#hardly different from his abusers so yeah

[laugtherhyena]

Continuing the relationship chart grind, look at how many goddamn arrows and multiple colors this bitch has. I wouldn't expect anything less form Mrs.Weird woman here.

Much like last time, check this post first if you're new here so you know who is who in this mess.

As an evil spiteful nurse most of Catherine's chart is composed of varying levels of dislike. While John is the only one with the hatred color all through the only reason she hates him that much is because he tries to kill her on day 1 morning, if it wasn't for that she really wouldn't have much opinion in the guy. Amos is actually the person she hates the most out of the whole cast, pretty much by default, since he is a priest and Catherine despises anything and everything related to religion or cultists or magic. Partially because the family that abused her for a good part of her life was heavily religious so she associates the practices and devotion with them, but also because she prides herself in her work a lot and feels as if using magic for things, especially healing, is incredibly lazy and requires no real skill or ability. Seeing people be able to grow entire limbs back in some rituals while the best she can do is stitch them back up makes her feel worthless and she hates that more than anything, it's a blow to the ego, what more can i say.

That's literally the whole reason she has such a bone to pick with Amos because if she stopped being an asshole for one and learned how he was forced to become a dark priest and actually dislikes that heavily I'm sure she wouldn't dislike him that much. But she'll never take time off her day to be around him unless absolutely necessary, so that's not happening.

She dislikes Kit for basically the same reason as Amos, tho his less bad because his main god isn't All-mer (the one her family devoted themslves to the most, which is also the church kind Amos was a part of) + seeing him be an absolute outcast and lacking even a basic knowledge of how it is to be normal and a part of society due to the cult he grew up in validates her beliefs that cultists are just deranged people who will ruin their own lives in favor of devoting themselves to a god that doesn't care for them. She pities him, but that pity isn't enough to make her feel genuinely bad for the guy, she will just be a dick that glares at him from the sidelines and find some form of twisted enjoyment from seeing him suffer because of his ties to the wolfmasks.

On a similar note of dislike mixed with weird feelings we have Lola, who is an odd one out in her humongous hate list because Catherine tens to have a soft spot for women who had harsh upbringing and/or grew up in poverty because she also went through hell while growing up, while Lola did have a pretty harsh life that is ironically a factor in why Cathetine dislikes her so much.

She sees herself in her, as they were both essentially forced to become houseworkers from a young age for one reason or another. But since Lola never tried to change that status or pursue genuine passions she had in life, bending to other's wills and becoming incredibly submissive as an adult because of that, Catherine absolutely loathes her because in her eyes she's looking at the kind of person she could very well have become if she didn't take certain paths in life and she hates that so so much, tho the "I relate to you heavily" keeps her from despising this girl in the same way she does with John and Amos. And hey, i do think that in certain situations she may be kind with her for once, there's just a heap of weird feelings and (self) hate involved.

Continuing on the dislike section we have Claire and really the main reason she dislikes her is because at the start of termina Claire follows her around trying to see if she can overhear any news about Kaiser's supposed plan of invading Prehevil, Catherine is from his army after all and if she's there Claire believes she can maybe check if those rumors hold true. Naturally, Cathy dislikes being stalked, which is made worse by the fact that Claire takes pictures of her around town (Catherine hates her appearance) which in turn leads to Cathy destroying her camera in a bit of a squabble during day 1 morning.

The thing is that this dislike can turn into gratitude and slight respect if Claire is the one to find and listen to her in the bop's hideout during day 1 night (which is Cathy's recruiting event), so much so that she is the only one of the playable characters of who Catherine will tell that she was indeed sent to Prehevil to scout the place and report when would be the best time for the army to invade it + how now she plans on calling them to come anyway so that they can be killed by the moonscorches as a revenge of sorts since by this point she believes Kaiser send her there to die (essentially saying she is disposable and you bet she hated that idea a lot).

Lastly we have Addison and Matyas who are in the dislike/intrigue mixture for basically the same reason of Catherine finds them incredibly annoying and can't stand being around them, Addison because of how paranoid and scaredy he becomes when termina starts and Matyas for his delusional ramblings and scaredy cat-ness as well.

Onto the neturals we have Hilda and Anatol who she really doesn't hold much of an opinion on. Hilda doesn't talk to her and she won't bother going after her either but she does find Anatol tolerable, mainly because he is Ebba's boyfriend and she likes both Ebba and Mary for the previously mentioned soft spot she has for girls who grew up in terrible environments. Tho i would say she likes Mary a bit more than she likes Ebba because she finds her ability to keep on living/fighting despite being incredibly injured impressive from a medical standpoint + Ebba taking advantage of Mary upsets her a little.

Lastly we got the Vinson brothers which are a source of intrigue to her because Cathy never had a good or even normal relationship with her sister so she likes observing the two out if wondering if that's how siblings are actually meant to be, she can tell that despite arguing and butting heads quite often both Damian and Leslie care a lot for one another which is something she finds both sweet and saddening because Madeline has never had this form of genuine care for her even after she started being nice to her.

While she is somewhat similar to Damian due to both of them being very no-nonsense sort of people who focus on their goals above most other things, they don't actually get along that well? They will work fine if they're sticking together for survival but if left on their own devices they will probably just never talk because Damian finds her sketchy/suspicious/potentially dangerous and since Cathy can tell he looks at her weirdly she will act accordingly.

Leslie on the hand is the person she likes the most out of the entire cast, surprisingly because I feel at first glance she didn't think much of him and only really started interacting with him out of being curious about the brothers. A handful of the things he'd say to her confused her immensely because she could not tell he was trying to show interest in her out of never having had anyone come towards her with that sort of intention, when he did make that clear with some kind of straightforward compliment it also confused her a lot but more as a form of denial of sorts.

Catherine is really funny too because she will be a spiteful power hungry asshole that is some level of rude to basically everyone she knows on a daily basis but she will crumble into an emotional mess the second someone displays the slightest form of affection to her or tells her that she's not an eyesore. Physical appearance is Catherine's deepest insecurity both due to the scars on her face and her body shape in general, so the idea that another person can like it let alone find her attractive is absolutely mind boggling to her. Knowing Leslie likes her that much makes her incredibly flustered but also drawn to him more and more through the festival since she longs to be loved even if Cathy herself would never admit it. (This isn't to say he only likes her for the looks tho, what made him set his eyes on her was Catherine being creepy and weird)

[heirofnight]

between you & i

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: reader departs on a solo intel mission after ignoring azriel's warnings of danger. reader ends up captured, and guess who ends up coming to her rescue? you guessed it, a pissed off az. enemies to lovers. reader and az do not like each other. yum.

warnings: talk of injuries, being captured, abuse, minor self-deprecation.

you currently found yourself in a bit of a ... precarious situation. to say the least.

your sweat-dampened hair was matted to the sides of your cheeks, your forehead.

holy gods, was it fucking hot in here.

you pressed the back of your head against the stone wall behind you, hoping that the cool brick would offer some reprieve against the sweltering heat.

oh yeah, by the way, the stone wall that you were sat against belonged to a cell. a cell that you were definitely, undoubtedly, locked inside of.

your wrists were bound in chains, your arms bunched behind you haphazardly. this really, really fucking sucked. rhysand would be so pissed.

you huffed out a breath, eyes cast towards the ceiling that was covered in vines, weeds, and moss. you zoned out, reflecting on the happenings that consequently landed you here.

"are you absolutely sure that you'd rather travel alone, y/n?," rhysand had questioned you the evening prior, expression littered with apprehension and hesitation.

you'd rolled your eyes at his protective concern, a smirk playing on your lips.

"rhys, it's a singular little mission to the autumn court," you'd countered, "i'll be back in what - two, three days?," you'd continued, flicking strands of hair over your shoulders. you were hardly concerned - after all, you'd collected intel for rhysand countless times, and you'd always walked away unscathed.

you were a scholar, and this was a huge part of your job within the night court - the chance of running into trouble was slim-to-none. your task involved meeting eris within the outskirts of his territory, collecting confidential information on the inner-political developments occurring within the crisp autumn court for rhys. easy, peasy.

something you could have done blindfolded, hands tied.

which, now, considering your current circumstances, that part had literally come to fruition.

azriel had stood in utter stoicism next to the head of rhys' polished mahogany desk, brows cinched together, eyes hard.

"no, it's unwise," he'd uttered, voice cold and deep - the first words he'd spoken since you'd arrived for your mission debrief.

you and azriel were - well, complicated. while you didn't absolutely loathe each other, there was this very prominent undertone of thick, suffocating tension that had formed a barrier between the both of you. you'd both opted to tread lightly each other - civil when necessary, silent and aloof otherwise.

he'd never really seemed to give much of a shit about you, so this outburst was unlike him.

his words caused you to sit up infinitesimally straighter, eyes locked on his strong frame from across the room.

"and why's that?," you'd questioned, voice sounding bored, dismissive of his opinion.

"too much unrest across his lands as of late," he offered, shifting within his boots just slightly, "we aren't entirely sure who, or what, is patrolling that area. it's dangerous, i should accompany you," he'd finished, sounding as though he'd already made his mind up.

you'd scoffed at the suggestion, standing with the intention of taking your leave before azriel was able to convince rhys any differently.

"no, thank you, shadowsinger," you'd waved a hand in dismissal, waltzing towards the large, wooden double doors of the office.

"i don't need to be coddled, i think i can manage on my own just fine," you'd added, back turned to the two males.

it was azriel's turn to scoff in exasperation, and although you couldn't see him, you could hear his wings rustle in irritation. the thought made you smirk to yourself, reveling in the idea of getting a rise out of the normally impassive spy.

"now, y/n,-," rhys began, his voice laced with consideration.

"i'll see the both of you in a few days," you'd cut him off, letting the door shut behind you with a resounding thud, the sound echoing down the stone halls.

and that was that. you'd decided to depart first thing this morning, hoping to avoid either one of the busybody males just in case rhys had commanded azriel to travel with you, after all.

you rolled your eyes, shuffling slightly against the cell floor as you thought of the verbal lashing you'd receive once you got back to velaris.

azriel would probably be present while rhysand berated you for this catastrophic mistake, and if you thought hard enough, you could just picture the smug smirk that would more than likely be adorning his polished features. az would be enjoying the fact that he was correct, sunbathing himself in your downfall, your failure.

the thought filled you with so much rage, so much embarrassment. it caused your skin to flush and grow even hotter, which was a feat in itself since you didn't think it was possible for the stifling heat to get worse.

you'd been captured by a lone group of autumn court rebels, who'd just happened to be traveling along the exact same path you'd taken to meet eris. you weren't sure what their plans were for you - a night court female. they knew who you were, they knew you were employed with rhys. if you had to guess, they were holding you hostage to use as some sort of bargaining chip.

regardless, it'd been twelve hours since you'd been tossed into this cell. you had not the slightest clue where you even were in relation to the court itself. you'd been blindfolded and jostled about, and your sense of direction had been destroyed in the process.

you were so, so thirsty. your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, throat dry enough that it felt like you'd ingested hot coals each time you struggled to swallow.

you were nervous, yes. on edge. your feathers were ruffled. but you knew eris would report your absence to rhysand. it was only a matter of time before someone found you. and when they did, you'd be reprimanded endlessly. you'd probably never hear the end of it - never be allowed to depart on solo missions again. you'd probably be stuck with azriel, that self-righteous, arrogant -

your thoughts came to a screeching halt once you noticed that the cell had become dark. it was mid-afternoon, and barred holes in the wall had been allowing the afternoon light to filter into the small space. which honestly, with this heat, felt like an additional form of torture.

but now, a chill filled the darkened air. no light filtered through - not even a pin-prick of luminance could be accounted for. you couldn't see inches ahead of you. your spine straightened, your head perked up. and before you could make heads or tails of the odd infiltrating darkness, it had dissipated entirely.

you blinked several times, weary, exhausted eyes struggling to acclimate to the warm light.

but once you'd righted yourself, you saw it. saw him.

azriel stood before you, half of his body swathed in swirling shadows. his arms were folded across his chest, eyes narrowed in distaste as he took in the sight of you - battered, bruised, filthy, restrained. his wings rustled several times before pulling tightly into his back, clearly agitated.

his jaw ticked in anger, and he dropped his head to avert his gaze to the cell floor at his feet. his muscles flexed with tension, and he was pissed.

and while you assumed the anger was directed at you, at your stupidity, azriel was biting back the urge to level the entire autumn court for what those males had done to you.

you swallowed hard, throat burning from the action. you opted to not speak, fully understanding how monumental this fuck-up was. you hadn't even departed velaris with a weapon strapped to your body, completely void of protection. so, so stupid.

"how could you be so foolish," azriel sneered, his arms dropping to his sides, clenched fists flexing. his voice was so low, so cold, you'd finally understood how he was able to intimidate his victims to the point of broken resolve.

you looked down, ashamed, embarrassed.

"i didn't-," you started, voice hoarse.

azriel huffed angrily at the sound of it.

"no, you didn't," he cut you off, stepping towards you with a leveled thump of his boots. "you didn't," he continued, tone laced with contempt.

"you didn't think. you didn't consider how dangerous-," he paused, having to take a deep, steady breath to compose himself.

you continued staring at the floor, anywhere but him. you definitely didn't dare look at his face, his eyes as they bore into you.

"look at me," he commanded, voice growing harsh.

you averted your gaze from the floor, choosing to stare at the bright, barred window that was cut into the upper left wall instead.

"y/n," he growled, stooping down to your level to grab your chin between his thumb and pointer fingers. his grip wasn't harsh - probably due to him being careful of exacerbating any potential injuries - but it was demanding. "look at me," he repeated.

you caved, meeting his hard hazel eyes with hesitation. you tried your damndest to look as unfazed and unwavering as possible - as though being captured and beaten hadn't taken a toll on you. but when you met his familiar face, took in his features and realized you were being saved, you faltered. relief flooded your veins, overflowing until it reached your softening eyes.

unshed tears began to well up, and you used every ounce of willpower that you had left to not allow them to fall.

azriel's expression became tender as he took you in, as he studied your expression. he saw your bruises and scrapes up close now, and he dropped his head once more, shoulders drooping slightly.

"you could have gotten yourself killed," he croaked, anger still lacing his words.

"so, what," you deadpanned, voice rasping, "then you would have been right, about me - about this mission. about how foolishly incapable i am," you said solemnly, jerking your chin from his unfaltering grip.

he snapped his head upward, meeting your eyes immediately. his brows cinched, and you momentarily observed the splattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose - you'd never noticed them before, had never been this close to him.

he blinked once, twice - his long, thick lashes whispering across his skin as he did so.

"that's what you think this is about?," he questioned, voice breathless in disbelief.

you scoffed weakly, pushing yourself up further against the damp wall behind you.

"please, azriel. you've never been subtle about how incompetent you find me," your voice coated in disdain.

he let out a slow breath, shaking his head as he absorbed your words.

