#who thought DIFFERENTLY about his actions than you

[otakusheep15]

Flufftober Day 31: Proposal - Diasomnia

Characters included: Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver (Vanrouge), Sebek Zigvolt

Word count: 3047

Malleus

Who proposed: Malleus

Malleus always had a complicated relationship with the idea of marriage growing up. He was pretty much exclusively raised by Lilia, a single father. He grew up hearing stories about how important love and marriage is, especially in fae culture, and especially especially because he’s the next in line for the throne. He needs to produce an heir once he’s on the throne, so it’s important that he finds someone he loves to create that heir with. 

Considering how isolated he always was growing up, Malleus doubted he’d ever find true love like he read about in fairytales. Then he met you, and suddenly everything was different. 

You taught him how to love in a way he never thought he could. Of course, he loves Lilia and Silver and Sebek, but that’s not the same. The way he loves you is different from anyone else he’s ever met. You practically saved him. You treated him like he was normal, like he wasn’t an all-powerful borderline god. You taught him a new kind of love he didn’t think he would ever truly experience. 

The love Malleus has for you is so pure, so soft. It’s completely different from the brooding, intimidating character everyone sees him as. He treats you like you’re the royal one rather than the other way around. 

When the thought of proposing first pops into Malleus’s mind, he gets so excited. The idea of growing even closer to you than he already is sounds perfect to him. It also helps that both Lilia and his grandmother are urging him to marry you soon so that he can produce an heir. That’s not the only reason he wants to marry you, of course, but the idea does urge him on for sure. 

Malleus begins planning the perfect proposal. First, he starts with the ring. He goes to every craftsman in Briar Valley, searching for the one who can make him the best ring. You deserve only the highest of quality, after all, and there’s no limit to how much he’ll pay. Once he finds the ideal craftsman, he has them make the ring to perfectly suit your tastes. After it suits his own standards, he pays and takes the ring. 

After that, he plans an outing for you and him. He decides to take you to dinner, having heard that this is a common date for humans, especially for proposals. He wants to make you as comfortable as possible, so he figures this is the best course of action. Naturally, he rents out the entire restaurant he chooses, meaning it’ll be just the two of you. 

When the two of you show up to the restaurant, Malleus looks very proud of himself. The restaurant is completely empty save for the staff, and he has a table reserved exactly in the middle of the room. He tells you to order whatever you’d like, as he’ll be paying for everything. 

As you dine, it becomes increasingly obvious what Malleus is up to. It’s not like you didn’t already know, as he’s never been the most subtle, but tonight it’s extra obvious. In a way, it’s honestly adorable. He’s clearly excited for what he has planned, and you’re just here for the ride. 

Once the meal is done, Malleus escorts you out of the restaurant, leading you on a nice stroll through Briar Valley. It lasts well into the night, and you can feel the tension rising the longer he draws this out. But, when you return to the castle without a ring, you start to think that maybe you were mistaken. Maybe he really did just want to take you out to a nice dinner and walk. 

You return to your room and begin preparing for bed. You head into the bathroom to take a quick shower. Then, you get into your comfy pajamas and head back to your bedroom, only to be immediately stopped in your tracks. 

Malleus is in the middle of your bedroom, surrounded by candles, on one knee with a ring. He stays there, waiting for your answer to his silent question. 

You run to him, and if he weren’t the Malleus Draconia, you would’ve tackled him straight to the floor. Unfortunately for you, he is very strong, so instead of a tackle, he merely catches you in his arms. Taking your almost-tackle as a yes, he pulls back just enough to take your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger. He then kisses your hand so tenderly, and you melt right then and there. 

Your wedding is actually so incredible. It’s extravagant and over-the-top, and everyone who should be invited is invited. Allies of Briar Valley, important nobles and high-ranking officials, and, of course, all of your friends. It’s the biggest celebration in centuries, and it’s absolutely going all out. 

Lilia

Who proposes: Lilia

Lilia gave up on romance long ago. Once he was put in charge of caring for Malleus, all of his own wants and needs were immediately put on the backburner. Honestly, he can’t even blame his lack of a love life on Malleus. He’s always been too busy for love, long before Malleus was in his care.

 Even when he meets you, he still hesitates, not sure if he wants to pursue anything. He liked you a lot, that much was certain. If he had to make a guess, he could also assume you liked him at the time too. But he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it for the longest time. 

Ironically, it’s because of Mallues, as well as Silver and Sebek, that he decided to confess to you. They’re the ones who encouraged him when he had a rare moment of self-consciousness. 

When he did confess, it actually went very well. You had accepted, and the two of you were officially dating from that point on. It’s the best decision he’s made in years, and he’s so glad his boys encouraged him to confess to you.

Now, he’s having a similar dilemma. You’ve been dating for a while now, and he really wants to propose to you. But, same as when he was scared to confess, he is now scared to propose. He’s never done something like this, and human courting rituals are so different from fae. He doesn’t want to mess something up and ruin your relationship. 

Once again, it comes down to his sons to hype him up. They give him all of the love and support he needs, and after a long while of trying to prove to him that he won’t ruin your relationship, he finally decides to suck it up and propose. Deep down, he knows you won’t reject him, and he wouldn’t be that surprised if you’ve been waiting for him. 

Normally, this is something he would meticulously plan out, taking his time to detail every little thing. However, even with the confidence boost, Lilia is still somewhat frazzled, so he decides to just do it as soon as possible so that he doesn’t have to sit with his nerves any longer. 

He buys a nice, hand-crafted ring that he’s sure you will love. He also buys a bouquet of flowers on impulse, deciding last minute that you’d like them as well. When he arrives back home, he notices you relaxing, and that somehow manages to calm him down. You look so nice, just hanging out around your house. You look up to greet him, immediately noticing the flowers. They make you smile, and you get up to meet him by the door. 

Lilia hands you the flowers before telling you he has a small surprise. Despite the nerves, he’s still the ever-cheeky Lilia, and he’s absolutely going to tease you, even if just a bit. 

He shows you the ring box, opening it up to reveal the ring he picked out for you. You stare in awe, and you smile at him as he places the ring on your finger. You’ve been waiting for him to be ready, and it looks like today is the day. 

The two of you walk hand in hand to grab a vase for your flowers, and you can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night. 

Your wedding is small. Initially, it was going to be bigger, but Lilia eventually decided that he wanted it to be more chill than originally planned. It ends up just being you, Lilia, Malleus, Silver, Sebek, and a few other close friends and family. Lilia doesn’t care much about the ceremony itself. He just really wants to be married to you. What he is excited for is the honeymoon. He loves traveling so much, and this is the best possible excuse to travel. Somehow, he almost convinced you to have a travel wedding, but you talked him down from doing that since you’re already having an extended honeymoon. 

Silver

Who proposes: you

Silver never really cared about relationships. He’s always been more focused on training to be a knight anyhow. It’s not like he’s against the whole concept of a relationship, and he never minded the thought of being in one when he’s older, but he just assumed a relationship would be years and years away, well after he’s finished his training.

What he did not expect at all was you to appear in his life. Suddenly, all of his plans of finishing his training before even considering romance just fly out the window, and he knows the second he sees you that he has to pursue you. With the encouragement of Lilia, he slowly begins courtship. 

Your initial romance is soft and slow, very much a fluffy slowburn. He’s so caring and sweet all throughout, always making sure you’re comfortable as he continues to court you. Even the littlest of gestures makes your heart melt, barely able to handle just how adorable he is. Everything about him is just perfect, and he can and absolutely will say the same about you. 

Everyone is hyping up your relationship so hard. Malleus and Lilia are your number one fans, and even Sebek is being supportive in his own unique way. The two of you are literally just a mountain of sugar and everyone around you is just completely obsessed. 

As you both grow older and your relationship develops, you only get more domestic, if that’s even possible. You’re truly living the cottagecore dream life out in the forests of Briar Valley where you spend your days hanging out with the animals and watching Silver continue to train. 

Much like your courting and early relationship, proposing is a slow process, but this time, you’re the one taking control. You’ve been wanting to propose for so long now, and now that you and Silver are stable and secure, you figure now is a good time to pop the question. With some support and advice from Lilia, you begin the process of planning your proposal. 

You manage to get a gorgeous ring, one that suits Silver’s ethereal vibe. You plan on proposing in the forest, surrounded by his animal friends. They’ve been a huge part of your life for so many years now, so it makes sense to have them around. 

On the day of the proposal, you planned out a nice picnic for the two of you. You spend the morning preparing sandwiches and fresh fruit as Silver watches you lovingly. It takes all your restraint to not just propose right now. He’s looking at you like you literally hung the moon and stars, and it makes you want to kiss every inch of his face until he can barely breathe. 

Still, you manage to hold yourself back, and you finish up the picnic preparations. With everything done, you and Silver head out, walking to your favorite clearing where you regularly have picnics. His animal friends join you as usual, and they snack on the fruits you packed while you and Silver enjoy your sandwiches. 

Once finished eating, you pull out the ring box, and Silver smiles at you when he realizes what you're holding. You’ve discussed marriage and proposing before, so this wasn’t exactly a surprise. He saw it coming, but you didn’t mind. If anything, the knowledge of your proposal only made the day better for Silver. 

Naturally, he says yes, and the kiss you share after is easily the sweetest thing at this picnic. The animals all seem very happy for you, and that only makes you feel even happier yourself. The two of you stay in the clearing for a bit longer, just basking in the beautiful scenery and each other’s company. 

Your wedding is nice and simple. A few friends and family are invited, and obviously all of Silver’s animal friends. It’s held in the forest, as it’s a very special place for the both of you. The clearing is minimally decorated, and everyone gets to enjoy the scenery. The ceremony itself is beautiful, and the reception is quite fun. The best part is that this is held right next to your house, meaning that if Silver gets tired, the two of you can just sneak away for a nap. 

Sebek

Who proposes: you

The day Sebek acknowledges that romance is a real thing that happens to people is the day the world ends. He represses his own emotions so hard, especially when it comes to stuff like this. It’s mostly because of his parents, and his dad more specifically. He has such a complex view on their relationship, and that’s made his own views on love a bit warped as well. 

When he begins feeling things for you, his immediate response is to repress and forget. However, that’s the absolute worst thing he can do, as that only makes him think about you more and more. Soon enough, all he can think about is how much he doesn’t want to be thinking about you, and he’s basically stuck in an endless loop at this point. 

It would almost be funny if it wasn’t sad. Lilia definitely tries to give Sebek advice, but most of his attempts just end with Sebek shutting down and getting grumpy. Even Malleus can’t seem to get through to him, and that’s when you know it’s bad. 

You, meanwhile, are just kind of vibing. You’re aware of what’s going on with Sebek to a certain extent. As far as you know, Sebek is in a funk because of something, and you're worried about him, but you don’t quite know what’s going on. No one will tell you why Sebek is so upset, and while you really want to help him, you also know to respect his privacy. 

Eventually, after a lot of yelling and lowkey threats, Sebek finally listens and admits his feelings for you, but he’s still not ready to confess immediately. Everyone has had enough of him, but they can only push him so far. 

What no one expects is for you to confess to him instead. Sebek is especially caught off guard, and he practically short circuits as you explain your feelings towards him. 

That seems to be the thing to finally work on him, and he (not-so) begrudgingly agrees to go out with you. You’re happy, Lilia and Malleus are happy, and Silver is just glad Sebek isn’t moping anymore. 

Your relationship progresses shockingly well from there. He learns to ease up a bit, and you help him out a lot during that process. Even if it’s hard for him to admit, he is genuinely grateful for you, and even more grateful you confessed to him when he didn’t have the courage. 

Little does he know you’re about to do it again. 

You’ve been together for a while now, and you really want to get married. If Sebek couldn’t even confess to you in high school, you know for a fact he would never be able to confess to you, even after all of his character development. Just because he’s less angry does not take away the fact that he’s still a bit of an anxious mess. 

That’s why you take on the role of doing the proposing instead. You’ve had it all planned out for a while now, and you think you’re finally ready to put your plan to action. 

You decide that the best place to propose would be at home. That way he’s comfortable and out of the public eye, just in case he does get a bit freaked out. You’re sure he wants to marry you, and you doubt he’d say no, but he might panic a bit if he’s caught off guard. 

Currently, he’s busy being a knight, so you’re home alone as you wait for him. When he returns home, you greet him with a homemade dinner, and you can tell that makes him incredibly happy. Sebek is a sucker for domesticality and you’re actively using that in your favor. 

Dinner is amazing, and Sebek is in a very good mood, and you decide this is the best time to ask him. You pull out your ring, presenting it to Sebek. He looks at you in shock, as if he doesn’t believe this is actually happening right now. You give him a tiny speech about how much you love him and how proud you are of him for how far he’s come, and that you’d really like to marry him. 

He continues to stare, and you see him swallow in nervousness. Then, he steps towards you, enveloping you in his arms, and you know that means yes. Sebek doesn’t even try to act all tsundere, instead choosing to be sincere as he gives you his official yes. You give him the ring, and he continues to hug you. You can tell you’ve made him very happy. 

Your wedding is a rather normal wedding. There’s a decent guest list, if only because he knows a lot of people from being a knight. The ceremony and reception are both quite simple, as Sebek has never been one for flashy presentation. He does get teased a lot by several of the guests for how nervous he was back when you first confessed to him, but it’s obvious that everyone is happy for him, and you as well.

[theorist-fox]

A little scrap of inexperienced Simon (my beloved, my baby, I love you) because it stuck to my brain like glue.

Simon, who comes back from deployment, and his anxieties slowly ebb away the moment he sets foot in the house—because there's an extra pair of shoes by the door, an extra set of keys on the shelf. 

You're already tucked in by the time he's silently walking in the bedroom, quiet like a mouse, dropping duffle bag and wind jacket on the floor. His clothes follow soon after, and before he even knows it, he's under the bedsheets. 

Shower be damned, he'll have plenty of time in the morning.

Naively, he thought sex would be off the table because he is too bloody tired to even concoct the thought—but you look heaven-sent, the first scrap of peace life has given him in ages.

And fuck, you're asleep, but his cock suddenly isn't. He has to get adjusted to that—arousal rearing its head only when you're close enough to smell.

Selfishly, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, hoping it would be enough to gently wake you up—but he should've known better, because you swivel around quicker than his reflexes and elbow him in the face. 

Only seconds later, when your ears perk and your eyes peel open, attentive and aware, you recognize the familiar shorn blond hair and the string of curses that leaves his lips, big hands cupping his nose. 

