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humanitys-strongest-bamf · 1 year

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saw you might be taking requests? can you do a drabble where y/n is a survivor of domestic abuse and levi ends up raising his voice at some point and y/n gets triggered and levi comforts them? pls skip if ur uncomfortable with this!

absolutely LOVE that my very first aot request is heavy angst

You're Safe | Levi Hurt/Comfort Oneshot

✧ word count ➼ 1.6k (i think this word count is just my standard at this point lmao) ✧ content/warnings: mentions of abuse, panic attacks, dissociation, canon!verse, reader is a survivor of domestic abuse, levi being comforting in his levi way, all the not fun stuff that comes with being a survivor, please let me know if i missed any trigger warnings! ✧ notes ➼ I know that everyone's experience with being a survivor is vastly different. If you would like it portrayed in a different way, feel free to send me another ask and I will try my best to match it :) Not sure if this needs to be said, but if you ever need support or solidarity, my ask is always open!

You could tell that something was off the minute he walked in through the door.

While Levi was rarely in a “good” mood after expeditions, you could tell that this most recent one must have gone much worse than anticipated. It was already getting late into the night and your anxiety was already elevated, having been waiting for Levi to arrive back home all day. The debrief must have taken much, much longer than usual, which was never a good sign.

You came out of your study to meet him in the living room, your heart dropping when you saw the dark look on his face and how ruffled his uniform and hair was.

“Levi?” you asked quietly as you approached him.

You could tell that he was exhausted and incredibly stressed at the same time. He looked like he was about to collapse down onto the ground and that it was taking all his energy to keep going.

You reached out slowly and placed your hand on his arm, gently holding him.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled, shrugging you off. “Just a long day.”

You gave him a small, half-hearted smile, knowing that it was definitely not “just a long day”. However, you knew that it took Levi much longer than a normal person to process distress and decompress and given the fact that he was in the Scouts and took regular deadly expeditions outside of the walls, distress was a constant in his life.

“You know that’s not true,” you said quietly, turning towards him as he walked past you. “Talk to me, Levi.”

He stopped walking and you heard a soft sigh come from his mouth.

“Not now, _____.”

You frowned at him, knowing that “not now” easily translated to “not at all”. Although you knew to give him space, you also knew that if he went to bed in distress tonight, then he would wake up even worse tomorrow, which would make him detach even more, leading into an endless cycle of self-destruction and stonewalling.

“Levi, please,” you said, approaching him again. “What happened? Talk to me.”

He stopped walking and quickly glanced at you with irritation showing in his eyes.

“I said not now, _____!” he yelled out, a bit louder than he had intended to.

You felt yourself flinch and freeze as your blood ran cold. The sudden and drastic change from near silence to his voice bouncing off the walls immediately brought your mind from the present reality and into a dissociative state as you felt your eyes lose focus and your ability to perceive the room around you began to dissipate. Your breathing destabilized as you took a step back away from him.

Given your current state, you weren’t able to see Levi’s eyes widen as he realized what had just happened. You couldn’t see his face pale upon seeing your reaction. You couldn’t see him walking towards you as you quickly turned away, maintaining distance from him. You couldn’t see him open his mouth to speak or hear any words that were meant to come out after.

“I need to go to the restroom,” you muttered quickly as you rushed to the bathroom in the most composed way that you could, as tears began to cloud your vision.

Once you were in the bathroom, you shut the door behind you and leaned over the sink, unable to keep the tears back any longer. You shut your eyes as disturbing memories, ones that you thought you had stored away for good, emerged. You shook your head in an attempt to get them to go away and took a sharp inhale, your breath getting caught in your throat. You vaguely heard that your sobbing was audible due to your unsteady breathing and you quickly covered your mouth in an attempt to muffle yourself.

You felt the world begin to spin around you as you cursed at yourself in frustration. You didn’t understand why you were like this. What had happened was a long time ago. You knew that Levi wasn’t that person. You knew that he wouldn’t hurt you. You knew that, even when he was frustrated, he would never take his anger out on you.

So why the hell do I still feel this way?!

You opened your eyes again once you heard a gentle knock on the bathroom door with it slightly opening since you hadn’t closed it all the way. You saw Levi approaching from the other side of the door and you immediately looked away, quickly wiping the tears off your face in a vain attempt to keep him from seeing your crying, although there was no hiding your swollen eyes or how red your nose had become from sniffling.

There was a solemn look on Levi’s usually expressionless face. He knew what was running through your head. He knew about the rampant thoughts that must have been plaguing your mind. His heart had dropped once he saw your reaction, but at that point, it was too late to take back what had just happened.

“Hey, _____,” he said, his voice gentle and soft.

You continued to look away, averting eye contact.

“I’m fine, Levi,” you said with a flat tone, desperately trying to mask your vulnerable state.

You saw him place his hand down on the sink near you without actually making physical contact.

“Can I come closer?” he asked, still keeping his voice low, never taking his eyes off you.

You were quiet for a second as you continued to try to control the tears that were gathering in the corners of your eyes again. You shakily nodded at him as you slowly turned towards him again.

He slowly approached you, pausing for a second before gently placing his hands on your shoulders. He had approached you slowly, noticing that you slightly flinched again when he raised his hands. The most important thing to him right now was to ground you back to the present moment, and indicate that there was no danger.

After he felt you slightly relax upon his touch, he pulled you into a tight hug, placing his hand at the back of your head to hold you in as you buried your face into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

Upon hearing that, you weren’t able to hold your tears back anymore as you gripped at him, with your sobs becoming audible. You pressed your face against him, as if you were desperately trying to hide.

“N-No,” you said quietly, with your voice slightly muffled. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I still act like this. I don’t want you to feel like I don’t t-trust you or that I’m afraid of you or that I-”

“Stop,” he whispered, cutting you off. “It’s okay.”

He gently ran his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe and comfort you, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

You continued to press yourself against him. Although you were still sobbing and soaking his shirt with tears, your breathing had stabilized and you no longer felt like there was a storm tearing through your mind.

You both stood there for a minute as he continued to soothe you and ground you back into the present.

Once he heard you take a deep breath, he spoke again.

“Come,” he said quietly, pulling away slightly, and gently directing you out of the bathroom and into the living room, leading you to the couch.

He sat down, pulling you in as you followed suit.

You curled yourself into a ball, resting your head against his chest, taking comfort in the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat and the warm touch of you leaning against him. You still felt incredibly embarrassed from getting so heavily triggered and continued to hide your face in him.

After a few minutes of silence, you finally took another deep breath and pulled away slightly to look up at him.

“I’m sorry,” you said, wiping away any residual tears that had gathered on your cheeks. “I feel pathetic.”

He looked at you, his eyebrows slightly coming together as worry entered his eyes at your statement.

“Well, you don’t have to, but I know it’s hard,” he said quietly, gently brushing his fingers against your cheek and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear so that he could see your face better. “It’s okay.”

He placed his other hand on your waist, giving you a gentle squeeze as a method of reassuring you of his prolonged presence.

You gripped at his shirt to ground yourself. You were here with Levi. The person you lived with currently was not your abuser. The person you found yourself being held by was someone that loved you unconditionally, in the best way that you wanted to be loved. This person cared and would never bring harm to you. You knew that.

Slowly, a small smile appeared on your face as you parted your lips to speak again.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He returned the smile, pulling you into a gentle kiss that lasted for more than a few seconds.

You allowed yourself to relish in his scent, his touch, the sound of his breathing, the feeling of his hands against you, and how, despite him being relatively small as a person, you felt engulfed by him, as if his presence was able to wash away all of the chaos that resided in your mind.

He pulled and rested his forehead on yours.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, matching your volume. “You’re safe.”

#i actually loved writing this #tw: mentions of abuse #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackermann x reader #levi heichou x reader #captain levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackermann #kats levi angst #kats levi fluff #kats oneshots #levi heichou #levi angst #levi hurt/comfort #captain levi

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coolfireguy73 · 1 year

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Parents ! (Child Mercs comic update)

LOOK AT THEMMM !!!

So ! I've been working on the child mercs comic and figured I might do some more charadesigns (and some props later ;) )

I don't know if I'll need every one of them in the comic, I don't even know if I'll need ANY of them, but it was fun to make.

I only drew one of each merc's parents (for those who had two)

I have a few things to say about their designs, I'll try not to be boring:

Heavy's mom: You may think that "that's not how Heavy's mom looks like, she has a blue dress and a red thing in her hair" and yes you'd be correct, and that's what I was going for at first. BUT, remember this is when the mercs where children, she did not look like that, she looked probably more like this:

so I went off that. I still gave her the Idon'tknowwhatyoucallitthing in her hair. It just looks so good on her.

Medic's Mom: I just love her. She's a tall thin woman with fluffy hair, and she looks so sweet !

Demo's Mom: Nothing much to say I just went off her earliest apparition in the comics. And, may I just say, as an artist, I don't like the colors of her clothes, they just don't go with each other. I did change the color of the strips on her skirt a little bit but still...

Engineer's dad: Yeah, another one that already exist in the canon, nothing changed much here either. Since, in the comic i'm going to make, they are all going to live in a small town, I took his helmet off and changed his overalls for more... "casual" ones. He's not a mercenary yet.

I referenced some pictures of work overalls and actually made him look too modern and had to change it a bit.

Spy's dad: I was afraid of doing spy's dad because I didn't want to make just a copy of spy. And I also didn't want to make another mom, we already have three of those X). So I played around for a while, looking at 20s and 50s clothes, and I think in the end I manage to get the spy vibe without drawing spy, if you see what I mean.

here are some of my research for him. Pretty basic:

Now you may notice, among the chid mercs I made, one is missing: Soldier.

I just have a very hard time imagining his parents, or just him having parents. Either he was raised in an orphanage, his parents weren't very present for him or he got raised by racoon in a dumpster, i don't know, but I just don't see him having a "normal" family.

In the comic I plan, this won't really be brought up, like in the official lore it will kind of be a mystery :)

Anyway, sorry for the long post. Hope you like them !

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steviewashere · 22 days

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27,28,32 Eddie finds out he’s pregnant and tells Steve

Oooo, okay, I had so much fun with this one! And, get this, it's not almost three thousand words!

27: "I'm pregnant.", 28: "Marry me?", 32: "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified."

Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Trans Eddie Munson, FTM Eddie Munson, Pregnant Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Marriage Proposal, Pregnancy Announcement

————— This is definitely not how Eddie thought he’d start his day.

He’s in the bathroom of his and Steve’s apartment, just sat with his head in his hands to accommodate the wave of nausea that overcame him. And that’s when he got the smart idea that…well, maybe he should figure out why he’s been so sick the last week or so. Steve’s still asleep in their bed. Came home late from work, wanted to sleep in on his day off, and already knew that Eddie was sick.

But didn’t know that it was because Eddie’s period was late. He had a sneaking suspicion that there was something wrong, when he didn’t have to put a pad in his underwear, but he thought it could be from PCOS or something unrelated. It’s not. Which is evident in the stupid plastic stick in his shaking hands, lightly glistening from his own urine, and definitely showing two prominent dark pink lines. He’s crying at eight in the morning, holding a stick in his hand, sick to his stomach, and shaking.

Whimpering, he knows that there’s no way he can avoid this. Steve is too observant for his own good. He’ll figure out something’s wrong or changed. And he’ll be too good, too sweet, and Eddie knows he’ll run. So he’s going to face this. Just like he did with the demobats. Facing this is half the battle. Finding out Steve’s reaction is the other half.

He exits the bathroom, stick in hand, but stops short in the open space of their room. At Steve on his belly, snoring smooth into his pillow, blanket pooled at his waist, nude skin golden with sunlight that peers through the window. God, he’s so beautiful; Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself if Steve rejects all of this. Carefully, he gets back in bed quietly, not even jostling Steve’s body. He sets the test on his bedside table, hovers a hand over Steve’s back, and swallows down the soft sob that wants to override him.

Gently, he runs a languid stripe down Steve’s spine. “Baby,” he whispers, “Stevie, sweetheart? I need you to get up.” He takes a stuttering breath as Steve stirs, rolling over on his right side, blinking his eyes sleepily. Steve yawns, stretches, rubs fists over his eyes. A pout present on his features. Eddie feels awful for having to wake him up so early, but he thinks he’ll throw up if he has to keep this a secret any longer. “Okay,” he exhales. His breath shutters. “Okay, Steve, I need you to listen to me.”

At that, Steve blinks completely awake. Sits himself up against his pillow. Hands already grasping for Eddie’s. Face blank of anything teasing. Eyes going soft and concerned and imploring.

“Um—I—I think I’m in love with you—“

Steve chuckles. “Baby, I already knew that,” he lightly teases. But the small quirk he had to his lips dissipates almost as soon as it appeared, falling into the space between them.

Eddie nods anyway. “—And I’m terrified,” he admits. “I’m really fucking scared right now, but I know that I love you. I know that you love me, but I…” He tears one of his hands out of Steve’s grip, runs it harshly over his face, and curses softly, “Fuck.”

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, “You’re okay. Take your time, babe.”

“I’m pregnant,” he rushes out. “Steve, I’m…I’m pregnant. I don’t know how it happened. Must’ve missed my birth control a few times? Maybe I—I’m probably just fucking stupid and miscalculated when my period was supposed to happen. I’m sorry if this is—“

“Really?” Steve asks, breathless.

That’s when Eddie notices he wasn’t looking at Steve. Drags his eyes from their hands, the blanket that swamps him, and up to Steve’s…excited eyes? Shining and happy. He’s smiling, the small crinkles by his eyes are all too noticeable. Smile lines deep. All his teeth are showing. He releases a sigh of relief, nodding.

“Oh my God!” Steve exclaims, bouncing the bed with it. “Holy shit! That’s awesome, Eds. That’s so…Wait.” He pauses. Movement stilling. He’s half off the bed, angling for his bedside drawer, and reaching to Eddie, too. “Unless…Do you want this? I’m really excited for this, but I only want this if you want to.”

“I…” Eddie looks off to the side momentarily. He’s a bit afraid, honestly. Of what may happen with his body. What he may have to go through. The absolute uncomfortableness that he’ll have to endure, but…He’s thought about this before and been excited about it, too. Kids weren’t always ideal to him, not really. But having a kid with somebody he considers the love of his life, who’s looking at him like a puppy awaiting a bone toss, he’s content with whatever happens next. “Yeah, Stevie, I think I do,” he murmurs, “But only with you. With anybody else, I think I’d shrivel up and die.”

At that, Steve bounds off the mattress and disappears down their hallway, clambering about their living room. He rushes back in, careless of the neighbors below them, and skitters to a stop in front of Eddie. Slams his butt back down on the bed, hand gripping something, taking both of Eddie’s hands.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Steve pants. “Like, seriously, insane.”

“Okay,” Eddie says slowly, “You’re scaring me a little, baby.”

He can see Steve swallow harshly. “Sorry,” he mutters sheepishly. “I just—This is crazy. I’m crazy. So, like we were close friends for a really long time before we got together,” he begins first. Gesturing with their conjoined hands between them. “And I knew that you were somebody I wanted in my life, no matter what we were. I knew that, like, day one? So, when we started dating, I had a feeling deep down that you were it for me.”

His eyes dart very briefly as if searching for words. He bites down on his bottom lip and works his breathing to be set normal. Eddie didn’t even realize he was still panting until he fully relaxes in how he sits.

“In our second week of dating, I got this insane idea. Went out to the mall with Robin, dragged her to the nearest jewelry store, and made them figure out the size of one of your rings. The ones you put on your ring fingers,” Steve explains softly. He grabs for whatever is in his left hand, fidgeting with it so that only he can see it, and then turns it around for Eddie to finally peer at. It’s a small, blue, velvet box. “We don’t have to do anything about this immediately. Whatever you want, I want. You’re one of my best friends. My romantic soulmate. And I love you beyond belief. So…Marry me?” He asks, enamored and giddy.

The box opens. Revealing the shiniest silver ring Eddie’s ever seen. It’s not that thick, a simple thing, doesn’t have anything added to it. But to know that it was made to his exact size, that’s something he carries warmly inside his chest.

He looks back up to Steve. “Yes!” He exclaims. “Are you…You’ve had this since week two? I can’t believe you right now, baby. Holy—“ And he takes the ring from the box, lets Steve slide it on his left ring finger, and just admires at it.

“I can’t believe that I get to be a dad, too, Eds. You’re the love of my life. This is…Fuck sleeping, lets celebrate!”

“Oh, how do you plan to do that? Because I could just sit here and fucking ogle this forever, Stevie.”

“I’ll show you how excited I am, how about that?” Steve teases. His eyes hood, cheeks flush pink, and Eddie knows he’s the happiest man alive right now. Well, other than the darling man in front of him. The pure giddy excitement on his face is something special.

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #my asks #trans eddie munson #ftm eddie munson #established relationship #mild hurt/comfort

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wil-o-wispy · 1 month

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The Wife, the Lover and the Bastard Son - Part 3

Pairing: Chris Redfield x FM! Reader (but not in this part)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (You are here) | Part 4

Summary: One year after running from your feelings for Chris Redfield, an oddly familiar face emerges from the shadows.

Contents: Small spoilers for RE6, mentions of vomitting from seasickness, canon typical violence/swearing, Jake banter, canon typical puzzle bullshit, LORE. Reader is referred to as 'Doc' and is the wife of (dead) Albert Wesker and is a former Umbrella scientist.

a/n: Jake is literally one of the best characters in RE6 it is CRIMINAL that he's not in more fics. Be the change you want to see in the world. The plot is plotting in this part and I got a little carried away with descriptions but we're rolling with it. Also many thanks for 100+ likes on this series already. Enjoy!

w/c: 7.1k

1 Year Later:

Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke.

