#is the rest of the set also at the dark skeletons???

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

At one of the giant skeletons in the depths and. Really what the fuck ARE these things.

[twilightkitkat]

HEAR ME OUTTTTT YALL

Logan's bones are made of metal, right? And while adamantium is a fictional element, metals tend to follow a set of properties.

One primary property is that the majority of metals are conductors. This is reinforced in The Wolverine movie wherein the adamantium sword conducts heat extremely well to be able to cut off Logan's claws.

Therefore, Logan's bones are conductors (for both heat and electricity).

Most human bones (like Wade's) are insulators. This makes bones more resistant to electricity as compared to the rest of the human body, which is an electrical conductor because it's composed of water and ions.

I know the dark matter is different, but from how we see it flow through the veins and transfer we can assume it's conducted as well.

THEREFORE, THE REASON LOGAN WAS ABLE TO ALMOST INSTANTLY FORGE THE CONNECTION WAS BECAUSE HIS BONES CONDUCTED THE ELECTRICITY EASILY. AND IT WOULD ALSO MEAN THAT HIS PAIN WOULD BE SIGNIFICANTLY WORSE THAN WADE'S. BECAUSE HE LITERALLY FEELS IT RUNNING THROUGH HIS BONES, JITTERING HIS VERY SKELETON?? BUT HE STILL KEPT HOLDING ON JUST TO SAVE WADE.

Also, this means that his bones would retain heat. If he sits in front of the fire and gets heated up, he'd feel it in his bones. This means the human heater headcanons are 100% true, because he'd literally be hot metal wrapping around Wade if he's kept warm.

Inversely, however, this would mean his bones become cold due to a lack of heat. Metal oftentimes expands in hot conditions and contracts in cold conditions (which is why they leave gaps between train tracks to accommodate for this without them breaking).

So Logan would 100% get aches with cold weather because even if his body was more resistant, he can feel the chill in his bones and how they don't sit quite right and everything is too stiff and doesn't fit. (And Wade would need to heat him up instead because of this.)

Plus his thermal regulation would be compromised because it seeps into his bones instead of just his flesh. Imagine you get in front of a fan and your skin feels cool but your bones are hot. Logan would be temperature-sensitive, but he'd try to hide it because he's used to it (having lived in the mountains for years) and doesn't know what to do. (And so when Wade comes along and cares and tries to help him regulate, he nearly chokes up because it's so much easier to cope.)

[little-pondhead]

DP x DC Prompt

…

There are no more heroes.

Well, okay. Rewind a bit.

Danny has been doing the hero thing for a while now. He’s had a big reveal; everyone has accepted him (including his parents), the GIW disbanded, the Anti-Ecto acts repealed, and generally, everything is going great. Some of the A-Listers are even training as junior ghost hunters to help give him a break from his rogues! (Being Ghost King makes things hectic sometimes, and he just needs the extra help. Sue him!)

The point is, literally nothing is wrong with Danny Phantom’s afterlife.

And then Valerie Gray, the Red Huntress, disappears in front of his eyes.

Danny is baffled! She’s just…gone! Valerie just popped out of existence, like she was never there. But no matter how hard he searches in the Ghost Zone, he can’t find her soul anywhere. His core isn't broken in grief. So she’s not dead. Which is good. So then, where is she?

Some of the others come forward with ideas on how to find her. A few ghosts volunteer to go out into the mortal realm, an area Danny had declared off-limits, to see if she was out there. Danny approves it. He rounds up some of the friendlier (i.e., discreet) ghosts and Amity Parkers and demolishes the outside travel ban.

So everyone spreads out, looking for their dear frenemy and teammate. But it becomes apparent very quickly that something is wrong with the rest of the world.

There are no more heroes.

Every single living superhero on the face of the Earth has just…vanished. Villains are running amok; the countries are in chaos! Some aliens are invading Earth, mythical deities are trying to take over, and society is crumbling to the ground. Everything is on the brink of collapse.

Well, Danny was still there. And so were his people. They were pretty spread out, so could they just…take up the mantles? He also knew where to find the souls of dead heroes in the Zone; surely they wouldn't mind coming out of retirement for a little bit, especially if they couldn't die again. Oh! And that skeleton army leftover from Pariah Dark's reign might be useful in repelling those invading forces.

Honestly, there were more than enough hands to go around! And with the heroes gone, Danny didn't mind letting everyone out for a little break, as long as they followed his rules. They wouldn't stop the search for the other heroes, but hopefully, when they found them, the heroes wouldn't mind Danny's intervention too much. :)

In other words:

Someone fucks up, and all of Earth's living heroes are either wished out of existence or are whisked away to some far-off realm where Danny hasn't checked yet. In the attempt to figure out what's going on, Danny lets the dead run amok over the Earth as they search for clues. The skeleton army repels the invading armies, the souls of dead heroes deal with the world leaders, and his rogues and other Amity Parkers set up shop in place of famous heroes, trying to get the cities under control again.

Basically, they just do their best to keep everything from imploding until the Justice League and others are back.

(And why is it that Danny hasn't disappeared? Well, whatever caused everyone to go poof! only affected living heroes. Anyone heroes that were dead in the first place, or even just half-dead, stayed behind.)

[dinogoofymutated]

Hi! so far I've loved everything you've written about Kurt, Logan and Remy. 🧎🏻‍♀️

Could you write something about Kurt? where together with reader they are in the kitchen of the mansion because they can't sleep, and she finally tells him her concerns about the magnitude of her powers and Kurt with his heart of gold tells her beautiful things to calm her down and make her laugh, the rest to your imagination, I would appreciate it, you write great! Thanks 💙✨

SFW! Nightcrawler/Fem!Reader

Ok so I will admit that I made this a leeetle self indulgent. I was trying to think of a power someone could really struggle with and a fun one that I thought of was having necromancy, but having such respect for life and death that it feels wrong. I thought it would fit well with a Kurt fic because it's something that almost feels sacrilegious, and it's good to have a fuzzy blue elf assure you that you aren't a monster :) I know its def not power ambiguous, but I hope this is okay :)

Also, I know my writing style is a little different in this one, And thats because the first few paragraphs set the tone for my writing when I start and tbh I think this one just flowed from my soul to they keyboard.

TWs: nightmares, necromancy, gross descriptions of rotting flesh. Extreme self-doubt and self-consciousness. Basically angst with a happy ending.

You’ve been having nightmares again. They hardly seem to stop, but after a break in between the terror, you'd become too relaxed. Too comfortable. You felt defenseless when they started to begin again.

It’s always the same dream, different font. Bones cracking, flesh ripping as it’s forced into place, natural or not. Skin rotting off of once human bodies, sockets where eyes used to be. It was horrifying. You’d see your family, friends, acquaintances, everyone. Dead. Brought back to life by your power, the power you were still so afraid of. You were always afraid of zombie movies as a kid. Anything rising from the dead, anything breathed back to life in some sick and twisted fantasy. It was ironic that your very own strength was the thing you had always been the most afraid of.

Of course, as you aged and the professor took you in, the fear began to wear off. Mostly, it did. The professor not only taught you how to control your powers but also how to work around your fear. You can remember the confusion you felt when he had set a box of ancient bones in front of you. Fragments of titans, dinosaurs who had long since passed. Bones that would never be matched to an accurate set, parts of them being crushed to dust by the cruelty of time. Bones that only you could breathe to life, to bring them together as a whole again. It was convenient, the professor had told you, that you only needed a fragment to do so. He spoke as if it were a service to them. Most importantly, he brought you a box of bones that weren’t, and never had been, human.

He had taken the fear out of your power. Given you an option you had never considered before. Bones without flesh, without living family. Fossils that would serve you as you were serving them. You were… happy, with that. You were content. You could handle bones. You could revive these ancient skeletons without fear, and fight with them without worry. That didn’t change the horror of knowing the capacity your powers had.

    So the nightmares remained, and your sleep had become sparse.

    This particular night you were restless. Unable to sleep despite how tired you have been, but it’s hard to rest when there is only terror waiting behind your eyelids. After a while, you decide to give up trying.

The path to the kitchen is one you have memorized, even in the dark. You’ve always been told never to eat sugar before bed, but the only thing you want to comfort you at this moment is hot chocolate- so screw it.

    You try your best to be quiet while fishing out a pot out of the cabinets. The stove makes a click as you flick it on, filling the pot with milk before stirring it as it warms. The automatic task is comforting, falling into a routine you enjoy. You’ve just added the coco mix when the sound of a *Bamph* greets you.

    “Guten abend.” Kurt whispers, walking over to stand beside you. You give him a tired smile that he returns with a yawn.

    “I’m sorry if I woke you.” You say, face returning to a frown Kurt thinks you wear far too often. Maybe it’s good that he’s here because you realize you made far too much of the sweet drink than you had meant to. You get a mug for him, heart fluttering as his hand brushes your own when he takes it from you, thanking you quietly.

    “You did not wake me, Schatz. I promise.” Kurt says, pulling out a chair for you with his tail as he sits at the table. You nod silently, placing the pot in the sink and filling it with water before you join him, leaning against his shoulder.

    “Did you have another nightmare?” Kurt asks after a moment. His brows are furrowed in concern, and you fail to stop him before he takes a sip from the scalding coco, burning his tongue. He scrunches his nose as he sticks out his tongue, making you giggle for a moment. He thinks your laugh suits you much more than your frown, even if it happens to be at his expense. Your face falls slightly anyway, and he wonders if he could get you to laugh if he did it all over again.

    “...No. Not tonight.” The words come out as less than a whisper, and you doubt he might hear it if it weren’t the middle of the night. Little did you know he’d block the world out if he had to, just to hear you speak a little clearer. He hums in response, and you feel his tail slowly wrap snugly around your waist, the very tip idly stroking you in a comforting manner.

    “...Do you wish to speak about them?” Kurt asks after a moment. You huff slightly, feeling the hot steam from your mug warm your face as you do so. Still too hot, you think to yourself. Flashes of those horrid nightmares come to mind, and no matter how quickly you try to shake them off, they remain. You choose to think of Kurt instead. Sweet, kind, comforting Kurt. You want to bury yourself in his arms, sink into the feeling of his skin, and never let go, if only he would let you. He would without a second thought, if only you had known. You think carefully about your next words, and the visions of flesh and corpses hardly leave you.

    “Am I a monster, Kurt?” You hear a quiet, cut-off gasp from Kurt, and he turns to you. His face is pained, and he sets his mug down to place his hand around your own, still clasped around the hot cocoa. 

    “Of course not. Only a fool would think so.” His words, although comforting, only leave you with a worse sting in your heart. You can’t hold eye contact with him, staring at the reflection in your mug instead. Only a fool would think so. You halfway wonder if you count as a fool, then.

    “I, just… My powers, what I do. What I am capable of doing. It’s not right.” You take a shaky breath in, desperately trying not to break down here and now. “It’s disgusting. It’s horrible. Every time I find myself comfortable with myself I am reminded of what is possible and I spiral. I don’t want it. I don’t-”  

  “Liebling.” You let out a sob at the sound of his voice. Kurt is hunched over, pressing his forehead against your own as he desperately tries to catch your gaze- but you can’t. You can't bear it, and you close your eyes tightly. Kurt takes the mug from your hands. He cups your face as he wipes your tears, and you feel like even more of a monster as he does so. Sobbing as a man with a heart of gold wipes your tears away with love and care.

    “Please, look at me,” Kurt whispers. You try to stop the tears, embarrassed as you fall apart in front of the man you hold so dearly, but it’s hard. It’s so hard. Your chest stings, your throat is sore, you’re sure your nose is running, and yet he still holds you so gently. When your breathing evens out just a bit, you convince yourself to open your eyes again.

    Kurt’s gaze is simply concerned. There is no horror, no disgust, nothing but worry for you. Nothing but kindness. You wonder if you could be even half as good as he is. 

    “You are good. You are kind. You are strong enough to stand by your morals despite the nature of your powers telling you otherwise- and you have the strength to continue to use them and fight your fears anyway. You are one of the most incredible people I have ever met. Do not let your nightmares tell you otherwise.” Kurt’s hold is steady against your cheeks, and your own shaky hands reach up to hold onto his wrists. You sob again as he speaks. You know. You know this. Others have told you, but these words all felt like lies. All but the ones you’re hearing from his mouth. Your tears are slowing, and Kurt leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, leaving the skin tingling. You whisper quiet apologies for crying, and he shushes each one, gently wiping your face with the soft sleeve of his pajama shirt.

  “I would not be here if I didn’t want to care for you, my love,” Kurt says softly. Your eyes widen, taken aback by his words. He called you many things. Liebling. Schatz. Love. But never my love. The words waken butterflies in your belly, and Kurt takes a moment to realize what he’s said. He swallows nervously, but he doesn’t pull away. You don’t either. The two of you are treading a line that you both desperately want to cross. 

    Kurt is the first to lean in. He does so slowly, toeing the line between you. His gaze remains on your own as he closes the space, nose nuzzling against your own as he gives you the time to back out if you wish. But you don’t. You want nothing more than to have what he is so freely giving. 

    Kurt kisses you softly, lovingly, and for once the horrors have quieted and are cleared from your mind. All there is now is Kurt, and his soft love. He kisses you a second time before he pulls away, still as close to you as he can be without falling out of his chair. You wonder how he can see beauty where all you see is terror. He wonders if you have any clue just how much of a good person you continue to be.

    He knows he would gladly spend the rest of his life showing you.

[shalomniscient]

CAT & MOUSE || jane doe x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

“I didn’t think you could be this good, little mouse,” you remark, lounging back in the plush of your leather office chair, swirling your glass of tequila in one hand. One of your legs is crossed over the other, the polished sheen of your shoe gleaming in the low light, almost reflecting the serene smile of the woman before you. Her long, wiry tail flicks idly on the ground, deceptively casual, as if she isn’t holding you at corporate gunpoint. The ice in your glass clinks as it shifts, melting and dissolving into the depths of your drink. “At the sex, or the espionage?” she asks, and you indulge in a thin smile of your own at her confidence. “Both,” you answer, and it’s the only honest thing either of you will tell each other tonight. Or, your secretary turns out to not just be a regular secretary. Which is bad, because she’s seen both the corporate skeletons in your closet and the delicate sheets of your bed, and that’s far too much of your figurative and literal furniture for anyone not on your payroll to know. Though at the very least, you plan on making what should be your last night as CEO an enjoyable one—which interestingly enough, is a sentiment your traitorous little secretary seems to share.

cw. [NSFT][MDNI] strap-ons, hair pulling, tail pulling (?), degradation, biting, rough sex

notes. this one’s for u @nbdaddykink 🫡🫡🫡 bon appetitty 👀👀👀 also reader has some cat thiren (?) characteristics because themes, and also a bit of a corporate scumbag. also written before character release !!! if this becomes ooc post-release please do not kill me tq

“Your name isn’t even Natasha, is it?” you ask idly, despite already knowing the answer. You rest one arm on the armrest of your chair, leaning your head against your knuckles as you drink in the sight of her. The shadows cut her into a new light, an odd little contradiction you’ve come to realise that she quite adores. To be seen more clearly in the dark, and to catch cats in mousetraps—you can’t help the grudging smile on your face as you muse to yourself. What an odd little creature she is.

“No,” she replies eventually, that picture perfect smile never once leaving her expression. After a beat, she tilts her head, tail swishing behind her. “But you can call me Jane.”

You hum. “Is that your real name, then?”

“What is real and what isn’t only comes down to a matter of perception.”

You almost laugh at the non-answer, sheer excellence in corporate deflection. “It’s really a shame, little mouse. You were the best secretary I ever had.”

“Don’t worry,” she returns, a smirk tugging on her painted lips, “you’ll have no need for secretaries where you’re going.”

You do laugh at that, just a little. A jail cell? What a cute pipe dream. You’d get a home arrest at worst—though you can indulge in the idealism of it for a little. You take a sip of your drink, keeping your eyes trained on her as the liquid burns like fire down your throat. Your ears twitch, and you can hear her heartbeat; calm and steady. You like it more when it’s racing.

You set down your glass with an exaggerated sigh. “And here I thought we had something good going, Jane. I even packed a little surprise for you tonight.”

Her pulse jumps, and you have to bite back the victorious upward quirk of your lip. For all she seemed to be a consummate professional at whatever her real job is, you’ve found that Jane has a remarkable weakness—or fondness—for debauchery. Not that you’re complaining, of course; not when Jane looks like that. You make a show of uncrossing your legs, clearly displaying the outline of your strap under your slacks. Those sharp eyes immediately fly down to your crotch, and this time there’s no holding back your smug grin.

“Is this a bribe?” she manages after a beat, her voice light and airy despite her words. “That’s a felony too, you know.”

“I’d never do such a thing,” you say dryly. “Consider it an offer from a… friend. For old times’ sake, hm?”

Something glints in Jane’s eyes, and for all she can set up her little mousetraps, so can you. You were not born without these teeth and claws for no reason, after all. Hunting is in your DNA, and there’s a dull ache in your canines as you wait for her answer. She gives it to you by striding forward to shamelessly sit herself in your lap.

“I suppose I can indulge you in a little bit of fun,” she breathes, leaning in close enough for her breath to tickle the tufted fur of your ears. “You’re a damn good fuck, anyways.”

You manage a low hiss before crashing your lips against hers. Her tongue pushes its way into your mouth, and you abandon your glass in favor of gripping her waist in your hands—small enough that your thumbs nearly meet over her belly. You barely manage to suppress the full- body shudder that threatens to consume you at the thought of stuffing her full of your cock soon, and watching the ridge in her cute tummy appear and disappear as you fuck into her.

Jane’s kisses have always been greedy, needy things that leave your lips kiss-swollen after. Her teeth nip on your lower lip and you growl, before rising to your feet. Jane makes a small, surprised noise before wrapping her legs around you, her tail looping deliberately lower to squeeze your ass. You swallow her little giggle with another hungry kiss as you walk over to your desk, before unceremoniously dumping her onto the hardwood and hiking her skirt up.

Her scent fills your lungs as one of your hands leaves her waist to trail a finger up her clothed, dripping cunt. You give an experimental roll of your hips, the tip of your faux cock pressing against her through the layers of fabric, and she exhales a pleased sigh like music to your ears. “Did you like that, little mouse?” you hum, your other hand squeezing her thigh and pushing it up until her ankle rests on your shoulder, spreading her nice and open for you. “Always so needy.”

Jane only looks at you with eyes half-lidded, a lazy smirk on her face, though the pure desire in her eyes is unmistakable. “Says the one who offered.”

Touché, you think, not that you’d ever admit that to her. Instead you settle for tugging her ruined underwear to the side, retracting your claws and pushing two fingers knuckle deep into her wet cunt. Jane arches her back at the sudden intrusion, squeezing tight around your fingers, any more of her smartness dying in her throat. You don’t give her a moment of reprieve, fucking your fingers into her with such force and speed that the wet sounds of you working her dripping cunt echo throughout your office. Your other hand presses down on her stomach, keeping her in place as she rockets and writhes to orgasm beneath you. Her legs wrap tighter around you, her tail snaking down to constrict around one of your legs.

“Gonna cum, little mouse?” you ask, voice low. Your thumb presses against her clit, and Jane’s body jerks, a pitchy squeak leaving her lips. She’s definitely close. You work your entire hand harder against her, inside her, your two fingers ruthlessly rubbing against the patch of nerves in her cunt as your thumb draws figure-eights on her stiff clit.

Jane's eyes meet yours through her long lashes, and you can tell she's close. There's a dusting of red on her plush, round cheeks, and you have to resist the urge to lean down and nip at them. Her little ears twitch, pressed flat to her skull from how you play her body like a damn instrument. The look in her eyes is hungry, almost as if she wants to devour you, instead. It stokes a bigger fire in you than anything you've ever experienced. With one more practiced curl of your fingers, you draw Jane over the edge, and she cums with a high-pitched whine, blunt nails digging into the finely pressed suit on your back. Her cunt bears down like a vise on your fingers, squeezing so tightly as if she's trying to cut off your circulation. Her tail lashes back and forth like a whip, the sharp end scoring lines into the wooden paneling of your office floor.

You don't give her any sort of reprieve, though. After all, she still betrayed you—you have some steam to work off. So you withdraw your fingers with a slick squelching noise and flip her onto her front, one hand pressing her into the desk by the small of her back, just above where her tail begins, while the other hurriedly undoes the zipper of your slacks. She pants as she throws a look at you over her shoulder, eyes blown wide, only to roll back into her skull when you shove all eight inches into her sopping cunt with one smooth thrust.

"That's it," you croon, "such a good whore, aren't you?" Jane's fingers claw into your desk as she scrabbles for purchase, for some sort of grounding as you rearrange her guts. Her tail twitches each time you bottom out in her, and you take the opportunity to wrap the thin length of it around your hand before using it to pull her back onto your cock with each thrust you make forward. Jane shrieks beneath you, and some lingering primal instinct in your brain snarls in victory at the sound.

You lean down, hips battering against her perfect, round ass that bounces with each drive of your dick. You nip at her little mousey ear, delighting in the squeaky noise that leaves her lips at the feel of your fangs. "Maybe you should have invested in a collar instead of a mousetrap," you sneer, moving lower to sink your teeth into her shoulder. Your breath cascades over her skin and you feel her shiver beneath you.

A shame that your cock is only plastic. You would’ve loved to know how her cunt feels, clenching down on her. But this is fine too, as you watch the reverb of her plush ass every time your hips collide with it. Your free hand can’t help but be drawn towards it, squeezing one cheek until red lines appear on her creamy skin. Everything about her is so… bitable. All you want to do is sink your teeth into her and never let go. You double your efforts, and you’re rewarded by another whiny moan from the woman beneath you. Her legs kick out, or at least attempt to, as the pleasure mounts and mounts low in her belly.

“F-fuck,” she gasps, panting in between her lewd cries, “fuck, I’m going to—“

Your hand travels from her ass, under her body and back to her clit, and Jane groans. Her fingers find the edge of your desk and she grips it until her knuckles go white with force. You flick at her clit before rubbing it between the pads of your fingers, your other hand tugging back on her tail again. You trade your speed for depth, ensuring the tip of your cock kisses as close as possible to her cervix.

“Go on,” you command, “cum on my cock, like I know you want to.”

