#the graphics are /fine/ but i feel the lighting usually doesn't look as good as older games. like stuff ends up feeling more washed out

[spectrearia]

croteam, in ''the talos principle: reawakened" trailer: experience the definitive edition of the talos principle with quality of life changes, the road to gehenna dlc, and a brand new chapter!

me: :D

croteam: ...with all new updated graphics rendered in unreal engine 5

me:

[mandalhoerian]

⸺ chris redfield x reader, 15K

⸺ psychological horror, graphic descriptions of violence

⸺ summary: Sent on a mission to neutralize a bioweapon, Chris Redfield and his team find themselves trapped in an endless loop of death on a remote island. Each day brings new horrors—and along with it the only constant, you, the lone survivor, remembering along with him.

⸺ back to bloody endings.

⸺ read on ao3

taglist: @uhlunaro @wxwieeee @ann1-the-s1mp @withonly-sweetheart @esterphobic

@justb3333 @ada-wong-lover @nyctophiliagnes @kiyokoume @lightning-hawke

@cherriesnfangs @byexbyez @leonw4nter @misonesaturou @sparrowguardian

The low hum of the boat’s engine thrums beneath Chris’s boots, steady and monotonous, like a heartbeat too tired to falter, saltwater spraying from the bow as the craft slices through gray-blue waves, flinging cold beads of seawater onto his gear. He leans against the cold metal railing, the steel vibrating under his weight, and squints through the dense fog cloaking the horizon. The island waits ahead—silent, still—its jagged cliffs rising like broken teeth from the sea.

“Fortunate Son” pops and crackles out of the radio, opening chords bleeding into the hum of the engine. Chris drags a gloved hand down his jaw, rough with days-old stubble, and exhales slowly through his nose. The music nestles deep under his skin, familiar in a way that makes his scalp itch, some bone-deep part of him waiting for something else—something different—to fill the air.

He glances toward the helm where Rodriguez, their comms officer, grips the wheel with one hand, her other drumming lazily against the console. “Ugh, this song?” she mutters, not bothering to look up. “You’d think they’d switch it up now and then.”

Chris doesn’t respond. His fingers tap against his thigh, the rhythm in perfect sync with Rodriguez’s drumming—before he notices and clenches his hand into a fist. Behind him, the faintest murmurs rise from the rest of his team, huddled around a portable game board, plastic pieces clattering onto its surface while the boat bobs over choppy waves. He doesn't turn to see what they're playing.

Beside him, Morgan adjusts the strap of her rifle across her chest and nudges his boot with her own. “You good, Redfield?” she asks, breath misting in the cold air. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m fine,” Chris says, but the words scrape his throat, as if he’s spit them out a hundred times already. He shifts his stance, rolling his shoulders, but the tension pressing down on him doesn’t lift. He catches himself staring at the water—the foam curling and folding away in the boat’s wake, every ripple as identical as the last.

Morgan grins. “Yeah, I bet you are, big guy. Just another day for you, right? A nice and easy snatch-and-grab in paradise." She gestures to the island before her, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Who knew viruses could afford a place like this these days?"

Something twists in Chris’s gut, sharp and cold. He presses his lips into a thin line and looks away, clenching his jaw so tight he feels the pressure in his temples. The island looms larger now, jagged cliffs towering above the restless sea, their sharp edges softened by the heavy fog. He leans farther over the railing, letting the sting of cold spray bite his skin, hoping to settle whatever prickle of unease skittered through him. He doesn't know why; he has no reason to feel off about this mission—if anything, it's one of their easier jobs, taking less than a week, from departure to return. And nothing that warranted bringing their usual firepower.

It still feels wrong. Everything about this fucking place feels wrong. He should be light-hearted, eager even, as much as he can be for any mission that doesn’t involve him running headlong into warzones. But the only thing rising from the pit of his stomach is a persistent buzz of anxiety, like an engine rumbling idly underneath him. Waiting for him to drive. To crash. To do something.

Rodriguez twists the volume knob, and the lyrics kick in: “Some folks are born silver spoon in hand. Lord, don't they help themselves, Lord...” The chords curl around Chris’s thoughts like a noose. The song shouldn’t bother him—it’s just music—but it does. It scratches at something buried deep, a memory he can’t reach.

He grips the railing tighter until his gloves creak.

“Can’t say I’m a fan of this island getaway though," Morgan continues as if sensing he needs more than silence to ground himself, her own apprehension masked under wry humor. She glances around the boat, noting their less-than-impressive weaponry collection. "Whole place feels cursed. Shouldn't we be packing bigger guns than this?"

"Didn't expect anything other than some lousy security," Rodriguez answers from the helm, finally looking up from her screens. "All intel says they don't have much here—just a lab. Can't exactly fit giant bioweapons on an island this tiny."

Chris doesn’t respond. The mission brief was simple: secure the island, contain the bioweapon, rescue survivors. Standard stuff. But the closer they get, the heavier the air feels—as if the island knows they’re coming. He glances over his shoulder at the others. Rodriguez stays focused on the helm. Morgan checks her weapon, steady and sure. Scrader and Kashiwabara are still at the gameboard. None of them seem uneasy at all—yet Chris feels like something bad is about to happen.

“Land in five,” Rodriguez calls, steering them closer.

Chris straightens, rolling his shoulders again, but the tension clings to him like wet clothes. The motion feels too smooth, too rehearsed. His muscles move, but it’s like he’s watching from a distance, as if the actions aren’t his own.

He rubs his hands together, trying to warm his fingers, but the cold clings to him. His boots scrape the deck as he turns toward the island. The cliffs loom high, sheer and jagged, silhouetted against the dull gray sky.

Something flickers along the shore—a shadow slipping between the rocks, quick and subtle. Chris blinks, his hand twitching toward his sidearm, but the shadow’s already gone, swallowed by the mist. His pulse kicks up, fast and uneven, and he clenches his jaw until the pressure aches. Nothing’s there. Nothing’s supposed to be there.

The boat rises on a swell, the motor groaning under the strain. Morgan shifts beside him, her shoulder brushing his. “You sure you’re good?” she asks again, quieter this time.

Chris flexes his hands, jaw tight. “Yeah.” The lie scrapes the back of his throat like broken glass.

He faces the island, fog swirling at the edges of the shoreline. The black rocks gleam under the mist, jagged shapes rising from the waves like the bones of a drowned giant. His breath steams in the cold air, and he exhales slowly, watching the vapor drift away like a ghost.

The closer they get, the more everything feels... off. Not wrong, exactly—just misaligned, as though someone took a familiar scene and shifted it a few degrees. Every step, every breath feels rehearsed, like watching himself move through a memory he can’t place.

Morgan nudges his shoulder, offering a crooked grin. “Then try not to look so grim, Redfield. We’ll be in and out before you know it.”

Chris doesn’t answer. His gaze stays locked on the shoreline, where the rocks glisten under the mist like obsidian teeth, the water beating against them, each wave curling exactly the same way as the last.

Rodriguez calls out, “Touchdown in one!” The motor cuts back, the boat slowing as they approach the shore.

Chris shifts again, fingers twitching at his side, an itch just under the surface. He knows the feeling—the uneasy crawl of a mission about to go wrong—but this one digs deeper, like he’s already in the middle of something he hasn’t even started.

The boat slices through the final layer of mist, revealing the shore beyond. The rocks seem sharper now, the shadows thicker, they almost settle low in his gut.

The boat rocks gently as it grinds against the shore with a dull scrape of metal on wet stone. The engine sputters to silence, leaving only the soft slap of waves lapping against the rocks and the low hum of static from the radio, now too faint to make out the lyrics of “Fortunate Son.” Rodriguez kills the ignition with a flick of her wrist, and for a moment, the stillness is too sharp, as if the island has exhaled and is waiting for them to take its first breath.

Chris steps off the boat, his boots sinking into the wet sand with a dull squelch. The ground feels colder than it should, the kind of cold that seeps through the soles of his boots and creeps up his legs. He pauses for a moment, shifting his weight as his eyes sweep across the shore. The sand glistens unnaturally under the muted daylight, slick and heavy, as though it’s been soaked through—not by water, but by blood. It stretches across the shore like a spiderweb, reaching far beyond what little Chris can see, leading all the way to the base of the cliffs, where dark tendrils stretch like veins under pale, glistening skin.

Kashiwabara and Scrader pack away their board game, Scrader grumbling under his breath about the interrupted match. Kash throws a lazy grin in Chris’s direction, tucking a black pawn into the pocket of his vest. “Two more rounds, and I would’ve wiped the floor with him.”

“In your dreams,” Scrader mutters, hopping off the boat and landing with a soft splash in the shallow water. He shakes out his boot with a grimace, as if the cold sea is more offense than inconvenience.

Chris doesn’t bother with their banter, eyes already scanning the shoreline. The rocks gleam black under the fog, slick and sharp as broken glass, surrounded by patches of dark, wet sand. The whole place feels too quiet—no birds, no wind, just the faint trickle of seawater winding through cracks in the rocks.

Rodriguez jumps down next, radio clipped to her shoulder, static fizzing softly as she adjusts the frequency. She squints toward the line of trees beyond the beach. They’re crooked, gnarled trunks bending at strange angles, the earth beneath them seems to be shifted just slightly out of place. Chris’s jaw tightens, the skin at the back of his neck prickling.

Morgan is last, boots hitting the ground with a crunch. She clicks the safety on her rifle, her dark eyes already sweeping the treeline. “Fuckass vibes in here," she whispers, not taking her attention from the silent forest. "Not even any guard dogs or shit—what did they do, just leave their new pet unprotected? No warning signs or anything? Just... nothing?"

Chris is squinting, there’s no wind, but the trees inland sway faintly.

“Spread out, stay close,” he says, keeping it low but firm. His breath clouds in front of him, swirling into the damp air. He adjusts his grip on his weapon, fingers flexing over the cold steel. “We stick to the mission—find the facility, contain the bioweapon, extract survivors.”

Everyone nods their assent, weapons raised and ready.

Kash throws a mock salute, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, boss man. Wouldn't wanna miss out on that fat paycheck." He winks, clearly unaffected by Chris's solemn expression. Scrader smacks him hard over the back of the head, rolling his eyes and drawing a string of curses from his teammate.

Chris moves forward, leading the team inland. The sand beneath his boots feels unnaturally cold, clinging to his soles like it’s been soaked through with ice water. A crunch here, a squelch there—the ground is inconsistent, like it hasn’t decided if it wants to be mud or stone.

They push past the beach, stepping onto the narrow path winding between the twisted trees. The fog clings to the branches, heavy and damp, an old gayze wrapping them. Chris notices how the mist seems to shift around them, parting slightly as they walk through but knitting itself back together once they pass, he doesn't like that the island is closing the door behind them. Not one bit.

Scrader kicks a rock into the underbrush and mutters under his breath, “What is this, Silent Hill?” His voice sounds too loud, as if the island is swallowing every other sound except theirs.

Rodriguez fiddles with her radio again, her brows knitting as more static pours from the speaker. “Getting nothing,” she says, irritation sharp in her voice. She slaps the side of the radio, but the static doesn’t change.

A flicker of movement catches his eye to the right—just a shadow shifting between the trunks, gone before he can focus on it. His grip tightens on his rifle. “Eyes open,” he warns, the words instinctive, falling from his lips without thought.

The team falls quiet, weapons raised a fraction higher. The air presses in closer. Chris swears the fog grows thicker the further they walk, wrapping tighter around the crooked trees, smothering the world just a little more.

They round a bend, and Chris’s boot sinks into a patch of loose earth. He stops, shifting his weight, feeling the ground give way beneath him. For a moment, he sees it—a handprint, pressed deep into the soil, still fresh. Or... maybe not a handprint exactly. Something close. He blinks, and it’s gone, just wet earth under his boot.

“You good, Redfield?” Morgan’s voice snaps him back, and he shakes his head, to clear the strange fog creeping into his mind.

He follows her gaze toward his feet, his throat tightening when he sees a trail of scuffs carved into the dirt, jagged lines dragging sideways across the path. Blood smeared against the earth. Fresh.

No one speaks as they continue, wary footsteps heavy through the muck. Chris feels that cold uneasiness creeping up his spine again. He didn’t see any animals earlier—none of the usual sign of wildlife. No birds. No wind. Not even bugs crawling through the trees or flies buzzing overhead, none of those annoying sounds you always get in places like this. Just silence.

They keep moving, the team falling into uneasy silence. Even Kash stays quiet, his usual cockiness evaporated in the strange atmosphere of the island. The path narrows further as they approach the edge of the forest, where the twisted branches form an arch overhead, like a doorway carved into the landscape.

Chris pauses just before the arch, scanning the shadows ahead. Something moves again at the edge of his vision—a blur of motion that disappears when he tries to follow it. It’s starting to feel less like coincidence and more like a pattern.

“We’re close,” he says, though he isn’t sure how he knows that.

Morgan steps up beside him, her gaze flicking to the crooked trees. “You ever seen anything like this?” she whispers, her breath curling in the cold air.

Chris shakes his head. “No. But we keep moving.”

Rodriguez mutters something under her breath and taps the side of her radio again. The static shifts—just for a moment—and Chris swears he hears something buried beneath it. A voice? A whisper? It vanishes before he can make sense of it.

They step through the arch, and the air changes—thicker, colder, as if they’ve crossed some invisible threshold. Chris tightens his grip on his rifle.

Ahead, just visible through the thinning fog, the facility looms, half-buried under layers of creeping moss and cracked stone. The windows are dark, shattered in places, and the walls are streaked with something that might have been blood, long dried and blackened.

Kash and Morgan move to either side of the entrance, rifles raised, eyes scanning the darkened hall beyond. A flicker of light sparks from inside, some kind of electrical short still clinging to life, but it only adds to the eerie stillness. Chris gives a quick signal—two fingers forward—and they step inside, boots echoing softly on the cracked tile floor.

The interior is worse than he expected. The walls are stained, some with dark streaks that look suspiciously like dried blood, others covered in grime and moss that’s crept in through the broken windows. Scratches mar the walls in long, jagged lines, as if something—or someone—had clawed at them in a desperate attempt to escape. The lights overhead flicker, casting brief, dim glows that make the shadows stretch and twist in unnatural ways.

Chris moves forward, the faint sound of his breathing the only thing grounding him. His eyes scan the hallway, sweeping from corner to corner. Every door they pass is ajar, some hanging off their hinges, others splintered at the edges. He motions for the others to spread out, and they do so with silent efficiency, weapons trained on the darkness beyond.

“Kash, left,” he orders quietly, keeping his voice low. “Scrader, cover the rear. Rodriguez, keep that radio quiet until we’re sure.”

The team moves like clockwork, their boots barely making a sound on the filthy floor. The air inside the facility is stale, thick with the smell of mildew and something faintly metallic. Chris steps carefully over a rusted piece of machinery, broken beyond repair, and his eyes narrow at the sight of frayed wires sparking weakly from the wall. This place was abandoned, but not long enough for everything to be dead. There was life here—recently.

They pass a room on the right, the door hanging wide open. Inside, lab equipment is scattered haphazardly, beakers tipped over, and papers crumpled on the floor. It looks like someone left in a hurry, but not everyone made it out. Chris takes a quick glance, noting the overturned chairs and a faint smear of something dark along the floor, but he presses on. Something tells him the answers are further inside.

As they move deeper into the facility, the temperature drops. The cold seeps into his skin, settling in his bones, and Chris feels his muscles tighten against the chill. There’s a tension in the air now, thick and suffocating, and it feels like the walls themselves are closing in. His eyes flick toward the faint glimmers of movement at the edges of the room—the wind, maybe, or the remnants of some faulty ventilation system—but they feel too purposeful.

He pauses at the end of a long corridor, eyes narrowing. A lab door sits half-closed ahead, light spilling faintly from the crack beneath it, casting eerie shadows along the floor. He motions for the team to hold position, his own steps slow as he approaches the door. There’s something here—he can feel it in the way the air pulls tighter with each breath, the way the silence presses against his eardrums.

Chris reaches the door, his hand settling on the rough metal surface, and nudges it open with the barrel of his rifle. It swings slowly, creaking loudly in the stillness, revealing a small lab-like room inside. Tables covered in scattered documents and broken equipment clutter the space, some of it sparking faintly, as if whatever happened here short-circuited everything.

And in the center of the room, seated on an overturned crate, you.

Chris freezes. For a second, his mind blanks, his body tensing, unsure whether to raise his weapon or stand down. You look haggard—your clothes are stained with dirt, your hair matted, skin pale—but there’s no sign of injury. Just exhaustion, etched deep into your features, like you’ve been awake far too long. But what catches his attention is your eyes. They’re sharp, not frantic, but calm, like you’ve seen too much and have already come to terms with it.

For a second, Chris doesn’t move, his hand hovering near his sidearm. He feels a strange pull, something about you that seems familiar—though he knows, logically, you’re a stranger. It’s a nagging sensation, as though he’s met you before, though he knows he hasn’t.

“You found me,” you say, your voice soft, hoarse from disuse. The words hang in the air for a moment, and Chris blinks, his brain struggling to catch up to the moment.

His rifle dips slightly, just a fraction, before he catches himself and brings it back up. “On your feet. Hands where I can see them," he orders. His voice echoes through the quiet, hanging like smoke between you.

But instead of flinching or scrambling back like a cornered animal, you nod slowly, eyes flicking to his gun, then to him, like you understand. Chris hesitates, his grip tightening on the rifle, before gesturing for you to rise. You stand smoothly, as if your back didn't press against an iron cabinet seconds ago. When you move, it's precise and calculated, showing none of the shakiness of a wounded survivor who's spent days hiding from a biological threat. You move like an professional; smooth, cool, collected—like nothing rattles you.

"Take four steps forward and turn slowly toward me, palms up."

You do so without hesitation or argument, hands up and facing him, though not in defense or submission. Instead, they hang loosely at your sides, almost casually. If you're scared by his stance or gruff mannerisms, it doesn't show. No sweat beads along your hairline. No tremor trembles through your fingers. Nothing. Like standing opposite a machine rather than a human being.

"Are you a researcher here?"

"No," you answer simply. Flatly. Like a recording.

A survivor. Someone they experimented on, probably. He drops his guard, shoulders dropping marginally, yet remains vigilant. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

He watches carefully as you shake your head, scrutinizing you. Tries to read into any flinch. Any ticks. Anything. But finds none. Could be PTSD, he thinks. Maybe you've gone non-verbal because of the stress. There’s no tension in your posture, no wild-eyed desperation, just a quiet stillness, like you’ve already accepted whatever comes next.

Behind him, Morgan and Rodriguez enter, weapons raised, the barrel of Morgan’s rifle pointing directly at you. “Survivor?” Morgan asks, glancing toward Chris with a raised brow.

“Looks like it,” Chris murmurs, though his tone is uncertain. His gaze doesn’t leave you.

You tilt your head slightly, as if studying him in return. “You’re with the rescue team, right?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, lowering his rifle just enough to ease the tension from his grip. There’s no reason to feel this way—no reason for the strange warmth curling in his chest—but it’s there, and it unsettles him more than the shadows clinging to the walls.

Rodriguez steps closer, radio crackling against her shoulder. “How the hell did you survive all this?”

You glance toward her, and for the first time, a flicker of something passes across your face—a faint smile, thin and brittle, like it doesn’t quite belong. “Lucky, I guess.”

Kash snorts, clearly unimpressed, but he doesn’t press further. Instead, he looks at Chris, eyebrows raised in silent question, as if to say: You buying this?

Morgan snorts softly, though the sound is more nervous than amused. “Good thing for us. Come on. Let's get you home." She reaches out toward you, fingers curling in invitation.

You give her another small smile—soft, tired, and just a little sad. “Yeah,” you say, your tone light, but there’s something underneath it. Something that sounds like: We’ll see.

“You’re the only one?”

You nod once. “As far as I know.”

“We’re getting you out of here,” Chris says, though the words feel hollow even as they leave his lips. He’s trying to pull the situation back into something he can control, something that fits within the parameters of the mission he ran a hundred times through his mind in the hours before arriving.

You nod, your eyes still sharp, still watching. “I figured you’d say that.”

The facility stretches out ahead of them, a labyrinth of crumbling hallways, walls coated in grime and streaked with stains that tell stories no one wants to hear. The overhead lights flicker erratically, buzzing like dying insects, casting long shadows that stretch and writhe across the cracked tile. The air smells of metal and damp rot, thick enough that Chris can taste it at the back of his throat. The deeper they go, the worse it gets—familiar odors intertwined with the faint tang of chemicals and mold that grow heavier with each step.

Chris scans the darkened hall ahead, the beam from his flashlight reflecting off the dirty windows. His boots scuff lightly on the filthy floor, leaving trails through the layers of grime and dust that cling to every inch of this place. You walk next to him, in his peripheral vision, silent and watchful, following without complaint or questions, even after seeing the others dead.

Ahead, a door hangs open, but just slightly—enough to let the shadows bleed through the gap. A faint smell wafts from the crack, metallic and sharp.

Rodriguez taps her radio, the static still faintly hissing from it. "This place is dead. No signal coming through at all."

"EMP blast," you mutter, so quietly Chris almost misses it.

"Must've fried the entire base's electronics," she continues, unaware that you spoke.

Behind him, Kash clears his throat, glancing toward Chris with a raised brow, then to you. "You seem awfully calm considering what happened here," he comments. Your expression doesn't change, blank and steady and patient. Impassive. Unnerving. "Were you expecting us? Or someone else?"

You stay quiet for several seconds, and Chris can practically hear his teammates holding their breath, waiting for an explanation. When you finally speak, it's soft, subdued. "Nobody should ever be here."

The lights overhead flicker again, casting long, wavering shadows across the corridor. As they pass through a junction, Chris catches a glimpse of something off to the left—a smear of blood, stark against the pale wall. He pauses, motioning for the team to halt. His heart rate ticks up, just enough to feel it in his temples.

He approaches the stain, eyes narrowing. It’s fresh. Too fresh. But there’s something strange about it—it doesn’t match any typical spatter pattern. It’s too erratic, almost like someone dragged their hand along the wall, fingers trailing, struggling, but... not quite right. He brushes the edge of the blood with his gloved fingers. It feels sticky, still warm.

Scrader peers over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. "That’s not old. There’s someone else here."

Chris nods but doesn’t respond. He already knows. Someone—or something—is here. But what unnerves him more is your reaction—or lack of one.

"Do you know what made this? Any information is helpful," Morgan says, gentle, but with the bite of urgency at the end. You shrug wordlessly, looking at her as if searching for the source. Morgan turns back toward Chris, clearly unhappy, but falls silent. She knows better than anyone how important intel is on a mission, but this isn't exactly normal protocol either.

They move deeper into the facility, going the other way this time. Every door they pass seems wrong—some are locked from the inside, others hang open, but the rooms beyond are trashed, like someone—or something—raged through them in a panic. Chris notices how the floor in some areas is smeared with more blood, but there are no bodies, no signs of struggle except for the scattered papers and broken glass. It’s as though everyone disappeared, leaving behind the aftermath.

A door to their left hangs off its hinges, the metal twisted, as if wrenched open from the inside. Blood spatters the wall, jagged streaks that don’t match any normal pattern—like someone was dragged backward through the doorway, kicking and thrashing. Scrader leans closer, examining the stains, his brow furrowed. “These... don’t look fresh, but they’re not old either.”

Kash glances over his shoulder toward Chris, jerking his head toward you. “You sure about this one, boss?” he asks, voice low enough to avoid carrying through the hollow corridor. There’s a sharpness to his tone now—skeptical, edged with unease.

Chris’s jaw tightens. He knows the question is fair—hell, he’s been asking himself the same thing. Nothing about this situation makes sense, least of all the strange sense of ease you seem to carry. But it’s the way Kash says it, as though he expects Chris to already know the answer, that bothers him.

“I’ve got it covered,” Chris replies, sharper than he intended. The words come too quickly, like muscle memory—like he’s said them before, more times than he can count.

Kash gives him a look, eyebrow raised, but doesn’t push. “If you say so.”

You pause ahead of them, standing in front of a door with a rusted keypad, the display cracked but faintly glowing. Without hesitation, you reach for the keypad and punch in a code. The lock clicks open with a mechanical hiss, and the door swings inward with a slow groan.

Chris feels his team tense behind him, their hands tightening on their weapons. He knows what they’re thinking: How the hell do you know the code? But no one says it aloud—not yet. He steps forward, gesturing for Rodriguez to cover the rear as they move inside.

The room beyond is worse. The lights flicker dimly, revealing lab equipment strewn across the floor, smashed monitors still blinking weakly with error messages, and a tangle of wires hanging from the ceiling like veins. Papers are scattered everywhere—reports scribbled in frantic handwriting, pages ripped from notebooks, some of them stained with dark, crusted smears.

Chris crouches by a nearby desk, his gloved hand brushing across a torn piece of paper. It’s covered in scrawled words—half of them illegible, the rest a jumbled mess of warnings: Don’t trust them. It’s already inside. We were wrong. Everyone’s compromised.

He exhales slowly through his nose, the paper crumpling slightly in his grip.

“Place went to hell in a hurry,” Morgan murmurs, her voice tight with unease. She nudges an overturned chair with her boot, the legs scraping loudly across the floor, making everyone flinch. “Shit. Sorry, my bad."

Rodriguez stops at a nearby console, brushing dust off the screen. It’s cracked, but faint images flicker on the surface, distorted by static. She tries a few commands, her fingers tapping quickly across the keys, but the system groans in protest before fizzling out entirely. "Looks like some of the logs were wiped," she mutters, stepping back in frustration.

Chris watches you out of the corner of his eye as you step closer to one of the doors. Your fingers graze the edge of the frame, and for a brief second, you almost look... thoughtful.

The door creaks open, revealing another lab—this one in a worse state than the others. Broken equipment litters the floor, glass shards crunching under their boots as they step inside. The walls are covered in frantic writing, scribbled across the paint in what looks like charcoal or... blood. The words don’t make sense—half-scrawled thoughts, equations, fragments of sentences.