"no, y/n," he grunted, his hands moving forward to begin working at the cuffs around your wrists. you'd both needed to get the hell out of here, urgently. it had been hours since you'd last seen your captors, and you were both painfully aware of the likelihood that they'd return.

could azriel singlehandedly fight off an entire hoard of rebels? absolutely. did he want to dismember and mutilate the males that did this to you? abso-fucking-lutely. but more than that, he wanted to get you home, safe, and with madra.

you hissed as he began to work his deft hands around the harsh chains. they'd been pulled so tightly to your skin, that you'd already come to terms with the possibility of losing circulation to the limbs.

his eyes flickered up to your face at the sound of your discomfort, and he winced at the realization of causing you further pain.

"i've never thought that you were incompetent," he continued as he worked, using his words to distract you from the pain he was inflicting, "hotheaded? yes, confident to a fault? sometimes," he continued, and you scoffed at his jabs.

"azriel, just shut the fu-," you blurted, his words bristling your already raw skin.

"but," he cut you off, continuing on with his tangent, "you are also strong, brave - obviously. loyal to your court, to rhys," he went on, pausing for a moment, "and i've always admired you," he finished, voice lowering.

you went silent, considering his words. you became painfully aware of his close proximity, of his hands against your swollen wrists as he fought to free you.

his eyes flitted to your softening expression, gauging your reaction to his words.

and internally, you were realizing for the first time, that maybe you and azriel were more alike than you'd initially thought.

he finally freed your hands, and you groaned at the relief, at the blood rushing down to the stiff limbs.

he helped you gently, bringing your arms back to the front of your exhausted frame. you closed your eyes for a moment, taking deep, even breaths at the feeling of being free, being saved. by azriel.

"how did you know where to find me?," you croaked, peeking one eye open to look up at the male before you. he was crouched closer to you now, poised to catch you if you careened over.

"eris relayed the information to rhys - the general whereabouts of your planned meeting location," he began, eyes flicking over your entire body to scan for any other injuries.

"and rhysand sent you to track me down?," you questioned, assuming that it was a command from his high lord - a decision he didn't make.

"i didn't give him the chance to," he offered, swallowing thickly, "i was at autumn's border before eris finished his report," he cleared his throat, cheeks tinting the slightest shade of pink.

there was a slight pause.

"he didn't have a choice," he spoke, voice deep and gravelly. he met your eyes with that last statement, as if to make a point.

you sat up slightly, reeling with the words azriel had spoken. they blanketed the both of you, sitting heavy against your chest.

azriel had chosen to track you down, to save you? not only that, but it seemed like it was almost second nature for him. to seek you out, to rescue you.

you opened and closed your mouth several times, looking for the right words. nothing you'd come up with was good enough.

"let's get you home," he said softly, reaching under your limp frame to hoist you into his strong arms. you whined quietly, your body rebuking the movement.

"i know," he soothed, bracing you against his chest.

and then you were both wrapped in endless shadows and night.

cradled against your tall, strong salvation.

things had irrevocably changed between you and azriel after that. you'd both known it.

and sure enough, from that day onward, he was your chosen partner on every mission you'd decide to embark on. and azriel had insisted the same.

choosing each other, time and time again.

and sometimes, when you'd both inevitably need to stop for the evening - finding reprieve in a shoddy inn after a grueling travel day, azriel would request a room with just one bed.

and what happened under the covers on those evenings - when your body would melt into his, his forehead pressed against yours, explorative hands learning each other -

well, that was just between the both of you.

a/n: another one shot that just demanded to be written immediately. brought on by scrolling on tiktok lmao. hope u loved it! let me know your thoughts <3

[huskersbooze]

Who's in Control?

Alastor x Reader

| Part 1(here!) | Part 2 | Part 3 |

Summary : You sold your soul to Alastor and had no idea how big of a deal this was. Until recently, you finally learn what it means, and realize all that Alastor had been doing was just a lie.. or was it?

Pairing : Alastor x F!Reader, Huskerdust? (M!Reader here, Gn!Reader here)

Warnings : swear words

Additional Tags : Angst, miscommunication, misunderstandings, Alastor actually being nice?!, no use of (Y/n)

Ib : Who's in Control By Set It Off

Word count : 1.8k

"Good morning, dear."

"Morning, Al." You reach the lobby and take a seat on the floor next to Alastor's chair.

"How was your sleep, darling?"

"It was good! And yours?"

"Aha, hilarious, really. You know I don't sleep, my dear." He places a hand on your head and gives your hair a ruffle. "You really do know how to brighten my day."

The rest of the team reaches the lobby, and you all gather around for your daily dose of trust exercises.

-----

You and Alastor had been growing closer and closer ever since your arrival at the hotel. There was no doubt that he was your favourite person there.

And, well, for Alastor, he never wanted to admit it, but everyone in the hotel could tell, and even he was aware.

He was growing a soft-spot for you.

It was never supposed to be this way. He was never meant to grow attached. It just somehow happened, and that was that.

Everything between you two was going great. Except for that one little issue that bothered Alastor.. but you didn’t have to know. He never tried to abuse any of that power when he asked for your soul. He never thought of doing anything to you.

But there comes a time in every relationship where a lie can ruin it all.

“Hey, sugar. How ya’ doin’?” Angel Dust leans by the bar counter, greeting you as usual.

“I'm doing decent. Husk and I were just talking about you.”

“We were fuckin’ not!” You watch as the cat's ears twitch, the drink he was originally pouring tipping over.

“Oh, really? No need ta’ lie Husky~” You laugh at Angel's teasing, which makes Husk let out a low growl. “At least I don't gawk over a certain demon so obviously.”

“Hey! Are you talking about me and Al?”

“Who else would he be talkin’ about?” Angel tilts his head to the side, giving you a knowing glare. “Ya’ can't even deny it.”

“Al and I are just friends.”

“Kid, Angel's right.” The cat can only do so much but sigh. “You don't know him as well as I do. He treats you differently.”

“Still, we're just friends-”

“The Radio Demon doesn't do ‘friends’, kid.”

“Yeah, well, he owns my soul. Of course he'd treat me differently.”

The way it so simply came out of your mouth like it wasn't some big deal. Both Husker and Angel Dust froze in place, staring at you wide-eyed.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“What.. what did you just say?” The spider can hardly comprehend the news you'd just dropped.

“He owns my soul..?”

“Kid. What the actual fuck?!”

“What the fuck did he do to you?! Ya’ alright?! Are you hurt?”

You watch as the two demons skim your body up and down, firing questions at you, checking up to make sure you weren't hurt.

But you were confused.

“What's going on? Why are you guys suddenly acting so strange?”

“Wh- Why did you sell ya’ soul to him?!”

“Fuck I knew he was up to no good!”

“He told me by selling my soul to him he'd protect me from everything and anything at all cost. I didn't see a reason to decline?” You reply to Angel's question, ignoring Husk as he mutters about himself being correct. “I got nothing to lose.”

“Ya’ got everything to lose, shitass.” You hear his voice start to crack slightly as you realise tears welling up in his eyes.

“Angel?! Hey, what's wrong?”

“Damn, kid. You really don't know shit, huh?”

“About..?”

“What it means to sell your soul.”

“I know what it means, Al said-”

“Forget that fucker.” Husk practically spits out his name. “D'you know why I work here at the bar?”

“Because you like your job..?”

“No. It’s because I was forced by the person I sold my soul to.”

“Who..?”

“Hell, kid.. you really can't take a hint?”

And just like that, he says one more name, and your whole world comes tumbling down on you.

He didn't actually care for you, he was just shaping you in case you came to use.

He didn't actually enjoy your company, he was just watching you to make sure you were obedient.

He didn't actually mean any of the things he said. He was just trying to manipulate you.

And you were so damn lost. So damn lost as to whether the control and power you thought you had, really belonged to you.

“Valentino is an overlord.. and he's your boss?”

“Yup.” Angel nods.

“And he owns your soul like Al owns Husk’s?”

“Exactly.” Husk replies.

“And there's no escaping this contract..?”

“No.” The two reply together.

“Fuck.”

-----

“Greetings, my dear! How are you on this fine morning?” The static sounds from Alastor's usual seat at the lobby where you all gather every morning.

There's that usual smile etched on his face, which, you used to believe looked genuine when he was talking to you, but it seemed that wasn't the case.

“Hey, Husk. Hey, Angel.” You greet the two on the couch, completely passing by Alastor and ignoring his whole existence. “Mind if I sit?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Angel scoots over and makes space for you to squeeze between Husk and himself. “Ya’ look like hell.”

“You alright, kid?”

“Couldn't sleep much last night, but I'm fine.” You reassure them.

The rest of the crew were a bit startled at your display, knowing well that you refused to not sit by Alastor's chair, normally.

And here you were, ignoring him completely like he was no longer relevant, and hanging with the other two demons.

“Okay.. what an interesting way to start the morning!” Charlie tries to break the ice.

Everyone turns their attention towards her.

Everyone but Alastor.

He was practically fuming with rage, anger, irritation, but yet, a tiny bit of worry.

How dare you ignore the Radio Demon like he was some piece of useless trash?

But then again.. why were you suddenly acting so cold and distant? What did he do wrong?

He couldn't help but focus his attention on you throughout the entire day, but you didn't even spare him a single glance.

Needless to say, you felt a knock on your door that night.

“Darling, how wonderful to see you! Wonderful, really. Mind if I come in?”

“A little. What do you need, Alastor?” You stand at the door frame, hand still on the door handle, prepared to slam the door in case anything happens.

Meanwhile, Alastor was pissed. You had never rejected inviting him in for late night chatting, in fact, you never rejected anything from him.

“It's nothing, really. I just hoped to have a friendly little chat with you, if that's alright?” Alastor leans down to your level, tilting his head and giving you his usual smile he reserved for you, and you only.

“A bit busy. Maybe next time.” You attempt to close the door, but a hand swoops in and, damn, was he strong.

“Dear, what seems to be the issue?”

“I’m really busy, Alastor.” You sigh. His ears twitch at the name. Where were all his sweet little nicknames? Why were you only referring to him by his full name?

“Clearly, something is wrong, and I ought to find out what I had done to deserve such treatment.” He states, making himself welcome in your room. “Talk to me, darling.”

“Oh enough with the pet names, I’m not your fucking pet.” You roll your eyes, closing the door behind you to make sure no one stumbles upon your little predicament.

Alastor stiffens, then laughs.

“Whatever are you talking about, dear? Of course you’re not my pet.”

“The damn contract says otherwise..” You watch as Alastor shifts uncomfortably, his back still facing you. “I should’ve known you just wanted another soul. Fuck you, Alastor.”

You continue on about how you never should’ve trusted him, and how you finally knew about everything so there was no point in him pretending to tolerate you.

Alastor, however, could barely process anything you were saying. He could hear his own static in his own head, and it was growing louder and louder.

What the fuck was happening? How did you know? What did he ever do? Where did he go wrong..?

“Darling, please.. You don’t understand-” The radio filter in his voice was off, his actual voice coming out as a soft plea.

Taken aback, you stopped talking. Alastor turned to face you, smile still etched high and proud, but his eyes looked like he was about to break.

“Alastor..” You murmur. “I just don’t think I can trust you anymore. I’m sorry.”

“When have I ever used any of that power on you?!” Alastor snaps, eyes darting all over the place, trying to find out what to do to fix all this. “I’ve been nothing but nice! I.. I helped you when you were in trouble! I did nothing to hurt you..”

You watch as Alastor starts losing his usual composure, having it slowly drifting away.. It was heartbreaking seeing him like this, but you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive him and pretend nothing happened.

“It doesn’t matter when you’re in control..”

“No.. darling, no! You’re in control!” He scrambles, grabbing you by the shoulders.

“Really? I’m not sure I trust any of that bullshit anymore.”

“Dear, please, listen to me..!”

“I'm sorry, Al.. I think it's best if you leave.”

He pauses.

“Have a good sleep, dear.” He says, voice filter completely off. It was a rare occasion getting to hear his sweet voice. Too bad it had to be under such circumstances.

-----

“Oh my, Alastor, what's got your ears pinned back?” Rosie leads her friend through the halls and has him take a seat opposite of her. “Is everything alright?”

“No.. no it's not.” He replies. “She found out.”

“About the deal?”

“No, Rosie. No.” He sighs. “She found out what selling her soul to me actually permits me.”

“But you never wanted to abuse that power, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then, I'm assuming you didn't tell her?”

“No.”

“Well, why not?”

“Would it make a difference?" She could practically hear him scoff. "She's irritated at me as is. It's not like she'd even heed my words."

“Come, now, Alastor. You know as well as I that the sweetheart would listen.” Rosie tuts, waving a hand at him.

“She doesn't need to know how powerful she actually is.. she doesn't need to know her soul is being gambled this very second.”

Alastor sighs, getting up from his chair.

“Thank you for your kind words, Rosie. I shall take my leave now.”

“Take care, Alastor.” She smiles. “I'm sure she'll understand.”

“I surely hope you're correct."

———/ TBC. /———

READ PART 2 HERE

[farewellcharmer]

Jeremy braced for violence?

The wording is so. I mean, someone who has never experienced physical violence would hardly react so calmly and ready to take a punch. Jean would never hit Jeremy, but someone clearly did.

Yeah I know Jeremy is a guy who plays contact sport, but this is different. To be injured in a scrimmage, to be slammed into the wall on court and to be physically assaulted outside the game are not the same thing.

As for me Jeremy doesn’t look like a type who was fighting boys in school corridors ending up with a black eye every Thursday. The boy is a lover not a fighter lmao. I bet he doesn’t even know how to throw fists, probably same as Neil.

It’s also obvious that Mathilda never put a hand on Jeremy. She’s abused him mentally, but not physically I assume. Trent Knox came to mind because of all that “yes sir” bullshit, but Jeremy was so startled by Jean’s confession there. And “I can’t even imagine” line is clear enough.

His hookups bruised him (at least once), however I doubt any of these assholes ever hit Jeremy. His sex life is kind of rough, but the thing is his bestie Laila would NEVER tolerate such violence. She would lock Jeremy in her house the second he shows up with bruises that might be not from rough sex. In the hotel scene Laila was ready to intervene and she did! This girl knows Jeremy, she wouldn’t allow anything like that.

So. Is it Bryson who was violent with Jeremy?

What the hell?? This is not a proof at all, but could be read as a hint as well. Could Bryson possibly get violent with Jeremy when no one’s looking? He has anger issues and blames his brother for everything that happened to their family, this could escalated to threats and aggression and maybe physical attacks as well.

The way Jeremy was scared here might be because of Bryson’s threats and his visit alone, but it also could mean he was afraid to be slapped in front of his friends?? The way Bryson shows up “Here is Johnny!” style is meant to be scary btw. It definitely is, for Jeremy. And Bryson seems to know the effect he has on his brother.

Honestly if Bryson ever threw hands on Jeremy… throwing him into the windshield wasn’t enough.

[tawked]

I promise I will shut up about disabilities in comics, but I wanna make one last point.

There's a kind of writing where disability, or more often the abuse of someone with a disability, is employed for shock value and South Parkian offensiveness. This isn't really the kind of thing that's going to offend most disabled readers of comics. I think to be a reader of comics you kind of have to be fairly desensitized to violence or the abuse of characters. I mean, shit, Spider-Man's life is basically endless misery and he's considered a bright, optimistic, positive character with bright, optimistic, positive stories most of the time.

