Kaylee Writes Things

She/Her - 25 - LGBT - Disabled Requests Open! Writing FanFiction For Your Reading Pleasure.

[kaylee-writes-things]

Requests {Open!}

How to: 

Send me an ask for the character you want a fic for.  

Include the type of Reader, including their gender, personality, and any other specific traits you’d like. 

Also include story details & Elements. You can be as specific or vague as you like, but the more details, the more tailored the fic will be to you!

I’ll write: 

Hurt/Comfort 

Angst 

NSFW (If the mood strikes) 

Fluff 

Minimal Age Gap relationships between Adults 

AU Stories 

 I’ll message you if I can’t fulfill your request or don’t feel confident enough to write for the character you requested. 

Fandoms: 

My Hero Academia 

DC Comics (And Related Video Media) 

Marvel Cinematic Universe 

Resident Evil 

Criminal Minds 

Stranger Things 

Dragon Age (Send Dragon Age Requests & Find my Fics for it here!) 

Upcoming Characters:

John Constantine x Green! Reader - (Fem! Reader can control plants)-

Poorly Kept Secrets - After his prodigy is hurt during an encounter with an Incubus, John can't help but acknowledge his growing feelings toward her.

John x GN! Reader

Birthday Bash - You prepare a little birthday surprise for John. It's not so bad.

Personal Project! "The Primrose Paradox" John Constantine's recent apprentice gets recruited into the Justice League, where she discovers that being a hero is harder than it looks. (Fem! Reader, Slow Burn, Mentor/Mentee, (Y/N) has plant-based powers).

{Part 1} "The Inciting Incident" - (Y/N) and her mentor, John Constantine, stop in Gotham to help with a string of murders. Afterward, they're invited to dinner at Wayne Manor, where they receive an even more exciting invitation. (Depending on who you ask).

Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

All the Stars in the Sky - Leon teams up with your daughter to do something nice for Mother's Day.

Claire Redfield x GN! Reader

Crumble Cake - You meet Claire at your favorite cafe.

Grace Ashcroft x Single Mom! Reader

Baby Steps - Grace takes Emily to the library, where they make some new friends.

Stephen Strange x Reader

Shota Aizawa x Nighteye! Reader

Front Row Seats: The Reader is Sir Nighteye's younger sister, and she uses his tickets to U.A.'s Sports Festival so she and her friends can get front-row seats to watch their competitors in the upcoming Hero Licensing Exam.

[hedonistic-cannibalism]

Okay tumbler what do we think, I call it "let me love Them, like I loved you"

It's unfinished, and I plant to straighten out and darken lines more but this was my last 5 hours of my life.

[kaylee-writes-things]

Starcourt Blues

(Y/N) tries to regain her bearings after the Starcourt Mall goes up in flames, but her world has just changed forever.

Tags: Season three, Steve Harrington x Fem! Reader, Established Relationship, Character Death mentioned, angst/comfort.

Word Count: 717

Requests open!

The lights from the ambulance are blaring as the rapid succession of red and blue streak across the smoke-filled parking lot. They hadn’t meant to burn the mall down with their fireworks display, but (Y/N) thought it was for the better. If it had stayed standing, she didn’t think she would ever step foot in it again.   The memories of the Mindflayer careen across her thoughts.

She had watched her mom die. 

She had sat beside her during her last moments. 

She had heard her take her last breath. 

It was easy to let all that grief in after watching Billy do the same.  

(Y/N)’s eyes lifted from where they were studying her scorch-marked shoes.  She was sitting on the bumper of an ambulance. She was in shock, the paramedic had said, while wrapping her in a blanket and handing her a water bottle. 

She didn’t know what that meant.  

In shock. 

But she’d felt like this before, paralyzed by terror.  It felt like ice in her veins and if she thought too hard about it, she was sure her breakfast from the day before would end up on the concrete. 

Parents had started to show up. Joyce Byers was cradling Will and Jonathan in her arms.  The sight made (Y/N)’s heart ache so terribly that she had to look away.  

Mike was gripping onto Jane.  Her sobs were loud and gut wrenching.  (Y/N) had liked Hopper, he seemed like a good dad, and she kicked herself for not going to comfort the younger girl. 

Instead, she looked away from them too, and her eyes landed on Steve. 

He was doing rounds, crossing from one ambulance to the next. 

