#technically this could just be one of them but with the star (that’s obscured by the others hand) i think the intent is clear | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cloversnstrawberries · 14 days ago

Note

Can I request a platonic yandere Stars members (Wesker, Jill, Chris, etc) with a fellow stars member

If won't/don't do multiple people, could you do Wesker or Chris

All of your work has been very good and I love the layout of your blog and the actual work

Have a good day or night

platonic!yandere!S.T.A.R.S & S.T.A.R.S!gn!reader headcanons ! !

masterlist !

includes albert wesker, jill valentine, chris redfield, and rebecca chambers !

additional notes; hello!! i absolutely can do multiple people, and thank you so much for dropping this request, i had a lot of fun writing it :) and aaugudhg,,, i literally died when i read this,, you're so sweet (˃̣̣̥ ︿ ˂̣̣̥) i'm sorry i took so long to finish this!! i really wanted to make sure they all had a lot of content/were equal (more or less) in word count :D i also hope i got their characterizations correct,,

the dynamics for this is fatherly albert, big sister jill, big brother chris (+sister claire, because i find myself incapable of not including her), and little sister rebecca!! yandere found family dynamics.. yandere found family dynamics save me...

warnings; Overprotectiveness, possessiveness, jealousy, (very slightly) implied kidnapping(?), manipulation, guns, light violence/mention of, Reader being left out of the loop, isolation, and probably more that i may have forgotten :[ if you think there's any I should add, please let me know!! :D

w/c; Albert (3.0k) | Jill (2.6k) | Chris (2.9k) | Rebecca (3.3k)

Albert Wesker

Even if you weren't qualified for it, he'd have you on the Alpha team. You’d been shooting for a position in the Bravo team, but somehow-- someway, you managed to charm your way into the captains good graces, enough for him to put you in the Alpha team,

Don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean you're going on missions with them. There were a few times where you did-- only because his higher ups (Umbrella, though you didn’t know that’s who he had to answer to) forced Wesker's hand, saying that you'd need to be demoted if you weren't actually going out in the field.

No, you were usually stuck behind, doing paperwork. You weren't complaining-- not usually, anyways. Yes, it often got boring and repetitive at times; but it's leagues better than the chaos you'd had to endure on the few required missions you went on every now-and-again.

And even then, your captain claimed they were some of the more mild missions the team had gone on. If that was mild, you sure as hell didn't want to see what the extreme could possibly be.

All in all, you were pretty alright with being saddled with all the technical things-- there were some you couldn't do, like the personal recounts that members had to fill out after a particularly high-stakes mission; but you did a good chunk of it.

One time, when you were heading to the break room for your lunch-- passing by Wesker's office, you heard him being... unusually loud. Animated, you're sure; the frosted window giving way to the interior obscured the finer details, but you could still see how he paced back and forth.

His hand was pressed to his ear-- no, his hand was holding a phone; the kind that can detach from their bases, that he was pressing to his ear, and you could practically feel the agitation that was just radiating off of him in droves.

It's not your fault-- that your curiosity got the best of you. That you tucked yourself against the nearby wall and pressed your ear to the door. If Wesker ever found out that you'd been eavesdropping, then he'd surely demote you-- or fire you entirely, was the more logical conclusion.

Which gave you all the more reason to not get caught. Despite it all, you liked this job. You liked the people you worked with-- you couldn't bare the thought of losing this job, if only because of your beloved co-workers.

The door was thick, but your captain was loud enough that you could catch most of the conversation.

It seemed like he was talking to his higher-ups-- strange, the thought of him having to answer to anyone but himself. It makes sense, though-- now that you've come face to face with it.

"I'm not sending them with the others," was what you heard first. You wondered who he was talking about-- and what he wouldn't be sending this mysterious person to, that seemingly, all other S.T.A.R.S members were going to.

...Quickly, you realized the only logical conclusion was that he referring to you. Maybe it was a high-stake mission, and whoever held authority over him (God, that never stops feeling like a strange concept to you) was saying you hadn't met whatever mission-quota required to stay on the Alpha team.

Which checks out, seeing as you were trained for the Bravo team-- graduating in the same class as Rebecca Chambers, not a single lick of real-world experience under your belt; you got the job on the basis that it'd be smaller stuff. Easy stuff, something a rookie like yourself could easily do without much trouble or personal harm.

For some god-forsaken reason, Captain Wesker was certain you'd make a fantastic fit for the Alpha team.

Whoever his higher-ups were, didn't seem to agree with him at all. And you wouldn't blame them! The last mission left you so shaken that Wesker told-- no, demanded-- you to take PTO. Reluctantly, you'd gone along with it. he sent you away with a pat on the shoulder, telling you to relax-- not worry about work for the three days he'd allotted you.

You weren't even sure if he could do that, just hand you PTO out of the blue. But then again, he is your boss-- and you have no personal experience in being such a thing to anyone, so who's to say.

Suddenly, a crash sounded out behind the door-- you jumped, leaning just a little further forward to make sure nothing seriously bad happened--

One of the chairs opposite from Wesker's own, the ones he'd tell anyone from interviewees to employees to have a seat in-- had somehow tilted over, and the loud crash was from when it collided with the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume that Wesker had, in a fit of uncharacteristic (to your knowledge) and explosive anger, shoved the innocent piece of furniture over.

A funny though— your captain, usually so calm and collected, doing something as silly as shoving a over a chair because he was having a tough time with his boss(es),

Really, you should've pulled yourself back-- but you felt rooted to the spot, watching as the clouded, but still recognizable, figure of Albert Wesker was absolutely just seething inside the office-- even through the barrier, you could see how tightly he was gripping the phone. Any harder, and it'd probably turn to dust in his palm.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration-- but he was holding it very, very tightly; his jaw clenched so hard that you worried for his teeth. If it'd been you, your teeth would've cracked ages ago with how tightly he grinding them together.

"I don't care what the execs want, Birkin! They're not going. I'm not sending them in like the others." Huh. That was the first time you'd ever gotten a name to the mysterious, possible higher-ups of your captain. You don't recognize the name from the precinct-- or any branch of Raccoon City law enforcement.

Maybe not a higher-up, then? Perhaps an acquaintance, or someone on a similar level of work hierarchy as Wesker? Maybe even a friend, if you were feeling so inclined.

But that didn't explain why they appeared to be talking about something relating to S.T.A.R.S, about a mission that you (you assumed he was talking about you, but you could be wrong) were being completely barred from for seemingly no reason.

Then, Wesker laughed-- an incredulous sort of noise, equal parts angry as it was mocking to whoever was on the receiving end of this phone call.

"What's got him so riled up...?" You mumble to yourself, unable to keep in your confusion-- as soon as you realized your mistake, Wesker paused. You darted back, heart pounding-- you should just head for your lunch break already. you were afforded a generous 30 minutes, but you'd probably used 1/4th of the time allotted,

If you weren’t careful, you'd waste half, or maybe even the entirety, of your break; if you didn’t restrain your curiosity soon,

And yet, you didn't leave. Didn't turn on your heel and run away like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Warily, you stared at the door-- willing the knob not to turn, praying to whatever would answer you that your boss hadn't heard that little question you'd intended entirely for yourself.

When you pacing started up again, his heavy boots thudding against the scratched hardwood floor of his office-- you breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and continued the task at hand.

This time, you didn't dare lean forward to see what he was doing. Having learned your lesson, you stayed far from the window; but just close enough to hear clearly.

A heavy, heaving sigh came next-- and you could practically visualize it now, your captains ever-present sunglasses pushed up to rest on his head, disturbing his perfectly gelled hair just a tad-- fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"What am I going to do with them, huh?" He... was repeating what the other person, this Birkin, said over the phone-- you think. That's the only way you could make sense of why he could've possibly said that.

A few moments of silence followed, before Wesker-- tone eerily calm, such a stark contrast to the irritated-- no, dare you say enraged-- demeanor he'd had less than five minutes ago.

It was giving you whiplash-- Wesker didn't make much sense with his emotions and personal actions on a good day, when he was actively trying to make himself understandable to you and the other S.T.A.R.S members.

He must be pretty damn close with this Birkin person-- making no attempts to hide his strangeness, the almost cryptic and archaic way he experienced and expressed his feelings.

"Well, you know better than to think I'll spill it all over the phone, Birkin." The name was said more fondly, supporting the idea that this Birkin was a friend of your captains-- we all get annoyed with our friends form time to time, yeah? Maybe that was it.

Maybe... this wasn't even about S.T.A.R.S at all? Would that be considered a stretch? You aren't too sure, the nerves eating away at you eased at the thought-- the idea that Albert was simply speaking about his own personal affairs.

In the absence of your anxiety about being involved in whatever he was talking about, you felt an immense guilt settle, heavy and suffocating in the back of your mind.

You had half the mind to just turn on your heel and head back to work-- to eat lunch at your desk, and work twice as hard on your assignments that day. Either because you wanted something to take your mind off the fact that you butted in on your Captains personal life (something he's obviously very cagey about in the first place, god knows how he'd react knowing that you'd pried some information about it from listening into his conversation, while he stayed entirely unaware to your presence) -- whichever made the most sense. Both, if you were feeling like being honest with yourself.

But, the next thing he said made your blood run cold-- your muscles lock up and your spine straighten. You're sure you resembled a rabbit ready to bolt than a trained (albeit new) member of S.T.A.R.S.

"But I'll let you in on a little secret," His voice wasn't as loud as it was clear-- precise, and it felt as if he was directly addressing you-- but you knew that couldn't possibly have been it.

"I've grown rather fond of them, and I don't feel like giving them up to be one of our little lab rats.” After that ominous bit of information was dropped like a bomb on you, Wesker went quiet.

The person on the other side of the phone must've been responding-- within half a minute, Wesker continued speaking himself.

"I wouldn't call them a pet, Birkin. More like a companion. To call them a pet would suggest they're so much lower than me; which isn't true at all." For a split second-- despite all the... strangeness of his other words, and the context of it all (no matter how disjointed and incomplete it was with you), you let warmth curl around your heart and ease any aches and pains.

For a second, you'd imagined that-- minus the clear superiority complex, he could've been giving you this odd compliment. Could be complimenting you to his friend.

You knew it wasn't so, but you couldn't help but dream for it. You always craved Wesker's praise and approval, no matter how pathetic it'd be to admit that, it was the truth. Honestly, you're surprised you haven't accidentally called him dad before.

And if you did let something like that slip without catching yourself, you'd hand in your two-week notice yourself-- given that you don't die of embarrassment before you had the chance to.

He laughed-- you'd never heard him do that before. Sure, he’s chuckled before; and he'd snickered a few times, but never laughed.

You were shocked by how he laughed-- it seemed more fit for a cartoon villain rather than a specialized police force captain. Maybe that's why he didn't do it often? Previously, you'd just assumed he found very little amusement in most things; or was just physically incapable of laughing for some unforeseen reason.

He'd stopped pacing a little while ago-- you'd been far more focused on his words, that you hardly saw a point in keeping track of his movement, or lack of such.

But, oh god, did you realize it when he started moving again--

It sounded like he was heading toward the door.

"I know, Birkin." Your captain said-- his voice closer. Fear gripped your heart; you had to move, you had to move now, or he'd find you out and you'd be absolutely done for-- That's something you can't really get past in this line of work, eavesdropping on your bosses private conversations-- whether or not he was speaking with a higher-up or a personal acquaintance.

No matter what, if that door opened and he saw you-- then you could kiss your job goodbye, and probably any chance to get a different job in this field ever again.

Nobody liked a Nosy Nancy, did they? Especially not Wesker-- who'd snapped at nearly everyone (noticeably, everyone but you) who'd had the misfortune of even entering the goddamn breakroom while he was in there and taking a call.

He laughed again, far too close for comfort-- you had enough wits about you to stumble back; if he were to open the door now, your position wouldn't as incriminating as before. No longer bracing against the wall, ear pressed to the door of his office.

But still, not a very good look; you just standing there. But your curiosity would be the end of you-- it made you stay stuck to the spot, wanting to catch the last bit of the conversation, even if you didn't understand it at all.

"Yes, yes. I'll be sure to keep them out of your work. As long as you keep your work from them, You know how I feel about my things getting damaged." The knob began to turn-- and as the door began to creak open, the beep! from his phone signaling that the call was over--

You still didn't move, not until the very last minute; turning on your heel, you barely got a few steps forward before your heart dropped your stomach, at the sound of--

"How long have you been out here?" He... didn't sound mad. A strange undertone of... amusement, you think, colored his tone. Fear and relief flooded your body at once-- relief at the idea that he didn't know any better,

And fear that you'd have to either fess up, or lie to cover your ass.

"I just got here, sir." You said, lying through your teeth. It's moments like these, where the fact he's always wearing sunglasses makes you feel even more nervous then if he wasn't-- because, as it was, he was absolutely impossible to get a read on, expression wise.

Then again, there's no real telling if him losing the sunglasses would help at all-- but it still gave you immense anxiety. Not being able to see the look in his eyes, not being able to see any possible emotion he may hold in them.

A few seconds pass by, spent by internally queueing up your goodbyes to your fellow co-workers-- bracing yourself for the worse, for him the reveal that he knew you were lying; because obviously, he'd know. You were an awful liar, and he'd told you so numerous times before,

Though, always with a sort of fondness in his tone-- the kind he never seemed to spare to anyone besides you. At least when you're present, that it-- could be a completely different story while you out of the room.