That’s all you can think of under the black hood. The last thing you need right now is to puke on yourself. You should be thinking of ways to escape your current predicament, but your stomach lurching with the irregular rise and fall of the boat you’re handcuffed to, the indiscernible shouting of your kidnappers, the sweat all over your body from the unbearable heat and seasickness, and the sickeningly strong scent of fish and salty air is making that near impossible.

How the hell do I keep getting caught up in this shit? Don’t fucking puke. Breathe in through the mouth, out through the nose.

You’d had terrible seasickness since Albert kept you on that tanker for so long until Africa happened. After the second time trying to escape him and being mildly successful, he wanted to make damn sure that it didn’t happen again. Therefore: boat timeout. A boat prison meant it would be more difficult to escape. More resources needed, more planning required for a chance at walking on dry land. The chronic seasickness was an unintended side effect you’re sure, but it only gave another weakness for Albert to leverage against you. ‘The sickness will cease if you listen to me dearheart,’ didn’t sound like a compelling argument on its own to inject Uroboros in your veins, but presented as a solution to vomiting constantly because of the ocean’s movement for four years, it was pretty damn tempting some days. If you didn’t already know that virus was a death sentence, you might have given it a shot.

You’d even insisted that any transportation involving sea travel be explicitly prohibited while you were consulting/in protective custody with the B.S.A.A. Travel by air and car were far more convenient anyway, or at least that’s what Chris assured you. The man witnessed you puking your guts out the day he rescued you from that tanker. Of course he’d back up your request.

I wonder if he knows I’m gone yet. Deep breaths. Don’t puke.

It’s likely, considering it’s been some hours. Even though you’re considered part of B.S.A.A Europe now, you’re still willing to bet that Chris still got important updates about you considering your history. Higher-ups wouldn’t think twice about their favorite soldier wanting updates about the widow of Albert Wesker.

You know better.

His interest is much more personal than that.

As much as you would like to entertain a relationship, you can’t bring yourself to finding out what the aftermath of Chris’ professional life would be if you did. You felt guilty about leaving so quickly and not even telling him, but you figured if you had told him before you left, he might have convinced you to stay. You’d sent him a text wishing him well when you got to your new apartment an ocean away, which is better than nothing you suppose.

You hope he’d get a kick out of the security footage at least. You managed to aggressively elbow one of your kidnappers in the jaw and make them stagger back before you were overwhelmed, restrained and thrown in the back seat of a car. Surprisingly, there weren’t any physical consequences to that besides a mildly sore elbow. Whoever wanted to take you wants you all in one piece, which can either be really good or really bad. It’s the world’s most shitty game of roulette; is it a job offer to work for a terrorist organization? Or is it one of Albert’s disgruntled business partners wanting to use you as a test subject for revenge? Both were unpleasant in their own ways.

With all the circumstances surrounding your transfer to the Germany B.S.A.A. lab, everything was going surprisingly well. Too well. You should have known it wouldn’t last forever. Nothing good ever does in your life. Chris had tried to reach out a few times wanting to talk, but you always dodged his calls blaming the time difference, your workload, or the near-constant stream of outbreaks that always required your professional attention. You didn’t mind. Keeping busy meant less time to think about Chris’ wounded expression the last time you saw him. The attempts at contact eventually slowed in frequency and you only saw him in the occasional group video call regarding major outbreaks. The North American branch rarely had a reason to visit your particular station with it only being a lab and having nothing to do with the B.S.A.A.’s military operations. A small blessing in your eyes.

Germany was a far away dream at this point. There’s light piercing through the fabric of your hood, so you know it’s the next day. It was night when you were taken. You didn’t get a good look at your kidnappers, but you heard them speaking some sort of Asiatic-related language before they bagged you, as well as throughout your journey to wherever ‘here’ is. All you know for sure is that you were in a car for a long time, a plane for an even longer amount of time (that you somehow slept through most of), and this boat for what feels like an eternity.

Mercifully, your hear shouts from the shore and the movement of the boat changes from a straight choppy line to a diagonal jerky tug and pull. They’re docking the boat. You hear an announcement from an old-sounding speaker in that same unfamiliar language close by, followed by an ear grating buzzer. The words from the speaker echo around the space, giving you the impression of a rocky and unforgiveable terrain.

You still feel wobbly when you’re practically dragged from the boat by your handcuffed wrists, but you manage to walk in what you think is a straight line towards wherever your destination is. The hollow echo of walking on wood underneath your feet turns into the gravely sound of small pebbles, then morphs into solid concrete. The overwhelming fish smell also grows weaker the farther you walk inland, although you can still barely smell it if you focus on your kidnappers. They’re talking boisterously and laughing. You can hear them on either side of you, in front of you, and behind you. The desire to rip off your hood, bodycheck the goons next to you, and run off into God-knows-where was strong, but it was also a rash, stupid decision.

Don’t lash out immediately, know the enemy first.

You’d always been told to comply with kidnappers until the B.S.A.A. could get to you, but on the other hand you’re just too proud to blindly do everything they tell you. You always operate on the assumption they won’t find you in time. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. So, you do what’s become natural at this point: observe and take mental notes.

After a few more paces and a comment from the leader in front of you that the other three belly laugh at, you hear a metallic click, then the metal on metal symphony of a large factory sized door slowly opening a few yards in front of you. There’s a moment of silence between your kidnappers. Then, the ringleader in front of you tugs on your cuffs so hard that you nearly stumble to the ground, but you manage to barely keep your balance. He says words where he sounds like he’s smiling. A joke like before? But the other three aren’t laughing this time. The one on your back right says something quietly, and the ringleader holding your cuffs barks something back angrily.

Then it hits you: these guys are nervous. They haven’t been here before. They’re hesitating to go into the unknown entrance in front of you. These guys are probably a hired third party. The man holding your cuffs shouts something else, startling you and breaking your train of thought. He pulls the cuffs forward as he walks and you’re forced to follow. You hear three pairs of hesitant footsteps behind you.

It only takes a few seconds for you to realize why three of the four men got cold feet at the door. It’s dark in here. The sunlight that was able to pierce through the dark fabric of the hood lessens in intensity the further you’re dragged into the room. As the sounds of the ocean outside get further and further away and you’re questioning what kind of building could possibly be this large.

There’s nervous dissent among the three kidnappers behind you when the big metal door starts closing, but another angry remark from the leader shuts them up. You’re led further and further into the room. You hear yours and your kidnapper’s footsteps echoing around the cavernous room, but the sound gradually reverberates less and less the closer you’re led to bright lights on the other end of the room. The darkness under your hood lessens and grows surprisingly brighter until you’re forced to stop. The ringleader in front of you clears his throat, and pushes you forward slightly. He speaks like a game show host presenting the grand prize, the forced showmanship feeling out of place in the empty environment. A higher pitched, lilting male voice responds over a speaker overhead. Unimpressed. The ringleader tries to keep up the act, but is quickly shut down again.

You hear the higher pitched voice bark out something that sounds like an order, you hear a huff from the leader next to you, then the black hood is ripped off your head. Your eyes are immediately assaulted with bright, military grade lights pointing in your direction. You try to blink away the blindness, but even after getting used to not being in almost complete darkness, you can only make out the silhouette of a wiry man and a bulkier man with some kind of rifle standing next to him in an observation chamber above you. You see the wiry man nod his head in approval. He leans forward and you hear a polite, lightly accented higher pitched voice over the speaker.

“Welcome Doctor. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you.”

You don’t recognize the voice, so you elect keep your expression neutral. “It’s a pleasure to be here.” You reply flatly, clearly wanting to be anywhere else.

“I do apologize for your long journey. But some things just can’t be helped. These kind gentlemen will show you to your accommodations.”

At first, you think he’s referring to your kidnappers, but then you see two soldiers walk out from the darkness in front of you. They’re dressed in black, military style gear and wear something similar to a gas mask on their faces. They’re also holding electric batons. You look around. Your kidnappers are dressed in street clothes and appear close to middle age. Maybe you should have taken your chances with them outside. As the soldiers walk out of the shadows, the lead kidnapper holding you by your cuffs, the oldest by the looks of him, gestures to the wiry man above you all and starts almost shouting in a firm tone while alternating between rubbing his fingertips together and an ‘okay’ symbol. Payment.

The wiry man’s silhouette presses a button on the console in front of him in the booth, and more lights come on to your left. Crates. Lots of them. You don’t know what’s inside from this distance, but judging by the smile on the lead kidnapper’s face the payment is more than satisfactory. The previous nervous tension among the four men is completely eradicated. The nervous one that spoke before tosses a small set of keys to one of the soldiers, the lead kidnapper pushes you forward towards the other soldier, and all four of the men head over to the crates to check out their bounty.

You see the soldier with the key place it in one of the pockets on the front of his uniform and walk back towards the darkness, while the other places you in front of him with a firm hand on your shoulder and walks you forward. You’re in complete darkness for a few paces before you’re blinded again by a pair of industrial elevator doors opening and shadows walking towards you.

You realize the two escorting you are guards at best, not soldiers. The squad in front of you is armed with much more deadly weapons; you recognize pistols and semi-automatic TMP’s as the group marches past you back into the warehouse-type room with your original kidnappers. You don’t have long to wonder why they’re marching back into the room. Just as the doors to the elevator are closing, you hear the confused shouts of your kidnappers get cut short by rapid gunfire.

No witnesses. That’s never good.

You’re not in the elevator for long. The doors open to reveal a long hallway with more industrial style architecture. The guard in front of you starts walking forward and the guard behind you lightly pushes you to follow. His presence behind you makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

As you’re ushered forward, it feels like you’re walking through a cross between an old factory and one of the old Umbrella labs. Some things appear to be 40 years old or more, and other things, such as the doors, have been updated to be futuristic sliding electric doors with keypads for additional security. The wheels are turning in your head on what this place of operations could possibly be, but you don’t have enough information to make any solid conclusions yet.

The guard in front of you scans a key card on the panel next to the door, it beeps, then the door gracefully slides open to reveal another hallway similar to the last one, but completely renovated; bright white and futuristic. The architect clearly took inspiration from the old Umbrella labs.

About halfway down the new hallway, you realize you don’t feel the presence of the guard behind you anymore. You look over your shoulder and stop in your tracks when you see the guard unconscious on the ground a few feet away.

Huh. How’d that happen?

When you stop walking, the guard in front of you turns around, probably to get you to keep moving to whatever cell these people have prepared for you for you. But as soon as the guard turns around, you see a gray blur drop from the ceiling out of the corner of your eye. The gray blur, a ginger headed man, punches the guard, which makes the guard stumble but he regains his footing quickly. They exchange a few attempts at hitting each other; the guard tries to swing the electric baton but the mystery man dodges the attempted strike. The mystery man gets a few good punches in and successfully disarms the guard, but the guard is able to catch the man’s wrist, the guard then uses his forearm as leverage to pin the man to the wall. It looks the guard is trying to cut off the mystery man’s air circulation, but the man has enough strength and fighting know-how to not get knocked out.

For a moment, you don’t know what to do. You don’t recognize the new man. The only thing you know is that he’s a skilled fighter, and the other guard isn’t going down easy. You also know you can’t escape by yourself, and the B.S.A.A. doesn’t know where you are.

Help the stranger it is.

You run over to the unconscious guard and grab his electric baton and grip it the best you can with your hands bound together. The mystery man is still pinned to the wall by the guard and is trying to wiggle free.

You sprint down the hall, wind up the prod, and smack the guard on the side of the head. The guard doesn’t go down like you hoped, but the shock of you hitting him with the baton gives the mystery man enough time to grab the guard with both hands and ram him into the wall, knocking him out cold.

“You good?” You ask, somewhat out of breath.

The man stretches his neck and arms, nodding his head. “Never better. Thanks for that.”

Now that the man isn’t brawling with the guards, you get a better look at him.

A nagging sense of familiarity emerges in the back of your mind. You’re positive you haven’t met this man before. You couldn’t have. You would have remembered the large diagonal scar on the left side of his face that stretches from the junction of his cheek and nose all the way down to his jaw, or the buzzed ginger hair. Those features aren’t exactly forgettable, yet some detail that you can’t put your finger on in the moment keeps tugging at your memory.

You shake off the feeling. You can sort that out later, but right now you have more binding things to focus on. You hold out your wrists, still bound in the cuffs.

“No problem. Mind returning the favor? The key’s in his chest pocket.” You point your chin to the guard that you shocked.

“Sure thing.”

Jake saunters over to the guard, rolls the unconscious body over to unzip the front pocket to grab the key, then walks back over to you to start undoing the locks on your cuffs. Jake’s eyes flicker between the lock and your face as he does so.

“So… you’re the hot shot scientist.”

It’s more of a statement than a question. You narrow your eyes. Jake easily unlocks the first cuff and begins to work on the second one.

“That depends… who’s asking?”

“Name’s Jake.”

Knowing his name doesn’t help you place this man’s face. You stay silent and wait for Jake to keep going and give you a last name or the company he works for, but instead he unlocks the second cuff and tosses them away, looking at you expectantly with an easy smirk.

“This is the part where you tell me your name.”

“Not before you tell me why you’re here.” When in doubt, be on the side of caution. Just because this man helped you, doesn’t mean he’s on your side. You rub your wrists, trying to get rid of the sting of the cuffs being on your wrists for so long.

“Just a little… preventative maintenance for a friend. You got a name?”

You purse your lips, trying to get a read on what Jake means by ‘preventative maintenance.’ He took out the guards, so unless he’s going for a long con, he doesn’t work for the people who took you. Most mercenaries wouldn’t rescue someone on a job unless it’s in their contract, although any good murder for hire would know what their target looked like before accepting the job. You’re willing to bet his intentions are most likely in line with your own. You relax your shoulders.

“Just call me Doc. And yeah, I’m the virologist.”

The cavalier attitude Jake is exuding shifts slightly and for a moment you think he’s connected the dots on who you are, but instead Jake’s attitude morphs into optimistic determination.

“You know the periodic table?”

You stand there, confused and trying to figure out why he’s thinking about something so out of left field, but coming up with nothing. You answer honestly. “Uh… yes?”

A satisfied smirk stretches across his face. “Good. I could use your help. C’mon.”

Jake strides over to a specific section of wall and presses an unassuming panel on it. A keypad pops out and Jake starts to type on it while you stay in your spot processing what just happened.

“Excuse you, I don’t remember volunteering my expertise!”

“What’s the hold up Doc?” Jake finishes inputting the number sequence and you hear a hiss, something metal releasing, the panel of wall that you now realize is a hidden door sliding back a couple inches, then the wall panel sliding to the left to reveal an industrial staircase winding downward. Jake turns back to you, a cavalier expression on his face. “You got something planned already with sleeping beauty over there? Or are you coming with me?”

Jake gestures to the guard you electrocuted on the floor. You look at the guard, then the other one further down the hall, then back to Jake. “Lucky for you, my plans just got canceled. Let’s go.”

It only takes a few minutes to figure out that Jake knows his way around this place. The staircase leads to another series of dingy hallways that Jake saunters through with confidence. Either he’d already figured out these sections weren’t closely guarded, or he’d taken measures to make sure he wouldn’t have to worry about surveillance. Either way, you’re relieved to be in the presence of someone who knows what they’re doing and isn’t trying to hold you hostage.

“So… you didn’t say who you work for.”

Jake thinks about his answer, then shrugs and keeps walking. “I consider myself an independent contractor. But right now, I’m on the B.S.A.A.’s payroll.”

“Really? You don’t strike me as B.S.A.A.” You know for a fact that the B.S.A.A. recruits almost exclusively from armies around the world. Army life causes soldiers to have a certain disposition. A certain disciplined way of carrying oneself resulting from years of drills and training. Jake’s body language felt much too relaxed for that lifestyle.

“I’m consulting.”

You give the man a half smile hearing that. The way Jake said that made it sound like he wasn’t exactly happy about it, but accepted the job nonetheless. Something you could easily relate to. “What a coincidence, so am I.”

“For viruses? You some kind of expert on bioweapons?”

You shrug and keep following Jake. “I’ve got a good amount of practical experience.” It’s a true but vague statement. Jake doesn’t need to know the details of why you know so much. Any mention of your past with Umbrella or Wesker never ends well with strangers.

Jake looks over his shoulder with an eyebrow raised. “Don’t give me that humble bullshit.”

You scoff and smile. Definitely not army. “Okay. You’d be hard pressed to find someone who knew more. Better? What do you need to know?”

“Give me a rundown of the G-Virus.”

You don't answer for a long moment, stunned. “The G? These guys went through the trouble to get me here for that?” Your tone is incredulous.

“What?” Jake doesn’t sound confused at your reaction. Only curious.

“It’s just… unstable and obsolete compared to other bioweapons. It’s not exactly competitive against strains nowadays where infected can tell the difference between enemy and ally.”

“Obsolete huh? What’s your theory on why they have it all the way out here then?”

“They’re… low on funding and have limited options? Or they didn’t care what they’re buying.”

You pause, realizing Jake can fill in some missing information for you. “And who are ‘they’ and what is ‘here?’ I didn’t get a good look at anything on my way in.”

Jake chuckles and shakes his head. “You must piss off a lot of people.”

You roll your eyes at Jake’s comment and keep following him. “You don’t have to be an ass about it.”

“Not judging, I respect it. I’m on a fair share of shit lists myself.”

“If you don’t know the answers, you can just be honest about it.”

“Alright alright. Technically, we’re in Japan, but it’s more of a small as shit island in the Pacific. I was told this was a former Umbrella research outpost.”

You scrunch your brows in confusion. “I didn’t know they had labs this far out from the mainland.”

“Neither did I, but ya learn something new every day.”

Eventually, the dingy hallways and platforms lead to another mechanical door that reveals another white hallway not unlike the ones you remember from Umbrella’s previous headquarters in Raccoon City. You don’t have much time to reminisce as you follow Jake to a door at the end of the hall.

