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#okay I think this been posted enough days ago for me to add the character tags for organizational purposes

princessmisery666 · 2 months

Text

Just Say You Love Me

Summary: Dean is trying to embrace his emotions and look to the future. Part 3 of 3. Part 2 - The Right Guy On Paper.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, mentions of cheating.

W/C: 4,901.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mentioned: Jody Mills.

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: ”Would you please, shut up, I’m trying to confess my love for you.”

A/N: Obviously this was supposed to posted on a certain day (you'll get what I mean when you read) but it just wasn't where I wanted it to be at the time so I waited. Two-ish weeks later ain't bad though.

Graphics: made by be on canva. Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

Pulling off the highway, Dean grumbles, “This is stupid,” to himself again. Yet, he had called Jody to make sure you weren’t working, made the two-hour drive, and hadn't veered off route to the nearest bar.

It’s been a few weeks since he saw you at Jody’s cabin. You’ve spoken on the phone a few times and met him halfway to Kentucky to give him a lore book Claire had borrowed. But no in-depth conversations have been had, which he’s okay with because one, it’s a conversation to be had in person and not while he is neck deep in a case, and B, he doesn’t know what to say or how to tell you what he wants because he’s still not sure himself.

So, in the safe confines of Baby, he asks himself again why is he driving to your house on Unattached Drifter Christmas or ‘Valentine’s Day’ for the schmucks?

Before he can do a little soul-searching and find the answer, his cell phone rings.

“Hey Sam, what’s up?” he answers.

“Why are you in Sioux Falls? Something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine. Wait, how do you know where I am?”

“You were way too vague about where you were going. You always have a plan for today,” Sam explains, “figured you were up to no good and better keep an eye on you in case you get into trouble like last time.”

“Last time was almost five years ago, and for the hundredth time, I didn’t know she was married,” Dean snarks.

“Plus, you didn’t turn off your GPS,” Sam says as if he hadn’t heard Dean’s argument. “So why are you in Sioux Falls on Unattached Drifter Christmas?”

He falters for a second, thinking of an excuse, and before his pause becomes suspicious, he blurts, “There’s a new bar opened up. Wanna try it out.”

“This bar called Y/N’s, by any chance?”

“What? No!”

Sam laughs, and that all-knowing chuckle reminds Dean that Sam is onto him and there’s no point in denying anything. “It’s a good thing, Dean,” his brother assures him. “You may not have told her outright, but she’s smart. She’ll recognize you showing up today, of all days, is your way of telling her you want…” Dean waits, hoping that Sam will impart the answer that eludes him, but huffs in defeat when his brother adds, “Whatever it is you want.”

“This is stupid,” Dean grumbles, “I’m being stupid.”

“No, it's not,” Sam scolds. “I’m sure today will be tough for her. So, just being there for her is a good thing. It doesn’t have to be deep conversations. Showing up and supporting her is enough.”

Dean considers that Sam is probably right, but it doesn’t make him feel any less insecure. “Maybe.”

“Have fun,” Sam says before hanging up.

Five minutes from his final destination, his phone chimes, alerting him to a text message.

Jody: She’s at Lucky Shots, fifth wheeling it.

“Dammit, Sam!” he snarls, but he’s not really mad, saves him a trip to her empty house.

The break at Jody’s cabin was revitalizing, and the feeling has stuck for the few weeks you’ve been back in your routine. It probably helps that you removed every trace of Luke from your life the moment you got home. The confrontation with Dean was cathartic, too. You’ve analyzed what he’d said about not wanting you to meet someone new and that he missed you, and asked Jody for her opinion, too. She’d wistfully smiled as if aware of something you weren’t, “Maybe you gave up on him too quickly.”

You didn’t want to admit that Jody was probably right. Yet you had made assumptions, choosing to believe that he didn’t want anything serious, and after admitting to yourself that you wanted something more, you had decided to go out and find it somewhere else.

That realization turned out to be at the forefront of your mind today. You're thankful to your friends, Laura and Sara, for the invitation and for not allowing you to stay home and eat your emotions. Being the fifth wheel isn’t the issue. It doesn’t bother you, even on Valentine’s Day. They chose a lowkey, casual games bar, not some romantic, candlelit restaurant, and for that, you are eternally grateful. The issue is Luke is there. It could be worse. He could be with her, but fortunately, he’s with two of his buddies.

The bar has darts, beer pong, pool, skee ball, knock down a clown, and a few other amusements. You're locked into a tight game of girls versus boys beer pong - the beer having been replaced with tequila shots - and you can feel Luke’s every glance as if he’s waiting for an opportunity to approach.

It’s the last thing you want, and your friends were kind enough to offer to leave when he arrived, but you stubbornly refused. You had no reason to leave. He should be filled with so much shame and regret that he can’t bear to face you, but he has the audacity to look like a wounded puppy, and that makes you angry.

The game is down to the wire, and the final ball is down to Chris and Dylan, your friends' partners. Dylan massages Chris’ shoulders, “Come on, buddy, you got this. For the win!”

You all hold your breath as Chris releases the ball, and the boys celebrate the victory with loud cheers as it lands in the cup, having barely touched the sides. You, Laura, and Sara shoot another round of tequila. The sourness of the lemon you suck on adds to the disapproving look you catch Luke throwing your way.

Asshole. How dare he judge you!

“I demand a rematch!” Laura declares.

You agree. “My turn to buy the drinks.”

Sara escorts you to the bar. Though she masks it as helping you carry the drinks back to the table, you know she’s doing it to protect you from an unwanted visitor.

“I need the bathroom, but I’ll meet you back here,” Sara tells you, “if he comes over before I make it back, stomp on his foot and poke him in the eye.”

You laugh, really belly laugh, because she’s totally serious, and it’s also hilarious to think he’d have the balls to actually approach you.

“Who’re we looking out for, honey?” the elderly woman beside you asks, lips pursed and looking sassy.

Sara tells her, “Other end of the bar, tall white guy, blond hair.”

“Green shirt?” she asks for confirmation.

“That’s the one.”

“Uh-huh,” she tuts, “I know the type, handsome as an angel, spirit of the devil. You go on to the bathroom. I’ve got your friend until you get back.”

You don’t doubt the lady’s confidence. You wouldn’t mess with her.

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Call me Beverly,” she introduces, and Sara shakes her hand before skittering off to the bathroom.

You wait your turn to be served, listening to your protector tell you all about her first husband, “the devil incarnate.”

If only she knew.

You face forward, not even side-glancing in Luke’s direction, not wanting to give him any inclination you may want to talk. You don’t. Beverly turns and rests her back against the bar to see the whole room without looking over her shoulder.

“Oh, sweetie,” your new friend says, “there’s another one of those handsome-as-an-angel men walking this way, and I think he’s looking for you.”

You still don’t turn, but look up into the mirror behind the bar and see him. Dean maneuvering around people and tables, coming straight toward you.

Unintentionally, you gasp, a sheepish smile creeping in as you lock eyes with him in the mirror.

“From that reaction, I don’t think you need help with this one,” Beverly says, sweetly taking a step to the left to make room for Dean.

“Hey,” he says, a half smile making him look a little awkward.

“Hey,” you say as he leans in to kiss your cheek, and when he’s close, you whisper, “Everything okay?”

He pulls back, nodding with a slight frown as if the question was offensive or something. “Yeah, everything is fine, just passing through and wanted to say hi.”

“Passing through?” you ask, suspicion clear in your tone.

His frown deepens, clearly trying to sell the lie, pretending to be confused by the suspicion.

You smirk. “Just happen to be passing through on Unattached Drifter Christmas?”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “How much do you and Sam talk?”

“A lot,” you confess, “emails, phone calls, memes, and then there’s the weekly newsletter.”

“Busted.” He laughs, and it shakes off whatever anxiety he was feeling.

The bartender comes over and takes your order. You add on whatever Beverly is drinking for the rest of the night, which reminds you Sara has been gone a while. You turn around to look for her, and Dean looks over his shoulder. Sara’s back at the table. All of them are staring at you but quickly and comically turn around as if they weren’t when Dean finds them.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, “they’re just looking out for me cause Deputy Dick is here.”

“Shit,” he grumbles. “Is me being here going to be a problem?”

“Probably, but that's his problem.”

Dean laughs, and you really have missed it. The easy relationship you had seems to be a thing of the past, but you want it back. Maybe not the sex because you’ve realized that's where the problem lies. You want more from him than you'll ever get, but at least the friendship could be mended.

“But don’t waste your Christmas on me, Dean,” you say. It's subtle but enough to tell him that hooking up is off the table.

That disgruntled frown appears again, and he looks genuinely offended. “I’m not here ‘cause I think I’m gonna get laid.” He explains, shrugging. “Running into you isn’t a coincidence. I was on my way to your place because I didn’t want you to be alone tonight. Jody told me where you were.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to take from that?”

“Take it for what it is,” Dean suggests. “I’m trying.”

You can work with that. Trying to be friends sounds like just what you need. No pressure or expectations from either side, so you quickly squash the thought that it means something deeper that he’s choosing to spend time with you instead of finding a warm body to lie with.

“Okay.” You smile, trying to look as sweet as possible. “Well, can part of that trying be helping us win at beer pong?”

“Girls versus boys?”

“Obviously.”

He scoffs, “Absolutely not! And you get an extra shot for asking me to rig a sacred game.” He hands you a shot off the tray of drinks, and you knock it back.

He watches you, grinning the whole time, and you shake your head as if it will shake away the taste. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“Don’t try and soften me up, Winchester,” you warn, “I’m not gonna take it easy on you.”

He shrugs, “Was worth a shot,” and walks away with the tray of drinks.

Chris and Dylan merrily call his name as he approaches, and you follow, smiling fondly.

“Now the odds are even. Prepare to go down, ladies,” Dean says, taking off his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbow.

The games continued; the boys won at Beer Pong, but the girls won two rounds of darts. Once Chris and Dylan had gushed over the Impala, you said your goodbyes in the parking lot. Each of your friends hugged you. Dean got a kiss on the cheek from the ladies, and the guys gave him a firm handshake before pulling each other into a one-armed hug. It looked natural and easy, and you love how well Dean slots into the group.

You realize you’re staring as he drives, and he glances over when he feels your eyes on him. “Are we still social distancing or something?” he jokes, reaching a hand over to tug on your leg, requesting you get closer.

You oblige, sliding over the leather seat, and he slips an arm behind your shoulders to rest on the seat back. “Thank you for that,” you say, kissing his cheek.

“For what?” he asks.

“Pretending like you couldn’t hit that bullseye with your eyes closed.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be a mechanic, right? Not sure a mechanic would have perfect marksmanship.”

“If you’re not sold on the mechanic thing, you can always tell them you’ve changed your profession,” you suggest, and with a teasing wink, add, “but they all already know you’re good with your hands.”

“Would you, for once, get your mind out of the gutter?” Dean jests, “I already told you, no sex for you.”

“Sorry, Mr Winchester, sir,” you joke, “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He laughs but looks out at the road. His fingers lightly brush your neck. You aren’t sure he realizes he’s doing it. When you were sleeping together, it became a thing - absentmindedly, he’d lightly stroke your skin while watching a movie or falling asleep. It's familiar and comforting, and you lay your head on his shoulder the rest of the ride home.

Dean follows you up your path, and while you search your bag for your keys, you notice him looking to the left, eyes squinting, trying to see something too far away.

“Wanna come in?” you ask, distracting him from whatever has caught his attention.

“It’s not a good idea,” he says, giving you his full focus, “I meant what I said, Y/N. I didn’t show up cause I was expecting to get laid.”

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered throwing caution to the wind and jumping into old habits. And you're surprised by Dean’s rejection. He could have followed your lead and taken you to bed without any objections.

“Presumptuous much?” you counter, smirking.

He smiles, all charm and smug joy, because he knows he’s right. “Don’t try and pretend you weren’t thinking about it.” He steps closer, crowding your space and gripping your hips to pull you against him. “You’ve been flirting with me all night.”

“I can stop,” you threaten, but it falls flat as you wrap your arms around his neck.

He grins, “No, you can’t,” against your lips, kissing you before you can claim otherwise.

The kiss is not hesitant; it’s deep and long, but you feel him holding back. His hands don’t roam, remaining wrapped around your waist, but he takes his time, savoring the shared warmth, each brush of your tongues, every breath shared.

Dean is the first to pull back. “I gotta go,” he swiftly kisses you again. “I told Jody I’d be there before midnight.”

“Gonna turn into a pumpkin, Winchester?”

He laughs, pecking your lips again, but then his features soften, something close to pleading, “I’m trying,” he grumbles, but you're not sure if it's to remind you or himself.

He doesn’t say exactly what it is that he’s trying, but you know he means he’s trying to do things the right way, and that’s enough. “You're doing great,” you assure.

He kisses you harder, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, and you let him in. He walks you backward until your back hits your door, and he groans when he presses himself into you. “Nope,” he scolds himself, pulling back and comically jogging away down the path, but while you're still laughing at him, he turns back. “Can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?”

You smile, and it widens to a knowing grin. You spare him the OMG shock when the realization hits you, but you do ask, “Are we dating?”

“Only if you say yes?”

“Pick me up at ten.”

He winks, unable to contain the boyish grin, and just as he opens his mouth to say something, a siren blasts, and a sheriff’s car pulls up to Baby’s bumper.

You walk a few feet to stand beside Dean as Travis, the rookie, and Luke, in plain clothes, step out of the vehicle.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean says.

Luke and Travis stand beside each other on the sidewalk but don’t approach you.

“Ten out of ten for dramatic flair,” you snark, clapping once.

“But should have done it while I was kissing her,” Dean adds, “would have been way more dramatic.”

“I think you meant douchier,” you suggest with a confused frown.

“You’re right,” Dean clicks his fingers as if you're right on the money, “I meant douchier.”

“Funny,” Luke says. “Travis, this man has been driving under the influence. Please breathalyze him.”

You put a hand on Dean’s arm to keep him in place should he decide Luke deserves another punch to the face. After all, he’s not in uniform. Travis is wise enough not to move. You're his boss. Luke has seniority over him but not over you.

“Really?” Dean sneers. “That's all you got?”

“Go home, Luke,” you tell him, “you’re making a fool of yourself.”

“So what if I am,” he says, “I just wanna talk.”

“We’ve talked,” you remind him. “You talked, I listened to your piss poor excuses, and it changed nothing.”

“We were going to get married.”

You raise your voice, “That was a reaction to your cheating! You only asked me because you felt guilty, and I only said yes because…” you cut yourself off, but Dean looks at you, knowing what you had been about to say.

“We were good together,” Luke says, seemingly oblivious to the silent conversation that passed between you and Dean. “He’s just a,” Luke sneers at Dean. “What did you call it? A situationship.”

Dean tenses under your grip, and you know the comment had the intended effect. You’ll have to address it later.

Clenching his jaw, he briefly looks away before leveling a glare and taunting, “Dude, have some dignity. She’s already told you it’s over.” He practically growls his next words. “So leave.”

Luke ignores Dean, looking directly at you. “You're angry, I get it. But don’t make any rash decisions, please.” he implores.

“I was angry,” you agree, “I was furious, but now I’m indifferent. You were a rash decision, Luke, and I’m not saying that to be cruel or get back at you. It’s the truth.”

Saying those words aloud drives home your previous thoughts of why you started dating Luke. Getting engaged was a reaction to your feelings of rejection from Dean’s honesty about commitment. You release a breath as Luke’s face drops, finally seeming to understand.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

He shakes his head, blasting out a breath filled with disbelief. “We were never going to work out,” Luke realizes aloud, “you were too hung up on him.”

“Travis, I’m sorry you were dragged into this,” you sigh, “but please take Luke home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Luke stares for a second longer, but chooses not to say anything further, allowing Travis to usher him into the car.

Dean doesn’t move, watching the car disappear from view at the end of the street. Your heart pounds in your chest; you’ve just gotten to a good place, and now that might have all been unraveled.

Though you suspect not a lot of it is surprising to Dean. The day you told him about Luke, he’d begged you not to tell him you loved him and he was right for the assumption that you did - or do or might. You can not say it even reject the idea if anyone suggests it, but you can’t deny it to yourself. You sought out Luke to replace the emotions you felt weren’t reciprocated by Dean.

“Maybe I should take you to breakfast,” you suggest, with a nervous chuckle, “to make up for that. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he assures you, but he’s looking you over like he’s trying to read the emotions behind the words. “You okay?”

Quickly, you reply, “Yeah, of course.”

“You sure? You look like a bit of ‘deer caught in headlights’.”

“I’m okay,” you sigh, taking a deep breath. “Just a little worried that's undone all the progress we’ve made.”

“It hasn’t,” he tells you, slipping a hand on your hip and pulling you into him. “This situationship can handle an ex-situationship.”

You grimace, “I’m sorry.”

He laughs, nonplussed, “Don’t be. I’ve been called worse.”

He silences your next apology with a deep kiss and slowly, seemingly reluctantly, pulls back. “I’ll pick you up at ten for breakfast.”

You're rambling again. Since Valentine’s Day, it’s been happening a lot. Dean knows why you're doing it. He can see it in your expression every time you catch yourself and stutter over the words, changing it to something else and hoping he doesn’t notice.

The first time it happened, a few weeks ago, Dean thought he misheard you. You were both breathing heavily, your thighs pressed against his ears, holding him in place, writhing while you rode his tongue. He watched your face as much as he could, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your body twitched, and your climax coated his tongue and wet the sheets, “I love yo…when you do that.”

Three days ago, after a double date with Sara and Dylan, Dean woke you up in bed with coffee and French toast. Still in the haze of sleep, you smiled contentedly, and it almost slipped out. “I love…” you coughed to cut yourself off, correcting it as you sat up, “I love French toast.” But he could see it in eyes, the adoration tainted with the fear of saying it aloud.

‘I love you’ is on the tip of your tongue, and it almost escaped a moment ago.

A car accident had kept you late at work, so the dinner reservations had to be canceled, but Dean wouldn’t let it ruin the night. He’d ordered pizza, knowing you’d be starving when you got home, run a bubble bath (with the ulterior motive of joining you), popped open a bottle of your favorite wine - he hated it, thought it tasted like vinegar - and was waiting in the middle of the living room for you with the glass in hand.

Taking the glass from him, you lazily kissed him. He could feel how tired you were. Listlessly, you mumbled, “Oh god, I love yo…” but had stifled it so quickly that the rim of the glass clinked against your teeth.

