconds she forgot how to breath and her chest started to ache, ache from all the bottled up emotions and the realization that he said that out loud. He said that out loud. Her eyes started to sting - God, she's such a weak girl, just like Krauser said in the past; crying over the things she shouldn't cry over...

"You do? You-" she took a deep breath before she continued. "You love me?"

The silence set in again, neither of them daring to speak up. She noticed how Leon shied away from her gaze and how her own heartbeat became dangerously fast.

"Of course he does!" Ashley's voice came so suddenly that she flinched, getting closer to her partner, because she forgot Ashley was still in the room with them. "And if he doesn't take you out on a date when we get back home..."

No one said anything else about that. Leon just pressed a kiss to her forehead, almost giving her a heart attack whille he did so.

"Let's get out of here, yeah? So we can go out on a date..."

She didn't miss Ashley's quiet 'Finally' after they parted. She couldn't miss it even if she tried to.

As they got ready to leave, she noticed that her heart feels full. Full of love, love to give and accept. After all, love is a beautiful and natural thing and she for sure won't be afraid to look at Leon like he's her mundo entero. Not anymore.

#resident evil 4 remake #resident evil 4 #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon kennedy x fem!reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #ashley graham #luis serra #ada wong #jack krauser

1K notes · View notes

vicmillen · 4 months ago

Text

Why Danny should be tossed into the Gotham cast

A short medium long list of reasons, by me:

It funny.

Lady Gotham being an nuisance. A mostly benign one but still a nuisance.

Danny being a even bigger nuisance in retaliation because men can be so petty.

Ol' Batsy getting multiple headaches. Must be his age catching up.

Jason.

Oh sweet, a whole species of enslaved undead waiting to be rescued and rehabilitated. Hmm wonder what's the deal with all the owl motifs?

Did I mention Jason? Oh I did. But how about his magic sword? You know the glowy lightsaber that's powered by his soul or something?

Bird watching is fun. Bat watching is even more fun. Until they start watch you back but eh

The rouges here feels more homely then elsewhere. More malicious to the living then your average Amity haunting, maybe. But the commitment to a theme is very familiar, as is the frequency of attacks.

Another fake clown to soup up! Huh? What do you mean he's human? Humans can't get souped like that don't be silly lol.

Wait. Huh. Well that explains everything and nothing.

How To Manage A Ghost Kingdom 101: a joint lecture by Timothy Drake-Wayne and Jason Peter Todd, teenaged entrepreneur and crime lord, respectively. Targeted student: one future Phantom King.

Advanced Anger Management with Jazz. Targeted student: one Jason Todd and one Danny Phantom.

How To Not Be A Cult Leader Part I, a group therapy lead by Tim. Attendee: one ol' Batsy, his son Stabby Robin, and one Ghost Boy.

So many liminals for a place without a 24/7 portal to the afterlife. Wait what's that green pool underground?

Why and most importantly, How is there ecto detectors in the batcave- wait no actually that explains how the Fentons got their first funding for their cursed research.

'It's good to practice for the future.' -Clockwork, probably.

'Enrichment is important for the growth of a Protector.' -Frostbite, probably.

'Peace is not an option.' -Paraphrased by Danny, probably.

Moving from most haunted city to most cursed city isn't exactly an upgrade, but it isn't an downgrade either, so.

Have you ever considered fighting the bad vibes of your city with cutesy lil blobs? Well you should. Not it's not causing a slime infestation what are you talking about.

Finally someone that is both willing (untrue) and able (we'll see) to deal with the various curses in Gotham. Yay...

No but seriously Danny-make friends with rouges while actively beating each other up-Phantom would fit right in with the Robins.

It's Jazz's dream job working in Arkham... Well it's actually working on dismantling the cursed thing, but baby steps, baby steps.

Imagine the everlasting trio getting onto the bats watchlist within a week. Separately.

Sam for Ivy The Second tendency; Danny because he's poking around old dionesium researches that he shouldn't know about; and Tucker because he's having fun (one-sided) with his new online friends. Oracle is deeply unamused.

Ellie should never meet Damian. They'll be such good bad influences for each other.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #danny in gotham #batpham

78 notes · View notes

datvtranscripts · 7 days ago

Text

The Enemy of My Enemy Pt. 2

Faction Memento

Signs and Portents Masterpost Previous: Varric’s Mirror

Rook goes to the other end of the table and places another piece of decor.

Origin Dependent Dialogue:

Crow [1]

Grey Warden [2]

Lord of Fortune [3]

Mourn Watch [4]

Shadow Dragon [5]

Veil Jumper [6]

1 - Crow Place Antaam Command Pin Rook: The Antaam commander I took this from thought occupying Treviso was the same as owning it. I showed him how wrong he was. Freed a bunch of prisoners that night. Including Varric. That's also the night the Crows kicked me out of Antiva for "carrying out unauthorized operations"

Dialogue options:

I made the right call. Rook: Still can't believe they didn't back me. We're the Crows. Killing targets is what we do! Scene ends.

I suppose it was fair. Rook: It was the right thing to do, but it did bring the Antaam down hard on the Crows. I probably could have made fewer waves. Scene ends.

I was impulsive. Rook: I was so proud of myself… but the Antaam cracked down hard on the Crows after what I did. I have to get better at seeing the big picture. Scene ends.

2 - Grey Warden Place Toy Griffon Rook: Every time I look at this, I can hear that little girl thanking me for saving her village from darkspawn. She said that since the Grey Wardens didn't have griffons anymore, I could have hers. If I hadn't been there, I'd never have met Varric… and never had to deal with the First Warden complaining I ignored orders.

Dialogue options:

I made the right call. Rook: Doesn't matter what the First Warden thinks. There's a little girl alive today because I attacked instead of waiting for reinforcements. Scene ends.

I suppose it was fair. Rook: But if it was worth rushing in to save that village instead of waiting for reinforcements, it was worth dealing with the consequences, too. Scene ends.

I was impulsive. Rook: I was so determined to save that village I couldn't wait for reinforcements… But if I'd failed, I'd have left a gap for darkspawn to pour through and kill thousands. I have to get better at seeing the big picture. Scene ends.

3 - Lord of Fortune Place Jeweled Pitcher Rook: Best drink of my whole life: fresh water from this pitcher after Varric and I got out of the trap set by that double-crossing noble. We didn't know how close he was to the throne of Rivain… Or that stopping him would get me kicked out of the Lords of Fortune "until the heat dies down."

Dialogue options:

I made the right call. Rook: Who cares about the politics? I kept a dangerous artifact out of Venatori hands. The Lords should've had my back. Scene ends.

I suppose it was fair. Rook: I won't apologize for surviving a double-cross… but if me leaving helped the Lords handle the politics, it was a small price to pay. Scene ends.

I was impulsive. Rook: If I'd been a little bit less proud of myself, the queen might not have blamed the Lords for what happened. I have to get better at seeing the big picture. Scene ends.

4 - Mourn Watch Place Nevarran Urn Baron Van Markham. You wanted the undead to rule Nevarra… but you forgot about the Mourn Watch. Then after I put you down, the Mourn Watch sent me away with Varric to stop the noble families from complaining.

Dialogue options:

I made the right call. Rook: The Mourn Watch is supposed to protect the world from dangers outside the realms of the living. That's what I did… even if it wasn't politically convenient. Scene ends.

I suppose it was fair. Rook: The Mourn Watch protects the world from dangers outside the realms of the living, which I did… But I guess that includes dealing with the consequences. Scene ends.

