#this has easily been the longest two days of my entire life

[trashbaget]

*

[gatitties]

Hi🤗♡.

Can I request teen!fem Reader with the (strawhat pirates & kid pirates & heart pirates)( the older version of them please in there 40 or 60).

The Reader got hurt very badly and she was in coma for month.

But of course everything was fine when the Reader wakes up and everyone is happy♡.

P.s : take your time okay :) .

─Strawhats, Kid Pirates & Heart Pirates x teen!reader (platonic)

─Summary: A life-threatening attack hits you and everyone is worried about your condition

─Warnings: the characters are older, like in those 40/60 year old drawings (reference)

─ You are the little light of the group, being the youngest everyone was always watching you in battle, they had full faith in your abilities, but they would not stop being worried.

─ But you're not always in a completely accessible place, the others also have their own fights at the same time so the world seems to stop when the sound of your body hitting the ground catches Nami's attention. "Oh- No- no- my god, Chopper!"

─ Usopp, who was the one who had only been running and launching light attacks, was the first to approach your body, noticing a large pool of blood around you and a big blow on your head, he turned pale when he saw you.

─ He easily carried you in his arms and took you to a less dangerous place while Chopper rushed to finish off his own opponent, he was with you in just a couple of minutes, he could be older, but he won't stop losing his nerve when he has than treating a loved one, "A doctor! We need a doctor right away!" "You're the doctor?!" "Oh right!"

─ While the others finish as quickly as possible to know if you are okay, you are treated emergency, managing to stop the bleeding and stabilizing your vital signs.

─ The problem was that you spent one day sleeping, two, three… and it became the longest week for the entire crew.

─ Everyone was impatient and uneasy, they would not forgive themselves if something happened to you, they knew that you would wake up sooner or later, they would just wait for you.

─ Chopper checks on you daily, Sanji puts a glass of fresh water on the nightstand every day in case you wake up and no one is there at that moment, Luffy and Usopp will sit down to play any board game to keep you company, Zoro will take some occasional nap on the floor (chopper puts some pillows and blankets there because age doesn't forgive back pain), Nami and Robin will talk to you as if you were gossiping with them on a normal day, Brook will sing something at night so that in your sleep better, Jinbe and Franky stop by from time to time to see if you're awake.

─ Everyone's spirits fade when the second week passes with no indication that you will wake up and they think the worst, however they cling to the fact that your condition is stable, you are healthy and you are much younger than them.

─ A month later, Luffy had fallen asleep resting his hand on your shoulder, he didn't give you time to open your eyes and you already had your captain hugging you. "Hey, it's been a while, I don't even sleep that much after a good meal!"

─ You laughed confused because you obviously didn't know how long you had been out, and it didn't take long for the others to find out, you were surrounded in a big hug although Chopper scolded everyone because he still had to do one last check before letting you walk freely.

─ This team fights with everything it has and you were not going to be less, although much younger, you were much more energetic than that whole group of old men, as you affectionately nicknamed them since they sometimes called you kiddo or child.

─ The problem is that sometimes you were somewhat impulsive, and that's why you attacked too quickly. Kid smiled, seeing himself reflected in your recklessness, although he scolded you. "Don't get ahead, these guys aren't as weak as they seem."

─ You turned a deaf ear since you had advanced well in the attack, but in an instant everything had gone black for you, a fatal blow to the abdomen left you completely out of combat.

─ "Oh fuck, the kiddo is hurt, shit- like, really screwed up, needs medical attention right away!" Heat is the one closest to you and the one in charge of protecting you until the bloodbath ends, which they do more quickly.

─ Killer knows that you won't wake up today because when they sewed the wound you didn't wake up because of the pain, he knew that you were very complaining about pain of any kind despite being a teenager.

─ The tension grows as the days go by, uncertainty because you don't wake up to joke that you've knocked down more guys, they are mentally torturing themselves even though they don't let it be seen.

─ Wire will talk to you to tell you all the gossip you miss, Killer will stop by every morning before starting the day hoping to see that you are standing, Heat will sleep next to you some days and Kid will not visit as often because he is venting his discomfort in his workshop.

─ Kid has been in a worse mood the last few weeks because you were the person with the smallest hands and he needed your help with some screws that were too small, which delayed his project, he missed your annoying little presence making jokes about his old age .

─ Killer had full faith that you would wake up sooner or later because they had treated you on time, it just made him nervous not knowing when it would be, "I will make your favorite food if you wake up today…" he always said in the hope that the food would open your eyes.

─ A month later when everyone got used to the lack of a gremlin running from one place to another (they didn't get used to it, that's what they want to think), you woke up, there was no one there at that moment so you got rid of all the cables, feeling good.

─ "Hey child- holy shit! you're awake, hey- what are you doing up?! You need to get checked before you walk around again" "I'm fresh as a lettuce captain! I can't say the same for you… but uh-" "I'm glad to see you're okay." He put his only arm over your shoulder and squeezed you like in a wrestling hold, roughly rubbing your head.

─ They used you as an excuse to have a party, although you didn't care much because you also celebrated and ate your favorite food.

─ Law was going to kill Shachi and Penguin because you got hurt on a mission with them, you took several hits, which exhausted you, and what you thought would be a nap back on the submarine ended up being something worse.

─ They tried to keep you awake while they used what Law had taught them about minimal care, but you couldn't continue.

─ They didn't even set foot in the submarine and you were already in a bed in the infirmary, the smell of blood gave away your condition, "I want a report on what happened and the area of the body that was most beaten, we will talk about your punishment later", both swallowed, knowing that their captain did not like to see his comrades injured but above all, to see someone with so much life ahead of them injured.

─ You are treated immediately and quickly, Law knows that you will not wake up for at least a week due to the blows and your condition, but you would get out of this, that does not prevent him from feeling an emptiness in the pit of his stomach.

─ Bepo will be in your room most of the time, reading out loud so that according to him, you wouldn't get bored in your dreams, Shachi and Penguin got some free time (because they were forced to clean the entire submarine until it shined) to apologize to you.

─ Ikakku stopped by from time to time to check your vital signs and tell you some things that had been happening.

─ Even though they knew you would wake up, not knowing when the moment would be made the entire crew impatient, although Law detected some changes in your condition after a month, he knew when you would finally open your eyes, which reassured him.

─ "What the hell…?" You mumbled when you woke up seeing that your arms and legs were tied, "I'm glad to see you awake" "How are you glad if I'm tied to a bed? Oh don't tell me, have you finally lost your mind and going to dissect me?" He sighed "Security, I knew you were going to get up as soon as you woke up and I want to do one last check" "Sure…"

─ Everyone found out later because you started screaming as if you were being tortured just because had to supply something with a syringe, at least you prolonged your hug with Bepo because of that.

─ Shachi and Penguin apologized to you again, but you downplayed it, right now what mattered most to you was having a good meal, you were hungry and Ikkaku had the solution to all your problems.

[lincolndjarin]

constructive criticisms

main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day two - afab!ficauthor!reader x javier peña

prompt : virginity loss [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 5.1 k

summary : javier peña has been a thorn in your side for months, the last thing you need is for him to find out you write dirty fanfiction

warnings, etc. : language, fluff, smut, protected sex, p in v sex, oral m!recieving, fingering, mutual masturbation, viginity loss (duh), innocence kink sorta, squirting, reader is completely clueless when it comes to sex, javier is a dumb sweetheart in this, plot w a little porn lol

a/n : yippee! this is an idea ive had floating around for a bit and this seemed like a good opportunity to do it! easily the longest of the kinktober stuff lmao which is why i didnt want this to be day one cause i didnt want to set a precedent haha. also i hate this but it's october so like i can't do much about that lmao. AND the edit was rushed bc i gotta get to work so apologies for any errors!!

  “What’s that?” You slam your laptop shut the moment you hear his voice. 

“Nothing.” You hadn’t heard him come into your office yet here he is, looming over your shoulder. 

“Didn’t look like nothing.” You can’t stand the mocking smile on his face. 

“Did you need something?” You do your best to sound patient. 

“I’ve got some suspect photos I need you to identify.” He’s still grinning from ear to ear as you hold your hand out for the file. You flip through the pictures before tossing them onto the pile of paperwork you’ve been trudging through. You’re waiting for him to leave but he just stays in place behind you until you spin around in your chair. 

“Is there something else?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glowering at him. 

“What were you working on?” For god's sake, drop it. 

“Get out of my office Peña, or I won’t process your suspects.” Thankfully that gets him to leave, sighing as he closes the door behind him. Once you’re sure he’s not coming back you open your laptop again, quickly closing out your tabs. 

The last thing you need is for Javier fucking Peña to read your Star Wars fanfiction. 

He makes your life hell around the office enough as is. He makes fun of how you dress, he only ever asks you to file his paperwork, (despite the dozen others who are just as capable.) and you’re pretty sure he stole your lunch one time. He’s just in general a nuisance. (And it doesn’t help that he’s gorgeous and knows it.)

It’s not like you’re ashamed of your writing, you’ve mentioned it in passing to some of your friends around the office but Javier is different. He gives you enough grief without knowing how badly you wanna fuck Anakin Skywalker, you can’t imagine how much worse thing would get if he found you’re writing. 

So you get back to work, trying to forget the interaction entirely. 

You like to work late on fridays, it makes things easier, you don’t have to come in early on monday and no ones around to bother you while you work. You’re just about done with everything as you gather up all the finished documents, going from empty office to empty office as you leave the respective papers on each person's desk. 

You’re nearly done, you’ve just got Javier’s suspect list to deal with as you step into the bullpen to deliver it you’re surprised to see him still sitting at his desk, everyone else is gone, only his desk lamp and computer monitor light the large room. You approach quietly, wanting to get this done as quickly as possible so you can just go home. You’re about to clear your throat to get his attention when you freeze in place. 

You recognize the website he’s on. 

You’d know that red bar anywhere. 

There’s no fucking way. 

You feel your face getting flushed, a deep shame settling in your stomach as you take another step forward just to be sure.

Archive of Our Own beta

And just below that, the name of your favorite song, but more importantly, the title of your fanfiction. 

You’re so fucked. 

You feel a mess of angry tears starting to pool in your eyes as you hear him groan. 

That somehow hurts worse. 

Not only is he reading it, but he also thinks it’s so bad he’s audibly expressing it. You’re livid, and humiliated, you should spend this weekend looking for a new job because he’s about to become insufferable. Knowing him, everyone will know about it before you even get in on monday.

In your rage you walk forward noisily, tossing his files down onto his desk, turning, planning on glaring at him once before leaving, hoping he doesn’t see how truly upset you are. 

Nothing could have prepared you for what you’re met with. You’re expecting a smirk or maybe even a look of disgust, instead he’s gritting his teeth, his hair sticking to his forehead, a visible sheen of sweat on his face and most prominently, his hand haphazardly shoved down the front of his pants. 

You both realize the predicament you’re caught in at the same time. You stare way too long. Eyes lingering on the exposed skin where his shirt rides up, a trail of hair running down his naval. Neither one of you moves until you finally snap out of it, squeezing your eyes shut and turning on your heel, walking as quickly as possible towards the exit when you hear the squeak of his chair on the floor as he calls out your name. You don’t dare turn around though, not slowing your pace until you’re out of the building and in your car. 

Thankfully he doesn’t pursue you further as you drive home as quickly as possible. Hands tightly gripping the wheel the entire time. You can see your phone blowing up in your bag, the inside dimly lit the entire length of the drive. When you pull into your apartment building’s parking lot. You grab your bag and hurry inside, desperate to just go to bed and forget everything that just happened, ignoring the throbbing between your legs from what you just witnessed. 

You step inside your studio, locking up behind you as you toss your bag onto the bed, shedding your clothes and stepping into the bathroom, praying that a cold shower will clear your head. 

It doesn’t. 

You feel just as hot and frazzled as you did before. Maybe he was just trying to mess with you. If that’s the case then now he’s just sexually harassing you. 

Stupid fucking Peña. 

You pull a tank top over your head and throw on a pair of panties before collapsing on your bed. You don’t want to look but you won’t be able to sleep if you don’t, so you reach into your bag, retrieving your phone. 

Just as suspected you have an endless amount of messages from the man himself. You're about to start scrolling through them all when you read the most recent one. 

[ I’m coming over. ] 

Son of a bitch. 

You quickly scroll through the previous messages. 

[ I’m sorry, are you okay? ]

[ Call me or I’m coming over. ]

[ Please just text me back. ]

[ I really liked your story. ]

[ I’m sorry. ]

There’s about a hundred similar messages but one stands out to you more than anything else. 

He liked your story. 

Why does that make your face burn up?

You start typing, telling him that he doesn’t want to find out what’s gonna happen if he shows up but you’re interrupted by a knock on your door. You trip over yourself as you rush to your dresser, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before peering through the peephole. 

Sure enough, there he stands, he looks exactly like you’d left him, shirt untucked and askew, hair a mess, except now his hand isn’t in his pants. You’re about to reach over and turn your lamp off when he clears his throat. 

“I know you’re in there, your car was out front.” Well, so much for pretending you aren’t home. You hesitantly unlock the door before pulling it open, plastering a scowl on your face. 

“What do you want?” You try to look stern but you know you probably just look nervous. 

“I just wanna talk.”

You’re hesitant but you open the door fully, letting him in as you return to your bed, sitting and pointing at the loveseat in the corner for him. Neither one of you speaks, you watch as his throat bobs, he won’t look at you, staring at his hands instead. 

“How did you get my address?” You finally break the silence. 

“Your file.” He says sheepishly. 

“You can’t do that! That’s an invasion of my privacy!”

“That’s what you wanna be mad about?” Fair enough. 

“Fine, why did you do it?” You don’t like that he’s here, in your tiny apartment, the memory of him splayed out in his chair takes up all the space.

“Which part?” He finally looks up at you, meeting your gaze. 

“Why did you read it?” 

“I was curious.” He looks truly apologetic, it almost makes you want to believe him.

“Really?” Your tone drips with sarcasm. 

“You seemed really defensive, I wanted to see why.” It seems genuine but you know better. 

“You wanted to embarrass me.” You say plainly. 

“Why do you act like I’m out to get you?” His brows furrow and his mouth settles into a frown. 

“Because you are.” You say it matter of factly, you honestly can’t believe he’s acting like he doesn’t know. 

“I don’t understand what I did that makes you hate me so much.” You’re tempted to soften your gaze, but the last thing you need to do if this is all just some trick is appear vulnerable. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Please, enlighten me.” He throws his hands up in exasperation. 

“You despise me! You torment me every single day!”

“Really? I torment you?” He points an accusatory finger in your direction. 

“You make me do your paperwork every single time, even when there are plenty of other people who are capable of it.” You feel the urge to stand and have this argument, you’re getting heated in several ways now. 

“You do it better than everyone else.” He shrugs like it’s a valid excuse. 

“Bullshit.” You snark as he puts his head in his hands.

“And I like the excuse to see you.” He mumbles before looking back up at him.

“You make fun of how I dress.” You’re quick to change the subject, not wanting to fall victim to his charms. 

“I do not.” His voice pitches up defensively. 

“You said I dress like your grandma.”

“That was a compliment.” He can’t be serious.

“How the fuck is that a compliment?”

“I love my grandma very much.” He sounds serious. 

“You’re a nightmare.” You fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your head swimming with confusion. 

“Have you ever considered that I just wanted to be around you? You assume that I just liked to bother you but maybe I just like being near you.” He stands as you sit up, a look of honest upset on his face. 

“You expect me to believe that you did those things because you like me? Are we in middle school, Peña? You could have just asked me out instead of pulling my pigtails on the playground.” You stand, not liking the power imbalance of having him towering over you where you sit. 

“I did, you said no.” He crosses his arms and you scoff. 

“You did not, you can’t just make things up to get out of this conversation.” You poke a finger into his chest but he just brushes it away. 

“I asked you out to lunch two weeks ago and you said no.”

“I think I would remember that if it happened.” His anger fizzles out a bit as he looks you up and down. 

“I may or may not have thrown your lunch out that day so you’d be more likely to accept.” He gives you a sheepish look. “But you were so mad you brushed it off.”

“That was a serious offer? I thought you were messing with me.” He just stares at you, wide puppy dog eyes you have to turn away from lest you fall for this act. You don’t get a moment's rest though because as you stare at the floor a particularly harrowing thought crosses your mind. 

“How much did you read?” You turn back to him quickly. 

“Enough.” When you turn back to him he’s staring at his hands again. 

You both know what that means. 

“It seemed a little familiar.” He says softly. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You want him out, now.

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m talking about.” You’re going to look at job listings once he goes home. 

“I think you should leave.” You clear your throat, nodding towards the door. 

“I’m not leaving until we talk about it.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You sit back down on your bed, your legs feeling unsteady. 

“Well I do.” He takes a few steps in your direction and you immediately regret sitting. 

“I don’t care what you want, get out of my apartment, now.” You head is tilted up completely as you glare at him.

“Do you really not realize exactly what is happening here?” You can feel his breath on your face, cigarettes and spearmint. You turn your head to the side, refusing to look at him. 

This is exactly what happens in your story. 

“You’re an idiot.” You whisper, willing yourself not to get any more upset than you already are. 

“You wrote your story about us.” He says each word sharply as you grit your teeth. 

“I did not.” Now who’s just making things up to get out of a conversation?

“Everything that I did to you, he does to her.”

You don’t have a response to that. What are you supposed to say? He’s right, straight down to the confrontation where he tells her he wants her and she tells him that can’t be possible. He hates her. 

He kneels in front of the bed, moving to be in your eye line and when you go to turn your head he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“I really did like your story.” You shove his hand away as he says it.

“Don’t mock me.” 

“Jesus, what do I have to do to make you realize I don’t have an ounce of contempt for you?” He stands, throwing his hands up in defeat.

You finally snap. 

“Maybe stop taking my shit and stop giving me extra work and stop invading my privacy and just fucking talk to me like an adult, you arrogant, immature, son of a-“ He grabs your face in both of his hands as he leans down and crashes his lips against yours, you let out a surprised squeak as he cups your jaw. After a moment he pulls back and you’re left staring at him dumbfounded. 

“Now, can we please talk about it?” He mumbles before pulling you in again for a single chaste kiss. 

“Okay.” You feel a little breathless at the abruptness of his actions. 

“I really liked it.” He smiles now, the energy in the room changing drastically. 

“You keep saying that.” You whisper.

“It’s true.”

“Wanna give me some constructive criticism?” You laugh but you can see his eyes flicker to the ceiling quickly and suddenly you want to press further. 

“You know you quoted me word for word a couple of times.” 

“You’re avoiding the question.” You laugh again but now you’re genuinely curious. 

“I guess I thought the sex scenes were the tiniest bit unrealistic.”

“Unrealistic?” You feign offense. 

“Well yeah I mean, it’s written like you’ve never had sex. They go at it all night and he never needs any breaks? And doesn’t she have like twenty orgasms? I’m pretty sure she’d be in terrible pain at that point.” He laughs softly but when you furrow your brows he stops. “I assumed because it’s fantasy that that’s intentional though.” He adds on quickly at the end. 

Your embarrassment is clear on your face as his own expression goes to one of poorly concealed surprise. 

“You’ve never-” He whispers, clearly shocked. 

“I’ve never.” You finish his sentence, not wanting to hear it out loud. 

“I mean, that’s fine.” His ears are burning red. 

“I know it’s fine.” You mumble. “I’ve had opportunities to, I just… I don’t know, I guess I made it too big of a deal in my mind and now I just don’t care but I’ve waited this long and-”

“Cariña, it’s fine.” He interrupts you now, that soft smile on his face never wavering. 

“Do you think my writing would be better if I had more experience?” You say it like it’s a joke but he sees right through you.  

“I’m not sure, how much experience do you have just in general?” He stands, moving to sit beside you on the bed. 

“Well I’ve kissed people before.”

“That’s it?” You glare at him and he coughs nervously. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.”

“I’ve been busy with work, it's just, it’s never been a priority of mine.”

“You do know… how to do it? Right?” You smack him on the arm. 

“Of course I know how to do it, you read my stuff.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

“Oh come on, you said it was good!” 

“It is good! Everything but the dirty stuff is really good!” You groan, putting your head in your hands, he sits quietly beside you for a bit, rubbing your back. 

“Do you want me to teach you?” He says lightheartedly. 

“Seriously?” You glare at him. 

“It’s the least I can do for unintentionally making your work life hell.” He’s starting to sound more genuine in his over, it sends a chill down your spine. 

“So what? We just… do it?” You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the idea of losing it to someone who knows what he’s doing. 

“No we don’t ‘just do it.’ we do other stuff first.” He sounds amused but you’re glad he doesn’t outright laugh at you. 

“Can you just- can you just tell me what to do?” You rest your head on his shoulder briefly and he runs his fingers through your hair. 

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes please.” You mumble, feeling a strange mix of aroused and nervous. 

