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weskie · 3 months

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Love in The Stars (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

s.t.a.r.s wesker, fluff, wesker being treated softly (like he deserves!!!), wesker treating you softly (like you deserve!!!) | Fic Directory

Sometimes you catch him.

When he thinks no one's watching, that the attention is elsewhere, Wesker lets his mask slip. That cool, indifferent demeanor fades. His stiff upper lip settles and his eyes soften, often gazing down to the ground. Something within him shifts as if overtaken by a profound sadness.

It makes you understand why he wears those sunglasses all the time. You just happened to be at the right angle to see it anyway.

You don't know how to bring it up. How do you tell your Captain such things? That you've caught his sorrow on full display would be a confession that you stare, which would be more than you want to let on. Of course, such musings are short-lived once his eyes suddenly flicker up to meet yours. They widen slightly, as if taken off guard, and then that mask of his returns in a flash.

Cool, calculating indifference.

From then on, you find yourself with a drive to interact with him more– anything at all, really, to cheer him up. You bring him his paperwork, his coffee, each one delivered with a warm smile and kind eyes. You stay late, always making small talk with him as you both lock up and head to your respective homes. It’s awkward at first.

And then it’s not.

It comes as a shock the first time you see a flicker of happiness in that icy gaze of his. A glimmer that grows, a spark that catches, and a warmth that spreads to both your cheeks and his– becoming more apparent with every interaction.

Your run ins become less and less like those of a Captain and his subordinate, and more like friends on the verge of something forbidden and beautiful.

One night, after the rest of the team left from their mandatory overtime, you nudge his office door open, coffee in hand, and find him with his face cushioned on his arms. His glasses lay aloft in his limp grip as if he'd only meant to rest his head momentarily before crashing altogether. You smile sweetly at the sight. Though he’s clearly exhausted, he still looks peaceful in his own way.

A glance around the room turns up no sight of anything to drape over his shoulders, but an idea hits you. You scurry back to your desk to retrieve your jacket. It’s nothing too thick– just a light knitted fabric. Just enough to keep him cozy. At least you hope so, anyway.

You hold your breath as you lay it over his back.

He neither shifts nor stirs, so you simply turn off his clunky desktop monitor and office lights. You leave his door cracked slightly so he’d have at least some light when he wakes.

You head home that night with a soft smile on your face, giddiness bubbling in your chest at the image of him snoozing all but burned into your mind’s eye.

You’d never seen him look so serene before, and it’s hard to stop the thoughts of him like that. What you wouldn’t give to be met with such a sight as you lay your head upon your own pillow… To hear Wesker’s gentle breaths as he slumbers next to you.

You’ve never been a morning person, but you wager you might be if you could wake up to the sight of him.

Alas, you don’t. And that’s why it’s such a chore to drag yourself through your morning routines and back to work the next day. Things are mundane as ever, though you do lock eyes with your Captain on more than a few occasions. His smile is soft and warm, a slight quirk of his lips just subtle enough to avoid drawing attention. In what world does Captain Wesker smile like that, you imagine would be the question that makes the rest of the team suspicious. All the same, you know he knows exactly who covered him up the night prior.

Not that it was difficult to figure out. Even if he didn’t recognize your go-to zip-up, he still had access to the security cameras. Puzzling, though, is that he doesn’t give it back to you as soon as he sees you, nor does he do so later in the day. Even as the team leaves, all of them trying so terribly hard to pressure you and Wesker to join them for lunch, he makes no mention of the garment.

You decide to be a little bit bold and snoop. There would be no consequences to being caught, and you’re positive you could spin it as trying to see if he was busy before you came in to talk, so you huddle against the wall and lean over to peek through the blinds to his office window.

He’s invested in something on his screen, and you can faintly hear the sporadic clicking of his mouse as he works. Your cheeks go up in flames and a beaming grin makes its way onto your face when you catch the sight of his left hand. Atop his desk rests your jacket, neatly folded, and on it rests his hand. You can clearly see Wesker toying with it between his thumb and forefinger, almost as if it were meant to soothe him.

Perhaps he was waiting for you to retrieve it yourself. Maybe he felt no obligation at all to give it back. Either way, it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

As you all but tip-toe back to your desk, you decide it’s his for as long as he wants it.

It goes unmentioned even as the two of you leave later that night.

Long after you’ve settled into bed, you find yourself wondering what his reaction must have been when he awoke. You drift off imagining all the different scenarios.

You’ll never know that he pulled the fabric close to his face and nuzzled it, inhaled your scent and committed it to memory as best as humanly possible. Somehow, even with an aching neck from the odd position he’d drifted off in, he found that morning to have been one of the best he’s had in… a long time.

He plans another Friday for overtime. He has to know if you’ll do it again.

And you do. He leaves your jacket strategically placed on the back of his swivel chair and feigns sleeping. In you walk, fresh coffee in hand by the scent of it, and he hears you huff a small laugh. God, he loves the way you think of him. All your little ways of taking care of him…

The mug settles on his desk with a soft thud.

You admire him for a moment before grabbing your jacket from the back of his chair and draping it over his shoulders. A thought runs across your mind that’s too good to ignore, and all too dangerous. Then again, you’ve come to know your big bad Captain for the sweet man he truly is. There is infinite kindness under his stoicism.

You lean down and press a kiss to his temple, lingering perhaps a second or two longer than you should’ve. His skin is warm beneath your lips, and the faded aroma of his cologne blends sweetly with his natural scent.

That warm fuzzy feeling blooms in your chest, only it turns to abject horror when you pull back and find him grinning and peering up at you. Your eyes go wide and you freeze.

Oh no…

“You sure know how to tuck me in,” he says nonchalantly.

You’re mortified. Neither of you have ever pushed this boundary before– never discussed it, either.

You watch Wesker raise his head from his arms and reach for the coffee you brought him, sipping at it with that same grin still etched on his face. An apology stutters off your tongue in disarray as he stands from his seat to loom over you. With a curled finger, he tilts your face up to look at him.

You can see in his eyes that he’s only half as confident as he seems. Part of you is relieved.