It’s perhaps the last order you’ll ever give her, and Jane obeys gorgeously. A scream rips from her lips, her entire body jerking with the force of her orgasm. You pin her to the desk with your hands and your hips as she thrashes, utterly lost in the throes of pleasure, your cock seated as deeply as it can go inside her tight pussy. You can’t help but lean down and sink your teeth into the nape of her neck at the sight, some intrinsic instinct to mate taking over you.

It takes some time before Jane returns to her senses, and uncoils her tail from your hand. You move to withdraw, but the prehensile appendage loops around your waist, all while she still rests against your desk.

“Oh?” you hum, as the tip of her tail travels up your body, the sharp ends prodding at your jugular. Jane pushes herself up from your desk, the image of debauchery, with her makeup smudged but still holding that insatiable hunger in her eyes. She glances out of the large office window at the glittering city below, the lights shining more like starlight than anything that could be seen from above. When she turns to you, her expression is an invitation.

“There’s still some time left,” she says after a beat. “Maybe we can make the most of it.”

She doesn’t need to tell you twice.

[qin-qin16]

My computer is possessed?! Oh, wait, it's just my out-coded skeleton boyfriend!

Summary: When some of your work in progress goes missing, you decide to start investigating whether your computer has a virus. That is until you realize that the few remaining works are of one character: Error Sans. cw: kinitoPET and creepypasta vibes, writer Reader, Ink is mentioned, Error is jealousy, again, comedy, Reader finally notices that something wrong is happening! (Part one) (Part two)

“I should really get a new chair..." You say slowly, tilting your head back and feeling your neck stretch — a habit that you keep indulging in, no matter how sore it makes your nape afterward. "Then again, I also need to buy some new pants... and a new mouse as well..." Your head rolls over your shoulders, and before you know it, you’re staring at the computer screen again.

Your fingers lightly tap against the table; pinky, ring, middle, and index. One after the other in a rhythmic sequence — until you mess up and clench your hand into a loose fist.

"Ink definitely wouldn’t say that; he’s just so clueless." And there you are, deleting an entire paragraph for the third time, unhappy with how your story is turning out. "Why did I have to write about this jerk again?"

Because he’s a complex character with many layers that can add depth to your plot. You can almost imagine yourself explaining it, wearing glasses with a raised finger — just like that nerd emoji meme.

Even though your explanation was spot on, you can’t help but huff in frustration, rubbing your eyes with your thumbs before looking back at the blank Word document.

“... Why is this so bright?” If you were standing in front of a mirror, you’d definitely see your pupils constricting; a slight burning sensation spreading across your eyes as your finger keeps clicking on the computer keys, the brightness rapidly dimming.

Before you can blink, you let out a slow hiss. The burning in your eyes, sharp against your sensitive irises, returns suddenly; and in front of you, seemingly amused by the situation, your computer screen is set to full brightness.

"What the hell?" you curse, quickly covering your eyes with your hands as you pull away from the screen. For a moment, all you see is complete darkness, with a few bright spots flickering in your vision.

Maybe it’s time to start using eye drops; your eyes probably wouldn’t hurt so much after hours in front of the computer.

"I must have pressed the wrong key..." That’s a possibility, if it weren’t for a little voice in the back of your mind whispering the steps you took moments ago; you definitely pressed the right keys and released them at the right moment to actually dim the screen. "Or did I think I clicked but really didn’t?"

Your head droops onto your shoulders — and a low grunt escapes your lips as you feel the muscles in your neck stretch, pulling your shoulder blades along with them.

You rest your face in your hands, then rub your eyes and look at the computer again between your fingers. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” Your feet shuffle toward the table, the rolling chair getting stuck at some point. “I just need to finish at least this dialogue before I can finally shut this thing down with a clear conscience.”

In theory, it should be a simple task; in practice, not so much. Especially when the paragraphs you’ve already written keep getting erased-

"What the hell is going on?!" You couldn’t believe — or understand — what was happening right before your eyes: sentence by sentence, your fanfic was being quickly erased, line by line.

You quickly moved the mouse away from the document, clicking anywhere else in the browser to stop your writing from being deleted — which didn’t do much good. The cursor soon started moving on its own, spinning around the screen until it selected an entire paragraph and deleted it.

"What’s going on?!" you shout as you repeat the same action, clicking outside the browser to keep the cursor from going back to the document, sliding it left, right — anywhere to keep whatever was controlling your mouse away from your precious fanfic. "Is this what a hacker attack feels like?"

It’s the only explanation; unless the existence of ghosts is not just real, but they also have the ability to manipulate electronics and understand how the internet works.

Before you could think any more about it, the cursor had returned to the center of the screen — but this time, before it could delete any more of your text, you quickly took control of the mouse, dragging it to the red box in the corner of the window and closing it for good.

You didn’t even curse or shout afterward; your mouth stays slightly open, slowly widening enough to express your disbelief at what had just happened. Your eyes remained fixed on the computer, even as your vision grew increasingly blurry, much like the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind.

"What the hell was that? Was it some kind of virus? Or a hacker's prank? I didn’t share this document with anyone, so it must have been some damn hacker with no job doing something so messed up! But wait, what if it’s like those little computer avatars that are actually viruses messing with your documents and folders? Did I download something strange without even noticing?”

Your focus snaps back to the screen as a notepad file opens in the upper corner of your desktop.

HEHEHEHEHEHEH GOT YOU!

“Son of a bitch,” you growl, grinding your teeth together as your eyes scan the message in all caps again and again.

This was solid proof (at least for your stress-fried brain) that this was the work of a sadistic hacker, taking pleasure in your suffering. It was decided: you would take your computer to a specialist as soon as possible — hacker or not, you would get your precious computer back at any cost.

Banging your head against the desk — and grunting as the pain spreads across your forehead — you don’t even notice that the light on your webcam is on.

Tagging area, if you want to be tagged, just ask :D

@snastheskeleton64 @moon-and-fries @unamzi @something-random1-1-blog @lostsoulofdragon @notagamerlol @staryycheze

[fanfic-obsessed]

Ten Years in Two months

While the meat and potatoes of this idea comes a bit later, it does require some finangleing beforehand. Some of the beginning does feel a bit contrived, because it is. In order for the dominoes of the plot to fall right later, we do have to force them into shape now in a series of improbable actions. 

Bear with me for a bit, we’ll get there. 

There is not really a particular point this starts, save that it is after Padme becomes pregnant (though well before she realizes she is) but before the Umbara arc (or ignoring the Umbara Arc), for no particular reason other than I want Waxer there.  A mission is assigned to the 212th to escort Padme Amidala and her retinue to a neutral world for negotiations with the Separatists.  They are taking with them commander Ahsoka Tano (the in-world explanation being that she was on Coruscant catching up with course work and they would rendezvous with the 501st, who were on a campaign in that region). 

On the way to this neutral world, from the perspective of the rest of the galaxy, the 212th in its entirety vanishes for two months. 

From the perspective of the 212th they become trapped on an uncharted planet for 10 years. 

For the rest of the galaxy those two months are enlightening into Anakin Skywalker's particular brand of instability.  Without the tempering influence of the bonds to his Master and Padawan, compounded by the fact that his secret wife disappeared as well, Well…his attempts to find them could, in the best of lights, be described as unhinged. He did not fall in at this time, for he was given no reason to make that choice (and falling to the dark, into evil is very much a choice. One does not fall by accident, after all), but he made it very clear that the war, protecting innocents, the Republic, or even the lives of his own men meant nothing compared to finding Padme (occasionally he would remember to make it seem as though he was focusing on finding Obi Wan or Ahsoka, though he never quite remembered to include the rest of the 212th). His obsession presented itself in such a way that even Palpatine was reconsidering some of his plans (he still intended to break Anakin into Vader, but he was now inclined to let Padme-and maybe even Ahsoka; Obi Wan was always going to die-live on as a stabilizing influence to his ultimate apprentice). 

He was swiftly removed from command of the 501st and had to be kept partially sedated for at least 6 of those 8 weeks. 

With the 212th for the first few months, from their perspective, they tried to contact the rest of the fleet. Tried to contact anyone.  Tried to escape from their orbit around this one planet, thankfully habitable and with an abundance of edible food. However, though they did not know it, the planet was out of sync with the rest of the galaxy.

Over the period of about two years they shifted from living mostly on the ships with just enough people on the surface of the planet to keep everyone fed to a more permanent settlement on the planet with a rotating skeleton crew up on ships to keep everything running. 

Padme found out about her pregnancy pretty early on, and with it came the knowledge that her relationship with Anakin was not the secret she thought it was.  Nor was the relationship forbidden like Anakin told her. The marriage was forbidden, because of the Oaths Anakin swore as part of the Jedi Order and how they conflicted with the traditional Nabooian Wedding vows (though she also finds out that the Jedi Order would have helped revise both sets of vows so they did not conflict).  Even beyond her own misunderstandings of the Jedi, she started to see the many places where Anakin either deliberately misunderstood his own culture, or deliberately misled her.  

In fact it became obvious within the first six months that every culture represented in the ships (The variety of cultures from the natborn admiralty, the Nabooian Delegation, The clones, and the Jedi) all had some misconceptions about all of the other cultures ranging from the humorously minor to massive misunderstandings (One of the minor misunderstandings is between the Jedi and the Clones on names and numbers. The Jedi believe that they are making sure that they are calling the clones what the clones want to be called instead of their designation. The clones think that the Jedi as a whole are uncomfortable with their designation AS names-Which yes but also no-so even though most of the clones prefer a name to their designation, even the few that want to use their designation are told by the other clones that the must choose a name to use around the Jedi). 

Obi Wan takes over Ahsoka’s training and the gaps that Anakin had left become very obvious; the place where he taught her something that was outright wrong even more so. About three months in, Ahsoka tells Obi Wan about Anakin’s ‘training’ of being surrounded and fired upon by the 501st.  One of the few things that Anakin was right about was that he Jedi would not understand, nor condone, that training. Ahsoka had not realized how disconnected from her own culture she had become in her short time with Anakin. How isolated he had made her from her people. Though she and Obi Wan were the only Jedi, she felt closer than ever to everything she had grown up with as he took on her tuition. 

In month 8 Obi Wan, who was looked to as the leader, arranged for a series of times to address the misconceptions held by an for each culture present.  When it became clear that they were cut off for the long haul, he helped the variety of people to start to live instead of just surviving.  And at the beginning there were a number of natborns among them that were anti clones, or anti Jedi, just as there were many clones that were anti nat born.  But with only about 1500 people in total (1300 clones, about 50 natborn officers and support staff, about 150 senatorial support staff) there were simply not enough people to support those kinds of prejudices.  It is hard to say that the clones were not human when you listen to the stories of decommissioned batchmates during one of the remembrance ceremonies.  Or hate the natborn lieutenant that got drunk and cried all over you about the pregnant wife they left behind.

The twins were born with a village of aunts and uncles, and though they are the oldest, they were not the only ones. Sache, one of Padme’s former handmaidens and part of her senatorial retinue, entered into a relationship with Waxer and Boil, having a child with them that was a year younger than the twins.  Many relationships formed and broke apart during those years.

Ahsoka and Padme ended up co parenting the twins, with Padme being called Mom and Ahsoka being called Mom Ah.  It was the twins who insisted on their names from their earliest ability to speak. 

In year four Cody and Obi Wan get married. Though theirs is not the only relationship that develops, nor the only one with healthy communication, their relationship does highlight to Padme how unhealthy her relationship with Anakin actually was. (It should be noted that, although Anakin’s instability and actions were flashier, this is not Anakin abusing/coercing the poor innocent Padme. In this they are toxic together, both acted in unhealthy ways that compromised their own morals).  Padme was able to see how Cody and Obi Wan did not use their love for each other as a bandage for deeper wounds. That CodyWan did not become all consuming; each man had friendships and hobbies and duties separate from each other (even with the friends they shared, they did not act as a single unit, inseparable from each other).  The other relationships she saw only drove this point home. 

At some point in those ten years she tells Obi Wan of what happened on Tatooine, just before the start of the war. And Obi Wan, eyes betraying his grief and horror at the massacre of the Tuskens asked her why she absolved Anakin of his crimes (By technicality, as a senator Padme did have the authority to absolve Anakin-so even if Tatooine becomes part of the Republic, and the crime is reported, Padme’s actions mean that Anakin cannot be tried under Republic Law). Padme cannot answer him.  

Though it does take time, Padem is eventually able to meet Obi Wan’s eyes again after the revelation. 

6 years in, Ahsoka and Padme realize that they have fallen in love.  Driven by the Jedi teachings for healthy and open communication (though many cultures value open and honest communication, few need it in the same way as the Jedi who are all some degree of Empath), they talk about what was happening. Neither is sexually attracted to the other, but they do want to date each other.  But Padme is married to Anakin. And it might have been six years, so they do not know if Anakin even still lived, and if did, he had likely moved on (both of which are reasonable assumptions) but being together without first speaking to Anakin felt too much like giving up the idea that they would find a way home. So they agreed to wait until they were ready to give up that idea. 

They had not given up by the time that the 10 year mark rolled around.

In year 7 the chips begin to deteriorate. The material they were made up of were not meant for the extra years of use, plus the method Helix used to stop the accelerated aging (discovered within 5 months of actually having time) created an enzyme as a byproduct that had no effect on the clones, but accelerated the deterioration of the chips.  The first three chips were removed after the clones involved complained of migraines. All the documentation in the computer banks (the archive of what was readily available, instead of what was stored on the galaxy’s version of the cloud) of the ships said the chips were to inhibit excess aggression. No one had any reason to not believe the documentation, not even with the realization that the chips were not in the right place for what they were supposed to do (the assumption is that the Kaminoans, for all their genetic know how, just do not understand near human neurology enough to have put it in the right place).  Obi Wan met with Helix, the head medic, with Cody after the removal of those first chips.  Obi Wan assumed that he did not know about the chips because he had not been on the council when the order was put in. Helix is able to confirm that all of the clones have these chips and what they are supposed to do (according to the literature) and that some were beginning to deteriorate.  After it becomes clear that the removal will not hurt the clone, they make the decision to remove all of them. However, believing them to be behavioral modifiers (if incorrectly placed), and as they did not have the optimal equipment to decode them, they all left it at that and put the Chips into storage and basically forgot about it. 

Just 15 days shy of the 10th anniversary of their arrival to the uncharted planet, whatever grip that was holding the ships bound to orbit the planet vanished (The planet was in sync with the rest of the galaxy- it is a window of time that is six hours long in the larger galaxy, or 15 days long on the planet) Still not able to raise communications to anyone outside of the planet’s orbit, not knowing how long they would have before they were stuck again, and fearing that they would be cut off from anyone left behind (no one had forgotten that the planet had not registered as there until they were trapped), everyone was loaded onto the ships along with all of their food stores and the 212th left the uncharted planet. 

As soon as they hit the galaxy at large again, alarms began to shriek. Every system that communicated with the central systems (basically everything outside of life support) experienced a fatal error upon reconnecting with the galaxy’s central system. It takes 4 days to fix. They have to reset all of the internal clocks/calendars in their computer systems to a date and time two months and 3.5 days after they became trapped (the last 24 hours of that time was spent inputting random dates into the system). 

NOTE: There is a very important reason for this. Computers are very black and white about some things, and communicating between computers is often validated on specific information to make sure that both systems are dealing with the same information at the same thing. Current Date/Time had to be validated for the purpose of navigation. Galactic/Stellar drift is very real, and in the mapped regions of the galaxy that drift is precisely calculated.  It is impossible to keep a real time map of every object in the galaxy, instead there is a systematic ping that goes out at specified times (Twice per Galactic Standard year) remapping every object in the known galaxy and correcting the location in the centralized system.  Then Navigation computers calculate how long it has been since the last ping to figure out where everything is and a safe route.  That only works if the current date time matches the current date time of the centralized system exactly (some of those object movements, even objects large enough to damage the largest of ships, can be measured in microseconds). 

No one realizes why this is an issue. The entirety of the 212th believe that 10 years have passed (born out by their time keepers, which had ticked along for ten years) and yet to the larger galaxy only two months have. They absently notice that by the time anything is working again the planet they were on had vanished. 

A message is sent to Coruscant, to the Jedi temple, but it is a hesitant thing. Deliberately vague in details. Obi Wan has no idea what 10 years has done for or to the war effort.  The response is almost immediate,  a call from the Jedi council. The very first question out of Mace Windu’s mouth is a cranky sounding ‘Where in the Force have you been for the last two months?’ (Look Master Windu is absolutely ecstatic that they are safe and not dead, but he has spent the four days helping to keep Anakin contained-the sedation began to wear off faster now that he could feel Ahoska and Obi Wan in the Force again-, the last two months realizing that Obi Wan ran about a third of their side of the war, and had been in the middle of sleeping for the first time in weeks).

There is quite a bit of confusion as both Obi Wan and Mace were absolutely sure the other had lost it over how long the 212th had been gone (Obi Wan: we were trapped for ten years; Mace: Bullshit! You’ve been gone for 2 months).  It is Ahsoka’s appearance that convinces Mace that something more is going on (he would not know the children, and Ahsoka is the only other one for whom 10 years-or 10 years and 5 months for the clones- would make a huge visible difference). Mace is able to convince Obi Wan that they really have only been gone two months and the 212th makes its way back to Coruscant, reeling over the disconnect (The Lieutenant who spent the last 10 years mourning over the missed moments with their wife and unborn child…hasn’t even missed the birth).

The mind healers who have been dealing with Anakin nearly weep in relief at the news that Padme Amidala is with the 212th and safe. They know that Anakin needs many much therapy still but they have hope he will actually pay attention now that his wife is back. 

The 212th, now a community in a way that they had not been, returned to Coruscant.  They do not split in the ways that they would have before (before relationships and children) and peer at the lives they had left behind that they no longer quite fit the shape of. 

The lieutenant brings home their best friend (a clone who had not picked their name before the mission, but decided to go with 29, which they picked to reference the number of a decommissioned batchmate)  to meet their wife, only for some of the wife’s family make an awful comment about flesh droids and being a pet (thankfully their wife was equally embarrassed by her brother’s behavior). 

Obi Wan, Cody, Padme, and Ahsoka go to the Jedi temple, to the Jedi Council (the twins, like the rest of the children, were left aboard the Negotiator in the care of their extended family). They speak of the planet where they had been trapped and the lives they grew there. 

Padme took the time to apologize to the Council, formally, for the violation of their beliefs that she and Anakin had perpetrated by marrying as they had.  She could admit that while Anakin had not told her of any Jedi traditions for marriage, or really any traditions they might be violating by marrying, she had made no effort to check either. 

As an afterthought Obi Wan told the Jedi Council about the chips deteriorating, but that they did not appear to be doing anything anyway (To which every other member went: “What chips?”). Upon being asked Obi Wan calls for Helix to get a chip or two out of the storage closet they had been forgotten in. Which was then promptly handed to people with specialized equipment for decoding bio mechanical chips. 

After the latest round of sedation has worn off Padme, Obi Wan, and Ahsoka go to see Anakin. They are told that before Anakin can be released he needs to be assessed by three different mind healers. They go intending to tell Anakin of the twins. Padme also goes with the intent to test the waters about the possibility of separating (She does not know that her and Ahsoka dating would go anywhere, nor are either of them even thinking of it right now, but even leaving that aside Padme has realized that her and Anakin are not healthy together). Things do not go quite as intended. 

At first Anakin is so happy to see all three of them, he exclaims over Ahsoka being so grown up (she is now 24, now older than Anakin). It rapidly becomes clear that Anakin expected he would be released immediately, now that they were back.  There was a small blip, a frown and a strange heaviness when he realized that all three of them were backing the healers that he needed to be assessed.  Anakin also did not like how close Ahsoka and Obi Wan were, oh before they vanished he would joke about Ahsoka being their shared padawan, but he preferred it when Obi Wan’s lessons unintentionally reinforced the idea that Ahsoka was better off with Anakin than any other Jedi.

There were a few moments when he could speak to Padme alone, and the way he spoke left  Padme feeling cold. There was nothing overt but it all reinforced a possessiveness that Padme realized she did not want in her or her children's lives. They leave without telling Anakin about the children. 

Padme tries six more times to go and talk to Anakin about separating. At best he acts like he does not hear or understand her words.  At worst he starts ranting about Obi Wan trying to steal his wife and needing to be sedated. 

Regretfully, and with the backing of both the Jedi and the 212th community, Padme starts the process to get a divorce. Nabooian traditions insist that a couple that wants to divorce must meet with a Nabooian marriage counselor first, to see if reconciliation is possible.  Setting this up takes several months as, upon being informed of proceedings Anakin had a second breakdown. His connection to the Force was such that the Jedi needed to block the connection lest he become very destructive. Only the Force Blockers left him not coherent enough to attend the session with Counselor. In the end the Jdi built a special room just to block Anakin’s specific connection to the force for them to meet in.  Traditionally the divorcing couple meets at least 5 times before permission is given to divorce.  It took one meeting for the Counselor to grant Padme her divorce. 

The 501st had not been assigned a new general by the time the 212th returned, and Ahsoka was almost ready for knighthood.  She took command of the 501st for a total of 4 months, it was too uncomfortable and too much like she was replacing Anakin (made weirder by the fact she still wanted to date his soon to be ex wife  and was helping to raise his children).  In the end Obi Wan ended up taking direct command of the legion, with Cody taking the lead of the 212th.  This also made everyone uncomfortable, thankfully the war ended three months after that (the revelation of what the chips did had the council contemplating finding the planet that 212th had been stranded on).

Palpatine had been indiscrete around someone who he had assumed would back his power play for an Empire. To be fair, in another world that family would have been high ranking imperial with very human centric tendencies. 

Palpatine had not expected a Lieutenant of the Galactic Navy, member of the 212h or not, to whip out a slug thrower and shoot at a party when Palpatine had admitted to knowing about the slave chip in the clones' heads. 

To be fair, neither did the Lieutenant.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

She's The Skeleton In My Closet (Mia Winters/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil/Resident Lover Genre: fluff? and whatever is a step down from smut Rating: T? not quite horny enough for M. Warnings: Brief, non-descriptive mentions of death/bloodshed, and relatively minor choking in a sexual context (it's more of a hand position than actual choking). Reader is referred to as a girl once by a side character. Summary: It's the end of another loop, and Mia allows herself to get closer to you... through a game of Seven Minutes In Heaven. Notes: Inspired by two pieces of art by @vivi-ness, specifically this and this. If you want to skip to the part of this fic that actually takes place in the closet (aka the making out part), start reading after the second section break -----. I did not mean for the lead-up to be as long as it ended up being. Also might make a part 2 with actual smut?

