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yurozo · 2 months

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the wolf and the lamb (leon x reader)

chapter two, a mouse trapped in bloodied claws:

synopsis: a seed of doubt begins to take bloom in your chest, watching ada slowly succumb to the infection. before you can react, you run into the agent that's meant to take away everything you've ever known. (ao3)

a/n: leon's finally here baby! let me know what y'all think

word count: 3.5k

Nothing seems truly alive here, in this crumbling village just past the borders of Spain. There is only the quiet, occasionally interrupted by the grumbling of villagers below you that fill the air’s emptiness. A flood of bustling footsteps marching in unison temporarily breaks the silence. The sound echoes throughout, a rattling thump, until it fades into nothingness. Weapons carved from homogeneity, born into a persistent numbness to their existence before. You almost envy the simplicity of their existence, repeating the same domestic rituals with dragging feet and half-garbled sentences.

Wesker told you to start at the village, wait until she makes herself known, and keep your eye on anyone who might try and interfere. The woman in red is trustworthy enough for him, but the whispering of another actor in his grand design is too loud to ignore, a man determined to bring down everything he holds dear. To take you away from him, his precious masterpiece, and turn you into a weaker thing. Thus, you were cast from your iron podium, nothing more than a spectator to his and the woman’s scheme unless the moment called for it.

For such a critical factor of his ineffable plan, it is painstakingly boring .

You whisper ramblings to the open air to no answer, a meek attempt to quell the rising boredom that slowly lulls you to sleep. A monologue to an absent god, if anyone even existed up there. Sitting at the bell tower’s highest level allows you to see everything happening, but it’s far away from the action. Occasionally, your eyes wander over to the bull mulling about in its pen, and you wonder how its blood would feel between your fingers.

You close your eyes, if only for a moment, allowing yourself to get lost in the daydream. Your mind supplies images of your hands digging inside your own chest, gripping the tendons and flesh holding the fragile organ together. Your fingers struggle to squeeze the organ in a futile attempt to keep it still.

The sound of a scream breaks your reverie, along with the livelier bustle of villagers as they file out of their desolate houses. You watch them drag a screaming man to the middle of the square, his blood mixing into the dirt.

A flash of blue. A uniform.

There’s this aching feeling in your chest, your heart hammering itself against your ribcage like angry fists on a concrete wall.

The man wails as the nails are hammered into his limbs, pinning his body to a crudely made cross. His screams fill the emptiness moments later as the fire licks upwards and consumes him entirely. You hear his final words– a desperate cry to the sky above. It’s enough of a show to entertain you, for the time being, until you can catch wind of your real target.

Who is pointedly still not here for some reason.

You hear a knife being unsheathed and the sick crunch of bone when you realize the show is only beginning. Crawling to the edge of the bell tower’s ledge, you watch a man gingerly place the body of one of the village women out of sight before swiping at an herb to shove it in his pocket. The other villagers spot him moments later, rushing toward him with relentless anger. That aching silence is once again shattered by the unrelenting sound of gunshots.

You watch the fight ensue, chin resting in your palm, momentarily sated by the entertainment of seeing the villagers fall one by one. The man is clearly experienced, obvious in the practiced elegance with which he handles his weapon, but still young– if the momentary stiffness in his shoulders every time a villager prepares to fight is anything to go by. The hoard seems never-ending, and as time ticks by, the man is clearly starting to reach the limits of his energy. This sophisticated dance of bullets and blood is nearing its conclusion, and you’ll be damned if you let those blubbering subordinates get a one-up.

If what Wesker said about this agent is true, it will be you who gets the glory of the kill.

Your foot shoots out and kicks the bell, the sound reverberating in your ears. The ringing is enough to signal to the horde that their momentary goal is completed, leading the stragglers to wander off towards the tower. They saunter off with glazed eyes, leaving the man standing in complete bewilderment. Before you can hop off the ledge, you hear him mutter something to himself, and you can only huff in passing amusement.

A second later, you see a streak of red shoot past you, disappearing among the houses before you can react. The game is beginning.

–

The woman in red, for the little that you trust her, is at least a more entertaining watch. She’s incredibly skilled, precise in each shot with a steadfastness that almost scares you. Every attack is perfectly timed, each movement without a wasted breath. There’s a reason why Wesker chose her– she’s efficient, deadly, and clearly knows better than to ask questions. Some unbidden part of you admires it, how easily she can follow orders without giving into any desire for more . She flourishes in this institution with a grace you could never achieve while still being able to retain an inherent virtue that you envy.

Despite your obedience, despite this binding attachment to Wesker, a part of you always wondered if there was more to this. More than the lab, than the cell, than this inescapable position at the heel of his foot. Perhaps if you were better, if you obeyed every command without a moment’s hesitation, maybe he would make you more than just a conveyer of his whim. Maybe you could be more like her, unattached and cool in the face of everything.

Someone like her is who he would always prefer. You knew that.

Your earpiece crackles as you hide yourself behind a chimney.

“Update.” Wesker’s voice rings through your ear, a touch of annoyance in his tone. He’s upset about something, and a part of you cowers at being the target of his ire. “We’ve lost Luis’ signal in the forest. I’ve sent Ada to track his last known location.”

“Understood.” You sigh, eyes flicking down to where Ada racing away on her grappling hook. “I’ll make sure to follow and keep you updated.

Wesker is uncharacteristically silent on the other end, only the faint sound of breathing audible over the earpiece. “Any sign of the man?”

Your heart stutters in your chest and slows to an eventual halt. He knows. A part of him must know, aware of this growing seed of doubt in your chest. “Caught him once in the village. He seems skilled.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Wesker snaps, the noise squealing in your ear. You wince.

“I know. I’m sorry.” You try to take a steadying breath as you step off the roof, your boots crunching in the dirt below. Despite every movement accomplished in Wesker’s name, it always ends with you begging in forgiveness– kneeling at his boot and pleading for another chance. “I don’t think he’ll be a threat."

–

Something instinctually doesn’t trust Luis. There’s this aching disdain towards his position as a researcher that unsettles you, something core in his existence that boils this pit in your gut. You wonder is he shares the same affection towards his construction as the man who created you, or if he’s acting out of regret for all that he’s created. You wonder if the answer would change anything.

Even if you’ve never met the man, you can’t help but wonder if his life is really all that worth saving. He made the Plagas, turned these humans into these weaker things that are doomed for extinction. Something stronger will only come around and put them out of their terrible misery.

Ada stumbles back to the village below you, clutching the side of her chest with a wince. A momentary instant of weakness there, this human part of her that seeps through her stone exterior. She stumbles forward, her head folded down.

There’s something wrong .

You hear the gunshot before you can see what she’s aiming at. There’s just enough time to hide behind a stone wall, knees folded into the harsh gravel. With a harsh breath, you peek your head out just enough to see into the square without exposing yourself fully. Ada is shooting into the open air, launching herself at nothing in particular. She must be seeing something you’re not, mind clouded by something you can’t put a name on.

It isn’t until you see the cloaked figure of a bioweapon behind her that everything clicks into place. This sick feeling of disappointment twists in your chest. You crumple behind the stone, pressing your earpiece once with a sigh.

“Update.” You whisper into the mic, voice quiet so as to not attract Ada’s attention. You’re not even sure if she can hear you over the gunshots, but you can’t risk Wesker’s anger.

His voice cuts in a moment later. “Speak.”

“Something isn’t right.” The gunshots falter, the click of an empty magazine clear through the village, and you hear her groan in pain. “She’s infected. Looks to be early stages.”

Wesker heaves a deep sigh, his voice clipping in annoyance. “Compromised?”

You peek over the wall once more, watching her inspect the handgun with great focus and mutter something to herself. “Most likely. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Fix it.” The earpiece crackles before finally falling silent.

The silence gnaws at this softer part of you, one hidden beneath tears of calloused skin. For someone trusted enough to be given such a significant responsibility in his project, for someone who navigates Wesker’s design without uncertainty, Ada is thrown away like nothing. Part of you wants to believe that this is a necessary evil, this ability to know which pieces in the game to sacrifice for the greater good.

If a greater good exists in this circumstance. The thought of more people like you wandering the same land you occupy, teeth bared at all the weaker things who are unfortunate enough to be in its proximity. You wonder what would happen to you in those circumstances, if Wesker would remove the dagger or simply let the skin grow around it.

