#Are Not Cheap. so! this year i won't be messing around with that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 2 years

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𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary it's a hot summer in hawkins and you're bored. plus, your best friend eddie is very distracting. it was inevitable, really, that you'd end up messing around [4.6k]

warnings smut, 18+ only please, fem!reader, p in v sex, oral both receiving, awkward giggly best friend sex <3, fluff, clueless idiots, weird stains etc, eddie being hot and soft, less awkward more giggly part 2

𓆩❤︎𓆪

The midsummer sun toasts the back of your neck as you walk through the trailer park. By the time you're knocking at Eddie's door you feel frazzled by the heat, ducking under his arm and into the shade gratefully when he swings open the door.

"Hey, babe," your best friend says, a hint of derision in his tone.

"Yeah, hi," you say.

You beeline past the couch to the fridge, kicking open the stiff freezer door for something cold to hold to your cheek. "It's, like, a thousand degrees outside," you say, garden peas soothing your sweaty forehead.

"It wasn't much better in here 'til I opened all the windows," he agrees. "If you told me you were coming I would've picked you up."

You raise your eyebrows, laughing. "Yeah, I'm never getting in that thing again."

"It wasn't that bad."

"You almost killed us-"

"I jumped a curb," he cuts you off, waving his hand at you. "You're ridiculous."

Eddie rolls his eyes at you and you roll yours harder, following him down the narrow space into his bedroom. Even the window thrown open can't hide the smell of pot and cheap beer, though you're pleased to see he's changed his sheets. You sit down carefully, worried to disturb the notebook on his bed.

"What were you upto?" you ask, lying back.

Eddie stretches. One arm behind his back and the other pushing his elbow down, a loud click echos. His shirt rides up, a snaking snail trail of dark hair exposed.

You don't shy from looking though you won't ogle him. Your best friend has always been hot in the grungey way he is, long hair and big eyes, cool clothes, tattoos and Marlboro's and everything that had ostracised him from your peers.

You'd ended up friends because you hadn't always been attractive. In fact, you'd suffered through an awkward stage for the entirety of high school, and only now two years after your graduation do you feel any type of hot or desirable. Eddie, soft-hearted, loser weirdo Eddie has never been anything but ridiculously kind to you.

You pull up your jeans where they're slipping down, tugging your shirt from your lightly perspiring chest with a dramatic huff to fan yourself.

"I was trying to make music," he says with usual bravado, throwing himself down behind the composition book. He tucks the pen between its curling pages and shoves it across the nightstand. "But it wasn't going anywhere."

"No?" you ask, moaning under your breath as you move the frozen peas to your chest.

Eddie clears his throat. "Nah. Now you're here, anyway. Like you knew I was bored to tears."

"I'm psychic," you agree.

"Major. Summer is so fucking boring," he says.

You smile at him, turning on your cheek to take in his casual attire, his grey sweatpants and his too short shirt. He's missing his rings but his chains remain, dull silver against his white skin.

"You could study," you say lightly. "You know. Actually graduate."

Eddie smiles at you sweetly. You glare at his condescension. "They're making me do the year again, therfore making me take the classes again. I don't need to study."

You want to laugh. He does need to study, he does, but you know the difficulty doesn't lie in laziness or anything, he just has a difficult time concentrating. Every year you offer to informally tutor him and every year he declines, but not this year. You're gonna get him through high school if it's the last thing you do. And it might be, with this heat.

"We are gonna study," you say sternly. "Not today, though."

"Not today," he agrees, laughing.

He crosses his arms, hands hugging his biceps as he leans towards you. You watch his actions carefully though he's not planning any mischief, only looking down at you.

"Your eyes are all smudged up," he says.

You sigh with frustration and loll your head back. "It's 'cos it's so hot. I'm gonna freshen up," you say, standing, offering him your defrosting bag of peas.

He's not looking at the peas, you realise, but your chest. You follow his gaze, watching as a cold rivulet of melted ice runs between the valley of your boobs.

You don't comment on his watching as you leave the room. You don't really care if he looks at you like that because you know he doesn't mean anything disrespectful by it, the way your eyes tend to drift to his hands, his wrists and their stark green veins. Some things are distracting.

You clean up in the bathroom, your face, your sweaty body, sniffling from the heat. You can't stay in there long.

"It's a fucking sauna in there," you say as you emerge.

Eddie has changed positions, his legs crossed with a pillow in his lap, the stereo remote in his hands. His bracelet has fallen down from his wrist, stopped at the curve of his forearm.

You look away. Distracting, you think.

He gestures at the window, wide open, curtains blowing in the breeze. "That's how hot it was when I woke up."

You settle down next to him against the wall, box springs groaning beneath you. This close you can smell his green apple shampoo.

"You're not wearing any cologne?" you ask.

He smiles smugly. "You're sniffing me."

"You smell like shampoo," you say instead of denying it.

"Showered this morning."

You gasp and cover your mouth with your hand. "No fucking way."

"Get fucked, Y/N," he says, chuckling.

Maybe it's on your mind. Maybe it's the sheer level of comfort you feel with him, you don't know, but you fall silent at his words and drop your head into his shoulder. You spend long minutes at his side, listening to his humming, wondering what you're going to do all summer. You make a questioning sound.

He pulls it out from under you and only puts it back when you don't laugh. "What?"

You look up at him and then quickly look back down.

"What does that look mean?"

You don't decide what you're going to say so much as you feel it, the words escaping you before you can think any better of it. "Do you want to have sex?"

Eddie laughs, a nervous lilt of sound that bubbles up and hurts your feelings. You pick at your nails and he leaps to ask, "What? You're serious?"

"It's fine if you don't want to."

He waits for you to say more. When you don't, he raises his eyebrows at you. "I never said that."

You decide to be cool about it, shrugging your shoulders like this is an obvious, regular suggestion. "We're both bored. I don't know. It could be fun."

"Are you sure that's something you want?"

"You're hot."

"Thank you," he says sincerely, "but what I mean is, is that something you think we can deal with? It changes our whole dynamic." His words have that similar too-casual tone, the both of you trying to be cool.

"Doesn't have to," you argue with little heat, looking up at him from his shoulder with wide eyes.

"You don't think so?" he asks. His voice is quieter now, and he's looking down at you with a heat that quickly gives you butterflies.

"No," you say under your breath. You lick your lips and say, slightly louder, "No. It can just be fun. If it sucks we'll never do it again, and you can stop wondering what my tits look like."

"I don't wonder about that," he denies quickly, guiltily, giving himself away when his eyes flick down to your chest and dart straight back up.

"So you don't want to find out?"

He bites his lip. You wait, tilting your head just slightly and giving him your best approximation of the doe eyes girls do in movies. "It's fine if you don't want to, Eddie," you say honestly.

"I do want to."

"Yeah?"

"If it's just for fun, right? What else is there to do?" He asks, shrugging his shoulders.

You grin. This is how you find yourself kneeling in the middle of his bed as Eddie pulls the curtains closed and locks his door, your eyes following the dark mess of his curls as he tucks them behind his ears, the way his arms shift as he turns the light off now the sunlight's hidden. He pauses before he turns to you, hand held to the light switch.

You start to take your shirt off. He hears the noise and spins on his heel. Warm, worn shirt in hand, you try not to show how nervous you are as your chest settles, bared in your bra alone.

Eddie blinks. You laugh nervously and he laughs back, wavering at the end of his bed.

"You're fucking pretty," he says.

"Don't lie," you say, though you know he feels like that's true, an earnestness in his voice that shoots sparks straight down to your core. You move off of your calves and squirm onto your back. "Help me take these off," you say. Before I lose my nerve.

Eddie pulls your legs towards him with surprising strength, knocking your hands away from where they're struggling with the button on your jeans. You can't help the sound you make, a hiccup of air has he undoes the button. His fingers are warm at your waist and as they drag down your hips. You arch your back so he can work them over your thighs, one socked foot pressed to his chest. You give him a smug look, as if to say, yeah, you do that.

Ever amused with you he huffs a laugh and pulls your jeans off in one big sweep, discarding them in a crumpled heap on the ground.

You're surprised at the lack of talking between you and aim to rectify it as he climbs onto the mattress and crawls up between your legs like he knows what he's doing, pulling your thighs over his.

"This is so weird," you say. "Right? This is weird."

His hands burn where they're spread over your thighs. "It's not that weird. Do you not want to anymore? We can stop."

"No, I mean. I don't know. Maybe it's 'cos you're still dressed."

"If you want me to take my clothes off, babe, you can just ask," he drawls, smirking.

You hold your breath as he pulls his shirt over his back, exposing the smooth expanse of his chest broken up by a small crop of dark hair that leads down past his naval and disappears into his sweatpants.

His chain bobs between you as he moves to hover on top of you, a great deal of space between your chests.

"Are we kissing?" he asks.

"Do you want to kiss me?" you ask him. He doesn't answer so you shake your head. "Maybe we shouldn't. It's romantic."

He laughs in a way you don't fully understand, his hands suddenly on your waist and pushing up over your ribs to the edge of your bra, a thin silken thing that contrasts your skin nicely. Your nipples are hard, peaking through the fabric. You can't find it in yourself to be embarrassed as he brings his hand up.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say, waiting, your body aflame in anticipation of his touch.

He brushes the pad of his thumb over your nipple and grins when you hiss in a breath, pulling back so he can see the entirety of your chest as he takes your breasts into his big palms and massages them gently.

"Pretty underwear," he says.

"Thank you," you say, feeling small under his gaze and his ministrations.

Eddie's eyes meet yours, burned honey brown. "Is the kissing rule extended to everywhere, or just lips?"

"Do what you want, Eds."

He does. He kisses the curve of your breast and you start to feel dizzy as his teeth appear, scratching over your skin lightly. He tugs the cup down and kisses a trail to your nipple, taking the bead of it into his mouth. You push the hair from his eyes and gasp at the sensation, a riveting strike of pleasure that warms you up from the inside out.

Eddie pulls away just as quickly and mouths kisses around the damp circle, plastering pecks over the small embeddings of his teeth.

His hands work under your back and fiddle with the clasp of your bra. You hold in a comment about his clumsy fingering though you giggle to yourself.

"What's funny?" he asks in a murmur, dropping your bra unceremoniously off the side of the bed.

"Nuthin'," you sing-song.

He doesn't believe you, hands pressing over the naked expanse of your chest with a firm pressure, messing with your boobs as he goes. He covers them with two hands and brings them together.

"Having fun?"

"Always with you," he says, saccharine sweet.

His teasing sarcasm is familiar and puts you at ease, wiggling down into his squishy bedsheets with a curious look on your face.

He gets bored pretty quickly, sitting up, hands fast as he slips his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and makes to pull them off. You throw your hand out and he stops.

"Maybe I can leave them on?" you ask.

He purses his lips, looking disappointed but accepting. "Sure, if you want to stop."

"No, I don't. Just. I don't know," you refuse to say you're shy about how you look. "Can't you just pull them to the side?"

"Sure. I don't care if you haven't shaved or anything, if that's what you're worried about."

More the general idea of your cunt on display. It feels nerve-racking. "Thanks."

He softens. "Baby, don't say thanks. We said for fun, right? Doesn't matter how we do it. I want you to enjoy yourself." He sees your knowing smile and amends, "I want for both of us to enjoy it. Keep the underwear. I can take mine off though, right?"

You grin at his cheeky tone. "Go for it, hotshot."

He turns the music up before he does, which is really the last straw. How loud does he think it's going to get? Your heart beats in your chest, fast as a mouse's as he pulls down his sweatpants and exposes his boxers.

You can see the shape of him already through the fabric.

He palms his cock and reaches for your chest, massaging one of your boobs as he does. You're sick of being touched without touching, struggling up into a sitting position. "Can I…?"

He nods, looking about as nervous as you'd felt when he pulled down your bra.

Your hand trembles imperceptibly as you take his cock into your hands, stroking its length through material. You're giggling as you do, the situation alien and tummy churning. He's both harder and softer than you expected, though you feel a certain rigidness begin to grow at your touch.

You shuffle backwards and bend at the waist, careful and gentle as you pull down his boxers. His cock springs free, crowned in a trim patch of dark, curled hair, going to kiss his shaft when Eddie pushes your shoulder.

"You don't have to," he says.

You frown quizzically. "I want to. This is half the fun, right?"

He looks a little dazed as you move in, his hand moving from your shoulder to your neck as you kiss the side of his length. He twitches in your hold.

You spit into your hand and it's embarrassing. You expect Eddie to laugh and he doesn't, something unreadable on his face when you look up. His lip between his teeth, his brows furrowed, he looks handsome and dark. You pump his cock, kissing at the shaft as you go, happy when his breathing hikes and his hands find your hair. Heat grows between your legs, the very beginning of wetness.

Eddie doesn't let you play for very long. "Fuck, maybe you shouldn't. Uh. I don't think I'll last," he adds.

You plant a last kiss to the side of his head and pull away. "Sorry."

"God, don't be," he says. You've never heard him like this. So rough.

"How do we do this? Do I just…?" you flop down on your back, smiling with teeth, nervous and embarrassed and excited, super excited.

"If that's how you like it."

Awkwardness disarmed by wanting, Eddie moves into the gap between your legs and spreads them, the flat of his palm against your cunt without any dithering. "Are you ready?"

"I don't know."

"Want me to play with you?" he asks.

You feel conflicted.

He holds his cock against the stretch of his midriff and shakes his head at you. "It's okay, princess."

Princess. "Maybe you can… can play with me as you go," you suggest hopefully, coquettish.

He rubs his thumb over the bump of your clit, peering down at your covered cunt almost assessingly. His thumb dips, fingers pulling cautiously at damp fabric until you're on show.

"Fuck," he says. "Fuck, can I touch you?" And he's already touching you but to be asked is nice, and when you nod he rubs the wet circle of your entrance with two fingertips, spreading that little bit of wetness around.

He begins to push in. Your eyes flick from his actions to his face, chest heaving as he mouths, "Fuck," and palms at his throbbing cock. "You're warm."

You flush from head to toe and squirm as he works you open, spreading and curling his digits inside you, working slickness out. You're tight with nerves but slowly, slowly relaxing.

"Can we fuck now?" you ask. You're rushing through the steps because you're nervous and Eddie can't seem to decide whether he should let you, conflict clear as day in the way he presses his lips together.

"I have lube," he says, too loud.

You choke on a laugh. "You do?"

"Yeah, just," he scrambles off of the bed and pulls a tube of gel from his bedside table. And of course he fucking does, Eddie's the same motherfucker who nails handcuffs to the wall. "You wanna try it?"

He's pulled out a condom at the same time.

"Yeah," you say, smiling enough to make your cheeks ache. Eddie's answering grin is brilliant.

He rips the condom open with his teeth and you watch as he rolls it on, enchanted, breathing shallow.

His hands rub at your thighs as he spreads your half-hidden cunt open.

"I'll go slow," he says.

You nod. He squeezes a very generous amount of lube over his cock and then thinks twice, spreading it with his fingers around the shaft and then over your entrance. It contracts with the cold. Eddie groans with his lips slammed shut and moves in closer, rubbing the head of his cock up your cunt. The first contact is overwhelming.

You reach for his forearm and grip hard.

"Okay?" he asks, pausing.

"It's a mess, right? Do you have a towel or something?"

He seems endeared by your worrying, grabbing your ankles in one hand and lifting your hips from the bed to shove his discarded shirt under your weeping slit. You feel your vision go rose coloured at his small display of strength, worse when he takes a hold of your ankles in sticky fingers and encourages them over his shoulders.

He bends over you, his chain dangling between you.

The head of his cock bumps into your entrance. He readjusts, pushing with minimal pressure. Your ass pressed to his hot thighs, your ankles to his hard shoulders, your hands searching for something to hold. Eddie twines your fingers and holds your joined hands to your hip.

"You're so fucking hot," he says, grinning saliciously. "I'm gonna fill you up, okay? Ready?"

His enthusiasm is catching, a grin turning up the corners of your lips as he presses in. He stretches you out slowly, fingers flexing around your hand and the other holding you in place as he takes shallow, quick thrusts.

Lube in play, your nerves are hardly a problem and soon the only feelings are pleasure, the dizzying, goosebump-prompting feeling of being split open around him and the warmth of being this close to him clouding you up. You're surprised at how much you want to make sounds, your fast inhales slowly turning to mewling moans. Eddie makes less noise but his enjoyment is obvious, an amorous screwing to his brows and lips.

"Fuck," he groans, the word dragging with his cock, head probing emphatically at your walls.

You gasp as he bottoms out, his pelvis flush with your cunt. "Fuck," he says again. "Baby, your pussy's s'fucking tight. How's that feel? Feel good?" Then, at your shy smile, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, Eds."

Your thighs burn as he pushes in. Attentive at your clit, Eddie works you into a steady tizzy, thrusting slow and deep and moulding, looking prettier than he has any right to look as he pushes tight circles into your swollen clit.

You can't help flashing between two minds. Oh my god, I'm fucking Eddie. And oh my god, I'm fucking Eddie. Lovely, handsome, ridiculous Eddie, best friend since middle school and fellow long-term loser, nicest boy you've ever met, and why do his eyes look so big? He's so close the tops of your thighs are brushing your abdomen. You can smell that green apple tang under sex, his skin. His chain tickles you as he closes in and you think he's going to kiss you, really truly kiss you, but his face ducks down, his nose and lips on your neck.

Anywhere but the lips, you'd agreed, and now he's kissing your neck. Scraping bites and loving, sloven mouthing. A spread of damp half moons over the column of your throat, working his way up to the sweet spot below your ear.

His hips snap into yours harder than they had been and you whimper.

"Again," you demand, arms wrapped around the cape of his back, his shoulder blades moving under your hands.

"Whatever you want, princess," he promises, the pet name bathed in ire.

Snapping again, hips rolling, pleasure made all the worse by his panting into your skin and his kisses, though they grow sparse as time stretches. You feel his hips begin to flag, his fucking sloppy. The circles on your clit become loose.

"Eddie," you whisper. His pelvis is grinding hard into yours, an aching painful pleasure as he works empathically into your spongey walls.

"How's that feel? Fucking full of me, aren't you?" he asks.

"Feels good, it-" you gasp as he pulls out and strikes in, the head of his cock going deep. You feel a rush of heat behind your eyes almost close to tears as he finds somewhere you didn't know he could find.

"What was that?" he asks, laughing, teasing. "Did you hear that sound you just made?"

One of your hands falls down his back, pulling, hoping to spur him into a crueler rhythm. "Eddie, it's so deep."

Something about your wet eyes, your pleading tone really gets him. A wave of shuddering moves over his skin and he pulls you by the shoulders into his chest, mouth at your neck muttering curses. You cry out as he hits your sweet spot again, merciless, hardly recovered from one thrust when you're suffering another. You're a wet mess of whimpering, his name and nothing else on your lips.

"I'm…" He takes a deep breath, sounding apologetic. "I'm close, babe, I'm," he cuts himself, slowing his movements.

"It's okay, it's okay." You want to say something sexy like a bombshell would but all you can do is squeeze your walls around his cock and pull his hair from his neck and whisper, "You can cum. Please."

"Shit," he moans, hands tight on your hips, rocking you against his rutting cock until he's cumming. You'd pay more than you should for the sound on tape.

His grip on your hips is bruising as he sits up. "Fuck," he says, voice coloured with good humour. You laugh at his laughing, the two of you giggling and breathing hard. He lets go of your hips, stroking his hand against the markings left behind.