...Probably not, given how your colleagues always seem to surprised by how 'soft' Wesker was with you-- it'd gained him the nickname 'momma bird', only whispered when you all know that there's not chance of him finding out about it.

"Hm," He said-- before stepping to the side, pulling the door with him, his arm outstretched, silently inviting you inside. You didn't take it, still so nervous-- had he seen you? did he see through your lie?

"Well then, aren’t you going come in? There is something you wish to speak with me about, yes? Or were you just checking in on my well-being?” Finally, you felt the pressing weight of absolute hopelessness lift from your shoulders, the tension visibly leaving your body all at once.

He quirked a brow at your silence, at your immobility-- you jolted, and nodded enthusiastically, scanning your brain for anything you could possibly talk to him about. You'd just been on your way to lunch-- that was it, you had nothing to speak with him about.

But he seemed... expectant. And you swore you saw a smirk on his face--

Well, it was better not to overanalyze it. You followed his 'invitation' (more like a command) and headed into his office; he gestured to the two chairs opposite of his own bigger, fancier one-- he hadn't picked the chair up from the ground yet, you realize.

You stood there for a moment, before picking it up for him. However, you sit in the other one. He gave you a token "Thank you." Before walking around the desk and sitting in his own chair.

Never in your life had you been so quick to bullshit some random, silly question-- that strange little smirk never left his face, but you opted to ignore it in its entirety. If you kept thinking about it, that'd only serve to make you even more anxious.

You didn't know it-- you didn't know how he was looking at you from beneath the sunglasses, like he was studying you. Like he was planning something-- and maybe if you had, maybe if his eyes hadn't been obscured and you would've somehow caught the concerning glint in them, then maybe you could've saved yourself a hell of a lot of trouble down the line.

Jill Valentine

When you first joined S.T.A.R.S, you and and Jill hit it off in an instant-- getting along like a house on fire, Chris jokingly remarked.

You could either be on Alpha or Bravo team, but no matter what, Jill latched onto you like nobodies business. Showing you around the office-- at times hijacking the tour your boss was giving, just so she could give it herself. She always got away with it because she was so enthusiastic about it.

If you were on Alpha team, she'd constantly be pairing up with you during missions; no doubt about it, she's keeping you as close as humanly possible. You don't have a choice in it.

Now, if you were apart of Bravo-- she'd definitely try to change that, to put a good word in for you to Wesker... only to get shot down, and for him to tell her that you were right where you were supposed to be. And unless you showed a 'great deal of talent he otherwise hasn't seen', then you would stay with the Bravos.

Suddenly, after that conversation, she started to drag you from your desk and take you to the shooting range-- like, daily. She'd try her best to help you improve anyway she could, including (but certainly not limiting) how to handle a gun, how to properly utilize a melee weapon against both an unarmed and armed perp, hand-to-hand combat, how to pin someone bigger than yourself down and keep them down,

and of course, her Specialty, lockpicking. You took to it like a fish to water, she said-- it was by far what you were best at among the things she tried to teach you at the point, and she could barely contain her glee at that fact.

However... it was a completely different story for the other things she tried teaching you. The kinds of skills that you develop naturally over an extended period of time, over multiple missions. Something you can't just... learn.

You weren't skilled enough in aim to hold a gun like she tried to teach you to, and in the same vein-- you weren't skilled enough in handling the gun to use the tips and tricks she gave you for aiming.

It was like a never ending cycle, where you couldn't do one thing, and when she tried to target it form another angle-- that didn't work either, because you couldn't do the first thing.

It was extremely frustrating for the both of you, particularly Jill. She did great at not showing it, though. She was all smiles as she gave you a pat on your shoulder, and said you'd get it eventually.

Eventually was the keyterm-- but Jill refused to believe that'd it'd take any longer than two weeks tops to get you up to Alpha team status.

That, evidently, did not happen. She had to switch tactics, and came up with the idea of doing more joint missions with Bravo.

Jill is very... protective, and at first, you thought nothing of it. You saw it as normal for this line of work, for her to be watching your back-- always checking in on you after missions, trying to push you to be your best, so on and so forth.

But then, you started to notice just how... far she could go with it. Apparently, if she was in the office and you were out on a mission-- she wasn't able to get anything done, and all she could do was just wait for you.

Her captain-- the head honcho, someone you don't like interacting with all too much out of pure, unexplainable primal terror at his very presence, often referred to her as 'your dog', 'your guard dog', your 'lap dog', or something else along those lines.

You wanted to tell him to stop, that it was degrading to Jill and just plain rude-- but you were too scared to stand up to him. It was silly, how a S.T.A.R.S member-- even if you were apart of the secondary team-- could go on missions and be just fine, but tremble at the idea of asking your boss to 'please stop calling your employee, my co-worker and friend, a dog'.

However, when he'd say it in front of Jill, she never seemed too bothered by the title.

If anything, she looked proud to be labeled as your guard dog-- one time, you asked her about it. Asked if it bothered her, and told her that if need be, you could probably sic the regular RPD police captain on Wesker if she was too afraid to speak up against it (God knows you were).

That conversation... didn't go how you were expecting it to. Actually it didn't go anywhere, not by your measures at least.

Jill laughed, said "Oh, that's just how he is!" and then completely switched topics, asking you if you'd watched Blade yet-- and if you wanted to tag along to the theaters with her to see it.

You didn't have the heart to steer the conversation back, so you just let her dodge it. But hey-- at least you got to see a movie out of it? Granted, she was probably going to ask you anyways, but still. It takes away a bit of the guilt you have for not pushing the issue, weirdly enough.

At some point, whether or not you get on the Alpha team doesn't matter anymore-- because somehow, for a completely archaic reason that nobody (including yourself) but the two main people involved could figure out, Wesker begins planning and executing more joint missions between the two teams.

It'd be a good thing, if you could just believe that this was entirely the A team captain's doing-- of course with the involvement of your captain as well, but he was much less involved from what you could tell.

But the thing is-- you just couldn't bring yourself to believe it. The proud, almost victorious looks Jill kept giving you on the first few joint missions-- like the cat who caught the canary, or a gladiator who just won the match of the century-- made you question if the decision had laid solely on Wesker.

During this joint missions, Jill was hard-pressed to let you out of her sight. Even when your captain suggested the teams go opposite ways; you always stuck behind. Maybe because you didn't want to worry Jill,

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because of the way her grip tightened on your hand, arm, shoulder-- wherever she was holding you-- tight enough to bruise (if you didn't have your tactical gear on, of course).

Whatever the reason was, whether it be one of the two, or an unseen third option, you never split off with you team on these joint missions.

Neither captains said anything of it-- sure, Marini would give either Wesker or Jill a strange, almost suspicious, look-- but he never commented on it. At least, he never commented on it with you.

It was strange, yes, but you chocked it up to her history in the military-- for lack of a better reason. Maybe she saw a rookie in need of help, and took it upon herself to help you any way she could; that much was evidenced by her rigorous training sessions she'd been subjecting you to until the joint missions started up.

But still, it didn't feel like... that. It didn't feel like she was simply a co-worker-- you saw her as a friend, and you're sure she felt the same about you; she never seemed to have viewed you as her subordinate, like you'd viewed her as your superior for a(n albeit short) amount of time.

You and Jill hung out all the time outside of work, completely unrelated to S.T.A.R.S at all-- movies, skating rinks, and carnivals; anything and everything interesting happening in and around Raccoon City, Jill was always sure to drag you along.

Then, it escalated to hanging out at each others apartments/homes. More often than not, it'd be her place-- it was nicer than yours, an actual home and not just a residence. There were pictures and posters hung up all over the place, her own personal touch having reached every corner of the apartment.

Sometimes, you'd forget how you met her-- that she was really just a co-worker, at the end of the day. You were fresh out of training, slapped right in the workforce, where you'd met Jill. You don't know how these things work, in all honesty, you never quite understood how to make friends past the kindergarten way of going up to someone, hand extended, and straight-up asking "Wanna be friends?"

Eventually, you progressed to practically living with Jill. It was unofficial-- but with how many sleepovers you two had, you were barely at your own place anymore. Hell, you had your own toothbrush at her place!

She didn't comment on it much-- the one time she did, you two were camped out in her living room; the couch pushed back, chairs pulled from her kitchen table and various sheets and blankets draped over them; pillows and cushions below, along with more blankets.

A pillow fort, to say the least. Right in front of her big CRT TV-- you were watching X-Files, something Jill had expressed interest in started, but only wanted to if you started with her.

You were dropped right at the start of Season five-- there was a marathon going, preparing for the new season that was preparing to release 'soon' (it never said a specific date, just an ominous 'soon' was all the network could afford at this point), but you two picked up on the little bits and pieces pretty quick, piecing it together with things from previous seasons that'd you'd hear here and there from others.

both of your were laying on your stomachs, propped up by pillows so you could 'sit up' comfortably, your arms braced against the floor, while Jill was more or less laying down, her chest resting on her folded arms as she watched the TV diligently.

When it cut to commercial, she turned to you, and out of the blue, just...

"When I was a kid, I always wanted a sibling, y'know?" You turned to face her, and hummed in acknowledgement, "Oh?" You said, prompting her continue the thought.

She turned back to the TV, mindlessly staring at the Mr Clean ad playing at the time-- but it was obvious her mind was elsewhere, she probably didn't even register when the ads switched, or what it had switched to.

"Yeah," She started off with, as the ad transitioned to Taco Bell "A little one, specifically. One I could share clothes with, give advice to," She turned to you again, a sly little smile on her face as her arm reached out and lightly-- playfully, barely any force behind it-- pushed you.

"Sleepovers in the living room-- all that jazz. The stuff they showed on TV and I read about in Babysitters Club." You felt a smile break out over your own face-- a warmth blooming in your chest.

Maybe this wasn't normal for co-workers-- to view each other as family, just like you two did; but you didn't care. Whether or not it was a normal thing remained unseen by you, but even if it wasn't...

You wouldn't trade it for the world.

...Even if Jill got a little too protective at times-- acting more like those dads in films, that'd come to greet their daughters prom date with a shotgun in hand and a violent threat on their tongue than the sister figure you viewed her as.

On one of your more low stakes joint-missions, one where you all had to track down a group of lost frat boys from the local university (who'd gotten turned around in the local forest while high, and cried about zombified dogs hanging around when you'd found them), one of the aforementioned frat boys had the grand idea of hitting on you.

His bad pick-up line was cut short as a gun shot whizzed by you two-- just narrowly missing his head, and loading itself into a tree about 30 feet back.

Understandably, he started freaking out-- he pointed to Jill, and yelled about how she tried to kill him. Wesker shot her a glare-- you think he did, couldn't really tell with the sunglasses, but the way he tilted his head gave you that vibe-- and Jill just shrugged her shoulders.

"I thought I saw a wolf." Was all she gave for an answer-- flimsy at best, an obvious lie at worst. Wesker let it go, though-- to your knowledge. Sure, he told her "This'll have to go in the report.", but when you read over the report later-- there was no mention of the shot Jill took at a 'wolf' during that mission.

After the mission was over and you'd got the group back to where they were meant to be, she threw her arm over your shoulder-- pulling you close and saying "That's why I don't like dealing with these college-types all too often, they always do this. Don't let 'em walk all over you though, 'kay? You deserve better than that." before she pushed off, leaving you with that... cryptic piece of advice.

It was a good piece of advice-- don't get me wrong! Jill was just... like that sometimes, giving you cryptic, almost archaic in nature, pieces of advice before bouncing off to somewhere else-- smiling like nothing was amiss.

maybe to her, it wasn't. But to you, these behaviors of hers weren't getting rather concerning. Maybe because they were becoming more frequent, or maybe because they were getting more intense. A mix of the both, honestly.

Still, you didn't confront her about it.

You kept having sleepovers with her-- to the point where you like, actually lived with her. You don't even remember what color your bedroom walls in your apartment were-- or even what the kitchen looked like.

Eventually, she asked you to move in with her. Saying it'd be easier, since you were basically wasting your money-- paying rent for a place you hardly ever visit anymore. Not many of your things remain, most were packed up and placed in Jill's guest/storage (or, what was once her guest/storage room, but you'd now taken it over) room. You could probably get all the stuff left in one trip-- except maybe the furniture, but even then, the furniture wasn't too much of a loss.

You'd be surprised what college students will put out on the curb at the end of the school year-- or, to be more specific, the private university students. Still, you were a little proud that nearly 95% of your furnishings had come from that method-- walking along the alleyway of streets with a lot of rental places for the local university's students.

It was a logical step and you knew it, officially moving in with Jill, that is. But the way she worded it was... odd.

"C'mon, what am I good for if I don't help out family?" She could've meant that figuratively-- if anyone else said it, then you would've defaulted to that;

But knowing Jill, that just wasn't the case. Hell-- you got called Rookie Valentine by one of the regular cops just a couple weeks ago, and when you went to correct them-- they just laughed and brushed you off,

"Fightin' with ya sister, huh? I used to do that-- with my dad, 'a course. Deny my last name 'n all that." Then, the cop gave you a pat on your shoulder and walked by you "Whatever you're upset about, it'll blow right over; trust me, bonds like you's two have don't go away like that."

Maybe it was stupid-- how quickly you folded, simply nodding your head; within a second or two, Jill had practically flown into you, her arms outstretched. She pulled you into a tight embrace. You reciprocated it-- no reason not to, after all.

But... hey, at least you don't have to deal with your landlord anymore, yeah?