Ada crumples to the ground, weeping silently in pain. Wesker would have been disappointed at such a blatant sign of weakness, would have held a gun to her head and ended the pain as swiftly as he could. That’s what he valued most: strength. The strength to survive every circumstance and the strength to take out the faulty pawns when they could no longer move across the board. The sight of Ada slowly succumbing to the infection and clutching at the gashes in her arms would have been enough reason to toss her away with the rest of them.

You remember the tubes of littered corpses in the lab, forever stuck in this stasis of not-quite-really-living. It would have been a waste of her, you think, of her physical prowess reduced to this barely living corpse. You silently rise to your feet and walk into the closest building, careful to stay out of her sight. It would have been easy to tear her apart when she’s distracted and injured; soft flesh is nothing to sharpen and aged claws. Her back is facing you– half the work is done already.

Something stops you, something much stronger than your desperate need to obey.

There was no satisfaction in killing someone half-dead already, and that terribly soft part of you rises to the surface.

You suppose the infection would take her one way or the other.

–

The Ganados are an easy enough target for distraction. Slashing through bone feels easy– natural, even. This animalistic instinct to end this sad existence they’ve carved out for themselves overtakes you, and it’s not long until their blood is pooling around your feet. It’s the better alternative to thinking about your momentary weakness, that hesitation to follow orders from the only person who ever cared about you. Disobeying Wesker is not an action that comes without consequences. It is a darkness veiled over you that festers guilt like a mold.

He gave you strength, and this is the payment you give in return. He built you from nothing, meticulously stitched parts of you back together until you became something more than some sniveling weak child. He tore every soft part of you and replaced it with metal and bone and helped you when the pain pulled at each fiber of your being.

And yet, you hesitated. All because you wondered if he would love you still with the soft parts intact. If he would throw you away if something stronger took your place.

You hear the door swing open as you rip into the last Ganado’s chest, hands dripping with its ichor. There’s barely time to react before you hear a loud shot and feel a bullet tearing its way into your shoulder. The pain is only momentary, a slight distraction from the intruder who had the nerve to shoot you.

You turn your head– a small, barely noticeable movement. Your features begin to catch in the light as you step forward, firm muscles and vein-riddled skin splattered with blood. A flash of blue fills your vision before it trains on the pistol aimed directly between your eyes, white knuckles hovering over the trigger. You see his eyes fall to your hands, at the still-pulsating heart clutched desperately within bloodied, sharp claws.

“The hell are you?” The man snaps, taking a step back. His eyes flit up to your shoulder, where the flesh is rapidly stitching itself back together. It’s clear that your appearance takes him aback: the matted hair, sharp eyes, and veins bulging out of scarred skin. Every part of it is unnatural, like something fighting to break its way out. A woman poised and bred to kill.

His eyes eventually wander back down to your hands, to the blood dripping down unceremoniously onto the floor. Your head tilts slightly, but his expression doesn’t change, still stern and serious.

You recognize what he’s doing: sizing you up, seeing where he lies on this hierarchy of predator and prey.

You smell his fear and know his answer.

Prey.

That delicious scent of fear reminds you of someone, although you can’t quite place who. It doesn’t really matter; you can only focus on the way it permeates every sense and sharpens that instinct to devour. There’s something different about him– this thrill to destroy seems amplified a thousand times over. It’s been so long since you tasted it: bioweapons aren’t truly controlled by survival instincts, simply throwing themselves at their goal with reckless abandon to their own life. This is different, this is someone in a shitty situation with everything to lose. Its taste is magnified by some other feeling you can’t name, but it’s fucking delicious.

You can only smile at the man’s realization, this sharp and crooked action that feels entirely unnatural. He takes another step back. You step forward in response.

His eyes are flickering across your face, searching for something. Perhaps some kind of sign, a hint of humanity or empathy behind those pitch-black eyes. He finds only a forest fire of rage, restrained only by your obedience and lightened by curiosity.

“Leave.” Your voice cuts through the dense air between you, fully turning towards him. A part of you hopes that he will pay heed and run for it. There was always something about the chase, the unpredictability of someone skilled enough to keep it difficult, that always had your heart pounding in your chest. This could be the recompense for your unforgivable sin, bringing back the head of the agent that threatened Wesker’s mission. It was easier to kill someone willing to fight back and sharp enough to bite than one scrambling and pleading for a chance to live.

“Like hell I will.” The man scoffs, straightening his back. A meager attempt at confidence, you think, like a stray cat backed into a corner with its fur straight.

You grin. “Final warning.”

His body visibly tenses, adrenaline pumping through his veins. You can almost admire his steadfastness, the way he doesn’t cower in front of you but only tightens his finger on the trigger. He’s strong despite his age. Despite his soft flesh and beating heart that could be easily torn to shreds.

“I’m not leaving until I know what-” He pauses, a slight tremble in his hands. “ -who you really are.”

His statement confuses you, if only for a second. There’s a flicker of curiosity blooming in your chest at the man who still refuses to shoot her again. Being fearful of a beast coiling around your chest is one thing; asking for its name is another. Most of your targets never hesitate in their responses, either attacking in a scant attempt at continuance or folding when they realize they’re outmatched. This man does neither. He stands his ground and stalls. His decision lies in this void of ambiguity– questions the dog baring its teeth.

He doesn’t seem happy with your lack of an answer. “Who are you?”

“Does it matter?” You finally answer, tilting your head playfully at him like a cat toying with a half-dead mouse.

“It matters to me.” He breathes out, his lips pursed in thought. “A fucking sentient bioweapon. Just my shitty luck.”

If only he knew. If he could understand this weight thrust upon you as a beast of burden, doomed to live in an eternal position of obedience. Where softness is weakness, to be tender-hearted in your world is to resign yourself to death without a chance of fighting back. It means your final words will forever be an echoing and dying bark.

“Something like that.” Is all you can answer.

“Great.” He chokes out a nervous laugh, gritting his teeth in frustration. His fingers tighten on the pistol. “Another one of you, let out of the lab for God knows what reason.”

Your chest stings at the comment and hardens your expression. “Sounds like you have experience.”

“I’ve seen my fair share.” There’s a faraway look, if only for a moment, as if he’s reminiscing on something far lost to him. You had that look once, too, many ages ago, when there was something other in your chest than wrath and sinew. “You don’t look like any I’ve seen.”

You watch the slight tremor in his hands, a giveaway to the fear hidden beneath that stony facade. There’s no doubt in his experience, you’ve witnessed the adept way he handled the ones in the village. A second nature almost, not too dissimilar to yours.

“There’s no one else like me.” Your lips curl into a sharp grin, all devilish sharp teeth. For now , at least.

“That I don’t doubt.” He pauses for a moment, lowering the gun a fraction. “You going to make me kill you?”

“You shot first. I believe it’s my move.” You take a slow step towards him, a fluid and practiced motion of intimidation. “Shall I give you a headstart?”

“Whatever the hell you’re planning, I want no part of it.” He takes another shaky step backward, pressing himself against the front door. “I’m here for the girl, and that’s it.”

A beat. You freeze, brows furrowed in confusion. “Girl?”

Your hesitance clearly doesn’t convince him; his eyes narrowed, and his mouth turned into a frown. “Don’t bullshit me. The president’s daughter. Tell me where the hell she is, or I’ll shoot you again.”

You decide against telling him that it would be futile and would only succeed in momentarily slowing you down. Wesker claimed he was there to throw a cog into his grand design, to take you away and tear you apart like they do the others, not save some girl . Maybe Wesker had plans for her. The very thought of it makes you sick, thinking of him replicating you onto some lesser thing.

“You’re not here for me?” You take a step back, your voice faltering slightly. Wesker couldn’t be wrong. He wouldn’t lie to you. This agent is here to rip you away from your life and dismantle this precarious control you’ve carved out for yourself.

He scoffs. “I don’t even know who the hell you are.”

He should. There was only one of you. You were Wesker’s grand design, not something to be copied onto those who couldn’t handle the weight of this burden. You couldn’t be lumped into a circle with these lesser beings that only existed as a testing ground. No one else would understand this terrible strength you were given– they were the losing dogs in this ring of power, and you and Wesker were the winning dogs.

Before you can answer him, you throw a flash grenade onto the ground and disappear from sight.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy/reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil 4 #re4r #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfiction #albert wesker #ada wong #bioweapon reader babey!!!#yuro's writings

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alvivaarts · 3 months

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Genuinely Correct Simulation Swarm Quotes

aka, an excuse for me to post funny little lines and zingers as I get over my writer's block

Don't let this fool you though, this entire fic is marginally more sad.