Morgan sweeps her rifle across the room, her posture tense. "This looks like someone lost their damn mind." She steps closer to the wall, reading a few of the broken phrases aloud. "They keep putting me back. There's no way out. We can never leave. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you." Her voice trails off as she follows one line of words, skirting around a stain that glistens sickly under the weak lights. "You'll find your own cage soon enough..."

Then, something shifts in the hallway behind—a sound, faint but sharp, like claws skittering over metal. Chris freezes, motioning for the team to stay back. His pulse pounds hard against his temples, steady and measured, as his mind flips through the possibilities.

They take another step, pressed against the walls on each side of the door—and the hallway seems to breathe, the lights flickering wildly, the air snapping with sudden tension. A shape bursts from the shadows, moving too fast to register fully, all limbs and jagged edges, a blur of exposed sinew and warped muscle.

Before anyone can react, it’s on Scrader, who is the closest.

The creature slams into him with bone-crushing force, knocking him off his feet and dragging him into the darkness. A guttural, inhuman shriek pierces the air, followed by the wet, ripping sound of flesh tearing from bone. Scrader’s scream cuts off abruptly, replaced by the sound of thrashing and something breaking—something inside him.

"No!” Morgan’s voice cracks as she lurches forward, but Chris throws out an arm, holding her back.

Chris raises his rifle and fires, the muzzle flash lighting the corridor in brief, stuttering bursts. Rodriguez and Kashiwabara join in, their rounds tearing into the creature, but it moves too fast, a slithering mass of claws and unnatural joints that twist and bend in ways a body shouldn’t. The bullets rip through it, but it doesn’t stop—it doesn’t even slow.

““He’s gone!” he barks, trying to pull her focus back, though the words feel meaningless. His throat burns with frustration—he knows it’s already too late, but his mind refuses to accept it.

The creature tosses what’s left of Scrader aside, his body hitting the wall with a sickening thud, limbs twisted in unnatural angles. Blood pools beneath him, spreading thick and dark, filling the cracks in the floor.

Chris’s heart slams in his chest. He grits his teeth, forces his focus forward. "Stay together!" he shouts, pivoting toward the creature as it coils in the shadows, readying for its next move. "Cover the hall!" His voice shakes, but there’s no time to steady it.

The thing emerges again, flesh splitting and reforming with each lurch forward, as though its body hasn’t yet decided what shape it wants to take. It smells of copper and decay, and its claws drag over the floor, leaving trails in the concrete. It doesn’t just move toward them—it hunts.

Rodriguez unloads her mag, the rounds striking wetly, but the creature absorbs the hits with ease, tendrils of muscle knitting together just as fast as they tear apart. "It’s not stopping!" she shouts, panic rising in her voice.

Chris fires again—center mass—but there is no mass, only movement, chaos wrapped in sinew and skin. He curses under his breath, shifting his stance as the thing barrels toward them. "Rodriguez, move back! Keep your distance!"

It lunges—too fast—and catches Morgan by the leg, yanking her off her feet and dragging her down. She screams, kicking wildly, the sound raw and desperate. Chris grabs her under the arms, hauling her backward with all his strength, but the creature’s claws sink deep, tearing into muscle, scraping bone. Blood sprays, warm and slick, and Chris grunts from the effort of pulling her free.

Morgan gasps, her breath stuttering as she grips his vest, fingers clawing at him in desperation. "Help me!" she pleads, eyes wide with panic. "Help! Help! No! Aaaaaaarhhhghh!" Chris pulls harder, every muscle in his body straining—but the creature won’t let go.

"Rodriguez, give me cover!" he shouts, teeth gritted, but Rodriguez’s shots do nothing. The thing moves like smoke, relentless, inevitable.

Morgan’s scream cuts short as the creature jerks her away from Chris’s grasp. Her body snaps under the force, bones cracking loudly, folding in on themselves. Chris lunges after her, shouting her name, but all that answers him is the wet, crunching sound of her body being pulled apart.

Chris stumbles back, hands slick with blood—hers, his own—and the creature twists toward him next, its jagged face splitting open to reveal a maw lined with teeth that shouldn’t exist.

Chris pulls the trigger again, the rounds doing nothing but punctuating the sound of his own desperation. "Rodriguez, Kashiwabara! Fall back!"

He turns toward you, panic swelling in his chest. "Run!"

And suddenly, he can run no longer; his boots slide in puddles of something thicker than water — viscera splashing everywhere, entrails strewn all over the floor. There's no way to process everything at once — he's forced to focus on what matters most: where the thing came from and how to get to safety, until the creature lashes out, wrapping one clawed limb around his ankle, and yanks, throwing him to the ground. Its ragged features split open like a blooming flower, exposing rows of needle-like teeth. Chris hears screaming somewhere close by — it sounds familiar, but he can't place who it belongs to — and realizes, belatedly, that he's making the noise himself.

Somehow, amidst all this chaos, he finds you again, meeting your gaze through blurred vision. Time slows as he stares up at you, the world around him fading away. All that remains is his terror and your sadness, echoing between them. Then, his eyes begin to adjust — you've taken a step forward. Why aren't you running? Chris knows he told you to go. He opens his mouth, but words won't come out; they're stuck inside, fighting for space against the terror threatening to burst from his lungs. He tries desperately to pull free, but the thing drags him backward. The edges of his vision darken. Everything spins — he can feel consciousness slipping away. He tries to fight it, but exhaustion has always been stronger than willpower. So he gives in, letting darkness envelope him like an old friend.

Chris jolts upright, gasping for air, the sound of rushing water filling his ears. His heart pounds, ribs tight against the sudden shock of consciousness, lungs dragging in ragged breaths. He blinks, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and tries to slow his breathing. His hands feel clammy, his muscles tense, coiled and ready for a fight. But there’s no danger.

The engine hums beneath his feet, and the air smells of salt.Salt stings his skin, and cold wind cuts across his face. His boots scrape against the boat’s metal deck as the engine hums beneath him, steady and low. His gloved hands grip the edges of the seat to steady himself, feeling the slight sway of the boat as it cuts through the waves. Everything smells of seawater, oil, and wet rope.

Rodriguez’s fingers tap against the console at the helm. "Fortunate Son" scratches through the radio, the familiar chords unfurling across the open sea. It digs into his skull, buzzing beneath his thoughts, chasing away the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to his mind. His pulse thunders in his ears, disjointed, like it’s tripping over itself trying to make sense of the moment.

The boat rocks again, jarring him forward. His chest tightens—too real. The deck beneath him hums, the cold metal biting through the knees of his tactical pants. Water churns below, white foam licking at the sides. His heartbeat drums harder, loud enough that he can feel it pulsing at his temples, throbbing like a second pulse.

His team, the hallway, the creature—it all surges back, vivid and brutal. Scrader’s bones snapping, Morgan’s screams, blood pooling across the filthy tiles, warm and dark, like spilled paint. Chris fights down the acid boiling in his throat, forcing himself to focus. Breathe. Control.

The slick wetness of blood—his blood—pooling between his fingers. He remembers the weight of the creature as it tore through him, the searing pain, and the sensation of the floor rushing toward him.

He blinks hard, gripping the edges of the boat until his knuckles whiten beneath the leather of his gloves. His body feels intact—no open wounds, no broken ribs, no blood drenching his clothes. He died. He knows he did. But here he is—alive, breathing, whole. The cold wind bites into his skin again, and the radio hums with the familiar chords of "Fortunate Son."

Rodriguez glances back at him from the helm, eyebrows raised. “Ugh, this song? You’d think they’d switch it up now and then.”

Chris stares at her, the words slow to catch up to the moment. His hands shake slightly, still gripping the seat too tight. The hum of the engine, the waves slapping against the hull, Rodriguez’s casual glance—it’s the same. Exactly the same.

Kash sits a few feet away, tapping a black pawn between his fingers, his grin easy and familiar. Scrader flips through a dog-eared field manual, his lips moving faintly as he reads aloud to himself. Morgan rests in the seat opposite Chris, shoulders relaxed, her brow knitted in thought, but alive. Alive. Her leg twitches where it hangs off the side of the bench, tapping along to the beat.

"You good, Redfield?" Morgan calls out, peering at him curiously. "You're quiet."

If he says that he’s fine, then what happens?

Yeah, I bet you are, big guy. Just another day for you, right, he remembers her saying. Will it be repeated? Like a fucking broken record?

"I'm fine," he says, watching closely.

"Yeah, I bet you are, big guy. Just another day for you, right? A nice and easy snatch-and-grab in paradise." She gestures to all around. "Who knew viruses could afford a place like this these days?"

Chris’s pulse kicks harder, blood rushing in his ears, the sound loud enough to drown out the music, but not loud enough to drown out his unease.

His hands twitch toward his rifle, fingers tightening over the grip. He shifts his weight, trying to shake off the sense of dread that’s latched onto him. He knows where they’re going—the cliffs, the fog, the shattered doors waiting for them ahead. He can already picture the way the shoreline will look when they arrive—the black rocks slick with seawater, blood on the shore like veins, the crooked trees leaning toward them, the heavy silence that will drape over the air like a net.

His head drops slightly, the tension between his shoulder blades turning into a dull ache. It’s happening again. The thought rolls through him slowly, ice settling deeper into his chest with every passing second. His heart races, too fast, too uneven, as though his body is trying to warn him of something he already knows.

Rodriguez nudges the throttle forward, the boat picking up speed as the island appears through the fog—sharp cliffs and crooked branches clawing at the sky.

Chris grips his rifle tighter. He knows those rocks. He knows those cliffs. He knows the way they’ll dock, the way his boots will crunch against the damp sand, the way the air will hang heavy around them as they move inland. He knows the sting of the cold on his face, the sound of Morgan cracking a joke about the mission, Kash’s cocky grin, Scrader’s quiet grumbling—and he knows, more than anything, how this ends. With blood. With screams. With the creature’s claws tearing through flesh and bone.

His throat tightens, and he forces himself to stand. The motion feels too fluid, too easy—like muscle memory etched into the marrow of his bones. He plants his boots on the deck and grips the railing, the cold metal grounding him for a moment. His breath clouds the air, sharp and shallow. His heartbeat feels off, every thud out of sync with the world around him.

Morgan leans closer, her smile soft but curious. “Seriously, Redfield. What’s eating at you?”

Chris opens his mouth to answer, but the words catch on his tongue. He knows how this plays out. He’s already lived it.

“Land in five,” Rodriguez calls over her shoulder.

The boat skims across the surface of the water, its engine humming steadily. Waves break against the rocky shore, the mist hovering above the water like smoke from a distant fire. Cliffs loom ahead, shrouded in a thick fog that makes everything blurry and indistinct. And, beyond the cliffs, hidden in the dense woods, waits the facility—a dark shadow amidst twisted trunks and tangled branches.

Rodriguez’s voice crackles through the still air, the words sliding into place like they’ve done before. "Touchdown in one."

“We’re sticking together this time,” he snaps, cutting off their chatter. "No lingering around doorways. No breaking formation."

The others exchange glances, confused but not worried. Their faces are too easy, too certain that this is just another mission.

Kash arches a brow. "Boss man is in a mood today. That serious?"

There isn't enough oxygen on this damn boat to feed his lungs. But if he can convince them this time... If he can keep them alive, keep them together... maybe things will turn out different. Maybe they won't end up torn to pieces or killed by whatever creatures await in that lab. It's possible. There's a chance.

"Fan out. Scrader, you’ve got rear security. Morgan, point with me. Kash, Rodriguez—flanks tight." His voice is low, clipped, every syllable locked down into the strict cadence that only years in the field could hammer into muscle memory.

The team snaps into formation without a word. The thuds of their boots on sand and stone fall into perfect sync, not a single beat off. Chris scans the treeline as they advance, every nerve on high alert. The crooked trees loom ahead, their twisted trunks bending toward the facility beyond, stretching over the path as if they’ve grown to shield something waiting inside. The fog drapes heavy, thicker than before, curling between the jagged rocks like old smoke.

Chris moves fast, rifle angled forward, muscles wound tight. His body feels like a machine, every movement deliberate, practiced. The brief sting of déjà vu gnaws at the edges of his brain, but he pushes it down hard—there’s no room for doubt.

“We get in, clear each room top-down,” he orders. “You see anything—anything—you report it. We do this by the book.” His voice is steady, commanding, but inside, his thoughts churn. He remembers their deaths too vividly—each scream, each snap of bone. Not this time.

Kash shifts his grip on his rifle, muttering under his breath. “What’s the point of the book when it’s fucked to hell in here?”

“Keep it locked down,” Chris snaps without looking back. “No chatter.”

Rodriguez nods once, slinging her rifle tighter to her chest. Her breath fogs in the cold air, mixing with the thick mist as they push forward along the narrow path toward the facility. “Comms are still out,” she mutters, fiddling with the radio on her vest. “Nothing but static.”

Chris clenches his jaw but says nothing. He knows what’s waiting inside. The halls, the shattered equipment, the scribbled notes on the walls. And you—sitting there, waiting again, with those same sharp, knowing eyes.

The front gate is twisted open, the metal frame rusted and warped. Scrader’s boots scrape across the broken concrete as he covers the rear. "No movement," he reports quietly, his voice low and tight. "Too quiet."

Chris halts at the entrance to the building. His hand goes up in a quick, sharp motion—fist clenched, signaling halt—and the team freezes behind him. His breath clouds the air, slow and controlled, while his eyes sweep over the ruined doorway. Cracked tile stretches beyond, glistening wet under flickering overhead lights.

He knows this place too well—every door that doesn’t sit right, every inch of blood smeared along the walls, the scratches that don't quite line up with anything human. He knows what waits at the end of this corridor, just beyond that damned door.

"Stack up," Chris orders. His voice cuts clean through the cold air, sharp as a serrated edge. "We move in tight. No room for slop. Morgan, on me."

The team falls into formation with crisp efficiency. Morgan clicks her safety off, stepping to his right, her breathing even but measured. Kash shifts his weight, uneasy but steady enough, fingers flexing on his rifle. Rodriguez’s radio hisses softly, the static filling the silence like a low hum in Chris’s skull.

Chris leans into the doorway, clearing it with a swift glance. The hallway stretches out in front of them, long and jagged, every step forward slicing deeper into his nerves. A door hangs ajar at the far end, a sliver of dim light spilling through the gap.

His jaw tightens. "Move."

They step inside with practiced ease, clearing the first room with precision—rifles sweeping corners, boots hitting tile with controlled weight. The air inside is colder than it should be, soaked with mildew and rot. A metallic tang lingers, biting at the back of Chris’s throat, setting his teeth on edge.

Each door they pass is exactly as he remembers—cracked open, blood smeared in uneven streaks, papers scattered like fallen leaves. Rodriguez nudges one with her boot, kicking a folder open. The pages inside are filled with scrawled notes—frantic handwriting that spirals off into unreadable lines, smudged by hands that were in too much of a hurry.

Morgan edges closer to Chris. "I don't like this." Her voice stays low, a breath just above a whisper. "Place feels like it's waiting for us."

"Eyes up," Chris mutters, voice low. "No gaps. I want full sectors of fire. Morgan, call out every corner we pass." His rifle stays leveled, the stock pressed tight into his shoulder. His jaw clenches so hard it feels like the tension could snap bone.

"Door ahead," Morgan reports, flicking her flashlight across the ground. "Twelve o'clock, intact but warped. Scratches all over it."

Chris's gut churns at the words. He remembers it exactly. This is where things went wrong the first time—the place where Scrader got dragged into the dark.

"Scrader, shift right," Chris barks, his mind ticking through contingencies. No one’s getting grabbed this time. "Kash, you’re second in. I want angles covered before we breach. Rodriguez, stay on my six."

"On it." Kash’s voice is sharp now, sarcasm gone as he grips his rifle tighter, eyes scanning every shadow.

They stop just outside the facility entrance, the jagged metal door warped inward, as though something large forced its way through from the other side. Scratches scar the frame, uneven but deep, gashes that look too deliberate to be accidental. The air smells of rust and stale rot, thick enough to taste. Chris gives a silent signal with two fingers, and the team falls into position.

"Morgan, breach on three," Chris orders. "Rodriguez, flash the entry. Weapons free, short bursts only."

Morgan nods once, raising her boot, and the next second she kicks the door hard. It crashes open, slamming against the wall with a metallic groan. Rodriguez is already in motion—her hand flicks out, and a flashbang arcs through the doorway.

The detonation pops bright and sharp, white light flooding the darkened room beyond, followed by the concussive thud that shakes the doorframe.

"Go!" Chris growls, pushing through the breach.

They move fast—a precise, practiced sweep through the room. Kash covers the left wall, Morgan clears the right. Rodriguez stacks behind Chris, her rifle aimed dead ahead. The beam of Chris’s flashlight sweeps the space, cutting through the lingering haze from the flashbang.

The room is wrecked. Tables overturned, equipment smashed, papers scattered across the floor. The concrete walls are stained with strange streaks—brown, dried to a flaky crust. It looks wrong. Not just abandoned, but intentionally destroyed, like someone didn’t want anything left intact.

And in the center of it all, sitting cross-legged on an overturned crate, is you.

Chris’s breath catches for a moment. He freezes, mind scrambling to process what he’s seeing. You’re here again—but not exactly where you were before.

You look haggard, clothes rumpled and skin pale, the same exhaustion etched into your features—but your eyes, sharp and steady, carry a knowing glint, as though you’ve been waiting for him. You lean back slightly, hands draped over your knees, entirely too calm for the situation.

“Found me,” you say softly. There’s no fear in your voice. Just a strange resignation, like you’ve done this before. Because you have.

Chris’s grip tightens on his rifle, the cold weight pressing into his hands grounding him for a moment. His team shifts uneasily behind him, rifles raised, eyes flicking between you and the destroyed room.

"Don’t move," Morgan warns, her voice sharp and edged with suspicion.

You don’t even blink, your gaze locked on Chris. "Took you long enough."

His throat feels dry, words slow to form. It’s the same greeting, but it feels different this time—off, just enough to gnaw at him. "How do you know us?" he asks, keeping his rifle raised but his voice measured. He doesn’t have time to wonder why his chest tightens at the sound of your voice.

You tilt your head slightly, the barest hint of a smile touching the corner of your lips. "I knew you would be coming."

Kash steps forward, rifle still trained on you, tension written in every movement. "This place got overrun by a bioweapon, and you’re just... sitting here? How’d you make it out?"

You shrug, eyes never leaving Chris.

Chris feels the knot in his gut tighten, but there’s no time to dwell on it. "Enough chit-chat. Rodriguez, sweep the hallways. Morgan, lock down any exits. I want this place cleared." His voice cuts through the room with authority, and the team moves without hesitation, each falling into their assigned tasks.

Morgan shoots him a glance, mistrust curling behind her eyes. "You trust them?" she asks under her breath, jerking her head toward you.

Chris doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t know why he trusts you, only that he does. It feels irrational, dangerous—but it’s there, steady in his gut. "They’re not a threat. We stay on mission."

Morgan gives him a hard look but doesn’t push further, slipping out to check the adjacent corridors.

Chris turns back to you, his eyes narrowing. "You remember things. What else do you know?"

You rest your elbows on your knees, leaning forward slightly. "I know what’s coming next."

"Then start talking," Chris snaps, the tension rolling off him in waves. "What are we dealing with here?"

You smile faintly, but there’s no humor in it. "It honestly depends."

A loud crash echoes from the hallway, followed by Morgan’s shout. "Movement! On me!"

Chris��s heart slams against his ribs. This is where it all went wrong the last time. "Move, now!" he barks, throwing a signal to the others. "Kash, Rodriguez, cover the exit!"

They sprint into action, rifles raised, boots slamming against the cracked concrete. The hallway beyond stretches out in a mess of flickering lights and twisted shadows. Chris knows what’s waiting—the creature, the deaths—but not this time.

This time, he’s ready.

Morgan pulls back as the shadow looms ahead, jagged limbs unfurling from the darkness. "Contact!" she shouts, firing controlled bursts into the mass of shifting sinew.

Chris positions himself at the front, rifle steady, breathing measured. "Rodriguez, crossfire! Kash, I want suppression!"

The team opens up, gunfire tearing through the corridor. Bullets slam into the creature, muscle and sinew shredding—but it doesn’t slow. It moves with terrifying precision, a predator stalking prey it knows will fall.

Chris shifts his weight, forcing Morgan out of the line of fire as the creature lunges. His rifle bucks against his shoulder, controlled bursts chewing into the thing’s torso, but it keeps coming.

"Fall back!" Chris shouts, hauling Morgan to her feet. The hallway tilts under the pressure of their movement, every second stretching too thin, every choice razor-sharp.

Rodriguez pulls out her grenade, yanking the pin with her teeth. "Frag out!"

The explosion rattles the walls, the creature slamming backward into the concrete. The shockwave ripples through Chris’s chest, but the relief is short-lived. As the smoke clears, he sees it—the thing still moves, limbs reknitting, joints popping into place.

"Go!" Chris shouts, forcing them down another hallway, feet pounding against the floor. His team follows, breaths sharp and frantic.

They hit the end of the corridor—and the ceiling caves. The twisted wreck of pipes and broken beams crashes down, pinning Rodriguez beneath it. She screams once, cut short by the sickening crunch of bone.

Chris stares, disbelief freezing him for a moment too long.

It’s happening again.

"Rodriguez is down!" Kash shouts, trying to haul the debris off her, but there’s too much. The creature is already closing in, jagged limbs scraping along the walls.

Chris pulls Kash back, heart pounding against his ribs, thoughts tripping over themselves. "She's gone! Fall back!"

This is too familiar. Too close. Rodriguez lies underneath the shattered ceiling, face contorted with pain, mouth gaping. Her hand reaches toward Chris, desperate and shaking—a plea that dies unsaid, choking on the blood seeping from her wounds. He knows what comes next, yet he can't tear himself away. He wants to pull her out of the rubble. He wants to protect her. He wants to save her, dammit—he can't let this happen. But then the beast tears into her, dragging her beneath the broken steel until her screams peter out, replaced by the sickening sound of flesh rending from bone.

Furious grief wells inside him, burning hot and intense. His hand twitches, reaching for his rifle—the urge to kill it overwhelming everything else, an impulse built from raw rage.

But before he can pull the trigger, you tug on his arm, pulling him backwards.

"This way," you whisper, jerking your head to the side. Your grip tightens when he doesn't move fast enough.

"Get moving," Chris barks, half turning toward the others.

The creature writhes through the remains of the ceiling, pulling itself forward on deformed limbs. Every piece of the thing twists together as it crawls, reforming into new shapes with each movement, muscle and bone lurching forward on uneven spikes of flesh.

"Behind you!" Morgan shouts. She fires again, muzzle flare lighting up the hall like a strobe, but the creature just drags itself onward, uncaring of the rounds tearing through its flesh. Blood sprays the floor, splattering wetly against the walls—but it doesn’t even stumble.

Chris throws himself forward, planting both hands in the small of Morgan's back and shoving—hard. They skid across the cracked tiles as the creature launches itself past. Sharp claws graze his shoulder as he tumbles aside, breath catching in his chest from the force.

Morgan rights herself quickly, rolling sideways with catlike grace. She fires twice more into the monster's back, ignoring Chris' earlier order not to waste ammo. "Yeah, fuck you too, shitface!"

The creature slithers forward, barely slowing as bullets tear into it, blood streaming down the walls. Its warped face seems to twist, cracking open to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth. A harsh growl echoes down the corridor, reverberating in Chris' ears, his teeth aching in response to the noise. He raises his rifle, bracing for the impact of the blast, but—

A blur of movement—too fast for him to track—and suddenly it's on Scrader instead, dragging him forward by the neck.

Chris pushes himself upright, palms sliding on damp concrete. Pain throbs through his shoulder, hot and deep, like broken glass grinding in his skin, but there's no time to tend to injuries. "Scrader!" he barks, trying desperately to bring his weapon to bear, but the creature is relentless.

It ignores everyone else, focused solely on Scrader as it wraps a clawed limb around his throat, wrenching his head back so violently that his spine cracks with audible intensity. Then the other taloned appendage comes down across his chest—once, twice, three times—tearing through armor and flesh like it's nothing but tissue paper, spraying the area with fresh crimson.

Time feels elastic—stretching, bending, breaking—as Chris rushes forward, heart pounding wildly, adrenaline surging through his system until his senses sharpen painfully, bringing the moment into crystal clarity. He sees Scrader's face, his expression contorted by agony and horror as the life drains from him, every drop of it gushing down his torso in ribbons that spill onto the concrete beneath.

Kash cries out, wordless rage fueling his attacks as he unloads another magazine into the creature's hunched back. Blood oozes out, dribbling down its limbs, pooling on the floor before slowly vanishing into dark stains, leaving nothing behind but a faint glimmering residue where once there was redness. It's not stopping—it's doing whatever the hell it wants without consequence—and it infuriates Kash like nothing else. His teeth are bared; snarls leave his lips each time he ejects a spent cartridge from his weapon and slaps in a replacement.

At last, the beast releases its quarry with a low howl, the sound vibrating through the air like thunder echoing over hills. Its body snaps backward, tendrils retracting inside until all that's left is a grotesque parody of humanity—an amalgamation formed from death itself.

And you're still standing at the end of the hall, watching everything unfold with hollow resignation. Chris swears he can feel your stare bore into him even though you aren't looking directly at anyone. It's unnerving, this feeling that maybe you're taking stock of their progress. Or lack thereof.

The monster doesn't care either way. Instead, it lets out an inhuman screech before launching itself straight towards them again.

Chris stumbles back into the dim light of the ruined hallway, his team’s screams still ringing in his ears, even though the air has long gone quiet. Kash’s limp body was the last to fall, his head twisted at an impossible angle, his dying breath bubbling through shattered teeth. The floor is slick beneath Chris’s boots—blood, pieces of bone, shredded muscle. It clings to him, sticks in his throat and he can't swallow any of it down.

He slams his fist against the wall, the sting of concrete tearing at his skin beneath the glove. It does nothing to drown out the failure, the futility, or the grief.