Alone. Curled up with the brazen darkness wrapped around her like a blanket, Mia’s eyes straining, as she glanced over her notes by candlelight. Less than thirty feet away raged a party fit to shake the heavens. As with every semester, the Umbrella Sorority felt inclined to celebrate the end of exams. Blaring music, countless games on rotation, enough booze to drown the world (or set it all ablaze). Even the theatre kids know to defer to the sorority for this evening. Normally, Mia would not hesitate to join in, downing shots of whiskey and kicking ass at every other game, all the while keeping keen eyes on interesting people.

Ah, but not tonight. Not with the reset looming in the distance, date preselected. Another loop on death row. There was plenty of work to be done, mostly preparations for the ritual, but Mia’s focus was on… other matters. Scanning through old tomes, searching for something that may prove useful in the next rotation. Maybe not enough to finally end the cycle, no, of course not, just something to influence it. Push it in the right direction, despite Miranda’s many protests regarding “interference”.

But there’s a knock on the door, and Mia pauses, unsure if it was simply the bass speakers thumping the walls again. A beat passes before the knock repeats, louder this time. Off-tempo. Quickly, she places her journal aside without marking her place (she remembers, of course, that it is page 28), then blows out the candles. Even as the darkness swallows the last sanctuary of light, her movements are smooth, flowing. In one motion she flips the light switch and unlatches the door.

“What’s up?” She asks, sickly sweet and every bit faking it, staring down at the unexpected visitor. They’re a sophomore, she thinks, a small woman whose name starts with an A. Or an E, maybe. Most loops have her just barely in Mia’s peripheral, sharing a single class but never really interacting. Definitely not the person she would have wanted to come knocking at her door. Only a brief moment passes before the woman replies, her gaze briefly (and unsubtly) scanning the room, voice filled with the unironic enthusiasm that made her grate on Mia’s nerves.

“Well, we’re one person short for 7 Minutes in Heaven- we had enough people, technically, but a few left after Cassandra got picked early, you know how it is- and so I was wondering if you’d join? It’s so weird not having you at the party, anyway, really feels like we’re missing an integral piece of the vibe, you know?” Alissa (if that was her name) says, offering a lopsided smile. Faint pink dusts her freckled cheeks, only some of it being makeup. One of her hands starts to reach for Mia, to rest a flirtatious hand against her shoulder, but the flash of something darker in her expression makes Alissa pull back.

“Oh, I would love to play, but technically my exams aren’t finished,” Mia answers, sporting a half-assed pout, dragging the words out. She lets her tongue click on the t in technically for emphasis. It’s not the best excuse, especially considering Elise (or whatever her name is) also still has one final left. All because the student council took one day too long to remind a certain professor that he couldn’t force students to complete a ritual as part of their exam. Not that Mia would have minded a little school-sanctioned bloodplay, especially since she knows (from experience) that the ritual Dr. Wesker had in mind wouldn’t work.

“C’mon, Mia, we both know you don’t need to study for our Occult Sciences class; you could probably teach it at this point!” Anna (Áine?) chimes, grinning wide, blissfully unaware of the true accuracy of her statement. Mia could teach the class, far better than the actual professor, although at that point it would be considerably harder to keep the university’s secrets. But that doesn’t mean she has any interest in joining the party.

Her reluctance must show, because the shorter woman (whose name may or may not be Enya) squints, lips pursing before she abruptly straightens up and switches tactics.

“Besides… your favorite person is playing,” she adds, leaning in to stage-whisper, glancing down the hallway as if checking for eavesdroppers. Despite the confidence in her voice, Mia stares at her blankly. As much as she definitely has a favorite, the one her very soul is bound to, she finds it unlikely that Eliza would know… right? It’s not like they’ve even spent that much time together this loop. Surely she’d been able to keep her cards close to her chest; it’s not like Eliza was terribly observant anyway. Unfortunately for Mia, her thoughts get cut off by another high-pitched exclamation. “Don’t play dumb, Mia! The girl with one earring, roommates with Angie and the youngest Dimitrescu?”

Well. Fuck. So much for being subtle…

-----

Turning down Anamaria (no, not that one, the other one) became impossible the second Mia’s eyes lit up, all at the mere mention of you. Within a minute she had relented, murmuring a few choice words under her breath, allowing herself to be all but dragged to a crowded living room. It takes all of her willpower to maintain a guise of boredom, lips drawn tight as she scanned the partygoers for familiar faces. A slight tension formed in her chest as she intentionally avoided looking at the center of the room, having caught a glimpse of familiar clothing, saving the sight for last. 

Caldwell is by the back corner, playing some complicated boardgame with a mildly enthused Stanley (and a confused but nonetheless supportive Jasmin), positioned where they can keep an eye out for trouble. All three of the Stans could be found hovering by the alcohol, debating whether to leave now or wait for Cassandra to inevitably grab a refill. Somehow Anamaria (yes, that one) was half asleep, tuckered out from one too many party games, curled up against a blushing Livia. Both were chatting with Angie, who was perched precariously on the back of the couch. The only thing keeping the short girl from falling off was a hand clutching one of her belt loops, pulling as necessary to rebalance her.

As Mia’s eyes traced the hand to its owner, she inhaled sharply, the slightest flare to her nostrils. There you are. Eyes crinkled at the edges while you laugh at one of Daniela’s jokes, the sound barely audible past the music, your mouth open in a genuine, shameless grin. Mia allows herself a single moment to admire the view. Luck plays a trick on her then, your gaze suddenly shifting to her, eyes widening when you meet her stare. Immediately you look away, warmth in your face contrasting the way your shoulders tense.

If Mia hadn’t torn her gaze away, flinching like she got burned, she would have seen the way your friends reacted, the way they jumped at the opportunity to tease you. Instead, she lets herself get tugged over to a spare chair by the woman hosting the game.

“Damn, Iris, I didn’t think you’d actually convince Mia to play,” Nicoletta says, trailing her eyes up and down Mia, appreciatively, before turning to the one who had dragged her here. Guess her name doesn’t start with an A or an E after all, Mia thinks, before shrugging off the attention. None of these people know her terribly well, beyond reputation, and she can’t be bothered to unpack why they wanted her here.

“I mean, I kind of had to, with how hard Iris was begging me,” Mia says, pointedly ignoring their gazes in favor of inspecting her nails (short, smoothed over, no polish today). Protests stream from next to her, while a few chuckles rise up around the room. A smirk crosses her lips as she makes eye contact with Iris. Before the woman can explain that Mia only agreed because you’re playing, she speaks up again, propping her feet up on the coffee table as she does. “So, are we drawing names from a hat or what?”

“Close, half of us already put a trinket or whatever in the bag. Anyone who didn’t put one in gets to draw one at some point,” Iris explains, eager to move past the embarrassment from Mia’s lie. “Since you had to be… convinced, you can go ahead and be the one to draw next. Once the lovebirds in the closet are done, that is!”

Nodding, Mia withdrew into herself again, content to sit in silence until her turn. Why had she agreed to this, exactly?... It’s not as if she’s ideologically opposed to party games, but she’d always been more of a fan of the ones that involve drinking. Maybe spin-the-bottle, if she was in the mood for it. But Seven Minutes In Heaven? Too time-consuming, and absolute torture if one got stuck with the wrong partner. What were the odds she’d even get paired up with you? Was that even what she wanted?

Something about this particular loop was messing with her head. Every other one so far involved you falling in love with somebody, even if it ended poorly. But this time?... She had been sure you’d end up with Daniela or Angie, with the way you pushed studies aside for parties, never officially joining the sorority but being a frequent guest at their dorm. Living it up, only getting serious when you helped break Daniela’s curse (not because you loved her, but because you love her, the same way you pour your heart into loving all of your friends).

That’s why the reset was looming overhead, of course. Your faith in Miranda lay shattered, if it had ever existed in the first place, your distrust a crime she considered worthy of oblivion. Any life where you would not love her was, to Miranda, a life unfit to continue.

Mia gets pulled out of her thoughts by a door opening, old hinges squawking in protest. Two flustered women readjust their clothing as they exit the closet, both sporting bright red cheeks, utterly oblivious to the fact that they had swapped shirts. Naturally, they are not allowed to remain ignorant for long, a chorus forming of drunken cheers and teasing remarks. Not everyone focuses on the couple, however, and Mia feels the weight of someone’s gaze on her.

Once more she looks to you, just in time for you to look away, although this time she notices something odd: You aren’t wearing your earring. How interesting. Suddenly she finds herself itching to take her turn, but she suppresses her thirst, not wanting to earn any gentle ribbing from the others. Another minute passes before the paper bag actually gets passed to her, Iris winking as their fingers brush up against each other. Maintaining eye contact, Mia reaches into the bag, offering a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

There are still five or six items inside, some of them in familiar shapes. A watch with a cracked face, one of those tiny skateboards (a Tech Deck, maybe?), a basic bracelet… None of them interest her, but it only takes another second for her to grasp her target, the cool surface smooth under her touch. Carefully, she retrieves it, ensuring the earring doesn’t snag on any of the other items.

With a triumphant smirk, she holds it up in the light. Although disappointment shows in Iris’ face, Mia can’t help but notice the way Daniela nudges your side with a knowing grin. Even Angie turns to whisper something in your ear, almost tumbling off the couch with how hard she laughs at the instant flush to your face, exasperation clear in your posture. Nonetheless, you rise on shaky legs, not meeting Mia’s gaze as the two of you move towards the unoccupied closet…

-----

“Have fun in there! Seven minutes starts when the door closes,” Iris chimes, having readopted her mask of overexcited joy, all but pushing you in after Mia. There’s a sharp click right after, the door settling into place. Another click, softer, and the small space becomes sparsely illuminated. You blink a few times to adjust to the dim lighting, glancing up in time to see Mia… on her phone? Before you can question her, she taps a button and sets it down on one of the shelves behind her, and you catch a glimpse of a timer on the screen.

“Six and a half minutes,” she says, as if that was all the explanation needed. Then she’s leaning forward, expression blank, hands reaching out to-... put your earring back where it belongs. It’s an oddly intimate experience, feeling out of place in a game that focused on a different kind of intimacy. If only it lasted longer than a few moments. Once she pulls away, there’s a noticeable flush to her cheeks. “Wouldn’t want anyone to catch us in a compromising position, right?”

Despite her words, Mia makes no further moves to touch you. One hand fiddles with the hem of her jacket, the other tucks her own hair behind her ear, the movement awkward in the cramped space. It’s easy enough to mistake her countenance for a kind of nervousness. Playing wasn’t her idea, after all, and you feel a twinge of guilt for being so excited about getting paired with her. Could she tell? Was she worried by the thundering of your heart, by the warmth of your presence?

Internally, however, Mia is struck with the sudden urge for her favorite brand of intimacy: Violence. Of the last eighteen times she was this close to you, with your breath just barely ghosting her skin, sixteen of those meetings had ended with homicide, attempted or otherwise. Gods, it was her curse, to only know your touch when she initiated it with heavy hands. To be so well acquainted with the feeling of your blood on her skin that it has become more familiar than her own. When was she last able to touch you without the many promises of pain? Can she even trust herself to love without consuming?

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, I know you probably weren’t planning on this tonight,” you say, softly, offering a weak smile. Now you’re the nervous one, rubbing your arm as if the sensation might smooth out your anxiety. It’s not until you feel Mia lean the slightest bit forward that you dare to meet her gaze. Something haunts her expression, lying beneath the flushed cheeks and hooded eyes. Before you can even blink, she’s brought her hand back up, cupping your chin and making sure your gaze never leaves hers.

“And if I do want to do something?” Mia whispers. One of her fingers shifts, gently tracing over the front of your throat. If only you knew how excited she got by the feeling of your heart racing beneath her fingertips. In contrast, she is all the more aware of the way your breath hitches at her touch. The way you look up at her with dilated pupils makes her every bit hungrier. Just one taste, she thinks, eying your lips. How was it fair that in all these loops, she had never once gotten to kiss you? “Tell me you want this. Say it, or I go right now, game be damned.”

She knows it’s not fair to put that pressure on you, to make you choose that very second. But she doesn’t care, not at all, not when she knows you’re already on the brink of giving in.

“Please, Mia,” you say, voice almost whiny from sudden need, a hand moving to clutch her jacket. More words get stuck in your throat, a part of your mind still keenly aware of how swiftly the mood has changed. Had Mia ever been nervous? Maybe, maybe just not the way you had interpreted her to be. No traces of hesitation can be found in her expression as she slides her hand lower, fingers resting on either side of your neck, only enough pressure for you to really feel her. A silent urging for you to spill the rest of your plea. “I want you.” You swallow hard, trapped by her touch, yet desperate for more. “I want this. Please. Please kiss me.”

In an instant she’s pulled you forward, lips crashing against yours; her hand on your throat is the anchor tying her to you. All other thoughts are crushed under the weight of her messy embrace. There’s just her. Instinct drives your movements, all of the desire that had built up this semester coalescing into a kiss, into the way your hand ends up fisted in her hair, the other sliding beneath her jacket to grasp at her shirt.

Mia’s fingers never tighten around your neck, never put any pressure on your windpipe, yet they still hold power over you. It’s her movement that changes the angle, that deepens the kiss until your lips part for her. You swear you can feel her hunger, the need radiating from her, and yet you have no idea how much she is truly holding back. Every bit of your hunger was matched and exceeded by her.

Your feelings, hidden until now, had gnawed at your heart for half a year. Hers had hounded her for countless loops. The hand on your throat is a warning to herself, arm a barrier to keep her from coming any closer. It’s not enough, her free hand itching to touch and tug, to begin unraveling you. Mia presses the hand to the wall behind you, clenching it into a fist. That might have done the trick… if not for the way you shift a moment later. As soon as your thigh starts to slot between her own, she throws out any sense of caution, giving in to this one chance to be with you.

“So eager for me,” Mia murmurs, having pulled back for just a moment, finally pulling her hand from your neck (you miss it, miss the warmth, miss her guidance). There’s a split second where you think you see love in her eyes- and then your back is flat against the wall, both her hands on your hips, her mouth pressing open kisses along your jaw. A tug encourages you to move your thigh again, letting her seek out that friction she so desperately needs. “So fucking good to me,” she whispers, breath hot against your cheek.

Then she’s practically nipping at your throat, relishing your gasp, only to eagerly soothe the skin with gentle kisses. Something like a growl leaves her as she starts to grind against your thigh, grip on your hips growing tighter. Each moment has the kisses growing more intense again, paired with more soft bites, making it harder and harder to keep yourself from moaning. When her hands start rubbing circles against you, it becomes impossible to stay completely quiet.

Both a blessing and a curse, your sound comes at the same time that Mia’s phone starts to vibrate, signaling the end of your time together. Instantly she’s peeling herself off of you, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, muttering a few swears in between shaky breaths. Following her lead, you try to smooth out your clothing and collect yourself. But that’s much easier said than done, neither of you satisfied at leaving things here, both itching to finish what you started.

“You should stay,” Mia starts to say, shrugging off her jacket. Each word sounds like she has to force it out. “After the party ends. I could… I could use the company.” This time the words come easier, accompanied with a crooked grin, and she doesn’t hesitate to drape her jacket over your shoulders, covering up the marks she definitely left all over your throat. More than that, it’s her way of making sure everyone knows that you’re with her tonight.

The door swings open before you have a chance to respond to her offer. For a moment the light feels blinding, and when you reopen your eyes you see that Mia’s already started walking away, ignoring the reactions of other partygoers. You would be disappointed… but this is the first time you’ve seen her without a jacket, and now you find yourself with a new appreciation for her arms, already picturing yourself getting pinned beneath her. Something to look forward to later tonight, you suppose.

[thechekhov]

Hello! Just wanted to say I love all your content but I wanted to ask if you had any advice/tips for running curse of strahd? I'm working on getting ready to run it with some friends/my partner and while I've run a fair amount of homebrew stuff this is my real first attempt at a legit module so I was curious if you could share anything since I believe you also are running/had run that module as well?

Thanks for asking! This is a very fun question!

I have indeed run Curse of Strahd. It was my first foray into long-term DMing and my team and I finished that campaign a little under a year ago. It was awesome, and I'm always excited to talk about it. Curse of Strahd had be a great game if everyone is on the same page!

First of all, I'm gonna say

Having Experience with Homebrew will be a huge boon

When I ran CoS, I followed the actual module about... 60% of the time. It was good... as a baseline/blueprint. But the reality is that I changed up a lot of the details. Either because I didn't like the vibes of the story, or because the plot points were antithetical to my team's goals. I changed up an entire floor of Ravenloft. I threw away a whole storyline for a major NPC because I felt it was too boring.

I think most people who run Curse of Strahd do this, actually. I've heard countless tales of how others Homebrewed their own meat onto the skeleton, and still came out of the campaign with an awesome, Strahd flavored experience. So don't worry about that part.

Here's my advice:

1. Everyone should vibe with what Strahd IS as a game.

Strahd can be a lot of things - you can Homebrew your own motivations into him, or make him a her, or change the history of his castle if need be. But if there's one thing Curse of Strahd is... it is DARK.

The Venn Diagram of Parties Who Understand That Suffering Can Be Fun To Roleplay and Parties Who Had A Good Time Doing CoS is probably a circle. You cannot do this adventure with a group of people who just want to hit monsters a whole bunch. It's an inherently 'oh my god this SUCKS' adventure. That's the main theme. Your players need to be able to enjoy that sort of game, otherwise they will just be miserable.

One of my players, upon arriving in Barovia, immediately said 'I hate it here' and then continued to say it for the rest of the campaign. That is kind of the catchphrase of CoS. Your players need to be comfortable with that sort of bleak horror and overall misery. It makes the end and the potential to finally end Strahd worth it.

That being said, Strahd can also just be... a lot. It has death and torture and psychological horror in there. KIDS DIE. Please discuss this stuff with your table, and remove elements if they guarantee a bad experience for everyone!

(Yes, you can trim down some of the viscera if you need to, that's fine. But keep in mind it will still be tragic. It SHOULD still be tragic. I set some boundaries for myself, but I also killed a whole town in an avalanche. It happened to be the only town my players had grown to like. It was a dick move. It was exactly what you would expect to happen.)

2. Read ahead - A LOT AHEAD.

For a self-contained world, Barovia isn't actually that big. It's a very small map, compared to some that span continents. That means you have the ability to flesh it out, as it were.

To add to that... some areas are... severely underdeveloped plot-wise. Sometimes there are places your players will go where it FEELS like it should link up to another point in the game but it just... doesn't. There is room to expand there. Use your Homebrew skills to connect the dots that the module doesn't!

I greatly recommend taking the time to either read through the whole adventure OR listen through some video-essays. There IS some cool stuff that comes in in the later game that you can grab and put down breadcrumbs for from day one. Or add to your own story twists.

My recommended resource for this is the Curse of Strahd DM's Guide video series.

...and to that end...

3. Start living in Ravenloft Castle WAY before your players get there.

Listen..........listen. look.

Look at this, and suffer as all GMs have suffered.

Castle Ravenloft is unarguably the biggest, stupidest, most architecturally ludicrous hurdle when it comes to GMing CoS. And I am here to tell you - IT IS DOABLE.

You can understand the castle, you can grow comfortable with it. But you need to start early. Hell, I think I began to set up Ravenloft maps before my players even knew it existed. Then I stopped, because I was scared.. but then I went back, and I.... roleplayed SOLO on my off-days! I set up little scenes between Strahd and others and imagined him setting traps, and doing other things. It helped me understand which staircase led to where, and what floors were accessible from which angles.

A part of me actually thinks that there should be a mini GMs-only class where a more experienced Strahd GM takes some time with other GMs to guide them through a map of the castle. A CoS Learning Oneshot, if you will.

There's also a LOT of talented mapmakers that create beautiful, digital CoS maps! Here's one:

Even if you are playing analogue, at a physical table, I greatly encourage you to check it out for reference. The official CoS maps are bleak and a little bit more... rustic? Than they are gothic.

Anyway, in order to avoid talking your ear off, I will end it here.

My last bit of advice is... to have fun!

Yes I know I just said that Strahd is an inherently bad-vibes game. But it's actually GOOD to let your players goof off now and then. Don't be afraid to let them do shenanigans. It builds character, and allows them to regain the energy they need to role-play properly heavy elements later.

My group did a whole bunch of funny stuff. They felt so bad about losing Ireena that when they saw Ismark, instead of explaining themselves to him they cast Darkness and tried to scramble away. There was a running joke that the cleric was too good to know about sex, so they used the euphemism 'play cards' around her, much to everyone's amusement. They got kicked by a walking house once and never forgot nor forgave. And finally, they defeated some Flame Skulls by putting them into a bag of holding.

Anyway, the point is... have fun! I wish you and your party the best of luck. :)

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Seven - Halloween

W/C: 10K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Or where you show up to the town's biggest Halloween Bash and you unexpectantly take on the roll of a babysitter.

A/N: this is a long one..and tbh some of it isn't edited...but i'm super excited about this one but also nervous.

Masterlist

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Bass bumped through the unfamiliar house, vibrating all the way down the driveway and to the street where you stood.  Shouting could be heard, no doubt a collection of drunks getting overly excited about something usually mundane.  Fog smothered the driveway, a decision you felt was made by someone sober at the time of setting it up only to neglect the fact that everyone would be wasted by the time it got dark, sending people tumbling down the driveway in their drunken state.  It did add to the atmosphere though, a nice touch that gave it that eerie, spooky feel the owner was probably going for.  

As you trekked up the lengthy and steep driveway, a mock graveyard sat to the right, taking up the space that would usually be the front yard.  Fake limbs stuck out of the dirt and splatters of blood painted the plastic headstones.   A lonely skeleton sat propped up against one, his arm hanging around it as if it were his good friend.  Some pumpkins appeared to be slaughtered and littered throughout the yard, the guts surely rotting in the grass and in one of the trees, hung a hopefully fake body, swaying in the chilly breeze.