Chris Redfield (and claire)

In some ways, Chris and Jill act pretty similarly when it comes to you. In others, they were near opposites.

For example, If you happened to be on Bravo Squad, he would much rather have you stay there indefinitely. He knows how mentally and physically tiring the Alpha team's work can be compared to Bravo's, which were pretty much just backup, in simplest terms.

He'd want to distance you as far away from Alpha teams work as he could manage. There's not point in putting you through that-- his way of protecting you is shielding you from it all by keeping you uninvolved, where Jill would much rather prefer to have you involved, by keeping you right next to her at all times.

You two hit it off the moment you stepped into that office- of course you did, who didn't get along with Chris? He was a literal ray of sunshine, and every morning, you couldn't help but look forward to that beaming smile he'd always give you once he spotted you.

It was normal-- run of the mill. You two were just friendly in a way co-workers were friendly; you saw yourself as no different then everyone else, when it came to how Chris treated you.

But it was small things-- at first, but they began to pile up, and up, and up-- until you couldn't help but notice them. It's not like you're painfully oblivious to everything,

...Just this, you reason with yourself. Listen, it's not your fault you didn't realize you were a special case to Chris! You thought it was normal, how he'd always drop by your desk when you both had morning shift, and slide a muffin, danish, a doughnut-- whatever he'd gotten that day, over to you.

He'd always check up on you, make sure you were eating properly-- he didn't try to cover it up either, didn't try to pull the tried-and-true "You need the proper nutrients to do your job well!", he just straight up admitted that he wants you to be healthy. No ulterior motives-- just... wants you to take care of yourself, because that's what you're supposed to do, for your own good.

He's a very caring person-- you assumed that he had this same level of caring for everyone in the office.

One time, when Claire swung by the office during her winter break-- she immediately beelined it to your desk. It was a little intimidating, because for a split second, you didn't know who she was; to be honest, you were a little afraid she was here to yell at you for messing up on a mission somewhere along the line; either as a civilian or a higher up, even though she didn't seem too far in age from yourself.

But as soon as it clicked-- right before she got up to your desk, that she just had to have been Claire Redfield, Chris' younger sister, you relaxed just a bit. She was probably just introducing herself to the newest addition; after all, most everyone else seemed to know her personally, or have at least met her once or twice before.

She was pretty nice, actually-- you two had a good conversation, and you're pretty sure you left a good first impression on her. But meeting her-- how she greeted you for the first time, was what tipped you off to the fact that no, Chris does not go out of his way to make sure all his co-workers are eating well, or keeping up with a solid sleep schedule like he does to you.

"Hey, you're the new addition to the family, right?" is what she said, word for word. At first, you thought nothing of it; thinking that she was referring to S.T.A.R.S as a family-- Jill did that pretty often, and you'd caught Chris doing the same a few times before.

You nodded, and you two got to talking. She was nice to talk to-- lively and animated, and you found yourself falling into a comfortable sort of routine. It was as if you'd known each other your whole lives-- she knew a lot about you, but just stuff that you'd told Chris, or he'd picked up on in passing.

"Does he talk about me a lot?" You remember asking, anxiety tinging your tone. Claire clocked it immediately, and leaned over slightly, from where she was sitting atop your desk; and gave you a pat on your shoulder, as you sat in your office chair.

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's all good things, and you sure as hell live up to how much he hypes you up during our calls." Yeah, you remember Chris saying he called his sister as often as he could. You were always impressed by how family oriented Chris could be. It was sweet, how often he'd talk about his sister.

A little bit of weight eased off your chest, as you let out a breathy little laugh "Hah-- that's good." You felt a little silly for being worried about it. Of course Chris told Claire about you, he's proudly boasted before that he tells her everything-- you were sure he treated the others no differently.

Even if you weren't on the same team as him. Even if, more often than not, he had to go out of his way to interact with you. You're sure Claire heard a lot more about the newest Alpha recruit-- you'd never spoken in depth with them, just passing "Hello"'s and "Good morning"'s as you pass each other on the way to your respective sections of the S.T.A.R.S office.

When there was opening in the conversation, you casually asked "Do you know anything about the new Alpha team recruit? I think their birthday is soon, and I want to get them a card." You were trying to take a page out of Chris' book-- being nice to everyone, going out of your way. It was a small operation in the grand scheme of things, S.T.A.R.S. It was best to try and make everyone feel at home.

Claire paused, her brows furrowed "...There's a new Alpha recruit?"

Why did that give you such a bad vibe? Why did it feel like an ill omen, you'd asked yourself at the time-- you quickly responded, unease curling in your gut for a reason you couldn't quite place at the time.

"Uh-- yeah, his name is... Mark, I think. He joined about a month ago, from what I know. Tall guy, ginger hair, seems to be in his mid to late 20s." Even as you described the man-- a very distinctive person, you think; there was no flash of recognition in Claire's eyes.

Claire seemed to think it over, before shaking her head slowly "No-- I don't think Chris has ever mentioned a Mark."

"Huh..." You said under your breath-- never mentioned him? They work together, on the same team-- you haven't been here much longer than Mark has. It set off alarm bells in your head, that he told Claire so much about you, and yet... she didn't even know Mark was with you guys in the first place.

There was a beat of tense silence between you two, then another-- until Claire suddenly said "How do you feel about roller skating?", obviously trying to divert your attention from the matter at hand.

You let her-- and you two fell into a conversation about roller skating, that eventually progress to ice skating, skateboarding, surfing-- those kind of activities/sports.

It had to have been at least an hour and a half before Claire got pulled away-- Marini approached you two, and shooed Claire off, like, literally. Made the motion with his hands and everything, as he told her "Redfield, you're distracting my team member. Go bug your brother."

Claire huffed, rolling her eyes as she pushed off your desk "Yeah, yeah. I'm going." It surprised you-- how casual she was with Marini, and disrespectful. But, she doesn't work under him, so you guess she has nothing to fear with upsetting him, since he isn't her brother's superior either.

...You just hope she's a little more delicate with Wesker.

Before leaving, she gave a quick little side hug, and told you "Catch you later, okay? It was nice meeting you.", you nodded and smiled, returning the hug best you could "Same goes for you. It was nice talking to you."

Claire laughed as she pulled away, giving you a light, playful punch in your shoulder "Hey, no need to be so formal. We're family now, I won't gut you for talking like an actual person.", Marini cleared his throat, and Claire rolled her eyes again-- leaving without another word to either of you.

She did, however, give you a little smile a wave, before she headed over to the A team's part of the office.

'we're family now', she said. Did that mean anything, or were you just overthinking it? She was just being friendly, you told yourself-- the Redfield's did this with everyone, you assumed.

After that, you and Chris started to go from work friends-- co-workers who were friendly with eachother, to actual friends. The first time you two hung out outside of work, was in a quaint little 24/7 diner near the RPD station.

The two of you had gotten off at the same time, 10 PM-- and Chris had dragged you along with him, saying that he wanted to get to know you more, without Marini or Wesker showing up at any given moment and telling their respective members to get the hell back to work, or for the member of the other team (often Marini to Chris) to leave the other alone, so they could do their work.

Chris always took it with a laugh and a smile-- but... well, it was stupid, you think. That look in his eyes couldn't have meant anything-- you'd never seen him look like that, but it was scarily close... hatred? No, irritation, it had to be. You don't think Chris is capable of hatred directed towards anyone short of a war criminal, in all honesty.

But at any rate, it's still an odd idea-- Chris being irritated at someone who isn't in the wrong. Objectively, Marini was doing nothing wrong; he was your boss, and he wanted you working while on shift.

But the way Chris would look at him suggested otherwise, like Marini had just kicked his dog or burned a belonging of his.

It was weird.

You forced yourself to-- well, not get used to it per se, the weirdness of it never went away, but you tried not to dwell on it too much. Tried to ignore it best you could, and while it was difficult, more often than not you could manage just fine.

Anyway-- it went well, hanging out with him at the diner. It was fun, and light-hearted; no imminent threat of the fun being broken up by a mission for work (while the chances weren't necessarily zero, they were very low while you two were off the clock-- unless it was like, a world ending sort of deal. if that was the case, then you'd have more problems at hand then getting called into work abruptly...), just you, Chris, and the local family diner that was done-up to look like a time capsule of idealized 1950s Americana.

He dropped you off back home-- insisting that you don't walk home so late. After that-- after he learned that you walked home after every shift, come rain or shine, and despite the time of day (or night), you always walked.

When Chris realized this-- every time you got off shift together, whenever he was available; he'd drive you home. You thought it was sweet, but... confusing to say the least.

Surely, he'd do the same for anyone else, right?

As the months passed and your friendship progressed-- where you hung out almost every weekend, completely unrelated to work in any capacity, it hit you like a ton of bricks that Chris wasn't just like that. Not to the level he was with you-- yes, he was kind and accommodating to everyone, but wasn't going above and beyond for anyone but you.

But... why? What was so special about you? How come he didn't do this for other new recruit-- that joined not so long after you, who was on his team. He definitely naturally sees/runs into the guy more then he sees you in passing.

It just didn't make sense, and no matter how much you thought and thought about it-- it never managed to get any better. You never understood it any further, and you all but gave up on trying to understand the reason behind it.

You could ask Chris about it, but then that'd be awkward, and you don't want to deal with that-- you don't want to seem like you're coming at him or anything. It might just be because you're younger, so assumed that sort of mentor role because he was in that position one?

By now, you've come to terms with that. That it doesn't make sense, and you'll probably never be able to make sense of it on your own-- and you were too scared of upsetting Chris to actually ask the guy.

So you kind of just... stuck in a loop. But that's fine-- because you had things to distract yourself with! Like your hobbies, and work, and hanging out with your friends;

...Maybe not the last one, thought. For some reason, all of your other friends have all but dropped off the face of the earth. You tried reaching out to one--

Only to find out that they were... in jail. It was a minor offense, but still. That wasn't like them at all-- it'd been their sister to pick up the call, and you'd been subjected to a very, very heated telling off by her.

She seemed to think it was your fault, that you sicced 'your brother' on them for some perceived slight-- one that you couldn't think of, and neither could she.

You tried calming her down, but it only ended with the call abruptly ending-- her screaming at you to "Leave my family alone! Yours has done enough damage to ours ot last a lifetime!"

Then it was over.

Whether or not you have brothers-- you know that couldn't be right. If you did have brothers, then you know they wouldn't-- or just didn't have the means to-- lock your friend up in jail for... whatever it was, you think it was some traffic related violation.

Something that you know can be easily staged-- Marini had told you so before, as you sorted through some old cases. These sorts of violations were usually a dead giveaway that the recipient had pissed off a cop, who wasn't above faking an offense to get back at them.

You could only think of one person who'd possibly fit that weird description-- Chris was sort of a brother to you, in loose terms. He acted brotherly with you, is what you'd like to call it.

Really, you want to confront him about it, but you don't have enough evidence.

He wouldn't do something like that, yeah? He's a good guy, he wouldn't fuck up someone's life by wielding his position of power over them for no reason at all. It had to be unrelated-- just a weird set of coincidence. You don't think you've ever told Chris about that friend, so how would he even know about them?

You didn't bother reaching out to your other friends-- hoping they'd reach out to you. It was stupid, your fear of getting an earful from a pissed off family member again-- or getting blamed for whatever happened.

So you just... well-- you wouldn't call yourself a coward, but Chris couldn't be it. He just wouldn't have done something like that, especially without clear reason-- it couldn't have been him.

Again. Nothing made sense-- it hurt, knowing you'd probably lost a treasured friendship for something you don't know anything about,

But at least Chris is there to ease your ills, right? At least he answered your phone call at 10 PM, and stayed with you for an hour after that, comforting you as you cried and told him that you didn't know what was going on.

he was so genuine as he comforted you-- even over the phone, which you knew had to be harder to do than comfort someone face to face-- that you ended up letting it go.

You ruled out the idea that Chris had been behind it all-- maybe because you really didn't think it'd ever been a viable explanation,

Or maybe, deep down, you know Chris could-- if pushed far enough-- probably be capable of something like that. Despite how you interact with each other, how you talk like you've known each other your whole lives, you'd known each other for under a year by that point.

But you selfishly hoped-- and presented this hope as fact to yourself-- that he didn't do it, because he really was one of your closest friends; especially since everyone else drifted away from you.

You couldn't lose him too-- or Claire, because you know that if a falling out happens with one, it's sure to follow with the other. They're like that, the Redfield siblings, as you've come to learn.

And you'd rather not be caught on the receiving end of Claire's world-ending death glare, thank you very much. You don't think you could handle it-- emotionally wise, that is.

Rebecca Chambers

Surprisingly, You'd probably be better suited on Alpha team when it comes to Rebecca.

Still, you probably graduated in the same class as her; however, you weren't a child prodigy like she was. You being older then her gave you leg up in the recruitment process, which landed you in the Alpha team and her in the Bravo team.

You may not have interacted with each other a whole lot during school-- no real reason, you two just never crossed paths all that often.

But after joining S.T.A.R.S at the same time, you two made a sort unofficial pact to stay together; despite being on two different teams, you'd try to look out for each other. For one, you were a little worried about hazing.

Was it a silly thing to be afraid of in workforce? Well, yeah-- but there was still a possibility. If any field of work would incite some sort of frat-esque hazing ritual, it'd be law enforcement!

So you exchanged landline numbers, and kept tabs on each other as much as you could. You took initiative a whole lot, and kept watch on both your and Rebecca's co-workers.

