#but albert is lying to himself

[if-i-hate-the-headline]

NEWSIES OF TUMBLR: Read My Fic Please

welcome to more of my endless shameless self promotion. please read this it's good i like it and its not that long!!

snippet: Finch didn’t say anything and suddenly Albert was being pushed against the brick wall and he felt the other boy’s lips on his. Finch was a good kisser but all Albert could think was; 'This would be better if Finch was Race…’

sir ma'am mister missus mx dude bro man do you not want to read this?

why not i ask you?

i'm jus' a poor newsies tryn to sell my paper (fics)

please read this i tried

P.S.

-> i'm pinetree603 on ao3 so come and stay a while

[morose-melodies]

call it a coincidence | yandere! captain x reader

summary: what a shame you, a wealthy visitor to snezhnaya, were caught in that horrible carriage crash but how convenient that the captain was there to save you. it would be heroic, maybe, if he hadn't been the cause of the crash. maybe if he wasn't trying to kill everyone in the crash except for you.

content warning: mentions of blood and dead animals.

snezhnaya was cold, very different from your home in liyue, but it was very beautiful, the snow fell peacefully, and the flowers here were gorgeous.

you had initially grieved coming to snezhnaya, afraid that you'd be unlucky enough to come face to face with one of the eleven harbingers, but, your assistant, albert, assured you nothing of the sort would happen.

they would have no reason to cause you any trouble he assured you, giving your gloved hand a gentle squeeze.

he was always very reasonable, so, you believed him. it was true, wasn't it? they'd have no reason to even approach you - you were not even the wealthiest of your family.

riding in a carriage was something new to you; it was fun, though. you would've never imagined doing such a thing back at home, but now that you're doing it, you wish this happened everywhere; it was much easier than walking.

"I love horses, albert," you said, "we should bring one home, I want to learn how to ride one."

"I'll keep that in mind, (y/n)," albert replied; he wasn't interested in your interest in horses; he was interested in the path the two of you were taking - a long row of trees was all that could be seen for miles.

not to mention, that the sun was steadily going down. technical issues at the port had slowed the two of you down.

"this is so nice," you smiled as you stuck your head outside of the carriage, looking at the passing trees and feeling the cold wind blow across your face.

but, something was coming up in the distance. "(y/n), get your head back inside of the carriage," albert would demand even though he was now looking out of the window, squinting to get a better view of what was coming nearer.

"huh, why?" sitting back down in the carriage, you looked at albert, and huffed when seeing that he was still looking out of the window.

a large black figure stood in the distance... no, it was nearer than it seemed.

and... were the horses running faster?

"(y/n)!" albert pulled his head out of the window down and grabbed you, pulling you against his chest - this was his job, after all, to protect the wealthy family's child.

and then, the carriage met a sudden and violent stop.

...

blood drenched the snow beneath the captain.

the blood was not yours, nor was it albert's, but instead, it was the captain's blood; he had overexerted himself quite a bit.

forcing a carriage to come to a full stop was difficult.

as the captain carried you away from the wreckage, his blood dripping into the snow underneath him from the large gash on his arm, he glanced back at the bloody mess he had left behind.

Albert was dead, as were the coachman and the horses, and you were the sole survivor.

call it a coincidence.

...

everyone thought it was a coincidence, a coincidence that the captain was there at the crashed carriage, that he was able to save you and only you.

it was considered heroic.

no one questioned him, or his motive when he brought you to his manor. no one even questioned why they hadn't seen you since the accident.

and, in a way, that's exactly what the captain wanted - the sooner the people forget, the better.

since bringing you back to the manor, the captain had kept you near, he was rarely not near you.

so, now, even as he removed his armor and rolled his sleeve up, you were lying unconscious on the couch across from him.

it had been three days since the accident and the captain was recovering from his injuries well. though, he still bled and felt a dull ache where the gash was, most likely due to how poorly he had sewn it shut.

as he was rewrapping his wound to be sure it didn't get infected, you shifted onto your side, and the captain stilled, lifting his head to look at you.

this would be his first genuine interaction with you. how exciting.

you were confused, and disoriented as you slowly sat up, raising your hand to rub at the bandage on your temple, "albert..."

the captain's arm tensed, albert... was that the man that died protecting you? he'd have to ask at another time.

"I'm sure you're sore. i had the house staff prepare medication for when you woke up."

his words were going through one ear and out the other, you couldn't focus on anything but the dull and consistent ache on your temple.

and your struggle to remember what had led to this made it worse.

but you were sure of one thing: this was the captain, the first and strongest fatui harbinger.

the captain considered wrapping his wound later and tending to you now, but you seemed confused and in too much pain to move; you wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, so he began wrapping his wound.

he never took his eyes off of you though.

"wh-what happened," oh, your head ached painfully; you couldn't even think properly, "and where's albert...?"

the captain had finished wrapping up his wound while thinking of how to word this. I crashed your carriage and made sure everyone was dead except for you... or something less honest, something easier for you to digest.

"do you not remember? your carriage crashed. i was the one to save you," he replied, seeing that it was fit to lie for your sake, "I'm afraid I don't know of any albert."

the captain stood and left the room, coming back moments later with a small glass of think blue liquid, "medication for your injuries," he clarified as he held the glass out for you to take, "I can assure you, it will help."

he would know, he had also been taking it.

with trembling fingers, you took the glass but didn't drink from it. why should you trust him?

the captain saw your hesitation but didn't feel the need to urge you into drinking it. so, he left again and came back with an ice pack, "this would suffice, i hope?"

he took the glass from your hand and sat it down on the table behind him and kneeled at your side, he raised his hand and rested the ice pack on your temple and you made no move to stop him.

you were scared and confused.

"it is a miracle that even you survived," the captain commented, "from my view, I doubted that anyone had survived. had I not checked for survivors, i would have never known you were alive."

"albert's dead?" you asked, your voice cracking as you shifted your head to face him. the captain had looked nowhere but in your eyes this entire time, so, to get a clearer view was pleasant.

"if by albert you mean the man who protected you, then, yes," he replied- you would be far more injured had it not been for albert, "he is dead."

but, the captain was patient. had you been more injured, he would have remained near you and helped you recover. surely by that point, you would not want to leave the manor.

you looked heartbroken and the captain felt sorry for you. just as he was about to say something, a chef entered the room, holding a bowl of warm soup and a glass of cold water, "set it on the table. excuse me for a moment."

the captain stood and left, leaving the ice pack by your side. the chef sat the food on the table, and as he stood, preparing to leave, you grabbed his arm.

your leg ached painfully, as did your temple, but you couldn't bear the thought of being near the captain any longer, "help me," your voice was weak and breathy as you pleaded, "Help me up... I need to leave."

"i cannot help you, my apologies," the chef shook his head, attempting to pulling away from you, "no... i really need help, please?"

once again, he shook his head, "release my hand. i cannot help you."

it seemed he was getting desperate to get away from you. "please!" you shouldn't have raised your voice; you knew that, but you were getting desperate, so desperate that you began crying.

slowly, you tried to sit up off of the couch. "hush! do you want him to come running back?" the chef lowered his voice, leaning towards you and nudging you back onto the couch, "stay where you-"

his face stilled, and his jaw tightened, and you knew. you knew the captain back and watching

the chef stood, tugged his hand out of your hold, and left immediately, leaving you alone with the captain once more.

"was the food not to your liking?" he asked, as he approached from behind, seating himself at your side once more, looking at the untouched bowl of soup.

when you didn't reply, the captain sighed and looked at you. had you been crying? slowly, the captain raised a hand and wiped away the tears from your cheek, "what's the matter, (y/n)? this is not about the soup, I assume?"

"what's it to you? send my family a letter... I need to go home."

"you won't be going home, (y/n)," the captain stated, grabbing the ice pack and placing it back onto your temple, "I saved you after all," the captain wasn't the type to ask for anything in return, but...

"oh... um, thank you but-"

"you cannot even stand on your two feet without a struggle," the captain removed the ice pack from your temple and placed it onto your ankle, "why don't you focus on your recovery first and foremost?"

[beneathstarryskies]

Omg your requests are open 🙏

Could I please request some breeding kink headcanons for some of the RE men? Chris, Leon, Wesker, Ethan and Karl? That would be awesome! Thank youuuu

Warnings: breeding, pregnancy, female reader, obviously unprotected sex.

Chris Redfield

Chris didn’t even realize he had a breeding kink. He stays so busy and is often so far away, he doesn’t see himself as necessarily being ‘father material.’

However, one day, he goes with you to a family function. There, he gets the rare chance to see you interacting with your small nieces/nephews/cousins and he imagines you with your children. Would you be as patient and loving as you are with the small kids in your family? 

Chris knows this isn’t a decision to make lightly, but he also is a man who acts a lot on passion and instinct. 

When he gets you home that night, he can’t stop thinking about putting a baby in you. 

You can’t do anything for the next few days without Chris pawing at you, kissing you everywhere he can reach, begging to cum inside you every time he can. 

Are you bending over to do laundry? Oh, now you have his bulge pressed against your ass! Are you lying in bed reading? Guess who is slowly peeling your pants off and pressing kisses on your inner thighs! 

Finally, he lets it slip. He has you bent into a mating press while he’s pounding into your soaked cunt with reckless abandon. 

“Let me put a baby in you,” he growls against your ear. 

Leon S. Kennedy

Leon has been on his own for a long time. He loves the idea of having a little family of his own, and he doesn’t hide it at all. 

Every time he’s fucking you, he is going to cum inside of you whether you’re on birth control or not. He just can’t imagine not spilling his load inside of your waiting walls. 

Leon will slip up and call you ‘mommy’. He says it sort of as a joke the first time, but then the name just fits you so well. He can’t resist telling you how much he wants to make you a mommy. 

He always keeps his cock sheathed inside of you after you’ve both finished to keep his cum plugged inside your little hole. 

If he goes soft he’ll just use his fingers to push his cum back inside and keep it inside. 

For all of his big talk, if you do end up pregnant he will panic a little bit deep down. His work is dangerous and has earned a lot of enemies for him. It might take him a while to let the news set in. 

Once you are pregnant and Leon comes to terms with the reality of parenthood, he becomes so protective. You will never be out of his sight, even if it’s just him tracking your location or calling in a favor to have an agent look after you while he’s away. 

All in all, he’s very happy to have bred you. 

Albert Wesker

As an Umbrella operative/double agent, Wesker didn’t have a breeding kink. He was constantly plotting for his gain and looking out for his skin. Being a parent would only complicate matters further and give him yet another piece to move on the chessboard. 

However, when he realizes the true potential he holds within himself, to dominate the world and rule as a god, something snaps within him. 

The need to carry on his superior genes and establish a legacy grows strong. 

He can’t breed with just anyone, however. He goes to painstaking lengths to find someone who has genes compatible with his own. Oh, and once he finds you he wastes no time making his way into your life. 

You’re his precious little lover, and he goes to any lengths to make sure you’re as smitten by him as he is with you. 