From what you had heard, the owners went all out every year, Halloween night being their specialty.  The closer to the house you got, the louder the music and the louder the voices got.  Donnie had told you that it would be a rager but you severely underestimated her words and took them as a joke.  You were already hesitant to even attend but now, you were fully questioning if you should even dare to step through the door.  It’d be smart to turn around now and go home, maybe watch a few movies and indulge in that candy you’d bought and placed in a large bowl on the coffee table at home.  Half of it was gone of course, you stealing a piece here and there throughout the past week.  You could stuff your face with the rest if you left now.  

No. 

You had to be brave and walk through that door with confidence.  Even if it was fake.  You were never going to meet new people if you kept hiding away in your tower.  This town was never going to feel like home if you didn't start treating it like it.  Donnie was the closest person you had to a friend and as much as you appreciated her, she was more than half your age and had a whole family already.  She mentioned that people ‘your age’ would definitely be at this party, everyone went to this party.

You can’t miss it.  She assured.

But on another hand, no one would miss you anyway, no one ever did.  Even if they did know of you.  There was no harm in trekking back down the driveway and rushing home to snuggle up in your pajamas, right?

No, you have to do this.  You have to push yourself out of your comfort zone even if it feels like you're diving off a cliff.  But what if everyone stares at you?  And whispers about how they didn’t invite you?  Donnie promised anyone who’s anyone attends this party, even people from a few town’s over who hear about it from a friend of a friend.  So why couldn’t you shake the feeling that you just didn’t belong?  That you were intruding.  

Everyone’s gonna hate me.

It was especially embarrassing that you were wearing a Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz costume.  It wasn’t even all that out there but you felt so uncomfortable without your standard wardrobe.  You felt as if your ruby red glittery heels would suddenly draw unwanted attention, your pigtails making a mockery out of you even if just for the costume.  Everyone dressed up so why were you the exception?  Why were you the only one they would single out, especially in such a common Halloween costume?  You were sure there would probably be much more flamboyant costumes, ghouls and goblins covered in blood, zombies with ungodly amounts of face paint, and even vampires with those ridiculous plastic teeth.  No one made fun of them so why were you so insecure?

Every possible outcome ran through your brain while you stalled on the doormat.  That is until two men dressed in chicken suits bursted through the door, cackling while they set up for a smoke break on the front porch, completely missing you as you stood there terrified.  They leaned over the railing as they went on, slurring about how crazy it was that someone had somehow punctured a hole in the keg, a seemingly impossible task.  

You took the opportunity to slip in through the cracked door, gently closing it behind you as you entered the chaos that was the famous Knife’s Edge Halloween Bash.  Strobe lights flashed in the corners of what you could make out as the living room and the regular light bulbs in the ceiling were all switched out for purple and green, adding to the ambience.  The floor was hidden beneath a sea of people dancing their hearts out to Thriller by Michael Jackson, some attempting to actually perform the dance, and others simply flailing their limbs around and hoping for the best.  

A rather convincing mummy was stealing the show, everyone else creating a circle around him as he danced like no one was watching.  Not one person glanced your way, either too intoxicated to notice or just unbothered seeing as there were already over a hundred people occupying the house.  The line of cars you’d seen up and down the street should have given that away but to be fair, you were too busy running circles in your head and rehearsing how you were going to walk in.  All of that went straight to the garbage once you saw the nature of the place.  

Everyone was too caught up in having fun to take note of a timid Dorothy sneaking through the front door.  Fun.  Something you couldn’t see yourself having unless you had at least a drink or two in you.  It’s sad but it was the only way to loosen up around such a large volume of people. Sobriety was not an option unless you wanted to remain an anxious fly on the wall.  

The only issue was finding the source of alcohol, more than likely in the kitchen which you had yet to locate.  In order to get anywhere, you would have to weave through the crowd of sweaty bodies, the smell of tequila and beer already filling your nostrils just by standing a few feet away from them.  

Taking a deep breath, you clutch your little wicker basket close to your body and begin squeezing in between people with a polite ‘excuse me’ accompanying every accidental touch.  Along the way you pass a preppy cheerleader, a few stereotypical vampires, a cowboy and a cow, a dentist, and some guy with a fake chainsaw covered in fake blood.  You’re finally able to see your destination just through a large archway, relief already finding you as you inch closer and closer. 

The kitchen’s fluorescent lighting is a major contrast to the purple and green throughout the rest of the house.  It still follows the spooky theme, however, with an orange tablecloth draped over the island and purple and orange streamers hanging from the doorway.  On the island sits a large punch bowl filled with mysterious red liquid along with a stack of red cups and a few choices of liquor next to it.  A bowl of pretzels and some Halloween themed cupcakes are placed next to that, and at the other end, is a bucket of candy along with some various kinds of chips.  

Hanging from the chandelier is a homemade ghost using a torn sheet, the eyes and mouth filled in with sharpie.  The floor is sticky as you slowly make your way forward, most likely the mysterious liquid that had been spilled several times throughout the night already.  More shouting can be heard from the living room, some kind of dance off being announced that you would gladly hide from.  So far, you didn’t recognize anyone although it would be pretty difficult to seeing as everyone was dressed up.

Gingerly, you grab a cup and scoop the smallest amount of the mystery liquid in.  Upon taking the tiniest sip, you can determine that it's some kind of jungle juice.  A hangover in a cup.  With disgust written on your face, you discreetly throw out the remaining juice in the sink, instead opting to take a shot or two to loosen up.  Maybe just one for now.  You learned your lesson when taking four straight tequila shots at a time and didn’t need a repeat.  Especially at a party with several hundred people as witnesses.

So you fill the bottom of your cup with some whiskey, a generous shot.  Throwing it back, it goes down a lot smoother than that tequila had, the burn being mild but still causing your face to twist.  The cup is discarded in the trash, cutting yourself off before you can get ahead so as not to get absolutely wasted within minutes.  If you had an appetite, you’d snatch one of those delicious looking cupcakes but unfortunately, you needed to pace yourself.  Nerves and alcohol didn't make for the most stable stomach and you were already feeling queasy just from the mere thought of having to socialize with strangers.  

Exploring further into the house, you exit through the other archway leading into a dining room that displays even more food than the kitchen, a whole buffet laid out for guests including potato salad, macaroni salad, various horderves, snack mix, a giant bowl of M&Ms, and more.  A dream for a child, dinner and dessert all in one.  

A few partygoers were scooping some food onto their plates, chatting about who knows what while you moved on to the next room which appeared to be the family room.  The TV played some kind of horror film while absolutely no one watched it, the room almost empty aside from a couple in the corner making out.  

A few pops and some celebratory yells are heard just out the back sliding door, drawing you in.  The closer you got,  you could see someone dressed as a scarecrow holding a bottle of champagne overflowing onto the deck.  You were curious as to what everyone was celebrating but got cold feet when you reached for the handle, your hand glued to it but not putting any effort into actually sliding it open.  Just as you decided you were going to chicken out and find a corner to hang out in instead, someone points at the door, outing you, causing your blood to run cold in embarrassment.  When the scarecrow turns around, you can see that it's Donnie, face paint pulling her whole look together.  

At the sight of you, her face lights up, hands thrown up in excitement as the champagne she’s holding sloshes over and further coats the deck.  She doesn’t seem to mind, as she hands off the bottle to someone else and makes her way over to the door, sliding it open.  Your cheeks begin to feel hot as people stare at the interaction, unwanted attention that you could’ve escaped had you been quicker.  

“You made it!”  She just about squeals, giving you a tight squeeze.  

She had clearly had a few drinks, unafraid of any affection as she previously stated that she hated friendly affection of any kind, more prone to use her words to show appreciation.  But you didn’t mind, Donnie was the one person you were comfortable with and your one friend so if she happened to show affection while under the influence, so be it.  And maybe by her doing so, you wouldn’t appear to be such a freak to what seemed to be her friends.  Maybe it would grant you acceptance into their circle.  

“I made it.”  You repeat with a polite smile.

“So we were just popping some champagne we found.”  Donnie explains.  “No rhyme or reason, we just found it inside and thought, hell lets just go at it.”

Nodding, you try to appear as enthusiastic as possible, covering up your anxiety to the best of your ability.  People were still staring at you and it was proving difficult to just ignore it, holes practically being burned into you.  A few of them you recognized as regulars at the bar but the rest were complete strangers.  Either way, you were intimidated.  

“You want some?”  Donnie offers to which you begin shaking your head frantically.

“No, no, I’m okay!  I already had something and I have to drive later anyway.”  You explain.

Donnie nods understandingly before starting a dreadful introduction to the group.  She points out Brian, Sam, and Wyatt, her sons who were fully grown, the oldest Brian, being around thirty.  You didn’t catch who was the youngest or middle since Donnie was talking so fast.  Then she reintroduces you to her husband, Nathan, who you had previously met at the supermarket though Donnie didn’t seem to remember in her current state.  Then there were the owners of the house, Crystal and Gabriel, a very nice couple in their forties who made Halloween their night and everyone knew it.  Apparently Thanksgiving was Donnie and Nathan’s holiday according to a little comment uttered by Crystal.  There were what seemed to be a dozen more introductions though you couldn’t recall every single person.  You only remember Donnie skimming by an introduction to Jett’s mom, Kristy who seemed like a lovely woman.

Thankfully, once everyone was acquainted with you, they seemed to move one rather quickly and continued on with their festivities.  A fire pit sat in the middle of the deck, crackling away while a few individuals rested on the chairs circling it, warming themselves up.  Some orange lights were wound around the railing accompanied by some fake cotton spiderwebs.  Everyone held a drink in their hand except you and you were starting to regret not at least carrying your empty cup with you to occupy your awkward hands.  Rookie mistake.

Your breathing becomes increasingly shallow with each passing second, panic settling in as you attempt to remember how to act like a person.  You almost contemplate rushing off to the bathroom to hide but quickly scrap the idea, knowing Donnie may take notice.  Instead, you stupidly shuffle your feet in place, trying to ground yourself with no luck.  

In your inner turmoil, you can vaguely hear everyone else engaging in conversation about their lives or some silly story.  Something you didn’t care to tune into as your inner monologue chants at you to run.  Even with the one shot that you thought would relax you, you still feel your shoulders tensing and your jaw tightening anxiously.  If anyone were to initiate small talk with you right now, you’d come off like a dunce, thoughts unable to form gracefully.  Tonight was definitely a bad idea and you should’ve just stayed home where you knew your place.

Uncomfortably, you remain standing as everyone passes around the champagne.  There was no way to dismiss yourself without seeming like you were rude and awkward.  This was hell.  

“Okay, elders!”  You hear a familiar voice from around the corner, steps clunking up the deck stairs.  “We got your drugs, now pay up.”  

Jett emerges, a second pair of steps heard behind him.  He’s dressed like a greaser, hair slicked back as he wears a white shirt tucked into his tight jeans.

“We got the goodies!”  Eddie singsongs from behind him, dangling a plastic bag full of weed.  

Eddie seems to be dressed as…himself?  With a bit of smudged eyeliner.  His torso is covered with his standard black leather jacket and he’s pretty much wearing what he wears in his day to day.  Except when he dramatically flings his leather jacket at Jett, he sports a very revealing cut off shirt, all ripped and torn.  And his fingernails are painted black.

“Jeez, Eddie!  You’re gonna catch a cold, put that back on or go inside!”  Donnie scolds.

“‘M fine.”  He mutters, tossing the weed at Jett who just barely catches it as he drops Eddie’s jacket to the floor.

Donnie sighs, giving up on the argument seeing that Eddie was too stubborn to listen.  Suddenly you feel yourself warm up, the chill October air no longer pinching at your cheeks as they grow hot again.  Not out of embarrassment this time. 

“Gon’ get ‘nother beer.”  Eddie mumbles, stumbling toward you though he doesn’t realize it yet.

“That kid gives me a headache and he’s not even mine.”  Donnie says.

“Hey!”  Eddie whines, turning back toward the group mid stride.  “You claimed me ‘s one ‘f your own, ‘member?”  He points at her.

Several people chuckle at the scene while Donnie rolls her eyes and waves him off.  He was clearly a lot more intoxicated than everyone else.  His waddle toward the sliding door is evidence enough.  

“Drink some water, boy.”  Nathan advises.

“‘Rink some water.”  Eddie mocks in a high pitch to himself while hiccuping before colliding into your shoulder.  “Oh shit.”

Stumbling backwards, you stabilize yourself while his hands reach out and rest a bit too comfortably on top of your shoulders, heavy handed.  Almost as if he were using you to keep himself up.  When you dare to glance up, you’re met with heavy, glazed over eyes, bloodshot and decorated in smeared black liner.  His lips paint a perfectly content smile as he sways back and forth, unbalanced.

“Bambi.”  He cooes.

“Hi.”  You whisper, startled like a mouse.

“Heyyy.”  He draws out eyes becoming even heavier if possible.

“Um—“

“Munson, get off ‘er.”  Jett laughs, shoving Eddie to the side.  He manages to save himself from face planting into the deck, leaning himself against the side of the house.

“Should kick ‘yr ass.”  Eddie mutters, glaring at Jett.

“No one wants you leanin’ on ‘em like that!”  Jett defends.  “Hey, Bambi.”  He greets you.

At this, Eddie appears enraged, his face visibly going red as he shoots Jett a glare that no one would want to be on the receiving end of.  Everyone else seemed to have moved on, paying no mind to Eddie’s sudden shift in mood.

“Hi, Jett.”  You reply, a friendly grin gracing your lips.

With a grunt, Eddie pushes off the wall and storms inside, evidently pissed about something.  Jett shares the same confused expression as you, shrugging while he starts asking how you are, if you’re enjoying the party, and if you’d seen the huge array of food they had out yet.  You answer all of his questions to his satisfaction but mentally, you’re trying to track Eddie down.  Trying to understand what set him off and made him leave with such irritation.  Had this been the first week you met him, you would’ve dismissed it as his normal temper but now that you’d known him for almost two months and gotten to know how his emotions function, you knew better. 

He had also clearly been under the influence which could mean nothing happened and his emotions were just sensitive.  But you had a strong suspicion that there was a definite reason he abruptly got angry and rushed inside.  No one else seemed to notice, aside from you and Jett.  And he obviously paid no mind and didn’t intend on going after Eddie so maybe you were missing something.  Or maybe everyone was also blinded by their intoxication and you were the only sound minded individual in the group right now.

“Oh and then—“

“I think I’m gonna head inside, it’s kinda cold out here.”  You interrupt Jett’s tangent on his and Eddie’s journey down the road to collect the weed they had been sent to pick up.

“Oh well just take this.”  He says, snatching up Eddie’s jacket off the ground and handing it to you.

You should’ve come up with a different excuse though to be fair, you didn’t think he’d hand you Eddie’s jacket.  He was supposed to follow your lead and let you go inside.  Wasn’t he concerned about Eddie too? 

“T-thank you.”  You clutch the jacket in your hand, draping it over your forearm.

“Yeah!  So we were just walking—“

“Jett, I’m sorry I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”  You cut him off again.

You felt bad for seeming so uninterested in what he had to say but you couldn’t go much longer without knowing if Eddie had gotten himself into trouble.  He was super out of it from what you could tell and it was eating away at you.  It only made it worse that he was so angry and if you were the most sober one at the party, it would be in your hands if something happened to him and you knew he had run off.

“Okay—“

Before Jett can get another word in, you spin on your heel and rush inside, the music still blaring and everyone still screaming from the living room.  The whole house felt like it was vibrating, your body buzzing as the bass dropped.  That same couple still remained in the corner making out, their stamina impressing you.

Entering the kitchen, there’s no sight of Eddie, only a few guests topping off their drinks and toasting to themselves loudly.  Realistically, you should take another shot to calm your nerves but this nightmare of an evening needed to be cut short and you would need to drive home as soon as you found him and returned him to the group.  

Dreadfully walking yourself back into the living room where the heart of the party beats, you focus on each individual, attempting to spot the one dressed in all black with almost no shirt, tattoos, and a head full of brown curls.  It proves to be more difficult since the lighting was so dim and the strobe lights left you seeing spots.  

Everyone seems to be having the time of their life and here you are, worried sick about someone who never thinks twice about you.  Even before he arrived you were having the worst time and wanted to go home immediately.  Halloween would’ve been perfect if you stayed home where you couldn’t make a fool of yourself in front of people.  

“Tequila!”  A woman dressed as a slutty maid shouts, carrying a tray full of shots past you, only eliciting a gag from the back of your throat at the smell.  “No tequila for you then.”  She jokes, you shaking your head as you cover your nose.

It was obvious that Eddie wasn’t going to hit the dance floor after getting so infuriated. Unless that’s the first thing he would do in his state?  You weren’t completely sure but you were almost certain that he wouldn’t.  As a large group gathers around for shots, you manage to escape down a hallway where you imagine the bathroom might be.  It’s completely dark, the only light coming from underneath a door on the left, probably the bathroom.  At the end of the hall is what looks like a bedroom, the moonlight shining in from the blinds to just barely reveal a bed.  

No one seemed to be in said bed, an empty room for people to crash in at the end of the night.  Eddie could be in the bathroom but you’d have to be sure before leaving.  With a shy knock on the door, struggle to hear any voice that might respond.  Pressing your ear to the door, you try again, only to be met with the annoyed voice of a woman saying she’ll be out in a second and that she was fixing her lipstick.

Clearly not Eddie.

At this point you’ve covered the downstairs, no sign of the man so far.  He would be good at hide and seek, you assume.  Or maybe you’re just the blind.  Retracing your steps back out into the living room, you collide with a few bodies, none of them paying any mind to the impact as they continue to dance, flailing around like rag dolls.  You didn’t think it was possible for the room to get any more humid but you were proven wrong, sweat grazing your arms as you pass by and attempt to avoid touching anyone, failing miserably.  

Your perfect ruby heels are starting to kill you, digging into your skin in all the wrong places, making it more difficult to walk with every step you take.  You know for sure that come the morning, you’ll have blisters that will be bothering you for days.  Reluctantly, you slide them off and scoop them up, dangling them by your fingers, Eddie’s jacket still hanging off your arm.  You were becoming a walking closet.

Going upstairs didn’t seem like a great decision seeing as this wasn’t your house and you didn’t want to give Crystal and Gabriel the impression that you liked to snoop around.  Although, if someone did see you, you could just vouch for yourself by saying you were looking for a bathroom and the downstairs one was taken already.  So up you went, nervously glancing behind you.  The coast seemed clear, not one person paying you any mind, the party still capturing their undivided attention.

Like magic, Eddie appears as you reach the top of the stairs, leaning against one of the doors as he weakly knocks, his forehead pressed to the wood.  He was gorgeous, the perfect image of an 80’s rockstar gone 90’s.  His back was nearly on display, shoulders all broad and waist lean.  You could make out bat wings tattooed symmetrically on his shoulder blades and something along his ribs.  The sight flustered you but you were here for one purpose and that was to retrieve him and get him back to Donnie so she or someone else could keep an eye on him.

“Dude, ‘urry up!”  He whines into the door,  pounding on it with more force.  “Hafta piss ‘n maybe throw u—up.”  He hiccups.

You want to giggle but quickly remember how miserable that feeling is, your stomach rejecting you and releasing its contents in protest of the alcohol you continue to bombard it with.  You realize that no light pours out from underneath the door which meant the bathroom had to be available.

“Eddie, I don’t think anyone’s in there.”  You offer, slowly walking up behind him.  

“Pfft, it’s locked.”  He scoffs, hitting his forehead against the wood with a thump.

When you reach your hand toward the handle and twist the door open, he gasps, nearly falling head first into the bathroom.  It wasn’t thought through, opening a door with a grown man leaning his full weight onto it.  Luckily, he catches himself, hands gripping the countertop as he sways.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”  You hiss, voice tinged with regret.

“‘S okay.”  He mumbles, pulling his zipper down.

“Oh!”  Covering your eyes, you shut the door.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

“Eddie, I am not standing in there with you while you pee!”  You yell through the door.

“God.”  He groans, a stream following.  “Just—I know!”

“I’ll stand right here and make sure you don’t fall and hit your head, okay?”  You bargain.

“Okay.”

After several seconds, you don’t hear any movement, worry kicking in once again.  He couldn’t have hit his head, you would’ve heard it.  What if he passed out but didn’t hit anything?  It was pathetic, the way worry would grow inside you solely for him.  Just when you begin a countdown to burst through the door to check on him, you can hear the unmistakable sound of him puking his guts out.  Now you wonder if you should go in anyway and hold his hair back.  

Dry heaving is heard through the door, the awful sound the only thing you can focus on.  You can’t take it anymore.  You can only hope he remembered to zip his pants back up in his drunken state.  Opening the door, you reveal Eddie hunched over the toilet, his hair draped over his shoulders, clearly in his way.  You rush to his side, dropping your heels and his jacket in the process and collecting his curls in your hands, pulling them back as he breathes heavily, drool hanging from his mouth.  His eyes are wet and his hands are shaky as they grip the toilet seat.  You feel as if he should be vomiting in your lap for payback for puking on him that one night.  

“Ah shit.”  He complains, shaking his head.  “Round two, get o—out”.  He gags.

Throw up was the embodiment of the most disgusting thing you could ever think of, smell and everything but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care at this moment.  Even with his clammy skin and pukey lips.

“It’s okay, just let it out.”  You encourage him, hesitantly running a hand over his back, regretting doing so as you feel the muscles under his skin tense.

“Seriously, out.”  He almost vomits, swallowing it down.  

The action alone should be enough to have you jumping up and leaving but you stay.  

“Eddie, just puke it all up.  It’s fine.  I’m gonna hold your hair.”  You tell him.

He shudders, glancing over at you with his bloodshot eyes.  It’s like he’s shooting daggers at you before his eyes soften involuntarily, irises becoming that caramel toned warmness you were becoming more and more familiar with.  His pupils are dilated, huge planets in the middle of his eyes, clearly high and drunk though you still recognize the puppy dog-look he was giving you.  

“Eddie, if you don’t puke right now—“

As if on command, he lunges forward and spews out the rest of his stomach.  The sound makes you wince but you try to hide it as best as you can for his sake.  It’s not his fault his body is reacting to the substances he put into his body.  Maybe it is his fault since he put those substances into his body but regardless, you felt for him.  Once it has to come out, it has to come out and there’s no going back.  