Clearly unable to think of an alternative, you began rambling about your day while unnecessarily blitzing around the already clean kitchen with a dishcloth.

He wants you to say it. He figured out how he felt about you when it finally sunk in after you’d told him you’d met someone else. It was more than physical, and it always had been. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have hurt so damn much when you told him about Luke.

He hasn’t said the words to you, but you have to know that’s how he feels. He told you he’s trying. Although, there haven’t been any conversations about exactly what that entails. He’s been more communicative. He’s made future plans - okay, only a week or so ahead at any given time, but that tells you all you need to know, right?

But the way you keep avoiding the phrase sets off a little ripple in his heart. Maybe you don’t know. Maybe you’re afraid he’ll hightail it out the door like last time if you say it aloud. Maybe he needs to expand his communication skills. He says your name softly, but you either don’t hear him or pretend not to, afraid of what comes after.

“I should get you a key cut,” you blabber in. “Save you having to pick the lock next time I’m not home. Don’t want the neighbors calling it in. Mrs Brooks next door is always twitching her curtains.”

He tries again, “Y/N,” louder this time.

“I need to put a load of laundry in,” you say, striding into the laundry room.

“I did it already,” he calls after you.

“I’ll put it in the dryer then.”

He follows, trapping you inside the smaller space so you have no choice but to turn and face him.

“The laundry is done and folded in the basket in your room.” he continues, speaking to your back. “The kitchen is clean. Pizza is on the way. The bath should still be hot.”

You finally look up at him, and there’s that apprehensive smile again, but your eyes are aglow with the words you chew your lip to suppress.

“Just say it,” he sighs, trying to hide his smile.

“Say what?”

He steps closer, crowding your space and using a gentle touch to tilt your head up to keep your eyes on his. “You know what.” He smirks, teasing, “You can’t bite your tongue forever. So just say you love me.”

“I wasn’t biting…” you stammer, “I never…I only meant I was going to get a key cut for you. I didn’t mean anything….”

“Would you please, shut up?” He silences your rambling with a hard kiss, grabbing your hips and hoisting you to sit on top of the dryer. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you sigh placidly, but he pulls back and grins, “I’m trying to confess my love for you.”

You drop your gaze, avoiding eye contact. “Please don’t.”

He notes your avoidance of looking at him, and panic sets in that maybe he’s got it wrong, again. But he hopes he’s right, so he chuckles, “giving me a taste of my own medicine.”

You shake your head, “No. I don’t need to hear it, and you don’t have to say it ‘cause you think it's what I want to hear.”

“That’s not what…” he tries, but you raise your voice to speak over him.

“Dean, please!” you wait for him to close his mouth. “I like how things are now, and I don’t want to jinx it or have to watch your ass run for the door again.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, “it will be different this time.”

“We’ve been through this already. I don’t want promises, and we don’t need to open old wounds.”

“I get why you’re…”

The doorbell interrupts him, and you use the excuse to push him aside as you jump down and scurry out of the room.

He leans against the doorframe facing into the kitchen and listens to you thank the delivery guy. You must have given a generous tip because he thanks you multiple times as you say goodbye to him.

The click of the door closing echoes, and he waits for you to appear, but you don’t. He imagines you standing in the hallway, trying to calm yourself.

He waits, counting the seconds in his head with the promise that he’ll go find you if he reaches thirty.

At fifteen, you enter, eyes glued to the floor, pizza balanced like a cocktail waitress. “I’m gonna go take that bath,” you tell him. “Hopefully, it's still warm.”

You’re assuming the conversation is over. Only it isn’t. At least, not for him. He hasn’t been working up to it. He’s never had a grand plan for the first time he says it, but now he knows he needs to say it so you understand and believe him.

Silently, he watches you put a few slices of pizza on a plate - so he presumes he’s not invited to the bubble bath. The stopper gives an audible pop when you pull it from the wine bottle, like an exclamation point on his thoughts.

He clears his throat and proclaims, “I love you.”

The only indication that you heard him is your frozen state, bottle tipped, ready to pour into your glass.

“It took me too long to figure that out, but I do. And saying it or not saying it out loud isn’t going to change a damn thing.”

You continue to pour the wine into your glass but don’t turn to face him, recorking the bottle and resting against the countertop.

You haven’t run away, so he continues, “I always knew we were good together, but now I see that we have a whole future of being good together, not just the here and now.”

Hesitantly, he stalks closer to you, watching you take a large gulp of the red liquid. You must hear his approach because you turn around but jump slightly at his proximity.

“I’m ready to move forward,” he confesses, “and I want to do it with you.”

“Are you done?” you ask, finally looking up at him with a teasing but joyful smirk under a shy gaze. “You’re on a roll there. I just want to be sure before I say anything.”

He laughs but shakes his head once, “Nope.” He takes the glass from your hand and puts it beside the bottle. “One more thing,” he leans in closer, tilting your chin up, lips whispering over yours, “I love you.”

You chase his lips as he pulls back, “C’mon, you know you want to,” he teases, making no attempt to hide his smugness. He’s got you right where he wants you. “Just say you love me.”

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Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

#dean winchester #jacklesversebingo23 #spn #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #reader insert #female reader #dean winchester angst #spn fanfic #angst #spn fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fandom #dean winchester x you #you x dean winchester

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christiansorrell · 5 months

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TTRPG Read-Through: Liminal Horror

Here is a read-through I did last year (originally posted on Twitter) of one of the my current go-to game for modern horror: Liminal Horror by Goblin Archives! - Christian

I cut my teeth learning to GM as a Keeper in Call of Cthulhu and I've really been jonesing for a game in this genre that's more in the style of rpg I enjoy these days. I'm hoping this will be it!

Really excited about this. Shifting away from mental illness and trauma, both of which have their obvious problematic pitfalls, is something I could see really opening up what a character looks like and goes through after having things go wrong in interesting new ways.

Big spread on Facilitator and Player Principles. I think this is all very solid advice as a one-time or just-before-play read, but it's definitely too much for quick reference. That said, I always love reminding folks that we "play to find out what happens."

I may be off the mark but these two bullets make me think Goblin Archives is a Friends at the Table listener. Both of these make me immediately think of Austin's openings on there (which is a very good thing, for me).

Very straightforward stats. I like the HP distinction here and how it seems to refill between events/encounters and when drained is when you see actual damage occur. More inventory structure than I expected (I like that tho!) Cool to see character AND party questions here.

I really loved the Backgrounds and character options in The Bureau, a Control-inspired megadungeon-like module for this system I did a read-through of about a month or so ago. Excited to see more of that here. Also, I really need to play as a Very Online character.

Nice open character creation. I enjoy these types of questions: why do you believe there's something weird going on? What ideology guides you? What are your connections in the world, important relationships, etc.? Those create way more juicy bits than stats alone can provide.

I first encountered these kinds of character bonds in Fate years ago, but it's been a go-to house rule of mine during Session 0/1 for anything my group is planning to do longer than one-shot play for. Even in a single session, it can add a lot. Cool to see it here.

It's a d20 roll-under system (no modifiers, yay). Adding fatigue to inventory slots is a great way to make a mechanic out of that. Also, associates were unexpected! Shows this game could be more than just 3-4 bumbling normies going into the unknown (which is what I envisioned).

Combat is fairly straightforward (in a good way). No rolls to hit, it's just damage that is varied. Props to not using Advantage/Disadvantage as a game term like everyone else. Again, the Detachments make me think this game could have some wild situations come up!

Open-ended spell casting here (reminds me most recently of Primal Quest). They come and go day to day which is interesting, potentially changing entirely. I like the failure being equal to the desired effect. Want to kill someone with a spell? Be prepared to die if things go bad.

Okay, these relics are extremely cool. A blade that does MIND DAMAGE and requires recharging by feeding it memories? Good stuff.

Fallout is really interesting. Take enough DMG to go through your HP and it ticks away your Strength until you die (or take crit DMG). Fallout is the same but wears at your Control. Gaining Fallout makes you odder/more open to the true nature of things, but makes you heartier.

This is a good approach bc it means leaning into the things most games gate behind "sanity" here makes you more able to cope with the weird in the future. Feels like a path to more interesting stories (rather than the CoC-style "you are in a sanitarium now" character ending).

Remainder of the book is a small bestiary with monster creation guidelines, spark tables and a lean but comprehensive mystery creation guide along with a sample mystery. The loose framework, a steady clock ratcheting tension, and a focus on lots of clues feels like good guidance.

Having a mystery take only 6 pages feels much more approachable than the very traditional heavy-prep and lots-of-writing mysteries of something like Call of Cthulhu or Delta Green. I homebrewed a lot of CoC, and the prep work there can be pretty huge. This feels nice tho.

Overall thoughts: the book is a very lean and focused take on creating horror that doesn't get bogged down in the other ttrpg pitfalls of the genre while also having nice mechanics for associates, large scale encounters, etc. so there's room for a lot of types of stories here.

I'll definitely be trying to knock out a mystery for this as part of the jam. I've got a lot of weirdness to get out of my system and this seems like an easy, streamlined way to do it. Also, excited to play The Bureau and The Mall.

You can pick up the most recent addition of Liminal Horror in print via Space Penguin Ink. You can also find it on Itch. The rules and additional content also available entirely for free on Goblin Archives github.

Also, I wrote an adventure for this system last year: Tunnels in White.

Old money siphoning new money from every corner of your city. An aging mansion, quiet and worn. An old corporation shifting its gaze from development to development, always hungry, always growing.

A warehouse bearing the name Singleton Solutions, small and unassuming in one of a hundred industrial parks like any other, takes in truckload after truckload but never sends anything out. It’s the same for the people. Sometimes, they arrive in towncars, other times in shuttle vans. None come out. Ever.

What you know is something strange is going on inside that warehouse and you are determined to discover what it is. What you cannot know is where and how far the mystery may take you.

You can grab a print or digital copy HERE. It's also available via Itch.

Lastly if you like seeing my thoughts on games and how I make stuff for them, here's my monthly newsletter (which now has a free TTRPG thing to take to your table each month): https://meatcastle.substack.com

#ttrpg #indie ttrpg #ttrpgs #rpg #horror #modern horror #long post #read through

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highwaytothedangerzone502 · 2 months

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Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 34

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 2505

Warnings: Talk of suicide, swearing

Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.

Or so he thought.

Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Songs: Innocent Cry Pretty

****

Ghost

Rooster had been more than ready to follow Hangman and punch him for what he'd said to Ghost and Juliette; the latter barely stopped him, threatening him with staying over at her mother's house for the night if he followed through with his desire. Rooster reluctantly refrained from going after Hangman.

Ghost convinced the couple she would be okay, that she'd expected him to retaliate against her for what he'd revealed last night. What she hadn't expected was for him to bring up her videos. She'd been so careful not to show her face, to blur the background to hide any notable features of her room, to hide her dog tags under her shirt and out of sight. So what gave her away? The songs? The timing of the songs? The guitar? Surely, other people had similar blue guitars. And how could Hangman even recognize the one he gave her? It'd been so long ago.

Ghost twisted her ring anxiously on her finger, staring at the guitars on her wall, debating whether to post a new song as an apology or delete the account altogether. She leaned toward the latter.

A knock on her door brought Ghost out of her thoughts. She hurried to answer it, wishing Hangman would be there to try and work things out but knowing better than to hope for such a thing. Her life wasn't one of the romance novels she loved so much. Hers was more of a tragedy...

When she opened the door, Coyote greeted her. Ghost immediately inquired, "How is he?"

"Struggling, trying to shut me out. The usual when he's upset," he replied, stepping inside with a backpack. "How are you doing?"

"Had better days."

"I figured. Listen, I can't stay long. I just needed to bring something by. And for the record-" Coyote opened his backpack and dug around before taking out a battered box- "you didn't get this from me."

"What is it?" Ghost asked, removing the lid. A bunch of letters, neatly organized, rested inside. Each envelope had her name on it in familiar handwriting.

"Hangman planned on giving you these when he realized he couldn't voice his apology. He wouldn't answer me truthfully about why he never followed through, but I think he got scared about how you'd react. He told me he got rid of them, but I knew better. I still believe he should've given them to you. I'm not sure how much Hangman told you last night, but if there are any holes or questions, maybe these will answer them for you."

Ghost stared at Coyote, unsure whether she should read the letters. Hangman had kept them from her for a reason. Even if he had been scared to give them to her, if he hadn't been the one to deliver them to her, there had to be a reason. Hangman was mad enough at her already. Ghost hated to add to that anger by reading the letters without his consent. Still, she had a question. "Why letters?"

Coyote shrugged. "I don't really remember. Just that it had something to do with a movie. I should get going, but call me if you need anything."

"Thank you, Coyote. For checking on him."

"Of course. And really, I know you have Princess and Rooster, but I'm here for you too."

"Hangman feels he only has you. I can't take you away from him."

"I'm your friend too, Ghost. Don't forget that," he told her firmly. Smiling appreciatively, she hugged Coyote tightly, a gesture he willingly returned. Ghost missed his bear hugs. "I want you two to work this out."

"Me too. You have no idea."

Coyote kissed the top of her head. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Ghost bid him goodbye, waited for the door to shut, then turned to the box of letters. She grabbed the top one and stared at it, mulling over the pros and cons, the right and wrong, of opening it.

It's addressed to me. Hangman intended to give them to me. Reading one wouldn't hurt... would it? Throwing caution to the wind, Ghost grabbed the box and sat on her couch before opening the first letter. It was dated the day after the accident:

Ghost-

I'm not sure how to talk to you right now, so I'm resorting to these letters. It's easier to write what I'm feeling than to speak it. So much has happened in such a short amount of time, and all I can think about is seeing you die, seeing Ghoul die, and how I'm to blame for it. Saying sorry will never suffice or bring Ghoul back, but to the deepest parts of my soul, I am sorry. I am sorry for hurting you; I am sorry for taking Ghoul away from you and Coyote; and I am sorry that I haven't been able to see you again. I did try today, but the moment my foot stepped into sickbay, images of you dying- mixed in with those of Mom and Ghoul- stopped me. The three of you all died when I entered your rooms, and I couldn't risk it happening again. Logically, I know it's stupid. Logically, I understand they're simply horrific coincidences, but if there's even a chance that they're not mere 'coincidences,' then I can't see you until you're out of the hospital. That way, you can't die on me a second time because I can't lose you, too, Ghost.

I'll try to see you again tomorrow.

Forever and Always,

Texas

Ghost's hands trembled. She should've stopped reading them after the first one like she said she would, but curiosity got the better of her. Ghost pulled out the second letter:

I've decided to write you a letter a day like Noah did to Allie in The Notebook. I remember watching that movie for the first time with you, and the letter idea always stuck with me. Not sure why, but it looks like it's coming in handy. Maybe this could be our own Noah and Allie story, but rather than it being us falling back in love, it's us falling back into our friendship because God knows it's going to be different now. I tried to visit you again, but the same thing happened. I can't cross the threshold into sickbay. All I want to do is see you, but even if I could get the courage to do so, what could I say to you that would even begin to mend what I broke? If your pain is anything like what I see in Coyote... I can't bear the idea.

Forever and Always,

Texas

Ghost wiped away a tear, smiling at the reference to The Notebook. She had wondered where he got the letters idea from, and now she knew. It had been her favorite movie for so long before she finally watched Pride and Prejudice, but it still held a dear place in her heart.

Ghost moved on to the third letter:

Coyote said you requested to see me today. I told him I would with every intention to follow through, but like yesterday and the day before, I couldn't do it. The weakling I am, I let my fears get the better of me. If you ever end up reading these, please know that my lack of visits has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I can't bear to see you in pain, let alone pain caused by me, and I can't stop seeing the memory of you dying every time I even consider visiting you. You can call me cowardly for it, and you'd be right. One day, maybe I can overcome this, but that's not today, and I'm sorry. I wish I could be better for you.

Forever and always,

Texas

Ghost read through more and more letters. All were relatively short, usually repeating the same things, but she could sense the despair and hatred for himself in each one, the next letter always turning slightly darker, more depressed. She found the one about a quarter of the way through that made the tears finally cascade silently down her face:

Word got around about my apparent ability to kill people when I step into their hospital room. Bradshaw- damn him- joked about me being some sort of hangman. Well, now that name's stuck, and whether I like it or not, my callsign is no longer Texas but Hangman. Nothing like being reminded that you killed your two best friends every time someone says your name. If they only knew about my mom... It's a fitting punishment for me, though. I did kill you and Ghoul, and I know I'm pretending like I've moved on in everyone's eyes, including yours, but I'm not okay Ghost. I'm so far from it. The trial is about to start soon. Why it's taken them this long to get to it, I don't understand. The waiting is the worst, especially because I know I'll see you then, see and hear your pain... if I don't look at you, it's not because I'm uninterested. It's because I'm not strong enough to do it.

Forever and Always,

Hangman

A few weeks later, the letter became even more pained, more desperate:

It was so much worse than I imagined. Seeing you, I mean. Hearing you recount what happened reopened the wound I'd so carefully stitched together. Each word felt like a knife slicing open my skin, deep enough to hurt but not enough to kill, even though death would've been a less painful option. But you defended me. After everything I did that day, after everything I've done following it, you still defended me. It's given me the courage to finally talk to you. Once this is over, that is, since we're both witnesses and not meant to speak to each other until after the trial, but I will. I will finally talk to you, tell you why I haven't seen you, why I haven't been able to talk to you. I hope you understand. If not, I get it. I left you alone during a horrible time. If that ends up being the case, then know I love you, Ghost. I always have and always will, and if you ever decide to give me a second chance, I will be waiting for you.

Forever and Always,

Hangman

More weeks passed, and the letter said:

I'm not sure why I'm continuing to write these letters. Maybe a part of me thinks I'll get the nerve to send these to you and that you'll read them and magically forgive me for all the wrongs I've done to you. But I know those chances are slim to none. The look you gave me when I tried to approach you after the trial closed told me as such. I've seen you enraged, but not at me. Not until today. How you kept from throttling me in that moment, I'll never understand. I wish you would've, if not to put me out of my misery. It's getting worse each day, and I don't know how to pull myself out of it... and that scares me. I think I might need help, but if the Navy believes I'm mentally unfit, they'll pull me from flying, and that's the one thing keeping me sane right now. I don't know what to do, Ghost. All I do know is that I wish you were here.

Forever and Always,

Hangman

After that letter, Ghost had to take a break from reading them. How could she have been so blind to his pain? How could she not recognize that his response to her accident was a trauma response from his childhood? Sure, she'd been wrapped up in her own grief, but that badly?