Curses and apologies flow down your tongue so anxiously he can't help but drawl a "S'nothin', s'fine," followed by "Been through worse, swear it."

And then you're peppering apologetic kisses all over his cheeks, and he can't help but deflate because, after all, he's had plenty of elbows in his face but not as many lips. 

He chuckles, a rough sound that rarely leaves him, and your giggles follow soon after. Until your kisses land on his lips, and he sighs in pure contentment. 

It's a slow dance you welcome him home with—tender touches that make his stomach tingle all the way to his scalp. He almost falls asleep, but the feel of your skin on his has his body think otherwise.

Which is why gentle turns urgent, and you comply because, for some reason, you seem to want him as much as he does you.

And then he has you on your back, all wrapped around him, like a bow on a present. Frantically struggles to untie the drawstrings of your sweats, grumbling something about his fingers being too big, to which you reply with a cheeky remark that has his cock twitch in his briefs.

He crashes his mouth onto yours because words aren't his forte, nor are his actions—however, he'd like to try.

But your teeth knock together so hard that Simon feels his skull vibrate. He's disoriented and in pain, and, while not many, he surely doesn't recall any past sexual experiences leaving him this sore before they even began.

As soon as he starts worrying about your well-being, he finds you hysterical, holding your stomach in a laugh that exposes pink-stained teeth. You try and spectacularly fail (several times) to recollect yourself.

He thinks you look beautiful, even if you're struggling to form sentences. But he gathers you don't need words, because you finally pull him down to meet you halfway, and he lands softly this time.

He's cracked your lip, and your tongue tastes of copper, but still you smile. And while once he might have questioned your sanity because you're bleeding and his nose is throbbing, now he sees no wrong in it.

Happiness comes in different boxes, after all. And his own is shaped like you—bleeding lips, hysterics, and all.

[gassydumbjocks]

Virilite 1.1:

Boys will be boys

Training Liam to be the perfect manly dude he was meant to be was more fun than i thought, i kept trying a lil more commands on him, some even to humble him a bit making him do embarrasing stuff he'd NEVER do and he'd just obey without hesitation.

This was just getting better, and better, and again i thought of what Noah would think of this when he'd see Liam being no more than a puppet for the amusement of the commander.

After making him burp out the entire national anthem and laughing my ass off at him, i heard some steps from upstairs coming, Noah came at our weekly gathering to watch the game together while having some beers, i had to think of a good excuse for Liam, or maybe should i just tell him it was the best?

"Dave, where did ya put-... Oh, you're with... Liam?" he said scratching his neck, confused, Liam and i rarely interactued, let alone just the two of us, but this was going to be different from now on.

"Uh, yeah, we were just waiting for you here" i lie returning to the couch hoping he'd buy it .

"Sure, ok then" he simply shrugs it up "i was looking for him upstairs too, Liam, can you help me bring all the food and drinks?" he asks his son, and as he gets no response he raises an eyebrow "Son?"

I quickly intervene "Leave him, i can help you with that" i say but he ingnores it "No, i want him to do it besides... Why is he so, vacant?" He notices Liam is just sitting in a static position, no movement from him, and also his empty look "Liam you alright?" he asks again, and as expected, no response.

"What's with him all of a sudden?" he suddenly asks me, and i gasp a bit. He looks at him again, and then notices the bottle of Virilite pills that were still at the table "Virilite? What's that?" he says now focusing on them taking the container.

"Noah, i can explain this, those are some pills i bought, for Liam, you see?" i admit "They are meant to turn him into a real man, just as you and me always wanted, look, just let me show you" i try to explain him.

"Pills?! But, Dave- what the hell? What do you even mean?" he asks starting to frown a bit, i quickly take the container and show him the instructions.

"See? These have effects on the behavior and even actions of whoever that takes them, and even affects the increase of testosterone on him! He'll be in a trance-like state and you'll just need to command him do anything you want" i say, he still giving me a killer look.

"Noah, this can help you to finally lead him the right way and turn him into a good straight man, dont tell me you didn't seek for a miracle to change him so he'd finally like to bond with you" i say, and he just stays silent, proving my point.

"Even so, what can i "command" him to do?" he asks shrugging, and i smirk "anything brother, i already had a lot of fun at him, just watch this" i say and look at Liam, who letted out a goofy laugh again oblivious we were talking about him "Liam, i want you to make a cup fart with your own hand, and then you'll smell it" i smirk waiting for it.

We see Liam reaching his hand to his butt, and after some seconds, he grunted squinting an eye and dropping out a huge bomb of a bassy fart on hid own hand palm.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!

I burst into laughter while Noah still reacts to what just happened, dumbfounded "did he... did he just fart?" he asks, and to top things up, we then saw how Liam with that now eternal dumb expression in his face took his hand to his nose, and sniffed deeply, before laughing again, making me almost cry of how amusing this was for me.

"And that's not all, Liam, show Noah that trick i trained you to do" i command and Liam gets in action for his thing, first, i trained him to let out a loud burp with his hands cupped in his mouth, then he'd play as if he was juggling with it, he'd swallow the belch again, and when his stomach recieved the burped out gas again in his stomach...

BOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUURRRPPPP!!

...

PPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT!!!

I chuckle and go to him to give him some well-deserved pats in the back "good boy, very funny Liam" i praise him with a huge smile.

"Bro, what are you waiting for? Just try and make him do something you always wanted him to, any manly stuff works" i say again and he looks at his son, reflecting.

"I admit i always wanted a son i could call a real man... Ok, but just for a bit! I dont want my son to always be this...somehow extremely gassy zombie thing" he says waving his hand, the gas must have hitted him by now "Goddamn, did you fed him something to make him this gassy or what?" he asks coughing.

"Nothing, just pure pill effect, and I know right, its so potent, i even had to open a window earlier, but we'll get used" i joke "also i wouldn't worry, i readed in the website the trance state isn't permanent, they give you a certain amount of time so you can "program the person" as your like, then they'll come back to normal again, just with the new antics and persona you implanted on him, Liam will now love to join us in our belch offs or our protein farts competitions in our boys nights during the matches huh?" i giggle

"Guess this can work" Noah said, finally putting just a small, very slighty smirk on his lips, while patting his son's back, eager to finally enjoy the company of a son that could make guy stuff with him.

[sulumuns-dootah]

31. 10. Shower - Asmodeus

    ༺☆༻

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽Helltober '24☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N: Here we are: A much needed shower for our stinky king. I kinda did forget to keep describing the shower, but everything is happening in a shower :D (The prompt for this bonus was decided by YOU through a poll ^^)

Warnings: Since there was a significant amount of people also voting for Consensual Non-con, i decided to include it too - sadly couldn't fit throne fucking in :/, Asmo uses 'bitch' to reffer to reader (I honestly think that's what devs meant to translate 'female' to)

    ༺☆༻

Finally, after a long day of spending time with almost all demons in Hell, you're alone and taking a scorching hot shower. The almost-boiling water droplets fall on your body and help you relax your sore muscles. It was a long day, but it's finally coming to an end.

If you had to guess, you'd say it's somewhere around midnight and you're just about ready to collapse into your bed and fall asleep in whatever position you happen to land. Hopefully the colder air outside your shower wakes you up enough to finish your whole night routine.

Maybe you can stay in the shower for just a little bit...Suddenly a chill runs up your spine and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. Huh..?

You still haven't moved an inch out of the shower and you're already cold?

No, this feels different. Almost like when Foras is around, but you're sure he's currently tending to Leviathan's nightly needs. No, this feels heavier, more overbearing than a noble.

Then... you hear the sound of bare feet and some rustling chains quietly making their way to you, back turned to the room and facing a wall.

Your fight or flight response kicks in and instead your body freezes. Maybe it's even for the best. There's water all over the place and you don't want to hurt yourself.

The intruder is so close and you hold your breath, waiting for anything.

But for the longest time nothing comes. No sound or shift in energy.

“Huhu, I love the smell of your fear, little bitch.” you jump as a mischievous whisper interrupts the agonising silence, followed by a very audible sniff. Your mind immediately jumps to Beelzebub, but the voice is way too different to be him.

The thoughts in your mind are racing, trying to figure out who this demon is, but they're coming up empty. Who is this demon and what does he plan with you?

Suddenly, two large hands find their place on your body with some more metal sounds. One pushes your torso against the tiled wall and the other pulls your hips backwards for you to feel the huge, throbbing dick, ready to impale you.

A cry leaves your lips at the sudden action as well as the sensation of being pushed up against the cold surface. Finally, your fighting response kicks in and you start to try and struggle, but it's to no avail. The unknown demon's grip on you is too strong.

“Haa~, you really know how to make things more exciting, Y/N!” the impressively long length starts being rubbed on your backside. The adrenaline, still coursing through your body makes your legs shake and your knees almost give out on you.

“Mmh~... Your fear feels very much real. Did you forget about our little talk from earlier this month?” the demon chuckles out and his hand moves from your torso to entwine in your hair.

You gasp out. From the slight pain, but also from realisation.

“A-asmo?!”

Now it makes sense. Earlier in the month you've found yourself in Abaddon and met Asmodeus for the first time. You two had a somewhat long conversation about sex, kinks and such. At one point the king of lust asked you if there was something you'd like to try but were too afraid to admit to anyone. After some encouragement, you ended up confessing that consensual rape was something that intrigued you.

You completely forgot about that conversation during your very busy month.

“Ahah... So you do remember!” Asmo doesn't waste any moment and draws a sigil on your lower belly. The lines immediately start burning, until your whole body is heated in different way than it was from your shower.

The demon king keeps rubbing against you, to which now you're more than responsive in your magically aroused state, “A-ah fuck~!”

“Huhuhu, as you wish, my pretty little bitch.” Asmodeus chuckles and swiftly enters your awaiting heat. The sigil working its magic helps you fully take him in without any problem, like you've been already going for a few rounds.

Instantly picking up a fast pace, your walls tighten around him, making your first orgasm approach much faster than you'd even like to.

“So~ how do you like your first dream fulfilled? There's much more to come, huhu!”

Oh. That's right. This was only one of your secret fantasies.

Fuck.

[emotionalmessss]

hope you’re well ♥️ may i request a headcanon where yan!chrollo’s partner escaped but when he confronts them (or however you write it-it’s up to you!) they are really remorseful like “i knew i shouldn’t have left” on their own volition? thank you! ♥️

A/N: ouu, I really like this idea. I can never say no to Yan!Chrollo lol. I’d be more than happy to answer, and I’ll try my best! Thank you for the request, enjoy! :) (this ended up much longer than I expected)

Warnings: yandere themes, unhealthy/forced relationship, stalking, implied kidnapping, kinda implied non-con, psychological abuse, hardcore manipulation. chrollo is a dick.

Chrollo is no saint, but he definitely has the patience of one–though only to a certain extent. With you, however, he seems to have all the fucking patience in the world. Because of Chrollo’s emotionally complex nature, I kind of feel like it’s difficult for him to form emotional attachments, especially with those outside the Troupe. Connections have never really been a priority for Chrollo, nor do they come easily to him. But, with you, it’s different. You’ve always stood out, and his relationship with you is something that he treasures deeply. In his own twisted way.

Ever since Chrollo first laid eyes on you, he’s been utterly fascinated–a reaction that probably confused him at first, considering his interests usually only involve the wellbeing of the Troupe, books, and stealing valuable objects and Nen abilities. Chrollo has utilized all his available resources to gather as much information about you as possible, spending countless hours studying every single aspect of your life. Say goodbye to your privacy because there’s no such thing when it comes to Chrollo. And sure, a few members of the Troupe probably found Chrollo’s behavior unusual, but they knew better than to question the boss.

Chrollo might be completely infatuated with you, but he’s not blind to how difficult the situation is for you–he is well aware of human nature, and even more familiar with you. In fact, he completely understands your struggles. But, does that mean he’s going to let you go? Fuck no. As far as captors go, Chrollo has been incredibly lenient with you, hoping that you’d eventually realize that there is no one else in the world that could cherish you the way he does. And when you escaped from him, you betrayed that sliver of trust he gave you.

Your escape was successful, congrats. Managing to slip past Chrollo’s defenses was a challenge in itself–and you should be proud–not everyone can outsmart the head of the Spider. But, that’s just the beginning, don’t celebrate just yet. Surely, you’ll have to deal with a fuck load of complications, like starting your life over from scratch, fending for yourself, constantly watching your back, and maybe, just maybe, going as far as adopting a completely new identity. Things couldn’t get any more complicated, could they? Oh, they can and they will. 

It wouldn’t be long before you started to doubt and question everything–your thoughts, your feelings, your emotions, your choices, and most importantly, Chrollo. You might’ve thought you had the upper hand, but somehow, for some fucking reason, Chrollo always has the last laugh. Chrollo would never allow himself to show it, but he would definitely feel slightly irritated with the situation and your behavior. You actually had the audacity to run away from him? Have you forgotten who he is and what he's capable of? It’s not very often that someone would defy him, and part of him secretly applauds your pathetic–yet somewhat amusing–actions. Did you truly believe that he wouldn’t be able to find you again? 

I’d imagine that Chrollo probably saw your sudden absence as nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Annoying? Yes. Unexpected? No. Would he have expected you to be remorseful after escaping? Not entirely. Fortunately for him–and unfortunately for you–Chrollo knows you very fucking well. So well, in fact, that he’s become really good at predicting not only your next moves, but also what goes on in your head. He knew it wouldn’t take long for your mind to overwhelm you–that fresh start of yours isn’t feeling all that fresh anymore, is it? 

Chrollo wouldn’t go find you right away, no, he’d let you struggle for a bit before he made a move. The Troupe would probably question their boss’ somewhat unusual approach to the situation, but they wouldn’t push their luck–they knew better than to risk overstepping any boundaries, especially when it involves you and Chrollo. Just because his love for you is fucked up unconventional doesn’t mean he’s going to act impulsively to get you back, that's not how Chrollo operates, his methods are much more refined and efficient than that. 

But, that doesn’t mean Chrollo won’t be thinking of you. You’re always on his mind. He’d deny it, but the mental image of you–somewhere far away and stressed out, trying to move on with your life–was oddly satisfying. Some might say that’s cruel, but Chrollo sees it as conditioning. And Chrollo is a master manipulator. He may appear relatively passive on the outside, but you should never underestimate him. I feel like nothing is off-limits with Chrollo, and he’ll do anything and everything to make it impossible for you to leave him. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. So, it's really not much of a surprise that you’re remorseful about running away. That’s exactly what he planned. 