The blood hasn’t dried on his gloves when the thought claws its way into his mind—sharp, cold, and undeniable. The island keeps resetting, dragging them all back to the same hell. His team keeps dying, no matter what he does.

But not you. Never you.

The cold concrete floor scrapes against his boots as he stumbles down the hall, blood slick underfoot. His rifle hangs useless from his shoulder, bouncing against his side with every uneven step. He can still feel Morgan’s hand slipping from his grasp, her wide, panicked eyes locking with his as the rubble crushed her beneath it. The memory is fresh, but not new—it’s lived in his bones for countless loops.

He stops at the door to the lab, panting, his breath clouding the air. The fluorescent light inside flickers in jagged intervals, casting long shadows across the broken equipment and shattered glass. And there you are—just as you always are—sitting cross-legged on the crate, elbows on your knees, watching him as if you’ve been waiting all along.

You. The only constant besides him. You survive, always. Sitting in that same corner, watching with that calm, patient expression—never covered in blood, never gasping for air, never begging for your life. You’re untouched by the nightmare.

Chris’s rifle dangles loose in his grip as the thought takes root, spreading like poison through his mind. He’s tried everything. Everything. The one variable he hasn’t changed is you. You stay alive, always. Maybe... maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it’s you.

His pulse drums hard against his ribs, each beat hammering the same thought deeper: What happens if you die? What happens if you—

The sound of his boots scraping across the floor pulls your gaze toward him. You sit exactly where you always do—cross-legged on an overturned crate, your hands resting lazily on your knees. There’s no fear in your eyes. You meet his gaze with quiet patience, your head tilting slightly, almost curious.

Chris tightens his grip on the rifle until his knuckles ache. His breathing quickens, the weight of the loop pressing against his skull, threatening to crush him. He has to break it—has to try something different.

He steps closer, slow and deliberate, the rifle in his hands feeling heavier with every second. The cold metal presses against his palm, a familiar comfort that now feels foreign. His lips part, words forming before his brain catches up.

"You," he says, his voice low and cracked from exhaustion. He can barely hear himself over the pounding in his chest.

You tilt your head slightly, the barest trace of curiosity flickering across your face. Not surprise, not fear. Just... patience.

Chris’s grip tightens on the gun he exchanges for the rifle, the knuckles of his gloved hand turning white. His arm trembles—not from weakness, but from the weight of the choice forming in his mind. His breaths come fast, shallow, every inhale stinging his throat.

"You sit here," he snarls through clenched teeth, "while they die. Over and over. And not a damn thing happens to you."

The gun’s barrel rises, locking onto your chest. His heart pounds harder, his muscles tensing with the familiar anticipation of a trigger pull—something he’s done thousands of times before. But this time, his whole body feels like it’s caught in tar, every nerve resisting the action.

"You know what’s happening," Chris mutters. His voice cracks, anger and desperation bleeding into every word. "You’ve known this whole time."

You hold his gaze, unmoving. There’s no fear in your eyes—only that same tired patience, as if you’ve already seen the outcome. The flickering light overhead buzzes faintly, casting your face in shifting shadows. "Go ahead," you say, your voice calm and soft. "If that’s what you think will stop it."

The gun feels heavier, the weight of it unbearable. Chris’s arm shakes uncontrollably, his finger hovering over the trigger. But it won’t move. His whole body locks up, the tendons in his hand screaming with the effort to pull the trigger, but nothing happens.

His body rejects it, every muscle rebelling. Sweat trickles down his temple, stinging his eyes. His vision narrows until all he sees is you, sitting there, waiting for him to do what he knows he can’t.

"Why can’t I..." The words falter, his voice breaking under the weight of his own frustration. His breath comes out in short bursts, ragged and harsh. He’s never hesitated before—not once. But now his hand won’t move, the gun in his grip an inert piece of metal he can’t will into action.

His heart hammers in his chest, a dull thud vibrating through his ribcage. He’s never felt this helpless—not in any battle, not even in the worst moments of his life. The gun trembles in his hand, his arms aching from the effort, but the trigger stays where it is, unmoving. He can’t do it.

"Goddamn it," Chris mutters under his breath, the rage turning to helplessness. He feels his throat tighten, the pressure building behind his eyes.

And then it happens. Your name slips from his mouth, unbidden and undeniable, soft as a prayer he didn’t know he was holding onto.

Chris’s mind races, grasping for any explanation, but he finds none. He shouldn’t know your name. He’s certain of that. But the way it sounds, the way it settles between the two of you—it’s like he’s known it all along.

Your expression softens for the first time. The calm slips just slightly, replaced by something sad—something almost like regret. You exhale, as if a long, heavy burden has finally fallen from your shoulders.

"There it is," you say softly, your voice quieter than before. "I was wondering when it would come out."

Chris’s hand falters, the gun dropping slightly as his arm finally gives out under the weight of exhaustion and confusion. His breath comes fast and uneven, chest rising and falling in sharp bursts.

He stares at you, his mind unraveling at the edges, unable to make sense of the moment. "What the fuck?" His voice is raw, frayed with too many questions and not enough answers.

You stand slowly, carefully, as if the moment is fragile, like one wrong move might shatter what little remains of Chris’s sanity. "You were never going to shoot," you say, almost pondering. "You already knew that."

His grip on the gun loosens further, the weapon dropping to his side, useless. His hands are still trembling, the tremors spreading through his body, as if his mind can’t contain the truth trying to surface.

"We've done this before, haven’t we?" His words come out faster, tripping over themselves in desperate need of an answer, anything that will give him a shred of stability. "I know you. But I..."

He trails off, thoughts sliding away from him like water spilling through open fingers. Your expression shifts, softening into something unfamiliar. Something old. It echoes across time, like an image buried in rippling water surfacing for a split second before sinking again. A memory just out of reach.

You shift your weight toward him. The motion is cautious, deliberate, but not uncertain. Slowly, you move to take his hands in yours, palms flat against his calloused knuckles.

Heat rises along the back of his neck, prickly and electric. It travels across his scalp in waves, filling his senses with an energy he hasn't felt since before this damn loop began. It should be disconcerting, overwhelming—but instead it feels safe, somehow. Comforting.

He draws in a shaky breath, gaze traveling up to meet yours. His hands slide from your grasp to cradle your wrists gently, the tips of his gloved fingers brushing lightly over your skin. His grip tightens as your name slips past his lips again, half-question and half-memory, drawing a strange look from you that makes something turn uncomfortably in his chest.

"Tell me what the hell is going on." The demand falls from his lips, but there’s no strength behind it—only desperation, raw and bleeding.

Your eyelids flutter shut briefly as you draw in another long, slow breath, then release it just as carefully, steadying yourself. Your eyes fix on his, gaze unwavering. There's something in your voice that wasn't there before—a determination mixed with resignation, the kind found only in people who know their fate and can't escape it. "I'm sorry."

Before he can respond, pain explodes through his skull. Darkness floods his vision, drowning everything else in a torrent of confusion and agony.

Chris has tried everything.

He’s rerun the mission a hundred different ways in his mind and at least twenty in reality. Nothing works. The radio always hums with that same cursed opening riff from “Fortunate Son,” the cliffs always loom in the fog, and the shore always welcomes them like a trap waiting to spring. No matter what he does, they die. Over and over again. Like some kind of nightmare he can never wake from. And there you are every time, watching them fail without blinking or interfering beyond giving directions. Waiting for them to reach a certain destination.

The first time, he tried speeding through the mission—moving fast, clearing every hallway without hesitation. His team took hits, but he pushed them forward, fighting harder than ever before.

When the monster finally emerged, tearing through the menagerie of limbs that clung to its distorted torso, Chris was ready. He fired nonstop, bullets ripping through flesh and bone, each shot careful and calculated. When the monster attacked Rodriguez, he pulled her back—twice, three times, four. Whatever it took to keep her alive. And when the creature dove for Scrader, Chris stopped it cold, unloading an entire magazine of hollow-points into its head while Morgan dragged Scrader away, shooting all the while.

Chris saw hope in that moment—true victory, real success. But Kash took a stray bullet from Morgan, and Rodriguez caught one too many glancing blows, her face spattered with gore, chest torn open. And Morgan, always brave, always true, ended up with her neck snapped clean in two as she flung herself over Rodriguez's ruined corpse in an attempt to shield the fallen agent.

On another reset, Chris tried not disembarking at all. They stayed on the boat. He radioed in false reports, tried to convince HQ they had already cleared the mission. For a moment, it felt like it would work. But then, the radio fizzled, turning to static, and the waves picked up—sharp, slamming the boat against unseen rocks until it flipped them into the freezing water. Morgan’s head cracked against a jagged stone on the way down. Kash drowned, pulled under by something that shouldn't have been in the water. Rodriguez fought the current with everything she had, only to wash up on the shore later, chest split open, ribs peeled back. And Chris ended up bleeding out from a deep gash to his leg after being knocked unconscious by debris when their ship sank. He woke alone on the beach, shivering with cold, unable to move anymore because it hurt too damn much to try, and waited his death out while staring at Scrader's half-eaten corpse sprawled next to him.

Once, they used flamethrowers on everything: the trees, the facility, the lab itself—all burned and crumbled beneath the heat, consumed in seconds. That loop had gone particularly well, actually. Right up until the point where Chris realized that, somehow, even aflame the thing was still alive, crawling toward him on blistered limbs. He was able to finish it off quickly enough by chucking a grenade at it, but it didn’t matter. They all still died soon afterwards anyway, from the toxic gas emitting from the facility.

Chris tried turning the boat around before they even reached the island. But the fog never let them leave. The ocean stretched endlessly, looping in on itself, until they wound back up at the same shore, the same black rocks gleaming wet in the dim light. Every wave, every gust of wind pushed them back to the cliffs, and he knew—the island doesn’t let them leave.

He’s broken protocol, screamed orders that didn’t make sense, split the team into smaller squads, held them tighter, kept them closer. He’s mapped every corridor in the facility, avoided the traps he remembered, and anticipated the bioweapon’s ambushes. Still, they die. A severed limb here. A crushed rib cage there. Gunshots and panic always follow, and by the end, it’s always the same—Chris left standing in a pool of blood, gasping for breath, his knees hitting the cold, hard floor just as the world collapses around him.

He wakes up in the same boat, to the same song, It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one.

It’s not just the deaths. It’s the way they keep dying. Different every time. Sometimes quick—a ricocheted bullet to the brain or a snapped neck—but often it’s long and ugly. Screaming. Blood bubbling in throats. Chris has held Rodriguez as she bled out at least five different ways—gut wounds, chest wounds, one loop where her leg had been torn clean off. Kash’s cocky grin has faded into a half-memory, but his terrified scream as the bioweapon took his face stays sharp. Chris can’t shake the sound no matter how hard he tries.

He knows he’s breaking. It’s the little things—the way he repeats orders he gave two loops ago without realizing it, or how his hands twitch toward his gun even when nothing’s wrong. He loses time sometimes, caught between past loops and present ones, unable to tell which version of reality he’s in. He calls Morgan by Rodriguez’s name. He forgets to reload his rifle.

He catches himself saying things—intimate, familiar things—to you, things no stranger would say.

“You always sit like that,” Chris said during one loop, not even thinking about the words before they left his mouth. He caught the subtle arch of your brow, the barest flicker of a smile. Too knowing. Too familiar.

You leaned back on the crate, draping your arms over your knees. "Catching on, I see."

But the worst part is how calm you are. No panic, no fear—just that strange, patient detachment. You sit through every loop like a stone in a river, unmoved by the current. Every time he finds you, it’s the same soft, resigned smile and maddening little quips: Hello again. You're a bit late. How did it go this time?

Chris has tried to make sense of you. You’re the only variable that stays constant, besides him. The only thing that doesn’t change, no matter how many times he reruns the mission. And you know more than you’re letting on, almost waiting for him to catch up to a truth you’ve already accepted. He just can't figure out why, or how. Is he being tested? Experimented on? There has to be an explanation for all this, something beyond torture and psychological manipulation. Some clue to what's really going on here.

He can't wrap his head around this being related to a biohazard, there is nothing biological about what's happening, if anything, you're the key. Your presence is a glaring anomaly amidst chaos, an entity surviving on its own terms without a single drop of blood on its hands—though if what you know could save others, you keep your peace instead of sharing. You hold the truth within reach, so near he feels it brushing against his fingers, yet constantly slipping from his grasp. Why won't you help?

There are days—some, few—where Chris hesitates at the edge of the facility, lingering outside as his team readies themselves. Each moment drags painfully long, his mind spinning with strategies, contingencies. It takes him longer every time to step inside, to let the loop continue, to watch his friends die over and over and over until he can bear it no longer and lets his weapon fall from numb hands. But you always stay put, waiting for them to find you again before returning to your position, perched calmly atop a storage crate, watching the horror unfold around you while pretending you have no hand in it all.

One evening, when Chris manages to stay on his feet even though both legs have been shredded by the monstrosity, and he ends up hauling his broken body into the laboratory using only the rifle as a crutch, he slumps beside you. The air between you goes silent save for the grotesque wet sounds coming from somewhere down the hall. Chris thinks it must be Rodriguez, who got hit so badly that she died right outside this room and whose remains are now being toyed with by something sickly hungry and sadistic.

"Will it ever end?" he asks quietly, swallowing around a lump in his throat, wishing it weren’t so thick. He hates how defeated his voice sounds. Hates it even more that there's nothing he can do to stop the shameful tears streaking down his cheeks. "Can it?"

Your head is bowed low enough to brush his shoulder as you lean closer, offering a whisper of comfort with your reply: "Of course it can." Your fingers trail slowly over his glove-covered knuckles as though reassuring him. "The choice was, and is, always yours."

Chris’s eyes snap open, the sharp scent of saltwater pulling him into wakefulness. His body jerks forward, muscles tight, as if bracing for something—but nothing comes. His chest heaves, breaths uneven, the taste of iron heavy in his throat. The boat hums beneath him, the engine steady, its low rumble vibrating through his boots. The waves lap softly against the hull, quiet compared to the roar inside his head.

But something’s wrong. He knows it, feels it. His hands tighten on the edge of the bench beneath him, the cold metal biting into his palms. Every time, it’s the same: Rodriguez at the helm complaining about, Morgan worried about him, Kash flipping that damn pawn between his fingers, Scrader reading through the manual, and the radio blasting “Fortunate Son” like clockwork.

Only... there’s no music.

The silence drills into his skull, unnatural in the rhythm of the loop. His heartbeat pounds louder in his ears, filling the empty space where the song should be. He glances up. Rodriguez is there—but she isn’t tapping the console, isn’t humming along to the tune like she always does. Her back is stiff, head tilted down, fingers clenched too tightly around the wheel.

Chris shifts his weight, boots scraping the deck, his rifle resting heavily against his chest. The boat rocks gently beneath him, the fog rolling over the water, thick and impenetrable. He listens for Morgan’s voice—her laugh, her quip about the mission. But when he turns, she’s sitting silently, staring off into the fog, her hands resting limp in her lap. Kash is next to her, his pawn nowhere in sight. The rhythmic tap he’s grown used to is gone.

Cold dread spreads through Chris’s limbs, settling in his stomach. It doesn’t feel like any other reset. Everything is the same, but it isn’t. The edges feel off—like something unfinished, or starting to fray. The way Rodriguez grips the wheel, her knuckles white. The way Morgan’s eyes are unfocused, lost. And the silence—the silence feels worse than the death that always follows.

Chris rises from the bench slowly, every muscle stiff, his hand automatically falling to his sidearm, feeling the weight of it there. His mind races. The mission brief—he’s memorized it, but there’s something slipping between the cracks of his memory now, like a whisper he’s been ignoring. They were sent to contain something. No. Destroy something.

"I knew they would evolve as the years passed but this is way too fucked up, man," Scrader says, not looking at Chris when he glances over. He hasn't looked away from his report, brows drawn tight together, his jaw set as he skims it again.

Chris realizes he doesn't know what Scrader's looking at. In fact, he doesn't even know what it entailed or whom it involved. All he can think about is how nothing is repeating itself this time around, and that it's setting off alarms in every corner of his head. "What is?" he asks cautiously.

Scrader flips the pages idly, pausing for a second on one particular page, only to start muttering to himself as if continuing an old conversation with someone else entirely before rolling the paper and extending it to Chris, not once making eye contact with anyone else. "I know we're not supposed to see them as people, but fuck, boss. Whoever this person was, they deserved better."

Chris pretends to know what's happening, reaching out and taking the file as if understanding what it is exactly they've stumbled upon. Maybe it will jog loose something from his memories that aren't there anymore—but when he looks at the Level 10 clearance file properly, his mouth runs dry. There's an image in the top left corner, grainy and dark. It takes him a moment to register what he's seeing—a flashlight shining into the darkness, illuminating something, someone hooked up to countless wires and tubes and monitors, almost disappearing into the maw of machines surrounding it. It's an image that stirs nausea within Chris' stomach, though he can't explain why exactly; perhaps because it reminds him far too much of Jill's horrific state following her capture and torture by Wesker.

The world around him shifts, his pulse kicking up as if the words have grabbed him by the throat. Their primary contact Captain Jenna’s orders are to terminate on contact. Chris stares at the paper, a cold chill creeping up his spine. His mind whirs, dragging up half-formed memories, fragments of conversations that never made sense before. They weren’t sent to contain anything.

They were sent to destroy something.

He pushes to his feet, the paper crumpling in his fist. The mission wasn’t about survival—it was about stopping something before it could get out. His breath catches in his throat, eyes darting around the deck, as if seeing it for the first time. His hand tightens on the railing, the cold biting into his skin. The facility. The bioweapon.

You.

Everything slams into place at once. The quiet, the endless resets, the thing that hunted them—always changing, always killing, always coming back. Chris’s jaw tightens, muscles straining as his mind races. He swore it was the facility, the bioweapon in the walls. But no—it’s always been you.

You were the mission.

His eyes snap back to his team. Morgan, Kash, Rodriguez—they were never meant to survive. They were expendable. They were bait. And now, he knows why. His heart pounds against his ribcage, the realization burning through his veins. The creature they’ve been fighting—the one that adapts, that evolves after every kill— it’s the other side of you. The part that can’t be controlled. The part they sent him here to destroy.

His breathing sharpens, adrenaline flooding his system as he pushes through the fog in his mind. The only reason the loop never breaks is because you’re still here. He’s been caught in this cycle, fighting both your human side and your bioweapon form, over and over. And every time, he’s failed. He’s never figured it out in time—until now.

He looks down at the paper, his fingers loosening their grip, letting it unfold completely in his hand. The rest of the file details everything: your designation as Project Hydra, the hybrid bioweapon you’ve become, and your nature as a digital hydra, capable of propagating across systems and networks, spreading through any digital space like a virus.

Chris reads it all—how the simulation is designed to contain you, how you were meant to be destroyed before you could escape. But you haven’t been destroyed. You’ve adapted, survived, and with each reset, you grow stronger. The simulation’s been holding you in, but the cost has been his team, his sanity, over and over again.

His hand shakes as he lowers the paper. Terminate on contact. The words echo in his mind, sinking deeper into the hollow space left by the endless loops. He knows what needs to happen.

But the thought twists in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He can’t shake the image of you—calm, steady, watching him every time they meet. That strange, knowing expression, the subtle tilt of your head, the way your eyes soften for a moment when he arrives, like you’ve been waiting for him.

He knows the bioweapon version of you is in there too—the creature that has torn through his team, over and over, adapting with every encounter. It’s the other side of the coin, the part of you that the simulation is meant to contain. But you’ve also been human, here with him. Somehow, through all the resets, you’ve stayed human—at least a version of you has.

And that version… Chris curses under his breath, the frustration burning through him. He doesn’t want to kill that version of you. Even knowing what he knows, even knowing you’re the reason they’re trapped here, even knowing what waits outside if the simulation ends—you still feel like something separate from all of it. Like something—someone—real.

Something shifts within him, settling into place with a soft click, like a piece clicking into place in a puzzle, suddenly fitting perfectly. All the little moments where he hesitated, faltered, froze. All the moments he almost pulled the trigger but couldn't, times where your voice broke through the madness, guiding him closer to truth, even as the loop kept pushing him down another path. Maybe the truth is, despite everything he's lost, it wasn't just the terror of losing more friends or facing further destruction of the world—he wasn't willing to lose you either, even when you seemed to expect otherwise. You've felt real to him throughout this hellish nightmare—as something beyond the horrors around him and the pain he carries on his shoulders.

Whatever exists between you two, whatever makes his heart clench, that isn't fake or a lie. Or maybe it's simply been inevitable—that no matter the reality, he will always care about you in some capacity, no matter the situation or role you play, and no matter what he chooses in the end.

Classified File – Bioweapon Brief

Project Hydra – Designation: [REDACTED]

⸻⸻⸻⸻

Clearance Level: TOP SECRET

Prepared for: Bioweapon Countermeasure Unit

Status: Active, Containment in Progress

Primary Contact: Colonel T. Hargrave

Authorization: Directorate of Bioweapon Research and Containment

Executive Summary

The subject, Project Hydra (referred to as Hydra), is a first-of-its-kind hybrid of biological and digital weaponry. Combining enhanced human physiology with advanced cybernetics and self-propagating AI malware, Hydra is designed to infiltrate and control both physical and digital environments. Due to its unique structure, Hydra requires specialized containment strategies.

Primary Directive: Hydra’s containment relies on maintaining its human element within a simulated environment where emotional bonds, specifically with the subject’s husband, Chris Redfield, stabilize cognitive architecture. Hydra exhibits:

Human mode within the simulation—engaging with Redfield and retaining human behaviors.

Bioweapon mode upon exiting the simulation—fully autonomous and capable of executing digital and physical attacks.

Current Objective: Keep Hydra contained to prevent bioweapon escalation and potential global catastrophe.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

Biological Component

Subject Details:

Name: [REDACTED]

Age: [REDACTED]

Gender: [REDACTED]

Genetic Modifications: Enhanced reflexes, accelerated tissue regeneration, advanced sensory adaptation

Neuro-cognitive Enhancements: Memory partitioning, cognitive stability under duress

Overview

Hydra was a volunteer subject, genetically enhanced to create a highly adaptable combat bioweapon. However, following cybernetic and AI augmentation, Hydra’s cognitive state fragmented, resulting in two operational modes:

Human Mode (Simulation-Only):

Retains the original personality, memories, and attachments of the subject, particularly emotional ties to husband Chris Redfield. Anomalies observed: Attachments stabilize Hydra’s behavior but have led to indefinite containment.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

Bioweapon Mode (Active Threat Outside Simulation):

Autonomous, hostile, and relentless. No memory or emotional connection to Redfield in this mode. Exhibits rapid adaptive aggression; has killed containment personnel in multiple breaches.

Digital Component – Malware Architecture

Capabilities

Codename: HYDRA-Variant

Type: AI malware with self-propagating cognitive partitioning (Hydra effect)

Network Propagation: Spreads across networks, bypassing digital defenses and creating independent instances in response to attacks.

System Manipulation: Controls essential digital infrastructure, covertly bypassing detection by mimicking harmless programs.

Cognitive Mimicry in Virtual Spaces: Within simulations, Hydra interacts with others through emotional connections and echoes of the human subject, particularly regarding Redfield.

Adaptive Learning: Learns from and recodes itself in response to countermeasures.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

Containment Strategy

Redfield as a stabilizing influence: Hydra’s emotional attachment to Redfield keeps its human side active within the simulation.

Simulation Protocol

Hydra is contained within a high-security simulation that mirrors real-world conditions. Key elements include:

Simulation Loops: Every loop is designed to engage Hydra's human mode, maintaining cognitive containment.

Memory Partitioning: Redfield remains unaware of his relationship with Hydra to reinforce containment and avoid operational compromise.

Containment Status: Redfield’s presence remains critical. Without him, Hydra is projected to revert to bioweapon mode and breach containment.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

Termination Options

Option A: Terminate Simulation

Outcome: Ends the containment protocol, releasing Redfield and his team.

Risk: Hydra will revert to bioweapon mode and initiate catastrophic global attacks, as the human mode will be erased.

Option B: Maintain Containment

Outcome: Keeps the simulation running indefinitely.

Risk: Redfield and his team remain trapped, with no way out; however, Hydra’s human side is preserved, and bioweapon escalation is prevented.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

Conclusion

Hydra is a high-risk, Omega-Class bioweapon. Its emotional bond with Chris Redfield is the primary factor sustaining containment but also presents a stability risk if fully realized by the subject. The failure to contain Hydra could lead to catastrophic bioweapon release with the potential for widespread cyber-physical warfare. Should Redfield regain knowledge of his relationship with Hydra, containment integrity is at high risk.

Advisory: Exercise extreme caution. Each reset and interaction draws Hydra closer to full bioweapon reversion. This is your only warning.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

END OF FILE

[angelicsaiko]

Movie Night ♥︎

Happy Chaos, and the reader decides to have a movie night, though it doesn't go as expected.

A/N: It's like 2 am rn but like, yes. Anyways I had fun writing this. I hope you guys like it!

TW: Oral (male receiving), Hair Pulling, lmk if I missed anything else!

It's been rather lonely for you lately, so you decided why not just have a movie night with a friend, and what other friend would you pick than the man obsessed with drama, Happy Chaos? You and him were good friends for a good year or so now. You two would constantly goof of and make jokes at each other or even just have debates on philosophy and history. Even though he was a huge smart-ass who was practically the king of sass, you always found him charming in a weird sense. He was definitely a weirdo, but he was fun to hang out with. He wasn't someone who would get upset easily, and he had a good sense of humor, too. Sure, he was crazy, but you LOVED his crazy. Maybe a little too much. You would never fully admit it to yourself, but you had formed a crush on the blue man but always told yourself that he wanted nothing like that to do with you, but you couldn't help yourself but get excited for occasions like this where you two could spend time together. Just the two of you.

It took only 20 minutes before you heard your doorbell ring, which had you immediately running to the door. You had enough time to clean your apartment, but you didn't have enough time to change your clothes, so you were standing at the door wearing only an oversized T-shirt and striped panties underneath. You immediately smiled, however, and tried to brush that fact off when you saw Chaos standing right in front of you.