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 7 months

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Option 1 (CoD) Characters Included:

König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Philip Graves (+ some headcanons including the Shadows)

Option 2 (RE) Characters Included:

Leon Kennedy (RE4 Remake to be specific but RE2 makes a sneak peek), Carlos Oliveira, Jill Valentine, Ada Wong

A/n: these are all current wips (works in progresses) of mine and they're all going to be posted soon, I just need motivation and I need a decision on which one is coming out first. (Still working on that godforsaken long-ass Ellie Williams x Reader AU Series)

Link to Knight!Ellie post (Knight!Abby will exist within the same universe)

#cod x female reader #cod x reader #cod headcanons #konig x reader #horangi x reader #keegan russ x reader #philip graves x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #carlos oliveria x reader #jill valentine x reader #ada wong x reader #abby anderson headcanons #abby anderson x reader #the last of us fanfiction #resident evil fanfiction #call of duty fanfiction #Aethelwyne Lia writes

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starlessskies94 · 3 months

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Consequence (Joel Miller x OC)

Summary: What if Joel survived his injuries from the Abby and Fireflies attack but ends up with really bad amnesia. He can’t remember his wife, Ellie, or the Outbreak; only before. How will his family bring back the man they once knew?

Pairing: JoelMiller x OC

Note: For some reason this one was rather difficult for me to write and I'm still not 100% happy with it. However I hope it doesn't disappoint because I don't want to obsess too much to the point of causing myself writers block so I'm posting, moving on and hoping for the best. *Trigger warning- description of a panic attack*

Chapter Twenty Eight

He felt numb. His heart ached, smashing to pieces like every window in the room. Shattered glass littered the floor around him, broken bricks leaving dents in the floor from where they’d been thrown. His hands were trembling so much that he hadn’t even noticed they were bleeding. It had been over an hour since they’d driven away with Ada and Joel still hadn’t any idea what to do. He could follow their trail but knew he’d be outnumbered. He could head off in the opposite direction and hopefully meet Tommy at the radio tower, but the longer he left Ada the more risk she’d have of being tortured or worse. He was running out time.

He needed to make a decision. He swore that he’d keep her safe. That those bastards wouldn’t touch her and he’d failed. Just as he’d failed to stop Ellie and Tommy from getting hurt back in Jackson.

Just as he’d failed to save Sarah.

He was weak, broken. Collapsing under the weight of it. Dropping to his knees, chest tight and suffocating. He pulled at the neckline of his shirt in a feeble attempt to force the air back into his struggling lungs. His breaths were ragged and short. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Feet and hands tingle as his vision is blurred and dizzy. He couldn’t do this. Not anymore. What was the point of fighting? The point of possessing so much strength if he couldn’t even protect the people he loved.

He was falling and this time he could see no way out.

Dark shapes rush into his vision, as hands grab onto the front of his jacket. “Joel…easy; deep breaths. In and out…” the voice sounded a thousand miles away. “Joel, look at me.” The voice said again. “What’s wrong with him?” Another voice asked in distress. The question was answered though hell if Joel knew what was said. “Joel…can you hear me?” That voice, he knew that voice, for the longest time he didn’t think he’d ever hear it again. He took a deep breath and held it for a second or two before letting it go. Repeating the process several times as his vision began to clear and his chest settled from the rapid palpitations hammering through flesh and bone. “Ellie?” he croaked. “Yeah it’s me. Just breathe slow like Tommy said okay? You’re alright.”

He felt the knot in his chest loosen at the sight of her and Tommy. His brother, kneeling on one side of him and Ellie on the other.

“Hey, you good?” Tommy asked tentatively. Joel just nodded his head and took another deep breath. “Yeah I’m good, thanks.” He said, patting him on his shoulder. Tommy smiled as relief flooded his face. Letting his weight take him as he sat fully beside Joel.

“Anytime. It’s good to see you alive, big brother.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Both brothers paused at the question. Joel looked across at Ellie, the tension thick between them. Was she still angry at him? Did she still hate him? She didn’t look mad. If anything she looked worried. Just like she had when he’d found himself impaled back at the university. Scared. Concerned. Fragile. Looking into those large eyes staring at him now, it was like she was fourteen again. Except she wasn’t. Not anymore. She’d grown up. All grown up. And Joel had missed most of it. He gave a ghost of a smile and took a chance.

“I’m good, kiddo. Don’t you worry about me.” He dismissed, in that way that he always did. But he froze when he saw Ellie’s eyes widen at his words. Shit. Had he said the wrong thing? He seemed to have a habit of doing that around Ellie. But her brows lost their crease; her face falling pale. Eyes welling with tears. A small broken gasp escaping her chapped lips.

“Wait, you…called me kiddo…you know who I am?” He almost cried himself hearing how broken she sounded asking the question.

Oh baby girl. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.

“Course’ I do, could never forget you.” He chuckled in spite of himself. His heart ached at the warmth that filled her gaze at him. He was caught off guard when she flung herself at him in a hug. It felt like coming home. The only thing missing was Ada. He squeezed her tightly; not wanting to let go. This had been something he’d thought gone. And he’d be damned if he ever let her go ever again.

“Oh hey… it’s okay. I’m okay.” They both knew he wasn’t just talking about his injuries. His memory loss. Their broken relationship. It was about everything. Ellie had said herself that she’d wanted to try to forgive him. Maybe now they had this second chance to fix things; she find it in her heart to really do that. And even if she couldn’t, Joel was just grateful she wanted anything to do with him at all. He’d take what he could get. Even if it was just this. Just this one small minute made up for the two years of silence and pain.

It was quickly broken by Tommy rising to his feet and surveying the damage that surrounded them.

“What the hell happened here Joel?” He asked in concern. It was hard not to be. The infected littering the ground, the bullet holes plastered into the walls and doors. It was evident there had been a fight and struggle of some sort here. Joel tried not to look over at the blood stains that marked the sidewalk. Ada’s blood. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried not to dwell on the events flashing through his mind once again.

“She’s gone…those bastards took her. I wanted to stop them but she wouldn’t let me.” He saw them both pale at the news and tried to keep his composure as he explained.

They sat with him as he told them all that had happened that morning. What he and Ada had figured out between them and their plan to find them and decide how to move forward. He saw the darkness in Ellie’s eyes as he told them what they’d done to her mother before dragging her away. Her expression was stone-like and harsh. He recognised the hatred and anger in her eyes as he had seen in his own; the only difference was; he hated seeing it in Ellie. It tormented him as he followed them back to the theater they’d apparently been staying in. There was still tension in the air. Joel felt like he was drowning in it; his head swaying like a limp tree in a harsh wind. And it wasn’t the after effects of his panic attack.

He watched Ellie up ahead; seemingly leading the way. She strode with purpose, confidence. She’d grown so much in the last two years. Damn he’d missed so much. It had been hard not being part of her life for all that time. Especially because Ada had tried her hardest to bridge the divide between them again. But every time the teen pushed back. Now Joel wasn’t sure where he stood. She’d hugged him like she missed him. The concern in her features had seemed sincere. And Tommy had said that she had been the first one of the group to pack her stuff when they’d planned to head out to look for him.

As they made their way back through the town; Joel followed as they led him towards the old building. However he paused when he felt the pair flinch at a corner. Ellie pulled out her gun as did Tommy. They both seemed in sync with each other as they split up and flanked opposite sides and moved along the side of the building's walls, Joel followed suit. Instincts perhaps a little rusty but still there; and positioned himself with his back to the wall as they moved further forward advancing towards the door.

A man from what he could make out was trying rather harshly to wrench the handle of the large door. His hood was up making it difficult to see the intruder's face. Ellie darted forward with her gun trained on him, finger already on the trigger and ready to shoot. The fact that she didn’t hesitate bothered Joel, he didn’t like seeing her so unfazed by the possibility of killing. “Don’t fucking move.” She spat. The man froze, raising his hands in surrender. “Turn around slowly.” the man did as she said. But the moment he turned, all weapons were instantly withdrawn as Ellie sighed in relief.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She asked. Jesse dropped his arms in a bout of relief at seeing his friends. “I wanted to help you guys find Joel…” He stopped short as Tommy cleared his throat, catching the young man’s attention. “But…Uh…I see you guys already found him…” Ellie held back a small laugh as she exhaled through her nose, “Hello Sir, glad to see you’re okay.” He uttered awkwardly, Joel just smiled politely. “Thank you son. I appreciate your wanting to help.” Jesse nodded, trying to hide the pride that beamed in his chest from the given praise. Ellie knew Jesse had always respected Joel greatly and his opinion meant more than he’d ever admit. “How the hell did you find us?” Tommy asked. Jesse just shrugged with a smirk; “You guys were not easy to track but I had a good teacher.” The younger Miller scoffed jovially at the comment, “Kiss ass.” “What are you talking about? I meant Maria.”