The room you enter is somewhat dated. The equipment here looks like it came straight out of the 90’s, but with some modern updates in a few choice sections. Jake ignores all of that in favor of leading you to the other side of the room where a mechanical door and a keypad are waiting. The door is notably one of the only things in the room that’s been updated.

“Mind taking a crack at this Doc?”

Jake hands you a note with an Umbrella header on it:

Pierre if you’re reading this, I’ve changed the password to the specimen room. I know it impedes business to change it so frequently, but the boss insists on the highest level of security due to the nature of the special project. The new password is your namesake element on the periodic table. Just type in the atomic number and weight in that order. Don’t mess it up again. That damn alarm will lock everything down and Aimi nearly blew a gasket the last time I had to get the security key to disable it again.

“You brought me here for this? Seriously?” You look at Jake like a disappointed mother. Do schools not teach the manmade elements in chemistry anymore? In your mind, you think that Jake went a little overboard bringing someone with a PHD to solve a periodic table puzzle. Jake doesn’t react to your question. He just keeps up the cavalier attitude.

“So you can solve it.”

“You know Google exists, right?” You reply, deadpan.

“No service in the middle of the ocean. Are you going to help me out or not?”

You scoff at the comment, then hand the note back to him and stride to one of the bookshelves. “Yes. It’s Curium.” You thumb through the spines trying to find a chemistry book of some kind.

“But his name’s Pierre. You sure?”

You find a ratty chemistry book with university library stickers all over the spine. Bingo. You pull it out and flip through the back pages, finally finding what you were looking for: a periodic table.

“Pierre Curie and Marie Curie discovered the element. That’s the answer. Type in 96247.”

You snap the book shut and you hear Jake typing in the code on the door. Now that Jake’s errand is almost done, it’s time to get the hell out of Dodge. Or the ocean in this case.

“After you run your maintenance we need to find a radio, or a ride out of here. I don’t want to be in the middle of nowhere longer than I need to be.”

“I’m no travel agent, but I think that can be arranged.”

You turn to join him, but a logo on some papers scattered around on the desk by the bookshelf catches your eye; a Tricell logo. Your eyebrows scrunch together. Albert partnered with Tricell for the Uroboros project and the company has been defunct since Africa happened four years prior. Why is that logo here of all places?

You hear a beep behind you and a mechanical door sliding open with a soft hiss as you pour over the documents. They’re copies of internal documents relating to the development of the Africa strain of Plaga parasites with yellow highlights all over them. A large label that reads ‘G – U’ stuck on a keycard is blocking one of the notes so you move it to the side. More concerningly, the only things you see highlighted are locations of labs and sites of infection with handwritten margin notes in Kanji that you don’t understand.

“Hey uh, Doc?” Jake is calling you from inside the room that was unlocked.

“Hm?” You respond, still half-focusing on the Tricell documents.

“I don’t think these guys had limited options.”

A sense of dread starts to form in the back of your mind when Jake says that. You speed walk over to the now accessible room. It’s a large, white room with rows of what look like display cases. You see Jake looking through the glass and into display on the other side of it. You walk up next to him to look for yourself and your heart drops to your stomach when you see what he’s talking about.

On the other side of the glass, you see a complete family of Plaga parasite strains. As you walk down the aisle, you see the original strain from Spain, all the way to the newest strain that popped up in Edonia a couple years back. Although to your relief, you see that the Amber strain which allows the infected to have both strength and free will isn’t displayed.

You glance at the aisle behind the Plaga parasite display. You immediately recognize the familiar T-Virus series. It’s concerning how thorough the collection is. Even without reading the placards underneath each sample, you recognize the strain that caused the outbreak at the Spencer Mansion, the T-Abyss virus from a few years ago, a few different failed strands from the Marcus-Birkin projects, among dozens more. You feel your heart skip a beat when you see the T-VERONICA placard, but you relax when you see that the sample holder is empty.

“Doc? Talk to me what’re you thinking?”

Even with the display cases missing a few of the more powerful specimens, it was still the most comprehensive collection of viruses and parasites in a single place that you’d seen in your career.

“They nearly have the whole damn catalogue in here.” Your tone is grim. Samples as comprehensive as this can only spell something bad on the horizon, but you’re not too sure what.

“I don’t understand what their play is here.” You state, still walking along the T-Strain aisle and examining each sample. Your footsteps echo around the room from the grate flooring. Based on the setup, each one appears to be a live sample.

“I think I do. They’re trying to be a one stop shop for bioweapons and this is the showroom.” Jake spits in disgust.

At first glance, Jake’s observation appears correct. But upon closer examination, that conclusion doesn’t quite fit. You slowly walk along the aisle and look at Jake through the glass in the aisle opposite. He’s examining the strains in the G-Sample section, looking back and forth from the samples in front of him and his phone.

“I want to agree with you, but I don’t think that’s it.”

Jake stops and looks at you confused. “Why?”

“They don’t have nearly enough inventory. These are samples. An unusually comprehensive collection of samples, but there’s only one of each.”

Jake shrugs. “Maybe it’s somewhere else.”

Again, a logical conclusion that doesn’t quite fit. “Outside of this facility? Possible. Here? There would have to be at least a few dozen rooms like this to store everything properly.”

You stop walking.

“And logistically, it just doesn’t make sense. We’re practically in the middle of nowhere. Why would a business owner put their showroom in one of the most difficult to reach places on the planet? You would think they’d want to make it easy for the buyer to review product, as well as convenient for the owner to ship out that product. Someone wanting to be a one-stop-shop would be on the mainland.“

You pause, an icy feeling washing over you. The bag on your head during your transport here and the execution of your kidnappers suddenly makes a lot more sense.

“These people don’t want to be found.”

Jake’s eyes flick from his phone to your face. “So they’re working on something big. A new G-virus?”

You shift on your feet shaking your head while looking over the G-Virus samples. “Yes to the big project, no to the G. Whatever it is, it’s not down here.”

“You sure about that? This one’s missing.” Jake holds his phone up to the glass so you can see on the other side of the G-Sample row. Jake’s correct this time: this specific strain isn’t displayed. You tilt your head in confusion.

“That’s not a strand I recognize.” At first glance, you know it's an unusual strand of G-Virus. G-Viruses are normally green in color, but this one is a sickly pink.

Jake grunts, shaking his head and pocketing the phone. “It’s never that simple. Is it? An all-inclusive virus buffet and one of the only one that's missing is the one I need.”

Jake pulls out a pistol you didn’t know he had, checks the clip to make sure it’s fully loaded, then holds it down by his side as he strides out of the room.

“Where you headed?” You call after him.

“Main lab upstairs. I’ll come get ya after I’ve got the G-sample.” He answers over his shoulder.

“Absolutely not!” You reply in disbelief and Jake stops walking, sighing in annoyance. He can’t seriously think he can take on the army upstairs with just a pistol. You try to talk some sense into him.

“We need to find a radio and get the B.S.A.A. here. These people will kill you no questions asked if they see you. Plus, that handgun of yours isn’t going to cut it against their hardware.”

Jake shrugs his shoulders, unconcerned. “I’ve had worse odds.”

“That doesn’t make lone wolfing this any less stupid! There’s a base in Tokyo, we just need to find a way to contact them-”

You stop talking abruptly when you catch a glimpse of a dangerously familiar sample. The one that changed the course of your life for the worse. The one that your dead husband tried and failed to infect the planet with. The name UROBOROS is proudly displayed at the end of the G-Virus aisle in the back, nearly drowned out by the sheer number of G-Virus samples.

You hear Jake saying something to the effect of ‘I’ll be back before they even know I’m there’ but you’re not registering what he’s saying. Your vision has tunneled to only focus on that devil sample. All it takes is one slip up by a careless scientist to infect this whole place. You think back to the keycard in the other room by the Tricell papers; ‘G – U.’ G-Virus to Uroboros. This time can be different. You have the power and knowledge to stop this.

“Hey? Earth to Doc? You still with me over there?”

“That needs to be destroyed.” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you stare at the Uroboros sample. You keep your eyes on the sample for a few steps, then brush past Jake to rush into the other room to find supplies; some kind of glass beaker, metal garbage can, something to contain the damned thing when you burn it to ash.

As you begin nearly tearing the lab apart in your barely controlled frenzy, Jake steps back into the sample room to look at what has you so distressed.

“Uroboros? That’s the uh… it’s not a G-Virus is it?”

You open a cabinet and find a large glass beaker. You grab it and set it on the counter and keep looking for more supplies.

“Yes! Now less talking and more helping. There’s Bunsen burners here, so there has to be some matches-”

“Can't this wait? Is it really any worse than the other ones?”

You aggressively close some drawers as you turn back to Jake with a serious glare.

“Albert Wesker. Heard of him?” Your voice is low and controlled.

Jake’s face melts into a barely hidden look of disdain. “Yeah, I have.”

“He tried to use it to cleanse the world, as he put it. He spent years injecting innocent people with that and he was the only one who didn’t turn into a flesh-eating worm thing.”

You open more drawers and find a cleaning cabinet with a half full container of rubbing alcohol. You grab it, along with a pair of cleaning gloves, and set them next to the beaker. You start soaking random bits of scrap paper with the liquid and stuff it into the beaker.

“Not only that, he tried to launch that shit into the atmosphere with a deranged smile on his face. It nearly ended the world once and that’s not something I, or anyone, needs to deal with again.”

You put another splash of rubbing alcohol into the beaker for good measure then forcefully put the bottle on the table causing it to spill some of the liquid on the table. It doesn’t slow you down. You quickly put on the cleaning gloves and dig through the drawers around the lab looking for a lighter or matches. Smoking isn’t rare in Japan so one of those items must be here somewhere.

“So Wesker had special blood?” If you were paying closer attention to the way Jake said that, you would have easily picked up that he knew more than he was letting on. But you don’t. You’re too busy trying to get rid of a dormant threat sitting in the other room. You answer without thinking while opening more drawers by the bookshelf.

“Genetically, he was one in a trillion. But even with that, he still had to take doses of the virus periodically to keep it stable. All the more reason to nip this in the bud before it becomes a problem again.”

“You know a lot about this.” A statement of fact, not a question.

“Yeah, I do!” You exclaim dramatically as you slam a cabinet shut when there, once again, aren’t any matches. You’re so frustrated that Jake is asking so many questions and won’t just help you.

“You knew him.” Another statement of fact, not a question. His eyes are dissecting your every move now. The look vaguely reminds you of Albert and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Albert used to look at you like that when he wanted to know if you were lying or gauging your reaction to something he told you. You shake off the feeling. The Uroboros discovery is making you paranoid.

You sigh and shift on your feet, leaning back against the cabinet with your eyes on the ceiling. The scent of rubbing alcohol is strong in the silent room. You shift your eyes to Jake’s after a long moment. His expression is nearly unreadable, but there’s an underlying edge in his posture now. He knows. Not everything, but he’s catching on to why you’re so passionate about this. There’s no use lying about it.

“I knew him…well, okay? At least I thought I did before all the crazy. But right now we have more important things to do than rehash my history.”

You force yourself to tear away from Jake’s calculating gaze and resume your search.

“I nee-… we need matches. Can you just help me look please?”

You don’t hear a response behind you, and you think that Jake is going to keep asking you questions. But after you open a few more drawers you hear a rustle of fabric and a metallic tink.

“Use this.”

Your head whips over to Jake and a wave of relief washes over you. Then annoyance.

He’s holding a lighter.

He had that the whole damn time you were tearing through the lab looking for matches.

You decide it’s best to hold off on scolding him until after you get rid of the Uroboros sample. Instead, you take the lighter with a gruff thank you. You grab your supplies along with the ‘G - U’ keycard and head back into the sample room.

You enter the room with newfound determination. You couldn’t stop Uroboros on your own all those years ago, but this time it’s different. You’re stopping a disaster before it has a chance to start. You place your supplies on the floor next to the case, preparing to immediately plop the Uroboros sample into the beaker. In your peripheral vision, you notice Jake leaning against the doorframe, watching your every move.

You scan the card.

Instead of the glass sliding down into the base like you expected, it stops a quarter of the way down when a deafening alarm sounds overhead and Jake is forced off of the mechanical door when it reels shut. Before you can even call out to him, gas starts pouring into the room from the grates on the floor.

All senses of self-preservation leave you in this moment. Thousands of years of survival instinct telling you to run and claw at the door and scream for help is ignored because, once again, your thoughts are only consumed by the existence of the Uroboros sample. Possessed by only one thought: you can’t fail to stop this again. You couldn’t justify something as trivial as your own survival if it meant there was a sliver of a chance of something like Africa happening again.

You force yourself to focus, even though it’s getting so much more difficult with your mind starting to cloud from the gas. You hold your breath to prolong consciousness. There’s enough space between the glass and the edge of the case that you can squeeze your arm in and grab the damned sample. You can hear Jake banging on the door shouting your name, but his voice sounds so far away as you force the sample from its display rod and gracelessly sink to your knees.

Your hand feels unwieldy and heavy as you drop the sample into the glass beaker. Even more so as you try and fail to roll the lighter wheel fast enough to make a flame. You rip off a cleaning glove to get a better grip and you keep trying. You have to. This needs to work. You can’t fail again. You won’t fail again.

You pause to finally take a breath and force yourself not to cough from the downright bone numbing gas that’s still filling the room. Your vision is starting to blacken at the edges and your body slumps so much that you’re resting on your stomach, so you make a conscious effort to tighten your grip as hard as you can on the lighter and roll the wheel. A small flame erupts from the lighter. With a shaking hand you thrust it into the beaker and the alcohol-soaked kindling erupts into flame. You barely notice the sting of the flames against your hand when you retract it.

Everything feels heavy. You finally let your body resign to the gas and let your head rest on the ground. With each shallow breath, the darkness at the edge of your vision grows more and more prominent. You don’t hear Jake anymore, but you do hear indiscernible voices on the other side of the wall getting farther and farther away and loud pops. Gunfire? Or Jake banging on the door?

The last thing you remember seeing before the darkness overtakes your vision are blackened remains in a glass beaker and a pair of unfamiliar, polished shoes slowly walking towards you.

__________________________________

Thanks for reading!

Tag List: @killerwendigo

a/n 2: I really hate doing filler/transition chapters as a principle, but I promise that it's very necessary for what's coming. Chris x Reader is going to be on the backburner for a couple parts but I assure you he's coming back and it will feel rewarding when he does.

#resident evil fanfiction #jake muller #resident evil 6 #resident evil 6 spoilers #chris redfield x reader #not in this chapter though because PLOT #fanfiction #slow burn #no beta we die like men #The Wife the Lover and the Bastard Son

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whinlatter · 1 year

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Hello Elizabeth, I’ve loved all your metas so far, and you do a great job of pointing things out that we as readers may have overlooked. You honestly made me want to read the HP series again because I feel like I missed out on so much. Apologies if you’ve already done a meta on this before and I missed it, but how abused do you think Harry was by the Dursleys? We know the basics: malnutrition, neglect, and emotional abuse for the majority of his life, but I remember reading the book as a child and getting this uneasy feeling that he was being physically abused. If you read between the lines and pay attention to his interactions with the Dursleys in the beginning of each book, I think it's indirectly mentioned... but maybe I've been reading it wrong all these years? What is your take on this?

TW: generalised non-specific discussions of child abuse and neglect

Thank you so much for the question and for reading all my jumbled thoughts! Totally relate - I re-read the books for the first time in the better part of two decades last summer and was like, sorry all this stuff was there the whole time and I missed it? I learn so much for other writers' close readings revisiting these texts (@ashesandhackles's re-reads spring to mind, but there are many others) and love to be a part of these ongoing conversations.

On the Dursleys and child abuse... I haven't written anything on this before, and the short answer is: yes, I think it's clear that Harry experienced some level of physical abuse at the hands of the Dursleys, at the hands of both Vernon, Petunia, Marge and, to a lesser extent, Dudley.

That said, I do have some caveats. One is that I think fandom speculation over the extent of the physical abuse can sometimes risk overstating the canonical scale of the physical abuse (any abuse, including psychological abuse, is awful enough, and some fics claiming canon-compliancy can sometimes risk gratuitous depictions of really horrific abuse in problematic ways). Two, I think sometimes fanfic depictions of Harry at the Dursleys' can risk overstating how canonically Harry perceives his treatment at the Dursleys, in ways that risks predetermining how child victims of abuse ought to feel about their experiences rather than how they describe them themselves. Three, and the one that's particularly interesting to me as a historian, is how Harry's treatment at the Dursleys shines this fascinating light onto changing audience tastes and attitudes towards depictions of harm to children in mass-market children's and YA literature between the time of HP's initial publication and the present day.

I've done a longer little lunch-break discussion of some of this below the cut. Yes this quickly became a long-winded discussion of the character of the abused orphan/child in the publishing market for late twentieth century children and YA literature and Thatcher's Britain. I am sorry about that, and know that I apparently simply cannot be stopped.

It's undeniable that what happened to Harry at the Dursley's was child abuse and neglect, for all the reasons you rightly cite. Both Harry and the loving adult caregivers he finds in the Wizarding World recognise that he is abused and neglected at the hands of the Dursleys. This includes physical abuse, with examples readers rightly cite off the bat: Harry being held tightly around the throat by Vernon and later citing 'a need to duck' around his uncle (OotP), Petunia trying to hit twelve-year-old Harry with a frying pan (CoS), Marge hitting Harry with her walking stick (PoS), and repeated instances of the Dursleys withholding food and confining Harry to small physical spaces. I hope it goes without saying that these instances are plainly incidents of physical violence against children. Each is horrific on their own terms, and likely part of a pattern of repeated physical roughness and low-level violence towards a child (I say low-level only because the strangling incident takes place after Dudley appears to have been harmed in OotP, and Harry's response to Vernon holding him by the throat suggests this violent incident is particularly extreme even for Vernon).