“There you go.”  You soothe, fingertips gently raking up and down his spine.

“Fuck.”  He whispers into the bowl, spitting out a huge glob of saliva. It would repulse you if it were anyone else.

“It’s okay.”  You whisper just as quietly.

Grabbing the toilet paper and folding it a few times, you rip it and hand it to him to clean himself up.  You linger for a few seconds, waiting for him to grab it but he only continues to stare into the toilet bowl, hands braced on either side.  Just when you’re about to speak up again, he goes in for a third round.  You can’t help but feel bad for him even if the smell is nauseating you.  

“You want some water?”  You offer, standing up in preparation to go find him some.

“No, stay.”  He blindly grabs the hem of your dress, wiping his mouth with his forearm.

He didn’t seem to have a follow up reason as to why he wanted you to stay but you do anyway.  It was still a concern of yours that he stayed hydrated but you would tuck the thought aside momentarily to appease him.  

“Okay, what do you need?”  

Finally, he relaxes, his stomach seemingly empty now as he sits back against the wall.  A sigh leaves his lips, relief slipping off of them as he gazes up at the ceiling.  Shutting his eyes, he shows no indication of responding anytime soon, his pale face exhausted.  Sitting down beside him was your best bet, that way if he did decide that he needed to spill his guts again, you were there to assist.  And it was especially comforting to sit there just in case he passed out since he was at risk of hitting his head against something.  He was obviously still out of it, sobriety seeping in very slowly, the room more than likely spinning from his perspective.

“Dizzy?”  You ask.

“Mhm.”  He hums, squeezing his eyes shut as if it would aid in steadying the room.

“You need water.”

“Mm.”  He disagrees, shaking his head.

“Yes, it’ll help with the dizziness…probably.”  You tell him, standing up once again.

This time he doesn’t protest, the message sinking in.  You do, however, worry what could happen in the seconds that you’re gone.  But, you have no other options right now.

“Stay here—Eddie, stay here.  Do you hear me?  Don’t move.”  You try to drill into his brain.

All he offers is a weak nod, unable to even open his eyes.  Satisfied enough with the response, you speed out of the bathroom and down the stairs into the kitchen.  It was easy enough to grab a cup and fill it with water, dodging the wasted party guests that had gathered around the counter to play some kind of drinking game.

“Hey, where did you run off to!”  Jett calls over to you.

Carefully, carrying the cup of water as not to spill, you turn around to meet his cheerful face.  He had clearly gotten into that weed stash as his eyes were even more bloodshot than Eddie’s and his face was the most relaxed you’d ever seen it.  And he was a pretty laid back guy so that was saying something.

“Oh, uh, Eddie’s not feeling good so I was just helping him out.”  You explain.

Jett offers a suspicious squint, eyes glimmering in mischief as he reaches for a cupcake.  

“What?”  You ask genuinely.

He shakes his head, sticking his hands up in surrender which only makes you question the strange boy further.  What was going on in that hyperactive mind of his?

“Nothin’”  He smirks, orange icing coating his upper lip.

You didn’t have time for him to elaborate, if you could even get him to.  You just needed to get back upstairs, you had already been gone for a few seconds too long, worry burying in your gut like a parasite.

“Okay, I have to get back to Eddie and make sure he hasn’t done something stupid.”

“Mmmhmm.”  Jett giggles.

If only you had the time to interrogate him and inquire as to why he found that so funny.  But you didn’t.  Leaving him behind to laugh to himself, you can just barely make out one last word as you turn on your heel.

“Lovebirds.”

Your eyes grow ten times bigger as you scurry away.  Did he think that’s what this was?  That you were on your way to hook up with your boss?  Did it look that way to everyone else?  Jett was going to rat you out for something you weren’t even doing, you were convinced.  No matter how nice of a guy Jett proved he was, he was higher than a kite and could start up a rumor like wildfire if he relayed his suspicion to anyone.  It’s possible you were being paranoid but come the morning, if there were rumors floating around, you knew exactly who to blame.

Trying to shake the butterflies you felt taking your stomach hostage, you concentrate on getting the water upstairs without spilling a drop.  It was evident that you had filled the cup a tad too high, giving you even more of a challenge.  As you conquer the stairs, you anxiously peer around the corner into the bathroom, hoping and praying that Eddie had listened and didn’t move an inch.  Otherwise, you were on another goosechase for a six foot tall metalhead for the second time that night and respectfully, your organs wouldn’t be able to handle another spurt of anxiety like that.

Much to your relief, Eddie sits against the wall just as you had left him, eyes still shut tight and head bowed.  He doesn’t seem to hear your sock covered feet padding into the bathroom, not one muscle twitching.  

“Eddie.”  You call, holding the water in front of him.

No answer.

“Eddie?”  You say, more panicked.

Nothing.

“Okay, this isn’t funny, Eddie.  C’mon, drink the water.”  You tell him, gripping his chin as you examine him.  

His eyes seem to flutter beneath his eyelids, brows furrowing as his head resists your hand and leans toward gravity.  You continue to hold him up, giving his cheek a small pat.  A deep groan escapes him although he’s still practically sleeping.  

“Eddie.”  Shaking his shoulders, he only moves like a rag doll in your hold.  “Eddie, wake up.”

“Mmm.”  He grumbles, swatting your hands away.

“Okay, I gotta take you home.”  You decide, placing your hands on your hips, attempting to determine just how you were going to even get him into your car.

You couldn’t leave him here, he was still wasted.  You could leave him with Donnie and everyone to look after him but what was the point if you were going to go home anyway and he lived right next to you?  There was no use in making them babysitters if there was a more logical solution.  

“‘M fine.”  He says, curling up into a ball.

“No, Eddie, get up.  Get up.”  You try to be firm with him but he remains on the floor, comfy as ever with his hands tucked beneath his head.  “Shit.”  You sigh.

It was time to call in some reinforcements.

–

“Jesus Christ, he’s really fucked up isn’t he?”  Jett stares down at the figure of a sleeping Eddie on the bathroom floor, perfectly content.  

“Yeah, can you guys just carry him to my car and I can figure out the rest once I get home?”  You plead.

Jett and Nathan share a look of concern to which you raise your eyebrows in confusion, expecting an explanation.  They glance once more at Eddie’s sleeping body and then back up to you, appearing as if that had said everything though you were still lost.

“How are you…going to carry him out of the car?”  Nathan asks, his bushy gray eyebrows knit in thought.

In all fairness, you didn’t think far enough into the future.  If it were only you, you assume you would be required to drag his body across the yard and onto the porch before fishing out his keys and lugging him up onto his couch before leaving some water next to him and dismissing yourself.  The affair may take you over an hour considering Eddie was proving to be a stubborn drunk.  But you’d surely manage if it had to be done.

“I dunno, I’ll work something out.”  You tell him.

Nathan glances over to Jett once more, concerned expression only deepening as he peers back down at Eddie.  Jett shrugs, surrendering the decision to both of you.

“How ‘bout this.”  Nathan starts.  “We’ll follow you home and help you get him situated–”

“God, ‘m up!  ‘M up, okay!”  Eddie takes the three of you by surprise as he rapidly pushes off the floor and begins standing on wobbly legs.  

“You sure about that?”  Jett teases while Eddie stabilizes himself against the sink.

“Fuck off.”

Eddie’s aggravated demeanor persists once again, a pathetic puppy dog pout at his lips while his eyes become overshadowed by eyebrows, a stern scowl forming.  If it was meant to intimidate anyone, he was sadly mistaken.  Instead, Jett snickers behind his hand, attempting to hide his grin.

“I’m kidding, I’m just kidding.”  Jett continues to chuckle, avoiding Eddie’s harsh gaze.

“What is goin’ on here?”  Donnie emerges from the stairs.  

“Christ, ‘s go.”  Eddie murmurs, rolling his eyes.

Donnie’s face contorts in confusion at his attitude, something that if it were directed towards you, you wouldn’t think twice about.  It was no secret that his moodiness carried over even when he was intoxicated.  But you suppose she has a motherly hold on him and should he act up, she wasn’t afraid to confront him.  It didn’t matter how much taller or how grown of a man he was, she wouldn’t hesitate to pinch him by the ear and drag him off to give him a lesson in manners.

Obediently, Eddie backs down, his expression instantly relaxing.  His scowl is replaced with a blank face, any negative thoughts seeming to fall right out of his head.

“You’re leavin’?”  Donnie questions.

Rather than answering, Eddie shifts his gaze to you expectantly.  Like you were suddenly his keeper.  It was odd, going from being absolutely repulsive in his eyes when you’d first met him, to him essentially submitting to you so willingly.  He was wasted but it was still something you fondly tucked into the back of your mind to remember later, like a little postcard for yourself.

“I, uh, yeah.  I was just heading out and I thought…since we’re neighbors…”  You try to elaborate, only feeling as if you were digging yourself into a deeper hole as you remember Jett’s comment from earlier.

Low and behold, the brief glance you offer Jett only confirms it, a huge smirk displayed on his face just for you.  It was enough for the blood to rush into your cheeks, practically sizzling to the touch.

“You just got here.”  Donnie complains.

Jett puffs out his cheeks, offering some kind of communication that has Donnie reeling back on her previous statement.

“It is late though and if he’s really not feeling good…”  She reasons.

You weren’t stupid and you knew Jett was assuming the position of a wingman and somehow, he was able to convey that to Donnie in just one simple look.  And she ran with it, much to your surprise.  Eddie seemed to check out of any conversation, bags hanging underneath his eyes while they drooped in boredom, his tall frame leaning against the wall as he toyed with the chain attached to his jeans.

Externally, you were irked, irritation written all over your face, even a hint of disgust could be found within your features.  But internally, you were having quite the opposite reaction.  Those damn butterflies had started up again, whirling around in your stomach so intensely, you were beginning to think they were bees.  Your heart pounded in your ears, the tips of them becoming embarrassingly red and hot.  You didn’t know why, maybe it was the prospect of everyone else thinking you had some secret relationship going on or even a little fling and the fact that they seemed to be rooting for you.  It ignited the tiniest bit of excitement in you, you weren’t going to lie to yourself.  Even if there was truly nothing going on.

Within minutes, you had an entourage escorting you to your car, Nathan insisting that it was no issue if you’d rather him drive Eddie just in case he were to pass out again.  Though you were grateful, you didn’t see the trouble in making him drive all the way out to your street only to turn around and go right back to the party.  If Eddie passed out again, you’d splash some water on him and surely figure out a way to wake him.  Besides, he had started to become more alert since stumbling down the stairs and making the walk down the steep driveway.  Of course, you also required that he down some water before leaving, otherwise he could stay and let his friends have their fun and tease him about sleeping in front of the toilet, which he didn’t seem to like as he scrunched his face and grabbed the water from you.

Donnie had advised you to drive safely several times while Jett continued to poke fun at Eddie, only earning himself a sock to the shoulder.  Jett may not feel it now but in the morning there would be a good chance he’d have a nice purple bruise.  

At some point after you had stepped outside, a jacket was draped over your shivering shoulders.  Eddie’s jacket.  And seconds later, he walked ahead of you with his hands shoved in his pockets, no doubt trying to escape Jett’s teasing.  It was in that moment, surrounded by people who seemed to just…care, that you began to feel wanted.  While Donnie talked your ear off about keeping an eye out for deer, Nathan continuing to even offer to drive both of you home, assuring you that he didn’t mind in the slightest.  Eddie resting his jacket over your shoulders, even in his current state, and Jett…well Jett was being Jett but he still contributed to the warm and fuzzy feelings you were experiencing.  

It felt a lot like…family.

–

The cold glass soothes Eddie’s sweaty cheek, the surface fogging up with every breath as his finger taps away to a beat in his head on the center console.  The slumped position he had been in for the past five minutes was sure to awaken a few aches and pains in his spine but he didn’t budge.  The radio softly sounded through the car, some random pop song he could hardly make out.  His eyes followed tree after tree, nearly causing him to go cross-eyed as he kept up with the little game he made up in his head, counting each tree.  Sometimes he would get distracted by the pavement zooming by before continuing.

Not a word had been shared between you since the bathroom though it was an oddly comfortable silence.  It didn’t feel like you had to speak or fill in the gaps like you usually would, desperately clinging to words that you didn’t have in order to appease the other person.  The fact that Eddie was coming out of his drunken haze could have something to do with it but had it not been Eddie you were driving, you’re certain you would struggle to strike up a conversation as if it were required.

Glancing over at him, you can’t help but feel a small smile tug at your lips, his fingers drawing a smiley face into the fog he created with his breath.  You’d never seen him so content but perhaps you shouldn’t look too much into it.  A few beers and some weed would have that effect on anyone.  It was just pleasant to see him so laid back, the stressors of his life set aside for another time.  You could only hope he could appear the same way sober someday soon.  

“Where’s your family?”  Eddie suddenly mumbles, eyes still glued to the scenery outside.  

The question is out of the blue and the last thing you would expect from him.  Although he had taken somewhat of a liking to you, he’d never taken an interest in something so personal.  And you offered him that same respect.  

“What?”  You ask, sneaking a glance at him, your hands squeezing the wheel.

His focus shifts from the window to you, his body turning inward as he leans his cheek against the headrest, waiting for your response.  The way his lips pucker from his cheek squishing against the seat only makes your heart clench.  His large awaiting eyes reflect the moon and you find it hard to change the subject when they appear so patient and attentive.

“Um, well, they’re back in…back home.”  You answer simply.

“Where’s that?”

He looked the most inquisitive you’d seen him, body turned toward you, his attention not once wavering.  Instead of the usual knit brows he often wore, his features remained softer and full of wonder.  Lips parted and eyes twinkling, who were you to deny his efforts?  Even if he was slightly under the influence.  Worst case scenario, he doesn’t remember this conversation.

“California.” 

“Oh.”  

You didn’t know what kind of response you were expecting but for some reason, the one word was a bit too vague, self consciousness kicking in.  

“What about yours?”  You shift the spotlight over to him.

From what you can tell as you keep your focus on the road, his gaze drops while he collects his thoughts, his breathing going shaky for just a second before he regains his composure.  A hum deep in his throat notifies you that he’s ready to begin speaking again.

“Uh, don’t really have one.  Never really have.  Or, uh, I just don’t remember them?  Other than my uncle, Wayne.  He’s back…”  Eddie hesitates.  “He’s in Indiana.”

“I’m sorry—I didn’t know…”  You start to backtrack and although he was the one who initiated the conversation, maybe it was too bold of you to reverse the question.

“No, ‘s okay.”  He assures you, shaking his head, his curls flattening against the seat.

“You miss him?”

The car is silent again, aside from the radio playing quietly.  You fear you’ve said the wrong thing, struck some kind of a nerve that forced him to go mute.  No longer wanting to engage in the topic.  But when you peer over at him again briefly, he’s biting his lip, getting lost in his mind again before he decides on an answer.

“Yeah.  Yeah, I do.  He visits when he can.”  A sadness lurks beneath the surface of his monotone response, eyes growing shinier in the moonlight.  And then he wipes the slate clean, face devoid of emotion once again as he seems to shake his previous thoughts from his head.  “So what’s your deal?  What made you come all the way out here?”  

This is the part where you would shrug and offer no further insight into the corners of your mind that usually were kept isolated.  But when his gaze softens from the passenger seat like that–like he wants to know, like he cares, you wanted to give him the key to your contaminated brain and let him poke around all he wanted.  As long as he wanted.

“Well, uh, I love my family...”  You start, voice timid.  “But I was feeling super lost.  And like I was living for everyone else.  And when my dad passed months ago he left me his estate…left me everything…”

“I’m sorry.”  He says, sympathy coating his words.

You nod, a silent thank you before continuing.

“So I split it up with my family…then moved away.  Guess I wanted to…I dunno find myself?”  You laugh, as if you’d just told a joke.

Rather than laugh along, Eddie studies you with intent.  Like he’s searching for more, digging into your soul.  

“Why’s that funny?”  He asks.

“I just–I don’t know what I’m doing.”  You laugh again.

“Well, neither do I.”  He begins to chuckle.  “I mean look at me.”

Progressively, you both start to laugh harder, glancing at each other and reveling in the failures that you both had endured up until this moment.  It’s like you were slap happy, a snort threatening to escape you through your uncontrollable laughter.  

“Ah, fuck.”  Eddie exhales, a grin plastered to his face.  “Bar is going to shit, my government hush money has run out–”

“Your what?”  You question, amusement taking over your features.

“Nothing.”  

Suddenly, he has no desire to converse, his lips shut in a tight line as he once again turns his attention to the window.  

“Government hush money?”  You repeat.

With a roll of his eyes and a deep breath, you can tell he contemplates carefully as he chooses his next words.  

“Jesus Christ, I’m really not supposed to talk about it.”  He breathes, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “But, fuck it I guess.”  He drops his hand from his face.

Pulling into your driveway, the gravel crunches under the tires before you kill the engine, headlights leaving you in the darkness.  Eddie has your full focus, your body turned toward him as you pull a knee up to your chest, resting your chin on top.  

“You don’t have to.”  You assure.  “I can just forget you ever said anything–”

“Honestly, it’ll probably do me some good to get it off my chest.”  He interrupts.  

At his insistence, you keep quiet, waiting for him to continue.  He fidgets with his rings nervously, pulling them off and putting them back on.  

“You, uh, you have to swear to never talk about it again.  To anyone.”  

“Promise.”  You whisper, sticking your pinky out.

A puzzled look crosses his face, looking from your pinky to you in uncertainty.  It was becoming apparent that he was sobering up, laziness no longer taking a hold of his eyelids and words coherent.  

“Pinky promise.”  You smile.

“Pinky promise?”  He still appears confused.

“Yeah, you never made a pinky promise before?”  

A small smile forces the corners of his mouth up, eyes shining with entertainment as he stares at your pinky.  Shaking his head, he rests his hands in his lap, almost bashfully.  A contrast to his usual prickly tendencies and forward personality.

“Well, I take pinky promises very seriously.  They can’t be broken.  So I pinky promise, I won’t mention this ever again.”  You stick your hand even further forward, awaiting his pinky.

“Yeah?”  He asks with a lopsided grin.  “How do I know you mean that?” 

“It’s a pinky promise, Eddie.”  You deadpan, as if he was supposed to know how eternally binding it was.

A few seconds pass, Eddie still looking from you to your pinky with round eyes, soft at the edges with something that resembles the innocence of a little boy.  His inner child was sparkling, pouring from him like a forbidden fountain that only you had the honor of witnessing.  When his pinky wraps around yours, his comically larger than yours, you can’t fight the way your heart flutters in response to the touch.  His warmth encompassing yours, melting together like the sweetest chocolate.

Then, once your pinkies part, he speaks of a horrifying earthquake, striking his home town and wreaking havoc on the innocent lives once lived.  He tells you of things that you would never in this lifetime believe, things that he was forced to believe within seconds, creatures that attacked him, putting him on his deathbed only to be revived and put in the hospital for weeks.  Of the horrifying manhunt for him, how he was a wanted man for things he was never responsible for, conveniently at the peak of satanic panic.  How he was blamed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, how the whole town pinned a murder on him.  How there are things he could never even begin to explain like how Chrissy, the head cheerleader at his highschool had died right in front of him.  And how she was the first girl he was actually interested in, only for her to die a horrific death before his eyes.  He didn’t go into detail, though you didn’t need him to.  You didn’t want him to re-live such trauma just to provide you further explanation.

Once all was said and done, once he was out of the hospital, he was arrested and sat in jail for a week or so, he couldn’t recall exactly how long.  His uncle trying everything, doing everything he could to bail him out but he didn’t come from money so that proved to fail, especially since no one was on his side, even a majority of the police.  He told you of Dustin and Lucas…of Max, Erika, Steve, Nancy, and Robin.  The people that had always been on his side even when he was the only suspect for murder.  The people he missed so dearly every day but could only see every so often when they could find time to visit.  Which they did.  He only wished he could go back home.  If he did, it would only spark up another riot and it was against his agreement with the government to even step foot in the state of Indiana.  

So when he was bailed out of jail, his friends all awaiting him just outside the station, it was bittersweet.  He was relieved that he wouldn’t be stuck in that hell hole for the rest of his life like his dad but he was terrified of leaving everything he’d ever known.  It was his dream to someday get out of that place, a place that he wouldn’t name which was most likely due to his agreement.  But the second he was forced to leave, he didn’t know what was next for him, a terrifying concept for any smalltown boy at the fresh age of 20.

Wayne had intervened, making plans for Eddie to move in with his grandfather, Roy out in the middle of the mountains a few states away rather than being shipped somewhere where he had no connections, a setup for failure.  Eddie told you about how he didn’t know his grandpa his entire life, didn’t even know he still had one until he went to live with him.  But without any hesitation, Roy took him under his wing, stating that it's what his daughter, Eddie’s mother would’ve wanted him to do.  The least he could do for a boy who only knew broken family and lost his beloved mother so young.  

You learn that his grandfather had distanced himself due to Eddie’s dad and truthfully didn’t know of Eddie’s existence until Wayne made that phone call.  The moment he found out he had a grandson, he welcomed him with open arms and put him to work at the bar, giving him a kind of security that Eddie had never been familiar with in his life.  Grandpa Roy died last year of kidney failure, leaving Eddie everything and you could tell it was really taking a toll on him, the responsibility of the bar, the fear of losing it and disappointing his grandfather.

It seems that within the span of ten minutes, you learn Eddie’s life story.  From the incident back in Indiana to how his dad created destruction in his life long before that and how he would teach Eddie how to commit petty theft and hotwire cars.  He was on the route to becoming just like his dad before Wayne got involved, fighting like hell for legal custody of him.  His dad refused time and time again although Eddie spent most nights and days at Wayne’s trailer anyway.  Wayne didn’t want him to have any authority over Eddie, the man was a criminal and an addict that would leave poor young Eddie alone for days to fend for himself until he decided to come back.  He didn’t want that life for Eddie.

Eventually, he won, the courts taking far too long to review the case but he was granted full custody and not long after, Eddie’s dad was arrested for grand theft auto.  He still rots in jail to this day for several other crimes he committed once he got out the first time.

