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cloversnstrawberries · 4 months ago

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"eschatological hope" platonic!yandere!albert wesker & B.O.W!teen!reader [twoshot] [pt 1] ! !

masterlist !

description; You're one of many 'subjects' of a strange underground facility, one that sources their patients from survivor shelters outside of cities affected by outbreaks, specifically ones catered to children who are either orphaned or lost their parents amongst the chaos. One day, the emergency alarm begins blaring; the pre-recorded code said through the announcement system was unfamiliar.

You took it as a chance to run, to escape this hell-- it was the best opportunity you could ever ask for. Too bad it doesn't go you your way.

additional notes; hello! this definitely was just supposed to be a oneshot, but i lost hold on my self restraint and just want to really start off my resident evil writing with a bang . i really love this idea, and i'm a sucker for religious imagery and references, so :) but also, there's a scary lack of platonic!yan albert wesker... i plan to amend that in the coming weeks as i dive headfirst into this special interest on here. it's not going away. help.

also! reader is intended to be a younger teen, around ~14/15 in here, but can be interpreted as younger or older!

warnings; Child experimentation, body horror, betrayal, mentions of the apocalypse, canon-typical bloods, guts, gore, and violence, death of a child/mentioned deaths of children (not reader), child abuse, guns, general terror, non-consensual body modification (the scientists altered reader with a virus strain </3), not very yandere in this part, but oh boy will shit hit the fan in the second part, heavy religious symbolism and references (which will only get more obvious in the next part), slightly soft Albert Wesker, and there might be more that I missed! if so, please be sure to let me know!!

w/c; 7.7k (oh lord)

I was so close, you mournfully thought-- your cheek pressed to the cold tile, a guard's boot dug into the back of your skull as he put more and more pressure onto your cranium.

You were so close to make it out of here- out of here alive. You'd seen countless other... subjects, is all they saw you as; come and go from this strange, underground facility.

It always ended the same, whether or not they tried to escape.

You were a fool to think you were any different.

You'd made it the longest, survived the most tests. You were weak, muscles atrophied and dizzy from how small the portions of the meals they gave you were-- even if they could hardly be called that.

Scraps. They were just scraps, just enough to keep you alive; but just small enough to discourage this kind of stunt.

They keep you weak, keep you under their thumb until the time came to crush you down beneath it. You'd witnessed this many times-- you're not sure how many, no longer seeing a reason to keep track of the numbers.

Last you'd counted, it'd been at 38. 38 dead, either shot because they tried to escape, or...

Jamie had been a good friend to you, throughout this hell of an experience. In hushed whispers, they'd tell you stories of their life; they lived so differently from yourself, having hailed from sunny California.

You exchanged stories about the crazy weather phenomena you'd experienced, the snow storms that hit Arklay county mid-October a few years back, was traded for a story about how the highest temperature they'd suffered through was a whopping 131 degrees in the dead of summer.

But now, there was no Jamie.

There was only the thing left in their place, an awful amalgamation of... oh god, you can't even pick it apart. So many things-- eyes of a goat, five legs; two sprouting from their back like a dinosaurs spine, and one burst out of their shoulder.

Their face was near-unrecognizable, their voice no better off. You could hardly understand the words they were saying-- and they were words, you knew that much-- as they curled their hand, as crushed and mangled and deformed as it was, around your ankle.

You stood there, frozen with terror-- unknowing of what-- no, who, this was; until you caught sight of a chunk of long hair, once dyed a vibrant red atop light blonde hair-- all that was left was a faded red, their roots having grown in a good 2 or 3 inches, coming from what you assumed to the top of the thing's skull.

"Jamie?" You'd muttered, voice small and broken. You no longer tried to fight the hold on your leg, simply stared down in abject horror. You didn't notice the alarm begin to ring, nor the flashing red of the emergency lights-- the call of a code over the intercom, summoning all available personal to deal with a "Code 96".

It-- They, nodded; or it seemed like it, a jerk of what must've been their head. What came from the thing-- no, Jamie's mouth next, made your heart go from nearly beating out of your chest to terribly, deathly still, as you realize what they'd been trying to say the entire time.

"Kill... me..." they'd rasped, all semblance of their fiery but intelligent personality gone, replaced with a simple need to be put out of their misery.

You had no means to do so, but as you heard boots rushing down the echoing hallways-- making their way to the adolescent patient's barracks where they kept you all, you knew that they did.

You sunk to your knees, and you held your friend until the guards came in, one tasked with evacuating the other subjects; not wanting any to accidentally get hurt, because then that'd just be a waste of resources-- pulled you from your friend, who let out a horrifying sort of shriek.

Your hand outstretched, as they fumbled to reach out; unable to grab yours in time, you were pulled form the room just as rounds and rounds of gunshots sounded behind you. The door had barely been shut before it started, dents made in the dense metal scared you deeply-- but the bullets never did make it through the material.

Or because the experiments got to them first. The things they inject you all with, the tests and strange sets of tasks that hardly coincide with each other-- the things that somehow make nearly everyone turn into some sort of monster,

Some kept their mind, like Jamie had, and some didn’t.

You’d had an awful feeling that your time would come soon, when all the weird injections and ‘medicines’ and ‘treatments’ finally got to you.

In some ways, you’d accepted that. The fact that you’d probably never make it out, that you’d just be another lost subject. A waste of resources.

Not a living, breathing child that they stole away from a survivor’s shelter after an outbreak hit your city and you fled— and were able to do so, because you were all alone.

You had hopes and dreams— ones that would be splattered across the frigid tile floor any second now, along with your blood and brain matter.

Sometimes the guards were kind, they gave one shot right at the crown of your head— killing you instantly.

Sometimes they wanted to have a little ‘fun’ as they called it. Nobody but the guards found it fun, how they’d toy with the kids as they killed them— the scientists and ‘doctors’ found it wasteful of their time, a disgrace that they spent more time than necessary on terminating a subject.

The other kids, yourself included, found it horrifying. In the dark of night, when you all knew the cameras weren’t as heavily watched as before— the guards weren’t standing where they were supposed to in the patient barracks, you’d spread stories about how the staff were really the monsters.

You’d say that one has a second face hidden beneath her giant, fluffy blonde hair. The others kids said that one of the guards, a particularly cruel one which none of you knew the name of, secretly had a third eye— that’s why he never took off the guard gear, which most every other one did at some point, for one reason or another.

And as you lay here, feeling your nose shift as the pressure of the boot on your head increased, your face pressing harder and harder into the tile— you come to the dreadful realization that they’re going to have their ‘fun’ with you.

You hope they get in trouble with their superiors— really, you do. Because with the red emergency lights going, causing a terrible headache to form right behind your eyes— and the alarm blared, a pre-recorded voice calling over the intercom;

They shouldn’t be here, taking their sweet time with a patient that’d broken off from the rest. Honestly, you thought you could get away with it, in the chaos of them evacuating all patients; or, all patients worth saving.

Noticeably, the barracks that held the younger kids, all below 6, were not evacuated. If anything, they weren’t making any move to free the poor things— the door still locked, probably.

“You know,” The guard began to say, and you recognized that voice. Oh, oh God did you recognize it.

You thought he was nicest of the bunch— he always did his best to help you. In quiet, dark corners where the cameras wouldn’t reach, he’d give you a hug to hide the way he handed you some extra food.

Sometimes you’d smuggle it back to the barracks, to distribute among the most malnourished of you all. Sometimes he’d have you eat it right then and there, to make sure you got extra nutrients.

“So you can grow big and strong,” He’d say. That implied that’d you’d make it further than a year in this hellhole.

He’d even told you his name-- his first one, not his last one; the one he was supposed to only be known as, something he really wasn’t meant to do— he called you by your name as well, your real one, not the serial code you were assigned when you got here.

“Na-than—“ You stumbled out, letting out a cry of pain as he cruelly, oh-so-cruelly, put all of his weight on the foot currently crushing your skull.

He took it off within a few seconds, not wanting you to die so quickly. It’d be a mercy, considering what the other guards tend to do with the subjects they have their sick ‘fun’ with.

“Oh shut the hell up, you fucking brat.” He sounded so cruel. This— this couldn’t be Nathan, could it? No… they’re tricking you. He had to have been replaced, this was nothing like him—!

In a split second, you felt all encompassing relief; as he lifted his foot from the back of your head— but that relief was short-lived, as he crouched down beside you and wound his fingers through your hair,

He yanked your head up, and you made a valiant, but ultimately useless, attempt to stifle the yelp from the action.

When you did let that sound out— though, much smaller than it would’ve been had you not tried, he jostled your head around.

“I really thought you’d be the one to make it. The scientists worked really hard on your virus strain, you know that?” He said that as if it was your fault— your fault for what? You couldn’t really place your finger on.

Maybe… he’s blaming you because you’d given the scientists hope that they’d succeeded? If you had succeeded, would they have stopped the operations—

Or doubled the effort? You’re leaning more towards the latter.

“s’not my fault…” You mumbled, screwing your eyes shut. You swear that they had to have replaced all the lights with brighter, more agitating ones. It hurt to be anywhere when the lights were fully on— the blaring emergency light, bright red and spinning constantly— added another layer of it.

“Open your fucking eyes when i’m talking to you!” He yelled— oh, you’d never heard Nathan yell like that. This has to be an imposter; it had to be that the higher-ups found out how kind he was being and terminated him, one way or another.

This couldn’t be him.

Against your own wishes, but along with your better judgement— you peeled open your eyes, lips wobbling as you were forced to come face to face with both the lights, and—

The imposter had taken off his helmet, letting you have a full view of his face.

It was Nathan. No doubt about it.

“I’d say I actually liked you,” He snarled, leaning closer— your back creaking and bending as he pulled your upper half up, but your lower one stayed relatively flat on the floor. “But that’d be a lie.” There was a cruel smirk playing on the corner of his lips, nothing like the kind ones he’d always give you,

You wrenched out a sob, at which he jostled you a little more to get you to “Shut up!”

By that point, you were in absolutely no position not to follow his wishes, your life quite literally placed in the palm of his hands.

He leaned closer again, and you couldn’t help but let the tears rush down your face at the sting of hurt from his words— which only worsened as he continued on.

“The bonuses that my higher-ups gave me to act all buddy-buddy with you were pretty nice, though. I guess I have you to thank for that.”

Oh.

That… makes sense— why you two were never caught. Why he could get away with it, with stealing the food, with showing you his face, telling you his name, hugging you, comforting you—

It was all a ploy,

And for what? Maybe they thought that if the subjects had something to fight for, that they’d be more determined to make it out as a success?

That wasn’t true and you knew it— Jamie had things to fight for, but they still ended up with their mutated body looking more like swiss cheese by the end of it all.

Nathan-- no, the guard, as you refuse to associate this... monster with the man who had been so kind to you, even if, realistically, you knew they were one in the same.

That it was all just an act.

That doesn't mean you have to admit it to yourself, even if you accepted the fact in some capacity.

But... regardless, the guard, clicked his tongue, looking down upon you in a way that made you want to curl up and sob. "They thought you'd make it, you know? You were reacting so well to all the tests. The virus took hold..." You couldn't stop the confused little noise, clawing its way from the back of your throat.

Surprisingly, the guard didn't reprimand or hurt you for it. His smirk only grew to a sick, sick grin. Presumably because of the obvious show of confusion on your part,

"Oh? Did you not know? They were testing a new strain, I mean-- I'm surprised it took to you of all people!" The laugh that followed was mocking and devoid of any light. Any joy that wasn't founded in the sadistic nature of this guard. "It was modified from a strain made by a couple of traitors-- It was meant for the strongest. They just gave it to you to see where that threshold for 'strong' was!"

...Ah.

A virus? That's what this all was? You didn't know what they were putting into you all, none of the other patients had a clue about what was happening besides what was obvious. You really didn't know anything about it--

But that's it? They were putting viruses into all of you? That'd definitely explain why some ended up the way they did; some mindless, some wanting nothing but violence. The ones who didn't what such things always looked as if they did, like Jamie had.

You don't feel sick though, not how Jamie had been describing how they felt as they approached their death day, completely oblivious to what was happening-- a little more lethargic than usual, yes-- but not sick. You don't feel like your bones are about to snap, about to shift and move and rearrange themselves to turn you into a monster. You're sure you would've... felt it,

Before you could make another sound-- before the guard could continue his spiel, a new round of heavy gunfire broke out nearby-- a few turns down the long corridor, you think.

Then, screams-- so many, and.. and bones cracking, flesh ripping; it didn't sound like anyone was getting shot.

It sounded like their heads were being twisted and ripped from their neck. You witnessed that once, with a particularly violent, now-terminated, subject. That's how you recognized the awful sound as the flesh of the neck tried to follow the way their head was being turned, only to be ripped-- sinew snapping as their bodies were pushed pass the limits of human capabilties.

The alarms-- no one knew what it was about, the code they were putting through the intercoms wasn't one you recognized. It wasn't one any of you recognized-- the guards seemed... panicked, for once. Not for you all, not at all; but because they had to evacuate everyone before they could save themselves.

Something told you that this wasn't a regular sort of rampage, put on by a grotesque mimicry of one of your fellow captives.

One second, the guards fingers were twisted in your hair-- yanking you, making your neck strain painfully as he forced you to look him in the face,

And the next, your hair was released and your head lolled forward; smacking your forehead right against the tile, not enough time to brace yourself at all. You heard the guard yell out a string of curses, before he stumbled-- and you mean stumbled, up; all scary calm and malice gone.

Replaced by a primal fear and terror that you know all too well. It was a little funny, seeing the primary force behind that sort of emotion experiencing it firsthand for once.

You don't see a point in picking yourself up at first, expecting you end to be swift-- for whatever was causing the apparent massacre to come charging at you, uncaring as it twisted your neck violently; just as you're sure it'd done to all the guards a few turns ahead.

But it... a few moments pass by, and nothing of the sort happens. You don't hear anything coming for you-- no horrifying creature shambling toward you on all fours, or a mass of disgusting, pulsing and gory flesh sliding across the tile to attack you.

All you hear are calm, methodical steps coming your way. A scientist, maybe-- all the guards seemed to be in a state of panic, if that one had left you in such a rush; if they leave you alone, if they don't continue their 'fun', or pull you along to continue at another time,

Then you know something is terribly, awfully wrong.

You listened carefully to the click-click-click of heeled dress shoes against the tile floor, coming closer and closer. The scientists weren't as outwardly-cruel as the guards, didn't rough you and the others kid up like they did...