I was impulsive. Rook: If I'd considered, found some way to stop the baron without destroying him and angering half of Nevarra… I have to get better at seeing the big picture. Scene ends.

5 - Shadow Dragon Place Broken Chains I helped a lot of Minrathous slaves escape to freedom the night I met Varric. Then the magisters cracked down in retaliation, and the Shadow Dragons decided I was too much trouble to keep around.

Dialogue options:

I made the right call. Rook: We could have taken a stand and dared the magisters to come after us. At least people are free because of what I did. Scene ends.

I suppose it was fair. Rook: I'm never going to apologize for freeing slaves… but I hope the Shadow Dragons got through the backlash safely. Scene ends.

I was impulsive. Rook: I was so proud of myself… and then the Venatori backlash put a lot of Shadow Dragons in danger. I'm never going to apologize for freeing slaves, but… I have to get better at seeing the big picture. Scene ends.

6 - Veil Jumper Place the Elven Artifact Fragment Rook: This piece is all that's left of the artifact that trapped Varric and the others in Arlathan Forest the day we met. Only thing left of my time with the Veil Jumpers, too. Strife said he didn't want to see me again until I'd gotten some sense pounded into my head.

Dialogue options:

I made the right call. Rook: Being a Veil Jumper means taking risks. Strife of all people should've understood that. Scene ends.

I suppose it was fair. Rook: I'll never regret saving everyone, but I probably could've been more apologetic about disobeying orders. Hope I can make it right with Strife one day. Scene ends.

I was impulsive. Rook: Looking back on it… Strife was right. If I hadn't been lucky, I could've gotten a lot of people killed. I have to get better at seeing the big picture. Scene ends.

Next: Race and Class Decor

#dragon age the veilguard #dragon age #datv #dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard transcripts #dragon age the veilguard dialogue #veilguard transcripts #dragon age dialogue #dragon age transcripts #veilguard dialogue #datv transcripts #dav dialogue #dav transcripts #datv dialogue #long post #datv spoilers #the enemy of my enemy

24 notes · View notes

utilitycaster · 9 months ago

Text

Level-up post: Bells Hells L13

girl help usually I draft these well in advance but I forgot about this one so it's going to be a little shorter and probably less pithy. Anyway as always: corrections on errors appreciated, but if I didn't list every single possible spell or feat someone could take then that's because I don't care. And, because we do the level-ups like this rather than at the end of a session, this will include L14 speculation. Without further ado:

Everyone's proficiency bonus goes up to +5, and the non-multiclassed full spellcasters (Imogen and FCG) get access to 7th level spells.

Chetney: Chetney took another level in Blood Hunter, granting him an ASI/Feat. On the one hand, his wisdom score is odd and so an ASI to that makes sense. On the other hand fuck WIS forever and ever amen; CON, STR, and INT are all way more important for him and for this party. Orym can perceive enough for everyone. L13 Blood Hunter is a nice one that grants him an additional use of blood maledict, as well as the Brand of Tethering which is both thematically appropriate for the campaign and could REALLY ruin Ludinus's day.

Laudna: Another sorcerer level, which grants her more metamagic, and Marisha said in the video she'd be taking Empowered Spell. She also learns another spell up to 5th level, and another cantrip. Frankly I have no idea for cantrips since between two casting classes with cantrips, her subclasses, and spell sniper, she is Cantrips Georg, but Seeming and Teleportation Circle are both pragmatic options that would help the party; Creation and Insect Plague are both aesthetically apt; and Dominate Person, while coming from her sorcery, does have that touch of Delilah. Looking forward I must admit that warlock is infinitely more useful and interesting but it's probably wiser to get 6th level spells.

FCG: FCG's main improvement here is access to 7th level spells; these are pretty great for clerics. I am personally a fan of Divine Word, and Plane Shift seems likely quite useful, but Regenerate and Resurrection are good to have available. L14 for clerics is quiet and simply improves their ability to destroy undead, as is 15, which grants them 8th level spells.

Fearne: Fearne took a 10th level in Druid, granting her another cantrip and another 5th level spell. She gets Cauterizing Flames, which is a little like Wither and Bloom or some of the Circle of the Shepherd features: when a small or larger creature dies within 30 feet of her or Little Mister, she can use a reaction to either heal a creature within 30 feet of the dead creature, or deal fire damage to it. This may become immediately useful if we're fighting Liliana or Otohan. I am hoping she levels up to 11 in Druid at the next level up, which would give her Transport via Plants and Wind Walk access, making the party a little less reliant on Keyleth. As for her cantrip, I'm thinking Druidcraft would be fun since she doesn't have it and it's been so useful on Ruidus.

Imogen: Imogen gets 7th level spells, of which Teleport is a clear winner, particularly since FCG can take Plane Shift, but there are some of my favorite damage/fuckery spells in there (Prismatic Spray, Reverse Gravity, and Delayed Blast Fireball). Level 14 gives her Revelation in Flesh. I must admit I'd be more psyched about this if she'd leaned into the slime aspects of the subclass, but I am interested in seeing how it gets modified because I don't think she should get the swim speed if she won't grow weird cilia and gills; the other features can stay though.

Orym: In addition to having the stupidest passive perception score on the moon, he also gains another use of indomitable. Level 14 gives him an ASI/Feat and really he can't go wrong here; because he got feats from his pact I'm thinking an ASI to CON to make him even more of a tank would be fun, but fighters get so many feats that he can really go nuts.

Ashton: Base barbarian ability of Brutal Critical goes up to 2 dice from 1, giving them the ability to do more damage when they crit. Eyes peeled for his next level-up, when he gets his final Path of Fundamental Chaos feature!

#critical role #bells hells

82 notes · View notes

texas-gothic · 8 months ago

Text

Dracula Daily - May 3: Chicken Paprikash!

Welcome boils and ghouls to another year of Dracula Daily. It is the 3rd of May, and as our dear friend Jonathan treks his way across Central Europe, bound for ominous castle of Count Dracula, we encounter the first real star of this most foundational gothic novel: a spicy chicken dish fixed up with paprika. That's right, everyone! It's time for Chicken Paprikash!

Earlier this week, most of you (or at least I'm assuming most of you, because holy cow did a lot of y'all pile in after I posted it) will recall my guide to gathering the ingredients for this most essential of Dracula Daily Dinners. Tonight, we will discuss it's preparation, and whether or not the deviations I have made from the previous cycles rendition will pay off or not. So, if you've got those pots and pans ready, let's go!

Lets begin with the equipment you'll need for preparing Chicken Paprikash.

All the usual suspects are here. Knives, cutting board, some whisks and woodem spoons, a couple of bowls for ingredients. But the real stars of this show are going to be a large dutch oven, and a large building pot. Examples of these can be see in the photo above.

Once you have all your equipment ready, it's time to move on to the most annoying part of every dinner. It's time for...

Part One: Mise En Place

Cooking can be hard, or cooking can be easy. It all depends on how well prepared you are. If you have everything you need ready beforehand, actually cooking the meal can be a breeze. Sadly, this process will usually take up most of the time you spend making dinner. Is it worth the peace of mind later on? Probably, but I've never passed up a chance to gripe.