"Babe, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" he asks, eyes shooting upto yours.

You're failing to hide an amorous smile, breathing hard. "No, you didn't hurt me," you say fondly.

"Shit."

He pulls your legs off of his shoulders and they ache as he folds them up, resting his chin on your knees and pulling the dampened hair away from his sweaty forehead.

"You have the mouth of a sailor, Eddie."

He rubs his cheek against your kneecap. "Can you blame me? Sweetest pussy I've ever fucking seen-"

"You've barely seen it!"

"Fucked, then," he amends.

His hands are like silk as he follows down your thighs and spreads them open. You cover the flesh of your tummy with your hands as he pulls out and tugs the condom off of his softening dick. He ties it off, aiming for the trash can in the corner and missing.

You cringe. "Eds."

"I'll get it later," he says distractedly, staring down at the wet mess of your panties. "Babe, you've seen the jewels. Can we please have these off and I'll take care of you?"

Your legs close as you slide your knee against your thigh coyly. "Care sounds like I'm sick."

"You are sick. Sick body, sick smile, sick little sounds," he teases. "Sick cunt."

You wrinkle your nose and glare at him, giggling as he pulls your legs back open and his fingers dig under your waistband again.

"Don't fucking swear," you scold.

"Please?" he asks, ignoring your admonishment.

His hands are paused and patient. Your chest rises as you inhale, falls as you let it out slowly.

"Okay. Yeah. It's only fair."

Your bravado pleases him endlessly. "Attagirl," he says, pulling your panties down until they hang off of one ankle. You wiggle your foot to make them slide past your sock, Eddie too distracted by your bare centre.

"You're a total jerk for hiding this from me," he says, the flat of his palm smoothing down the edge of your cunt, his thumb pulling your entrance open just slightly. "You think I wonder about your boobs? I fucking did, but your pussy?"

You flush white hot at his words. "Does it… meet your expectations?"

He bursts into boyish laughter between your legs until you're giggling too, the giggles quickly tapering into breathlessness as his lips touch your skin. Close-lipped kisses up the inside of your thigh until he's loving on your cunt. He rubs at your entrance before easing you open, middle and ring finger pushing in with his wrist turned up as he suckles your clit. You reach for his hair, scratching his scalp gently as you scrape messy curls from his face.

He makes up for any inaccuracy with ardency. You twitch beneath him, hips rolling in an attempt to draw him impossibly closer.

"I got you," he murmurs into your sticky skin. He nibbles lightly at your clit, pulls until it slips from between his lips. "Wanna feel you cum around my fingers."

You seize up, thighs tightening. "Eds-"

He shushes you, three quick sh sh sh's that make you wanna pinch him. His pinky and index finger slide against the wet skin between your cunt and thighs as he finger fucks you, curving into your sweet spot as his mouth works you over. You're pent up from the fuck and he knows what he's doing, and you can't help pulling his hair as you cum around his fingers, clamping down hard.

He plays a little longer but eases up when you cry out, the bottom of his face shining with dampness as he pulls away.

He wipes the mess away with the back of his hand. "You taste sweet. But that might've been the lube."

You splutter around a breathless laugh and tug him on top of you, bodies pressed together and sweaty. His weight is nice.

"That was fun, right?" he asks, hands at your neck, elbows digging into your naked chest as his face hovers above yours. If you didn't know him as well as you did you'd miss the tiny silver of worry.

"So fun. I have amazing ideas," you agree, panting.

"Amazing."

There's a gap of silence where you catch your breath and Eddie watches.

"How's the dynamic? Changed?" he asks lightly, fingers tapping over your collar like he's playing a song.

"Irrevocably."

You wrap one of his curls around your finger and indulge yourself, eye to eye, lips an inch apart.

"Do you wanna do it again?" he asks.

You pretend to think about it. "Yeah."

He gives you that perfect puppy dog smile and kisses your cheek, a wet, smacking thing as he climbs off of you and pulls you into his lap. You haven't quite decided, but you think you might let him kiss you on the mouth if he wanted to.

they get better at fucking I swear

#eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader blurb #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things

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sca-nerd · 7 months

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Make A Quick and Cheap Circle Cloak

PART 1: JUST THE CLOAK

Step 1. Invite some friends to their first ever event. Make sure it's a cold weather event so that you have to make them cloaks. Then have your Scadian friends ask if you can make them one, as well, because they can't seem to find theirs or found that it wasn't warm enough last year. You have now agreed to make four cloaks.

Step 2. Go to Walmart. Get one (or four) of the $10 fleece blankets in Full/Queen size. If you want a shorter cloak (about waist length) Twin works. But these are all tall mfer's, so I went with the bigger blanket. These blanket don't fray, so there's no need to hem. The edges WILL roll, though, so if you want them to stay flat you'll need to blanket stitch or serge the edges. Or just leave it be, because this is a quick and cheap cloak.

Please note: these ARE polyester so be careful around open flames.

Step 3. Move everything out of the way in your living room, because you don't have any other space big enough to spread this thing out to mark it for cutting. You will probably upset the dogs, but they'll get over it because they're old and still have the couch to sleep on.

Step 4. Fold your blanket in quarters. This means you fold it in half one way, then in half the other way. The material is a bit stretchy, but do your best to make sure that you have your edges matching. Do better than me.

Step 5. Find your scissors and grab either a measuring tape or a long enough piece of string, and a sharpie. Tailors chalk won't mark on this stuff so I usually just use a sharpie instead.

Step 6. Measure the shortest length of the blanket. We already know that it says it is 90x90, but that is a lie. It's actually 90x94 or something like that. Anyway. Measure the shortest length to determine the widest you can make your circle. In this case, we're at 45.

Step 7. Use your tape measure or string like a compass, and mark your cloak. You do this by anchoring one end of the tape measure at the corner of the fold, stretching it out, and marking the fabric at the appropriate length every inch or so. This will create the curve of the circle.

Ignore the fact that I marked this twice. My anchor had come loose and so I had accidentally marked it wrong for a little bit. Anyway. Do this from one edge all the way to the other. Will this be a perfect circle? No. Will anyone be able to tell? Also no.

Step 8. Connect the dots, or find your scissors and just start cutting.

Step 9. Congratulations you have a circle. Now you need a place for your head to go. You do this by measuring two inches from the corner fold, and marking it the same way you did for the body of the cloak. Yes, two inches. Don't worry - your neck WILL fit. This fabric has a lot of stretch to it, and since all of the weight will be pulling from this point it will expand to fit you comfortably. Find your scissors and cut along the dots.

Step 10. Now you have a circle with a hole in the middle of it. Well done. Find your scissors and cut it open, by following the fold from the cut in the neck to the edge of the cloak. This will give you a straight(ish) opening. Try it on and see that I was right about the neck, and you are now cozy and warm.

Step 11. Wait for your housemate to come home so that they can hand-stitch the frog (clasp) closure onto it for you, because you hate hand sewing and she does embroidery as a hobby. Congrats, you have a circle cloak.

PART 2: BUT I WANT A HOOD!

Step 1. Grab that piece you cut off when you made the circle on your blanket. We're gonna turn that into a hood. You only need two matching pieces, but the good news is that you have four. So if you mess up, you still have material to work with.

Step 2. Mark a straight line of 8 inches. This will be the bottom of the hood to connect to the neck of the cloak. Find your scissors and cut it.

Step 3. Find your scissors and cut off the other tail end, making it as deep as you would like your hood to be. Or leave the tail and have a liripipe hood, you do you.

Step 4. Sew up the back and top of the hood. Leave the bottom and face open.

Step 5. Try it on to see if you need to use your back up pieces to make a new hood or not.

That'll do, pig.

Step 6. Pin your hood to the neck of the cloak, and discover that I was right when I said that 2 inches was enough for your neckline.

Step 7. Attach them together. You can do a straight stitch, but I prefer to do a zig-zig, only because there IS a lot of pull on that particular area of the cloak and I like the idea of reinforcement.

Step 8. Try it on. Be warm. Enjoy.

PART 3: GETTING BOUGIE WITH IT

Step 1. Realize that you have made four cloaks out of the same colored blankets because Walmart didn't have any other colors available, and while this isn't necessarily a problem, all four cloaks will be in the same camp and you don't want them to get mixed up or confused for each other.

Step 2. Go find some trim that you have had for years and haven't used up because there's so much of it, or run to the thrift store and see what you can find for cheap. Attach it to the front edge of the cloaks and stitch it down.

Note: you will want to attach trim BEFORE you put your frog on.

Step 3. Silently curse yourself for using wide trim that means you will have to stitch down both sides of it, rather than narrow trim that would only require a zig-zag stitch once down the center.

Step 4. Enjoy.

#mysca #society for creative anachronism #sca #garb #cloak #circle cloak #tutorial #cloak tutorial #cheap cloak #blanket cloak #circle cloak tutorial #garb tutorial #sca on a budget

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moderator-monnie · 11 days

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Artwork Made by @sonicexelle-junkary / @weirdozjunkary as a commission.

Sonic the hedgehog has been dead over over 200 years, however decedents of his friends still exist and live out their normal lives.

Including the descendent of his little buddy Miles 'Tails' Prower named Techie Kaboom, a bat eared fox who has had a few accidents in his mechanic shop.

Sonic might be long gone, but his face, his story, and his image still exists in the far off future and often is used to advertise products in stores using holograms.

And one day, one of these holograms becomes sentient and for some reason think's it's the real Sonic, the one true Sonic and rewrites it's own code to give itself freedom.

But it can't move on it's own, no he can't and as luck would have it Techie was passing by the store this hologram found himself at, and with a silver tongue was able to convince Techie he was the real Sonic and he needed help.

Techie of course due to his ancestor loved Sonic, hearing nothing but good things about him throughout the generations decided to trust in him, he was his hero after all and Sonic wouldn't hurt him right?

Techie sneakfully took the holograms admitter and stuck it into his backpack, and the two managed to get out of the mall without much of a fuss and all seemed great at first Techie and Hologram as he nicknamed himself would talk and work together.

But this was all a ruse careful planning and manipulation done by the holographic hedgehog and one day an 'accident' happened in the mechanics building one that required Techie to get a heart transplant.

And once the surgery was complete and the pair was alone again, Hologram would admit his true colors in his own word's he would tell him his thoughts.

"I am the real Sonic, I can feel it, you can feel it... BUT your not Tails, your not my little buddy in the slightest however you can be! And thanks to your new heart I can help teach you."

"You see... I hate what has been done to my image, look at what they've done to me, they are treating a hero and his friends like cheap things to advertise their stores, and I won't stand for it anymore."

"We're gonna make them pay and hey 'pal' if you want us to bring a new legacy to the names of Sonic and Tails... You'll do as your told, unless you want to suffer the consequences."

Hologram had full control over Techie's eye, his arm and now his new heart he could kill the fox anytime he wanted now, and he would provide an example of that by shutting of Techies heart for about 10 seconds before restarting it.

And out of mostly fear but also a weird sense of loyalty to Sonic and the image of him he had always known about, Techie agrees to help him, Sonic wouldn't hurt him unless it was absolutely necessary right? So if He got hurt it would be because he messed up, at least thats what Techie had going thru his head.

Sonic was a hero, and if he did something it was for the greater good, this was Sonic it had to be, and he'd do what it takes to make him and his ancestor proud of him.

This is an Au about this story, as Techie Kaboom and Hologram Sonic bringing destruction in their wake, but not all familiar faces are gone, Silver The Hedgehog is around and protects his future from the threat of the pair.

But will Silver be able to protect the future? or will it all be brought down by one Hologram and his 'best buddy' only time will tell in the Hologram.Bin Au.

This au has technically existed since march of last year, but I'm glad to be able to finally share it all with you, and eventually write stories for it and show you what is in store for our antagonists and protagonist.

#Sonic The Hedgehog #Sonic AU #Sonic The Hedgehog AU #Sonic.Exe #Sonic.Exe AU #Sonic.Exe oc #Hologram Sonic #Hologram.Bin AU #Techie Kaboom #Silver The Hedgehog #Introduction post #Commissions #Weirdozjunkary #Sonicexelle-junkary #reblogs are appreciated #new au!#I'm very excited!

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dovithedarklord · 5 months

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Age of Monsters

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Summary:

50 years ago, the world was turned upside down by the appearance of a virus, and monsters destroyed most of the known civilization. For safety, humanity has retreated to colonies all around the world, where life is lived according to strict rules and in fear of monsters. Fortunately, the virus caused something other than just the emergence of mutant monsters, it also awakened the Hunters, who have been heroically protecting the colonies ever since. Leona Woods spends her days in Colony 17 hiding from her duties as a Healer, but her carefree life soon ends when one of her evenings doesn't go as planned. And when karma finally catches up, she is forced to join Liquidation Unit 141 to fulfill her duties.

Life in Unit 141 isn't nearly all sunshine and rainbows, especially when a certain masked Hunter tries to make it even harder. However, the excitement only increases when a new danger appears, which threatens not only the life of the unit but the safety of the entire world. And Leona must decide whether to choose her own interests or the survival of her new team and the world.

The world in the story is inspired by the Guideverse.

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Authors note:

Leona ends up in a nice mess after eating her dinner too carelessly. She has no idea how quickly fate will catch up with her.

The story moves quite slowly, so please be patient! 141 boys won't appear in the first chapter just yet, but they will;) I have pretty much covered all the characters in the tags, but the list could expand in the future. (I proofread myself before posting, so sorry if there are mistakes! I write the story in my language first, and I translate it after. English is not my first language, so help is welcomed! Just be nice, please! )

I'll post more chapters, but if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter One

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I lazily stir my cocktail with the small wooden stick in it, as an absentminded distraction, my eyes run through the room enveloped in a flood of colorful, flashing lights. The bass of the music vibrates through my every muscle and bone, and I can almost feel the rhythm in my stomach, sending pleasant shivers through me. This is the thrill of the hunt, to be exact.

The people crammed into the small hall are pressed together like herrings, and the air smells of sweat, cheap perfume, and alcohol. My gaze wanders through the blissfully ignorant dancers from the force of habit, since I've done this a thousand times, I know exactly what I'm looking for. I’m searching for an exact type, a fool who seems lively enough to have just enough energy for a busy weeknight fun, and just as easily swayed by a seductive smile. I'm lucky because it seems like everyone wants to celebrate today, and that might be the reason behind today’s unusual crowd in this club, which is located in a hidden corner of the city. Usually, I would have to choose from a much smaller selection, but today on The Day of the Great Escape, everyone felt the need to paint the town red. Even if someone doesn’t give a damn about the important holiday, this day is still one of the few occasions when even those doing the most menial jobs are given a day off to be able to honor the memory of the first great Hunters who appeared fifty years ago. What an idiotic habit. If they knew the easy lives of those publicly funded mercenaries and executioners… they wouldn't be so grateful that they occasionally venture outside the green zone to kill a mutant monster or two.

Raising my glass to my mouth, I take a generous sip of my sweet cocktail and enjoy the way the alcohol sold at the price of gold pleasantly burns my throat. Like any other luxury item, alcohol is also a treasure, of course, only if you don't want to go blind from the crap concocted at someone’s shady basement. I feel my frustration awaken in the back of my head when I think about the near fortune I spent on the cocktail, but I push the annoying thought away, thinking that in worst case scenario I will not only get my usual snack from tonight's victim, but also the content of their wallet. If I'm lucky, the unfortunate bastard will have a few credits on them. Almost on cue, I catch a glimpse of a guy on the edge of the dance floor who stands out from the ring of people around him like a scarecrow on a cornfield. Judging by his movements, he's not the least bit thirsty, and as I watch him almost tripping over his own feet during his clumsy dance moves, a satisfied grin crosses my lips. Got you.

I down the last remnants of my nauseating drink, and I jump off the bar stool with light movements and throw myself into the crowd of dancers. I make my way toward the cutie I've chosen, not taking my eyes off of him for even a moment, and I feel my heart beating excitedly as I get closer and closer. As the adrenaline spreads through my body, all my senses sharpen, like a wild animal waiting to pounce on its victim. Tonight I'm bubbling with anticipation and impatience more than usual because it's been a week and a half since I caught the last sweet little boy for some private fun… and my appetite is coming back fast. With dull, but steady force.

As I finally arrive behind the boy, my fingers twine on his arms with a butterfly-light touch and travel sensually up to his shoulders. Despite his apparent drunkenness, the guy visibly flinches in fright, and this one tiny movement makes my mouth dry with anticipation. He looks puzzled and surprised as he turns towards me, and as he glances down at me, all my nerves and senses are attuned to him. And as the inviting warmth of his body travels from his hot skin through my fingertips, I can already see the intricate network that weaves through his body in my mind's eye, with his pulsing heart in the middle beating to a fierce rhythm. I don't need to use my ability to know that I don’t have to try hard, because as soon as the first shock wears off in a fraction of a second, he arranges his features on his sweet boyish face and pulls his mouth into a lazy grin. Bingo.

"Hi. " I shout over the music blaring around us, and I conjure up the flirtatious smile that I have perfected over the years, which I know will immediately sweep such simple-minded fools off their feet. Obviously, it also helps a lot that even if the higher powers that supposedly exist have already cursed me with my fucking abilities, they at least put conventionally attractive features on me. It would be foolish to deny that I am charming, and I am neither modest nor delusional enough to try to lie to myself about it. It would certainly be a more attractive quality to blush and protest against such facts in order to score good points in the eyes of other people, but if there is one thing I have learned it is that in this new order, you won’t get far with modesty and goodness. That fair world has been gone since the first mutant monsters slaughtered an entire city, or maybe it never even existed.

"Hello... " The guy greets me too, and as he turns towards me welcomingly, ready to flirt, my hands clasp around his neck with a swift movement, and I snuggle up to him with my whole body, promising salacious adventures. It doesn't escape my attention how his pupils dilate almost on command, as my breasts press against his chest and my nails run through the back of his neck teasingly. I can almost feel it in my mouth how the heat of his desire starts to build and a tingle fueled by lust travels through him. It's ridiculously easy for me to turn him on, but he’s exactly the type of easy target I usually hunt for. He's just drunk enough to not be able to think clearly but be up for action when a pretty girl approaches him. He's just healthy enough to withstand my snacking but weak enough to not be able to resist. Not that he'd stand a chance against me.

I’m not wasting time on talking anymore, because I can tell from his heated gaze and his fast-beating heart that I could climb on him even here if I wanted to. But I was always shy when it came to my private life. I like it better when we enjoy these intimate moments together without any pesky interruptions.

I remove the presence of my naughty little body from the guy, and as his dark eyes fill with disappointment, I hold back the laughter that threatens to burst out of me with all my might. I grab him by the arm, and I just give him a teasing smile over my shoulder as I point towards to the exit with my head, and his quick to understand what I’m implying. He follows me without a question as I lead him out of the dance floor with purposeful steps towards the back entrance of the club. He stumbles along like the fool he is, with a distinct look of puppy-like longing spread on his face. And I send tiny sparks of my energy into his body through his skin, which boosts the already present alcoholic stupor in him even more, because I never leave anything up for luck. We should look like just a simple, carefree young couple who after finding each other in the heat of the night, are heading somewhere, anywhere, to relieve their needs. Which is true. But I suspect that this little cutie and I are not thinking about the same needs as we are galloping towards the exit.