"Come on in! Sorry I didn't have enough time to change into regular clothes, though if you don't mind waiting for a bit then I can go change now, ehe.."

Now Chaos was the one that was smiling, shaking his head as his dark brown eyes gazed down at you. "Oh, it's fine, you know I don't like sitting around doing nothing, you know." He scratched his neck and shoulder a bit, waiting for you to move a little so he could get into the apartment. He wore a simple band T-shirt with some goofy graphic on it along with his usual black leather pants accompanied by his orange X-shaped shaded glasses and a black jacket with the insides yellow. His hair is a mess as usual, though it looks like he at least tried to keep it down and not all over the place, though there are still some visible lone strands that wrapped around his twin horns that poked out and curled upwards on the edges of his forehead. His halo was a black circle that hovered over his head, which had spikes coming from four directions. You always wondered what exactly he was, but you were too shy to ask him, plus you don't even think he even knew what he was. With the way his eyes looked into yours, it made you feel a bit light on the ground, but you stopped yourself from thinking like that. This is a movie night. Don't make it weird, Y/N!!

You finally snapped yourself out of your thoughts and moved out of the doorway and into the living room. You plopped down onto the couch and  turned on the TV using simple magic currents from a tiny little remote. Chaos wasn't that far off behind you, promptly sitting down beside you with his legs spread, having no manners whatsoever as usual. You held back a giggle at that as you tried to focus on the TV.

"Anything you feel like watching? I have some horror movies, or maybe we could watch a comedy movie. Though most of them are pretty damn old." You let off a soft giggle as you said that before turning to the man right beside you. He was apparently staring at you but immediately refocused when he heard your voice, then looking at the TV as he seemed to be thinking. You sighed as you stood up before turning back to him.

"Well, while you think on that, I'm gonna make us some popcorn alright? Don't mess with anything while I'm gone, I know you, mister." You spoke sternly at him with a playful smile. That seemed to get his attention as he simply scoffed and shook his head, saying a drawn out "Fiiiine." with a big grin on his face. That grin faded when you turned away from him and walked off to the kitchen. While you were walking away, your T-shirt was hanging above your back, so the back of your panties was completely visible to him. He tried to look away, but the sight of your panties, the outline of your waist, your plushy thighs, every little detail would not leave his mind now. It started to drive him crazy in more ways than one, feeling himself get aroused by the sight, but he did everything he could to ignore it and just focus on picking a movie. He ended up picking an old horror movie that he remembered watching once. Since he remembered it being decent, he decided to choose that one. The thought of you would not leave his mind and it didn't help when you came back with your shirt slightly lifted up thanks to your arms being up to hold the big bowl full of popcorn, exposing the front of your panties. He immediately looked towards the wall, pretending he's just taking his glasses off to set down on the side table, when really he was trying to hide his flushed face.

Chaos is not used to these thoughts, and neither is he used to this attachment he has to you. His heart is racing slightly every time you are around, and it overwhelms him every time he is alone after spending time with you. He even went as far as to avoid you for awhile to keep his mind straight, he already had enough racing through his mind, he didn't want to feel creepy for having some random obsession over and ordinary girl, but he missed talking to you so he decided to accept your invite, thinking he would be fine. He was already being proven wrong, biting his fist as he tried to distract himself. Once you sat back down beside him, he was brought back to reality. Chaos had to cross his legs to hide what was growing in his pants. Maybe if he didn't wear leather pants, then it would be easier to hide. This caught your attention, though, as you have never seen him do that all of the times you two have spent time together. You then noticed that his face was turning a slight red tone, but since he didn't say anything about it, then you decided to say nothing about it. He was your friend, after all. You aren't going to catch him lacking unless you two are playing a video game.

You turned the movie one and leaned back into the couch, watching the movie with him. Chaos tried to focus, but he kept peaking at you and noticing how nicely your thighs pressed together, or how your stomach looked like all folded together, showing off the chub you had in your belly. Chaos bit his lip for a second before catching himself and looking back at the TV. Usually, he wouldn't care this much about how others thought. He would be brutally honest about it, but you were different. You were the only one who made him feel this way, the only one that made him lose his mind even more than it already was. He rested his hand on his thigh, lightly clawing at it to keep himself in reality and just watch the movie. That was until a sex scene started. Chaos was staring at the screen wide eyed, peaking at you a little to see if you would skip forward, but you seemed too relaxed to wanna lean over, he gulped and tried to hold back a whimper. He was harder than ever right now, and you were starting to notice, too.

You had peaked at him a couple times, and immediately noticed the growing bulge that was caged behind his pants that he so desperately was trying to hide, you have a good idea of what got him riled up, but you wanted to tease him a little. It looked so tempting, but you waited patiently. First though, you decided to lean onto him, resting your head on his shoulder, and your right hand rested onto his lap above his hand. You could feel him tense up and twitch a bit, which made you chuckle a bit to yourself before averting your eyes at the screen. Your living room was full of the sound of lewd moans along with the sight of the girl pinned down onto the bed, getting railed by some big buff guy as they both panted in unison. While Chaos was trying to stay together, you snuck your other hand down to stroke the buldge in his pants, rubbing it up and down slowly as you watched his face. You don't know what's gotten into you, but you will happily thank any god up there for allowing you to tease this man. God, was it worth it, seeing his blue skin be flushed red on his face as he let out soft pants and whines, biting his lip as he rolled his head back, causing you to grin and bite your own lip at the sight of him falling apart from your hands.

"What's gotten into you, hm? You've never been like this before.~" You teased, gazing up at him, ignoring the movie that was playing behind you. All that mattered right now was that flustered face and those dark brown eyes that managed to get darker as they gazed back at you. He cursed under his breath as he felt you move your hands to the zipper of his pants before looking back up at him.

"Mind if I help?~"

It took everything in his willpower not to just grab you and pin you to the couch. Instead, all he did was nod and whine out a "Go for it.." which you happily obliged to. Slowly unzipping his pants and bringing them down to his ankles. You slid down his boxers as well, allowing something to spring out from underneath and finally out of its cage. You were now face to face with his member, and immediately, you finally snapped out of your gazed thoughts and back into reality as you saw it. Would you even be able to take all of it? It was blue just like his skin, but it was tall and thick, some veins sticking out as it twitched and throbbed from the feeling of your breath on it. You sighed and leaned down, softly kissing the tip of the head before swirling your tongue around it. Just that was enough to make Chaos jolt and moan, letting out a couple of grunts as well. You grinned and started to lick up all around his cock, keeping eye contact with him as you slowly slipped the head into your mouth, before sliding more into your warm and wet mouth. He moaned, looked down at you, returning the eye contact as his free hand rested onto the top of your head before grabbing a handful of your hair.

It was without question. Chaos was losing his mind, but it felt amazing, and he didn't want it to stop. You started to bob your head back and forth onto his length, going at a slow pace as you were still trying to take his size, even though it's not even all the way in yet. At this point, you both forgot about the movie. You finally started to take more of his length into your mouth, trying your best to take all of it, but once you got closer to the end, your gag reflex would start. This caused Chaos to smirk, looking down at you as his hand that was in your hair tightened it's hold, his other hand that was on his lap the grabbed another chunk of your hair, before pulling your hair to take all of his cock. He immediately moaned and panted, doing this repeatedly as you choked on his thick length. He was basically fucking your face without much care of what your neighbors would hear, using your face for his own pleasure. That's what you get for teasing him.

"How does that feel, huh?" He said between pants and grunts, looking back down at you as he tried to focus his eyesight. "Don't worry - fuCK! I'm close..~"

Chaos moved a bit to get a good angle, before pounding into your throat, panting like a needy dog as he did so. His cock was throbbing and twitching in your throat, the salty taste of his pre-cum staining the walls of your mouth and throat as you drooled all over him. Your face being a complete mess because of him. It didn't take him much longer until you felt his cock twitch in your mouth, before shooting his thick white ropes right into your mouth and down your throat. He pulled his member out of your mouth, shooting more of his semen directly onto your face. He panted, before grinning at the sight of your face covered in his cum, softly patting your head as you both took some time to recover.

"We should watch movies together more often.." He said before chuckling. You on the other hand was lapping up his cum off your face with your fingers, before licking it all up with ease. He just watched with his face turning red once again, before you noticed that he was still hard. He simply grinned at you and you returned that grin.

"How about a round two?~"

[bloody-wonder]

making progress on old series

let it not be said that i can only start new series🧐

new releases:

empire of the damned by jay kristoff (book two in: empire of the vampire). i might have mentioned this one once or twice already so let's keep it brief. i loved it! even more than book one, i think. love liathe joining the main cast, love jean françois' everything, love how everyone got queerer, love the reveals at the end. very excited for the last book in this series, altho i'm a bit disappointed that it's now three books instead of five - since there are five vampire houses i wanted them to keep taking on a house in each book, with blood chastain being the final boss. very rude of kristoff to betray my vision.

the sunshine court by nora sakavic (book four in: all for the game). i don't think this spin off continuation was necessary and i didn't particularly enjoy it but i'm glad jean stans now have their own sacred text. my biggest fear was that nora would retcon something about the og trilogy and that didn't happen so i can just keep living in peace while mostly ignoring tsc fan content. more thoughts on why i didn't vibe with tsc in these posts.

mislaid in parts half-known by seanan mcguire (book nine in: wayward children). so this series consists of books focused on individual wayward children as well as of ensemble books which are usually weaker and this particular novella unfortunately belongs to the latter category. i still liked it fine and it was a quick read but tbh i'm ready for this series to wrap up so i hope goodreads isn't lying about the next book being the final installment.

fence vol. 6: redemption by cs pacat & johanna the mad. i rated it five stars but ngl i have no memory of what happened in this volume altho i read it in february😅 i like this series overall but i feel like the first few volumes were more exciting. weirdly now that the slow burn is finally starting to pay off i suddenly lose interest😕

heartstopper: volume five by alice oseman. i'm not a big fan of heartstopper in general, i think it's overhyped, but i did like this volume more than the previous ones. maybe i'm biased bc it features tori coming out as ace which prompted me to pick up solitaire which i loved and so it retroactively cast a more favorable light on the graphic novel. looking forward to reading the last volume bc i like finishing things and then i might as well read the nick and charlie novellas - at which point i will have become a person who doesn't like oseman's books all that much and yet has somehow read all but one of them🫤

mammoths at the gates and the brides of high hill by nghi vo (books four and five in: the singing hills cycle). i have only really liked the second singing hills novella so at this point it would be smart to admit that this series is simply not for me and stop reading it but. these books are so short and perfect for when you want to get through something quickly even if you know you're not likely to enjoy it. and if indeed eight stories are planned then it means i have now read more than half so i might as well complete the series🤷‍♀️ *gets shot by sunk cost fallacy police*

series i completed:

regency faerie tales by olivia atwater (read books two and three: ten thousand stitches and longshadow). love love LOVE these books!! i read half a soul last october and ten thousand stitches this january - both times when i was sick in bed and i couldn't have wished for better books to help me recover from a cold. the first one is pride & prejudice meets jonathan strange & mr norrell, the second one is a cinderella retelling, both have lovely romances and can be read as standalones. i think half a soul is fairly popular (and constantly compared to the book that shall not be named😒) but ten thousand stitches is very underappreciated. i for one think it's at least as good, if not better, than half a soul - apparently people just can't appreciate a love interest who isn't angsty and brooding😒 longshadow is a companion novel too but imo it features too many characters and concepts from the previous books so it should definitely be read last. i didn't like it as much bc i think it relies too much on the stuff we already know and love instead of giving its protagonists enough time to shine but it is queer which made me realize we don't have nearly enough queer fae books. what a disgrace🧐

noumena by lindsay ellis (read book three: apostles of mercy). so this was unfortunately mind-bogglingly boring. this type of sci fi is usually not my cup of tea and so i stay away from it but i decided to give this series a try bc it was written by lindsay ellis. the first book was entertaining enough but both sequels bored me to tears. it seems i was under a misconception that the story was gonna be about a sad girl trying to navigate a third thing type of relationship with a freaky alien but it was instead about her navigating instalovey relationships with random humans and the alien was also there sometimes. big disappointment👎

series i'm slowly working my way through:

the memoirs of lady trent by marie brennan (read books two, three and four: the tropic of serpents, the voyage of the basilisk and in the labyrinth of drakes). i read book one last december and liked it just enough to continue the series but every next book after that turned out to be amazing. follow lady trent, a 19th century dragon naturalist and adventurer, legendary as she is scandalous, as she travels through fantasy africa, oceania and arabia in search of dragons living and extinct, starts various political upheavals, makes breathtaking discoveries and finds love - a life journey she recounts as an old woman in a delightfully snarky narrative voice.

book two is my favorite so far bc it found a perfect balance of fast-paced adventurous plot on the one hand and character and relationship development on the other. i'm a bit sad that natalie left the main cast after this book - one of the only two criticisms i have of this series is that the titular lady trent remains the only important woman character. i think it wouldn't be too far-fetched to have one more woman on the team and natalie was a perfect protegée who, might i add, is also canonically ace. hate to see her leave😒

book three introduces a love interest who i at first found kinda bland but he grew on me in book four. my favorite relationship in the series however remains the one between lady trent and her trusted colleague tom wilker with whom they used to butt heads when they first met but who is now her dearest friend and longtime companion on her journeys. there are many books about romance and friendship but not so many about the utter satisfaction of having a coworker you can absolutely rely on. my prediction/wish for the last book is for wilker to turn out to be gay and find love too🤞

the other criticism i have has to do with the worldbuilding and i'll elaborate on it when i complete the series later this year.

the witcher by andrzej sapkowski (read books two and three: the time of contempt and baptism of fire). i'm enjoying this series much more than i thought i would. the key to success here is to leave behind all expectations you have from reading western epic fantasy or indeed from the witcher adaptations. this saga started as short stories and sapkowski remains a short story author first and foremost which might irritate a reader expecting a novel with a neat three act structure but which i personally found fascinating. the opening chapter of book two told from the pov of a messenger who encounters all major characters on the road, gets a death prophecy from a girl he doesn't know to be ciri and indeed dies as the chapter ends - i think that was a very creative way to reintroduce the reader to the main cast and plot essentially through the format of a short story.

another thing sapkowski does a lot is conveying everything through dialogue which, as you might know, is like bookish catnip to me lol. some dialogues are there just for the sake of dialogue, only bc the author wanted some side characters he made up to have a funny conversation. to be fair, at worst this structure becomes too meandering but i gotta say i find that chapters that are focused on mundane scenes seemingly going nowhere are more fun than plot focused chapters about sorceresses and wizards fighting or whatever. the witch trial chapter in baptism of fire - that's where it's at for me.

the thing i'm still not so sure about is the way women and women's issues are represented. very mixed feelings on what happens to milva in book three, tho i think i wouldn't be so skeptical had she not been the only woman on the main cast in that book. (cahir and regis are such fun characters with interesting motivations and stuff so ig i'm pissed that the only female character's deal has to be about that). ciri on the other hand is written very well imo and i totally did not expect her to be in a sapphic relationship. sure hope nothing bad happens to her gf🥲

vorkosigan saga by lois mcmaster bujold (read books one, two and four (??): shards of honor, barrayar and the vor game). so after reading the warrior's apprentice and the mountains of mourning last year i took a step back and read cordelia's books which i unfortunately didn't like. cordelia is a type of female character i don't vibe with and the gender themes in her books, while likely very progressive for their time, often made me roll my eyes, grind my teeth etc. in my goodreads reviews i explain my issues in more detail. the ethical implications of uterine replicators haunt me still😕

returning to miles in the vor game was both welcome and disappointing bc i keep expecting more from this man and he keeps falling short of my grand lymondesque expectations. in this book in particular i was immediately hooked on the arctic base plot only for it to be cut short bc this is a space opera and miles needs to go do pew pew pew in space, just like in book one. boo. now that i know weatherman was formerly a short story bujold later incorporated into the vor game i think it's curious that i seem to like miles a lot in short stories and novellas (the mountains of mourning remains my favorite) but am underwhelmed by the full length novel miles.

i will say however that now i have sufficiently adjusted my expectations and am very motivated to find out if there is a vorkosigan book out there that i will absolutely love. so i'll keep reading a few books per year - there's something soothing about slowly working one's way through a very long series😌

the realm of the elderlings by robin hobb (read books two and three: royal assassin and assassin's quest). the farseer books are the longest and (for the most part) the most boring books i have read this year. normally i don't torture myself like this but i wanted to do it for the fool and see how his relationship with fitz develops. was it worth it? i would say yes but only bc i let myself curate my own perfect reading experience and skimmed aggressively, sometimes skipping entire chapters. and i will do it again!👿 bc i will keep reading the elderlings books to see how the one million page yaoi plays out.

the only part of the farseer trilogy i really enjoyed was the second half of assassin's quest - not just bc fitz and the fool were cute and heart-wrenching together but bc of the entire unlikely fellowship on this quest. nighteyes is my favorite which is a feat on hobb's part bc normally i don't care about animal companions or am annoyed by them. kettle is iconic, always remember to take an auld woman on a quest (or she will chase you down and join despite your protests and prevarications). i hated starling but in a series where most characters provoke zero emotions that was a welcome change. kettricken was also there. their group dynamic was delightful and i wish the entirety of this series (or at least of this last book) was this slow burn psychological character study in close proximity group dynamics. but you can't always have what you want ig🤷‍♀️

what's next:

finishing the memoirs of lady trent - only one book in the main series is left and then there's also a spin off about her granddaughter, i think

rereading swordspoint which i first read back in 2020 and found underwhelming but it may just have been bc captive prince was such a hard act to follow for many gay books i tried back then. i hope i will like it more now that i can meet it halfway and if it goes well i want to complete the riverside trilogy right away

sometime this fall i'm gonna read pandora and vittorio the vampire. finishing the vampire chronicles is on my bookish bucket list and now, two whole years after i reread three of them to refresh my memory, i finally feel sane and brave enough to keep working towards that goal. so wish me luck🥲

finishing joanne harris' st oswald's series which started with one of my favorite dark academia novels gentlemen and players. i read the sequel last year and liked it a lot so now i want to read the final book a narrow door which also seems like a perfect autumnal read

the new evander mills mystery comes out in october and i'd like to read it before the year ends

2024 reading updates | goodreads

[sm-writes-chaos]

Welcome to my little writing corner...

Hello peeps, tis I, Sm!

Fallen star but shining rock, a mountain of chaos of good or bad, but whatever character trope you may put upon me, I am just a mere traveler

Feel free to look around and make yourself at home!

Links:

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMProject (eh don't really use it though) Pinterest: https://pin.it/6jQ7KxQ

A little bit about me:

You can call me Sm, she/her. Nicknames are fine! I love all things written, all things drawn, and all things animated. I love to collect things, whether they be rocks, plushies, or pens. I aspire to publish a book someday, and to become a screenwriter perhaps.

Hyper fixations: Arcane, Death Note, Saiki K, Studio Investigrave games, Bungo Stray Dogs, books, Project Sekai (VBS), Heathers, cartoons, Danganronpa (I haven’t finished the third game sue me,) mythology, alien stage

I’m gonna stop myself there

Inspirations: Charles Shultz, Dav Pilkey, Jonathon Auxier, Stuart Gibbs, Jules Verne, Virginia Woolf, Emily Dickinson, Sappho, Miguel de Cervantes, like all mythology in general, Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

Tags:

#writer thoughts - me being silly

#snippet - usually from HoF

#detached snippet - anything that isn’t from a current WIP

#doodles - any art that's mine

My Projects:

Hearts Of Fire: (HoF)

Progress: Writing 2nd draft ✍️

Norah is not one for introductions, but if you will know her name eventually, what's the point of hiding? The point is survival. Her village despises her, she's stuck looking after her drunken father, and she doesn't even know her mothers name. There is one light, her friend and mentor. This mentor talks of magical fortunes and smells always of fresh fruit, it was a dream. Until...one big fortune comes true, and Norah and the balance of the world is in danger. Thrown out of what she carved as her shell she treads the dangerous lands of the woods, searching for answers and solutions. If only a miniature nipping dragon, an amateur wizard, and her sworn enemy weren't following her. If only she could be alone, but for now, she keeps one foot in front of the other....Oh can those three be quiet-!

Full Intro: Here

Art by: @distortedsense

Tag List: Ask to be added or removed here

Header By: @firefly-graphics

TWUECUD: Thespians With Unregulated Emotions Cause Unregulated Drama

A sitcom inspired comic about seven weirdos in college!

Mikal and Jee pull pranks, Alison is anti-social, Vishal has failing grades, Nicole has anger issues, and Gage was in the wrong place at the wrong time. What do they all have in common? They were forced to join the theater club to make friends, led by the overly fast paced president Tylee.

Meet the characters here!

Read all the comics here!

I take scenario requests from asks

Ask to be on the taglist (Don't have a post for it)

Updates whenever I feel like it

Other: (Including short stories and random snippets)

A Girl

Random 1

Random 2

Pluto Hatched

The Wrong String of Fate

--

I of course have tens of ideas lurking in notebooks, google docs, and my own brain, but am focusing mainly on HoF.

Feel free to ask anything about my projects, me, or just to say hi.

[xiv-wolfram]

I'm new to tumblr and looking to start my own visual stories. I stumbled upon yours through the suggestions and I am INVESTED. Raubae is a beautiful man and Wolfram and he are a beautiful couple!

Can you give a noob visual storyteller pointers on how to get started with their own comics?

OMG THANK YOU!!! 😭 I'm totally normal about them. I also want to apologize for Tumblr being a bit of a mess in terms of following the comics. Highly recommend the Carrd for chronological links.

As for comics - I'm far from an expert but I do see myself getting better with each one I make so hopefully some of this will help. 🤞

Read a bunch of different types of graphic novels. Pick the ones you like the most and pay attention to how they do things. I personally like lots of dialogue and character development, dramatic lighting, and focusing on facial expressions. Others focus on the action or scenery. Some a mix of both (which I'm working towards). Just find inspiration in what you love and let it help you find your style. 😁 Looking into how comics are made and what the different speech bubbles mean/text decoration/etc was helpful.

Use Clip Studio Paint or a program like it. Basically you want something that will let you cut out comic frames and add dialogue boxes easily. It really streamlines the workflow.

Write out "scripts" before GPosing. I know some folks who can freestyle but for me scripts with minor stage direction and dialogue have helped a lot. I have a different numbered line for each GPose I need to take too.

Everyone does plot/characterization differently. IDK if you were curious about that but I personally focus my plot around 3 main storylines - WolfBahn relationship arc, Wolfram's voidsent problem/past trauma, and MSQ. These plotlines overlap A LOT and come to a head in Endwalker. A lot of folks focus on their OC (I of course do.) but its also nice to develop the NPCs in some way. Most of Raubahn's development comes from MSQ which makes that easy but I do take time to touch on some of the things MSQ doesn't cover heavily like his recovery after being rescued from Halatali or the toll fighting to liberate Ala Mhigo takes on him. So I guess I just think - stories are more engaging if you flesh out the NPCs a bit. That may be personal preference though...

Really know your characters. I've found answering WoLQoTDs helps a ton. Along those lines - a timeline of their major events. Mine includes Eorzean events like The Autumn War and Garlean invasion of Ala Mhigo so I can fit my character's story in with the greater world. Before starting the comics I had a summary of his story on his Carrd (it's down now though). I also made a family tree. Replaying cutscenes helps get me in the zone to write too. Knowing them really well makes the writing flow pretty effortlessly.

Spend the time to edit each screenshot. I didn't do enough of this starting out and regret it. Even just upping the sharpness makes a big difference. Highly reccomend hitting it with the dodge/burn if you have time. The images will be smaller than most gposes so zooming in or cropping closer can help show the fine details (another place CSP shines).

Make dialogue box text large enough so that the majority of users on mobile won't need to zoom in. What I've been doing is 50 in CSP.

This one I don't do - but I should. Have someone with good grammar who also actually enjoys your story go over your comic before you post it. Ideally over the script as well. They'll point out grammatical mistakes but also since they're fans they may have some cool character insights you hadn't thought of!

Don't be discouraged if you get less "likes" than you do for GPoses. I usually get way less. On the flip side I get more actual interaction with the comics. Nice convos. It's how I've met some of my best buddies! So it's a good trade-off IMO. Most important of all - it's FUN to tell stories!

I hope this was helpful. Feel free to DM if you have more specific questions/want to have a convo too. I'm always excited to see more GPose comics! :D

[tigermousse]

Teachers: With Love And Passion

genre: otome, romance, comedy, drama, thriller

Do you remember your time at school? Have you had a hard school life? Were you an outsider? Have you had a crush on your school teacher? Were you thinking about what teachers think of you and how do they feel about their job?

In this visual novel you can go through all joys and horrors of school life again, but looking from the other side - as a new biology teacher straight out of college starting her first teaching job.

On her first day MC is anxious. Will she get along with students? What if they won't like her or something will go wrong?

She is even more anxious to meet her new colleagues, because she is shy and reserved, and other teachers all have so different personalities: some are friendly, some are flirty, some are rude and some are quiet. But they all seem to like MC and trying to help her accommodate in the new school. So maybe she will make new friends or even give love another try?

The visual novel is starting as a light otome, but the antagonist gradually unravels his personality and plot becoming more sinister, turning into psychological thriller after you open all the endings. Some people in the commentaries told that they love antagonist and can't bring themselves to hate him. For me it is the opposite. I hated him with all my heart. This is the exact kind of psychos that I would want to shake off you like a creepy beast and get rid of him as soon as possible.

At first I was glad that Love Interests in the game are more mature and the MC is 30 years old, because usually we have characters who are around 18 - and it's totally fine with me, but having something different is refreshing. [Being in my thirties I would prefer more of this, but beggars can't be choosers]

In fact when you start playing, most of characters doesn't feel so mature because in some situations they are behaving exactly like a bunch of teenagers. But that is the truth of life: a lot of people doesn't grow up, they just getting old.

