xxxdeadramenxxx

[xxxdeadramenxxx]

Your Own Sky- Albert Wesker x GN!Reader - One Shot

Warnings: Cursing, descriptions of violence and murder, angst

You shouldn’t worry too much now, dear. You’ll soon be free of all of this anyway.” 

The Police Station looked different at two in the morning, almost like a haunted house taken right from a movie set and put in the quaint town known as Raccoon City. The light mist of rainfall didn’t help with its appearance either. It stood tall glaring back at you as you stood outside the main gate. Your morning shift was long over but you couldn’t help but drag yourself back here, late at night when fewer officers would be around the station. You have found yourself doing this for two long and torturous weeks ago when everything changed in the S.T.A.R.S. program when everything began to change in you.

Your hand pushes open the ornate pewter gate, leaving it ajar just enough to walk through. Once your hand leaves the gate, you listen as it shrieks itself close. The sound echoed in your mind for a moment, when did this place start to begin to feel like a prison? You took your time walking up the concrete steps, each step felt like a sentence until you finally reached the double wooden doors. You pushed them open and walked inside, now in the main lobby. 

The main lobby was nothing like the normal police stations in America, then again, nothing was like Raccoon City. It was once a regal art museum, filled to the brim with paintings, and elegant sculptures. Now nearly completely renewed as a fancy-look police station. It used to be one of your favorite things about the place, how every room felt like a discovery wondering what was originally here. Thankfully, the police station did end up keeping more of the more.. defining pieces such as the pure white marble maiden statue in the lobby. The lion statue at the top of the main double staircase, the unicorn statue next to the library, and so forth.

No one was there besides the young receptionist at the police desk, Officer Bradley. A man in his early twenties, with a short black buzzcut, and a gold hoop earring in his left ear. Currently in the middle of what looked like some random game card on the computer, Solitaire maybe? Bradley seemed to have felt you staring because his head snapped up to you so fast, you were sure he must have pulled a muscle. His milk chocolate eyes lit up slightly seeing you, you had both been pretty friendly in the short time together. A few greetings and asking what each one would be doing that weekend, nothing more than short and friendly talk.

Bradley smiled at you, it wasn’t a friendly “Hey good to see you one”, it read more of a “Hey, you should be home resting”. A sympathetic and sorrowful one. It was the same treatment you and most of your fellow members of S.T.A.R.S. The constant coddling and walking on eggshells, the never-ending condolences. You hated it in a way, you wish everything would just go quiet and back to normal but it wouldn’t. But you swallowed your pride and gave a small smile back at him. Now was not the time to be thinking about the past, not yet.

“Shouldn’t you be at home, resting for your shift tomorrow? Or should I say today?” Bradley asked in a smooth baritone voice. You swore that if he wasn’t a cop, he would be making a living as a singer. 

You let out a soft laugh then shook your head at his comment. He wasn’t wrong but it wasn’t the first time that you had come into work with less than 8 hours of sleep. Plus the station’s crappy coffee while tasting like utter garbage, did its job of keeping you awake when needed.

“I’ll be fine, all of us practically live here anyway,” You responded dismissively, waving your hand.

“Heh..maybe for you. I like going home and living the outside life.” Bradley says with a chuckle and slight shake of his head.

“To each their own I suppose, dont work too hard.” You say as you begin to walk away and the small ramp then up the left staircase of the station. You heard Bradley snort but didn’t proceed to say anything more.

You walked up the stairs, turning left into the library’s hallway. You walked past the huge bookshelves lined with all kinds of research and information. Empty tables and chairs, with a few wrappers from the vending machine candy. It doesn’t take you long to get where you truly want to go, where you need to go. Past the unicorn statute, into a long L-type hallway. Finally, you reach the section of the station you have been dreading to be in every day since that night. The lone door stood there, with a metal plaque in big bold letters next to it that read: S.T.A.R.S. Special Tactics and Rescue Service.

You stare at the words that seemingly mocked you. If S.T.A.R.S was supposed to be at the top of the team, Raccoon City’s best of the best then how did everything go so wrong? The taste of bile slowly rose in your throat, you knew why. It sickens you and makes you want to scream out. But you don’t.

Being outside of the S.T.A.R.S office was already a hard thing but being inside was a different experience. Even now as you stand in the doorway of the office. You just frown looking ahead at the desks. There were nine long wooden desks, some facing back to back with the others. It was a small space for each person but they made it work. Everyone had something or a style to their desk to indicate it was theirs. You walk up to the desks, noticing the tenth and eleventh one on the right side pinned against the wall. Out of the eleven desks there, five were empty and cleaned out.

You frowned looking at them, it was only two weeks ago when your Captain took you and the rest of S.T.A.R.S on a mission regarding a mansion. The Mansion Incident. At the time, it seemed like a normal mission despite the reports of people.. eating each other. You took a seat at your desk, it was across from Jill’s and diagonal from Chris’s. Both respected co-workers and survivors with you. You couldn’t believe it was only two weeks ago, you lost five members of your makeshift family. It didn’t help that memories and sounds of their laughter and voices were a mere fade now. Tears began to prick your eyes, you didn’t want to forget them and all the time spent together, but every day you felt them slipping from your mind. You held your head in your hands trying to calm the pain.

Monstersourus. That is the word you use and still use to describe that night in question. It started normal, being dropped off to investigate only to be chased into a mansion nearby by hideously diseased-looking rottweilers. The rest of the night was a house of horrors, people being picked off left and right, monsters of all kinds and shapes attacking you from any opportunity that arose. The worst of it all was the betrayal by the man whom you loved and respected the most. Captain Albert Wesker. The man who sealed everyone’s fate that night and the rest of their lives. 

Your relationship with Wesker was…complicated to say the least. He was your boss first and foremost but over the two years of working along his side. 

Something had changed, your dynamic was simple at first.