From the very beginning, Chrollo has been subtly manipulating and conditioning you, instilling doubt and dependency within you. He’d isolate you from the outside world and from the other people in your life, both physically and emotionally. He kept you by his side, never allowing you to stray too far. Even when you thought you were alone, he was watching. He gave you the illusion of freedom–a door that was occasionally left unlocked, access to his entire apartment, the opportunity to go outside, but only with him. He’d make you question the relationships you had with everyone that wasn’t him, slowly turning you against them. Do they actually care about you? Do they actually understand you like he does? Those were his ways of making sure there was nobody else you can interact with, forcing you to become dependent on him for everything.

Chrollo wouldn’t stop there. There were times when he would let his guard down, allowing you to see moments of vulnerability. He would tell you things–his past, his thoughts–enough to make you believe there was more to him than the monster you feared. When you eventually opened up to him about your own thoughts, he’d listen. He always listened so fucking carefully. He made you feel like he understood you better than anyone else ever had, or ever could.

And it all paid off in the end. For him, at least.

It’s almost been two months without Chrollo and surprisingly, it doesn’t feel as good as you thought it would. In fact, your newfound freedom feels fucking horrible. It doesn’t make sense–you should be thrilled that you’ve managed to escape after being held captive for one year. You had planned this escape for months, spending countless nights going over it again and again in your head until it was foolproof. It worked, yet you were far from satisfied.

Feeling more than a little conflicted about your state of mind, you move to sit on the couch in your living room. The old, faded piece of furniture creaks beneath your weight as you settle into the cushions. It felt cold and unfamiliar. The couch was probably older than you–faded, torn, and pilling–unlike the expensive plush one that Chrollo has. That one felt warm and familiar. Anxiously, you stir your half drank cup of coffee and take a sip, grimacing slightly. Even his fucking coffee was better than yours. 

This new life was supposed to be a fresh start, but instead, it was a constant reminder of everything you left behind. It seems that no matter how hard you try, you just can’t get Chrollo out of your mind. Every little sound–footsteps, doors opening–sent you into fight or flight mode, always on edge. It felt like you were living with a shadow that was slowly closing in, but you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to run away from it. Fear, longing, and resentment were just a few of the emotions you’ve learned to cope with, but it never got any easier. 

Part of you missed the late night, deep conversations, the way he listened intently, as if your words were the most important thing in the world. Now, your nights are restless, haunted by constant nightmares involving a certain raven haired man. Maybe it's Stockholm syndrome? There’s no way to be sure–therapy costs money, and you aren’t exactly rolling in it. Your hands tremble as you place the mug down, spilling the dark liquid all over the side table. Still trapped in your mind, you get up from the shitty couch and head towards the kitchen, moving to grab a rag to clean up the equally shitty coffee. 

A small creak from behind catches your attention, making you pause momentarily to glance over your shoulder. Like countless other times, there's nothing there. Maybe you don’t even need a psych to diagnose you, since you’re already going insane. Sighing, you grab the rag and start walking back toward the living room. 

“A bit late for coffee, is it not?” The smooth sounding voice instantly makes you freeze in place, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with a rush of emotions. There’s a certain lightness in his tone that’s not usually present–it’s almost like he’s teasing yet chiding you. Either way, you weren’t going to concern yourself with the semantics.

It feels like your body has been completely paralyzed. Yet, somehow, you manage to summon the courage to slowly turn your gaze towards the source of the voice, finding it at the front entrance of your apartment. What you see is enough to make you feel faint, your head spinning and your stomach dropping like a stone–it’s Chrollo, looming in the doorway, his large eyes focused solely on you as a soft, enigmatic smile plays on his lips. Unconsciously, a whimper escapes your lips and your mind suddenly kicks into overdrive, frantically attempting to process the overwhelming reality of what’s happening. All those conflicting thoughts from moments ago flood back into your mind.

You find yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions, torn between the relief of finally seeing him again and the chilling fear of what this unexpected encounter might bring. You had started a new life here, a life that was simpler, quieter, more peaceful. But as you stand there, facing Chrollo and the flood of memories he brings, you can't help but question–was it truly peace? You must’ve only been standing there–stuck in your thoughts–for a few minutes, but Chrollo seems to notice your dazed state and decides to speak up again, effectively snapping you back to reality. 

“May I come in? We have so much to discuss.” Chrollo says, his voice as gentle and as reassuring as you remember. Without waiting for your response, he's already stepping across the threshold and moving into your apartment, making his way toward the living room. His approach is calm and measured. It’s almost as if he’s been in your apartment a thousand times before, and as if he has all the time in the world. Rooted to the spot, your hand trembles as you clutch the damp rag, watching as Chrollo takes your previously occupied seat on the couch.

“Chrollo?” You find yourself whispering, your voice barely more than a shaky exhale, hesitant and filled with uncertainty. Saying his name after the silence of these past months feels strange, foreign, but oddly enough, you find yourself not hating it. Chrollo doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, his gaze remains fixed on you as he sinks deeper into the couch, leaning back casually and letting his hands rest on top of his thighs. The silence stretches on, lingering too long, and a part of you believes he’s doing it on purpose. 

“You seem troubled,” Chrollo observes, his dark eyes softening a fraction. “Come, sit. Let’s talk.” He insists softly, tilting his head toward the empty spot next to him on the couch, a silent command for you to join him. Despite his calm demeanor, it’s quite clear that he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He won’t deny it–your little escape was mildly infuriating. But he wasn’t entirely without compassion–at least, that’s what he liked to believe.

Your chest tightens painfully at his words, each breath feeling like a struggle, as if your lungs are refusing to expand. Your vision blurs as tears gather, threatening to spill over at any moment. You’ve reached your breaking point–the emotions you’ve been painstakingly avoiding have finally surfaced. The ache of remorse gnaws at you, a torrent of regret and guilt that you've been desperately trying to suppress. You open your mouth to respond–to say something, anything at all–but find yourself choking pitifully on a sob, no words coming out. 

The tears start to fall, pouring down your cheeks as you stumble blindly toward the couch, dropping the rag on the ground and barely registering the resigned sigh that Chrollo lets out. You plop down onto the couch next to Chrollo, feeling utterly pathetic about your current state. Not even a second later, Chrollo’s arm slips behind your back and wraps securely around your waist, pulling your trembling body toward his. You don’t fight it, instead allowing your face to bury into the comforting warmth of his chest, while his hand gently cradles the back of your head.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat over and over again, your voice cracking as you sob into his chest. 

Chrollo’s quiet again, the silence only broken by your sniffles and unsteady breaths. His fingers thread soothingly through your hair, softly shushing you. “You’re okay, I’m right here,” he reassures, his voice stripped of its usual firmness, now softer, gentler, almost tender. His expression remains unreadable as he looks down at you, his eyes revealing nothing of thoughts that are undoubtedly coursing through his mind right now. Internally, however, he feels a tinge of satisfaction upon hearing your apologetic pleas. Maybe things can go back to the way they were, or maybe they'll morph into something new, something better. 

There’s another pause, a moment where he lets you compose yourself. He doesn't mention your escape, or the remorse you've shown–not just yet. In truth, Chrollo is not the least bit surprised by your emotional spiral. He knows you well enough to understand that this is not merely a reaction to his relentless pursuit and eventual discovery of your whereabouts. No, this is an entirely different kind of response, one born out of internal conflict.

If it were any other man in this position, they might have felt guilty for putting you through so much torment. But Chrollo is not ‘any other man.’ Far from it. As he watches you break down in his arms, he doesn’t feel any guilt. He doesn’t see your suffering as something he should apologize for. Why would he? For Chrollo, he sees this as a necessary consequence of the bond he’s carefully created. And he can see that you’re finally starting to understand.

During your time together, Chrollo had a way of making you question everything. Slowly but surely, he instilled a sense of doubt and dependency within you. It was never obvious. That wasn’t his style. 

He had a way of making you believe that the outside world was cruel and dangerous. Every time he caught you looking at the door, he’d remind you–without even needing to say a word–that he was the only one who could truly protect you. A raised brow and slight tilt of his head was more than enough to remind you of everything he had told you before. He was never threatening about it, he didn’t need to be. A simple look from him was all it took for you to hesitate, to second-guess walking out that door. 

Would it really be better out there than here? Could you really handle Yorknew City? Surely, there were people out there much worse than him, right? People who wouldn’t think twice about taking advantage of someone like you. You could imagine it so vividly: faceless men with rough hands that wouldn’t give a shit about you, your struggles, or your pleas. They’d only see you as a pretty little thing to use. Chrollo never said it outright, but the implication was always there: he wasn’t like them. His touches, though somewhat unwelcome and borderline possessive, were never violent. 

At least with Chrollo, you knew the rules and boundaries–his rules and boundaries. And he never lied to you, not really. The world really was dangerous. There really were people out there who would hurt you. He made sure that you believed he was the best choice. And who else was there for you, really? Not your friends, the ones he slowly convinced you that they didn’t care as much as they claimed. Not your family, who couldn’t possibly understand the complexity of your situation. No, it was just Chrollo. He wasn’t the monster you wanted him to be. He was something far worse: he was everything you didn’t know you needed. And that was much more fucking terrifying.

Finally pulling himself from his thoughts, Chrollo decides that he’s made you suffer in silence for long enough. “You should not have tried to escape, [name],” he says, his voice gentle but carries a clear note of criticism and disappointment. He deliberately uses your name, refraining from the endearing nicknames he usually employs. It's a subtle punishment, a way to remind you of your mistakes. He knows exactly what kind of impact it has on you–how the distance it creates makes you feel small, like a reprimanded child. “Predictably, it didn’t end well.” His tone is soft, almost conversational.

Chrollo pauses again, his fingers suddenly halting their soothing rhythm in your hair. Abruptly, he withdraws the comforting contact, depriving you of the warmth you didn’t even realize you’d come to depend on. You can’t stop yourself from tensing in his arms, struggling to stifle a choked sob. You can’t see it–not with your teary face buried in his chest–but there’s a faint curl of his lips, a flicker of satisfaction at your reaction. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He lets out a deep, exaggerated sigh, his hand pulling away from your scalp completely. Now it rests on the frayed backrest of the couch, lazily tracing patterns on the rough fabric. 

“Running… it doesn’t suit you.” The words are so plain, so final. It's not suggestion or opinion, but a fucking fact. It’s the way he always spoke to you, as if he knew you better than you knew yourself. “It only leads you to pain and suffering. Surely, you’ve realized that by now?” There is no anger or frustration in his voice, just that same steady, disorientating calm that makes you second-guess everything. He speaks as if this entire situation is simply an inconvenience to him, which makes it near impossible to decipher his true thoughts and feelings. 

And then, Chrollo gently but firmly tilts your head up, leaving no room for you to resist him. Not like it would do you any good. Forcing you to meet his gaze, he studies you intently, his dark eyes partially shielded by the strands of raven hair that fall across his pale face. “You’re an intelligent woman,” he murmurs, and for some reason, it felt more like he was mocking you rather than giving you a genuine compliment. “I’m certain that you can grasp the situation.” As he speaks, his grip on your face tightens significantly, hinting at the threat that lies beneath his words. It’s his little way of telling you that you should know better.  

You wince as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your jaw, more out of surprise than pain. The pressure isn’t unbearable, but it’s enough to remind you of his control. You don’t have much faith in your ability to form a coherent sentence right now, not when your throat feels tight and your thoughts are a jumbled mess. Instead, you nod in response, hoping it’s enough. 

Chrollo’s eyes flicker with approval, and maybe a hint of amusement. It’s impossible to be sure with him. He releases your jaw as he lets out a satisfied hum of acknowledgement, now wiping away a few stray tears from your damp cheeks. The gesture should feel comforting, but instead, it leaves you feeling hollow, like being soothed after a punishment you never deserved. “Good girl.” The praise rolls off his tongue easily, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’re emotional,” he says, almost to himself. “But you’ll understand in time.”

“It’s time to go home. We’ll continue this conversation later,” He adds, reminding you that this matter is far from resolved.

[snailchimera]

Having watched Nightmare on Elm Street for the first time last night, with no other context for the series, I have a proposition I would like to put forth to you:

The real actual human being, Fred Kreuger, may have been innocent.

Whether he was or not, the dream monster Freddy Kreuger actually originates from the minds of the parents, as the feverishly paranoid idea of an outsider predator lurking in a Nice Suburban Neighborhood amplified by the real lived experience of having a serial killer in your area growing up, and the necessary justification for burning a man to death in his own home and stealing his weird art gloves as a trophy you keep in your basement for some reason.

I don't really have enough of a functioning brain right this second to do a full essay right now, but. There's something about how the parents of the targeted kids in Nightmare on Elm Street are antagonists in a similar way to the mayor in JAWS, ignoring, dismissing, or misappropriating blame for the problem of Freddy Kreuger even once it becomes obvious that something out of the ordinary is happening. I'm not saying it actually makes sense to jump straight to "my daughter really is being attacked by a Dream Murderer", but throughout the film there's not only this intense insistence that Everything Is Fine Now even after multiple murders have occurred, there's a deep hostility towards any action implying that things are not fine now or acting like a problem still exists after it's been "dealt with", and an ongoing theme of looking away from the problem and acting like that makes it fine when it doesn't (which even helps make sense of that strangely abrupt ending).

The parents want simple actions and simple answers, and they want to not have to deal with the situation anymore. The clean even slashes on Tina's nightgown must be from too-long fingernails. Rod was the murderer and he killed himself, case closed. Nancy's acting "crazy", she must be dangerous herself. Would it be that surprising if people with this approach to danger, who know themselves to be in danger and crave a simple solution, two of whom grew up to be a cop and his daydrinking "learn to look away" wife, looked at a man acquitted of murder and decided that him being wrongly acquitted was an easier, more comfortable answer than still not knowing who the threat actually was? Would it be that far-fetched for people with these thought patterns and behaviors to have cemented said thinking and behavior by enacting horrifying mob violence (because burning someone to death is a hell of a thing to do, and to witness, regardless of who's burning to death or why) and needing to be able to live with that afterward?

And Kreuger doesn't act like a real person. Sure, yeah, it's a slasher movie, you're not necessarily going to expect a slasher killer to act like a real person. Also, horrible people can in fact be horrible in uncomplicated, unsubtle, over-the-top ways (see Donald Trump). Kreuger, though, is practically a distillation of the child predator and murderer as imagined by the kind of person who legitimately believes people are putting heroin and razor blades in Halloween candy, you know? Outsider, dirty and disheveled, visibly marked as Different (by their own actions), flat and seedy hypersexual behavior, a person whose only motive is to instill fear and who has no internal or external justifications otherwise. He's the, word choice intentional, reality-disconnected nightmare of an upper-middle-class centrist-to-conservative white suburbanite, a perfect subhuman threat of a monster, the kind you can look at and go "yeah, setting this guy on fire was a fair call".