Joel snorted as Tommy’s face fell. “Walked right into that one didn’t you.” His brother just scoffed sarcastically “Yeah well, I’m sure we all got plenty to catch up on. So we should probably head inside.”

Ellie wasted no time and quickly ushered everyone inside the theater. Dina rushing to the door when she heard their footsteps. She was taken aback when she saw both Joel and Jesse walking through into the lobby. Ellie tried not to react when she rushed towards Jesse, grabbing him in a hug. The two hurry inside sharing hushed whispers as they go. The redhead walks on past them and heads for the back room, Joel watching her as she goes. He turns to ask Tommy if he’s missed something going on but his brother just replies with a knowing look and follows after Ellie.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She stares at the map of the town laid out on the large table that sits in the center of the room. Voices fade in and out of focus as she’s lost in her own thoughts.

“Ellie?...Ellie…” A voice calls, catching her attention as she glances up to see every face looking at her. It had been a few hours since they’d come back. Had some well deserved food and restocked on supplies before gathering in the back room to plan their next move to rescue her mother. But so far she’d paid no attention to any of it. Her mind had been processing a million things at once. To get back one parent, only to then lose the other was too much for her. To hear what those fuckers had done to her mother made her blood boil to the point of almost exploding. But she knew she had to be smart if they were going to get her back. If they were going to get home.

She turned towards Tommy as he called for attention again. “Sorry…run that by me again.” She said a little too rushed. But thankfully Tommy didn’t question it. Dina took the moment of silence to turn up the radio by the side of the room as the frequency crackled to life. She’d managed to fix it in the time she’d spent alone, explaining to the group it was a loose connection that had been easily rectified. She moved back towards the map and pulled out a marker as she pinpointed different spots for everyone to see.

“Okay…so, the numbers are locations. See? The radio tower? That’s six. And there’s a lot of chatter coming out of two, so I’m assuming that’s their home base.” She explained. “What about the hospital? I’m pretty sure they're based there too.” Tommy asked. Dina took a second to glance over the map before pointing to the other side of town. “There? I think. Thirteen maybe? I have heard some orders being sent out from there. But it’s not much to go on.” The man deflated at the information, silence falling on the group. “I’ve watched them for the last few days, they take day and night shifts. Reckon it’d be easier to move at night when the groups are smaller.” Joel suggested, as Ellie nodded in agreement. “That’s a good idea but we still have no leads on where they’ve taken mom.” They shared a look, both worried for wife and mother. Jesse glanced at Dina and Tommy; the three sharing the same thought. If anyone was going to find Ada…it was those two. Just as the younger Miller moved to speak up, the radio once again crackled to life.

‘Fatality reported in Nine. Repeat fatality in Nine. Over. This is thirteen responding. What’s the situation? Over. This is Nine. One of our own was killed by the lone female prisoner. Prisoner is now detained. Requesting further orders. Over.’

“Female prisoner?” Jesse questioned. Joel and Ellie wasted no time in jumping to action. “They’re talking about Ada. Quick Dina, which location is nine?” Joel asked. “Uh…I’m not sure. It could be one of two possible places. One is here…” She pointed to the map stating the downtown area. “The courthouse…and the other is here…” She moved her hand to the other side of the map. “At the town hall. But they’re at opposite ends of each other and I don’t know for sure which it is.” He nodded. “Okay, then we split up. Tommy, you and Jesse head for the town hall and Ellie and I can make our way downtown to the courthouse. Dina could you stay here and keep a track of their movements on the radio.” “Of course.” She smiled. The others wasted no time in packing up once again, making their move towards the door and heading out. Tommy gave Joel a pat on his shoulder before leaving, telling him to stay safe. His older brother returned the words in turn before watching him and Jesse head out. He waited patiently by the door for Ellie to catch up, giving her the time she needed to say goodbye to Dina.

He wouldn’t push this time. If she needed space, he would give her that. When she finally emerged from the back room she walked past him without a word and he tried not to take it personally. It would take time to be like they were again. Joel knew that. If he wanted her trust back, he’d have to earn it.

#writing #the last of us #joel and ellie #the last of us part 2 #ellie williams #joel miller #personal #starlessskies writes #tlou #fanfiction #Joel Miller x oc #Joel x Ada

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starseaweed · 1 month

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Part two is here! It was originally just one big block of text that I’ve split into smaller sections, and this comes directly after the first piece so the previous part is very necessary for understanding what’s happening!

~ Despite his habits, Loud continued to survive, and so Mono and Six kept following him. Making sure to always stay out of sight, while getting to see many things. Monsters, like a large Adult that marched forward with boots even louder than Loud. And more not-Adults, two that died, and one that stayed with Loud for a little while.

Six had pointed at Loud and the one that stayed, comparing the pair to themselves. She seemed to think she was like the other not-adult, a woman with dark glasses and a cool temperament. Nose wrinkled under his bag, Mono had shaken his head. The woman had saved Loud from the Adults, just like how Mono saved Six many times. Until Loud saved the woman, hurting himself in the process.

Six had folded her arms and smirked, but Mono was more concerned for their guide. They needed to keep moving, and Loud was their way forward. Without him, they had no defense against the twisted Adults that came by. If he wasn’t going to move, they had to just continue on without him.

He seemed soundly asleep, at least for now. His body slumped and unmoving against the wall where the glasses woman had carefully laid him. Mono, still debating what to do, failed to notice Six approaching Loud. She kicked him once to see if he was still alive.

Turning around, Mono saw her standing right next to Loud’s boot and panicked. “Oi…!” What are you doing?! Six gestured. “…ahh.” He has weapons we can use.

Spreading his arms wide and pointing, Mono indicated, He’s still alive. Then he tilted his head. How would we use his weapons?! You can barely hold one of those round things! “Fight.” She crossed her arms. He has lots of weapons. I’ll find something.

With that, she started poking around the unconscious not-Adult, and Mono sighed. Well, he had been wanting to pocket one of the keys Loud had held onto, plus the not-adult seemed firmly asleep. Shaking himself, Mono clambered out of the vent he’d been hiding in, and nervously paced up to Loud. Though the glasses woman had bandaged his wound, it still looked pretty serious. Maybe this would be fine, after all?

As his partner started pulling out the ammunition from Loud’s weaponry, Mono started digging through numerous oversized pockets. He pulled out bundles of plants, spare ammunition, a knife… But where was the key? Staring up at the imposing not-Adult’s figure, Mono inhaled, and clambered on top of him. “Oi!” Six gasped. Are you crazy? He grunted in response as he peeled open a satchel. This was your idea! A little “Ah.” escaped his lips when he finally found the key.

Grabbing a weapon similar to the round exploding one she liked, Six did her best to motion while her arms were full. “Hey!” You got the stupid key. Let’s go!

“Okay.” I’m going, I’m going! Mono huffed, realizing that the fancy key wouldn’t fit under his coat like the others. He’d just have to carry it with both hands. As he slipped his way down Loud’s sleeping form, he kept a tight hold of it, right up until he dropped back to the floor.

The key clattered, and he bit his tongue. With a groan, Loud shifted, his arm almost knocking into Mono. “Ah!” Holding her new weapon tight, Six turned around. You dummy! Mono fumbled with the key for a second, before picking it up and dashing in her direction. He could hear Loud mumbling something, before the not-Adult sucked in a breath.

“Ada?” ~

What do you think? I wanted to have Mono and Six communicating, but that clashes with the original games’ lack of dialogue. The heavy silence is a big part of the atmosphere, and the children had no one to teach them proper language, so they use mostly non-verbal ques! First | Next

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thekingwhereitallends · 2 months

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I decided to write a one shot, turns out there was too much plot so i had to make it a double chapter, the hardest part is when you don't plan on having two characters develop an intimate bond but then you figure out that it'll be not just a wasted opportunity to flesh out characters but also rubs the story of a crucial dramatic tension.

