꩜ Rexy
꩜ 26
꩜ she/her
꩜ Game Design student
꩜ Gamer for 20+ years
꩜ loves writing - you might have guessed from my name ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡
current obsessions
ᢉ𐭩 The Outlast Trials (Leland Coyle!!!)
ᢉ𐭩 the whole Outlast series in general
ᢉ𐭩 Resident Evil (whole series)
ᢉ𐭩 Final Fantasy 7 OG + Remake
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ I am not sure if I'd call myself a self shipper, but I kinda feel it. But I am not selective or anything, I want everyone to have a good time with their favourite characters and I won't block you over having the same favs as I do ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ so I guess I self-ship with Leland Coyle for the moment (๑ > ᴗ < ๑) I also really love Leon Kennedy, Zack Fair, Eddie Gluskin, Judy Álvarez, Panam Palmer and Tifa Lockheart. ( ˃̵ᴗ˂̵) ♡
I write for these obsessions, so don't be shy and drop me some requests. (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)
Check out my masterlist
My AO3 which is updated more often than my masterlist
the responses for Reunion are underwhelming and ngl i am a bit sad after the many responses i got for the voting. shows that writing is the most neglected art out there.
(( 🧶 anon here, the first chapter had me jumping for joy!!! I can NOT wait for more oh my lord ))
Thank you! :) I had a friend beta-read it and she was also like "Most hyped for a fanfiction I think I’ve even been", which is a big compliment from both of you. I hope I won't disappoint and Coyle will suffer more before he gets a hint of comfort. Thanks for reading <3
"But once the sun kissed Coyle’s face, he felt…strange. As if he was a deer in the headlights of a car, ready to be run over any second. Like a rabbit trying to hide from a falcon, running to its nest to find shelter and comfort. But where was shelter and comfort in Coyle’s life? The warmth scared him, the smell of freedom burning its way into his sinus."
Sinyala has fallen and the people escaped. This story follows the path of Sgt. Leland Coyle after breaking out of Sinyala, leaving his 'old life' behind.
*
Note: Hi! As Pink Panties is coming to an end, I thought I'd treat you all with a new Coyle focused fic - this time it is Post!Murkoff Coyle :D I had a voting running over on here and the people voted for a happy go lucky story, but first! Coyle has to suffer before he gets any kind of comfort. But he deserves that. Please enjoy!
Warnings: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Escape, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Withdrawal, Coyle has to suffer and we love to see it
*
Agoraphobia is an anxiety disorder characterized by symptoms of anxiety in situations where the person perceives their environment to be unsafe with no way to escape.These situations can include public transit, shopping centers, crowds and queues, or simply being outside their home on their own. Being in these situations may result in a panic attack.Those affected will go to great lengths to avoid these situations In severe cases, people may become completely unable to leave their homes.
There’s beauty in destruction and there is beauty in pain. A droplet of blood in the fresh snow, bleeding out as the snow turns red and pink, what a pretty corpse. A dream came true. But every nightmare is a dream too, and oftentimes dreams do come true in the strangest ways.
If there was one thing Coyle had missed the most, then it was the clear open sky. Standing outside and feeling the rain on his skin or the sun kissing his face after a day of hiding behind the clouds. How he longed for a tan on his pale skin, how he longed for the uncomfortable feeling of a slight sunburn after a day outside.
The facility had been on fire for weeks before the big break happened, but no matter how many different drugs were pumped into the reagents or how many times Dr. Easterman tried to tell them how much he loved them - there were fires one could not put out, and this one exploded as if oil was poured into it.
Scientists and guards joined, supplying the reagents with uppers to keep them strong during the escape. Getting out of the facility wasn’t too hard after all, most walls were made out of plywood, and the Berserkers ripped through these walls as if they were made out of warm butter.
Every guard or other member of Murkoff who dared to stand in the way of ex-pops, Primes and reagents all together was gutted and left behind as a vile example. Dr. Easterman was taken from his room, gutted and once his corpse was freed of his organs, Liliya hung him up on the entrance of the facility, stomach split open and the rope made out of his intestines.
But once the sun kissed Coyle’s face, he felt…strange. As if he was a deer in the headlights of a car, ready to be run over any second. Like a rabbit trying to hide from a falcon, running to its nest to find shelter and comfort. But where was shelter and comfort in Coyle’s life? The warmth scared him, the smell of freedom burning its way into his sinus.
Sinyala was located in the Arizonian desert, somewhere between dust and sand and dead animals. The question was…where to go next? Murkoff would probably send in their forces from Mount Massive once they realized they had a breach - or better said an absolute worst-case accident - and everyone was gone.
The medicines were sacred and only used in the worst case moments. Many reagents had perished on the way out, either from wounds inflicted by the guards standing in their ways or general exhaustion. It’s not like they were fed well after all.