This visual novel by Honey Bunny @honeybunnyvns was originally made for Otome Game Jam 2022, and I've tried it earlier, but got distracted and didn't even finish the common route, so when I've learned that they are doing an update on February 24th I've decided to wait and try. And it was definitely worth waiting! Now this is my new favorite VN.

The writing is good, the story is mostly engaging, and romance gives you a reason to smile.

The game is average length (around 10-11 hours) and have 15 endings. The number of choices for the lengths feels exactly right: not too many, not too little.

I liked the romantic part a lot. The chemistry in some routes is overwhelming, Several times I found myself giggling to Ray's flirting, teasing of Lawrence or Markus' failed attempts at flirting, and gasping at some tense moments [maybe I just need a boyfriend]

Art and character design in the game are absolutely stunning. Usually I'm more interested in story, but in case with Teachers, graphics is an eye candy and I couldn't take my eyes off some CGs.

I was wondering where are other teachers in this school, especially other female teachers. Even without giving them a role in plot we needed at least some mentioning about them in the story. Because it was pretty strange that in lounge we never meet teachers of language or literature, or science. It is strange that in school where they are teaching Civics, no one is teaching languages.

Also I don't understand why teaches should have surnames which also sound like names? Before I've finally learned everyone's full names I was pretty much confused by it.

CHARACTERS

MC Hanna Fein (name changeable)

Age: 30 y.o. Subject: Biology

MC is a typical otome protagonist, except for her age. She's self-concious, anxious and easily embarassed, hardworking and eager to help everyone. With some guys she tends to be more flirty, when with others she's more shy and reserved.

Also as usual MC is confused about her own feelings and about feelings of other characters, have a tendency to overthink things, which causes tension and misunderstanding.

We were told that in her past Hanna suffered a trauma and a loss, so she is now anxious and reserved, not willing to trust people around her. But as we see in most romantic routes Hanna is very trusting. She tends to see good in people, that's why she doesn't understand who is the antagonist in the story.

Most of the time MC doesn't do something stupid, except maybe taking too much work. But I was pretty much disappointed with her behavior in one of the routes.

Most of MC's background is revealing in different routes, and the cause of her trauma is revealing in secret route which can be unlocked after you watch all the ending.

"The reason why I can't believe anyone and am so afraid to trust myself is right in front of me."

My rating 4/5

Love Interests (MILD SPOILERS AHEAD)

The plot turns darker from character to character so the developer's suggested playing order is

Markus>Leonard>Ray>Lawrence>Edgar (>secret route)

[But my playing order in otome VNs is usually to start with my favorite character and finish with my second favorite character]

Lawrence Hanson

Age: 48 y.o. Subject: World History

Mr. Hanson (We are not familiar enough to call him Lawrence yet) is rude, straightforward, have hot temper and annoyed easily. Also he's a loner, jealous, possessive, intelligent and have unusual passion for classical romance.

of course, I LOVED HIM FROM THE START AND WILL LOVE HIM FOREVER. I've read his Romantic ending several times and spent too much time thinking whether their passion with MC will work or not in the future. (Only if Hanna would stay the good shy otome MC or if they will decide to have a child, however the fact that they are working together in their case may be a good factor)

Still I had a feeling that the developers didn't give this character enough love that he deserves. Maybe I just wanted more of his background, because of his reserved personality we still don't know much of him [A part of Lawrence's background unravels also in Ray's route] I bet he was in the army before attending university, that's why he's much older than his friends Ray and Thomas.

I really like how both characters acted in the route (their age), I love the chemistry between characters, and how Mr. Hanson is handling all the situations not only in his route, but with other routes too (as a grown man), so…

My rating 5/5 [my new favorite character!]

Leonard Flynn

Age: 35 y.o Subject: Fine Arts

On the contrary to Lawrence Hanson, Leo doesn't act his age at all. I had to double check his age with the page on itch.io (and even on vndb) to make sure that he's 35 and not 25, because he acts like he is 15. He's not even the youngest one.

This is the route in which I would like to have some nice discussions about art, but the developers have chosen more comical approach.

Of course, it is important to be yourself and find a solace, but the plot is too concentrated around dealing with Leo's insecurities than around his relationship with MC. Especially considering how self-conscious and insecure MC is herself. Leonard won't be able to give her support.

"I am biting my fingers, Leonard is shaking. We are a dysfunctional couple trying to help each other."

doesn't look like a good romantic ending to me

My rating 2/5

Markus Kent

Age: 33 y.o. Subject: P.E.

"Yeah, but you always look at me so pissed"

"That's just my face! Ugh. People always get wrong idea"

I'm not really into sports and jocks, so I was afraid that Markus will be that strong silent type who won't say more then two words in a sentence. In fact, he really isn't very good with words, but it doesn't making him boring, rather funny and cute. He turned out very sweet character, pretty real and down-to-earth, honest and quiet. I like his pure enthusiasm with sports, I empathize with his back story. Maybe he isn't very original as a character, but their relationship with MC developed nicely. They seem to have healthy relationship and I'm sure they would take good care about each other.

My rating 4,5/5

Edgar Mitchell

Age:36 y.o. Subject: Mathematics

I had a feeling that Edgar is the favorite boy of developers. He has more screen time to himself then others, he seems engaged in every other route, he plays main role in secret route. Anyway, there's a lot of Edgar Mitchell in this visual novel.

But I don't like the kind of people who enjoy teasing others even when the other person is annoyed. Edgar is constantly overstepping other's personal boundaries. I've got annoyed by him enough before the end of common route.

Maybe he isn't a bad person: he's friendly and cares about others in his own way, trying to cheer them up. But being an adult he should already learn other ways of cheering people up apart of stupid jokes, meaningless flirting or making fun of Lawrence's age and gossiping about friends behind their backs.

I wouldn't even want to keep the person like Edgar as a friend: the less personal information he would know, the less jokes and gossip he would spread.

MC is saying that Edgar makes her comfortable, I would say that it is the opposite: seems that he likes to make people uncomfortable.

He's constantly sending mixed signals to MC and she can't sort out her own feelings, so it is a mess already.

His backstory is actually fine. Things happens in life, we all make mistakes, and it is not the reason to lay down and die.

But even more than by Edgar himself, I'm annoyed by the MC in his route. If someone would belittle and badmouth a man I like - in front of me, I would never sit and listen quietly until they finish! Especially if the person is doing it exactly because of my presence.

My rating 3,5/5 [Edgar and MC are so annoying, but I've got a lot of strong negative emotions on this route]

Ray Fox

Age: 45 y.o. Occupation: Nurse

I'm glad that I've played the game later and didn't have to wait for update. Ray is so HOT, he's practically STEAMING. He is the second oldest character and my second favorite in this novel.

His route is constant flirting and teasing, but also I'm respecting very much the way this man works himself to death staying in his office till the late night. The trust that MC is putting in him is kind of ridiculous though. Honestly, in her place I would probably thought he has a drug problem or maybe sells drugs on a black market.

His story is really tragic, his constant loneliness and the feeling of guilt is breaking my heart. And his both endings are bittersweet in a different way. But his bond with MC is excellent. It is not just passion mixed with curiosity (like with Lawrence), it is also mutual respect, trust and aid. Also they have similar specialties, so they have common interests and understanding of each other's work. The ending of the romantic route tells it all: that she finally found the one who will love her right.

My rating 5/5 [he's perfect, the best choice for MC]

Overall:

Visual: 5/5

Story: 5/5

Characters: 5/5

Romance: 5/5

Originality: 4/5

My Rating: 5/5

This game is free you can get it from itch.io

[hmrtia]

me looking at my 1.4k likes WHAT did i like .... i should sort thru those, its also like 10:40 pm and i might get ice cream before i launch myself into my bed for sleep attempts, but also! with my 30th birthday literally like 2 days away not even 2 days now lmao, i have some NEW priorities

the top one of those is self love. and what's great about that is atlas is a character who is great for self love. kind and compassionate and a reminder that love is powerful and sacred and should never be taken for granted. that it can be given to others but also must be directed within.

and i have been neglecting that. i've been avoiding working on some pretty massive issues in my life, and if i keep doing that, i'll never be happy with myself. i broke up with my partner- we are still friends, but i realize how much of my time i gave to him, and how i didn't keep any for myself. i realize i was feeling drained and more like a psych nurse than a partner for him, and i was putting in so much effort and it wasn't being returned to me- and i deserve better in a romantic partner. i was fatigued and i was sleeping a lot more than usual and it wasn't good as a romantic relationship. basically, it truly drove in that if i keep giving and giving and giving and never allowing myself to rest, then i'll break-

something that atlas also learns in his story! he focuses much of his life at the start to giving warmth and light to the kingdom, but ultimately chooses his own happiness and the woman he loves, because he decides he deserves to be happy too, and this is the path that will give him that happiness. and it doesn't make him less of a hero, it means he simply can love himself and others, which makes his life richer and more beautiful no matter what hardships or adversaries he and qistina face.

atlas is such a role model and as i focus on myself, i think i will be able to do him justice in writing again, and i am very looking forward to that!

other good news i dont hate my graphics i will not stress over making new icons and whatnot, these graphics are fine and solid! anyway i enter my era of self love, and you are all coming with me for the journey!

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

Shut Me Up

A/N: Here’s another smutty one-shot. I felt like something a little cliche so here it is. This was so fun to write! I’m still finding my footing in this fandom as a writer but I think I wanna start taking requests, the next fic I have coming out will be a request and I’m having fun with it so shoot me a message if there’s something you wanna see. I’ve just put together my Masterlist so you can check out my other fics there :)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer and Y/N don’t exactly get on well. Will they be able to work out some of their frustration when they’re forced to share a room for the night?

Category: Pure smut baby

Warnings/Includes: smut, graphic descriptions of sex, dirty talk, oral (female receiving), penetrative sex, name calling, light choking, hair pulling, scratching, please let me know if there’s anything I’ve missed!

Word count: 3850 words

The hotel is somehow worse than usual. It’s got so few rooms that they just narrowly grab enough for the whole team. But few enough that they have to bunk. Y/N didn't love sharing a room but it was better than having nowhere to sleep at all.

Prentiss tosses her a key, “That’s you and Reid” she says it so nonchalant that Y/N almost doesn’t notice it. Once in clicks in her head though she races down the hall.

“Hey, hey wait!” She calls out, a little too desperate, “Emily you can’t put me with Reid. We’ll kill each other.”

She laughs at that, it was on open secret amongst the team that Y/N and Spencer had something of a rivalry going. Bitter sworn enemies apparently. No one really bought it though. People who really truly hated each other would be a lot better at avoiding one another. But Y/N and Spencer could never seem to keep apart for very long.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to put your differences aside for a night.” she waves Y/N off as she heads into her own room, leaving her stranded in the hallway. Contemplating if the reception area might let her crash on the couch, she could even spend the night in one of the SUVs, the seats reclined far enough.

But that was stupid, why should she be the one who had to be uncomfortable, why not Spencer.

When she arrived at the door of her own room Spencer was slumped up against it, he stood up straight once he saw her coming.

“Took you long enough” he spat, reaching to take the key from her but she pulled it back before he had the chance.

“I was on the hunt for alternative sleeping arrangements” she huffs, unlocking the door.

“To no avail I presume?” he jokes but he’s just met with an eye roll.

“I’m taking the bed by the window” she stakes her claim before they even get through the door. Once they’re inside he lets out a chuckle.

“You’re welcome to the side of the bed by the window?” he jokes.

This was infinitely worse than she thought it was going to be. Where there were usually two generally uncomfortable twin beds in these standard small-town motels, instead there was a queen sized bed, staring at them as they stood at the foot of it.

“I get the bed” she says like she’s calling shotgun.

“Bullshit you get the bed, there’s nowhere else to sleep!” he complains.

She takes a second to scan the room, no sofa, no arm chair, the floor is a scratchy carpet. There’s no real option here. “You can sleep on the desk?” she suggests, and she’s not serious about it, but she wouldn’t say no if he agreed.

“Are you kidding me?” he almost shouts.

“Soft mattresses are bad for your back! Maybe it’ll sort out your posture?” she adds.

“There’s nothing wrong with my posture” he groans, massaging his temple.

“Okay sure, you tell yourself that”

They don’t say anything more about it as they unpack. Showering and changing for bed in silence. When Y/N comes out from he bathroom, Spencer is sitting up on one side of the bed, reading through case files by the light of the bedside lamp.

“Are you serious?” she whines.

“Look, we both need rest, just shut up and get over yourself” he says it without looking up from the file in his hand, his finger running over the lines at speed.

She doesn’t respond, she just climbs in on the other side, keeping herself as close to the edge of the mattress as possible to keep the distance in between them.

She lies like that for about 45 minutes but sleep’s just not coming.

“Are you ever gonna turn off that fucking light, I thought we ‘needed rest’” she mocks, turning over to look at him, still combing through the files, mumbling to himself every once in a while.

“We’ll both be useless tomorrow if we don’t get any sleep” she tries to convince him with a slightly more sincere tone.

This case wasn’t easy, the unsub had been abducting victims he’d met in online BDSM chatrooms. Bodies had been turning up murdered in ways that the victims had previously expressed were turn-ons. Suffocated, whipped, tied up in peculiar ways. There wasn’t much information to go on now, they just had to wait for the next body to turn up but that didn’t keep Spencer from pouring over everything a hundred times.

When he wasn’t being purposefully irritating Y/N honestly admired his work ethic. Just not when it was interfering with her much needed sleep.

“The bare minimum of sleep most humans need to live is just 4 hours in a 24 hour period” he blurts out, still not looking up.

“Well I’m not most humans, so knock it off”

He finally concedes, chucking his files onto the bedside table and shutting off the lamp. It’s now eerily quiet, and all she can hear is the steady breathing coming from the other side of the bed.

Enough time passes that she really should be asleep but it’s still not happening. So she’s already beyond irritated when she feels a slight shove against her shoulder.

“Hey, you still awake?” he sounds mischievous, she knows that tone of his voice and she doesn't like it.

“God! I am now! What do you want?” she mumbles into her pillow.

“I’ve just got a question” he says defensively.

She hums and rolls over to face him, he’s wide awake, “Well? Out with it” she encourages, the sooner this is over with the better.

His mouth twists into a smirk as he takes a minute to study her face, “What turns you on?” he asks it sincere, and she has no idea what to do with that.

Rolling her eyes on instinct she groans, “Ugh, are you serious? I was so close to getting to sleep, goodnight asshole.” she turns back around to end the conversation but he can’t leave it there.

“I’m serious actually, just all the talk about it earlier, I wanna know”

She doesn’t move as she speaks, remaining with her back to him in a bid not to engage, “You couldn’t handle that information.” She deadpans.

“Try me” he antagonizes, and that’s enough to set her off. He just didn’t know when to quit.

This could be a fun new way to tease him, is her first thought. Turn him on, leave him wanting, yet another game to add to their repertoire of spite.

“Fine I’ll give.” she turns back to him, staring intently this time, “Here’s one, I really get off on having my hair pulled” she scoots closer so she can lean in and whisper the next part, “like when I’m getting fucked from behind, or I’ve got someone’s cock down my throat. I love having my hair pulled, just the short sharp pain of it.” she sort of moans the last little bit right by his ear before settling back on her own pillow.

“That good enough?” she asks, and she can practically see his breath catch in his chest.

He takes a steady gulp, “Yeah, that was, informative” he breathes.

“And what about you?” she poses, he’s not getting out of this one so easy. He looks shocked, like he didn’t see this coming a mile off.

“Me? Uh—” he stutters, “My back, I get really— I get turned on when someone digs their nails into my back, like scratching and marking” something about seeing him flustered like this is almost endearing.

“I guess we’re both suckers for pain” she winks as she says it, making a move to turn around again in a bid to let the conversation die but he doesn’t give her the chance.

“Tell me another” he pleads, and she’s not sure what his expression means but she might just draw this out, see how far she can can tease this.

“Hmm, nosy aren't we?” she smirks, he doesn't respond, just waits for an answer. She thinks for a moment, “Have you ever choked anyone Dr. Reid?”

His breath hitches, and he shakes his head. She likes this new Spencer, the one that doesn’t seem to have some quip for her every two seconds.

“Well I think you might like it, you’ve got nice strong hands, long fingers too. I feel like they might make it the whole way round my neck if you tried?” her voice is soft like velvet as she speaks. He lets out a short pant, and she can see his eyes flicker down to her exposed throat before quickly coming back to her eyes.

“Does the idea of that turn you on Doc?” she teases.

“I— um—” he’s at a loss for words yet again.

“That’s not an answer now is it?” She taunts him, and moves to turn around once again. Feeling accomplished in her goal, finally about to get some sleep. But she’s barely closed her eyes when she can feel him move. He’s so close behind her that she can feel the heat radiating from him. His hand slowly reaches around and grasps her throat gently, she moves herself further into his grip on instinct and he runs with it. Using the leverage to pull himself right up behind her, and she can feel it. He’s hard, and she can feel him pushing himself right up against her ass.

“Is this a satisfactory answer?” he moves in close and whispers against her ear. She’s changed her mind, maybe this is her favorite Spencer.

“Mmhmm” she hums in response, and his fingers tighten around her neck. She pushes her ass further back, moving it up and down slightly to create some friction and she can feel him twitching through the thin layer of her nightdress. He starts to move with her, grinding against her, his other hand resting on her hip, fingertips digging in so that he can pull her closer.

She tries to moan when she feels his nails dig into her but it gets stifled in her throat.

“You sound pathetic” he whispers, “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re whining like a little slut” her hips buck involuntarily at that. “You like it when I call you names?” he teases.

The hand on her hip starts to pull at her nightdress, inching it up higher and higher until his fingers are on her bare skin. He digs his nails in just slightly and drags them around her thigh, letting them settle right at the hem of her panties.

“I bet if I put my fingers in here I’d find you soaking wet for me already?” When she doesn’t answer he tightens the hand around her throat so that it’s almost cutting off the air supply, then loosens immediately. “Answer me” he demands.

“Yes! Yes!” she moans, anything to get his hands to move where she wanted them.

“That’s what I thought” he laughs and lets go of her completely. Her dress hiked up, breathing ragged. She snaps back around to look at him and he’s already curled up on his side of the bed as though nothing’s happened. Left in shock she sits upright, crossing her arms across her chest.

“What the fuck was that?” she has to stop herself from outright shouting at him.

He turns back to look at her, taking in her sullen expression, “Disappointed are we?” he teases with a smirk. And that look makes her want to kill him.

“You’re such a dick” she huffs, and he sits upright next to her.

“You say that like I didn’t just beat you at your own game?” he tries to fight back.

“You didn’t beat me!” she protests

“Oh really, and how’s that?”

“I could feel you, you were rock hard before you even touched me” she spits it out, because if she turned him on first then somehow this didn’t feel as embarrassing.

“Yeah! Because you were teasing me!” he looks frustrated now,

“Exactly! Because I was teasing you, and you fucking liked it” he just rolls his eyes at that, pretending like it’s somehow not true.

“Shut the fuck up” he groans, running his hands through his hair and letting his head fall back against the headboard.

She quirks an eyebrow and looks straight into his sleepy eyes, “Make me.”

In less than a second his hands are on her again, grabbing and pulling her into his lap. One hand is firmly on her back, holding her tight against his chest, the other is tangled in her hair already. Grabbing fistfuls as their lips work against each other.

It’s heated, and ferocious, full of pent up aggression, or tension, or both.

As his tongue works against hers, she lets her own hands wander over him, finally coming to rest at the back of his head, tangling in his curls. When she grinds down into his lap she can feel his cock still hard beneath her, straining against the fabric of his boxers. She thought it was impossible but it felt harder than it had been earlier.

He breaks apart the kiss and they both take in wrecked breaths, chests heaving. He pulls at the hem of her nightdress, pushing it further up her thighs, grabbing a rough handful of her ass as his hands find the exposed skin there.

“We gotta get this off” he whispers, and she nods, pulling it off over her head so that she’s exposed now. Perched in his lap in nothing but her panties. “Fuck” he moans at the sight. His hands come straight up to grab her tits, rough and exited for a moment before easing up, kneading them, getting used to the weight of them in his hands. He brings his mouth down, leaning in so that he can place sloppy open mouthed kisses along her neck and collar bones, trailing down to the valley between her breasts. He takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking on it gently then teasing the bud with his teeth. When he releases it and looks up at her his eyes almost look glazed over, dreamy.

“I’ve always had a thing for your tits” he confesses, his lips coming down to repeat the action on the other nipple.

“Your turn to take your shirt off” she whines as he removes his lips, the cold air hardening her nipples now that he’d teased them. He drags his eyes away from her for a second so that he can peel his shirt off over his head.

On pure instinct she rakes her nails across his now bare chest, leaning in close to place kisses into the crook of his neck, moving up painfully slow, kissing along the column of his throat, landing on the soft skin beneath his ear. She can feel the moans rippling in his throat against her lips. While he’s stilled beneath her she takes the opportunity to tuck her hands in behind him, digging her nails into his back and dragging them across the skin with force. Certainly leaving harsh red lines in their wake. The noises that escape him might be the best thing she’s ever heard.

“You like it when I mark you up?” she moans into his ear, “When I make you mine?” she can feel wetness pooling between her own legs as she says the words. The very thought of it turning her on more than she ever thought it could.

Clearly he feels the same, something erupts in him and the hands that had been resting on her hips were now lifting her up and laying her down on the bed. He was on top of her now, his hair framing his face as he looked down at her, and she was biting her fucking lip in anticipation.

He almost can’t even look directly at her so he snakes down her body, littering her torso with kisses and licks. Once he lands at her hips he takes the elastic of her panties between his teeth, pulling it up and letting it go so that it snaps against her stomach. She lets out a low moan.

“Let’s see if I was right earlier, how wet are you for me?” his voice is low as he places small kisses over the cotton, making his way right in between her legs. He pulls back for a second to inspect the fabric, there’s a damp patch covering the majority of the area, as if he didn't know already. “You’re fucking soaked Y/N” he groans and presses his fingers right up against it, forcing the fabric between her folds so that it soaks up even more, “Such a needy little thing aren’t you?”

She can only let out a small whine in response, her teeth biting into her lip so hard she was afraid she might start bleeding.

“Better get rid of these, don’t you think?” he hooks his fingers into either side of her panties, sliding them down her legs. He takes them and places them on his pillow before returning to his position between her legs.

He’s slow and deliberate in his actions, teasing painfully as he places sloppy kisses on the delicate skin inside of her thighs. Stopping right at the top to nip and suck enough to leave a bruise. Taking the time to stop and leave a matching bruise on the other thigh.

She was starting to grow restless, she felt like she was literally aching for any stimulation at all.

“Spencer” she whines, “Please, I’m so fucking turned on already”. She can feel him chuckle, his exhale sends a burst of cold air right against her pussy.

“So impatient” he chastises, but gives in anyway. Laying his tongue flat against her, taking a moment to taste her before he starts to move. Licking deft strokes along her folds, alternating with sucking softly on her clit.

“Spencer, fuck, oh my god” is all she can muster as her back arches up off the bed, her hips squirming as he pins them down. “You feel so fucking good”

He takes the encouragement and brings a finger to her entrance, pushing it in at an agonizing pace, curling it upwards against her once it’s fully inside. “You’re so fucking tight Y/N, do you think you could even handle another finger?” he has to take his mouth off of her to speak but it’s worth it for the downright filthy sounds she makes in response. He takes that as a yes and slowly pushes two fingers in this time. Bringing his lips back down to wrap around her clit and suck.

Her hands fly down to his curls as he works his fingers in and out of her at a relentless pace. She grabs handfuls of his hair and pulls them harshly, not knowing where else to put the energy. “Fuck Spencer, feels so good, don’t stop” she mutters between gasps.

He continues his ministrations and he would be lying if he said the feeling of her hands pulling at his hair weren’t doing something for him.

A moment later and she’s barely able to control her movements, thrashing in the bed as he continues to work his fingers in and out of her, relishing the feeling of her walls tightening around him. Once she’s relaxed again he takes his fingers out, bringing them up to her lips, without telling her to she opens her mouth, taking the two fingers in, letting her tongue move around them to taste herself.

It’s one of the many memories from tonight he knows he wont forget anytime soon. Or ever.

“I can see why you like it” he says, leaning over her, talking into the crook of her neck, “having your hair pulled, feels fucking amazing” she lets out a weak laugh, regaining her strength.

“Told you you liked pain” she reaches down between them, grabbing his cock through his boxers, “You must’ve really liked it” she teases, squeezing as his eyes flutter shut and he nods.

He maneuvers a little so that he can take off his boxers, and finally she gets to see it. It’s perfect, bigger than she expected, it looks painfully hard, precum leaking from the tip. He moves back to hover over her, lingering for a minute to take her in. She thinks there might be something almost sweet behind his expression.

“Just fuck me already” she smirks up at him and he rolls his eyes without even meaning to.

“Will you ever stop antagonizing me?”

“If you fuck me maybe?”

With that he leans down to capture her lips in a heated kiss, she can taste herself on his tongue as it tangles with hers. She can feel him push up against her, the head of his cock just teasing at her entrance before sinking in so slowly she was almost angry.

“Fuck Y/N, you feel so good, so fucking tight, so fucking wet for me” he’s whispering right into her hear and she can barely string together a sentence.

“Spencer, you’re so big, fill me up so good with your fingers, with your cock, fuck” as he starts to move they both start to lose it, her hands digging into his back, her nails sinking into his shoulders leaving small half-moons in his skin. He finally starts to build a steady rhythm, thrusting in and out of her, filling the room with the pornographic sounds of skin on skin, coupled with their moans.

Once she can feel the familiar feeling building within her again she starts to lose control completely, her nails scratching marks into the expanse of Spencer’s back, hearing the little breathy gasps he lets out each time she does might be enough to make her cum all on their own.

“I’m close” she mewls, letting her head fall back against the pillow, exposing her neck, eyes screwing shut.

