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bonafideyapper · 2 days

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DAY OFF - maximus (fallout tv) x female!reader (smut)

Warnings: SMUT MDNI!!! 18+ // virgin maximus, you work for free because he’s just so sweet, no use of “y/n” but “your name” is typed out, subby (switch) Maximus, he’s embarrassed, I love it; reader is described as female, chubby, and southern/from the east coast, premature ejaculation (but the stamina is there fr he’s back up and ready in like 30 seconds flat); oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it ‘fo you tap it, reader), creampie, I probably forgot some but tbh I didn’t expect to get as raunchy as I did (not proofread)

(this is written to be a one-shot but if there’s enough interest in a second part i’ll work something up :))

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

Maximus was pretty pissed off and worn down by the time he came across a settlement along the way to tracking down the head, or the armor, he really didn’t know what his purpose in life was at the moment. He was just tired and needed some water, maybe a snack. He kept thinking back to that vault dweller he met in Filly, her pretty big eyes and that cute little smile. He’d never see her again, but hey, at least he could have the memory.

He stumbled into the first crudely established business he could find that might serve him, taking a seat at the bar and trying to get the bartender’s attention. Clearly had not taken in the scenery of the bar he was in. Beautiful women stood around, each one with various male patrons. Unable to properly get the man’s attention; Maximus huffed and let his shoulders slump in near-defeat. After meeting the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and then getting his ass kicked and losing the fucking armor, he had little energy left to give.

You noticed this from your position at the end of the bar, slowly inching your way down as he took his place at the bar. The man had barely looked up when he burst through the door, clearly not noticing he had stumbled into the only brothel for miles around. Well respectable women making money to support themselves, helping weary travelers and the occasional rough raider to get some peace and release for the night. Today was your day off, but you always loved a little challenge.

“Emmett! Would you be a dear and get me two waters?” You leaned over the bar and flashed the old man a big smile, he had always had a soft spot for you since you’d always slip him a big tip from whatever you made upstairs. Emmett filled up two glasses of water and slid them across to land in front of you, “On the house, beautiful.”

You turned to get a good look at the man, fighting back a laugh as he stared at the glass of cold water in your hand, almost resembling a panting dog. “Here, honey; this is for you.” He muttered out a ‘thanks’ as he took the glass and took it down in three gulps, setting it back down on the counter between them.

Maximus was smitten the moment he laid eyes on you, his literal saving grace. He finally took in his surroundings and cleared his throat, trying to put on that macho attitude of a knight, but really just an awkward little guy (with and) without that armor. “Thank you, um, I didn’t seem to catch your name?” He tried not to notice the obvious – that you were a whore, and he was a lying squire. He figured you two were one in the same, he was the lowest rung of the Brotherhood’s hierarchy, and you were, well, a prostitute. Max didn’t really care though; he had never seen someone as captivating as you, especially not in the wasteland.

You told him your name, and Maximus swore he had never heard anything so beautiful before. He watched you take small sips from the glass in front of you as you spoke with him for the next few minutes, realizing he had yet to offer you his name. To lie or not to lie, that is the question.

“M-Maximus. That’s my name.” He told you, offering up a piece of knowledge about himself. Hey, he figured he’d never be back in this part of the wasteland, telling you his real name wouldn’t hurt nobody. “I uh, I don’t have any caps, so if you’re looking for a customer…” He trailed off, thinking you were only there for one thing.

“Well, lucky for you, today’s my day off.” You flashed him an award-winning smile, one that would’ve been plastered on billboards in the old world.

The two of you talked for awhile, neither of you too worried about the environment around you. You filled in most of the silence with some stories about your past. He found out you were close to his age, had come to the western wasteland from what used to be the Carolinas, and were working in the saloon until you could find someone to take you back to Appalachia. You both sat there until closing time, Emmett giving you signal with a jerk of his head towards the stairs leading up to your room with an eyebrow up as if asking, “Charity work on your day off?”

“Hey Maxie, you wanna go get some sleep? Only five caps for a nice place to rest.” You squeezed his arm gently, leaning towards him, “No business, just as friends.” Maximus had never had a nickname before, other than the verbal insults spat at him by his fellow brothers. After spending quite some time with you, he decided that he liked the nickname, and would not let the abuse of the Brotherhood affect his brief time with you. He found himself nodding without thinking over your offer, blindly following you once you moved your dainty little hand to grab onto his larger one. Once he was behind you, he took notice of the way your dress moved as you walked, swaying slightly with each step. He tried to remain honorable and not stare at your ass as you went up the stairs, believing you were telling the truth when you claimed that no ‘business’ would happen.

Boy had he been wrong.

Once you had him safely in the confines of your room, your lips were on him like flies to honey. He desperately kissed you, his hands coming up to hold your cheeks like you’d float away if he didn’t anchor your body to his. Or, maybe he felt like he’d float away if he didn’t hold onto you.

“No, no no no no! This can’t be happening.” Maximus broke away from your lips suddenly, trying to push you from his lap at the feeling of his growing erection.

“Hey hey, calm down.” You frowned and grabbed onto his hands, distracting him by putting them firmly on your thighs and looking up into his frantic eyes, “What’s wrong, honey?”

“I think my cock is about to explode.” Maximus panicked and frowned when you just laughed in his face, not taking his worries about the brainwashed BoS sex ed seriously. Your hands floated up to rest on the side of his neck, your thumb ghosting over the scar running along his chin.

“Oh, bless your heart. Maxie, that’s what‘s supposed to happen. Do you trust me to make that feel good for you?” The way you cooed to him in a condescending way in that sweet southern accent made him whimper. His head nodded on instinct, going into this with blind trust for you since hey, you were a professional. With him finally voicing the consent on the matter, you flashed him a big smile and resumed making out with him. Your hands drifted down between your two bodies, palming him gently through the front of his pants and eliciting sweet whimpers from the virgin.

His hands were clumsy as they explored your body, but you didn’t really mind. He finally discovered the places his hands felt like home, one landing on the soft, plump flesh of your hip as the other found its place on your lower back. He pulled your body closer, seeming to gain more courage as the night progressed. Something about a safe bed and a good-looking woman in his lap just did it for him, y��know?

Max shifted you both down so he could lay his upper body back against your pillows, just trying to get comfortable and not think about the way his cock felt–you made it very hard (pun intended) to think about anything else. You broke your lips away from his and let out a melodic giggle as he chased your lips. You needed him out of that white t-shirt that oh-so-deliciously clung to his biceps, so naturally your hands reached to pull it over his head.

You really were the best at what you did, and you knew it, Maximus could tell. You expertly removed his belt and pants without him even noticing, only detaching your lips from his because you had started to leave a trail moving down, down, down…

Fuck, he’s beautiful, you thought to yourself. Taking time to press open-mouthed kisses along any scars that may have been on his abdomen, you glanced up to see his eyes locked on you. Half-lidded brown eyes stared down at you, his breath catching in his throat as you finally reached your destination. You carefully opened his pants and tapped his hip gently, asking him to lift up to make this a little easier for you. As he obeyed, you pulled his pants down in one swift motion, smirking when you saw his cock. Perfectly shaped, thick and girthy, just how you liked it, and rock-hard as it sprung up out of the confines of his briefs.