He gets off to the idea of knocking you up every single time you’re intimate. Even if you’re just giving him a blow job, he will bust as soon as he imagines breeding you. 

Not to worry though, because Wesker has stamina for days. He’ll wear you out with his libido. All the while he’s growling and grunting in your ear, making sure to tell you how much he loves breeding your little cunt. 

If you beg for him to cum inside of you, good fucking luck. He will go absolutely feral. 

Ethan Winters

It’s no secret that Ethan loves being a dad more than anything. He has so much love to give, and he is naturally doting on those he loves. 

That being said, with everything he’s been through it will take him some time after your relationship begins to think about having a family with you. It will first cross his mind when someone mentions how good you are with Rose. 

The thought sticks with him for a while, and then it morphs into the idea of having another baby…

Soon, he’s picturing you swollen and round with his baby growing inside of you. He can practically hear how sweet you’d be explaining to Rose that she’s going to be a big sister. 

He’s trembling with excitement when he brings up the idea of having a baby to you. If you agree, he is going to be hard immediately. 

Ethan doesn’t do anything half-assed. The man becomes OBSESSED with breeding you. 

He’s tracking cycles, he’s pulling all the positions that are the most effective for conceiving, and most of all he is fucking you every single time he gets the chance. 

Karl Heisenberg

Karl gets the idea to breed you for entirely selfish reasons if we’re being honest. 

When Alcina is allowed to create three daughters, he grows a bit jealous of that. Why does she get a family? Why does Donna get her stupid little doll? And when he learns of the possibility of having a strong, powerful child…Oh boy. 

He won’t exactly tell you his intentions. He just starts pumping thick loads of cum into you every chance he gets. 

One night he’ll let it slip, “I’m gonna put a baby in you.” 

He doesn’t really care if you want a baby or not, the idea of it just motivates him beyond anything else. He becomes insatiable, especially during a full moon. He’ll have you bent over every surface or folded into a mating press all night long. 

The problem with Karl though is he doesn’t actually consider the reality of having a kid. When you start showing signs of pregnancy, he kind of starts to panic. He might push you away a little bit, not fully wanting to take responsibility even though he wanted it so badly at first. 

However, when certain people begin questioning how you became pregnant his protective instincts will flare up. Then, he’ll never let you leave his sights.

[playstation-dreamcast]

This came to me in a dream. Anyway:

Now Loading...

Choose Your Character: Albert Wesker

Summary: For the sake of the mission, Albert Wesker is willing to do just about anything within reason to gain the trust of his S.T.A.R.S members. Apparently, building a snowman with his favorite new rookie is within reason.

Tags: Fluff, S.T.A.R.S Wesker, Nicotine use, Crack treated so serious none of my beta readers thought it was crack, Noncanon compliant RPD, Gender Neutral Reader.

Word count: 3k

It all started with that stupid fucking snowman.

A childish game he played to indulge his subordinate and gain their trust late one night after the S.T.A.R.S office had closed. He knew better even then, that it was an absolute waste of time. But, he complied, because it was you who asked.

Okay, maybe it didn't start with The Snowman. Maybe it started with the cigarette you shared. Sitting on the snow covered sidewalk, passing the smoke between the two of you while you talked. It came so easy to him, just talking with you. It was never that easy with anyone else.

He could still smell the smoke when he closed his eyes. He could see the snow caught in your lashes, and the fog of your breath. He could still feel how tight his chest got, and the roller coaster feeling of his stomach dropping when he finally had to admit to himself that he was sweet on you. And that he couldn’t keep lying to himself about it.

And you had no idea. You smiled like it was any other night. 

"Hey, can I bum a cigarette off you?" You asked him that at least twice a week since you started working as a member of S.T.A.R.S. It got to the point that he started to plan for it. Sadly, he was late to work this morning and didn't have time to buy another pack.

"Sure," he said, simply handing you the one he had just lit. You took it gratefully and smiled.

"Thanks Captain, you save me once again," you teased as you sat down next to him, taking a drag off the smoke. "You gonna light one?"

"That was my last one," he confessed with a shrug; chin resting in his hand, elbow resting on his knee. He thought about leaving, it wasn’t like he had anything left to do here. But he stayed anyway. He’d regret it later.

"What? Then why'd you give it to me dude?"  you scoffed.

He looked at you out of the corners of narrowed eyes. "Don't call me 'dude,'" he, half-heartedly at best, reprimanded as you rolled your eyes, "and because you asked for it. As your captain it's my job to take care of you." He didn't mean for it to come out like that, but he wasn't going to backtrack now and make it weird.

"Ah yes, taking care of me by giving me cancer. Truly, so selfless of you." You giggled as you handed him the smoke. 

He took it without thinking, easily taking a puff off it. "If I was worried about that, I'd have to fight a losing war with half the team- myself included." He took another drag to prove his point, "I like to think I pick my battles more wisely than that."

You hummed as you nodded, taking the cigarette back and putting it to your lips. You huddled closer to your captain, watching the snow fall and seeking his warmth in the cold. "It's pretty out." You smiled.

"It's nothing we don't see every winter." He took the smoke back.

You playfully pushed him, "Oh sorry Oscar didn't realize you fell out of your can."

"I have literally no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm calling you a grouch, Wesker." He nodded in acknowledgement of your clarification, and didn't try to argue. Just took a particularly long drag and handed the cigarette back to you. 

You took your turn with it and continued. "You gotta be able to still see the beauty in the small things, and the wonder in the world. Or else you just become old and bitter, and nobody wants that." He didn't have the heart to tell you he was already there. 

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, watching as new snow covered the old. It had become a ritual between the two of you – one Wesker had grown quite fond of. Every night when the two of you closed the S.T.A.R.S office together, you took the time to share a smoke break before going your separate ways for the night.

Wekser looked forward to them more than he cared to admit. At first it was just another thing he did to ensure all members of S.T.A.R.S trusted him. Fifteen minutes at the end of a shift was a small price to pay for the confidence of his team, and as long as they had confidence in him they wouldn’t doubt him. 

He wasn’t quite sure when he started looking forward to your quiet conversations, just like he wasn’t really sure when he started buying two packs of cigarettes to accommodate them. Or how he wasn’t sure when he started looking for little excuses throughout the day to touch you, to talk to you, to have your attention. At some point you had wormed your way into his mind and made your home there. He would have resented you for it if he could find it in him to do so.

He almost jumped when you finally broke the silence. "You know, when I was a kid, my dad would always let me stay home for the first snow of the season- didn't matter if school was canceled or not."

Wekser took the cigarette from your hand. "Sounds like irresponsible parenting to me, keeping a child from their education." He finally killed the smoke, flicking it off into the abyss.

"Maybe!" you admitted, "but, those days were important to me. We'd always go out and make a giant snowman – as big as we could – and try to keep him alive for the season." You smiled at your warm childhood memories. "It was fun."

"I've never built a snowman before." Wesker confessed. He wasn't sure why he did, it's not like you were asking. It just fell out of him. You had a way of pulling things out of him without even trying, something he should have been more wary about than he was- all things considered. 

You looked at him shocked. "What?! No way! Not even when you were a little kid?"

He looked back at you and shook his head, "The boys home where I grew up had no time for such frivolous things. As long as the power was on, we were in school. And on the rare occasions it was knocked out, well. We had other priorities." It felt so natural, being so open with you. Maybe it was because you were always so open with him. Or maybe you were one of the few people that treated him like a person with vulnerabilities. It used to scare him, on some deeper level. It still did in a lot of ways.

Lately though, he's just grateful to have someone other than Birkin to talk to. "Captain, that's one of the saddest things I've ever heard. That's like, a super villain's backstory."

He finally turned his head to you. "What? Not being able to build a snowman?" He scoffed. You were blowing this out of proportion.

"Being a child and not being allowed to play," you clarified. Oh. He had never thought of it that way. It's not that you were wrong, he wasn’t allowed to play as a child – not really. It's just… he never really took the time to think about his childhood. He didn't like the feeling it gave him.

So he shrugged again, brushing off the memories before they had a chance to linger. "The past is the past. There's no use dwelling on it."

"Fuck that, come on!" You grabbed his hand and pulled him off the steps. He didn't even have time to fully comprehend just what was happening before you pulled him to the patch of grass the RPD called a lawn. "We're building a snowman.”

He huffed out a sorry excuse for a laugh and rolled his eyes. “You can’t be serious Rookie,” He said as he watched you gather the starting snowball.

“As serious as a heart attack, Captain,” you said, handing him the growing ball, “And I’m not a rookie anymore, I’ve been with S.T.A.R.S for six months now!”

He fought a small smile back at your insistence that you were – in fact – a highly trained soldier after a mere six months. “That’s still rookie status, dear.” The pet name came out so easily he hardly registered it, but you clearly did. He could tell by how you froze, your eyes widening ever so slightly. He needed a distraction. He held up the snowball, “And what do you want me to do with this?”

You relaxed as you remembered the task at hand. “Roll it around in the snow, I’m working on the base, so you work on the middle.” 

He made no move to hide his annoyance. “This is ridiculous, I want you to know this.”

“Then go home,” you shrugged. “No one’s keeping you here by force, no ones putting a gun to your head. If you don’t wanna help, you're free to go.” You acted so unbothered when you said it, focusing on growing the snowman's base. It hit a nerve in his heart he didn’t even know he had. You made it so blatantly clear that you didn’t need him there. Suddenly, the only thing he could think about was proving to you that you did need him there. 

He started wordlessly working on the middle of the snowman, trying to focus on the smile on your face and not on how ridiculous he surely looked. “That should be good,” you said, pointing to the ball he was working on. “Go ahead and put it on the base.” 

He took a second to look at the base you’d made, and the progress he made on the middle part, then got right back to adding snow. “No.”

“No, what do you mean no?” you scoffed, trying to sound offended but failing to hide your giggle.

He easily hid his smile. “It’s still too small. It would look awkward on the base, and even more so once we add the head. It needs more snow.”

“Weren’t you the one calling this all a waste of time?” you teased as you started the head.

Without missing a beat he looked at you, “It is. I stand by that. But if you’re going to do something, you might as well do it right.” Finally, he was satisfied with the ball of snow he’d been put in charge of, and carefully placed it on the base. 

You giggled softly, “That’s such a dad thing to say.”

“It’s just how things should be done.” He shrugged, “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth putting the effort into doing it right.”

“So you admit this is worth doing?”

“What? I didn’t say that.”

“But ya kinda did,” you pointed out. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. And you’re trying to build this snowman right, so therefore – it’s worth doing.”

Wesker took the time to think of his next words carefully. He couldn’t just say outright it was worth doing because it made you happy. Because these small moments of connection built a trust between you. One he would inevitably betray one day. 

There was that horrible tight feeling in his chest again. The one he only got when he thought about how he would have to hurt you in the future. He pressed forward, “Somethings, as frivolous as they are, can be worth doing for the greater impact they have.” You nodded sagely at his words, as if you understood perfectly. Which, was genuinely shocking because even he wasn’t entirely sure what the fuck he just said. 