But that's not to say that they cared for you, for any of you. If what the guard said was true, that you had gotten the furthest with their experiments-- then maybe the scientist would pick you up and drag you back.

Or kill you, and study your corpse to see what made your body welcome whatever virus they'd forced onto you.

At that, you made an effort to rise from your spot on the ground. Your elbows gave out the first few times you tried, adrenaline still running through your system-- but you were shaken up, and it was always harder to get up from the floor than it was from a chair or bed.

You were so tired, frail and weak-- but still better off than most. You were one of the few that actually had a chance, and you couldn't just give that up. Even if there was nothing to fight for really, you still had to get out. You don't know why-- maybe it's just in the human nature to want to continue on despite it all.

To survive anything, no real reason behind it. Simply a primal part of you, left over from centuries past; one that not even the most disciplined could stamp down, you think.

When you did get purchase, able to push yourself up to sit on your folded legs-- biting the inside of your cheek to smother the strange sort of chirp that desperately wished to escape you.

That'd been happening recently-- producing strange noises like that of a bird, especially when in distress. You'd been able to cover them up with a cough, or stifle them either mostly or completely, but the more scared you were; the harder it became to hide them.

You managed, though-- the fear of being noticed by whoever those eerily calm, unbothered steps that was a stark contrast to the bloodbath they were certainly just waltzing right through.

One sitting, you did your best to rise from the position-- unable to get to enough leverage to rise just as you were without collapsing to the ground, you got one leg out from under yourself-- though not without great difficulty.

Just as you were about to heft yourself up into a kneeling position, sure that you'd be able to stand from there-- you heard the footsteps come to an abrupt stop; you hadn't noticed how close they were until they went silent.

Slowly, you raised your head. The dread and barely contained panic keeping you from focusing on the throbbing, world-ending headache that kicked up a notch as you looked straight on at the lights--

In front of you, down near the hallway; but not nearly far enough for your own liking, was a man you'd never seen before. Dressed in all black, he looked more like an FBI or undercover agent you'd see in a movie than anything.

Was he here to save you? You dazedly thought, but as you looked into the mans face-- his eyes hidden by simple black sunglasses, something told you that you had to run.

This man wasn't like the others-- his presence felt suffocating, like his existence alone could choke the life out from you.

Despite the headache, the aches and pain-- and the way that, deep down, you knew that you could never outrun this man... or whatever he was; that even if you were perfectly healthy, in the best shape possible, you never stood a chance, you still tried to run.

You stood abruptly, the pressure in your head becoming almost unbearable as black clouded your vision-- as disoriented and dizzy as you were, you're surprised you didn't fall right to the floor like a discarded ragdoll upon standing.

When your vision finally cleared, you met the mans gaze, and really got a look at him. The light casted behind him made him look like he had a halo-- a halo of red, like a sun delivering sailors an ill omen, bounced off of his perfectly gelled blond hair. His face was sharp, and he looked like he was in better shape than some of the guards here.

Upon closer inspection, he seemed to be wearing tactical gear-- and when you looked a little longer, realized that the strange spots of... something, wasn't a bad dye job of the fabric.

It was blood, mostly centralized to his black leather gloves, coagulated but still beading up-- one big glob fell to the floor, as the man simply stood there. Watching, waiting-- like a cat would to a mouse, staring it down and waiting for it to turn its back.

Cat's were stealth predators, more focused catching their prey off-guard rather than over powering it with sheer brute force. You're sure the man could do that-- and the reality of it all came crashing down.

He must be the one who killed the guards, the one that caused the one tormenting you to run for the hills like his life depended on it,

because it did, and yours did too.

He said nothing, as he stood there. He tilted his head, his face unreadable-- the glasses weren't helping. Slowly, as steadily as you could manage, you took a few steps back.

And then a few more, not daring to turn around until the very last minute. When he took a step forward, you turned and bolted down the hall.

You don't know where the exit is-- or, really the elevator. Or stairs-- anything to get you out from this underground hell. You stumbled as you ran, twisting and turning through the corridors; your lungs burning, head pounding and body aching--

But you never stopped running, and you wouldn't until you were safe, or you simply keeled over right then and there. You wouldn't stop running, wouldn't stop this fruitless fight until your very heart gave out--

Or you joined the number of casualties, head twisted off. You'd yet to see any bodies, any blood or gore-- or anyone else. Most of them were in the other side of the building, and you dashed toward the section with the labs and testing rooms.

There, you think you could find a weapon, or at the very least a weapon to brandish. A weapon that would do nothing, and you were well aware it would do nothing.

The man that had stood before you, the one that set off your fight-or-flight instincts like never before, couldn't have been human. He just couldn't have been. If he had been the ones to cause those terrible noises of sinew snapping and viscera splashing on the sterile, once white walls...

Then that was that, he wasn't human. You don't know what exactly he'd be, and you don't want to find out.

For one foolish, silly second-- you assumed you'd shook him off your proverbial tail. He hadn't chased after you, and even if you were malnourished and frail, you still could run fast in necessary. Could push yourself if it meant a chance for freedom, to see the sun again-- even if it'd be the last time.

it'd hurt, you think. The other patients would complain that the barracks lighting was becoming too dim, but to you-- it was always just bit too bright. What might've been bearable the day before, became uncomfortably bright the next. Not blinding like the corridor's lights were, though. And for that, you'd been thankful.

You weren't familiar with this facility-- you were aiming for the labs, but somehow wound up in going in a circle; now facing the other way, close to where you'd started.

Bodies-- all over the ground, mostly guards... a few scientists, their white coats weren't all stained-- some were a stark white against the viscera covering the hallway.

Ahead of you, the click-click-click of heeled dress shoes called your attention, and at the end of the hallway, stood the man.

It was as if he knew you'd wind up back here, like he knew how inexperienced you were in the layout of this place-- like he knew the layout himself. A smirk played at his lips, showcasing rather sharp canines. The kind that could easily tear flesh from bone with no issue.

Maybe... he was an angel of death, you surmised. It fit, it really did-- maybe that's why he made it through the hail of bullets the slain guards around you had sent his way. How he'd been able to kill them so quickly, without so much as a scratch on his person.

The need to run didn't fade, if anything it got worse-- maybe because you knew, wholly and entirely, that you can't run. Not really. If he wanted you dead, then it'd be so. He'd taken down so many trained guards, a measly, terrified child wouldn't be a problem at all.

All you can think of that could stop him, was morals. You don't think he has those-- with the sight surrounding you.

This time, when he stepped forward, you didn't make any move to take a step back. It was useless. this was all so useless. Why you? Why did it have to be you? The shelter hadn't been ideal, but it was better than this.

You sunk to the ground, tears welling in your eyes as you looked down-- trying to look away from the still-going emergency lights, the too-bright fluorescents that hung above were still on. The combination of the two made it feel like someone was tenderizing your brain with a sledgehammer constantly.

The clicks of his shoes aren't as sharp sometimes, when he steps in the puddles of blood-- they get closer, and closer... until he stands before you, only his shoes and part of his legs were visible to you.

You kept your head down, not wishing to look at your end. You want to die under the illusion that you ever had any choice in your life. That you chose your own end, and it was not brought upon you by this... angel of death.

And as you sat there, expecting the pain-- or simply a pinch before your entire world went black; shivering from both fear and the cold of the hallway, bile rising in your throat and your headache refusing to back down even a smidge; you imagine a world were you got to live a little longer.

Because, in your mind, you died the moment you entered this facility; it was a death sentence, and you should've been able to come to terms with that. It was stupid, you felt stupid for thinking you were any different to countless other kids that'd died in these halls-- some going down with a fight, others begging for their end;

"Look at me." A deep, almost... British, but not quite-- voice spoke, clear and concise. The man sounded... oddly human. You'd expected maybe a reverb of sorts, or the voice to crawl into the crevices of your brain and dig their claws in...

He was still scary, his voice sending a flash of terror through your body-- but in a way no different than the scientists were. It was a very human type of fear that his voice incited, the fear of somebody in a position of power above you.

Oh, how badly you wished to stay staring at the ground-- it was the lights, that was the problem. The man scared you, but you knew you should obey him. Maybe he'd give you a chance then.

Oddly enough, he seemed quite... patient, all things considered. he stood there for maybe a minute or so, before repeating himself. In the same tone, the same exact cadence and words.

"Look at me." He said, and something inexplicable-- something that felt rooted in your very soul, tugged at your mind. Telling you that he wouldn't be so kind if you made him ask again.

And you do, trying to keep your eyes open despite the pain that followed. Nausea rolled through you, both from the smell of blood and flesh-- it was sharp, much more noticeable then you think it should be; as if it's being held right in front of your nose-- and from how the headache worsened.

The smirk he had when he'd first spotted you had dropped, his face now a cold mask of... something. He really did look like an angel-- but the sorts found in older religious texts. neither good nor bad, simply carrying out God's will, who in of Themselves, was a contradiction.

The man reached out, and you couldn't help but jerk your head back-- he said nothing of it. In fact, you could've sworn the corners of his lips were giving way to a little smile, not just a smirk-- but it was gone before you could really register it;

But, he continued to reach out, and you stayed stock still, not wanting to test his patience again. You were already on thin ice, probably. For running from him, for making him repeat himself-- maybe he'd give you mercy, though? Because you were so young?

You weren't exactly a child, but you weren't an adult. Maybe... maybe he'd leave you be. He didn't seem to be hurting you, and when he curled his hand around your chin to push your head up just a bit more-- he was... gentle with it. In a way you hadn't experienced in so, so long from any adult.

Even Nathan hadn't been entirely soft with his movements, too used to being rough with it all; not knowing his strength, or the fragility of a subject who'd been here as long as you had.

You're surprised you were still able to run as much as you did.

The man hummed, turning your head just a tad to the left-- then gently guiding it to turn the other way. Like he was a museum curator appraising a priceless artifact.

When he turned your head to face him straight-on, you winced; the headache reaching an all time high, making you feel as if you were going to pass out form the pain at any given moment.

"Does the light bother you?" He asked, and you tried to nod-- but his grip, as gentle as it was, was all too firm. Not enough slack to complete the gesture. "Use your words." He said next, no irritation obvious in his tone.

But still, it set you on edge. How calm he was. People weren't calm like that-- but maybe angels were. That's what he had to be. He couldn't be human... he just couldn't be.

But... why would he ask that? It's not like the man cared for your well-being, right? it doesn't seem so, the question asked with an almost clinical sort of edge. Like the scientists had when they asked if there were any major concerns with your health, if you'd felt any negative side effects.

Not out of care for your person, but care for what you represented; a subject, something to test on to try and further whatever agenda or project they're assigned to.

"...Yes sir." You croaked out, shaking-- tacking on the honorific should help, yeah? The scientists always made you refer to them as such-- Sir or Ma'am, not accepting anything else. Not accepting no personal address either; that's how you get locked up in solitary for a few hours, to 'learn your lesson about disrespect'.

You were better at it than most, only being placed in solitary twice for the reason of 'disrespecting the scientists' with the lack of it.

The chuckle that followed terrified you, making your entire body lock up-- muscles pulled taut, ready to snap. Spine straight, much like a rabbit ready to bolt;

"Good to know you have manners. That'll make things easier." Your anxiety only worsened-- make what easier? What was he going to do, and how hell was your manners going the help that process?

Finally, he released your chin-- and not a moment too soon. You slumped, not from relief, but from the bone-deep exhaustion plaguing you after everything. Head lolling forward to try and avoid the bright light, you don't know how you're still even vaguely upright-- hell, how you're even still awake. You probably burned off more calories than you've collectively taken in since arriving here.

The world was spinning around you, and that notified you that you consciousness was probably something very, very short-lived. You're sure that, if you do pass out before he does whatever he does; you won't wake up again.

He says something, but the world if muffled around you-- blood rushing in your ears, making it sound like everything was underwater. You came to when he snapped his fingers in your face, it was a warning just as much as it was call for your attention.

You looked up-- or made the move to, only for him to place his hand atop your head, and gently direct you to keep your gaze down. "You'll damage your eyesight. Close them, if that helps any."

He framed it like he was offering it, offering advice-- you shut your eyes, seeing it as what it was. You had no choice in it. Whatever use he wanted you for, he didn't want your vision to be damaged for it.

You don't think the lights would damage your sight-- more just give a pounding migraine, but you do as he says regardless; he could very well just crush your skull in his hand, right then and there-- if he took down so many guards as you think he had.

For once, some higher being smiled upon you; and he moved his hand from your head, and while he was still as close as before, it was a massive weight lifted from your shoulders, not to have him making any direct contact anymore.

"I won't repeat myself again," He started off with, and you tried to show that you were listening-- he stayed quiet afterward, and you realized with a jolt, what he wanted. As soon as you realized, you aid-- almost robotically, "I understand, sir."

A few seconds passed, a heavy weight forming in your heart-- was that not what he wanted? You were tempted to open your eyes to try and see if you could get a read on his face, figure out what he was thinking; if he was about to kill you for some perceived slight.

...But would an angel do that? Even one who killed all these people? If you were still alive, then maybe he was ordered not to kill you. Or, more realistically, not specifically ordered to kill you.

Even if he wasn't an angel of death, if he was just some terrifying super-human or something of the like, he has to work under someone; right? He also said he's got a use for you.

You just hope that you picked up on the implications that he needed you alive for that use.

"Good." The man-- Angel?-- replied, as you hear fabric shifting-- the man moving, whether that be shifting on his feet or reaching into a pocket, you have no idea. "What's your serial code?"

"...I don't know it, sir." You shook-- you really didn't. Well, you didn't remember it off the top of your head, so maybe, if you explained yourself, he'd be more kind... "But if I hear it, then I'll know it's mine."

That can't be of much help. You might've just doomed yourself even worse, tacking on something like that- did he think you were wasting his time? Were you why he'd come here in the first place? That can't be it, you were never that important--

"Would you happen to be Subject 082202?" He asked-- and you recognized the number. Was he really after you? That's... that could go either one way or the either. Hope bloomed in your chest, before smothered by absolute despair.

What did he want with you?

You tried to respond, you really did-- but your voice failed you, wobbling and tried not to cry. You nodded, hoping he'd give you some leniency with it.

Surprisingly, he let it go. Didn't even comment on it-- when he spoke next, he sounded so... not happy, but--

Victorious, you think it'd be. Smug would be your next choice, the emotion in his voice was hard to pinpoint. It was barely there, but without anything else to witness or analyze-- you were stuck with trying to dissect his tone.