It's also clear, though, that while Harry bitterly hates the Dursleys for all of the harm they have done to him, he does seem to see this physical abuse as part of a broader set of failings they committed as his caregivers, and doesn't single-out physical abuse as uniquely traumatising. Confinement, being shouted at, and failing to protect him from bullying by other children are all crimes the Dursleys commit against him that he clearly views as just as harmful as the physical abuse he endures at their hands. We don't know how Harry the character would come to think about his experiences with the Dursleys in adulthood, of course, and it's reasonable to speculate that he may come to acknowledge himself as a child abuse victim and have either suppressed memories of traumatic incidents he endured as a child. With that said, I personally feel a certain level of discomfort with fan speculation about further or escalated incidents of child endangerment against Harry at Privet Drive beyond what we see either in the text or is implied within patterns of the Dursleys' behaviour. What the Dursleys do to him in canon is bad enough as it is, and exaggerated depictions of the Dursleys' treatment can get dangerously close to implicitly suggesting child abuse has to be a certain level of physically egregious to be sympathetic to the reader that the canonical text doesn't achieve, which I think is intensely problematic.

One thing I will say, though, is that I think the example of the Dursleys' treatment of Harry is a fascinating case study in HP's reception history and the cultural acceptability of depicting and using child abuse as a plot device. The topic is such a good a litmus test for the gulf between how the series was read and consumed when first published and how it is increasingly thought about and revisited by audiences. Changing attitudes about Harry's experiences with the Dursleys reflect how HP as a piece of literature which was written, edited, published and marketed to a consumer audience with certain expectations about depictions of harm to children, but which now continues to be closely re-read/revisited through the films and consumed by a market audience with increasingly different comfort levels and expectations about child welfare.

Children's and YA literature in the mid-to-late twentieth century had certain certain norms and conventions. Often, this took the form of the orphan child as either the protagonist or as a key sympathetic hero. Lots of media used the abused child both as an immediately sympathetic character for audiences to empathise with, and also used the absence of things like family, safety and love as central motivators for these characters, which then sets up the plot of the media at hand to resolve. The literature that for most UK school-children became canonical between 1980 and 1997, so in Thatcher/John Major's Britain, often centred characters who were usually orphaned or bereaved and who experience child abuse, neglect or mistreatment, often depicted in a slapstick and almost pantomime-esque way. This includes predecessors to HP like Roald Dahl's Matilda (1988), Michelle Magorian's Goodnight Mister Tom (1981) and Jacqueline Wilson's various books but especially Tracy Beaker (1991). This period also saw enduringly popular older works of literature experience a resurgence as older English-language TV or film adaptations made in the UK or Hollywood became even more commercially successful and entered 'classic' status - Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (Roald Dahl wrote the Child-Catcher into the 1968 film - he's not in the book!), Ken Loach's Kes (1968), Peter Pan (including Hook (1991), the Spielberg version), or mid-nineteenth century works of literature that became commercially successful popular musicals after 1950, like Oliver Twist or Cosette in Les Mis. Even in media where children appear in dysfunctional but fundamentally loving homes - Billy Elliot (2000) - or face physical violence at the hands of adult villains - Home Alone (1990) - we can see from both critical reception and popular audiences responses that the consuming publicly were on the whole less likely to be disturbed by either violence or the threat of violence against children than audiences, especially young audiences, three or four decades later, who typically find such depictions, even in their slapstick form, abhorrent.

In this period of writing (and particularly publishing and/or market media production beyond print fiction), there was far greater flippancy about depicting violence or the threat of violence against children as an empathy device for readers, especially young readers. I think this is for reasons that I think relate to changing ideas (and legislation) around children's agency, child welfare, endangerment, protection and the boundaries of the state and family life in late twentieth century Britain and elsewhere (a mammoth topic for another day). These were increasingly pressing political issues into the 1990s, especially the late Thatcherite/Major period into the Blair years. The violence that was depicted in literature during this transitional period almost always had a slightly farcical, or even slapstick or comic dynamic to it that I think is true also of the Dursleys around Harry in those early books - the frying pan being a classic example. We're supposed to think of the Dursleys as ridiculous, a parody of Thatcherite Home Counties surburban culture. While authorial intent is to show a character defined by the absence of familial love at the hands of clear villains, the Dursleys aren't intended to be read as vicious child abusers inflicting irreparable psychological and physical harm on a pre-teen child. They're supposed to be within this genre convention of cruel but ridiculous adults who behave badly and embarrass themselves and who the reader is supposed to immediately root against.

My point, really, is that we as readers can certainly revisit these books decades later having absorbed this greater popular literacy about child trauma responses and PTSD and see these characters differently, but we should keep in mind that this is a lot about the changing sets of ideas and expectations we have as a reading audience than it does about how the author and the text's editors intended these characters to be received. If we are reading the Dursleys' treatment of Harry and thinking - how is Harry remarkably fine after all of this? How could Dumbledore leave him with these people? - we're asking questions that the aspects of HP as an artefact of literature fulfiling certain genre conventions was never set up to be able to answer. I just think is something that fandom discussions and fanfiction authors (particularly those drawn to canon-compliancy) need take into consideration when trying to reconcile their horror at the Dursleys' treatment of Harry and interest in how this abuse would shape him as a character, with an interest in remaining true to the canonical text.

(I absolutely don't mean to be overly relativist about this, and want to make clear I'm talking about depictions of children's abuse in literature. In reality, children who have experienced violence and harm at the hands of adult caregivers have always felt some level of pain and distress. My point here is less about the lived experience of abuse and neglect, and more about changing cultural norms, attitudes and tastes about fictional depictions about abuse and neglect.)

#ok lunch break's over i'll shut up now #i've talked a lot this week even i am sick of me #my ask box is full of interesting Qs i am v grateful for and desperate to answer #but don't want to spam everyone's feed so will be pausing/slowing down answering for a little while if that's ok!#the dursleys #meta #writing #fandom discourse #TW: child neglect

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starflungwaddledee · 5 months

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clearing my inbox of a variety of asks with text replies, or ones that will get art answers later but that i still figured i could get back to now with simpler responses in the interim.

lots of anons, but i'll ping anyone who i can!

topics include: general nice words + people's theories (thank you!!), dededesign, daroach (sorry), sentient ancient artifacts, magolor (sorry...), whispy woods (SORRY...). there's also a decent scattering of awtdy and clockwork heart tidbits but they're all over the place, and a small collection of increasingly desperate asks hoping bandee will be released from morpho dee 😂

oohh this one is actually super old, sorry that i never got back to it! i get a little overwhelmed by the Nice Words ones sometimes and i'm not sure what to say besides 'thank you!!' because it means a lot to me and 'thank you!' just sometimes feels like it doesn't cut it...?

anyway, i'm very grateful!! i'm thrilled if i could inspire you to try out any constructed-language work of your own!! i'd love to see more of that going on in the kirbyverse so if you ever give it a crack feel free to lmk!

i'm glad you like the full penguin dededesign; quite a few folks seemed to enjoy that actually and i was pleasantly surprised! i haven't drawn that much of most characters besides bandee, to be fair, but the next comic will be about dedede and should answer some of the other questions i've been getting about him too!

i should say that it's likely the totally full penguin design won't make it for the comic, because it's hard to draw the sheer length of their bills from many angles or having the expressiveness i need for dedede, and i really only did that one for funsies. but i'll hopefully find a nice compromise!

aaaa the joy of being mentally unwell about The Characters and The Story. thank you, glad i can be of service! 👍

this is quite perceptive of you to notice and it's definitely something that occurs in the timeline. due to galacta knight's influence (and kirby's altered reputation) visitors and threats- both international and intergalactic- start to think twice before risking an approach.

alas, because daroach appears in the timeline before galacta knight's switch-in occurs, he would already be in contact and friendship with kirby. that unfortunately means he'd meet the same fate as the rest of kirby's existing allies.

@i-only-created-this-to-read a little similar to the above ask, yes, the intergalactic picture of popstar is definitely changed by the presence of a violent, otherworldly warrior and a ruthless hero. i also answered your questions about necrodeus previously and am not sure what else to say about him.

i have confirmed before that dedede is not dead, and more about his scenario and overall role in the plot will be revealed in comics. but i will say that he's a smart guy, despite his silliness, and a loving king. he absolutely came to the same conclusion about the frequency of his own possessions as well, through no small amount of heartbreak.

i definitely headcanon the Lor as sentient; in the light novels, bandee also speaks to her fairly directly. i actually headcanon all the Ancient artifacts as having an amount of sentience (this seem in line with what we've seen in canon, so i don't think it's a reach) and the lor herself seems especially benevolent to me.

our headcanons for the novas are different to yours, though that plays more of a role in the clockwork heart au. i quite enjoy your theories about how the ending might go and you've definitely picked up some details!! i won't confirm or deny anything, but i will say the lor is present in the AU, and that magolor has enough knowledge of artifacts to know that a wish on a wishing star could be a viable solution.

it took a while for folks to start asking me about magolor actually, which i found kind of amusing because he's the deuteragonist (second protagonist, after bandee) of the au!

i do definitely think that canonically magolor lives on the lor starcutter; though he does say he wants to buy a holiday home on popstar! however in awtdy, unlike the dream land four three, magolor's entire timeline is trashed from the get-go by galacta knight's arrival

some of these answers will take me longer to get to as i'll provide them in comics (it should be a fun reveal at least), but i will say: he hates popstar. he hates it there. he'd give just about anything to be anywhere else.

until he meets bandee, of course.

the rest of popstar fare a little better or a little worse at various points in the au, kind of like in the mainline canon timeline. for the most part, galacta knight isn't that interested in most of popstar. he enjoys living there, it's peaceful and undeniably pleasant, and frankly he'd like to continue doing so!

he can be convinced (by kirby, and the maintenance of the lie) to perform care to some of its citizens when necessary- such as rebuilding after a crisis. but in general he minds his business in dream land, and occasionally off-world or interdimensionally with kirby and bandee on missions.

whispy, who also keeps to his own in the woods and is just a cantankerous old tree, is probably fine. at least up until star allies, when he, you know. gets possessed.

@pumpkinnkidd oh absolutely.

@torrentialchaos2 that would be a different story to chrysalis au, i think! one i could write, but haven't. chrysalis au is specifically about bandee, you can't really extract him from it? 😭 but if morpho possessed magolor it would depend on a lot of things: like what is everyone's relationship to him when it happens? i think even when he comes back from his redemption arc, magolor and the gang are friends, but it's not the same as bandee, who is a core member of their unit.

we've already seen what happens when magolor gets possessed and kirby has to Beat His Ass to get him back to normal. and we've seen that when morpho possesses others who are capable fighters, kirby doesn't hold back. so maybe that? magolor is a magical little guy; he's got a better chance of getting spat back out unscathed.

i could however probably write a version of this for magicapple if i wanted, which would be much more emotionally pulverising lmao

@trainerbob23 thank you!! this one took me a bit to respond to sorry, but i'm grateful for the warm welcome! the AUs are definitely my primary investment and i'm glad that folks are enjoying seeing them develop! some of them are connected to each other (awtdy + it's various endings/alts) but others are separate.

i also do have some backstory/lore for starstruck dee, which i'll hopefully get to soon as well. i would say that she is... very much related to stars and the cosmos, yes.

@eliastheownerof0axolotls this one was part of a longer ask (that i've answered part of, and still have another part of in my queue... sorry;; ) but i think this part- especially in terms of kirby- has probably been mostly answered by now! both kirby and dedede have significant roles!

i view dedede as having a mentor-like dynamic with bandee as well as with kirby, and they all care about each other very much! but (especially because they are all adults in my hc) he also absolutely trusts them to handle themselves.

referring to this post and the (cw angst) art at the end. i will hopefully answer some other asks about the clockwork heart au which will satisfy more of its overall premise and timeline and all, but in regards to the peculiar image...

why that picture is completely normal!! bandee is super fine and normal in it and everything is great and good and fine and fine and fine and fine!!! hhahaha!!!

(something very bad is happening, lmao. entirely doomed by the narrative.)

speaking of bandee being doomed by the narrative:

some tags here as well, but i just love the frequency of these...

bandee gets possessed one time and everybody loses it... quick!! when will he get unpossessed!!! save that little guy!!! he's sad so we're sad!! (relatable. everyone is so valid.)

the tags on the main posts about morpho dee are just full of people screaming and crying and being like "NOOO I HATE THIS SM I'M IN PAIN /pos" and it's so good hahahaha

sorry to the folks who hate to see him going through the blender, he's being spun in the microwave at like 90mph on my blog. but don't worry, chrysalis au does have a predictably good ending; though obviously bandee has some capital S Stuff to unpack afterwards!!

🌟⭐✨

aaand i think that's all for now! hopefully if you've been hanging out for an ask for a while you're answer is here, and if not (and possibly even if it is), it's most likely taking me so long because i want to do an answer with art.

i'll try not to let these build up again like this, thank you for your patience!

#won't tag all the characters mentioned but i'll tag the AUs just due to the presence of some asks being about them #or plots or storylines or clarifications. nothing too spoilery... maybe. mostly.#awtdy au #clockwork heart au #chrysalis au #asks

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jihnari · 1 year

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zhongchi - the ship that’s ruining my life

disclaimers:

ship what u want. i cannot stop you. i do not care. be free.

this post is an OPINION and you DO NOT HAVE TO AGREE. if reading about why i dislike zhongchi is going to upset you, maybe give this a pass

i do not dislike childe OR zhongli. i just think their ship is silly.

if you are a zhongchi shipper and you choose to read this anyway, this is not written as a personal attack. i said "zhongchi 😒" one too many times and a non-genshin friend said "why do you hate that ship so much" and then i wrote a manifesto

ive never been involved in real fandom drama and idk how it goes but i would like to remain ignorant and free, pls do not attack me over this i am small and nervous and do not mean any harm

part 0: the ship

"who are they and why does this ship exist?" you might ask, if you've never played genshin. on the surface, this is a simple question with a simple answer. the two characters for this ship are in the same place at the same time and their stories overlap heavily. childe is the big bad of zhongli's story arc. (not that zhongli fights him; you, the player character, fights childe.) so they potentially have enemies to lovers, and they are actually friends before some truths come to light and it's revealed they're on "different sides". childe also pays for things for both you (the player character) and zhongli, which people read as caring. [1]

childe/zhongli is the most popular genshin ship on ao3. there are currently 132,000 works on ao3 for genshin impact and 12,735 of those have the ship tag childe/zhongli. that's only 10% of the all existing works, but the second largest ship tag has only 6,600 works, which is half as many.

relevant as an influencing factor is another popular ship early on in genshin's inception. that other ship was the first two hot male characters to have tension and an overlapping storyline, but they turn out to be "related" and a large part of the fandom collectively dropped them like a hot potato. but these fans were already in the fandom, already playing genshin, and they needed someone to ship. so they collectively jumped over to the SECOND set of two hot male characters with perceived tension and an overlapping storyline, i.e. zhongli and childe. the story containing zhongli and childe is 1) permanent canon content and 2) presented relatively early to the player, so zhongchi as a ship is more accessible than other popular ships that don't show up for 50+ hours [2] of gameplay.

furthermore, neither childe or zhongli have many meaningful interactions with other characters, and both characters were very popular upon launch. their initial popularity caused an epidemic, and a subsequent over-saturation of the ship on ao3. [3]

part 1: the characters

zhongli is a retired ex-god who faked his own death so he could have a break and go play at being human in the most mundane way possible. he's spiritually and emotionally an old man. he watches operas and drinks tea, has very expensive taste but no money, and works the front desk at a funeral parlor. he's thousands of years old and not entirely human (more on that later). [4]

childe is in his 20s and an affable general in the evil army. at 14 childe fell through a hole into genshin hell and lived there for a few months and emerged Changed. he can also turn into a demon now, just as a fun side note. upon getting him back, his parents found him to be a very scary menace and they quickly enrolled him in the military. he is the youngest ever person to be made general in the evil army, but this is less due to him being driven by ambition and more being a violent gremlin who couldn't be controlled and who beat up everyone in his path.

in his spare time, childe gets into unwinnable fights and pushes himself to the limit just so he can feel something. he's utilitarian, having grown up poor, and when you ask about his least favorite food he tells you that being picky about food is a bad thing and you should cut that out. he "has money" but it's not his money, it's his government's money. the budget for his evil task is very, very high, and he uses it for mission things though he tends to be pretty loose about what that includes. his mission budget shouldn't matter, but will unfortunately come up later.

childe is diametrically opposed to zhongli and zhongli's city; or he WOULD be but childe is too friendly and zhongli secretly has a deal with childe's boss, paying them to do the evil thing so he can retire in peace. this is a slight betrayal to childe but when it comes to light he isnt upset at zhongli, he's upset at his coworker for being the literal worst. childe is still seen around fantasy china after he tries to destroy it with a meteor[5], and only the townspeople seem to have any hard feelings. zhongli and childe are not canonically depicted as having any hard feelings.

part 2: "making it work"

past the superficial reasons listed in part 0, zhongchi makes no sense to me as a pairing. zhongli is a boring old man and childe barely seems to consider people anything more than NPCs unless they end up having fighting prowess, in which case he tries to fight them and then (if they don't die) considers them friends.��

childe is dynamic, always striving to be better, stronger, faster[6]; childe is an adrenaline addict. zhongli is static and intends to stay that way.

the characters have undergone some personality changes to make them fit together better.

zhongli is part dragon(?) so people give him an obsession for pretty things and a massive possessive streak. since he's "broke", childe becomes a sugar daddy type in many works. zhongli is also almost exclusively on top in sexual situations, because duh, old, powerful dragon. [7]

childe couldn't possibly be in a position of power when he's with a older, more powerful male, so he becomes very submissive and swoon-y and teenage girl. the betrayal hurt him *ever* so deeply and he may never emotionally recover. he canonically has a family whom he loves, so people come down on that hard and say he's a real family man and he wants to have a family of his own and obviously he wants to settle down with zhongli and have zhongli's babies.

part 3: losing sight of canon

the further this ship goes, the further we stray from god. [8]

childe is now super rich and loves paying for other people's things, especially zhongli's (forgetting that the money he has was in fact part of his mission budget). the tag "battlesexual childe" is a sortable tag on ao3, but the zhongchi part of genshin has all but forgotten childe likes to fight. zhongli is now possessive to a borderline abusive degree, and childe likes being tied down (metaphorically) to his dragon husband (did i mention they're frequently and casually married? this is the erasermic[9] of genshin).

another side effect of being auto-married by the fandom is that it pushes the domesticity angle of zhongchi. you know, zhongli, an ex GOD OF WAR who COMMITTED GENOCIDE and a childe, a dude so obsessed with fighting that his own family couldnt handle him and shipped him off to the military at 14. them. domestic. what drugs are you on [10]

part 4: dragons

hey. why did so many people have to latch onto the dragon thing? on a personal note, i do not understand the appeal but have no room to judge. on a cultural note, zhongchi is DOING IT WRONG.

in canon, zhongli's "dragon form" is based off of chinese dragons[11]. which makes sense, since the place he's from, liyue, is modeled after china. genshin impact is created by mihoyo, a chinese company.

what im saying is a chinese company writing a chinese game with a character from fantasy china would NOT make this character a western dragon.

western dragons breathe fire, are very aggressive, collect hoards of gold, and are often depicted as greedy and possessive. eastern dragons not only look different, they're associated with water (rain) rather than fire, they're cultural symbols of prosperity and good luck, and they FOSTER HARMONY. i have exclusively seen zhongli's "dragon personality traits" modeled after western dragons, not eastern ones. like. yeah. i get it. the dragons the english half of the fandom is familiar with are western dragons. maybe they don't even know how eastern, and specifically chinese dragons, are different. but that doesnt make them any less INCORRECT.

and hey! seeing dragon eggpreg content makes me want to die[12]. there’s so much. i wish there was less much. this also further encourages the feminization of childe which is :\ must we keep returning the gender norms to fictional romantic relationships

part 5: the ripple effect

the zhongchi version of childe has escaped containment[13]. im unhappy about it. i always know it when i see it because childe is an insatiable uwu bottom who would rather have sex than have a street fight.

because this ship is so hellaciously popular, other childe ships are relatively rare[14]. anywhere you go, if someone is a fan of zhongli or childe, they probably also ship it. i never want to see another piece of zhongchi fanart again and yet, i soldier on. this is my curse. this is my burden. for childe, i must persevere.

in conclusion,

i dont have a conclusion actually i just hate zhongchi, thanks for coming to my ted talk

[1] those people are incorrect.