As obsessed as i am with angst and tragedy, there is an issue i deal with as a writer (and i know that many people suffer from this damn thing) and that is you grow to cherish your characters.

Have you been so mad at a mangaka or comic book author for doing your fave characters dirty? Yes. So upset and desperate that you are willing to challenge yourself and have things go according to your plan, in your own ideal alternate universe.

I was writing this mitsusara one shot (called tsukuyomi x amaterasu) i published here. I wasn't really thinking of Mitsuki caring about Ada that much, perhaps only sympathizing with her for her opposing feelings withing the heart. But then i reached where i realized Mitsuki misses a motive and without it, people will be like "this boy is just a stereotypical jealous boyfriend" while in reality that is far from truth.

In two of flashbacks, two very short moments was all that it took to impress all the readers who left a comment (i constantly ask them to tell me what they think of different aspects of the story since i am the most stoic critic and look for ways to perfect myself). At the last phase of the fanfic when i was almost finished with everything, i began to summarize it from the beginning to end to visualize and feel the story with every single cell in my body just to be sitting like this:

Jesus christ Ada's moments with Mitsuki hit me much harder than i expected. I can't even imagine Mitsuki exist without Ada as she becomes one of biggest fuels that motivate him to indescripable heights.

What i'm saying is not that all characters have to be involved with another, just that sometimes you have to expand your vision and see the chemistry berween two of your sweet babies. You won't regret it, believe me.

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akuma-tenshi · 3 months

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i love coa bc i can make luchino diruse say fuck and nobody's allowed to say anything abt it bc we don't know much about emergency transport luchi's characterisation

#rambling #not gonna tag bc it's just a single mention #i may actually post the full thing later on #but i'm writing this mildly sleep-deprived so it may also never see the light of day #writing #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #fanfic #for context ada just stole his gun and threatened to shoot him #you get no context for why she did so #just know everyone's in a bit of a tight situation rn

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rohansdisciple · 10 months

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ADA FIC IS DROPPING AT 5PM EST TIME TOMORROW 🧏🏾‍♀️‼️

updates i’m the re blogs <33 !

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allmoshnobrain · 6 months

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

james hetfield x wife!reader | word count: 2746 | ao3 link

You'd be lying if you said you saw this coming. Sure, you've had your fair share of rebellious, reckless moments. It was often a reaction to your mom's nagging or your dad's emotional absence. Jumping out the bedroom window trying to run away and breaking your arm at 13. Skipping classes to make out with your boyfriend in his car at 15. Running away from home a few months after graduating High School with a guy 8 years older, only to dump him a week after arriving in Los Angeles and somehow managing to get by on your own. Compared to all that, having sex with your husband at your cousin's wedding reception seemed downright mild.

✦ on this fic: NSFW!!!, james hefield x female!reader, +18, language, romance, mxf sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, reader has mommy issues lol

You never really cared for family gatherings. Escaping the small-town life when you were young was a breath of fresh air, but occasionally, there were those moments when you felt compelled to show up, no matter how dysfunctional the family could be. Especially in moments like this; with your cousin tying the knot, it seemed less of a hassle to be present than absent.

Yet, at your cousin's wedding reception, it was inevitable that you'd end up doing what you usually did around your family: hiding. This time, you found yourself tucked away in a small office you found while exploring the place, relishing a few moments of peace and quiet before returning to the party.

“Finally found you.”

You looked up and locked eyes with your husband, James, as he casually leaned against the door, slowly bringing a whiskey glass to his lips. A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth when you saw him; James looked too good in formal attire, even better than usual, if that was even possible.

“Hey, handsome,” you whispered. Despite having been married for just over a year, he was still somewhat of a stranger to your family, mainly because you were too. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for leaving him alone in a crowd of mostly unfamiliar faces. "Sorry for ditching you. I just needed a little breather."

"Something up?" he strolled into the room and propped himself against the desk, his serious eyes scanning your face for any signs of trouble. You smiled, coming closer to him instinctively. You couldn’t help it; whenever you were around him, you felt like a small moth, helplessly drawn to his fire. Stepping closer to him, you ended up right between his legs, letting out a contented hum when he set his whiskey glass down on the desk and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. "Hey," he called, redirecting your attention to his question. It was so damn easy to get distracted around him; all you wanted was to touch and feel him, even when he was concerned about you. Maybe especially then. "Something on your mind?"

"It’s all good," you whispered, and he snorted. You arched an eyebrow, and he smiled.

"Come on, sweetheart. You only pull this vanishing act when something's bugging you." He tilted your chin up with a finger, making you meet his earnest blue gaze. "What's eating at you? You know you can tell me."

You let out a sigh. It wasn't that you didn't want to open up to James about the million and one ways your mother had to drive you up the wall whenever you two were around each other. But you knew that James and his mom used to be tight. He missed her a ton, and you didn't want to come across as selfish, complaining about something that might not even be that big of a deal.

"You've got a little pout going," James teased, his voice holding a hint of a smile as he pressed his thumb against your lower lip. Tugging your face closer, he planted a quick peck on your lips. "C'mon, spill the beans. What's bugging you? Did I mess up somehow?"

"It's no big deal," you whispered. The mere idea of him assuming for even a second that your frustration had anything to do with him was enough to make you blurt it out. "It's just... It's my mom."

"Oh, no. What did she do this time?" James chimed in with a chuckle, though it was evident he felt relieved that you were finally opening up. You couldn't help but laugh, putting your arms around his neck, your irritation momentarily forgotten. James had this incredible knack for making everything seem okay, no matter the circumstances. It was one of the reasons you fell head over heels for him – how safe he made you feel. He had this way of lightening the mood without even trying.

"She's being such a pain in the ass," you admitted. "Constantly bugging me about when we're gonna start a family. Telling us it's not okay to be married this long without even trying to have kids. We haven't even been married for that long! She's so annoying, it makes me want to run for the hills."

"I could have a chat with her if you want," he suggested, grinning mischievously while his hands gently caressed your hips. "I could tell her we've been going at it hard every night . How I’ve been cumming inside you every day…”

"James!" you exclaimed, and he erupted into laughter. "You can't say that!"

"I'm not going to, dummy," he teased, and you let out a snort. He planted a playful kiss on your lips, then continued, "Unless you want me to. It could be hilarious to see her reaction."

"No, don't! It would be a disaster. She's way too uptight to take it as a joke," you groaned, feeling your cheeks flush. "And besides, it's not even true."

"Hmm? What's not true?" he arched an eyebrow, a broader grin spreading across his face as he pulled you closer. "I'd say our love life is quite active, babe."

"It is, it's just... never mind," you muttered, your face growing even warmer. He raised his eyebrows, pulling you even nearer, his lips grazing your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. He smelled of cologne, and alcohol.

"You know I hate being in the dark, darling. You're gonna have to spill it."

"James, it's nothing," you whispered, and he grunted before giving your thigh a squeeze. You blushed, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor.

"I'm not asking, sweetheart," his hand drifted from your waist to your back, then down to your ass, causing you to gasp in surprise as he squeezed the soft skin through your dress.

"It's really nothing! I just meant..." you stammered, your heart racing from the embarrassment. "You know, you haven't been, uh, cumming… Inside…"

He pulled back, gave you a quick, amused look, and then burst into laughter, which only deepened your embarrassment.

"James, oh God, stop laughing! " you complained, your face burning as you tried to pull away from him. He wasn't having it, though; he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer before planting playful kisses on your cheek, once, twice, three times.

"You're adorable," he laughed, and you rolled your eyes. "I didn't realize this was such a big deal for you, though. I thought we agreed I'd always use a condom?"

"We did! We did. I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry," you quickly clarified, your face still a little flushed. He smiled, cupping your chin in his hand to make you look at him.

"You don't need to apologize for anything," he said in the sweetest tone, then flashed a mischievous grin and added, "I mean, I'd be more than glad to cum inside you anytime you want."

"You're impossible," you huffed, and he laughed.

"And you love me anyway. But seriously, babe, if you ever want anything, just let me know. I know we agreed not to have kids for now..."

"It's not about that," you said, quickly. It wasn't that you didn't want to have kids, but you also didn't want to follow in your mom's footsteps – having kids too early in a marriage and then regretting it. Not that you felt you would ever regret anything with James by your side, but you just wanted to enjoy being just the two of you for a while before adding a little one to the mix. "It’s just, that one time we did it raw, it was so amazing. So I thought... Maybe on my safe days..." Your voice dropped to a whisper as you watched James' grin widen. Oh, God. He looked like a kid who had just won a lifetime supply of candy.