It was all laid out for you, Eddie’s entire upbringing.  His whole life on display for you to judge if you felt so inclined to.  You didn’t.  You sat and you processed.  Deciphering that Eddie is the way he is because of the way he had been treated his entire life.  An outcast among the working class, growing up in poverty and being made fun of for things out of his control.  Kids steering clear from him for the simple fact that he was his father’s son and that his name had already been tarnished before he was even born.  It was becoming clear as to why Eddie was so emotionally withdrawn.  How could he not be?

“Eddie I–” “If you say you’re sorry I’ll puke again.”  He jokes.

It was something you found so endearing within him, his ability to remain playful even when addressing his trauma.  Perhaps it was a coping mechanism.  You could relate if it was.  

“Let’s just, uh, call it a night.  I think that’s enough about me.  I don’t wanna talk about me anymore.”  He shakes his head, exhausted but still displaying a playful smile.

“Okay.  Yeah.”  You agree, opening the door before he stops you with a raise of his hand.

“Would this…would this be a bad time to tell you that I’m ninety nine percent sure that I left my keys at the party?”  He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Wow.”  You sigh, resting your head on the steering wheel.  “Look at how the tables have turned.”  You grin, shoving his shoulder, eliciting a grunt from him.  

“Gonna make me sleep on the porch with the bears?”  He half jokes.  He wouldn’t blame you.

“Only if you don’t puke on me like I did to you.”

Eddie can’t fight his grin, dimples deepening.  He’s thankful that it’s too dark to make out the pink tinting his cheeks.

~end~

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[fanfreakinfiction]

My Gods Are Not Kind to Lonely Mothers

Chapter 2: Trying to Understand

Ch. 1 | Masterlist 🖤

4.3K words // Din Djarin x pregnantf!reader

Pairing: Din Djarin x pregnantf!reader (Reader is younger but not weirdly young) Reader was a sex worker. Reader’s first language is one I made up she speaks pretty good basic but struggles finding certain words. Reader is pregnant!

Summary: How can Din understand and respect your plans without being apart of them? He tries to help, but your stubbornness rivals that of a Mandalorian.

Tags: SLOW BURN, Some fluff, made up Star Wars culture & religion, split POV, slight language barrier, mention of death, mention of child death, dark!, lots of relationship building in this.

Warnings: mention of child loss and grief.

A/n: Alright so let me explain Illa-ishi real quick because I never want to get the wrong idea across. Illa-ishi are mainly single mothers who birth at the lower pool of the Mountain of Mothers. The reason why Illa-ishi give birth at the lower pool and pass away, isn’t the gods punishing them for being single mothers. The journey up to the lower pool when a mother is in the throws of birth is so rigorous and difficult without the help of their partner that many perish from exhaustion. By the time they make it up the cliff to the lower pool some do not even have energy to give birth which is why there are skeletons in the bed rolls. Please comment or ask me questions if anything is ever unclear! Also I know this is a shorter chapter than Ch. 1, I initially wanted this to be a two part series but I found I have more to write than I thought. Anyways, enjoy this soft chapter! I will update this series every Friday.

Standing in the pool, you felt his hand on the right side of your waist. He'd carried you from the spot near the cliff into the shallow end of the hot spring and set you down into the water as if you were sacred. Paralyzed by the sudden display of kindness after the last months spent alone, you felt the cold metal of his helmet lean heavily on the back of your head.

A slow fear crept up from somewhere deep inside the traumatized confines of your heart, the fear immobilizing you to his actions just as they'd done the night he paid for your company. Frozen in place, thoughts of him pushing you into the spring and drowning you flooded your mind. Then you felt his left hand rest on the small of your back, leading you to think he'd take you again as he'd done in the expensive room back on Tatooine. You'd worked in that brothel for years and saw the desperation of men in need, the aftermath of what they'd done to women they had no emotional attachment for.

Just as you started to form a plan of action against him, you heard the softest noise from behind. It took maybe thirty seconds for the sound to register within your mind – he was crying. The strangled sound of a sob left the static of the modulator on his helmet, which was then followed by the most sincere "I'm sorry" you'd heard since the day your father had sold you.

For a moment, you just looked ahead at the milky waters of the spring and the steam swirling around you. The small green baby that the Mandalorian had brought with him sat nearby the shallow end of the pool, gazing into the water below, his small hand chasing the steaming swirls that rose into the air. You felt the life within you stir, your contractions coming inconsistently now, almost as if your body was confused. The warmth of the leather-clad hand on your right side tightened slightly as you heard one more sob break over the roar of the waterfall.

In a show of cosmic irony, you couldn’t help the small but sad smile that graced your lips as you trailed your bandaged right hand up to lace your fingers over the back of his hand, and you spoke, “Don’t cry.”

His sobs seemed to quiet, as if he hadn't expected your touch, your reassurance. The tension in his grip lessened. After a moment of his head resting on the back of yours, you assumed he regained his composure as he slowly pulled away. Shyly, you looked over your shoulder and offered a small tearful smile to his visor before turning your attention back to the spring. Taking careful steps forward, you found a place to lower yourself back once more into the murky depths. You moved to sit where your back was resting on the jagged rock wall.

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw him standing in the same spot. His hands were frozen in the air where they’d rested on your body, until he slowly clenched his fists and lowered them back to his sides.

He stood like a statue just looking at you, his weight shifted to his left, the grey of the flightsuit around his knees now a dark grey from the spring's water. The edge of his grey cape touched the surface of the spring, wetting the frayed and somewhat burned seams.

You felt an awkward discomfort as his helmet seemed locked in your direction. It really made you uneasy that you couldn’t tell where his gaze was or what emotion was on his face. Was he happy? He had cried… you had done the same when you found out.

“You-”

“What’s-”

You both spoke over one another in unison, causing a blush to creep up your neck as you looked away. As if some unseen force felt the tension in the air, the small green child, enamored with the steam of the spring, fell face first into the warm water.

“Grogu!” The Mandalorian’s voice bordered on panicked as he moved from his stiff position to where the child had fallen in. In a swift movement, the Mandalorian had grabbed the child by the tan robe he wore, pulling it to the surface within seconds of the splash. The child blinked his large eyes frantically as he let out some displeased grunts. Holding the child above the water now, the Mandalorian looked the child over and then moved to hold him in his arms. “We’ve talked about this…” The Mandalorian sighed as he looked at the child. You couldn't help the smile that graced your face.

"Does it get into problems?" You spoke carefully as you tried to remember the words in basic.

Being on your homeworld was the happiest you’d felt in years, and slipping back into Kith, your native language, was like putting on your favorite dress. But coming out of Kith back into basic was proving challenging; maybe the Mandalorian spoke Huttese, which you knew almost as well as basic.

“Yeah…he does,” the words fell in a resigned huff from the man clad in silver as he held the now dripping child.

“Oh…Is he…your child?” You asked slowly as you gauged the man’s reaction. Your eyes flicked from his helmet to the water covering your belly where your hands fidgeted under the water. Anxiety filled your thoughts as you waited for his response.

After a painfully long silence, the Mandalorian sighed and shifted to set the green child on the ledge of the spring nearby and sat next to the child, leaving his covered feet in the spring. Adjusting his cape as he sat, he turned to run a gloved hand over the child’s tan robe before speaking in your direction.

“It won’t look like him…if that’s what you’re asking,” he said dryly, and your head snapped in his direction, studying him for a moment before you thought he might be trying to joke. A smile graced your lips as you moved in the water to slowly approach him. Your right hand held onto the spring’s rocky wall as you moved towards him and the child who fidgeted with a metal object around his neck. Within a foot of the child, you looked the soaking baby over with a cocked eyebrow and critical eye before turning to face the Mandalorian.

“He is…” you paused, trying to find the word in basic as you felt a rush to do so, “…c-ute,” you sounded out the word slowly and looked up at the man sheepishly as the child made a surprised “eh!” sound and smiled toothily at you.

“Basic isn’t your first language?” It was almost not a question from the Mandalorian, and you couldn’t help but feel a hot embarrassment from his tone.

“No,” you said as you turned away again, caressing your belly under the water, “I am Kith.”

“I am Mandalorian,” he said, and you thought he might be patronizing you.

“I see and know,” you retorted back as you shot a soft glare his way.

A sound emanated from his helmet, and you thought it might be a sigh. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he started to say as he reached into his bandolier for something. “I am Mandalorian, but I am different from other Mandalorians. I am bound by a creed.” He pulled out a piece of paper as he spoke, and you recognized the paper immediately. “The Mountain of Mothers…” he spoke again as he unfolded the pamphlet. “You’re here because you believe in this?” He asked as he looked over the paper.

You eyed the pamphlet that Don Mai must have so generously forced into the bounty hunter’s hand. Your eyes trailed from the pamphlet back to his helmet, and you nodded your head yes.

“I understand,” he says as he looks over the pamphlet, the child next to him suddenly taking interest as well. “The creed I believe in… it is my responsibility to take care of foundlings.” His helmeted gaze shifts slightly from the pamphlet to the child next to him.

“Found-i-ling?” you repeat the word back to him slowly in confusion.

His head turns to look at you, and he hands the pamphlet to the child who plays with the paper.

“Foundling,” he confirms with a small nod. “Children who are adopted by my people, warriors of Mandalore… This is the Way.”

Your gaze moves from his to the child next to him, and you nod.

“He is found-i-ling,” you say in confirmation as you nod your head toward the green child.

The Mandalorian nods in confirmation, and you see his hands clench the edge of the rock.

“And you…” he starts, “you are also my responsibility...”

You hated that word. Responsibility. Such a long word that was so often thrown in your face as a guilt tactic. The foreman who your father had sold you to made sure you always had responsibilities.

You were no more than eight when your father had sold you to the greasy man on Tatooine, and your life had been work ever since. The foreman wasn’t completely cruel; there were masters on Tatooine that were far worse. You had a bed, food, and even a bath. The foreman protected you from disgusting prying eyes of patrons who thought you were merchandise and not just a helping hand. But he also worked you to the bone, washing pillows, washing gowns, sewing gowns, steaming tapestry, cleaning the rooms, making meals, fixing the building, making errand runs – your responsibilities.

“No,” the word fell from your lips as if it were law. The Mandalorian’s head tilted towards you as if he didn’t hear you.

“Yes. You are my responsibility,” he repeats. “This is the Way.”

“No.” The word was slightly more harsh coming out as you turned to face him now. The sun had finally fallen behind the sky, and you were almost surrounded in darkness as you stared him down.

You could sense his hesitation, the momentary lapse in response, but the Mandalorian was resolute. “It is the Way. We take care of our own. The Creed guides me, and I cannot abandon my responsibilities.”

The weight of those words hung in the air, the silence stretching between you. The cold grip of your past life clawed at your heart, and you couldn't bear the thought of being bound by another's expectations. You had yearned for freedom, for a chance to shape your own destiny, and here, in the darkening solitude of the hot spring, those dreams seemed to be slipping away.

—

Your face was starting to turn pink from the heat of the spring as the word left your mouth. Din sat there staring, or truthfully, he was glaring at you from under his helmet. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say your stubbornness made you more a Mandalorian than it did a Kith. He battled with himself; this was not a place he wanted to be.

Din had always been careful when it came to his intimate business. When he and Xi’an would mess around, he would always pull out even though he knew she had an implant. He’d never actually finished inside anyone before, not until he’d taken you. To ease his guilt, he had told himself it was because of his inebriated state, but he knew by the time he’d slowly stripped you in that warmly lit room, the Corellian Whiskey had worn off. Maybe it had been because you were the first virgin he’d ever taken, the tightness of your heat on his fingers like a Dathomirian witch's call. Maybe you were a witch, which is what he was trying to understand, trying to learn more about you.

His eyes had scanned the pamphlet now being crumpled by Grogu’s hands. He realized the Mountain of Mothers was a sacred place, much like the living waters on Mandalore. The stubborn part of him wanted to scoop you from the spring and carry you back to his ship to take you to Mandalore, but he couldn’t do that. You were too close to birth and he really had no place to interrupt your plans… plans he hadn’t been a part of. The dark parts of his mind reminded him.

"What is your plan?" He found himself asking you. He watched as you looked up at him from your spot beneath the comforting spring waters, your brow furrowing. You had placed your right arm on the surface ridge of the pool and had laid your head down to watch Grogu.

"I will rest here," your voice sounding tired, your hair damp from the steam as you offered a sad smile.

"For how long?" He asked next, watching your face carefully to gauge your emotions.

You shrugged and looked down at your belly. "Until Noona arrives.”

Please. Kriff. Please don’t let Noona be the name for this child, his child. He cringed internally.

"Noo-na?" He repeated back, trying to hold down the unhappy tone of his voice. You nodded your head as if he was an idiot.

"Noona," you said with a nod. "Or… Baby."

He breathed a sigh of relief, just Kith for baby.

"Then what?" He asked as Grogu stirred next to him, clambering up into the Mandalorian's lap, leaving a trail of water and the now soggy pamphlet behind as he climbed.

"We rest," you said sadly.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he was getting frustrated with this beat around the bantha approach.

"After you rest?" His voice sounded a bit more terse than he intended. He watched as your head snapped up at him in annoyance, feeling confusion at your sharp reaction.

"We rest," you replied back, matching his terseness.

"For how long?" He gritted his teeth.

You splashed the water as you threw your hands up slightly and glared at him. "Forever!" You shouted back at him, and confusion laced his face.

"I don’t understand," he replied, as Grogu pulled at his bandolier from his lap, a sign he was getting hungry.

A moment of silence lapsed as your gaze slowly traveled to the skeletons surrounding the pool, now shrouded in darkness. You sighed as you looked at the remains mournfully and then slowly back to your belly.

"Illa-ishi come here to rest, forever," you said.

The skeletons and bone fragments all made sense in his mind now, and it made him sick.

"What?" His voice was laced with confusion and a hint of anger.

Before he could register the emotions swirling in his chest, he was already standing up in the water. Grogu, sensing the shift, looked up warily at his father. The Mandalorian glanced over at the pack leaning against the black jagged rock next to your bedroll, and he moved towards it out of the water.

—

Your heart raced as you watched the Mandalorian abruptly leave the spring and walk towards your pack and bedroll. You watched with bated breath as he set down the green child next to your pack on the ground and knelt down to your bedroll.

"NO!" You shouted as you watched him start to roll the bedroll back up. You quickly moved from your position in the water, walking carefully towards the edge. In an instant, he was moving in front of you, leaving the small child behind. It frightened you to see the speed at which he moved, the menacing aura he gave off as he moved to bend down, eye level with you.

He rested one hand on his right knee and the other hand on the ground next to him as he spoke.

"I am trying to understand your culture, but I will not allow you both to die here," his voice was menacing and sharp, bringing tears to your eyes.

"We are meant to die here," your words came out laced in pain and fear as you tried to stare him down. His hands balled into fists as he stared back at you.

"Why," he asked, and you could tell he was angry, and it wasn't fair.

Why was he angry when he had played no part in the last months?

You instantly felt remorse at that thought.

Throughout your whole pregnancy, you wouldn't allow yourself to think ill thoughts of him, afraid they might pass into Noona. Really, it wasn't his fault. You had no way of contacting him.

After your night with him, you'd taken your cut from the foreman and bought transport off of Tatooine. You spent weeks hopping planets and seeing different worlds, grateful for the credits you'd saved over the years, but even more so thankful for the six thousand credits that bought your freedom.

When you found out you were pregnant, you'd been staying on the mining world of Gorse, visiting the moon Cynda known for its illustrious thorillide crystal mines. You felt as if your freedom was snatched from you once again.

You knew this meant you were destined to be Illa-ishi and knew you'd be birthing a dead baby at the lower pool. It hurt, and you felt it wasn't fair, to you or the life inside you. A life that wouldn't exist outside of your own body, which is why you hadn't even bothered seeking out the Mandalorian.

Besides, all you had to go off of was the sigil on his pauldron, and since the Empire decimated Mandalore, it was impossible that you could find him again. Most Mandalorians had gone into hiding, and being already two months pregnant, there wasn't enough time to try and figure it out. You had accepted that you would be alone, that you were Illa-ishi, and that you could only enjoy the months ahead while Noona grew inside you.

You had traveled back to Kith in your fifth month of pregnancy and taken up work alongside Don Mai, the self-appointed mayor who graciously offered you a job in the fuel station. But soon your time was up, and you'd started your journey three days ago with the accepted belief that you'd never leave the Mountain of Mothers.

Still, the rational part of your mind sympathized with the man staring you down. You honestly believed you wouldn't see him again, and yet here he was. You knew that Kith was a planet along the outer rim, and nobody cared to understand your culture. Your people were not warriors like Mandalorians, nor powerful witches like Dathomirians. Your people were peaceful and slow.

Don Mai had a point about one thing, "People need to see the wealth of culture we have here. Kith would want the galaxy to know of the sacrifices he made for his wife."

—

Your eyes searched his visor, and he watched as you struggled internally. For a moment, he felt shame at his tone because it elicited a glassy look in your eyes, but he was angry. Not angry at you but more angry with himself. He sat eye level with you, waiting for your explanation when he heard a sigh leave your lips.

“Illa-ishi do not make it to the upper pool to give birth,” Your words offered little to soothe his confused anger. He opened his mouth to speak, but you continued, “Illa-ishi die at this pool with our babes, as a price for our solitude.”

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. You truly believed you would die here, along with the life he helped create. He rose from the crouched position as he looked down at you in the now looming darkness.

He studied your face for a moment before his eyes drifted lower to your full breasts and belly. A twinge of pride at the sight of you was quickly extinguished by the look on your face. You looked sad, like you didn't want to believe what you did, like some part of you wanted to make it to the upper pool. Slowly he extended his right hand down to you before he spoke, “You are not alone, not anymore.”

—

Helping you from the pool carefully, he watched the steaming water rush off your body, leaving droplets all around you. A shiver quickly rushed through you, and he cursed himself for not being more prepared when he left his ship. He didn't even bring Grogu a snack. He stood in front of you, unconsciously zoned out as he tried to think of his next steps.

He didn't realize how uncomfortable you'd become by his gaze until you moved your hands to cover yourself in shame. Your face was flushed pink, and he realized you assumed he'd been standing there staring at you like some teenage boy. He felt a rush of embarrassment; he normally never spared a thought for anyone, never cared what they thought, but for some reason, he really didn't want you to think ill of him.

"Get back in the water," his voice was low, and it almost startled you.

He saw the look of confusion on your face, and he sighed audibly. "Just… you'll be warmer in the water until I can make a fire," he said reluctantly, and he watched your eyebrows shoot up.

"A fire?" You almost sounded excited.

He nodded as he moved to help you situate yourself back into the water.

The green child cooed from his spot, now sitting on your bedroll as he watched. After situating you back into the water, Din looked back to Grogu; he could tell he was getting hungry and tired.

"I need to go collect wood. Would you… just make sure he doesn't get into trouble?" The Mandalorian hesitated to ask you for anything, but he knew Grogu would just inhibit what could be a quick task. He watched your face as you glanced up at him from in the pool and behind him to the child.

"Yes," you said, almost so quietly that he strained to hear it.

"I won't be long," he told you as he stood and immediately walked over to the edge of the cliff to make his way back down toward the forested area.

Left alone with Grogu, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions. The Mandalorian had been harsh, distant, and mysterious, yet he had also shown moments of compassion and care. You watched the child as he cooed and played with his small, metal pendant, seemingly unfazed by the ordeal.

—

The thought of a fire excited you after three days of eating cold food and sleeping on the cold ground. Maybe if Noona was tired and not ready to come, you could actually enjoy your last night of sleep. Surely Noona would be here tomorrow?

"Rissi, Noona?" (Right, Noona?) You spoke to your oddly calm belly. You thought back... when had your last contraction been? After the Mandalorian had shown up, but that had now been almost two hours ago.

You felt unease rise up into your throat.

You only felt this afraid once during your pregnancy, and it was when you hadn't heard Noona's heartbeat at the small makeshift medical office in the fuel station. It wasn't until you and Don Mai had realized the medical droid's radar equipment had malfunctioned that you found peace.

But now you could feel the panic and no peace. A part of your mind was whispering that Noona was already gone. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you started moving frantically towards the shallow part of the pool. You rested your left hand on the soaked fabric of your dress as you clambered towards the edge of the pool.

"Pessi Noona... Pessi!" (Please baby, please.) you whispered frantically as you tried to feel anything. The rock floor of the pool felt harsh under your bare feet, and you slipped a little at one point, causing you to stumble.

From your right, you could hear the small green child make a grunting noise. Pushing yourself up in the water, you felt your breath quickening with panic as you moved out of the water. Tears were coming hard, and you couldn't stop the sobs that came from your mouth.

"Pessi a Noona! Pessi! Pessi!" You cried as you made it from the pool to the harsh gravel-covered surface of the rock surrounding the pool. Looking down at your belly, you pressed your hands rather harshly to feel. You could make out two lumps at the top, maybe knees? You couldn't be sure.

You felt a tugging on your dress, and as you tried to look down past your belly, you caught a glimpse of a green ear. The small green child tugged fervently on your dripping gown.

"Noona a nissa movissi" (baby is not moving), you tried to explain to the small green child who you could hardly see. You sobbed and tried to move toward the bedroll. Through your tears, you heard the small child behind you as his feet pattered softly on the rock behind you. You moved to sit on a rock nearby, lowering yourself to the ground, you planted your feet and caressed your belly.

"Pessi Noona, gividas sotissi" (Please baby give me something), you cried as you continued pressing frantically, trying to get Noona to move or kick, anything.

You felt the lightest touch on your arm as you sat and hyperventilated. Looking to the left, you saw the small green child look at you curiously. His large brown eyes were full of so much emotion, something you couldn't place. Before you could make another sound, you felt the edges of your vision begin to fade.

Maybe this was it... the last moment with you and Noona... would the Mandalorian come back and disturb you? You didn't want to leave the Mountain of Mothers, you wanted to die here with Noona, stay here with Noona, forever…

The last thoughts flashed in your mind before you felt yourself succumb.

"Rest," a small voice whispered through your mind.

[97keanu]

Dave Lizewski x Vampire!Reader

Premise: Dave finally finds the courage to go to an underground goth bar he found while scouring internet forums on how to pick up a goth girlfriend. What he doesn't realize is he may have found more than what he bargained for.