“Thank you,” he says, thumb brushing over your lower lip, “for being so sweet to me.” Your heart hammers a million beats in the short time it takes him to lean down and press his lips to yours. Your breath catches, your head swims– you all but totally malfunction before some degree of sense hits your mind and you lean into it. He kisses you slow, thumbing at your cheeks as if to soothe all that anxiety he’d struck into you just mere moments before.

You can’t describe it, but there’s a hint of desperation in the way he moves. Lips pressing hard, hands pulling just a little more than necessary to keep you right where he wants you.

Like he’s afraid letting go will dispel the illusion.

How terribly understandable. In a way, you yourself fear that you’ll open your eyes and it will all be a dream. Perhaps, worse yet, you’ll still be standing there, pit forming in your gut, as your Captain lectures you on the importance of boundaries and personal space.

Thankfully it is your dreams that come true, not your fears.

Even after your lips part, he doesn’t release you. His hands remain at your cheeks and he presses his forehead to yours, sighing through his nose as a smile wider than any you’d seen before graces his face.

It’s only understandable that you’d want to kiss him again, right?

And again.

And again…

He’s got you backed against the edge of his desk by the time you both stop to breathe properly. Wesker makes a move you don’t anticipate. His arms wrap around you, drawing you into a tight hug. He buries his face against the crook of your neck.

You swear on everything you hear him murmur a thank you. You may not understand why, but it doesn’t matter right now.

Not when those pretty blue eyes sparkle at you as if you were brighter than all the stars in the sky.

#albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker x you #wesker x reader #wesker x you #resident evil #dead by daylight #dbd #albert wesker fanfiction #idk what this is but it's been cooking in my wips for like 3 months #if there's a typo. no there's not

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hargr00vy · 9 months

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babes your glow is showing

#tua #the umbrella academy #viktor hargreeves #allison hargreeves #lila pitts #klaus hargreeves #wip #au??#if isn't already clear tua exists to me as a collection of concepts and characters to do with as i so please #as is my right as someone who is vaguely able to draw #anyway just realised my username has had a typo for years #you guys rlly let me call myself hargoovy without criticism #my artwork

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childrenofcain-if · 30 days

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Ro's reaction when they finally say "I love you" to the MC and they reply with "it'll pass"

The angst is necessary for character development

C LACROIX

C didn’t plan on saying it. the words had been rattling around inside of them for so long that they’d grown familiar, like a song you hum to yourself absentmindedly—comforting, but never meant to be shared. but the moment snuck up on them, catching them off guard in the kind of way that only you could.

you were both sitting together in your dorm room, the evening light slanting through the window, casting shadows that softened the sharp angles of C’s face. you were doing something trivial, flipping through a nietzsche book to read for a class assignment, not even paying attention to C in that moment.

but it didn’t matter. C’s chest tightened with the realization that this—these quiet moments, these small, insignificant details—was what they loved about you; they were one of the reasons why they loved you.

C cleared their throat, and the words were out before they could stop them. “i love you.”

the room went silent, the kind of silence that felt like it had weight too much to bear. your hand froze mid-page-turn, and for a second, you didn’t react at all. C watched you, every second stretching out into eternity, their heart pounding in their chest like it was trying to escape the fragile cage of their ribs.

you didn’t say anything right away, and the silence was slowly killing them. C’s mind raced, scrambling for something to follow up with, something that would make this easier, make it less terrifying. but nothing came. they felt like they were standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath their feet.

and then, finally, you spoke—and broke their heart in an instant with two syllables.

“it’ll pass.”

your voice was steady, even a little soft, but the words cut deeper than anything C could have imagined. their breath caught in their throat, and for a second, they weren’t sure if they’d heard you right.

“what?” they asked, their voice a fragile whisper.

you sighed, looking down at the book in your hands as if you couldn’t quite bring yourself to meet their eyes.

“it’ll pass,” you repeated, a little more firmly this time, like you were talking about the weather and not the rejection it felt like. “it always does, C. feelings like that—they don’t last.”

C’s heart sank. they had expected a lot of things, but not this. they’d imagined awkwardness, maybe even fear, but not this quiet certainty that what they felt didn’t matter. that it wasn’t real, or at least not real enough for you.

“you don’t mean that,” C said, though even as the words left their mouth, they weren’t sure if they believed them themself. “you can’t.”

you looked up at them from your chair then, your eyes steady and clear, and C felt their insides shatter. there was no malice in your gaze, no intent to hurt—just honesty, the kind that Cédric wasn’t sure how to fight against.

“C, i just don’t see it that way,” you said, your voice gentle, like you were letting them down easy. “i’m not saying i don’t care about you. but love? it’s—”

“temporary,” C finished for you, the word bitter on their tongue.

you nodded, and that hurt more than anything else. so casually cruel in the name of being honest.

the silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. C could feel it pressing down on them, could feel the weight of everything they wanted to say but didn’t know how to.

“you really believe that?” they asked finally, their voice small.

you gave a small, almost sad smile. “yeah, i do.”

C’s heart twisted. there were a thousand things they could say, a thousand ways they could try to convince you that this was real, that what they felt wasn’t something that would just disappear into thin air like nothing. but looking at you now, they realized that it wouldn’t matter. not really.

you had already made up your mind, and C couldn’t change that.

“i wish you didn’t,” they said quietly. it was the truth, as painful as it was.

you didn’t respond, and that was answer enough for them.

C turned away, their chest aching with a dull, familiar pain. they had known, somewhere deep down, that this was how it would end. that’s how it always ended—with them feeling too much and you not feeling enough. they just hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

but even as the pain tore at them, C knew that it wouldn’t change anything. they would still care for you, still be there for you, still love you, even if you didn’t believe in it. because that was who they were, and that wasn’t something they could just turn off.

the rest of the evening passed in a haze, C barely aware of what they were saying or doing, just going through the motions while their mind replayed the conversation over and over again, like a broken record. you didn’t bring it up again, didn’t push or prod. you acted like nothing had happened, like C hadn’t just bared their soul only to have it gently handed back to them.

but C couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had changed. that something fundamental had shifted between you, something that couldn’t be undone. they wondered if you felt it too, or if you were still as calm and composed as you always seemed, unaffected by the things that tore C apart.

when C finally left for the night with mumbled goodbye, the door clicking shut behind them, they were left alone in the silent hallway, the weight of everything spoken out still hanging heavy in the air. they didn’t know what to do, how to feel. all they knew was that they had said it.

and that it would never be enough for you.