Finally, you put the head on the snowman. “Well! What do you think?” You smiled, making passionate jazz hands at the snowy creation the two of you had made.

He cocked his head to the side. “Something’s missing.”

You nodded. “Yeah, we’re missing a face.”

“What do you normally use for a face?”

You shrugged, “Traditionally, kids used coal and a carrot for the face. Sticks for the arms, maybe a scarf, you get it. You’ve seen Frosty the Snowman.”

He hadn’t, but that was a battle for a different day. “Seems like a waste of a carrot. And we don’t have any coal.”

You nodded again. “Yeah, sadly. Guess our little guy will just have to remain faceless.”

No, that wasn’t good enough. Not for Wesker. If he was going to make anything, it was going to be perfect. He’d accept nothing less. He quickly looked around, searching for a suitable substitute for coal. He quickly spotted what the RPD once called a garden that was now mostly filled with snow covered rocks and made his way there. You picked up on his thought process and went to go pull sticks off of a nearby tree for the arms. 

“Hey, I found a pine cone!” You called to him as you returned.

“Excellent, we’ll use it for the nose.” He replied as you reconvened at the snowman. The two of you argued briefly about the facial expression – you insisting the snowman should be happy and him arguing it should be miserable because who wouldn’t be miserable stuck out in the snow? You countered with a snowman wouldn’t, because he’s literally made of snow and probably can’t feel cold. You won the argument. This time. 

You assembled the final touches together, then stepped back to look at your handiwork. He smiled smugly, placing his hand on your lower back to hold you closer. “Not bad for a rookie.” He said, looking at you.

You smiled back at him. “Not at all,” you said as you rested your head on his shoulder. It was the closest the two of you had ever been to each other at that point. And the closest Wesker had been to anyone in a long time. It should have felt wrong, the way it tended to when he made contact with others. Instead, it felt comfortable. Natural. Like you were always meant to be right there on his shoulder.

He looked down at you resting on him. At your snow bitten cheeks and soft, content smile. You weren’t scared, or even nervous. You weren't going out of your way to impress him, or try to demean him for an ego boost. You weren’t looking at him with unrealistic expectations he’d still manage to reach, only to remain unsatisfied with him. You were just there. Content, and smiling in his arms, happy to be with him.

You looked ethereal in the soft moonlight, the streetlights of the city encasing you in a halo. He was suddenly overtaken with the overwhelming desire to kiss you. To take you home and hold you forever. And met with the blood cooling realization that he was more than just attached to you. He was… infatuated with you. He refused to use the L word for this.

He couldn’t do that to himself. He moved away from you, a sudden movement that caught your attention. His heart sank looking at your wide questioning eyes. “Thank you, for the experience Soldier.”

You smirked, noting that he didn’t call you rookie. “Thank you for indulging me Captain.”

He nodded and patted your shoulder. “It’s late. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Bright and early,” you confirmed. The two of you lingered for a second longer, the cold silence loud with everything the two of you wanted to say. He slowly slid his hand off your shoulder, and the two of you went your separate ways.

He spiraled for a good two hours when he got home. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. How natural it was to talk to you, how nice you felt in his arms, how breathtaking you looked even covered in snow. He dreamt of you that night, and when he woke up he could still feel the warmth of your lips pressed against his. He had to take a cold shower to get his head together. 

He had never felt like this before. His entire life he was too focused on other things for crushes. On being the best student, on graduating early and getting his doctorate, on researching the virus, on surviving. He’d had lovers, sure. But he never felt anything for them, aside from sometimes lust. He never felt tight in his chest, he never dreamed of them, never in a hundred years would have entertained the thought of building a fucking snowman with them. 

What the hell did you do to him? 

He spent the next eight months obsessing over you. Meticulously observing you like he would any other specimen. He found out how you managed your workflow, the gun you preferred to use at target practice, who you got along with at the RPD and who you only tolerated, how you took your coffee in the morning. 

He noticed all the small details. He noticed the way you chewed on your lower lip when concentrating, what kind of jokes made you laugh the loudest, the way your eyes crinkled when you were genuinely smiling. He noticed that you didn’t brush his hand away when he rested it on you, unlike how you did when Brad did the same thing. How you also went out of your way to be around him, and that you were always the first to act when he gave an order. 

He knew he shouldn’t do this to himself. He knew that he should have taken a massive step back and kept your relationship strictly professional. No more late night smoke breaks, or easy conversations in the break room. If he really wanted to do himself a favor he should have found a reason to fire you, or at least have you removed from the S.T.A.R.S team. 

He never tried to do any of that, because for the first time in his life he was scared he wouldn’t be able to do something. And where did that get him?

Here. Staring at the sinking ship that was Umbrella, and knowing he needed to get off before he was dragged down with it. He needed to send the S.T.A.R.S team to the Spencer Mansion to get the combat data he needed so he could do just that. The issue was, that meant the team was probably going to die. A sacrifice he thought he was willing to make. And he was, before you happened. Now the thought of sending you into that made his jaw clench. As brilliant as he was, he couldn’t think of a way to keep you out of the situation. 

Send you home? That would never work, Bravo team was in danger. You would never just sit idly at home while your team was in trouble – an annoyingly admirable trait of yours. Order you to keep watch at the office? Nope, that wouldn’t work either. That would be the first place Umbrella went when they realized he had gone rogue. So where did that leave him? 

Sending you into the mansion. But, maybe you didn’t have to die. You were just as capable as any other member of the team- if not more. As long as he could keep you alive until it was time for the mansion to go up in smoke, he knew he could get you out of there- and come out looking like the hero in the process. 

He didn’t have time to come up with a definitive plan, this was going to have to do. As unorganized as it was, he was confident it would work. It had to work.

He didn’t know what he’d do if it didn’t.

[jokeringcutio]

Request Fill: Tears ( Grabber x Reader )

AN: There are some Halloween-themed reader-inserts coming up in the upcoming days. Keep an eye on my account if you like my writing style.

Title: Tears Fandom: The Black Phone Pairing: The Grabber (Albert Shaw) x Captured! Reader Rating: Explicit! Warnings: Kidnapped!Reader, Dub-con/Non-con, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Mocking/Cooing, use of 'Little One', Belt Whipping, Name Calling (Good Girl), Reader might have a praise kink. This is a prompt fill by one of my top supporters. If you want to show your support, you can always buy me a ko-fi.

The prompt (I also added the items you sent in your later message):

TEARS

The chilly air brushed past your legs, reminding you once again of how vulnerable you actually were. Lying there like prey, waiting for the monster to come again. You hated it, but until you figured a way out, you would have to do with all the lemons life decided to throw at you. Even if they came in the shape of a demonic stranger who hid himself behind masks and depravity.  

You had grown tired of being tied to Albert Shaw's bed, having only an old oversized t-shirt that belonged to him to preserve some of your dignity. You knew that the cloth was a lie, though. Easy access, that was all it was. His hands would roam underneath as easily as breathing.

The cold metal of the handcuffs dug into your wrists as they kept you bound and vulnerable on the soft mattress. A contrast that was as big as your kidnapper’s personality: hot and cold. Evil and kind. An icy chill swept through the room, causing goosebumps to form on your skin and making the hairs on your legs stand on end. You had felt it before, and it usually meant the front door had been opened. He’s home. The thought sent a chill down your spine. Loud barking of the dog confirmed he had indeed returned from walking their round.

You held your breath and listened for the sound of footsteps. Was he heading your way? Or would he go to the kitchen first? The soft mumbles of the man reached you and you assumed he must be talking to his dog. Perhaps you were in luck and he’d leave you alone for a little while longer. But then the door creaked open and in walked Albert, wearing only the upper part of his mask. It concealed the top of his face, but his devil's horns no longer frightened you. What did send shivers down your spine, however, was the sight of his lips and the smirk that played upon them.

He showed off his sharp canines in a grin that spelled what was to come. He wanted to touch you again.

"So, how have you been, little one? Not too scared while I was away, I hope,” Albert drawled, his words dripping with sinister intent. Little, you huffed. He seemed to like to call you that way just to establish some kind of power balance between the two of you.

You tried to keep your breathing calm, though your heart raced like a wild animal caught in a trap. Your eyes followed his every movement, trying to anticipate what he would do next.

“I suppose you can show Daddy how much you missed him,” he continued in that overly dramatic theatrical voice. He moved to the side of the bed and carelessly dropped his cardigan at the end of the bed, just out of your reach. Teasing you.

But you knew what it meant.

His chest was already bare, had been so underneath the piece of garment. He’d never fully dressed after the last round, you realized with a shock.

"Please, don't..." you whispered, but your voice wavered with fear, betraying any semblance of bravery you hoped to display.

Albert chuckled, deep and throaty, sending shudders up your spine. "Now, now, sweetheart. You know I can't resist you when you're all trussed up like this."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and retaliation, even though you knew it was futile. In this room, with Albert looming over you, there was no way out, no hope for reprieve.

As he approached you, you could see the hunger in his eyes and feel the weight of his gaze as it roamed over your body. It felt like a predator sizing up its prey, and you knew that soon enough, he would once again have his fill.

"Let's see how feisty you are tonight," Albert mused, his voice low and grating.

He approached you with a predatory grace, his hands reaching out like tendrils seeking to coil around your body. You hissed and tried to pull away as he ran his palms all over your trembling form, but there was nowhere to go, no escape from his touch.

"Still got some fight in you, huh?" Albert growled, growing impatient with your resistance. His palms slid down your naked thighs, calloused skin brushing past soft flesh. You felt his fingertips as they traced patterns down your sides, down your hips and legs, how his nails raked past your skin.

He moved his hands up and down a few times, admiring you, exploring you. He cupped your breasts underneath the shirt, tweaking your nipples between his fingertips a few times for good measure, having you bite back a moan.

A low growl escaped his throat, but you didn’t know whether it was a sound of approval or annoyance at the way you still tried to resist him. His hands ran down from your breasts, past your belly and to your hips where he got a good grip on you.

“Come on, sweet thing, open up.” His ice-blue eyes stared intently at you through the holes of the mask. His lips were curved upward in a grin full of malicious intent. You realized he wanted you to spread your legs, which you did, hesitatingly.

His one hand sneaked in between while the other pressed down on your thigh, forcing you to keep your legs spread open for him. He rubbed his thumb past your clit, little circular motions that sent jolts of pleasure down your core. You bit your lip in an attempt to keep silent. You didn’t want him to hear how he played you like an instrument, how much pleasure he sparked deep inside. But your walls slickened, so he must know. Your body never allowed you to hide its reactions.

��There,” he whispered, almost lovingly. And again. “There.”

Disgusted by the pleasure he made you feel, you tried to move your hips away from him. Just anything to relieve some of the tension you felt building up inside your core. He was working you towards an orgasm, you felt it. But you didn’t want to give him the pleasure.

Your reluctance didn’t go unnoticed, and with a sigh, he took his fingers from your clit. With a clap of his hands on his knees he pushed himself up into a standing position. Your heart pounded as he slowly removed his belt, the leather slithering against itself like a snake preparing to strike. You knew all too well how much he enjoyed using it on his victims, and fear tightened around your throat like a vice.