In the end, nothing happened. Obviously-- since there was such a miniscule chance it would, but the 2-3 week period of this, of constantly checking in each other (usually you to Rebecca, since Bravo members tended to be a little less mature on the basis of the less real-world experience and such; and she was young, an easy target in the eyes of people who didn't quite know her), built up a pretty solid rapport with the younger rookie. One that couldn't just easily fall to the wayside.

Even though you're on different teams, you still encounter each other pretty often. At first, it was a practical thing-- you checking up on Rebecca,

Until Rebecca started seeking you out for more normal things. Like to tell you about her latest mission, or a funny thing her captain did-- to exchange stories of your respective team members being absolute goofballs, so on and so forth.

it was nice, these little chats you'd have. They were never very few and far between, not even at the start-- Some were accidental, like bumping into each other in the break room, clocking out at the same time and having a little chat before heading out, so on and so forth.

But as the weeks went on, turning to months of working under the same roof-- If there was ever a moment where she could come find you, you better bet your ass she was there.

From the moment you stepped in the building in the morning, to whenever you came back from a mission; when you were getting ready to leave, Rebecca would do whatever she could to be near you. Sometimes they were conversations-- where you put your own thoughts and whatever into the topic, but sometimes it was just Rebecca explaining something she was interested in, or telling you every single tiny, microscopic detail of a story she'd already told you before.

You never stopped her-- it never hurt anything. Due to her being the youngest, people let her get away with it. As long as both your reports were turned in on time and done well, then what does it matter that you talk to each other while you were at it?

At some point, Rebecca would definitely just pull a chair up and do her work at your desk. Her own desk at the section with the other Bravo members went unused for long stretches of time-- you were fine with it.

Again, it was nice having someone to hang out with. She didn't talk to whole time, most of the time, you two lapsed into a comfortable silence as you did your own reports/paperwork at your own leisure. Sometimes, one of you would pop up with a little comment, spurring a response from the other-- but it never went much further then that, in those moments.

...That's when Marini cut in though. Saying it'd be better for Rebecca to head back to her own space-- to stop bothering you. You tried your damn best to reiterate that "No, she's fine. I swear, I work even better when she's here--" But a quick, withering glance from Marini made you reluctantly shut your mouth.

Rebecca looked heartbroken-- you met her eyes, and tried to convey your apology that way. She didn't look angry or upset with you, just sad about the circumstances. Understanding, that you'd done all you could in the moment, as she grabbed her papers and went to push the chair-- that'd you'd known as her chair for a few weeks by then-- into where it was actually meant to be, in an unused desk right by yours.

Marini was watching the whole time, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. You saw how Rebecca's hand trembled ever-so-slightly under her captains scrutinizing gaze, and you reached out to pat her hand comfortingly; stopping her in her tracks. "Hey, it's okay. I'll get the chair, you go to your desk, okay?"

She looked up, and you gave her a reassuring little smile. She looked kind of like a kicked puppy-- it tugged on your heart, made you wish you really could do more.

She nodded, and softly said "okay.", and you'd expected her to pull back, to straighten up and walk off. Soon enough, you realized that, for whatever reason, she wasn't moving as long as you kept contact with you.

You removed your hand-- she looked saddened by the loss, but took it in stride, as she turned and trailed after Marini as he (presumably) led her back to Bravo's section of the S.T.A.R.S office.

it's not like they were really separate from each other-- or even blocked off per se, not in a purposeful way. You were just stationed on the far side of Alpha's side, the little dividers interspersed here and there primarily blocked your view of most Bravo team desks.

However, Rebecca's was right on the edge between Alpha and Bravo's unofficial-official sides of the room, and you were able to still look over at her from time to time.

After that-- you considered going to Wesker about it, but you were certain he'd either do nothing, or throw thinly veiled insults your (and indirectly, Rebecca's) way. Something along the lines of "Do you think this is grade school? That I'm a teacher you can negotiate a seating chart with?"

No matter how much you cared for Rebecca, you couldn't bring yourself to face that possibility of the utter mortification that talking to Wesker would undoubtedly bring you.

Two weeks passed, before Wesker pulled you into his office. He told you to sit in one of the two chairs opposing his own.

You bit your tongue, stifling the burning question of "Am I in trouble?" and waited for him to start on his own.

Apparently, Rebecca's performance had been experiencing a sharp decline during you two's times apart. Instead of firing her, Wesker sought to find another route to it.

"Would you say you two are close? Chambers and you?" He asked, and you had to question that yourself-- do you? You certainly see Rebecca as a friend, but a work one. Separate from a 'full-fledged' one, since you only see each other during work.

Finally, after a few suffocating seconds-- sat across from Wesker, his elbow resting on his desk as he held his face in his hand. You could feel him staring intently, even if you were unable to actually see that that was the case.

"Yeah-- I'd say we are. Why?" And then, that's when he told you about her performance, and presenting you with an opportunity that you took readily;

"How about you take a sort of mentor role for her? It seems she's having trouble acclimating to the workforce, which I wouldn't quite blame her for. She may be a child prodigy academically, but ultimately, she lacks the experience someone of your age does."

Immediately, you nodded-- before pausing, and asking "Have you talked to Marini about this?", and Wesker shook his head "No, I thought it'd be best to discuss this with you before going to him. Knowing Marini, he'd probably be less then stoked by this. I wouldn't want to go through the trouble of readying him only for you to decline the offer."

"...Yeah, makes sense." Was all you said-- You stayed there for about 15 more minutes, before being excused.

As you opened his door, a question crossed your mind. On a whim, you turned and asked "How long will it take, do you think?" You feared you might've been too vague at first, but Wesker seemed to know exactly what you meant, answering with his own "It shouldn't take too long at all, perhaps a few days at the most. I'd like to have this system integrated as soon as possible, before Chambers' performance rate drops low enough to where I have to consider letting her go."

You nodded, internally praying to whatever could be out there that she could keep it up for a little longer- long enough for your captain to talk to hers, to get this sort of mentorship up and a running so she can get back on track.

True to his words, three days later, and you walked into the precinct with your desk having been moved around; the empty desk besides yours had been moved, your desk turned sideways and the unused desk pushed to meet with yours.

It was set up to have someone there, no longer empty, it had a lamp, a computer, and some organizers and office supplies on it. Obviously, Wesker had gone through with the mentorship-- and when Rebecca came in a few minutes after you, her bus having been a little slow than usual, she was absolutely ecstatic.

She was talking a mile-a-minute, saying she didn't actually think Wesker would go through with it. In the end, she gave you a celebratory little hug; and you didn't hesitate in returning the favor, wrapping your arms around her and giving her a light squeeze before releasing her,

She took a few moments longer to unwind her arms from your waist, but you didn't mind. You were sure she was happy to be sat next to you.

Wesker never called you in about Rebecca's declining report quality/performance again, and that led you to believe that the issue was completely resolved.

Marini would come over sometimes, pull Rebecca off for a mission or something that needed the entire Bravo team present to hear. Every time, you would see her off with a little encouraging gesture. At first, it was a simple smile or squeeze of her hand-- then, the occasional hug.

But now, she borderline refused to leave with anything less than a hug from you. It wasn't bothersome-- it was comforting, actually.

And all was well and fine for a while-- until Alpha started to be called away for more and more missions, leaving your desk unoccupied more often than not.

While it didn't seem to be taking a toll of Rebecca's work performance, she was looking a little worse for wear. She was always so worried-- you didn't understand it, but you tried your best to be accommodating. The missions you went on were hardly dangerous, sometimes you'd be pulled in to answer a larger scale call about nuisance-- it always got like this around this time of year, Chris had lightheartedly told you before.

Move-in day for the local university brought a lot of traffic offences, and RPD usually outsourced some of these to S.T.A.R.S; rush week brought about a lot of nuisance complaints, frat parties obviously needed to be broken up from time to time-- things that the RPD were meant to do, but their hands got so full that S.T.A.R.S ended up stepping in where need-be.

But what worried you was, as weeks passed by with this uptick in missions, Rebecca was starting to seem so tired. Like she wasn't sleeping properly, and she was stiff and jerky in her movements.

Like she was sore. like she overexerted herself, and you asked her about it. She gave you the same bright, cheery smile as always-- and just said she was training harder than usual.

You didn't have the heart to go any further with it, just telling her "...Okay. Just make sure to take care of yourself, and don't push it, okay?", and she'd eagerly nodded, promising you "I will! Don't worry about me."

That didn't help anything, because she seemed to get worse-- during her off day, you bounced on over to the Bravo team's side of the room, and asked one of her teammates "...Hey, have you noticed anything strange with Rebecca recently? Has she been doing okay on missions?"

And Forest, the one you'd approached-- didn't look too worried at all. "Huh? Oh, yeah! She's been doing great! better than usual, actually." You made a questioning little noise, thinking over what that could possibly entail.

"...Has she been doing a lot of overtime, too?" And Forest paused, thinking about it "Uh... Yeah, I think she has."

"And has she told you why she's doing this?" Forest shrugged, giving you a little smile, none the wiser to Rebecca's less than stellar state, no doubt. "I think she wants to get on your team-- I know she's been hitting up the shooting range more than usual. Probably aiming for a different position than medic, 'cause Alpha doesn't really have a need for it."

Okay that... explained a lot, but did nothing to ease your worries. You thanked him, before heading back to your own desk; you made up a plan to confront her on it the next day, but the right chance never presented itself.

The first time you two hung out outside of work, was after she collapsed right before heading off. Just... fell right into yourself arms-- exhaustion and overexertion having taken its toll on her. You hadn't been able to ask her about it, before she keeled over from it.

You bit your tongue, preventing yourself from mumbling a little "i told you to take care of yourself..." but decided against it. And you'd stood there for a little while, just holding her-- then, you shook her awake, gently.

"mm?" She questioned, her eyes fluttering, and you asked "Rebecca, how do you get home? Do you walk or take the bus?" You don't feel good about leaving her on the bus like this-- hell, you don't even know if they run this late, the clock hung on the wall shining proudly, proclaiming it to be 11:07 PM.

But if she walked, you literally wouldn't ever forgive yourself if you made her go through that in a state like this. She mumbled her answer-- Walk.

Goddamnit.

"...I'm gonna have to drive you home, you okay with that?" She huffed, and leaned further into you. "'Kay." It's not like you feel good about this either, per se, it was just the best option at the time.

So, you carefully set her in the passenger seat of your car, buckled her in, shut her door and headed to your own side. You managed to get an address out of her-- a better part of town, thank god, so that made you feel at least a little better.

Through the whole thing, you had to keep yourself from trying to poke and prod about it all. About her pushing herself to her limits-- seemingly to join your team. It made you feel bad, guilty; as if you were the cause behind it.

Realistically, you probably were.

When you got to the quaint little one-story rental Rebecca resided in, you were just as careful to get her out of the care as you had been to get her in.

You helped her along and up to the porch; she took out her keys, but just before inserting them, asked you to stay. That she'd feel more comfortable if you stayed. You got a closer look at her face, under the glow of her automatic porch light, and realized how she was a little... thinner.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna make you some food. That okay?" You tried to frame it as a command at first-- but went back on yourself mere moments later. This was her house after all-- if she didn't want you cooking, then you couldn't do much about it.

She gave you an almost... mischievous little smile before chirping back an "Okay. That's fine by me." Before inserting the key and letting you two in.

You ended up cooking her something simple-- it wasn't a problem of she didn't have the food, that she wasn't eating. She just either forgot to between all the training, or didn't have the energy to make anything. That's okay-- you suppose you understand it, even if it was to such an extreme that you worried deeply for the younger S.T.A.R.S member.

And then, she asked you to stay the night. You two set up camp in the living room, with you on the couch and Rebecca on the trundle-esque pullout below; and watched some late-night TV (namely Murder, She Wrote; which put you right to sleep no matter what). When you two woke up-- you'd been the first to rise.

You were stiff from sleeping in your work clothes; it was off day, thank god, but it wasn't Rebecca's. Despite any apprehension you might have about it, you got up and set yourself to getting a good breakfast ready for her. You let her sleep as long as possible, before nudging her awake, a plate of pancakes in one hand, and some maple syrup in your other; since she had the half-used bottle on her countertop, beside of ready-made pancake mix, your assumed she was pretty fond of the breakfast food.

her eyes lit up, and sprung up to hug you-- the plate almost slipped from your hand, but you managed to narrowly escape tragedy as you readjusted your grip, and hugged her back best you could, with your hands full and all.

You pushed the trundle bed back into the couch while she added syrup to her hearts content, then you two sat down.

Really, you wish you could've just let her eat in peace-- but you had to confront her about the cause behind your impromptu sleepover. You two had a long, productive talk about it; about how she should care for herself more.

It ended in a truce, where she wouldn't do so much overtime or train so much it exhausted her, if you two hung out outside of work hours. Because at the core of it, that's why she'd wanted to get on Alpha. So she could be with you, even on missions.

You thought it was sweet.

And in a way, it was-- but... maybe not as textbook sweet as one would assume. You two were nearly inseparable, joined at the hip less than a month later. You stayed over at each other's places a lot-- and you started to view her as more than a friend, far more like family than anything.

You had silly fights-- bickered over dumb stuff that didn't mean anything in the end, you play fought, you poked fun at each other; really, it was no fault of passerbys to think you two were a pair of siblings; that you were her older sibling as you helped her tie her ice skates before you two went out on the rink.