And as the back door opens and the cool fresh air of the night hits me, the all too known impatience that usually comes at this time takes over me. I've been feeling that painful tension in my stomach for days now, which indicates that I can't wait any longer and I have to find someone to help my little problem. I hate the feeling when I squirm in bed with a heated body, trying to fall asleep, but every part of me aches and pleads for me to just finally satisfy my hunger.

As the guy finally exits the club behind me the door closes behind us with a loud bang. The dim light filtering in from the street only vaguely paints his features, but I can make out enough to know that by now my machinations got him ready for the finale. I don't like what I am, but I love my abilities. If the members of my species weren’t treated like objects or animals for slaughter, I wouldn't be frustrated by all of this shit.

I drag the now completely dazed guy towards one of the corners filled with cardboard boxes, forcing him to back up against the hard concrete, trapping him with my arms over his shoulders. The sight could look quite comical, a girl who is at least half a head shorter, pinning a grown man to the wall with a gesture taken from a romantic movie, but I know that out of the two of us, I am not the prey. But he is.

"I like girls who take initiative. " He says, his words smeared by alcohol and from my little tricks echo in the darkness of the alley. I pull a lazy little smile on my face as I kneel down in front of him, and I’m quick to unfasten his belt and unbutton his pants with my hands. I can almost hear how the air catches in his throat, and when I look up at him and see the stunned look that blooms on his face, I release my laughter. My God. It gets me every time.

"Then it's your lucky day. " I answer, and I feel my voice deepen and get filled with the longing caused by my hunger. He swallows his Adam's apple bobbing as my hands start to pull down the rough fabric of his pants from his narrow hips with excruciating slowness. Goosebumps rise on his skin when I grip the lean muscles of his thighs and I involuntarily lick my lips as the pulsating veins appear before my eyes. I nudge his legs apart and he obediently spreads them wider, and I lean forward to smooth my lips on his now-exposed skin. A shiver runs through him as I follow the line of blood vessels branching under his skin with my tongue, and I mark the place where I plan to eat my meal with a small seductive kiss. I give him another boost with my energy so that he gets even more stunned, and he tilts his head back with his eyes closed, his breathing speeds up desperately, and all the while he doesn't even notice how I make a small incision on his thigh with the small blade I dug out of my pocket. The first drops of blood emerge from under the pale skin, and I, like a thirsty pilgrim left in the desert, throw myself on the small pearls that surface. I press my mouth tightly to the wound, and my teeth tingle painfully as I swallow the first sips, but I know, that even if a stupid bastard like him would discover a bite mark, he could easily put the pieces together and get me caught. So I’m momentarily satisfied with the way the metallic taste of blood fills my taste buds, and my whole body trembles as the familiar heat sweeps along my spine. I sigh with relief, as the hunger gnawing at my insides begins to ease, and the torturous feeling that has been twisting my stomach for days is replaced by the euphoria, which is hard to put into words, that rears its head in my body with each meal. My energy begins to throb excitedly in my veins, and my head is taken over by a daze similar to alcoholic intoxication, which makes my limbs quite light and weightless. Despite this, my fingers grip the thighs of my victim even harder, who stiffens under my hands, groaning in confusion. It must not be a pleasant feeling, but none of them have died yet from the tiny little blood loss I caused. The next day, they are as good as new, and they easily mistake the minute sickness that I cause for the evil aftereffect of a hangover. After all, who doesn't feel like shit after drinking through the night before?

I get lost in my meal, and the intoxicating taste of blood obscures my senses and leads me to a fleeting state of ecstasy, and I know that it is almost time to stop because there is a level of blood loss that can’t be attributed to the fatigue of a hangover. However, before the thought can ripen in my foggy mind, searing pain shoots through my scalp, and I hiss as the unknown force grabs my hair and pulls me away from the subject of my feast. My brain can't get out of its stupor right away, so it is not particularly difficult for me to lose my balance. I arrive on the damp concrete of the alley with a loud thump, and I blink wide-eyed at my assailant from the sudden surprise. The unknown man walks over to the guy slumped on the floor with a worried look, who just as all my victims do, passed out after my little dinner.

"Roy! Roy!" Tries the stranger as he talks to the knocked-out guy, and I pull myself up to my feet. I wipe my mouth glistening with blood with the back of my hand as I watch the potential friend of my dinner trying to breathe some life into the poor kid. When he doesn't succeed, he turns towards me and steps in front of me menacingly, grabbing the collar of my sweater. "What the fuck did you do to him, you bitch?"

"We played a little." I declare easily, and as my eyes focus on the boy sprawled out on the dirty ground, an evil little grin curls on my lips. "And it seems I literally blew his mind with my professional technique."

"Don’t fuck with me! " The guy snarls at me dangerously and shakes me by my clothes, which makes my funny mood disappear almost immediately. Based on how his face gets contorted in anger, it becomes clear that my lip service won’t get me out of this situation, and I'm cursing to myself as I assess the possibilities. Although there are no cameras in this alley, I can guarantee that this bastard will be able to give an accurate description of me if I just let him slip out of here. If I don't do something now, he's going to call the enforcers, which is a literal death sentence for me. Because, even if I lie that I indulged in little more perverted pleasures than necessary, they will immediately suspect that something is wrong. And if they find out what I am... that can't happen.

But before I could create a concrete plan in my mind, the guy loses his patience and raises his hand, preparing to put some sense in me. However, before he could hit me, I target his knee with a firm kick causing it to dislocate with a loud crack, and as he loses his balance, his grip on my clothes loosens too. The roar that erupts from the guy is muffled by my hand fast on his mouth, and taking advantage of the situation, I throw myself at him and knock him off his feet. His head hits the ground with a sickening sound, but that’s not nearly enough to make him unable to attack. It seems that the adrenaline is starting to work in him too, because his hands suddenly slam down on my neck and wrap around it with a vise-like grip. A stifled cough breaks out of me as the pressure of his fingers slowly squeezes my trachea, and then it becomes completely clear what I have to do to get out of the hot water I got myself into.

I press my hands firmly on his head and, while struggling with shortness of breath, I concentrate the energy bubbling in me towards the man. Tears well up in my eyes from the effort, but I can still feel the blood vessels in his brain, and I clench my teeth as I begin to increase the pressure in them. I almost see the image of the tiny, spider web-like system swelling up and getting dangerously close to bursting like an overinflated balloon. The man's grip around my neck loosens, he grabs my wrists now and tries to pry my hands off of him, but he has no chance. Pure desperation takes over his features, his eyes widen and his body begins to jerk wildly underneath me, but that doesn't deter me from finishing what I started. Because if I show even an ounce of mercy, I'll get the short end of the stick. If I don't kill him, I'll be exposed and dragged off to be used like fucking battery for the rest of my life. I’ll lose everything I have, but most of all, my freedom. If I don't end it now, I'll suffer the same fate as the other Healers and I’ll be used by some Hunter until I die. I can't let that happen. I WON’T let it happen.

Rage and anger fill my consciousness, and suddenly a red mist swallows everything in my sight, which makes me focus only on the suffering of the man below me fighting for his life. My fingers claw into his skin, and for a moment the thought runs through my mind about how it would feel to crack his skull and see his bones break under my grip. A painful snoring sound leaves the man's mouth, his mouth fills with bloody foam, red liquid begins to flow from the corner of his eyes drawing vivid lines on his deathly pale skin, and I tensely observe his death throe. A few minutes stretch into an eternity as I watch the last sparks of life disappear from his eyes, and the vague emptiness of death takes their place. Suddenly the man freezes, his limbs going limp under me in surrender, and as a last soft gurgling moan leaves his lips, I know it's over. The frantic rush of his blood ceases under my fingers, and his heart, which until now was hammering restlessly under his ribs, is now silent.

I kneel over the dead body below me panting, and I pause for a moment to look at my "creation". I'm not surprised that I don't feel any remorse, because I left the guilt and shame behind me a long time ago, in that dark little corner of my mind, where there might still be a drop of tenderness left. I can still vaguely remember the panic that came over me the first time I accidentally killed someone. I will never forget the young guy’s face, the freckles dotting his nose, which shone almost sickeningly dark on his skin pale from blood loss. The frightened whimper that left those lips that slowly turned blue forever embedded itself in the tangled webs of my memory. But everyone else who stood in my way looms as vague, unrecognizable spots in the depths of my brain, and it doesn't bother me one bit. A normal person might be affected by so many lives lost in vain, but I learned a long time ago that these are all luxuries that the likes of me cannot afford. That's why I still feel nothing but pure frustration and anger for making such a simple mistake. I didn't pay attention to the friends. You should never target a victim with friends, because after a while they always show up worried. It's understandable, of course, but it's just an unnecessary problem for me.

A strained sigh leaves my lips as I stand up, dusting off my clothes, and I step over the body lying motionless on the ground. My night didn't turn out exactly as I wanted, and as a sharp, migraine-like pain rips through my head, I'm already sure that my dinner tonight was wasted. Small snacks like this are just enough to satiate my hunger, but not enough to pump me up enough to stop me from being cranky after using my powers to such an extent. I should have eaten a lot more for this. Fuck. In a few days, I'll be able to play this whole little charade again to find a fool to drink from. And I can throw away a bunch of credits again to go to one of the clubs and have an alibi drink.

I pull the corner of my mouth in distaste as I remember the poor state of my wallet, and if possible my mood becomes even more gloomy as I realize that unfortunately robbing my victims will not be an option tonight. That way, if I'm lucky, enforcers will see this as nothing more than a tragic consequence of a night out where one of the unfortunate dudes had fun with the wrong stuff, and the other drank just a little bit too much. But if I take their credits now, then robbery and murder will also enter the picture, which would be true, but I have no need for any unnecessary excitement.

So I take one last look at the two guys, straightening my sweater, and I head towards the exit of the alley to enter the street swimming in flickering lights, making my way home. Every muscle in my body screams for sleep, and as the knife-like pain in my head increases, I want nothing more than to rest and forget this miserable night.

⃰

My fingers drum nervously on the table, adding a fast and restless rhythm to the background noise of the machines humming softly in the lab, the whole thing resulting in a symphony that slowly drives me crazy. My eyes are fixed on the radio lying on the counter next to me, and although now the monotonous female voice from the other side is talking about general news affecting the entire colony, I still keep replaying a scrap of information that barely reached two minutes over and over again, as if an old and broke record player had stuck in my head, on which the needle keeps jumping on the same tune.

The previous night, I threw myself into bed with the firm belief that everything was fine and that I had no reason to worry about anyone paying enough attention to the deaths of two insignificant civilians in a party district. One would think that the enforcers have their hands full with monitoring smugglers and petty criminals selling illegal drugs, or supervising food distribution units, but no. Of course, in a city where it is common for someone to disappear or die, where the law-keeping organizations are struggling with a shortage of people, the biggest news is that two random young dudes were found in an alley under questionable circumstances. Out of thousands of similar cases, the wretched news providers just had to pick this one, which was described exactly as desperate and terrifying as it should be to get some clout. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. Similar atrocities happen daily, it's enough if someone doesn't buy from a good dealer and stuffs themself with goods made from all kinds of crap in a basement. Or it's enough if someone has more food stamps than the others, and if someone feels even a tad bit jealous of this, then the unlucky fool will be found on the street the next day knocked out because of those few pieces of paper. And I make one mistake and these hyenas immediately feel the need to overanalyze it under a magnifying glass.

A thousand thoughts run through my head, and in every one of them, I try to figure out why the officials believe that this case is different from the others they encountered until now. Why did the interviewed spokesman emphasize the fact that this case shows such an unusual pattern that they are forced to carry out a thorough investigation? I can theorize a thousand possible mistakes, and I could find a solution to all of them almost immediately, but the doubt that crawls into my brain just can’t seem to leave and I can’t help but feel that this time I really was careless.

There were no cameras in the alley, nor in that shithole of a club, so there was nothing that could have recorded my face. Due to the holiday, there were too many people in the club to give a good personal description of any of us. And my dinner last night was far too drunk and dazed to remember anything substantial about me. They won’t go far with the information that a pretty little girl dragged him away. There are thousands of cases like that in this cursed city. They could have found my DNA or my fingerprints on one of the bodies, and they can find me based on that, but I can bluff that I just wanted a nice little threesome with the guys, and when they offered me some weird substance, I walked away. There is no way to prove that this is the case, nor is there any evidence to the contrary. And they can't bring me in without solid proof. And anyway. Who would believe that a short, weak young woman could knock out two grown men?

Almost instinctively, my tongue wanders to the line of my teeth, and as it runs along the plastic, I clench my fists nervously. They can't possibly suspect anything about who I am. There's no way in hell they'll find out I'm an Extreme. They won't test DNA because it's an expensive procedure, and they won't do any further research for a simple murder case where NOTHING points to an Extreme. They won’t be able to reveal my identity, even if they end up linking me to the case somehow.

I have been hiding my identity since I was thirteen years old, and no one has a chance to see through my disguise, which I have perfected over the years. Although an Extreme would be easy to recognize, because who the hell wouldn't be able to see when a person has vertical pupils and razor-sharp canines? But I have this under control. Cheap contact lenses, and even cheaper removable veneers, and the problem is solved. And the scent of my energy could only be smelled by a professional, high-ranking Hunter, especially what is left of it now. Everything seems ideal, the realistic part of me knows that the chances of me being exposed are small, but the stress hormones working inside me plant the doubt that small enough is still not zero. It will never be zero.

The sudden window that pops up on the computer screen jolts me out of my thoughts, which were moving strongly towards gloomy suspicion and tense fixation, and for the first time in my life, I turn quickly toward a finished result. It's not like I'm careless in my work, after all, to maintain a normal life, you have to be thorough and a good worker bee. But suddenly anything seems like a good distraction, and I honestly thank the fact that I still have six hours of work left, because it may distract me from the chaos raging in my head.

I take one last anxious glance at the radio, which is already playing some melodious song by an unknown band, and then I turn to my computer instead. I don't have to worry. Like all sensations, this will pass in no time. Everything will be fine. Nothing will happen. NOTHING.

⃰

But when I get home a few days later, two strange men are waiting in front of the door of my small apartment, and I already know that nothing will be fine. I quickly assess the two figures, and it immediately becomes obvious that although they are not wearing uniforms, they are clearly enforcers. They turn their heads towards me in unison, and the neon light of the lamp on the ceiling paints the dark expression gliding across their faces in an eery glow. Only two words flash in my mind; They know.

Still, I force a mask of honest surprise on myself, and as I move towards them with slow and deliberate steps, I try to take on the role of a meek, defenseless, and more importantly naive young woman with every movement. It's ridiculously easy because I've been forced to play it all my life, but now I'm analyzing almost every fiber of myself with tense attention, as the two men silently size me up.

"Leona Woods?" Says one of the enforcers, and his hoarse voice echoes hauntingly off the dirty walls. "We hoped we were in the right place."

At first glance, it may seem like the situation about to unfold is completely harmless, but as the taller man pulls his hands out of his pockets, but it does not escape my attention how a metallic glint appears for a fleeting moment under his jacket. They came with weapons, and from that, I can immediately conclude that they did not show up for a simple chit-chat. They won’t be playing a pleasant game of question-and-answer with me as witnesses, but as a suspect, and the recognition creates an unpleasant pressure in my stomach. Calm down. Take it easy. They may be suspicious, but they don't have anything in their hands.

"What can I help you with?" I ask innocently, and I mix just enough incomprehension into my voice to make my little play look authentic. I arrive in front of them with a faint little smile on my lips, every cell radiating I am indeed just a simple civilian. Someone who may have been involved in a very sad misunderstanding, but is in no way capable of killing or even injuring someone.

"We’d like to ask you a few questions." Says one of the men, and as he flashes his official ID card, my eyebrows rise in feigned surprise. "If possible, we'd rather not talk to you here. Could you let us in?" My new guest points towards my front door with his head, and I fish out my keys from my bag accompanied by a cooperative nod. I concentrate on keeping my fingers from shaking with every fiber of my being, as I insert the key into the lock because nothing would give me away faster than them seeing me upset. And it's a difficult task, because with every second the tension raging inside me increases.

"After you." I open the door, and as soon as I turn on the light, the two men march into my small apartment after a quiet "thank you". I hesitate for a minute, but finally, the door closes behind me with a soft click, and after slowly kicking off my shoes, I follow the two enforcers into my modest little living room. The faces of the two strangers do not reveal anything, as they peer into the living room and take a quick, but rather detailed look at the room. And I follow their every movement, like a startled stray dog surrounded by dogcatchers. What an apt analogy.

"Take a seat." I gesture towards the thousand-year-old sofa in the middle of the room, and after giving one last look at the furniture of my modest apartment in search of some kind of clue, they silently take the seat offered to them. I follow their example with measured calmness, and I try to sit down in the armchair opposite them as carelessly as possible, smoothing out the creases in my pants with my hands, so that at least I can reduce the growing restlessness inside me. "What did you want to ask me about? " I ask with sincere curiosity, and I consciously try to banish any doubt, anger, or malice from my voice. It is quite obvious that these two men are not simple enforcement officers, because they behaved like two hounds on a hot scent just waiting for the opportunity to pounce from the get-go.

"Three days ago, two men were found in one of the nightclubs in sector H. Thankfully, one of them only lost consciousness, but unfortunately the other victim was already dead by the time they were found." Begins one of the enforcers, who seems to be the older of the two with his graying hair and crow's feet around his eyes. "We have reason to assume that you might be able to provide us with useful information." He states pointedly, and before I can even think about opening my mouth to speak, his companion pulls out a couple of black and white pictures from his jacket’s pocket.

My gaze lingers on the older man for a moment, so it doesn't become clear to them that I want to look at those pictures so much that every muscle in me goes rigid with desperation. And when I finally turn my eyes to the photos resting on the table, I feel my blood run cold. Until now, I was sure that there is no chance of them connecting me to the case, but even I don't have any ridiculous objections to the way I recognize myself in those goddamn pictures. While there may not have been a security camera in the alley, I must have forgotten that the fucking motel across the street must have one installed for the safety of its clients. And this camera isn't the kind that captures people as blurry, smudged blobs. No, this fucking camera recorded me pulling my pretty little ass out of that dark hole in such sharp detail that it occurs to me for a moment that this coincidence could only have happened in my honor.

"I was there on that night." I confirm the facts shown in the prints, it would be completely unnecessary to deny what is in the photos lying on the worn surface of the table because it's clear as day that I’m the one unlucky idiot on them. "But I'm afraid I can't help you with anything more." I smile faintly, just enough to not seem obviously unfriendly, despite the fact that a burning lump is forming in my throat and the gears in my head are immediately starting to turn, wondering what chances I have to get out of the shit in which I seem to be sinking up to my neck.

"I'm not so sure about that, unfortunately. " Answers the older enforcer, and fishes out his communicator from the pocket inside of his jacket, on which a very interesting hologram image appears after he presses a few buttons. I recognize almost immediately what is written on the investigation document, and I have to hold back the small disgusting smile that wishes to appear on my face with all my might. As I expected, they apparently found my DNA on one of the victims, and thanks to that the lab result which proves the sample found matches my DNA is staring at me in a faint blue light. Calm down, you expected this.

"I met a handsome boy that night, but flirting and having sex is hardly illegal." I remark innocently, and as my eyes fall on the two men, I allow a small, light superiority to creep onto my face. But as the man flicks the hologram lightly with his finger, all my joy disappears like a speck of dust in the wind and is replaced by shock, and I can no longer control my face where genuine terror settles in.