“Fuck, me too” he takes the opportunity presented to him, and wraps one of his hands around her neck, squeezing ever so slightly.

“Ahh, fuck” she breathes out with the little air that she has, “gonna cum” and she does, he can feel her tighten around his cock, her body writhing beneath his and arching up off he bed as he continues to fuck into her.

He’s following behind just a second later, spilling into her as he collapses back down, releasing his grip on her throat completely and settling on her chest.

They both take a moment. Melting into one another, steading out their breathing.

It’s Y/N who breaks the silence, “So you’ve always had a thing for my tits then?”

He cranes his neck up to look at her, “Shut up” he breathes, laying his head back down on her chest. She cards her fingers through his hair, smoothing it back down.

“Now you know how to make me.”

Masterlist

[squeiky]

!!!List of papyrus things!!!

(Update 3! mini update.)

For anyone who needs more info on the guy! Since you usually dont see alot of info about him!

A list of stuff thats just papyrus's tid bits i've collected overtime!

(Disclaimer: some things can be taken off of memory, though I did search most of the stuff up, so you dont have to worry too much. But if your feeling unsure, search it up! And correct me while your at it.)

his room doesn't play/have music.

(If you have reunited playing at enter his room, it'll disappear forever. Untill you go back and let it play again. Even without reunited, a song that plays no matter what room your in, doesn't play any music.)

Never takes off his battle body.

(According to sans, he only takes it off if he has no other choice too. Otherwise he'll just put clothes ontop of it, or just repaints it if needed. He does how ever, change his pants but never takes off the top.)

the minute "royal gaurd " is out of the picture, he's got nothing.

(It was the one thing he worked up for. When the royal gaurd disbands He says he "working hard on doing absolutely nothing". Then again this can be interpreted as papyrus does say he is working on something, despite not being a royal gaurd yet.)

He lies. (And can manipulate)

(Though he is really bad at lying, he seems to manipulate just fine, though its usually not out of malice. He gets undyne to befreind you by mentioning "challenge", which is a weakness of hers, since she never can turn down a challenge. And has lied about floweys name to her to. Has lied to sans or atleast mislead him about the things he knows about. Pretended he didn't know what a lab was during a call in hotland, but if you call him when sans isn't there, papyrus mentions the lab as if it was common knowledge instead of saying "Labrador-y?" As if he had no idea.)

Changes up his attacks

( if you get captured a few times, you see variation in his attacks. If you do it right, you can get him too skip half of his entire attack.)

Calls his own puzzles "Awful"

(This happens after battling papyrus, he says "WHO KNEW THAT ALL I NEEDED TO MAKE PALS... WAS TO GIVE PEOPLE AWFUL PUZZLES AND THEN FIGHT THEM??" This could be interpreted in many ways.)

Spikes, fire, traps, fencless bridges: are all safe for children, according to papyrus.

("EACH AREA HAS TO HAVE A PRECARIOUS BRIDGE" -bridge likely to collapse, dangerous. "ITS MANDATED BY THE GOVERNMENT. OF COURSE KING FLUFFYBOY WANTS TO UNMANDATE IT SAFER." "WHY?! WONT HE THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!)

Has "talked" with asgore before.

(Sadly, asgore and papyrus has crossed paths. Asgore advises him not to but dangerous puzzles around town, for the children. Papyrus wants to put dangerous puzzles around town, for the children. This results in them bickering over saftey laws, with papyrus usually winning.)

Tried to start a flowey fan club

(On multiple occasions calls flowey "his best freind" and shows genuine love for the little guy. He even gave flowey a little red scarf to match his, during the 5th anniversary winter alarm clock.)

Has photo-graphic memory for phone calls.

-call in the room where undyne chased you. He seems nervous, or atleast stressed out during this call. I'll leave any and all interpretation to you.)

(Ps: papyrus has bad memory, but good photographic memory?)

His disliking for grease

(Says this during a call with undyne in grillby's place. Undyne says she loves grease, and he quickly dismisses his opinion in favor of hers. Of course, papyrus HAS visited grillbys before, as the dogamy and doggeressa mention him with sans. )

Calls alphys "great"

(During the first tile puzzle, he praises alphys by calling her "THE GREAT DR. ALPHYS" )

Knows about undynes crush on alphus

(He teases undyne a few times on this, leading to the "hot voice" and "audible wink" papyrus lines. He's not oblivious to the things around him, unless he chooses to be.)

Put limes in his eyes!

(Conversation in hotland! The guy thought limes where cucumbers and stuck them in his eyes. When. He thought it wasn't working he put more limes. It burned like hell but he says it was all to have "mettaton's bishoning eyes")

Knows about mtt's eyes

(Nobody seems to know that mettaton has eyes?! Undyne confirms this fact. Papyrus is the only one who outright mentions it.)

He got mettaton to do the tile puzzle thing

(FOR SOME UNEXPLAINED REASON- mettaton was the tile puzzle robot alphys built. The puzzle robot papyrus had during his own tile puzzle. Infact, during mettaton's tile puzzle in hotland, he says that you'd is this a few hundred rooms ago. If you call papyrus, he starts rambling on all the instructions again. Hehe.)

he likes dinosaur oatmeal

(According to the undertale tumblr, flowey response to "whats papyrus's favorite food?" Is DINOSAUR OATMEAL!! YAY!)

really enjoys mtt's show and mtt in general.

(and mtt even helped him with a tile puzzle)

enjoys cars

Owns a car bed

(Want to drive one)

really freaking artistic!

(Paints a whole bridge, makes a snowpapyrus, made his own costume/battle body, built a okay replica of a sentry station)

The red book on the table in the skelebro's house is infact his!

(For specifics, the quantum mechanics book with infinite books inside of it. It isn't specified who reads it, but both brothers should be capable as jokes and puns are not out of papyrus wardrobe.)

has his own shed and tools.

(Also known as "the punishment shed, doghouse, cpature zone, guest room, a garage" or undyne's pun which was "the coolshed". Ah, to be enriched by shed puns... Wonderful.)

tried to learn the "horoscope"

(Got "stumped" according to sans)

thinks junior jumble is harder than crossword

wants a 6 pairs of hot pants and 6 pairs of legs to wear those pants

has a dream of owning a shop where he just sells flames

(Call near in waterfall, near the turtle man shop.)

He's very influential

(If he's the only one killed in a neutral run, even without undyne, a revolution will still occur. Look into it yourself if need be.)

Called himself a genius

(During the instance, where he talks to you after turning the light on in sans's room.)

Can't really tell when someones mad

(He couldn't tell when undyne was mad at him during a call. He asks us too.)

Doesn't watch anime.

(He thinks its like cartoons for babies. Jokes around with undyne for awhile before taking it all back once he knew she watched anime.-during one of the calls.)

Brutal kind of guy

(He says this himself, i don't exactly know WHY he thinks this of himself, but he does.)

Bookworm

Owns a bookshelf

(He has a book Its where his vast dictionary comes from.

Knows about the time and space manipulation tactics sans uses.

(HE KNOWS- HE MENTIONS IT WHEN HE TURNS ON THE LIGHT IN SANS'S ROOM!!)

believes you can be a better person, if you just try.

(And he's right. Even if you kill him he still believes this, beacuse well.. Its true. Undyne wont forgive you and try to kill you, sans won't fight you, bht he's still right either way)

Knows about river person

(He asks about how river person is doing. No body seems to know about river person, and its unsure if undyne knows about their prescence.)

The days in his date scene (Monday, Tuesday, weekday, Thursday,e.c.t ) changes depending on your computer. Even though the date in undertale is always Monday.

(River person has a scheduled thing that matches up to your computer date as well, but this is about papyrus, not river person.)

Weird abilities

(Flying and super speedy twirling, flying backwards. He doesn't even hide it.)

He's pretty freaking tough!

(According to undyne, the person who defeated asgore.)

His "absolutely normal attack" is a giant cluster of bones.

(In theory, his attack could be the size of the entire area, including the giant bone at the end.)

Papyrus can lower the giant bone at the end of his "absolutely normal attack"

Has Collection of bones (or was planning to make one.)

(The room behind the sink was made for.. His attacks/bones. Before toby(dog)came in and made a shrine instead.)

Is annoying dog's favorite target.

Has a cannon, spears, fire thingy, and a dog at his disposal.

(Displayed during the bridge scene)

One persistent dude.

Likes to say "NYEHEHE!"

Has alot of MTT items.

Owns makeup!

(Mtt brand of course!)

Never dated anyone before.

(He says it himself.)

owns a dating manual

Not much of a sleeper.

(To the point where he just calls sleeping "naps" which aren't that long. He outright says he's always working, so he doesn't sleep.)

Dislikes hotland

dislikes hotland x2

Dislikes hotlands puzzles

Dislikes hotlands ethics.

Doesnt know much about hotland

(Says he knows it like the back of his hand!)

Says he never taken off his gloves, so he has no idea how his hands look like.

(He wears gloves or mittens on top of his gloves. And refuses to take it off, like his "battle body")

Calls hotland's steam puzzles garbage.

Dislikes hotlands conveyors

Thinks L1 and R2 stand for left and right

( Of course, it takes him awhile. He starts making puns, and tries to compare the words to pasta, and THEN comes to the conclusion that its left and right. Its Trail and error.-)

Knows about death.

(Said he wanted to meet death one time during a waterfall call.)

He pauses when speaking as a lost soul.

("I MUST CAPTURE A HUMAN! THEN EVERYONE WILL. ...." This is unusual as he is the only one that pauses. This can be interpreted, but it is rather interesting nonetheless)

Alright this is a bit more interpretive. Things may not be 100% facts down here.

Disclaimer: i will be putting "Interpretive" in red coloring for things that have may my interpretation or opinions in! Please do be mindful in your search, and take it with a grain of salt. It doesn't make it comepelty wrong, it has facts! Just muddled with oppinions.

Ready?

self-worth problems.

( can be called interpretive: He always feels very unimportant, as if he doesn't actually matter. During a call in waterfall, with the puddle hallway, papyrus talks about not letting it "get to you" or something along the lines of that. Since undyne speaks from her experience with the puddles, then i'd assume papyrus would too.)

(I think its just a sign of self doubt or insecurity. Someone once said its dysphoria, which is a cool headcannon for paps or something. What ever it is, he has some demons that he doesn't want to let out.)

Forgetable.

( according to the genocide description)

( Interpretive: Other than that, he's not even noticable. Though, there are a few people that appreciate him, most dont really acknowledge him. Unless you kill him of course!)

Sad/depressed?

( interpreitive as well:Before the human showed up, sans explains how his brother was feeling quite down lately. We see a.. Happier side of papyrus through out our journey.. He vents out to us, the player/human, about things he dislikes, or troubles he faces. Hes like a froggit. Life is hard for a froggit.)

Smiles through things.

("This is where I tried to capture you! What a bad memory." -quote he says as he smiles through it all. He does have a sad emote, but so far i have only seen it during a call in hotland, where the CORE was shown. As your adventure is coming close.. To an end.)

Uses his playful "OUCH!" emote when you straight up kill him. Instead of his hurting/in pain emote when flowey catches him off guard before absorbing everyonesones souls.

(The reason is unkown, but that emote is normally associated with more of "light taps." Examples are, toriel's fireballs at asgore and flowey. Unless... Cutting off his head was considered a "light tap" then, but flowey wrapping him in painful vines is considered more painful than getting his head chopped off and still having enough consciousness to joke about it.)

He knows his cooking sucks and that nobody likes it.

(He's not naive. He knows. He even says it. "Nobody has like my cooking before!" - QUOTE. This isn't some hidden fact. He's trying his best, "mabye next year, he might even make something edible." -sans quote.)

That was all the stuff i gathered for now.

Feel free to tell me anything i haven't added! :)

yeah, hes a pretty cool dude, ain't he?

(Edit: i've added some new things to the bunch, and fixed/deleted ome opinions or unrelated junk. Please, continue helping me add!)

[jenodunno]

Studying

a/n: aish i’m sorry i haven’t written in a while, i have no excuses for myself other that i had no inspiration to write. Anyways i hope you enjoy this cute little story of Jaemin tutoring you hehe

pairing: Jaemin x Reader

warnings: none ?

"How can you even get good grades in this class" You sigh looking at your boyfriend's test paper that the teacher just handed out.

"I don't know," He shrugs looking over at the grade on your paper "But I do know I'm better at it then you" He lets out a small laugh

"Instead of laughing you should be a good boyfriend and help me" You sulk, laying your head on your desk.

Let's just say Human Anatomy isn't the class you do best nor do you even like it, but the sadly you still need to pass the class to no disappoint your parents.

"Of course I'll help you out, love," He smiles looking at you before petting your head "I'll come over after school, like that we can get started"

"Wait, what ? Now ?" You asked in disbelief "I know I asked for help but not right away I want to rest my brain a little"

"Yah...no, the faster we study the faster you'll understand what's going on and anyways the next test is schedule for next week so it's best if you start now, love." He says letting out a small laugh at the end when you sighed once again for like the one hundredth time.

"Fine" You mumble burying your face in your hands.

-

Wednesday at your place, (A week till the test)

"Wait" Jaemin says trying to hold back his laughter while looking at the test you received back from your teacher yesterday because he's a great boyfriend and doesn't want to laugh at your failure "You're really going to tell me you don't know where the esophagus is,"

"No, I know where it is, It's just that-"

"Then why did you put throat instead,"

"Because technically-"

"No baby no, technically it isn't our throat"

“Well technically yes because when we eat food goes down in it-“

“I can tell this is going to be long” He sighs chuckling

“Heyy don’t laugh at me !” You huffed, pushing him lightly “can we take a break we've been reviewing for hours" You sighed

"It's only been 30 minutes, my love," Jaemin says and looks at you with an 'are you serious' face "And I pretty sure we'll need more than that if you don't know where the esophagus is" He chuckles

"You're really not going to let me go for that one" You say getting up off the floor

"Nope" He smiles at you, before kissing you on the nose.

-

Thursday at Jaemin's place, (6 days till the test)

"Maybe you'll focus more at my place" Jaemin mumbles opening the front door for the both of you.

"What's that suppose to mean" You say looking up at him

"I mean that, maybe studying in another environment that's not your usual one might help you focus more" He explains

"I practically live here with you, Jae" You looked at him laughing a little

“Yeah yeah whatever, come on” He laughs stepping a side a little letting you go in first before closing the door behind himself.

After getting settled on the kitchen counter with all the school work laid out in front of you guys and Jaemin to your left you try to pay attention. In the end you actually are paying attention to what Jaemin is showing and explaining to you, maybe he was right earlier....

"So as long as you can try to remember this graphic by heart you'll at least get a 10 out 35 on the test" He says trying to make you feel better

"Yah but that isn't enough," You blow out a breath

"I know it isn't, love, but that's still better than the grades you got yesterday, and anyways I'll try my best to help you" He says grabbing your hand into his own "Anyways let's focus on this chapter, most of the vocabulary and work that'll be on the test is in this chapter, okay ?" He says softly looking at you and when you nod at him he starts explaining.

After 2 hours of studying flying by, you both decide to take a break.

“You know I hope you focused more on what I was explaining to you and not my face.” He smirks before drink out of his water bottle

“W-what do you mean,?!” You answered back in a flustered state “I was paying attention to you.”

“Yeah to me or to what I was explaining,” He chuckles before raising an eyebrow at you “because to me it seemed like you were paying more to me, as in my face and not the work.”

"T-that's not true," You defended

"Come on just admit to it and I'll give you a kiss" He once again lifts the corner of his lips forming a smirk

"J-jaemin !"

-

Saturday at Jaemin's place, (4 days till the test)

You don't know if Jaemin is actually a really good tutor or he is a good tutor because suddenly you can understand things you didn't think you could or at least you think so. I guess you could say you were lucky to have him.

"Are you guys really studying on a Saturday ?" Jeno says walking in Jaemin's house as if it's his own with a basketball in his hands

"Hmm, Oh yeah I'm helping my princess over here not fail for our next test" Jaemin hums a response to Jeno barely acknowledging his presence "Anyways, do you understand the graphics over here, It's explaining how the fluids in-"

"What's up fuckers" Donghyuck says bursting into the living room with a football soccer ball in his hand "Jeez it's literally the weekend and you both are in here studying, tsk, you know it feels really good outside ?" He smirks at you, dropping his weight on the couch "I would say the weather is about 28 degrees with a few clouds and the wind is-"

"You know it's better to stay in here than to be outside with your presences," You playfully glare at him

"Oh come on, stop acting like you hate me when you don't" He laughs before throwing the ball his holding in the air before catching it again.

"Stop being lame Donghyuck," Jeno chimes in "Anyways come on Jaems, It won't kill to take a little break and have fun, right Y/N ?"

"Okay, okay fine how about about we take a small break," Jaemin says getting up before smiling at how happy you looked

Let's just say it wasn't a small break you both took.....

-

Tuesday afternoon in the library (The day before the test)

"I'll never understand why it's so important to learn this, I honestly don't care about the human anatomy and how it works," You whine pushing your folder away from you

"You know your only learning about this because you chose this course" Jaemin says letting out a small laugh at your defeat

"Yeah well I only chose the scientific course because I wanted to have Laboratory but even that is hard and boring, I should have chosen the literature course like that I would of gotten art and I'm pretty sure that is much more fun and less hard than this human body thing. And also I wouldn't be alone because Renjun is there" You ramble out.

Jaemin pauses looking at you, then looking at all the school work flared out in front of you both before letting out a small sigh with a light laugh at the end.

"Look baby, I'm going to be honest with you. I know we've been studying for this test since last week but going the way we are going and the fact that the test is tomorrow, you're going to fail this test, I love you, but there's nothing we can do about it now" Jaemin says looking over at you before you let your head fall on the table with a bang gaining peoples attention. Jaemin just smiles at them before bringing his attention back to you caressing your back

"I knew it, I'm going to fail again and like you said there's nothing we can do" You mumble out lowly with a sigh following at the end

Jaemin doesn't respond but just sits there and comforts you.

-

Wednesday, ( test day )

The moment the teacher handed out the test papers, you knew you were doomed. On the first page you barely understood anything and the second page even less, though on the third page there was the graph that you studied so hard to remember, which you shockingly did. While filling out the graph you started remembering a few things Jaemin had taught you a few days prior.

30 minutes passed by pretty fast before you heard your teacher's timer going off "Okay times up, everyone pens down" He then proceeded to collect everyone's papers before going back to his desk to grade them leaving the class to do whatever.

"So how do you think you did ?" Jaemin says looking over at you, who was staring at the bracelet you were wearing

"Hm ? Oh umm well honestly I'm pretty confident, after I completed the graph suddenly things you had explained came into my head and I feel like I got a lot of things correct !" You say cheerfully. You honestly do think you did pretty well, all the answers suddenly came into your head at one pointed so yeah you are confident in yourself.

"I'm glad to hear that you're confident, It puts me at ease knowing I tutored you well" He smile at you like always

"Of course you did, you're a pretty good tutor y'know now I understand why Jisung always comes to you for help" You laugh softly

-

"Good morning everyone, i hope that today has been a pretty decent day for you all" Your teacher speaks out to the class walking in front of his desk. "Now before you ask yes I've graded yesterdays test, I will now hand them out" Your teacher announces.

"Yay finally, I could barely sleep last night because of this." You giggled cheerfully

Your teacher finally reaches yours and Jaemin's desk handing out your papers. When giving Jaemin his paper, you didn't miss your teacher giving him a small pat on his shoulder before giving you your paper with a small smile on his face. Giving him a small smile back you checked out your grade on the top right of the paper. The moment your eyes landing on your grade, you practically had stars popping out out of them.

With a little squeal of happiness you turn your paper around to show it to your lover with a huge grin on your face.

"Look !" You beamed happily at your boyfriend "Ahh thank you so much" Leaning in giving him a hug

"You're welcome my love," He chuckles looking down at you on his chest, reaching to pat your head "But you do know that having a 14/30 doesn't exactly mean you passed"

But you were quick to look at him and shush him with a finger to your lips "Don't ruin it for me, it's the highest grade I've gotten in this class" As your face changed from having a playful pout on it to having a smile letting a few giggles escape from your lips.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Stay With Me (Pt. 08 of 09)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: Daryl found you surrounded by the dead, stuck in the backseat of a car. You were wishing for death to take you away for quite a while now, but, as you slid back and forth into consciousness, there was only one thing keeping you alive. Him, the man with blue, worried eyes and kind voice. Your beaten up body was ready to give up, too wounded and broken to keep going. But this man, who went out of his way to save your life is the only thing in the world holding you up. And, because of him, you feel something you haven't felt in a very long time: hope. Wherever he's taking you, you want to get there, and not only to be buried. For what it feels like the very first time, you want to live. He takes you back to Alexandria, but even there, the nightmares and the terror from all the torture and pain you've been through keeps creeping closer, and Daryl, your hero, is the only one who can keep that all away.

Warnings: Mentions and description (not graphic) of past abuse; post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD); some violence at the end of the story (a little bit graphic, but not so much); blood.

<- Previous part (07)

Next part (09)->

{The Walking Dead Masterlist}

I want to thank my awesome friend @jodiereedus22, who helped me (and still does) a lot to get this story done. She's also a writer and she's amazing so please go check her work!!

×

Nightmare

It's amazing to know you're excited about the party. Luke is two months old, and since you had a welcome party in-store, you turned it into a birthday party. It'll happen later tonight, by nightfall, and you're enjoying the last moments before you have to leave the bedroom and start organizing things.

After brushing your teeth and hair, you leave the bathroom, smiling to see Daryl still lied in bed. He seems peaceful, eyes closed, so handsome in the morning light. You've been wanting to tell him something, it's been a while... But you never get the right time. Or maybe you're just a little scared...

But looking at him now, it just fades away. You and Daryl have been in a solid relationship, and despite the short time, things have been amazing. Perfect. Carol is even talking about moving out, so you and Daryl can have your own space, but you don't want to push her to it. In the privacy of your bedroom, you're fine. And living with Carol is nice.

“Hey, D.” You say in a soft voice, going to the bed and climbing on top of him. Daryl grunts something, his eyes opening, hands coming to your hips and waist. “Are you awake?”

“I am now that a kitten came to lie down on me.” He mumbles as you move up until your face is at the same level as his. You place your legs around his hips, hands sustaining your weight on each side of his head.

“Sorry.” You mutter, moving to stand up. But Daryl's grip gets tighter, and you let yourself fall, collapsing against his chest, giggling. “Alright, alright. But listen up now...”

“What is it?” He brings a hand to your face, fingers caressing your chin.

“Uhm...” Blushing a little, you clear your throat. “I... I think... No, I do.”

Daryl raises an eyebrow, and you can tell he's trying to figure it out on his own. “Ya wanna break apart?” He bursts out suddenly. “ ‘Cause if that's what ya want, I–”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” You say in a sarcastic tone, rolling your eyes. “I'm literally on top of you, Daryl Dixon. How can you possibly think I want to end things?” Moving to sit up, straddling his hips, you cross your arms. “What do you have in this pretty head of yours? Only hunting skills?”

“Yer very funny.” In a sudden motion, Daryl pulls you down again, switching positions so he's on top of you instead. “What is it then?” He asks, his face way too close.

“Can I kiss you first?”

“Nah. Ya got me curious.”

“Alright...” Taking a deep breath, you gather up some courage to push the words out. “I want a baby.” Shrugging your shoulders, you giggle at Daryl's funny face. “What?”

“Don't ya have one already?”

“Yeah...” Mumbling, you wrap your arms around his neck. “Daryl?”

“Huh?”

“I want another baby.” Smirking, you place a kiss on his lips. He's fast to kiss you back, a hand cupping your cheek. “So. What do you think?” You ask when you pull away.

“How are ya plannin’ to get one?”

You're not sure if his intention was to make you blush, but you're blushing anyway. “Uhm... First I need to get married.”

“Get married? People don't care about these things anymore.” He answers quickly, and you wonder if you went too far. Maybe it's way too early, and these thoughts should be kept inside your heart for a while longer.

“I know but... That's exactly why I care.” Sighing, you avoid his eyes. “I'm sorry, we haven't talked about this and I don't even know if–”

“Hey, calm down.” With his thumb and index finger on your chin, he makes you look at him again. You always appreciates Daryl's touch, it doesn't matter how small it is. It took a while for him to get comfortable enough to do this so easily, and you never take it for granted. He's always gentle as if you're a porcelain doll. He's never rough, never violent, not with you. Loving Daryl happened fast and strong, and it's a feeling that only grows, every passing day. “Ya wanna talk about it we'll talk about it.”

“It's just that... I-I love you. With all my heart and... It does feel like we already have this family thing going on and...” Daryl has fallen into this father role, and he's absolutely amazing with Luke. He can make him fall asleep in minutes, and you love to watch as he rocks the baby to sleep. And those moments always get your mind racing. He's already being such a good father so maybe he'd like a baby of his own... And you'd like to give him that. “...It got me thinking.”

“I love ya too, babygirl. But marriage... It would bound you with me on a whole different level.” Daryl sits up, and you follow his movement, your arms still around his neck, keeping him close. “I wanna make sure ya have the choice ta’ walk away when ya want to.”

“I won't walk away, Dixon. I love you.” He needs to be reassured of that from time to time, but you don't mind. You want to spend the rest of your life making sure Daryl knows he's loved. That he's desired and wanted. “I want to be with you for the rest of my life and if that's what you want too... You know, I'm a girlish girl, I'd like to get married someday, and honestly, if not with you then I won't marry anyone else.” Shrugging your shoulders, you look down, a shiver rolling down your spine, feeling his fingers caressing your bare thigh.

“Ya sure ya want this? With me? Are ya sure about what yer talking about?”

“I am.” You mutter in a low voice, blushing. “I am.” Repeating in a low voice, you kiss him, slowly at first, but soon enough his taste overcomes everything, and you think he feels the same since he deepens the kiss. Pulling him down again, you smile when his hand touches a ticklish spot on your side.

“Hey, you two!” Carol calls, knocking on the door. “Wake up. There's a lot to do today.”

Daryl grunts in response, not pulling away from the kiss.