That wasn't the problem-- you didn't mind it. However, you did start to notice how people seemed to... swerve you two. How you became more and more isolated, little did you know, that was entirely on purpose.

Rebecca cared for you a lot-- cared for you like an older sibling. She just wanted to keep you safe-- can't get hurt if she's the only one you interact with, right?

#yandere resident evil x reader #yandere albert wesker #yandere jill valentine #yandere chris redfield #yandere rebecca chambers #yandere headcanons #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #albert wesker #jill valentine #chris redfield #rebecca chambers #platonic yandere resident evil #resident evil #resident evil x reader #yandere resident evil #my writing #requests open #reqs open

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ryin-silverfish · 9 months ago

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LMK S5 trailer, Chinese pantheon infodump, and some ideas

…Man, normally, I feel the urge to write fix-it AUs after rewatching episodes and coming across particularly bizarre theories and takes, not before the new season's even out.

Thanks, S5 trailer.

Consider this your spoiler warning, because the rest of this post will all be my personal opinions about a few major story beats that were revealed + the rough outline for a fix-it AU.

It's also a bit ranty, and features some criticisms of the general narrative, so if that's not your cup of tea, feel free to avoid this one.

Li Jing becoming JE/the regent of the Celestial Realm is just hilariously absurd. I mean, it makes a teeny tiny bit more sense than the "Nezha will be the new JE" fan theory, but that's not a very high bar.

1) In-universe, he had done a grand total of nothing while shit was hitting the fan, and only showed up after it was all over. Which, tbh, isn't too far from his role in FSYY. No, wait, at least in FSYY, he killed Luo Xuan via a pagoda to the head, after the guy had all his fire-based magical treasures neutralized and taken away by Princess Longji.

Yeah, congrats, LMK's Li Jing, you've somehow become even more useless than your FSYY and JTTW counterparts——which is a true feat.

2) Even if someone's making him JE/regent, it wouldn't be the Ten Kings. To put it simply: the Underworld doesn't have that authority. They are the most pathetic of all divine bureaucracies, who pretty much only show up to get pushed around and revive the occasional dead guy in JTTW (and I still love them).

Like, they ain't no Hades or Satan. Just the 10 judges of the Dead People Supreme Court. To heavily paraphrase Di Ting in the original JTTW novel:

"How much power do Underworld gods really have? (幽冥之神，能有多少法力)" "...Certainly not enough to stop a rampaging demonic macaque who's as strong as SWK, if I say the truth out loud in here and piss him off. Just send them to the Buddha, please."

An analogy: if the Celestial Host is the imperial court, the Underworld is the ministry in charge of judicial processes and prisons. They don't even have authority over the imperial censors who answer directly to the emperor, let alone the power to determine a successor to the throne during a major crisis.

If this was to make the tiniest bit of sense, Li Jing would be the one commanding THEM, not the other way around. Or if it's Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha himself giving orders to Li Jing…for some reason.

But we know that ain't happening bc of the show's strange aversion to showing Buddhist deities on screen, not to mention it would be very OOC for Ksitigarbha, whose job is granting relief and salvation to souls in the Path of Hell, not judging and punishing them like the Ten Kings.

3) If you must make Li Jing the emperor/regent, you have a more mythos-accurate and obvious choice than the Ten Kings, considering you already got the Four Divine Beasts involved!

Yes, I'm talking about their bosses, the humanoid "directional + elemental gods": Lord Father of the East (Wood), Queen Mother of the West (Metal), Emperor Zhenwu of the North (Water).

No South though...because our mythos can't agree on a single directional god of the South, but for shit and giggles, just imagine Zhurong, Yandi, Huaguang, and the Star of Fiery Virtues all sitting on the same narrow bench, staring awkwardly at each other.

Maybe we can have Ziwei, Great Emperor of the Central Sky and North Stars, who is one of the Four Sovereigns(四御) in Daoism (two of which could also be an alternate choice, but maybe a bit too obscure for foreign audiences).

He commands the stellar deities and heavenly bodies——which the Four Divine Beasts would technically fall under, as guardians of the four quadrants of the sky, each in charge of 7 Lunar Mansions.

4) But if you already have these deities, why the hell would any of them make Li Jing the regent? Wouldn't it be more likely for them to create a Celestial Council of Regents themselves, with Devaraja Li Jing under their command as the leader of what's left of the celestial army?

Like, you can still have them, or one of them, going after the gang and ordering Li Jing to put the fillet on SWK.

I can see Zhenwu the Demon-Vanquisher doing that, since the fillet isn't too different from what he did to Huaguang and a lot of the demons he subdued in JTTN: feeding them magical water/fire pills that would corrode/ignite their insides whenever they tried to resist.

(Yeah, compared to that, the fillet would look like the lenient option, since it's just pain and won't actually dissolve/cook you alive from the inside out...)

And it wouldn't be bc he thought SWK was to blame for the Brotherhood's epic fuck-up...somehow. Like, what even is that logic?!

I mean, I can kinda see the Ten Kings doing it as a pre-emptive "Don't blame us for our shitty security, blame that guy over there!" move...except they are no longer answering to any higher authorities who'd hold them responsible at that point!

"What about Li Jing?" You may ask. Yeah, WHAT ABOUT LI JING? Why does Li Jing have to get involved in this?

If he's forcing the Ten Kings to pass judgement on the gang (which surely doesn't look like it in the trailers), why's he enlisting the help of the weakest faction and not, y'know, his celestial soldiers and other gods?

If the Ten Kings get Li Jing to be their enforcer...well, how the Eighteen Hells did they manage that? What could the Ghost Supreme Court and their crappy prison-torture chamber-soul customs office complex even offer Li Jing as a bribe?

And if their goals were to avoid responsibilities by blaming someone else, how stupid did they have to be to actively involve/create a higher authority who can punish them once the cat gets out of the proverbial bag, instead of, I dunno, just stay where they are and keep their head down???

So in my fix-it AU, it's more of a "Better safe than sorry" scenario, where every demon working for the new Celestial Council must prove their loyalty via swallowing the water/fire pill, now that even more dangerous demons have escaped and are running around in the aftermath of S4.

And Great Sage and company are not exempt from that new law either——"If you are truly righteous and Not Like Them and not planning to rebel, what's there to be afraid of?"

Horrified by the Demon-Vanquishing Mansion's 16th century standards of "justice" and "mercy", they naturally would not have any of it, and thus the conflict begins.

Not only would this show the fallout of Azure's misguided rebellion——that, in trying to make a better world, he had made it 120% worse for both humanity and demonkind in less drastic and more realistic ways aside from dooming reality to irreversible destruction, it would also help with the major show-not-tell problem about Celestial cruelty bc the "good guys" in power saw no problem with this kind of shit.

If you want your lawful antagonists who take Order to its extremes, the warrior sovereign in black leading an elite army of demon-hunters + penal legions made of "reformed" demons would be a better choice than the Ghost Supreme Court, don't ya think?

(Fun fact: in Zaju plays, Zhenwu was often said to be the boss of Nezha and Erlang, so him commanding Li Jing wouldn't be too out of place either.)

Now, you may ask, why do I even care? After all, isn't it clear that the show is neither mythos-accurate nor trying to be, considering the JE got K.O.ed by a Bodhisattva's cat of all things?

Not to mention the season's not even out yet, so why jump to conclusions so quickly? Maybe the actual episodes will have explanations that make sense. Relax.

...Cause I don't mind less-than-stellar animations if the story's good, and since I keep noticing the less-than-stellar animations, it clearly isn't good enough.

Also, it's not like it's only the implications that are absurd——my problem is with the whole premise of "Li Jing becoming the new JE/Regent" and "The gang is prosecuted by the Ten Kings for bullshit reasons, even though these guys should not, and never have the power to enforce anything over SWK."

I don't like calling narrative choices "wrong" per se, and prefer to see it on a gradient of "least to most narrative potential". When it comes to adaptations, if the option that is faithful to the original work will result in a less interesting story, then I'll happily take the one that isn't as faithful and takes creative liberties, but makes a better story.

And here, I feel like being faithful to the Chinese mythos inspirations will add to the narrative potential instead of subtract from it, and the idea they come up with kinda...goes against how Chinese pantheons work, in a very simplified and "westernized" manner.

Mostly bc I am a Chinese Underworld mythos lover and think they deserve better than being ominous Hades/Grim Reaper knockoffs. And out of all the possible Chinese gods, Nezha's asshole dad is the least qualified or interesting candidate to fill in the power vaccum left by JE's death.

#lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid s5 #lmk s5 #lmk s5 spoilers #monkie kid spoilers #fix it au #chinese mythology #li jing #lmk li jing #journey to the west #investiture of the gods #lmk critical #lmk season 5 #chinese underworld #chinese gods

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leoruby-draws · 4 months ago

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Decided to post some more random, mostly minor characters from the DC universe, mostly ones that seemed they would be fun to draw. I guess technically these drawings are all based in my TrWh au, as always. Here they are:

Wanted to draw heroes with wings, I draw Vanessa quite a bit so I had to learn wings and feathers. Still working on it, but its fun. You can see Vanessa there at the bottom middle, looking a little menacing.

The girl with red wings is called...Redwing aka Carrie Levine. I thought she was a sweet kid, so her ultimate fate was pretty sad. Wonder if she'll come back to continuity at some point.

The guy with the mohawk is Northwind aka Norda Cantrell, part of Infinity Inc the earth 2 version of a Teen Titans group. He honestly didn't get a whole lot of focus in Infinity Inc, like the writer didn't know what to do with him. Maybe they should've made him into the magic fighter of the group, almost felt like thats what they were going for him before they wrote him off.

The girl in yellow is Dawnstar, part of the Legion of Superheroes. I haven't read much of LoSH, mostly some 90's issues. But her design is soooo pretty I had to draw her, her costume here is a mix of her various outfits.

Lastly, here's Bluejay aka Jay Abrams again, part of Justice League Europe. Kinda thought JLE was a bit of a letdown, I mean the team's made up of mostly americans not europeans! I think Crimson Fox was the only european, I thought her set-up of being two people was cool.

Little extra Infinity doodle, here's Hector Hall (Silver Scarab) hating on poor Norda, with Lyta Trevor (Fury) looking on with confusion. Hector's just a hater (tho there's reasons for it ig), an archetype you see sometimes in some superhero groups, like Roy Harper or Guy Gardner. The plot-line of Hector's resentment of Norda was kinda interesting, but like with most things in Infinity it didn't get the focus it should've gotten. Speaking of Infinity, here's some more doodles:

There's Rex Tyler (Hourman 1) with little Rick Tyler (Hourman 2), enjoying some father-son time. Apparently Rick's first costume isn't well liked (so says reddit). I thought it seemed cute but maybe it works better as a kid's or sidekick's kinda costume?

In the middle is Jack Knight (Starman) suffering as he interacts with Sylvester Pemberton (Skyman, formerly the Star-Spangled Kid) and Courtney Whitmore (Stargirl, actually she should still be S-SK but whatever). In my au he actually joins Infinity Inc, since everyone becomes heroes earlier he's actually around when the team's still running. I suspect his dad (Ted Knight) forced him into it. Also Courtney doesn't respect Jack at all, he's so annoyed at this. Look at her mini-staff, I presume Ted made it for her.

Also there's Beth Chapel (Dr. Mid-Nite) and Jesse Chambers (Jesse Quick) looking cool. Jesse also joins Infinity Inc in my au, will there be a love triangle going on between Beth, Rick and Jesse? Don't think Rick's gonna survive that, aw well.

Look at baby Jade and Obsidian, Alan is overwhelmed by their antics.

In another post someone asked if I could draw more of the Relative Heroes, a super obscure hero group. So @draculaura1660, this one's for you. Here they are:

I kinda had a hard time drawing this group, cuz their costumes are so complicated! I wished there was a reference/concept art for them cuz it was a struggle trying to figure out the details, the comic art did not help matters at all. You might have noticed I changed details anyways, I tend to simplify costumes for my au both to make it easier to draw and also to signify their younger ages. It's just fun to play around with costume design ig.

Some more characters!

Jinx, who looks very different between her comic and cartoon self. I did like her pink hair, so decide to see how it would look on her comic self. There's Kole, who also has different designs in comic/cartoons. I think her comic costume is so cool, esp that color pallet! But I love her pink hair in the cartoon, so she's got pink hair here! Just like pink hair a lot lol.

The other pink haired girl is Laethwen, love interest of Ray Palmer in Sword of the Atom. I think I made her hair more pink to better differentiate her from Starfire, also, again I just like pink hair. I wished she and her little kingdom didn't die, in my au Ray saves them! Maybe he relocates them to his backyard or something?

Little Donna and Vanessa doodle, did you know they never once interacted on panel? The closest is when Donna brings her stepsister Cindy to talk to Vanessa instead. I wonder how they would even interact, I know Vanessa wanted to be wonder girl (and resented Cassie for 'taking' it from her). Did she look up to Donna, or wanted her out of the way? Funnily enough Donna wasn't even Diana's sidekick when post-crisis started, due to both their origins being reworked and contradicting each other's timelines. It's all very confusing.

Anyways, some bonus doodles:

Had fun making a new outfit for Laethwen, I imagine she took some inspiration from indigenous groups from the Amazon, seeing as that's where her people crashed into.

Kole's costume is just so beautiful but so complicated, maybe that's why she got killed off so soon in Crisis on Infinite Earths.