“Well, in one of the later chapters she blows him, right?” You nod slowly. “And you say it’s her first time doing it, she probably shouldn’t have been able to just take all of him in her mouth right off the get go, especially since he’s apparently nine inches? Which is a whole separate issue by the way.” You can feel your face getting hot all over again as he explains everything like it’s obvious. “If you want to start there we can do that.” He murmurs, trying to meet your gaze but you just keep trying to look anywhere else. 

“How big is it supposed to be normally?” You chew on your lip, hoping you don’t sound stupid, you couldn’t be more thankful when he once again doesn’t laugh. 

“It depends, but nine inches is a bit outlandish. Have you ever actually looked at that on a ruler? It’s way bigger than you think.” He holds out the estimated size with his hands and you have to stifle a giggle. 

“Fair enough.” You lean against him one last time before sliding off the bed, kneeling in front of him. “So she’s like this.” You watch his throat bob as he swallows harshly, everything is starting to quickly become real as he nods. You reach your hands towards the noticeably larger bulge in his strict jeans, stopping just before you touch him. “Can I?” 

“Yeah, of course.” With his approval you gingerly unzip the restrictive fabric, watching his half hard dick spring free. He’s certainly not nine inches but he’s still intimidating. You don’t have a frame of reference but you have to assume he’s on the bigger side of things. 

“You don’t wear underwear?” You scoff, trying to lighten the mood despite the combined anxiety and arousal pulsing through you right now.

“Not usually.” He murmurs, notably softer than before. 

“What do I do first?” 

“If you want, you can start by touching it, just do what feels right.” He reaches down to hold your face for a moment until you’re able to calm down a bit. You reach forward at a snail's pace until finally wrapping a hand around the base, jumping a bit as you feel him twitch against your palm. You slowly stroke him, just once before looking up at him, a reassuring smile on his face as you stroke him a few more times, feeling him swell until he stands fully erect. Almost absentmindedly your other hand drifts between your legs, you experimentally grind against your own hand as you continue to leisurely jerk him off, watching how he grips the sheets when you run your thumb over his drooling tip. 

“What do I do next?” You look up at him. 

“Spit on it, hermosa.” His voice is raspy and you sit up on your knees, a line of spit falling from your mouth onto the head of his cock, drawing a hiss past his teeth. It’s easier to stroke him when it’s wet, you experiment with different speeds, watching his reactions until in a moment of bravery you tentatively guide him into your mouth. You can’t help but feel pleased when his hand instinctively flies to your hair, not moving you in any direction, just holding you. You swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting the bitter pre-cum as you open your jaw a bit wider, letting him slide over your tongue. As you take him deeper you feel him against your throat and you quickly gag, coughing a bit as he gently pulls you off. “Go slow, don’t take more than you’re able to.” You cough again, catching your breath before taking him in your mouth again, slower this time. “Use your hands on the rest.” He murmurs, the low tone shoots through you and you quickly go back to touching yourself with one hand while using the other to stroke the half of his length that you can’t fit in your mouth. 

After a few minutes you begin to moan against him as you try to reach your own peak, your hand now haphazardly shoved down the front of your pants. He’s leaning back, his pupils pitch black as he watches you, his breathing unsteady. 

“You think you’re ready for more?” He says sweetly, caressing your hair. You pop off of him, watching a line of spit going from the head of his cock to your lips. 

“Sure.” You feel less nervous than you thought you’d be as you stand up, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. You feel all fuzzy and slick between your legs, your pussy aches with need as he takes your hand, pulling you onto the bed with him. You sit up against the headboard as he strips completely, discarding his shirt and shoving his pants all the way down. 

You can’t help but take in the sight of him as he turns back to you. 

His warm sun kissed skin, the wide expanse of his shoulders a sharp ratio to his slim waist. He’s toned but he’s soft around the edges and his cock stands proud against the thatch of hair on his lower abdomen. You tilt your head the way it curves, admiring it until he laughs. 

“I want you to do something for me that wasn’t in the story.” He climbs back into bed with you, playing with the waistband of your sweats. 

“Sure, what is it?” You lift your hips, letting him pull them down, tossing them off the bed. 

“I want you to show me how you touch yourself.” You stare at him, a little shocked by the request, your eyes going wide. 

“Why?” 

“I want to see, I want you to show me what feels good.” You want to feel more self conscious but he’s completely naked and something about the fact that you’re still a little covered up helps you relax, with a soft sigh you gingerly slip your hand down the front of your panties. You go off of muscle memory, recalling what you would do if he wasn’t here. 

Tracing your fingers in delicate circles around your clit, watching as he begins to touch himself, almost matching your pace. This would have been a fantasy of yours that you’d resort to when nothing else worked. Javier Peña in your bed, revealing some sort of secret attraction to you, you just never thought it would ever come to fruition. 

But here he is.

Ravaging you with his eyes as you dip two fingers into yourself with a shuddering breath, his own movements stuttering a bit as you do so. With everything leading up to this it isn’t hard to feel the familiar heat building as you expertly push yourself towards it. After a few moments more you shove your panties down completely, wanting to be unencumbered as you discard them. Without them restricting you, you can easily feel that hot tightening sensation approaching rapidly. Your breathing gets heavy as you grind your fingers against your palm, you feel the familiar fiery sensation in the bottom of your stomach as you start haphazardly fucking your own hand, you keep your eyes on the way he fucks his own until you’re just about to burst and he takes hold of your wrist, stopping you.

“Please I-” You let out a frustrated whine but he shushes you with a quick peck.

“I know, can I do it?” You nod frantically, you’d like nothing more. He gently pushes two fingers into you, you gasp in surprise at the sudden stretch as he slides them in and out slowly, continuing to jerk himself off with his other hand as he watches how you eagerly suck him in. 

It doesn’t take much from there. 

His thumb mirrors the motions you did against your clit and that’s all he has to do to push you over the edge. Your cunt spasming around his fingers as he works you through your orgasm, hot white burns the edges of your vision and you keep your eyes open long enough to watch as he squeezes the base of his own cock, groaning as he makes his own attempts not to finish. You're vaguely aware of him murmuring something that sounds like praise in Spanish as you get your bearings, he slowly removes his fingers, leaning forward on his knees to kiss you. You catch your breath through the kiss until finally he pulls back.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” His breathing heavy as he nudges his forehead against yours. 

“Is it gonna hurt?” You’re more curious than nervous at this point. 

“It shouldn’t, and if it does I’ll stop, okay?” He hops off the bed for a moment, searching through his wallet before tossing you a condom. 

“Okay.”

“And you’re sure this is what you want?” You carefully tear open the condom wrapper, handing him the rubber ring with a nod, watching how he aptly rolls it onto his cock. 

“Probably wouldn’t have come this far if I didn’t.” You slide down the bed a bit so you’re mostly laying on your pillows as he positions himself on top of you. He still seems worried about you so you reach forward, taking his cock in your hand and guiding him between your legs. 

You can’t help but sharply inhale as he eases just the tip into you, your eyes flutter shut and your mouth opens slightly as you sigh.  

God, you wish you’d done this sooner. 

It doesn’t hurt. You expected a stinging, or a tearing, instead it’s just pressure. When you open your eyes you find his squeezed shut now as he slowly works himself into you, rocking slowly back and forth. He keeps your foreheads pressed together, occasionally, bumping his nose against yours. 

“Still good?” He whispers, a noticeable strain to his voice. You nod, watching curiously as he pushes his hips forward in one last motion to fully seat himself in your heat. His jaw is tense and he’s breathing through his teeth. “So fucking tight.” He mumbles before leaning forward, groaning into your mouth. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask when he pulls himself away with a soft smile. 

“No, it just makes me worried about hurting you.”

“I’m okay, I want you to move.” You look down to where the two of you are joined. Watching how he gently pulls himself from you just a bit before pushing back in. That’s when he bumps against that spot inside of you that suddenly has you seeing stars, your hands grip his shoulders as a moan slips out of you, the grin you’ve seen a hundred times before forms on his face, you’d once hated it but now it has you gushing around him. 

“Does that feel good?” He tilts his head to the side, nudging his nose against your temple as you nod fervently. He repeats the motion, pulling out about halfway before snapping his hips forward again, your back arching when he slams into the sweet spot inside of you. 

“Fuck- Peña, right there.” You whine, your nails leaving little crescent indents in the tan flesh of his shoulders. He gets into a steady rhythm with it, crashing into you with precise deliberate strokes, designed to make your head spin. He grits his teeth once more, his breath going ragged.

“Javier.” He pants, gripping your waist to hold you still. For a brief moment you almost see vulnerability in his eyes. 

“Just like that, Javier.” You stammer out as he bends one of your legs up, pressing you into the mattress further as he throws your ankle over his shoulder, the new angle letting him fuck far deeper into you than you even thought possible. The soft and slow Javier starts to dissipate as he bares his teeth, his breath hot and heavy through his tense jaw as he slams into you. The second orgasm building in your stomach isn’t like anything you’ve ever felt before, it’s molten inside of you, threatening to burst as he brings a hand to your clit.

“Shit- tell me when you’re close.” He growls, your vision’s already blurring again as an unfamiliar pressure settles within you. 

“I- I am.” You pant out, he accentuates each thrust with a grunt and you feel yourself slip as he applies the slightest pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re positive you’ve never come like this before, you soak his cock, a flood of your release pulses out of you as you strangle his cock. He collapses into you, your orgasm sending him over his own edge. You feel him throbbing within you as he groans into the pillow next to you. The two of you lay in a sweaty, breathless heap for a moment until he pulls out of you with a hiss, rolling over, his chest heaving as he lays beside you. 

“Now do you believe that I don’t hate you?” He gasps out. 

“I might need a little more convincing.” You grin, reaching behind you to turn your lamp off before rolling yourself over so you're on top of him.

a/n : I have a very serious love hate relationship w this.

[arafilez]

LIGHTS, CAMERA, SMILE ㅤ—ㅤ ﹙★﹚

one night of spontaneity is all yeosang wants before he is back to the same routine. and you are just the right, gorgeous distraction !

PAIRING ﹕ k.ys x fem!reader ㅤㅤ✸ㅤㅤ GENRE ﹕ model au ㅤstrangers to lovers ㅤ fluffㅤ pg13 ㅤ﹢ㅤ 1.5k wc ㅤ—ㅤ WARNING ﹕ kiss, alcohol

EVENT ﹕ @pirateeznet second anniversaryㅤ⋆ㅤGRAPHICS ﹕ banner @kessavyo ㅤ﹢ㅤ moodboard @daemour

Lights! Camera! Bitch smile! Even when you wanna die.

Yeosang’s life has always been one of the most boring TV shows. Clicks of cameras, lenses shuttering, a smile that might as well be stitched by now and his body clad in designer clothes, he stands on the runway of Milan, under the glimmering lights of Italy.

A sigh leaves his lips, his porcelain-like skin crinkling the slightest as he plops down on the couch in the hotel lounge after what feels like the longest event in his entire career. But then again he knows he thinks that after every event, he drinks up his rosé wine and stumbles back to his room for the next day.

You have to suck it up, you chose this life yourself.

He is so immersed in twirling his glass on the table, smiling tipsily at the drink inside threatening to spill but never doing so, he does not notice when a figure slides down on the chair opposite to him. A short breath and clink of heels later he looks up, eyes meeting yours.

He opens his mouth to say the same sentence he has chanted like a mantra, sounding like a maniac to himself when he repeats it over and over, the usual ‘sorry no pictures or signatures allowed during my relaxation time’, you beat him to it and say, “Hi sorry if you don’t mind can I sit here? The other places aren’t really empty.”

Nervous whisper, hesitant smile and a dazzling voice.

For a moment he feels alive all over again before it dies. Probably just an excuse.

Yeosang slowly turns around in his seat ready to call out your bluff when he realises you aren’t lying. The chairs are actually filled with people chattering all around and reality slowly drips back to the slight haze he had let himself be covered in. “Sure,” his deep voice resonates between you two and you sigh in relief, putting down your bag and returning to your tablet.

His eyes fix on your features, long and droopy eyelashes, loose strands of hair along your nape, pursed lips as your hands move in a flawless manner over your tab. Yeosang has been an introvert all his life, never having the courage to even tap someone and talk to them so when his voice comes out he doesn’t even recognise it himself.

“Hi!”

“Hey!” you smile, putting down the tablet and the pen you were using on the table as you look at the man in front of you. He is quite literally flawless and looking at him you could tell either God really had favourites or he himself was a God.

“I am Kang Yeosang, nice to meet you,” his voice becomes shakier with each word, cursing himself for taking the initiative and actually talking when he probably has never started any conversation in his entire life.

“Y/n, nice to meet you too,” your grin widens as you hold out your hand and he takes it lightly. You notice the hesitance and curiosity burning in his gaze as he leaves your hand and continues staring at it.

You look at him discreetly slowly letting it sink in that the man in front of you is drop-dead gorgeous. High nose-bridge, perfect, accentuated lips, deep beautiful voice and the mark beside his eyes that feels intriguing.

Maybe it is the lighting of the lounge or the fact that you had had more than one drink for the night before you had made your way towards this enticing stranger, courage brimming in your system.

Elegance, sophistication, money. Things you could only dream of being a part of.

“So, Kang Yeosang, here for a nice little Italian trip?” the question easily slides up your lips. Maybe you just want to be a part of it for one night, one single night and maybe you could just get a taste of whatever eludes with sophistication in front of you.

He looks at you, now twirling the empty glass in his hand, and mouths, “Work.”

“So much work it requires you to be alone?” a slightly enunciating tone and Yeosang raises an eyebrow chuckling at the unasked question. What could hurt if he is actually bold and daring one night?

“Yes, unless I want to get caught in a scandal,” he notices the light change in your demeanour as soon as the sentence leaves his lips, your fingers which were lightly drumming the tablet screen now hovering unsurely, eyes widening for a millisecond before you regain your composure and hum lightly.

“I am a famous model,” he adds, finding it a bit odd how someone who is designing a suit on her tablet has never seen modelling shows. He doesn’t say it out loud, enjoying his boldness a bit too much for his liking.

One night.

One night before he goes back to the usual.

Lights! Camera! Bitch smile! In stilettos for miles.

“Well, if I had known that this is what I missed, I sure would have paid more attention to the boring walking shows,” a hint of mischief burns in your eyes as the sentence leaves your lips. Yeosang’s eyebrows raise to your flirty tone as he meets your eyes in a glance far too heated for a stranger.

You seem to be so much trouble! Gorgeous, messy, spontaneous trouble! Yet the trouble is what he likes.

“Bold for a designer to say that,” he leans across the table deliberately pulling your glass towards him and pushing it up to his lips for one sip.

One single sip and a rage of unwanted heat travels down your body.

Your eyes lock with his and travel down his defined cheekbones, down to his lips glistening in the aftertaste of the wine, your wine and down to the glass he is holding rather carelessly.

“Wanted a taste,” you hear his deep voice forming a silver lining over the deafening buzz in your ears.

“Only the drink?” you challenge, albeit bolder than you have been your whole life. The man in front of you is straight out of Greek mythology and it would be utterly stupid to let this opportunity go. Especially since he actually made a move.

“Mine’s finished,” he reasons, mischief sparkling in his eyes making you chuckle as you reply, “You can always refill.” “Where’s the fun in that?” his deep laugh travels down your spine and a range of emotions spark inside your body.

You don’t know how you end up in the fountain side from the couch. All you can remember his warm hands engulfing yours and a few whispered nothings later you are giggling by the water. The moon makes a clear reflection on the monuments and quite frankly it accentuates his features even more.

“Has anyone ever told you you are beautiful?” Yeosang’s voice reaches your ears much to his own surprise. Sober Yeosang would have never even thought about this and even though he had just had one glass, blaming it on alcohol felt so much easier. Freer.

He must have lost his mind, being so high on the night and blatantly complimenting a stranger he has met a few hours prior. One night, his mind resonates and he lets the worries easily slide to the back of his mind.

“Has anyone ever told you that the birthmark can be kissed all day long? And possibly every day!” The last part comes out as a whisper and you have no idea what you are doing. Any other time your mind would be blaring with the ‘Stranger Danger’ alert but tonight you just want one taste.

One taste of the man who eludes an amount of elegance you have never dreamed of reaching.

You let out a satisfied hum when you feel his mouth on yours, hands carelessly pressed against his chest. His fingers trail down your jaw enunciating kiss after kiss forming a cloud of haze over any rational decisions in your mind. When your fingers tangle in his hair he lets out a light groan, pressing your bodies to each other wanting to take anything the night is willing to give you two.

No camera, no reporters, nobody is watching you two but Yeosang is scared. More than he has ever been in the spotlight and he is not even in the spotlight right now.

Yeosang doesn’t know what is happening from here. He has never plunged into a risk so bad. But he knows- trouble is what he likes. So one night. One night before it dissolves into the harsh reality of tomorrow! One night before he has to hear the same “Lights! Camera! Smile.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—ㅤ—

The smooth lining of the cloth wraps around Yeosang’s skin as he stands in the flashes of the camera on the Milan runway. He feels alive, free and happy to stand there and flaunt a cloth of his personal favourite designing line.

When he turns back and meets your eyes from the far behind of the curtain backstage, his laugh lines reappear and the camera flashes increase in intensity, shutters rapidly opening and closing.

"Lights! Camera! Smile!" The stage director calls out.

But this time the smile is real!

ARA'S NOTES ﹕ omg trying a different piece to write is so hard ngl. inspired by lyrics from "i can do it with a broken heart" by taylor swift. happy second anniversary to @pirateeznet yayyyyy and tysm to @daemour for beta-ing.

NAVI ﹕ @pirateeznet postㅤ⋆ㅤlibrary ㅤ atz shelfㅤ navi

TAGLIST ﹕ @haneagerr @weird-bookworm @aaa-sia @yeosayang @gong-fourz ㅤ⏤ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added.

ㅤㅤ(ㅤㅤ© arafilez on tumblrㅤㅤ)

[wutheringmights]

Commentary for latest CTB chapter???👀👀👀👀

Thank you! You guys are as prompt as ever. Unfortunately, I needed a few days to get my thoughts together (and honestly would have taken even longer if I wasn't going out of town this weekend).

I kinda struggled a bit to have Important Thoughts about this chapter (I have been so tired all week), but I did my best.

(Triggering content from the chapter are discussed below).

I’ve mentioned many times already that I suffered from a massive bout of writer’s block during this chapter; and it’s a bit hard to pinpoint what exactly caused it. 

On one hand, I think the last chapter was just so much that I may have burnt myself out on an emotional level. Usually, a week or two off is all I need to fix it, but I also had a lot of personal responsibilities that took up all of my bandwidth. 

And, frankly, there’s a part of me that is a little freaked out that I’ve been working on this story for so long, and that I might not be able to finish it within my self-imposed deadline (if I have to see CTB’s 4th birthday, I am gonna lose it). That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy writing CTB or that I feel pressured to keep going; I just felt exhausted and overwhelmed by how much of my life I’ve sunk into a story that not only refuses to end in a timely manner, but that I can’t share with anyone I know in real life. 

My burnout required a few months' rest to get over, but that’s not to say I didn’t try to work on this chapter that entire time. 

So I actually started this chapter back in April, right after I published STP. I wrote this opening scene of Link ruminating over the past and got stuck trying to transition to him being found. I got so stuck that I ended up bouncing over to the present-day section, where I got stuck in a new and novel way (which I’ll talk about more later). 

That means that everything else in the past I wrote the day before posting. On one hand, I was raring to go and I felt really good getting all those words onto paper. It did a lot for my ego. On the other, I really wish I took more time to revise a lot of this. I think the pacing overall is really strong, but there’s a few ideas I threw out into the story that I really wish I lingered on. 

For example, I mention that Link’s physical abuse was a relatively short stretch of time compared to how significant it is. Him being violent towards the engineer feels like it went on forever and forever, but it only lasted about 4 months. I like this detail so much because it helps to illustrate how even short-term abuse has lifelong effects on people. If I lingered on this chapter a bit more, I would have found more ways to ruminate on it. 

I almost had Ayane discover Link in his house. I ended up changing it to Jakucho since, as much as Ayane likes Link, she would not care enough to go check up on him.  

For the longest time, I imagined Link’s room at the Miyashita estate to be the same as the one he was held prisoner in post-Kakariko Well. But I ended up stating in that chapter that the room was located in a part of the house he had never seen before. So Link’s room was changed from a formal guest room to a study.

In universe, this is so that he’s encouraged to read books and is easily within Jakucho’s reach.

I personally got a hearty chuckle out of Link being denied chopsticks by default; he’s probably very good at using them in the present, but during this time he’s probably really shit at it. Real white boy behavior. 

If I gave myself more time to work on this section, I would have played around with the idea of him being haunted by an imaginary engineer, just as he had been haunted by an imaginary version of his old self on the way to the Kakariko Well. I don’t know if I would have committed to it, though. On one hand, it would have been a cool way to illustrate his inner thoughts. On the other, it implies a mental break I don’t think he’s experiencing. 