He was currently leaning against the open door to Robin and Max’s. 

(Y/N) could tell by the tenseness in his jaw how upset he was. Max was crying, inconsolable, and it would kill him to not be able to help. He shares a wordless glance with Robin, it speaks volumes, and then he moves on to check on Dustin, Lucas, and Erica.  

He was amazing, (Y/N) thought, well aware that he had been through hell and back.  From her understanding he’d spent the past day being tortured and drugged. His face was still swollen and he could barely see out of one eye. His Scoops uniform was covered in blood. All of it his own.   He must have felt miserable. 

When he moved again, it was to check on Nancy, but (Y/N) stopped him as he had to pass by their ambulance. 

“Stevie?” 

Her voice had cracked, overly fraught with tension, but it’s enough to send Steve into overdrive. 

“Hey baby,” his voice is so tender that its warmth seeped into her bones. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” 

His fingers pressed into the skin of her thighs. He used it as leverage to gently wedge himself between her legs.  He’s taller than her and his height makes it impossible for (Y/N) to see the rest of Star Court’s parking lot. 

“I don’t feel okay.” She chokes out, doing everything she can to hold in the tears. 

Steve noticed her valiant attempts and then whisked them away. He raised one hand to gently squeeze the back of (Y/N)’s neck. His fingers pushed against her matted hair. His touch encouraged her to lean against his chest.  The sweet smell of cologne and a candy shop assortment of ice cream toppings had left him. Instead, the scent of vomit, sweat, and smoke clung to him like a vice. 

(Y/N) can’t complain.

In a matter of seconds the hot tears that streamed down her cheeks clogged her nose. 

She can’t smell the stench that their terrible night had left behind. 

And all she can hear is the insistent sobs falling from her mouth. 

Steve does his best to console her.  He held her against him with one hand while the other massaged her leg.  He can’t console her; nothing he said could have made things better, but he makes sure not to wince in pain as her arms slowly close around his back.  The aches were something he could grit through, and the nightmares would be like an old friend, but her tears were enough to break his heart. 

[kaylee-writes-things]

The Primrose Paradox

{Part 1 - The Inciting Incident} - (Y/N) and her mentor, John Constantine, stop in Gotham to help with a string of murders. Afterward, they're invited to dinner at Wayne Manor, where they receive an even more exciting invitation. (Depending on who you ask).

Tags: John Constantine x Reader, Slow Burn, Breaking up when they're not technically together trope, Mentor/mentee trope, Fem! Reader, Reader can access the Green, Reader has plant-based powers. Angst. This is a John/Reader series, but it's also a Justice League/Reader series, in the sense that you're joining up to do hero work. Best Friend! Nightwing. Angst, mentions of violence, smoking.

Characters featured in this chapter: John Constantine, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne (Mentioned) James Gordon, Vicki Vale.

Word Count: 3.5k

The lick of fire threatened to singe her hair as she fell mere inches from the opening of a sinkhole. It fell downward for eternity, dragging whoever entered to the deepest rings of Hell. As the Earth bellowed to her in protest, she searched her mind for the faintest memories of  “Dante’s Inferno.”  Through me, you go into a city of weeping; through me, you go into eternal pain; through me, you go amongst the lost people.  

She might have thrown the demon into the Hell Gate, but her mentor slammed it shut with a booming chant that shook the Earth.  (Y/N) dug her fingers into the dirt and closed her eyes as the last embers drifted away in the wind.  The smell of sulfur hung in the air, and the tang of blood lingered on her tongue from her busted lip, but they had stopped what Batman believed to be a serial killer before he could devour his next victim.   

“Oi,” John Constantine crouched at her side; the smell of his cologne, cigarette smoke, and the Scottish malt they shared a few hours previous wafted to her from his trench coat. “Walk it off, love.”  

“That’s easy for you to say.  I was the one doing the heavy lifting.” 

John laughed and gave her a hand.  “And I’m Margaret Bloody Thatcher. Come on, we'd better get back to tall, dark, and handsome before he has a fit.” 

“We could take our time.” (Y/N) didn’t bother to dust the dirt from her already stained overalls, mucked and torn from hours inside her personal garden. “I don’t like the way he glares at me.” 

“That’s just him being friendly, ain’t it? He glares at everyone.” John pulled a silver cigarette case from his pocket. Somehow, she managed to convince him that it was better than tossing out three boxes a day to abate his chain-smoking.  