Lastly, here's Bette bugging Dick with Barbara being super amused about it. I said in my post about her that I didn't really care about her crush on Robin, which is true, but I still wanted to doodle something making fun of it. Poor Dick is doesn't know how to get outta of this social situation.

Well that was a lot, hope you liked all that.

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alchemistc · 7 months ago

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goon | chapter one | bucktommy

check out the hockey glossary here read from the beginning or read chapter one here

It takes Tommy a few breathless seconds to remember to skate in and hug the rest of his team, and another five to realize that technically the assist is his. He stopped caring about stats so much the second year his time in the box exceeded his time on ice for more than five games out of the season, but it sits there, in the back of his mind, his name next to Buckley’s on the score sheet.

There’s a rush that comes with division rivalry games, a certain something in the air when the crowd noise rushes in after the anthem, a call for blood and guts and gore and glory.

Tommy’s been in the league for almost two decades. He’s played for every division in the league, at one point or another. This isn’t even his first time in the central, although the configuration of teams is different than the last time.

Sometimes one team is shit (more often than not he’s on that side of it) and the other is on a tear. Sometimes they’re battling it out in four-point games to keep their points lead in the division — or knock the other team down to second. Sometimes it’s a scrape to pull out the wildcard spot. Sometimes the game itself is meaningless but they’ve played each other often enough that there’s friction. Sometimes there’s just one fucking guy on the opposition that the fanbase harbors some deep resentment for.

And this one actually means something — there’s some extra bad blood between these two teams, a star goalie with a grudge on the far end of the ice, three first round matchups in the last ten years, a run of wins that was bringing tonight’s opponent a little too close for comfort to the Avs divisional points cushion.

Tommy shifts his weight and settles the nerves, accepts the smack to the back of his helmet, and watches Binnington throw a fit between the pipes when the stripes don’t whistle the play dead and call an icing when the puck trickles in behind his net.

They’re five minutes in and everyone’s getting testy. He can feel it.

This is where Tommy does his best work.

It’d been a task, ten years ago, a part of the job he’d accepted because he was good in a fight and fully capable of taking a few punches. Under the thumb of the old boys club it’d just been expected of him — the ability to throw his weight around was what had kept him from complete obscurity in a lower league that would have worn him down much sooner. Tommy’s fists and his ability to drop his shoulder just in time to knock a guy flat on his ass were the only things that mattered when his agent settled him down with two offers, a few years into the league, and he’d chosen the team most likely to make his dad proud.

Never mind that his dad had come to three games when Tommy was a bright eyed rookie, seen Tommy get his ass handed to him by a man twice his size, and stopped bothering to show up.

He’d turned that around, in recent years. Longer stints with the affiliate teams, less time under the microscopic eye of the national press (even as a role player he’d had his moments under that eye) — he’d learned when to pull his punches, when to turn the other cheek, and when to lock his ankles and aim for the fucking chest. He had friends up and down the continent who knew him as the guy who’d take them all out to dinner after a bad loss, find something stupid and entertaining for them to do after, and then go into the next game with a chip on his fucking shoulder.

There were three kids with insane star power in the league who had him on speed dial even though he hadn’t played with them for a year or more, because for some fucking reason he had the ability to talk them off a ledge when the pressure drove them towards it.

He’d never tell a soul that Crosby still sent him gym selfies so they could compare the relative size and plumpness of their ass during the offseason.

There was still a reverence for real enforcers, in the league, even if they’d fallen by the wayside as teams got smaller and quicker. They were more a deterrent than anything else these days, but that usually meant Tommy got to lumber around on the ice for a few minutes a game, remembering what it had felt like the first time he’d laced his skates and stepped out to a roaring crowd, before he took another dumb penalty and spent the next forty-five minutes riding the bench. He’d been instructed not to take any dumb penalties, tonight, because St. Louis didn’t tend to get sloppy until the game was on the line.

Thirty-six minutes in, Schenn takes a chop at Diaz’s knees under the guise of a poke check and the home crowd gets loud, and ornery.

Nash smacks him on the shoulder on their way back down the tunnel for the third, eyes a little wild, and Tommy immediately recalls the old highlight reels of Nash shaking hair out of his eyes while he squared off against a guy twice his size, motor-mouthing his way into getting the other guy to take the first swing. Minnesotans and their right hooks weren’t something to fuck around with. Too much time in the cold not to have a little crazy in them.

Tommy rolls his tongue over his teeth, tilts his head to where Diaz and Buckley are bent over the boards together on the bench, already prepared to hop out the moment Bannister tries to get a matchup that’ll tilt in the Blues favor.

Nash sends him out with the rest of the fourth line, and Tommy doesn’t waste any time.

It’s immediately clear that they’ve all been warned to keep level heads. Schenn won’t engage, Buchnevich barely acknowledges Tommy when he hip checks him into his own bench — he goes ass over tea kettle and Tommy gets nothing more than a few shifty looks and some smack talk from the guys sitting.

There’s an easy way around that, though.

Tommy clambers back over the boards and waits out the next shift, practically vibrating with it when a shot pings off the crossbar and Greenway skates right through Binnington’s crease chasing after it.

Kyrou tries to take out Buckley against the boards, looks livid when Buck skates just free of it, and Buck does some ankle breaking in a rush to the goal. It hits the post, and when the whistle gets blown fifteen seconds later Tommy watches level heads not prevail when Binner says something snippy to Kyrou that has him rolling his eyes on the way back to the bench.

It takes another minute and a half for Nash to set up the line matches the way he wants them, but as Greenway skates off in relief and Schenn’s line stays stuck in their own zone spinning their wheels, Bobby smacks a thick hand down on Tommy’s shoulder. “Kinard, you’re up!”

Tommy takes an awkward pass once he’s past the blue line and goes full tilt towards the net. Full tilt for Tommy isn’t anything special, but it’s not what the Blues are expecting, and most of them have been out for two plus minutes at this point, hemmed in by their third and fourth lines just shoveling the puck back in every time it nears the blue line.

The snow shower he aims at the goal, half an inch into the crease when he fully stops, isn’t anything to write home about, but it has it’s intended effect. Already short on patience, Binnington watches Schenn intercept and send the puck careening down the ice — a third icing in a row — and lashes out with the butt end of his stick, a glancing blow Tommy laughs at as the rest of the players start to circle up at the whistle. Tommy’s laugh pisses him off. The laugh pisses him off so much.

It’s so fucking easy to rattle him when he’s already two goals down. There’s some shoving, a few hockey hugs to keep things from escalating, but Panikkar has apparently cottoned on to Tommy’s plan, and he says something under his breath that has Sundquist in his face, and Binnington skating around behind the net in irritation while the zebras break up a few of the more reticent shoving matches.

Tommy wins about one face-off out of every fifty, but that’s not the reason he’s bending across from Schenn now at the circle.

“We could end this before he loses all his cool and breaks his stick on the pipes,” Tommy goads, and the linesman with the puck rolls his eyes towards Schenn expectantly. The other man shifts, readjusts the grip on his stick. “Or I could just keep taunting him for something that isn’t even his fault, this time.”

Schenn’s not a particularly bad dude, just a little gun shy about fighting when his coach has clearly told them all not to engage.

Tommy wants him to fucking engage.

Schenn waits for the puck to drop, and miraculously, it’s Tommy who scoops it up to a fresh-faced Buckley just in time for the man to wind up and sneak it through about four bodies on it’s way over Binnington’s shoulder.

And then Schenn gets sloppy again, a check into the boards that has Panikkar limping back towards the bench while the crowd boos the refs — no call, again, which is fucking typical and normally Tommy’d be in his face about it, ready for the unsportsmanlike just ready to tumble off the refs tongue, but not tonight, tonight he’s got other plans — and Tommy doesn’t give Schenn any time to think about it when Nash sends him out in the immediate chaos.

He catches Kyrou mid-ice with his head down, a shoulder right to the chest that sends him reeling back, skates leaving the ground as he crashes backwards, and Schenn is on him in the next five seconds, gloves off and a resigned look in his eyes. Tommy grins and shifts his weight back, tossing his own gloves and reaching for the neck of Schenn’s sweater.

In the heat of the moment, man to man, the noise of the crowd always dies away, blood pounding in his ears and his entire focus on keeping his weight balanced and his fists loose. He’s been a heavy-weight for over half his career, and Schenn knows he’s outmatched but someone has to answer the bell.

There’s a ref circling them, and Tommy gets three right hooks in before Schenn can even get a hand out to hold Tommy back.

Hen’s gonna be pissed when she sees the state of his hands, but Tommy doesn’t really care, all that much, as he tightens his grip and yanks him close enough for an uppercut aimed at his ribs.

The refs break in before Schenn gets a hit, and the roar of the crowd rushes back in, loud, raucous, the mob appeased as Tommy skates his way to the box with a grin on his face. He’s a little disappointed that they’d broken it up so quickly, but — he’s probably got twenty-five pounds on Schenn, so fair enough.

Diaz scores a shorthanded goal three minutes into the major and Chim holds the line through the deluge of pissed off Blues who are now down four goals.

Tommy spends about ten seconds out of the box before the refs assess him a game misconduct for tapping his glove along the visitors side gate, and he accepts it with all the grace he can muster, smacking his fist into a screaming kids palm as he heads off down the hall.

The cool off doesn’t take him as long at it used to — sometime in the first ten years of his career he’d figured out how to shake off the hotheaded temper that made him so fucking good at getting under people’s skin, and by the time the rest of the team returns with a victory on their shoulders he’s relaxed and loose-limbed again.

Diaz makes a beeline for him, smacking his bare chest, hands curling over his shoulders so he can shake him a little, and he gets a few hoots and hollers as the rest of the team trickles back in. Someone names Tommy third star, but Nash has a rule about keeping up appearances, and he had technically been tossed from the game, so. He keeps his seat and waits until Buckley and Chim both return from taking their bow.

They’ve got a tradition, going back a few years now, a game puck tossed from player to player throughout the season for whatever the hell the previous recipient wants to acknowledge someone for. Tommy’s spent a few weeks hyping up the recipient with the rest of the team, but tonight Diaz calls for silence and every eye in the room swivels towards Tommy.

“Next time we’re getting you the full Gordie Howe,” comes the concise speech, and Tommy chuckles when Diaz leans in for a half-shake, half-hug where he admits in an undertone that Binner had definitely done his best to hold on to this particular puck at the game horn, so Tommy had better appreciate his efforts in acquiring it.

It’s not even March, but there’s a string of tension running through the whole group of them, a line of unspoken expectation as their home record extends to fifteen games — but as they trickle off to the showers with pats on the back and the giddy adrenaline of another win, Tommy can feel something brewing in the room.

He’s halfway through stretches, twenty minutes later, when Panikkar parks up next to him and knocks his knee against Tommy’s.

“That was some pretty decent work, Kinard,” Ravi says, like he hasn’t spent two weeks annoyed that Tommy can’t keep up with him when he’s on a breakaway, barely holding his tongue when Tommy lumbers down the ice after him. Diaz has made some noise, in recent days, about running suicide drills at the start of optionals, and Tommy is absolutely gonna get his ass handed to him. He’ll be there with bells, but he’s gonna be feeling that shit for weeks.

“Not so bad yourself, kid,” Tommy tells him, and Ravi ducks his head around a grin.

“Hen’s pissed I didn’t keep my mouth shut,” he admits, and gestures to his ribs, where Tommy can already see some nasty bruising. Tommy cocks an eyebrow.

“I’d have gotten them there on my own.”

Ravi’s grin brightens, and when he stands, Tommy can’t quite help the way he wants to stand as well, maybe give this kid a noogie, tease him about the height difference for a second. He’d grown up without brothers, but he’s found about a million and two in his time playing up and down the continent. “It’s more fun when you’ve got the whole team to move it along.”

He’s halfway out the door when he spins on his heel to give Tommy another look. “Hey, you know Gardiner’s had it out for Buckley for like, four years, right?”

Tommy shifts. Panikkar doesn’t need to know that he’s had the calendar date circled in his mind for three weeks, now, since the moment he’d hopped on the plane to Denver. He’s not going to admit to knowing every single guy in the league who’s ever set their sights on 18. He’s certainly not going to admit to spending most of his first evening in his rental watching highlight reels of Buckley (and Diaz) until he’d fallen asleep on his surprisingly comfortable sectional. He knows enemy number one for every game from now until the end of the season, but he knows Buckley’s best of all.

It’s what they’d brought him over for, Tommy rationalizes, again, and if he spends the drive home thinking about the wide slash of Evan Buckley’s smile when he’d skated in to celebrate Buckley’s goal, no one but Tommy has to know.

#bucktommy #bucktommy hockey au #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #boy howdy i just spent WAY too much time writing out hockey terminology in hopefully layman's terms i did that for myself #but hopefully you guys enjoy it too if you happen to take a peek at it

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blarrghe · 1 year ago

Note

For DADW, "We can never be together kiss"

I have been sitting on this prompt unsure what to do with it for a very long time. I found something! More Dorian x Lavellan pining. What else? Added to the canon prompts collection!

@dadrunkwriting

Taren Lavellan was having a rare good day.

Most days were productive. Busy. And that helped. He had made certain friends, or at least there were people around to support him, to ask for assistance, to count on to have his back in the field, and that helped too. Cassandra was good with a shield, and never shied away from giving advice. The Iron Bull was good with a greataxe, and never shied away from a drink. Sera was growing on him, or he was growing on Sera. She was never shy, at least, and never let him feel like more than he was.

Then, there was Dorian.