"It isn't, indeed. But hiding a Healer, or rather an Extreme Healer status, and killing people are." The enforcer gets to the point, and his eyebrows furrow grimly on his forehead, as his gaze wanders meaningfully from the hologram to me. A nerve-racking silence settles in the room for a moment, as I try to comprehend the data presented to me, and every brain cell fights against the denial of reality. Because the inscription "Status: EXTREME" appearing in all capital letters on the last page of the lab result cannot be a figment of the imagination. Because all of this would have to be a nightmare, and this situation is clearly real, because my pulse pounding in my ears, the gnawing, visceral dread creeping into my stomach can't just be the work of a dream. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come with us to the headquarters."

This one sentence is enough to make the future immediately appear in my head. They’ll drag me, brand me, and put me on the market like a horse so that whoever is the fastest can take me. I will join some unit with Hunters, and every single day I will charge and heal a different stupid bastard each time until one day I inevitably become useless and they get rid of me. And then, if I'm lucky, I won't vegetate as a houseplant in a research institute, but maybe someone will take me in and turn me into a whore. This is the fate that awaits most Healers, and I am not so delusional as to believe that I will be lucky enough to be one of those rare cases where the Hunter will not treat me like an object. Especially as an Extreme. I'll be the real gourmet meal. They will be able to use me for a long time. If they don't take away my blood supply, like the opportunity to recharge from ordinary Healers, they will be able to leech off me for years and decades. No fucking way.

As if I had suddenly found enlightenment, the fear of death disappears from my face with disturbing speed, and I nod with a careful movement. Standing up, I obediently walk toward them, raising my hands in front of me, and it doesn't escape my attention as their eyes glide over my figure cautiously. It doesn't matter that they are suspicious, they are not prepared for what comes next.

The older man orders his companion with just a silent gesture, and I patiently wait for the guy to stand up and step in front of me with the handcuffs unfastened from his belt. But before my new trendy bracelet could snap on me, I grab the man's arm emerging from under his jacket and send a significant amount of energy into his body, causing him to suddenly sprawl on the carpet with widened eyes and a loud thump. It takes the other enforcer a moment to realize what's happening, but he reaches for his gun too late, because I'm already there in front of him, and my nails are digging into his skin with force as I press my palm into his face, causing his head to drop back, and his body to fall on the cream-colored fabric of the sofa unconsciously.

I don't waste any time, I tear open the door of my apartment and I bolt out almost immediately in desperation. I run along the corridor with the agility of a chased wild animal, and when I reach the staircase, I take the steps two at a time. There's only one thing in my head, that I don't care how, but I'm going to escape from here because there's no way I let myself get caught. I'll break out of this fucking city myself if I have to, and wind my way through the monster-infested red zone until I get to the nearest colony. They won't catch me. NEVER.

The small shards of glass scattered on the pavement sink painfully into my bare feet, as I throw myself onto the street and continue running without any consideration. The pain appears only as a distant, dull pang in the hidden corner of my brain, because now even I have bigger problems at hand than how much damage I'm doing to my leg. The biting night air burns my lungs as I sprint breathlessly through the unusually desolate neighborhood, but I don't waste precious energy trying to figure out why the street is so empty on a weekday evening.

And I don't even have time to think about this any longer, because before I can turn into the side street behind one of the blocks, a sharp, shooting pain rips through my back, and whatever hit me, the force of the impact is enough to make me stagger with a startled squeal, and I fall to the ground like a rag doll. My hands ache excruciatingly as they get stuck under me in an attempt to cushion my landing, and my nose is hit by the familiar smell of blood as the concrete scrapes the skin from my palms. Despite the burning sensation, the narrow object sticking out of my back worries me more as I touch it. It dawns on me that it might be some kind of tranquilizer dart, but by the time I can congratulate myself on my foresight, I can already feel my limbs turning heavy like stones. The image of the street swimming in colorful lights blurs in front of my eyes, and no matter how hard I struggle, I can only whimper softly, as I try to fight with my last strength against the temptation of the darkness that falls on me.

"Forgive me, sweetheart. But you're not goin’ anywhere from here." Someone speaks up not far from me, but I hear the voice muffled as if my head has been submerged under water, and it only travels to my ears as dull and distorted fragments. Halfway to losing consciousness, I catch the sight of booted feet swimming into my field of vision. I want to come up with some kind of witty remark, but before even a sound can leave my mouth, the darkness engulfs me. Fuck.

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local-void-creature-izzy · 2 months

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The Crazed Captain and his Insane Deity

This is a Sonadow Pirate AU that came to be after watching Sonic Prime, so I will be using the characters of No Place to help flesh it out.

Dread and his crew are looking for a challenge, one of his crewmates sees a wanted poster in the town they are currently staying in and asks Dread about it, if this is a good challenge. Dread grabbing the poster, thinking there's no harm in seeing what they found, only for Dread to rip the wanted poster and tells his crew that: "That...beast is not one to mess with."

The wanted Poster read as such:

WANTED: DEAD

"The Immortal Nightmare" aka Captain Shadow the Merciless

That he'll take on any challenge, expect that pirate captain and his crew.

Elsewhere:

Said Pirate Captain is counting the jewels and money from the rich townspeople his crew pillaged and stole from. Removing a emerald necklace from the pile and gifting it to his first mate, Sonic. "For you, Mi Amor." The captain spoke as he placed the necklace around Sonic's neck.

"Aww, how sweet of you. My favorite color no less." Sonic complimented, as he returned to helping the other organization his documents.

In Shadow's crew there were two rules:

1. Swear your unyielding loyalty to the Captain, or die a painful death.

2. Respect his first mate as if he was also the captain.

Follow those, and you were taken well care of in the crew.

Then one day, a power hungry Dread, takes on Shadow and his crew in a storm. Only getting a cheap victory because he tossed Sonic overboard, Shadow jumping after him.Dread takes the ship and crew for his own, a powerful amulet keeping the crew from fighting back.

Winding up on a stray life boat, Sonic is patching up his captain, said captain is plotting a revenge. "How dare that insolent fool steal my crew and my ship?!" Shadow angrily spoke. "When I find him, I will ring his neck from his body!"

"Calm yourself Shads. Anger won't get us anywhere, but that amulet..." Sonic speculated. "I believe the time has finally come."

The immortal captain looked up at his lover and first mate. "Is it one of the seven? To restore your powers?" He asked.

"I believe so, finally. I can begin my journey to reclaim what humanity stole from me." Sonic said with a twisted smile that did not phase Shadow.

You see, Sonic was actually an ancient deity by the name of O'brezean. He controlled all of the seven seas, the wind the blew through them, and could make sailors go insane just by looking at him. But somehow, someone bound the deity to this limited, physical form. If not for Shadow finding him when he did, who knows what would have happened to him.

Despite his powers being severely restricted, he still could make one feel insanity if he tried, which did not work on Shadow. For when you're cursed with immortality, and live for over 1000 years, your mind becomes the least stable thing about you. He quickly became Sonic's favorite mortal, especially since Shadow praised O'brezean instead of feared him.

"Then let's be on our way, this serves as even more motivation to kill that damn coward." Shadow said with a crazed look in his eyes. "Oh to have the honor of restoring you to your true self, if I hadn't already promised you my existence I would have done so now."

"My darling captain, so quick to violence for me. That's why I love you. You're the only mortal that can make me this ecstatic."

Truly, the two were a match made in heaven, or rather hell.

Thanks to Sonic's navigation skills, they quickly arrive at a island town, where they are confronted by Sails, who was part of Dread's crew. He begs them to stop the captain because he has gone mad with power. That he'll do whatever they ask, just to stop Dread. They agree and soon find Dread and the rest of his crew. A ego boosted Dread asking Shadow if he wants another round of losing.

Shadow laughs like a maniac. Telling Dread its clear he didn't do his research. Telling his crew taken hostage "you know what to do." His crew all cover their ears, confusing Dread and his crew, until a hypnotic "Lullaby" occurs, Dread and his crew falling to their knees like a heavy weight was keeping them down.

It was Sonic, Shadow grabbing Dread by the head harshly, asking him: "Did it never occur to you why I was so attracted to my first mate? He has the blood of the sea in his veins." There's a demented smile on Shadow's face. Sonic's singing helps their crew get out and back to the ship. Shadow telling Sonic to go back as well.

Now it was one against many. Unfortunately this where they learn why Shadow is called "The Merciless." One took out half of Dread's crew like they were nothing.

Taking the other half, the ones Shadow saw and knew meant the most to Dread hostage. He was simply returning the favor, as his sword pierced the other captain's stomach. "Relax, I didn't hit your vitals. No, I want you to experience something more painful. For foolishly believing you can mess with me and my crew, believing you could kill my beloved first mate. Only then will i have your head displayed on my ship."

#izzygilofficial #sonic the hedgehog #fandom blog #sonic fandom #sonic series #sth #sonic au #shadow the hedgehog #sth au #sonadow #captain dread #sonic prime #idw sonic #sails the fox #sails tails #sonic prime sails

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brainrot4dayz · 1 year

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Wanderer headcanons 18+

going feral fr ; this has been in my drafts since last year lmao

notes: g/n reader (implied afab like once), babygirl might be ooc but I am delusional so idc :*

Happy birthday to our favorite wanderer ^^

minors please dni

tw: worship kink, mild voyeurism, overstimulation

call him by the name you chose for him and you will have his undivided attention

neck kisses neck kisses neck kisses neck kisses neck kisses ne-

he will generally not ask for consent conventionally, he would rather make you beg for what you want from him or seek out your approval by reading your reactions - unless discussed otherwise

if there is no consent he just backs off and resumes his previous activities, he sees no point in forcing himself on the person he loves, also, you both have all the time in the world together and he is willing to wait as much as you need

imagine squishing his thighs aaaaaaaaaaaa

loves it when you sit on his lap or vice versa, it never fails to give him butterflies - do that in public and he will seek revenge in private by having you sit on his face

it's amazing until you find yourself overstimulated to no end and he just keeps eating you out relentlessly until he's decided you begged him enough to stop

expect mild voyeurism; he can be impatient and will act out on his urges whenever he can sneak you in a secluded area, be it a sweet peck on your nose or a quickie (he is a bit of a hypocrite)

he has a worship kink and it goes both ways; absolutely loves when you worship him as your own god and he will return the favor by treating you as his own world - cherishing each end every little part of you <3

can and will tease you for hours, his second round of foreplay begins when your orgasm ends; you're never catching a break with this guy because he can't get enough of you

massive switch energy: when you think he will take charge and finally take responsibility for all the teasing, he will step back and chuckle to himself, urging you to take matters in your own hands but if you get too overzealous he may just change his mind

very vocal, won't shut up about how good you make him feel and tell you in detail all the things he is going to do to you~

has a ridiculous amount of stamina, good luck

if you managed to top him he will be like putty in your hands, feel free to overstimulate him too he loves that

aftercare is crucial to him; he is a sucker for intimacy and taking care of eachother, chances are he's still going to act witty with you as a cheap attempt to distract you on how flustered he is in your care

however, if you've managed to fuck his brains out somehow there is no way he would have a single mean bone left in that short body of his and he is yours to pamper~

i just know he purrs when he's like that aaaaaaaaaaaa

if it's the other way around, chances are you've passed out (or pretty close to), so he will be extra gentle with you hoping that you won't remember a thing

one day you give yourself away without and he keeps that in mind

since that day he will occasionally start cracking jokes just to check if you are still conscious so he knows if he can still mess with you or not

#wanderer smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader

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prismatica-the-strange · 8 months

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Absolute Corruption | Too Close to You

Warnings: 18+, show typical violence, blood, death, drinking, allusions to and mentions of sex, mentions of emotional abuse and trauma.

Adeline just turned 18 and her uncle takes her to Westworld for the first time. Her first day in the park is much more exciting than she expected and she captures the eyes of a certain bandit.

Ada - ā-duh

Everyone say thank you to @daincrediblegg for getting me into Westworld, you're gonna be hearing a lot about Hector and Ada.

Word count: 7.95k

Next: I've Got No Excuse

If she's honest, she doesn't want to be here, playing dress up with her uncle.

But he's wanted to bring her here for years, having a stockpile of unused trips and no kids of his own to bring, wanting someone to share the adventure with.

So that's how this whole mess started. Another guilt trip, another manipulation to get her to come along when she'd rather be doing anything else.

Her siblings aren't as easily persuaded.

She sighs as she looks in the mirror.

(Picrew)

Well, at least I look cute.

And she can't say he never gave her an expensive birthday present.

But she's not looking forward to what's to come.

She glances at the wall lined with various guns and holsters and scowls. Her ears are sensitive and she doesn't like loud noises.

She hesitates a moment before picking one up, a silver revolver, nothing fancy. She secures it in a brown leather holster around her waist.

Before she goes, the host assisting her points her to two walls covered in various hats.

She picks out a light-colored boater hat with a white and blue ribbon tied around the base of the crown, the ends dangling off the back a few inches.

She puts in a pair of earplugs, specially made by her uncle's company. All noise like speech and ambiance come through them, but it muffles loud and sudden ones.

She stands in front of the door to the park, steeling herself for whatever might happen once she steps through it. Taking a deep breath, she takes the leap.

As soon as she exits on to the train she's handed a flute with some kind of over priced champagne. Before she can refuse the host moves on to the next patron.

It doesn't take her long to find her uncle, sitting next to him, she offers him her drink.

"I won't tell if you don't," He smiles, "Just don't go crazy with it. If you come home an alcoholic, your aunt'll kill me."

She chuckles and takes a sip. It's not her first time drinking, usually seen nursing the same glass of bubbly throughout some boring soiree. She doesn't particularly like it, but she considers the park a social event and decides to partake.

She stumbles as soon as she steps off the train in Sweetwater, but someone catches and steadies her.

"You alright, miss?"

She looks up into some of the prettiest blue she's ever seen.

"I'm fine," Her voice is quiet and he smiles at her softly, hands sitting gently on her hips.

"I'm glad to hear it," He lets her go, "I'm Teddy."

"Adeline," She smiles back, "A pleasure."

"Believe me," He takes off his hat and holds it to his chest, "The pleasure's all mine."

"You're new to town, can I show you around?"

She nearly says yes, his endearing smile pulling her in.

"No, that's alright, I'll just wander for a bit," She turns him down politely, "Thank you though."

He puts his hat back on and gives it a polite tip as she walks away.

She takes her time, slowly meandering to the Mariposa Saloon, pausing for a moment to look at the wall littered with wanted posters.

Her fingers trace the lines of one called Hector Escaton, but is otherwise uninterested.

Once she gets to the bar she sees Teddy again, outside with another pretty blonde.

Figures, even robots have a type.

She scoffs and downs the whiskey the bartender set in front of her, making a face.

Even their cheap shit is top shelf.

"You're new," A voice catches her attention and she turns to see a brunette woman in a blue dress. The woman smiles and drags her fingers down Ada's jaw, "Not much of a rind on-"

"Okay!" She says uncomfortably, gently removing with woman's hand from her face, "I'm not interested. Not yet, at least. I plan on doing some exploring before I do any of... that."

"You sure, sugar?" She cocks her head, hand reaching for her again, "I'll give you a discount."

"Pretty sure," Her voice cracks as she steps back, waving down the bartender, "I'll take another."

"No need to get all flustered, doll, I'll leave you to your-" She's cut off by gunshots outside.

Then more shots, and screaming.

Blood splatters across the front windows and Ada just stares, partly horrified.

"And here he said we'd start out slow," She mutters to herself. She'd lost sight of her uncle as soon as the train stopped.

Probably upstairs fucking some hooker.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a man comes steamrolling through the door. He's wrapped in black leather, scar across his right eye. There's a rope in one hand and a gun in the other.

Other patrons run out of the building as he walks towards the bar.

She flinches when he shoots the bartender less than two feet from her.

"All the banks and trains around here, and you fucking reprobates choose to rob us?" A woman asks from the other end of the bar.

He just grabs a bottle and pours himself a drink, "Why not?"

"You're all here, indulging your particular vices. And so I've come to indulge mine," He shrugs, sending a look to Ada before throwing back the liquor.

More men search the building, scurrying around like ants on a mission as parkgoers and hosts alike cower behind tables.

The man looks at her again and it clicks, he's the one from the wanted poster, a host.

"Well, aren't you a pretty vision in pink?" He teases, "Tell me, Chiquita, why aren't you running and hiding like the others?"

It takes her a moment to think of a response, the thought makes her snort slightly, and he looks surprised.

"Why? Are you threatened by me?"

More gunshots echo from outside and he grins at her, "Threatened? No, Chiquita, I'm just wary of pretty girls with guns. Even the most delicate of flowers can have thorns."

She tries to brush off her blush by shrugging and pulling out the pistol. She looks it over before setting it on the bar, "Girl's gotta be able to defend herself. I don't like using it though."

She's about to drink her second round when he takes it from her hand, locking eyes with her and downing it.

The second-floor railing cracks and a large safe crashes to the ground. The men wrap in the net beneath it and Hector whistles, causing the horse outside to take off, pulling the safe with it.

"I appreciate the drink, Chiquita, but I should really be going," He sets the glass upside-down next to her gun and starts to walk away.

He freezes when a gun fires, and a man outside, barely visible to her, crumples to the ground.

He turns back to her with wide eyes.

Her arm is out, gun aimed just slightly past his head.

His eyes darken and he steps threateningly close to her, backing her flush against the bar, his hands on either side of her.

"You're not a very good shot, Chiquita," He sneers.

"I think I'm an excellent shot," She argues, "Considering he was aiming to kill you."

"You said you couldn't shoot," He accuses.

"I said I didn't like guns," She pushes herself forward, chest pressing against his, "Not that I couldn't use one."

He stares her down before smirking, "Maybe I should take you with me, one can't have too many sharpshooters."

"Cause that's what you meant."

He hums, taking her chin in her hand, "Maybe someday, Chiquita."

She leans back against the bar and watches him leave. He pauses in the doorway and looks back at her, tipping his hat.

She reaches behind her and blindly grabs a bottle as he walks off, a path of carnage in his wake.

She takes a drink from the bottle and grimaces.

Okay, not everything is top-shelf.

Her uncle trips over himself as he runs into the bar, gun in hand.

"Where have you been?"

"I was at the jail, looking for a bounty, something easy," He holsters his gun, "But you seemed to find some fun by yourself."

"More like the fun found me," She smiles to herself, "Can you join in the bandit storyline?"

"Sweetheart, you can do anything here."

°•°•°•°

She sighs as she sinks into a warm bath back in her hotel room.

Rose-scented bubbles rise to her shoulders as she washes off any dirt from her short day in the park.

Her mind wanders back to her encounter with Hector in the saloon. The way he pushed and how she'd pushed back.

She's never been that confident around anyone, but something about the host pulled her out of the shell she was so fond of, if even for a moment.

After their little run-in, her uncle explained that Hector's loop would be reset that night and he wouldn't remember her.

While that stung slightly, she was excited to get into his narrative early and see what kind of trouble they could really get into.

She lets herself sink further into the warm water.

Maybe someday, Chiquita

Her shoulders tense and her heart beats faster when the thought crosses her mind.

She squeals, feet kicking just hard enough to splash slightly.

The next day, when confronted with the bespoke wardrobe, she picks something that would be less cumbersome while consorting with bandits.

Asking around on the train, she gets the information she needs to get a headstart on Hector's narrative.

A woman on a mission, she foregoes any alcohol consumption, instead getting her hands on a flask, just in case.

It doesn't take her long once she's back in Sweetwater to get a horse saddled and ready.