Rather, I think what seems to stick in the craw of most disabled readers I know, and especially myself, is when disabled aesthetics are used superficially to invoke disability but the disabled person's actual life as a disabled person isn't really considered beyond that. It's sad that Xavier or Barbara Gordon can't walk, but let's not consider what that means for their actual lives.

So there's this disconnect in the community sometimes, like...

Able-bodied reader (Lawful Good): omg! how evil! how cruel! to do that to a disabled person! this is really crossing the line! this is really beating balls!

Able-bodied reader (Chaotic Evil): lol. haha. lol. yeah charles xavier CAN'T climb stairs. funny observation, mark millar I assume

Disabled reader: how the fuck did he get up to the second floor? seriously there's no elevator or chairlift or anything

I think you can really see a difference in the two approaches in Legion.

The Legion of the comics is played as scary because he's disabled, the aesthetics of mental illness and disability are invoked purely for horror, and we're made to fear what he can inflict on others. There's no consideration of his environment beyond the superficial use of a psychiatric ward uniform and JoJo's Bizarre Adventure hair (a signifier of severe mental illness if ever there was one). He is raised in abusive psychiatric confinement but remains at that level even when removed from it, he does not react to his environment so much as he is produced by it in a near permanent sense.

Meanwhile, David of the Legion FX series (one of the best artistic communications of SCZ I have ever seen) focuses exhaustively on David's environment. On the conditions he has been made to live in and the effect they have such as the often futile and punitive nature of psychiatric confinement, and the people who have affected him in a general sense and particularly in relation to his disability.

Legion FX uses an intentionally anarchronistic combination of disabled aesthetics specifically to avoid the use of disabled imagery for any familiar purpose, be it horror or sympathy, to shift the audience's focus to his environment at basically all times.

David is abused in both narratives, that's sort of the point of Legion as a character - what happens if you abuse someone with Xavier-level powers - but in the former he's often treated as a kind of horror movie monster while in the latter he's treated as a human being first and foremost. The former never lets you doubt that he's mentally ill and being cuhraaazy and mad at Charles is his primary motivator. I want to mention that comic book Legion has a 1990s idea of what we today call dissociative identity disorder, not schizophrenia, but it hardly fucking matters because he's just written as weird, a real weirdo, he doesn't fit in and he doesn't want to fit in, have you ever seen him not raving psychotically? Okay, that's weird.

Meanwhile, the latter version plays with this idea that he might be misunderstanding his psychic powers as schizophrenia and pulls off an incredible plotline where some essential oils self-help guru lady convinces him to desist with his meds and this ends badly for everybody lol. Even once David is unambiguously confirmed to be psychic and schizophrenic at the same time (not a spoiler in comic book world), the narrative makes absolutely clear that his actions are a consequence of treatment and environment, not some inherent fiendishness. We even see a dimension-hopping episode where David's life plays out a range of ways based on key moments changing and while he's schizophrenic in every timeline, the outcome is different each time.

The former seeks to shock and offend as a horror movie would, the latter seeks to empathize and humanize.

The former reads (to me, anyway) as kind of offensive not because it's just an evil crazy person stereotype (if I were offended by this I'd just never consume any American media), but because his character feels impossible within his environment and context. He's just crazy and scary because he's crazy.

The latter is directly a result of his environment at all times and the world is built around his existence, both to accommodate and to create barriers, with the effects of those accommodations and barriers being central to the narrative.

All this is to say,

why doesn't the Xavior mansion have a stupid chairlift on the stairs Wolverine throws Xavier down

[eemcintyre]

Reunion (Terry Silver)

TW- just a general warning for sex-ish things, lowkey body worship; nothing crazy kinky like some of my other content. Very tender and intimate vibes and yeah I got emotional writing it

Summary- You and Terry spend a night together in the bath after a long time apart.

Did I manage to publish the first post-CK Part 2 Terry Silver bathtub fic?? I may make some minor changes to this in the future, but I hope y'all enjoy <3

Y/N sunk into the foamy water and onto Terry’s lap, settling into his arms. The air around them was heavy with the steam of the bath, the sweet scent of soap and the lit candles dotted around the perimeter of the room, and the smoke smoldering from Terry’s cigar, resting in a nearby ashtray.

After a very stressful and busy few weeks, during which they’d seen a lot less of each other than usual, this was an attempt to make up for it. Both of their schedules had been cleared, starting with the current Friday evening, and extending through the weekend.

It was almost overwhelming to be in his arms again, and it was a relief for him to be able to hold her. For a while, neither one of them said anything, apart from Terry checking with Y/N that the water wasn’t too hot. Intermittently sipping from the drinks Terry had ordered for them, they merely studied each other, as if getting reacquainted, mutually entranced by the way the dim and flickering lighting of the room bounced off the exposed surfaces of the water and reflected patterns on their skin.

Y/N reached out a hand to cradle the side of Terry’s face, and their eyes met as he placed his own hand over hers, expression stoic, but melting into her gentle touch. She toyed almost shyly with the charm at the end of his chain necklace, ghosting her fingertips over his firm chest and the shimmery dusting of white hair.

Most of the time, Terry was not opposed to (and actively encouraged) drawing out the tension and elaborate foreplay, but tonight he needed Y/N as close as he could get her and now. Terry was almost harsh as he took the sides of her face in both his hands, pulling her to him in a passionate kiss. He dove hungrily into her mouth with his tongue, removing his grip on her face to pull her flush against him.

“I go crazy when you’re not around, sweet girl,” he murmured against her ear. As she gasped for air, he realized he’d hardly let her breathe between kisses.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, figuring he’d let her catch her breath while he laved kisses and bites down her neck and collarbone- although it merely took her breath away in a different manner. He froze, awaiting her reply. He needed to hear her say it. “Tell me that you missed me.”

She grinned sweetly, giggling in bemusement. “How couldn’t I, you fool?”

Anyone else spoke like that to him and they would catch hands- knowing this, she only abused the power and teased him occasionally. But, in this particular instance, she could see that this was no teasing matter and that his hunger for her to fulfill his request remained unabated.

She pressed her lips to his gently. “I missed you.”

She kissed one side of his face- “I missed you,” and then the other. “I missed you.”

She kissed the tip of his chin. “I missed you.”

She stretched to brush his forehead with her lips. “I missed you.”

No one had ever treated Terry so softly before- the sensation was so foreign and intense that it was almost painful, churning in the pit of his stomach, mixed with the alternately familiar pulse of desire.

The thoughtful silence was interrupted by the turning of the bathroom doorknob as one of the home’s many employees stepped in. “Mr. Silver, you just got a call about…”

Y/N froze, letting out a surprised cry, even while being halfway concealed under the water with her back to the doorway. Normally, Terry would find this sort of modesty amusing, and he certainly didn’t care whether he was seen in such a state, but for her comfort, he’d made it a rule among the staff to never enter the bathroom or bedroom when he and Y/N were spending time together. Terry threw an arm around her, pressing her to him protectively.

“What the hell are you doing in here? I’ve told you, absolutely no interruptions when she and I are in here together. Get the fuck out, now,” he bellowed, and after a few more sputtered words, the man stumbled over the threshold and closed the door, his rushed footsteps disappearing down the hall.

“That motherfucker’s seen his last day working in this house…” Terry growled as Y/N finally relaxed her shoulders, peeling herself far enough off of him to face him.

“Baby, now don’t do that…” She grabbed the bottle of soap from the side of the bath, spreading some on her hands and rubbing his shoulders soothingly.

After a minute or so of fuming, downing the rest of his drink as he kneaded her hip with his free hand, Terry finally relented, giving into her touch. Though he was still aching to take her fast and rough, curiosity got the better of him and he watched with reverent, rapt fascination as Y/N spread the soap across his shoulders and then his arms, before smoothing it across his chest and delving her fingers under the water to reach his stomach.

She finished the ritual by scooping handfuls of water over his soapy skin, acting completely oblivious to the way his cock had started to prod against her center- apart from the blush that tinted her cheeks. Eager to return the favor, Terry turned her so that he could caress the expanse of her back, tracing the path of her freckles. He coaxed her to lay back against him and began to brush his fingers over her nipples, pinching them just hard enough to draw a whimper from her lips before taking her breasts fully into his hands and kneading them.

One at a time, he extended her arms above her head, dragging his touch up the side of her body from her waist to her wrist as he did so. The gesture left her shaking and panting in his grip, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, maneuvering her forward in his lap again and resourcefully using his empty drink glass to pour water over her hair.

“You know, it’s the fucking tragedy of my life that I found you so late,” he murmured, lathering and then rinsing the shampoo from her hair, and she was grateful that he couldn’t see her eyes glisten. She would likely spend most of her life without him, too. But she also had the rest of her life to contemplate that, and the present moment demanded her attention, lest she regret it forever.

Feeling daring, she reached up to gently tug the ponytail holder from the back of Terry’s head. Though his posture tensed and his jaw stiffened, to her surprise, he did not intervene. He liked to be the one doing the touching; he typically didn’t like to be touched- especially to have his hair messed with. But this had started as an evening of returning favors.

She dampened his silver curls, threading her fingers through them, until the tenderness of the situation finally became too much for him to stand. He lunged at her, pinning her to the side of the tub and caging her in with an arm on either side of her.

“We’d better start making up for lost time.”

[buuberry00]

Can you feed us Luka nation some more perhaps….please…and thank you…….

-☀️

absolutely!! here's a small fic just for you, Luka Nation!!!!

Gentle touches - pt.1 ?

luka x gn! reader

c.w: mentions of medical injuries, spoilers for wiege, angst, brandings, descriptions of malnourishment, mentions of hallucinations + obsession, mentions of abuse, clingy! luka, somewhat noncanon alnst lore/timeline

please read at your own discretion!

────୨ৎ────

Luka had never known love like this.

You treated him as if he was worth something. The way you looked at him, or the way you ran your fingers through his hair, or the way you helped him take his medicine. Luka knew this is what love was.

Luka sat in the porcelain-made tub, knees drawn to his chest. His spine was somewhat visible through his back. His hair had grown since the last time you trimmed it for him, nor reaching his neck and curling in wisps.

Luka stared down at his knees, slender fingers tracing the bruises there. Luka relaxed as you washed his back with such a gentle touch, the loofa scraping along his skin in a way that felt far from the pain Luka had grown up with.

Heperu, Luka's owner, was far from kind.

Everything was different, now compared to the past. As children, you, Luka, Hyuna and her brother Hyun-woo used to play as if there was no tomorrow. In the Anakt Gardens, life seemed like a dream. Sunny skies, huge fluffy clouds, plenty of friends to play with.

Nothing good ever lasts. Hyun-woo dies. Hyuna and Luka never spoke, not even when Hyuna and Mizi escaped the facility and never looked back. Luka was destroyed, hallucinating Hyuna as if she never left. Sometimes, he'd accidentally refer to you as her.

"I really love you, Hyuna," Luka mumbled to you one night as you helped him dress for bed. "Please don't ever leave me, okay?"

"I'm y/n," you reminded him for what felt like the fourteenth time. "y/n. Hyuna isn't here anymore."

When Hyuna did come back and die in Luka's arms, Luka was distraught.

He hallucinated more, hardly slept and refused to eat. He drew more pictures of Hyuna, plastered them to his walls and rocked himself into a steady motion, holding himself as if his arms were the glue holding himself together.

You were there for him. Day in and day out, helping him eat, bathe, sleep, dress - sometimes even helping him when he goes to the restroom. Luka never minded, resting his head against your shoulder.

Currently, as you helped Luka bathe, he sat still for you. You washed his back and lathered soap into his scalp, gently tipping his head back to rinse the soap away.

"Lean your head back," you instructed quietly, sleeves rolled up to your elbows. Luka obeys, sighing softly through his nose. "Perfect. Close your eyes." Luka's long lashes flutter shut as you gently swipe suds away from his cheeks. His shoulders sag as he sighs, leaning his head sideways into your chest.

"Thank you, dear y/n," Luka whispers, arms looped loosely around his knees. "I really appreciate you." "You don't have to thank me," you hum. "I like taking care of you." Luka smiled to himself, quietly rubbing the side of his head against your sternum, eyes closed. "I love you, y/n." Luka whispers. "I love you so much."

"yeah?" you drag a hand across his upper back, carefully cleaning his medical wounds before rubbing alcohol into his branding - just to prevent it from getting infected.

"Yeah. I really love you, so much."

Luka lifts a hand, firmly holding onto your shirt collar. He gives it a light tug, wanting your attention.

"You won't leave me, will you? You promise you won't?"

"I-I promise," you vow, "I promise."

────୨ৎ────

lmk if you want pt. 2 !!!

much love,

-venus

[worldly-fluster]

Imma post something, only cause my cat put her paw on my phone screen while I was reading about Sylus and she hit the little blue circle in the corner. She the love of my life ❤️

Anyway...time to write some ANGST angst.

Like... WARNING THIS MIGHT TRIGGER SOMEONE.

LADS boys when...they find your 'Diary'

--Sylus-- Part 1 of 4

(I don't have the mental energy to put all of them on one lol I'll try getting Xavier's out tonight-no promises)

Yeah um, going off some personal stuff here so it's probably gonna be a mess. MC has an emotionally abusive family. It's 'Diary' but I call mine a different name.

You have been warned btw.

Sylus-

•He knew your life wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, even living in Linkon he knew there were shadows everywhere. Hell, when he met you, you would flinch at everything and hardly spoke so he knew something had happened to you at some point.

•He just didn't expect it to be...this bad.

•You both were having a normal day, you were smiling and laughing. Finally feeling safe enough around him to open up more. He was so excited to have seen your eyes light up that nothing else mattered in this moment.

•When it happened.

•Your eyes, still bright and happy, looked around the Mall you both were in when they fell on two people staring from across the walkway.

•He saw you freeze and your eyes glaze over slightly making his eyes snap to whatever was making you react like this.

•He saw an older couple, almost glaring in your direction.

•He acted fast as he moved to block yours and their view. He stood in front of you, gently lifting your chin to look at him.

•Your eyes were still glazed over with an unknown emotion to him.

•He gave you a soft worried smile and took your hand and led you away.

•But not before hearing some words from the couple as you walked.

•"I see she's whoring herself out." "I wonder if she has a kid yet?" "She'd make for a useless mother if so." "She's probably living under a bridge in a tent she can't afford while sleeping with crack heads." "I bet that's her pimp with her now."

•Sylus' eye shined red as he heard the exchange, his blood boiling in red hot anger.

•Who were these people to talk about you like that?? Especially while he was in earshot.

•The rest of the day he spent just trying, trying his hardest, to make you feel better. To bring you back to laughing and smiling again.

•But all you said was, "Can I go home please?" In the small voice you used to talk in.

•He obliged, not wanting to overwhelm or overstep.

•When he dropped you off at your apartment, he... didn't want to leave you alone.

•He didn't worry about finding the couple from earlier, he already had Mephisto on them the moment they left the Mall. He was more worried about the look in your eyes.

•And more than pissed that those people made you shut yourself away from life- from him- again. After he worked so hard to get you to feel safe.