Dorian made him feel like… like the most important person in the world, when he was warm. And like an idiot when he wasn’t.

Today, he had him hooked with the former.

A rare good day. Not just productive, not just busy, but good, after that. They’d made inroads and progress in the Hinterlands and then made it back to Skyhold in one piece. There had been celebrations. Warm food, fresh ale, music. Taren sat at a table in the Herald’s Rest, and almost forgot that he was the Herald in need of it. Sera let him teach her a few Dalish dance steps. The Iron Bull poured him too many pints. Dorian stayed by his side, laughing and talking with the crowd of them, smiling warmly, leaning close.

He left with him, too, when Taren stumbled out of the place with claims that it was time for him to actually rest.

He seemed to have gotten Taren’s various clumsily dropped hints.

They walked through the courtyard, a place where they often stopped to talk in passing. Dorian would find him there and share tidbits of gossip and exaggerated frustrations. Taren would find himself looking for him there, looking for him to lighten the load of the very real frustrations and unhappy whispers which often followed him around.

The courtyard in the daylight was something of a mixed blessing; there was the sunlight, the scents of familiar herbs growing surprisingly well in their orderly little planters, the birdsong and the mountain view, but also it was a popular spot. Josephine’s tours of interested nobles chattered through with indiscreet judgement, Chantry sisters stopped him to appraise his supposed divinity and desperately attempt to remedy his incorrect faith, Templars eyed him warily. When he found Dorian there, his swagger could sometimes outshine all that. He knew how to navigate nobles and castles, judgmental glances and too-invasive questioning. Taren did not.

But now, in the cloudy twilight, the place was empty. Quiet. Peaceful. And, technically, his.

Taren stepped lightly across the cobblestone to the old gazebo, tipping his head back to inhale the cool air and admire the hazy sky as he did. The early night stars were mostly obscured by low-hanging mists and the grey day’s still lingering clouds, but they twinkled delicately through the night. A thin sliver of moon cast a little light over the shadowy courtyard, and inside the shelter it was nearly fully dark. Taren took a seat on the bench inside, and pulled out his pipe.

Dorian leaned on the stone pillar of the structure and watched him. Taren lit the pipe, inhaled, released a long stream of earthy smoke, and held it out in offer. Dorian stepped closer, blinking in the dark. Remembering, Taren cast up a small orb of magical light.

Wordlessly, they smoked together. Dorian took a seat beside him, and took his turns with slow, contemplative draws. Taren leaned into his shoulder, and the mage did not move. It was warm, comfortable, if a little stiff.

“Dorian,” he murmured finally, his arm reaching into a hold around Dorian’s back.

“Mm?”

“Come up with me,” Taren proposed, words drunkenly drawled, but clear, “to my quarters.”

“Inquisitor…”

Dorian only ever called him Inquisitor when he meant to say no.

“If you want to.”

“Wanting is not the —” Dorian pushed himself from the bench, leaving a cold spot upon Taren’s shoulder in his wake, and stood. “We can’t,” he said, facing him, handing back his pipe. “You know that we can’t.”

“Why not?” Taren looked at him plainly. Dorian’s eyes flicked quickly away. He sighed, frustrated. Taren knew why they couldn’t. They had had this conversation already — Taren had confirmed this decision already.

“You don’t really want that.”

“I do. As do you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“As are you.”

Taren stood too, leaving his pipe on the bench to smoulder. He took a step closer, Dorian did not move. He extinguished the light.

He kissed him.

Dorian’s face was cold, his skin chilled by the high mountain air. His lips responded warm. His hand found Taren’s waist. He tasted of the tavern’s terrible wine and elfroot. Taren must have too.

“You’re drunk.” Dorian said again, letting go, stepping back. Cold air rushed in between them. “We can’t.”

And then he left. Taren sat back on the stone bench in the dark. He did not need the light to see Dorian pace away, without backward glance, to disappear through a door in the stone of the castle walls.

He finished his pipe alone.

#idiots!#pavellan #dadwc #my fic

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bigskydreaming · 6 months ago

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Dunno how its never really occurred to me before that given their history, Bobby Drake and Loki could make the perfect enemies to lovers ship.

The X-Men's eternal prankster and the immortal Asgardian god of stories.

Who first met when the latter kidnapped the former to use his power to try and empower his army of frost giants, due to Bobby's nature making him a greater elemental force than Loki's own actual frost giant nature makes him, and who decades later reunited to team up when the latter again needed Bobby's power but this time had something to offer in return:

Using his own trickster nature to circumvent Bobby's long-standing tradition of self-sabotage, via arbitrary and self-imposed limits and inhibitions, the lingering aftereffects of his father's psychological abuse throughout his childhood.

Two sides of the same irreverent, devil-may-care coin, all the way down to the fact that they both do care, way more than either cares to ever admit. Both obstinate and overpowered enough that its extremely hard to ever get them to do anything they don't want to do at this point, up to and including just....be real.

Method actors who will commit to a bit well past the point of anyone else's patience, meaning each is potentially the only person patient enough to just let their partner play out whatever latest farce they've committed to for some obscure reason that makes sense to no one but themselves....and simultaneously, both of them among the only people capable of cutting through the other's bullshit with a pointed "Recognition of the Self In the Other" reference.

Also, I just feel that as much as people harp on about the enemies to lovers trope, Bobby's one of the few characters it REALLY makes sense for, because...

A) Look at his exes, look at his choices. This man has a TYPE, and that type is: "Has tried to kill him at least once."

and

B) Dude is unkillable, and that absolutely is a factor in how often he looks at a love interest with questionable intentions towards him and is like: "Yeah, this should work out fine, probably."

Lastly, all of this is at least fifty five percent motivated by Ewing's Defenders Beyond series....specifically, Loki's interactions there with Cloud. Aka the gender fluid sentient star who also happens to be one of Bobby's exes. Who also technically did try to kill him at least once. They didn't mean it, but I mean. Still falls with Bobby's "This is definitely My Type" parameters. I'm just saying.

Anyway, the thought of Cloud and Loki gossiping about Bobby is very amusing to me.

Cloud: Just so we're clear, I can be judgy about Bobby. You, not so much.

Loki: Well I certainly never agreed to that.

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koritea · 7 months ago

Note

how do the b-side characters interact with the a-side of the story?? :0 you mentioned they're side characters is it more of a "they appear for two seconds in-canon but they have a lot of other shit happening" deal or a "they're important to the story but I don't want to derail everything to talk abt this guy for 50k words so well address that later" deal. Or smthin else entirely

A little bit of all three!

I had to pull up my fucking excel sheet for this oh my GOD

Part of this is because a number of the B-side character are non-mortals (gods, angels, demons, inexplicable creatures from other realms, etc.) And to avoid a lot of Deus Ex Machina I've removed them from the spotlight and/or limited their powers outside of their own realms (I.e. Icarus, the Deity of Fallen Stars (Reincarnation) could just resurrect a bunch of people and that alone would solve a bunch of problems but I wanna put Aria through hell and back so Icarus can't resurrect people outside of the Arcane realm (WHICH IS A WHOLE OTHER THING LOL but there's basically the Arcane realm (gods of obscure powers), the Primal realm (gods of fundamental powers), and the Trinity (Angels, Humans and Demons) and each realm has it's own world and yada yada yada)) where was I-

B-SIDE okay so depending on the character, their interaction with the A-side can be rather frequent or non existent. Leif and Dew show up frequently in A-side, while Empress is only ever mentioned.

Some B-Side characters only show up for plot hooks - like Michael.

Some of them are literally just here to make the goal harder, like Atticus.

SOMETIMES these interactions have consequences! During the time Aria is in Tyrinth (Arcane world), Atticus (Trinity world "Earth") technically shouldn't be able to show up when he does (there is no physical or magical means of transporting a being of one realm to another, but Reality is neither physical nor magical and they're REALLY fucked up right now)! His appearance causes some unwanted side effects and his counterpart, Jahan, suffers the brunt of it in the form of some biblically accurate angel body horror-esk stuff :)

Additionally there is a LOT of stuff that happens behind the scenes since the story is only from Aria's perspective.

Having the B-side characters limited in their interactions with the A-side is also a way to sort of... lighten the load for me? Some of the god-like character are rather non-human even in their behaviors and whatnot, and thus are rather difficult to write effectively. So to limit how much "would he fucking say that???" I have to do, they get put behind the curtain :D

#JUPMING AROUND WAVING HI HELLO HI TY FOR ASKING AAA #some day I will gather my thoughts effectively and write this goddamn book buT FOR NOW #I HAVE SO MUCH LORE #on that last part Clockwork in particular gives me so many problems i love it but dear GOD can it be a little nicer to ME PLEASE #<- literally my own damn fault lmao #asks #keymintt #crypt of the stars #cots

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sleepytimemoga-p2 · 2 years ago

Text

Threaded

Ships: Paulie Lombardo/Original Character

Cw: Racism mention

The sun and moon joined together and bore into her like watchful eyes of Gods she never knew existed, her past, future, and the stars between congregated on a peach sky only sunset could offer. Ruth didn’t move from where she laid but stared back at the cosmic forces that came to judge her, her body laying in the marble warmth of a water fountain. What would it all mean in the end? What would bring peace? She decided that it wouldn’t truly matter in the end and that was what truly was peace. A shadow loomed over her and drew her attention away from the heavens, a visage of a man obscured by shadows and a figure that imposed. He sat at the edge of the fountain and reached into the clear waters, scared fingers tracing her arm and then the small of her back, pulling her towards him.

“Who are…?” Her mind whispered but her lips could never speak, she lifted her hand to touch him.

Ruth sighed and shook the reoccurring dream she’s been having since she’s moved to Lost Heaven out of her head with the promise that if she had that dream again, she’d call her grandmother about it. Especially if it involved a man. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath before she went back to sewing the last bit of sequins into a dress she had on display. The cold radiating from the window made the skin on her arm prickle, the gray world outside was something she wasn’t quite used to yet.

“Woah.” A set of pale eyes peered at her and her works through the display, making her want to slink back behind the curtains and run to the back where it’s safe but she instead kept sewing, just listening. “Imagine dancin’ in that Mary!”

“That?” Her friend tucked herself into her coat. “I heard that store mainly caters to call girls Betty.”

“Wouldn’t that be fine? Would piss your father off.” She huffed.

“I mean you could still buy a dress, I know how you like your eggs brown.” Mary smirked and Betty was suddenly flustered, running to join her friend’s side.

“It was only one time!” She whined as they finally left.

Ruth rolled her eyes and cut a thread, disappearing behind the curtains. That was another thing she was getting used to moving from the south, how subtle the prejudice was. Everything was thinly veiled and wrapped with a bow, compliments on how she spoke or looked, how she must love how “different” things were. She knew what they met by tone alone and it honestly made her want to laugh. Deep down she just wished some of them would own it. But as long as she wasn’t getting hurt, all she’d do was laugh about it over the phone later. For now it was time for work.

Her orders were all bright, vibrant, and covered in sequins. Unlike the dying world outside, her dresses were blooming with life. The woman from the window was technically right about a good chunk of her clients being prostitutes but there were also dancers and artists. She thought of them as strong women, chasing the dream of independence and exploration, women she admired and related to. But she did have to do something about her customers spreading a silly rumor, saying that she’s a love witch from the bayou who sews spells into her dresses. “Money and men would always follow if you wear Madame Moss’s dresses!”

If that were true, where the hell was her rich husband?

Hell not even a husband, just someone to fool around with would be nice too. It feels like her bed’s getting colder each day and she wasn’t just talking about the winter weather. She sat at her table in thought.

“What I’m sayin’ Paulie is that we shoulda just gave her the money.” A heavy accent mixed in with the chime of her door’s bell, making her perk up, standing to greet the men entering her store. It wasn’t the first time she’s seen a man come in to pay for a girl’s dress.

“Aw come on! Ain’t it nice to see where your girl gets all dolled up?” The other man chimed in.

“You Ms.Moss?” A lean man with beady blue eyes bore into her, his suit was simple but she could easily compare him to the weather outside. The other man who she assumed was Paulie, was busy standing at the door but stealing glances at the two.

“That would be me.” She gave a friendly smile despite the tense atmosphere. “How may I help you today?”

“Here to pay for Felicia Russo’s dress. How much do I owe ya?”

Of all the dresses she’s done in the past week, she could remember Ms.Russo’s dress. Felicia was a gaunt woman and had a love for all things Egyptian royalty, wanted her dress that was black with golden sequins that resembled a pyramid. Ruth was so in love with the idea that she’s been losing sleep just to work on it and it was almost done.

“Eleven dollars.” Her eyes twinkled, glad her hard work was paying off.

He pulled a wad of cash from his breast pocket and counted it, setting the money on the counter instead of her open hand. He glowered and turned to his friend.

“Come on Paulie.”

Paulie turned to his friend and her eyes gleamed at the sight of his tie but also at his suit.

“Sir!” She almost jumped over her table, which made both men visibly tense. “I’m so sorry but I just wanted a better look at your tie!”

Both men gave her inquisitive looks as she stared, studying the patterns of his maroon tie.

“Whoever made it did a beautiful job. You have great taste.”

“Thanks..” Paulie blinked at her, still in shock at the sudden forwardness. “Guess I do.”

“Yeah whatever, we gotta go!” The thin man grabbed Paulie by the shoulder and he nodded to her as he followed him out the door.

Why did things feel familiar?