On a similar note, I worry that this chapter wasn’t that effective because it was way less (for a lack of better words) dramatic than the past few “Link Has A Breakdown” chapters have been?

Let me explain. So nearly every time Link has been under emotional duress before this, I’ve played with the prose to show how his reality is being warped. Take chapter 24 for example. Link gets stuck on the engineer leaving him, so the passage of time in that chapter becomes unclear-- both in him not realizing how quickly time is passing and him constantly going back to the day he realized the engineer was gone for good. The prose is written in a way that conveys that reality has broken. It’s very melodramatic. 

But for this chapter, reality is firm. Link’s mind has cleared enough to see what happened in the past clearly. The prose can’t dramatically screw with perception because that’s not what’s happening. The passage of time and the depiction of reality has to be crystal clear. 

So despite making these long, semi-experimental passages one of my signature moves, I couldn’t use it here without actively detracting from the story. On one hand, a more grounded chapter effectively shows how this breakdown is different. On the other, it’s a little basic. 

I have a bit of a problem where past!Ayane is a bit too similar in personality to Linkle. Ayane in the present day is supposed to be a cool teenager who is probably a bit of a mean girl at school-- the kind that will grow out of it the moment she leaves for college. But I wanted to show her entering this stage of life in the past, so she’s less bratty and more troublemaking.

Speaking of which, any reference to Ayane “going through a phase” is supposed to refer to her becoming a moody teenager. I didn’t realize until literally yesterday that it might come off as her family being transphobic. They’re supportive of her being a girl; they just get fed up with how much of a kid she is. 

The point of the chapter that made me start tearing up in the coffee shop is when Ayane got mad at Link for destroying the journal. I’ve been that kid who understands cognitively that a parent in your life is not well but still struggled with what that meant on an emotional level. Her family definitely explained to her that Link isn’t well and etc, but that can be kinda abstract for kids to really understand. So when the mental illness causes him to react badly, it seems to her that he is hurting her because he does not care about her. 

And there are a whole slew of issues you can explore with that idea alone, like how culpable is Link for his actions when he is unwell but still the adult? I’ve already started exploring bits of it with the child’s relationship with Link and the engineer. But exploring this idea from a different perspective (the child and his fucked up emotional issues vs Ayane’s normal preteen perspective) is always interesting. 

Link impulsively trying to kill himself was not in my original plan for the chapter, but after everything... yeah, he would try. This might have something to do with an episode of You’re Wrong About I was listening to work last week where they talked about the percentage of suicides that are impulsive decisions versus premeditated.

(Of course, today I listened to the episode on copycat suicides and now I am very nervous about this chapter being used as an instruction manuel)

I was going to have his attempt be to freeze to death outside, but then I thought of the obi belt, and I really could not resist alluding back to the hanging scene in chapter 13

It ended up being a good transition into a scene I’ve wanted to do for a while now: Ayane’s mom asking him to continue acting like Ayane’s older brother. 

I originally wanted that moment back when their friendship was just starting out, but decided to toss it to his depression arc to act as a moment of encouragement for him. What I didn’t expect was to stumble into this scene being both a way to talk him out of suicide, as well as him realizing he’s a shitty brother. I’m a terrible brother is a monumental realization for him, and I stumbled into it by accident. 

I was tempted to remove Ayane’s mother from this scene and put Jakucho here instead. But Jakucho would never ask Link to play an older brother role. Plus, I like the idea that a random, near-stranger accidentally talked him down without realizing what they were doing. 

And of course, having Ayane’s mother talk helps to develop the Miyashita family dynamic and give a better idea as to why Shigeo is estranged. 

Ayane’s mother also has a very tiny appearance earlier in the story-- chapter 9, when we meet Jakucho for the first time. Granted, I think I only referred to her as Impa’s sister. 

I also stumbled accidentally into the moment with the koi fish and using them as a symbol for perseverance. I really like that scene. I almost named the chapter “The Koi Pond” in its honor. 

I also admit that until fairly recently, I also didn’t know fish could live in frozen water. 

I went back and forth about whether I wanted to make a big moment at the beginning of the chapter about Link going non-verbal, or if I should let it build up slowly; I ended up going with the latter.

I didn’t want to make his non-verbalness the center of his issues when it’s just a consequence of his depression. He’s not depressed and non-verbal. He’s non-verbal because he’s depressed. So waiting until the second half of this section to address it homely drove home that this is only a symptom of a larger issue. 

This chapter also gave me the opportunity to address my sign language headcanon; it’s standard taught in school, but not in a way where everyone is actually good at it. It’s like learning Spanish in elementary school; you grow up remembering a few phrases and words, but never actually become bilingual. 

I like the way the bell motif is used in this chapter. In the past, Proxi’s bells are a sign that things are going to get better. In the present, the Castle Town bells signal that things are about to get a whole lot worse. 

But, yes! After all this time, Proxi is finally here. Hopefully the long wait for her introduction/return will be worth while.

For the present day:

Remember how I said my writer’s block struck for this part of the chapter as well? I solved it in the dumbest way possible. 

One of my big issues was that I didn’t know how to string everything that I needed to get done into a cohesive chapter (because if the chapter isn’t good, then I would have wasted so much of my time on a story that isn’t good, and etc.). My solution was to write a flat draft with only the stuff needed to move the plot forward (talking to Ganondorf, getting on the boat, etc), and then do revisions where I added character moments.

Except, I did character moments by the character. So I would spent a week adding scenes about Spirit, then another about Time, and so on. I said in this post that I turned a 5k draft into a 12k draft. Yikes. 

Because I wrote the chapter like this, I think the pacing is not great. The dinner scene and the post-Midlink gossiping was originally one scene, which I split into two to accommodate other character stuff. But I also think this is one of the most well-balanced chapters in terms of how many characters got a moment to shine. 

I’m really enjoying how much you all enjoy Ganondorf. I think nearly every comment on the chapter so far has mentioned him. I almost regret keeping him in the Zora’s Domain right now, but have no fear. He will be back. 

I am endlessly amused by this moment when Warriors realizes he has to talk to Spirit again, and he thinks “Spirit. / Fucking Spirit.” Is he cursing him out, or is he remembering... you know...

I mentioned a long time ago that one of the issues I had to fix when starting this chapter was finding something for the rest of the Chain to do in this final act. I figured out what their deal is, and a lot of tiny moments in this chapter is the set-up for that.

In a similar vein, I feel like I lost the thread on Time for a hot while there. I really had to mull over what his problem is, how he was going to respond, and how I can show Time responding near Warriors so that the reader can know. I’ve never had this much difficulty writing him-- or characters in general-- before. Hence, my on-going battle against writer’s block.

Another amusing moment that only I think it funny: Spirit lifting Warriors up by the scruff of his neck to haul into the alley way, like he’s an old cat. Honestly, I should write more jokes based around Spirit being strong enough to lift Warriors now.

Now that I think about it, I have a scene in my head where Warriors bitches so much while traveling that Spirit just throws him over his shoulder and carries him like a sack of rice. Is it out of character for both of them? Yeah, but we can imagine it happens in the AU where they are friends.

I have been wanting to provide some form of a resolution for Midna and Twilight for so long, but there hasn’t been a good moment to make them talk-- or at least, a moment where they can talk while Warriors is nearby to listen.

I really enjoy striking a comparison between how Midna and Twilight hashed everything out versus the bullshit Warriors got up to last chapter, especially because Midna and Twilight’s solution was to just give up. It’s not going to work out ever, so they might as well enjoy themselves now.

I love MidLink so much, but part of that love is in how it 100% would not work out between them. As Midna says, they would hate each other in a year. But they keep trying anyway because they love each other right now and that’s what matters. 

Speaking of which, Midna’s “we’ll hate each other in a year” line is a reference to the Greta Gerwig Little Women movie. I love that movie so much, enough that I can forgive Timothy Chamalet for being in it. He has a scene where his proposal is met with basically the same sentiment from Saoirse Ronan’s character. 

Tiny little headcanon: Skyloft’s theater style is very similar to ancient Greek theater, with heavy use of masks and choruses. That’s why he mimics holding a mask when performing Twilight’s line for Lana.

His line was originally something Twilight actually said, but then I went in a revised the MidLink scene and got rid of it. I kept Sky’s mocking of it because I thought it was more realistic.

I won’t say much about what the boys talked about post-confession scene, except to point out that they were kept up by the noise, they might have an idea of the timing of when everything went down during the Hot Mess

I’m glad everyone found my joke about always going to Wild’s era funny lol

Chateau Milk (aka: alcoholic milk beverages) is a tiny little world building detail I have been dying to do for ages. I wanted to use any scene of milk-drinking to shove in a joke about Hyrule being intensely lactose intolerant (he’s immune to all bad food except dairy), but I couldn’t squeeze it it. 

The ribbon kinda got a disproportionate role considering how briefly I referenced Spirit losing it last chapter. 

The reason Warriors was sharing a room with Four was so that I could finally do a follow-up on the Four Swords stuff I started forever ago, but it has once more been punted off to another chapter. Maybe one day...

By the time I got to this second conversation with Time, I was feeling much better about how I was writing him. Between this and his earlier appearance, this is definitely the stronger moment. 

I also deeply amused by Ganondorf and Lincoln have to pretend to be very bitchy with each other in order to not seem like they were married. I wanted to write a scene where Ganondorf argues that Lincoln needs to show him the proper request so that Lincoln would have an excuse to kiss his hand, but I ended up not having the energy or will power to go back in and add it. 

Spirit is so not used to anyone having a genuine interest in his senses that Sky’s question totally caught him off guard. Thank god Sky is the type of person who would ask because I got a good moment to clarify more of the limits of Spirit’s senses-- mainly, that a lot of the info he gets is so contextual that most of it is nonsense to him

To clarify, Spirit’s senses freak out people outside of his era. In New Hyrule, where the idea is a bit more common place, it’s considered rude to ask just as its rude to tell people what you sense. Lokomo customs, and all that.

I didn’t plan on having Spirit cut his hair, but I was deep in the throes of writer’s block and felt like I needed to write about Spirit doing something a little insane to respike my interest. Cutting off your hair because the guy you hated saved your ribbon fitted the bill nicely.

(Nonetheless-- RIP Spirit’s long hair. You were much beloved)

Spirit and Lana’s relationship has always been very underbaked on my part. I didn’t do a lot with them at the beginning of the story, and I haven’t done much with it now (or even much with Lana in general). Here is a vague attempt to salvage my mistakes. If I could ever revise the whole of CTB (I will never), this would be one of the things I would improve

Oh God... the Nephus stuff...

Like, I knew this was going to happen. What I worry about is whether it feels cheap to just have a character go back on their word like that. It’s realistic, if only because Warriors’s deal was really shitty. But on the other, it’s not very satisfying for the reader. You want the characters to have complex reasons for everything. I’m not sure that this qualifies. 

And this applies to all of the war stuff this chapter. Did Nephus lie about not wanting the Triforce? Whatever the answer is now, it’s not going to be satisfying. 

I know I said previously that Lincoln had no suspicions as to what happened during the Hot Mess. Well, I lied. Guy had it figured out fairly early on and only needed the opportunity to ask.

I just hope this scene with him and Spirit shows how Lincoln can be Warriors’s dad. Warriors is his mother’s son, but some of his insanity is from his father. 

Also we’ll pretend Lincoln has had that arm tattoo this entire time. The tattoo is not plot relevant, but it’s important to me.

Legend’s “it’s always the fucking Triforce” speech is my favorite Legend line in a chapter.

On a subconscious level, I was basing Castle Town on Boston. Why? I have no good reason. Just felt right. 

I really wish I managed to get us to Castle Town any time before this part of the story, if only to explore all the various neighborhood ideas I have. I managed to squeeze in the Gerudo neighborhood, but I have more thoughts on neighborhoods for the Zora, Goron, Rito, and even regular-old humans. 

I’m going to tell you right now that the girl in the graveyard is not plot relevant. I had a whole thing about the grave being a memorial for all the heroes across the eras and her praying to the memorial for a new hero that I just never got around to explaining

“Shines with humility” is another line that deeply amused me. Like, buddy. That is not how humility works.  

The Master Sword rejecting Warriors is supposed to feel very fitting and very unfair, all at once. I wanted people to understand why he’s lost the right to use her while still being frustrated that he was still being punished. I wanted this to be another opportunity for complex feelings. I don’t think the scene hit the right way, but that’s alright.

There was a point of time where I was plotting this half of the story when I realized I could use the Triforce scar idea that I had previously abandoned. I like the idea and the scene a lot, but I wonder if it feels forced? Like the whole story bent over backwards to make my silly idea possible. Let me know if this feels like a natural conclusion, or if I messed up somehow. 

That being said, this whole scene where Warriors and Spirit were cutting the Triforce into his hand was a lot of fun to write. Nothing breaks writer’s block like writing an insane character dynamic. 

I feel like I should talk more about themes and what this means for them, but you have eyes. You probably get the point by now. Instead, I will inform you that I did try to read that section to my writing friends, who all agreed that they did not have enough context to understand what the fuck was going on. And, yeah. That’s fair. 

I really wish I waxed more poetry about Warriors reentering the public eye. I did not have enough willpower to revise the hell out of that scene. However, I love the ending bit with Warriors asking Hyrule to make sure he gets the scar. 

One last thing-- I really should have done a revision because an important plot element may have gotten lost in it. I won’t say what, but hopefully it won’t cause problems down the road. 

And that’s the chapter! I feel like I didn’t have a lot to talk about this chapter, despite taking a near-week to write up all my thoughts. Next one should hopefully come sooner, but note that I still have a few more weekend trips and real life responsibilities to handle. My life is not settling down again until the beginning of October. 

I really want to emphasize that my bitching about my writer’s block and the source of it is not something I really need sympathy for, and it’s really not something encouragement is going to fix on it’s own. I appreciate the thought, but a lot of my issues right now just require some self-reflection on my part. I don’t want anyone feeling forced to drop a nice word or feel worried I’ll drop the story without it; I’ll still dedicated to finishing CTB. I just need some time (and to stop hanging out with my extended family). 

In other news, my friend offered to bind CTB into a book for me. Well, books. She knew the word count going in, but I have heard many complaints about how long CTB is. Apparently, it’s 6 volumes so far. Some volumes only have two chapters. When I told her I updated last Sunday, I saw the light leave her eyes. I love her dearly, and I will find a way to pay her back for this. 

[thegracelessfaceless]

Coming Home From Work to Sal

Tw: drug use mention

It's been a long day

You might argue the longest

Regardless of the field you work in

Every interaction you had today was a difficult one

People where whiny and obstinate

Simple tasks turned tedious and frustrating

And the work hours just dragged by

Every second expanding and then collapsing on itself with each tick of the clock hand

Whatever they're paying you...

Today it just isn't enough

You want nothing more than this shift to end because at least you know that at clock out time, they can't exactly force you to stay

The moment finally gets here

Clock out time

And you beat feet to your ride home

And as you walk up the front steps

There he is framed in the doorway

Sal, hair mussed from his after work shower, baggy pajama bottoms featuring characters from Ricko's Modish Wife, and a band shirt for King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard

He holds the door for you and follows behind you as you shed your uniform on the way to the bathroom

And then listens as you unload your day

From the stupid overreaction about a small hiccup provided by Brandy in sales

To the complete Karen of an old woman who just kept haranguing you

To the fact that you totally overcommitted yourself with work duties today that were and weren't actually necessary

Sal diligently follows you from the bathroom and shower, to the bedroom (where he stole a few kisses and maybe a few squeezes too), to the kitchen where you both ate dinner standing up over the sink, and then finally to the living room

To console you on your bad day, Sal turns on your favorite guilty pleasure show

Even though watching it always makes him feel like happily slamming a door onto his head repeatedly

He engages in the show, and finds himself getting invested in it too

Also provided by Sal:

A foot rub after a long foot soak in the foot soaker Maple bought you for Christmas

Warm blankets

A big ol' bowl/joint/blunt/whathaveyou, if you partake. If not, Sal will have already handled this step himself before you got home

Your favorite snacks, along with some of his because he knows you secretly enjoy them

Hot tea/steamed milk/coffee, depending on your preference (Sal actually makes killer coffee despite not drinking it. He's surrounded by coffee drinkers, he had to learn at some point)

And then finally,

When you both retire for the night

Sal reads you a few chapters from whatever book he's reading

He could read you a stereo manual and you'd eat up every minute of it

You constantly suggest to Sal that he should make an ASMR channel on YouTube

Just his deep, raspy voice carefully articulating words so his Jersey doesn't show as much

Lulling you to sleep

And in those last few moments of consciousness, you feel Sal's lips press to your forehead

Goodnight Reader, I hope your day is better tomorrow and I love you

Vent section: For those of you who follow my blog and know my life, I work on a dementia ward. We got a new resident today. She is completely rude and hateful, incessantly talks, picks on/picks fights with other residents, argues for arguments sake, and biological functioned in the hall (TWICE). Needless to say, her presence has thrown off my entire work groove. I tried to compensate by deciding to do linens today, help out... For rooms 13-24... All of them. It was almost too much but I got it done right before my shift was done. I work 12 hour shifts so 15 loads was a completely doable task... Right? Anyway, while I was doing that, two of my residents (besties, Ms. Daisy and Ms. Eileen (all names have been changed for privacy and dignity)) managed to slip through the coded fire doors that lock down the hall (dementia patients wander and get lost easily, we have to keep them locked down for their safety). They didn't go far. The rest of the building caters to elderly people who just need a little help, and Daisy and Eileen went to the dining room on that wing. An elopement is when a resident manages to get completely out of the building, out in the world . So not even really an elopement. But mass panic ensued while we were trying to find out how they got out. Turns out they were camping the doors, and waited for a family member to come through and slipped out... Very crafty. One headcount later, administration finally left and it was back to dealing with the new lady, Glenda, who I'm sure will appear in many incorrect quotes on my blog. I normally completely loathe a new resident when we get them. As you can see, it throws off my whole day. I'll get used to her, figure out who she needs me to be, and be that person for her. I'm sure we'll end up thick as thieves. It's always the difficult ones that I end up liking the most.

[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #1222: Watching the Sunset Together (Sonic X DK Country)

7:15 p.m. at the Smash Beach............

Funky: (Sighs Relaxingly While Sittong to Wave, Watching the Sunset Together) Now, this is a view of the century right here.

Wave: The color and shade on that sunset does look very pleasing to the eyes. Relaxing even.

Funky: (Smiles Brightly to Wave) That's the best thing about watching the sunset, baby. It's so bright and vibrant that it erases all your stress and troubles you've received in your day and helps ease your mind to an all time low. Can't even begin to tell how many times it helped me out over the years.

Wave: (Forms a Bit of a Teasing Smirk on her Face) You, the most laid back Kong in the planet, gets stressed out that easily? That's a shock of the century if i ever heard one~

Funky: (Chuckles Lightly) It's the honest truth, little lady! Even your boi here have his stressed filled moments from time to time. Helping out the Kongs, getting all the machines and techs are fixed up for completion, keeping Konga Island safe and secured from any reoccuring and/or potential threats, finishing off massive pilesof paperworks on the side, and rinse and repeat.

Wave: (Eyes Widened in Genuine Surprise) Oh god....That's even worse than my work schedule.

Funky: (Casually Shrugs) Yeah, it's a tiresome chore, but it's nothing I can't handle completely. But since we're on the topic of work related schedules, what's yours like?

Wave: Oh just the usual: Preparing and settong up business meetings, fix up and modify almost every new Extreme Gears release, do a couple of researches here and there, make sure Jet does his share of paperwork- (Starts Rolling her Eyes in a Bit Annoyance) While also making sure he doesn't go out and try picking fights with Sonic again in the process.....

Funky: Those two has been butting heads for longest now, huh?

Wave: Yeah. Since the day they've first met at Metal City. Sorry if their consent bickering became a bother to you out there.....

Funky: (Gives Wave a Reassuring Smile) Nah, don't even worry about it, little lady. Rivalry as fiery as theirs helps build characters and personal growths.

Wave: Don't forget ego.

Funky: (Chuckles Lightly) Yeah, that too. But my point still stands. Let the boys keep having their heated feud. And tell 'em I'll be around if they want another rematch with yours truly, will ya?

Wave: Will do.

'Bit of Silence'

'Sound of the Smaller Waves Coming in the Shore'

Wave: (Starts Scratching her Cheek Very Lightly) So uhh.....Can I ask you something?

Funky: Sure. What's up?

Wave: I heard you used to hate going on adventures a lot. Is that true?

Funky: ('Sigh') Yeah, adventures and I never clicked together those days. They're filled with a lot of danger and risks you can fall right into if you're not careful and I wanted no part of it for as long as I could even remember. That is until the day the Snowmads sailed into the island and took over. DK and the crew weren't seen and heard from shortly after that, so i had to set out, look for them, and the fight the baddies off myself. (Looks Up at the Sunset) It was a little nerve-wracking at first- (Smiles a Little) But I slowly started to warm up to it the more time passes by. And once the day and jungle was saved afterwards, I felt good, more alive than I've been in my entire life, and I wanted to have another go at it one of these days if I ever get the chance.