V NÆSHOLM

V didn’t say it expecting anything in return. it wasn’t in their nature to expect—they simply accepted things as they were, as they always had been.

they loved you with a love that felt like a quiet oath, something sacred and solemn, held close to their chest. it was a love they carried with them, like the weight of their cross, a constant, comforting burden.

they weren’t even sure they’d meant to say it aloud. it was just that the night had been so still, and the stars had seemed so close, hanging heavy in the sky above you two as you sat on the balcony on the east-wing of blackthorne hall.

you had been talking about something—V couldn’t even remember what, something unimportant, but something that had made you laugh, that had drawn that bright, easy smile V loved so much. and before V knew what they were doing, the words had slipped out, soft and steady, like a prayer.

“i love you.”

you stopped talking mid-sentence. the silence that followed was thick, almost tangible. V could feel the stillness settle between you like a third presence, could feel the air shift, the moment stretching out into something too big, too heavy.

“it’ll pass.”

V blinked, the words striking them like a physical blow, knocking the air out of their lungs. it wasn’t the response they’d expected, but it wasn’t surprising either. they’d seen this coming, hadn’t they? hadn’t they always known it would be this way?

your voice had been soft, almost gentle, but the words cut deep, a quiet, unassuming knife. it wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind, either. it was just... final. like something had been decided long before V had even spoken.

“what do you mean?” V’s voice was a whisper, barely audible. they weren’t even sure if they had really spoken.

you shrugged, that infuriatingly gentle expression still in place. “it always does. feelings change. people change. this... this too shall pass.”

V felt like the ground had been pulled out from under them. “you don’t mean that,” they said, tone pleading and soft.

“why wouldn’t i?” you asked, your tone light, like you were trying to cheer them up. “people say a lot of things in the moment. they think they mean them, but give it time, and it’ll fade.”

V swallowed, their throat tight, their chest aching with a hollow kind of hurt. they had expected disgust, or maybe even anger, but not this. not this strange, casual indifference. it was worse than if you had rejected them outright, because this—this made them feel small. insignificant.

“you don’t think i mean it?” V asked, their voice trembling just slightly, the only betrayal of the turmoil in their chest.

you gave them a long, considering look, and for a moment, V thought they saw something else in your eyes, something that flickered and then was gone. but you only shook your head, that same gentle smile still lingering on your lips. “i think you mean it right now,” you said, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll always mean it. and that’s okay, V. people aren’t meant to stay the same.”

“but i—” V stopped themself, not even sure what they wanted to say. i’m not people. i’m different. i truly mean this. but they couldn’t get the words out. they felt foolish, suddenly, for ever thinking that this moment could be perfect, that their feelings could be reciprocated in the way they hoped.

you stood up, crossing the balcony with that easy grace that always left V feeling a step behind, out of sync.

“it’s okay, you know,” you said, your voice still warm, as if offering some small comfort. “you don’t have to force this.”

V felt tears prick at the corners of their eyes, and they quickly blinked them away, refusing to let you see just how much this hurt.

“i’m not forcing anything,” they said, their voice coming out sharper than they intended. “i love you, and that’s not just going to disappear because you don’t believe it.”

you paused, your hand on the door, and for a moment, V thought you might turn back, might say something that would change everything. but when you spoke again, it was with the same infuriating calmness that made V want to scream.

“we’ll see,” you said simply, and then you were gone, the door closing softly behind them.

V sat there for a long time after that, staring at the spot where you had been, their mind a whirlwind of emotions they couldn’t even begin to untangle. it was as if the world had stopped spinning, leaving them unmoored, lost in a tidle wave of heartbreak.

eventually, they pulled out the cross around their neck, clutching it tightly in their hands as if it could anchor them, as if it could make sense of the chaos inside their heart. they didn’t pray, not right away. instead, they sat there in the silence, trying to remember how to breathe, trying to remind themselves that this wasn’t the end of the world.

but the words hung in the air, echoing in their mind like a church bell tolling in the distance.

it’ll pass.

they didn’t want it to pass. they didn’t want this to be just another fleeting emotion, something to be brushed aside and forgotten. but as they sat there, the cross slipping through their fingers, V realized that they were more afraid of you being right than they were of anything else.

because if this passed—if this really was just a momentary feeling—then what did that say about them? what did that say about everything they thought they knew about themself?

the sun had risen fully by the time V finally moved, their limbs stiff from sitting in the same position for so long. they tucked the cross back under their shirt, their fingers lingering on the silver surface for a moment before they stood up.

“it won’t pass,” they whispered to the rising sun, their voice filled with a quiet, desperate determination. “it won’t, ever.”

W OSTENDORF

W didn’t precisely remember when they fell for you. but they knew it was in the way that shy, reserved children sometimes do—with a quiet intensity, the kind that grows slowly over years, seeping into every corner of their heart until it becomes an intrinsic part of who they are.

W had always been the silent shadow to your brightness, content to watch from the sidelines, happy to be near you in any way they could. they never expected anything in return; W had always known that loving you was a quiet, secret thing, something to be kept close and cherished in the quiet moments when no one else was looking.

but tonight, the weight of that love had become too much to bear in silence. you were sitting on the dock at the edge of the lake, the water stretching out before you in a sheet of dark glass, reflecting the starlit sky. the air was crisp, tinged with the scent of woodland and spring flowers, and the only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the shore.

you were sitting beside W, your shoulder brushing W’s in that casual, easy way you always did, as if you didn’t even realize how much that simple touch meant.

W had been quiet all evening, quieter than usual, the words building in their chest like a pressure that couldn’t be released. they had tried to push it down, to hold it back, but the silence between them had felt too heavy, too full of things left unsaid. and so, before they could stop themself, the words slipped out, soft and trembling, barely louder than a whisper. “i love you.”

you turned to look at W, your expression that of surprise in the low light, your eyes reflecting the stars.

W’s heart pounded in their chest, the sound of it loud in their ears, drowning out everything else. for a moment, you didn’t say anything, just looked at them with that familiar, thoughtful expression, the one you always wore when you were trying to puzzle something out.

and then, finally, you smiled—a small, sad smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

“it’ll pass.”

the words were so quiet, so gentle, that for a moment, W wasn’t even sure they had heard you correctly. but the look in your eyes told them they had. W felt the breath leave their lungs, their chest tightening with a pain that was so sharp, so sudden, it took everything they had not to flinch.