In fact, getting into character, she takes one from one of the locals. A white and brown paint she'd seen one of the hosts with yesterday.

She hasn't ridden in years, but it comes back quickly.

If she remembers correctly, and, God, she hopes she does, it's not too far a ride from town to get to where she's going.

On her way, she comes across another guest.

"Mornin'," He greets, light brown hair peaking out from beneath his hat, "You headed out to try to get into the robbery storyline too?"

"Hoping to."

They ride the rest of the way together, not saying much, just taking in the scenery

She's starting to think they missed the event when there's a click of a round being loaded from the trees lining the side of the road.

The other guest, Tim, pulls his own gun as Hector walks into view, shotgun aimed at him.

"This isn't your lucky day amigos," He motions his gun at them, "Both of you off your horses."

They do as they're told.

"Hector, right?" Tim asks, getting a glare in return, "Darcy told me you were gonna rob a bank carriage and you might need a hand."

"Damn old fool, can't keep his damn mouth shut," He grumbles, "Fine, but if you get caught, you're on your own."

He turns to Ada and looks her up and down, appraisingly, "And what about you, Chiquita? You any good with that?"

"Exceptionally."

For a brief moment, it's like she sees recognition flash in his eyes, but as quick as it appeared, it was gone.

A small smile spreads across his face and he sheaths his gun back in its holster.

"The caravan will be here soon, we should get off the road."

They guide the horses to cover and lay in wait.

She feels Hector come up behind her, watching out over her shoulder.

"You sure you're up for this, Chiquita?" He whispers, "It's likely to get bloody-"

"Adeline."

He looks down at her curiously.

"Well, Adeline," He puts a certain emphasis on her name that makes her insides melt, "This will be quite a bloody endeavor. Are you sure you can handle it?"

"Why?" She asks, "Big bad wolf worried about little ol' me?"

"I think little girls should be more wary of wolves," She feels his hand find her waist, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She lets out a small involuntary whimper and he chuckles, hot breath fanning across her cheek.

"Mmm, I might keep you, Hermosa."

She swears she's going to combust, but then they hear the gold-laden carriage. She thinks he's going to step back and let her breathe again, but instead, he pulls her closer, holding her against his chest

"Play scared for me, Chiquita."

She's stunned at first as he pulls her into the path of the vehicle, flinching when he pulls out a pistol and shoots at one of the accompanying riders. The rider falls limp, the horse bucking him off before taking off.

She starts breathing harder, making herself cry and look panicked. Putting on a good show.

His hands are rough, keeping her in front of him when the men start to aim their rifles at him.

"Now now, gentlemen, you wouldn't want to hurt such a," He forces his face to hers, inhaling through his nose, lips, and teeth against her skin, and she lets out a strangled sob, "Pretty little thing, would you?"

Some of the men lower their weapons.

He points his gun at the driver, "Get down, I'm talking this transport."

When no one moves he points the gun at her head, hammer cocked.

"If you want her to live, you'll do as I say," He threatens, pressing the barrel against her head.

"No!" She weakly struggles in his hold, "Please!"

As the rest of the men lower their guns, she sees Tim sneak up behind the caravan.

"Now."

She pulls her revolver out, hitting the driver between the eyes.

Another flash of recognition comes across Hector's face. A memory from another life perhaps, flickering dimly in his mind.

Chaos erupts around them, startling the horses, and causing them to bolt.

He pushes her away, both of them narrowly avoiding getting trampled.

As the carriage flies past he grabs on, climbing up to see her across the seat, doing the same.

He gets there first, taking the reigns in one hand and leaning over to offer her the other.

"You're quite the actress, eh Chiquita?" He grins, "The tears were a nice touch. You almost had me convinced."

She feels her cheeks heat up, "I'm glad it worked, but what do we do now?"

"Now? Now we get as much distance between us and them as possible, or else-" His eyes go wide and his arm shoots out to hold her in place when he pulls the horses to a sudden stop. The road is blocked by a barricade of the Sherriff and his posse, guns aimed at them.

"Fuck."

"End of the line, Escaton, for you and your bitch," Hector reaches for his gun but freezes when one of the men presses the barrel of his rifle into Ada's side, "I wouldn't."

He slowly lowers his hand only to lunge for her when the man grabs her arm and yanks her down.

"If you hurt her I swear to God-" He starts cursing in Spanish as two of the other men pull him off the bench and cuff him.

They're thrown in the back of a closed wagon, with bars on the window, like something out of a cartoon.

"Well," He slumps against the wall next to her, "That didn't go to plan."

"Yeah."

She goes quiet, giving him a chance to study her face.

"Tell me, Adeline," He says, hands raising to turn her chin towards him, "What's on that pretty mind of yours? Why would someone like you want to help a degenerate like me?"

She stares for a moment, cheeks turning pink.

"I-..." He tilts his head, a curious smile on his face, "I think that's a conversation best left without an audience."

He glances over at one of the riders, meeting his glare.

"Fair enough, Chiquita," He shrugs. He leans back and tips the rim of his hat over his eyes.

It's a good three-hour ride to the prison and a boring one at that.

After the first two, she feels like bashing her head against the wall.

Her fingertips tapping on her knee to the music in her head, trying to formulate an escape plan. She knows she wouldn't be able to take the boredom of a cell.

Once they get there, they're both dragged out and brought to a cell. She's thrown in first, hard enough for her to topple, thankfully they removed the cuffs so she could catch herself.

They shove Hector in after her, slamming and locking the door behind him.

"Are you okay, Chiquit-"

"Wait! Sherriff!" She scrambles to her feet and pulls herself against the bars, "Please don't lock me up with him, I promise I'll be good!"

She reaches through and grabs his tie, tugging him into a kiss.

"Get off me, whore," He shoves her back to the ground and she looks up at him with the biggest doe eyes she can manage.

She blows him a kiss as he walks off.

"So," Hector sits on the bed across from the door, arms crossed and a scowl on his face, "You come on to every man you see."

"That's a hell of a way to thank the girl breaking you out of jail," She laughs, holding up a ring of keys.

He stands suddenly, pulling her up by her shoulders. His eyes search hers before kissing her, hard.

His beard and mustache scratch her skin, and she can't help the moan clawing its way from her throat.

He hums appreciatively where she grips his jacket and pulls him closer, his hand cupping the back of her neck.

He smiles as he pulls away, brown eyes looking at her, soft, warm, and swimming with some unknown emotion.

"We should go," He whispers, "Take a horse, and be long gone before anyone even notices."

"Okay."

He unlocks the cell and leads her out by the hand. They sneak past guards and to where a horse is tied up.

He climbs up first and offers her a hand, "One horse is easier to miss than two."

He hauls her up behind him, waiting for her to wrap her arms around him.

"Hold on tight, Chiquita, this won't be a pleasure ride."

Her arms find their way around his stomach, pulling herself against him, and he takes off, horse galloping across the desert.

He feels her heat soaking through his clothes, trying to guard herself from the wind and kicked up dust.

"We should go north," He calls over his shoulder, "Make sure they're not following us before we head for the camp."

He feels her nod, relishing the feel of her clinging to him.

It's sunset by the time they stop to make camp, and the last thing he wants is for her to let go. He holds her hands for a moment before parting them so he can get down, reaching out to assist her.

"What a gentleman," She teases, hands moving to his shoulders as he grips her waist and lowers her down.

"Only for you, Cariño," He grins.

"Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls." She waves him off, walking towards a once-used firepit.

He smiles to himself, shaking his head as he goes to tie up the horse.

She doesn't need to look, she can feel him staring at her from across the fire, an intense look on his face.

"You're staring."

"I am."

She looks up at him, bemused, "Why?"

"It's not every day a woman as gorgeous as yourself comes looking for trouble like me," He says, "I'm just curious as to why you did.

She shrugs, suddenly getting self-conscious.

"I don't usually go looking for trouble, of any kind really," She admits, his head cocks to the side, trying to get a read on her face, "I'm usually quite a good girl, mouthy, sure, but..."

"But?"

"It's silly."

"I don't mind silly."

She sighs and looks him in the eye, "Something about you drew me in."

His smile grows into a wide grin.

"See?" She hides her face in her hands, "I told you it was silly!"

"Maybe a little," He laughs, he leans back until he's lying down, arms behind his head, covering his face with his hat, "But whatever it was that drew you in, I'm glad it did."

"Get some sleep, Hermosa, we've got a long day tomorrow."

"Because today was so short and sweet."

"Hey, do I need to come over there and quiet you myself?"

She picks up on the playfulness in his voice and decides to see how far she can push it.

"No," She says simply, "You wouldn't know how anyway."

He lifts his hat and looks over with wide eyes, "What was that, Pequeño?"

She just raises her chin and smiles, "I'm pretty sure you heard me."

He sits up and gives her a chance to take back her words.

"You know," he starts pulling off his gloves, "I've had women beg me to shut them up."

He stands and starts towards her, "But now you've offended my skill as a lover."

He towers over her, unbuckling his belt, tossing his hat to the side, "I suppose, I will just have to show you."

"I-" The words stick in her throat, everything elevated so quickly.

"What? Nothing to say now, Chiquita?"

His face softens when he sees her chest heave and he kneels next to her.

"Cariño, what's wrong?" He takes her hand, "I haven't even touched you yet and you're trembling."

She doesn't know what's happening. She's dodged advances from pricks at parties with only minor annoyance, but something about his aggressiveness struck her.

He recognizes the look she's giving him and he frowns, thumb stroking the back of her hand.

"I frightened you," he says quietly, "I'm sorry, amor, I didn't mean to."

He carefully reaches for her face, running his thumb across her cheek.

She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding when he holds up her hand, pressing his lips to the heel of it.

Her lip quivers with unspoken words.

"I-I-" her breath shudders as he slowly begins kissing up her arm, "I've never... not actually..."

He looks up at her with the most adoring look, "Say the word and I'll stop."

...

She wakes up to someone running their fingers through her hair.

Her eyes flutter against the bright light shining through the trees and sighs.

"Good morning, Hermosa."

She lifts her head from his chest, sitting up slightly to look at him.

Hector's head tilts, eyes wandering with a small smile. She looks down to see what has his attention and her face goes red.

Memories flood her mind as she covers her bare chest with her arms and turns away.

"Come now," He sits up behind her. He gently moves her hair to the side, pressing kisses to her shoulder, "Don't get shy on me now, Chiquita."

She melts under his touch, his hands warm on her skin.

"I'll go ready the horse," his voice still gravelly with sleep, "Get dressed, Amor."

She hears him stand and start pulling on clothes. He catches her when she chances a peek and grins, "Look all you want, I'm not shy."

Every time she thinks of the night before she thinks she might faint.

I can't believe my first time was with a fucking robot.

Her cheeks are still pink when she meets him by the horse, and he doesn't think he's ever seen anything cuter.

He offers her a hand up, which she timidly takes. Her whole body goes rigid when he climbs up behind her, arms hanging loosely around her waist to hold the reins.

He's pressed directly against her back and she can feel his every breath.

"There's a small town just northeast, we should be able to get a warm meal there."

They move at a leisurely pace, his right hand finding a place to rest on her thigh.

It quiet. It's calming.

She sighs, eyes closing as she leans back against him, taking advantage of the partial embrace. Her hand reaches up, fingers tracing up his jawline and catching in the hair at the back of his neck, mindlessly playing with it.

"Amor," he murmurs in her ear, gripping her thigh tighter.

Her chin tilts up, leaning her head on his shoulder and looking up at him through her lashes, "Yes?"

The groan that escapes him is inhuman, morphing into an exasperated laugh, "You're a dangerous woman, you know that?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She gasps when his arm snakes around her stomach, pulling her against his chest.

"None whatsoever, Cariño," He pulls at her ear with his teeth and she whimpers.

Another hour of soft touches and lingering kisses later, and they arrive at the small town of Story's End. A bit of lazy naming on the writer's end, but she tries to ignore it.

Once they enter, Hector's demeanor changes. He sits a little straighter, face hardening, and stops holding her like she's the most precious thing in the world.

"Hector?"

"Just stay quiet," he says, "This town isn't a nice one. "

She keeps her eyes cast down as they pass a group of men drinking outside a bar.

"Would you look at that," One whistles, "Howdy there sweetheart!"

"Hey, Chica! Why don't you come over here and lemme show you what a real man fucks like!"

He grips the reins tighter when she shrinks.

"Hey!" The first man stumbles to his feet, toddling forward, drunkenly, "Hey! I'm talking to you, bitch!"

The horse whines when Hector redirects it back at them, pulling out his gun.

"Are we going to have a problem here?" He spits.

The man just chuckles and reaches for Ada's leg, catching her ankle, "Only if you don't share this pretty little-"

She jumps when the gun fires, blowing the man's arm to pieces, blood splattering on her.

"You son of a bitch!" He screams, holding the stub of his arm before collapsing.

"Anyone else?"

The other men stay where they are, not looking to die, and Hector takes it as a sign of surrender, holstering his weapon and riding on to the inn.

"Stay close," He tells her before getting down. He keeps one hand on his gun, keeping a vigilant watch on everyone in a twenty-foot radius.

As soon as her feet touch the ground, he grabs her arm and drags her inside.

"What are you-"

"I said be quiet!" He hisses, shaking her slightly and she freezes.

He slams some money on the desk, "One room, and food."

He unlocks the door and storms in with her in tow, kicking it shut behind them and locking it.

"What the Hell?!" She tears her arm from him, voice low, afraid it'll break if she yells like she wants to.

"Cariño," He reaches for her and his heart breaks when she pulls away, "Please, let me explain."

She tenses when he moves her hair behind her shoulder, "Amor, I-"

His eye catches something when her coat and shirt, jostled out of place, fall to her elbow.

He'd tried to be careful, tried to make it look believable yet painless, but the quickly forming bruise on her upper arm stares back at him.

He falls to his knees, taking off his hat.

"Forgive me," His voice is strained as he stares up at her, brown eyes big and full of pain.

She doesn't move, scared look still staining her face, but she lets him take her hands. His hold is gentle, as if she was made of glass.

"I just wanted to keep you safe," His lips graze her skin before he stands. She looks up at him, letting out a shaky breath, to which he lightly places his hands on her cheeks.

She's still shaking.

He swallows hard, leaning in to press his lips to hers in the most feather-light kiss.

"You're safe with me, Adeline," He breathes, trying to convince both of them, forehead against hers.

It's just a game.

She takes a deep breath.

None of it's real. It's just a game.

She tries to tell herself, but it just hits her too hard and she can't stop the tears from spilling over.

Hector panics.

"No, Amor," he quickly starts taking his gloves off to wipe them away, but she turns from him, hugging herself.

"I'm fine," she insists. He watches helplessly as her shoulders rise and fall with each shuddering breath.

"Adeline."

It's not normally the guests crying.

He steps around her and something in him shatters at the sight of her tear-stained cheeks.

"Oh, Querida," He holds her face in his hands, looking softly into her eyes, "I shouldn't have brought you here."

He holds her close, arm hooking beneath her legs to pick her up. She clings to his neck, letting herself be fully immersed in the narrative.

The bed dips beneath his knee as he leans over to lay her down.

"First, we'll eat, then we can leave."

For a moment he loses himself in her eyes and he smiles.

"You're beautiful when you cry, Cariño."

...

She jumps when he kicks the door shut again, two plates of whatever the kitchen was serving in his hands.

"Adeline?"

She snickers when he looks at her confused. Her cheeks are pink again and she hums a melody to herself.

He sets the plates on a beat up dresser and kneels beside her. She reeks of booze.

"I was barely gone twenty minutes, amor," he holds her face to look at him.

"I'm a bit of a lightweight," she giggles, "And I haven't eaten today."

He stops her from bringing the now near-empty flask back to her lips, taking it from her.

Her eyes are softer when he looks back at her.

She reaches out to touch his face.

He sucks in a breath when her fingers graze his scar, instinctively grabbing her wrist.

The melody spills from her lips.

"I can't get too close to you, my darling."

"Cariño-"

"And God help me, if I do, you'll leave me brokenhearted," Tears start to fall again, "You'll leave me lonely at best..."

He swallows hard, wondering if she truly expects heartbreak from him.

"Adeline, Amor, you're drunk," He states simply enough as he stands. He sets one of the plates in front of her, "Eat, you'll feel better."

Half her food gone, she passes out from what can only be described as emotional exhaustion.

...

When she wakes up her head is throbbing. She sits up, blinking against the harsh light coming through the windows.

She looks around the room, eyes landing on Hector last.

He's sat up in the bed against the headboard, asleep, jacket and hat still on, hand on the grip of his gun. She'd been sleeping with her head on his lap, his left hand in her hair.

He looks on edge, but maybe that's his natural state.

He wakes with a start when she forces herself out of bed, aiming his gun towards the door. It takes him a moment to realize it's only her and relaxes.

She uses the pitcher and basin in the corner of the room to splash water on her face, trying to wake up fully.

"How are you feeling?" He asks wearily and she sighs.

"Can we just... forget last night ever happened?" She asks, looking back at him through a cracked mirror as he stands.

He comes up behind her, hands finding her hips. He runs his nose the length of her neck, taking in the faded scent of rosewater still stuck to her skin.

She feels so stupid for the way she acted, absolutely embarrassed.

What she doesn't know, is that every moment he spends with her finds himself more enthralled with, and endeared to her.

She melts against him with each slow kiss pressed to her skin.

"I should've warned you," His fingers tangle with hers, "But if that's what you wish."

"I wanna get out of here."

He nods at her pleading tone and reaches for her coat. He wraps it around her shoulders, popping up the collar and cupping her cheeks to pull her in for a deep kiss.

When he goes to open the door his hand hesitates by her arm. He instead grasps the front of her coat, "You stay near me. Do not leave my side."

She nods, but he sees the way her hand trembles.

He takes a moment to pet her hair, trying desperately to reassure her, "I'll keep you safe, amor. I promise."

She stumbles slightly when he tugs her down the stairs. As they walk out of the inn she's pulled to an abrupt stop and he nearly loses his grip.

"Aren't you just a pretty little thing?" A man with a thick southern drawl slurs behind her, arms wrapping around her, "Hey Ah-migo, why don't you give someone else a turn with this little fuck puppe-"

He freezes when the barrel of a revolver presses beneath his chin.

"If you value your life, you'll shut your damn mouth."

Both men stare at her in shock as she pulls back the hammer.

"Ohh, she's got teeth," He grins, "I like tha-"

A shot rings out and his body slumps to the floor, grey matter painting the ceiling.

She holsters her gun as she turns back to Hector, flicking loose hair out of her face.

He holds open the door for her, still dumbstruck as she walks by.

"That's not your horse, Chiquita," He says once he snaps out of it, seeing her mount a horse tied next to theirs.

"It is now," She shrugs. He climbs into the saddle of the other, "It's not the first time."

He smiles at her, stars in his eyes and they ride off.

They're halfway to camp where Armistice and the others are waiting, probably planning to rescue him from that prison, when he calls for her to stop.

Something about the way her hair looks, all windswept and wild, and how the sun lights up her face.

He needs her, now. Desperately.

...

"You okay, amor?" Hector asks teasingly. She's riding with him again, one arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

She keeps making little noises, and small whimpers. She's just still so sensitive and he's beaming like he just gold-medaled in every sport created.

"You're making such cute sounds, pequeño."

"Jerk," She scoffs, reaching back and flicking the rim of his hat, making him laugh.

...

The first thing out of Armistice's mouth when she sees them ride in is "Who's the girl?"