You were beginning to feel like maybe you shouldn't have said anything when he leaned in closer, his smile wide, and whispered:

"Wanna do it now?"

Compared to all that, having sex with your husband at your cousin's wedding reception seemed downright mild.

You moaned as James slowly explored your neck with his lips and tongue, his fingers skillfully untying the knot of your dress, letting it slide down to reveal your bare breasts. He grunted in appreciation, grasping one of them firmly in his hand, his fingers circling your nipple slowly while he sucked on the other. Your fingers tangled in his hair, a sharp moan escaping your lips as he bit your nipple softly. He pulled back, raising his eyes at you with a smug grin on his face.

"Better keep it down, babe. We don't need anyone to hear us, do we?" he teased, and you shook your head, your cheeks blushing as he kissed you passionately, his tongue invading your mouth.

You could taste the whiskey in his breath as he kissed you, one of his hands grabbing the base of your neck as he pulled you closer to him. You pressed your hand against his crotch, feeling his hard on through his pants. He groaned, his lips going down to your neck again as he finished pulling your dress down, leaving you only on your lace panties as you stood in front of him. You unzipped his pants, pulling them down quickly, a small sigh escaping your lips when you saw his hard cock spring free.

You kneeled in front of him, holding his cock by the base before licking on the tip. You moved your hand slowly, pressing the tip to your palm and massaging it before going down to his balls, pressing your tongue against the sensitive skin of his tip and feeling the salty taste of his precum. He let out a throaty moan, his knuckles turning white with the strength he used to grip the desk hard and keep himself steady. You raised your eyes to look at him, a sly grin on your lips.

“What did you say about keeping it down, again?” you asked, and he grunted, using one of his hands to grab a fistful of your hair, pushing your head down back to his aching erection.

“No talking.” he said, using the other hand to grab his cock by the base, pressing it against your lips.

You opened your mouth obediently, moaning against his skin when he pushed it into your mouth slowly. You tried to keep your breath steady; he was so big it was hard not to choke, even if he was moving as slow as his temper would allow. You moved your head up and down, increasing your pace while you squeezed his thighs with your fingertips. He moaned again, all restraints forgotten as he enjoyed how good you made him feel, arching his hips as his grip on your hair tightened, moving your head up and down even faster.

You gasped in surprise as he abruptly pushed you away with a grunt.

“My bad, babe, oh shit . It felt so good,” he mumbled, his voice quivering just a bit. He raised your chin, his slightly blurry eyes locking onto yours as he used his thumb to clear the drool around your swollen lips. “Want to cum inside your pretty pussy today, okay?” he whispered, and you nodded, lips slightly open as his words made your pussy clench in anticipation. “Get up.”

You got back on your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck again, moaning in satisfaction when he squeezed your hips with his big hands, getting on his feet too as one of his hands went down to grab your ass firmly. You moaned into his kiss when his fingers went down even further, pressing your clit before penetrating your cunt without warning.

“You’re so wet.” he whispered, and you moaned again when he started moving his fingers inside you, pressing the palm of his hand against your clit as he curled them inside. “Gonna walk around the party full of my cum, yeah? Gonna fill you up real good, babe. Do you want that?”

“Yes, p-please!” you whimpered, half in pleasure, half in frustration as he pulled his fingers out of you. He laughed, pressing his forehead against yours.

“We’ll come together, okay?” he said, and you nodded. You gasped when he grabbed you by your hips, turning you around with your hands against the desk, standing behind you as he grabbed your ass, spreading one of the cheeks apart to look at your throbbing pussy. You moaned when he pressed his cock against your entrance, pushing inside you. “ Fuck , babe. This is too good. Oh, shit. ” he whispered, and you moaned again, louder this time, tears pooling in your eyes as you felt his huge cock spreading your pussy.

This was too much; you could feel everything as he moved, his fingertips digging into your waist’s skin as he moaned too. You were too lost in pleasure to care about keeping it down now; everything felt so good, more intense than anything you had ever tried before. He kept pushing deeper and deeper, his thrusts getting stronger as he moaned your name, and you knew that there was no coming back after this; you were addicted to the high of having him inside of you, you could give him anything he wanted from you right now.

“James, oh God, James!” you moaned, quickly approaching your high as he pushed even faster inside you.

He couldn't help but moan, his hands all over you, grabbing your hips, your ass, your breasts; it was as if he couldn’t get enough of touching you, as if he wanted to bring you closer and closer as he felt your skin against his. You bit your lip, holding back a sob when he started massaging your clit as he thrusted deep inside you; it was almost too much pleasure to take.

You could feel his cock twitch inside you as he approached his orgasm, the overwhelming pleasure of his bare skin against yours making your pussy contract as you came, squeezing his cock inside of you. He moaned, thrusting one last time as he came too, his semen filling you up and dripping down your thighs as he pulled out. He grabbed your hip, spinning you around like it was no big deal. You let out a sigh, your breath shaky. Your head fell back as you tried to catch your breath, your pussy still twitching.

"Fuck… I need to freshen up," you whispered. He groaned, quickly pulling on his pants before approaching you once more. He grabbed your thigh, pushing it so your pussy would be in full view, and then used his fingers to push back the cum dripping down from it inside you.

"No need," he said casually, his fingertips going to your clit and making you moan softly. "We don't want to waste this, right? You're gonna get dressed and head back there like a good girl."

"But, James..." you began, your cheeks heating up as you thought about what he was suggesting. He grunted, yanking you closer by the hips.

"No 'buts,' babe. You're gonna do as I say, got it?"

"Yeah," you murmured, your heart racing as you wrapped your arms around his neck. James knew how much you loved it when he took charge like this; how it made you want him so bad you could barely think about anything but him. He grinned, pleased that his authoritative tone got the reaction he wanted from you.

"Great," he whispered, his thumb teasing your lower lip. "And when this party’s over, we're heading back to the hotel. You better be ready, because I’m gonna fuck you real good, all night long, yeah?"

The rest of the party? You couldn't even focus on it after that.

✧ thanks for reading! requests are open here ✧

#i thought about early 90s james for this #but honestly it could be any era after that too lol #this wasn't my best smut but i hope you guys like it!#metallica #metallica imagines #metallica headcanon #james hetfield #james hetfield headcanon #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield x you #james hetfield smut #metallica x reader #metallica x you #james hetfield fanfiction #metallica fanfiction #ada writes fanfiction

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stardustwritings · 1 year

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Requests are open and I have to be real you can literally just send me a name and a name alone at this point i’m going through so much writers block.

I’ll write for pretty much anyone in resident evil. Please 🙏

#stardust writings #resident evil #resident evil x reader #x reader #scenarios #leon kennedy #ada wong #chris redfield #jill valentine #piers nivans #rebecca chambers #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil requests #sherry birkin #jake muller #lady dimitrescu #please god request i’m out of ideas

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obviousanon · 1 year

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New chapter of Forgiveness From Your Judge, Jury, and Executioner (Go Ahead and Meet Your Maker) Get y'all's food.

Preview:

"I'm... Ugh, what the fuck..." Leon rubs at his face, examining his hands right after, dismissive of Luis' question, "Where's Ashley? Where's my dog?"

Luis raises an eyebrow. Maybe Leon's memory wasn't all cracked up as he might've assumed. "Oye señor, did you hit your head? This isn't 2004."

Leon scowls, shoving at his arm softly to keep some distance between them, "No... No, she's here, where is she?"

The Agent lifts his torso to sit up again, this time Luis doesn't stop him, the Agent throwing off his blanket hastily. He watches as Leon pats around his body in search of what Luis assumes was his gear, having already been stripped from his body when they were saving his life. Luis' eyebrows scrunch up.

"What do you mean Ashley's here?" Luis tempts fate to ask, his heart pounding.

Leon bites the inside of his cheek, letting his legs slip off the edge to sit properly, searching for his words. Luis kneels at his side, carefully judging his movements.

"We're on a mission together."

#serennedy #luis serra #leon kennedy #resident evil #fan fic #my fic #fanfiction #fic writing #resident evil fic #ada wong #ashley graham

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hb-writes · 1 year

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Remember Before?