“Still trust me?” You whispered to him before you put your hands on him again, basically salivating over the thought. Maximus didn’t even need to hear the rest of your question, nodding frantically after you uttered the first syllable. Taking his cock in your hand, you easily began working him, keeping your eyes on him. You loved the look on a virgin’s face when you touched them for the first time, and Max was no different. His eyes had closed, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Absolutely fucking beautiful, in your professional opinion.

His hands found their way to your hair as you licked a drop of precum from the tip of his cock, humming softly in delight at the salty substance before immediately getting to work. You wrapped your lips around him and gathered enough saliva to really make it enjoyable for him, not even having time to really get sloppy with it when the pretty boy had busted in your mouth with a profuse apology. Greedy, you pulled your mouth off of him and swallowed down the load. You thought it was cute how apologetic he was at how quick it had happened, so you wiped your mouth and leaned up to kiss him again. “Don’t apologize, I’m not done.”

Max didn’t know what else to expect, already astonished that it had gone on this long and his cock was still attached to his body. With his cock standing staunch and almost painfully erect again, Maximus let out a pitiful whine when you lifted your dress over your head. You guided his hands to your hips again, starting to work a rhythm against him with your hips.

“You okay if I ride you, honey?” You asked him, peppering kisses across his jaw and down his neck. Maximus nodded quickly and dug his fingertips into your pudgy hips, moving you in his lap the way that he wanted. He thinks he’s starting to get the hang of this sex thing, until you lift yourself up and he feels the warmest, softest grip he’s ever felt before. He thought your mouth was the best thing he had ever felt, until he felt the way your pussy gripped his cock alll the way down until he was buried inside you.

“Shit, Maxie, you might be the biggest I’ve ever taken.” You mewled, leaning over his body in a way that perfectly positioned your breasts above his face. You put your weight on your hands on either side of his head, propping yourself up to start moving your hips. Grinding into him for a moment to really feel how deep he was before lifting yourself up and dropping yourself back down to test the waters with your new toy.

Meanwhile Maximus couldn’t focus, at this moment he had completely abandoned his faith in the Brotherhood, creating a new religion in your body. Maybe he was just delusional over getting laid but he would worship the ground you walked on after this. His mouth found one of your nipples and latched onto it almost instinctively (don’t mommy kink shame me), rolling his tongue over the sensitive bud before pulling back to give the other some well deserved attention.

You finally fell into a good rhythm, leaning back on him and grabbing onto his legs behind you for support as Maximus figured out that if he thrust his hips up just right, you’d let out a new sound. At some point you realized he had taken over, his hands digging roughly into your hips and thighs as he fucked up into you.

Maximus grinned when he realized that not only did this feel great, it looked like you were actually enjoying it too. He was a quick learner, figuring out which ways to move his hips that would elicit the sweeeetest noises from your throat. He decided to get cocky with it and put those squire muscles to good use, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you in place against his body as he pistons his hips quicker. Admittedly becoming more sloppy, but he soon realized that it was because you had come completely undone in his arms.

Your eyes had rolled back as soon as he help you in place, nothing but the sound of his balls slapping against your ass and your moans that were getting higher and higher in pitch. “Max- fuck- Maximus—“ you tried to warn him that you were going to cum, burying your face in his shoulder and white-knuckling the blanket as you exploded instead, a gush of what Maximus thought was piss (he would later learn that no, you didn’t just urinate on him) coating the two of their abdomens. Never deterred him though, because soon after Max had let the explosion feeling take himself over, pumping his heavy load into you. You swore you could feel it literally hit your cervix and hoped you weren’t ovulating.

Maximus kept his arms tightly around you as you laid on top of him for a moment, moving only slightly in a way that would allow his cock to slip from your velvety walls. Leaving you with the ejaculate mix dripping down your thighs. His fingers traced up your spine gently before his dropped his arm to the side, letting you get up if you so pleased.

You did, but only after hovering your face over his to brush your lips against his in an almost-tender kiss. Your legs were shakier than you’d like to admit as you crawled off of him, cleaning yourself up a bit before wrapping yourself in your nice robe. Maximus sat up a bit on his elbows to watch you float around the room, smiling up at you when you came back to him with a wet rag to clean him off.

“Get some sleep, Maxie.” You pressed your lips to the skin just above his bellybutton, then one against his sternum, finally one more pressed to his lips that lingered as long as he allowed it to. To you, aftercare was important to both parties, and since you were the more experienced, you’d have to teach him a thing or two about that. “You’re safe here with me, I promise.”

Maximus watched you slowly make your way up his body, wrapping his arm back around you to pull you closer to deepen your kisses. Both of you had just exploded and yet he could still probably go again, but the exhaustion of his journey had finally hit him, and he knew he had a lot of ground to cover in the morning. He nestled his head against your bosom and closed his eyes, not used to any sort of cuddling but definitely just wanting to feel your softness as long as he could before everything got hard again.

You had a fond smile on your face as you looked down at the man in your bed, it wasn’t often that you took a serious liking to any of the men that strolled through the saloon doors, but something about the “I can fix him”-ness of the false knight under your covers was intriguing. You wrapped your arm around him and gently traced your finger over some raised skin between his shoulders, too tired to make out what the shape was.

You had woken up before him the next morning and had already gotten dressed and ready before deciding to wake him, a plate of biscuits and a cup of badly-made coffee on her side table. Maybe, you hoped, if you made his time really worth it he’d come back to see you again. Maybe as a customer, but you wouldn’t charge him any caps for your services. He’d be your exception, something about a friends discount.

Maximus opened his eyes slowly when he felt a small hand massaging his back, turning his head to look towards your figure sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Mornin’, honey. You gotta get goin’, I got business to attend to.” You watched as he rolled onto his back and looked up at you fully. Max cracked a smile as he reached over to grab your face, pulling you down but leaning up to meet you halfway and capture your lips in a kiss.

“I’m going to come back for you, I promise.” He whispered against your lips, thinking back to your conversation the night before about working there until you found a companion to guide you across the vast wasteland. He’d find the knight’s armor and return to prove himself worthy of being a knight by rescuing the fair maiden.

“I’ll hold you to that, Maxie.” You pulled away from him and gestured to the clothes on the edge of the bed, “Get dressed, there’s a fire escape out my window. My boss will be so mad if she sees you leavin’ this late in the morning.” Maximus redressed himself pretty quick and peeled his head out the window to see the makeshift ladder hanging down the side of the building. He turned back to try and steal one more kiss, but you had already fled the room.

a/n: ok so I wrote this at work & when I got off work I was exhausted but I neeeeeded to finish it so this went way off the rails, wasn’t expecting myself to do all that, but hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @judgementdays-girl (you requested a max fic after i had already started so here's this :))

gif by @mancandykings

dividers by @cafekitsune

#maximus fallout x reader #maximus fallout x you #maximus fallout imagine #fallout tv imagine #squire maximus #ren writes #fallout tv series #maximus x reader #maximus x you #maximus fallout x oc #maximus fallout

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foone · 23 hours

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weird thought: I think if I was a teenager now (or anytime in the last decade or so) I think I would have written (and read!) a lot more fanfic than I did in reality, where I was a teenager in the 90s.