"Good to see you too," He says. He gets down and offers her a hand after him, "This, my friend, is Adeline."

Suddenly the center of attention of the gang, she gets anxious.

If he notices her shift in demeanor, he doesn't say anything, just places his hand on the small of her back and walks her through the small crowd.

"She'll be joining us on our little, business venture."

She feels like she's on full display with all the eyes on her. Some judging, and others with absolutely disgusting intent.

"Sure she's pretty, Escaton," Armistice says, circling her, "But do we really need something else to take care of just because you found something cute to fuck?"

"Hey!" He scowls at her, "I've seen firsthand how well Ada can take care of herself."

As the day goes by she finds a place off to the side of camp where she can be, somewhat, alone.

Her finger circles the edge of one of her ear plugs pulling up a playlist in that ear, taking some time to decompress.

Nearly an hour after she disappears Hector starts getting worried. The sun is starting to set and he's not sure if she knows her way around.

She watches him wander out of camp, head moving as though he's looking for something.

He takes a few nervous steps before raising his hands to his mouth.

"Adeline?... Adeline!"

"A-" He spins around when she stands up, not trying to be quiet. An immediate look of relief washes over him, "You scared me, Amor."

"Did something happen?"

He looks confused for a moment, taking her hands.

"You vanished, I thought..." He runs his fingers through her hair, "It doesn't matter, you're still here."

"Of course I am."

Her fingertips trace his jaw, a soft and familiar gesture that turns him into a puddle. He leans in, ducking down to kiss her.

"Let's get back to camp," His hand finds hers as he turns to leave, stopping when she doesn't move, "What's wrong, cariño?"

"I'm just..." He looks at her expectantly, "I'm pretty awkward in the social department. And I don't think my being here is entirely welcome."

"Don't mind Armistice," He frowns, holding her shoulders, "She's like that with everyone."

He can tell she's still unsure, "You can always hide behind me if someone scares you."

He laughs when she hits his arm, "What? I'd rather you hide behind me than pull a gun on my friends."

"They keep their hands to themselves, and we won't have that problem."

"And what of me, amor?" He asks, teasingly, "Am I to fear your pistol, should I wish to hold you."

She's blushing again, the thought of sitting on the ground between his legs with his arms around her burning brightly on her face.

"Heh," She forces a small laugh, trying to play it off, "Only if you get too handsy, pretty boy."

"Don't!" She warns. The words 'So you think I'm pretty?' Catch on his tongue.

He pulls her in for another warm, reassuring kiss.

She lets him hold her hand and lead her back into camp, acutely aware of looks and eye rolls.

He sits by the fire, pulling her down onto one of his legs.

He sees how she tenses, so he doesn't show his disappointment when she moves, settling next to him, one leg pulled up to her chest.

He starts thinking he's going through withdrawal, getting so used to her affection the past two days, like a drug he immediately got addicted to, just dying for another hit she isn't giving him.

He takes the way she still pressed against his shoulder as a good sign, though he's desperately craving more.

One of the guys starts passing around a bottle, holding it out to Hector.

He pulls back slightly when he goes to grab it, grinning at Ada, "I'll trade ya, for a go with her."

Hector's hand flies out to catch hers as it goes for her gun.

"Another comment like that and I can't promise I'll be able to stop her in time," He says with a glare, "Or myself for that matter."

He waits for her to relax, thumb running across her knuckles, "We should go over the plan once more."

The night drags on, they talk the heist and their plans after. They all start to turn in and Hector stands, bringing her with him to his tent.

He's more worried than he'd let on during the discussion, about her getting hurt and he tells her as much.

"Adeline, if something were to happen to you tomorrow..." His knuckles run across her cheek, voice hushed, "We've only just met and I already feel as though I couldn't live a day without you."

She takes his face in her hands, "Nothing is going to happen, I promise."

Nothing can happen to her, hosts can't kill her. She's more worried about him. All it takes is one trigger happy guest and they lose.

Her hands trail down his neck, chest, and stomach until she finds what she wants.

She pulls out his knife and his eyebrows furrow.

"Besides," she twirls it in her fingers before she flicks her wrist and it embeds itself into a tree across from the space between the flaps of the tent, "I'm pretty scrappy in a fight."

...

"I feel like you'll get more use from this than me," His hands tug on her belt, adjusting it, and when she looks down, he's attached his sheathed knife to it, "Just in case."

She pushes herself up on her toes to kiss him, hand grabbing the back of his neck, teeth pulling at his lip when they part.

"Becoming a little tease on me now, are you?"

She winks as she turns.

No doubt the whole camp heard the noises they were both making last night, no need to play coy now.

She can feel him watching her walk away, brazen stare burning through her body like fire.

On the ride to Sweetwater, he pulls back to ride beside her.

"You stay near me," He tells her and she scoffs.

"You wouldn't happen to be showing favoritism, would you, Hector?"

"Adeline," He insists, "By my side."

"Okay," She nods, voice apologetic, "By your side."

He gives her a small appreciative smile, before riding ahead.

Their identities covered by blankets as they enter town until the deputy approaches, and Hector shoots him.

She follows everyone else's lead, hopping off her horse and firing at whatever lawmen try to stop them.

Armistice hands him the rope and he motions for Ada to follow him inside.

"Stay by the door, Amor," He says, "Shoot anyone you don't immediately recognize."

She does as she's told, watching him swagger around the saloon out of the corner of her eye. That is, until a guest speaks up from the other side of the room.

"Ada?" Her head snaps up at her uncle's voice, and so does Hector's.

She's immediately filled with dread that he's going to ruin her fun, like always, but Hector beats him to the punch.

"Amor, do you know this," He looks him over with a sneer, "Old man?"

"Old man?!" He guffaws, fumbling with his gun.

"Henry," She warns, a sharpness to her voice he isn't used to hearing, "Put it down. Or else I tell Auntie exactly what you get up to when you're in town."

His face is red, with anger or embarrassment she's not sure, but she has to bite her lip to keep from laughing outright.

Hector pushes him back with the other guests and hosts.

He has his little encounter with the madam and the safe comes crashing to the floor. This time, instead of having one drink, he grabs the bottle and takes it with him.

He pulls Ada back by the hips, whistling when they're clear of the door, and the safe flies by.

He takes her hand and leads her outside, but she's stopped when her uncle grabs her other wrist.

"Where do you think you're going?" There it is. She isn't doing exactly what he expects, so he has to put an end to it.

"Fuck you," She spits, trying to pull herself from his grip, "Let go of me!"

She's about to break his foot when Hector decks him across the face, "She told you to let go."

He tries to ignore her absolutely lovestruck face, his face heating up as he walks by.

Her uncle has other plans, catching onto her long hair.

She's done.

She's been done for a long time. Done with the manipulations, with the fearmongering, with everything.

She lets go of Hector's hand, and holds onto her braid, taking the knife from the sheath on her belt, and giving a good slash to its base.

Everyone is some level of shocked as she walks away and mounts her horse.

One animal down as it drags the safe back to camp, Hector climbs up behind her, completely forgoing his speech and keeping her tucked safely in his arms.

"Let's go!" He calls to the rest of the gang, heading the charge out of town.

She jumps off as soon as they get back to camp, and he storms after her, calling her name. The encounter in the saloon has them both on edge and what she's taking as anger is the full force of his worry.

"Hey!" He catches her arm, shocked when she yanks herself away. He doubles down, grabbing her shoulders, turning her to face him, and not letting go, even when she struggles, "Hey! Calm down! Be still."

There's a fear in her eyes like a cornered animal. It hurts his heart to have her looking at him that way, "I think it's time we have that conversation you've been avoiding. Who was that?"

"My uncle." A simple answer, but he knows better.

He loosens his grip to cup her cheek, looking at her intensely, "Did he do something to you? Has he hurt you?"

"What? N-no!" She says defensively, "Not-... W-He-..."

Her stutter is enough to light a fire in his eyes, ready to ride back to town and gut him. But his first priority is her, the way her breathing is getting heavier, and how her eyes are beginning to glass over.

"I am such deep shit," She babbles, "He's going to fucking kill me, I- He's never gonna let me leave the house again. Fuck!"

His other hand moves to hold her face, "No, I won't let him anywhere near you."

Adeline nods at the, unfortunately empty, promise.

Then her mouth falls open in realization. Her hand goes to the back of her head where it meets the choppy, split ends, "Oh my god."

Hector has no idea what to say, mouth open like he's trying to force something out, "I... like it."

"My hair!" She knows it sounds shallow, but she's been growing it out forever.

He pulls her close and kisses her forehead.

He cradles her head as she trembles in his arms and imagines what the shit storm she just kicked up is going to look like.

"Do you want me to skin him?" He half-jokes, cheek pressed to the top of her head.

She groans, holding him tight.

"I didn't even wanna come here," She mutters, and he pulls back to look down at her, almost hurt, "No, the p -uh town."

"You don't seem like a girl that does things she doesn't want to."

She laughs, "That's all I ever do! Ever since my parents died he's just twisted his way into my head, playing with my emotions and insecurities to get what he wants."

Angry tears roll down her face, frustration marring her face.

"Hey," His voice is soft, "Once we open that safe, we'll be set for whatever life you want, away from him."

She wants desperately to let herself get wrapped up in the fantasy again, but reality is like a boulder, crushing her more with every passing second.

"Right," She gives him a half-hearted smile and he takes it.

The next few hours consist of the gang fighting about unlocking the safe, none of them having much luck.

"Friends," Hector says, "There's no need to get worked up. There's enough in that safe to go around."

He kisses the top of Ada's head, getting to his feet, "I'll be right back."

It takes all of thirty seconds for things to go from tense to chaos.

Shots ring out, and only she and Armistice are left standing.

Hector comes hurrying back, gun in hand. There's a brief moment of relief when he sees she's okay.

"You damned fool."

His eyes go wide and he moves to shoot Armistice before she can shoot him, but he's too late.

Adeline lets out a scream, hand flying over her mouth when they both fall down, dead.

She's left alone, in the woods, surrounded by bodies.

She's in shock, silent tears falling from her eyes, stare locked on Hector's corpse.

It's just a game.

#absolute corruption #hector escaton #Hector escaton x oc #westworld #prisma self ships #prisma writes #self ship story #self ship writing #self shipping #Spotify

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otteli2000 · 9 months

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Okay so my Resident Evil Chreon! AU

Here's some world building:

-Chris and Leon met at some point through Claire and it was love at first sight. They ended up in the bathroom of bar they were in and they haven't let go of each other since. They moved with each other within a matter of weeks and got married soon because life is too short to not be with the one you love

-Jill was never controlled by Weskher. She and Carlos got married after Racoon City and later had twin girls (Because Carlos is such a girldad). Jill is still working with Chris at the BSAA while Carlos, after the death of his whole platoon, decided to retire. He's now a househusband and a stay-at-home dad and he LOVES it

-Claire and Rebecca also are together in this universe because I said so

Now, onto the actual story, during a mission, Leon gets hurt, bad, and almost dies. Of course, he survives but he messed up his leg and the doctors force him to retire which leads him to basically being a caged lion in his and Chris' apartment; pacing around with nothing to do because he already cleaned everything. Twice.

Chris, obviously, is pretty worried about his husband and talks about it with Jill who suggests for them to move into the house next to her and Carlos. It's already up to sale but it's pretty and cheap so it won't stay on sale for long so Chris buys it right away without talking to Leon who is pretty pissed once he tells him. They argue but when he finally, and reluctantly, agrees to visit their new house, he agrees it was too good of an opportunity to pass on.

Of course, right next door, Carlos is basically vibrating with excitement because he finally got someone to bother and he fully intends to show Leon that staying home isn't such a bad thing.

So as soon as Chris and Leon are settled in, Carlos starts dragging him to all kind of activities; taking the twins to the park, local football matches, community events like barbecues.

And at first, Leon complains everytime because that's just who he is but eventually, he's the one who takes the initiative to go over to Jill and Carlos' house to ask him what they're doing today (Carlos tackles him into a hug, laughing like a maniac).

So Leon takes on some hobbies like gardening which he doesn't suck at as much as he thought. He's even pretty good at it, enraging the local Karen when his garden wins a prize in the neighborhood contest.

Leon comes to realize that being a civilian again doesn't suck as much as he thought and that retirement might be the best thing that could have happened to him (Beside Chris of course)

Chris is super grateful because it finally feels like he's getting the old Leon back (He buys Carlos the most expensive bottle of whiskey on the market)

And then one day, as they're getting to bed, Chris can see something is bothering Leon so he asks him what's wrong.

"What do you think of having kids?"

And Chris absolutely did NOT see this coming. At all. Leon had never been much of a fan of kids before (Except for Jill and Carlos' daughters because they're just too cute to resist) so he's pretty surprised by his husband's question but he can't deny how warm and fuzzy the image of the two of them makes him feel inside.

They start looking into adoption the very next day and Carlos burst into tears a few months later when they ask him to be their son's godfather (He doesn't even deny it unlike Jill who pretends she didn't tear up when they asked her to be the godmother)

Claire complains to Chris that as his sister, shouldn't she have had dibs on being his kid's godmother? The next year, Chris and Leon adopt again, a girl this time, and they name Claire their daughter's godmother

So this is it. Sorry for clogging the tags with this fluff-fest, I just needed to get it out of my head ❤️

#resident evil #chreon #leon kennedy #chris redfield #I have a Mpreg version for those who are interested

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factorialsotherfandoms · 3 months

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A follow up to the declawing torture, 9 and a bit years later.

XCOM2 au, references to, well, torture. And mutilation. And various other terrible things. Also Felps being a manipulative little guy making Cellbit look after himself.

The archive is rarely the warmest room on the ship. With cheap ink and home-made paper, they keep it cool and dark in an attempt to preserve the papers as long as possible. The humidity is drained, too, though that can be said of the entire ship. It was Philza's first, but it's Cellbit's now; they both have a desk here, but only one is commonly used.

There's a stack of papers on Cellbit's desk, ones he is doing his best to work through. He's looking, he's looking - somewhere in this mess he knows is the answer, he knows there's something about the missing civilians to be found here. He's pulled out the whole drawer from the filing cabinet - one draw for each problem, with colour-coded labels for shelf-stored items, those are the rules from long before Cellbit came to the Avenger - and he has so many pieces they just... Don't fit together.

His finishes reading the page - looking at the patterns, he can see why Max is convinced his partner's disappearance fifteen years ago is related despite being pre-invasion - and reaches for another.

His fingers seize up, refusing to bend and grab it.

Cellbit looks at them, and sighs, and uses the still functioning hand to rummage around in a drawer. He grabs a heat pack, snaps it, and lays it over his screaming knuckles.

There has been trouble with his hands ever since... that, but cold tends to make it worse. A minute or two and it will be fine - sore, but fine - he just needs to wait.

Cellbit hates waiting.

But he's good at it.

He sits there, gently flexing his fingers and waiting for full movement to return. They almost bend far enough to continue working, when the door slips open.

"Hey Cellbo."

Felps sounds more than half asleep already, wandering in and towards his favourite corner. There's a few old, spare cushions there, placed down purely because of Felps' habit of sleeping anywhere his friends are. Cellbit has caught Tubbo napping there before, too, though in all matters it's usually Felps.

"Heya Felps," he waves to his best friend, forgetting the hot pack for a moment.

It slips from his hand, to the desk, to the floor.

Cellbit curses, and reaches for it, and as he does he hits his suffering hand against a drawer handle.

"Fuck!" he yells, louder than before, immediately moving to cradle the hand against his chest. "Motherfucking bastard drawer."

He kicks it for good measure, and then Felps is there - significantly more awake, and holding the hot pack out to them.

"Cellbit?"

He reminds himself to breathe, "I'm fine, Felps. It just surprised me; feel free to rest."

But Felps doesn't. Instead he takes Cellbit's hand, pulling it out and exposing it. He hums as he rubs circles into the hurting muscles, noticible even through Cellbit's gloves.

Cellbit tenses, and Felps frowns.

The humming stops dead.

"I'm going to check it, okay?" Felps asks, fingers shifting to Cellbit's gloves.

"There's no need," Cellbit promises. "I just caught myself badly, that's all."

Felps /looks/ at him, and Cellbit... Cellbit could say no, he promises he could, but it's late and he's cold and for all he never wanted Felps to know, hiding it would be more suspicious.

If he's lucky, Felps won't be able to tell.

"Alright," he concedes - because it's Felps, it's always Felps, and what wouldn't he give for his first and closest friend?

"Alright," Felps replies, a little too serious for either of their likings.

Felps is so careful as he removes the glove, making sure not to tug or pull at the skin beneath. It's his left hand - the hand with the neater scars - but they are still immediately obvious.

But Felps doesn't say anything, not yet, just... Looks at them.

Cups Cellbit's hand between his own, and gently massages the skin.

Their eyes meet, and they know - they both know.

Cellbit doesn't stop him as he takes his other hand, gently removing the glove there too.

They both look down - five more scars, three neat, one messy, one carving down the length of his hand.

"Cellbit..." Felps starts.

"Don't," Cellbit whispers back, voice cracking. "Please, don't."

And Felps doesn't say anything, but he breaks Cellbit anyway - a kiss to every scar, and then pulling Cellbit into a hug.

He can feel the questions, he can sense them burning on Felps' tongue - Cellbit trembles in the hold, and it's nine years ago again. There's a scalpel to his knuckles and Cucurucho is smiling eerily down at him and the surgeon's eyes are laughing as he carves away his bones, his skin. There's no pain but there's blood and then he could meet their eyes but how because he's terrified, terrified, terrified and they /took his claws/ and cut open his bands and his bones have never been right, not since and not again.

His trembling grows to a shaking, and drives them both down to the metal floor. Still Felps keeps holding him, wrapping an arm across his back and another tangling into his hair and he's started humming again - one of his stupid, cheerful songs.

And Cellbit - Cellbit cannot cry, he has no regrets, but it hurts and it hurts and it's been nine long years and his claws were only the start. He cannot cry, but he cannot stay silent, so he laughs as he sits on the archive floor, Felps wrapped tightly around him.

Felps, Felps, Felps - finally, finally, his best friend is safe. His best friend is safe, and here, and Cellbit would destroy countries if Felps only needed him to.

"Has a doctor looked at it?" is the question Felps asks, once Cellbit quietens down.

He's still playing with one of Cellbit's hands, moving the fingers and poking the joints, treating it with the curiosity of any other new, strange thing.

Cellbit laughs again, and it's bitter, and it's dry. "A doctor did it."

Felps pauses - looks to Cellbit's face, then back to the hand. "They're a shitty doctor then. Has a real doctor seen it?"

"I think Fed doctors count as real doctors, just about."

The words slip out, and Cellbit has said too much; Felps freezes, glazes over, then comes back with something determined in his spine.

"We're going to see Doctor Ruiz."

"Felps..." is all the objection that Cellbit can quite manage. Anyone else he would fight, but Felps...

Felps squeezes his hand, "it'll be okay - I'm here. You don't need to be scared."

---

The infirmary is thankfully quiet for once, everyone injured well enough to be up and about the ship, only needing to check in every so often to check healing process. The doctor is at the computer, updating notes on... Cellbit's pretty sure those are Foolish's notes.

"Hey doc." Felps greets her like a friend. Given how often he has to come by, given his condition, she may as well be.

"Felps," she spins her chair around to face them. "And... Cell? What has he done this time?"

"Cellbit," he corrects her, flinching a little at the name.