Summary: It’s 1921 in the Little Lady Blinderverse. Clara is whisked away to London for the weekend to stay with Ada and Freddie while Tommy deals with one of Arthur's unpredictable moods. Unbeknownst to the rest of the family, Clara had witnessed the altercation between Tommy and Arthur that had prompted Tommy to send his sister away. With a bit of time and space set between Clara and what she's seen (and with Ada's prompting) Clara starts to confide in her sister only to realize that perhaps it's better to keep some things to herself. Better for the rest of them, at least.

Request (anon): Parental prompt number 34, please. I will leave it open to you but maybe something with Ada/Polly and Clara :)

Characters: Ada Shelby (Thorne) and Clara Shelby

Content Warnings: Angst, Lots of talk about Arthur and Tommy, Mental Health Issues, Family Dynamics.

Here’s the AO3 link if you prefer to read over there. Tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

Peaky Blinders (Non-Shelby!Sister) Masterlist

—

Ada chewed on her lip as she studied her younger sister across the room. Clara was quite clearly lost in thought, and painfully so. Not a bit of her appeared to be present to either space or time.

“Darling, is something wrong?” Ada asked, her curiosity and concern finally winning out after a quarter hour of near-constant observation.

It was a bit of a rhetorical question seeing as Ada already knew that something was wrong. She even had a feeling of exactly what it might be—Tommy and Polly had told her that Arthur was having one of his moods.

The weekend visit with Ada and Freddie—something Clara often had to bag after—had been presented to the girl as a lucky coincidence. Tommy had a convenient bit of business to address in London on Saturday morning and Ada had already been planning a day trip to Birmingham the following Tuesday so Karl could see his cousins.

Clara hadn't questioned the particulars when Tommy said he would bring her down on Saturday to stay for the weekend. Well, she had not questioned it aloud, anyway, but Ada could sense that her sister had been acting different. She had been toying with something in her mind for the whole visit.

She hadn't given Ada and Freddie any trouble, but the truth was she hadn't given them much of anything at all. She'd played with Karl, but Clara hadn't wanted to go out for any walks. She hadn't wanted to play any of the usual card games Freddie indulged her with. In fact, Freddie had barely been able to draw a smile from Clara's lips.

And though Clara had been insistent that she wanted to do some reading, Ada was nearly certain that the page of Clara’s book hadn’t shifted since she sat down. She’d done far more staring out the window and observing the carpets than she had read. Whatever was so interesting at the end of Clara's gaze, Ada couldn’t seem to locate it herself.

Clara wasn’t necessarily disturbing her sister by acting this way. She was quiet and considerate, but the clear distraction had succeeded in distracting Ada from her own work. The pile of overdue correspondence she’d hoped to get through while Karl was upstairs napping and Freddie was out running errands had gone completely untouched.

“You’ve been quiet all day,” Ada said, the words coming out nearly as a complaint.

Clara remained that way—silent, and unresponsive to her sister’s observation.

Ada pushed her chair back from the small table, allowing the feet of her chair to groan as they slid across the floor. Ada flinched as it sounded through the quiet of the flat, but Clara showed no indication of hearing it.

Thankfully, Karl hadn’t seemed to hear it from down the hall, either. He was likely too tired, seeing as he had been playing with Clara all morning and still recovering for the bug he'd caught.

Ada sighed as she smoothed her skirts and tried again. “It’s time for some tea, I think. Shall I fetch the biscuits as well?”

Ada’s words elicited no response from her sister—no proper recognition or acknowledgement that Ada had even spoken—just the idle movement of Clara's finger across the edges of her book—back and forth, back and forth.

Ada’s frustration won out.

“Clara!” Ada hissed.

Clara’s eyes snapped to her sister. She was startled by Ada’s standing so close—just a few steps away with her hands on her hips. Clara could’ve sworn her sister was still sitting at the table sorting her mail.

“Did you hear me?”

Clara tried to remember if she'd heard Ada say anything, but as Ada had suspected, Clara had been lost in thought. Her body was in London, sat in the small room Ada and Freddie had outfitted as a sitting room, but her mind was in Birmingham, vacillating between her memories of the past few days and what she suspected was happening at the present. Clara stared back at Ada with wide, vacant eyes. If her sister had been talking to her, Clara realized she hadn’t heard a thing.

Ada shook her head. “I said it’s time for tea. Would you like biscuits or—?”

“Whatever you think is best,” Clara cut Ada off before she could offer anything else. Clara didn’t care and she couldn’t bear making a decision.

Ordinarily, Ada would have relished in Clara relinquishing control over the dominion of sweets at tea time, but just now Ada was left feeling rather concerned by such a statement coming from her younger sister. They'd bought biscuits and cake specifically because Clara had been sent their way. Even though Tommy had made it out like Clara didn’t know why she was out Birmingham, Ada had had a sneaking suspicion that her sister knew more than she let on. Clara often did.

And it wasn’t like Tommy to forget that about Clara, but Ada supposed he was concerning himself with other things—other siblings. He didn’t have the time or space to be worried about Clara, especially when she wasn’t causing trouble or raising any real concerns herself. Maybe that was another reason why he sent her to Ada, to do the sisterly sifting and soothing via offering sweets and fun and distraction, but Clara wasn’t making it easy to reassure her since she wasn't actually voicing any concerns.

Ada supposed her sister usually didn’t. It was rarely that easy. Clara was a Shelby after all, and surely that meant things couldn’t just be simple. But Ada still held a bit of hope that there was a simple explanation for Clara’s disposition—something she wouldn’t have to drag and scrape out of the girl in the painful way typically required when Clara had something troubling on her mind, clinging to her secrets as if voicing them were to mean certain death.

“Clara, sweetheart,” Ada said, shifting her weight and crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you ill? Perhaps you’ve caught Karl’s sickness?”

The boy had been laid up for the better part of a week. He was on the mend now—he’d certainly been happy and well enough to demand his aunt play with him at every available moment since her arrival, but just a few days ago, he’d been in the throes of a delirious fever, all confusion and fatigue and flushed cheeks. Ada closed the distance between her and Clara, pressing her hand to Clara’s forehead and feeling for a fever. There was no difference between Clara’s skin and Ada’s own.

“I’m fine, Ada.” Clara pushed her sister’s hand away.

“You’re not,” Ada answered. “What is it spinning around that head of yours?”

Clara took a breath, the swell of it lifting her chest and shoulders before she sighed, all of her seeming to deflate as the air left her. She pressed her bookmark between the unread pages before closing the book and setting it aside. Her hand lingered on the cover, almost as if she was regretting putting it away. Clara closed her eyes as she spoke, somehow not seeing Ada's face making it a bit easier to get out.

“Remember how it used to be?” she said. “How Arthur was…before the war? Remember before all the—” Clara stopped herself from describing it. The drink. The drugs. The fighting. There was more. She knew there was more even if she didn't know all of the particulars, and was purposely kept from knowing them. But even for the bits she did know, Clara found that she didn’t want to say the words. She couldn’t. “Well, just back when he used to be happy and…”

Clara stopped herself again. She stopped herself before she revealed too much. Clara could sense she was on the verge of saying something about Arthur that she would never be able to take back, something she wasn't even certain of herself. She just knew that something between her and Arthur had changed. Some part of her opinion and feeling toward him had changed, some nervousness had started creeping up in Clara that she couldn't quite explain, or at least, Clara didn't think she wanted to explain it. She didn’t even think she could explain it without telling on herself.

Explaining why she felt something different would mean explaining what she'd seen and how she'd seen it. It would mean explaining that she'd seen Arthur and Tommy fighting. It would mean explaining why she had been out on the roof in the early hours of the morning. It would mean explaining why she'd kept it to herself all these days.

It wasn't as if she'd never seen her brothers yell and fight, but she'd never seen it quite so intense between Arthur and Tommy. She’d never seen Arthur so uncontrollable and yet so determined to hurt himself and then Tommy. She’d never seen it like that. In the end, Tommy had been able to subdue Arthur, to calm him, but Clara had been scared as she watched, holding her breath as Tommy struggled with Arthur's hands around his throat, all of the struggle a bit hard to see clearly in the hazy light of the back courtyard.

Even though, Clara hadn't technically done anything wrong, she hadn’t told anyone what she’d seen.