“He’s not going to flirt with you.”

“We just survived a vicious demon attack. Must you break my heart?” 

(Y/N) shoved him to the side, and he stumbled from the grass onto the curb. His cigarette flew from his hands and into oncoming traffic.  A tire snuffed out its fragile light.  

Batman stood at the entrance of Robinson Park. A cluster of police officers and their vehicles held back a crowd of onlookers and reporters alike.  The blue and red lights that flashed from every angle conveyed a sense of urgency, but everyone wanted to get a close-up look at their city’s Dark Knight.  

“Batman, Batman!” Vicki Vale called over the rest. Her press badge and recorder waved through the air like a flag.  “Is it true you teamed up with an occult investigator to stop the Soup Kitchen Killer?” 

“You people have got to stop naming these freaks.” Commissioner Gordon groaned under his breath. He leaned against the top of his police cruiser.  His men held the line and kept anyone from slipping beneath the caution tape, but that didn’t keep his skin from crawling. In his twenty years of working with The Batman, he rarely asked for help outside of his proteges. A private detective with a bad attitude and Scouse accent is the last person he expected to step out from behind the Bat Signal three nights ago, but if Batman vouched for him… 

“Do you deny that’s what the killer was? They primarily targeted Gotham’s homeless in tent cities, kitchens, and parks…” Vicki shouldered her way to the front of the crowd. Her recorder hovered above the police tape. “What I don’t understand is why you cornered them here, but I haven’t seen a single officer go inside to make an arrest.” 

“That’s because we told them to stay out of our way if they didn’t want to end up as the tosser’s next meal.”  John slipped beneath the police tape and approached the commissioner.  “Don’t worry your pretty little head, yeah? It’s handled, your police force didn’t have the jurisdiction to handle his crimes, so I sent him back where he belonged.” 

“And where is that?”

“Hell.” 

Vicki pressed her lips into a thin line. Her violet eyes narrowed as she tried to read John Constantine for a lie.  Little did she know, she had just crossed paths with the supernatural’s most notorious conman.  

“I’m just pulling your leg, love.” John slapped Batman on the shoulder, who only registered the contact with a mild grunt. “Batsy here will have an official statement for you soon, I’m sure. He and the bizzies worked hard to catch your man.”   

Batman turned to the reporters. Even with the cowl over his eyes, everyone could make out the scowl beneath his mask. “The Gotham PD will hold a press conference.  Commissioner Gordon will answer your questions there and share some of our findings. All that you– and all that Gotham– needs to know tonight is that there’s one less psychopath on the streets.”  He stepped beneath the police tape, and the reporters scattered like roaches.  Some of the braver ones held their recorders aloft, each of them inching closer while shouting questions into the open air. The Batman ignored them all, lifted his line launcher to the nearest skyscraper, and disappeared into the night. 

“Bleedin’ heroes. They’re not the kind for conversation, are they?” 

“Not ours,”  Gordon murmured to John.  As he turned to the crowd, the reporters closed their notepads and collapsed the lenses on their cameras.  “Alright. You’ve gotten your statement and your pictures. Get outta here, we have a crime scene to process and you still have time to tell your children goodnight.” 

“That’s our cue,” (Y/N) pulled her jacket tight against her torso. The air smelled of rain, and a breeze came in from the coastline. “I’m going to head back to the hotel. I’ve had enough adventure for one week, and the nightlife in Gotham’s not something I miss.” 

“That bad, eh?” John scratched at his chin. “I s’pose I’ll turn in for the night.” 

“The hotel has an open bar.” 

John flashed her a wicked smile as the first raindrops began to fall. “Good thing Bruce Wayne’s footing the bill.” 

 ----

The storm continued into the morning.  Rain pelted the balcony window as (Y/N) stirred in the silk sheets.  When they arrived in Gotham to help with a potential serial killer, she didn’t expect to be put in the presidential suite or to gorge herself on 5-star vegan meals each night.  Even her parents, as well off as Lucius Fox or Harvey Dent in their prime, didn’t swing for something so luxurious when they went out of town.  She knew Bruce Wayne had the money to burn, but it felt wasted on the likes of her and her mentor, who had come in at some point in the night and fallen ass-up onto the sitting room’s chaise lounge. Even as the clock ticked toward noon, she didn’t hear him stir as she remained curled beneath her feather-down comforter, endowed with a hard copy of  “The Bell Jar.”