(Speaking of, it's... interesting, the way he reacts to being set on fire, isn't it? Everywhere else he's either implausibly resilient and unconcerned, furious and still threatening, or has a hammy movie villain sort of distress when threatened or thwarted. But he sure does act like an actual person who's on fire there, doesn't he? Like the sort of scene that might be indelibly marked on someone's memory, if they watched a real person burn to death?)

And he's also pretty explicitly framed in the movie as a construction of some kind, much moreso than as a vengeful ghost. The (weirdly casually racist but period typical) lucid dreaming explanation, and Nancy's approach from that point on, certainly support that framing, as does the fixation on (drawing strength from?) fear and belief. Nancy seems to think he's coming from her brain, and maybe he is by that point, but Nancy didn't know who Fred Kreuger was when all this started. Her parents and her friends' parents did.

I dunno. Like I said, this is a ramble, not a coherent essay. But I think there's a decent argument to be made that the real Fred Kreuger was never involved here at all, except as a fossilized impression in the psyches of a nightmare's true source.

[destinationtrekk]

I want a long explanation of Albert's mental state after re5, you know....ummm, I mean, how much does his behavior and actions change? How will he feel about himself? Will he suffer from depression or such disorders? How will be his relationship with the reader?

I hope I didn't bother you ❤️❤️

awh, asks are never a bother!! wi will say I think @nshtn is much better at describing wesker's psyche than me, but my version of post re5!wesker (i call him uroboros!wesker) is different than theirs.

also holy shit this is 1200 words, i don't know what happened

i think immediately after re5, there's no change. physiclly, he's incredibly weak and in near-constant pain as uroboros heals him. you dote on him religiously, desperate to keep him alive as well, and this is what begins his mental shift. it does take a few months, but he slowly comes to realize how much he needs you past his surface level sexual desire and trust in you as a "lackey" basically

not that he never felt affection for you, but he certainly labelled it as something superficial - what one would feel for a pet, perhaps. now that he has nothing to do except sit around and feel sorry for himself and struggle with his feelings toward his own virus in his body, he feelings for you morph quite a bit.

but first, his self-perception. after spending his life comparing himself and those around him to Spencer, he had a serious ego problem and god-complex. he literally calls himself a god in re5, and gods don't lose the game - except he did. i think wesker sees the world as pretty black and white. you're either an asset or an enemy, worthy or a waste, and the only time in his life when this mindset fractured was in stars.

he saw many, many people as an officer who made genuine mistakes that put them in awful situations - criminals who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and victims who just wanted a way out. he finally had a glimpse of humanity's reality, that regular people had to fight to survive like he did, except they get to be happy when they survive something. he never had that. it was survive or fail, and you don't get to be happy about it when your only other option is to die. i think marcus' death absolutely had to do something to his psyche as well, definitely as a motivator to 'stay on the path paved for you, and be obedient, or bad things will happen."

so in stars he feels conflicted emotions about the reality of his childhood, but they're temporary and quickly get repressed again as his life goes on. they resurface post-re5 because he sees how you interact with others, and he really has nothing else to do except to think about it.

this obsession with analyzing his own upbringing couples rather poorly with his feelings for you, now fully fledged as romantic and devoted. of course, he refuses to say anything. he now believes that he's worthless, a failure, and his life's work has been utterly destroyed. wesker is the kind of person who needs a goal and clear objectives, and without them he feels like he'll drown in his own thoughts. which is exactly what he's doing!

you notice his odd behavior immediately, from the way he refuses compliments that used to make him cocky, and how he rarely (if ever) asks you for anything. you were basically his assistant before, and now he apologizes for even having a harsh tone with you. he can't fathom how you care so deeply for a failure like him, and why you aren't using helping to save his life against him. because that's what people do, right? they take and give and everything has to be a favor that helps you climb to the top.

well, you never actually cared about him being on the top, so you take it upon yourself to confess first. surely he's always known how you felt about him, smirking at your blushing reactions and lusty stares, but he reacts bad when you finally tell him. he thinks this is how you're making him repay for saving his life, by humiliating and debasing him for his romantic attachment to you.

this is a shock to you, because you thought he was moping out of self-pity, not a midlife, self-exploratory bout of depression. it hurts both of your feelings - he thinks you've played him by being kind for something in return, and you're heartbroken that the man you love doesn't trust you anymore.

it takes a while for him to come around. you double down on your affection and explanations, trying to dismantle his fragile mindset piece by piece. he's resistant, somehow convincing himself that he's trapped in some sick mind game that you're manipulating, because he's too thick to just give in. he doesn't know how to accept love or, frankly, get the fuck over himself. yes, he failed. yes, his life's work is kind of ruined. but he has a new lease on life, if he would just accept it.

what finally pulls him out of this spiral is a kiss. you've been pleading with him for days, trying to get him to just talk to you and work this out, because you can't keep living in this emotional hell. he's snippy and rude and exhausted, because he feels the same. he can't bear to be around you anymore, so he tells you to leave him the hell alone. you're in his new office, having switched safe houses a few times until you could finally settle, and this most recent, permanent move is why you've been so upset.

why does he think you're sticking around? he still has access to nearly all of his resources, if he really wanted you gone he could leave without telling you. he's well healed now, except for a few things he'll likely deal with forever, but he's keeping you around. he knows he can't let go of you, but he's still so resistant to everything you're offering.

he's standing hunched over his desk, hands white-knuckling the dark mahogany, broad shoulders and back facing you so he can hide him expression from you. his voice is strained, like he's barely holding himself together while you're openly crying. this is unbearable, but you comply with his wishes.

your last move is to walk closer, your hand lightly settling on his elbow while you press your forehead to his bicep, seeking any tiny sliver of comfort you can find in him. you leave a gentle kiss on his arm, as well as a wet patch of your tears, before you walk away, silent except the heartbreaking sound of your sniffling.

this shatters him. he spends the rest of the day destroying himself, but he vows it's the last time he'll wallow in misery. it takes time, but he slowly begins to open up to you, admitting to his poor mental health and struggles with finding purpose. how he can't fathom your love for him, but he can't fight his own attachment to you either. he cries when you kiss his lips for the first time, but he fails to hide his smile when you pull away.

later in life, years after the devastation that was Kijuju, he's a different man. he's still a little flighty and calculating, but he's fast to comfort and reassure you, expressing himself freely and communicating instead of lashing out or pushing you away. you both still work on...well, everything. your lives have been tragic and painful, especially his own, but he's never felt so secure as he does with you. he truly loves you, and he'll do anything he can to keep himself from ever hurting you again.

[vickyvicarious]

Ooh any thoughts on the pairs chosen and their tasks, for the final hunt?

I actually think I have a half-written post about exactly this lurking in my drafts from last year, though I will warn you that it contains spoilers for the journeys. Let me see if I can find it and finish it/clean it up a smidge... Ah. Yes. Here it is:

So, let's take a look at our travel arrangements. The team almost (but not quite) split up into the exact three options Mina listed for Dracula to follow. The only difference being that instead of "by road" we have "along the river." But still it's pretty close.

Each group has a sort of designated scribe who has historically been one of the main writers of the novel (more a meta necessity this, but given the heroes making such use of records it is still helpful to them if they wish to compile an account afterwards as well) as well as someone who will probably take the lead on vampire hunting, though where they can everyone will surely assist. They also have at least one person per group who can presumably make themselves understood by locals. I also added a 'caretaker' category because they're all running low on steam and it is an important consideration character-wise.

Basically this is just me taking a look at how each team is divvied up and why/what meta we could get out of it.

By Rail: Van Helsing and Mina

Scribe: Mina

Fighter: Van Helsing

Languages: Van Helsing

Caretaker: alternating

The two leaders. The brains if you will. They are heading straight to the castle. Van Helsing wants to kill the vampire women, and if he can get the jump on them/ambush them in their coffins it makes sense for him to do so rather than the younger men, whose strength is better saved for a possible direct confrontation with Dracula. And if anyone dies doing this, Van Helsing basically says better the old man who has already lived a long life. Keeping Mina further away from Dracula for as long as possible makes sense too in order to minimize what influence he can have upon her. Having her along to help find the castle as well will be useful, though it does mean she'll be brought in closer contact with his seat of operations and other vampires. But they've planned not to bring her into the castle itself.

The mode of transport is fitting for both of them. Mina of course IS the train fiend and so it's perfect for her to ride a train there. But Van Helsing too has spent a lot of time riding trains back and forth in the book to acquire information that can save a woman from becoming a vampire. Now his last train journey is in an effort to put that information into practice as he tries to save Mina from becoming a vampire/stop the spread by killing the other vampires. Not to mention of course Mina isn't really well and he is older so letting them take the relatively less taxing forms of transportation (train then carriage) makes sense. They both express concern for one another and work together to make sure the other is doing as well as they can throughout the journey as well.

Mina specifically traveling this way makes for a really cool transition from her utilizing the ultra-modern method to then traveling into the past almost as she echoes Jonathan's journey from the beginning of the book and also becomes more and more connected to vampirism/the vampire ladies (and by extent the ancient opposite of the modern civilization that the train represents). This rush to get there first also could reflect the two of them, but especially Mina, outthinking Dracula as they are ready to ambush him upon arrival.

Finally, Van Helsing was the most concerned over Mina's fate and was the one she put most in charge of deciding when she be killed... but he was meant to ensure Jonathan did the deed. So it makes for a really interesting pairing to put him there to make that final judgement but his own promise inclines him to put off action even if he thinks she's passed the point of no return. That said he still is trying really hard to have faith in her despite his doubts and fears, not just because of the promise.

By Land: Quincey and Jack

Scribe: Jack

Fighter: Quincey

Languages: Jack

Caretaker: none

Quincey volunteers early for this job. And Jack speaks up to join him because they work well together and have done things like this before. This actually makes them the only team to both do that, as Van Helsing argued for where Jonathan and Mina should both go. They are also the only pair who already know one another well pre-vampire hunting together.

While this is perhaps the least likely route to meet vampires (second-likeliest route to encounter Dracula, but the other group will almost certainly meet the vampire ladies) it is probably the most physically taxing. They're riding all day. Jack could theoretically be the caretaker here, as he is the doctor, but in reality they both are pressing on really hard and neither one is shown to be making sure the other gets enough rest or whatever. It kind of seems like they're setting a pace where they're both tired enough to just drop off when they get a chance.

Quincey is the leader among the two of them. He's the first to volunteer, and he seems very comfortable with horses and leading a hunt. However, in the larger context of his role in the group as a whole, he is very much the support, and while Jack has had a much larger role, when in the group he's generally support as well (though his trust with Van Helsing means he is usually more involved in discussions than Quincey). So it is fitting that these two are taking the "just in case" route - especially Quincey, who often does this sort of filling in where needed. Also fitting that they are bringing along horses for the others should they be needed. They're being the support team.

One more kind of interesting detail... this is the only group to actually travel with other people for a while, but also the group who talks to locals least. No meta point to this, just noticed it.

By Water: Arthur and Jonathan

Scribe: Jonathan

Fighter: Jonathan

Languages: Jonathan

Caretaker: Arthur

This list of roles makes it sound like Arthur isn't doing much. But that's far from true. It's quite possible he can communicate with locals as well (I just put Jonathan down as we know for a fact he can, though stiltedly) and he's proven himself in defeating a vampire in the past. Jonathan however is the main fighter, shown multiple times not to hesitate to attack Dracula. In fact though, Arthur's most important role here is as the caretaker and transport. He ensures that Jonathan gets the rest he needs, and he's the one not only to acquire the boat but the one who knows how to operate it. Not flawlessly, as we are told when there's a crash, but he's still essential in getting them up the river.

These two men following what seems to be the specific route Dracula took makes for some really interesting continuation of Jonathan's book-long acquisition/mimicry of Dracula's traits. The boat in the first place and then their impersonation of Romanian officials also is another instance of the repeated contrast of Arthur as the good (vis)count using his money and status to help, as opposed to Count Dracula or his alias De Ville using his status and money for evil.

It also is really fitting to pair Jonathan and Arthur together as the two husbands of the women Dracula has attacked. Arthur's reality could become Jonathan's future if they don't succeed here. There's some psychopomp imagery that got talked about a few years ago which can add another fun layer. The linked post there is focused mostly on Greek mythology, and talks more about this, but these two being the ones to travel up a river into a symbolic land of the dead (Dracula's land) is fitting in a couple ways too.

When convincing him to go with Arthur, Van Helsing invokes Jonathan's right to revenge as well. Mina aside, both of these two are the ones who have the most 'right' in that sense, as they've been most personally harmed by the Count. Arthur has gotten some measure of closure when staking Lucy at least, but Jonathan hasn't had anything of the sort. They're both "young and strong" and highly motivated.

.

Not to be reductive, but there's kind of a fun thing going on with head/hand/heart here if you want. Mina and Van Helsing are the new/old brains and each leaders in their own right. Quincey and Jack are both more supportive characters at least by this point in the book and one is shown to be a protector physically while the other is literally a doctor. Jonathan and Arthur are the lovers of the women attacked by Dracula, and also represent two different approaches to the idea of said love becoming a vampire (though again it's never fully realized in Jonathan's case, so presumably he could have gone either way should he be forced to actually make the choice).

Another fun detail when comparing all three... In each case, one person or another takes the lead at least some of the time. Mina and Van Helsing are the ones who alternate that role most. They both take turns looking after one another, driving the horses, and we even get written accounts from both of them. Jonathan and Arthur both take turns on watch but Arthur is the one who knows what he's doing on the ship and looking after Jonathan who is totally focused on leading the hunt. We don't hear much from the other two on their journey, but presumably Quincey is mostly in the lead - I say this because he historically has been in such circumstances (which Jack specifically mentioned when agreeing to go with him).

[tiredsurvivoronmain]

I've been thinking lately about Resident Evil 6 a lot, and the relationship between Chris and Jake throughout the game, and the parallels with Chris and Albert from their past, and this morning it suddenly hit me.

I may be fuzzy on the recall but I'm pretty sure it's during the scene where Jake and Sherry crash the motorcycle and get surrounded by J'avo and the helicopter attacking them. After Chris and Piers help back them up, and the enemies are taken care of, Chris is standing on the scaffolding looking down at Jake. Jake, who is currently surrounded by fire staring up at Chris with this intense look. Jake asks Sherry in that moment if Chris knows Wesker was his father.