Wave: (Smiles Softly) You should. Despite the dangerous hazzards the locations may have long ahead, It could still be a pretty fun and exhilarating experience if you know what you're doing. Heck, if you like, you're more than welcome to join me on a Treasure Hunting Adventures someday. (Starts Blushing and Whispering) Just the two of us.......

Funky: (Turns Back to Wave With a Bit of a Smirk on his Face) Two of us you say?~

Wave: (Eyes Widened Before Turning Back to Funky) Uh. Y-Yeah. (Puts on a Pouty Looking Face) What of it?

Funky: (Casually Shrugs) Oh nothing. It's just that whenever I see two people, with a close, stable relationship, doing anything alone together- (Lowers his Shades, Showing off the Cool, Sophisticated Look in his Eyes) It mostly negates to that of a date of some kind~

Wave: (Blush Turns Bright Red) O-O-Oh GET REAL, JERK! (Quickly Turns Away From Funky with her Arms Close) It's just a trip between two, highly knowledgeable associates, nothing more!......But.....say if this whole thing was a date propsal.....(Slowly Turns Back to Funky) Would you accept? H-Hypothetically speaking of course.

Funky: (Grabs his Chin While Thinking) Welllll.....if that were to ever been made from anyone else I don't know all too well, I'd probably wouldn't accept right away, but if it's from you, little lady- (Smirks at Wave Again) I would take you out in a heartbeat~

Funky Kong Winks at Wave, causing her get even more flustered than originally.

Wave: J-Just me, huh?

Funky: (Chuckles Lightly) Yep! Only you. You're pretty cool to hangout with in general, so why not?

Wave: (Rolls her Eyes) Probably the reason why most people don't give me the time of day: I'm boring, bossy, know-it-all.

Funky: Hey now. Ain't no shame in knowing a lot of things, everyone needs someone to keep them in check sometimes, and you are far from being boring in my eyes, Wave. And if any those folks thinks otherwise and still ignore you because of it, then that's all on them. (Forms a Cheeky Grin) It just means I can have you all to myself. (Immediately Starts Blushing as Wel Whilrle his Smile Turns More Sheepish Likel) I-If that's alright with you, of course?~

Wave: (Almost at a Loss For Words) Funky.....I-

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!~

Wave/Funky: (Turns to the Source of the Sound) What the/Huh?

????: (Lowering the Two Girls Down Behind a Randomly Place Umbrella) Amy! Coco! Get down!

Wave: (Groans and Facepalms Herself Once She Immediately Figured Out Who the Culprits Are) Oh... my freaking god I hate them.....

Funky: Those your friends from over there?

Wave: Yeah. Friends who ate about to be eviscerated in the next few seconds once I'm through with them. (Gets Herself Up From the Towel her and Funky Were Sitting on) You think you could give a sec?

Funky: (Gives Wave a Thumb Up) Sure thing, miss thing. Take all the time you. But before you go, I gotta ask?

Wave: Hm?

Funky: That treasure hunt you want us to go on together.....(Starts Rubbing The Back of his Head Back and Forth) Do you....want it to be an actual date or-

Before he could finish his sentence, Wave suddenly gives Funky a kiss on the cheek before standing back up and smiling at him.

Wave: Yeah. It's a date. We'll discuss the plans going forward in a bit, 'Kay? (Winks at Funky Before Walking Off)

Funky: (Watches Wave Leave in Genuine Surprise as He Place his Hand as He Blushes Once More) ........Sweet.

Meanwhile Behind the Umbrella.......

Tails: ('Sigh') Honestly. Would it kill you girls to not lose cover that quickly? (Plave his Hand on his Chest) I think I felt my heart skip a beat or two-oof! (Suddenly Gets Pulled into a Loving Hug by Amy)

Amy: Those two are so cute together, Tails, we couldn't help it!~

Coco: Funky's laid back surfer vibe blends in with Wave's bossy attitude super well!~ Good thing too. (Starts Whispering into Tails' Ear) Home girl could DEFINITELY use a chill pill these days.

????: I heard that!!

The trio gets startled a bit as they look up to see Wave glaring down at them.

Wave: And did any of you dinguses forget how rude it is to spy on people in brod daylight?

Tails: (Smiles Sheepishly) S-Sorry, Wave. You've been hanging with Funky all day today that we could help but to spy on you a bit.

Coco: (Forms a Teasing Smirk on her Face) And judging by everything we've seen so far, I take it you're enjoying his company pretty well so far?~ Hmm~

Wave: Yeah, I am. ('Sigh') And before any of you even think about asking, yes. We are scheduled for a date in the near- OOF!

Amy: (Immediately Hugs Wave) OH MY GOD, CONGRATULATIONS!!!!~ I'm so very happy for the both of you!~ There's so much we need to prepare for.

Wave: (Winces in Pain by Amy's Tight Hugs) Prepare for what? My hospital bill?

Amy: Your date!~ I can tell by your looks alone thar your inexperienced. Luckily for you, I, Amy Rose, will be your guidance of love, passion, affection, suspense.....(Conyers Rambling On)

Wave: ('Ugh') I regret opening this beak of mines.....(Turns to The Two Tailed Fox) Tails, get your romance obsessed sister off of me!

Tails: (Shrugs) Sorry. Occupied at the moment.

Wave: Doing what!?

Coco: (Hugs Tails Lovingly) Getting hugged by yours truly! I promised I give him some today~

Tails: (Hugs Coco Back) I miss her hugs~

Coco: (Happily Snuggles onto Tails' Embrace) I miss yours more, bud~

Wave You think I give a damn!? HELP ME!

Tails: ('GASPS') Wave Swallow, language!

Coco: (Shakes her Head in Disappointment) And here I thought you were the most mature out of the three of us. Come, Tails, let's take our hugs and innocence elsewhere.

Tails: (Simply Nodded) Let's.

Wave: (Flabbergasted) Are you serious right now- HEY!

Tails and Coco walks away together in arms.

Wave: (Angrily Yells at the Kids) Where are you even going!? I swear to God, if you two brats don't get your butts back here in the next TEN SECONDS I'LL- (Continues Yelling and Sqwaking like a Bird)

Elsewhere in the Outdoor Bar.......

Sonic: (Starts Hearing Familiar, Angry Sounding Sqwak Noises While Sittting Next to Jet) Hang on. Is that Wave just now?

Jet: Yep.

Sonic: (Turns to Jet) Should we find out what's going on or.....

Jet: (Casually Fling his Hand Down a Bit) Nah. This is Wave we're talking about here. She can handle her problems just fine. (Takes a Sip of the Beverage He Ordered)

Sonic: (Shrugs) If you say so. (Tales a Sip of his Drink astime? Before Smirking at Jet) Rematch at a different beach next time?

Jet: You're on.

@caleb13frede

@bestpony666

@ma-lemons

@decibelcoatl

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

The Betrayer | Chapter Nine: Different Light

You saw everything with a sudden, blinding sort of clarity then.

Pairing: Albert Wesker/F!Reader, Chris Redfield/F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Violence Mention, Pregnancy/Miscarriage Mention, Slight Blood, Smut

Notes: Hey, everybody! I know it has been a hot minute since I posted, but my life has been insane lately, between school and personal things happening that have taken up a lot of my time and energy. Fortunately, this chapter is the longest one so far at a whopping 13.8k words and also our first smut scene, so I hope that's enough of a gift for your patience lol. I know last time I said I was going to post another flashback sequence, but I ended up breaking those up and scattering them in later chapters because I felt it flowed better that way. My updates might be kinda slow from here on out because the plot is starting to become more involved with every chapter, so it's taking more time and brain power to write them, but I also think they're getting better with every installment (as well as longer) so I can't complain on my end lol. I'm just really proud of how this story is progressing and seeing Lucky's development as her own character. I am loosely forming this fic into a five-act structure, and I think I consider this chapter to be the end of Act I. Anyway, I really hope you like this chapter as much as I do! If you want to, I'd love to see your favorite lines or scenes in the comments, but no pressure! I just like knowing what people enjoy about the story lol.

Masterlist | Previous | Next

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Day 2; Survivors’ Camp

You weren’t sure how long you sat there crying, soaking Chris’s shirt through with your tears like you had the night before.

But what else could you do but mourn? 

You had lost everything, and now the man you loved–who you had spoken to mere days ago like nothing was amiss–had become a monster. Had been so quick to hurt you.

A couple days and your entire life as you knew it was changed forever. 

How do you move forward from that?

You knew grief. It was familiar to you. Losing your mother was a constant ache that would never go away, but you had learned to live with it. Maneuver around it.

But this level of tragedy? So many of your friends, gone. Every member of your little family but your brother, gone. Your entire city, gone. You never thought you’d experience something like this. Couldn’t even fathom something of this scale.

And you? You were meant to be just another body to add to the pile. Someone else to be lost to the ash and dust that now made up your home.

At the center of it all, though, was Wesker and what he had done. 

You had held him in such high regard. 

You had loved him.

And he treated the lives of you and your team like they were nothing.

“Just lambs for slaughter,” he had said, as if that’s all they ever amounted to. As if he didn’t see them every day for two years. As if he didn’t roll his eyes and lightly chuckle at their antics. As if they wouldn’t have died to save him given the choice.

You thought of those red eyes and your dead friends’ faces suddenly flashed through your mind.

Joseph. Forest. Richard. Kenneth. Edward. Marini.

Were their lives really worth the power he gained?

Was yours?

“Come on, Lucky. Let’s get you something to eat, okay?” Chris coaxed, peeling you off of him gently to peer down at you.

You knew you looked a mess. Your hair was sticking to your face, your eyes were red and puffy, and your cheeks were blotchy from rubbing them against Chris’s shirt. But, you realized, you were no longer crying.

You nodded, breathing shakily as he stood and held out his hand for you to take, the large man easily pulling you to your feet. He led you to the fire once more, perhaps thinking you were cold due to the trembling of your form, and sat you on one of the logs.

“Me and Steve still have dinner duty for the next few days, so I have to go to the kitchen, but I’ll be back soon.” His tone almost sounded like he was talking to a small child and not an adult woman–which a part of you took offense to–but you found it comforting anyway. He was trying, and you appreciated it.

You simply nodded yet again, unable to muster a basic response, let alone your usual snark. You were too drained for that.

He gave you a small smile, stroking your hair tenderly before turning to leave.

You felt the stares of the other survivors on you as you sat there, and realized with embarrassment that you just had a full-blown meltdown in front of the entire camp. You could only imagine what they must be thinking.

Probably that you were pathetic. That you were weak.

You couldn’t be angry about it, though. They would be right. 

All you could do was sigh deeply and curl in on yourself, your head in your hands and your eyes squeezed shut. 

You wished your brain could turn off, but you were bombarded with every horrid image–real or imagined–of the things you had learned of and experienced instead.

Killers in masks. Monsters. Fire. Ashes. Corpses. Blood. 

So much blood.

Soaked in their blood–

“Hey…” came a soft voice, their hand pressing to your back as they stood beside you.

You unfurled yourself slowly, opening your eyes to see Jill regarding you, concern in her blue gaze.

“Hey,” you replied finally, swallowing down your emotions as best you could. 

She smiled lightly and sat beside you, the two of you turning your attention to the crackling flames. “I know this is probably a stupid question, but… you okay?”

You sniffled, wiping your nose with your sleeve. “No. Don’t know if I ever will be again if I’m honest.” 

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you will be.” Her tone was soft but resolute, as if there was no room for argument. As if it were the absolute truth.

“And how do you know that?” you interrogated, your voice raising as your sadness turned bitter, whipping your head to face her.

She didn’t meet your gaze, and you could see the reflection of the campfire dancing in her eyes. “Because I lived it too.”

You snapped your mouth shut, a feeling of shame wedging itself in your throat.

How self-absorbed could you be? You weren’t the only one suffering here. In fact, everyone was suffering here. That was the point of this place, wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry, Jill. Should have invited you to the pity party I’m throwing, huh?”

She laughed at that, gripping your forearm with her hand as she faced you. “You don’t need to be sorry, Lucky. You have every right to be upset. To grieve. But you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone. You have me and Chris–Rebecca and Claire. And when you get close to the others, you’ll have them too.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, the weight lifting, if only slightly. You still felt a twinge of guilt as you recalled the trial, however, believing you needed to add, “And I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you in time back there, by the way. I tried, but I was too late.”

“It happens. No use crying over spilled milk, right?” 

“Or spilled guts…” you muttered.

She rolled her eyes. “Hey, at least you’re all patched up now.”

You startled at that, suddenly aware of the fact that she was right. 

You looked down at your person, not an injury, rip, or stain in sight, save for the dirt on the back of your jeans from sitting on the ground. Your ankle was completely healed and the cut on your face was gone, as well as the wounds you received during the trial.

But you still felt the ghost of an ache in your neck from where Wesker had broken it.

And something else. Almost like a piece of you was missing. So small, you probably wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t taking inventory of your body at that moment. 

“Every death you experience, you come back… not quite right,” Chris had told you the day prior.

You could barely contain the shiver that rolled up your spine.

You took a deep breath.

Find the silver lining.

“Yeah, at least there’s that.” 

“Ladies! How’s it going?” Carlos called jovially as he approached the two of you.

When you turned to greet him, though, he was watching you carefully, like you were some cornered animal that would bite his hand off if he made any sudden moves.

Might not be far off, you thought with dark amusement.

 “Been better,” Jill told him truthfully before knocking her shoulder into yours, “but we’re tough.”

“Would never doubt it,” he replied, plopping on the ground behind you. You and Jill flipped over on the log to face him, the fire immediately warming up your spine. 

Carlos glanced back at you, then, clearly debating if he should make a comment or not. You were about to tell him to spit it out when he beat you to it, “The trial didn’t go well, I take it?”

You scoffed. “What was your first clue?”

“Rebecca telling us Wesker’s in the realm now, probably.”

You went rigid at the man’s name, not sure if you were ready to talk about it just yet.  

Carlos, sensing your obvious discomfort, changed routes, “You gonna be okay, Lucky? You seemed pretty… shook up… when you got back.”

You met Jill’s eyes for a moment and she smiled at you fondly before you answered, “I will be.”

He nodded and the three of you sat in silence for a while before he spoke again, “Not to be nosy, but what were you two chatting about before I came over?”

Jill laughed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we were talking about how at least Lucky’s all healed up now.”

“Yeah, how exactly does that even work?” you questioned.

Carlos shrugged. “We aren’t sure. Just know that when we die, our bodies revert to what they were when we first ended up in the realm.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Let’s say you showed up here with long hair. You decide to cut it short, maybe because it’s easier to deal with or just because you like it better that way, right?”

“... Okay?”

“Well, you get into a trial and you end up dying. When you wake up back at camp, your hair is gonna be long again. Like it was when the fog first took you. We don’t know how it works, but we do know it’s the Entity keeping us from aging.”

“Holy fuck…” You didn’t know what to make of that. The idea of never aging might have been comforting in a different context, but here? Yikes.

You supposed it made sense, insomuch that you existed in some reality-bending hellscape. You figured you’d stop being shocked by every new piece of information you learned at some point, but apparently that wasn’t today. 

“Chris didn’t tell you about this?” You shook your head and Carlos blew air through his teeth. “Chris never slacks off. Must be losing it.”

“Hey, he’s just had a lot on his mind lately,” Jill defended.

You turned to her. “Are you talking about me being here?”

“Yeah. It really threw him off, finding you.” A melancholy look flashed across her face. “He never thought he’d see you again. He's just trying to wrap his head around it. We both are.”

“Oh.”

Carlos grimaced, realizing he struck a nerve. “Well, I don’t mind telling you what I know, in any case.”

“Thanks, dude. You’re a real one.”

The three of you laughed, the conversation turning lighter as you moved on to other topics, asking Carlos and Jill as many questions about your new world as you could think of. Unfortunately, their usual answer was “I don’t know”. You doubted the other survivors would be any more informed.  

You were startled when a hand clamped on your shoulder and looked up to find Chris behind you, a bowl in his hand. “Here, for you.”

You thanked him with an appreciative smile and took it from him, a joyful gasp escaping you when you realized it was chili that filled the ceramic.

He cupped a hand over his mouth and called for the other survivors to get their dinner, which made you feel a little guilty that you were served first. Jill and Carlos didn’t complain, though–didn’t even seem surprised–as they stood to form a line in front of Steve just a few feet away.

Chris sat next to you, eyeing you with furrowed brows as you ate.

For some reason, you couldn’t meet his gaze, instead staring at the contents of your bowl. “It’s really good.”

“It’s just a bunch of heated-up canned chili. Can’t exactly take credit for the taste.”

You giggled. “And here I thought you were some sort of culinary genius.”

Chris smiled at you and it made your heart flip inside your chest. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“You can thank Jill and Carlos for that. I was pretty determined to be miserable til they came over,” you joked.

“Maybe I should get pointers,” he said, dropping his large hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing absent-mindedly over the fabric of your jeans.

It sent a jolt through you, but you tried to ignore it. “Don’t sell yourself short, Redfield. If it weren’t for you, I think I would have lost my mind already.”

“Thanks, but you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, you know that?” 

The way he looked at you… it was like you were the only person to exist in that moment. It made you feel warm.

But he was wrong. 

You didn’t have the heart to argue, though, simply nodding and turning back to your food.

“I got permission to let you take a bath, by the way. I’ll fill the tub up in a bit.” 

You dropped your spoon, your eyes shooting to his face once more. “I thought only people who survived the trial could use the bath?”

“Yeah, that’s the usual case. We take camp-wide votes for big decisions, but Jake, Claudette, Meg, and Dwight are kind of our unofficial leaders since they were here first. I convinced them to let you have this because of… well, everything you’ve been through the last couple of days.”

“And they agreed, just like that?” They seemed to be taking their water conservation very seriously, so this was surprising to you. 

He shook his head. “No, ended up offering to clean the outhouses for a week, and gave up my own chance to bathe the next time I survive a trial. Could be worse, though.”

You gasped. “Chris, you don’t need to do that! I’m not even dirty anymore.”

“It’s not a big deal, Lucky. In fact… I wish I could do more.”   

Tears welled in your eyes, overwhelmed by his willingness to go above and beyond just to offer you any comfort he could. “Thank you.”

He gave you a small smile and squeezed your knee gently before standing. “I’ll get the water heated up.” 

“What can I do to help?” you asked, setting your half-eaten food on the log beside you to jump to your feet.

Chris stopped you from getting up by placing a firm hold on your shoulder. “No, I got this. You just finish eating and rest, okay?”

“Well, you should at least get dinner first, Chris. I’m sure you’re starving.”

His hand moved to cup your face, brown eyes stern as they met your own. “Don’t worry about it, Lucky. I’ll eat when I’m done. Just hang tight.”

“... Fine,” you sighed, picking your bowl up once more.

“It shouldn’t be too long.” He leaned forward and kissed the crown of your head before walking away.

You weren’t sure you would ever get used to the sudden affection from your friend, but you weren’t complaining. You much preferred this to his cheesy pick-up lines. 

You flipped your legs back over the log to face the fire once more, eating your chili slowly in order to savor it.

Rebecca made her way over to you, her own bowl in hand, and sat next to you. “Hey, Lucky. Good to see you’re not hurt anymore.”

You nodded at that. “Yeah, I was pretty fucked up before… well, you know.”

“You mean beyond the ankle and the cut on your face?”

“Yeah. Had a concussion and ripped open my arm. It was rough.”

“How did he… end it? Did he just hook you?”

Your hand shot to your throat at that, the familiar ache returning just at the mention of it. “No. He, uh, he snapped my neck.”

Her brows lifted. “Well, that’s… unexpected. But not unheard of, I guess. Just doesn’t really seem like him, though, you know?”

“At this point, there’s very little I do know anymore.”

Rebecca worried her bottom lip with her teeth, looking at the fire. “I was devastated when they told me what happened at the mansion. Half the team, wiped out. And to think he was behind it all… It’s just awful.”

“You’re telling me,” you replied with a humorless laugh.

“I think the worst part was finding out what happened to Richard.” She turned back to you, placing her small hand on your upper arm. “And to you.”

“For better or for worse, at least I’m here now,” you told her, curling your fingers over hers.

She smiled, eyes shining. “For better. Definitely for better.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as you finished eating, but you caught her gaze wandering to the dark-haired girl she had been talking to the night before. Cheryl, if you weren’t mistaken.

“You seem to be getting pretty close with that girl,” you teased. “Hasn’t it only been a week since you got here, and you already found a best friend?”

She giggled, sounding almost shy—something you took note of. “She’s just a really nice and interesting person, is all. I like being around her.”