[2] i didnt look up this number even a little bit, but i feel in my heart that it is accurate.

[3] "only 10%? and you're calling it an epidemic?" yes. yes i am. "don't you think thats a little harsh?" you haven't seen what ive seen. you haven't suffered what ive suffered.

[4] sorry i know the childe section is like four times as long but i just don’t about zhongli like i do childe.

[5] yes i know it wasnt a meteor but this was written to be read fandom blind and ff7 altered my brain chemistry.

[6] Daft Punk, "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger", 2001

[7] there are, of course, bottom!zhongli works. the name for this ship is "chili" (dont get me started on the top/bottom dynamic wars within the same pairing, we'll be here all day and i will scream until i pass out). it's more difficult to use ao3 numbers to prove my point here, as i find the tagging of top/bottom dynamics on ao3 to be inconsistent. instead, i will use statistics on zerochan.net. at the time of writing, zerochan has 1,765 images tagged with "zhongchi" and 228 images tagged with "chili". (so, ~90% of the childe/zhongli ship on zerochan is marked as zhongchi, i.e. top!zhongli and bottom!childe.) should i be using only a single data point to definitively say that zhongchi is exponentially more popular than chili? no, i should not; that's what we call bad science. but it illustrates the skew in the dynamics and the clear fandom preference, and this is a rant post not a scientific study.

[8] to some degree, inaccurate fanonizations involving popular characters in a large fandom is inevitable. i understand this. i do not accept this.

[9] erasermic (aizawa shouta/yamada hizashi) is a popular fandom auto-married ship from boku no hero academia. im not a fan of erasermic either but at least it's existence hasn't left a permanent stain on the characterizations of either character.

[10] ok so maybe zhongli could do the domesticity thing given that he's working that mundane human angle, though it would take some effort and learning and guidance. but childe? a house husband? lol. lmao.

[11] to be specific, he's half-dragon half-qilin but everyone seems to forget the qilin part. this isn't unreasonable, given that my experience is with the english speaking part of the genshin fandom, and qilin isnt really a thing that shows up in english media. one time i was watching a cdrama with a friend and the subtitles said "he has a dragon tattoo!" and she started YELLING and we had to pause the show because it wasnt a gd dragon it was a QILIN and they are VERY DIFFERENT THINGs, and then i got a whole rant about how even a unicorn would be a closer translation than dragon and i had to look up qilin's on wiki to follow along with the rant. and thats how i know what a qilin is.

[12] i have a visceral cringe reaction to dragons now, thanks zhongchi. from my favorite beanie baby being scorch to this, how far i have fallen

[13] im sure the same is true for this fanon version of zhongli but i havent bothered to verify.

[14] @ chilumi shippers: ur cool, i like u, i also like ur art it's cute <3 but your fanfiction is not for me u_u

#writing #fandom analysis #as written by a childe main #genshin impact #mentions of sex #rant #childe #tartaglia #zhongli #not zhongchi friendly but not zhongli unfriendly #zhongli is fine #chilumi shippers i see u and you're doing great keep it up i just dont read m/f #woke up today and chose violence #i really did think about letting this stay in discord dms forever but i worked too hard on this argument to let it die in obscurity #might delete later we'll see if the fandom gets vicious #hopefully they will not! but i am kind of inviting bad karma by posting this #i think the flanderization of fictional characters within fandom using traits they NEVER POSSESSED is a really fascinating thing #from a sociological perspective #from a fandom perspective pls stop ur hurting me #fandom telephone

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aesolerin · 28 days

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Did you ever hear about that digital presentation/lecture one of the Red Hook fellas gave on how they put together the game visually and inspirationally? (Fun Fact: Jester turned out the way he did because Bourassa hates the DnD Bard stereotype, lol) I'm mentioning this in particular because he went over Leper as an example in terms of symbolism incorporated into his design

(which, side tangent to that: Leper's blocky and metallic aesthetic was inspired by Iron Man! the more you know, lol)

This was put out onto YouTube before Red Hook made it fully clear DD2 was gonna be a thing, which made it all the more notable when people later realized that one of the pictures used on that slide was of Leper's DD2 character design. So, everything he was talking about here was likely with Leper's canon DD2 backstory in mind. This is important because:

One of the points Bourassa mentioned was the fact that Leper has a "broken sword for a broken man".

That by itself is already brutally sad, but rest assured! It gets worse if you think about it long enough. After all, do you remember when that happened in his backstory? If not, lemme stop being coy for a moment to help you in drawing some conclusions:

The Leper's sword broke in killing off his advisors.

It wasn't the diagnosis that got to him. Neither was it leaving his kingdom behind. It was in breaking the oath he made to himself that he would protect everyone in his kingdom. Because, treacherous or not, his advisors were still part of his kingdom. It was only a small handful of people, sure. And yes, it's true that they couldn't be trusted to take actions in good faith once he was gone. And it likely was the right thing to do, at the end of the day.

But justifications don't erase the stark truth that he murdered his own subjects in cold blood.

And THAT shattered him (and his sword) more than a simple diagnosis or self-exile ever could.