#paulie lombardo #original character #my writing #fanfic #mafia #mafia definitive edition #oc x canon #fanfiction #sam trapani

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thebnha-auhoard · 2 years ago

Text

Nesting habits of Carnivores alike

Words: 2708, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Multi

Characters: Toga Himiko, Takami Keigo | Hawks

Tags: Toga Himiko is a Little Shit, Sweet Toga Himiko, Toga Himiko Being Toga Himiko, Toga Himiko Needs Rest, Protective Takami Keigo | Hawks, Takami Keigo | Hawks-centric, Takami Keigo | Hawks Acts Like a Bird, Soft Takami Keigo | Hawks, Parental Takami Keigo | Hawks, Takami Keigo | Hawks is a Mess, Mentioned Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Mentioned Usagiyama Rumi | Miruko, raw meat eating, Hair Braiding, Hugging, in the end but yeah, ships are very backgroundlike they are in the background setting you should notice them but they aren't full story, DadDecember Ect Events, Obscure Dads Week

There was a crack and a pop of uncomfortable bones and muscles as Keigo made his way to “his” apartment, most of his feathers were missing and any not attached were for certain being dragged behind him as if tied with string behind his own dragging wings, and Keigo could feel the mess of mostly dried stains in his wings that made his brain even more scattered about, wanting to preen and pick feathers until he would calm down. And yet he could feel the smile creeping in his face as he could imagine his best friends grinning faces at his state if they saw him coming back home.

Keigo doesn’t really bother with the keys somewhere along his full pockets, a feather quickly makes the way of the lock as soon Keigo had visual of the front door, and he just, leans into the apartment, ready to go face down in the at least cushy couch which was provided by the commission when he received the apartment (and most of the complex but of course those were only on his name in name, the commission always “managing” everything in his life-).

Instead, Keigo is surprised to see a different blond head shrieking as the automatic lights connected to the door activated, bleeding the house with overhead warm light instead of just the previous open fridge door light that was there, Toga Himiko was staring at him, probably trying to calm her heart at the sudden shift in the ambience. Keigo probably was exactly too tired to not even question on why the villain from the villain group both himself and Tou- Dabi were undercover, no, what he question was even more dumb.

“How… did you find this?”

Which props to Keigo a bit because that was a genuine baffling question, since most of the building complex was bought by the commission and the rest were on a rent basis, aka making it not be a place people really talked about, least of all any strange sightings they could have seen of one person or other. Tho the Keigo of right now was very much throwing himself in the big sofa that is the only thing they kept from the initial moving in, he spread out all of his limbs stretching out before just staying sprawling like a sea star, his feathers resting near but not much, so he could sense Toga start and stop, measuring her words to him.

“Well, I saw flambé getting in here, so, i assumed this was his…”

“It technically is, and mine, and owned by another one too”

He turned his head to have one eye looking at her, just noticing she was drinking one of Rumi’s plant milk based boxes, which made him gag the first time he tried one, so no thank you. Although the girl didn’t have the cornered animal look anymore, so that was a plus, the downside now is that teasing malice was what shined in those slitted eyes, and with a not necessary fanged smile.

“So you two DO have a thing!”

Keigo groaned, forfeiting the right of vision of the unnecessary fang showing, he knew Himiko fangs were retractable as his talons, and yet here she was rummaging the fridge and giggling like it was just a play. After a moment, his hunger was bigger than the cringe feeling, so Keigo righted his posture in time to see Himiko open the fridge again to look a bit more it seems..

Very lazy, Keigo ordered the feathers to bring his stached cuts of meat sponsored by Dabi chicken heming need to plan every meal in their house. Toga dodged the array like a second nature, still looked confused at him as Keigo himself smiled at the small tray of sashimi cuts and the sorted defrozen chicken they had, Keigo started with a drumstick.

"Why... are you eating that?"

Keigo thrilled, closest thing for a laugh with a whole drumstick in his mouth, and he almost choked at the gaping expression change to a jaw on the floor one as he audibly broke the bone in his bite.

"What?" He tried to say, but Keigo was very much still biting down onto the chilled chicken. So it sounded more like garble than anything else, which absolutely didn't help Toga expression at him

"Don't you have to like... cook that?"

Keigo shrugged, swallowing down.

"Do you have to cook and check for diseases in your blood?"

Himiko pouted, stomping one time on the floor. Keigo, who still very much lived with Rumi, waited for the tackle or the continued thumps as the rabbit became more impatient, or the shrill noise she would make when he or Dabi really got on her nerves.

Instead, Himiko only continued with a whine tone.

"That's different! You know that!"

"Literally how, you know there's a reason that I'm Hawks and not any other bird, you know?"

Keigo, who very much thought that expression was a dramatic media invention, wheezed and dropped the sashimi slice he was picking back in the tray as Himiko inflated her checks with an annoyed expression, and let all that air go immediately into a growl at Keigo reaction.

"Ok mister Hawks, what other bird would you be, huh?"

Toga swung the fridge door open again, sticking her head in cutting off Keigo vision of her.

After finishing that slice he dropped, he hummed out loud, thinking perhaps a bit much about the question.

"Vulture, perhaps, or Owl if I wanted to still have a hero theme and all."

Himiko shoot her head out, holding one of the fried buns Dabi liked to munch in her mouth but otherwise it was a surprised expression she gave him, which made him arch an eyebrow at her. She tried to talk, but clearly forgot the bun she was holding, but Himiko was fast enough to catch it before it fell on the ground. With a grumble again, she let it rest besides where the drink was left on the table top, and gone back to investigate what there was in their fridge.

"Didn't think you birdie would like those scavenger types"

Keigo snorted, and bit down on the last slice of the fish tray before answering.

"Well, our stomach compositions are practically the same, and there is a known bright red species, tho I think it was because they use makeup? I don't know, and they are cool."

"Do you think they are cool?"

Keigo was a bit rattled by how small Himiko voice got on the question, and he did have enough emotional intelligence to see that something in that was important to the girl.

Keigo shrugged knowingly that Toga couldn't see it and said.

"They are very cool, even if other people don't think that, they don't really care because they got their own thing you know, getting rid of infection and carcasses and all."

Keigo chirped when he felt the sofa dippen, tiredness was really eating at him at not noticing Toga coming, no sign of the milk drink but there were some of the buns in her lap, and Keigo could feel the avoided gaze of the girl, with her back firmly in his general direction. The only thing he hoped is that he didn’t accidentally anger the blood thirsty teen, Keigo continued to munch on bone and meat alike.

“Pick a number between 50 and 20.”

Keigo blinked, after finishing his last piece was the statement said. Looking at her, Keigo saw Himiko still wasn’t looking at him, only one bun remaining in her lap as the girl worked on the hair buns. Keigo pouted while thinking, absently minded taking the leftover trash to the trash or the sink.

“33”

“Left or Right?”

Keigo now turned to her, sitting cross legged and letting his wings sag behind him now that there was no task to be done.

“Right.”

“Red, blue or green?” Now Himiko turned at him, smile without fangs as she seems to give up on righting the buns and just let her hair go.

“Blue.” Keigo watched as she munched the fried bun left, still smiling at him, perhaps he looked funny when tired to her?

“Dawn or dusk?”

“Dawn, shouldn’t you go to sleep?”

The smile immediately falls, but there’s no pout, only slight squint at him with no force of a glare.

“Shouldn’t you?”

Keigo sighed. “Yeah i should, but you’re here, so…”

There’s the pout he wasn’t looking for.

“Well, i want to stay the night!”

“Cool, do you want to take a shower or just hit the hay?”

Himiko blinked wide-eyed at him, but Keigo was already set, his stray feathers reconnecting with his wings as he got up and stretched. Keigo headed to Dabi’s room in search of some night wear she would have.

“Wait! Are you being serious?!” Was called out, which Keigo couldn’t really respond with his face in a closet, but soon he found one of those long shirts with short sleeves that Dabi would wear in long free days.

“Yeah! Do you want me to run your outfit in the washing machine while you’re at the bath?” He peaked in Rumi’s room, grabbing one shorts of hers before coming back to the living room, with an easy smile on. Himiko was still where Keigo left her, now blinking wildly at him like he had grown another head.

With a tone to set the final nail on the coffin, Keigo did his final offer. “I could help do your hair, I know how to do a sick french braid!”

Now there was definitely a sparkle in her yellow eyes as Himiko quietly said. “Yeah”

There was more spark in Keigo smile now, exhaustion forgotten for a moment as he ushered the teen to the shower, making sure the spare clothes were in her hands before heading off to ready the sofa with the futon cover and some spare pillows, Keigo chuckled at the memory of the argument about that between the three and Keigo being very scandalized that Rumi only would take two and Touya would take one, his best friends and their lack of early back problems was a matter of scandalisation at the highest dramatic acti he would muster with them.

Things helpfully laid out in the couch, Keigo deemed the room lights to mostly dark but still able to see, and after some feather work, he could grab the left out dirty clothes without needing to open the door, and got to set up the washing machine with a bit of powder bleach besides the soap and vinegar, and chugged the cardigan, fuku, skirt and high socks, leaving the neckerchief aside for no color damage, Keigo learned his lesson with Rumi hero costume accident.

After that, Keigo resettled his sitting position, and perhaps struggled to stay awake a bit for Himiko to be finished, by the time the door opened from the showers, he was dropping his head from minute to minute.

“You better not sleep and mess my hair up.”

Keigo gestured for her to sit in front of him, not minding the threat since he was trained out of unsteady hands in exhaustion when he was 10.

“That’s depressing! Cats or dogs?” While the question was asked, Keigo busied his hands gently prying the hair and dividing in two, and getting to work in the left side again by dividing into three and starting the braid with light movements.

“Bunnies”

“Water or fire?”

“Fire” Keigo tugs a bit to get the braid firm, now to tuck it in, in a bun…

“Desk or couch?”

“Couch”

“Pokemon starter?”

“Pikachu”

“Lame, turtles or rays?”

“Manta” There, with two hair ties it was secure and frankly Keigo is proud of how it is looking so far, now to the other side.

“Plus or sub?”

“Plus”

“Beef or chicken”

“Chicken”

“Call or message?”

“Calls”

“Light or darkness?”

“Darkness. Finished, is it too tight?” Keigo leaned back admiring his work of making the buns not to flat but managing to have the circles more apparent since he managed to wrap the braid in itself that it was showing the hole in the wrapping in the center of both. It would probably fall away fastly, but Keigo knows his actual braids will last, when he did Rumi hair one time it lasted all morning without coming undone with the activity!

“Nop!”

“Well, then settle in, because i’m gonna snooze.” Keigo shuffled aside until he could stand again, and couldn’t force the yawn that resulted from it, but it was good fun seeing Himiko smile in the corner of his eye

“You still say that?” Himiko leaned, smile easy and a just a glint of teasing in her eyes that Keigo did notice were starting to drop.

“I say a lot of old slang when tired yeah.” Keigo absently nodded, rolling in the balls of his feet trying to stave off grogginess

“Grampa.” Keigo huffed, turning and starting his walk to his room.

“Goodnight my sweetheart!”

“Lame!!!” He let’s out a cackle in time of the teen, before Keigo is shutting the door and breathing out, not to relax per say, he is already calm enough, but something in this back and fourth make his mind cotton and heart ready to… do something, he wasn’t really sure what at this point, but it felt similar all those years ago, when Keigo was sure he would do anything for the other two best friends.

But sure is something different, since that was Toga, a 15 something year old villain, and he sure as hell didn’t feel like that to anyone in that age length and moral ground.

Whatever, Keigo took his shirt off and promptly fell in dreamless slumber the moment he relaxed against the bed and his pillow.

The doors of their apartment are well oiled, but it is still easy for booth Keigo and Rumi pick on any movement in their home, and Touya was as much as early riser as Keigo and stone cold sleeper, so, even if sleep clinging to his mind. His body tenses up, hand already curling around one of his old molt sharp feathers under the pillow, and Keigo wonders why the normal adrenaline hasn’t kicked up when the presence spoke, and of course he recognize it after one minute away from the interaction with her.

“Birdie.” There’s an yawn between. “Let me snuggle.”

“... what.”

“The sofa isn’t comfy.” Shuffling of feet, and confusion was what filled Keigo mind, since he knows for a fact that that sofa is extra comfy, and what would be the problem-.

Realization didn’t strike like thunder, and perhaps that was the motive of it leaving Keigo breathless, or because the memory hit him full of body slamming force, of himself shuffling towards his mother bed and quietly asking to join in. His hand trembled as he let go of the now soft feather and pushed up to look, his vision wasn’t as good in the dark as Rumi, but he could see clear enough to know the expression of slow regret and doubt on the normally smiling face.

Yeah, ok, maybe he now has a name for the feelings relating Himiko, and understands why To-Dabi would spend so much time with the girl outside the meetings with the league, but it all is just a maybe.

“Sure, get conforta-oof.”

Keigo had the mind to get his wings out of the way, but was still surprised at the velocity that Himiko springed out of the door into the bed. He wasn't winded by the impact, but more of the instinct chirp that left at the impact, with the breath Keigo took he could feel the girl snaking around him, but never really bringing arms up, and could smell the camomile and fresh grass that Dabi liked to use to get rid of smoke smell, and strong iron scent that made him gulp.

Himiko stilled, and settled down where she was mostly curled next to him.

Keigo counted four heartbeats, before overcoming the hesitation, wrapping both wing and arm around the teen, and waited eight more for Himiko stiffness to relax again into the mattress.

“Goodnight.”

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