So, what all must we prepare for our Chicken Paprikash. Let's make a list:

Roughly 2 Pounds of Chicken Thights (salted preferably 1-4 hours beforehand)

2 Cups of Chicken Broth (or Stock)

2 Medium Yellow Onions (Chopped or Diced, to your preference)

2 Roma Tomatoes (Diced this time, with their seeds removed)

2 Hungarian Wax Peppers (Diced as well, be sure to remove those seeds unless you want to go for a ride like dear Jonathan)

2 Cloves of Garlic (Minced) (Don't let your desire to protect yourself from the undead lead you to add more, garlic is one of those flavors that can radically alter a dish in only small quantities)

About half a stick of butter (Though for this task you could substitute with some kind of oil or lard. Lard will make this dish even more rich, but butter is the easier option.)

3/4 Cup of Full Fat Sour Cream

1/4 Cup of Heavy Whipping Cream (make sure to shake your carton beforehand, this stuff gets clumpy if it's left undisturbed)

3 Tablespoons of All Purpose Flour

4 Tablespoons of Sweet Hungarian Paprika + 1 Tablespoon of Hot Hungarian Paprika (Stirred together for ease later on)

Salt + Pepper (To your liking)

1 Bag of Spaetzle

With all this completed, it's time to get started in earnest

Part Two - Get Cooking

Alright, with all our ingredients in hand, its finally time to start cooking.

The very first thing we're going to do is brown our chicken thighs. Set your dutch oven over a large burner, and get the heat up high. When ready, turn the heat down to medium or medium-high. This change is important, unless you want to smoke out your kitchen. Remember, smoky paprika is great, but nobody likes smoky dry wall.

Once you've prepared your pot, and lightly brushed your thighs with a high heat cooking oil (I prefer avocado) begin to brown them. Lay your thighs skin-side down for 45 seconds to 1 minute. Any longer than this risks burning the skin. Repeat in batches until all your chicken thighs have a nice crispy exterior.

(Sadly, this is where the demonstration photos stop. Turns out, a breezier cooking schedule doesn't leave much time for snappy pictures.)

Once you've brown your thighs, remove them and set them aside. Now, it's time for the real corner stones of this dish. Take that half a stick of butter you have sitting around, and give it a good swirl around the bottom of the Dutch oven. As the butter melts (this will be very quick, so you must act accordingly) do everything you can to scrape up the delicious fond left over from browning your chicken. This residue will add flavor to our dish.

The moment your butter has fully liquified, and coated the whole bottom of your dutch oven, add in your onions. These we will stur around and fry until they are a nice golden brown. You can use this time as well to keep scraping up that fond on the bottom of the pot. Make sure to keep the heat on medium throughout.

Once your onions are nice golden brown, add your tomatoes and hungarian wax peppers. Stir these around with the onions and allow to cook for 2-3 minutes. When you begin to approach the last 45-30 seconds, add in your garlic, and cook until fragrant, but not a moment longer.

This next step is crucial. Remove your dutch oven from the heated burner, and allow to cool for roughly 3 minutes. Paprika is something of a tender spice, and it scorches very easily when heat is applied to it. Once the pot is no longer smoking hot, stir in the combined Paprika, and give it a good mix around all the ingredients in the pot. When you have finished, return the dutch oven to the heated burner.

Return your chicken thighs to the pot, and pour in the 2 cups of chicken broth. The thighs should not be entirely covered, but mostly. Bring the pot to a boil, and once boiling, cover, reduce the heat to medium-low, and allow to simmer for a little under an hour, about 40 minutes.

Now, while this is happening, we will prepare our dairy thickener. In a bowl, mix the sour cream, heavy whipping cream, and flower. I prefer to use a tiny whisk for this task, as it does a very good job of moving through every part of the mixture, and combating any clumps from forming. A normal whisk should still work.

While you wait, you're going to pour about a quart of water into that steel pot, and bring to a boil. About 28 minutes from the completion of the paprikash, stir in your spaetzle to the boiling water. Allow to sit, undisturbed for roughly half an hour.

Once the 40 minutes are up, once again remove your chicken from the pot, and remove the dutch oven from the heat. Allow to cool once more, which will prevent your dairy mixture from curdling. Once cool, mix in the cream. Return the chicken to the Dutch oven, place the cover back on, and allow to heat through. About another 5-10 minutes.

And just like that, we're done! Now, let's find out how we did, shall we?

Part Three - Paprikash

This is how mine turned out. And I'm happy to report that my experimentation payed off! The heat really comes through this time, creating that good warming feeling you should get from chicken paprikash. The paprika is warm and smoky, and the chicken is tender and delicious. I'd never had spaetzel before, but I really liked it. It's still not as spicy as our good friend Jonathan described, but I think it's time that I stop differing to the opinions of a 22 year-old English orphan when it comes to any kind of cuisine.

The August Kessler Spatburgunder (Pinot Noir) proved to be an excellent pairing. The wine possesses a splendid earthiness, and it makes a beautiful partner for that smoky paprika flavor.

Well, that about does it for this year's Chicken Paprikash. Did you make Paprikash this year? How did it turn out? Anyway, I'll be making a dedicated effort to make more conversational posts with the program this year, and I cannot wait to discover what rocks we'll turn over this time around.

Join me on Sunday when we'll be diving into Tokaji, the Hungarian desert wine Dracula serves to Jonathan Harker at the end of his, if I may, strange journey.

Happy Dracula Daily, Everyone!

#dracula daily #re: dracula #chicken paprikash #paprika hendl #paprika #jonathan harker

34 notes · View notes

whats-it-mean · 1 year ago

Note

hiii idk how i haven't seen anyone writing about this trope with him but... can i request some kaoru with a jealous/possessive s/o? since he's popular and he's like, the pretty boy from undead i think it would a scenario of him getting hit and maybe his s/o just asks him politely to be alone for a moment with an excuse, but it's actually just to steal a kiss from him since they got jealous and they're a bit sulky now ^^

Jealousy, jealousy ☆

A/N - HAHAHAH. ANOTHER KAORU REQUEST WEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEH evil cackling i love kaoru so much and honestly this prompt makes so much sense like. you cant tell me he doesnt get hit on every time he leaves his house (and with good reason i mean have you SEEN him??????????????????????????????)

C/W - none :D

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A relationship with Kaoru, resident playboy of UNDEAD, was bound to have its strings attached, and you knew that by now. It wasn’t too big of a deal to you. Him offering winks out to the crowd and occasionally using some sort of shitty pick up line during interviews- Just little acts of fanservice for the various fans who would enjoy that sort of thing, and by now it was all something you’d become accustomed to.

And even then, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing when there was an UNDEAD meet-and-greet. It was vaguely annoying to see how many girls (and even some boys) would fawn over him at such events, but you were there to support him, after all, and it wasn’t enough of a nuisance to bring up when it was so crucial to his success as an idol.

And, even the slight annoyances were fine, because most, if not all of UNDEAD’s fans were respectful enough to realize which boundaries not to push.

But there’s always an exception to that sort of thing, isn’t there?

It was fairly average for Kaoru to flirt with fans at meet-and greet-events, but today there was one person in particular who seemed to have no regard whatsoever for his comfort in the situation. It started off fairly normal, them clearly expressing their excitement as they shook Kaoru’s hand, but you couldn’t help but feel offput by the way they stared at him.

“Kaoru!! It’s so amazing to meet you!” They squealed, squeezing their hands tighter around Kaoru’s, and he let out a nervous chuckle.

“Ah, of course, always a pleasure to meet a fan~”

You blinked in annoyance, rolling your eyes at the typical, overly-familiar display before turning back to face the meet-and-greet stall, only to see this particular fan having leaned uncomfortably close to Kaoru, a love-struck look in their eyes and as they spoke. “Kaoru, you should go out with me! I’m your biggest fan, and I love you, you know!”

Wha…?