"Please..." you choked out, bringing your knees together to protect your precious core from his roving eyes. But your plea fell on deaf ears.

“Now, now,” Albert cooed, “Good girls deserve treats,” he said, swirling the leather band of the belt around his left hand, then pulled at the ends, showing the belt as it stood taught. You couldn’t help but feel how your eyes were drawn towards it. A clear signal that you were in trouble.

You trembled when he took a step closer towards you again. With his right hand, he let go of the belt, so the torturous item was only held in his left. But that right hand – oh. You dreaded to look at how he spread his fingers and then pushed down upon your tummy. His hand slipped lower and tapped against your knee.

“Bad girls need to be punished,” he said, huskily. “Now, open your legs again for me, sweetheart.”

You felt the pressure he gently supplied with his right hand on your knee and did as you were told, not eager to make him use force. As you lay there, trembling, you tried to think of anything but the man now looming in front of your cunt. You could feel his breath pass over your skin. Keeping your legs apart cost you real effort and you knew that he could tell you were trembling from fear. His thumb started to draw small circles on your thigh, effectively keeping your legs spread open with the comforting motion. As if it was enough to appease you.

“Ah there,” as he studied your exposed flower, wet and pulsing for his cock. “What a pretty sight, little one.”

For a moment, you glanced at him through your lashes, thinking that perhaps you had escaped the dance. Perhaps him showing off his belt had been enough; a reminder of a punishment you could have deserved if you defied him any further.

But you were mistaken.

Without a warning, he fiercely pushed your leg down with his right hand, his thumb no longer making soothing motions. Then raised the belt up into the air with his left.

You instantly knew where he wanted to strike.

No. Anywhere but there.

"Tell me you want this," Albert demanded, his left hand still up in the air. You could see the leather of the belt glisten teasingly, challenging you to defy. His knuckles had turned white, the leather straps were circled around them just once. His gaze locked on yours, unrelenting and unforgiving.

"Say it."

You couldn't bring yourself to utter the words, your defiance sparking something dark within him. With a sadistic grin, he struck down. A loud snap and an instant jolt of pain as he deliberately smacked it against your pussy. The pain seared through you, and you couldn't hold back your cries and tears.

"Say it," he ordered, his tone callous and cold. "Tell me you like it." He raised the belt again like a whip and panic seized through you. You struggled against your bonds anew and would have closed your legs if he would have so much as allowed it.

The words didn’t come out fast enough, and so he hit again. Your hands curled into fists and your back arched. The tears welled up in your eyes as an awful cry escaped your lips. Your pussy burned.

“You sweet little thing,” you heard the man coo, mockingly. That demon, you thought, as you tried to look at him through the tears in your eyes.

He fell silent and for a moment, simply stared at you. Just as you were starting to wonder why, a grin twisted his lips. “I love it when you cry,” his voice was low and husky, dripping with arousal. This whole thing got him turned on, you realized with a start. He derived pleasure from your pain. The bastard.

“But you know what?” he asked, voice sultry. You didn’t want to know. Your pussy still hurt and you did not think you could stand another blow. Tears were still rolling down your cheeks, you could taste them. “I love it even more when you take my cock,” Albert said, voice dangerously low.

“Now, I will ask you again,” the warning was clear. “Do you like what I am giving you?” He raised the belt once more, igniting fear deep inside of you. You wiggled against the bounds again but felt his burning hand upon your thigh, reminding you he had no scruples in hitting you once more.

"Y-yes," you gasped out, the humiliation burning as hot as the pain. "I like it."

He watched you, the mask hiding his true expression. But you could feel the anger behind it.

“Daddy,” he sounded furious. The calm kind of furious that made you know not to make any missteps again. “I like it, Daddy,” he said, waiting for you to repeat the words.

His eyes gleamed with depraved satisfaction. The belt was still raised dangerously beside his head. The hand he had on your leg, pushing them wide apart, pressed even harder, betraying his anger.

You bit your lip, your shame and self-loathing warring with your desperation to end the torment. You could try and struggle all you want, but you knew you could not break free. That this man had you. All of you. And he would take all that he craved. Finally, you gave in, whispering the word that sealed your submission.

"I like it, Daddy..."

The belt lowered., but you did not draw a sigh of relief. It was too early for that. Your pussy stung from the hideous slaps he’d given it. And yet, your core felt slick. As if your body actually wanted it. As if he was telling you to say what your body already betrayed. That you wanted it. Him. More.

As if he could read your mind, you heard his low voice grumble. “Tell me you want more,” the low command made you want to curl up into a ball and hide your vulnerable flower from his wicked belt.

“I need more,” you said, a breathless whisper as you finally dared to raise your gaze and look at him fully. He stood there, sweating, panting, obviously aroused. The tent in his pants gave it away.

“Need it,” he sounded pleasantly surprised by your choice of words. Then he dangled the belt towards your pussy, having the leather dip against your slick pussy lips. “Need my cock in there?”

You squeezed your eyes shut in shame and swallowed. A silent nod was your first reply, but you could tell by the way he pushed the belt against your slick core that it wasn’t enough. And so you opened your eyes again to caught his staring, waiting.

“I need your cock,” you said, chest heaving up and down rapidly. “Daddy.”

A pensive hum, voice dripping with lace and sin. “I thought so.”

With your eyes squeezed shut, you could feel it. First, he dipped forth. A warm, wet tongue licked the tears from your cheek.

Then, a low hum.

“Delicious, little one.”

The words made you flinch, though you tried to hide it.

The rough leather edge as it tapped gently against your clit. He was dangling the belt in front of your pussy, letting the leather slip past your sensitive slit, forcing a moan from your lips.

A low laugh escaped him, then he suddenly grew silent.

"Enough," Albert finally whispered, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he lowered the belt. The torment ceased, leaving you shaking and gasping for breath.

He moved closer, cradling your head in his strong hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. His grip was firm, almost painful, but it was the obscenities that escaped his lips that made you feel small and defenseless.

"Such a pathetic little thing," he sneered. "You're nothing without me, you know that?"

Tears welled up in your eyes once more, but you couldn't turn away from his piercing gaze. You tried not to look down at how he palmed his own hard cock through his pants while breathing heavily. You knew he was right, and it shattered what little dignity you had left.

“Fuck, those pretty tears of yours,” he murmured. You’d forgotten he liked it when you cried, and threw him an angry glare.

His laughter was cold and unforgiving as he undid his fly, exposing his hardened length. He looked down at you with predatory eyes, taking in your bound form, the bruises and welts that marked your skin. The tears in your eyes.

You saw him close his eyes for a short moment, throat bobbing as he swallowed, then opened his eyes again and let out a shivering breath. He studied you while he took his cock in his hand and though you tried not to look down at him preparing himself, you couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of his hard throbbing shaft. The skin was already purple, the veins angrily popping out, the head leaking in anticipation. You’d seen him hard before, but never like this.

"Please," you choked out, hoping against hope that some shred of mercy remained within him. But deep down, you knew better.

"Still begging, are you?" he taunted. "You never learn."

"Please don't..." Your voice cracked, fear making it impossible to speak more than a whisper.

"Too late for that," Albert growled, positioning himself between your legs. “In case you’d forget,” here he hesitated, letting the tip of his shaft brush threateningly past your entrance. “You’re mine.”

And then, despite your pleas for him to stop, his hips moved forward and he buried his cock deep inside - another act of dominance, another reminder of his control over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, the humiliation, the utter degradation. But there was no escaping it, not when he held you so completely in his grasp.

You whimpered as you trembled underneath him, feeling how his length dipped deep inside, how all his ridges and veins stroked your walls and stole your slick. It was just one thrust to bury himself to the hilt and establish his dominance. But as he slowly moved out, you felt it: all of him. It felt ridiculously good. He was hot, warm, rigid, unyielding. His hips moved fiercely against yours, working his way back into your throbbing pussy.

You felt his teeth as he grinned against your neck while his grip on you tightened.

"Oh, that is so good, little one," he breathed against your ear as he thrust into you, each movement calculated to remind you of your place in his world.

He was ravishing you like a man starved. You could feel it, the passion with which he moved his hips against yours and how the head of his shaft battered your insides without mercy, spurting pre-cum along the way.  He slipped from your core way too easily, the way now lubed with a mixture of your combined juices. He let out a laugh, making you flinch for his lips were still near your ear.

“You’re so, so wet,” he breathed, the puff of air sending goosebumps to form on your skin. You closed your eyes and tried to block him out. But he slid in and out of you smoothly, lubing your walls, hitting a spot inside that made your pussy quiver around his hard cock. At first, when he took you, the pain threatened to consume you, each thrust like a burning dagger inside your already bruised and battered body. But as he moved within you, something began to change – the fear and disgust that had been your constant companions began to ebb away, replaced by a twisted kind of pleasure.

"Fuck... why does it feel so..." he gasped out, and you had to agree. You were unable to comprehend the sensations coursing through you. The agony was still there, but it was being overtaken by waves of ecstasy that left you breathless and wanting more.

Without a warning, your walls started to clamp down hard, milking his cock hard and eager, drawing a loud moan from your lips that you were too late to withhold. Your fingers curled above your head, your whole body twisted in the throes of desire.  

And above you, thrusting still, your masked captor grinned down at you. A droplet of sweat fell from his head upon your half-clad chest – the shirt had ridden up to reveal your breasts.

“That’s it,” the words were vague, blocked out by the bliss of your orgasm. You felt how his fingers dug deeper into your skin, how his length kept battering your overly sensitive walls as he worked himself towards his own. His thrusts became erratic, and just when you thought you could take it no more, he slammed inside of you hard and buried himself deep. You felt the pulsing of his shaft and the hot warmth that filled you deep inside your tummy.

You caught your breath, body sensitive around his twitching cock. That’s when you heard it, the whispered words near your ear. You felt Cheshire grin against your neck and felt how the edge of the mask pressed painfully against your cheek.

"You were made for this," Albert hissed, his fingers biting into your hips hard enough to leave bruises in their wake. "You were born to be my good girl, weren’t you?"

His words should have repulsed you, sickened you to your core. Instead, they ignited a spark deep within. Yes, you thought. You felt like you were. Your body was thrumming pleasantly, the afterglow of the orgasm making you feel dozy and warm and – not yourself.

"I know," you admitted, your voice barely audible through your tears. You weren’t quite certain if you said it just to please him and save yourself from his ire any longer. You were too tired at this point to fight. "Daddy."

"Good girl," he murmured, propping himself up on his elbows, cock still softening inside your core. His words echoed hauntingly through your mind. You were born to be my good girl. You were made for this.  

You glanced up at him to meet his blue eyes, cold and hungry and devious. They rested upon you, piercing you, making you feel as small as he always wanted to make you believe that you were. You could see the darkness swirl within them. Something that you couldn’t name. He wasn’t done yet?

“Tell me what you are," he commanded, his voice low and dark, filled with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

"I'm... I'm yours, Daddy," you whispered, feeling his softening cock twitch at your answer. “I am your good girl.”