“It’s a good thing we have each other, us survivors. Things would probably feel a lot more hopeless, otherwise,” you mused, patting her knee genially, as you would your younger siblings. 

Rebecca grinned at you and laid her head on your shoulder. “What did you say when I first got recruited? ‘Through thick and thin'?” 

“Mhm. I think I also said ‘teamwork makes the dream work, unless you're stuck with Brad’s lazy ass', but that’s not exactly relevant here.”

She laughed loudly. “I know it’s only been a week since I saw you last, but I missed you, Lucky.”

“Well, it was only like, two days that I had gone without seeing you, and I missed you, too. Couldn’t have my replacement dying on me her first real mission,” you joked.

“According to the others, I made it out just fine, at least,” she replied. “I think you would have been really proud of how I handled myself.”

You ruffled her hair. “I’m always proud of you, kiddo.”

She pulled away to swat your hand from her head but responded with sincerity, “Thanks, Lucky. It makes me happy to know I have you in my corner. And I’ll always be in yours.”  

You gave her a warm smile, but were suddenly reminded of the trial and how you had failed her. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I wish I could have saved you.”

“Don’t be. We were all thrown off guard. We’ll be better prepared to handle it next time.”

Next time.

You didn’t want to think about that. 

Before you could muster a reply, Chris appeared in front of you once more, a sheen of sweat over his face, neck, and arms, his vest gone and his shirt unbuttoned slightly. 

It was honestly unfair that he could look that good absolutely drenched in perspiration. You would look like a wet rat, probably. Smell like one, too. 

You felt a heat blooming in your face as you raked over his form with wide eyes. 

What is wrong with me? you thought. It’s not like I’ve never seen him sweat before.

Rebecca gave you a sly look, but you chose to ignore it as she waved you goodbye and left. 

“The tub is filled, so you should be set,” Chris told you. “I sent Claire to get you soap and whatever else you might need. She’ll meet you there.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” you questioned as you stood, leaving your empty bowl on the log. You wondered how many pots of water it took to fill the tub, and you were grateful for the work he put in on your behalf. 

Chris beamed at you, dark eyes crinkling around the edges in a way that made your heart palpitate. “Don’t get it twisted, Lucky. I’m the one that should be asking you that.”

You rolled your eyes but gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “Thank you again, Chris. I appreciate this more than you could ever know.” 

“It’s the least I could do,” he replied, as if he hadn’t been helping you the moment he found you in that farmhouse. Scratch that; the moment the two of you even started working together.

“The least you could do,” you began, giving him a severe look, “is eat your fucking dinner.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “You gonna tell me to clean my room while I’m at it?”

You stuck your tongue out. “Don’t start calling me ‘mommy’ if I do.” 

He shook his head before gently pushing you in the direction of the bathhouses. “Go on, now, before the water gets cold. Don’t want all that work to be for nothing.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going. See you later.”

“See you, Lucky.”

You trudged out of the clearing and into the sparse tree line, following the lanterns that lit the dirt path ahead of you. It was a relatively short but quiet journey, the voices of the other survivors fading the farther you traversed.

It was peaceful and dark, and you closed your eyes to enjoy it for a moment.

A breeze enveloped you as it blew past, bringing with it the smell of woodsmoke and petrichor, as if it were going to rain. 

That was something you had asked Carlos; if the weather changed. He told you that no, the only “weather” to exist was inside of the trials. 

On one hand, you were glad you wouldn’t have to worry about things like flooding or blizzards within the camp, but that meant there would be no warmth here.

You never thought you’d miss the sun, of all things.

You arrived at your destination, finding Claire sitting on the steps of the platform leading to the bathhouses, a bag in her lap. 

“Hey, Lucky!” she greeted as you neared.

“Hey, Claire. Chris told me you got something for me?”

“Sure do. Here, let me show you.” She stood up and fished through the bag, displaying the items as she mentioned them, “Towel and washrag. Bar soap. Shampoo and conditioner–a real hot commodity in these parts. A razor. Facial cleanser. And get this: a bath bomb. Been saving this bad boy for a rainy day, but I figured you could use it more.”

“Claire, I don’t want to take that from you. Keep it,” you told her earnestly.

“No, I made up my mind, Lucky. Use it and use it well, got it?” she replied, shoving the bag into your arms.

“You and your brother are way too nice to me, you know that?”

“It’s because you deserve it,” she informed you, giving you a grin that looked so much like Chris’s. “And besides, you’re practically family to us. We take care of each other.”

“Well, I can’t tell you how grateful I am. You guys are making this far more bearable. I’d be lost without you. Literally.” You chuckled to yourself at the thought, wondering where you’d be if they didn’t find you yesterday. A lot less pampered, that was for sure.

“We’re just glad to have you back.” Her smile remained, but there was an undercurrent of strong emotions in her voice, something akin to regret and a bittersweet sort of relief. “Even if it’s here.”

“Yeah,” you responded with a sigh. “I do suppose this is better than dead.”

“A real improvement, if you ask me.”

You laughed at that, bumping into her playfully as you moved past her. “See you on the flip side, Redfield Junior.”

She rolled her eyes at the nickname you had given her when you first got acquainted and began her trek back to camp, calling over her shoulder, “Try not to drown in there.” 

“Don’t worry, I know how to swim,” you retorted, smiling to yourself as you turned and entered the small building before you. 

You were hit with billowing steam as you opened the door, the wet heat of the room warming you instantly. 

You locked the deadbolt and moved further inside, setting out your new toiletries on a bench that sat next to the tub.

You kicked off your sneakers and stripped completely, tossing your clothes onto the floor with reckless abandon, desperate to be in that bath.

You dipped one foot into the hot water, finding it nearly scalding but able to withstand slowly sinking your body into it with a hiss. You grabbed the bath bomb Claire was so excited about and kept it in your palm as you lowered it, watching as it fizzled in your hand, the chalky substances it was made of turning the water a milky white.

You stared at it as it dissipated, your mind wandering to the events that led to this very moment.

You didn’t want to think about your family anymore. You didn’t want to think about your dead friends. You didn’t want to think about your failures in the trial.

And above all, you didn’t want to think about Wesker.

It was a difficult task, something that took all of your effort, but you fought off the thoughts with a deep breath, grabbing for whatever soap was closest to you and getting to work.

You went through the motions, your sole focus washing your already relatively clean body and hair, finishing quickly.

You grabbed the razor–your final order of business–after running your hands over the stubble on your legs and deciding it was time for a shave.

You remembered what Carlos had told you, that every time you died, your body would change back to the state it was in when you first arrived here.

You huffed in annoyance, the idea of dying just to wake back up with hairy legs sounding rather inconvenient. 

You knew it didn’t matter in the scheme of things. In fact, keeping your body hair might even be a smart move to give you extra warmth in a place so damn cold all of the time. But smooth limbs–and, well, other places–was something you preferred. It was purely cosmetic, but it made you feel a sense of normalcy, and that’s what you wanted. Desperately. 

To feel normal.

You supposed it could be worse, though. You considered the other women in the camp, curious if any of them were brought here on their period. Imagining bleeding through your pants every time you died painfully in a trial felt like such an insult to injury.

Then another thought came to you, one that filled you with sudden horror:

What would happen if you came to the realm pregnant?

Surely, a baby couldn’t handle the stress of such an environment, even if the mother managed to survive long enough to give birth, right? 

But what would happen if the baby didn’t miscarry and the mother did die in trials? Would the baby just revert to the size it was when the mother first arrived? Would she just be… perpetually pregnant? 

Worse still, if she ever managed to actually give birth, what would happen to the baby? Would it also be beholden to trials? Would it ever age? Could it exist outside of this place?

Unconsciously, your palm drifted to your stomach, your fingers stretching over the skin there.

It was probably better not to dwell on what-ifs. 

So lost in your thoughts, the hand that held the razor slipped against your knee, slicing it open. 

You gasped in pain as you assessed the cut, blood sliding down your leg and dripping into the water, tinging the white film layered on top a dark pink.

All you could do was stare, watching yourself bleed.

You glanced at the razor in your hand, specks of red now decorating the tightly packed blades.

You suddenly thought of Ghost Face. Of digging your knife between his ribs. Of cracking his skull against that tree.

That’s right. You had killed him.

The full weight of the realization hit you. You had been aware of it the second it happened, of course, but it had seemed so unreal until this very moment.

You wondered if you should feel more guilty.

Sure, it was technically an accident. Sure, it was in self-defense. And yeah, you knew now he would be just fine, but your apathy over such an ordeal scared you a little. 

All that moral grandstanding. All the times you hesitated or failed to do what needed to be done, whether to save yourself or someone you cared about, in order to preserve some sense of righteousness. Of innocence. 

All of that inner turmoil to avoid killing, but the moment you actually ended someone’s life, you couldn’t care less.

Maybe that made you just as monstrous as every killer and creature that stalked these woods.

Just another thought to file away for later, you decided.

You dipped your head under the cooling water, then, closing your eyes and listening to the surface ripple with every slight movement of your body. You wondered what it would feel like to drown, but it was like a part of you already knew. It was... uncomfortably familiar.

You supposed you felt like you were drowning since the very first night of your arrival. Maybe even longer than that, if you really thought about it.

Don't think about it.

You rose from the tub, taking in a deep breath, deciding it was time to go. 

You wiped the blood from your leg and finished shaving, blotting the cut with your already-used washrag until it clotted. You then stood up, drying yourself with the towel Claire gave you and stepping on the worn, but still fluffy mat on the floor. 

You reached over and pulled the drain, watching the white and pink foam swirl as it rushed down the pipes, feeling as though a part of you sunk with it.

You realized you had forgotten to grab a set of fresh clothes from your room before coming here, though the ones you had arrived in were still relatively clean. Before you could start putting them on, though, you noticed a pile sitting on a table in the corner of the room, folded neatly.

You picked up the sweatpants and oversized hoodie, wondering which of your friends had gone out of their way to find and leave these for you. Their kindness had been the only good thing about this place. You hoped to return it someday.

You hung the used towel and washrag onto the side of the tub to dry before dressing quickly. You gathered your previous attire and toiletries into the bag before heading back to camp, clean and cozy. 

You still felt like you were drowning, but it was more like a lapping tide than a wave now. 

Happy was still a far-off notion, but you could settle for numb. 

You could function with numb.

It was the best you could do.

“Oh good, there you are,” Ada spoke from the path ahead of you, making you jump. “We’re about to have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” you questioned, catching up to her, the two of you turning to head back into the clearing.

“Apparently, they have one whenever a new killer shows up in the realm.” She was thoughtful for a moment before turning to you and adding, “Is it true that it was Wesker?”

You nodded, discomforted by the notion that there would be a mass discussion concerning the man who led you to your ruin. You hoped you could get by without having to explain anything that happened in the trial. It was too soon to relive it.

Ada’s lips pursed and you wondered what she was thinking.

“Did you… know him?” you asked, though a part of you was afraid of her reply. Why, you weren’t sure. 

“Worked with him. Just like you,” she responded curtly as you entered the center of camp. 

Just like me, you thought bitterly. You believed you were special to him once. You knew better now. You were just someone else he stepped on to get what he wanted. 

You wondered if he thought Ada was just as expendable as you clearly were. 

She walked away from you, then, probably to avoid any more questions. You couldn’t blame her.

You looked around you, noting that everyone was setting up chairs to face the fire in rows, chatting quietly amongst themselves. You could feel tension in the air, likely nervous energy caused by a new killer being let loose by the Entity.

Wesker, a killer. Someone to be afraid of. You pondered if you’d ever come to terms with that, after everything the two of you once had. 

It was a nameless thing, what existed between you. You questioned every day just how deep it went, but you had been so certain it was something real. Something tangible. Something that drew you towards him like an invisible thread. Or perhaps gravity itself.

A moth to a flame was probably closer to the truth.

You were so desperate to be near him at one time, and you realized with shame that you made it so easy for him to wrap you around his finger.

You let him burn up your wings.

Would this ache ever go away?

“Hey, Lucky,” Chris called to you, pulling you from your thoughts. He was setting two chairs down as you approached, standing to his full height and appraising you with a warm smile. “I’m glad the clothes fit. I wasn’t sure.”

“You got these for me?” you asked, getting emotional again over him taking such good care of you. 

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal. I felt kinda weird going into your room without you there to get you a change, so I figured I’d just root around in the storage closet for something comfortable. Had to pass by it to get to the kitchen anyway,” he replied as he sat down, patting the seat next to him.

“Well, thank you. For like, the millionth time,” you said as you plopped down beside him, setting your bag on the ground. “The bath was great, by the way. Beats a cold rag, that’s for sure.”

He chuckled at that. “I’m glad. I hoped it might make you feel better.” 

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “It definitely helped.”

The two of you were quiet for a moment as you watched the other survivors settle into the chairs around you before Chris spoke, “We’re having a meeting about Wesker being here. We do this with every new killer in the realm, to talk strategy.”

You tensed up before replying, “Yeah, Ada mentioned it.“

He noticed. “You okay?” 

“Just peachy,” you lied, not wanting him to fuss over you any more than he already had.

He exhaled at that but didn’t push, deciding to sit in silence as the camp finished setting up for the meeting.

A man you hadn’t been introduced to yet made his way to the front of the crowd. The stranger was wearing a tan trench coat and seemed very calm despite the disquieted group before him. He had kind eyes.

“Why is he running the meeting?” you whispered to Chris. “I thought Dwight, Claudette, Meg, and Jake were the head honchos.”

“They are, but they’re not really good at this sort of thing,” he explained. “Adam was a teacher, and he can manage a rowdy bunch better than anybody.” 

“We’ve been informed there’s a new killer,” Adam told the crowd, voice carrying over the camp. “For those who are new here, we’re going to go over the trial and discuss the killer’s moves. We want to find out his strengths and weaknesses and to know what to expect from him. Rebecca, you got back to camp first. Can you tell us what happened?”

Rebecca stood from her chair next to Cheryl. “Yes. Jill and I got separated from Chris and Lucky during the trial. Wesker came after us first, so Jill and I split up. He targeted me, and we were in a chase for a couple minutes when he managed to catch up to me. He was fast. Insanely fast. I was jumping over a window when he grabbed me with these black… tentacles… that came out of his hand, and he hooked me before going after the others. I didn’t see anything else before the Entity claimed me.” 

“Thank you, Rebecca. Jill, can you give us a rundown of your side of things, since you were downed next?” Adam asked.

Rebecca returned to her seat and Jill nodded before standing herself. “Wesker found me, and like Rebecca said, he was fast. At one point, he was practically a blur while he was on my tail. He slashed me with his knife while I was trying to drop a pallet in his way, and then he slashed me again when he caught up. He hooked me after making a snide comment and left. I also didn’t see anything else before I died.”

“Thanks, Jill. What about you, Chris?” 

Your thoughts were running a mile a minute as you listened to your friends’ experiences, startled when Chris gently pushed you off of him to rise to his feet and speak for himself. 

You stared down at your lap as he answered, “I went to find Rebecca–get her off the hook–when Wesker cut off my path. He was borderline maniacal when he saw me, but that’s unsurprising, considering our history. He grabbed me with those tentacles and threw me down the hallway. Infected me with whatever virus they’re made of–”

“Infected?” you implored fearfully, eyes jumping up to meet Chris’s. 

They were vile, those wet, black tendrils, but you had no idea they could infect you. You wondered why Wesker didn’t utilize that “ability” in his pursuit of you.  

“Don’t worry. I died in the trial, so I’m not anymore,” Chris reassured you and the surrounding survivors before returning to his story. “He chased me for a while, tried to rile me up with what he was saying, but my only goal was to get away from him long enough to save Rebecca and Jill. Unfortunately, he reached me first and slammed me into a wall before hooking me. Lucky tried to help me, but…”

He glanced at you briefly, almost apologetic, as he continued, “He grabbed her before she could. The Entity killed me shortly after.”

You were violently reminded of that long claw sinking right into Chris’s gut as he reached out for you. You remembered the blood that sprayed across your face as his body went limp. 

You remembered the light leaving his eyes before he was taken away from you.

You felt tears building in your waterline, trying to fight off the emotions threatening to engulf you completely. Chris was alive and breathing–standing right beside you–so why did you feel so anguished at what you saw?

Perhaps death wasn’t permanent here, but it was still real. It was still painful and bloody and visceral. 

You had to avert your gaze from your friend or else you’d lose it, suddenly only able to see his lifeless corpse when you looked at him. 

Adam rubbed his chin thoughtfully, seeming perturbed. “Lucky, you’re next.”

Your heart rate skyrocketed at his words, your mouth feeling dry as every face in the vicinity turned to stare directly at you.

You dug your fingernails into your sweatpants, breath hitching, the tears already in your eyes blurring your vision.

You spent the whole evening trying to block out what happened and now you’d have to describe it in detail to a bunch of people you only knew a handful of.

What’s more, you didn’t know what exactly to say. You couldn’t just tell them what all Wesker had said to you. That he kissed you. No one–not Chris, or Jill, or Claire, or Rebecca–knew about your affair with your captain. And this was not the time or place to inform them if you could ever bring yourself to admit to it. 

I can’t do this. You panicked as memories of the trial flooded your brain, unbidden. Unconsciously, your hand shot up to your throat, feeling lightheaded and like you couldn’t breathe.

“Lucky?” Chris questioned, worried, as he sat back down beside you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Chris soothed, placing his hand on your back. “I know it isn’t easy.” 

“The place isn’t sunshine and rainbows, but we need details on the new killer,” a woman scolded from behind you, wearing a purple ruffled blouse. “Toughen up.” 

“Yun-Jin,” Chris warned, voice dropping from the warmth he was showing you to something cold. Hardened. 

It made you shiver.

“Yun-Jin’s right,” Detective Tapp added. “I get it was Lucky’s first trial and it went sideways, but we can’t afford to lose out on anything that could give us a leg up on this guy. You know that, Redfield.”

“Don’t start with me,” Chris barked, his anger rising. “After everything she’s been through, she deserves a little slack.”

“Oh, like getting a full gallon of water and a bath she didn’t earn?” Yun-Jin retorted.

There was a murmur across the clearing as Chris leapt to his feet, jabbing a finger in the woman’s direction with a fire in his eyes you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before. “Those were one-time things I got full permission to do and that I’m making up for, not that it’s any of your goddamn business. She’s more than earned a fucking break.”

“If it weren’t for the circumstances,” Adam spoke, voice gentle and coaxing, “I would be more inclined to let this go. But they have a point, Chris. We need any information we can get.”

Chris was about to argue, but you stood suddenly, unable to handle the tension building before you. 

They were right. You needed to get your shit together.

You grabbed Chris’s arm and he turned to you as you spoke, “It’s fine, Chris. I’ll just–I’ll just get it off my chest.” 

“You sure?” His tone shifted from anger to concern as he regarded you. You knew he could tell just how anxious you felt–it was practically radiating off of you–but you were determined. 

You were reminded of Bill’s words from earlier in the night. 

“No room for weakness, or for burdens.”

“I got this,” you told him, resolute. “Thank you, though.”

He nodded and returned to his seat as you glanced around the clearing at every face trained solely on you.

You took a deep breath.

“I heard Chris yelling across the building, and I tried to finish the gen I was working on before I went to help Rebecca and Jill. Wesker–” You paused a moment to collect yourself. “Wesker got to me before I could fix the gen. We were both shocked to see each other. I told him I knew what he did to me and my friends back home and I–I slapped him. He grabbed me by the throat with those… tentacles… and threw me through a window. Gave me a concussion. Rebecca died as I was running away from him. He caught up to me and I managed to get out of his grip and fell through a hole in the floor. I cut my arm open, but I was able to escape him. When I tried to get to Jill, I was too late. I managed to reach Chris, but Wesker got to me first and pulled me off of him.”

You stopped there, feeling yourself tremble as you recounted your side of events, albeit modified.

“What happened next?” Adam asked, voice firm but kind.

You found yourself picking at your cuticles as you continued, “He… threw me down the stairs. The hatch opened only a few feet away from me, but he closed it before I could reach it. He acted like he was going to stab me, maybe hook me, but… he, uh, he changed his mind. Broke my neck instead. I think that’s everything.” 

Adam smiled at you reassuringly. “Thank you, Lucky. You can sit down now.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling somewhat guilty for all of the omissions you believed you needed to make as you sank back into your chair.

Chris didn’t say anything as he glanced over at you, but you felt a bit more grounded when he laced his fingers between yours.

After the group discussed the trial itself, questions began to deviate into what Wesker was like before arriving here. You didn’t have anything to add to the conversation, as you didn’t get to witness the way he acted after the mansion incident. Until today.

The others from your world–specifically Chris, Jill, Ada, and Sheva–explained just how much of a monster he had become.

The virus he injected himself with the night of his betrayal gave him super speed, inhuman strength, regenerative abilities, and those red, snake-like eyes.

Then he had infected himself with another virus–“uroboros”, as Sheva called it–which gifted him those inky appendages that he had complete control over.