"Cellbit has old injuries that need checking," Felps says. "It's not me this time."

The doctor doesn't seem convinced, but does bring up Cellbit's notes - first on the computer, then transferring them to her tablet, "how can I help you, then?"

"It's really nothing," Cellbit tries to say, even as Felps tugs his right hand - his worse hand, but not the one troubling him today - towards the woman.

She looks at the scars, then her tablet, then squints at Cellbit.

"Cat hybrid...?" she hesitates a little.

Cellbit dies a bit inside, but nods; Felps squeezes his arm in reassurance.

"How long ago did this happen?"

Cellbit glances at Felps, and knows he won't like the answer - he knows Felps is going to destroy himself over it, but he also knows he has no way out of this situation.

"Nine years."

As expected, Felps flinches, and he clings harder.

Cellbit takes back his hand, and uses it to hold Felps tight.

"Does it cause you trouble?" she asks.

"Nothing a few minutes with a heat pack fails to solve."

"Pain?"

There Cellbit hesitates. Because, yes, constantly. But admitting that, saying that, confessing that he's been in constant pain for nine years, with fluctuating functionality, while Felps is right here and his best friend is intelligent enough to /know/ why this happened...

"I see," the doctor says, noting something down. "Have you ever received treatment for it?"

That makes Cellbit laugh - the day after he was declawed the stitches tore, and he had to fucking replace them himself. The idea of having any proper treatment... "Fuckers didn't even stitch them properly."

He can almost /feel/ Felps go pale - he certainly feels him freeze up against his side.

He glances to him.

"Do you want Felps to leave?" the doctor asks.

And... Yes, but no. Cellbit doesn't want Felps to hear this, doesn't want a single secret of it whispered even to the doctor, let alone to the person for whom the sacrifice was made. He doesn't want Felps to know, he doesn't want the guilt, or the pity - he made his choice and, fuck it, it was worth it. He doesn't regret a thing - not the pain, not the stiffness, not the agony. There's not a single thing he would not have given for Felps, and now he has him back...

Now he has him back, Cellbit thinks if he's not there, he's going to lie to the doctor just to escape.

If Felps isn't there, and he's being forced to remember this... Cellbit doesn't think he'll be able to stay present.

"No," he answers, and it tastes like ash - to condemn his best friend to guilt, just so he doesn't have a panic attack in the doctor's office. "No, he- Felps stays."

His fingers clamp tighter on Felps' shoulder, keeping him close.

Felps does nothing.

Doctor Ruiz hesitates, but carries on.

"Can you tell me about how it happened?"

Cellbit shrugs. "I was undercover in the Federation. On orientation day, I was taken to a Cucurucho's office, where a surgeon was waiting. Dental anesthetic in both hands, metal cuffs to keep them still, had my ears pinned while it kicked in and then the bastards cut out my claws."

"Follow up care?"

"I passed out and woke up in blood soaked bandages, and had to deal with it myself."

Against his side, Felps whines. Cellbit clutches to him tighter, putting his fear into his body that he might keep his mind clear.

Felps already knows something is wrong - if he can get through the doctor's appointment, it will comfort him. Cellbit doesn't care about pain, but Felps cares about him being in pain, so...

So he'll try.

He'll try, because for some stupid reason Felps loves him, and Cellbit has to deal with that.

"Any infection?" she asks. "Other complications?"

"I don't remember well," he confesses. "It was nine years ago, and I was busy."

Neither Felps nor the Doctor like that answer.

The Doctor flicks something on her tablet, quickly reading. Then she flicks back, and looks at him again. "Laser?"

"Scalpels."

Under his arm, Cellbit can hear Felps whispering a combination of half-formed prayers and curse words. He shifts, holds him closer, whispers an apology in his ear.

It breaks the chain; Felps slaps his thigh, and goes quiet.

"Did you receive other injuries during your time there?"

Cellbit nods, "there's also scarring on my back and shoulders. And Cucurucho," he gestures at his head. "I was in one of their departments."

He glances at Felps; the Doctor sees the look, and doesn't press. Instead she moves on, eyes promising to discuss the other scars some other time.

"This is not an area I'm much familiar with," the Doctor confesses. "But would you mind an x-ray? Sometimes it causes damage to the remaining bone, which will worsen over time."

Cellbit does mind, but Felps looks at him and... And he agrees.

Doctor Ruiz has to do everything in the infirmary, except occasionally when Aypierre helps. After a really bad mission Philza or Bad might help triage, but that's about it.

It saves time, though; the x-ray machine is just the other side of the room. Felps has to let go of Cellbit while it happens, waiting back by the computer and far from the radiation.

The Doctor tries to flatten Cellbit's hands, preparing them for a clear picture.

It takes everything Cellbit has not to scream.

He swears instead, and she frowns, but finds a pillow to place them on - allows him to keep his knuckles bent, if only because they cannot flatten at all.

The x-ray does not take enough time for the pain to fade, though the doctor does not call him back immediately. He's allowed to sit there gathering himself as she reviews the pictures.

She also has to take more from other angles - that might be why.

Eventually, when the sharp pain has faded and everything has levelled out, she comes over and sits on the x-ray table.

"The good news is there are no loose bone fragments," she says. "I'd like a full CT scan of your hands, but it's awaiting repairs - once it's fixed, I would like you back here so I can assess the muscle damage. Some is obvious, but I'm not sure of the extent."

Cellbit hates that, but he can see how Felps is, so... so he nods in acquisition.

"For now, you said heat helps?"

"I have some heat packs - the camping ones - I grabbed from a sports store," he says.

"I'll requisition more with the medical supplies," she says. "It won't be a reliable supply, but it's fewer questions. Do you take anything for the pain?"

Cellbit shifts, "it doesn't do much, so I don't tend to bother."

And it must be bad, it has to be worse than he thought, because she hands him a bag of boxes of tablets.

"Please take something when it gets bad, at least," and she sounds so tired, like she's said this at least twenty times before. "Do I need to explain how long term pain fucks your body up, or are you going to behave?"

He takes the tablets.

"I'll... try," he says.

"You'd better," she sighs. "Side effects are on the leaflets, come back if there's problems. Once the CT scanner is fixed we'll look at your hands in more detail, and I'll do some research; physio could probably help, but the joints seem unstable."

He... doesn't really like the sound of that, but he nods, and he takes it, because he knows that he has to - there's a doctor sat near him, and he has to do what he's told.

Felps deems himself no longer banished, coming and sitting in Cellbit's lap.

The pressure throws his brain a second. He wraps an arm around Felps' waist, and remembers how to breathe.

"Thank you," he says, because all he wants is to escape.

"I'd tell you to stop pushing them, but I know a loosing battle," the doctor says. "Chief Tubbo said the parts should be ready tomorrow; I'll see you in a week?"

Felps is here, and will hold Cellbit to that; he nods anyway.

It fades into an awkward quiet, until eventually Felps pulls Cellbit away.

---

They end up back in the archive - Cellbit and Felps both sat on the cushion pile. Cellbit has coffee, and water, and Felps forced one of the painkillers on him.

Felps has some sort of fruit juice, and given the colour Cellbit is a little afraid to ask.

They drink quietly, Felps leaning on Cellbit's arm and Cellbit leaning back. It's quiet, and it's still, and it isn't working but Cellbit is struggling to hold his glass.

The mug is fine, with the handle to loop his fingers through. The glass...

Well, he abandons the water just as soon as the pill is taken.

"Why did you do it?" Felps eventually asks, voice too quiet.

"I had to," Cellbit says. "They did this shit to all the hybrids in the department. There was this one woman-" she's dead now, or at least Cellbit hopes she's dead. "- never got her name. The office called her Junior. Fish-hybrid. They carved off all her scales, and used skin graphs to stop them growing back. The air con caused her gills to get infected. Didn't see her again after that."

Felps shakes his head, leaning closer, "did you?"

"Yes." Cellbit says, because there were no other paths he could have taken.

Felps takes one of his hands, and holds it close. His fingers are back, tracing over and over the scars on his skin.

"There's always an option," Felps says.

"They took you," Cellbit replies. "I couldn't let them keep you."

Felps holds the hand tight, and leans against Cellbit's side, "you could have."

Cellbit uses his free hand to turn Felps' face towards him. "No. I couldn't have. It was worth it, Felps. I found you, didn't I? You're safe now - we're both safe now."

Cellbit begs Felps to understand, to realise the cost was worth it - his claws, his hands, it would have been worth even his life. More than his life! Felps is his best friend, and Cellbit is a selfish man. If it had cost other people their lives to get him back then, well, what would he have cared? Felps would have been safe, and that has always been the first thing to matter.

"You'll stay safe?" Felps asks. "You promise?"

"As safe as I can," Cellbit replies.

"No more sacrifices."

... And Cellbit cannot promise him that, so he holds Felps closer and they both fall onto the cushions, curled up in the warmest part of the archives.

"Cellbit." Felps says. "No more sacrifices."

"... I can't give you that," Cellbit says. "But I promise I'll always bring my family home."

"And you'll come with them?"

"If I can."

"Cellbit."

He can't promise it, he can't, he can't - there's so many variables, so many things that can go wrong. He can't stay away from the missions, not always, not when there's secrets that just loot and recordings will never fully capture, not when Pac and Mike go out so often, and Felps might be his best friend, but they're his family too.

And hell, Roier - Roier is out there so often, and Roier isn't Felps' family yet, but Cellbit knows that the cute spider hybrid is his own. His heart, his heart...

It's a terrible thing, to have family.

To have people you are afraid to loose.

"Cellbit. Please."

And Felps is begging, his family is calling for him, and Cellbit is a weak and mortal man.

He closes his eyes and turns his head, tucking it into the small of Felps neck.

"I'll come home to you," he promises. "No matter how long it takes, I will not leave you. Not if you're taken, not if I'm taken; I promise I'll always find you."

Felps relaxes, finally, and smiles, and laughs, and pretends he hasn't just torn the heart from Cellbit's throat as he picks up the hand and begins to massage it once again.

"Does this help?" he asks. "It's kind of fun. Your hands are all squishy."

"I have no idea," and Cellbit doesn't, because his head is full of doctors and surgeons and scalpels, and he's hyperaware of his hands.

He cannot stop thinking about them, cannot stop feeling them, but now Felps is touching them and...

And he thinks of Felps, not of scalpels and blood.

"We'll try, then," Felps says, and it feels like he means more than just massaging Cellbit's knuckles.

And what can Cellbit do but try?

#qsmp x xcom #qsmp fanfic #qsmp cellbit #qsmp felps

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waterpoofs · 1 year

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Your Stable Diffusion Qs answered, part 1

Several of you have asked questions in the comments and msgs, wanting to generate your own Stable Diffusion AI inventions like these. I don't consider myself any kind of expert on this, I've just been messing around, pressing buttons and seeing what happens. But then, that seems to be what everyone who uses Stable Diffusion has been doing, so I guess I'm probably as qualified as anyone to share how I've done this.

So to start, I've answered the basics on what set up I'm using below. When I get a moment, I'll do another post answering questions about prompts, and then one on models.

Hardware and software

I'm running this on a 5 year old Dell XPS 8930 with a 6GB graphics card. It's just a good consumer PC, not a cutting edge supercomputer. But if all you have is a cheap laptop with no GPU, you should probably look to somebody else for guidance, this method probably won't work for you. I think there are other ways you can do it, but I have no experience with them so can't advise on those.

I installed Automatic1111's Web UI following these instructions. Since I did that, somebody has created an installer that is intended to make all that easier, but since I already did it easily enough the first way, I can't vouch for that option.

Config

The best thing to do is play around with things and see what happens. I've messed around with all the different sliders and options, but found that most of the time changing them from the default doesn't do much to improve the results. The only ones I change from the default are sampling steps, which I typically put in the ~100-120 range, and face restoration, which I usually have on during image generation but not during enlargement.

Workflow

The main secret to getting images that I deem worth posting here has little to do with getting the config right, or even writing a perfect prompt, and everything to do with generating a lot of images and binning piles of garbage, then iterating the few creations that have some promise. To get to an image worth posting I typically:

Prompt it to generate a large number of 512x512 images on a theme.

Delete most of what it creates and pick the best looking one - judged on overall composition and the design of the gear, rather than details at this stage.

Send it to the img2img tab to iterate it, typically telling it to generate half a dozen or more variations with denoising strength usually set in the 0.6-0.9 range, depending on how close it already is to what you wanted. Sometimes refining the prompt keywords at this stage too if something stands out as needing a nudge in the right direction.

Pick the best one and send it to the extras tab to enlarge it. There are lots of enlargers available. I've used 4xValar a lot. I often couple it with lollypop, which creates quite a bold, smooth and vibrant look which works well with shiny gear. But I haven't tried many, so there may be other great enlarger options out there.

Now send the enlarged image to the inpaint tab to improve any areas which have problems, like low res artifacts, bad faces or fabrics that aren't what you wanted.

For step 1, the "Script">"Prompts from file or textbox" function is useful: you can write a variety of different prompts, and create minor variations on prompts to see how different keywords affect the results. Fill the textbox with a list of prompts, set the "Batch count" to anything from 20 to 100, then leave the computer churning them out in the background for you to deal with when you have the time to do the other steps.

For step 5 I select an area of the enlarged image, tick "inpaint at full resolution", and if the selected area is larger than 512x512, try to match the width and height settings to approximately the size of the selection. I typically set denoising strength in the 0.3-0.6 range - setting it higher will have a stronger effect, but can also result in that area looking less like it belongs as part of the image, as the lighting and colour balance can end up being a mismatch. Then I write a prompt that is specific to the selected area and have it generate half a dozen options.

The image at the top of this post, for example, started as one of many dozens of guys in shiny Adidas 3 stripe waterproof sportswear, generated as one big batch, the majority of which went straight in the bin.

After img2img iterating it with small refinements to the prompt and picking the best out of a couple dozen variations, I inpainted an area including the left arm, shoulder and hood of the jacket, with a low denoising strength and a gear-specific prompt, just to give it a smoother and higher definition appearance than the enlarged low resolution image had (and still has, on the right arm and legs - they catch my eye less, so I didn't bother trying to perfect those). I then did the same for an area around the face and hands, so it would have better texture and detail, clear up a few oddities in the general shape and the hand structure, and give the guy less crudely sculpted facial hair.

It sounds like a lot of work when now I lay it all out in detail like this, but most of the work is done by the computer in the background: line up a batch of stuff for it to generate/iterate, be patient and leave it to do its thing. Then when you come back to it later, you've just got to pick out the best and do a bit of inpainting once you've got some good images to refine.

At least, that's the workflow I was using for most of these posts - until the most recent 2, filled with the painting/illustration-style creations. Those were even simpler. But I'll get to that in the post on models.

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dyrewrites · 5 months

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I'm going to yammer a while. You've been warned.

So come on this adventure of self-discovery with me if you wish, or ignore it. I like screaming into the void whether it cares or not.

I have an ending problem.

I don't like when things end. Especially my own things. It's like someone telling me, "Okay, we're done playing, time to go home." And my inner child throws a tantrum. I start kicking and screaming and storm out with all my toys scattered in someone else's house because I'm mad and if I can't play anymore why do I even need those toys.

So the ending suffers. It feels rushed and strange and doesn't fit at all with anything else. It is obvious that I didn't want to write it.

But the story has to end. It can't go on forever.

And toys aren't cheap, so I gotta go back in there and pick those up and maybe apologize for my behavior so I can come back and play again another time.

Okay we're done with that analogy.

My point is that I hate endings to long stories. Short stories I adore the endings to, because I write horror and those endings are encouraged to be open and teasing and leave the reader wondering if anything has actually ended. Delicious endings those, so much fun to write.

Long stories require getting into the characters and the world and falling in love with these dumb little people you've created. "Lookit him in his situations, not knowing what to do, I just want to throw him into more!"

So it's harder to say goodbye. It's harder to leave them. Worse when you realize this story isn't for you alone, it needs to make sense to people who aren't living in your brain. It needs to end in a satisfying way that actually includes all of those delicious situations and how they would end, and how your characters would respond to that end.

And when I am neck-deep in a story this big...I don't want out. I don't want it to end. So I make a terrible mess of the place that future me, who has had time to calm down and remind herself that side-stories are a thing and I can play with my toys more later, will have to clean up.

I lied about the analogy.

I was that kid who played alone for hours with their toys, I didn't need other kids to play with, I didn't make any noise either half the time (when I did my parents regretted checking in on me, because it was a villain monologue). I had my own friends. In my head. And we did just fine, thank you.

Now all those friends are being put into stories to share with other people, but they're still my friends and I like playing with them and I don't want to stop.

Revising Weald and Wen took me almost a year, because I dawdled hard on that one. Those weren't friends, those were facets of me that have been around for almost as long as my memory goes back. It was hard to end that book, it will be so much harder to end the series, but at least they'll be in all of those books. I have three more books with those characters! It'll be glorious.

Pale Blood is one book in a series too, but each book will have a brand new cast. So I won't see these guys again unless I write side-stories for them (and I fucking will). And they all endeared themselves to me, even the jerks, especially the jerks.

So I rushed the ending. Again. I made a mess. Again. Because I didn't want to say goodbye yet.

All this is to say that I will continue posting chapters but don't expect to see that ending. It will be different by the time you see it.

Because it is a mess. And it is bad.

#writing rambles #i don't even know if there was a point to this actually #think i just needed to vent

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philtstone · 10 months

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45, Sam Wilson

#45 -- shining like fireworks lol this is way longer than it was supposed to be and also was crafted around the #25 prompt, because I can't read. but I made it work. zainab i know youve already written something like this but i wanted to try my hand at it too! my homage to the epistolatory fic...

"You made me a scrapbook for my birthday?"

Okay.

Maybe he should rewind.

Sam won't lie and say it hasn't been a rough few months. So technically, the weight of the world doesn't need to be on his shoulders. He keeps thinking he oughta take a page out of that Spider-kid's book, and just be a friendly neighborhood Cap, or something. It's just between intercontinental warhead measuring competitions (something he can say around his nephews without Sarah raising both eyebrows), dickhead suits (come on, Sarah), flying green men, and regular old food shortages in his own damn home state ... well, it's hard not to feel it all, when you care.

He used to call Bucky and bitch about things, before. Or rather -- he'd call Bucky, and Bucky would start bitching about things, which gave Sam the opening to also start bitching about things. Funny how that worked out. But they weren't even living together then. They were miles apart! Since he and Bucky got that stupid bachelor pad apartment six months ago, they've barely spent more than three consecutive minutes in each others' presence. They've both been out of the apartment for such mutually overlapping long stretches of time that every time Sam checks the fridge, the brand new carton of milk he got on the last grocery run has gone lumpy. The worst of it is, he hasn't had any chance to talk to Bucky about it properly, and there's a weird, tireder-than-usual Sam part of his brain that worries maybe this isn't the best solution to Bucky's isolation issues. Wasn't that part of the reason they decided to move in together, anyway? A solution to loneliness? Humans weren't made to live all alone, grown assed men or not, Sam thinks.

All of this is making Sam in more of a bad mood than he needs to be, given that it's his birthday.

It is his fortieth birthday, so maybe that, too, is contributing.

By rights, he should be turning forty five. That part though, Sam refuses to think about at all.

"Yeah, yeah, complain about how old you are," Bucky says, leaned too far back in his own porch chair, long legs stretched all the way out against the rail, and nursing the twin of Sam's own cool beer. "Is it 'cause you need reading glasses now?"