See, I've never been hugely into fanfic. Never had anything against it exactly, but it just wasn't something I was into. But I think that has to do with an interesting combination of how my brain works and what time I was first really getting into being a fan.

I've got a "librarian" brain (I'm literally typing this from within a library, WHERE I WORK). It wants to know things like "what are all the works in this series/by this creator?" and "are they all accessible?" and "what info is available about how it was made?"

I'm the kind of person who will watch a show then go look it up on wikipedia to see how many seasons it has, who made it, if they're still making it, check tvtropes for any more info, etc. Or I hear a song I like by a band I've never heard of, so I go listen to their entire discography while researching them. I just focus on things I'm into that way, you know? I don't half-ass my interest. (this is probably related to my autism, of course)

So what does this have to do with fanfic? like, do I go read some fanfics as part of this process? No, and I think the reason for it is when I specifically first got into fandom, as a teen.

See, this sort of fandom-librarian was harder to do in 1997, you know? You couldn't just pull up the wikipedia for that new show and see how many episodes it had. You also couldn't just listen to the whole discography of that band! Forget Spotify or Google Music, even Napster didn't exist yet.

So my interest in fandom focused a lot more on very basic questions: How many episodes/albums/books/whatever are there? Where can I see/hear them all? Like, I remember getting excited because I found some fan magazine that had a list of all the Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes. Just a list! Not even descriptions or anything. I finally could take that list and see how many I'd seen, so I'd know when I saw them all in late-night reruns.

So I'm focusing on these very basic parts of being a fandom-librarian and I stumble across some fanfic. I'm like "oh, is this a transcript of an episode I haven't seen yet?" and I realize it's not, it's a story written by a fan, and I get a knee-jerk reaction of "that's not helpful to my quest to know and find all the episodes". It's like I am on a quest for the holy grail and I found a fake cup. It's not helpful to me, and at worst it's a distraction from my goal.

And the thing is, I think the fact I had that reaction is entirely due to the time and situation in which I first encountered fanfic. It was in that environment of "I can't even find a list of the episodes, let alone a way to watch them all!" and that anxiety that colored my response to finding fanfic.

I think if I instead was first introduced to fanfic NOW, where those fandom-librarian drives aren't so difficult to fulfill, I'd be way more positive about fanfic. If I could get a list of episodes with a quick google search, and watch them easily on netflix/prime/whatever, I'd be less "THIS DOESN'T HELP! I AM STRUGGLING WITH THE BASICS HERE!" and more "yay, more content for the fandom I'm obsessed with!"

Like I said, I'm not anti-fanfic, I never have been, I just never got into it. From the beginning I had this reaction that was "this is not useful" and I never developed any real interest in it. Which is a shame, honestly. Fanfic is great. It just never became one of my interests, and while I've written it and read it from time to time, I imagine I'd be way more into it if I didn't have the weird reaction to it due to the worries of the time in which I first encountered it.

I don't know how many other people have brains that work anything like mine, but if they exist, I'm glad they're now growing up in a world where they won't have these problems. They can get into fanfic without this weird baggage caused by a lack of information.

#fanfic meta

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gabessquishytum · 2 days

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I keep seeing all these ideas where Dream is famous and I wanna take it a step farther. With Dream being rockstar famous, and known for his wild temper and deeply chaotic life, he gets approached by a large Hollywood studio to star in a new reality television show. It would be him, his new manager and husband Hob, their teenage sons and a revolving door of friends, neighbors and family. They'll move him out of his posh Soho flat and into a luxury mansion in Beverly Hills. All he needs to do is sign on the dotted line.

Dream obviously thinks it's stupid. After all, he's a pretty private guy and a right asshole at times and he doesn't think he'll make good television. But Hob disagrees. It's been forever since Dream's name was last in the papers and fans are clambering for new content. Besides, they can play up their personalities for the camera and Hob wouldn't just let them run amok in their private life.

So he agrees a bit unwillingly. That is until he finds out how fun it is to lie directly to the camera, make Desire's life hell when they guest star, and ruin production by showing them how satisfied his husband is in every room of the house.

- 🤜 anon

I love the idea of an Endless reality TV show SO MUCH!!! Can you imagine the chaos?! It'd be so brilliant.

Robyn and Orpheus are in their late teens, so old enough to enjoy occasionally popping up in an episode or two - but when filming starts they get to find out exactly how protective their dad (Hob) is over their privacy. Hob has written strict boundaries into the contract with the production company so the cameras literally can't go into certain parts of the mansion, and certainly can't film the boys without at least one guardian being present. Hob would happily take the company to court and sue if they cross any lines. The same rules apply for Delirium, who is also still quite young and occasionally likes to show up in an episode.

Meanwhile Dream is basically just having a great time doing increasingly weird things. He takes baths in oat milk, claiming that its been part of his routine for years. He puts a really terrible fake tattoo on his upper thigh and walks around showing it off like it's real. He does "vocal exercises" with Orpheus as part of his "art" and Orpheus spends the whole time trying not crack up while Dream makes these awful noises.

And of course, who would forget -

Hob, holding a tiny pig: Dream Endless, come to the foyer... I have a little gift for you

Dream: oh my god is that a chicken?!

Plus the amount of times the camera has caught Hob looking thoroughly wrecked... in the kitchen covered in hickies, with his pants down in the pool area, black lipstick smeared all over his face in the bathroom... so many bits of footage have had to be cut because Dream will just drop to his knees wherever and start trying to suck Hob’s dick. He's famous, he can do what he wants!

The show is, of course, a hit. Much to Desire's chagrin. Although they are secretly hoping to get a spinoff show out of this - hopefully one where they get to slap the smug smile off Dream’s annoying face...

#🤜 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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neverevan · 2 days

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I actually think Tommy not being in 7×07 and 7x08 makes a lot of sense considering just how on the fly the Buck/Tommy (and season seven as a whole lol) seemed to have come together, and Tim Minear needing a pause to see how it's received by the general public while also working writing the end of the season at the same time 💀 Also, I know Oliver mentioned wanting an on screen relationship similar to the one Carlos and TK share on Lone Star, and if I remember correctly, in that first season when they were still getting to know eachother Carlos was in every 3rd-ish episode with various degrees of importance?? Anyway, it seems like Oliver (and Lou, and hopefully Tim as well) want to carry o with this story line for now, and the reception to bi buck has been mostly positive so I have hope for more Tommy in season 8, if not sooner!!!

mhm yeah it's very much on the fly, we still haven't got a title for the last episode and based on the latest Tim interview, I'm pretty sure it's not even written yet, hell, we barely just got the titles for the previous eps and the way Oliver was talking about it — and also because we know they usually get stuff 2 days prior to shooting at most — I'd wager that the actors haven't even seen the script yet for ep 9, if it's even finished.

so yeah, the possibilities at this moment are endless and I'd honestly expect them to keep Tommy around during the finale, in the background if nothing else, because the general reception was good and as you said there are many other storylines we need to get to without "wasting time" on recurring roles/bringing up more drama by doing a breakup arc, but we shall see.