“it’ll pass,” you repeated, your voice soft, as if you were trying to provide them some comfort in the form of a blanket filled with thorns. “it always does, doesn’t it?”

W didn’t know what to say. they wanted to protest, to argue, to tell you that no, this wasn’t something that would just pass, that this was different, that they had loved you for as long as they could remember, and that love wasn’t something that could just fade away. but the words caught in their throat, tangled and twisted with the lump that had formed there, and all they could do was stare at you, their heart breaking in unfixable fragments in a way they had never known it could.

you sighed, a soft, resigned sound, and reached out to place a hand on W’s arm. the touch was warm, familiar, but it didn’t bring the happiness it usually did. if anything, it only made the ache in W’s chest worse.

“elmo,” you said, your voice still soft, still gentle, like you were talking to a child who didn’t quite understand the concept of how birds fly. “you’re my best friend. you always have been. but this… this isn’t something you need to hold onto. it’ll pass, and when it does, we’ll still be us. we’ll still be friends.”

W wanted to tell you that they didn’t want it to pass, that they didn’t want to be just friends, that they couldn’t imagine a world where loving you wasn’t the center of their universe. but they didn’t. they just nodded, the motion stiff and jerky, their throat too tight to speak.

your smile softened, your eyes filled with that same pitying look that made W want to scream, to cry, to do anything to make you see that this wasn’t something that could just be brushed off, that this was real, that this was everything to them and more.

“hey,” you said softly, your hand squeezing W’s arm in a gesture meant to be reassuring. “it’s okay. you’ll see. one day, you’ll wake up and realize that this… that it was just a phase. and we’ll still be okay. we’ll still have each other.”

W didn’t want to believe you. they wanted to hold onto their love like a lifeline, to tell you that you were wrong, that this wasn’t just a phase, that this was real, and true, and something that would last forever. but they couldn’t find the words. so they just nodded again, their eyes stinging with unshed tears, their heart heavy with the weight of the words they couldn’t say.

you gave them another small smile, the kind that W had seen and adored a thousand times, but now felt like a knife twisting in their chest.

“i’m glad you told me,” you said quietly. “i am. but it’ll pass, elmo. i promise.”

W looked away, unable to bear the look in your eyes any longer. they stared out at the lake, the water rippling gently in the moonlight, and wondered if you were right. if one day, this love that had been a part of them for so long would just fade away, leaving them with nothing but memories and the ache of something that had never been returned.

“i hope you’re wrong,” W whispered, so quietly that they weren’t sure you even heard them. “i really hope you are.”

you didn’t reply, and after a moment, you stood up, your hand slipping from W’s arm.

“come on,” you said softly, your voice still full of that gentle sympathy that W hated so much. “let’s head back.”

W nodded numbly, pushing themself to their feet, their legs feeling shaky and unsteady beneath them. they didn’t look at you as they started walking back towards the house, the silence between you now feeling colder, emptier than it ever had before.

W’s love didn’t pass, not in the way you had said it would. it stayed with them, a constant, quiet ache, a reminder of what they had felt and what they had lost. but as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, W learned to live with it. they learned to carry that love with them, like a secret, cherished thing, something that was theirs alone, something that didn’t need to be spoken of or returned.

and they found themself forever convincing their heart that it was enough.

D DIACONU

it was late, well past midnight, and the world outside the window was quiet in that peculiar way that only deep winter nights could achieve. snow had started to fall hours ago, and now it blanketed new haven in a thick, suffocating layer of white. the fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting a warm, golden glow over the room, but it did little to banish the chill that hung in the air between you and D.

you were both sprawled on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, the remnants of the evening scattered around you—a half-empty bottle of whiskey, glasses tipped on their sides, books discarded in a heap. their hand rested on the curve of your hip, their fingers tracing lazy, absent-minded patterns against your skin. the intimacy of the gesture was at odds with the tension in their body, a tension that you could feel humming beneath their skin like an electric current.

for a long time, neither of you spoke. the silence between you was heavy, pregnant with all the things that had gone unspoken for too long. you could sense it coming—the moment when everything would change, when the careful balance you’d struck between the two of you would tip and send you both spiraling into the unknown. but still, you weren’t ready for it, weren’t ready for the words when they finally came.

“i love you,” D said, their voice quiet, almost tentative, as if they were afraid to give the words too much weight. but there was a tremor in their voice, a crack in their carefully constructed nonchalance that made your heart stutter in your chest. you could feel them watching you, their gaze intense, searching for something in your expression that they couldn’t name.

the words hung in the air between you, fragile and trembling like a spider’s web catching the first light of dawn. you knew, even as they left their mouth, that they would unravel everything, would tear apart the delicate threads that had kept your relationship from becoming something more, something dangerous.

you turned to face them, your eyes meeting theirs. for a moment, you just looked at them, at the earnestness in their metallic gray gaze, the raw vulnerability that they so rarely allowed themself to show. and you hated yourself for the words that you knew you were going to say, hated the way their face would fall when you finally said them.

the look in your eyes must have said it all though because their expression faltered, a shadow of uncertainty crossing their features.

“rook…” you began, but the words stuck in your throat. the nickname tasted like regret, like something you would wish you could unsay, but knew you never could.

they pulled back slightly, their hand still resting on your hip, but it was no longer gentle. there was a hesitancy in their touch now, a barely suppressed fear.

“don’t,” they whispered, their voice trembling, “please don’t.”

but you had to. you had to because if you didn’t, this would spiral into something you couldn’t control, something that would consume you both. and so, with your heart breaking in your chest, you said it.

“it’ll pass,” you murmured, your voice hollow, void of the warmth that had filled their confession. the moment the words left your mouth, you wished you could take them back, wished you could somehow stop the pain that flashed across their face.

D recoiled as if you had struck them, their hand dropping away from you as though the touch was suddenly burning them. their eyes, once so open and earnest, now filled with something darker, something wounded. they looked at you as though you were a stranger, as though he couldn’t quite understand what you had just said.