Without a moment to waste, the security guards scattered about the stall took the individual away, eliciting a pouty whine from them, but they overall didn’t put up too much of a fight against it, although yelling “I love you, Kaoru!!” as they were taken off.

Saying you were pissed was probably an understatement.

You huffed at the display, tapping your foot with agitation as you stared off at where security had taken them, letting your eyes linger on the corner they’d just turned before walking up next to Kaoru with a practiced smile on your face.

“Apologies! Kaoru needs an impromptu break, so he’ll have to take a quick leave, everyone.” You announced, earning some annoyed groans from the line of fans awaiting their turn. He glanced at you, confusion evident on his face, but didn’t protest as he watched you. “He’ll be back soon.”

And with that, you had an arm around his and were practically dragging him to find a more secluded area in the little setup UNDEAD had, your poor temper only festering as you turned around a corner and finally stopped, huffing and crossing your arms.

“Um..” Kaoru chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at you. “Everything okay?”

You glanced up at him, contemplating your options- you could either explain your jealousy, and risk endless teasing from Kaoru (and, consequently, Rei), or… You could kiss him. A quick little reminder that he was yours, and then the problem would be resolved, right?

It seemed as good a plan as any other, and you found yourself wrapping your arms carefully around his neck to bring him down to your height and closed the distance with a quick and sweet kiss. You pulled away after a moment of reveling in the way his eyes widened from the feeling of your lips against his, and grinned.

“...Yeah, everything’s good.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── End.

#⤥ mairu writes !#kaoru #kaoru hakaze #kaoru hakaze x reader #enstars x reader #ensemble stars x reader #kaoru enstars x reader #kaoru enstars #enstars!!#enstars!#UNDEAD enstars #Kaoru UNDEAD #UNDEAD ensemble stars #undead x reader #ensemble stars fanfiction

57 notes · View notes

moibakadesu · 6 months ago

Text

I have seen some predictions recently, and while I share some of the opinions, a few of them are … VASTLY different from what I feel is fitting. So here are also my most recent predictions for the t3 cover songs.

Haruka - Aimai Elegy

He just HAS to get that song, it is so, SO perfect for him, I will honestly cry if he doesn’t get it. The original instrumentals just feel so incredibly Haruka, the lyrics, the visuals in the MV (I even made a post about how it mirrors his MVs).

I would also be okay with Undead Alice, which is also somehow fitting for him and HoriEru would slay that song … but man.

Yuno - Rabbit Hole

I think that is the one we are all kind of certain about, right?

But Rookie would also be a good song for her, I wouldn’t complain.

Fuuta - Chimera

He better gets that song, or I will riot. The only other songs I could somehow see working for him are not popular enough for a cover imo (Turret of Justice, Chanbara Johnny).

And the whispered “mou ii ka” in Chimera would sound sooo gut from Arthur, like, mmmhh!!

Muu - Cinderella

A very, very Muu-core song imo. A close second would be Negative Shinkaron, both of these would work very well. Will honestly be surprised if she gets anything different.

Shidou - Cosmic Rendezvous

Another one of these “feels like it got written to be covered by a specific prisoner later” kinda songs. I think everybody is kinda on the same page with this as well. I wouldn’t really know what else would fit him besides that either.

Mahiru - Zombies

Yes, I still vibe with that the most for her … even though Aitai-lians is also a strong contender by now, that one has some lyrics that would be … very ironic and mean. And maybe a remix for her would make me like the song a bit more.

Kazui - Poison Apple

Because of the whole apple thing, you know? I just feel the lyrics also do check out pretty well for him. Another close second would be Relationship Scramble, that also speaks to me a lot as a Kazui-core song.

Amane - Winter Cleaning

Honestly, not much of an opinion here. Winter Cleaning was what got leaked back in t1 as her cover and then they changed it last minute, so maybe they will use it now when probably a lot of people forgot about the leak? Otherwise … maybe Rainboarder? She is kind of a wild card when it comes to covers, as Animal has shown, so I don’t know what to expect.

Mikoto - Pseudo Hope Syndrome

He seems to have a strong hold on these songs about codependent relationships and this one fits him and John just so well. Plus the whole theme of smoking and the guy in the MV even kinda looking like Mikoto.

The popular choice from t1 of Ghost Rule is of course also still an option, although I feel it isn’t fitting AS good anymore with the knowledge we have now.

Kotoko - Harinezumi

Probably not popular enough to get picked, but nonetheless the song I feel is the most fitting for her.

I feel Dilemma could also sound REALLY good from her (and I honestly just love the song, so if anybody covers it that would be cool), but the lyrics don’t really fit Kotoko at all.

#milgram #milgram theory #moi rambles #haruka sakurai #yuno kashiki #fuuta kajiyama #muu kusunoki #shidou kirisaki #mahiru shiina #kazui mukuhara #amane momose #mikoto kayano #kotoko yuzuriha

21 notes · View notes

high-fantasy-sw · 1 month ago

Note

WAIT I HAVE MORE

The training simulations - how do those work? Magic once more? And is a Kaminoan required to be present in the simulation for the magic?

How does communication work? Solely parchment (flimsi?) and quill and ink? Or do we have a magic-system for that to? And do they have a palantir-like screen in place of holoprojectors (palantir is that orb Pippin picks up in the LOTR movies, it's an object used to communicate between far places)?

What of datapads and holopads?

Chain mail! I don't know enough about the mediaeval era, but I do remember chain mail being a light and indispensable item for a soldier. Especially the mithril shirt that Bilbo hands over to Frodo and subsequently saves his life because mithril is just that cleverly crafted by the dwarves.

But the armor in stars wars is mostly plate-like, so does chain mail exist? Also, is there a particular alternative to the plastoid, or is it just the usual metal?

Okay, here's a bunch of fun questions: will a clone randomly burst into song when he's doing something repetitious only to have the rest of his brothers pick it up as well? Sort of like with "Drunken Sailor" where one sings the main stanzas and they all join in on the chorus, or "Gaol ise Gaol i".

And do they learn to play instruments once they get off Kamino? If so, which ones?

(Are there any particular clones you think would play certain instruments?)

Okay, back to the more pressing matters.

That post you dropped on Echo not eating his oranges made me think: there's a lot of clones in the galaxy, not to mention the Jedi travelling alongside them, not to mention the pirates and rulers and senators and all sorts of people travelling the seas in general. So they must need to keep a ridiculous amount of citrus fruits in stock, commodities that are as essential as water.

Water, I forgot about fresh water, that must be on very high demand, especially out on the seas, yes? Or do they have an on-board converter that turns saline to fresh water?

Back to citrus fruits: there must be acres of lands, if not entire islands dedicated to growing them. And if we're talking about a time before liquid fuel is used - does Malastare become an island that is essential for its citruses? Sort of like how Malastare fuel was just as essential? Essential enough to fake a Zillo Beast's death?

The Zillo seems a straightforward enough answer, being the Star Wars equivalent of a Balrog, so I don't have any questions about the beast.

But when we come to fuel, we come also to gunpowder and the like, unless this is before all such weapons come into play?

Oh! Another fun question!

Do the ships have pets? Like a cat to keep the mice away, or any birds like your stereotypical parrots?

Also, tookas and loth-cats! Are they the same as in Star Wars, or are they regular cats? Following that line of thought, are all the animals in Star Wars the same here, or are they real-world animals, or is it all a strange mix?

I forgot to add that option. I think most of your AU is a strange mix of real-world and Star Wars galaxy ideas, if I'm not wrong.