Which feels like the perfect timing for a nod back, considering this scene mirrors the one from Code Veronica where Chris is flying away with Claire, and Albert is standing below, surrounded by fire, looking up at Chris as he takes off.

(again, I might be a little hazy on the recall cause I woke up with this in my head)

In RE6, by this point, Chris still doesn't have his memories back yet and so he doesn't make the connection but clearly the look of Jake down below means something cause he's caught staring and can't take his eyes away. It seems to really bother him, like he can't put his finger on it. If it is Chris' brain trying to drag him back to the memory of Wesker from before.

Anyway, I just thought I'd share the idea with you. I love all your posts about the parallels between characters across the different RE media, and this thought made me want to share it with you to get your take and perspective on it.

Sorry for the late reply I had to go and look at the cutscene again x-x YOU'RE TOTALLY RIGHT......GOD............THANK YOU FOR SHARING THIS, THIS IS A TOTALLY NEW PARALLEL FOR THEM.....*IS SHOOK* The familiarity (in Chris' POV) would have been felt, like deja vu (added RE5 because Chris is looking down on Wesker in the volcano, which is the last time he sees him) What gets me most is that although Chris knew there was something about Jake, even if a 'bad vibe' or having a negative feeling looking at Jake's face (which resembles Wesker's), he never showed any aggression, distrust, nervousness or hostility to Jake, despite how Piers was reacting to him. He was uncertain as if trying to remember but how he reacted/behaved towards Jake wasn't a negative one. When he did find out the truth, he wasn't angry or afraid or betrayed. If anything he felt more responsible for Jake than before. His apparent guilt/remorse for killing Wesker became known after he learned the truth and met Jake again, saying (to Jake) he has every right to shoot him and was prepared to die. He didn't even try to justify his actions, saying Wesker was a monster/needed to be stopped. He confessed and told Jake to shoot him as if he deserved it.

There's also this parallel with them:

[evidence-based-activism]

women have a significantly higher rate of abusing children than men do.

They do not. I have discussed this at length in this post. Relevant portion copied below (see post for sources):

---

No women do not abuse children more.

You said "Women abuse children more", but this is an oft-repeated statement from terribly misinterpreted data.

The misconception comes from data from the child maltreatment report from the HHS [5]. This report looks at reports of child abuse and neglect. In it they found that 52% of victims had a female perpetrator and 47% had a male perpetrator. At first glance, this looks like women abuse more children (hence the wide-spread misinterpretation), however this neglects to take several things into consideration.

First, since about 51% of the population is female, even if we considered nothing else, these values would suggest parity in maltreatment (abuse + neglect) rates. Of course, even this interpretation is deeply flawed, but I thought it merited pointing out.

Second, and perhaps most important, these stats are not looking at incidence or even prevalence rates. This isn't a rate at all. For example, you may be tempted to interpret these as "52% of children in a women's care are abused" or "52% of women abuse children". These are, and I must stress this, completely incorrect interpretations. These stats say only that of child maltreatment (abuse+neglect) victims identified by CPS, 52% of them were maltreated by a women.

Next, these stats fail to take into account the fact that many more women are the primary caretaker of children. According to the American Time Use Survey (ATUS), mothers spend 80% more time caring for children than fathers. This disparity widens even further when you exclude the "entertainment" categories like playing or reading to children (130% increase, or more than double) [6]. This matters because it provides some insight into how rates of abuse would be different. You need to adjust for time spent with children to get a meaningful rate. Another way to look at this is that despite mothers spending almost twice the amount of time around children as fathers, they account for the same number of perpetrators. This alone should tell you that a child is more likely to be safe in the company of a randomly selected woman than a randomly selected man.

In case you still aren't convinced however, the report also clarifies that the perpetrator sex varied widely by maltreatment type. Women were the perpetrator in 58.5% of neglect cases (vs 41%) and 70.5% of medical neglect cases (vs 29%). But men were the perpetrator in 49.5% of physical abuse cases (vs 49%), 89% of sexual abuse cases (vs 8%), and 59% of emotional abuse cases (vs 41%). While no form of child maltreatment is ever acceptable, I hope I don't need to explain how abuse (which "requires an action") is different from neglect (which "occurs from an inaction") and requires different responses.

Speaking of neglect: there is much discourse on how much of the neglect (and medical neglect) registered by CPS is "true neglect" and how much is a result of poverty. This is particularly relevant considering single mothers are much more likely to live in poverty than married couples or single fathers. Examples of this may include: a mother doesn't have enough money to buy food and pay for rent so she and her child eat very little until her next paycheck, a single mother can't miss work without being fired so she sends her sick child to school, a single mother can't pay for child care so she has to choose between leaving her child home alone or having an unfit adult (her own abusive parent? an unsuitable boyfriend?) watch her child. In all of these situations, something absolutely needs to be done to help the child, but it likely isn't the same something as a child who's being beaten or sexually abused by his father.

Other notes on neglect: even the relatively higher proportion of female perpetrators for neglect and medical neglect in this sample are well below parity when adjusted for time spent with the child. It’s also likely that men’s rates of neglect are likely severely under-reported here. Why? Because a neglect case is rarely (if ever) opened for absentee ("deadbeat") dads; it's also unclear how many men with non-primary custody are listed as perpetrators of neglect. (I ask you: if mothers are considered neglectful for failing to intervene on behalf of their child in abusive/neglectful situations, why aren't fathers?)

Other studies on child abuse perpetration (sadly no national reports) show:

Evaluations of child fatalities in Missouri over a 8-year period showed men inflicted 71% of fatal injuries on young children [8]

Evaluations of fatal and nonfatal abusive head trauma over a 12-year period at the Children's Hospital of Denver found 69% of the perpetrators were male (including 74% of the perpetrators of fatal head traumas) [9]

Data from conviction rates and victimization surveys suggest that 4-5% of adult, child sex offenders (as in child sex offenders who are adults) are female, meaning that 95-96% are male [10]

Altogether, this indicates that men are more likely to abuse a child in their care than women. Unsurprisingly, it’s safer for children to be around women than around men.

[eyelinerandmcr]

𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭?

Pairing: Virgin!Basement!Gerard Way x Fem!AFAB!Reader Summary: You and Gerard have been best friends for four years. After years of ignoring your crush on him due to your feelings of inadequacy, it begins to seem like maybe he likes you as well...but like always, your personal issues seem to get in the way. Warnings: Gerard is a complete and total virgin but its implied reader is not, oral sex (M receiving), P in V sex, high school AU but they're both 18, lots of angst, kinda slow burn, self-hatred, substance abuse and reader is depressed if you squint, drug use (not by Gee or reader), making out Word Count: 6.5k

If you had been different, you would have kissed Gerard by now. 

This thought flashed constantly through your mind every time you were around him. And there were times where you thought you might anyway. Times where you were with him in his basement bedroom as he ranted about the latest cartoon he was watching, curled up on the opposite side of the couch as he was. When it would have been so easy to lean over and place your lips on his, rake your hands through his hair, maybe push yourself into his lap. Maybe do more. 

But you never did. Because the thing was, Gerard was the sweetest person you knew. Gerard, who you had met the second day of freshman year when you’d dropped your lunch on the floor in the cafeteria, who had helped you clean up the mess while other students stepped around you or snickered. Gerard, who despite his shy nature had quickly become one of your best friends. Gerard, who would always lend you his sweater if you were cold, knowing even if you didn’t say anything. Who you would rant and cry to about failed romance after failed romance, relationships you knew didn’t work out mainly because of your poor decisions, who would pick you up late at night when you got drunk at some random house party and needed a ride home. Gerard, who was loving and gentle. And you were a mess.

You already felt bad enough about how much he cared for you, knowing you could never truly reciprocate everything he did for you. You knew there was something deeply wrong with you that never allowed you to truly care for someone else in a healthy way. Dragging him into your messy life further than he already was, surely would not result in anything good happening. You loved so hard and overbearingly, and you were scared to drown Gerard—Who you knew had never had a girlfriend, let alone had his first kiss. So how would he be able to handle you? You didn’t wonder about this in an egotistical way. You didn’t believe you were a catch, anything particularly special, in fact you felt quite the opposite. You simply couldn’t imagine a boy as pure and innocent and kind as him not getting overwhelmed by you. 

If you had been different, you would have kissed Gerard by now. But you would settle for stolen stares and brief, fleeting touches that meant nothing. There was no harm in that, right?

On Saturday afternoons, you would go over to Gerard’s house, spending the afternoon doing homework and watching horror movies. You would never admit it, but it was what you looked forward to the most every week. The thought of having to go home at the end of the day felt nearly unbearable every time. One day in February, he was walking you home after a pleasant day of slasher movies and pizza, the winter air crisp, sharp against your lungs. You buried yourself into your coat, eyes flitting over to him.

The pale sunlight cast against his skin made him look undeniably beautiful. In that moment, you wanted to throw caution into the wind and kiss him, to not care about any consequences that may come with the action. These thoughts caused your eyes to flicker down to his lips, an action that unbeknownst to you, he caught, his cheeks dusting a light pink. Your gaze snapped away from his face and onto the ground in front of you when you realized Gerard had stopped talking about his theory about the next Scream movie. You were saved from the awkwardness by arriving at your front door. 

You turned to him. “Thanks for walking me,” you said quietly, even though he always did. You stepped forward and gave him a hug, his arms carefully wrapping around your back. He was so gentle. He was always so gentle, and it made your heart squeeze painfully. You pulled away after a moment and looked up at him, his hands immediately leaving your body as you did. He looked slightly flustered. You tried to act as if that alone didn’t make you want to pull him in and—

“I’ll see you at school on Monday,” he mumbled, ruffling your hair awkwardly before turning around and walking away without a glance back at you. You watched him go for a moment before entering your house, shutting out the cold but also the chance to stare at him a little longer. Not that that would do you any good.

It was so frustrating. You were trying, trying so hard to ignore your feelings, but the way Gerard was acting was making it nearly impossible to do so. Whenever you felt like you had successfully pushed down your crush, he did something to remind you of it again. The two of you had been close for years, but the way he looked at you sometimes, especially recently, felt different.

You would catch him staring sometimes, while you were doing your homework at his table or watching a movie. It made you wonder if he felt about you the way you felt about him. Which sent you down another spiral. With all your issues, did he genuinely believe you were worth it? It didn’t matter, you would try to tell yourself. But a part of you hoped that he did.

The following Monday at school, you saw him only briefly in the halls, but the slightly tense moment the two of you had shared on Saturday kept you from speaking to him, opting instead to look away quickly as you tried to hide the blush that would creep onto your skin. However, you and Gerard had been paired together for a small project in Chemistry.

Luckily, he seemed unfazed by the interaction that weekend. Unfortunately for your workflow, he received the latest issue of Fangoria the previous night, so his rambling about it distracted you from actually working on the assignment. When the bell rang, he was still speaking about the magazine. 

“Shit. We didn’t finish the worksheet, did we,” he said with an embarrassed huff, pushing some hair behind his ear. You smirked at him, amused.

“No, we did not. But you did manage to spoil the entirety of the new Fangoria for me,” you responded teasingly, bumping his shoulder gently with yours.

He blushed slightly. “Oh. Sorry.” He said sheepishly. “We can go to my house after school and finish it. The worksheet. If you’re free,” sounding a bit more nervous than he usually did when he asked you to come over.

You agreed, and parted ways for the rest of the day. After school, he was waiting for you by the main entrance, his hair messy as it always was, his eyes squinted and darting around, searching for you. You waved and ran up to him, absentmindedly wrapping your hand around his upper arm as you began to walk next to him.You could have sworn the tips of his ears flushed at the contact, but ignored it. It could’ve just been the cold. 

His hand tentatively reached around your lower back, resting respectfully on the side of your hip. Your heart began to beat a little faster than normal. He usually wasn’t very touchy, even though you were—not like you minded. 

After the two of you had finished the worksheet, you spent the afternoon together drawing, sitting on opposite sides of his bed together, the soft sound of the radio playing in the background. You felt Gerard’s gaze constantly flickering over to you, making it hard to focus on your sketch of the view outside his window, something you’d drawn a numerous amount of times. After a while, you became restless, distracted by his eyes on you, and set your sketchbook aside. “What’re you drawing?” You asked him suddenly, looking to him.

He immediately glanced away from you, his face turning a slight pink, trying to subtly tilt his sketchbook away from you. “Nothing,” he said unconvincingly, which piqued your interest even more. You wondered what he possibly could be sketching that he didn’t want you to see.

“Come on, please?” When he didn’t budge, you leaned over to see what he had been working on. Your eyes widened as you saw what it was.

You. He was drawing you. Curled up against his bed frame, your eyes narrowed in concentration. He had captured your essence perfectly, as if he’d studied you for so long that he was able to meticulously catch your energy and place it onto a piece of paper. The realization seemed to enter your bloodstream and curl its way into your heart, flooding you with a dreaded hope that you already knew wasn’t going to do any good. You didn’t speak, just looked up at him. Neither of you dared to break the silence, the eye contact you were holding intense enough to drown out any thoughts.

His widened eyes flickered down to your lips. Once. Twice. You had been leaning forward to see the drawing, your weight on your arms in front of you, and in the back of your mind you registered that your palms were pressed into the mattress on either side of his body. The two of you were so close you could feel his breath on your skin. Noses almost brushing, lips almost meeting, causing a tingling sensation of anticipation across your skin. Almost. Out of nowhere, you got a startling snap of reality. Almost there, but not quite enough. You were not enough. Not enough to lean forward just a couple more inches.

As his eyelids began to flutter shut, you suddenly felt just as embarrassed as he’d looked when you’d asked to see his drawing, warmth spreading to your cheeks. You retreated at the last moment, clearing your throat. “Um. It’s good. It looks good. The drawing,” you stumbled over your words.

Gerard looked confused as you spoke, and you wished you hadn’t seen the flicker of disappointment across his features. “The drawing,” he repeated, blinking slowly. “Thanks.” 

“I should go,” you said after a heavy silence. He opened his mouth to speak, but you were already gathering your things and heading for the stairs to leave the basement. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” were your final words as you retreated from the room. You didn’t turn back, no matter how much you wanted to. As you trudged home, countless thoughts were swirling through your brain. The further you walked from his house, the further you separated yourself from the possibilities the afternoon could have held. You could have kissed Gerard. The boy who you’d been yearning for since the beginning of high school, for four years. Who was kinder than any guy you’d ever been with, but the only one you were scared of kissing.