"Good, that's good." You heard him shift again-- the sound his shoes made against the tile suggested that he'd crouched down, and and his heavy leather coat shifted, but in what way you couldn't be sure--

More noises, ones that were meant to be quiet-- you weren't supposed to be able to pick on them, but you could. Maybe it was the fear of it all.

Then, his hand was back on your chin. Reflexively, you flinched; but he didn't reprimand you, if anything, his tone suggested that he... cared,

Maybe not for you-- probably for whatever you could do for him, but it was care regardless, and he told you "Stay still."

You did, and felt something place onto your face-- it felt like metal, warmed by a human's natural heat; it felt like a pair of glasses, the arms tucked above your ears, the metal bridge of it resting against your nose--

"Open your eyes, tell me if it's any better." The man said with a firmness that reminded you of the scientists-- or the guards. A strange mix between the two; maybe more like a cop, if you think about it hard enough. A sense of authority, firm but not demanding.

You do so-- the headache is still there, it'd gotten better when your eyes were closed. You find that, when you open your eyes, the world is a little dimmer; the headache doesn't spike as you'd expected due to it.

As you look up at the man, you realize that he doesn't have sunglasses on now-- giving you full view of his...

Yeah. The confirms it; he is absolutely not human. His eyes looked like a snakes, maybe more like a dragons; red with yellow around his slitted pupils-- instead of scaring you as it absolutely should,

It.. comforted you. Against your will, mind you-- a little bit of tension easing out of your form at the sight of them. You don't know why. It should terrify you, it should make you want to run for the hills, like he had when he first showed up--

With his eyes no longer obscured, and your headache a little dimmer, you think that you'd have a better chance at reading the emotions on his face--

He cleared his throat, bringing you back to the present-- to his question he'd had with his earlier command. You try not to test your luck, now able to give out a short, soft "Yes sir."

His hand released your chin again, and with all the energy left in you-- you tried your best not to have your head fall forward from exhaustion, from the loss of the support of his hand. he huffed, shifting a bit-- he was crouching, but no longer leaning in close, leaving you with a little bit of a personal bubble.

A sort of privilege you haven't been afforded in a long, long while. Nobody crowding in your space-- nobody poking and prodding. Just letting you exist. Simply letting you sit there, without anyone breathing down your neck-- unrestrained, able to leave (if you weren't so banged up-- and honest-to-god terrified of the man, but that's neither here nor there) if desired.

You notice now, that there is a suitcase set down by his side-- looking rather innocent. A simple brown leather one, no obvious tells of what could be inside. It looked like one of the head scientists own bag, one you always saw him carrying around. Not trusting to leave it in one place without him present, you'd guessed.

"You're the subject for the Ammit Strain, aren't you?" He asked-- he seemed to already be sure of himself, and it left you confused as to why he's asking you. Because you don't have a solid answer for him-- and that shouldn't have been expected of you to have one.

"Uhm... I-I'm not sure. I don't... know what that is." You half expect his calm, strangely patient, demeanor to change in the blink of an eye-- for his hand to shoot out and grab your neck, and twist until your world went dark. It was irrational (probably), because he said he needs you for something. Even if you don't know what it is, you're pretty sure he needs you alive for it--

it's still up in the air, though. So you don't rely on that assumption for comfort too much.

Instead of that, instead of any violent outburst or sudden shift in his approach-- he seemed to... smile a little at your response. it was small, barely noticeable unless you'd been staring at him for god knows how long--

and, oh boy, have you been staring at him. analyzing him, trying to make sense of it all. as you do, when you're stuck in a strange and scary situation such as this.

"That's alright." He leaned forward, hang outstretched-- it landed on your shoulder, in a strange... friendly sort of gesture. Like a teacher would do as they praise you for an A+ on an assignment. "I know you are."

Then why did you ask? a bold part of you made you want to say-- one you thought had been stomped down a long time ago. During your second stay in solitary, where they kept you in for 6 hours rather than the measly 45 minutes you'd been in there the first go-around.

You kept quiet, hoping that he'd give a bit of an explanation as to-- anything. But you know he probably won't, not without prompting; even then, he might be more inclined to telling you to shut up or dancing around the question then give a truthful answer-- or one at all, for that matter.

He didn't do anything of the sort, the conversation going dead as he stood-- He grabbed the briefcase from beside him, but didn't make any move to turn around.

As he looked down at you, you realized he probably wanted you to stand as well. Torn between telling him that you aren't sure you could do so, and staying quiet as to try and minimize any possible anger-- you simply sat there, unmoving. Terrified, feeling like you'd found yourself right in a damned-if-i-do, damned-if-i-don't sort of situation.

A few moments later, he seemed to realize what your silence, what your immobility signified. He walked around you, standing behind you-- and gave no warning as he leaned down and put his hands under your armpits-- pulling you that way, before maneuvering you in such a way where he could pick you up into a princess carry from there.

Out of pure reflex, you threw your arms above his shoulders-- scared of tumbling over and out of his hold. By the time you realize what you'd done, you were too scared-stiff you amend it.

He... didn't seem to mind it much, though.

The hand held underneath your knee carried the briefcase, the handle digging into your thin grey sweatpants just a tad-- not too uncomfortable, but not ideal. Like hell you were going to say anything about it, though.

As he began to walk, he suddenly asked "What's your name?"

Despite the fear, a slip in your judgement made you let out a little "huh?"

He huffed, his smile growing wider for just a second-- starting to resemble an actual one, before reverting back to the small, almost non-existent smirk he'd had before. "Your name. None of the documents said it, only referred to you as your serial number or the strain."

"Oh." This was so confusing-- he kept walking, letting you two lapse into silence; he wasn't rushing your answer, quite the opposite. He seemed to be letting you... take your time, even if it was such a simple and easy request.

Then, quietly, you said it. Almost as if you were afraid that the scientists or guards would hear, and punish you for it-- it was their way of isolating you from the outside world, telling you to forget who you were before you'd come here.

That you had no other name, nothing else to be called, besides Subject 082202.

The man heard you, though. He hummed in acknowledgement, and in a moment of reckless, almost moronic, bravery-- you ventured to ask,

"What's your name?"

Almost immediately, he answered with "Albert Wesker, but you'd do good not to use it." The name... was familiar, set off even more alarm bells than the man had before you learned of his name.

"...So just keep calling you sir?" What were you doing? Why were you doing this? How stupid were you, to push him like this--

"That's what was implied, isn't it?" He responded, the little edge painting his tone let you know that his patience must've been running thin. You shut up, smothering what you'd wanted to say--I was just making sure.

Something like that would definitely be categorized as disrespect-- to a normal person, and absolutely to the scientists-- which you'd defaulted to treating him as.

As he carried you, exhaustion having taken its toll on you-- your eyes slid shut, head falling forward and resting against his shoulder. Within a few seconds, you were out like a light.

#yandere albert wesker #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #yandere resident evil #resident evil #platonic yandere x reader #yandere albert wesker x reader #platonic yandere albert wesker #teen!reader #gn!reader #requests open #yandere resident evil x reader #my writing

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porkcracker · 1 year ago

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hello everything is fine? If requests are still open, I would like to know if you can do the reaction of the Decepticons (Megatron, Tarn, Overlord and Soundwave) with a Cybertronian s/o who is a cannibal and uses a fucinheira? Is she a powerful and insane warrior? If you don't want to write, ignore it, thank you.

Hi, thanks for asking, I'm haunted by chronic pain, but my life has had a rather positive turn the last months that had me really busy. Also why this ask is answered so late. Delightful selection of bots you got there, since it isn't really clarified, I went with separated headcanons and different scenarios for each character, so I hope you enjoy this.

Decepticons x Cannibal!Fem!Cyb!Reader

Megatron

Megatron has seen his fair share of cannibalism even before the war, so the action itself isn't anything new to him

It's during the war that he sees it used as a freely chosen way to fight, instead of an act used by desperate bots

He, himself, has not done it and will probably not do it unless necessary

That you indulge in cannibalism discourages him little to pursue you

There are enough equally insane bots in his faction as that he doesn't really care any more in the later parts of war

If you wear the muzzle from your own freewill, he will get a rush of power every time he is reminded that you are his, and he has the control to take it off you and send you after his enemies

During the time of your relationship, he gets use to tasting raw Energon due to you often tasting like it

You're a terrifying power couple, Emperor and Empress

Tarn

Being a cannibal in the DJD is nothing special

You start of as normal teammates, really if anyone had expected a relationship than not between the two of you

But still it happens, and it's an awful thing for any traitor

While Tarn likes to keep a somewhat cultured appearance on the average, and doesn't like you eating in your shared quarters

When it comes to punishing traitors, he greatly enjoys talking in his voice about his beautiful and vicious girlfriend and complimenting your appearance while feeding you the matching parts of the traitor

It's a very sweet bonding activity in your optics

During your time together, you start and stop wearing muzzles again and again, purely for the effect it has on the traitors you hunt

Still, you can never fully decide to stick to wearing one or not

Overlord

As a Gladiator you earned a terrifying reputation of eating your defeated opponents, something that lead to you wearing a muzzle whenever not in the ring fighting

As you continue to win and get stronger, the ring overseer formed a plan to get rid of you, to stop the loss of more fighters and set you up in a match against the at that point, unbeaten fighter, Overlord

You did not beat him either, however, the overseer miscalculated in the way that Overlord and you knew each other, and he let you life in your defeat

When the war started, you followed Overlord, a deranged type of partnership having formed between the two of you

Becoming a Deception had nothing to do with ideology for you, rather you only joined because your partner did

You two gained a reputation quickly as you not only killed happily anything that moved, but also had the favour of Overlord eating his defeated enemies, often even while they were still half alive

Soundwave

Soundwave meets you long before the war starts

On the streets are many desperate bots that will do anything and everything to survive, including eating others

You kept to already offlined bots whenever you could, but there were a few times you ended someone weak

Anyway, you meet Soundwave as another bot on the streets

His companions are wary of you as he is too, but over time and reoccurring run-ins with each other you get closer

When Soundwave suddenly vanishes, you assume he offlined

Life gets even tougher, and you end up with a few more crimes under your belt ending with you in a cell, muzzled for your tendency to get fuel through offlined bots

You only get free once the war breaks out and join the Decepticons, learning only then that Soundwave is still online

As old friends you hit it off and some time into the war even become a couple

Soundwave is also the one to free you of your muzzle, if the enforcers weren't already offlined he would have killed them for this

#request #transformers #maccadam #megatron #tarn #overlord #soundwave #reader #female reader #cybertronian reader #megatron x reader #tarn x reader #overlord x reader #soundwave x reader #tw cannibalism

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ilex-opacus · 1 year ago

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This is it this is the day I go crazy and talk about Akagi Ritsuko for way longer than anyone in 2024 should.

The way I have seen her miscaracterised is so.. so heartbreaking to me. Granted the Eva fandom is huge and I haven't been a part of it for a suuuper long time (I mean, the original fanbase from 30yrs ago is reduced to little more than a bunch of ghost accounts on dead forums by now) but the most common interpretation I see of her is something like this: A cold woman who has buried almost all her feelings for the sake of doing anything Gendo tells her because she's in love with him, who knows what she's doing is wrong, but who doesn't seem to care. A woman who has learned to care so little for the pilots, in particular Rei, who many people even say she hates, who only takes a stand on the "good side" once Gendo has personally scorned Ritsuko's love for him by having her put in solitary isolation.

And to me, that reading if her is just... Well not *wrong*, there aren't any *wrong* interpretations in media... What it is instead is willfully ignorant of so much if her character that proves almost all of that to be untrue.

Like yes, Ritsuko is cold. She's calculating and logical, but that's really about as far as the popular interpretation of her goes. She explains that being overly idealistic isn't something she scorns ("it's a nice way of thinking" directed at Maya and "your outlook is also important" directed at Misato) but something she knows she can't indulge in, otherwise the entirety of NERV's operating force would be hinged too much on personal feelings. Also, it's something she doesn't really know *how* to do. Look at Ritsuko's history -- a girl who practically grew up at NERV HQ, during the Second Impact, living under the constant shadow of a mother who didn't even give her the time of day. They write letters to each other in keigo instead of talking face to face. This is clearly a girl who's been isolated at least since high school, probably longer, who has probably lost so many people due to growing up during a damn extinction event. Someone who admits to being so poor at human connection that she supplements any hope for a family by raising cats, and even then! Even then she has to hand them off to relatives when her work gets too much for her. It's not that Ritsuko is cold and unfeeling because she enjoys it or scorns closeness, it's because she has never had the means or freedom to learn and foster those skills. It's her who introduces the concept of the Hedgehog Dilemma, she knows better than most how much you'll struggle to form bonds if you don't consistently try.

And Misato isn't some beacon of pilot safety either. The idea that she's the nice, sweet, helpful one and Ritsuko is the evil wench driving the pilots to their death is just blatantly incorrect. There are MULTIPLE instances of Misato being the one to endanger pilot safety, and Ritsuko being on the other end discouraging that. Take episode (I think 7 or 8?) where Ritsuko confronts Gendo about using children as pilots. She laments placing all of the burden on them, and spearheads the Dummy Plug system in the hopes it will alleviate that strain. Whereas Misato has made multiple allusions to molesting Shinji, has kissed him fully on the mouth, and seemed completely unaffected by the idea of sinking Asuka to unsafe depths in their fight against the 8th angel. The only difference in how they treat the pilots as child soldiers is that Misato is more vocal about how upset it makes her, whereas Ritsuko, not one to be talkative when it comes to her own feelings, as Misato points out, is not.

More examples of Ritsuko being nice to the pilots include: Teaching Rei and Asuka how to cook at Rei's request so that they can have a dinner together with Gendo and Shinji. Ritsuko sees this child, this child raised inside NERV in near total social isolation, begging for a chance at social contact, and she takes time out of her schedule so busy to the point she doesn't have time to wash her own clothes, to teach Rei how to cook. That brings me onto the next thing, actually, the way she's constantly characterised as despising Rei (specifically because she's "a competitor for Gendo's attention"). I can think of, at most, 2 canon instances where Ritsuko is actually mean to Rei in any specific, targeted, or substantial way. One is when she destroys the Dummy Plug system because, quote "these are just empty vessels, they have no soul. I'm going to destroy them, because I hate them." Which is bonkers to me! Bonkers! Because my IMMEDIATE thought when I first saw that scene was "Oh, of course Ritsuko hates the Dummy Plug system, it's science taken too far, it's a disgrace against life to create soulless husks, of course Ritsuko sees it as science used for too evil a purpose to justify. She hates them because they're inhumane." But somehow everyone took that as "Wow Rei I hate you so much I'm going to kill a bunch of your clones"?? I'm sorry, but since when has Ritsuko been characterised as being so *petty*? I mean, this is a 14 year old girl she's supposedly beefing with here.