You would always greet him like you would any other officer, and he would usually respond with a curt ‘morning’ or just simply nod his head. You would ask him along with the others if he would join you for drinks after a successful mission. He would always decline, saying ‘I have more important things than killing my brain calls on cheap alcohol’. A statement that rings deeper in you than you remember.

Sparring sessions with him is where the dynamic began to change. It was a late night after a rough mission, rough missions are usually ones where the team isn’t able to save everyone and in this case, it was a young kid. It hit you hard and instead of going home for the night like everyone else did. You stayed there in the workout area, just punching the hung-up bag over and over until your hand felt numb. The memory is slowly replaying in your mind.

“Poor stance and swing. Who taught you how to punch?”

You jolted in surprise, turning around to see your captain, standing in the doorway. Bemused by your fighting. His arms were crossed over his chest, his black sunglasses staring back through you. Still in his uniform without the vest and radio. Your heartbeat sped up, he always had this imitating nature to him.

“uh...Chris sir.” You respond at first, waiting to see if he needs you for something or if he is just making conversation. 

Wesker scoffed, the corner of his thin lips twisting into a light scowl. His grip on his arms seemed to tense up.

“Remind me, I need to retrain Mr. Redfield. He’s getting sloppy.”  You nod at his request, expecting him to walk away and leave you to finish up your workout. But he didn't, he stood there longer. Like he’s waiting for something.

“How long were you watching??” You ask him with light pants.

“Enough to know that if you’re in a real fight, you won't last long.” You stared at him with an offended expression, unsure what to say.

“Excuse me?” He scoffs one more.

“I know you’re not daff, you heard me the first time. I will not be repeating myself.” You frowned looking at him, this was honestly the most you have talked with him.

You and he may have not talked but you did notice things about him. While being a hardass and strict as the rest of the members put it, you saw him as ambitious and just closed off. Over the last two years, you had picked up on his little mechanics. Wesker is a man who speaks with his body when he’s not speaking words. How his lips twist into a scowl when he’s annoyed, when he’s pleased he lets out a smooth hum noise. When he’s livid, which you have only seen a few times, his jaw clenches, and his eyebrows furrow. At this moment, you knew Wesker was annoyed with Chris but other than that. You didn't know why he was here, wait he did...

“Would you like to teach me properly?” You ask a bit more sassy than you would like. Even if he was your boss, you didn’t like being criticized so rudely.

“If I didn’t then the S.T.A.R.S department would become a joke. I have no room nor the patience for more idiots on this team” And that was how the weekly sparring sessions began.

As the memory fades, you let out a short laugh filled with pain. You close your eyes, wiping the tears away. After the sparring sessions happened, you improved to the point that Wesker said you didn't spar anymore. That didn’t stop the two of you from continuing the routine. You grew to learn about him, how smart the man truly was, and how blunt he could be. It was worth it, or you thought at the time it was worth it. 

Despite the tears no longer pricking from your eyes. The pain wouldn’t stop, now that you had remembered and started to think about Wesker. Everything was hurting, you never felt so alone and small before this. Finally picking yourself up from the office chair, you go to the small closed section with a glass door in your way. It wasn’t just any section though, it was Wesker’s office. Or it used to be his. Now it was just another empty seat along with the other five. Out of the twelve of you, you had officially lost six members of the team.

Opening the glass door, your breath hitched. Since that night at the mansion, you hadn’t stepped foot in his office. Part of you was angry, and out of spite wanted nothing to do with him or his belongings, but it wore you down to regret and sadness when you realized that despite how angry you are. You miss him dearly. 

To your shock, all of his belongings were still here. All of his books are on the back counter behind his desk. The wall was still littered with all of his achievements and plaques from the departments. His name mocking you as well as you reading the title on the desk. 

“Captain Wesker” 

Even his desk looked like how he left it. All neat, a pile of papers stacked nicely underneath his desk lamp. A black rotary telephone sat near the lamp, which made sense if the police chief needed to reach him quickly. On the other side of the desk was a computer similar to the one Bradley was playing on. His office chair wasn’t like yours and your fellow members. His was a black and puffy cushioned chair, lucky bastard.

A sickening feeling came back to you, how was his office left untouched but the others were picked clean? Did…no one care? Were...you supposed to do that?  A sudden twinge of guilt ripped through you. The more you looked around, you began to notice that Wesker had nothing truly sentimental, nothing that seemed to break the fine line of work and personal life.

Each step inside his office felt like the air was limited. Your emotions ranged from anger to sorrow. You wanted to trash his neat office, you wanted to reflect on the man who killed your friends and co-workers. Reaching his desk, you went and sat down in his seat. You let out a shaky sigh, it still smelled of him...Your hand clenched into a fist as you noticed something that made you want to scream and cry. It was small, so small that you wouldn't have noticed it unless you were behind a desk. Unless you were Wesker sitting in his spot.

In the corner of the computer, there was a tiny wallet-sized photo tucked into the edge of it. So it wouldn’t be able to fly away. The photo was of you and Wesker at the bar, you smiling brightly and him giving a half-annoyed smile to the camera. You were both sitting at the bar counter, a beer in each hand, you had your arm around his waist. Your head leaned into his chest while at the time Brad took the photo. At the time, Wesker wasn't used to nor ready for that kind of contact. Fumbled to hold you back, so the photo caught him trying to hold you back. His free hand is in mid-air.

That photo was the first night he had shown up at the bar. The first time, he had swallowed his pride and decided to join you. While he didn’t come along with everyone, he showed up later.  You were so happy and slightly tipsy that you couldn’t help yourself and hug him and excitedly scream to get a photo. You assumed he probably regretted it with how annoyed he seemed. You didn’t know that he ended up keeping the damn photo.

“You bastard..you…” You spoke through gritted teeth, feeling the tears coming back.

“How could you?” You finally asked the question that no one would answer.

More memories began to cloud your mind, all kinds of memories. But the ones that hurt the most were the happy ones with him.

“Wesker. I’ll be fine, I walk home all the time when my car is acting up. I walked here, you know?”