You could easily imagine his lips against yours, how gentle they’d be, but also the thoughts that were bound to flood your mind if that were to happen. You knew you’d feel like you were taking something away from him, you knew you’d feel as if his untouched lips deserved someone better than you to share a first kiss with. That night, you tossed and turned in bed, not able to get the sketch he’d made of you out of your head. The flawless portrayal of your facial expression and body language made you wonder if maybe this wasn’t the first time he’d drawn you. Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought. 

Gerard was too good for you. This was something you’d believed for a long time. But for some reason, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you should have leaned in. To his face, to your desires, to the opportunity that had quite literally been right in front of you. 

Throughout the next few days at school, you avoided him as much as possible. Which deemed to not be so difficult, seeing as he seemed to be doing the same to you. That bothered you more than it should have. You wanted him to speak to you, ask you why you weren’t talking to him, beg you to. But the thought of going up to him made your stomach drop. It was a clear paradox, just like everything revolving around how you felt about him. He made your head spin, and it was impossible to shut him out of it.

After several days of your mind being clouded by him, you turned to the most idiotic solution for your emotional turbulence, but not an uncommon one for you—going to a shitty house party, one that nearly all your friends were headed to. However, doing your makeup and choosing your outfit while blasting music, lying to your parents and saying you were going to sleep over at a friend's house, hopping on your bike and heading over to the party, didn’t give you the same adrenaline rush it usually did. The intention of getting drunk and dancing with your sweaty classmates and most likely hooking up with one of them didn’t entice you for once, nor divert your thoughts of Gerard, leaving you distracted and off kilter.

You mindlessly left your bike on its side in the front yard, wandering into the party. You allowed yourself to be drawn in and out of conversations for an hour and a half or so, trying to slow yourself down from immediately rushing to the drink table. Just as you were about to pour yourself a cup of a crappy vodka bound to get you tipsy quick, a strange guy you recognized from your gym class approached you and somehow got his grimy fingers on the alcohol bottle. 

“Here, let me get that for you,” he said with a dumb smirk, making the drink for you, of course managing to spill some in the process, you noticed with irritation. You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead giving him a tight lipped smile as he handed you the red solo cup which you knew you were going to throw away the moment you were out of his line of vision.

Unfortunately for you, he began to follow you around as you weaved through the crowd of people, searching for a familiar face that would help you escape the guy who was still speaking, seemingly not noticing or not caring about your obvious disinterest in him. Eventually, you told him you needed to go to the bathroom, and you were finally able to slip from his sight. You managed to leave through the front door, annoyed that your night had been spoiled, ready to risk stealing a bottle of your parents liquor to sooth your craving for intoxication instead of spending another minute in that house.

You walked toward where you were sure you’d left your bike, only to see it wasn’t there. Frantically, you searched for it, to your dismay finding it rammed against the side of the garage with a group of incredibly drunk kids around it, the one lying on the ground next to the bike obviously the culprit of crashing it. It truly was not fun to be sober around non-sober people, you thought at that moment, bitterly wishing you’d been able to get drunk before that boy had started to throw himself at you. You ran up to the group, cursing and upset, though they were too tipsy to acknowledge you or care. You pushed past them and kneeled down to examine your bike that was clearly broken. It was fixable, but at the moment unrideable, causing you to mutter another string of curses. 

To the best of your ability, you dragged the bicycle to the sidewalk in front of the house, sitting down on the concrete next to it with a huff. You supposed you could ask someone at the party to give you a ride home, but most of the kids would be too intoxicated to drive. Then, there was the problem of explaining to your parents why the sleepover you had been at had ended prematurely. You had been relying on spending the night with a hook-up or one of your friends.

But you would have to seek someone out. Going back inside to ask to spend the night with someone meant having to deal with that creepy guy again, standing by on the lawn for someone you recognized to leave was not an option due to how cold out it was, and besides, your appetite for partying—and waiting—had dwindled to be nearly non-existent. You chewed your bottom lip as you faced the only real solution you could think of—calling Gerard. He’d picked you up at parties countless times, but this wasn’t the same, right?

You weren’t drunk, for one. It was different. Everything had felt different the past few days. In fact, that was the problem. It would’ve felt easier to call if you hadn’t nearly shared a kiss the last time you’d seen each other, if you hadn’t pulled away from him. As you rang his number, you wondered if he’d even pick up.

He did. He always did. His voice was clearly raspy with sleep as he answered the phone. “Hello?” 

You sucked in a breath before speaking. “Hey. It’s me. I was at a party and this gross guy wouldn’t leave me alone, then some fucknut broke my bike and I can't fix it and I don't have another way to get home. I just—”

“It’s okay. I’ll come get you,” he said in his soft voice. “Where are you?” 

You were surprised but also deeply comforted by his response to your predicament, behaving as he always was when you were in a situation like this. A part of you had expected him to act differently than he usually did, given the current state your friendship had been in, but you realized in that moment how much you’d overlooked just how much Gerard cared for you, causing an cascading wave of emotions to crash over you, so intense that you had to take a moment to respond to his question.

“The Johnson’s. I’ll check the house number.” He stayed on the phone until he knew exactly where to find you. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your tone almost guilty. You heard the sound of his engine revving up, knowing he’d be there soon.

“Of course,” he responded in a gentle tone that made you want to cry. A part of you wished he wasn’t so caring. If he was less forgiving, less tender, the thought of him waking up late at night to come get you wouldn’t’ve made you feel so bad. You hung up the phone, and waited, huddled on the corner for the next fifteen minutes, shivering slightly—your thin sweater not doing much to keep the cold from eating away at you.

Relief washed over you when Gerard’s familiar car turned around the corner. You stood up, a weak smile on your face. He parked and got out, walking over to you, his expression unreadable. God, he was so beautiful. Even though he’d already taken the action of coming to get you, you were a bit nervous about how he’d treat you after several days of not speaking to one another. “Hi.” you said awkwardly, the one word spoken almost as a question, your arms wrapped around your body in an attempt to maintain some warmth. He gave you a small smile in greeting which further relieved you of your worries of where your friendship stood. However, they didn’t disappear fully.

Your mind flashed back to his hurt expression after you’d pulled away from him the other day. He noticed your physical state and took off his jacket, placing it over your shoulders without a word, before bending over to pick up your broken bike. You buried your face in the coat, inhaling the familiar smell of magazine paper and coffee, overwhelmed with gratitude at his kindness, the way he acted even after days of you ignoring him. “I can help—” you began as he carried your bike to his trunk. But he cut you off with a shrug, placing it carefully in the car. 

“Come on, let's get you home,” he spoke softly.

You slid into the passenger seat, as he did the same on the driver’s side. You bit down on the inside of your cheek before saying, “Gee, I told my parents I was staying over at a friend’s house tonight.” A silence, similar to the one after your near kiss a few days ago, settled over the two of you for a moment. 

“You…can stay at mine,” he said, in a voice that seemed cautious, anticipatory, even though you’d had sleepovers before. You smiled a little, despite yourself, as you thanked him. The ride was quiet, the only sound a soft mixtape of The Smiths and David Bowie songs on low volume that you’d heard many times before. It was strange, to be surrounded by so many familiar things in an atmosphere that felt so utterly different than it had for several years, that had been changed in only a matter of days.

You glanced at him as he drove, wondering if was contemplating the same thing, as he had a thoughtful gleam in his eyes, though they stayed on the road. You wanted to ask. You wanted him to turn around and drive you back to the party, so you could drown your feelings in alcohol and not have to deal with them till the next morning. You wanted to scream at him for acting like nothing was different. You wanted to make him pull over and press your lips to his. But you stayed quiet, opting just to admire his face rather than act on any impulsive emotions, which you registered was very unlike you.

You shook off your musings as you pulled into Gerard’s driveway. Your brain was still slightly muddled, so you barely noticed when he got out of the car and was quickly over at your side, opening your door for you. Your heart squeezed in your chest. He never stopped being kind to you, regardless of how you treated him. You followed him into the house, the silence between you ensuing. It would be comforting if there wasn’t so much you wanted to say. You walked down the stairs to his bedroom, the familiarity relaxing you, making you feel better than you had in days.

You plopped down on his bed, where the two of you had almost kissed. It irritated you how that was all you could think about. You tried to ignore that fact, and the pressing question of if you’d be sleeping in his bed tonight, or upstairs on the couch like you usually did when you slept over. It wouldn’t have even been something you were wondering about if the air wasn’t thick with tension. In the dark room, you watched Gerard’s silhouette move over to his dresser and pull out a pair of shorts and a shirt for you to use as pajamas, walking towards you with the clothes in his hand.

He sat next to you, and you turned to look at his face, highlighted only by the moon, as you took the bundle in your hands. “Will you ever stop doing nice things for me?” you tried to joke, but coming off much more serious and desperate than you’d meant to. His face flushed, his hand tentatively reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You could hear your heartbeat as his hand brushed lightly against your cheek.

“No,” he whispered, his tone mirroring the sincerity in yours. His eyes caught yours, and you couldn’t help but be reminded of a few days prior when you were in nearly this exact same position. His head dipped down slightly, perhaps subconsciously, and this time you didn’t pull away. Still, you didn’t close the gap fully, allowing the question to hang in the air, allowing him to make the final decision. 

As he finally leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, you expected your mind to be met with a churning storm of guilt for taking Gerard’s first kiss, images of arguments and tears, of his back turned away from you as you inevitably did something to hurt him. But no, you instead tasted coffee and the promise of something real that you couldn’t quite grasp and somehow didn’t feel the need to in the moment. Instead of fear, you felt his gentle hands on you; one on your cheek, the other resting gingerly on your hip. He pulled away after a moment, searching your face anxiously.

“Is…was that good?” he breathed. You nodded in response, too desperate for your hands to be on him to give him a teasing remark, and shortly after, your lips met his again, your fingers finding their way to his hair, while your other hand cupped the back of his neck. The kiss was soft, exploratory on his behalf, his arm snaking around your waist slowly. Your tongue swiped across his bottom lip before entering his mouth, eliciting a small moan from him.

The sound dizzied you, and your worries of ruining Gerard’s innocence immediately left your head. He wrapped his arms tighter around you, gently pushing you down onto the bed. You were slightly surprised by his forwardness, given that this was his first kiss—his first anything—but it was not unwelcome. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he continued to kiss you. You bit down gently on his bottom lip, the kiss still soft, the nip only an encouragement for him to do more. His hand slipped under your shirt, palm pressed against your abdomen. 

With the kiss turning more heated, you supposed it would be best to leave your assumptions behind, as this night had consistently proved you wrong; the party hadn’t saved you from your distracted mind, kissing Gerard hadn’t been as scary as you thought, and he was infinitely less timid than you would have guessed, seeing as he was on top of you with his hand up your shirt. The kiss became more passionate, your legs wrapping around his waist.

As you did this, he shifted slightly, trying to hide his obvious erection, instead doing the opposite by making you aware of it. Your breath hitched slightly, hand wandering south. He pulled away for a moment, watching your hand and mumbling against your lips, “I’ve never, um. Done anything before,” (despite the fact that you knew) but making no move to stop what you were doing. You stopped the movement of your hand at his words.

“Do you want to?” you whispered.

“Please. D-don't stop,” he responded, voice trembling with need as he moved his kisses down your jaw. You pushed down his sweatpants with his help, his boxers following shortly after. His breath hitched as your fingers wrapped around him, letting out a shaky moan. After a few pumps of your hand, you pulled back, and he let out a slight whimper at the loss of contact. 

“C’mon, sit on the edge of the bed for me,” you said in a soft tone, almost as if you were trying not to scare him away. He got up off of you and moved, and you slid onto the ground between his legs, shifting onto your knees in front of him. Gerard looked down, biting his lip slightly. There was no arrogant smirk or over-confident facial expressions written across his features, the way most guys were in a situation with a girl on their knees in front of them. He instead stared at you with tenderness, lust evident in his gaze but not the main nor most noticeable aspect of it. He seemed nearly startled that he was even in this position, but incredibly willing at the same time—not just willing to be here with any person, but with you.

The thought caused something within you to twist in a way you couldn’t decide made you feel guilty or not. You didn’t want to be worrying right now, when you were finally between the legs of the guy you’d had a crush on for years. You pulled him in by the front of his shirt, giving him a quick kiss before moving your attention down to his dick that was leaking precum, desire swirling in your gut.

You leaned in, licking it off, which caused him to let out a sharp whine, his fingers digging into the sheets on either side of him. You smirked slightly, wetting his cock with your tongue before your lips wrapped around it, beginning to suck him off. He began to breathe heavily, his head tilting back slightly, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Fuck…” he groaned, your name escaping his lips shortly after. His trembling hand went to the back of your head, not pulling your hair but gently holding onto it like he was scared of hurting you, a subtle action that made your heart twinge.

“Is this alright?” he asked between broken breaths, opening his eyes to look into yours. You pulled away for a moment, murmuring a quick yes, before delving back in, mouth moving with purpose, drawing more noises from his throat, his fingers in your hair tightening slightly as his eyelids shut again. You pushed your head further down, eliciting a string of words that bordered on nonsensical from Gerard. This encouraged you further, taking as much of him in your mouth as he could, his tip hitting the back of your throat as you bobbed your head. You weren’t thinking about anything anymore, your only goal to draw as many sounds from him as you could, barely stopping for air as his moans grew louder. His hips began to buck up to meet your mouth, clearly beginning to lose control.

“Shit, sorry,” he mumbled, face flushing.

You let out a small laugh, “It’s okay. I don’t mind,” which seemed to reassure him, his face screwing up in pleasure as you continued. Your heartbeat raced, your only thought was his pleasure. Occasionally he would whisper small words of shy praise between his gasps and moans. After a few more minutes, his whole body was trembling.

“M’gonna—” he gasped out, the hand that wasn't in your hair digging further into his sheets. He finished with your name in his mouth, his cum shooting down your throat. You swallowed it, licking up the remainders along his length as he stared down at you in almost disbelief, still breathing heavily. 

“Would you come here?” he whispered to you, and as you stood up from your kneeling position, he gently pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around you. He buried his face in your neck.

“God, that was—Thank you,” he said sheepishly against your skin, planting a small kiss against your shoulder. A soft smile spread across your face at his shyness that didn’t fully leave despite his sudden bursts of confidence. Gerard lifted his head up, eyes flickering to your lips as he drew you in to kiss you again. It soon became more intense, and he led you onto your back where you’d been before.