The only other instance is when she says "(Unit 00) was definitely trying to kill me" after it goes AWOL during the 11th angel attack, implying Rei (who's soul is inside Unit 00) hates her, presumably because of something shes done. But OF COURSE she thinks that. Of course the head of this operation, who has overseen all of these horrible things, signed off on so many inhumane fights, thinks her soldiers want her dead. I don't think for one second Ritsuko thinks she's a good person. She literally says "you'll learn (that being idealistic is impractical) the first time you feel dirty." She feels guilt over what she does just like I said before, just like Misato does forging forward with this whole operation, she's just more quiet about it.

So why? Why does she do this? You can put Misato's involvement with NERV down to a genuine desire to help, the genuine illusion she's doing humanity good by protecting it. Throw in her half a revenge plot, and you can say she's doing these horrible things for ostensibly just reasons. But Ritsuko knows infinitely more about the inner workings of NERV, to the point it's implied (?) she killed Kaji, one of her only friends, to keep the information safe. People always put it down to just "she loved Gendo, that's why" and yes, frankly, that's a terrible reason. It also, doesn't make sense!

Take Ritsuko, a woman with little to no social fluency, a woman who can bouy herself only on her scientific merit, because remember, she lived in her mother's shadow for most of her life. The only way to ascertain her worth, especially underneath someone as unfeeling as Gendo, was to prove her commitment as a scientist. She didn't *have* anything else, she couldn't have anything else, no matter how much she wants to. A woman that has fought so hard for the approval of Gendo, and imagine you're her. Imagine your own mother won't even speak to you. You don't have any father around and you never mention him, but there is a man your mother seems to love. Odd, considering she doesn't seem to love you in any way that really counts. You'd want his approval too, no? You'd want approval from the man your mother, your overshadowing scientific monolith of a mother, melted back into humanity for. You'd want to prove you were as good as her, that you could enrapture the man she managed to ensnare. Because all you want is for people to see you, recognise you, that's like - THE key theme in evangelion across so many different characters. And remember Ritsuko was a highschooler when she met Gendo, when she found out her mother was having a fling. Imagine you're orphaned soon after, and all you have left is impossibly large boots to fill and this man, this man who is important, talented, and special enough to make your mother look at him, and he's asking you to help him. Of course you would. Of course you would. Because all you want is some human affection, no matter how clinical and predatory it manifests itself.

The line about Ritsuko and Gendo is literally "I wish you'd use my body again, like you did back then." Because Japanese lacks plurals, it can also be read "I wish you'd use my body again, like you did that other time." (In fact, I'm actually more inclined to that one because I see 時 used for singular occurance more than multiple ones, in which case 頃 feels a little more common?) I'm sorry, but you'll never convince me this wasn't grooming. Just look at the situation I described and try and convince me this is shorthand for "she was in love with Gendo." Idolised him, sure. Desperately craved his approval on an intimate and academic level? Yeah. Bit *loved* him? No. And there's certainly no way Gendo felt anything back other than some weird, predatory affection (I mean seriously, Gendo. You knew this woman when she was a high schooler and you were old enough to be banging her mom. There's a lot wrong with you already but now I'm adding perv to the list.)

And the plan he's making you execute, wouldn't you find it captivating too, if you were her? A world where all those emotional roadblocks you've built for yourself finally disappear, a world where you can open your heart and see your mother again, perhaps connect with her for the first time. A world where you don't have to prove your worth as a individual because you'll be part of so much more. A hivemind filled with love, clarity, and pure acceptance. Sure, she's not some virtuous saviour of humanity, but neither is Misato, really. No one who works at NERV can do so with a clear conscience or for an entirely noble cause. What I'm saying is that Ritsuko isn't as shallow as to do all that for Gendo's dick. She has complex, self-rationalised reasoning there like everyone else.

And that just brings me back around to her relationship with Rei. Maybe she does hate Rei, a little bit. Not because she's vying with her for Gendo's attention, because that's stupid. Ritsuko is a piller of calm rationale, of impersonality and reticence. In what world would she possibly be that possessive of anyone, even the man she idolises on a personal and academic level? She isn't even remotely cold or aggressive towards Kaji when he steals away Ritsuko's only friend or actively goes digging for NERV intel, she's KIND to him, welcomes him as much as she's able to with how closed off she's become. She isn't desperate for attention in the outward way someone like Asuka is. She wants Gendo to approve of her, but never exclusively. Id say the only person she's ever in competition with on that front is her own mother.

Rei is just like her. A girl with limited social contact who's only link to some greater sense of being and humanness is through Gendo, of all people. She needs him, depends on him, sticks to him and adores him despite knowing he's mistreating her ("I don't get special treatment. Believe me, I'd know.") She's also been groomed to be Gendo's obedient, grateful puppet, grateful because if not for him, she'd have somehow less. Maybe Ritsuko does resent her. Maybe it's like looking into a mirror at your old self and wishing you could slap sense into the person you used to be. Or maybe it's like looking at the person who made your mother commit suicide in guilt, perhaps. Everyone seems to forget that little detail.

Maybe the Dummy Plug system being destroyed wasn't Ritsuko's personal act of scientific disgust, maybe she hated those lifeless clones because she cares about Rei so much she knows a fate of reanimation into indentured military servitude is worse than death. Maybe a life spent captive under Gendo's grooming is worse than death fighting the angels. Maybe she can't stand the thought of Gendo using a person so many times over, never learning his lesson. Maybe she wanted to take away one of his strategic devices and punish him. But "she just hates Rei that much" seems like too shallow and excuse.

When Ritsuko turns on Gendo, everyone assumes it's because she's finally been personally scorned by him, and has realised he doesn't love her, or that she's angry he's thrown away all the scientific research she's poured into project E and wants to spite him. And okay, maybe those contain a grain of truth, but combined with her destruction of the Dummy Plug system and her asking him as early as episode 7 if using child soldiers is really something they can justify, Ritsuko's betrayal reads to me as a woman who has finally been given a wake up call surrounding the man who has used her for most of her life. Ritsuko is a woman who is closed off by necessity, of course it takes her personally being wronged by him in a massive, obvious way, to realise just how irredeemable he is. It's not "once you hurt me, that's it for you." its "once you hurt me, I can't overlook you hurting everyone else anymore because of how much I idolised you." That's a selfish road to take, sure, but Ritsuko hasn't the social fluency to be less so. Further proof her rebellion isn't just some scorned lover's hissyfit as so many people paint it is that she *continues* to actively work against him, dedicating all her time and skill, for 14 years during the Rebuild movies. She is so dedicated to stopping him that she works with WILLE for 14 damn years. If that's not a woman thoroughly convinced this man needs to be brought down for his crimes, I don't know what is.

Anyway. I have thoughts about Agaki Ritsuko. My beautiful blonde morally grey but still complex and emotionally wounded babe.

#nge #eva #neon genesis evangelion #rebuild of evangelion #ritsuko akagi #akagi ritsuko #ritsuko #misato #misato katsuragi #ikari gendo #gendo ikari #character analysis

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mylovelies-docx · 2 years ago

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Sorry, I Love You - Part 9

Oh wow, a new chapter? Who'd have thunk it.

My posting schedule is all off and I honestly don't know if I can get it back under control. I have no idea when I'll get time to sit down and write and when inspiration will strike, so I can't assure weekly updates. But I'll try my hardest to get this story out! I have future chapters written, it's just that I have no way of connecting them right now :/ Oops.

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Ah shit, here we go again. Angst, arguments, jealousy

Word Count: 2,250

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7][Part 8]

Some moments are easier than others. Sometimes you feel like you’re not pining like a love-sick teenager enough to think that you can actually do this – you can actually be friends with the man you love.

But then there are moments like tonight.

A few weeks have passed since community get-together, and you and Bucky are the new kids in town. Everyone drops by to say hello, leave you with enough food to last the winter, and invite you both back to their homes for dinner. It’s all very sweet, and you would appreciate the hospitality in any other situation.

But the amount of mothers trying to marry their daughters off to Bucky is insane.

Several have not-so-subtley seated Bucky next to daughters of marriageable age, while everyone else is silently discouraged from interrupting their conversations. It skeezes you out when the girls are barely out of their teens, but most of the girls are around your age or older. Morality-wise, that’s a whole lot more appropriate. Internal monologue-wise, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh doesn’t even begin to cover it. What you feel whenever he laughs at something they say, or looks at them with his intense blue eyes – it hurts. That’s how he used to look at you, once upon a time. Like his life wouldn’t be the same without you in it, like you’re one of the most important people in his world.

To be fair to Bucky, you probably read waaaay more into it than he ever meant. And you only ever really saw that look come out when you were straddling his waist and grinding hard on his cock, skin mottled with his teeth marks and wearing his metal hand as a necklace.

Stop, stop, stop, stop!

Anyway,

You’re usually placed next to older, widowed relatives, as most of the young men in the town have already settled down and popped out a few kids with their spouses except for Petre. Tessa foists the two of you together at every possible opportunity, hoping you’ll hit it off and decide to get married in the near future.

Petre is nice, smart, cute, but not really your type. You’re convinced that you’ve only ever had one type and he’s off-limits. But Petre’s company is much more enjoyable than the sad, lonely older men they try to pair you with – it never feels great to be compared to someone’s long lost love – so you don’t mind having someone around your age to talk during these things.

Speaking of.

“It’s a nice night, yeah?” Petre comments. The night is warmer than expected, but you and Petre are still bundled up in your coats as you stroll through the dead copse of trees near the latest dinner party. The sun had set only minutes ago and the stars are making their presence known. There’s next to no light pollution in this area, so you always take the time to admire the night sky when you have the chance.

You often take walks with Bucky up and down your street as a way to decompress after your shifts at the HYDRA facility. After the first week or so of being everyone’s errand-runner, they’ve slowly built up your workload to include calculations and deductions based on redacted data – it’s not as much information as you’d like, but it’s enough to build a foundational understanding of what the experiment was about.

You hum in agreement and continue walking. It’s about time to turn around and head back, but you can’t bring yourself to return only to watch Bucky flirt with the pretty girls that were also invited.

“Is something the matter?” Petre asks you.

You startle out of your petty, jealous thoughts. “Hm? Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong,” you reply with a smile.

“It’s just that you seem very distracted tonight,” he responds.

With your hands in your pocket, the only thing you can do is shrug your shoulders. “Just tired, is all. It’s been a long week at the office.”

“Ah, I know the feeling,” Petre commiserates.

All of the sudden, a wailing, piercing shriek ricochets between the tree trunks and reverberates in your ears. Tensing with adrenaline, you take two steps forward, ready to intervene in whatever events are unfolding in the darkness.

Before you get much further, Petre reaches out and takes hold of your elbow. Turning you around, he starts leading the way back. You try to tug your arm from his grip, but he holds firm.

“The cry of a vixen who is looking to mate. They’re rather vicious creatures this time of year, foxes. We don’t want to get in her way,” Petre deters.

“But…” you begin, looking back over your shoulders and watching for unexpected movement among the swaying branches. “It sounds so real.”

“Terrifying, really. I was just as concerned when they began, as well.” Petre gives you a tight smile and relaxes his grip slightly when you stop trying to pull away.

“What do you mean?” you question.

“What?” Petre’s eyes flash around quickly, looking through the woods that surround you.

“‘When they began’. What do you mean by that?”

“Ah,” Petre replies. “When mating season began.”

There’s no more discussion on the eerily accurate sound of a woman in distress. You can only trust that Petre would know the local fauna and their habits better than you, since you’ve never spent an extended period of time in areas such as this.

***

The neighbor’s house finally comes into view. A lone figure stands silhouetted against the porch as they lean against the railings, their arms braced against the banister and posture rigid. When you get closer, you realize that the figure is Bucky.

You can’t see his face, but you can feel his eyes on you. And apparently Petre can as well.

“He doesn’t like me?” Petre asks.

“Why do you say that?” The question puzzles you because Bucky has no reason to dislike Petre. He’s been incredibly helpful so far, allowing you to ask as many questions as you want about himself and others and he doesn’t seem bothered by it at all. In fact, you feel as if you and Petre have become friends.

“It just seems like he’s never happy to see me.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that – James just has RBF,” you reply nonchalantly.

“RBF?” Petre replies.

You laugh as you and Petre climb the stairs, only now realizing that he still has a hand on your arm. You’d forgotten all about it, but you miss the slight warmth that permeated through your jacket when he removes his touch. You turn to look at him, but Petre is looking away, his hands now deep in his pockets. Turning your focus onto Bucky, you see him watching Petre, his eyes squinted.

A large smile returns to your face as you reach up and grab Bucky’s chin, squishing his cheeks and making his lips pucker from the pressure. “This –” you say triumphantly, “is an RBF.”

Bucky glares down at you and swats your hand away. You cackle at the perfect example of Resting Bitch Face™ in front of you, throwing your head back in joy. When you right your posture again, you can see a small smile on Bucky’s face as he laughs along with you.

“Whatever,” he murmurs. He shakes his head in exasperation before circling his arm around your shoulders. Bucky begins dragging you back down the steps you had just ascended and you grunt in protest. “It’s time to go,” he says simply.

“Ugh, you’re so rude,” you say to him. Craning your neck as much as possible, you look back towards Petre who remains on the porch. “I’ll see you later!” you call backwards with a wave. Petre raises a hand in return, face hidden in shadow as Bucky’s had been.

Focusing back on the road in front of you, you can practically feel what little mirth Bucky had drains away. Looking up, you notice that his jaw is clenched and a hard look has entered his eye.

“What’s wrong?” Now you’re worried that something happened to Bucky while you were gone that has put him in a bad mood. Did someone say something to him? Did one of the women reject his advances? You can’t see who in their right mind would turn him down, but not everyone feels the same way about him as you do. But if it’s the latter, the guilt you feel only slightly outweighs the relief.

“You don’t think you’re spendin’ too much time with him?” Bucky says between clenched teeth.

A frown appears between your eyebrows as you continue to look up at him. “No?” you respond. “He doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Ofcoursehedoesn’t,” Bucky mutters under his breath, but you can still hear him.