But Carol is right. It'll be a long day and both you and Daryl have stuff to get ready for the party.

The day passes by quickly since you're helping everyone a little. The only thing you can't do is lift heavy stuff. Daryl forbade it, with Denise backing him up, you have no idea for how long. The party will happen at Rick's house since the living room is the biggest, and you spend hours there decorating everything. You try not to think too much about all the people who will be here tonight. You know them, you befriended them, they won't hurt you.

When it's finally time to go, you're impressed by how you feel. Happy, not scared, and actually excited. You never thought stuff like this would ever happen again. It's silly, but it keeps people sane, said Deanna. The sun is making its way to the horizon when you're getting dressed. You chose to wear a dress Daryl brought you from one of his runs. It's a light shade of blue, with thin straps and a nice cleavage in the back, reaching a few inches below the mid of your thighs. You never wear anything that will show the scar on your leg, you don't like it. Nor what it represents. You're putting on your flats when Daryl comes out of the bathroom, hair still damp, but completely dressed. He's wearing what he usually wears, always dark colors, but you don't mind. You really like it.

“Are you ready?” You ask, turning on your heels to face him. Daryl doesn't answer, eyes locked on you, lingering for so long it makes you blush. “D? Cat got your tongue?”

“Nah, it just...” He looks down at his feet before making his way over you. “Ya look beautiful, that's all.”

“Thanks.” Smiling shyly, you tiptoe to kiss him. “But I'll need a coat for when the night falls... Mind if I get one of yours?”

“Won't ya ever stop stealin’ my clothes?” Daryl fakes an annoyed tone, but it takes two seconds for his lips to break into a smile.

“Well, you stole my heart, Dixon. I'm just looking for revenge.” Winking at him, you search on the wardrobe for one of his jackets. “Now let's get going. Maggie and I baked this brownies and I'm dying for one.” Grabbing the jacket, you take his hand and leave the bedroom.

Carol is already there, so you just have to take little Luke and head out. He wants Daryl this time, so he's the one carrying him to Rick's place. As you walk there, the wind messes with your hair, and you try to keep it from your face.

“Who are the new residents, by the way?” You just remembered them. If the day wasn't so hectic, you'd ask Daryl to introduce you to them, just so you could know their faces before having to meet them at the party.

“Two men. Aaron found them starving to death a hundred miles Northwest. They're alright I guess. Since Deanna allowed them to stay.” Daryl reassures you, his free hand taking yours. “Ya ok?”

“Yeah... I'm excited, actually.” As you climb the few steps to the porch, Luke giggles, you're not sure why. “Right, little one?” Stopping by the front door, you step closer to the baby in Daryl's arm. “Are you excited too? For your party? Two months old already, you're growing up so fast.” You're still baby-talking when the door is opened, a smiley Carl gesturing for you to get in.

“C'mon, let's get ya those brownies,” Daryl says as you step inside.

It takes no time for people to come to talk to Luke, him becoming the center of attention. He throws himself on Maggie's arms, who happily welcomes him.

“(Y/N),” Rick says and you turn on your heels to talk to him. Daryl remains close, and you know why. But you feel fine, comfortable around these people. “Judith said a funny word this morning. I wonder where she learned it.” He has his hands on his hips, and you innocently shrug your shoulders.

“What word?”

“Damn it,” Daryl answers, not a hint of doubt in his voice. Rick nods, raising his eyebrow.

“Oh my gosh. Where could she have heard such a thing?” She learned it from you because that's what you exclaim almost a hundred times a day and that's not really a secret anymore. “I'm sure she said something like ‘dang it’ so I don't see how that's my fault. ‘Dang it’ it's not that bad is it?”

“Well, I think–”

“(Y/N). Daryl.” Deanna calls, and you give Rick a smirk, meaning you're happy to be saved from this conversation. Turning around, you focus on Deanna. “Come, you're the only ones who haven't met Michael and Daniel yet.”

“Ok.” You can't help but feel a little anxious to meet new people, so you grab Daryl's arm as you follow Deanna through the living room.

“Over here.” She gestures, a kind smile on her lips. “This is Daniel, and Michael, they were found–”

Her words fade when both men turn to look at you. Their faces are unmistakable, and you feel yourself sinking, skin burning, head spinning as it all comes back.

Their voices, touches, and threats. You're suddenly back there, in the darkness, starving, freezing, waiting, wishing for death to come before they did. You're in the basement where your screams used to echo. All of your wounds start hurting, pulsing, as if they were reopened, all over again.

You never got the names, but you'll never forget the faces. One of them, the you thought looked like Rick, has a smile on his lips. The same sick, wicked smile, the same he had every time he went to see you, never failing to draw some blood.

“Hi, (Y/N).” He says, in the same tone he used to. Low, dark, more animal than human.

What happens next is a blur. There's yelling, and Daryl suddenly isn't by your side anymore. He's a blur, moving towards both men, drawing punches. You're pulled back by someone, you don't know where, but you know it isn't Daryl. You know his touch by heart, and it's the only touch you want.

“Let go of me!” You yell, pushing whoever that was, sinking, falling backward until you hit a wall. You want to disappear again, to vanish from existence. With both hands covering your ears, you push yourself into the wall, hoping it'll absorb you, hide you.

“Take them. Now.”

“The trial happens tomorrow.”

“Lock those assholes up.”

“Enjoy your last night on Earth.”

The words have no meaning, they just keep echoing. The low chattering, the many footsteps... Why are you still here? Why can't you be strong for once and just run? Run where? If they're here... Where else could you go?

“Babygirl,” his low, calming voice is like a beacon, lighting up the darkness, bringing you back, pulling you into consciousness again. Into life.

Moving just a little, hands off your ears and muscles relaxing, you look at him, immediately running to his arms. “They're here. They're here, they... They found me.”

“Alright, calm down now.” He holds you tight, a hand rubbing your back. “Let's get ya outta here.”

Nodding, you offer no resistance when he picks you up. You keep your eyes closed, face hidden on the crook of his neck as you float away. It feels like the first time, when he was carrying you from the infirmary into what's now your house.

You flinch a little when you're pulled down, suddenly recognizing your bed and curling up, pulling the blankets over your head.

“How is she?”

“I don't know.” Daryl sounds angry, furious. “I'll kill them right now.”

“No, Daryl. The trial will be tomorrow. You know they'll die for what they did”

“I don't care!”

“You need to stay with her now.”

You know it's Carol, but still, you want her to go. You need everyone to go away now, you just need Daryl. You need to... Go away. Alexandria isn't safe anymore. You rather face the dead.

Silently, moved by fear, you get up, taking the dress off, and struggling with the first pair of jeans you find.

“(Y/N),” Daryl calls, but you ignore him, sight blurred by the tears as you put a shirt on. “Hey, (Y/N).” You don't know what to take... You just need to leave. These walls won't keep you safe anymore. If you stay... You know they'll find you again.

“I'm leaving.” You mumble, looking around and finding the white sneakers you left by the edge of the bed and putting them on.

“What–”

“I'm leaving! I can't stay here. If I stay here it'll happen all over again.” You're yelling, sitting on the bed, sobbing. “They're here, they'll take me again, they-they–”

“Shh, yer ok.” Daryl pulls you up, into his arms, and you melt. The sobs are muffled by this jacket, and your tears are certainly soaking the fabric. “Look at me, babygirl. Look at me.” Slowly, you raise your head, his blue eyes acting immediately, like a medicine made only for you. “There's a place I can take ya for the night. But ya need to be here tomorrow. To officialize their crime so I can kill those–”

“Take me away, please.” You beg, holding onto him as if he's the only thing keeping you sane. Alive. Because he is. “Please, if I stay here I'll–”

“Alright, alright.” He nods, a hand caressing your cheek. “Let's go then. C'mon.”

Everything happens in the background, you feel. Carol stays by your side in the porch, guiding you to the car Daryl took to drive you away. You barely feel your body now, out on the street, feeling their eyes on you... Their eyes, evil and disgusting, as they lust over you. You know they're not here, but still, you feel them. Wanting you to cave in, to agree to fulfill their needs in the most vile, degrading ways. You're hyperventilating when the gate opens, the woods before you suddenly looking far safer than these walls.

When Daryl crosses the gate, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, lungs burning. The sun is coming down, so there are a some shadows creeping in... But it's better out here. The wall will keep them inside, you hope.

“Babygirl,” Daryl says, getting your attention. “We're almost there, alright?”

“Ok.” You mumble, and Daryl puts a hand on your knee.

“Nothin’ will hurt ya. Never again. M’ gonna keep that promise.”

Holding his hand, your eyes meet his when he gives you a glance.

Around ten minutes later, Daryl stops the car. You haven't noticed before, but he parked in front of a small, wooden house. It looks like it was some kind of cabin in the woods since there are no other constructions around it. “C'mon.” He says when he opens the passenger door for you. Your legs feel a little weak, but you manage to stand up, immediately looking around. “There's nobody here, I promise ya.”

Nodding, you let him guide you inside, a flashlight on his hand. Daryl unlocks the door, and you wonder why he has the key to this thing. When you step in, the light coming from in between the planks on the windows helps you see the interior. There is a cough and a coffee table, you recognize it despite the dark plastic covering both things. Walking further in, you peak at the kitchen. Everything is clean and has a plastic placed over them. It kinda looks live someone used to live here not too long ago.

“I found this place a while ago.” Daryl starts, placing his backpack on the floor. “Was fixin’ it, cleanin’... So I could bring ya here every once in a while.” He gestures at the whole place in general, and you take another look around. He did say he'd try to find a place he could take you outside Alexandria, but you never thought it would be this good. “Still has a lot to do. Gonna put electricity, runnin’ water will be more complicated but I'll do it.”

“You're doing all that for me?” You whisper, hoping the dim light will hide your blushing cheeks.

“Yeah... Wanted to bring ya here under different circumstances but...” He takes the bag again, gesturing at the hall. “First door to the right it's our bedroom.”

Following his direction, you open the door to a small bedroom with a double bed, also covered with black plastic. The windows have wooden planks on it too, but there's enough space in between them so let some light come in.

“Here, lemme’–” Daryl drops the bag, walking over the bed and removing the plastic. Underneath, the light green sheets seem comfortable and you get it now why everything is covered up. To keep it clean. “Ya can lie down it ya want to. Brought some blankets.” As you move to the bed, Daryl searches in the bag, picking up two blankets and fixing them on the bed. “Ya hungry? Or thirsty? I brought–”

“I just need you, Daryl.” You whisper, drying off some tears that are still rolling down. “Can you come here?”

“Of course, babygirl.” Quickly, he leaves the bag behind and joins you in bed. Daryl pulls you close, you head on his chest as his arms hold you tightly, keeping you safe.

“I hope this is just a nightmare... That I'll wake up tomorrow and it'll all be gone.” Mumbling, you push yourself even closer to him, if that's even possible.

“I'll kill them myself, I swear.” There's a fire in his voice, hate. You've never heard him talking like that, his chest vibrating powerfully. “I'll wipe them off the face of Earth.”

Involuntary, your hand finds its way to your leg, to the scar. The pain is a vivid memory today, and for a moment you feel like you should lie down, as motionless as you can so it won't hurt. So the stitches won't rip again.

How is it possible that all the horrible memories came back all at once? On one second? “I-if I didn't have you, I... I'd die today, I know I would.”

“Nah, ya wouldn't.” Moving, he brings his index finger to your chin, making you look at him. “Yer stronger than ya give yourself credit for. Ya don't see it, but I do.” Then, he places a soft, sweet kiss on your lips, which is sadly, too brief. “But I will protect ya. Always, until my days are over.”

“Daryl, I–”

“I wanna marry ya.” He bursts out, his low voice burning through your head as you wonder if you heard him right. “When this is over and those monsters are dead... I wanna marry ya.”

Despite the terror, creeping through your skin, the darkness threatening to swallow you again, you smile. Everything fades away, and a different kind of happiness washes over you. A type of bliss you didn't even know existed. Unable to control yourself, you climb over him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you,” you mutter, not giving him the chance to answer, connecting your lips on his in a loving, passionate kiss.

×

@funeral-7 @heyyy-hey-babyyy @twdeadfanfic @soraitmnt @winchester-angel @bvbwestfall @shawtygonemad @cameronsails @pulplorrd @browneyes528 @btsiguess-kpop @a-dlv @bibibeauelle @lightning-butterfly @yttricuz

[moonsofmars-writes]

The seed of a promise

Fandom: 七つの大罪 - 鈴木央 | Nanatsu no Taizai | The Seven Deadly Sins - Suzuki Nakaba (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Diane & Fairy King Harlequin Characters: Fairy King Harlequin, Diane, Ludociel, Gerheade, Helbram, Elaine Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, War, Death, Blood and Injury, Nothing is graphic, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Hopeful Ending, Pre-Relationship

Summary: In a world where the Holy War didn’t end with Elizabeth and Meliodas, where Mael never became Estarossa, a final battle has just been fought.

The Holy War is finally over.

As the victors gather and the vanquished are chased and finished, the young Fairy King tries to find a way to prevent yet another tragedy - and ends up finding an ally in an unexpected place.

Notes: I've been wondering for a while what would have happened if Gowther's plan hadn't worked and Demons and Goddesses had kept fighting and this is what I managed to come up with! Since it's me, King and Diane are also here - with a whole lot of drama.

Please, enjoy!

There is blood on his hands and his clothes, on his wings and his hair. It makes his jacket heavy and his skin unpleasantly slick. Harlequin can’t bring himself to care right now.

The battle is over, yet he keeps flying over the field, eyes darting from a corpse to the other, studying the survivors as they make their way through the craters and bodies that cover the ground. Most of them walk silently, looking around as if they just woke up from a dream; others are frantic and turn their heads left and right, calling out names and getting no answer.

Harlequin doesn’t call but still searches. The knot in his stomach starts loosening only when he finally catches a glimpse of Elaine on the ground, standing among some human soldiers, alive and apparently unarmed. He is too distant to see her expression when she looks up at him, but he can read her heart as she can read his and what he reads is relief and exhaustion and grief. Later, when they’ll be home, they’ll find each other to whisper words of loss and comfort, or maybe they’ll just rest together, shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand, as they did when they were younger. Right now, they both have other matters to take care of.

Minutes later, Helbram waves at him, a tired grin on his face. He is floating over the remains of a burned tree surrounded by a group of Fairies, to whom he soon returns to give orders. Harlequin doesn’t approach them and heads forward, feeling relieved that his best friend is fine. He knows he can leave this part to him; after all, Helbram has been his first in command for years. He knows perfectly how to handle the aftermath of a battle.

Gerheade is the next. His advisor looks tired, there is a cut on her cheek and bruises on her left arm, but the purple blood staining her dress isn’t hers. “We are still not sure about the number,” she says after a quick bow. They have done this countless times before, and she knows exactly what he wants to know. “For now, the reports indicate that more than five hundred have fallen. The wounded we have found are being taken care of by the Goddesses. I’ll personally check how many won’t be able to fly back on their own.”

Harlequin nods, clasping his hands behind his back. More than five hundred have died today. He expected a high number, considering that they have battled for hours; he still feels sick. More than five hundred Fairies won’t return to the Fairy King’s Forest alive, five hundred people who trusted him, followed him, and he failed to protect. Deep down, he knows it could have gone worse. If they had lost this battle, he doubts many would have left the field alive, and their home would have been next. Had they lost here, his entire Clan would have eventually been wiped away by the enemy.

Still. Five hundred. He swallows hard and sighs, “Give the order to gather the bodies. We are taking them home.”

Gerheade frowns, a question on her lips, but she holds it back when she meets his eyes. “As you wish, my king.” They have never collected such a large amount of bodies from the battlefield, and it will take hours to find them all and bring them back to the Fairy King’s Forest. It doesn’t matter. He couldn’t protect them, but this doesn’t mean he will abandon them. They deserve this, at least.

His next task is a little more bothersome but necessary. Tomorrow morning there will be an official meeting for the leaders of Stigma, but he doesn’t want to leave before checking on the Goddesses.

Read on AO3

As he flies, Harlequin’s gaze turns to the east. That’s where the Demons came from, where the Demon King opened a portal from the Demon Realm to bring most of his army to Britannia. He is fairly sure that the portal collapsed when the Demon King died, destroyed by the hand of the Supreme Deity; still, many Demons flew in that direction when they realized the battle was lost as if in a last attempt to save their life. That’s where the Goddesses warriors have followed them, too.

In the distance, Harlequin can see figures battling in the air, he can see smoke rising from the ground and flashes of light against the darkening blue of the sky. Inside, he feels nothing but exhaustion. Driven by the euphoria following their victory, some Fairies have tried to chase after the Demons too, yelling menaces and obscenities. He stopped them, of course. He has no rule over the other Clans, but he does over his people and he decided that today, no other Fairy will die and no other Fairy will kill.

Briefly, he wonders if there are still Giants standing with the Demons. So many kept fighting until the very end, even after their leader Matrona was killed, but it’s hard to believe that not even one gave up to fear and tried to save themselves at last. As he stares at the fight that still consumes in the distance, Harlequin feels as his bowels have turned into stone. Even if they had tried to escape, they are probably being killed right now. And all of that, because the Giant Clan chose to side with the Demons.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, so he decides to push it away and focus on his task. There is nothing he can do for the Giants right now. And at least, even though he knows he is being selfish, he is relieved he doesn’t sense her power over there. Perhaps it’s because she is already dead, but right now, Harlequin allows himself to hope.

He finds Ludociel hovering high in the sky, giving orders to a small group of Goddesses. “Ah, Fairy King,” he welcomes him with his usual smile, gesturing at his soldiers to go. Some bow and fly away, others stay close, hands tight around their weapons, watching carefully their surroundings. Ludociel’s guards. Stigma’s victory has been overwhelming today, but they are obviously not going to let their guard down anytime soon.

Ludociel pays no attention to them as he turns towards Harlequin. There are stains of dirt and dry blood on his feathers, yet his cape is immaculate, so white it hurts his eyes; he probably changed it as soon as the battle was over. “I see your army is preparing to retreat.”

“My people need rest,” Harlequin says, eyes wandering over the few Goddesses around them, over their tattered clothes and bruised skin. “As does yours.”

“We will get to it,” Ludociel dismisses the problem with a wave of his hand. “As soon as our enemies are gone for good.”

There is something in his tone that makes Harlequin’s hands twitch. “Most of the Demon warriors have died today,” he says slowly, “The Demon King is gone. All his Commandments are gone.” He took some of them down himself. Even the Demon King’s son fell, overpowered by the magic of the Archangels. “Isn’t it enough?”

Ludociel hums. “The most of the work is done, undoubtedly. However, we can’t know for sure how many Demons are left in the Demon Realm unless we don’t verify.” His voice is sweet as honey, it clashes unpleasantly with the cold implication of his sentence.

“We both know that the ones left in the Demon Realm are mostly civilians, Ludociel. Will you slaughter them too? Even the ones who cannot fight? Even their children?”

There is a moment of pause, as Ludociel studies him, tilting his head, his expression unchanged. “We will do what’s necessary,” he finally says. “We don’t want anything like this to happen again, don’t we?”

It takes an effort not to react to the veiled threat in his words, but Harlequin knows this game well; he won’t offer Ludociel anything, especially not a sign of weakness. “What about the Giants?” He asks instead.

Ludociel paints regret in his expression like a skilful painter. “They will be taken care of too. They are traitors, and as such they will be considered.” He slightly shakes his head, “Such a shame, don’t you think?”

This time, Harlequin doesn't hold back. “I don’t think it’s wise to pursue them more. They have lost many lives today, and they lost their chief. They will not be a threat anytime soon.”

“Ah, still nostalgic of the times they were our allies, young king?”

“I just believe,” he answers coldly, “that the relationships among our Clans will run more smoothly if they’ll see us show mercy. The Giants they left behind today are but their youngsters and mothers with children - they knew this battle was decisive. Are you truly planning to exterminate them all?”

“What I’m planning to do is to find them and ensure that we won’t get another unpleasant surprise. Stigma will decide about their fate.” The Archangel shakes his head again, and this time a faint smile appears on his lips. “You are too young to remember clearly about their treason, I’m afraid. We won’t show their warriors more mercy than what they showed us, and about the others … there is time, now. The humans will want to have their say too.”

There is no point in discussing this now. Harlequin feels the gaze of the other Goddesses on him, the resolution radiating from Ludociel’s heart, and suddenly, he feels incredibly exhausted. “Very well,” is what he forces out of his mouth, “We will speak about this tomorrow.”

“Indeed,” Ludociel hums before looking away, as to imply that Harlequin is dismissed. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion, both physical and emotional, but this time his arrogance doesn’t touch the Fairy King. He leaves without another word and flies down, towards the scarred ground.

Giant, Fairy, Demon and Goddesses’ magic destroyed this plain. Rocky spurs rise wrapped in vines among still fuming craters, and wherever his eyes can reach hundreds, thousands of bodies are scattered. Harlequin would want to look away, for once. He is so tired of death.

And that’s exactly why he forces himself to keep looking. He is tired of death, and he won’t let anyone else die in this war if he can help it. He already looked before, but now he has to make sure that her body isn’t among the fallen. Could have she fled? It hurts to realize that he can’t be sure she didn’t. The person he needs right now, the person who could help him prevent another bloodshed, inhabits his memories as the ghost of a gentle child who offered him friendship when life was easier and Fairies and Giants were allies. Even though he has seen her later, again and again, on too many battlefields, the first image that comes to his mind when he thinks of her is from their past.

Eyes shining in the light of dusk, a finger raised to make a vow.

“We will be friends forever! Like Drole and Gloxinia!”

Warmth tinges his cheeks with red as he raises his finger too.

“We will. I promise!”

He is rewarded with a bright smile that outshines the sun itself.

The smile on Harlequin’s face is now bitter. It didn’t last long, their promise - the promise of two kids from two different clans that thought that war could never harm them. After all, Gloxinia used to tell him that the Fairies and the Giants had been close for centuries, that their bond would have never faded. He also used to smile and tell him not to worry about him when he left for a battle because he was the king of the Fairies and he would have always come back to his people.

Gloxinia had been wrong about many things.

They had died together, he and Drole, the king of Giants, during a battle so dreadful that Fairies and Goddesses still refused to talk about it. They had died and they had left their Clans in chaos, one lost without a guide and the other thrown in the hands of a young Fairy with too little knowledge of the world outside his forest. As new Fairy King, Harlequin had chosen to remain loyal to the Stigma and the Fairies had followed him, while the Giants had forged a new alliance, one with the monster who was able to defeat their king in combat. The Demon King himself. It was usual for the Giants to follow the strongest, but this didn’t make their betrayal less hurtful.

Harlequin had come to terms with it years before, but he had been unable to forget about his promise to the young Giant girl who had been his best friend when their Clans were allies and he was nothing more than a simple Fairy Gloxinia had taken under his wing. When he saw her again, after years of training and clashes, she was a warrior under the direct command of Matrona, and she danced ballets of death and destruction.

He could never bring himself to face her. He focused on other enemies, turning his back on her, hoping that she would do the same. Even though they had been enemies way longer than they had been friends, he couldn’t help but fear the day he would have found her dead body on the battlefield. She was a tie to a past he missed terribly, a tie he simply didn’t want to cut because once gone, it would have been lost forever.

Until now, she survived, and there is a part of him that refuses to give up just yet. It takes effort to use his magic after he used so much for the battle, but he grits his teeth and flies faster, trying to detect any sign of her power. Even a crumble would be enough, to at least tell him that she lives.

Long minutes later, as he flies over a small crater that seems to brim with corpses, he halts in mid-air; it wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t known what to look for, but there is a presence - distant, feeble, like a spark among ashes. Harlequin turns his head towards the wood that skirts the battlefield at North. It hasn’t been spared by the battle, not completely, but many trees are still standing. It wouldn’t be a bad place to hide.

After ensuring that no one is watching him, Harlequin flies lower, swerving among the debris, and fastly approaches the wood, following the trace of magic. It becomes stronger as he enters the tree lines, and with it, his heart pounds faster and his bowels knot. That’s when the traces of blood appear, with the obvious signs of someone passing among these branches, breaking the frail wood. From there, it’s not hard to find her.

When he finally sees her, she is lying with her back against a tree, the broken handle of a war hammer in her hand. Her eyes are on him as soon as he emerges from the branches, studying him from under dirty brown hair. Her expression hardens, but she stays still, waiting for him to reach her.

It’s not that bad, he thinks as he examines her injuries while slowly flying towards her. Her left leg seems to be broken and her face is scratched and swollen, and fresh blood soaks her clothes coming from dozens of cuts on her arms and shoulders, but she is a Giant and he saw Giants survive way worse than this. The thought doesn’t stop his heart from sinking in his gut. He can’t leave her like this.

He halts mere feet from her, distant enough not to make her feel threatened - or so he hopes - but close enough to speak with her. But as her violet eyes bury into his soul, he finds himself at a loss of words. Here is the child who used to play tag with him, who smiled when he gave her flowers and danced with him in the bright days of summer. Here is the child who told him she loathed violence so much she would have rather abandoned her own Clan than fight this war. The child who would have wanted to use her dance to build, rather than to destroy. He would have liked to live in a world where her wish had come true.

“Have you come to finish me?”

Her voice, weak but firm, feels cold as ice on his skin. His expression doesn’t change, though - he has been practising his self-control for too long to let it slip, how deep her words wound him.

Not once in the past years, when they saw each other on the battlefield, she has shown a sign of recognizing her childhood friend, and still now that they are finally facing each other, her expression is a mask of stone and mistrust. Has she really forgotten about him? Does she truly believe he would go after her just to kill her?

“I haven’t,” he hurries to answer as he lifts his hand; when the green light of Pollen Garden surrounds her, the Giant hisses and pulls back, pressing her back against the trunk, then freezes and watches with wide eyes as the luminescent pollen rains over her, closing her wounds and welding her bones. When she returns her gaze on him, it’s filled with wonder and confusion.