And finally, do the clones have any particular myths they share on a quiet night or around the bonfire? Like ghost ships or cursed flags or the undead sailing the seas, like in Pirates of the Carribean?

Alright, that's a wrap - for now.

Again.

Pfft.

This AU intrigues me indefinitely and I've got to know everything there is to know about it :)

I'll stop pestering you until this last one's been answered.

I RETURN ONCE MORE. LORE PT 3 BE UPON YE

Once again I shall also be tagging @whyoneartheven @majorproblems77 and @anime-obsessed, because I know that you also will want to be seeing this >:DDD

Clone Training

Training in Kamino Fortress is a blend of rudimentary mechanical simulations, alchemical effects, and man-to-man sparring. A Kaminoan, or at the very least a conscripted bounty hunter, is always required to supervise the Clones' training, and a Kaminoan must be present if any alchemical element is to be used (as they are the only ones who know how to operate them). In addition to the combat training rooms, there are other complexes designed to train the future army in extra areas they'll need expertise in:

The Sea Rooms: a series of white tiled rooms, each for a different specific purpose, filled with the water from the outside, where the Clones learn the seafaring skills essential to their future: sailing, swimming, navigation in rough water, et cetera. Often, young cadets will sneak in during their precious few hours of downtime to swim recreationally.

The Observatory: the lowermost and therefore darkest room of the fortress, in what would have been the dungeon before it was sunk; a huge room with a high ceiling, into which are embedded glowing white crystals in the exact positions of the stars above. The room can even rotate itself to mimic the changing of the seasons. It is here that young Clones first learn to read their star maps, for when they are set adrift in the night and must keep their direction straight and true.

The Medical Complex: Though Clone Medics specialize in healing, every soldier of the future GAR must learn basic field medicine in case a CMO is not available. Rooms in the Medical Wing include simulation rooms for battlefields and the open ocean, a more controlled environment for learning field surgery and also the more intricate operations needed post-battle (specifically for CMOs-in-training), and a small alchemical laboratory for preparing basic medicines.

Communication

Most informal communication in the Galactic Archipelago is through parchment-and-quill letters. These can be delivered by the Republic Postal Service (which employs both overland branches on the separate islands, and boats for transporting letters oversea), or personal messengerfowl. For more urgent and/or formal communication, there's the use of hologram mirrors, which I did describe briefly in an earlier post but will re-touch here: yes, they are actually quite similar to Palantiri; they project a three-dimensional, smoky image of the other party onto their surface, and can be full-sized (usually stationary) or handheld (for the field or personal communication). And datapads/holopads are most often regular books or wax tablets; while some do have enchantments, this is rare, and most of these books are preserved in the archives of the Jedi Order for safekeeping.

Armor

I'm going to give an overview of Clone and Jedi armor here; Mandalorian Armor will get its own post when I have the time to actually sit and worldbuild for that XD

Clone Armor: Every Clone in the GAR has a suit of armor that he is given upon his graduation, as well as a set of "blacks" that he'll wear when not actively engaged in military business. (I'm actually almost done with the official references for these! if you'd like to see the slightly-out-of-date versions of the blacks and cadet uniforms, i'll link that here.) The blacks consist of a grey cotton undertunic, a soft, uncured black leather overtunic emblazoned with the Republic crest, white twill breeches, and a black leather belt and matching boots. His identification ring is worn on his right hand. The actual standard Clone armor is made from white-enamel-plated durasteel (to protect it from the corrosion caused by life on the sea) with a black chainmail tunic underneath and a cloth sash worn around the shoulders. When arming, the leather overtunic of the blacks is removed and the armor is worn over the undergarments. The identification ring is covered by gloves. In addition, higher-ranked or specialized troops (Commanding Officers, CMOs, ARC Legionaries, Commandos, et cetera) have physical indicators of their rank, such as extra cloth elements like kamas, larger pauldrons (for ARC Legionaries), winged helmets (for Commandos), and the like.

Jedi Armor: While most Jedi wear the habit of the Jedi Order (which can be highly personalized and diverse), during wartime they take up a more uniform armor to wear in the field. Jedi armor is not as heavy-duty as Clone armor and allows for slightly more personalization, and comprises a simple chainmail tunic, an overtunic emblazoned with the Jedi Crest (in various colors), splint-armor trousers, upper-chest armor and pauldrons, and some variation of boots and gloves. Color, cut, armor style, and cultural elements are left to the discretion of the individual Jedi. (i have a big, focused post specifically about jedi clothing here, if you're interested.)

CLONES AND MUSIC CLONES AND MUSIC CLONES AND MUSIC

Hey, just so you know, I'm making a whole separate post for this because it is that important to both the Clones and Me. I'm going to be tagging you in that post as soon as I am done with it because it's one of my absolute FAVORITE topics :DDD

Essential Ship Supplies (AKA Citrus and Potable Liquid)

Yes, Malastare will be growing citrus now. I love you you're the best. Water conservation in the warships of the Republic Navy is extremely important, and there are both manual and magical (though the latter is rarer) ways of converting the saltwater of the sea into drinkable water for the troops. Fresh water is also collected when ships are docked in port. However, water can have a tendency to carry disease and is overall not a reliable potable, so many holds also carry barrels and barrels of much more sterile alcohol (this is historical! and it's usually diluted with the collected freshwater, especially so that, you know, padawans aren't drinking hard concentrated liquor XD).

Gunpowder Weaponry

I've thought long and hard about this so prepare yourself. It's not used very often, being too often unwieldy and overall unsuited for the culture of the Galactic Archipelago- that is, UNTIL the rise of the Empire. Up until the end of the Clone Wars, very few people use guns as their weapon of choice; those who do are usually bounty hunters, and theirs are more often than not personal, custom-built firearms. In fact, in the entirety of the story, Han Solo is the only protagonist character to actually be proficient in the use of a pistol. Now, the Empire in this AU is heavily steampunk-inspired, and it lends well to their rhetoric of trying to stamp out any use of magic- whether that be the false magic of alchemy or, more dangerous, the true magic of the Force- through convincing the public of the strength of Imperial Machinery. Thus, all Imperial soldiers are issued rifles and/or pistols, and this becomes a huge point of discussion in terms of one character in particular. That character is Crosshair. When allied with the Empire, they give him his gunpowder firearms- an entirely different type of weapon than the bow and crossbow he's so proficient with. Thus, when he rejoins his brothers, not only does he struggle with his shaking hand, he also has to re-learn how to use his original weapons, since he spent so much time developing the muscle memory for an entirely different class of warfare that his skill with his traditional arms has atrophied. The unwieldiness of gunpowder firearms is also why Stormtroopers are such notoriously terrible shots.

Animals

Quite a few Jedi warships have pets, whether legally or otherwise. Many Clones and Padawans will just… sneak whatever they can hide into the hold, and most of the time their Jedi are quite willing to indulge them, as long as the situation doesn't get out of hand (mostly so they, who are themselves very fond of animals most of the time, can continue to hide the ship companions from the knowledge of the Senate). The Resolute has at least three birds (Ahsoka's doing), a cat- ostensibly for the "rat problem" (this one was Hardcase; they don't actually have a rat problem, but Rex was willing to let this one slide), and… a tank full of exotic fish (Dogma's collection, which he caught all by himself; even after he leaves the 501st, they keep it in his memory). Jesse, Fives, and Echo have been holding out hope for a dog, but so far their dreams have not been realized. The Negotiator has a strict no-furry-creatures rule (Cody's allergic), but Waxer and Boil have still managed to sneak various reptiles and even the occasional colony of insects aboard- much to their Commander's annoyance and General Obi-Wan's amusement. As for the Marauder… well, they have Gonky, who for the purposes of this AU is going to be a goat. Don't ask me why, if Hunter doesn't get an answer from Wrecker and Crosshair then you don't either.