You slide out from under Bucky’s hold, his agitation sparking flames of your own. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t think you’re leadin’ him on a bit, Y/N?” Bucky asks you.

You scoff. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re always hangin’ around him!” Bucky quips back. “You’re flirting with him and walking out of parties together. All these people, Petre included, are going to think you’re pitching for an engagement.”

The hurt and pitiful feelings from earlier tonight come flooding back. Only this time, instead of feeling them for what they are, you combine them with the anger his comment brings. How dare he accuse you of leading Petre on? As if he isn’t doing the same thing to all those girls?!

“And what about you?!” you yell, the last word ripping its way between your lips and setting your tongue ablaze. “You don’t think you’re stringing all these girls along behind you? You don’t have any intention of getting into a relationship with any of them, either, do you?”

As the words escape, you remember how Bucky sat you down and asked for a friends-with-benefits situation. Said he wasn’t ready for a real relationship, but tired of one night stands. How the two of you could help each other out since you weren’t seeing anyone either. The old resentment towards yourself and how you let yourself fall for someone wholly unavailable whiplashes back into your mind after months of repressing it.

If he could ask that of you, does that mean he’s asked someone else? You usually arrive home later than him, but on some occasions that you are released early, he’s not there. Instead of asking where he’s been, you had just let it slide since it could have been construed as possessiveness. Like your feelings – that Bucky believes to be long gone – entitle you to his life. You hadn’t wanted to risk anything at the time, but now your mind can’t help running wild at the possibilities.

“It’s not like I’m screwing his brains out every time we’re gone!” You shout at Bucky. You had been walking down the road away from the house party which was on a street with few homes, so there’s nobody around to hear your fight. “We’re not in the bathrooms having quickies, he’s not fucking me against a wall, or bending me over his motorcycle! He hasn’t proposed we fuck around with each other until someone better comes along!”

Your chest heaves with the effort of expelling these vicious words from deep within your heart, and you can feel a burning beginning to creep behind your eyes. You hate getting angry – hate that any strong emotion makes your eyes well with tears and makes you look weak. And in this situation, you are weak – weak against Bucky, weak against yourself, weak against the knowledge that the one man you’ve ever loved never felt the same way and never will. Your inability to keep yourself from falling for someone you knew you could never have? Your jealousy that he is probably sleeping with one or more of the women in town? That makes you weak.

And you can’t stand to be weak in front of Bucky again.

“Newsflash, Buck: I know how it feels to be lead on by you and it fucking sucks!” You lower your voice slightly and take another step away from him. “I know that wasn’t your intention, and I didn’t feel that way at first, but that’s how I feel now.”

“You were my best friend, Y/N – I didn’t want to lose that!” Bucky exclaims. “And I genuinely thought we were on the same page!” He takes a deep breath and clasps his hands over his eyes before saying, “And seeing you run off with Petre all the time just reminds me of us – how we’d always sneak away to get some time alone. It’s just –” He drops his hands and sighs heavily, looking up at the star-studded sky and then back down to you. “I’m jealous.”

“You’re jealous?” You ask incredulously. “Why?”

“Because –” You can tell that he’s struggling to get this out, and if he hadn’t started this argument and accused you of wronging Petre, you might have been more receptive to what he’s saying. More understanding. But right now, your anger swallows all empathy and hope that his words would usually supply. “Because that could have been us,” he breathes. Bucky takes a tentative step in your direction, but freezes solid at the icy glare you send his way.

“No,” you say flatly, “No, it couldn’t have. You made that abundantly clear when I asked.”

You turn your back on him and start running, ignoring the sound of your name as you leave Bucky behind.

Part 10

Taglist: @jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewifeife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshinee @happinessinthebeingg @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #sorry i love you

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ailesswhumptober · 2 years ago

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All About Us! -->asks are currently open<-- AI-less Whumptober 2024 Prompts

-->Our Discord<--

~Who are the Tumblr Mods?~ Mod Missy: She/They, Writer --will sign >Mod Missy when answering questions Mod Radio: They/It, Artist --will sign >Mod Radio when answering questions

Mod Shae: They/Them, Writer --will sign >Mod Shae when answering questions ~Some Frequently Asked Questions~

Q:Why did you make a separate Whumptober? A: We noticed the usual Whumptober has taken a strange stance in regards to AI, particularly a non-stance that doesn't seem to discourage AI usage in the way we and some others were hoping. This included saying AI had a place in writing as well as art, and saying defending against it was going down on an already burning hill. We disagree with this wholeheartedly. (read this for more info) Q:What is AI-less Whumptober? A: Well, it's basically Whumptober...But with a firm stance against AI content. AI-less Whumptober will essentially function the same, with a list of prompts every day for the month of October, with the difference being that we actively disavow AI content and discourage it strongly

Q: What's so bad about AI?

A: AI in itself is a theft. It works off of cannibalizing other people's works, often without permission, and it CANNOT be used without this theft. The argument that you can just train it on your own work is entirely false, as even then with the AI apps used it compares, contrasts, and includes work that is plagiarized and stolen from artists and writers alike. It is also downright terrible for the environment. AI IS NOT AN ACCESSIBILITY TOOL! Q: Okay, but is AI really that bad though? A: Yes, yes it is. here are some links. > the negative impacts of AI art on Artists >The Intellectual Property Problem

>AI in the publishing world: Are AI novels theft? >ChatGPT: The fight against AI Q: Do you have to post every single day? A: Nope! You can post any of the days you'd like. You can bounce around and do 10 different ones, or just 1, or all 31! If you're posting content you made under the hashtag #AIlesswhumptober2024, congratulations, you've participated in AI-less Whumptober! Q: Can I post NSFW? A: Absolutely! Just please keep everything under the read more, otherwise known as the cut. NSFW content will not be allowed in the Discord server. Q: Can I post OC content? A: Yes! AI-less Whumptober is a multi-fandom event that can include different fandoms or original content Q: Will your list of prompts be different from the regular Whumptober? A: Yes. The mods of AI-less Whumptober have come up with the 31 different prompts, as well as a few extras in case the theme of the day just isn't vibing with you! 3. How do I protect my work from AI?

Glaze is a great tool for protecting the art that you post, made by the awesome people at University of Chicago. As for writing, we're looking at finding solutions for this. We're open to suggestion! -->Our Discord<--

#whumptober #About us #whump #ailesswhumptober2024

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celestie0 · 2 months ago

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heyyy!! how are you doing? i hope you’re well 💗

i’m writing this fic of mine and i’m having trouble with creating conflict and angst🥲 every idea i come up with doesn’t work the way i want it to so i thought i’d ask you cuz you’re highkey my inspiration lol, it’d be sweet if you got any tips you could give

hi love! i'm doin alright thank you :) hope you're well too!!

aw i'm so honored that you want my input haha <3 i hear you, creating conflict n angst is so hard in fiction but also so much ends up relying around it, and it can be really frustrating to have an idea but then it kinda crashes and burns

my advise for creating conflict:

have both circumstantial conflict and character driven conflict. likeee for example circumstantial conflict is the situation (ex failing a class makes a character do xyz, financial woes makes a character do xyz etc and it complicates things) and then character driven conflict is like stuff a character does because of their personality traits or previous experiences (ex character was trust issues in relationships or they're overly stubborn etc) i think it's easier to justify your conflicts in your stories if you have multimodal sources of them. gives you more flexibility too

definitely don't commit to a conflict if you don't know how it will eventually resolve. this will lead to insane writer's block down the line

draw from your life experiences! i find the most engaging conflicts are the ones that closely resemble how it would be in real life. no need to create anything super dramatic, i think it's more about execution of the feelings that the characters are going through during their adversity rather than the severity of it if that makes sense

don't overthink it too much. sometimes when i'm writing and trying to build conflict between my characters i have thoughts like "oh this feels so forced" or "oh it comes off as such an obvious plot device for xyz" etc etc. it's okay if the conflict is cliche, or repetitive, or doesn't make sense in some cases. it's hard to write an iron-clad conflict/resolution arc. if i'm being honest, i have only seen such a thing successfully pulled off in very few media i've consumed LOL even like professionally written stuff. sooooo just take it easy. i suppose that is part of the conflict itself! the author's inability to perfectly display it! beauty in imperfection xd

as for writing angst:

i think angst is aaaaaaaall about showing not telling. like it's easy to write "she felt ___" or "he wept for hours" stuff like that, which is all good n great n definitely should be stated here and there. but preferentially when it comes to angst, i like to provide more "details" surrounding things? like idk it's corny to pull from my own source material for an example LOL but like in ihm ch7 when reader is looking through her mother's things to start putting stuff in boxes. like yes i wanted to portray that she was sad but like the little details about the sticky notes her mother placed around her room n stuff i thought would more so show exactly why looking through all of her mother's stuff was so devastating for her

appeal to aspects of life anyone can relate to. sure, your characters are their own people and will have their own thoughts n feelings n stuff separate of trying to appease any reader's personal feelings. however, there are certain human feelings i think are relatively universal, which will likely be present in any conflict, and so appealing to those will really help drive the angst home

idk i'm running a blank on anymore tips here sorry bb LOL

don't feel discouraged!!!!! you've got thisss!!!!!

ok good luck byeee

#asks

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werrrrrd · 6 months ago

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CHARLES XAVIER X OC pt.2

SUMMARY: May is a Mutant, she doesn't want to be and neither do her parents. She has the ability to control blood and after showing signs of aggression and poor control of her powers, her parents put her through treatment at an institution run by Doctor Shmidt. After going through horrendous things at the mutation corrective institution, she is forced to stay with Shaw, the man who put her through those things in the first place. Working with Shaw she explores the many things her powers allow her to do in mostly uncomfortable ways. She runs into Charles Xavier while his team tries to capture and detain Shaw and they have a stand off amongst mutants on both sides. Charles and May have an immediate connection that neither can explain and try reason with themselves while also trying to find a way to be near each other. Despite the things that May has experienced and the punishment she will receive if she is caught, all she wants to do is help Charles. With so much happening, May isnt sure how this is going to work or if she can make build up the courage to completely severe connections from Shaw

WARNINGS: shock therapy, Inappropriate touching/sexual assault, manipulation, death, suicide, surgery is mentioned including an undetailed description, slight malnutrition, forcive murder, abuse of authority, blood, lots of blood stuff since this is like her power, anger issues, aggression, mentions of murder as well as the actual murder, mind reading, OC is not very kind to herself, let me know if you notice any others. No sexual assault but definitely Shaw being creepy.

AN: First off, this story is VERY loosely based on x men first class and the happenings in that movie. I really don't regard what happens in the actual story line or the accuracy of setting or characters just because I felt like focusing on the romance plot line between May and Charles. I'm guessing you already know what the movie's plot is and you don't want to read another story that just follows along those exact lines. I hope that this doesn't bother anyone. Second, this story has a very long prologue. I wanted to give the character more backstory so that she could be better explained and her behaviors and tendencies made more sense to y'all. I hope that this does not discourage you from reading cause she's pretty cool. Of course you could skip the prologues and read the part where she actually interacts with Charles if you'd like but the prologue helps enrich the story so I hope you do read it. My OCs name is May but of course you could read it as a reader insert if you like, I didn't really describe her too much so this wouldn't be too hard to do. I honestly didn't put too much effort into writing it because I wanted to get it all out before I lost motivation. If you notice spell issues or parts that don't make sense feel free to let me know but most likely I will not be doing anything about it. Bear with me, there are plot points that don't really connect but please ignore because like I said if i don't get this out like RIGHT NOW, I will lose interest and ill have this whole thing that doesn't have an ending and that makes me sad. ANNEEYYWAYYS Tehe! Please enjoy

PROLOGUE II

Three years later

"Lou?" My voice rang out in the dark room. I wasn't sure if she was awake or not, it must have been 3 in the morning. I couldn't sleep, thinking about the look in Lou's eyes when she had gone to bed earlier. Something about it haunting. She was quiet but I heard her turn her head towards me. Hoping she was awake I asked my question

"What happened? Was that your mom that came to visit?"

She was quiet still but soon I heard her voice respond

"Yeah, that was my mom."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing."

I sat up and went to sit next to her on the bed. As I came she sat up and put her back against the wall.

"She just looked at me." It had been visitation day. The day when mutants parents could come to visit them. We considered ourselves lucky that our parents at least showed up. Some kids had to sit and watch the others talk with their families since theirs didn't come. Others didn't even bother leaving their rooms knowing they wouldn't get any visitors. Lou had run off to her mom while I talked with my sisters and parents.

"Have they made any progress?" My dad asks as he pulls me into a hug.

"I think so," I say smiling, "it's painful to use my powers. They said that that's a good sign and that my body will start to reject them soon."

My dad holds me in the hug for a second longer than usual.

"That's good news!" My mom adds. "maybe you'll be out by your birthday!"

Ellie, my youngest sister, hugs me next. "the neighbors are asking about you. We told them you'd be home from boarding school soon. Let's make that happen huh?" I smile and ruffle her hair. "I miss you" she frowns

"I miss you too"

Maxine sat on the chair, her recently born child in her arms and her husband sat behind her on his phone. She passed the baby to him before coming to hug me as well.

"How is she?" I asked, peeking over at her.

"She's fine." Her husband Calvin said shortly.

Maxine sighed, "she's healthy, smiling already." She said as she gently touched the ends of my hair. "You need a trim." She said

"I'm not allowed to have scissors but I'll see what I can do,"

"Why aren't you allowed scissors?" My mother questioned.

"A kid killed himself a couple months ago" I said remembering when the news had been broken to the rest of the kids. He was only 14, his name was dakshi. He had x-ray vision, but he couldn't turn it off, he constantly saw through things without being able to see normally. After months of shock therapy and other medications and treatments that had been completely ineffective, the scientists tried surgery. He ended up losing his sight completely. I had met him twice, once before the surgery where he had been a smart and clever boy who I was surprised how well he got along with the older kids. The second time was after the surgery. He stared blankly at the table as we ate our lunch. His tray was untouched and his friends nudged him to at least try and eat the lasagna that was in front of him. He didn't respond. Only two weeks later he had hung himself. A funeral was hosted in the institution so all of the mutants who knew him could say goodbye. His parents were there. Watching them as the kids came up to his coffin, they seemed unphased. If anything they seemed relieved. They didn't have to worry about their messed up kid getting fixed anymore. They were probably glad they didn't have to pretend to care anymore. After that the scientists decided to be more careful about the things we had in our rooms. Nothing about the experiments changed though.