"Damn right, you are," he growled. And then, as if nothing had happened, as if the world hadn't just shifted beneath you, he leaned down and pressed a soft, tender kiss to your forehead.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle now. And before you could fully process what was happening, he slid down beside you on the bed, cock slipping out of your core with a squishy sound, his arms wrapping around you in a hold that was almost – almost – comforting.

You felt Albert's fingertips tracing the delicate skin of your bare arms, feather-light touches that sent shivers down your spine. His breath caressed your ear as he whispered words you'd never expected to hear from him.

"Such a beautiful girl," he murmured, his voice low and sultry. "Look at how well you take what I give you."

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sweet words and gentle touches somehow more terrifying than the violence that had come before. But there was something intoxicating about it too, a heady mixture of fear and desire that made it impossible to look away.

"Tell me you love it," he demanded, his fingers tightening around your arm. "Tell me you need it just as much as I do."

"I-I love it," you stuttered, feeling a flush of shame rise in your cheeks. "I need it, Daddy."

"Good girl," he purred, his grip on your arm relaxing as his lips brushed against your neck. The sensation was intoxicating, overwhelming; your world narrowed down to the feel of his mouth on your skin, the warm breath tickling your ear.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to hold back any longer. "Kiss me."

He chuckled softly, clearly pleased with your submission. "As you wish," he breathed against your lips before capturing them in a passionate kiss.

It was a kiss unlike any other, a maelstrom of raw emotion that left you reeling, desperate for more even as you knew you should be pushing him away. But in that moment, wrapped up in Albert's warmth and the sweet lies he whispered into your ear, you couldn't help but feel comforted and loved.

And so you let yourself fall deeper into the darkness, knowing full well that there would be no return.

~ Fin ~

AN: Hope you enjoyed it :) In the days running up to Halloween, I will be posting a few Halloween-themed reader inserts. Some are smutty, some are dark, some or sugary sweet.

[ivy-loves-chocolate]

♡ Hiii everyone, I hope you're doing well! I bring you this fresh piece of fanfiction that I hope you'll enjoy. It was requested on AO3, and besides this, I will also publish your other requests soon ❤️

♡ I'm also doing commissions right now, so if you wanna check it out, go to https://ko-fi.com/ivyscommissions 🤗

♡ As always, your feedback is always appreciated. Enjoy!

♡ Pair: Albert Wesker x Reader

♡ Tags: fluff, lots of kisses, and Wesker is a sucker for affection.

"Really? As long as you're not too swamped with requests, I'd love to! I'm a huge Wesker simp admittedly, but there aren't a lot of soft fics out there for him. Could you please write something about the reader taking care of him when he needs it, please? Again, totally fine if you're too busy! Thanks so much!"

Your fingers gently caressed his forehead, pushing aside some blond strands in their way. His eyes were closed as he indulged himself in your soft touch. It was one of the rare moments in which he could relax completely, in which he could forget about his recurring and tedious issues that felt like a burden.

Wesker exhaled deeply once your hand lowered further on his head. Your fingers kept closing and loosing around his scalp, creating a small pressure that he simply adored.

"How does that feel?" You asked in such a low, calm voice, as if you were afraid to disturb the serenity.

"Hmmm, keep going..." he mumbled, not moving his head nor opening his eyes. Such simple movements put him in a deep trance already due to his fatigue. Your touch also played an important role, because it was the hand of somebody he trusted.

You watched as his face muscles finally relaxed, as his frown disappeared, and he was so cute and irresistible that you couldn't help yourself from giving his forehead a sweet kiss.

He peeked at you with one eye and smirked when he saw your cheeks turning pink.

"Did I tell you to stop?" he said in a low, sleepy voice. You got so excited that he demanded more affection that you began to shower him with soft kisses.

The fact that you were able to provide him comfort when he needed it made you feel fulfilled, especially after he worried you early.

When you came in the room, you saw him lying in bed and reading something on his phone. You thought that he was finally relaxing. However, you figure out in an instant how irritated he was when you hear him swearing and see how frantically he rubbed his forehead.

You gently laid next to him, taking his phone from his hand, and began showering him with affection. He never asks for it directly, but you recognise when he needs it and try to take care of him as much as possible.

Your lips were all over his face, placing gentle kisses that tickled his skin. From his forehead to his cheeks and jawline, from one side to another, you rubbed your face onto his in a delicate manner. Wesker was thrilled to feel your love, so thrilled that he couldn’t stop smiling.

One of his hands went to caress your back, and his other to grab your waist. In a heartbeat, you were on your back, and he was on top of you. A devious smirk was on his face, and he was looking down at you with lust and love. He moved his hand on each side of your head and lowered his body until there were just a couple of inches between your faces. You could feel his hot breath as he spoke.

“My turn, dear.”

[blueysobssesions]

A Scene that haunts him forever...

~ He comes home not expecting the place full of blood... You and your child's blood...

(I'm so so sorry for making this :,) )

Characters ~ : Leon Kennedy, Chris Redfield, Albert Wesker, Jack Krauser ( Literally dads)

No… No! This can't be happening! He dropped his bag and stood there. The living room was almost painted with blood. He felt a cold shiver run down his spine as he saw you lying motionless on the floor. A knife was planted in your stomach, and… Oh god, his child… He fell to his knees and let out a scream of anguish. Tears were streaming down his face. “NO! NO! FUCK NO!” He yelled with agony; he couldn't look at the scene. His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking. He looked at you. Your eyes were closed while holding yours and his baby lifeless; he wanted to scream, hurt himself, and get revenge on whoever did this to his family. He felt like his world had collapsed, and he was unable to comprehend how someone could be so cruel. The pain and anger inside him were overwhelming, and he knew that he would never be the same again. He tried to get up and walk towards you. “Y/n… D/n… Please no…” He reached his hands to your cold cheek, His voice was weak and trembling. “I love the both of you… I promise I'll kill whoever did this,” he said…

“I.. I'm sorry, captain..."

“Piers… Please tell me I'm dreaming." Chris voice was shaky "I wish I could, Captain... But what we saw back there was..." Piers became silent when he saw Chris crying. He was devastated by what he said, and neither Piers nor the others knew that there was no easy way to console him. Chris suddenly slammed his desk. “Who... Who did it!” he yelled, and the others behind the door were worried. “We… We don't know... There were no clues that the victim left behind.” Chris was losing his balance; he sat down on his chair with a miserable face. “C/n… Is c/n okay...? Please tell me their okay" He pleaded, He can't handle losing you and his child at the same time. Tears streamed down his face as he waited for a response. The silence on the other end of the line was deafening, making him fear the worst. “I'm… sorry…” When he heard that, he broke down. The door was opened wide, revealing Jill with teary eyes. “Chris!” She ran towards him and embraced him tightly. She could feel him trembling as she whispered, "It's okay, it's okay, shush...." Piers couldn't help but cry too. You brought so much happiness to everyone. Your memory will always be cherished.

“Jake? Son, are you here?” He asked as he searched the living room. “Daddy!!” His head looked to his left, seeing his son with a teary and trembling figure running towards him. He immediately crouched down to embrace his son, asking him what was wrong. “Is everything alright? Where's mom? “S-something happened! M-mommy was screaming!” Suddenly, Wesker's eyes turned red. “Go stay at Uncle Chris; I'll handle this okay.” Jake nodded his head and went to the house next door. He stood up and walked towards the shared bedroom, not expecting this. The bed was covered in blood—your blood. He froze in shock, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. There you were, lying lifeless on the bed with a knife on your neck. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. ”Oh god… Dearest…" He walks to your side He checked for your pulse, and his heart sank as he realized that there was no pulse. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, saying, “Don't worry, my dear… I will show no mercy to whoever did this for now. Rest.”

He cries in agony as he held you and his child in his arms. “Please no… No…” he begged, His voice trembled as he looked at you with tear-filled eyes, his heart breaking at the thought of losing his family. His shirt was covered by you and his child's blood but he didn't care. Who would do this? He wished that he was dreaming all of this but no, it was all real. “I'll find whoever did this… I promise… I'll kill them for the both of you” he said as he clenched his fists, feeling the anger boiling inside him.

[nekrosdolly]

trust

comforting albert proves difficult.

on days when you have work early, albert wakes up with you. when he's working late, you stay awake until he gets home.

you both do little things for each other. it helps to keep insecurities at bay.

when you're insecure, he holds you and tells you all the things he loves about you.

albert doesn't say anything when he's insecure. he shies away from your touches and becomes cold. bit by bit, he tries to push you away until he can't.

"al, honey," you'd say as you sit on the couch beside him. he's reviewing a file from the R.P.D., his glasses off and set on the side table to his left.

"yes, dear?" he doesn't look at you, icy blues roaming the file with disinterest and boredom. his posture is unkempt, his hair slightly ruffled.

without warning, you take the file from his hands and set it aside. he looks annoyed at that but he refuses to say anything. his brows furrow, his lips pursed, but no words come out as he turns towards you.

"talk to me."

"talk about what, my love?" pointed. frustrated. hurt.

"something's wrong. don't tell me there isn't." as gentle as can be, you cup his cheek. he flinches before leaning into your hand, a soft sigh leaving him.

"it- i don't- please, dear, don't patronize me," he keeps his eyes off of you. his voice is less frustrated, more downtrodden and hesitant. the fact that he doesn't trust you hurts. you thought he'd be past this by now.

"albert, you know that's not what i want to do. i could never." you insist, your thumb stroking his cheek. he reaches up to take your wrist and moves your hand away. it falls to his thigh.

this is, unfortunately, routine when it comes to these episodes. he rejects touch and affection. this time, you're a bit frustrated.

"albert, honestly. you can't keep pushing me away." you sigh and pull away, lying back on the couch. the air remains tense. there's little point in trying to get through to him when someone's as stubborn as he is. he does feel bad for pushing you away. it's hard to change learned behavior.

the conversation is over. you turn on your side and rest your head on the plush throw pillow tucked into the corner of the arm and the cushion. it's silent until albert lies on his side behind you, his arm around your waist. given that he's taller than you, his chin rests just above your head. he kisses your head and buries his nose in your hair.

"i'm sorry, darling. don't be too upset at me, please?" he murmurs, and your cheeks tint pink. he's sickly sweet.

"you don't trust me. can you blame me for being upset about that?" you ask, your voice as soft as his.

he squeezes you softly.

"i trust you, i do, my dove. i wouldn't be with you if i didn't." he's always been a good liar.

"i love you, darling. trust me on that." he kisses your cheek, your temple, your jaw- anything to put you at ease.

"al, don't- you just- god, you're confusing." you don't push him away because you enjoy his undivided attention, his affection.

"i know, i'm sorry. i don't mean to be." he's very much a cat. not like he knows how to be much else, though.

you remain silent for a moment, which worries him. you're supposed to be comforting him, but here you are, being comforted. you turn to lie on your back, looking up at him. he sits himself up on his elbow as you scoot up a little to be level with him.