The two of you were outside, it was snowing down awful. You were sure the roads had to be worse than the sidewalks. You were bundled up in a beanie, scarf, and police jacket. Wesker was standing beside you, in a long black winter coat with a red scarf and leather gloves. Fancy man he isn't. Everyone was gone at this point so you were just outside enjoying the last of your coffee when he asked you about your home. He let out a grunt that sounded like a scoff.

“I will not ask you again Y/n, get in the car before I make you work overtime.” Wesker’s lip turns into a slight smirk as he walks to his car. The use of your first name caught you off guard.

“Hey! Do you even know where I live??” You called out walking after him.

“Of course, I need to know my officers' locations in case it's an emergency.” You let out a scoff of your own, of course, he does. Wesker always seems to know something ten steps before you do.

“Wipe the snow off of your shoes.”

“Yes, Mom,” You joke, doing what he asked and entering the passenger seat. 

Once you realized what left your mouth, you were frozen waiting for his response. Should you apologize? You weren't really on joking terms with him yet so this was a step in either direction. It must have been a good step because when you heard him lightly chuckle. You finally felt relaxed. Despite the light mood, it was quickly gone when the drive began. What the hell do you say? Do you even say anything? Maybe he likes the silence and you didn’t want to bore him. After that night with him coming to the bar, you quickly realized the next day. He had smitten you and so being in his car alone was making you more nervous than you wanted. Wesker kept his eyes on the road, taking the right roads to get to your apartment building. You would steal looks, watching as the pasting streetlights illuminate his face. How the hell could he wear sunglasses at night?

“Can I ask you something?” You finally spoke, feeling the words tumble out like a nervous mess. Great.

“Only if I can ask something back,” Wesker responded in a smooth tone, keeping his eyes ahead.

“Why do you always wear sunglasses?”Wesker snorted slightly then finally looked over at you for a moment.

“That’s it? You have the chance to ask me anything, and you want to know about my sunglasses?”

“Yep!” You said with a sheepish tone and smile.

“I'm just curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat Y/n.”

“Well, satisfaction brought it back.” 

Wesker let out another chuckle at your quick wit.“Touche.”

Then there was a silence like Wesker was hesitating or thinking over his next words carefully.

“Let’s just say, I like to be mysterious.”

You couldn't help but laugh at that. It seemed like a throwaway answer rather than the real one.

“What? That’s it? No way. Even at night too?” Wesker smirked once more.

“You already asked your question. It’s my turn.”

You slightly pouted at how he wasn't going to answer your questions but you understood. Maybe it was a touchy topic for him so you didn’t push it any further.

“Do I scare you?”

You blinked at his question. Did he scare you? Not really, maybe intimidate you but never scare you. He was a strict man, ruthless but he was a man who didn’t like incompetence and you could respect that. “Scare me? Why do you ask that?”

“Answer me and I’ll tell you.”Now it was time for you, to choose your words carefully.

“No, you don’t. You’re… a man who speaks his mind. Your appearance can be intimidating but you don’t scare me. You are a blunt man, ruthless sometimes but I think you do it because no one has the balls to do it. Pardon my language.”Wesker said nothing, and suddenly you felt small.

Oh no, did you say something wrong, were you kissing his ass? You noticed that his grip on the steering wheel tightened and then loosened. Like he was fighting an internal conflict with himself. 

“I appreciate your honesty.” You waited for him to continue talking but didn't and you didn’t push him. Maybe he was dealing with something and just needed the small reassurance but you didn't have the guts to ask him. You believed he wouldn’t tell you directly either, you were just a coworker. Nothing else as much as you wanted it. 

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the car ride until he parked to let you out.

“Y/n.”

“Hm?”

“Before you go inside. I would like you to accompany me to dinner this week if you’re free.”You blinked in surprise. No way, he wasn't asking you out?

“Dinner?”

Wesker sighed once more, opening his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.

“I know I know, you don't like repeating yourself. But I just wanted to make sure I heard you right.”

“Is it a yes?”

“Yes.”

There your relationship began to blossom from simple co-workers to a forbidden romance. A fruit that tasted so sweet who could ever see the downfall? It was bliss and simple and you loved it. You noticed all of the little things that came along with the relationship. 

While Wesker wasn’t affectionate, he would show his feelings in other ways. Firstly you noticed how he would leave you a cup of warm coffee on your desk since he would always get there before anyone else. Secondly, you noticed he was always around you more often. It didn’t matter if you were with other people or by yourself, he was always in the room with you. The nights after work were your favorite part, just being able to unwind with him on his couch talking about the future and what office made him upset that day. He rarely kissed you, when he did It would be a short peck on the cheek unless you engaged first. The man talked more with his hands than his words. His hand often being on your lower back, a simple but effective sign that you were his. 

It didn’t take long for people to notice Wesker’s little changes either, how he seemed to be less annoyed and a little more lenient with some others. A rumor going around that he had to be dating or seeing someone, thankfully the two of you were good at hiding the truth. Him more than you. 

Tears rolled down your cheeks onto his polished desktop, you gritted your teeth. Your head in your hands gripping the sides, hurt and anger fully taking over your mind and body. Slamming one clenched fist down, you quickly removed yourself from Wesker’s chair as if it seared you. Wiping away your tears, you take one last one at the photo on his computer. With one smooth motion, you remove it and stuff it into your pocket. 

Standing in the doorway, you glance over your shoulder. Taking one last look at the shell of a man who once resigned here. You close the door, leaving your heart behind with the ghosts. Wesker was gone, dead by his own devices and here you were being helpless. Helpless for him.

You let out a shaky breath trying to keep your composure. As you turned to exit the S.T.A.R.S area, your breath hitched spotting one of the things you have been dreading. 

On the wall, next to the exit door was a framed photograph of the entire S.T.A.R.S team. Both Alpha and Bravo. A small sorrowful smile reached your lips, your fingers gently brushing over the glass.