Worse still, he had tried to kill your friends on multiple occasions over the years, nearly succeeding.

You guessed after the trial, he had succeeded.

It made you feel ill to even consider it.

Your mind wandered as they discussed your former captain and possible strategies to employ in order to survive run-ins with him. He had seemed so intent on executing your friends during the trial. Had been efficient at providing the Entity with its meal.

So why did he seem to take his sweet time with you? 

You thought briefly, upon seeing him in the trial for the first time, that maybe he missed you as much as you missed him. But he had been so quick to threaten you, to injure you, to kill you. 

How could you have meant anything to him?

Like you had asked him–and like he had answered–you really were nothing more than a plaything for him. Something to entertain him. To pass the time while he plotted the deaths of you and your team.

“Toy or pet, you still belong to me,” he had said. Like you were nothing. Like he didn’t even see you as a person.

To know now that’s how he viewed you was hard to reconcile, especially while you had admired and respected him. Idolized him. Loved him.

“I think that’s all, for now,” Adam stated, officially calling an end to the meeting. “Let’s get some R and R tonight, everyone.”

“I’m about to help put everything back,” Chris told you as the others got to their feet, releasing your hand, ���but a few of us are going to play some cards if you want to join us.”

You shook your head as you stood, grabbing your bag from the ground. “No. I think I’m just gonna go to my room if that’s alright?”

Those deep brown eyes of his were soft as he gazed at you, tucking your still-wet hair behind your ear. “Of course, Lucky. Get some sleep, okay?”

You simply nodded and turned on your heels, booking it to the medical facility as fast as you could walk. 

Some of the other survivors looked at you as you passed, but you were thankful none of them tried to stop you for a chat. 

You made it to your little room quickly, closing the door and throwing your bag on the dresser before lighting the candle on your bedside table. You stripped your clothes off immediately in order to change into your pajamas. 

It was just a gray tank top over black drawstring shorts, but it was comfortable and you knew your moth-eaten bedding would keep you plenty warm.

You brushed your hair and then your teeth (using the container to spit out the toothpaste) before putting on some deodorant. You drank deeply straight from your jug, leaving a little bit of water for your morning routine.

You then laid down under your blankets, staring up at the tiled ceiling in the dark, exhausted but unable to close your eyes.

You wanted to stop thinking. You wanted to stop feeling.

Would it ever go away?

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, fighting every urge to cry, to scream, to hit something until your knuckles split open.

You threw off your covers and stood, lighting the candle once more before pacing aimlessly, ripping the skin off of your nails until they stung and bled.

You thought you wanted to be alone, but your brain wouldn’t let you rest.

Chris had told you that you could go and find him if you needed anything, but fuck, were you tired of leaning on him so much. You were certain you’d eventually wear him down with how clingy and pitiful you were being. 

No, you needed to suffer through this on your own.

That’s what you decided, at least, until there was a gentle knock on your door that scattered all of your thoughts like a flock of birds.

“Lucky?” Chris’s voice sounded from the hallway. “You awake?”

You quickly made your way to your door, pulling it open to reveal your friend standing before you. He was wearing a dark green shirt and plaid pajama pants, his feet bare on the weathered linoleum floor.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“No,” you replied. “Can’t stop… thinking.”

“You and me both.” He shifted on his feet as he peered into your room. “Want company? We could ‘think’ together.”

“Sure thing.” You gave him a small smile and moved to let him in, closing the door before following him to your bed, the two of you sitting on the edge of it. 

Just like the night before. Just like earlier in the day.

It was almost funny to you how Chris was becoming such a fixture in your new life, in a way he never was before. You would be lying if you said you didn’t like it. 

“I’m sorry about what happened at the meeting. That wasn’t fair of them to put you on the spot like that,” he told you. 

You weren’t looking at each other, both of you simply staring at the floor instead.

You tucked your legs up under your chin, wrapping your arms around them tightly. “It’s okay, really. It sucked, but I get it. Everyone has a role to play, and I’ve been nothing but whiny and useless the whole time I’ve been here.” 

Chris turned to you sharply, voice stern, “You are not useless. It’s only been your second full day here. You’ll find your place soon enough. Some of the others took days–even weeks–to adjust. They’re hypocrites for wanting to throw you in the deep end like that.”

“I’ve already made this joke tonight,” you forewarned, your lips twitching upwards at the corners, “but I do know how to swim.”

Chris let out a puff of air and rolled his eyes at you. “Glad you can wisecrack after everything. I was… pretty worried when you first got back to camp.”

“I know. I’m sorry for being so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Chris repeated, an expression of shock alighting his features. “Lucky, you’ve been through hell and you think crying about it is being dramatic? Are you serious?” 

You dropped your face to your knees to hide from his stare. “It’s just embarrassing that I lost my cool like that, is all. I don’t want the others to think I’m weak. And I feel like I’ve done nothing but make myself look stupid and pathetic while following you around like a stray. I just thought–I thought I was better than this.”

“I’ve never been the best when it comes to emotional things–that’s always been more Jill’s territory–but believe me when I say you’re allowed to be upset. I don't think anyone is really judging you for expressing that. And if they are? They can kiss my ass.”

You giggled at that, bumping your shoulder into his. “Such a way with words, Redfield.”

He laughed in response, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence once again. The candle flickered, casting your shadows onto the wall, and you watched them dance together as your thoughts raced laps in your mind.

“I can’t believe Wesker’s here now,” Chris stated, breaking you from your reverie.

When you glanced over at your friend, his whole body was tense, his hands balled into tight fists.

“Same here.” You sighed before dropping your legs to the side of the bed again, grabbing Chris’s arm that was closest to you and placing it in your lap, gently stroking your fingers over his knuckles in an attempt to calm him.

He froze at first but seemed to relax under your careful touch.

“This might sound harsh,” Chris began, eyes still focused on your hands, “but maybe it’s better you died in the trial.”

You were horrified as you stared at him, mouth agape, halting your soothing motions. “Why would you say that?!” 

He grimaced. “I got a good look at you when you were trying to get me off the hook, Lucky. I know you explained what happened at the meeting, but it was much worse than what you described. Those injuries would have been a bitch to deal with if you lived.”

You wanted to be angry, but he had a point. “Yeah… I guess I’m glad everything’s healed up. That concussion was no joke.”

“If you were anyone else, I’d call you a klutz, but I know how you fight,” Chris teased. 

“‘Accident prone’ is probably more accurate,” you replied with an amused huff. Your expression dropped, though, when you added, “But in my defense, Wesker was relentless.”

His tone was dark when he responded, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

You picked back up where you left off, then, slowly dragging the pads of your fingers over his knuckles as the quiet took hold once more.

His hand suddenly flexed beneath yours, his voice strained as he spoke again, “I know what you’re going through. What it was like to find out what Wesker had done.”

You pressed your lips in a thin line at that.

Oh, Chris, you thought, you really don’t.

He was Chris’s captain, same as you–they seemed to be on friendly, albeit professional, terms–but Chris didn’t know him like you did.

Like I thought I did, you corrected yourself solemnly.

You wondered if you should tell Chris the truth about your relationship with Wesker, but the more you considered it, the more you questioned what the point would be. 

It wasn’t real, whatever it was. 

And there was a part of you that feared you’d be seen as a traitor if word of your affair got out. Your friends and the other survivors were all you had in this world. You couldn’t lose anyone else. You wouldn’t. 

Chris, unaware of your internal struggle, continued, “It makes perfect sense the Entity would bring him here, though. It’s always coming up with new ways to fuck with us.”

“Really seems to be the case,” you agreed, falling back on your bed to face the ceiling. 

Chris gazed down at you, his expression thoughtful for a moment before he followed your lead, sprawling out beside you.

“I hate that you're stuck here with us,” he told you, voice low. “But I’m happy to have you back.”

“Yeah, at least we’re together. At least I’m alive.”

“Alive, after five years without you. Still doesn’t feel real to me.”

You turned your head to face him, tone softening, “Five years is a long time.” 

“It’s funny,” he said, though there was no humor in his voice, “you were dead for longer than I knew you, and it never got easier.”

You reached down between you, lacing your fingers with his, his large hand engulfing yours completely in its warmth. He had done so much to comfort you in the last two days, and you wanted to return it in any way you could.

“I’m here now,” you told him.

“Yeah. You’re here now.”

His grasp only tightened.

You ached on his behalf. Sure, you had lost everything, too, but at least you didn’t have to experience it firsthand.

He bore witness to so much death. You wondered if he had seen yours as well.

You spoke, “In the trial, Wesker told me… He told me he watched me die that night in the mansion. Did you?”

Chris sighed deeply, unable to look at you. “No. He, uh, he sent me off to secure the area. More or less kicked me out of the room. When I got back, well… you were already gone.”

“Fuck.”

“He told me you turned. That he had to… take you down. I believed him at the time, but after finding out he was behind it all, something just didn’t sit right with me.”

Your eyebrows shot up at his words. “And what was that?” 

“He was too adamant that I leave. Made sure the two of you would be alone. I thought for a while he killed you as soon as I walked off just to get you out of the way, but you probably weren’t gonna make it. So now I wonder: why would he bother if you were dying anyway? I mean, Wesker only killed Marini because he found out the truth about his ties to Umbrella. He let the rest of us run around like chickens with our heads cut off until we were zombie food. Doesn’t make sense to me that he would kill you unless you really did turn.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. It hurt so much worse to know that Wesker was the one to kill you that night in the mansion, but it also left you with so many questions.

“Maybe–maybe it was a mercy killing,” you offered, somehow hopeful despite evidence to the contrary.  

Chris scoffed. “After what he did to you in the trial, do you really think that would be his play? I know you’re just recently coming to terms with the fact he’s a psychopath and always has been, but I think you know better than that by now.” 

Maybe you did, but the Wesker you met in that trial was not the one you knew. He was a lot more unpredictable. He went from nearly killing you, to kissing you, to killing you anyway. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. 

You both went silent for a long while after that, lost in thought, not wanting to talk about your former captain anymore.

Then a new curiosity came to mind.

“Was I… brave?” you whispered out into the room.

“What?” Chris shifted then, looking at you directly, your clasped hands falling undone. 

“The night I died. Was I brave?” 

He grinned fondly. “Oh, yeah. Absolutely. 'Til the very end.” 

“You mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?” 

“No, not about that. Never. You were the bravest.” He paused for a moment before leaning in closer, his tone conspiratorial, “Inspiring, even.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you said lightheartedly, shoving his chest.

He laughed, grabbing your wrist playfully and holding your hand to his sternum before his expression grew serious again. “I tease, but… I do mean it. You did your best under the circumstances. A hero through and through. Faced death with more grace than I probably ever could.”

That shocked you, considering your desperation to survive your trial. 

You were practically a rat willing to gnaw its own leg off to escape a trap. What grace was there in that?

Chris spoke, pulling you back to reality, “Lucky, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. For a long time now, actually.” 

Your gaze drew up to his at the sound of his voice, his demeanor seemingly… nervous?

How strange, you thought. 

Chris was never nervous. He was a confident man. A headstrong one. 

You wondered if you should be worried, but there was an openness in the way he regarded you. A vulnerability in his eyes. 

What could it mean? 

He swallowed, glancing away from you before he managed to get out the words, “I, uh… Well… I have feelings for you.”

Your eyes widened at his profession, the unexpectedness of it jarring you completely.

“Really?” you questioned in disbelief.

He laughed a little, sounding almost timorous. “Yeah. Really.” 

“How… How long?”

He looked pensive for a moment before answering, “I mean, I’ve had a thing for you since we met if I’m being honest. You really never got the hint? I felt like I was pretty obvious about it.”

Your cheeks reddened as your mind flashed over the past few years, the weight of realizing just how oblivious you were to his advances hitting you like a ton of bricks. “No, I guess I didn’t…” 

“Jeez, I really don’t know what more I could have done to get my point across. Write it on my forehead?”

“In my defense, you flirted with everyone, Chris. I thought it was harmless fun. I didn’t know you meant it.”

He winced at that and you felt bad for being so dismissive, but you knew you were right. You saw how he was before.

But he was different now, wasn’t he?

“I was an idiot for that. For not being more upfront and serious about it,” he admitted, sighing. “I was going to be, though. The night of the mansion, I was going to tell you outright what I felt. But then we were gearing up for the rescue mission and we got into that fight about you coming along and I just… didn’t.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, absentmindedly splaying your fingers out where they pressed against his chest. You could feel his heart beating under your touch. You found it hard to focus on anything else, butterflies threatening to burst from your gut and out of your mouth. 

His hand traveled from around your wrist to lay on top of your own. “I promised myself that when we got back from the mission, I would tell you. But… you never made it home. So I didn’t get the chance. I always regretted it.” 

Tears threatened to spill from you for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Chris finally looked back at you, swallowing down his own emotions, eyes glossy.

You felt yourself moving before you even realized what you were doing, rushing forward and pressing your mouth to his clumsily.

He was soft and warm and you didn’t mind the scrape of his chapped lips against yours. 

He went rigid at the action, and you pulled back immediately, equal parts shocked by what you just did and worried you fucked it all up.

“What are you doing?” he asked you, brows knitted together. 

He released his hold on your hand, your palm falling from his chest to lay beside you, now cold without his touch.

Your face grew hot with embarrassment and a dreadful sense of rejection flooded you instantly.

“I–I don’t know,” you replied quietly–truthfully.

You supposed that with his confession, every single interaction you’ve had with him in recent memory was suddenly brought under a different light.

“I didn’t tell you all of that just to get something out of it, Lucky,” he said intently. “I just wanted to get it off my chest after years of wishing I could. You don’t have to feel the same way.” 

The words left his mouth, his expression earnest, and it all clicked into place.

The way he had been looking at you, the way he touched you, the way he defended and protected you, the way he took care of you.

Not just since you ended up here, but all the times before.

You thought of motorcycle rides in the countryside, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Of drunken dances in crowded bars, laughing and tugging at his hand to join you in the fray. Of cups of coffee–made just how you liked–placed on your desk during busy days. Of uttered be careful’s before every mission and urgent are you okay?’s after.

You saw everything with a sudden, blinding sort of clarity then.

“But I do,” you told him, pressing your fingers to his jaw, desperate to share this new revelation. “I do.”

A sharp exhale escaped him, as if in disbelief, a gleam brightening his dark eyes in the flickering candlelight, “Let’s do this the right way, then.”

He cupped your cheeks with both hands, lowering his face to yours.

Your eyelids fluttered closed as his lips met yours again, but this time, it was just so much more.

It was languid and tender, and you could feel his stubble scratch lightly against your skin.

You deepened the kiss, one hand fisted into his shirt while the other gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer still.

He let out a quiet groan, tangling his fingers into your hair before pressing his tongue to the seam of your mouth. You easily parted your lips for him, reveling in the minty taste of his toothpaste as he consumed you wholly. 

He trailed a palm down along your side, grabbing your waist to tug you nearer. His touch lit a fire inside of you, and you wasted no time in pushing him onto his back, straddling him eagerly. 

He allowed you to take the reins, both of you running your hands over each other’s bodies, your tongues melding together fervently.

You could feel him hardening beneath you and you ground down against him, gasping into his mouth at the friction. 

He pulled away from you, then, breathing raggedly, his voice a warning, “Lucky…”

You leaned down and kissed along his jaw, simply stating, “I want you.”

He sat up, taking you with him, and held you still in his lap. “Maybe we should slow down, yeah?”

“Why? Do you not want this?” you questioned, feeling suddenly insecure. 

Could his feelings for you have changed now that he actually had you? Were you not what he thought he wanted? Did you mess something up? Were you too desperate? 

“More than you can imagine,” he assured you with a chuckle. “But you’ve been through a lot recently and you’re vulnerable right now. I don’t want to take advantage of that. It would be wrong.”

You huffed. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I haven’t lost my mind just yet.”

He sighed deeply, his voice exasperated, “Lucky, c’mon.” 

“Chris, I need this. Being right here with you is the safest I’ve felt in days. The most alive. Please, just… just take it all away. Just for tonight.” 

“And what if you regret it?” he asked. “I wouldn’t know how to live with myself if doing this just makes things worse for you.”

You pressed your forehead against his, feeling simultaneously so blessed to have such a thoughtful man in your arms and frustrated by his stubbornness to be so overbearingly protective of you, even against himself. “I am telling you right now, I won’t regret it. If you want me too, can you just trust my judgment on this?”

He pulled his face away from you and stared into your eyes, searching. “Tell me you’re sure.”

You breathed out, “I’m sure.”

He nodded, his large hands sliding up to hold your face once more. “Okay.”

With that, he kissed you again, more forceful than before. You practically melted into him.

You slid your hips back and forth in his lap, just to feel his clothed bulge skim against you. 

A primal, guttural noise escaped his throat at your movements and he grabbed the meat of your ass to pick up the speed. 

“You need this just as much as I do, don’t you?” you queried playfully, bracing your hands on his broad shoulders to steady yourself.

“I do.” He kissed along your neck, and you shivered at his hot breath sweeping across your skin. “More than anything.” 

The two of you parted briefly to yank each other’s shirts off, and you grazed your eyes over his bare chest as he did the same to you.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to your breasts.

You whimpered as his tongue lapped at one of your hardening nipples, his calloused fingers gently pinching the other.

“Chris, please…” you begged, needing him to touch you lower.

He released you from his mouth and smiled at you, wide and boyish and smug. “You need to learn some patience, baby.” 

Baby.

The pet name made your chest tighten. Made you lightheaded.

It wasn’t just the word itself that affected you, but the way he said it, like honey dripping from his tongue. It went straight to your core.

You sighed as he kissed you again, hard, holding you so tightly to him, you thought your bodies might just fuse together. 

And then, suddenly, he flipped you onto your back, making you yelp as you bounced onto the creaky mattress below you. He chuckled as he hovered over you, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth.

“You think tossing me around is funny, huh?” you huffed, giving him a severe look.

“Only a little bit,” he replied, smiling into your skin as he trailed his mouth down your body. “That little noise you made was just too cute to pass up.”

You scoffed lightheartedly, the sound turning into more of a strangled whine as his lips brushed against your hip. He then slipped off the bed and you sat up on your bent elbows. “Where are you going?”

“Right here, sweetheart,” he informed you matter-of-factly before grabbing your legs and pulling you to the edge of the mattress. 

You swallowed thickly as he tugged your pajama shorts and panties off of your body and tossed them somewhere in the room, placing your ankles on his shoulders as he pried open your thighs. 

“You don’t have to…” you told him earnestly, feeling suddenly nervous now that the realization of what you were doing finally hit you. 

Were you really about to fuck your best friend? Was this a good idea?

You wanted it. Badly. His confession filled you with butterflies–filled you with a need you didn’t know existed until you kissed him.

But what happens after? 

“Hey,” he coaxed, turning his head to kiss the inside of your calf, “I want to. Just let me take care of you, baby.”

Oh, you were a goner now.

“O-okay.”

He smiled at you again, radiant like the sun, before he slowly began to ascend up your leg with kisses, his hand trailing a similar path on the other.

You watched him intently, practically panting because you wanted nothing more than for him to get on with it. But you couldn’t deny how good it felt to have him be so attentive to you. Relish you.

He reached your knee when he paused, bringing his free hand to caress the newly formed scab there. “What’s this?”

“M’nothing. Just nicked myself shaving,” you replied.

“What am I gonna do with you?” He sighed in faux exasperation, brushing his lips over the small cut in a way that spread warmth through your whole body. “‘Accident prone’ is right.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “Shut up and eat me out already, Redfield.”

He quirked a brow at your crass demand. “Yes, ma’am.”

He was quick to work his way up the rest of your leg, sucking a mark into your inner thigh hard enough to make your hips buck. Satisfied with his handiwork, he lowered his mouth over your aching sex, looking up at you with hunger in his dark, half-lidded eyes.

You gasped as he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, watching you closely as he teased you.

“Chris!” you whined, carding a hand through his short hair. “Please, I need more. Please.”

“Anything you want,” he said lowly, diving his tongue further into you.

Your chest was heaving as he devoured you, one of his hands gripping your thigh to keep them parted and the other pressed to your lower belly, preventing you from canting your hips.

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathed before suckling your clit in a way that had you keening. 

You could feel an orgasm quickly approaching, making you fist the sheets. “M’gonna come, Chris.”

“Then come for me.” He pulled his hand from your stomach, gently nudging a finger against your entrance. You cried out in ecstasy as he sunk it deeper into you, his tongue still working against your clit.

You came hard, your vision swimming as you rutted against his finger and mouth.

He continued his movements as you rode out the high, only pulling away once you sagged into the mattress. 

You picked up your head, breathing heavily, to find him looking at you, his mouth and chin glistening with your slick. He smirked at you lecherously and it made your cheeks flush.

He crawled back onto the bed and scooped you up into his arms, laying you vertically across it. He kissed you fervently as he lounged beside you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, the lasciviousness of it making you clench around nothing.