It took an hour before she could bring herself to read more. One after the other, each one wrenching her heart and tugging on her heartstrings until it threatened to suffocate her. However, the last letter was her undoing.

It's been a year since everything went to shit. It's been a year since Ghoul died, a year since we stopped speaking, a year since the last time I felt any form of genuine happiness. It's been harder and harder each day since the accident to get out of bed, go to work, put on a smile, and pretend everything's okay, but I barely made it today. It was weird. I'd actually been doing okay once I got out of bed and got in the air. It was when I landed, and my phone decided to remind me of my memories of the day that it all went to shit. I stupidly opened the reminder and saw a selfie of you, me, Coyote, and Ghoul, our last picture together before I killed y'all. I skipped lunch, and I'm skipping dinner to write this letter because I'm tired. I'm tired of the guilt, I'm tired of being alone, and I'm tired of hating myself. I can't keep doing this. I can't stop thinking of how easy it'd be to go down to the hangar right now and jump into the black waves. I'd be dead before anyone noticed I was gone. I'm not sure what's stopping me right now. Maybe because Coyote is on board, and I don't want to hurt him more than I already have, but even then, he has friends outside of me here. He has Phoenix and Payback, to name a couple. Who do I have outside of him? These letters will never make it to you, so maybe that's why I feel I can say all this. If these letters truly were meant to get to you, I would never voice half of these things. You've been burdened enough because of my decisions and actions, and I wouldn't dare add my own personal issues to them. God forbid, however, that these letters do find their way to you, if there are two things I want you to take away from them, it's that, first and foremost, I love you. Unequivocally, unabashedly, wholeheartedly in love with you. Second, I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused. It was never my intention.

Yours, Forever and Always,

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Ghost set the letter down and buried her face into her hands, sobbing at the depths of Hangman's despair, that'd he'd been in so much pain without anyone to turn to that he trusted. As close to Coyote as he'd been, Hangman hadn't felt he could go to him for what he'd been enduring, and Ghost understood Coyote had been the only one left for Hangman. Ghoul had died, Ghost had ended their friendship, and that was it. No wonder Jake felt so alone. No wonder his mind had gone down such a dark rabbit hole.

Ghost wiped away her tears and turned her gaze to the wall of guitars. She'd toppled over the edge with a song. Maybe she could start mending their friendship back with one...

****

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

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With You [Steve x Reader]

Fandom: MCU

Characters/Pairings: Steve x female!Reader

Word Count: 600

Summary: A normal nothing kind of Saturday that turns into a moment Steve will remember forever.

Content Warnings: fluff for the sake of fluff

Additional Notes: I almost posted this a couple of days ago for the Holiday Extravaganza because I felt like I was going to be pretty mean to Steve between Tiny Vessels and another piece I had slated for this little fest, but then I didn’t… Also because this is a little something I have tucked away with some other scenes for a Neighbor!Steve longer WIP I have been working on, but I’ve also been toying with telling their story out of order.

Song inspiration: A World With You – Jason Mraz

Steve stretches and puts his book to the side, looking over to where you are sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, hunched over the New York Times crossword, occasionally tapping your pencil to your lips, scribbling answers down onto the paper as you work them out.

“Do you want to head down to the corner to get some ice cream?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply without looking up.

After a few beats, Steve frowns, seeing no change in your actions despite your answer.

“And we should probably get some groceries while we’re out.”

“Mhmm,” you respond.

Still no change.

Steve’s brow furrows. “Let’s hit the road and throw out the map, take off and escape for a week.”

“Sure.”

“Then after that let’s move to Paris, get ourselves a loft, live in squalor, and eat far too much brie.”

You whip your head up to look at him. “I was with you until the squalor.”

“Oh, so you were listening.”

You laugh. “You thought I wasn’t?”

He tilts his head and shrugs, challenging you. You roll your eyes in return and push yourself up from the floor, dropping your pencil on the table. Stepping around the coffee table, you make your way to the armchair he’s sitting in. It’s really only big enough to accommodate Steve’s big frame, but you crawl onto his lap anyway, settling yourself sideways across his legs, tucking your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around his neck. He immediately brings one arm around your back, holding onto your waist, and the other holds your legs snugly in place.

“Steven Grant Rogers, what you clearly haven’t fully grasped yet is that I’m going to say yes to almost anything you ask without hesitation.”

“Only almost anything?”

“Until a minute ago, it would’ve been anything period, but then you said squalor and also insinuated that we could consume too much cheese, and I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Okay,” he laughs then kisses you.

“So, when you’re not making ridiculous requests, I’m always going to say yes, because I know you’ll be there with me every second.” You said it with such nonchalance, he couldn’t help but believe you meant every word you’d just said, and it almost made his heart stop, overwhelmed in the best way by the warmth of your indelible certainty.

“You should just marry me, Rogers,” you add. “I’m ready.”

“No!”

“No?” you jerk away from him, and he sees the hurt and surprise spring into your eyes.

But just as quickly, he contracts his arms, not allowing you to move away. “No because I want to ask you properly with a ring in some outlandishly romantic moment.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, the tension from a moment before melting away completely, a soft smile spreading across your face.

“That okay with you?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you hum, then tilt your head and kiss him. It’s not heated in this moment, but it’s intimate, a promise. He kisses you back until you’re both breathless, and then you rest your foreheads against each other.

The moment rests between the two of you quietly for a few minutes, both of you just holding each other, drinking in the peace and closeness.

Finally, you press a quick peck to his lips and say, “So, ice cream?”

He chuckles and playfully but gently pushes you off his lap. “I know the way to your heart.”

You laugh and pull him up from the chair. “Always ice cream.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

If you enjoyed, reblog to help others find this story AND to normalize the fic-reblog culture. There are so many talented writers, and a reblog really fuels the muses of the soul more than you know - we all appreciate it whether we're big or little fish in this pond.

My askbox is always open. See you on the flipside.

#steve rogers x reader #steve x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #ahe 2022 #aspen's holiday extravaganza #aspen wrote something #female reader

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sapphires-and-silver-linings · 1 year

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The Betrayer | Chapter Nine: Different Light

You saw everything with a sudden, blinding sort of clarity then.

Pairing: Albert Wesker/F!Reader, Chris Redfield/F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Violence Mention, Pregnancy/Miscarriage Mention, Slight Blood, Smut

Notes: Hey, everybody! I know it has been a hot minute since I posted, but my life has been insane lately, between school and personal things happening that have taken up a lot of my time and energy. Fortunately, this chapter is the longest one so far at a whopping 13.8k words and also our first smut scene, so I hope that's enough of a gift for your patience lol. I know last time I said I was going to post another flashback sequence, but I ended up breaking those up and scattering them in later chapters because I felt it flowed better that way. My updates might be kinda slow from here on out because the plot is starting to become more involved with every chapter, so it's taking more time and brain power to write them, but I also think they're getting better with every installment (as well as longer) so I can't complain on my end lol. I'm just really proud of how this story is progressing and seeing Lucky's development as her own character. I am loosely forming this fic into a five-act structure, and I think I consider this chapter to be the end of Act I. Anyway, I really hope you like this chapter as much as I do! If you want to, I'd love to see your favorite lines or scenes in the comments, but no pressure! I just like knowing what people enjoy about the story lol.

Masterlist | Previous | Next

--------------------

Day 2; Survivors’ Camp

You weren’t sure how long you sat there crying, soaking Chris’s shirt through with your tears like you had the night before.

But what else could you do but mourn?

You had lost everything, and now the man you loved–who you had spoken to mere days ago like nothing was amiss–had become a monster. Had been so quick to hurt you.

A couple days and your entire life as you knew it was changed forever.

How do you move forward from that?

You knew grief. It was familiar to you. Losing your mother was a constant ache that would never go away, but you had learned to live with it. Maneuver around it.

But this level of tragedy? So many of your friends, gone. Every member of your little family but your brother, gone. Your entire city, gone. You never thought you’d experience something like this. Couldn’t even fathom something of this scale.

And you? You were meant to be just another body to add to the pile. Someone else to be lost to the ash and dust that now made up your home.

At the center of it all, though, was Wesker and what he had done.

You had held him in such high regard.

You had loved him.

And he treated the lives of you and your team like they were nothing.

“Just lambs for slaughter,” he had said, as if that’s all they ever amounted to. As if he didn’t see them every day for two years. As if he didn’t roll his eyes and lightly chuckle at their antics. As if they wouldn’t have died to save him given the choice.

You thought of those red eyes and your dead friends’ faces suddenly flashed through your mind.

Joseph. Forest. Richard. Kenneth. Edward. Marini.

Were their lives really worth the power he gained?

Was yours?

“Come on, Lucky. Let’s get you something to eat, okay?” Chris coaxed, peeling you off of him gently to peer down at you.

You knew you looked a mess. Your hair was sticking to your face, your eyes were red and puffy, and your cheeks were blotchy from rubbing them against Chris’s shirt. But, you realized, you were no longer crying.

You nodded, breathing shakily as he stood and held out his hand for you to take, the large man easily pulling you to your feet. He led you to the fire once more, perhaps thinking you were cold due to the trembling of your form, and sat you on one of the logs.

“Me and Steve still have dinner duty for the next few days, so I have to go to the kitchen, but I’ll be back soon.” His tone almost sounded like he was talking to a small child and not an adult woman–which a part of you took offense to–but you found it comforting anyway. He was trying, and you appreciated it.

You simply nodded yet again, unable to muster a basic response, let alone your usual snark. You were too drained for that.

He gave you a small smile, stroking your hair tenderly before turning to leave.

You felt the stares of the other survivors on you as you sat there, and realized with embarrassment that you just had a full-blown meltdown in front of the entire camp. You could only imagine what they must be thinking.

Probably that you were pathetic. That you were weak.

You couldn’t be angry about it, though. They would be right.

All you could do was sigh deeply and curl in on yourself, your head in your hands and your eyes squeezed shut.

You wished your brain could turn off, but you were bombarded with every horrid image–real or imagined–of the things you had learned of and experienced instead.

Killers in masks. Monsters. Fire. Ashes. Corpses. Blood.

So much blood.

Soaked in their blood–

“Hey…” came a soft voice, their hand pressing to your back as they stood beside you.

You unfurled yourself slowly, opening your eyes to see Jill regarding you, concern in her blue gaze.

“Hey,” you replied finally, swallowing down your emotions as best you could.

She smiled lightly and sat beside you, the two of you turning your attention to the crackling flames. “I know this is probably a stupid question, but… you okay?”

You sniffled, wiping your nose with your sleeve. “No. Don’t know if I ever will be again if I’m honest.”

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you will be.” Her tone was soft but resolute, as if there was no room for argument. As if it were the absolute truth.

“And how do you know that?” you interrogated, your voice raising as your sadness turned bitter, whipping your head to face her.

She didn’t meet your gaze, and you could see the reflection of the campfire dancing in her eyes. “Because I lived it too.”

You snapped your mouth shut, a feeling of shame wedging itself in your throat.

How self-absorbed could you be? You weren’t the only one suffering here. In fact, everyone was suffering here. That was the point of this place, wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry, Jill. Should have invited you to the pity party I’m throwing, huh?”

She laughed at that, gripping your forearm with her hand as she faced you. “You don’t need to be sorry, Lucky. You have every right to be upset. To grieve. But you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone. You have me and Chris–Rebecca and Claire. And when you get close to the others, you’ll have them too.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, the weight lifting, if only slightly. You still felt a twinge of guilt as you recalled the trial, however, believing you needed to add, “And I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you in time back there, by the way. I tried, but I was too late.”

“It happens. No use crying over spilled milk, right?”

“Or spilled guts…” you muttered.

She rolled her eyes. “Hey, at least you’re all patched up now.”

You startled at that, suddenly aware of the fact that she was right.

You looked down at your person, not an injury, rip, or stain in sight, save for the dirt on the back of your jeans from sitting on the ground. Your ankle was completely healed and the cut on your face was gone, as well as the wounds you received during the trial.

But you still felt the ghost of an ache in your neck from where Wesker had broken it.

And something else. Almost like a piece of you was missing. So small, you probably wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t taking inventory of your body at that moment.

“Every death you experience, you come back… not quite right,” Chris had told you the day prior.

You could barely contain the shiver that rolled up your spine.

You took a deep breath.

Find the silver lining.

“Yeah, at least there’s that.”

“Ladies! How’s it going?” Carlos called jovially as he approached the two of you.

When you turned to greet him, though, he was watching you carefully, like you were some cornered animal that would bite his hand off if he made any sudden moves.

Might not be far off, you thought with dark amusement.

“Been better,” Jill told him truthfully before knocking her shoulder into yours, “but we’re tough.”

“Would never doubt it,” he replied, plopping on the ground behind you. You and Jill flipped over on the log to face him, the fire immediately warming up your spine.

Carlos glanced back at you, then, clearly debating if he should make a comment or not. You were about to tell him to spit it out when he beat you to it, “The trial didn’t go well, I take it?”

You scoffed. “What was your first clue?”

“Rebecca telling us Wesker’s in the realm now, probably.”

You went rigid at the man’s name, not sure if you were ready to talk about it just yet.

Carlos, sensing your obvious discomfort, changed routes, “You gonna be okay, Lucky? You seemed pretty… shook up… when you got back.”

You met Jill’s eyes for a moment and she smiled at you fondly before you answered, “I will be.”

He nodded and the three of you sat in silence for a while before he spoke again, “Not to be nosy, but what were you two chatting about before I came over?”

Jill laughed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we were talking about how at least Lucky’s all healed up now.”

“Yeah, how exactly does that even work?” you questioned.

Carlos shrugged. “We aren’t sure. Just know that when we die, our bodies revert to what they were when we first ended up in the realm.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Let’s say you showed up here with long hair. You decide to cut it short, maybe because it’s easier to deal with or just because you like it better that way, right?”

“... Okay?”

“Well, you get into a trial and you end up dying. When you wake up back at camp, your hair is gonna be long again. Like it was when the fog first took you. We don’t know how it works, but we do know it’s the Entity keeping us from aging.”

“Holy fuck…” You didn’t know what to make of that. The idea of never aging might have been comforting in a different context, but here? Yikes.

You supposed it made sense, insomuch that you existed in some reality-bending hellscape. You figured you’d stop being shocked by every new piece of information you learned at some point, but apparently that wasn’t today.

“Chris didn’t tell you about this?” You shook your head and Carlos blew air through his teeth. “Chris never slacks off. Must be losing it.”

“Hey, he’s just had a lot on his mind lately,” Jill defended.

You turned to her. “Are you talking about me being here?”

“Yeah. It really threw him off, finding you.” A melancholy look flashed across her face. “He never thought he’d see you again. He's just trying to wrap his head around it. We both are.”

“Oh.”

Carlos grimaced, realizing he struck a nerve. “Well, I don’t mind telling you what I know, in any case.”

“Thanks, dude. You’re a real one.”

The three of you laughed, the conversation turning lighter as you moved on to other topics, asking Carlos and Jill as many questions about your new world as you could think of. Unfortunately, their usual answer was “I don’t know”. You doubted the other survivors would be any more informed.

You were startled when a hand clamped on your shoulder and looked up to find Chris behind you, a bowl in his hand. “Here, for you.”

You thanked him with an appreciative smile and took it from him, a joyful gasp escaping you when you realized it was chili that filled the ceramic.

He cupped a hand over his mouth and called for the other survivors to get their dinner, which made you feel a little guilty that you were served first. Jill and Carlos didn’t complain, though–didn’t even seem surprised–as they stood to form a line in front of Steve just a few feet away.

Chris sat next to you, eyeing you with furrowed brows as you ate.

For some reason, you couldn’t meet his gaze, instead staring at the contents of your bowl. “It’s really good.”

“It’s just a bunch of heated-up canned chili. Can’t exactly take credit for the taste.”

You giggled. “And here I thought you were some sort of culinary genius.”

Chris smiled at you and it made your heart flip inside your chest. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“You can thank Jill and Carlos for that. I was pretty determined to be miserable til they came over,” you joked.

“Maybe I should get pointers,” he said, dropping his large hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing absent-mindedly over the fabric of your jeans.

It sent a jolt through you, but you tried to ignore it. “Don’t sell yourself short, Redfield. If it weren’t for you, I think I would have lost my mind already.”

“Thanks, but you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, you know that?”

The way he looked at you… it was like you were the only person to exist in that moment. It made you feel warm.

But he was wrong.

You didn’t have the heart to argue, though, simply nodding and turning back to your food.

“I got permission to let you take a bath, by the way. I’ll fill the tub up in a bit.”

You dropped your spoon, your eyes shooting to his face once more. “I thought only people who survived the trial could use the bath?”

“Yeah, that’s the usual case. We take camp-wide votes for big decisions, but Jake, Claudette, Meg, and Dwight are kind of our unofficial leaders since they were here first. I convinced them to let you have this because of… well, everything you’ve been through the last couple of days.”

“And they agreed, just like that?” They seemed to be taking their water conservation very seriously, so this was surprising to you.

He shook his head. “No, ended up offering to clean the outhouses for a week, and gave up my own chance to bathe the next time I survive a trial. Could be worse, though.”

You gasped. “Chris, you don’t need to do that! I’m not even dirty anymore.”

“It’s not a big deal, Lucky. In fact… I wish I could do more.”

Tears welled in your eyes, overwhelmed by his willingness to go above and beyond just to offer you any comfort he could. “Thank you.”

He gave you a small smile and squeezed your knee gently before standing. “I’ll get the water heated up.”

“What can I do to help?” you asked, setting your half-eaten food on the log beside you to jump to your feet.

Chris stopped you from getting up by placing a firm hold on your shoulder. “No, I got this. You just finish eating and rest, okay?”

“Well, you should at least get dinner first, Chris. I’m sure you’re starving.”

His hand moved to cup your face, brown eyes stern as they met your own. “Don’t worry about it, Lucky. I’ll eat when I’m done. Just hang tight.”

“... Fine,” you sighed, picking your bowl up once more.

“It shouldn’t be too long.” He leaned forward and kissed the crown of your head before walking away.

You weren’t sure you would ever get used to the sudden affection from your friend, but you weren’t complaining. You much preferred this to his cheesy pick-up lines.

You flipped your legs back over the log to face the fire once more, eating your chili slowly in order to savor it.

Rebecca made her way over to you, her own bowl in hand, and sat next to you. “Hey, Lucky. Good to see you’re not hurt anymore.”