I def can't comment on the lone star of it all, but if Tommy would become a more serious LI for Buck, I'm sure we'd be seeing him around a bit more, but you know out of 6 eps this season, Karen was in only 3 (assuming she'll be in ep6) and she is literally married to a lead character and has consistently had major storylines throughout the show.

all in all, I have high hopes and am staying positive about it until being told otherwise. 💛

#lou ferrigno jr #tommy kinard #bucktommy #911 #911 abc #ask #anon

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xjulixred45x · 2 days

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I need to ask from morbid curiosity mostly. I have heard of diabolic lovers mostly from top 10 unfortunately not good ones. What are your unadulterated thoughts on the brothers?

I have talked individually of Subaru and Reiji, and there is a post where i Say which Diaboy i HATE the most, but i Guess is therapeutic talk shit about them all :)

in order from oldest to youngest, not in order from worst to """best"""

Carla to me is practically a P3d0, and it's worse if we consider that canonically she likes Yui to call her "Onichan"🤮 and he's such a son of a bitch, he tortured her SO MUCH (along with Shin) that it made her think about COMMITTING SUICIDE. a scourge

Shin is the definition of Carla's lapdog, and since he has the power he feels comfortable mistreating everyone (but if they were stronger? He comes out with his tail between his legs) GOD THE SCENE WHERE HE MAKES YUI LICK HIS OWN BOOTS. just as bad as his brother. Only he's not a fetishist.

Shu just seems boring and bland to me, I'm sorry I can't say much about a character who literally does NOTHING. Her background is fine, but I think she was very wasted on a character in a bad story.

Reiji IS A SON OF A BITCH, he not only decided to kill his brother's friend BUT THE ENTIRE VILLAGE, OUT OF JEALOUSY, and on top of that kill his mother who wasn't even abusive (compared to the other two, she was quite loving). honestly an idiot.

Ayato is unbearable, I just can't stand him, he acts like a little child. apart from the fact that he is the one who objectifies Yui the most and who insults her the most along with Kou. without forgetting that he is considered the "hero" of the franchise😑

Kanato is all of the above combined in an amorphous and delusional mass in believing that he is the victim and that he is right in everything, being also a necrophiliac and cannibal, there is no need for me to say more.

Laito is, sadly, one of the best written in the entire franchise but at the same time he is a FIRST DAMN, he was the first to cause Yui's suicidal ideas, apart from the fact that HE IS a sex offender who should stay away from people .

Subaru is a hothead who gives me certain Incel vibes, he believes that all women are equal and that gives him the right to treat everyone like shit and be physically violent. Even if he has the most "justified" trauma next to Laito, it doesn't make him any less of a horrible person.

Ruki is simply a control freak who, since he is now a vampire, believes he is above everyone else and is honestly a second Reiji but with a cheap background. but he has my eternal hatred for the cat.

Yuma just doesn't catch my attention beyond his design and being just as aggressive as Subaru, he has literally beaten Yui to death in almost all of her endings. I don't like.

Kou is INSUFFERABLE and eager, not only for being so materialistic but for the way he messes with Yui's self-esteem makes my heart bleed.

Azusa is a MANIPULATOR, no matter who it hurts, he literally Guilt Trips Yui to make her hurt him! and then he cuts her! He might be the "Best" but he is still trash.

Kino is similar to Kanato in that he is spoiled and a horrible being at the same time, he has no consideration for those other than him and that makes him DESPICABLE ON HIS ROUTE, he literally killed a child in front of Yui so that he would not try to escape . it's bullshit.

Overall, I think that would be it. They're all trash, but different trash.

____

en orden de mayor a menor, no en orden de peor a """mejor"""

Carla para mi es prácticamente un P3d0, y es peor si consideramos que canónicamente le gusta que Yui le llame "Onichan"🤮 y es tan hijo de puta, la torturo TANTO(junto a Shin) que le hizo pensar en SUICIDARSE. una lacra.

Shin es la definición de perro faldero de Carla, y como tiene el poder se siente comodo con maltratar a todos(pero si fueran mas fuertes? el sale con la cola entre las patas)DIOS LA ESCENA EN LA QUE HACE QUE YUI LE LAMA LAS BOTAS. igual de malo que su hermano. solo que no es un fetichista.

Shu simplemente se me hace aburrido y soso, lo siento no puedo decir mucho de un personaje que literal no hace NADA. su trasfondo esta bien, pero creo que fue muy desaprovechada en un personaje en una mala historia.

Reiji ES UN HIJO DE PERRA, no solo decidio matar al amigo de su hermano SINO A TODA LA VILLA, Por CELOS, y encima de eso matar a su madre que nisiquiera era abusiva(en comparación a las otras dos, era bastante amorosa). sinceramente un imbécil.

Ayato es insoportable, simplemente no me lo puedo aguantar, actua como un niño pequeño. aparte de que es quien mas cosifica a Yui y de los que mas la insulta junto a Kou. sin olvidar que es considerado el "héroe" de la franquisia😑

Kanato es todos los anteriores combinados en una masa amorfa y delirante en creer que es la víctima y que tiene la razon en todo, siendo también un necrofilico y canibal, no hace falta que diga mas.

Laito es, tristemente, uno de los mejor escritos de toda la franquicia pero que al musmo tiempo es un MALDITO DE PRIMERA, fue el primero en causar las ideas suicidas de Yui, aparte de que ES un delincuente sexual que deberia manterse lejos de las personas.

Subaru es un hiracundo que me da ciertas vibras de Incel, cree que todas las mujeres son iguales y que eso le da el derecho a tratar como la mierda a todos y ser físicamente violento. aun si tiene el trauma mas "justificado" junto a Laito, no le hace menos de una persona horrible.

Ruki simplemente es un maniático del control que como ahora es un vampiro cree estar por arriba de los demas y sinceramente es un segundo Reiji pero con trasfondo barato. pero tiene mi odio eterno por lo del gato.

Yuma simplemente no me llama la atención mas alla de su diseño y ser igual de agresivo que Subaru, literalmente ha matado a Yui en casi todos sus finales a golpes. no me gusta.

Kou es INSUFRIBLE y con ganas, no solo por ser tan materialista sino por la forma ej la que se mete con el autoestima de Yui hace que me sangre el corazón.

Azusa es un MANIPULADOR, le duela a quien le duela, el literalmente le hace Guilt Triping a Yui para que lo lastime! y encima después la corta el!

Kino es similar a Kanato con lo de ser un mimado y un horrible ser al mismo tiempo, no tiene consideración por quienes no sean el y eso lo hace alguien DESPRECIABLE EN SU RUTA, literalmente mato a un niño enfrente de Yui para que no intentara escapar. es una mierda.

en general, creo que eso sería todo. Todos son basura, pero diferente basura.

#diabolik lovers

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tulipsinthedas · 3 days

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Just finished binging the Fallout tv show and 🤯 I've got so many thoughts running through this little brain of mine. So here's a very long rant no one asked for. Maybe I'll make a more digestible version later. Obviously SPOILERS AHEAD!!! Be warned!