“I miss all of you..so much. I'm sorry, I couldn't save any of you..” You spoke with a somber tone.

“Chris, Jill, Rebecca, Brad, Barry, and me..we are the only survivors. I promise you, we are avenging you all. We’ve been gathering evidence to take down those Umbrella bastards ever since that night.” You spoke again, this time with venom in your tone.

“Even if it kills me, I will avenge you all.” With those last words, you exit out of the S.T.A.R.S area with no intent of returning for the night.

You make your way back into the main lobby, Bradley is nowhere to be seen. His computer paused on the card game still. You thought nothing of it, assuming he went to the bathroom, which you were grateful for. You didn’t need him to notice you had been crying, and then coddle you like a child who lost their toy. You eyed the time on the computer. 3:30 am, damn you were here for nearly two hours and you didn’t even realize it. You sighed, rubbing your face, feeling now a wave of exhaustion hit you. You shook off the feeling, needing to get home first then you could pass out. 

You open the main door walking down the concrete steps and reaching the ornate gate. The rain was no longer a mist, now actually coming down rather hard. You could hear thunder booming throughout the night, which meant lightning wouldn’t be too far. You cursed, rushing through the gate, its shrieking drowned out by the rain. Reaching your car, you get in and begin to drive home, focusing on nothing but the lights and the road. Alone with nothing but the rain and your memories.

You should have seen the signs, and the changes in his behavior and attitude one week before the mansion incident. He was on edge constantly, how he seemed to be colder towards you without any warning. You remember how you confronted him about it, an hour before getting on the helicopter.

“Wesker, what is your problem lately?” You asked after you followed him into the armory to talk.

“I'm not sure I know what you mean L/n.” He responded nonchalantly as he seemed to be picking out various types of ammo for the mission. 

“Bullshit. Why have you been acting so cold towards me? Did I do something??” You ask, genuinely concerned and hurt by his attitude.

“It’s simple. I don't have any more use for you, you were a fun little experiment. “ His tone was harsh despite his calm composure. 

“Experiment?! So… all of this time we spent, the sparring sessions, the late night talks and kisses. All lies?” You asked now angry, feeling yourself tear up but you blinked them away fast.

“What were you expecting? That I settle down and we would be married? Only a fool would wish that. I have more important things than wasting my breath on a lowlife love like yours.” Wesker hissed out, as he began to walk out of the armory.

You said silent at his words, you felt your heart break with every word.

“Now if we are done with this childish talk, we have a mission to prepare for. I expect you to be fully professional and not let your ridiculous feelings cause us failure. Understood L/n?” He spoke not even to glance back at you, the knife digging deeper.

“I..but..”

“I believe I was clear L/n.” He spoke once more, his tone cold and distant.

“Yes…Captain..” You spoke clenching your fists, watching him exit the room and turn down the hallway. You listened as his heavy footsteps departed away.  Only when you knew he was truly gone did you let yourself cry. 

A loud honk of a horn started you out of your thoughts, you jolted into the driver’s seat. Noticing the light was now green, you sheepishly waved to the car behind you and began to drive once more. You let out a sniffle and wiped your face, dammit when did you become such an emotional wreck? 

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened, as you continued to drive. You could feel the photo in your pocket burning a hole in you, you felt sick. You had to be insane for caring so much for a man who didn't deserve it.

After what seemed like an hour's drive, even though it was only a fifteen-minute one, you finally pulled into your apartment building. The rain hadn’t calmed down so you had to book into your building without getting more soaked than you were. You ran up to the second floor wet squeaking noises following you. Unlocking the red door, you step inside, closing it then proceed to take off your wet shoes and coat. 

Home didn’t feel completely the same either, so many of your co-workers had come over for events and Wesker had been here plenty of times. It felt like being in a stranger's home that just looked like yours.

“This whole city is a damn nightmare,” You spoke to yourself as you walked down the hallway into your bedroom.

Newspapers were scattered everywhere, along with books and piles of paper of old police reports and whatever evidence you gathered on the Umbrella Corporation. One of your walls was covered with photos and a stereotypical red thread connecting locations on a local map. The remaining members of S.T.A.R.S were out for blood and you couldn’t blame them, they had played god and taken away innocent lives. You just wish you didn’t have these damned feelings, it would be so much easier to be hateful. 

Ignoring the mess, you go to your mirror and stare at yourself. Your hair was a mess, your eyes were red and puff no doubt from all the crying, and dark circles were beginning to form from the lack of sleep. Jill had offered you some sleeping pills since everyone was dealing with nightmares but you declined fearing you would get dependent on them. You rubbed your face, exhaustion fully aware of your expression. Thank god you didn’t fall asleep at the wheel. 

Your eyes drift up to the right corner of the mirror, it is splattered with different photos. All of them have you in them, in some way with different people. Some are family, some are friends and some are your co-workers. You slowly take out the photo of you and Wesker out of your pocket. You glare at it, waiting for it to engulf itself in flames. But you sigh and then tape it on the mirror along with the others. It looked so out of place but maybe that’s why it felt right to keep it there. You just hoped that Jill or Chris wouldn't be coming around anytime or they would throw a fit.

“I believed in you.” You say out loud, your eyes never leaving Wesker’s photographed expression. You wanted to say so much yet, the words never came out. 

“How long have they been slipping you a paycheck?!” Chris asked out of anger and disbelief staring at the end of Wesker’s barrel. 

All of you were in the mansion’s underground lab, with blue fluorescent lighting, and huge tanks filled with all kinds of failed experiments. Wesker was over by what looked to be an advanced computer system with three or four screens displaying information you didn't understand. Next to him was a huge water tank. You stood in between Rebecca and Chris, you were already in a vulnerable position, Wesker having broken up with you earlier. You had just spent the majority of the night in both mental and physical pain.  All of the zombies, gigantic animals, and the mutated experiments, it was truly a nightmare. If your heart wasn’t broken it was destroyed now, bleeding out.