After a moment, he reached for the buttons on your jeans, looking at you for permission. You were slightly surprised, expecting the night’s activities to have ended at the blowjob, perhaps a bit more kissing and nothing more. However, you were not opposed to the idea of it, nodding for him to continue. He kissed your lips again, whispering a small thank you, before gently undoing the buttons and pushing your jeans down. You kicked them off, before reaching up and pulling off your shirt, now just left in your bra and underpants. 

Gerard’s fingers lightly grazed over your clothed core, then traced light patterns across your bare body as his lips met yours again, your back arching up slightly to help him as he fumbled with your bra clasp. You giggled slightly at the moment that would have been awkward had it been anyone else, causing him to blush as he finally unhooked it, pulling the nylon fabric off your body. He left small nips and kisses between and across your breasts, drawing shivers from you, before kissing you once more. A brush of his bare skin against yours had you craving more.

“D’you have any condoms?” you asked, leaving a peck on his clavicle.

“Yeah. Yes,” he mumbled breathlessly, reaching over to the drawers by his bed and pulling one out.

Once he rolled it on, you kissed him again, and spoke softly, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

He nodded, his hand brushing against your hip. “I…I’ve thought about it before. A lot,” he admitted, and even in the dark you could see his face turn red, making you smile. “I really want to.”

“Me too,” you said, shifting yourself under him slightly. He inhaled, planting a final kiss to your neck before lining his dick up with you and pushing in. Gerard let out a quiet moan, a sound similar to his leaving you as well. Your fingernails dug soft crescents into his pale skin as he sunk into you.

After a moment of waiting to make sure there was nothing that made either of you want to stop, he began to gently move his hips against yours. He was soft, like he was in every setting, every scenario, but you could feel the passion behind his movements, letting out a soft whine.

“Everything fine?” he whispered, and you responded with a small nod, eyelids fluttering shut. He sucked a dark spot into your neck as his body rocked against yours. Your breath hastened along with his as Gerard quickened his pace, causing the whimpers and moans of the both of you to gradually become louder. He kept his hand on your hip, his other arm propping him up.

Your fingernails dragged up and down his back, a clear contradiction to his gentle movements, which somehow didn’t leave you feeling like a thief of innocence, maybe because he didn’t seem to mind at all. You left small kisses and marks against his throat periodically, which would prompt him to move faster. 

His hands and lips traveled across your body, slowly, mapping out your body and committing it to memory. His fingers across your stomach made you weak, drawing another shaky moan from your mouth. As he treated your skin with nothing but tenderness, you realized it had never mattered to Gerard that you were a mess. He had always seen past it, and you’d never noticed the way he still thought you were beautiful when you were crying or hysterical, the way he still admired you when you were falling apart. You had always known that he was the most understanding person you’d ever met, but never imagined his empathy applied to you as well.

But right here, right now, with his loving hands across your body, you knew that he saw all of you—and still wanted all of you. Every emotion, every touch, became heightened, your body beginning to reach its limit. Near the end, he sped up, his movements growing slightly sloppy but never losing the gentleness he always carried, no matter how hard your nails were digging into him. He shifted slightly, hitting a new angle within you, the sounds leaving both of your throats becoming uncontrollable. 

He finished right before you did, moaning out your name, continuing to move his body against yours until he was sure you were done too. Your fingers dug into his back a final time as you reached your peak, causing him to shiver, and he pressed a soft kiss to your collarbone. You both stayed still for a moment, wrapped in each others’ arms, the rate of your hearts gradually slowing down, pressing shaky pecks onto the other's skin.

After a while, he pulled out and threw the condom in the trash, still breathing heavily as he pulled his clothes back on. You looked at him as you did the same, sitting up, and grateful you’d decided to finally ignore your fears and kiss the boy you had wanted to kiss for so long. His hand brushed against your jaw, pulling you closer to him.

“Are you okay? Was that…okay?” he asked, looking slightly nervous. “I mean, I thought it was. Not just okay. More than okay. Like, I really liked it. I really—” You smiled at him through a bitten lip, cutting off his rambling although you were still a bit short on breath.

“Don’t worry,” you softly peppered his lips with small pecks. “It was really good. You were really good. Especially for a virgin,” you added the last sentence teasingly, seeing the tips of his ears flush when you spoke. He didn’t know how to respond, instead leaning forward and kissing you slowly again.

You didn’t exactly know what else to say either, with so many thoughts swirling through your head it felt impossible, gratefully leaning in. “Let’s get some sleep, yeah?” You suggested after a little while. He nodded, lips grazing your neck, and you nestled under the blankets together, head pressed against his chest as you listened to the still quickened beat of his heart, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on your hip. 

“I really did. Like you for a long time,” he said after a moment of silence. You lifted your head up to look at him, a stupid grin on your face.

“I should’ve kissed you sooner,” but behind the casual way you said it, you meant it sincerely. With those words, you meant that you should have realized how he saw you, accepted yourself and the fact that he desired you. He returned the smile, perhaps not understanding the meaning behind the five simple words, giving you a final trail of pecks against your lips and neck before leaning his head down and closing his eyes.

Gerard would probably never know about your internal battle to act on how much you wanted him. He would never know about the nights you had spent, wishing you were different so that you would be worthy of his lips on yours. He would never know about the guilt that tore away at you when he dealt with your problems or looked after you, or all the times you had nearly taken a chance, but hadn’t.

But as you drifted off to sleep that night, you decided it didn’t matter. You would make it work, because the very thing that had held you back from him was the very thing that would make you stay: Gerard was the sweetest person you knew. You would never allow yourself to lose him because you would be better for him than you ever had in a relationship. 

If you had been different, you would have kissed Gerard. But in the end, he had not kissed the perfect girl who only existed in your head. He had chosen you.

[itsactuallycorrine]

action & reaction

buddie; 1.6K; s08e06 spec; hopeful ending

series now complete: part 1 | part 2

Buck sits uneasily on top of the closed toilet lid, watching as a still red-cheeked and bloodshot-eyed Eddie scrapes a razor along his top lip. 

He hadn’t been certain what he’d do or say when he beelined from his loft to Eddie’s door after his revelation. There’d been a half-formed thought of talking it out, or making some big confession, a vague recollection of a line from some old movie Maddie had loved ringing in his ears about wanting to start the rest of your life as soon as possible. 

Finding Eddie in pieces on his living room floor had thrown all that out.

So had Eddie’s first words when he’d finally calmed down enough to speak:

“I want to shave this fucking mustache off.”

So now, here they are, Buck worried out of his mind and too afraid to take his sights off Eddie, while Eddie shaves his fucking mustache off.

When it’s gone, Eddie stares at himself long and hard in the mirror before cutting a glance at Buck. “So?”

Buck surveys his face and smiles a little. “Still just as handsome,” he teases, smile growing as Eddie rolls his eyes and huffs, pink blooming in the apples of his cheeks. “C’mon, man, you know what you look like. Mustache, no mustache. It doesn’t really make a difference.”

It doesn’t land the way Buck anticipated. “Yeah, I guess not,” Eddie says heavily, turning back to his own reflection. “I thought it’d—never mind, it’s stupid.”

“No, what?” Buck asks. 

“I thought it’d be easier to, you know.” He gestures to the mirror. “If I didn’t really look like myself. I could pretend for a while that I wasn’t—that it wasn’t really me this was happening to. It was happening to some other Eddie in some other fucked up timeline or universe or whatever.”

It breaks Buck’s heart even more than he’d thought possible. “Eddie…”

But Eddie shrugs it off, turning his back to the mirror and crossing his arms. “But it is me. There is no mirror Eddie to blame. I did this. I cheated on Marisol, I brought Kim into our life, I…” His voice breaks. “I drove Christopher away. I did it. But” — he sighs, runs a hand through his hair — “I didn’t do it all alone.”

For the first time in months, a spark of hope kindles in Buck’s chest. “No, you didn’t. Kim chose to come back even after you broke it off. Your parents swept Chris away without even attempting to mediate.” He hesitates. “Christopher chose to leave instead of talking it out.”

“Shannon asked for a divorce when I wanted to fix things,” Eddie adds grimly, and Buck sucks in a shocked breath.

“Y-you never told me that. When?”

“Right before she died. She, uh, thought she might be pregnant and I thought that maybe…maybe it was the sign we needed to recommit to each other. But it turns out both of us were wrong—there was no baby, and she didn’t want that, want me.” Eddie shrugs, but it falls short of casual when his shoulders slump forward miserably.

Buck stares as his head spins. He’d always wondered, hadn’t he? He’d always wondered why Eddie kept coming back to this, to Shannon, couldn’t move on no matter how hard he’d tried. Obviously, Eddie had loved Shannon, but the way he spoke about her, the way he put her on this untouchable pedestal for Christopher, who already knew his mother wasn’t perfect, the way he viewed their relationship with rose-colored glasses when Buck knew how messy it had been…it had always concerned Buck. 

But this, this was the ugly, gnarled root of the problem, one that had grown up around Eddie’s ankles, holding him in place, never letting him move on. It ensnared him, kept him caught in the moment, an awful, terrible moment with no closure. Because instead of a divorce and a definitive closed door to their marriage or a reconciliation and fresh start, Eddie watched Shannon die. The diverging path cut short right at the crossroads, the choice taken out of Eddie’s hands. 

“She said that? That she didn’t want you?” Buck asks. Even without his recent epiphany, the idea seems ludicrous. After all, who wouldn’t want Eddie? 

“Well, no,” Eddie admits. “She said she was still figuring out how to be a mother and didn’t think she was ready to be a wife, too.” 

“Okay. Well, w-were you ready to be a husband? Honestly?”

“Would I have offered if I wasn’t?” At Buck’s unimpressed stare, Eddie sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not.” 

Buck hums. “So it seems like maybe her decision wasn’t really about you at all, then. You just had to deal with the fallout, along with some truly shitty, tragic timing.”

Eddie says with a half-amused huff, “To put it mildly.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, Eddie,” Buck says, softly. “You made mistakes, yeah, but it wasn’t all on you. You’ve gotta stop punishing yourself, man. You’re not just hurting yourself; you’re hurting Christopher.”

Eyes welling, Eddie looks at the floor and nods. “I know. And I think—I think I’m really ready to let go of it now. I am. But, God, I just… how do I move forward, Buck? I’ve been here so long that I don’t know where to go from here. How to start cleaning up my mess, to start fixing the things I let this break. How to live without this looming over me.” 

With a long, slow exhale, Buck climbs to his feet and takes Eddie by the arms, waiting until their gazes lock. “I don’t have the answers either, but we can figure it out. Together.”

A sole tear rolls down Eddie’s cheek as it swells with a shaky smile. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking. I’m telling you—I’m here. I’m always gonna be here for you, Eddie, as long as you let me. Always. You don’t have to figure this or anything out alone.”

Eddie just nods as a few more tears spill over. He pulls Buck into a brief, grateful hug, and Buck closes his eyes and savors it. They do this so infrequently, and he’s never understood why. Eddie’s a pretty demonstrative guy, and neither of them are shy about hugging anyone else. But it feels different when it’s them, more weighted, more meaningful—and maybe that’s why. Maybe, subconsciously, Buck knew what it meant all along and held back. 

And maybe along the way, Eddie realized it, too, and didn’t want to encourage Buck or lead him on. Buck pulls back a little uneasily as the embrace breaks, but there’s nothing in Eddie’s expression beyond lingering tears and gratitude. 

They’ve finally made their way into the kitchen, sharing coffee across the table, when Eddie cocks his head. “Did you just drop by to check on me? Or did you need something before I distracted you with all the—” He waves in the general direction of the living room, a little sheepish. 

I love you.

I’m in love with you, and I think we’ve been building a really beautiful life together. 

This, us, our family, is all I’ve ever dreamt of, and if you’d just give me one chance…

Is there any reality in which you could be in love with me, too? Could want me, too? 

But he can’t say any of it, can he? He can’t do that to Eddie now, not when he’s finally ready to shed the past and move forward, not while so many loose ends are still waiting to be resolved. 

“Nah,” Buck says, hiding his farce of a smile by taking a drink. “I guess that call at the well got to me a little and I just…wanted to see you, make sure you were okay.” 

“Okay might be a stretch.” Eddie laughs and gives Buck a soft smile. “But I’ll get there.”

“I know you will.” Buck’s lashes lower as he smiles, a little shyly, and something rolls over in Eddie’s chest, a familiar fondness trussed in ribbons of longing. 

And, look, it’s never really gone away—that tug of yearning he has for Buck, one he’s known for years—but it has been somewhat muted over the past few months while Eddie had more pressing concerns. It used to terrify him, loving Buck the way he does, because he could never reconcile it with the past, with his own identity. 

It still terrifies him, if he’s being honest, because once he digs himself out of the hole he’s created, he’s going to have to reckon with this once and for all, the looming specter over his shoulder that he’s avoided looking at for over three decades. 

He’d been able to cope when he’d thought it was just a pipe dream, when there was no way—even if Eddie did face all his demons head on—Buck would ever feel the same. But then Tommy had come along and fractured that foundational belief, and was it any wonder that Eddie had blown up his own life right after that? 

But here in the aftermath of an emotional day, in the quiet intimacy of the kitchen, it doesn’t seem nearly as scary. Not when Buck’s face is a pretty pink over the rim of his coffee cup, his heart stalwart and steadfast and too damn generous. He hasn’t run from Eddie’s mess, not ever, and he’s just promised to stand by Eddie’s side as he pieces his life back together. How could Eddie do anything but love Buck? 

And for the first time, that feels like more of a blessing than a curse. It’s the light at the end of a very dark tunnel, leading him home, with the hope and faith that Buck will be there waiting for him when he arrives. 

ao3

[eri-pl]

A fic in need of a name (I'll be grateful for ides, not necessarily will use, but I'll be grateful) and maybe some proofreading

<2k words. No TWs, very fluffy. Lúthien and Finrod talk about art.

One warning: IDK how to explain, but: my friend dfw and everyone else who sees Lúthien as unfairly treated well by the narrative: I do kind of admire this unfairness in this fic. Also, she has an …intense personality here. Read at your own discretion.

Lúthien looked at Finrod with her strange, Light-filled-but-not eyes. “Why are my songs so boring to you?”

They stood under the stars and the new moon, in a small glade, now filled with nightingales that looked at the princess of Doriath and whistled, as if pleading her to continue.

“I would not call them boring.”