You nodded at that. “Yeah, I was pretty fucked up before… well, you know.”

“You mean beyond the ankle and the cut on your face?”

“Yeah. Had a concussion and ripped open my arm. It was rough.”

“How did he… end it? Did he just hook you?”

Your hand shot to your throat at that, the familiar ache returning just at the mention of it. “No. He, uh, he snapped my neck.”

Her brows lifted. “Well, that’s… unexpected. But not unheard of, I guess. Just doesn’t really seem like him, though, you know?”

“At this point, there’s very little I do know anymore.”

Rebecca worried her bottom lip with her teeth, looking at the fire. “I was devastated when they told me what happened at the mansion. Half the team, wiped out. And to think he was behind it all… It’s just awful.”

“You’re telling me,” you replied with a humorless laugh.

“I think the worst part was finding out what happened to Richard.” She turned back to you, placing her small hand on your upper arm. “And to you.”

“For better or for worse, at least I’m here now,” you told her, curling your fingers over hers.

She smiled, eyes shining. “For better. Definitely for better.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as you finished eating, but you caught her gaze wandering to the dark-haired girl she had been talking to the night before. Cheryl, if you weren’t mistaken.

“You seem to be getting pretty close with that girl,” you teased. “Hasn’t it only been a week since you got here, and you already found a best friend?”

She giggled, sounding almost shy—something you took note of. “She’s just a really nice and interesting person, is all. I like being around her.”

“It’s a good thing we have each other, us survivors. Things would probably feel a lot more hopeless, otherwise,” you mused, patting her knee genially, as you would your younger siblings.

Rebecca grinned at you and laid her head on your shoulder. “What did you say when I first got recruited? ‘Through thick and thin'?”

“Mhm. I think I also said ‘teamwork makes the dream work, unless you're stuck with Brad’s lazy ass', but that’s not exactly relevant here.”

She laughed loudly. “I know it’s only been a week since I saw you last, but I missed you, Lucky.”

“Well, it was only like, two days that I had gone without seeing you, and I missed you, too. Couldn’t have my replacement dying on me her first real mission,” you joked.

“According to the others, I made it out just fine, at least,” she replied. “I think you would have been really proud of how I handled myself.”

You ruffled her hair. “I’m always proud of you, kiddo.”

She pulled away to swat your hand from her head but responded with sincerity, “Thanks, Lucky. It makes me happy to know I have you in my corner. And I’ll always be in yours.”

You gave her a warm smile, but were suddenly reminded of the trial and how you had failed her. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I wish I could have saved you.”

“Don’t be. We were all thrown off guard. We’ll be better prepared to handle it next time.”

Next time.

You didn’t want to think about that.

Before you could muster a reply, Chris appeared in front of you once more, a sheen of sweat over his face, neck, and arms, his vest gone and his shirt unbuttoned slightly.

It was honestly unfair that he could look that good absolutely drenched in perspiration. You would look like a wet rat, probably. Smell like one, too.

You felt a heat blooming in your face as you raked over his form with wide eyes.

What is wrong with me? you thought. It’s not like I’ve never seen him sweat before.

Rebecca gave you a sly look, but you chose to ignore it as she waved you goodbye and left.

“The tub is filled, so you should be set,” Chris told you. “I sent Claire to get you soap and whatever else you might need. She’ll meet you there.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” you questioned as you stood, leaving your empty bowl on the log. You wondered how many pots of water it took to fill the tub, and you were grateful for the work he put in on your behalf.

Chris beamed at you, dark eyes crinkling around the edges in a way that made your heart palpitate. “Don’t get it twisted, Lucky. I’m the one that should be asking you that.”

You rolled your eyes but gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “Thank you again, Chris. I appreciate this more than you could ever know.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he replied, as if he hadn’t been helping you the moment he found you in that farmhouse. Scratch that; the moment the two of you even started working together.

“The least you could do,” you began, giving him a severe look, “is eat your fucking dinner.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “You gonna tell me to clean my room while I’m at it?”

You stuck your tongue out. “Don’t start calling me ‘mommy’ if I do.”

He shook his head before gently pushing you in the direction of the bathhouses. “Go on, now, before the water gets cold. Don’t want all that work to be for nothing.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going. See you later.”

“See you, Lucky.”

You trudged out of the clearing and into the sparse tree line, following the lanterns that lit the dirt path ahead of you. It was a relatively short but quiet journey, the voices of the other survivors fading the farther you traversed.

It was peaceful and dark, and you closed your eyes to enjoy it for a moment.

A breeze enveloped you as it blew past, bringing with it the smell of woodsmoke and petrichor, as if it were going to rain.

That was something you had asked Carlos; if the weather changed. He told you that no, the only “weather” to exist was inside of the trials.

On one hand, you were glad you wouldn’t have to worry about things like flooding or blizzards within the camp, but that meant there would be no warmth here.

You never thought you’d miss the sun, of all things.

You arrived at your destination, finding Claire sitting on the steps of the platform leading to the bathhouses, a bag in her lap.

“Hey, Lucky!” she greeted as you neared.

“Hey, Claire. Chris told me you got something for me?”

“Sure do. Here, let me show you.” She stood up and fished through the bag, displaying the items as she mentioned them, “Towel and washrag. Bar soap. Shampoo and conditioner–a real hot commodity in these parts. A razor. Facial cleanser. And get this: a bath bomb. Been saving this bad boy for a rainy day, but I figured you could use it more.”

“Claire, I don’t want to take that from you. Keep it,” you told her earnestly.

“No, I made up my mind, Lucky. Use it and use it well, got it?” she replied, shoving the bag into your arms.

“You and your brother are way too nice to me, you know that?”

“It’s because you deserve it,” she informed you, giving you a grin that looked so much like Chris’s. “And besides, you’re practically family to us. We take care of each other.”

“Well, I can’t tell you how grateful I am. You guys are making this far more bearable. I’d be lost without you. Literally.” You chuckled to yourself at the thought, wondering where you’d be if they didn’t find you yesterday. A lot less pampered, that was for sure.

“We’re just glad to have you back.” Her smile remained, but there was an undercurrent of strong emotions in her voice, something akin to regret and a bittersweet sort of relief. “Even if it’s here.”

“Yeah,” you responded with a sigh. “I do suppose this is better than dead.”

“A real improvement, if you ask me.”

You laughed at that, bumping into her playfully as you moved past her. “See you on the flip side, Redfield Junior.”

She rolled her eyes at the nickname you had given her when you first got acquainted and began her trek back to camp, calling over her shoulder, “Try not to drown in there.”

“Don’t worry, I know how to swim,” you retorted, smiling to yourself as you turned and entered the small building before you.

You were hit with billowing steam as you opened the door, the wet heat of the room warming you instantly.

You locked the deadbolt and moved further inside, setting out your new toiletries on a bench that sat next to the tub.

You kicked off your sneakers and stripped completely, tossing your clothes onto the floor with reckless abandon, desperate to be in that bath.

You dipped one foot into the hot water, finding it nearly scalding but able to withstand slowly sinking your body into it with a hiss. You grabbed the bath bomb Claire was so excited about and kept it in your palm as you lowered it, watching as it fizzled in your hand, the chalky substances it was made of turning the water a milky white.

You stared at it as it dissipated, your mind wandering to the events that led to this very moment.

You didn’t want to think about your family anymore. You didn’t want to think about your dead friends. You didn’t want to think about your failures in the trial.

And above all, you didn’t want to think about Wesker.

It was a difficult task, something that took all of your effort, but you fought off the thoughts with a deep breath, grabbing for whatever soap was closest to you and getting to work.

You went through the motions, your sole focus washing your already relatively clean body and hair, finishing quickly.

You grabbed the razor–your final order of business–after running your hands over the stubble on your legs and deciding it was time for a shave.

You remembered what Carlos had told you, that every time you died, your body would change back to the state it was in when you first arrived here.

You huffed in annoyance, the idea of dying just to wake back up with hairy legs sounding rather inconvenient.

You knew it didn’t matter in the scheme of things. In fact, keeping your body hair might even be a smart move to give you extra warmth in a place so damn cold all of the time. But smooth limbs–and, well, other places–was something you preferred. It was purely cosmetic, but it made you feel a sense of normalcy, and that’s what you wanted. Desperately.

To feel normal.

You supposed it could be worse, though. You considered the other women in the camp, curious if any of them were brought here on their period. Imagining bleeding through your pants every time you died painfully in a trial felt like such an insult to injury.

Then another thought came to you, one that filled you with sudden horror:

What would happen if you came to the realm pregnant?

Surely, a baby couldn’t handle the stress of such an environment, even if the mother managed to survive long enough to give birth, right?

But what would happen if the baby didn’t miscarry and the mother did die in trials? Would the baby just revert to the size it was when the mother first arrived? Would she just be… perpetually pregnant?

Worse still, if she ever managed to actually give birth, what would happen to the baby? Would it also be beholden to trials? Would it ever age? Could it exist outside of this place?

Unconsciously, your palm drifted to your stomach, your fingers stretching over the skin there.

It was probably better not to dwell on what-ifs.

So lost in your thoughts, the hand that held the razor slipped against your knee, slicing it open.

You gasped in pain as you assessed the cut, blood sliding down your leg and dripping into the water, tinging the white film layered on top a dark pink.

All you could do was stare, watching yourself bleed.

You glanced at the razor in your hand, specks of red now decorating the tightly packed blades.

You suddenly thought of Ghost Face. Of digging your knife between his ribs. Of cracking his skull against that tree.

That’s right. You had killed him.

The full weight of the realization hit you. You had been aware of it the second it happened, of course, but it had seemed so unreal until this very moment.

You wondered if you should feel more guilty.

Sure, it was technically an accident. Sure, it was in self-defense. And yeah, you knew now he would be just fine, but your apathy over such an ordeal scared you a little.

All that moral grandstanding. All the times you hesitated or failed to do what needed to be done, whether to save yourself or someone you cared about, in order to preserve some sense of righteousness. Of innocence.

All of that inner turmoil to avoid killing, but the moment you actually ended someone’s life, you couldn’t care less.

Maybe that made you just as monstrous as every killer and creature that stalked these woods.

Just another thought to file away for later, you decided.

You dipped your head under the cooling water, then, closing your eyes and listening to the surface ripple with every slight movement of your body. You wondered what it would feel like to drown, but it was like a part of you already knew. It was... uncomfortably familiar.

You supposed you felt like you were drowning since the very first night of your arrival. Maybe even longer than that, if you really thought about it.

Don't think about it.

You rose from the tub, taking in a deep breath, deciding it was time to go.

You wiped the blood from your leg and finished shaving, blotting the cut with your already-used washrag until it clotted. You then stood up, drying yourself with the towel Claire gave you and stepping on the worn, but still fluffy mat on the floor.

You reached over and pulled the drain, watching the white and pink foam swirl as it rushed down the pipes, feeling as though a part of you sunk with it.

You realized you had forgotten to grab a set of fresh clothes from your room before coming here, though the ones you had arrived in were still relatively clean. Before you could start putting them on, though, you noticed a pile sitting on a table in the corner of the room, folded neatly.

You picked up the sweatpants and oversized hoodie, wondering which of your friends had gone out of their way to find and leave these for you. Their kindness had been the only good thing about this place. You hoped to return it someday.

You hung the used towel and washrag onto the side of the tub to dry before dressing quickly. You gathered your previous attire and toiletries into the bag before heading back to camp, clean and cozy.

You still felt like you were drowning, but it was more like a lapping tide than a wave now.

Happy was still a far-off notion, but you could settle for numb.

You could function with numb.

It was the best you could do.

“Oh good, there you are,” Ada spoke from the path ahead of you, making you jump. “We’re about to have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” you questioned, catching up to her, the two of you turning to head back into the clearing.

“Apparently, they have one whenever a new killer shows up in the realm.” She was thoughtful for a moment before turning to you and adding, “Is it true that it was Wesker?”

You nodded, discomforted by the notion that there would be a mass discussion concerning the man who led you to your ruin. You hoped you could get by without having to explain anything that happened in the trial. It was too soon to relive it.

Ada’s lips pursed and you wondered what she was thinking.

“Did you… know him?” you asked, though a part of you was afraid of her reply. Why, you weren’t sure.

“Worked with him. Just like you,” she responded curtly as you entered the center of camp.

Just like me, you thought bitterly. You believed you were special to him once. You knew better now. You were just someone else he stepped on to get what he wanted.

You wondered if he thought Ada was just as expendable as you clearly were.

She walked away from you, then, probably to avoid any more questions. You couldn’t blame her.

You looked around you, noting that everyone was setting up chairs to face the fire in rows, chatting quietly amongst themselves. You could feel tension in the air, likely nervous energy caused by a new killer being let loose by the Entity.

Wesker, a killer. Someone to be afraid of. You pondered if you’d ever come to terms with that, after everything the two of you once had.

It was a nameless thing, what existed between you. You questioned every day just how deep it went, but you had been so certain it was something real. Something tangible. Something that drew you towards him like an invisible thread. Or perhaps gravity itself.

A moth to a flame was probably closer to the truth.

You were so desperate to be near him at one time, and you realized with shame that you made it so easy for him to wrap you around his finger.

You let him burn up your wings.

Would this ache ever go away?

“Hey, Lucky,” Chris called to you, pulling you from your thoughts. He was setting two chairs down as you approached, standing to his full height and appraising you with a warm smile. “I’m glad the clothes fit. I wasn’t sure.”

“You got these for me?” you asked, getting emotional again over him taking such good care of you.

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal. I felt kinda weird going into your room without you there to get you a change, so I figured I’d just root around in the storage closet for something comfortable. Had to pass by it to get to the kitchen anyway,” he replied as he sat down, patting the seat next to him.

“Well, thank you. For like, the millionth time,” you said as you plopped down beside him, setting your bag on the ground. “The bath was great, by the way. Beats a cold rag, that’s for sure.”

He chuckled at that. “I’m glad. I hoped it might make you feel better.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “It definitely helped.”

The two of you were quiet for a moment as you watched the other survivors settle into the chairs around you before Chris spoke, “We’re having a meeting about Wesker being here. We do this with every new killer in the realm, to talk strategy.”

You tensed up before replying, “Yeah, Ada mentioned it.“

He noticed. “You okay?”

“Just peachy,” you lied, not wanting him to fuss over you any more than he already had.

He exhaled at that but didn’t push, deciding to sit in silence as the camp finished setting up for the meeting.

A man you hadn’t been introduced to yet made his way to the front of the crowd. The stranger was wearing a tan trench coat and seemed very calm despite the disquieted group before him. He had kind eyes.

“Why is he running the meeting?” you whispered to Chris. “I thought Dwight, Claudette, Meg, and Jake were the head honchos.”

“They are, but they’re not really good at this sort of thing,” he explained. “Adam was a teacher, and he can manage a rowdy bunch better than anybody.”

“We’ve been informed there’s a new killer,” Adam told the crowd, voice carrying over the camp. “For those who are new here, we’re going to go over the trial and discuss the killer’s moves. We want to find out his strengths and weaknesses and to know what to expect from him. Rebecca, you got back to camp first. Can you tell us what happened?”

Rebecca stood from her chair next to Cheryl. “Yes. Jill and I got separated from Chris and Lucky during the trial. Wesker came after us first, so Jill and I split up. He targeted me, and we were in a chase for a couple minutes when he managed to catch up to me. He was fast. Insanely fast. I was jumping over a window when he grabbed me with these black… tentacles… that came out of his hand, and he hooked me before going after the others. I didn’t see anything else before the Entity claimed me.”

“Thank you, Rebecca. Jill, can you give us a rundown of your side of things, since you were downed next?” Adam asked.

Rebecca returned to her seat and Jill nodded before standing herself. “Wesker found me, and like Rebecca said, he was fast. At one point, he was practically a blur while he was on my tail. He slashed me with his knife while I was trying to drop a pallet in his way, and then he slashed me again when he caught up. He hooked me after making a snide comment and left. I also didn’t see anything else before I died.”

“Thanks, Jill. What about you, Chris?”

Your thoughts were running a mile a minute as you listened to your friends’ experiences, startled when Chris gently pushed you off of him to rise to his feet and speak for himself.

You stared down at your lap as he answered, “I went to find Rebecca–get her off the hook–when Wesker cut off my path. He was borderline maniacal when he saw me, but that’s unsurprising, considering our history. He grabbed me with those tentacles and threw me down the hallway. Infected me with whatever virus they’re made of–”

“Infected?” you implored fearfully, eyes jumping up to meet Chris’s.

They were vile, those wet, black tendrils, but you had no idea they could infect you. You wondered why Wesker didn’t utilize that “ability” in his pursuit of you.

“Don’t worry. I died in the trial, so I’m not anymore,” Chris reassured you and the surrounding survivors before returning to his story. “He chased me for a while, tried to rile me up with what he was saying, but my only goal was to get away from him long enough to save Rebecca and Jill. Unfortunately, he reached me first and slammed me into a wall before hooking me. Lucky tried to help me, but…”

He glanced at you briefly, almost apologetic, as he continued, “He grabbed her before she could. The Entity killed me shortly after.”

You were violently reminded of that long claw sinking right into Chris’s gut as he reached out for you. You remembered the blood that sprayed across your face as his body went limp.

You remembered the light leaving his eyes before he was taken away from you.

You felt tears building in your waterline, trying to fight off the emotions threatening to engulf you completely. Chris was alive and breathing–standing right beside you–so why did you feel so anguished at what you saw?

Perhaps death wasn’t permanent here, but it was still real. It was still painful and bloody and visceral.

You had to avert your gaze from your friend or else you’d lose it, suddenly only able to see his lifeless corpse when you looked at him.

Adam rubbed his chin thoughtfully, seeming perturbed. “Lucky, you’re next.”

Your heart rate skyrocketed at his words, your mouth feeling dry as every face in the vicinity turned to stare directly at you.

You dug your fingernails into your sweatpants, breath hitching, the tears already in your eyes blurring your vision.

You spent the whole evening trying to block out what happened and now you’d have to describe it in detail to a bunch of people you only knew a handful of.

What’s more, you didn’t know what exactly to say. You couldn’t just tell them what all Wesker had said to you. That he kissed you. No one–not Chris, or Jill, or Claire, or Rebecca–knew about your affair with your captain. And this was not the time or place to inform them if you could ever bring yourself to admit to it.