Tags/CW: nerdy!Dave, loser!Dave, Goth!Reader, Vampire!Reader, blood, drinking blood, bathroom sex, p in v, semi public sex, oral, virgin!Dave, Dom/switch!Reader, Sub!Dave.

Dave has always had a thing for goth girls, he hates to admit how much he wishes he had a one for a girlfriend in particular. He knows he's too nerdy for anyone as dark and suave as he fantasizes for. They would never be attracted to him. It's not like he could bring one back to his room either. Not with the posters of Elvira, Morticia, Raven from Teen Titans, and Abby Sciuto (he only watched NCIS for her.) that hung across his bedroom walls. And if it wasn't for that, the rest of his nerdy figurines and extensive comic book collection was sure to run them off. Dave was way too much of a Certified Virgin, as his friends called him, to pull a goth girl on his own.

So, he decided to try a different method. He searched the internet, his one true social outlet, looking for the most authentic goth bar New York City had to offer. Then he went in search of the best goth clothes he could find without looking like a total poser. He sprang for a thrift store black dress shirt and black skinny jeans. He contemplated whether or not he should ditch the studded belt(he bought it just in case.), and then he delved into goth bands and culture so he would have something to talk about.

That's how he ended up here, at an abandoned church that had had a red and black macabre makeover. Still, even with the pulsing music and plenty of goth men and women to choose from, Dave found himself a wallflower next to a fake, hung up skeleton. He could hardly talk to the skeleton, so he sat there like a dork, phone in his hands, and a sprite in his glass since he was only 18 and he didn't have the balls for a fake I.D.

That was, until, you caught sight of him from across the dancefloor. You with your midnight hair, dramatic make up, and lovely black lips. You smelled Dave's delicious blood as soon as you walked in. Now all you needed to do was reel him in. You danced hypnotically through the crowd, and soon enough, Dave glanced up and caught sight of you. Of course he laughed nervously to himself when you caught his gaze, and you could tell by his thought of "Did she really just look at me?" that he would be an easy prey. You could also tell by his basic "goth" attire he wasn't a regular. You were intrigued by such a nerdy little human...

You work your way closer, and Dave shifts nervously, unable to get his mind working for what he's supposed to do. He takes in your gorgeous body, your corsetted waist making your hips look so tantalizing, your hands moving to the music, bell sleeves whipping slowly with them. What made Dave shiver was your red contacts and pearly fangs. Of course, you were one of those vampire obsessed goths. He had to admit, that was a fantasy that turned him on most. He knew it would never be real, but even the idea of roleplaying with someone about his vampire fantasy had his cock aching. Still, he had never seen someone with such a convincing costume.

Before he could question it more, you were already before him, taking his sprite and setting it on a nearby ledge.

"Hey cutie, let's dance!" You smile, and your fangs glint in the flashing lights. You know this boy will never guess that they're actually real, and somehow that makes it so much better.

"R-really?" Dave can barely utter back before you're nodding and pulling him into the crowd.

The speakers blare Depeche Mode and for a second Dave wonders if it's you that's his "Own Personal Jesus". You truly came from nowhere, like an angel in black, and saved this night from being the most pathetic, stupid thing he's done to try to get a date. You can feel the relief wash over him as you find a spot where you two can really dance.

The music guides you, and Dave tries to keep up, his hands never knowing where to go. You place them firmly on your hips and wait for him to glide them where he sees fit, and you have to laugh a little when he nervously waits, a smile that's wholly pleased and confused on his face. You move his hands once again, letting them glide over black velvet and lace slowly until he has a hand full of your ass. Now, he can't help but squeeze, his mind reeling from the fact that he's touching such a lovely creature of the night and her soft, plump ass.

After that, Dave gets the memo, taking you grinding into his cock in stride, his care about other people fading as the dance floor becomes just you and him. The dark lighting and crowd made it so easy for him to let loose, and soon enough he's taking his hands to places he never thought he would get with a girl.

He's blushing so hard, but his grin and the adrenaline are taking over. For once, he's actually starting to feel like he fits in somewhere. Maybe goths do have the right idea...

You, on the other hand, can hear all his horny thoughts about you. You love how much he desires you, and you think it's cute how badly he wishes he could bend you over and fuck you right here. You also hear how much he feels like he truly fits in, and for a moment, you feel bad that a part of you just wants his blood.

You continue dancing and hearing his thoughts, and you decide that if you're going to satisfy your own hunger tonight, you might as well satisfy a part of Dave's hunger as well. Besides, it's not like you just picked him because he smelled so tasty. You really did have a thing for nerdy boys, and based on how hard he is in those black skinny jeans, you think he'll satisfy you more than enough.

You turn to him, your red eyes gleaming and soft.

"I want you." You say plainly, and Dave doesn't even realize you used your vampiric powers so that he could hear you so clearly in his head.

All Dave can do is nod along, helpless to your temptation. You're surprised you didn't even have to use any mind tricks to get him to go with you. He's so horny and helpless to a woman like you, that he happily comes when you tell him to follow.

This church is your typical hunting grounds, so you know exactly where to take him. You leave the sweaty, writhing crowd and head to a more private, single stall bathroom. Dave looks at you with puppy love eyes, and you feel that pang of guilt once more. You lead him inside, locking the two of you in, the yellow fluorescents not doing much to hide who you truly are.

Dave is just so happy a girl would give him any attention that he's more than willing to be here with you. The music is muffled by the walls of the bathroom, so you lean in and whisper.

"I want you to fuck me, Dave..." He looks at you with a soft smile, but a confused brow.

"How did you know my name was Dave?" Ah, you forgot you had gotten that tidbit out of his head.

No matter, your hands run down the buttons of his shirt, and you smile softly.

"You told me, remember?" And suddenly, even though Dave truly does not remember, he doesn't care.

He doesn't care because a sexy girl is slowly unbuttoning his shirt and allowing him to keep his hands gripped to her ass. You could have told him his name was anything and he would have agreed, he wants you that badly.

You undo his shirt, surprised to find a well defined body under there. He may be nerdy, but it seems like he's done some working out at least. You trail a red tipped nail down his chest until you meet his pants, pulling teasingly on the waist band with a smile.

"W-wait..." Dave says and you look up, curious.

"I just um..." He starts, and moves his glasses nervously. "This is my uh, first time and I guess I just had certain ideas about what would h-happen..."

You nod, listening, and you're surprised by yourself. You really must kind of like this nerd. Usually you would already be halfway done with dinner, but for some reason, tonight you decide to take your time.

"And how would you like to start...?" You say, softly playing with one of his curls, looking at him with understanding.

"I um...I always imagined that I would..." You see the idea in his mind before he says it and smile. "I would take care of you first..."

You're starting to really like this guy. The fact that he's not even worried about where or how it happens, just that he gets you off first has your pussy throbbing.

"We can make that happen." You pull him seductively over to the counter by the sink, hopping on and pulling him down to his knees. He is more than happy to do so, and you pull your skirt up to reveal your lack of panties. Dave let's out a nervous breath.

"Oh w-wow..." He pushes his glasses back up once more. "You came prepared..."

"Mhm..." You sigh out, looking at him with an eyebrow raised, as if to say, "Yes and?".

He's wanted this for so long, studied so hard on forums online for how to properly eat a girl out, and now here's his big shot, with only thee hottest girl in this club. Shit...He better do a good job.

He wastes no more time, pulling you close and letting you put your legs over his shoulders. You happily welcome that mess of curls between your legs, and Dave has you perfectly propped on the corner of the counter. He is already being overtaken by how badly he wants to please you, his tongue getting to work on your pussy.

He starts by lapping up all of it greedily, and to your surprise, not for the first time this night, he's actually really good at it. Maybe you will keep him around for a bit longer...

He plays with you, sucking and teasing before finally getting fed up with his foggy glasses and tossing them on the counter. Now, to get to the real work.

He slowly begins to place two fingers inside of you, and you are more than ready. You're already wetter than you thought you would be, and you begin to wonder who's seducing who. It makes it all the better that you can hear and sense how horny Dave is for this, he is already so drunk off your pussy, tasting every bit of you and fucking you just right with his fingers. For a virgin, he's so good at this.

You take a handful of his curls and pull him in deeper. He moans into you, more than happy to let you take control and use him up. He sucks on your clit, driving you mad with attention there, and hitting that perfect spot inside you with his fingers. Fuck...you might just cum that quickly. How did this dork make you this horny so soon...?

You go with it, feeling yourself clench around his fingers, looking down and seeing those lovely, desperate blue eyes looking up at you. You love how badly he wants this, and you feel so close already.

"Please..." He whispers between breathes and licks. "Cum on my face..."

The fact that he's asking for it sends shivers down your spine, and you feel yourself unwinding. You pull him in deeply, finishing and shaking with Dave between your thighs. You can hardly stop your legs from closing on his head he makes you cum so hard.

And when you're done, you slowly let him up, his mouth wet from you, his eyes dazed and happy. You look down and see how hard his cock is struggling against those jeans and smile.

"Fuck me, I need your cock inside of me, now..." You command him softly, knowing you only need to ask.

Dave happily unbuttons his jeans, pulling his cock out and leaving the rest on. He gives himself a few pumps just to test, but he's already so fucking hard. His mind feels like melting when he thinks about how good his cock will feel inside of you. He doesn't go right for it, no.

He kisses you. And you're surprised by how badly he wants more than just a fuck. You can hear his thoughts, and can tell how much he needed this, this connection. He slips in tongue in your mouth while you pull him close enough to slip his cock in your cunt. He breathes out a shaky breath, taking it slow. He's already so overstimulated he thinks he may cum just from putting it in.

Dave let's his cock rest so deeply inside you, filling you to the brim. You find yourself moaning into his mouth, his tongue sliding over one of your fangs. He pulls back, looking at you for a moment. "Were those really that sharp?" He thinks, and you pull him back in, before he can think on it too deeply.

He goes with it, taking your kiss and letting you run them down his neck. As you begin to suck there playfully, he groans from how good it feels. He slowly begins to pump his cock inside of you, testing how much he can take so he doesn't blow his load too quickly. He breathes out shallow, heavy breaths from how much he wants to bury his cock in you and fill you up. His brow scrunches up as he wills himself to last longer, and you shutter from how full he's making you.

You almost forget what you're actually here to do. As he continues, and begins to get so close he can barely take it, you decide then to sink your fangs into his neck. Dave cries out, both from the pleasure and pain, and he can't help but buck into you hard, going deeper than you even thought possible, filling you up with his hot, sticky cum.

You drink deeply, and Dave feels as if he can't stop cumming. The bite is so delicious for you both, and he makes no moves to stop you. Instead, he finds himself holding you closer, wanting you deeper and to be deeper in you. It feels so good he doesn't notice when he starts to get light headed.

But you do. And you have to force yourself to pull your fangs from his neck, lapping at the wound until it heals.

"What...what did you do to me..." Dave says, sleepily.

"Here..." You bite your own wrist, blood dripping down slowly.

"What...?" Dave is confused, but not protesting. You give him a look, and he opens his mouth. He figures this must just be apart of goth culture he didn't read about.

He takes your blood in stride, sucking until you tell him to stop. And even after, he wants more.

"What...are you...?" He says, his face relaxed and his eyes heavy with afterglow.

"I think you know." And he does. He nods, and you help him get cleaned up.

"What do we do now?" He asks so sweetly when you're finished. And you already know that you've decided it.

You want him, and he is now yours. You explain it to him. You will let him go about his daily life, but when he feels the call of your blood inside of him, then he must come and let you feed like tonight. In return, of course, you let him know that you will let him fuck you as much as he desires. Dave is more than happy about that arrangement, a heavy after-sex grin on his face. You're happy to have a steady meal that you don't hate and a fat cock to sit on when you feel like it. What a cute blood doll you've acquired...

Taglist: @microwgreen @questionable-behavior @babyqnn @sebastianstanisahotmf @lazyneonrabbitt @nikistan @remuslupinsno1slut @haha-im-dumb @shakedogshake @beep-boop-baby @aesniri @pinkyyy666 @lpeanut-butterl @shrekscrustybudassy @lookatmelookatme @dreary-salem @almostjollypizza @boo8008 @arabellacrybaby @imaslutforcuddles @yasugardaddieshouse @real-sharena-h @stilloverthinking @tvgirlsbluehair @magicalgoopdeanhuman @jazmin25 @sknnylgndsstuff @lenasdmns @iluvkr @d3psta @sinjinpools @whotfistaylor @mut4nts @loser-lover0527 @vselva-blog @adrienette715 @jayjay577 @gildedgwen @izzyisstuff @casuallycruel-tswiftie13 @winter-bearv

[n7lebron]

It took a while but here it is, Master Grade Gundam Barbatos! Only my second master grade and I decided to go out of my way and hand paint all of it. From the frame to the armor and weapons and even picking up the p-bandai expansion set and painting some of that too (a set I do plan to finish and post about eventually). And it was a lot! A little overwhelming at times and definitely is not something I'll do regularly at this scale but was so worth it in the end.

It has only been a couple of years since I started this hobby and being able to get this kind of finish was a bit of a dream for me then. There's still room for improvement and part of that will come with more experience, but seeing what a difference just a year of painting kits can make has me genuinely excited to keep going.

Now how about the actual kit though...

The bare frame is probably my favorite part of the kit and also is where most of the actual build is. Even unpainted it's so nice to look at and pose, it is such a treat to build up what's practically the skeleton of an action figure. Obviously though painting it takes it to a whole other level, as I did here with metallic paints from Mr. Hobby Aqueous and Tamiya. It's just a real joy seeing all the wires and pistons contrasted with the frame, especially on the backside. I was almost ready to leave it as is without the armor it's so good, but it is Gundam Barbatos and not just a Gundam frame so we continue with…

The armor! Nothing too different from the original gundam colors though. Some slightly altered base colors here, a few off-white panels there, some messy panel lines because I didn't rescribe the lines partially out of laziness, but overall I'm very happy with how it came out. Probably the most accidentally impressive thing to me was all of the white being so smooth, minus a couple of spots. Even now looking at the kit in my hand I don't entirely know how I did that with a brush. I will always recommend the Mr. Hobby Aqueous paints in general but definitely for hand painting specifically. It has the benefits of being very easy to work with like water based acrylics and being more durable than those too. But let's not forget about...

The weapons! Only a bit more interesting here, as they're mostly metallic, using all of the same colors as the frame as well as some new ones. The body of the smoothbore gun is, like the other colors, a slight deviation from the color guide. At first I wasn't sure if the copper (Tamiya's XF-28 Dark Copper) on the sword edge was going to be too much, thinking maybe I should've used a silver like the pile bunker on the mace, but I think it works well and helps the sword stand out from the rest of the loadout.

After all that the only thing missing is a top coat, which I haven't done yet because summer weather in NC can be real wet. So for now it'll have to go without one. But I'm not upset about it, other than the three primary colors being glossy it's like it doesn't even need one and looks great as is so I may skip it entirely. We'll see, next time though I'm go back to doing a few high grades starting with some more G-Witch p-bandai kits! Hope you enjoy! ✌🏼

[thornybubbles]

Playing Minecraft with the Stardust Crusaders

**Note: Originally I was going to have this be a story with just Kakyoin, but I decided to add the rest of the Stardust Crusaders. Also I decided to just do headcanons instead of writing a full story. I’ve been writing a lot of dark yandere stuff and I just wanted a break. So here’s something wholesome. PS. Polnareff’s part was my favorite to write. XD **

Joseph

He may be an old man, but he’s not completely out of touch when it comes to the concept of video games. It takes him a little bit to learn how to play, but once he gets the hang of it, there’s no stopping him. Joseph’s building skills are pretty basic. He’s more interested in the survival and exploration elements of Minecraft. Once he gets his house built, he does a little mining to get a full set of iron armor, weapons, and tools and then he’s off to explore. He’s almost never seen around the main base and spends most of his time many, many blocks away, discovering cool things. He will often ask questions about things he’s unfamiliar with and you explain it to him. Sometimes he hardly speaks at all because he’s too enamored with all the stuff he’s discovering. 

Then there was the “Creeper Incident”. Joseph made the mistake of doing some exploring at night instead of going to sleep like a good little Minecrafter. 

“Hey, what’s this freaky green thing?” he asked you. 

“Freaky green thing? What kind of freaky green thing?” you said, wanting some specifics. 

“It looks like a depressed cactus,” he explained. 

Uh oh.

“Oh! That’s a cr---!” 

There was a distant explosion followed by Joseph screaming, “Oh my God! Son of a bitch!!!” 

After that, something changed in Joseph’s play style. He went from explorer to monster hunter. Angry at having been blown up and losing all his stuff, he goes on a vendetta to destroy all creepers. And why stop there? Zombies, spiders,skeletons or any other creature of the night that crosses his path were quickly dealt with. He goes deep into learning brewing, armor and weapon enchanting, and anything else he can think of to give him an edge against the hostile mobs. With Avdol’s help he builds a battle tower and protective wall around the base. He has very big dreams about taking out the Ender Dragon. 

Joseph is a bit of a jack of all trades when it comes to Minecraft. He may not be the best builder but he has a lot of creative ideas that help all of you with whatever projects you might be working on, especially when it comes to base defense and monster fighting.

Jotaro

He only ever plays when either you or one of the other Crusaders asks him to. When he first spawned in he wasn’t too impressed. He had a hard time figuring out what he wanted to do. At first, he doesn’t bother building a house or anything and just bums around his grandpa’s house. He makes a snide comment about how Joseph’s house is just a big, wooden block with one window and a door. Joseph grumbles something about how his house didn’t need to be pretty, just practical. Joseph ends up being the one to teach Jotaro how to play, while you occasionally interject to mention something Joseph may have forgotten about. Jotaro just responds with non-committal grunts and wanders around the base, checking things out. 

Eventually, he goes off on his own to explore and find somewhere nearby to build a house. He hasn’t collected any resources, has no tools, or crafted a weapon of any kind when he starts exploring. You try to warn him that he should at least get a wooden sword to defend himself with, but he ignores you. It isn’t until night comes and he is nearly killed by zombies that he finally decides to get some wood and stone and make some basic tools. He still hasn’t found a decent place to build yet, though.  

After he’s wandered around for about 4 in-game days, he comes across a village. Jotaro watches the villagers run around, doing their thing, and is bemused at their silly appearance and sounds. But when nighttime comes and zombies start attacking them, Jotaro feels he’s found his purpose in the game. Somebody has to protect these dumb looking guys and it may as well be him. He teams up with Avdol and Joseph (who is a little miffed that someone found a village before he did) to form a “Village Security Team”. While Avdol fixes the village up by patching holes in walkways, correcting poorly spawned buildings, and starting work on building a monster proof wall around the village, Jotaro and Joseph stay up at night to fight off the monsters. 

Eventually, Jotaro builds a massive fortress near the village and Avdol attaches the wall to it. This fortress serves as Jotaro’s home and the village becomes the secondary base for you guys. Joseph jokingly calls him “King JoJo” and “Your Highness” which usually has Jotaro grumbling under his breath. He spends most of his days decorating or improving either the fortress or the village itself. When he’s not doing that, he’s usually tagging along on one of his Grandfather’s adventures. 

Kakyoin

The redstone wizard of the group. Noriaki’s beaten the game a few times already, but only recently started messing around with redstone contraptions. He set up an automated farm that both harvests and replants crops as well as a huge mineshaft with minecarts set up so that they returned to the surface to be unloaded whenever players filled them up with resources.

As innovative as he is, though, he often uses his redstone skills to be an absolute troll. And usually, his victim is you. That’s not to say that he hasn’t pranked any of the others yet, it’s just that you’re his favorite target. It’s kinda your fault though. It started back when you first started playing Minecraft together and you might have, possibly, sorta, kinda, completely un-accidentally pilfered a diamond or two from one of his chests. He knew you were the culprit because there wasn’t anyone else in the game at the time but the two of you. He didn’t call you out on it, though, assuming that you would replace the diamonds as soon as you got a chance. You never did. While you actually did have every intention of returning the diamonds to him, you just forgot about it. It didn’t help that you later developed a habit of helping yourself to whatever you found in his chests instead of going out and getting the resources for yourself. Hey, it was easier and it saved time!

Nori never said a word about it, instead opting to quietly plan his revenge. One day you went down into his storage basement to grab some cobblestone from one of his chests. You were only going to grab a stack or two and make a mental note (for the hundredth time) to replace whatever you took, but knowing that you’d probably forget. When you opened the chest, though, you didn’t find any cobblestone. Instead you found yourself staring into the sullen face of a creeper, its warning hiss in your ears. You let out a shriek of terror and braced yourself for the inevitable explosion, but it never came. You examined the “creeper” again only to see that it was nothing more than an armor stand wearing a creeper head and green dyed leather armor. It was inside of a minecart that was cleverly hidden behind the chest. You just stared at it as your brain slowly came to the conclusion that you’d just been pranked. 

“Ah, I see you found my theft deterrent.” Noriaki said, amusement clear in his voice. “It’s a nifty little project I found online called the ‘creeper in a box’ prank.” 

You can’t even say anything. He got you good and you know it. You made it a point to stay out of his storage basement from then on. 

It doesn’t stop there though. That one little incident unleashed Noriaki’s inner troll and you’re the one who gets to suffer for it. From filling your house with dirt blocks to slowly rearranging your decorations over time to see how long it would take for you to notice, Noriaki just seems to love messing with you. You have to admit that while his pranks are annoying, they are pretty funny and too clever for you to really get mad at. Your “favorite” was when he hid a bunch of note blocks under your house and arranged them to play a certain song when you opened the front door. 

“Nori, why is my house Rick Rolling me?” you demand of him, annoyed but admittedly amused. 

“Why are you asking me?” he says, playing dumb. 

He knows what he did. 

You eventually do give him his diamonds back in hopes that will appease him. It does… for a little while at least. 

Avdol

The master builder. Before being invited to play Minecraft with you guys, he’d never really played a video game before. But there was something about the building mechanics of the game that awakened something within him, possibly nostalgia for those calm times with building blocks when he was a little kid. Whatever the case, Avdol takes to building like a pro and all without any YouTube tutorials, too. You want a medieval style bakery? You got one. Want a modern bungalow? He’ll do it. Giant fire breathing demon chicken to put in the middle of the base? You can envision the weird looks he wants to give you, but he’ll make one of those, no problem. His best projects are the ones he does on his own, though, with no guidance and with minimal suggestions. 