As the storm assaulted the city outside, (Y/N) made peace with lounging in luxury for their last day in Gotham. She could finish her book, soak in a jacuzzi tub with a rainfall showerhead, then order dinner on a billionaire’s dime.  She sank further into the king-size bed, as her eyes flitted over the page… ‘As I lay there in my white hotel bed feeling lonely and weak, I thought of Buddy Willard lying even lonelier and weaker than I was up in that sanatorium…’

A knock at the door roused (Y/N) from the novel, and suddenly she’s no longer in New York City, or in Esther’s miserable life.  She climbed from the blankets and regretted it at once. Goosebumps flooded her skin as she scurried across the room. She barely touched the floor on her toes as she reached the door and pulled the bathrobe from the hook. Its soft linen soothed the chill deep in her bones.  She might rethink her silk pajamas, if not for the way John looked at her when she wore them.  Another chill ricocheted down her spine. 

As she stepped from her bedroom into the center suite, where a big screen TV sat above a fireplace, and served as the entertainment for the living area, she rolled her eyes at the sight of John. One leg hung over the lounge, while he had an arm bent beneath his head like a pillow. A half-used cigarette sat tucked beneath his ear.  His trenchcoat, while removed, acted as his blanket. 

A second, louder knock echoed throughout the room.  (Y/N) tied the robe at the waist before cracking the door a smidge. She peered into the satin and gold colored hall, where an attendant from the front desk fidgeted with a letter in his hands.  The stationery looked expensive, the cardstock thick, and the ink fresh.  As he flipped it between his fingers, she spotted the logo for Wayne Enterprises printed on the back. “Ah.” She said, “Is Mr. Wayne kicking us out already?” She blamed John for racking up the bill at the bar. 

“No, Miss.”  A bead of sweat rolled down the attendant’s brow. “His butler dropped this off personally. They wanted to invite you and Mr. Constantine to dinner at the Estate?”

“You’re shitting me.” (Y/N) snatched the letter from his hands. The date and time, as well as Bruce Wayne’s signature, filled the page with an uncharacteristic air of cheeriness.  “He can’t wait to see us?

“It appears that way, Miss.” The attendant peered over her shoulder. He could barely make out the curve of John’s ass sticking up over the back of the chaise. “Should we RSVP for you and take your rental out of the valet for the evening? Mr. Wayne extended your stay for another night to accommodate your visit with him. He also closed your standing tab at the bar and the bill from the restaurant downstairs.” 

“That’s kind of him…” (Y/N) spared a glance over her shoulder. If John were awake, she felt certain he would say no. She turned back to the attendant. “Sure, we’ll go.” 

The attendant nodded his head and pelted down the hall. She wondered if it was the flowers that had grown twice in size since she arrived there or the horror stories John might have shared at the bar, but that poor kid’s sprint looked a hell of a lot like the other people who asked for their help and then got to know them. Unfortunately, The Batman didn’t seem like the type to run for the hills. 

(Y/N) shut the door and pivoted on her heel. She leaned over the back of the chaise and murmured John’s name. When that failed, she smacked him in the head with the thick cardstock.  John sat bolt upright.  His blue eyes darted from side to side as he assessed for threats and regained his bearings. “Hey,” he said with a deep grovel that came after hours of scotch and whiskey. “What the Hell was that for?” 

“You and I have a reservation.” 

“A what?” 

“For dinner.” 

John groaned and dropped his head back onto his arm. “I just had dinner.” 

“And now you’ll have another one.  And iron your tie, we’re going to Wayne Manor.” 

-----

“For the record, this is a terrible idea.” 

“You said that already,”  (Y/N) stood in a red maxi dress, her lace shawl drawn over her shoulders barely warded off the chill as she waited for John to finish his cigarette.  “Maybe he wants to thank us for a job well done.” 

“No,” John crushed his cigarette beneath his heel, considered leaving it on the ground, and then stuffed the stub in his pocket.  If teaming up with her had taught him anything, it was how to be more environmentally aware, at least to avoid getting an ass-kicking.  “Batman doesn’t thank people, the most you get outta him is a dickish nod.” 

“Oh, so like what you do whenever I save your ass?” 