Coyle leaned against a wall as he watched the reagents and personnel trying to gather their thoughts and minds from the claws of Murkoff. They didn’t get far. Some of them decided to head into a certain direction, claiming God told them to go there. Coyle hadn’t heard the Lord speaking to him so didn’t follow. Little did he know, the word of God was a radio tower located roughly 40 miles away in Temple Gate.
A large number of people went that way, so obviously Coyle went the other way. He was never one to go with the flow. Barbi hung onto Goose’s skirt like a toddler afraid of guests in the house. The Kress twins had tried to turn on the reagents which led to Arora being cut from Otto’s shoulder like a wart, bleeding out onto the tile floor as Otto wailed for the only person who ever understood him. The saw was then turned on him. Liliya went with the people to Temple Gate, true to the Messiah’s call for her.
On the corpse of a random guard, Coyle found the keys to a car pretty quick. He located said car and made a run for it. He couldn’t have anyone following him, and he couldn’t have anyone rely on him. The AC in the car was busted, sweat clinging to Coyle’s forehead as he tried to focus on the road. It was desert and a whole lot of nothing. But there had to be a way, there had to be some way to get to a house close by and rest. There had been enough abandoned houses last time he had visited a desert, it shouldn’t be any different now.
*
Coyle had driven aimlessly for over two hours before he found a house he felt was save enough. The old man, probably the owner of said house, was taken care of very quickly. Coyle then grabbed a bottle full of gasoline, a match and lit up the car and the corpse of the old man, taking care of any trails or the small marks on the car showing it was a Murkoff car. But what he didn’t forget was the face of the man once he spotted Coyle. A mixture of disgust, shock and some strange form of pity. Maybe he looked worse than he previously thought, at least to the average, non-brainwashed human being. But at least his strength was still there, even without his stun baton he was able to kill the guy in less than a minute.
Coyle stood and stared. The smell of burning human flesh wasn’t new to his nose but it was always a punch in the gut for him. Death was but a tool for him, but getting rid of the smells and stains was a different question.
The house wasn’t big, two rooms and a basement. A bed to sleep in, some beers in the fridge, and Coyle was the happiest son of a bitch the world had ever seen. After heating up a can of goulash and popping open a beer, Coyle sat by the table, shoving food into his mouth that actually tasted of something and not just chemicals and bad decisions.
As his eyes roamed over the room he was in, his eyes landed on a newspaper, carelessly draped over the arm of a rocking chair. Coyle’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor when he saw the date - 1966. “Fuck me…”, he muttered as he read about the latest happenings in the world he hadn’t been part of for over 10 years.
If there was one thing Coyle hated the most then it was ‘not knowing’. Not knowing what had gone on in the world, not knowing what would happen tomorrow. Sinyala took this fear from him for a while - he could relax and do the same things every day on repeat, not having to worry about families or wives or documents to write or how people were watching him. Well, they were watching him, but at least there he knew who they were. Of course there was blood and murder and guts and gore, but everyone could get used to everything if they just tried hard enough and weren’t a gigantic sucker. Until the night broke in, Coyle spent his hours reading old newspapers the old man had hoarded in the house. Some president had been shot, the USA and the USSR were racing each other to the moon, some bullshit had gone down in Cuba and what the fuck is a Beatle?
*
Nighttime hit Coyle harder than he would have liked to admit. Being off his drugs for over 24 hours, the withdrawal had set in, making him sweat through the bed and its sheets, staining pajamas that didn’t even belong to him.
It felt like the worst flu in his life, his fingers barely able to bend around the cup of water he had been holding on, trying to get some fluids in as his whole body started to rebel against him. The last time Coyle had felt that weak was sometime in his childhood when his whole family got sick from some dirty water.
As Coyle prayed to a God he didn’t know even existed, he hoped everything would be over soon, whether it be the withdrawal or his life, at this point he didn’t care for his life much. His stomach was cramping, sweat poured out of every pore in his body and the open wounds on his face felt as if they were on fire. Please no infection, he thought to himself as he drifted off into a fever and delirium embraced sleep.
I think it's funny when people treat others like complete shit with zero remorse or apology then think being neurodivergent is going to excuse them especially on a website where that applies to nearly everybody. maybe you should hyperfixate on becoming a better person idk. stim on being kind even
Pink panties (9/10) - Sergeant Leland Coyle x Stepdaughter!F!Reader
Linda came home reeking of alcohol, throwing her purse into the corner of the hallway. For a moment, Coyle believed he was witnessing himself coming into the room judging by how loud and clumsy she was. Just with the difference that he would be loud and clumsy because he was working all day, and not because he was drinking his liver into an early failure. But everyone chose their own poison, he thought as he pressed out his last cigarette of the pack.