Clone Mythos

I'm going to go more in-detail for this in the Clones and Music post, but the short answer is yes, the Clones are excellent storytellers and it's one of their favorite pastimes, considering that they had to find some way to keep themselves entertained in Kamino. While under the sea, cadets would tell each other fantastical stories of the world above, of fish that swim in the sky and stars that grow on trees, of forests that sway in currents not made by water, of a golden jewel set in the center of the heavens that makes everything bright and clear and warm (so unlike the murky depths of the ocean floor); and when the soldiers found themselves on land and sea and ship, they'd weave recountings to their Jedi Generals and Padawan Commanders of the tales of the depths below, of the bird-like fish that nest in the forests of coral and the anemones that serve as the flora of sandbar meadows, of the great mountains of the deep and of underwater volcanoes, of the starfish and jellies that shine in the inky waters surrounding Kamino (as if they hold some memory of their ancestors set in the sky). Clones are also fantastic storytellers and delight in telling stories they make up on the spot. Additionally, though it isn't quite storytelling, one of their most favorite… traditions? superstitions? rituals? (i'm not quite sure know how to define this but what have you) is that they'll write letters or poems or little notes, hopes, dreams, wishes, prayers- on scraps of paper, and then fold them into the shapes of birds and cast them into the sea in the hopes that the sea spirits will read them and answer them. (This came to me in a vision and i cut into my sleep time just to write this down so i hope this makes sense.)

OKAY IT'S DONE! I really do hope these were helpful and that you enjoyed reading my responses :D Also please please don't hesitate to send me any more questions because you ask such good questions and I really do love answering them, even if it takes me a while to actually respond XD

#worldbuilding #burning questions #this was so so fun to answer. i'm sorry it took ridiculously long to do so XD #next up: clones and music which will be a Whole Big Thing >:D

9 notes · View notes

thornheartcat · 7 months ago

Text

The worst thing about Disney being the ones who got Summer Time Rendering is that they refused to simulcast it in North America, killing the hype the series would naturally have garnered if they had, and then unceremoniously dumped it onto Hulu without so much as a tweet to announce it, so no one knew it was there even when it finally WAS available.

The second worst thing is the knowledge that they will never ever ever in a million years give that shit a physical release because that is how little they fucking care about the anime they license, which breaks my heart because I love this series so much I would pay out the ass for a limited edition Blu-Ray set with like a soundtrack and an artbook and shit.

The third worst thing is that because they killed any and all knowledge of the series' existence and thus any chance at success it may have had, they also killed any chance that we'll see an official release of the visual novel, Summer Time Rendering: Another Horizon. Tie-in games for shows like KonoSuba and Re:Zero and DATE A LIVE and even Quintessential fucking Quintuplets get English releases these days because their anime are successful and prove there is a market for them, but since Summer Time Rendering wasn't the big hit it would've been if Disney hadn't fucked it, there's no proof there's a market for Another Horizon, so it'll never get officially translated, and the fanbase is so small even a fan translation seems unlikely, so I'll never get to play it, even though I'm sure it's good!

The fourth worst thing is that I now have no one to talk to about how good it is because no one else fucking watched it.

The fifth worst thing is I had to pirate it even though my family has Hulu because Disney adamantly refuses to actually subtitle most of their anime, going for closed captions instead, which I cannot fucking watch because I find [waves crashing] and [gasping] to be really fucking distracting. Like, I'm super glad closed captioning is an option for the people who need it, but I want a plain subtitle option that just translates the dialogue, goddammit! Why is every fucking series Disney has picked up (other than Undead Unluck for some reason???) like this??? JUST GIVE ME A FUCKING REGULAR SUBTITLE OPTION, DISNEY, I WANT TO SUPPORT THE OFFICIAL RELEASE BUT YOU ARE MAKING IT IMPOSSIBLE

#summer time rendering #summertime rendering #summer time render #summertime render

23 notes · View notes

strixcattus · 2 months ago

Note

Oh, oh shoot! Gotta hurry up!

So how do we know the Narrator's even a real person on the pacineutral routes?

I mean... "Hey now! You aren't made of money!" They're able to take over occasionally, like when you try to give more money to gyftrot.

"it's so funny, you can't stop, tears run down your face... what, you didn't do that?" They're able to converse with Frisk during the fight with Snowdrake's mum or this... "Look at all these toys! ...They don't interest you at all", being excited at the toys, realizing Frisk feels differently, and then reacting to that...odd?

Their knowledge set can be pretty weird sometimes, like knowing what golden flowers are immediately but having to read about "water sausages", or the fact that the check function is supposed to give advice but the narrator will give the most basic, useless observation if it's a monster.... that they wouldn't know about "he likes to say nyeh nyeh", and with Mettaton, they give an entirety dud option because they just don't know what to do, if you pick burn "this is probably what you'll do if things continue in this manner" (Thanks, Narry!) (They know about froggits for example because that's about the species rather than a single, specific monster)

And then there's the fact that ghosts (and only ghosts) seem able to hear them "this monster doesn't seem to have a sense of humour" (to napstablook)/"oh, i'm real funny"(napstablook responds) (this was already there in the demo)

And then there's the rare first person text when running away "I'm outta here" "Don't slow me down" "I've got better to do" so... apart from the fact that narry actually shows opposite opinions to Frisk sometimes, this is what proves that it's not just Frisk's inner monologue in second person and is fact another person talking directly to them.

So now that's out of the way, what are some of the easiest facts about the narrator we can glean?

They're human (naturally, they talk about pop culture, know what the usda is, and even know about determination (yeah, all the kids could reset. Toriel mentions deja vu for all kids, and Asgore isn't at all surprised to know he killed Frisk multiple times. Also, looking in the files, we can see Cain's save file was never used but... "determination...that power you were trying to stop", that seems more like a dislike for the power than a lack of it. (Which, yes, means they probably could have reset and saved Asriel and themselves when being attacked... but didn't. You'll see why... but well, that's why I call them Cain) moving on

They're a child, around the same age as Frisk and Asriel, hence the excitement for toys and the "butts pie" joke and the neverending impatience.

They're a... ghost? But in the same undead way that Flowey and the almagamates are rather than the type of monster

They're tied to Frisk from near the beginning, much the same way Azzy's essence is tied to his flower (though they don't speak instantly. The first room is silent, but if you meet flowey then backtrack, then you'll get narration)

This is also just part 1, chew on this while I write the rest (or after)

Chewing on this chewing on it. First human?

Well. I'm still approaching Snowdin trying to build up the nerve to kill Papyrus (which is something I probably would have done by accident the first time around had I not been so bad at combat, since I hadn't realised I could win by sparing him, but it's not as though that makes this any easier), so there's time yet.

#also. this is just a hunch but. did you by any chance just finish playing in stars and time

7 notes · View notes

undreaming-fanfiction · 10 months ago

Text

With This Ring (3)

(part two HERE, Ao3 link to the fic HERE)

“Why Harrington…you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Steve opened his mouth, then promptly closed it. There wasn't much to say that he could articulate and he didn't feel like screaming that fine evening, well, maybe a little, but Eddie could take offense at that. Don't offend the walking dead guy sounded like a reasonable precaution.

"I don't know, man," he croaked out, mustering a barely visible smile. "You seem too corporeal for a ghost."