I can’t do this. You panicked as memories of the trial flooded your brain, unbidden. Unconsciously, your hand shot up to your throat, feeling lightheaded and like you couldn’t breathe.

“Lucky?” Chris questioned, worried, as he sat back down beside you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Chris soothed, placing his hand on your back. “I know it isn’t easy.”

“The place isn’t sunshine and rainbows, but we need details on the new killer,” a woman scolded from behind you, wearing a purple ruffled blouse. “Toughen up.”

“Yun-Jin,” Chris warned, voice dropping from the warmth he was showing you to something cold. Hardened.

It made you shiver.

“Yun-Jin’s right,” Detective Tapp added. “I get it was Lucky’s first trial and it went sideways, but we can’t afford to lose out on anything that could give us a leg up on this guy. You know that, Redfield.”

“Don’t start with me,” Chris barked, his anger rising. “After everything she’s been through, she deserves a little slack.”

“Oh, like getting a full gallon of water and a bath she didn’t earn?” Yun-Jin retorted.

There was a murmur across the clearing as Chris leapt to his feet, jabbing a finger in the woman’s direction with a fire in his eyes you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before. “Those were one-time things I got full permission to do and that I’m making up for, not that it’s any of your goddamn business. She’s more than earned a fucking break.”

“If it weren’t for the circumstances,” Adam spoke, voice gentle and coaxing, “I would be more inclined to let this go. But they have a point, Chris. We need any information we can get.”

Chris was about to argue, but you stood suddenly, unable to handle the tension building before you.

They were right. You needed to get your shit together.

You grabbed Chris’s arm and he turned to you as you spoke, “It’s fine, Chris. I’ll just–I’ll just get it off my chest.”

“You sure?” His tone shifted from anger to concern as he regarded you. You knew he could tell just how anxious you felt–it was practically radiating off of you–but you were determined.

You were reminded of Bill’s words from earlier in the night.

“No room for weakness, or for burdens.”

“I got this,” you told him, resolute. “Thank you, though.”

He nodded and returned to his seat as you glanced around the clearing at every face trained solely on you.

You took a deep breath.

“I heard Chris yelling across the building, and I tried to finish the gen I was working on before I went to help Rebecca and Jill. Wesker–” You paused a moment to collect yourself. “Wesker got to me before I could fix the gen. We were both shocked to see each other. I told him I knew what he did to me and my friends back home and I–I slapped him. He grabbed me by the throat with those… tentacles… and threw me through a window. Gave me a concussion. Rebecca died as I was running away from him. He caught up to me and I managed to get out of his grip and fell through a hole in the floor. I cut my arm open, but I was able to escape him. When I tried to get to Jill, I was too late. I managed to reach Chris, but Wesker got to me first and pulled me off of him.”

You stopped there, feeling yourself tremble as you recounted your side of events, albeit modified.

“What happened next?” Adam asked, voice firm but kind.

You found yourself picking at your cuticles as you continued, “He… threw me down the stairs. The hatch opened only a few feet away from me, but he closed it before I could reach it. He acted like he was going to stab me, maybe hook me, but… he, uh, he changed his mind. Broke my neck instead. I think that’s everything.”

Adam smiled at you reassuringly. “Thank you, Lucky. You can sit down now.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling somewhat guilty for all of the omissions you believed you needed to make as you sank back into your chair.

Chris didn’t say anything as he glanced over at you, but you felt a bit more grounded when he laced his fingers between yours.

After the group discussed the trial itself, questions began to deviate into what Wesker was like before arriving here. You didn’t have anything to add to the conversation, as you didn’t get to witness the way he acted after the mansion incident. Until today.

The others from your world–specifically Chris, Jill, Ada, and Sheva–explained just how much of a monster he had become.

The virus he injected himself with the night of his betrayal gave him super speed, inhuman strength, regenerative abilities, and those red, snake-like eyes.

Then he had infected himself with another virus–“uroboros”, as Sheva called it–which gifted him those inky appendages that he had complete control over.

Worse still, he had tried to kill your friends on multiple occasions over the years, nearly succeeding.

You guessed after the trial, he had succeeded.

It made you feel ill to even consider it.

Your mind wandered as they discussed your former captain and possible strategies to employ in order to survive run-ins with him. He had seemed so intent on executing your friends during the trial. Had been efficient at providing the Entity with its meal.

So why did he seem to take his sweet time with you?

You thought briefly, upon seeing him in the trial for the first time, that maybe he missed you as much as you missed him. But he had been so quick to threaten you, to injure you, to kill you.

How could you have meant anything to him?

Like you had asked him–and like he had answered–you really were nothing more than a plaything for him. Something to entertain him. To pass the time while he plotted the deaths of you and your team.

“Toy or pet, you still belong to me,” he had said. Like you were nothing. Like he didn’t even see you as a person.

To know now that’s how he viewed you was hard to reconcile, especially while you had admired and respected him. Idolized him. Loved him.

“I think that’s all, for now,” Adam stated, officially calling an end to the meeting. “Let’s get some R and R tonight, everyone.”

“I’m about to help put everything back,” Chris told you as the others got to their feet, releasing your hand, “but a few of us are going to play some cards if you want to join us.”

You shook your head as you stood, grabbing your bag from the ground. “No. I think I’m just gonna go to my room if that’s alright?”

Those deep brown eyes of his were soft as he gazed at you, tucking your still-wet hair behind your ear. “Of course, Lucky. Get some sleep, okay?”

You simply nodded and turned on your heels, booking it to the medical facility as fast as you could walk.

Some of the other survivors looked at you as you passed, but you were thankful none of them tried to stop you for a chat.

You made it to your little room quickly, closing the door and throwing your bag on the dresser before lighting the candle on your bedside table. You stripped your clothes off immediately in order to change into your pajamas.

It was just a gray tank top over black drawstring shorts, but it was comfortable and you knew your moth-eaten bedding would keep you plenty warm.

You brushed your hair and then your teeth (using the container to spit out the toothpaste) before putting on some deodorant. You drank deeply straight from your jug, leaving a little bit of water for your morning routine.

You then laid down under your blankets, staring up at the tiled ceiling in the dark, exhausted but unable to close your eyes.

You wanted to stop thinking. You wanted to stop feeling.

Would it ever go away?

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, fighting every urge to cry, to scream, to hit something until your knuckles split open.

You threw off your covers and stood, lighting the candle once more before pacing aimlessly, ripping the skin off of your nails until they stung and bled.

You thought you wanted to be alone, but your brain wouldn’t let you rest.

Chris had told you that you could go and find him if you needed anything, but fuck, were you tired of leaning on him so much. You were certain you’d eventually wear him down with how clingy and pitiful you were being.

No, you needed to suffer through this on your own.

That’s what you decided, at least, until there was a gentle knock on your door that scattered all of your thoughts like a flock of birds.

“Lucky?” Chris’s voice sounded from the hallway. “You awake?”

You quickly made your way to your door, pulling it open to reveal your friend standing before you. He was wearing a dark green shirt and plaid pajama pants, his feet bare on the weathered linoleum floor.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“No,” you replied. “Can’t stop… thinking.”

“You and me both.” He shifted on his feet as he peered into your room. “Want company? We could ‘think’ together.”

“Sure thing.” You gave him a small smile and moved to let him in, closing the door before following him to your bed, the two of you sitting on the edge of it.

Just like the night before. Just like earlier in the day.

It was almost funny to you how Chris was becoming such a fixture in your new life, in a way he never was before. You would be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the meeting. That wasn’t fair of them to put you on the spot like that,” he told you.

You weren’t looking at each other, both of you simply staring at the floor instead.

You tucked your legs up under your chin, wrapping your arms around them tightly. “It’s okay, really. It sucked, but I get it. Everyone has a role to play, and I’ve been nothing but whiny and useless the whole time I’ve been here.”

Chris turned to you sharply, voice stern, “You are not useless. It’s only been your second full day here. You’ll find your place soon enough. Some of the others took days–even weeks–to adjust. They’re hypocrites for wanting to throw you in the deep end like that.”

“I’ve already made this joke tonight,” you forewarned, your lips twitching upwards at the corners, “but I do know how to swim.”

Chris let out a puff of air and rolled his eyes at you. “Glad you can wisecrack after everything. I was… pretty worried when you first got back to camp.”

“I know. I’m sorry for being so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Chris repeated, an expression of shock alighting his features. “Lucky, you’ve been through hell and you think crying about it is being dramatic? Are you serious?”

You dropped your face to your knees to hide from his stare. “It’s just embarrassing that I lost my cool like that, is all. I don’t want the others to think I’m weak. And I feel like I’ve done nothing but make myself look stupid and pathetic while following you around like a stray. I just thought–I thought I was better than this.”

“I’ve never been the best when it comes to emotional things–that’s always been more Jill’s territory–but believe me when I say you’re allowed to be upset. I don't think anyone is really judging you for expressing that. And if they are? They can kiss my ass.”

You giggled at that, bumping your shoulder into his. “Such a way with words, Redfield.”

He laughed in response, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence once again. The candle flickered, casting your shadows onto the wall, and you watched them dance together as your thoughts raced laps in your mind.

“I can’t believe Wesker’s here now,” Chris stated, breaking you from your reverie.

When you glanced over at your friend, his whole body was tense, his hands balled into tight fists.

“Same here.” You sighed before dropping your legs to the side of the bed again, grabbing Chris’s arm that was closest to you and placing it in your lap, gently stroking your fingers over his knuckles in an attempt to calm him.

He froze at first but seemed to relax under your careful touch.

“This might sound harsh,” Chris began, eyes still focused on your hands, “but maybe it’s better you died in the trial.”

You were horrified as you stared at him, mouth agape, halting your soothing motions. “Why would you say that?!”

He grimaced. “I got a good look at you when you were trying to get me off the hook, Lucky. I know you explained what happened at the meeting, but it was much worse than what you described. Those injuries would have been a bitch to deal with if you lived.”

You wanted to be angry, but he had a point. “Yeah… I guess I’m glad everything’s healed up. That concussion was no joke.”

“If you were anyone else, I’d call you a klutz, but I know how you fight,” Chris teased.

“‘Accident prone’ is probably more accurate,” you replied with an amused huff. Your expression dropped, though, when you added, “But in my defense, Wesker was relentless.”

His tone was dark when he responded, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

You picked back up where you left off, then, slowly dragging the pads of your fingers over his knuckles as the quiet took hold once more.

His hand suddenly flexed beneath yours, his voice strained as he spoke again, “I know what you’re going through. What it was like to find out what Wesker had done.”

You pressed your lips in a thin line at that.

Oh, Chris, you thought, you really don’t.

He was Chris’s captain, same as you–they seemed to be on friendly, albeit professional, terms–but Chris didn’t know him like you did.

Like I thought I did, you corrected yourself solemnly.

You wondered if you should tell Chris the truth about your relationship with Wesker, but the more you considered it, the more you questioned what the point would be.

It wasn’t real, whatever it was.

And there was a part of you that feared you’d be seen as a traitor if word of your affair got out. Your friends and the other survivors were all you had in this world. You couldn’t lose anyone else. You wouldn’t.

Chris, unaware of your internal struggle, continued, “It makes perfect sense the Entity would bring him here, though. It’s always coming up with new ways to fuck with us.”

“Really seems to be the case,” you agreed, falling back on your bed to face the ceiling.

Chris gazed down at you, his expression thoughtful for a moment before he followed your lead, sprawling out beside you.

“I hate that you're stuck here with us,” he told you, voice low. “But I’m happy to have you back.”

“Yeah, at least we’re together. At least I’m alive.”

“Alive, after five years without you. Still doesn’t feel real to me.”

You turned your head to face him, tone softening, “Five years is a long time.”

“It’s funny,” he said, though there was no humor in his voice, “you were dead for longer than I knew you, and it never got easier.”

You reached down between you, lacing your fingers with his, his large hand engulfing yours completely in its warmth. He had done so much to comfort you in the last two days, and you wanted to return it in any way you could.

“I’m here now,” you told him.

“Yeah. You’re here now.”

His grasp only tightened.

You ached on his behalf. Sure, you had lost everything, too, but at least you didn’t have to experience it firsthand.

He bore witness to so much death. You wondered if he had seen yours as well.

You spoke, “In the trial, Wesker told me… He told me he watched me die that night in the mansion. Did you?”

Chris sighed deeply, unable to look at you. “No. He, uh, he sent me off to secure the area. More or less kicked me out of the room. When I got back, well… you were already gone.”

“Fuck.”

“He told me you turned. That he had to… take you down. I believed him at the time, but after finding out he was behind it all, something just didn’t sit right with me.”

Your eyebrows shot up at his words. “And what was that?”

“He was too adamant that I leave. Made sure the two of you would be alone. I thought for a while he killed you as soon as I walked off just to get you out of the way, but you probably weren’t gonna make it. So now I wonder: why would he bother if you were dying anyway? I mean, Wesker only killed Marini because he found out the truth about his ties to Umbrella. He let the rest of us run around like chickens with our heads cut off until we were zombie food. Doesn’t make sense to me that he would kill you unless you really did turn.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. It hurt so much worse to know that Wesker was the one to kill you that night in the mansion, but it also left you with so many questions.

“Maybe–maybe it was a mercy killing,” you offered, somehow hopeful despite evidence to the contrary.

Chris scoffed. “After what he did to you in the trial, do you really think that would be his play? I know you’re just recently coming to terms with the fact he’s a psychopath and always has been, but I think you know better than that by now.”

Maybe you did, but the Wesker you met in that trial was not the one you knew. He was a lot more unpredictable. He went from nearly killing you, to kissing you, to killing you anyway. You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

You both went silent for a long while after that, lost in thought, not wanting to talk about your former captain anymore.

Then a new curiosity came to mind.

“Was I… brave?” you whispered out into the room.

“What?” Chris shifted then, looking at you directly, your clasped hands falling undone.

“The night I died. Was I brave?”

He grinned fondly. “Oh, yeah. Absolutely. 'Til the very end.”

“You mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“No, not about that. Never. You were the bravest.” He paused for a moment before leaning in closer, his tone conspiratorial, “Inspiring, even.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said lightheartedly, shoving his chest.

He laughed, grabbing your wrist playfully and holding your hand to his sternum before his expression grew serious again. “I tease, but… I do mean it. You did your best under the circumstances. A hero through and through. Faced death with more grace than I probably ever could.”

That shocked you, considering your desperation to survive your trial.

You were practically a rat willing to gnaw its own leg off to escape a trap. What grace was there in that?

Chris spoke, pulling you back to reality, “Lucky, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. For a long time now, actually.”

Your gaze drew up to his at the sound of his voice, his demeanor seemingly… nervous?

How strange, you thought.

Chris was never nervous. He was a confident man. A headstrong one.

You wondered if you should be worried, but there was an openness in the way he regarded you. A vulnerability in his eyes.

What could it mean?

He swallowed, glancing away from you before he managed to get out the words, “I, uh… Well… I have feelings for you.”

Your eyes widened at his profession, the unexpectedness of it jarring you completely.

“Really?” you questioned in disbelief.

He laughed a little, sounding almost timorous. “Yeah. Really.”

“How… How long?”

He looked pensive for a moment before answering, “I mean, I’ve had a thing for you since we met if I’m being honest. You really never got the hint? I felt like I was pretty obvious about it.”

Your cheeks reddened as your mind flashed over the past few years, the weight of realizing just how oblivious you were to his advances hitting you like a ton of bricks. “No, I guess I didn’t…”

“Jeez, I really don’t know what more I could have done to get my point across. Write it on my forehead?”

“In my defense, you flirted with everyone, Chris. I thought it was harmless fun. I didn’t know you meant it.”

He winced at that and you felt bad for being so dismissive, but you knew you were right. You saw how he was before.

But he was different now, wasn’t he?

“I was an idiot for that. For not being more upfront and serious about it,” he admitted, sighing. “I was going to be, though. The night of the mansion, I was going to tell you outright what I felt. But then we were gearing up for the rescue mission and we got into that fight about you coming along and I just… didn’t.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, absentmindedly splaying your fingers out where they pressed against his chest. You could feel his heart beating under your touch. You found it hard to focus on anything else, butterflies threatening to burst from your gut and out of your mouth.

His hand traveled from around your wrist to lay on top of your own. “I promised myself that when we got back from the mission, I would tell you. But… you never made it home. So I didn’t get the chance. I always regretted it.”

Tears threatened to spill from you for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Chris finally looked back at you, swallowing down his own emotions, eyes glossy.

You felt yourself moving before you even realized what you were doing, rushing forward and pressing your mouth to his clumsily.

He was soft and warm and you didn’t mind the scrape of his chapped lips against yours.

He went rigid at the action, and you pulled back immediately, equal parts shocked by what you just did and worried you fucked it all up.

“What are you doing?” he asked you, brows knitted together.

He released his hold on your hand, your palm falling from his chest to lay beside you, now cold without his touch.

Your face grew hot with embarrassment and a dreadful sense of rejection flooded you instantly.

“I–I don’t know,” you replied quietly–truthfully.

You supposed that with his confession, every single interaction you’ve had with him in recent memory was suddenly brought under a different light.

“I didn’t tell you all of that just to get something out of it, Lucky,” he said intently. “I just wanted to get it off my chest after years of wishing I could. You don’t have to feel the same way.”

The words left his mouth, his expression earnest, and it all clicked into place.

The way he had been looking at you, the way he touched you, the way he defended and protected you, the way he took care of you.

Not just since you ended up here, but all the times before.

You thought of motorcycle rides in the countryside, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Of drunken dances in crowded bars, laughing and tugging at his hand to join you in the fray. Of cups of coffee–made just how you liked–placed on your desk during busy days. Of uttered be careful’s before every mission and urgent are you okay?’s after.

You saw everything with a sudden, blinding sort of clarity then.

“But I do,” you told him, pressing your fingers to his jaw, desperate to share this new revelation. “I do.”

A sharp exhale escaped him, as if in disbelief, a gleam brightening his dark eyes in the flickering candlelight, “Let’s do this the right way, then.”

He cupped your cheeks with both hands, lowering his face to yours.

Your eyelids fluttered closed as his lips met yours again, but this time, it was just so much more.

It was languid and tender, and you could feel his stubble scratch lightly against your skin.

You deepened the kiss, one hand fisted into his shirt while the other gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer still.

He let out a quiet groan, tangling his fingers into your hair before pressing his tongue to the seam of your mouth. You easily parted your lips for him, reveling in the minty taste of his toothpaste as he consumed you wholly.