“The Goddesses are chasing the warriors who fled the battlefield,” Harlequin says, “but they won’t attack the Giants who didn’t participate, not today.” With another movement of his hand, his Spirit Spear disappears. “You should be able to come back to your home before them. Matrona is dead, but you were her second in command. They will follow you, and you have to take them away. Leave Megadozer and hide somewhere until the Goddesses and the Humans’ bloodthirst has quenched. This war lasted far too long and too many have been hurt. Even though I don’t think they all are willing to harm civilians, the situation could easily escalate, and I doubt that I … that anyone would be able to stop it.”

Her eyes darken but she nods. She knows as well they won’t make it easy for the Giants. Slowly, she stands, until her face is at the same level as his, her stare fixed on him. There’s a part of Harlequin that is tempted to use his heart reading powers to know what she is thinking now, but as usual, he suppresses it. Heart reading is as natural as breathing for him and helped him so many times, but it can be a double-edged sword. Besides, they aren’t fighting - it would be rude .

“Why are you doing this?”

He should expect her next question, but it still floors him, leaving him silent and still as he thinks about the right words to use.

“The Giants betrayed you,” she insists. “We killed so many among the Fairies. And yet you are here, helping me, giving me the chance to help my people. I want to know why.”

He hesitates another moment before speaking, staring back into her eyes. “I have never wanted to see the Giants annihilated, and I’m tired of slaughters. Our Clans hurt each other enough and you don’t pose a threat for us anymore. I hope that under your guidance, the Giants will follow a new path, one that will allow them to coexist with the other Clans again, once the wounds this war left will start to heal.”

“My guidance? Have you seen me?” He is taken aback by the bitterness in her voice. “There is so much blood on my hands. I’m no more than a murder, Fairy King. What makes you think that I will make the Giant follow the path of peace?”

“Because you never wanted this.” The words slip from his mouth before he can stop them, and they are met by shock flourishing on her face. With a sigh, Harlequin continues, folding his hands in front of him not to move them nervously. “You don’t take pleasure from fighting and killing, nor you have reasons to continue this war. We all have done what we had to, Diane, and we all will answer to the consequences by ourselves. But I believe that now that you have the chance to do what’s right, you will take it.”

She gasps at the mention of her name and watches him in awe. He expects her to question him now, to yell at him to get out of her head, as they all do when they think he is reading their hearts. But again, she surprises him. “You … you remember me,” she whispers, covering her mouth with a hand. “Don’t you, Harlequin?”

Breath stops in his throat. “I - of course I do, how could have I forgotten? You were my best friend.” He swallows, his hands clenching around each other. “I thought you didn’t remember me.”

“I thought you didn’t remember me!” She shakes her head, “I spent years stuck in Megadozer, training for the war, hoping that when they’d let me out, I could at least see you again. But the first time I met you on the battlefield, you didn’t even look at me. You never even tried to talk to me.”

“I kept my distance because I didn’t want us to be forced to fight. I couldn’t have brought myself to hurt you,” he admits.

“I couldn’t have either, I wouldn’t have. I thought you didn’t recognize me - or you simply didn’t remember me.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “You didn’t say anything either. I thought it had simply been too long since we were friends. Besides, I ... changed quite a bit, since then.”

Diane raises a brown, examining him. “You’ll have to do way more than growing a pair of wings for me not to recognize you.”

Harlequin can’t stop an astounded laugh, “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” she snorts. “Though … I didn’t expect the hair.” For the first time since forever, he sees her lips curve into a smile. It’s surprising, how much he missed it. “No,” she continues, shaking her head, “I was afraid of what would have happened if I had confronted you. It’s not just your appearance, your entire attitude changed since we were kids. I thought that even if I had reminded you about our friendship, I couldn’t be sure about your reaction. You could have not cared about it anyway.”

“Diane, I’m so sorry. If I had known, I …” Truth to be told, he isn’t sure what he would have done. Reconnected with her? While they were on the opposite sides of a war? There was no way it would have worked smoothly.

“I’m sorry too,” she says softly, “I’ve missed you.”

A shiver travels through his body. “And I, you.” There is so much he would want to ask, so much he would want to tell her. She is Diane, his best friend, yet she has changed so much and he thinks he would want to know better the person she became. But there is no time. The sun is going to set soon. “If you want to go home, you should go now,” he says quietly, “Before someone finds us.”

She heaves a sigh and nods, looking down. “I know,” she says as sadness obscures the light in her eyes. “They’ll be waiting for news.”

As are the Fairies he left in the safety of the Fairy King’s Forest. Harlequin will have to do the same himself, later; he will have to look at his people and tell them about the losses they suffered today. There have been so many battles in this bloody war, but this part never got easier. “I’m sorry,” he says again, even though he isn’t sure what he is apologizing for. “If things were different, I’d want you to come with me. I would be able to keep you safe in the Fairy Realm, not even the Supreme Deity can come there without my permission. But …”

“I can’t leave the others behind,” Diane finishes, shaking her head. “I’ll find a way to keep everyone safe. Thank you, Harlequin. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this.”

“I do.”

Her stunned expression would be funny if it wasn’t for the way her body tenses and her hand clenches around the remains of her hammer. A few minutes of reconciliation can’t cancel years of war, he bitterly thinks as he hurries to explain, “I want things to change between our Clans. I know it will be difficult and things will probably never be like they were before, but I want us to stop fighting and to be on good terms, at least. And I hope you can help me with this.”

It takes her some moments to answer. “I’d like that, too,” she admits. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to change their minds. Giants are raised to be warriors, and fighting for our honour is supposed to be our reason to live. Some will want revenge. But … I’ll try to - I'll find a way. I won’t let them throw their lives away like this and I won’t let them stain their hands with blood”. Something new shines in her eyes when she looks at him, “I promise.”

“Thank you,” he answers, letting a relieved smile curve his lips. “And I promise you that I’ll do the same. No harm will come to you from my people, as long as I breathe.”

This is so different from the promise they made each other so long ago - for once, they do not seal it with their pinkies - yet he can’t help but feel a little bit nostalgic; there is something in Diane’s expression that makes him believe she feels it too. There is no time to evoke images of a past long gone, though, and so she nods and moves away, her walk as swift as before the battle.

Before she disappears between the trees, she turns around one last time to look at him. It’s hard to read the mix of emotion in her eyes, but despite the curiosity, Harlequin avoids reading her heart. He smiles, instead. And she smiles back, just for a moment.

Then, she is gone.

When Harlequin comes back to the battlefield, his Fairies have been gathered and are working on finding a way to bring the bodies of their fallen back home. Humans are going back to their settlement, and in the distance, he sees a few Goddesses preparing to return to the Celestial Realm. The air is still filled with anguish and mourning, but something else smoulders in the hearts of the survivors, a sense of excitement that Harlequin knows will rise to the surface tonight, when celebrations will be held all around Britannia. If just for a few hours, people will try to forget about what the future holds for them, to finally allow themselves to live free of the shadow of the war.

As he lands among the Fairies, as he solemnly nods to their tired bows, Harlequin wonders when he will be able to do the same. For others, the war is over, but he knows his allies too well to think the peace after this war will be easy. If Diane manages to hide her people away, Ludociel won’t be happy, nor will the human kings. They will want answers and will search the entire country for them.

But there is something that makes the morrow look a little bit easier; it’s the promise of a different future, the seed of an agreement he just planted alongside with a Giant girl.

So Harlequin holds his head up and breathes in deeply, feeling like part of the weight on his shoulders has been finally lifted; then, he gets ready to lead his people home.

[cykes-dono]

smirl thank you so much for letting me infodump in your askbox. the topic for today is the one anime i never shut the fuck up about which is saint seiya. today i am still enraged over the netflix reboot of this show which did, unfortunately, happen. i dont know how they fucked it up so bad. first of all, the animation is fucking gross like the character models are an attempt to bring over the 80s art style to modern CGI and the idea is fine but it looks so weird. the characters look like action figures and their movement is so incredibly stiff. for a show that's 75% composed of fight scenes, stiff movement is not something you want. it would've been so much better to just make this show in 2D like the original series (AND LIKE A SEQUEL SPINOFF THAT CAME OUT A FEW YEARS EARLIER THAT LOOKED A LOT BETTER THAN THIS) or go for the CGI art style that the 40th anniversary movie had, which didn't try to directly adapt an art style from the 80s. anyway. i can excuse the weird art style if the show was good. the show is not good. trust me i watched this reboot twice in its entirety (i am sick in the head and like to watch things that make me angry) and i can tell you with CONFIDENCE that it's just bad. it's like they take everything that was charming about the original series and dumb it down. and that's exactly what they did because this reboot is aimed at children. the original show was aimed at kids 13 and up while this reboot is aimed at kids 8 and up. needless to say there is a LOT that needed to be changed and removed and it changes the vibes so much. the reboot is also aimed at american audiences, since saint seiya had a lot of failed attempts at getting into the us market in the early 2000s, and there was a lot that had to be censored and changed because of american censorship. notably, the show was full of violence that, while not graphic, did result in the characters bleeding a lot. this was altered and there is virtually zero blood in the reboot, which is quite a change. the characters were also aged up from 13-15 to 18-20 so censorship wouldnt get their panties in a twist about kids fighting with each other (it does get a little disturbing to think about it in that light, but the point is that the world is so fucked that these kids are forced to go to war so changing that is changing the entire point of the series.) anyway, they also managed to whitewash the characters. in the og series, all the main characters were japanese. in the reboot, only the main character, seiya, is explicitly stated to be japanese - and hyoga, who is half-japanese and half-russian, is not even russian in the reboot. he's just vaguely european, they never once say where he's from which to me is very sus because they already changed everyone else's nationalities to make them white, who says they're not avoiding stating hyoga's nationality to whitewash him too? also one of the characters who was japanese-chinese in the og is now just chinese, and while he wasn't whitewashed i do find his name being changed (from shiryu) to long a little questionable when analyzing everything else this team has done. the name changes are a little questionable overall (i.e: "whale moses" becoming "whale morris") but i don't feel like talking about most of them rn. then they did something that literally everyone was upset about, and the fans of this show don't agree on much: they changed the gender of one of the main characters. usually, i don't mind gender changes in reboots of things. like i just don't give a shit. but for this case, they chose the one character from the main cast who is kind, gentle, softspoken, and prefers not to fight and they turned That guy into a girl. it doesn't help that he's the most androgynous of the cast and his theme color is pink. it has been explicitly stated that they decided to change him into a girl because they didnt consider his personality very masculine. So Like. This Reboot Is Really Fucking Bad.

I googled it and the reboot looks so ugly help

[dabis-devil]

Skaters.

Was this requested? Absolutely not. Am I thirsting over skaters again? Why of course. And then, this was born.

Eijiro Kirishima

Kiri is that one guy at the skate park that's really nice.

And he's always there

“ hey, uh, your footing is a bit off. Mind if I help? ” he'd ask, scratching he nape of his neck.

Because that's the manly thing to do

He prefers long boards

I can see him getting a custom board done, with crimson riot on the bottom.

If not, then he probably has a trendy but simple design on his board, with black grip tape. Red wheels all the way.

Usually cruises, but knows some cool tricks.

He wants to mob the streets with the bakusquad sO bAdLy

Did I forget to mention-

When he sees kids at the skate park, his heart melts

They are just so cute tf

Loves showing them a trick or two, watching their faces light up.

Denki Kaminari

I won't even lie, he did it for the aesthetic

His dumbass had fallen off more times than I could put a number on, but that didn't stop him

He def uses the skate park as a dating outlet

He rides a skate board

Might just have a Pikachu board. Might.

Definitely has a checkered one too.

Still not the smoothest rider, but he can get from point A to point B.

Since he's a bit of a noob, he doesn't know any tricks.

He's trying so hard to learn them tho.

He usually does so in his room, not wanting to be embarrassed.

that's why he showed up to school with a black eye, regardless of what excuse he used

You already know when the skater girls roll up he's gonna go feral

He's the type to not pay attention and slip off his board, especially when hot people are around

“ Im FInE, iM fInE, iM oKaY, iTs FinE,,, ”

Never Fails to bring markers/spray paint to vandalize the park

He’ll write the stupidest stuff too.

Katsuki Bakugo

Showoff.

Let me say it louder for the people in the back-

Showoff!

Bakugo has put time into his skating, he knows a lot of cool shit.

And you already know he's gonna show everybody at the park who's boss.

Backhanded compliments to other skaters.

“ cool flip, I could do it better. ”

If somebody dared to test that theory,,, he'd do it better. Every time.

He has a skateboard, for the better interest of tricks.

I wouldn't doubt if it had some sort skull on it, maybe a bomb

His design wouldn't be too generic though.

He wants to be the only one with this bomb board

This skateparkpark is his. If you don't understand that, feel free to step into your grave.

He won't be at the park all the time, but when he gets in the mood he'll definitely go.

Shoto Todoroki

Shoto uses his board for means of transportation

That's why he got it in the first place.

But he fell in love with the charm skateboarding had

I would bet he's put time into a move or two

When he visits the skate park, he's not there for anybody else.

Thats him time.

Hes that one guy who seems to go there every now and then, and just skates with headphones on.

Mood??

His board is something very simple, maybe half an half if he got the board while he was in a good mood.

I hc that he would've used his fire side to try and takeoff like a rocket

While he was alone

And will never tell anybody the outcome.

Ever.

Shinsou Hitoshi

This bitch can barely keep his eyes open,,

Face plants into the gravel a few times a week

He has some tricks, not many.

He usually has fun skateboarding, it's become on of his favorite things to do.

He wants to go skating in the middle of the night with his s/o, looking at the stars above and watching dusk break loose.

But he doesn't have an s/o, he won't do it alone

He's more of an on the streets type of guy, not very into skateparks.

He likes being alone *mostly* so duh

His board 10000% has the Zumiez grip tape with the cat flipping you off.

And you can quote fight me on that one

If he got into a relationship, he would probably sucker his s/o into him teaching them how to skateboard

He probably has his board in his room, and will sit on that and roll on it while he scrolls through his phone

It'll become a habit he didn't knew he had

Dabi

When you think skater, you probably think of dabi.

Likes feeling the breeze against his rugged skin as he rides down the street.

He'll be at the skatepark. . .

At 2 a.m.. . .

Proooobably smoking or drinking. . .

And barely skating, but he's tHeRe

His board is going to be e d g y

Probably some dark emo icon or graphic on the bottom, and rugged grip tape.

His board is worn out, but it still works like a new one.

His trucks are on the looser side, he has hella balance

He literally has to p r y his board away from twice and Toga, going so far as to threaten them when necessary

If he got into a fight and didn't feel like using his quirk, he would definitely ram his skateboard into this persons back or over their head

Ouch

That what you get for aggravating charcoal man, I dunno what else to tell ya

[nekojitachan]

for Neil's bday prompt, maybe Andrew doing small soft things for Neil throughout his special day, knowing that Neil doesn't particularly care for his bday that much but still wanting to make him feel good. idk does that make sense?

Okay, so here we go, for Neil’s ‘non-birthday’ (I should say ‘Nathaniel’s birthday’? Since January 19th is Nathaniel’s birthday and March 31st is Neil’s official birthday now). A day late but still, something for the occasion. Thank you for the prompt, I think it fits the occasion rather well, all in all!

Very vague references to what happens on January 19th in the books and very vague mature times between the boys but nothing graphic or things like that.

*******

Neil was on edge as the weekend approached, which hesupposed most of the Foxes put down to him being stressed about them reachingthe play-offs and having a home game against the Ohio State Buckeyes. Which wasin part true – the Foxes needed to win, to get their two out of three games andmaintain a good point average while preparing the freshmen for playing with themore advanced teams of the championship season, but Ohio State didn’t present that much of a challenge.

Even with ‘Jack the Asshole’ and his partner, Sheena, makingrandom ‘Nathanial’ and ‘Wesninski’ comments, no one thought anything of Fridaynight other than of kicking Buckeye ass (which really, Neil couldn’t figure outthat team name or their hideous mascot)… well, other than the couple of timeswhen Neil caught Andrew or Wymack giving him intent looks while in the lockerroom.

They didn’t say anything, though, which was fine with him sincehe didn’t want to think about what had happened around that time last year,about the significance of that weekend.

The Foxes won by six points even with Jack trying to hog thedamn ball while out on the court with Neil (earning an earful from Dan, Wymack and Kevin after the game), and once thepost-games interviews and review were done, the Monsters piled into theMaserati and headed off to Columbia.

Neil felt some of his anxiety fade away as they left PSUbehind, as he sat next to Andrew in the car with the scent of cigarette smokefilling his senses each time he inhaled, the sound of Nicky and Aaronsquabbling over what soundtrack to play while Kevin called them out on their ‘poortaste’. He smiled when Andrew, quiet as ever, held out his right hand with thepalm upward once they were on the highway and was quick to entwine theirfingers together.

It was a usual Friday night, was their stop at Sweetie’s forfood and ice cream then off to Eden’s where Neil only had one shot to celebratetheir win then allowed himself to be distracted by arguing with an increasinglydrunk Kevin over the possible line-up for the rest of the championship season.For a while Neil could forget everything when he had Andrew by his side and hisfriends around him, when he felt as if he belonged among them.

When they got back to the house in Columbia with him andAndrew the only two sober ones out of the group, and once Kevin and Aaron andNicky were in their respective beds, Andrew led him up to the bedroom theyshared and asked him ‘yes or no’ then stripped him of his clothes after he replied‘yes’. Neil forgot about everything but how goodAndrew always made him feel, the feel of skin against skin as they movedtogether, as hands stroked and nails gently scratched then soothed, as mouthskissed and sucked, teeth nipped and teased and bit.

He fell asleep to the feel of Andrew’s fingers trailingalong his right arm, his lover’s body heat soaking into his back as Andrew laya scant inch away, the scent of soap from their recent shower mingling with thefaint hint of cigarette smoke which lingered on the pillow beneath his head. Exhaustedand sated, Neil somehow managed to sleep through the night without any baddreams.

When he woke up the next day, the house quiet and a sliverof light from the rising sun peeked through the mostly drawn curtains, he layin bed for a minute or two before the overwhelming urge to move had him sliding from beneath the warm blankets so he could goabout his morning run. Andrew made a low, disgruntled noise of complaint as hepulled the blankets almost all the way over his head and rolled over to face thewall while Neil dressed warm enough for the ‘cold’ (for South Carolina) weatherthen left the room as quietly as he could before heading for the kitchen doorwithout waking any of the others.

He ran for almost two hours, until the awful urge to flee, to find the nearest bus stop ortrain station, to heed his mother’s dying wishes finally faded away and hecould return to the house without any trepidation. Until the memories of bloodon walls, of cruel smiles and bright knives had been pushed away (for the timebeing), until he could convince himself that it was just another day, that itdidn’t have any special meaning to him.

It didn’t have anyspecial meaning, not to Neil Josten.

As soon as he used his key (the key Andrew had given him) toenter the house, he smelled fresh coffee brewing, which was a surprise sincenone of the others would wake up after a night at Eden’s until almost noon, ifthey could help it. Neil usually made coffee when he returned from a run so itwould be ready when he stepped out of his shower, yet there it was, the lastfew drops falling into a full pot. He blinked in confusion before he grabbed a mugso he could enjoy some to drink as soon as he stepped out of the shower.

There was no sign of anyone else being up as he went to the bathroom– all the bedroom doors were closed, and it was dark in the den with Kevin’sloud snores filling the first floor (even echoing up into the second level asNeil climbed the steps).

The next surprise awaited Neil as he entered the bathroom;there were fresh towels set out on the bathroom sink, still warm and fluffedfrom the dryer as if they’d been set out mere moments before he’d returned tothe house, along with a change of clothes. Savoring the feel of the linens, hewas quick to shed his sweat-soaked clothes and reached into the shower to startthe water, only to find that someone must have run it when they brought thetowels and clothes in so it would be hot right away when he stepped into shower.

Touched by the show of thoughtfulness, he quickly enteredthe bath/shower and pulled the curtain shut so he could wash off, grateful forthe hot water which rained down on his skin after all the time out in the cold.Once he was clean, he smiled at the still warm towels, and noticed that the sweatshirtwas an old one of Andrew’s which he loved to borrow since it was so soft fromage.

Neil took his time getting ready that morning, his spirits buoyedby the kind actions shown toward him, and made sure to grab his dirty clothesand the damp towels to take to the laundry room before he went back to thefirst floor.

When he opened the fridge to make something for breakfast, hemerely shook his head at the sight of the pints of fresh strawberries andblueberries on the top shelf, along with a few other items which he knew hadn’tbeen there the night before. Smiling in anticipation of a delicious breakfast,he pulled out the fruit and set the pints on the counter, then began makingsome oatmeal.

He’d just finished a big bowl of cooked oats with lots offruit and a little honey (with plenty left over for Kevin when his friendfinally woke up) when a sleepy Aaron stumbled into the kitchen. They exchangednods in greeting and Neil got up to put some bacon in the oven for his friends’breakfast while Aaron availed himself on the coffee as if it was the mostimportant thing in the world.

The bacon was almost ready and Neil was preparing the store-boughtbiscuits on a tray to start baking while Aaron brewed a fresh pot of coffeewhen Andrew showed up next. Neil gave him a smile by way of ‘good morning’ andwasn’t upset when his boyfriend nearly nodded once before heading outside(after grabbing a coat) to have a cigarette, and made sure to have a cup ofcoffee (plus enough sugar and milk) waiting for when Andrew came back inside.

He was tugged down for a quick kiss in exchange for thecoffee then Andrew got to work making chocolate-chip pancakes to go along withthe biscuits and bacon, which made Nicky’s morning when he staggered inpleading for coffee about twenty minutes later. The four of them were seated atthe table, everyone but Neil eating, when Kevin finally woke up (more or less),and was happy to finish off the oatmeal once he had a couple of cups of coffee.

Neil found himself smiling as Aaron and Nicky fought over ifit was better to put honey or butter on biscuits, as Kevin yelled at them foreating so many ‘useless carbs’ (while Andrew sat there quietly and determinedlyshoving pancake after pancake into his mouth), as Nicky informed Kevin that aperfect set of abs could only offset his terrible personality so much…

It was exactly what he needed right then, was his friendscarrying on like always, was it being just like any other Saturday. Nickyoffered to wash the dishes since Neil and Andrew had cooked breakfast, andsomehow guilt-tripped Aaron and Kevin into helping to clean up, and goteveryone (almost everyone) involved in a debate over what they would do for therest of the day.

Kevin, of course, wanted to watch Exy games, but even Neildisagreed with him on that. They eventually decided to watch movies, whichmeant that Andrew and Neil drove off to the video store to rent a bunch of movieswhich Andrew picked out; Neil didn’t mind since he still had a lot of catchingup to do when it came to movies, and it was nice to spend a little time alonewith his boyfriend.

He almost asked about the groceries and the towels andeverything, but Andrew didn’t say anything so he decided to remain quiet andnot ruin things.

Andrew had picked several of the 007 movies, which even Neilknew a little about but had never seen more than a few minutes of here andthere. Nicky groaned and even Aaron appeared put out by the choice, but oncesome beers were grabbed and popcorn was made, all of them settled in the livingroom, Neil next to Andrew on the loveseat, and their movie marathon started.

At first the five of them were quiet while they watched,then Nicky made a smart remark, followed by Aaron, and even Kevin joined in. Neilstarted mocking the accents, Nicky mock-gagging over some of the women andtheir improbable names, Andrew even scoffed at some of the fight scenes, andsoon they were tearing apart the movies, pausing only to make more drinks andorder take-out for dinner.

Nicky and Kevin stood up near the television to re-enact acouple of the most ridiculous ‘romantic’ scenes until even Aaron was red-facedwith laughter, while Andrew kept a count of how many improbable fight scenesthere were and massive failures on the whole ‘that wouldn’t kill anyone’ topic.

By the time the last movie played for the night, Neil’s facehurt from smiling so much, the scar tissue on his left cheek a bit sore fromstretching so much, and everyone appeared in a great mood. Even Andrew had moreof a contemplative mood about him for once, rather than shuttered or bored.

Once they were in their room, Neil sank down on the bedwhile Andrew began to remove his sweater and jeans for bed. “So… today,” hesaid, finally addressing the topic he’d done his best to ignore all weekend. “Thatwas you, wasn’t it? Did you have it planned out in advance or what?”

Andrew was quiet as he threw his sweater in the hamper thenslowly turned to face Neil and close the space between them until he stoodright in front of him. “I know how you think,” he said as he reached out hishand and, when Neil nodded, wrapped it lightly around the back of Neil’s neck. “Iknew you’d obsess over this day even though it doesn’t have any meaning anymore.”

“I… it’s… it was my birthday,” Neil tried to explain as hisfingers twisted in the soft material of his orange sweatpants.

“It’s Nathaniel’sbirthday,” Andrew said in his deep, calm voice, echoing Neil’s thought fromthat morning. “And I told you to leave Nathaniel behind, remember? Yourbirthday is March 31st, so if this is a lame-ass way to try to getsome extra presents out of me, fuck off, Josten.” Andrew’s hand slid around togently press against Neil’s face until he fell back onto the bed. “Go to sleep,maybe you’ll wake up with a few working braincells. Maybe.”

Neil laughed as he straightened out on the bed then pulledoff his sweatshirt and sweatpants before he crawled beneath the blankets. “Wouldn’tthat be a present for you, hmm?” Helaughed again at his lover’s aggrieved sigh and watched as Andrew threw his clothesin the hamper as well. Once his boyfriend joined him in their bed, he rolledover to face him. “In all seriousness… thankyou. They weren’t presents but everything you did today made me feel betterand kept everyone from remembering about today, so again, thank you.”

“That’s not you falling asleep, junkie,” Andrew said, but hereached out to give Neil’s nape another gentle squeeze before pointedly closinghis eyes.

“Night, Drew.”

“Sleep.” That timethe order was followed up by a light poke to his right cheek.

Neil smiled and closed his eyes.

*******

Still working on Ghost in You ch4 and the reverse big bang fic - life is very MEH right now and insanely busy but there will be fic in the near future.