Wesker kept his eyes on Chris and gave a little scoff moving forward. The barrel inches away from Chris’s face

“I think you’re a bit confused.”  He spoke, finally turning to look towards you and Rebecca. It’s like his next words were directly at you.“I’ve always been with Umbrella and S.T.A.R.S. were Umbrella’s.” He paused, correcting his words.

“No, rather, my little piggies.” You felt your face contort into anger, despite your heart sinking into your stomach. He meant what he said earlier, just an experiment. Wesker continued seeming proud of this moment. 

“The Tyrant Virus leaked, polluting this whole place. And unfortunately, I had to give up my lovely members of S.T.A.R.S.” Chris raised his hand to point at Wesker in a hateful tone.

“You killed them with your own dirty hands! You son of a bitch!” You knew how much Chris had respected Wesker so part of you felt relieved that you weren’t the only one suffering with these emotions. 

“No..” You finally spoke, seeming to be a deer caught in headlights.“Oh yes, dear. Just like this.” Wesker smirked, turning the gun on Rebecca and shooting her in the chest.

“Rebecca!” Both you and Chris screamed, moving to go and check her wounds.

“Don’t move!” Wesker hisses out now the gun raised on both of you.

“You..” It was the only word you spoke, turning around to face him in anger.

“Oh come on. I don't think you want to die just yet dearheart.” Wesker mocked you with his old nickname for you. Motioning to a bleeding Rebecca on the ground with his free hand.

“I have something that's of some interest to you.” Keeping his gun pointed at the two of you, Wesker looked back at the system and began to type in a code with his free hand. 

The large water tank next to Wesker lit up showing a huge humanoid monster with one hand being long claw-like appendages. Its fleshy heart was exposed on its chest beating loudly. Your eyes widen in horror at whatever that thing is. Its milky white eyes ran shivers down your spine. Soon the water began to drain within the inside of the tank. You watched as Wesker lowered his gun to turn to the monster. He had a sense of pride in himself as he spoke.

“The ultimate life-form...Tyrant!”  Wesker spoke moving in front of the tank. Chris began to laugh with pity and sorrow.

“Wesker, you’ve gone senile.”

“You won't get away with this you bastard!” You yelled at him finally finding your voice. 

“Neither of you will understand.” His voice filled with awe and pride. Wesker raised his arms like he was watching his child take its first steps. “It's…magnificent.” 

Once Wesker finished that last word, the creature known as Tyrant began to move its large claw arm. 

In one quick motion, it broke the glass piercing Wesker through his lower stomach and abdomen. It lifts him in the air, Wesker’s body slowly sliding down on the claws. Those groans of pain and yells he let out would always haunt you. You couldn't help but let out a scream feeling his blood splattered on your face. 

“WESKER!”

You and Chris watched in horror as it stepped down from the water tank with ease then tossed Wesker’s body to the other side of the lab. His body bleeding out and slumped down. Without a second to waste, you and Chris pulled out your guns and began to shoot at the monster. Bullets seemed to deflect off of it, but once you and Chris realized the exposed heart was its takedown. You nearly used all of your ammo combined but it was dead…for now. That wasn’t the least of your concerns though, now self-destruction was active meaning you had less than 10 minutes to get the hell out. 

“We need to get out of here, I'll get Rebecca. Go and get Jill, she’s in the basement here somewhere.” Chris spoke going to pick up Rebecca, slinging her arm over his shoulder, putting her weight on him. Then rushed out leaving you alone with Wesker and the monster.

You took a moment to walk over to Wesker and knelt beside him. Your hand reached over removing his sunglasses, his crystal blue eyes finally exposed to you. A shaky breath escaped your mouth, you tried to hold back tears.

“Oh, Albert. Things didn’t have to be this way...We could have been..” You couldn’t finish the sentence knowing it didn’t matter anymore. He wouldn’t be listening or answering.

“Rest now...You’ll be alright now..” You whispered leaning down to kiss his cheek then you closed his eyes.

“I love you…I shouldn't but I still do..” Tears were now rolling down your face, salty mixing into the metallic substance stuck to your face. His blood.

Placing his sunglasses back on his face, you gave him one last kiss on the forehead then rushed out to go rescue Jill and escape this horrible nightmare.

Little did you know. 

You were sure those final moments with Wesker would haunt you forever. Maybe that’s why you took the photo, you just wanted to forget what bad he had done. You wanted to remember the man you fell in love with. Closing your eyes, you hung your head down contemplating what to do now. A nice shower would probably be a good start, or you could just go and crash for the night. 

Just as you were about to move from the mirror, you froze in slight terror and disbelief. His cologne…you could smell it but it wasn’t faint like how his chair was. It was strong and overbearing as if he was in the room with you…

You shot your head up, to look in the mirror and you opened your mouth in shock. In the reflection, in your dark hallway. A pair of bright amber eyes glowed in the darkness, piercing through your soul. Suddenly lightning strikes outside, illuminating your room and you see him.

Albert Wesker. Standing there in your hallway.

Wesker smirked at you, tilting his head. He stayed in his spot, his hands behind his back. Those amber eyes glowed brightly. Still wearing those damned sunglasses but now he seemed to be dressed in a black suit.

“Hello, Dearheart. Did you miss me?”

“No…you’re dead.” You finally spoke, convinced you were having a psychotic break now. It was the only logical explanation. You had seen him die with your own eyes. 

“Quite the opposite.” You blinked for a second and he was suddenly directly behind you in your reflection.

You yelped, turning around to punch him in the face and you gasped when he caught your wrist and tsked softly.

“Now now, I know I taught you better than that.” The harsh grip on your arm, his cologne was stronger than ever now. You were practically inhaling it. This was real, he was real. 

You sneered tugging your arm away, like his touch alone burned you. Your body trembles trying to process this new information.

“What the fuck? How are you alive?!”

“You think so little of me? I’m smart enough to not let that be my resting place.”

“I saw you die! That…thing impaled you! No one should be alive from that!” You are trying to understand how this was possible.