Because, the thing is: someone can believe that their actions were objectively the best possible option and justifiable, while considering those same actions subjectively horrifying and unforgivable. After all, murder is still murder no matter the motivation, and some folks deeply take that to heart.

~~~~~~

Of course, this is only true if I remembered that presentation correctly, as I haven't tried to look it up to verify it, lol. You got any thoughts on it, yourself? Assuming you hadn't already realized that on some level, of course - for all I know, you could have drawn this conclusion a long time ago and never brought it up because you thought it was obvious! xD

Or, on the other side of it, there's no reason you should feel the need to change how you characterize our fave Leper buddy, y'know? Though, imo, it's not particularly contradictory to how we normally characterize him. This is just another angle you could look at him from if you wanted to in your writing, shippy or otherwise!

(Though speaking of shipping: this creates another interesting level to think about Leper's dynamic with Jester, no?)

(Maybe Jester needs to get his king to forgive himself by comparing their past actions. If Baldwin finds nothing wrong with what Sarmenti did, which was spurred on by a much more selfish - if entirely sympathetic - motivation, why should Baldwin go about putting his own actions on a pedestal of guilt? Unless he's implying that he's supposed to be morally better than Jester, which I'm p sure both of them would hate to draw as a conclusion.)

(Or maybe Leper sees it as another way they can understand each other that others may not grasp. That while they may be stained by their past actions, it doesn't make the two of them inherently unlovable or deserving of suffering. It's a burden they can help each other bear due to their own personal experience with it.)

(Or maybe Jester is tired of all this masturbatory self-flagellating fuckery and would much rather he and Leper get down to something a bit more literal in its sexual nature. Wouldn't put it past the Silly fella)

thank you much for providing that link to the video! which i will in turn provide in full, because it is a very fun and thought-provoking talk overall, not just the Leper stuff!!

youtube

(and, as someone who's played lots of bards, ☹ [but i will point out i've never played one of those horny bards at least])

i do very much agree that retaliating and killing his traitorous advisors was a huge turning point for Leper, and a source of at least some degree of internal conflict for him.

was it a moment of freedom and liberation, finally justified in doing something about those poison-tongued sycophants?

was it a moment of horror and regret, killing treasonous-but-still-subjects of his?

was it a moment of resignation and cold calculation, defending himself against attackers seeking to kill him?

was it a moment of inevitability and hollowness, knowing something of this magnitude was bound to happen after his diagnosis?

some bits of all four? fluctuating day-by-day, nightmare-by-nightmare?

as Bourassa said, a broken sword for a broken man. no matter the literal golden facade he puts up, Leper is still a broken man looking for something as he battles the horrors of the Hamlet/the world. at least this is an unexpected connection he shares with Jester, right?

i will admit it's not something i've commented much on in my fics, as Jester's trauma is just so much more, but i certainly have thoughts!

way back in my first DD fic, Dreams, Jester notes that royal blood on their hands is something they share, and Leper smiles as he says “Hence the beauty I see in your bloody finale. Such cruelty and abuse should be responded to in kind."

in Bow, something about the assassination attempt seems to have severely fucked up the Veiled Emperor's sense of trust.

believe me friend, when it is finally revealed, i am going to have so much fun 😊

these are some wonderful(ly painful) thoughts you've shared, and again thank you for putting this talk on my radar!!

#ask #itsbeenliketenyearsitsprettywild #darkest dungeon #dd leper #long post #video

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whiskeynwriting · 1 year

Text

Greed

Sugar Daddy!Maxwell Lord x Female Reader

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Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Alcohol consumption, dirty talk, praise kink, body piercings, mentions of hair, body worship, dry humping, choking, use of sex toys, vaginal fingering, anal play, daddy kink, collaring (kinda?), vaginal sex, rough-ish sex, exhibitionism, Max is a switch (this is canon it’s just fact)

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A/N: We have some Spanish in here but as always the translations will be right beside the sentences where it’s used. Maybe I am attracted to Maxwell’s accent.

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Living for him, breathing for him, was unlike anything else. Devoted entirely to the man before you, he held your heart in the palm of his broad and dominant hand. There wasn’t anything else that held your focus more than him. To Max, you existed for him, for his own benefit; you were placed on this Earth for him and him alone. You’re here to love and be loved, to worship and be worshiped, to propel him into the greatness he’s sure to receive. And he’s already received so much.

Maxwell was a strong man when you met him, that trait only continuing to grow with the more he conquered in life. And he knew how to conquer.

Throughout your life together, you watched him become the man he is today. You’ve seen his business grow, his mindset change, his goals and ambitions become… more. Maxwell is rarely a satisfied man. He has a rather voracious appetite for the finer things in life. But his most recent endeavors were tearing him apart, ripping open his insides and making blood run into his eyes.

“Have I asked you?” He inquired, dilated and bloodshot orbs staring up into your own. “Have I asked you for your wish?”

He held you close, resting on his knees before you. Both arms wrapped tightly around your thighs, his hands passionately rubbing your soft skin. Little whimpers slipped from his mouth as you looked down at him, fingers combing through his golden hair. A small smile creeping on your lips, your heart beating profoundly in your chest as you stood before him. You knew what you were going to wish for.

“I wish…” You’d cooed to him, smiling warmly while holding either side of his head. And he stared up into your eyes with a wild desperation, wondering if your wish would benefit him. “For you to be the wealthiest man on earth.”

So much changed after that day, after that sentence, really. You were gifted with riches that had you absolutely enamored, Max’s desire for wealth finally being fulfilled. And his desire for you grew fantastically, too.

“Mi princesa,” He’d moaned delicately into your ear; he couldn’t help but take you after fulfilling your wish. You’d just made all his dreams come true. (My princess)

“It’s about time I spoil you, huh?” Max grinned beside your ear, biting the cuff of it shortly after. “Give you everything you want, everything you could ever need.”

“I need you,” Came your immediate, breathy return. “I only need you to be with me.”

This made him so incredibly happy, hearing you voice your desire to be with him, beneath him. It’s what you were made for.

The man kneeling before you now isn’t dissimilar to the one who had asked for your wish. He’s still bleeding in his heart, his insides twisting and turning under the incredible weight. At first, when he gained these powers, it was a fantastical revelation, and to the both of you. You saw him gain the Dreamstone, even supported him to go through with doing it. But in turn, you also saw it tear him apart.

“Max…”

“Sh…” His hands are running over your body, thick fingertips touching you softly. “You look so heavenly like this…”

In the present moment, he’s dressing you, covering your body with golden chains and various jewels. Your naked body holds them beautifully, each piece adorning your limbs and slinking down your graceful dips and curves. And you’re at home, relaxing in the house you both share, the place that offers you the most peace.

Leaning back, he rests on his heels, still wearing his business suit. He sighs, captivated by your body. Lifting a hand, he places it on your sternum, smoothing it down your stomach. His palm grazes the body jewelry slung over your breasts and draped across your hips, and it makes him moan.

“Hay tantas cosas que quiero hacerte.” He’s whispering, his darkening eyes fixated on you. (There are so many things I want to do to you)

Reaching down, your hands lift his jaw, tilting his head upwards so he can face you. “You can do it, Maxwell.” You sing softly, smirking at him. “You can do anything you want to me.”

He huffs out a low moan, lowering his head and gazing up at you from beneath his brow. Sloppily, he mouths at you, placing his lips first on your stomach. Once they make contact with you his eyes close, sighing at the sensation of your warm skin. His tongue follows the lines of the gold chains on your body, licking you and the jewelry covering your limbs. And when he moans, his breaths warm you, his plush lips continuing to kiss you.

“Hm…” It’s a pleasant hum, releasing when he sucks a mark onto you. Your fingers comb through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He’s obsessing over you, pressing his fingers into the sweet flesh of your grabbable thighs, massaging you in his strong hands. It’s an incredibly erotic sight to you see you like this, to see you dressed in his wealth. And leaning up, he continues, licking a stripe up the valley between your breasts before moving to the side and grabbing your arms.

You can’t lie, whenever he did things like this, it made you feel like an absolute goddess. Max truly got off on the wealth you’ve given him, and seeing it covering your body was like his biggest fantasy come to life. He can’t help himself, can’t stop as his lips find your hands, kissing the rings adorning multiple large gems atop them. He licks over them, kissing the top of your hand and dragging his lips up to your shoulder. This is done on both of your arms, Maxwell’s incredible groan vibrating through you when he reaches your breasts.

“That’s so good…” You sigh airily, your eyes not once leaving him.

It’s like he’s shattered, broken inside. Not emotionally of course, he was thriving in that arena. But this stone… the things it did to him were ungodly. But he didn’t care; he was never really interested in religion. Maxwell does not need god, he was his own god.

Lifting himself so he’s fully resting on his knees, he brings his hands up, pawing at your breasts while he rubs his face over them. He’d bought you many things during your time together, one of them being diamond-studded nipple piercings. They were by far his favorite things to play with.

“Max,” Comes your forceful gasp, feeling his tongue flick quickly over one of them.

Your reaction makes him snarl, pushing forward to wrap his lips around your pierced and pebbled peak. He suckles on you, swirling his tongue around the expensive metal. Loosely, he sucks your nipple into his mouth, letting it fall shortly thereafter and watching your plump flesh jiggle from his force. He’d bought you these pieces specifically so he can play with them with his tongue.

Max’s own hands are covered in jewelry, too, rings and chained bracelets, a watch as well. The cold metals run across your body, brushing your smooth skin. They chill your back muscles when Maxwell reaches out, fully enwrapping you in his hold.

“Oh… hermosa.” He moans beneath you, rubbing his cheek ever so gently across your stomach. “Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?” (Beautiful)

“I do,” You respond cockily, smiling. “I can feel you.”

And it’s true. He’s been scooching closer to you, rubbing himself against your leg while his hands and mouth worship you. When you say this he grins, groaning against you. And now that you've acknowledged his movements, he shifts closer to you, grinding himself against your leg even more.

Again, he flicks his tongue over your nipples, switching back and forth while he whimpers, his full erection pulsing in his slacks. He’s been considering getting you another piercing, one he can play with while eating you out. Speaking of…

“Will you taste me?”

“Hm?”

“I want your tongue on me.”

“¿Quieres más?” He teases, grinning while glancing up at you. (You want more?)

“Sí. Por favor, cariño.” (Yes. Please, baby)

“Oh, princesa…” Comes his euphoric moan, lowering himself to rest on his ankles once again. “Such good asking.” (Princess)

Leaning in, he kisses your smooth mound, inhaling calmly, pleasurably. “I will take care of you.”

One thing Maxwell seemed to adore was the sea. Once he was wealthy enough, he’d recruited a crew to board his newly built yacht, entirely furnished with his own designs in mind. He asked for your opinions too, of course, as this was to be your home away from home, as well. But you didn’t mind much, didn’t have too many preferences for this sort of thing. All you wanted was to sit back and watch Max enjoy himself.

“Come,” He grins, grabbing your hand. “Let me show you.”

It was finished, and tonight would be your very first night seeing it. Maxwell was over the moon to hear the news, immediately ordering his staff to board and prepare for a small trip out to sea. It wouldn’t be long, a couple days at most. You wonder if he’ll choose to ravish you differently here.

He’d dressed you fabulously for the event, gifting you with a short dress made of rich velvet, colored in a deep maroon. There was a slit up the side, with a plummeting neckline. You’re wearing black, strappy heels, ones that make you look taller than you actually are. Max loved to see you take them off, to see how much shorter you are than him. Held up by two thin straps, it was the perfect outfit for the warm weather. And what made it even more perfect was the jewelry that you wore. He put it on for you, of course, your rings and bracelets, your earrings and anklet. There was one piece, however, that he only had the opportunity to put on once. A choker he’d gifted you with. Gold in style it held a small “M”, the initial sitting beside a gemstone, your birthstone.

Walking onto the fancier ship you immediately saw its many tiers. There are four levels, each one with a specific purpose. The very top for the captain, of course; and while Max had his license to operate such a fine piece of sea equipment, he wanted to spend his first night aboard with you. He could sail the yacht himself another time.

The rest of the levels were for the two of you, areas where you could entertain if you so wished. The third level, just below the captain’s quarters, held the master bed and bath. It has retractable walls, allowing you to open and close them as you please. On the second deck is a main dining table, along with a few smaller hightops. This is also where the kitchen has been placed. And lastly, the bottom deck is where the jacuzzi is, along with two small couches and a few deck chairs.

“Isn’t it brilliant?” He’s beaming, holding your hand the entire way.

Smiling, you look around, each step forward revealing something new. There are large stones from your personal collection, things you brought home from your worldly travels. Maxwell liked to collect maps and artifacts, many of which are framed and displayed through your new vacation home, too.

“You did all of this?” He just looks at you, nodding while smiling wildly. “I’m… so impressed.”

“It’s wonderful.” Maxwell breathes out a sigh. “Are you hungry?”

“Why? Do you have something planned?” Alongside your question is a grin.

Your partner mirrors your smile, lifting your hand to kiss the back of it. “Sígueme.” (Follow me)

While walking up the first flight of stairs, you begin to smell the dinner he’s ordered, the aroma of cooked seafood filling the air. And when you reach the second level, you’re greeted with a wonderful sight. The entire table is set, entrée dishes ready to be filled. On one of the hightops sits a champagne tower, your mouth watering when you think about the taste. The food, however, hasn’t been plated. Not yet.

Without realizing it, your feet carry you forward, looking in awe at the space before you. What brings you back to reality is the warm sensation of Max’s broad hands, his palms landing on your shoulders and sliding down to your biceps. He inhales deeply, smiling, tilting his head downward to place his cheek beside your own.

“Are you content with it?” Maxwell craved your attention and approval, even before you gave him the world. Tilting his head downward, he kisses your shoulder lovingly.

Turning in his hold, you smile, reaching up to hold either of his cheeks. “Me encanta.” (I love it)

“I’m so glad.” Comes his quiet, cooed response. He smirks, appearing cocky. “We can enjoy dinner together once it is done.”

This confuses you. Furrowing your brows, you ask, “How much longer until everything is done?”

Max offers a thoughtful pout, shrugging. “An hour.”

“Oh…” Thinking to yourself, you analyze your lover’s facial features. What’s going on in his head right now? “What will we do until then?”

“I think I have an idea.”

Maxwell leads you up to the yacht’s third deck, your bedroom. The entire space is lavish, clean lines and monochromatic colors. It’s refreshing to be surrounded by such luxury, the bright blue sea glimmering on the horizon.

But this is only what you absorb at first glance. Because of Max’s swift movements, you’re not able to take in much else. As soon as he walked in behind you, he was shutting the door, quickly shoving the wood with his palm. He spins you around, sighing as he meets you with a kiss. You gasp into it, closing your eyes as he lures you in this way. His large hands curl around to hold your back, both of your own sliding up to his clean-shaven face. Smiling against his fervent lips, you allow him to guide you backward, your thighs eventually hitting the end of your soon to be shared bed.

“I have a surprise for you.” He mutters against your lips, his breaths becoming heavy.

“More?” You giggle in response, sitting down on the bed and pouting when he pulls away. But he doesn’t get far before he’s leaning back down, harshly cupping your jaw and hissing more, before delivering a harsh and sloppy kiss.

It leaves you breathless, your wide and innocent eyes watching as he moves across the room. Pulling open a drawer in the dresser, he retrieves a small, wooden case. He brings it over to you, setting it down on the bed. He then sits on the edge, fingers running across the long, thin case.

And suddenly, with a sharp and desperate breath, he looks up at you. “I want you to open it.”

His eyes are dark, irises wide. There’s an intense sensation of passion clouding his vision, his tongue sliding out to lick his lower lip before you do as he says. There’s a clip at the front, which you snap open, now able to lift the top of it. And what’s revealed to you… it’s not anything you would have expected.

All at once, Maxwell’s palm is on your cheek, holding you tightly. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours while he heaves out his breaths. Whispering, he says, “I want to hear how you sound with each one inside you.”

Releasing a small moan, your bottom lip falls from its upper counterpart, your eyes fixated on the toys sat in front of you. There are four of them, the smallest of them being the one on the far left, the largest on the right.

“When did you get these?” You ask airily, feeling Max’s lips fall to your neck.

“Does it matter?” He’s leaning on one hand, the other lifting to the side of your neck.

You can’t help but allow your head to fall to the side, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his lips and tongue. Inside, you’re stirring, your emotions running high but in the best of ways. You and Max have done anal play, but never like this. A finger or his tongue, sliding his cock into it more times than you could count. He really enjoyed that. Plugs though… this is different.

“Will you let me put them inside you?” He groans against your neck, moving up to nip at your jaw.

Crawling forward over the bed, he leaves the case of toys near the end while slowly pushing you onto your back. And when you are, he kisses you, urging your legs to lift to either side of him.

“Princesa,” His sigh is rough and low, a smirk creeping across his face. “¿Lo quieres?” (Princess, do you want it?)

A small breath slips from your lips, feeling his own pepper your face in fervent kisses. “Yes.”

And just like that he’s removing your clothes, shoving the straps of your dress down your shoulders and yanking it off your body. Immediately, his hands cup your breasts, releasing a feral groan when he sees your nipple piercings once again. His right hand comes down while his mouth makes quick work of sucking on you, his fingers rubbing over your barely covered sex.

“Max,”

You’re nearly naked beneath him while he’s still entirely dressed, wearing his business suit with his hair styled so neatly, his jawline shaven so smoothly. The way he takes care of himself, the way he carries himself, makes you so incredibly hot for him. His confidence was there before the Dreamstone came into his possession, and it certainly flourished once the mystifying gem consumed him.

Slipping your panties to the side, he slides a finger into your warmth. His tongue explores you while he does it, running over the curves of your chest before flicking it across the diamonds sitting at the very peak of your breasts.

“Baby,” Your fingers slide into his hair, back arching into his touch when the pace of his single finger becomes languid and smooth.

“I want to use the smallest first,” He tells you, choking out a gasp when your heated walls squeeze around him. He curls his finger in response, smiling to himself at the sound of your tiny whine. “I want to see how you sound with each one inside…”

Inhaling deeply, he leans up, removing his finger and reaching back for the case. He slides it up near your head, allowing you to look over and see them. He picks up the smallest toy, the one with a pure diamond on the end. And before lowering it, he lays out his tongue, dragging the tip of the toy across it.

“Max…”

His body dives down, covering your own again. Distracting you expertly is the plushness of his lips, the talent of his mouth. He drags the plug down your stomach, over your mound, sliding it briefly between your lips. It’s cold, and it makes you gasp.

“Are you ready for this one, hm?” His eyes are closed, and he’s rubbing his forehead over your own.

“Yes, baby.” You’re nodding, reaching for either side of his face. Fingers curling around to the back of his neck, you inhale a sharp breath, feeling the coolness of the object apply pressure between your cheeks.

Widening your legs for him, your jaw drops open, feeling the smooth and easy slide of it as it enters your tighter hole. To your surprise, you open up without hesitation, accepting it effortlessly.

“Oh…” Max seems surprised, too. “Have I truly played with you to such extent?”

“Mhm,” You grin in return, fingers petting at the hair at the nape of his neck. They comb through his golden locks, lifting your chin to kiss his cheek as you hum.

He smirks, turning to kiss your lips while giving the toy a small wiggle, feeling your hips sway as they chase the feeling.

“Perhaps we should try another… you took this one far too easily.”

“¿Te gusta verme luchar?” (You like to see me struggle?)

“Me encanta.” He repeats your words from earlier, wiggling the plug again before removing it from you. (I love it)

And it’s true, Max really loved to see your body accommodate whatever he gave to you. Putting the first toy back, he picks up the second, this gem a bright and dazzling blue.

“What is it?” You question quietly, mesmerized by the color.

“Sapphire.” He responds easily. “Open.”

Without even thinking about it, you do, opening your mouth so he can insert this new toy. He twists it, rubbing it against your tongue until he’s satisfied. Taking it out, he dives down before you can close your mouth, dragging his tongue over your own.

He then nods to you once, his bloodshot eyes looking deeply into your own. “Roll over,” Comes his breathy demand. “Lay over the side of the bed.”

Shuffling to the left, you do as he says, all while plastering a huge grin across your face. You never knew what position Max would take when in bed with you, and honestly, you liked either outcome. It’s clear he wants to be dominant today.

Landing on his knees behind you, he sighs, instantly spreading you open from behind.

“How beautiful…” Reaching out, he drags his pointer finger down over your crease, eyes flickering to the side as he grabs the toy. “Take a deep breath for me.”

Inhaling slowly, deeply, you feel that similar pressure once more, wiggling back into his touch. It’s an incredibly erotic sensation, to have Maxwell spread you open from behind, doing whatever he wishes.

At first, this one is a bit more difficult to take. He applies pressure in tiny pulsing motions, leaning forward to kiss your left cheek.

“Take it,” He whispers, “Take it for me…”

Opening up a bit, you allow the toy to slide in. And with the view he has now, he groans, eyes briefly rolling back into his head. The gem is perfectly nestled between your cheeks, sitting snugly inside you and even more so when he pulls your beautiful curves further apart. Leaning in, he kisses the blue jewel, licking lightly around it.