"let me be there for you, just this once. we don't need to talk, just let me comfort you." you take his hand and lace your fingers together. he's quiet, eyes wandering your face as if looking for some sign of betrayal or mockery.

"...alright. if it means that much to you."

"it does." with that, albert shifts so he's lying on top of you, his face buried in the nape of your neck. here, he can hear the rhythmic humming of your pulse, smell your skin, feel the rise and fall of your breathing. your arms wrap around his middle. his shoulders drop their tension as he relaxes in your hold. you rub his upper back, making him sigh in relief. your hands are warm through the blue button-down he's wearing, still not quite out of his work uniform. his vest was set aside a long time ago when he got home, his cargo pants traded out for pajama pants despite not changing into full pajamas, given that he got side-tracked with excess work.

"thank you." he mumbles against the skin of your neck. you're content to hold him until he attempts to pull away, but he never does. you're sure he's purring on the inside.

[fractualized]

Alright. Let's break down this "oh" of an ending. NEGATIVE NANCY, COMING THROUGH

Spoilers, ho!

Ending a story is hard, if they're long or short. Whether you wrap up key threads or leave them open, you want some kind of takeaway that puts a period on things. Even in comics, where we know these characters will go on and on, ideally a story will end in a way that just... fits. Even amateur fic writers have loads of WIPs just sitting there because exactly how to end this damn thing eludes them.

I don't know if Rosenberg had an ending in mind when he started The Man Who Stopped Laughing. I don't know if he decided he'd figure it out by the end of it's year-long run. I don't know if DC Editorial lets people do that; it sounds insane, but if you've been paying attention to their current level of editorial "oversight," which I imagine is supposed to make concurrent titles mesh together reasonably well, I wouldn't be shocked if they let people wing it. Or, more likely, perhaps DC Editorial swooped in and made Rosenberg change the ending he had planned and that's why the result falls flat.

In any case, after 11 issues of enjoying myself, I'm left feeling deflated.

But let's start where #12 does, with the Joker who's been told he's John Keyser, a toxin'd henchmen that the real Joker made into a doppelganger for funsies. He approaches a hotdog vendor.

I'm stuck on "Hello. I've been looking for you"?? I didn't catch that on my first read. Joker has a favorite hotdog vendor? lol

Shut up, Waffles!! All we have is your word for it!!

In any case, hey, Keyser Joker has already been Jokering this long, so yeah, why not keep going? And why not with help from poor woobie Jason, fresh from nearly getting himself killed in Gotham War?

Bruce did not fix Jason at the end of Gotham War, so his adrenaline is still triggering fear in his brain. But Keyser Joker has a solution for that!

It's a tiny dose of Joker toxin to take the edge off of Bruce's programming. Joker makes a point of saying that the effects are only temporary, though. (And like, I assume this is just the quick-fix solution Rosenberg came up with to pull off his own ending when told Bruce's plans for Jason over in the other titles.) Jason is skeptical of this "help," naturally, but Keyser Joker brings up their matching interest: getting rid of the other Joker.

Jason, why you gotta ruin Albert's good time? 🙄

Cut to Red Hood dragging a clown henchman through the streets of Gotham.

But "his" face being blacked out and some of the dialogue clue the reader in: things aren't what they seem.

DERAIL TIME: what is up with this batmobile?

Like from some other angles, it looks sportier, but in most of the panels it looks like an old Buick? lol ANYWAY.

With the flaily way this person jumps off the bike and runs, I was sure that this was Keyser Joker and we might see Batman interact with him. Alas.

It's Ravager, who survived last issue's explosion. She's helping Jason 1) distract Batman and 2) get Albert out of harm's way, far from Keyser Joker's plan.

Naturally Keyser Joker is planning something more destructive than he's led Jason to believe. Also like…

The idea that Keyser Joker really is this John guy, not the real deal, is still not sitting fucking right with me. Seeing him here in another costume, with a goofy death train with mismatched eyes just like his, it feels like a signal that he actually is Joker and Waffles is either lying or mistaken somehow. Like compared to the other Joker, who we haven't seen in a costume? Who left Gotham for weird reasons? I really thought there was going to be a reverse reveal.

And since it doesn't come, I guess it's a good time to mention that! There is no reverse reveal of who the real Joker is. Things get a little muddy later, but…. hrm. HRM.

That said, the other Joker does something pretty dang Jokery: he shows up in a dirigible with his face on it.

Killer Moth and a bunch of clown goons (that aren't supposed to be available because of Gotham War but WHATEVER) attach the dirigible to the train and it's pretty chaotic!

I love when villains are like, "Look I may kill people, but an endangered gorilla?! Get outta here!" 😂

Jason also arrives in style.

I guess he was observing Ravager's distraction?? Which feels like it defeats part of the purpose of having her do the distraction. But then he couldn't have this cool entrance in which he bludgeons people with a motorcycle. Trade offs!

Meanwhile, Real Joker makes it to the front of the train to confront Keyser Joker. One of Real's goons offers to shoot Keyser, but Real Joker wants to make this personal and kills the poor hench so he can do it himself.

Jason coming in like YEEEEEAAAAHHHHH 😎

Then he gets the bad news.

Keyser is as casually suicidal as your average Joker! Also "Real" Joker never acknowledges Red Hood's identity, afaik. It's always Keyser Joker. Details like this got me thinking that reverse reveal was coming, AND YET.

That aside, next comes a fun comedy beat.

Real Joker going right for the hair!

Jason isn't going to let this be the end of it, of course, and once again Killer Moth must suffer at his hands.

Jason shoots so many clowns. Just never the one he wants. 😞

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaait wait wait. You're telling me that Bruce knew about the imminent TWO JOKERS situation. But he decided to prioritize a report of Red Hood dragging a clown through the streets. When in the same breath he's saying there are other people coming to the scene with him, so he obviously could've sent someone else? On the same day Batman #139 is like "oooh Bruce is totally onto Joker now"? This is what you're telling me?? Augh.

Well, we can't rely on Batman right now, clearly, so it's up to Jason.

Meanwhile, Keyser Joker has told the other one that he actually does have a secret way off the runaway train safely. After they fight some more, the tune starts to change.

Alright so, this "deal," which would sort of start them back at square one, doesn't bother me because obviously it's on shaky-ass ground and one of them is definitely killing the other before this issue is over. What does bug me is the "franchising" line, for two reasons:

1) Is this supposed to imply that Real Joker is the one who was behind Joker Incorporated in the Batman Incorporated issues, not a third one?

2) I was just SO SURE it was another indication we were getting a reverse reveal. Joker absolutely does not love the franchising idea. That's kind of been the point of this whole series. The genuine Joker in Keyser Joker's hallucination/memory said that having two Jokers around is stupid. HRRRRMMM.

Anyhow, they leave the train together, though the escape plan is literally just jumping off, which has more issues than they bargained for.

So do you think, assuming the Gotham War writers actually communicated at least a little, that Zdarsky asked Rosenberg what he needed Jason for at the end of TMWSL, and Rosenberg was like, "oh I need him to heroically crash a toxic blimp and almost die?" And then Zdarsky was like, "er, I need him to heroically fly a plane into a magic meteor and almost die?" And then they just shrugged and closed the Zoom?

But yeah, the blimp crashes, and I'm sort of confused because I thought that earlier Bruce was saying that even if the toxin gets into the water, it'll still make it's way to the city. So for one thing, it's still exploding in the air and it's still gonna drift. And the parts that dissolve in water are still gonna drift. There's a part to the equation missing here.

But these two are just thrilled at the excitement.

Until the sudden yet inevitable betrayal.

BUT WHO WAS JOKE

Shortly after this, Ravager shows up with Manhunter, who also survived last issue's explosion. (It just doesn't come up at all. Like it doesn't have to, I guess, but it's just weird that there's not a word or wound about it.) Ravager dives into the water looking for Jason, because she instinctually knows he did something grand and dumb. She finds him among the clown bodies and brings him to shore.

Nothing can kill this man! He came back from the dead with nine lives! And also maybe that Lazarus resin from TFZ is still helping, I dunno.

Elsewhere along the shore, what's left of both Jokers' crews find themselves waiting in the same spot for the Joker they expect to be triumphant.

You know what. I'm soured on Waffles now. Leave him.

And then, from the water…

And that's it. That's how it ends. With a sort of snide cop-out?

Like, it's Joker's POV, so yeah, you could say the dickish tone is just him. But following this story for a year, and then seeing it end with simply the old "you'll never know which Joker prevailed," it doesn't feel clever or whatever this is going for. It just feels obnoxious.

Honestly, it feels like the same takeaway as freaking Three Jokers. 😐 That it doesn't matter who Joker is. All the lead-up to this, where maybe we get a tiny bit of depth and development, even if just in this story, eh. Doesn't matter! We're ending this with blah payoff.

On the other hand, the part of about about there being more questions, about this ending not being tidy, makes me think that this is leaving open the possibility that Keyser Joker actually was the real one. After all, we don't get a flashback to the actual events. The events we see are part of a hallucination, and Keyser never said he had clear memories of being the real or the fake one. He just went from assuming he was the real one to taking Waffles' word for it that he was the henchman.

Also, Keyser Joker was always the Joker giving narration. And the narration boxes for the Final Joker at the end remain in his style. So it seems like we actually have a huge indication of which Joker prevailed-- unless we're meant to assume that if the other Joker prevailed, he merely took over the narration.

I mean, this is what we have. So if I can just choose what I want to believe, I'm going to believe both that Keyser was actually the real guy and that he won. But it puts a real sour taste in my mouth to be super engaged with a story and wanting an ending that says something about Joker's character… and the ending is just that one murders the other and you don't know who, neener neener. It's anticlimactic. It's a predictable direction that I thought SURELY Rosenberg wouldn't go in. It feels like a dick move.

And... what else is there to say? So ends my year of consistently buying a comic, I guess. Nothing else has really grabbed me like TMWSL did, though City of Madness looks promising. After the multiverse and Gotham War stuff, I'm not about to start picking up Zdarsky's Batman. #139 had plenty I should enjoy, but it's soured by Zdarsky deciding to bring a canonical take to the three Jokers concept for some ungodly reason.

A new three Jokers take feels extra stupid after a year of a story about two Jokers. And the second Joker in TMWSL isn't even taken into account in Zdarsky's story. Based off that #135 scene, it really looks like he's going to say that Darwin Halliday accidentally copied TKJ Joker somehow. lmao Why. Why do we have to do this. Why can't this just be one of the things that gets retconned away. I just want my murderclown to be fun.

I need to get back to my list of unread older comics. Or read One Operation Joker! I didn't think I was interested, but I think a random goofy premise is actually just what I need.

[fronexus]

Albert getting called bitchless 😭 LMFAOOO His only one true love are cigars. And also the fact he thinks the count is looking at him with such intensity because he's judging his clothes- ALBERT YOU SWEET SUMMER CHILD.

That execution scene was INSANE(ly good). Edmond seeing a part of himself in it was also just- ouch. Châteaux d'If reallyy fucked him up. Its okay he's still bbygirl

[semiweirdshipper]

Altering Wesker's personality to make him an emotional supporter.