First off - the lore. So many interesting things were added into the lore by this show that I find so fascinating, as well as theories I've had that were touched upon. All of which makes this very exciting but also leaves me DESPERATE for season two. The main thing that has really stuck with me is the confirmation that Vault-Tec were the ones to drop the bombs like hello??? I've always had an inkling ever since I started delving into fallout lore a good year or two ago that they were behind everything, but finally having it confirmed is so fun. Of course, some people out there are going to be irritated (L take) but this imo will make replays so much more interesting. Same with the addition of ghouls needing medication to keep from becoming feral. Although this begs some questions; what is the medicine? Is it just radaway, or something else entirely? Maybe it's connected to whatever Hancock used to ghoulify himself? Or maybe it's connected to Doctor Barrows' research into ghouls fom Fallout 3? Idk! But I hope it's answered in season 2.

Cooper being the inspiration behind the iconic vault boy mascot absolutely gagged me. It was kinda hinted at even in the beginning at the kids birthday party but I was still surprised. Pleasantly, of course. Other smaller things, like the BOS branding and helmets opening up, among other things, were also fun touches that develop the lore in ways that the games probably never would have. It's small things like this that despite livening up the wasteland, would be unnecessary uses of resources from a game-development standpoint. So I think if season 2 ends up being a banger like season 1, we could see a lot more tiny additions to the lore like this!

Secondly - the characters. I don't even know where to start. They were written so well which is such a critical part of a good series. Lucy, despite everything she goes through, stays true to her morals and by doing so, probably unknowingly, is changing those around her. Despite being stubborn, she's willing to listen and understand other viewpoints and adapt herself. It's so refreshing to see a main female lead who isn't written as either weak and naive or strong and boneheaded; she'd a perfect mix of both. I also appreciate them not making her a total push over, even in the beginning before she is given any reason to change. She grows, but never fails to stay true to herself. Plus the whole sex positive thing is an amazing touch to add as well, especially for a woman.

And while on this topic, Maximus is such a cutie pie. Writing characters that are selflessly aligned can definitely be a hit or miss, and without properly being fleshed out, can be one-dimensional, but I never felt that way with him. Despite trying to help others and be a good person, he still has flaws and does feels selfish things. They took the trope of the knight in shining armor, literally, and gave him actual human characteristics that made him feel real. Underneath his heroic demeanor, he's just a little guy who likes slippers and vault popcorn. Who just wants to be somewhere safe away from war and danger, to be where he can just relax and not have to worry. And his romance arc with Lucy is just way too cute. From the moment they met in Filly I knew something was going to happen and I was so excited when they finally kissed lmao. The sweet, innocent love at first sight thing they have going on is the perfect dichotomy to all the bloodshed and heavy themes going on in the rest of the show.

And finally, Cooper is reviving the inner ghoul lover in me and I cannot complain at all. As a certified Hancock lover, I feel seen ✋ also Walton Goggins is just incredibly fine. But that's besides the point. His character is arguably the best written because despite being an undeniably evil person, he is still likeable. 200 years have turned him into a man who had to lose his humanity to survive, and the pre-war flashbacks being shown through his eyes give him, and the story, so much depth. Despite his ways, you can't help but still feel for him, to still root for him and hope that he still has a little bit of that humanity left within him. Which imo was shown multiple times; for example him not killing Maximus in episode two even though he easily could have done so. And the fact that he's still searching for his family all these years later? When he was asked what has been keeping him going so long, I think they are his reason. Whether he is searching to reunite or to exact revenge on Barb for dropping the bombs while him and Janey were outside idk. But it makes his story all the more heartbreaking. I also love the writing for Norm, Moldaver, Dane, and so many others, but this is already too long ass it is.

Overall, this series was so good and I'll be impatiently awaiting season 2! Some things I'm hoping to see next seasons are super mutants for sure, as well as synths and more of the enclave. I think they went easy this season to test the waters and see just how interested people are. And now that they know people are very interested, I think they'll be more willing to invest a larger budget, and add more. Rant over!

#fallout #fallout show #fallout series #fallout prime #fallout tv series #cooper howard #lucy maclean #maximus fallout #fallout series spoilers #fallout spoilers #fallout amazon #fallout ghoul

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lily-orchard-gossip-blog · 2 days

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Time to do another dramatic reading of our least favourite avatar.

Today, I will be subjecting myself and all of you to the vignette titled "space".

Unfortunately, it's not about the cool space. Which is a shame, because that would have less incest in it.

I wish I was joking.

So we once again start off with a republic city tabloid making the Avatar upset.

That is twice that this framing device has been used, and while this vignette came first, I think Lily needs to come up with a better opener. We can only have Niva read so many tabloids, and getting upset by it, as a framing device so many times before I start to question why Niva keeps reading them.

And because the author has a barely disguised fetish, we get to jump right into the incest using the tabloids as an excuse:

WHO TALKS LIKE THAT TO THEIR SISTER????

If people are reading your behaviour as romantic, to the point that it's getting printed into tabloids, it really makes me question just what you were doing to give off that impression. (We get a good idea of this pretty fast in this vignette.)

If I didn't know they were sisters, I would think they are dating.

Because this is a couple spat.

As for the claim that people can't comprehend sincere devotion without sex, well, if the Avatar and her sister are always touching each other in public in the ways that lovers do, then it isn't the public who is misreading the situation.

Again, this isn't how SIBLING'S talk.

This is how romantic partners speak to each other.

If I can pull this lines out, and show them to a total normie, and they would think this is a couple, then you have written a romance, not a sisterly bond.

And I'm sorry, but if someone is always having their arms wrapped around each other in rather intimate ways, and talking about how devoted they are to said person, then people are going to make assumptions. It's not them misunderstanding what they're seeing or reading too much into it. It's them seeing how too people are acting, and making a conclusion.

Alright, moving on.

Here's a red flag for any relationship:

Our supposedly confident, self actualized Avatar needs an excuse to assert her boundaries.

So either the Avatar isn't actually a confident, self actualized badass like Lily claims, or, her sister has reacted negatively to demands for space in the past, making the avatar nervous about asking for said space without an excuse.

Either way, this is yikes behaviour, and something any other author would explore, but we all know Lily won't explore it.

We then get a little bit about how Niva hate's Republic City because it makes her feel overwhelmed and overstimulated, which if Niva is meant to be on the spectrum, is a nice bit of character building.

We then get them bashing the food in Republic City because it's "corporate" and then Lavi tells her to "just be honest about her need for space", they hug, and we end on this groaner:

Probably the most normal part of this relationship, and guess what?

It sucks.

I think it's the last two lines. They just scream "I need a witty closer".

And that was Space.

I think I need Space from it. 🤣😭

This was another episode in our growing series called "the author's barely disguised fetish". And while I'm certain Lily gets a lot of enjoyment out of subjecting people to it without their knowledge or consent, I do not.

And I went into this knowing exactly what it was going to contain.

To summarize my thoughts on this literal nothingburger of a story...

I don't have any.

Despite being gross because of the incest, it really doesn't actually tell you much about the characters outside Niva feeling like she can't even ask for space from her sister, which would be fine... if Niva wasn't supposed to be a self-confident badass. So now it just reads as problematic, but we all know this will never be addressed.