•You barely registered his presence in your apartment before you locked yourself in your bedroom, wanting to be alone.

•He understood and sat in your living room to wait for you to feel at least a little better.

•In his waiting he saw your book shelf and decided to read something of yours.

•The Book Thief...no, The Hobbit series...no, oh what's this? A notebook?

•He opened the book in curiosity only to be met with pages and pages of words, emotions, and... things he wishes weren't true. He thought this was a diary of some sort, he felt he shouldn't be reading this but something inside him wanted answers to why you act the way you do.

•The more he read the more an uncomfortable weight started settling in his chest. How have you been through so much...

•He put it together that those people might be your Mother and Stepdad. He could feel the red hot coals of anger towards them as he read what they did.

•He flipped through the notebook to the front and saw the title you gave it. 'My Death Book'.

•...

•Before he can think about it anymore, he takes quick, long strides towards your closed bedroom door.

•He knocked on the door softly, not waiting for an answer as he opened the door slightly to peek in.

•You were laying, curled up in the bed asleep.

•He walked over to check on you, to make sure the words in that book weren't going to come true. Ever.

•He wants to make sure you have a chance to forget, and never be reminded of any of it.

•He was going to make sure that you would never have to write something like that again, that you'll never feel like that again.

•One way to make sure you never ran into them again...was to take care of the problem at the cause.

•He texted Luke and Kieran a few details, just a screenshot of Mephisto's surveillance of the older couple and an order to 'take care of it.'

•He immediately got replies, '🫡' 'On it boss!'

•They didn't even question it, used to how he works by now.

•Now with that taken care of he sat down on the end of your bed. He reached over to play with a strand of your hair, a soft, protective look in his eyes.

•He just wants to lay with you, cuddle you, shower you in his love and kisses, but you aren't that close yet. He doesn't want to overstep more than he already does.

•He just wishes that he could have been there from the beginning, to make sure you kept your adorable shine.

•No one messes with his Sweetie and gets away with it.

**IT HAS BEEN UPDATED lol just a few things here and there to pull it together and make some things make more sense. Sorry lol**

[gothiethefairy]

so, i've been thinking about laios's relationship with his mother. we all know about his daddy issues by now, but no one thinks about his mother. i mean, he disowned her as well. he hardly talks about her. he has a lot to say about his dad but when it comes to his mother, the most he'll say is "idk, she was kinda sick a lot."

and i think it was because he did hold her on a high pedestal. she's his mother, his protector. i know for sure she babied him a lot. mothers who's first-born is a son mostly do.

she was the one who even gifted him his precious monster manual!

so, what happened? why did he also lump her with his father and decided "i'm never speaking to them ever again." ?

to put it in simple terms, it was falin. laios was so upset about how his parents treated the situation about the villagers' abuse to falin. both of them didn't know how to handle it, but they both failed at protecting her. the best their father can come up with is sending falin away to the magic school. (without explaining why bc their dad sucked at communicating with his family.)

their village was also very conservative, especially towards magic-users. i always found it to be odd since magic does seem to be the norm in the "dungeon meshi" world, however evidence shows it's not all well-known all around the world. i mean, rin's parents were burnt to death for using magic that was thought to be "black magic".

and falin's natural magical talent being "talking to the dead" would make anyone nervous bc that could be linked to black magic.

their mother is always described to be "frail", and i bet it's mostly because she's very superstitious. gotta be honest here as well, she maybe wasn't mentally healthy. this is just an assumption but their mom comes off as paranoid and anxious, and then does these made-up rituals to try to "heal" her daughter.

hurting falin like this was the final nail in the coffin for laios, because maybe he thought he could rely on her? "hey mom, can you tell dad not to send falin away? please?"

yeah, she had "good intentions", but she still abused her daughter? because she made the situation about herself and went "oh god, it's my fault my daughter is a freak. i have to fix this."

also, laios looking so stressed and haggard here makes me so sad. like, what if their mother did something similar to him when he was younger? he wouldn't care about himself getting hurt, but seeing his own mother doing it to falin is nerve-wrecking.

the way both siblings are portrayed as autistic in different ways is important to their characters. just because falin understood why their parents did what they did, doesn't make it okay. they still hurt her, and laios knows that. and in a way, they hurt him too.

if their parents couldn't protect them from awful, nasty people and expected their children to just bare it, how can laios trust them?

this is scary to see for a child.

after that, he pretty much gave up on his parents and never looked back. but i also think, if he misses them, it's more his mother than his father.

afterall, he did his best to keep his monster manual safe.

[highonmarvel]

girl- i'd do ANYTHING for a very dark!Thor x f!reader where reader is kidnapped and enslaved by him. Noncon, violence will be great.

Love ya! And ty, no pressure :))

-🪐

no it did not take me five months to answer this, who said that. i do apologise for the nearly half a year wait, i’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but i appreciate the ask, and your patience! love you to the moon and to saturn 🪐 alright, here we go:

No Words, Just Screams

Thor Odinson: A quiet and dignified rejection leads to consequences that are the exact opposite of it.

Thank you to the absolutely incredible @buckys-wintersoldier for helping me with this. You are seriously, seriously the best person ever, I love you so much.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of violence. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are uncomfortable with explicit descriptions of physical abuse and rape. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I am going to hell.

Non Con Warning

For only the second time in your life you reject a man. He seems nice enough—Thor, is his name—and you’ve seen him around a few times at a mutual friend’s parties, but you’ve hardly spoken to him; he’s gregarious and outgoing and he gets along well with everyone, including you. Though you hardly know him, he’s never given you a reason to dislike him; very short pleasantries have always been comfortable and even humorous, and everyone around you says he’s cool, you’ve just never had the opportunity to really learn anything about him, especially considering he never sticks with one group during a party, making his way through the crowd so everyone gets a piece of him, although it’s never been too much for you.

That’s why you’re so taken aback when he finds you outside and confesses his attraction to you. You had slipped out to the backyard to take a smoke break and try to relieve yourself of the pounding headache caused by the constant yelling and booming music inside.

“I really, really like you. And I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me sometime.”

“Oh!” you startle, really not having expected this. “I… I’m sorry but no… I just don’t know you too well.”

For a moment you wonder if that was the right call—you haven’t really been on too many dates but you know the general idea of them is to get to know someone, and who knows, maybe you’d actually find yourself attracted to him; he’s not bad looking at all—strong arms, blue eyes, blond hair, the works—but you can’t say anything on him as a person. Nearly as immediately as that thought crosses your mind, it’s swept away when his expression changes.

The usually lighthearted and easygoing demeanour he carries vanishes into thin air, and the somewhat bashful nature he had around you as he asked you the question turns into something a little darker, and more serious.

You really can’t tell what’s wrong with this guy. You try to tell yourself he’s just feeling embarrassed and maybe even a little sad right now, but for some reason you suddenly notice the extreme height difference and avert your eyes.

Deciding it’s best to head back inside, you try to push past him on the narrow veranda where he stands blocking your path to the door. He’s still as you move and for a second you don’t think he’ll do anything until suddenly a calloused hand clasps around your wrist and you yelp in fright jumping back at the touch.

“Sorry!” he apologises nearly immediately with a breathy half-laugh.

You look up from his hand restraining you to find his eyes have softened and his popular but not douchey energy is back, as if that earlier spell was just a trick of light.

“I’ve just… never been rejected before,” he laughs again and shakes his head. His words sound lightheartedly incredulous, innocently surprised, but his grip on you is so strong you’re starting to lose feeling in the tips of your fingers.

“Uh— yeah, alright,” he lets your hand fall free and you gasp as the blood comes rushing back, cradling your wrist in the palm of your other. “Just know that you’re incredible, and any guy would be lucky to have you.”

You want to thank him for the compliment and for his interest, but you’re sort of frozen in bewilderment at his weird juxtaposition; his words are soft and sweet, but he won’t meet your eyes, staring into the distance as if focused on something; his reaction to your rejection wasn’t extreme, but it was so unsettling you’d rather he have yelled at you.

You give him a quick, tight-lipped smile before rushing inside and shutting the door behind you, not really caring that you left him out there. For 15 minutes you half-dance lingering by the backdoor, but it never opens again and he never steps in. Oh, God, you really hope no one saw that, you’d rather not be bombarded with questions about why Thor ditched the party after seeing you, but you also don’t want to leave immediately and be interrogated on why you and Thor left at the same time. Eventually you stop hanging at the back of the house and dance your way to the main area where Nat is swaying happily.

“Nat!” you yell her name over the music, moving into her sight line to try to get her attention.

“Oh, hey!” she says in an excited and high pitched voice, “Where’d you go?”

“I just went out for a breather and spoke to Thor.”

“You did?” she replies, closing her eyes as she moves to the music, “That’s great, he’s great!” She’s clearly drunk and you doubt that even if you got her alone for a bit she’d be able to understand what you’re trying to tell her. And what even are you trying to tell her? He didn’t hurt you (intentionally), he didn’t do anything wrong at all, in fact, he was overwhelmingly nice, but the way he switched was spine chilling.

You just nod and continue dancing until your legs are tired. You pour yourself a glass of water at the drink table, looking out through the window it’s pushed against into the street where parked cars are lined up and down the road. But one car is in the middle with the engine running, and you swear it’s Thor’s, but it’s just sitting there, and it’s too dark to tell if it’s him inside. If it is him, what’s he doing? Is he waiting for someone? He came here alone, but he stayed sober tonight, maybe so he could drive a few friends home because he was just that thoughtful, but… maybe that’s not the reason he’s sober while everyone else—including you—is drunk as fuck or high as shit.

Your mind swirls in confusion—worsened by the alcohol—as you try to get your bearings, trying to decide if maybe you really are just being unnecessarily skeptical and harsh on him. Whatever his intentions, you still felt weirdly uncomfortable, and you’re not really able to enjoy the rest of the night feeling slightly unnerved by his earlier presence.

You give Nat a quick goodbye and she waves, but you’re not sure if she heard you say you’re leaving or if she was just swaying to the music. The cool night air calms you down as you step through the front door, but you’re not at peace for long before you stumble and nearly fall face first into the concrete with a shriek. But you don’t feel the impact, instead, you feel steady arms catch you, and hold you a little tighter than necessary.

“Are you okay?” a familiar voice asks: Thor. Maybe he just went to drop someone off at home and he’s back now, there’s no reason to think he’s watching you or following you or anything like that; for Christ’s sake, you barely even spoke to him a few hours ago, you can’t even classify the interactions you’ve had with him as a conversation, and he’s known around here to be the nicest guy you’ll ever meet, so why does this feel so odd?

You grab onto his biceps to steady yourself, mumbling a thanks as you straighten to full height. You can’t really focus on his features considering you’re much drunker than you initially thought, but his cadence just doesn’t seem right.

What the fuck is wrong with this guy? Or, alternatively, what’s wrong with you?

“That’s not an answer, baby.” Baby? “You can’t even walk, let me take you home.”

The last thing you want to do is spend any time alone with him, even though you have to admit his offer seems better than sitting on the couch of a hot living room while people grind on each other all around you. What can you do? You’re feeling a little too out of it to reject his offer, but you know he can tell you don’t want this, and you know he can come up with a dozen reasons as to why you should get home, and why he should be the one to take you; you only really know Nat here and she’s in no condition to drive or even just walk you home, and you don’t live close, so walking alone isn’t just unfeasible based on distance, but after midnight is way too dangerous, and you might even hit the ground on your way.

His hand is light on your bicep, gently catching your attention as he gestures to his car with his other, like he’s laid a treat down to lure an animal into his cage. When you don’t move for a few moments, he guides you forwards; initially you try to resist him, planting your feet in the ground as he walks just a little ahead of you, but even his lightest tug is stronger than you can fight in this state, and you soon find yourself slowly walking with him, carefully eyeing the car.

He opens the back door and you slide in, head pounding and vision slightly blurred, but at least relieved you don’t have to sit next to him. You don’t realise you hadn’t given him your address until the car slows after ten minutes, and you groggily turn your now-heavy head towards the windows and peer at the unfamiliar yard the car is parked in.

Before you have time to question it, Thor gets out and slams the door behind him, the car rocks on its wheels and you try to clasp onto the car door but it’s flung open before you can latch onto it. A shrill squeal leaves your throat before your arm is caught in a death grip between a rough palm with fingers digging so hard into your arm you worry he’ll snap right through your bone.

“Thor—”

“Shut the fuck up!” he yells in your face, causing you to cringe back into the car but he harshly tugs you out and you fall to your hands and knees on the rocky pavement with a grunt, the stones splitting the relatively thin skin of your knees leaving abrasions dirty with sand and small rocks.

Thor’s hand tangles itself into your hair and you yelp as you grip onto his wrist and hastily stumble to your feet lest you risk him ripping your scalp off. If he feels your nails digging into his skin so hard trickles of blood run down your fingers, he doesn’t show it.

You let one hand go and attempt to swipe at him but he’s just far enough out of reach, and you’re not really able to land any hits on target given on your disorientation.

The door to what you assume is his house slams open and you’re flung so far in your slide across the floor for a few metres before hitting your head against the hardwood. You groan as you lift a hand to your temple to feel for a warm trickle of blood racing down the side of your face, but before you can bring your fingertips to your line of vision, a heavy and muddy boot presses onto your head, pushing your cheek into floor and clotting leaves and twigs into your hair. You gasp and try to reach back to pry his ankle off of you but he swats the hand away with one of his own and you let it fall to the floor with a whimper. He leans forward on his leg and lets out a disappointed sigh, crushing your face so your lips purse and you can’t even ask for him to stop.

“This could have been a lot easier, you know,” he says casually, as if saying yes to him was the definition of a no-brainer, and in his mind, it might have been; he’s never been rejected before, and by the way he’s behaving, you can tell he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Saliva drips out of your mouth and forms a small pool on the floor as he presses down harder, before he finally releases you and you’re able to place your hands underneath your shoulders and push your head up, and the room spins so fast you nearly regret doing so. You don’t have time for relief before you’re kicked so you have to roll over onto your back and stare up at this beastly man who seems to be becoming less human and more animal-like by the second, breathing heavily as if he’s the one who was practically thrown across the room and crushed under the weight of a tall man. His pupils have definitely dilated, making the anger in his eyes that much more intense.

Again he presses his foot down, this time to your stomach, knocking the wind right out of you. You try to squirm upwards from under him but he leans down and effortlessly wraps a large hand around your throat, stopping you in your tracks as you pivot your attention to prying him off of you and trying to get some air into your lungs again, ignoring the black spots that dot the corners of your vision.

He does finally let go of your neck but not before slamming your head into the floor, making you gurgle and sending a near-deafening ringing sound bouncing through your skull. You try to prop yourself up on your forearms but you can’t lift your head a few inches off the ground before it slams back down.

“I try… to be nice,” he growls as he steps over you, putting one foot on either side of your body, “And you… just wanna be difficult.” He brings his boot up and slams it down hard against your wrist, and your scream is so loud you nearly miss the unmistakable bone-crunching sound the stomp makes as your left wrist breaks under the impact.

“Please—” you begin, but are forced to let out a cry of pain as he presses down harder.