He slipped his hand down between your legs, once again pushing one of his thick digits into you, making you shudder at the intrusion.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” he lamented as he pressed his lips to your sweaty temple. “I have to get you ready for me.”

You babbled incoherently as he slotted a second finger inside of you, gripping the sheets in one hand and his taut forearm in the other. He managed to fit a third, the stretch making you gasp loudly, screwing your eyes shut at the sensation.

“There you go,” he cooed against your skin, rubbing his thumb against your sensitive clit. “You think you can come for me again?”

“Y-yeah,” you panted. 

He leaned further over you, kissing you roughly. “C’mon. Give it to me.”

He caught your broken cry in his mouth as you came again, lights exploding behind your eyes as you seized up beneath him.

He pulled back to let you breathe, slowly drawing his fingers from your soaked folds, popping them into his mouth and sucking them clean of you. You whimpered at the sight.

He moved to poise above you once more, setting himself between your still-shaking legs.

You watched as he hooked his thumbs around the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs, lowering them just enough to release his hardened member.

Your breath hitched as you looked at it. It was cut, the tip weeping with precome, the base of it littered with short, dark curls. It was slightly above average in length, but that’s not what caught your attention. It was thick–thicker than you’ve ever had.

You suddenly realized why he needed three fingers.

He took the shaft into his hand, pumping it a couple times before he leaned over you, gliding the head of it through your folds leisurely.

“You sure you still want this?” he asked you. His tone was serious, but it couldn't drown out the huskiness and need in his voice.

You nodded vigorously, a whine caught in your throat as he pressed so gently against your entrance.

“You need to tell me,” came the whispered command as he stared down at you, eyes flicking over your face, his expression dark and amorous. 

“Please, I want to feel you.”

He kissed your lips again, deep and passionate. “Okay, baby. I’m gonna go real slow, alright?” 

“Okay,” you murmured into his mouth before he pulled back.

To his word, he pushed in slowly, the wide head of him stretching you out as he breached you. He watched you intently as you let out a silent cry, the burn of him filling you to the hilt almost overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he exhaled. “Gonna have to sit here a minute, let you adjust.” 

You nodded and he lowered his head to kiss you. He pressed a palm against your breast and squeezed lightly, the sensation making you arch your back. He trailed his lips down your jaw to your neck, where he suckled gently on the flesh there.

You sighed wantonly, moving your hands against his broad chest, running them over the hair there, his abs tightening at your touch.

You shifted your hips slightly as the burn subsided, desperate to feel him move.

“M’ready, Chris,” you told him. 

“Yeah?” he asked, pulling back from the bruise he left on your throat.

Tired of waiting, you bucked up a little more aggressively, your fingers trailing down to his ass to pull him closer.

He chuckled, pecking the corner of your mouth as you let out a complaintive whine. “Alright, baby, I’m gonna move now.” 

You breathed heavily as he slowly–agonizingly–pulled out of you, the tip of him just barely remaining inside of you. He snapped forward in one fluid motion and the oxygen left your lungs in a high-pitched cry.

He then repeated that same action, hitting deeper with each thrust. It made your head spin. But you needed more.

“I–I need it faster–faster n’ harder, Chris. Please!” you begged, gripping his arms tightly as they caged you beneath him.

“You sure you can handle that?” he questioned, brows furrowed as he looked down at you.

“I’m not made of glass, Chris. I can handle it.” 

He pressed his body closer to yours, holding your face in his hands. “I don’t want to hurt you, Lucky.”

“I trust you not to,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck and hitching your legs around his waist. 

He captured your lips gently with his own. “If that’s what you want.”

He did as you requested, picking up the pace and driving his hips forward more forcefully. You let out a shriek at the feeling of it, knowing that you weren’t going to last much longer.

He leaned forward, nipping and tugging at your earlobe, grunts of pleasure being pushed through his teeth.

You dug your nails harshly into his back, crying out, “Chris, I’m close!”

His face fell into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing along your pulse point with every deep plunge. “Me too, baby.” 

The pressure built up quickly, that wound up coil in your belly ready to spring for the third time.

His hand tangled into your hair as he kissed you again. “Let go for me, honey.”

All it took was a couple more strokes and you were undone, burying your face into his shoulder to muffle the scream.

You spasmed around him as he fucked you through it, a loud groan of your name–your real name, which sounded so blissful from his mouth–leaving him as he pulled out, spilling onto your stomach.

He rolled over and collapsed onto his side, the two of you still panting and heaving.

You stared up at the shadows dancing along the ceiling as you caught your breath, mind so gloriously blank after being filled with nothing but horror and grief for so long. You don’t think you’ve felt this relaxed and at peace in days.

Chris exhaled deeply beside you as he pulled his pants back up on his hips, covering his softening member once more before turning to look at you.

He sat up on one elbow as his eyes grazed over your still-naked form, resting his hand against your cheek and shifting you to face him.

“You okay?” he asked you, his voice low and steady, concern in his brown eyes.

You nodded your head weakly, feeling exhaustion creeping up on you, offering him a lazy smile. “Better than ever. Thank you.”

He let out a quiet laugh and leaned down, kissing you sweetly. “I should be thanking you.”

“I didn’t do that much. Just laid here. You did all the work,” you pointed out as he got off the bed.

He rolled his eyes at your words, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and sat beside you, gently cleaning his spend from your stomach, “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“Mission accomplished, Officer,” you joked as he finished wiping you down. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him to you, forcing him to toss the dirty article of clothing back on the linoleum to brace himself against the mattress. “You gonna spend the night?”

“Is that what you want, Lucky?” he queried, peppering kisses along your nose and cheeks, making you giggle.

“Duh. Get under the covers with me.”

You released him so that he could follow your direction, snuffing out the candle as you scooted closer to the wall, not paying any mind to the wet spot on the sheets when he shuffled under the comforter beside you.

As soon as he was situated, you laid your head against his chest. He was quick to slide his arm under you, pulling you closer to him. 

“You know, I thought about what this would be like for a long time,” he said quietly in the dark, stroking your hair.

“Was it everything you wanted?” you asked, curious. Nervous.

He kissed your head, the adoration in his voice almost palpable, “Everything and more.”

You smiled to yourself before shifting to face him, even though you couldn’t make out his features in the blackened room. “You were pretty good yourself.”

He laughed. “Happy to be of service.”

You giggled with him, laying your head back against his chest.

A quiet crept upon you, the only sounds the whipping wind outside the window and your breaths as they gradually evened out.

You were almost asleep when Chris spoke once more, “Lucky?”

“Yeah, Chris?”

“Was this a one-time thing?”

Your eyes widened at that, his tone clearly trying to sound unaffected, but there was an underlying apprehension in his words.

“Oh, don’t think for a second I’m letting you go now,” you told him. 

It was lighthearted, but you were serious. You’d never been one for hookups anyway, but after everything you and Chris had been through together–after all he had done for you–you doubted you ever wanted him out of your bed again, regardless of whatever this was that transpired between you. 

His strong arms wrapped around you, tugging you closer, a contentedness in his voice that you hadn’t heard since you’d arrived in this nightmarish place, “Good. Cos you were gonna be stuck with me anyway.”

You had felt so adrift until this moment–like you were lost at sea–but here, kept warm in Chris’s comforting embrace, you were held fast. 

The waves could crash upon you and the storm could rage around you, but you knew now that he was your anchor.

An anchor to something good.

My silver lining.

--------------------

Masterlist | Previous | Next

[schismusic]

Untitled piece on worried music (or some shit)

This piece has been floating around, shapeless and structureless, for the better part of four months now. I don't particulary care to give it any sort of unifying theme, or to put it into comparison with autobiography as I usually do. This will have to stand on its own as an ostensibly gratuitous exploration of various levels of preoccupation in music that I like. This being said, hope you enjoy the dive and you find something worthwhile to listen to. For those of you who hoped to read more about my very boring personal life, well, it's this way or the highway this time. I'm really bad at this, aren't I?…

Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark (don't worry, I will no longer subject you to this long ass name and will stick to the conventional acronym) live in this weird limbo where they might be among the longest-running acts to originate from the late '70s and yet at the same time are by and large considered by most a one-hit wonder. And to be fair, Enola Gay could very easily be the single best synthpop track ever recorded, thereby rendering other tracks from the same genre functionally useless to people who do not care about synthpop. I, however, care a lot about synthpop. But I also care a lot about a different, very underrated aspect of synthpop: its paranoia.

There's a really cool piece by Mark Sabatini on the Red Wedge magazine. The piece opens with a picture of peroxide-hair David Sylvian sitting in front of a Prophet-5 and is dedicated to Scott Walker and Mark Hollis, so it's basically just tailor-made for me right out of the gate. More importantly, however, it underlines the important relationship between some of the earliest bands in British synthpop and the concept of eerie in the Mark Fisher sense of the word, or some kind of uncertainty with regards to the future. The late 1970s sit at the cusp of a special time in contemporary history, not just because of what Sabatini notes, i.e. the passing of the torch between two decades that came to symbolize two completely different visions of the world (political, social, economic, cultural). The early Eighties would turn out to be some of the most tense years in the entire Cold War. A record like This Heat's Deceit is a direct byproduct of a terrifying climate of impending doom, faced with a dry sarcasm only the sense of rushing to an early grave could grant. In the Yellow Eyes post I also added a number of other examples, none of which strictly relevant to this exact post. One would think that OMD's preoccupation with being, at once, "ABBA and Karlheinz Stockhausen" would force them to a more sideways approach to these same feelings. To an extent, this is true, in that they very rarely discuss current-day topics in a direct way. I am specifically writing about, of course, Enola Gay, but take for instance a track like Telegraph. I remember sending it to Dog a while back and their reaction was quite priceless. Not only did they define it as "whimsical" and "faelike", wow!, but they also very acutely pointed out "something sinister about it just under the surface … it feels subtly dangerous".

This is technically true for the entire Dazzle Ships album. From the first moment we are in Prague, a weird place to be in the year 1983. A sampled trumpet fanfare loops around, a voice speaking in Czech, that same fanfare theme rearranged for a full orchestra. Then it hits you with a song titled, I shit you not, Genetic Engineering. The little children, the future in our hands, feel like more of a menace than they do a promise. They are to be controlled. International tackles rampant nationalism. Radio Waves echoes Kraftwerk and ties back into Telegraph. Of All the Things We've Made, a heartwrenching controlled melodic burst sounding like it could fit straight into the Disco Elysium soundtrack, reflects on the rift between Cold War superpowers with touching longing for world peace. And yet the most representative track of the whole lot might be Time Zones. A mess of jambled radio hourly signals: around the world in barely thirty seconds, codified conventional human behaviour presenting itself in the barest possible function, the capability to tell time. I've always been terrified of radio hourly signals. I remember car trips in the night, the mechanical nightingale chirping before the five boops right before the hour ended. I remember silent screens with sudden noises and an impersonal voice telling the time. So sterile it felt inexorable, the same way doom is.

On the other hand, this barely controlled element of quiet terror – a shift of the mask revealing an inhuman grin? – can at some point just burst into a more direct feverish sense of impending death. This is where a band like Sunrise Patriot Motion comes in. According to this incredible interview with Invisible Oranges, not only is every SPM release a piece in an ongoing story (so far there are two, so you're still in time to get in on the action before it gets too complicated), but Black Fellflower Stream – record number one – was actually itself the product of a driving obsession. In the words of Will Skarstad himself:

"For the first time ever Yellow Eyes was all over the place, but with this, we were like, twice a week, every week getting together. We got into this crazy routine, got obsessed, let’s finish this record. We were just so psyched about it."

Yes, the Skarstad brothers are once again involved. Not that much of a surprise, to be completely fair to you. Their guitar work with Yellow Eyes somehow manages to transcend the usual arrangement tactics of black metal, sounding less and less like cookie-cutter true-Norwegian imitators by the millisecond. While a record like Immersion Trench Reverie perfectly illustrates that, in SPM that same reality-warping harmony is bent in the direction of a post-punk-tinged beast, retaining however the powerful drive and pulse of metal. The brothers, ever so self-conscious, call it their "nu metal" project. I'm not inherently opposed to the idea: Deftones's Chino Moreno is notoriously a massive Japan and Duran Duran fan, Korn's Jonathan Davis got into makeup because of the Cure's Robert Smith. Where the fundamental difference with classic nu metal comes in is probably in the themes. Specifically, Black Fellflower Stream details the psychological journey undergone by a man who, in a religious stupor, comes to believe that he can dig a hole deep enough to find oil. Military symbolism, Catholic imagery relating to mystical ecstasy, incoherent autobiographical babbling, all tied together with the progressively clearer and unavoidable understanding (as per My Father Took Me Hunting in the Snow's liner notes) "that he is the sun, and, as the day ends, so will he."

Musically, in these two records, anything goes. Dungeon synth-inspired fake-ass FM keyboard preset sounds leave space to chugging heavy rhythm guitars, interspersed with yelled (more so than screamed) vocals courtesy of Andy Chugg and incredibly imaginative sampling and sound layering. The musical landscape painted by all of these elements, brought together in such a way that it feels miraculous for them to actually coalesce, is one of absolute military terror, where personal life and one's past are exploded into shrapnel, transform a delusional pretense into a mission of quasi-religious penance. One certainly wonders how long the experiment can go and how it can evolve. But I, for one, am glad that I got to hear these two records, and can't wait for any new music coming our way. Even if it means delving into horrifying visions of petrol war.

But what happens when this state of worry, paranoia almost, comes to essentially burn a hole into reality itself, detaching from average parameters of direction, time, weight, emotion? My guess is you get something close to the latest Ben Frost record. Not one to be intimidated by loud noises, Frost's body of work evolved from forlorn, cinematic guitar to progressively more Dangerous, noisy and aggressive territory. By the time A U R O R A hit it was hard to see where the project would go next. I would argue this was true for Frost as well: the vulgata around The Centre Cannot Hold (and its related EPs and singles) seems to be that it was a bit out of focus, speaking euphemistically. I don't disagree, regardless of my affection towards Threshold of Faith specifically. But Frost's arrival to a deviant, eldritch post-metal form sounds like it holds the key to a new fascinating approach.

The idea of "blending metal and electronica" will bring some of my older followers back to the Prodigy, or Nine Inch Nails, or Godflesh, or even Atari Teenage Riot if we want to force it a bit. On the other hand, some of my slightly less old followers will probably be catapulted into horrible traumatic nightmares of generic 2010-era metalcore bands incorporating keyboardists, brostep mid-range drilling FM modulation, overcompressed guitars and autotuned vocals. I'm proud and happy to report that, if anything, Scope Neglect swings more in the first direction than it does in the other one, but it's not a matter of sound as much as it is a matter of approach. Greg Kubacki (Car Bomb) provides absolutely crushing guitar work – not to mention Liam Andrews (My Disco) and his devastating bass guitar – sounding very much like abstracted takes on his main band's tracks. Yet the guitars sound heavily compressed, laser-focused on filling the mids in a very djenty way (look mom, I said djent in 2024, do I get an award for this?). This is, by design, as modern metal as it gets: and yet it sounds nowhere near as cauterized.

Not just because of the arrangements. And granted, the arrangements go a really long way to achieve the core idea of the record; but Frost's processing of the sounds turn Kubacki's cerebral bursts themselves into inhabitable, inhospitable spaces – bedrock for mind-crushingly heavy atmospherics – which are only then left to be filled with the listener's own imagination and a minimal number of sparse effects and austere melodies. Much in the same way as Autechre (and we're back!), this record comes to build the very spaces it describes, setting aside cinematic tactics – except, maybe, on closer Unreal in the Eyes of the Dead – in favour of an architecture of impossible terrors and, well, a worry and paranoia so imposing and totalising that it transcends discernible form, solid structure, anything but the (very few) bare and basic sonic referents it alludes to.

[auricbound]

man, it's been a while since i posted here properly. it's been an enlightening past two days to say the least and it's all got me reflecting not only on my time here but also the future for this blog, my lore, etc. so...

have a pretty big dump under the cut. this'll be long, i feel like i have a lot to cover. i dunno who'll even read it, but i feel it's worth getting out there anyways.

so. yeah! been a while. been a LONG fucking while. im 21 now, turning 22 soon; almost 3 years have passed since i put this blog in its weird hiatus state. prior to that i was active a lot, writing a lot - i genuinely was extremely happy. in a way, i still am - but that only came after a very, VERY involved few years of consistent therapy appointments and learning to write for myself to somehow see my ideas through instead of pushing myself to be here.

so. should probably talk about that. i wont go into mega details because it's *done* and i don't want to bring a carcass to the surface, but i *do* want to give it a gravestone.

september and october of 2021 are the two months i can easily say are up there on some of the worst of my entire life. a lot of my own personal experience with my muse - with goldie - practically *died* during that span of time as a result of the things that happened. some of you might have an *idea* of things, and if so, please - don't bring it up, don't ask me or anyone else about it. i'm making this post for me, for my OWN catharsis. if people don't like that, *don't make it my problem.*

i don't fear people knowing, i just... i don't want to constantly have things be brought back and forth. im only just now realizing that what i went through *was not a singular experience*, and that it was a pattern of behavior that i wasn't *alone* in. for the longest time, i thought i was genuinely and completely alone in the fact that no one could really attest to what i went through except for one person who helped me through all of it alongside my own personal friendgroup separate from the rpc. turns out, i'm not, and that has been incredibly validating and actually has done a lot more for my confidence in the past 48 hours than i realized it could.

i hate the month of hell. i hate everything about it. i hate how it made me feel, how i couldnt do my internship without being constantly pressured to do something else for the sake of other people, how i was constantly made out to be someone who caused the problems and couldn't compromise or apologize when that really, really wasn't the whole truth. i've spent *years* in therapy just to affirm that i wasnt crazy and that it wasn't fair to treat me - a then 19 year old - as someone who couldn't make mistakes and was expected to just KNOW things and norms despite it being known that i *didnt* get things immediately. realizing i'm autistic has been a struggle that lasted *years* and if i'd known it then, it would have made me more receptive to how badly i was being treated instead of just sitting down and taking it and BLAMING myself for it. i hate that i was talked about to other people after the fact even though i explicitly kept my struggles out of talks with rpc friends.

i hate everything about what happened that year. and i hate that it ripped ed away from me for a good while and sent me into a horrible mental state that i took a really, REALLY long time to recover from - and even then, i'm still not 100%. i still have triggers that send me right back to that year. i still have things that remind me exactly of all the shit that happened. my health issues haven't gotten better since that month exacerbated them, but they haven't gotten worse - just a way of showcasing recovery, i guess.

2021, for better or for worse, broke me. it stole away my love for writing and my ability to do art for a while. i finally picked up the pieces and now they're melted back together, but there's nothing that'll change how badly it effected me and jeopardized one of my deepest mun-muse connections i'd ever had because i was accused of not being able to separate mun vs muse.

but i'm getting better. i'm being better. slowly but surely, i'm building my own personal safe space filled with people who will actually confront me for the things i do wrong *without* being afraid to even TALK to me. that wasn't easy, not by a longshot - but i'm happier like this. i'm thriving like this. because of the safe space i've built, i've been able to write *thousands* of words for fics for this very lore and all the things that came from it. i've been living my best life on my artblog, @aubodied , because i decided i was GOING to enjoy things without all of this bitterness being attached to it, because i'll probably *never* get accountability for what happened to me. i'm learning to live life without looking back on all of it.

it's been a wild ride. and now i don't feel like i have to isolate myself anymore now that i KNOW i'm not alone. so someday - i don't know if it will be soon or not, but SOMEDAY - i'll come back here. i'll start writing again with other people, actively. until then, i'm always open to be reached out to to talk or other things. i want to reconnect, and even though that'll be a long process, i WANT to restore the feeling of home i made for myself in this rpc.

so... hi. i'm evy. i also go by vee. i use he/they/she pronouns (strongly preferring he at the moment), and i'm proudly autistic and navigating the world with those lenses. i love videogames and i stream sometimes alongside doing personal art for my obsession with edling as a ship. i'd be happy to be your writing partner someday. i'd be happy just to make rpc friends again someday. 2021 was awful for me, but i've finally moved on without fear of being able to talk about this - now i want to thrive.

so thank you for listening to me, if you read this. i hope we can talk again soon. and remember - i'm always here if someone wants to reach out.