“So you did miss me?”

“I never said that you bastard!”

“Oh?” He spoke leaning forward, his face inches away from you. You instantly took a step away, your back hitting the mirror. You watched out of the corner of his eye, he’s grabbing something.

“Then what’s this?” He asks now, holding the wallet-size photo between his middle and pointer fingers. A smug look on his face.

You scowled knowing you didn’t have a good answer to that. You hated how much this man knew you, as much you wanted to kill him and the other part screamed for you to embrace him.

“What are you doing here Wesker? Come to mock me then finish the job?”

Wesker’s face dropped from the smug look to his usual stoic one. He tossed the photo across the room, not concerned if it got lost among the mess. He moved away from you, looking over your evidence and red thread wall. He lets out a scoff.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already.” He then grabs a newspaper.

“I see you’ve been busy with a school project.”

“Umbrella won’t be getting away with this.” You sneer at him.

“Oh, they already have,” Wesker says, turning towards you.

You blinked in confusion.

“What do you mean? Once I show this evidence with Chris and Jill to Chief Irons. Umbrella is done!”

Wesker tsks then scoffs.

“Umbrella has most of the police station in their pocket, including your ‘precious’ Irons. It’ll be a matter of time before S.T.A.R.S. is no more than memory”

“No..” You said, shaking your head. You didn’t want to believe it but if what Wesker said down in the lab is true then he’s right. All of this evidence would be for nothing but you still had to try.

“I dont care what you say, I'm going to take down Umbrella even if it kills me.”

Wesker’s eyebrow furrows in annoyance, he walks over to you.

“Join me then.”

“What? Are you fucking seriously right now?” You ask with a sorrowful laugh.

“Why would I trust you? After how much you’ve hurt me after you nearly let me die. After you killed our co-workers.”

Wesker glared at you, his eyes flicking from bright amber to a deep red. In his eyes, it was a necessary event, maybe you wouldn't understand now but you would one day.

“Because I know you love me.”

Your face went pale, you stood there eyes widening. How the hell did he know? Was he alive when you knelt beside him? Oh god, did you leave him there to die? Why didn’t he say anything to you?

“H-how. Did you..” You knew the answer, he heard you back down in the lab. 

“No. You're wrong”  Doubling down on your words.

He smirked leaning down, his arms now wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. Just like he used to do. You sneer trying to push him away but you are caged there. Did he get stronger since you saw him last?!

“Let me go!!”

“What’s wrong? Here I thought you would be ecstatic to see me.” He taunts refusing to listen to your requests.

“Fuck you! 

Wesker scowled at your words, his grip tightening on you.

“What a shame. It seems my little act was too perfect. If I didn’t care for you, I wouldn't be here wasting my time.”

“I don't care! I don't want you here and I don't want to see you! You fucking bastard! You killed innocent people!” You ask, feeling too many emotions at once. Anger, sorrow, happiness, cautiousness. All fighting to be opened like Pandora's box.

Wesker just hummed ignoring the little tautrim you seemed to be throwing. He just chuckled, at your poor attempt at rejecting him.

“I did what I had to do. Now what I want is mine, and that is you.” He says in a smooth tone, his gloved hand holding your chin and stroking it. Wesker continued to speak.

“I have plans for the future, and I want you there.”

You frowned looking at him, why weren’t you pulling away from him? Damn your body, it missed his touch so much.

“What kind of plans?” You asked, scared of his answer. You watched Wesker’s thin lips grow into a sinister grin.

“Plans for greatness, my dearheart. You and I, ruling over this world and creating a new order. Just like we talked about it”

His words were crazed but filled with a truth you’d never heard from him. Yes, in the past, you had talked about changing the world but you thought that's all it was. Just small talk.

“We’ll take down Umbrella?” You asked, unsure of your morals anymore. 

Five minutes you were ready to scream and claw his eyes out, now you were so confused. Your heart was screaming for you to trust him, and be with him all over again. Your brain told you no, this man would betray you again and would kill you in the end. You just wished you could pick a side.

“You may not believe me but I do have my reasons for wanting Umbrella to burn.” Wesker leaned in, his nose brushing against yours.

“Why fight it?”

“Because..i..” Your words trail off, your eyes locking with his amber ones.  They were a beautiful shade of red and orange, glowing lightly. He was beautiful before but now, those eyes..

You didn’t finish your sentence closing the gap between you and him. The kiss was unlike anything the two of you had experienced before. You could feel his desire and wants through the kiss and he could feel your passion. Maybe he misses you just as much as you missed him. 

What you wanted to say was that it’s the right thing to do. You felt like you were now the traitor, wasting so many nights and tears on them just to throw them away for him. All of the dead members must be rolling in their graves, and you knew there had to be a spot for you in hell. 

“Good” Wesker said in a pleased tone, pulling away from the kiss, his arms still tightly holding you.

“It’s time to create our sky.” 

Jill stood outside of the apartment, worried for Y/n. It had been days since anyone had seen them since that last night at the station. Jill had figured that the trauma had finally gotten to them, and they needed some time away.

Rasping her knuckles on the door, she’s put on edge when the door opens from her knocks.

“Y/n? Are you here?” Jill calls out opening the door but doesn’t come in. Feeling something is off, and lingering silence isn’t helping either. Jill pulls out her pistol and gets into the proper stance searching the apartment carefully. She searches each room finding nothing, not even a sign of Y/n anywhere. Finally reaching the bedroom, Jill opens it and swings her body side to side, ready to shoot anyone that isn’t Y/n. 

Nothing, not a sign of them. All of the newspapers, the reports, and the red thread wall. Gone, as if it never happened. Jill frowns, putting her pistol away, she steps inside and just feels confused. There was a lone note on the mirror. 

All it read was: I'm sorry.

Pulling out her phone, she attempts to call Y/n. Dialtone.

“Shit! That’s not good...I need to tell Chris.” Jill rushed out of the apartment building. 