"What a shame," my mom said.

I turned my attention back to the baby, trying to get closer so I could squish her cheeks or at least get a good look at her so I could see how much she had grown by the time I came back home. Calvin stood from his chair and stepped away from me staring at me defensively. I looked around confused before I felt a hand on my shoulder. Maxine sighed again.

"I'm sorry, we just think that it's for the best that you're not around the baby. At least until you're better" she looked at me sympathetically. My heart broke in my chest. The sadness was brief before I could feel my anger coming on. My outbursts had become more frequent and harder to keep under control as the years went by. My hands clenched and heat rose up my neck. I could've pushed the blood back down to hide the fact but it would have started one of those headaches that using my powers always started after the shock treatments. Instead I fumed silently. Maxine looked at me with just the slightest bit of fear in her expression. she had been afraid of me ever since I shut her mouth that day. She tried to conceal it but I could tell.

"Soon," my dad said putting his hand on my other shoulder, snapping me back into the room

"Maybe we should go now," Maxine swallowed

"We'll be back next time, I promise." With that they packed up and left.

I had been still standing there almost seeing red for several minutes afterwards. That's when I saw Lou. In front of her stood her mom, her back towards me. The look in Lou's eyes jolted me out of my fury. She shrank back out of the gaze of the woman, guilt and embarrassment flashing across her striped face.

Once Lou had come back to the room she looked sick and pale like she needed to vomit. I had asked her if she was ok and she only nodded softly. Soon she was in bed and I had laid down as well, too afraid to ask her what was wrong until it was hours later and the question was keeping me awake.

Then there with her back against the wall, she explained. "It seemed like a goodbye. Somehow. Just by the shame on her face, she told me she's not coming back next time. I don't know. I think she's just gonna leave me here."

"Lou,"

"It's fine." She said firmly. "It's fine because it's gonna work."

"Yeah..." If I'm being perfectly honest I had already begun doubting the effectiveness of the treatments. I mean I knew they were just experimenting but doctor shaw said they would take up to four years. That it wouldn't be a short process but it would be worth it. I hadn't lost all hope but it was slipping. I knew that.

I hear Lou's sniffles next to me. I turned to her to gather her into a hug that she willingly entered.

"It's gonna work." I said. Even if I didn't entirely believe it, I knew Lou would be ok anyways. I would love her no matter what. It was for Lou's sake that I hoped it would work. I don't know if she would be able to live with herself, looking in the mirror and seeing what her mother saw.

Lou began to slump in my arms. I laid her down gently and stroked her long black hair out of her face and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Goodnight Lou, I love you." I whispered

"I love you too much."

In the morning Lou woke me.

"Hey, we got to go to our appointments."

I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. The thought of doing everything again was unbearable. But I slowly got up and dressed. If I wanted to go home I would have to do this. I wanted to be better. To be fixed. To make my parents proud of their family. I didn't want to be the mutation anymore.

I was back at the metal desk. Another volunteer standing in front of me, this time a girl. A makeshift running track was wound out in front of me. As The years went by the scientists had upped the challenge from single fingers, to arms and for the first time today, entire bodies. The girl was stretching just next to it while doctor Schmidt himself hooked me up to the wires that were connected to his computer in the other room. He had been monitoring my processes more closely the past few months. He kept telling me I was getting close. That I was the closest to rejecting my mutation of all the kids.

"We're doing something a little different today," he said "I want you to keep using your powers for as long as possible, even while being shocked. We'll lower the voltage for now so that you will be able to focus on them." He finished taping the last wire to my temple. "Do you understand?"he turned my head to look at him.

"Yes doctor,"

"Good," he smiled "Amanda, begin."

The woman began running on the track.

"Now you, May" Shaw stepped back with his clipboard in his hand. I focused my mind on her blood, feeling it flow in her body through her entire system. Pumping faster the longer she ran. I felt her heart beating in her chest and the blood rushing in her head. I made it all stop. Suddenly the runner stopped and she didn't crumble. I kept her held up, suspended where I held her blood in place. The shock began,

"Nnngh," I whimpered, trying to keep my hold on her blood but it slipped and she collapsed as my hands went still.

"Without your hands remember,"

"I'm sorry," we had been working on keeping my hands still and doing it with just my mind. My hands seemed to help me keep control of where the blood went. But the scientist thought I would benefit if it was better controlled in my mind.

"It's fine, just try again. We didn't expect you to get it on the first try." Shaw said calmly. He didn't look calm. He looked itchy, tense.

Amanda rose from the ground panting

"I couldn't breathe" she turned angrily toward doctor shaw. "You said it wouldn't hurt."

"I apologize Amanda. May here, hasn't been able to control blood without letting some of it remain to pump through the heart and keep your system running. It should cause slight issues for only short periods of time. Can we continue?" He said impatiently. She breathed hard but seemed to shake it off. A stab of guilt coursed through me. I had hurt someone again.

"Fine, we can keep going." She said before starting up a jog once again. Shaw looked at me to go again.

I felt her blood again. This time I tried to leave enough of it to keep her alive. I used my mind to stop her run. Once again she was suspended, her eyes bulged slightly but I felt some of her blood remain running through her body and through her heart and up to her brain. My hands flexed and twitched again. The shock began and I winced again. This time I could keep my focus for a little while longer. Soon though, I began panting under the strain. Sweat glistened on my face and my body tensed under the electricity. I lost my hold and Amanda dropped again, this time she caught herself. She muttered a curse but seemed to recover quickly. The shock stopped and my muscles eased, some of them cramping up. I was given a minute or so to recover and wipe the sweat off my face onto the sleeve of my shoulder.

"Great job! She didn't go pale this time, you must have figured out how to leave some left over for her to keep breathing. Unfortunately we are not here to fine tune your powers but to get rid of them. We're going to up the voltage again."

Inwardly I wanted to cry. It already hurt too much and added with the mental strain was exhausting.

"Can we get those hand binds again," he said to the room. Soon someone came in with the two metal slots that were locked to the desk that my hands were secured inside of to keep me from moving them.

"Again." Shaw demanded

Amanda begrudgingly began running again. I tried to do the same thing again. Leave her system enough blood to run her main functions, but without hands I couldn't be so precise. She froze in the air. Her eyes bulged again, wider this time and I quiet whine sounded from her open mouth. The shock began. I could feel my mind take control of her entire blood mass. All of it freezing up in her veins and her head going fuzzy and eyes unfocusing. I could feel her heart stop. My eyes widened too, I tried to stop but the electric shock was causing my body to seize, my hands flexed in their slots and my wrists strained to try and pull them out

"S-stop" I said

"We can't stop the shocks May, you know this," shaw said but wasn't looking at me

"I cant. She's gon- ah -gonna die!" I shook in my chair. Shaw didn't respond, he only stared at Amanda. My mind was racing, I looked between Shaw and Amanda and opened my mouth to scream. My powers were taking over and I couldn't override it. Amanda's eyes began to roll. A sick choking sound erupted from her throat.

Finally the shock stopped and I took control of the power and stopped it completely. Amanda crumpled to the ground and shook. She didn't gasp for air, only convulsed on the track. My hand binds unlatched on their own and i shot off the chair towards her

I reached her and knelt down beside her on the rough track. The blood in her body moved extremely slowly through her heart and to her brain. I could feel it beginning to still, something must have responded to the complete lack of motion in her blood and was shutting her entire body down. I didn't know if this meant she was dying or if she was just going unconscious. I was too afraid to think coherently. I just put my hands on her chest and pushed the blood through it, hoping her body would catch on and begin pumping blood itself again.

My ears began ringing as I used my powers, a strong headache forming. It started off small and ignorable but grew to pound in my head and make me feel dizzy and lightheaded. I'd never had a reaction to using my mutation like this before. It was causing my vision to go in and out of focus. I still pushed Amanda's blood through her body, Color was coming back to her face but I didn't know if that was because of me or because it was actually working. I felt sick to my stomach, Like I could throw up. Suddenly Amanda shot up, gasping for air, and her hand flew to my face. A loud smack sounded in the otherwise silent room. I reeled, my hand going to where she had smacked me. A sharp stinging blossomed on my cheek. Tears pricked my eyes as the sensation of the smack and the lingering migraine overwhelmed me. Amanda heaved and got to her hands and knees

“You almost fucking killed me!” she screamed. “I-im sorry I didn't mean to! “ She lunged at me, pushing me to the ground, pulling at my hair and scratching me. A fist landed on my cheekbone but I was unable to protect myself. Soon Scientists and assistants came running in to pull her off me. I was left panting on the ground while Amanda tried to reach for me while being dragged off. Once she was out of the room Shaw walked up to me. “Up,” he demanded. I blinked at the ground. So much had just happened and My mind hadnt quite caught up with me yet “up! Now.” his voice was raised. It took me a moment before I finally came to a stand, my knees wobbling.

“You know you aren't allowed to use your powers unless you are hooked up and able to receive the shocks.” Shaw looked at me with disappointment in his eyes. “This is what you mutants do, your powers hurt people. You cannot be trusted.” something flashed on his mouth for just a moment, it looked like a slight smirk before it slipped back into his stern angry frown.

“But i-”

“Shut up and go to your room.” I was shocked by the harshness of his words. He hadn't ever been so angry with me before.

As I walked through the fluorescent lit halls past the courtyard I wondered If I had ruined everything. Had that single moment of using my powers set myself back years of progress. The thought made me want to cry, want to scream, want to bang my head on the walls. I had almost killed someone that day, and yet Shaw had made me feel as though my saving her was the worst thing of all.

#james macavoy x reader #charles xavier #charles xavier x reader #James macavoy #x reader #Charles Xavier x oc

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kimbapisnotsushi · 2 years ago

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you seem to have a good read on HQ and your takes are great, so i have a question...and if you'd rather not go there, please ignore this! but i see oikawa get called "arrogant" quite often and i'm curious, would you say he is? what is it that makes people think that? imo he has a plenty of flaws, but i truly don't think arrogance is one of them. self-centered, sure, but not arrogant i think. i'm open to being wrong, i'm just legit so confused by that particular criticism, it makes me doubting my reading comprehension. i feel like that one post that's like "free my man, he didn't do that. he did a lot of other stuff tho" LOL. if you do answer this, then thanks for your time!

oh, dear anon. this is a very very big question and i'm honored you think i am capable of providing an answer that does it justice!! i don't consider myself an oikawa expert by far, but i'll do my best because he's still very beloved to me, and i hope whatever i say helps!

(but also - maybe take what i say with a grain of salt LMAO)

anyways, to get the main point out of the way: i completely agree that oikawa isn't arrogant! i actually haven't seen any commentary about that myself (bless!!!), so i can't say for sure why some people might think that, but my guess is that they think his pridefulness = arrogance — they think that the confidence he has in himself and seijoh contributes nothing to their actual power and is utterly meaningless if they don't win, especially in the face of ushijima. which, like, come on. what kind of captain would he be if he wasn't confident in himself and his teammates? is he supposed to tell them that they're going to lose??? is he supposed to discourage their hard work and effort???

or maybe it's because oikawa acts like he's all that, but doesn't have anything to show for it. who does he think he is? what does he think his pride is worth? what right does he have to go around making grand declarations when he has nothing to his name?

(which isn't entirely true, either, but we'll get into that, promise.)

now, do i think that he can, occasionally, be flippant, shallow, and/or petty? yeah, sure. he's got one hell of a personality about it. even iwaizumi says as much. oikawa is great at being a little shit. it's one of my favorite things about him!

but is oikawa genuinely arrogant, or self-centered? well . . . i don't think so.

see, here's the thing about oikawa: he knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's good enough. i think it'd be easiest to really explain what that meant if we broke this down into two separate parts, so let's give it a go, shall we?

(buckle up, friends, because it's about to get LONG. also: TIMESKIP SPOILERS!! and there's a tldr at the start of the tags because. WOW.)

so, first things first: if people are calling oikawa arrogant, then i'm like 99% sure that they don't actually know what the word "arrogant" means.

"arrogant" is used to describe someone full of themselves. it's used to describe someone conceited and pompous. it's used to describe someone so assured of and invested in their self-importance that they don't care for other people, and if it seems like they do, then it's usually wildly off the mark and still serves to inflate their own egos.

oikawa has never once been like that. he's been pretty much the exact opposite, in fact.

and yeah, sure, by his third year of high school, he knows he's good at volleyball, and that's fine! it's perfectly all right to claim you're good at something if you have the skills/experience to back it up. confidence is healthy as long as it isn't in overabundance, and we actually see a lot of this throughout the series!

(not to mention that this was where ushijima fell short. he was overflowing with confidence. he did not believe, for even a single second, that hinata shouyou and his meager, scrappy little flock of crows could beat him.

but oikawa? he knew. he knew what it looked like to make something bloom.)

the key to oikawa's confidence that made him better was that he could pinpoint others' strengths and weaknesses just as well as he could with his own. and (bear with me, please, i might get kind of boring here bc it's nothing that hasn't been said in the manga before) i don't mean it in the way we see the coaches or more analytical players do, as observations to be taken advantage of by everyone else; i mean that in the sense of how vital it is to his position as a setter. that was always the biggest difference between oikawa and kageyama: no matter how much more raw talent kageyama had, no matter how much better oikawa believed him to be, kageyama, especially in the beginning, struggled to do what oikawa could with a team. kageyama struggled to bring out the best in each player. and it wasn't because he didn't know how -- oikawa freely admitted that kageyama had the skill for it, that kageyama, once he got his shit together, could win against him -- it was because kageyama didn't have that same confidence in himself.