“what do you mean, ‘it’ll pass’?” they asked, their voice raw, desperate. “is that all this is to you? something that will just… pass?”

“yes,” you said, though the words felt like you were dying a tiny death with each syllable that followed. “it always does.”

they sat up now, their movements jerky, uncoordinated, as if they could barely contain the storm of emotions raging inside them.

“you don’t get to decide that,” they snapped, their voice rising, breaking with the force of their anger. “you don’t get to tell me how i feel.”

you didn’t answer. there was nothing more to say. you had made a promise to each other when this whole thing started—a promise that neither of you would fall in love, that neither of you would let this become something more than what it was. and now they were trying to break that promise, to drag you both into something that none of you could afford to feel.

“you know, i never thought you’d be the one to say something like that,” they said, their voice laced with bitterness. “i thought i knew you better than that.”

you could see the fully-fledged anger in their eyes now, the hurt that they were trying so hard to mask behind the sharp edges of their words. they were unraveling, coming apart at the seams, and you couldn’t help but feel responsible, couldn’t help but feel like you had put that look in their eyes.

“i thought you were different,” D continued, their voice rising now, each word a little more desperate than the last. “you always said that normal was boring, that you didn’t want anything conventional. but here you are, acting just like everyone else.”

their words cut deep, but you refused to let it show. you knew they were lashing out, trying to make sense of the rejection that you had just handed them. but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“you don’t get it,” you said, your voice hard. “this isn’t about being different or interesting. this is about not wanting to ruin what we have by pretending it can be something it’s not.”

D stopped pacing, their hands balled into fists at their sides. they looked at you with something close to desperation in their eyes, as they were trying to find some way to convince you, some way to make you see what they were feeling.

“what if i don’t want it to pass?” they asked, their voice breaking. “what if i want this? what if i want you?” but the words were too late, the sentiment too dangerous. you shook your head, already closing yourself off from the possibility.

“you don’t,” you said, your voice hollow. “you think you do, but you don’t.”

and maybe you were right. maybe you were wrong. but it didn’t matter anymore. the damage had been done, and there was no going back now. you watched as the light in D’s eyes flickered and died, as they realized that you weren’t going to change your mind, that you weren’t going to give them the answer they wanted.

for a moment, the room was silent except for the crackling of the fire. then, with a breath of air like a death rattle, D turned on their heel and walked out of the room, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence.

as the door closed behind them, you felt the full weight of what had just happened settle over you like a shroud. you had told yourself that this was the right thing, that keeping your distance was the only way to protect yourself, and to protect their heart as well. but now, with the cold of the room pressing in on you, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made a terrible mistake.

outside, the snow continued to fall, a soft, relentless blanket that covered the world in white. but inside, all you could feel was the absence of them, the hollow space they had left behind, and the echo of words you wished you could take back.

the fire in the hearth burned lower, the flames slowly dying out, and you watched as the shadows in the room grew longer, darker. you could still feel the ghost of D’s touch on your skin, the imprint of the hurt plastered on their face painted in the back of your eyes.

but you pushed the thoughts away, buried them deep where they couldn’t hurt you. because you knew that this was how it had to be. you knew that love was a dangerous thing, something that could destroy you if you let it. and you had spent too long guarding yourself to let it all fall apart now.

so you let it pass. you let it all pass, even as it hollowed you out from the inside, even as it left you more alone than you had ever been.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH

M wasn’t the kind of person who rushed into declarations. they’d spent most of their life carefully walling up their emotions to kept themself safe, always polite, always just out of reach. but you—you—had a way of unraveling all that, of finding the threads and gently pulling until the whole thing came apart. and now, here they were, standing in front of you, every defense they had cultivated over the years stripped away.

the two of you were alone in the commons, the silence between you thick with things unsaid. M’s eyes were earnest, searching yours for any sign that this wasn’t a mistake, that they hadn’t misjudged the situation completely.

they hadn’t planned for this—god knows, they hadn’t—but love wasn’t something you could plan. it just happened, like the slow erosion of rock, until one day you realized the landscape had completely changed, and there was no going back.

“i love you,” they said, the words raw and real, so much so that they hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning.

there was a beat of silence, and M could feel the world slowing down, the seconds stretching out into what felt like an eternity. they had never been more vulnerable, more exposed, than in that moment, standing there, waiting for your response.

you blinked, processing their words. there was no shift in your expression, no visible crack in the calm expression that you usually wore so well. instead, you simply sighed, as if the weight of the world rested on your shoulders, and then, with a faint, rueful smile, you said:

“it’ll pass.”

the words hit M like a truck at high velocity. it wasn’t just the rejection—though that was sharp enough—but the casualness of it, as if you were brushing off a fleeting emotion, something as transient as a breeze. M’s chest constricted, a dull ache spreading outwards as they stared at you, searching your face for something, anything, that would give them hope that you didn’t mean it. but there was nothing.

“it’ll pass?” M repeated, their voice strained. they couldn’t understand how you could say something like that, not after everything the two of you had been through, not after the way you had broken down their walls and made them believe that this—whatever this was—was real.

you looked at them with that same distant, cool expression. not cruel, not uncaring, just... unmoved. like M had presented you with a problem to solve rather than their heart to hold.

“it always does,” you said, as if that explained everything. as if that made it okay.

M took a step back, feeling the coldness of the words seep into their bones. the room, which had been warm and golden with the late afternoon sun, suddenly felt too bright, too revealing. M’s hands trembled, so they balled them into fists at their sides to stop the shaking.

“i see,” M said, and their voice came out quieter than they intended, almost a whisper. it wasn’t okay, none of this was okay, but what else could they say? what else was there to say when someone looked at you like you were a passing raincloud, something temporary, something that would eventually blow over and be forgotten?

you shifted, clearly uncomfortable now, your eyes flickering to the door, to the window, anywhere but M’s face.

“i didn’t mean—” you started, but M cut you off.

“no,” M said, and the word was sharper than they’d intended, harder. “don’t. it’s fine. you’re right. it’ll pass.”

you gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if you were relieved that M wasn’t going to make a scene. as if you had expected more from M, something messier, something less controlled. but M had always been good at control, at keeping things locked up tight inside where they couldn’t hurt anyone but themself.

“i’ll see you later,” you said, and you left before M could say anything else. before M could shatter completely before your eyes.