Honestly, the incest is the only thing that either of those characters have going for them, and that's both parts gross, tragic and hilarious.

Now get out of my house.

#Lily orchard #avatar niva #space #fanfic review

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uniquevocashark · 1 year

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The Forbidden Happy End Fic Part 1

Fifteen years out of service, and ten since the death of her Lady, Igraine is reacquainted with the love of her life.

The happy ending sequel to A Good Servant.

Trigger warnings for mild gore, murder, thoughts of cannibalism, child endangerment, child harm, liberal use of canon information, bodily harm, brief mentions of lady dimitrescu

As always tumblr gets this first <3

Cell decoration wasn’t an art. There was one goal: making it as monotonous as possible. To that end there were grey walls, grey chairs and a grey metal table bolted to the ground, with grey cameras in two corners of the room.

Igraine half expected a two-way mirror to fully throw her back into the 70’s.

Redfield sat with a cigarette on his lips, and Igraine kept her face equally bland. Redfield was unhealthy; there was a pallor to his skin that spoke of long hours and little rest, he wheezed gently with each breath and his shoulders were slack and sunken like a bombed ship. Chris Redfield continued to look like shit.

“What happened.”

Igraine didn’t answer, looking at the blood under her nails instead.

The room reeked of cigarette smoke. Redfield was now, by her count, just starting on his fourth in the time they had spent in the room. He had followed a peculiar pattern in his questioning, only when he reached the butt of each did he ask his question. First, he had raged, the lines of his face had tightened, his expression like twisted branches; the whites of his eyes had bulged bug like out of his skull, and he had sweat that beaded from his hairline down his face and disappearing into his stubble. He had savoured the second and it had turned him mellow and conversational; he had breathed out the last puff of smoke with a long sigh and at the end of that sigh he met her eyes and asked again.

Igraine was aware of his game.

Over the years, Redfield had become more stoic and serious; even his questions had, and now they were coated in an unhealthy addition of accusation. The ends of his words curled like snakes and sang with venom, there was such a baggage attached to them. No matter the sweetness coated around it, Igraine wouldn’t fall for it. Too obvious, she chided herself, far too obvious. And igraine was nothing if not principled; he would learn to ask properly, or he shouldn’t ask at all. He was angry to everyone else, but he could not stink more of worry the longer he dragged the conversation on.

Igraine was fine continuing the conversation for as long as she needed, no matter how sick she was of the smell of smoke and regret.

“Alright,” Redfield said, breaking halfway through his current cigarette, “So at 4:17pm you and Rosemary went from the classroom to the cafeteria and then at 5:03pm both left. Then at 5:14pm Rosemary began expelling mold. Walk me through it from the cafeteria to the hallway.”

“Better,” she set her hands on the table, “Let me think.”

…

On a technicality, they were going for what was supposed to be lunch. It was more like a dinner, as Igraine had forgotten to eat entirely and Rosemary, only ten and desperate to find approval, had said nothing until after their lessons hoping to win some. By then Rosemary had not eaten since ten thirty that morning. Igraine, who had found herself with a Rosemary shaped soft spot, had not reprimanded her and prolonged the punishment, instead stopping their lessons and taking her immediately for food.

“Rose,” she said, returning with another serving of lasagne, “You should learn to communicate your needs better.”

Rosemary stuffed her face with another forkful of pasta before Igraine had even set the plate down, her face covered with cheese sauce, humming happily. Igraine’s own serving lay abandoned by her side, the layers stripped and arranged around the plate neatly. (Her tastes were more inclined to other, more bipedal red meats that the cafeteria would not provide and which would revoke her ability to live relatively alone if she admitted her preference.)

“I am being serious, armillaria.” Igraine said, gently wiping her face with a napkin.

Rosemary spat a bit of burnt cheese into it as she wiped over her mouth, and her tone had taken on the beginnings of a pout, “I know, Iggy.”

Igraine adjusted her sunglasses and scoffed gently, more at the nickname than anything, “I’m just saying.”

“I knoooow, Iggy.” She sing-songed, knocking Igraine’s glasses down her nose again.

Igraine pinched her cheek playfully, and Rose giggled. “Eat, thank you. They already think I’m starving you academically.”

Rosemary was always happy, even when there was no cause for it. Even now, she smiled toothily, proudly showing off the gap in the bottom row of her teeth. She had lost it four days ago and was still grinning about it. She swung her legs, taking a smaller forkful while Igraine dabbed the sauce from her face. “Do you think mom is around?”

“I don’t know, armillaria.”

(“Why do you call her armillaria?” Redfield interrupted.

“Does it matter?” Igraine replied and dragged her nails along the edge of the table, causing a horrible screeek.)

“Can you find out?”

“I can ask,” Igraine said, “Don’t expect an answer, dear.”

“I know,” Rose said, scooping sauce up and eating it slowly, “I just haven’t seen mom in a while.”

The answers that Igraine had to that were unsavoury; she didn’t like Mia on the best of days and seeing the long periods of abandonment Rosemary suffered had made her like her even less. Rather than say anything, she changed the topic, “Would you like to go back to the classroom?”

The fork teetered in her hand, “Yeah.”

Igraine scooped up the dish and picked up her own fork, “Container please, dear.”

Rose took the container out of her backpack, a small pink thing that had one big pocket for her food and one small pocket that held her handkerchiefs of varying colours and patterns. Rose toyed with her zipper, setting her bag in her

“Now, don’t fret, armillaria,” Igraine said as she took the container, “Chris just gets a bit heated over silly things. I’ll hold your leftovers, okay?”

Rose zipped up her bag and nodded, “Because you’re a tutor?”

Igraine smiled thinly, “Among other things.”

“That’s not nice.”

Igraine rubbed Rosemary’s head, feeling a twinge of regret for ruining the poor things mood, “Don’t worry so much, dear.”

“I’ll try,” Rose said, sliding her fork and plate away and then, “Do you miss your parents?”

“Me?” Igraine blinked, and then exhaled so forcefully out of her nose she almost laughed in Rosemary’s face. She said the silliest things sometimes, “No, not my parents but there is someone.”

Rosemary leaned into the table, her interest perked so high she could have sprouted wings in her excitement, with that soft awed expression of a child that had just found their next fun fact to bring into every conversation. “Really?”

“Of course.”

“Who’s yours?”

“Mine?”

“Yeah!”

It took all of three seconds for Igraine to cave; Rose’s smile brightened her entire face into a mask of joy so blinding it felt like the wrong kind of cruel to say no, “There’s my sibling, of course,” Igraine started, resting her head on her palm and looking at the door, “And a very special woman.”

A strand of Rosemary’s hair curled on her cheek, like a pangolins claw grasping a branch, and for a moment all Igraine could see was Alcina, from the curve of the cheek to the set of her shoulders. But there was just Rose, too, with the way she smiled and the way her eyes brightened, and even though Igraine wanted Rose to just be a mirror, she couldn’t deny that she would miss Rosemary. “What is she like?”