Usually I write this process on paper when I need to work on a slashers personality, but I wanted to share it with you guys so you could get an idea on how I turn the bad guys into emotional supporters.

So when it comes to working on the slashers' personalities, I always try to find a way to make them each more kind, sympathetic, supportive and likable while still somewhat staying true to their unique personality traits. Normally this process comes easy. I've never really struggled much with altering a slashers personality....

Until prince blondy bitch came into the picture that is.

Yes, this rip-off Corey Hart makes me wanna hit the snooze button in my brain every time I think about him. He's just so DIFFICULT and his personality is extremely unattractive to me. But I have him put down for future roles in billions of my fics and drabbles, so mentally I can't ignore him. I've gotta work on his personality and turn him into a proper emotional supporter.

Let's break down those traits, shall we?

Prince blondy is-

- narcissistic

- controlling

- manipulative

- dishonest

- powerful

- sadistic

- cunning

- polite only when he wants to be or if he's trying to manipulate someone

- disloyal

- teases and taunts people.

- gets jealous and loses his temper.

- gets bored of his friends and romantic partners

- views most people as insignificant and lesser than him.

- backstabbing attitude

- merciless

- gets bored easily and abandons people and/or projects.

- rude.

- does not value people for who they are but rather the benefits they can provide him with. Once someone is no longer valuable to him, he either runs away or kills them.

Yeah.... He's a real tough one. There's not a lot of positivity going on with this one. He's got every unattractive trait from A to Z. Imagining him as a supporter is like trying to walk on needles.

So what do I do during hard times like these? I make the positivity myself. I alter his bitch traits and give him some positive ones.

Altered Wesker

- Let's make him narcissistic still but with the ability to accept competition and rivalry without getting jealous or murderous.

- let's make him honest. Brutal honesty or keeping his mouth shut is better than lying.

- He hates unfinished business and will not abandon anyone or anything without explaining himself first.

- he can be manipulative but only during serious situations.

- He owns up to his failures, mistakes and misunderstandings. (There's nothing more attractive than a person who can admit they're wrong).

- he is still very intelligent, strong and powerful.

- He's still obsessed with uroboros and will murder, but he's more empathetic and less sadistic. He won't murder people he cares about.

- uses his honesty to defend his loyalty.

- has a high standard for people he considers worthy of his time. These worthy people will receive his kindness, consideration and attention.

- Likes independence, trust and dependability. These are traits he seeks in a partner.

- still egotistical and holds himself in high regard.

That's just some of the traits I'm giving him to make him more supportive. Now for a little bit of writing. Albert Wesker x reader headcanons. These help me get an even deeper understanding of his personality.

Original/unaltered: Wesker x reader.

Wesker enters the breakroom and notices you sitting at a table. You looked horrible; your hair messy, your eyes dark and your outfit wrinkled. What a ghastly sight for him to walk in on. You should do a better job keeping yourself in proper shape.

Focused on ignoring you, Wesker made his way to the coffee machine on the other side of the room. His brow twitched in frustration at the sound of your pitiful "morning sir". Of course he couldn't go without drawing your worthless attention.

"(y/n)," He answered flatly, his back facing you, "Don't you have morning patrol?"

"Leon switched me," You answered, "I had a really long night last night. It was rough..."

"Excuses, excuses," Wesker glared at the bitter taste of his coffee. Why couldn't things just be the way he wanted them to be? "Allowing your personal life to get in the way of your job is insubstantial. Do better next time."

You remained silent, soon finishing your beverage and rising up to leave.

Wesker didn't notice nor did he care.

Altered/my version: Wesker x reader. (same situation)

Wesker entered the breakroom and immediately noticed you sitting in your lonesome at a table. You looked exhausted and unkempt, the expression on your face tired and miserable. Hm, he wondered what was wrong. Normally you were well dressed and always upbeat.

"(y/n)," He addressed as he slowly walked past you, turning his head to meet your eyes.

Despite your situation, you still managed a smile at him, your body lifting and your voice kind, "Oh, morning sir. How're you doing today?"

He always respected how considerate and proper you were even during difficult times. "I'm doing well. And you?" He continued to give glances to you as he fixed himself some coffee.

"I'm fine," You say softly, "Just a rough night."

Ah, so it was something personal most likely. "I see you swapped positions with Kennedy. I'd rather not have short notices like this in the future. After you're finished here, meet me in my office and we will discuss what you are going through."

You smiled weakly and blushed. Wesker always knew when something was wrong, and he was always so quick to provide any care he possibly could. He really was a good boss.

That morning, Wesker sat with you in the breakroom.

Aaaannnnnndddd.... Emotional support slasher born. BOOM!

The reason why I have so much trouble writing prince blondy is because I really don't like him. His personality is like a smelly trashcan to me and if I ever met him in real life I'd kick him in the balls so hard his motherless grandkids would feel it. But creating these writing templates helps me to view him underneath a different light. It's how I build personalities and familiarize them.

I've done this process on paper for multiple killers. I just thought it would be fun to share with you how I altered personalities to write my stories.

[faithandfairies]

Interview with the Vampire Season 2 Rant

It's so interesting how season 2 is like watching a train wreck happening in slow motion.

Let me start by saying that Claudia tells Louis that he's once again choosing another vampire over her. But I feel like Louis is trying to do the opposite of that. Or at least he really doesn't start out trying to choose Armand.

The entirety of season 2 involves Louis trying to help Claudia make her dreams come true by following her lead, doing what she wants to do. For once he's choosing her.

None of what they end up doing is anything he cares about. He's a homebody who likes to read a good book by the fire while knowing his loved ones are safe and near. I mean, he asks Claudia early on whether they can go home now, when they don't find what they were looking for after 5 years of searching, right before Paris.

He doesn't know what home will entail, whether it will just be going home to New Orleans with Lestat dead or if Lestat will be there waiting for him, murderous or loving, but he doesn't care. Both options will do.

Him seeing Lestat is him trying to desperately reconnect with something he cares about, even if it is within his own memories, especially when his attempts at connecting with Claudia fall flat.

Claudia initially wants to leave Paris when they first arrive there but Paris is the first time Louis feels at home because Paris is the closest he's been to Lestat in years. So Louis wants to give it a chance.

I think on some level Louis expected Lestat to follow them, to come looking for them, so Louis could say he tried to pick Claudia over Lestat and Lestat wouldn't let him. The way he tends to place blame anywhere else than with himself. Even him going to Roger and Albert is about inquiring whether Lestat is truly dead, sure, but is also a siren song meant for Lestat in case he's alive I think. That if Lestat is alive he will hear from Roger that Louis is in Paris and show up. But then none of that happens.

Season 2 also involves a lot of everyone lying to themselves. Even Louis' relationship with Armand is him trying and failing to fix the mistakes he made in his relationship with Lestat with Armand as a stand-in for Lestat.

Armand is very obviously dangerous from the start. Even while he's crushing a bit on Louis he does not make it a secret that he wants Louis and Claudia dead.

Initially Louis makes the right call, he wants to leave Paris the moment he realizes Armand is a danger to them. But it would mean uprooting Claudia, forcing her to start over from a point of misery again. So then he approaches Armand the way he did Lestat.

He tries to solve the problem of Armand being a danger to them by trying to love him, love him into safety. He tries to go one step further than he ever did with Lestat, he tries to say it, say "I love you" but it doesn't ring true even to his own ears.

He forgets that loving Lestat was always his truth, incapable of being a manipulation, impossible to replicate as a lie.

Even Armand tries to love Louis, because the only thing better than killing Louis would be for Louis to fall in love with him more than he ever was with Lestat. To the point that if given the choice Louis would choose Armand because he loves him more than he ever did Lestat.

But Armand is not Lestat. Which means a lot of things. It means Louis and Claudia will never truly be safe with Armand simply because Louis and Claudia are not his. Lestat considered Louis and Claudia his, his family, his to take care of, his to protect. Armand does not feel the same way. But Armand not being Lestat also means Louis will never love Armand. Which only underlines that they will never be safe with Armand. Because aside from running or killing the coven, actually loving Armand more than Lestat was the one way Louis might have gotten Armand to not kill them.

And Louis can't do that. He shows Armand this too when he can't commit to Armand in the one essential way he did do to Lestat. He can't accept Armand as his companion. Because in his mind Lestat never stopped being his companion and to accept Armand as such would mean to give the role Lestat filled to Armand. At this point Armand is an affair. He cannot be Louis' companion because even considered dead, in Louis' heart of hearts, that position belongs to Lestat.

And yet when it turns out he and Claudia are still in danger from Armand and the coven Louis tries to do that anyway. He tries to banish Lestat's memory. He tries to force companionship with Armand even though he doesn't feel it. And that scene is so interesting because it's Louis lying to himself in its entirety. It seeming to be initially about him breaking up with Armand but instead it's him trying to let go of the memory of Lestat.

But what it's really about is him trying to let go of his humanity and once again becoming the cold and calculated pimp he used to be before he met Lestat, that needed to do what he needed to do to protect his family. It's funny to realize that by loving him Lestat unknowingly unearthed some of Louis' humanity that had previously been hidden away. Because in choosing to love Lestat Louis became more human. Lestat chose Louis in part because of the hardened pimp façade he threw up in order to cope with the work he had to do to take care of his family. But in loving Louis Lestat laid bare all of who Louis really was and while he thought he knew what he was doing I don't think he truly knew until after he had turned Louis and saw the true effects of him taking a wrecking ball to all of Louis' walls at the same time.

When Louis realizes that once again his family is in danger he does what he did all those years ago. He dusts off the pimp persona. He's about to give the performance of his life trying to make Armand believe he's in love with him so Armand doesn't kill them, all while locking his heart away with the memory of Lestat for safekeeping so that he can actually give a convincing performance.

But here's the thing, Lestat was the actor. Louis was never good at lying about how he really felt. It's also why distracting Lestat before he killed him was so effective. It was as easy as breathing because Louis didn't have to act. The love he felt for Lestat was the absolute truth and anything less than that would have been a lie Lestat would have seen straight through. Lestat may not have realized Louis loved him but unbeknownst to him he did know how it felt to be loved by Louis.

Louis can't deceive Armand the same way precisely because he doesn't have those particular feelings for Armand and up to then he was trying to use Armand as a Lestat stand-in, a do-over in which he tells Armand what Lestat needed to hear, in the hopes this time the outcome will be different. Which almost worked because he had Dreamstat to bring those real feelings to the surface. But then Louis locks Dreamstat away thinking that's the answer and no longer even has a whisper of the feeling he previously had to back up his words and actions. And by then it's already too late anyway.