Eddie snorted and for a second, Steve could forget what he was dealing with, because Eddie's smile was still mischievous and his laugh, while still a bit rough, sounded genuine. "Shit. True, let me fix that. You look like you've seen a zombie, Harrington."

Shaking his head, Steve attempted to properly sit up and cursed when he put pressure on his ankle. He'd forgotten about the stupid injury for a moment, more focused on the whole Eddie buried in the woods and suddenly walking around and conversing thing, but now the pain came back with vengeance. "That zombie's going to have a free dinner ticket here," he choked out as he inspected his foot. Didn't seem broken, but sprained...sure.

He wiggled around on the ground, trying to find a way to get back on his feet without feeling like something was breaking his foot in half, but failing miserably. And yeah, maybe he should have been a bit more concerned about the literal undead guy standing over him, but Steve was a practical man. Focus on what you can resolve and all that.

Looking up at Eddie who was watching him with a slight amused smirk, he pointed at himself. “Well? Are you going to eat me or what?”

Another snort. “Don’t flatter yourself, Harrington. No matter what my reputation is, I wouldn’t eat just anyone, even if they’re sprawled in front of me like the most pathetic stingray in existence.”

“Stingray?!” Steve spat out.

Eddie nodded and descended into a squat to look Steve in the eye, well, as much as they could see in the growing darkness and through Eddie’s messy mane. “Yup. Flat and flapping around. Very much a stingray. Now, Harrington…even with your limited belief in the supernatural, I assume you do know that raising the dead comes with a cost.”

“I’m so sorry.”

The dark eyes blinked in confusion. “Excuse me, what?”

Steve shuffled closer to Eddie, which might not have been the greatest idea he’d ever had, but now that the adrenaline was slowly fading, the gravity of his situation felt like his stomach was full of cold lead. “I didn’t know,” he blurted out and it sounded more like a sob, something too painful to keep in. “I thought, I hoped that you’d be safe, that you finally got your wish and made it out of this shitty town. I imagined that…that one day I’d hear your music on the radio and I’d know for sure, but even until then, I just…I thought you were safe!”

His breathing was coming out shorter and shorter and wasn’t that just hilarious, getting all choked up in front of a reanimated corpse of his former friend. But running wasn’t an option anyway, and Steve just found it so unfair because Eddie used to be so full of life and promise, so bright and now...

“Hey, Steve. It’s fine, really.” Eddie’s voice was gentler now, more familiar, and that made Steve’s breathing even more shaky. “Shit, you’re…look, you really need to breathe, like, now? Please?”

Steve was inhaling the cool evening air as much as he could, but his lungs wouldn’t cooperate, as if they refused to take what they needed. “…am…trying!” he wheezed out, but his lips were heavy and getting more difficult to move each second.

He had never fainted twice in the same day. So maybe he’d experience something new. Apart from meeting a living corpse, of course.

The said corpse was panicking, it seemed. His cold, dirt-covered hands were shaking Steve’s shoulders now. “Shit, look, Steve, I swear it’s not that lonely, I don’t need the company so just…inhale, exhale, all that good stuff, yeah? Don’t…just don’t suffocate. This grave ain’t big enough for the two of us and…hey, Steve?! Steve!”

But Steve didn’t hear him anymore. With a whooshing in his ears that sounded very much like a descending murder of crows, Steve’s world disappeared into darkness.

When he came to, he was sitting in an eerily lit bar, well, more like half-laying on the floor. Someone had been kind enough to stuff an old pillow – mostly eaten through, but still comfortable - under his head. What a fucked-up dream that was. Whatever it was that he’d drunk, it was way stronger than his usual choices. I’m never drinking again.

And then he saw a familiar figure crouched on the ground, talking to…someone? He couldn’t really see, he was still dizzy, but he tried to clear his head and listen.

“…a magnificent idea, Eddie. He gets all freaked out because you’re dead and what do you do to help him? You bring him here. To the land of the dead.”

The voice was annoyed and something felt off about it, but he seemed reasonable enough. Whatever the invisible man was talking about, it sounded right. Except the whole land of the dead thing. And…

And Eddie being dead.

Steve shot up from the ground and regretted it immediately. His ankle exploded with pain and he had to grasp the edges of the bar to keep himself upright.

“Hey, young man, careful! That looks like a nasty sprain!” someone said. Steve was so relieved to hear another human being, he turned towards the voice and-

“…Bob?”

Bob Newby smiled at him, kind and lopsided as always. Except his t-shirt was black with crusted blood, and he was pale, almost blue. “Hi, Steve. Long time no see.” Snapping his fingers – oh god, his left hand was mostly bone, he reached for a bar stool. “Sit down. You can’t put any weight on that foot, at least not until I find a bandage and compress that. It would be better if you could lie down, but at least for now don’t move too much.”

Steve just stared at him, familiar and foreign at the same time. He´d known Bob Newby for ages, they weren’t close, but Bob would always recommend the best technology for when Steve had still been brave enough to record his music. “You’ll love this one, Steve, the sound is really much more vibrant,” he’d wink at younger Steve Harrington. “Oh, and I got you a shoe box. An empty one, to carry it home. I know it’s not exactly…well. We all have hobbies we don’t want to share with the world, right? Or at least with some people in it.”

Bob Newby had been dead for two years now. He was mauled by a huge feral dog that attacked young Will Byers and his friends near the junkyard. Bob died a hero – with strength no one knew he possessed, he fought off the aggressive animal long enough for the kids to escape and lock themselves inside an old bus. They saw things they never should have seen, but at least they were alive.

Steve didn’t want to think about that day, about how he decided to go on a long walk to clear his head after the breakup with Nancy. About how he came across Bob’s body and six terrified voices screaming at him, muffled behind the glass window. About how he heard snarling, how he grabbed the closest thing next to him – a metal rod, rusted but still firm – and smashed the dog’s face in.

He didn’t want to think about the look on Bob’s bloodied face, pained but also triumphant.

Bob was unfazed by his silence. He had procured a bandage from somewhere and started wrapping Steve’s ankle with practiced ease. “I hear you avenged me and saved the kids,” he smiled. “I believe thanks are in order.”

Steve huffed in bitter laughter. “I don’t know about that. If I hadn’t spent half an hour moping about my ex-girlfriend, things would have been different.”

There it was, that kind smile again. “Sure would be. Maybe I’d still be alive. Or maybe it would have also got you. Then Will and the other children. Ifs don’t help anyone, Steve, so how about you accept the praise where it’s due? You can’t save everyone.”

It should have been comforting, but the words felt like a punch in the gut. “It feels like I can’t save anyone,” he admitted, more to himself than to Bob. “You from that beast, Nancy from her own family and from myself, Eddie…”

Eddie.

Bob playfully slapped his calf when he twitched, attempting to stand up. “Patience, Steve. You don’t want to join us here yet, I hope? So let me finish treating your ankle, then you can hop off. But to calm you down...Eddie? Your breathing friend is up.”

Steve didn’t dare to turn around, but the panicked shuffling and muffled “oh shit. Shitshitshit. Shit shit” gave him a good idea of Eddie’s mental state, and he had to admit, it felt good to be the calm one for once.

He more felt than saw Eddie saunter towards the old bar, leaning against it behind Bob with a feigned nonchalance. Steve knew that posture all too well, from all the times Eddie was a bundle of nerves but putting on a brave front. “Howdy,” he saluted Steve. He’d tried to clean up a little – rubbing his eyes until he created muddy panda circles around them, removing some smaller roots from his hair and dusting off his vest. It was equally endearing and hilarious.