She would never notice the wallet-size photo lying in the corner of the room. The one of the two lovers, now reunited once more in secret.

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Go read an old fic.

There’s such recency bias in fandom. As an author you post something, get a few reactions, and then it goes off into the bin. As a reader you check the tags, see what’s new, and move on. But a lot of old stuff is really good. It’s just sitting there, gathering dust, waiting for someone to take a peek.

So go on. Treat yourself.

Read an old fic.

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This is why writers abandon stories. It’s not that we don’t love them, it’s because we don’t want to love them alone.

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(clip from a dmc panel around 2011)

dan giving us a demonstration of vergil's flirting skills (sound on)

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This. This is it. XD

Real

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Reading amazing fanfiction, then forgetting to bookmark it

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Damn I never post anything on Tumblr, but I just have to post this fanart I made of @kimageddon 's OC Zaiya Valessa!

A Prince of Dathomir is just such a good piece of Writing i cant anymore!!!

So of course i was inspired to draw by her beautiful OC♡♡♡

Here it is!

Just a simple Sketch without shading but maybe I will add that in later on!

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There are Tears in my Eyes omg 😭

Tolerate It | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Human!Reader

▹ Genre: Angst

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: A political alliance makes you the new wife of the elven king Thranduil, trapping you in a gilded cage of elven craft.

▹ Notes: I couldn't get this idea out of my head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The banquet hall of Eryn Galen was buzzing with high energy. 

The lights were bright, the drinks flowing. Each guest was too deep in their cups as the band played jaunty tunes that kept spirits high. You sat at the end of the table, to the direct right of Thranduil, Legolas seated directly across from you to the king's left. 

Everything was beautiful, similar to what you imagined heaven may look like. The celebration had been highly anticipated, the steward meticulously planning for months to ensure the night would be perfect. 

Each guest had dressed to the nines, and you had been no exception. Silks that flowed like a languid river, braids woven throughout your hair, and glittering jewels that rivaled the stars in the sky. You’d felt quite pretty after your handmaidens finished, taking in your appearance with rapt attention. 

Yet as the king - your husband - met with you, he barely paid you more than a glance. Not a single compliment or acknowledgment slipped from his lips, just the stiff offering of his arm and a cold demeanor you’d never been able to break through.

Not even the bitterness of the red wine you drank could ease the pain festering inside you. You glanced at Thranduil, his attention on his steward whispering something in his ear. Regal and commanding, you’d thought marriage to the elven king would be something out of a fairytale. Yet your story became twisted, and instead of a happy ending, you were trapped in a doomed marriage. It was like a wall separated you from him; you’d tirelessly beat against it with a hammer; Thranduil was on the other end, reinforcing the stone. 

You glanced down at your dress, the pale green fabric, Thranduil’s favorite shade. Even still, you were desperate for his validation and approval, like a child tugging at their father’s sleeves. A stray hair fell in front of your face, and you pushed it behind your ear, hands ghosting over your rounded ears. Maybe if you’d been an elf and not a human, he might view you as an equal and not a consolation prize. 

One hand below the table closed into a tight fist while you downed the rest of your wine in one gulp. 

Legolas met your eye from across the table with an almost apologetic grin. You returned it with a tight smile you tried to make pleasant. Legolas knew all too well the neglect his father could inflict, so he often preferred the forests over the palace. There was an understanding that made your pain more bearable. 

The handmaidens you brought from home and your stepson, who was older than your eldest living relatives, were all that kept you from falling into true despair. 

Like clockwork, a servant filled your chalice, and you gladly drank. This wine was sweeter and less sharp than the red you were expecting. Once again, you looked towards Thranduil, no longer speaking with his steward but quietly watching the party play out. You reached out, delicately placing your hand over his, only for his to push it away, not bothering to pay you a glance. 

The blatant rejection stung, always taking up too much space and time. Would Thranduil even notice if you’d stolen away into the night? If you pulled the dagger your marriage embedded in you, breaking free and leaving this miserable life behind. What might it be like to shed the weight of Thranduil’s cold disposition and an overly suspicious, judgmental, elvish kingdom? You’d be free and weightless for the first time in years. 

Yet, just as soon as the fantasies came, they fizzled out with the weight of reality. You had no money of your own, no survival skills, and nowhere to go. If you returned home, your father would ship you back to Thranduil. The dark forests and the creatures that lurked within would kill you. There was nowhere to go. No freedom to be found. 

You didn’t bother hiding the frown on your lips; no one in the room paid you much mind. They looked through you as if you were a phantom that clung to the residence of its former life. How was it possible to be in such a crowded room and yet still be so alone?

"How much longer do you believe this will go on for?"

At some point, Legolas had moved from across the table and was now seated to your left, watching the crowded room with thinly veiled discomfort.

" I hope for not much longer. I've never been amendable to crowds so large as this one."

Legolas laughed, the noise swallowed by the noise of the room. "And yet you are queen; should you not be used to such raucous parties?"

You tilted your glass towards him, a slight quirk on your lips.

"I could say the same about you, prince."

He nodded in silent agreement, quickly drinking from his glass, which you noticed was filled with water and not wine.

"I get to run off to the forest. How do you deal with all of this?" The smile on your face fell as your eyes dimmed, a reminder of your current standing.

"No one pays me mind. A blessing, I suppose." You attempted to laugh it off, but you couldn't keep the somberness from your tone. You were trapped in a gilded cage, a prisoner in your own home.

"Then I suppose I'll need to take more respites in the castle."

"You don't need--"

"I insist; what kind of friend would I be if I didn't check on your wellbeing."

So warm and inviting, it made you wonder how Legolas could be the son of Thranduil; he must take after his mother. You wondered, if only for a moment, how different your life might be if you'd been married to Legolas instead of his father. He was the more age appropriate option and if he didn't love you he'd at least respect you. But those thoughts were pointless; you'd been married to Thranduil and not Legolas.

"I think I'm technically your stepmother."