“I told you to shut the fuck up!” he bellows, but he finally frees your mangled hand and you gasp as you push over to your left side, wanting to grasp your wrist in your right palm but stopping short when noticing the hypersensitivity even as you brush your fingers lightly over your jagged skin is enough to make you want to pass out. “No words,” he continues, clearly trying hard to keep his voice level, though you can still hear the twinge of sadistic enjoyment at the edges of his words, “Just screams.”

He nudges you over until you’re lying on your belly again and makes quick work of kicking your legs apart. In anticipation of what’s coming, you try to kick at his crotch but he catches your ankle and crashes your leg back down to the cold, hard floor. The sound of him unbuckling his belt makes your heart rate pick up, drumming against your ribs is such harsh hits you’re scared it’ll break through. You try to claw forward but choke on a sob as you’re reminded of your broken wrist when the slightest movement causes blood to start painfully pumping through the site of injury.

When he spits in his hand, you break down and let out a wail, and based on the grunt he lets out as he strokes himself, it seems to only spur him on further. You don’t even know when he’s pushed your underwear to the side but when he feel his tip rest for a moment on your entrance, it makes you cry out a plea, using your right hand to claw at his thigh while hopelessly trying to thrash your legs with your thighs trapped under his knees that are painfully digging into your flesh, “No, no, no, please, please—”

He interlocks his fingers through yours making sure his palm presses down on your injured hand and his other hand pulls roughly at your hair to bring your head up. He spits in your face then slams your head back down so hard your teeth chatter and you taste warm blood filling your mouth.

He pushes into you with a frustrated grunt at how painfully dry you are, but that doesn’t stop him for long. He spits on his hand and reaches down to add a few wet fingers to his length, causing you to cry out at the painful and unnatural stretch. With a low growl in the back of his throat, he slowly pulls himself nearly entirely out of you before slamming his hips so far into you that you jerk forward and feel your walls tear around him. The sight of blood has him nearly drooling and makes his task of rocking into you a little easier, and you’re sick with the thought. You can’t even cry out for help, all your oxygen being used to actually keep yourself breathing despite your tortured cries and the fear you might actually split apart because of how relentlessly his massive length is pounding into you, literally tearing your cunt apart.

You feel his thrusts start to get sloppy as he loses his rhythm and his muscles tense up. With one final slam he releases himself and lets his heavy body fall on top of you, nearly suffocating you as you heave for enough air to cry. When he pulls out, you hear the disgusting sound of your blood mixed with his come before it drips onto the floor, and you hear him hum in delight as he shoves two fingers inside you earning a yelp before popping them into his mouth and moaning at the taste.

When his breathing calms down, he finally crawls up to look at you, your face stained with tears and snot and spit pooling underneath your flushed cheeks.

“Better get used to it, babe.”

ϟ

💛 [taglist: @pr300877, @cowboysnbugs]

[affableramen]

Wriothesley x fem!reader fic

request domestic angst+comfort

Roommate

Pt.1

“Wonderful. Our kettle is broken”, Wriothesley spread out his hands in a mild disappointment. “This is all your doing, you constantly crushed it into the base. As if you don’t know how fragile it is.”

You find yourself incredibly angered by his bold statements. You and your roommate had quite the opposite personalities and would often end up in a heated bicker. You two also had incredibly different schedules which would lead to obviously clashing routines. He woul always do his paperwork at night when you’d try to get a sleep. However Wriothesley was not the worst choice among the other candidates so sometimes you would turn a blind eye on the misunderstandings between you two. But not today.

“What do you mean this is my doing? You left the kettle on.”

“Yeah? I simply did not unplug it. I’m not some paranoid type of idiot.”

“You left the kettle on and it’s broken now. I told you to always unplug it! I requested this of you every single time!”

The arrogance in Wriothesley’s tone is almost palpable, and he simply turned around facing away from you. The movements of his body were artlessly languid, and you could swear you sensed coffee from his hair as he faced away from you. Perhaps the scent was coming from the nape of his head—you thought. Otherwise, it was still intoxicating to you, and even being as irritated and maddened as you are now, you could not deny that you found his scent tolerable if not likeable. Any other candidate to being your roommate could have been a nasty and bad-mannered student or some sort of criminal, but this man definitely stood proud before them all.

“Listen—I really have no time for this. I have more important things to do.”

“More important things to do!”

“Yeah? I’m engrossed in my work, I’m making money, okay?” He was speaking to you as if you were a complete idiot. “See you can’t even come up with a response because you know I’m right.”

“Fine. Whatever. I have enough money to buy a new teapot. Don’t even bother giving me money.”

Wriothesley raised his hand and waved to you not even looking back a second. 

“I take it you’re going to only drink takeaway tea from now on”, you said but he could be hardly bothered to listen to you.

When the two of you were at a respectable distance, his shoulders dropped and he let out an exhausted sigh. He occupied his desk and started working on his usual papers as the duke of Meropide’s ‘homework’.

It’s not that he was not rich, but he preferred saving money thus he rented this house with you. The house itself consisted of two floors (ground floor and first floor). It was not big, but very pleasant to be in. It was not exactly a countryside but not a city centre either. The area was quite tranquil and calm there, and your neighbours did little to disturb you, which was good both for your studies and Wriothesley’s work. But the kettle usage was sincerely a sensitive topic. You only had one in the whole house since Wriothesley did not see any sense in buying his own: you mostly drink water, gallons of it actually, using the boiled water only for noddles, while Wrio would always abuse the poor kettle with his 10 tea mugs a day. But that all did not matter now since the kettle was stupidly broken. It was a cheap one, and something in between its micro wires was faulty which would cause the kettle to turn itself on without the button being pressed on by someone. It was unfortunate, really, because Wriothesley did not bother to unplug the kettle and thought the action completely paranoid. You thought him as a person who doesn't give a single damn about others—well now it seems he doesn't give a damn even if this house ends up in flames.

“Thankfully it just got broken without any flames around”, you sighed exhaustedly, too.

Why wouldn't he listen to your little requests?

That day seemed to be designed for failures, as later in the evening the power of the whole street went down. That day the power was cut off and your room had grown exceedingly cold. 

“This is getting ridiculous. How am I supposed to work like this?”

But unlike Wriothesley who had a fur coat, you were only wrapped into your fuzzy blanket which did, frankly speaking, a bare minimum to save you from the cold.

“How frustrating, I cannot work like this”, he massaged the bridge of his nose. 

Meanwhile you were freezing until your patience finally exploded and you got up from the bed to get a robe for your nightwear. It might have been that Wriothesley heard you rummaging through the closet as he inquired with no visible interest:

“Cold, are you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a little too sensitive to cold, don't you think? Sometimes I wonder if you were a feline in your previous life.”

“Ha-ha”, you utter with a sleepy and grumpy face before pulling the robe and slipping back to the bed. A while after the cold becomes unbearable for you and unacceptable for someone else.

Wriothesley comes from behind, noticing that you never stop shivering. He approached from behind, standing staight a few steps from your bed and cleared his throat to grab your attention.

“You don’t look very comfortable, you know? Looks like you’re still shivering.”

“Yeah?” You parody his manner of speech. “What do you suggest?”

You secretly knew what this was leading to but did not want to suspect it just yet.

“I can think of a few ways. But sharing the body’s heat would top them all.”

You were speechless for the first few seconds before you spat out a response both with horrified expression and loud voice:

“Are you serious?” 

For Wriothesley it didn't seem to be a nasty idea at all. He shrugged, though his gaze ran around the room, trying to suppress the sudden embarrassment he did not once consider appearing. A grown man.

“It’s not like we didn't share the bed before, so I don't see why not-”

“Hello? We are in an argument”, you cut him off. “So there is a reason to avoid close contact now.”

He groaned, because you would put your emotions higher than the rational thought at the moment when you both damn needed the latter.

“What?! Don't be so stubborn. I’m cold too, you know.”

“Oh, are you? I thought you’re invincible.”

“Listen… I can go to my bed but this isn't gonna work, I’m sure you understand. You’re shivering—I am shivering, too. Now, please, move.”

You made a ‘tsk’ with your tongue upon hearing Wriothesley’s convincing proposal. Making a space for him, you share your fuzzy blanket witht he man who smells like tobacco and coffee, though at this time there is a thin layer of sweat added to it, as a natural result of the day coming to an end and his… well, hard work.

“I thought you weren’t going to sleep tonight. You were engaged with your extra hours.”

“Yeah, overtime duties, but at home. Annoying shit”, for the next moment his voice takes a softer tone, indicating his tiredness. “Changed my mind.”

Wriothesley subtly pulls the blanket so that it covers the both of your bodies, and you can feel a slight shift in his body as if he were trying to press flush to you. The beating of his heart was noticed, and to the rhythm of it you found yourself falling asleep with unexpected ease. Wriothesley’s arrogant exterior melted away too as he wrapped his arms around your waist but never going bolder and lower.

Maybe the next morning you two could discuss the kettle issue again and come to a diplomatic decision without unnecessary hostility?

[noblesandsstories]

Venomous Ties

Chapter 3- Just trust me, you'll be fine

Alpha! Albert Wesker x ?????!AFAB! Reader

-> Omegaverse; Age Gap (Reader is mid 20s ish, Wesker is 37); Older man, younger woman; Slow(ish) burn; Talk of severe domestic abuse (like someone almost died and went to the hospital); Physical abuse; Child abuse; Swearing; Abusive toxic parents still; Talk of concussions; Bruising; Panic attack; Nightmares; Talk of murder/homicide; Grief; Smoking (he was born in the 60s guys); Manipulation?; Total apathy; Mentions of a mugging, but it's not that important, kinda

AN: 7,426 words. This is 7,426 words. I want to go back in time and tell Past Noble that she didn't know a long chapter yet. Once again, PLEASE adhere to the tags. There's only one really screwy moment, but it's a doozy. Once again, please reblog, comment, and tell me alllllll your thoughts! I want to know if I'm building all of this right!

Title is from "End of Beginnings" by Djo

Border made by @sweetmelodygraphics

The two of you moved wordlessly. Wesker helped you up the stairs and left you to pack. It was easy to pack lightly, you didn’t have that much to your name. The only thing of real importance to you was a few books and a stuffed elephant.

You did a final skim over your room to make sure you had everything you needed, before your eyes fell on the bottle of pills. You hadn’t taken anything this morning, and you’d feel sick later for it. But you needed to eat to take it, and how you felt right now you didn’t know if you could stomach anything. Afterall, you nearly puked going up the stairs.

“Are you ready?” Wesker’s voice interrupted your line of thought, and you turned to see him standing at the doorway.

You throw the bottle in your bag. “I think so,” your voice came out in a hoarse whisper. Your throat hurts. Your head hurts more. “I’m just debating taking my meds, but I’ll wait. I really need to eat before taking it.”

“A good decision. When we get to the apartment, we can have lunch,” he states, holding out his coat. “You might want to cover up for our walk outside.”

You took his coat, confused, until you looked down to realize you had blood on your shirt. “Yeah, good idea.”

You never really noticed how much bigger he was than you before, but as the coat enveloped you you became very aware of the difference in size. The train dragged on the ground, the shoulders sagged with the extra fabric, and the sleeves came up past your wrists.

“Thank you.”

He gives a stiff nod. “I hate to rush, but I have things to attend to.”

“Right.” You grabbed your bag, walking out of your room. Before you closed the door, you took one deep look at the room that you lived in for the past decade of your life.

You slammed the door shut.

No one was going to miss it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You started feeling woozy again in the car as your body began to feel heavier and waves of nausea began to wash over you. 

“Keep awake a little longer for me.” His voice is quiet, which you appreciate. Your head is starting to throb, and even at his usual volume (which is hardly loud), you think you’d start to get a migraine. He reached out to the air controls, increasing the fan speed. “Keep a vent on your face, it’ll help with the nausea.”

You do as he says. “Where are we going?”

“An apartment of mine. Somewhere temporary until I’m done with Raccoon City.”

The words come back to haunt you again. What’s going to happen to me?

It hurts too much to worry about it now. Your throat is starting to burn. Actually, everything is starting to hurt more.

“We’re almost there.” You’re imagining emotion in his voice, you know it. Just like how you were imagining the car speeding up. He doesn’t care like that.

The rest of the ride was a blur. You barely remember parking, too consumed with the ache in your body and the bile threatening to emerge.

He gets out, grabbing your bag before opening your door. “Why is it hurting?” You wheezed.

“Adrenaline is wearing off,” he states, holding out his arm, which you graciously take. You end up having to put more weight on it that you’d like to after nearly collapsing.

“Sorry,” you choke out. When did it get hard to speak? “I’m trying-”

He cuts you off with a gentle shush, repositioning his arm to under you’re your own, letting you rest more of your weight on him. “Let’s get you up to the apartment and you can rest.”

You don’t walk as much as he carries you into the building. The lobby is elegant, not screaming luxury and wealth, but still higher end. Wesker doesn’t say anything, just heads directly to the elevator. You’re too focused on not collapsing on him to worry about the surroundings much or what number he even presses.

When the door opened, he quickly carried you forward. The faint smell of something like leather hitting your nose. 

You made it to the door right as the pain began to feel unbearable. He smoothly unlocked the door and pushed it open before helping you inside and locking it behind you.

The apartment had a simple layout. The main area was a connected kitchen and living room that was quite spacious. There seemed to be two hallways on either side of the main room. The furnishing was simple and minimalistic. You would have been more surprised if that wasn’t the case.

Wesker maneuvered you to the couch, giving you a curt “Sit.” You nod weakly, looking over the rest of the room to distract yourself from the pain. Like the lobby, everything was not lavish but still held a feel of wealth. The couch was soft and made of quality materials. The coffee and end tables looked to be sturdy and elegant.

Your eyes caught the window, and the balcony that lay beyond. It looked like the view of the city would be pretty.

A blanket was draped over your shoulder unexpectedly, making you flinch. You turned your head to find Wesker hovering behind you.

“Keep that on, will help you off the adrenaline. Keep the ice pack on your head. Not much can be done for the bruising, but it’ll go away in due time,” he stated, passing an ice pack wrapped in a towel to you.

“Bruising?” You asked as you took the ice pack and held it to where your head hit the ground.

“Around your neck.”

For most of your time together, his deadpan delivery was never a problem. It was just a part of him that you accepted. But something about how dryly he pointed out your state…

It made your entire body go cold as you realized: Bruno tried to kill you. You almost died.

Your entire body seemed to react all at once. Dread, panic, fear, pain, all at once. A choked sound escaped your throat.

You needed to keep it together. Wesker in no way wanted to handle your emotions right now. If you disappoint him and he tosses you to the side, you have nowhere to go, nothing to be. You might as well have let Bruno…

“Anything in particular that you would want to eat? I don’t keep much here. But I have the most basic ingredients,” Wesker’s voice comes from the kitchen.

“Could I just have a sandwich? Maybe peanut butter and jelly?”

If he noticed the cracked emotion in your voice, he didn’t acknowledge, just replied with a quick “Of course.” Then silence.

You appreciated it. If he chose today to be the day he started rambling, you’d probably go mad.

If you weren’t already, if only for your choice in company.