[doctordumblesstark]

Themes that weave through season 3 of Alex Rider

Alex's reluctance to kill and maim

When Kyra and Alex take down the guards, both Nile and Julia are perplexed why someone only incapacitated and not killed the guards

Throughout all of Malagosto training we repeatedly see Alex refusing to strike against his fellow students or taking the "kill" shot

He can't kill Jones, even though he has every reason to at this point. Even Kyra points it out to him

He can't kill Nile even though he has no reason to be nice to Nile. Nile has been nothing but cruel to Alex and is more then prepared to kill him

Friendship and teamwork

We see it with how Alex works with Kyra and Tom in Malta

Alex puts Tom first and questions why he doesn't pursue filming with his brother

Alex doesn't understand how the Malagosto students are supposed to work together when they're also expected to strike each other on command

He questions Yassen about his friendship with John and especially Yassen's repeated lesson on not having emotions. We see how Yassen realises that Alex is right at the end and chooses to save Alex yet again from Nile

Jack learning when to leave Alex and trust him and when she needs to step up and help out. She sees Alex for the adult that he has to be in these situations but is also ready to be his guardian when he needs it.

Trust your team and be prepared, that whole speech from Jay to Kyra.

Trust

Not surprising to see this in a show about espionage, but trust is present everywhere

Blunt and Jones have a conversation about trust and double agents at the beginning and it's Jones who convinces Blunt to trust Alex and actually tell him the truth. Jones achieved something that no one would have thought possible, get Alex to trust Blunt, if even a little bit

Alex trusting Jack and defending her to Yassen, even calling out Yassen should trust someone

Tom and Jack being worried over Alex and telling themselves and telling each other to trust Alex even when it seems he may have changed sides.

Alex throughout the season has to choose who to trust, to be disappointed by Scorpia and then finally realising he could have trusted Jones to have his back all along. However, them trusting Alex with the truth is what finally puts them all on even playing field and really makes them into a good team.

Alex also trusted that Yassen was telling him the truth about how to find Scorpia and knowing John, even though Kyra suggested he could have been lying.

John and Alex

John shoots past Yassen to kill the arms dealers leaving a cut and scar on Yassen's face. Alex takes that same shot to kill the power for the transmitter leaving a cut on Nile's face

Alex chooses to go back to take the final blow to Scorpia knowing the risks and understanding it might kill him, but hopefully saving many others. The same John agrees to fake his death on Albert Bridge, knowing there is a chance he might not survive but willing to rescue one more person along the way.

Both Alex and John go undercover for Scorpia. Although very different motivations

John, Alex and Yassen

I am so happy we got to see this relationship in the show. I don't care if this was just fan service, I just loved that we got more of Yassen and Alex together.

Even though just hinted in the show the mentoring between John and Yassen and then Yassen and Alex has always been at the heart of the Rider&Gregorovich relationship

Yassen clearly thinks he has to help Alex and when he finds out Scorpia played him just as much as they did Alex, he knows not to be upset with John and steps up one last time to save his friend's son

Rings/Parallels between the seasons

Yassen takes out the clone at the end of season 1 from a rooftop and then takes out Nile at the end of season 3 as he attempts to take a shot at Alex. The parallel is obvious, but while Yassen chooses to stay hidden in season 1 he shows himself to Alex in season 3. I choose to read this as Yassen showing Alex he understands the importance of friendship.

The department using Alex to Alex choosing to work with them. He even walks out of there with a positive relationship with most of them and a job opportunity. The trust is still new but it's there

Jones and Alex relationship throughout the seasons. She's the only one that saw Alex for who he is from the beginning and is the only one ready to challenge Blunt over Alex

Pritchard's death kicking things off and Smither's bitterness when saying the "cause of death". Parallels Ian Rider's death and how the story started

Early list so feel free to add to it. I just thought the storytelling of season 3 really took a step up compared to previous seasons. It felt more rounded and like things paid off really well towards the end

[tavolgisvist]

One of the reasons Dylan had even come to England was his fascination with the Brit rock scene. The Animals, Manfred Mann, the Bluesbreakers, the Pretty Things, the Beatles, the Stones. All that boys-club stuff that makes life fun. After the concert* we all went back to the hotel. We were milling around in Albert Grossman’s suite, with Grossman holding court. There was no doubt now who was the crown prince of rock; it was Bob. The Animals and the Stones had all come to visit, serious bad boys come to pay their respects and sit meekly on the couch as the mad dauphin came in and out talking of Apocalypse and Pensacola. And now, to bestow the confirming touch, the Beatles had come to pay him hommage. Although I knew both John and Paul quite well by this time, meeting “The Beatles” as a group was always a bit of an ordeal. On top of their Olympian fame was their scouse badgering. They would always run things on you. On each other, too, but mostly on other people. Anybody new into the crowd had to be ready to go through a terrible gauntlet of verbal abuse and voodoo vibes. You were never sure whether you were being tested or totally ridiculed or perhaps not being spoken to at all. Dylan went into the room where the Beatles were sitting all scrunched up on the couch, all of them fantastically nervous (for once). Lennon, Ringo, George and Paul and one or two roadies. Nobody said anything. They were waiting for the oracle to speak. But Dylan just sat down and looked at them as if they were all just total strangers at a railway station. It wasn’t so much a matter of being cool; they were too young to be genuinely cool. Like teenagers, they were all afraid of what the others might think and simply froze in each other’s company. Neuwirth walked through the room balancing a balloon on his little finger. All heads turned as he passed, as if we were at Wimbledon. It was such a funny image, all these millionaires sitting around in a circle watching Neuwirth doing some silly thing with a balloon. Just watching anything like children at a circus. I thought, “Jesus, how could I ever have thought these scared little boys were gods?”

Then Allen Ginsberg came in. The silence deepened. Simply by walking into the room Allen was laying himself open to ridicule, but he didn’t care. Instead of trying to protect his dignity, he deliberately made himself into a target. He went over to the chair Dylan was sitting in and plonked himself down on the armrest. No one at first reacted to this, but by now the room was bristling with hostility toward Allen. The tension built and built and then John Lennon broke the silence by snarling: “Why don’t you sit a bit closer, then, dearie.” The insinuation—that Allen had a crush on Dylan—was intended to demolish Allen, but since it wasn’t far from the truth anyway, Allen took it very lightly. The joke was on them, really. He burst out laughing, fell off the arm and onto the lap of Lennon, who was on the couch with his wife, Cynthia. Allen looked up at him and said, “Have you ever read William Blake, young man?” And Lennon in his Liver-puddlian deadpan said, “Never heard of the man.” Cynthia, who wasn’t going to let him get away with this even in jest, chided him: “Oh, John, stop lying.” That broke the ice. “Lovely gig, man,” Lennon offered as if he were just passing through. Dylan just rocked back and forth hypnotically in his chair. Then he said: “They didn’t dig ‘It’s All Right, Ma.’ ” “Maybe they didn’t get it,” said John. “It’s the price of being a head of your time, y’know.” To which Dylan said, “Maybe, but I’m only about twenty minutes ahead, so I won’t get far.” Dylan didn’t pay much attention to the Beatles at all actually, except for John. John he adored, so hanging out with John was always good. But Paul got a very cool reception. I saw Paul come in with an acetate of a track he’d been working on. It was very far out for its time with all kinds of distorted, electronic things on it and Paul was obviously proud of it. He put it on the turntable in his eager, earnest way and stood back in anticipation but Dylan just walked out of the room. It was unbelievable. The expression on Paul’s face was priceless. And it was the same way with the Stones. They’d all sit on the couch with their topsy hair, like little teddy bears devouring the room, and he’d hardly look at them. Dylan was so funny about all of them. He simply carried on as if none of them was present.

(Faithfull by Marianne Faithfull and David Dalton, 1994)

*at London’s Royal Albert Hall, 9 May 1965

Part (I), (II), (IV), (V)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Wings of Desire - Wim Wenders 1987

* * * *

The Dying Man: [thinking to himself while lying on the side of a road after a motorcycle accident] You never saw anyone die? I stink of gasoline. I saw it all clearly - the Mercedes, the pool of oil. Karin, I should have told you. It can't be that simple. I've still so much to do.

Damiel: [placing his hands on the Dying Man's head] As I came up the mountain, out of the misty valley into the sun. The fire on the cattle range, the potatoes in the ashes, the boathouse floating in the lake. The Southern Cross.

The Dying Man: The Far East. The Great North. The Wild West. The Great Bear Lake. Tristan da Cunha. The Mississippi Delta. Stromboli. The old houses of Charlottenburg. Albert Camus. The morning light. The child's eyes. The swim in the waterfall. The spots of the first drops of rain. The sun. The bread and wine. Hopping. Easter. The veins of leaves. The blowing grass. The color of stones. The pebbles on the stream's bed. The white tablecloth outdoors. The dream of the house in the house. The dear one asleep in the next room. The peaceful Sundays. The horizon. The light from the room in the garden. The night flight. Riding a bicycle with no hands. The beautiful stranger. My father. My mother. My wife. My child.

[wonjnz]

strawberry soju

₊˚⊹ warning(s): drinking | inspo: jesse barrera, albert posis, michael carreon - strawberry soju

while ricky loves everything strawberry and strawberry-flavored, he can't seem to bring himself into liking strawberry-flavored alcohol.

the first time he tried strawberry soju, his nose scrunched at the bitter yet sweet taste. drinking was never ricky’s thing, though it was his friend's birthday, so he can't be too much of a killjoy. but to his dismay, they kept pouring more shots.

and when he came home to you, his cheeks puffy and flushed and words slightly slurred, all he wanted was to be in your arms. "you’re drunk," you laugh at his disheveled state, thanking his friend for dropping him off before closing the door to tend to ricky.

"and i was missing you the whole time," ricky responds as you help him freshen up. you smile, "but you had fun, right?"

ricky shakes his head, his hair getting messier, "of course not. i didn't wanna drink in the first place. i just wanted to get his party over with." he complains. you chuckle once more at his protests.

you pat him on the back, "you go to bed. i’ll prepare everything if ever you get a bad hangover tomorrow." to which ricky slightly mumbles, "i can handle it anyway," before walking off to your bedroom. you laugh once more at his behavior, watching him slowly disappear into your room and eventually hearing a muffled thud.

lying in bed, ricky craves your touch not even five minutes in, his face lighting up when he sees you entering. "i’ve missed you," he tells you, which you grin in response.

"i was only gone for a while?"

"still."

you get in bed, "fine, fine. whatever you say." you jokingly hold up your arms in defeat. ricky hums amusingly, hooking his arms around you immediately. the faint smell of vanilla still lingers on your clothes even hours after he hugged you goodbye to go to his friend's party.

as he watches you scrolling on your phone, the light radiating almost blinding (in your defense, it was at its lowest setting, dark mode too), he nestles his face in the crook of your neck to try and shield from it.

"you’ve been really cuddly tonight. did you drink that much?" you ask, putting your phone down. "they kept pouring more. i couldn't say no." he says, voice slowly getting softer the longer he talks.

ricky mentally curses his intoxication, not caused by the amount of soju he drank, but because he was drunk on you; the way your voice always softens at this time, the way your arms hold him at just the perfect amount, the way it's just you.

and when he slowly trails small pecks from your neck and finally a kiss on your lips, the taste of alcohol still present, you suppose you can take a shot as well.