“Pretty much.” 

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, then left their car behind in the circular drive to ascend the front porch.  She didn’t get the chance to knock before Alfred Pennyworth opened the double doors.  His gaze skirted over the pair of them, one overdressed, and the other underdressed, for a nice dinner indoors.  “Hello,” (Y/N) said,  “We’re here for the invitation…” 

“Of course, Miss.  Right this way.”  He beckoned them through the main foyer, a ground room with high vaulted ceilings and a floor so polished (Y/N) could see her reflection.  The paintings that lined the walls, and the various items decorating the space were obvious antiques.  They passed through a small lounge on the way to the dining room, and she eyed the grand piano in the center of the space with deep appreciation. Her years of lessons weren’t for nothing, and she didn’t find much time to practice with John.  It looked like a new Steinway & Sons. She tried to imagine the elusive Batman behind the ivory keys, but decided that one of his many sidekicks likely made better use of the instrument. 

The other thing to catch her eye in the lounge, aside from the several, slightly underwatered plants, was the portrait that hung above the fireplace. Professionally made and an obvious commission, the portrait depicted a young Bruce Wayne standing between his late parents. He looked strikingly like his father, and the artist managed to capture the kindness in his mother’s eyes.   A pang of sympathy struck in (Y/N)’s heart as Alfred pushed open the dining room doors, taking them into another large room with a long central table.  They had decorated it with a lace runner, occasional candles, and carefully placed utensils.   

Bruce Wayne stood by a floor-to-ceiling window.  He peered just past the curtain to the window beyond, while simultaneously sipping on a glass of something iced.  Beyond the window, the blurred shape of a young boy assaulting the hedges with a sword passed him by.  Bruce turned away from  Damien to regard his guests.  “Thank you for coming.” 

“Thank you for having us,” (Y/N) said.  She nudged John in the ribs. 

“Yeah,” he coughed, “thanks.” 

Bruce motioned to the table and invited them to sit.   An awkward silence stretched between the three of them until Alfred returned from what must have been the kitchen with a cart, topped with several plates and trays.   To (Y/N)’s relief, they included a vegetarian option among the rest of the meal, which is more expensive than anything she and John ate while roadtripping across the country.   Following the cosmic ley lines and hunting down the things in the dark didn’t exactly pay, and they made most of their money through cheap cons and gambling.  She wasn’t proud of it, but she wasn’t going to knock Bruce Wayne if he wanted to treat them to expensive Steak and Risotto. 

“So,” (Y/N) pursed her lips.  “As much as I appreciate a nice dinner and good company, Mr. Wayne, I assume there’s a reason you invited us here tonight?” 

“You don’t have to be so formal,” Bruce said. “You can call me Bruce.  I can’t say we’re friends, but seeing as we know who one another are, and what we do beyond our day jobs-” 

“I  only have one occupation, and even that’s dicey.”  John glided his knife through the slab of meat on his plate.  “Never know when it’s going to pay, or when it’s going to bite you in the arse.” 

“It sounds like you could use a change of pace.” 

John’s hand stilled.  He looked up slowly, meeting Bruce’s gaze from across the table.  “But, it works out because I don’t have to listen to someone prattling on in my ear about the right and wrong things to do.” 

“Wouldn’t those lines be pretty cut and dry?” 

John laughed.  “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?  No, things are a bit more complicated on my side of the world.”   

“You mean with magic?  There are heroes who use magic, people like Zatanna and Doctor Fate.” 

John groaned.  “Sure. Great heroes, that lot, but they aren’t willing to do what has to be done.  You tossers call me when things get really nasty, like that bastard who was eating people out of Robinson Park.  He wasn’t your average cannibal, and while the good Doctor or Zee might’ve sent him back to Hell, I’m sure they’d rather not dirty their hands with someone like that.  Besides, they’ve had better things to do while helping the Justice League, right?” 

“John-” (Y/N) reached across the table to console her mentor, but he pulled away from her.  He crossed his arms against his chest and waited. 

Bruce took the invitation with a thin-lipped smile.  “I told the others it would be a long shot getting you to join, but I hoped that (Y/N) might be another story.” 

John scoffed.  “You invite us to dinner just to steal my apprentice out from under me? Classy.” 