M watched the door close behind you, the sound echoing in the quiet room. the silence that followed was heavy, thick, suffocating. M stood there for a long time, staring at the spot where the you had stood, feeling the chill settle into their bones, into their soul.

they were alone now, and it felt like the world had ended, even though they knew it hadn’t. the world would keep turning, people would keep going on with their lives, and M would keep pretending that everything was fine, that they were fine.

but deep down, they knew it wasn’t fine. it wouldn’t be fine for a long time.

M sank down into the nearest chair, feeling the exhaustion settle over them like a weight they couldn’t shake off. they leaned their head back, closing their eyes against the brightness of the sun, and tried to will themselves to feel nothing, to be numb.

but all they could feel was the dull ache of a heart that had been offered up and then discarded, like a gift that wasn’t wanted.

“it’ll pass,” M whispered to themself, but the words felt hollow, empty, like they were saying it to a ghost.

they didn’t believe it. they didn’t believe any of it. but maybe, if they said it enough times, it would become true. maybe, if they said it enough times, they would start to feel nothing at all.

#woop woop #another sad banger #didn’t proofread so sorry for the typos 😶‍🌫️#ro: c lacroix #ro: v næsholm #ro: w ostendorf #ro: d diaconu #ro: m whitlock singh #if: the ballad of the young gods #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #twine wip #ro scenarios

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anderstrevelyan · 6 months

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gortash interfering with press freedom.jpg

Noteworthy to me:

it took at least a TENDAY to print all the Gort posters around the city

he hired a Banite as an official aide (obviously) (Ulova's the Black Gauntlet up in his office)

Ettvard is reeking of Banite too (I see you, "yours faithfully")

he didn't even send this protest

a Gortash signing his name just "G" is an angry Gortash (see the "inappropriate tone" Ketheric letter)

#bg3 #enver gortash #ettvard needle #man I should work on that ettvard needle fic in my wip pile #also that typo in ettvard's letter: messy typist journalist very real actually

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bodydoublegame · 1 year

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hello! it's amy! if you follow my personal account, you'd already know what this is. body double is a side project that i do for fun inbetween infamous, just for when i need to refresh my brain! i decided to make a blog for it so i don't flood my personal account with this game lol.

This game is a side project that I do when I need inspiration for Infamous. That means development on it will be sloooow. Infamous is my main priority right now!

Body Double is a an interactive story that takes place in a cyberpunk inspired world where top secret operatives of an elusive Cypress Industries have the unique ability to jump bodies.

Agent Sawyer is the best Agent in the business, tasked with protecting Cypress Industries and all of its assets.

Until three weeks ago.

Framed for the president's murder and in a last-ditch effort to save their ass, they switch bodies with our regular, ordinary IT-tech MC...who is now walking in the body of a suspect the entire city is looking for. Stuck in a citywide manhunt, MC is now on the run with a pesky Agent who refuses to tell them where their body is. To make matters worse, Agent Sawyer's subconcious is stuck in their head, speaking to them like a pest MC can't shake off.

Wonderful.

With a help of a host of characters from Sawyer's past and MC's present, MC will have to throw themself in a conspiracy to clear Sawyer's name and get back to normal. Relatively. No pressure.

The usual IF stuff: customize your mc from personality to appearance. Unsurprisingly from me, BODY DOUBLE is a character driven story with a focus on relationship dynamics, angst and drama...but this time with action.

Mold Sawyer in the prologue and be stuck with them in your head for the rest of the story. Are they humorous? Stoic? Vulgar? Emotional? Arrogant? You decide.

Romance characters like Sawyer's ex (messy) or the human-mech hybrid trying to kill you (messy) or your measly IT tech friend who has no idea what the hell is going on but they're a trooper. Or an AI. Your call.

Try to uncover a conspiracy and solve a murder in a cyberpunk setting.

Don't die?

SAWYER [RO][customizable]: the agent accused of murder. The wires get crossed when they switch bodies with you, and somehow you have their subconcious in your head. They refuse to switch back until you help clear their name even though you're in their body, which means people are after you now. Asshole move, really.

ROACH: Sawyer's twin brother and perpetual hermit. As a hacker, he has eyes all over the city. He also misses his sibling, so he's determined to see it through.

AGENT BECK [f or m] [RO]: A cool and intimidating fellow Agent of Cypress Industries...and Sawyer's ex partner. Sawyer dumped them, broke their heart, and since then, ghosted them (as one does.) With that said, Beck is determined to help you. And them. Just make sure to try to ignore the longing looks they send your way. It's not towards you, of course.

CAI [RO] [f, m or nb models] : Cypress AI or CAI is Sawyer's former field partner. Honest, cold and emotionless, you can't believe CAI is actually helping you. It must be going against their every makeup to go against Cypress, but having someone like them on your side is beneficial, at least.

HAWKE [m][RO]: the mech-human hybrid tasked with hunting you down. Well, hunting Sawyer down. Their one mission is to see you (Sawyer) dead, which poses a problem so as long as you're in this body. So there's that.

SOLANA [f][RO]: the elusive club owner...and the last person to see the president alive. You can't tell if Solana is an ally or an enemy, but you do know the one thing that drives her is power. Good to keep an eye on her, anyway.

AXL [nb] [RO]: the wealthy child of the now dead president and new heir of Cypress Industries. They hate your (Sawyer's) guts. They have hired all the best operatives and assassins to take you (Sawyer) down, and will stop and nothing to get their justice. If only you could convince them otherwise...

MAV [f or m] [RO]: your best friend and fellow IT employee. A trooper, who decides to be your sidekick on this weird...journey. No biggie. Make sure they don't die.

As usual, BD is 18+ for adult themes, explicit language, suggestive situations, violence and more! <3

#interactive fiction #interactive game #interactive novel #cog #cog wip #dashing don #choice of games #Keyboard still broken ignore the typos !! lol

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redo-rewind-if · 8 days

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Redo; Rewind Demo Update - Chapter 3

This update adds: Over 140k words (including code)!!

Features:

Go clubbing and run into a very familiar face.

Or, you could head over to the local music festival instead! Why bother tracking down your hitman. Unless...?

Attempt a little breaking and entering, just for fun.