Your aloof demeanor didn’t mean you weren’t paying attention. You knew exactly what Wesker and Birkin were up to. You’d heard plenty of screams and wails from the other side of doors. Once watched a newer guy come out of one of the testing labs and throw his lunch up. Albert Wesker didn’t just have blood on his hands, he was submerged in it. Breathed it in like a fish breathes in water; naturally, with no issues. You’d be insane to be alone with him in a room.

Hell, he killed Bruno, didn’t he? Given how long there was before the sound of the door coming down and the gunshot, he didn’t even hesitate.

He killed Bruno and saved you. He shouldn’t have. Bruno would have been more beneficial to his work. Bruno was a fellow scientist; you graduated high school with science being your worst subject. But he chose to save you.

There had to be a reason. He wouldn’t have spared you otherwise.

Your line of thought was interrupted by a plate being placed in front of you.

“Eat,” he said, before nodding his head to the hall behind where you were sitting. “The guest room is down that hall, as well as a full bathroom. Both are yours while we’re here. I’m expecting us to be leaving within a few days, so don’t get too comfortable.” He waited until you gave a nod of acknowledgement before he continued, “I’ll be away for the rest of the day. You should be clear to sleep, but if anything else develops you will page me. Outside of the master bed and bath, the apartment is yours to explore, but I ask that you do not leave without informing me.”

That one was easy. You had nowhere to go.

“If you have no questions for me, I will take my leave.” He briskly turned and began stalking to the door.

“Wait,” you croaked, so hoarse you weren’t sure if he heard you.

But apparently Wesker did, as he stopped and turned his head to you.

“Your coat.” You slipped it off and held it out towards him.

He didn’t say anything in reply, just stalked over, took it out of your hands, and he was gone.

After you finished your sandwich, you took your bag to where he said the guest room was. The room was empty except for the bare minimum furniture needed. You dropped the bag near the foot of the bed and slipped off your shoes. Upon reflection of your current attire, you quickly changed into a different set of clothes, throwing your bloody ones as far from you as you could. You settled into the bed, and within seconds of your head hitting the pillow, you were asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y̴̺̋o̸͕̓̚u̷̦͒͠r̶̞̈́̋ ̵̣̙̃̏m̷̪̉͑o̶̢̡̐̚m̸͓̱͝'̴͖́͌s̵̙̈ ̵̭̓͑b̴̠̫͗ơ̸̙̒d̷͒ͅy̵̩͐ͅ ̵̙̿̇o̶̼̖͊n̵̡̞͆ ̸̥̈͜t̴͚͙͝h̸͍̄̐e̴͉͐͠ ̶̛̦̥͑g̷͍͐̽a̵̯͑r̷̙͘ͅa̴̻̠͘g̴͈̜̊ȩ̸͘ ̶̩̣́f̶͇͐́l̶͖̳͠o̴͍͊͝ö̷̦́̃r̷̼̻͑.̷͕̇

H̴̰̽ạ̷́ñ̷̡̘̎d̷͕̈́͛s̶͎̏̚ ̵̹͖̌a̶͔̎͂r̸͈͌͒ò̷͖͕ǘ̴̬͐n̸̠̠̈́͂d̴̳̱͂̚ ̴̠̮̌ỷ̵̦̞õ̴͓̻u̷̹͕͠ŕ̸̈͜ ̶͈̞͛t̸̜̂ḧ̶͉̜́r̴̗͎̔o̵̪̿̏à̴̛͚t̸̰̓́.̴̥̒̇

N̵̝̈́ó̸̹ ̶̬͑o̷̬̐n̶̡̿e̷͓͊ ̷̧̛w̷̙͒ḁ̶͐s̶̝̉ ̷̞̓c̶͖͋ȍ̶͇m̷̡̅i̵̱̔n̶̹͛g̶͊͜ ̸̘̈́f̸̲͝ơ̶̤r̸͇̾ ̶̘̾y̷̮̾o̷̰̍u̶̹̓.̵͕̍

P̴̖̈a̷̲̚i̸͚͗n̸̺̉.̷̰͝

P̷̱̍A̸͉͊I̷͌ͅN̸̰͊.̵̬̔

You jolted awake, sweat beading down your face. It was hard to breathe, terror racking your body as you desperately tried to make sense of your surroundings.

The sun was still present, but it looked like it would set within the next few hours, the rays starting to turn golden as they came through the window of the bedroom. You felt like you had a bucket of cold water thrown on you, as the numb stupor you were in left all at once.

The pain of the fight with Bruno, the ring of the gunshot in your ears, leaving behind the only life you’ve known…

Finding your mom, the woman who raised you, dead.

Grief hit you in a strong wave. You hated her and everything she put you through. But the faded memories of the time before Bruno still lived in the back of your mind. When she would take you to get ice cream and sing little folk songs as she did your hair. Grief of the mother, the life, you could have had. You wouldn’t have it now. You thought you accepted that, but deep down, you hoped.

You hoped that one day she’d wake up. That she’d take you and you’d leave. She would sing those songs again, and keep you wrapped in your arms.

You don’t remember the last time she hugged you, or vice versa. You don’t remember the last kiss on the cheek, the last time you spent your afternoons watching the sun set. The last time she said a kind word to you; her only daughter.

The grief gave way, and rage bubbled.

She was your mother. Supposed to be the one person on your side no matter what, and she left you to rot. Obsessed with a fantasy life with a man who would never have enough. God knows what he was shooting for, but it was never going to be fulfilled. And instead of putting any kind of thought into it, she married a man who hated kids with a daughter of her own. She willingly signed you up into the hell you’ve lived in for a decade, and not once did she ever show you sympathy or remorse.

She asked how you could never pity her? Why you could never be grateful? Because you were damned to suffer for the simple crime of being born to a wretch of a mother.

You started to feel vindicated the more you reflect. She once told you she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Bruno. Well, she got what she wanted, didn’t she? Murdered by him, tossed on a tarp in a garage. Like she wasn’t even worth the effort it took to kill her. Maybe karma does exist, for such an end. One thing was for certain, the mom you knew was dead to you long before he struck.

You moved as if in a trance, walking out of the bedroom, through the living room, and onto the balcony. The rays of the sinking sun felt… rejuvenating. As you soaked it all up, you felt your soul itself become lighter.

Over time the sky became painted with more colors, reds, oranges, and purples as the sun retreated from the sky, allowing the other stars to shine. It took you a moment to realize it was a new moon, meaning it wouldn’t be seen. You weren’t upset. It somehow felt fitting.

You don’t know how long you sat there watching the waltz of the sky. When the last remnants of sunlight left, you searched for stars you knew. It wasn’t a lot, and you couldn’t see super well due to the city lights, but there were a few you spotted.

The door behind you slid open.

“Have you eaten?” Wesker’s voice flowed in the atmosphere you have been reveling in, almost adding to the scenery.

“No, I fell asleep,” you replied, keeping your eyes on the sky.

“I had guessed that was the case, I brought dinner.”

“Thank you.” You didn’t get up to move for a few more minutes. When you did, you were surprised to find Wesker still standing at the door, waiting.

He moved to the side as you entered and closed the door behind you.

Dinner was Chinese takeout and was some of the best food you’d ever had. One glance at the receipt told you why. It was from one of the high-end places in the city, with the two of your meals going for almost $60. You didn’t know how to feel about that amount of money being spent on you. You were not going to complain though. It was nice to be spoiled, even if it was just a side effect of Wesker’s high standards. He even remembered what your preferred order for Chinese was. 

After you finished eating, you gathered the dishes and began washing them. He pulled out some containers and the leftovers were put in the fridge. By that time most of the dishes were washed, and you started drying, while he put them away. It was… domestic in a way you’d never known. You didn’t feel stressed or rushed to get everything done, you just felt like you could be.

After the last dish was put away, he spoke. “I’m going to spend some time on the balcony. Feel free to join me if you wish.”

Might as well. What else were you going to do? You slipped into your bedroom and grabbed the book you’d been rereading and stepped out. The smell of tobacco and smoke wafted around the area, Wesker’s back to you as his arms rested on the rail, an ashtray next to him. His hand holding the cigarette motioned to the side, where the chair was. You vaguely remembered seeing it earlier, though you weren’t paying attention at that time.

You curled up and cracked open the book. Though before you got too settled, your curiosity got the better of you.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Your voice wasn’t accusatory, just opening up the space for conversation, should he choose to accept.

A dry chuckle escaped him. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

True. If Birkin wouldn’t drop his first name here and there to annoy him, you’d probably have never learned his name was Albert.

After a pause, he continued. “I don’t smoke frequently. Usually one or two at night, depending on my mood.” He finally turned over to look at you. “What are you reading now?”

“I’m rereading The Wind in the Willows,” you hum.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, you reading and him rhythmically inhaling and exhaling. The sounds of the city made for a lovely ambiance, even sirens of emergency vehicles coming off as poetic. Eventually Wesker snuffs out his second cigarette in his ashtray.

“I’m retiring for the night, I’ve got some more business to attend to in the morning,” he says, moving the ashtray he was using to the small table near where you were sitting.

“I won’t be long after,” you reply. “Goodnight Dr. Wesker.”

“Goodnight.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You spent the night tossing and turning, sleeping only in short bursts. As if your body couldn’t tolerate sleeping for longer than needed. You decided to just deal with it once the sun started rising, getting out of bed and following your morning routine. Maybe you could scrounge something up for breakfast for you and Wesker.

To your total surprise, he was already up, dressed, and had a pot of coffee going. Glasses sitting high on his nose.

“Good morning.” You’ve noticed Wesker never usually says these phrases of well wishes with any kind of enthusiasm. Really most of the things he says sounds like he's only saying it out of some form of social obligation. You don’t think he would ever really want Birkin to have a good night. He seems to always be thirty seconds away from stabbing him with a scalpel. It was honestly the most amusing part of your day, when they started bickering over something silly. You once thought chairs were gonna fly because of a missing beaker and as a fly on the wall, it was one of the best days you had in a long time.

You come out of your thoughts, giving him a “Good morning” in return. “Do you have anything to do today?”

“I have an errand or two to run this morning.” He pours his cup, adding a splash of milk before sipping away. “Feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I don’t eat breakfast.”

You nod, opening the fridge cautiously to look inside. “Is there anything you need me to do while I’m here?”

He doesn’t reply, though you don’t take it to mean too much. He’s probably mulling something over. Instead you take out the butter, eggs, and cheese from the fridge, before beginning your search through the cupboards. “I advise against any extra strain on your mind. Just because the worst of the concussion has faded, does not mean it has gone away. Especially since we are unaware of the severity.”

A long way to say “You need rest. Doctor’s orders.”

“Ok,” you hum. You finally found a bowl, now to find a pan and utensils. You passed by the cups, going ahead and slipping one out before continuing. Eventually you found the utensils but had no signs as to where the pans were. Most of the cabinets were almost empty, with hardly anything in them. Only a few cups, only a few plates, only a few utensils. It’s like this place was hardly lived in, now that you think about it. Does he even own pans? Would he get angry if you ask? Maybe he would think you’re stupid, cause of course he would have pans, it’s his apartment. You didn’t know what to do, but didn’t want to keep going through every cabinet, especially if it wasn’t needed.

“Um, Doctor Wesker-” you started, hesitantly.

“If you please, you can drop the doctor. Just Wesker is fine.”

“Ok, uh, Wesker, where do you keep your pans?”

He gives a short nod before going to a cabinet off to the side and opening it, revealing a few basic pans. You gave him a meek “Thank you” before grabbing the smallest one.

You begin working on your eggs, trying to be as out of the way and quiet as possible. As you were pouring the eggs into the skillet, Wesker came behind you and placed the mug in the sink. 

“I’m leaving for my errand, I’ll be back around midday, if I’ll be later I’ll page you. Help yourself to anything here that is not in my bedroom.” He leaves before letting you say anything, not that he needs to.

After you finished your eggs, you dealt with the dishes, putting them away after washing and drying them. You then washed down the counter, returning everything back to its spotless state. Once you were satisfied with everything, you fixed a glass of water and went back to the guest room to take your daily pill. But just as you raised it to your mouth, you stopped.

What was this supposed to be for again? You’ve been taking it for so long. Maybe you could ask Wesker? Is it worth bothering him with it? You’re not dying. 

But it’s one more thing connecting you to the past life you had. And you don't even remember what it’s for. You’ll take the pill now, but ask Wesker when he gets back. After all, he’s seeming to be nicer towards you, probably because of the concussion. Proof that he does have bedside service, you guess.

You found a book he had laying around in his living room (as you had finished your reread the night prior) and spent the rest of the day reading. It was refreshing to finally get your hands on something new. You rarely got new books, so anytime you got your hands on one, it felt like a holiday. It wasn’t the most exciting, but it was something.

Wesker returned when he said he would. He didn’t stay in the den for long, slipping away to his room quickly. It didn’t bother you much, he probably wasn’t super interested in chatting right now.

A few more hours passed until he resurfaced, wearing casual clothes. Or at least, what you assumed casual for him looked like. A crisp button up shirt, dress pants, his shoes forfeit for dark grey socks, but considering he was in his own home, you didn’t think much of it. What did bother you was the glasses on his face. You know he probably wouldn’t be wearing them if it weren’t for you violating his space.

“Do you want to take your glasses off?” You blurted out the question before you could stop yourself. 

Wesker stopped. An uncomfortable silence fell across the apartment. 

“I just asked… I can leave the room and sit somewhere else if you wish…” You feel like an idiot for saying something. If Wesker hadn’t thought of kicking you out, you just told him he could kick you out. Stupid stupid

“I am susceptible to headaches, so I wear them to reduce visual stimuli. I assure you there’s no need for you to step away.”

“Oh, yes. That makes sense. Sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you go back to your book, paying little mind to the sounds behind you. 

“Is there a drink you prefer? I’m wanting to imbibe this afternoon.”

“I’ve never had one, sir. I’m not even sure I should.”

“Why not?”

“My medication… actually, I wanted to discuss that with you.”

You wait as he walks over and takes a seat on the chair diagonal of where you were. He takes a sip from his glass, before giving a vague hand gesture. You guess that’s your sign to continue.

“I…I don’t know what it is. My medication, I mean.” He doesn’t react, or at least, you don’t notice a reaction. “Is there any way I can figure out what it is?”

Wesker takes another sip, quiet. Contemplative.

You wait. You don’t know why you’re nervous. You don’t need to be. He’ll help you, right? He wouldn’t leave you to have to deal with it, the one last connection to the mad bastard that raised you, would he? Especially since the withdrawal effects were so rough, even for just a day. To have to deal with it, and then figure out whether or not there was anything the medicine was helping all at the same time. It would be hellish.

“Do you have more?”

You snap back to the room, taking a second to process his question. “Yes, sir. I’m not sure exactly how much I have left.”

“We can count the pills later, bring me one.” 

You slip away into the guest room, pulling out the bottle, and decide to bring the whole thing. He holds out his hand when you return, and you wordlessly hand the bottle over then sat back down.

Wesker revolved the bottle around, checking for a label you guess, before opening it. To your shock, first he sniffs the container, before pouring a pill out and observing it. He stared at it for a bit, taking in every detail. He then closed the bottle, returning it to your hand.