“Max…”

“You did so good with this one.” His praise was always a reassuring thing to you. “You are an incredible thing.”

The way you sound makes him moan, makes him feel feral inside. It’s a wanton and drawn-out sound, a small, girlish gasp toward the end of it. But he wants more than that, he wants more than a simple sound.

“Again.”

This word surprises you. You’d assumed he’d keep this one in a little longer than the last, but he’s moving on.

“Ugh,” Comes your choked-out groan, feeling him rip the toy from your hole.

“Too rough?” He asks with a sinister grin, leaning in to kiss your plump curves. He expects an answer but you just whimper in response. “Here,” He then says, his attractive accent and low baritone making your arousal burn bright. “Let me kiss it better.”

“Maxwell,” The word comes out as a high whine crawling up from your throat, the noise piercing the air when you feel him kiss you on the very center of your crease.

“That’s it…” He coos to you, “Say it again, preciosa. Say my name again.” (Precious)

“Maxwell…” By now he’s switched from gentle kisses to kitten licks, closing his eyes while he moans. He does this for his own enjoyment, but to also prepare you for the next gem. You’re only halfway through, after all.

“An emerald is next,” His humid breath warms your skin. “Bigger than the last.”

“I’m ready.” It’s a choked-out gasp, one followed by a thick swallow. “I want more.”

“Hm…” Maxwell hums, smiling. “Voracious little thing.” And then he bites you, sucking on your sweet flesh and digging his teeth in. He listens to you moan, satisfied with himself when he pulls back to see the blossoming bruise.

“You’re satisfying me, sweet thing.” He purrs happily, smoothing his hand over your backside while reaching for the third toy.

You’re shocked by the sound of him spitting on you, dragging the dark green jewel down between your cheeks. Without even looking at it, you can feel how much bigger it is than the last one. And to think, you still have another after this.

Breathing deeply, you whine, “Maxwell…”

“Sh…” Another smooth swipe of his hand over your backside, his voice and touch calming you.

Using the tip of the toy to rub in his spit, it makes him grin, chuckling behind you. His free hand grips your hip when he starts to push it into you, watching as you toss your head back.

“Mm,”

“There it is,” He immediately says. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Oh,” Moaning loudly, your eyes pinch shut, taking more and more of the plug.

This is what he’s craved, your sweet symphony. While twisting the toy and pulsing it against your taut hole, he listens to your erotic melody, as if you were a siren calling him out to sea.

“Dime,” Comes his gritty voice. “¿Cómo se siente?” (Tell me, how does it feel?)

Reaching around with his left hand, he finds your naked sex, rubbing slow and firm circles over it. And it makes you moan again, thrusting your hips back against him.

“Yes…” He releases a breath of amazement, laughing happily. “Answer me, sweet thing. Tell me how it feels, how much you crave it.”

“I l-love it,” You’re clutching the bedsheets, pressing your forehead into the mattress and gasping. “I love what you do to me.”

With a small, wet suck, the toy enters you fully, making him groan. “Just look at that.”

He hasn’t stopped rubbing you, the pleasurable tingle making it much easier for you to continue. Breathing deeply, you release a small mewl, feeling his finger once again enter you.

“Stuffed so full…” He’s talking to himself, muttering beneath his breath.

In and out, he pushes his finger, watching your wetness drip out around him. Your plugged hole pulses around the toy, and Max watches intently.

“I want you to take this last one,” He then commands, his breaths picking up. “We don’t have much more time.”

Has an hour truly gone by already?

“I want you to take it for me before going to dinner; I want to see you do it, bonita niña. I need it, I need it now.” (Pretty girl)

When he takes the third one out of you, you’re fluttering and moaning all over again. Before he even reaches out to retrieve the last toy, he bends forward, mouthing at your aching hole.

“Max,” Eyes shutting gracefully, you smile against the bedsheets, embracing the feeling. You’ve always loved his tongue. “Eso es muy bueno…” (That’s so good…)

But he isn’t even listening to you, he’s too enamored with the task of fulfilling his own needs. He runs the tip of his tongue around your hole over and over again before laying it out over your taut muscles entirely.

“Breathe for me.” He tells you calmly, deeply, pressing a hand to your lower back when he reaches over to grab the last toy.

“This one,” He breathes out, settling back on his knees. “Will go so nicely with that pretty dress.”

“Let me see.” You smile, pushing yourself up onto your forearms. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of his handsome grin. Lifting a hand he grabs your chin, forcing your lips onto his before whispering, “You’re doing so good for me.”

He then shows you the jewel, this one with a deep red tint.

“Is that…”

“A ruby.” He finishes for you, turning the larger plug slowly in his hand. “So rare.” And then those menacing orbs find your eyes. “I want it inside you.”

Instantly, your eyes widen, his heavy breaths and deep voice truly mesmerizing you. As he leans in, you can practically hear his heart pounding, can see the veins in his neck as he sucks in a harsh breath.

“Princesa,” He coos to you, lifting a hand to brush over the side of your face. “¿Lo usarás para mí?” (Princess, will you wear it for me?)

“Yes, baby.” A bright smile grows on your face. “I wanna see how it feels.”

Maxwell grins, leaning over your body. He presses his front to your back, kissing his way down your spine before landing on your hips and sliding down to your ass. Spreading you open once again, he licks you gently, making sure you’re ready.

“Baby, please.” The anticipation is making you fidgety, needy.

With a satisfied hum, he places the toy on your sensitive skin, sliding it forward with gentle force. The sting of this one is entirely dissimilar to that of the others, as it’s nearly the same size as him. With a deep breath, you close your eyes, moaning gently when it’s halfway in. Turning it slightly, Maxwell spits on you again, grabbing your left thigh and groaning while he presses his nose into your plump flesh.

“Baby.”

“Do you like it?” Comes his immediate return, massaging your thigh in his hand. “Do you like how it feels?”

His passion overcomes him, his fingers pushing the plug the rest of the way in. You squeal loudly, whining out for him. And he sighs when you do this, incredibly satisfied.

“Oh… I knew you’d sound the prettiest with this one in.”

“Max, baby.” Chest heaving, you swallow heavily. “Fuck…”

“Hm…” Lifting his body, he leans over you again, lacing your skin with tender kisses. “You did good for me, honey.”

Alongside a sudden knock on the outer door is a voice calling out to him. “Mr. Lord?”

You jump slightly, wondering if she’s going to come in. But Max just smiles, raising his voice to shout back, “Not now, Raquel.”

“Mr. Lord, dinner is ready.” She continues, her voice filled with anxiety. She always tries to keep him on a strict schedule.

“We’ll be there shortly.” With that, she leaves, allowing you a moment of relief.

He then nudges your jaw with his nose, happy when you turn your head to kiss him. And while he distracts you with his lips, he pulls the plug out, groaning when he feels you gasp into his mouth.

“Ugh,” Releasing a heavy grunt, you close your eyes, feeling him press his lips to your cheek once the toy is entirely out.

“Come.” He tells you, giving your shoulder a loving kiss.

With that he removes himself from you, dropping the toy into the box alongside the others. Standing, he adjusts his business suit, looking down to smooth out the fabric of his jacket.

You’re still panting, now rolling over onto your back. Sitting up, you sigh lightly, looking him up and down. He always looked so good like this, slightly disheveled while wearing his business suit. His hair is a mess, but he brushes it back, smirking when he looks down at you.

“You’re an enticing little thing…” Bending down, he urges you onto your back again. “Looking at me like that.”

“Baby,” Reaching up, you grab either side of his face, whispering, “I love the things you do to me.”

When you return to the second deck, the dishes that had been set were now filled with seafood of nearly every kind. King crab, lobster, scallops, oysters, and even octopus are displayed on the large table. Alongside the main entrées are multiple side dishes, as well, including steamed vegetables, Greek salad, and garlic bread.

The two of you sit on either end of the table, filling your plates before diving in. You’re also each given a glass from the champagne tower that had been poured earlier, along with a glass of water and a drink menu. And while this is all very lavish and entertaining, you can’t seem to focus on the delectable sight in front of you.

“Is it not to your liking?” Max frowns, noticing you haven’t started eating. Even through all of his shit, Maxwell was still a gentleman; he wasn’t going to eat if you weren’t.

“No! No it is.” Grabbing your fork with a smile, you lean forward to take a bite of salad, but not before releasing a shaky sigh.

He smirks. “Are you sore?”

His blatant and not at all quiet question makes your face burn. You’re not sure any of the staff heard, as they all seem to be fairly busy with their duties. Regardless, your insides still twist with anxiety upon hearing the question.

Timidly, you nod, glancing down at your plate. You might also have a tiny smirk on your face.

Grinning, he lifts his glass to take a sip, his voice echoing over the liquid. “I like that.”

Throughout the entire dinner, Max is smirking at you, content with the knowledge you’ve given him. Try as you might, your arousal is unwilling to subside. You feel quivery, your insides fluttering when he makes you the object of his gaze.

After a moment of silent eating, Maxwell speaks. “Gracias, mi belleza.” (Thank you, my beauty)

Looking up, you tilt your head. “¿Para qué?” (For what?)

“You have given me everything I have wanted in life.”

Smiling, you take a deep breath, his words prompting a variety of emotions to bubble up inside. You never expected anything in return for your wish; you wished for this because you love him. But he has been incredibly grateful for it, for you, and you’re thankful for that. Max was a greedy man, but he was a respectable one, too.

“But why not want more?” You question, grinning.

He repeats you quietly, passionately. “But why not want more…”

“I love you.” You tell him genuinely, nodding. “I only want to see you happy. I will give you whatever you want.”

Suddenly standing, he wipes his hands, holding them out as he approaches you. "I am happy,” Closing in, he reaches for your face, cupping your cheeks with a firm passion. “You are my happiness.”

The words he says come out with a genuine tone, speaking directly to your soul. You let him hold you like this, his smile coming to the surface. It’s a beautiful sight, seeing his grin grow in size, so much so that his little dimple forms on the side.

“You’re so handsome, mi amor.” (My love)

“And you…” He nearly growls, his darkened eyes dipping down to admire your form. “Are a ravishing thing.”

This makes your heart pound profusely, inhaling a shaky breath.

“You want more?” He asks, met with your eager nod. “Follow me.” He tells you, “I will show you more.”

With one last sip from your glass, you stand, allowing Max to take your hand. With dinner now done he leads you to the bottom deck, the one closest to the water. He ushers you along, sliding his hand around to the small of your back as you walk toward the edge of the deck. Reaching out, you place your hands on the railing, watching the sunset.

Maxwell comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your midsection and resting his chin on your shoulder. Breathing in, he inhales the sweet smell of your perfume, sighing lightly from the scent of it.

“This is mine.” He whispers into your ear, “All of this is mine, and it’s all because of you.”

“I will give you more, mi amor.” You promise him sweetly, knowing that your wish will deliver him anything he could ever yearn for. (My love)

“I owe you a great debt, my little love.” Max’s smile presses to your cheek, his hold on your tightening.

With a smile you respond, “You owe me nothing.” Reaching back, you comb lightly through his hair. “Your love is enough.”

Your collective pursuit and material goods has been a driving force in your relationship. It made you attracted to him, seeing the passion he had to complete his life goals. No matter what, Maxwell was always a persistent man. He didn’t give up easily, if ever. And when he first saw you, that excessive need to have whatever he damn well pleased took over then, too.

“It’s gorgeous here.” You tell him softly, quietly, staring at the beautiful shades and purples and blues.

You’re a mesmerizing thing to him, a true work of art inside and out. He thinks you match his own personality rather well, your confidence and attitude toward life remaining the same. At first, he was attracted to your body, your face, your beautiful hair and your dazzling smile. You turned heads in any and every room. He knew he had to have you. But then he got to know you. And that’s when he decided to keep you.

“Isn’t it?” He responds half-heartedly, not really focusing on what you’re saying anymore. He’s brushing your hair to the side, moving to mouth at your neck.

You can tell by the way he says it that he’s very obviously distracted. He’s already rising behind you, the feeling of his mouth hot and wet. Pressing yourself back into him, you grin, wanting to spur your lover on. And as soon as you do, his hand flies down, gripping you harshly on your ass.

“I want to have you.” He grits out into your ear, his lips pressing to its outer shell.

“Maxwell,” You chuckle, turning your head to the side he’s nearest. “You do have me.” But he just squeezes your flesh harder in his hand.

“Do not play games with me.” It’s a warning, one seethed out from his mouth.

Smirking, you turn away to face the water again. He’s right, you knew what he meant. But just as you’re beginning to admire the view again, he does something unexpected. Almost as soon as you look away from him, his hand rises to your jaw, yanking your head back in his direction.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

It makes you gasp, his authoritative tone and choice of words. His hold on you is tight, his curved nose pressing into your cheek.

“Let me have you, mi princesa, mi preciosa niña.” (My princess, my precious girl)

“Right here?” Your pulse quickens against your skin. Now, you’re unsure of what he means. Surely he isn’t suggesting you do this here, he’s never touched you in a public setting. But he doesn’t give you a definitive answer, not verbally, not really.

“Lift up your leg, hermosa.” (Beautiful)

Before you even have a chance to move, he’s doing it for you, placing his hand beneath your knee to lift it in the air and bend it over the rail.

“That’s it…” He smooths his hands up beneath your dress, over the soft curves of your ass. “I want you riiight here.”

A small breeze brushes over your skin when he lifts your dress up to your hips. Your face runs hot when he does this - you feel so exposed.

“Just like that.” He hurriedly rushes out, hands now dropping to his belt.

Whipping your head in either direction, you gauge your surroundings, wondering if anyone is near. Right now, you don’t see or hear anyone, which is relieving. But at the same time, you’re not exactly sure of the crew’s schedules. They could come down at any moment.

“Yes…” Maxwell’s erotic hiss brings you back to the present, as well as his naked and prodding tip.

“Max,” Gasping out when he pushes you forward, your fingers curl around the railing while your heart leaps into your throat.

Quickly, he lifts his fingers up to his mouth, swiping them across his tongue before bringing them down. He rubs the pads of his digits over your naked sex, thankful you decided to forgo panties for the night.

“B-Baby!” Your squeal turns into a shout when he shoves himself in, Max’s mouth dropping open completely.

“Oh…” It’s a loud and forceful groan, a harsh bite digging into your shoulder shortly thereafter. “I’ve been waiting to do this since I put those toys inside you.”

Both of those large hands slide over your hips, slowly beginning to rock you back and forth before you have any real time to adjust to him. Hanging your head down, you suck in a deep breath, excitement rushing through your veins. And he can hear this, your flustered state making him laugh.

“You’ll do anything for me, won’t you?” He asks, now rolling his hips into you. Each thrust shoves you over the railing just a little, but to make you feel safe he slinks one hand up and around your waist. Pulling you close, he kisses your ear, whispering, “My rich little slut.”

“Max,” An incredible smile blooms across your face. He could be so good at talking dirty. “You like spoiling me?”

“Bebita,” The arm he had around your waist retracts, that broad palm sliding up to your neck. Fingers gripping the choker around your throat, he tugs you back, grunting into your ear. “Sabes que lo hago.” (Baby girl, you know I do)

“I love that,” With his exciting words, you gain a bit of confidence, now bouncing back against him. He’s diving entirely inside every time, hitting you deep and moaning when he feels you grow tight.

Your next words are calculated, ones you know will make him fall to his fucking knees. Reaching back, you grab onto his hair, whispering, “I love my sugar daddy.”

“Fuck,” His eyes roll back, hand tightening on your throat. An airy gasp falls from your lips, feeling his hold on your windpipe. “Yes, yes, mi bonita niña.” (My pretty girl)

It’s impossible for him to not react to those words, and you know it. Maxwell fucking loves spoiling you with everything he has. Dressing you in his wealth, keeping you safely tucked away in lavish homes, taking you places only royalty would come to know. It’s the least he can do for the woman who gave him the world, for the woman who made him a god.

You’re glad that you decided to do this on the yacht, you could never get away with it anywhere else. You can’t see any land from where you’re at, it’s just you two and the crew. And apparently to Maxwell, he doesn’t even care about that. After he called you his rich little slut, his thrusts have sped up significantly, thick fingers not once letting go of your throat. His dominant hand stays cemented to your hip, the sound of him delving into your sex traveling across the water and ringing in your ears. He’s swollen inside you, and you’ve never heard such passionate grunts emanate from his mouth before.

“M-Max, Maxwell,” You’re choking slightly, coughing from his firm hold. The blood is your fingertips is straining against the firm curl of your knuckles on the railing, your pelvis knocking against the metal with each of his thrusts.

“That’s it, princesa,” Sweat forms along his hairline, a wide grin on his straining face. “Be a good girl for your papí, make him happy.” (Princess, daddy)

Leaning forward, he attaches his mouth to your neck, to the skin above his fingers’ harsh hold. While kissing the back of your neck, he grinds up into you, sighing out when he feels your subtle pulse, when he hears your quiet gasp.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” Nodding, whining, you reply with, “Yes.”

He huffs out a chuckle, doing it again, and again. The way he’s holding you, the way he’s fucking you, makes you feel like you’re the most captivating thing on earth.

“Please, harder,” You mean to say more, but you’re interrupted by a short gasp. One that doesn’t belong to either one of you.

Apparently, Raquel has stumbled upon your current situation and is standing a little ways behind the two of you. Looking over his shoulder, he grins, those black and bloody eyes staring at his assistant.

“I, M-Mr. Lord,”

“Not now, Raquel.” He repeats his earlier words, grin growing wider before his lips return to your neck.

She watches with wide eyes as he sucks on your throat, those surprised orbs traveling down to witness Max’s bare cock sliding in and out. The way he’s bending you over allows her to see your entire lower half, forcing her to stutter out a breath before spinning around to face the opposite direction.

“Max!” Your next whine finally forces her to scurry away, crying out from his harsh movements. “Baby,”

He’s colored you in multiple bruises, all over your shoulder and neck - he can’t help it. Every time he’s inside you it feels like the first, he could never get enough. He always wants more, more, more.

Snarling, he grips the chain around your neck. “Do you know why you wear this?”

All you can do in response is whimper, head resting back on his shoulder.

“Because it makes you mine.” And then a quiet, maniacal laugh. “It makes you mine.”

“I, M-Max,” Smiling, he releases you slightly, petting at your throat. “I’ll never, never take it off.”

“I know you won’t.”

Whenever he’s rough with you, he always finds the choker around your neck. He gave it to you as a statement, a declaration. And you’ve worn it ever since.

“What, fuck,” Eyes rolling back, they close completely, still resting your head on Max’s shoulder. “What about R-Raquel?”

“What about her, cariño?” (Sweetheart)

“She saw us.”

“Let her see.” Easily, he shrugs this off, the motion of his hips now becoming erratic. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Maxwell,” Rolling your eyes, you grin. “You’re so insatiable with me.”

“I know, I know, I know,” As if he can’t control himself, he growls, briefly baring his teeth behind you. “And I’ll never get enough.”

Snarling, he leans forward, forcing you to hold onto the railing again. The hand on your throat slides down, shoving itself beneath the hem of your dress. He cups one of your breasts, swiping his thumb across your nipple piercing and grinning. It makes him chuckle breathlessly, his precum continuing to leak from his tip while he fucks you raw.

Slamming himself into you he grunts, eyes pinching shut. “Te amo, mi belleza.” (I love you, my beauty)

“Baby, te quiero; te amo, papí.” You’re both babbling out your emotions for one another, one of the many things that tells you he’s close. “Let me feel it, please.” (I love you; love you, daddy)

Max never tells you when he’s going to cum, he doesn’t need to. It’s such an obvious thing, his trembling limbs, his forceful huffs of air, the way his mouth drops open and his eyes force shut, the way his body curls tightly over yours. And you embrace it, every second of it, reveling in the sensation of his release as it warms your insides.

“Ngh,” He shouts into your ear. “Ugh…”

His orgasm sparks something wild inside him, his chest choking out desperate gasps as he holds onto you. His pelvis juts against your body, his arms keeping you close. And even if you don’t cum with him, you still squeeze him impossibly tight, your wet, warm walls never ceasing to milk him dry.

While Max’s body quivers behind you, you open your eyes, met with an incredible sight. The sun is nearly beneath the horizon, stars now beginning to come out. It takes your breath away, seeing the sea like this. It provides the moment with an ethereal sensation, one that makes you both relax. Max opens his eyes, too, but he barely looks at the sky. Still reveling in his high, he only focuses on you.

The only unfortunate thing about sex with Max was that he was still an incredibly greedy man. He always came, whether you did or not. He prioritized how he felt, prioritized his own pleasure before even considering yours. Whether it was you or him on your knees, he always made sure to get the most out of your activities. But in the long run, it didn’t matter to you, not when his mouth made up for it so beautifully.

#oh baby #Max Lord #Maxwell Lord #Wonder Woman 1984 #WW84 #Max Lord x you #Max Lord x reader #Max Lord x female reader #Max Lord smut #Kinktober #Kinktober 2022 #Sintober #Sintober 2022

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march2nd · 4 months

Text

FIRST BLOOD

chapter IV - FIRST BLOOD next

i seriously can't wait to write about the games already, i have so many ideas, but bear with me until then

tw: canon typical violence, mentions of psychological distress, reader is still a minor in this chapter!

word count: 1289

During breakfast you can't help but frown. The favoritism towards Xavier is blinding, sure they boy seems to be good at everything he does and seeing Beetee being so full of himself makes you want to vomit. You haven't got any chances to show yourself and present your hidden talents (that are so hidden you are not even were of them). Sitting next to him you feel like a side character, someone who can be sacrificed so their golden boy can pull it through. There is nothing that can you make feel any better, that's why after eating small breakfast you go straight to the desserts. Eating the third lemon macaroon and sipping your extra sugary latte you put on a good face to the bad game. Minutes ago you have decided to try and win over Beetee as Wiress seems to be absent again and you suppose she won't be much of a help in an area. If you win his favor maybe he will convince Xavier to make an alliance with you, which would allow you to stab him in the back in the area. Your plan seems convincing but you are not sure how would you realize that - you have only two weeks to transform into a murderer that would ideally not break down in the middle of killing. The odds are definitely against you as you are neither skilled in this matter nor able to imagine yourself murdering anyone with cold blood. You need to start acting now if you want to survive day one.