He trailed a palm down along your side, grabbing your waist to tug you nearer. His touch lit a fire inside of you, and you wasted no time in pushing him onto his back, straddling him eagerly.

He allowed you to take the reins, both of you running your hands over each other’s bodies, your tongues melding together fervently.

You could feel him hardening beneath you and you ground down against him, gasping into his mouth at the friction.

He pulled away from you, then, breathing raggedly, his voice a warning, “Lucky…”

You leaned down and kissed along his jaw, simply stating, “I want you.”

He sat up, taking you with him, and held you still in his lap. “Maybe we should slow down, yeah?”

“Why? Do you not want this?” you questioned, feeling suddenly insecure.

Could his feelings for you have changed now that he actually had you? Were you not what he thought he wanted? Did you mess something up? Were you too desperate?

“More than you can imagine,” he assured you with a chuckle. “But you’ve been through a lot recently and you’re vulnerable right now. I don’t want to take advantage of that. It would be wrong.”

You huffed. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I haven’t lost my mind just yet.”

He sighed deeply, his voice exasperated, “Lucky, c’mon.”

“Chris, I need this. Being right here with you is the safest I’ve felt in days. The most alive. Please, just… just take it all away. Just for tonight.”

“And what if you regret it?” he asked. “I wouldn’t know how to live with myself if doing this just makes things worse for you.”

You pressed your forehead against his, feeling simultaneously so blessed to have such a thoughtful man in your arms and frustrated by his stubbornness to be so overbearingly protective of you, even against himself. “I am telling you right now, I won’t regret it. If you want me too, can you just trust my judgment on this?”

He pulled his face away from you and stared into your eyes, searching. “Tell me you’re sure.”

You breathed out, “I’m sure.”

He nodded, his large hands sliding up to hold your face once more. “Okay.”

With that, he kissed you again, more forceful than before. You practically melted into him.

You slid your hips back and forth in his lap, just to feel his clothed bulge skim against you.

A primal, guttural noise escaped his throat at your movements and he grabbed the meat of your ass to pick up the speed.

“You need this just as much as I do, don’t you?” you queried playfully, bracing your hands on his broad shoulders to steady yourself.

“I do.” He kissed along your neck, and you shivered at his hot breath sweeping across your skin. “More than anything.”

The two of you parted briefly to yank each other’s shirts off, and you grazed your eyes over his bare chest as he did the same to you.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to your breasts.

You whimpered as his tongue lapped at one of your hardening nipples, his calloused fingers gently pinching the other.

“Chris, please…” you begged, needing him to touch you lower.

He released you from his mouth and smiled at you, wide and boyish and smug. “You need to learn some patience, baby.”

Baby.

The pet name made your chest tighten. Made you lightheaded.

It wasn’t just the word itself that affected you, but the way he said it, like honey dripping from his tongue. It went straight to your core.

You sighed as he kissed you again, hard, holding you so tightly to him, you thought your bodies might just fuse together.

And then, suddenly, he flipped you onto your back, making you yelp as you bounced onto the creaky mattress below you. He chuckled as he hovered over you, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth.

“You think tossing me around is funny, huh?” you huffed, giving him a severe look.

“Only a little bit,” he replied, smiling into your skin as he trailed his mouth down your body. “That little noise you made was just too cute to pass up.”

You scoffed lightheartedly, the sound turning into more of a strangled whine as his lips brushed against your hip. He then slipped off the bed and you sat up on your bent elbows. “Where are you going?”

“Right here, sweetheart,” he informed you matter-of-factly before grabbing your legs and pulling you to the edge of the mattress.

You swallowed thickly as he tugged your pajama shorts and panties off of your body and tossed them somewhere in the room, placing your ankles on his shoulders as he pried open your thighs.

“You don’t have to…” you told him earnestly, feeling suddenly nervous now that the realization of what you were doing finally hit you.

Were you really about to fuck your best friend? Was this a good idea?

You wanted it. Badly. His confession filled you with butterflies–filled you with a need you didn’t know existed until you kissed him.

But what happens after?

“Hey,” he coaxed, turning his head to kiss the inside of your calf, “I want to. Just let me take care of you, baby.”

Oh, you were a goner now.

“O-okay.”

He smiled at you again, radiant like the sun, before he slowly began to ascend up your leg with kisses, his hand trailing a similar path on the other.

You watched him intently, practically panting because you wanted nothing more than for him to get on with it. But you couldn’t deny how good it felt to have him be so attentive to you. Relish you.

He reached your knee when he paused, bringing his free hand to caress the newly formed scab there. “What’s this?”

“M’nothing. Just nicked myself shaving,” you replied.

“What am I gonna do with you?” He sighed in faux exasperation, brushing his lips over the small cut in a way that spread warmth through your whole body. “‘Accident prone’ is right.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “Shut up and eat me out already, Redfield.”

He quirked a brow at your crass demand. “Yes, ma’am.”

He was quick to work his way up the rest of your leg, sucking a mark into your inner thigh hard enough to make your hips buck. Satisfied with his handiwork, he lowered his mouth over your aching sex, looking up at you with hunger in his dark, half-lidded eyes.

You gasped as he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, watching you closely as he teased you.

“Chris!” you whined, carding a hand through his short hair. “Please, I need more. Please.”

“Anything you want,” he said lowly, diving his tongue further into you.

Your chest was heaving as he devoured you, one of his hands gripping your thigh to keep them parted and the other pressed to your lower belly, preventing you from canting your hips.

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathed before suckling your clit in a way that had you keening.

You could feel an orgasm quickly approaching, making you fist the sheets. “M’gonna come, Chris.”

“Then come for me.” He pulled his hand from your stomach, gently nudging a finger against your entrance. You cried out in ecstasy as he sunk it deeper into you, his tongue still working against your clit.

You came hard, your vision swimming as you rutted against his finger and mouth.

He continued his movements as you rode out the high, only pulling away once you sagged into the mattress.

You picked up your head, breathing heavily, to find him looking at you, his mouth and chin glistening with your slick. He smirked at you lecherously and it made your cheeks flush.

He crawled back onto the bed and scooped you up into his arms, laying you vertically across it. He kissed you fervently as he lounged beside you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, the lasciviousness of it making you clench around nothing.

He slipped his hand down between your legs, once again pushing one of his thick digits into you, making you shudder at the intrusion.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” he lamented as he pressed his lips to your sweaty temple. “I have to get you ready for me.”

You babbled incoherently as he slotted a second finger inside of you, gripping the sheets in one hand and his taut forearm in the other. He managed to fit a third, the stretch making you gasp loudly, screwing your eyes shut at the sensation.

“There you go,” he cooed against your skin, rubbing his thumb against your sensitive clit. “You think you can come for me again?”

“Y-yeah,” you panted.

He leaned further over you, kissing you roughly. “C’mon. Give it to me.”

He caught your broken cry in his mouth as you came again, lights exploding behind your eyes as you seized up beneath him.

He pulled back to let you breathe, slowly drawing his fingers from your soaked folds, popping them into his mouth and sucking them clean of you. You whimpered at the sight.

He moved to poise above you once more, setting himself between your still-shaking legs.

You watched as he hooked his thumbs around the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs, lowering them just enough to release his hardened member.

Your breath hitched as you looked at it. It was cut, the tip weeping with precome, the base of it littered with short, dark curls. It was slightly above average in length, but that’s not what caught your attention. It was thick–thicker than you’ve ever had.

You suddenly realized why he needed three fingers.

He took the shaft into his hand, pumping it a couple times before he leaned over you, gliding the head of it through your folds leisurely.

“You sure you still want this?” he asked you. His tone was serious, but it couldn't drown out the huskiness and need in his voice.

You nodded vigorously, a whine caught in your throat as he pressed so gently against your entrance.

“You need to tell me,” came the whispered command as he stared down at you, eyes flicking over your face, his expression dark and amorous.

“Please, I want to feel you.”

He kissed your lips again, deep and passionate. “Okay, baby. I’m gonna go real slow, alright?”

“Okay,” you murmured into his mouth before he pulled back.

To his word, he pushed in slowly, the wide head of him stretching you out as he breached you. He watched you intently as you let out a silent cry, the burn of him filling you to the hilt almost overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he exhaled. “Gonna have to sit here a minute, let you adjust.”

You nodded and he lowered his head to kiss you. He pressed a palm against your breast and squeezed lightly, the sensation making you arch your back. He trailed his lips down your jaw to your neck, where he suckled gently on the flesh there.

You sighed wantonly, moving your hands against his broad chest, running them over the hair there, his abs tightening at your touch.

You shifted your hips slightly as the burn subsided, desperate to feel him move.

“M’ready, Chris,” you told him.

“Yeah?” he asked, pulling back from the bruise he left on your throat.

Tired of waiting, you bucked up a little more aggressively, your fingers trailing down to his ass to pull him closer.

He chuckled, pecking the corner of your mouth as you let out a complaintive whine. “Alright, baby, I’m gonna move now.”

You breathed heavily as he slowly–agonizingly–pulled out of you, the tip of him just barely remaining inside of you. He snapped forward in one fluid motion and the oxygen left your lungs in a high-pitched cry.

He then repeated that same action, hitting deeper with each thrust. It made your head spin. But you needed more.

“I–I need it faster–faster n’ harder, Chris. Please!” you begged, gripping his arms tightly as they caged you beneath him.

“You sure you can handle that?” he questioned, brows furrowed as he looked down at you.

“I’m not made of glass, Chris. I can handle it.”

He pressed his body closer to yours, holding your face in his hands. “I don’t want to hurt you, Lucky.”

“I trust you not to,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck and hitching your legs around his waist.

He captured your lips gently with his own. “If that’s what you want.”

He did as you requested, picking up the pace and driving his hips forward more forcefully. You let out a shriek at the feeling of it, knowing that you weren’t going to last much longer.

He leaned forward, nipping and tugging at your earlobe, grunts of pleasure being pushed through his teeth.

You dug your nails harshly into his back, crying out, “Chris, I’m close!”

His face fell into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing along your pulse point with every deep plunge. “Me too, baby.”

The pressure built up quickly, that wound up coil in your belly ready to spring for the third time.

His hand tangled into your hair as he kissed you again. “Let go for me, honey.”

All it took was a couple more strokes and you were undone, burying your face into his shoulder to muffle the scream.

You spasmed around him as he fucked you through it, a loud groan of your name–your real name, which sounded so blissful from his mouth–leaving him as he pulled out, spilling onto your stomach.

He rolled over and collapsed onto his side, the two of you still panting and heaving.

You stared up at the shadows dancing along the ceiling as you caught your breath, mind so gloriously blank after being filled with nothing but horror and grief for so long. You don’t think you’ve felt this relaxed and at peace in days.

Chris exhaled deeply beside you as he pulled his pants back up on his hips, covering his softening member once more before turning to look at you.

He sat up on one elbow as his eyes grazed over your still-naked form, resting his hand against your cheek and shifting you to face him.

“You okay?” he asked you, his voice low and steady, concern in his brown eyes.

You nodded your head weakly, feeling exhaustion creeping up on you, offering him a lazy smile. “Better than ever. Thank you.”

He let out a quiet laugh and leaned down, kissing you sweetly. “I should be thanking you.”

“I didn’t do that much. Just laid here. You did all the work,” you pointed out as he got off the bed.

He rolled his eyes at your words, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and sat beside you, gently cleaning his spend from your stomach, “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“Mission accomplished, Officer,” you joked as he finished wiping you down. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him to you, forcing him to toss the dirty article of clothing back on the linoleum to brace himself against the mattress. “You gonna spend the night?”

“Is that what you want, Lucky?” he queried, peppering kisses along your nose and cheeks, making you giggle.

“Duh. Get under the covers with me.”

You released him so that he could follow your direction, snuffing out the candle as you scooted closer to the wall, not paying any mind to the wet spot on the sheets when he shuffled under the comforter beside you.

As soon as he was situated, you laid your head against his chest. He was quick to slide his arm under you, pulling you closer to him.

“You know, I thought about what this would be like for a long time,” he said quietly in the dark, stroking your hair.

“Was it everything you wanted?” you asked, curious. Nervous.

He kissed your head, the adoration in his voice almost palpable, “Everything and more.”

You smiled to yourself before shifting to face him, even though you couldn’t make out his features in the blackened room. “You were pretty good yourself.”

He laughed. “Happy to be of service.”

You giggled with him, laying your head back against his chest.

A quiet crept upon you, the only sounds the whipping wind outside the window and your breaths as they gradually evened out.

You were almost asleep when Chris spoke once more, “Lucky?”

“Yeah, Chris?”

“Was this a one-time thing?”

Your eyes widened at that, his tone clearly trying to sound unaffected, but there was an underlying apprehension in his words.

“Oh, don’t think for a second I’m letting you go now,” you told him.

It was lighthearted, but you were serious. You’d never been one for hookups anyway, but after everything you and Chris had been through together–after all he had done for you–you doubted you ever wanted him out of your bed again, regardless of whatever this was that transpired between you.

His strong arms wrapped around you, tugging you closer, a contentedness in his voice that you hadn’t heard since you’d arrived in this nightmarish place, “Good. Cos you were gonna be stuck with me anyway.”

You had felt so adrift until this moment–like you were lost at sea–but here, kept warm in Chris’s comforting embrace, you were held fast.

The waves could crash upon you and the storm could rage around you, but you knew now that he was your anchor.

An anchor to something good.

My silver lining.

--------------------

Masterlist | Previous | Next

#albert wesker x reader #chris redfield x reader #albert wesker #chris redfield #dead by daylight #resident evil #dbd #re #the betrayer

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frecklystars · 5 days

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I'm curious, what's the werewolf driver AU about? I mean I can kinda guess, but like, what's the lore? Is there any lore? Curious minds are inquiring Keri (the minds are me).

(Also, I don't mind if you write like paragraphs about it, I want to see you gush about your werewolf bf like a dam is breaking)

OMG HI HONEY!!!!!!! THANK YOU FOR ASKING!!!!!! 😍😍😍😍😍

You have given me permission to explode? I SHALL EXPLODE:

I’ll be honest... I.... don’t have any actual information on the AU yet... 😳 [insert Plankton "I don't know, I didn't think I'd get this far" meme here] I don’t have a story or anything, but I DO know I wanna draw Driver as a werewolf at some point and I’m gonna be so real with you as to why:

OKAY SO;;; some time ago, I don't know if it has been a year or maybe even a couple of years ago, but it was confirmed Ryan Gosling was going to play the main character in the upcoming movie The Wolf Man (scheduled to release January 2025) as... uh, the wolf...man. It is a reboot of The Wolf Man 1941 (not The Wolfman 2010)

The details here are totally mixed for me bc every article says something different about the directing details, but I believe Derek Cianfrance (who directed a few of Ryan's other films such as Blue Valentine and The Place Beyond the Pines) was going to direct it at some point. I don't know if he was originally the chosen director... or if someone else stepped down and then Derek took their place? Either way, the monsterfucker in me was so excited for a werewolf Ryan F/O. Could you imagine the smut fics… the fanart… the video edits… I was SO READY. I have ALWAYS wanted a new werewolf F/O, always always always!!! I used to have one, but that was from [redacted source material] so now I was REALLY excited to add a brand new werewolf to the F/O list ❤

WELL. Flash forward, SOMETHING HAPPENS? We don’t have the details as to why, but in December 2023, it was revealed Derek pulled out of the movie, and so did Ryan. No more Wolfman. THE MONSTERFUCKER IN ME WAS CRUSHED........ WE ALL MOURNED.........

Not even one week later, I thought, "Well, whatever, I can still make my own OC, right?? Ryan Gosling as the wolf man can be real in my heart and in my art!!!" alas, I am not creative so I can't come up with a story... or a design... and I can't watch horror, so there's no way in hell I can watch the original wolfman movie for reference, unless if someone wants to watch it with me to give me some emotional support I guess 😅 so my plan to draw an OC who looks like Ryan Gosling, But A Wolf™ was thrown out the window.

Eventually, I find a very old post where someone clipped 30 seconds from a Drive interview where he talks about the main character from Drive (whose name is listed in the credits as... Driver... yeah don't worry about it) is a "metaphorical werewolf". In a separate article, Ryan brought up that Driver “is a regular guy during the day and then turns into a killer at night” which, yeah I guess he is, when you think about it! I won't spoil the events of Drive, but any kind of violence that Driver had to do in that movie was completely against his will. The dude just wants to drive his cars!!! But no. Shenanigans have to ensue? 😔 smh…

It was when I watched that video that I realized “hey??? you can do whatever you want forever???? I wanna make an AU where Driver turns into a werewolf to protect his girl :]” so now I have a tag for it! Do I have a story?? Not yet! Will I ever make one?? Haha... probably not :) BUT at some point I do want to make drawings of Driver with glowing golden eyes, or maybe hot pink glowing eyes (the font of the movie is a neon pinkish-purple and it's GORGEOUS and I love associating him with that). I'd love to doodle some really subtle stuff like his human form is standing in front of a garage door and his shadow silhouette is a wolf,,, or something. Maybe him snarling with sharp teeth. I don’t know if I’m skilled enough to draw an actual werewolf form, but hey, maybe with practice I can pull something off!! Or when I find another job and make a bit more money I can commission someone else to draw a werewolf form as a reference for me to work with LOL

And like. ok. ok. not to get TMI but listen. listen. the whole entire reason why I want this AU in the first place -- yes, I love my bodyguard F/Os, and I grip onto the idea of a fictional character being protective over me with the force of a thousand suns, and that's definitely a part of why I wanted to make an AU of a canonically violently protective character being even more violently protective than he already is -- but also. but also. BUT ALSO... [deep inhale]... I just... really, really, really... need some werewolf F/O smut. ok. I'm severely lacking in the monster F/O department 😤😤 all of us monsterfuckers were ROBBED of a Ryan Gosling Wolf, and by god, someone's gotta FIX THAT!!!!! 🔨✨

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK. [drops mic] [immediately picks it back up because holy smokes mics are expensive why did I do that]

#iwishihadfangs #asks #werewolf!driver AU #THANK YOU HONEYYYY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH #youre one of the sweetest ppl EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!#[HUGS!!!!!!!] 🤗🤗🤗💙💙💙💙💙🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

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ladytauria · 5 months

Note

hey liv sorry in advance i am nosy

🍓🐇🧃🪐🍬🦷🦋🦴🪲

dont be sorry! i enjoy nosy uwu

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?

hmm

i was 12. my favorite tv show at the time was this old disney cartoon, "super robot monkey team hyper force go" (abbreviated as SRMTHFG or SRMTHG. i prefer the first but plenty of people use the second.) it was canceled after its 4th season and, uh. the ending was SO bad. like, major major cliffhanger.

anyway, i was looking up... i don't even remember at the time. and i discovered deviantart, and i discovered this person's OCs. read a lot about them, including some fanfic, and then eventually discovered fanfiction.net

i didn't realize what it was at first; i thought it was just a writing in general site? and i was like oh! i can share the book i'm working on! (i have been trying to write a novel since i was 10). and then as i was looking into where i would post it, i realized what it actually was. (no, the title didn't give it away. idk why.)

so then i was like oh!!! this is really cool actually!!! and i wrote my first fanfic xD

that was in 2011? so i was 12, almost 13.

and i've been reading & writing fic ever since~

🐇 ⇢ do you prefer writing original characters, reader inserts, or a mix of both?

okay so this is a tough question

bc like

i love love love love love second person.

like.