(not until much later, anyways. but that's another story, for another time.)

so, oikawa's confident. he knows he's good. he can bring out the best in each player. he's got a killer serve (and a killer smile!), a mind for tactics that borders on machievallianism, and cherishes the trust he is given like it's something precious. his coaches let him lead without leaning on them. his team has the utmost respect and admiration for him. he has a reputation. from karasuno to shiratorizawa to the whole of miyagi -- there is not a single character who knows oikawa tooru and would believe that he is, in any way, bad at volleyball.

but it's not enough. despite all of that, oikawa still doesn't think he's good enough. and that, friends, brings us to the second point.

oikawa tooru is nothing if not passionate.

so were the others, of course. kageyama kept going after his grandfather's death. hinata kept going while being a nobody from nowhere with no one to back him up. atsumu kept going while osamu didn't. it's not even about just those who went pro -- kenma, kuroo, noya, and everyone else found things that they were passionate about and kept going with it. the entire story revolves around loving what you do and trying to keep that love alive, and, sometimes, that can be really, really difficult when it seems like it doesn't love you back.

oikawa was so insecure over kageyama to the point where he nearly decked the poor kid. oikawa got crushed by ushijima-- who kept telling him that his team was not good enough, that his choices were not good enough, that there was nothing good enough to be proud of -- for years in a row. oikawa was taught that there would always be someone better than him no matter how skilled he was, but if he let that stop him then he didn't fucking belong on the court in the first place.

oikawa tooru is intimately acquainted with not being good enough, but he keeps trying to be. he keeps going. he tries to keep the love alive even if he's not loved back. he pushes and practices and takes a plane far from home to become even better. even if he doesn't have the skill, even if he doesn't have the talent, even if he doesn't have the love -- he still has his pride. and what does that mean, in the end? how far does that take him?

in the end, oikawa tooru walks across a world stage and sees people who believed in him on the other side and calls it a family reunion. in the end, he gets to play the volleyball that reminds him of why he loves it and how it gives him so much love back. in the end, his pride is unyielding and unbreakable, a product of the forge. he molded it with his own two hands. he will not let it falter so easily.

arrogance would not have taken oikawa tooru this far. i hope this has proven that he is anything but.

remember: instinct is something you polish. talent is something you make bloom. and never, ever let anyone else tell you what your pride is worth.

#tldr: oikawa 's confident in himself but (believing that there will always be someone more talented) is always striving to become better #ANYWAYS #i know this one's a bit different from the itachiyama post where i analyzed each panel but like #that was REALLY hard to do for this one since there were so many good ones i could use!!!#so i ended up just smashing 2-3 panels together that i thought were best representative of each point i wanted to talk about #and then just diving deep into the whole thing #if i had done it the first way we would have been here FOREVER #literally that's why it took so long i kept deleting and rewriting and going 'holy shit how the fuck do i write this'#'how can ANYTHING i possibly say do justice to oikawa tooru'#i hope i did a good job and i hope this helped anon!!!#i genuinely think this is the most insane thing i have ever written so thanks for that i guess #oikawa tooru #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu meta #sou says stuff

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dnalt-d2 · 1 year ago

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QSMP 2024 THINGS

OH BOY OH BOY IT'S THAT TIME AGAIN

TIME TO TALK ABOUT THINGS THAT HAPPENED TODAY, HOW I FEEL, AND THINGS I PREDICT

To start off with, I maintain my stance of "Fuck that Rabbit." I never liked the Duck, and this fucking camera-staring-at Rabbit is irritating me even moreso. May he perish in the flames of capitalism that he has created

Also fuck that narrator guy. He has no right sounding so jovial

(And god I can't believe the Duck really never did anything SERIOUSLY FUCK THAT GUY /lh)

Regarding the paywall thing, I kind of like the idea of it in certain increments. I know that Etoiles has been praying to any deity that will listen for the Nether to open, and I'm sure he's happy to know he can pay those deities off now. On the other hand, I've already seen a decent amount of discouragement on the lack of Create. I'm hoping that's the second thing to get unlocked for both Tubbo and AyPierre's sakes

And in terms of the reset itself, I also like the idea of it somewhat. I'm sure I'm not the only one who sometimes likes to start these types of games over for that fun feeling of playing from the ground up. Though maybe the mobs should be a little weaker, since everyone's starting from scratch. Then again, Etoiles has like a million Dark Metal, so

It's also nice seeing the beginning of these communities. Phil becoming Cellbit's temporary neighbor before he begins his nomadic lifestyle. And of course theres the up and coming Home of Fobo where definitely no one is Homophobic

Though speaking of Phil and Cellbit, I also maintain my disappointment in the lack of actual rescue mission. Like I was excited for that. I made a comic about it. And while my disappointment doesn't come from my comic being wrong, it does come from the fact that this was a thing that an ADMIN introduced. RICHAS went to Phil to recruit him for the mission, just for them to just do a little cinematic instead. Like I'm guessing this has to do with the delay in the server opening, since it was originally going to open about a week ago. My guess is that the rescue was going to happen this prior week, but because of the delay in opening the server, they decided to nix the rescue entirely and just have them show up on the opening day instead. It sucks, but I guess that's just how the cookie crumbles

AND NOW PREDICTION THING

So remember how Bagi at one point said that the Admins asked them what structures they'd like to have preserved for NO REASON AT ALL????

And how everyone spawned at about -200000 blocks away??

Well I'm kinda hoping that there's some of the original structures, back near that Zero Coordinate. Or maybe there's something else. Obviously I have no basis for any of that, but I think everyone's gonna be upset if they really lose all their builds. Specifically the Dragon, Titan, and Bad's as-of-yet unused Egg Carton. He labored over that for a while, it would SUCK if it just never got used at all. My other hope is that there's a pay-goal for bringing some structures back. That'd be a neat way to incorporate that feature. Not to mention that people who might've been in the middle of projects can get back to said projects. I think that's the main problem with losing everything, a lot of plans have essentially been destroyed

And now an Analysis

So fun fact, you know how Ducks and Rabbits are both heavily associated with Easter, which celebrates the death and rebirth of a certain person?? And how the server has essentially been reset and reborn??

Yeah that I guess, that's all I've got on that really

All I've got in general really

Here's to 2024, everyone. And the further loss of sanity we and the Islanders shall all endure

yee

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melles1276 · 5 months ago

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New chapter is online

Happy Holidays! 🎄🎁💝

I would be happy if you could leave a comment on ao3 as a Christmas gift ❤️

Excerpt:

Chapter 19 - Contact

Camp Victory

“A new morning. A new opportunity.” Sam Wilson had always been a positive person. After breakfast he had talked to the others. So far they hadn't been able to make contact with Barnes or Bell. And they still have no clue where the troop is. Now he makes his way to their small interim base and sits down at the radio station.

As he had experienced several times before, he hears the familiar static after every announcement, but he doesn't let that discourage him.

John nods at him. The helicopter that Natasha had organized had landed at the camp last night. Together with Clint, he’s loaded the equipment and is now collecting weapons and ammunition to take to the landing site. “Still nothing?” he asks as he passes.

“No,” Sam shakes his head.

Without a word, John goes outside. He hates the feeling of inactivity and tries to make himself useful by loading the equipment. But the items are limited, so he will not be distracted for long. Plus, Fury is breathing down their necks. The longer their search remains fruitless, the greater the risk that they will be ordered back.

Clint meets him halfway.

“Have you seen Sam?” Clint wants to know.

“On the radio,” John says, pointing to the tent that houses their base.

“Thanks,” Clint acknowledges. Without further ado he sets off. He has the current weather data for the surrounding area with him and stops in the doorway to analyze the situation.

"Hello? Does anyone hear me? This is Sam Wilson, pararescue from the 58th Unit. Please come.”

“Shit,” Clint mutters. Apparently there’s still no breakthrough.

Sam puts the handheld microphone aside and waves him over to let his visitor know that he's seen him. “Do you have the information?” he asks.

Nodding, Clint picks up the rolled-up cards, pushes himself off the doorframe, and enters the room. He then walks to the conference table and lays out three of the cards. “The prognosis isn’t good,” he heavily sighs. “There are some really massive storm fronts on the way.”

“Everything else would be too easy.”

“Still no contact?”

“Nope. Nothing. Nada. They seem to have been swallowed up by the earth.”

Clint doesn't want to give up hope completely. "Oh well. It could also mean that Bucky is trying to smuggle them behind enemy lines unnoticed. Would suit him. Can you imagine his face when he shows up here like this? He’ll be grinning so broadly that he won’t be able to get through any of the doors.”

“Quite possibly, from what I’ve heard about him.”

“Oh, I could tell you stories,” Clint chuckles. “One time, there-” He falls silent when an unexpected noise comes from the speakers. "What was that?"

"Oh, just frequency interference."

"You sure?"

Sam adjusts some settings. "Hello?"

There is a noise again, but it’s different from the usual static. It's as if the radio was being passed back and forth. He asks: “Can anyone hear me?”

"Yes! Yes, I can hear you!”

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vigilskept · 4 months ago

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2, 5, 37 for salin

2. How would you describe the Warden's personality before and after the prologue? Did it change much or did they remain the same?

answered over here! tho tbf i didn't talk about her personality too much there... hmmm.

i'd say she's very "self assured" in a way that u can easily clock as her feeling like she has to prove she's good enough. diplomatic but very short tempered beneath the surface. it doesn't actually take very much to get a reaction out of her if u keep pushing. and she's not half as curious as either tamlen or merrill lol

5. What are their thoughts on Duncan? How did they feel about his actions during the Joining?

does NOT like him. appreciates that he brought roshan back, sure, but she's seriously peeved at his attempts at discouraging them from looking for tamlen. he tries to be polite about it, but that's literally her brother. it makes her want to swing on him.

on the way to ostagar, his insistence that the blight is always fatal also irritates her because she can feel the change, but she doesn't feel like she's dying. it's unpleasant and it hurts, but it's doing something else. he may have expertise as a warden, but he's not a healer, so it all just comes off as him talking down her expertise while also not giving her any real information (grey warden secrets™)

he starts taking her much more seriously after she manages to save daveth. duncan's definitely seen enough joinings to know he would've died without intervention, so there's clearly something the dalish mages know that the wardens have missed despite all their digging into the blight. their relationship probably would have improved significantly from here, but alas...

37. Is the Warden still in contact with anyone after the game's events? Are they still with their love interest, if they have one?

she's in contact with a decent amount of people actually! post-blight, roshan takes command of the fereldan wardens at amaranthine and salin serves as warden-constable — while presiding over the dalish boon in the south. daveth & jory are still serving with her in the south and a decent amount of people from the factions they recruited (chasind, avvar, hinterlands & frostbacks dalish) have joined up with the wardens post blight.

sten & shale are both in seheron so keeping up with them is a bit more of a challenge, though occasionally the odd letter or two manages to make the whole journey unscathed. they've gotten in the habit of sending multiples of each letter in the hopes of at least one making it through.

oghren, morrigan & alistair travelled with roshan during the blight, so she only really got to know them for last few months of it. out of the lot of them, she's gotten to know alistair the most since he stayed in the south for a while to help negotiate with redcliffe also bc roshan was still mad about the ritual. they're not close, but they're in regular contact because roshan's really bad at keeping up with letters.

as far as relationships go, her & daveth do get together for a while like... partway through the blight, but post-blight they actually end up concluding they're probably better off as friends/coworkers who sometimes sleep together (jory despairs of them for real.......)

warden/hof questions

#in the LONG run her and merrill actually get their shit together and end up in a sort of poly situation.#this doesn't happen until merrill has to leave kirkwall during the mage-templar war though #so that's like ~10 years down the line?#sorry to jory for putting him through the salin/daveth horrors #he rly would see it as like a “i went through all that for NOTHING?” type situation #but that's bc he's the kind of guy who thinks any serious relationship has to end in marriage + kids #daveth & salin are happy as they are (after the horrors ofc)#warden salin

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candiid-caniine · 1 year ago

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haiii, i first wanna say i hope you're doing well 🫶 seeing one of your posts about a year ago has really inspired me to try out edging more (+ denying myself too!) and i've come back to your blog to edge and cum to your posts so many times. at least 10 by now lol. tonight im gonna try and edge before bed without letting myself cum, and i wanted to ask if you had any advice/motivation? it's gonna be my first time denying myself past a few hours and it's so hard to edge, i always end up getting too desperate and cumming despite my plans to edge longer 😭

- 👽

awww wow this is such a sweet message omg?? of course I'll give some encouragement!!

I'm proud of u first of all! you've gone like a year just trying out a new thing, and I gotta say that's how I started denial, too - I went a year or so just edging a bunch before I came. I also felt really desperate and just ended up cumming a lot of the time lol.

all that to say: you've been working for this for a long time. you can do this. you've made yourself wait a little bit each time, and I promise you you can handle one night 💕

here's my advice: set a limit. tell yourself just five edges. that's all, don't go past five for your first time denying yourself overnight. (five is just a suggestion - use a number that you know will get you needy, but not overly desperate.) the goal here isn't to edge yourself until you're going crazy and then stop; that's a lot for your body. focus on the overnight part, not on doing a ton of edges.

then set up two concrete anchors in your mind before you start: first, aftercare - don't go straight to bed. have a little snack, some tea, watch an episode of a show you like, something like that. plan for this before you even touch yourself. whatever relaxes you, make sure you know that once you're done edging, it's hands off, relaxation time. don't browse porn. I know it'll be tempting, but do your best to let the arousal slowly simmer down as you relax.

the second anchor is that you get to cum tomorrow. you absolutely do. hell, if you wake up past midnight, or can't sleep until then, you get to cum right then - as early as possible tomorrow, you get to cum as hard and as many times as you want.

all this serves a few purposes: your body has boundaries, a way to calm down, and a way to be rewarded.

you've got this, sweetie! I'm excited for you, and proud of you, and very flattered that you shared this with me and enjoyed this blog so much you wanted to try it out 💕

above all, if it doesn't work out tonight, don't be discouraged. it doesn't mean you're weak, or did a bad job, or aren't cut out for denial - whatever happens tonight, it teaches you just a little more about what works for your body 💕

do let us know how it went if you feel comfortable!! 😊

#denial #asks #advice #👽 anon

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vivitalks · 1 year ago

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you are a wildflower garden growing in my head

not to be insane about my own fanfiction that i wrote but i am a little insane about this one. so like come be insane with me. join me. dont be afraid. i dont bite (lying) nico deserves hobbies especially when they enable his own self-actualization. anyway. this was written for the bingo prompt "jason remembers nico" i'm normal normal normal about it (still lying) title from the witching hour by the ready set. nico di angelo ass song read it here on ao3

Jason finds Nico among the strawberry plants, staining his hands and knees with dirt.

It's not…like, he's not embarrassed. Plenty of people like to garden. Nico is entitled to his hobbies. Even secret ones. And it’s only a secret because he doubts the Demeter and Dionysus kids would be particularly receptive to Nico tampering with their beloved source of income.

Despite this, he can't help his instinct to be defensive when Jason walks up, the early evening sun haloing him in light.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Nico gestures. “Weeding.”

“Cool,” Jason says, because he’s Jason. “Mind if I join you?”

“To keep me company, or to help?”

“Whichever.”

Nico points to a few rogue sprouts. “If you're here anyway, you might as well get your hands dirty.”

“Done,” Jason says, immediately tearing out the weed with ruthless force. Nico cringes.