Due to his building skills, he finds himself constantly busy within the game as someone always has some kind of building project they want help with. He even offered to improve Joseph’s plain block house. The old man told him to do whatever he pleased and then went off to go treasure hunting with Jotaro and Kakyoin. When Joseph came back he found his simple home had been converted into a deceptively cute cabin. While Joseph was impressed enough with how cozy it looked, Avdol revealed that the cabin had a secret, a well hidden secret chamber that appealed to Joseph's inner superhero fanboy. He had his very own secret lair now (yeah, it’s not really a secret if everybody on the server knows about it, but let the old man dream)!

Over time, Avdol has added things here and there to the base to keep things from looking so plain. He’s added a decorated pond for fishing and just a place to hang out. There’s also a meeting area for when the whole gang gets together right before going on an adventure (brings back bittersweet memories. At least this time there’s no danger of anyone actually dying.). 

And yes, he even added that giant fire breathing demon chicken statue you wanted so badly. Your odd tastes aside, Avdol managed to make the abomination of a statue look rather cool and stylized. Kakyoin wants it to be the mascot for your group. It ends up being put on any and all banners for the base, much to Avdol’s chagrin. 

Every time he gets online with you guys he is either working on a project or starting another one. He never seems to run out of things to do. Surprisingly, his own home is rather quaint. Just a regular old farm house, but it’s very pretty. And yes, he has a chicken farm. 

Polnareff

Chaos incarnate. This man got into the game and immediately started doing everything WRONG! Digging straight down, forgetting to sleep at least once to ward off phantoms, forgetting to crouch when standing at the edge of great heights, you name it he’s messed it up. So basically just Polnareff being Polnareff. He always manages to find danger or danger finds him. Every monster in the area seems to target him specifically. On one mining trip you actually watched around five zombies shamble right past you and head straight for a very startled Polnareff. They completely ignored you! He’s died so many times that you actually put in the “keep inventory” cheat so that at the very least he stops losing all of his hard earned resources. 

Speaking of resources, when it comes to mining it’s the one thing that Jean Pierre is really, really lucky at. To the point that it makes everyone else jealous. He was the first to find diamonds and emeralds and the first to manage to get full stacks of both. You never even thought it possible to find 64 emeralds naturally, but Polnareff managed to pull it off. Joseph is quick to accuse him of cheating which results in a very childish argument between the two until you step in and explain that you were with Polnareff the whole time and he just finds diamonds and emeralds by chance. Joseph apologizes but grumbles when Polnareff laughs. Ever since then, whenever he comes across diamonds, or anything even remotely interesting, he is very obnoxious about it. 

“HEY GUYS!!! GUESS WHO FOUND EVEN MORE DIAMONDS?!!” he’ll shout in an annoying sing-song voice.

This usually results in annoyed huffs from Avdol and Kakyoin, disgruntled “Good griefs” from Jotaro, not-so-humble requests for him to stop bragging like an asshole from Joseph, and a threat or two from you that if he didn’t stop rubbing your faces in it, you would shove him into the nearest lava pit. This always earns a mischievous giggle or two from him. He’s so full of himself about it. He does make up for it though, when he crafts full sets of diamond armor for you all. For all his arrogant bragging, he’s really rather generous with his finds. If any of you need diamonds or emeralds he’s the first to offer up his stash. After all, he has so many, why shouldn’t he share? ~ ❤

Whenever he goes mining, you usually tag along. You say that it’s so you can help him carry his loot, but actually it’s because you’re his self appointed babysitter. Just like in real life, it just isn’t a good idea for him to run off by himself. You never say that out loud though because you know how sensitive he is about being danger-prone. Besides he likes having you along and the two of you end up as mining buddies almost every time you play. Sometimes Kakyoin joins you as he’s always in need of redstone and other materials for his contraptions (it’s important to note that Polnareff is Kakyoin’s second favorite trolling victim and it always makes you nervous whenever he tags along because you never know if he’s up to something or just genuinely wants to collect resources.). 

Whenever you and Polnareff go off on your own to do anything, the rest of the Crusaders server prepares their poor ears for the inevitable screaming and swearing that will follow. Something happens to you whenever you pair up with Polnareff. Your brain power seems to get cut in half and the two of you end up becoming an unintentional comedy duo that has everyone else either laughing or, in Jotaro’s case, muting you for being “too damn loud”. 

There was one time that Polnereff was digging a strip mine that ended up leading right into the Deep Dark and the Warden’s territory. You can probably guess what happened. Before you could warn him, Polnareff’s antics end up summoning the Warden and the monster kills you both before either of you have a chance to panic. This results in Polnareff seeking revenge (or trying to) and going all the way back to the Deep Dark to fight the Warden again (and dragging you along each time), and (both of you) dying again. This happens about three more times before he actually manages to defeat the Warden only to find out that he doesn’t get any kind of reward for it (other than bragging rights, which believe me, he takes advantage of). 

On a minor note, Polnareff’s inventory is always extremely unorganized. Whether referring to his personal inventory or his storage chests his inventory is in shambles. There’s no rhyme or reason for where he places things in his hotbar and sometimes he’ll end up hitting monsters with a stick or block of glass rather than his sword. He also has a bad habit of using the wrong tool for certain jobs, such as using his pickaxe on dirt instead of his shovel and it drives more organized players like Kakyoin and Avdol insane. 

BONUS:

Iggy

(We’re assuming that the little gremlin lives with you) While he can’t exactly play video games for obvious reasons, he does kinda like watching you play, but that’s only if he’s not trying to take a nap (you’re kinda noisy). Most of the time he just plops down in his comfy spot and watches you struggle to survive in what he mentally calls the “stupid human block game”. He is really amused whenever you and Polnareff team up because watching you two together is comedy gold. Sometimes, when you’re playing alone, he’ll wait for you to be exploring a dark, creepy cave and suddenly bark very loudly for no reason, causing you to very nearly jump out of your skin. 

Iggy: “BARK!”

You scream, swear, and jump back so hard that your headset falls off. Your mouse has been practically thrown across the room. You turn around and glare at the little brat. 

“IGGY!” you shout accusingly. 

The cheeky little doggo runs out of the room making sounds that can be interpreted as the canine equivalent of snickering.

[aeliem]

@zucchiyeni's dtiys

design credits: dust by @safwunsies nightmare by @justanidiotartist horror by @westaysilly killer by @zucchiyeni

timelapse & ramblings under the cut

i tried to put this in the tags but it was way too long so here are my.... ramblings? design notes? process? watever it is it's here now

killer is the one i changed the least, even the pose is pretty much the same i kept the asymetrical design from the dtiys (w/ one sleeve rolled up & only one shoulder w/ spikes) for the shoes i kinda went watever & put the spikes in the middle (i bet you it caused some of the holes in his jeans) i like to think he chose blue soles bc he did a collab w/ nightmare so that he's not the only one w/ cool colors his main color is still red, but i made the leather, t-shirt, metal & jeans blue-ish as a complementary color

for nightmare, i don't even know if his design is canon, but when i saw that the murder time trio did collabs w/ him i knew i had to draw it i didn't touch the base design itself but i switched the colors around a lot bc i really didn't know how to make it work w/ the rest of the characters i kept the base palette (blue/cyan, purple & pink) but had purple as a main & cyan as an accent color (pink itself is only there in the glitter) also yeah i put the glitter on his coat instead of his tentacles cuz i wanted to show his bones & tentacles are made/covered in the same goopy stuff, and the glitter kinda went in the way of that i like that his colors are really different from the other & you can tell he goes solo while they're in a band, but i think it's not too distracting

horror is my favorite, like he's just enjoying himself in the back its kinda sad i had to hide him behing both his drums & killer, i might post a version w/out it to show it off the drums were a pain in the ass ngl, i've never played them so i had to look at a lot of references in the end i just drew a basic drum set w/ the colors on the ref (red & gold), i added silver for the metal bits bc it's everywhere in the other's designs his design itself is unchanged, i just thought having him in red only felt boring so i added orange to his fur & shirt

i realized too late i couldn't show dust's head w/ the pose i drew T-T also drew his entire outfit then had to hide half of it because of his guitare this is why planning is important people his guitare rocks tho (pun intended) i tried to make him red & purple to match his eyes, but currently it's more of an orange salmon color w/ a dark grey pink eeeh the intent is there i guess i made his gloves fingerless cuz you can't tell me this dude plays guitare w/ full on gloves like i know they're skeletons but that's physically impossible i also added a strap to his guitare cuz unless he's using blue magic, he probably can't keep it up w/ only his right hand

[simplegenius042]

Late WIP Wednesday/Thursday

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton and @imogenkol

Tagging @aceghosts @noodlecupcakes @direwombat @voidika @la-grosse-patate @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @adelaidedrubman @shellibisshe @josephseedismyfather @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @florbelles @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink and @sledge-in-space + anyone who'd like to join.

WIPs for The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles, specifically The Tale Of Mario Emmet and Silva's Hope respectively. You can read these WIPs under the cut:

The Tale Of Mario Emmet is a fic set during the Five Nights At Freddy's: The Silver Eyes. This fic primarily focuses on my original character Mario Emmet, one of my main characters in The Perfect Storm saga and The UnTitledverse series as a whole, his journey of shedding his xenophobia towards others, and companionship with his human friends and eventual romance with Charlie Emily. It also somewhat diverges from the novels however by having "Dave Miller" unable to secure a spot as a night guard for the mall that surrounds "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza" (unfortunately, he will show up later). Mario's first introduction to Charlie and friends was while he was under the guise of a human... his second official introduction is messier and more hostile than the first, as shown below:

[TW: Description of a grotesque inhuman transformation. Very minor violence and blood as of now]

"Where do you think you're going?"

Charlie froze. Dread returned like the force of a freight train. John was quick to twist around, and his reaction confirmed her fear.

Mario was free.

As the others followed John's example, Charlie slowly glanced back to see Mario stepping out of the darkness of the animatronics maintenance room.

He wasn't close to her, separated several feet from each other, a gap that echoed the visceral betrayal of broken trust.

Mario's silver eyes glared into Charlie's brown with that same soul piercing gaze once more. From what Charlie could observe, Mario was hardly tired from the events of the night, nor of his earlier detainment. He held himself tall with determination and grit that matched her own.

"You aren't now, are you?" Mario chuckled, finding the idea incredulous, "After what you've all done tonight? None of you are leaving this building."

Clay took authoritative action immediately, taking his service weapon out to aim at the culprit behind his son's kidnapping and torment. John chose to take the chance to prioritize Charlie's safety over his own, stepping forwards to pull her back.

His initiative was inconvenienced by Charlie's unmoving state, though she was still conscious enough to pace a few steps back with him.

"Mario Emmet, put your hands in the air now!" Clay ordered the night guard, "You are under arrest. Any weapons you have on your person, you are to relieve yourself of them now. If you resist and attempt to endanger the life of civilians further, I will be forced to take lethal action. Do you understand?"

Mario did not shift his focus to Clay, intent on keeping Charlie trapped in their shared eye contact. His features twist to something less angry, and more doleful. He spoke, and Charlie could not help but believe that his words were solely for her to hear.

"Why couldn't you just let it rest?"

Charlie could not find it in herself to speak nor reply, and found herself unable to as John further pulled her behind the chief of police.

Mario soon returned to glaring, shifted his attention to Clay as he scrutinized the wider man.

A tense silence overtook the building; Mario staring down Clay, Charlie being held protectively in John's arms, Jessica supporting Carlton while Marla and Lamar kept their arms defensively on Jason.

From what Charlie could deduce, past Mario's glare was a pensive consideration. She could tell he was weighing his options, in spite of what little opportunity Clay was leaving him with.

Clay's features hardened, as he kept his weapon on Mario with little intent to misfire should Mario prove to be more unreasonable than he was.

As Clay was about to open his mouth to give a warning, Mario broke the tense silence with a sigh, raising his hands up in surrender. It caught Charlie by surprise; it seemed uncharacteristic of him to take such a chance. He didn't have any weapons on him, that she was sure of.

In spite of what should be an uplifting turn of events on the long frivolous night, she couldn't help but feel something felt wrong, but she couldn't figure out why.

Clay released some of the tension he had been shouldering, one hand retreating from his service weapon to reach for his cuffs as he steadily made his way towards Mario.

With Clay's guard weakened, a newfound glint sparked in Mario's eyes.

Charlie noticed it before anyone else, but was unable to efficiently put a stop to Mario's following actions much like everyone else.

Clay had taken a step closer when his shoulder was pierced by a bulky and sharp serrated appendage. It wasn't a hook like Foxy's; more similar to the claws of a praying mantis.

He lost grip of his weapon from the sudden pain of a well-planned attack. The claw separated from Clay, dripping blood to stain the dirty tiles. A red stain grew on his clothes around the wound.

Clay stumbled back, with both Charlie and John forcing themselves to move in order to catch the chief as Carlton called out for his father in alarm.

With Clay groaning and hissing under their arms, Charlie turned her attention back to Mario, and her eyes widened.

The claw retracted to Mario's arm, shifting and breaking apart into his hand. He flexed his hand, rubbing his wrist.

His silver eyes held the group where they stood, most trying to understand the logistics of what just occurred. Charlie, though, was the only one amongst them that came to a conclusion that, while unbelievable, was comprehensible to her.

Mario sighed, sneering at the group with a disdain that, in the short time Charlie knew him, didn't think he was capable of.

"I know that this is... hard for you to come to terms with," Mario stated, and though cold, there was a hint of sincerity, "I know the instinct to run, hide, resist... is coursing through your blood as we speak. Your... fear is evident. And I know you will think this unfair."

Mario took a step forward, the ceiling light above him flickering. Perhaps it was age. Or maybe, Charlie found herself thinking, It is something else entirely.

"After all, it's not your fault that you came here tonight," Mario continued, his voice low but audible, "You were lured here by your grief. Your longing for a friend who was taken from you - unjustly, of course- by a malicious force that held no remorse nor empathy for the victims he left bleeding. For that I cannot fault you. For that, you have my sympathy."

The ceiling lights soon followed the example of the first, all flickering at a pace with no rhythm, no justification given the functional state of the generators.

As Mario continued his slow approach, Charlie and John dragged a pale Clay to the safety of their group. There was a small gasp from within their half-circle, grabbing Charlie's attention like everyone else's.

"The exit!" Jason called out, panic creeping into his tone.

Following where the boy pointed, the group felt dread crawl its ugly head to peek into their hearts as they realized the root of Jason's distress- the broken down bricks that Clay had entered through the restaurant was mended once more into a solid wall.

Their exit was gone - including the sealed door.

"However," Mario gained the groups attention as the atmosphere grew tenser, "In spite of my lenience to allow you to make your peace while you could, you have continuously encroached upon my territory, disrupted my nest. My haven, with little apology and little sincerity in your promises to leave, with an intent to keep coming back. Like your redhead friend, you've all reached too close to the sun little Icarus's. So now, there must be a penalty."

His words became more distorted as he spoke, an echo behind his voice as his body began to twitch as unnaturally as the lights above them.

With each passing flicker, Charlie witnessed how his body changed; the skin on his face hardened and grew pale, his body slimmer till his skin seemed to cling to his bones, like some starved beast. Limbs elongating until he was tall and lank, his uniform morphing into his body as it darkened and changed color.

Claws that weren't too dissimilar to steel broke from his finger tips, as well as femur spines that belonged to an insect protruding from his thighs. His withered into nothing, white stripes forming across his dark limbs.

Despite what she was witnessing - what they all were witnessing - the worst part was the sounds. Hearing flesh tearing like paper, snapping and crunching like bones, and a guttural groan unlike that of a hungry predator was an unsettling experience that sickened Charlie.

The transformation neared its completion, with Mario's head widening to inhuman degrees; his forehead, complimented with a concerning crack on the left, became a discerning appearance, just as his mouth widened too- spread past the limits of an actual human.

Various unnatural features decorated his face and body; the circles imitating rosy cheeks, the pair of twin specks that seemed to emulate brows, red lipstick around the lip-less mouth and the twin trails of blue that ran down to his smile. His no longer wore a uniform; it was instead replaced with a sleeveless buttoned vest that manifested a small cape that reached down to his hips. A flower bloomed on his right side, and a bow tie at his neck.

The last change was his eyes; the white of his sclera melted into the creeping darkness, his silver iris with it. A new pair of eyes replaced them, rolling up from below. His pupils were white instead of black, his irises shined silver with a small darker ring separating the pupil from the bigger, more mesmerizing rings.

His appearance was alien and wrong and... so familiar to Charlie. Perhaps an unfinished animatronic glimpsed in his garage. But this... was warped and personalized in a sense - tailored to fit his preferences. The thought invoked rejection towards the impossibility of the situation; seeking logic that wasn't there as confusion froze her in place.

Everyone else were more afraid than anything else. Except for Mario, who seemed apologetic rather than enthusiastic.

"You have disturbed my nights long enough, taking what little I could grant you. What little I could conserve. And thus, there must be a 'give' to return on your part," Mario stated or... whatever he truly was, with voice littered with guttural snarls and chitters, "Know I did not want this. I'd never think to do this. But you've left me with little choice. I've ignored my hunger long enough. And besides..."

Mario gazed directly into Charlie's shocked brown eyes.

"...you can't fight your nature."

Jessica's hands gripped onto Charlie, pulling her closer to the huddled group as Carlton took over supporting his dad from John. His grey eyes glanced over to the animatronics that were by the sidelines... including the golden bear that Michael was inside.

"Uh... guys," he caught the others attention, directing it to the animatronics on standby.

Until all, with exception to Michael, began to make their way to the hallway.

Why aren't they staying?

"Go join the others Michael," Mario tells the Golden Bear. There seems to be some garbled indiscernible reply from the suit... a protest perhaps?

Though it's seems to be all for naught when Mario snaps back, "Go back to slumber Michael. I'll make this quick."

Michael lingers, but the glint of life in the bear suit's sockets flicker out; darkness cast over the yellow suit.

"Now," Mario growled when he turned his attention to them, clawed tendrils breaking from under his shoulders, as another pair of thin legs extend out from the two limbs, reminiscent of a spider, "It's time to feed."

For Silva's Hope, allow me to present to you Silva's first of many face-offs with one Nadi Sinclair, aka John's right hand (and simp), aka former member of Taskforce 141 (from Call To Arms duology), aka a really good shot! Enjoy below:

[TW: Violence and blood and dead Peggies]

Another shot rang out, the glass of the wrecked ute shattered above her.

Silva scooted away from any openings her unseen attacker had on her, shrunk low while she kept her limbs close to herself.

With another shot, a bullet dented into the ute, but remained strong against her attacker.

She could hear gunfire and shouts from enemies and allies alike, as the peggies assault Fall's End and the valley's Resistance defend themselves.

She inspects her glock, swiftly checking her magazine.

Empty.

Silva banged the back of her head against the vehicle's metal, cursing herself for her shortsightedness.

She puts the glock back into her holster, hand reaching for her knife.

Until a peggie rounded the corner of the ute, shovel in his hands and raising it to hit her.

Surprised, Silva barely had enough time to roll away from the strike. The peggie, who's eyes seem glazed with a misty green, slammed his shovel against the dirt, face etching with confusion.

And clarity once I'm done with him, Silva thought as she brought out her knife, the stone handle feeling right in her gloved hands. As she moved to deliver a killing blow, there was a small part of herself that felt like she was forgetting something.

A familiar bang rang out, and Silva realized she was going to get a painful reminder of the situation she had gotten stuck in to punish her instincts.

Silva doubled over, her knife dropped as the sharp sting was replaced with a burning pain once the bullet excited her bicep. Silva clutched her wound, blood seeping into her gloves. She dropped to the floor when another shot was fired, hitting the ground nearby.

The peggie used her disadvantage to attack, throwing himself onto her. Silva had rolled to her back to counter, but only managed to grip onto shovel's handle.

She quickly realised he wanted to choke her out with it, either to kill her or render her unconscious. Neither was appealing, and opted to keep his shovel from her throat.

Which was proving difficult from the strain of the wound she received from John's sharpshooter, the pressure and applied strength weakening her grip against the ridiculously strong peggie.

As the handle crept closer to her throat, her strength just about ready to give in, a shot rang out.

And the peggie's brain matter and blood sprayed against the white ute, his corpse collapsing onto her.

Shoving it off, she searched for her attacker. Until she recognized a familiar green laser pointer that belonged to her rescuer.

Following the green light, she saw Grace had set herself up on the garage's roof.

Her radio burst to life, Grace's voice piercing through the chaos of gunfire and yells, "You good Deputy?"

Silva let out a relieved huff, hissing when she moved her wounded arm. She used her functional hand to grab the radio and reply, "Got a gunshot wound to the bicep. Went clean through but got nothing to clean it or stitch myself up with. Not to mention-"

A bullet denting the roof of the ute interrupted her, followed by a shot to the hood and the deflation of a tire.

"-I've got this gillipollas hounding after me. How's everything over on your part?"

"Jerome's leading the push back against the Peggie's front assault while Mary May's keeping the wounded inside her bar and restocking any ammo we need," Grace informs Silva as she fires a shot far off from Silva, "John's bodyguard, Sinclair, is holed up on the water tower. I guess neither she nor John were happy with the destruction of their new toy."

Silva could guess she was referring to the Revelator. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she responded, "Can you reach her from your position?"

Grace hummed, but not the affirmative kind, "Negative, and neither can she, though her ire seems more focused on you. However, I can take out the blissed-out peggies running toward your position."

Of course there's more of that guy. Which wouldn't be an issue if she could use both her hands, a loaded gun and didn't have to worry about John's enthusiastic psycho sniper blowing her head off.

Taking slow methodic breaths, Silva used the dropped shovel to safely reach for her knife, managing to return it to her waiting hand as another shot broke off the shovel's spade.

She inquired, "Is there any cover I could run up to?"

"Barely, but enough to be out of Sinclair's scope," Grace affirmed, much to Silva's relief, "I'd advise going for the peggie van furthest to your right."

"Can you cover me?" Silva asked, legs prepped to make a run. Her wound ached, but she forced herself to push back the pain. Gripping her knife with her good hand, she awaited Grace's response.

The radio came to life once more, and Grace assured her, "I've got your back, Dep."