“Oh, she’s magnificent,” Igraine said, her eyes catching on the way a soldier’s carotid vein bulged for a moment as they swallowed, “Strong, you know. Witty, but also stoic, and very beautiful.”

“Wow.”

Igraine licked her teeth, the phantom taste of copper clinging in the dips of her molars, “She had excellent taste too.”

But Rose was already moving on from the conversation, her curiosity sated for the moment, “You’ll see her again. I always see mom again, even when I miss her.”

Igraine didn’t have the heart to tell her Alcina was quite dead. “I’m sure.”

The conversation puttered out after that, only Rose’s occasional questions flaring it up again, otherwise she scrolled through her phone. Igraine didn’t understand it, but Rose could occupy herself with just the screen for longer than Igraine could hold a conversation, within the limits the BSAA had given her at least. If she could talk about the dissection of the human spine, she could go on much longer. The cafeteria was the only place this deep in the building that was built for outside internet connection, or something like that.

Igraine kept her eyes on the soldiers around them rather than Rose, who was remarkably immobile while tapping away at her little screen. Igraine also found it upsetting to imagine eating Rosemary, while the bland faced guards that surrounded them were much easier to imagine dead. The line of their clothes was smooth and stiff, and their shirt pulled around the waist. Body armour, she would guess, and a hidden firearm. And underneath that, bunching and pulling and contracting and alive, was fresh meat.

Her vision was turning fuzzy, and she turned her head away when one came within grabbing distance of the table. Rosemary looked up at her, her phone sitting limply in her hands, and gave an awkward half smile. Igraine leaned over and dabbed at the burnt bit of cheese at the corner of her lips, which came away long, stringy and cold.

“That’s curious,” Igraine said mildly, folding the mold string out of Rosemary’s sight, “Finished?”

“Yeah,” Rose looked at her phone, “Chris is picking me up today.”

“I am sorry, dear.”

Rose coughed into her elbow and when she turned to face Igraine there was a long string of black dotted around the corner of her mouth. Igraine got up and stood as to obscure Rose from the soldiers view and, patting her pockets for emphasis, pretended she had run out of napkins. “Hold still.” She said sweetly to Rosemary’s leaning away when Igraine licked her thumb and rubbed at the mold growing on her cheek. Rose protested, and Igraine ignored her.

The string was thick and grimy; defiantly not cheese, as she’d hoped, clinging to her fingers and trying its damnedest to sink into her skin. Despite its location, too, it appeared to be seeping out of her skin rather than coming from her mouth. Igraine readjusted her glasses and took a surreptitious look around, glad to see that no one was close enough.

The ethical, correct thing to do would be to tell one of the soldiers. “Why don’t we go back to the classroom? We can do whatever you like until Redfield shows up.”

Rose wiped her cheek with her sleeve long enough that they skirted past security. The walk was a calm, long one, being four hallways away from the cafeteria and lined with detectors, of which Igraine knew the location of only four. They’re barely in the second hallway when Igraine realises that Rose had disappeared from her side (and that the leftovers have burnt a hole in a few of her fingerprints).

“Rosemary.”

Rose was standing still, in front of a broken door that had come off its hinge slightly and sat awkwardly. Igraine caught up to her and found that she was unblinking in her observation of it. The door, she noted, was not supposed to be open, but had run afoul of a stone that had been shoved into the end of the track. The hall was clear, for now, so Igraine bent the door inwards.

The stone was a crystal, longer than Rosemary’s palm, pointed at one edge and broken on the other, as if it had been snapped off from something much larger. It was large too, as Rose’s fingers couldn’t quite wrap around it fully, a discoloured white colour that was cloudy rather than clear.

“This is like me.” Rose said.

“That is a rock.”

Rose clutched the stone to her chest. The dots on her face and turned into oblong shapes that began to droop, like an egg yolk that hadn’t quite broken.

Igraine opened her mouth, and then the door shuddered and jerked sideways, careening straight into her. She took the brunt of the door to her shoulder, crashing into the wall with a loud crrICK, tearing through her lime green shirt and cutting into the meat of her bicep. It left her pinned between the wall and the door, while Rose, blissfully unaware but for the rock, bullied her way past Igraine’s legs and into the hall beyond.

This hallway was different to their usual commute, lined with several doors rather than two, and each marked with a hammered metal plate that had different names on them. The only open door seemed to beckon Rose and she went in without a second glance at the other rooms.

(“You don’t have to explain,” Redfield says, “It’s the specimen rooms.”

“I can stop talking, if you’d prefer,” Igraine replied.

Redfield lit another cigarette and went quiet.)

“Rosemary.”

Rose looked at her, popping her head back out of the room. She was wide eyed, and her mouth pursed slightly; she said nothing and when Igraine called her again she slunk slowly back into the room. In the time it would take a pin to drop, Igraine heard shouts, then screams and then silence.

The door that had rammed her had sharpened some point between her awareness of bending it and her mind diverging from the door to Rosemary as she had shouldered her way past; that point had stabbed through her bicep and snuggled close to the bone. The worst part was that she had ruined her last green blouse, which had handily put all her purple jackets lighter than grape out of her clothing rotation. And Rosemary’s new status as murderer was bad too, she supposed.

(Igraine took care to omit little details from her retelling; no use in telling him that she had opened the door, or that Rose had found a stone, or that somehow she had murdered seven humans, that would be implicating. It wasn’t for Redfield to know, nor for her to give away.)

Igraine never did get to the door proper; after she had peeled the door from its hinges and off her arm, she saw it. An imperfect sphere of sinew and muscle dyed tobacco black, crawling forward on ever shifting arms that disappeared into its mass and reformed as it plodded forward. It made a srrrrrrrrk-k-k-k as it moved, dragging its bone-covered knuckles across the floor and thudding into walls as it scrapped forward unsteadily.

It was new and unrefined and so indicative of Rosemary’s creativity, Igraine couldn’t help but light up as it bundled towards her as mobile as a bloated elephant seal.

It wasn’t smooth but roughly textured; grainy and rough like muscle; sinew piled on sinew, strung together meat and poorly formed skin that rose and faded in patches like the tide. Not perfect but promising, and clearly in need of something fuller bodied than the meal it already had. It was perfect timing, then, when Igraine walked herself into a quartet of clueless soldiers examining her handiwork.

She didn’t recognise any of them, not that she had ever bothered committing any of the faceless minions to memory; they were distinctly different in that their uniforms were attired differently, bearing different marks on their shoulders and helmets that she had not seen before. They did seem to recognise her, though, standing to attention towards her.

But they were inexperienced and really, it was their fault for being so punctual. And Chris didn’t need to know about their deaths; they were just recruits and those died all the time.

The first went done silently; Igraine slid behind them, making all the appropriate noises of a concerned science associate and he, predictably, never saw it coming. Igraine’s best feature, in her opinion, were her claws; which split him throat to belly before he could gather the air to scream. His intestines spilled like freshly made noodles, spraying brightly coloured sauce as they went, and Igraine couldn’t fully suppress her shiver of pleasure.

His companions were busy with the blob as it liquidated, spreading its mass across the available surface, covering the width of the hallway. It wasn’t until they saw him, bleeding into the cracks and feeding the mold as it rushed to cover him, that they even knew he was dead. And there came their inexperience again; one forgot about the mold, the other forgot about her and the last she kicked into the mold.