“We aren’t stealing anyone,” Bruce protested. “We’re extending an invitation to you, too. It’s your choice whether you want to take it or not.” 

“I’m sorry,” (Y/N) interjected, “are you saying you want me to join the Justice League?”

Bruce shifted his attention from the growing hostility on the other side of the table to (Y/N), who stared at him with open awe.  John had taught her better than that.  “It’s our business to know when a new Meta-Human starts making moves, and you came onto our radar because we also keep tabs on Constantine.” 

“You what?” 

He continued, “We know who you are, where you came from, and how your powers appear to operate.  We also know that you can do a lot of good with the right resources and support.  You’re already starting to do that now, like helping me with that Butcher in Gotham, but imagine how much more you could do with some more allies at your back.  That’s the pitch, anyway.” 

“It’s a pretty good one,” (Y/N) fidgeted with the ends of her dress beneath the table.  A potted fern in the corner of the room reacted to her nerves and rustled, its roots outgrowing the size of its pot.   She took a deep breath to rein her emotions in.  “I mean, who says no to the Justice League?” 

“Uh,” John scooted his chair back.  “I do.” 

“John,” She twisted in her chair to watch him stand up.  “You can’t be serious.  After months of going day-by-day, never knowing where we’re going to sleep or if we’re going to make it through a tough case, you’re going to turn down the help we need? Bruce is right, imagine how much good you can do with the League’s resources.” 

“I’m not in the business of doing good,” John said, “I’m just a bloke trying to get by.  If I stumble my way into something nasty, then I stumble my way out of it.  Simple as that.” 

“Bullshit.” (Y/N) rose from her chair, it screeched against the floor.  “I’ve seen you bend over backwards to help someone in need.  That old woman in Denver who had her shop haunted by that poltergeist?  That old drunk who accidentally gambled his years away in a game of cards outside Vegas?” 

John shook his head.  “So I felt sorry for someone, it doesn’t mean I’m going to start wearing a bleedin’ cape.” 

“You’re impossible,” (Y/N) spat. 

“I warned you of that when you sighed on with me, love.” John fished his Cigarette case from his coat pocket.  He lit one, uncaring if Bruce allowed smoking inside.  He took a single drag, then pointed an accusatory finger at (Y/N).  “So we’ve managed to help a few people? So what.  If you think that makes you some kind of hero, then by all means, sign on with the Gods among men.” 

“I’m not claiming to be anything,” She stepped toward him.  As if getting closer might convince him to stay.  He had taught her better than that, too.  “But if I have the chance to help more people, shouldn’t I take it? I mean, you’re the one who helped me when I had nobody else. You’re going to tell me that wasn’t out of the goodness of your heart?” 

“Ah,” John didn’t move away from her, but he looked down to meet her heated glare.  His lips twisted into a frown around his cigarette.  “I teach you some control, a dabble of magic, and you act as my personal apothecary.  That was the deal, a mutual exchange.   If you don’t want my teachings anymore, then there’s no reason for you to stick around.  Pack up your plants and take them elsewhere, I’m sure the League’s saucer in the sky has a garden.” 

“It does, actually,” Bruce murmured into his glass. 

(Y/N) slowly nodded her head.  Her mind easily accepted what her heart wanted to deny.  “So that’s it then, you’re going to walk away from this opportunity?”  You’re going to walk away from me?

“You need help with something specific, you know where to call.” John took a step back, one, two, and then he broke away from the table to head toward the door.  “Until then, I’ll be just fine on my own.” 

(Y/N) watched him go, with rage and regret warring for dominion within the gaping hole in her chest.  “Thanks for everything, John.” 

[strangeblazer]

Magic man

[kaylee-writes-things]

I'm torn between posting my oc fic stuff on here as is, or turning it into a (y/n) fic. On one hand, it's all very OC inspired, on the other, people probably enjoy reading it more if it's not attached to an OC. You tell me -

OC or Y/N

OC

Y/N

Voting ended onJun 11

[mousegirlheart]

[kaylee-writes-things]

Someone who can mod should make a superhero career so I can make DC characters have double lives. 👉👈.

[xiaq]

One of the best things about being a writer is thinking of something small you can add to your work that’s just. Devastating. Like you’re sitting there going. Oh. That would be diabolical. People would get really riled up about that. Exquisite. Let’s do it.

[saffromme]

clark in green (& a touch of burgundy)

[kaylee-writes-things]

Blamco!