*adore* it.

second person, present tense is my absolute fave, but past tense is good too. (i have written an entire sapphic little mermaid retelling [12k words i think] in second person. uh, it needs revisions but it's a full draft. i opened it it the other day and im still so proud of it uwu)

howEVER. outside of writing second person w/o ever explicitly naming the pov character i have not actually written a reader-insert? so for that reason alone i will have to say 'prefer writing oc's'

🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

uhh

i'm a chronic oversharer (mostly in the tags) so that's kind of tough!

ah! since my grandmother's memory issues started, i've been doing about half of the cooking (it's been a bit of a battle, as she keeps trying to do everything xD) and i've cooked a lot of new things this year!! i've gotten very good at cooking pork chops. which 🤔 now that i bring that up, i might make friday! or tonight, but they're still in the freezer, so...

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

my grandmother's memory situation has improved a lot!! it's still not great, but like. strides ahead of where we were 7-8 months ago!

my anxiety has been much kinder to me this year <3 i've made some very lovely friends this year~

mmm, oH, my energy levels have been fantastic this year. i didn't realize just how bad they had gotten until i started these new meds, and now i'm just. <333 much better.

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

idk if i have any unpopular opinions...? i mean. i'm sure i must, but... nothing immediately comes to mind ^^;

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

hmmm

recently been trying to get in the habit of summarizing what i want to do before i start writing. it makes the process much easier, if ik a bit about what i want to do before going in?

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately

i am much better at being patient than i ever gave myself credit for in the past <3

🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing?

i can't think of one piece in particular, as the places i find inspiration are. all over the board?

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

picked a wip from my open tabs at random! funnily enough this is also the one i ended up doing for the emoji ask xD

it's also almost triple what this asked for but once i started writing i couldn't stop <3

He swallows, staring up at Tim. Jason has had plenty of practice reading people through a domino, but. He has no reference for the look Tim is giving him now. Only that it— That the feeling it gives him is… is new and strange. He has no name for it, the way his stomach feels fluttery and tight, his scalp and fingers tingling. His mouth opens—but all that escapes is a stuttery puff of air. That’s okay. He doesn’t know what he was going to say anyway. Tim hooks a gloved finger under his chin; tipping his face up. He leans in, slowly—so slow that Jason— There’s nothing keeping him there. He could run. Turn away. But he feels caught, feet anchored in place. Tim’s mouth touches his, and all thought leaves him. Jason has never been kissed before.

[ writers truth or dare ask game ]

#ask gaming #felinemotif #asks and answers #tauriawritesfanfic #the color of hope (canary yellow)

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demonicfreakish · 3 months

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| Boundaries Post |

It still bugs me I have to do this but I know I do. Bc apparently ppl don't know how to respect boundaries. I had to deal with this earlier a year or two ago and to make matters worse- they didn't care I was married. Oof... I know most people have common sense and my followers know me enough to not do this but new followers or people running on one brain cell (the ppl that need to get horni bonked) need to know this. So this should be pretty self-explanatory but here it is in writing anyway. Keep in mind if you are one of those ppl that need the horni bonk- keep in mind mine is a damn sludge hammer I call the BAN hammer. You've been warned.

| My Boundaries |

Here is a comprehensive list of what I am NOT & AM comfortable with- please respect me, my art, my stories, my lore, and my OCs

Nsfw Art: I do not mind light flirty comments with this but don't direct it at me.

My OCs: Light flirty comments are ok- So long as they AREN'T a persona of mine (Except Clyide bc I am fine regardless if he's my malesona- not sure why I just am)

Feral Creature Lore: NO that is a HUGE no! I will consider that Zooph and I WILL block you.

Intelligent Creature Lore: Absolutely ok with compliments & flirtiness~ I know some of the species I make are attractive and I'm cool with it!

Abaddon Vicalies: NO NO NO AND FUCK NO! This OC is my husband's main persona & literally is him (we designed the character in his image with fantasy deets/lore). He is completely off limits- Keep in mind there is a reason that will be detailed in my trigger post. You WILL get banned & blacklisted.

Me/Areeha Windler/Aria Yager: NO I/both those OCs are personas- keep in mind I am Demisxual and I have severe adversity to anyone who flirts with me.

Lemon Comics: 100% Okay with light flirty, only when it depends on the subject and which OC is involved. But I do love to hear what you thought of the comic! :D

Vore & Sizey Content: NO! Unless the content is very clearly supposed to be Lemons/NSFW- I do not consider these two subjects as inherited horni material/fetishy. I use these two subjects as details/characteristics/themes in stories & art. Not as fetish material.

Anything SFW lore, comic, art, animation, etc related just keep it pg13. I love to hear what people have to say- so long as it's appropriate and not mean- it always brings me joy to see what ppl think of my work~

Other than that- Keep in mind these are my boundaries. Bc I am Demi & a few other issues- I dislike any kind of sxual attention aimed at me. The only time I am cool with it is from my husband. Bc duh. And the occasional flirtiness from my best friend Rosemiri is cool~

Why have this?

Well, sadly, I keep getting people that objectify me and my art. I'm not joking. It's actually a real thing. But I refuse to bring attention to it bc it just makes me feel worse. Either they sxualize my art. Or my OCs. And then by extension- me. It makes me uncomfortable, dirty, and unsafe. Usually, by that point, my husband steps in. But I have had to deal with on more than one occasion where I was sexually harassed in DMs or on my art posts. I like using vore and gt in my stories and lore as a trope/plot detail. Not as a fetish. Because I feel like it adds a nice story dynamic. I don't use it as a coping thing or a safe thing like I've seen others do. I use it just for the reasons I've stated. So I'm sorry if I came off brutal in this post- but I have to draw the line here before I get hurt and someone steps over a boundary they didn't even know is there. Hopefully this is informative- Hope y'all have a great day~ And I'll see you guys in the next post~

#DF Updates #DF Info

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stereopticons · 1 year

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Fic Origin Story

tagged by @rmd-writes and @mostlyinthemorning

What was your first fandom (reading and/or writing)?

The Rent fandom was my very first exposure to fic, both reading and writing. I was thirteen? Idk. A teenager, definitely. I think some of my Mark/Roger fics are still on ff.net, unfortunately. Including a preschool au because there's something wrong with me.

What was the first story you ever wrote (even if it was never posted) and what made you decide to write it?

First story ever? God, I have no idea. My primary hobby as a child was making up stories. If any of my fellow old millennials remember Storybook Weaver, that was my favorite computer "game". I used to read my stories during show and tell (and several members of the class would fight over the bathroom pass so they wouldn't have to stay and listen). I do remember writing a story about dogs who go into space and fight aliens. I also wrote a story about a second Titanic that was also supposed to be unsinkable that also sank. It was...special.

My first fic was a Mark/Roger multi-chapter fic that's apparently 11k words and the only description I felt necessary to put in was "very angsty, slightly morbid" (thanks to ff.net's lack of a tagging system) and I will not be re-reading it to try to remember what it's actually about. I apparently started posting it more than 20 years ago so I have literally no idea what made me decide to write it.

My first SC fic was Persistence of Memory which I wrote in October 2021. I was writing my dissertation and struggling with some mental health stuff, and I had a dream about David and decided I needed to poke and prod at his anxiety for a bit.

What’s a piece of advice you would give to your younger fic-writing self?

It doesn't have to all be angst. It's FINE to let your characters be happy. Please get some therapy. Also, you're queer.

What’s an early fandom interaction that stuck with you (be it a nice comment, a friend you made, a fic that got a lot of feedback etc.)?

I am still friends with people I met through fandom 20 years ago and I think that's so cool. I felt very alone a lot when I was a teenager, and it was nice to have these online friends with shared interests. They weren't quite pocket friends because I didn't have a cell phone, much less a smartphone, but it was the same idea, and it meant so much to me.

Post a sentence or two from one of your older fics, and a sentence or two from a newer one (if you want).

Oh boy. Okay. So I'll post a few sentences of my first Rent fic but please remember I was a literal child when I wrote this so please don't judge me too harshly (and no, I won't link it).

Mark stared blankly at the ceiling, slowly running the events of the day through his head. Only slowly, because, really, not much had happened. It had been an annoyingly normal day. He wished something would happen, just something.

And a few lines I wrote last night:

The word ‘queer’ makes a series of complicated emotions that David is not nearly sober enough to interpret march across Patrick’s face, and he tenses briefly, a deeply ingrained fear in him flaring up. But then Patrick goes and says, “Wow, that’s…that sounds incredible, David,” with a kind of reverence and awe that adds several more questions to David’s mental list of things he wants to know about this man.

“We’re having an opening next week, if you’re interested.” The words leave David’s mouth before he can even try to stop them.

tagging @hippolotamus @alienajackson @rosedavid @jettestar @gayhoediaz @roseapothecary @plainest @treluna4 @apothecarose and anyone else who wants to play.

#this is deeply embarassing #but i'm happy to report that my writing has improved over the last 20 years

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gumnut-logic · 2 years

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Nutty’s Fandomversary

It is July 17th, the anniversary of publishing my first Thunderbirds fic FOUR years ago.

After over 1.2 million words across 240+ fics and 8600+ posts to this blog, I’m still here. A little frayed around the edges, but still kicking :D

Every year as this date passes, I try to celebrate by offering something back to the fandom for all the amazing support and wonderfulness that is Thunderfam. You are an amazing bunch of people and I’m far from perfect and feel I never do enough to be worthy of your kindness, yet you still support me and my crazy.

For the last three Fandomversaries, I’ve given you the opportunity to send me a character and a prompt and the the stories that have grown from that inspiration are listed under some of my favourites. The biggest downer is that I haven’t answered all the prompts sent me, and I feel bad for those I haven’t thanked properly, so I was hesitant to send out this offer again this year.

However, if you would like to send me an ask with a prompt, you are most certainly welcome, and here’s hoping it will spark something. I usually think a character and a word does the job best, but this year, send me whatever you want and I will see what I can do.

Or alternatively, send me a question. Ask away, and hopefully I can answer.

But most of all, send me something you would like me to do, even if it is to finish one of my wips (yeah, I know there are a lot of them).

I would like to do something nice for you guys and something to celebrate this Fandomversary.

As always, there are no guarantees. My head is currently trying to write the last chapter of the Loopy fic, and thinking about Steampunk AU and the Supermen AU and what I can add to those.

But anyways, send me stuff so I can thank you for all your support, and here’s hoping for more fandomversaries to come :D

Nutty

(okay, it is officially 32 minutes after midnight, been meaning to do this all day, but work and other stuff - it is still the 17 July is other parts of the world so this still counts ::hugs you all::)

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #nuttys fandomversary

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melancholy-marionette · 1 year

Note

(I apologize for the errors, I use Google Translator to write this post) Hello, not so long ago I found out about your game "Darling Duality" and, having passed it the other day, fell in love with it! You draw amazing, and I almost really fell in love with Castor (you picked up an amazing voice for him, it's nice to listen to him). The way the atmosphere is conveyed deserves separate words. First, the calmness of the day / evening for the passage of the game, then a sweet and slightly anxious feeling during the first sleep with Castor, then embarrassment and panic fright in the cube with a slight madness (when we cut our palm) and at the very end a light comedy made me not get bored and experience emotions throughout the passage of the demo game! You write amazing music that conveys the atmosphere well! Please forgive me if my message seems strange or stupid to you, but in addition to thanking you for playing, I would like to ask a couple of questions (of course, if you don't mind):

Is it possible to ask questions about the character? I would like to learn as much as possible about Castor/Castoria, but if you can't, then I'll understand everything.

How is the development of the game progressing and when, perhaps, will we be able to see the sequel? (please forgive me if my question sounded rude. In no way am I going to be rude to you, rush you or put pressure on you)

Thank you so much for the wonderful game, and I wish you success in everything!

Hey hey! Thanks so much for all your kind words :3 I'm really glad you've enjoyed what there is of DD so far! I just wanted to let you know that I do plan to answer your questions and write you a proper reply, I just don't have time to do it at the moment because I'm really busy trying to get my project for this year's Yandere Jam done in time (the jam ends this coming Tuesday x3) I just didn't want you to think I was ignoring you or anything, so thought I'd let you know that I will answer when I can, it just might be a little while :3 Hope you have a good weekend! EDIT (to add my full answer :3)

Okay, so, hopefully I'm doing this right and you'll be able to see what I'm typing cos I don't really know how Tumblr works all that well x3

Firstly, I should probably say that, while I wish with all my heart that I could draw, I sadly cannot draw to save my life T_T haha. The art in all my games is either the result of me teaming up with amazing artists who can draw beautifully, or, me taking to GIMP and spending hours editing assets that I own to at least try and make them look somewhat unique to my projects rather than using them as they come :3

Darling Duality is the result of the second option, haha. I think it took me around 3 days to edit Castor/ia's sprites because I heavily edited colours, but I also added additional facial expressions that didn't come with the asset pack by layering parts of the face individualy, haha.

I'm glad you ended up liking Castor though ^-^ And I agree, his voice actor is incredible and the character wouldn't be the same without him!

I can also only take credit for certain music tracks within the game x3 The soundtrack is currently only partially original, and the rest of the tracks are ones I chose from various asset packs that felt like they fit well. I really enjoy making music though, so I've been trying to include more and more original tracks in my more recent projects :3

Your message doesn't seem strange or stupid at all though! I think it's extremely sweet :3 And it means a lot to me that you liked the game enough to even want to write something about it ^-^

I don't mind answering questions at all, so you're welcome to ask whatever you like :3 There might be some things that I can't say if they might contain spoilers for the story that is still to come, but I'll do my best to answer what I can.

To answer your second question, in all honesty, development is going very slowly >.< I got quite demotivated to work on the project when I found out that I might not be able to get the same voice actors back to keep playing the characters. So I ended up putting the project on hold and just working on game jams for quite a while.

The voice acting situation is still up in the air, but I am at least slowly working on the project again :3 I have a lot of writing finished that currently isn't coded into the game yet. In the next update, I'm hoping to continue a little more of Castor/ia's story, along with adding a new character to the mix as well whose route you will be able to begin.

It's a very long-term project though because I hope to add quite a few different characters over time. Because of that, my plan was to update sort of episodically, so that it doesn't take forever to release new content. Because the fully completed game will likely take me years to make >.<

As for the next update though, I can't really put a proper time on when I might be able to get it released, but I'm really hoping that it will at least be sometime later this year :3 It's just hard to say because you never know what is going to go wrong and get in the ay, haha.

Thank YOU for taking the time to check the game out and leave such kind words <3

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greywindys · 8 months

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Can you tell us what others 2doc's dynamic ships come to your mind? Jsjsj

...I don't know if you want to open this door, anon, lmao. I think I used the wrong term when I said "ship." I'm going to share a non-exhaustive (I'm not going to get too spicy atm) list here, but I also want to clarify that I don't really ship any of these, and in some cases, idt some of this media has a fandom with active ships anyway. Instead, think of this as a list of potential 2Doc AUs that have likely never been done before (I've certainly given consideration to all of them lmao). In general, the 2Doc dynamic, or a version of the 2Doc dynamic, exists in a lot of media. If you watch any of these, and come out supporting a ship, then I support you! But you can think of these in a platonic sense as well. This post will also be long because I talk a lot, and I wanted to find Youtube clips.

Succession: I've talked ad nauseam on this blog about TomGreg (Tom = Murdoc, Greg = 2D), and while I don't want to repeat myself, I couldn't make this post in good conscious without including them. This is quintessential 2Doc if canon ever gave 2Doc the development it deserved. In fact, I have a half-completed draft still sitting around that highlights every parallel. Here is a longer post where I begin to talk about some similarities. I love Succession on its own, but it is also home to so many of my personal Murdoc hcs. I owe it my life.

While we're here, I'd also add an honorable mention to TomShiv (Tom = 2D, Shiv = Murdoc) with the way she hurts him over and over and he keeps coming back to her, and the way they hate each other by the end of the series, but also realize they can't live without one another. This is the abridged version, but I'm trying not to make this so ridiculously long. I can go into more detail if anyone wants me to. Anyhow, here is a TomGreg clip. There are literally so many compilations on Youtube, but this is one of the more iconic scenes, imo, and it should gets it's chance to shine.

youtube

The Lighthouse: This comparison should be relatively familiar to 2Doc fans, I believe? I knew about this movie before it was cool, though, because I love Robert Eggers as a director. He managed to unintentionally write an amazing PB - two men, trapped on an island together slowly lose their minds. Fun for any ship, tbh! But PB and 2Doc similarities are undeniable. This portrayal will be more appealing to those who enjoy earlier 2Doc (P1-3), though Robert Pattinson's character has both flaws and a backbone, and I like to think of 2D this way as well. Willem Dafoe's character also gets his comeuppance. Tbh, this is my PB.

youtube

Seven Days in Hell: 2Doc tennis AU? A strange combination to consider. I forget why I watched this years ago. I think I was still coming out of the GOT fandom and wanted to watch some of the casts' new project. Anyhow, this may be appealing to fans of the 2Doc as bitter rivals/enemies. Kit Harrington's character reminds me of 2D SO much lmao. And Andy Samberg's character is very Murdoc.Fair warning, I believe this has a bad ending, but I remember liking it. There are also probably some problematic elements I'm forgetting to mention, but we're also talking about 2Doc here. Indubitably.

youtube

Whatever is going on with these guys aka The Climb: Okay, I'll be honest, I never actually watched this movie. The trailer played while I was at the theater to see a different movie. However, it stuck out to me for it's depiction of a "toxic friendship," enough that I posted about it on this blog years ago. That's actually the only way I remembered it. I was browsing through my video history looking for my Taylor Swift AMV and stumbled upon the original post. I thought, "wtf is that, and why did I post it?" And it was because of 2Doc. And idk, it doesn't look that bad! I enjoy little indie movies like this.

youtube

Glee: Listen. Or don't. I'm going to attempt to outline the main points of my argument in a short paragraph. Rachel Berry is ruthless in pursuit of her ultimate goal of becoming a Broadway star and will happily sacrifice friendships, others' successes and safety (she once sent a student she viewed as competition to crack house to dissuade them from joining Glee Club so she could have less competition for solos) etc to achieve it. Finn is kind of dumb, tall but nonetheless popular. In the early season, Rachel fixates on him and it creeps him out. Visually, their heights are similar to 2D and Murdoc. While, as many know, the show starts to flop quality wise in season 2, the 2Doc dynamic is there, though obviously not nearly as unhealthy as Gorillaz 2Doc. But this was that fandom I came from prior to following Gorillaz! And I thought back to Finn's characterization quite a bit while writing 2D in The Answer.

youtube

Okay, so that's six to start off. I'm happy to defend my choices so far kskalds. Or if you, or anyone else, has any ship platonic or otherwise that you want to add, feel free to do so!