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but someone else made it before him.

“Smooth.”

The bored voice came from behind Steve. Or more precisely...from behind the bar?

Eddie snorted and tapped the wooden surface. “If you want to talk, have some manners and get up here.”

“Easy to say for you, these bones are old. Hey Benny, help me up?”

Benny – god, another name that rang in Steve’s head with painful familiarity – turned around and shot an amused look towards the ground. “One day I’ll make you your own tiny staircase,” he grumbled and reached down, lifting up…

…a cat.

No, not any cat. It was black, with greying fur around its muzzle, mostly black except for a greyish triangle near its tail. Steve knew this cat well – he scratched it, no, him, for hours when visiting Mrs. Henderson and her son, Dustin.

Dart turned his head to the side and nodded. “Hi.”

Steve raised his hand and slowly waved. “…hi.” He half-expected someone to say something because…the cat talked. He was pretty sure cats weren’t supposed to do that. “Uh…”

The cat rolled his eyes, if that was even possible. “Yeah, cats talk and the dead have their own bar, keep up. You also fainted when Eddie performed that wonderfully dramatic number for you.” He shot a nasty look at the dead man.

Eddie couldn’t blush, no blood and all, but he had the decency to look ashamed. “Sorry,” he whispered towards Steve’s injured ankle.

“You should be,” said Dart and Eddie grew an inch shorter under his critical gaze. “You had it all planned out, you had the perfect opportunity and what do you do? You go all zombie-like on him. If I were Steve, I wouldn’t even want to hear your proposal.”

“Proposal?” Steve blinked in confusion between Dart and Eddie. “I’m pretty sure it was me who accidentally proposed? I guess…yeah, Eddie still has the ring, so why should he have to propose?”

Bob finally finished wrapping Steve’s ankle in bandages, and rose to his feet. “You’re engaged? Congratulations!”

Eddie fiddled with the ring on his finger. “Uh, yeah. So that part? Totally unplanned. Actually, also illegal for us to get married. Twice illegal. Man and man, dead and not dead. So…I’m actually keeping the ring for bargaining purposes.”

Dart stabbed him with another deadly stare. “You. Could. Have. Just. ASKED.”

“Doing that now.” For someone who always claimed to be as direct as humanly possible, Eddie was stalling, wringing his hands and staring anywhere else but Steve. “So…uh. Harrington. Not that you especially liked me when I was alive and I guess I didn’t become more charming by dying. But still. You brought me back, you’re just a little bit responsible for disturbing my resting place. And I will forgive you for that and calmly crawl back into the ground…for a price.”

“A price?” Maybe Steve was as obtuse as they said, but what good would money do in the world of dead?

Eddie nodded, still hypnotizing Steve’s gradually swelling ankle. “Yep. Price. Not…monetary, no. But I need your help with something. So, a small service from you and I will go back where I belong. And you get this back.” Wiggling his finger, the ring caught light from the dim bar lightbulbs. “So, do we have a deal?”

Steve nodded almost instantly. “Sure.”

“And before you say no, you should kn- wait, what?” Eddie’s eyes snapped back to Steve’s face. “Uh. Sorry, there might still be some dirt in my ears.”

Dart laid his paw onto Eddie’s shoulder and slowly extended his claws. “Take the yes and shut up, Eddie.”

The dark eyes narrowed at the claws. “You know I don’t feel pain.”

“So you won’t mind me meowling on your grave every single night for the rest of your undead existence?”

Eddie flinched. “You monster.”

But Dart just rolled his eyes and returned back to Steve, gesturing at him to provide ear scratches. Flabbergasted, Steve obliged.

“So, Steve,” started Dart and turned his head towards Steve’s hand, “the thing is…to the left, yes, thank you…this isn’t the proper afterlife, as you might have guessed. This place would be way too crowded. So everyone here waits for something. Has something tying them to the mortal world.”

Did Steve imagine it or was Eddie slowly shrinking under Dart’s critical gaze?

“Some just wait for their loved ones to reunite. Some just need to process their anger or grief before they go. And some, Edward Theodore Munson, are utterly, hopelessly and stupidly stubborn!” he growled.

Yep, Eddie was definitely shrinking.

“See, some of our residents just have grandiose plans and they decide that they’re not going anywhere before they fulfill them. And no, they don’t let anyone local help them. Because it needs to be perrrfect.” Another growl, another twitch in Eddie’s eyebrow. “So here we are, facing a dilemma. Either Eddie stays here forever and drives everyone crazy with his bitching and moaning, or you step in, save the day and save his soul and everyone’s who has to deal with his constant complaints.”

Steve didn’t dare to stop the movement of his fingers, not until asked. “I already agreed,” he reminded both of them. “What do I have to do?”

Dart blinked at Eddie. “Cat got your tongue? Wasn’t me, I swear.”

The dead man snorted. “Right. So, you might remember…I used to play. The piano, I mean. And the guitar and more, but this is about the piano. And I also put together some music of my own.”

Steve’s heart clenched painfully at the memory. “As if I could ever forget.” As if I could forget the days when I felt like myself for once.

“Yeah, so…I can’t leave before making sure the music outlasts me. I don’t…I used to have this big, big plan. Record what I have and send it to one guy from Indy I knew. He saw potential in me, told me so right before…yeah.”

“But…” Steve’s tongue was heavy all of a sudden, stumbling over his words. “You were brilliant. Why don’t you record it yourself? Or is it about technology and stuff? I can get you that.”

Eddie chuckled with all the bitterness in the world. “Yeah, well. Let’s just say that I tried. I tried and tried and fucking tried, but you know what? It’s just not right.”

“What do you mean? Because I remember you playing and…I don’t think anyone could get it done better than you, Eddie.”

Dart sighed and pawed at Steve’s hand, finally letting him rest. “What he means is that dead bodies aren’t really known for their flexibility and dexterity, Steve,” he clarified. “Eddie has been practicing for months now, day and night in this bar. Everyone thinks it’s perfect.”

“Everyone but him,” Steve guessed and Dart gave him an understanding look. One more memory, Eddie playing in the music room in their school until his fingers hurt, wanting to try just one more time, just that one section that isn’t right, not yet.

Eddie waved his hand, scoffing. “Oh give me a break. If I’m to follow the light, go to the other side or whatever you want to call it, I want it to be worth it. I’ve been making compromises my whole life, but not here, not fucking now. So here’s the deal, Stevie-boy. We go upstairs – your world, that is – and you’ll practice my music like your life-“

“Or marriage,” added Dart mischievously, eyeing the ring on Eddie’s finger.

“Yes, like they depend on it. And then we’ll record it, send it to my contact with Wayne’s contact info, ownership or whatever.” His voice dropped lower at the mention of his uncle’s name. “And then I’ll give you your precious ring back and move on. Being buried and waiting for the worms to come isn’t my idea of a good time anyway. Deal?”

Without thinking, Steve offered Eddie his hand. “Deal.” Then his brow furrowed, a telltale sign there was something nagging in his brain. “Well, maybe one request from me. If someone sees us in the world above. Can you…like, can you pretend that we’re actually engaged for that time? Or at least that you’re a vengeful zombie who’s crazy opposed to the idea of marriage and is willing to curse me or drag me to the underworld if I marry anyone within the next few days?”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Chapter 4 here

#steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #steddie au #corpse bride au #with this ring #corpse groom eddie #bob newby #dart #stranger things #steddie big bang 2023

23 notes · View notes