Note: Hi cuties! Sorry for the long wait! A close friend of mine died in April (it is now the middle of May) and it threw me into a spiral of depression and writer's block, but now I am back with the 2nd to last chapter of PP! It is a short one, but I promise smut for the final. <3
Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT - Stepdad/Stepdaughter incest, grooming, reader is just barely legal, Coyle is an asshole, alcoholism, minor character death, miscarriage
And with these words, Coyle had made a decision he wouldn’t regret. Or at least he thought he wouldn’t regret it. Regret is a dirty word. One could not change their past, only make sure their future self would take steps that didn’t follow the wrong path they had stepped on before. But the footsteps of the past secured the way to the path they’d chosen in life. Boots strapped on tight to walk the path destiny had chosen for him, or at least that’s what he wanted the world to believe. Wanted himself to believe. To be a good cop is to be a good liar.
Not a lot happened during the next few weeks. Leland went to work, did his usual cop stuff, she went to school as much as she could. Thankfully morning sickness did not hit her as much as it hit her mother when she carried the daughter in her stomach.
It was a Saturday afternoon when Coyle walked up to her while she was studying in her room. “Y’know.”, he started as he leant against the doorframe, eyes fixed on her. So far her body hadn’t changed much, maybe her tits had gotten a bit bigger - but it was hard to judge through all that clothing he’d much rather tear off. “Your mom’s gonna be out until dinner time. How about you try your hand at something new?”, Coyle asked. He reached into his jacket’s inside pocket and pulled out a small book. It was a cookbook written for upcoming and newly stay-at-home mothers and wives. “You’ll need that one.”
Coyle and her settled on a simple meal - meatloaf with mashed potatoes and salad straight from their garden.
For a good meatloaf, a few handy spices were needed. Garlic powder, onion powder, dried thyme, oregano, and smoked paprika, along with salt and black pepper. She put all of this into the mixture, kneading the dough-like thing until her hands were hurting. Upon putting the spices back into the cabinet, she laid eyes on something different - a mushroom powder. “That might make it taste even better.”, she muttered to herself as she added a hefty amount of said powder into the mix, kneading it and letting the meat rest before shaping it into a proper loaf and putting it in the oven. All while the potatoes were boiling and Coyle was sitting in the living room, reading the newspaper and smoking one cigarette after the other.
Linda came home reeking of alcohol, throwing her purse into the corner of the hallway. For a moment, Coyle believed he was witnessing himself coming into the room judging by how loud and clumsy she was. Just with the difference that he would be loud and clumsy because he was working all day, and not because he was drinking his liver into an early failure. But everyone chose their own poison, he thought as he pressed out his last cigarette of the pack.
She served the meatloaf with a big smile on her lips, cutting down proper slices for her Mommy and for her Daddy. They all started to eat, and despite Linda’s sour mood, she gave her daughter a smile. “Guess you are not hopeless after all. This meatloaf tastes amazing!” “Did you overdo it with your dri-” “Shut up, Leland. Do you want a beer?” “No thanks, not in the mood tonight.”
It was Saturday night, so they had to be up early for church on Sunday. The family said their goodnights, Coyle heading into the parent’s bedroom, she headed into her own room to read a book and Linda made her way into the bathroom.
A gut wrenching scream filled the Sunday morning of Blackwell, Oklahoma.
Linda laid lifeless in the bathroom, eyes wide open in something akin to terror, fear, her hands clutched over her heart. Coyle called his colleagues to investigate the sudden death of Wife #3. It was clearer than the sky on this very day - her heart had given in from all the drinking.
“And I thought her liver would give in first.”, Coyle said as he took a drag from his cigarette, reading over the files documenting yet another wife’s death. Alcoholic, in poor health, overdid it one day. Like so many others, she had found a way back home to the almighty Lord a bit faster than others.
The sympathy pouring towards the Coyle family was big. The funeral was a huge event in the small town, people coming from all over to announce their condolences. As the casket was lowered into the ground, Coyle spoke out loud, promising his wife that he’d take good care of their daughter, and that she could rest easy and without any addiction now.
She did not take it well, being an orphan aged 18. At least she had Leland to lean onto, a lighthouse in the chaos of the sea. She became increasingly anxious, to which Coyle made her one cup of green tea after the other to soothe her nerves. The stress took too much of a toll on her, and exactly 3 weeks after her mother’s funeral, she suffered from a miscarriage. Coyle was the one who found her in the bathroom, sobbing over a toilet bowl filled with blood. He brought her to the hospital where the miscarriage was confirmed.
A lot of rest, no sex for the next few weeks, and time to heal. That’s what the doctors described her after she had returned from a few-days-stay in said hospital. The painkillers knocked her out, giving her the first proper sleep in many weeks.
And Coyle?
Coyle stood on the edge of the patio, watching a thunderstorm strike the plains a few miles away. He had everything he wanted and worked for. The mushroom blend had Coprinopsis atramentaria in it, but nobody noticed it. Green tea was a common cause for early pregnancy miscarriages. But these things just happen, don’t they? They don’t show up in police paperwork and had been used and approved before.
Wasn’t life just one big coincidence after the other?