#asks.#Anonymous #2doc

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maybege · 2 years

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Okay you want to know what really truly pisses me off right about now? How little people seem to realize that writers are serious when they say they’ll stop writing. Do you think we’re joking when we’re begging for even the slightest bit of interaction? Do you think we just invent stuff out of thin air when we say that likes mean nothing and are not enough? What do you need to happen to realize that you give us no incentive to post and that we won’t post without incentive?

Let me take an example that’s been really bothering me these last few days. I’ve seen tons of posts in the Criminal Minds fandom - especially the Aaron Hotchner part of it - that lament that writers leave and that there’s no new content and “oh no I want to read more stuff but there’s nothing there!” - well how do you think that happened? Why do you think that is?

As someone who writes fanfic on a regular basis, I am this 👌 close to just leaving altogether and never look back.

I have a fanfic series where I posted the last part 2 weeks ago. It has no comments on AO3 and no comments on tumblr except for two reblogs without a comment (which even that I’m grateful for). On the part before that, I got 5 comments on tumblr (2 of which were merely asking whether I could add them to a non existent tag list) and 3 much appreciated comments on AO3.

Now you may say “May! It’s better to get a few comments than none at all” and “You can’t force people to like your story!”. That is all very true and technically these sentiments are correct. Only I have over 1k followers on tumblr and that particular fic has over 116 bookmarks, 83 subscriptions and has gotten over 5k hits on ao3.

By all accounts: I know that people are reading the story. They’re just not commenting on it.

The same goes for literally every fandom out there. Do you think I even want to write for Star Wars anymore? Even if you’re lucky enough to get featured on a rec list or people discover your stories through reblogs (which btw is the main source people discover fics through!), people only ever leave a like. Do you have any idea how many mornings I’ve woken up to 99+ notifs and I was so excited only to see that it’s been people binge liking literally every single piece I post? And how often I get dms, asks and sometimes even comments on AO3 that only ever ask for the next part, that only ever ask for more?

I don’t want your likes. Fuck your likes. I want to know what you thought of a story, what you felt when you read it, if you sympathize with the characters or not. I. Don’t. Want. Your. Likes.

Start reblogging and commenting on shit or watch the fandoms you so enjoy wither away into nothingness and when you ask yourself what happened to your favourite writers? They’re probably enjoying a mock tail at their laptop where they’re writing their little stories just for themselves because it’s not worth it to share them anymore.

#may rambles #fandom #fanfiction #I had a bad day and I am angry and I feel like it needs to be said #if you don’t engage there soon won’t be anything left for you to not engage with

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magpierrecanarie · 1 year

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Found the design sheet! Only took me a while to sort through the mess that's my "my stuff 2" folder. I don't even know why I named it that since this laptop is literally my own.

TL;DR: I talk about my Vocaloid Oliver design, show some progress pics and talk more regarding his overall concept.

↓↓ Click here if you'd like to know more! ↓↓

So... if you've been following me for a bit, you'll probably realize that I've changed from posting everyday to posting every other day. Well, about that, it's because I realized that I'll actually run out of artworks at this rate since I'm relatively slow in making art in general.

Which brings me to today's topic! I'd like to talk about some of the process I go through whenever I design a character, or in this case: Oliver.

Like, I don't know if you've noticed but I'm not exactly good at art, sometimes I reuse poses and it ticks me off, othertimes I literally reuse identical character distinctions and it takes me a while before realizing. However, I do always try my best to not have overlapping character designs so that every one of them is unique in their own way. My personal favourite trick is to add something that's awfully big and obvious that makes them look clearly different, even when they're completely shaded over with black (Oliver's tail).

First things first, I try to come up with a doodle with some sort of concept in mind. There were actually a couple more pre-concept art doodles that I made a good 4-5 years ago that isn't included in this post, I'm considering posting it (+ another one I drew up a year ago) in a separate post since it's getting a bit late and I don't feel like digging it up.

Since I'm playing around with an Oliver from a universe where the Vocaloids are an alternate version of their original VPs (more clarification in the previous Oliver fanart), + I mentioned that his specific side-effect was borderlining on life-threatening (also in the previous Oliver post), I decided to draw him as half human, half Nessie the Loch Ness Monster.

There were quite a number of reasons why I chose her compared to other monsters: 1) I've always had the headcannon that the PowerFX Vocaloids were like a big family, not necessarily blood-related but they're spiritually bounded to each other. Since I personally believe that Sweet Ann and Big Al are Oliver's new adoptive parents, I think it'll be nice for him to also be a monster in some way. (+ the amount of Oliver is a monster/half-monster headcannons in the fandom is uhh, hoo boy) 2) Oliver has always reminded me of a sailor. I don't know why and I'm pretty sure his entire costume is based off of a pre-existing choir's outfit, so there's literally no reason for it to have ties to the sea. Maybe it's the colour palette? Or maybe a Vocaloid fanfiction I read a long time ago that I've forgotten since then? Idk, but either way I really like the thought that he came from either a family of sailors or a family that lived close to the sea. 3) Okay, if you know anything about the Loch Ness Monster myth, you'd know that its origin is from Scotland and not you know, Britain, where Oliver's supposedly from. And to that I say, my argument as a South-east Asian is that it's CLOSE ENOUGH... Plus, I don't think there's other Sea Monster myths that are as easily recognizable as Nessie, who ironically enough doesn't even live in the sea, rather, she lives in a fucking lake. But still, the other couple of Sea Monsters/Sea Creatures myths that I think are decently popular are probably the Kraken or the Mermaids + Sirens. The Kraken is eliminated from the selection since this isn't supposed to be the Horror genre LOL, and the Mermaids + Sirens are a bit too far regionally, plus they're a bit basic (sorry to all my Mermaids + Sirens lovers out there) imo.

There are some ugly AF doodles here but it's what you go through when you're me, sadly.

Also, if you noticed but here I finalized the design you saw in the previous Oliver fanart where he was wearing a merge of these two testing designs of his cloak:

The former was partially inspired by the Scottish Kilt Sash, though it's not very obvious since Oli's not Scottish so I just took inspo from the way it's usually framed on one's body. The latter however was inspired by manta rays, they look STUPID as hell and I love them, so as a compromise, I merged the two cloaks together and that's what became of the current one! B)

It's actually getting a bit too long for my laptop to handle so I'll leave it here for now.💀💀

See you on Friday! B) Might be posting an original artwork then so you can look forward to it!

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syn-odics · 2 years

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alex. can you. tell me about your dnd ocs. 5 paragraph minimum

WELL I SURE THINK I CAN HEEHEHEEEHE

ok so before i get into it, i do have a whole oc blog @glasyasbutch that i used to use a lot when we were all locked inside our houses and now i reblog like. one post a week. BUT it does have a page w all the characters so u can see like. art and stuff bc i wont be trying to add images to this post

OKAYOKAY OKAY . SO. I . okay. okay. I’m not gonna do all of them bc i have a lot of them but i’ll do . all the ones I’ve played recently + a few others I think are really fun.

1. Stitch: this is the PC from the game i was talking about in the server last night, its not actually d&d, it’s a noir detective-inspired super power system called City of Mist. Our campaign is set in a steampunk-ish tiered city with like 300 floors to it, the higher you go the richer it gets. Stitch is an early 20s girl who wears huge glasses and turtlenecks/scarves all the time. She’s a seamstress who makes dresses for the upper upper floors.

About four years ago one of her regular clients, Bela la Monte, was actually another rift (in universe name for people w powers) training Stitch in using her powers, which are. I guess easiest way to describe it is force powers?? She can like push/pull/crush/stretch things at a distance, with a lot of strength coming at the cost of no fine control (she can blow down a door, but couldn’t be delicate enough to just turn the handle).

She killed Bela’s husband in an accident with her powers, essentially crushing his throat and killing him, and she suffered a little bit of backlash which left her with marks on her own neck which she wears the high necks/scarves to hide. Bela took the heat of the criminal investigation, basically playing up the Black Widow trope and implying she was the one who killed him but would pay her way out of a conviction if she got one so it wouldn’t be worth it to charge her.

During the investigation, Bela and Stitch agreed to stop spending time around each other to try and keep them from prying too much into Stitch and potentially uncovering her guilt, and Stitch just hasn’t heard from Bela in 4 years. (Unbeknownst to her, Bela convinced herself that the accident was premeditated and Stitch had been planning to take them both out, and now has a huge vendetta she’s waiting for right moment to follow through on). Without Bela’s guidance, Stitch has been trying to find other Rifts who can help her learn about and control her powers, which means sticking her nose into all kinds of troublesome accidents and mysteries around the city but also having to stay unnoticed so her past doesn’t get dug up.

2. Craving: My one and only, I have genuinely written like 3000 word essays about Craving’s backstory and I will try to pare it down.

She’s a tiefling, wine red skin w very very very long very very very curly hair. One side of her head appears to have very close cropped hair but if you look closely, it’s actually very little barbs, which she actually has all over her body (she is a barbed tiefling). shes goth and wears exclusively like victorian style ballgowns that make her boobs look good. She started as a rogue and over the course of the campaign also started taking levels in warlock (i’ll talk more on that later).

she has like every tragic backstory you can think of all smashed into one. she grew up poor in a gentrified area, her parents dying while she was young due to poverty/medical malpractice (more there that i dont have space to get into or i’ll be here all day). she (named velis at the time), her brother sirris, and sirris’ boyfriend rolx ran their family’s antique store and were barely scraping by but it was a happy life, until one day the shop got ransacked and set on fire with them still inside in a deliberate hate crime. sirris died, and velis and rolx vowed revenge.

they took the names craving (because she would never be able to take back enough of what the world owed her) and manic (because he was only living to satisfy his rage) and basically went on a revenge quest, first killing the guys who set fire to their town and then just sticking with the outlaw “rich people don’t deserve shit, bleed em dry” mentality.

while doing that, she met a gnome named stella who had her own fire-based dead family trauma that caused her to turn to a life of crime and they got arrested and broke out of jail together. Over several months of meeting randomly, and then not-so-randomly, to spend the night and work jobs together they fell in love but craving refused to admit it bc she’d seen w her parents and then rolx and sirris that love only ends in tragedy.

and she was right - stella went missing without a trace one day (i have other backstory there again wont get into it or we’ll be here all day). alone again w just her and manic, they ended getting sucked into barovia aka inescapable vampire-infested hellscape. which is the actual campaign.

two other people in the party were a rogue/warlock named leoros and a cleric named judhas. craving was immediately very jealous of leoros bc, due to a combination of him having super crazy stat bonuses and me not being able to roll dice for shit, basically was just better at being a rogue than craving was. and she has a HUGE ego and a HUGE inferiority complex and would have done anything to not feel second best.

enter judhas, who as it turns out, was a cleric of asmodeus. the devil. and he was like uhhhhh you know. i can hook you up with someone. and he sent glasya, the demon in charge of manipulation and loopholes to offer craving a warlock pact to give her powers. in one of the coolest rp moments of all time, she showed up trying to strike a chord with the inferiority complex being like “oooh craving ... youre so weak and pathetic ... you have no morals and no skills ... its only a matter of time before they all realize it and leave you ... what a pity.” and then craving starts LAUGHING and she’s like “you almost had me, you really did, but the only thing I hate worse than being weak is being pitied.” and then GLASYA goes “well, before you leave, can i at least show you why I pity you?”

AND THEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE PULLS UP A LOST SOUL FROM HELL AND IS LIKE “IF YOU TOOK MY DEAL, AND LET ME TEACH YOU, YOU MIGHT EVENTUALLY HAVE THE POWER TO SAVE HIM. BUT IF YOU DON’T, WELL ... AND TURNS TO LOOK AT THE SOUL AND SAYS ‘SAY GOODBYE TO CRAVING, SIRRIS. TELL ROLX HELLO FOR HIM’ AND VANISHES.

Now, that was not Actually craving’s brother sirris but just a random soul named sirris, but obviously craving doesn’t know that, and so while manic is being offered powers by this super duper good god who’s trying to give him (and craving by extension) a redemption arc, craving gets judhas to call glasya back up and signs a pact with glasya without even reading it because she’s just so desperate to be able to save her brother, even though this is definitely going to damn her to hell, she was probably going anyways so. what’s the loss.

and ughgghghgh it’s just SO much fun to rp as her and her story is so well crafted, much thanks to our DM and the player for manic, and its so tragic and so good and it makes me go crazy if i think about it too much and yeah.

Gent: Ok this one’s pure wish fulfillment, he’s a he/him lesbian named Gent as in Gentleman. He’s a blue tiefling, a pirate, a wizard with a sword, and the sexiest bitch alive.

He’s from a campaign set in the world of one of my fave ttrpg shows to watch (critical role) and basically he grew up in a port city and had some innate magical ability that got noticed by one of the captains of a ship that often docked in port there. She offered to train him and get him private tutelage from the big name wizard recluse who lived in a tower in the middle of the city IF he agreed to work as a deckhand on her crew, which he happily took up.

Her name was Captain Crystal and as it turned out, the trade ship was only a cover. She and her crew were all casters and they ran one of the most feared pirate ships, which physically transformed as they pulled out of sight of port. The sails would change color, the ship would become swathed in shadow, and the masthead of a dainty girl with a dagger held in folded hands against her sternum would lean forwards, bear its pointed teeth, and brandish the dagger as it grew into a cutlass.

Captain Crystal eventually has plans to use her caster crew to lead a coup and crown herself pirate queen, but as she’s been biding her time Gent’s been training up to a very high level abjuration wizard which without getting too much into d&d mechanics is basically like a defensive/protection wizard and trust me its very cool and sexy. He has a sword that he casts all of his spells out of which is also very cool and sexy.

Overall he’s very sociable, very friendly, but his biggest downfall is that he hates not knowing things. He will put himself in an unreasonable amount of danger just to figure things out because he hates not understanding how all the pieces are being put together. His character voice is me doing a bad russian accent.

Tov: Tov is my character from an abandoned campaign that I will never forgive the fact that it got abandoned because he’s literally my only guy ever and I love him so much.

He’s a silver dragonborn and his whole deal is like. Okay so in d&d lore gods are real and tangible and thousands of years ago they fought a bunch of wars against each other using the people on the material plane as their armies, and the dragon god bahamut created an entire race of dragonlings to fight in his name. Tov is from a clan of dragonborns that can actually trace their lineage all the way back to one of these armies created by a god and due to that, pretty much everyone in the clan has some innate magical ability.

keyword: pretty much. tov was one of the few people in recorded history born without any innate magic and he and his brother nagrax spent years and years trying to find ways to bring out the magic that was lying latent in him, or find him another way to gain powers so that he wouldn’t basically be the dud of the family. They ended up going to this site that had been mentioned as a place of great power and mystery, and it turned out to be a gate to the shadowfell (which is like. its overrun with shadow and decay and the plane itself feeds on your life force and corrupts your sense of humanity and turns you into a walking shell of yourself basically).

tov walked through the gate and got a little nugget of shadowfell implanted in him and it corrupted him and made him bent on nothing but destruction and he stepped back out of the gate and tried to kill his brother. rax eventually subdued him and was like “tov what the fuck” and tov was like “the ... the gate ... it showed me this horrible shadow version of you and i just felt the need to destroy it i didnt know it was really you at first” and rax was like. “at first? when did you realize it was me?” and tov just doesn’t answer because he realized pretty soon in that it was his real brother but he still couldn’t fight the urge to kill him

and rax was like, listen i dont know what walked back out of that gate but it’s not my brother anymore. my brother would never have tried to harm me once he realized. and as a testament to his memory, i am going to let you live. and i am going to back home. by myself. and tell everyone that tov died so at least his name isn’t tarnished by whatever the hell is wrong with you. and i never want to see you again. and leaves

and now tov is just alone, he gained magic but at the cost of his family and his humanity which is cosntantly fighting with this piece of the shadowfell inside him. he took up monsterhunting because he thought it might be a helpful way to channel his desire to destroy, and in the process met this woman savra who was basically brainwashed by a murder cult in her youth and now works this thing called the order of the gauntlet which is basically a protection guild that works to keep the city safe and the law just.

and she offers tov a job there and they’ve grown closer as friends and were just starting to date before the campaign cut off, but like they’re both people who are haunted by a past of horrid horrid destruction who are both learning how to be more than the blood on their hands, and that there are people in this world who can know the worst parts of them and love them anyways, and she was going to call him a good man and really mean it and he’d feel a weight fall off his shoulders and they were going to get married and tov was going to have a home and family for the first time in like 10 years but we never finished the campaign and it makes me scream and cry

ok those are like my top 3 + stitch and ive already written wayyyyy too much but i have. many many more and i could talk about them forever.

(ezra glimmer ebbie nissy are all ones ive actually played and have many many thoughts about; stella (from cravings backstory) hed’ja billie and unnamed klingon ripoff are ones i just have concepts for but havent had a chance to play in a campaign bc they’d require a Lot of homebrew worldbuilding to make their concepts work, but if you want to know more about any of THOSE guys feel free to ask but youve already had to read so much im not putting more on here)

#sorry for not answering earlier i was out running errands all day #but thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu for sending this in you indulge all my silly little ideas #<33333333 #asks

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