Deacon and the Sole Survivor finish up a mission in the Wasteland, braving a few stray bullets along the way. Fortunately, Deacon's there to patch his partner up.

Tags: Original Sole Survivor character, fem! Sole Survivor, Mentions of Violence, Established Relationship, written on vibes alone.

Word Count: 1.4k

The acrid scent of smoke and gunpowder clung to the air as the last raider hit the ground. Melissa peered over the side of a crumbled half wall to the grocery store on the other side of the street. The turrets lay quiet, and nothing steered in the blown-out windows. She let her head fall back against the wall and shoved her gun back into its holster at her side. A bead of sweat rolled down her brow, and she wiped it away with her gloved hand.

Someone skidded to a crouch beside her. Deacon rested a hand on her knee and bent his head to look her in the eye. His dark shades slid down the brim of his nose, revealing his deep blue eyes. “Hey, Specs,” he said, “How’re you holding up, bud?”

“Oh, you know.” Melissa took another deep breath. “Nice job with the turrets.”

“Their password was stupid easy.” Deacon rolled his eyes. “Blamco.”

“Like the Mac and Cheese?”

“Yeah, they were hoarding the stuff. I snagged us a few boxes while you were blasting their heads off.” Deacon got to his feet and offered her a hand. He pulled her up, dusted her off, and handed her the small bag, weighed down by boxes of pre-war noodles and cheese. “Let’s go get K-8.”

Melissa fell into step beside Deacon as they backtracked down the street. In the privacy of the moment, she leaned against his side as they went. He wrapped an arm around her back and let her take a breather. The smell of his cologne and his aftershave from earlier that morning filled her nose, and she longed for their apartment back in Diamond City.

The moment’s over when they approach a former post office. Deacon let her go, and she stood straighter as they stepped through the broken front door. Although the envelopes and boxes from two centuries ago were long gone, the clerk's desk still stood, and from behind it, Melissa’s shepherd exploded from her hiding place with an excited bark.

Melissa bent at the knee to greet the dog, petting her on the brown patch behind her pointed ear. “Atta girl, Ladybird. Did you keep watch for us?”

“Are they gone?” Another head poked over the top of the clerk’s desk. A freckled-faced young man who looked like he belonged inside a fast-food restaurant or movie theater, not being hunted down by the Institute or the Brotherhood for being a Synth.

“We told you, K-8. We’re the best damn team the Railroad has to offer, you’re in good hands!”

K-8 sighed and came around the counter. His gaze shifted nervously between the two agents and the door before something caught his eye. He pointed nervously at Melissa. “Uh, M-miss Specs? You’re bleeding.”

“What?” Deacon turned to her.

Melissa raised her arm. A stray bullet had managed to graze her below the armpit. Between the adrenaline and trying not to die, she didn’t think it had been that bad, but the blood oozed past her shirt and came through her thin vest to shine in the afternoon light.

Deacon cursed beneath his breath and pulled the backpack from his shoulder, but Melissa stopped him with her hand outstretched. “Don’t waste a stimpack on it, Deac.”

“I don’t want that getting infected.”

“We’re not far from Good Neighbor.” She reached for his bag and took a roll of gauze from inside. “I’ll go wrap it. Okay? I’m more worried about getting K-8 to the drop-off point in one piece. Once we do that, then we can count the bumps and bruises.”

Deacon frowned. Melissa watched the gears turn in his mind, but with a squirrelly kid on their hands and a raider presence in the area, he didn’t want to stick around long enough to argue. “Fine,” he caved with an inclination of his head to the back room. “Make it quick.”

—--

Good Neighbor rarely changed. It allowed the agents to let their guards down as they passed beneath the Mayor’s building to reach the Memory Den, where K-8 would undergo the procedure to have his memories altered. In the blink of an eye, his memories of the Institute, his escape, and his existence as a Synth would disappear, replaced with a softer life and a new name. One that, if he were ever interrogated by the people out to get him, would keep him safe.

“This isn’t going to hurt?” K-8 asked, for the second time, as they approached the front door of the Memory Den.

“Nah, kid.” Deacon paused with his hand on the knob. “I’ve been here a few times. It doesn’t hurt to go under, it’s like… Going to sleep. When you wake up, you won’t have any idea that something was wrong or that anything bad happened to you. The Doc will be there to see you out, and another of our contacts will be waiting to take you to your new home, where you’ll be cared for.”