“You do not say it, but they seem dull to you. Dear cousin, you don't need to speak in courtly lies with us. Never. We are not— hypocrites.” She almost said “Noldor”, he could feel it from her. So who was the hypocrite there? The princess continued: “I simply seek to know how to sing better.”

Despite being born from an union of an elf and an Ainu, she was in many ways like a child. All the Sindar were so. Finrod smiled, but didn't try to conceal his thoughts about the conversation. There were some secrets he needed to keep from her keen mind, but if his feelings could be revealed without enraging anyone…  “They are beautiful, but there is never any conflict in then,” he said gently, observing Lúthien's reaction.

It wasn't anger, but surprise. “Why would a song need strife to be good?”

This gave Finrod pause. How could she have questioned something as obvious as one of the fundamental laws of art? But indeed, the ancient songs — from the Journey, and even the early ones from Aman — did not have any strife in them. Just like hers, they were about things and people simply …being. 

He pondered about it for a while, until the answer came to him. “Without conflict, there's no change. No progress. No clear point to end the song.”

“You end the song when you don't want to sing anymore. Or when you want to sing a different one,” said Lúthien in a tone that was half curious and half patronizing. “Besides, we didn't really have time until recently. At least we didn't have anything to measure its passing. Maybe except me and Daeron maturing. Hey! This is a change. Cherries blooming, bushes growing — that's progress. Walks in the woods—” she put the last idea into action, leaving the glade.

Finrod joined her and they went between the tall beeches, on the forest floor filled with violets and niphredili. “A song about nature never really reaches any destination. Flowers grow and die, and then new ones come to life. It's not a true change.”

“You can't simply replace a rose with another, or a yesteryears’ snowdrop with the next springs’ one. Hmmm, you're a Noldo, you do not know flowers well enough to notice them, so maybe you could. But even then: we do change. We grow. I was a child and now I'm a woman.”

Finrod didn't reply and for a while they just walked.

“You need songs that are about sorrow, don't you?” asked Lúthien softly. “Due to— your king and all that.”

“And all of that… Yes. I think we do. We do need art which promises a change mightier than just the turn of seasons, which tells us that the darkness may one day end and makes it almost— makes it possible to believe. And to achieve this, you do need to start with the darkness.”

“I was born in darkness, dear cousin. Under the stars,” she said, gesturing at the sky, but the moon’s narrow crest peeking between the branches spoiled her reference. 

“I mean a different kind of darkness, sweet child of the stars. Deeper. Not a darkness that never saw light, but darkness that saw light and—” Finrod shivered. “Darkness that comes after the light is gone, not before it's born. Darkness without a single star to break it.”

“I don't think I can imagine it. Still, I'm sure there is a way to sing interesting songs without making them all about violence.”

“Not all conflict is violence.”

“But it's all— you, Noldor, absolutely love to argue. We try to understand each other instead.” 

“So do I.” 

They awoke a sleeping deer at a distance, but it didn't run away like most beasts of Beleriand used to, it only watched them cautiously.

“Well, this is true, you don't argue that much. Anyway, maybe that's it. When people meet and get to know each other more, it also grows in time. And it means more than flowers.”

“Maybe. Is that how you see art here in Doriath?”

“No. As Daeron sees it, the supreme art is: you see a thing. Then you see another thing. Then you see them together in a way that awakens new meanings in both of them. And then you weave all that into words with enough alliteration. The same with music: you play a motive, then another motive, and then you marry them to each other. This makes the verse, the chorus and the ending.”

They entered a denser part of the forest and now walked a narrow path, surrounded by blackberries, bushes and ferns.

“What if the motives don't fit together?”

“He would say it means you're a mediocre musician. But… I think if they don't fit you need to find a way to force them. Or, rather, help them. Change one or the other into a different mode. Or change the tuning. Or keep playing the harp but add singing to it and tell everyone that it had been your plan since the beginning.”

“You can't change the rules of art.”

“What force is going to forbid me?”

Finrod laughed. “I don't think it's that easy, but maybe you are right. Maybe there is a way to reconcile both of our ideas. To create art that is not boring, but not violent either. But I do not know where to even start looking for inspiration.” Right now, the bushes clinging to his clothing and pulling on the delicate embroidery weren't particularly inspiring. 

“You always seek something, wandering here and there. I'm sure you will find a lot of wonderful inspiration.”

“Don't you want to travel?”

“Oh, I love to travel!” said Lúthien in a laughing voice. “But in Doriath you can discover wonders too! Maybe the same answers that you seek far away I'll find in here. Or maybe we'll both find sorrow.”

Finrod blinked. That had been a strange turn of the conversation, but not the first of them. “I don't think beauty can exist without sorrow.”

“Then should I wish sorrow beyond measure for both of us?”

“That would be a very Noldorin approach to art, wouldn't it?” he asked half-jesting, but curious.

“Sorrow and strife aren't the same.”

“How are they not? Sorrow is born from loss, and loss is born from violence.”

“When I was a child, I cried about clouds disappearing, because I knew I'd never see any of them again. And yet nobody took them away from me by force. And I wouldn't fight for the clouds, as that would make no sense. So I remembered them. But it's not really the same.”

As Lúthien spoke, they entered a small clearing and, as if responding to her, a small cloud hid the moon and hung above them, backlined with silver. A few others passed nearby: fuzzy dark shapes, but not as dark as— Finrod looked away from the sky, back at the princess.

“You could see clouds in the starlight?”

“Of course. Can't you?” She looked back at him with wide eyes.

“Not with enough detail to miss them. I never looked much into the sky anyway, not back then.”

They left the clearing. The forest was even darker now, but there was a peace to it.

“You Noldor are so strange. I wish I would know you better.”

“I wish I could understand you better too.”

“I have an idea.” Without saying more, Lúthien led him to a small grassy hill, not even as tall as the surrounding trees. A narrow path went upwards. “I'll show you another way in which we entertain ourselves here—well, I do— but first tell me, cousin, what would you want if you could wish for anything?”

“To meet my loved ones again,” said Finrod quietly. “I'm not sure how this would happen, unless— but even then… I'm sorry. You deserve better than hearing about any of that.”

“Only so little?” Lúthien laughed, though it felt forced. “I want everything! I want a love like my parents’, but let it be even more so. I want songs to be sung about me— not only by Daeron — songs that even to you would sound interesting. I want to behold the most beautiful treasure in the world. I want to be free and to fly. I want to sing a song mightier than my mother’s. I want to seek a star and wear it as a trinket. I want—” She paused as they reached the top. “No, now it's your turn. What would you want if you could ask for anything?”

“I want there to be a solution to all that.”

“All what?”

He looked away. “All the darkness I won't trouble you with.”

“If you won't, surely someone else will.”

“Even so, I shall not.”

“Then try not to trouble yourself with it either, at least for now. Only look.” Lúthien lied on the hillside and tumbled down, like a log, if logs could laugh loudly. 

She rose from the grass at the bottom and began walking back. “You are humble and I do ask for so much. But it's alright if I can't have any of that. I'm not stubborn. Well, I am not as stubborn as some believe. But if I can, I do want all of my wishes to come true. And I want to travel. To see strange lands beyond stormy seas, cities both old and young and alien, new countries my mother never knew, never dreamed of… To have my home there. I hope I will not miss her too much.”

“You know such places may not even exist. Except maybe one—” Finrod shivered at the very thought, even though they were miles South from there and under Melian’s Girdle. “—but nobody would ever go there of their own will, especially not someone like you, sweet princess. And about all other lands your mother could surely tell you. After all—” 

Lúthien waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, she saw the world before it was born and sang it into being. It's boring how everybody keeps reminding me about that. But she is also my mother. Of course I desire to reach beyond her, that's how it is with mother's and daughters. Also, how would you know there's no place unknown for her, Noldo? You've barely seen any of Beleriand, and yet you try to tell me how the world is?” Her words were a challenge, but her tone was friendly.

Finrod bowed his head. “That is true. Neither of us have seen much yet. But if you ever find such a place…”

The princess stood next to him again, picking leaves of grass from her hair. “I will surely show it to you. Though you could probably wish for a better guide.” 

Finrod smiled, remembering the chaotic string of excited tangents that the last few days have been. “Many things could be better, your guidance isn't by far the first of them. And anyway I am really glad to be here with you, Lúthien. You are very kind and fascinating. And I'm honored to learn the customs of your people.”

“Like tumbling from tops of hills? It's not a very Noldo—”

“That's the point.” Finrod lay on the grass and let the steepness of the terrain pull him down. 

It felt only half as bumpy as he'd expected, and in its strange, wild way liberating.

[jacksmusesdrv3]

I know I've twisted myself into a goddamn pretzel the past five or so years trying not to be 'too much' and backing off when I am

but

A good deal of why I started the #dr literacy tag is precisely because of this- I am beyond tired and fed up, with the kinds of things that people have ignored and left on my back- whether it's to do with Kokichi, or V3 overall. It's easy to deflect and call me 'delusional', and five years later never even consider the implications of having called me that over what I've been trying to grapple with, much less apologise to me sincerely and genuinely try to understand where I'm coming from and why it's so hard to discuss in the first place- not to mention why it's so easy to make mistakes not least because the way Kodaka plays with themes can be decidedly insensitive (and I was clearly out of my depth with that when I started this blog)

This isn't about all of you. A good number of people here have been wonderful about this, even if they don't understand all too well. But frankly such people are the exception rather than the rule, and the rule is that people don't bother to interrogate their own biases about Kokichi, or really grapple with the way him and V3's narrative might be constructed with bias. And this unwillingness to accept ambiguity and nuance results in some genuinely hurtful behaviour towards people who try to point out that, maybe, not everything was even his fault, or that his character and situation is far more layered than it appears on a first run of the game. Or even a second, or third.

So I'm gonna need people in that camp to swear that you'll do better about this going forward. No really. This situation I've been in didn't come out of nowhere, and while I've beaten the proverbial horse to death that I haven't always been fair or reasonable either, that does not mean I should just back myself into a wall and take the status quo that is 'Tsumugi is telling the truth and Kokichi is just a clown' as a 'fact of canon'. Because there's a very good chance that that might not even be true, and that there's even more tangled messes Kodaka left in the text to unpack that you never even thought of, and that really NEED extra care and nuance to fully understand.

I know you're probably sick of hearing this from me by now. But this is an issue that can never be helped until it's faced head on, and the effect of basically being pathologised over it (due to *checks notes* autism), is seriously damaging- the inability of people to address things as serious issues and themes rather than 'just the pet theory that came out of my nutty head', is something I cannot, on principle, force myself to accept. So please just think about the way you're approaching issues in the future. I will try to do the same.

[dykedvonte]

My post about Anya is making like a little ruckus on Twitter and I think it’s crazy how many people like have a problem with it.

Like you don’t have to agree with how I characterize Anya and her actions but it’s more like, why are you focused on only one aspect of her character? Why are you removing nuance from the situation? I don’t see it as giving Curly the benefit of the doubt when it comes to doing better for Anya, but as exploring his character and hers relationship with a the very little authentic facts we get about them. In truth, there’s a lot more I wish Curly did, even if it wasn’t pragmatic but I realize the issue there.

The first psychological horror game in a while that’s real intricate in its storytelling and makes you need to really need to address the morality of intentions and its already getting torn asunder smh 😔

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

excuse me i need to Muse on something for a moment

so in Wally's secret 'vinyl' audios, specifically the last few (if we're listening to em in chronological order), obviously he starts to sound more strained/distressed. his breathing is more labored, like it's taking all of his energy to make contact.

but the audio that really caught my attention was the "But i still can't see" one. cause he just said he has more eyes than he did before. he knows We draw them a lot, and it's thanks to that that he can see. but he still can't see?

so my question is: where is Wally physically? cause although he can (assumedly) see the WHRP goings on, he can see through the eyes We draw, that could all be on a, uh... more Intangible level of sight. like the spiral pit is forming an eye, and then there's the eye on the ceiling in the secret Staff Only section - could Wally be in the pit, that space between his reality and Ours, "watching" through the eyes? but unable to actually see with due to the pit being pitch black nothingness? is he somewhere else? is he stuck? he can see, but he can't... see.

(or is he trying to explain an abstract concept - he's not actually viewing anything, but he can sense it. like how he knows We're there, even if he can't see or hear Us. but he just doesn't have the words to describe it other than using physical senses - see, hear, look.)

and him saying "...that I can see. But it is still... I can't..." but it's still what, Wally? dark? something else that he doesn't have the words to describe, so he just says that he can't see?

i know that in the Livestream Trivia Document (compiled by @/the neighborhoodwatch) there was something said about Wally being in a box. my first thought reading that was "oh, so he's in storage? the physical puppet, i mean?" which would make sense - show's over, there's no more use for him. pack 'em up and put him away. but that paired with the "can't see" audio makes both seem a lil... connected.

Wally can't see > he's likely somewhere dark > the inside of closed boxes are dark > Wally's in a box. (or maybe the Neighborhood is the box? it's a stretch, i know, but the map is a box. television sets are often set up in "boxes". maybe it's less of a physical storage box and more of a 'boxed in' sort of thing...)

one question i've had since the Start of my interest in this incredible project is: how is Wally communicating? how has he connected to the site? how does he connect to our reality? the pit almost definitely has something to do with it - most likely acting as a bridge, or the deteriorating of the barrier between our two 'worlds' - but if Wally is in a box and Not the pit or even just in the puppet's reality... how is he reaching us beyond just seeing through the eyes he's given?

or is he in their reality, and he can contact through the pit or something, but he can't actually see the other side? Our side? he knows it's there - that We're there - but none of it is visible to him. maybe his apparent disassociation in the 14 bug audios is a demonstration of him contacting Us. we can see through him, but it's a one way street.

and speaking of the pit - i just had a thought. his whole thing with Us letting him in, opening... the pit on the neighborhood map is getting bigger and clearer. but the presumed Other Side, the one on the Staff Only ceiling, is small. it's the size of a ceiling panel. it seems to me that Wally is chipping away at his side of the pit or 'portal', trying to reach Our reality, but he needs Us to do the same thing on the other side. the QA can hear him calling, but there's no phone on their (Our) side of the pit. how do We call back???

there's a fundamental barrier & lack of understanding between Wally and the QA/Us. he's trying. he wants to be let in, but what does that mean, really? let him in where? open what? he's desperate. he wants us to understand. he's trying so so hard Without the right tools to clearly communicate what he wants. he can't see Us, We can see him, both know the other is there, but there's no way to connect. and the attempts are hurting all parties involved, however unintentionally