That night, she’d stayed quiet and still on the roof, making sure her brother's didn't sense her presence and climbing back through her window only when Tommy had succeeded in calming Arthur and guiding him back towards his own home. Clara had pretended to be asleep by the time Tommy was back and she hadn’t said a word about it since, holding it all on her own. Part of it was Clara was scared by what she’d seen. Part of her was scared of what she figured was happening now. And part of her was scared of the trouble she’d be in if anyone knew she had been out of the house at that time of night, spying on her brothers of all things. She was scared about that growing nervousness she felt towards Arthur, too—questioning what he was capable of and even more so what he wasn’t capable of controlling in himself. That all scared Clara more than anything—the sudden sense of doubt and fear toward someone who she usually thought of with a certain sense of comfort in mind.

Ada sighed as Clara’s words drifted away. She sighed. Ada held a bit of anguish in her heart for the state of things with Arthur, of course, but Ada felt more so for the sister sitting in front of her now.

“ Oh, love.”

Clara had learned so much in such a short amount of time. She was clever and observant, but she was still caught somewhere between knowing and understanding and accepting. Ada felt herself a bit more mature than Clara in that area, an assumption made based on the fact that she was over ten years Clara's senior. It was just the sort of misguided assumption adults tended to make in order to preserve their sense of safety and surety in the world.

Ada didn’t know what else there really was to say. Arthur had been prone to his moods and the drinking and the fighting and the drugs for long before Clara was born. He’d been just as messed up before the war, even back when they were kids, but Clara had been spared much of that knowledge and proof of that for years. She and Finn both had been distanced from it, distracted and shielded from the worst of it by Tommy and Polly and John—and even Ada’s—intervention.

Tommy was still doing it even now. It was why he’d left Clara in London—to shield her and distract her while he got to the business of bringing Arthur back to himself…or away from himself. Ada wasn’t rightly sure which it was.

Ada had been distanced from it, too, by virtue of being in London while Arthur was still in Birmingham and by holding the assumption that the issue wasn't too serious. Tommy would handle it. And she hated that part of herself was happy for someone else to have that responsibility. Ada loved each of her brothers, she truly did. Growing up, Arthur had always made her laugh and smile. He’d been protective without being so intense as Tommy could be. But in other ways, Arthur had been more intense than any of them. Arthur had it in him to be far scarier than any of them because he could be unpredictable. Relationships with Arthur could be volatile. He could be sweet and gentle—that was the Arthur Ada wanted to believe was the true Arthur—but he could be rather difficult, too.

And because of that, Ada was happy to be in London. She was happy to leave the fine managing of Arthur to Tommy. Because that was what it was—managing. Arthur was a grown man, the eldest brother, but he couldn’t always manage himself. Or at least, it didn’t seem he could without reaching for a bottle or a vial. Maybe that piece was the impact of the war—the desperate way that men seemed to need those things in order to get through.

Arthur had always had a touch of trouble, though, and even before the war, he’d been inclined to the bottle.

Clara just hadn’t been privy to it for most of her life. Ada was quite certain that her sister was still only barely privy to it now, but Clara had seen more than Ada knew. She was observant and even if she didn’t quite understand it all, Clara understood enough.

“Whatever Arthur's going through, it'll be alright," Ada said. "Tommy has it handled."

It was a well-worn explanation, something Ada said almost as a reflex, the family myth that they all clung to as if it kept them all living and breathing—as if Tommy’s influence kept them all that way, kept them safe.

Clara wanted to believe it. She wanted to trust that Tommy could right things as he’d done the morning after Arthur drank himself into unconsciousness or the time they bought the Garrison to bring Arthur out of Flanders Blues. Somehow, Tommy had always managed to pull Arthur through.

The entire family seemed so sure that Tommy could and would take care of it all. They waved each concern off with surprising casualness. “Tommy will take care of it,” they always said, but Tommy was only a man. He was only their brother. And that seemed even more true now Clara had seen how Arthur could be. She’d seen him nearly hurt Tommy in their struggle out in the back courtyard.

Clara knew now that Arthur's highs were as bad as the lows. She knew the violence could be quick as a switch. He could turn it either in or out. It was destructive either way.

“Polly said he reminds her of our father sometimes,” Clara offered, setting her fears by someone else’s words. It felt safer that way.

“But our Arthur’s got a softer heart,” she added.

Ada stiffened at the mention of their father. “Polly shouldn’t be saying anything of the sort.”

Clara was used to being shut down that way when it came to the taboo subjects—anything that made the rest of them uncomfortable or nervous. There was always a quick, almost casual reminder that Tommy would take care of it and some sort of admonishment for whoever had dared to speak about something with Clara. Clara understood the script well enough by now. She also knew when she could push.

“Is it true?” she asked.

Polly had closed the conversation when Clara asked what her aunt had meant that Arthur was like their father. She’d been given no more detail and sent away. She’d been told not to worry about it and Clara had the distinct feeling that Polly regretted her words, almost as if her aunt had forgotten who she was talking to when she said it.

Clara pressed again when Ada remained quiet. “Is Arthur like—”

“I don’t know, Clara,” Ada snapped, her words somehow sharp and thoroughly tired at the same time.

Ada didn’t know much about their father and the ways he was, not really. She’d known about Arthur’s edges—the rough and the smooth one. Ada had been with Arthur for her most of life, but Ada didn’t know her father’s edges. She didn’t know her father much at all. He hadn’t been around often and when he had been, there had always been a brother there ensuring she kept a distance, shielding her and getting her out of the way. Ada barely knew her father any more than the twins did and her mind associated her father’s visits more with strategic games of hide and seek, and walks along the Cut with her brothers than anything to do with the actual man.

“Maybe,” Ada offered, “But Arthur’s got us and he…” Ada searched for the words she wanted to be true even if there was something—fear, maybe, or just plain uncertainty—nudging her to suggest otherwise. “Arthur is…he’s…Arthur’s different,” Ada said more firmly as she sought out the memories that were easier, the ones that reminded Ada of all the ways Arthur was different from their father—memories of the times he’d made her laugh, memories of how he was with the kids. “Remember when he…”

Clara nodded, staring just above Ada’s shoulder as her sister spoke, her focus on something out the window rather than whatever her sister was saying. Clara remembered the moment Ada was recalling, but she tuned out most of her sister’s words. Only minutes ago, Clara had been ready to share her fears with her sister. She had wanted Ada’s understanding and comfort, but Clara had an alternative strategy now, something she remembered using before, though it hadn't been as deliberate of a decision those other times.

Clara was only thirteen, but she was already considering the merit of keeping things to herself, of agreeing even when she thought someone wasn’t entirely correct, of keeping her pain close in order to spare her loved ones more hurt. Clara decided right then that she was correct to not confide in her sister, just as she’d been right in keeping her thoughts from Tommy and Polly, too. Somewhere in Clara’s mind, it clicked that her true feelings weren’t something any of them were really interested in. Her questions and concerns weren’t congruent with ideas they all had clung to for so long. The platitudes that soothed them, didn't soothe Clara, but she sensed that no good would come from pointing that out. It was easier to simply follow their lead. It was easier to bury her doubts.

As Ada continued reminiscing, some part of Clara's relationship with her sister closed off a bit. She smiled and nodded along with her sister’s soft recollections, but Clara wasn't fully present to Ada. She couldn't be. She was boxing away her concerns, trying to seal the stubborn package away by shrouding it with the thoughts the others seemed to find comforting—Tommy will fix it.

She forced herself to ignore the voice that seemed to ask 'but who will fix Tommy?'

“Ada?” Clara asked, immediately stilling her sister’s meandering words. “Remember what I said before?”

Ada swallowed at her sister’s interruption, the apprehension clear in her features as she tried to determine which part of the conversation they would be revisiting. The tension lingered for mere seconds before Clara confirmed Ada had nothing to fear. Clara wasn’t interested in talking any more about Arthur or their father or what Tommy was capable of fixing.

Clara had simply changed her mind about the biscuits. Ada let out a soft snort as she smiled at Clara. She was more than happy to oblige her sister in revisiting that particular request. Ada was soothed by it even. Clara smiling and wanting biscuits fit a certain script. It helped Ada believe that all she’d said to soothe Clara's woes had worked. It helped her believe it was true.

Arthur was different.

Tommy would fix it.

And through a combination of biscuits and sisterly connection, Clara would be fixed, too.

Ada wasn't right. Nothing had been fixed, but Clara had already decided that her sister needed the comfort of the myth more than Clara needed the comfort of sharing the truth.

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

Peaky Blinders (Non-Shelby!Sister) Masterlist

#peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #ada shelby #ada thorne #ada & clara #shelby!sister #shelby sister #clara shelby #little lady blinder #raise a glass to llb #i hurt my own feelings writing this one

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