"Bucky," Sam grits out, because he's not sure how to communicate, I am stupidly glad you, one of my dearest friends some-fucking-how, are here, I've missed you, I really didn't expect I would this much, but also I am five seconds away from drop kicking you into a small body of water, so help me God, in a non embarrassing, well-adjusted kinda way.

"Aw, it is," says the most annoying man alive, who at one hundred and seven has the general face and physique of a particularly genetically-blessed thirty-eight year old. The fact that technically, if you do the in-and-out-of-cryo math, Bucky clocks out at two years younger than Sam is possibly the single worst fact in the universe, right now.

"Both of you shut up and let Sam finish opening his presents," says a third voice, and Sam, miffed, turns to glare at his sister, while Bucky, the bastard, is grinning like a set of cheap fireworks.

Sarah had promised that they won't do nothing big til tomorrow, and that this afternoon was just for family. Sam should've expected that meant four neighbors and three of their childhood family friends and two cousins, also, but by four pm, most people have filed out and lunch is a demolished mess of scraped-clean plates and almost empty pots on the big fold out table on the backyard porch. He's already opened AJ and Cass's humble contribution: a baseball mitt, which Uncle Sam can use to teach them baseball, much to Bucky's endless amusement ("Didn't you say baseball was an old people sport? You played baseball in school, Samuel? When you were even younger?" Yeah, he's real close to Bucky-cide, today). He knows Sarah's got him an old record player of their dad's upstairs, which he'd been planning to get fixed up all those many years ago, before their lives were torn apart; the fact that it has survived, and they have survived, makes Sam feel a certain kind of way. What Sam wasn't expecting was the lumpy, large, rectangular package that emerges from under the porch table, wrapped in brown paper and presented to him by his nephews.

"And that one's from B," Sarah says. Sam's too busy staring at it incredulously to clock the amused twinkle in his sister's eye.

"You got me a birthday present? Forreal?" Sam doesn't know if he wants to laugh or be suspicious or tear up like an idiot. Jesus, it's not like he's Bucky, getting all misty at basic kind gestures. Bucky shrugs and takes a drag from his beer.

"What, you can get me stuff, but I'm banned?"

"You're not banned, oh my God. I'm just surprised."

"I get people presents!"

"I know you do!"

"So, it's your birthday, I got you a present."

"What is it?"

"Now he's making it weird!" Bucky says, helplessly, to Sarah. AJ and Cass have started giggling.

So Sam rips off the wrapping paper, muttering to himself.

Which brings him back to an immutable, inescapable fact.

Bucky Barnes made him a scrapbook for his birthday.

"It's not a scrapbook."

"It's literally a scrapbook. Holy shit, are those stickers from Joanne's?"

"Hobby Lobby," offers AJ solemnly.

"Look, okay, it was Sarah's idea! Just read the fuckin' -- I mean, uh --"

At this point, the boys' giggles are threatening to turn medical. Sarah mouths nope, all him, from behind Bucky's chair, while Sam gapes helplessly at the shockingly neat mess of .... post it notes?

No. No way.

"You put all the annoying sticky notes you left me about the fucking soured milk in a scrapbook?"

"Oh, guys, come on!" Sarah throws her hands up in the air. "That's two in half a minute! You want these boys to grow up cursin'?"

"Half of them are yours!" Bucky points. "Which, by the way, were also annoying!" He's not quite embarrassed, but there's an airy, funny kind of laugh bubbling up behind his words at the ridiculousness of it all. Sam's feeling it too. He reaches into his pocket and takes out his reading glasses.

Bucky cracks; he chokes on his laughter, stuffing it roughly behind one metal fist; AJ has plastered himself against Sam's side and Cass is literally slumped, hiccupping, on the floor. Even Sarah's having a hard time fighting it.

Primly, Sam begins reading at a random place in the middle of the book; the note is written on an overlarge, bright blue POST-IT.

SAM. WON'T BE BACK TIL THURSDAY. PICKED UP THAT WEIRD MILK YOU LIKE FOR YOU. -JBB

Bucky, just got in. Leaving again tomorrow 0600. Hope Ross isn't being too much of a pain in the ass. Lactose free milk is a sexy modern invention, NOT weird. Its kind of gone bad tho. Did you not drink any of it???

Also, u dont have to sign post its. - Sam

I WASNT GONNA DRINK YOUR MILK. ITS YOURS. THANKS FOR TAKING OUT THE LEFTOVER TRASH, HAD TO RUN. GOT YOU MORE MILK FOR WHEN YOU GET BACK. YOU WILL DO GREAT. RIP STR MALONE A NEW ONE - JBB

I know who you are! Milks bad again. Jesus, i need a vacation. I didn't rip any senators new ones

Wanted to, tho. You keep switching burner phones so i cant text you this shit

LEAVE NOTES. THEY STICK TO THE FRIDGE NICE - JBB

Oh my God, you did not get a cat while I was gone

SHE CAN LIVE IN MY ROOM. GOT YOU MORE MILK AS A BRIBE :-)

She tore up ALL THE CURTAINS. I LIKED THOSE CURTAINS. And do your own laundry instead of getting me milk!

I DO LAUNDRY! IVE DONE YOURS THREE TIMES IN A ROW.

FUCK. MILKS GONE BAD.

You tried to drink it? What happened to its Sams milk?

Your cat peed in my shoe by the way!

IT WAS GOING BAD!!!!! -JBB

It's always goin bad!! - STW

Hey B, heard about the op from Rhodey. Im in Delacroix tmrw, come down if you can. Take care of yourself, man.

At this point, Sam stops reading. That was a couple days ago. He looks up again, pulls his glasses off. As irritable as he was earlier, there is relief in seeing Bucky perfectly in-tact, effortlessly whole. Maybe a little tired around the eyes, but Sam thinks that's maybe a detail about him that's never really gonna go away at this point. He'd been worried, yeah. Annoyed, that they hadn't talked properly before parting ways. Missing his friend and pissed off about the milk. What was the point of living with a person if you never fucking interacted, and then they got blown up?

"I can't believe you kept all of this shit," Sam manages.

Rubbing at one eye, Bucky shrugs, looks down, then up, like he's not actually embarrassed about it at all. He says, "I had to prove to my therapist I was living successfully with a roommate somehow."

Sam snorts. After a beat, Bucky adds, "Hadn't had a roommate in years. It would've been weird to throw them out."

Yeah, Sam thinks. Yeah.

"Hey, man," Sam says, while Sarah (still chuckling), begins cleaning up the plates on the table with Cass's help. "I missed you too." Bucky smiles -- "You better tell me where you found that mangy stray cat, though."

At which point Bucky's mouth drops open in what is apparently mortal offense, and the rest of Sam's birthday is spent arguing over viable pet names for the tiny white demon kitten from hell.

#this is far from perfect but im kind of just pleased i wrote something at all #do i look like i know how the marvel timeline works. no. so sams forty #my writing #taylor swift prompt meme #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sarah wilson #the falcon and the winter soldier #marvel #sam x bucky #tfatws

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thatonebandgeek · 2 years

Text

have some headcannons at 4:30am because I physically cannot with life : )

JASON TODD, totally paints his nails. Change. My. Mind. his favourite colours to do are probably red and black. Roy laughs at him until jason paints his nails while he's sleeping. Roy understands the hype around painting your nails now.

MACAQUE, definitely called wukong to pick him up after spending all his money on theatre merch and tickets...he's broke

TSUKISHIMA, has Bluetooth headphones because his old ones only worked when he twisted the wire a certain way and he was having none of that hassle.

DAMIEN LAVEY (MONSTER PROM), decorates his horn for events. he likes to put like those stick on gems on them and he dies pretty henna patterns with golden puffy paint. he says it makes him look ✨️e l e g a n t ✨️

XIAO (MODERN AU), listens to MCR on full volume when Zhonglis talking to him. Imagne it:

"Xiao. Have you seen your hair? It's a mess have a shower!"

"*xiao nods his head and pretends to listen when really he's listening to Gerrard Way scream his heart out*"

DAIKI AOMINE, got his ears pierced after highschool because he was too scared to be teased and called gay or something. he only did it though,because a girl he hooked up with said guys with piercings were hot.

JON KENT, really, really,really likes lollipops because when he first met nightwing dick calmed him down by giving him a lollipop when he was scared and crying. his favourite flavours are cherry and blue raspberry because the red and blue remind him of clark.

LUCIFER FROM OBEY ME, really likes praise. but not in kinky way. in a,"im touch starved and have a big brother complex so everyone expects me to do it all," kinda way. like: " Luci, you're so warm," or "Luci you're arms are so big. You must be strong."

MAMMON FROM OBEY ME, you know that one time when asmo asks you why you smell like mammon? That made me wonder, what does he smell like. So I thought real hard and came up with this: cheap booze, 5 dollar cologne and money.

TIM DRAKE, feels so inferior to the other Robins. Like they all have a thing ya know? Dick: the original nice acrobat boi, Jason: the dead one who came back with guns and issues, Steph: feminist of the year, smart as fuck and beautiful, Damian: the blood son, strongest warrior in the world when he was nine, t r a u m a, has a milf as a mom. Need I say more? Tim's just a smart coffee obsessed geek. He doesn't feel like he brings anything to the team.

MORI-SENPAI FROM OHSHC, likes the colour pink. it reminds him of the club and his friends and good times.

MURASAKIBARA FROM KNB, hates cheese flavored snacks. he thinks they taste so artificial and he hates how most of them leave your brethe smelling gross and some weird powder on your hands.

MAKO FORM THE LEGEND OF KORA, thinks he's a shit boyfriend. I mean both of the girls he dated turned out to like each other more than him. and he's happy for them but at the same time he can't help but think that there's something wrong with him that made them turn to each other for their problems and not him.

MARSHALL LEE, loves flowers. like through all of that bad boy shit, he's just a baby. he finds flowers so beautiful. you can find them anywhere in a crack in the sidewalk, in the gutter literally anywhere. he loves how they persist through weather challenges and try their hardest to grow.

SUNA RINTAROU, secretly likes his loud teammates. he won't admit it but he loves how close they are even when they're all so different.

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walker-290 · 1 year

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There was a time when i would finish up all my work so that I can enjoy con weekend contents. Now i actively avoid con contents. I went from 🥰 to 🤢

And what is this "when Sam and Dean come back" that Jensen keeps harping on? Dude you do know that you are already playing Dean on a cheap show right? Does he know he is not making any sense? Maybe 2023 will be the year when i completely leave this shit fandom now that TW will also be part of the con circuit. It's like more salt on the wound i can't take it.

Anyway i was absolutely enjoying the FIFA final instead of this crap con updates. What a game huh?

I was too much into FIFA world cup to care. But I did watch the 3 panels I always watch. Misha, J2 gold and J2 afternoon. Misha's panel was fun. I knew most of his answers cause more or less they are the same questions. Learned that he had prosthetics done for converting to two face already when previously he said two face would not be on screen until season 2. So that's cool stuff. But I didn't like how he said Jared didn't have to work hard and was rewarded just for beautiful genes. Especially after watching how Jared said in the main panel that he wishes to tell everyone how much trouble he had to go through to reach here and it wasn't always so easy and glorious as people assume.

The Sam and Dean coming back is a bait for the people to not leave the conventions as this is a huge moneymaker for both J2 but especially the main moneymaker for everyone else in that con circuit. Rob, Rich, Ruth, the band, and literally everyone - their primary earning is SPN cons and then their 2nd job is acting. But Jensen saying "Oh I would like to play Dean again" like he is not playing Dean every week on TW seems hilarious to me. I know we ignore TW but to watch Jensen not admitting its existence is just 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Two things annoyed me was "Jared won't get a rim shot" joke is old as fuck ... it's not even funny anymore.

And then Jensen proudly saying how he would murder grandpa on the street and it's so like Dean...Like when did ever Dean wanted to cut off a human being's arms who is old? Idk maybe I blocked mean Dean out of my mind. But still a character being grumpy on a show for comedy sake Vs a person saying I want to cut off someone's arms cause I was out of my lane but he dared to correct me? Whoooof!!! But that's just "pretty boy window dresser" Jensen 😬 right? I wonder if he called the man "bitch" or "son of a bitch" too?

And imagine if it was Jared Padalecki going around telling people he yells at old people and wanting to beat the crap out of them in public? AAs and hellers would crucify him.

Misha being mean to Jared? ✅

Jensen revealing another story of him acting like an asshole? ✅

Con circuit trying to demean Jared? ✅

Fans calling Jared mean thing (old and rusty? Not funny!) ✅

Jensen acting like TW doesn't exist and he wants to bring Dean back? ✅

False reports trying to make Jared look bad from con attendees? ✅

Jared being the sweetest, kindest, funniest guy? ✅

Now FIFA WORLD CUP....I will post all of my feelings in a separate post (than this mess 🤢) But I was ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#anti jensen #anti Misha #Jared Padalecki is the best #SPN cons have become so predictable #ask

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memoryspine · 10 months

Text

its aqua (he/they, 21+) again, with another muse.. this time i present park yeona, appraiser at gugus and fixer of all of your mechanical and cybertech needs. give her all of the little knickknacks from the past, your spluttering motorcycle, that cybertech that just hasn't been working quite right since you got it and she'll have you fixed up in no time. what's she doing in ansan? more like chasing remnants of her past, which she can't seem to fix no matter what she does.. profile/pages coming soon, but leave a like for us to appear in your dms (disc if you prefer!) and find more info under the read more!

and some background.. ( mentions of cybertech installations regarding the spine )

born in '97, and has resided in ansan all of her 26 years of life. uses she/they/he in that order regarding pronouns, and is comfortable with masc and fem terms, though she usually regards herself using she/they the most

grew up in quite a large family, living overtop a restaurant they owned and worked in. she's the oldest sibling and had been working as a waitress for the majority of her time through school, fixing the machines at the restaurant and her parent's car and learning most of how things worked by messing around with whatever she could find at home and in the scrapyards

the scrapyards is where she meets her (now) ex-girlfriend that sort of shaped the trajectory of where she finds herself these days. her ex's older brother owned a garage that was the Official front for what she used as a third party cybertech installation in the back, usually found by word of mouth and for people looking for Cheap and Quick cybertech

yeona had never really had the means for getting any cybertech, so it was mostly things she regarded from far away. money was for food and restaurant expenses and not much else, and getting in a position to work on tech seemed a little too far out of reach with her responsibility to her family, so this seemed.. So Easy. too easy, when her girlfriend was just as interested in installing and fixing cybertech, too

so she starts working inbetween the restaurant and the garage, and starts working her way up in installations. they provide a lower cost amount for anything anyone brings in (no questions asked where it's from) or what they can order through her ex's older brother, but working at the garage is finally something that makes yeona realize there's More out there then what she thought there was

and she gets Good at it. despite no formal training, her ex teaches her everything she knows. her mother's a doctor and half of the supplies they have are borrowed when they won't be missed from the hospital, and they work well together. yeona's making enough money that she starts working on her own pieces, and it leads to the one she had been dreaming about for years: an entire strip of metal formed and fitted to her spine

aesthetics, yes, and she also works out a form of flexibility within the model and an ability to hook up the piece with the parts of her brain that associate with pain receptors--- the thing that always bothered her most about fixing tech was that sometimes she couldn't just run diagnostics herself, and with this, she could, as long as she made a connection to the person she was working on

after a long time of saving and working and learning, she trusts her ex to help her install the piece. she does half of it, and from her own experience, also works on it herself, determined to get it right. it's a long installation and it's her first piece of tech, and they did it together

it works, too. she can show it off, the silver that follows down the length of her spine and curves around her ribs, and it gives her more credibility when it comes to more complicated installations

everything goes a little wrong when her ex asks her to install a piece she found in the scrapyard. they're convinced it can't be fixed, and it seems wrong, and she just can't fight the feeling that it shouldn't be installed. but her lack of support leads into a series of disagreements they can't seem to get back from, and they break up

yeona loses all sense of herself. her place of work, her confidence in performing cybertech repairs, her support system and someone very important to her. she ends up moving out of their shared place into one of her own at black stone apartments, having not contacted her family much aside from sending money and receiving updates from their younger sister

while her younger sister had always dreamed of going to astra, yeona quickly lost sight of it when she thought she had found her place in ansan, and lost sight of the close relationship they once had. she discovers her sister is working at the astra air strip 4 now to be as close as she can get, and yeona finds work at gugus to keep saving money to send her and her family (and taking the extra little trinkets home from the old world to mess with)

she refuses to do any extensive cybertech installations like she used to, and sticks to repairing mechanical objects and tune ups to smaller pieces of tech. you can often find her at the underground, patching up fighters for free and occasionally betting on matches

similarly, you can find her wherever the nightrunners seem to pop up. she's found doing much of the same, repairing odd and ends, whether it be machine or person, and at the scrapyards, picking up anything she finds of value

aimless, she finds herself lost and without the purpose she thought she had. she had discarded too much of herself in the process of the breakup (a little over a year since it happened) and can barely look at the tech installed along her back without being reminded of it all (and the five years they spent together)

prone to distraction from the past and without a true goal in mind, she stays mostly stuck in place, working on finding her own meaning and the confidence in herself that she misses to chase after the things she loves, instead helping others in the meantime in place of her own dreams

spontaneous and eager for things to get them out of her head, you can find her everywhere and nowhere all at once. maybe one day she'll realize that everything was always hers, even if she's not in the same places with the same people, it's herself that was always there along the way, and that was all that really mattered

plot ideas!

anyone who frequents gugus! she's an appraiser there but she would love it if you were always bringing in things for her to add to the collection (or maybe sneak home)

you always seem to meet each other at the underground. whether a fighter (she's always fixing your tech at the side of the ring) a better (she's always swearing she'll win this next time) or you've noticed she's always around fixing things, she may turn you down for anything more than a tune up if you ask

you had your cybertech fixed or done by her back when she worked at the garage and ask her for a fix up but she (at first) seems to avoid you altogether due to the reminders it brings. still, at heart, she wishes to do what she can for this world, and ultimately agrees to help

nightrunners! let them fix whatever you need. probably goes under an alias and wears a mask of some sort when she's there just for the added protection, but she's reliable when it comes to quick tune ups and knows exactly what she's doing. you've seen each other around quite a bit and she's gotten used to coming around and seeing if you need any help

those at the scrapyard! even though she's making a good amount of money, she still finds herself going back to look for parts like she used to. she says it's a guilty pleasure but she's always loved it there for everything she might find and is determined to reclaim it for herself. a friendly face or a familiar one you trust to tell you if what you've dug out is worth the trip, yeona is more than happy to help

flings but she never intends on them going anywhere, and might be inclined to get themself out of there before he thinks it's too late (fem/nb leaning)

friends she's known since childhood who frequented her family's restaurant and they always got extra dessert, ones she lost contact with after her breakup and she kind of isolated herself from everything in her old life and she's slowly coming back, stumbling into each other at an old place they used to frequent, bringing you back to meet their family and remembering all of the nights you sat on the roof together and dreamed about astra and all of the stars beyond

those who live nearby in the black stone apartments, she tries her best not to be too noisy but sometimes she just forgets the time and she's still banging away at her latest prototype.. if you live nearby she probably never has any food or sugar to lend you but she Does have candles if the lights go out and One additional floatie for when the water gets too high (it's first come first serve, sorry, but she'll tie you to her's if they need to)

i'll have pages up with more information Soon but leave a like for now and we'll appear in your dm's to see if we can figure something out!

#rmnt:intro

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