"Beetee, what's your opinion about alliances? And what do you think would higher our chances?" Interrupting the conversation you try to make contact with your mentor. "By the way, I think training separate won't do us any good," you inhale. Before falling asleep you tried to come up with the idea how to get closer to Xavier. Initially you wanted to train separately, but he must start seeing you as more than just a hopeless girl. "If Wiress is unable to help us that leaves me and him with you and I think the sooner we start the better," you start speaking faster and faster, trying to get to your point sooner. "Maybe we could start training today, in this train?" You propose shyly.

"Woah, girlie, slow down!" Says Xavier mocking you. First of all, you are not a girlie and second, you won't slow down. Until your last breath.

"I think she is not speaking nonsense," adds Beetee. 'Why the sudden change of heart?' He looks at you, looking for answers.

"If you were to agree to my proposition and started helping us now then we wouldn't have to wait until we reach Capitol and each of us got their personal trainer. It is only logical that now we all spend time together learning and coming up with strategy, am I not right?" You bat your eyelashes at both of them, impatiently waiting for an answer.

The rest of the morning you spend discussing how to win the games and learning unknown facts from the past - like how your mentor electrocuted six people securing his win. You wouldn't have guessed it ever, but you suppose that everything can be a weapon. In your case the greatest of them all is your mind, as it seems that your tactics seem to be working as Xavier enters your room later that day.

You talk about everything and at the same time nothing, while you are both painfully aware that you are both leaving something behind and whoever comes alive from this won't be unchanged. In the worst case scenario (and at the same time the most probable one), when you both die you have agreed that you want to change something from others from your District. You will show them all, that the kids from Three are not to be looked down upon. There is a crazy idea forming at your head but you are too unsure of it for now, to say it out loud. Before he leaves you to your own thoughts he makes an unexpected confession. Playing with his own hands he says: "About those knives... I kind of lied as not to seem weak, you see in the fabric we have darts and I'm quiet good at this game so I figured throwing knives and darts aren't that different." Dear God, you just realized how awkward your companion is. You chuckle. "Don't worry about it." You smile, but it doesn't reflect your real emotions. You have to come up with different plan, because pairing up with him doesn't seem to guarantee your safety even on day one anymore. When he leaves you want to rip all your hair out. You can't feel too disappointed about him lying because you are not any better. You can't see any resolution to your situation, you feel helpless and this is what it takes for you to breakdown and start crying.

Life is already too short and you won't allow yours to be cut in half. When it starts to be getting dark outside you emerge from your room. You want to binge watch the previous games to learn from the mistakes of your predecessors. It resembles watching sacrificial lambs being slaughtered by animals that only wear human skins. Nothing about Careers seems to be real, when they fight they are not people anymore but wild creatures that find joy in killing. Everything about them screams to stay away and pray they won't find you. You note that some children and teens from your District are smart but never enough to survive. Some of them build impressive weapons, but there is no point in them as they can't use it properly. Eating an apple to give your brain sweet sugar rush you come up with a brilliant idea. You want to start laughing but you remind yourself that it is night already and you don't want to wake anybody up.

Here's the thing you came up with. You have two mentors who have won a long time ago, but Careers have recent Victors. That means they are being mentored by people who won one, two or five years ago. What you have to do is to watch the recent games and try to understand their respective fighting styles and strategies. They might have been preparing for the Games back in their Districts but it's the Mentors who ultimately shape them into who they are in the Area - there is no other explanation why 1 and 2 fight like beasts and 4 tends to lay low until they pull something out of their sleeves. That scares you, not knowing what to expect from them - they can fight, place traps, catch you in a makeshift net or drown you.

Watching the recaps helps you in formulating the intricate plan. If you play it well they will remember you for a long time, just as you remember the boy from 65th Hunger Games who seemed to be just unreal - sure he was a killer but in contrast to other Careers he didn't seem to be taking immeasurable joy from taking lives. His skills with trident and knife made him deadly but what amazed you was his ability to make traps and create makeshift nets that actually worked and held tributes in place until they were met with their unavoidable death. Watching all of this makes you want to scream. YOU CANT WIN THE GAMES. YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD. But after all, you can't let the hope in you die.

NOTES:

i went with the flow in this chapter, also people what do you think about my writings? im dying to read your opinions!!

tag list: @randomgurl2326, @meri-soni-meri-tamanna

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #forget me not #the hunger games #fluff #angst #xreader

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tinydappledleaf · 5 months

Text

Title: Stay

Chapter: 3/6

Pairing: Ezra x f!Reader, Ezra x you (Reader is addressed by 'you' or nickname)

Rating: 18+, smut in chapter 6

Content: Situationship to romance, soft Ezra, intimacy, loss of limb (non-explicit), canon compliant

Summary: When you've almost given up waiting for him, a certain prospector returns to the Pug to call in a favor...

Ao3: complete fic

《 chaper 2 chapter 4 》

Chapter III

Ezra lounges on the couch when Cee emerges from her hideout late that evening. From your spot at your provisory workbench, you eye her curiously - or rather what's in her hands. A small package, neatly wrapped in a glimmering foil you recognize as a cut up emergency thermal blanket. Ezra has noticed, too, and assumes a more attentive sitting position as she approaches him.

Once Cee has reduced the distance to a mere few steps, she offers him the silver glinting object. Its a present, you realize. So does Ezra and looks somewhat befuddled and, to your astonishment, like he's at a brief loss of words.

"For you," nudges Cee, despite the already obvious gesture. "Take it before I change my mind."

That prompts him to move and she hands it to him. You try not to observe too evidently, considering whatever transpires is most likely meant to include just them. But, admittedly, you're much too curious to fully turn away now. You feel slightly out of place, though, as you continue to bring off your remaining orders.

"To what, say, do I owe the pleasure of gifts?"

"A get-well gift..." explains Cee, her features carefully schooled into a neutral expression. There's tells of uneasiness, however, in the rigidness of her stance and the clasp of her fingers around each other once her hands are free.

"My mom used to give me some when I was little. Like... to distract you when you're not feeling well. I know it's late, but I didn't manage to get it done any quicker."

Her little admission warms your heart. She's a good girl, Cee, and Ezra is just as aware of it. You know him well enough to imagine his throat bobbing with implicit emotion, the gentleness that appears within him as he unwraps her present.

"Too kind, little bird," he murmurs into the rustle of foil, "Thank you.

It takes him a moment, using just one hand and his knees to unstick the tape, but Cee waits in quiet patience, if a little fidgety.

When silence settles, you can't bear it any longer, drop all the pretense and turn to chance a look at what rests on Ezra's lap.

Its a notebook. Not the one you've seen Cee with multiple times. This one's cover is caramel colored and intricately decorated in patterns and tiny pictures. Even though you're not able to see detail from where you sit, its obvious all of it is drawn by hand. The lines neatly twine around bold ballpoint written letters spelling out 'The Streamer Girl'.

Ezra's fingers trace the patterns in awe, but there's something about his expression that calls your attention. A crease draws shadow to his brow as he opens the booklet and finds her writing inside.

"You made this?"

"I did. I finished writing the draft when you were out cold after we got here. You said you must read it someday so... I thought I might get the entire thing finished sooner, but some parts didn't read like I wanted them to when I copied-"

"How?"

The clipped word startles her and wipes the bubbling excitement right off her face. Ezra's reaction is certainly not what she expected.

"As I said, I copied it. My first draft has so much scratched out and-"

"No, where did you get this?"

He snaps the booklet shut and raises it for her to see. Its obvious then, what troubles his soul, and you break a little for him. Cee, though, does not catch on as quickly and you watch confusion spread across her face as she regards his stern expression.

"I traded it. For some of the leftover rations from the merc pod. Figured we wouldn't need those anytime soon."

Her voice is almost defensive now.

"From some stranger at the port?"

"In a pub there, actually. How is that relevant?"

Ezra's face contorts at her words. A brief flicker of blanched consternation is overruled by the severity of a frown.

"Cause you could've gotten yourself hurt. Or worse. Girl, this is the Pug. You can't just amble 'round the port, let alone those dives, an' trade goods to the odd stranger. It ain't safe!"

She's laughing now, in his face, and its agonizing to watch, but this isn't your place to poke your nose in.

"Yeah? And you are?" Cee snaps throwing her hand out in Ezra's direction, then yours, "Or her? All I have is strangers. And who's at fault for that?"

It's not a question. It's a mean punch to the gut and it's delivered with such searing venom, that only teenagers are able to summon from somewhere deep within. Then she turns on her heel, marches back into the room she's come from and slams the door shut.

Ezra remains unmoving, only winces briefly at the sudden noise. Devastation rests in his wide eyes as his one hand firmly clasps the reason of their dispute.

"She's right," he mutters and it pains you to see him so distraught and strangely forlorn. It's so blatantly obvious how much he's come to care for his newfound protégé. He's trying to do right by her, despite his lacking experience. Ezra is not a parent, never desired to be, though you reason its more the doubt towards his own qualities and ways of life than actual displeasure at the thought of it.

He's a little brother, nestling of his family, not accustomed to any 'parental obligation' for the young.

He made a reliable captain, for the time he was granted, caring for both, the success and well-being of his crew. But that about totalizes his wisdom in regards of responsibility.

You still believe he's more than capable of it. You're familiar with his tentative, caring side, his subsisting urge to protect what's dear to him, no matter at what cost.

"You're gonna fix it, Ez."

Your attempt of consolation sounds hollow, even to your own ears, after their quick but harsh conflict. Ezra heaves a sigh at your well-meant pep talk and flops back onto his good side, gift still in hand.

"Fixin' things is not somethin' I do own great aptitude for, Patches. That's your métier. Besides, I fear some mess-ups ain't fixable..."

"Give her time to cool down," you suggest as you turn back to wrap up your order for delivery, "Then go talk to her. She's a smart kid, she’s gonna be okay."

And so are you, you muse, as he absentmindedly hums his doubtful agreement. The sound of a page turning recovers the soft smile on your face. Already immersed in her writing, so it seems.

You struggle to find sleep that night. It happens. Mostly on odd times for no particular reason. This night, however, it’s the lingering tension of conflict that hangs heavy in the room. It has you turning in bed to find a position that is somewhat comfortable. None is.

Right now, you’re on your back again, eyes closed in a futile attempt to drift off. Thoughts meander though your head, draw lazy repeating circles, as you listen to the sounds of another night within the busy asteroid base that is Puggart Bench. There’s shouting in the distance and a warm breeze carries the rumble of starting engines through your open window. You guess freighter by its volume and duration and try to imagine what kind of payload might lift off into the void. The Pug’s port is a hub for merchants and smugglers alike. Resources, jewelry, tech-ware… beetles? It could be virtually anything.

You give up as the engine roar dies down and yields the softer noises around. The perpetual whir of the ceiling fan. A rustle of cloth.

Ezra.

You turn on your cot, careful to keep quiet, and make out his motionless silhouette in the darkness. He’s fast asleep by the steady sound of his breathing, overwhelmed by the exhaustion of his recovery. In, out, deep and slow goes his quiet snore. You count along and fall into his calm rhythm. Before you know it, sleep has claimed your consciousness as well.

It doesn’t last long.

You’re awoken by ruckus.

There’s thrashing and groaning and it takes you a hot tick to realize, that its in fact not another brawl in the alley below, but the man right across the room.

Abruptly wide awake and bolt upright in bed you scramble over to the couch to find him trapped in what has to be an awful nightmare. Brow furrowed and beaded with sweat, he tosses his head on the pillow and muscles twitch under the strain of his jerking body.

You try to call out his name and gain nothing but jumbles of disjointed words and syllables. The sudden grimace of pain etched into his features is the final nail. Throwing caution to the wind you grab his face with both hands, fingers cold against his flushed skin. You expect him to lash out, toss you right off him. Whatever ingrained instinct kicks in first.

Instead, you suddenly stare down into his open eyes, wide with anguish and sheer terror. Time ticks by like honey until all tension drains from his body.

You unfreeze alongside him, give in to gravity’s pull and sink onto his still heaving chest. You stay like that for a speechless moment, listen to the thunder that is his heart and to the rush of his labored breath. His shirt is damp and warm against your cheek as you curl your fingers into its loose fabric. Nightmares are no rare occurrence for anyone out here. You’ve had your fair share of them as well and it’s by far not the first he’s lived through in your presence. But you’ve never seen him this stricken after. A shudder runs through your body.

A breathed apology wafts through the night and you shake your head ‘no’ against his body. His hand comes to rest on the small of your back regardless, thumb drawing soothing strokes across the curve of your spine, and you feel miserable for savoring his gentle touch. You’re not the one in dire need of consolation. But you’ve missed this so much it aches. This tenderness he offers only in the dead of night.

Ezra’s an affectionate lover, if he wants to be. You’ve had it both, his rough and reckless love, pent up and burning after cycles out in the Frontier, and all of his gentle passion. But never are there strings attached. He crashes in like a gale, wild and without warning, tears you apart and puts you back together piece by tiny piece. Then he vanishes and leaves you in the wake of his storm with nothing but the ghost of a smile and the promise for more.

It didn't faze you seasons ago. Tonight, the mere thought of him disappearing again is nearly unbearable. But that doesn’t change a thing.

You breathe him in once more, then slowly right yourself to find him watching.

“Didn’t mean to rouse you,” he murmurs, and you brush it off again. Briefly your gaze flickers to the bedroom door, but nothing moves within its range. At least the girl appears to have slept through the commotion. You’re glad. It spares her some more worry.

As you turn back to face Ezra, you’re unsure what to do. You know better than to ask for his dream. If he wants to share, then he does, and you listen. This time, however, he doesn't. You respect his decision and move to pull away and reclaim your cot, but his hand comes to rest on your thigh and effectively prevents you from rising to your feet.

"Stay."

One simple word is enough, of the man that owns so many, to break your resolve and you melt back against him, even though you might regret it later.

His arm curls securely around your waist and tucks you into his warmth. The position is far from comfortable, half sitting besides, half laying atop his body, but right now you couldn't care less. For a few precious ticks, he's yours again. You won't waste the tiniest bit of it.

"I imagined this..." he sighs into the silence that settles.

"’s what kept me sane all by my lonesome through the nights. Longed to have you there with me an' despised myself for the very thought of it."

His wistful admission only serves to make you huddle closer to him. He's safe now, with you. You lay like that and listen to the steady thump of his heart, now calm and slow, until you hear him mumble again. It’s some sort of poetry, you recognize, by the rhythm of each carefully crafted verse. It’s a new poem, unfamiliar to your ears but as beautiful as any else. You’re far too tired for interpretation, comprehension of context even, and by the third stanza, the low rumble of his voice has lulled you into sound slumber. Ezra holds you close to himself, keeps you from slipping away in your sleep, and, quietly, thanks the cosmos for hearing his most desperate plea.

You wake to the insistent tingle of squished limbs and the first rays of morning light. Its still early and the room is quiet except for the subtle snore above your head.

Mourning his warmth the moment you carefully extract yourself from Ezra’s embrace, you stretch your aching limbs and suppress a yawn. Your gaze falls upon the readily packed orders waiting for delivery on your workbench and you sigh, not yet ready to abandon the combined comfort of couch and Ezra. But the sooner you get over with it, the quicker you can focus your attention on the replacement for his arm. You already have a design in mind that your fingers are itching to sketch.

So, with great reluctance, you get up, shower, dress and collect the package. As you pass the couch on your way out, you pause and lean in to press the briefest of kisses to his temple. His brow creases adorably at the contact, just a brief twitch. Then you’re on your way.

Smooth delivery and adequate payment have you in good spirits on your way home. You're looking forward to a hopefully quiet afternoon and taking time to properly measure Ezra's remaining arm and stump to plan the fitting replacement for his missing limb.

When you get there, however, the mood is still sour.

Ezra's back is turned as you enter. Wordlessly he's facing the back of your couch. There's still no trace of Cee and you wonder if either of them has made the tiniest step towards reconciliation. It doesn’t appear like it.

As you undo the top of your overall, to knot both sleeves around your mid, Ezra skips over any greeting and launches straight into an unexpected question.

“Did she divulge you the unfortunate circumstances of our meeting?”

You halt, mid-knot, confused as to why he deems now the time right to let you in on their secret. You respond all the same.

“Not yet.”

"There was an altercation with her father. Didn't know of her presence then. Thought the man was by himself, fixin' to make a fortune. A returner, hoping for some scraps from the rush. He threatened me, attempted to seize my entire haul."

It’s a crude and compact re-narration of the actual events, you sense as much. Still, you predict the outcome correctly.

"I shot him."

Ezra's admission is clipped, unapologetic. A factual statement sans the usual flourish.

The oppressing mid-day heat hangs heavy around you as you try to wrap your head around the information. Ezra has killed Cee's father. You get the why. You get the how. You don’t challenge either. You're attuned to the savage rules that reign the Green or any space within the outer Frontiers. What you do not get is the reason for his sudden urge to share what has been withheld until now. Is it remorse?

The question is out before you're able to think better of it.

"Do you regret it?"

"No. I do not. From what I've glimpsed, she's better off without him. But who am I to judge? She's better off without me, either."

"And you sulking in your own misery changes anything about it?"

He flips around at your brazen pick of words, fury etched into his features. It doesn't intimidate you. It’s not directed at you, but at the situation he finds himself in. It ebbs away as quickly as it sprouted as his rash movement retaliates. His muscles twitch, a brief grimace of pain breaks his glare. Two deep breaths later he flops down onto his back. You allow him a few seconds to recover before you start the conversation again.

"She knows you mean her no harm. Give her some time to think it all through and, as I said, talk to her. That’s what you excel in, remember? Where is she, anyway?"

The door to her room stands open but Cee is nowhere to be seen.

He hums to your statement. An uneasy feeling creeps up your spine as you turn back to Ezra to spot concern carve deep lines into the skin of his face.

“I don’t know. She walked out on me this morning - when I tried to approach her.”

Cee is late that evening. The light recedes and there's still no sign of life from her. You're slowly beginning to worry, but Ezra's been beside himself for the latter half of the afternoon. He's pacing by the window, stern gaze fixed upon the alley below.

"Sit down," you ask him again, to no avail. You're fairly sure if you weren't present to keep an eye on him, he'd be out there already, searching, despite his battered health.

Maybe you should go look for her, make sure she's alright. You think her too smart to run off with nothing but the clothes on her back. But Ezra’s worry is infective and sitting still to wait it out suddenly no longer seems appropriate.

A sigh of immense relief breaks your considerations, however, and you swiftly join Ezra at the window to find the missing girl trotting down the street, towards your home. Not a scratch on her person, to your comfort.

Cee finds both of you still by the window when she enters, her face grim. But the moment she spots Ezra's rattled expression, her own changes to something mildly apologetic.

"Good night," she merely mumbles and retreats into her room.

Ezra watches the door click shut, then deflates completely, sorrow plain and exhaustion heavy on his shoulders. You feel for him, sense the helplessness that swamps him, confronted with such alien responsibility.

"Come 'ere," you say, and he complies, not questioning, as you pull him into a careful hug. He's limp at first, waits and breathes you in. Then one arm comes up and wraps around your mid with gentle strength. You hold him tight as his head comes to rest in the crook of your neck, soft puffs of warm breath feathering across your skin. You quietly wish for time to freeze just for a while.

As morning comes around, Cee emerges from her hideout to get breakfast. She vanishes as quick and silent as she appeared, but the bedroom door is left cracked open. An invitation to talk that Ezra won't let slide.

You don't mean to eavesdrop, but as they converse, fragments of it carry across the room to your workspace. It doesn't all make sense, since the entirety of their story is still veiled by shadows to you, but their argument steadily resolves as they speak.

Cee tells Ezra how his reaction had reminded her of her late father, though she knew he meant well.

She then tells about asking her father, nearly begging him, to just leave the damn moon. And how she had been brushed off. How she had always been brushed off. If he only had heard her for once, if he’d taken her seriously, had respected her opinions and wishes just this one time - But he had never seen more in her than a clueless kid he would patronize. A precious belonging. A burden. And in the end it had gotten him killed.

Ezra lets her shout, rage and cry until all her pent-up frustration is drained. He listens, patiently, to all of it - and you smile.

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