[deanaferal]

One of the things I am most looking forward to when I am out of the country for 2 weeks is texting with my son’s father. We met through friends while I was in a horrendously violent relationship in my early 20s and he saved me by simply sitting next to me and talking with me about our shared interests when no one else would. The abuser I was with hated everything I was into and when Tyler would try to make conversation with him about certain things he would scoff and say “that shit’s stupid but she likes it, go talk to her” and then had the nerve to act like he was the victim when I had chemistry with the guy that he quite literally directed my way. One night we found ourselves yet again sitting together at the weekly house party, yapping each other’s faces off about who knows what and when the conversation lulled he quietly said “you know you don’t have to put up with that, right?” and of course I knew that but he was the first person to say it. Everyone else blamed me, my own mother told me “it takes two to tango” while the blue and purple evidence was wrapped around my neck. After he said that I nervously tried to explain to him why I had to put up with it, why it wasn’t a choice. I explained to someone for the first time the vicious cycle that had ensnared me. He told me I could live with his grandma if I needed to but that anything was better than where I was. He was the only person that helped me when I couldn’t help myself and we became inseparable, spending every single waking and sleeping moment together. We even worked together. Our longest separation was during lockdown. I spent 7 weeks in the hospital because it was such a high risk pregnancy. We were terrified for our own little life and then the weight of the entire world fell on everyone but it brought us closer because we talked all day long. We watched movies together every night and texted all of our stupid little quips and theories to each other. He has terrible social anxiety but through text he is like a whole different person. He is witty and funny and attentive and sends me adorable gifs and naughty videos. The past 5 years have been rough for us but the last year has been especially ugly. We have both had a hard time with our communication while adjusting to parenthood. We went from a couple that could and would talk through our issues easily and without discomfort to monthly explosive arguments over nothing and yet the arguments somehow always circle back around to every issue that we have ever had. I have been so disconnected from him this year and the loneliness of living in the same small space as the ghost of your relationship has nearly destroyed me and hurts so bad it’s impossible to talk about. I pretend the hurt lies in everything else going on in my life but the worst pain has been losing us and not being able to stop it. I miss the man who loved looking at me so much he rear ended another car after we went bowling because he couldn’t take his eyes off of me. The one who wrote me little notes all the time and handmade my birthday gifts. The one who left me cross-eyed and panting. It’s impossible to recreate any of it but I hope we can drill deeper into this love that we both know is there if it weren’t for all of the shit piled up on the surface. Maybe I can fly back to a more recognizable version of us.

[babygenius]

Inspired by this post

Anyway so my name is Welsh. It is one so easily anglicized that for the longest time I didn’t realize that we were pronouncing it the anglicized way and not the correct way.

There is literally nothing hard about my name. Nothing. You wanna know how I know? People can say Rihanna. It is child's play to add an 'n' at the end (Rhiannon). Literally so easy.

Yet, my entire life, I have put up with people saying Rihanna, and when I correct them and say "No, it's Rhiannon" they continue to say rihanna. At certain points, depending on how long I was going to know this person, I would just give up, because it wasn't worth my energy.

Every time someone couldn't pronounce my name, they'd say "Oh well can I just call you this? I'm going to call you this." Which is how I wound up with the dreadful nickname "Rhi" on both my swimming and basketball teams in middle school.

My first job, my boss couldn't be bothered to get my name right, so she laughed and said, "I'm just going to call you Ray!"

Out of the many nicknames people had assigned to me, I didn't hate this one, and I decided to go with it because it was easiest. Because at this point I still thought "I should make it easier on both myself and others and give them a shortcut".

My first semester in college, whenever a professor or student took too long to pronounce my name correctly, I'd let them get away with Ray. (I also use it as my internet name, but that's not because people can't get my name--most of the time--and is a different matter for me all together). This need to give people a shortcut lasted two years, until my spring semester of freshman year I said, "Y'know what? Fuck this."

Now I only use it if they're going to be acquaintances of a day at most.

At my job last summer I introduced myself to a patron and had to correct her, at which point she threw up her hands very exasperatedly and said, "Oh I don't understand what's with all these new-fangled names!"

I very cheerfully said, "Oh, it's not new! Rhiannon is a Welsh deity and has been around in some form for hundreds of years!"

She was a very sweet lady, seemed very surprised at this fact, and we both continued on our day. This type of interaction is not uncommon for me.

Last fall semester, my physics class had a substitute. (I would later find out that the reason he wasn't teaching the class in the first place was because he'd been suspended from teaching.) The entire class, he made a joke out of not being able to recall a simple name. The others found it funny, and while I didn't find it the epitome of humor I still laughed.

I answered a question, he asked for my name. (Worth noting is I had emailed this professor over the summer to talk to him about getting into his class, before the instructor was switched).

"Rhiannon."

"Rihanna."

"No, Rhiannon, just add an 'n' at the end."

"Rihanna."

I sighed and said, "It's like 'Shannon', just with a 'Rhi'." That, combined with the idea of 'Rihanna' is usually enough.

"Shannonrhi."

The class laughed. Now you're just being deliberately obtuse, I thought but didn't say.

After class had finished and everyone had left, I went up to him and reintroduced myself, mentioning that I was the student who had emailed him over the summer.

"Oh!" He said, remembering. He gave a very sheepish laugh and said, "Sorry about the whole name thing--" and I thought that was that and everything was done--"obviously if you were a minority I would have..."

I froze for a second, completely taken aback. Now, yes, I am ridiculously white, and afforded the privileges of that, but that's not the only type of minority that exists???

ALSO

EVEN MORE IMPORTANT

You shouldn't strive to get people's "difficult" names right only when they're a visible minority and you're worried about the cry of racism

You should strive to get people's names right because it's basic fucking decency and etiquette and it's rude otherwise.

When I visited Scotland in 2020 not a single person over there ever struggled with my name or got it wrong. I kinda miss that, honestly, because it's so fucking draining to wonder when you introduce yourself if you're going to have to capitulate and give them a nickname because you're too tired to deal with this shit today, or if you're going to be seen as the "stubborn" one who won't let people be wrong about something so basic as a name and move on.

I will leave you with one last story before my tl;dr. When I graduated eighth grade, we walked in a procession as a teacher announced our full names in alphabetical order. The teacher announcing for my section of the alphabet had never had me in class before, yet she looked at my name and asked me "How do I pronounce this?" She had no difficulty with my first name, and was mainly hung up on my middle name, which is Irish. I told her, she said it correctly. In the times leading up to graduation, whenever she felt like she'd forgotten or just wanted to make sure, she'd ask me again, and I'd tell her again, and she'd say it correctly again.

During one of the practices, another teacher said my name completely wrong. She even messed up my last name, which is pronounced phonetically and is a common enough last name that she's heard it before. I will admit that even I laughed, but only because up until that point? She had said my name correctly every other time. So when she messed up, everyone stopped their walking to raise and eyebrow at her and laugh, and she facepalmed and said, "Yeah, I don't know how that came out that way, sorry." And she said it correctly, and everything continued.

I felt very seen by both of those teachers, who didn't try to laugh it off and say that it was "just too hard" or "too unusual" or "oh it doesn't really matter, does it?" It was very nice.

For obvious reasons, I insist on knowing how to pronounce everyone's names, and I do not settle for a nickname unless they genuinely prefer the nickname as it is their chosen name.

TL;DR: learn how to pronounce people's fucking names correctly because it's basic courtesy and you sound stupid when you insist on not affording certain people that courtesy just because you've never heard that name before.

[daxtoncity]

Friends

So besides the incredibly vague title alone, this post is gonna explain something, a little bit different. As the sole creator of Daxton’s storyline, the underlaying basis of just, Daxton’s foundation in general, what I say, simply, GOES AND I THINK THAT’S INCREDIBLY FAIR RIGHT IM NOT CRAZY-

That being said, the characters that I’m gonna briefly mention here with my own summaries, they all have one thing in common: I didn’t make them.

My friends did, and the friends that did go out of their way to create something that I have been workshopping for such an incredibly long amount of time, it’s been in hiatus after hiatus as I got older, but when I met these people through this HELLSITE, they pushed me to keep going, and this is easily the longest and most effort that I have outputted into Daxton’s development, I mean I have names for locations AND EVEN THEN AT LIKE 13 AND STUFF, I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE LAST NAMES FOR SOME OF THESE CHARACTERS AND THE FACT ALONE THAT I AM ENVISIONING PLACES NOW, THAT MIGHT NOT SEEM LIKE A LOT BUT TO ME THAT’S MONUMENTAL

So the best way that I can even begin to repay these friends of mine, is, simply this: These characters, are, absolutely canon. They started out as OCs for my dumb little universe created by these wonderful people, and now as the creator and owner of Daxton, I’m making them canon.

Without further ado, It’d be my honor to introduce these one of kind creations.

The following two were created by my friend @alicethecoffeeaddict, Andromeda and Vergil, a pair of demonic siblings, Andromeda, a confident, no shit taking, proud of her sexuality succubus, and Vergil, a friendly, albeit introverted compared to his sister, incubus who works a side life as a nurse. That’s all I’m gonna say about them at the moment, you read this and wanna know about them more?? GO TO ALICE AND YELL AT HER TO MAKE MORE CONTENT OF THEM--

This one, ohohohoh, this one, is a, PERSONAL, favorite of mine. Created by one of my absolute bestest buds in the entire world, @sutasaido, Heartbeat is the city’s most beloved entertained, donning a helmet with a heart shaped electronic screen visualizing a rhythmic heartbeat tempo on the front, he’s a talented musician that has not a single struggle in the world to put all of Daxton’s hands up, rest of the world must have missed his hype tho-GO YELL AT ELI TO GET MORE HEARTBEAT CONTENT

The second to the couple of last ones, sadly, I can’t tag on here because he doesn’t use Tumblr anymore, but if you scroll by and read this and wonder who this is, my buddy John aka MossyPebble, you’ve MOST DEF HAVE SEEN THAT NAME IF YOU’RE AROUND THESE PARTS, but he created probably one of the most INTRICATELY DESIGNED AND FUCKIN BADASS CHARACTERS, the evangelical automaton created by man to protect them from every and all threats in the city, and even the world at such a scale, named Gehenna. However, reduced time shared along with humans thanks to ungrateful creators locking him away into the depths of their compounds poisoned his advanced thinking and labeled humans as their own greatest danger. Now, like I said, JOHN ISN’T ON HERE ANYMORE BUT I WILL SAY THAT IF HE DOES MAKE MORE ABOUT GEHENNA I WILL LET Y’ALL KNOW

Now, the very last ones, for now anyone, have been crafted by someone who is, easily, my greatest friend and my overall empowering form of inspiration with just how incredibly creative she is, it is, very easy, to label as most definitely my biggest supporter, @flowerthornsart, without her I don’t think some entire sections of Daxton to this day would have been getting coats of polish slathered on with how much she encourages me to keep going with this, so of course-

Mantis is the first hero I wanna talk about, plagued by floating remnants of her villainous and monstrous mother’s reigning terror, Mantis is determined to take that once ruined verbal imagery of someone so murderous and fraught with danger, and replace it with the shining, welcoming sight of a sweetened heart and comforting aura belonging to one who knows what it means to be a hero, that not allowing anyone to hinder your actions and the determination that backs up one’s selflessness, is all that it takes. And last but not least, Iris, an abandoned science project given form, the spunky and gremlin like slime cryptid lovingly lingers in Daxton’s Undercity, reclaiming once lost subway systems as her own housing, she’s later discovered by the band of heroes following Blade, and the crew gained yet another irreplaceable fragment to weld with the grander picture of it all. AND FINALLY, GO YELL AT TERESA IF YOU WANT MORE-

Much like before, THAT IS ALL THAT I HAVE FOR YOU AS OF NOW, THE VILLAINS ARE ARRIVING SOON BUT I WANTED TO GET THIS OUT AND ABOUT AND HAVE A FRESH AIR AROUND IT ALL ABOUT WHAT EXACTLY THIS CAST CONSISTS OF YOU GUYS WHO I TAGGED I LOVE Y’ALL DEARLY AND I WILL FOREVER BE INDEBTED TO THE KINDNESS YOU GUYS GIVE ME <3

[xsylcuenco]

MERROCK TASK #9

THE INSPIRATION BEHIND...

Sylvia Ingrid Cuenco-Burke

—

Playing Next: 🎶

Crazy Kids by Kesha [x]

Buzzin by shwayze [x]

About Us by Brooke Hogan [x]

tw: drug abuse

Sylvia was the first character I created for this group. If you’ve known me for a long time, you know that I’ve used Vanessa as an FC for almost 15 years, so it started with an FC choice. I then built the character around that selection. Sylvia is very loosely inspired by Vanessa’s character Candy in Spring Breakers. You know, minus the homicidal tendencies. More just the party girl who can’t turn down trouble aspect. I wanted Sylvia to have had a, albeit much scaled down, history of getting into trouble.

Sylvia quickly became someone who was desperate to get her life together, though notorious for getting in her own way. A college drop out with a history of legal trouble and in need of a stint or two in rehab, nothing screamed middle child more. That was when her family was built around her. Something about Sylvia becoming the middle child later in life, simply clicked for me. That was how she ended up with her older brother being close in age but her younger sister being a near decade younger. Then came her parents, a well respected teacher and nurse respectively. It made sense that her parents had to be at least well-liked enough to get her out of trouble countless times over in Merrock for Sylvia to make it to UCLA, only for that move across the country to become an even more disastrous life decision. It would be after her return to her hometown, years into trying her damnest to become the responsible adult her parents wanted her to be, even if it were in her own way, that we would meet her. An additional influence to the development of her family was the fact that Vanessa is Filipino and I personally spent a substantial part of my life living with my Filipino relatives, just making it easier to relate to Sylvia’s upbringing to an extent.

As far as Sylvia’s interests go, I borrowed Vanessa’s love of all things spooky, horror, and Halloween. I too love the darker side of life and it just made sense for the girl who loves transforming others to love a holiday all about becoming someone else for a night. And may or may not be a witch. Her entire gothic home aesthetic is just my dream home.

Another large part of Sylvia’s story is her sexuality. This was largely inspired by my high school experience watching one of my closest friends be the only out bisexual, at the time where everyone simply regarded it as experimentation on your way back to heterosexuality. I, in modern day, choose not to label my sexuality, though back then and to this day I admire my friend’s confidence being publicly out and proud in the social environment of 2006. As far as her love life goes, Sylvia is quick to fall easily leading to relationships crashing and burning. Currently, it is for the first time in her life that she is making a conscious effort to allow herself time to get to know someone before falling in love. This has led to jokes and complaints here and there about loneliness as it is the longest time since teenhood she hasn’t been attached to someone. Though she knows that her attempt is in an effort to find a healthy relationship for once, she definitely isn’t opposed to a fun time in the meantime.

Additional inspiration was the late 2000s myspace scene queen wannabes that I grew up with. Let’s be real, if any of my characters can still recite crunkcore songs word for word it’s this bitch. And I mean that lovingly. I had plenty of friends to pull inspo from in this regard as the crowd I ran with in at that time was pretty much a bunch of Sylvias. Think somewhere between Snooki and Melissa Marie from the Millionaires. Who more appropriate to be the one who’s bedroom everyone got their hair bleached at at 15?

Following that idea, opening her hair salon was to be Sylvia’s saving grace, keeping her busy enough to stay out of trouble for the time being. However, she lives in the shadow of being the family disappointment and it’s never too far of a memory that the self sabotaging behavior creeps up from time to time, always lurking just under the surface.

[aetherspoon]

A not-so-simple relocation, day 0/1 supplemental.

This is a series of posts (at the moment in the past; we'll catch up soon enough), link to the previous post at the end.

Before we start with the blog (which will be my next post), I was asked about what the damage was to my desktop Naisa. I took a photo this morning (having to re-enact some of the damage), which I've included below along with a description.

ALT: This photo shows the inside of my desktop, named Naisa. It shows four of the issues with the computer, described below.

Starting from the top and working down:

The Thunderbolt 3 add-on card was out of socket, even though it was screwed in. This is because the entire chassis is bent. Mind you, this isn't exactly flimsy metal and this desktop case is known for acting (and looking) like a tank. The card is likely fine.

The retaining clips for the plastic front panel snapped. I have a whole lot of broken plastic on the inside from that, but it doesn't look like it did any real damage. This is, once more, due to the fact that the entire metal chassis is bent.

(not an issue) The CPU fan was actually in the right spot when I opened up the chassis, but I don't want to damage it further by staging it. Fan appears to be just fine.

The left tower of my heatsink was bent toward the right. This damage wasn't as bad as the other tower, probably because that's where the CPU fan was clipped to. This has been bent back some from where I found it so I could actually take off the heatsink to investigate.

The right tower of my heatsink was so far bent that it was slammed up against the right side of my case. Mind you, there was a LOT of padding and packing material in here, but when I opened the box it was all popped on the right side of the case.

(not labeled) Motherboard warping. In this photo, the heatsink isn't screwed in, but it was still screwed in when I opened up the case. When I unscrewed the heatsink this morning, I heard a pop from the motherboard trying to lie flat again.

(not pictured) Two of the legs of the case are missing. I didn't even know it was removable and I'm still confused where the heck it went. If you notice the case leaning a bit in the photo, that's why - I mostly took this photo top-down.

(not pictured) Chassis warping. Basically, anywhere screwed in was rigid, anywhere not screwed in was warped. This means some components that should be able to be easily removed (like the sides) can't be.

My theory as to how this happened was that someone dropped the box on its side... over and over and over again. One of the earlier drops likely caused the internal air bags to pop and deflate, creating a void between the right tower of the heatsink and the side of the case, and the other drops did the rest.

I still haven't powered on Naisa, for reference. Kinda need a heatsink to do that. And yes, there is no RAM or video card in this photo; I actually took them out in advance of the move. The video card is in my portable desktop (Shina, who I'm typing from now), the RAM is separated out for use in @kriatyrr's desktop.

Previous post:

[booksandwords]

The Boy in the Dress by Jonathan Butler

Read time: 8 Days Rating: 4/5 Stars

The Quote: You must tell Warwick's story — 'Mum' Butler (she died while Jonathan while writing this Warwick was her Uncle. If any line made me emotional it was this one, it was her death.)

Warnings: Homophobia

The first thing you need to know when reading this book is it is an investigation written from an assumption. The author, Jonathan Butler's assumption or familial belief that Warwick Meale was gay. There was no evidence. I could just as easily project my own sexuality onto him. Quite frankly that was extremely frustrating, especially because the author kept pointing out the ways ie saw himself in his great uncle. But yes this death did impact his life too. Warwick's homosexuality prevented Jonathan's mother from easy acceptance of him and his sexuality. His father's family had that generational homophobia I've honestly just come to accept. They'll all be gone soon anyway. His mother's diagnosis was hard that was just a painful disease. Jonathan does in the last chapter acknowledge some of the concerns I have with the book's premise, as does one of the interviewees. I do appreciate that he nearly acknowledged his naivete in the original now he has finished it.

This is not a bad book a does a good job to educate readers on some of the realities of queer culture in WWII but some of it was also nss (no shit sherlock). It does at times feel a little disjointed but that's kinda charming. It feels like what it is... someone's personal research project that they lost control of. There is an interesting writing style used. It is readable, with very short chapters. I think the longest I found was about 20p most would have been under 10. It combines two narrative writing styles in a single chapter. One is written almost from the prospect of being there at the time, though not 1st person. The other is J relaying the facts he discovered as they were relevant. It's quite a captivating way to read the story. Even if I did occasionally lose track of who the players were, there are a lot of them.

I like the conclusion that Jonathan comes to with the three cases he raises. They feel like almost the three options for Warwick's death. Though there uses some wriggle room on all three. Jack Lloyd's conclusion feels particularly stereotypical and disappointing for the family. His senseless death is excused because of gay panic. Even if sexual encounters at the time were slightly more fluid than people would like to think. We are talking about virile young men in their prime for the most part, what do you think was happening?

Have some comments and quotes.

I think this is book for those with an interest in queer history. But for those with an interest in military, it feels like it could add a whole other dimension, especially those younger readers.

There is a bibliography available online for those with an interest. I was entirely unsurprised to see serving is silence included and referenced in this.

Tom and Clyde and written in a way that makes you kinda what to know what happened to them, we do find out. We find out about most of the major players.

Look no further than Australia's Defence Minister Peter Dutton who, in 2021, scolded defence personnel for celebrating the International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia, Interphobia and Transphobia. He ordered his department to stop pursuing a 'woke agenda'. — I really hate Peter Dutton. The thought that he may become our opposition leader now Scott Morrison has stepped aside distresses me greatly.

But what made the blood of many Australian men boil, more than anything else, was the Americans' relationships with Australian women. The Yanks were paid considerably more than the diggers and had nicer uniformer and a certain way with women - they knew how to dance and how to charm. — I mean can you blame them? The Americans were the peacocks with the finer plumage and women needed to make their nests somehow. Hard to do in the post war period.

History has a very real impact on people today. It's shaped how I see the world And so much our history would be lost without the nations archives. — My librarian self loves this quote. It is a joy to see someone acknowledge their societal import.

As a child I found it soothing to gaze at that image of a boy in a dress, It offered me hope that maybe I wasn't so different. The older I got, the more I struggled with an alarming feeling growing inside me, a feeling I couldn't name at the time. It was an urge to wear my sisters' clothes, play with dolls and be free of typical 'boy things': — This is the importance of Warwick to Jonothan. I think s many queer people have someone like this. But few have someone so close to them, so biologically connected.