Plant a listening device and hope for the best.

Head home and plan your next steps.

Possibly use your new time travel abilities to fix your mistakes. Or don't. It'll probably be fine.

As you can see, the update is finally here! I'm sorry it took me so long, I really wasn't expecting it to. Alas, writing and coding are rather time consuming. And 100k words is basically a novel's worth.

Despite the word count, if you're only playing one route, it may not take you that long to read. Unfortunately, that is a problem with writing IFs, it feels like a lot when you're writing it but then when you go to play it...

On the plus side, there's many different routes you can try! I'd highly recommend using multiple saves to check out other options.

Regardless, I thank you all for your patience and support, and hope you enjoy it!

[Link] - Demo Update, Available Here!

(Make sure to start with a fresh save to avoid possible bugs caused by the old ones!)

#redo; rewind if #interactive fiction #if game #twine if #twine wip #cyoa #if update #redo rewind update #demo update #fyi i'm planning to fix any bugs/typos next week and update the demo at the end of the week with any fixes #with the exception of any major errors ofc #i may also add some small changes to the chapter. like some additional transitions for certain scenes #some just feel too abrupt to me but i think it's okay for now #i really hope you have fun with it! even if it may feel somewhat short on certain routes #the next update's gonna be a big one. that's when the plot really gets going up so look forward to that! :>

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myymi · 2 months

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happy wednesday, here's a text chat between the brothers that's in one of my wips

Fastest Idiot 💙

dude u forgot the bag

[attachment: 1 image]

lil bro??

dont tell me this was on purose

tails.

bud pls anwser ur phe

what did u giv tem

tails

calm down, i’m just making sure they leave us alone. they’ll live

WJDY DIID U DO

they will live

tails. buddy. baby bro.

wat did u do

i’ll text you later, rouge and i are getting lunch

TAILS

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #sth #tails the fox #sonic #unbreakable bond #sonic and tails #wholesome sonic and tails wednesday #wsatw #wip fic #sonic 100% has the worst typos know to man #tails is the only one who can read them #he gets screenshots from everyone else w the caption 'what is this supposed to say' all the time #sibling core is dropping disturbing information the dipping for 5 hours

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emjee · 4 months

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hiiiiiiiiii I've had three glasses of wine and here's a WIP preview of the fic I'm calling "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood (Library)" (aka Steve Rogers gets a library card circa 2011 and quickly learns about Librarians Vs. The PATRIOT Act)

“I can help who’s next.”

The next man in line at the reference desk of the Brooklyn Public Library was so handsome that Marian’s brain quickly supplied a list of five potential nicknames for him that the staff could use among themselves if he became a regular.

“Hi, I was uh, wondering about getting a library card?”

“Sure, I can help you with that! Are you a Brooklyn resident?”

“For a long time.”

“Have you had a card with us before? If you have I’ll check and see if you’re still in our system.”

“I did, but it was a very long time ago.” Neighborhood kid, she wondered, maybe just moved back to the old stomping grounds?

“Well, we keep the records for a couple of years, and we do like to check so we avoid duplicates. What would the name on file have been?”

“Is there something else you can search by?”

“If it’s under a name you don’t use we can try address and date of birth.”

“My birthday’s July 4th.”

A year would have been helpful, but they could circle back to that. “What’s it like sharing a birthday with a country?” she asked as she started typing.

“Well, the fireworks always made me feel special when I was a kid.”

“I’m sure. Do you remember what address we might have had on file?”

He took a moment to reply, and when he did his voice was calm, but soft enough that she had to learn forward to hear him. “I don’t think it’s there anymore.”

House fire? Gentrification?

This sort of thing happened from time to time—a patron came in who clearly had a story that made getting them what they needed less straightforward that it might otherwise have been. That wasn’t a problem; sorting that sort of thing was literally what the fine people of Brooklyn paid her for, but she was always curious about people’s stories. Sometimes they told you, sometimes they didn’t. She wasn’t going to ask, though. Curiosity or no, it was ultimately none of her business.

“None of that’s a problem,” she assured him. “I can make you a new card right now, if you have an ID and proof of address. Driver’s license would work for both, or a passport, state ID, student ID plus a piece of mail…”

“This is going to sound like a silly question, probably…” He looked at the ceiling, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase it.

“No such thing,” she said lightly. “Besides, we’ve probably heard it before. Probably ten times a day.”

“If I do get a card, does anyone…know? Besides you all, I mean.”

Marian sat straighter in her chair and immediately became all business. “Not a silly question at all. Any record that identifies you by name is confidential under New York state law. We don’t even let law enforcement have it.”

A genuine grin dawned on his face and she immediately thought of three more possible nicknames. “Seriously?”

“Not unless they’ve got a warrant or a subpoena.”

“Huh. But it would have to be under my legal name?”

“We do need to have it on file, but if you have a name you’d rather use, we can make a note in the record. That’s the name your mail would come addressed to, and what the staff would call you.”

She watched him glance down, smile, and put a hand in his pocket.

“Yeah,” he said, producing his wallet and handing her his ID. “In that case.”

She set the ID on the counter in front of her while she opened a new card registration form and didn’t give it a proper look until she had her hands on the keyboard.

Well. That certainly explained a lot.

After entering ROGERS STEVEN GRANT into the record in a rapid clatter of keyboard strokes, she glanced back up at him and said, “What would you like me to put in the preferred name field.”

He gave it a moment’s thought. “Fred.”

She couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Excellent choice. Same last name?”

“Joke’s not as good if I change it.”

“Fair point.” She grabbed a fresh card from the drawer and scanned the barcode into the system, then saved the record. “Welcome to the Brooklyn Public Library, Mr. Rogers.”

#fic #mine #steve rogers #captain america #wip #mg says stuff #fixed the typos thank u augacity #best friend for this very reason

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runomye · 9 months

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If kingsisle isn't gonna let me see my favorite boys again, I guess i gotta draw them myself

#wizard101 #digital drawing #w101 rat #w101 bat #w101 scorpion #finally figured out how to draw bat!#hopefully i'll find more time to draw cuz i have so many w101 things in my wip folder #I don't have any actual thoughts on rat or scorpion i just think they're neat :)#edit: typo oops

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lost-in-fandoms · 2 months

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Part 2 from this post. Here part 1. This is not very happy, I'm sorry.

cw: (sort of) discussion of dub-con of the heat variety, mentions of sexual content.