“I’m going to keep this one and send it out to a lab when we get to our next location. It looks like you have enough for another few weeks, which should be plenty of time.” He went to his room and you returned the bottle to the guest room. When you came back to the living room, Wesker wasn’t back yet. You figured that would be the end of your interactions with him for the day and returned to reading. You vaguely became aware of Wesker’s return, but paid little mind. Until a glass of water was placed on the coffee table in front of you.

Wesker had already moved away when you looked up, and was sitting back at his chair, sipping from his glass, with his head to the ceiling. You read on, taking intermittent drinks of water, as he sat drinking amber liquid from his own glass.

Then the doorbell rings.

It feels like your heart is in your throat. Who could that be? The police? Did they figure out what happened at your house? How would they have known where you went, though? 

Wesker was already heading towards the door and you studied his movements closely, looking for any sign of hesitance. He pears through the peep-hole, before unlocking the door and cracking it open.

You hear the murmurs of an exchange as Wesker pulls something from his pockets and passes it. What he brought in was…

Pizza.

It was such a bizarre sight, seeing the boxes in his hand, you could have laughed. Instead you watched on quizzically as he moved the boxes to the kitchen counter, then began to pull out plates.

“Uh- What kind did you get?” you ask as you stand, moving your book to the side.

“I got a cheese for you, since I am unaware of your preference, and a mushroom and olive for myself.” 

He fixes the plates, a few slices for each of you, and brings them to the small dining table. For some reason ,you were quite pleased at the idea of your food being made for you. Honestly, these past two days are the most consistently you’ve eaten in… years. That’s probably the major reason it stood out so much to you.

Bringing his glass and yours, you sit across from him, and after he takes the first bite, you do the same. The pizza was amazing, the best you had even had, easily. The majority of pizzas you’ve had were cheap and from the freezer section of your local grocery store. You easily finish your slices. Before you could get up to get seconds, Wesker took your plate and his, added another two slices to both of your plates, and returned. The last two slices filled you perfectly. 

When you noticed him done eating, you took the plates to the sink and began washing them. You hear his steps fall in behind you, and after you put the plates in the drying rack, you turn to him holding out your glass of water, now refilled. 

“Thank you…” He looks at you and the rest of the sentence tumbles out of your mouth “For the food. Feeding me. Thank you.”

“You are under my care. I’m not going to let you starve, and I know I don’t have a lot to eat here.” He takes a sip of his drink, which he seemed to also have refilled. “And if I may be so forward, it seems like constant meals are a new development. If you’re going to be continuing your work for me, I need you at your best.”

That’s right, the notes. He still needs you around. You’re not going to complain, his need for you is keeping you fed and housed and out of jail for witnessing two homicides. Not to mention, he’s shown that if you play by his rules, he’ll work with you to some level. As long as you stay a useful asset, you’ll 

“You’re right about the meals… Mom didn’t like cooking and Bruno didn’t like me. His preferred way to punish me since I was little was to deny me food, and would even lock me in my room to make sure I didn’t get anything later on.”

You’re not sure why you’re telling him this. Maybe it’s the idea of wishing to be known. The only other two people who knew anything about your life are dead and didn’t give a shit about your pain. He might be the only chance you ever have to truly express yourself, to put your pain on display so at the very least someone could see that you bled. Granted, you know better than to expect Albert Wesker, of all people on this Earth, to have any sort of sympathy. You accepted long ago no one would weep for you.

“He hit you as well, didn’t he?” Wesker asks the question like he’s asking about the weather, and you don’t know if you feel better or worse for it. At your nod, he prompts. “I’m shocked no one ever took notice. No teachers, no doctors, no one phoned it in?”

“Someone tried once,” you hum, the memory overtaking you. Gentle hands, a comforting voice. For a few seconds you thought everything would be alright, even after it all. “It’s kinda a sad, fucked up story,” you state, injecting humor in your voice to keep the pain at bay. “When I was in… maybe second grade? My class did a thing for Father's day, you know writing down who your dad was and all that. The thing was, I never met my biological dad. But another girl had a similar home life, her mom remarried and she said her step dad loved cards and stuff. So I wrote Bruno a card, called him my step dad, hoped it would help soften him up to me I guess.

I still don’t remember a lot of that day. All I remember was walking through the door with the card proudly in my hand one moment. The next I was in… so much pain. He was screaming, my mom was screaming. It was horrible. Eventually it stopped at some point. The first and last time I was ever taken to the hospital. I was barely conscious, needed stitches, a cast. I ended up having to stay in the hospital for a few days due to a cracked rib and some fractures in my arms and legs.

When the nurses asked my mom what happened, she just said it was a biking accident. That I wasn’t paying close enough attention to my surroundings. Even then I could tell the nurse knew she was full of shit. Actually overheard her telling the doctor, or whoever, that CPS needed to get involved. They never did.

It was things like that my whole life. I never understood why no one did anything. Hell, I never understood why Bruno and Mom didn’t just leave me on a park bench two cities away. Guess they enjoyed my misery.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. Raccoon City is… corrupted.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” you hum, sipping on your water.

“Ah yes, I guess you are more familiar with that now aren't you.” A small smirk paints his face, probably the only facial expression you’re familiar without outside of his emotionless scowl, which returns quickly afterwards. “I am wishing to step outside and smoke again. Would you care to join me?”

“Sure.”

He moved the bottle of whatever he was drinking out on the balcony, sipping from it in between intakes of smoke. You brought the book you were reading with you and were once again curled up on the chair, enjoying the sounds of the city, as he moves the ashtray once again to the balcony rail and lights up. Whenever someone smokes, you always wonder what life is like with a full operating nose…

You remember your health class freshman year in high school. The teacher had given a lesson on scenting, how it was one of the best ways to bond with a potential mate. You remember wondering why no one had ever talked about your scent before, and that night you brought it up to your mom. She said you didn’t have one and it was probably due to your lack of presentation.

“As long as you can smell, you can pretend.”

“But I can’t smell?” you replied.

She didn’t say anything. Just slammed her jewelry box closed and stormed out of the room.

You look up to see Wesker’s head angled towards you. You could swear you saw a red glint in his glasses briefly, as he adjusts his head to look more to the side, almost lazily. You’re only guess is a play on the lighting, though you have no idea where the light comes from. You hold his gaze, waiting to see if he would say anything. After he realized you were going to hold his gaze, he repositioned himself to where he was facing you, back leaning on the rail. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, tilts his head up, and with an exhale, smoke curls out of his mouth and into the air.

“What does it smell like?” you whisper. He taps the end of the cigarette over the ashtray with a pondering hum.

“Each brand is different, due to different types of tobacco that can be used and the chemicals they treat it with.” He takes another inhale, letting the smoke pour out as he spoke again. “To answer your question more directly, there is not a good descriptor of what it smells like. It’s very unique.”

You nod. In all honesty, you’re not completely noseblind, you can get faint whiffs of scents here and there; and he’s right about cigarettes being unique in their smell. You let your gaze fall to his neck. That’s where the most prominent scent glands are. The only other placement of scent glands worth anything are the ones on the wrists. 

“May I ask something personal?” You whisper, almost hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“Curious about my scent?”

You nod as you feel your cheeks warming up slightly. Hopefully the darker lighting will hide it.

“My rut suppressants have muddled it a bit, but it’s similar to something akin to polished authentic leather, though I’ve heard some say it has smokey undertones.” 

“Oh…. is that why you wear a leather jacket around? To mask your scent.”

“Part of it, yes.”

“Smoking?”

“Like I said, stress relief.”

You nod, awkwardly. He’s been a good sport about answering your questions, since he has every right to shut them down. Maybe you should head to bed, you’ve taken so much of his time already. But he hasn’t dismissed you.

“What do you think of them?” He asks, smoke curling around his face. “Of Raccoon City and everyone in it. Of… humanity.”

You pause, wondering if he’ll elaborate. When, after a brief pause, he turns to you, cigarette in his mouth, and you realize he’s finished, you give your answer.

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” Smoke rushes out of his mouth, like a dragon from a fairy tale, as he questions you, disbelief in his tone.

“I don’t.”

“Really? Not even going to feign empathy?”

“No one has ever shown empathy to me, why should I to them? Doctors have left me for dead, teachers have turned their heads away. This city has done nothing for me and I won’t weep for any of it. Let it burn for all I care.”

He takes another long, almost dramatic, inhale of his cigarette. Even with his glasses on, you know he’s watching you, waiting for you to crack and show your bluff. You don’t look away, and keep fixated where his eyes would be if you could see them. It’s a direct challenge, but you fear looking away would make you seem like you’re dishonest to him.

After a moment of your silent staredown, a wicked smile graced his features. “I guess there are some similarities between us after all.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day was one of the most peaceful days you had had in a long long time. Wesker messaged you around 11 am saying that he would be longer, and you ended up with the whole day to yourself. At one point you moved to the balcony, enjoying the summer day. Someone had a windchime on their balcony nearby and it made for a lovely background ambiance with the gentle breeze.

A few hours before sunset, a knock came from the glass door behind you. Upon seeing Wesker on the other side of the glass, you memorized the page number you were on, closed the book, and went inside.

“I brought food,” he stated, “I’m going to change clothes. Go ahead and eat.” He was gone before you could reply.

You decided to go ahead and get the food set up. Once again, the food was from a higher end restaurant, but this time it was a steakhouse that you hadn’t even heard of. You had no clue what was supposed to be yours or his, honestly you weren’t sure how comfortable you were with eating food this pricey. You already were quite indebted to Wesker, this felt like overkill.

You barely heard his footsteps approaching, and turned to be met to a shocking sight. 

Wesker in a t-shirt and sweatpants. 

You had never seen him in anything less than a button up and dress pants, so this was quite a surprise. Almost as surprising as the amused smile that decorated his face for a few brief seconds at your reaction. It was gone quickly, but it still lingered in your memory.

“Umm, I’m not sure whose meal is whose,” you manage to spit out. “I’ve never heard of this place before.”

“I’m not surprised,” he said, striding over and reaching over you to get in the bag, pulling the containers out. “It’s the most expensive restaurant in the city, with a singular Michelin star to its name. Since we will be leaving, I figured it would be nice to spend our last night in Raccoon City with my personal favorite restaurant.” He places a container and gestures for you to sit at the seat in front of it. 

“Last night?” you questioned, sitting down.

He walks over to the kitchen. “Yes, the reason I stayed out for longer was to go ahead and finish everything I needed to do. Our flight will be early tomorrow.”

Your gut sunk at the word flight. You didn’t care much about the sudden departure, he had been very clear that you wouldn’t be here for long. But you’d never been in a plane before. 

One thing at a time.

“Safe to say we won’t be returning to Raccoon City?”

He chuckled darkly as he walked back to the table with a bottle of wine, an empty wine glass, and a glass of water. “If everything goes according to plan, there won’t be a Raccoon City to return to.”

His question last night now made a lot of sense. 

“Let’s not think of it much more, enjoy your dinner. I got you a steak done medium-well, as well as some brussel sprouts and potatoes on the side.” The glass of water was placed in front of you as he sat and poured a glass of wine for himself. 

The steak cut easily under your knife, which you were surprised by. You’d think it would be harder to do, since it was a thick piece of meat. It felt like it was even softer in your mouth, and you couldn’t help the pleased hum that came out of your mouth at the flavors hitting your tongue. You looked up to notice that Wesker was watching you, and after you swallowed your bite, he started cutting into his.

“How did you spend your day?” He asked, before putting his own bite of steak into his mouth. 

“Just reading, nothing exciting,” you reply, before taking a bite of brussel sprouts. They had a satisfying crunch with a marvelous tart, but sweet, flavor accompanying it. You’d always heard other kids all throughout your years of school speak of how awful brussel sprouts were, but you found it hard to believe why when these were some of the best things you’d ever eaten.

“Once we are at our next location, I’ll have you start up on the project I would like for you to cover. You should be recovered enough for there to be no strain.” 

Right, Bruno’s notes. You’ll need to drag that out to some degree, just until you know what will happen to you after they’re done.

You dig into the potatoes and can instantly recognize the flavors of rosemary and a light onion flavor. You’re starting to realize you’ll never experience food the same way after this. You’re also realized how much your mom was not a great cook.

“Are you enjoying your food?” Wesker asked with an amused hum.

You felt embarrassed, realizing that you scarfed a lot of it down while his plate was still full, sans a few bites. 

“Uh, yes. Thank you.”

“Good,” he hums, before bringing a piece of steak up to his mouth. “Don’t feel embarrassed, I’m glad to see you eating. Are you full?”

“Yes, I am, thank you.”

You sit and sip on your water as he finishes his meal, elegantly sipping his wine here and there. His meal looked similar to yours, though his steak looked like it was greatly undercooked, but you know better than to say something. There were also brussel sprouts on his plate, but he seemed to have gotten asparagus instead of potatoes. 

He eats every bite on his plate faster than you would have thought, but by no means scarfing it down. After he finishes his meal and the two of you clean the kitchen, he dismisses himself to bed, claiming the need to finalize packing and throwing advice to not stay up too late.

You don’t plan on staying up late anyways. You just take one last moment out on the balcony. It only felt fitting to take a moment to look over the city that raised you and the only place you’ve ever known. You desperately search your mind for a person to pity, a singular soul you would want to warn about some imminent disaster. Perhaps Birkin, but he was most likely well aware of whatever Wesker was alluding to and had already planned for it. After all, how he spoke of his daughter, you’d think he had her stashed away already, at the very least. 

You always felt a twinge of jealousy for her position. Your dad more than most likely hadn’t spared you a second thought in years. 

No, there was no one.

Out of the corner of your eye you catch quick movement, and look down to see a scuffle. After watching it unfold for a moment, you put together it’s a mugging and it eventually comes to an end with the mugged individual knocked against a wall and collapsing. The mugger sprinting off into the darkness.

Maybe it was for the best that the city would be wiped off the face of the Earth, you thought, as you slipped inside to pack for the flight.

[emblemxeno]

How is Nohr any better than Woobiegard's Empire? They're both vicious imperial powers trying to conquer their neighbor for power and glory because they think they deserve that land. The only difference is we see Nohr commit more atrocities onscreen. Hell, the Black Eagles are just the Nohr royal family except instead of having no spines they have no brains.

Many reasons, actually!

Nohr was lead to be the way it is through a corrupt outside influence through Anankos. Though we don't have any information on rulers before him, Garon was explicitly stated to be someone who was prideful but never cared for conquering other nations. While The Slithers had a hand in the Empire, ultimately, the Empire's bullshit in the current story started with Edelgard's dad given that he destroyed an entire noble house that tried to break away because he wanted ultimate power, before Edelgard herself took up the mantle of doing that both inside and outside the Empire.

2) The Nohrian royals were pretty much groomed for 15 years into being complicit in Nohr's actions through Anankos possessing their father, added onto the pre-existing trauma of dealing with the Nohrian concubines abusing everyone around them including other royal children. The Black Eagles made a conscious decision to back Edelgard knowing what that means, with the only person having a good excuse to do so being Petra, whose country is being held hostage by the Empire.