He fell face first, screaming, his body convulsing and scrambling; Igraine watched as he struggled and failed, his arms reduced to thin sheets of deteriorating bone that melted away. The mold had risen into a wall, spewing mold from the top in thick rivulets that moved like tar. It was, she realised, like watching maggots hatch; squirming and writhing, hundreds of bodies fighting before disappearing into the tar pool that surrounded it.

The last two she took together, stepping into the space of the third before they could fire and grabbing them by the face as she punched directly into the back of the fourth’s neck. Their spine crunched underneath her knuckles and tossed the third in as it hit the floor. Number 3 clawed at her, as if its hands could find her neck just by the sheer force of wanting it. But he was only a human and though it was slower, longer; his screams lasting for fifty seconds longer than his companions, he still died with Igraine’s heel pushing his head into the muck.

Now, she supposed, was a good time to get Rosemary out. She felt the thought like an addiction; the slow pangs at her temple, the itchiness of her teeth, the twitch of her joints. How much of it was her, and how much was Rosemary, was unclear to her; there was just the need, suddenly banking high in urgency.

“I’m coming.” She told the mold, which gurgled in response.

Moving in the mold was like swimming deeper than five hundred meters in the ocean; it pressed in on her closes and skin, melding and fusing to her body to collapse them inwards. It grasped at her ankles, eating through her stockings, and writhing around her skin, leaving of unpleasant sensation of a knife hacking at her skin. Three steps in and the mold reached her knees, and she was unsure of if she was touching the ground or hardened mold.

As the mold touched her hips, and her steps became more like a trek through set molasses, the mold in front of her having to be cracked before she could continue slogging through. And she was sure, if her ears did not deceive her, that more soldiers had appeared and died to the mold, and that Redfield had likely arrive to scowl at her slow moving back.

But that was of little consequence really; all she could think of was Rosemary. Yammering on and on and on inside her head. Rosemary, Rosemary, Rosemary.

The centre of the mold was a long, tall wall that writhed at her touch; it sunk into her nails and her hands and when she pushed, it pushed back. It was hard as set concrete, and wet as fresh glue, and it was acidic enough to eat away at the sleeves of her shirt and the metal of her jewellery. A shame that as well, because this was the only shirt she had of a true lime colour and not faux candy coloured lawn green masquerading as lime.

Finding Rosemary in it was a task better suited for the blind; Igraine dug her arms in to the elbow and flailed until she hit something small and Rosemary-shaped. Once she had her, it was a struggle to keep her grip.

Pulling Rosemary out was akin to a tug of war with a lion; a struggle, even for Igraine. Twice Igraine had fallen over and nearly lost her grip on Rosemary’s small arm, and her only saving grace was that the mold was hard and set and unready to accommodate her body at all. It suckled at her hips, and groped at her waist, but the deeper mold merely slogged out of her way as she reset her stance.

Rosemary was only half out after half an hour of exertion; it was too much for Igraine, who had not eaten since last night and had not taken her dosage of t serum for that day, and who’s attempts to pull Rosemary free had degenerated into limp tugs and clawing at the setting mold that refused to release her. The harder she tried, the more the mold resisted, and the more her beautiful nail polish chipped and suffered.

Between the time that Rosemary’s arm had pulled free, and her shoulder had come loose, a hand had dug into Igraine’s calf. The hand was slimy and made of bone, and it turned its fingerbones into claws, scoring lines of pain on her skin and up her leg like a lightning bolt. Rosemary’s face would not come free, so Igraine wrapped her arms around the girl’s midsection and moved back, yanking as hard as she was able.

She tore skin, and Rosemary’s bag from her back, and hair from her head, but eventually, finally, Rosemary emerged. She was mold covered, slimy and slippery, and Igraine had done more damage to her face and skin than she would have liked, but she was free. Each step away from the centre, which collapsed without Rosemary there to sustain it, she grew more lively. First twitching, then shivering before she gasped herself awake just as Igraine tore her injured leg out of the mold and into the cold air. Rosemary’s arms secreted white sweat, an incomplete replica of hagfish slime and all the more effective for its clumsy earnestness.

She slid Rosemary across the floor to safety, and cradled her close when they were out of range, at the feet of soldiers who had every opportunity to shoot Igraine point blank and live to tell about it. Most of them, anyway.

“It’s me, armillaria,” Igraine said soothingly, throwing her ruined heels back into the mold, “Don’t you worry.”

Rosemary curled into Igraine’s arms, her face streaked with cloudy white tears.

…

“You know the rest.” Igraine finished, tearing off a piece of her fraying shirt.

Redfield sighed long and slow, a puff of corpse coloured smoke trailing out of his mouth like a swarm of pests, “Rosemary almost died. A ten-year-old got hurt because you weren’t prepared.”

“Come off your high horse, Redfield, you look constipated.”

“A child almost died.”

“And so far, you are 0 for 3 in saving her on time, so you needn’t take a snobby tone,” Igraine crossed her arms, “Besides she is a bioweapon. She’ll be fine.”

He clenched his fist, drawing his shoulders up and his chest deepened. But when his mouth opened, Igraine heard nothing but his painful gasps for air and took a mild amusement in watching his face darken into a lush pink. She had heard this lecture many times before, but the answer was always the same to her; Rosemary was a bioweapon, regardless of his thoughts on it.

“Fascinating,” Igraine intoned, cutting into the spot between paragraphs, “But I haven’t eaten all day, so stop talking. It won’t stick.”

He looked plainly at the leftovers she had salvaged, which she had not touched for fear of getting the mold that still clung to her hands on them.

“These are Rosemary’s leftovers.” Igraine said plainly.

Redfield thumped his fist on the table, the chair screeching against the floor as he stood, only for him to deflate and rub the bridge of his nose. That was the most peculiar quirk of Chris Redfield; he could smother his anger immediately after an outburst, as if the small relief was enough for his head to screw on straight and his mind to clear. He turned away and the only thing he said in parting was “Get to decontamination.”

“And then I’m going home.” She called after him. There was no response.

Home was a fifteen-floor building, that doubled as an office block and laboratory for the antiterrorism groupies. The eleventh floor was where her apartment was, barren but for Igraine, and at a height that gave her a brilliant view of the dull main building that stuck out of the ground like a particularly ugly carrot. It was a dull coloured and frumpy building that spider webbed from one corner across the street to the other and back again. Underneath, too, it extended, making most of the leftover facilities from the pharmaceutical company that came before.

Not that it really mattered. All Igraine was doing was taking a long shower and eating a fridge shelf worth of leftovers while she picked at her peeling skin. And then winding down at three in the morning, with a headache pounding between her ears.

#the forbidden happy end fic #the forbidden happy end fic part 1 #lady dimitrescu x oc #igraine wesker chief of castle staff #my writing #lady dimitrescu #rosemary winters #next chapter so much alcina..... so much unhinged alcina i prommy #you can thank lisset108 and delunesnumberonefan for this #literally would not have written it without them #third person perspective #enjoy <3

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