Hissing+growling

It's late afternoon when Daniel comes out of the bathroom, holding his shirt in his hands and considering if it would be worth it to put it back on again.

Max is asleep now, splayed under the sheets with a small frown on his face, but the room is still permeated by the sweet smell of hormones and the sticky one of slick and cum, and Daniel can tell the heat is not quite over yet. It makes some alpha part of him deeply content, to have their scents intertwined like this and a satisfied omega in his bed, despite all the other mixed feelings turning in his brain at the moment.

He had finally managed to talk to Christian, just before his shower, to inform him and also to ask what the fuck, and the man had confirmed what Daniel had suspected since the night before: this was not one of Max's scheduled heats. It probably was part of the reason why it had hit Max like that, hard and fast, barely giving Daniel any time to get him out of the club and to the hotel without giving their pr people a massive headache.

And now he is left with this: Max naked and spent in his bed, and a very big question mark above the state of their personal and professional relationship.

He's considering slipping back into the sheets, alpha instincts screaming at him to go back to touching his the omega, or maybe texting Michael to have a big freak out about the whole situation, when someone knocks at the door.

He makes it over as quickly as possible, knowing it's probably the food he has ordered for himself and Max, but he still hears Max shift behind him, making a small snuffling sound that makes Daniel smile.

He's still smiling as he drags the little food cart inside, turning into the room, ready to feed his the omega, a good morning on his tongue when Max hisses at him.

It almost happens in slow motion. Daniel turns towards the bed, meeting Max's wide eyes. Max recoils, sitting up so fast Daniel can almost see him getting dizzy. Max's confused expression flickers to fear for a second before shuttering closed. And then he hisses at Daniel.

Daniel instinctively steps back, raising his hands and curling his shoulders inwards, trying to make himself as non-threatening as possible, brain already scrambling to find the reason why Max is upset.

"Max, what..." he can't even finish the question before Max is hissing again, pulling the sheets higher to cover his chest. His hands are shaking.

"Max," Daniel tries again, softer this time, forcing the hurt out of his voice, every alpha part of him screaming to fix this. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Max shakes his head, baring his teeth a little, pressing his back into the headboard harder.

"What did you do to me?" he bites out, voice hoarse. Images from the last twelve hours surge through Daniel's mind, Max opening up so well for him, moaning around his knot, drool on his chin, tears streaming down his cheeks. Max on his hands and knees, back arching under Daniel's hand. Max pulling at Daniel's hair, dragging his face into the crook of his neck, right above his mating gland.

"I didn't do anything, mate," Daniel answers, knowing immediately it's the wrong thing to say when Max hisses again.

"You, you...knotted me!" There's a blush high on Max's cheeks, spreading further as he spits the words, embarrassment and anger mixing in a dangerous cocktail.

"Yes? You were in heat, and you asked..."

"I would not ask!" Max interrupts him, fists closing harder around the sheets, voice growing louder and higher. "You should have left me!"

It's a hit to Daniel's ego, this straight up refusal from Max that he would even want to spend his heat with him, but he decides to save that hurt for later, having bigger problems at hand.

"Max," he says, forcing himself to keep his voice patient and level, "I couldn't have left you like that, you were in pain. And you did ask me."

"Then you should have said no!"

Daniel doesn't understand. He gets it, that Max is confused, probably still a little out of it from his heat, but Daniel had been good to him. He had treated him right. He doesn't understand where all this anger and fear is coming from. He was helping!

"Listen, if you tell me who's your usual heat buddy I will call them for you, okay? So they can help you with the rest of it." It hurts, to even suggest it. No part of his alpha instincts wants him to leave the omega alone, no part of him wants to leave Max like this, but he knows how important it is for omegas to be comfortable during their heats, and if Max isn't comfortable with him anymore, then they'll have to sort this all out another time.

He's expecting Max to relax a little, but he bristles instead, blush deepening.

"Fuck you, I do not have a heat buddy," he spits, crossing his arms. Daniel's traitorous eyes linger a little on the swell of his chest under the sheets, the bulge of his biceps, before he's able to get a hold on himself.

Wait, no heat buddy?

"Max, was this the first..."

Again, Max doesn't let him finish, hissing loud and angry at him. Daniel's brain stumbles, too much sudden confusing information, and he fucks up.

He growls back, irritated.

The reaction is immediate. Max's eyes widen and he slumps, bowing forward until his forehead is almost touching his knees, back of his neck exposed in submission even before Daniel has the chance to start being horrified in himself.

"Shit," he swears, taking a step towards the bed and then stopping when Max flinches. "Max, I didn't mean..."

Max's shoulders are shaking. Daniel feels nauseous.

"Max, I swear, I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

He backs away until he's pressed against the wall furthest away, watches as Max slowly straighten his back, pulling the sheet up with him. There's a blankness on his face that wasn't there before. The room smells sour, upset omega scent overpowering everything else.

"I want you to leave, Daniel" Max says, his voice just as flat as his expression.

Daniel doesn't know if his body is supposed to feel like this, if his heart is supposed to be beating this way.

"Max, I'm sorry," he pleads, some part of him acutely aware that if he leaves this room now, they'll never be the same. He'll never be the same.

Max doesn't say anything else, just looks down at his lap, looking small in the dirty sheets, distressed scent like hands around Daniel's throat.

Daniel picks up his phone and wallet, weirdly glad he had gotten dressed again before opening the door so he doesn't have to prolong this strange walk of shame now. He feels disconnected from his own body, everything feeling wrong wrong wrong.

"You should call Christian, let him know when you'll be leaving," is somehow what his voice decides to say, instead of any of the questions and apologies his brain is currently screaming.

He just barely hears Max's first sob over the click of the door locking behind him.

#blowing a kiss to the sky: virgin omega max for bread #my writing #i started and deleted this three times in the past two days but no more!!! i'm not happy with it but i'll still let it free!!!#as usual i don't promise to finish any wip ever but i will probably fix them <3 maybe <3 #maxiel #if there are typos no there aren't <3 my brain is broken today #the amount of times i had to google simple words is honestly embarrassing #omegaverse sounds tag

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