3) The Nohr sibs actively work to 'loophole' their way through missions and assignments, as explicitly stated by Leo in chapter 14, and exemplified by how they all talk themselves and Corrin out of trouble concerning things like the Ice Tribe. Another example is how they have no issue in sparing people whatsoever, so long as Garon isn't there to threaten them into submission. The Black Eagles do jack shit to undermine Edelgard while under employ. Not that it matters, because...

4) The Nohr sibs hardly ever share positive feelings about the war and conflicts they take part in. Elise is an idealist who's visibly shown to be crushed and confused when her family isn't around, Leo outright says that they would've "lost their souls" had they not worked around Garon's orders, Xander has suicidal ideation and is basically going through doublethink when it comes to his responsibility and actions, and Camilla... well, she's already been fucked up for a long time and her fear of Garon is greater than her desire for peace. The Black Eagles meanwhile? They're just fine when participating in Edelgard's war. Sure, you have Dorothea wangsting on about it, but she's still doing her part no questions asked. Ferdie's spineless, Linhardt is unconscionable, Bernadetta basically convinced herself that forcing a complete 180 personality shift is for the best, and Petra and Caspar have no qualms about killing innocent people defending their homes, given they frequently dehumanize/impersonalize the actions.

5) Most importantly, the stories of each game present the war differently. The war in Fates and Nohr's part in it is actively presented to be irrational and wrong, a cruel plot by a false king exacerbated by the pre-existing issues that caused friction between Nohr and Hoshido in the first place. There is never a moment where a character in Fates says, "yeah this war is for the greater good." No matter the route, but especially in Conquest, Corrin is making the best of a bad situation that was out of his control from the start, yet he can turn around before it's too late. And even when the Nohr siblings have an out, that being they were abused into being accomplices in war crimes, they take responsibility of the pain they've caused at the end of Conquest, pledging their lives going forward into reshaping Nohr for the betterment of everyone.

3H is the opposite. Edelgard poses the war as better than the "false peace" that has been present between the three nations of Fodlan for three centuries. And the story actively validates her perspective and beliefs on this, through complimenting her leadership skills, saying her soldiers would rather die for her than abandon her cause, by constantly putting Rhea under scrutiny before the timeskip, by saying Edelgard "has a point" in every single route, by infantilizing her in White Clouds and CF, by giving her a happy ending at the end of CF, by the entire existence of Three Hopes, etc.

Fates paints war as the tragedy as it is, the trauma and grief that comes with the loss of any individual life, and punishes the ones who profit off of it while offering the chance of atonement from redeemable participants.

3H rewards Edelgard for warmongering, and brushes aside the brutal reality of warfare and imperialism by focusing on Edelgard's feelings about "the weight on her shoulders and her blood soaked hands!" before asking you to care about the lives taken.

Those are the differences. I hope my answers to your inquiries were satisfactory.

[brokenheartwithheartbreak]

Fuck It Friday, or whatever the kids are saying these days

"You should get this reissued." Liam says, eventually, when Theo's down to the dregs of his drink, mostly just half melted ice left in the bottom of the cup. Liam's feet are still on the dash and Theo hasn't pushed them down. The beta waves Theo's ID, brandishing it like a flag before tossing it next to his wallet. "Y'know, with your actual birthday."

Theo huffs, "I don't think they issue student cards to drop outs."

Liam twists in his seat, genuine surprise flaring across his face, eyebrows almost in his hairline. Theo blinks back, impassive, trying not to be bothered by this, to make his peace with not being able to have this one, stupid thing. In the grand scheme of everything he is, a graduation hardly seems important, hardly seems like it should matter at all - he only went back to highschool to get close to Scott, to the pack - but it does, it sits under his skin like one of the many poisoned barbs growing in his bones and every time he has to think about what he's missed, what was taken from him with those four months in hell, it wraps a little tighter around his throat.

"You're not coming back to school, after summer?" Liam gawps, seems genuinely confused. Theo pins him with a very patient, very tired kind of a look.

"I disappeared for four months, Liam. Can't exactly tell the office where I was, can I?" And yeah, his voice comes out bitter, words twisted with the sour feeling that sits in his gut whenever he thinks too long about a clammy hand wrapping around his ankle, dragging him down through broken concrete while they stood there and watched, while Deucalion and Gerard and all the others Scott has spared over the years stood over their shoulders and mocked him, foolish little boy, cast out by his creators, betrayed by who he thought was an ally, dismissed as a threat by a flick of a wrist and the glow of a spiritual sword.

"Yeah, well, they've hired like six different teachers who all turned out to be killers or monsters of some kind, a guidance councilor who went all wack and started hunting highschoolers, and I'm pretty sure Lydia's mom abuses her power way more than she lets on." Liam's looking at him like he thinks Theo is a little bit stupid, arms folded loosely over his chest, legs crossed at the ankle where they're propped on the dash. Theo swallows, blinks away the afterimages of Deucalion standing over him in that tunnel, smug and self righteous after breaking a teenager's neck.

"I think we can probably talk them into letting you re-take Senior year."

And that. Yeah, that takes him off guard, punches a short little breath from him, because he hadn't considered that as being even a possibility. He failed, failed his mission and at being a student, both, at the same time. That chapter is over and he's got nothing to show for it. His schooling history is patchy at best, not that the paperwork Beacon Hills has on file says as much, but this feels important, somehow, some shred of normalcy, something so intrinsically normal small town kid it makes his chest ache because he wasn't entirely lying when he told Stiles 'I still need to graduate' and he does his best not to let that show on his face, in the near-whisper that falls from his lips, "Oh."

Liam laughs a little, not in an unkind way, reaches over to take the mostly-empty milkshake cup from Theo's lax fingers and tips a handful of ice straight into his mouth, talks around it a second later. "You really have no idea how the school system works, do you?

Theo leans back into his seat, tries to find his footing again, kind of hates how Liam keeps pulling the damn rug out from under him, has him stumbling blind and drunk down a winding hallway he's a little afraid to find the end of. "It wasn't really a priority in my private curriculum, no."

[eternalera]

im bored and wanna argue with a wall why i ship lawlight.

alright so lets get started! the first thing that people usually bring up with lawlight is the age gap. so basically at the start of the series light is 17 and L is 24 BUT when they meet light is 18 and L is still 24. theyre literally adults. now okay that's kinda a shit excuse so lets talk about why the age gap is NOT the problem with their toxicty. (its their personalities-)

first off the main problem with agegaps are the power imbalances, the thing with L and light is yeah they have this. but you wanna know what? they'd have this even if light was the exact same age as L, because the whole point of death note is the power struggle that the two of them have going on. why do they have this? because theyre equals in pretty much everything, IQ, tennis etc. the power struggle they have is intriguing and everyone can agree to this, you wanna know why? YOU WATCHED DEATH NOTE. thats like half of the entertainment, watching these two go toe to toe.

then there's the "theyre in different stages of life" argument. they're not, they're just really not. L's doing nothing with his life but solving cases (sry buddy but its true-), and light's literally just doing the same thing except killing people and keeping L from solving the case. not to mention that 6 years is not that big of an agegap. no, seriously im being so genuine right now. like yeah okay, its weird if an 18 yo dates a 12 yo thats wrong because the 18 yo is an adult with a TON of more life experiences than they 12 yo, they've gone through puberty, etc. they know a lot more about sex and stuff as well so that is grooming.

but what if a 30 and 36 yo are dating? that's fine, you wouldn't object to that as long as they met at a time when they were emotionally mature enough to make the decision to date.

also there are much larger age gaps than just 6 years in real life. there are tons of couples that have 10 or 12 years (one of my friends parents have a 20 year age gap) in between the two of them and have been together for a while (NOT when one of them was younger) and they're in a healthy relationship. my parents have a 6 year age gap, it's totally fine. theyre healthy there's not power imbalance and stuff like that

anyways moving on from that. there's the whole ethical standpoint of their debate but like... guys light's a mass murderer be so fr right now. then there's the victim x their abuser argument but literally that can go for either one of them.

yes light killed L but it wasnt like L wasn't trying to do the same (if he convicted light he WAS going to kill him, make no mistake on that). he literally told the task force how once he captured kira he was going to bring them his HEAD (he knew light was kira, he's known pretty much since he approached him at the college so he WANTED to kill light).

now is the ship toxic?... hell yeah, toxic as fuck. there are hardly any relationships (romantic or platonic) that arent toxic to some extent. hell even light and his father's relationship is toxic and they're family. light uses his father's position to kill more people, he wouldve killed his father if he was a risk into revealing that he was kira, he wouldve killed any of his family if them being alive was a risk to his identity.

but what about L? well he looks down on literally everyone who isn't as smart as him with the only exception being watari and possibly light. any relationship with him he's going to regard the person as wasting his time or not intelligent enough. there is that one line where misa kisses L on the cheek and he says how he could fall in love with her. i do think he's being genuine but keep in mind it would still be toxic for her as L is way more obsessed with figuring out tough cases than retaining a relationship.

so if its toxic people cant ship it right? wrong. there are tons of toxic relationships in fandom AND in canon that have insane power dynamics. there are a few in arcane as well, caitvi (caitlyn's an enforcer vi's from the undercity) and jayvik (viktor turned into a FUCKING GOD and tried to basically turn everyone into robots where jayce is literally JUST HUMAN) are pretty big examples. now are these toxic? Mmmm honestly depends on who you ask lol. imo yeah a little (in canon at least seeing as how caitlyn did gas vi's people and viktor DID try to take over piltover) but they're still shipped widely.

and even if a ship isn't inherently toxic some people will go out of there way to make it toxic because thats just what they like. its fandom. there are going to be stuff you do and dont like about it. lawlight just tends to be one of those things and honestly i dont think its as bad as people are making it out to be. and not to mention toxic ships really are just an acquired taste, once again its part of EVERY FANDOM (havent seen it yet, you will stick around, trust me it'll happen) and you just gotta learn to live with it lol.

now do i think that theyre in love in the anime? no, but do i ship them anyways and in my own aus? yeah, but then again either L's aged down or lights aged up so what the hell do i know?

hope you enjoyed my ranting lol. byeee

(ALSO THIS IS NOT BEING USED TO JUSTIFY FUCKED UP DYNAMICS IRL. THESE ARE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS.)

tldr: their age gap is NOT the problem to their toxicity its them and i like it that way

[cillivnz]

SEX CHAMBER — THE DIMITRESCU BOYS [HEADCANNONS]

pairings. dimitrescu boys x f!reader [individual and foursome]

warnings. dubcon. nsfw. 18+. double/triple penetration, anal sex & vaginal sex, anal & vaginal fingering, squirting, forced orgasms, biting, mentions of cannibalism, blood-play, vampiric themes, overstimulation, breast-play, oral sex (m! & f!), stockholm syndrome (kinda).

a/n. requested! thank you for this ask, it’s been a common request, and i will be writing fan-fiction for these guys, too, but in different verses, not the preexisting ones!

the dimitrescu boys who adore you— their perfect little whore, so compliant and ready to take cock in whichever hole they choose. your pretty cries and sobs while those monster cocks absolutely obliterate you, showing no mercy to your gummy walls and virgin asshole.

Boian Dimitrescu, oldest of the three, silent and stoic, but determined to rearrange your insides. he hardly made a sound while thrusting into your pussy, only grunting when you’d clench unnecessarily around him, seriously, you’d think you would’ve adjusted to their size after fucking daily— day and night, but the cunt remains tight as ever, partly why the brothers are adamant on having you for breakfast and breaking your back for dinner. his long blonde hair falls over your shoulders when he’s thrusting from behind. complaining about you being a “hostile cunt”, nonetheless fucking every inch of that long, girthy cock into your abused cunt. as the oldest, it’s him that penetrates you first, even if it’s his younger siblings that have repeatedly made you squirt and gush over their tongues prior, but the first cock to enter you will always be Boian’s, it goes without saying. if it’s the next brother, then he’ll only argue with him over you, possessive as ever, taking his agitation out on your gaping hole(s), not giving you any attention while his dick pays you all the heed in the world. he loves spoiling you, wordlessly. if he gives any aftercare, it’s silently pulling your limp body closer to his, letting you use his toned chest as a pillow and sleep.

Cătălin Dimitrescu, middle child, this sadist would fuck you without prepping, and not just your pussy, this son of a bitch would fuck both your holes dry, enjoying the burn (though his cock would be wet enough from the forceful fellatio he’s coaxed out of your plump lips). he enjoyed kills the most, those cannibalistic ventures were the only shenanigans that would bring him as much joy as your cunt does. yeah, they all need blood to survive, but this one treats it like a luxury that only he, and he can afford. he’ll fuck you missionary, to stare at that pretty face contorting in pain and also to watch your cunt squeeze in and out his extreme length. not as girthy as his brother, but definitely on the longer side, punching your cervix is like a walk in the park for him. he’ll bite your neck, the supple flesh above your breasts and leave marks, licking the trickling blood, savouring the ferric tanginess. definitely the most vocal while fucking. doesn’t hide his own moans neither his admiration for how the sole purpose of your existence was to take dick like a champ. “good girl”, “don’t you dare run away from me”, “like that? harder? no? *proceeds to pound into your abused pussy*”. eats pussy like a starving man, “ugh, so thirsty,” whines while enclosing your squirting hole in an open-mouthed kiss. is the first one to get horny and bring his brothers to fuck you. doesn’t actually prep you, but his constant selfish stimulation of your cunt gets you about ready for others. raven hair all shaggy and wet from the amount of times he’s made you squirt on his face.

and Dorin Dimitrescu, the youngest and most delusional of all, because he actually thinks you’ll make a great wife, despite his brothers’ cum residing in every hole of yours in front of him, every day. so what if you’re not just a whore for him? he’s not a good man. he gives you pain just like Cătălin, but he wordlessly looks after your needs like Boian, too. “you’re so mean,” when you refuse to open wide for his cock to be shoved down your throat, or, “good, now harder,” when you’re trying to bounce on his cock while he’s pinching your clit. “i get thirsty, too, understand?” he says, pushing his brother’s face away from your bleeding breasts, trying to make you understand that he is not a sadist like him, but can’t not relish in your taste when you’re laid out so perfectly for him. “try something new?” he was the one who introduced anal, and you don’t know whether to curse him for leaving your hole gaping every night, or make love to him by letting him have his way. you feel chestnut brown hair tickling your back when he kisses your spine, fingering your ass while the tip of his cock prods at your swollen folds.

the dimitrescu boys who’ve hidden you from the eyes of their father, knowing he won’t hesitate to keep something as beautiful as you for his own pleasure the minute he’s aware of your existence.

the dimitrescu boys who’ve locked you away in the dungeons, usually chained in such a position that it’s easy for them to enter, enter you, cum inside you, and leave, while you’re still splayed out for the next brother to come and have his way.

the dimitrescu brothers who’ve provided you with more riches you’ve had as a poor farmer’s daughter, in the warmth of their abode in exchange of them inside your warmth.

the dimitrescu brothers who look forward to the days and nights ahead of them, only because they get to fuck you.

the dimitrescu brothers who’ve impressed their father with their new ability to care and share, credits to you and your body.

the dimitrescu boys who love you, simply because you’re the one one fucked up enough to love them back.

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