"But you feel more like a friend."

You didn't bother to argue, placing down your wine chalice to take a cool water drink. It was refreshing, soothing the burn the wine had created.

"Then I am glad we are friends."

Before he could respond, a member of his guard called his name. The elf enthusiastically waved him over, yelling something in elvish too slurred for you to understand.

Legolas shook his head, refusing the call, but you placed a single hand on his shoulder.

"Go, enjoy the night. I'll be fine over here."

He tried to discern if you were being dishonest but found nothing but sincerity. Just because you were miserable didn't mean he should be. With a single nod, Legolas left the table to join the group forming in the corner of the room.

Left in the chaos with no one to speak with, you picked up the chalice with wine. At some point during your conversation, Thranduil wandered off, talking with some of the higher-ranking nobles.

Thickly, you swallowed, hiding your face as you slowly drank from your glass.

When would this torment end?

---

The night dragged on at an impossibly slow speed. Your sorrow brought time to a near halt. By the time the crowd began to thin and Thranduil had escorted you back to your shared chambers, you’d forgotten how many glasses of wine you consumed. You managed to keep your composure and pride, not letting you show how light and lethargic the alcohol made you. 

Now, you sat before your vanity, preparing for bed as did Thranduil. There were so many pins placed in your hair that you struggled to pull them out without ripping your hair. Your head throbbed, and your frustration was building; you just wanted sleep. A cold hand pushed yours away, tangling in your hair. With practiced and fluid movements, Thranduil began to take down your hair. He was quick and efficient, his hands in your hair almost soothing.

The action was oddly domestic, and it caused a pang of pain in your chest. If the gods had been fair enough to bless you with a husband who loved you, this would be a nightly occurrence, not a rare show of care. 

“There’s too many pins in your hair.” Always critical; nothing would ever be good enough. 

A beat of silence passed; did he even want you to speak?

“It was a special occasion; I wanted something different done to my hair.” 

Clink. He placed the last pin on the table and stepped away from you.

“It was a bit gauche.”

Expression tight, you stared at your reflection, focused on your dark hair that tangled too quickly and your nearly pallid complexion. Gauche and graceless, the elves would never view you as their own. 

“I thought it looked nice.” 

His answer was to silently turn his back to you, moving to the other end of the room. The silence was maddening. Your attention never moved from your reflection, lips downturned as your eyes hardened. Pain turned to rage, pity becoming an all-consuming fire that threatened to turn all in your wake to ash. 

“Why marry me?” Your tone was harsh, firmer than you could remember speaking.

Thranduil let out a sigh, seemingly annoyed at your mere presence. Normally, his disregard made you shrink, and maybe it was the wine, but it only made you straighten your back, meeting his eyes through his reflection in your mirror. 

“To seal an alliance with your kingdom, you know this.” He was always condescending; he was so much older and wiser. 

“I understand political marriages, but why marry me? You’ve managed political alliances without offering your hand in marriage; you even have a son to marry off. So why--” You slowly stood from your chair, turning to face him directly. “-marry me?”

“Would you have preferred to marry Legolas?” 

“I’d prefer you answer my question. So I’ll ask once more: why marry me?” You strode towards him, eyes narrowed.

“To ensure an alliance with your family.”

“That is it? For no reason other than that.”

Thranduil looked down at you, his lips tight.

“Did you hope to hear differently?” He tilted his head, eyes ice cold and bitter. “Ours was a marriage of convenience, not love.”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing thickly. All of it for nothing, a marriage he knew would never succeed. He may have been content with a loveless life after the passing of his wife, but he knowingly dragged you into it. To turn your life into a void--

You wanted to scream, to yell obscenities at him, to spit all the vile venom his careless behavior filled you with. But it would do no good. An emotional breakdown wouldn’t mend your rift; there was no foundation of respect to rebuild. It was just endless nothingness. Standing at the precipice, you would simply fall into a never-ending pit. 

“I see.”

A hint of shock made his eyes widen a fraction, expecting an outburst like the one you fantasized about. Humans weren’t known for patience, yet it wasn’t patience that kept you silent. It was dejection; you'd given up hope of anything better than what you had.

You dared not move, not even blink until Thranduil turned towards the door.

“I think I will ensure the keep is secured. Goodnight.” 

Head turned, yet your eyes remained where he once stood; you remained silent. The door opened and quietly shut behind his retreating form. Only then did you exhale the breath you’d been holding. 

The bed was plush under your body, and the comforter was like a cloud, yet you’d never felt more miserable. You turned your back to the side Thranduil would take when he returned to the chambers. Eyes shut, soothed by the darkness, you dreamed of something more.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Tags: @jmablurry | @lunatichaotiche | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones | @moony-artnstuff | @ranhanabi777 | @kenobiguacamole | @ceinelee | @thranduil | @samnblack | @abbiesthings | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit | @keijibum | @lifestylesleep | @themerriweathermage | @im-a-muggleborn | @sweetheart-syndrome | @boyruins | @AwkwardBecomesYou | @delyeceamaitare

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I made a Room Building tutorial! Lemme know if it helps! 🧡

Tip me here| Commission info here!

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Fanfiction is becoming people’s primary form of entertainment right now because most media right now is so cheap, bland, recycled, and sponsored by people who love money more than the source material. Fanfiction is written for free by people who genuinely love what they’re writing about. That’s why it’s better. That’s why it’s more satisfying. Fanfiction is a home-cooked meal made for yourself and for your friends. Media today is junky fast food spoiled by too much grease and the knowledge that the people producing it are being criminally mistreated and underpaid. 

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Bitchless boy likes pretending he gets bitches

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Compilation of Sukuna True Form in the Manga because in this profile we love that crazy man

Yes, I skipped the image where he is with Yorozu for personal reasons.

People call it ugly, to me it's fucking beautiful.

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It's comfy clothes season WOOHOO

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To love 💌

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Ok so reblog this post so i know who wants a discord invite.