“I won’t see you again?”

“Maybe,” Deacon said. “But we’ll be meeting again, and under better circumstances.”

“Remember, this procedure is completely optional,” Melissa added. “If you’re having second thoughts, we can let our contact know. You don’t have to go through with it.”

“No,” K-8 shook his head. “I want to! I want a new life, away from all of that.”

“You’ll still be you,” Melissa said. “It won’t change who you are as a person.”

“No?”

“No.”

K-8 nodded and then allowed Deacon to lead him inside.

When Deacon returned, he took the shades from his face and wiped his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger. His persona of the coy, charismatic, and experienced agent disappeared in an instant. When he returned his shades to his face, it was to point an accusatory finger at Melissa. “You.”

“Me?”

“It’s your turn. Let’s go.”

He led her through the crowded streets. An expert at fading into the background, Deacon weaved past the local guard and the merchants to reach the doors of Hotel Rexford. He pushed them open with a flourish and fished a handful of caps out of his pocket. “One bed, and I’ll do the hot water package.”

“Sure,” the clerk swiped the pile of caps into their hand.

“Deacon,” Melissa pulled on the back of his shirt. “That’s expensive.”

“Yeah, well.”

“We don’t know when we’ll get paid again.”

“We’ll pick up some odd jobs around the Diamond.” Deacon waved her concern away. “Besides, we need hot water to make the Mac & Cheese.”

Melissa didn’t argue further and followed Deacon up the stairs once he got the room key. By the time they reached the third floor, her legs ached, and her side throbbed. He barely opened the door before she threw herself onto the full-size mattress. The blanket smelled musty, but she didn’t complain as the clerk appeared behind Deacon with a bucket of hot water. He took it with a smile and kicked the door shut behind him.

“Alright, Sweetheart.” He set the bucket beside the bed. “Shirt off.”

Melissa groaned.

“The longer this takes, the colder the water gets, and the crunchier that Mac & Cheese will be.”

Mellisa pulled herself up and began to pull herself free of her top layer of clothes.

Deacon set his bag on the edge of the bed and searched through it for their medical supplies. “Atta Girl.”

A few minutes later, Deacon sat cross-legged on the bed beside her. His shades on the nightstand, she watched his furrowed brow and narrowed eyes as he cleaned her side with tweezers, cotton balls, antiseptic, and deliciously warm water. She shivered as droplets roamed down her ribcage. Deacon paused to swipe them away with his thumb.

“Thanks for bein’ a trooper about this, babe.”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s good.” He put the tweezers aside and picked up fresh bandages. “That means Lady and I can dog-pile you tonight for extra cuddles.”

“Extra? Feeling needy?”

“Uh, you were getting shot at today, and I had to watch from the window. Yeah, I want extra cuddles.”

“I’m the one who got shot.”

“Grazed.” He leaned forward and stole a quick kiss. “And exactly. My plans for tonight are mutually beneficial. First, though, I’ve got to make us dinner.”

“Right, Blamco.”

“Blam-Co,” Deacon annunciated the words as he took the bag of stolen food and the water to the stove. Ladybird jumped down from an armchair to follow and lay beneath his feet as he cooked.

Melissa yawned, gave in, and sank onto the mattress where she watched Deacon hum to himself and sway about with a wooden spoon in his hand. As the smell of expired noodles and dusty cheese took over the room, her stomach rumbled, and she counted the Delivery Mission of K-8 as another success.

[vancruejovi]

[kaylee-writes-things]

*Has an imagined interview about my book that's not even out of the first draft yet*

[weltenwellen]

Tomatoes Joy Sullivan

[burntcrumpets]

i kindnof wish my ocs had a fandom. so they can be put through the torture nexus by minds more creative and twisted than mine own

[elljayvee]

solution: write novel about your ocs and sell it to tor books

[burntcrumpets]

oughh.. byr then i would. have to writ e a novel. can i just beam knowledge into peoples brains and havr them write things about it. can j do that

[elljayvee]

no. you are not a telepath so that road is closed to you.

[burntcrumpets]

google dot com search how to gain telepathic powers easy for beginners tutorial

[strangeblazer]

Surgeons hands

[z3idan]

move over everyone I need a check up