“Try to be gentler,” he says, and demonstrates on his own. “Like this. And make sure to get the roots out, otherwise it’ll just grow back.”

“What's the difference?” Jason asks. “We're killing it either way.”

“Yeah, but…” Nico squirms. “Just because we're killing it, doesn't mean we have to make it suffer. Wouldn't you rather die in your sleep than bleed out with all your limbs torn off?”

Graphic, but it gets the point across.

“Fair enough.” Jason looks a little faint, but he tugs out the next weed with a lot more precision, careful to unearth its roots and all.

“I know it takes a little longer,” Nico says, “but mercy is a worthwhile use of time. In my opinion.”

Jason has this look. It lands on Nico. “You never cease to amaze me,” he says. Almost reverently.

Nico turns the color of strawberries. “Shut up. Keep weeding.”

“Aye aye.” Jason salutes and returns to his assigned task. Every so often he'll stop to check with Nico if something is a weed or not, but he's always gentle pulling them out.

After a few minutes, Nico says, “How did you find me?”

Because realistically, anyone looking for Nico would probably never consider checking the strawberry fields. In fact, most people would discourage him from being there at all.

“I don't know,” Jason says, which causes Nico to look up in surprise. A thoughtful look crosses Jason's face. “Lucky guess, I suppose.”

“Hell of a guess,” Nico says, reaching for another green shoot. It comes out of the earth so easily, barely old enough to have burrowed down, and some part of Nico feels a sting at that. Plants uprooted before ever having a chance to grow. Nico knows what that's like.

He also knows that weeds don't mean to be bad. They don't mean to be anything; they're harmful only when rooted near bigger, better flora. It's not their fault they hog the nutrients and land. Like any living thing, all they want is to survive. Their only crime is trying to grow with something prettier flourishing close by.

Nico knows that feeling, too.

He really hates weeding. But he's long since learned it's a necessary part of gardening, and of life. Not everyone can live. Not everyone can grow. Some plants — some people — are poison. Sometimes the only thing to do is to whisper apologies and dig out the roots, and hope that whatever this dead plant becomes next has better luck than what it was first.

“Did you need something?”

“Do I have to need something?”

“No, but…” Nico shrugs. “I don’t know. I assume you hunted me down for something. And you didn’t have to stay here and help me weed.”

“I did not hunt you down,” Jason says indignantly. “I was looking for you because I wanted to hang out with you. You’re doing this, so I’m doing it too.”

“I'm not trying to say you shouldn't. And I always—” Nico falters. Stupid. This is his boyfriend. If he wanted to continue being an unknowable enigma with emotions under lock, key, and unbreakable steel trapdoor, he wouldn't have gotten himself involved with Jason ‘Heart On His Heroic Sleeve’ Grace. “I always want to hang out with you. I just meant, you didn’t have to help. You could have sat and done nothing.”

“Look, if I'm that bad at weeding, you can just say—”

Nico throws a handful of weeds at Jason and he dodges, laughing. “Shut up. I hate you. I wish I could pull you up by the roots.”

Smiling, Jason says, “You kind of did.”

Nico's brain gives him an error message.

“What does that mean?”

“I mean…you literally uprooted me.” Once again, he has that pensive expression, like Nico is an abstract painting that Jason is admiring while also trying to interpret. It's not the worst way to be looked at. “My whole life before you was Camp Jupiter. The legion. Being Roman. Being Jupiter's kid.”

“I didn't change all of that,” Nico points out. “You did.”

He can feel the chill of the cold ground through his jeans. Every inch of his palms is smudged with dirt. Jason's hands are starting to look the same. There's a dark streak by his hairline, and one on his jaw, and the setting sun keeps glinting off his glasses. It is, on the whole, unfairly attractive of him.

Jason hums like maybe, maybe not. “It still feels like you were the catalyst to all that change. The good change, not the…manipulated-by-Juno change.”

“I appreciate what you're doing,” Nico says, “but you understand that's ridiculous, right? We didn't know each other until after the prophecy and the quest and everything. I can't have had any impact on you before then.”

“But you were at Camp Jupiter. You arrived just before I disappeared.”

“I know that,” — People suspected me, Nico doesn't add — “but we barely spoke.”

“Yeah, but you…” Jason falls silent, his eyebrows drawn together. If Nico was art before, he's a riddle now, and Jason is struggling to solve it. “I just…feel like it was important. The timing.”

Nico buries his fingers in the ground, relishing the way the dirt crumbles and closes around his touch.

“The timing was important,” he says. “My dad knew Hera was planning something, so he sent me to Camp Jupiter like…an advance team. But it had nothing to do with you.” He pauses. “No offense.”

“No, none taken.” Jason’s laugh is a little off. “I don't know. Maybe I'm going crazy.”

“If you're crazy, I belong in an asylum,” Nico says, digging and digging until he can feel the roots of the closest weed. He pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, and watches as it turns brown, then shrivels into a dead, drooping dandelion.

He winces. That's his least favorite weeding strategy. He didn't even mean to do it just now. It's like his own body is saying, You're damn right you should be locked up. See what you can do?

I'm helping plants grow, he retorts.

His brain says, Only you would inflict death and call it ‘helping’.

Nico growls under his breath and stops listening to his brain.

“Anyway, you're not crazy,” he adds belatedly. “A goddess literally played with your memory and identity like Play-Doh, so cut yourself some slack.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Nico figures Jason is deep in thought, but when he glances up, he sees a different look on Jason’s face — like he’s just solved the riddle.

“I’ve seen you do that before.”

It’s quiet and distant, Jason’s voice, and weighted with a revelation. Of something, though Nico’s not sure what. Nico doesn’t mean to, but he recoils a little — at the thought of Jason, some previous Jason, watching him ruthlessly murder an innocent plant, maybe even without meaning to.

“At Camp Jupiter,” Jason murmurs.

Those words don’t make sense. They smack into Nico’s memory like birds into a glass window pane, seeking a target and failing miserably.

“What?”

“At camp,” Jason says slowly, his hands resting limply in the loam. Behind the frames of his glasses, his eyes are unfocused. “One of your…first days there. I saw. You killed a hyacinth.”

An icy hand reaches into Nico’s chest, past his ribs, and closes around his heart.

“You saw that?”

Jason nods, still lost in the memory. “You were coming up to the principia, and you knelt to admire the flowers.”

To admire the flowers. Yes. That’s all he'd been doing. The walkway leading to the principia had been gorgeous, elegant flora lining the path in a rainbow of colors, a dozen or more different varieties in bloom. And Nico had only wanted to appreciate their beauty. To breathe in the fragrance of something so alive.

“As soon as you touched it,” Jason says, “it died.”

Nico flinches.

“I was— I was nervous,” he says anxiously. “You and Reyna had asked to see me, and I was afraid you would decide I couldn’t stay. Couldn’t— be trusted.”

“I…” One of Jason’s hands comes up to rub the back of his neck, smudging dirt all over himself. “When I saw that, I had my doubts. But the way you reacted — like you were scared of yourself.” He shakes his head, his eyes sliding over Nico but with the distinct impression of looking beyond him. “I thought you must not have done it on purpose.”

“I didn’t.” Nico feels sick. He doesn’t know what to do here. Jason can’t even look at him. “I had never done it before, not by accident. I was scared.”

“And then I saw something else,” Jason says, blinking repeatedly. He pulls his glasses down the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyes with grimy hands, leaving the impression of twin shiners behind. But when he pushes his glasses up again, his gaze is sharp and focused. He faces Nico, straightening his shoulders. “That night, I watched you plant a new hyacinth.”

Nico stares. The ground underneath him might as well be thin air. “You…you saw that?”

“It was late,” Jason says, perfectly clear now, growing more certain every second. “I mean, later than anyone should have been up and about, but I left something in the principia, so I went back to get it, and when I came out, you were there. Kneeling by the flowers, just like that morning.”

Nico vividly remembers this. The wilted hyacinth had haunted him that whole day, a lethal combination of guilt and fear in equal measure. Something beautiful and alive was now ugly and dead, because of him. If he could do that to a flower, without even meaning to, what could he do to another person? What if he could stop someone’s heart on contact? How could Nico ever trust his own touch again?

And then something else had arisen, the way a new substance can emerge from two chemicals interacting. Determination. Nico may have been a child of death, but damn it, he could be more than that. He had to be more than that.

“I killed something,” Nico says hollowly. “I wanted to give something else life. To atone.”

Jason puts his dirt-stained hand over the knee of Nico’s equally dirt-stained jeans.

“Nico, I watched you plant that flower. I saw…” He hesitates. “I saw you pray. I couldn’t hear you, but the way you just…” He shakes his head, obviously overcome by the memory. “You didn’t do it for anyone else. You weren’t trying to prove anything to the Romans, you were just trying to make up for your mistake.”

“I didn’t know you were there,” Nico says weakly. How long had Jason stood in the shadows of the principia, a silent observer, as Nico mourned for one dead flower?

Jason ducks his head for a second. “I thought— I didn’t want to embarrass you,” he admits. “I figured you would misunderstand me if I said I had been watching you.”

Well, that’s true enough.

“I forgot,” Jason says, which is a familiar sentence out of his mouth. He grips Nico’s leg tighter. “But now I remember, and I was right. It was important. The timing was important.”

“What timing? What are you talking about?”

“My whole life, I had this feeling like I wanted to be more than who my father was,” Jason says. “I mean, you know. Big Three dad. They named the camp for him. Big shoes to fill, and it wasn’t that I didn’t want to fill them, but a small part of me was always thinking, why me? Why can’t someone else lead? You know?”

Nico nods. He does know.

“And then you came along,” Jason says. “The only other Big Three kid I had ever met. And yeah, at first, you seemed like the quintessential descendant of Pluto.”

“Scary, unapproachable, and surrounded by death?”

Jason breathes a laugh. “Yeah. But then I watched you plant a flower.” A slow-growing smile starts at his lips, then spreads up his cheekbones and illuminates his eyes. “The son of death. Nurturing life. Showing remorse and empathy for the living thing he’d killed, that he didn’t even mean to kill.” There’s impossible brightness in Jason’s gaze. “You were so much more than just the son of Pluto. And I thought: if he can do it, why can’t I?”

Nurturing life. Like now, Nico thinks, deliberately closing his fingers around the base of a strawberry plant. That instance, the one Jason is talking about — that had been the beginning of a chain reaction in Nico, turning all of his fear and self-doubt into stubborn conviction. The slow dawning of his refusal to being bound by his father’s name. He would always be Hades’s son, but sooner or later, he had to become his own man, write his own story, choose his own fate. Be Nico di Angelo, and decide who exactly Nico di Angelo would be.

He’d known then who he wanted to be. Someone who protects. Preserves. Sustains. Someone who accepts death and who cultivates life, who one day strikes a balance between light and dark.

He’s not that person yet. But he’s a hell of a lot closer than he once was. And it began with that hyacinth, planted under moonlight.

To which Jason bore witness.

If Nico believed in coincidences, he would call this one. As it is, he tends to believe that everything happens for a reason. Nico was fated to plant that flower. Jason was fated to watch.

“I’m telling you, Nico, it was you who got me thinking about how I could be more than just Jupiter’s son,” Jason says. “You really opened my eyes. And then a month later, when Juno took me…” He chews his lip. “I didn’t remember that moment until now, but I remember how I felt afterwards, like I wanted to just — do something spontaneous, something completely out of character. Surrender my rank and figure out what Jason Grace could do that Jupiter couldn’t. Even when I had amnesia, and even after that, I still had that feeling. It’s what made it so easy for me to choose Greek, to promote Frank as praetor, and then to stay here.” His fist knocks a quick pattern against Nico’s chest. The rhythm is indistinguishable from Nico’s heartbeat. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised it started with you.”

Nico, historically not great with emotions, pulls Jason in by the shirtfront and kisses him in all his dirt-smudged glory. Jason laughs, but he doesn’t break away to do it, so it vibrates over Nico’s lips and travels down his throat like a mild electric shock.

“What?” Nico asks, pulling away.

Jason’s smile looks indestructible. “Nothing.”

“You laughed.”

“I like when you kiss me,” Jason says, with the sun shining from his dimples. “That’s all.”

Nico blushes. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean to stop you.” Jason’s lips twitch. “But while I’m at it, I guess I should thank you.”

“Thank me for what?” For kissing you? Nico considers, but he’s not that deluded. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You always say that,” Jason says, “after doing something amazing.”

This blush is not going anywhere, anytime soon. “Well, I didn’t do anything on purpose. I didn’t know you were watching.”

“Exactly. You inspired me without even meaning to.” Jason cups his face, so tender. Always. “Then and now.”

“It’s like you want me to kiss you,” Nico says, because he can’t take a compliment to save his life.

But Jason only grins. “I do want you to kiss me.”

Out of respect for Jason’s request, Nico kisses him again.

This time, Jason doesn’t laugh.

Nico twists Jason's shirt into his fingers, right over his hips. Jason buries his hands into Nico’s already-tangled hair. A cool breeze rustles the plants on all sides and tickles their exposed skin.

Jason is gentle. Not like Nico is fragile, but more like Nico is worth taking his time. He breathes, “Sorry if I get dirt in your hair.”

“Don’t care,” Nico murmurs.

If only Nico from Camp Jupiter could see him now. Kissing a beautiful boy in a field of living things.

I did this, he thinks. I nurtured this.

#jasicobingochallenge2024 #jason remembers nico #fanfiction #tw slight self destructive thoughts BUT just for a second #he's fine guys #jason grace #nico di angelo #jasico #jasico fic #pjo #pjo fic #fic #my fic #my writing #stuff #this user is NORMAL about a son of death who takes up fucking gardening she is regular and not thinking any untoward thoughts about it #she is certainly not obsessing over her own symbolism. NO SIR.#grey. it was this one #anyway!!!!!!!!!!!! have fun guys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! have fun in the garden with the boys!!!!!!!!!!!!!#wow it is in fact past midnight #i was honestly going to do this earlier than midnight and then it just did not happen #i am not keeping up with my prompts very well yall i am several days behind #but that's okay because honestly ive already done more writing this month than i wouldve without the bingo #like by leaps and bounds #so it's okay. whatever i do is what i do and if i don't black out the card then so be it #and if i do black it out but it takes me more than a month that's also just life!#but in the end jasico fans have more jasico fanfiction and isnt that the ultimate goal we're all working toward #not world peace or any of that shit but sufficient jasico fanfic? yes?#yes.

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